IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^' ^\^:^ 1.0 I.I S^i |2j2 lU ^ 1^ |2.0 IL25 Ml 1.4 1.6 "^ / V Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WCST MAIN STREIT WiBSTER.N.Y. 145S0 (716)872-4503 4^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical IMicroreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques .i-^^ Technical and Bibliographic Notaa/Notat tachniquaa at Mbliographiquaa Tha Inatituta haa attamptad to obtain tha baat original copy availabia for filming. Faaturaa of thia copy which may ba bibllographlcally iinlqua, which may aftar any of tha imagaa in tha raproduction. or which may algnlflcantly changa tha uaual mathod of filming, ara chackad balow. □ Colourad covara/ Couvartura da coulaur I I Covara damagad/ □ Couvartura andommag^a Covars raatorad and/or laminatad/ Couvartura raatauria at/ou paliiculAa r~~| Cover titia miaaing/ La titra da couvartura manqua Colourad mapa/ Cartas gAographiquas 9n coulaur Colourad inic (i.a. othar than blua or blacic)/ Encra da coulaur (i.a. autra qua biaua ou noira) Colourad plataa and/or illuatrationa/ Planchaa at/ou illuatrationa an coulaur D D Bound with othar material/ ReliA avac d'autrea documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La re llure serr6e peut cauaar da I'ombra ou de la distortion la long de la marge IntArieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever poasibla, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouttes lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans la taxte, mais. lorsqua cela Atait poaaible, ces pages n'ont pas At* fiimAes. Additional comments:/ Commentairas supplimentaires; L'Inatitut a microfilm* la mailleur exemplaira qu'il lui a At* poaaible de ae procurer. Les details da cat exemplaira qui sent paut-Atre uniquea du point da yu^ bibliographiqua, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite. ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dana la mAthode normala de filmage aont indiquAa ci-dessous. I I Coloured pagea/ n Pagea de couleur Pages damaged/ Pagea andommagAea Pagea restored and/oi Pages restaurAes at/ou palliculAea Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages dAcolorAes, tachetAes ou piquAas Pages detached/ Pages dAtachees Showthrough/ Tranaparance Quality of prir QualitA inAgale de I'impression Includes supplementary materii Comprend du matArlel supplAmentaire Only edition available/ Seule Adition disponible I — I Pages damaged/ r~n Pagea restored and/or laminated/ I I Pages detached/ r~Jj Showthrough/ I I Quality of print varies/ I I Includes supplementary material/ I I Only edition available/ Th4 to Th po of filri Ori be th« sio oti fin sio or Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc.. have been ref limed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partieilement obscurcies par un feuiilet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont AtA filmAes A nouveau de fa^on A obtenir ia meilleure image possible. Thi shi TIf wh Mfl dif enl be] rigl req me This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document eat f ilmA au taux de rAduction indiquA ci-deaaous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X J 12X 16X aox 24X 28X 32X I I du odifiar ' un9 mag* TtM copy fllmtd h«r« h«« bMin r«produc«d thanks to tha ganaroaity of: National Library of Canada Tha imagaa appaaring hara ara tha boat quality poasibia considaring tha condition and lagibility of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha filming contract apacifications. L'aKomplalra flimA f ut raproduit grica A la g4n4roait4 da: BibiiothAqua nationala dy Canada Las imagas auhrantas ont 4t4 raproduitaa avac la plus grand soin, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattati da Taxampiaira film*, at an conformity avac las conditions du contrat da filmaga. Original copias in printad papar covars ara filmad baginning with tha front covar and anding on tha last paga with a printad or illustratad impras- sion, or tha back covar whan appropriata. All othar original copias ara filmad baginning on tha f irat paga with a printad or illustratad impras- sion, and anding on tha last paga with a printad or illustratad imprassion. Las axamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura •n papiar ast imprimAa sont filmis an commandant par la pramiar plat at an tarminant soit par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'imprassion ou d'illustration, soit par la sacond plat, salon la cas. Tous las autras axamplairaa originaux sont filmte 91% commandant par la pramiAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'imprassion ou d'illustration at an tarminant par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una taila amprainta. Tha last racordad frama on aach microficha shall contain tha symbol ^^ (moaning "CON- TINUED"), or tha symbol V (moaning "END"), whichavar applias. Un das symbolas suivants apparattra sur la darnlAra imaga da chaqua microficha, salon la cas: la symbola — »* signifie "A SUIVRE", la symbols V signifia "FIN". Maps, platas, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmto A des taux da reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, ii est filmA A partir da I'angle supArieur gauche, da gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. lies diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. rrata ;o pelure. Id i 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 t 6 7,^ ^^ i I f. >V; LII ELB .^ /Jf^l i- LINDEN RHYMES. By M a U D E. (f (^ ,^et^^^'^^-^) HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA: ELBRIDGE GERRY FULLER, 34, 35, & 36 HoLLis Street. 1854. t-^ E-5615 69a^() OAHBBIDOB, MASS.: MBTOALF AND COICFA»T| PBUTTIBS TO TUB tTNIVUSITT. J DEDICATION. THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, WITH PERMISSION, TO LADY SEYMOUR, WHOSE NAME WILL BE LOXO AND TENDERLT BEMEMDERED IN NOVA SCOTIA. MAUDE. In tl have m to expl publish cism. out wl have d my nui ful reg womer PREFACE. In the way of Preface to this small book, I have not much to say. It is impossible for me to explain how it was written, or why it is now published; — else, perhaps, I might disarm criti- cism. But I can offer to my dear friends, with- out whose generous and effectual aid I could have done so little towards publishing, and to my numerous and land subscribers, most grate- ful regard ; from my countrymen and country- women generally, I entreat a merciful verdict. MAUDE. 80K0 OF ITHE BIVj Itue OAM Ithe wik: THE DBII FICTUHE THE sum; SNOW . TO WILL] FAVORITl LINES sn EXOTIC ] THE OAR THE WIT THE WA1 SOBROW FETIT Bl CONTENTS. PAOI OKa OF THE NILS 3 THE RIVALS 8 ITHE OAMDIA 12 THE WIKDOW 19 THE BHIDB OF 8ALSBR0OK 23 riCTUBB OF "red BIDINO-IIOOD " 39 THE SUMUEB'HOUSB 36 SNOW 38 TO WILLIE, OK HIS FIRST ANKIVER8ART ... 41 FATOBITB SUMMER HAUMT 45 LINES SUGOESTED BT A FASSAOE IN "OLIVEB TWIST " 49 EXOTIC FLOWERS 52 THE GARDEN 54 THE WITHERED ROSE 61 THE WATER-LILT 65 SORROW AND MEMORY 68 PETIT rivi£rb at SCNSBT 70 Ml vm CONTENTS. I. TUB SWBKTnRIER I!« AFIIICA 7^1 ■ARAB CUBRAIf's SONO 7T BIVBR8 BTBWIACKB AND MCSQUODODOIT "9 1 THE DOUQUBT 82 1 JUKII'ER-TRRES 86 1 OOME TO EMOLAKD 89 1 TUB PIOEOM-BERRT 92 1 TDB ANNIVERSARY 95 1 THE visitor's CARD-BASKET 102 1 THE MAY-FLOWER HO] BONO OF THE FOLAR NIGHT 113 1 AN INDIAN GIRL 118 1 THE PONY 122 1 THE INDIAN CUP 125 1 A. LAMENT 12? I THE TREE CRANBERRY 132 1 THE SEA-SHORE, A FRENCH LITHOGRAPH . . . 134 1 AUSTRALIAN PASTURES . . . . . . . 136 1 SIR JOHN HARVEY 140 | APPEAL TO THE POETS OP NOVA SCOTIA . . . 142 | NOTES .....' 150 . s:^i... SONG OF THE NILE. Ere the earliest of men Wc'TF the young world's crown, From a sacred mountain glen I came rolling down. O'er my lone, triumphant birth Sprung the giant Palm, Casting to the charmed earth Plumes of shadow calm. Never I that regal fount Gave to human eyes. Though, its story to recount, Came the bold and wise ; Came the gorgeous Caesar, drest In his golden mail. SONG OF THE NILE. Deeming that his haughty quest Could not, dare not, fail. Brave and tender Antony Came, with gallant zeal, Crying, " Thy grand mystery Love shall now reveal." Priest and warrior, sage and queen, Dared my silent scorn : Yet where mortal hath not been Was the Titan born. Vainly primal sail, unfurled, Sought my secret sway ; And a curious, later world Baffled stands to day. Come, ye streams of younger time. Chant your storied scroll. While the marvels of your prime Down your courses roll. Seek I not such late renown ; In my glorious morn. Saints and prophets earned the crown Egypt hath not worn. SONG OF THE NILE. Dawning earth's majestic sons Left their deeds with me, — Tenderer pictures, meeker ones, In my mirror see. She, to Memphian monarch fair, By my warm, soft wave, Found — the Syrian tent to share Her rival in a slave. Joseph's brethren came forlorn To my bounteous plain ; Laden with my wine and com, Went they not again ? Pharaoh's daughter from my tide Claimed the Hebrew boy — Cradled on its rushy side — With a gentle joy. Saw I not the groaning Jew, Bound and burdened, toil. While the man Jehovah knew Smote the haughty soil ? Voyaging from sweet south land, Lured by Judah's fame. Bringing rare gifts in her hand, She of Sheba came. '^^^'''■ 6 SONG OF THE NILE. f : Safely slept the holy child On the Virgin's breast, When the twain, from fury wild, Fled to me for rest. Lovely lip and cheek may lean O'er a colder tide, — I recall the matchless mien Of the Roman's bride. Earth grew lavish where I came, Beauty robed my shore ; Monsters dwelt with me whose fame Time shall not restore. Still the royal Palm-groves rise Through my flowery plain ; Still bend blue and fervent skies O'er my golden grain ; Still the tall, bright Ambak smiles, From my bosom thrown ; And the fragrant Lotus isles Yet come floating down. Radiant birds throng to the slope. O'er my reedy brink ; And the graceful antelope Cometh down to drink ; SONO OF THE NILE. But no voice the mighty calls, Perished from my shore, — III their shattered Theban halls Glory sits no more. Vainlv I, at Memnon's feel, Offer wreaths of bloom ; Mute he sits, the dawn to meet. In gigantic gloom. And the Sphinx, whose grandeur spread Down my famous shore, Wrapt the Desert round her head. Dwelt with men no more. Faint tones from her mystic page With my waters roll ; Shall I to an infant age Bare her solemn soul ? Sweep, rejoicing rivers, bear Little wonders on. From the Pyramids I hear Rameses, my son. Through the ages ye may go. With a gracious smile, But the glory shall not know (^f the crownless Nile. THE RIVALS. In festal roGms, in sacred fanes, In throng of city street, And ^neath green boughs in shady lanes, The rivals of-en meet. The one is brown-eyed, fair, and pale, Just wise enough for art, And matches with her aspect frail The graceful, pensive part. 11! The mirror of her dream of love Reflects herself alone ; By all that o'er its surface move Her triumph must be shown ; THE RIVALS. Nor ever crossed her inward glance, Doubt, or misgiving chill, Of power, through every after chance, The secret soul to fill Of him, who, — in the reckless fall Of passion, coldly met By one for whom he hoarded all Love ever lavished yet, — Yielding to hope of solaced days For the wild heart within. And tempted by her skilful gaze, Gave all she cared to win. The one he deems so gay and cold Hath eyes with sorrow dim, But in her heart's despairing fold She weepeth most for him. That heart hath watched him through the day. And prayed beneath the night ; Yet in its pride and fear can slay Its captive of delight. to THE BIVALS. i I Yet knows she, that to him she *s fraught With life's sole guiding heam, That her familiar, daily thought Her rival cannot dream ; That she to him wears fairest face The sun hath looked upon, Though oft the hidden heart-throe trace Her brow with shadows wan. And when soft words of greeting rise Between these ladies fair, Each looks into the other's eyes To read her terror there. For each, the other's claim can bow, Upon their struggling thrall ; One holds his love, and one his vow. He neither can recall. One bends her brown eyes on his gifts, With proud, triumphant beam ; The other's roam o'er memory's drifts, Where dearer treasures gleam. THE RIVALS. 11 One claims, with soft, successful wile, His raptureless caress ; The other meets his quivering smile With one that dare not bless. His clasp, and kiss, once pressed love-dole, On hand, she holds apart, That clasp is yet upon her soul, That kiss within her heart. She knows the word she will not speak Would bring him to her side, But leaves him, maddened, to the meek Arts of his promised bride. THE GAMBIA. " Rivers unknown to song." li,: Where the Mangrove shadows To the hot winds quiver, Through majestic bowers Rolls a splendid river. Evermore broad branches Stoop their heads to lave, And wreathe a sylvan coronal To grace the Gambian wave. I!' i I: Lone and lovely islands Are lying on its breast. Verdant, blooming marvels, By human foot unprest ; THB GAMBIA. It Amid their flowery thickets The serpent finds a home, And through the gorgeous solitudes The wolf and leopard roam. Amid the dusky nations, Bordering Gambia^s side, Floats the English banner Up its stately tide ; There, o'er English faces. The proud old flag may wavis ; But honors with its drooping fold Full many an English grave. Calm, great creeks stretch inland. Beneath a Mangrove crown, Whose green and clasping branches Send morning coolness down. On their still waves, the stranger Might dream that word and wand Of magic held these portals fair To sunny lands beyond. I :i m I iit-- 14 THE GAMBIA. And Acids arc bright with sunshine Amid the burnii.g plain ; And wondrous plumes arc glancing Where fearless birds remain ; And round the native village Are towering regal trees, And Tamarind, Oak, and mif'.ty Teil Sway grandly to the br^^ezc. There the jetty Jaloof m Basks the hours away ; And there his graceful maidens, At morn, in early May, Grouping in the corn-lands, Cast the blessed grain Across the warm, luxuriant soil, Before the time of rain. And rude invention aideth The tiller of the ground, Beside bis ^irrtpl*^ anvil The ^' cilGOi man is found ; i TBE GAMBIA. 15 And though to him comes ncvc" Stern lal)or*9 cnrofal pain, Aneaih his brilliant heaven he plies The art of Tubal-Cain.^ And life hath other aspects Where Gambia^s waters sweep ; Sunny, pastoral pictures. Where shepherd Foolahs' keep Quiet herd and sheep-flock, Gigantic boughs below, — Or range the green, wild pastures, where The long, strange grasses grow. Far in the shining distance A little leaf-thatched town Lies, 'mid the blooming verdure These glorious deserts own ; With water-jars head-laden, There, in the sunset calm, Come Foolah girls, from wells beside Some old chivalric Palm. 16 THE GAMBIA. Im ! The patriarchal people Here oft, at clear nightfall, Hold 'neath the lofty branches A moonlit festival ; And gracefully the maidens Move to some simple strain, Whose gentle charm to joy beguiles These children of the plain. The ancient Arab beauty Is lingering in their mien ; And yet their glowing language * Can tell of what hath been ; Still, delicate in feature. As Europe's daughters fair. Lovely with the locust garland In their glistening hair. 1 From his distant kingdom. The swarthy trader hies To thy broad breast, Gambia, With native merchandise. mr.' THE GAMBIA. 17 Down the shining highway Comes the earth-born star, And nuts and gold and ivory And chei-oil from far. From remoter regions, Whence tribute waters pour, Tribes come, wild and warlike, Along this wondrous shore. On the sunny borders Monsters swarm unstirred, And hither leads the elephant His own majestic herd. Strange night-cries are booming Across the silent air. When, roused, the river-horses Forsake their watery lair. All day the vulture watcheth For prey the stream and slope. And boundeth up and down the banks The dainty antelope. 2 18 THE GAMBIA. Beautiful is Gambia, Approaching Ocean's sway ; Beautiful is Gambia, Five hundred miles away. Through exhaustless glories, Passing all we dream Of lovely, wild, and wonderful. Sweeps on the splendid stream. Ill M 11 i ■ Ui THE WINDOW. " Walls ihal havo echoed to our pleasure ; Walla that have hidden us in grief." [The dear old cottage Window looks out upon the same |Familiar things and lovely, that in old time graced its name. iBut I stand where the framing casts the fashioning of yore, lln quaint and antique shadows, across the silent floor, [Thinking sadly, that not alway stood I looking forth alone, I Wrapt in the lustrous garment the soft moonlight droppeth down, [Recalling loved and vanished ones to sit within its gleam, I Who now, in moonless mansions, rest in a brighter beam. 20 THE WINDOW. ji::' ; Inscrutable lies their abo lo beyond that boundless sky, That portal shutting out from us a rarer mystery. Humanity stands warder, where the unrevealing are, And secures the solemn entrance, with Life the golden bar. Nor unremembered are they who crossed the ancient j main, Who left us pleasant word and deed until they come again ; The place they loved is vacant still, in the deep Win- dow-side ; And though new steps bring gayer smiles, the void is | not supplied. We 're lonely in the eventide, in paths the absent knew, | Where pale and radiant roses are shining in the dew, And still the favorite woodbine is lovely as of old. When its scarlet trumpets opened with a lining of pale ; gold. Still lends the moon her beauty to the waters blue be- low. When she spreads her regal presence o'er their un- troubled flow, Like the Milky Way that stretches its marvel through the skies. THE WINDOW. 21 The wondrous golden alphabet of untaught mysteries, The influence of whose glory is to wise and simple given, When it casts its splendid silence across the distant heaven. But sadder visitants than these throng round the Win- dow-pane, Shorn of the sweet enchantment they cannot wear again ; The fairy tale hath shrunk away from Time's pro- gressive lore, And the future it was meant to grace believeth it no more ; But not the less will Memory send from that departed prime Her sweet and sombre fantasies, to haunt this wiser time. For dearest eyes here oft have looked a blessing into mine, That daily traced prophetic page, yet read no warning line; And watchings, hopings, agonies, and expectations vain, THE WINDOW. ill \i !■ i li!^; Return with no great store of bliss, but scantier hoard | of pain. For through that magic land afar, Truth still walked] me beside, And reigncth now o'er common day with peace-bestow- ing pride. Since through the diamond lattice first streamed thc'| morning ray. The sunlight of a century hath sped the time away ; And faces fair, and happy hearts, and spirits strong] and high. Have smiled, rejoiced, and suffered out their human | destiny. Within the walls whose shelter now another race may| claim, Till it close the varied journeying, whose goal is still | the same. But the Window, the old Window, while I struggle] through my day. Keeps a way-side blessing for me when I stand within I its ray. m THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. *' And kind tradition has preserved tho tale. There 's a western vale in our wilderness land, Soft and green as the Pagan^s Elysian strand ; A broad, bright river the fresh sward laves, And rare fruit ripens, and tall com waves, — For the plough hath been here, and hard-handed toil Hath furrowed its blessings deep into the soil. The meadow-lands stretch their golden green In the lavish light of the sun^s wide sheen ; Begirt by towering hills, that stand To shelter this nook of sweet garden land : Hills that — with leaf-robe over them flung As gorgeous to-day as when earth was young, While their lonely freedom the wild-birds share, And the stately moose finds a covert there -— 84 THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. : ■'■( ■ I I ! I Disdain man^s power from base to brow, And look untamed on the valley below : The valley below, where quaint homesteads gray Peep out from the flowering-locust's spray, Or shadowy lie in the beautiful gloom Of old elm-branches and orchard bloom ; While prouder mansions glance through the trees. When the broad boughs sway to the sweeping breeze. And the fairest of these hath a fairer crown. That hallows its roof as the days run down ; Where the wisdom of manhood lends genius no shame,| And Beauty enhances the lustre of Fame. There too hath calm Learning her spirit bestowed, To honor a chosen and lovely abode ; Whose walls have sent forth the bold, brilliant, and| sage. To write names of renown on the world's trial-page. li {] But an antique house on a soft green mound, Crowning the emerald slopes around. Is filled with a memory of bygone woe, And a shadow of fifty years ago. Of no lovelier things could your fancy dream Than the verdant meadows and fresh, bright stream. II K. i I THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. 25 'hat lend the old dwelling its picturesque f Lnd keep unforgotten its first master's name. "i |ut childless he laid his head under the lea, Lnd strangers came hither from over the sea, ind Salsbrook rejoiced in their generous sway, V'ho were kindly and bounteous and fair as the day. i'hey came of a race ancient, loyal, and brave, 'hat had given true sons to the field and the wave, the days when Britannia her banner unfurled, Lnd shook its broad folds in the face of the world. ind they brought to the calm pleasant valley the same ^arm, lofty nature, and chivalrous name ; Lnd the land grew proud of their words and deeds, Lnd the sounding tramp of their sprightly steeds brought cottage children and rustic dame ?o the simple doorway, a smile to claim. 'hey were welcome at gathering of grand and gay, Lnd honored by poor men miles away. {ut Love came, and behind him the mournful doom 'hat walks in the shadow of shroud and tomb ; Jut beside him he brought a gay soldier to share 'he untenanted heart-depths of Ethel the fair. te THE BRIDE OF 8ALSBR00K. '; :! ; And Ethel was fair as the fairest you Ml meet, And stately the tread of her little, light feet, As they bore her along with the natural grace That followed the maidens and men of her race. Her soft, dark curls went floating away From brow as sweet as the poet's young May ; And the spirit reposed in her lustrous eyes, That were tender and pure as the dew-filled skies. The dimpled chin, childlike, loving, and fair, Was made for caressing and tempted it there ; And the mouth had a smile like a paradise gleam To hearts that ached for some missing beam That gilded the clouds of their summer-morn sky. But darkened for ever ere noontide went by. And Ethel was loved as a maiden would be, When she ventures her soul on Love's perilous sea. For Otho rejoiced in the bondage he wore, And was gallant and tender as e'er knight of yore. The world had not tarnished the heart good brave That spake through eyes blue as the fetter!^ wave ; And bis vigorous Northern blood was told In the daring forehead and locks of gold. I :';'!i THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOk. tl It there came an eve of a summer day, [hose morrow was destined for bridal array ; id Ethel was dreaming, on yonder brook-side, a new, happy home and a happier bride ; ^r the charm of the spot Ethel cared nothing now, ^e saw not the glitter, she heard not the flow, the beautiful brook that went wandering by, the low bird-songs making sweet reply, le great oak-shadows fell over its breast ; id the Elm looked in at her bending crest id graceful stem fringed with feathery boughs, a greener hue than the wood-moss shows ; le delicate Ash made a home on its side, id the Maple, when Autumn gave pomp to his pride, ^ook out his red banners across the sweet wave, id clothed it with beauty his might could not save. 16 innocent lilies stooped down to its brim, id through the long grass the strawberry looked dim, ^hile the soft-fingered Larch parted branches of pride )r a tremulous glance at her grace in the tide ; lere the large fragrant Quince loved to lave its green rind, Ind the Brier-rose flung her pink shells on the wind. 28 THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. But the lady thought only, and looked to the west, At sunset, to-morrow, I 'm wedded and blest. And the morrow was bom, and its sunset was bright] But Otho came not with the vanishing light. Ere through the cast shadows that mommg looked gr He was summoned on track of deserters away ; But his peril was small, for the fugitive hold Had been marked and betrayed at the tempting of goll And the friend he loved best left the vale at his side] With gay promise to bring him safe back to his bri(]«| Fair Ethel stood robed, and her maidens were gay With marvel and jest at the bridegroom's delay ; The fresh valley -lilies, so blooming and fair, Shook their odorous bells in her glistening hair, But her cheek had a shadow of dread unconfest, When she lifted her eyes to the far-fading west. l!!i There 's a gentle hollow a mile away, Whose verdant sides own the summer-queen's sway I There the apple-bloom leans its sweet blush to tj sward, Like a lady's fair cheek on the breast of her lord ; THE DSIDE OF SALSOROOK. 39 hilo scatters the Thorn its satin-flaked snow . [or the face of the bright wild-rose below ; id tiirough sad fir-boughs, hung with sinning cones, gray-bird flits and the faint wind moans, spring sparkles up to the moonlight and morn, id there that soft stream of the meadows was born; id there, at e'entide of his bridal day, ider stars pale and early the dead Otho lay ! id his brother in arms, the friend chosen and tried, his agony's strength lay as mute at his side. icy had traversed the side of the mountain at morn. It the toil of their rugged march lightly was borne ; le captured were safe with a well-chosen band, id the friends hurried downward to meet the green land. le noon was long past ere they reached the spring- side, )t paused they to drink of the cool, tempting tide, ilmost home," said gay Otho, " rest briefly and take le draught at the fount fof the brooklet's sweet sake." 30 THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. "f! 'i: Ho stooped, as he flung himself carelessly down, O'er the soft, sloping brink with small flowers o\\ grown, Casting pistol and sabre away from his side. And blessed, as he drank, the dear eyes of his bride.] No boding had he of the doom that was nigh. Though Death lay in the true hand of him who stood by While ungirding the weapons, no longer of need, That quick, fatal grasp wrought a direful deed, — The random ball sped to the lover's warm breast, Whose dear life gushed away at its ruthless behest. Small space for that terrible parting remained, But he who to earth was so blissfully chained Spoke words as he left it, sad, tender, and calm, But they brought to the wild heart that listened no balml Joy lay dead in that heart when brave Otho's stood stil| And sound came alone from the murmuring rill. 111!:! There were mourners that night clothed in wedding array. And weepers in peasant-garb farther away ; Simple maidens shed tears from true hearts oveij flown. And bewailed Ethel's lover with thoughts of their ownl THB BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. 31 id for Ethers crushed heart cottage mothers looked pale, ^r the soldier was loved far and wide through the vale. I in weddina id to her, the bereaved, came love never again ; wean her from memory, to lure her from pain, fond hands ne'er lift the soft hair from her face, )r welcome eyes tenderly gaze on its grace ? ; the love of her soul was more fervently true, ^an when daily came Otho her smile to sue ; |e knew, when her step sought haunts dear before, ^at the soft grass bent 'neath his footfall no more ; id when flowerets sprung bright in some lone, shel- tered spot, le old resting-place, where now rest was not, ^ the same green branches were bending nigh, iat answered of old to Spring's exquisite sigh, jirth loveliness only could memory move, id her spirit still lavished its strong, human love |)on one who would never more smile at her voice, roam by her side where the young birds rejoice. |ie long hours bent down her beautiful head, ith a wild, sick wail to rejoin her dead ; 1 'I if 32 THE BRIDE OF SALSBROOK. And when stars came solemnly out on high, And strange sounds of night on the wind went by, Her heart sank down with its desolate woe, And yearned for the shores where no dead lie low. In Salsbrook House there is revel no more, — They have passed away who dwelt there of yore ; They followed each other, wise, fair, and old, And lie 'neath the elms in yon sacred mould. 1' ^M ICTURE OF "RED RIDING. HOOD," BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. The sky is dark above thee, The path is lone and wild, Beautiful young wayfarer, Tender, earnest child ! Through wild bloom wending onward. Too guileless for alarm ; Bringing, young Samaritan, Love*laden heart and arm. The hood, whose name thou bearest, Backward, careless lies ; While unconscious prophecy Shades those lustrous eyes. 3 34 PICTURE OF " RED RIDING-HOOD." Through a broken cloud-drift, Sunlight falling fair, Float waves of golden glitter, To the dark soft hair. And face, — O never fairer Creative magic wrought, Than lives in this expression Of the great painter's thought ! ill Honor to him who cast The enchantment of his art Around the simple memory Of many a childish heart ! Ill For with the world's hard wisdom His heart had not grown cold, Who with this shape immortal Endowed that tale of old. t|i ■:,■;; Pure was the soul that, turning From themes of pride and glory. Thus could grace and realize The children's favorite storv. PICTURE OF " RED RIDING-HOOD." 35 The care and strife of manhood, The toil that won his fame, Rolled back like deluge waters Till the real world looked the same As when, long ago, he rambled Through such a flowery wood. Doubting not the history Of dear Red Riding-Hood. THE SUMMER-HOUSE. );.r: .'i- ' H: i il Come to the Summer-house, whose roof the claspinj willows Sheltered and shadowed a century ago ; * And, looking far below, upon the bright blue billows,] Think of lost eyes that loved their radiant flow : Saying, Within securer shade than ours Roameth he who here oft rejoiced at eventide ; Or coucheth peacefully, where dearer flowers Wave on greener shores, with softer seas beside. We turn to see, above yon bounding highlands. All the distant splendor of the sunset show ; As the dying day goes, dropping purple islands. Through the amber ocean of his parting glow. THE SU3IMER-II0USE. 37 lut far, far away, beyond this transient glory, Meet for old Earth's crown and our fainter gaze, Jhineth over him a sky no song or story Ever dimly pictured for our mortal days. E. ' the claspir [ere hath he lingered long when sweet strains were rising From the bright waters upon the wandering air, low lists he melodies of new and rare devising. Harmonies whose burden it is not ours to share. ield up thy dead, faithful heart of human sorrow, )lue billows,B Here^ within the old haunt, loved by him so well, ant flow : ■riii breaks the soft dawn of thy immortal morrow Over the Eden where he delights to dwell. irentide ; >vers as beside. lands, low ; slands, S glow. I|li:l mi- Mi. !'M SNOW. Come, drifting on the north-wind, white- winged, fairest Snow ! And bring us something fairer. That we loved long ago. Sweep swiftly down the wide hills. That we know far away ; And rest along the valleys, Where we 've seen the summer day. Fall gently, where broad branches O'er wayfarers entwine ; And spread thy shining mantle Adown the river's line, SNOW. For, from a lonely valley, Beiieath the distant hills, Along the desolate woodland, And by the shrouded rills. Will come the fair and dear one For whom we look and long. If thou wilt spread her pathway, The lonely wilds among. Upon soft airs, or fierce winds. Thy dazzling showers throw ; Wail if thou wilt, or voiceless, Fall fast, fair, fleecy Snow ! There 's many a mirthful story. Long hoarded for the smile That could the bright days brighten And the bitter ones beguile. And to other tales she '11 listen. While her eyes in true tears swim, Told by the chamber fire-light. When other fires are dim. 40 SNOW. i^ ^P' ,.,'1 And kind ears wait in turn, for All these late days have brougiu her ; And tones arc here to say, Hope Is Sorrow's fairest daughter. m Speed on dear days, wherever Thy white wings come and go ; I see their first faint waving, Sweep softly, swiftly Snow. TO WILLIE, ON HIS FIRST ANNIVERSARY. Willie, clearest, thou art her6. Tender nursling of a year ; With us still, through many fears, Anxious hours, and boding tears, Weariness by love beguiled, A precious, dainty, darling child. Dear little one, what earnest thought Hath thine early birthday brought ! For know I well, 't is vain to dream, Of voyaging adown Life's stream With shining bark and silken sail And rosy Summer's odorous gale. 12 TO WILLIE. God-sent, the sudden storm sweeps on, Our worshipped bawbles, lo ! are gone ; And happy if, through w reck and grief, Wc reach tlic shore of blest relief, — The shore serene, where angel eyes Shine with the peace of Paradise. It Then, darling, lift wc not for thee Vain prayers for what can never be ; For days of soft, unclouded beam, Griefs fainter than a morning dream ; Not such the path whose future end Leads to our Father, Judge, and Friend. The grief He strengthens us to bear, Exalts the spirit, yet so dear (Through all its earthly soil and stain) To Him who chastens to regain. For oM in thought, if not in days, We wander through Life's dreary ways ; With aching heart, and careless brow, Finding treachery and woe ; Where that heart in boundless trust, Human-like, clung to the dust ; TO WILLIE. 43 Divinely-missioned, Sorrow's hand Points to iIjc far-ofT Holy Land. That Holiest Land, — O may it be A home, dear Will, for thee and mo, And those who now so dearly prize The guileless love of thy sweet eyes. Nor merely vain the hope that prays For thee a lengthy course of days ; For thou wilt early learn to know Man's noblest destiny below Is to walk onward, from his youth, Through toiling life, with heart of truth, And mercy to his fellow-man, Pitying, sustaining, where he can, Enrth's erring ones, — and looking in His own unconquered heart of sin. Humble himself, nor dare despise The outcast of the world's hard eyes, — All brethren, various thoiuzU they be. One God-created family. j. ; ,, i* iiiiiii I 44 TO WILLIE. All this and more will be to thee The lessons of thine infancy, (And life no loftier future holds, Than growing thought like this unfolds,) Saved from dark deeds and passions wild, A thoughtful-hearted mother's child. FAVORITE SUMMER HAUNT. Nature is beautiful to-day, Upon her primal throne, The dear wild- woodland where her sway Is recognized alone. Poor human pride spread not the roof That waves in this free air ; Nor gave this mossy warp-and-woof Device and hue so fair. The birds rejoice m many a strain, Within their leafy towers ; These poets of the green domain Sing truer songs than ours. V, ;j; ;:.„ .■•: 46 FAVORITE SUMMER HAUNT. The valley-lily droopeth now In white and sweet array ; And here the way -side violets show Their millions to the day. Abundant beauty we may meet, And graceful fancies learn ; See ! the soft winds have been to greet The undulating fern. And dearer things than these are mine, Within this lovely shade ; The pageants of the Past here shine In hues that never fade. The Hours are here, untouched by Time, From the heart's long-ago ; Still fearless looks their smiling prime Of all succeeding woe. I call them from the orient shore, With an enchanter's pride ; And, shadowless, they voyage o'er The darkness, to my side. FAVORITE SUMMER HAUNT. 47 The troubled gulf of sin and care May often intervene ; But on the shining robe they wear No soiling trace is seen. They have their home 'neath skies serene, In Memory's amVanth bowers ; Yet often lend their glittering mien To less beloved hours. A sanctifying touch hath passed Over each radiant one ; And purer influence now they cast, Than when their life begun. Haply they meet a kindred few, Upon the present strand ; For all things innocent and true Are claimed by that bright band. Strange, that I cannot always bid These magic visions rise ; Their peaceful beauty oft lies hid From my world-dazzled eyes. 48 FAVORITE SUMMER HAUNT. ii;l I ill" ■1 . But roaming through this dim, green place, They leave mc not forlorn ; But, exile-like, come back to grace The spot where they were bom. LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE IN " OLIVER TWIST." "'Thank Heaven, upon your knees, dear lady,' cried the girl, 'that you ad friends to care for and keep you in your childhood, and that you were Lever in the midst of riot and drunkenness, as I hare been from my [radle. I may use the word, for the alley and the gutter were mine, as thay rill be my death-bed.' • • • • • " ' Pity us, lady, pity us ! ' " Ay, pi*y them, ye proud and fair, And think of them with thankfu' tears, For blessings manifold that crowd Around your calm, untempted years. Of ye to whom so much is given. Much also is required by Heaven. 50 LINES. W 'ii ft! I?' '. ':if If i^^. M Remember, fallen though they be, The bonds of sisterhood remain, And human — not divine — are ye Who purest walk this world of pain. The Holiest sojourned here awhile, And had compassion on the vile. And blessings on the earnest heart That paused 'mid life's alluring ways To picture forth the fearful part That fallen humanity displays. Degraded past redemption here, With none to plead, or save, or care. Prosperity too much forgets. Scorning the child of shame and sin. That fierce remorse ofttime begets The will, but not the power, to win That better path afar that lies In hopeless beauty to her eyes. Dark circumstance may clasp them round. From infancy to life's last hour. LINES. 61 In homes where guilt and fear abound, What know they of the saving power That shehered ye, whose youthful years Had watchful love and guiding prayers ? Pure, gentle words they never knew. The holiest Name they never heard. Save lips of rage and riot threw It forth with wild, blaspheming word. " Pity them ! " they are human still ; God may have mercy if ye will. EXOTIC FLOWERS. m Your kindred, radiant strangers, rise In warm, green, distant bowers, And lift their heads to softer skies Than clasp this land of ours ; And mirror on each dew-lit breast Stars that look not upon our rest. Amid the young earth's verdant shades, What marvel, did ye seem With fairest shapes to haunt the glades, That poesy could dream ; Creating, by your wondrous grace, A glorious, visionary race ? As fresh and bright, ye still unveil Each spiritual cell, EXOTIC FLOWERS. 53 With sunset streaks, on bosom pale As Ocean's pearliest shell ; And lovelier exiles never bore Their beauty to a distant shore. Here shines the myrtle leaf, beside A spray of drooping bloom, Whose bells o'erhang, in crimson pride, Pale vases of perfume. And sweeter, brighter roses ne'er Could breathe or bloom in famed Cashmere. And strange, green, plumy branches fling Soft shade round each bright shrine ; The dear and common hue of spring, Where rarest tints combine. Beside the painted robe ye wear. The Tyrian vesture ne'er looked fair. ,1 The care of earth alloyeth not The blessing that ye bring, Nor can from your pure faces blot The glory of their spring ; Your unworn beauty ever seems A part of our eternal dreams. »■ : iiili. J ri'j it ■ ;li i THE GARDEN. The low-roofed chamber looketh out Upon a flowery shade, Where, close beneath our eyes, the boughs Are gently tossed and swayed ; And here, a hundred years ago. Small garden plots were made. They were not gay with foreign hues, Nor dim with foreign boughs, But they were cool with willow-leaves, And sweet with common rose. And lovely with the " Bethlehem Star," That still its old home knows. Strange feet came through the garden paths, Strange hands made changes there ; THE OARDBIf. The circle claimed a wider sweep For buds and branches rare That came from o'er the seas to breathe And bless the New World's air. 1 And so the garden grew to be A sheltered summer spot ; How bright to day, and May's first bloom, If memory heeded not, — Her fair young darlings here would leave No record of their lot. " Narcissus " and the " Daffodil " Together laid them down ; The " Cowslip's " tender stems bewailed Their golden heads o'erthrown ; They followed the '• Wild-cherry " bloom, To weave Spring's parting crown. We miss, e'en now, their soft, fresh day, Though we may not repine : See ! prouder things send fragrant love To plead with thee for thine, 56 THE GARDEN. ,i iK I ' «'l , :||fi ! J: And bouglis hang broadest green upon Midsummcr^s still sunshine. The Woodbine pale creeps o'er the roof, To meet an outstretched hand ; Soon at her lips shall humming-birds Their dainty fare demand ; The " Scarlet Trumpets " call them not, Where breathe her sisters grand. Fair exiles, in our Northern land, Oft wear their best array, And we have won a splendid Dame From jealous, walled Kalhay, Whose lustrous garment paleth not For sunlight far away. And, parted from warm Indian airs, A dazzling stranger shows Great scarlet clusters, satin-leaved. With heart whose gold-fringe glows. Like soft and burning Afric ore, Beside the " Guelder-rose." The " Meadow-queen " waves dewy plumes Upon the morning air, ».; TUB GARDEN. 87 And with her brcutli the new-mown fields Afar rise pictured fair ; Young sun-bleached heads roll o'er the hay, And toil-browned men are thcrf). And see where droppeth through the leave"? The bright " Laburnum c' ain,"' — The golden links old " Homer " wrought, That Time's rust cannot stP'n, Were fashioned from a thought of these For " Jove's " " Olympian " reipn. Leaves, curious, shining, large, and green, Hang round the *' Tulip-trees," And " Walnut" boughs breathe of soft shores Washed by blue tropic seas. Beside that stately shaft, of old, The " Club of Hercules." The " Scarlet Beech " bends gorgeously, By pale " Syringa " bride ; And broad-leaved " Chestnuts " spread their shade The " Lilac " bloom beside ; 58 THE GARDEN. And waving " Sumachs " mingle with The " Hawthorn's " perfumed pride. ■i! Small-leaved " Acacias " quiver here, Nor miss their distant shore ; Young " Aspens" shake soft silver gleams The darker branches o'er ; And there, streaked crimson, green, and gold. The " painted Sycamore." u if'.itii And Roses, softer, rosier than The " crimson linnet's " breast. And pearly Pink, as maiden's palm Upon her soft brows prest. And white as showery mill-wheel foam, Or noon-clouds in the west. !iji! And lovely " Limes," young, green, and tall, Close in this garden ground ; The summer prime is on them now, And summer sweets abound, Within iheir shade, for myriad bees, That swarm and murmur round. THE GARDEN. 59 Why weave I flower and branch and vino Into a fleeting rhyme, That ne'er can picture forth the grace Of their enchanted time ? Ev'en so, I yet would strive to wreathe A garland from their prime. For one the deep sea hurrieth o'er With unrelenting flow ; Above whose fierce and desolate bed, Though summer suns may glow. Grass shall not wave, leaf shall not sigh, Nor simple flowers blow. He loved the very shadows here That round us sweep and play. And many an aching look he sent For some within their sway. could I stand beside his grave, It should be green to-day ! I know, I know, wrecked, ransomed one, That on thy pain-cleared eyes For evermore shall lovelier bloom And tenderer shadow rise ; 60 THE GARDEN. Nor alway would I call thee back Where my faint travel lies. My prayer can add no bliss to thine, Yet reason need not blame The heart whose fondest hope would be For just enough of fame To clasp a charmed circle round Thy dearest earthly name. I bear my time out patiently, Because I well believe One face is ever fair to thee, Whose soul it could not leave : Still waits thy latest smile for it, Where we shall no more grieve. I call thee not when world-care comes. Or skies look winter-gray, But, resting oft 'neath sunny beam Or yellow moonlight ray. Fast, sudden tears drop down, to tell Thou art too far away. THE WITHERED ROSE. There ia a picture representing a small, ancient chamber, lit only by the ke in a wide, open hearth. Leaning in a low seat, near the Maze, ia a girl ijtli a (lead flower in her hand. It would appear from her face, aa the light |lls upon it, that the rose has a history. Memorial of a vanished hour, Old thoughts around thee cling ! A blissful day, poor, withered flower, Did thy fresh blossom bring ! Almost a year hath journeyed by Since thou wast born to blush, and die. Like all thy kind, yet grieved me not Thy fading loveliness ; The scentless leaves still woke a thought Of deep, true tenderness For one who, smiling, offered thee, A graceful, precious gift to me. 62 THE WITHERED ROSE. But go ! as easily wilt thou Resume thine early glow, As in my heart hopes buried now Their former reign shall know : Thou hast no value in my eyes, The love is dead that did thee prize. '■'I i • ■ Yet not all bitter thoughts are mine, In gazing upon thee ; A day of Autumn's soft sunshine Recallest thou to me. Yet thee no lingering dream shall save, Now worthless, as the hand that gave. 'i hi ii HI ' !. The hand that gave, the lip that smiled, The eyes of seeming love, A true, confiding heart beguiled, Its trusting faith to prove. I gave to thy unworthy soul My spirit's absolute control. But now I know thee, and can break In freedom from my chain ; I THE WITHERED ROSE. 63 I cannot grieve, I calmly take Thy bondage off again, Believing that thou yet shall know Time harvesteth the seed we sow. That best avenger yet shall press Into thy heart and brain The sense of thy own worthlessness, "Which never can regain The love whose faith and hope were given Almost as much to thee as Heaven. Thou hast repaid that earnest truth With mean and treacherous wile ; No spark of candor, touch of ruth, Was in thy breast of guile ; In its revealing, none had part, — Thyself discovered what thou art. Else, vainly 'gainst thee had all earth To my heart testified ; It deemed thy lofty speech had birth In a great spirit's pride, 64 THE WITHERED ROSE. And dreaded not the cornif.f^ doom, The storm of a^ony twA gloom, Wl.ich fell in sud^^en horror tonml My world of hope and peace. Yet in that wakening hour w s fojnd My spiiit's just release ; The first, fierce, bstter sa-uggle past, Amazed, I saw how vile thou wast. Henceforth, no word or deed of thine To me avaUeth aught, — • Thy future, severed wide from mine, Claims scarce a transient thought. Think what thv name once was to me, And on my present scorn of thee. I hate thee not ; my earnest heart, Infinitely above Thy faithless nature, ca»' ipart No wrath ; — it once gave love. But from that heart I cast thy power. As from my hand this perished flower. h :!■■; t. me, for, )wer. THE WATER-LILY. [Away, 'nealh dreav Ocean's unquiet breast, iie gardens in jewelled beauty drest ; !'here the dim, green vines of the wave bestow ^Contrasting shade to the coral's glow. Whose wreathy clustering roses twine Where the delicale pearls like lilies shine. ^Vhat curious stems, what branches fair, 'ainted and carved into beauty rare, pndreamed of by children of earth, arise, fVith buds that ne'er needed bright, genial skiess ! i'here, under the roll of the turbulent sea, AC beautiful paths from the tempest-blight free ; 'hrough the arching boughs glance no sunny rays, Inough the light of their glowing sprays, ^Tiose blossoms are jewels of changeless prime Ls the clustering glories of starlight time. 66 THE WATER-LILY. ill fv M Tliere seeks the Mermaiden for coronal gay, To deck her bright locks in their bridal array ; For well knowcth she when the doomed ship is nigh, And hears, through the storm-wail above, tlie fierc cry Of one on whose lip is some dear earthly name. To whose heart in that agony sweet visions came Of eyes that would long hoard their welcoming love, In vain watching for him tlie dark waves roil above. And beneath this roof, so lovely and grand, Gleam radiant shells from the golden sand, Like the cloudlets small that at sunset lie, Rose, purple, and green, on an amber sky ; While marvels of loveliness, blossom and tree. Their gorgeous heads rear 'mid these groves of tin sea. But Lily ! to us so familiar and dear, Have they aught that with thy fragrant bloom maj compare ? No miser art thou of thy beauty and grace, Lifting up to the clear summer skies thy pure face ; And where'er the soft lakes on our land's bosom shiiiel O'er the wave dost thou leaf, bud, and blossom entwina THE WATER-LILY. 67 Reposing thine elegant head on its breast, And scenting the wild wind that fleets by thy rest. Thou unfold'st thy pale bloom to the wanderer's gr'ic, With heart like a cluster of night's starry rays, When on dim summer eves, from their home in the blue, Their radiance falls round us with soft mellow hue. We love thee, sweet Lily I — nor by us alone Is thine " image of purity " cherished and known : [Far away from our shores, lovely kindred of thine The swift waters adorn of romantic old Rhine ; Superbly the Lotus-queen lifteth her smile [To the sky that bends o'er the renowned waves of Nile; lAnd earth's gifted, of old, in sweet songs to thee gave Fame enduring, dear, odorous child of the wave ! f ll I i 1 SORROW AND MEMORY. We mourn not for aye, we are happy again, But no longer we trust where our trust may be vain ; We build not our temple on false, shifting sand, And conjure no more with Love's magical wand. But e'en, unwarned by that bygone time. Did we seek for the joy of its lovely prime Once more, and risk the few hopes that remain, That early wealth we could never regain, Like the precious fragments of vase and cup The mysterious depths of the sea give up. The present displays naught so wondrously fair. As the exquisite tints of that coloring rare ; So the heart, — we may bring it, pure and true. Through the tainting breath of the false world's ways.l But we 've lost the power to tinge it anew With the rainbow hues of its morning days. m SORP V AND MEMORY. 60 J be vain ; sand, wand. main, ;up y fair, d true, world's r ys. ways. Rut Memory, — that gift of compassionate love, To the grief-worn, the lonely, a peace-bringing dove, — That returns, when our deluge of woe first departs, jWith a faint, future hope, to the ark of our hearts. I And, while voyaging still to the glorious shore, Across waters that shadow Life's mysteries o'er. Doth not Memory, beacon-like, send forth a ray, |To guide through the future our perilous way, Ltoning, tenfold, for some early-wrecked dream, Jy the safe track, 'mid dangers, disclosed 'ncath its beam. ffet the long-banished bliss is held sacred and dear, Recalled not when gay words and bright smiles are near, 5ut remembered in loneliness, cherished in tears, lorn's tissue enrobing the gloom of our years ; ^ike that jewel, long buried, the diver restores \o the wondering gaze of the lovely again, — decketh them not in their festival hours, lut is treasured, a relic, the all they retain [fthe time long departed, the joy bi let' and vain, |f that brilliant Life-picture that ended in woe, jath, and sacrifice, wild as the lava-tide's flow. PETIT RIVIERE AT SUNSET. " And thou, that diilat appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation." Yarkow Visited. The poet's words are in my heart, As silently I stand, To gaze from this green cliff upon My native sea and land. And feel this actual scene awake The passionate delight That paints for future memory A picture pure and bright, Whose fair enchantment Time shall spare, For sin dimmed not the tinting rare. PKTIT RIVIbRE AT SUNSET. 71 The simple, lonely dwellings, that Tlic distant liill-tops bear, Stand, golden, in the part iij[ gleam The crowning heavens wear. While, from some sweet green solitude, Where trace of man is not, Wandcreth in beauty, past our feet, The spirit of the spot ; Past grove and village, all its own, The tiny river sparkles down, To meet the sea, that rolls almost Before the cottage doors, With wide, unbroken, glittering breast. Around these lovely shores ; Whence, gazing onward, no dark hills Their limitations rear ; The only boundary, far away. That circling, crimson air ; While, close beneath, the great waves moan, And sweep continual music on. And far and near green woodlands spread, Fields shine, and waters flow. 72 PETIT RIVIKRE AT SUNSET. Beyond expression glorified In this majestic glow. Then, turning, gaze where lofty hills Clasp half this beauty round. Their silent heads uplifting, each With royal circlet crowned. Soft, burnished, purple drifts that lie Around the pale gold western sky. Who would not lift adoring eyes, In such a scene and hour. To Him who spread this wondrous show, In equal love and power. Feeling the heart they bear partake The all-pervading calm, • j Its pain and passion purified / By that celestial balm. Such commune ministereth to all Who humbly wear this mortal thrall ? THE SWEETBRIER IN AFRICA. An officer of an English Lng of war went ashore in charge of a boat's crew, I al Kabenda, a watering-place for bhipa, on the coast of Africa. Being obli.ged to proceed some distance into the interior, he was carried, in a covered hammock, Iby some of the natives, and in passing through one of the thickest of the jun- jgle paths the incident spoken of in the verses below occurred. 'T IS burning noon, on Afric's shore, And strange, dark forms surround An English stranger journeying o'er That wild, luxuriant ground. Faint, sick, and weary, onward borne, 'Neath sheltering curtain spread. Around the hammock where reclines His aching, restless head. 74 THE SWEETBRIER IN AFRICA. No vagrant breeze, no balmy air, Visits the hot, worn brow ; The stranger, in the stranger's land, Finds naught to charm him now. Yet lacketh not this wilderness Boon Nature's life and grace, The beauty of the Hand Divine Abundantly hath place. "Where hath it not ? How lovely is The home of leaf and bloom. Where clasping vines and household flowers Shroud us in rainbow gloom ? And even with deeper reverence And love, we mark the birth Of wondrous beauty decking these Wild places of the earth. Here, fearless birds, of aspect strange And splendid hue, abound. And trees, whose blossoming branches sweep The rarely trodden ground. THE SWEETBRIER IN AFRICA. 75 But careless of all sight and sound The listless stranger lay, Desiring, hoping nothing, save The closing of the day. When, sudden, through his languid frame New life and spirit move, A fragrant and familiar breath Comes like dear words of love To him vi^ho in the lonely land Had borne a lonely heart, — Whose speech had found no answering word To aught it would impart. Old memories of an English home Rise with that perfumed • ir, Till loving faces, kindred eyes, Almost, are with him there. And springing forth, his hand aside The clustering foliage throws. And, like a dear old friend, there smiles The frail Sweetbrier Rose. u THE SWEETBRIER IN AFRICA. Luxuriantly, in that strange soil, The scented tree had grown, By some rare chance a dweller there, Of all its kind alone. The old, familiar tree, with bloom So delicate and pure. It seemed the very one he left Beside his mother^s door. Soft English drops sprung to his eyes. Dear phantoms round him press, While, severing one sweet bough, he Went on through the wilderness. And do"ibt I not, that fragile branch, Though fanciful it seem. Brightened the wanderer's lonely day With many a pleasant dream. SARAH CURRAN'S SONG Teue, tender Martyr, far away, Hast thou forgotten me. Within the silent gates of Day That opened soon for thee ? I, tempted, weak, and far removed, Go forth to feast and prayer. But wrap thee in my heart beloved. And take thee with me there. By this I know thou dost behold My face in Memory's train, Nor will I deem love lost or cold Whose woe floats through her strain ; But I my pain could better bear If that fair moon I see. Upon the wide earth, anywhere, Looked softly down on thee. 78 SARAH CURRANTS SONG. Thou, in the chamber of my heart, Without, I wander nigh : Canst thou not hear, though strong walls part, My soul go moaning by ? Art thou not calling for thine own, When faint, fond arms I fcol (Though with Remorse I sit alone) Around mo clasping steal ? RIVi^RS STEVVIACKE AND MUSQUODOROIT.' '• III joy and L'ladne.js on yo go, My country's p'cwanl streams ; And still tlirmigti scenes as fair yc flow, At blesa the Poel'd dreams." Hon, Joseph Howe. The sea, the wide, old solemn sea, Hath many a splendid hour When spring-time's smile bends boundlessly, And 'neath that tcnderest power, Warm, blue, and bright the water lies Before our winter-wearied eyes. And grandeur is a daily guest, Where comes the sweeping sea, To wander round earth, beauty-blest, And moan its melody : W^ 80 RIVERS STEWIACKE AND MUSQUODOBOIT. And well we love our own wild shores, Where'er the glorious ocean roars. But where the calm, green meadow-lands Look golden in the sun. Fair almoners of heavenly hands, The blessed rivers run ; Bringing to thankful hearts and eyes, F'amilinr, sweet humanities. i Sad hearts might gaze their woe to rest. In this «oft evening hour. And only know the influence blest Of some descending power ; When night, from o'er the mountain-crown. Comes with the murmuring streamlets down, And regally the gorgeous hills Surround the valley homes, And stretching down a thousand rills, The axe-spared glory comes. To stand, like chosen guards, beside The loveliest haunts of Summer's pride. RIVERS STEWIACKE AND MUSQUODOBOIT. 81 And turf lies green where woman's head Laid down its early pride, And where sleep simple patriarch dead, The chosen waters glide ; And lost ones sit beside their graves, Made fairer by the pleasant waves. Beauty and blessing, wealth and peace, Dwell where the rivers shine, Go wandering with the snowy fleece, And come back with the kine, And stand amid the yellow grain That sighs not to the royal main. THE BOUQUET. " Thua one maid'd trophy '\a another's tears." —Hood. From a strange old window, Garlanded by Spring, Shrouded with the blessings Soft, sunny showers bring, Leaned a woman's face forth. To the greeting air ; Half hidden by the vine-leaves And the veiling hair. Did the shining waters, Rolling blue below, And the drooping daylight. Unheeded fade and flow ? ^ THE BOriiUET. Was her heart reposing, Like nil siic looked upon, In a sweet abstraction, Bequeathed by sunshine gone ? Very calnn th- ^'♦^'^ was, ■iir. Some wou For tiic soul, , ling Its presence-chamber there. -J] '■'\ Suddenly her heart goes Where her eyes have been ; Lip and brow no longer Are changelessly serene. Where the dying light falls On a distant pair, (Gay and gallant one was, The other pale and fair,) Steadfastly she gazeth : What doth she behold, But a graceful emblem Of something yet untold, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) €^^4" 1.0 If "^ I I.I 125 ^ 1^ ■ 2.2 Z IA& 12.0 I '2' ¥■' ¥' < 6" » V f v^} 'VIV'^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WIBSTER.N.Y. 14SS0 (716) 872-4503 H THE BOUQUET. Uiifelt, perhaps, for she might, Even as the hot tears start, Well doubt if with the flowers The giver gave his heart. Lovely they were ; none fairer E'er waved to sunny air, Than that sweet group of exiies So radiant and so rare. But unto her, the watcher, Swift-footed Memory brings How many a hoarded offering Of far more precious things, — Words with the heart's hue on them, Looks the heart only knows, Thoughts tender as the myrtle And lovely as the rose ! All this her heart hath filled with Incredulous surprise ; Yet jealousy still watcheth From out her aching eyes. THE BOUQUET. 85 Till the night hath fallen, Silently she stands ; Then her face is hidden In her lifted hands. What the shadows cover, Should I sing or say, Not a heart that loveth Would fail to echo. Yea. em, J UNIPER-TREES. When sweet Spring leads her fair ones forth, Across earth's soft green breast, Who hath not some peculiar love Surpassing all the rest ? Each heart yearns tenderly to greet Some cherished flower or tree, And so where waves the Juniper Is haunted ground to me. 'T is not that it is beautiful Beyond all other trees ; Though gracefully its plumy boughs Sway in the summer breeze. I know the wide old forests show Their varied, stately pride. JUNIPER-TREES. And skyward lift up gorgeous heads ; While it droops meek beside. I see the splendor of the Oak, I know its storied charm, I watch the Maple's waving bells. When winds come low and warm, And own the beauty that appears Where'er the Hemlock 's seen, Lifting its branchy, arching sprays Of vivid, glossy green. Around the Thorn cling fancies sweet As its own odorous bloom. And fair the frail Wild-Cherry flowers Show 'neath the tali Pine's gloom. But if amid this woodland wealth The Juniper hath place, My heart leaps up to recognize Its simple, feathery grace. What doth invest these tasselled boughs With such mysterious power, That never old enchanter's wand Had more creative dower ? 88 JUNIPER-TREES. I Memory stands ever in their shade, And points with sorrowing eyes To one beloved spot, that still Their presence beautifies. GONE TO ENGLAND. Midsummer airs are breathing soft, Midsummer skies are blue, But thou art gone, and helplessly My own hand's deed I rue ; While just, reproachful Memory comes, To sit alone with me. Whose eyes are with the lessening ship, That speeds thee o'er the sea. The birds are flitting through the boughs, The birds make music here ; Fresh flowers are sweet on every stem, And leaves green everywhere ; But what avails the brightest rose I cannot give to thee. 90 GONE TO ENGLAND. And what that all the earth is fair, If thou art on the sea ? I see again thy dreary brow, I see the quenchless pride Struggling upon the lips, to guard The love it could not hide. That strife, I know, is there no more. When thy thoughts turn to me ; I know it, but with this alloy, That thou art on the sea. I trust the ship I *m losing now, I trust her night and day. So many a human venture do Her white sails bear away ; And though the wild waves darkly swell Between thy smile and me, I hold, on shore, thy heart in mine. While thou art on the sea. I watch no more the shady road, I watch the seaward track. And know that life and thy true love Will early bring thee back. GONE TO ENGLAND. 91 l*raycrs ask for thee strength not thine own, True tears fall fast and free, Fall faster that thou knowest not, Afar upon the sea. f,\ ' 1; THE PIGEON-BERRY. hi Far in the dim, wide forest, Or by the green way-side, Amid its fringing branches Lovest thou to abide. Thy beauty doth not vanish With the Spring's flowery birth ; For glossy scarlet berries Bedeck the emerald earth. Through the long late summer days, Where'er the wanderer's feet Seek green, wild, turfy places, Melodious, cool, and sweet. THE PIGEON-BERRY. 9» Or by some loneliest stream Where birds stoop down to drink, And the " Farewell Summer " glances At its shadow o^er the brink. Thou liftest brilliant head Aiftid companions fair, Nor scorneth thy gay presence The rock-clefts gray and bare. And for rejoicing children, What treasures bright and dear Are the bead-like, coral clusters Thy delicate stems bear ! How many sweet young fancies. Too innocent to last Throughout our wiser wanderings, Thou bearest from the past ! Still love we the delusions That made the day so fair, When clover-flowers were precious. And berries, riches rare. ■"^ 94 THE riCEON'BERHY. But WO recall such memories As wc do a pleasant dream ; Wo ore awake, to marvel Like truth they e'er could seem. Each time Experience meets us, Her hand, as on wo stray, * Sweeps some guileless folly Relentlessly away. Grieve not that by such teaching At last we wiser grow ; Thus lose we earthly yearnings. Whose fulfilment is our woe. THE ANNIVERSARY. The last bright hours are drawing nigh Of this midsummer day, And with the sunlight one sad year Is vanishing away. How many years of usual life Hast thou contained for me ! How many sweet delusions were Revealed and lost in thee ! Thou art within my memory Filled with the ceaseless strife, The war of pride and tenderness, Which agonizeth Life. 96 THE ANNIVERSARY. !/ To cross an unseen boundary Unto that region vast, Where thine ancestral kindred wear The garments of the past, Soon shall thou leave us, with the deeds Of countless human hearts, For in thee vile and noble wrought Irrevocable parts. Thou takest youth from many a heart Where peace sang soft and low, Leaving the spirit power to tell Its conflict and its woe. And many a silent martyrdom Thou bearest hence away, Of those who much endure, yet hope No happier earthly day. Or, if some scarce acknowledged hope Their aching bosoms bear. Bright Expectation long hath left Them lonely with their care. THE ANNIVERSARY. 97 O passing year ! the echoing Of thy departing feet Will linger with the myriad hearts That thy successor greet ; Its untried hours come in hues Of thy bestowal drest, In gorgeous contrast, like the clouds And glory of the west. And, looking toward its dim advance, Faint-imaged scenes impart Vague, mournful prophecies unto The superstitious heart. And thou, great Guiding Spirit, whose Benignant hand doth sway The sceptre of thy purposes Above our pilgrim way, Forgive the heart that cannot still Its yearning and unrest, Its doubt that such a bitter draught Can wisest be and best. 7 98 THE ANNIVERSARY. make me thankful for the fate Thou hast appointed me, — So well endowed, that some alloy Had mission just from thee ! 1 thank thee for the love I give To sky and sea and star, The adoring trust I own where'er Thy great creations are. Tlie lofty boughs that o'er me spread Their green and glorious age, — The fern that waves its scented plume Above this rhyming page, — The beauty of the waves below, Seen 'mid the opening trees. Crowned with the parting light, and curled By the soft evening breeze, — The silence of this lonely place. This temple of the wood. The peaceful awe which sanctifies Such thoughtful solitude, — THE ANNIVERSARY. 99 Arc priceless treasufe?i of thy gift, Whose influence dwells secure Within the soul, to minister Thoughts resolute and pure. The common world may dim their glow ; Oft to its glare they yield ; But in our sorest need arise A refuge and a shield. They purify our wandering aims, They keep our faith unchilled In noble purpose, though our own Dies often unfulfilled. We shape a future, whose career Achievement great involves, And circumstance or destiny Mock at our firm resolves. But not for this should fail beliefs That elevate our way ; The spirit oft must faint that bears The soiling weight of clay. 100 THE ANNIVERSARY. But now, with this departing year, I, Father, send to thee A fervent longing, whose desire Will not unheeded be. I will not ask to realize My vanished, blissful dream, I know that thy withholdings are More tender than we deem ; But I implore that precious gifts From thy great store may be A crown of blessings for the head That bends not now by me. O make the heart that lights the lip With smiles I may not meet, A dwelling-place where purity And peace each other greet ! I ask not for him the rewards Earth^s poor ambitions seek. But a spirit triumphing o'er all Its vanities bespeak. THE ANNIVERSARY. 101 O be that passionate nature's guide To some high future goal, And in its journeying gently aim Life's arrows to the soul, — And in lone sorrowing hours, which I may not soothe or share, Grant him some dream of memory Undimmed by haunting care ! Forget him not ! Forgive, if e'er Thou art by him forgot ; Humanity but once was worn By such as sinned not. THE VISITOR'S CARD-BASKET. i See, from their brilliant pathway The crochet-needles vary, And we 're tired of song and story, Though somewhat " literary," And couches in that cumbrous frame Awaiting consummation, A white rose on her violet bed And pillow of carnation. Industrious maidens were we, This bright day of October, Discussing o'er our labors Things merry, sweet, and sober ; THE visitor's CARD-BASKET. 103 We Vc earned a little idleness, So push the Basket over ; The pasteboard-people heedless are Of aught we rnay discover. 'T is but a simple basket, And proud eyes would not love it ; But in our native woodland Small Indian fingers wove it, — Unmeet abode for gallant gay. Or dainty beauty's splendor, Though twined by one whose face and heart Were lovely, warm, and tender. Well, well, forget the Indians ! See, here 's the black-eyed Rover, — The courtly " gay deceiver," The universal lover ; The one who opes for ladies' eyes The old, enchanted story. But ever skips the page that tells His own whole-hearted glory. 104 THE VISITOR S CARO-BASKET. Patience ! Will not some maiden, With face pale, calm, and stately. Avenge the careless fancies. Of long ago and lately ? And then, though sore may be his need, His eloquence will fail him. Nor much will, 'neath their gaze serene. His Vitching smile avail him. i Who 's next ? The handsome Sailor, The true and cordial-hearted. Who came with pleasant greeting, And as pleasantly departed. One friend we hold in memory. Whose eyes we never saddened. Who loved us, and who left us with The hearts he always gladdened. God speed his ship, that tosseth Upon the Afric billow. And bless him while he slumbers Upon his wave-rocked pillow ! THE :SITOR*S CARD-BASKET. 105 A manlier spirit never yet In " house of clay " was tenant ; And better sailor never trod Beneath Britannia^s pennant. Nor pass the " Beau seraphic," — The self-created Cupid ; He of the " curls ambrosial," — The superfine and stupid. The wit whose horse once lost a shoe. Because it ** did n't fit him " ; Whose silver-headed cane supplied Temptation '"■ vast " to hit him. Comes next, a noble lady. With two young, gentle daughters ; A name of ancient honor. Renowned across the waters. At need, the younger maiden's step Will meet fate self-reliant ; The other's soft, sweet Saxon face Ne'er glowed with dream defiant. 106 THE VISITOR^S CARD-BASKET. And seCf the ball-room hero Comes to adorn the muster ; As happy, vain, and harmless As his eyes of hazel lustre. Harmless and vain, but kind of mood ; Though gracious, not quite graceless ; With blissful unmisgiving head, And phrase benign, if baseless. I And near him is another Less pliantly compounded ; With a head of reckless daring, And heart of scope unbounded. Too passionate for usual love, Too hopeless of the rarer. He treads the path that many tread. Incredulous of a fairer. Love only is controller Of such a meteor's courses. And, if he claimeth empire, Routs all opposing forces. I THE VISITOR^S CARD-BASKET. 107 But while Egcria^s form is but Tho phantom of a vision, On, deathward, sweeps the erring star, In unsubdued derision. And one is here, companioned By maidens sage and silly, Who shines upon Life's waters Like the ** Spirit of a Lily." No worldly soil lies on her brow Of pale and tender brightness, And regal pomp might wane beside " Array of such soul-whiteness." And, lo ! the gay Crusader For every bright lip's favor ; Whose triumph is the winning, Whose " winnings " keep no savor. Thus graces he a name oft borne By knight and poet glorious. And round his own Apollo-head The myrtle wreathes victorious. ION THE VISITOR*S CARD*BASKET. And fascinating damsels, Whose speech of brilliant flow Declares a Polka " lovely," And " Jane Eyro " " very low," — Ladies who labor night and day Sonne simpleton to capture, And youths who lounge through Granville Street In self-sustaining rapture ; — Enough of these : speak softly, My eyes are on another, — The tender, the unworldly. The youngest of his mother. The darling of her brooding heart. That lies beneath the billow. Who had no shroud of fresh, green turf. No shade of bending willow. The eyes of soldier brethren. Mayhap, had tears to blind them, When they gave him dirge and volloy And left him there, behind thuiri j THE VISITORS* CARD-BASKET. 109 They left him in the solemn grave Fond footstep rcacheth never. And onward bore the tale, to I '^nrts That weep above it ever. That he 's " not dead, but sleeping," Fuoh dav, each hour, still owneth ; Not dead, albeit for ever 'i ho sad sea o'er him moaneth. How can he die to those who loved,"! Yet gave him but heart-breaking, — Whose life lies in the dream that shall Be realized in waking ? THE May-flower. Green Earth throws many a perfumed star From her exhaustless breast, Lovely as those which shine afar In calm Elysian rest ; Though never fade unto our eyes The golden kindred of the skies. The splendid Stars, — for ever they A radiant mystery wear ; Our spirits own their solemn sway. But flowers are very dear ; And Spring's first bloom we seek and bless Almost with human tenderness. For every heart hath memories Of sad or happy hours ; THE MAY-FLOWER. Ill Dear visions of lost, loving eyes, Returning with the flowers ; And some sweet leaf a thought supplies Of days when Earth was Paradise ; — When from a hand beloved was given Some blossom frail and fair, Whose leaves recalled that blissful even, And priceless treasures were In many a bitter after-day. When hope had perished, even as they. A sweet rose may evoke the shade Of some departed hour (Whose dawn no coming cloud displayed), Graced by a kindred flower, That yet, ere breath and bloom could die, Was wet with tears of agony. But pleasant thoughts with thee are blent, Meek emblem of our land ! No brilliant hues are to thee lent, Simplest of all thy band ; 112 THE MAY-FLOWER. With gleam half hidden, low and fair, Oft found but by thine odor rare. Amid leaves brown and green, from moss And turf, where they abide. Peep up thy fragrant flowers, across Acadia's woodlands wide ; Where, 'neath dark fir or wailing pine, Thou shelterest oft thy branchy vine. And ere soft Spring's delicious airs Charm Winter's steps away. Thy faint pink bloom as brave appears As in its own sweet May ; While round thee eve's last sunbeams throw Faint purple shadows o'er the snow. io SONG OF THE POLAR NIGHT. I REIGN alone, in my dark domain, When the pale North sun goes down, And the moon leads forth her stately train To weave me a royal crown. On the great, white hills my throne I keep, Where lies the avalanche snow, While my wrathful vassals fiercely sweep The desolate seas below. The shores are rigid, the wild moan stilled, Where billowy strife was loud. My kingdom lies, by no faint pulse thrilled, Under her glimmering shroud. Brave sons of the sea my memory heeds. Who reckoned no great deed done Till gleamed their sail where the North-wave leads To the green lands of the sun. 8 114 SONG OF THE POLAR NIGHT. One voyager reached my silent realms Who bore a conqueror's eye, But never beneath his daring helm Did the long-sought waters lie. Through dark wild billows, and tempest breath, He led the true brethren on, Who sang : " We fear not the shores of death Till the secret way is won." They met each foe with a dauntless brow, And lifted a wary hand In the iceberg drift, till their skilful prow Scoffed at the terrible band. They left that bright-mailed host behind, And gallantly sped along, While followed fast on the quaking wind The roar of the giant throng. But I disdained the invading quest. And they gained a dreary shore ; ''' Where some lay down to the brave man's rest. And strove with the waves no more. But when light came o'er the southern hills, The mariners' isle to find. The living followed the seaward rills, And left the true dead behind. SONG OF THE POLAR NIGHT. 115 , breath, f death ow, )W id, ind nan's rest, e. :n hills, Wliile the broad beams gilded vale and crag, And lit the perilous main, The chief sailed on 'neath his ocean-flag, But I found him once again, Telling the valiant, who shared his doom, Of the land's renown that gave Her sons to strive with my trackless gloom For the hidden Arctic wave, Mingling with tales of old conflict gained, The triumph yet to betide. When hope in his constant soul had waned, From its early place of pride, I wrapped them round with a gorgeous pall. Till their brave souls sat in gloom, And in dreams they heard soft waters fall. And saw the sweet meadows bloom. Each faithful one clasped a brother's hand, And echoed warm words of cheer ; With hearts grown sick for the far home-land, And the distant voices dear. The wolf-dog sledge of the Esquimaux Through the darkness came not nigh. But the track of the flying hoofs they saw As the swift reindeer went by. 116 SONG OF THE POLAR MIGHT. They shut their eyes on a hopeless shore, And )»el(l converse sweet and gay With the tender ones whose faces wore The look of an earlier day. But the spring-dawn flush, that shall not fail To color the wild-bird's wing, Will gild, too late, the succoring sail Their sJndowy fancies bring. The false, fair moon, and the mimic sun, Showed the faltering eye and hand. That said : " Rest well, for your work is done On merciless sea and land." Aurora over them pitched her tent, Far up in the dark blue sky. And tho frozen drift that cold bed lent Where their brave, white faces lie. The crimson tints of each swaying fold, She gave that canopy wide, And waves her brilliant banner of gold Above their last sleep of pride. There came another of that grand race, To whose mighty soul I yield. But he vainly seeks their resting-place Who slumber beneath my shield. SONG OF THE POLAR NIGHT. 117 Ho traversed my empire's farthest bound, Through that mysterious way I hid so long in my garb profound From the babbling tongue of Day. The blood of his soil, that sent bright streams To the nations' tide of war. Set in the mirror no prouder beams Than fall from his lonely star. Again he may sail the sunlit wave To his green isle of the sea. Where drooping grass may cover the brave, But wins not the lost from me. The wife that waits for her absent lord, In her quenchless hope alone, Keeps place of honor at household board For an unreturning one. Great lands shall mourn for my captive train. And earth's noblest bards may vie To sing of the solemn polar plain Where the unforgotten lie. n. I AN INDIAN GIRL. Dark daughter of the wilderness, Thy presence is to me A type of that fresh loveliness That aye surroundeth thee. The beauty of thy forest home, The freedom and the grace That glorify the natural world, Are in thy form and face. The world, that counts so many days, Is young each soft Spring-time, And though thy dawning bloom will pass, Renewing not its prime, AN INDIAN GIRL. IIU Now thou art like Earth's fairest hour, When wearing, soft and green, Her robe of beauty, scarce matured, With gay, yet modest, mien. Thou dost evoke sweet images Of Summer's woodland pride, — The varied moss beneath thy feet. The wild rose by thy side, The ancient beechen stems that rear A leafy roof for thee, Companion of the dainty birds. As innocent and free. And when the stately woods have put Their Autumn splendor on. Oft, 'neath the maple's crimson bough. Thy form of grace is thrown Beside some lone sequestered pool. Where water-lilies leave Their latest bloom, and o'er the wave An odorous carpet weave. :% 120 AN INDIAN GIRL. Ah ! must thy low, melodious voice Forget its careless tone ; Thy laugh of harmony be changed For coming sorrow's moan ? I fear that grief may visit thee. Secluded as thou art ; Such loveliness escapeth not The woman's woful heart. I For dark eyes of thy kindred youth Will glance in love to thine, And thou wilt trust, and dream sweet dreams, In the soft day's decline ; And watch, with heart that will not doubt, That crusheth its own fear. For absent steps that tarry far While thou belie v'st them near. But thus oft doth the Wisest wean ^ Our hearts from earth away ; And He will not disdain to guide Thy else untutored day ; AN INDIAN GIRL. As dear to his creating love As Wisdom's cultured child, Shall bloom in heaven's long summer day The floweret of the wild. 121 t dreams, ioubt, I « THE PONY. What 's missing from our treasures ? Why bear we this heart-load ? Comes not the pony daily Up the familiar road ? Watched we not for him alway, With hopeful, happy eyes, That darkened if he came not Ere sunset left the skies ? And small need had the watchers His absence to bewail. And the glad words, " Here 's the pony ! " Were rarely known to fail. THE PONY. 133 Ere through the ancient willows Camo aught our gaze to meet, Quick hearts told cars that listened Of the pony's rapid feet. Grief, thought wo, cannot touch us, While the pony comes and goes : He was sprightly as the west wind. And white as whitest rose. He cometh still, — why mourn we ? Why doth he drooping stand ? He comes no longer guided By the old, kindly hand. Strangers hold the rein now, Each and every day ; Careless voices urge him Along the well-known way. His head forgets its gay toss. His feet their merry trot, — The pony's life is weary With those he loveth not. 124 THE PONY. . I* Thou art missed, lost master, As thou wouldst wish to be, Sadly keepeth Snowdrop A memory of thee. And, though o'er the waters, Dost thou care to know. That some, beside the pony, Remember long-ago ? THE INDIAN CUP.« Away in the dismal, swampy ground, Thine elegant, vase-like cups are found ; Stately they rise from their mossy bed, And a gorgeous smile o'er their wild home shed. 0, the spirit of beauty hath wandering feet, And roameth, full oft, desolation to greet. Casting round, as she speeds to some bright garden- land, Gifts, lovely and pure, from her bountiful hand. To wastes wild and dreary thy shape she supplies, And through thy green woof bids the bright veins arise, That in delicate crimson their branches entwine, Fresh and bright with the tints of the Painter divine. I-' 126 THE INDIAN CUP. And thy flower-crowned stem, by the free breezr swayed, Awakens a thought of the Indian maid. With her graceful motion and rich dark bloom, — An image of beauty 'mid wilderness gloom. Nor is grace external thine only dower : Thy cup is the shrine of a strengthening power ; It drinketh, when soft summer rain descends. And such healing balm to each cool drop lends, That the child of the woods, in the fever-thirst, craves From thy leaf of beauty the draught that saves : And often thy desolate haunts are known To the step of the moccasoned foot alone. A LAMENT I DREAMED that thou wast by my side, With fond arms round me thrown ; No heavy cloud within my eyes, No death-gloom in thy own. There was no drift of salt sea spray Upon thy shining hair, The soft locks wore, beneath my hand, The gleam familiar there. No wail of waves was in thy voice ; The old, sweet tones it bore Told nothing of the billowy shroud That hides thee evermore. I woke to fill my eyes with tears. That dream could never shed, That fall to count the dreary days Since thou art of the dead. i\ \2H A LAMENT. r i I loved thee when thou least believed, Before thy head lay low, The proof of that unfathomed truth Is that I love thee now. Thou art not here to minister To vanity or pride ; I cannot show to other eyes The dead one at my side ; And missing, everywhere, the smile That lit the world to me, I will not mourn that thou no more Its bitterness can see. For cruel words were in thy ears. When thou from earth didst part, And scrupled not a tyrant's tongue To break a breaking heart. Thou art avenged, high, gentle soul, Without my feeble line ; God's hand is heavy on his head Whose hard heart tortured thine. I helped the doom that round thee stretched Its unrelenting clasp. stretched A LAiMENT. And closed upon thy latter days The refuge in thy grasp. Thou 'rt refuged now, though it may be 'Neath holier eyes than mine. O best beloved ! O dearest dead ! Some heavy faults were thine ; Such faults as wreck the unanchored soul, From its own haven driven, Adrift upon mad, worldly waves. Storm-launched and misery-riven. And thou, whose struggling spirit missed The answering, guiding tone. Though ne'er unwise for other's weal. Wast careless of thine own. Thy faults shook not my heart, — of it I knew thy ceaseless need. And Love was born to separate The doer from the deed. Though unto me thy sins were none, Naught had I to forgive. But grief is mine, who left these words Unsaid while thou didst live. The heart I hid ached tenderly 'Neath pride's mistaken fear, 9 129 t : [■' I % ii w 130 A LAMENT. And tclleth now, remorsefully, What thou canst never hear. I was not great, I was not gay, I was not very fair ; And sweetest lips had smiles for thee. Among the proud and rare ; But thou didst wrap me in thy soul With self-misgiving pain ; Exalting thus a humble heart, To charge it with disdain. 'T was bliss unreached, and midnight prayer, And dread's sick tears to me ; Death's prophecy, and fear-blind hope. And whirlwind strife for thee. Too late the beacon-light was shown. That earlier might have saved ; Vanquished thou wert, on Life's last strand, With armor battle-graved. But comfort, in thy sorest hour. To me did faintly flow : " Tell her, I send once more the love I gave her long ago." A LAMENT. 131 it prayer, pe, ; strand, Kind soldicr-brcthrcn sliut thine eyes, With strange drops in their own, And gave thee to a wild sea-grave, With martial pomp and moan. Dark Northern waters round thee roll. Far from the gentle gales That o'er thy kindred bend the grass Of old, heroic Wales ; Who gave to thee the generous soul, Fond, passionate, and brave, That beat upon her ancient hills, But found thee not a grave. Thy tent is pitched on lovelier land, O pilgrim ! travel-worn. And if within its shadow thou. So early tempest-torn, After thine agonies, art blest. My weeping shall not reach thy rest. i ve ■•fr m ;/ THE TREE CRANBERRY. Thou crownest verdant banks that rise Where river-waters glide, The while thy graceful picture lies Within the lucid tide ; Reigning where all sweet things are strewed, Queen of a flowery multitude. !*■ ft The low winds lift thy fresh green leaf, With plaintive, murmuring tune. And thy soft blossoms, pale and brief, . Answer the smiles of June, That thee entreat, with wooing air. To make thyself so very fair. i-i-i k And when the fragile bloom is cast Of thy young summer day. THE TREE CRANBERRY. IXi Thy stem wears beauty unsurpassed To greet a future May ; Bending, ofttime, a grape-like show Of crimson clusters to the snow. Sweet spirit of haunts lone and fair, Thoughts lovely must be thine ; And these enchanted shapes declare Thy craft sees no decline. And bounteously thy gracious moods Have wrought in our wild solitudes ; And vision beautiful hadst thou Of old, by some lone stream, And didst, in this creation, show And realize thy dream, And to thy graceful darling gave A home beside the river-wave. - ' I f • • ^ r THE SEA-SHORE. I A FRENCH LITHOGRAPH. • What nameless, lovely lady i ■ Is this upon the strand ? i .^ The pencil hath not shown us Her history or land ; We only see the surging waves, i •■ ' The stormy, sunset skies, And her whose aching heart beats through ■ ■* Her tender lips and e}es. ;■■ i ' 9 , The desolate waste of waters, . The fierce wind hurrying by. Are powerless o'er that sad world Of dearest memory, ■ • ■ i f THE SEA-SIIORE. Where other dying sunliglit glows, Where wilder billows roll Round one lost form, that evermore Is j.ainted on lier soul. Look, then, — ye cannot weary, — Where, never worldly-wise, Gleams the despairing angel From out a woman's eyes. While her fingers' passionate clasping Tells her struggle sore ; Better her fair head were lying On Time' 1 wild sea-shore. 135 I ^ A AUSTRALIAN PASTURES. Boundless fields stretch, green and bright, In the nnellow, lustrous light ; Lost Arcadia's soft delight And golden dye These unfading meadows keep ; Great herds range the grassy sweep ; White as May-clouds, silent sheep Unnumbered lie. Grouping oaks majestic stand, Dropping shadow through the land ; The lone horseman checks his hand, And, gazing down j,;«^> AUSTRALIAN PASTURES. 137 Soft, wide, undulating plains, Sees afar his cattlc-tniins, Faintly hears the lowing strains Familiar grown. Shepherds, where soft waters glide, Guileless creatures rest beside. One sees, o'er the salt wave's tide, The yellow " broom," 'Mid whose flowery rods he lay, Through the Scottish summer day. Watching careless flocks at play. Till " gloamin " gloom. Some, though honey-bell are sweet. Miss the primrose at their feet. Striding through the dc«i to meet The flushing morn. Some, when clover scents the grass, Looking in a magic glass, Bless the shamrock as they pass Through tracks unworn. 138 AUSTRALIAN PASTURES. One, beside the soft Lagoon, Dreams of distant harvest-noon, Sees the snow-drift 'neath the moon Of colder skies, Clasps in heart the dear lost hand, Dearer now in that far land. Be ye sure, whose souls demand The exiled eyes. W Here the bird of beauty brings Shining breast and painted wings ; Paler throat wild music flings On gentle air. Where ihe opening mountain wills. Wandering flock the wide pass fills. Like snow-spots 'mid Northern hills That spring days spare. And the sun, in royal flight, Over all wraps purple light ; Matchless morn, and marvellous night. Succeeding glow. AUSTRALIAN PASTURES. 139 Clearly fall the soft day-beams ; Widely spread the gold moon-glcams ; Strange, great stars lie in the streams That waveless flow. re. t, I I 1: t" ., SIR JOHN HARVEY. Lay him down, lay him down ! we are proud of his bones, — The old man of sorrow and toil ; Britannia spares him from her world-renowned ones, To honor our wilderness soil. Let him go to the Wife of Mortality's days. The Bride of his spiritual youth, Who waiteth, heart-robed, for his glorified gaze In the realized Kingdom of Truth. Make room for his memory, when heroes are nigh, ^^ Room where poor men and gentlemen stand ; His bold heart had ever for sorrow a sigh. And for want a warm, bountiful hand. SIR JOHN HARVEY. 141 Stern grief hi'.d unshrouded the innermost cell Of his tender and passionate soul ; — Mourn not at his rest, — he hath borne the day well : Grieve not that he gaineth the goal. roud of his ned ones, Not on African sand, nor 'neath Indian sky, Did he tarnish his country's dear fame. And on well-won fields, where the snow-drifts lie, He bled for her old martial name. Her warrior-scnr; i . p on many a shore. And low, und r .af, foreign waves. But his white hairs shall rest by the wife Jie wept o'er, In the midst of our green exile-graves. gaze are nigh, stand ; Then lay down the old man! we are proud of his bones, — The brave man of sorrow and toil ; Britannia spares him, from her sepulchred sons, To honor our wilderness soil. 1^. APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. " Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? " Lift up your voices, sons and daughters Of the Land we claim ; Forest hills and river waters Look to ye for fame. Valley, village, mead, and mountain Ask ye for their dower ; Dim drops from the human fountain Wait Song's sunlit hour. Ye Ve honored heads in grassy graves. And broken hearts beneath your waves. Broad, bright Chebucto claims the meed Awarded long ago ; APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. Ii3 SCOTIA. Still northwest sweeps, his waves to lead The painted hills below, And, when the autumn light looks down, So mellow, warm, and still. And in the lustrous mirror grown Seems each enchanted hill, Evoke the notes most sweet and rare, And sing September sunset there. rs Go watch the fisher's picturesque toil, And mark his thrifty home ; Where, round your rugged sea-shore soil. The shining millions come. Honor the glittering kin that sweep Their armies to your door ; For Labrador's famed myriads keep A place in minstrel lore ; The captors ask a native strain To carry with them to the main. id Still guarding many a lovely spot, The old French willows stand Where stood their homes, yet unforgot. Whose toil first blessed the land. i; 144 APrnAL TO THE I'OETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. r The stranger's ' clmrmed voice told not all TIjc story of their doom ; Still moan, through many a ruined wall, Past f-^jrny and gloom'": Moan it iho Old World came to view Its lost Arcadia" in the New. Bethink ye, that ye leave unsung The stately Moose to roam ; Nor less might some sweet Lyre be strung, For yon wild hunter's home. Beneath the sighing branchy Pine, The wandering people dwell ; While delicate, dark fingers twine The brilliant fabric well. Till in its graceful craft you trace The fancies of the simple race. Have ye not one melodious strain, For that strange exile-grove,*'^ Whose boughs are bright in warm spring rain, And green when snow-winds rove : The Indian deemed he earned his doom, Whose guidance had betrayed, APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. 145 To brethren pale, the sacred gloom Of that mysterious shade, Unreached upon the alien shore, Save alien's daring foot explore. Look, with the yellow autumn sun, Where the flax-gatherers toil ; Nor scorn the mirth, when day is done, That mockery cannot spoil. And mark, across some threshold lone, The evening sunlight lies. Where, humming to her small wheel's tone, The white-haired woman pli' The whiter threads, that yet shall crowd Round household cradle, board, and shroud. Still songless sweeps the splendid wave (Whose rafts float to the sea). The wild, romantic banks to lave, Of " Shubenacadie." And many a lovely stream that lends The mill-wheel's dashing spray, Melodiously pleads as it wends. To echo through your lay ; 10 I 146 APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. And murmurs of some broad, bright lake It left for tlie green valley's sake. See, through the bounteous Truro vale The Salmon water " wander ; Did purer wave e'er grace the tale Of glory-gilt Scamander ? And ne'er did goddess, nymph, or queen, Her brow immortal lave In fairer solitudes, than lean Round loveliest Lahave." And proudly blue Mahone '^ may show Her matchless Archipelago. Ye 've fair, familiar things at rest Your hills and plains upon, And marvels on the jewelled breast Of stormy Blomedon. Ye 've all the beauty culture yields, Beneath the summer air, Where Labor spreads the waving fields, — Labor, the wheat and tare. The curse and blessing error leaves, For binding in the wide world's sheaves. APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. 147 The birds' sweet notes ring from your boughs, The silver salmon swim, The painted trout its beauty shov/s, Where river-pools lie dim. And women smile within your homes, Of various hue and mien ; One with soft, midnight glances comes, While oft another 's seen Beside whose locks might gleam in vain Resplendent showers of April rain. The strong man heweth down the tree For craftsmen's skilful toil ; Launched on your native waters see What crowned your native soil. Sing of the grim coal-miners' lot, Beside the firelight glow ; Fed from her breast who faileth not, Whose grace 't is yours to show. The sweetness of your measured line Shall pierce the chambers of the mine. Ye 're dwelling in the city streets, And far 'mid sylvan shades, 148 APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. You 're where the stretching meadow meets The swelling mountain glades. The voice that calls ye claimeth not The music of your own, It asketh but the pleasant lot Of answering their tone, Though all it needs Time shall not bring, 'T will echo what it cannot sing. The hand that points this urging line Falls fainter, day by day ; The heart that sees your dayspring shine Longs to beat far away ; We cannot strive when dearest eyes Look not upon the meed, And seek no wreath when grave-still lies The voice that charmed our speed. Who wins the goal with flagging pace ? Who runs, if nothing crown the race ? Wake ye, then, for the new wild land. The old harp's magic measure, And let its chords your care command. For in them lies your treasure. APPEAL TO THE POETS OF NOVA SCOTIA. 119 Fear ye not to lift your strain, *Mid songs of famous lyres ; Among the old prophetic train, Strike free the golden wires ; Time shall never rust or flaw While resounds true Minstrel-iaw. NOTES. NoTBl. — Page 11. •* The Jaloofs arc very dark in their complexion, but arc regular in their features, and of liandsomc form. Their hair is short and curling, and their skin of a jetty black." — Up the Gambia. NoTB 2. — Page 15. " The native workmanship in iron is very rude, yet some of their agricultural implements appear admirably suited to their purpose. The native workmanship in gold is not merely curious, but often really beautiful." — Westminster lleview. NoTB 3. — Page 15. " The agricultural Foolahs arc the great herdsmen of Africa." — Westminster Review. Note 4. — Page 16. " How is it that these people are now found in a semi-barbarous condition, while traces remain o f civili zation and mental culture of no mea " — Up the Gambia. I »« wj k are regular is short and mbia. yet some of ted to their rely curious, 1 of Africa." mi-barbarous ental culture NOTES. 151 .\oT«r>. — r.i?or.7. " Let down our goUlen, cvcrlasling chain." — Iliad. NoTB G. — Piiije 70. The name Musquodohoit signified to the Indian the " Culled or Chosen Water." Note 7. - Pugo 1 ! I. Beechcy Island. Note S. — Page 123. The Indians esteem the water contained in the pitcher of this beautiful plant very eflicacious in many diseases incidental to them, and frequently travel great distances to i)rocure it. Note 9. — Pago 144. Longfellow's Evangeline. Note 10. — Page 144. " The novelty and peculiarity of their situation could not but force itself upon the attention of the unreflecting soldiery ; sta- tioned in the midst of a beautiful and fertile country, they :. id- denly found themselves without a foe to subdue, and without !i population to protect. The volumes of smoke which the half-ex- piring embers emitted, while they marked the site of tiuj peas- ant's humble cottage, bore testimony to the extent of the work of destruction. For several successive evenings the cattle assem- bled round the smouldering ruins, as if in anxious expectation of t 152 NOTES. the return of their masters ; while all night long the faithful watch-dogs of thc> Neutrals howled over the scene of desolation, and mourned alik*^ the hand that had fed and the house that ha