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HESIL 
 VOLU 
 TIIK 
 OK HI 
 
HESIDE THE NA1<RA(;UA(;US . . T-EFNG IHK TENTH 
 
 VOLUME OF THE LOTUS SERIES . . . PRINTED HY 
 
 THE PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY IN THE ( ITY 
 
 OF KUFFALO, 
 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
 
 
JHIS BOOK IS ISSUKD IN A LIMITED EDITION 
 OK SIX HUNDRED COPIES, OK WIIK H THIS 
 IS NO. ^/i^^ 
 
 I 
 
 
 i 
 
Besidi- the Nakkagiagis 
 
 f 
 
 AND OTHI'R POEMS 
 
 i 
 
 HY 
 
 ARTHUR JOHN LOCKMART 
 
 i 
 
 UUFFALO 
 
 THE PETER PAUL BOOK O »>n^\NV 
 
 1S95 
 

 1618G3 
 
 CoPVRI(;ht, 1S95, 
 IW ARTMl'R JOHN LOCKIIART 
 
 I'RINTKD AND HOl'ND 1!V 
 
 THE I'ETIiR TAl'L HOOK COMPANY, 
 
 lil'FlAI O, N. Y. 
 
 
 ^j 
 
TO 
 
 l?rof. Cliiirlcs (3. D. Uobcrts.Ql.iU., 
 
 TIIK KINDLY CKITir (.|- 
 
 MV kllVMIS, 
 THi -iK AKE INSCRIlilil). 
 
 Still walk nmiJ the handful, atul h,to':v 
 The mystic joy to eye ami heart rei'ealea : 
 To thee all secret fountains he uns,ale;i, 
 
 TnricheU from ivorhh aloi'e an.l 7v^->n\ls hchic. 
 
 lVith;,rreenin^ marshes soft, ~vhile first buds ho7<>, 
 'To blossom 7(>ooed by hisses of the Sfriui^, 
 Be thine the rapture of all binls that sil[-. 
 
 Be at thy heart L(n>e's ever last in^^ r/,,^^,. 
 
 Tor fairer seem the hills my l>oy hood trod. 
 And bri^^hter those triumphal xvaters shine 
 That S7velled to match my :^ladness, since ent^oine 
 
 Thy skeins of music der the sacred sod; 
 And rich doxvnv^olden wastes, at thy clear call, 
 The burninor /eaves of sunset crimsoned fall. 
 
1 -^ 
 
 .1 
 
 y- 
 
 
 /I 
 
 ^ 
 
 -^ 
 
 
 5^ 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 Jr 
 
 a_. 
 
 7 
 
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 JL-J 
 
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CONTENTS. 
 
 v5 
 
 i 
 
 MKSIDIC rUHN.xK,. \(;i\' 
 
 I'AkNINc; Kain in Mvv 
 
 An Am mn ICvknim. . 
 
 Mv Sm \AN Sll I.Y 
 N(.VI.MHI.;r SUNSlil 
 
 Snow . , 
 
 K.\F,()\ 
 
 Tm:\v.\Ti.;kS()|. l"ari< 
 Till, isi, 1:01. ■s(i\( ; 
 
 SWAI.I.OW M.ICIITS. ' 
 I'.i.nw. Wind . 
 
 lioN \'oVA(,l: . 
 
 TilK U'lM.IM, WoKKKR 
 
 Keveilli 
 
 JUHM.AIK . 
 
 Jkkusai.km 
 Ol'r IIorkb 
 SoNi; 
 
 Thk Maii)i;n IOvk 
 Si.i'MBER Song 
 SONc; . 
 
 THK MIDXIGIIT TRAIN 
 HEKKUK 
 
 MONT(;()Mi.:FiIK'SM \l|) 
 THi: I'IkST JUKI) 
 
 "OK ATin<: AIRTS- 
 HOMKSOXGS. 
 
 An Ai ikn'sJVIkssagi: 
 
 CHKIU'CTO 
 
 i-hscarbot 
 Sailing Song 
 
 I^E RAiilLLIA 
 
 TAGI'-. 
 
 • 9 
 10 
 
 • '3 
 I I 
 
 • i| 
 
 16 
 
 • >9 
 
 • ^.S 
 3t 
 
 33 
 
 • 34 
 35 
 
 • 3^> 
 37 
 
 • 3S 
 39 
 
 • 39 
 40 
 
 , 41 
 44 
 50 
 55 
 58 
 
 62 
 64 
 
 ^\S 
 66 
 
 67 
 
co4\7/u\'rs. 
 
 ■i\ 
 
 CoMINt; IIoMK 
 
 ( )i II Sain i Aniiki'.ws 
 
 All. At Hn.MK . 
 
 Till'; Aril) IIami-. 
 ( Iasi-kk Si i:i am 
 
 "To Tiiio-; nil'; I.om-; oi Woman IIa 
 MoiN I I>h;siK r . 
 S()\.\I;TS. 
 
 I.r.\ II I Milk A 
 'l<< Kai I'll n. Smaw 
 
 MmI'HSi.N 
 
 I'KANKINCIsNSI'; AND MVKPI 
 
 Two I'lvllNliS 
 
 To (i. W. VVkksi i;ici) 
 Thomas C. I-ai io 
 SicRvin-: 
 
 Il'AN 
 
 I.I'-.SSONS IKOM I.M.H'.S 
 
 ('■Kill's I'lKSl IIoiRS 
 
 Vacation . 
 I''i'M'Ii.mi;nt . 
 
 l''ROSr-W«)RK 
 
 Kain, IIiiari) ai I'.ari V M»»knin(; 
 
 Monicai.m 
 
 Saini Unmkmn 
 
 WOI.IK 
 l>Ari.AC 
 
 Mv Pi ACK . 
 Thk Dkskkt Isi.i; 
 
 ICICI.K DUol'S 
 
 Soi.iriTni.: 
 ATTHK l.K ".HI- 
 SIR ADAMS AKCHII5A1.I) 
 TNI'. KICARSARCI': . 
 
 TnicnrxTi-.R . 
 
 PRO MIOMORIA 
 Till-: PARTING . 
 
 HY tiiegasi'i:ri<:au 
 
 LOVIC AND SONG 
 
 II 
 
 lO 
 
 )(»\VN 
 
 \(.R. 
 
 69 
 70 
 
 7« 
 72 
 
 7.> 
 75 
 
 7'i 
 
 77 
 77 
 7'^ 
 79 
 79 
 80 
 Si 
 Si 
 
 S2 
 
 H.^ 
 S,S 
 
 S(i 
 
 ^7 
 «7 
 
 ss 
 
 89 
 89 
 
 91 
 
 9- 
 
 92 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 
 95 
 
 98 
 
 100 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
 107 
 
 iio 
 
 III 
 
I'ACR. 
 
 . r.s 
 
 • 7« 
 7> 
 
 • 72 
 N" 7.; 
 
 75 
 
 . 76 
 77 
 
 • 77 
 7S 
 
 • 79 
 79 
 
 . 80 
 
 81 
 
 . Ri 
 
 .S2 
 
 s.s 
 
 Sh 
 87 
 
 R7 
 
 88 
 
 89 
 89 
 
 91 
 
 9' 
 
 92 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 
 95 
 
 98 
 
 100 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
 107 
 
 Ho 
 III 
 
 t* 
 
 BESIDE THE NARRAGUAGUS. 
 
 I. 
 
 EVENING RAIN IN MAY. 
 
 SODDEN the fields, with hollows rankly green; 
 Great drops still linger on the darkening pane; 
 And strenuous robins, prophesying rain. 
 Pipe from the trees that toward my window lean; 
 Hoarse rolls the swollen river, dimly seen, — 
 Mottled with frothy patches; while its breast. 
 Filled, like my own, with musical unrest, — 
 Is thinly covered with a misty screen. 
 Crouched 'neath umbrellas go the passers-by. 
 In gloom lone-vanishing; a wheelman flies 
 Swift as a shadow of approaching fate: 
 Low swamps are vocal with a carping cry; 
 The wayside pools have querulous minstrelsy; 
 Lambs bleat aloof; the village clock strikes eight. 
 
 i 
 
 j ^ 1- -^ ;> . g ■v^/' ~ -^ 
 
 1 • "1 
 
 
 
lO 
 
 BESIDE THE NARRA GUAG US. 
 
 II. 
 
 AN AUTUMN EVENING. 
 
 The sun is set. An amber mist 
 
 Fills all the vale: 
 The lapsing river, glory-kist, 
 Is gold and pearl and amethyst, 
 Where on its mirror-breast the beaded bubbles sail. 
 
 Lo! from this russet hill I gaze 
 
 On such a scene 
 As poets love to paint and praise; 
 While sunset's guerdon overpays 
 My heart with evening's balm and splendor so 
 serene! 
 
 The dark trees stand in naked grace; 
 
 And the green marge 
 Is softened on the river's face, 
 With flakes of fiery cloud. I trace 
 Its flow where yon dark hill casts down its shadow 
 large. 
 
 I sec where o'er the dam it goes 
 
 In music down; 
 And sparkling, breaks its sheen repose, 
 As under yon red bridge it flows. 
 And makes, by winding banks, its circuit through 
 the town. 
 
BESIDE THE NARRAGUAGUS. 
 
 ZX 
 
 Down-sent from forest-lakes, begemmed 
 
 With islets small; 
 Here, spreading wide, there, closely hemmed; 
 With eve's soft glories diademed. 
 Till in the welcoming sea its lover-waters fall. 
 
 By mill, and mart, and home, and where 
 
 'Mid darkling furze 
 White stones outgleam, (the dead lie there). 
 And by the hallowed place of prayer, — 
 Aiding with constant song the hymning worshippers. 
 
 In immelodious monotone 
 The mills I hear; — 
 The rattling gear, the waters' drone, 
 The saws' shrill screech. Now, duskier grown 
 Tlie eve, I see aloft a fiery shaft uprear, — 
 
 A luminous, sparkling column, curled 
 
 Above the trees: 
 It's ever-bright' ning folds unfurled, 
 As gentle shadows wrap the world, 
 While still my ear is lulled with river-melodies. 
 
 All burdens fall away,— my heart 
 
 Again is free! 
 Time's paly haggard ghosts depart: 
 Blest be the hour! 'Tis more than Art, 
 This grandeur and this calm of earth, and air and 
 sea! 
 
19 
 
 BESIDE THE NARRAGUAGVS. 
 
 In this wide world of dream, I yield 
 
 Myself to you — 
 Spirit serene of flood and field! 
 No sweeter harvest Time can yield 
 Than I have reaped 'neath stars, and 'mid the 
 falling dew! 
 
 \ 
 
 Sing on, O river! while I still 
 
 May sit to hear: 
 Ah! soon, upon this lonely hill 
 Some other eye and heart shall All 
 With tears and raptures fine, to list thee singing 
 near. 
 
 I love thee — creature, jubilant, free! 
 
 And not alone 
 For thine own loveliness! — Ah, me! 
 The joy, the pain, of memory! 
 Thou speak'st the vale, the stream, my musing 
 youth hath known! " 
 
 Sing on, O river! I am glad 
 
 That, though I fail 
 From this sweet scene, to wander wl ;re 
 Far other woods and streams are fair, 
 Thou ever stay'st to chant the music of thy 
 vale. 
 
 ^^ 2J> O* <- c /? ^(. • 
 

 BESIDE THE NARRAGUAGUS. 
 
 13 
 
 I've loved thee well, thou thing of light 
 
 And melody! 
 Ah, Narraguagus! when the night 
 All starless wraps me from earth's sight, 
 And other lovers come, wilt thou remember me ? 
 
 thy 
 
 III. 
 
 r »• 
 
 MY SYLVAN STUDY. 
 
 This is my oratory. Studious, oft 
 
 I come, at morn, at eve, to this retreat: 
 Wild is the bower, and ancient is the seat; — 
 My chair, a rock with grass and mosses soft 
 Fringed and enamelled. In a neighboring croft 
 My children sport, not far from my own door, 
 Searching out leaves and flowers — a beauteous 
 store; 
 The blackbirds chatter sociably aloft; 
 Round me grouped silvery birches, thorns full- 
 flushed 
 With milky blossoms; on my open page 
 Lie shadowy leaves, jeweled in golden light: 
 And hark! a voice, whose music straight is hushed! 
 Quick-pattering steps my partial ear engage. 
 And little Golden-hair laughs on my sight! 
 
 
 1.1 - 
 
 
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14 
 
 BESIDE THE NA RRA G UA G US. 
 
 IV. 
 
 NOVEMBER SUNSET. 
 
 Not the attire of kings, when crowns are set 
 'Mid coronation splendors, has such sheen 
 As now in these November skies is seen; 
 Where late the Day in his fire-chariot 
 Rode down the western hills, that lighten yet! 
 Twilight her tent of purple and (if gold 
 Pitches on yon dark crag, and manifold 
 Dapples the river, where its waters fret 
 Past the low bank, in leafless quietude. 
 The new moon haloes soft her crystal sphere; 
 Glassed 'mid the shadowed trees she beauteous 
 lies! 
 Such glory comes to gild, such peace to brood. 
 Changing to gold and pearl the dark'ning year, 
 The month of wailing winds and shadowy 
 skies. 
 
 V. 
 SNOW. 
 
 Sharp are the thrusts of this keen-bladed wind, 
 'Gainst which I hug my mantle; frosty-grim 
 Its arctic surge into my eyes,— so dim 
 
 With night and tears, I scarce my way can find: 
 
BESIDE THE NARRAGUAGUS. 
 
 15 
 
 et 
 
 et! 
 
 No sleighs to-night with music ring behind 
 T* o'ertake my wavering steps; no starry beam; 
 No skaters gUding o'er the frozen stream. 
 
 With shout and song, sweet to the cheerful mind; 
 
 But the wild-wailing North, — the courier-sweep 
 Of aery cars, with frosty fire-dust laden, — 
 
 Winter's white harvest winnowing to and fro. 
 — Sad-hearted, I not care, though I should sleep, 
 Wrapt in a shroud cold as some hapless maiden 
 Has wound about her by the outcast Snow. 
 
 lere; 
 lauteous 
 
 )()d, 
 year, 
 ladowy 
 
 ind. 
 
 d: 
 
T 
 
 KALON. 
 
 > I 
 
 The golden secret the sought " Kalon " found.— Manfred. 
 
 SING me a song, O Star! 
 Skirting the pearly edge of yonder cloud. 
 Do birds of dream with white wings sail so far 
 The argent coasts of splendor, where ye are ? 
 Know ye warm hearts, or spirits nobly proud, 
 Or anything like death, or grieving pain ? 
 Or do ye smile secure, and scorn to know 
 Such impotent infirmity of woe; 
 Where with your silver arrows lieth slain 
 The fateful dark far o'er your azure plain ? 
 Of bliss that Fortune doth from Time debar 
 Sing me a song, O Star! 
 
 Sing me a song, O Night! 
 
 Musing, bejeweled on thy shadowy throne. 
 Vision ye not the day with your bright eyes, 
 Whose shining crown from mortals hidden lies ? 
 
 The touch of rosy lips, the flowery breath 
 Of Tithon, — odors, gleams, hues, melodies, — 
 O Ethiop mother! ken ye aught of these? 
 
 i6 
 
KALON. . 17 
 
 Art thou content with silence starry strewn, — 
 Tlie pathway of the lonely wandering moon ? 
 Or is it thine, the secret joy, to bring 
 The covert dawn under thy dusky wing ? 
 Of restful Sleep, the womb of mortal might, 
 Sing me a song, O Night! 
 
 Sing me a song, O Sea! 
 
 Beating the rocky boundary of thy shore. 
 Thou hast all sorrow; thine the awful lore 
 Of ages; thine the pomp, — the passionate roar 
 
 Of Time; tlie anthem of ICternity! 
 
 Is thy breast bitter for the wrong of Earth ? 
 
 Is thy wave salt with dropping of our tears ? 
 
 And art thou barren for our human dearth, 
 
 When joy is flown and rapture disappears ? 
 
 Come closer, yet! my stormy grief control, — 
 
 Thou restless emblem of my restless soul! 
 Wash out my woes, waft me from weeping free, 
 And sing to me, O Sea! 
 
 Sing me a song, O Death! 
 
 Smooth the pale brow, the quiet limbs cotnpose, 
 And softly steal away the floating breath: 
 Is thy touch only blight? — Time wearieth; 
 
 Art thou our rest, — the end of all our woes ? 
 
 O shadowy Angel! what dost thou behold 
 
 Beyond that final ridge of blossomy mould, — 
 
 ! t: 
 
 ■S: 
 
 ■J 
 
i8 
 
 KALON. 
 
 Our boundary here ? O, is there hope, or day, 
 Or space, where hfe may hold unhindered way ? 
 Breathe nie thy meaning! with thine opiate lull 
 My pain, and waft me to the Beautiful! 
 The gate of Song unbar — the gate of Dream, 
 Where all things are what here they only seem^ 
 Where all is found as the Soul's vision saith:— 
 Sing me thy song, O Deatli! 
 
 
THE WATERS OF CARR. " 
 
 ODO you hear the merry waters falling, 
 In the mossy woods of Carr? 
 O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling, 
 Through its cloistral deeps afar? 
 'Tis the Indian's babe, they say, 
 Fairy stolen; changed a fay; 
 And still I hear her, calling, calling, calling, 
 In the mossy woods of Carr! 
 
 O hear you, when the weary world is sleeping, 
 
 ( Dim and drowsy every star, ) 
 This little one her happy revels keeping 
 In her halls of shining spar ? 
 Clearer swells her voice of glee, 
 While the liquid echoes flee, 
 And the full moon through deep green leaves 
 comes peeping. 
 In the dim-lit woods of Carr. 
 
 Know ye from her wigwam how they drew her, 
 
 VV^anton- willing, far away, — 
 Made the wild-wood halls seem home unto her, 
 
 Changed her to a laughing fay ? 
 
 19 
 
 S\ 
 
 "-- "nc. i a 
 
 ■?^ e 
 
 .^i 
 
 I V fe (-V l"' ^ 
 
 F 
 
 Sh, 
 
30 
 
 THE WA TERS OF CARR. 
 
 Never doth her bosom burn, 
 Never asks she to return; — 
 Ah, vainly care and sorrow may pursue her, 
 Laughing, singing, all the day! 
 
 And often, when the golden west is burning, 
 
 Ere the twilight's earliest star, 
 Comes her mother, led by mortal yearning 
 Where the haunted forests are; — 
 Listens to the rapture wild 
 Of her vanish 'd fairy child: 
 Ah, see her then, with smiles and tears, returning 
 From the sunset woods of Carr! 
 
 They feed her with the amber dew and honey. 
 
 They bathe her in the crystal spring, 
 They set her down in open spaces sunny. 
 And weave her an enchanted ring; 
 They will not let her beauty die. 
 Her innocence and purity; 
 They sweeten her fair brow with kisses many, 
 And ever round her dance and sing. 
 
 O do you hear the merry waters falling. 
 
 In the mossy woods of Carr? 
 O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling, 
 
 Through its cloistral deeps afar ? 
 
THE WA TERS OF CARR. 
 
 Never thrill of plaintive pain 
 Mingles with that ceaseless strain;— 
 But still I hear her joyous calling, calling, 
 In the morning woods of Carr! 
 
 21 
 
 ning 
 
 »ig, 
 
 H 
 
 •H^ 
 
 frsj 
 
f^ 
 
 NAIN. 
 
 And He came and ttjuchfHl the bier, and they that hare 
 him stood still. 
 
 MASTER! and wilt Thou come to our small 
 Nain, 
 Amid love's lone farewells, and life's sad closes? 
 
 And wilt Thou share our tears, and ease our pain, 
 And touch the bier on which our dead reposes ? 
 
 Well may the bearers pause, if Thou draw nigh, 
 And the slow, mournful train entranct^d listen; 
 
 And well appear the lights of wondering joy 
 'Neath low-drooped lids, where tears were wont 
 to glisten. 
 
 The genial rose, that the dear cheek forsook, 
 Now will it bloom, now will the dull eye brighten? 
 
 And Death's cold band, with thrilling tone and 
 look, 
 Wilt Thou again unclasp, our woe to lighten ? 
 
 33 
 
NAIN. 
 
 n 
 
 •are 
 
 lall 
 
 es? 
 lin, 
 s? 
 
 out 
 
 en? 
 ind 
 
 Ah, not to-day! thouRh Tlion shouldst come so 
 near 
 
 Thy seaniltss robe aj;ainst the l)ier nii^ht press; 
 Not now Tliy voice shall thrill the nniftlfd ear, 
 
 Soothing the grieving heart with gentleness. 
 
 Well, if Thou do but with us silent stand, 
 And in the awful shadow by us linger. 
 
 To point us outward to the Hetttr Land, 
 And touch our sleeping one with hallowed finger. 
 
 Then, though the loved form waken not, nor rise, 
 Though yet the long {procession onward nioveth. 
 
 Though the tomb close, to Mary's sad surprise, 
 Is it not Lazarus, whom the Master loveth ? 
 
 Thyjhour we wait: let hearts, all sorrow-laden 
 Lay, with sweet tears, their precious ones away; 
 
 The widow's only son, the beauteous maiden, 
 Shall fresh from slumber wake at break of day. 
 
 With mighty mirth, with trumpets of the morning, 
 The dwellers of mortality shall sing. 
 
 And,by their bright'ning homeward track returning, 
 Wave the green palms of life's eternal sprinj 
 
 
 So we are comforted, since Thou hast promised 
 That Thou wilt lowly speak, and with us be; 
 
 And, if by Nain or Bethany Thou comest, 
 Thy garments breathe of Immortality. 
 
 % 
 
 u 
 
 { 
 
r 
 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 NAIN. 
 
 Take up the precious burden, graveward going, 
 O dreaming bearers, lingering in the way! 
 
 The winter-wheat in frosty furrows sowing, 
 To feel the impulse of some genial May. 
 
 We welcome Sorrow, walking close with Thee; 
 
 And Death, when on his dreadless track Thou 
 comest, 
 Sliall have our tearful hospitality, 
 
 With the dear life Thou gavest and resumest. 
 
 Re in the mournful rite, the tender word, 
 The song, Earth's grief and Heaven's rapture 
 telling; 
 
 Be Thou at empty bed, and vacant board. 
 In gloom and silence of our lonely dwelling. 
 
 Hallow each bitter circumstance of grief, 
 Make benison the unexpected sorrow: 
 
 If now Thou give tlie burdened heart relief. 
 We can await the rest — in Thy to-morrow. 
 
 ■ 1 
 
 W 
 
 I A 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 T 
 
 I 
 
 THE ISLE OF SONG. 
 
 I DREAMED of a white isle, girt by such seas 
 As never foam nor freeze; 
 So lonely-rare the world hath never come, 
 But poets make its solitude their home. 
 
 The cherub wind flew downward in delight, 
 Toying with wave-tips white; 
 And happy singing maids, hand link'd in hand, 
 Danced over tracts of snowy-golden sand. 
 
 Infinite pearls of shadow, lay the shells 
 Where wove the sea its spells; 
 And the shy nymphs tossed up their shining hair, 
 While the sun glimmered on their shoulders bare. 
 
 Tall pines were overhung, and fringed palms, 
 Where the soft sea sung psalms; 
 And from its dell each scented inland air 
 Bore breath of opening blossoms everywhere. 
 
 An echoey temple, bent that arch of blue; 
 And moon and otar peered through 
 
 25 
 
 ■'.il' 
 
w 
 
 26 
 
 THE ISLE OF SONG. 
 
 The myriad mossy arms of many a glade, 
 Where lovers silent walked, and unafraid. 
 
 T^ 
 
 u 
 
 ' 
 
 The daughters, who on earth had suffered wrong, 
 Famed in romantic song, 
 Were seen by glimpses, beauteous as of yore. 
 Walking down dim wood-alleys to the shore. 
 
 The Ausonian fair, the Tuscan's holy maid. 
 Passed thro* the myrtle glade; 
 Gentlest of woman-kind, whose hearts had bled, 
 And they whom poets wept, but might not wed. 
 
 Leaping with laughter, gurgled down the stream; 
 
 Then nmrmured in a dream 
 
 Along the vale, or jubilantly free. 
 
 Till kissed to voiceless rapture by the sea. 
 
 There bright-eyed Fancy roved, and slaked her thirst 
 Where earliest dreams are nursed; 
 There Harmony her winnowing wings outspread. 
 And round the shores and through the groves forth 
 sped. 
 
 And when the moon was silverly revealed 
 In her ambrosial field, 
 
 Down to the shore, with harps no longer dumb, 
 Fearless of death I saw the poets come. 
 
 A -.- 
 
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 }• a . 
 
 i ir'-. r^ej?)-, ^-e 
 
 J 
 
forth 
 
 ,t 
 
 f> 
 
 J 
 
 b, 
 
 THE ISLE OF SONG. 37 
 
 A wondrous Genius led them, and impelled, 
 Who, when their songs excelled. 
 Plucked the fresh laurel for the victor's wreath, 
 And showed the fame that cometh after death. 
 
 There, in that glorious cluster of renown 
 
 Which to the shore came down, 
 
 I saw a deathless and fraternal few 
 
 Whom in the flesh erewhile I loved and knew. 
 
 For with his harp stood the benignant shade 
 
 Who sang the Acadian Maid; " 
 
 And at his side the reverend bard appears 
 
 Who, in sweet Roslyn, marked the flood of years. "^ 
 
 And with them were the sons of ages gone, 
 But now whose years are one: 
 I knew them well, for I had loved them long. 
 Kissed their dead faces, brooded o'er their song. 
 
 Gather'd with these resplendent sons of fame 
 Were some of lowlier name; 
 Artlessly sweet as are the building broods 
 That carol in the morn thro' springtide woods. 
 
 And there were music's daughters, and the brides 
 Of beauty, whose soft tides 
 
 Of song set toward me;— Sappho swart, and she — 
 Britain's white rose, belov'd of Italy. '" 
 
 
 ' i^ 1 VS • "5 <^^ ■^■' 
 
 '1 *. ^ 
 
 j(i< 
 
 ^V(ys, '5>^w->^r>iA . 
 

 28 
 
 THE ISLE OF SONG. 
 
 ■ * 
 
 •\ 
 
 Corinna, match'd with Pindar; Miriam, 
 Beating the lofty psalm 
 Out on her timbrel; and that double star, 
 The prophetess and poet, Deborah. 
 
 And some were there who scarce had strung their 
 
 lyres 
 Ere grief had rent the wires; 
 Too soon for fame on earth, the Destinies 
 Transferred their spirits to their genial skies. 
 
 There they who chanted Israel's lore sublime 
 Sang to the sea's soft chime; 
 And there Etruria's bard had kindred place, ^ 
 While a sweet smile lit up his mournful face. 
 
 Holding a lily, stood the Bard Divine ! 
 O'er him the fruited vine 
 Hung high its purple clusters. His the spell, 
 Of harp or tongue, most wildly musical. 
 
 Clomb roses, white and red. But his deep eyes 
 Were turned upon the skies; 
 A shining dove was lighting on his wrist. 
 And near him stood the rapt Evangelist. 
 
 There they of Hellas and the Mantuan plain, 
 Smote their sweet chords amain; 
 Homer had his clear song and vision bright. 
 Nor Milton's orbs must roll to find the light. 
 
 rlvl« 
 
THE ISLE OF SONG. 
 
 29 
 
 g their 
 
 yes 
 
 S 
 
 % 
 
 There he, of the serene, capacious brow, 
 Dwelt 'neath the laurel bough; 
 Song's matchless one, the brightest of his peers,— 
 Star that on Avon rose in earlier years! 
 
 But, when I saw my earliest love draw near, 
 
 And heard his song sincere 
 
 That charmed sweet Doon, and did its cadence 
 
 suit — 
 To rustic Coila's step and woodland flute; 
 
 While Rydal raised his grave and reverend face 
 To Shelley's child-hued grace; 
 And he, whose dust 'neath Latium's violets lies, '"' 
 Lifted to me his soul in lang'rous eyes; — 
 
 And nearer to the margcnt Tasso came, 
 
 As if it were his aim 
 
 To launch a pearly boat, laid on the shore, 
 
 Whence Spenser's self had landed just before;— 
 
 With tears I reached to them my arms, and cried: 
 
 " Let me not be denied! 
 
 Take me to your serene, immortal shore. 
 
 Where hearts faint not nor song is hindered more! 
 
 "Forlorn, companionless, in dread and dearth, 
 And weary of the earth. 
 
 Rid n»e to be with you, ye much-loved throng! 
 Life is too lonely for the child of song." 
 
 w 
 
 1*, 
 
■ « 
 
 I 
 
 30 
 
 THE ISLE OF SONG, 
 
 Their beckoning hands I saw, nor longer stayed, 
 But ardently essayed 
 
 To join them in the place of their delight, 
 And swell with them the rapture of the night. 
 
 But ere upon that white sea-fretted marge 
 I landed, from my barge, 
 Where, by the dreamful wave's most silvery lip, 
 Lingered for me that goodly fellowship; — 
 
 Dim from mine eyes went the illustrious host, — 
 Each beauteous, fading ghost; 
 Melted their isle like snow. Alone I lay: 
 And lo! it was the breaking of the day! 
 
 i ' 
 i ' 
 
 ? 
 
 I ! 
 
SWALLOW FLIGHTS. 
 
 I. 
 BLOW, O WIND. 
 
 BREATHE, mountain wind -thou breath of 
 God ! 
 The plain is hot below; 
 Tlie petals of the fainting rose 
 Fall like a scented snow. 
 
 Come, from the cedar-heights,' the towers 
 
 Of glorious Lebanon! 
 Till lilies lift their languid cheeks, 
 
 All amorous of the sun. 
 
 Breathe, wind of God-thou south- wind, blow' 
 
 For frost is fall'n amain;— 
 Breathe quickly! or our flowering hopes 
 
 By the keen North are slain. 
 
 Thy breath of balm, O spirit sweet, 
 
 Bnngs summer to my soul ! 
 Then like a bird my bosom sings 
 
 When Love hath made me whole. 
 
 1: 
 i 
 
 Ml 
 'A 
 
 
 31 
 
 i' 
 
32 
 
 SIVALLOIV FLIGHTS. 
 
 Then, as the spicy odors flow 
 
 From every bloom abroad, 
 O'er desert-fields my life shall go, 
 
 Warm-sweetened by my God. 
 
 Blow, mountain freshness, downward blow! 
 
 Where spirits languished lie; 
 Wind of the South, O softly blow, 
 
 Till brumal shadows fly! 
 
 While, like the roe o'er hills of balm. 
 
 Our souls do homeward move, 
 Still let the bounding pulse be joy. 
 
 Be life perpetual Love. 
 
 II. 
 
 BON VOYAGE. 
 
 Spirit! by what fearful way 
 
 Art thou gone, 
 And what tempest's sudden sway 
 
 Speeds thee on! 
 When the calm is on once more 
 Whither drifts thy boat ashore ? 
 
 Courage! there is surely One 
 
 Rules the sea. 
 Who, where wrath and ruin run, 
 
 Hideth thee! 
 
f 
 
 Sl^ALLOlf^ FLIGHTS. 
 
 Little ill can tempest do, 
 If the pilot-heart be true. 
 
 33 
 
 III. 
 THE WILLING WORKER. 
 
 Richly the grapes in thy vineyard, O Lord! 
 
 Hang in their clusters of purple delight: 
 I have attended the call of thy word, 
 
 Working for Tliee since the dawning of light: 
 Sweetly the sunset gleams over the lea, 
 Yet I'm not weary of working for Thee. 
 
 Ripe are the fruits in Thy garden, O Lord! 
 
 Fair are the flowers thou lovest to twine: 
 Master! no labor, no pains, I have spared; 
 
 Long have I wrought in this garden of Thine: 
 Many the stars that in heaven I see, 
 Yet I'm not weary of working for Thee. 
 
 Deep wave thy harvests in acres untold; 
 
 Gladly I reaped in the heat of the day; 
 Now the moon rises in fulness of gold, 
 
 Slowly the reapers are moving away: 
 Wide is the plain, and not many are we, 
 Yet I'm not weary of working for Thee. 
 
 \^. 
 
34 
 
 Sll'AI.LOir FL IGH TS. 
 
 Dim are my eyes in the fast-fading light; 
 
 Falters my heart from the toilsome constraint; 
 Scant on my forehead my locks have grown white ;- 
 
 Lord ! 'tis the body grows weary and faint ! 
 Finished, the task Thou hast given to me, 
 Yet Fm not weary of working for Thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 REVEILLI. 
 
 Bugi.es of light, upspringing, 
 Sound on these hills of rime; 
 
 r)ells of the lily swinging, 
 King in the morning prime: 
 
 All ye are calling — singing! 
 
 On conies the glad sun, bringing 
 Blossoms of Easter time! 
 
 Herald of waxing splendor! 
 
 After the frost and gloom, 
 Now shall be green most tender, 
 
 Now shall be fairest bloom! 
 Spring ! all her angels attend her ! 
 Singing of Death's surrender, 
 
 Chanting the broken tomb! 
 
 Spring of the heart, immortal, — 
 
 Risen Immanuel ! 
 Breathe ! till the dry dust startle, 
 
 Warm from its frozen cell I 
 
Slf^ALLOir FLIGHTS. 
 
 Open the sky-ward portal 
 Into the high immortal 
 Home, where Thy people dwell ! 
 
 35 
 
 V. 
 
 JUBILATE. 
 
 Sing, O ye heavens ! be joyful, O ye earth ! 
 
 Break into singling, O ye silent hills ! 
 
 Leap down your rocky glens, ye jubilant rills, 
 Wake all your summer vales to golden mirth ! 
 Peace smiles and sits by many a lonely hearth; 
 
 The Lord His bruistid ones hath comforted ! 
 
 Their tears, too, lighter run who mourned the 
 dead 
 When warriors led triumphant legions forth. 
 
 Sing, O ye heavens ! the bleeding land is not 
 By God forgotten ! In the blood-red sea 
 Faith toiled with Freedom, — nor the cause they lost! 
 
 Sing, O ye heavens! a race from bondage brought! 
 A nation, saved from shame to liberty ! 
 How glorious ! Yet, how terrible the cost ! 
 
 ii 
 
 

 ' I 
 
 II 
 
 '■. ) 
 
 35 SlVALLO^r FLIGHTS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 JERUSALEM. 
 
 " When he beheld the city he wept over it." 
 
 O CITY of my love— Jerusalem ! 
 Thou sittest as a queen, with diadem 
 
 And royal mantle on: 
 O city of my heart — I see thy glory gone ! 
 
 city of my love — ^Jerusalem ! 
 
 1 mourn for thee, and worship's richest gem 
 
 Of snowy stone: 
 I see the foe rush in, and thou art overthrown! 
 
 city of my love— Jerusalem ! 
 
 1 mourn for thee, but more I mourn for them — 
 
 Thy stubborn sons self-willed: 
 I see their hate return — their awful doom fulfilled. 
 
 city of my love — ^Jerusalem ! 
 
 1 came to save, I came not to condemn; 
 
 To guard and gather thee 
 As bird her brood I came; but ye would none of me! 
 
 O city of my love — ^Jerusalem I 
 
 Hadst thou but known the things revealed to them 
 
 Whose hearts are timely wise: 
 But now they must be hid forever from thine eyes ! 
 
Sl^ALLOll^ FLIGHTS. 
 
 37 
 
 city of my love — ^Jerusalem ! 
 
 1 see thee sit without thy diadem, 
 
 Sunk from thy (|ueenly state: 
 Behold thy house is left unto thee desolate ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 OUR HOREB. 
 
 My God! how awful is the place 
 
 Where Thou art found, — 
 Whose presence sanctifies all space, 
 
 Hallows all ground ! 
 
 Not 'mid the desert's silent scene; 
 
 And not alone 
 Where cherub doth to cherub lean, 
 
 A-near the Throne, 
 
 Nor where the turret's fretted spires 
 
 Mark vaulted tomb; 
 And floats the breathing of soft choirs 
 
 'Mid gorgeous gloom; — 
 
 Not there alone; but everywhere, 
 
 Art Thou revealed, — 
 Ev'n in the unenchanted air, 
 
 The common field. 
 
 ' I 
 
I 
 
 , 's 
 
 ' i 
 
 ■A 
 
 ■ i 
 
 38 SWALLO l^ FLIGHTS. 
 
 No burning bush the eye may greet, 
 
 No clear voice sound: 
 " Put off the sandals from thy feet; 
 
 'Tis holy ground ! " 
 
 Yet lurking marvels wait the eye, 
 
 Secluded, low, — 
 Weird mysteries of the sea and sky, 
 
 Of star and snow. 
 
 Not blind, not frivolously dull. 
 
 Lord ! let me be. 
 Where in Thy temple. Beautiful, 
 
 I may see Thee ! 
 
 Let me not speak, but silently 
 
 List, and rejoice: 
 Better to speak no word for aye 
 
 Than miss Thy voice ! 
 
 Bid me with reverent step draw near, 
 
 And calmly move; 
 With tranquil joy, with filial fear, 
 
 With child-like love. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A GLEAM broke out of a roseate sky 
 From the feet of an angel coming to Heaven's 
 door; 
 
 !| 
 
SirALLOlV FLIGHTS. 
 
 39 
 
 And the sound of a song came floating by, 
 Mingled with chords of a golden harp she bore. 
 
 A path led down to the purple shore 
 
 Of cloudland, laved by a sea of shining flame; 
 And singing, singing from Heaven's door, 
 
 Downward to me this music angel came. 
 
 ^1 
 
 A 
 
 n 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE iMAIDEN EVE. 
 
 The maiden Eve is a bride to-night, 
 
 And her brow is bound with a circlet bright, 
 
 And her robe of blue, in every fold, 
 
 Is sprinkled and starred with dust of gold. 
 
 And I at the holy altar stand, 
 Holding, sweet Mary, thy lily-white hand: 
 Fair is thy face, and thine eye is bright, 
 For thou, meek maid, art a bride to-night! 
 
 
 t 
 
 i 
 
 X. 
 
 SLUMBER SONG. 
 
 Trom Nehilakin. 
 
 Softly, my baby! 
 Nestle, sweet blossom! on mother's warm bosom! 
 Of dewiest slumber thou sippest thy fill. 
 
40 
 
 SlVALLOir FLIGHTS. 
 
 Still dimmer and dimmer the ashy coals glimmer,- 
 
 The lodge lies in gloom: 
 
 How balmy the breath of the forest in bloom! 
 The owl is hooting afar on the hill, 
 And deep in the glade sings the brown whip-poor- 
 will; 
 The star doth incline to the tip of yon pine, — 
 
 She smiles like a maiden stooped over a rill, 
 She hath oped her bright bosom, so softly to shine; 
 
 The full moon is rising; the aspen is still. 
 O mother's sweet blossom, lie still on tny bosom! 
 Sleep softly, my baby! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 What the star is to the sky. 
 And the pearl is to the sea. 
 
 What the light is to the eye, 
 And the leaf is to the tree; 
 
 What the joy of mounting wings 
 
 To the bird that soars and sings. 
 Thou art to me. 
 
 Like to halcyon heavenly calm, 
 After strife of stormy sea. 
 
 Like an hour of ease and balm 
 After moan and agony; 
 
 Or the summer's golden glow 
 
 Over bursts of wintery snow, 
 Thou art to me. 
 
 I : 
 
THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 
 
 THROUGH Earth's blindness not an eye 
 Scanneth star or fire-fly, 
 Nor the jeweled summer moon 
 Brightening o'er the brow of June: 
 Two stand darkly, once again, 
 At this station of the glen, 
 'Mid the mingling mist and rain. 
 Waiting for the midnight train. 
 All is silence! — not a whisper 
 In the wood of light leaf-lisper; 
 Silence — broke by muffled feet 
 That this sloppy platform beat. 
 Hark! the rising murmurs say, 
 'Mid the spaces far away, — 
 Ye who seek, or leave, your homes, 
 Lo! the fiery motor comes! 
 Now, from out the silence steals 
 Rolling of the mighty wheels! 
 Soon the echoey shrieks distress 
 All the quiet wilderness. 
 Falling off in woeful plight, 
 Down the shadowy aisles of night! 
 
 41 
 
 \i 
 
42 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 
 
 Yonder, through the dusky air, 
 
 Sudden burst a hastening glare. 
 
 As if Polypheme's red eye 
 
 Shone at once from out the sky; 
 
 And with crackling tramp, vibrating 
 
 Down each rail, with hot pulsating 
 
 Of the monster's iron breast. 
 
 Comes the gride of brakes down-pressed, 
 
 And a momentary rest: 
 
 Motionless, amid the rain. 
 
 Stands at length, the midnight train! 
 
 Hurried word, and swift good-bye! 
 Who is here ? I — only I — 
 Linger, as, with jerk and strain. 
 Starts yon tireless steed again! 
 What strange solitude is this! 
 What an aching loneliness! 
 Yonder, through the mist and rain. 
 Rolls away the midnight train. 
 Leafing, till the peep of dawn, 
 My belov'd companion on; 
 But my heart, along the night, 
 Follows f^ver in the flight. 
 Fainter on the wet air steals 
 Rolling of the mighty wheels; — 
 Now I hear them, now they're gone, — 
 Through the slow night moving on! 
 
 i 
 
THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 
 
 Fainter now the warning cry 
 Where that panting steed draws nigh 
 Some late group, then rushes byi 
 Still that bright eye can not sleep, 
 Flashed where sounding waters sweep! 
 btill must rumbling wheels resound 
 Mid the dark hills dreaming round! 
 btill that shrill-voiced bugle blows 
 Rousing night from her repose' ' 
 Still it gives the world a greeting,- 
 Tells of parting and of meeting; 
 Bids the lover to be sped; 
 Bids the living seek the dead! 
 Still it rouses chilling fears, 
 Wakens rapture, touches tears 
 Bhss bespeaks, or tells of pain^ 
 Trumpet of the midnight train! 
 
 43 
 
 I Si 
 
 
n 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
 I. 
 
 
 THOU art a birth of mom. Yet, not the star- 
 Lamp of his throne — so silent and so far. 
 
 A mellow light leaned low, 
 
 Where all the hills could know; 
 Or the sweet home-flame on the hearth 
 >.'i''h wit's warm sparkles still caressing earth. 
 Thy most familiar muse, without disguise, 
 Cometh with safe allurement to our eyes; 
 Thou breakest like a sun through all thy sphere, 
 Sounding a joyful clarion on the ear; — 
 
 Singing, — Rejoice! Rejoice! 
 
 With a most May-glad voice. 
 
 II. 
 
 England's Elysian field — mead o' th' mind. 
 
 With daisies plenteous sown, — 
 Where a hid tangle of young brooklets wind. 
 And all the winds of Arcady have blown: 
 In thee young virgins rove and dream — 
 Perilla, Sappho, Dianeme, — 
 And infants in the dawning sport alone. 
 
 44 
 

 HERRICK. 
 
 45 
 
 There by the margents may we walk, 
 And with olden poets talk, 
 Plucking the flowers of fadeless phantasy, 
 Dabbling our hands with the dew-dripping lea — 
 The sunrise of our youth not left behind. 
 
 O rich domain! 
 Shall we not come again and breathe in thee ? 
 Spirit of fresh delight. 
 Yield us thy jocund might! 
 Shalt thou not come, and o'er our hearts again 
 Fall like glad sunshine and the gentle dropping 
 rain? 
 
 W 
 
 III. 
 
 Faint elmy tenderness — ethereal green! 
 
 Soft phantom-beauty — seen 
 
 On frilled and fluted tops in lofty-lighted eve! 
 
 Gazing, our youth gleams on us rayed through tears. 
 
 So when thy page appears, 
 The dancing lights start up the leaves between; 
 The subtle joy strikes home, while yet most ten- 
 derly we grieve. 
 
 Let the open Primrose shine. 
 
 The Rose new-blossom from thy line, 
 
 The Lily in a crystal live. 
 
 As thou a fadeless shrine may'st give; 
 
 While all life's glancing waves express 
 
 A sympathetic cheerfulness. 
 
 I' 
 
 \ 
 
 ! '. 
 
 i\. 
 
46 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet who can give the heart relief, 
 
 With all the subtle witchery of grief? 
 
 Lo! while we hear thee mourn the Daffodils, 
 
 Each thoughtful pulse a sweet compassion fills. 
 
 So, later, one along the fields of Ayr 
 
 Carolled his joy and chanted his despair, — 
 
 Challenged the birds on every thorny tree. 
 
 Now ever Sorrow's wraith will croon 
 
 Of banks and braes by bonny Doon; 
 
 'Mid warbled rapture, loitering slow. 
 
 Will wounded Love walk, antheming her woe; 
 
 While dreaming Memory turns amain 
 
 To his immortal bliss and pain, — 
 
 Thy brother bard and generous mate, 
 
 Who wept the Daisy's kindred fate; 
 
 Musing, while yet the wounded flower was fair, 
 
 The drooping, the decay, the fading, soon to be. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hesperia's garden, full of dainty plots 
 Fantastic set, and quaintly bordered! 
 
 What golden fruits in thee. 
 
 From many a laden tree 
 Fall at our feet, as down thy walks we tread! 
 There singly set, or in fraternal knots. 
 The flowers we love their olden perfume shed; 
 
HERRICK. 
 
 47 
 
 There the fair Daffodils, we weep for, grew; 
 There dawn the radiant hours, 
 There drop the honeyed showers, 
 
 There Oberon's clialice holds its sip of faery dew. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Wild blossom- world, alive with minstrelsy! 
 
 Where, on smooth-shaven lawns, 
 Caper light maiden feet in twinkling glee: 
 
 Thou lightest up with immemorial dawns 
 Immortal May-days, and dost summon down 
 
 Thy coy Corinna to o'ertrip the lea: 
 
 Jocund, thou bid'st her to brief orisons; 
 
 While drowses low the bee, 
 Dropping for sweets on many a blossomy crown; 
 
 And loud the lark, while free 
 
 Are all who rove with thee, — 
 The rose-lipped maids, and gentles brave and 
 brown. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fair is thy England, blossomed from the sea! 
 
 Mighty her bards, — but truer none may be 
 
 To all her ancient life! For Nature lay 
 
 Thy heart unto her lips, whereon to play 
 
 A flute-like carol of bucolic glee. 
 
 So, as thou comest near. 
 
 Evermore we hear 
 
 Laughter of wasteless brooks re-echoing clear: 
 
 \ 
 
 i\ 
 
 \ , 
 
48 
 
 HERRICK. 
 
 Hopes bird-like spring, and cloud-white sorrows go 
 Fleeting from shade to sunlit gayety; 
 For thou art Joy's alone, and grief with thee 
 Can ne'er continuance know. 
 
 VII.'. 
 
 Yes, thou wast free 
 
 In thine ethereal realm, and Castaly 
 
 Poured all its bubbling waters at thy feet! 
 
 Yet earnest thou to Siloa, to fulfil 
 
 Thy rite on the celestial Muse's hill: 
 
 Thy garden holds a shrine in sanctity. 
 
 Thy "Noble Numbers " separate the strain 
 
 From the fleeting and the vain; 
 
 While chords, — too eloquently few, 
 
 Proclaim how still thy heart to Heaven was true. 
 
 There on the altar see we laid 
 
 Sweet-sprinkled flowers that never fade, 
 
 And, plucked from Paradisic dell, 
 
 Taintless snow of Asphodel, 
 
 Amaranth, that deathless blows, 
 
 The crushed Christ-lily, and the bleeding Rose. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fair is thy England — not less bloomy-fair! 
 But thou — her sparkling soul — art thou not there ? 
 Singing ^^of brooks^ of blossoms, birds and bowers^ 
 0/ April, May, of June and July flowers? " 
 
rows go 
 
 HERRrCK. 
 
 49 
 
 S,ng>ng "of Maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes 
 Ofbr,dcfrrooms, brides, and of their hndal-cakes"'' 
 Yea, thoii remainest still,_we hear thy voicel ' 
 For while we wait, thou bringest us anew 
 Mirth s rich profusion. Music's accent true. 
 And biddest not to sorrow, but rejoice. 
 Fair IS thy England,-fair thy native scene! 
 Thy leafy Devon still puts forth her green- 
 Pierces thy dingles the re-echoing horn: ' 
 Thy «.ld Dean-Bourn sings of its old renown; 
 And, high aloft, o-er many a dale and down 
 The lark is shouting in the ear of morn' 
 
 I 
 
 rue. 
 
 se. 
 
 ere? 
 wers, 
 
 tt 
 
 
I 
 
 
 MONTGOMl'Rili'S MAID. 
 
 \'e batiks and braes; and streams atoutul 
 The Castle o' Montgonitrie. 
 
 A SINGLE stiaiii — I turned to see 
 VVHio b(jre that thrilling voice: 
 Of all the chances to a bard 
 This was Apollo's choice! 
 
 In Love's green lodg^ met her first— 
 The springtide wil' ;ss: 
 
 Like a descended star the maid's 
 Surpassing loveliness. 
 
 My Una of the Scottish wild — 
 My Highland Mary — stood 
 
 To shed an angel light athwart 
 Her sylvan neighborhood. 
 
 Not buxom-warm, like Bonnie Jean, 
 
 Yet pearly-bright was she; 
 She held my heart's keen passion-fire 
 
 In awful chastity. 
 
 50 
 
AfONTGOM£:/?/E\S MAID. 
 
 She was all grace and shapeliness! 
 
 Her milk-white feet were bare; 
 A glimmering aureole seemed to rest 
 
 Upon her sliining hair. 
 
 One golden lock is all I hold 
 To show she once was mine, — 
 
 That I have clasped with trembling arms 
 A creature all divine! 
 
 Pity and trust and gentleness 
 
 Wer • in her soft blue eyes, 
 Tliat, misted with celestial dew, 
 
 Communed of Paradise. 
 
 "^liou Sa!)bath, sacred more than all 
 
 The holy gifted span 
 That iiglit the tearful heritage 
 
 Of toil-encumbered man! 
 
 51 
 
 Thy dawn I never can forget— 
 
 O day we linger here! 
 Sweeter the little birds, the blooms 
 
 Tliat decked the opening year. 
 
 'Twas in the merry month of May; 
 
 The birk-tree's tender green. 
 And clustered hawthorn's scented tlowers, 
 
 Along the Ayr were seen. 
 
52 
 
 MONTGOMERIE'S MAID. 
 
 The laverock darted up on high, 
 
 Scattering his fiery notes; 
 And merle and mavis shook the songs 
 
 From their enamored throats. 
 
 Montgomerie's woods were softer green, 
 His banks more flowery gay; 
 
 And from the hft a benison 
 Seemed in each sunny ray. 
 
 And love was in the scented sod, 
 
 And the far-shining skies; 
 For love was in the liquid deeps 
 
 Of Highland Mary's eyes. 
 
 Down where the covert streamlet runs 
 
 We roved the lee-lang day: 
 Blissful our dreams, — but swiftly spec 
 
 Each winged joy away! 
 
 There, in the dingle's midmost deep, 
 
 With sweetly serious look. 
 We tossed the dancing drops to light 
 
 From out the singing brook. 
 
 We spake the awful name of God, 
 We held the Heavens in view. 
 
 And vowed while crystal waters ran 
 That we would aye be true. 
 
 \ 
 
MONTGOMERIE^S MAID. 
 
 f 
 
 53 
 God's Book we gave; our hands we clasped 
 
 Wet from the flowing stream, ^ ' 
 
 To phght the high eternal troth 
 
 That earth may not redeem. 
 
 Our happiest hours,~our last, they were' 
 
 Then eve came stealing on • 
 She vanished from my yearning gaze 
 
 And evermore was gone. 
 
 Ah, perfect form! ah, loving eyes 
 
 That looked so kind on me' ' 
 O robber Death! how could I yield 
 
 My noblest hope to thee .? 
 
 Thou art forever with the Spring 
 
 Thy day is ever fair: 
 But lonely rings our limpid Faile ^ 
 
 That runs to meet the Ayr. 
 
 Lonely my walk by bank and brae 
 
 Beneath the greenwood tree • ' 
 Thy grave is in the dinsome town 
 
 A-near the moaning sea. " 
 
 But thou, O my leaf-haunting star' 
 Art set within my soul: 
 
 ^Tn^.K^'^J.^^"^ '''^" ^"^ P°^^» then, 
 in thy divme control! 
 
 'O^ 
 
 
 ) tf .^'- 
 
 
 >f P->^ 
 
 O -.c. 
 
54 
 
 MONTGOMERIES MAID. 
 
 \ 
 
 If he shall fall, and sorrow sore, 
 
 And feel the wound and stain, 
 Thy memory, like thy living smile, 
 
 Shall make him whole again. 
 
 Who dowered thee with His own pure love 
 
 Hatli strung my fiery heart, 
 And sent me out among His birds 
 
 To learn tlitir tuneful art. 
 
 *> 
 
 !i 
 
 % 
 
 \i\ 
 
 \ 
 
 i; 
 
 I to His mandate have been true: 
 
 I hear the years prolong 
 The praise of Scotland's noblest name, 
 
 And Scotlatid's loftiest song. 
 
 For he who loves thee can not die, — 
 
 His lightest word is fame; 
 And singing worlds shall weep to hear 
 
 His Highland Mary's name. 
 
 
r 
 
 love 
 
 I THE FIRST BIRD. 
 
 glNGoMu,e,,i.ajro,„U,e Southland s,u,,,e„ly 
 
 to tree - """'""■' """"S f-'o". tree 
 
 Sing! for r^y heart leaps blithely, wannlv to w. I 
 comefi^^f •'' ^'**"iJ},io wel- 
 
 come thee! 
 
 PeopJ^e^^.e nest-hung elms, ye bright-vvi, 
 
 Swift speed, ye darting swallows in , 
 
 domain of blue! ^''^^''^^^s, ,n your airy 
 
 inged oriole- 
 
 Sing on, little bird' For mfn^ 
 
 weary for song! "^"^^ "^'"^ ^'^^^ ^^^^ grown 
 Dumbly the winter enchained 
 
 summer bel< 
 
 long; 
 
 "le, but I to th( 
 
 f\ 
 
 55 
 
56 
 
 THE FIRST BIRD, 
 
 And it seems, with my heart a-flutter, that I could 
 
 warble and fly, 
 When I hear the first faint cuckoo, or see Jack 
 
 Robin a-nigh! 
 
 Sing on, little bird! Too soon will the silence fall 
 Over the budding groves and the pine-hills tall; 
 Then the woods will blaze and blacken, and all be 
 
 bare; — 
 Ah, where will he call and carol, the soft and the 
 
 sunny air! 
 
 But O, sweet bird ! we remember that ever thou 
 
 findest the spring; 
 When these uplands lie in silence! thou hast not 
 
 forgotten to sing; 
 The evergreen south thou seekest, when our woods 
 
 are in gloom. 
 And joyest to see the magnolia and orange groves 
 
 in their bloom. 
 
 Sing on, for your voice is cheery! I love your 
 
 caroling strain! 
 My heart would learn your rapture, and so forget 
 
 to complain; 
 With you would I fly the winter, — speed gleeful 
 
 along, 
 To greet the far-off* forests with summer and song! 
 
THE FIRST BIRD. 
 
 ''"'h::n^'^"^^"^--'''^---nt captures Jy 
 
 ''°^tv;s„ri"^ '" '"^ --''-. -<>- the 
 
 ri* 
 
( ( 
 
 OF A' THE AIRTS." 
 
 THERE'S a blur on the face of the late March 
 moon ; 
 The wind pipes shrill and tlie chimneys croon; 
 Around my cottage it searching flies, 
 And every crack and cranny it tries; 
 From its wrestling might the elm springs free, 
 And it wrings a wail from the willow tree. 
 
 But the wind of March, as I sit by the fire, 
 
 Plays through my heart's aiolian lyre, 
 
 And to my listening muse it brings 
 
 The past and the future on its wings; — 
 
 The seer can see, and the singer sing, 
 
 When the wild March evening pipes the Spring. 
 
 And as the firelight darts up clear, 
 
 And I see the guid wife sitting near, 
 
 A sweet auld sang through my mind will go; — 
 
 "Of a* the airts the wind can blow, 
 
 I dearly like the wind o' tlie west. 
 
 For there lives the lassie I lo'e best." 
 
 58 
 
■' 
 
 VI arch 
 
 g- 
 
 "OF A' THE AIRTSr 
 
 When the daisy blooms and the thrush appears, 
 One face comes peering across the years; 
 'Tis the face of him who toiled and sung 
 When Jean was absent and love was young: 
 " I see her in the flowers sae fair, 
 I hear her voice as she charms the air." 
 
 Lo! fancy quickens! Behold him stand 
 
 Alone in the field at EUisland! 
 
 And all around him, on every side, 
 
 The birds are singing at Whitsuntide; 
 
 But, though woods are green and skies are gay, 
 
 There's a look in his eyes that is far away. 
 
 Then in blissful dreaming he moves along. 
 And he utters his heart in a joyous song: 
 " Wi' her in the west the wild woods grow, 
 The laverocks sing, and the rivers row; 
 And though there's monie a hill between, 
 Ever my fancy is wi' my Jean." 
 
 She came, ere the winter, to ben and byre; 
 She lit on his hearth her poet's fire; 
 Her smiles were sunshine upon the walls; 
 Her words dropt sweet as the streamlet falls: 
 The lassie of song was his wedded wife. 
 The heart he longed for was his for life. 
 
 O fortunate season, and hopeful time, 
 When the poet prosper'd in love and rhyme ! 
 
 59 
 
,1 
 
 6o 
 
 "OF A' THE AIR TS: 
 
 When, sowing or reaping, the day went by, 
 And he ploughed his fields and tented his kye; 
 And he dreamed, while the children played round 
 
 his door, 
 That content had come to depart no more. 
 
 Ah, faithful Jean ! there were other years ! 
 
 For her were sorrows, for her were tears ! 
 
 But the pansy weathers the wintry time; 
 
 And she kept, as she might, her *' fireside clime: " 
 
 Crushing, her burden — her heart was stout, 
 
 While the lamp of her love, it never went out ! . 
 
 Ah, wayward brother, and poet wild, 
 
 With shifting fancy of petted child. 
 
 And passionate soul in dark eyes seen, — 
 
 Thou well might'st cherish and prize thy Jean ! 
 
 Some fleeting favors the few might shed; 
 
 She loved thee, living, she mourn'd thee, dead ! 
 
 What lyric queens in thy heart might reign, 
 Bemoan'd with passion and tender pain ! — 
 She, of the blind and the hopeless love; " 
 And Mary, sainted in Heaven above: 
 Weeping, we sing of the rose-lip paled. 
 And the*eyes' soft glances, so darkly veiled. 
 
 But one there was, — to her memory peace I 
 She lies beside thee in gray Dumfries, — 
 
 o 
 
 / 
 
 • ■•"^ 
 
 L. 
 
 l-i > 
 
 4,, 
 
'OF A' THE A in TS." 
 
 6i 
 
 ound 
 
 ne 
 
 I 
 
 . »> 
 
 Who shared thy sorrows, enlarged thy joys, 
 Who cuddled thy lassies, who reared thy boys, 
 Who dropped o'er thy grave her quick, hot tears, 
 And gave to thy memory her widowed years. 
 
 Then, when assemble the gay and young. 
 When songs of the Scottish land are sung, 
 And before the dreamer's raptured eye 
 The fair procession goes gliding by. 
 Not one of the haunted troop is seen, 
 Dearer and truer than Bonnie Jean. 
 
 And so, to-night, in my warm home-nest. 
 
 While the shrill March wind blows out of the west. 
 
 The auld sang hums thro' my musing brain. 
 
 Till I utter aloud the tender strain; 
 
 And the guid wife sings by the firelight's glow, — 
 
 "Of a' the airts the wind can blow." 
 
 1 1 
 
 ^1 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 I. 
 
 AN ALIEN'S MESSAGE. 
 
 I GIVE ye merry greeting, 
 Dear native spot of earth ! 
 He yours the bowers of sweetest song, 
 
 Of wildest springtide mirth ! 
 A merry greeting to ye, 
 
 Loved friends of other years ! 
 I hail ye, madly, merrily, 
 And, if your faces e'er I see, 
 I'm smiling through my tears! 
 
 A merry, merry greeting, 
 
 Dear brotherhood of rhyme ! 
 Your singing wakes the Mayflower, now, 
 
 'Neath maples budding prime: 
 O be ye Ijlithe and cheery ! 
 
 O be ye ever free ! 
 Ye walk my youth-time's haunted ways. 
 And all the scenes ye paint or praise. 
 
 Are precious still to me. 
 
 62 
 
Ho^fE soycs. 
 
 O Mayflower-land — my Country, 
 
 To thee my heart belongs ! 
 Thou hast the fondest of my thoughts, 
 
 The sweetest of my songs: 
 No hills like thine, no valleys 
 
 With such serene repose; 
 No brooks with such a luring wile, 
 No woods whose walks can so beguile 
 
 As where thy iMayHower blows. '^ 
 
 At morn my face turns to thee; 
 
 There shines the risen sun ! 
 And eve's soft lustre on thy hills 
 
 I see when day is done. 
 The wide world's weary pilgrim 
 
 Has yet somewhere a shrine; 
 Though seldom he may come to kneel, 
 Its influence oft will o'er him steal, 
 
 While there his thoughts incline. 
 
 O Mayflower-land — my Country, 
 
 Ever, in drought or dew 
 The constant heart it can but love, 
 
 The loyal mind be true. 
 The child longs for his mother, 
 
 And pines her face to see; 
 Sweet her remembered smiles — and yet 
 When time has taught him to forget, 
 
 I will remember thee! 
 
 63 
 
 }' 
 
 ♦ ti 
 
 li 
 
 i 
 
 -r 
 
 W9 
 
 
 r\c 
 
 C "V% is 
 
 T^^ 
 
 'A^-, 
 
 .■0(^ 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 A merry, merry greeting ! 
 
 What use to sing and sigh ? 
 Nay, let the laughter of old times 
 
 On every wind float by ! 
 And, oh, dear vanished faces, 
 
 And hearts forever true I 
 We'll wake again the olden charm. 
 And keep our dreams and loves as warm 
 
 As when our lives were new! 
 
 O Mayflower-land— my Country I 
 
 Howe'er the eyes may see 
 That looked not first upon thy hills, 
 
 Thou'rt only fair to me ! 
 
 And oft I deem, Acadie, 
 
 A cot with thee were blest; 
 Then sweet, upon thy green hillside. 
 High over Mina's heaving tide, " 
 
 That everlasting rest. 
 
 II. 
 
 CHEBUCTO. 
 
 Fair Cheburto! ying, 
 
 Like a 1 in v^ams, 
 
 On thy ha. joucli .atUiiinal; — 
 Soft the sunset ound thee streams; 
 
 Scarlet woods thtu royal banners 
 Hang, where bright thy bosom earns. 
 
 " Br.s'.v, oi. Jvi 
 
 I V)^5 
 
HOME SONGS, 
 
 Thou hast sons are jiroud to own thee; 
 
 Stranger lip thy praise repeats; 
 Honored spirits watcli about tliee; 
 
 Fame hath trodden in thy streets; 
 Warrior- wreaths are woven for tliee; 
 
 Peace sits in thy rural seats. 
 
 On thy brow the Rose of Britain 
 
 Blushes 'mid thy wavy hair; 
 At thy feet the pearl-cupped Mayflower 
 
 Scented dew doth sweetly bear; 
 Sunny-leaved, thy oaks and maples 
 
 Wave their banners in the air. 
 
 Fair Chebucto, throned in beauty — 
 
 Queenly bride of Acadie! 
 Sylvan slopes — enchanting woodlands — 
 
 Jeweled glimpses of the sea — 
 Shine in memory! Still I love thee! 
 
 Still afar, I dream of thee! 
 
 65 
 
 LESCARBOT. 
 
 III. 
 
 Old voyager to Acadie's virgin shore 
 The forest muse bade welcome! Sunny-souled, 
 The magic of thine eye turned all to gold, 
 
 Enriching thy quaint, cheerful fancy's store. 
 
 Filling Port Royal with romantic lore. 
 
' 
 
 66 
 
 HOME SONGS. 
 
 After the Icngth'ning sea, beclouded, dim, 
 
 The warm July with joy thy heart did brim; 
 Like climbing roses looked the breakers frore. 
 What odorous winds, incomparably sweet, 
 
 From wild-woods bulled thee, sailing gladly near, 
 Till thou didst stretch thy hands forth to receive 
 The palpable gift,— the smiling coasts to greet, 
 
 Drest in the gayest garments that the year 
 Doth from her bloomy wardrobe deign to give. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SAILING SONG. 
 
 The 5ea is bright, the wind is fair. 
 
 The challenge-wave slaps on the pier: 
 Come! be we blithe and debonair, 
 
 To chase away the hasty tear! 
 Comrades of our brave days of yore, 
 
 Brisk curls our freshening mother-sea; 
 Behind us lies Acadie's shore. 
 
 And gallant sailor-souls are we! 
 
 O still we love our native foam, 
 We love the reeling deck to tread: 
 
 We've friends ashore, we've wives at home, 
 But we must get the children's bread. 
 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 67 
 
 near, 
 ^e 
 
 Heave-yo, the anchor! Lift the sail! 
 
 Haste, brother-sailors, haste away! 
 List to the music of the gale, 
 
 And mark the bounding billows' play! 
 
 V. 
 
 
 DE RAZILLIA. 
 
 His eyes were charmed when, fresh from Ocean's 
 plain 
 
 Acadie's forelands rose upon his view, 
 
 And his bark skirted where the waters blue 
 Wash her green isles: then all his heart was fain 
 To linger there enamored, and remain 
 
 In thy loved shelter, beautiful La Have! — 
 
 Yet one more voyage, — its earthly port, the grave; 
 He sees no more his native France again. 
 
 So do glad eyes still greet thee— deem thee fair, 
 O mine own country! — wanderers from the sea 
 Returning, to enrich thee with the stores 
 
 Of softer climes: so glad will I repair. 
 To gaze on scenes I love — to sing for thee — 
 
 To find my rest upon thy peaceful shores. 
 
 ime, 
 
 I \'t 
 
 \ Ht 
 
 •^ 
 
 o -5 ^-sc 
 
 S^ 
 
 
 
 
 ACrf , 
 
1/ I 
 
 il' 
 
 'I' 
 
 68 HOME SONGS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 I come! I cornel Oh, land of love and song! 
 Beloved land, to which I still belong, 
 
 I come! I come! 
 I come! O open wide to me your arms, 
 Ye woods where once I roamed! Yours are the 
 cliarms 
 
 Of youth and home! 
 I come! Ye noble hills of soft ascent, 
 O'erlooking the tumultous element, — 
 
 Red Fundy's foam. 
 Ye home of all my earliest loves and dreams, 
 Ye crystal brooks — ye fairest of all streams — 
 
 I come! I come! 
 Ye venerable ones, who fondly bore 
 And nourished me, back to your arms once more 
 
 I come! I come! 
 I come to you, brothers and sisters dear; 
 Though absent from you many a weary year, 
 
 I come! I come! 
 I come! Dear scenes, dear faces, round me 
 
 throng! 
 O let the days be cheery and be long! 
 
 I come! I come! 
 
 I 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 69 
 
 2 the 
 
 nore 
 
 nie 
 
 VII. 
 
 OLD SAINT ANDREWS.' 
 
 Return again, O autumn night 
 
 So passing beautiful to me, 
 With all the glory of moonlight 
 
 In old Saint Andrews by the sea! 
 Renew your charm, O wave and shore! 
 
 With romance fill each quiet street! 
 — Were all the hours we knew before 
 
 One half so rare, one half so sweet! 
 
 O evening star! again peep out, 
 
 And tremble like a drop of gold 
 Where ripples, in their slieeny rout, 
 
 Are on the red sands heedless rolled! 
 O faerie-hush, fall on the air! 
 
 Ye far-off tide, be clearly heard! 
 While, rapt in soft enchantment there, 
 
 'Twill break the charm. Love's simplest word! 
 
 Dear wife! your hand in mine, what star 
 
 Melting down yon blue vault obscure, 
 What moan on yon portentous bar 
 
 Could make our hearts seem insecure! 
 And if your fond eyes answered mine 
 
 With thoughts that must unspoken be. 
 Ah, earth and air were then divine 
 
 In old Saint Andrews, by the sea! 
 
 
 'S>. Si 
 
 ynff")** -^ s, 
 
 12 
 
 -h^^ 
 
 
 n c»i^ 
 
 \.. 
 
 • i 
 
I ■ ; 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 70 
 
 HOME SONGS. 
 
 The hound's shrill barking we could hear 
 
 Behind the hill, in that still hour; 
 And, flashing o'er us, on the pier. 
 
 The light shone in its friendly tower; 
 The rill rolled down the wave to greet, 
 
 The wave rushed in with silvery glee; 
 And sight and sound, with thee, were sweet, 
 
 In old Saint Andrews, by the sea! 
 
 But change and chance have come between, 
 
 And many a joy has flown away: 
 Yet smiles the moonlit bay serene, 
 
 Beneath the mild September ray; 
 And still the scene is just as fair. 
 
 And just as fair will ever be; — 
 For, dearest, once we wandered there, 
 
 In old Saint Andrews, by the sea! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ALL AT HOME. 
 
 Cease from all care, let woe and pain depart; 
 Let it be joy when fond heart meets with heart; 
 Peace, after turmoil, rest from wandering, when 
 We all are home agen. 
 
 Speak not of any absent whom we knew, 
 Who loved us well and unto us were true; 
 
\ 
 
 NOME SONGS. 71 
 
 Speak not of some far-distant viewless shore; — 
 We all are here once more. 
 
 We all are here; — some forms we can not see, 
 Yet clasp we close each dear reality; 
 For they who other realms than ours may roam 
 Have all with us come home. 
 
 This seems our Father's house — this scene so fair, 
 Though faith hath said our Father's house is there: 
 Ah, linger yet! be this one blissful seat, 
 Where we at home may meet! 
 
 O gracious and congenial souls! to-day 
 Let us put care and sorrow far away; 
 Be we content once more, and let delight 
 Fill all our dreams to-night! 
 
 
 t 
 
 
 ■» 
 
 len 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE AULD HAME. 
 
 Scottice. 
 
 Think ye o' the auld hame, 
 
 Brither dear ? 
 O think ye o' the auld hame, 
 
 When nicht is near ? 
 The sun frae the lift is sinkin', 
 
 Let fa' a tear 
 For the auld time, an' the auld hame, 
 
 Brither dear! 
 
72 
 
 HOME SONGS. 
 
 I wearie for the auld hame, 
 
 Brither dear! 
 The auld folk i' th' auld hame, 
 
 They hae nae cheer: 
 The west an' my heart are burnin', — 
 
 Down draps the tear 
 For the auld time, an' the auld hame, 
 
 Brither dear! 
 
 * 
 
 j 
 
 I'm gaein' tae the auld hame, 
 
 Brither dear, 
 An' of a' i' the auld hame 
 
 I'll warmly spier; — 
 I'm gaein' tae the auld hame, 
 
 Wi' the fadin' year; 
 For there's nae folk like tlie auld folk, 
 
 Brither dearl 
 
 GASPER STREAM. 
 
 Sweet river of Gasper, through valley and plain 
 
 I see thy bright waters go dancing again! 
 
 Loved stream of my childhood! my youth ye 
 
 restore. 
 As smiling I gaze on thy beauty once more! 
 
 *" ^^ ns b(> ^ea'•< 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 73 
 
 More lucent thy waters of azure and sheen, 
 
 That I look through the haze of the years that have 
 
 been; 
 But less warm is thy beauty, more pensive and lone; 
 For now we are parted, but then we were one. 
 
 And the friends of my youth from thy margin have 
 
 gone, 
 But thou smilest and singest, and hurriest on: 
 Ah, my heart is not light with the gladness of yore! 
 But, weeping, I gaze on thy beauty once more. 
 
 
 xr. 
 
 "TO THEE THE LOVE OF WOMAN 
 
 HATH GONE DOWN." ^pw,:,^? 
 
 am 
 
 th ye 
 
 O ocean! restless, dark and lone. 
 What tribute dost thou crave! 
 
 Thou hast our fairest, favorite one, 
 The generous and the brave. *- 
 
 He faded from the yearning shore, 
 With bark fleet-winged and free; 
 
 He comes not — nor deserts thee more, 
 O solitary Sea! 
 
 
 ^1 S^^^ -m'yre ''^; 
 
74 
 
 HOME SONGS. 
 
 The lily-sails, in fair array, 
 
 Are on thy brink at dawn; 
 At eve men furl them in the bay; — 
 
 Say, whither has he gone ? 
 
 The feet of sorrow tread not where 
 Thy winds and billows rave; 
 
 No flower that scents the summer air 
 May blossom on his grave: 
 
 But 'neath thy waves' tumultuous stir, 
 And tempest's thunder-sweep, 
 
 Low-wrapt in weedy sepulchre, 
 He rests with thee, O Deep! 
 
 And she who loved him looketh forth. 
 
 Of heart and hope forlorn: 
 His vanished loveliness and worth 
 
 She can not cease to mourn. 
 
 Still from her couch she wakes to weep, 
 And mournful looketh round: 
 
 O Death! O Deep! and wilt thou keep 
 That jewel thou hast found ? 
 
 Yet not with thee, O mournful Sea! 
 
 He dwells, we see no more; 
 But safe abides, from whelming tides. 
 
 On some diviner shore. 
 
HOME SONGS. 
 
 75 
 
 Xli. 
 
 MOUNT DESERT. 
 
 For a smack of the wave and a breath of the 
 forest, 
 For the laugh of the stream and the sheen of the 
 sea, 
 I turn, Mountain Isle, where thou shinest and 
 soarest, 
 And find the wild grandeur and beauty in thee! 
 
 Break! break on her cliffs, ye white surges ol 
 ocean! 
 
 Ye cloudy piles, sweep o'er her turrets of stone! 
 Ah, how can I stand, without awe or emotion, 
 
 Where Nature has builded her palace and throne! 
 
 Thou tarn of the eagle, 'mid mountains uplying, — 
 Thou organ of Neptune, Anemone Cave, — 
 
 Thou Mount of the Winds, where the torn cloud is 
 flying. 
 For me your delights and austerities save! 
 
 The changelings of Folly — O how can they know 
 thee! 
 Thou frownest, encroached on by fopling and 
 flirt; 
 But the loving and wise shall their praises bestow 
 thee. 
 And ring out thy glories, O wild Mount Desert! 
 
 
 
i 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 LUX ET UMBRA. 
 
 IN the black flower of midnight — at the heart 
 And midmost auricle of secrecy, 
 There lies the golden fire-seed that shall be 
 The day's broad blossom. Softly fall apart 
 The silken leaves of dreams ; and lo ! thou art I 
 Sweet morn of expectation, dewy-drest ! 
 While all the spectres that the dark infest, 
 Soon as the East doth his keen lances dart, 
 Show angel faces. Why avert the shade — 
 The solemn vigil — the mysterious power. 
 Filling the soul with awe, stirring the clod. 
 Bidding the bones to quake ? 'Tis thus arrayed 
 In dusky calyx lies Heaven's shining flower. 
 Our Angel leads through gloom to show us God, 
 
 76 
 
EMEKSON. 
 
 77 
 
 t! 
 
 II. 
 TO RALPH H. SHAW. 
 
 The shy grass creeps fortli from the sod again 
 In timid doubt of the awakening sun, 
 That now his wintry course is fully run ; 
 Then, confident of the soft April rain, 
 Links hands with sudden flowers o'er all the plain. 
 Now brook and breeze and bird have jubilee, 
 And joyance rings from every new-draped tree, 
 While every twinkling leaf assists the strain. 
 Now is the time for singing ! See ! they throng, — 
 Thrush, bluebird, robin, blackbird, bobolink ! 
 The stocks and stones may hardly dare be dumb. 
 If some harsh notes may faller thro' the song. 
 If concord's chain may lujld some leaden link, 
 What marvel ? Lo ! a thousand poets come ! 
 
 III. 
 EMERSON. 
 
 Is nought amiss in this wide-breathing world, 
 That thou, calm soul, wand'rest no more abroad 
 In dim wood-paths thy mild foot softly trod ; 
 Looking, when sunset's quivering valves were furl'd 
 On Assabet's gleamy bosom ? Now, unpearled, 
 Must thought sink down into some tamer way ? 
 Will wave and wind have something less to say. 
 Where the rich vines their tendrils green have curl'd, 
 
 
 f' 
 
 t,*! 
 
» 
 
 I I 
 
 78 
 
 *'FRANK'INCENSE AND MYRRH: 
 
 And 'mid the fresh-blown tresses of old pines? 
 Who shall the mystic legends longer give 
 Of cowslip and of violet ? Or who 
 Unfold the sliy rhodora ? Who Earth's shrines 
 Uprear for poet- worship ? Who shall live 
 Like thee — so single, abstinent, and true? 
 
 IV. 
 
 "FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH." "" 
 
 Thine rarest odors, wafted from the shore 
 
 Of Song's green isle, the sweetest incense thine, — 
 
 Mixed spices burning on a holy shrine, 
 
 Or censLT swung Love's temple-gate before. 
 
 Sacred the page that doth thy thought restore, 
 
 Tliou vestal muse, charming the golden hours. 
 
 Chanting melodious 'neath Chebucto's bowers I 
 
 Thine fond affection's tenderest lyric lore. 
 
 Thus, while each healing leaf I lingering press. 
 
 Instant and glad its fragrancy it yields. 
 
 With youth's bright memory, woman's gentleness, 
 
 Balm -breathing from Acadia's minty fields. 
 
 Misty mine eyes — mine inward vision clear — 
 
 For boyhood, home, and native land, are here ! 
 
 *' 
 
 r^■l''^ 
 
 oi 
 
 vci-v< -Kvi-e. 
 
 ex 
 
 T i i-i* \\: C'l-C I 3 t« 
 
 : 
 
 ^''^^-*, v]^] «J- lA.:tz-^'.i v? ^fTVwS<r>?, ->~l n.'i't^-jjr-, "A' 
 
TO G. IV. WICKSTERD. 
 
 79 
 
 ss. 
 
 V. 
 TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 Yes, my dear friend, beside the Merrimack ; 
 And yes, my friend remote, whose music hails 
 From some fair scat 'mid Pcnnsylvanian vales ! 
 Ye both were surely sent to lead us btick 
 To Truth and Nature. Men we do not lack 
 Apt to pursue the butterflies of art, 
 Or carve conceits ; but ye, with throbbing heart, 
 Go singing down your beamy morning track, 
 While Love and Memory bear ye company. 
 The vague and false in art are transitory ; 
 Fashions prevail and perish in a day : 
 The gaudy bird or flower we pause to see, 
 Smit for a moment with its vaunted glory ; — 
 The Mayflower and the Robin please us aye. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ^ p 
 
 TO G. W. WICKSTEED.^ L, 
 
 WITH MRS. SILSBY'S TRIBUTES TO SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Once there were men, with hopes and smiles and 
 
 tears, 
 Who shared our bloom, and faded, — laying down 
 Their hearts unconquer'd 'neath the wearying years. 
 Lo ! they are gods I Each wears a higher crown 
 Than Earth allows, and on each brow appears 
 Such luster as we see on mountains fall. 
 Theban — Ionian— Roman — Tuscan— rears 
 His awful front ; but Shakespeare sits o'er all. 
 
 
 
 
 
 \ , 1 
 
 fi-.a.;3« 
 
 nr. 
 
8o 
 
 THOMAS C. LA TTO. 
 
 Rt'liold ! they come, his lauding worshippers, 
 With incense ; his familiars, with their praise ! 
 The souls select, — each one his g;ift confers, 
 And doth his eye-beams to his sovereii^n raise ; — 
 Great Ben, strong Milton, Dryden — each concurs 
 With many a songful soul in later days. 
 
 » 
 
 Is 
 
 VII. 
 
 THOMAS C. LATTO. 
 
 A SCOTTISH POF/r. 
 
 To that high realm of harmony and light 
 
 Entered, no more our poet pensive waits, 
 
 " A patient Mordecai at Phiuhus' gates," 
 
 With lingering suit of song, in exile plight. 
 
 Gone ! and with hiui it is no longer night, 
 
 Nor is it longer sighing, now, Init song ! 
 
 At evening to his chamber comes a throng 
 
 Who seek of his pale face the latest sight. 
 
 My heart is there : I see them gathered roiad : 
 
 Low breathes the hymn, low sounds the funeral 
 
 prayer : 
 His lilied casket charms the soul with rest. 
 What tribute more ? What action may be found 
 Of j)crfect praise? A Scottish bard is there 
 To lay the heather on his silent bre.ist. * 
 
 
 '-■[C — >ca or 
 
 ■^-1 
 V"^^' 
 
 
 >('« 
 
JEAN. 
 
 8i 
 
 »e ! 
 
 se ; — 
 ncurs 
 
 .id: 
 
 funeral 
 
 uul 
 
 VI 11. 
 
 SERVICE. 
 
 ADDKKSSEI) TO JOHN I). KOSS, HKOOKLYN, N. V. 
 
 Thp:y were not born in vain who live to bless 
 
 And solace others ; who, while some may strive 
 
 Out of the spoils of men to g ovv and thrive, 
 
 Abjure the meed of wrong and selfishness. 
 
 Nor dotii he live in vain who niaketh less 
 
 The sum of human sorrow ; who inspires 
 
 Hope in the breast, and kindles love's sweet fires ; 
 
 Whose charity relieves a friend's distress. 
 
 Long may he live, to whom is ever dear 
 
 A brother's fame ; whose eye can recognize, 
 
 Whose pen proclaim, the merit that he sees ; 
 
 Who with his books and friends h.olds gentle cheer ; 
 
 And whom a poet's son, or ma \im wise 
 
 Can never fail to interest and please. 
 
 IX. 
 
 JEAN. 
 
 As one who doth the skiey realm survey — 
 
 Hailing, in radiant constancy afar 
 
 In night's blue tower, the sailor-guiding star — 
 
 Is gladdened by Selena's silver ray, 
 
 Ris'n o'er her hi!l upon some ripply bay ; 
 
 So he, whose wondrous eyes were watching still 
 
 Where tnaiden spells his fiery soul might fill 
 
 With passion to inspire some living lay ; — 
 
 »D. ' / 1 n <r 
 
 
 
 ct 
 
 I- . 1. 
 
■bh 
 
 82 
 
 LESSONS FROM LILIES. 
 
 (For his the deeply-mused, the perfect song 
 Of sorrow o'er his Mary's early tomb ; 
 His, ( hanting Ballochmyle at dewy e'en ; 
 Maria's call tiie twiliglit woods among ; 
 Jessie and Nannie in tlieir sweetest bloom;) 
 Found yet his brightest cheer in Bonnie Jean. 
 
 LESSONS FROM LILIES. 
 
 What gospel, O ye lilies of the field! 
 
 Preach ye to souls devout? What meanings lie 
 
 Writ in the trustful violet's open eye? 
 
 "Dear Sun," they say, thou art our Lamp, our 
 
 Shield, 
 Our chcrisher, to whom our sweets we yield ; 
 The v.eaver of our robes of various dye ! 
 Til' maternal sod doth nourish us, conceal'd 
 'Mid its warm grasses ; — we need never fear, 
 Nor lack, nor hunger : we are uiuHsmay'd, 
 Patient, encouraged tliat our God is near. 
 Why. need we dread the frost th;it makes leaves 
 
 sere ? 
 O troubled lingerer in ihe peaceful glade ! 
 We have th' o'erbrooding Love, to work us cheer ; 
 We have Omnipotence to be our aid. 
 
 • .) 
 
CKIEPS riKST IIOIRS. 
 
 83 
 
 , 
 
 XI. 
 
 GRIEF'S FIRST HOURS. 
 
 ;s lie 
 p, our 
 
 And, oh, no more ! no more ! my heart hath sighed; 
 For in my soul tlie doleful \vei}2:ht hath lain ; 
 And I have felt the passion and the pain 
 Of parting; hence inexorably denied 
 My life of life ! Joy's tendrils all divide, 
 And Hope is slain ! Ah ! can they live again ? 
 More than this precious form ^ not retain, 
 That hastes away in darkness to abide ! 
 Well might it seem their tears were blood, or dun 
 As their sad thoughts' complexion, who behold, 
 Under the sun's complacent, mocking ray, 
 Withdrawn, the smile more welcome than llie sun ; 
 Dimmed, the fond eye, broken, the heart of gold, 
 Palsied, the hand that wiped our tears away ! 
 
 f ' 
 
 eaves 
 
 Iheer ; 
 
 xri. 
 
 Could I have known the measure of the days 
 By that Just Will allotted to us here.— 
 How brief tlie journey gladden'd by thy cheer, 
 By tender dalliance, and fond delays ; — 
 How had I bid my sun of love with rays 
 More sweet to fall about thee ! liow be<.n near 
 More oft to chide the softly falling tear. 
 And soothe misgiving with a lover's praise ! 
 
ill 
 
 «> h ' 
 
 84 
 
 GRIEFS FIRST IIOCRS. 
 
 How tremulously o'er thy steps had I, 
 As thine own anji^el, liover'd, had I thought 
 Thou could 'st so swiftly vanish from the way ! 
 But, ah ! I had not dreamed that f/iou could'st die ! 
 That this so soon must be my lonely lot, 
 Without tiiy needful presence night and day ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 My love ! my love ! "wv ^{/^''>^ ^V.s7 ornament, 
 By wlioin my spirit out of dust ivas rdtsrd;'''' > 
 My jewel of the dark ! Now Heaven be jiraised, 
 P>y whom thy shining goodliness way sent ! 
 My lode-star, for a little season lent, 
 And then withdrawn into tliy guardian sky ; 
 Shed thy ripe influence on me silently, — 
 Sweet minister, with such benign intent ! 
 That love I spake not, and that faith I meant, 
 I feel thou knowest, wheresoe'er thou art ! 
 The undivided homage of a heart, 
 Whose days confined in solitude are spent. 
 Is thine— thine only ! Still my life is blent 
 With thine, who art its fairest ornament. 
 
 ' ^ d 'vyj M, vi ^\ 
 
 5? 
 
 P Pvi S-Pi- 
 
 I 
 
l^ACATIOX. 
 
 85 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I lift my heart to that blest altitude 
 Where thou dost move on s:racious errands bent — 
 Fainting no more 'neath that calm firmament 
 O'er which th' Eternal Lioht doth sweetly bn.ud • 
 For, as thy Lord, thou still wert doing good,— 
 Thy human span in precious d^^d was spent. 
 Ah, there are hearts to mourn thee, ill content 
 They can.but weep thy lost beatitude ! 
 Yet. stoop once more, O Sacred Soul ! to mine 
 So blissful wedded ! Brood o'er mv low path 
 All tearful, dusk I-ease thou this painful lac k'' 
 Shall the dread night shrink where thy lioht may 
 shine ? 
 
 The mirkest mid-hour no vain terror hath, 
 If thy celestial beauty brighten back ! 
 
 . 
 
 XV. 
 
 VACATIOX." 
 
 Home ! when the cycle of our toil is o'er ; 
 When we have sown and reaped the tearful seed, 
 Then bid the laborer release, then speed 
 His longing spirit toward his native shore. 
 Home ! height serene, belov'd forevernioie 
 Above all star-borne summits sliining free ! 
 Home ! isle unvex'd, beyond a suns( t sea 
 Toward which yon silver'd sail's enchantment bore ' 
 
 tX 
 
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 $< r 
 
 
 tii 
 
d6 
 
 h'ULFH.MENT. 
 
 If I could reach thee in thy far-off realm, 
 And find thee, with the group so radiant fair, 
 Of friends and fancies, that adorned my youth, 
 I should not fear the waves that overwhelm 
 The voyager, — eager to be once more there, 
 Pitching o'er glancing seas a snowy booth. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 FULFILMENT. 
 
 Life's fever cooled in Death's refluent wave, — 
 When on our fainting brows no more shall beat 
 Distemper'd suns ; our travel-weary feet 
 No longer wander o'er Time's burning pave, 
 Unsandal'd ; — this ! ev'n this, we fain would have ! 
 If, (the long thirst appeased in that soft tide, 
 The yearning still'd), we come up satisfied, 
 That this washail'd as Death, or that, the Gra^-e, 
 We may not care. Then ceases Earth's lament, 
 'Mid rapt throngs, jubilant-throated, attiie pitcii 
 Of their eternal song. In calm content 
 We enter Love's abode, securely rich. 
 To join her glad-eyed children purely bent ; 
 Where frustrate hopes have to fruition come. 
 And our divine Ideal is at home. 
 
RAIX, 
 
 s? 
 
 have ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 FROST-WORK. 
 
 Chill was the nij^ht : vvitli wannest smile the morn 
 Looks forth, white-veil'd. W hat charm from mitl- 
 
 night drear 
 Hatli the earth reft, and o'er chaste features worn ? 
 Now, while the tardy sun his face doth clear, 
 Behold ! what ma/e of Fairydom is here ! 
 There's not an elm that springs its shaft aloof 
 But gives of Winter's stateliest beauty proof ! 
 The trees as branching corals all appear ! 
 I stand, with eye attent, and wistful ear. 
 Where Silence lays her fingers ; as if soon 
 Quaint bugles blown from I'lfin-land to hear ! 
 But, lo! the magic scatters — the pure boon 
 Is quickly gone ! Fach tall tree's powdery crown 
 Does 'mid th' applausive stillness tremble dowii ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 RAIN, 
 
 HEARD AT EARLY MORNING. 
 
 Awakening at the early davvn, I hear 
 The liquid tramp and footfall of the rain, — 
 The flooded sj^out outside my window-pane. 
 Gushing and gurgling on my cjuiet ear : 
 Chiming, descend from clouds, low-hovering, clear 
 And lute-like measures ; while the fevered earth. 
 After the dust and di\ uth makes genial mirth — 
 Beats her deep anthem, multiplies her cheer. 
 
 

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 11 
 
 
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 11 
 
 li- 
 
 88 
 
 MONTCALM. 
 
 The wide rejoicing^ fields their frolic sun 
 
 Shall St on give sparkling gre(.'liiig, for the charm 
 
 To each green spire, each Inid and l)ell, abounds. 
 
 lilven now the piping robins have i) -gun : 
 
 Mullled by distance, at the wakening farm 
 
 The welcome clarion of the cock resounds. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 MONICALM. 
 
 In thy brave beauty on yon storied height 
 Methinks I see thee move ! The battle storm 
 Rages around ; but thy heroic form 
 Towers aloft, sublime in warrior-might, 
 Raying the grace of some superior light 
 On Death's dreatl front — the hour of dark defeat. 
 Erect in selle thou hold'st thy painful seat, 
 Bleeding ; yet mortal ill can not affright 
 Thy well-pois'd soul, nor shake thy nobleness. 
 Ah, hadst thou sovereign worthy sue h as thou, 
 With knightly S})irits to surround his throne, 
 Might Victory walk this field in Gallic dress ; 
 Then France — these nortliern lilies on her brow 
 Tnpluck'd — might reign supreme, calling Quebec 
 her own. 
 
harm 
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 IVOLFJL 
 
 XX. 
 
 89 
 
 SAINT HYMl^.LIN. 
 
 Low in liis convt-iit cell where Heaven attends, 
 
 Gaunt, on his pallet ^ood Saint Hymelin lies : 
 
 To an unclouded bourn the sun descends ; 
 
 Hut holier splendors brighten in his ej es. 
 
 On dying: arm he vainly strives to rise : 
 
 — Hark ! for 110 ecirthly hand is on the belh ! 
 
 They ring! they ring! meanwhile he sinks and dies; — 
 
 They ring triumphal peals, not funeral knells ! 
 
 O there are marvelous welcomes, all undreamed, 
 
 When lonely souls that grow through suffering 
 
 strong,— 
 The world's redeemers, and themselves redeemed, 
 Who conciuer sorrow with a lofty song, — 
 Come up, where harps and crowns from hands of 
 
 dust 
 Fall not, all perishing, as here they must ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 WOLin-. 
 
 The paths of i^Iory lead but to the gra7<e. . . . 
 Thrilled low the voice, in awed, in rapt deli.L'lit, 
 Of him who drew toward Stadacona's height, 
 And calmly rode the slow reluctant wave. 
 Saint Lawrence soft his ripply prow did lave, 
 Songful consenting ; while the falling eve 
 Did with its august pastoral musing grieve 
 O'er those who die — the timorous and the brave. 
 
 
 
 
90 
 
 U'OLIE. 
 
 Hark, to our liero wan, — his pensive brow 
 Ripe for red laurels, waiting but the day, — 
 Who sighs for honors of the cloistered bard ! "^ 
 Are peace and song the best? . . . Yet must we bow 
 To Fate's decree . . . Thou, soul victorious, say ! 
 Fame, and our tears,— are these no fit reward? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet would, sweet song, sweet love, ye had been 
 
 mine ! 
 O friends, in that dear English land that I 
 May see no more ! O streams, we wandered by. 
 Careless companions in a dream divine ! 
 Than on yon steep in arms supreme to shine 
 With you to walk were soother . . . Fancy vain ! 
 Can we our path reverse, or choose again ? 
 The Ansede-Foulon'^ — the embattled line — 
 The lofty plain, red-reeking — the wild call 
 And cry of battle — the obstreperous roar 
 Of the dread onset, — passion, pain and pride ! 
 There lies thy ivay ! For thee, the stinging ball — 
 The fiir, faint cheer from earth's receding shore! . . . 
 — The columned stone: Here Wolfe Victori- 
 ous Died. 
 
 *Tlie path by which his army ascended. 
 
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 ng ball — 
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 ICTORI- 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 DAULAC. 
 
 Back throuyli liis leafy ranj^e, gliding:: alt)()f 
 From tree to tree, daunted from Daulac's ra^e, 
 Slinks the awed savage ; nor would dare engage 
 A battle temper of such matchless proof. 
 If here alone, under the verdant roof, 
 Or the "blue sky, this dauntless hero band 
 Could smite them so — trampling them, every hand, 
 Like mice beneath Hehemoth's mighty hoof, — 
 They go no farther ! The wild i)lood runs ciiill ; 
 The vengeful savage for an hour is tame. 
 But, ah ! why come thty not ? When siiall we see 
 Our heroes? Nevermore! Their hearts are still ! 
 Yet their brave deed shall be a light, a name, 
 An incense in thy streets, O V'ille Marie ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MY PLACE. 
 
 TO MV IJROTHER.*' 
 
 If in the royal kingdom of thy thought, 
 (Where dwell the eminences and degrees, 
 Where stately words, in brilliant embassies, 
 With rich attire move on ; to which are brought 
 The wealth of realms where dark and dim are not. 
 From which the foul and indistinct depart ; 
 And where the smiling genii of the heart 
 Draw fairy circles — haunt each secret spot — 
 
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 THE DESERT ISLE. 
 
 And on Hope's hill-top every gala-night 
 Kindle their sprightly beacons, twinkling high) ; 
 I may have privilege and friendly grace ; 
 Then let it be where fire-lit walls are bright, 
 On autumn eves ; — a chirping cricket nigh, 
 While pensive silence broods about the place. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE DESERT ISLE. 
 
 How changed the scene ! where tliis majestic isle, 
 
 Fondled of ocean, greets th' presiding sky. 
 
 With rude sea-wall, and mountain dome on high, 
 
 And turrets as of some cathedral pile. 
 
 Lit up by sun and sea, and summer's smile ; 
 
 Since first it won Champlain's adventurous eye, 
 
 Or Argall's murderous caraval drew nigh "* 
 
 This bloodless woodland Eden to defile. 
 
 Here, where are reared the homes of Wealth and 
 
 Pride, 
 Where Fashion leads abroad her glittering train, 
 And Care seeks solace of the summer seas, 
 The Jesuit Fathers came at eventide. 
 Waking these wilds with prayer and chanted strain, 
 Charmed by the waves' perpetual litanies. 
 
 
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ICICLE DROPS. 
 
 93 
 
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 ic isle, 
 igh, 
 
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 h and 
 in, 
 
 >train. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ICICLE DROPS. 
 
 Fast, from their ribbed inverted icy spire, 
 
 Yon shining minims, glittering in the snn. 
 
 Fall brightly down, — sheen drops of fluent fire ; 
 
 Momently hanging — sinking, one by one, — 
 
 Sliding, as clear beads down a silver wire : 
 
 So archer-stars shoot the abysses dun ; 
 
 So blood drips down from the knives' fierce desire ; 
 
 So fall our moments ; so our tears do run. 
 
 With drop on drop, with everlasting flow, 
 
 With changing atom and revolving spliere, 
 
 Our never-resting lives must downward go ; — 
 
 Still hung in momentary brightness here ; 
 
 Then sinking to that breast toward which incline 
 
 The drops that glow, and eke the beams that shine. 
 
 xxvii. 
 
 The sun, at length, with a more fervent fire. 
 Hath gained a subtle mastery of the dawn ; 
 And, still more swiftly, from the less'ning spire 
 The hastening gems descend, till all are gone. 
 But, lo ! they come ! The vanish' d ones surprise, 
 In golden mist, my wistful, musing siglit ! 
 Soul o' th' earth, — its exhalations rise. 
 And soon the drops return to air and light. 
 
 ^:^ 
 
' 
 
 94 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 There shall they hang 'mid purple glooms aloof, 
 With clouds noon-white, or tinct with crimson eve ; 
 Or shine supreme in Iris' circling woof. 
 Wherein his married hues the sun doth weave. 
 And so this falling life shall not remain 
 Sunk in the earth ; 'twill rise to Heaven again. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 Make ye a solitude? — Cool mountain airs 
 That round my bleached cheeks come softly play- 
 ing I 
 Bush, bough and twig, anew your charms arraying 
 
 In delicatest green the woodland bears ; 
 Ye happy things that wing away my cares, — 
 Gilt butterflies, from shade to sunshine straying ; 
 Ye springing brooks that down the rocks come 
 
 spraying 
 Each mossy vest their flinty bosom wears ; 
 Ye maze of fern and flower, of leaves a-whisper ; 
 Ye plumed souls, from matin until vesper. 
 That make a temple of each spreading tree ; 
 Ye woodland lawns, with circles grass-grown 
 
 newly ; — 
 Make ye a solitude ? — Ye answer truly : 
 ** Nay, we are sweeteners of society." 
 
 1', 
 
I 
 
 )me 
 
 >wn 
 
 AT THE LIGHT. 
 
 YES ! this is my shore of dreaming, 
 And this is my haunted main ! 
 The chant of the syren-ocean 
 Is in my ears again. 
 
 I have threaded the rugged pathway, 
 
 The furzy track of old : 
 Lo ! the morning sea rejoices 
 
 In purple and in gold. 
 
 'Tis the laughing, sheeny vision, 
 As it was since time began ! 
 
 There, faery-blue in the distance 
 The cliffs of Grand Manan. 
 
 The salt wave frets and cringes, 
 And leaps on the ledges still ; 
 
 Not all the years since I left them 
 Have broken their tameless will. 
 
 The sea's soft jubilation, 
 The smile of the tender skies. 
 
 Will set the heart a-roving 
 In youth's lost paradise. 
 
 95 
 
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VBm 
 
 96 AT THE LIGHT. 
 
 Below, the shining ripples 
 To the curving sands are sped ; 
 
 And the parti-painted lighthouse 
 Stands on the rocky head. 
 
 How oft, in the far-off evenings 
 
 To musing memory dear, 
 Have I come from yon hillside village, 
 
 To dream and wander here ! 
 
 Tracing the fire-writ records 
 On broken, wave-wash'd wall, 
 
 Wliere, liiro' the sea's long anthem 
 Pierces the sea-bird's call. 
 
 And, when the lamp was lighted, 
 From the tower I've looked below. 
 
 And mark'd where the white surf glimmers, 
 And the spectral vessels go. 
 
 The lonely sea was darkling, 
 Where the shadows distant fall ; 
 
 But the lamp in the tower burn'd brightly, 
 And a hush was over all. 
 
 God spake in the soft night silence. 
 And the mellow swish of the sea, 
 
 'Till a sense of exaltation 
 And of sweet serenity. 
 
A T THE LIGHT. 
 
 97 
 
 lers, 
 
 Like a holy spell possessed nie ; 
 
 And it seemed the world's affray 
 With its sound was gone forever, 
 
 Forgotten and far away. 
 
 How in the press and bustle, 
 With the care that perplexes nie, 
 
 I have dreamed of thy isolation 
 Thou light-tower by the sea ! 
 
 Of the midni^^ht storm's commotion, 
 
 Of the quiet noon-day rest, 
 Of the wave-lapt dream in tlie lighthouse, 
 
 When I was an evening guest ; " 
 
 Of the sight of old friendly faces, 
 And the taste of homely cheer ! . . . . 
 
 Ah! the din of the world is behind me. 
 And I am glad to be here ! 
 
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SIR ADAMS ARCHIBALD. 
 
 SNAI'T, the gold chain,— dropt, the last shining 
 link 
 That bound us to our Country's glorious past ! 
 Bare we our brows to look upon the mound 
 Where so much honor lies. Without a blush, 
 Unhesitant, let Fame his praise repeat, — 
 Last of a memorable company. 
 Be this his praise — he loved Acadia well, 
 And well he served her. Then his sun set clear, 
 That purely rode in the mid-heaven of life, 
 With forecast of the everlasting rest — 
 The sacred meed that waits on duty done. 
 
 We walk 'mid changes manifold, and see 
 The rising of the new from out the old. 
 The fathers are but shadows ; yet their heads 
 Do gather haloes, and, serenely sure, 
 As stars o'erlooking the autumnal leaves 
 That drop or whirl away, their works remain, 
 And from their silent urns they rule us still. 
 
 But in Acadia's annals, — many-leaved 
 At last, with increment of years to be, — 
 Howe'er the pages may be written o'er 
 
 98 
 
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t shining 
 
 ist! 
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 t clear, 
 
 S//e ADAMS ARCHIBALD, 
 
 99 
 
 Than tT' "'' ""^"^^ '° "'« co„.mo„ li^t • 
 Than those once writ with Archibald "nd Howe. 
 
 Is 
 
 >, 
 
! 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 THE kearsargp:. 
 
 GIRT by desert seas .md skies, 
 On the southern reef she lies, 
 To the elements a prize, 
 
 Cleansed with surf, of battle-^ore : 
 Leave her there, nor seek to save 
 l''roni her wild, inglorious grave 
 This old tamer of the wave, 
 Lost on lonely Roncador! 
 
 Bright with fame— what can eclipse ! 
 Foremost among battle-ships ; 
 Once her caimon's blazing lips 
 
 Woke the echoes with their roar : 
 VV^ith her colors flying free, 
 Held she empire o'er the sea ; 
 — Where tiie surf beats sullenly 
 
 Lies she now, on Roncador. 
 
 Churned to foam, the breakers fleet 
 O'er the yellow shingle meet, 
 And a monody repeat, 
 F'ull of ocean's saddest lore : 
 
 
 lOO 
 
THE KEARSARCE. 
 
 Ghostly heroes mount her side, 
 Who ill storm of battle died ;— ' 
 Heaves she with the swelling tide, 
 On the lonely Roncador. 
 
 Go not forth to bring htr home ; 
 Tame her not-she loved to roam ! 
 Ciive her to the reef and foam ! 
 
 Let the sea-birds round her soar, 
 Let them o'er her sweep and cry ! ' 
 Underneath an alien sky 
 Leave her evermore to lie, 
 
 In her grave at Roncador \ 
 
 loi 
 
rHE HUNTER. 
 
 THE luinler, ho ! rljjht cheerily 
 He ridcth, he ridelli ! 
 How Uke a bird iiis hetirt is free, 
 
 As swift ho rideth : 
 With click of hoof, and blast of horn, 
 He whips the wind in merry scorn; 
 For t|uany, with the peep of morn, 
 He rideth, he rideth! 
 
 The hunter, ho ! right wearily 
 
 He rideth, he rideth ! 
 Half of the ruddy sun to see, 
 
 He slowly rideth: 
 Soft to his cheek the eveninj; breeze, 
 And sweet the sunset thro' the trees ;- 
 To-morrow he shall rest at ease : 
 
 He rideth, he rideth! 
 
 The hunter, ho ! full dreamily 
 
 He rideth, he rideth ! 
 So hearty was the morning's glee. 
 
 So faint he rideth : 
 
 I02 
 
Tm-mxTEK. 
 
 AnV",*"'.'"''^^ "•« drean,.bir<ls ron.e 
 And star-,lew from the crjstal dome 
 
 He rideth, lie ridetli ! 
 
 J03 
 
PRO MEMORIA. 
 
 AN ELEGY ON SIR JOHN THOMPSON. 
 
 A SOUND of lamentation in the North, 
 Of weeping, and the voice that calls : Come 
 home ! 
 Come to the waiting land that sent thee forth ; 
 
 Linger no more, no farther seek to roam : 
 With royal escort, shrined in war-like walls. 
 Mount the blue wave and h.asten through the 
 foam ; — 
 Come, O my son ! it is thy Country calls ! 
 
 The throbbing wire hath sped 
 Under the sea its message : Thou art dead ! 
 The lonely-whispering genii of the deep 
 Have spoken with us, and we weep: 
 
 They tell us thou hast met the summoner — 
 The mighty messenger we vainly dread ; 
 That melancholy pomp, and gorgeous woe. 
 
 And splendor of the halls where kings confer, 
 Wait round thee, where thy stately head lies low. 
 
 104 
 
PRO MEAfORlA. 
 
 105 
 
 Come back to us, o'er the impetuous main ! 
 
 Come, to the land helov'd, that loves thee well ! 
 Come, to the land thou didst not love in vain, 
 
 Whose grieving; sons thy deeds and honors tell ! 
 O modest heart, so chastened by thy pain, — 
 
 Shrinking; before the throne from glory's spell, — 
 Though chill and silent, come to us again ! 
 
 Come 
 
 »; 
 
 gh the 
 
 Come back from that august and princely Isle, 
 
 That ever-during jewel of the deep ! 
 Back from the Council-board, and all thy peers , 
 Back from the royal Mother's generous smile, — 
 
 Her ready tear, when there was need to weep, 
 
 And thou hadst fall'n to silence and to sleep. 
 Come back to us, thou child of glorious years ! 
 
 As swell the waves through which thy ship shall 
 sweep, 
 So heave our breasts with the proud birth of tears ! 
 
 \\ 
 
 low. 
 
 Come back, thou man belov'd ! as if once more 
 
 To gaze upon the hills to thee so dear, — 
 Alike, or flowery green, or frosty hoar ; 
 
 The sweet, wild streams, so innocently clear ; 
 The surf-swept walls by thy Acadian shore ; 
 
 Thy martial city; thy domestic cheer : 
 Come to thine own, who wait; though evermore 
 
 What pleased thee best thou shalt not see, nor 
 hear ! 
 
io6 
 
 PRO MEMORIA. 
 
 Come to thy home, all silent — caring not 
 The pageant's mournful splendor wails for thee ! 
 
 Yet caring that thou hadst a home, a cot, 
 With loved ones, in that city by the sea ; — 
 
 Caring for these, if thou could 'st care for aught ; 
 But earthly cares and sorrows may not be 
 
 Where now thou art. We envy thee thy lot ! 
 
 We praise thee, not that thou wast strong and wise, 
 
 And manly-made, and good to K^ok upon ; 
 
 Not that thou hadst the garb of beauty on ; 
 But thou didst love what the Imnujrlals prize, — 
 
 Truth, justice, honor, — treasures purely won : 
 These godlike things seem fairest in the skies ; 
 
 They seem the fairer here, now thou art gone ! 
 
 Lo ! Britain's sons are in thy funeral train ! 
 
 In minsters high the mournful dirge is sung. 
 As when her chiefs of state conmiand the strain, 
 Coming to rest poets and kings among. 
 
 Now float thy funeral car ! a thund'rous roar 
 Aimounce thy parting from that sovereign shore! 
 Hasten thy course, O ship ! o'er the imperial main! 
 
THE PARTING. 
 
 M « 
 
 rain, 
 
 main 
 
 OUR summer clays at home were sped, 
 Tlie carriage waited at the door, 
 WhcMi, falteringly, my father said, — 
 
 " We part, — but h'ere we meet no more." 
 
 *' We meet no more?"' O, knell-like word 
 To this sad world wherein we grieve ! 
 The ear may hear — the ear hatli heard ; 
 The heart refuses to believe. 
 
 The memorable hours, how bright ! 
 
 When they who love together fare ; 
 But oh ! the bowers of lost delight, 
 
 With solitude and silence there ! 
 
 How break, the ties that first we wove ! 
 
 When life's deep roots asunder tear, 
 How beats the heart of bleeding love 
 
 In the chill bosom of despair ! — 
 
 But that His balm distils like dew, 
 And sweetens our forlorn estate, 
 
 VV' hose tender mercies, ever new. 
 Refuse to leave us desolate. 
 
 , 
 
 107 
 
 
 :p 
 
 vs 
 
 V . s . 
 
 n c v>'.^ 
 
 C4f ill 
 
 Wi 
 
 •Z o<tc "»-C 
 
io8 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 Still, as we went, we gazed behind, 
 Through stre.iming eyes to see again 
 
 The chastened ones, of constant mind. 
 Who feel their woe, nor will complain 
 
 Through all that vacant autumn day 
 The out-bound train's determined roar 
 
 Through rock-hewn passes, seemed to say, — 
 " W^<? meet no more — we meet no more/' 
 
 From the loved land that gave them birth 
 The brood fraternal all had flown ; 
 
 And by their desolated hearth 
 The drooping parents wept alone. 
 
 Thrice, boding heart ! this head hath bowed 
 With sorrow thou could 'st not foretell ; 
 
 The cloud most feared was empty cloud. 
 The bolt unseen was that which fell. 
 
 For it was truth my father spake ; — 
 Far vision hath the eye grown dim : 
 
 Ye storms, upon our heads that break. 
 Rage I ye can bring no harm to him ! 
 
 The fire is quenched that burned at eve ; 
 
 The step is silent on the stair ; 
 The night-winds, 'round the house that grieve, 
 
 Find love and light no longer there. ^ 
 
 7i>. 
 
 CiU 
 
 OO-V^* >S h»w C oifi 
 
THE PARTING. 
 
 ly,— 
 » » 
 
 led 
 
 And yet he lives, my heart divines 
 (The pleasinK^ thought my grief beguiled,) 
 
 Where the eternal sunrise shines 
 That haunts tiie spirit of the child. 
 
 He lives, where Truth and Beauty are 
 V\ ,th Ilnn he loved, whose form and face 
 
 Beam lustrous as the morning star-- 
 There is my fatlier's chosen place ! 
 
 And he is glad that Song is there. 
 
 Whose by-gone notes in memory seem 
 l^ike some trans- ndent chorus rare 
 
 Some mysf ..,sic heard in dream, v 
 
 For his the cadence, as of vore 
 ^ We heard the solily soothing strain • 
 line thosr :cho meet shall pari no more 
 ^>idfrinids lof^i parted meet again. ' ' 
 
 109 
 
 I eve, 
 
 We. 
 
 "i^trt SK 
 
 Sf >i« e^s 
 
 tcqt 
 
 Her. 
 
BY THE GASPEREAU. 
 
 DO you remember, dear, a night in June, 
 So long, so long ago, 
 When we were lovers, wandering with the moon, 
 Reside the Gaspereau ? 
 
 The river plashed and gurgled thro' its glooms. 
 
 Slow stealing to the sea, 
 A silver serpent ; in the apple-blooms 
 
 The soft air rustled free. 
 
 And o'er the river from afar the sound 
 
 Of mellow tinkling bells 
 From browsing cattle stiind the ei ho round 
 
 In gentle falls and swells. 
 
 No sound of human sorrow, nor of mirth, 
 
 Streamed on that peace abroad. 
 And all the night leaned low upon the earth 
 
 Like the calm face gf Ciod. 
 
 And in our hearts there breathed, like life, a breath 
 
 Of most delicious pain : 
 It seemed a whisper ran from birth to death, 
 
 And back to birth again, 
 
 no 
 
 ^ 
 
 >■ A 
 
 •K \^'ol 
 
 ^i)-\ "^vvee' 
 
 i 
 
 T 
 
 '■3 C-( >^ 
 
^'On: A AD SONG. 
 
 And l)ou.Kl in airy c hains our shining; hours, 
 i ast, present and to come 
 one sweet whole, stroi.K to defy the powers 
 Of change, till time be duini;. 
 
 Iti 
 
 Yes. you remember, dear, that night in June. 
 So long, so long ago, 
 
 When vve were h.vers. wandering with the moon, 
 Heside the Gaspereau. 
 
 LOVE AND SONG. 
 
 OVK sayeth : Sing of me ! 
 
 What else is worth a song ? 
 I had refrained. 
 Lest I should do Love wrong. 
 
 L 
 
 II 
 I > 
 
 ' Clean hands, and a pure heart. 
 Ipiayed. "and I will sing : ' 
 
 But all I gained 
 Brought to my vvord no wing. 
 
 Stars, sunshine, seas and skies. 
 Earth's graves, the holy hills' 
 
 Were all in vain ; 
 No breath the dumb pipe fills. 
 
112 
 
 LOVF AND SONG. 
 
 I dreamed of splendid praise, 
 And Ikauty watching by 
 
 (iray shores of Pain : 
 My sonj^ turned to a sigh. 
 
 I saw in virgin eyes 
 The mother warmth that makes 
 
 The dead earth (iuicl< 
 In ways no Spring awakes. 
 
 No song. In vain to siglit 
 
 Life's clear arch heavenward sprang. 
 
 Heart still, or sick 1 
 — I loved! j^l/r, then I sant^ ! 
 
 Note.— The pocins "By the Tiaspereau " and "Love and 
 SoHR," are by my brother, Rev. Hurton VV. Lockliart. 
 
<es 
 
 prang. 
 
 Love and 
 
 rt.