UC-NRLF MM POEMS BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ BOSTON: WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY. , MDCCCXLVII. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by T. B. READ, in the Clerk s office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts BOSTON: PRINTED BY THURSTON, TORRY AND CO. 31 Devonshire Street. CONTENTS. PAGE CHRISTINE ... .. 1 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG 17 THE WINNOWER . .... 28 THE CITY OF THE HEART .... 31 SOME THINGS LOVE ME ..... 35 OLIVIA 33 INEZ ...... 42 " LADY WITH THE DUSKY TRESSES " .... 46 TO THE MASTER BARDS .... 48 A SHADOW . . . . . . . .49 A LEAF FROM THE PAST 51 WHY NOT WE ...... 54 ARISE 56 THE MAID OF THE MORNING 58 THE WINDY NIGHT 62 " MOURN NOT, SAD POET " 65 THE WATER 66 IV CONTENTS. A MORNING, BUT NO SUN TO WORDSWORTH THE SUMMER SHOWER LABOR ..... SUNLIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD THE RAINY DAY . . . THE SWISS STREET SINGER THE DEPARTURE . . THE TWINS .... EVENING ..... AUTUMN S SIGHING THE LAND OF OBLIVION INDIAN SUMMER . . . THE DISTANT MART . THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR A DIRGE FOR A DEAD BIRD . BELLS COME THOU, MY BRIDE A HYMN TO THE NIGHT WINTER .... THE BARDS POEMS. CHRISTINE. Supposed to be related by a young sculptor on the hill-side, between Florence and Fesold. COME my friend, and in the silence and the shadow wrapt apart, I will loose the golden claspings of this sacred tome the heart. By the bole of yonder cypress, under branches spread like eaves, We will sit where wavering sunshine weaves a romance in the leaves. There by gentle airs of story shall our dreaming minds be swayed, 2 CHRISTINE. And our spirits hang vibrating like the sunshine with the shade. v Thou shalt sit, and leaning o er me, calmly look into my heart, Look as Fesole above us looketh on Val d Arno s mart. Shalt behold how Love s fair river down the golden city goes, As the silent silver Arno through the streets of Florence flows. I was standing o er the marble, in the twilight falling gray, All my hopes and all my courage wasting from me like the day : There I leaned across the statue, heaving many a sigh and groan, For I deemed the world as heartless, aye, as heartless as the stone ! Nay, I well nigh thought the marble was a portion of my pain, CHRISTINE. 3 For it seemed a frozen sorrow just without my burning brain ! Then a cold and death-like stupor slowly crept along my frame, While my life seemed passing outward, like a pale re luctant flame. Then my weary soul went from me, and it walked the world alone, O er a wide and brazen desert, in a hot and brazen zone ! There it walked and trailed its pinions, slowly trailed them in the sands, With its hopeless eyes fixed blindly, with its hopeless folded hands. And there came no morn, no evening with its gentle stars and moon, But the sun amid the heavens made a broad unbroken noon - 4 CHRISTINE. And anon far reaching westward, with its weight of burning air, Lay an old and desolate ocean with a dead and glassy stare ! There my spirit wandered gazing, for the goal no time might reach, With its weary feet unsandaled on the hard and heated beach ! This it is to feel uncared for, like a useless wayside stone, This it is to walk in spirit through the desolate world alone ! Still I leaned across the marble, and a hand v, as on my arm, And my soul came back unto me as t were summoned by a charm. While a voice in gentlest whisper, breathed my name into my ear, CHRISTINE. 5 " Ah, Andrea, why this silence, why this shadow and this tear ? " Then I felt that I had wronged her, though I knew not that before ; I had feared that she would scorn me if I told the love I bore. I had seen her, spoken to her, only twice or thrice per chance ; And her mien was fine and stately though all heaven was in her glance, She had praised my humble labors, the conception and the art, She had said a thing of beauty nestled ever to her heart. And I thought one pleasant morning when our eyes to gether met, That her orbs in dewey splendor dropt beneath their fringe of jet. Though her form and air were noble, yet a simple dress she wore, 6 CHRISTINE. Like yon maiden by the cypress which the vines are weeping o er. And she came all unattended, her protection in her mien ; And with somewhat of reluctance bade me call her name Christine. Then that name became a music, and my dreams went to the time, And my brain all day made verses, and her beauty filled the rhyme. Then I knew not that she loved me, but I felt it now the more ; For her hand was laid upon me, and her eyes were brim ming o er. Down the deepest tides of feeling how her holy presence slid, With a light divine as Dian s on Endymion s dreamy lid. CHRISTINE. 7 Oh, she looked into my spirit, as the stars look in the stream, Or as azure eyes of angels calm the trouble of a dream. Trien I told my love unto her, and her sighs came deep and long So yon peasant plays the measure while the other leads the song. Then with tender words we parted, only as true lovers can; I for that deep love she bore me was a braver, better man. I had lived unloved of any, only loving Art before ; Now I thought all things did love, and I loved all things the more. I had lived accursed of Fortune, lived in penury worse than pain ; But when all the heaven was blackest down it burst in golden rain. 8 CHRISTINE. I was summoned to the palace, to the chamber of the Duke, And I felt those hopes within me which no darkness could rebuke. Down he kindly came to meet me, but I thought the golden throne, Upon which my love had raised me, was not lower than his own. Then he grasped my hand right warmly, and I gave as warm return, For I felt a noble nature in my very fingers burn ! And I would not bow below him if I could not rise above, For I wore within my bosom all the majesty of Love ! Then said he, " Your fame has reached me, and I fain would test your skill, Carve me something, Signor, follow the free fancy of your will. CHRISTINE. Carve me something, an Apollo, or a Dian with her hounds ; Or Adonis, dying, watching the young life flow from his wounds ; Or the dreamy-lidded Psyche, with her Cupid on her knee ; Or the flying fretted Daphne, taking refuge in the tree. Nay, I would not dictate, Signer, I would trust your taste and skill ; In the ancient armored chamber you may carve me what you will." Then I thanked him as he left me and I walked the armored hall Even I, so late neglected walked within the palace wall ! There were many suits of armor, some with battered breasts and casques ; And I thought the ancestral phantoms smiled upon me from their masks. 10 CHRISTINE. And my steps were all elastic with an energy divine ! Never in those breasts of iron beat a heart so proud as mine ! There for days I walked the chamber with a spirit all inflamed, And I thought o er all the subjects which the generous Duke had named ; Thought of those, and thought of others, slowly thought them o er and o er, Till my stormy brain went throbbing like the billows on the shore. In despair I left the palace, sought my humble room again, There my gentle Christine met me, and she smiled away my pain. " Courage ! " said she, and my courage leapt within me with a shock ! As of old when spake the prophet, leapt the waters from the rock ! CHRISTINE. 11 Who shall say that love is idle, or a weight upon the mind ? Nay, the soul which dares to scorn it, hath in idle dust reclined. I went back and in the chamber piled the shapeless Adam-earth ; Piled it carelessly, not knowing to what form it might give birth. There I leaned and dreamed above it, till the day went down the west, And the darkness came unto me like an old familiar guest. But I started, for a rustle swept across the solemn gloom ! And with light, like morn s horizon, gleamed the far end of the room ! Then a heavy sea of curtain, in a tempest rolled away ! Blessed Virgin ! how I trembled ! but it was not with dismay. 12 CHRISTINE. And my eyes grew large and larger, as I looked with lips apart ; All my senses drank in beauty, till it overflowed my heart. There it stood a living statue, with its loosened locks of brown, In an attitude angelic, with the folded hands dropt down. But I could not see the features, for a veil was hanging there, Yet so thin that o er the forehead I could trace the shade of hair. Then the veil became a trouble, and I wished that it were gone, And I spoke, twas but a whisper, " let thy features on me dawn ! " Then the heavy sea of drapery stormed again across my sight, CHRISTINE. 13 And it left me wrapt in darkness, and it left me wrapt in night. But for days where er I turned me, still that blessed form was there, As one looketh to the sunlight then beholds it every where. Then for days and days I labored with a soul in courage mailed ; And I wrought the nameless statue ; but alas, the face was veiled ! I had tried all forms of feature every face of classic art, Still the veil was there I felt it in my brain and in my heart ! Then again I left the palace, and again I met Christine, And she trembled as I told her of the vision I had seen. And she sighed " Ah, dear Andrea," while she clung unto my breast, 14 CHRISTINE. " What if this should prove a phantom, something fear ful, all unblest ? Something which shall pass between us ! " and she clasped me with her arm : " Nay," I answered, " love, I 11 test it with a most an gelic charm ! Let me gaze upon thy features, love, and fear not for the rest, These shall exorcise the spirit if it be a thing unblest ! " Then I hurried to the statue, where so often I had failed, And I made the face of Christine, and it stood no longer veiled ! With a flush upon my forehead, then I called the Duke he came, And in rustling silks beside him walked his tall and stately dame. And they looked upon the statue, then on me with stern surprise ; CHRISTINE. 15 Then they looked upon each other with a wonder in their eyes ! " What is this ? " spoke out the Duchess with her gaze fixed on the Duke ; " What is this ? " and me he questioned in a tone of sharp rebuke. Like a miserable echo, I the question asked again And he said, " it is our daughter ! your presumption for your pain ! " But now bursting from the curtain in her jeweled dress complete, Swept a maiden in her beauty, and she dropt before his feet * - And she cried, " my father mother, cast aside that frowning mien ! And forgive my own Andrea, and forgive your child Christine ! 16 CHRISTINE. Oh forgive us ! for believe me, all the fault was mine alone ! " And they granted her petition, and they blest us as their own ! 17 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBTJRG. DARK fell the winter s stormy night On Dattenburg s rude castled height, Through gloomy halls and crumbling door, The wild winds swept with sullen roar ; And on the dusky ruin beat The arrowy showers of rain and sleet ; Till every broken arch and post Gleamed through the darkness like a ghost ! But out athwart the midnight air A taper shot its starry glare. Perchance some bride had bade it burn To safely guide her lord s return, Or maid, perchance, had placed the light A beacon for her wandering knight. 18 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. Or was it but a spectral ray To lead the traveler astray ? But who at that dread hour and late Stood beating at the ruined gate, While, at his side, with dripping mane, A steed contended with the rein; And ran along the castle gray, The echoes of the chargers neigh ? The stately form in splendor drest, From armed heel to plumed crest, Spoke an illustrious lord of Rhine Fresh from the fields of Palestine ; Who, blinded by the tempest s wrath, Had wandered from his mountain path, Until, with joy, he saw afar The radiance of that friendly star. And he, in that dread hour and late, Stood beating at the ruined gate. " Ho ! Warder ! ho ! " again he cried " Ho ! Warder ! ho ! " the walls replied ! " What ho ! a traveler calls for aid ! " Still echo only answer made. THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. 19 Then murmured he, " this wall unknown Is but some ruin old and lone, Deserted by its lord to be A place for ghostly revelry ! For never yet a lord of Rhine Refused his shelter or his wine ! Then be this place the demon s haunt, My soul can bid them all avaunt, Or fearless be the Phantom s guest To night within these halls I rest ! " He gave his steed a sheltered stall, And groped his way along the wall ; Then through the crumbling portal passed, Where writhed and moaned and shrieked the blast. Fit minstrelsy in such an hour To welcome knight to haunted bower. Though all was utter darkness there, He passed along from hall to stair, Till gleaming from a distant room, A ray was painted on the gloom. 20 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. He strode along unto the flame, And gained the door from whence it came His foot was on the oaken sill, A moment and his heart was still ! At thought of fear his blood upsprung ! The door on creaking hinges swung, And forth he stepped within the light And bowed, as well became a knight. Before him stood in snowy dress, A maid of lustrous loveliness. And when excuse the knight essayed, Her large eyes dropped beneath their shade, As night birds from the glowing day, Drop in the dusky pines away. And thus she stood before the guest, With mien that suits a maiden best. Then spake the knight with humble air " Forgive the rudeness, lady fair ; Before thee stands a lord of Rhine, Late from the fields of Palestine. The night is dark the blast is cold, And baffled on the midnight wold, THE BRIDE OF DATTENBTJRG. 21 Through various paths I turned astray ; Yet, surely, have not lost my way ; For nought were all the storms to-night, Since so much beauty greets my sight ! " She paid his words with dusky wine, The generous beverage of the Rhine, A golden goblet handed him, And filled it to the jewelled brim ; On her so steady was his glance, And she so steady looked askance, That ere they thought the goblet filled, A portion on the floor was spilled ! And ere his lips had touched the edge, He bowed to her with courteous pledge ; Then long and deep he breathless quaffed, And passionately praised the draught. Such wine upon his native shore, Was never quaffed by knight before ; For well he knew the purple wave, Took virtue from the hand that gave ! As oft the silver flagon rained Upon the cup, as oft he drained ; 22 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. At every draught more lovely grew, The silent maiden to his view ; Till fired with love beyond command, He proffered her his heart and hand ! As from her clasp the flagon fell, The maiden gazed upon him well ! And as her bosom heaved a sigh, Somewhat of love was in her eye, And on her lip a tender smile Yet never word she spake the while ! But now she stepped aside and took A gold harp from its dusky nook ; And softly as the fall of snow, Or softly as the night flowers blow ; Or as the wavering rose leaves fall, From Autumn s fading coronal, As soft the fingers of the maid Among the golden harp-strings played. So sweet the gentle cadence swelled, The knight entranced his posture held ; And as his soul drank eagerly Those low, sad notes of melody, THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. 23 With sweet, unearthly grief imbued, He sighed, he wept and bowed subdued ! And as she swept the chords along, Thus swelled the melancholy song. SONG. " Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! } T was in the solemn midnight hour, Through winter winds and freezing shower, A knight came to a lady s bower ; Ah, woe is me ! The last bud on the blasted tree Was she, Ah me ! " Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! He claimed her hospitality, And drank the purple wine so free, And pledged to her right courteously ; Ah, woe is me ! The last bud on the blasted tree Was she, Ah me ! 24 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. " Ah, woe is me ! Ah, woe is me ! A noble baron of the Rhine, He asked her hand when flushed with wine, And in her heart she said, P m thine ! Ah, woe is me ! The last bud on the blasted tree Was she, Ah me ! " Now as the cadence softly died, The maiden rose and stepped aside, Before the pictures of a knight, And dame in jewelled "dress bedight, Awhile she stood. Then from the wall Took down a withered coronal, And placed it on her lover s head ; Then solemnly the way she led Though many an echoing corridor, And now they walked the chapel floor ! A flood of light around them hung From many a waxen taper flung ; Green branches waved around the wall. As for some holy festival ! THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. 25 Now shadow-like a stately pair Walked up the aisle with solemn air ! The bridegroom gazed on them aghast, While to a statued tomb they passed ! There were the pictured knight and dame Which late he saw ! the very same ! And grimly stretched along the tomb, There lay a mitred form of gloom ; The old knight waved his shadowy hand : Obedient to the stern command, Sad strains of music swelled around, Like organ tones from under ground ! The statue with his mitred crest Rose slowly from his place of rest, And with a loud, unearthly tread, The way unto the altar led ! While, statue-like, the aged pair Gazed on the youth with stony stare, Out spake the prelate with a tone, That seemed the distant thunder s moan, And on the young knight s soul it fell As cold as icy manacle ! 26 THE BRIDE OF DATTENBURG. " Speak ! Kurd von Stein ! tak st thou for bride, The maiden standing at thy side ? Speak ! Kurd von Stein ! " The trembling knight No word could answer for affright ! Again he heard the question swell, Like summons from a smothered cell And once again with fiercer power, " Speak ! Kurd von Stein ! " The convent tower Now told abroad the morning hour ! And with it came a rush of wind, And not a trace was left behind Of bishop, maid, or aged pair ! They passed like leaves on autumn air ! The young knight giddy swooned away ; And when he woke, the golden day Was streaming o er him where he lay ! Down from the altar then he stepped, Where he the troubled hour had slept ; And passing through the ruined aisle, The wild birds fluttered out the while, He saw the mitred statue grim, Lay stretched with rusty form and limb, THE BRIDE OF DATTENBTTRG. 27 So overgrown with ivies green, The stately form could scarce be seen. But now he heard his charger s neigh Now, thoughtfully, he rode away ! 28 THE WINNOWER. SINGS a maiden by a river, Sings and sighs alternately ; In my heart shall flow forever, Like a stream, her melody. Midst her hair of flaxen hue Tend rest buds and blossoms teem ; And her beauty glows as through Hazy splendors of a dream. Like her melody s rich bars Or a golden flood of stars, Rustling like a summer rain, Through her fingers falls the grain, Swells her voice in such sweet measure, I must join for very pleasure ; THE WINNOWER. 29 But my lay shall be of her, Bright and lovely Winnower ! When her song to laughter merges, Melts the music of her tongue, Like the voice of mimic surges Over golden pebbles flung. From her hands the grainless chaff On the light wind dances free ; But a sigh will check her laugh, " So much worthlessness, ah me, Mingles with the good ! " saith she ; Yet the grain is fair to see. Laughter, like some sweet surprise, Lights again her dewy eyes, And her song hath drowned her sighs ; Therefore will I sing of her, Bright and lovely Winnower ! Down beside as fair a river Sings the maiden Poesy, In my heart shall flow forever Her undying melody. 30 THE WINNOWER. Through her rosy fingers fall Golden grain of richest thought ; But the grainless chaff is all By the scattering breezes caught : " So much worthlessness, ah me, Mingles with the good ! " saith she. Yet the grain is bright to see, Therefore laughs she merrily ! Laughs and sings in such sweet measure, I must join for very pleasure While my heart keeps time with her, I will praise the Winnower! 31 THE CITY OF THE HEART. THE heart is a city teeming with life Through all its gay avenues, rife With gladness And innocent madness, Bright beings are passing along, Too fleeting and fair for the eye to behold, While something of Paradise sweetens their song, They are gliding away with their wild gushing ditty, Out of the city, Out of the beautiful gates of gold ! Through gates that are ringing While to and fro swinging, Swinging and ringing ceaselessly, Like delicate hands that are clapped in glee, Beautiful hands of infancy ! 32 THE CITY OF THE HEART. The heart is a city and gay are the feet That dance along To the joyous beat Of the timbrel that giveth a pulse to song. Bright creatures enwreathed With flowers and mirth, Fair maidens bequeathed With the glory of earth, Sweep through the long street, and singing await, A moment await at the wonderful gate ; Every second of time there comes to depart Some form that no more shall revisit the heart ! They are gliding away and breathing farewell How swiftly they pass Through the gates of brass, Through gates that are ringing While to and fro swinging, And making deep sounds, like the half-stifled swell Of the far away ring of a gay marriage bell ! The heart is a city with splendor bedight, Where tread martial hosts arrayed for the fight, THE CITY OF THE HEART. 33 Under banner-hung arches, To war-kindling marches, To the fife and the rattle Of drums, with gay colors unfurled, On, eager for battle, To smite their bright spears on the spears of the world ! Through noontime, through midnight, list, and thou 1 t hear The gates swing in front, then clang in the rear. Like a bright river flowing, The war host is going, And, like that river, Returning, ah never ! Through daylight and darkness low thunder is heard From the city that flings Her iron wrought wings, Flapping the air like the wings of a bird ! The heart is a city how sadly and slow, To and fro, Covered with rust, the solemn gates go ! With meek folded palms, 3 34 THE CITY OF THE HEART. With heads bending lowly, Strange beings pass slowly, Through the dull avenues chanting their psalms ; Sighing and mourning they follow the dead Out of the gates that fall heavy as lead Passing, how sadly, with echoless tread, The last one is fled ! No more to be opened, the gates softly close, And shut in a stranger who loves the repose ; With no sigh for the past, with countenance of pity He spreads his black flag o er the desolate city ! 35 SOME THINGS LOVE ME. ALL within and all without me Feel a melancholy thrill ; And the darkness hangs about me, Oh, how still ! To my feet, the river glideth Through the shadow, sullen, dark ; On the stream the white moon rideth, Like a barque And the linden leans above me, Till I think some things there be In this dreary world that love me, Even me ! Gentle flowers are springing near me, Shedding sweetest breath around ; 36 SOME THINGS LOVE ME. Countless voices rise, to cheer me, From the ground ; And the lone bird comes I hear it In the tall and windy pine Pour the sadness of its spirit Into mine ; There it swings and sings above me, Till I think some things there be In this dreary world that love me, Even me ! Now the moon hath floated to me, On the stream I see it sway, Swinging, boat-like, as twould woo me Far away And the stars bend from the azure, I could reach them where I lie, And they whisper all the pleasure Of the sky. There they hang and smile above me, Till I think some things there be In the very heavens that love me, Even me ! SOME THINGS LOVE ME. 37 Now when comes the tide of even, Like a solemn river, slow, Gentle eyes akin to heaven On me glow Loving eyes that tell their story, Speaking to my heart of hearts ; But I sigh, " a thing of glory Soon departs ! " Yet when Mary fades above me, I must think that there will be One thing more in heaven to love me, Even me ! 38 OLIVIA. DOWN where tall and saintly poplars Grow along a grassy lane, Stands a mansion, old and lonely, Gray with mould, and open only To the gusty wind and rain. Round the porch long vines are trailing With the webs that fan the gust ; Overgrown with honey-suckles Is the door, whose brazen knuckles Hang engloved in dust and rust. And a sleepy silver river Through the silent meadow flows,- OLIVIA. 39 Sweeping toward the distant city, And it seems to murmur pity As it seems to dream of woes. Down beneath the aged willow, Down beside the garden gate, Sat Olivia, sighing, weeping, For her lover, lonely keeping Weary watch and watching late. In the sunny days now numbered With the sleeping, dreamy past, With that weeping tree above her, Proudly spake she to her lover Words of scorn, to him the last. Word of scorn, and spoken proudly, Not the meanest brook o er well Word of scorn say, who may bear it ? Not the glowing, noble spirit, Though from angel lips it fell ! 40 OLIVIA. With a heart as proud as ever, She returned his cold adieu ; In his boat she saw him sitting, Watched him toward the city flitting Swiftly flitting from her view. When beneath the distant bridges She beheld no more his sail, Gazing still adown the river, Her pale lips began to quiver, And her heart began to fail. Years went by. Beneath that willow Still she gazed toward the town ; Gazed toward the gilded steeple, Or beheld the joyous people In their boats float up and down. There she sat till reason left her, There she sat in her despair, Sadly singing, sighing, grieving, OLIVIA. 41 Sighing sadly, singing, weaving Willow branches in her hair. Down beneath the crowded bridges, When the day was in the wane, With gay songs and laughter hearty, Sailed a brilliant bridal party, Jesting, singing all amain. But the bridegroom by his lady, Mutely gazed upon the tide, Till he saw the wave was laden With the white form of a maiden ! Saw her tresses floating wide ! Still he gazed, until her features Gleamed amid the waters dim ; But ere burst his cry of wonder She sank down forever under ! Sank unseen by all but him ! 42 INEZ. DOWN behind the hidden village, fringed around with hazel brake, (Like a holy hermit dreaming, half asleep and half awake, One who loveth the sweet quiet for the happy quiet s sake,) Dozing, murmuring in its visions, lay the heaven-enam ored lake. And within a dell, where shadows through the brightest days abide, Like the silvery swimming gossamer by breezes scat tered wide, Fell a shining skein of water that ran down the lake let s side, As within the brain by beauty lulled, a pleasant thought may glide. INEZ. 43 When the sinking sun of August, growing large in the decline, Shot his arrows long and golden, through the maple and the pine ; And the russet-thrush fled singing from the alder to the vine, While the cat-bird in the hazel gave its melancholy whine ; And the little squirrel chattered, peering round the hickory bole, And, like a lonely meteor, gleamed along the oriole ; There I walked beside fair Inez, and her gentle beauty stole Like the scene athwart my senses, like the sunshine through my soul. And her fairy feet that pressed the leaves, a pleasant music made, And they dimpled the sweet beds of moss with blos soms thick inlaid : 44 INEZ. There I told her old romances, and with love s sweet woe we played, Till fair Inez s eyes, like evening, held the dew be neath their shade. There I wove for her love ballads, such as lover only weaves, Till she sighed and grieved, as only mild and loving maiden grieves ; And to hide her tears she stooped to glean the violets from the leaves, As of old sweet Ruth went gleaning mid the oriental sheaves. Down we walked beside the lakelet : gazing deep into her eye, There I told her all my passion ! With a sudden blush and sigh, Turning half away with look askant, she only made reply, " How deep within the water glows the happy evening sky ! " INEZ. 45 Then I asked her if she loved me, and our hands met each in each, And the dainty, sighing ripples seemed to listen up the reach ; While thus slowly with a hazel wand she wrote along the beach, "Love, like the sky, lies deepest ere the heart is stirred to speech." Thus I gained the love of Inez thus I won her gentle hand ; And our paths now lie together, as our foot-prints on the strand ; We have vowed to love each other in the golden morn ing land, When our names from earth have vanished,, like the writing from the sand ! 46 LADY WITH THE DUSKY TRESSES. LADY with the dusky tresses, Sunny cheek and lustrous eye, Brightly standest thou before me, With thy looks so pure and high ; And thou fills t my soul with beauty, As the morning fills the sky ; Therefore, lady, shine forever, Like the morning smiling ever, With a glory fading never ! Like a gladsome gleam of sunshine, Thou dost glide amid thy halls, Flushing all things into beauty Wheresoe er thy glory falls ; More than for the golden sunlight, Some sad spirit for thee calls ! LADY WITH THE GOLDEN TRESSES. 47 Therefore, lady, shine forever, Like the sunlight smiling ever, With a glory fading never ! Not the stars that gild the azure, Speaking ever love divine, Nor the upward looking flowers, That like stars around us shine, Show us half the heaven that beameth From those gentle eyes of thine. Therefore, lady, shine forever, Like the sweet stars smiling ever, With a glory fading never ! Not the solemn air of midnight, By a rustling water stirred, Nor the sweetest song of angels In a golden vision heard, Fill the soul with half the music Of thy slightest murmured word ! Therefore, lady, sing forever, Like the angels ceasing never, Shedding glory round thee ever ! 48 TO THE MASTER BARDS. YE mighty masters of the song sublime, Who, phantom-like, with large unwavering eyes, Stalk down the solemn wilderness of Time, Reading the mysteries of the future skies ; Oh, scorn not earth because it is not heaven ; Nor shake the dust against us from your feet, Because we have rejected what was given ! Still let your tongues the wondrous theme repeat ! Though ye be friendless in this solitude, Quick winged thoughts, from many an unborn year, God-sent, shall feed ye with prophetic food, Like those blest birds which fed the ancient Seer ! And Inspiration, like a wheeled flame, Shall bear ye upward to eternal fame ! 49 A SHADOW. THE river rolls with might and main, Where never a bird is blithe, Like a mower, the beautiful tree on the plain Sways, swinging its shadowy scythe. Like the river s flow Through the autumn plain, The river of woe Sweeps through my brain ; And beautiful Love sways to and fro, Swinging a shadowy scythe ! The river drowns the swooning bank, And the plain is a desolate sea, And flinging its arms abroad, leafless and lank, Leander-like labors the tree. 4 50 A SHADOW. Like the waters flow Over the plain, The waters of woe Sweep over my brain, And laboring Love reels to and fro, Spurning and lashing the desolate sea ! The flood subsides, the river glides In silvery sheen right joyously, The conquering tree on the bright plain hides Its limbs in greenest livery. The sea of woe Hath left my brain, And pleasures flow In their channel again ; While beautiful Love sways to and fro, Bedecked in Hope s bright livery ! 51 A LEAF FROM THE PAST. WITH thee, dear friend, though far away, I walk, as on some vanished day, And all the-past returns in beautiful array. With thee I still pace to and fro Along the airy portico, And gaze upon the flowers and river winding slow. And there, as in some fairy realm, I hear the sweet birds overwhelm The fainting air with music from the lofty elm. And hear the winged winds, like bees, Go swarming in the tufted trees, Or dropping low way, o erweighed with melodies. 52 A LEAF FROM THE PAST. We walk beneath the cedar s eaves, Where statued Ceres, with her sheaves, Stands sheltered in a bower of trailing vines and leaves. Or strolling by the garden fence, Drinking delight with every sense, We watch th encamping sun throw up his golden tents. With thee I wander as of old, When fall the linden s leaves of gold, Or when old winter whitely mantles all the wold. As when the low salt marsh was mown, With thee I idly saunter down Between the long white village and the towered town. I see the sultry bridge and long, The river where the barges throng The bridge and river made immortal in thy song. In dreams like these, of calm delight, I live again the wintry night, When all was dark without, but all within was bright A LEAF FROM THE PAST. 53 When she, fit bride for such as thou, She with the quiet, queenly brow, Read from the minstrel s page with tuneful voice and low. Still in the crowd or quiet nook, I hear thy tone behold thy look Thou speakest with thine eyes as from a poet s book. I listen to thy cheering word, And sadness, like the affrighted bird, Flies fast, and flies afar, until it is unheard. 54 WHY NOT WE. LOOK how the blue-eyed violets Glance love to one another ! Their little leaves are whispering The vows they may not smother. The birds are pouring passion forth, From every blossoming tree If flowers and birds talk love, lady, Why not we ? The golden flashing meadow grass With vernal feeling thrills, And rivulet to rivulet, Discourses in the hills ; WHY NOT WE. 55 Along the dreamy valleys sigh The rivers to the sea They murmur their pure love, lady, Why not we ? And over all the happy earth, Love floweth like a river True love, whose glory fills the sky Forever and forever. The pale hearts of the silver stars Throb, too, as mine to thee. All things delight in love, lady, Why not we ? 56 ARISE. i. THE shadow of the midnight hours Falls like a mantle round my form ; And all the stars, like autumn flowers, Are banished by the whirling storm. The demon-clouds throughout the sky, Are dancing in their strange delight, While winds unwearied play; but I Am weary of the night. Then rise, sweet maiden mine, arise, And dawn upon me with thine eyes. n. The linden, like a lover, stands And taps against thy window pane ; The willow with its slender hands, Is harping on the silver rain. ARISE. 57 I ve watched thy gleaming taper die, And hope departed with the light The winds unwearied play ; but I Am weary of the night. Then rise, sweet maiden mine, arise, And dawn upon me ivith thine eyes. m. The gentle morning comes apace, And smiling bids the night depart; Rise, maiden, with thy orient face, And smile the shadow from my heart ! The clouds of night affrighted fly Yet darkness seals my longing sight All nature gladly sings while I Am weary of the night. Then rise, sweet maiden mine, arise, And dawn upon me with thine eyes. 58 THE MAID OF THE MORNING. I HAVE loved a gentle maiden Long and well ; Of her many radiant beauties Who may tell ? Freely to the winds she giveth Golden hair ; One rare, burning jewel gilds her Forehead fair. And her silky robes of azure Glisten bright Sometimes on her breast a crescent Shineth white. THE MAID OF THE MORNING. 59 Early at my open casement She is beaming, Jealous lest that of some other I am dreaming. Smiling unto me she cometh, Stealing slow ; On my cheek and brow I feel her Tresses glow. Deep into my eye she peereth To the brain, And of pleasant golden visions Wakes a train. When to mine the maiden closely Rests her cheek, Thus in whispering words I hear her Chiding speak " Wherefore, oh thou dreamy poet, Sleep st thou still ? Thou may st hear the big wheel turning At the mill 60 THE MAID OF THE MORNING. " Hear the pretty milk-maid singing With her pail ; And from yonder barn the thunder Of the flail. " Then why flows thy life-stream idle Neath the sun ? Is their nothing in thy store-house To be done ? " Start the wheel, thou drowsy miller, Start in haste ! Ere thy life s uncertain river Runs to waste. " Like the threshers, be thy labor Hard and long ; Like the milk-maid let thy glad heart Gush in song." Thus the maiden gently chides me, Whilst her eyes Speak a language all too tender For disguise. THE MAID OF THE MORNING. 61 Therefore flows my love unto her Like a river, And I 11 praise the Maid of Morning Now and ever. 62 THE WINDY NIGHT. ALOW and aloof, Over the roof, How the midnight tempests howl ! With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; Or whistle and shriek Through limbs that creak, "Tu who! tu whit!" They cry and flit, Tu whit ! tu who ! " like the solemn owl ! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, Sweep the moaning winds amain, And wildly dash The elm and ash, Clattering on the window sash ! THE WINDY NIGHT. 63 With a clatter and patter, Like hail and rain, That well nigh shatter The dusky pane ! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the tempests swell and roar ! Though no foot is astir, Though the cat and the cur Lie dozing along the kitchen floor, There are feet of air On every stair ! Through every hall Through each gusty door, There s a jostle and bustle, With a silken rustle, Like the meeting of guests at a festival ! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, How the stormy tempests swell ! 64 THE WINDY NIGHT. And make the vane On the spire complain They heave at the steeple with might and main ; And burst and sweep Into the belfry, on the bell ! They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well, That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! 65 "MOURN NOT, SAD POET. MOURN not, sad poet, but right gladly sing, So shall thy fortune be not wholly drear ; Pour forth thy spirit like a rock-bound spring, Which o er its barriers sings more sweetly clear. Pour forth thy gladness in a louder shower, Because thou rt in a rocky desert placed, That pilgrims, feeling thy refreshing power, Shall speak thy praises through their life-wide waste. Pour forth thy freshness, and though far and wide No blossoms wave to cheer the barren ground, Earth s countless flowers, in rarest colors dyed With sweetest moss, shall compass thee around. Then sing in gladness, and thy constant lay Shall wear Misfortune s hardest rocks away ! 66 THE WATER. THE water ! the water ! The dark cloud upsprings, And, eagle-like, scatters the spray from its wings ! The water ! the water ! Where pastures are green, Where forest trees grow with sweet flowers between ; Where sitteth the mountain, so sullen and proud, And, sultan-like, wears for its turban the cloud ; Where springeth a shrub where a leaflet is seen, Wherever is beauty, the water hath been. Throughout the dark winter you hear it rejoice, As it glideth away with its ice-muffled voice ; Where late on the hill-side the loud torrent flowed, It stands in the night like a ghost by the road ! THE WATER. 67 But bounding adown in the light of the sun, With maniac laughter the water shall run ; Away, and away, telling loud with delight, The pranks that it played through the long winter night ! But dreadful the place where the water is not The camel athirst faints away on the spot The pilgrim starts up, with his blood-bursting eyes, To follow the counterfeit lake as it flies ! O er terrible sands he pursueth it far, Then sink, as it fades like a meteor star ! Like Hagar, he sinks in his burning distress Send thy angel, oh, God, to the wilderness ! 68 A MORNING, BUT NO SUN. THE morning comes, but brings no sun ; The sky with storm is overrun ; And here I sit in my room alone, And feel, as I hear the tempest moan, Like one who hath lost the last and best, The dearest dweller from his breast ! For every pleasant sight and sound, The sorrows of the sky have drowned ; The bell within the neighboring tower, Falls blurred and distant through the shower; Look where I will, hear what I may, All, all the world seems far away ! The dreary shutters creak and swing, The windy willows sway and fling A MORNING, BUT NO SUN. 69 A double portion of the rain Over the weeping window pane. But I, with gusty sorrow swayed, Sit hidden here, like one afraid, And would not on another throw One drop of all this weight of woe ! 70 TO WORDSWORTH. THY rise was as the morning, glorious, bright ! And error vanished like the affrighted dark ; While many a soul, as the aspiring lark, Waked by thy dawn, soared singing to the light, Drowning in gladdest song the earth s despite ! And beauty blossomed in all lowly nooks Love, like a river made of nameless brooks, Grew and exulted in thy wakening sight ! All nature hailed thee as a risen sun ; Nor will thy setting blur her thankful eyes ! While earth remains thy day shall not be done, Nor cloud dispread to blot thy matchless skies ! When Death s command, like Joshua s shall arise, Thou It stand as stood the sun of Gibeon ! 71 THE SUMMER SHOWER. BEFORE the stout harvesters falleth the grain, As when the strong storm-wind is reaping the plain ; And loiters the boy in the briery lane ; But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain, Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall. Adown the white highway, like cavalry fleet, It dashes the dust with its numberless feet. Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat, The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat ; And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall. The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing. Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring, While a bubble darts up from each widening ring ; And the boy, in dismay, hears the loud shower fall. 72 THE SUMMER SHOWER. But soon are the harvesters tossing the sheaves ; The robin darts out from its bower of leaves ; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all. 73 LABOR. " LABOR, labor ! " sounds the anvil " Labor, labor, until death !" And the file, with voice discordant, " Labor, endless labor ! " saith. While the bellows to the embers, Speaks of labor in each breath. " Labor, labor !" in the harvest, Saith the whetting of the scythe, And the mill-wheel tells of labor Under waters falling blithe ; " Labor, labor ! " groan the millstones, To the bands that whirl and writhe ! 74 LABOR. And the woodman tells of labor, In his echo-waking blows ; In the forest, in the cabin, T is the dearest word he knows ! " Labor, labor ! " saith the spirit, And with labor comes repose. " Labor ! " saith the loaded wagon, Moving towards the distant mart. " Labor !" groans the heavy steamer, As she cleaves the waves apart. Beating like that iron engine, " Labor, labor !" cries the heart ! Yes, the heart of man cries " labor !" While it labors in the breast. Hear the Ancient and Eternal, In the Word which He hath blest, Saying, " Six days shalt thou labor, On the seventh thou shalt rest !" LABOR. Then how beautiful at evening, When the toilsome week is done, To behold the blacksmith s embers t Fade together with the sun ; And to think the doors of labor Are all closing up like one ! 75 76 SUNLIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD. DEAR Mary, I remember yet The day when first we rode together, Through groves where grew the violet, For it was in the Maying weather. And I remember how the woods Were thrilled with love s delightful chorus ; How in the scented air the buds, Like our young hearts, were swelling o er us. The little birds, in tuneful play, Along the fence before us fluttered ; The robin hopped across the way, Then turned to hear the words we uttered ! SUNLIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD. 77 We stopped beside the willow-brook, That trickled through its bed of rushes ; While timidly the reins you took, I gathered blooms from brier bushes ; And one I placed, with fingers meek, Within your little airy bonnet ; But then I looked and saw your cheek Another rose was blooming on it ! Some miles beyond the village lay, Where pleasures were in wait to wreathe us ; While swiftly flew the hours away, As swiftly flew the road beneath us. How gladly we beheld arise, Across the hill, the village steeple ! Then met the urchin s wondering eyes, And gaze of window-peering people ! The dusty coach that brought the mail, Before the office door was standing ; Beyond, the blacksmith, gray and hale, With burning tire the wheel was banding. 78 SUNLIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD. We passed some fruit-trees after these A bedded garden lying sunward ; Then saw, beneath three aged trees, The parsonage a little onward. A modest building, somewhat gray, Escaped from time, from storm, disaster ; The very threshold worn away With feet of those who d sought the pastor. And standing on the threshold there, We saw a child of angel lightness, Her soul-lit face her form of air, Outshone the sunlight with their brightness ! As then she stood I see her now In years perchance a half a dozen And, Mary, you remember how She ran to you and called you " cousin ? " As then, I see her slender size, Her flowing locks upon her shoulder A six years loss to Paradise, And ne er on earth the child grew older ! SUNLIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD. 79 Three times the flowers have dropped away, Three winters glided gaily o er us, Since here upon that morn in May The little maiden stood before us. These are the elms, and this the door, With trailing woodbine overshaded ; But from the step, forevermore, The sunlight of that child has faded ! 80 THE RAINY DAY. OVER the hills and over the plains, Sweep the equinoctial rains, Smiting the river, beating the bay, Till every wave, Like a coward slave, Sinks in a sullen hush away ! A very tyrant is the rain ; He throweth around his chilly chain, He barreth the rich and he barreth the poor, While his sentinels pace at every door ! But what care I For the frowning sky, Or the rain who forgeth his chain so cold ! For I can dream, And, dreaming deem His fetters are only as fetters of gold ! THE RAINY DAY. 81 Oh, sweet to me is the autumn weather, When the rain and the leaves come down together ; When twilight through the day descends ; When rare old books From shadowy nooks Look out like old familiar friends ! T is then I weave my idle rhyme While the noisy rain without beats time. For never more lovely looked river and plain, Than now, when they gleam through the misty pane ! Then what care I For the frowning sky, Or the rain who forgeth his chain so cold ; For I can dream, And, dreaming, deem His fetters are only as fetters of gold ! 82 THE SWISS STREET SINGER. THROW up the glassy casement wide, And fling the heavy blinds aside, To let the sunshine and the tide Of music through the chamber glide. Oh, list ! it is a maiden young, Who singeth in a foreign tongue ; She poureth songs in strangest guise, In words translated by her eyes. Come, youth and childhood, form the ring, And, maidens, from the window lean, To lid the exile Switzer sing, And strike the trembling tambourine ! THE SWISS STREET SINGER. 83 The glistening azure in her eye Hath something of her native sky ; The music of the rill and breeze Are mingled in her melodies ; And in her form s tall graceful lines There s something of the mountain pines ; And, oh, believe her soul may glow As purely as the Alpine snow. Come, youth and childhood, form the ring, And, maidens, from the window lean, To bid the exile Switzer sing, And strike the trembling tambourine ! Oh, gaze not on her scornfully, For, gentle lady, like to thee, That wandering maiden well may be Acquaint with pain and misery, And sad remembrance prompts the lay That telleth of the far away ; While wildly in her music swell The glory, name, arid land of Tell ! 84 THE SWISS STREET SINGER. Then, youth and childhood, form the ring, And, maidens, from the window lean, To lid the exile Switzer sing, And strike the trembling tambourine ! 85 THE DEPARTURE. ALL around me glows the harvest As I drop below the town, And the pleasant song of workmen On the breeze is floating down. Far away the slender brooklet Gleams upon the yellow plain, Like a newly sharpened sickle Dropped amid the golden grain. By the town, and through the valleys, Sweeps the flashing river fast, Like a herald to the future, With a summons from the past. 86 THE DEPARTURE. Now my soul hath caught the music Of the pleasant harvest strain ; And the stream of gladness flashes, Like the brooklet, in my brain. And responsive to the river, How my spirit sweeps along, As it goes to meet the future, With a purpose fixed and strong. 8? THE TWINS. FROM a beautiful lake in the mountain Two rivulets came down, Prattling awhile to the violets Mid shadows green and .brown. O er beds of golden lustre, Around by rock and tree, They sang the same tune with their silvery tongues, And clapped their hands in glee. O er rocks with mosses mantled, They eddied and whirled like a waltzing pair, Till, hand in hand, with laughter and leap They mingled their misty hair. 88 THE TWINS. Over the self-same ledges, Singing the self-same tune, They passed from April to breezy May, Toward the fields of June. They whirled and danced and dallied, And through the meadows slid, Till under the same thick grass and flowers Their further course was hid ! I saw two beautiful children, Of one fair mother born, Like two young clouds of golden hue That smile on the breast of morn. The same in age and beauty, The same in voice and size, The same bright hair upon their necks, The same shade in their eyes ! Singing the same song ever In the self-same silvery tune, They passed from April into May, Toward the fields of June ! THE TWINS. They whirled and danced and dallied The beautiful vales amid, Till under the same thick leaves and flowers Their future course was hid ! 90 EVENING. WHILE the fading day, yet florid, Gilds the steeples of the town, With a star upon her forehead Comes the gentle evening down ; And a gray and gause-like mantle Melts around her robes of brown. Sacred rest from her is given, Rest and love and joy complete ; All the sweetest birds of heaven Singing drop down at her feet ; And the happy rustic maidens The sweet songs of peace repeat. EVENING. 91 Now the farmer mid his cattle Stands the conscious lord of all ; And the horse, like one from battle, Hears the heavy harness fall, Turning with a neigh of pleasure, Well contented, to his stall. Not alone o er hills and valleys Falls the star-light of her mien ; But in streets and dismal alleys Is her holy presence seen, By the rich and by the beggar, And the crowd who walk between. And the bard, though worn and weary, She renews with strange delight, Spreading round his walls, late dreary, Fancies beautiful and bright, Ere comes down, like Cleopatra, The rare jewelled queen of Night. 92 EVENING. Though to some she brings no gladness, While she tells of fearful things ; What though misery and madness Still inflict their savage stings ; Yet thrice blessed be the Evening, That some peace to earth she brings. 93 AUTUMN S SIGHING. AUTUMN s sighing, Moaning, dying; Clouds are flying On like steeds ; While their shadows O er the meadows, Walk like widows Decked in weeds. Red leaves trailing, Fall unfailing, Dropping, sailing From the wood, That, unpliant, Stands defiant, Like a giant Dropping blood. 94 Winds are swelling Round our dwelling, All day telling Us their wo, And at vesper Frosts grow crisper, As they whisper Of the snow. From th unseen land Frozen inland, Down from Greenland Winter glides, Shedding lightness, Like the brightness When moon-whiteness Fills the tides. Now bright pleasure s Sparkling measures With rare treasures Overflow ! AUTUMN S SIGHING. 95 With this gladness Comes what sadness ! Oh, what madness ! Oh, what wo ! Even merit May inherit Some bare garret, Or the ground ; Or, a worse ill, Beg a morsel, At some door sill, Like a hound ! Storms are trailing, Winds are wailing, Howling, railing At each door. Midst this trailing, Howling, railing, List the wailing Of the poor ! 96 THE LAND OF OBLIVION. A DUSKY king, in dusky shadows blent, Morosely reigns in gloomy realms afar ; Above him hangs an ebon firmament, With here and there a star. A sullen sea casts down its laden waves Along the dull and fast encroaching strand, Upheaving lengthened ridges on the graves Of nations, with the sand. With knitted brows the king sits gazing through The melancholy night, that thickly blears Far off the endless phantom retinue Of fast advancing years. THE LAND OF OBLIVION. 97 The flaming sword that waved o er Eden s gate Illumes the farthest, verge of his retreat ; But here the boundary of his dark estate Lies even at our feet. A boundary which we may not cross and live ; A shore fast crumbling in the wave that rides Impetuous in our path, and soon must give The body to the tides. And now, when dark December s gathering storm With heavy wing o ershadows many a heart, Beside us the old year with white-robed form Stands waiting to depart. Weighed down as with a ponderous tale of woe, How dim his eyes, how wan his cheeks appear ! Like Denmark s spectre king, with motion slow He beckons the young year. 98 INDIAN SUMMER. IT is the season when the light of dreams Around the year in golden glory lies ; The heavens are mistier than a maiden s eyes, Whose soul with love s perpetual splendor teems. Like hidden poets lie the hazy streams, O erveiled with mysteries of their own romance, While scarce a breath disturbs their drowsy trance. The golden leaf which down the soft air gleams, Glides, wavers, falls and skims the unruffled lake. Here the frail maples and the faithful firs By twisted vines are wed. The russet brake Skirts the low pool ; and starred with open burs The chestnut stands But when the north-wind stirs, How, like an armed host, the summoned scene shall wake ! 99 THE DISTANT MART. THE day is shut : November s night, On Newark s long and rolling height Falls suddenly and soon ; At once the myriad stars disclose ; And in the east a glory glows, Like that the red horizon shows Above the moon ! But o er the western mountain tops The moon, in new-born beauty, drops Her pale and slender ring ; Still, like a phantom rising red O er haunted valleys of the dead, I see the distant east dispread Its fiery wing ! 100 THE DISTANT MART. I know by thoughts, which, like the skies, Grow darker as they slowly rise Above my burning heart, It is the light the peasant views, Through nightly falling frosts and dews, While Fancy paints in brighter hues The distant mart. Through shadowy hills and meadows brown, The calm Passaic reaches down Where the broad waters lie ; From hill-side homes what visions teem ! The fruitless hope ambitious dream, Go freighted downward with the stream, And yonder die ! And youths and maids, with strange desires, O er quiet homes and village spires Behold the radiance grow ; They see the lighted casements fine The crowded halls of splendor shine The gleaming jewels and the wine, But not the woe ! THE DISTANT MART. 101 Take from yon flaunting flame the ray Which glows on heads untimely gray, On blasted heart and brain ! From rooms of death the watchers lamp, From homes of toil, from hovels damp, And dens where Shame and Crime encamp With Want and Pain ! From vain bazaars, from gilded halls, Where every misnamed pleasure palls, Remove the chandeliers ; Then mark the scanty, scattered rays ! And think amid that dwindled blaze How few shall walk their happy ways, And shed no tears ! But now, when fade the fevered gleams, Some trouble melts away to dreams, Some pain to sweet repose ! And as the midnight shadows sweep, Life s noisy torrent drops to sleep, Its unseen current, dark and deep, In silence flows ! 102 THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. ALL, IN THEIH LIFE-TIME, CARVE THEIR OWN SOUL S STATUE. THE middle chimes of night were dead ; The Sculptor pressed his sleepless bed ; His silver locks were long and thin, His eyes and cheeks were fallen in ! And, like the leaf on Autumn s limb, The fluttering life still clung to him ! While gazing on the shadowy wall, He heard the muffled knocker fall ; But, e er an answering foot could stir, Passed in the midnight messenger ! Around his shining shoulders rolled The long and gleaming locks of gold ; The radiance of his features fell In Beauty s light unspeakable ! THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. 103 And, like the matin song of birds, Swelled the sweet music of his words ! " Arise ! It is your Monarch s will, Ere sounds from the imperial hill The warder s trumpet-blast, The palace-portal must be passed ; And t is the hour before the last ! Arise ! and be the veil withdrawn, And let the long-wrought statue dawn ! For it must be as morning, bright ! The stars amid the fields of night Must fade before its purer light ! The unblemished face, the spotless limb, Must shine among the seraphim, Faultless in form, in nothing dim, Or else it may not come to Him ! " The sculptor rose with sinking heart, And slowly passed the veil apart ; And stood, with downcast look entranced, The while the messenger advanced, And thought he heard, yet knew not why, His hopes, like boding birds, go by ! 104 THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. And felt his heart weigh ceaselessly Down, like the friendless dead at sea ! Oh, for one breath athwart the air To break the stillness of despair ! Oh, for one word, though it were sent The seal of blackest banishment ! Welcome alike, though it were given From sulphurous shades, or vales of heaven ! Now on the darkness swelled a sigh The sculptor raised his languid eye And saw the radiant stranger stand, Hiding his sorrow with his hand ! His breast a billowy motion kept, And ever, with its fall and rise, The stillness of the air was swept With a long wave of sighs ! Then grew the old man s asking eyes Still larger with their blank surprise, With wonder why he wept ! And while his eyes and wonder grew Came, with the tears which gushed anew s THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. 105 The music of the stranger s tongue ; But broken, like a swollen rill, That heaves along its native hill, Sobbing where late it sung ! " Is this the statue, fair and white, A long, laborious life hath wrought ? And which our generous Prince hath bought ? Is this, (so soulless, soiled, and dull,) To pass the gates of light And stand among the beautiful ? The lines which seam the front and cheek Too well unholy lusts bespeak ! The brow by Anger s hand is weighed, And Malice there his scar hath made ; Here Scorn hath set her seal secure, And curled the lip against the poor ! And Hate hath fixed the steady glance Which Jealousy hath turned askance ! While Thoughts, of these dark parents born, Innumerable, from night till morn, And mom till night, have wrought their wilL^ Like storms upon a barren hill ! y?; *f 106 THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. Old man, what though thy locks be gray, And Life s last hour is on its way, What though thy limbs with palsy quake, The hands, like Autumn branches, shake ! Ere from your rampart high and round The watchful warder s blast shall sound, Let this be changed while yet it may ! Your Monarch brooks no vain delay ! " The stranger spake and turned away. A moment stood the aged man With lips apart and look aghast, Still gazing where the stranger passed ! And now a shudder o er him ran As chill November s breezes sweep Across the dying meadow grass ! His tongue was dry, he could not speak ! His eyes were like the heated glass ! But, when the tears began to creep Adown the channels of his cheek, A long and shadowy train, Born of his sorrowing brain, THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. 107 With shining feet and noiseless tread, By dewy-eyed Repentance led, Around the statue pressed ! With eager hand and swelling breast, Hope, jubilant, the chisel seized And heavenward turned the eye ! Forgiveness, radiant and pleased, The ridges of the brow released ; While, with a tear and sigh, Sweet Charity the scorn effaced ; And Mercy, mild and fair, Upon the lips her chisel placed, And left her signet there ! And Love, the earliest born of heaven, O er all the features glowing ran ! While Peace, the best and latest given, Finished what Hope began! One minute now before the last, The stately stranger came ; One smile upon the statue cast, Then to the fainting sculptor passed, 108 THE SCULPTOR S LAST HOUR. And spake his errand and his name ! And on the old man s latest breath Swelled a sweet whisper, "Welcome, Death ! " Afar from the imperial height Sounded the warder s horn ! Upward, by singing angels borne, The statue passed the gates of light, Outshining all the stars of night, And fairer than the morn. 109 A DIRGE FOR A DEAD BIRD. " A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Keats. THE cage hangs at the window, There s the sunshine on the sill ; But where s the form and where s the voice That ne er till now were still ? The sweet voice hath departed From its feathery home of gold, The little form of yellow dust Lies motionless and cold ! Oh, where amid the azure Hath thy sweet spirit fled ? I hold my breath and think I hear Its music overhead. 110 A DIRGE FOR A DEAD BIRD. Death has not hushed thy spirit, Its joy shall vanish never ; The slightest thrill of pleasure born Lives on and lives forever ! Throughout the gloomy winter Thy soul shed joy in ours, As it told us of the summer-time Amid the land of flowers. But now thy songs are silent, Except what memory brings ; For thou hast folded death within The glory of thy wings ! And here thy resting place shall be Beneath the garden bower ; A bush shall be thy monument, Thy epitaph a flower ! Ill BELLS. ATHWART the quiet morning air The bells toll out their solemn chime, Whose sounds come laden as they were Dropt from the lips of Time ; Or pilgrim-like, they gently cast Aside the sad heart s noiseless door, And enter, weary from the past, And eloquent in lore. They tell me of the days of old, Of warfare death the marriage vow ; They speak of whatsoe er has held The peasant from the plough. 112 BELLS. The sound recalls the castled Rhine, Its convent-crags, and sadly tells Of those two lovers doomed to pine Beneath stern Drachenfels ! Of cloudy Marksburg, old and brave ; And Rheinfels grey dismantled halls ; The Pfalz, whose prisoners heard the wave Break on their dungeon walls ! It tells the welcome chime that cheers The marches of the city guard ; Of sounds the storm-worn traveller hears Mid hills of Saint Bernard ! And of the wild alarum dread Which knelled the invader s sinking fame, When Moscow s sons, departing, spread The sacrificial flame ! It brings, as with a magic wand, That simple chapel and its bell That show the traveller, Switzerland, The greatness of thy Tell ! BELLS. 113 But most the glorious sound reveals The clangor of the bell which broke The sky with Declaration peals, When Liberty awoke ! Anon, when Truth s triumphal car Shall mount regardless of the Past, From useless implements of war A mightier shall be cast ! And worthier far a nation s pride The toll upon the blessed air, Which, swelling long and loud and wide, Shall endless peace declare ! 114 COME THOU, MY BRIDE. COME thou, like morning, gentle bride, In thy own glory beautified, Floweret-cheeked and dewy-eyed. So, dearest, when thy dawn I mark, Uprising from the lingering dark, My soul shall greet thee like the lark. Come with thy love s exhaustless measure, Look down and fill my soul with pleasure, As streams are filled with noon-day azure. Then, as the spirit-mists arise To the embraces of the skies, My love shall greet thine asking eyes. COME THOU, MY BRIDE. 115 Or meet me with a milder light ; Come, like that halo, starry-bright, Which forever clasps the Night. Let Fortune frown, or skies be drear, Do thou but as thyself appear, A cloudless heaven shall still be here ! 116 A HYMN TO THE NIGHT. OH Night ! most beautiful, most rare ! Thou giv st the heavens their holiest hue ! And through the azure fields of air Bringest down the gentle dew ! Most glorious occupant of heaven, And fairest of the Earth and sea ! The wonders of the sky are given, Imperial Night, to thee ! For thou, with breathless lips apart, Didst stand, in that dim age afar, And hold upon thy trembling heart Messiah s herald- star ! A HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 117 In Olivet thou heard st Him pray, And wept thy dews in softer light, And kissed His sacred tears away ! Thrice blessed, loving Night ! And thou didst overweigh with sleep The watchers at the sepulchre ; And heard st the asking Mary weep Till Jesus answered her. For this I love thy hallowed reign ! For more than this thrice blest thou art ! Thou gain st the unbeliever s brain By entering at his heart ! Oh Night ! most regal ! most divine ! Thou lift st the spirit from the dust ! God s best and brightest gifts are thine, All thine, and it is just ! 118 WINTER. SAD soul dear heart, why, why repine ? The melancholy tale is plain The leaves of Spring, the Summer flowers, Have bloomed and died again ! The sweet, the silver-sandaled Dew, Which like a maiden fed the flowers, Hath waxed into the beldame Frost, And walked amid our bowers ! Some buds there were sad hearts be still ! Which looked awhile unto the sky, Then breathed but once or twice, to tell How sweetest things may die ! WINTER. 119 And some must blast where many bloom ; But, blast or bloom, the fruit must fall ! Why sigh for Spring or Summer gems, Since winter gathers all ? He gathers all, but chide him not, What though his breast and hands are cold, He folds them close as best he can, For he is blind and old. Oh, chide him not ! hear how he groans, While frozen tears begem his face ; Through fields and woods he stumbles on, The last of all his race. See how he totters down the road, And now he s at yon cabin door, And he has summoned from the hearth The widow old and poor. He points her to the distant grove, lie plucks her by the tattered gown ; And now he leads her through the woods, And shakes the branches down. 120 WINTER. See how he wanders up the hill Before the morning is astir, And stoops with trembling hands to wrap The frozen traveller ! Oh chide him not, the poor old man ! He works some kindness in his rounds ! Nor leave him in the foulest nights To kennel with the hounds ! But when he s standing at the gate, Or at the portal makes a din, Throw wood upon the crackling fire, And let the old man in. And seat him at the chimney side, And let your looks with love abound ; Then tell the tale and sing the song, And let the nuts go round. Then shall you see his frowns dispelled, And pleasure smile where all was drear ; And when his griefs are quite dissolved The flowers again appear ! WINTER. 121 Sad soul dear heart why, why repine ? The tale is beautiful and plain Surely as Winter taketh all, The Spring shall bring again ! 122 THE BARDS. WHEN the sweet day in silence hath departed, And twilight comes with dewy, downcast eyes, The glowing spirits of the mighty-hearted Like stars around me rise. Spirits whose voices pour an endless measure, Exhaustless as the founts of glory are ; Until my trembling soul, o erswept with pleasure, Throbs like a flooded star. Old Homer s song, in mighty undulations, Comes surging, ceaseless, up the oblivious main ; - I hear the rivers from succeeding nations Go answering down again : Hear Virgil s stream in changeful currents strolling, And Tasso s sweeping round through Palestine ; And Dante s deep and solemn river rolling Through groves of midnight pine. THE BARDS. 123 I hear the iron Norseman s numbers ringing Through frozen Norway, like a herald s horn ; And like a lark, hear glorious Chaucer singing Away in England s morn. In Rhenish halls I hear the pilgrim lover Weave his wild story to the wailing strings, Till the young maiden s eyes are brimming over, Like the sweet cup she brings. And hear from Scottish hills the souls unquiet, Pouring in torrents their perpetual lays, As their impetuous mountain runnels riot In the long rainy days : The world-wide Shakspeare the imperial Spenser, Whose shafts of song o ertop the angels seats ; While delicate, as from a silver censer, Float the sweet dreams of Keats ! Nor these alone ; for, through the growing present, Westward the starry path of Poesy lies Her glorious spirit, like the evening crescent, Comes rounding up the skies. 124 THE BARDS. I see the beauty which her light impartest ! I hear the masters of our native song! The gentle-hearted Allston, poet-artist ! And Dana wild and strong ! And he, whose soul like angel-harps combining Anthemed the solemn "Voices of the Night" ! I see fair Zophiel s radiant spirit shining, Pale intellectual light ! And Bryant, in his own broad kingdom mildly Walking by streams, through woods and summer fields ; And iron-handed Whittier, when he wildly The fiery falchion wields ! These are the Bards who, like our forests, tower, Firm in their strength as are the mountain trees ! I were content could I but be a flower Up at the feet of these !