THE ROBERT E. COWAN COLLECTION 
 
 PRESKNTED TO THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CRLIFORNIR 
 
 C. P. HUNTINGTON 
 
 JUNE, 18Q7. 
 
 Recession Noy'O/OS Class No^S^^ 
 
 C3%9 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/bundleofsaintssiOOcartrich 
 
f- 
 
 ** 
 
 A BUNDLE 
 
 Saints and Sinners. 
 
 By 
 
 IIAKin- A. CARTWRK^^HT. 
 
 I'UIU.ISHED KOK 1HH AUTHOR BY 
 
 A. L. BANCROFT AND COMPANY, 
 
 San Francisco. 
 
 1879. 
 
A BUNDLE 
 
 OF 
 
 Saints and Sinners 
 
 HARRY A. CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BV 
 
 A. L. BANCROFT AND COMPANY 
 
 San Francisco. 
 1879. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, 
 
 By harry a. CARTWRIGHT, 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
-^fe 
 
 -^-e:^!^:^'^- 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To her (how slight the token seems) 
 Who is the mistress of my dreams. 
 Not tides to seas, not flowers to spring, 
 Nor fancied sound of angel's wing 
 To dying virtue, are more meet, 
 Than that I here should lowly greet 
 One who has been, and still must be, 
 A spell, a power, a charm to me. 
 
 .^1^ 
 
 ^I^'^' 
 
m >=^ ' 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ARBY ABBEY, 
 LOVE'S FATALITY, 
 
 TAGE. 
 
 9 
 
 35 
 
 THE TRUE HISTORY OF ST. ALEJO, - - . - 55 
 
 SANTA MARINA, go 
 
 SANTA SINFOROSA, 98 
 
 RETRIBUTION, 105 
 
 DEATH IN LIFE, 108 
 
 CHANGE 
 
 109 
 
 THE FUTURE, „o 
 
 CONSTANTIA, ,„ 
 
 LEFT, „^ 
 
 SYLVAN DEITIES, „8 
 
 HER KISS, . . jj8 
 
 OCTOBER, „9 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAVES, 121 
 
 THE RIVULET, 122 
 
 THERE. „2 
 
 SAINT PEDRO OF LUXEMBURG AND HIS MIRACLE. . . 123 
 
 130 
 
 133 
 
 HER GRAVE, 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 NANCY, ' . . . - 133 
 
 LIKE THE SONGS, 134 
 
 THE HOLIDAY, 135 
 
 A GLEAM FROM THE PAST, 142 
 
 LUCY, 143 
 
 MARY 144 
 
8 Contents. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE LETTERS. - - - i45 
 
 TO , 147 
 
 BESSIE, ^^^7 
 
 HELENA, '*^ 
 
 THE WANDERERS, ^*9 
 
 TO MARY, ^51 
 
 TO EMILY, ^52 
 
 INEVITABLE, ^52 
 
 TO NANCY, ^53 
 
 THE WORD FAREWELL, ^53 
 
 A SCENE OF HORROR, ^55 
 
 ALL-SOULS, . - 157 
 
A BUNDLE 
 
 OF 
 
 Saints and Sinners. 
 
 ARBY ABBEY 
 
 THE morning breaks, and splendors fall 
 On Arby's Abbey, tower and hall. 
 Defying age, it seems to shine 
 A thing of earth, yet half divine. 
 Dower'd with its wealth of untold years, 
 It scarce the work of man appears. 
 As storm and sunshine round it play, 
 And winters lose themselves in May, 
 And centuries close where centuries meet, 
 Till like dead leaves they strew its feet. 
 It stands a history, writ in stone, 
 Of men and ages past and gone. 
 
 Palmer, pilgrim, minstrel here 
 Have -stayed to rest and share its cheer; 
 And the knight hath bowed his trusted spear, 
 And the proud king knelt in guilty fear, 
 
 As its holy bell. 
 
 Like a warning knell. 
 On heart and ear all solemn fell, 
 Calling the living souls around, 
 
lO Ardy Abbey. 
 
 Within and without its sacred ground, 
 
 To the matin song, or the vesper hymn 
 
 That ever rose in those twiHghts dim, 
 
 And Hke incense wafted men's thoughts away 
 
 From regions of time and from forms of clay. 
 
 Not less to-day, as the fancy may deem. 
 
 It smiles or it frowns at the storm or the beam, 
 
 With nothing of change in its solid stone 
 
 To tell of decay or the years that have flown; 
 
 There is little of change in the scene or the place, 
 
 But a change has come in the living race. 
 
 The monks no more, with feet all bare 
 And cowl and hood, are seen to pace 
 
 From hall to hall, or pause in prayer 
 In holy niche with saddened face. 
 And since their time have many been 
 Called owners of the place and scene; 
 And in their little day, I ween. 
 Have glowed with pride and passed away 
 To sleep in death and mix with clay; 
 While still these stones so firmly piled 
 On the next heir have frown'd or smiled. 
 And still the bell's loud brazen tongue 
 With varying purpose hath been rung 
 As death or life or joy or grief 
 Or victory crowned the reigning chief. 
 
 So many have called the place their own 
 It scarce would yield to each a stone; 
 And deep life-histories round it grown. 
 Might serve as morals to human power, 
 Or while away an idle hour 
 With profit, if man could profit by aught 
 Not by his own experience taught. 
 
Arby Abbey. 1 1 
 
 But few will heed what dead men teach, 
 And all in vain to youth they preach 
 From graves where passion buried li^, 
 And grief that darken'd life's fair skies. 
 Their heirs with youth's full tide again 
 Tread the same path to find it vain, 
 And end themselves, like that first one, 
 With years all spent and life undone. 
 But, vain or not, one tale at least 
 
 Its archives shall give up to light — 
 This record blotted, stained and creased, 
 
 Tempts wonder to the fullest height. 
 
 The Male Line's Last Heir. 
 L 
 
 A history brief and sad, and all as vain 
 
 As the poor moth that falls by its own thirst 
 
 For things that glitter, did he leave to stain 
 The annals of a race who still were first 
 In valor and in truth, and not the worst 
 
 Was his own fall. He came the last male heir, 
 And in his youth all tenderly was nursed 
 
 By one whose child, as true as she was fair, 
 
 Would but for sex have filled the high ancestral chair. 
 
 Her did he woo and win, and then appeared 
 
 To live but in the light of her clear eyes; 
 And time and knowledge still the more endeared 
 
 Her to all hearts who knew her worth to prize. 
 
 This daughter of a warrior whom surprise 
 Or fear or chance could never start or shame; 
 
 She was her father's child, in woman's guise; 
 A noble spirit, free from speck or blame — 
 Ev^n the roughest tongue was gentle with her name. 
 
1 2 Arby Abbey. 
 
 And great content among their followers grew 
 
 That they should wed. A wrong to them it seemed 
 
 That she who from their leader lineage drew 
 Should all resign to one they scarcely deemed 
 Of the same race or name, and fierce eyes gleamed — 
 
 A word had waked resistance to his power. 
 
 Of her by day and night they, loving, dreamed, 
 
 She was to their rough minds a sacred flower, 
 
 A beauty and a pride, a kind of heavenly dower. 
 
 Worshipped and reverenced like some holy gift, 
 From rose-lipped prattler to her latest teen. 
 
 Her smile, her word, had all the power to lift 
 The gloomiest spirit till a smile serene 
 Answered her own; and by her gracious mien 
 
 And heart that trusted — never there in vain — 
 All still were true as truth. Wherever seen 
 
 Her presence fell like sunshine or soft rain, 
 
 Hope wore its richest hue, and grief relaxed its strain. 
 
 And all things prospered. He, their lord, to them 
 
 No longer alien, pledged by such strong bands, 
 Saw duty sparkle bright as eastern gem 
 
 In eyes that told of ready hearts and hands 
 
 Well able to defend or house or lands 
 In case of war or rapine. For the time 
 
 Was full of danger; armed and lawless bands 
 Who counted pillage duty not a crime. 
 And neighboring chiefs uprose; might was the magic rhyme 
 
 That made or kept the palace and the plain, 
 Corn, cattle, wealth safe to its owner's need. 
 
 War was man's pastime, albeit play'd for gain — 
 Since lower minds made glory ser\'e their greed — 
 And many a raid and many a cruel deed 
 
 Were undertaken from the baser lust 
 
Arfy Abbey. ' 13 
 
 That covets still a brother's fuller meed 
 Of wine or oil, or worse, that yellow dust 
 Whose worship damns the soul, corroding like foul rust. 
 
 And there was one young lord — their ancient foe 
 
 By right of birth (since all his race had waged 
 Perpetual war with theirs)— who strove to show 
 
 A title to their lands, who did engage 
 
 Before a silver hair should mark his age 
 By love or conquest to unite in one 
 
 Their baronies. He had flung down the gage, 
 And jealous eyes with strong impatience shone, 
 Waiting a leader and the word to set like furies on. 
 
 But, though these dangers threatened, Arby's chief, 
 
 When newly burst to manhood, took his way 
 To see the world and sun youth's golden leaf 
 
 That dances gaily in the breeze of May. 
 
 Then fears arose that he would go astray; 
 His father's bane had been a pretty face. 
 
 The son might learn repentance in his day — 
 His mother's nature and her easy grace 
 Lived in his smile — and weakness courts disgrace. 
 
 Time passed but he returned not; then there came 
 A whispered rumor, then a tale confirmed 
 
 That lit in every cheek a crimson shame. 
 For he, no longer true in nature, yearned 
 To pleasures low, mixing with those who burned 
 
 Incense at folly's shrine, content to glide 
 
 A gilded speck, life's higher purpose spurned, 
 
 Adown poor fashion's shallows, with the tide, 
 
 Duty, life's rudder, lost, and honor flung aside. 
 
 W^ild loving eyes grow secretly to watch 
 
 Their idol, but no tear or frown reveals 
 Anger or grief; nor can the quickest catch 
 
14 Ardy Abbey. 
 
 A signal to revolt; a bright brave smile conceals 
 The pang of her wrecked hope, which each one feels 
 As if his own, praying there may arrive 
 The chance infallible time ever deals 
 To overthrow that mortal who may strive 
 Without truth's guiding light on earth to act or live. 
 
 It came not then. She, like a graceful leaf 
 
 That holds its place but while the summer sun 
 Matures the wealth upbound in autumn's sheaf, 
 
 Prepared to leave, her mother's task was done — 
 
 'T had been to foster that neglected son 
 Whom chance of battle summoned to a throne. 
 
 His youth once past, and manhood's race begun, 
 He was the lord, and all was still his own, 
 She could not sue or bow, and childhood's hope was flown-. 
 
 Had he been true and brave — but such a blot 
 
 Must if repented still her love estrange; 
 His early dream in lower cares forgot. 
 
 Nor would she now accept the poor exchange 
 
 Of heart for heart with one who knew to change. 
 He had unworthy proved, although he held 
 
 The place of honor- — could his fancies range 
 His was a spirit chance could never weld 
 On to the race whose truth through all her nature swelled. 
 
 And quietly she left her girlhood's shrine, 
 
 And eyes were moist and hearts beat angrily, 
 And had her word been less a law divine 
 
 Rebellion had broke loose. Defyingly 
 
 They thought of him, and all too readily 
 They waited but' the word that should awake to proof 
 
 Their trusted love and inborn fealty; 
 " But his their duty, his that honor'd roof, 
 Nor must they fail his need or hold from him aloof." 
 
Ardy Abbey. 1 5 
 
 And forth she went, not deeming to return. 
 
 But time and fate bring each their destined end. 
 Hearts may forego, or with ambition burn, 
 
 Their goal is fixed, to it all changes tend. 
 
 Virtue and valor to the path may lend 
 A glory of their own, but fate is still 
 
 The god of fortune and alone can send 
 Or know the chance that leads to good or ill — 
 The "must be" comes to pass, in spite of human will. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was high festival in Arby's Halls, 
 
 And youth and beauty glittered in the ray 
 
 That ever brighter upon splendor falls, 
 As if a kindred feeling made it play 
 More brilliantly about the rich and gay 
 
 Than on the wretch whose spirit sunk in gloom 
 Seems all at variance with the golden day, 
 
 Longing for twilight or the darkened tomb, 
 
 Feeling hope's blank reverse or sorrow's certain doom. 
 
 But little thought of sorrow lived within 
 Or friends or bride so splendidly arrayed; 
 
 In corridors once sacred rose the din 
 
 Of laughter and of song, of man and maid 
 In wanton dalliance, nothing more afraid 
 
 Than butterflies, bright children of a gleam. 
 Gay in the light and amorous in the shade. 
 
 To whom high fate is but a summer's beam — 
 
 Poor insects of an hour, having no after dream. 
 
 There are, thank God ! upon this wondrous earth 
 Hearts that are earnest, souls like heaven true, 
 Whose love and gentleness and growing worth 
 
1 6 . Ardjy Abbey. 
 
 Keep, spite of chance, love's skies forever blue; 
 
 Feeling life's majesty that glimmers through 
 Time's petty pleasures or its sterner grief; 
 
 To such love's dream retains its pristine hue — 
 Spite of the changing hour, the withering leaf, 
 Existence is a joy and age a golden sheaf. 
 
 And song and dance and gladness well become 
 
 The time of youth if virtue holds the rein. 
 To hearts wherein truth finds a constant home 
 
 The hour of mirth can bring no after stain; 
 
 All loving nature, past her clouds and rain. 
 Flashes her brightest sunlight to adorn 
 
 The earth that smiles in glee; but all in vain 
 Is laughter when of virtue's crystal shorn. 
 Man is no insect but with higher reason born; 
 
 And laughter breaks to discord, song to sighs, 
 
 When selfish passion, pleasure, and desire ' 
 
 Make up life's all, and while those holier ties 
 
 That still to higher thought the man inspire 
 
 Forgotten live, like unextinguished fire, 
 To burn and brand when sated passions end; 
 
 Truth in the human soul may not expire, 
 And self-condemned they suffer who dare lend 
 Their strength to worthless joys, unmindful where they tend. 
 
 And discord rose, the discord of deep hell. 
 
 Each to the other but the hollow show 
 Of virtue seem'd, suspicion dark'ning fell 
 
 On woman's smile; no friend a friend could know — 
 
 The tainted heart believes each heart is so; 
 The canker fear poisons the blossom trust; 
 
 Mirth turns to license, valor cannot grow, 
 Nor love inspire, but choked by foulest dust. 
 The God in man once lost, he but awakes disgust. 
 
Arby Abbey. 17 
 
 Through every rank had spread the foul disease; 
 
 The old retainers most had passed away; 
 Their bold free speech and glance, had failed to please 
 
 The lord and lady of that garish day; 
 
 Nor were they such as knew to stoop or play 
 The flattering courtier to a painted face. 
 
 They worship'd truth, all falsehood dared gainsay; 
 Nor would they cease to speak of parted grace, 
 And all that splendor grew to them like deep disgrace. 
 
 Lured by the wild disorder of the time, 
 
 Their neighbor foe assembled his strong band, 
 
 And, waking consternation like a chime 
 
 Of solemn bells when death is close at hand, 
 , They heard his bugles ringing through the land, 
 
 And faces paled within those walls, whose might 
 Had laughed defiance if but only manned 
 
 By those whom danger could not so afright, 
 
 Whose hearts not lost in ease had dared sustain their right. 
 
 Some efforts were there made to form a force. 
 But such as still inspired more fear than hope. 
 
 And pleasure's parasites, swift to divorce 
 Themselves from peril, had no will to cope 
 For friendship's sake with danger, or to mope 
 
 In walls besieged, and in the needful hour. 
 Like curs that yelp and huddle in a group. 
 
 They counsel take of fear — "Alas! all human power 
 
 Must bow to fate," they sigh, deserting hall and bower. 
 
 And of his feasted friends no one remained. 
 
 A few, the old brave liegemen of his sires, 
 Hearts that with cowardice could not be stained, 
 
 In whom still lived the pride of race which fires 
 
 The truthful soul that duty never tires, 
 Still gather round him, bowing to his will, 
 
1 8 Arby Abbey. 
 
 And with the flattering hope despair inspires 
 Incite him to be strong and dare the ill, 
 Showing the Abbey's strength with all a soldier's skill. 
 
 And he from their enthusiasm caught 
 
 A moment's resolution, but it sank 
 When she who wept and could not once be brought 
 
 To see or feel the duty of her rank 
 
 Clamored for flight and safety, did not thank 
 A husband who so little cared for her 
 
 As to expose her to the horrid blank 
 Bare rooms that chilled, wherein she dared not stir; 
 Alone if he must stay, let him the risk incur. 
 
 So fails all selfish love — Ah ! did he think 
 
 A moment then of her he'd cast aside, 
 And from his memory take one bitter drink, 
 
 Learning the difference between noble pride 
 
 And vanity and dress, when deified 
 In woman's nature, making her appear 
 
 The bauble beautiful to those weak-eyed 
 Whose love, caught by a show, must fall to sear 
 When trust is needed most in one he holds too dear .? 
 
 He paused irresolute; but when was man 
 
 Match for the woman who his heart could touch .? 
 With Adam and mankind the tale began; 
 
 Wealth, fame, and state, and all that he may clutch, 
 
 Or be it little, be it more than much, 
 He sacrifices still to her who pleads; 
 
 She in his weaker moments makes him such 
 As answers ever to her fancied needs; 
 Who boasts resistance knows not love, but its poor weeds. 
 
 Who doubts the nobler skill of him who fell, 
 
 Not from the strength of Caesar or his power. 
 But that he loved the Egyptian woman well — 
 
Arby Abbey. 1 9 
 
 Too well to be himself — when she did shower 
 The tears and' smiles which were her native dower 
 Upon a heart her nature knew to sway, 
 
 Using her womanhood in baleful hour 
 To bring herself and him to blank dismay, 
 Blinding his captain's eyes, and leading him astray. 
 
 Well did she pay the glorious debt she owxd. 
 
 And blent with his to all eternity 
 Her name and fame, but all too late she showed 
 
 The hero-spirit that could render free 
 
 Her warrior-lover his great self to be 
 In danger's hour. And in their smaller space 
 
 The women- workers still may live to see 
 That they with vanity can bring disgrace— 
 For woman is woman still and oft usurps her place. 
 
 It is not in the day when danger lowers. 
 
 Nor is it when temptation is most strong, 
 'Tis in those pliant, soft, and gentle hours 
 
 When man forgets, when on her lip is hung 
 
 The wealth he covets; then round her is flung 
 The magic mantle rendering woman great; 
 
 'Tis then she holds a power like poet's song 
 To mould her own as well as lover's fate. 
 She in the trial hour should trust without debate. 
 
 And they were gone before the foe arrived; 
 
 The few were left all captainless to act; 
 Dismayed and sad, but nothing yet afeared. 
 
 They choose a leader. Waiting the attack, 
 
 The thought arose : Ah ! could they but call back 
 That daughter-mistress, quick would their numbers grow. 
 
 The one they deemed most skillful in his tact 
 To question and persuade was bade to go 
 In search of her who, found, might still withstand their foe. 
 
20 Arby Abbey. 
 
 III. 
 
 Best highest instinct, true nobihty, 
 
 Man's faith in truth in goodness and in God, 
 In weakness strength, light in captivity, 
 
 A power to guide him o'er Hfe's roughest sod 
 
 'Mid thousands, or where yet no foot hath trod, 
 His heart is fearless that is blest with thee, 
 
 Thou counter spell to sightless fortune's rod, 
 Dealing earth's treasures without power to see, 
 Upraising fools to boast, but not to equal thee ! 
 
 There lay deep in the woods from Arby's fane 
 A simple lodge with creepers overgrown, 
 
 A shelter, not a structure to make vain 
 The heart that prized it only as her own, 
 A place where she might live and raise a throne 
 
 To virtue and high thought, where light and shade 
 And bird and hind for many years alone 
 
 Had fearless sped along the tangled glade — 
 
 A paradise of charms by loving nature made. 
 
 And here the maiden with her scanty train, 
 
 Accepting still her fortune with a smile. 
 With gentle words and clear from any stain 
 
 Of pride or malice, did her life beguile. 
 
 The sweetest flower congenial to the soil, 
 She seemed to grow unto their watchful eyes, 
 
 A fairer being, freed from the turmoil 
 Of men and state which once she knew to prize — 
 Her woman's nature shone purer with purer skies. 
 
 A minstrel wandering had chanced to light 
 Upon their home, and he was wooed to stay. 
 
 The morn was full of splendor and the night 
 Made musical with many a loving lay. 
 Much did he talk of love, and seemed to play 
 
Ardy Abbey. 21 
 
 Upon the theme as though himself had felt 
 
 Its cruel barb upon no distant day; 
 His nature all into his song did melt 
 As though the joy or grief was still too keenly dealt. 
 
 Lofty his presence was beyond his tribe, 
 
 His words were "chosen with the nicest art;" 
 He would not tarry for their golden bribe, 
 
 It was their loneliness that won his heart. 
 
 Nor did he for long days seek to depart; 
 And then a sadness trembled in his tone 
 
 That seemed a deeper meaning to impart 
 Unto his voice, affecting even her own, 
 While feelings strange arose, longings till then unknown. 
 
 Her dreams of love and life had mingled still 
 
 Duty and power and name with the beloved; 
 Her heart had grown beneath the poet's skill • 
 
 To feel that she the passion had not proved. 
 
 What was this feeling new ? Would she be loved .? 
 Or could she love the simple, noble man } 
 
 As to the light will fly the trustful dove, 
 To nature's bias all her feelings ran — 
 She loved, nay worshipped him almost ere love began. 
 
 He'd taught her heart to know that love was not 
 A duty paid, but all high feelings given— 
 
 A purity too rich for pride to blot, 
 
 A power on earth bright as the will of heaven, 
 Life's highest height, freest from sordid leaven, 
 
 A charm, a strength not subject to the will. 
 Through all her pulses was the lesson driven ; 
 
 She learned it with a woman's magic skill. 
 
 And love's full splendor broke, like some spontaneous rill. 
 
 Startled, ashamed, confused, yet feeling strong. 
 She knew not what she would, but musing went, 
 
22 Ardy Abbey. 
 
 Still humming o'er some fragment of his song, 
 To where the silent woods a temple lent, 
 While in her mind were fear and pleasure blent. 
 
 Who was he ? And what could he be to her ? 
 What power was this that forcibly had rent 
 
 From all the past her thoughts ? That did confer 
 
 A wisdom and a light that now could never err ? 
 
 Or stoop to share with one below herself 
 
 Or fate or fortune, deeming she was blessed ? 
 
 No, not for race or name or worldly wealth 
 Could she in fancy feel herself possessed 
 (Though he were true and came himself and pressed 
 
 His claim) of Arby's throne. She could not give 
 Her heart or hand once more to be caressed 
 
 Save to the man for whom she cared to live — 
 
 Her almost acted crime she prayed God might forgive. 
 
 « 
 
 For crime it seemed to wed without such love 
 
 As he had sung. Her nature, mastered quite, 
 Saw all things from the palace to the grove 
 
 Lit by a new and still more holy light. 
 
 Much did she milse and dream, and day and night 
 Were full of fancies. Still within her brain 
 
 A maiden doubt, tha^ mocked at her delight. 
 Bade her to pause and think, and brought her pain, 
 Doubting if she should wed one of the minstrel train. 
 
 While still he tarried, as with the golden light 
 
 Of some rich day the heart scarce cares survive, 
 Remembering all its pleasure and delight; 
 
 And while within herself confusion lived 
 
 The envoy sent to seek her did arrive. 
 Calling her back to Arby and its needs, 
 
 He paints its people of their chief deprived, 
 And running o'er the sum of his misdeeds, 
 Name, fame, and place and foe, half weepingly he pleads. 
 
Arby Abbey. 23 
 
 Nor does he plead alone; her minstrel friend, 
 
 Called into council, aids him in his task, 
 Offering himself as one who knows to lend 
 
 Such help as she from man at need must ask; 
 
 And more, he proifers in his minstrel mask 
 To seek her followers, even among her foes 
 
 Where they are said to be; nor will he bask 
 In sunshine, rest in shade, until all those 
 Once her's and true, with love again about her close. 
 
 And she waj brought to yield to their desire; 
 
 And on the morrow a small cavalcade, 
 Herself the centre, with her heart all fire. 
 
 By many feelings moved — threaded the glade 
 
 With nicest care, fearing some ambuscade. 
 But not a sight or sound to wake a fear 
 
 Was heard or seen, until, the summit made 
 Of one high hill, the Abbey being near. 
 The foe with banners raised and bent on sport appear. 
 
 Here did they pause, waiting the coming night. 
 
 And wondering speculate upon the question why 
 Such dalliance lived in men, led by a knight 
 
 Reputed first in strength; whose bravery. 
 
 Wisdom and skill, 'e'en from his infancy. 
 Had been the theme of men. All unexplained 
 
 And inexplicable, this mystery 
 Beguiled their thoughts till twilight shadows reigned, 
 When without halt or stop the Abbey's gate was gained. 
 
 They parted there, the minstrel on his quest. 
 She to inspire her men. Ah, love divine ! 
 
 Thou sweet strong tyrant of the human breast ! 
 Brightest in danger's hour, thou seem'st to shine 
 When, spite of modesty, thou barest the shrine • 
 
 Of secret hopes that live untold in words ! 
 
24 Ardy Abbey. 
 
 A soft hand-clasp, a silence how sublime, 
 Proclaims thy touch upon those finer chords 
 Whose music is the wealth that memory fondly hoards. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not fearing:, yet scarce hoping, those who held 
 The halls of Arby waited their threatened foe; 
 
 Each in his turn as sentinel beheld 
 
 The morning break, and long night-watches go 
 With time's still march, but bring no sign to show 
 
 They had or friend or enemy without. 
 A feeling of disgust began to grow, 
 
 And each one vexed his comrade with some doubt 
 
 Before the army came in days that lengthened out. 
 
 It comes at last, and now surprised they see 
 No efforts made to take the place by force. 
 
 Surrounded not besieged, there seems to be 
 No thought of battle— what may be the source 
 Of mercy in such foes .? Too well, of course. 
 
 They know the weakness of the house within. 
 
 Ah ! would they starve them — 'shamed to bring their force 
 
 Against the few determined there to win 
 
 In death a name and fame, untouched by traitor's sin } 
 
 The trumpets ring — the camp is all astir, 
 And flags are hoisted ; there is bustle, life. 
 
 He comes — their chief— ah! he will not defer 
 The work in hand. They roused themselves for strife, 
 And hopeless valor in each heart grew rife 
 
 For sacrifice; but as night's shadows fell 
 
 A soft note, touched upon their comrade's fife, 
 
 Advised them of his presence in the dell, 
 
 And not alone, she comes and all may yet be well. 
 
 3(C 5(C 5(* 9|C 3|C 3)C 3^ 9^ 3fC 
 
Arby Abbey. 25 
 
 V. 
 
 De Bracies bold of Castle Cliff had held 
 
 A place in histor}^ from remotest time, 
 And many a tale of valor, sung of old, 
 
 Was still extant, showing in quaintest rhyme 
 
 Their wonderous strength. The right divine 
 Of strength to worship has not wholly passed, 
 
 But in those days 'twas the one thing sublime, 
 He who could slay the most was highest classed. 
 The weak or gentle man of all his race stood last. 
 
 But as things changed, when brains began to hold . 
 
 A certain rank not quite to be despised, 
 There came a Bracie, who, perchance less bold 
 
 Than those his ancestors, was yet more wise; 
 
 For he could read and write, and knew to prize 
 The skill of tongue as well as strength of arm; 
 
 And where force failed he tried in other guise 
 To win the thing that did his fancy charm ; 
 Success was still success achieved in storm or calm. 
 
 And he, this Bracie with a learned head 
 And flattering tongue, did woo a lady fair; 
 
 But in the end his wooing badly sped. 
 For she eloped, and left my lord to wear 
 The willow's graceful branch; choosing to pair 
 
 (As women do at times) without the voice 
 Of father, mother, who are thought to care 
 
 Too much for wealth or name in making choice 
 
 Of him who comes to woo and bid their hearts rejoice. 
 
 The marrriage documents had all been drawn; 
 
 The day arrived to set on them the seal. 
 The bridegroom early rose that happy morn. 
 
 But still behind the lady in his zeal, 
 
 He but arrived to hear the wedding-peal, 
 3 
 
2 6 Ardy Abhey. 
 
 And learn that she had gained on him some days; 
 
 And that her father had been brought to feel 
 *' Things might be worse " — With each one fortune plays, 
 And woman still can mar the plot poor Adam lays. 
 
 That lady was the heiress in reserve, 
 
 To whom by chance might come the Abbey rich 
 With Arby's stretch of pasture and preserve; 
 
 And from that hour the Bracie hand did itch 
 
 For chance of any kind, no matter what or which, 
 Love, war, or craft, so that it did redeem 
 
 This hope now lost — no saint in holy niche 
 Hath yet inspired so deep, so strong a dream. 
 As did that lady fair, as false as she may seem. 
 
 For in the Bracie line there grew a sort 
 
 Of half propriety in Arby's hills and glades; 
 Each son and daughter still was duly taught 
 
 To covet them, in love dream, or in raids; 
 
 The valor of their sons, the beauty of their maids 
 Were dedicated ever to this end; 
 
 The hope well kept for more than twelve decades 
 Had nothing paled when our young lady friend. 
 Deserting its loved shade, a wanderer forth did wend. 
 
 But Bracie of that day had higher grown ; 
 
 Wisdom and valor both were his — he shone 
 Pre-eminent; ere boyhood's dreams were blown 
 
 He won a name given to few or none. 
 
 Leader in every sport, there was not one 
 Or forester or soldier, minstrel, priest, 
 
 But owned his skill; he wore the crown alone 
 As brave or wise, and with his manly zest 
 And strength that never failed he still eclipsed the rest. 
 
 As boy, 'twas his the highest tree to climb; 
 He knew the note of everv bird that flew; 
 
Ardy Abbey. 27 
 
 No animal more native to the clime, 
 
 He found the place where secret flowerets grew; 
 And joy and inspiration still he drew 
 
 Not less from books than nature; he was kind 
 Except when roused by some ill deed; not true 
 
 To what he held high duty — he could find 
 
 Excuse for all save this, within his liberal mind; 
 
 But this would wake a tempest in his heart; 
 
 That man was straight dismissed who failed to keep 
 A promise made, or left unplayed some part 
 
 Entrusted to his care; his feelings, deep 
 
 As depths of ocean, could be roused from sleep 
 By noble acts, by sorrow's sickly smile; 
 
 His heart but not his eye knew well to weep 
 For others' woes, though seeming firm the while 
 He gave the needed help, or sought grief to beguile. 
 
 He in his youth had heard the tales of old 
 
 Respecting Arby and its hills and towers, 
 And in his mad-cap doings over bold 
 
 Had feasted there — as minstrel of the flowers — 
 
 When she the daughter, in the bright May hours 
 (The May of life and morning of their years). 
 
 Was crowned May's Queen, and worship'd by the powers 
 Fabled to dwell in forms that nature bears 
 When laughing sunbeams shine and sweet birds sing in pairs. 
 
 And there he learned to love her, but he saw 
 No hope; for she, wrapt in her cousin, play'd 
 
 Queen to his King; and warned by days before 
 He did not deem it wisdom to degrade 
 His name by failure. Not the less he made 
 
 Himself a castle out of air so fine 
 
 It could not stand in sunshine, but in shade 
 
 The outline his quick glance could well define. 
 
 And many a dreamy night he watched that dim design. 
 
28 Ardy Abbey. 
 
 He felt his rival's was no soul to match 
 
 That bright-eyed child of honor and deep thought. 
 The jealous mind is ever quick to catch 
 
 Sight of the flaw by which change may be wrought. 
 
 It was not love, 'twas qnly chance had caught 
 Her noble nature — all unfit to share 
 
 The air she breathed, her king was less than naught, 
 While she uprose, above, beyond compare — 
 To time he trusts his chance, nor once admits despair. 
 
 Safe in, his love, he passed through every web 
 
 That others set to catch his heart or eye; 
 His nature was a sea that knew no ebb; 
 
 In its deep truth and faultless fealty 
 
 It set to her in strong reality 
 Of that one passion which absorbs the rest, 
 
 That only bends to one high deity. 
 That circles never round a second nest, ' 
 
 But still unchanging lives, trusting it may be blest. 
 
 And trusting, waiting thus, yet nothing tired. 
 He learned of her departure and its cause; 
 
 The chance foreseen had come — ah! how desired! 
 But still he deemed his duty yet to pause. 
 For highest love moves but by highest laws — 
 
 He dare not woo her in her hour of grief. 
 Then came the notice of those painted daws 
 
 Who held their revel with her sometime chief, 
 
 And of brave hearts estranged, cast off like last year's leaf. 
 
 His castle's outline suddenly assumes 
 A firmer form ; true love is swift of sight. 
 
 And from the distance on his vision looms 
 
 The things to be. Still had he judged aright — ■ 
 As soon could sunbeams kiss the shades of night 
 
 As souls so all unlike together grow. 
 
OP THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Ardy Abbey^ 
 
 The sunbeam's kiss turns darkness into light; 
 She for a time could on her cousin throw 
 A seeming beauty like the storm-wove transient bow. 
 
 It faded; he withdrawn beyond the reach 
 
 Of her true splendor, mental darkness reigned; 
 
 Thank God ! in time the needed truth to teacli 
 The mirage sank — heaven's star alone remained, 
 Pure, fair and calm, with lustre all unstained. 
 
 And that one star, his own heart's guiding ray, 
 
 May now be worshipped, wooed, and even gained. 
 
 If he with skill love's better part can play; 
 
 He seeks the men once her's and bids them with him stay, 
 
 And consultations they together hold. 
 
 Not crafty he, but open as the day; 
 He wins the confidence of young and old, . 
 
 And well returns it in his manly way. 
 
 His plans before them did he truly lay, 
 All save his love. He swears to win the place, 
 
 To drive this crowd of jackdaws from their prey. 
 And then resign it when she comes to grace 
 Its halls again, without a claim on house or hill or chase. 
 
 They all consent, his word no doubt admits; 
 
 Sacred his honor ever had been kept. 
 Each captain straight to his command submits. 
 
 Then bugles waked the revelers where they slept. 
 
 In strategy not less than truth adept, 
 He bade them scour the country, make such show, 
 
 That still their power by seeming overleapt 
 Should strike wild fear into their craven foe. 
 And even perchance achieve their aim without a blow. 
 
 And further he confides unto their skill 
 His forces all, the Abbey to invest, 
 
 Bidding them leave one pathway open still 
 As if by chance^no home must they molest. 
 And no step farther must the siege be pressed 
 
30 Ardy Abbey. 
 
 Till he shall join them, be it days or weeks. 
 
 His fuller plans locked up in his own breast 
 He still retains, nor cause of absence speaks, 
 But from his eyes a smile like morning sunlight breaks. 
 
 VI. 
 
 How different is the shout of loyal hearts 
 
 From those huzzas half paid for and half wrung 
 From men to greet some tyrant as he parts 
 
 Or cqmes again his people's homes among. 
 
 The first though raised by few is felt how strong ! 
 The second though by millions, fails to wake 
 
 Aught save a sense of falsehood or of wrong, 
 That bids the hearer not rejoice but quake, 
 Foreseeing what must be should chains so fragile break. 
 
 Ah ! but the shout that bid her welcome back 
 Rolled like glad thunder deep'ning in its roll; 
 
 And still the vaulted roof gave echoes back, 
 As if the place itself endowed with soul 
 Could feel her presence, and the might)^ whole 
 
 Of all her ancestors joined in the cheer, 
 That rising, falling, all beyond control. 
 
 Died in the distance but to wake more near, 
 
 As peal on peal still came deaf ning the listening ear. 
 
 The wild enthusiasm, hushed not dead. 
 
 At last gave place to question and reply; 
 But not before the notice wide had spread 
 
 Throughout the camp where her lost followers lie; 
 
 And ere the bells, speaking of hours that fly, 
 Rung out the midnight chime, a sentinel 
 
 Summoned his captain with all urgency; 
 A sound of footsteps moving in the dell 
 Made him to dread attack, or doubt if all were well. 
 
Ardy Abbey. 31 
 
 The sound still grew — the march of many men. 
 
 The walls were manned; in silence deep they wait, 
 When on the breeze the shout arose again, 
 
 Their own brave rallying cr}^, and all elate, 
 
 Words that so oft had led them on to fate 
 Came to their ears, and back from each tongue rebounds: 
 
 They come — the foe deserted long may wait 
 Another chance — to-morrow from the grounds 
 He swept shall be like leaves when winter takes his rounds. 
 
 That night was sleepless passed by one and all, 
 
 Greetings and questions in a deluge fell, 
 Friend still on friend in cheery voice did call. 
 
 And every one had something more to tell 
 
 Till daylight came the hubbub wild to quell; 
 Then ranks were formed and order brought to bear. 
 
 Again the shout of joy was heard to swell, 
 As yearning to a form that was not there, 
 The maiden chief appeared to thank them for such care. 
 
 A troubled doubt not noted by her men 
 
 Lived in her face. Ah! human weakness, love, 
 
 Thou undefined yet potent power that can 
 Subdue the bravest — who unseen doth move 
 With subtle influence everywhere, to prove 
 
 That mind o'er matter reigns supreme on earth. 
 The self-sustained to chasten and reprove 
 
 And then exalt them by a second birth, 
 
 Teaching humility in heart and faith in others' worth ! 
 
 'Twas this that made her cheek so pale of hue, 
 Her minstrel had returned not; nor could she 
 
 By question learn that he, though more than true. 
 
 Had sought their camp. Thoughts rose like waves at sea; 
 Impossible it was to her that he 
 
 Should fail his word. Then fear of accident 
 
$2 Arby Abbey, 
 
 And all the mortal chances that may be, 
 Came to her mind and darker shadows lent, 
 For still his fate with her's by some strong pow'r seem'd blent, 
 What means that bugle call ? The foemen ask 
 
 A moment's parley with her captains brave, 
 And many know that no unpleasant task 
 
 'Twill be to grant the favors they will crave; 
 
 But not the less each brow continues grave. 
 As issuing forth all armed in harness bright 
 
 They tread as if the earth could find no grave 
 For men whose courage born of truth and right 
 Looks proudly from their eyes in that young morning light. 
 
 Short was the conference and full of peace : 
 
 "Their captain war'd not with their lady queen; 
 One favor granted, hostile frowns should cease 
 
 And never rise their noble lines between. 
 
 'Twas but that she once more upon the green, , 
 
 "With crown and sceptre, as in years before 
 
 Their homage should receive, claiming the scene 
 (To be deserted thenceforth never more) 
 As her's not his, 'gainst whom eternal strife he swore." 
 
 Ah ! for a heart on which her own could rest. 
 
 Not her's, and yet her own, whose clearer sight 
 Would see and feel and know what course were best, 
 
 Proving the thing she did to be the right. 
 
 Her followers urge with unconcealed delight 
 Acceptance of these terms — yet dare she claim 
 
 What still is his ? The coward who will not fight 
 Is all unworthy of the place or name. 
 In answer to her doubt, they hiss with loud disdain. 
 
 Or her's, or lost; for him they will not raise 
 
 A single blade, nor strike the faintest stroke. 
 On bended knee their leader humbly prays 
 
Arby Abbey. 33 
 
 That she will trust them. Feelings almost choke 
 Her utterance as she answers: "To provoke 
 A war were wrong, yet wrong it seems no less 
 
 To take by force;" and here her nature broke 
 Almost to tears, and in their eagerness 
 They take as slow consent this silence of distress. 
 
 The throne was built, and all her men were ranged 
 
 In their due rank about that seat of state. 
 A feeling once to all her nature strange 
 
 Caused her to shrink, her heart was desolate; 
 
 She felt no longer in herself complete; 
 Her strength was weakness; love had taught her fear; 
 
 Should she accept, at some not distant date 
 These lordly favors might be made to wear 
 A meaning all at war with joys her heart would share. 
 
 As some fair blossom in a swollen stream, 
 
 Among its eddies, whirled and tossed. 
 Can keep no onward motion, but doth seem 
 
 In its desire to be forever crossed, 
 
 So in her mind, poor will was baffled, lost. 
 'Twas her, yet not herself the captains led 
 
 To sit in state among that mighty host; 
 She heard the bugles blown, and overhead 
 She felt the sky serene, while round her grew the tread 
 
 Of men who bowing passed; then all was still. 
 
 One only kneels, and oifering her his sword, 
 His castle keys, his life, his strength, his skill, 
 
 He swears obedience to her lightest word. 
 
 She hears and trembles like a new-caught bird—* 
 Then, sky forgot, she drinks life through her ears; 
 
 That voice her nature to the depths hath stirred ; 
 His generous stratagem the more endears; 
 It is her minstrel-knight — She bids him rise with tears. 
 
34 Arby Abbey. 
 
 Ah! then came days of festival and joy; 
 
 And cause for gladness, living still, may last; 
 For they were wed, and many a maid and boy 
 
 Who from that union sprung, have radiance cast 
 
 On England's histor}' in the glorious past; 
 And still some live, their influence true to wield, 
 
 To nail her colors to the broken mast, 
 Or be a charm upon the hard-fought field 
 Where England's fearless few shall bring whole hosts to 
 yield. 
 
LOVE'S FATALITY. 
 
 THE brightest blessings when misused by man 
 Become a curse. The deadhest pang of woe, 
 The bitterest tear that since the world began 
 (Heart-born and burning, torturing and slow 
 As suffering moments that seem not to go) 
 Hath sprung from love. Virtue and life's best gem 
 
 The joy of joys a human heart may know, 
 Life's fullest flower upon its shapeliest stem 
 Crown to man's nobler self, his mortal diadem ! 
 
 Picture the living world and love shut out! 
 
 What inspiration, gracious impulse, deeds, 
 Thoughts delicate and fondest cares, that rout 
 
 Self from the heart, were lost ! The other seeds 
 
 Which grow to flowers would dwindle into weeds; 
 Still'd were the poet's song, the ennobling tale; 
 
 The path of virtue that to heaven leads 
 Hopeless were trod; heaven's self would fade and pale 
 And all creation sink into a joyless vale. 
 
 Yet picture once again the misery born 
 
 Of hapless love that reaches not its goal; 
 Of guilty love, the piercing, cankering thorn 
 
 Of suffering love, whose life's one answering soul 
 
 Sleeps the long sleep that wakes not. From the whole 
 Of love's great grief an inner world is made, 
 
 A shadowy region beyond man's control; 
 A world of weeping, where these sad hearts wade 
 On through time's darkest cloud, mortality's one shade. 
 
36 Love's Fatality. 
 
 Its power to suffer and not shape its fate, 
 To each comes destiny, prefixed, no change. 
 
 The mind may rise up to the good and great, 
 Or sink below, yet in the narrow range 
 Of human power man may not once estrange 
 
 Himself from circumstance, which comes to teach 
 Not grows to his desire. The soul, here strange. 
 
 Commands not life or love it fain would reach. 
 
 Be worthy, hope and wait; the flying moments preach. 
 
 Ah ! once there grew through childhood and through youth 
 
 Two friends most noble in their birth and life. 
 To each the other was the soul of truth; 
 
 Their spirits rose above all meaner strife 
 
 And jealous pangs of selfish love so rife 
 With bitter feuds. Each felt the other's fame 
 
 No stab at heart, like some assassin's knife. 
 But equal glory; envying not the name, 
 Loving the winner more who played the better game. 
 
 Thus did they grow; till in the course of time 
 Ripe manhood brought to each the fuller mind, 
 
 When all developed rang its perfect chime. 
 Such difference shone in them as still we find 
 About God's world in human hearts designed. 
 
 Landolfo's soul, on high achievement bent. 
 Rushed ere himself to battle for mankind. 
 
 Rinaldo's heart, with gentler music blent, 
 
 Loved, worshipped one whose maiden beaut)' sent 
 
 A thrill through all his pulses. He, the lord 
 Of her fair self, asked for no higher crown; 
 
 Laying aside the shield, the spear and sword, • 
 Content with love and home, sought no renown 
 Beyond such pleasures. With the smile and frown 
 
 Of nature's skies, the season's changing charms, 
 
Love's Fatality, 37 
 
 And with his peasants all content and brown 
 From harvest labors, far from war's alarms, 
 He lived and loved and hoped, encircled by fond arms, 
 
 His knightly brother left the day he wed 
 
 And " au revoir" not farewell, blithely sang 
 As down the oft-trod path alone he sped. 
 
 And last, when night's deep shadows gathering hung 
 
 About the distance, echoing rose among 
 The trees his bugle's note, and he was gone. 
 
 But each one's thoughts unto the other clung; 
 For still their love in absence, living on, 
 About the present smiled as from the past it shone, 
 
 Rinaldo's home was happy for a space, 
 
 And all his peaceful aims, like ripening corn 
 Waving in sunshine, lent his world such grace 
 
 As from love's hope fulfilled alone is born. 
 
 Day sinks to night, night melts again to niorn 
 The while glad smiles and fond about him cling. 
 
 His noble nature, dreading no unseen thorn, 
 Revels in joys the golden hours still bring. 
 Nor dreams that latter days will tarnish love's bright wing. 
 
 And life with Landolfo gaily shone and fair 
 
 In spite of trials wove in knighthood's wreath, 
 Whose highest hopes, like castles built in air, 
 
 Fall at the touch and show plain earth beneath. 
 
 Yet changing scenes and men and hopes bequeath 
 To him the careless will that follows whims, 
 
 And, for a time, wakes up the poor belief 
 That he is blest who anchors not, but skims 
 Bird-like those waves of life that rise with golden rims, 
 
38 Love's Fatality. 
 
 II. 
 
 No fairer scene the day reveals to sight 
 
 Than that brave building girt with park and wood, 
 Half fortress and half monastery, whose might 
 
 Hath many a siege and many a feast withstood. 
 
 It lies reflected in the gentler flood 
 Of rivers widened to a lake by art; 
 
 Beauty and pride and strength in it make good 
 The owner's title to a lordly part 
 In man's high game, how great if blest with brain and heart ! 
 
 And all around to-day with busy care, 
 
 Within, without, men come and go in haste; 
 Arches and flags are raised to make more fair 
 
 Pathway and tower, the florid rustic taste 
 
 Of peasants and retainers, not in waste. 
 They seek not nature's charms to gild; they add 
 
 Man's welcome to a view that shall be graced 
 After long absence by its owner's smile. And glad 
 Is every heart, down to the youngest lad. 
 
 For he their lord, Landolfo loved of all, 
 Is one to crown and heighten such a scene; 
 
 On him God's brightest sunlight deigns to fall; 
 
 ^ His joyous laugh, his kindly, manly mien 
 Charm and delight. With her full hand I ween 
 
 Hath nature dowered him. Of a princely line 
 He looks a king of men, and faults unseen 
 
 By friend or follower, if such exist to tine 
 
 His nature, are eclipsed; brighter his virtues shine. 
 
 From foreign travel among people strange 
 
 Back to the scenes of early youth returning 
 To life's lost treasures, fondest fancies range 
 
Love's Fatality. 39 
 
 And tears will rise; and heart's love, newly yearning 
 To those withdrawn beyond the eye's discerning, 
 Wakes up deep sadness; spite of reason's reign 
 Love's unextinguished fires in nature burning 
 Still force the bitter sigh again and yet again, 
 And time's poor goals, death spoiled, look lustreless and vain, 
 
 Something is left, though more, alas! is taken, 
 
 Rinaldo waits him smiling at the door. 
 And hand in hand in fullest love is shaken. 
 
 The friends of other years they meet once more 
 
 And plans discuss as in the days of yore. 
 Each home, from either battlement descried. 
 
 Common to both, becomes, as long before 
 In youth, the stage of love whereon is tried 
 Who best can please or show affection's fullest tide. 
 
 Ah! glorious change! In the domains around, 
 With horse, hawk, hound, a noble company 
 
 Breaks the long silence; and the cheerful sound 
 Of laughter, the delighted stirring cry 
 Of hunters in their chase and in their victory. 
 
 Ring through the woods. While round the festive board 
 The goblet passes and the history 
 
 Of some high feat, or of some famous lord 
 
 Or lady fair, is told, until each day well stored 
 
 With deed and word is rounded into night, 
 
 Life grows all pleasure while the lady fair, 
 Rinaldo's wife, is hostess and the light 
 
 Of both their homes; for she is ever there 
 
 Where they abide, assuming all the care 
 As queen-directress of the sport and feast. 
 
 Purer for woman's presence and more rare 
 Comes pleasure; the greatest to the least. 
 At her approving smile, still own their joys increased. 
 
40 Loves Fatality. 
 
 Thus run their days; sparkUng as some clear stream 
 GUding through meadows and overhanging trees, 
 
 Whose shadows add a beauty to each gleam 
 Of light along the ripples, while the breeze 
 Wakes summer music in fair boughs" that please 
 
 Themselves at play with their own wealth of leaves, 
 Forgetful of chill winds and nights that freeze. 
 
 Ah! joyful days that virtuous mirth still weaves; 
 
 But fate or passions spoil ere garnered into sheaves. 
 
 Nothing is new, yet everything must change. 
 
 Storm follows sunshine, summer spring; 
 And in the world of mind as wide a range 
 
 Of feelings now alight and now take wing 
 
 As differing scenes and differing faces bring 
 New aims, new aspirations, new desires 
 
 Into man's life that, like the opal in a ring, 
 From every angle flashes different fires 
 Now with ambition all ablaze and now aspires 
 
 To nothing higher than a long deep smile 
 
 Of love and sympathy from some blue eye 
 That, by an untold charm, seems to beguile 
 
 The heart and mind of all its energy, 
 
 Laying it stranded by the living sea 
 Heedless of time or of the surging waves; 
 
 A shell outworn, a toy for infancy 
 No longer fit for battle, since it craves 
 To lie at rest and dream, wanting the will that braves 
 
 Life's dangers for the danger's self, and lives 
 In the strong light of hope that seeks to build 
 
 By its own force a fame that all survives, 
 Even the deeds that won it. Thus is stilled 
 Landolfo's heart; no more his high hopes gild* 
 
 The coming years with fame and fair renown; 
 
Loves Fatality. 41 
 
 Moody and watchful, day and night is filled 
 With a great yearning, and the smile and frown 
 Of one fair face alone all other fancies drown. 
 
 His hand erewhile so firm grows tremulous; 
 
 His eye, no longer flashing truth and light, 
 Meets others with a look so dubious 
 
 It seems to fear it should be read aright; 
 
 His spirit, now at lowest ebb now bright 
 With a forced splendor, loudly laughs and long 
 
 As in a fevered dream. Day follows night 
 While she, the enchantress of that glittering throng, 
 Haunts his still moments like some weird and magic song 
 
 That melts all resolution to a sigh. 
 
 Transforms ambition to a dream of bliss 
 Passed in a world where only she is nigh, 
 
 Where passion spends itself in one long kiss; 
 
 That knows no aim or end except in this. 
 That she is his, his own, the prize of life. 
 
 The be all and the end all of each wish; 
 A joy beyond all meaner lower strife. 
 His ruling power, his queen, his more than spouse or wife. 
 
 Such was the passion deep that shook the frame » 
 
 Of one whose softer feelings long subdued 
 Burst forth with force in love's avenging name. 
 
 When least he deemed his passion could intrude. 
 
 Ah! human nature, that will itself delude 
 Into belief that worldly fame alone 
 
 Can sway the beatings of man's heart when wooed 
 By woman's witchery, never yet hath shone 
 A fate so bright and high that for such joys atone. 
 
 Such truth Landolfo found, but still he strove 
 
 With grief and fate, until o'ermastered quite 
 By a chance meeting in a twilight grove, 
 4 
 
42 Love's Fatality. 
 
 Where interlacing branches did unite 
 To form a screen that shut the world from sight 
 And them unto themselves. Ah ! then in bated breath 
 
 That tale was told that in the darkest night 
 Hid should have been in silence, even in death, 
 O'er ere they dared to breathe a word to wrong His faith. 
 
 Ah! fame and friendship, weak and trivial ties 
 When madness comes, the madness of deep love 
 
 Not told by youth to youth in bashful sighs 
 
 But such as manhood's full-grown heart doth move 
 To SAvoop as doth a kite, not like the dove 
 
 Winning its way to sweet affections throne; 
 Born but of earth and soaring not above; 
 
 Having no kindred with that higher zone; 
 
 Selfish from first to last, and cursed with grief alone. 
 
 Vain is the plea of fate, the forged excuse 
 
 That each seemed for the other shaped and born; 
 Life's noblest instincts put to basest use 
 
 Eat in the heart like some corroding thorn. 
 
 While he each wish doth wrong, ah ! not in scorn 
 Can they behold him; with a deadly fear 
 
 They veil their eyes to him and feign to mourn; 
 He who so noble, even still so dear, 
 Blasts with his loving smile the hearts he thinks to cheer. 
 
 When honor wins the prize it nobly sought 
 And reverently brings to beauty's feet, 
 
 The spoil for which it bravely toiled or fought, 
 That smiling she its victory may complete 
 And to the pride of manhood add the sweet 
 
 Assurance of that love that makes it strong, 
 Earth has no second joy with this to mete; 
 
 The laureled victory, the ennobling song 
 
 Achieved by truth and love, not all to earth belong. 
 
Loves Fatality. 43 
 
 Something of heaven is in the victor's joy, 
 
 Inciting him to higher, better deeds; 
 Time to the noble is no shallow toy, 
 
 No string of days for pleasure's simple weeds. 
 
 But given to them to sow the glorious seeds 
 Whose blossoms shed a fragrance over life 
 
 In thoughts that elevate, in love that breeds 
 Hopes that outsoar its meaner pettier strife. 
 That reach a second world with splendid promise rife. 
 
 But when, seduced from these high aims, shall fall 
 
 A once brave spirit, veiling its own light 
 With beauty tangled in sin's damning thrall. 
 
 His manhood's day darkened to ugly night 
 
 And soiling her, earth's angel of delight. 
 Whose purity and smile were sent to give 
 
 To man and life their God-like meaning; bright 
 With hopes that up to His high throne should live: 
 'Tis God, and God alone, who can the crime forgive. 
 
 Torn, bruised and broken, struggling in such toils, 
 
 Landolfo now must tear himself away. 
 Guilty the will that, snake-like, closing coils 
 
 About the inner man, he dare not stay; 
 
 The face he loves haunts him by night and d^y. 
 And not with beauty's beam of hope and peace 
 
 But with a Cain-like charm, a blasting ray 
 Of deep remembrance that will never cease, 
 But, drawing strength from chance, seems ever to increase. 
 
 And she, no longer now a sunny gleam. 
 
 To day adds beauty, to the night a grace. 
 No strength of will can force love's hallowed beam 
 
 To spread its splendor o'er a darkened face; 
 
 Knowing its smile a lie, its truth disgrace. 
 The laugh still rings, but there is lost to ears 
 
 Accustomed every wave-like sound to trace 
 
44 Love's Fatality. 
 
 Unto its home, the heart, the tone that cheers 
 Telling of mirth all pure, of mind that nothing fears. 
 
 Rinaldo's brow grows sad; what should he think; 
 
 He knows no doubt of wife or bosom friend. 
 A change has come, but how ? There seems no link 
 
 Their inner with their outer life to blend. 
 
 The days have not their wonted happy end; 
 His plans, his hopes, and all his thoughts are vain; 
 
 What grief from him their confidence can rend ? 
 Bah ! 'tis but a cloud, some shadow of the brain 
 That wiU unnoticed pass, and sunlight smile again. 
 
 But ere it smiled Landolfo spoke his will: 
 
 His mind grown restless sighed for stir and change. 
 Of peace and home his soul had drank its fill, 
 
 Once more he yearned to scenes and faces strange; 
 
 To wake his pulses he again must range 
 The earth. Alas! he is not formed for rest; 
 
 His mind, unlike his friend's, is still deranged, 
 Nor can with peaceful joy be ever blest — 
 For hearts like his time hath no home, no tranquil nest. 
 
 With full determination forth he goes; 
 
 He'll sin no more; no, no, not even in thought; 
 He'll seek for death among his country's foes, 
 
 And win the penalty ignobly bought; 
 
 With a fierce agony his mind is fraught. 
 And all his heart is black with such despair 
 
 As passions uncontroled have ever wrought 
 Around their victim, since Cain's right hand dare 
 A brother strike. His marked brow, every wherp 
 
 Darkens with thoughts, that live and burn and blast, 
 That spite of distance, time and changing scene, 
 Return and still return unto the past, 
 
Love's Fatality. 45 
 
 Recalling vividly all that hath been. 
 
 One power repels, one tempts him, and between 
 The two existence grows an endless curse, 
 
 Without love, or hope, or any softening screen, 
 To shut out horrors, v/axing worse and worse, 
 A lengthening, deepening night, having no bright reverse. 
 
 And in Rinaldo's home no sunshine broke 
 
 As he had hoped. Those days that ne'er return. 
 
 In memory living, idly still provoke 
 
 A wonder why love's star has ceased to bum, 
 And why his mind must ever vainly yearn 
 
 For smiles and music once his truest own. 
 Ah lesson sad, experience hard and stern— 
 
 'Tis deepest loss that changes life's rich tone. 
 
 And leaves the saddened heart to beat and beat alone. 
 
 For he is lone beyond all loneliness 
 
 Who touches, feels, sees one who lives, and knows 
 Her will, desire, affection's wealth to bless. 
 
 And every charm that o'er existence throws 
 
 A softening beauty — melted, like the snows 
 Of winters past — melted and lost to him. 
 
 While yet her form pays him in hollow shows 
 A reverence that fails the eye to dim. 
 That only wounds more deep, showing the spectre grim 
 
 Of love, dead love, that cannot be revived; 
 
 That answers not to his once wakening touch. 
 But like a spirit called and weaned, and shrived 
 
 . From its past life, evades his skill to clutch. 
 
 Oh life's worst death to him whose heart loves much; 
 This loosing, holding, having, having not 
 
 The one it treasures — once, but once can such 
 Strong grief assail us in one mortal lot — 
 Man withers at its breath, shrinks dwindled to a blot! 
 
46 Love's Fatality. 
 
 The high, the pure, the slowest to commit 
 
 A crime, are still the slowest to conceive 
 Or in their minds a shadowy doubt admit 
 
 Against one heart whose faith they yet believe. 
 Semblance or chance or fancy may deceive, 
 
 And seems to them is not a proof of crime: 
 
 Not till the full assurance they receive, 
 Beyond loves power to question place or time, 
 Will they condemn or hear guilt's harsh and grating chime. 
 
 For it is still a truth, and shall endure. 
 
 Like all He taught who wore the crown of thorns, 
 That "to the pure of heart, all things are pure;" 
 
 Still such a soul rejects, and bravely scorns 
 
 To watch for deeds at which fair virtue mourns. 
 Alas! alas! but time must often bare 
 
 To human eyes the guilt that darkly dawns 
 In minds, ah I now no longer pure and fair, 
 But tainted with disease to poison God's sweet air. 
 
 Not guilt, not virtue, is on earth secure; 
 
 Guilt fails to hide, and virtue to succeed 
 In time, both natures suffer and endure: 
 
 Wounds differ, but each soul must bleed; 
 
 He knows the cause who set the living seed, 
 And He the fate of each will shape and cast. 
 
 Pause, pause Rinaldo, and forbear to read 
 Words that shall life and hope forever blast. 
 'Tis done; behold that throe — ah! grief, relax thy grasp! 
 
 A letter, nothing more, signed by his friend, 
 
 Found lost by some mistake — 'twas destiny that writ. 
 
 Ah! what a trifle serves the veil to rend 
 
 From sin and wrong; no craft avails to knit 
 A screen for guilt; the darkest night seems lit, 
 
 And in the end its secrets must disclose. 
 
Love's Fatality. 47 
 
 Shame's garment wraps round him who feels it fit; 
 Crime and the criminal are deadliest foes, 
 Accusing and accused, they tell what conscience knows. 
 
 'Tis clear, alas! too clear, the meaning now 
 
 Of that past change from mirth to mirthless glee; 
 The unnatural laughter and the clouded brow, 
 
 The lost desire, the sullen mystery. 
 
 Are all too plain, their withering history 
 Before him lies — 'twas love with guilt combined. 
 
 But his fond eyes such meaning could not see; 
 And now, alas ! what solace can he find ? 
 Landolfo's come again. He dare not now be blind. 
 
 How much their guilt .? Is it but yet in will ? 
 
 " He cannot live," he writes, " and longer bear 
 Alone his misery, that orAy fails to kill, 
 
 As vulture-like his passions seem to tear 
 
 His soul, that yearns and yearns once more to hear 
 Her voice, to look again into her eyes; 
 
 Ah ! cruel fate, to show him one so dear. 
 Yet place beyond all hope the tempting prize, 
 Condemning him to roam an outcast from love's skies." 
 
 'Twas read, and from his hand in fragments fell; 
 
 Where shall he turn, where fly ? All, all is gone; 
 There is no charm on earth, in heaven, to quell 
 
 The pang that rends his soul; ah none, oh none. 
 
 Of all those hopes and joys that lately shone 
 Are left; and reason totters on her throne. 
 
 They were his all; his more than life was one 
 Most dear; he prized them as his dearest own. 
 Ah ! what a weight of grief lives in that hollow moan, 
 
 Hours pass; and through his brain, that scarce believes, 
 Visions of vengeance come and go, and change. 
 
48 Love's Faialiiy. 
 
 Vengeance — can vengeance his torn heart relieve ? 
 Ah ! never more may his free footsteps range 
 About those homes and scenes; the place grows strange 
 
 Even in thought as he tells o'er his fate. 
 
 Could joy be his, though he should dare avenge 
 
 With bloody hand the guilty pair ? Too late; 
 
 Earth is a blasted heath, and life is desolate. 
 
 Ah, might he die while yet the crime unknown 
 
 Lives scarce in whispers; not to open shame 
 Need then her cherished form be ever shown; 
 
 Still would he shield her life and her dear name; 
 
 For them flowers still may bloom, and love and fame 
 And hope and happy hours returning, smile above 
 
 The place she brightens, Who shall weigh her blame .? 
 Who fetter inclination ? Who command free love .? 
 The heart is strangely formed, affections still will rove. 
 
 And could he joy in her, knowing her will 
 
 No longer his ? Oh! oh! the pang is hard; 
 What boots it now his utmost care and skill; 
 
 He hath no treasure left on earth to guard; 
 
 All life is wrecked. And shall he then reward 
 Their grimes by other crime, that they may be 
 
 Blest in their love, and in that home he shared } 
 Ah, misery's deepening draught; oh agony. 
 Oblivion, darkness, death, hide him where none may see 
 
 Forth from the place he flies with frenzy's speed, 
 Darkness around, the madness of hell within; 
 
 A tempest howls; he pauses not to heed, 
 
 But rushes onward, thinking perchance to win 
 A goal where peace may once again begin; 
 
 He knows not how, he cares not where, away — 
 Ever away, he shouts amid the din 
 
 Of bursting thunders, while the lightnings play 
 
 Upon a face from which reason has gone astray. 
 
Love's Fatality, 49 
 
 The morning came, and found him flying still, 
 
 But Heaven was merciful, he knew not why, 
 He thought himself escaped from some great ill, 
 
 But questioned, child-like, sat him down to cry; 
 
 His name he knew not, meaningless his eye 
 Ran o'er the faces of the few he met, 
 
 Then passed he on his road with one low sigh, 
 As if his heart on some sad quest were set; 
 But what ? 'twas pitying heaven that bade him to forget, 
 
 -T^'T^'r 'l^5(C5iC ^^^ 
 
 Day, after darkness and a night of storm. 
 
 Broke smiling sweetly over lake and tower; 
 No cloud was left earth's beauty to deform, 
 
 Night's terrors vanished with the sunless hour. 
 
 Ah ! could man's soul, when sin's dim shadows lower 
 Within, but purge itself, by some strong rain 
 
 Wash out all wrongs, and by some gentle shower 
 Bring back the past, to live it o'er again, 
 How much of misery would be saved, how much of pain I 
 
 Ah ! bootless sorrow, always still too late ! 
 
 Ah ! futile grief, when passion's strength is spent I 
 Ah ! human weakness, that still weaves the fate 
 
 On which its own life's hope is torn and rent ! 
 
 Vainly above the heaven's blue arch is bent, 
 Vainly the day smiles temptingly and clear 
 
 To one whose heart with guilt is torn and shent 
 Before his life has fallen into the sear, 
 Who knows his days laid waste, beyond a chance of cheer, 
 
 Who sees the past spread darkening over all. 
 Present and future, while a cloud of crime 
 
 Encircles life as with a funeral pall, 
 
 And in his heart a never-ceasing chime 
 Of late repentance keepeth mournful time 
 
50 Love's Fatality. 
 
 To wonder and despair; ah! death in Hfe! 
 
 Thought wanders back to manhood's happy prime; 
 Its beauty uglier makes this endless strife 
 That rages like a storm with fell destruction rife. 
 
 The morning breaks all passionless and fair; 
 
 Happy are they whose eyes can meet its beam 
 Dreading no harrowing question that may bare 
 
 Deeds that are not, " the shadows of a dream." 
 
 Not yet Landolfo hears the rushing stream 
 That ever more shall haunt him to his grave; 
 
 He knows his crime, but all unknown doth deem 
 It sleeps unread by man, since dark trees wave 
 Above the spot where they to sin their souls up gave. 
 
 He knows— but what is this .'' a peasant boy, 
 All spent and breathless, with a thrilling tale 
 
 Brings him a hat, that like a leafy toy 
 The sport of waters, swollen by the gale, 
 Was found at sunrise where the willows trail 
 
 Their branches in the stream below the falls, 
 And further on a cloak was seen to sail; 
 
 The history every heart suspends, appals ! 
 
 Rinaldo's hat — his name rings echoing through the halls. 
 
 Rings, but no answering voice replies to ease 
 The fear that darkens every face around; 
 
 His rooms are tenantless, without a crease 
 The bed is there, and all his books are found 
 In their due order. Then comes a wild rebound, 
 
 And men make for the river; drags are thrown. 
 But all in vain. The water's rushing sound 
 
 Answers in mockery to Landolfo's moan, 
 
 Who sees Rinaldo's form in ever)^ distant stone. 
 
 Days, weeks, were spent in search, from far and near. 
 On horse on foot, retainers went and came. 
 
Love's Fatality. 51 
 
 But never farther tidings could they hear. 
 With time the fiercest sorrow groweth tame, 
 
 All poignant grief, and even man's self blame, 
 Softens and fades into a distant cloud 
 That darkly hangs above an unused name, 
 
 And conscience whispers low that once spoke loud 
 
 When some sad tale is wrapped in death's unbroken 
 shroud. 
 
 And many months of storm and shine had passed, 
 And all men's minds were settled; each could tell 
 
 How lost Rinaldo, dazed by rain and blast, 
 Had sought to pass the ford below the dell. 
 Forgetting how swift the river rose and fell 
 
 When tempests deluged all the hills and plain; 
 His footing lost, the waters wild as hell 
 
 Had borne him helpless to the distant main: 
 
 Thus was he lost, and hence their search had proved in 
 vain. 
 
 It may be in Landolfo's heart of hearts 
 
 A fear yet lived that deadened this one hope. 
 At sound of waters all his nature starts; 
 
 Not all his strength can with this weakness cope; 
 
 His feet avoid the path whose downward slope 
 Leads to the river; by night and day not less 
 
 About it all his darkest memories group; 
 Men deem it but recalls his past distress. 
 But, ah ! a fear like this must spring from guiltiness. 
 
 In days long past, ere yet Rinaldo lived. 
 And while Landolfo on his mother's breast 
 
 An infant played, their fathers smiling gave 
 Each one his hand, and not in laughing jest. 
 But earnest faith, pledged their eternal rest — ' 
 
 That he who first a daughter's smile should grace, 
 The other's son should with her hand be blest; 
 
52 Love's Fatality. 
 
 And all their wealth and lands, so broad and brave, 
 Thus joined by them should be when they were in the 
 grave. 
 
 But both their lives cut short in one wild day. 
 When hostile knights made war upon their king, 
 
 Saw not fulfilled this dream, that oft would play, 
 When their ambition rose on eagle wing. 
 In fancy round this son, whose word could bring 
 
 Into the field an army of such might 
 
 That few or none should dare gainsay the thing 
 
 He should support; they saw him noblest knight 
 
 In council fearless rise, foremost in every fight. 
 
 And their brave hearts would glow with valor's pride; 
 
 They heard their names still shouted in the field, 
 While their blent banners to the winds flung wide 
 
 Proclaimed where men could die, but never yield; 
 
 Of king and state, perchance, support and shield, 
 They saw him to all honor crowned and wed; 
 
 His glorious heritage he knew to wield; 
 Even they would feel it in their silent bed, 
 And raise themselves with pride among the mighty dead* 
 
 Ah! could they see him now, while marriage bells 
 
 That shall unite their lands float in the air, 
 His face but little of such splendor tells 
 
 As then they deemed must grace the coming heir; 
 
 Nor is the hand that joins their lands so fair 
 The hand of one whose veins can boast such blood 
 
 As they in honor's cause knew not to spare, 
 When war's wild tide, like to a swollen flood, 
 Poured dangers round them everywhere they stood. 
 
 But living men cannot control their fate, 
 
 How then should dead men sway the sceptre strong 
 Of destiny, that more than birth or state 
 
Love's Fatality. 53 
 
 Makes man to fall or rise amid the throng 
 Of still conflicting powers that sweep along 
 His path in life ? He may in hope propose, 
 To him this God-like power doth belong, 
 But 'tis not his to crush all future deadly foes 
 That may arise with time and his proud plans oppose, 
 
 Fair is the face that bears, alas! each name; 
 
 Fair, frail and guilty, judged by earthly laws 
 Its maker kindly, when he stooped to frame 
 
 A thing so lovely, but with human flaws 
 
 Bad men condemn not; but all gently pause 
 And leave to heaven vengeance as its right; 
 
 Since only He could fairly weigh the cause 
 That led such erring foot-steps from the light, 
 Nor armed imperfect man with justice in its rnight, 
 
 And they were wed ; and from their union sprung 
 A child who bore the name of her first lord; 
 
 Who knows but he the name may bear along 
 
 Till in the course of time, with grace well stored, 
 He shall achieve the fame his sires adored; 
 
 In him will center all their boasted power; 
 
 Fortune may gild his knightly pledge and word, 
 
 And life on him its choicest blessings shower — 
 
 The sun of heaven still shines, though earth's dark clouds 
 may lower. 
 
 *** *** *** 
 
 Long years had past; the boy had grown to man; 
 
 Landolfo and his wife slept deep and still, 
 When a poor wretch, all woe-begone and wan. 
 
 Was seen to haunt the brook, the dale, the hill; 
 
 He spoke not, laughed not, but with child-like will 
 Tottered from place to place the grounds about; 
 
 And everywhere would pause and gaze his fill; 
 His face seemed full of some wild troubled doubt. 
 That his poor weakened brain could not unravel out. 
 
54 Love's Fatality. 
 
 He knew or seemed to know each walk and turn, 
 
 Yet none were found whose memory could trace 
 A feature once familiar. When they strove to learn 
 
 By questions why alone he sought that place, 
 
 He nothing answered, but along his face 
 A shadow past. In vain was all their art — 
 
 As well to question stars in heaven's blue space; 
 He seemed of day-light and the world no part; 
 A tongueless moving ghost, whose blank gaze made them 
 start. 
 
 Days lingered he among them, and at last 
 
 They found him dead beside the stone that bore 
 
 Rinaldo's name and history; and the cast 
 Of his dead features to their fancy wore 
 A semblance of his; perchance it was no more 
 
 Than fancy and the place where he was found. 
 A peasant's grave received him; all was o'er; 
 
 No mourners wept, no friends bedewed the ground; 
 
 But not the less he slept, all peaceful and profound, 
 
THE TRUE HISTORY OF ST. ALEJO, 
 
 In the Spanish edition of the " Christian Year," a book published by the 
 Church of Rome, and containing the history of all its Saints, we find the fol- 
 lowing concerning this man's life and death: 
 
 " On the seventeenth of July the Church celebrates the feast of this Saint, so 
 well known for the generous sacrifice he made of the pleasures and conveni- 
 encies of this life, and for the heroic victory he gained over his own flesh and 
 blood." He was born, according to the authority we quote, of rich parents, 
 and married to a lady of the ^' very first quality ,'^ as virtuous as she was beauti- 
 ful; but deserted her before, or immediately after, the marriage party reached 
 the house prepared for them, on account of his great virtue, and for the pleas- 
 ure of mortifying himself, and asking alms at a certain church door; the which 
 honorable mode of gaining a livelihood he quitted a short time after in disgust, 
 not on account of its degradation, but oecause the image of the Virgin Mary (to 
 whom he was especially devoted), became too talkative, informing the congre- 
 gation at times that he was in great favor with God, and that his prayers had 
 much influence in heaven; at others calling out in a loud voice to the door- 
 keeper of the church to ** come and open the door and let the favorite servant 
 of God enter," These proceedings on the part of the Virgin caused such fame 
 to grow about Alejo that he felt his humility in danger, and therefore deter- 
 mined to retire from public life; so, in the guise of a mendicant, be begged to be 
 allowed a dirty corner below the stairs in hi3 own house, which request was 
 granted. " Ht was thus enabled daily to see his wife and family, and know 
 how much misery they suffered by his absence, and once jnore gain a victory 
 aver himself by resisting the desire to throw himself into their arms." All of 
 which conduct in anybody but a Saint would merit a hors«-whipping or a 
 straight waistcoat. 
 
 Alejo continued to occupy his obscure corner, unknown, till the day of his 
 death ; and there (by a priest) he was found with a letter in his hand, the which 
 after many prayers the corpse delivered up. The house in which he died was 
 filled with a wonderful perfume ; and the letter, at the urgent request of the 
 multitude, was read aloud. It set forth his real name and character, and ex- 
 plained his conduct as the result of a direct command from God, given in his 
 ear on the night of his marriage. All the sick people who flocked to the place 
 became instantly well, and the following prayer was ordered to be used on the 
 seventeentli of July, in all following years by good Christians: 
 
 " Oh God that, year by year, makes us solemnly rejoice at the good fortune 
 of Alejo, concede to us the po7ver to imitate this, thy glorious confessor, whose 
 birth into heaven we this day celebrate." 
 
 What would the dear girls say if such conduct should become general, and 
 bridegrooms all should have conceded to them the desire to become Saints upoo 
 such conditions? 
 
56 -S*/. Alejo. 
 
 The priests make Alejo flourish, if such a life can be called flourishing, some 
 years earlier than the date of our tale, but the documents from which we draw 
 cur facts are better testified to than those cf the Fathers; and on the face of 
 them bear more the stamp of truth; therefore, not until we ourselves hear their 
 wooden images talk shall we, for a moment, admit the possibility of their version 
 of his Saintship's life and death being the correct one; but, on the contrary, shall 
 uphold our own, which is as follows: 
 
 Part I. 
 
 In Spain, in those glorious days of old 
 
 When Dons were respected and rolling in gold; 
 
 When their nation (not mortgaged up to her eyes) 
 
 Drew firmly and freely for liberal supplies 
 
 On her heretic subjects who lived over-seas, 
 
 And who gave her, not lent her, all that she pleased, 
 
 In reverence, not fear, for that noble race. 
 
 Her sons, whose annals no crime can disgrace^ 
 
 Being blessed with minds too high for pollution; 
 
 Yet, fearing a speck, they took daily ablution 
 
 In a laundry divine, long started and kept 
 
 For the cleansing of souls, by a people yclept 
 
 Popes, Bishops and Priests, who clear-starch and iron 
 
 The soul, like a shirt or collar you tie on. 
 
 And warrant to turn it out speckless and white. 
 
 However befouled, should the pay but requite ! 
 
 In those times, I'm not sure if in Cadiz or Seville, 
 Lived one Don Alejo, majestic and civil 
 At home, but abroad he had fought like the devil 
 With priests and with heroes (alas! dead and gone!) 
 Who, following the chart of one Christopher Colon, 
 Carried war in the name of Christ and religion 
 'Gainst King Atahualpa, his chiefs and his squaws. 
 By way of extending the learning and laws 
 That have made the Priests and Bishops of Rome 
 So much respected abroad and at home 
 For gentle forbearance and father-like care 
 Which they show all mankind, who, as they declare, 
 
S/. Alejo. 57 
 
 Saint Peter consigned to them and their Pope 
 When he went up above, Heaven's portal to ope 
 To each who may come, the happy possessor 
 Of a true bill of health from a Father Confessor. 
 
 In those times, but alas, I forget in whose reign 
 
 The Church looked with a favorable eye upon Spain, 
 
 As churchmen can look when there's something to gain; 
 
 So sins were forgiven, and saints were made, 
 
 And poor old Nick was cast quite in the shade; 
 
 While Heaven and Rome did a flourishing trade, 
 
 In Dons and in Donas, Hidalgos, grandees, 
 
 And in all kinds of people, in all their degrees. 
 
 In fact there blew heavenward quite a stiff breeze; 
 
 But the stiffest of all, and by far the most quaint, 
 
 Was the making poor dead Don Alejo a Saint ! 
 
 Now Alejo, the sainted, perchance if not told 
 
 Mayhap you'll confound with Alejo the bold; 
 
 So to clear up the question, and guesses to smother, 
 
 We'll proclaim him at once a son of that other. 
 
 Or, if you object, why the son of a mother 
 
 Who died without leaving him sister or brother. 
 
 And the father he had was always at strife 
 
 Till he died; some said out of love for his wife; 
 
 A second one this; the son came of a first. 
 
 And was quietly put out of sight to be nursed; 
 
 So knew little of home, its joys or its fears; 
 
 In fact, as men say, he was "tender in years" 
 
 When his father pegged out from "this valley of tears," 
 
 And left him, poor boy, to the love and protection 
 
 Of a step-mother, wanting a nearer connection ! 
 
 So an orphan is he. 
 
 And a widow is she. 
 And of course looking doleful as doleful can be. 
 But women like her do not long play the fool. 
 And quickly she packed the boy off to his school; 
 5 
 
58 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Paid the masses she'd caused to be sung for the dead, 
 
 With a Hberal hand, till the good Bishop said 
 
 She might quietly lay herself down in her bed, 
 
 And know there was nothing left under that head 
 
 To do. And so, as the days grew to weeks, 
 
 The roses began to come back in her cheeks, 
 
 So nicely laid on, pearl white and rose mixture, 
 
 Just such as you see in a dear lovely picture 
 
 Called "The Month's Fashions," and published in France, 
 
 To teach the sweet creatures to dress for a dance, 
 
 A ride or a walk, or a short morning call, 
 
 And to put them O. K. — that is, up to all. 
 
 New trimmings and tuckers, silks and such stuff 
 
 A man need but mention to prove he's a muff; 
 
 So we'll leave them alone, and at once we'll proceed 
 
 To tell of things far more important indeed. 
 
 Just fancy a widow, lovely and free, 
 Oh, as lovely, as lovely, as ever could be, 
 And loving of course, like all ladies in Spain^- 
 See Byron (but speak to him never again). 
 
 Then fancy how nice: 
 How years pass in a trice 
 In a country all summer, without any ice. 
 To a lady with riches 
 
 To spend, and in store, 
 And whose smile so bewitches 
 
 She 's beaux by the score. 
 
 But time, as all the sages sing, 
 
 Time, time is ever on the wing; 
 
 Time is, time was, and then at last 
 
 Even Bacon's brass head knew it had past; 
 And Isabel, in middle youth, 
 Learn'd something of this ugly truth; 
 
S/. Alejo. 59 
 
 For this son, that to her was never born, 
 Grown into man, in her side is a thorn; 
 A plague spot he is, defacing her day. 
 Or in sight, or in thought if out of her way. 
 
 With questions rude he troubles her sore. 
 
 And something 's to come that must trouble her more; 
 
 For soon, alas! she will have to give o'er' 
 
 Nearly all the large fortune of silver and gold 
 
 Won by Dear Don Alejo, in battle so bold, 
 
 'Gainst Incas and chiefs in his youthful pride. 
 
 And for love of which she became his bride. 
 
 Hard, hard it will seem to relinquish a part 
 
 Of a fortune that won the whole of her heart ! 
 
 Oh; that bitter pill in store for her still, 
 
 In the shape of an unopened note to the will ! 
 
 House, land, and estate, are left by "the late," 
 
 To his only son, 
 
 In case he should marry, or reach twenty-one; 
 While the widow dear, with many a tear. 
 Will have to receive from him so much a year ! 
 
 The blow it came, and found her game; 
 
 "So much," she declared, should be called "so little!" 
 
 Hoped he might choke with a "mouthful of vittle," 
 
 For the moment a tempest raved and blew. 
 
 And then to her Father Confessor she flew. 
 
 First he did bless her, this Father Confessor, 
 
 Then asked the reason why she at that season 
 
 Had come to consult the Church and the Priest ? 
 
 Was it the result of sin, or, at least, 
 
 Some mistake about meat, or the right thing to eat ? 
 
 For he felt quite sure that one so demure 
 
 Had committed no crime of a nature so grave. 
 
 But a very short time of penance would save 
 
 Her soul from all danger. He paused,. and she sighed, 
 
 And thus replied : 
 
6o S/. Alejo. 
 
 " Father, I am no stranger 
 To you or your church, and I know your wits 
 Leave quite in the kuxh the lawyers and cits 
 In giving the cue what a woman should do 
 When the poor thing 's bereft of her husband, and left 
 In this wicked world, all day and all night, 
 Without any on^ near to pity her plight, 
 So I come — I come — " 
 
 Here she stopped, her eyes down dropped; 
 Looked here, looked there; bowed was her head 
 While thus the pious churchman said: 
 " Daughter, 
 The priests of Rome are ever at home 
 
 To dry the widow's tear; 
 And young or old, for love or gold, 
 We esteem them especially dear; 
 And to have and to hold their souls, we are bold ! 
 'Gainst devils or men, our Church — a brave one — 
 Is ready to save from 
 
 Slaughter 
 All, every one, 'both Jack and John,' 
 As school-boys say, in their random way, 
 When out at play; 
 So please to begin — ^your particular sin ?" 
 
 She screamed out, " No sin of hers brought her! 
 
 Father, 
 A widower would a wooing go; 
 He'd houses and money in plenty to show. 
 In fact was a prize to which none could say no! 
 
 Rather 
 Than lose such a chance, any girl would cry, dance, 
 
 Or do neither 
 To please him and gain her just ends, 
 And trust to the future to make her amends. 
 
S/. Alejo. 6 1 
 
 So I played, I won! Things went merrily on! 
 
 He died; I saw the will was all right, 
 
 And after due mourning began to delight 
 
 In those innocent pastimes a free widow might; 
 
 When lo ! a letter left for his son, 
 
 To be opened 'when he was twenty and one,' 
 
 And attached to the will, and called ' codicil,' 
 
 Gives his house, and estate, and Dear Father's blessing, 
 
 To his son of ." 
 
 " Daughter, it's reaWy distressing, 
 But cheer up, and tell me if all would well be 
 
 Should this son of , so blest, become non est ? 
 
 Would it suit your books if he went off the hooks 
 Ad instante P" 
 
 " Father, it would, could, and should, 
 (Oh that his mother had miscarried) 
 But that he's soon, too soon, to be married ; 
 And then^." 
 
 "Well daughter, I'll see if this parried can be; 
 Go home; leave the matter entirely to me; 
 
 And when 
 You've left me to think, I shall hit in a wink 
 On some feasible plan to nail down this man. 
 Who's turned out such a bore, and by Holy Church aid 
 To have him safe laid where he'll trouble no more I " 
 
 The churchman, with an air sedate, 
 Walked up and down to meditate 
 Upon his plan, or, perhaps, his pleasure; 
 He was a man you could not measure 
 By simple rules: he spoke so bland, 
 Smiled benisons, and waved his hand 
 As if it were a sacred wand 
 Or cross of peace to all the land ! 
 
62 S/. Alejo. 
 
 So gentle, kind, and debonnaire. 
 
 As priests should be, and as they were 
 In those days of eld 
 Ere Luther came out, with schism and doubt, 
 And had to be felled 
 With that Papal Bull (of the Irish breed) 
 That cracked its own skull against its own creed. 
 As Rome shook her "shilaley," crying "Arrah! by Pat! 
 Now see what you'll get for laving the hat!" 
 Par parenthesis, still, admit it you will. 
 Poor Luther just did get it hot after that. 
 For things up above are not as below, 
 And Peter was just the Saint to show 
 To a very warm place, a son of high treason. 
 Who talked about reason, so all out of season, 
 And got himself into disgrace! 
 
 But stop! Let me see! I fear I digress. 
 
 And if I'm not careful, shall get in a mess 
 
 With this tale of a Saint — or I should say, rather, 
 
 This sketch of that Father, I'm tiying to paint ! 
 
 For that's where we're lost, confounded or crossed 
 
 In our tale. But to him again: For example — 
 
 Of his Church and his creed all held him a sample; 
 
 A good one, and doubtless had reasons quite ample. 
 
 He looked young for his years, and looked well to his 
 
 dress; 
 Could be moved e'en to tears .by the tale of distress 
 Which, on a Friday called "good," he told with such 
 
 pathos 
 One feared he'd be drowned deep in his own bathos! 
 But no ! Like the ark in the flood, he grounded or stood 
 To tell o'er his beads, his matins and Paters, 
 Such as those you may hear in the sweet land of "taters;" 
 Or sweeter one still, of macaronian eaters. 
 Shaven smooth, soft and mellow, this priestly good fellow 
 
Sf. Alejo, 63 
 
 Was fair to the sight — like bright days in spring, 
 Or the flowers they bring, or a starlit night, 
 
 With no cloud in sight 1 
 All Ave Marias, and a sunset glow. 
 Was the manner of man hung out for show. 
 Of thumb-screws, and racks, and ugly boot^jackg, 
 And dungeons dark, where one don't hear the lark 
 Or see sunlight or day, or get much fair play-— 
 
 He had nothing to say; 
 (Like his Church), till for uses, and to keep down abuses. 
 He sought inquisition, and showed requisition 
 For trifles like these, to aid his own ends, 
 Or the Church's, or, sometimes, for some of his friends! 
 Whatever the need, ends justify means! 
 Who thinks of the seed when the harvest teems ? 
 And in hopes of promotion, or for love or devotion, 
 He had taken the notion the widow's money to save- 
 But the how, and the where? He sat down in his chair, 
 Looked uncommonly grave, yet determined and brave. 
 Whilst his spirit seemed taken, and roughly shaken 
 By some dreadful thought against which he fought, 
 But in vain, all in vain! The proof was too plain; 
 And conviction, at last, to his soul was borne, 
 When he started and winced as if pricked by a thorn, 
 Frowned, muttered, and said : " I dare to be sworne 
 To our Church and our creed — he 's false, and that 's why 
 For the widow I felt so much sympathy ! 
 Saint Anthony, thanks ! you have given the cue, 
 I am fully convinced, and know just what to do. 
 
 Part H. 
 
 Oh, Love! But ah, the tale 's been told 
 
 So often, that we fear to touch it; 
 And yet, a rhymster must be bold ! 
 
 Although my verse may smutch it, 
 
64 S/. Alejo. 
 
 I really must sing of true love 
 
 A tale so very thrilling, 
 That even the holy Saints above 
 
 To read it may be willing; 
 If not, why let them still proceed 
 
 Chanting their "Hallelujah" chorus. 
 Each doing that which is decreed — 
 
 We sing the song as laid before us! 
 
 Know ye the land whence the orange and nut 
 Are shipped to our shores for the Christmas time ? 
 
 Where hazel eyes languishing sweetly, put 
 Painters and poets in raptures sublime ? 
 
 It is there, it is there! The land of the Don, 
 The Dona, Hidalgo, and other great names. 
 
 Where priestcraft and anarchy ever live on, 
 
 In the deeds of her sons, and the hearts of her dames; 
 It is there, it is there, you must go with me 
 In the year of our Lord, one, five, seven, three 1 
 
 A lovely girl and boy 
 
 Played in those days together; 
 And life was full of joy. 
 
 And it was summer weather! 
 But as they grew in years, 
 
 Stern fate them separated; 
 Of course they shed some tears. 
 
 And each felt desolated. 
 
 They swore a vow at parting — 
 
 A heart's deep vow they swore 
 (Their love grim strength imparting) 
 
 That they would meet once more; 
 By deep, deep love they swore it, 
 
 And it wrought like flame to fuel- 
 That each one would ignore it. 
 
 That parents's order cruel 1 
 
S/. Alejo. 65 
 
 " Go, get you to a nunnery ! To a nunnery go, 
 
 And mind your education, for I will have it so!" 
 
 Said this parent stern and grand to the daughter of that 
 
 land 
 Famed for oranges and eyes, and men more turbulent 
 
 than wise; 
 And so my lady went, and, to make her still more steady, 
 He added, " When you are seventeen, I have your hus- 
 band ready!" 
 
 In the convent walls, both high and holy, 
 Among the sisterhood so meek and lowly, 
 
 The maiden learns to kneel and pray, 
 And hears of virgins, martyrs, saints. 
 
 Who kept bad passions so at bay 
 That, though of earth, earth scarcely taints 
 
 The history of their lives while clay. 
 
 With pure companions by her side. 
 And such bright precepts for her guide, 
 
 How can she go astray? 
 She looks from the iron lattice strong; 
 
 Deep thought is on her brow: 
 The passing years have seemed so long, 
 
 But they're nearly ended now! 
 
 She pictures the days to come with glee. 
 When she shall be out, and once more free, 
 Away from the nuns, and their nunnery; 
 And one might conclude, from the "hems!" and the 
 "ahs!" 
 The slight innuendos and sundry shirks. 
 That, while she recalls these angels, in bars, 
 Now half flashes out, now inwardly lurks 
 In voice, eyes, and shoulders, that this daughter of Eve 
 
66 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Would hint to beholders, and have them believe 
 All was not so pious, so pure, and devout 
 When you got inside as you'd pictured when out ! 
 She "can't understand" what the Holy Mother 
 Has still to arrang^e with that handsome lay brother, 
 Who came from the monastery far away. 
 And who asked but to rest for a night and a day ! 
 
 She "can't Understand" why Sister Jane 
 Takes up two hours in her confession; 
 
 Or why Father Joseph comes again 
 
 At night to show her the next day's lesson. 
 
 She "can't understand" why it is that the 
 Poor sisters and plain, like Sophy and Patty, 
 Need scarcely five minutes of time to confess, 
 To get absolution, and turn up at mess; 
 While Isabel, Jane, or IMary, beginning 
 In the earliest morning to tell of their sinning, 
 Can never get through till the convent bell 
 Warns each Father Confessor to go to his cell 
 She thinks it seems odd, then wonders again 
 If rich pretty girls sin more than the plain ! 
 
 The eventful day at last arrives! 
 
 A finished woman in mind and heart, 
 
 Educated to make the best of wives, 
 And fitted to take a leading part 
 In love, or intrigue, or whatever may be 
 Considered the thing to win her degree 
 In the world, 'mongst sisters worth rivalry, 
 She goes to shine and make a name, 
 A girl of spirit bent upon fame. 
 Her beauty shall be the talk of all; 
 And men before her in crowds shall fall ! 
 Her Father may preach, and preach his fill; 
 Let him ! a woman that will, she imlU 
 
S/. Alefo. 67 
 
 And determined she goes to enjoy her day, 
 And not to be tamely given away! 
 Shut up for years from dayhght till morrow, 
 She thinks she has had quite enough of sorrow, 
 And learning, and snubbing, and that sort of thing. 
 And now she's determined to "have her fling!" 
 
 She arrives at home, and the stately old Don, . 
 
 Her Father, admires her beyond expressing; 
 Gives her "carte blanche" to get things to put on 
 
 (For Spaniards are all of them fond of dressing); 
 So to shopping she goes, not a moment she yields 
 
 To her jeweler, draper, dressmaker, or maid. 
 Till she 's ready, aye ready! to take the field. 
 
 Armed at all points; no task must be stayed. 
 
 In less than a month her wardrobe completed, 
 And she in her boudoir all quietly seated. 
 Debating what dress she shall wear for the ball— 
 The first of the season (her first one of all !) — 
 Her maid comes to say that, in his own quarter. 
 Her papa would speak a few words to his daughter. 
 A moment she stays, just to gather her wits, 
 And then, like a sylph, down the stairs she flits; 
 The next at her father's feet she is kneeling. 
 And asking his will, with a face full of feeling. 
 As if he had only to make his will known 
 To find it in all correspond with her own! 
 He praises the school that has taught her such duty, 
 And obedience, he says, has doubled her beauty. 
 Then she speaks of Alejo, to whom she is plighted, 
 And her forthcoming marriage, at which he's delighted^ 
 Recommends her to dance with none else at the ball, 
 And she smirks, bows, and seems to agree to it all; 
 But if he could read what she's thinking the while. 
 He'd perhaps put on the frown, and put off the smile! 
 
68 S/. Alejo. 
 
 What Jesuit men mean, is pretty hard spelling, 
 
 But what Jesuit women, lies far beyond telling! 
 
 Thus deluded papa his dear patron saint blesses, 
 
 And she returns to her room and her dresses; 
 
 Once there, she smiles sweetly, and looks in the glass. 
 
 And asks it—" Who knows what may yet come to pass ?" 
 
 Married riches and freedom, may perhaps— -she can't tell — 
 
 Suit her plans: if so, then all may be well. 
 
 It depends on Alejo; if he's easy to rein. 
 
 Not jealous, or stupid, or prying, or vain 
 
 Of himself, but in all things inclined to hand over 
 
 The rights of a wife, to adore her and love her. 
 
 And be blind to all faults in herself and her friends 
 
 (Of whatever sex), and to make her amends 
 
 For the time she's been shut up from freedom and light, 
 
 And her dear Don Alfonso — -why, perhaps she'll requite 
 
 Both him and her father, by giving her hand 
 
 And the rights to obey her — ^but not to command !) 
 
 . The ball is over, her course is clear,— 
 Not to marry Alejo for millions a year! 
 A brute and a beast,— a bore of a man 
 Who dared to preach, — ^ay, even to plan 
 On the very first night a humdrum life, 
 And express delight should he find his wife 
 Or thus, or thus, as his humors prevail. 
 Making man the head, and woman the tail: — 
 She laughs, ha, ha ! Let her first be caught, 
 And afterwards trained to divine his thought. 
 
 "But, dear Don Alfonso!— how handsome he'd grown!" 
 His was the heart just cut out for her own! 
 Whatever she wished, thought, did, or could do. 
 She was perfect to him, and he worshipped her, too; 
 As woman should always be worshipped before 
 Consenting to enter as wife at the door 
 
S/. Akjo. 69 
 
 Of any man's house; — for, as sure as the day, 
 If not worshipped thus there's the devil to pay: — 
 Rows, wrangHngs, disgust last of all, and of course 
 Marriage ends in elopement, or else in divorce! 
 
 Then that sister of Al's — Alejo's half mother, 
 
 Or father's widow — so like to her brother 
 
 In face, temper, and kindness, she too was nice, 
 
 Not too old, nor too young, and made friends in a trice. 
 
 For companion, duenna, — whatever may be 
 
 The name of the matron, who stands guarantee 
 
 For a girl just out, she would suit to a "T." 
 
 With Alfonso for slave, herself his queen. 
 
 The world for a play-place, Isabel for a screen. 
 
 Protector or guide, when feelings should range, 
 
 And both, getting bored, should desire a change 
 
 In places and faces: — (for as Isabel proved, 
 
 Monotony sullied the pleasures of love; 
 
 And nothing gave tone to life like variety; 
 
 And a change now and then in one's daily society:) 
 
 A life like this, she thinks worth the living, 
 
 And so, goes to bed without any misgiving ! 
 
 Now, whether her night passed in sleeping or dreaming, 
 
 Waking and watching, contriving or scheming, 
 
 The historian leaves us all here in the lurch, 
 
 But tells of her rising and going to church, 
 
 Like a pious young lady, to pray and confess, 
 
 (As all Catholics do when they get in a mess !) 
 
 Her dress was black, and in fashion quite simple, 
 
 And her face spoke resolve in its every dimple. 
 
 Of course, if we knew, we dared not unfold 
 
 The advice that was given, the tale that was told 
 
 By the priest, or the lady, passed under the seal 
 
 Of the sacred confession; who dares to reveal 
 
 A word or a thought ? But this we may tell, 
 
70 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Since all was made public, as it befell, 
 
 The lady went home from the church that morn 
 
 Not only absolved, but as if new born; 
 
 Agreed with her father to name the day, 
 
 And spoke of Alejo without dismay, — 
 
 In fact, in a pitying, tender way; 
 
 Then begged her papa (which won him quite), 
 
 In drawing her papers, to see them all right. 
 
 And her dowry so fixed, that, let come what might, 
 
 She could not be left, or poor, or in need— 
 
 For fhai she felt would be dreadful indeed ! 
 
 A word orlwo more: the scene came to an end. 
 
 And she dressed, and went out to call on her friend. 
 
 Now, an English maiden is given away 
 
 'Neath the beams of the sun, and in face of the day, 
 
 And counts herself happy if on her a ray 
 
 Of his golden splendor falls, like a blessing, 
 
 As she leaves the church, where 'mid sobs and caressing, 
 
 For the last time she signed the name of her youth, 
 
 As she swore to her husband obedience, truth. 
 
 And love, and fidelity, leaving all else behind her 
 
 Except this new duty, as her name must remind her. 
 
 But her sister in Spain declares for the night, 
 
 And, in place of the sun, chooses wax for the light 
 
 To brighten the scene while she's plighting her troth. 
 
 And she don't lose her own name — indeed, she takes both; 
 
 Her husband's she wears or discards as it pleases. 
 
 Or perhaps, as it flatters her fancy, or teases 
 
 Her mind, with suggestions of the tyrant or slave 
 
 She cajoles with, or fights with, when, determined and brave 
 
 She asserts her own rights, to flirt, dance, dress and mingle 
 
 With whom she may please, since she's married, not single^ 
 
 Her mother, thank heaven, did not bring forth a fool, 
 
 And, the saints be praised ! she no more needs a school 
 
 Or a master to teach what is due to her station, 
 
 The name she was born with, or her place in the nation. 
 
S/. Alej'o. 71 
 
 What must be, will be ! The marriage night 
 
 Is come at last, and the tapers burn bright. 
 
 The guests assemble, the priests are ready, 
 
 Father, bridegroom and all, wait to welcome the lady 1 
 
 The rites, of course, are performed at home; 
 
 Since few of distinction belonging to Rome 
 
 Go to church, save for mass, and (at times) confession, — • 
 
 Just when they've committed a little digression 
 
 In honesty, honor, in love, or what not, 
 
 Which happens at times where passions are hot, 
 
 And which trouble the Catholic mind with a doubt 
 
 Until declared to be duly wiped out 
 
 By gifts to the church and the saint who pleads 
 
 In heaven's high court, to annul misdeeds,- — 
 
 (Ho! Judges of earth! From this take example — ■ 
 
 Not vainly he pleads, when the fee is ample !) 
 
 But lo ! In clouds of lace descending, 
 
 Comes the bride and takes her stand ! 
 With her bridesmaids round her bending- 
 
 And Isabel at her right hand. 
 Perhaps she looks a little pale, 
 
 Trembles, and is heard to sigh; 
 Still her response does not fail, 
 
 Nor is she weak enough to cry. 
 
 All is over and done ! The die is cast. 
 
 They are wedded, and joined together so fast 
 
 That only the Pope — unless the priest lied — - 
 
 Can undo the bond by which they are tied ! 
 
 All is over and done! But the bridegroom seems 
 
 Like a man half lost in a sea of dreams ! 
 
 W^hat does it mean } How ? Wherefore and why ? 
 
 Has the widow her finger got into the pie ? 
 
 It bodes him no good ; nor can he explain. 
 
72 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Tho' he ponders and pauses, and ponders again, 
 How change so miraculous came in a day, 
 Upon mother and wife! Is it real or but play? 
 His mother knows well that now he can take — 
 After the marriage she's helped him to make — 
 The estate that was left by his father's will; 
 She knows that he can, and knows that he will; 
 As sure as the day dawns after the night, 
 Claim all that is his! He swears by the light. 
 Knowing that cannot fail, tho' other things might. 
 
 Oh, Alejo, my boy ! there are dungeons in Spain 
 
 That even God's sunlight looks for in vain! 
 
 And many's the man who has lived till the day, 
 
 But who felt not, who saw not, a single ray 
 
 Of light, in the place where the churchmen decreed 
 
 His impious carcass should suffer and bleed. 
 
 If he were but denounced as false to their creed. 
 
 In secret they met, in silence they wrought. 
 Doing just as they pleased, if not as they ought; — 
 Those fathers of Rome, in their snug little way 
 Swept men, like cobwebs, down in their day; 
 In religion, in riches, in love, they admitted 
 No rivals, nor ever were known to have pitied 
 A victim condemned to rack or to stake. 
 Equally partial were they to broil or to bake 
 To burn, or to blister, or starve in dark cells. 
 Whoso doubted their creeds, or courted their belles. 
 And Alejo, alas ! was accused by the priest. 
 It might be of both crimes, but one at the least 
 Could be proved to his face; for he, in his youth 
 Neglected and lonely, had doubted the truth 
 Of the saints, and even the sweet Virgin Mary, 
 He said, had small care for the sad and the weary, 
 Since he'd prayed so long that his mother and teachers 
 
S/. Alejo. 73 
 
 Might be, by the saints, the virgin, or preachers. 
 Moved to pity an orphan sick and in pain. 
 He had prayed till he felt his prayers were in vain, 
 And then prayed no more. 
 
 And this was the wretch, 
 Who (unless Holy Church a point would stretch), 
 Must wrest from the widow, with heretic greed. 
 Riches not more her own than the church's at need ! 
 Holy Fathers of Rome ! can you see such a sight ? 
 Ho ! dungeon, rack, thumbscrew, — where is your might ? 
 Defenders of weakness, protectors of right! 
 A widow appeals! Do you pity her plight ? 
 Then sign, seal the doom of Alejo this night ! 
 
 :^ :f(i if. if. if. if. if. if if 
 
 The supper is ended; the dancing flags; 
 
 The guests seem weary; the music drags. 
 
 It is time to escort the bridegroom and bride 
 
 To the house where, in future, they side by side 
 
 In concord so holy, in love so divine, 
 
 Shal,I know no division of " mine and thine," 
 
 But each to the other be all in all 
 
 In joy or in sorrow, as fortune may fall. 
 
 They assemble, they start! The bride's first at the door 
 With her friend, and the bridesmaids mentioned before. 
 But the bridegroom tarries. What may this mean ? 
 With whom did he leave ? When last was he seen ? 
 Are questions passed quickly from one to another, 
 As they wait at the door of the widow, his mother. 
 Who'd petitioned he'd give, ere she quitted the place 
 She had loved as a wife, as a widow had graced, 
 A few days to arrange her new home and affairs. 
 Before being politely shown down her own stairs. 
 
 He came not with morning! He came not next night! 
 
 Without notice or warning, he'd passed from their sight ! 
 6 
 
74 S/. Alejo. 
 
 He spoke with two men, a few yards from the door 
 Of his new father's house, and was seen no more. 
 *** *** *** 
 
 Oh, the mistletoe bough, and the Baron's Hall, 
 With its missing bride, and frantic groom 1 
 
 Isabel, as a parallel case, doth recall 
 
 While sipping her chocolate, in her own room;— 
 
 But the future, she feels, wdll clear up this new mystery, 
 And by means as romantic, reveal the whole history. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 The nine days of wonder and speculation, 
 Of doubting, guessing, and calculation, 
 Have passed, and Alejo, surnamed the erratic, 
 Is heard of no more in parlor or attic. 
 Isabel mother, Victoria wife, 
 Are settling into their paces, and life 
 Assumes for each one an aspect serene, 
 As if no such person had troubled the scene. 
 
 For one dead, a year must be given to grief. 
 
 After which, the mourners may seek relief 
 
 In pastime and travel, company, change, — 
 
 In anything pleasant, or anything strange. 
 
 Each in her own way, our heroine's pay 
 
 This tribute, which custom levies on all 
 
 For losing their "nearest and dearest of all!" 
 
 Their part by each was duly enacted. 
 
 And nothing forgotten, and nothing contracted; — 
 
 They wished him dead, and plunged into woe, 
 
 Trusting the world would believe him so. 
 
 Their friend the priest and Alfonso dear 
 
 Were there to assist, to comfort and cheer, 
 
 And were very attentive by night and by day 
 
 In helping the ladies to keep up the play. 
 
S/. Alejo. 75 
 
 Can you fancy the sun by a blanket shaded, 
 Till with hot indignation he burns and broils ? 
 
 Till, deeming his power defied or degraded. 
 
 He puts forth his brightest, and thus the foe foils ? 
 
 So, after their year of seclusion and doubt. 
 
 This sweet maiden-wife, and the widow forlorn, 
 
 Burst on the world, at ball, bull-fight and rout, 
 To dazzle, eclipse, to delight and adorn. 
 
 With envy and rage, all the women behold them. 
 
 And their husbands, beaux, lovers, swelling their train; 
 
 With no one to check, to chide, or to scold them, 
 Crowned queens of beauty and fashion they reign ! 
 
 But alas! In this world there's nothing abiding! 
 
 Or flowing toward us, or ebbing away, 
 Life's tides, like the ocean's, growing, subsiding, 
 
 Work something of change in us every day ! 
 
 Thus our brilliant Victoria, after a time. 
 Lost all her taste for flirting and dressing; 
 
 Seemed strangely to sicken, to pale, and to pine. 
 Until her state became really distressing! 
 
 Alfonso's brow also was shaded and gloomy, 
 
 The widow, at times, looked puzzled and strange, 
 
 The priest found the atmosphere lowering and loomy, 
 And vainly guessed at a cause for the change ! 
 
 But the secret will soon become patent to all; 
 
 (It is one of those secrets revealed in a life !) 
 Oh ! her dear reputation must go to the wall, 
 
 For a child's to be born to our virgin-wife ! 
 
 When Isabel learned the cause of her grief, 
 She scolded Dame Nature, by way of relief. 
 It was shameful, she said, and wrong indeed, 
 
76 SV. Akjo. 
 
 To send forth a child without any need ; 
 But this, she'd noticed, was always the way, — 
 Where children were wanted, she kept them away ! 
 She sent some too soon and was too late with others, 
 And often mistook in selecting the mothers. 
 Who, having no will, voice or vote in the question. 
 Should be held free from blame, if not indigestion ! 
 
 At last, when her rage was somewhat suppressed, 
 
 She quietly went to her room, and was dressed; 
 
 And the colors she chose told Victoria plain 
 
 She was going to consult her confessor again ! 
 
 She came back an hour after, and, highly delighted. 
 
 Appeared to consider the question as righted; 
 
 Bade Victoria prepare for a second wedding 
 
 Which (unlike the first), could not fail in the bedding; 
 
 Since, that much of the contract already completed, 
 
 It remained but to hope dear Alfonse was not cheated ! 
 
 Victoria looked down, but nothing replied. 
 
 And her cheeks with the sweetest of blushes were dyed; 
 
 At length, turning pale, she asked, under her breath, 
 
 By what means she should prove her first husband's death ? 
 
 Since Rome, in such questions, was strict in her laws, — 
 
 And (knowing the ladies of Spain) perhaps had cause! 
 
 Laughed Isabel then (her voice rang like a bell). 
 
 As she cheerly assured her that all would go well, 
 
 Not only with her, but one more should be blest, 
 
 And Alejo, poor man! should be fully redressed! 
 
 *** sit** *** 
 
 Unshaven, unwashed, and all tatters and dirt, 
 A poor mis'rable wretch nothing cheered or could hurt, 
 On the first wedding night, in the whirl of affairs, 
 Found a kind of a shakedown under their stairs. 
 He'd strolled in, like others, if not to the feast, 
 Hoping perhaps for some trifle, — expecting at least 
 
-5"/. Alejo. 77 
 
 That wine would be served to the mob at the door, — 
 And he craved for the wine, should he get nothing more. 
 The place he discovered when all was dismay, 
 And he deemed it wise to get out of the way; 
 But, liking his lodgings, he stopped till next day. 
 And the next; and when he crept forth to the air 
 Was surprised that none asked his right to be there. 
 Poor Isabel ! Ah ! in her grief, it might pain her 
 To be questioned or spoke to ! So this dirty retainer 
 Lived on, and crept in or crept out like a mouse. 
 Till the servants all thoiight he belonged to the house. 
 
 One morning, a perfume, ambrosial and rich, 
 
 Embalsomed the mansion in every niche; 
 
 Not the sweetest of flowers ever distilled, 
 
 Not the sweetest of wood ever burned, could have filled 
 
 The house with a scent so divinely enchanting, 
 
 So suggestive of heaven and angels when chanting. 
 
 Oh, whence could it come ? and oh, what could it mean ? 
 
 Were they sleeping or waking, or all in a dream ? 
 
 It- was strangely delicious! They scarcely felt mortal 
 
 Who breathed but the air that escaped at the portal ! 
 
 High and low did they search, but discovered no reason 
 
 In their bottles of scent or the flowers of the season; 
 
 And all vainly they asked whence it came, what it meant, 
 
 Till the story got wind, and the Church kindly sent 
 
 A priest, charged to examine and then to report 
 
 If the miracle came from God, as it ought; 
 
 Or whether the devil, at his old tricks again. 
 
 Was trying once more to get footing in Spain ! 
 
 But long ere this, a great crowd had collected 
 
 In the street and the house; and the people expected 
 
 Nothing short of a miracle, fresh from the mint 
 
 Where such fables are coined ere they come out in print. 
 
 And as tarried the father, so holy and learn'd, 
 
78 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Still deeper and stronger expectancy burned 
 
 In the hearts of the watchers, and prophecy grew 
 
 And spake full from the lips of that motley crew. 
 
 "An angel or saint from the Virgin, no other, 
 
 Had come to console the fond wife and the mother." 
 
 Conviction grew stronger each time it was stated. 
 
 And the priest for his dalliance louder was rated. 
 
 Weak and pallid, as if from long prayer and long fast. 
 
 And muttering and crossing himself, he goes past. 
 
 With the choristers chanting around him a hymn, 
 
 And the stars coming forth, and the light growing dim. 
 
 On the threshold he pauses, prays, staggers, and falls. 
 
 As devoutly on Christ and the Virgin he calls. 
 
 O'erpowered by the odor, he feels himself faint, 
 
 And knows by his instinct he's nearing a saint. 
 
 He enters the house, but ascends not a stair — 
 
 The presence he seeks must be sought for; and there. 
 
 He points to the corner in which the poor wretch, 
 
 On the night of the marriage, his limbs chose to stretch ! 
 
 They open the door: — Lo! a rich flood of light 
 
 Pours out, to attest that the churchman is right. 
 
 They enter, start, scream — what is this meets their sight ? 
 
 'Tis Alejo — clothed just as he came from the ball, — 
 
 But his face is a sight to shock, petrify all ! 
 
 So gaunt and so ghastly, the lines by death fixed: — 
 
 Each pulse was stopped and each eye transfixed 
 
 As they gazed at that wreck of humanity, spread 
 
 On the rags of the beggar, as if for a bed ! 
 
 In the hands of the corpse, see, a letter is lying; 
 
 The priest kneels, takes it up: — 'Twas written when dying 
 
 By Alejo, and tells how God spake in his ear 
 
 And inspired him with virtue, and bade him forbear 
 
 To gratify lust; to leave wife, wealth, and take 
 
 The form of a beggar, and yet farther to make 
 
S/. Alejo. 79 
 
 An essay of virtue to dwell 'neath her roof, 
 
 To see, hear, and not speak, but keep ever aloof 
 
 Until death. Such the letter, and none seemed to doubt it — 
 
 (Or, if any one did, they said nothing about it.) 
 
 'Mongst the crowd of the curious who flocked to the scene, 
 
 Were many whose health bill was not overclean; 
 
 But the sight and the smell of so sacred a corpse 
 
 Was found efficacious; and, as matter of course. 
 
 Pilgrims by hundreds came from far and from near. 
 
 And the cures that were wrought proved his saintship quite 
 
 clear. 
 So the Pope was appealed to — at once gave consent, — 
 Canonized him in Rome on the first day of Lent; 
 After which he'd a church built, by " patrons," I wist, 
 And our heroines' names proudly headed the list. 
 
 Isabel was delighted, and showed to each friend 
 
 How her words, on that night, had come true in the end. 
 
 And Alejo the lost, — the deajr saint that was now, 
 
 Had left a romance, like the mistletoe bough! 
 
 To go into mourning, she said, would seem treason; 
 
 For if ever a mother and wife had good reason 
 
 To thank God and the Virgin for special behest, 
 
 'Twas the wife and the mother of Alejo the blest ! 
 
 Besides, they had mourned, as the world was aware, 
 
 When he first disappeared, and were plunged in despair; 
 
 But now, his fate known, they felt such a relief 
 
 That joy would come natural, 'stead of deep grief — 
 
 And more still. The two lovers, now free to unite, 
 
 Had named not the day, but appointed the night; 
 
 And Victoria felt anxious at once to be bound. 
 
 As her time became short and her figure grew round; 
 
 Lest the chapter of fate should place her with others. 
 
 Who, without being wives, have yet become mothers ! 
 
8o S/. Alejo. 
 
 So, in place of black crape, of tears, sighs and sorrow, 
 Our ladies were dressed in white silk on the morrow; 
 When Alfonso the true and Victoria the tried 
 Crowned their youthful vows as bridegroom and bride. 
 Just a month and a day ere the birth of a son, — 
 From the loss of Alejo, twenty-four wanting one. 
 How they lived ever after is folded in mysterj', 
 But later, perchance, we may look up the histor}\ 
 
 Of Isabel, we are told that she still remained single, 
 But scarcely as much with the world cared to mingle; 
 Since she found (and for this he did not fail to bless her) 
 All her comfort and joy in her father confessor! 
 
 Part IV. 
 
 Victoria and Alfonso. 
 
 Playmates in childhood and lovers in youth, 
 And famed for their beauty not less than their truth, 
 Were the pair who received heaven's sanction that night. 
 Their fortunes, pains, pleasures, thenceforth to unite. 
 With trials a many and troubles in plenty 
 . Besetting their years till the lady was twenty, 
 They seemed destined to live separated forever. 
 And to suffer the pangs that come with the ''never" 
 Of poets and lovers, who find once, and no more, 
 The being who thrills their heart to its core. 
 But fathers or friends turn cruel and vicious, 
 Or fate in some shape cuts in unpropitious. 
 And rarely the dear ones a trial can make 
 Of a love they're convinced no trial could shake, 
 While their passion by time suffers no diminution, 
 But in verses and letters is held in solution. 
 Such fate is, alas! the too common lot, 
 The ingredient of every poetical plot 
 Told by letters, or tales profuse in their prose, 
 
S/. Alejo. 8 1 
 
 And whispered all secretly, under the rose; — 
 Indeed it is common; but, thanks to our saint, 
 We've a different picture entirely to paint; 
 For our lovers are married and settled together, 
 And (in the Father's cap they call it a feather) 
 A fair child is born to gladden their eyes. 
 Binding each to the other with mutual ties. 
 
 By the fact of the child, of course all may gather 
 
 That love's gushing first years, for the mother and father, 
 
 Have passed — (those sweet days of " My dear," and " My 
 
 darling," 
 Alas! that such days should end sometimes in snarling, 
 And so debar us the pleasure of seeing and showing 
 Wedlock's earlier joys, so well worth the knowing) 
 And opens our tale in times after love's spring, 
 The first delicate bloom had been swept from his wing, 
 And when summer, profuse in her blossoms and light. 
 In their marriage's calendar stood at full height ! 
 
 She was dressed for a ball — superbly dressed, 
 
 And showed more than a glimpse of a finely formed breast, 
 
 That gleamed out, like rich beauty disdaining a cover, 
 
 Or like luscious ripe fruit its bonds bursting over; 
 
 As she passed to her carriage so stately her air. 
 
 Each timid first look became fixed in a stare — 
 
 A forced tribute, exacted by glances imperious, 
 
 Quite enough to make any man feel and turn serious. 
 
 Her husband, politely assisting her enter. 
 
 Appeared to vibrate at the sight to his centre. 
 
 The carriage rolled off; he turned back with a sigh, 
 And the sparkle at once faded out from his eye; 
 And he entered the house with a dark gloomy brow 
 That said things came to pass, tho' he scarcely knew howl 
 His wishes — for orders he'd never yet given 
 
82 S/. Alejo. 
 
 To her, whose smiles had made earth appear heaven, — 
 Were not understood, or ignored, or forgot, — 
 He scarcely knew which; yet he doubted her not, 
 Tho' their home, himself, and their beautiful child 
 Were no longer the charms that her fancy beguiled; 
 But a word or a thought, their past days recalling, 
 He trusted would save her from sinning or falling. 
 And, perchance, he himself had been something to blame, 
 Tho' he scarcely could tell whence the feeling first came. 
 Or how it had grown, until they appeared 
 As if each to the other was far less endeared. 
 
 How sad is that feeling when once it is known. 
 To our mind's eye revealing, tho' we scarcely dare own 
 To ourselves, as we ponder and muse o'er the past. 
 And, sorrowing, wonder can love die at last? — 
 Is that something all strange, in one who hath been 
 Loved without change through life's varying scen^es. 
 To one and the other, hearts speak with the eyes, 
 And vainly we'd smother the fact when love dies! 
 
 With her, love had been but weak woman's desire 
 
 For the worship and praise her charms might inspire, 
 
 While his burned, and was fed by that holier flame 
 
 Of truth that can sacrifice self, and such fame, 
 
 To a home and a life above bull-fights and balls, 
 
 The flatt'ry of fops, and the glitter that palls 
 
 On all hearts that are not so vacant and vain 
 
 And so selfishly full of their own little pain 
 
 Or pleasure; they know not, and never can know, 
 
 A joy deeper than making the first in a show 
 
 Of folly, 'mong fools that bow, flatter, and simper. 
 
 And speak of all life in a meaningless whimper, 
 
 Calling gallantry love, and malting at best 
 
 Of passion a plaything, more often a jest; — 
 
 When days of desire end in mutual disgust, 
 
Sf. Alejo. . 83 
 
 And each growing tired find, as shallow minds must, 
 A new bauble or pleasure to distract or amuse 
 That God-given life they so waste and abuse. 
 
 Oh, beauty, divine, glancing out from bright eyes. 
 
 Oh, music, the sweetest that lives in replies 
 
 Of woman to man, in youth's innocent flush, 
 
 When her rich cheek is stained with that eloquent blush 
 
 That tells of a passion half painful to bear. 
 
 From the might of her joy, that is burning to share 
 
 Her love and her truth with the chosen from all. 
 
 Whose heart she awoke to love's magical call ! 
 
 Oh, beauty and music, once heard and possessed. 
 If lost, or grown silent, to him who was blest 
 By your charms in his life, his home, and his heart, 
 Time hath little to give and earth less to impart. 
 For memor}^, however hope bravely may fight 
 'Gainst the shadows by day, will recall them at night, 
 And no power shall avail to take from life's door 
 The raven-like shadows that moan " nevermore." 
 
 Not from death comes the blow that is hardest to bear, 
 
 Not from death springs the grief that is wildest despair! 
 
 O'er the tombs of our dead a bright halo is flung. 
 
 And love clings to the lost, as in life it once clung, 
 
 And God in his mercy set death round with hope. 
 
 And gave us a power with this shadow to cope. 
 
 But what shall avail us to soften the pangs 
 
 When regret and remorse fix their venomous fangs 
 
 In a heart that not heeded or cast from its side 
 
 A husband once loved, or a dear worshipped bride,— 
 
 When the soul, looking back o'er a long line of years, 
 
 Shall see naught in the track but crimes watered with tears, — ■ 
 
 When the soul and the senses grow palsied and shake, 
 
 Telling o'er such a life from mistake to mistake:— 
 
84 SL Alejo. 
 
 Comfort comes to the mourner by nature bereft, 
 
 But repentance alone for such spirits is left; 
 
 Though the voice ring with laughter, the eye gleam with 
 
 mirth, 
 Yet never comes peace back for them, on this earth ! 
 
 O'er the bed of their child bowed the father a space, 
 And watched with delight the small, tranquil face 
 Which lay rosy and warm in its innocent sleep. 
 Not fearing the future, with no past to weep, 
 But all virgin and bright, like a pearl in the deep. 
 He thought of the mother, and prayed that this night 
 He might win her again from the hollow delight 
 The world gave, to his heart and his home by a word, 
 And a sight at which nature had trembled and stirred 
 Thro' his being, and reached even her, as she lay 
 Proudly back in her chair, in her box at the play, — 
 " The admired of admirers," — the gayest of gay ! 
 
 All gently he spoke of these things when she came, 
 
 But her blood in a moment was up in a flame— 
 
 Her's was the fortune, not his, that she spent; 
 
 And, pray who was to blame if alone she went ? 
 
 What his pleasures might be she knew not, nor cared, 
 
 But with her they had certainly never been shared. 
 
 As to dressing, he'd better turn milliner's maid. 
 
 And study the fashions ere offering to aid 
 
 In selecting her dresses, — -tho' when she required it 
 
 She'd show him her next, and ask if he admired it. 
 
 Till that time, he could censure or praise at his pleasure, 
 
 Since her dress would be cut to suit her own measure 
 
 Not his, — and, thank God ! all the money they cost, 
 
 Tho' paid by his wife, yet by him was not lost. 
 
 She begged, the next time he would kindly choose morning 
 
 When he felt bound to preach, and give her due warning; 
 
 For the present, she thanked him tho' he was bitter, 
 
 Then wished him good night, with a smile and a titter. 
 
S/. Alejo. 
 
 A play by one Shakspeare, called " Taming" the Shrew," 
 
 When well put on the stage in my day always drew 
 
 In all parts crowds of people, to witness ''Sour Kate," 
 
 Become, thro' rough treatment, the obedient mate 
 
 Of one Mr. Petruchio. In prose, play, or novel, 
 
 No argun!ent charms more, in palace or hovel, 
 
 Than to make some brave woman acknowledge man's right, 
 
 And yield up with much grace after showing some fight 
 
 To the will of that man who may take her in hand, 
 
 As the giant did once a sweet Miss Crowland, 
 
 Whose five valiant brothers departed this life 
 
 Through going to meddle 'twixt the man and his wife 
 
 What think you 's the meaning of this popularity ? 
 Or is it that shrews are in life such a rarity ? 
 Or is it, perchance, that they seldom get tamed ? 
 Or that men like to see women broken and shamed ? 
 Or— no matter now; be the cause what it may, 
 It's less pleasant in life than when seen in a play. 
 As whoever shall try it may find out one day, 
 
 But this heroine of ours is no genuine shrew; 
 
 If you carefully note her character through, 
 
 You'll find that she's shallow, vain, selfish, and proud,— 
 
 A specimen picked out from fashion's rich crowd. 
 
 Whose aim from their birth till death turn the sad page 
 
 Is to shine, dress, be talked of, — perhaps counted the rage. 
 
 Those shrews of the poets have hearts you can reach, 
 
 And not vainly their husbands or reason or preach. 
 
 But in life they are found quite callous to lessons. 
 
 And impervious to all save wished /or impressions; 
 
 And Petruchio might rail and smash all things before her, 
 
 Ere bending the will of a wife like Victoria; 
 
 And even the treatment that cured Kate of canker 
 
 Had most likely failed with the gentle Bianca. 
 
 Not she who speaks loudest or rails at a trifle. 
 
86 S/. Alejo. 
 
 Is the hardest to soothe, or her passions to stifle; 
 But that soft pink and white sweet creature of grace, 
 Whose soul seems to smile from her beautiful face, 
 As she sits by her mother and plays with her fan, 
 
 May perhaps turn out more than a match for her man. 
 
 « 
 
 'Tis an impost laid ever on marriage by fate, 
 
 The lady can never be known till too late 
 
 To break up the contract, except by a scandal 
 
 And by giving the curious a. pretty strong handle 
 
 To pump out our secrets domestic, and show 
 
 To the w6rld what it's best the world should not know. 
 
 In such trials most wives rise superior to men, 
 And bear better the griefs that come to them, when 
 In life's lottery a blank turns up in the place 
 Of the love and attention they trusted would grace 
 Their homes, when as mothers and wives they consented 
 To share life with that dearest one fortune presented. 
 How many sit watching alone and in tears 
 Until his step comes, when the gentle face clears ! 
 
 Life's balance once struck, as 'twill be in the sequel. 
 Spite of shrews, ivornan's love will be found without equal, 
 The one thing on earth most perfect and whole, 
 Most Christlike, most Godlike, and purest of soul ! 
 
 To our tale. With much patience and gentle persuasion, 
 
 And even with firmness and strength on occasion, 
 
 The husband atternpted his wrongs to resist. 
 
 Pitched battle and skirmish were foughten, I wist. 
 
 By day and by night, 'tween this once loving pair, 
 
 But did not result in cleansing the air, 
 
 Like the thunders of heaven. On the contrary, they 
 
 Appeared to make darker each forthcoming day. 
 
S/. Alejo. 87 
 
 Thus it fared with Alfonso, who'd lost his command, 
 
 And who might have been pardoned for "raising his hand 
 
 Gainst a woman," to win her from folly and blindness, 
 
 And in this way have shown that he did it " in kindness," 
 
 Had it proved a success; but in face of the doubt 
 
 He scrupled to try it, so managed, without, 
 
 To hit on a plan that served, perhaps, as well 
 
 (If not to win heaven) to save him from hell! 
 
 Thus, one morning the husband and child were both 
 
 missing, — 
 Had gone, none knew where, and left without kissing 
 The mother and wife, at which she felt sore. 
 And had scolded, no doubt, had they come back once more. 
 But they did not; and rumor, which runs on the breeze, 
 Reported them shipped and away over seas 
 To a new world that Spain possessed in those days, 
 And lost when Great Bolivar won his bright bays. 
 
 Thus our heroine again, now skilled by experience 
 In life, had once more achieved her deliverance, 
 And was free from all fetters, to follow the bent 
 Of a heart that to pleasure alone had been lent. 
 Still her time she employed much as she had done 
 In the days that were passed, excepting in one 
 Small particular; and that was, receiving at home 
 Many friends that before she could not let come. 
 There were generals, priests, actors, politicians, and wits. 
 With poets and painters and sparkling young cits. 
 Her passion seemed changed; she forgot on the morrow 
 Her favorite to-day, in her general horror 
 
 Of anything old in dresses and lovers, she 
 
 Appeared on a voyage of perpetual discovery. 
 Not the famed Russian Empress, Cath'rine the Great, 
 With her " right divine " titles to splendor and state, 
 
 Nor any one Queen of any one nation 
 
 Made changes on shorter deliberation. 
 
88 6*/. Alejo. 
 
 This held for some years; then scandal began 
 At length to point out one particular man, — 
 A great general, all covered ^vith gold and with lace 
 Round a padded figure, with a whiskerless face 
 In which Dame Nature had signed her receipt 
 For cunning and craft, cowardice and deceit. 
 He had won his fame in a low revolution, 
 And by work, — dirty, as suited his constitution, 
 Had raised himself up from obscure destitution. 
 On this man her favors bestowed were so long, 
 Many lovers fell oif, and ceased to belong 
 To her tra'in; the while she was growing in years, 
 And also around her were growing compeers, 
 Who began to divide and diminish her sway, 
 Which, like Hamlet's dog, had at last had its day! 
 
 It was full on the wane, when one came to her door, 
 
 Quite a king of a man to all men gone before. 
 
 Her spirit, her charms, seemed to flash out once more, 
 
 And an effort she made to be what she had been; 
 
 But her fate, or her stars, were against her I ween, 
 
 As Napoleon's were at that famed Waterloo, 
 
 Lost only because one can't win and lose too ! 
 
 So it fared with our lady. Her lover betrayed her 
 
 And left her for another; which seemed so to degrade her 
 
 In man's eyes and her own, that she took it to heart, 
 
 And resolved there and then it was time to depart 
 
 From a world vain at best, and begin to prepare 
 
 For that other, where age is not known, nor despair ! 
 
 Most punctual at mass, most contrite in confession, — 
 Soon lost was all chance of Nick's getting possession 
 Of a soul he had counted his own for some years, 
 And he vented his rage in the hottest of tears 
 As he watched her demurely take (daily) her way 
 
S/. Alejo. 89 
 
 To atone for the little she'd perhaps gone astray; 
 But ere long, even this, she feared, might not prevail, 
 So she one day determined on taking the veil; 
 And having of fortune left still and to spare, 
 Why, admitance was made for her easily there, — 
 In that convent wherein she had passed her youth. 
 And picked up what she knew of love, virtue, and truth ! 
 
 Thus once more and forever she enters the place. 
 
 And concludes, as it were, life's circle of grace 
 
 In this visible world dedicated to man, 
 
 And her higher and holier life began. 
 
 She rose soon from the rank of a simple sister. 
 
 And her goodness increased as if God himself kissed her, 
 
 Imparting at once, without effort or pain, 
 
 The fervor, faith, wisdom, that never in vain 
 
 Are shown by believers, in a head and a toe 
 
 Proved infallible — (reason: — because it is so!) 
 
 Many years was she spared in the house to officiate 
 
 As Lady Superior, having passed her noviciate: — 
 
 At last died with an odor none dared to call faint, 
 
 And her soul, clothed in sanctity, went to her saint ! 
 
 There was joy in heaven as she sprung to his side. 
 And all fearlessly claimed him as groom to her bride. 
 No "Alphonse " for her now, — no, nor any soul smaller; 
 She had won him at last, and he boldly might call her 
 His own, all his own. The saints, angels, around, 
 Were much moved by the sight of a joy so profound. 
 And declared, as they passed from the place where they 
 
 stood. 
 Since Guinevere's coming, they'd seen no sight so good ! 
 Then the organ struck up, in a glorious roll, 
 The full chorus of heaven, to welcome her soul ! 
 
SANTA MARINA. 
 
 Note. — The feast of Santa Marina is celebrated on the eighteenth of 
 July. Her history, shorn of the miracles and fables the Church of Rome 
 has woven about it, will be found in the poem. " The Christian year " makes 
 her one of ninechilcfren, all born at the same time and of one and the same 
 mother, and all sainted; their names were as follows: Genevera, Liberata, Vic- 
 toria, Eumel>a, Germana, Marina, Basilia, Gemma and Quiteria. The mother, 
 ashamed and frightened at having given birth to such a number, commanded 
 the nurse who attended her to throw them all into the river; but she (the nurse) 
 repenting after having consented, intrusted them to the care of some Christians, 
 with whom the children grew in grace and beauty, until it came to pass that 
 their father (governor of the place) caused all Christians to be brought before 
 him; when their birth and relationship was discovered and proved, in hopes of 
 saving them from punishment. He at once offered to receive them, and marry 
 them as became their station; the condition being their renunciation of the 
 Christian religion; the which they all refused; and after a vain attempt to con- 
 vert him to their faith, they agreed to separate and take each a different road, to 
 save their father from being guilty of their deaths, and to fulfill the mission 
 heaven had intrusted to them. The poem opens as Marina leaves. These 
 events are said to have happened in a remote part of the Peninsula, towards the 
 latter end of the second century. 
 
 FRAIL bodies may enshrine a spirit strong, — 
 Ah me! — and such have in all time been found; 
 And therefore virtue oft hath suffered wrong, 
 And truth and beauty taken many a wound ; 
 Since brutish force can trample to the ground 
 The weak and delicate, tho' rich in worth, 
 
 And, vainly glorious, look with pride around, 
 As if it were the noblest thing on earth, — 
 A king by right divine, and sceptered from its birth ! 
 
 And such, in brief, is sweet INfarina's tale; 
 
 A maiden pure and delicately fair; 
 Who left her father's home and native vale 
 
Santa Marina. 91 
 
 To seek for peace and freedom otherwhere; 
 
 Throwing herself on God's especial care, 
 To whom she yearned with all her might of soul, 
 
 And vowed to dedicate her virtue rare 
 To him and his, and not to idols foul, 
 For which, with angry eyes, parents and priests did scowl. 
 
 For in those days she lived, when old and new 
 
 Shook men and states and every social tie, 
 When war was waged betwixt the false and true, 
 
 And pagan rites with Christian dared to vie, 
 
 And claimed for customs old a victory; 
 Deeming the new light but a mirage vain, 
 
 A fabled tale, or passing history 
 Of some new God or sect that sought to reign 
 By miracles as false as they themselves did feign. 
 
 But young Marina, in the deepest deep 
 
 Of being, felt her spirit move and stir, 
 Bidding her tarry not, nor idly sleep. . 
 
 And well she knew that spirit did not err. 
 
 That on such mission forth had guided her 
 To teach the law of Christ and all his love. 
 
 To poor and suifering hearts to minister. 
 And carry on his work who went above. 
 With all a giant's strength, tho' meekly as a dove. 
 
 So, in these days, full often is it seen 
 
 That not the lordly brain but lowly heart 
 Is chosen for this greatest work, I ween : 
 
 Since gentle words and deeds may more impart 
 
 Of heaven's love and care than by much art - 
 The greatest sage in choicest w^ords can tell. 
 
 Words only speak, while actions seem a part 
 Of heaven itself, and never vainly fell 
 The golden seed of love where sorrow chose to dwell. 
 
92 Santa Marina. 
 
 And on her mission forth the maiden went. 
 
 Sunshine and beauty played about her path; 
 But not on beauty was her mind intent. 
 
 She sought the darksome liome, the troubled hearth, 
 
 Where death had been, and gods in threat'ning wrath 
 By their false priests were said to scowl and frown; 
 
 And there she taught the sacred truth that hath 
 From death removed the sting, since Christ came down; 
 She bade them follow him and win their heavenly crown. 
 
 And many followed; everywhere she came 
 The people's eyes were opened to the light; 
 
 And much of reverence grew about her name, 
 And in her eyes was seen such sweet delight 
 As comes to those who feel they work aright. 
 
 But not forever could she thus proceed — 
 It is not given to any mortal wight, 
 
 However good or wise, to all succeed, 
 
 And every path hath thorns that make the feet to bleed. 
 
 And nothing good but hath an opposite; 
 
 And in religion most hath this been shown; 
 And now the priests began to move in spite 
 
 And seek to have her into prison thrown. 
 
 Fearing her influence might outgrow their own. 
 Before harsh judges is she rudely brought, 
 
 Who know no gods, except their gods of stone, 
 Who bid her take of youth and beauty thought 
 And leave her foolish task, and wed as maidens ought. 
 
 And one among her judges, with his eyes 
 
 Did seem to feast upon her lovely face; 
 And drank the music of her low replies. 
 
 As if he, too, had been a child of grace; 
 
 And such she deemed him in that horrid place; 
 For still the words were gentle that he spoke. 
 
 Nor hinted aught that might her life disgrace; 
 
Santa Marina. 93 
 
 But later on the dream all rudely broke, 
 
 When he alone with her, by wildest offers, woke 
 
 Her spirit to resistance and disgust, 
 
 Seeking herself by tyrant's powers to gain 
 
 As partner of his crimes and of his lust. 
 But little knew he, with his code profane. 
 How souls like hers resist the lightest stain, 
 
 And dare the worst that can by men be used; 
 No earthly torture and no stretch of pain 
 
 Is equal horror to a sense misused 
 
 By such as feel the truth that Christ himself diffused. 
 
 And many times he came, but never ceased 
 
 His quest of that which she might never give; 
 And from his power she could not be released, 
 
 She almost prayed that she might cease to live. 
 
 Till last, as wife, he wooed her to forgive, 
 And, as an honor, take his noble hand. 
 
 But all in vain ! She did not dare to live 
 By heathen favor in God's holy land. 
 Nor to forsake a task she had'so firmly planned. 
 
 But rather wi^h her voice and "gentle smile 
 
 She sought to win him to that better life, 
 And by such means his passion to beguile. 
 
 From thought of her as leman or as wife; 
 
 And 'neath her soothing words, the fiercer strife 
 Of passion changed into that holier love. 
 
 Which, freed from lust, with tenderness all rife, ♦ 
 
 Comes, as an angel guardian from above, 
 Bearing the branch of hope as did the winged dove. 
 
 Her tortures change, alas, but do not end! 
 
 To his compeers he answers now no more 
 That in a little time her knee shall bend 
 
 And bow their altars and their gods before: — 
 
94 Santa Marina. 
 
 The cruel priests are thirsting for her gore, 
 Nor can he, tho' he would, avert her lot; 
 
 And they will beat her tender body sore 
 With scourge and whip and cruel pincers hot, 
 In hopes to make her seem the thing that she is not. 
 
 But nothing know these cowards, as they strike, 
 How weak the smart that finest nerve can feel, 
 
 Compared to that which in the conscience like 
 A viper clings, and makes the senses reel 
 With pain that plant was never found to heal : 
 
 The pain of deeds that all pollute the mind, 
 The sense of loss that nothing yet could steel; 
 
 Making the soul feel lower than its kind, 
 
 Knowing itself debased, degraded, lost, and blind. 
 
 And much she suffered, but not she alone: 
 
 Her worshipper — not lover now, was he— 
 As if each lash had cut him to the bone. 
 
 Would writhe as one in direst agony; 
 
 And once, with a mistaken sympathy, ■ 
 He prayed her for herself to make a sign. 
 
 As if with those foul men she did agree; 
 She answered with a smile from eyes benign. 
 But shaped a simple cross and prayed a prayer divine, 
 
 And 'in her cell, with gentle words, rebuked 
 
 The wish expressed; by fraud to 'scape from grief 
 
 Was crime to her, and might not be o'erlookisd; 
 Tho' pain seemed long, yet life was only brief, 
 And the brave soul might not, as did the thief. 
 
 Escape from punishment by force of lies, 
 
 Nor bind one tare up with life's golden sheaf; 
 
 But bear whate'er of sorrow might arise, 
 
 If it had hope and faith and yearned to reach the skies. 
 
Santa Marina. 95 
 
 And now by other means they go about, — 
 
 These cruel men — a Christian's strength to prove. 
 
 From food, hght, people, and from all shut out 
 Her aching limbs with scarcely room to move, 
 They bid her there to feel that God is love : 
 
 And thinking to affright her mind with show. 
 Strange figures, and forms horrid from above 
 
 By some vile means they cast on walls below: 
 
 But still the maiden smiled, and fear could never know: — 
 
 Till, in the minds of even her worst foes 
 
 Began to grow a kind of dread and awe, 
 That one so frail should bear such weight of wOes, 
 
 And with a faith and hope so free from flaw 
 
 Hold firm to this new God and his strange law; 
 And never taint her speech with bitter word, 
 
 Altho' that God on earth she never saw. 
 This was a something that had not been heard, 
 And spite of all their strength, with fear their spirits stirred. 
 
 For there is something awful and sublime 
 In this strong faith in goodness and in truth. 
 
 This hope that reaches far beyond all time. 
 
 This strength to age, and guiding star of youth, 
 This love that trusts, beyond all doubt or ruth, 
 
 The power unseen which guides the universe: 
 Imperfect dream of wisdom's perfect truth, 
 
 Unchangeable by pain, — with no reverse, — . 
 
 This mighty faith of faiths, in laws that seem diverse! • 
 
 Then came a pause to her in suffering; 
 
 Her tyrants shook before her and recoiled; 
 She had withstood their skill in everything. 
 
 Power to inflict by power to bear was foiled; 
 
 And they in vain with cruelty had soiled 
 Their hands in blood. So virtue ever shines, 
 
96 Santa Marina. 
 
 While sin and crime with care unceasing toiled, 
 Virtue and truth won to life's utmost lines, 
 Where all of w^orth and joy, as light with light, combines. 
 
 But yet they cast about, in their own souls. 
 
 What remedy in such a case might be; 
 The power that man above his fellows holds 
 
 Is not resigned or vanquished easily; 
 
 And should she now obtain the victory, 
 The gods of old, and they themselves must fall; 
 
 For faith grew fast in this new histor}'. 
 And it behooved these priests, both one and all. 
 By means infallible for help upon their gods to call. 
 
 And thus did they appoint a special day, 
 
 In which the proof of God 'gainst God should show. 
 And bade her, as themselves, to kneel and pray 
 
 That all the world might be convinced, and know 
 
 If theirs or hers were true; should it prove so, 
 If she had played false prophetess to gain 
 
 Her foolish followers, who would tamely bow 
 For novelty in each new-fangled fane. 
 Her life should forfeit be for preaching hopes so vain. 
 
 With solemn pomp, with revelr)^ and game, 
 And long procession to some sacred spot, 
 
 To clothe with mystery their murderous aim, 
 ^ Did they prepare to show her God was not 
 A living truth, and from the world to blot 
 
 Her fair young life, that they might freer reign. 
 They chose the test of water for her lot, 
 
 And from the deep sea bade her rise again, 
 
 To prove her hope was not some fable of her brain. 
 
 With clang and clash of pipe and cymbal harsh, 
 
 With beaten discords from a thousand gongs, 
 With gestures frantic and with speech all rash, 
 
Santa Marina. 97 
 
 The dancing priests move to the spot in throngs. 
 
 And there is heard the noise of many tongues, — 
 Fit music for such gods and men debased : — 
 
 Oh, Christ! Look down and let them not reign long: 
 The maiden prayed, as with firm step she paced 
 Her path to that high rock, which showed forth, million- 
 faced. 
 
 All eyes were fixed upon her as she passed; 
 
 And much they marveled at her tranquil mien. 
 Calm strength and peace in her bright face were glassed, 
 
 And 'mongst those men, she looked an angel-queen, 
 
 A brilliant purity, as snow in morning sheen; 
 And when she turned her eyes from earth to heaven, 
 
 Had she ascended to the height serene. 
 No heart with wonder had so much been riven 
 As when she fell where waves on rugged rocks were driven. 
 
 Yet, ere she fell, in accents clear that rung 
 
 Like trumpet call, in one short moment's hush, 
 
 She said her God w^as with her, made her strong, 
 And tho' her limbs the cruel priests might crush, 
 Her deathless soul should all outlive the rush 
 
 Of angry waves, and from God's heaven look down 
 With pity on them; and she bade them rush 
 
 Their souls to save, and win a sinless crown, 
 
 For God was true, tho' she could die and priests in envy 
 frown. 
 
 Then from the rock she fell; the air was rent 
 With cry of men, and many wailing tones 
 
 Of hearts that wept. As back the people went. 
 Their voices threatened, and those lifeless stones 
 And mumming priests were hailed with angry groans. 
 
 Not less in death than life she seemed a power, 
 
 And each, once doubtful, Christ's great doctrine owns, 
 
 Since he has seen her perish in her flower. 
 
 Made strong and calm by faith in that last trying hour! 
 
iMrk 
 
 '^^ 
 
 SANTA SINFOROSA. 
 
 Note. — This noble woman was born in Rome in the middle of the second 
 Century, and niarfied one of the great lords at the court of Adrian, by name 
 Getulo. He became a Christian, and thereby incensed the Emperor, who cru- 
 elly put him to death; but not before his wife had borne him seven children, 
 with whom, after having ministered to her husband in captivity, and buried him 
 at his death, she retired from the court, hoping to escape persecution; but in 
 vain, since the Emperor fixed upon the place of her retirement to build a palace 
 and a temple. The high priest declared he could not sleep for her prayers, and 
 by an oracle instigated the death of her and of her children. She needs none 
 of the miracles the Church of Rome has woven about her to make her life beau- 
 tiful, or her character divine. Will the Pope and his people never learn that 
 the simple and true life of the man and the woman is the highest, noblest and 
 greatest character human nature may attain to in time ? or will they forever and 
 ever go on attempting to gild the gold, paint the lily, and perfume the violet, 
 with their quintessence of lies? lies that, if true, would only deform man's na- 
 ture and destroy the simplicity and beauty of his every action and of the soul 
 itself. 
 
 Mother of England, — her I called my own,— 
 
 Writing of mother brings thy look and tone 
 
 And all thy strong affection, and the might 
 
 Of that great care I never could requite. 
 
 So clearly back, I cannot leave the theme; 
 
 But linger still, as if in some half dream. 
 
 You were my own again, my hope, my stay, 
 
 My priceless jewel, God has called away! 
 
 FAIR 'mid the fairest of that mighty land 
 Whose history blends with nature's — where the grand 
 In man's achievements seemeth to arise 
 Most mountain-like, — a maiden, gentle, wise, 
 And rich as the summer's budding tree 
 With promise of much fruit, — oh, such was she 
 In her full youth and bright simplicity. 
 
 Yet was she born to suffering, and great stress 
 Of hard temptation and deep wretchedness, 
 
Santa Sinforosa. 99 
 
 All that can shake a wife's heart and a mother's, 
 
 Deeper and fuller this than may be borne by others; 
 
 Since ever is it easier far to hear 
 
 In noble hearts, than watch another's care; 
 
 And to the mother's soul comes this perforce 
 
 With tenfold sorrow and with tenfold force. 
 
 A lover wooed her, w^orthy of her line, 
 
 And formed to mingle as is vine with vine 
 
 Was his and hers, and gently did incline 
 
 Her soul to his, as when a willow bends 
 
 To summer's wind, that blowing softly lends 
 
 New charms to boughs that passive lying 
 
 Remind us of the dead or dying 
 
 In their still beauty. But awake to motion 
 
 Was this bright soul, and her new felt emotion, 
 
 As she responded to his love, did make 
 
 Such holy melodies as at the break 
 
 Of day are heard, and felt when stars grown dim, 
 
 And nature sings the morning's matchless hymn. 
 
 All that is known of perfect, in poor time 
 
 They shared in joys that ran as doth a rhyme 
 
 Of different measures; change and change again, 
 
 Made pain seem pleasure, and then pleasure pain: 
 
 As children's faces grew about their home. 
 
 And years of love went by, while years seemed still to come* 
 
 This fell in times when Christ was little known, 
 And while the world to pagan gods bowed down; 
 When Adrian ruled and poured forth human blood 
 In sacrifice to shapes of stone and wood; 
 But Sinforosa and her noble lord 
 Had caught new light, had heard the sacred word 
 That filled their souls with love of him who trod 
 But yesterday on earth, the great and living God, 
 And whose pure faith so firmly they embraced, 
 
100 Santa Sinforosa. 
 
 From out their minds it might not be erased; 
 
 And all their children from their earliest youth 
 
 By mother's lips were taught the living truth. 
 
 Thus did they grow as Christians, just and strong, 
 
 In early days when Christians suffered wrong, 
 
 And when that faith was mark for scorn and shame 
 
 To those for whose dear sake our Lord and Saviour came. 
 
 High in the state, and of much note their sire; 
 
 And to his home did Christians oft retire 
 
 When persecution was let loose, to take 
 
 These heretics and bring them to the stake 
 
 To appease the fancied wrath of idols, or 
 
 To grace the arena's games. For this, and more, 
 
 Did Christ's own followers in those days endure. 
 
 When faith was death and heaven alone was sure. 
 
 But spite of death, and all in scorn of foes, 
 
 His followers follow, and their number grows. 
 
 Among this number Sinforosa's name 
 
 And her good lord's were high in holy fame; 
 
 The which when Rome's great Emperor Adrian learned, 
 
 His rage the more against the Christians burned; 
 
 And, all in wrath, he bade his soldiers bring 
 
 In chains her lord to answer to his king. 
 
 *o 
 
 Firm was the soul of Getulo, the Good — 
 
 So was her husband called, — and by him stood 
 
 His brothers, both accused of the same crime, — - 
 
 The secret worship of that God sublime 
 
 Who gave to heaven and earth and living things 
 
 The shape they wear, and to the soul, like wings, 
 
 High thoughts, that lift above the brute in height 
 
 That man who knows to fmd in pain delight. 
 
 And pain in pleasures that are sinful shown 
 
 By him who came to teach and make the world his own. 
 
Santa Sin/or osa. lOl 
 
 Days were they held in prison and in chains, 
 And suffered greatly from inflicted pains, 
 The all of which were meant their souls to wean 
 From Him above who rules this world unseen; 
 And still each day their penance was increased, 
 And not from thraldom might they be released 
 Unless they bowed the knee in praise before 
 The altars of those gods the vulgar minds adore. 
 
 In this sad time did Sinforosa come 
 
 To see her suffering lord confined in Rome; 
 
 She bade him be of cheer, but never speak 
 
 The false before the true; while down her cheek 
 
 The salt tears ran, God gave her strength to say 
 
 The words that make man strong and brave to play 
 
 At life and death, as His will may dispose 
 
 The fate of each he sends to battle with his foes. 
 
 And later, and when all in vain were found 
 
 The galling chain and deeply smarting wound. 
 
 Were offers made of honor and great wealth; 
 
 But little could the tyrant, from himself. 
 
 Judge of such men, — all wealth to them was dross, 
 
 Not from his hand could come or gain or loss. 
 
 And all things failed him — kings may not control 
 
 The God-inspired and heaven-directed soul. 
 
 The body may be scourged or given to death. 
 
 The soul unchanged breathes out its latest breath. 
 
 And thus fell these three brothers, by the axe laid dead. 
 
 For following Christ the Lord, who for their sakes had bled. 
 
 And when, as adding insult to the wrong. 
 The bodies without burial out were flung, 
 Came Sinforosa, void of any fear, 
 To pay all rites to forms she held so dear, 
 That by the cruel tyrant were cast down 
 
102 Santa Sin/or osa. 
 
 To be the mock and gibe of all the town. 
 
 The which performed, she with her children went 
 
 And sought for peace in self-made banishment. 
 
 And there her children, as they grew, she taught 
 
 With her sweet voice to know that life is naught 
 
 If wanting honor and the love that fills 
 
 The heart with strength to master pain and ills, 
 
 That by God's grace, or for some human fault. 
 
 Are sent to scourge, yet otherwise exalt 
 
 The soul that suffers and is not afeared, 
 
 Seeing that God, when God himself appeared 
 
 In guise of man, the like inflictions bore. 
 
 And on his regal head the crown of sorrow wore. 
 
 Thus did she teach them, and the days went by, 
 
 And beautiful they grew unto their mother's eye; 
 
 Amid a solitude of trees and streams 
 
 And flowers that blew and ripened in the gl^ms 
 
 Of summer suns; till, by some fate unseen 
 
 Directed, came Lord Adrian to the scene; 
 
 Who, all enchanted at a sight so fair, 
 
 Bade men erect his stately palace there, 
 
 And for his gods a temple, so that he 
 
 Might not be wanting to his deity. 
 
 And this they did; but, ere the fane was built, 
 
 And in its honor Christian blood was spilt; 
 
 Since that great oracle, a pagan priest, 
 
 Temptation in such form could not resist; 
 
 And Sinforosa, as her lord before. 
 
 Was bade to give her foolish worship o'er. 
 
 Full sad was Adrian to condemn the wife 
 
 Who in such way would not redeem her life; 
 
 And to each word such noble answer gave, 
 
 As cowed the strong and would have won the brave, 
 
 " Not mine," she said, "the life that I do hold; 
 
Santa Sinforosa. 103 
 
 'Tis God's own gift, and He doth make me bold 
 
 To hold my faith, and should you burn or strike 
 
 My body to the earth, as, should you like, 
 
 You have such power on earth that you can do, 
 
 I must submit, as must my children too; 
 
 Or young or old, and of whatever sex. 
 
 The Christian soul is strong and may not vex 
 
 Itself with fear of other gods or man,— 
 
 Who having done the best or worst he can, 
 
 Sends it but one short moment in advance 
 
 To where it goes at last, in spite of chance; 
 
 And thus, great lord, I bow me to your will, 
 
 But with my soul defy the utmost skill 
 
 Of you and of your gods, for I and mine 
 
 Adore the living God and may not bend to thine." 
 
 Full sad was Adrian, and for days did pause, 
 Trusting to change, or to those subtle laws 
 That in a mother's heart hold mighty sway. 
 When from her offspring she is torn away; 
 But trusting vainly, for this mother knew 
 That- God was great, that false could not be true, 
 And that no gain could come to any one 
 Flying the rod by His own hand laid on. 
 For who hath power to move without his aid ? 
 So for her children was she less afraid. 
 And when her time to its last hour was spent, 
 Weeping, but firm, and straight of step she went 
 To where the priests were gathered in a throng, 
 Who stoned her dead, then in the river flung. 
 A form that while it held a living will 
 Tho' not as God, was Godlike in its skill. 
 Her husband, then herself, and next were tried 
 Her children, too; but each and all defied 
 The power of those false gods and tyrants stern, 
 To make them bend, or ever to unlearn 
 
104 Santa Sinforosa. 
 
 The lessons deep of life and death and fate, 
 Which she as wife and mother, when elate 
 With such high titles, all divinely p^ave 
 To guide on earth, and light the darksome grave. 
 And mothers all should from her pattern take; 
 For men are still but what their mothers make 
 And mould in mind, when life itself is new, — 
 Things false unknown, if she herself be true ! 
 
RETRIBUTION. 
 
 Where first he had lisped her name, 
 Where his earliest years were spent, 
 
 In sorrow, not anger, he came 
 To sigh a farewell ere he went. 
 
 CROWNING mistake of a wretched life! 
 Bitter, bitter, — bitterest pain; 
 To bear and to wear the name of wife 
 
 As the felon must wear his chain ! 
 Peace, peace, I am robed in costly gear, 
 
 I am mistress of park and hall; 
 The things that I coveted once are here, 
 Have I*not, have I not all ! 
 
 All — let the daylight shun me ever ! 
 
 What am I ? — a bauble bought with gold ! 
 Nay — from thyself thou can'st hide it never, 
 
 Poor wretch, touch, kiss, smile, all are sold. 
 I — I — Oh that the earth would open wide, — 
 
 Bur^' me from my own disgrace, — 
 From the love I feel and must ever hide, 
 
 And the scorn of my pretty face. 
 
 Have I gone mad that I rave like a child, 
 
 For a sun that I cannot reach ,? 
 Fool'd by a dream till my brain grows wild, 
 
 My tongue falters, breaks in its speech ! 
 What is it ? Who knows but I loved him best ? 
 
 And my mother said it was wise. 
 Ah ! but the aching pain lives in my breast, 
 
 The past will not pass from my eyes ! 
 
 8 
 
io6 Retribution. 
 
 He came to the church to-day, all alone, — 
 
 I had thought "he is far away;" 
 If grief and pain for sin can atone, 
 
 I have suffered, God knows, to-day! 
 While the preacher seemed preaching at both, 
 
 And his words were like arrows sure, — 
 The man, he said, was not known by his cloth, 
 
 And virtue alone was secure ! 
 
 Ah me ! and the truth went home to my heart, 
 
 Made it bleed with an inward pain; 
 And I turned to look where he sat apart. 
 
 And I strove to pray, but in vain. 
 A mad'ning glimpse of the wrong I had done, 
 
 Of my folly and pride and untruth; 
 The splendor, the worth, from life was gone — 
 
 I had bartered beauty and youth. 
 
 ! 
 And a costly misery weighed me down, 
 
 I wept, hot, scalding, impotent tears; 
 That love which to woman's life is the crown 
 
 I had changed for a waste of years; 
 For a gilded name, for a wealth of dross; — 
 
 I had sworn it, — a false, false love; 
 On my brow, in my heart, burn'd a flaming cross, 
 
 And a curse came down from above. 
 
 And the past still haunted the present back; 
 
 My love seemed my own to give; 
 A voice and a hand were tracing life's track, 
 
 And were teaching my soul to live; 
 And my cheeks were lit with a tender blush, 
 
 And my heart thrill'd at the tones 
 Of a song that came with the twilight hush, 
 
 Where the stream ripples over the stones. 
 
Retribution. 107 
 
 The soft breeze sigh'd through poplars tall, 
 
 And a trembling kiss was given; 
 While the gloaming deep grew wide, over all, 
 
 And the stars came forth in heaven. 
 A moment's joy, with an endless grief, — 
 
 Oh, why did I heed what they said ? ' 
 
 Not yet had there fallen a poplar leaf 
 
 That had fluttered high over head, 
 
 When another came, and my heart was won, — 
 
 Won with gold and a mother's tongue. 
 Ah, me! I may never undo what is done; — 
 
 And shame, like a serpent, clung, 
 Clung to my heart as I sat 'neath God's roof; 
 
 As I heard the whispered prayer; 
 As I saw him sit by himself aloof, — 
 
 And I longed to kneel to him there. 
 
 The pride of a wife, — ^yes, yes, I have, pride — 
 
 I faltered not even in thought; 
 But the sorrow, grief, the desolate void 
 
 My vanity round us had wrought ! 
 Oh, why has God given no child to bless t 
 
 I have nothing my heart calls mine; 
 And the love of the man whose name I possess, 
 
 I scarcely dare call it mine. 
 
 The "might have been " once, the "never to be," 
 
 Come ever, and go like the wind; 
 From myself, from my thoughts, I cannot flee. 
 
 From the chaos that lives in my mind; 
 And to feel and to know that he scorns me, 
 
 And to know that his scorn is just ! 
 Wretchedness, — envying all it can see, — 
 
 Ay, even the worm in the dust! 
 
io8 Death in Life. 
 
 Why did he come ? — Was it right ? — Let him go: 
 
 Let him never trouble me more; 
 I sin'd, I suifer, but he must not know, 
 
 Though his sorrow lies at my door. 
 My duty, — God give me the strength to bear 
 
 This heaviest burden of time, — 
 As the woman, wife, and above despair, 
 
 My punishment's less than my crime! 
 
 DEATH IN LIFE. 
 
 IT is not death and loss 
 Nor heavy years like dross, 
 That follow after. 
 That tint the whitest hair, 
 That bring the worst despair, 
 And bitterest laughter. 
 
 These come from love declining. 
 While still dear eyes are shining 
 
 All clear and bright; 
 While yet the heart is beating. 
 And memory keeps repeating 
 
 A lost delight. 
 
 From love, forever broken. 
 
 From passions, wild words spoken, 
 
 And pride accursed; 
 Making sad hearts defy, 
 With deadly gleaming eye. 
 
 The bitter worst. 
 
Change. 109 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 IT fell in long past summer hours, 
 Wandering amid the woods and bowers, 
 Dreaming a dream inspired by flowers. 
 
 Little he knew, as thought followed thought, 
 Catching idly at things that never were caught, 
 What a change in heart and life should be wrought! 
 
 He had play'd in the sunshine fancy free, 
 But the earnest of man was now to be 
 Cut deep in the page of his history; 
 
 Cut deep by the hope and the love that lends 
 A strength to the heart to reach, its ends — 
 A strength of will that never bends. 
 
 Oh! she came — Earth's child of truth and light — 
 A maiden splendor that charmed his sight. 
 And his pulses rang with a new delight; 
 
 And ever, forever, the boy was lost 
 
 Past all returning, youth's boundaries crossed. 
 
 And man on his heart and his brain indorsed ! 
 
 Graceful she was, as the blossom we see 
 Stir'd by the wind as it plays through the tree; 
 Yet poor — ah ! but love knows no poverty, 
 
 Save only in spirit; earth's ashes and dust, 
 Not love; may be timid and fearful to trust, 
 Forgetting the lilies in sordid lust! 
 
 What is it to love the dross called gold ? 
 Love is for the strong, the brave and the bold 
 And the earth is for them, with a giant's hold 
 
no The Future. 
 
 They wrest from it even the corn and wine 
 And life's best treasure — a joy divine, 
 And a wealth of hopes that may never tine. 
 
 And trials that come, they are still God-sent, 
 For the bow of love is but half-way bent, 
 Till sorrow to joy has a shadow lent. 
 
 They met! and their lives anew began. 
 
 The girl and the boy were the woman, the man; 
 
 Thenceforth and forever, the moments ran, 
 
 And' the days came on, and were changed to years, 
 And much was their joy, and many their tears. 
 Love wove in life's picture, with fond hopes and fears. 
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 HARVEST of love and joy! 
 Autumn of hopes, oh happiest dream 
 Oh glorious future ! for the boy, 
 And for the man what stores of wealth ye hold 
 Far more than ever yet was told 
 
 By human tongue. Thy dazzling stream 
 Of hours and years and of eternity, 
 Laden with loving hearts and friends 
 And aims, all lost, but still to be 
 Once more our own restored to us by thee, 
 Bright faiiy vision ! vast futurity 
 Where all still is, where nothing ever ends, 
 But like two rivers rolling to the sea. 
 The past returning, with the present blends. 
 Forming the ocean of eternity. 
 
CONSTANTIA. 
 
 A love tale that begins with great suffering but ends happily. Told by Emilia 
 in the Decameron of Boccaccio— Second Novel of the Fifth Day. 
 
 HE was no more: — then what was Hfe to her.? 
 Daylight or hope 1 since all was lost with him. 
 She did not rave, or weep, or seek to stir 
 A sympathy in other hearts; no whim 
 Of girlhood's was her love; death could not dim, 
 Nor sympathy relieve it; first and last, 
 
 Life, joy, aye, even existence, all in him 
 For her were centered, and with him had passed; 
 In death was hope alone, in his dim regions vast. 
 
 Yet could she not, the beautiful and fair, 
 With dagger harsh her lovely form deface; 
 
 Altho' resolved, even beyond despair, 
 
 Was she for death; perchance it was the grace — 
 That tender something in sweet woman traced. 
 
 That must do all things daintily and neat — 
 
 That made her shrink from blood; the starlit face 
 
 Of night on the hushed bay and lonely street 
 
 Smiled, as she stood where earth and ocean meet. 
 
 A stricken heart, most sad, beyond a gleam 
 
 Of hope to touch her in her dark desire; 
 Hers was not life, it was a fitful dream 
 
 Lit by wild thoughts; as unextinguished fire, 
 
 Or thunder clouds, dart forth in sudden ire 
 A flame, a flash, life in her came and went — 
 
 Her lover in his beauty, then her sire 
 In sordid meanness, and whose will had rent 
 Their lives asunder, with her dream were blent. 
 
112 Constantia. 
 
 And she would start and then again grow still, 
 
 Ever as the dream did move her mind 
 Beyond her settled purpose, and her will. 
 
 The expression of her face grew soft and kind. 
 
 And with her hair she'd play, that in the wind 
 Disported gently, as though one were near 
 
 Who might have wished her lovely locks to bind, 
 And who, she knew, did hold them more than dear; 
 A moment this would last, then all again grow sere. 
 
 And her clenched hand and quivering lip would tell 
 Of deepest suffering and resolve as deep; 
 
 Her startled eye upon the landscape fell, 
 
 Seeking for something; then, as if from steep 
 And fearful height she strove herself to keep 
 
 From falling, would she cling unto the rock; 
 The awful law of life her soul did steep 
 
 In these strong fears; none can resist the shock 
 
 Wedded to self-sought death, however grief may mock, 
 
 Or faith may hope, or earthly ills bow down. 
 
 So was she shaken till the stars grew faint, 
 And the first dawn of day the hills did crown; 
 
 When pale and speechless as a marble saint, 
 
 And beautiful, and all without a taint 
 Of passion, or of hope, she made her way 
 
 To where the ebbing waves in gentle plaint 
 Receded to the deep and distant bay, 
 And there she loosed a boat that all untended lay. 
 
 The which she entered, and with her fair hands 
 Guided it forth towards the mighty sea. 
 
 When in the distance sunk the lessening lands, 
 And when, with ocean and eternity, 
 Alone she was in her extremity, 
 
 Rudder and. oars away from her she threw; 
 
Constantia. 113 
 
 Trusting that death would end her misery. 
 Once more she look'd to the o'erhanging blue, 
 And, meaning no more to rise, lay prone and dreamt anew. 
 
 Herself she knew not; was this her who lay 
 
 Lonely and loveless, in a boat that sped 
 Driven by winds at will, in sportive play, 
 
 On where the wide and trackless ocean spread } 
 
 Or was that her with garlands round her head, 
 Crown'd queen of hope in fair Lipari's groves, 
 
 That in the dance so daintily doth tread. 
 Singing for joy, while lovingly there moves 
 About her one who smiles but never distant roves ? 
 
 Which is the real and which the counterfeit ? 
 
 She seems to know not; and they mix and change. 
 What has been and what is like visions flit 
 
 Before her; all, — -yet nothing seemeth strange. 
 
 So will the shaken mind forever range 
 Through life, while trembling on the brink 
 
 Of deep eternity, awaiting change. 
 The soul, in this one pause, appears to drink 
 A draught that calls to life all forms and scenes that link 
 
 The past unto the present; — and to her 
 
 Whose life from one great hope and one alone 
 Had grown and gathered strength, did these recur 
 
 With wonderous vividness, each grace and tone; 
 
 And joy and fear that once had been her own. 
 Did she re-live in her bewildered brain. 
 
 While, in the boat, she listened to the moan 
 And plash of waves; but void of any pain 
 Or fear or pleasure, life's dream came back again. 
 
 As not to her, but to that other self 
 
 That lived when hope still shone; — day sank to night; 
 And night deepened to darkness; but the gulf 
 
114 Constantia. 
 
 Dividing life from immortality and light 
 
 Was still unpassed; she lived and breathed, and bright 
 ,The stars came forth above the restless deep, 
 
 And their sweet stillness and their calm delight, 
 Together with the gentle voice and sweep 
 Of ocean's song, lulled her tired brain to sleep 
 
 A calm and gentle sleep; no storm arose 
 
 To ruffle ocean's breast, or angrily 
 To wake the billows; lovingly seemed to close 
 
 Above her and about her nature's lullaby; 
 
 As if hej- God, in his great sympathy 
 With her, His sorrowing child, had bade be still 
 
 The elements; the boat most quietly 
 Yet swiftly flew before the breeze at will, 
 And no harsh sound or shock disturbed her there, until 
 
 And just as morning broke above the earth. 
 
 It grounded on a sloping pebbly beach; 
 And she awoke as if to a new birth; 
 
 And once again heard kindly human speech ! 
 
 Safe through all dangers did her frail barque reach 
 A friendly port; she dare no more rebel. 
 
 Not vainly such a lesson love can preach 
 To any gentle soul; and so it fell 
 Constantia was beguiled on earth again to dwell. 
 
 A rough exterior, but a noble heart 
 
 Had that poor fisher's wife, and knew to speak 
 
 Those words that to a suiferer can impart 
 
 A better strength than ever sprang from weak 
 And polished sympathy; she sought to break 
 
 Constantia's grief, by telling o'er her own; 
 
 Showing, though tried, a faith that dared to seek 
 
 Even in grief and loss, the love of one 
 
 Who guides not vainly all beneath the sun. 
 
Constantia. 115 
 
 She 't was that found her in her boat, in tears, 
 And bid her kindly welcome to her home, — 
 
 A poor and humble home. Alas ! she fears 
 
 The fare may be too coarse; but when they come 
 To know each other, and the deadly numb 
 
 Hath something left the heart of her poor guest. 
 She saw how little worldly wealth could charm 
 
 A mind with such a load of anguish prest. 
 
 And sought by other means to soothe her into rest. 
 
 Nor vainly sought; and peace became the lot 
 
 Of sad Constantia; and she grew 
 Calm, pale, but almost pulseless; not forgot, 
 
 But hidden, was her grief; her heart still true 
 
 Beat to no other hope; she did not sue 
 To heaven for death, but bore all things that came 
 
 As if to suifer were but her just due 
 For that premeditated crime; her name 
 And place of birth did she conceal till fame 
 
 And rumor of great wars spread in the land 
 
 The praise of one, called like her lover lost, 
 Who'd served the king; — a prisoner and 
 
 An alien years agone; sold by a host 
 
 Of pirates into bondage on the coast. 
 Then did she sue to see him ; and her tale 
 
 From first to last, told to her friend. It cost 
 Her many tears; these and her face so pale 
 Had moved the stoniest heart to help a thing so frail ! 
 
 And they to Tunis went, where dwelt the king; 
 
 And with a lady of \that place was left 
 Constantia; who, like to a new-born spring 
 
 Full of sweet music, as with magic gift 
 
 Won every heart; of joy no more bereft. 
 Her gentle beauty and her goodness bloomed 
 
1 1 6 Cofistantia. 
 
 With hope, strong hope, that seemed to lift 
 From off her fate the darkness that had loomed 
 And for a space too long her faith and worth consumed. 
 
 In vain the lady preached of doubt and chance, 
 
 Of might not be; Constantia felt within 
 A secret surety, which did enhance 
 
 Her joy, and her confusion for that sin; 
 
 And most devoutedly she sought to win. 
 By fullest thanks and by her deep devotion, 
 
 A pardon for her crime. It was not in 
 Her nature to hope less; her every motion 
 Was joyous prayer for this her happy portion. 
 
 At length the day arrived when, to the court, 
 
 Her friend, who'd craved an audience, was gone. 
 
 The hours seemed long; and then again seemed short 
 At her return; while in her face there shone 
 The assurance of the hope; and there were none 
 
 Who did not share the joy that sparkled, flashed 
 From that sweet face erewhile so woe-begone, 
 
 That now with tears and now with sunshine dashed, 
 
 Beam'd like a day in spring when winter shrinks abashed. 
 
 And who shall tell the joy and the delight 
 
 When these tv/o lovers met again and saw 
 The picture stretch before them clear and bright; 
 
 Their earth and heaven without a single flaw. 
 
 Such joy hath been and shall be, and is law 
 To those who love, so they be true, nor let 
 
 A change their hearts from their one idol draw; 
 But ever to that deepest music set, 
 Know love can never die or fail to pay its debt. 
 
 It may not be in time; but it must come; 
 
 The faith is all; the power to wait and watch 
 And hope if needed, yet beyond the tomb; 
 
Left. 117 
 
 And from love's lore this brightest truth to catch 
 That nothing is in vain; that none can match 
 The care that guides and governs human fate; 
 
 That all in their due course must reach 
 The destined goal; nor early, nor too late, 
 But at the appointed time wake joyous and elate. 
 
 And so these lovers passed to their own clime 
 
 Loaded with gifts, and happy words that spoke 
 Respect and love; the while, their marriage chime 
 
 Rang in their ears; and from the people broke 
 
 A loud acclaim; their constancy awoke 
 In every heart a chord of joy and pride. 
 
 Not less, to-day, the love that bears its yoke 
 Bravely, shall meet such greetings deep and wide. 
 And peace and joy shall crown the bridegroom and the 
 bride. 
 
 LEFT. 
 
 A STRAIN of fancied music, heard. 
 Through sorrows yearning fears. 
 As through the clouds the lark's first hymn. 
 When the God of day appears. 
 
 A voice, at which the soul is stirred. 
 Pouring songs of love to earth, 
 Telling of an immortal birth, 
 In floods of sweetest melody. 
 Such is memory's dream of thee. 
 
 A spirit star in heaven shining, 
 
 A rainbows glory bright. 
 Something for which the soul is pining, 
 
 Pining with strange delight. 
 
Il8 Her Kiss. 
 
 SYLVAN DEITIES. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL spirits! 
 Not only in the poets dream-wove page 
 Ye lingering dwell, each wood and dell 
 Is peopled still with you — in every age. 
 
 Beautiful spirits! 
 Ye inhabit earth; though veiled from mortal eye, 
 
 The impress is seen and thy care hath been 
 Where the lilies spring and the dewdrops lie. 
 
 Beautiful spirits! 
 Not worshipped alone in days that are sped, 
 
 Where a flower may blow or a stream may flow 
 Ye have worshippers still, not- lost nor fled. 
 
 Beautiful spirits! 
 Symboled by things that are fair and good, 
 
 Guardians of flowers and genii of hours. 
 Still are ye haunting the meadow and wood. 
 
 In the scent of the flower, the song of the stream, 
 
 In the bow-crowned shower and the rip'ning gleam, 
 Beautiful spirits of earth and of air, 
 No fabled existence, your dwellings are there. 
 
 HER KISS. 
 
 OH ! could the heart but tell its gladness. 
 When thy lips to mine are pressed, 
 'Twould blot a thousand years of sadness 
 
 And make them all look blest. 
 To thread time's labyrinth through and through 
 
 Appears a task too small. 
 To win such perfect happiness, 
 Thy love o'er pays it all. 
 
October. 1 1 9 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 " Covetous Death bereaved us all 
 To aggrandize one funeral." — Emerson. 
 
 ALWAYS sad, but sadder now, 
 I tread the withered leaves among, 
 (They He as care-marks on the brow 
 Of one disease, or time doth bow), 
 The woods and fields along. 
 
 On Nature's face like wrinkles, here 
 
 Swept by the wind in heaps they lie, 
 As Earth had fallen to the sere, 
 The cheerless, desolate, and drear, 
 And still her lingering beauties die. 
 
 The clouds above are cold and grey, 
 A pestilence seems o'er the scene. 
 Fair forms are changed by foul decay 
 To sights from which we turn away. 
 
 And none could guess what once hath been. 
 
 I hold man has no right to grieve. 
 
 Or I would sit me down and weep 
 That things so dear so soon should leave 
 But memory their forms to weave 
 From fancy and the shades of sleep. 
 
 I hold man lives to love and bear 
 And bide the task he finds to do. 
 
 That cravens only know despair; 
 
 He with his might of faith should dare 
 Believe in joy and sorrow too; 
 
 That all things loved and lost on earth. 
 Though he can neither touch nor see, 
 
1 20 October. 
 
 Are still to him of priceless worth, 
 A dowry given to him at birth, 
 And his through all eternity. 
 
 The flowers that fade, the leaves that fall, 
 
 The slumberers in the silent grave; 
 First, last and dearest dream of all, 
 The heart with love would fain recall. 
 And memory from oblivion save. 
 
 Are they not his in hope's bright dream ? 
 
 Oh, there are things as sure as death ! 
 Say, who can stay a gushing stream 
 That strives to ripple and to gleam 
 
 Sun, stars, and clouds beneath ? 
 
 Stop up its spring, it still will find 
 
 Another outlet for its birth; 
 Such power I hold belongs to mind, 
 That yearns to mingle with its kind, 
 
 As may not yield to common earth; 
 
 But it will find a path to where 
 
 Things still exist, though lost to time. 
 
 Look up, brave heart, and be of cheer; 
 
 Somewhere within a distant sphere 
 
 They live and love, and thou shalt climb. 
 
 For love is stronger far than death. 
 
 And mind can rule the grosser clay; 
 And hope oudives the latest breath 
 That mortals yield to phantom death; 
 These end not with the passing day. 
 
 Look up, God's heaven is full of light. 
 
 Infinity doth gird thee round; 
 Past, present, future, day and night, 
 Far-stretching far beyond thy sight, 
 Are in its depths profound. 
 
The Withered Leaves. 121 
 
 And somewhere, though we cannot trace 
 The loved, the lost, the once possessed, 
 Amid its ever deep'ning space 
 The soul shall find their resting place, 
 As sea birds find the far off nest. 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAVES. 
 
 LIKE the sorrowing wail of the heart when it grieves. 
 Is the fitful tale of the fallen leaves; 
 Scattered around, around, around, 
 Withered and yellow they cover the ground. 
 
 Sighings and moanings fill the air, 
 And restless spirits seem everywhere. 
 
 Trailing, rusding, round, round, round, 
 
 Yellow leaves bestrew the ground. 
 
 They whirl and sweep, they rise and fall, 
 
 They quiver and leap over all; 
 
 Winter has kissed them, they are dying. 
 And as they pass for the past are sighing. 
 
 Sobbing, sighing, woe, still w'oe, 
 
 The leaves are sighing as they go. 
 Falling by thousands at every breeze, 
 Rent with a moan from their parent trees. 
 
 Scattered around, around, around, 
 
 Once beautiful leaves bestrew the ground; 
 Remnants of summer how swift in decay. 
 Like all that we love, ye are passing away. 
 9 
 
122 There. 
 
 THE RIVULET. 
 
 RIPPLING, rippling, all the day long, 
 Hark to the rivulets murmuring song; 
 Glittering over the pebbles and glancing 
 In and out mid forget-me-nots, dancing 
 To the tune of waves as they sparkle and play, 
 In their musical mirth the livelong day. 
 
 Onward, still onward with melody wild 
 As the blithesome notes of a happy child, 
 That frames no word with its eloquent tongue. 
 But breathes out a bird-like flood of song. 
 Oh it rolls and ripples and bubbles free, 
 Singing of natures deep harmony. 
 
 Though wove into rhyme by a poet's brain. 
 What are man's words to this artless strain; 
 To the joyous carols of bird and stream. 
 Or the murmurs sweet of childhood's dream; 
 Woe born and weak they break up the spell, ' 
 Of raptures like these words are but the knell. 
 
 THERE. 
 
 AND fondly in our dreams of hope and love. 
 Or when bereaved of both we turn to heaven, 
 As though the orbs serenely bright that move 
 Through its immensity had to them given 
 A power upon our destiny — There, 
 Ever there, we turn, as if to meet 
 The face whose smile can lighten our despair. 
 Make grief less harsh or joy itself more sweet. 
 
SAINT PEDRO OF LUXEMBURG AND 
 HIS MIRACLE. 
 
 Note. — This Saint, whose feast is celebrated on the fifth of July, was canon- 
 ized by Clemente VII. He affected great austerity, greater humility and 
 had performed (according to the register kept in his church in the Valley of 
 Avignon), no less than 2400 miracles, when the last accounts were published in 
 "the Christian year" of 1866. When appointed to his first See, he made the 
 journey on a donkey, in hopes of gaining greater power over the people by thus 
 recalling Christ to their minds, and by showing himself so free from pride. He 
 used the whip to himself freely, and ate but once a day. He died requesting his 
 servants to chastise him, for having so often set them a bad example at the table. 
 
 OH ! ye heritics all — Jew, Protestant, Turk, 
 Mahomedan, Atheist, Hindoo, Rosicrucian! 
 Leave the devil alone to mind his own work, — 
 
 Come and hear what a saint of ours can do for a man! 
 Hear and believe, for this is no jest : 
 No trumped up tale 
 Of a Prophet and Veil, 
 Of fiery spirits that know no rest! 
 No question of monkey, ape, or ox, 
 
 Or of nature being its own great cause; 
 No picture of grapes, that are not for the fox, 
 
 But a proof over which none need to pause, 
 To know that the Church delegated by Peter 
 
 To represent heaven, is not only true, 
 But the very height of religious perfection. 
 And has with the saints direct connexion. 
 So is able to see all her children through. 
 
 Our hero in life was a Bishop of Grace, 
 
 And in Metz had the finest house in the place. 
 
124 Saint Pedro. 
 
 But he entered the town on a donkey's back 
 To show that his mind was free from a crack, 
 And because he thought it the thing to draw down 
 An admiring gaze, from the whole of the town, 
 To see a Priest so powerful as he 
 Clothed in such sweet humility; 
 And also because, as he was a stranger. 
 The sight might recall that " child in the manger " 
 Whose doctrine he came to expound and enlarge, 
 And show that the Pope had them under his charge ! 
 
 He'd a soul energetic 
 
 In prayer and in fast! 
 And in life was ascetic 
 From the first to the last; 
 And many things more in visions he saw 
 Than are shown to mortals. 
 Who take kindly their meat and who thank God and eat; 
 
 The very own portals 
 Of heaven he saw once, in a vision; and angels came down 
 And offered him there a most glittering crown. 
 
 That so dazzled his senses, he fainted and fell 
 In a puddle of mud, so slushy and brown 
 His servant feared it would spoil his new gown! 
 But when he rose up the marvel to tell, 
 Not a single stain 
 Of mud did remain 
 On the holy man, by which it is plain 
 That everything foul must turn and flee. 
 From a Priest in the pride of his purity! 
 
 With a thought unconfessed 
 He could never rest, — 
 Which is always the way with these " better than best " 
 Kind of souls, that are farthest from sin and from flames; 
 They appear to glory in deeds which molest 
 Other men, and in calling themselves ugly names, 
 
Saint Pedro. 125 
 
 And proclaiming their faults, which turn out to be nix, 
 But, if true, would perforce get their souls in a fix ; 
 This humility wanting in truth saints are given to — 
 In them such lying 's considered a virtue, 
 
 And each one lays them on 
 To suit his own case, 
 As our lady friends do, the paint on their face. 
 
 When this one was dying 
 
 And his servants were crying 
 For grief at the loss of their master, they said 
 
 He managed once more. 
 
 Though it troubled him sore, 
 To sit quite upright again in his bed. 
 
 He thanked all for their kindness, 
 
 But he showed it was blindness 
 To esteem him as aught but a very great sinner, 
 Who had often and often ate far too much dinner; 
 And set, by such means a fearful example 
 For which he now begged a pardon as ample ! 
 But, fearing that this would not purge out his sin, 
 He bade each one take up a stout " discipline " 
 (A kind of a whip the saints all use 
 When in for a treat, their backs to abuse :) 
 And lay it on bravely his shoulders about. 
 And make his too sinful blood fly out; 
 He begged them, he pray'd them, would admit of no nay, 
 So at last they just let the sweet soul have his way, 
 And laid on the lash to keep off the flies; 
 While " harder and harder," were the hero-like cries 
 Of the saint, till at last, with the fullest content 
 He thanked them again, and then quietly went 
 Oif into a dose — from which, when he arose 
 Is a kind of certainty nobody knows, 
 From the poor ranting parson to the high chanting Pope I 
 That " rising again " takes the form of a hope, 
 
126 Saint Pedro. 
 
 And personal experience stops at the door 
 
 With Hfe's exit, then blank, and, — who knows what more ? 
 
 But enough of this strain in a doubtful vein ! 
 
 Turn we at once to our saint again. 
 
 I have shown you the man, in this world lull of strife 
 
 And now for the miracle wrought after life. 
 
 It is one picked at random from two thousand four hundred, 
 
 All of which he performed, and never once blundered, 
 
 As the monks can attest, in that Vale Avignon, 
 
 Where they raised him a church in which to work on 
 
 In aid of the Pope and priests, who abound 
 
 In very large shoals, on that sanctified ground. 
 
 A little bird built a warm nest in its tower, 
 
 To have it quite out of all cruel boys' power 
 
 To steal or molest her young brood when it came, 
 
 And perhaps, also, because she respected the Fane; 
 
 For she, too, was Catholic and Roman, perforce, — 
 
 Being born in the church this was " matter of course," 
 
 From the first to the last her hatching went well, 
 
 And the little ones crept one by one from the shell; 
 
 And their mother with food flew in and flew out; 
 
 When a mischievous boy who lived there about 
 
 Fixed his eye on these doings, and was heard to declare 
 
 He would have at that nest, though so high in the air. 
 
 Away up he goes, higher and higher, 
 (The nest was between the tower and the spire 
 On a sort of projection, it might be a spout, 
 This much of the question admits of a doubt.) 
 But what follows is certain; — in striving to touch 
 The place where he hoped the rich booty to clutch, 
 He somehow lost his balance, and downward he fell 
 With a dreadful "whiz " and a half smothered yell. 
 Plump on to the angle where the building increases, 
 Which dashed him at once to a thousand small pieces 
 
Saint Pedro. 127 
 
 That fell in the street, as when tempests come down 
 In drops that are said to be big as a crown ! 
 The people then passing looked up with amaze,. 
 But as nothing more fell, they diverted their gaze 
 To brains, arms, and legs, and splinters of bones, 
 That in fragments lay scattered about on the stones. 
 At last came a cry of, " Oh my ! its Tom Jones ! 
 That idle young scamp who has ended his days 
 As we all said he would, if he kept such bad ways! " 
 
 Now Tom's father, poor man, had a small something wrong 
 
 A kind of a rift all his roof tiles among, 
 
 Not sufficient to merit the full term of madness, 
 
 But a predisposition to confession and sadness; 
 
 With a powerful belief in the church and its people, 
 
 From the dirtiest chorister to the point of its steeple. 
 
 But his principal faith was Peter the second, 
 
 As I think this Peter of ours must be reckoned. 
 
 He had dusted his church and his altar for years. 
 
 Made free use of his name when his heart filled with fears; 
 
 And fancied he'd had of his favors no few, 
 
 Though in what they consisted, he perhaps scarcely knew. 
 
 When he heard what a fate had his Tom overtaken, 
 
 His whole nervous system was very much shaken; 
 
 He went at once on his knees, gave way to despair, 
 
 Rolled wildly his eyes, and pulled hard at his hair; 
 
 But words came at last, and the first that he spake, 
 
 Was "St. Peter," at which all his faith seemed to wake. 
 
 He pauses not now, he takes hold of a sack. 
 
 And throws it at once with skill on his back. 
 
 And is off to the place, nay, is there in a crack ; 
 
 And collecting the bits, both of limbs and of clothing. 
 
 And the dust stained with blood without the least loathing; 
 
 All he drops in the sack, as if filling a pastry. 
 
 And then puts for the church in very great haste. He 
 
128 Saint Pedro. 
 
 Deposits the sack on St. Peter's own shrine, 
 And lights up the candles, to the number of nine; 
 That done he pauses a second, not more, 
 And again is gone like a shot through the door; 
 To" summon the priests, and invite all his friends 
 To assist and watch how the catastrophe ends. 
 
 Now this church's receipts had diminished of late, 
 
 On account of a new one that opened in state 
 
 With three hairs of Peter, the saint and apostle, 
 
 (For churches like other professions may jostle 
 
 In interest at times); and these three precious hairs 
 
 Had made the new fathers to put on such airs 
 
 As disgusted their brothers, who wanted to know 
 
 What were " three hairs ? " they'd a whole saint to show! 
 
 But now came the time, with Tomjones's mishap, 
 To arouse up their saint from his rather long nap, 
 And show to the world by his consummate skill 
 That Achilles, though sleeping, was Achilles still; 
 Oh, the heart of each father grew light as a feather, 
 
 As they started to put poor Tommy together. 
 
 « 
 
 In the church there were thousands (if thousands it held) 
 While each to his neighbor iron-like seemed to weld, 
 In the pushing and crushing, that threatened to smother 
 Or change arms and legs from this one to that other; 
 And no one could count these members their own, 
 As the organ gave out its most sonorous tone; 
 And the priests, in full voice, struck up in the praise 
 Of the saint they had lived on for so many days. 
 
 But just half the service has chanted, w^hen — crack ! 
 A strong word was shot from the mouth of the sack; 
 And after some struggling, young Tommy stepped out 
 To bid his friend Stephen to keep a look out 
 *' On the nest since he'd — halloa! what does this mean " 
 " Oh ! Jago," said he, " what a very strange dream ! " 
 
Saint Pedro. 129 
 
 Now the people all rushed the youth to behold, 
 And the monks feared his tale would perish untold, 
 For Tommy restored to life and sensation 
 Was in danger of dying from sheer suffocation ! 
 Which caused them to issue, a strong prohibition 
 'Gainst coming too close, while, in full exhibition, 
 They placed Tom, on the highest first step of the altar, 
 So that none in the crowd, of their wishes could falter; 
 There he stood, till was cleared out the last hungry sinner, 
 After which he went home with the priests to his dinner. 
 
 Tom after that day thought no more of the nest. 
 But of chorister boys he made one of the best; 
 Attended to church, was so changed in his spirit 
 That he won to high grades which told to his credit. 
 But his wicked companions all of them swore 
 He was not the same Tom " as they'd know'd afore! " 
 " That Tom was a sharp un, and 'know'd what he know'd,' 
 But this was a ' soft un ' as might go and be blowed." 
 
 The father of Tom, in the wildest delight, 
 Pray'd his last to the saint on that very same night; 
 And the doctor's discovered (but then he was dead). 
 That the shock was too strong for his very weak head ; 
 So the church gave up its fees, in toto, and found 
 A coffin and pall, and a small slip of ground. 
 And the priests at the funeral all chanted in pairs. 
 And have laughed ever since at the "Three Precious 
 Hairs." 
 
130 Her Grave. 
 
 HER GRAVE. 
 
 AND love shall come full circle yet, 
 In spite of partings and of tears; 
 And joy be like a jewel set 
 
 In life, not measured out by years, 
 But living by a fuller faith, 
 
 And higher hope, and deeper trust: 
 Treading with firmer steps the path 
 That leads unto the good and just! 
 
 The soul shall wake and live once more; 
 
 And not in vain, oh ! not in vain ! 
 To win the crown that fancy wore 
 
 When coming years, like golden grain, 
 Were still before us and the task 
 
 Seemed but to reap and gather in; 
 And when to have was but to ask, 
 
 And when to love was sure to win ! 
 
 Ah me ! The mound has long grown green, 
 
 The stone itself is rich with moss; 
 And all the years that since have been. 
 
 Were heavy with a love and loss. 
 The air is filled with trembling sound, 
 
 With voice like whisperings, heard of old 
 As summer twilight deepens round. 
 
 And shadows gather, fold on fold. 
 
 About the grave of her I loved. 
 
 Alas ! she never bore my name. 
 Yet not the less she lived and moved 
 
 The first, the dearest, in life's game. 
 The graceful girl of summers back. 
 
 The woman, forty years agone ! 
 
Her Grave. 131 
 
 Do human hearts break on the rack ? 
 Ah, no, the brave ones still live on! 
 
 And true to love is true to life; 
 
 To live, to master pain and grief. 
 And, oh! not breathe the name of wife, 
 
 But to he worthy, brings relief. 
 Love lives not less without return: 
 
 Another's thou ? alas, not so ! 
 Death comes: old fires anew may burn — 
 
 I love the girl of long ago ! 
 
 I love the woman, once a child. 
 
 My playfellow in far-off years. 
 Grown earnest, who with accents mild 
 
 And eyes so blue, so full of tears. 
 Bade me farewell, but could not heal 
 
 The deepening wound herself had made. 
 Oh, if to love, were to be loved 
 
 Life's sunshine might exceed its shade ! 
 
 And I have lived my life away, 
 
 I will not deem I lived for naught; 
 While yet thro' memory sunbeams play, 
 
 While still my days with toil were fraught; 
 Tho' love is much it is not all. 
 
 And life hath yet a second goal, 
 And manly voices loudly call. 
 
 And work is worthy of the soul ! 
 
 And I have worked and years have passed, 
 
 My time of peace is growing near. 
 I oifered first, I bring at last. 
 
 My all of manhood to you here. 
 Here, 'mid the scenes where we have played, 
 
 Here near the church beside the yew, 
 Where first we wept, laughed, parted, prayed, 
 
 I come to lay life down by you ! 
 
132; The Portrait. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 TO other eyes 'tis nothing more 
 But just a girl's fair loving face, 
 In which, perchance, they read a trace 
 Of deeper things than fashion's lore. 
 
 To them it is not, as to me, 
 
 A volume, full of life's sweet songs, 
 A chant that memory prolongs 
 
 Of wildest unreality, 
 
 Filling to overflow the heart, 
 
 A life within the life I hold, 
 
 A promise, infinite, untold 
 Save in a dream ; I could not part 
 
 From my own self, but I should pine 
 As one in darksome dungeon pent, 
 Where not a gleam of sun was lent, 
 
 Where not a single star could shine ! 
 
 All have such treasures, rich to each. 
 Poor to the world that cannot know 
 What spirit strains of music flow 
 
 From unseen strings, a gentle speech 
 
 Finding its goal by other ways 
 
 Than through the dull sense of the ear; 
 The fancied touch of lips, how dear! 
 
 Oh ! memory, the enchanter plays. 
 
 And thoughts will come again, again, 
 
 ' Of things that were, or would have been; 
 
 The little mound of earth grown green 
 Is but a myth, and death is vain ! 
 
 We live the life we thought to live. 
 We feel the joy we should have felt, 
 And sorrows like the snowflakes melt, 
 
 A touch, the talisman can give 
 
Nancy, 133 
 
 All, all ! and I, I see thee now, 
 
 Glad childish faces round thy chair, 
 
 My wife, my children, all are there; 
 They come to me, I know not how. 
 
 For they have never been ! she died, 
 The. promised sunlight of my home, 
 And the dark shadows round me come, 
 
 In place of her the wished-for bride. 
 
 Yet, as I gaze upon this token 
 
 Of that deep love I deem not lost. 
 
 But only for a moment crossed. 
 The dream to me is all unbroken. 
 
 I live, live ever in the hope. 
 And ever seems the vision true. 
 As when we gathered flowers that grew 
 
 Where meadows to the river slope ! 
 
 NANCY, 
 
 As wayward and wild, as fetterless fancy. 
 Dear nature's own child and darling sweet Nancy. 
 Like a beautiful thought, she is hovering still. 
 Yet cannot be caught strive as hard as you will. 
 
 Now she lures with a smile, now rejects with disdain. 
 And hearts worship the while she is forging their chain; 
 Oh ! she fetters them all, yet her own she keeps free. 
 And away she starts like a bird or a bee, 
 
 If you speak but of love, or attempt but to press 
 Her beautiful lips, for she will not confess; 
 Oh ! she will not confess that in heart or in fancy, 
 One's dearer than all to beautiful Nancy. 
 
134 Like the Song's. 
 
 LIKE THE SONGS. 
 
 LIKE the songs in poet's pages, 
 Oh! the old tale still seems new; 
 Hearts repeat it in all ages, 
 
 Eden's love-tale bright and true. 
 
 They repeat it as in spring time, 
 Nature's legends still are told 
 
 By the primrose and the wild thyme 
 And the daisy's eye of gold. 
 
 These repeat the lore of beauty, 
 With creations woof inwove; 
 Godlike wisdom, dying never, 
 And the man and woman ever 
 Still repeat the tale of love. 
 
 Thus is nature ever young, 
 Like a maiden lost in dreams; 
 
 Listen, still a bridal song 
 
 She sings her woods and wilds among, 
 And in her countless streams. 
 
 With a wisdom never failing. 
 She builds the forest wide; 
 
 With a splendor never paling. 
 Come the day-star and the tide, 
 
 Comes the seed of every flower. 
 Comes the fruit of every tree; 
 
 And man, in love to woman bending, 
 Each fulfil their destiny. 
 
THE HOLIDAY. 
 
 UPON the threshold of the man, 
 He but a disappointed boy, 
 Earnest of Hfe not yet begun, 
 
 Held it but as a broken toy; 
 Full of a growing discontent, 
 
 Half foiled and weary home he came. 
 So all unlike to him that went 
 
 Sure of success in life's rich game. 
 
 He'd dreamed youth's tinsel dreams of pride 
 
 Of fame and honor that should be, 
 And turning from the world aside. 
 
 Vexed at their unreality, 
 He sought once more his father's home: 
 
 Three years, long years of toil and pain. 
 Since he had left had come and gone, 
 
 And he was standing there again. 
 
 The sunset deepening into night. 
 
 The woods and meadows lying round, 
 The hymn of rest and fading light 
 
 Trembling in every sound; 
 The village everywhere unchanged, 
 
 The stream still rippling on its course, 
 And scenes and friends so long estranged. 
 
 And love came back with tenfold force. 
 
 His father's house, his home so near 
 Before him there — he sees the gate. 
 
136 The Holiday. 
 
 And is it nothing to be dear, 
 
 And something only to be great ? 
 
 There stands the oak tree by the door; 
 There has he never asked in vain; 
 
 He pauses but a moment more, 
 It opens to him once again. 
 
 His eyes are all suifused with tears, 
 
 He cannot trust his tongue to speak, 
 His mother's voice is in his ears. 
 
 His mother's kisses on his cheek; 
 His father's hand is in his own, 
 
 A father's love is in the grasp; 
 And, who is this, the woman grown, 
 
 Fearing yet longing still to clasp ? 
 
 But little more than child was she. 
 
 With laughing eyes and sunny hair, 
 Three years and she has grown to be 
 
 A woman, graceful, tall and fair. 
 Like one awaken'd from deep sleep 
 
 Wondering if all he sees be true, 
 Striving some vision still to keep, 
 
 He gazes in her eyes so blue. 
 
 To him she has been still the child; 
 
 Iji letters, when he read her name. 
 Ever the face, the voice so mild 
 
 Of Alice had been all the same. 
 He scarcely thought a change to find. 
 
 Perchance a little, yet not much; 
 And lo ! the woman rich in mind. 
 
 Who made his heart thrill at a touch ! 
 
 Twelve years ago some one had died. 
 And Alice to their home was brought. 
 
The Holiday. 137 
 
 And he remembers how she cried, 
 And still with childish passion fought. 
 
 'Twas on a cold and wintry day, 
 
 And mother wept and looked so sad, 
 
 And told him God had called away 
 
 Her friends — and they were all she had. 
 
 And he must love and comfort her — 
 
 His own eyes filling fast with tears — 
 And as he stands beside her now 
 
 The scene comes back from out the years; 
 Humbled in heart with cheeks all wet 
 
 He feels — to comfort is not mine, 
 He feels his mother's kisses yet. 
 
 He feels their arms about him twine. 
 
 n. 
 
 Deep mists are seen at morn and eve, 
 
 The harvest all is gathered up. 
 The night a crystal splendor leaves 
 
 On twig and leaf, and from the cup 
 The acorn falls unto the ground, 
 
 And all the trees are growing bare. 
 And in the landscape wide around 
 
 The winter meets us everywhere. 
 
 The few remaining leaves are all, 
 
 Crimson and yellow like the sky 
 That heralds night, in showers they fall 
 
 With every wind that passes by; 
 And restless, quivering at our feet. 
 
 They change their happy songs of June 
 To rustle, rusde, beat, beat, beat, 
 
 Through hedgerow and wood-path thickly 
 strewn. 
 10 
 
138 The Holiday. 
 
 And still he lingers as if bound 
 
 By some strong spell he cannot break, 
 As if the goal of life were found, 
 
 And lost if he again should take 
 A farewell of his home and friends; 
 
 He lingers, then again would go 
 And questions of his life the ends, 
 
 And changes as the winds may blow. 
 
 He wanders musing in his mind. 
 
 And nothing settles into form; 
 Comes her dear face — Oh, Alice kind, 
 
 Alice! — and like an April storm 
 A smile makes rainbows in his tears; 
 
 Oh! if she love me I will stay; 
 Then rings an echo in his ears, 
 
 The great world calls — I must away. 
 
 Away and with an aching heart, 
 
 Leaving behind the better hope, 
 Oh ! never yet did man so part 
 
 Love, and ambition weak to cope 
 Gives way; the world, the voice of men, 
 
 Their praise, their censure on us pall; 
 We love, are loved, and there and then 
 
 A touch a kiss outbuys it all. 
 
 He could not go but he would speak, 
 
 Would ask her counsel, ask her love; 
 The color mounts into his cheek 
 
 And swifter all his pulses move, 
 "Oh! should she love me — should she not!" 
 
 Even he doubts his worth the more. 
 And full of hope and hope forgot. 
 
 Change follows change, thoughts fly before. 
 
The Holiday. 139 
 
 His life, his happiness, his peace, 
 
 Trifles when in the balance set; 
 Better by far his life should cease 
 
 Than on her brow a grief be set; 
 Self lost beyond the realms of thought, 
 
 Oh ! should she love — and love indeed ! 
 And all his life the fancy caught, 
 
 And like the blossom from the seed, 
 
 A thousand visions sweet of home. 
 
 Of children and of Alice wife, 
 All thronging with the fancy come. 
 
 And play like sunshine through his life. 
 
 III. 
 
 Night with its host of stars comes on, 
 
 With shadows and with silence deep, 
 And all the signs of life are gone, 
 
 And all the village hushed in sleep; 
 Save but the low song of the wind, 
 
 The faintest splashing of the stream. 
 Breaks nothing on the ear or mind. 
 
 All things seem molten to a dream. 
 
 "Oh! Alice !" and he holds her hand; 
 
 "Speak to me Alice, make me strong:" 
 Alone beneath the stars they stand, 
 
 And words come broken from his tongue: 
 "Alice, I purposed to return 
 
 When first I came, long, long ere this, 
 Now other thoughts within me burn. 
 
 And other hopes — Oh ! let me kiss 
 
 Thy lips — for, Alice, in my heart 
 Has grown a richer dream than fame 
 
140 The Holiday. 
 
 And the boy's yearnings — all apart 
 To my own ears I breathe thy name; 
 
 And as the sun expels the shade, 
 Life wears a richer hue for me, 
 
 And all the years with love inlaid, 
 Are full of tender imagery. 
 
 I dream — my life is but a dream; 
 
 Speak Alice, speak and bid me wake; 
 Make all things true that only seem. 
 
 Or from the bough the blossom shake; 
 I love you — I would stay or go; 
 
 Alice, to me thy love is more 
 Than all my words can say or show — 
 
 Than all things that have been before. 
 
 Shape all my future as you speak. 
 
 Speak Alice, speak to eager ears! " 
 A crimson splendor tinged her cheek, 
 
 And looking through a mist of tears 
 " Not mine," she said, " it is not mine 
 
 To bid you go or tarry, still 
 That love were not a mate for thine 
 
 That left you aught less free in will. 
 
 And should you stay, I know not 
 
 But other, higher hopes would rise, 
 • Not dead but for a time forgot, 
 
 And I should weary in your eyes; 
 And you are young and I am poor. 
 
 My only wealth your father's care; 
 To thee is open many a door, 
 
 And love and fortune wait you there. 
 
 Not now— not now — Edward, not now; 
 I must not take what you would give. 
 
The Holiday. 141 
 
 Nay, look not with that anxious brow, 
 My love through all my life will live; 
 
 And night and morning in my prayers, 
 And all day long and all the night, 
 
 My life with thine a semblance wears, 
 Like thine my heart is sad or light. 
 
 But selfish were my love and blind, 
 
 And all untrue to thee, should I 
 Take these hot words with which you'd bind 
 
 Our fates, till one or both should die; 
 Go when you will — or go or stay, 
 
 I love you, but I may not hold 
 Your promise, and when comes the day, 
 
 Edward, this tale is all untold. 
 
 And you are free — I love not less, 
 
 Not less, dear Edward, but the more; 
 Still shall I pray to God to bless 
 
 Still love you ever as before; 
 And when the days and years have grown. 
 
 And should you then be free to choose. 
 And should you woo me for your own, 
 
 Edward, I shall not then refuse." 
 
 He takes her fondly to his heart: 
 
 "Oh! Alice, Alice, do not fear!" 
 About them lies a world at rest, 
 
 Above them shine the stars, and clear 
 A waning moon hangs in the sky: 
 
 "Oh! Alice, Alice, not in vain, 
 But for a little while good bye; 
 
 I go, bat I shall come again." 
 
142 A Gleam fi'om the Past. 
 
 A GLEAM FROM THE PAST. 
 
 TOUCHED \vith a soft and tender grace, 
 In the action, the word, and the tone, 
 He looks in her fair, youthful face. 
 And the hard lines fade from his own. 
 
 Oh, he listens with eager expectant ears, 
 He answers with faltering tongue; 
 
 His mind is busy with by-gone years. 
 That come like the echoes of song. 
 
 Faint, faint sounds in the distance there 
 
 Of music, passingly sweet; 
 And the long past wakes in its lair, 
 
 Aud again youth's pulses beat ! 
 
 And the old man, no longer gray. 
 Like a change in some fairy scene, 
 
 From the present has wandered away, 
 And the days come back that have been ! 
 
 And his heart leaps up once more, 
 A moment he wakes to rejoice; 
 
 And his being thrills to the core 
 At the sound of a woman's voice ! 
 
 The sound of her voice, and her smile, 
 Death relaxing, yields to the charms 
 
 And seems to restore for awhile 
 A dear lost form to his arms! 
 
 As he gazes the maiden blushes 
 All rosy and red as she stands; 
 
 Nor can she divine why he offers 
 His withered and trembling hands. 
 
 "Like, like! so like," he murmurs, 
 " To her who sleeps under the ground; 
 
 She died in the far-off summers. 
 
 But I started, thought she was found ! 
 
Lucy, 143 
 
 *' Found ! and the present vanished away, 
 
 And memory loosened its hold." 
 Tears from his dim eyes stole away 
 
 As he whispered — " Old, old, so old 1 " 
 
 *'God bless you! Forgive me, forgive me — 
 
 Like, so like, to the face that I knew; 
 Oh, let it again smile on me. 
 For the fancy seems still as true ! 
 
 " Ah, a kiss, from the lips so fair, 
 
 And the vision were perfect now!" 
 And the maiden stooped by his chair 
 
 And she kissed his wrinkled brow! 
 
 LUCY. 
 
 LIKE a flower in motion, 
 By soft sweet breezes stirred, 
 Like whispers of the ocean, 
 
 In the distance heard. 
 All full of grace and beauty, 
 
 All full of music wild, 
 Is the mind and form of Lucy, 
 Nature's darling child. 
 
 A day that's newly breaking. 
 
 O'er earth and heaven serene, 
 A flower bud sweetly waking, 
 
 From its long wintry dream. 
 Are charms less fair than Lucy, 
 
 In her simple dress, 
 And beauty fast expanding 
 
 To woman's lovliness. 
 
144 Mary. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 WHEN twilight trembles o'er the earth, 
 And night resumes her reign, 
 When fancy to the dead give birth, 
 
 I see thy face again. 
 It has not lost its gentle power 
 
 To soothe the soul at will; 
 And in night's holy, silent hour 
 Thy spirit guideth still. 
 
 A lightning-flash the pang of grief, 
 
 Which tells me thou art dead, 
 The vivid misery is but brief, 
 
 I turn, thou hast not fled. 
 I see thee on hope's tranquil shore, 
 
 On memory's golden waves; 
 To where life's treasures stream-like pour 
 
 From times rough rocks and caves. 
 
 And on me smiles thy deep blue eye 
 
 Calm as the star above, 
 Pure, fair and frail mortality, 
 
 Rich with immortal love; ^ 
 
 I cannot, dare not, deem thee lost, 
 
 Life, heaven, hope, all were gone 1 
 A moment parted at the most, 
 
 Thou bidst me still love on. 
 
 I do, I do, through clouds of time, 
 
 My soul springs up to thee, 
 And on me dawns the bliss sublime 
 
 Of immortality. 
 
D 
 
 The Letters. 145 
 
 THE LETTERS. 
 
 EAD! The best and the bravest of friends, dead, dead! 
 Far from home ! No kind eye to watch by his bed ! 
 He has breathed his last, and with no one near — 
 None to help, or to soothe, or to whisper of cheer ! 
 
 No ear to catch the last words as they fell — 
 He has gone! and his letters — his last farewell — 
 Have reached me, with blessings, from over the sea, 
 And with one for her, wherever she be! 
 
 For her! by his brave heart, forever at rest, 
 Which she flung to the winds, once again she'll be blest 1 
 She'll be blest by a love which she knew not to prize; 
 Will it reach to her heart? Will it moisten her eyes ? 
 
 Will she feel it ? Last night, when I passed the farm, 
 I saw her all smiles, as she hung on the arm 
 Of a man — a man ? The word seems but a sneer, 
 •As I picture the dead one still living, and here 
 
 In the strength of his manhood — brave, noble, and young; 
 Light leapt from his eyes, truth flowed from his tongue! 
 And this fop of a man, scarce seeming a part 
 Of God's daylight and truth, who has reached to her heart 
 
 With his clerical drawl, while his delicate hands 
 Bear the box of the mission to Christianize lands 
 He describes so degraded, so lost, and so blind. 
 As he narrows God's love to his own narrow mind ! 
 
 Oh, the heart laid to rest, ever manlike and whole. 
 Held a faith all too wide for her poor, timid soul; 
 And she trembled and feared — the child's step may err, 
 But what was the charm that so bound him to her ? 
 
146 The Letters. 
 
 Oh, I see him again, catching light from her eyes, 
 While his broad, manly brow is bare to the skies. 
 As he speaks of his love and his hopes, and the tears 
 In his earnestness rise while he pictures the years; 
 
 And lays, with devotion love only can mete, 
 
 All his fortune, his home, and his heart at her feet! 
 
 Oh, I see them ! They stand where the tree forms a screen, 
 
 While the dance and the music go on on the green! 
 
 Oh, I see them come forth! There's a shade on his brow; 
 (The deep shadow of death has settled there now!) 
 But the scene in the twilight flashes back on my brain, 
 And I see him — I hear him — He speaks once again! 
 
 And the twilight still deepens, the dances go on; 
 He has eyes, he has ears, he has love for but one; 
 For one who is all, and yet nothing, and gay — 
 One who knows not the prize she is casting away ! 
 
 One who knows not the worth, or the depth, or the truth 
 Of his bounteous love; one who, full of her youth. 
 Is yet formal, and fashioned, and shaped to the world ; * 
 Oh, the eyes may be blue, the gold locks may be curled. 
 
 But the heart of the woman to answer the man — 
 Not the sordid or vain, but God's marvelous plan 
 Of a God on the earth, with a mind and a will 
 Strong to bear and forbear, and to battle with ill — 
 
 Is wanting! Blind, blind! for t^ him she seemed 
 All the light, and the truth, and the grace that he deemed 
 Was the woman's ! Ah me ! but the secret lies deep. 
 Who knows what so won him ? I cannot but weep 
 
 For the friend who returns not, so loved and so lost, 
 And whose life by her fair form was shadowed and crossed. 
 Far away, he sleeps on — the long sleep of the grave — 
 Where blue skies bend over — where tall palms wave ! 
 
Besm. OFTHB A. 147 
 
 ^ TJNIVERSITY ^^ 
 
 TO 
 
 MYSTERY, deepest mystery I 
 The poet cannot spell 
 The secret of his history, 
 Or why the tale befell. 
 
 Thy smile can make a fuller day; 
 
 Thy coldness turn the day to night; 
 Thy blue eyes in their gentle play, 
 
 Wake deepest pain or wild delight. 
 
 BESSIE. 
 
 THOU canst not know, oh gentle heart! 
 Aught more of earth or our distress, 
 Thou canst not strive to make it less 
 By mutely bearing — thou hast played thy part. 
 
 Oh, gentle form bereft of speech 1 
 Oh, little hand so cold and still! 
 The life and love, and living will 
 
 Are ended here. God measures each 
 
 One's length, we live so long, so much 
 We bear, and then we pass away 
 Out from the sunshine and the day, 
 
 Out from the world of sight and touch. 
 
 Out, oh 1 not out of hope or love. 
 
 With those who love we still live on, 
 And thou sweet child, thou art not gone! 
 
 I hear thee speak, I see the move. 
 
 I see thee shake thy curls and smile, 
 I see thy blue eyes fill with tears. 
 True thou art lost unto the years — 
 
 The years are but a little while. 
 
148 Helena. 
 
 
 
 HELENA. 
 
 VER eyes, hearts, souls, at will 
 
 Sways her beauty, magic, skill. 
 It were easier far to break 
 The prison chains that tyrants make, 
 Than to sever those she holds 
 By fetters forged in Nature's moulds; 
 
 By charms more fell than Genii's mind, 
 Ere wrought of old man's will to bind. 
 Idol of youth's first sacrifice, 
 Gleam of long lost Paradise! 
 Oh! beauty, still thy toil so strong 
 
 Might lead a second Adam wrong 
 
 In her full bloom and blush of youth, 
 Ah! who could doubt her worth, her truth 1 
 Far easier were it to believe 
 That all, aye all things else deceive, 
 Than that such eyes, so soft and blue. 
 Were yet more beautiful than true. 
 
 As easy were it for the heart 
 
 From hope to tear itself apart, 
 
 As doubt what seemeth written there: 
 "Ah! she is good as she is fair," 
 With mind as pure as childhood's mirth, 
 Or aught that lives upon the earth. 
 
 Such is beauty's trusted power; 
 
 Beauty to her is heaven's dower; 
 And all who look upon her face, 
 Where sin and sorrow have no trace; 
 Where time hath touched, but not to dull, 
 ]\Iust think her good as beautiful ! 
 
The Wanderers, 149 
 
 THE WANDERERS. 
 
 DREARY and lone, and the deep winds moan! 
 At her feet He the rotting leaves; 
 She rests on the road, with her living load 
 And a cold mist round her cleaves. 
 
 In her tattered dress, her gaze of distress, 
 
 Her touch on the little one's cheek, 
 A love is told, that song cannot hold 
 
 And a grief that words may not speak ! 
 
 In the tender grace, in the tiny face. 
 
 That gladdens our own fireside; 
 In the cradled sleep; in the eyes that keep 
 
 A watch; in the mother, the bride. 
 
 To a happier tune, the same deep rune 
 
 Of a woman's life is set! 
 But mother and child, 'neath the hedgerow wild, 
 
 Are mother and child, tho' cold and wet ! 
 
 Is her history known ? was the fault her own .? 
 
 Is he dead, who should be her stay ? 
 Were they man and wife } was he true in life ? 
 
 Did he kiss her, and pass away ? 
 
 We know not! she came, tired and worn, and lame! 
 
 And painfully sat herself down. 
 Where, in summer's heat, the glad children meet, 
 
 On the bank with its tall oaken crown ! 
 
 The little one pressed, close, close to her breast, 
 
 The grief and the love in each eye, 
 Of a cruel wrong, and a mother young 
 
 With no home, save the pitiless sky ! 
 
150 The Wanderers. 
 
 Sad, and forlorn ! had they killed her with scorn ? 
 
 Christians, and mothers! ah, me! 
 They judge and condemn! the world smiles on them: 
 
 Know they, "the greatest is charity?" 
 
 Could they read all within, were they without sin ? 
 
 Did they slay with a stony stare ? 
 What was her name ? whose was the shame ? 
 
 Poor child, what a grief was there ! 
 
 She sat in the rain ! the cold and the pain 
 
 Of a breaking heart she bore ! 
 Tired, weary and spent, the strength was not lent 
 
 That would reach to the nearest door ! 
 
 And the wind blew loud, and the angry cloud, 
 
 That hung frowning above her head 
 Seemed ready to burst o'er the land accursed, 
 
 Where the leaves lay scattered and dead. 
 
 What was it to her ? she did not stir, 
 
 But bent to shelter her child; 
 Till a step drew near, and love and fear 
 
 Cried, " save us! I shall go wild ! " 
 
 And to where they lay, where the children play, 
 He came, — the young and the strong, 
 
 And the wanderers both in his arms he took. 
 And bore them with him along. 
 
 To his mother's home, with him they came. 
 
 And a mother's care they found; 
 But care was vain, for the grief and rain 
 
 Had wrought a mortal wound. 
 
 They buried her there, where the flowers so fair 
 
 Still arrest each passer by. 
 Unknown her history, all is mystery, 
 
 Save that here her ashes lie ! 
 
To Mary. 151 
 
 But the child she left, of her love bereft, 
 
 (She has grown into girlhood now). 
 Is the loved of all, and, if harm should fall, 
 
 It would sadden each village brow! 
 
 For none in the place, but know her face, 
 
 And to each has her smile grown dear! 
 And flowers that grow, where her mother lies low, 
 
 Are held sacred things by us here ! 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 THE first love of youth entwines with thy name, 
 'Twas my heart's cry then when I struggled for fame 
 I breathed it in hope, I sang it in joy, 
 Now it comes with a dream of the days gone by. 
 
 Oh! canst thou remember those hours of delight, 
 When together we strayed 'neath the shadows of night, 
 When the boys wild picture of what should be, 
 Brought a joy to her who was all to me ? 
 
 Oh ! canst thou remember the star so bright. 
 
 The brightest of all in the temple of night. 
 
 We called it our own and gazed as it shone, 
 
 Till our hearts and our hopes, Ind our life seemed one. 
 
 Oh! canst thou, oh! dost thou ever in dreams, 
 
 In the night when with shadows fond memory teems, 
 
 Behold what to me is still sacred ground. 
 
 That home and the woods that encircle it round } 
 
 And ah! in the scene fancy sketches in air, 
 Of the dear old spot is the boy still there. 
 When thy thoughts to the past all silently steal, 
 Dost thou e'er breathe a wish, a wish for his weal 
 
52 Inevitable. 
 
 TO EMILY. 
 
 THERE'S a smile upon thy lips and such brightness in 
 thine e'e, » 
 
 As when a sunbeam slips through dark leaves on the tree, 
 And I would give the world to know that they were meant 
 for me. 
 
 There's a fullness in thy words love might covet for his own 
 And a music like the birds in each clear silvery tone, 
 Ah ! if I could but win them mine, and ever mine alone. 
 
 But, alas-! I cannot spell the meaning in thine eyes, 
 
 And like murmurings in a shell still I hear thy low replies, 
 
 Ah! but the hidden meaning beyond my searching lies. 
 
 INEVITABLE. 
 
 WHOLE joys come never to us 
 To-morrow as to-day; 
 Some want shall still undo us, 
 
 And turn our gold to grey; 
 The boy with impulse burning. 
 
 The girl with radiant hope, 
 Shall meet some bitter turning 
 
 Adown life's glittering slope. 
 The flowers that seem to strew it 
 
 Shall die, perchance, of drought; 
 Or the fruit, if they should reach it, 
 
 Turn dust within the mouth. 
 For never comes the pleasure 
 That we with hope did measure; 
 And fancy finds her treasure 
 
 But dying leaves and flowers 
 That wither from the root, or grow, not to be ours. 
 
The Word Farewell. 153 
 
 TO NANCY. 
 
 BONNY Nancy! blithesome Nancy, 
 Idol of my heart and fancy, 
 Like a lark in heaven singing, 
 Like a flower in summer spring, 
 Thy voice is heard thy face is seen, 
 And gladnsss comes where gloom has been. 
 Like a sunbeam, first of spring. 
 Love and joy and life to bring. 
 Love and joy and life are thine, 
 Bonny Nancy, make them mine; 
 With thy loving words and tone. 
 Make them, make them, all my own. 
 
 THE WORD FAREWELL. 
 
 PARTING knell, on hope's sweet bell, thy accents tell 
 Of heartstrings broken; 
 Cheeks pale with fears, eyes dim with tears, and sorrowing 
 years 
 
 Of grief that may never be spoken. 
 
 Thou dirge of joys, of hope that flies, and love that dies, 
 
 Thou art ringing, ringing ever 
 The solemn knell, the mournful spell, the long farewell 
 
 Of things returning never. 
 
 Music of sadness, sigh of distress, when all we possess 
 
 Of love from the heart is torn; 
 Melodious sound, with sorrow crowned, which grief has 
 found 
 
 To breathe to those we mourn. 
 II 
 
154 The Word Farewell. 
 
 As the songs we sing, and the flowers we bring, when sor- 
 rowing 
 
 We lay the dear one to rest. 
 Are sweetest, fairest, loveliest and rarest, most prized and 
 dearest 
 
 Of all the giver possessed. 
 
 So is the sound that tells, the deepening grief that dwells, 
 in the heart that swells. 
 
 As it severs with throbs of pain. 
 'T has "a dying fall" and goes, like the notes which rose, 
 in the wood at daylight's close ! 
 
 • Oh I 'tis the saddest, the sweetest strain. 
 Farewell. 
 
A Scene of Horror, 155 
 
 A SCENE OF HORROR. 
 
 Note. — In Santiago, the Capital of Chile, in the year 1863, at the commemora- 
 tion or feast held in honor of some one of the different names given to the 
 Virgin Mary, the church, more like a theatre than a place of worship, was 
 adorned with all kinds of tinsel and trappings, and illuminated nightly, when 
 letters were received for, and supposed to be answered by, the Virgin herself, 
 and many other wonders of a like nature were brought to pass. Towards the 
 end of the feast, some of the draperies taking fire, the confusion of the con- 
 gregation (all women) was so great, and the help or control of the priests, if 
 any were attempted, so ineffectual, that nearly every soul in the church 
 perished in the flames, and the building itself was reduced to ashes. Upwards 
 of two thousand are said to have lost their lives. Upon the site a column and 
 statue are erected, and the figure is, beyond all sculpture pieces I have ever seen, 
 a marvel of expression. Like the feeling such a tale must create, the figure 
 appears not to have been slowly cut, but to have leapt into being from the 
 artist's brain. 
 
 A SOLEMN temple, raised to the high God, 
 And full of worshipers ! Hark to that scream ! 
 Oh Christ, what horror! Fire — flames, that rob 
 The stars of brightness, burst from every beam ! 
 Wives, mothers, sisters, perish in that gleam. 
 Bright, beautiful they left their homes this night, 
 
 Full of religious, holy hope and dream, 
 And there they perish in the frenzied sight 
 Of husbands, lovers, brothers — powerless against such might. 
 
 A temple yesterday, with gold and flowers 
 And saints and virgins glittering to behold; 
 
 A place where Rome exerted all her powers 
 To fascinate the minds of young and old 
 With signs from heaven, and miracles not cold. 
 
 Deeds of to-day by Holy Virgin wrought 
 Were there said to be passing; and the hold 
 
 This took upon the public mind had brought 
 
 Thousands to see and hear Rome's priests, who boldly 
 taught 
 
 This falsehood in the face of God and man ! 
 
 The altar with a thousand lights was lit. 
 From column unto column glowing ran 
 
156 A Scene of Horror. 
 
 Such tinsel trappings as perchance were fit 
 
 To grace some pantomime, not holy writ, 
 
 Nor altars raised to Christ, the pure, the wise, 
 
 The simply beautiful, whose words so knit 
 
 Man's 'life in God's as makes the soul to rise, 
 
 And in religion's name false acts and arts despise. 
 
 Not man's to judge a brother for his creed, 
 
 But it is man's to bid the liar hush. 
 Who clouds heaven's truth deserves to bleed, 
 
 And it is right in self-defense to crush 
 
 Whoso- shall trade on ignorance, and to brush 
 The webs of fiction they would weave around 
 
 Our sacred names w'ith them into the slush 
 And slime of hell; to cleanse the holy ground 
 That purer men may speak and publish truths profound. 
 
 A church, a ruin and a hecatomb; 
 
 A bank of simple flowers and leafy trees; 
 A marble statue, motionless and dumb, 
 
 But not expressionless, the gazer sees 
 
 Upon that site, and feels his blood to freeze. 
 The agony, the wild heart-rending groan; 
 
 A nation's cry floats by him in the breeze 
 As he behold^ that figure fierce and lone; 
 That concentrated horror there transfixed in stone. 
 
 A milder mind perchance had made it weep, 
 
 Or children pray above the fearful spot, 
 A scene like that for tears was all too deep; 
 
 The culminating point of terror, not 
 
 A tale of gentle suffering, but a blot 
 Upon that Church that plays with pomp and glare 
 
 To make believe it is what it is not! 
 That supplicating figure's wild despair 
 To heaven appeals against such Christless prayer! 
 
ALL-SOULS. 
 
 Note. — This day (the second of November) , simply In its outwai'd observances 
 is in Catholic countries where the cemetery is well kept, a touching sight. The 
 graves are adorned with flowers and wreaths, and the mourners kneel beside 
 them, while a mass is chanted in the chapel. The day is instituted by the 
 Church to pray the condemned souls out of purgatory. The Church only prays 
 for such as have left no relations behind them; to such as have, it becomes the 
 duty of those relations, and they are thus exhorted to the task in the" Christian 
 year:" "Nothing can compare with the pains of souls in purgatory. You 
 would feel for your worst enemy in such a place, yet those who burn in this 
 red hot oven are your friends, your brothers, the nearest and dearest relations 
 you have known in life, and they are burning and suffering because you are 
 selfish and mean, and would amass riches for yourselves upon earth, in the 
 place of causing masses to be said for their souls. Is it possible you will not 
 make an effort for them? They can only pay their debt to God by suffering 
 the last rigor of their sentence; but you may satisfy Him for them at a trifling 
 cost to yourselves, by an oration, a mass, a mortification. By such means you 
 may liberate them altogether, and they, in their turn, having ascended to 
 heaven, will plead for you at the throne of God; and who knows wh^t they 
 may not achieve, in the way of salvation for your souls." No Protestant can 
 be buried in a Catholic Cemetery. To such an extent is this feeling carried in 
 the Catholic countries of South America, that bodies have been exhumed, and 
 cast out from the churches and the grounds. A man is not a Christian until 
 baptised by the Church of Rome. Those only, who have lived where Catholi- 
 cism has undisputed sway, can form a just idea of its intolerance. In Ecuador, 
 under the dictatorship of Garcia Moreno, the nineteeeth might well have passed 
 for the fourteenth century. No book could be brought In without the approval 
 of the bishop; and no religion was or is tolerated but that of Rome. 
 
 ALL-SOULS. The dead of every age and clime; 
 Pause and conceive how vast a theme is here! 
 Let thy thought range throughout recorded time 
 And thence return unto this last made bier! 
 What wealth of passion, pleasure, pain, hope, fear, 
 Of highest, lowest, noblest, best and worst. 
 
 Worshiped, despised, condemn'd, and treasured dear, 
 Is in that dark unknown in silence hearsed, — 
 Death's solemn mystery, wherein no Sage is versed. 
 
158 All- Souls. 
 
 All-Souls. This day man dedicates to them ! 
 
 Whence and what are they ? In our minds they live 
 As some refined, pure, priceless spirit gem, 
 
 Where pain can touch them not, nor sorrow give 
 
 Another pang, and where like bees they hive 
 With equal souls in some bright state of being; 
 
 But when we deeper in the mystery dive, 
 These images, that come from want of seeing. 
 Must pass, as shadows from day's sunlight fleeing. 
 
 For greater is the soul when striving greatly; 
 
 A sweet, blank, blissful calm, and nothing more 
 To those strong spirits that on earth so stately 
 
 Plann'd, thought, sung, built, and sailed from shore to 
 shore, 
 
 Achieving, striving and not giving o'er 
 Till life's last hour was here completely told. 
 
 Souls God-inspired and Godlike to the core, 
 That, spite of earth's decay, were never old. 
 But went as first they came, determined, brave and bold. 
 
 Can souls like these sing just one simple tune, 
 
 Changeless and sweet as twitter of some bird 
 That in the leafy month of sunny June 
 
 Pipes out its life unheeded and unheard ? 
 
 Ah no! by innate influence moved and stirred, 
 Living they reach to higher heights and power, 
 
 To higher, not to lower life transferred; 
 In time and in eternity the dower 
 Of mind expands bring the perfect flower. 
 
 Here mid the graves of those who lived and toiled, 
 Pause and reflect! The forms that rot below, 
 
 Wasted by time and by diseases soiled. 
 Blending with nature yet again will grow 
 To newer life in newer form, and show 
 
All- Souls. 159 
 
 That matter working from within can weave 
 
 Itself to shapes of things that live and know; 
 And in the spirit world we musl believe 
 That souls shall wake anew, to strive, if not to grieve. 
 
 But turn we from such speculations vain. 
 
 All souls are lost in God, and human sight 
 Shall see them not, and know them not again 
 
 Through the swift changes of our day and night; 
 
 Yet o'er their graves love hangs with fond delight, 
 And memory treasures still a lasting prize. 
 
 Blest is such sorrow, in its shado\vy light 
 The lost still move and live in fadeless guise, 
 All palpable to that which in us never dies. 
 
 Here consecrated to yon city's dead 
 
 Crosses and mounds and marble forms are placed; 
 And here to-day with reverence shall tread 
 
 Death's yet uncalled, and things mute be laced 
 
 With flowers and leaves, and living love be traced 
 In hearts and eyes that see what is not there. 
 
 Affection's gaze beholds the sleeping face. 
 And soul meets soul in yearning and in prayer. 
 
 The spirit is not bound to time or place, 
 
 And deathless longing love with magic power is graced. 
 
 Here pause we then, and lo! the mourners come. 
 
 Watch, and each grave shall grow a history 
 To some one heart, though to the others dumb; 
 
 And deeper than night's starry mystery 
 
 Shall penetrate the soul that cannot see 
 Behind that veil, but feels its love and loss, 
 
 And weeps anew for poor mortality; 
 Kneels with the dead, and by that symbol cross 
 Trusting that dream is true, since life is bitter dross. 
 
 Old age and youth, each burdened with like thought. 
 Strange are the ways of God, who gives and takes 
 
1 6o All-Souls. 
 
 By some deep lore unfathomable, yet wrought 
 So fast in nature that death often makes 
 What to poor human wisdom were mistakes. 
 
 The stay of age, the guide of youth must fall; 
 While he who hath not, or who perhaps forsakes 
 
 Such sacred duties, overliveth all, 
 
 And hears not till long years the fatal trumpet call. 
 
 Who shall explain ? 'Tis faith must guide us here; 
 
 Not ours the skill, nor ours the strength to know 
 The subtle workings of the plant or sphere; 
 
 Even from the highest to the thing most low 
 
 'Tis mystery still; but ever do they show 
 A great design, a spirit vast and good. 
 
 To whose strong majesty we have to bow; 
 That hath not and that may not be withstood, 
 Nor would the wise of heart resist it if they could. 
 
 Sad is such loss, a bitter, bitter pain 
 
 And desolation wild and deep have been 
 And will be felt again and yet again 
 
 In many a broken life, that shall be seen 
 
 To haunt one spot, one little, mound of green, 
 Where tender love is laid to sleep in earth; 
 
 A love which left no equal here, I ween. 
 For that poor wanderer. In the heart's great dearth 
 Death comes in life, and life pains, even as hollow mirth. 
 
 Pause here, and see where shameless priests who play 
 
 Religion's game as if they held from God 
 Power to condemn or bless man's lifeless clay, 
 
 Have dared divide death's universal sod; 
 
 And this is Catholic, by the blessed trod. 
 Enter and you shall find like passions, pains, 
 
 And griefs and sufferings from the self-same rod; 
 Yet they, with litde hearts and shallow brains, 
 Dare offer to these souls a larger share of gains 
 
All- Souls. i6i 
 
 In God's grand heaven; turn we from the theme. 
 
 All creeds and all religions end in Him. 
 However wild, strange, high or low the dream, 
 
 However bright and clear, or dark and dim, 
 
 Man's soul in hope may shadow forth its hymn 
 Of praise, thanks, fear and reverence divine. 
 
 He knows who gave the power; to Him 
 The Indian's cry, the savage's harsh whine, 
 Are one with Mahomet's prayer and Milton's song sublime. 
 
 *** *** **;K 
 
 All-Souls; the great and little ones of earth; 
 
 Kings, beggars, poets, statesmen, savage, slave, 
 All that have owed in time a human birth; 
 
 All who have made this passage to the grave; 
 
 Murderers and thieves, and lunatics that rave; 
 The good, the bad, the wise and nobly pure; 
 
 We pray for all, they were as nature gave 
 The power to be; and while time shall endure 
 God's meaning in such fates to man remains obscure. 
 
 All would be great and ggod, if that, might be, 
 
 All would be happy and content in life; 
 Nor stoop to crime nor writhe in misery. 
 
 Nor soil their soul with low and sordid strife. 
 
 But who can choose his fate .? A lesson rife 
 With many thoughts that ever end in one. 
 
 The great unfathomable first cause of life. 
 The meaning of this world the sun shines on. 
 Its myriads yet to come, and those its myriads gone. 
 
 Bid some poor wretch be Shakspeare, and so make 
 The world pay homage to his noble mind. 
 
 Be anything but what he is, and shake 
 
 With cold and hunger, houseless in the wind. 
 Nature is full of beauty and is kind 
 
1 62 All-Souh. 
 
 To those who bow beneath her gentle sway, 
 
 And poetty exhaustless he may find 
 In men and stars and in the night and day; 
 Why is he shivering thus, choking the public way ? 
 
 Why is he not some lord with large estates ? 
 
 Or some strong man, with sinews fit for toil ? 
 Whence comes it, and what crime is this of fates ? 
 
 For what misdeeds is he condemned to coil 
 
 About his wasted form those rags ? The soil 
 He treads is God's, and freely given to all. 
 
 Alas! in Nature's deep and grand turmoil 
 Such histories within our sight befall. 
 We see, but scarcely heed, and yet they might appal. 
 
 The bravest spirit and the wisest brain. 
 
 Who dares be proud of intellect or wealth ? 
 Behold that wretch, then, turn and think again. 
 
 He poor and weak, and thou rich and in health; 
 
 See where he creeps along as if by stealth; 
 He held his place amid God's day and night. 
 
 Ask, then, thyself why intellect and pelf 
 Were givjsn to thee, and by what self-won right 
 To thee comes joy and hope, and love, and sweet delight. 
 
 Ask and be humbled. Pray for these, and feel 
 That not in words, but in each act and deed 
 
 Man's life should be a prayer, and seek to heal 
 Such pain and suffering, and to sow the seed 
 Of hope in hearts that know so great a need. 
 
 Oh, high in intellect and high in place, 
 Be gentle, kind, and take the fullest heed 
 
 Of these sad forms that seem but to deface 
 
 God's grand creation and the day's bright face. 
 
 By His will are they here, and throughout life, 
 Though feebly felt by man, some meaning grows. 
 
All-Souls. 163 
 
 Unto the wise and great in this world's strife 
 Comes compensation for the toils and throes, 
 That by their innate natures round them dose; 
 
 Since they can work, work bears a certain joy, 
 But these poor wretches, with their hungry woes, 
 
 Their hopeless struggle up to man from boy 
 
 Amid the haunts of crime, where want and care destroy. 
 
 Is hope for these or for that sister soul 
 
 Who shares such fate, and knows no fall or rise ? 
 What mortal dare be judge upon the whole 
 
 Of suffering life that throbs beneath the skies ? 
 
 While peerless help, and such as God may prize 
 The meanest hands to meanest wants may give. 
 
 From vanity and pride awake! arise! 
 And in the light of full creation live. 
 And know no best or worst, since God alone can give. 
 
 Or best or worst, and it is to blaspheme 
 
 To hold those lost who here from first to last, 
 In ignorance and their gaunt misery, seem 
 
 Forced by some fate to tremble at each blast. 
 
 What, when man's longest span of life is past, 
 Are his few years to vast eternity ? 
 
 Poor shadow of an hour, dare he forecast 
 Life's horoscope in God's infinity, 
 Or stain with one foul thought creation's full divinity 
 
 Is man but flesh, a thing that must decay? 
 
 And is his be all, and his end all here ? 
 What profanation to the grand display 
 
 Of stars and suns that light him to his bier, 
 
 And to those minds that carol in his ear 
 Visions of things beyond time's low estate, 
 
 And to his mind that whispers still of cheer, 
 And bids him hope and ever be elate; 
 The not to be is false, to he is still man's fate. 
 
164 All-Souls. 
 
 Life stains not. No! It is the radiance 
 
 Of that eternity that calmly glows 
 In heaven's high dome, and without variance 
 
 Shines from the heart that hath no fear, but knows 
 
 God in itself as Christ divinely shows! 
 Oh Christ ! thou greatest soul ! when shall it be 
 
 That each who in Thy temple lowly bows, 
 Shall leave his fancies vain and come to Thee 
 A simple child in faith, hope, love and purity ? 
 
 Not with a name, a bauble, or a text, 
 
 A creed, a sect, a vision still apart 
 From God's great universe, changed by the next 
 
 Who bows to thee, but with a full, true heart, 
 
 Christ-like, not Christian, with a timid start 
 At name of those who use a different form 
 
 To worship Him of whom all make a part, 
 But with a spirit doubt cannot deform. 
 That knows all things are His, down to the meanest worm. 
 
 Both His and Thine, Lord Christ! our second God, 
 Our lord of mind, of faith and hope and trust, 
 
 The world 's more sacred since Thy feet have trod 
 Amongst us, and no longer are we dust, 
 Although man must be still the thing he must — 
 
 A being far below Thy perfect man. 
 Yet is it something to wipe off the rust, 
 
 The spirit degradation that then ran 
 
 Deep in his nature when Thy work began. 
 
 All-Souls. Lord Christ, to Thee, the king of these, 
 Thou wise and sweet, pure shepherd of Thy flock, 
 
 Who sought its safety, not Thy gentle ease; 
 Who founded hope upon its highest rock; 
 Thou more than mortal, who withstood the shock 
 
 Of strong temptation, insult and disdain. 
 
AU-Souls, 165 
 
 All-Souls we dedicate to Thee, but mock 
 Ourselves and the great God, by quibbles vain, 
 By Romish arrogance, and protests still profane 1 
 
 Sunshine and rain and Thy bright loving words 
 
 We find at one with Him who freely showers 
 Upon each creed and race and the wild herds 
 
 From hands o'erflowing rich and welcome dowers; 
 
 But men misusing their divinest powers. 
 And in Thy name, oh Christ! on earth declare 
 
 For one poor sect bloom God's immortal flowers; 
 That Thou wilt hear no other voice in prayer. 
 Condemning all besides to darkness and despair. 
 
 Oh Thou man God divine ! compared to Thee 
 Poor human wisdom, intellect and worth, 
 
 Virtue, truth, valor, love and purity, 
 
 Sink into nothingness. The teeming earth 
 That ever still to fruit and flower gives birth 
 
 Is likest Thee. Each word of Thine doth bless; 
 A mother's fadeless love that knows no dearth 
 
 Is likest Thine; yet even this is less; 
 
 Her love 's her son's, but Thine doth every form caress. 
 
 What are the great of earth, the mighty names 
 
 Of Shakspeare, Washington, and many more ? 
 Winners were they in some Olympic games; 
 
 Champions of thought upon a single shore. 
 
 But Thou, oh perfect soul ! that didst adore, 
 Live, sufler, teach, feel, see but truth alone. 
 
 Canst conquer still with words of gentlest lore. 
 And in all climes and under every zone, 
 Thy love and purity and truth have found no equal, none. 
 
 What are the mountains of the world, though high. 
 
 Compared to that sweet mountain graced by Thee, 
 Andes or Himalaya's peaks ? The sky 
 
1 66 All-Souls. 
 
 Is still above them, their sublimity 
 
 Is of the earth, and all their majesty. 
 Thine reaches up to heaven and lights a world, 
 
 Reflecting rays of God's infinity. 
 Not clouds but truths divine around it curled, 
 A haven for all souls, a throne from which is hurled 
 
 Sorrow and sin and every wrong in life; 
 
 A place of rest to those who mourn and weep; 
 A spotless' home within a world of strife, 
 
 Where minds o'erburdened find refreshing sleep, 
 
 And- loving words to soothe the heart, and steep 
 Man in such hopes as may not yield to fear; 
 
 Imparting strength the onward march to keep. 
 Knowing that God and heaven are always near. 
 And spite of clouds below, that there above is clear. 
 
 Then from this mount pass we to that on which 
 
 The story ends. Bow heads, hearts, souls, bow down; 
 Who here dare be or great, or good, or rich, 
 
 Bow to that bleeding form and mocking crown; 
 
 Bow while a dark'ning universe doth frown; 
 Bow to a form and mind that knew to fill 
 
 Life's darkest depths with hope and pure renown; 
 With worship purer than earth's purest rill, 
 And in thy heart and soul all lower passions still. 
 
 Here at the foot of this last symbol lie, 
 
 And let thy thoughts go forth to one and all, 
 To every man in Christ-like sympathy; 
 
 To those who rise and unto those who fall. 
 
 No sect or creed is here, love void of gall. 
 And help to those who need from it do come, 
 
 And none in vain upon that help shall call. 
 Here pray we for All-Souls in their true home 
 In Christ's great Church, more Catholic far than Rome. 
 
 It 
 
V. 
 
 \braa? 
 
 (( UNIVERSITY 
 
^^^- 
 
 K: