s. "• > >.f' ■^!^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. BY CLAUDE BERWICK i W" ^< r. ^ ^■, li^ •*. • • •■ • • '0 » • •• . • •* * • • • • • • • ' ■' L i V 11 I I i V • • • ; • . ,' . ' • ! " «- .MARVIN&SON, » III , I ,] !■ I ■*^ i i n .i. ,' t."H. ' T| t • • • > •« ^ A * TO The Sweet and Saving Memory of ILoutsa ©abcnport jFrot!)incji)am, Who Died December, 1876. This volume is inscribed. Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and ' weep with them thut weep As ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me ip i^^ PRELUDE. The world is full of titterings; — speech As breath is, to the soul ; Each unto all, or all for each, — Their waves together roll. And one more matters little; then Behold! — its breathings pass; — Another shade, in sight of men, Flits over churchyard grass. August, 1877. V- ^ -^ TO MY SISTEK OF I HE SACIIED HEART. (Thimta DEI Monti, Home, Fehkiauy, 1871.) ^ '•xY Sister! In your tliou^ihts of nic. .,-,,.' Trust uot these luortal siL>hs. Press on my lieart your liaud, — and see Tlie lonu'iii^ in niv eves! How many a i)ietiire Fancy drew In tlie proud days of yore. Vanislied in l)laekness, as she knew Her suns coukl shine no more ! Into the dust her life she Hung, — Its bh)om to aslies [)assed ; But from those ashes, Sister, sprung, A llower more sweet at hist. (7) nf STUDIES FOR POEMS. I hold, in my heart's treasury, That lovely heart of yours ! I wonder, in your thoughts of me, — If the same spell endures I — I wonder, in the ([uietness That fills your lofty days, — Through those calm hours, when they suppress Their outward prayer and praise, I wonder, — nay, I wonder not, O Sister, fair and sweet, That memory seeks s(mie sacred spot To worship at your feet I Perhaps, — through all we feel of worth Steals the dissolvent, — Pain ; Perhaps, my sister, not on earth Are we to meet again; But O, God-cherished, loveliest one. Who hushed a stranger's sighs, (8) ^ _ ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. And jj-iivc to view that MiTcy's 8iin Whose radiance filled her eyes, — Perhaps, — when stilled these notes below, — When passed this earthly shore, — In thee my grateful heart shall know Christ's image, evermore. (9) L'AFFINITA. (The Same to the Same.) k^p- HE fixed lier eyes upon the wall }W~^ So iigecl, worn, and dim ; ^0 Th e faded frescoes shone o'er all ) Like wings of seraphim I The Altar gleamed, all radiantly Set from her grief apart ; She had her thoughts in days gone by. Her hand upon her heart. *■ " Ah, Lord, Redeemer V' still she cries. Her eyes too dim with tears To see, if they were near, the skies — " How far Thy love appears ! (lo) ^ — _ 1^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. I cannot feel, I cannot know Aught save my misery. Lord I as Thou pitiest all below, Thou mu(ht over all. \1< ii Daughter/' — he said, — (his voice was calm, And strangely deep his eyes ; — ) I'hy honrs are numbered, — life's last psalm To-night shall o'er thee rise. Thy years press round thee, a dark throng ( )f tales that have been told ; — Naught boots it, back to look, along Those buried deeps of old. *4|^ ^tM ^i^ ^^ ^^ ^O ^b ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 'I* ^^ ^n His glory has defied our gloom, He is Himself our Quest, His pardon has become our doom, — His Sacred Wounds our Rest." "Father," — she spake, — and, to my thought, On all she loved so well, — (tg) V -V • * STUDIES FOR POEMS. Trees, flowers, these winds witli odors frauj^'ht, A sudden stillness fell; — • "Father! But three short years ago In bitterness malign Thy dreams no soul on earth could know So dead, so lost as mine ! Each bright and hai)py gift would turn To ashes at my gaze, — How from such horror patience learn. How weigh such evil days? — My life of life was stricken, — its flower Dead in that Upas air; One weight lay on me every hour, — The name of it, — Despair ! " Nay, Father, peace ! — I have but spoken Tlius of those vanished days, — To show what chains Thy touch has broken. What sighings turned to praise ! (20) * * 4!^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. Nor even tliy touch aloiit', for still Without (jrod's glacis I know Thou luuFst been powerless to fulfill Thy glorious work below ; — But from that well-remembered eve When first the thought was mine. That God's great mercy still could grieve For me, with strength divine, — I felt my doom depart ; beheld The poison-vapors flee, — By this great truth to life ccmipelled, — God had remembered me ! ''Should I have lingered on this theme Father, — so near the end? And yet, — thou art no passing dream, — My soul's most constant friend ; Life was a riddle till I saw Thi/ hand point out the clue, HK iff -« STUDIES FOn POEMS. And knew these words to be Thy hiw, — 'Lord! — wliat for me to do?' — Thy feet, set in the patli to Heaven, Walk firmly on their way; — At what a distance mine have striven, No words ean ever say, — Methinks even eyes like thine might shun The weight of sins I hear ; — And yet, for me, the deadliest one Is only, — to despair." — ♦ s^ ^U ^^ %i/ ^^ ^L. ^k ^^ ^% n^ ^v" ^^ ^^ ^T* They are fled, — the long last shades of night, — And from these azure skies Behold, in airy, cloudless night, — A crystal morn arise ! And Nature lifteth up her psalm For powers that life restore ; But one still figure, pale and calm, Shall know them, — nevermore. (22 j iff ' iff iff ifi STUDIES FOR POEMS, The walls that EarthV dt'spairs have made, Death's li /J* /JV vjv Tjs They asked her once, — of those, w^hose lot Was never Heaven to know, — What was their worst chastisement, — what Their one distinctive woe? — They waited then, her words to greet ; — Lifting deep eyes above, — She answered only, calm and sweet, — " Alas ! They do not love." 32; « » J, AN ORIENTAL SALUTATION. " Peace be with you." f|Qj EACE be with you!— Peace at night, / rii^M^ In the obscure and solemn light ; ^^•j Peace at morn, when, softly gay, j)^ Those fair eyes open to the day ; Peace, while earth's light is round thee : peace Beyond thy dreams when earth shall cease ; — Peace forever! But for me, What peace is there, — save with thee ? (33) m « ^ AMINE. ^ii- ^jmrow V- lERE dwells she ? "— " Seest thou in the vale J&?^ Yon gracious mansion rise, — Vllvm^ Where trees Avave slowest to the gale, And sweetest sunshine lies? '^ The vines arch o'er the balcony ; -^ The roses bloom beyond ; The joyous birds, on every tree, — To Nature's joy respond." '' What is her destiny ? How speeds For her that shadow, — Life ? How are fulfilled the immortal needs? — And how is met the strife?" (34) 4f iff ifi STUDIES FOR POEMS. *' llei' husl);iii(l })ears, known fur and near, — A true and lionored name ; A seaman once; he would not fear A thing on earth l>ul shame. '' Weal til is his now ; his toils are done ; Yet, more than all beside, — The Avife his constancy hath won, His treasure and his pride ! " The very apple of his eye ; Stranger ! — 'tis even so ; — How a strong man can love, and why. Perhaps you may not know. " There plays, beside the lady's knee, A boy of fairy grace ; — In whom, already, you may see The fairy mother's face ! " ^ (35) III ':: #)- STUDIES FOR POEMS. '' Is sh(; so fair, then ? " — "I have seen () stranger! many hinds; — Stood on C()lnnibia''s prairies green, Arabia's desert-sands ; — *• And fair ones I have known, who tanght My heart to feel tlieir power ; Yet never met I, to my tlionght, One like this English Howei' I " When I look on her face, naeseems 1 stand in mooidiglit pale Stirless ; — nor can explain the dreams That o'er my thoughts prevail ! V- '' So gracious, too I — There's not a boor Her look might chance to meet, — But for her sake would toil endure, — Would worship at her feet ! " (36) « ^ 9fr STUDIES FOR POEMS. " You paint," — I said, — ** a mortal lot From mortal terrors free; — Witliout a bitterness or blot ; Almost too bright to be ! '' So sweet, so loved, so beautiful ! All ])riolitness round her east ; Her cup of bliss must be so full. It should run o'er at last ! " " Stranger ! I gave thee naught but truth And yet, — if thou should'st spy In all her beauty and lu^r youth, — The enchantress pass thee by ; " To God, thy Father, bend the knee, And of His mercy crave For her, as happiest doom, to be This hour within her grave ! " (37) -# WE ARE THREE. lYfW^l -^ ^^'^ three, — in love and pride v IL Our liearts walk daily side by side. ^' ^0 We are three, — in hope and truth ; Linked by the golden dreams of youth. We are three, — yet of us, one Lies far beneath the orient sun, Where the pale palm-trees bend in pride. To kiss the earth where warriors died. We are three, — yet, beneath the wave, My love lies in a lonely grave, — The waters flow upon his breast ; He sleeps in everlasting rest. (38) * STUDIES FOR POEMS. Those two are dead, — I yet remain Within this world of toil and pain, — Yet wheresoever my footsteps flee, I bear this token, — We are three. We are three, — our love is more. Our hearts are stronger than of yore. Though their loved forms I cannot see, — We are together, — we are three. I wait, — my life is dim and still ; My worn-out heart no more can thrill ; — I wait for Death, my soid to free, — Yet even here we still are three. O strange, sweet power ! what dreams can reign Like these so far from mortal pain ? — What hope, what glory can I see. Fair as the sign, — that we are three ? .^ ( 39 i ^ lii ~- ^ « m THE VOYAGE OF THE PETREL. (To Clarice. ) I will permit the reader to picture me for the next eisjht years, as a bark slumbering through halcyon weather, in a harbor still as glass, — the steersman stretched on the little deck, his face up to Heaven, his eyes closed ; buried, if you will, in a long prayer However, it cannot be concealed that in that case I must somehow have fallen overboard, or that there must have been wreck at last. I too well remember a time, - a long time of cold, of danger, of contention I even know there was a storm, and that not of one hour or one day. For many days and nights, neither sun nor stars appeared ; we cast with our own hands the tacklivig out of the ship ; a heavy tempest lay on us ; all hope that we should be saved was taken away. In fine, the ship was lost, the crew perished. Villette, Chap 4. Vi'l'f ry;I^AIR friend, whose softest eyes, intent,- ^ils^^^Y^ Such witchery o'er me cast, — i %j^ Thou ask'st me then, — how I have spent CiV"' Those days of absence, — past? ^ (40) ^ ^ * ^ * STUDIES FOR POEMS. Those eyes, — I shall not let them keep My actual presence nigh ; Nor, with their radiant rangings, sweep The cold reality ; Yet, — such their mercy and their power, — Half would I let them know This history, in some deepest hour Of love for all below. ^r ■T' WALKED within a smilino- kind; [0^^Jf The mountains stood on either hand, _ i^A Strife with their peace to overwhelm : jlkj Fair guardians of a fairer realm. They drew their outlines, soft and high, Against the pureness of the sky; Their height, their distance, grew to me Ideals of mystic liberty. Valleys and streamlets at their feet Made the fair picture all complete, And my soul quieted its sighs To gaze upon their destinies. w .53 * 9 STUDIES FOR POEMS. I walked with pleasant comrades there ; The mountains towered divinely fair, — The air was balm ; — there came to me A sense of utter misery. Their talk, — what was it? — Heart, o'erthrow Fair visions of the long ago, — Accept the einf>tiness of days That know not yearning, power, or praise, — Even then thou wilt, — not glad, — behold The shutting of the gates of gold, — The poisoning of the radiant thought Tliat mean all meanin<''s Life has wrouuht, — The words of course, that like rouci'h seas, — Bring shadows o'er God's silences I But He remembered I — I could see, — When other noontides rose for me. I walked, then, with a little child ; His face, his spirit, undefiled ; ^ (54) •■■-■ -^ lii -— — ft ifi Ufa STUDIES FOR POEMS. His fancies ranging, wide and true, — As those far hills beyond his view, — His soft, small brain in quietness Gathering all powers that yet should bless. He dwelt not with the things of time, — But of the Eternities sublime, — And Life's Medusa-horrors fell Before that gentle spectacle. k a A little child shall lead them!" True; O my sad heart, was this for i/ouf (55) ■« FATE AND FREE-WILL. My heart so beat, I flew so fast, — This cannot be " Too late ! " at last. HEY said that she was (lying ; thou*;h ^ How true the tale T conld not know. Such life as dwelt in her, l)y rii;'ht, — Could death put, instant, out of sight ? How many years we spent apart ! How old this aching at my heart I That morn we met I I know it well ; How fair the early sunlight fell On lawn and terrace, lifted brave High o'er tlie sleeping azure wave I Behind, the stately mansion rose ; Its secrets locked in grim repose. (56) #- w IJH-: ^ STUDIES FOB POEMS. How bloomed, those peaceful morning hours. In sheltered bulcony the flowers I How% like all dazzling gems in one, — Glittered that sea beneath the sun ! How airs, that might have vexed the day, — In softest distance died a^vay ! How hints would come, in pausing note, — Of sea-girt mariners atloat ! How zephyrs, from some far-off shore Would round theni nameless fragrance pour I How sent the l)ird, unfaltering, there His song into the U})per air I How earth and sky, and wave and beam Made all the world one fairy dream, — With hope, youth, joy, encliantment rife; Might I not feel in love with life? Ah, yes ! I joyed in ^'atin-e's lore ; But knew, — there wanted soinethino- more. V- 57 * * STUDIES FOR POEMS. That came. — A figure passed me by, — As, leaning from the balcony, — Seaward I looked. — A figure slight, — With unheard step, and eyes of might. Though fixed and far my gaze was bent, I knew that something came and went. Retracing swift her noiseless ways, — I turned ; the sunlight drooped to haze, — And our eyes met, — in a long gaze. A long, long gaze ! The first is past ; — There must be thousands ere the last ! Describe her ! — Words, thus coldly dealt, — To paint what is not seen, but felt ! Or, — could a painter fix the dyes That hover betwixt earth and skies? She was my focus ; in one blaze Drew all my scattered spirit-rays. (58) 4< * ' 1^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. Life dwelt within her ; life so keen And quick, nought else could intervene. She with you, breathino^ earthly breath, — There was no room for thoughts of death ! — One moment I describe, — retrace ; — Upon the darkness paint her face ! A brow l)road, generous, gentle, — eyes More softly blue than summer skies, — Which held so much within those deeps Where, in its h()n^e, tlie spirit sleeps, — That this strange thouglit at times I knew, — Those eyes, — were they a dream, or true ? Yet, fancying thus, I need but turn Where, in their loye, could lightings burn, — Or, — where each curye and line was grace, — Look on that sparkling, fairy face, — Or list those tones so rich, so sweet, — V- » STUDIED FOR P0E3fS. Tliiit made Life's iiinsic all complete, — 'J\) cnisli sclt-toimciits in llicir birth, — To know licr woman of the eavth I Those eyes, — they mnst be true, for me, — So mu'jh I needed them, — and thee! She of my life was star, was queen ; But ah, what shadows rushed between I There were long years, — I breathed, I felt ; — At times this darkness seemed to melt, — And through its dying mists of strife. Show me a glory as of Life. But even as I beheld, and knew All else was false, this only true, — The light Avould fall, the peace be o'er, — Life's poison hold my life once more. Past all. — Only by God's sweet grace Now can I meet thee, — face to face. « « 4 THE HOOTS OF LIFE. ? (fei HY fair, new chamber, love, I see, t?)l2ps ^ So l)riolit, 1 liad not known; •i-- But, in it, thou hast left for me 1 This crucifix alone. 'ir- And bv that sion I recofjnize That sacred symbol still, — Tliou art mine own beneath the skies. In happiness or ill. At times the shadow of thy doom Falls o'er a smiling land ; None reach thee in thy living tomb, — For none can understand. And then a weight, men call despair, - Tightens and stops thy breath; (6i ) V * * STU/>IES OF POEMS. And then, — God's crystul azure there P^iuh's to a mask of deatli. And tlien, love, — I have seen thee lie Witli dust ui)on thy head, — A ghost beneath the peaceful sky, — And than the dead more dead. But is it that thi/ soul could be Spurned thus from Love divine? — Beyond this darkness could I see No "iorious future shine ? Ah, Love I — the death-in-life we meet, To death itself might blind. Ah, Love ! — can any words be sweet When Love is not behind? — Those days are passed for thee, and now Thou walkest in the light ; (62) ^ ^ «- STUDIES FOB POEMS. God left upon thy glorious brow No scars to tell of fight. Only, — thou luist, at times, a gaze, His chosen ones must wear, — Telling, for tliose who look, of days Saved in the deeps of prayer. But here thou art, and in thy hand My own, — the strife is o'er; — And the sweet crucifix must stand Between us, evermore. a And words like these seem hovering near,- By wrath and tempest nursed ; Love thou thy God, and dare not fear, - Because He loved thee first." » :63) -m «- ■9i T 11 K 1' U 1 S () N E 11 OF THE HUNGER TOWER. Among the many interestiiijr monuments of its past liis- tory to be seen in the old Boliemian citv of Prac:ue, none is more fascinating to the traveller tlian a ru(l(% circular stone stru(!ture, dating, apparently, from the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries. It is connnonly called the ** Hunjjer Tower," and, as its too suirjiestive name im- plies, those who had specially offeiuled against the laws of the State, civil or religious, were tliere put to death by starvation. It contains two upiter stories, and a dungeon or oubliette, into which those condemned to sutler the worst penalty of the law, were lowered. The two upper stoi-ies contain many little cells, some with rough, unglazed windows barred with iron, and others with a simple niche, or blind window, at the end. In one of these cells, al)out seven feet by four, many of the stones from this niche are displaced, and lie in con- fusion with the hardened mortar, showing plainly that some unfortunate captive had made desperate etTorts to work through the wall in this direction, and so reach the outer world, from which he must have felt himself so cruelly debari'ed. The implements he used can only (64) ^ « 4 sruoiiifi run ivemh. be conjcM'tured. Tlio, old cicorono, on Ix'iiii; iiskcd wlmt was done witli liiin for thus attempting to escape, shrugged her .shoulders and answered indifferently, " Oh, taken out and sliot next ii the stone, O'er which so oft they passed, — Shrunk, as they clutched a nail ; he felt A Hash of joy at last I He grasped it firm. — ''In days of old, — Now dead as leaves tliat fall, — Earth's pomps and gauds were mine ; those powers Whose worth we dare not call ; And now, — this rusty nail shall l)ear The palm before them all ! " He groped to the blind niche, that turned Towards tlie outer air ; His hands were strung with steel ; he lost A moment, his despair ; And, in that moment, o'er him came A thought, — that was a jn'ayer. He worked, he toiled. The dro])s wovdd stand Like beads upon his brow ; (07) Ifl IfC lii 9 STUDIES FOR POL' MS. The tissues of that hapless frame Such uuused toil would l)ow; What mattered it? — his breath came free, — He had an interest now! ( )nce, tired, he leaned against the wall ; It was a summer night ; ( Nought guessing how he might have come From darkness near to liglit ;) The measured sound of church bells came Piercing that stony might ! Was it he who heard? The hands fell free, — The heart forgot its fears ; Me, in that moment, tenderly Recalled his vanished years ; And, as he listened, coidd it be? This, — that he felt, — was tears. '" I have walked," he said, " in such a blur Of horror and of pain, ii( * STUDIES FOR POEMS. 1 wonder not tlie bitterness Has gone into my brain ; I deemed not God eonld so be iiod, — rf^ if- To give such hour again ! " He listened to that music; still, With thouglits so sAveet and strange I Upon the breathless dungeon air, — There passed a sudden change ; VVlience came these sounds? — and whence these eves That o'er him seemed to ran*»e ? They noted all ; tlie rusty nail Fallen down upon the floor ; The misplaced stones, that told the tale Of hoj)e revived once more ; The prisoner's face, though wan and pale, — Lit by the dreams of vore I Each noted, with triumphal brow : For him the die was east; {69) ^ « lii 9 STUDIES FOB POEMS. This life of all mysterious woe ; Foreknew its conflicts passed. His days were justly iorfeit noAV To the outraged laws at last I '•'■Prisoner," the eldest said, ^'' you were pent Here in this narrow room ; Men well had deemed you j)enitent, — Hid in such dungeon gloom ; Now mercy pleads in vain ; you are sent To-morrow to your doom ! " The door clanged close — The mournful eyes,- Dazed by that cruel light, — Fell back upon their destinies, — The shadow and the idght ; And yet, — and yet, — not quite the same ; — They had known at last their might ! A shiver rustled through his frame ; A shiver, — not of fear ; . _^ (70) ^ III ^ iff ii>- 4 i STUDIES FOB POEMS. I lis eves were fixed, yet one iniglit see Their vision soft and clear; And yet, — be cronehed upon tlie ground,- As tliougli some foe were near. Was it so to end, — the aaonv Of that most bitter breath, — The dreams, the aspirings, that wouhl see How sh)w Hope perisheth, — Then the after ([uiet, that must be At last, — the spirit's death? Karth's battles are forever so Throngh all conflicting powers ; Soil must l)e tortured ere it show The summer fruits and Howers ; No eye but God's could ever know Of his last earthly hours. The morn is here ! — In sullen file The guards before the gate « 4 STUDIES FOR POEMS. Are gatbcrc'd ; tlieii, a little while P>el()W the lindens wait; — And tlien, — tliey enter, and tliey stand To bear him to his fate. He is led forth I — How does he look, — i) men, of women l)()rn? Pieiids mio'ht their lesson take from yoTi, — Of cruelty and scorn, — Vet, — he has little left to bear Upon this smumer morn. Still ill the court-yard stands a tree, Lopped, dreary and aghast ; Stands where that j^risoner, gagged and bound. Before the axe was cast, — Where, in (rod's gentle sunshine, he From night to morning passed I This happ'd, — how many yeais agone? That know not I, nor care ; (72) « V- STUDIES FOR POEMS. His (liuigi'oii stands, to witness still ; The stones all broken there ; Is it so stranj^'e, is it so new, — That life should Ih^ despair? In tlie otlier world at last, O God ! When light shidl vancjuish gloom, — Can we not, in some moment, know The mystery of his doom, — And liow far Thou jiermitt'st the shades Of deatli beyond the tomb? 73, « ^ ■m ^fe^^ TIIK MVSTKWL LAND. 4 ifOW do I go, my Heart, when I (^o Into the Mystical Land?" 4 Tliou sittest hy a river slow. That Hows into the sand, — Thou watchest, far above, the skies In g'old and crystal gleam, — Earth's fiercest roar about thee dies, — Thou walkest in a dream. For not one moment canst thou kn(>w The bitterness, the strife. The whirl of waters that below Make u[) what we call Life ; If faintest thought, if slightliest sound ( )f earth thy spirit stain, — Then leav'st thou, for that drearv round. The Mystic Land again I (74) » " "m ifn III STUDIES FOR POEMS. '" Wliiit do I (l(j, inv IJeai't, when 1 go Into tlie Mystical Land?" • "'This is thy doino- there, — to know That thou dost understand Tliat life is love, and love is life, And the Love of Love is there, — There is an end to thouohts of strife, — To the poison of despair; The night of sorrow ends ; for this Thou knewest could nc>t last ; Thou find'st, in very truth, thy bliss Is more for what is past. — Such draughts of peace thou drinkest there. That like a river flow, — Thou art thankful for the old despair ; What is there more to know?" '•" Can it ever be, this side the grave, My Heart, — the Mystic land?'' — (75) _ ^1 IZ 1^ *~ ■■ STUDIES FOB POEMS. So teii(l(7'ly slio answered me, — Audi felt her understand; " Is, then, tfiis earth one phuisure-o-roiuid. All (hizzlinu' to the siuht, — Where only liaj)))iness is i'ound, — Mornin<4', and noon, and nio-ht'/ Are there no thoughts of ani^uish drear. No lead within the breast, — No [)assion, that must die of fear, — Before its own unrest? Thou knewest that question came in vain,'" Thus said my Heart to me ; •' We are sent into this worUl, to gain The next tlirough agony/" " Ah me, what shudderings tlien, my Heart, To reaeh the Mystie Land ! I could ahnost yield my little part, — I cannot understand ! '' (76 ) * I{l STUDIES FOR POEMS. -"Jt is not iiu'aiit tlmt cvi's sliould see Clear in this bitter ])la('e ; When it is vaiiislied, they may be Serene and face to faee. If Tie, the Captain of onr war, — Conquered throngli sufterin^' all, — How shonUVst thou dread to look afar, — Hearing His trnmpet-eall ? Be patient through the agony Thou canst not understand ; In thy Lord's smile, shall smile for thee At last, — the Mystic Land I " (77) ^ ^ . IN MILAN CATHEDRAL. ^i;]^..,,^ (April, 1871.) 1^1 WANDERER, pausing at the door, — citerT/*' Doubting- of tilings divine, — Jjjy- The weurier thou of life, — the more /«. V' All this doniain is thine. For thee, upon that altar high, — The symbol-splendours blaze ; Upwards, with clouds of incense, fly Yearnings that fill tliy days ; For thee maintains each column proud The worship of the years ; For thee the lofty arch is bowed, — As even with mortal fears; For thee, O stricken, cowering heir Of bliss and love untold, — Visions thy weakness scarce can bear, — Immortal deeps unfold ! (78) ^ 4 STUDIES FOR POEMS. Enter. — Tlu' (l('i)ths oF music fill Tlit'so (H'li()iiira\"er. The air of death that liirds around 'J'hv s])irit and tliv lil'e, — Sirdss from tliee on this blessed ground, — With holy victories rife ; Thy heart, beyond its lonoings weak, — Has, for the moment, llown ; Earth's bitter voices cannot speak Where Heaven's is heard alone. Thou tliink'st that God has hd't tli " ; know'st No world but thy despair; — If, to its very deeps thou throw'st Thy look, then, — He is there I * *The Rev. F. W. Faber's idea was, that in the very depths of mortal aji^oiiy, if we looked for God around or outside of us, we could not find Ilim ; that in turniuy back upon our own hearts, we found Him there. ,79, V- -« STUDIES FOR POEMS. () worlds tliat from tlic soul can sw('('[) 'I'lie sii'kcMiiig' of its pain ! — () worlds that hold such cordials (lcc[> For heart and blood and brain I Worlds that in giving death to pride. — Tplift us to the sky; Worlds that beneath this roof al)ide, — Within these cloisters lie, — Worlds whose spells waft us to Ilis throne, — I'he Lord of lleavenlv powers, — Wiio for our sakes made death Ilis own, — That so ini^ht life be ours; Most merciful! where'er they roam, — These souls which 'Hiou hast made, — Here must they breathe the air of home. Here Earth's proud waves be stayed. (80) * — 4^ -4) -it ' ' THE GRAVE OF FENK E. ;^f^<:; -HE rests, tlieii I— Solemn be that rest,— /rv^c^ After life's fever, sleej) ! M\ That heart, with passionate hopes y\ oppressed, I With longings strange and deep, — Has found its quiet. O'er her, here, How soft the grasses wave ! O stranger ! Bring thy hope, thy fear, — Not unto this fair grave ! She who rests here,— I cannot see One touch of nature tied I Ever, in lingering thought, to nu-, — She lives, — she is not dead! It is as though, by sonic strange chance, — I Wandering, with spirit sore, — F (8, * 4n 1^ . — ™— .— — .^ ..^^ — ^ — -_ljj STUDIES FOR POEMS. I mio'lit behold that upward glance, — Feiiice ! mine once more ! Sixteen. Those years when some have told, — They are but children still; [.life's deeps, as yet, may not unfold, — The slumbering heart to thrill; Hut she, — when dropt God's sudden call Into her youthful sky, — It was as she had known the All And now, — could only die! The All I But she had known a youth, — llich with imperial hours ; Steeped in a natural girlish truth, — Balmy with breath of flowers ; Life said, in accents that seemed true, — "My child I I give thee days To wind, 'neath skies of deepest blue, — Only in radiant ways." ^82) V B^*'**''"""W''**"ww«wiwwMwww>itt*»agJMi»fT ji^^ ^ Ifl STUDIES FOR POEMS. She listened, she believed; her ear Could but sueh promise greet; Nor might a thought intrude, of fear. Beside its music sweet; She walked, as reading a fair tale, Down some enchanted land: Sudden the brilliance seemed to fail, — The book fell from her hand I And she beheld, where Fancy drew Arcades of glorious bloom, — That, through a mist, her pathway grew A pathway to the tomb ! That gentle spirit, warmed and cheered By all it met below. Was doomed. What then she felt, or feared, I do not seek to know. But this I know, — that here, serene, — Safe from the world's cold breath, — *- : * *- — « STUDIES FOR POEMS. My fair Fenice lies, a queen, — Sleeping the sleep of death ! The pale hands erossed; — I know, even yet, Jn thought, their touch benign; And closed the eyes, which never met With aught but sweetness, mine ! We were together once, in truth ; Our souls together; still Those so departed days of youth Come back, one heart to thrill; But now, — a wanderer I must be, — Bound on some wayward quest, — While, set so far apart from me. She lies in holy rest. (84 *■ ^ r-^- ^ f hS El.MIRirS POiriRAIT. '''^^^^,ER eyes were deep, her face serene: »-' ' i'i!rA'r^\ I'he i)resenee of a crowned (iiieeii ^,\;^ Was hers; witli every word she spake ^^ A beauty over lite woidd break. I No meaner lliou<>lits could live, that you Once brouoht before that earnest view; I)es})air \vas not, beneath the skies, — When you had looked into her eyes. The petty thinu^s, the coninion ways. That fill so much of all our (hiys. — Were not the same, niethinks, to her: — The pulses of her life would stir With lar^'er meanin^i^s, loftier powers; Her soul stood nearer home than ours. The strength one mortal life may hold, — Can it byword or ])en, be told? ss; 4( 9^ CHURCH BELLS IN VENICE. (Santa Zacaria.) «!Uf'\i-, ¥M HEY steal me back to other days, — ^|^^4 They smooth to youtli my brow ; ^fe As through Venetian air I gaze, — ^"^ They flood the kindseape now. They lift the struggling spirit high Out of its pains and woe, And set it near some cloudless sky,' As in the loi ago ; •!(- They })raise, entreat, complain, adore, — They sootlie and they awake, — Sound-waves that strike some holier shore. And the souFs silence break, — : £6 ) ft Iff # {STUDIES FOR POEMS. Earth's self-reproiieh and penitence Seems uttered in their tone ; Chnids gather round tlieir heights inten.se. To mortal eyes unknown. Yet still those eehoes, rising true, — Earth's deadlier vapors part, — And in the space they leave, we view All, that should fill the heart. *— * * « TO A FRIEND. '•-;/-,t -u /(lumuiiimium : HEN first I met your gljincc, my * pjl?^ fill (1 ■'v^^^ Some instinct seemed to speak, — .\^- And murmur, ''Here life's quest may t end ; Behold tlie heart you seek ! " Long, long the watch, the waiting ; long The hope, the fell des2)air ; — A Presence rises from the thromr. The answer to thy prayer! ct wir:^ Now drop the burden of thy fears. Thy sorrows put aAvay; The light that in thy East appears Shines to the perfect day. (88) STl'Dri'JS FOR rOKMS. '''•For thee no more tlie l)itt(>r mloom, — The thiviiteiiiiii>s of the ])ast ; Thy spirit, rcinsoined from its tomb, 'Sciipes to its life at hist I " * * * 1^ an Mn Wluit was thy charm? Not till this hour Could earthly spell command, For me the witchery and the power Held in thy careless hand ! Was it, that in some vanished 3'ear, — Lost, lost in mists of yore, — Thy soul was part of mine, — and here Reclaimed its own once more ? I know not. Friend, thou mav'st not see (Thou should'st not, — it is l)est, ) All thy affection is to me, My refuge and my rest I (89: :_ -^ «■ STUDIES FOR I'OEMS. The clouds may lower around, and dart The lightnings on the gale ; But, — still thine image in my heart, — On I on I I will not quail ! ,9°/ * * « CT A FIRST VIEW OF QUEBEC. :T5j "RIGirr in the morning' fair, "■,fcLi:«J;: Hiicrht thr()ii- 4 IN AUTUMN. }Y walks lie now ainoiig the leaves, ^)Hi*f%^>^'Y Crimsun, and ^old, and brown; — »' \*} K ^^^^' Nature her sweet broidery weaves X O'er all the dreary town. Slow wandering', in some nook I stand, And linger — while the grace Now spreading broadcast o'er the land, Shines " in a shady place ! '' The mountain from these slopes is seen A rainbowed, dazzling height, As if the summer's sombre green Had lost itself in light. And still no glare upon the sky, — But softest, dreamiest rays a v97) « ifi ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. Look down tliroiioli mists to sanctify TliL'st' nicllow Autnnin days! Yet never did fair scene hut bring Some th()U_L;lits that were not fair; The sha(h)W of a pliantoni wing Forever in the air I Why — when these Autumn leaflets fall, So coldly and so sere, — Should they those vanished hours recall. Made by thy presence dear? Ah ! friend I — Those memories bring to me Not Itliss so much as i)ain ; The burden of my thought must be, When shall we meet again? 4 [98) ^ A CHRISTMAS SONG. ^ l^iffl^GAINI the skies are cliilling now; ij:^iy^^lA The snow is on the liround ; M^ Winter, with snHen, ohl-tinie hrow. 6 Looks hiiUL;htilv around. But faces gay, and liearts as light As sunheanis, tell at last We dare to hope for something bright Before the year, is past I V- upon these days the sunlight gleams More peaceful and more fair ; Can it he fancy? hut there seems A fragrance in t 'le air ; That sul)tle brightness quivers through Skies gray with winter's cold ; (99) ■ . » I. ' > i I 1 J • ni iff « STUDIES FOR POEMS. That frajTi'unce, — 'tis the same we knew On many a morn of old ! Conflicts may o'er our souls have passed, So deadly and so deep, That, while we live, the shadows cast ' Will haunt us as we sleep ; A light may from our hearts have gone That nothing can restore; — But, all the same, life passes on With joy to thousands more ! Now — well-remembered pictures crowd Where'er we turn our eyes : Upon bleak fields the snowy shroud, Direct from Heaven, lies ; And there is peace on all around. As in the ancient days ; And, ever rising from the ground. The wealth of prayer and praise ! f IC» ) I « III STUDIES FOR POEMS. Oh ! might we but, in sweet content, Accept the mighty will ! Thanks, Lord, for all Thy mercies sent To erring mortals still; So constant, all our lives we knew Their brightness round us cast; So many, undeserved and true, We dare not count at last! (lOl) ii<- '>ii THE ("HOICK. " It is better to be sitting tbaii standing, better lyiii}; down than sitting, jlead than lying down." Eastkbn Puovkkb. li I* WERE well, methiiiks, at frtvslieiiing I dawn, (Within thy heart its liglitness,) To stand, and watch, upon the hiwn. The hind alianie with hiij^htness ; 'I\) trace, upon his upward way. The Lark at distance flying ; So standing, to forget the day, — The strife around thee lying. «- Better to sit ! as it might be. That half-lit thought divining, I03 I lii fti STin/h'S FOR roFMS. Couclics, of (juaintcst broidery, Await but thy rccliiiiii*;-. If in its loneliness the scene Thy (Iroopint^ thouoht abashes, Heside thee may some loved one lean, While tlie warm tire-lioht flashes. Better to lie I The curtains drawn, The bed all quiet — lonely; While thou, upon it, waitest dawn, — Dreadini^ its bri<>htness only. Still in thy heart is Passion's throne ; New h()j)es are round tiiee starting*-; — Thou^di fiom thee — to thyself unknown, Tlie ancient life is ])arting. Best to be dead I — Thus best thou now : No more a pilgrim, wccpinlit in eve. Nor colour in her cheek! But yet, some fire divine had cast Her life within its mould, ( 105) ifi — ^ f * i STUDIES FOR POEMS. And all the story of that past Upon her face was told. In every deep-ploughed line the token Lay, of some touching- grace ; Though the heart's joy-spring might be broken, Yet, Peace had ta'en its place ! Self-conquest, Patience, Love, Regret, — By Truth's unfaltering hand; Were not these symbols clearly set For all to understand? She knelt ; the rest her looks had worn Seemed deepening round her there ; And half I felt my spirit borne Onwards to meet her prayer. Such dreams, perhaps, as concjuerors choose Before her thoughts might rise. As from the windows different hues Crossed her uplifted eyes. t ( 106 ■^ ^ _ ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. . I staid, — how loiio-, I do not know ;— Some spell was o'er nie cast; A lingeier I, who niioht not o-o Until that prayer was past! But she has risen ; and now, I see (The lauds, lamentinos, said,—) That form move onward reverently. With bent and drooping head. But then her looks, by some strange chance Fell on me, — there, apart; Startled, I met one searching glance. That seemed to read my heart; I looked away; they shone too bright,— Too keen, — those eyes of prayer; It was as when we shrink from lioht More than our strength can bear. I rose, and all the treacherous blood Rushed fiercely to my heart > 107; -* « STUDIES FOR P0EM8. Ab in the silence there we stood, So near, yet so apart ! Outward I passed. — That nun and I, Never again may meet, But memory bids me, till I die, Cherish the vision sweet. (io8) CHURCH OF NOTRE DAME DE BONSECOURS. Vs^ (euected 1773.) 3! '^T''! ll^^^EAR relic of a fruitful Past! illV^'^' ^^^ y^^ ^^^y work is done, Thougli iiiuety years have o'er tliee cast Their shadow and their sun ; Thou wearest yet, serene and free,— The ancient stately m'ace. And sti-angers come, to look on thee, And know thee in thy place ! The autumn hreeze, in tenderest mood,— Its magic on thee lays; And ever o'er thee seems to brood The light of other days. * STUDIES FOR POFMS. Tlie mart is close ; more swiftly on Rushes the living tide ! On all, methinkvS, those cycles gone, Breathe as they pass thy side. What tales thy stones could tell — of power. Of promise and decay, — The glorious visions of an hour That rose and passed away ! What scenes those silent walls might see I Vain suppliance, — mad regret, Whose memory, in these days, may be A troubled darkness yet ! 'I'hy aisles the swelling strains have known, ( )f Victory's days of pride ; A radiance through their gloom has shone On bridegroom and on bride. And then — those other seasons grew, — When Plague was in the air, — , i.-.o lii ' ^ • * STUDIES FOR POEMS. When myriads saw their doom, and knew Nothing was left — but Prayer. Those days are o'er ! Still to the skies Thou lookest, full and free ; Firm, as we hope, t' ou yet mayst rise, For many a year to be. All round thee altered ; landmarks flown, The ways, the looks of yore ; But the Man's nature thou hast known. That changes — nevermore ! (m) ^ * CLOTHO, LACHKSIS, ATROPOS. VA^, - I- ji r' • NE, youiiL?, lay dying. Quiet, now ••llv'^li The smooth and silver tongue ; "f^'^y- iVnd careless, from the death-hued "Z hrow 1 The matted curls were flung. Scarce on the pillow moved his head; Yet, resting ever there, — Solemn and stately as the dead. And, like them, coldly fair, — A woman sat. — Through all the gloom Of deepening night, her face Passionless, rayless, in that room Kept its appointed place. (112 l ij i if( STUDIES FOB POEMS. Who is she ? — In her eyes no tears, No pity, and no strife ; She is "the Fury with the shears To slit the thin-spun life." II. The hours passed onward. — Still the same That haunted chamber's sleep, — When from the sick man's couch there came A muttering, low but deep. For groans his lips had vainly striven. But now they spoke in power; — It was as subtle strength were given Before the final hour. Those lips, alas ! — spoke nought of prayer, — Of penitence, or praise ; They told, in those last moments there, — The story of his days. ill lii lit STUDItJS FOR POEMS. III. I was a child. The earth, the sky, — The lon^-descending beam, — Made Life the all I could not fly ; A riddle, and a dream. Its web above me grew and grew, — Woven in a mystic s^hroud; While my wild heart existence drew From every flower and cloud. — And if the skies were dim, I brought My hopes to darkening lands ; And if the heaven was fair, methought My spirit clapped her hands. O Sun! O Mother! — thou wert mine, — In those fair summers past; The days I worshiped at thy shrine, — Hast thou forgot at last? . ("4) I 4 -^ * STUDIES FOR POEMS. It is so much to breathe, to he, — More than all words have told I — M; eyes, in Death's deep shadows, see More clearly than of old. This was my time, — that time when I Before my days of strife, — Knew not what fate should o'er me lie, — But lived an inward life. IV. The days passed on. — The shadows deep Of Life upon me rose. I had done with fairy tales of sleep, — I had to meet my foes. The World, the Flesh, the Devil! — See! I have known them, each and all; If Saint Aloysius had been me, — He had answered to their call. («'5) « « f^rrn/Es Fon poems. But onu tliiuj^ mijjflit have savod me yet, — I JisktMl a p(;if'ect fiieiid ; One to repioaeli not, nor forget, — But love unto the end. « Thou, in Thy rigliteousness full soon, O Lord! didst fix my lot; I had not merited such boon, — And so, — Thou gav'st it not. V. The days passed on. — In manhood's prime All know some radiant hours ; Are there not also things whose slime One finds among the flowers? — Everywhere, everywhere the same ; Wherever eyes may fall, — Or thought pause, — still the hue of shame, The serpent's trail o'er all. (ii6; i^ , if( flfi 9 ti'iUDIEH FOR roKMS. My visions fell hcfon^ iiic tlion, — Fell, — i'or tlicy could not save. ""Deceitful are the lieavts of men, — And cruel as the grave." "" From my youth up Thy terrors, Lord, — I have suffered in my mind." When I am gone, be this dread word The last I leave behind. VI. Life spread before me, a vast plain, — More boundless than the sea ; I walked on, wondering, in my pain, — Such its immensity. I walked on and my feet would tire, — And stumble here and there; It was as though Life's central fire Died in a thought's despair. (H7) % # Ifl ^-^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. And, sudden as 1 looked, — mv l)row Scars of remorse, regret, — I felt the end was nearing now, — Life's bitter sun would set. Ah! did I mourn? — When one has lain Long years on dungeon-floor, — Is it sad there (3()mes an end to pain, — That Angels ope the door? My God ! my God ! Thou gav'st me life Without my wish or will ; 'J'hou doom'st me nijt, through wastes of strife, — To walk and suflVr still. 'I'hou, mv Soul, knowest, whatever lies Beyond this life of ours, — Can not be bitterer than its sighs, — More fading than its flowers. (:.8) ^ iff iffr— ifl STUDIES FOB POEMS. And, be this natural thrill of fear, — Be it exulting pride, — T know not, — but my foes shall hear '' He lives, — and he has died." "'Their murmurs, like the ocean-sands, — About my thoughts are blown. I am taken from their cruel hands, — And rest with Death alone. VII. '' Ah, Lord ! — these bitter words forgive, — Wrung from my agony ! Thou hast known well what it was to live. And camest here to die. "'Thou knowest my heart is only dumb Through all it longs to say ; Thou knowest this bitterness has come From hopes that went astray. iff ^ — ^ lii ^1^1 — '• ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. "' Thou kiiowest tliis soul of mine is dull, — Poisoned with anguish past. Oh, is it not most merciful 3Ian shall not judge at last ? "'• I can recall one angel fair, — Who has run the bitter race, — Loved me on earth and loves me tliere. Before the throne of grace. "•' In life Thoii gav'st her. Lord, to me. To warn, console, and guide ; In mv death-hour, O let me see That vision at my side ! " The gasping voice died down ; that voice Once all o'erflowing power ; Its weakness might his heart rejoice, — Sign of the mystic hour. ( »20) qf ; —«.. ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. There raised itself a wasted liaiid, — And pointed to the door. Atropos rose. — I saw her stand Beside liis eouch no more. But when the morn, sh)w glimmering' red,— Her rays ni)on liim east, — ''He has seen the Angel/'—then I said; '•She was with him at the last." I (.21) ^ ^ *— « THE FAIR HIMOEGROOM. w 'um m \ SWEET, sweet Death! Thou seem'st to rise •" Out of the suuset deep; Thou kissest nie between the eyes, — To wake me from my sleep. Life's sleep of woe ! — Thou honorest me ; I lie within thine arms ; Held in that clasp, I can but see Thy pity and thy charms. My Heart ! "—thou sayest,— ^^ my Heart ! I yearned For thee, in all thy ways; Saw how, each hour, thy spirit turned From Earth's embittered days. (^22 ) 4( f ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. "It mattered not, by land or sea; Ever tliy sorrows there ; The peace these hands have kept for thee Shall match thy long despair. "For these slow clouds, there shall be skies Serene as thy desire ; For tears that never left thine eyes, — A vision as of fire. "For words that died in agony Triinnphant hymns shall wave Their soft-Tone-l)anners, true and free, — Above thy happy grave." V 123 « •f AT THE END. "I saw, also, that tliere was an ocean of darkness and death; but an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness. In that, also, I saw the infinite love of God." — George Fox's Jouknal. ^''ftl ||HIS, not that, is true, mine own ; 4 True, — far beyond these sighs ; «"'2pf Just as I see not eyes alone "P Looking from out thine eyes. Just as I hear not issuing words From out those lips serene ; Instead, — the truth of flashing swords Such as might guard a queen. There is a spirit-radiancy That sight must all forego ; (124) -V * * STUDIES FOR POEMS. It is not thy mortality Thyself that makes me know. Thus, — when all hopes hut mockery seem, — All shadows one, — Despair; Thyself, — the real within a dream, — Flashest upon me there ; And, whatsoever light or grace May yet he mine, •! see No sweeter memory than your face, — God's loving thought for me I The days depart ; — the black waves rise About life's barren strand ; There is no freshness in the skies No greenness on the land. But God looks on ; His hand is there, — Where 'nought but chaos seems : ( I2S) * * m ^ fi STUDIES FOR POEMS. He brings, from discords of despair, — The music of our dreams. And now, look close ! the black waves creej), Lessening their noisome strife; And other waters o'er them sweep, — Bearing the hues of life. These triumph, and not those! — We see The olive-branch, the dove; Not Death, but Life, our destiny; Not Hate at last but Love. i 126) -V « LINES ON THE ADJOURNMEXT 0^^ THE HOUSE OF rOMMONS, ON RECEIVING TIDINGS OF THE DEATH OF SIR GEORGE CORNEWALL LEWIS, BART., S?]CRETARY OF WAR, APRIL 14, 1808. ^A^" '} f t i I HE ranks are gathered, — not to fight, '. To struggle, or to dare; Ah, no, — for on this meeting night Far other thoughts are there. Hushed is th' upbraiding word — the flow Of passion calmed to peace ; One mightier shoots his bolt, and lo! Earth's petty tumults cease. And faction's reign itself is past, For one brief — solemn hour; ^ STUDIES FOB POEMS. As brothern here they bend at last. Before a sterner power ! Few are the words, bnt fitly said, That speak the sense of all — Tiiat pay due honor to tlie dead, His deeds and worth recall. Opponents rise to touch the theme. And speak with saddening praise, Of gifts and powers they well might deem Deserving longer days. * Finished those words — that duty done, And, till the morrow's light, — They leave the mighty pile alone, — To silence and to night ! Kind Heaven ! we would not bend to thee In bitterness and gloom ; * Several of Sir Georjje Lewis's strongest political opponents expressed, on this occasion, their high sense of his vixtues and talents, and their deep regret at his untimely death. (128) iti )i( ^ I STUDIES FOR POEMS. Thif mercy only njioht decree The merey of the tomb I Grant us — these years, that fade so fhict. To guide, in stn^ngtli and power; Grant us, prepared and calm, to meet The last and final hour; Grant us, when all our path is trod, As loved to reach the grave. As he, who rests beneath the sod, Where Cambrian blue-bells wave ! -4 fi ift "SAVED." il^|-AVED ! " — But I wandered far and jllhnik wide, — /I l^\ Where rocks and thorns were set ; ',) My heart no single instant tried To scale its Olivet. "Saved!" But one thing alone I knew, — Despair, — that filled my soul; All else was shadowy, this was true, — My anguish and my goal. " Saved ! " Though an angel spoke the words, Could they he true for me? When God's hand so has crushed the chords. Can they speak victory? "Saved!" But the victory is not mine, — If mine the last defeat; (»3o) d, — ifi ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. If the unearned gift, O Tiord, be thine, — At least, — such gift were sweet. "Saved!" But a sinner once drew life 'Twixt stirrup and tiie ground ; There must be peaiie beyond the strife, — When what was lost, is found. ( '3t ) * 4> * ^ * FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE. <: w \i ;|K^v3jiATH is the night, so cool and free; ^|!i,5»p-C' Our life the sultry day; 'jfji^ Already fades its light for me ; ck I am wearj^ of the way. Above my bed a tree grows near; There sings tlie nightingale ; She only sin^s of love ; I hear Even in my dreams her tale. n. 1 wept once in my sleep ; I thought Thou wast laid within the grave ; I woke, and that dark dream had brought Salt tears my cheeks to lave. ( 132 ) . 4f I STUDIES FOR POEMS. I wept once in my sleep ; I dreamed Thou hadst forsaken me ; I woke, the mournful torrents streamed Yet long and bitterly. I wept once in my sleep ; I dreamed Thou still to me wast good; I woke, and yet forever streamed My passionate w^eeping's flood. '33; 1*1 ^ FROM KARL GEROK. GOLGOTHA. " I have in my thought travelled through many times, even through the Eternities; but God he praised, wher- ever I have come, nothing has touched my heart like Golgotha.' — ZiNZENDOKFF. 37) |{| 1|( ^:.csX SONG OF AUTUMN. (Fkom the Fkencii.) S> jHE flower already faded now Burns in the sunlight deep ; ^e ' Crowned with foreboding and with woe ^ Earth (inters in its sleep. Let us unveil our thoughts alone, — At Memory's mournful eall; We dream on all things past and gone Under these leaves that fall. The heart, humane and oenerous, sio-hs Over all sweetness past; Soft yearnings in the spirit rise For what is dead at last. v* ('38) -* ^ STUDIES FOR POEMS. As through these withered leaves we go, — Too plainly it appears, — How much must wound the heart below, And fill the eyes with tears. Regarding then our life, we see How sweet and blest a one, — Through every sorrow, it my be So it have Love alone; We give to God, upon our knees, — Thanks for His mercy's sake, — And of our vows, that cannot cease, — A double prayer we make. i i « TO A FATHER ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. ■J^^k: P--'-S-^ (From the Fkencu of Maliiekbe.) ikt- T LSI jHY sorrow, then, my frieiul, shall last forever? :#. And memories of the past, — ^f That thy paternal heart may vanquish never, — Still haunt thee to the last? Thy daughter's fate, — thus to the tomb de- scending, — To meet the fate of all, — Is that some maze, where Reason, dimly wending? — Cannot itself recall ? ( 140) « 9 STUDIES FOR POEMS. I know the cares, the hopes, that marked her way,— That filled her childhood's ytuirs ; Injurious friend ! — I have not sought to stay The current of thy tears. But she was of this world, where things most l)riglit Fade swiftest to decay; A rose, she bloomed like roses in the liyht One moin, — and passed away. Death has her terrors, like to none beside; We pray and shriek in vain ; The torturer, deafened with remorseless pride. But leaves us to our pain. The peasant, in the hut where poor men wait. Before her rule must cower; Nor can the guards tliat watch the palace gate Defend the monarch's power. 4l LAI. Lais were the lyric poetry of the old French poets, who were imitated by some amongst the English. They were principally used on melancholy subjects^, atid are said to have been formed on the model of the trochaic verses of the Greek and Latin tragedies. Pere Mourgny gives us a pleasing Instance of one of tliese ancient lais, in his ' Treatise of French Poetry ' : — Svir I'appnis du moiide Que faut il qu'on fonde? D'espoir ? Cette mer profonde, En debris feconde Fait voir Calme au matin, I'onde Et Forage y gronde Le soir. i 142 ) « «- STUDIES FOR POEMS. TRANS LATFON. In the world's faith, — uncertain, ])lind, — Wliat is the trust our liearts may find Hope's dream of liglit? — That dim, profound, and treacherous sea. Fruitful in wrecks and woes to be, — Gives to our sight Seems calm at morn, — where surging wave And hurrying tempests howl and rave, — YjTq sinks the night ! * ' ,- • ' • . « » • I • J • 1 1 » J < > > > 1 V- 143) 4 ■* 4!r «- « r N I) E X . i A Christinas Song, A Death Bed, A First View of Quebec, Amine, An Oriental Sahitatif)n, At the End, Church Bells In Venice, Church of Notre Dame de Bonsecours. Clothe, Lachesis, Atropos, Dying Song of the Italian Soldier, Elmire's Portrait, Eulalie de la Providence, . Fate and Free-will, From Karl Gerok — Golgotha, . From the German of Heine, In Autumn, .... In Milan Cathedral, . L'Affinita, ( '4 3 ; Pape IH) 18 Ul 84 33 124 86 m) 112 24 85 lO.'i 56 134 132 97 78 10 « lit- ■« INDEX. Pape Lai, 142 Lines suggested by Two Stone Figures at Honen Cathedral, 48 Mala Prohibita — Mala in Sc, 53 On the Adjournment of the House of Commons on the death of Sir George Coi'uewall Lewis. Bart., 127 Prelude, 5 Saved, 130 Song of Autumn, 138 Teresa of Avila before her Crucifix. . , . 31 " The Choice, 102 The Fair Bridegroom, 122 The Grave of Fen ice, 81 The Mystical Land, 74 The Nun . . . .28 The Prisoner of the Hunger Tower. . , , 04 The Roots of Life, 61 The Voyage of the Petrel, 40 To a Father on the Death of his Daughter. . . 140 To a Friend, 88 To Clarice, 16 To my Sister of the Sacred Heart, .... 7 Two Springs, 94 We are Tliree, 38 { 146) ii>- « *- I