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Maps, plates, 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 §tre film6s d des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsqua le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seui clich6, il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 2 ^n ^ \ii..Es ^^mmmr ^mmmm WOODLAND RAMBLES POEMS BY JOHN A. LanIGAN, M.D., B.A. " Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus.' " Juvat In sylvis habilare." BUFFALO : PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY 1894 v5 O 3 3 —"JhUir, ZB/B.CS Copyright, 1894. PBKSS OF FITRn PACL BOOK COMPANY, KUFFALO, N. Y. W*W»LJ»#> nB«**awj«-a TO THE Ut. met). Stcpljen b. l^mn. Bishop of Buffalo, THESE POEMS ARE. BY PERMISSION. MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. V WiAW i i i » i rtiiW»il jWffjifrv AMWJtUJSUBfS! ipO!I WWW-<*»W-W ! A&q ig^ CONTENTS. vii Zara the Bather, The Leaf, . To A Young Gif.l, To My Bed, . The Flower, Lines, Remembrance, . O Charming Stream, Epigram, . Morning Hymn, The Lost Heart, To A Sleeping Beauty, Sonnet, . Like a Flower, The Voyage, Dame Nightingale, Elegy, The King of Thule, The P'isher Maiden, MlGNON, The Death Lock, Under the Greenwood, For Erin I Can't Tell Her Name, Star of My Path, . Anacreontic, Lines, » • • • . To A Mirror, . L'Envoi, . , . ' • »23 . 126 126 . 127 128 . 129 130 • 132 • »34 134 • '35 '36 • '37 138 • 139 140 142 »43 • 145 '47 . 148 ISO • 151 152 . 152 1 t 1 1 ■( i J ? I M ■4 "t WOODLAND RAMBLES POEMS ■■<'^--sm i i ft COSMOS. A SCIENTIFIC POEM. /^F scriptural lore I have gathered a store, And I'm not badly versed in the science of man, And I've read all the mythos On parchment or lithos. To find out the way that Creation began. I've read Zoroaster, The Koran and Shaster, The famed Zend-Avesta, the King, and some more, The myths of the Eddas, The creed of the Vedas, And I've learned quite a body of unwritten lore. For men in all time Ever seek the sublime. So our book-shelves are teeming with theories strange, And science has striven To peep into Heaven, Believing that nothing is out of its range. ^f 4 1 ! S 4 WOODLAND RAMBLES. For the great mind of man Has endeavored to span The Gulf of Time and the Desert of Space, And to limit creation To the multiplication Of atoms, whose unit no mortal can trace. Through history's pages The theme of all ages Has been Earth's primeval and ultimate germs ; From those who defined That from Chaos and wind Were developed desire, love, and other such terms, To those who upheld The great factor of eld Must have been some nonentity, no one knows what ; All, all present views As absurd and abstruse As the darkness of Egypt preserved in a pot. There are Spencer and Kant, Doctor Huxley and Grant, And full fifty others from Humboldt to Stone, With old Anaxagoras Whose theories stagger us, All striving to fathom the great unknown. '1 t99»iatima*ammm!9)>tm»S!m: \ m WOODLAND RAMBLES. They fashion their schemes, And fantastical dreams, All pregnant with codes of dynamical laws; And every new system Is brim full of wisdom, 'Till time and futurity point out its flaws. Thus, if one goes back O'er philosophy's track To that time when the nations of Earth were but few. And summon around him (Though not to confound him) The faith of the Indian, Egyptian and Jew, He will find, as he goes To where science first rose, That the cause of the divers opinions we hold. Sprung out of the vanity Of our humanity. From that common objection to being controlled. And with ease one can trace That the whole human race Had one primal belief in an infinite Power, Which, despite of false sages. Moves on through the ages In the mind of mankind, to the present hour. S^MMM n f^f^im^^iM WOODLAND RAMBLES. |i (:; For our primeval brood Was not savage or rude, As we're told by historical writers of fiction, But knew all the arts To their intricate parts. As philology teaches beyond contradiction. ^!ii But when man, in his pride His Creator denied. And thus lost the source from which true knowledge springs. He moved in unrest O'er the great world's breast, And sought for true light in the darkness of things. For, philosophers ever Have essayed to be clever, And to bend everything to their own thought and will; And they think it high treason If things beyond reason Crop up, now and then, just to baffle their skill. They strive to be wise By disowning God's ties. And seeking enlightenment out of old bones ; They call it sublime To investigate slime, And search for life's cause in inanimate stones. I WOODLAND RAMBLES. One is not ** advanced " Lest he ponder entranced On some nondescript fossil or monkey with wings ; To be counted a sage, One must grow to old age In searching for noihing midst tangible things. One now has no need For a God-given creed, Let him trust in the ever unsatisfied " how, " Seek his ancestral shape In some unrevealed ape. And superior wisdom beams from his brow. Ah ! the manifold ways That Philosophy plays With that gullible morsel we call human wit. Is ever appearing More painfully glaring, As Truth's mighty torch on Time's bosom is set. Thus arise, now and then, From the point of a pen, Multiform creeds by wise — fools shadowed out ; Yet the glistening bubble, Notwithstanding their trouble, Is burst in the end by a spasm of doubt. 'If 'rp-r if II iii 8 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Some sages affirm The original germ Of this world spontaneously sprung into place ; And they cherish the notion That it came by its motion From a nebulous vapor diffused throughout space ; lit I ill Whilst others conceit That through moisture and heat, Was evolved from a tiny molecular cell, By a sort of transition From a previous position. This heterogeneous old world where we dwell. And other some say, In a confident way. That it was but a spark by the sun thrown out ; Yet seems it most queer That it stopped short in air, And then took a new and circuitous route. Still more will declare That from Chaos and air, Through an instrumentality now known as heat, Developed this Earth, Like a premature birth That requires care and fostering ere 'tis complete. I I n ^ Mwm\mi)tm mmmmmmmimmm»iMmmm \ WOODLAND RAMBLES. In the Indies of eld, The doctrine was held That an elephant hustled us round in his track ; And who has not heard Of that fable absurd, How great Atlas supported the world on his back ? Ah, 'tis wonderful, sure, To note how obscure And complex the theories some do advance ; On "final perfection," And ''Natural selection," They'd fill up with notions all Heaven's expanse. Yet all seem agreed. Independent of creed. That the world had a starting point far in the past ; That it rose self-possessed, With all power in its breast. To roll on through space while the ages will last. But why it should rise In the fathomless skies At one certain time, and not ages before, Is the question which bothers Myself and some others. For the cause of its being is the scientist's bore. f I ini'« w I ii 10 WOODLAND Ji AMBLES. For, that it might take Countless ages to make The first germs of matter, most all will concede ; But that one time be blest More than all of the rest, Suggests that a Mind its existence precede. Yet if Matter should be All eternal, as we Have often been told by our self-installed wise, 'Tis, indeed, very strange It is subject to change. Which fact a most gross contradiction implies. For ** eternal " must mean What always has been And ever will be — unaltered, the same ; Now, things that still grow. One may easily show, Must have had a beginning, which shatters that claim. And for men to affirm That pent up in one germ Were all of the potencies Nature displays. Requires a degree Of credulity Much greater than that which a Christian betrays. i-.'ywAwn.'mrmmimi wmm WOODLAND RAMBLES. II So here, by the way, I may truthfully say, That the firmer we hold to the teaching of Genesis, The wiser we'll be, And the sooner be free From the mystified creeds with which wiseacres menace us. 1 For search as we will. In all Nature we still Find only results of some deep-hidden force, And the strata, the rocks. And the volcanic shocks. Proclaim to one's mind some ulterior source. There is nothing we know In this world below, From the first cosmic era throughout to the eighth. That stands quite alone On a positive throne. For knowledge or science must rest upon faith. Experience may teach Of things in its reach, It may point out relations of cause and effect. It may trace out the rule Of Nature's great school. But the why and the wherefore it ne'er can detect. F<-y -^rj^ I t IS WOODLAND RAMBLES, ? Thus much one may learn, Ere he pass 'neath the urn : Though all nature be questioned from zone unto zone, There is something the mind Must leave undefined, For truth, in the abstract, can never be known. Yet there must exist force. Or all matter, of course. Would remain to this day but a substance inert ; And the harmonious action Of growth and attraction Could have never our beautiful universe girt. And though we may trace All the realms of space For the cause of that force that made fire, earth and sea, We will find it to rest In Eternity's breast. And reason demands it should infinite be. So, though science may be Quite correct, we still see A question beyond it that puzzles us all, And in vain Evolution May seek its solution ; There must have \itt\i power y or all matter must fall. WOODLAND RAMBLES. And 'tis my belief, Expressed here in brief, That though matter and motion coeval were, still Before these was power — Eternity's dower — Residing afar in an almighty Will. For that thing we call force Must have sprung from some source Above and beyond, in a space unconfined ; Thus, though Nature began On a very small plan. Primeval of all was an infinite Mind. And from Mind, Will and Power, In an all-hallowed hour. In the deep-hidden ages Creation arose. Till spheres out of number, From Chaotic slumber. The regions of space soon began to disclose. 13 % But I'm not here to tell The identical cell From which was evolved this old planet called Earth; Yet as far as I'm able. From Scripture, or fable. Or science, I'll follow it up from its birth. ^m 'I f \\ «4 WOODLAND Ji AMBLES. From a nucleus small, Or perhaps none at all, (For before Nature was, things occurred very queer), Came this world of ours, Without rocks, men, or flowers, But a bright mass of fire in the shape of a sphere. lit By a process quite strange. Out of scientists' range. In which ether and wind may have taken some part, This planet began To grow crusty, as man Will become when he feels a small blaze at his heart. For, the elements of Earth The Creator sent forth In the first of all time ere he bade them unite ; And each had its power, Which obtains to tliis hour. To form air or water, fire, earth, heat or light. Thus did Wisdom create, In a gaseous state, The primitive volumes that go to form Earth; And the laws they obey Were imposed on the day When infinite Omnipotence gave them birth. ■B WOODLAND RAMBLES. So age after age, And page after page, This universe grew like the layers of a tree, And the union of gasses. From invisible masses. Enveloped it all in a limitless sea. '5 And in one day, Which, in truth we may say. Was a time of duration beyond mortal ken, The Omnipotent Lord, By a thought or a word, Divided the land from the waters again. For a day, as we're told. The Almighty doth hold In the palm of his hand as a myriad of years ; Thus we see not a flaw In the Biblical law. Nor a reason that Science should "get on its ears." He caused to spring forth From the bowels of Earth, Ranges of mountains that poured lava tide From east and from wr-^st, 'Till the vast ocean's breast Was studded with continents far and wide J •!M»! i r i6 WOODLAND RAMBLES. i Then that mystical thing We call life, seemed to spring From some principle deep in Earth's bosom concealed; And growth of new kind Told that infinite Mind Kept far greater treasures as yet unrevealed. m And the water, the air, And the earth everywhere. Were teeming with life in its myriad forms, From the least protophyte To the lion of might. The face of creation with new being swarms. Thus, strange to relate. From a primitive state. By burning and cooling and bursting betimes, At last was unfurled This beautiful world. With its rocks, trees and seas, and its exquisite climes. I ill And it looked, oh ! so fair, As it rolled off in air. That the Mind (for 'tis only the mind that can plan) Conceived the existence. Away in the distance. Of a being we know by the small name of ** man." mm WOODLAND Rambles. 17 Just how man came to be Matters little to me, Whether fashioned from monkey, or molecule, or clay, Yet still I've been thinking. While at scientists winking. He was very much like what we find him today. And, that mortal might seem Of creation supreme. Omnipotence formed him the last and the best ; And gave him a spirit, By which to inherit That kingdom that He in all glory possessed. And the first of our race Had his dwelling place In a garden called Eden, where four rivers met ; 'Mid fruit trees delicious, And all things nutritious, And but for his capers he might be there yet. Ml !' ! I i8 ■1 1 •■If ii' i WOODLAND GAMBLES. TO POESY. /^H, Poesy, thou holy art ! ^^ Thou enemy of human woe ! Thou first to cast the vengeful dart Against humanity's great foe ! Oh, Muse so blest ! Oh, gift Divine ! How fondly turns my soul to thee ! What hallowed, mystic charms are thine ! And oh, how sweet thy slave to be ! How beautifully sweet it is To hold communion with the stars ! To revel in the mysteries That lie beyond, to burst the bars That keep the soul in this dull sphere ; To roam at will in Heaven's smile ; To speak with angels everywhere, And yet be mortal all the while ! Such the poet's magic spell, He sees with penetrating eye Into the frowning depths of hell, Into the empyrean sky ; He sees deep in the heart of man. And reads the secrets hidden there ; Nay, even hath he power to gain The key to nature everywhere. i WOODLAND RAMBLES. I will not say the poet's life Is in some fancied realm of bliss, Nay, rather moves he midst the strife, And grosser atmosphere of this ; But, priest-like, lo ! he scorns the tongue Of slander, and feels ever blest To bear the sacrament of song To some poor, troubled, aching breast. Ah ! yes, 'tis his to keep alive The pristine beauty of the soul. And with his magic pen deprive Misfortune of its wonted dole ; And he, in greatness all his own. Shall dwell high in the niche of fame ; Old Homer's songs will still live on. When Caesar simply means a name. f «9 Then Heaven bless those bards of ours ! Honor them and honor theirs, Who thus kindly scatter flowers O'er our path so full of cares. Oh ! would that I could be among That blessed band the lowliest knight ! To breathe the atmosphere of song Would be to me supreme delight. i f^ >■ ; I 20 WOODLAND RAMBLES. AN OLD MAN'S LOVE. T OFTTIMES take a stroll at eve "^ Within this shady grove, To ponder on the days long gone, And Erin that I love. For in this quiet, calm retreat Sad thoughts steal over me, Of the dear old land and patriot band That strove to set her free. Ah ! well I mind me of the time ('Twas many years ago), When, youthful then, I joined the men That fought old Erin's foe. Yes, dear old spot, of Earth the best, I think of thee tonight, And how to prove my heartfelt love I'd gladly for thee fight. Though age has done its work with me, That land I'll ne'er forget ; I'd gladly strike, with tongue or pike, A blow for Erin yet. h i * ! 1 . «i 1 ^ WOODLAND RAMBLES. 31 I feel the fire of former years Still lingers in my veins ; Although I'm old, I am not cold, My heart its youth retains. I have one colleen fair to see, With eyes of Irish blue. And I sing her songs of Erin's wrongs. For I know her heart is true. ' H She glories in the days of yore, And prides herself the while. As in her hair entwining there The shamrock of our Isle. And when at length the day will come To set old Ireland free, Six gallant sons (and trusty ones) Dear land I'll send to thee, Plunged in the fiercest of the fight In front shall they be seen. Each hand to wave a worthy glaive, Each brow a plume of green. And if I cannot join my boys. Whilst fighting nobly there, I'll take my part with fervent heart — They'll have an old man's prayer. ^/' ■■..rt«*6-i«i.>*(>at.i*«*,;: 'II •fTT ;i.i 22 WOODLAND RAMBLES. m Then should our cause by chance be lost, Old Erin, sweet asthore ! This heart shall break for thy dear sake, /^r d who can give thee more ? i i I WOODLAND RAMBLES. 23 TO EILEEN. AX7"HEN I see the laughing beam In thy brilliant azure eye, It reminds me of a stream That I loved in times gone by, When the moon's soft, mellow gleam Was quivering in the wavelet nigh. When I see the roseate hue Of those velvet cheeks of thine, I bethink me — once I knew A flower that did such tints combine, When the sunset o'er it threw Its parting beams in light divine. Thus, when my heart desires to see Those things that were its chief delight, I've but, sweet girl, to gaze on thee, And in thy face so warm and bright. That stream of youth comes back to me. And that loved flower, all bathed in light. 'Ill ''■ I 'l!i i I !i 11 ,! I MM- 24 WOODLAND RAMBLES. TO MAY MARGUERITE. IN HEAVEN. ■p ARE WELL, but not forever, dear, farewell ! "■• Be not unmindful in that brighter sphere, Where angel souls in blest existence dwell. Of those who all too sadly linger here. Let not the vision of the bright beyond Cause thee to forget thy sojourn here ; Though brief thy span of life, a mother fond Sheds for that vital spark her warmest tear. Our home is sorely drear since thou art gone ; We miss thy bright blue eyes, thy smile so sweet. But, through the merits of The Blessed One, We know in Heaven blooms our May Marguerite. Oh, precious babe of mine, in heavenly bliss, Thou little saint of God, forever blest. In that great world beyond, remember this. And pray for thy parents' souls' eternal rest ! WOODLAND RAMBLES. as ODE ON THE EPISCOPAL JUBILEE OF POPE LEO XIII. FEBRUARY I9TH, 1 893. T_T AIL, mighty Pope ! Hail, spiritual Sire ! "*• The world salutes thee on this festive day, And kneels before thine august throne to pay The highest tribute mortal can desire — The offering of love's perpetual fire ! Thee have the nations gazed on from afar. As bright thy light, and shining like a star, Beamed o'er a troubled world. Love doth inspire Thine every act, O Pontiff most benign ! To thee, vice-regent of the Lord Most High, The world doth turn expectant for a sign, And hails thee, beloved Leo, " light in the sky." m O Father of the Faithful ! Blessed indeed. Yea, trebly blest is he upon whose brow Thou sign'st the symbol of our holy Creed. Priest, Bishop, Pope, all these do thee endow With majesty of triple power, but thou lyj^r^rfO t^X^^anttAfjrj'^ '-jr^^ ^.' .1 IF 26 WOODLAND Ji AMBLES. i i ) ;.!ll • Ml lilt ill Art even in thy very nature blest ; Thy soul with greatness teems, thy face imprest With love's sweet smile, doth win the world to bow, And on this day to lift their hearts with thine In glad thanksgiving to the Throne divine. How glorious record doth thy reign display! Thy life how bright its day ! O ! Orb of Wisdom, ever beaming bright, Thou illuminest the night, And fillest Earth with transcendental light ! The ** Angel of the Schools " thou bidst once more Bestow his precious lore Upon the human mind, which foes assail With wisdom earthly heedless of the soul ; That sea of wisdom pure thou didst unveil, Its flood-gates yielding to thy sweet control. The gloomy world, that lay in durance vile Beneath the tyranny of Sophist minds, Beheld a beacon light and wore a smile, As mariners at sea midst treacherous winds. Then, noble Leo, blest guardian of the fold ! How fondly, in solicitude for truth. Thou opened up chit mine of wealth untold, The archives of the Vatican, whose lore WOODLAND RAMBLES. i7 Is to the human intellect far more Than erstwhile was the fabled Fount of Youth, Or that most precious stone for which, as we are taught, The dreamy alchemist so vainly sought. What time the nations, trembling in unrest, Behela the ominous clouds, the surging sea, That threatened to engulf them in its breast Like Peter on the Sea of Galilee, Cried out in agony : *' Who now our guide will be ? 'Twas thou, like Saviour blest. Made answer : " Come to me And I will give you rest." II There came a cry from Afric*s gloomy shore Of souls that slept in bondage, and the sound Fell sad and solemn on thy loving heart ; But thou, benignant father, bore a part Of that deep wail of sorrow, and unbound The manacles the nations' pity wore. I: I 1 Labor was prone beneath a tyrant yoke. When thou, great Pontiff, spoke, And in bold, burning wordj most eloquent, A glorious message to all nations sent. Which straight the burden broke. Il I ^'1' !' 28 WOODLAND RAMBLES. 1 1 I, Most noble-hearted Leo, whether it be That nations struggling in a stormy sea Beset by darkness, or the trodden slave. Thy holy and far-reaching succor crave ; Whether from treacherous shoals of unbelief Or infidelity. Earth seeks relief, Thy mystic light leads gloriously on, Dispelling clouds and scattering, anon, The blessings of thy wisdom. Every land Hath felt the bounty of thy generous hand ; Thy master mind hath led the nations out From the deep chaos of soul-blighting doubt. And still, despite the dark, opposing rocks Of unbelief, the vain, unseemly shocks Of heresy, the barque of Peter sails In glorious triumph midst ungenerous gales, And thou, beloved Leo, bold and brave, Dost guide her safely o'er the troubled wave. Hail, ever loving father, may thy years By Heaven protected be ! Beam bright that " Light in Heaven" which nobly steers The barque of Peter over Time's dark sea ! WOODLAND RAMBLES. 29 A NEW YEAR'S POEM. T SAW an old man, when the day was done, •■• Set down his spade beside the chapel door, Then kneel and bless himself, and one by one, Repeat his thumb-worn Rosary o'er and o'er. It was the eve before the glad new year ; The sun had set his last ray on the old ; And as he prayed in silence, lo ! a tear Drop'd from his eyelid on the pavement cold. I thought, so like each bead, came, year by year, The course of time, tho' changing still the same, Decade on decade, lo ! the years appear. Beginning and ending in the Saviour's name. • \ I w i'i 'i ; 1 1 li 111 30 WOODLAND RAMBLES. MUSINGS. pOND memories, so kindly sweet, "*• How dreary life without your charms ! How bravely, folded in your arms, Could I a thousand dangers meet ! Your smile would banish all alarms, And future of its terrors cheat. Things that were fair seem doubly bright, In that we knew them long ago ; Joys of the past ! how warm they flow In fond array before the sight ! Nay, sorrows even bear a glow Not unakin to true delight. We scan the horizon of the past. Fond fancies come as in a dream ; And terrors that we felt, do seem — Mere trifles o'er life's pathway cast. Beneath reflection's smoothing beam — Portentous only while they last. BX" »f i-; WOODLAND RAMBLES. Oh, how I love to dwell among The blissful scenes of other years ! Albeit they woo my eyes to tears, As 'twere each scene had found a tongue, And whispered of the doubts and fears That vexed my heart when I was young. I mind, as gently gliding o'er The waters of the Genesee, I heard some negro melody Float toward me from the nether shore. So strangely sweet, it seemed to me I never heard the like before. 3« And once, when from famed Cronest height, I viewed the Hudson rolling on, So bright its queenly waters shone, Methought it was the fairest sight That mortal eyes could gaze upon, As soft its wavelets rolled in light. I treasured both for many a year. To glad me in my lonesome hours. As one more fondly prizes flowers That blossom when the snows are here ; For, oh, in this sad world of ours, Too often flows the unbidden tear ! ( « J t^jS/^'^fffeimafjim^^vj &!/.(tV''^-«. f 1^ 32 WOODLAND RAMBLES. I , 1.1 ! And yet there is a dearer joy That wells up in my memory, A holier bliss it seems to me, A golden hour without alloy ; It was in far-off Acadie, And I was but a thoughtless boy. I strayed, one afternoon in May, Beside the far-famed Nor* -west Arm, I ^reamed but of that blissful charm Tha' in its pkcid waters lay. Why glows my brow with passion warm At this far distant after day ? I saw, upon the rock -girt shore, A gentle maid of kindly mood ; I watched her as she pensive stood. And scanned the glowing landscape o'er. It was a blissful solitude. And sweet the smile fair Nature wore. The village chapel on the height — Sweet ** Stella Maris — " fondly rose. As if to mitigate my woes, And bless the stream of pure delight That even yet all warmly flows. Ah ! 'twas indeed a charming sight ! ^'^'immm,^. W^y WOODLAND GAMBLES. The brilliant, broad Chebucto Bay Gleamed 'neath the fair Acadian sky ; But far more precious to my eye, Decked with the simple flowers of May, Was she for whom my heart doth sigh At this far distant after-day. 33 11 We met, we spoke, we loved, and then There stole within my so'il a bliss. Which, from that moment unto this. Fond memory loves to woo again ; For, when, to me, aught goes amiss. One thought of her w'U ease my pain. That one dear face, of all I knew The most supremely fair, appears Soft floating down the vale of years. And so enchanting to my view. That, though my eyes are dimmed with tears, My soul drinks rapture fond and true. I see that smile that once I thought Gave benediction like a saint ; I view that face I loved to paint In years gone by, those tresses wrought From purest gold, that blush so faint That seemed to breathe " forget me not, " .:^-',^^^^y^/^-''^''i S; MW II i 'I 34 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Yes, yes, I see her as of yore, The same, though years have rolled between ; I met her ; she was scarce sixteen, And now — well, now she's somewhat more ; But, oh ! her mild and gentle mien Grows lovelier as the years pass o'er. It woos my soul to loftier aim To revel midst the lights and shades Of long ago — the silent glades Where many a time I carved her name Upon the beechen tree. Care fades Before the light of love's soft flame. Memory, how kind thou art To cull such precious flowers for me From out the past ! To let me see Those eyes that first sent Cupid's dart, Charged with heaven-born ecstacy , Into the stillness of my heart. 1 would not give such joy, I wis, For all the wealth the world contains ; Far more to me the mute remains Of some dear long-departed bliss. The fondest hour my soul obtains Is in such reveries as this. ■■«*i^*t;i*^if<-^-^.j,..^,-,. ■' 1^ I 36 WOODLAND RAMBLES. A FRAGMENT. I . I iM T WAS sitting at eve by the river's green side, '■• As the waters flowed on to the sea, And, like the warm zephyr that swept o'er the tide, Came the memory, fair maiden, of thee. My mind wandered back to the sweet days of yore. To those times when we met in the grove ; And once, while still watching the billows' wild roar, Thou did'st pledge me thy heart and its love. The moon rose up soft, as when, silent and lone, We plighted our spirits in tears ; And all that dear sweetness I once thought my own, Stole back from the bosom of years. 11 I felt a warm influence steal o'er my soul. And I knew not whence came it or how. But I yielded my heart to its soothing control. As even I fain would do now. I J] WOODLAND RAMBLES. 37 And I saw, like a spirit transcending in light, Thy form bending over my face, And it seem'd I could yet, in that im^ge so bright. Some germs of affection still trace. Nay, I thought that my heart was reflected in thine. Like those flowers on the bank of a stream That soitly to kiss their own image incline, Yet, alas ! it was only a dream. For when I awoke from my slumber so sweet. And my dreams of that happier day, I heard but the murmuring waves at my feet, As they hurried along on their way. But still in my memory's chalice I'll keep, Thy form ever sacred and dear; And when I depart to the valley of sleep. That vision will follow me there. I. y^Yl'j' f.*^:f^'^'^.-f^'*ya-'' t 38 WOODLAND RAMBLES, OUR LADY OF PEACE. I SAW the Queen of Heaven rise In vision bright before my eyes, Soaring high above ; The crescent moon beneath her feet, Her outstretched arms, her face so sweet, Filled my soul with love. Around her brow a crown of stars, Brighter than Mercury e'en, or Mars, Shining from pole to pole ; And as I viewed her face the while. The benediction of her smile Lighted up my soul. I felt her presence, mighty spell That words inadequately tell, But feeling must reveal j And oh ! such joys within me moved, As when the faces we have loved Back to our memories steal. WOODLAND RAMBLES. And soft, beyond the moon's pale light, I heard the voices of the night Rising higher and higher ; Chanting an anthem near and far, " Peace to the souls that troubled are," Thus sang the angel choir. Down on the evening air 'twas borne, Softly it came as came the morn, And when I sadly rose, The voice still echoed in mine ear, " Peace ! Peace ! To the troubled cheer ! In Heaven is repose." 39 % 1 I' w f 'I 40 WOODLAND /^AMBLES. THE PEARL IN THE SAND. C TRAYING along by the shore one day, *^ I found a pearl in the sand ; And, blessing my luck, I bore it away To my home in a distant land. A circlet of gold 'round that pearl I pressed, So precious to me did it seem ; And I wear my treasure close to my breast, Where it beams with beauty supreme. The wondering crowd, as I move around. In jealousy gaze at me. And all because of that pearl I found One day as I strayed by the sea. WOODLAND GAMBLES. 41 ■i FATHER HENNEPIN AT THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. TJ^AR down beyond the woodland the evening sun **• was sinking, And the joyous waves kept blinking as if dazzled by his light Till at last, as if forever, he kissed the golden river And resigned his holy mansion to the Mistress of the Night. Whilst with wild and deep commotion, far greater than the ocean, Thundered down the roaring water to the dread abyss below ; And with weary step and slowly, like pilgrim pure though lowly, Came an old man to the river, and his hair was white as snow. The night grew fast around him, o'er the plain its garb descended. Till its mystic stillness blended with the waters flowing on, 3 ???*«S»5»»<»«S 1' ■PI • ill ■ . I! t ' 42 WOODLAND RAMBLES. And alone above the thunder of that great immortal wonder Like a star within the heavens stood God's anointed one. Down on the green sward kneeling, this aged priest uplifted His voice, as gently drifted his grey locks to the breeze, And there, as shades grew denser, like perfume from a ct nser. Arose the grand " Te Deum " among the startled trees. Above the thunder of waters he sang that ancient anthem And down along the river its echoes seemed to glide ; As if some unseen spirits, in passing by, had listened And caught the sweet strains falling, and bore them o'er the tide. And he said : '* O mighty waters ! in your course unto the ocean. Let a hymn of true devotion ever o'er your waves resound, WOODLAND RAMBLES. 43 To the great God dwelling yonder, in whose eyes ye are no wonder, But whose mighty presence ever can in your breast be found." 'Tis two hundred years and over since beside this roaring water Stood that hoary old Franciscan with cross and book in hand ; Now 'tis filled with stranj^ers, the sad and joyous- hearted. But the name of him departed seems forgotten in the land. 44 WOODLAND RAMBLES. 1 1 TO ELSINORE. T REMEMBER a spot far away, far away, "*• Where ofttimes I rambled at cl of the day, To which the kind sun did such Ulster impart. That made every warm impulse wake up in my heart. Oh ! that sweet little valley was fair to behold, Ai.d I loved its mild influence better than gold ; Its groves were so green, and its flowers were so fair. But its sweetest enchantment was when thou wert there. Hov/ this moment my heart swells when thinking of thee ! And the hours that we spent in that grove by the sea. When thy form like an angel stole soft to my side. And my soul drank in rapture too sweet to abide. It may be that our parting was meant for long years. It may be we were born for misgivings and fears, It may be that we never will meet as of yore. But my heart will be faithful to thee evermore ! WOODLAND RAMBLES. 45 AN INCIDENT. Y OUNG Colin and the maid he loved, Close by a fair Acadian town, Upon the beach together roved One evening as the sun went down. He was a blue-eyed, soulful youth, With just a touch of pensive mood. Whose lips were wont to speak the truth, E'en tho' at times it might seem rude. And she was of that dark-eyed type Of beauty that men so admire ; Her brow so sweet, her lips so ripe. Seemed all a youth could well desire. Full of the future was his mind. With glowing themes and blissful hope. While she was a trifle more inclined To take of things a nearer scope. He told her of his prospects fair. His aim in life, his future schemes. But she wore a listless, far-off air, Like one who lived a life of dreams. 'I r ' I \' i;i ;■• 46 WOODLAND RAMBLES. ** Ah, wilt thou be my own," he cried, With all the passion love could lend ; She said " I cannot be your bride. But I will always be your friend. " They parted, and the years rolled on. Though Cupid frown'd, good Dives smiled Soon Colin gathered wealth, anon, Becoming Fortune's favored child. It happened once again by chance He strolled at eve beside the shore, To gaze upon that broad expanse That he had loved in days of yore. The rolling sea, the setting sun. The arch of Heaven in azure hues, That tempted him in days long gone Unconsciously to wed the muse. Now, destiny works wondrous ways, And, strange as it may seem to be, Young Colin found his wandering gaze Drawn softly from the heaving sea. Beside him stood that maiden form That erstwhile was his soul's delight, Those same dark eyes with passion warm Glowed 'neath the sun's receding light. ^1 WOODLAND RAMBLES. '*Ah, Colin, does thy mind recall The precious hours in former years We watched the billows rise and fall, And talked of future doubts and fears. " 47 led •il " I well remember it, sweet maid ; I asked thee then to be my bride, But thy young heart was sore afraid To trust with me life's stormy tide. " " I've changed since then, " she meekly said. And sad her bosom heaved a sigh ; He calmly turned away his head And coldly answered, " So have I. " il , ; ■;! 'ii 48 WOODLAND RAMBLES. MIDNIGHT MASS IN ST. SULPICE. T HEARD the silvery tones of the chimes as they rang from the belfry ; I heard their mystical notes as they broke on the hush of the evening And solemnly told to the people the birthday of the Redeemer, As the angel in times gone by to the shepherds who watched on the mountains. Slowly, with reverent mien, the throng moved along to the college That stands at the foot of the mountain — the seat of the saintly Sulpicians ; — Stands, like the Rock of Ages, o'erlooking the city beneath it ; Stands like a beacon of light — home of religion and learning. Out from its antique windows, illumined with figures of angels, Gleamed forth a brilliant reflection that seemed like a mirror of Heaven, As o'er the silvery snow, and soft on the trees' crystal branches, I Woodland hambles. 40 -« The crimson, the green and the gold, unite in har- monious beauty. Lo ! from the heart of the chapel came a gush of heavenly music. That charmed the soul like the hymn of the angels before the Eternal ; 'Twas my angel that spoke to my heart, so turning my steps to the mountain, 1 moved with the rest of the throng, and we entered the chapel together. There at the head of the aisle stood the " crib," and around it were kneeling The "Men of the East" and the shepherds, while the ass and the ox rest beside them ; There, too, knelt the Virgin Mother, and Joseph who looked with devotion. Looked on that object of love — a young infant — the promised Redeemer, Looked as if he discerned the trials, temptations and sorrows That, ere many years would pass. He would suffer for man's salvation. Sudden, in plaintive accords, there arose from the mystic stillness The sad, the soul-thrilling strains of the solemn Kyrie Eleison, Beseeching the mercy of God for the manifold sins of His children, f i irvK,jj»a' ^jjsat ^% i ■ I 60 WOODLAND H AMBLES. THE WAVE OF DEATH. LJ AVE ye heard the voice of wailing ? Have ye heard the sound of woe That comes from the heart of our beautiful land, so sadly stricken low ? Have ye heard the cry of orphaned ones that over field and plain Seek for their parents' fond embrace — but seek for it in vain ? 'Twas terrible, indeed, to watch the sad and mourn- ful tread, And haggard looks of the widowed, as they pass among the dead ; And to note the stare of vacancy, of sadness in the eye Of the bright young bride that yesterday seemed glad as the summer sky. Oh ! had y^ viewed the piteous sight, the mangled and the dead, Bestrew the beautiful, fair fields where erstwhile lambkins fed ; Had seen the vale of the Conemaugh, as the hamlets by its side Were swept, like chaff before the wind, in the awful seething tide ; WOODLAND RAMBLES. 6i Had seen the host of human souh torn onward in its course, As headlong plunged the maddening wave, tremen- dous in its force ; Had seen the helpless mother, with the babe upon her breast, Torn and hurled aloft upon the water's foaming crest ; The rich and poor alike, floating onward with the flood, For the messenger of death takes no cognizance of blood ; Had ye seen it, had your eyes beheld those raging waters flow. Your heart scarce tlien could realize this plenitude of woe ; For if there be a time for grief in any human breast, 'Tis when the hand of death lays low the one we loved the best ; When sadly, without warning, or scarce time to shed a tear. One views torn from him all he prized — all he once held dear. And if, beneath the arching sky, true charity be found, 'Tis surely when such multitudes of stricken souls abound. And, oh ! if there be pity felt in any mortal heart. I ( ' ii 63 WOODLAND RAMBLES. I iLi W This is the most auspicious time to ward off sorrow's dart. Ah ! this indeed is the saddest hour, and who can fail to weep? What heart so cold, what soul so dead in this dark hour to sleep ? The homes that yesterday were glad, today are wrapped in gloom ; And many a being stalks about like to a living tomb. Dejected souls and desolate are seen on every side ; And ruin vast and misery are scattered far and wide. Not in the still of night came the sound upon their ears, But full in the light of the day the harvester, Death, appears ; Not when all was hushed in sleep like a coward thief he came. But flushed with his might at noonday's height came he with deadly aim. innocent as a child at play, dreaming naught of care or woe. Still and secluded and calm lay the towns in the vale below ; Least of all their thoughts that Death, with stem, unpitying face. Was bearing down upon them with accelerated pace. At length they hear a sound, as of waters bellowing near. WOODLAND H AMBLES. 63 And quick before their startled gaze, the furious waves appear ! And fast the dismal news spreads 'round about, and far and wide. But faster o'er those fated towns sweeps the relent- less tide ; And there is hurrying to and fro, no time for fond farewells, For, mark how vastly with each pace the mighty current swells ! And some are horror-struck and dumb, and watch with bated breath. As onward on its dread course comes the tidal wave of death. Mark how the raging waters foam ! See how, plung- ing down. Mighty and massive and deadly, like an avalanche o'er the town. The giddy flood rolls on, as if it gloated in its sway, And still more dreadful grows as it scours upon its way ! Madly it tears in its wild uproar, not caring whither bound. The waters rush, and seethe, and crush, with stun- ning and deadly sound. Tumultuously, nay, savagely, like a lion mad for prey. In the frenzy wild of anarchy, the ruthless waves make way. 64 WOODLAND RAMBLES. m II t) Like a maelstrom plunging headlong down the valley swift it came, Scarce a soul had time to call upon our Holy Maker's name; No time for contemplation given to soothe the part- ing breath, Or ponder on the all uncertain certainty of death ; No " De profundis " sang for them, no funeral knell was tolled. As down o'er the pitiless waters their lifeless bodies rolled. In mighty volumes poured the flood impetuous hurrying on. And town after town went sweeping down till its awful course was run. There was weeping in abundance, there were faces filled with awe, When night closed in around on the vale of Cone- maugh. The North land hears it, and the South, and far from East to West, The wail goes forth — ten thousand souls are swept to their final rest. Ah, famine, plague and pestilence have summoned many a tear. And war has stretched its thousands on a sad, un- timely bier. And fire, and shipwreck, and disease, have taken thousands more, ,Ml ^ I' WOODLAND RAMBLES. 65 But ne'er destruction dire as this has touched our hearts before ! For never, since this land of ours by human feet was trod, Were so many souls, in so short a time, brought face to face with God. Take up your dead, ye few who live in that vale once bright and fair. Ere yet a greater pestilence may poison all the air ! Dry up your tears, for ye have won a whole world's sympathy, And Heaven grant that sorrow, too, may from your bosoms flee ! And take from us in kindness what we with gladness share — The warmest love within our hearts to soothe a brother's care; And freely, too, in Heaven's name, we give ye of our store. And last of all our blessing — we cannot give ye more. M WOODLAND RAMBLES. ACUSHLA GAL MO CHREE. TT HERE'S a maiden fair and bonny '*■ With golden hair and sunny, And sweeter far than honey This maiden seems to me ; For I love her — yea, adore her, And I rate none else before her, Neither Flora, nor Aurora, Oh, acushla gal mo chree ! It was in the spring I met her, And I never can forget her. For she set my heart a-flutter Like a sunbeam on the sea ; When I stole my arm around her. And in love's embrace soft bound her, Oh, 'twas then, indeed, I found her Acushla gal mo chree. When I asked her if she loved me, With a sly glance she reproved me, But an inward feeling moved me That her heart was " fancy free " ; JVOODLAND RAMBLES, And I thought if I would win it, It was time I should begin it, Sol "set my cap" that minute For acushla gal mo chree. And I wasn't long about it Before all fears were routed. And, indeed, you needn't doubt it, For she writes me o'er the sea, That I am her greatest pleasure. And she loves me out of measure — Oh, she's my darling treasure, Acushla gal mo chree. 67 She is like the morning-glory, And her voice, like some old story. Charms the young, the brave, the' hoary, No matter where she be ; She's a flower of life's first order; She's my spirit's sweet disorder. And if fervor can reward her. She's acushla gal mo chree. 68 WOODLAND RAMBLES. <:^" THE MINSTREL'S TALE. A 1 rp^LL, boys, I'll take a sup, Just to cheer my spirit up, For I dearly like a drop Of good poteen ; It makes the heart so light. And the spirit takes a flight To a realm of pure delight And golden sheen. The night's a trifle cold, And I'm getting rather old, And so, not making bold, I'll rest awhile ; For, egad, the cheerful glow Of your faces warms mc so, I will rosin up my bow And with you smile. You'd like to hear a tale Of dear old Innisfail — A story of the Gael ? Alas ! 1 fear That when my mind runs so, With thoughts of long a;,;i>. The tear may easy How All unaware. WOODLAND RAMBLES. There's scarce a soul on earth But loves his place of birth, For what would life be worth Were love not here ? Then, surely, boys achree, You'll take a flight with me To that land beyond the sea-— Old Banva dear. 69 'Tis sweet to sing the lays Of Erin's golden days, Her beauteous scenes to praise With f^aw galore ; And pleased am I to tell Of each fairy-haunted dell — The spots I loved so well In days of yore. To Inny's laughing tide My heart doth open wide, With a touch of native pride So sweet to feel. Ah, sunlight of my eyes ! To thee affection flies ; My love I'll ne'er disguise For Gran na- Weal. "»*i«*-^»««ii«Afe. 70 WOODLAND RAMBLES. There's a place called Niall's Mound, Near Tullagbmore 'tis found, 'Tisa spot of holy ground You may have seen ; Tiu' Callan flows near by, And the azure, arching sky Looks down with kindly eye Upon the scene. i I \ 'Tis a thousand years or more Since the Danes to Erin's shore Their hated banners bore With might and pride ; 'Tis more than a thousand years Since the clang of Irish spears Filled their craven souls with fears They fain would hide. Oh, 'twas a fateful day, For there, in grard array, Impatient for the fray, The Iiish stand ; Whilst, on the selfsame plain, With )u)astrul shout and vain, Behold the ri)bber Dane, With fire and brand. WOODLAND GAMBLES. No golden sun arose To greet old Erin's foes, The frowning skies disclose Their angry scorn ; A dark and dismal gloom Greeted the Ostman's plume, As he marched to meet his doom On that dread morn. 71 The deadening thunder's peal, The clanging of the steel, The shouts of woe and weal, All fill the air; And vivid lightnings flash. As Gael and Ostman clash, In wild, impetuous crash. With sabres bare ; Whilst above all is seen The O'Niairs plume of green, A he rides the ranks between, With lusty cheer. What cares he for his life? His Irish spirit rife For war, in honor's strife Knows naught c^( ft:ar. w 72 I' WOODLAND HAMBLSS, In the midst of battle's van, Rallying sept and clan, Ne'er lived a braver man Than King O'Niall ! He of a hundred fights, The Danish < hieftain smites, Cleaves, for old F>in's rights. Through plates of steel. To earth f he Ostmen fall — Chief, and vassal, and all. *' We'll brook no foreign thrall," The Irish cry. Onward they cleave their way, (No craven soldiers they). But into the thickest fray, To win or die. And foremost of all is he, O'Niall the great and free — First knight of chivalry. Bravest of brave. Afar let his praises ring; Loud let Ihc minstrel sing ; He was indeed a king, E'en to his grave. WOODLAND RAMBLES. The battle fought and won, Out gleamed the blushing sun, As if 'twould say, " Well done ! The right prevailed." Erin fought not in vain Upon that fannous plain, What time the boastful Dane Her shores assailed. 73 The vanquished hosts had fled ; The streams with blood ran red. Unnumbered lay the dead Upon the field ; Whilst proudly one might view O'Niall the brave and true, Who never a foeman knew To whom to yield. The chiefs of Erin ride Exultant in their pride, But Callan's swollen tide Bears not a smile; Its savage waters course With wild, impetuous force. Ne'er flowed torrent worse In Banva's isle. 74 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Up spoke a chieftain bold : ** Shall streamlet make us hold, Who Danish arms controlled In battle's tide?" And, acting to the word. His noble steed he spurred. And plunged into the ford, The waves to ride. Iff Bravely he strove, and well. To breast the surge and swell ; Fatigued, at length he fell Beneath the wave. Round went the fatal cry, *' Alas ! the chief must die ! " But the monarch made reply, "Nay, I will save." i ^ 1' ( ' ! Then, swifter than a dream, He plunges in the stream, At first the waters seem Mere drops of dew ; Amazed, his soldiers stand Like statues on the land, He grasps the chieftain's hand Like comrade true. mm WOODLAND RAMBLES. Tlie king was strong and brave, And nobly fought the wave, Striving the youth to save, Alas, in vain I For though he well withstood The fury of the flood. His armor was not wood — The waves no Dane. 75 Down in the surging tide Sank ancient Banva's pride, Nobly he lived and died, Generous and free ; A wail rang from the shore, ' Twas heard the country o'er, ** Brave Niall is no more ; Ochone a ree ! ' ' His soldiers dug a grave Hard by that fatal wave, And laid the king so brave In silence tlicre ; The bards of Ulster sing The death dirge of their king, Sadly they touch each string, As if in prayer. ':. Said I, ** Miss O'Malley Would you kindly dally A niumcnt and list lo the v()i<:e of my soul? Said she, soft aiul gcntlo, '• I'm nut si'uli mental, And so, if you please, bir, such feelings control." 7« WOODLAND RAMBLES. But love is a vessel Accustomed to wrestle With storms that arise on life's varying tide ; And somehow or other, Myself and no other Was sitting that morning sweet Nora beside. I called her my jewel, And told her how cruel 'Twould be to allow such true love to be lost ; I begged her to prove me. And naught would e'er move me, I'd love her forever whatever the cost. And Heaven beholding My heart thus unfolding Its deep-hidden secret, would surely approve, And send me a blessing. For freely confessing How deep and sincerely a mortal could love. Then, blushing, she started, (She's so noble hearted), And silent she gazed o'er the wavering grain ; But the sweet smile upon her Showed plainly I'd won her, And so my heart's pleading was not made in vain. WOODLAND RAMBLES. 79 Ah, treasure of sweetness ! Fond fancy's completeness ! Oh, soul of affection, how greatly I'm blest ! To think that kind Heaven That moment had given To breathe out the feelings pent up in my breast. For my heart, at that minute. Nay, every pulse in it, Throbbed at the sound of her beautiful voice; Methought 'twere a pleasure Far, far beyond measure, To be, and forever, her heart's dearest choice. Oh, fondest ! oh, fairest ! Sweet vision, the rarest These orbs ever viewed, when I call thee my own My bosom will render Allegiance most tender, I'll set thee in splendor upon my heart's throne. i t I j. 80 WOODLAND RAMBLES. TO THE MAYFLOWER. T^O thee, primordial flower of Spring, My heart's devotion fondly turns ; And though in humble verse I sing, My soul with loving passion burns. For who can gaze upon thy face, Sweet emblem of my native land. And fail in thy soft blush to trace The greatness of the Master Hand ? Who can thee see and not confess The One who dwells in yonder sphere, That made such charming loveliness To dwell in silent meekness here? Oh ! I have seen full many a flower, Blooming afar in warmer climes — By Ganges' waves, in Persian bower. But fairer thou a thousand times ! I would not give thy maiden blush For all the charms of Earth I've seen ; Fur sun;^ of sky-lark, <:hant of thrush, I would not cede thcc, woodland queen. WOODLAND RAMBLES, The nightingale may court his rose ; And France may boast \\^t fleur-de-lis ; But they can never e'en disclose One-half the charms that ornate thee. Nay, let the golden orange glow On a sunlit, southern strand. For I a dearer treasure know In the fair Acadian land. ^1 It is that modest-blooming flower — Tribute of the waking Spring, That, far removed from garden bower, In local fame is blossoming. ^vmmnti IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) k 4 ^6r Zi ^ IX) LL 1.25 1^128 |2.5 1.8 U 11.6 PhotDgrapbic _,Sciences Corporation V ^ L1>^ \ ;\ rv -•', <« ^i*\ ^^^. o^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716) 873-4503 '^"*> «>^ /■ -i' Who can blame me if I love her ? Is her beauty not a part Of that Heaven that bends above her, Object of a Christian's heart ? Go then, bird, and tell that maiden, Dwelling far o'er vale and hill. That, though sad and heavy laden Be my heart, I love her still. And were my feet as swift as thinking, Over mount and vale I'd rove, 'Till my heart rejoiced at gazing On the face of her I love. I'i 1 11 WOODLAND RAMBLES, lOI EPITAPH. "JpHERE lies at rest In this lonely spot, Where blooms the blest Forget-me-not, A mortal flower, That passed away In childhood's hour To this cold clay. But far from this, In Beulah's land. The angels kiss A saintly hand, Unseen to-night By mortal eyes, But still more bright Within the skies. Though she may rest In muteness here. Her soul is blessed In a higher sphere. msA BBBUI 102 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Let zephyrs sigh O'er her dreamless sleep, While stars on high Pale vigils keep. ,J:^ TO ZEA. 'T^IS pleasant, after years of toil. Midst strangers dwelling far away, To roam back to one's native soil, And muse where once we loved to play. But pleasanter, when lingering there. To meet some friend we used to know. Whose eyes, unchanged by time, still wear The kindly smile of long ago. Ah, Zea, thus I felt my heart Grow sweetly warm on seeing thee ; And my desire is, when we part. To bear that feeling off with me. WOODLAND RAMBLES, 103 NIGHT-FALL. CILENT the air around, Evening shades fall Slow and without a sound, Soft over all. Now fades each golden beam Of jocund day, Like a sweet morning dream Stealing away. 'Tis at this hour, when night Glides o'er the skies, Mem'ry recalls the light Of thy fond eyes. Gone, oh so long ago I Yea, and so far ! Beyond the last fading glow Of planet or star. Leaving my breast a waste. Dreary and dark. Save for the joy I taste In memory's spark. 104 WOODLAND GAMBLES. Yet like the stars that beam Bright o'er the sea, Thine eyes will ever gleam In Heaven for me. J fit I TO ZAIDEE. "X^HEN I no more am near, When I have said adieu. Remember, maiden fair ! That I am always true. Thus, when sea and land Shall coldly us two part. If you have not my hand, You have, at least, my heart. WOODLAND RAMBLES, los HORAS NON NUMERO NISI SERENAS. MOTTO OF A SUN-DIAL. « J NOTE no hours but those that fly Beneath the radiant sunlit sky ; " Thus spake the sun-dial, thus speak I.' Unnumbered be the hours of gloom ! Deep let them rest in Oblivion's tomb, As if they ne'er had left Time's womb. God is light, and before His throne There is heard nor tear, nor moan ; Purity dwells in light alone. Truth and innocence — all things bright — Live in the smile of a holy light; Demons dwell in eternal night. Let one's life be continuous day ; Seek but the pure unsullied ray ; Darkness tends to death alway. The purest air rests not below, But seeks the sun's perennial glow ; Heaven is light in perpetual flow. ' io6 WOODLAND H AMBLES. I fl 'I From the soul of man made pure and bright, To the Seraphs in radiant beams bedite, To God, the infinite essence of light. Faith, like a star, shines bright above, Under the light of the Holy Dove; Faith in the heart is the torch of love. Hope for aye in thy bosom keep, *Tis an anchor on Life's uncertain deep; Let shadows of doubt forever sleep. Charity dost know its worth? Greater than all the things of Earth, Heaven alone can give it birth. Would'st thou peace, let thy lifetime be Bright through Faith, Hope and Charity ! Only weeds grow in a darksome sea. The one great law of the Old and New — Seek only the bright, the pure, the true ! That is best for the soul to do. WOODLAND RAMBLES. 107 TO THE EVENING STAR. T^HOU, O bright, mysterious star, Wandering soft in Heaven ! Tenant of the fields afar, Where the saints and angels are, Sweet lone Star of Even ! When to-night thou roamest near Where my love lies sleeping, Gaze for me with tenderest care. And with soft enchantment bear My image for her keeping. H io8 WOODLAND RAMBLES, 'f ... ■C ■■IS; A THOUGHT. 'W'OU have seen the river flow, ^ And marked the golden glow Of sunset on its waves ; And mayhap watched at night, Beneath the pale moon's light, The dew that covers graves. Yet, though these both may be Familiar sights to see. Beneath them still there lies. Hidden far from view, A lesson, friend, which you Might deem it well to prize. It is that though the wave A tranquil smile may have, There rolls on underneath, Down in its unsunned breast The murmur and unrest That speak the frown of death. And may it not be true That yonder silent dew. That falls upon the sod, Is the tears by angels shed Upon the silent dead. For sins against their God ? WOODLAND RAMBLES. 109 TO DAPHNE. ^^UT of the bower of thy heart, dear, Pluck me a flower of thy love, And I will deem it a part, dear. Of that Heaven that smiles above. For love is born of the skies, dear, And, though you may think it odd, The more we distribute the prize, dear. The nearer we come to God. For love is unlike Earth's dross, dear, The more it is scattered 'round. The less do we feel its loss, dear. And the more in the heart is found. Then give me out of thy breast, dear. Only love's tiniest flowei. And I will think I am blest, dear. For the rest of life's autumn hour. no WOODLAND RAMBLES. TO AIMfeE. "I XTHEN the first buds of springtime, ' ^ All fresh with the dew, In the calm, silent forest Break softly to view ; Or, when sadly in Autumn The leaflets decay. Bespeaks in mute language How Time steals away ; Oh ! wilt thou remember That friend of thy youth, Who pledged, 'neath those branches. His soul's sweetest truth ? Wilt think of him, dearest. When no mortal is nigh, And give for the absent Thy heart's deepest sigh ? ■■a WOODLAND RAMBLES, III IN MEMORIAM ELEANOR CLARE LANIGAN. r^ ENTLY tread and slow, ^^ Softly speak and low, Draw in silence 'round her ; She was young and fair, Bright, with golden hair. Ere Death's chain had bound her. She was good and true ; One of the saintly few Whose love we cannot measure. Whose lips with every kiss Scattered a heaven of bliss, Whose every smile was a treasure. Those who knew her well — Only they can tell Her soul-inspiring sweetness, The brightness of those eyes That now beyond the skies Are gazing at God's greatness. 35^ 112 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Sleep, child, in silence there ! Perhaps in another sphere Thy soft arms shall caress us ; And in the halls above, Those lips, so full of love. Shall pray to God to bless us, THE FADED FLOWER. A SOUVENIR. nPHOU seemest as sweet as a dream, love. That an angel once told me in sleep ; And dearer to me than thou* It deem, love. Is this flower that thou gavest me to keep. I will treasure it near to my heart, love, Though it may be withered and dead. Oh ! never from me to depart, love, 'Till the green sod shall cover my head. WOODLAND RAMBLES. "3 ALEA EST JACTA. r^ O, maiden, wed some stranger, ^"^ And think no more of me, God shield thee from all danger, And make thee happy be ; And heed not if I sorrow, I would not have thee grieve, For I can always borrow A smile while e'er I live. As on thy cheek reposes A blush, whilst I seem worn. So may'st thou wear life's roses. And I will bear the thorn ; And no sigh shall betoken How dear the past to me, Nev^r a word be spoken Of how I cared for thee. In other climes and places I know full many a heart Where I have left fond traces That will not soon depart ; And there with these hereafter I'll spend this life of mine, Midst merry songs and laughter. And flowing cups of wine. iSBHi 114 WOODLAND RAMBLES. AN ACROSTIC. m ii>i i'V WILLETTA E. MERRIAM. "I yl 7 E met ; the evening sunset cast ^ Its golden splendor o'er the west, Like dying heroes, who have passed Lives in bliss, then sink to rest ; Each hill was wrapt in glory then ; The vales in silent gloaming lay ; Thus youth may light the brows of men, And still their hearts be growing gray. Even the rose must have its thorn, 'Mid all its wild luxuriance cast; Even the babe, though newly born, Receives the sin of centuries past. Remember then, O maiden fair ! In sunshine there are shadows too, And when thy heart receives its share, May Heaven grant them short and few ! WOODLAND RAMBLES. "S TO EMELIA. ■-* /^H, my beautiful Milly, ^^ Fair art thou as a lily, Seldom such beauteous grace Beams in a mortal's face, For Italy's bright blue skies Gleam in those liquid eyes, And thy ruby lips disclose All the sweetness of the rose, Whilst those teeth of thine, fair girl, Have the lustre of the pearl. But thy heart is cold as steel, And glooms like the old Bastile. TO A FRIEND. C HOULD misfortune e'er befall thee, *^ Should the tide of human cares Sweep across thy threshold, leaving Naught but mingled doubts and fears ; Turn to me in that sad moment. And thou' It find me just as true When the skies of life gloom darkest As when in their fairest hue. Ii6 WOODLAND RAMBLES. HUNTER'S SONG. T *M a hunter gay, And my life alway Is to roam through the forest free, And let dull care Be buried, where Its frown I shall never see. As o'er each crag I hunt the stag. My spirit is light and gay ; For I love the wild — The undefiled. Grim cliffs where the chamois stray. When night is come I seek the home Where my wife and children dwell, And they gather near With anxious ear To hear what I have to tell. WOODLAND RAMBLES. For, my life is free As the wind at sea, And with trusty gun by my side, I feel as gay As a child at play, And as joyful as a bride ! 117 I fill my cup, And take my sup, While my good wife lays the spread ; And I'm happy here As prince or peer. And feel nor fear nor dread. I'm a hunter bold. Nor heat nor cold Have terrors the least for me ; Let the rich of Earth Go boast their worth. My heart, my heart is free ! ii8 WOODLAND GAMBLES. EVENING THOUGHTS. T^HE dying sunset spreads a gloom O'er valley, lake and hill, And flowers that with the daylight bloom, At eve are closed and still ; 'Twas thus in fame's star-circled hour Around me friends were thrown. But now that skies of darkness lower, Ah, me, my friends have flown ! How sweet the hopes of youth to me ! How dear the days gone by ! I dream 'd not then my life would be An echo and a sigh ; But, ah, so late, it comes too late — The smile I sought of yore, 'Tis but a rose by winds of fate Cast on life's desert shore. i' • CI. TRANSLATIONS WOODLAND GAMBLES. 121 LINES. [From the Latin of Boethius.] f~\ THOU, who guidest each great and mighty ^^ sphere ; To whom the ur>erse and man adhere ; Who with one single word made all things be — Earth, ocean, caves, wind, wood and stormy sea ! On gloomy man, O ! Heavenly Father, deign To shed Thy ray, and clear his cloudy brain ; To tranquilize the pious heart 'h's thine, And cause it with effulgence pure to shine. To Thee we fly, O God 1 thou art our source. Beginning, end, life, succor, hope and course. EMPEROR ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL. [From Catullus.] r^ ENTLE little wandering thing, ^-^ Long this body's friend and guest. Whither wilt thou now take wing — Pale and cold, and all undressed ? Ah, never more, as was thy wont, Shalt thou bestow the jest ! 123 WOODLAND RAMBLES, % ODE X, BOOK IV. [From Horace] A H, cruel, yet how fair ! When frigid time and care Shall thin the golden hair Which now so gently flows About thy cheek, that glow i Far deeper than the rose. In that sad after year Thou'lt in the mirror peer And ask why bloom's not there, As in the years gone by. When lovers fond did sigh — But age will tell no why. 1 :i| » ; 1 oi S 1 '' ' 1 ;;| 1 ' w lil WOODLAND RAMBLES. "3 ZARA THE BATHER. [From the French of Victor Hugo.] ^ARA, gentle roguish elf, Swings herself In a hammock to and fro, Beside a crystal fountain pool. Calm and cool, Where Elysian waters glow. And the frail, uncertain swing. Curious thing. Is mirrored in the glassy sheet With its gentb tenant fair, Who leans m air To view her precious form so ne?t. Now, Zara's mind, on pleasure bent, Is well content To revel in her welcome play ; Gently swaying to and fro, Singing low. In blissful dreams the live-long day. kI mema 124 WOODLAND RAMBLES. " Oh ! would I were a captain's bride, Or sultan's pride, I'd bathe in amber baths I ween ; And marble basins I would own. Besides a throne, Placed two golden griffons between." u ■ I I 'H' 1. 1 ill ■4, ' " A silken hammock would be mine, All soft and fine, Beneath my weary form to move ; And I would have a cushion bed. The which would shed Odors breathing sweet of love." Thus, building castles in the air Bright and clear, Swinging, dreaming wondrous things. Rests the fair, young, laughing maid In the shade, Heedless that the day has wings. m WOODLAND RAMBLES. '25 THE LEAF. [From the French.] ** nPHOU, torn from yonder spray, •*■ Poor, withered leaflet, say, Whither dost thou go ? " " Alas ! I do not know ! The storm has done to death. With its unkindly breath, The oak — my only stay. And now, alas ! I find I'm driven by every wind. From forest o'er the plain. From mountain into glen ; Whither the wind may blow, Thither must I, too, go, Fearlessly, Tearlessly, Nor may I with fate quarrel ; I go where goes The leaf of the rose. Where goes the leaf of the laurel." 126 WOODLAND RAMBLES. TO A YOUNG GIRL. [From the French of Saint-Pavin.] T KNOW that thou art young and fair, And I, alas ! am old and gray, But ii; r* ' ^eart is budding, dear, A lov» fresh as yesterday; And you may know 'tis young as yet, For it was born when first we met. TO MY BED. [From the French of Benserade.] T^HEATRE thou of smiles and sighs, O Bed ! where one is born and dies ; Thou showest us how short the measure 'Twixt human grief and human pleasure. n WOODLAND RAMBLES. 127 THE FLOWER. [From the French of Millcvoye.] pOOR flower, alone and dying, Once the valley's pride, Now all so coldly lying, By breezes blown aside ! So we, a like fate waiting, Bow to the self-same laws — A leaflet quits thy bosom, A joy from us withdraws. And man, all fancy fleeing. Thoughtfully asks each hour : Which is the more ephemeral. Life or yonder flower ? 128 WOODLAND RAMBLES. h LINES. [From the French of Racine.] \ A 7^ HAT aid can God from fickle man derive? ^ Combined, in vain the kings of Earth all strive To tear away His bright, imperial throne — One glanc/:"; and ail their schemes are overthrown. He breathes a single word, and straightway must His foes dissolve into their native dust ; The Heavens await in awe His dread command, And oceans tremble to their very sand. The countless spheres, that roll in wastes of blue. Dwindle to naught before His searching view; And mortals, mighty as they seem on Earth, Are in His eye as though they ne'er had birth. WOODLAND RAMBLES. 129 ive? irth all own. lust >lue, REMEMBRANCE. [From the French of Bertault.] J N dreams they come to me — Past pleasures, one by one, That ne'er can come again. Oh, joys that give such pain ! Would that, in losing ye, My memory, too, had gone ! Alas ! there but remains. Of all I once held dear. That one sad souvenir That turns all thoughts to pains. 130 WOODLAND RAMBLES. O CHARMING STREAM. II [From the French.] /^ CHARMING stream, whose limpid water ^-^ So swiftly glides adown yon dale, How much I love the mellow murmur That breathes beneath thine azure veil ! Upon thy banks the willow stripling Inclines to kiss thy glassy face, And shade thy little wavelets rippling In winding course and ceaseless race. 'Twas here that oft, for pleasure roaming, Came we fond children to thy side, To cull the flowers that, brightly blooming. Wafted their odors o'er thy tide. How often, too, in merry childhood. Gazed I upon thy tranquil breast, Or strayed beside thee in the wild wood, To catch the spring bird in its nest ; In cruel sport I seized the birdling That warbled in thy verdant glade, WOODLAND RAMBLES. Blending its music with the gurgh'ng Of thy sweet waters, as they played, Till, tired at last, again returning, I sat me thy green banks upon. And bathed my temples, warmly burning. With thy cool waters flowing on. 131 water Vainly I seek amid the mountains Friends that I loved in days gone by; Tell me, ye mellow groves and fountains. Where are they gone for whom I sigh ? Doubtless, like me, they too have tarried Long on ambition's fretful wave. Or mayhap, by misfortune worried, Ere this have found some peaceful grave. Oh, charming stream, flow on as ever — Blest in the murmur of thy tide ! By mortal pride allured — ah never, Where God has placed thee ^ there abide. 132 WOODLAND RAMBLES. EPIGRAM. [From the French of Pierre Patrice.] T DREAMT last night that I was sick and died, ■*' And with a begpjar buried side by side, But pride within me would not brook the place. And thus I spoke, as one of nobler race : ** Rascal, begone ! go rot thee far from here. Approach not thou, who dost no title bear ! " "Rascal?" responded he in raging tone, " Rascal thyself ! go rot among thine own ! Here all are equal ; as I owe thee nought, Each is the lord of all that he has got." n WOODLAND RAMBLES. »33 MORNING HYMN. [From the French of I.amartine.] T^HE birdlings chirp, the lambkins bleat, The children lisp to the shepherd gay, The voice of man, in music sweet. Combines with the winds and waves at play. The air vibrates, the corn is stirred, The insect hums his song to the sun, The pious hunter's song is heard. Its tuneful echoes like a bird Trilling clear and far away, In tones of gracious j)raise to One Who gives the first sweet breath of day. All view, rejoice, all stir amain. The Aurora gleams in the cloud above, 'Tis Earth saluting, with joyous strain. The rising star of life and love. iS9fe n »» » aB» 142 WOODLAND RAMBLES. THE FISHER MAIDEN. [From the German of Heine.] "T^RAW thy boat ashore, fair maiden, ^^ Then come and sit by me, And I will talk of many things, dear, Yet unknown to thee. Rest thy head upon my bosom, Thou need'st have no fear ; Dost thou not o'er wild sea venture Boldly year by year ? Like a sea, then, is my bosom. It hath its calms and storms, While deep within its mystic waters Lie concealed its charms. WOODLAND /GAMBLES. 143 MIGNON. [From the German of Goethe.] T/^NOWEST thou that land where the citron blooms so fair? Amid the d'lsky leaves the gold-orange scents the air, A mild and soothing breeze floats from out the azure sky, The myrtle sweetly blooms, and the laurel towers on high, Dost thou know it well ? Oh, there, oh, gladly there Would I could fly with thee, my own beloved fair ! Knowest thou that house built on pillars broad and bold? The hall gleams bright below, and the chambers shine in gold, And statues tall and pale rear their forms and gaze at me ; Tell me, thou hapless child, what have they done to thee? Dost thou know it well ? Then there, oh, gladly there Would I could fly with thee, my sweet protector dear ! MM 144 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Knowest thou the path o'er the lofty mountain height ? There the mule his way plods o'er snowy wastes at night ; There, in caverns, dwelt of old the dragons' noble brood ; There, over crag and beatling cliff, thunders the giddy flood; Dost thou know it well ? Oh, there, oh, fondly there Lies our long journey ; oh. Father, hasten there 1 WOODLAND RAMBLES. 145 THE DEATH LOCK. [From the German.] "P RE close the dark grave o'er thee, "*-^ Oh, maid beloved and fair ! One boon, I do implore thee — Grant me this lock of hair. From locks that erst did cluster In fondness on that brow, Gone is its whilom lustre, Yet thine, how brighter now ! That which was fair will perish. And 'neath the tombstone lie. But this lock of hair will cherish A grace that will not die. And feeble as thou seemest, O tress ! all soft and fine, Thou with love's burden teemest, So precious — so divine ! 146 WOODLAND RAMBLES. Then share thy fond caresses, Thou ever precious thing, Come, brightest of all tresses, I'll wear thee round my ring. And when that jewel turning. The maid whom I adore, With love's soft passion burning, Will smile on me once more. ■HHHH-S't" WOODLAND RAMBLES. 147 UNDER THE GREENWOOD. [jFrom the Irish.] tjrOW well for the birdlings 'J'hat fly through the air, And that nestle together, Devoid of all care ! Not mine is such pleasure, With the maid of my heart, For when morning is breaking. We are far, far apart. She is fairer than the lily ; She is finer than flowers ; She is sweeter than music In ivy-clad bowers : But better by far is Her soft, gentle way, So may God, in His kindness, My sadness allay ! *''*******<«»«aW««»«!o«<»>>«»»<»ft»««»*^^ 148 WOODLAND RAMBLES. FOR ERIN I CAN'T TELL HER NAME. [From the Irish.] I i I T AST night as I walked all alone, "*"^ Quite late near the bounds of Glisheen, There approached me a maid In such beauty arrayed That I felt 'twas some vision I'd seen ; So comely and graceful her form, That I stepped forth her favor to claim, But she seemed, oh ! so mild, I looked on her and smiled. And for Erin I can't tell her name. And as I looked back on the road. My heart fluttered wildly to see This maiden so fair ; You might search everywhere, But you'd find none as handsome as she. Her hair was the color of gold. And 'twas fixed with a comb of the same, And her cheeks were as red As the rose in its bed. Yet for Erin I can't tell her name. WOODLAND RAMBLES. And now, wheresoever I roam, Her image doth follow me there, And strange though it seem, Each night do I dream Of her beautiful golden hair. Not a mortal I know but were blest. If this moment her love he could claim. He would gladly forsake All friends for her sake, Yet for Erin I can't tell her name. Oh ! maiden so beauteous and fair. If only thou'dst deign to be mine, Thee I'd freely attend, Nay, my lifetime I'd spend To blot out all the troubles of thine. I would kiss thee and tell thee sweet tales. And thy fame I would proudly proclaim. Yes, I'd place a bouquet In thy bosom each day. Yet for Erin I can't tell thy name. M9 '^^■''^"^'-^'--CM\- u-!fn ti mn* 150 WOODLAND /GAMBLES. -i 5, STAR OF MY PATH. A' [From the Irish.] H ! would I were The apple there, Or e'en the daisy yonder, That cpes its eyes In glad surprise. At thy sweet charms to wonder ! Nay, maid divine, I would not pine To quit the flowers beside me, And bask awhile Beneath thy smile. Or in thy breast to hide me. WOODLAND RAMBLES. «5« ANACREONTIC. [From the Irish.] T 'D be the fruit on yonder vine, -*• That bends its luscious purple tips To tempt that liquid eye of thine, And melt upon thy rosy lips. Or, I would be some favored rose, By thee beloved, by thee caressed, That I might on thy breast repose An hour, and die — but oh, how blest ! Hi wmmmm. 152 WOODLAND RAMBLES, LINES. [From the Spanish of Boscan.] T_J OW sweet, when after a stormy day, "■• "*■ The evening calm steals gently o'er ! And sweet, when from the night's dark shore, The bright sun drives all shades away ! So too, indeed, 'tis sweet to me When Hope leads kindly unto thee. TO A MIRROR. [From the Spanish of Boscan.] OINCE all in vain my songs appear; *^ Since music fails to move her, O ! mirror, show that favored fair Why still my heart must love her. Send back the beam that from her eye Sheds forth such sweetness tender, That, like Narcissus, she may die Enamored of her splendor. WOODLAND RAMBLES. ^n VENVOI. T HA VE gathered my Jioivers, ■^ I have twine li my wreath y And to one who best loves me The gift I bequeath. She may treasure them dearly, Or cast them a7uay, They are all I can leave her — My love and my lay.