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'* 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 1!Y 
 
 JOS [All ALLEN'S W I F H 
 
 (MARIliTlA HOLLHY.) 
 
 TI.LrsTRATKD 
 
 W. HAMILTON GIBSON, 
 
 AM) OTIIKKS. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST 
 
 MOVrKKAL:c. W.COATKS HALIFAX : S. K irUKST.S 
 
\ ^ v^^A^ .\^sv\ 
 
 r 
 
 Kntcred, according to Act of C««;,ve88. in the year 1887, 
 
 By MARIETTA HOLLr^'. 
 
 m the Office or the Librarian of c.on,re.. at Washington, D. C, 
 
DEDICATION. • 
 
 When I wrote many of tiie^ik veumks 1 was mih ir YoiNCiEu than 
 
 I AM NOAV, AND THE " SWEETEST EYES IX THE WOULD " WOIF-D 
 
 imiGHTEN OVER THEM, TIEUOUGH TH; ".EADEU's 
 
 I-OVE FOR ME. I DEDICATE THEM TO HER 
 
 MEMORY— THE MEMORY OF 
 
 MY MOTIIKIi. 
 
 9< ^ 
 
 ^>t. 
 
 i 
 
^^^- 
 
 J' 
 
 What Makks the Simmeu ? 
 The IJkothehs, 
 A Rich Man'h Ueveufe, . 
 Glouia the Tiu:e, . 
 The Deacon's ])ai:«iiteu, 
 »SoN(JS OK THE Swallow, 
 The ('o(ii:ETTE, . 
 
 Little Neli 
 
 The Fihhek's Wife, . 
 The Land ok Lon<; Ago, 
 Lemolne, .... 
 
H} 
 
 coyTh!yTs. 
 
 *$ 
 
 ThK StoUY ok (tLADYS, 
 
 P'aukwki.l, . . . 
 
 TiiK Knioht ok Xok.mandy, 
 
 So>1KTIMK, .... 
 MoTIVKS, .... 
 
 Nkjiitfai,!-, 
 
 His Pla<k 
 
 A Dhkam of Sruixo, 
 WArriN(s 
 
 A SoN(} KOK TwiLUillT, . 
 
 The Flioht, 
 
 COMKOKT, .... 
 
 Jenny Allen, 
 
 The Unhken (.'ity, . 
 
 The Waoes ok Sin, 
 
 IsABELLE AND I, 
 
 Good-by, .... 
 The Sea-Captain's Wooing, 
 
 lONE 
 
 Summer Days, . 
 The Lady Cecii.e, 
 Home, .... 
 Steps wk Climb, 
 Squire Percy's Pride, . 
 Roses of June, . 
 Magdalena, 
 
 My Angel 
 
 Grief, . . , . 
 
 IX 
 
 
 PAOK 
 
 . 
 
 . 75 
 
 • 
 
 H3 
 
 
 85 
 
 . 
 
 80 
 
 . 
 
 93 
 
 • 
 
 96 
 
 . 
 
 97 
 
 • 
 
 UK) 
 
 . 
 
 . 101 
 
 
 104 
 
 • . 
 
 . 105 
 
 • 
 
 107 
 
 . 
 
 . 109 
 
 • 
 
 113 
 
 • 
 
 . 114 
 
 1*1 . 
 
 121 
 
 . 
 
 . 126 
 
 ■ 
 
 128 
 
 • . . 
 
 . 130 
 
 . 
 
 133 
 
 • 
 
 . 135 
 
 • 
 
 139 
 
 • • • 
 
 . 141 
 
 . . . 
 
 145 
 
 • • t 
 
 . 150 
 
 *^. 1 
 
 155 
 
 ■ * . 
 
 . 158 
 
 • • 
 
 163 
 
 I 
 
f 
 
HB I 
 
 ('OJV7'/',\\7s. 
 
 Wrij) Oath, 
 
 AlTI-.MN, 
 
 TiiK Faihkst Land, 
 TiiK Mkssenciku. 
 
 TlIK S(>N<; op -r„K SlUK.N, 
 
 KKJirTKKN- Sixty-Two, 
 
 AWKAKV, 
 
 Too L,)w, . 
 At Last, 
 
 TwiLKiilT, 
 
 TiiK Sewing-Girl, 
 
 IIauuy the Fikst, 
 
 The Cuiminal's Betkothed, 
 
 Gone Before, . 
 
 A Woman's Heart, . 
 
 Warning, . 
 
 Genieve to Her Lover, 
 
 The Wild Rose, 
 
 Our Bird, . 
 
 The Time that is to be. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 All througli my busy yojus of i)rosu writing I have oc- 
 casionally jotted down idle thoughts in rliynie. Imagining 
 ideal scenes, ideal cliaracters, and then, as is the way, 1 suj)- 
 lKK«5e, with more aml)itions poets, trying to put myself in- 
 side the personalities I have invoked, trying to feel as they 
 would be likely to, speak tli(; words T fancied they would 
 say. 
 
 The many faults of my verses I (;an see only too well ; 
 their merits, if they have any, I leave with the public— which 
 has always been s') kind to me — to discover. 
 
 And half-hopefully, half-fearfnlly, I send out the little 
 craft on the wide sea strewn with so many wrecks. JJiit 
 thinking it must be safer from adverse winds because it 
 carries so low a sail, and will cruise along s(> close to rlui 
 shore and not try to sail out in the deej) waters. 
 
 And so I hid the <lear little wanderer (dear to mc). 
 Clod-speed, and ln>n >'<nj<«/t\ 
 
 ^[akietta IIollkv. 
 Kew York, June, 18ST. 
 
T 
 
■mi 
 
 WHAT MAKES THE SUMMERS 
 
 It is not the lark's clear tone 
 
 Cleaving the morning air with a soaring cry, 
 
 Nor the nii!rlitinijale*'s dnlcet nielodv ail the luihnv 
 
 night — 
 Not these alone 
 
 Make the sweet sonnds of summer ; 
 But the drone of beetle and bee, tlie murmurous 
 
 hum of the tly 
 And the chirp of the cricket hidden out of siglit — 
 These help to make the sunnner. 
 
 Not roses redly blown, 
 
 Nor golden lilies, lighting the dusky meads, 
 
 Nor proud imperial pansies, nor (pieen-cups (piaint and rare — 
 
 Not these alone 
 

 WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? 
 
 Make the sweet sights of summer ; 
 
 But the countless forest leaves, the myriad wayside weeds 
 
 And slender grasses, springing up every where- 
 
 These help to make the summer. 
 
 One heaven bpnds above ; 
 
 The lowliest head of ttimes liatli sweetest rest ; 
 
 O'er song-bird in the pine, and bee in the ivy low, 
 
 Is the mme love, it is all God's summer ; 
 
 Well pleased is He if we patiently do our best. 
 
 So hum little bee, and low green grasses grow, 
 
 You help to make the summer. 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 % 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 High on a rocky cliff did once a gray old castle stand, 
 From whence rongli-bearded chieftains led their vassals — 
 
 rnled the land. 
 For centuries had dwelt here sire and son, till it befell, 
 Last of their ancient line, two brothers here alone did dwell. 
 
 The eldest was stern-visaii-ed, but the vonnfijest smooth and 
 
 fair 
 Of countenance ; both zealons, men who bent the knee in 
 
 prayer 
 To God alone: loved mnch, read much His holv word. 
 And prayed above all gifts desired, that they miglit see their 
 
 Lord. 
 
 For this the elder brother car^^ed a silent cell of stone, 
 And in its deep and dreary depths he entered, dwelt alone, 
 And strove with scourgings, vigils, fasts, to purify his gaze, 
 And sought amidst these shadows to behold the Master's face. 
 
 And from the love of God that smiles on us from Ijrijrht- 
 
 lipped flowers, 
 And f om the smile of God that falls in sunlight's golden 
 
 showers, 
 
18 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 I 
 
 That tlirills earth's shimbering heart so, wlicre its warm rays 
 
 fall 
 Tliat it laughs out in beauty, turned lie as from tempters all. 
 
 From hird-song running morn's sweet-scented chahce o'er 
 
 with cheer. 
 The child's light laugliter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near. 
 From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of the 
 
 golden day, 
 lie counting these temptations all, austerely turned away. 
 
 And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone, 
 Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone 
 In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear 
 A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer. 
 
 Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross, 
 A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across. 
 The clay lips settled into calm — thus did the monk attest, 
 A look of one who through nmch peril enters into rest. 
 
 Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master's 
 face ; 
 
 But in earth's lowly places did he strive his steps to trace. 
 
 Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous com- 
 plaint, 
 
 There he beheld his Lord — naked, athirst, and faint. 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 10 
 
 And when his hand was wet with tears, wrung .ith a srato- 
 
 . ful grasp, 
 lie liglitly felt upon liis palm the Elder Brother's clasp ; 
 And when above tlie loathsome couch of woe and want 
 
 bent he, 
 A low voice thrilled his soul, " So have ye done it unto Me." 
 
 Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim 
 The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and 
 
 name ; 
 To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still. 
 His mother and liis brethren were all who did God's will 
 
 All little ones were dear to him, for light from Paradise 
 Seemed falling on him through their pure and innocent 
 ' eyes; 
 
 The very flowers that fringed cool streams, and gemmed the 
 
 dewy sod, 
 To his rapt vision seemed like the visible smiles of God. 
 
 The deep's full heart that throbs unceasing 'gainst the silent 
 
 ships, ' 
 
 The waves together murmuring with weird, mysterious lijrn 
 To hear their untranslated psalm, drew down his anointe<l 
 ear. 
 
 And listening, lo ! he heard God's voice, to Him wjis he so 
 near. 
 

 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 The happy hum of bees to him made summer silence sweet, 
 
 Not h'ghtly did lie view the very grass beneath his feet, 
 
 It paved His presence-chamber, where he walked a happy 
 
 guest, 
 Ah I slight tlie veil between, in very truth his life was blest. 
 
 And when on a still twilight passed he to the summer land. 
 Those whom he had befriended, weeping, clinging to his 
 
 hand. 
 The west gleamed with a sudden glory, and from out the 
 
 glow 
 Trembled the semblance of a crown, and rested on his brow. 
 
 And with wide, eager eyes he smiled, and stretched his 
 
 hands abroad. 
 As if his dearest friend were welcoming him to his abode ; 
 Eternal silence sealed that wondrous smile as he cried — 
 " Thy face ! Thy face, dear Lord I" and, saying this, he died. 
 
 I^ut legends tell that on his grave fell such a strange, pure 
 
 That wine-red roses i)lanted thereupon M'ould spring up 
 
 white. 
 Holding such mystic healing in their (!Ool snow bloom, that 
 
 lain 
 On aching brows or sorrowful hearts, they would ease their 
 
 pain. 
 
 
r^ 
 
 A RICH MAN'S ItEVEKIK 
 
 The years go ..y, but they little seem 
 
 Like those within our dream ; 
 
 The years that stood in such hirinir L'uise 
 
 Beckoning us into Paradise, 
 
 To jailers turn as time goes by 
 
 (Guarding that fair land, By-and-By, 
 
 AVhere we thought to blissfully rest, 
 
 The sound of whose forests' balmy leaves 
 
 Swaying to dream winds strangely sweet. 
 
 We heard in our bed 'neath the cottage eaves. 
 
 Whose towers we saw in the western skies 
 
 When with eager eyes and tremulous lip. 
 
 We watched the silent, silver ship 
 
 Of the crescent moon, sailing out and away 
 
 O'er the land we would reach some dav, some day 
 
 But years have flown, and our weary feet 
 Have never reached that Isle of the Blest ; 
 But care we have felt, and an aching breast, 
 A lifelong struggle, grief, unrest, 
 That had no part in our boyish plans ; 
 And yet I have gold, and houses, and lands. 
 
 4 
 
TZ A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 And ladened vessels a wliite-winged fleet, 
 That fly at my bidding across the sea ; 
 And liats are dulled by wilHng hands 
 As I tread the village street ; - 
 
 Jiut wealth and fame are not to me 
 What I thought that they would be. 
 
 I turn from it all to wander back 
 With Memory down the dusty track 
 Of the years that lie between, 
 To the farm-house old and brown, 
 Shaded with poplars dusky green, 
 I pause at its gate, not a bearded man, 
 J3ut a boy with earnest eyes. 
 
 I stand at the gate and look around 
 
 At the fresh, fair world that before me lies. 
 
 The misty mountain-top aglow 
 
 With love of the sun, and the pleasant ground 
 
 Asleep at its feet, with sunny dreams 
 
 Of milk-white flowers in its heart, and clear 
 
 The tall church-spire in the distance gleams 
 
 Pointing up to the tranquil sky's 
 
 Blue roof that seems so near. 
 
 And up from the woods the morning breeze 
 Comes freighted with all the rich perfume 
 
A lilCII MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 Tliat from myriad spicy cups distils, 
 rx)iterin^ along o'er tlio lomist-trees, 
 Scatteritig down the i)lum-tree8' bloom 
 In flakes of erimsoii snow — 
 Down on the gold of the daffodils 
 That border the path below. 
 
 And the silver thread of the rivulet 
 
 Tangled and knotted with fern and sedge, 
 
 And the mill-pond like a diamond set 
 
 In the streamlet's emerald edge ; 
 
 And over the stream on the gradual hill, 
 
 Its headstones glimmering palely white, 
 
 Is the graveyard quiet and still. 
 
 I wade through its grasses rank and deep, 
 
 Past slanting marbles mossy and dim, 
 
 Carven with lines from some old hvnm. 
 
 To one where my mother used to lean 
 
 On Sunday noons and weep. 
 
 That tall white shape I looked upon 
 
 With a mysterious dread, 
 
 Linking unto the senseless stone 
 
 The image of the dead — 
 
 The father I never had seen ; 
 
 I remember on dark nights of storm. 
 
 When our parlor was bright and warm, 
 
 I would turn away from its glowing light. 
 
 ^>3 
 
u 
 
 A lilCJl MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 
 And look far out in the churchyard dim, 
 And with infinite pity tliink of liini 
 Shut out alone in the dismal night. 
 
 And the ruined mill by the waterfall, 
 
 I nee again its crumbling wall, 
 
 And I hear the water's song. 
 
 It all comes back to me — 
 
 Its song comes back to me, 
 
 Floating out like a spirit's call 
 
 The drowsy air along ; 
 
 Mlending forever with my name 
 
 Wonderful prophecies, dreamy talk, 
 
 < )f future paths when I should walk 
 
 Crowned with manhood, and honor, and fame, 
 
 1 shut my eyes and the rich perfume 
 
 ( )f the tropical lily fills the room 
 
 From its censer of frosted snow ; 
 
 I^ut it seems to float to me through the night 
 
 From those apple-blossoms red and white 
 
 That starred the orchard's fragrant gloom ; 
 
 Those old boughs hanging low, 
 
 AV^here my sister's swing swayed to and fro 
 
 Through the scented aisles of the air ; 
 
 While her merry voice and her laugh rung out 
 
 IJke a bird's, to answer my brother's shout, 
 
 As he shook the boughs o'er her curly head, 
 
A men MAX'S itEvijitm 
 
 Till the blofisoms fell in a rosy rain 
 
 On her neck and her shinin^r hair. 
 
 Oh, little Ik'lle ! 
 
 Oh, little sister, I loved so well ; 
 
 It seems to ine almost as if she died 
 
 In that lost time so gay and fair, 
 
 And was buried in childhood's sminy plain ; 
 
 And she who walks the street to-day, 
 
 Or in gilded carriage sweeps through the town 
 
 Staring her humbler sisters down, 
 
 With her jewels gleaming like lucent flame, 
 
 J'roud of her grandeur and fine array, 
 
 Is only a stranger, who bears Iier name. 
 
 And the little boy who played with me, ' 
 Hunting birds'-nests in sheltered nooks] 
 Trudging at nightfall after the cows. 
 Exploring the barn-loft, fording the 'brooks, 
 
 ending, in school-timo, puzzled brows 
 Over the same small lesson books ; 
 Who knelt by my side in the twilight dim, 
 Praying " the Lord our souls to keep," 
 Then on the same pillow fell asleep, ' 
 Hushed by our mother's evening hymn ; 
 Whose heart and mine kept such perfect time, 
 Such loving cadence, such tender rhyme. 
 Blent in child grief, and perfected in glee- 
 
 '»0 
 

 m 
 
 \i 
 
 20 A RICH MAN'S REVERIE, 
 
 AV<3 meet on the street and we clasp the hand, 
 And our names on charitable papers stand 
 Side by side, and we go and bow 
 Our two gray heads with prayer and vow. 
 In the same grand church, and hasty word 
 ( )f anger, lias never our bosoms stirred. 
 Yet a whole wide world is between us now ; 
 How broad and deep does the gulf pppear 
 Between the hearts that were so near ! 
 
 I have pleasure grounds and mansions grand, 
 
 Low-voiced servants come at my call. 
 
 From Senate my name sounds over the land 
 
 In *■' ayes " and " nays " so solenndy read ; 
 
 They call me " Honorable," " General," and all, 
 
 But to-ni^ht I am only Charley again, 
 
 I am Charley, and want to lay my head 
 
 On my mother's heart and rest. 
 
 With her soft hand pressed upon my brow 
 
 (hiring its weary pain. 
 
 But never, nevermore will it be. 
 
 For mould and marble rises now 
 
 Between my head and that loving breast ; 
 
 And death has a cruel power to part — 
 
 Forever gone and lost to me 
 
 That true and tender heart. 
 
A r.ICII MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 Oil, motlier, IVe never found love like thine, 
 
 Never have eyes looked into mine 
 
 With such proud love, sucli perfect trust. 
 
 Xever have hands been so true and kind, 
 
 To lead me into the path of right — 
 
 Hands so gentle, and soft, and white. 
 
 That on my head like a blessing lay, 
 
 And led me a child and guided my youth ; 
 
 To-night 'tis a dreary thought, in truth, 
 
 That those gentle hands are dust. 
 
 That I may l)e blamed, and you not be sad. 
 
 That I may be praised, and you not be glad ; 
 
 'Tis a dreary thought to your boy to-niglit, 
 
 That over your sweet smile, over your brow. 
 
 The clay-cold turf is pressing now. 
 
 That never again as th'> twilight falls 
 
 You will welcome your boy to the old brown walls 
 
 Of the homestead far away. 
 
 07 
 
 The homestead is ruined — gone to decay, 
 Jhit we read cf a house not made with hands, 
 Whose firm foundation forever stands ; 
 And there is a twilight soft and sweet. 
 Will she not stand wiili outstretched hands 
 My homesick eyes to meet — 
 To welcome her boy as in days before. 
 To home, and to rest, forevermore ? 
 
2S 
 
 A men MAN'S REV ERIK 
 
 J5»;t the years come and the years go, 
 
 And they lay on lier grave as they silently puss, 
 
 lied siiinnier buds and wreaths of snow, 
 
 And springing and fading grass. 
 
 And far away in an English town, 
 
 fn tlie secluded, tranquil shade 
 
 Of an old Cathedral quaint and hrown. 
 
 Another grave is made — 
 
 A small grave, yet so high 
 
 It shadowed all the world to me. 
 
 And darkened earth and sky. 
 
 I>ut only for a time ; it passed. 
 
 The unreasoning agony, 
 
 Like a cloud that drops its rain ; 
 
 And light shone into our hearts at last. 
 
 And patience horn of pain. 
 
 And now like a breath of healing bahu 
 
 The sweet thought comes to me, 
 
 That my child has reached the Isle of ralin. 
 
 Over the silent sea — 
 
 That my pure little Blanche is safe in truth, 
 
 Safe in immortal beauty and youth. 
 
 When she left us in the twilight gloom, 
 When she left her empty nest, 
 And the aching hearts below ; 
 Full well, full well I know, 
 
What tender-eyed angel hent 
 
 Down for ,„y brown-eyed little bird 
 
 *™"'*'«'«l'">i"gl-attleme.,t. 
 
 I know with what fond earessin,. 
 
 And loving 8mile and word. 
 
 And look of tender blessing. 
 
 She took her to her breast, ' 
 
 And led her into some cjniet roon., 
 
 Jn the mansions of the blest 
 
 Oh, mother, beloved, oh. ehild so d« r 
 
 ^otbyawish,M-ouldIlureyo„here.' 
 
 %sonisabright,bn.veboy,withag™ee 
 Obea„,yea„ght iron, his „.other's face, 
 
 And h,s mother and he in trnth are dear 
 Full tenderly, and fond, and near 
 
 % heart is bound to my w.-fo and child; 
 J'litthe summer of life is not ite May 
 And dreams and hopes that our youth beg,n-|,.d 
 Are but pallid forms of e].^^ ^mM, 
 
 A face hke a mommg star, a gleam 
 Of liair the hue of a robin's wing- 
 f 7" '""■■■ "gl"^ with a golden sheen, 
 y\"<l eyes the sweetest that ever were seen 
 
 20 
 
30 
 
 A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 Mary, we have been parted long, 
 
 You were proud, and we both were wrong, 
 
 I>ut 'tis over and past, no Hving gleam 
 
 Cyan come again to tho dear, dead dream. 
 
 It is dead, so let it lie. 
 
 But nothing, nothing can ever be 
 
 Like that old di"eam to vou or to me. 
 
 I 
 
 1 think we shall know, shall know at last, 
 
 All that was strange in all the past. 
 
 Shall one day know, and shall haply see 
 
 That the sorrows and ills, that with tears and sighs. 
 
 We vainly endeavored to flee, 
 
 Were angels who, veiled in sorrow's guise 
 
 Came to us only to bless. 
 
 Maybe we shall kneel and kiss their feet, 
 
 With grateful tears, when we shall meet 
 
 Their unveiled faces, pure and sweet. 
 
 Their eyes' deep tenderness. 
 
 We shall know, perchance, had these angels como 
 
 Like mendicants unto a kingly gate 
 
 AVhen we sat in joy's royal state. 
 
 We had barred them from our home. 
 
 But when in our doorway one appears 
 
 (clothed in the purple of sorrow's power, 
 
 He will enter in, no prayers or tears 
 
 Avail us in that hour. 
 
 fc 
 
h 
 
 I 
 
 A RICH MAN'S UEVERIE. 
 
 So what we call our pains and losses 
 We may not always count aright, 
 The rough bars of our lieaA-y crosses 
 May change to living light. 
 
 ;u 
 
1 
 
 GLORIA THE TRUE. 
 
 Gayly a knight set forth against the foe, 
 For a fair face had shone on him in dreams ; 
 A voice liad stirred the silence of his sleep, 
 " Go win the battle, and I will be thine." 
 
 So, for the love of those appealing eyes. 
 Led by low accents of fair Gloria's voice, 
 He wound the bngle down his castle's steep. 
 And gayly rode to battle in the morn. 
 
 And none were braver in the tented field, 
 J^ike lightning heralding the doomfnl bolt ; 
 The enemy beheld his snowy plume. 
 And death-lights flashed along his glancing spear. 
 
 But in the lonesome watches of the night. 
 An angel came and warned him with clear voice. 
 Against high God his rash right arm was raised. 
 Was rashly raised against the true, the right. 
 
 He strove to drown the angel voice with song 
 And merry laughter with his princely peers ; 
 But still the angel bade him with clear voice, 
 *' Go join the ranks you rashly have opposed." 
 
 \ 
 
[ 
 
 1 
 
 GLORIA THE TRUE. 
 
 '• Oh, Angel !" cried lie, " they arc few and weak. 
 They may not stand before the press of knights ;'V 
 But still the angel bade hini with clear voice, 
 " (to help the weak against the iniirhtv wron<r " 
 
 At hist the words sunk deep within his heart. 
 With god-like courage cried he out at last, 
 '' Oh, Gloria, beautiful, I can lose thee, 
 Lose life and thee, to battle for the right." 
 
 And when he joined the brave and stalwart ranks. 
 Like Saul amid his brethren he stood, 
 Jiraver and seemlier than all his peers, 
 And nobly did he battle for the right. 
 
 Gentlest unto the weak, and in the fray, 
 So dauntless, none— no fear of man had he ; 
 He wrought dismay in Error's blackened ranks 
 So nobly did he battle for the right. 
 
 But at the last he lay on a lost field ; 
 
 Couched on a broken spear, he pallid lay ; 
 With dying lips he murmured Gloria's name, 
 " The field is lost, and thou art lost to me.'" 
 
 When, lo! she stood beside him, pure and fair, 
 With tender eyes that blessed him as he lay; 
 And, lo ! she knelt and clasped his dying hands, 
 And murmured, "I am thine, am thine at last."' 
 
 33 
 
34 
 
 OLORIA THE TRUE. 
 
 ) 
 
 With wondering eyes, ho moaned, " All — all is lost, 
 And I am dying." " All, not so," she cried, 
 '' Nothing is lost to him who dare he trne ; 
 Who gives his life Khali find it evermore." 
 
 *' Methonght I saw the spears heat down like grain. 
 And the ranks reel before the press of knights ; 
 The level gronnd ran gory with onr wonnds ; 
 Methonght the field was lost, and then J fell." 
 
 " Be calm," she cried, " the right is never lost, 
 Thongh spear, and shield, and cross may shattered he. 
 Out of their dnst shall spring avenging blades 
 That yet shall rid ns of some giant wrong. 
 
 " And all the blood that falls in righteons canse. 
 Each crimson drop shall nourish snowy flowers 
 And quicken golden grain, bright sheaves of good, 
 That under happier skies shall yet be reaped. 
 
 '' When right opposes wrong, shall evil win i 
 Nay, never — but the year of God is long, 
 And you are weary, rest ye now in peace. 
 For so lie giveth Ilis beloved sleep." 
 
 He smiled, and murmured low, " I am content," 
 With blissful tears that hid the battle's loss ; 
 So, held to her tnie heart he closed his eves. 
 In quietest rest that ever he had known. 
 
 
- 
 
 ^i 
 
THE DEAC(3N'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The 8pare-roo,n windows wide were raised, 
 And yon could look tliat siini.ner day 
 
 On pastures green, and sunny liills, 
 And low rills wandering away. 
 
 Xear by, the square fr<.nt yard was sweet 
 IVith rose and caraway. 
 
 Upon a coucli drawn near the liglit, 
 Tlie Deacon's only daugliter hiy, ' 
 
 Bending upon tlie distant liills 
 Her eyes of dark and thoughtful gray ; 
 
 The blue veins on her forehead shone 
 'Twas wasted so away. 
 
 She moved, and from her slender hand 
 Fell off her mother's wedding-ring ; 
 
 She smiled into her father's face— 
 " So drops from me each earthlv thing • 
 
 Hy hands are free to hold the flowers ' 
 Of the eternal spring." 
 
 She had ever walked in quiet ways, 
 Not over beds of flowery ease, 
 
8i THE DEACON' :S DAUailTEli. 
 
 Hut Sundays in the village choir 
 She sweetly sang of " ways of peace," 
 
 ( )f " ways of ])eaee and ])leasantne88," 
 She trod such paths as these. 
 
 No sweeter voice in all the choir 
 Praised (lod in innocence and truth. 
 
 The Deacon in his straight-hacked pew 
 Had dreams of her he lost in youth, 
 
 And thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids — 
 Of Ilachel, and of Kuth. 
 
 Hut she had faded, day by day, 
 
 Growing more mild, and pure, and sweet. 
 As nearer to her ear there came 
 
 A distant sea's mysterious beat. 
 Till now this summer afternoon, 
 
 Its waters touched her feet. 
 
 Upon the painted porch without 
 Two women stood, and whispered low. 
 
 They thought " she'd go out with the day," 
 They said, " the Deacon's wife went so." 
 
 And then they gently pitied him — 
 " It was a dreadful blow." 
 
 " But she was good, she was prepared, 
 She would l)e better off than here," 
 
TIJE DEACON'S DAUailTEli. 
 
 And then tlicy thoii^Hit ^''twa.s stnin^re that lie, 
 Uur father, liad not whed a tear," 
 
 And tlien tliey talked of news, an<l all 
 The promise of the year. 
 
 Tier father sat heside the hed, 
 Ilohling her cold hands te/iderlv. 
 
 And to the everlasting hills 
 
 He mutely turned his eyes away : 
 
 " My God, my Shelter, and my Koek, 
 0\\ shadow me to-day !" 
 
 He knew not when slie crossed tlie stream, 
 
 And ptissed into the land unseen. 
 So gently did she go from him i 1 
 
 Into its pastures still and green ; 
 Into the land of pure delight. 
 And Jordan rolled hetween. 
 
 Then knelt he down heside his dead, 
 His white locks lit with sunset's flauie : 
 
 '' My God ! oh leave me not alone- 
 Hut blessed be Thy holy name." 
 
 The golden gates were lifted up 
 
 The King of GI017 came. 
 
 30 
 
SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 The sides of tlie liill were brown, Init violet buds liad started 
 In gray and hidden nooks o'erhnng by feathery ferns and 
 heather, 
 And a bird in an April morn was never lighter-hearted 
 
 Than the pilot swallow we saw convoying sunny weather, 
 And sunshine golden, and gay-voiced singing-birds into the 
 land ; 
 And this was the song — the clear, shrill song of the 
 swallow, 
 That it carolled back to the southern sun, and his bi-own 
 winged band. 
 Clear it arose, " Oh, follow me — come and follow — and 
 follow." 
 
 A tender story was in his eyes, he wished to tell me I kne vv, 
 As he stood in the happy morn by my side at the garden- 
 gate ; 
 But I fancy the tall rose branches that bent and touched his 
 brow. 
 Were whispering to him, " Wait, impatient heart, oh, 
 wait, 
 
SONGS OF TUB SWALLO]V. 41 
 
 1.0 ,asl. .s he who wisely followeth patient Nature's wav. 
 Tl e 1.1,. „d of love should be .swathed i„ a silken sheaf 
 Unfoldmg at will to c.„„„„er Uoom i„ the wann and pe,- 
 lect days." ^ 
 
 So silently sailed the early sun, through elond,, „f Heeev 
 wJiite ; '^ 
 
 So stood we in dreamy silence, enwrapped in a ten.ler 
 spell ; 
 
 B..t the pulses of soft Spring air were quickened t„ fresh 
 delight, 
 
 For I «adj„ hi, eye the story sweet, he longed, yet tearcl 
 
 It spoke fron. hi heart to n,i„e, and needed no word tr.,n. 
 ills moiitli, 
 
 And high o'er our heads rang out the happy son.. „f the 
 swallow ; ' ' 
 
 It cried to the sunshine and heauty and Moon, of the South 
 £^ult.ngly carolling clear, " Oh, follow n,e-oh, follow."' 
 
 SPEINO SONO OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Oh, the days are growing lont^er • 
 So rang the jubilant song of the swallow ;' 
 I come a-bringing beauty into the land,' 
 
4:» 
 
 S0N08 OF TUB SWALLOW. 
 
 The sky of the West grows warm and yellow, 
 Oh, gladness comes with my light-winged band, 
 And the days are growing longer. 
 
 Oh, the days are growing longer. 
 The wavy gleam of our fluttering wings. 
 
 Touching the silent earth so lightly. 
 Will wake all the sleeping, beautiful things, 
 The world will glow so brightly — brightly ; 
 And the days are growing longer. 
 
 Oh, the days are growing longer. 
 All the rivulets dumb will laugh, and run 
 
 Over the meadows with dancing feet ; 
 F(>llowing the silvery plough of the sun. 
 
 Will be furrows filled with wild flowers sweet ; 
 And the days aiC3 growing longer. 
 
 Oh, the days are growing longer ; 
 Over whispering streams will rushes lean, 
 
 To answer the waves' soft murmurous call ; 
 The lily will bend from its watch-tower green. 
 To list to the lark's "low madrigal, 
 
 And the days are growing longer. 
 
 Oh, the days are growing longer ; 
 When they lengthen to ripe and perfect prime, 
 Then, oh, then, I will build my happy nest ; 
 
SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 And all in that pleasant and ])almj time, 
 There never will be a bird so blest ; 
 
 And the days are growing longer, 
 
 4;] 
 
 SUMMKR. 
 
 Xow sinks tlie Summer snn into the sea ; 
 Sure never such a sunset shone as this. 
 That on its golden wing has borne such bliss ; 
 Dear Love to thee and mi. 
 
 Ah, life was drear and lonely, missing thee. 
 Though what my loss I did not then divine; 
 I^iit all is past-the sweet words, thou art mine. 
 Make bliss for thee and mv. 
 
 How swells the light breeze o'er the blosso.ning lea 
 Sure never winds swept past so sweet and low, 
 No lonely, unblest future waiteth now ; 
 Dear Love for thee and me. 
 
 Look upward o'er the glowing West, and see, 
 Surely the star of evening never shone 
 With such a holy radi^^nce— oh, my own. 
 Heaven smiles on thee and me. 
 
44 SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 SUMMER SOXO OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 You will journey many a weary day and long, 
 Ere you will see so restful and sweet a place, 
 As this, my Lome, my nest so downy and warm, 
 The labor of many happy f^nd hopeful days ; 
 But its low brown walls are laid and softly lined, 
 
 And oh, full happily now my rest I take, 
 And care not I when it lightly rocks in the wind, 
 For the branch above though it beiids will never 
 break ; 
 And close by my side rings out the voice of my mate — 
 
 my lover ; 
 Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
 Summer will last forever. 
 
 Now the stream that divides us from perfect bliss 
 
 Seems floating past so narrow — so narrow, 
 You could span its wave such a morn as this. 
 
 With a moment winged like a golden arrow. 
 And the sweet wind waves all the tasselled broom. 
 
 And over the hill does it loitering come, 
 Oh, the perfect light — oh, the perfect bloom. 
 
 And the silence is thrilled with the murmurous hum 
 Of the bees a-kissing the red-lipped clover ; 
 Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
 Summer will last forever. 
 
SOIiOS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 45 
 
 When the West is a golden gloM-, and lower 
 
 The sun is sinking large and round. 
 Like a golden goblet spilling o'er, 
 
 Glittering drops that drip to the ground- 
 Then I spread my lustrous wings and cleave the air 
 
 Sailing high with a motion calm and slow, 
 Far down the green earth lies like a pietui-e fair, 
 
 Then with rapid wing I sink in the shining <rl(,w ; 
 A-chasing the glinting, gleaming drops ; oh, a dive/ 
 Am r in a clear and a golden sea, and Sunnner will last 
 forever. 
 
 The leaves with a pleasant rustling sound are stirred 
 
 Of a night, and the stars are calm and bright : 
 And I know, although I am onlj a little hinl 
 
 One large serious star is watering me all the ni<d,t 
 ^or when the dewy leaves are waved by the bree.e, ' 
 
 1 see it forever smiling down on me.' 
 So I cover my head with my wing, and sleep in peace, 
 
 As blessed as ever a little bird can be ; 
 
 And the silver moonlight falls over land and sea and 
 river, 
 
 And the nights are cool, and the nights are still, an<l 
 Summer will last forever. 
 
 I think you would journey many and many a day, 
 Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see ; 
 
46 SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Xot all the wealth of the world could lure mv love awav. 
 
 For my !)rown little nest is all the world to me ; 
 And care not 1 if brighter bowers there are 
 
 Lying close to the sun — where tall palms pierce the 
 sky; 
 Oh, you would journey a weary way and a far, 
 
 Ere you would behold a bird so l)lest as I ; 
 And singing close to my side is my mate — my king— 
 
 my lover ; 
 Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
 Summer will last forever. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Yes ! yes ! I dare say it is so. 
 And you should be pitied, but how could I know. 
 Watching alone by the moon-lit bay ; 
 But that is past for many a day, 
 For the woman that loved, died years ago. 
 
 Years ago. 
 
 She had loving eyes, with a wistful look 
 In their depths that day, and I know you took 
 Her face in your hands and read it o'er. 
 As if you should never see it more ; 
 You were right, for she died long years ago. 
 
 Years ago. 
 
SOmfS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Had I tnisiod you—for trust, joii know 
 Will keep love's fire forever aglow ; 
 Then what would have mattered storm or sun, 
 But the watching— the waiting, all is done; 
 For the woman that loved, died years ao-o 
 
 Years affo. 
 
 Yes ; I think you are constant, true and good, 
 I am tired, and would love you if I could ; 
 I am tired, oh, friend, tired out ; and vet. 
 Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset ( 
 The woman that loved, died years ago, 
 
 Years ago. 
 
 N'ot a pulse of my heart is stirred hy you, 
 No; even your tears cannot move me now ; 
 So leave me alone, what is said is said. 
 What hoots your ])rayers, she is dead ! is dead ! 
 The woman you loved, long years ago, 
 
 Years ago. 
 
 47 
 
 AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, 
 
 I go to a warmer clime afar and away ; 
 Though my heart is so tired I do not care f(,r it now. 
 
48 
 
 iiONOS OF THE SWALLOW. 
 
 Hut liere in my empty nest I cannot stay; 
 Thus cried the swallow, 
 1 jr«» from the fulling snow, oh, follow me — oh, follow. 
 
 One night my mate '^ame home with a broken wing, 
 So he (lied ; and my brood went long ago ; 
 
 And I am alone, and 1 have no heart to sing, 
 AVith no one to hear my song, and 1 must go ; 
 Thns cried the swallow, 
 
 Away from dnst and decay, oh, follow me — oh, follow. 
 
 ]>nt I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest, 
 As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, 
 
 I think I shall never fold my w4ngs in such hapi)y rest. 
 Never again — oh, never again till I die ; 
 Thus cried the swallow, 
 
 But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me — oh, follow, 
 
 i 
 
THE COQUETTE. 
 
 How can I be to blame ( 
 
 Ls it my fault I am fair ? 
 I (li'l not fashion my features, 
 
 Or brush the gold in my hair ; 
 Heeuuse my eyes are so blue and bright. 
 
 Must I never look up from the ground, 
 But put out with my eyelids' snow thei:* light. 
 
 Lest some foolish heart they should W(.und i 
 
 How can I be in fault ? 
 
 I am sure where hearts are so few. 
 It is difficult to discern 
 
 The diamonds of paste from the true ; 
 I tliought him like all the rest, 
 
 Skilful in playirg his part ; 
 As careful at cards or at chess, 
 
 As winning a woman's heart. 
 
 I am sure it is nothing wrong, 
 
 Is'othing to think of— and yet 
 I know I lured him with glance and sor.g, 
 Into my shining net ; 
 
')() 
 
 THE COqUETTE. 
 
 I'rovokin^ly cold iit first lie seemed. 
 Like crystal to smiles and sij'lis, 
 
 P>ut at last he felt the magic that gleamed 
 III my dreamy violet eyes. 
 
 And I led him on and on, 
 
 Farther, in truth, than I strove, 
 For he frightened me with the earnestness 
 
 And violence of his love ; 
 These calm-eyed men deceive — 
 
 Had I known the man had a heart, 
 I would have paused, I would, I believe. 
 
 Have acted a different part. 
 
 In his royal indignation 
 
 He uttered some wholesome truth — 
 He almost roused the emotion 
 
 That died in my innocent youth ; 
 Emotion that lived when life was new, 
 
 Ere that man my pathway crossed. 
 Who played me a game untrue. 
 
 When I staked all my love, and lost. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Oh for a saintly beauty. 
 
 What efforts my soul did make ; 
 I thought all goodness and purity 
 
 Were posgil)le for his sake ; 
 
 t:-- 
 
THE COQUETTE. 
 
 The world seemed lujrii anew, mv life 
 
 Siicli lioly iiieaniii^r wore, 
 r fancy so fair and fond a drean 
 
 XiiXGY fell into ruins before. 
 
 :.l 
 
 in 
 
 He toyed with my fresli affection 
 
 As lie breathed the country air 
 To refresh him after a season 
 
 Of fashion, and falsehood, and L'lare • 
 Had he not slain my tenderness, 
 
 Had my life been more sweet, 
 I might have known nobler happiness 
 
 Than to humble men to my feet. 
 
 But now I love to lure them on. 
 
 To make them slaves to my gaze. 
 Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot 
 
 Like moths to a candle-blaze. 
 I melt most royally time, the pearl. 
 
 And quaff the cup like a queen, 
 And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl. 
 
 The woman I mi^;lit have been. 
 

 
 ! 
 
 LITTLE NELL. 
 
 Ci.Asi' your arius round her neck to-iiiglit. 
 
 Little Nell, ' 
 Arms so delicate, soft and white. 
 And yet so strong in love's strange nught ; 
 (Masj) them around the kneeling form, 
 Fohl them tenderly close and warm. 
 
 And who can tell 
 J)Ut such slicrht links niav draw her hack. 
 Away from the fatal, fatal track ; 
 
 Who can tell, 
 
 Little Nell ? 
 
 Press your lips to the lips of snow. 
 
 Little Nell; 
 Oh baby heart, may you never know 
 The anguish that makes them quiver so ; 
 I»ut now in her weakness and mortal ])ain. 
 Let vour kisses fall like a dewy rain. 
 
 And who can tell 
 But your innocent love, your childish kiss 
 May lure her back from the dread abyss ; 
 
 Who can tell. 
 
 Little Nell. 
 
LITTLE NELL. 
 
 Liy your cheek on her aoliinfr l)reast, 
 
 Little Nell ; 
 To you 'tis ji refuge of holy rest, 
 IJut 11 dying bird never drooped its civst 
 With ji deadlier j)ain in its wounded heart ; 
 Ah ! love's sweet links may be torn apart. 
 
 Little Nell ; 
 The altar may flame with gems and gold. 
 And sj)lendor ])e bought, and peace be sold, 
 
 But is it well, 
 
 Little Nell { 
 
 :>;{ 
 
 Veil her face with your tresses bright. 
 
 Little Nell ; 
 Hide that vision out of her sight— '' 
 Those dark dark eyes with their tender light- 
 Uplift your pure face, can it be 
 She will bid farewell to heaven and thee. 
 
 Little Nell 'i 
 iVo ; your mute lips plead with eloquent powe.-, 
 iler tears fall like a tropic shower ; 
 All is well. 
 Little Nell. 
 
 Close your blue eyes now in sleep, 
 
 Little Nell ; 
 Her angel smiles to see her weep ; 
 
 > 
 
.54 
 
 LITTLE NELL. 
 
 At morn a ship will cleave the deep, 
 And one alone will be bonie away, 
 And one will clasp thee close, and pray ; 
 
 Oh Little Nell, 
 Never, never beneath the sun, 
 Will you dream what you this night have done. 
 
 Done so well, 
 
 Little Nell. 
 
 ■ 
 
 'I 
 
 s 
 
THE FISHEK'S WIFE. 
 
 A LONG, low waste of yellow sand 
 
 Lay shining northward far as eye conld reach, 
 
 Southward a rocky bluff rose high 
 
 Broken in wild, fantastic shapes. 
 
 Kear by, one jagged rock towered high. 
 
 And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, 
 
 Striving to peer into the mysteries 
 
 The ocean whispers of continually. 
 
 And covers with her soft, treacherous face. 
 
 For the rest, the sun was sinking low 
 
 J.ike a great golden globe, into the sea ; ' 
 
 Above the rock a bird was flying 
 
 In dizzy circles, w^ith shrill cries, 
 
 And on a plank floated from some wreck. 
 
 With shreds of musty seaweed 
 
 Clinging to it yet, a woman sat 
 
 Holding a child within her arms ; 
 
 A sweet-faced woman— looking out tn sea 
 
 With dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child. 
 
 And this the song she in the sunset sang : 
 
 Thine eyes are broMoi, my beauty, brown and bright, 
 Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 66 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 
 
 Is clasping tlieo within her arms so white. 
 Bearing thee np the Dreamland's sunny steep. 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud 
 Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro 
 
 Against the ledges of a crimson cloud, 
 A tiny bird with fluttering wing of snow. 
 
 Oh, b'lby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar, 
 And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee ; 
 
 Lit by the red lamp of the evening star 
 
 Home will he come, v/ill come to thee and me. 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet. 
 The table shall be set, the fire shall glow. 
 
 We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet, 
 And if my eye be sad, he will not know — 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 He will not pause to ponder things so slight. 
 He is not owe a smile to prize or miss ; 
 
 Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might. 
 And he will meet us with a loving kiss — 
 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
THE FISHERS WIFE. 
 
 Bnt would I could forget those other days 
 
 Wlien if with gayer gleam mine eves had slione. 
 
 Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes would gaze 
 With tender questioning into my own. 
 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleej). 
 
 Tliine eyes are brown— thou hast thy father's eves. 
 But those, my darling, those were clear and liluc. 
 
 Ah, me ! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries, 
 ( ^ries for its mate, oli, tender bird and true ; 
 My baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 ( )h, of my truest love well worthy he, 
 And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart ; 
 
 But ships are ])arted on the dreary sea 
 
 Swept by the waves, forever swept apart 
 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say. 
 Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest. 
 
 So in their weakness they are lured to lay 
 
 Their head upon some strong and loving bi-east. 
 
 Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, slee]). 
 ♦ * * * -^ ^ 
 
 Our cabin stands upon the dreary sands, 
 
 And it is sad to be alone, alone. 
 But on my bosom thou hast lain thy haiuls, 
 
 Xear to me art thou, near, my precious one— 
 My baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 .)« 
 
rxR 
 
 ' f 
 
 I 
 
 58 
 
 THE FISHERS WIFE. 
 
 I 
 
 Tlic red light faded as she sung, 
 
 A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea, 
 
 She "^'rew her cloak still closer round the child, 
 
 And turned toward the cabin ; 
 
 As she went a faint glow glimmered 
 
 Fn the east, and slowly rose — 
 
 The silver crescent of the moon. 
 
 Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow, 
 
 Hut clear enough to guide her home. 
 
THE LAND OF LONG AOO. 
 
 Now wliile the criinsou light fades in tlie west. 
 And twiliglit drops lier purple shadows low— 
 
 We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest, 
 Tliat overlooks the land of Long Ago. 
 
 Unmoved and still the form beside us stands. 
 While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'ertlow. 
 
 As silently he lifts his shadowy hands. 
 And points us to the land of Long Ago. 
 
 It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range, " 
 Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow ; 
 
 For fairer moons, and sunsets rare jmd stranire 
 Illume the landscape of the Long Ago. 
 
 We see its vales of peace, its hills of light 
 Shine in the rosy air, ah ! well we know — 
 
 That nevermore will bless our yearning sight. 
 So fair and dear a land as Long Ago. 
 
 We see the gleaming spires of those high halls 
 We garnished with bright gems and precious show ; 
 
 No foot within tlie gilded doorway falls, 
 Empty the rooms within the Long Ago. 
 
60 THE LAND OF LONG AGO. 
 
 Troops of white doves still haunt the shining towers, 
 And fold in blissful calm, their wings of snow ; 
 
 AVe bade them build their nests in brighter bowers, 
 Hut still they linger in the Long Ago. 
 
 There in its sunny bay stand stately ships. 
 
 We freighted for fair lands where we would go ; 
 
 Still gleams our gold within their secret crypts, 
 Hecalmed beside the shore of Long Ago. 
 
 Jk'tween that land and this of dread and doubt, 
 The silent years have drifted trackless snow ; 
 
 Hiding the pathway where we wandered out, 
 Forever from the land of Long Ago. 
 
LEMOINE. 
 
 Ix tlie unquiet night, 
 AV^ith all lier heanty hriglit, 
 
 Slie walketli my silent chamber to and fro ; 
 Xot twice of the same mind, 
 Sometimes nnkind — unkind, 
 
 And again no cooing dove liath a voice so sweet and |.»w. 
 
 Such madness of mirth lies 
 hi the haunting hazel eyes, 
 
 When the melody of her laugh ('harms the listening 
 night; 
 Its glamour as of old 
 My charmed senses hold. 
 
 Forget I earth and heaven in the ])leasures of sense an.l 
 sight. 
 
 With sudden gay caprice 
 Quaint sonnets doth she seize, 
 
 Wedding them unto sweetness, falling from crimson h>s : 
 Holding the hroidered flowers 
 Of those enchanted hours, 
 
 When she wound my will with Iier silk romul her white 
 finger-tips. 
 
 J! 
 
1 
 
 (>5> 
 
 LEMOINE. 
 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 Tlicii doth slie silent stand, 
 Lifting her slender hand, 
 On which gleams the ring I tore from his hand at Bay- 
 wood ; 
 The tiny opal hearts 
 Are hroken in two parts. 
 
 And where the rid)y burned there hangeth u drop of 
 blood. 
 
 Then with my burning cheek. 
 Raising my head, I speak, 
 
 " Lemoine, Lemoine, my lost! Oh, speak to me once, I 
 
 pray 
 
 t" 
 
 Hut no word will she deign, 
 Adown the shining lane, 
 
 The long and lustrous lane of the moonlight she glides 
 away. 
 
 t fancy oft a stir, 
 
 Of wings seem following her. 
 
 Trailing a terrible gloom along the oaken floor, 
 
 As she walks to and fro ; 
 
 Louder the strange sounds grow 
 
 To a nameless, dreadful horror, that floods the chamber 
 o'er. 
 
 And then I raise my head 
 From terror-haunted bed, 
 
LEMOINE. 
 
 C3 
 
 . And luish my breatl,, and ,ny very pulsen hpsl, and hark ; 
 I>ut as I glance around, ' 
 
 The stir, the niunnuring sound, 
 
 Dies away in the moonlight, lying there stiff and stark. 
 
 And thus you ever Hee, 
 Elude and baffle me, 
 
 My lady you will not always so lightlv glide away; 
 Though on the swiftest breeze. 
 Ton sail o'er farthest seas, 
 
 Kemember, side by side we two will stand one dav. 
 
 Though my dust feed the wind. 
 Yours be with prayer consigned 
 
 T. the keeping of churchyard seraphs and marble saints ; 
 Lemoine, we two shall meet, 
 And not then at my feet 
 
 Will you fetter a late repentance with wiles and tearful 
 plaints. 
 
 Repentance deep and strong. 
 That would have found a tongue 
 
 And shrieked the truth to heaven with madd'ning din ; 
 The truth of that dread hour. 
 That black accursed hour, 
 
 When to free you from hated fetters, I plunged my soul 
 in sin. 
 
u 
 
 LEMOINE. 
 
 1 ! 
 
 Wliatever wise man thinks. 
 Sin ^ jr«jfe8 strongest links. 
 
 \'(ui can l)reak them never, altliough for a time you may 
 liide 
 Ituried in Howers and wine; 
 Tiiis eliain of thine and mine, 
 
 At tlie last dread day of doom will draw us side l)y side. 
 
 If one, then both are cursed, 
 And come the best, the worst. 
 
 Forever and ever vour fate and mine are entwined ; 
 And though it ])e mad — mad, 
 Heaven knows the thought is glad, 
 
 I do not breed my thoughts, how can I help my mind. 
 
 Ml 
 
 So silent doth she come. 
 Standing here pale and dumb, 
 
 With her linger laid on her lips in a warning way ; 
 Her dark eyes looking back. 
 As if upon her track 
 
 And mine, some phantom shape of impending evil lay 
 
 lint when I strive to see, 
 ( )f what she's warning me. 
 
 Cruelly calm, no sign will she deign to love or fears ; 
 Unheeding vow or j^rayer. 
 As noiseless as the air. 
 
 She glideth into the jiallid moonlight and disappears. 
 
SLEEP. 
 
 CoMK to ine soft-eyed sleep, 
 With your ermine sandalled feet ; 
 
 Press tlie pain from my troubled l)row 
 With your kisses cool and sweet ; 
 
 Lull me with slumbrous song, 
 ■ Song of your clime, the blest, 
 
 While on my heavy eyelids 
 Your dewy fingers rest. 
 
 Come with your native flowers, 
 
 Heartsease and lotus bloom, 
 Enwrap my weary senses 
 
 With the cloud of their perfume ; 
 For the whispers of thought tire me, 
 
 Their constant, dull repeat. 
 Like low waves throbbing, sobbing. 
 
 With endless, endless beat. 
 
 =J 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 {^ 
 
 ( J! 
 
 THE LADY MAUD. 
 
 1 SIT in tlio cloiyl and the darkness 
 Where I h)st you, peerless one ; 
 
 Your briglit face shines upon fairer lands, 
 Like the dawning of the sun. 
 
 And wliat to you is tlie rustic youth. 
 You sometimes smiled upon. 
 
 You have roamed through mighty cities, 
 
 By the Orient's gleaming sea, 
 Down the glittering streets of Venice, 
 
 And soft-skied Araby ; 
 Life to you has been an anthem, 
 
 Hut a solemn dirge to me. 
 
 For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills, 
 
 Or by the silvery Rhine, 
 You win all hearts to you, where'er 
 
 Your glancing tresses shine ; 
 But, darling, the love of the many, 
 
 Is not a love like mine. 
 
 T^ist night I heard your voice in my dreams, 
 I woke with a joyous thrill 
 
 I 
 
THE LADY MAUD. 
 
 To hear hut tlie lialf-awakenod hirdr.. 
 For the dark dawn liii<rered still. 
 
 And the lonesome sound of the waters. 
 At the foot of Carey's Iiil], 
 
 Oil the pines are dark on Carey's hill, 
 
 And the waters are black below, 
 J5nt they shone like waves of jaspt>r 
 
 Tpon one day I know. 
 The day I bore you out of the stream. 
 
 With your face as white as snow. 
 
 Vou lay like a little lamb in my arms, 
 
 So frail a thing, so weak, 
 And my coward lips said burning words 
 
 They never had dared to speak 
 If they had not felt the chill of vour brow 
 
 And the marble of your cheek. 
 
 Life had been but a bitter gift. 
 That I fain would have thrown away. 
 
 But I could have thanked my God on my knees, 
 For giving me life that day, 
 
 As I took you, lying so helpless. 
 From the gates of death away. 
 
 How your noble kinsmen laughed and wept 
 O'er their treasure snatched from the flood. 
 
 I ft 
 
CtH 
 
 THE LADY MAUD. 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 i - 
 
 And your white-faced brotlier broiiglit me gold- 
 
 Yoii loved liiin, or I could 
 Have obeyed the iiend that told nie 
 
 To curse him where he stood. 
 
 Gold ! oh, darling, they had no need 
 
 Sucli insults to repeat ; 
 1 knew the ileaven was above the earth, 
 
 T knew, I knew, my sweet, 
 I was not worthy to touch the shoes 
 
 That covered your dainty feet, 
 
 I knew as yon laid your hand in mine, 
 
 So kind as I turned aw^ay, 
 That w^e were severed as wide apart, 
 
 That hour, as we are to-day. 
 And you in your stately English home. 
 
 So far, so far away. 
 
 That soft white hand you laid in mine 
 
 With a smile as I turned to go. 
 Oh, Lady Maud, I marvel 
 
 If you ever stoop so low. 
 As to wonder what those tears meant. 
 
 That glittered on its snow. 
 
 But I ^'.now if you had dreamed the truth 
 Your beautiful dark brown eyes 
 
THE LADY MAUD. 
 
 Would only Lave grown more gentle, 
 
 Witli a sorrowful surprise • 
 For a nobler and a kinder lieart 
 
 Ne'er beat beneath the skies. 
 
 You never meant to give me pain. 
 
 But, oh, 'twas a cruel good, 
 I so low in the world's esteem. 
 
 You of such noble blood. 
 That you stooped to as gentle words and deeds, 
 
 As ever an angel could. 
 
 I blessed you for your brightness 
 When you came unto our shore, 
 
 For the dull earth caught a beauty 
 It never had before ; 
 
 But you left a lonesome shadow. 
 That will lie there evermore. 
 
 How proud the good ship bore you 
 Adown the golden bay, 
 
 The sun's last light upon its sails— 
 I stood there mournfully ; 
 
 For I knew it left the darkness- 
 Took the sunlight all away. 
 
 m 
 
i' 
 
 tl' 
 
 •■■■ 
 
 . 
 
 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 
 
 It stands alone on a haunted shore, 
 WitJi curious words of deathless lore 
 
 On its massive gate inipearled ; 
 And its carefully guarded mystic key 
 Locks in its silent mystery 
 
 From the seeking eyes of the world. 
 
 Oft do its stately walls repeat 
 Echoes of iiinsic wildly sweet 
 
 Swelling to gladness high — 
 With mournful ballads of ancient time, 
 And funeral hymns — and a nursery rhyme 
 
 Dying away in a sigh. 
 
 Pictures out of each haunted room, 
 Up through the ghostly shadows loom, 
 
 And gleam with a spectral light ; 
 Pictures lit with a radiant glow, 
 And some that image such desolate woe 
 
 That, weeping, you turn from the sight. 
 
 Shining like stars in the twilight gloom 
 Brows as white as a lily's bloom 
 
 V A-' 
 
( i ^ 
 
 TUB UA UNTED CA8TLE. 
 
 Gleam from its lattice and door ; 
 And voices soft as a seraph's note, 
 Through its mysterious chambers float 
 
 Back from eternity's shore. 
 
 In the mournful silence of midnight air 
 You hear on its stately and winding stair 
 
 The echoes of fairy feet. 
 Oentle footsteps that lightly fall 
 Through the enchanted castle hall, 
 
 And up in the golden street. 
 
 And still in a dark forsaken towei, 
 Crowned with a withered cypress flower. 
 
 Is a bowed head turned away ; 
 A face like carved marble white, 
 Sweet eyes drooping away from the light, 
 
 Shunning the eye of day. 
 
 And oft when the light burns low and dim 
 A haggard form ungainly and grim 
 
 Unbidden eaters the door ; 
 With chiding eyes whose burning light 
 You fain would bury in darkness and night, 
 
 Kever to meet you more. 
 
 Mysteries strange its still walls keep, 
 Strange are the forms that through it sweep— 
 
 71 
 
"^^ THE HAUNTED CASTLE, 
 
 Walking by night and by day. 
 13ut evermore will the castle hall 
 Echo their footsteps' phantom fall, 
 
 Till its walls shall crumble away. 
 
MNMi 
 
 ':!' 
 
 i 
 
 ! 'i! 
 
 \ 
 
 "Cy 
 
^ 
 
 THE STOKY OF GLADYS. 
 
 " I LEAVE inv child to Heaven." And with these words 
 
 Upon her lips, the Lady Mildred passed 
 
 Unto the rest prepared for her pure soul ; 
 
 Words that meant only this : I cannot trust 
 
 Unto her earthly parent my young child, 
 
 So leave her to her heavenly Father's care ; 
 
 And Heaven was gentle to the motherless, 
 
 And fair and sweet the maiden, Gladys, grew, 
 
 A pure white rose in the old castle set. 
 
 The while her father rioted abroad. 
 
 But as the dav drew near when he should give. 
 By his dead lady's will, his child her own. 
 He having basely squandered all her wealth 
 To him intrusted, to his land returned. 
 And thrilled her trusting heart with terrors vague, 
 Of peril, of some shame to come to him, 
 Did she not yield unto his pi-ayer — connnand, 
 That she would to Our Lady's convent go. 
 Forget the world and save him from disgrace. 
 
 But hidden as she had been all her life 
 From tender human ties, she loved the world 
 
76 
 
 TUE STORY OF GLADYS. 
 
 With all her loving heart, the fresh, free world 
 
 That God had made, and this life seemed to her 
 
 As but a living death. A living tomb 
 
 The harsh stone walls that from the convent frowned 
 
 Upon the peaceful valley sweet with flowers. 
 
 The beautiful green valley, threaded by 
 
 Bright rivulets that sought the quiet lake. 
 
 Dear haunts sought daily by her maiden feet. 
 
 And " wilt thou not, for my sake ?" and " thou shalt 
 
 To save thy sire from shame !" So wore the days, 
 
 And still she did not promise, though she wept 
 
 At his wild pleadings, trembled at his rage ; 
 
 Then of her mother's dying words he thought — 
 
 Her dying words — " I leave my chilu to Heaven." 
 
 And twisting them with his own wishes, wove 
 
 A chain therewith that bound her wavering will ; 
 
 A chain made mighty by the golden threads 
 
 Of rev'rence and of holy memories. 
 
 And so with heavy heart she gave her vow, 
 
 That in the autumn she would leave the rvorld. 
 
 But first for one free summer did she pray. 
 
 And through those bright spring days she roamed abroad, 
 And poured upon the winds her low complaints ; 
 The while her dark soft eyes sought all the earth, 
 The beauteous earth that she too soon must leave ; 
 And all her mournful murmurs ended thus 
 
THE STORY OF GLADYS, 
 
 With this sad crj of, " Oli, the liappy world !" 
 Ended witli these low words as with a sigh, 
 1 will ohey, but, '-oh, the happy world !" 
 
 ( >h, wondrous beauty of the morning skies ! 
 
 Oh, wide green fields with beady dew inipearled ! 
 The lark soars upward, singing as she flies, 
 
 Oh, wave of free, swift wings, oh, happy world ! 
 
 Oh, wordless wonder of the evening sky. 
 Far ivory citadels with flags unfurled ; 
 
 Deep sapphire seas where rosy fleets float by 
 The golden shores remote ; oh, happy world ! 
 
 Oh, my blue violets by the laughing brook ! 
 
 My shy, sweet darlings, in your green leaves curled, 
 Bright eyes, sometime you will all vainly look 
 
 For me, your lover. Oh, the \\?i\^\^j world ! 
 
 So passed the days of spring, and she must sign 
 Dull papers to appease the hungry law. 
 And to the castle down a writer came ; 
 No graybeard old, and dryer than his tomes, 
 A tall, fair-faced youth, with bright, bold gaze. 
 And blood that leaped afresh like crimson wine. 
 Rash blood that led him to leap o'er a gate 
 Five-barred, within the mossy park, upon 
 
 77 
 

 78 
 
 THE 8T0RT OF GLADYS. 
 
 The knight's ohl stumbling steed tliat played liiin t'ul«e 
 
 To its (Avn liiirni, for which it lost its life, 
 
 More fortunate the youth, though bruised he, 
 
 And bleeding from his many grievous wounds. 
 
 And (lladys tended him with gentlest care 
 
 Till love crept in and took the place of pain, 
 
 And in her heart took Pity's weeping place 
 
 And dwelt a king. He knew she was the bride 
 
 Of Heaven, not to be vexed with earthly love. 
 
 Hut yet, upon the last night of his stay, 
 
 As by the lake's low marge he met the maid. 
 
 And saw her soft eyes fall before liis own, 
 
 He laid an almond blossom in her hand, 
 
 A blossom that both sweet and bitter is. 
 
 And said but this, " Say, is dear love a dream V 
 
 \ 
 
 
 I 
 
 " Nay, r ot a dream," she murmured, looking out 
 
 To where the light upon the waters lay, 
 
 A golden pathway leading to the sun, 
 
 " Dear love the wakening is, this life we live 
 
 Is but a dream." Then with a sudden hope 
 
 He would have caught her hands, but no, she clasped 
 
 Them o'er the snowy muslin on her breast, 
 
 And on her heart like drops of crimson blood. 
 
 There lay the almond blossoms, bitter, sweet ; 
 
 And far away her pure eyes looked adown 
 
 That shining path across the summer sea, 
 
 > 
 
THE STORY OF OlADTS. 
 
 " A'ay, llfo a Ion;? .Jream k, a sleep that last, 
 Until we M-aken in the land of love " 
 
 ii..t though thus calmly did «he,.,,e.;k to hi,,,. 
 When he had gone to hide his l„.eaki„« heart 
 As best he „,ij;l,t, to hravelj hide his ti,„e 
 And ,lo hi. life work as she hade hi,,, do, " 
 Then all her lonely l,a„nts eehoed this crv. 
 riiis cry of deeper anguish-" Oh, ,„y l,e„rt!" 
 
 Why did I pray for one more su„„„er l,ri.d,t 
 The outward world but held u,e i„ tiine^pa^t; 
 
 Now, hte and love have added links of ,„i.d,t 
 A chain that fetters rae, that holds „.e first:' 
 
 I wdl, I will obey, but oh, ,ny heart ! 
 
 My life was like some little niountain spri,,. 
 
 By slight waves stirred till son,e deep ov^ilow 
 ^w,ft breaks its j,eace, then with its i-isen king 
 
 Down to the mighty deep it needs ,„ust go ; 
 Thus did I follow love, but oh, ,„y heart ! 
 
 For dear love sought me, clai,ned me for his own 
 And called ,ne with his voice so strong, so low." 
 
 I followed unto bliss, thou hapless one, 
 r did bethink me of my cruel vow 
 
 The vow I will obey, but oh, my heart ! 
 
 7!) 
 
80 
 
 THE STORY OF GLADYS. 
 
 And throuf^li the lon<jj, still nights this cry was hers, 
 
 As on lier coueli slie lay till dreary dawn, 
 
 Her large eyes dark with horror looking out 
 
 Upon the pitchy darkness unafraid. 
 
 And as the breathings of the new spring breeze, 
 
 Soft sighs of sad complaint, to autumn's storms 
 
 That hold the burdened sorrow of a year, 
 
 Was this, her sigh of, "oh, the happy world!" 
 
 To this despairing cry of, " oh, my heart !" 
 
 And as the year's late winds leave pale and chill 
 
 The earth, so did this weary cry of hers 
 
 So oft re|)eated leave her lips like snow. 
 
 And oft the lonely midnight heard her moan 
 
 Of hoiHis foregone, that women hold most dear. 
 
 .. 
 
 "• No little ones to ever cling to me 
 
 In closest love, look on me through his eyes 
 
 And call me mother, bless me with his smile." 
 
 Then low in tearful prayer her voice would sound 
 
 Despairing, wailing, through the lonely room. 
 
 The silent turret chamber steep and high, 
 
 " Thou maiden mother, Mary, knows my heart, 
 
 Thou who didst love and suffer, look on me, 
 
 Oh, pity me, sweet mother of the Christ !" 
 
 '(' 
 
 Then would the passion of her woe die out 
 In dreary calm, and as a chidden child 
 
 i' 
 
*m 
 
 €» 
 
 Tnt; tiTOllY OF GLADYS. 
 
 Wlio cries liinifielf to rest, sobs in liis sleep, 
 So ritifully would sound tlie latest words- 
 '* 1 will, I will be patient, and obey." 
 Hut all the long days' silent anguish, all 
 These secret trjsts she kept alone with pain 
 Wore her meek face, till like a spirit's h.oked 
 It, gleaming white from out her shadowy hair. 
 And so the last day came, the day of doom, 
 The dreaded day when she should leave the world. 
 
 But He who holdeth little useless birds 
 
 In Plis protecting care, looked tendei-ly 
 
 Upon this patient soul, so sorely ti-ied. 
 
 This sweet soul purified by all its pain, 
 
 For on this day, so fair a morn, it seen'ied 
 
 A heavenly peace sunk down to this sad earth 
 
 From gate ajar, the bright and pearly gate 
 
 Swung widely open for an angel guest. 
 
 A faithful servant climbed the winding stair, 
 
 Sent by her eager father with the dawn 
 
 To rouse her, tell her that the hour had come 
 
 When she to save his name should leave the world. 
 
 And as the woman stood beside the couch 
 
 She said, " Sweet soul, she talks out in her sleep." 
 
 For there she lay with closed eyes nairmuring low, 
 
 With mournful brow and sad lips, " oh, dear love." 
 
 Then cried out with a sob, " 'tis not a dream." 
 
 81 
 
82 
 
 THE STORY OF GLADYS. 
 
 T 
 
 Then spake of blood-red l)lossoni», bitter, sweet, 
 And with lier wliite lips si«)^hing this, siie sunk 
 Into what seemed to be a dreandess sleep. 
 
 And as the loving servant weeping stood, 
 
 Loatli to awake her to her evil doom, 
 
 She opened her large violet eyes, and gazed 
 
 Upon tl:(i morning sunlight stealing in ; 
 
 The clear light trembling, growing on the wall, 
 
 And as she looked, her eyes grew like the eyes 
 
 Of blessed angels lookirg on their Lord. 
 
 And high toward Ilea'' en she lifted up her hands, 
 
 Thenclatped them in c^vntent upon her breast. 
 
 And cried out in a glad voice, " oh, my heart !" 
 
 And with such glory lighting up her face. 
 
 As if the flood of joy had filled her heart. 
 
 And overrun her lips with blissful smiles. 
 
 She left the world, and siived her sire from shame. 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
^■I" 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Lift up your brown eyes, tlarlin(r, 
 
 Kot timidly and shy, 
 As in the fair, lost past, not thus 
 
 I'd have you meet my eye. 
 But grave, and eahn, and earnest, 
 
 Tims bravelj sliould we part, 
 Kot sorrowfully, not lightly, 
 
 And so farewell, dear heart. 
 
 Yes, fare thee well, farewell, 
 
 Whate'er shall me betide 
 May gentlest angels comfort thee, 
 
 And peace with thee abide ; 
 Our love was but a stormy love, 
 
 'Tis your will we should part- 
 So smile upon me once, darliuir. 
 
 And then farewell, dear heart. 
 
 But lay your hand once on my brow, 
 
 Set like a saintly crown. 
 It will shield niG, it will help me 
 
 To hurl temptations down. 
 

 \i 
 
 84 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 God give tliee better love than mine- 
 Nay, dear, no tears inust start. 
 
 See, I am quiet, thou must be, 
 And now farewell, dear heart. 
 
 :■? 
 
 r.l 
 
r.l 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF KORMAXDV. 
 
 Clear shone the moon, my mansion walls 
 Towered wliite above tlie wood, 
 
 Near, down tlie dark oak avenue 
 An humble cottnge stood. 
 
 My gardener's cottage, small and ])rowM, 
 
 Yet precious unto me ; 
 For there she dwelt, who sat by me 
 
 That night beside the sea. 
 
 So sweet, the white rose on her neck 
 
 Was not more fair than she. 
 As silently her soft brown eyes 
 
 Looked outward o'er the sea. 
 
 So still, the muslin o'er her heart 
 Seemed with no breath to stir. 
 
 As silently she sat and heard 
 The talc I told to her. 
 
 " It was a knight of Konnandy, 
 
 He vowed on his good sword 
 He would not wed his father's choice, 
 
 The Lady Hildegarde. 
 
80 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY. 
 
 
 I 
 
 5 I 
 i i 
 
 i i 
 
 ! i 
 
 I 1 
 
 " Near dwelt tlic beauteous Editli, 
 
 A lowly maiden she — " 
 All I still iiniiioved, her dark sweet eyes 
 
 Looked far away from ijk^ 
 
 *' Dearer to him one blossom small 
 That had but touched her hand, 
 Than all the high-born beauties — 
 The ladies of the land. 
 
 '' Dearer to him," quick came my breath 
 
 As I looked down on her, 
 But the white roses in her hand 
 
 No lightest leaf did stir. 
 
 Ah ! wistfully I read her face, 
 
 Full gently did I speak, 
 No light dawned in her tender eye. 
 
 No flush stole o'er her cheek. 
 
 " He wore her colors on the tield, 
 He went where brave hearts were ; 
 
 Ah, gallantly and nobly 
 He fought for love of her.. 
 
 " He loved her with his whole true heart," 
 
 Now like a sudden flame 
 Up to her cheek so pure and white, 
 
 A flood of crimson came. 
 
 'I 
 
THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDT. 
 
 Her hands unclas]iccl, down to liei- feet 
 My flowers unnoticed sliock ; 
 
 I leaned and followed witli my ^nza 
 Her glad and eager look. 
 
 I saw a boat sweep round the rock, 
 Rowed witli a steady grace ; 
 
 I saw the fisher's manly form, 
 His brown and handsome face. 
 
 '' For love of lier, to victory 
 
 He his brave squadron led, 
 Tlien broke his true heai-t, and her scarf 
 
 Pillowed his dying head. 
 
 " ^o died this knight of Normandy, 
 Hied with his sword unstained ;" 
 
 I know not that she heard my words, 
 ^o near the boat had gained. 
 
 I said, Heaven bless lier, in my heart, 
 
 «he had no thought for me ; 
 I turned away and left them there 
 
 Heside the beating sea. 
 
 P>ehind me lay the sweet moonlight. 
 
 My shadow went before. 
 And passed a dark and gloomy shape 
 
 Before me through the (h)or. 
 
 8: 
 
!l 
 
 ! 
 
 ! II 
 
 n 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY. 
 
 () strange and sad tliis life of ours, 
 
 Tliis life l)eueath the sun ; 
 () sad and strange and full of pain 
 
 God help us, every one. 
 
 (Tod help us, that we may endure 
 
 Like him of Normandv : 
 And die with sword unstained, that lias 
 
 Led us to victory. 
 
 w. 
 
 n- 
 1 
 1 
 
 ¥ 
 
 
 li 
 
IS 
 
 f 
 
 «(WETIME. 
 
 < )n the shore I sit and ^raze 
 Out on the twiliglit sea, 
 
 ^'"'" '"•>^ ^^"> ^"^^y ^'onie, tliou^.1, nianv <lavs 
 
 I have waited patiently ; 
 Witli waiting trusting eyes, 
 
 A lonely watcli I keep 
 For its silver sails to rise 
 
 like a blossom out of the deep. 
 
 it is built of n costly wood. 
 
 Bearing the sti-ange ])erfunie 
 Of the gorgeous solitude, 
 
 Where it grew in tropical gloo,,, ; 
 And the odorous scent, the spicv balm 
 
 Of its isle it will l>ear to me, '^ 
 As I stand on the shore, in the magic calm. 
 
 And my ship comes in ^ om sea. 
 
 It is laden with all that is sweet 
 
 Of the beauty of every clime ; 
 Slowly and proudly 'twill glide lo my feet 
 
 111 the eve of that fair " Sometime," 
 
\ 
 
 DO /SOMETIME. 
 
 IJt'ioi'L' me its sails will be furled, 
 
 A princess I shall be, 
 (h'owued with the wealth of the world, 
 
 When my ship comes in from sea. 
 
 Sweet faces I then shall see, 
 
 Tender, undoubting, true, 
 Soft hands will be stretched to me 
 
 With a welcome I never knew ; 
 Tn the peace of such tenderness 
 
 I shall rest forevermore, 
 And weep in my perfect bliss, 
 
 As I never wept before. 
 
 Sometimes I think it is not far 
 
 And I bend my head and list. 
 For I think I see a slender spar 
 
 Gleam through the golden mist ; 
 And I fancy I hear the sound 
 
 Of wind in a silken sail. 
 And an odor rare from Eastern ground, 
 
 Floats in on the languid gale. 
 
 But I sit and watch the west 
 Till the sun goes down, in vain ; 
 
 It was only a cloud with an ivory crest, 
 A cloud of vapor and rain ; 
 
 k* 
 
 4 
 
SOMETIME. 
 
 It rises and hides the sea, 
 
 And my lieart grows eliill and nnmh, 
 Lest this terril)le tiling slionld l)e, 
 
 Tliat my shij) will never come. 
 
 91 
 
 But the morn is bright — the wave^ 
 
 Is a golden and shining track, 
 Softly thu waters the white sands lavov 
 
 And my trusting faith comes back ; 
 ( )h, all that I ever lost, 
 
 And all that I long to ])e, 
 Will be mine when the dee]^ is crossed^ 
 
 And my ship comes home from sea. 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 It 
 
 I sAiDtliat I would see 
 
 Ilur once, to curse lier fair, deceitful i»:ni<'e. 
 To curse her for my life-long agony ; 
 
 J 5 '.it when I saw her face, 
 I said, " Sweet Christ, forgive hoth her and nie." 
 
 High swelled the chanted hymn. 
 Low on the marl)le swei)t the velvet ])ali. 
 
 I hent al)0vc her, and my eyes grew dim, 
 My sad lieart saw it all — 
 
 Slic! loved me, loved nie though she wedded hiii^ 
 
 And then shot throuerh mv soul 
 
 A thrill of tierce delight, to think that he 
 
 Must yield her form, his all, to Death's control. 
 The while her love for me 
 
 Would live, when sun and stars had cease<l t«» i-oll. 
 
 But no, on the white brow, 
 
 Graved in its marble, was deej) calm impressed. 
 Saying that peace had come to her through woe ; 
 
 Saying, she had found rest 
 At last, and I, I must not love her now. 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 \y.\ 
 
 It may he in TIeavo 
 
 11 s iriace. 
 
 I'eneath the shade of son 
 
 10 immortal pahii, 
 
 Tliat God Avill let me see her an«r(..I faee 
 
 Then wihl, wild heart he calm, 
 \Vi|)e out that old love, every sorn.ufnl tra<' 
 
 r know that if it 1 
 
 )e. 
 
 We two shonM meet apiin in Paradise 
 
 Twonld trouble 1 
 
 ler jnire soul if she should 
 
 see 
 
 The old grief in my eyes ; 
 Twould grieve her dear heart through eternity. 
 AVipe out that grief, my soul. 
 
 And shall I lose all love, in losing this i 
 Unclasp my spirit, self s close stolid stole. 
 
 Are there no lives to bless i 
 So will I give my love, my life, no stinted dole. 
 
 God will note deeds and siffhs. 
 
 Throned in far splendor on the heavenly hill. 
 Though mad sounds from this wretched planet rise 
 
 Moans wild enough to fill 
 Heaven's air, and drown its harps in doleful cries. 
 
 And angels shall look down. 
 
 Through incense rising from my godly deeds. 
 Approving gleam those eyes of tender brown ; 
 
 Sure on a brow that bleeds, 
 The thorns should change to a more glorious crown. 
 

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 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 W»STiR,N.Y. MSSO 
 
 (71«) •72-4S03 
 
 '^ 
 
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 v4, 
 
 A^ 
 
 
04 MOTIVES. 
 
 Well (lone, my soul, well done, 
 
 Out of thy grief to rear ii ladder tall 
 
 To reach the land that liesbevond the sun, 
 To seale the jasper wall, 
 
 And rise to glory on grief's stepping-stone. 
 
 (lod looks into the tide. 
 
 Angel and demon troubled, of a man's mind ; 
 And if my alms are scattered far and wide, 
 
 Only my love to tind. 
 Only to pave a path to reach her side — 
 
 Will He accept from me 
 
 My worship, gifts — the heavens are very still,'^ 
 No answer do I hear, no sign I see, 
 
 If I hut knew His will ; 
 Would He would come a-walking on the sea. 
 
 The storm is overpast, for sweet and fair 
 A sudden radiance shone o'er wave and lea ; 
 
 And in the glory trembling through the air. 
 He came unto me walking on the sea. 
 
 The heavy waves that had rushed to and fro 
 (y^owered at His feet in sudden melody ; 
 
 And all transfigured in the shining glow 
 Did He come to me walking on the sea. 
 
MOTIVES. 
 
 95 
 
 Far off I saw His form, but knew it not ; 
 
 lie nearer drew, lie smiled, my fears did tiee ; 
 His loving look dispelled a lingering douht, 
 
 As He came to me o'er the twilight sea. 
 
 I dropped my hurden on the shelving sand 
 So 1 might meet Him, if such hliss eould \k\ 
 
 1 reached the shore, I knelt and kissed His hand 
 With blissful tears beside the twilight sen. 
 
 Such love He woke, 1 would my life iiave lain 
 Low down to pave His way, •" He loveth me 
 
 Who loveth this sad world, and blesseth man,"' 
 Came blown to me across the twilight sea. 
 
 Perplexing (juestions died within my breast, 
 "■ Deep peace hath he who doeth hningly 
 
 jVIy will, who loveth most, he loveth best,'' 
 Came blown to me across the twilight sea. 
 
 The storm was overpast, a breath of balm 
 
 Lapped the low waves, and lingered on the lea. 
 
 For in the twilight fell a holy calm. 
 He came unto me walking on the sea. 
 
 AVas this a dream? If it were not a dream 
 My life is blest in truth, and if it be, 
 
 I know across the djep has fallen a gleam, 
 A bridge of glory spans the twiliglit sea. 
 
.' 
 
 r — 
 
 NIGHTFALL. 
 
 Soft o'er the meadow, and iimrimiring mere, 
 Falleth a shadow, near and more near ; 
 Day like a white dove floats down tlie sky, 
 Cometh tlie night, loye, darkness is nigh; 
 So dies tlie happiest day. 
 
 Slow in thy dark eye riseth a tear, 
 Hear I thy sad sigh. Sorrow is near ; 
 Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my hreast. 
 As (lav like a white dove flies down the west : 
 So dies the happiest day. 
 
Ills PLACE. 
 
 So all things come to our jnind at last, 
 
 Jle is close by your side in the twilight gh)«)ni. 
 And yon tM^o are alone in the dim old room. 
 
 Yet he is mute, as you bade In'iri be, time i)ast. 
 
 You bade him to weary you, never again 
 With his idle love, in truth lie was wise. 
 Fur he spake no more, although in his eyes 
 
 You read, you fancied, a language of pain. 
 
 But this is past, and vex you he never will, 
 AVith loving glance, or look of sad re})roach ; 
 ilis lips move not, smile not at your approacli ; 
 
 The tlowers he clasps are not more calm and still. 
 
 Your favorite flowers he has heard you praise. 
 Purple pansies, and lilies creamy white : 
 Put he oilers them not to you to-night, 
 
 Jle troubles you not, he has learned " his ])lace/' 
 
 You wished to teach him that lesson, you told 
 Him as much, you know, in this very room, 
 *Twa8 about this hour, for the twilight gloom 
 
 As now, was enwrapping you, fold on fold. 
 
I 
 
 V 
 
 h it 
 
 ^1 
 
 08 JUS PLACE. 
 
 AVas '• Ills ])liiee" in the liaiints of the herded poor, 
 AVliere the pestilence stalked with deadly hreath i 
 Face to face with its dreadful shadow, death. 
 
 Mow he wrestled with it from door to door, 
 
 (living his life that others life lu'^ht find, 
 Shaming you with his toil, his bravery, 
 Not by a word or look, no boaster he, 
 
 He was always j^entle to vou, and kind. 
 
 He has found " his place," but no need of fears, 
 Xo; you need not sunnnon your jealous pride. 
 For '" his place" will never be 1 y your side, 
 
 T\ evermore, nevermore, through all the years. 
 
 And when from Time shall drop Earth's days 
 Like chaff from the bloom of the year sublime. 
 With the gentle spirits of every time. 
 
 And the martyr souls, he will find his place. 
 
 So answers will come to our seeking wills. 
 Nevermore will his sad face vex your sight. 
 For vou never will make vour robes so white 
 
 As to stand by him on the heavenly hills. 
 
 Yes, lay your cheek upon his, and press 
 The clustering hair from his broad white brow. 
 Have no fear, he will not annoy you now 
 
 By a word in praise of your lovelinesH. 
 
 ! I 
 
UIS PLACE. 
 
 d9 
 
 Yes, kneel by him, moaning, kissing liis ])row, 
 
 Kot now will it grieve him. yonr tears' swift rain, 
 And he will not ask you to share your pain ; 
 
 Ail ! Once he would, but not now — not now. 
 
 ; 
 
 I 
 
 So leave the old room in the waning light, 
 (to out in your peerless beauty and pride. 
 And let no shadow go out by your side 
 
 To follow you under the falling night. 
 
■r,f 
 
 if 
 
 li. 
 
 A DREAM OF SPRING. 
 
 TiiK world is asleep ! All Imslied is Nature's warm, sweet 
 
 breath. 
 
 The world is asleej), and di*eaiiiing the silent dream of 
 
 snow, 
 
 J>iit through the silence that seems h'ke the silence of death. 
 
 Under their shroud of ermine, the souls of the roses glow. 
 
 And forever the heart of the water throbs and beats. 
 
 Though bound by a million gleaming fetters and crystal 
 rings, 
 No sound on lonesome mornings the lonely watcher greets, 
 But the frosty pane is impressed with the shadow^ of com- 
 ing v'ngs. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 1 KNOW not wliere you wait for me in all your nmidcn 
 sweetness, 
 
 Sweet 80..1 in who,,, my life will (i,.,l its .est, it« fi.ll cm,,, 
 pleteness ; 
 
 IJiit soniewliere you await me, Fate will lead us to each 
 otiier. 
 
 As roses know tlie sunliglit, so sljall we ki 
 other. 
 
 :now one an- 
 
 Dear heart, what are you doing in this twilight's purple 
 splendor, 
 
 Bo you tend your dewy flowers with Angers white and 
 slender, 
 
 Heavy, odor-laden branches in blessing bent above you 
 Fond lilies kneeHng at your feet, winds murmuring' they 
 love you? 
 
 Mayhap, your heart in maiden j^eace is like a closed bud 
 sleeping, 
 
 Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender fresh- 
 ness Iieeping. 
 
f- 
 
 
 I '1 
 
 102 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, jour soul sweet quiet 
 
 breaking, 
 Is a tliouglit of me, my darling, that sliall come true on 
 
 waking. 
 
 l*er(;]iance you turn from passionate vows, words wild witli 
 
 love's sweet madness, 
 AVitli soft eyes looking far away, in yearning trust and sad- 
 
 ness ; 
 
 A look that tells his alien soul how widely yon are ])arted, 
 Tliough he knows not whom ycmr rapt eyes seek, my sweet, 
 my loving-hearted. 
 
 ( )h, the world is rough ; the heart against its sneers, its cold 
 derision, 
 
 Locks all its better feelings, making it a gloomy prison ; 
 
 But your hand, my angel, shall unlock its rocky, dust-strewn 
 portal, 
 
 Your smile shall rouse its dying dreams of good to life im- 
 mortal. 
 
 You will make me better, purer, for love, the true refiner. 
 Burning oux the baser passions, will kindle the diviner. 
 Will plead and win my spirit, not to shame its heavenly 
 
 station, 
 You will tnist me, and that trust will prove my tempted 
 
 soul's salvation. 
 
WA ITTNG. 
 
 103 
 
 (xed keep yon tenderly, my life's dear l,o,,e and nnsec... 
 blessing ; 
 
 Oh, n.Vht wind, tonch her tresses till I eon.e with foM.l 
 caressing, 
 
 Thy erown of pearl-linked light, oh, royal moon sto<,p dou 
 and give her. 
 
 Till <p,een of love\s own kingdom, I erown her mine Un 
 ever. 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
( 
 
 I' I 
 
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 ! 
 
 A SONG FOR TWILICaiT. 
 
 On! the clay was dark and dreary, 
 
 For cloiuls swept o'er tlie sun, 
 The burden of life seemed lieavy, 
 
 And its warfare never done ; 
 J^ut I lieard a voice at twilight, 
 
 It whispered in my ear, 
 " Oh, doubting heart, look upward, 
 
 Dear soul, be of good cheer. 
 Oh, weary heart, look upward, 
 
 Dear soul, be of good cheer.'' 
 
 And lo ! on looking upward 
 
 The stars lit up the sky 
 Like the lights of an endless city, 
 
 A city set on high. 
 And my heart forgot its sorrow 
 
 These heavenly homes to see — 
 Sure in those many mansions 
 
 Is room for even me. 
 Sure in those many mansions, 
 
 Is room for thee and me. 
 
'TIIE FLIGHT. 
 
 ITkuk in tlic silent doorway let me lin^rer 
 
 One moment, for tlie ]>oreli is still and lonely ; 
 
 That shadow's but the rose vine in the moonliirht : 
 All are asleep in peace, I waken only, 
 
 A7id he T wait, by my own heart's beatin<; 
 I know how slow to hitn the tide creej^s by, 
 
 Xur life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meetinjx: 
 
 AVere worlds between, bis soul to mine would tlv. 
 
 f 
 
 Oh, shame! to think a heap of paltry metal 
 
 Should overbalance manhood's noblest graces ; 
 A film of gold had gilt his worth and honor. 
 
 Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces ; 
 Gentle to me, they rise in condemnation, 
 
 And plead with me than words more powerfully. 
 Oh ! well I love them — but they have wealth and station 
 
 To fill their hearts, and he has onlv me. 
 
 But oh, my roses, how their great pure faces 
 
 Beseech me as they bend from sculptured column. 
 
 So with my wet cheek closely pressed against them, 
 I listen to their pleadings sweet and solemn. 
 
If 
 
 I) I 
 
 1 • 
 
 ii' 
 
 lOG 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 Oil, Memory, if an hour of gloom aiul grieving 
 I here have known, that hour before me set ; 
 
 But all the ]x?aee and joy I am leaving, 
 In mercy, Memory, let me forget. 
 
 Oh, home ! if here a frown has ever chilled me, 
 
 Jx't it now rise and darken on my sight. 
 If a harsh word or look has ever grieved me, 
 
 Let me remember that harsh word to-night. 
 I>ut all the tender words, the fond caressing, 
 
 The loving smiles that daily I have met, 
 The patient mother love, God's crowning bles ;ing, 
 
 Tn mercy, Memory, let me forget. 
 
 Here she has kissed me with fond looks of greeting; 
 
 Will that smile fade when waiting me no longer i 
 Oh, true first love, tender and changing never ; 
 
 But there's a love that nearer is and stronger — 
 lie comes ! I kneel and kiss the stone, oh, mother, 
 
 Where you have stood and blessed me with your eyes ; 
 Forgive — forgive me, mother — father — brother — 
 
 For oh, he loves me — and love sanctities. 
 
COMFOET. 
 
 Once through an autumn wood 
 
 I roamed in tearful mood, 
 By grief dismayed, doubting, and ill at case ; 
 
 When from a leafless oak, 
 
 Rethought low murmurs broke, 
 (■omplaining accents, as of words like these : 
 
 " Incline thy mighty ear 
 
 Great Mother Earth, and hear 
 How I, thy child, am sorely vexed and tossed ; 
 
 K^o one to heed my moan, 
 
 I shudder here, alone 
 AVith my destroyers, wind and snow, and frost. 
 
 Then low and unaware 
 
 This answer cleaved the air. 
 This tender answer, " Doubting one be still ; 
 
 Oh tnist to me, and know 
 
 The wind, the frost, the snow. 
 Are but my servants sent to do my will. 
 
 " For the destroyer frost, 
 His labor is not lost. 
 
ii 
 
 108 COMFORT. 
 
 Kid t!ice he sliall of mjiny noisome things ; 
 
 And tlioii shalt praise the snf>\v 
 
 AVlien drinking far helow 
 i^efreshnient sweet from overflowing springs. 
 
 " My child thou'rt not alone, 
 
 I love thee, hear thy moan, 
 ]>ut winds that fret thee only canseth thee 
 
 To more securely stand. 
 
 More firmly clasp my hand, 
 And soaring upward, closer cling to me." 
 
 Then from my burdened heart 
 
 The shadows did depart, 
 Then said I softly — " winds of sorrow blow 
 
 So I but closer cling 
 
 To thee, my Lord, my King, 
 AVho loves me, even me, so weak and low.'' 
 
 h. 
 
 fl 
 
JENNY ALLEN. 
 
 T NEVER sluill hear your voice again. 
 
 Your voice so gentle and low ; 
 But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, 
 
 Will go with me where I go. 
 1 our sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave 
 
 And the rush of the Alpine snow. 
 
 You were very fair, Jenny Allen, 
 
 Fair as a woodland rose ; 
 Your heart was pure as an angel's heart, 
 
 Too good for earth and its woes, 
 And I loved you, Jenny Allen, 
 
 With a sorrowf al love, God knows. 
 
 You loved me, Jenny Allen, 
 
 My sorrow made me wise ; 
 And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task, 
 
 For within your clear hlue eyes, 
 Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out 
 
 Like stars from the sunnner skies. 
 
 He had riches and fame with his seventy years 
 When he won you for his wife j 
 
110 
 
 JENNY ALLEN. 
 
 Yon were but a child, and poor, and tired. 
 
 Tired of toil and strife ; 
 AtkI you only thought of rest, jxjor dove, 
 
 AVhen you sold your beautiful life. 
 
 Alas, for the hour I entered in 
 
 Your halls of lordly mirth ; 
 For I lost there, Jenny Allen, 
 
 All that gives life worth ; 
 You taught your teacher, Jenny, 
 
 The saddest lesson of earth. 
 
 Ah, woe's the hour I ever stepped 
 
 Your mansion walls within ; 
 For you loved me, Jenny Allen, 
 
 But you never dreamed 'twas sin ; 
 Your heart was white as a lily's heart, 
 
 When it drinks the sunshine in. 
 
 God pity me, Jenny Allen, 
 
 That I ever loved you so, 
 I would have died to giv^e you peace. 
 
 And I only gave you woe ; 
 For your eyes looked like a wounded dove's, 
 
 When I told you I must go. 
 
 You Avere but a child, Jenny Allen, 
 But that hour made you wise ; 
 
JENNY ALLEN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 A woman's grief and holy strength 
 Sprang up in your mournful eyes; 
 
 Ah, you were an angel, Jenny, 
 An angel in woman's guise. 
 
 But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny, 
 
 Your seraph features wore. 
 As I left you that dark autumn morn, 
 
 Left you forevermore ; 
 And heaven seemed shut against me 
 
 As I blindly shut that door. 
 
 The years have rained on you golden gifts, 
 
 You dwell in a queenly show ; 
 There are jewels of price in your silken hair. 
 
 And upon your neck of snow. 
 Do you ever think of me, Jenny, 
 
 And the dream of the long ago i 
 
 I have sat me down under foreign skies 
 
 Alire with an Orient glow ; 
 I have seen the moon gild the desert sand. 
 
 And silver the Arctic snow, 
 But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, 
 
 Goes with me where I go. 
 
THE UNSEEN CITY. 
 
 Not far away does tliat bright city stand, 
 'Tis Imt the mist o'er its dividing stream, 
 
 Tliat wraj)s the glory of its glitt'ring strand. 
 Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam ; 
 
 Oh, oftan in the blindness of our fate 
 
 We wander very near the city's gate. 
 
 AVe love that unseen city, and we yearn 
 
 Ever within our earthly homes to sec 
 Jts golden towers, that in the 'Bnnsetburn, 
 
 Its white walls rising from the quiet sea ; 
 Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow, 
 Filled with the treasure lost to us below. 
 
 Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there ; 
 
 Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now ; 
 Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair. 
 
 Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow ; 
 Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours 
 Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers. 
 
 Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet, 
 Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er, 
 
THE UNSEEN CITY. 
 
 113 
 
 Since oVr tliem liglitly fall the little feet — 
 
 The light feet hounding through our homes no more ; 
 Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed, 
 That city's filled with melody like this. 
 
 It is not far away ; down from its arches roll 
 
 Anthems too sacred for the outward ear. 
 Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul ; 
 
 Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear, 
 In listening to the low hewildering strain, 
 \'oices they said we should not hear again. 
 
 Oh, dear to us that citv. lie is there, 
 
 He whom unseen we love ; no need of light ; 
 
 His tender eyes illume the crystal air 
 
 AVhere His l)eloved walk in vesture white. 
 
 What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed, 
 
 And saw through tears His glory, now they rest. 
 
 Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide. 
 
 Thither we journey through the storm and night ; 
 
 But soon shall we adown its still hay glide. 
 Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight, 
 
 There with our own forever shall we be, 
 
 In that fair city rising from the sea. 
 
THE WAGES OF SIN. 
 
 1 AM ail outcast, sinful and vile I know, 
 
 Hut what are you, uiy lady, so fair, and proud, and hi^li i 
 The fringe of your robe just touched nie, me so low — 
 
 Your feet defiled, I saw the scorn in your eye, 
 And the jeweled hand, that drew hack your garments fine. 
 
 What should you sav if I told vou to vour face 
 Your robes are dyed with as deep a stain as mine, 
 
 The only difference is you are l)etter paid for disgrace. 
 
 I 
 i } 
 
 n 
 
 il 
 
 "f;? 
 
 You loved a man, you promised to be his bride. 
 
 Strong vows you gave, you were in the sight of Heaven 
 his wife, 
 And when you sold yourself for another's wealth, he died ; 
 
 And what is that but murder ? To take a life 
 That is a little beyond my guilt, I ween. 
 
 To murder the one you love is a crime of deeper grade 
 Than mine, yet in purple you walk on the earth a queen ; 
 
 I think the wages of sin are very unequally paid. 
 
 For what did you receive when you sold yourself for his gold, 
 When with guilty loathing you plighted your white, false 
 hand. 
 
( •'.iyi^;^.''^ 
 
 
 
THE WAGES OF SLY. 
 
 117 
 
 A palace in town and country, Lis immc lonir centurii's old, 
 A carria^re witl. -(.'aelinien and footmen, wealtii in hrnad 
 tiaets of land, 
 
 AVealth in coffers and vaults, high station, the family .irems. 
 For these you stood at God's altar and swore to a lie : 
 
 But smother your conscience to silence it it condemns. 
 AVith this you are liberally ])aid for your life of infamy. 
 
 What wages did I receive when I gave myself for his Ionc, 
 
 So young, so weak, and loving him, loving liim s(»- - 
 AVhat did I get for my sin, O merciful God ahuve ! 
 
 But the terrible, terrible wages— pain and want and woe; 
 The world's scorn, and my own contempt and disdain, 
 
 The hideous hue of guilt that stares in every eye. 
 Like you I cannot 'broider with gold my garments' stain. 
 
 You see, my lady, you get far better wages than J. 
 
 In your constancy to sin you far exceed my jwwer, 
 
 Since that day marked with blackness from otiier davs— 
 The day before your marriage— never since that hour 
 
 Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face ; 
 For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away 
 
 Anywhere— anywhere— only out of his sight. 
 Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day. 
 
 Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the liglit. 
 
 And long I strove to hate him, for I thought 
 
 I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care. 
 
118 
 
 TIIK WAGES OF SIX. 
 
 
 i 
 
 11 
 
 i ; 
 
 n 
 
 It was a tcrrihle sin that lie liad wrou«j:lit, 
 An«l since I lia<l tlie Imnleii of guilt to hear 
 
 It was enou;^h without the wild di'spair of love, 
 So I strove to reason my i)assionate love to hate. 
 
 Can we kneel with tears and hid the strong sun move 
 Away from the sky? It is vain to war with fate. 
 
 That a hard life I have lived since then, 'tis true, 
 
 Mv hands are unblackened hv sinful wajjes since that dav, 
 And mv hahy died, I was not fit, Clod knew 
 
 To guide a sinless soul, so He took my hird away ; 
 And my heart was empty and lone as a robin's winter nest, 
 
 Without the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully. 
 The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast, 
 
 And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me. 
 
 l>ut I knew it were best for God to unclasp her hand 
 
 From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust. 
 Than for her to draw it from me, live to nnderstand. 
 
 Blush for her mother — had she lived she must. 
 And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes. 
 
 Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways — his heart. 
 It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies 
 
 Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart. 
 
 For I am a sinful woman, well I know. 
 
 And though by others' sins my own are not excused. 
 
TUE WAG EH OF SLV. 
 
 lit) 
 
 Tinners socni 8o strann^c to uio i,i tl.is ,tvau^o world <.f wo,. 
 In a muzo of <l,Mil»t an<l wonder I ^vt coiifuHed ; 
 
 AVlietlicr a sin of impulse, l,(,ni „f a fatal love, 
 
 Is worse than deliberate bar^^iin, a life of legal sham... 
 
 Legal below, I think in the eonrts above 
 
 The heavenly scribes will eall a erinie by its right name. 
 
 But we stand before the wise, wise judgnient-seat 
 
 Of the world, and it calls you pure, 
 That in pmr ])earl-gennned breast all saintly virtues meet. 
 
 Holier than other holy women, higher, truer. 
 So sweet a creature, an angel in woman's guise. 
 
 They Avouhl iu,t wonder much, though much they might 
 admire. 
 Should you be caught again u]) to your native skies 
 
 From an alien world in a chariot of fire. 
 
 So we staiul before the tender judgment-seat 
 
 Of the world, and it calls me vile. 
 So low that it is a wonder God will let 
 
 His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles. 
 An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope, 
 
 Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light. 
 They would scarcely wonder if the earth should op(3 
 
 And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight. 
 
 Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand 
 You and I, my lady, and he by our side, 
 
 I 
 
 
\2{) 
 
 THE WAGES OF SIN. 
 
 Ik- wlio won my lieart, who held iny hfe in his liand, 
 lie who bought you with gohl to be his bride ; 
 
 lU'fore an assembled world we shall stand, we three. 
 
 To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal <.i 
 
 woe, 
 He holds llis righteous balance true and evenly, 
 And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know. 
 
ISABELLE AND I. 
 
 IsABELLE has gold, and lands, 
 
 Fate gave her a fair lot ; 
 Like the white lilies of the field 
 
 Her soft hands toil not. 
 I gaze upon lier splendor 
 
 Without an envious sigh ; 
 I have no wealth in lands and gold. 
 
 And yet sweet peace have I. 
 
 I know the blue sky smiles as l)riglit 
 
 On the low field violet, 
 As on the proud crest of the pine 
 
 On loftiest mountain set. 
 I am content— God lovetii all, 
 
 And if He tenderlv 
 The sparrow guides, He knoweth l>est 
 
 The place where I should he. 
 
 Her violet velvet curtains trail 
 
 Down to the marble floor. 
 But brightly God's rich sunshine stream.^ 
 
 Into my cottage door ; 
 
 1 [ 
 
 11 11 
 
I 
 
 122 
 
 ISABELLE AND I. 
 
 And not a picture on her walls, 
 
 Hata beauty unto me, 
 Like that which from my window frame 
 
 I daily lean to see. 
 
 She has known such pomp, she ciiict]' not 
 
 For any humble sight ; 
 Flowers bending o'er the br(K>k''s green edge, 
 
 To her give no delight ; 
 Slie tends her costly eastern bird 
 
 With gold upon its wing ; 
 But her wild roses bloom for me. 
 
 For mo ner wild birds sing. 
 
 She tires of home, and fain would see 
 
 The brightest climes of earth, 
 And so she sails for summer lands 
 
 With friends to share her mirth ; 
 She waves her jewelled hand to me 
 
 The opal spray-clouds fly ; 
 She leaves me with the fading shore — 
 
 Do I Gnvy her ? not I. 
 
 She will see the sailors' hardened palms 
 
 Curbing the toiling sails. 
 She will faint beneath the tropic calms 
 
 And face the angry gales. 
 
ISABELLA AND I 
 
 She will lal)„r for her happiness 
 While I've no need to s|)eak, 
 
 i>"t on a lotus leaf I float, 
 Tnto the land they seek. 
 
 There, like a dream from out the wave, 
 
 I see a city rise, 
 I stand entranced, as by a spell, 
 
 Upon the Bridge of Sighs. 
 The low and jneasured dip of ours 
 
 Falls softly on my ear 
 Blent with the tender evening song, 
 Of some swart gondolier. 
 
 And down from marble terraces 
 
 Veiled ladies slowly jjass. 
 And, entering antique barges, 
 
 Glide down the streets of glass ; 
 And eyes fllled with the dew and fire 
 
 Of their own midnight sky, 
 Gleam full on me, as silently 
 The gondolas float by. 
 
 Tlie sunset burns, and turns the wave 
 
 To an enchanted stream. 
 And far up on the shadowy stee})s 
 
 The white walled convents gleam, 
 
 [T.\ 
 
 n 
 
 • i 
 
J5i4 IHABELLE AND I. 
 
 Tlie luiisic of tlieir bells float out — 
 Tlie sweet wind bears it hv, 
 
 Adowii the warm and sunny slopes, 
 Wliere pur2)le vineyards lie. 
 
 And I stand in old cathedrals, 
 
 Hy tombs of buried kings, 
 AVhite angels bend above them — 
 
 IVIute guard with folded wings. 
 Far down the aisle the organ peals. 
 
 The priests are knelt in prayer 
 And memories flood its ancient walls. 
 
 As the nmsic fills the air. 
 
 I may not see that blessed land, 
 
 But she roams o'er the sod 
 The Lord's pure eyes have hallowed. 
 
 Where once His feet have trod. 
 Yet He in mercy has drawn near. 
 
 He has me comforted — 
 So near He seemed I almost felt 
 
 His hand upon my head. 
 
 And I with slow and reverent steps 
 Through ancient cities roam, 
 
 Treading o'er crumbling columns. 
 The dust of spire and dome ; 
 
IS A BELLE AND L 
 
 The tall and sliattered arclios 
 Tlieir flickering shadows east, 
 
 I^ike ])ent and Iioary spectres, 
 Low murmuring of the ])ast. 
 
 And Isabelle toils o'er tJie Alps, 
 
 Througli fields of ice and snow, 
 To see the loftj glaciers 
 
 Flash in the sun's red glow, 
 r ^eel no cold, and yet on Jiigh 
 
 Their shining spires I see. 
 Why should I envy Isabelle ? 
 Why should she pity me ? 
 
 M'hy should I ^x\vy Isabelle 
 
 When thus so easily, 
 T^pon a tropic flower's perfume 
 
 J float across the sea ? 
 
 125 
 
GOOD-BV. 
 
 i 
 1 
 
 A(iAiN I see that May moon shine. 
 
 Dost thon remember, sonl of mine ? 
 
 I held your hand in mine, you know, 
 
 And as I bent to ivhisf)er low, 
 
 A tender light was in your eye, 
 
 " Sweetheait, prood-by, sweetheart, good-by." 
 
 There came a time my lips were white 
 Beneath the pale and cold moonlight, 
 And Durning words I might not speak. 
 You read, love, in my ashen cheek. 
 As my whole heart breathed in this one cry, 
 " Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." 
 
 Time's waves that roll so swift and fleet 
 Have borne you far from me, my sweet. 
 Have borne you to a sunny bay. 
 Where brightest sunshine gilds your way, 
 Do these words ever dim your sky — 
 Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by ( 
 
 I cannot tell, but this I know 
 They go with me where'er I go. 
 
OOOD.BT. 
 
 I hear tlie.i in the crowded mart. 
 At midnight lone, they chill my heart- 
 They dim for me the earth and sky, 
 Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by. 
 
 And in that honr of mystery, 
 
 When loved ones shall' bend over me, 
 
 Kear ones to kiss my lips and weep, ' 
 
 As nearer steals the dreamless sleep 
 
 From all I'll t„rn with this last sigh', 
 
 " Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." 
 
 
THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING. 
 
 Put the crown of your love on my forehead, 
 
 Its sweet links clasped with a kiss, 
 And all the great monarchs of England 
 
 Never wore snch a gem as this. 
 Give me yonr hand, little maiden, 
 
 That sceptre so i)early white, 
 And ril envy not the kingliest wand 
 
 That ever waved in might. 
 
 I know 'tis like asking a morning clond 
 
 With a grim old mountain to stav, 
 l>ut yonr love would soften its ruggedness, 
 
 And melt its roughness away. 
 I have seen a delicate rosy cloud, 
 
 A rough, gray cliif enfold. 
 Till his heart was warmed by its loveliness. 
 
 And his brow was tinged with its gold. 
 
 Oh, poor and mean does my life show 
 Compared with the beauty of thine, 
 
 Like a diamond embedded in granite 
 Your life would be set in mine ; 
 
THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING. 
 
 But a fuitliful love should guard jou, * 
 And shelter you from life's storm, 
 
 The rock must be shivered to atoms 
 Ere its treasure should come to harm. 
 
 How your sweet face has shone on me 
 
 From the tropics' midnight sea, 
 When the sailors slept, and I kept watch 
 
 Alone with my God and thee. 
 I know your heart is relentiuir. 
 The tender look in your eyes 
 Seems like that sky's soft si)lendor 
 When the sun was beginning to rise. 
 
 You need not veil their glorious liglit 
 
 With your eyelids' cloud of snow, 
 A tell-tale bird with a crimson wing 
 
 On your cheek flies to and fro ; 
 And whispers to me such blissful hope 
 
 That my foolish tears will start. 
 Ah, little bird ! your fluttering wing 
 Is folded on my heart. 
 
 1:>'J 
 
 { 
 
 "^ 
 
lONE. 
 
 I :vrrr>iiT strive as well to melt to softness the soulless breast 
 
 Of some fair and saintly image, carven out of stone, 
 With my smile, as to stir your heart from its icy rest, 
 
 Or win a tender glance from your royal eyes, lone ; 
 But your sad smile lures me on, as toward some fatal rock 
 
 Is the fond wave drawn, hut to hreak with passionate 
 moan. 
 Hreak ! to he spurned from its cold feet with a stony shock. 
 
 As you would spurn my suppliant heart from your feet, 
 lone. 
 
 lone, there is a grave in the churchyard under the hill. 
 
 The villagers shun like the unblest haunt of a ghost. 
 Dropped there out of a dark spring night, I remember still. 
 
 For a foreign ship had anchored that night on the coast ; 
 On the gray stone tablet is written this one word " Rest." 
 
 Did he who sleejis underneath seek for it vainly here ? 
 What is the secret hidden there in the buried breast. 
 
 The secret deeper sunken by dripping rains each year. 
 
 When autumn's bending boughs and harvests burdened the 
 ground 
 An early laborer, chancing to pass that way alone. 
 
lONE. 
 
 v,n 
 
 «a«- . «„.ul glove gleaiumg wl.itoij ui,„u the n.m,„.l 
 And into the delicate wi-i«t w„s w,.veii •• I„„e " 
 
 Ami l,e said as l.e .IropjH^d it again lu.s eve .'Id mark- 
 1-or tin. unknown, unhallowed grave had been»h„„ne.l hy 
 
 all— "^ 
 
 A narrow footpath winding through to the lofty wall, 
 That guard, the wild gmndenr and gloom of your h 
 tiler's park. 
 
 "■IT 
 
 1;^ well to put small faith in a simple rustic's eye. 
 
 Tins story your father heard, and haughtily de«ie.l. 
 Iho gmss waves rankly now, and gives the fellow the lie 
 
 IIow n,any seerets the tall, deceitful grasses hide, 
 I u ttng the turf that covers a nwiden's innocent rest 
 
 And creeping and winding old haunted n.ins among. 
 As sdently smooth's the mould above the n.urdered b^^^t. 
 
 .Sn.othenng down to deeper silence a buried wrong. 
 
 In your father's gallery once, I saw your pictured face 
 
 lone you were not always so sad and pale .« this, 
 .No beauty in all the long line of your noble race 
 
 Had eyes so softly bathed i„ bright bewitclnnent of 
 bliss, 
 
 Vo.. were just nineteen, they said-it was painted in Spain 
 The year before you can.e-it was on your foreign tour, 
 
 By an artist too low to be reached by your disdain, 
 A delicate, passionate-hearted boy, proud and poor 
 
132 
 
 lONE. 
 
 \V 
 
 So wiid tlio ruinorrt floating to us across the soa, 
 
 You liad only an invalid niotlicr with you there, 
 I fancy that then you set your heart's pun? feelings free 
 
 For the first time, far from your proud old father's care, 
 For you used to wander down the shaded garden ways. 
 
 Your slight hand closely clasped hy the fair-haired Eng- 
 lish youth, 
 His blue eyes bent on your blushing face, so rumor says. 
 
 Though such light birds are not to be trusted nnich in 
 truth. 
 
 Your face is not the fjice that looked from the anticpie frame, 
 
 lone, and even that is gone from the oaken wall ; 
 That i)icture that never was painted for gold or fame, 
 
 So vowed the artist friend who went with me to the hall ; 
 P»ut the pain on your white brow sits regally I w<ien. 
 
 The smile on your 2)erfect lips is perilous^^^ sweet, 
 My slavish glances crown you my love, my fate, my (jueen. 
 
 As you pass in peerlebs beauty adown the village street. 
 
" 
 
 SUMMEK DAYS. 
 
 LiKK emerald lakes the meadowH lie, 
 
 And daisies dot the main ; 
 The sunheaniH froni the deep hjne ^ky 
 
 Drop down in p)lden rain, 
 And gild the lily\. silver hell, 
 
 And coax huds apart, 
 J^nt I miss the snnshine of mv jrnith. 
 
 The snmmer of my heart. 
 
 The wild hirds sing the same glad song 
 
 They sang in days of yore ; 
 The laughing rivulet glides along, 
 
 Low whispering to the shore. 
 And its mystic water turns to gold 
 
 The sunbeam's quivering dart, 
 13ut I miss the sunshine of my youtli. 
 
 The summer of my heart. 
 
 The south wind murmurs tenderly 
 
 To the complaining leaves ; 
 The Flower Queen gorgeous tapestry 
 Of rose and purple w eaves. 
 
if*«Wli 
 
 Mm 
 
 134 SUMMER DAYS. 
 
 Yes, Nature's smile, the weary wliile. 
 Wears all its olden truth, 
 
 I*>ut I miss the sunshine of my heart, 
 Tlie summer of my youth. 
 
 

 THE LADY CECILE. 
 
 Sitting alone in the windy tower, 
 
 While the waves leap high, or are low at rest, 
 What does she think of, honr by honr, 
 
 With her strange eyes bent on the distant we^t, 
 And a fresh white rose on her withered breast,' 
 AVHiat does she think of, hour by honr ? 
 
 The Lady Ceeile. 
 Low under the lattice, day by day, 
 
 White homeward sails like swallows come, 
 J^ut the sad eyes look afar and away, 
 
 And the sailors' songs as they near their home. 
 No glance may win, for she sitteth dumb, 
 With her sad eyes looking afar and away. 
 
 The Lady Cecile. 
 
 Just forty years has she dwelt alone 
 
 With an ancient servant, grim and gray. 
 
 Sat alone under sun and moon ; 
 
 But once each year, on the third of June, 
 She treads the creaking staircase down. 
 
 But back in her tower with the dying day, 
 
 Is the Lady Cecile. 
 
13(5 
 
 rilE LADY CECIL E. 
 
 IJeiicatli the tower of the lonesome hall, 
 Stone stairs creep down where the slow tide flows, 
 
 There, out of a niche in the mouldering wall, 
 Low leaneth a royal tropical rose : 
 AVho set it there none cares, nor knows. 
 
 Long years ago in the mouldering wall, 
 
 But the Lady Cecile. 
 
 Kut each third of June as the sun dips low, 
 She descends the stairs to the water's verge, 
 
 And plucks a rose from the lowest bough 
 Which the lapping waves almost submerge, 
 And what forms out of the deep, resurge 
 
 To vex her, maybe, with mournful brow, 
 
 Knows the Lady Cecile. 
 
 iler locks are sown w^ith silver hairs. 
 
 And the face they shroud is pale and wan ; 
 
 Once it was sweet as the rose she wears, 
 
 Though the perfect lips wore a proud disdain I 
 But the rose-face paled by time and pain. 
 
 No new springs know, like the flower she wears, 
 
 The Lady Cecile. 
 
 Why does she set the fresh white rose 
 So faithfullv over her silent breast ? 
 And what her thoughts are nobody knows. 
 
THE LADY CECILE. 137 
 
 She sits with her secret hid, nngnessed. 
 With lier strange eyes bent on the distant west, 
 Sr) the sh)W years come, and the slow yei.»' ^oes. 
 
 O'er tlie Ladv Cecile. 
 
 Forty vears! and June the third 
 
 (^inie with a storm — k)nd the winds did Mow — 
 And np in her tower the hidy heard 
 
 The deep waves calling her far below ; 
 
 Wild they leaped and surged, wild the winds did blow. 
 And, listening alone, she thought she heard 
 
 "Cecile! recile!" 
 
 And, wrapping her cloak round her withered form. 
 She crept down the stairs of crumbling stone ; 
 
 Higher and fiercer raged the storm 
 
 As she bent and plucked the rose — but one 
 
 Had the tempest spared— and the winds did moan. 
 
 And she thought that she heard o'er the voice of tlu; storm, 
 
 "Cecile! Cecile!" 
 
 She placed the rose on her bloodless breast, 
 And dizzy and faint she reached the tower. 
 
 And her strange eyes looked out again on the west. 
 And a wave dashed up, as she looked from the tower. 
 Like a hand, and lifted the roots of the flower. 
 
 And swept it — carried it out to the west. 
 
 From tlie Lady Cecile. 
 
138 
 
 THE LADY GECILE. 
 
 And like death was her face, when suddenly. 
 Strangely — a tremulous golden gleam 
 
 Pierced the pile of clouds, high-massed and gray, 
 And the shining, quivering, golden beam 
 Seemed a hridge of light — a gold highway 
 
 Thrown o'er the wild waves of the bay ; 
 
 And the Lady Cecile 
 
 «y 
 
 Did eagerly out of her lattice lean 
 
 AVith her glad eyes bent on that bridge gold-bright, 
 
 As if some form by her rapt eyes seen, 
 
 Wc '? beckoning her down that path of light. 
 That quivering, shining, led from sight. 
 
 Ending afar in the sunset sheen. 
 
 And the Lady Cecile 
 
 J 
 
 (^ried with her lips that erst were dumb 
 
 " See ! am I not true ? your flower I w^ore," 
 
 And her thin hand eagerly touched the flower, 
 " He is smiling upon me ! yes, love, I come." 
 And a pleasant light, like the light of home. 
 
 Lit her eyes, and life and pain were o'er 
 
 To the Lady Cecile. 
 
 ¥ 
 
\, 
 
 ^ 
 
 > 
 
 HOME. 
 
 A SPIRIT is out to-niglit ! 
 
 His steeds are the winds ; oh, list. 
 How lie madly sweeps o'er the clouds. 
 
 And scatters the driving mist. 
 
 We will let the curtains fall 
 
 Between us and the storm ; 
 Wheel the sofa up to the hearth, 
 
 AVhere the fire is glowing warm. 
 
 Little student, leave your book. 
 
 And come and sit by my side ; 
 If you dote on Tennyson so, 
 
 I'll be jealous of him, my bride. 
 
 There, now I can call you my own ! 
 
 Let me push back the curls from your brow, 
 And look in your dark eyes and see 
 
 What my bird is thinking of now. 
 
 Is she thinking of some high perch 
 
 Of freedom, and lofty flight 'i 
 You smile ; oh, little wild bird. 
 
 You are hopelessly bound to-night ! 
 
140 
 
 HOME. 
 
 111! 
 
 You aro bound with a golden ring. 
 
 And your captor, like some grim kniglit, 
 
 Will l(K^k you up in the deepest cell 
 Of his heart, and hide vou from siffht. 
 
 Sweetheart, sweetheart, do yon hear far away 
 
 The mournful voice of the sea ? 
 It is telling me of the time 
 
 When I thought you were lost to me. 
 
 Nay, love, do not look so sad ; 
 
 It is over, the doubt and the pain ; 
 Hark ! sweet, to the song of the tire, 
 
 And the whisper of the rain. 
 
 i 
 
 ■ 
 
I 
 
 STEPS WE CLIMB. 
 
 I. 
 
 Like idle clouds our lives move on, 
 By change and chance as idly blown ; 
 Our hopes like netted sparrows fly. 
 And v^ainly beat their wings and die. 
 Fate conquers all with stony will, 
 Oh, heart, be still — be still ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Ko ! change and chance are slaves that wait 
 On Ilini who guides the clouds, not fate, 
 But the High King rules sea and sun, 
 lie conquers, He, the Mighty One. 
 So powerless, 'neath that changeless will. 
 Oh, heart, be still — be still ! 
 
 III. 
 
 As a young bird fallen from its nest 
 Beats wildly the kind hand against 
 That lifts it up, so tremblingly 
 Our hearts lie in God's hand, as He 
 
14-i 
 
 STEPJS WE CLIMB. 
 
 Uplifts them by Ilis loving will, 
 Oh, heart, be still— be still ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 TTpli ts them to a perfect peace, 
 
 A rest boyoiid all earthly ease, 
 
 'Neath the white shadow of the throTi(»- 
 
 Low nest forever overshone 
 
 By tenderest love, our Lord's dear will ; 
 
 Oh, heart, be still— be still ! 
 
I 
 
 •I I 
 
 
 ! i 
 
 ri ..» 
 
^ 
 
 «^l ,.» 
 
 SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. 
 
 The Squire was none of your common mt'ii 
 
 Whose ancestors nobody knows. 
 But visible was his Hneage 
 
 In the lines of his Roman nose, 
 That turned in the true patrician curve — 
 
 In the curl of his princely lips, 
 In his slightly insolent eyelids, 
 
 In his pointed finger-tips. 
 
 Very erect and grand looked the Scpiire 
 
 As he walked o'er his broad estate. 
 For he felt that the earth was honored 
 
 In bearing his honorable weight ; 
 Proudly he strolled through his wooded park 
 . Deer-haunted and gloomily grand. 
 Or gazed from his pillared porticoes 
 On his far-outlying land. 
 
 In a tiny whitewashed cottage, 
 
 Half-covered with roses wild, 
 His cheerful-faced old gardener dwelt 
 
 Alone with his motherless child ; 
 
I4»; m^UlUE PERCY' 8 PlilDE. 
 
 The Squire owned tlic vcrv floor lie trod. 
 
 The gm.ss in hiw giirden lot, 
 The |)oor man luul oidy tliin one little lamb 
 
 Vet he envied the rieh man not. 
 
 Poor was the fi^ardener, yet rich withal 
 
 In this j)rieeles8 pearl of a girl, 
 S<> perfect a form, so faultless a face 
 
 >«'ever brightened the halls of an Earl ; 
 Her eyes were two fathomless stars of light. 
 
 And they shone on the Squire day by day. 
 Till their warm and perilous sj)lendt>r 
 
 S(> melted his pride away. 
 
 That he fain would have taken this pretty j)et lamb 
 
 To dwell in his stately fold. 
 To fetter it fast with a jeweled chain. 
 
 And cage it with bars of gold ; 
 But this coy little lamb loved its freedom, 
 
 Xot so free was she, though, to be true, 
 But, oh, the dainty and shy little lamb 
 
 Well her master's voice she knew. 
 
 'Twas vain for the Squire the story to tell 
 
 Of his riches and high descent. 
 As it fell into one rosy shell of an ear 
 
 Out of its mate it went ; 
 
SQUIRE PERCrs PRIDE. 
 
 TIow one grim old ancestor into the lund 
 Witli William the (yon(iiieror eame, 
 
 She thought, the Rweet, of a conqueror 
 She knew with that very name. 
 
 So in this tender conflict 
 
 The great man was forced to yield 
 To the handsome, sunburnt ploughman 
 
 Who sowed and reaped in his Held ; 
 For vainly he poured out his glittering gifts, 
 
 Vainly he plead and besought, 
 Her heart was a tender and soft little heart. 
 
 But it was not a heart to be bought. 
 
 So strange a thing I warrant you 
 
 Happens not every day, 
 That the pride that had thriven for centuries 
 
 One slight little maiden should slay ; 
 Why the proud Squire's Roman features 
 
 Quivered and burned with shame. 
 And the picture of his grim ancestor 
 
 Blushed in its antique frame. 
 
 Were this a romance, an idle tale. 
 The Squire would sicken and die, 
 
 Slain by the pitiless cruelty. 
 Of her dark and dazzling eye ; 
 
 u: 
 
148 SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. 
 
 And slie in some shadowy convent 
 
 Would bow her beautiful head, 
 But the hand that should have told penitent heads 
 
 Wore a plain gold ring instead. 
 
 And he, not twice had his oak trees hloonied 
 
 Ere he wedded a lady grand, 
 AYhose tall and towering family tree. 
 
 Had for ages darkened the land ; 
 'Twas a famous genealogical tree, 
 
 With no modernly thrifty shoots, 
 Jhit a tree witl) a sap of royalty 
 
 Elncrusting its mossy old roots. 
 
 This leaf he plucked from the outmost twig 
 
 Was somewhat withered, 'tis true, 
 ].ong years had ilow^n since it lightly danced 
 
 To the summer air and the dew ; 
 Kot much of a dov/ry brought she. 
 
 In beauty or vulgar pelf, 
 But she had two or three ancestors 
 
 More than the Squire himself. 
 
 'Twas much to muse o'er their musty names. 
 And to think that his children's brains 
 
 Should be moved by the sanguine current, 
 That had flown through such ancient veins; 
 
SQUlIiE PERCY'S PRIDE. 
 
 But I think, sometimes, in liis secret heart, 
 The Squire breatlied woful sighs 
 
 For the fresh sweet face of tlie little maid, 
 With the dark and wonderful eyes. 
 
 Hut she, no bird ever sang such songs 
 
 To its mate from contented nest, 
 As this wee waiting wife, when the twilight 
 
 Was treading the glorious west ; 
 As she looked through the clustering roses. 
 
 For the manly form that would come 
 I^p through the cool green evening fields 
 
 To this sweet little wife and home. 
 
 141) 
 
 She could see the great stone mansion 
 
 Towering over the oaks' dark green. 
 And the lawn like emerald velvet. 
 
 Fit for the feet of a queen ; 
 But round this brown-eyed princess. 
 
 Did Love his ermine fold. 
 Queen was she of a richer realm. 
 
 She had dearer wealth than erold. 
 
ROSES OF JUNE. 
 
 : ■ 
 
 She sat in the cottage door, and the fair June moon looked 
 down 
 On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face and sweet 
 As the roses dewy white that grow so thick at her feet. 
 
 White, royal roses, fie for a monarch's crown. 
 
 And one is clasped in her slender hand, and one on her 
 
 bosom lies. 
 
 And two rare blushing buds loop up her light brown hair. 
 
 Ah, roses of June, you never looked on a face so white 
 
 and fair. 
 
 Such perfectly moulded lips, such sweet and heavenly eyes. 
 
 Tliis low-walled home is dear to her, she has come to it 
 to-day 
 From the lordly groves of her palace home afar. 
 But liut to stay ; there's a light on her brow like the light 
 of a star. 
 And her eyes are looking beyond the earth, far, far iiway. 
 
 She was born in this cottage home, the sweetest rosebud of 
 spring. 
 
ROSES OF JUNE. 
 
 151 
 
 And grew with its flowers, the fairest blossom of all 
 Till her friends ambitiously said she would grace tlie 
 kingliest hall, 
 And flattery breathed on her ear its passionate whispering. 
 
 A man of riches and taste saw the maiden's face, 
 
 And thought her beauty would grace his stately southern 
 
 home, 
 So he took her there, with pictures from France, and 
 statues from Eonie, 
 And marvellous works of art from many an ancient place. 
 
 He decked her in costly attire, and showed her beauty with 
 
 pride, 
 As for sympathy and love, what need of tliese had slie i 
 He had placed her amidst the choicest treasures of land 
 
 and sea, 
 
 His marble Hebe never complained, and why should liis 
 bride ? 
 
 He had polished the beautiful unknown gem and set it in 
 gold, 
 
 He had given her his name and his wealtli, what more 
 could she ask ? 
 
 AVhen all other gifts were liers, it were surelv an easy 
 task 
 He*r pleading spirit's restless wings to fold. 
 
15i 
 
 ROSES OF JUNE. 
 
 The wise world called her blest, so heart be still, 
 
 Slie had beauty, and splendor, and youth, and a husband 
 
 calmly kind. 
 And crowds of flattering friends her lofty mansion li".ed. 
 
 And dark-browed slaves awaited her queenly will. 
 
 Wliy sliould she dream of the past, of the days of old, 
 Of her childhood home, and more oft of the home of the 
 
 dead, 
 Of the grave where she went alone the night before s)ie 
 was wed, 
 And knelt, with her pure cheek pressed to the marble cold 'i 
 
 It was not sin, she said, that tliose eyes of darkest blue 
 JIaunted her dreams more wildly from day to day, 
 Since they looked on Heaven now, and she was so far 
 away, 
 
 Slie could love the dead and still be to the living true. 
 
 She could think of him, the one who loved her best, 
 
 ( )f him who true had been if all the world deceived. 
 
 Who felt all grief with her when she was grieved. 
 
 And ishared each joy that thrilled her gii'lish breast. 
 
 » 
 
 It was not sin that she heard that voice, gentle and deep, 
 And the echo of a name — it was cut in marble now — 
 So it was not sin, she said, as she breathed it low 
 
 In the midnight hour when all but she were asleep. 
 
ROSES OF JUNE. 
 
 15:j 
 
 But she wearier ^rew of pride aiul pomp, like ii liomesick 
 child she pined, 
 And paler ^revv her cheek, as worn with a wearin^i,^ pain. 
 She said the fresh free country air would seem so sweet 
 again. 
 So she went to her childhood home, as a i)ilgrim goes to a 
 shrine. 
 
 And she looked down the orchard ])ath and the meadow's 
 clover bloom ; 
 She stood by the stone-walled well that had mirnu-ed her 
 
 face when a child, 
 She saw where the robins built, and her roses clambei-ed 
 wild. 
 And lingered lost in thought in each low and rustic nxun. 
 
 And she sat in the cottage door while the fair June moon 
 looked down 
 On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face, and sweet 
 As the roses wet with dew that grew so thick at her feet, 
 
 White, royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. 
 
 But at night, when silence and sleep on the lonely hamlet fell 
 Like a spirit clad in white through the graveyard gate she 
 
 passed. 
 And the stars bent down to hear, " I have come to you, 
 love, at last," 
 While through the valley solemnly sounded tlie midnight bell. 
 
 i 
 
I 
 
 I -1 
 
 i i 
 
 II t 
 
 154 
 
 HOSES OF JUNE. 
 
 And her southern birds will wait her coming in vain, 
 Their starry eyes impatiently pierce the palm-trees' shade, 
 And her roses droop in their bowers, alone they'll wither 
 and fade, 
 lioses of June you are gone, but we know you will blossom 
 again. 
 
 i \ 
 
 i >9 ^ 
 
 I • 
 
MAGDALENA. 
 
 Who falsely called thee destroyer, still white Angel of Deatli i 
 Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou. 
 
 For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath, 
 And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow. 
 
 Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of 
 woe. 
 The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years. 
 The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame 
 from her brow 
 Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace, 
 
 I fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's 
 gown 
 Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch the red of 
 the skies 
 On tlie old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun 
 went down, 
 With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the 
 west in her eyes. 
 
 '^ An outcast vile and lost," you say, yes, she went astray. 
 Astray, when the crimson wine of life ran fresh and wild, 
 
156 
 
 MAGDALKNA. 
 
 With mother's tender liand no more on her hi-ovv. put away 
 The grasses beneatli, and she was alone and ahnost acliild. 
 
 JJke a kid decoyed to its death, the stealthy panther lures. 
 
 Mocking the voice of its dam, thus he led the innocent 
 child 
 Tin'ough her tenderness down to ruin, he is a friend of yours. 
 
 And admired by all ; as you say, "men will l)e wild." 
 
 But I wonder if God, so far above on His great white throne 
 The clanging tunmlt of trouble and doubt that mortals vex ; 
 
 When the murmur of a crime sweeps up from earth with 
 woeful moan, ' 
 
 If He pauses, ere He condemns, to ask the offender's sex. 
 
 And if so, whether the weaker or stronger He blames the 
 most, 
 The tempter or tempted a tithe of His tender comjwission 
 claims, 
 AVhether the selfish or too unselfish, those who through love 
 or lust are lost. 
 He in His infinite wisdom and mercv most condenms. 
 
 Frown not, I know her evil our womanly nature shuns. 
 Turns from, with shuddering horror ; but now so low is 
 her head 
 
 For God's sake, woman, remember your own little ones 
 Lying safely at home in their snow-white sheltered bed. 
 
MAG J) A LENA. 
 
 167 
 
 Your own little girls, for tlicni does the flame of your anger 
 burn, 
 " Such creatures will draw down innocence into miilt and 
 
 woe 
 
 i» 
 
 I think from eternity vast she will scarcely return 
 To entice them to sin, you can safely forgive her now. 
 
 " You will not countenance wrong, but fiercely war for the 
 
 right 
 Even unto the bitter death." Very good, you should do so, 
 r>ut, my friend, if your own secret thought had blossomed \o 
 
 light 
 
 In temptation, you might have been in this outcast's jdace, 
 you know. 
 
 So let us be pitiful, grateful that God's strong hand 
 
 Has held our own, and the tale of a woman's despair 
 And penitent sin. He stooped and wrote in the perishin< 
 sand ; 
 
 We carve the record in stone, weak, sinful souls that we 
 are. 
 
 r 
 
 In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close to the sorrow- 
 ful wave. 
 
 With its voice no longer moaning to her a despai-lng call, 
 But a dirge deploring and deej) ; we will make her grave. 
 
 With healing grasses above her, and God over .-ill 
 

 I I 
 
 MY ANGEL. 
 
 Last niglit she came unto me, 
 
 And kneeling hy my side, 
 Laid her liead upon my bosom, 
 
 ^[y beautiful, my bride ; 
 Mv lost one, with her soft dark eves, 
 
 And waves of sunny hair. 
 I smoothed the shining tresses. 
 With tearful, fond caresses. 
 
 And words of thankful prayer. 
 
 And then a thrill of doubt and pain, 
 
 My jealous heart swept o'er ; 
 We were parted — she was dwelling 
 
 Upon a far-off shore ; 
 Yet He who made my sad heart, knew 
 
 I loved her more and more ; 
 My love more true and perfect grew. 
 
 As each dark day passed o'er ; 
 But she whose heart had been my own. 
 
 Who loved me tenderlv. 
 Whose last low words I knelt to hear. 
 
 Were, " How can I leave thee ?" 
 
MY ANQEL. 
 
 And " Death would SQcni as sweet as life, 
 
 (.^ould we together be." 
 Now, though we two were parted 
 
 By 8uch a distance wide, 
 By such a strange and viewless realm. 
 
 By such a boundless tide. 
 Her gentle face was radiant 
 
 With a surpassing bliss ; 
 She was happier in that distant land, 
 
 Than she ever was in this. 
 And in some other tenderness. 
 
 Some other love divine. 
 She had found a peace and happiness, 
 
 She never found in mine. 
 
 So with a tender chiding, 
 
 I could not quite suppress, 
 Though well my darling knew 
 
 I would not make her pleasures less. 
 *' Are you happy, love ?" I said, 
 
 " Are you happy, love, without me f 
 Then she raised her gentle head. 
 
 And twined her arms about me ; 
 Yet while my tears fell faster. 
 
 Beneath her mute caress, 
 Her face had all the glory 
 
 Of a sainted soul at rest ; 
 
 151) 
 
I'JO MY ANOEL. 
 
 And her voice was sweet as music, 
 " I aiii luippy — I am blest." 
 
 '• Do you know liow lonelj-liearted 
 I have been t^ach weary day, 
 
 Pntyinnj that each passing liour 
 Would bear my life away, 
 
 That we might be united 
 Tpon that distant shore C 
 
 '* Laurence, we are not parted, 
 T am with you evermore." 
 
 " I cannot see you, darling. 
 Your face I cannot see." 
 
 " ( -an you see the moon's white fingers. 
 
 That leads the pleading sea ? 
 Can you see the fragrance lingering 
 
 Where summer roses be ? 
 The soft winds tender clasping, 
 
 The close-enwrapping air 
 Enfolding you— Oh, I aurence, 
 
 I am with you everywhere." 
 
 Then while her face grew brighter 
 As with a heavenly glow, 
 
MY A NO EL 
 
 III tenderness unspeakuMe, * 
 
 She kissed my lips and l)r()w ; 
 Then 1 lost lier— then she left nie. 
 
 As at the set of day 
 The snowy clouds Hoat ontvvanl. 
 
 And melt in light away. 
 I heard low strains of melody 
 ^'^o earthly choir could sing, 
 A light breath floated past me, 
 
 As from a gliding wing ; 
 And on my darkened spirit 
 
 There fell so bright a gleam, 
 I knew the blessed vision 
 
 Was not in tnith a dream ; 
 Though death had won from my embrace, 
 
 My beautiful, my bride, 
 I had won a richer treasure. 
 An angel by my side. 
 
 101 
 
 %i 
 
 The Father careth for us all 
 
 In pity, and I know 
 My love is not forever gone 
 
 From him who loved her so ; 
 When a few more days have drifttMl 
 
 Their shadows over me, 
 When the golden gates are lifted, 
 
 My angel I shall see ; 
 
I.. 
 
 16-^ 
 
 MY ANGEL. 
 
 Her veiled face in its glory 
 
 Upon my gaze will rise, 
 And Heaven will shine upon me 
 
 Throngli the sweetness of her eyes. 
 
 f I I 
 
 llll! 
 
 itilli 
 
I 
 
 GRIEF. 
 
 AVhat though the Eden morns were sweet with scniiz; 
 
 Passing all sweetness that onr thonght can reach ; 
 Cnisliing its flowers noon's chariot moved along 
 
 In brightness far transcending mortal speech ; 
 Yet in the twilight shades did God api)ear, 
 Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near. 
 
 Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease 
 
 And grants indulgences to pride of word, 
 
 Robing our soul in pomp and vanities, 
 Ah ! no flt dwelling for our gentle Lord ; 
 
 Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin, 
 
 And so our Lord will deign to enter in. 
 
 Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong, 
 W J walk more softlv, with more reverent feet — 
 
 As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue. 
 And in the holy quiet, solenm, sweet, 
 
 We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low. 
 
 So we can bless Him that He gave us woe. 
 
 What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove 
 For the past peril of the stormy sea ; 
 
 • ( 
 
 '•■■ t- I 
 
 
 
JG4 
 
 GRIEF. 
 
 Dear from o^rief s storm the haven of His love, 
 And so He liringetli ii.s wliere we would be ; 
 We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast, 
 Wh(j shall make trouble when He giveth rest i 
 
m 
 
 ^■;« 
 
 WILD OATS. 
 
 Oh gay young Imabandmen would yon be 8iirc of a fro|> 
 Upspringing rankly, an abundant and bountiful yield i 
 (to fortli in the morning, and sow on your life's broad field 
 
 This pleasantly odorous seed, tlien smooth the ground on top, 
 Or leave it rough, with the utmost undeeeit, 
 
 Never you fear, it will thriftily thrive and grow, 
 leading the harvest plain beneath your feet, 
 
 With the ripened sheaves of shame, remorse, and woe. 
 
 You have but to sow the seed, no care will it want, 
 For he who soweth tares while the husbandman sleej»s 
 Taketh unwearied pains, a vigilant guard he keeps 
 
 Tirelessly watching, and tending each evil plant. 
 
 These are his pleasure gardens, leased to him through time 
 Where he walketh to and fro, chanting a demon song : 
 Tending with ghastly fingers, the scarlet buds of wrong 
 
 And drinking greedily in the sweet perfume of crime, 
 
 And of all the seeds, the one that thriftiest thrives 
 Is the color of ruby wine, when it flashes high — 
 Who would think the tiny seed so fair to the eve 
 
 Could cast such a deadly shade over countless lives, 
 
 t->f 
 
 I I 
 
>,• 
 
 m\ 
 
 WILD OATS. 
 
 And ln'ancli out into murder Jn one springing slioot ; 
 Tlirifty branches of sin, bristling witli thorns of woe 
 Shadowing graves where broken liearts lie low, 
 
 And nnnds that were God-like lowered beneath the brute. 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, 
 What a mournful presence brooded upon tlie slumbrous 
 air ; 
 A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depths of the 
 silent wood, 
 And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, 
 Thrilling my being through with its bitter, bitter cry — 
 " [t were better to die, it were better to die." 
 
 For she, my love, my fate, she sat by my side 
 On a fallen oak, her cheek all flushed with a bashful 
 shame, 
 
 } what her innocent heart had hid — 
 IS not I her brother, her dear brother, all but in 
 
 Telling 
 
 name 
 
 5? 
 
 I listened to her low words, but turned my face away — 
 Away from her eyes' soft light, and the mocking light of the 
 
 av 
 
 " He was noble and proud," she said, " and had chosen her 
 
 from all 
 ■ The haughty ladies, and great ; she didn't deserve her lot." 
 
 I 1 
 
 
1G8 
 
 A UTUMN. 
 
 \ 
 
 T knew her peer could never l)e found in palace or hall, 
 
 And my white face told my thought, hut she saw it not. 
 She was crushing some scarlet leaves in her dainty fingers 
 
 of snow. 
 Her maiden joy crowning her face with a radiant glow. 
 
 "She had wanted me to know," and then a smile and a 
 blush ; 
 Her smile was always just like a baby's smile, and the red 
 Came to her cheek at a word or a glance — then there fell 
 a hush. 
 She was waiting some word from me, I knew, so I said, 
 " May Heaven bless you both" — words spoken full quietly, 
 And she, God bless her, never knew how much they cost 
 to me. 
 
 How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, 
 What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous 
 air ; 
 A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depths of the silent 
 wood. 
 And in my heart was crying the raven of despair. 
 Thrilling my being through with its desolate, desolate cry — 
 " It w^ere better to die, it were better to die." 
 
 The white dawn follows the darkness ; out of the years' decay 
 Shineth the golden fire that gildeth the autu'nn with 
 light; 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 169 
 
 From another's sin and loss, cometh tliis good to me, 
 By another's fall am I raised to tliis blissful height. 
 " Let me be humble," said my heart, as from her sweet lips 
 
 fell, 
 *' Let a prayer for him arise, with the sound of our marriage 
 bell." 
 
 II 
 
 IWMHH.3<WHgW*g*gW" 
 
 
THE FAIREST LAND. 
 
 'TwAs a bleak dull moor that stretched before 
 The low stone porch of the cottage door, 
 And standing there was a youth and maid, 
 He for long journeying seemed arrayed. 
 And the sunset flamed in the burnished wcvst, 
 And a proud throb beat in the young man's bi'east, 
 As he whispered, " Sweet, will you come to me 
 In that fairer land beyond the sea ?" 
 
 " The w^onderful western land ; in dreams 
 I have seen its prairies green, and gleams 
 Of its shining waterfalls, valleys fair, 
 And a voice in my dreams has called me there 
 Where man is a man, and not a clod. 
 And must bend the knee to none but God. 
 A home will I make for thee and me 
 In that fairer land beyond the sea." 
 
 " But the cruel sea where the fated sliips 
 
 Go down to their doom" — But he kissed the lips — 
 
 The trembling lips, till they smiled again. 
 
 And his bright hopes cheered her heart's dull pain. 
 
THE FAIREST LAND. 
 
 And she laid her head on his liopeful !>reast, 
 And k)oked with him to the gUjwin^ west, 
 And said, " I will come, I will come to thee- 
 To that fairer land beyond the sea." 
 
 And the crimson light changed to daffodil— 
 To ashen gray, but they stood there still, 
 And high o'er the west shone the evening star 
 As still he pictured that home afar — 
 '* The peace and the bliss our own at last 
 "When this dreary parting all is ])ast, 
 When my heart's dear love, you come to me 
 In that fairer land beyond the sea." 
 
 171 
 
 So he sailed ; but saddest 'tis idway 
 oS'ot for those who go, but for those who stay ; 
 And her sweet eyes gathered a shadow dim 
 As days went by with no news of Inrn, 
 And weeks and months, but at last it came, 
 As the gray moor shone with the sunset flame 
 Her quick eyes glanced the strange lines o'er, 
 Then she fell like dead on the cottage floor. 
 
 'Twas a stranded ship on a rocky coast. 
 One true heart brave, when hope was lost, 
 How he toiled till all the shore had gained. 
 And only a baby form remained 
 
^1 
 
 ■i: 
 
 172 THE FAIREST LAND. 
 
 On sliip, how he breasted the Hiirgiiig tide 
 Witli Dejitli u-wrestling side by side, 
 Jlow lie lifted the child to its mother's knee, 
 As a great wave washed him ont to sea. 
 
 And for days the maid in the eottagc door 
 Sat and looked o'er the dreary moor. 
 Her cheeks grew white 'neath her blinding tears. 
 And the snnset rays seemed crnel spears 
 That pierced her heart ; and ashen gray 
 Tnrned the earth and sky, the night, the day ; 
 J hit at last a star shone high above — 
 The tender star of the hcaveidv love. 
 
 
 For as her life ebbed day by day, 
 
 The High Countrie, the Fair alway, 
 
 Hose 'fore lier eyes, the safe, sweet home. 
 
 And she seemed to hear, " Love, will yon come ?" 
 
 And so one eve when a bridge of gold 
 
 Seemed spanning the last sea dim and cold. 
 
 She went to him, for aye to be 
 
 Tn the Fairest land beyond the sea. 
 
 - 
 
 If, 
 
 > Ui 
 
 ■ I if 
 I If 
 
THE MESSENGEK. 
 
 Is his form hidden hv sonio cliff or crau:. 
 Or doL'8 he loiter on the shelvin<»; nhore ? 
 
 We know not, thonijh we know he waits for us. 
 Somewhere u])on the road that lies before. 
 
 And when he bids us we nmst follow him. 
 
 Must leav^e onr half-drawn nets, our liouses, lands, 
 
 And those we h)ve the most, imd best, ah they 
 In vain will cling to us with pleading hands ! 
 
 lie will not wait for us to gird our robes, 
 
 And be they white as saints, or soiled and dim. 
 
 We can but gather them around our form. 
 And take his icv hand and follow him. 
 
 ( )h I will our palm cling to another palm, 
 
 Loath, loath to loose our hold of love's warm gras|). 
 
 Or shall we free our hand from the hand of grief, 
 And reach it gladly out to meet his clasp i 
 
 Sometimes T marvel when we two shall meet. 
 When I shall hear that stealthy step, and see 
 
 The unseen form that haunteth mortal dreams, 
 The stern-browed face, the eyes of mystery. 
 
IT4 THE MKSSENOKli. 
 
 Sliiill T 1k^ Wiiitin<^ for wmic wislicil-for \voaltli, 
 Iiiiimtifnt, l)y tliL' nliure of si purplu kcu i 
 
 J)Ut wlicii tli(! vt'ssol's ket'I j^niteK on the sainl. 
 Will he k'sm down its side and call to inn i 
 
 Shall 1 ill tliviiiy ])astinvs cool and sweet 
 See the lark soarinji^ throii«»;li the rosy air t 
 
 Ah, then, will his dark face look d(>wn on mo, 
 'Xeatli the white splendor of the niorninir star i 
 
 Shall 1 be resting from the noonday hlaze. 
 In the rich summer of a hlossoinini; land, 
 
 And i<lly glancing through the lotus leaves, 
 l^ehold the shadow of his beckoning hainl \ 
 
 ( )r in some inland village, shaded deep, 
 With silence brooding o'er the quiet place. 
 
 Shall I look from some lattice crowned with flowci's, 
 III the calm twilight and behold liis face i 
 
 ( )r shall I over such a lonely way, 
 
 Beset with fears, my weary footste})s wend. 
 
 So desolate, that I shall greet his face 
 
 W'^itli joy as a desired and welcome friend i 
 
 (Jh, little matters it when we shall meet. 
 
 Upon the quiet shore, or on the sea, 
 If he shall lead us to the golden gate, 
 
 Dear Lord, if he shall lead us unto Thee. 
 
 . 
 
SLEEP. 
 
 Come, f?entle sleep, witli tlic holy night. 
 
 Clonic with the stars and the white nioonlK'anis, 
 (V)nie with yonr train of handmaids bright, 
 
 Blessed and beautiful dreams. 
 
 Bring the exile to his home again, 
 
 l^et him eateh the gleam of its low white wall ; 
 Let his wife cling to his neck and weep, 
 
 And his children come at their father's call. 
 
 (rive to the mother the child she lost, 
 
 Laid from her heart to a clay -cold bed ; 
 Let its breath float over her tear-wet cheek. 
 
 And her cold heart warm 'neath its bright young head. 
 
 Take the sinner's hand and lead him back 
 To his sinless youth and his mother's knee ; 
 
 Let him kneel again 'neath her tender look, 
 And murmur the prayer of his infancy. 
 
 Lead the aged into that wondrous clime. 
 
 Home of their youth and land of their bliss ; 
 
 Let them forget in that beautiful world, 
 The sin and the sorrow of this. 
 
 I 
 
170 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 And irently lead iin- love, my (»wii, 
 Tenderly clasp her siiOW-wliite lumd, 
 
 A\^rap lier in garment"; of soft repose, 
 And lead her into }oiir mystic land. 
 
 Let your fairest liandmaids bow at her feet, 
 lier ])atli o'er your loveliest roses be ; 
 
 And let all the flowers with tlieir perfumed lip^ 
 Wliisper of me — of nie. 
 
 ('ome, o-ertle sleep, with tlie holy night, 
 
 (.'ome with the stars and tlie white moonbeams, 
 
 (^>me witli your train of handmaids bright, 
 Hk^ssed and beautiful dreams. 
 
i 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 
 
 On, I luu the siren, tl)e sii'eii of the sea. 
 
 The seii, the wondrous se;i, that hes forevermore before ; 
 I i'tand a fairy sliape ii])on tlie slia(h>w of a elifi" 
 
 Wliere tlie water's (h'owsy rip])le laps tlie })liantoni (»t' a 
 si lore. 
 And, oil, so fair, so fair am I, I draw all liearts to nic. 
 For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 
 
 All the glory of my golden tresses gleams upon the air. 
 Ii(»M' it falls about niv snowv shoulders, round and hare 
 and white ; 
 ]\ry lips are full of love as rounded gra}?es are full of 
 wine. 
 And my eyes are large and languid, and full of dewy 
 light ; 
 Oh, I lure the idle landsmen nuiiiy a league for love of nie. 
 For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 
 
 Sometimes thev press so near that mv breath is on their 
 eheek, 
 Aiul their eager hands ean almost touch the glowitig bowl 
 I bear. 
 
178 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 
 
 m 
 
 .!• ^ 
 
 They cjm see tlie beaded frotli, tlie ruby iz;litter of tlie wine, 
 Then I slip from their embruees like a breath of summer 
 air ; 
 Oil, I Hujhtly, lightly glide away, they come no iiigher me, 
 For I am the siren, the siren of tlie sea. 
 
 Sometimes I float along a-standing in a boat, 
 
 IJefore the shij)s becalmed, where dusky sailors stand, 
 And the helmsman drops his oar, and the lookout leaves his 
 glass, 
 So I beckon them, and lure them, with the whiteness of 
 my hand ; 
 Oil. this the soiu I sine;, well thev listen unto me 'i 
 For I am the siren, the siren of the scv. 
 
 Would you from toil and labor flee, 
 Oh float ve out on this wonderful sea, 
 From islands of spice the zephyrs blow, 
 Swaying the galleys to and fro ; 
 Silken sails ar.d a bal-Tiy breeze 
 Shall waft you unto a perfect ease. 
 
 Fold your hands and rest, and rest, 
 The sun sails on from the east to the west, 
 The days will come, and the days will go, 
 AVhat good can man for his labor show 
 In passionless peace, come float with me 
 Over the waves of this wonderful sea. 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 1 71) 
 
 Would you forget, oil sorrowful soul, 
 
 C onie and drink of this golden bowl, 
 
 With jewelled poppies about the rim, 
 
 Drink of the wine that flushes its brim, 
 
 And drown all your haunting memories there, 
 
 \ our woe and your weary eare. 
 
 Oh, r am the siren, the siren of the sea, 
 
 The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore l)efore ; 
 Oil, the mystic music ripples, how they break in rosy si)ray, 
 
 Ihit the crystal wave will mock them, they will reach it 
 nevermore. 
 For it glides away, I glide away, they come no nigher me. 
 For r am the siren, the siren of the sea. 
 
 s I 
 
EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. 
 
 I. 
 
 Tiikre's a tear in your eye, little Sybil, 
 
 (iatherin^ large and slow ; 
 Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, 
 
 AV^hat are you thinking of now i 
 
 I*ush back the velvet curtains 
 
 That darken the lonely rooni. 
 For shadows peer out of their crimson depths, 
 
 And the statues gleam white in the gloom. 
 
 How the cannons' thunder rolls along. 
 And shakes the lattice and wall, 
 
 Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, 
 
 What if your father should fall i 
 
 The smoky clouds sweep up from the Held 
 And darken the earth and sea, 
 
 " God save him 1 God save him!" 
 AVherever he may be. 
 
 I 
 
EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. 
 
 n. 
 
 Oil, pretty dark-eyed bird of tlie Soutli, 
 AVith your face so luouriiful and wliite 
 
 There is many a little Northern girl 
 That is breathing that prayer to-night. 
 
 There's a little girl on the hills of Maine 
 Looking out through the fading light. 
 
 She looks down the winding path, and says, 
 '' He will surely come to-night I" 
 
 The table is set, the lamp is trimmed. 
 
 The tire has a ruddy glow 
 That streams like a beacon down the patli, 
 
 To the dusky valley below. 
 
 There is smiling hope on the pretty face 
 
 Pressed so close to the ]Kine, 
 And her eyes are like blue violets 
 
 After a summer rain. 
 
 in. 
 
 How you tremb^, little Sybil, 
 At the cannons' dreadful sound, 
 
 Did you see far away, t le fallen steed. 
 And its rider prone on the ground t 
 
 183 
 
184 EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. 
 
 7 le (lark ])rown locks so low in the (lust, 
 The scarf with a crimson stain — 
 
 Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil, 
 He will not come back again. 
 
 IV. 
 
 t 
 
 
 ' 
 
 Kight gallantly and well he fought 
 Hand to hand with as brave a foe, 
 
 Their faces hid by the nodding j)lnmcs, 
 And the dense clouds hanging low. 
 
 Did they think, these hot-blooded ('aj)tains. 
 That Death was so close by their side, 
 
 AVhen Howard hasfallen, the bravest — 
 liung out on the air far and wide. 
 
 " Howard f ' His foenian kneels l)y his side, 
 And raises his head to his knee— 
 
 Oh, (rod I that brothers should part in youth, 
 And thus should their meeting be. 
 
 Unheard is the deafening battle roar. 
 
 Unseen is that dying look ; 
 He hears but the sound of a childish laugli, 
 
 And the song of a Xorthern brook. 
 
t 
 
 EIGHTEEN SIXTY TWO. 
 
 lie sees two white forms kneeliiiir 
 In the twilight sweet and dim. 
 
 One low coueli angel-gujirded. 
 By a mother's evening hymn. 
 
 18.5 
 
 The Angel of Death came down with the liight. 
 Came down with the gathering gloom ; 
 
 (rod i^ity the little dark-eyed girl, 
 Alone in the lonely rooni. 
 
 J^iit still by liis side his brother kneels. 
 
 Chill horror has frozen his veins ; 
 He heeds not the glancing shower of shells. 
 
 That with red tire glitters and rains. 
 
 And he heeds not tlie fiery eavalrv charire. 
 
 That swee])s like a billow on 
 To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight. 
 
 That man ever gazed upon ! 
 
 The bust shot! What is one lile 
 
 To the battle's gory gain '( 
 But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid 
 
 Away on the liills of Maint.' 1 
 
AWEARY 
 
 
 Thk clouds tliat vex tlie upper deep 
 Stay not tlie wliite sail of tlie moon; 
 
 And lips may moan, and liearts may weep, 
 Tlie sad old eartli goes rolling on. 
 
 O'er smiling vale, and sighing lake. 
 One shadow cold is overthrown ; 
 
 And souls may faint, and liearts may break. 
 The sad old earth goes rolling on. 
 
 I 
 
 i" 
 

 I- 
 
 T(J(J LOW. 
 
 "• My house is tliatelied witli violet leaves 
 
 And paved with daisies tine, 
 Scarlet berries droop over its eaves. 
 
 Tall grasses round it sliine ; 
 With softest down I have lined niv nest, 
 Seeurely now will I sit and rest. 
 
 " Wlien their winces ])reak from their silverv slu'll, 
 
 Touclied by my tender eare, 
 Here shall my little ones safely dwell. 
 
 Little ones soft and fair ; 
 Some summer morn tliey shall try their wings 
 While their father sits by my side and sings." 
 
 Hard by, just over the streandet's edge 
 
 A great rock towered in might, 
 High up, half hidden in moss and sedge. 
 
 Were safe little nooks and bright ; 
 Ah well for the bird with her tender breast. 
 Had she flown to the rock to build her nest ! 
 
 Poor bird, she built her nest too low ; 
 Alas ! for the bird, alas ! 
 
 / 
 
 i 
 
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188 
 
 TOO LOW. 
 
 That slie diose tliat spot to her woe 
 
 In tlie low dewy grass ; 
 For the reaper eanic with liis gleaming hhulo. 
 Alas for love in the violet shade I 
 
 a 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 rv^ 
 
 
) . 
 
 ■f 
 
 AT Lx\ST. 
 
 What tliougli upon a wintry sea our Viia l)ark sails. 
 What though we tremble 'iieath its cruel gales, 
 
 Its icy blast; 
 We see a happy port lie far before, 
 AVe see its shining waves, its sunny shore, 
 AVhere we shall wander, and forget the troubled past, 
 
 At last. 
 
 No storms approach that quiet shore, no night 
 Falls on its silver streams, and valleys bright. 
 
 And gardens vast ; 
 Within that pleasant land of perfect peace 
 Our toil-worn feet shall stay, our wanderings cease ; 
 There shall we, resting, all forget the past. 
 
 At last. 
 
 The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness. 
 As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast, 
 
 Their bright plumes cast ; 
 The griefs like mourners in a dark array, 
 That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away, 
 And leave us to forget the sorrowful past. 
 
 At last. 
 
190 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 A'oices we loved sound from those far-off lands, 
 And thrill our liearts ; life's golden sands 
 
 Are dro2)i)ing fast ; 
 Soon shall we meet by the river of peace, and say. 
 As the night flees before the eye of day. 
 So faded from our eyes the mournful jMist^ 
 
 At last. 
 
1 
 
 i' 
 
 i 
 
 A 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Drapet) in shadows stands tlio monntain 
 
 Atrainst the eastern skv, 
 Ahove it the fair snnnner moon 
 
 Looks downward tenderly ; 
 And Venus in the glowing west. 
 
 Opens lier languid eye, 
 
 Now the winds breathe softer nmsie, 
 
 Half a song, and half a sigh ; 
 While twilight wraps her pnrpleveil 
 
 Aronnd ns silently, 
 And onr thonghts appear like pictures, 
 
 Pictures shaded wondrously. 
 
 Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely, 
 8ilyery sea, and shadow}^ gh»de, 
 
 Forest lakes by man forsaken. 
 
 Where the wliite fawn's steps are stayed ; 
 
 And contadinos straying 
 
 'Neath the Pantheon's solemn sliade. 
 
 And we see the wave bridged oyer 
 By the moonlight's mystic link, 
 
19^> 
 
 TWILIGUT. 
 
 Desert wells by tall palms filiaded. 
 Where duHky camels drink ; 
 
 Wliile dark -eyed And) maidens 
 Fill their pitchers at the brink. 
 
 And secluded convent chajxils, 
 Where veiled nuns kneel to pray, 
 
 With a dim light streaming o'er them 
 Through arches quaint and gray, 
 
 While down the long and winding aisles 
 Low music dies away. 
 
 There is a starry twilight 
 
 Of the soul, as sadly fair, 
 AVhen our wild emotions are at rest, 
 
 Like the pale nuns at prayer ; 
 And our griefs are hushed like sleepers, 
 
 And put off the robes of care. 
 
T 
 
 THE SEWIXG-GIEL. 
 
 r ASKED to sec the dead inan's face, 
 
 As I gave the servant my well-filled basket ; 
 And she deigned to lead nie, a wondrous grace, 
 
 AVhere he lay asleep in his rosewood casket. 
 I was only the sewing-girl, and he the heir to this princely 
 palace. 
 
 Flowers, white flowers, everywhere, 
 In odorous cross, and anchor, and chalice. 
 
 The smallest leaf might touch '<''s hair; 
 But I — my God ! I must stand apart, 
 With my hands pressed silently on my heart, 
 I must not touch the least brown curl ; 
 For I was only the sewing-girl. 
 
 If his stately mother knew what I know, 
 
 As she weeping stood by l,»is side this morning, 
 Would she clasp me in motherly love and woe — 
 
 Or drive me out in the cold with scorning ? 
 If she knew that I loved him better than life, 
 
 Better than death ; since for him I gave 
 My hopes of rest, that I faced life's strife, 
 
 And renounced the quiet and restful grave. 
 
104 
 
 THE SEWING -GIRL, 
 
 Wlien Ills strong, tnic luuid drew me hack tliat day, 
 When woe, and want, and the want of pity 
 
 Drove me down wiiere the cold waves hiy 
 Like wolves ronnd the walls of this cruel city. 
 
 '' Xot much ?" wonld sin, say with her prond lip's enrh 
 
 '• Only the hfe of a sewing-girl ?" 
 
 Xo love for me in his heart did hnger — 
 
 I saw the lady, his promised bride, 
 I saw his ring on her slender finger, 
 
 As she weeping stood hy his mother's side. 
 That same ring shone, as he lifted me 
 
 Dripping and cold from the sea-waves hitter. 
 I had thought Heaven's light I next should sec, 
 
 I»ut earth's sun shone in its ruby glitter ; 
 I had thought when I looked in the Lord's mild face. 
 
 That He would forgive my rashness and sin. 
 When He knew there was not a single plaice, 
 
 Not a place so small that I could creep in. 
 And I wanted a home, and I longed for love, 
 And God and mother were both above. 
 But he showed me my sin, and taught me to live, 
 Above this life of tumult and whirl. 
 Though I was only a sewing-girl. 
 
 What shall I do with the life he won, 
 
 From death that day, in a hard-won battle ? 
 
THE JSEWmO-GIiiL. 
 
 195 
 
 Shall 1 lav it down e'er the rising sun 
 
 Looks down on the city's roar and rattle ? 
 Shall I lay it down e'er the midnight dim 
 AVith horrihle shadows is roofed and })aved i 
 
 N(j, I will make it so ])nre and sweet, 
 That an'i:els shall sav with smiles to him, 
 
 AVhen we meet above on the golden street 
 '• Behold the soul of her von saved." 
 Mavbe it shall add to his crown one pearl, 
 Though only the soul of a sewing-girl. 
 
 Ef 
 
HARRY THE FIRST. 
 
 In liis arm-chair, warmly cushioned, 
 
 In the quiet earned hy labor, 
 
 Life's reposeful Indian summer, 
 
 (Irandpa sits ; and lets the paper 
 
 Lie upon his knee unheeded. 
 
 Shine his cheeks like M'inter apples, 
 
 (rleams his smile like autunm sunshine, 
 
 As he looks on little Ilarrv, 
 
 First-horn of the house of Graham, 
 
 Bravely cutting teeth in silence, 
 
 Cutting teeth with looks heroic. 
 
 Some deep thought seems moving Grandpa, 
 
 Ponders he aw^hile in silence. 
 
 Then he turns, and says to Grandma, 
 
 " Nancy, do you think that ever 
 
 There was such a child before ?" 
 
 Grandma, with her prim precision 
 The seam-stitch impaleth deftly 
 On her sharp and glittering needle, 
 Then she turns and answers calmly, 
 
HARRY THE FIRST. 
 
 With a deep tissunuice — " Xever 
 Was tliere such a child hefuru 1'' 
 
 Papa thinks so, hut in manly 
 Dignity controls his feelings ; 
 More than half a year a father, 
 lie must show a cool composure, 
 He must stately l)e if ever. 
 But his dark eyes plainly tell it, 
 Tell it, as he sayeth proudly, 
 " Papa'g man is little Harry." 
 
 Mamma, maybe, does not speak it, 
 But she prints the thought on velvet, 
 Rosy-hued, with fondest kisses, 
 When the pink, soft page is lying 
 Folded closely to her bosom. 
 
 A little farther goes his auntie, 
 Aged fourteen — age of fancy ; 
 She looks down the future ages 
 With her wise, prophetic vision ; 
 Sees the babies pass before her. 
 Babies of the twentieth century, 
 All the long and dusty ages. 
 To the thousand years of glory. 
 Oh, the host of bright-eyed children. 
 Thronging like the stars at midnight, 
 
 197 
 
1!)8 UARRY THE FIRST. 
 
 Faces sweet and countless, as the 
 lloHC-leaves of a tliousand sunnners. 
 All the j)retty heads so curly 
 That shall hold a riper wisdom 
 Than our youthful planet dreams of ; 
 All the ranks of dimple! shoulders, 
 That shall move Time's rolling chariot 
 Nearer to the golden city ; 
 Vieweth these the blue-eyed prophet, 
 Still the oracle says cahnly, 
 Speaks the seer with golden tresses — 
 " No ! there never was, nor will be 
 Such a child as our Ilarrv, 
 Such a noble boy as Harry." 
 
 Sununer brings a w^ealth of flowers, 
 Flowers of every form and color. 
 Orange, crimson, royal purple. 
 All along the mountain passes. 
 All along. the pleasant valley. 
 Low the emerald branches bendeth 
 With their weight of summer glory. 
 
 1 
 
 But they do not waken in us 
 Half the tender, blissful feeling. 
 Half the pure and sweet emotion 
 As the first spring-flower in April, 
 
JJMiltY THE FIRST. 
 
 With its laslies tinged with crimson, 
 Partly raised from eyes half-timid, 
 Fearful that the snow will drown it; 
 How wo love the daintv hlossom, 
 How v'L wear it in our Imsom. 
 
 lU'J 
 
 Just so with the tree ancestral. 
 Many flowers may blossom on it, 
 ]5ut the first wee bud that's grafted. 
 To its heart, ah, how we love it ; 
 Others may be loved as fondly, 
 But they are not loved so proudly, 
 Loved so blindly, so entirely. 
 
 Yes, when first the heart's door opens 
 To the touch of baby fingers. 
 Quick the dimpled feet will bear them 
 To the dearest place and warmes* 
 Plenty room enough for other 
 Buds of beauty, buds of promise, 
 In the heart's capacious chambers ; 
 But the first is firmly settled — 
 Little Harry's firmly settled 
 In the centre of affection ; 
 Later ones must settle round him. 
 
THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED. 
 
 Vs on a wavcless soa, a vesst-1 strikes 
 
 Upon a treaclierons rock ; 
 AYaking: tlie sailors from tlieir l»ii])py droanis 
 
 By the swift, terrible shock. 
 
 Dreaming of shaded village streets, and liome, 
 
 Forgetting the cruel sea 
 Till the shock came— so woke I, yet I know 
 
 'Twas Love, I loved, not he. 
 
 'Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps. 
 Only its form reflected in the stream ; 
 
 'Tis not a broken heart I monrn, 
 Only a broken dream. 
 
 I should have died when he was brought so low, 
 
 Had it been him I loved. 
 Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak 
 
 The ivy clings unmoved. 
 
 'Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes 
 
 Burning with marvellous flame ; 
 Love was the idol that I worshipped, though 
 
 I gave to it his name. 
 
 # 
 
THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED. :201 
 
 I gave to Love his name, his glance, iiis hrow. 
 
 His low-toned voice, his smile. 
 Oh, soul be patient ; I can sever them 
 
 But yet a little while — 
 
 Before I put away these outward forms 
 
 Deceiving, sweet disguises, Avhich Love wore 
 
 Let my heart break into regretful tears 
 Just once, and then no more. 
 
 Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail 
 Bearing away a guest of truest worth. 
 
 They give this little time to grief, and then 
 Return to their desolate hearth. 
 
 And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers. 
 Let the pure air into the vacant room. 
 
 So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all 
 Shall penetrate its gloom. 
 
 I will be patient, in a little time 
 
 Quiet, and full of rest, 
 God's peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird. 
 
 Settle upon my breast. 
 
 Not always thus shall beat my restless heart 
 Like a wild eagle 'gainst its prison-bars ; 
 
 In some calm twilight of the future time 
 I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars. 
 
 % 
 
I 
 
 GONE BEFORE. 
 
 Fold the hands 
 Gently o'er the silent heart, 
 Soft palms nevermore to part 
 
 From their quiet rest ; 
 Ne'er to cling to broken reeds, 
 Plucking flowers to find them weeds ; 
 Ne'e • to raise in anguished prayer, 
 Nor to clas^i in wnld despair 
 O'er a heart that bleeds ; 
 Softly o'er the peaceful breast. 
 Fold the hands. 
 
 Close the eyes ; 
 Loving ^yes of softest blue, 
 Tender eyes of Heaven's own hue, 
 
 Close in sleep. 
 Sleep thee, darling, through the night. 
 Dreaming fancies blest and bright, 
 Visions bathed in heavenly day, 
 Ne'er to fade and melt away 
 In the morning light ; 
 Dear eyes, nevermore to weep, 
 
 Close in sleep. 
 
GONE BEFORE. 
 
 Smooth tlie liair ; 
 Silken waves of sunny brown 
 Lay upon the white brow down, 
 Crowned with blossoms rare ; 
 Lilies on a golden stream, 
 Ke'er to fall in tendrils bright 
 On her shoulders bare and white ; 
 Ne'er to float in summer air 
 Wreathed with meadow daisies fair, 
 Lay away the broken crown 
 And your broken dream, 
 "With one shining tress of hair, 
 Nevermore to need your care. 
 
 20;} 
 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART. 
 
 My heart sings like a bird to-night 
 That flies to its nest in the soft twilight, 
 
 And sings in its brooding bliss ; 
 Ah ! I so low, and he so high, 
 What could he find to love ? I cry. 
 
 Did ever love stoop so low as this ? 
 
 As a miser jealously counts his gold, 
 I sit and dream of my wealth untold, 
 
 From the curious world apart ; 
 Too sacred my joy for another eye, 
 I treasure it tenderly, silently. 
 
 And hide it away in my heart. 
 
 Dearer to me than the costliest crown 
 That ever on queenly forehead shone 
 
 Is the kiss he left on my brow ; 
 Would I change his smile for a royal gem ? 
 His love for a monarch's diadem ? 
 
 Change it ? Ah, no, ah, no ! 
 
 My heart sings like a bird to-night 
 That flies away to its nest of light 
 
A WOAfAX'S HEART. 
 
 205 
 
 To brood o'er its living bliss ; 
 Ah I I so low, and he so hi^h, 
 What could he tiiid to love!" I cry, 
 
 Did ever love stoop so low as this? 
 
I if 
 
 WARNING. 
 
 When enwrapped in rosy pleasure, 
 Our careless pulses l)eat. 
 With a rhytliin sweet, sweet, 
 
 To the music's merry measure. 
 
 When world waves rise around us. 
 With soft transparent weight. 
 Light in seeming, yet so great, 
 
 The liquid chains have bound us. 
 
 Then softly downward falling, 
 If we listen, we can hear, 
 From a purer atmosphere, 
 
 A warning and a calling. 
 
 'Tis not uttered to our ear. 
 To our spirit it is spoken. 
 In the wonderful, unbroken 
 
 Heavenly speech that spirits hear. 
 
 Strange and solemn doth it roll 
 Downward like a yearning cry, 
 From that belfry far on high, 
 
 Warning, calling to our soul. 
 
WARNING. 
 
 20: 
 
 Ever, ever, doth it roll, 
 
 Our angel guards the tower. 
 Kinging, ringing, every hour, 
 
 AVarning, calling to our soul. 
 
Mil 
 
 1 
 
 GENIEVE TO IIEK LOVEK. 
 
 T TURN the key in this idle hour 
 ( )f ail ivory box, and looking, lo— 
 
 See only dust— the dust of a tiower ; 
 
 The waters will ehh, the waters will flow, 
 And dreams will come, and dreams will ^o. 
 
 Forever. 
 
 Oh, friend, if you and I should meet 
 
 Beneath the boughs of the bending lime, 
 
 Should you in the same low voice repeat 
 The tender words of the old love rhyme, 
 It could not bring back the same old timo, 
 
 ^"ever. 
 
 When you laid this rose against my brow, 
 I was quite unused to the ways of men, 
 
 With my trusting heart ; I am wiser now, 
 
 So I smile, remembering my heart-throl)s then, 
 The dust of a rose cannot blossom again, 
 
 iNever. 
 
 The brow that you praised has colder grown. 
 And hearts will change, I supi30se they must, 
 
GEXIKVE TO HER LOVER. 
 
 :iOD 
 
 A rose to l)e lastiiif?, should blossom in stone, 
 Ashes to ashes, dnst to dust, 
 Dead are the rose, the love, and the trust, 
 
 Forever. 
 
1 
 
 1 
 
 1 ! 
 
 THE WILD ROSE. 
 
 In a wii8tc of yellow sand, on the brow of a dreary hill, 
 A nlight little slip of a rose strujjjjj^led nj) to the light, 
 
 The seed maybe was sown there hy the sonth wind's idle 
 will, 
 But there it jj^rew and blossomed, pale and white. 
 
 Only one flower it bore, and that was frail and small. 
 
 Hut I think it was brave to try to grow at all. 
 
 In groves of fair Cashmere, or sheltered garden of kings. 
 Sweet with a thousand Howers, with birds of ])aradise 
 
 Faiming her Idushing cheeks with their glowing wings, 
 Praising her deepening bloom with their great bright 
 eyes. 
 
 Life would have been a pleasure instead of a toil. 
 
 To my j)ale little patient rose of the sandy soil. 
 
 Did she ever sadly think of her wasted life, 
 
 Folding her wan weak hands so heli)less and still ; 
 
 And the great oak by her sheltering glad bird life, 
 And the thirsty meadows praising the running rill ; 
 
 She could hear the happy work-day song of the busy brook, ^ 
 
 Wliile slie, poor thing, could oidy stand and look. 
 
 /^ 
 
riiK WILD lioshj. -m 
 
 DM tlic wee wliitc rose ever tliiiik of lier lonelv life. 
 That there were none to cjire if she tried to m'ow ; 
 
 >*one to CJirc if tiie eloud that lnin«i^ in tlie west 
 
 8ijoul(l Imrst, and scatter lier ])ale leaves far and low i 
 
 Did she ever wish that the heavy elond w<»nld fall 
 
 And hide her, so nnhlest, fri»n» th(3 sight of all '. 
 
 One sky hends o'er rieli garden flowers, and those 
 
 That dwell in harren soil, nntended and nid)lest ; 
 And I think that God was plea.sed with the small white 
 rose, 
 That tried so patiently to live and do its hest ; 
 That bravely kept its small leaves pure a!id fair 
 On tlie waste of dreary sand, and the desert air. 
 
; ■ 
 
 OUR BIRD. 
 
 SiiK lav Jislcep, and her face slumo wliit(3 
 
 As luuler a siu>\vy veil, 
 And the waxen hands elasped <»i. her hivast 
 
 ^V^ir^i full oi snowdrops pale ; 
 J5ut a holy calm toiiehed the l»al»y lips, 
 
 The hrow, and the sleeping eyes. 
 The look of an angel pitying "s 
 
 From the peaee of Paradise. 
 
 And now though she lies -ncath the eotlin-lid, 
 
 AVe cannot think her dead '>, 
 But we think of her as of some delicate i)inl 
 
 To a milder country fled. 
 'Twas a long, dark flight for our gentle dove, 
 
 Our bird so tender and fair ; 
 But we know she has reached the summer land 
 
 And folded her white wings there. 
 
THE TIME THAT IS TO HE. 
 
 I AM tliinking of fern forents that ont'o did t(»\veriii«j: staiid, 
 (Vownitij^ Jill the barrun iiiouiitaiiis, shadiii^^ all the divarv 
 land. 
 
 Oh, the dreadful, quiet brooding, the solitude sublime. 
 That reigned like shadowy si)ectres o'er the third great day 
 of time. 
 
 In long, low lines the tideless sea on dull gray shores did 
 
 break, 
 No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or rccdv 
 
 lake — 
 
 Xo flowers perfumed the pulseless air, no stars, no moon, no 
 
 sun 
 To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done. 
 
 Only silence rising with the ghostly morning's misty light. 
 Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless 
 night. * ^ 
 
:2U 
 
 rilE TIME THAT IS TO BE. 
 
 i 
 
 i ' 
 
 < -!■ 
 
 i 
 
 And tlic ferns, and giant mosses, noiseless sentinels did stand, 
 T.ookinij o'er tlie tideless ocean, watcliinij: o'er the dreary 
 land. 
 
 Ferns gave place to glowing olives, and clnsters drojiping 
 
 M'ine, 
 JMosses changed to oaken tissues, and cleft to fragrant pine. 
 
 Deft and noiseless fingers toiled, and wrought the great 
 
 Creator's plan, 
 Tlir(niii:h countless asres niouldin- earth for the abode of 
 
 man. 
 
 Till each imperial day was hound l)y sunset's crimson hars, 
 The ])urple columns of the night crowned with the shining 
 stars. 
 
 The ripe fruit seeks the sunlight through all the clustering 
 
 leaves, 
 The earth is decked with golden mai/c, and costly yellow 
 
 sheaves. 
 
 Countless eilent centuries passed in fashioning good that 
 
 doth apj)ear. 
 Shall we weary and. grow hopeless, waiting for the Golden 
 
 Year ? 
 
 Thy kingdom come, in which Thy will is done, 
 i^rom myriad souls rises the yearning cry ; 
 
TUE TIME THAT JS TO BE. - 
 
 Scatter paliii-houglis — beliokl, a brigliter sun 
 Sliall dawn in splendor, in a clearer sky ; 
 Upon the distant liills a glow we see, 
 That tells ns of the Time that is to be. 
 
 The desert then shall blossom like the rose, 
 The almond flourish on the rocky slopes; 
 
 Wisdom and beauty in rare union close, 
 Making earth beautiful beyond our hopes. 
 
 High in the dusky east a star we see, 
 
 A herald of the Time that is to be. 
 
 '^Ib 
 
 The free-born s<nil shall not be captive then. 
 Bound by decaying cords of narrow creeds, 
 
 G^d's image shall more clearly shine in men. 
 Divinely shaped by holy aims and deeds. 
 
 Gleam, golden star, oh gleam o'er earth and sea„ 
 
 A herald of the Time that is to l)e. 
 
 Fetters are broken, so the fern-leaves fall, 
 A richer growth is budding, wondrous fair. 
 
 The flower of liberty shall l)loom for all. 
 And all shall breathe the healing of the air ; 
 
 The blessed air that wraps a people free, 
 
 Within that glorious Time that is to be. 
 
 For what is slavery but woe and crime, 
 And freedom is but liberty from these ; 
 
X»L(5 
 
 THJ'J TIME THAT IS TO BE. 
 
 ( >li ])erfect lioiir.s, ve coii»j, fair and subliine, 
 
 IJ^ariiig the sweet form of the baby, Peaee, 
 Sliiiie, ««^oldeii star, oh sliiiie o'er earth and sea, 
 A herald of tlie Time that is to be. 
 
( 
 
 A AEIV BOOK BY JOSIAH ALLEN'S 
 WIFE. 
 
 S^EET CICELY.— \ story of the Joslali Allen's Wife s S»!rle». 
 Of thrilling Inteit-st. Ovur 100 Illustrations, 12mo, cloth, |S.OO. 
 
 " Joaiah Allen's Wife " has always been a shrewd observer of 
 human nature aa it reveals itself in the round of homely, every 
 day life, and the keen sarcasm and adroit humor with which 
 she lays bear its fo bles, its weaknesses and its grotesque out- 
 croppinga has rarjly, if ever, beeu equaled. The strong feature 
 of all Miss HoUey's humor, is its moral tone. The present 
 work will treat the " temperance sentiment " In new phase — 
 that of a semi-humorous novel. 
 
 SOME OPINIONS OF "JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE': 
 The Woman's Journal, 'QoBion: "The keen sarcasm, cheerful 
 wit and cogent arguments of her booKs have convinced thous- 
 ands of the 'folly of their ways,' for wit can pierce where 
 grave counsel fails." 
 
 The Herald, New York: " Her fun is not far-fetched, but easy 
 and spontaneous. She is now witty, now pathetic, yet ever 
 strikingly original." 
 
 The Home Journal, New York: " She is one of the most origi- 
 nal humorists of the day." 
 
 The Kew Era, Lancaster, Pa.: "Undoubtedly one or the 
 truest humorists. Nothing short of a cast-iron man can resist 
 the exquisite, droU and contagious mirth of her writings." 
 
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 New York. 
 

 t 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF RACHEL. 
 
 A New Novel. 15y Edward Everett Hale, iztno, paper, Cjc; 
 
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 THE LONDON TIMES. '• After perusal of this weird, fanta-tic 
 tale (Archibald M-ilmaison), it must be admitted that upon the 
 shoulders of Julian Hawthorne has descended in no small degree 
 the mantle of his mere illustrious father. The climar U so terrible, 
 and so drcmatic in its intensity, that it is impossible to class it 
 with anysituition of modern fiction. There is much psychologi- 
 cal ingenuity shown in some of the r-ore subtle touches that lend 
 an air of leality to this wild romance." 
 
 THE LONDON GLOBE. " • Archibald Malmaison ' is one of the 
 most daring attempts to set ihe wildest fancy masquerading in the 
 cloak of science, which has ever, perhaps been n.ade. Mr. Haw- 
 thorne has managed to combine the almost perfect construction of 
 a typical French novelist, wit.-. .-> more than typically German 
 power of conception." 
 
 THE ACADEMY. -• Mr. Hawthorne has a more powerful imagin- 
 ation than any contemporary writer of fiction. He has the very 
 uncommon gift of taking hold of the reader's attention at once, 
 and the still more uncommon gift of maintaining his grasD when it 
 is fixed." 
 
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