m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 7 A ^/ /€*^ y ^ ^ (A 1.0 I.I 1.25 m. 1125 845 I^IM IIIII2.2 m 110 2.0 U III 1.6 /l" o ■7] m ^l. ■^ ^ ^'''>. % .>' w /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 m i CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 1980 Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographicatly unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. 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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 dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour §tre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est film6 i partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 AND OTHER VERSE By ROBERT MANNERS CHICAGO WAY AND WILLIAMS 1898 7 O ■? o n "i^!l''-0,' i»*»*^ «.■ .•.i;.«-V: Copyrighted, 1898, by Robert Rutland Mannhs. •■--i^iZ-.'^dy-^-^ i J CONTENTS. CUBA: An Incident of the Insurrection . MAY: A Pastoral .... THE OLD SEXTON'S CHRISTMAS DREAM CHATTERTON : A Monody ON THE INDIAN OCEAN QUAND M±UE . . , . SONNETS. A Night in June .... Inri ..... Music ...... To-morrow . . '. . Solitude c . . . . Meditation .... Venice ...... STANZAS. Love and Dignity The Gladiator .... His Reply (to "Her Letter") The Early Worm, of Unhappy Memory . Night ..... Unknown Soldier : Arlington, Va. On the Sands .... To A Canary ..... 7 45 52 6o 65 71 79 8o 8i 82 83 84 85 89 93 95 100 103 106 108 no IV. CONTENTS. STANZAS.— Continued. MONA . . ... ZZ2 A Thought . . . . 114 Music and Memory .... 116 A Remembrance . . . 117 The Dakota: A Fragment . . 118 Undbrley ..... 123 LovB IN Absence: Spanish Proverb . . 125 The Dying T lower . . . . 126 A Toast: In the Grape's Golden Glow 127 Lines IN an Album: I., II., III., IV., V., . 129 SONGS. Jack \r the Oar : A Barcarole . 133 A Sky of Purest Sapphire . . 135 I Love to Look into Thine Eyes . . 137 Love Hath My Heart a Garden Made 138 There's Bomb one with the Brightest Eyes 139 ESSAY. Music and Its Procbssbs . , • 143 \ ,1 i4^. Here pause my gothic lyre a little time- Tke leisure hour is all that thou canst claim. —Beuttit. r. CUBA. CUBA. I. The Indies' seas — resplendent, sapphire-bright; The coral lands where Nature ever smiles, Where summer reigns, throned on a thousand isles, Crowned as befits the queen of life and light. The tropic sun— a fire which knows no wane, Uplifting life in opulence sublime, In endless wealth; the eminent domain Of life spontaneous from creation's prime! Clad in rich tints or robed in fiery hues Its myriad forms in plant, in fruit, and flower; Munificence supreme; supremest power Revealed in never-wearying love profuse. The sum unspeakable, and soul and sense Gaze wonder-bound before Omnipotence! As neighboring trees all blossom-laden rest 'Mid the rose-haze of summer's sultry day. So lie those ijles upon the sun-flushed breast Of southern seas where spicy breezes play. 8 CUBA. Balmful those winds with fragrant sweets imbued, Culled from unnumbered fruits and floral blooms, Profusely rich, which scatter their perfumes Upon the air — o'erfilled to lassitude. Unceasingly amid the island shades Pours the glad music of the pluraaged throng, Most joyous heard 'mid the secluded glades Of the wild-wood, where they betimes prolong Into the silence of the night their song. Entrancing scenes of artless luxury! Where bounteous nature has profusely shed Her rarest gifts, nor deem on earth can be Scenes where her beauties are more richly spread. Yet, 'mid those scenes, in sullen grandeur rise Mountainous steeps, wild-cragged, their forms sear- browned, Which boldly reach majestic toward the skies, Their towering crests with dark-plumed pines en- crowned! Upon their heights the island mountaineer, — In view the waters of th' encircling sea, — Makes his abode; his joy their crags to dare; Nor deems he else an equal luxury, Though 'neath his feet unfading shades abound, And fruits delicious freight the hidden ground. \ n hk tSiimitmiSMBm l i l l HHIi lWl l lit mi-IKllli Il>—'l CUBA. Such beauty theirs — those isles of Indus' sea; Such riches theirs as tempt cupidity 1 II. The morn across Antilles seas Broke softly with a cradling breeze, Which o'er the slumbering waters crept Till lost in island groves it slept, Or wandered mei^rily along Amid its shades, which, at its song Waking, their * leafy banners' hung Out as it passed, while sweetly sung The plumaged choir in bright array, Their anthem to returning day. To these and opening woodland flowers, To lakelets bright, in verdant bowers Embosomed, the glad zephyrs spoke Their greetings, and all nature woke To joy; the sylvan wavelets kissing From sleep; with smiles them dimpling o'er. Or from their cradled rest enticing, To leave them sighing on the shore! III. The sun, now risen, through the verdured trees. Tuned by the breeze to rustic symphonies, Shed o'er a woodland lake, — whose waters lie 10 CUBA. Among the hills that overlook the sea, Carribean named, where round the southern coast Of Cuba's isle it circles, eastward lost, — Its softest rays, yet brightest till its breast Sparkled with brilliants, like some beauty dressed In jeweled splendor, as it rose and fell In warm pulsation, softly audible. Upon its wooded slopes, here long alone. Save for his child, — scarce to his household known. In solitude had dwelt and slept — now dead — The Count Zambrana. Many years had fled Since first he sought the shades which now waved o*er His marble crypt upon the farther shore. Whence he had come none knew, none e'er had known; Why thus he lived, avoiding e'en his own. And none remembered since the earliest day He sought those hills one from them spent away, Though at each eve this man of mystery Had loved to wander by the neighboring sea; And only there was he e'er known to show Aught of emotion; then from some deep woe It seemed to rise, which in his heart lay sealed. Some wearing secret, jealously concealed. Stern was his glance, withal yet kind his eye Where pride enthroned maintained a mastery O'er those emotions which his heart down-weighed, Nor rose unguarded, save when sleep betrayed. In life, his thought ne'er wearying did employ CUBA. II Itself in studying but his daughter's joy; And wealth possessed, left her naught to desire, Save to reclaim from that dark shade her sire, — Was it remorse or sorrow which thus moved The heart her own so truly, fondly loved. But Death — that presence which man's heart subdues, Refusing oft that which alone it sues In life's last hour: a moment's strength to bear Up from its tomb the sins Pride buries there — Had sought Zambrana, and its swift decree Forever sealed his life's strange mystery. Now years had fled; to womanhood had grown The child, yet had she not been left alone. For a not less than mother's love was hers In one her guardian from her earliest years. IV. Upon the woodland lake, smooth gliding o'er Its waves, a gondola approached the shore, Beneath the oar of swarthy Islander Borne gently onward. Long his raven hair Fell from beneath a ribboned sombrero About his neck uncovered, and below. Across his half- bared breast of olive hue, Floated before the breeze. His eyes — but who Would paint a Criollo and shade his eyes Less dark than are his southern starlit skies! A lovely figure in the boat reclined: 12 CUBA. Zambrana's daughter; her fair form, confined In whitest folds of softest texture, lay The paragon of grace and symmetry, Beneath a silk o'ershading, on a spread Of Persian tapestry. Rested her head On her warm hand, round which her wealth of hair, In dark profusion fell; and naively there A crimson blossom clung, and seemed to seek To shade the damask softness of her cheek. Her eyes were dark — 'twould be a mockery To try to paint them by a simile. As xhey beneath their silken fringe, half closed, In lustrous languor, dreamingly reposed. A terraced stair, with marble balustrade, Rose from the lake, and thence an avenue, *Neath palms o'er-arching, stretched up the hill-side Tc where, crowning its summit, the chateau In simple beauty stood. Around the shade Of tamarind, ceiba and the mango swayed In wandering winds, laden with sweets distilled From neighboring fruity groves, while clustering there Bloomed floral hues unnumbered, and the air. Amid the foliage musical, was filled With songs of birds. Entrancing scenes stretched round on every hand. Far as the sight the vista could command CUBA. n In azure framed — the vast circumference With beauty stored; a glow of life intense: Here orange groves displayed their wondrous yield In golden clusters o'er the verdured field; There softly white the coffee beauty spread Her flake-like blossoms fringed with gentlest shade Of stately palms, which 'mid the slumbrous air Reposeful stood — majestic everywhere. Beyond, empurpled, 'gainst the luminous sky A mountain range in sombre majesty Stretching far eastward with the boundless sea, — August joint-tenants of immensity. Near the chateau, 'neath an embowering shade, — A net of verdure with bright blossoms spread, — Where over-arching vines, with blooms o'er-run. Tempered the brightness of a tropic sun. Reclined the figure of a youth, though grown To manhood's stature. Through the screen o'er- thrown. Of foliage intertwined, the sunlight crept. Lighting his brow, as motionless he slept, O'er which his hair, in indolent unrest. Moved in dark clusters, by the breeze caressed. A flush was warmly glowing on his cheek As soft as are the mellow tints that streak The summer sky, when, as night's curtains close. On twilight's breast, day sinks into repose. H CUBA. Yet there was stamped upon his placid face Courage and pride, all tempered with a grace Of true nobility, that influence Which moulds the face in gentler lineaments. Plain were his features, yet enthroned there, With stateliness, appeared that nameless air Of conscious force, — the reflex of a mind Which still attracts and which commands mankind; The superscription of that power that sways The world, the minc^, — sovereign of sovereignties! With its great premier, governing reason, throned, Controlling worlds, yet by no power bound. Its consort thought; the eye its minister; The universe its realm; the arbiter In man of men, who, envious, then behold Themselves resistless by its power controlled. As in submission, 'neath its master spell. They render homage, though their wills rebel! V. y From midnight till the star of morn Paled 'neath the saffron veil of dawn, Young Pasco, o'er the star-lit wave. By many a cape and island cave, Full many a league along the shore Guided his boat with steady oar, From where, within a cliff-bound bay, CUBA. 15 A band of Cuban patriots lay Close 'neath a friendly mountain wall Which stretched around, impassable. There in the fastness of the mountain height, Dreading naught else save the betraying night, His patriot comrades waited for the day When once again their hands should rend away Another thong that bound their bleeding land. Wrenched from her heart-strings by a tyrant's hand. Thou stricken isle! how long shall Slaughter flood Thy vales of beauty with the patriots' blood; How long still, struggling, must thou bleed, nor find One hand of mercy thy red wounds to bind ? Weakest yet braver than the strongest all. Must freedom's fairest child unheeded call, And to the accents of her anguished cry. Hear no response, though many strong be nigh. Thou guardian Genius of the patriot brave! Hear thou thy sons — still thine the power to save — Who to thee turn, scourged in their native land For freedom's cause by an aggressor's hand. Hear thou thy sons who nobly there defy Thy bitterest foe, freedom's arch-enemy; That chief of despots, whose long history reads A record dark of persecution's deeds. i i6 CUBA. ! Who now oppressing that unhappy clime Would there proscribe e'en liberty a crime — That gift divine, hereditary right, From mankind stolen in oppression's night! Withhold no longer thine avenging sword; Nay, they are free, if thou but speak'st the word. That word unsaid, lo, each returning day Beholds them crushed anew by tyranny! Stay in their course the crimson reeking blade And kindling brand, by fell destruction swayed. Which o'er that land, where all's so wondrous fair Spread blackened desolation and despair. See, 'mid the verdure of his native glade, Attacked by panther, from its ambush strayed, The noble stag, just struggling to his feet, Defiantly fronts his pursuer's hate. Now on his foe impetuously he flies, A desperate courage flashing from his eyes; The beast recoils, then with a fierce rebound Springs at its victim; half borne to the ground His antlers stout receive his savage foe: With cry half pain, half hate, back crouching low. Yet once again behold him full at bay. Dauntless — Till now his panting breaths betray His sinking frame, which scarce may long sustain, The brave, proud spirit which it bears within. CUBA. 17 See on the jaws of his fierce assailant The scarlet life, in savage cunning rent From his torn limbs, that know no soothing balm Save the soft currents of his life-blood warm; Yet not alone his flows; mark the red dye His antlers bear, drawn from his enemy! Lo, Cuba thus confronts Hispania still, With courage not her fiercest shocks can kill. Though stricken bleeding — Thou America! Strong as thou art and pledged to libertv, Thus at thy gates shall stranger master:, slave Thy sister — loveliest child that Np.lare gave! Thy freedom viewed, she in thy steps would tread. Yet stones thou giv'st her where she asks but bread. Nay, while her cries now smite thy sluggard ear, Cries thou know'st well, for once thine own they were. While in her flesh, all quivering, deeper gnaw Beneath thine eyes, the chains her enslavers draw. Wilt thou, O mother! — canst thou close thy heart? Must thus the prestige of thy name depart ? A Nemesis arise, clothed in thy might, With justice armed, thy countenance alight With righteous vengeance, so shall tyranny Before thy face in terror shrink away, As to its lair the preying beast of night, When o'er the mountain beams the morning light! iwfc^ the Fairy-Queen robed in lily white, And crowned with a circlet of diamond light. VIII. On every side 'neath her gracious smile Her people the festive hours beguile In merry round, while on busy wing Some richest fruits to the banquet bring. For in fairy realm, — as proclaims the scene With its joy, good cheer and emblems green Speaking grateful praise, — 'tis a time of feast And thanksgiving for a danger past 56 THE OLD sexton's CHRISTMAS DREAM. K To a noble king who freed their land From a giant grim, and on every hand Rarest fruits are spread, and glad heralds call Fairyland to the royal festival. IX. They gather fast from glade and grot, Elves and sylvan sprites and butterfly fays, Their little forms decked in textures wrought From flowers and broidered with gossamer rays, And they join in the bright festivities, Till the scene with their bouyant gladness rings. While the air is filled with sweet harmonies From their tinkling spangles and tuneful wings. X. But all is hushed ; for the fairy-queen Stands forth, and surveying with gracious mien The throngs which gallery and court-ways fill, Thus in accents clear speaks the sovereign will :- " Our much-loved people, most glad are we To welcome you all to our royal fete. On this festal day when the memory Of our Champion-King we celebrate. Throughout the bounds of our goodly State To share our joy we have called you here, And your presence with loving heart we greet, The humblest alike with our hiehest Deer. THE OLD sexton's CHRISTMAS DREAM. 5/ So all strangers sojourning in our domain, Have wc bidden come — alike welcome all, For all hearts should meet on love's equal plane This day of love's grateful festival. " To-day, as he whom we honour came Of his own free will and kingly grace To save our realm, love alone should claim Our hearts and therein all else displace. While each for the other's happiness Gives foremost thought, as true love e'er will, And so shall the hours most joyous pass And goodness her highest charge fulfill. For the choice first-fruits which our people bring, As their custom 'tis from year to year, An oblation to our most honoured king, Wc yield due thanks. We ourselves shall bear Your offerings to him whom we all revere, For in honouring him most honour we Ourselves and the State we hold most dear. Which to him proudly yields its fealty. " And now let the feast proceed. Let all In our joy and good cheer participate, While the Dance and Song in glad carnival Rule the hour. Let each present emulate The next in mirth; let our banquet hall With rejoicings loud reverberate; I ^ 58 THE OLD SEXTON'S CHRISTMAS DREAM. While all hearts are linked in a chain of love That not fate nor the tides of years can move." XI. The Sovereign ceased. A round of glad acclaim And greetings followed, till the sound did seem To fill the air, yet soft as music is Of trebles sweet in gentlest harmonies. Poised o'er the throne or gliding on swift wing The fays of air moved gaily — scattering About their Queen rare floral sweets, whose blooms Imbued the air with delicate perfumes. XII. Throughout, the dwellers in this mystic sphere Greeted with joy their stranger visitor, Tendering rich fruits where'er he chanced to pass, As curtsying low with smiles and airy grace, Or strewing blossoms as he moved along Entranced with wonder 'mid the Fairy throng ; Wondering the while that so much beauty dwelt So close to earth, unknown — unguessed — unfelt. ¥f * * * XIII. So sped the hours — how swiftly do they fly When only gladness bears them company ; When the rapt soul is moved by joy alone And recollection of all else is gone ; So sped the hours, — enchanting as they passed, THE OLD sexton's CHRISTMAS DREAM. 59 Sparkling with beauty all too bright to last. And now appeared high 'mid the luminous air. Flashing fresh beams of beauty everywhere. A form refulgent ; than all else more bright Bathing the scene in wonder-working light. Investing all ; each ray a shaft of flame, In might increasing as it grandly came, Till it did seem as its full glory filled The scene, (quick at the radiant advent stilled To breathless calm) all in its strength to hold And to transfigure into shimmering gold. The ambient blue dissolved ; a tremulous glow Of opal splendor flooded all below. As countless hues there glittering but before, Slow fading from the view, were seen no more. Yet though bereft of color still remained Each form and outline in the vision-land, But silent now and motionless — a sight Of phantom pictures melting into light. Then 'neath its power, soon all potential grown. The fairy realm ; its populace, the throne To formless light were fused — And Kasper woke As on his face, through the church windows, broke The rising sun ; the sun of Christmas day Flooding the earth with its resplendent ray. CHATTERTON. That sleepless soul: The marvellous boy that perished in his pride. — Wordsworth . Inspire, O Muse, the sadd'ning theme I raise To one who loved thy presence, — sang thy praise In sweetest voice of all thy minstrel choir From the first hour his fingers swept the lyre Received from thee,- -its dulcet strings supplied From silver in that fire purified Which in the temple of thy sacred hill. Though now but smouldering, warms thy altar still. Inspire my theme: a theme adorned to grace The sweetest song, the noblest minstrel's lays, To one whose lyre, so rich its numbers came. Shed a new glory on thy sacred name. A heaven- born spirit which from its bright sphere Wandering to earth, lingered a little here To sing the songs which it had known before With kindred spirits on the Elysian shore, — Earth's tongue in their celestial harmonies Re-echoing here the music of the skies! (60) 11. ~j i.njiiiun >aa5a Eae e ! gass ' aaBa CHATTERTON. 6i Sweet bard! how bright thy sun of promise rose, Yet oh, what shadows gathered toward the close, And ere it reached the height of life's noon-day Fore'er in darkness quenched its v ondrous ray. How bright that sun, behold where passed its light Its brilliance glows athwart obstruction's night, And adds new life to that immortal flame Whose sacred fires illume the heights of Fame. As lesser spheres a symmetry do show As truly perfect as the greater, so The narrowed circle of thy life not less Perfection showed for its littleness, Where, like the planet with the belt of light, Thy star of Genius blazed along the height Of fame unique; and though so quickly gone, Gave forth a glory which was all thine own. Of all mankind the Muse did e'er endow 'Twas thine alone mature in youth to know. " The gift divine," wherein thou didst display — An inspiration but revealed in thee. With genius, knowledge ; knowledge e'en earth'i Seers Amazed beheld — to all the work of years ! Amid the quiet of primeval woods, Where the sweet voices of its solitudes Contentment breathed, the brook, the meek-faced flower, The grateful songster, and in night's still hour 62 CHATTERTON. The stars were thy sweet loves, still sought by thee With more than fondest lover's constancy, Drawn to their chasteness by that force that gives To love to seek its own correlatives. With the eternal hills : the great, deep sea Familiar didst thou commune ; they to thee Were but as loved companions. With dread voice The Tempest, robed in night, earth, sea and skies Stirring to strife — as through the trembling air, Hurling its bolts it swept, its course the glare Of the fierce lightnings 'luming, — was to thee A sight which gave thy soul supremacy Of joy, as with the Storm-king's awful form Attendant rode thy spirit on the storm ! Thy faithful heart, — e'en as the clinging vine Struck by the worm, round its loved ones did twine Its richest offerings, yielding sweetest breath E'en while below cankered the worm of death. Thy love its rich warm soil ; its only air Draughts humid 'neath the cold mists of despair ; Its only light, hope's distant, dying ray, A spark expiring in eternal day ! Relentless fate, inexplicable doom ! Which thus consigned thy genius to the tomb. And swept thy hopes ; thy promise richly fair Into the grave to sleep forever there. Nor let thee know in life's resigning breath The kindred voice that soothes the pain of death. CHATTERTON 63 Then in thy mind bright scenes forever past, Upon thy soul distracting shadows cast, To make thine anguish still but deeper grow, Till thou hadst supped the very dregs of woe ; While — as the lightning's momentary flight Illumes the clouds, encumbering the night, And breaks the darkness of the midnight sky But to increase its black intensity, — Memories of home within thy hapless breast Flashed through despair's thick cloud that round thee pressed, Which ill their brightness served but to illume And show how dark the shadows of the tomb, And, passed away, in thy distracted mind, Left a drea4 darkness doubly black behind. Insatiate Pride ! beneath thy direful sway, Thou scourge of earth, thou subtle votary Of Death ! of Genius all thou mayst o'ercome. How oft hath sought the silence of the tomb. Youth, Beauty, Worth, earth's mightiest thy prey ; O'erthrown by thee see Nations in decay, Of which thou'st left, — of Genius, Nations all. But monuments to show how great their fall. Serpent-like, coiled within that hapless breast, Implacable ! 'Twas thou his life oppressed ; With lying tongue on to destruction, stilled The voice of reason, thou his steps beguiled, ! ' I I M 64 CHATTERTON. Then e'en when most thou promised, did betray To death the victim of thy perfidy. And thou, O World ! in thy cold selfishness, Witnessed the victim fall, yet to distress, Borne e'en that thou might'st greater riches know, Brought not relief, nay, dealt the final blow Which all of genius death hath power to bind, To the dark precincts of the tomb confined. Is it for this the Muse her riches gives ; Is it for this that patient Genius slrives Earth's unseen things of beauty to reveal From secret places gleaned with tireless zeal, — To live the drudge of penury and care ; The dupe of hope ; the victim of despair ; The world's cold incredulity to brave ; To sink forgotten to a timeless grave. That those may share a wealth which else must lie Buried in Nature's sealed infinity, Who while they scruple not the fruits t' enjoy. Ungrateful coldly pass the laborer by. May shame o'erwhelm thee, Selfishness ! when oa The tomb that holds the dust of Chatterton Thou look'st. Thou Pride, should'st thou per- chance there too Resort, may'st thou remorseful sorrow know. While humbled ye within your hearts confess. Else dumb, how less ye are than littleness ! ON THE INDIAN OCEAN. One summer's day, beside the murmuring sea, Stretched on the beach, I slept, and dreamed I saw A noble ship, which, out upon the deep. Moved proudly o'er the waters toward the east. Calm as a mountain lake the ocean lay Beneath the brightness of a tropic sun, Yet did it seem as if the sultry air Of summer's heated breath upon its breast Oppressive lay, and in its mighty heart. Deep down, disturbed its slumbering forces— stirred To restless throbbings, as its bosom swelled In .'ow pulsation, and then sank away In strange disquietude. Encircling, arched Sublimely o'er the azure vault of heaven. Upon whose royal height enthroned sat The god of day, in dazzling glory robed. O'er the still depths the ship majestic moved, As sportively she scattered with her prow. About her path, — all glittering in the sun. Unnumbered brilliants of unnumbered hues. Which she did gather from the emerald deep, While from her rolled upon the drowsy air (65) 66 SEA PICTURES. A long, dark line of fume, which sought the haze Of roseate tint, far in the glimmering distance. Upon her decks the "toilers of the sea," Sun-browned in service, each his duty sought, While in the rigging some the useless sail With busy fingers folded to the yards. All merry-hearted singing as they wrought. Beneath an awning shading from the sun Reclined the ocean voyagers, and there Upon the air all merrily arose The careless laugh, the voice of happiness, And busy tongues of little ones at play. Beauty and Youth with faces bright, illumed With love and hope, and Age with its sweet smile. In happiest intercourse assembled were. Others apart from those thus grouped about Sought to beguile in quicker pace away, The lingering hours of the hot summer's day With tales of Fancy's painting; some o'ercome By its soporous breath in slumber lay. While here and there one o'er the bulwarks leaned In listless dreamings, gazing o'er the wave. Aside were two: one Beauty's prototype Set in a frame of fairest loveliness; The other Beauty's proud defender — Youth From Nature's sturdier, bolder model, man. As silvery clouds in fleecy softness veil The chasteness of the virgin summer moon. I I SEA PICTURES. «; Here white attire, in sweet abandon, draped Her lovely form — in nameless grace composed, As she, reclined beside him whom she loved. Gave ear attent, as he read to her thought; Read of some sorrow, as expression told. Moulding her face to sweet solicitude — Of holy sympathy, throned in the heart. The superscription. So her lustrous eyes, — Liquidly brilliant as the glist'ning dew Upon the new-blown, trembling violet, — Pearled in warm tears, did each emotion glass, Which that sad tale awoke within her heart But this was passed, and like the sun's fresh glow Of heat and light when April showers are o'er, With a soft brightness beamed her tear-damped eyes. Resting on him who, ceased, in their sweet depths Poured from his own love's warm responsive rays. The scene was changed: upon a rock-bound coast I stood; darkness had gathered over all. 'Gainst the dark sea high loomed the walling cliffs Amid the starlit air, their towering fronts Stem frowning, om'nous, warders of the deep, Robed in the sombre livery of Night. About their caverned base lamentingly The troubled waters tossed, 'neath the weird wind, Which to the night distressfully complained, 68 SEA PICTURES. It: i! In wild and fitful voice. Higher it rose And 'neath it soon high swelled and fiercely lashed The surge in angry clamor 'gainst the cliffs, While black impenetrable clouds rolled o'er, Filed mass on mass, high 'mid the thickening air, And quickly curtained with their darkened folds The ebon vault of heaven, an hour before Whence countless stars looked down upon the sea. Far distant, from its cloud-built battlement. Rending night's pall, the wakened lightning pierced With gleaming shaft the bosom of the deep! Responsive to the Storm-king's awful voice, Deep-swelling from afar; then opened fast The many portals of the walling clouds. Piled up the vaulted height, to passage give The spirits of the tempest. Issuing forth. They, riding on the winds, did fiercely urge The elements to strife, most clamorous Where ligUtning-led they ranged the watery waste. Which, thus Illumined, its waves dark, serpentine. Revealed, high surging in encounter wild. Like huge leviathans in fury met Fiercely contending. Now above the roar Of the loud sea the deepening thunder rose — And died away upon the wind. Anon From the dark zenith of the firmament. In louder voice its angry mutterings broke. And rolling downward burst into crash! Then every cloud, in emulation fierce. SEA PICTURES. 69 Thundered reply, rending the trembling air, As through the ambient darkness, inky grown, Each gave defiant challenge to the night. And hushed the mighty roaring of the sea. Flaming, the lightnings, red-tongued, lick the waves, Which heavenward madly reared their mammoth forms, Till, by the tempest struck, back hurled they plunged With roars defiant to their surging depths. Out on the sea, lit by the lightnings' glare, Flash following flash in wild velocity, A ship swept on before the tempest's strength. Rose with the maddened waves, sank as they sank. Then in the hadean darkness disappeared. The fulmens of the storm were spent, though still The forces of the winds swept to the cliffs, Resistless in their might, hurling the waves, To fury lashed, 'gainst their black adamant, As if back summoned to their cavern strengths, Rebellious they in fierce resentment raged. The broken clouds now hurried o'er the sky. And laid their shattered masses 'neath the arch Which marks the southern limits of the heavens. Their serrate summits by the moon illumed. Which now released, in mellow brilliancy Flooded the waves, to very mountains grown. 70 SEA PICTURES. There, laboring o'er their heights, the doomed ship Rose, mastless, tottered on their giant crests, Then headlong plunged to their abyssmal depths, But rose not up again. — The waves rolled o'er Inexorable— * * ¥f * * From my sleep I woke; Still murmuring, in the sunset lay the sea. -S^®^^ QUAND MEME. Once more by the old window with the fragrant eglantine, As of old its sweetness breathing, — now o'ergrown with columbine. Two years this June we parted at this very sunset time: I scarce can realize that since I've been in many a clime. So natural the dear old scene, for though the years since gone Have shown me many beauteous scenes this held my heart alone. And that's the ol^-timt abendlied, so loved, which now you play, Whose voice, like some sweet spirit, through the past has followed me In all my wanderings, and when most alone 't was sure to come. And fill me with the deep longings for the then far distant home. Its sad, sweet strain recalls to me the chant of vesper bells (71) ■■ n I .. » ym 72 QUAND M^ME. Once heard upon the stillness from a cloister's wooded hills, As close along the Spanish coast one summer's eve we bore, When all was silent save the waves upon the neigh- boring shore. Now heard once more, here at your side, its ne'er forgotten strain Awakes sweet recollections, intermingling joy and pain — Throbbings of joy that sweetly thrill, by busy Mem- ory brought, Then sadly tremble into rest struck by the chill of thought. As fast on recollection comes each well remembered scene. Which now — sweet picture of the past! — but show what might have been; And these alone remain to me of all that happy time. In the heart's darkened chamber hung, draped in memoriam. There might have been no shadows, — if love may dare surmise From the old light which timidly has crept into your eyes; The same that kindled in my heart the flame love may inspire, QUAND MfiME. 73 Which, like watch-lamps in holy fanes, proves but memorial fire. E'er since, when blinder than our hearts, we parted hastily In wounded pride, and I became a wanderer on the sea. It was beside this gate I stood, two summers now ago. And heard you play that melody, which since I've cherished so, — The day I met you — then my love woke to its sweet refrain. And its harmony with silver chords wove round my heart a chain. Which though 'tis rent asunder recollection now displays Its scattered links, which still reflect the scenes of happier days; And with it came an image, then enshrined within my heart. Where it must ever rest undimmed till life there- from depart. Your faithful heart remembers still for though you answer not. That tear now trembling on your cheek shows that the springs of thought Have been disturbed by memory, and thus o'er- flontmg rise, — 74 QUAND m£mE. I And what a lovely channel have they chosen in your eyes. How changed seems all since last we strolled along the old-time way; — And this is the last meeting we may know for many a day, For I go from here to-morrow, I can scarcely tell you where, I do not know which way myself, in truth I little care But I dare not trust my heart to see another hold its shrine. Which love, denying every claim, e'en now would not resign. But honor binds and points the way love may not choose but take; That way I go, and so good-by — forever for your sake. ■ I How like lamenting spirits, sigh the trees that shade the dead. Here in the quaint old church-yard, in summer's last tints clad, Where — five years passed, once more returned, I look out on the sea. From the wooded hill-side where she sleeps who was so dear to me. QUAND m£mE. 75 The waves break sadly as I've heard them break in many a clime- Like memories which unceasing fall along the shores of time, And the droning bee hums idly by in the sultry August noon, Lingering to sip from weary flowers which 'neath the still heat swoon. White-winged a solitary ship far out upon the sea. Reflects the noon-day sunlight, soon o'erclouded, and to me This seems a fitting image of the lot I bear this day: Alone on life's broad ocean, and the sunlight passed away, And o'er its havenless expanse my bark of life must bear, O'ershadowed by those memories which must ever darken there. Thus hope's delusive star how oft in sorrow's night declines. And to dark disappointment's shades our happiness consigns; Yet can the image which awoke that hope ne'er fade away — Embalmed in the heart's sepulchre, from "feeling's dull decay." SONNETS, Ul '^U ■ i ^ im^ 'T • . l-f ' j «.; •■ ., k ; \ i k J ■ A NIGHT IN JUNE. 79 A NIGHT IN JUNE. The deep blue firmament begemmed with light Bending o'er earth, like love o'er slumbering love; The spirit Peace, descending from above, Hushing all things to silence as the night Comes solemnly. Still as in gentlest flight The breath of unseen wings, soft zephyrs stray Among the sleeping flowers, and steal away Their hearts' perfumes. Amid the sparkling height The beetle drones, or falls the night-bird's cry While insect bands their minim notes attune On every side — Anon the orient sky Dissolves in light as the round, silver moon Sails up the blue in queenly majesty, The crowning glory of a night in June. ! 8o INRI. iNRr. When on the cross hung man's high sacrifice, Death near approached his work to execute, Awe-struck recoiled, in fear irresolute His office on his King to exercise. Then bowing to his breast his head, the Christ Made sign to the Implacable, that he. Without regard to right of sovereignty. Should claim the sacrifice at which was priced Man's sin. Then did th' Inexorable strike — The fearful Sun to darkness paling fled; Earth trembling shrank to night's embrace, the dead E'en by that deed of their dread prince made quick Did him defy — he had forever spent His power in striking the Omnipotent! *Froin the French of an unknown author rf the seventeenth century; con- tained in a little poem entitled "La Mort du Chritt,** which was found in- scribed upon the princip;*! gate of the cemetery which formerly surrounded the Church of Sainte Trinity, in Cherbourg. MUSIC. 81 MUSIC. Come, muse Divine, naught like thy strains compose The longing heart, nor there can charm to rest Its discontent, yet oh, what peace it knows When by thy entrancing presence 't is possessed! E'en as a bird at the first dawn of day Sought by its mate, joins it and soars away Through sun-flushed fields of azure, circling round High 'mid the blue where spirit joys abound, My soul solicitous, at thy behest. To thy loved realm enraptured wings its flight. Led on by thee there lingering with delight; Soaring aloft — or cradled into rest. All other joys the passions but control, 'T is thou alone canst reach the inmost soul! 82 TO-MORROW. TO-MORROW. I Farewell till flowers return. Ah, could we know The darkness of that said fore'er 't would seem Thus marked but as the shadow of a dream; A transitory cloud ordained to show How full the light beyond. Lo now, though far 'To love. Time's darkened corridors between Its brightness falls, as through some dark aisle seen The light of '^.zy, and thitherto Hope's star Shall guide the steps of Faith. So e'en with joy May we regard such shadcv/s which Time's flight Resolves to pillars of enduring light. Traced with sweet memories of fond constancy. Which ever in the after years shall provt The dearest of all records dear to love! SOLITUDE. 83 SOLITUDE. Tis sweet at eve to wander by the shore And watch the restless waters of the deep, As the night winds across its bosom sweep, Blending their strange complainings with its roar! Tis sweet to linger by the shadowy wood As, phantom-like, the soft moonlight there creeps, Where, 'neath the sentrying stars, tired Nature sleeps And Silence sits enthroned in Solitude! Such scenes a deep, mysterious pleasure bear. And wake a prescient spirit in the breast, Timid or day, which from a vague unrest Finds glad relief raptly communing th<^re With spirit voices from far spheres which tell Of distant worlds, to sense invisible 1 84 MEDITATION. MEDITATION. In that still hour when the declining day Along the sky fades tranquilly away, When o'er the earth the glimmering twilight creeps, All voices hushing as dear Nature sleeps, In solitude, naught save the symphony Of ocean heard, 'tis sweet to seek thy charms, Where naught ignoble the glad soul alarms. As rapturously it yields itself to thee. Silent thou art, thy silence eloquence. Raising the soul to its inherent life. Which, casting off its mortal instruments. Soars far beyond earth's narrow scene of strife, And, led by thee, views that immortal state In which it too hall soon participate! : HI VENICB. 85 VENICE, How doth thy name conjure th' historic past, Queen of the Isles; once of the East supreme! How to thy courts the proudest Nations came And at thy feet their richest tribute cast. Most valiant then thy sons, and thy domains Far-reaching as the waves thy galleons cleft; Then Venice Victrixl Now apart, bereft; Of all thy greatness but a name remains! Thy galleons gone — thy banners sadly furled; Still, bride of Ocean, though as queen discrowned, 'Neath bluest heavens, 'mid beryl seas thou'rt throned, Unique among the marvels of the world! Thy glory marked, forever now resigned, Tears dim the eyes and wonder fills the mind. I ' STANZAS. i LOVE AND DIGNITY. 89 LOVE AND DIGNITY. It was June; in a vale, as the day was declining, Near a lakelet rose-hued by the soft, waning light, Stately Dignity walked, in the silence resigning His thought to those scenes which most gladdened his sight. Not far had he gone when he heard a deep sighing Which came from a cluster of roses near by, And great his surprise when among them espying The little god Cupid, — who'd uttered the sigh. On his arm he reclined, with a rose in his fingers. From which he was plucking its petals away, And as a bright star on a cloud's summit lingers, A tremulous tear on his dark lashes lay. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I >" IIM U us us u Iii4 1^ IIM 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 < ( 6" ► / J c*:f i^"'?' >^ y /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4? \ '^^ O M ^ '^i ^7 o^ 90 LOVE AND DIGNITY. *'And what has disturbed you?" asked Dignity, kindly. Cupid started, and fluttered his wings in dismay. But feared, in the presence he found himself, blindly To follow his feelings and scamper away. He made no reply; simply pointed before him Where an arrow lay broken, — the source of his woe, As he bit those sweet lips for which mankind adore him. And patted his bare little leg with his bow! ** Indeed, and is that it? Just as I expected; *T would seem you've not done as instructed "— " 'T is true,"— " Precisely, now had you done as I directed " — " You would say I'd not had this misfortune to rue. II ii^ i •"This once," Love continued, "good Dignity spare me II Looking up in his face with a coy, suasive smile, ^'And come here to-morrow at this hour, and hear me Recount my success with proud Beauty mean- while." LOVE AND DIGNITY. 91 " Most gladly I will, so good-night, but remember!" " Never fear," Love replied, with glance roguishly bright, Then with wings rustling softly, as leaves 'neath a zephyr. He rose on a sunbeam and passed out of sight. Next eve to the vale, ere the sun had ceased shining. Came Dignity, — 't was one he long had loved best, — And there, on a bed of rich blossoms reclining, He beheld Beauty fondling a rose at her breast. Quick, with rapturing pulsation, his heart beat, but hearing A sound as of Love's half-suppressed voice near by, He concealed his emotion, then to her appearing, He approached, as upon him she smiled gra- ciously. Love had led her hither, and now near her hiding, 'Mid the blossom-flaked foliage, as Dignity came He sped a bright arrow, fire-tipped, which dividing His heart, kindled there its wild, exquisite flame! 92 LOVE AND DIGNITY. Thus Struck, before Beauty he fell, to her pleaded To draw from his bosom the still flaming dart; She, while soothing the wound, saw but Love e'er could heal it, The arrow was buried so deep in his heart! Then in flight Cupid cried, " Dignity, I regret to Have missed you, as now I've no time to wait, for My quiver is empty. I did not forget you. You see. Now I'm off for a few arrows more!" Soon though passed out of sight, in soft, dulcet numbers His voice lingered still, urging his sweet decree, While the flowers his warm wings had waked from their slumbers. On the whispering air shed their sweets wan- tonly! Soon 't was clear from the manner of Beauty in pressing Her hand 'gainst her heart, quickly palpitating. Love had there sent an arrow, — the rogue when professing His quiver unstocked, had his darts 'neath his wing. V THE GLADIATOR. 93 THE GLADIATOR. The following lines are a free translation from the French of ChSnedoUe (i 769-1833), and are presented as of interest by reason of being substantially identical, as will at once beobsenred, with those so universally known and justly ad. mired of Lord Byron on the same subject, occurring in "Childe Harold." Unfortunately for his French contem- porary, it has been incontestibly established that **our author " spoke first by two years. I i^i Spurned, bleeding; victim of a barbarous lust — Imperial Rome's! the gladiator falls On the arena homicidal, there In calm repose yielding himself to death. Low drooped upon his arm, within his heart He concentrates his residue of strength; Consents to deathy yet conquers agony y* While dauntless still he braves the Roman foe. 1! *"I1 consent a la mort, domptant I'agonie. 94 THE GLADIATOR. ■ i !l it li i Fast fails his strength, and lower sinks his head; He feels his life depart. The drops of blood Which he beholds calmly and fearless fall, From his torn side more slowly now descend. Far from this scene of horror are his thoughts, To his loved home alone they fondly turn. Where 'neath his roof, beside the Danube's shore Affection sees his darling infant ones. Them by their mother's knee he there beholds, While in a spectacle inhuman he Expiring lies, before an alien race. Butchered to amuse the Roman populace! Now o'er his face death's pallid hue is spread; He dies, ye* ne'er surrendering once to fear, While with disdain the shouts prolonged he hears That hail the victor — guilty of his blood! Oh, bloody deed! — dare man thus outrage man? Rise ye, ye fierce barbarians of the north! Speed to revenge your sons' ignoble death; Quick, lest Rome still finds pleasure in your blood! HIS REPLY. 95 HIS REPLY TO "HER LETTER. n I was resting beneath the old pine tree, But an hour from the mines — tired out — Alone — worse than that, which is lonely, Thinking how strangely things come about. When your letter — your womanly letter Was placed in my hand — need I say That its face (for I knew 'twas from you, dear), Smiled away the fatigue of the di 7. You may guess how I read and reread it And dwelt on each word: well I knew Ere 'twas opened no words but those truest Would be found in a letter from you — And reading you seemed to be with me Once more and your heart's truth divine. Which e*er beamed in your eyes when beside you, Shone forth in your words line by line. 90 HIS REPLY. To be sure 'twas amusing to see you Write so freely of such brilliant scenes — Of Beaux — and in sooth a proposal From a youngster just out of his teens — All of which pleased me more than you fancy, — The dances, soirees, and all that — That is, since " the belle of the season " From it all turned to "Poverty flat." \ Then the drive in the park, in a turnout Like that of a princess in state — Yet you still think our drive was " the rarest " From old Harrison's barn to the gate? Well, you're not very wrong — and Vm thinking That in "rarest" you have the right word For the reason — if rightly I guess it, That our hearts were in rarest accord. i^ Yes, our happiness; here was complete, Su', Or seemed so, and that's all the same, Till the metal was struck in the placer. And the gold fairly rolled from the claim; Then of course there was nothing to keep you Out here in the mud at the " Fork," So the grocery was sold and the " diggin's *' Were exchanged for the scenes of New- York. V •■• HIS REPLY. 97 Two years since have passed — all continues Pretty much as when last you were here — Some have "struck it," but most are still striving With little to eat or to wear, Much less finding gold, or, perhaps, only Enough to give prospect of more — But most have but little to hope for, And just strive to keep want from the door. And who, do you ask, are the finders; And how rich are the new paying Uadsf Well some who began in the ditches And some who began at ^Ccit feeds) And some of our five — you remember From Hampshire, at last are repaid; You recall how three years past they came here Recruits for " the digger brigade!" There's old Dobson: you know his last penny Was gone when you left — well, they say His share in the Davenport placer Is worth twenty thousand to-day — " Clean money? " O, no — twenty thousand Every month it holds out — you may guess How the girls have dropped cotton and gingham And taken to silks for their dress. it 98 HIS REPLY. And then, I had almost forgotten (?) Another rich s/rike has been made Where the gold merely has to be lifted Without labor of pick or of spade: Two months past 'twas struck up the mountains- Two years since the ** digger" began; The result? Some few thousands to credit, — Can't you guess who's the fortunate man? Do you know him? — well, let me remember — Why, certain you do — don't you know "That unlucky digger" named Danvers — Joseph Danvers — more commonly Joe? That's me, Su', — what, don't you believe it? No wonder — I didn't myself Till I knew the North Bank to my credit Held a round fifty thousand of pelf. Yes, fifty and further take notice That I've sold out the claim as it stands For five hundred thousand gold, minted, And the checks have passed under my hands- Ah, my Beauty, how little you fancied In the midst of your fashion and glare That the man whom you loved as a " digger " Was that unlucky Joe — millionaire! HIS REPLY. What next? — In two weeks I reach Denver, And forever good-bye to " the Fork:" And thence fast as wheels can whirl eastward I'll be with you, dear, in New York, And then we'll be finished by travel And learn what it means, and all that, And our joy shall be none the less telling ^'or the memories of "Poverty flat." So good night and good-bye for a little, Altho' you're asleep as I write. For ten on this slope, if I err not. In your quarter is three in the night — Yet once more good night and be happy Henceforth and forever and know There is one who will strive so to make you, Joseph Danvers — more commonly JOE. 99 °"'^'— "•"^irrri-"- r-Trr 100 THE EARLY BIRD. THE EARLY WORM, OF UNHAPPY MEMORY. I. Oft hath been told the ancient tale Yclept " the early bird," But with great naughtiness the truth Hath been but half averred. i II. Once on a time a little worm, — Thus should the story run, — Arose with unsuspecting trust To greet the rising sun. III. Forth from his snug retreat he set Hard by a moss-grown wood; And whistled gaily as he went — Or wou/d have if he could. ms THE EARLY BIRD. IV. He gained the mead and soon upon A hollow log he gat^ Which well he knew for oft thereon In the warm sun he sat V. And slept, curled in a little ball, For be it known that he Was not a common worm, but of The old Grub famil^^. VI. Full pleased was he with his own self And as the sun arose. He felt like juveniles who feel Too big for their small clo"es. VII. But soon into his ear there crept A bird's sweet minstrelsy. Which pleased him so that he fell to And danced right merrily. VIII. Alack the day! The warbler spied The all too giddy mite, And while he loved to trill full well A worm was his delight! lOI "^M'x. 102 THE EARLY BIRD. i-'i IX. He dropped his song, the better on His helpless prey to drop; Then, though his victim strove to fly, He popped him in his crop! X. Thus it befell; that hapless worm, So good, so prompt at morn Was by his very virtues thus From life and pleasure torn. XL Yet but himself to blame, for if He had but kept his bed To rise betimes, some other worm Would have been swallow- ^^T/ 1% ■, V '.rl NIGHT. 103 NIGHT. Thou orb sublime that from the boundless sky Night's darkening curtain now dost upward roll ! And flood'st the world in balmful brilliancy That steals like dream-hushed music on the soul, From this still height, amid the breathless grove, Whereon thou dost thy first soft brightness shed, I watch thee rise with an adoring love, Thou queen of light in majesty arrayed! Above yon looming cliff, whose sombre height. Black 'gainst the sky, o'erlooksthe slumbering sea. Thou soar'st aloft, dissolving into light The waters, cradled to tranquility. Mounting on high soon dcth thy radiance fill The earth and sea — most welcome on the deep Where thy bright beams with hope all wanderers thrill Who in the night across the ocean sweep. IM, 104 NIGHT. ; Yonder the distant city sleeps, revealed by thee, As thou dost silver dome and spire there: Whence now, scarce heard above the murmuring sea, The midnight bell steals o'er the slumbering air. As thy full beams disperse night's gathered gloom 'Mid its dark scenes, what haunts of misery there; What drear abodes of anguish they illume. Sunk in the ray less midnight of despair! What thoughts disturb the lonely convict's heart As now he views thee from his ironed cell, Of childhood's days; of cherished hopes depart, Which he remembers — ah, too sadly well. He feels thy beams, as now his night they invade. Rest on a scene which memory weeps to trace: A grave amid the village church-yard's shade. Of her who sank beneath a child's disgrace. Thus, what diversity of scene untold Dost thou behold; what mighty empires sway Hast seen, as through long ages thou hast rolled, As now thou roll'st unchanged — yet where are they? NIGHT. Where now is haughty Babylonia's might Which madly dared Omnipotence deride? For thou hast too illumed her guilty site As now the plain which sepulchres her pride! So shall thy beams, before another sun, Look on the walls of crumbling Pompeii, And from the heights of silent Lebanon Flood the still waves of holy Galilee. 105 Infinite theme! Thou God all-powerful. Whose hand directs e'en as Thy hand hath made The Universe stupendous! who may tell The countless wonders of Thy work displayed. Mi : io6 UNKNOWN SOLDIER. UNKNOWN SOLDIER. Ye patriot dead! o'er your sleep of devotion Beams the proud star of victory, all gloriously bright! Here by the dark stream, winding down to the ocean Which beheld you go forth in the pride of your might. Full its radiance illumines the shades which enfold you, Reflecting your glory — which brightens its ray, — In the hearts which forever with pride shall behold you, Through ages to come as through years passed away. And can it then be that " unknown " ye are sleeping By the fields of your valor, so fearlessly trod ? Can a Nation forget that the fruits she is reaping Are sprung from the soil warmed to life by thy blood ? UNKNOWN SOLDIER. 107 Ye are known : by the hearts which — sorrow e'er at- tending — Your memory embalm in love's holiest perfumes \ By the tears of a Nation which o'er you descending Refresh the sweet flowers that wave o'er your tombs. Thus not here, where the bleak winds in rude lamen- tation Complainingly wander among the sad pine, Are you tombed, but your graves the warm hearts of a Nation, Where evergreen blooming, love's memories twine. No more shall the thunders of battle elate you ; No more shall the trumpet of victory thrill — Till the last trumpet's sound, which forever shall wake you, When known ye shall rise to the life immortal. io8 ON THE SANDS. ON THE SANDS. A proud ship northward sailing, Across a shadowed sea, — As lonely as love forbidden The haven where it would be. On the sands two forms are lingering ; 'Gainst the rock of their destiny, The tides of their hearts are swelling Like the waves of a troubled sea. For a gulf has been fixed between them, By the changeless decree of Fate : After long years of waiting, Found — but, alas, too late. Yet ne'er shall those tides of feeling Rest till each heart be at peace, As not till Time's consummation. Shall the tides of ocean cease. ON THE SANDS. 109 For they roll from Truth's vast ocean That infinite, changeless sea, And the power that di-rects their pulses Is immutable Deity. Oh life! Ofate! O sorrow! Must love's true currents flow Side by side, like companion rivers That never a mingling know ? Then a voice, blent with ocean's, answers: — Not here 'neath earth's changeful skies Can love be made perfect, — but yonder In the field's of paradise. IK i 1 10 TO A CANARY, TO A CANARY. Who fashioned thy exquisite symmetry, Thou little fay of song, thou paragon Of grace; what wondrous cunning artisan The texture wove of thy bright livery ? What hand the delicate machinery cast Whereby thou mov'st with juch unerring skill ? Who in thy tiny frame the forces placed. Which n ake it all-obedient to thy will ? What hast thou in that little throat of thine To trill such notes of dulcet purity ? Who taught thee thus in minstrelsy divine To pour thy soul in rhythmic ecstacy ? Perchance it was in thine own native shades. The purling brook, the voices of the woods, Where now thy fellows in bright flow'ry glades. Fill with sweet song their island solitudes. TO A CANARY. Ill But these (A(fu ne'er hast known; then 't was thy sire Tuned thy sweet voice ? Nay, loud thy warblings tell, In praises rising softly, sweetly higher, 'Twas nature's God that fashioned thee so well ! Would I could tell thee how I love thy song; How dear to me, thou lovely one, thou art. Why fiy'st thou from me ? I but fondly long With kindliest hand to lay thee co my heart. How happily would'st thou lie upon this breast, Did'st thou but know how warms my heart to thee; Now, captive there, in thy sweet eyes' unrest. Pained I behold thou fain would'st fly from me. Thou can'st not understand my words, I know. But love hath many voices, and for thee Nature hath surely purposed one, and so I am content, for Time will teach it me. 112 MONA. MONA. : How can I paint thy beauties; how relate Thy virtues ? words to compass them so fail Thy graces — e'en the cadence of thy feet, Make affluent Speech a poverty reveal, t Language too poor to justly celebrate The temple of thy form ; the grace to tell Of its fair priestess, matchless ! Sight alone Can know how perfect Beauty's paragon! It may not be that peerless music's strain More richly sounds since I have known thy love ; It may not be fair Dian with her train Of stars refulgent, in her course above N^i?w brighter beams; yet music's loved refrain Far sweeter is ; yon orbs — a// things now prove Sources of joy undreamt, and to life yield Rich springs of beauty ne'er before revealed. MONA. 113 E'en as the sun with its resplendent light Doth flood the world in nameless radiancy; Raising all sunk in darkness by the night To share the glory of his majesty, So shall thy love impart a new delight To every joy, and life's ambitions be Exalted to a nobler aim, and yet — Nay, thy sweet eyes rebuke that thought— /<;r^tmoi eland, 1890. LOVE IN ABSENCE. 125 LOVE IN ABSENCE. "En el amor la auscencia es como el aire, que apaga el fuego chico, e enciende el grande." — Spanish Proverb. A little fire Must soon expire 'Neath the wind's agitation, Whereas the same A greater flame Swells to a conflagration! E'en so to love Doth absence prove: A little fire o'er- turning, But when the breast Love's flames invest, It sets them wildly burning. 126 THE DYING FLOWER. pi THE DYING FLOWER. Ta ne vis qu' un jour, Disait le buisson ^ la rose. —LeBailly. *' Sweet flower, and must thy beauty fade, Though born but yesterday ? Scarce one short day of life, and now Thou hasten'st to decay.'' ** True, brief is my abiding here," Replied the flower, '*and yet If earth be sweeter for my life I know naught of regret." THE EGOTIST. Epitaph from the French. Here lies a man who ne'er did good or bad; Loved but himself — and not a rival had. ; I A TOAST. 127 A TOAST. In the grape's golden glow an oblation To Beauty — supreme paragon! Wanting whom life would be as in darkness Notwithstanding the light of the sun; Lovely woman! the queen of the ages, A sovereign whose heralds proclaim That all kings, princes, prelates and sages Are rulers of earth but in name! Her eyes ? — who shall fathom the secret Of the power enthroned there alway! Her voice ? — in all harmonies riches Naught so wondrous to move or allay; Her form ? — the one shrine where all worship Since the sweep of the centuries began; So a health — a libation befitting The darling — the idol of man I 128 A TOAST. She alone the one source of all joyance; To her presence all sorrow defers; Earth's shadows she silvers with brightness; In the sunlight the brilliance is hers! So once more and forever we pledge her From the fountain that sparkles with light. The gift of the Gods for the goddess Who shall reign while the years keep their flight I i I :i LINES IN AN ALBUM. 129 LINES IN AN ALBUM. Spotless this page where now my verse I place; E'en thus the record of thy young life is. Would that as here friendship I fondly trace I there might grave enduring happiness. The Same. In her high temple Memory shall enshrine, — As love hath in the temple of the heart, — Thy image *neath that of the Muse divine, Whose votary and favored child thou art. The Same. As when beneath the church-yard's quiet shade We wander musing at the close of day, And mark the sadd'ning records telling there Of fondest friendships which have passed away; So in life's evening when thine eyes shall stray Amid these pages, to thy memory dear. Pass not this leaf — in friendship's sacred name Fondly I now inscribe "remembrance " here. ■ra .Hi I H 1 1 i 130 LINES IN AN ALBUM. The Same Goodness is thy beauty's dower Unobtrusive as the flower Shadowed in the lea; Silvery as the brooklet's trebles Flowing o'er enamelled pebbles Sounds thy voice to me. The Same. My autograph you ask ? Behold Upon this page I gladly write it. May smiles alone attend the lips At whose command I now indite it. LINES Written in the fly leaf of a book presented to Dr. return to his home in Hermuda. on his With this adieu — alas that jealous Fate Should ever thus fond friendships separate ! Mayst thou and thine by joy e'er compassed be As are thine isles by their glad, sunlit sea. ii ' t BARCAROLLE. 133 JACK AT THE OAR. All merrily O'er the billows free Our light boat swiftly glides, And the mellow light Of the starry night Our course o'er the water guides. With thoughts as free As the rolling sea, O'er the tossing waves we bound. While in the deep. As we onward sweep, Our oars fall with musical sound! Chorus. Then row with a will, with a will, boys. And sing as we go with a will, boys ! Our strength to the oar, speeding on to the shore O'er the sea we love as we e'er will, boys. The winds we brave. While the bounding wave Obedient to our will, 134 BARCAROLLE. i'-;f 1 Like a mettled steed From its curbings freed, Bears us onward — onward still ! The waves may dash, The lightnings flash, And the winds oppose our course — These our joy to dare, Their wild sport to share. As we mingle our voices with theirs 1 Chorus. Now the moon above Waking thoughts of love. Fills the scene with her dreamy light. As within the bay, — Passed the open sea, — We glide o'er the wavelets bright. And a steady oar Speeds us to the shore, While our hearts' warmest pulses move, For we know that there Wait us faces dear. Whose smiles are the guerdon of love. Chorus. t , SONG 135 SONG. A sky of purest sapphire, A shore of silver sand; The constant ocean whispering Its love unto the land. A sail all solitary Drifting across the sea, As hearts drift on in silence, Unknown their destiny. Refrain. Beauteous, ah beauteous, earth and sea and air, Yet joy ray spirit finds not anywhere; Patience, O, faithful heart, e'en as day follows night And darkness is resolved to beams of radiant light, So shall the shadows pass And joy replace the sorrow, Patiently — hopefully. So shall gladness come to thee. [ m 136 SONG. II. In vision-land we linger, Hope's dream is pictured there; We call: no voice in answer; We wake and all is drear — When shall the shadows vanish And life be at its best; When shall the heart's fond longings In joy's completeness rest ? Refrain. :£ :9- I I LOVE TO LOOK INTO THINE EYES, l^y I Love to Look Into Thine Eyes. I love to look into thine eyes, Thy soul's bright mirrors, where Its crystal depths reflect'Cd beam- Glancing in beauty there ! I love to look into thine eyes, Sweet springs which, sparkling o'er Life's arid plain, refreshment yield Else never known before. I love to look into thine eyes Where virtues mirrored are; Virtues which Modesty would hide By Truth revealed there. 138 SONG. SONG. Love hath my heart a garden made, Therein where all was bare, Beneath his magic husbandry Rich blooms of beauty rare Profusely spring, and such a wealth Of incense yields each flower, A sweet intoxication fills With rapture every hour. So at his bidding day by day Shall gentle Constancy, The rarest blooms untiring cull And bring them unto thee; And at thy feet shall lay them sweet,— Whence Love bids thee to bear Them to thy heart, that they may find A life immortal there. f r < !iM i .i. i . i iu i .]. i ,u...Jiijl l.... i .iWll-nnim ii !«,. iii , SONG. 139 SONG. There's some one with the brightest eyes That ever love betrayed; There's some one with the sweetest smile That beauty e'er displayed, Whose image, wheresoe'er I be, Love ever brings to view. And who that some one is, fairest, I scarce need name to you. There is an anxious heart that knows A rapture it conceals, And longing waits the hour to speak The fullness which it feels. Its joy alone beneath that smile, 'Neath those sweet eyes of blue. And in whose breast it beats, sweet one, Oh, need I name to you? '^iiMi&^AiKi^ii^S:-^ I . MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. Notwithstanding the marvelous perfection to which music has beeen brought in all its branches, and the very exhaustive treatises which have been writ- ten on the theories of the art, not to speak of the wonderful mastery which has been obtained over its technical difficulties, psychologically considered, the subject does not appear to have received an equal degree of attention other than in works too volumi- nous, if not too al truse, for general reading. Our purpose in this paper will be to inquire briefly into the processes of the several factors in music as relates to their effect upon the listener; and if we can succeed in throwing some light on the subject for "the great majority," we shall not have labored in vain, even though we fail to " extend the horizon " of the more knowing few. In undertaking to offer an answer to the question, " How does music act upon its auditor to impart that pleasure which it so universally affords ? " it is (143) 6 i \ 144 MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. important to have in mind two facts. First, that this pleasure, in its aggregate, is a complex emotion, comprising many simple emotions, which latter, it may be suggested, consist of still other more subtle refinements of feeling. Thus our inquiry must be in- to the nature of those primary factors in music and their processes which give rise to the individual emotions ; and if we can trace out these, we shall have gone far toward reaching an understanding of the subject presented. The second fact is that the high distinguishing power of creative minds, in the arts in general, is that faculty which enables them to go beyond personal experiences and to compre- hend the whole range of human emotions (of which we have the highest example in the art of Shakes- peare), which faculty, as need scarcely be suggested, is the god-like attribute of genius. As all understand, among the arts, music takes a high place as an exponent of the emotions, which in- deed was its primitive, as it has ever been its chief mission ; its first crude forms having been no more than the spontaneous utterance of human feeling. And just here let us direct attention to the identi- ty and consequent i aediate relation which exists between the inherent properties of music and those of emotion, which need only to be mentioned to be at once recognized, — pointed out by Dr. Haweis, in his able book, " Music and Morals." MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 145 These properties, both in music and emotion, have been identified as velocity, intensity, complex- ity, elation and depression^ which in the respective cases may be approximated as follows : IN MUSIC. Velocity by the several tempi employed, as rari- ous as are numerous the degrees in the range in- cluded within the terms largo and prestissimo. Intensity by the infinitely minute gradations pos- sible between the signs ppp and fff. Complexity by the countless subtly interwoven quantities of harmony worked upon the web of melody. Elation and Depression by the tones and their intervals as treated and developed by the composer and interpreted by the performer. IN emotion. Velocity by successive impulses of feeling such as are experienced in situations which excite a series of emotions, following each other in various degrees of velocity. Intensity by the various degrees in which feel- ing sways us, ranging from the simplest emotion, which may be all but neutral, to the condition of highest excitability. t • , ■ f ^ II ?n. 146 MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. Complexity by a concatenation of emotions, which succeed each other at a rate of velocity so great that even the " lightning of the mind *' may scarcely distinguish where one state of feeling ceases and the next begins ; the appreciable result of which is the complete, complex sensation, or "complexity." Elation and Depression by the various states of feeling, ranging from the lowest despondency to the top-most heights of exultation. Thus are suggested corresponding planes be- tween music and emotion, and these will assist us in tracing out the processes by which one acts upon the other. As the primary, and consequently fundamental constituent of music, we consider melody first in or- der, and, secondly, its grand accessory and beauti- fier, harmony; for it is melody which serves in the art as the articulate voice- medium of expression, as relates to emotion, becoming, under the inspiration of the composer, the embodiment, so to speak, of particular states of mind and feeling. By melody is of course understood the rhythmic progression of notes, as distinguished from the grouping of notes or harmony. It may be safely premised that most of us who have reached the years of maturity have experienced all of what may be termed the fundamental human emotions, varying, of course, in intensity and conti- nuity, with the susceptibility of the nature acted r>.^. MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 147 upon, and modified by attendant circumstances. Of these emotions, rising from time to time, those with which it is the peculiar province of music to deal do not always find commensurate expression, and this is particularly true of those tender sentiments with which music so continually employs itself, which emotions are afforded but partial expression, or lie voiceless within, ever ready to welcome op- portunity for expression. As it is true that the ma- jor portion of mankind have at least touched upon the fundamental emotions common to humanity, so, conversely, is it true that all human emotion has been given expression to through the respective me- dia of art by the master-workers therewith; and this may be said of music alone within the limitations of the art. Thus it follows that all who can place themselves in sympathy with music (and who can- not?) may find therein expression for the higher emotions of the soul, inarticulate though it be as compared with the art of speech, while at the same time it is doubtless true that music serves as a medium of expression for deep-lying refinements of feeling, too subtle for the symbols of speech. It is not unusual to meet in the course of our read- ing, with a thought which we at once recognize as one which we have ourselves before known — in many instances, perhaps, in an equally positive form as that in which we find it preserved. It may be, how- ever, that we have not given it expression, or if at i < ;< 1 1 illl I i Ml • ii! Ml : ilii : ;!i 148 MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. all, we have not uttered it with any special definite- ness. Some of the thoughts, however, which may thus be recognized have presented themselves so evanescently to our consciousness that we can hard- ly claim them as our own ; their outline only having passed before our mental vision without leaving any distinct impression, just as the prepared plate in the camera may be said to receive an imperfect outline only of an object if submitted to it but for an in- stant. Yet, again, we can conceive that there are still other thoughts in embryo which have only just reached the border line of consciousness, as yet on the nether side, but the moment these come in con- tact with their related expression they become quickened into action, as the electric spark springs forth the moment the complete conductor touches its source ; up to that instant remaining motionless though living. In like manner we conceive it to be the case with feeling. From the most neutral to those most actively alive, are there emotions wait- ing upon expression ; their permanent, unfathoma- ble nature, making repeated expression ever welcome to them, — which, indeed, may be said, with more or less truth, of all emotion. Others have been but par- tially expressed, while again there are those (if we may be allowed to anticipate their existence) which like the thought in embryo, have not as yet taken their definite form, but which, when brought in con- MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 149 tact with their adequate conductor, become vivified and produce their corresponding sensation. May it not be that those nameless emotions which are experienced when we come under the influence of certain passages in the music of such magicians in the art as Beethoven, which we are unable satisfac- torily to fix or define to our understanding, belong to the class last named, which, undefined though they be, afford us a pleasure of a very positive, al- beit mysterious character. If the doctrine of metem- psychosis were admissible, these stranger emotions might be accounted for by supposing them to per- tain to some prior condition of existence ; emotions which such music as that named, alone, is capable of awakening or giving utterance to in this present existence. Admitting ihe theory that the master-workers in the art under consideration have comprehended all human feeling, and created therefor adequate chan- nels of expression, it follows that when we place our selves under the influence of the art, in the hands of the interpreter, the latent or active feeling responds thereto, affording that pleasurable sensation which the expression of emotion always yields. Let us apply our premises. In listening to a musi- cal composition, we recognize it as dealing with some given sentiment. Not, perhaps, apprehending the exact phase of the sentiment treated, but the funda- mental emotion to which it is related, and therefore ISO MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. i one which, accepting the hypothesis submitted, each auditor has already experienced in some degree, — hence recognizes. Thus identified, our emotional nature responds thereto in various degrees in each individual as such of their several experiences as harmonize with the given sentiment vary — for as the composer colors the emotion interpreted with his own individuality, so does each auditor receive such interpretation in its application to his own par- ticular experience ; and more or less intense as the emotional nature prevails in the case of each listen- er respectivly. Furthermore, the effect will, of course, be in pro- portion as the composer possesses a nature capa- ble of feeling and power to adequately interpret through his art the given emotion. Each auditor thus recognizing (by the intuition of feeling rather than by any intellectual apprehension) in the given theme the expression of a more or less familiar emotion, which, in the particular case, may never have found adequate, or but partial utter- ance, the emotional being which, so to speak, has been bearing the burden of the unuttered feeling, gladly welcomes and rests itself upon that expression, making it its own, and thus is experienced that sense of satisfaction the ultimate of which we know as pleasure. Not only is it true, as has been said, that all man- kind have experienced, in various degrees, the fun- MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 151 dnmenfal feelings of our human nature, but it is also the fact that all have known something of the more exalted emotions, — such, for example, as those of the sublime, the heroic, and the like ; and it is more particularly true of these that in this mater- ialistic age they but seldom find exercise except that which may be termed the sympathetic expres- sion afforded when we come under the influence of art. Thus, such music as represents martial cadences, the pageantry of arms, or as relates to the more re- ligio-sublime, those grand choral-form progressions and magnificent passages, as in Oratorio, which we in- tuitively recognize as the utterance of emotion per- taining to the most exalted planes of feeling, — (to which the highest natures alone may attain), may be said to awaken that profound sentiment which springs worshipfuUy from the apprehension of the divine conceptions presented in these grander crea. tions of the art, and afEord an expression to the sub- limer emotions which elsewise for the most part /they know not ; and the man or woman with but lit- f tie of the religious or heroic in their nature, may by. this agency be moved to a depth which no other in- fluence might ever reach. Under the influence of this class of music, which excites the heroic senti- ment, we feel that pleasure which a quickening of the nobler impulses of the soul affords, while in the lat- ter case, where the religious sentiment is brought 152 MUSIC AND nS PROCESSES. 'Ml •" .1 ( I into action, the soul is subdued into a state of devo« tion and repose, or exalted by the sentiment of fev- erence and adoration. Moreover, it is to be remembered, that this plea- sure is largely aided by the " association process," which contributes in an important degree to the pleasure experienced (as it does indeed in most pro- cesses of mind), industriously gathering about such pleasurable feeling, as a given theme or passage may awaken, all experiences in consonance therewith, which add their coloring to the dominant emotion. Herein, then, seems to lie the primary source of the pleasure afforded by music: that it is an articu- late voice, whereby we may find more or less ade- quate expression for the deepest emotions which inhabit the unfathomable recesses of the soul. Over and beyond the delectation which is thus derived from what may be termed the soul of music, there is a supplementary pleasure afforded by the external forms of melody. This clearly arises from the per- ception, in its numerous rhythmic designs and varying cadences, of the beauty of symmetry, pro- portion and the like thereby outlined before the mind, while at the same time, by the process of as- similation, may be suggested some of the multitu- dinous rhythms in the world of nature, or some other of its more sublime manifestations. And here again is the " association process " found occupying itself, calling up before the mind the scenes where MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 153 such manifestations are known, thus giving rise to other simple emotions, each contributing its pleas- urable sensation; the aggregate of all being the " complex " or complete pleasure. Moreover, the external forms of melody delight us by their supplementary elaboration and embellish- ment, affording a pleasure very similar to, if indeed not identical with that experienced in contemplat- ing the graceful or fantastic designs of line and curve wrought into delicate arabesques and infinite forms of beauty in a sister art. Let us accept melody, then, as the prime source of that pleasure which music affords; not, of course, wishing to be understood that melody per se affords this pleasure, but that, as presented in musical com- positions, it is the primary factor which produces the pleasurable emotion experienced. First, as be- ing the embodied expression of human feeling, that is the soul of it; and, secondly, by its external beauty of form and embellishment, all interwoven by harmony into the perfect whole. A brief word may be added as to harmony, which is understood to be the combination of two or more notes bearing relative consistent proportions to the fundamental tone. The meed of pleasure which harmony contributes to the aggregate derived from music, plainly resuUs from the character and color which it imparts to, and incidentally from the rich 154 MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. vestments, so to speak, woven from its " concord of sweet sounds," in which it robes its subject. As presented to the imagination, its innumerable combinations of beauty delight us now by their embroider-like richness; following which the imagi- nation is conducted amid ingeniously developed pro- gressions, from one enchanting surprise to another; now dazzling by their regal splendor, scintillating with rich decoration as might the brilliant capari- sons of a royal pageant glistening in the sunlight — awakening the more pleasurable phases of wonder and admiration, or again by their closely inter- woven, yet, in point of continuance, broadly ex- tended beauty, through which run the golden threads of melody, suggesting to the mind the velvety rich- ness of superb tapestries, into which are woven uniquely delicate or boldly figured designs, and un- numbered other mental pictures of beauty, giving rise to other various and amplified phases of the emotions named, and so forth. All these harmonic variations, infinite in number, being consistently proportioned and combined, now in powerful con- trasts, or again in the most delicate interfusions of sound, their effect upon the sensibilities may be said to be related to that experienced in contemplating perfect combinations, gradations and interblending of colors, especially if in action as in a fine sun- set, as when viewed across an expanse of water, upon which the rich masses of color are cradled MUSIC AND ITS PROCESSES. 155 mto innumerable combinations of beauty. In this connection is recalled the thought suggested by the author already quoted, that the time may come when ingenuity will have devised instruments whereby color may be manipulated and expressed in rhythmic action and harmonic combinations,/, r., symphonies in color, which shall impart the same pleasure through the sense of sight that we now de- rive from symphonies in sound. We have sought thus briefly to outline the view that the pleasure derived from music is chiefly pro- duced by its fundamental constituent, melody: ist. As furnishing an adequate medium of ex- pression to the most noble, most tender and conse- quently most demandful of human emotions; the importance of which service makes apparent the divineness of its mission. 2nd. By the countless designs of beauty presented to the mind in its various and ever varying forms. 3rd. By the rich ornamentation ard embellish- ments it displays. 4th. By calling into action the " association pro- cess " which calls up before the mind that which diverts and delights, and Finally, that harmony, the grand auxiliary and beautifier of melody, contributes in a preeminent degree to heighten, and to create, the sum total of pleasure afforded, in the manner briefly indicated.