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A COTTAGE GRAY . * . BEING THE NINTH 
 VOLUME OF THE LOTUS SERIES . " . PRINTED 
 BY THE PRESS OF CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 IN THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
THIS BOOK IS ISSUED IN A LIMITED EDITION 
 OF SIX-HUNDRED COPIES OF WHICH THIS 
 
 IS NO 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES MARGARET MILNE 
 AUTHOR OF "FOR TO-DAY" 
 
 Let the soul be assured that somewhere in the universe it 
 should rejoin its friend, and it would be content and cheerful 
 alone for a thousand years. EMERSON. 
 
 BUFFALO 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1895, 
 BY FRANCES MARGARET MILNE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 A COTTAGE GRAY .... .9 
 
 MADONNA ....... 37 
 
 IN SPRINGTIME: A MEMORY . . . 39 
 
 MRS. BROWNING S "AURORA LEIGH " . . .42 
 
 ORA PRO ME " . . . . . . -45 
 
 LILAC LANE ..... .47 
 
 OUR LITTLE ROMAN . . . . . .49 
 
 MADRIGAL ..... .51 
 
 WHERE FIRST WE WANDERED . . . .52 
 
 To MY BELOVED ; . . . . -55 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY ... 57 
 
 COMFORT .... .60 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE ... -63 
 
 SWFET SPRING ...... 66 
 
 A WOODLAND MEMORY . . . . , .68 
 
 " BUT THEN." ....... 71 
 
 " SEEING, UNSEEN." . . . . . -73 
 
 BUT A DREAM ....... 77 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 "As one alone, once not alone." 
 
 SLANT morning sunbeams touched a cottage 
 gray, 
 
 Silent and lonely -in the village street. 
 Once, long ago, (how long!) it had been gay 
 
 With youth and hope, and all that makes life 
 
 sweet. 
 
 Life s hurrying stream flowed past, but nevermore 
 Might cross the gloomy threshold of that door. 
 
 Within the shelter of a shadowed room, 
 A lonely woman mused of mornings fled. 
 
 The silence closed around her like a tomb; 
 The house seemed haunted by her quiet tread. 
 
 So pale, so wan, so passionless her face, 
 
 She looked the ghost of that deserted place. 
 
10 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Yet was it not the pallor of despair, 
 
 The hopeless yielding to a hopeless fate: 
 
 Life s storm had spent, and left its traces there; 
 But now her eventide was wearing late. 
 
 Why make lament ? Her steps were drawing on 
 
 To the far country where her loved had gone. 
 
 Earth s purest pleasure, Earth s most bitter pain, 
 Had been her portion; both were ended now. 
 
 There were who neither knew; should she com 
 plain ? 
 Would she exchange this weary haggard brow, 
 
 This aching heart, with memories over-fraught, 
 
 For the light peace of their untroubled thought? 
 
 She paused beside the window, and looked out 
 Upon the garden s winding alleys green; 
 
 Unconsciously she paused, to hear the shout 
 Of youth s free joyance stir the leafy screen. 
 
 Ah, nevermore the echoes might repeat 
 
 The liquid laughter of those voices sweet. 
 
 There had her childhood s wayward footsteps 
 
 strayed; 
 
 There had her happy maidenhood its part; 
 And underneath that checkered sun and shade, 
 Love s passionate pleading thrilled her waiting 
 
 heart. 
 
 And clear child-voices, babbling phrases dear, 
 Had made soft music to a mother s ear. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. U 
 
 She had been wedded, heart and soul, to one 
 Who touched with skillful hand the varying keys 
 
 Of song s sweet instrument, and lightly won 
 From life its purest, richest harmonies. 
 
 Like the rare melody of anthems clear, 
 
 Were the glad days his presence counted here. 
 
 Alas, fond eyes! there is not any spot, 
 In sunny garden, or in shadowed room, 
 
 Which his dear memory, lingering, hallows not. 
 As lingers round the vase the flower s perfume, 
 
 Telling of balmy winds and vernal bloom, 
 
 To hearts impatient of December s gloom. 
 
 Oh, my lost Eden! mournfully she sighed; 
 
 Thou wert not dearer, garden loved of old! 
 Nor happier lovers did in thee abide, 
 
 Than we who watched the varied year unfold. 
 When did thy evening and thy morning make 
 A fairer day than blossomed for our sake ? 
 
 Oh, my lost Eden! from afar I gaze 
 Upon thy portals! closed forevermore. 
 
 My feet are weary, treading thorny ways; 
 My heart is hungry for the bliss of yore. 
 
 Oh, for a vanished smile a look a tone! 
 
 To soothe the anguish of my vigil lone. 
 
12 A CO TTA GE GRA Y. 
 
 Was her prayer answered ? From the far unseen 
 Did Love reach down a gentle hand to her ? 
 
 And did Love feel the voice that erst had been 
 Earth s sweetest music, through Heaven s rapture 
 stir? 
 
 Did not fond Pity drop a tender tear, 
 
 Amid the splendor of a sinless sphere ? 
 
 I can not answer: answer, ye who will! 
 
 Yet, as she turned to gaze upon his face, 
 With passionate, yearning eyes, what mystic thrill, 
 
 As of his presence, shook the lonely place ? 
 Why did her feet, like one on holy ground, 
 Tread lightly as if fearing mortal sound ? 
 
 So lightly treading, did she pause before 
 The pictured image of her loved and lost. 
 
 The summer sunshine, through the open door, 
 Above the broad poetic forehead crossed; 
 
 An aureole of light, it crowned his brows 
 
 With crown more royal than this earth allows. 
 
 Ay, and upon her pallid features fell 
 The same bright glory and celestial calm. 
 
 Some influence, her long regret to quell, 
 
 Seemed floating round her, like a solemn psalm 
 
 That chants the mystery of life and death, 
 
 Rebuking sobbing cry and quivering breath. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 It was as if she, too, were rapt away 
 To the far regions hidden from our view; 
 
 As if the radiance of eternal day 
 Sundered the pearly gates, and, shining through, 
 
 Piercing the shadowy mists that cloud our gaze, 
 
 Had opened wide the realm of love and praise. 
 
 Yes, they were there, her mourned for, her beloved! 
 
 The darlings who had slumbered on her heart; 
 And he whose footsteps with her own had moved, 
 
 So blent, of life itself they seemed a part. 
 Ah, did he from those shining heights descend, 
 To comfort her, his earliest, sweetest friend ? 
 
 Oh, holy eyes! how tenderly ye shone, 
 
 In your dark beauty, on the suppliant there. 
 
 Oh, lips of sweetness! did a whispered tone, 
 Of benediction thrill the listening air ? 
 
 Oh, helpful, gracious hands! did ye enfold, 
 
 In your warm clasp, those trembling fingers cold ? 
 
 So dreamed she: with unconscious, fond caress, 
 As oft of old, she lightly touched his hair. 
 
 Sad, weary eyes! what hope, what tenderness, 
 What deathless rapture, made ye passing fair! 
 
 For one swift moment, Heaven around her lay ; 
 
 The next the sunshine of an earthly day. 
 
14 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Yes, thro the doorway, still the morning light, 
 The glad June morning, glorified the room ; 
 
 And still it swept, in its effulgence bright, 
 From those loved features every lingering gloom. 
 
 But lonely, lonely, seemed the sunlit place, 
 
 As mutely mourning for a vanished grace. 
 
 Nay, had it vanished? Had her eyes beheld? 
 
 Or was it fleeting fancy, fleet as fair? 
 The canvas trembling, by her touch impelled, 
 
 Gave silent answer to her dumb despair : 
 From the carved frame, fell, fluttering to her feet, 
 A dove-like messenger of comfort sweet. 
 
 Oh, pure ! Oh, spotless ! as the spotless snow ! 
 
 Had been those pages, lingered o er by love ; 
 (How could Love s tender prophecy foreknow, 
 
 In those glad days, what after days must prove ?) 
 Now stained and faded ; yet more dear than life, 
 To her who traced the legend " For my wife" 
 
 Blue were the ribbons loosely knotted round 
 The leaves that told the story of the past ; 
 
 And tremblingly her slender fingers found 
 The secret of their binding, and unclaspt 
 
 The silken fetters that, thro time and change 
 
 Had held their trust from hands profane or strange. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. jj 
 
 Ah, not to careless heart, to careless mind, 
 Those pure and tender oracles might speak. 
 
 Love s meaning only is by Love divined ; 
 To soothe Love s anguish, only Love dare seek. 
 
 No alien presence may from grief decoy ; 
 
 No alien presence may enhance our joy. 
 
 What were they ? Snatches sweet of truant song ; 
 
 Sweet echoes from the music of the past. 
 Her spirit felt them, as the traveler long 
 
 Inured to dusty highways feels at last 
 The shade of trees, the fragrance wafted by, 
 The fountain s warble, from some garden, nigh. 
 
 Again before her rose that April day 
 The fresh, fair dawning of her marriage morn ; 
 
 The while she read the pure, impassioned lay 
 That told how dear, how blest, its loved return. 
 
 And if the page with dropping tears was wet, 
 
 They fell for dear remembrance not regret. 
 
 I hear thy sweet voice in the hall, 
 
 I hear thy light step on the stair ; 
 And the sense of thy presence I feel, 
 
 In blessing and grace everywhere. 
 
 While I marvel and muse in my heart, 
 That the Heavens such grace should bestow ; 
 
 That my feet were found worthy to pass 
 Thro the gates of our Eden below. 
 
!6 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 And I ponder the years that have fled ; 
 
 And I question them all : Is it true, 
 That my spirit could soar and be glad, 
 
 Ere it found inspiration in you ? 
 
 How sped ye, sweet summers of yore ! 
 
 Who knew not the charm of her smile ? 
 How sped ye, dark, loitering days ! 
 
 Of winters she could not beguile? 
 
 Is it only a year, then a year ? 
 
 Since I found thee, and claimed thee, my own ? 
 And the star of thy being became 
 
 A star for my pathway alone. 
 
 Oh, let me not, let me not dream 
 
 Of a day that to others has come ! 
 Who have loved, and have triumphed, like me 
 
 Who have wept o er a desolate home. 
 
 From my gaze, let the future be veiled ; 
 
 Sweet Heaven ! its secrets conceal. 
 More exquisite bliss than to-day s 
 
 I know it can never reveal. 
 
 Soft eyes, that have answered my own ! 
 
 Dear, dear little hands that I hold ! 
 Ye are mine, without falter or doubt, 
 
 Whatever the years may unfold. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 17 
 
 Ah, cruel, flitting dread ! that comes and goes, 
 And pierces thro the very heart of bliss. 
 
 Where is the deep tranquility that knows 
 Naught of thy anguish, in a world like this ? 
 
 Creatures of Fate ! what ransom must we pay, 
 
 For the sweet, careless rapture of to-day. 
 
 The mother, bending o er her first-born, feels 
 The chilling terror strike her unaware. 
 
 The lover trembles, as its cold breath steals 
 Between him and the face he deems so fair. 
 
 Sad prophecy, and stern ! of hope bereft : 
 
 11 One shall be taken, and the other left." 
 
 Yet are there happy moments, breathing all 
 Of promise, and of deep delight in store ; 
 
 And the heart answers to the gracious call 
 Forgets the vain perplexities of yore ; 
 
 Nor questions of the future ; fain to rest, 
 
 A little while, from doubt s unquiet quest. 
 
 Of such a day, of such an hour, she read. 
 
 Still throbbed her pulses with the opening 
 
 spring ; 
 Still seemed her step the woodland ways to tread, 
 
 Still round her did the sylvan music ring. 
 Ah, fairyland of youth and hope ! No more 
 May the fond exile see thy vanished shore. 
 
!8 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 1 We will not rest at home to-day ; 
 
 It were a sin," my dearest said. 
 Then, wilful, put my book away ; 
 And, freshly smiling as the May, 
 
 Cried, " Read sweet Nature s book instead !" 
 
 And I ? Ah, I was well content 
 
 To follow where her footsteps led ; 
 As on my arm she lightly leant, 
 Thro fragrant wood-ways spring be-sprent 
 With blossoms purple, white, and red. 
 
 From north to south, from east to west, 
 Flew happy birds in twittering joy ; 
 
 Nor feared that we their secret guessed, 
 
 Nor feared the rudely curious quest 
 That would their artless toil destroy. 
 
 Still fearless of the plunderer, Man, 
 The squirrel for a moment s space 
 
 Paused, the intruders rare to scan ; 
 
 Then, swiftly startled, swiftly ran 
 To shelter in his hiding place. 
 
 The boughs above us interlaced, 
 
 A fairy canopy of green ; 
 Upon the sward beneath we traced 
 The young leaves trembling shadow, chased 
 
 Where fell the sunlight s golden sheen. 
 
A COTTA GE GRA Y. 19 
 
 So, blithely did we wander on ; 
 
 And lost and found, the winding way. 
 And many a woodland trophy won, 
 From coy retreats of shade or sun, 
 
 That well might longer quest repay. 
 
 But fairer than the fairest prize 
 
 Of loveliness we stooped to win, 
 The blushing cheek, the radiant eyes, 
 That needed not the lips replies 
 
 To speak the deep delight within. 
 
 " And has the day so swiftly fled ?" 
 She sighed, as nearer home we drew, 
 
 And pointed where with rosy red, 
 
 And countless hues in beauty wed, 
 The west had dappled all the blue. 
 
 Oh, fair the morning s early beam ! 
 
 And fair the glory of the eve ! 
 And if the vision fleeting seem, 
 Not less will we the rapture deem, 
 
 Not all ungrateful will we grieve. 
 
 Who says that May will soon be past ? 
 
 The blossom and the flower decay ? 
 That bleak November s whirling blast 
 Will leave the landscape bare, at last, 
 
 Of all that makes it fair to-day ? 
 
20 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Who says that every life below 
 Must feel, at last, the winter s sting ? 
 
 But if it come to us, I know 
 
 That over all its wastes will blow 
 The fragrant promise of the Spring. 
 
 How lightly, when the hurried hour is past, 
 Do we forget the fortune lost or won. 
 
 Not o er the busy bustling scene is cast 
 The last clear beam of life s declining sun. 
 
 Nay, but the lingering glory fondly plays 
 Round some sequestered spot where Memory 
 strays. 
 
 Sweet fireside converse of familiar friends ; 
 
 Small, childish hands close-clasped upon your 
 
 knee, 
 Dark eyes uplifted when the story ends 
 
 With wistful question, what the next shall be ; 
 The dear good-night, the gentle prayer that we 
 The morning hour in peace and health may see ; 
 
 Who looks not backward to a scene like this, 
 When lonely evening darkens into night ? 
 
 Who wakes from slumber, when the sunbeams 
 
 kiss 
 The royal mountains yearning for the light 
 
 And shrinks not from the glory of the dawn. 
 
 If, dimmed and dazzled, gaze their eyes alone? 
 
A CO TTA GE GRA Y. 2I 
 
 O, happy mother ! while the soft caress 
 Of baby arms around thy neck is thrown ; 
 
 Oh, happy wife ! whom love and honor bless 
 Weep for the stricken heart that makes its moan! 
 
 Ah, tremble in your rapture : who can say, 
 
 When morning breaks, what storms shall cloud the 
 day? 
 
 Fair, fair as thine, her morning star arose. 
 
 " Too fair for earth !" those trembling lips reply, 
 While, even yet, thro twilight s darkening close, 
 
 Some faint reflection from that radiant sky 
 Pierces the gloom, and shines above the page 
 That keeps the record of her golden age. 
 
 Did you guess my thought, my Sweet ? 
 
 When our glances met to-day, 
 She was sitting at your feet, 
 
 Half in earnest, half in play, 
 With her sewing little May. 
 
 What a baby hand it seemed, 
 As she drew the needle thro ! 
 And the tiny thimble gleamed 
 
 After it, like silver dew. 
 Life s first lesson, May, for you. 
 
 On the rosy dimpled face 
 What a serious sweetness lay ! 
 
22 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Woman s wisdom, frolic grace 
 Of free childhood chased away 
 Answering the call to play. 
 
 While you praised the task complete, 
 And your hand, in mute caress, 
 
 Folded up the kerchief neat 
 With a wistful tenderness, 
 I, your inmost thought could guess. 
 
 Ah, my May ! your soft eyes said, 
 As you watched her careless glee 
 
 You have woven the first thread 
 In a woman s destiny, 
 Of the warp and woof to be. 
 
 Will the web be dark or bright, 
 That the years to come unfold ? 
 
 Heart of mine ! He doeth right, 
 Who the tangled skein doth hold. 
 Who, His loving care hath told ! 
 
 But I watched the merry elf 
 
 Dancing down thro sun and shade, 
 
 Thinking, So she looked herself, 
 So my darling little maid, 
 Grave and winsome, worked and played. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. . 
 
 You, the future I, the past, 
 Mused of with a tender pain : 
 
 Shadows dimly o er us cast, 
 
 We might strive to pierce in vain, 
 Vexed our eyes with hopeless strain. 
 
 Is there gain for every loss ? 
 
 Ah, the lives to which we cling, 
 They may bear their heaviest cross 
 
 May their sweetest music sing, 
 
 All unhelped of aught we bring. 
 
 I, who hold your woman s heart, 
 
 Jealous, dearest, just of this 
 That my childhood had no part 
 
 In your childhood s pain or bliss ? 
 
 Answer, love, the lips I kiss. 
 
 Foolish fancy, sweetest wife ! 
 
 Yet I could not choose but say : 
 Ah, that I had known her life, 
 
 In the dawning of her day 
 
 Known the springtime of my May 
 
 He doeth right: And can her heart repeat 
 Such words of trust, unfaltering as of yore ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! The way was all too rough, my sweet; 
 So in his arms the tender Shepherd bore 
 
 My little lamb, to that serener air 
 
 Those greener pastures; she but waits me there. 
 
24 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Fall, gentle tears; tho now no tender hand 
 May wipe you from the thin and faded cheek, 
 
 Tho now no pitying eye may understand 
 The silent anguish words can never speak. 
 
 Fall, gentle tears; and soften, as ye flow, 
 
 The mournful story of the long ago. 
 
 Ah, baby May ! thou wert a bird of spring 
 A blossom sparkling in the morning dew. 
 
 Thou wert too lovely and too frail a thing, 
 To linger here; the ruthless wind that blew 
 
 A blight upon thy beauty, left no sign 
 
 Of its despoiling, save on bloom like thine. 
 
 Ah, baby May; thy little hour was brief; 
 
 Thy liquid carol ended, scarce begun. 
 Thy blossom faded, ere the folded leaf 
 
 Had oped its hidden treasure to the sun. 
 Yet was this earth more sacred, and more dear, 
 To two fond hearts, for thy fleet presence here. 
 
 Oh, we were happy, dearest love ! 
 
 Oh, we were glad at heart with life ! 
 To music did the moments move, 
 
 When first I called thee wife. 
 
 To mellow music moved they then; 
 
 Our sky was blue, our song was sweet. 
 Apart from crowded ways of men, 
 
 We strayed with careless feet. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 And lovely Nature, ever young, 
 Her fairest secrets did disclose; 
 
 For us, the wild-bird s carol rung, 
 And bloomed for us, the rose. 
 
 And gentle annals of the hearth 
 
 For us a tender beauty had; 
 We joyed in spirit with the mirth 
 
 That made our neighbor glad. 
 
 Each charming aspect, fair and gay, 
 Of life or nature, drew us near; 
 
 We gazed, unconscious of the sway 
 Of sin and sorrow here. 
 
 For oh, the world must needs be fair, 
 Must needs be good, that sheltered her \ 
 
 And soft as Eden winds the air 
 That o er our flower should stir. 
 
 Oh, days of gladness passing soon ! 
 
 Oh, dawns and sunsets ! never more 
 May radiance clear of sun and moon 
 
 Your golden light restore. 
 
 And has the music passed away ? 
 
 And has the changing splendor fled 
 From sapphire skies of yesterday ? 
 
 Are song and beauty dead ? 
 
26 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 It could not be a life so frail 
 
 Such wealth of hope and rapture gave, 
 That since we watched it fade and fail 
 
 Our hearts are in the grave ? 
 
 What comfort in the dreary night ? 
 
 What promise in the cheerless morn ? 
 It was for her we hailed the light, 
 
 And marked the hours return. 
 
 Oh, heart impatient ! foolish heart ! 
 
 (I hear a mystic voice complain,) 
 Unworthy thou, to bear a part 
 
 In sorrow s sacred strain. 
 
 Thine eyes, anointed > would discern 
 The royal crown which grief bestows; 
 
 Thy lips a truer music learn 
 Than weak lamenting knows. 
 
 Draw nearer, nearer dear, my own ! 
 
 And lay thy gentle hand in mine. 
 My darling ! not in joy alone 
 
 My spirit answers thine. 
 
 Ah, sweet ! thine eyes are dim with tears, 
 Yet still they shine upon my way, 
 
 And purer, nobler, Love appears, 
 Than on that happier day. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 27 
 
 Oh, Earth ! thy loveliness may never shine, 
 As once it shone to eyes undimmed by tears; 
 
 Oh, Life ! no more thy ruddy, sparkling wine, 
 Tho quaffed by eager lips, can vanquish fears; 
 
 Where once the shadow of the doom hath crept, 
 
 What soul, insensate, careless dalliance kept ? 
 
 Thro happiest hours we feel the sense of loss. 
 
 Love s dear caresses thrill with secret pain 
 The stricken heart, that, moaning neath its cross, 
 
 Of fleet forgetfulness full oft were fain. 
 Sweet lips, sweet eyes, sweet trick of falling hair 
 Too true reminders of the past ye were ! 
 
 The Past ! the Past ! It hath a royal reign. 
 
 Immortal and unchangeable, it holds 
 Its scepter ; while the seasons wax and wane, 
 
 While dark or bright the future scene unfolds. 
 Immutable its realm ; untouched its sway ; 
 Its treasures, moth nor rust can e er decay. 
 
 The Past ! To her oh, blessed want of sight ! 
 The future was a sealed, unstudied page. 
 
 All life could give of promise, of delight, 
 The past enshrined ; what future might engage 
 
 Her lingering thought ? That prospect bleak and 
 bare 
 
 That lonely land ? She were an alien there. 
 
28 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Still, as she read, her heart kept time with his, 
 And thrilled with memory of that early grief; 
 
 And still her tears fell fast, for vanished bliss ; 
 And still she shared his tender, pure belief. 
 
 Aye, once again, her lips the words repeat 
 
 The old, old words of supplication sweet. 
 
 I saw thee, yester eve ; 
 
 When, standing in the alcove s draperied gloom, 
 I watched the rosy, fitful firelight weave 
 
 Its wierd, fantastic beauty o er the room. 
 
 Beside thy knee she knelt, 
 
 Our Una once she had not knelt alone ; 
 And were it fancy, were it truth, I felt, 
 
 Unseen, an angel presence near her own. 
 
 Didst thou not feel it, too ? 
 
 Close-clasping hand, so baby-small and fair, 
 Sweet faltering voice, oh, not alone of you, 
 
 A mother s thought, a mother s love was ware. 
 
 " I lay me down to sleep." 
 
 My darling ! soon thy little race was run. 
 I know thee blest ; yet can not choose but weep, 
 
 That thou so early that long rest hast won. 
 
 For we must journey on, 
 
 Thro sun and shadow, all the lengthening way ; 
 Nor step must falter, tho the spring be gone, 
 
 And faded from us our sweet flower of May. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Oh, pardon ! sweet my child ! 
 
 I wrong thee so, with fretful murmuring ^ 
 Heaven s comforter thou art, that oft beguiled 
 
 The weary heart of Memory s ceaseless pain. 
 
 Yet is it bitter-sweet 
 
 To gaze upon thy face, and think of her ; 
 And hear thy silver voice, and watch thy feet 
 
 Dance lightly o er the flowers she may not stir. 
 
 But most when evening falls, 
 
 My heart is thrilled, to watch thee kneeling 
 
 there : 
 / know another voice, with thine, recalls 
 
 The old, beloved, unforgotten prayer. 
 
 " I lay me down to sleep." 
 
 Ah, well may childhood s lips the words essay ! 
 And well a mother s saintly love may keep 
 
 The pure petition teaching them to pray. 
 
 But worn with worldly strife, 
 
 And tossed with doubting, who dare enter in 
 Where Innocence abides? What vanquished life 
 
 That early, fervent, perfect faith may win ? 
 
 Ah, dear the childish prayer 
 
 My Una uttered ! Still my soul would keep 
 Its simple music ; still, with her, would share 
 
 The old refrain : " I lay me down to sleep." 
 
30 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Oh, since that sorrow, bitter tears have stained 
 The luster of thy beauty, gentle eyes. 
 
 While daylight darkened, while the midnight 
 
 waned, 
 Ye kept your vigil: never dawn might rise 
 
 Again for thee tho flushed with radiance bright 
 
 The far horizon heralded the light. 
 
 So, once above thy couch, Love s tender eyes 
 Kept watch and ward, as those that look for day, 
 
 Saw Hope s pure, trembling, morning star arise, 
 And all the murky shades of night decay. 
 
 But I, (she crieth) darkling ways have trod 
 
 The Valley of the Shadow, oh, my God ! 
 
 I have watched beside thee, dear, 
 
 Thro the dark, the dreary night ; 
 I have seen the dawning clear 
 
 Come with fragrance, song, and light. 
 
 Now the fevered pulse is still, 
 
 And the heavy eyelids close ; 
 How with trembling hope I thrill, 
 
 While I guard thy deep repose. 
 
 Ah, thy cheek is pale and wan, 
 
 That was like the bloom of May ; 
 All the rounded outlines gone, 
 
 Where the smiles were wont to play. 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 On thy forehead broad and fair, 
 Doth a sacred beauty dwell : 
 
 Hast thou seen the vision rare, 
 Mortal tongue may never tell ? 
 
 Whisper, whisper to me, love ! 
 
 For I tremble while I gaze, 
 Lest thy spirit, rapt above, 
 
 May forget our earthly ways. 
 
 Yet a little while return 
 To the paths beloved of yore ; 
 
 To the hearts bereft, that yearn 
 For thy presence evermore. 
 
 Oh, methought if I should miss 
 From the circle of the year, 
 
 All the tender hope, the bliss, 
 That has made my life so dear, 
 
 Could I meet the dawning day, 
 With a spirit brave and true ? 
 
 Hand and brain, might they essay 
 Tasks that once were shared by you ? 
 
 Ah, my darling ! when the toil 
 Of the lonely day was done, 
 
 What reward for care and moil 
 Would be mine, at set of sun ? 
 
32 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Not the welcome of thy eyes, 
 Not the music of thy voice, 
 
 Silence sweet, nor soft replies, 
 Then might make my heart rejoice. 
 
 Hush ! I will not idly dream : 
 Thou art all my own again ! 
 
 God be praised ! who did redeem 
 From the terror and the pain. 
 
 God be praised ! who linked our lives 
 With a golden chain, in one. 
 
 Death, nor life, nor sorrow, rives 
 What the hand of Love hath spun. 
 
 To the realms of pure delight 
 Wert thou truly called, to-day, 
 
 Still thy angel glance would light 
 All my darkling earthly way. 
 
 I would feel thy holy eyes 
 Bent upon me from above : 
 
 Every vain ambition dies 
 In the radiance clear of Love. 
 
 Oh, to meet thee, dearest, there ! 
 
 Could that bliss indeed be mine ? 
 Shall the voice that shared thy prayer, 
 
 Mingle in thy praise divine ? 
 
A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Couldst thou linger here below, 
 If to me the the summons came ? 
 
 Nay, my raptured soul, I know, 
 Still thy tender thought would claim. 
 
 Thro the silence of the dark, 
 Thro the voices of the day, 
 
 Would thy yearning spirit hark 
 For the voice that called Away ! 
 
 But the shadows part and fly ; 
 
 And the golden dawn up-springs 
 In the dazzling summer sky, 
 
 Life and healing on its wings. 
 
 From the mountain height beyond 
 Every lingering mist is borne : 
 
 Thrilling heart and lip, respond 
 To the prophecy of morn ! 
 
 Leaps the fountain in the sun ; 
 
 In the covert, sings the bird : 
 Life and hope, anew begun, 
 
 Hath thro every being stirred. 
 
 Ah, my darling ! God is good : 
 He hath made the light to shine ; 
 
 And the darkness, understood, 
 Will but teach His love divine. 
 
 33 
 
34 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 Slant morning sunbeams touched a cottage gray, 
 Silent and lonely, in the village street. 
 
 Unsought, amid the stream of life it lay, 
 Like some forsaken isle where currents meet; 
 
 Eastward, and westward, drift the barges on 
 
 But welcome or farewell, for it, have none. 
 
 Yet, all unseen, thro shadowing hours of night, 
 A messenger had entered, even there. 
 
 No hand had tried the portal, knocking light; 
 No footstep echoed on the silent stair. 
 
 But, unto her who waited, summons came; 
 
 And she arose, and answered to her name. 
 
 O Death ! unbroken is thy sacred spell: 
 No mortal lips thy secret may reveal. 
 
 Unto thy chosen only, dost thou tell 
 
 The meaning of thy message. Doth it heal 
 
 Life s fever-pain ? Oh, doth it surcease bring 
 
 To Hope s vain longing, Sorrow s ceaseless sting? 
 
 Ah, sure upon her pallid face was set 
 
 The seal of some ineffable delight ! 
 Some bliss unspeakable illumined yet 
 
 Those darkened eyes, and forehead deathly white. 
 As if the ransomed spirit backward threw 
 One glad exultant glance, ere it withdrew. 
 
A CO TTA GE GRA Y. 35 
 
 Still held her hand the story of the past. 
 
 Oh, closely clasped, against her heart it lay ! 
 The glory of the morning round her cast 
 
 As pure, as golden, as serene a ray, 
 As when above that pictured image dear 
 She watched the heavenly radiance shining clear. 
 
 Still seemed his eyes above her rest to keep 
 
 The faithful vigil of a holy love. 
 Ah, she hath wakened from grief s fevered sleep, 
 
 To Truth s reality which naught can move. 
 Here hath she known in part, with seeking vain, 
 There t the full knowledge shall her soul attain. 
 
 Whose hand the gate celestial opened wide ? 
 
 Whose voice was first to give her welcome home ? 
 We may not pierce the mists, tho glorified 
 
 With far reflected radiance from the dome 
 Of the Eternal City: earth-bound eyes 
 Are all too dim, to gaze upon the skies. 
 
 Oh, wondrous vision ! when the spirit breaks 
 From grievous thralldom of this prison-cell. 
 
 When mad Ambition from delirium wakes; 
 And sordid Wealth no more his gold may tell. 
 
 Earth ! Earth ! (they cry,) thou hast no treasure 
 rare, 
 
 That may with lost and slighted love compare ! 
 
36 A COTTAGE GRAY. 
 
 O Thou, the Love Supreme ! To Thee we lift, 
 From hearts, or glad, or sighing, contrite praise. 
 
 Not here we know the fullness of thy gift; 
 Not here, unworthy, may our voices raise 
 
 The choral music. Yet, to Thee we come: 
 
 Lord\ open to us Love s eternal home ! 
 
MADONNA. 
 
 IS there ever a bosom so tender, 
 I wonder, where Sorrow may hide ? 
 Where Repentance may fly, and surrender 
 
 The past unto Love s whelming tide ? 
 Where never a glance will awaken 
 
 The shame and the anguish of years; 
 
 But, when lonely, defamed, and forsaken, 
 
 A rainbow Hope makes of our tears. 
 
 On this earth, where we have our abiding, 
 
 Twere pitiful if there were none ! 
 Oh, we meet with but scorn and deriding 
 
 From all that we trusted, save one. 
 The warm-beating heart of a mother 
 
 Throbs true in our bitterest woe; 
 Nor wrong, nor misfortune, can smother 
 
 The light of her love s steady glow. 
 
 If guilty, we fly to her bosom; 
 
 If wretched, we find there relief. 
 From the dawn of our infancy s blossom, 
 
 She has known all our joy and our grief. 
 
 37 
 
38 MADONNA. 
 
 The worst we have done, and have spoken, 
 The best that our struggle has won, 
 
 Has left her fond faith all unbroken, 
 Uusullied, forever our own. 
 
 In the world, with its evil surmising, 
 
 No place for repentance is found; 
 It will gaze, and pass on ward, despising; 
 
 Or pause, to probe deeper the wound. 
 But her heart has forgotten the sinning 
 
 Her heart has remembered the truth; 
 And our soul in that love is re-winning 
 
 The joy and the peace of our youth. 
 
 Oh, her love is the promise and token 
 
 Of the Love that encircles us all; 
 Sweet its words to the penitent spoken, 
 
 Uplifting to hope those who fall : 
 "And, no more" saith the Infinite Pity 
 
 "Transgression remembered shall be," 
 When the gates of the Beautiful City 
 
 Are opened to you and to me. 
 
IN SPRINGTIME: A MEMORY. 
 
 I WAS a child as yet. Nine happy years, 
 With all their varying lights and shades, had 
 
 fled; 
 
 My heart had never known or grief, or fears, 
 Life s morning glories all were round me shed. 
 
 And from the memories of that blessed time, 
 I fain would draw a picture for thine eyes, 
 
 Of one who early left the world s cold clime, 
 To seek a home amid her native skies. 
 
 Oh, freshly, as it were but yesterday, 
 The sweet May air about my temples thrills ! 
 
 I see the apple blossoms bend and sway, 
 And their faint perfume all the garden fills. 
 
 While gathered in the rustic porch, we played 
 Gay, happy children, innocent and free; 
 
 The sunshine and the winds around us strayed, 
 And the bright season filled our hearts with glee. 
 
 39 
 
40 IN SPRINGTIME: A MEMORY. 
 
 When, in some pause of earnest childish thought, 
 We heard a light, swift footstep passing by; 
 
 And looking up, our eager glances caught 
 The beaming welcome of her love-lit eye. 
 
 Ah, those dear eyes ! they thrill my spirit yet; 
 
 They shine upon me thro the weary years. 
 Oh, will they bless me, where no wild regret 
 
 Can dim their luster with its bitter tears ? 
 
 And still, sweet sister ! do I hear thy voice 
 Those gentle words so tenderly repeat; 
 
 And still, in memory, does my heart rejoice, 
 And bound in answer to its cadence sweet. 
 
 Hadst thou but seen her then ! So young, so fair 
 Crowned with the glory of the morning light, 
 
 That turned to gold the shadows of her hair, 
 And wrapt her in its influence warm and bright; 
 
 Hadst thou but met the gaze of those soft eyes ! 
 
 Clear wells of thought, where truth lay shining 
 
 thro ; 
 Whose pensive beauty mirrored back the skies 
 
 That arched above her in their living blue; 
 
 Thou wouldst have said that ne er could pencil trace 
 A fairer picture than was there revealed; 
 
 Tho all the inner loveliness and grace 
 Of spirit, from thy vision had been sealed. 
 
IN SPRINGTIME: A MEMORY. i 
 
 Oh, it was these that made her doubly dear 
 The priceless, hidden treasures of the soul: 
 
 The tender human love, the faith sincere 
 These crowned, and blessed, and glorified the 
 whole ! 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity, divinely fair ! 
 
 Reigned in that gentle heart with regal sway. 
 And shed around her footsteps, everywhere, 
 
 A radiance that could never know decay. 
 
 Faith child-like, trusting, yet of knowledge born 
 That rested on the gracious promise given; 
 
 And Hope, that ever prophesied the morn, 
 And sought to soar on eager wing to heaven. 
 
 But Love the key-note gave, that tuned the whole; 
 
 And touched the chords to harmony complete. 
 Love that was lavished from a royal soul, 
 
 Yet sat with Mary at the Master s feet. 
 
 Oh, not for earth alone, such life fulfilled 
 Its dawn of beauty ! Far beyond our ken 
 
 By wayward winds of changing Time unchilled 
 It blooms to perfect loveliness again. 
 
 Ah, sweet May morning of the long ago ! 
 
 Unfaded art thou, tho the years pass by. 
 And deep within my heart the hope I know, 
 
 That beckons to me from thy radiant sky. 
 
MRS. BROWNING S " AURORA 
 LEIGH." 
 
 " To thee, my alter ego, dearer still for every mood." 
 
 OH, book of my spirit beloved, 
 Of my fondest remembrance a part ! 
 Thy grace and thy sweetness hath moved 
 The innermost deep of my heart. 
 
 Yet not for the melody poured 
 
 Thro thy rhythm, oh, marvelous strain ! 
 Tho never such singer had soared, 
 
 The portal celestial to gain; 
 
 And not for thy message divine, 
 
 Evangel of hope and of love ! 
 (Tho a pilgrim, I knelt at thy shrine,) 
 
 Does my soul its allegiance prove. 
 
 Nay, dearer the links that have bound 
 My past and my future to thee: 
 
 Loved book ! In thy pages I found 
 A treasure more precious to me. 
 
 42 
 
MRS. BROWNING S AURORA LEIGH." 43 
 
 Oh, voice, that interpreted clear 
 (Sweet voice ! on its falls I would die !) 
 
 All the hope, and the rapture, and fear 
 Life s pean and quivering sigh; 
 
 To its music I listen again, 
 
 As over the pages I lean; 
 It throbs in the joy and the pain, 
 
 Like the voice of a singer unseen. 
 
 Yes, here did it falter and break: 
 
 I remember, the blue of her eyes 
 Was dimmed, like some cloud-shadowed lake 
 
 That reflects every hue of the skies. 
 
 And holy the tributue, and rare, 
 
 Of tears from a fountain so pure. 
 O poet ! such meed may compare 
 
 With aught that thy fame shall secure. 
 
 How soft was the clasp of her hand, 
 When it tenderly folded my own 
 
 Mute whisper, our hearts understand, 
 Tho hushed were the voice s low tone. 
 
 And here, on my forehead she pressed 
 Love s benison; here on my hair, 
 
 By tremulous fingers caressed, 
 Was whispered her hope and her prayer. 
 
44 MRS. BROWNING S "AURORA LEIGH: 
 
 Ah, more than the poet might dream, 
 Of love in its loveliness, here 
 
 Is enshrined; on my soul it will beam, 
 In life and in death, ever clear. 
 
 Oh, book of my spirit beloved, 
 Of my fondest remembrance a part ! 
 
 Thy grace and thy sweetness hath moved 
 The innermost deep of my heart. 
 
T 
 
 "OR A PRO ME." 
 
 IHOU who art angel pure, 
 
 Whose earth-life passed in innocence 
 of youth; 
 
 Strange that I can endure 
 The thought of thy soul-searching glance of truth. 
 
 I know how blurred the leaves 
 That tell the story of my record here; 
 
 I know how few the sheaves 
 My hand has gathered withering fast, and sere. 
 
 Yet, like an open book, 
 I feel my life lie open to thy gaze, 
 
 Whose saintly eyes will look 
 In love and sorrow, and in sad amaze. 
 
 And o er my being flows 
 Healing and balm, as of God s pardoning grace; 
 
 And my bowed spirit knows 
 Sweet influence as from one who sees His face, 
 
 45 
 
46 "ORA PRO M." 
 
 Before thy perfect peace, 
 Before thy purity, no blot can stain, 
 
 My long unrest doth cease, 
 My broken hope renews its strength again. 
 
 On earth alone shall Love 
 Plead for her loved one, in the battle s stress ? 
 
 No; round His throne above 
 Pure souls implore divinest aid to bless. 
 
 Ah, wherefore count the years ? 
 It seems but yesterday thou left st me here ! 
 
 Still flow my secret tears, 
 As on that darkest morning of the year. 
 
 The folly, or the wrong, 
 That marks those years, I can not now undo; 
 
 Yet, all the way along, 
 I feel thy love has followed, strong and true. 
 
 Still intercede, my saint ! 
 Still snatch me back from evil by thy prayer ! 
 
 Though faltering oft, and faint, 
 I yet with thee may blest deliverance share. 
 
LILAC LANE. 
 
 THE fragrant boughs of blossom 
 Were arching all the way; 
 And changeful skies of April, 
 
 With light and shade at play, 
 Smiled clear with gleams of sunshine, 
 
 Or grieved with fitful rain, 
 That happy day in springtime 
 We walked in Lilac Lane. 
 
 I see her white dress flitting 
 
 Beside me, even now; 
 One rounded arm uplifted 
 
 To bend the swaying bough; 
 The nodding plumes, in answer, 
 
 Sent clown a perfumed rain, 
 To hide her silken tresses 
 
 That day in Lilac Lane. 
 
 Oh, leave the bough to frolic 
 With every passing breeze; 
 
 The spring will soon be over 
 For fragile blooms like these, 
 
 47 
 
48 LILAC LANE. 
 
 And listen to my story 
 
 If gladness, or if pain, 
 Shall be its end, I know not 
 
 This day in Lilac Lane. 
 
 Sweet eyes, where maiden fancies 
 
 Lie mirrored in the blue, 
 They will not raise their fringes 
 
 To make me answer true; 
 The little hand that trembles 
 
 Upon my arm, is fain 
 To cling a moment closer 
 
 That day in Lilac Lane. 
 
 No, I ll not name the story 
 
 I whispered in her ear, 
 It was for me, to tell it; 
 
 It was for her, to hear. 
 And any careless listener 
 
 The secret would profane, 
 Of what was asked and answered 
 
 That day in Lilac Lane. 
 
 Again the plumes of Lilac 
 
 Are sending down their spray, 
 As underneath their fragrance 
 
 We take our happy way; 
 For hand in hand together 
 
 Thro sunshine and thro rain 
 We pledged our troth forever, 
 
 That day in Lilac Lane. 
 
OUR LITTLE ROMAN. 
 
 JAMES MILNE BARRY. 
 
 I SEE him in his scarlet cloak, 
 Our darling, beautiful patrician ! 
 Sure never Roman prouder wore 
 The toga of his young ambition. 
 And never Roman looked or spoke 
 With more imperial, instant sway, 
 Than when one dimpled arm outstretched- 
 He gave the mandate firm: " Go way ! " 
 
 But oh, the soft, the melting tone, 
 
 When spent the storm of baby ire, 
 And all transfigured in their tears, 
 
 Those flashing orbs forgot their fire ! 
 " My mamma ! " ne er the culprit fay 
 
 Confession more bewitching made I 
 Nor absolution quicklier won 
 
 For every precept disobeyed ! 
 
 And "G an ma! make! " Who could resist 
 
 That irresistible petition ? 
 That comradeship of innocence 
 
 To which all else must yield submission. 
 
 49 
 
50 OUR LITTLE ROMAN. 
 
 Aye, "Ope de doo ," and let him in ! 
 
 " G an ma" will not her pet deny: 
 Oh, " Roguey-poguey ! " What a game 
 
 To make the breathless moments fly ! 
 
 " Goo -night ! " sweet pet ! The day is done- 
 
 The all too short and busy day ! 
 And all that bright activity 
 
 Must Nature s gracious call obey. 
 Up reach fair arms and rose-bud mouth 
 
 For good-night kiss to each and all ; 
 And "Mamma wock ! " is now, at last, 
 
 His sweet, beseeching, drowsy call. 
 
 Oh, Baby dear ! we may not watch 
 
 Thy infant loveliness again. 
 Far, far on boyhood s road thy steps, 
 
 Will urge their way to paths of men. 
 But be it late, or be it soon 
 
 Whatever day our tryst befall 
 "Goo bye ! " My Darling ! in the care 
 
 Of God, who carethfor us all. 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 " Doris tender, sylvan, sweet; 
 Of my Love the name complete." 
 I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden. OLD BALLAD. 
 
 I SAT with Doris, when skies were bending, 
 With Spring s soft splendor, the earth above; 
 When woodland birds to their mates were calling, 
 And Nature whispered of hope and love. 
 
 I sat with Doris, when fervent Summer 
 Kissed the leaves of the red, red rose; 
 
 When the wind came sweet from the fragrant 
 
 meadows, 
 And fair and long was the evening s close. 
 
 I sat with Doris, when golden Autumn 
 With wealth had laden the orchard boughs; 
 
 When wains drew heavy, thro lane and highway, 
 And the harvest home held glad carouse. 
 
 I sit with Doris, while winter whitens, 
 O er hill and meadow and frozen stream; 
 
 But spring and summer, and golden autumn, 
 Are all fullfilled in our happy dream. 
 
WHERE FIRST WE WANDERED. 
 
 I KNOW, where first we wandered, that the flower 
 Is blushing, blushing, to the April breeze; 
 I know, the bird is singing where high tower 
 The stately red-wood trees. 
 
 From yonder field, the sentinel quail is calling 
 A watchful summons to his startled mates; 
 
 The wood-man s axe, with sharp strokes rising, 
 
 falling, 
 In echo alternates. 
 
 Hark, to that groan ! as Nature s self were mourn 
 ing ! 
 
 A sudden hush, expectant, holds us all: 
 The forest monarch, with that brief forewarning, 
 
 Rushes unto his fall. 
 
 Lo, where he lies, what myriad growths are shat 
 tered 
 What saplings crushed beneath that mighty 
 
 doom! 
 
 It is as if an army torn and scattered- 
 Had here found battle-room. 
 
 52 
 
53 
 
 WHERE FIRST WE WANDERED. 
 
 But pigmy man has lopped away his branches 
 The ringing strokes of labor cleave the air; 
 
 Away, away ! where yonder sunlight glances, 
 To scenes more brightly fair. 
 
 Down, past the emerald richness of the meadow, 
 Past budding vine, and promise-laden tree; 
 
 In sunshine now, and now in coolest shadow, 
 Our pathway windeth free. 
 
 The blackberry bushes blossom on the mountain, 
 The fern s umbrageous greenness spreads below 
 
 Far down, we hear, like gurgle of a fountain, 
 The wild brook s restless flow. 
 
 Oh, every sight and sound is full of beauty ! 
 
 How often, Dear, we mused together, there; 
 And fancied life s whole round of love and duty, 
 
 Lay in that boundary fair. 
 
 Dull were the stranger eye, whom no revealing 
 Of Nature s grace and meaning, there had blessed 
 
 But unto us, what sacred depth of feeling, 
 Had each fair scene expressed. 
 
 Beneath those plumes of lilac, purple bending, 
 One summer day, do you remember, Dear? 
 
 One swift, fond gesture to my heart was sending 
 Delicious hope and fear. 
 
54 WHERE FIRST WE WANDERED. 
 
 And where the spring in leafy covert hidden, 
 Still sparkles in the " dell without a name," 
 
 Do you remember, Dear, how all unbidden, 
 Sweet Highland Mary came ? 
 
 Ah, lost to daily sight and daily pleasure, 
 Tho far remote our errant footsteps rove, 
 
 Within our souls it dwells a deathless treasure- 
 That scene of hope and love. 
 
 Within our souls, when earthly vision waneth, 
 Shall we not hold it dear and precious still ? 
 
 Remembered, where no parting pang remaineth 
 Sweet memory s joy to chill. 
 
TO MY BELOVED. 
 
 [At Rest May nth, 1894.] 
 
 I WOULD not call thee back 
 To this sad world of strife and sin and tears. 
 Oh, no ! my own: pursue thy spirit s track, 
 Thro the immortal years. 
 
 Ah, not for thee the pain, 
 
 The hot tear dropping, and the anguished thought. 
 Thro long, long days and nights thou didst attain 
 
 The peace by suffering wrought. 
 
 And as a tired child 
 
 Leans on his mother s bosom trustful head, 
 So gently was thy weariness beguiled, 
 
 What time thy spirit fled. 
 
 Oh, wonderful relief 
 From fetters of the clay released at last ! 
 
 O dignity of death ! rebuking grief- 
 Earth s fitful fever past! 
 
 55 
 
5 6 TO MY BELOVED. 
 
 The ruthless rush of life 
 
 No more disturbs that infinite repose; 
 Greed s sordid deed, nor misery s maddened strife, 
 
 Nor helpless sorrow s woes. 
 
 Ah, tender heart and true ! 
 
 That beat in sympathy for every wrong. 
 Now, rest thee, Love: in heavenly calm renew 
 
 Thy being tried so long. 
 
 I would not call thee back: 
 
 (Tho thy fond hand would softly wipe these tears.) 
 Oh, no ! my own: pursue thy spirit s track, 
 
 Thro the immortal years. 
 
MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 AH, day of sunshine ! hast thou come, 
 With bird s sweet singing, as of yore ? 
 With all thy gifts of love and home, 
 
 And memories dear a priceless store ! 
 I pause to mark you, as you pass, 
 
 I, who may never more behold 
 The soft, rich verdure of your grass, 
 Or your bright sunshine streaming gold 
 
 I see the garden s old domain; 
 
 The orchard blooms are pink and fair; 
 I roam familar paths again, 
 
 And breathe the pure and scented air. 
 Sweet rippling laughter meets my ear 
 
 T was here we formed our fairy ring; 
 And underneath the walnut here, 
 
 In summer days, we used to swing. 
 
 And here, where bluest violets grow, 
 On festal eves we feasting made; 
 
 Our snowy cloth was spread below 
 The apple-tree s protecting shade. 
 
 57 
 
58 MY BIR THDA Y. 
 
 Upon the sward, so richly green, 
 We clustered round in order gay; 
 
 And royal homage gave our queen, 
 In honor of her natal day. 
 
 Ah, well! my eyes are not so bright, 
 
 Nor heart so buoyant, as of old; 
 And summer, with its warmth and light, 
 
 Has lost the charm it used to hold. 
 Yet still, when June s red roses bloom, 
 
 I lose the sense of doubt and care; 
 And, wafted by that sweet perfume, 
 
 I breathe my childhood s purer air. 
 
 How fond and tender were the eyes 
 
 That beamed upon my birthday then! 
 What loving gifts what sweet surprise!- 
 
 Yes, give me back the book again. 
 It was her hand that traced this line 
 
 Upon its page, that morning fair 
 The day my years were counted nine; 
 
 And, proud, I read the record there. 
 
 O hands, that clasp my own no more! 
 
 O gentle voices, silent now! 
 A stranger treads the paths of yore, 
 
 And gathers roses from the bough. 
 
MY BIRTHDAY. 59 
 
 Youth s rosy hopes and dreams have fled, 
 But dearer doth remembrance grow; 
 
 And round my lonely day is shed 
 The pensive grace of long ago. 
 
 LORD! keep like theirs, my memory green, 
 
 In kindly hearts that linger here; 
 Sweet charity my failings screen, 
 
 And mercy drop the healing tear. 
 And still, while seasons wax and wane, 
 
 And summer skies are softly blue, 
 May dear lips breathe the fond refrain: 
 
 "We keep this day, beloved, for you." 
 
COMFORT. 
 
 NOT where your darling, in her youth and 
 beauty, 
 
 Sleeps hidden from your yearning, tearful eyes; 
 Not where she bade farewell to life s long duty, 
 To life s long agonies; 
 
 Not where lies buried all your hope and gladness, 
 The dear, sweet past, from which you turned so 
 loth; 
 
 The radiant promise of the future: sadness 
 Hath now enshrouded both. 
 
 Not where the blue sky arches free above her, 
 Not where the sunbeam seeks her place of rest; 
 
 Not there, not there, will the fond hearts that love 
 
 her, 
 Find balm for wounded breast! 
 
 Oh, wing thy thought to other place of sleeping, 
 To other place of sepulcher than this! 
 
 What can this tell thee of, but sighs and weeping, 
 And wreck of earthly bliss ? 
 
 60 
 
COMFORT. 6 1 
 
 Once, very early, while the night yet tarried, 
 And spread its shadows o er the silent plain, 
 
 Two lonely women myrrh and perfumes carried 
 To where their Lord was lain. 
 
 Oft had they seen Him bringing hope and gladness, 
 Even to the dreary portals of the grave; 
 
 Only upon himself fell doom and sadness 
 Himself he could not save. 
 
 And so their hearts were heavy, cold with grieving, 
 As on they went, Love s errand to fulfill; 
 
 The promise he had left them unbelieving, 
 If twas remembered still. 
 
 But who, they said, will grant to us admission ? 
 
 Whose hand so strong to roll the stone away ? 
 When, lo! the tomb all open to their vision, 
 
 And radiant as the day! 
 
 Vain, vain, the seal upon that rocky portal! 
 
 O soldiers! all your watching is in vain! 
 How should the dying prison the immortal ? 
 
 Or death the life detain ? 
 
 No longer now the Master s gloomy prison, 
 "Why seek ye here ? " angelic voices cry; 
 
 He is not here! for he is risen risen! 
 Behold, He draweth nigh. 
 
62 COMFORT. 
 
 "All hail! " O voice divine! O Master tender! 
 
 Speak to us also, as to her of old; 
 For we forget Thy promise, and surrender 
 
 The gracious hope We hold. 
 
 Still let us find Thee standing near the portal, 
 Where Love her latest, costliest debt doth pay; 
 
 Illumine all its dark with light immortal, 
 And roll the stone away. 
 
IN REMEMBRANCE. 
 ISAAC ERRETT. 
 
 FOUNDER OF THE "CHRISTIAN STANDARD." 
 DIED IN CINCINNATI, DEC. l8, lS88. 
 
 All the winters which have snowed 
 
 Can not snow out the scent from stones and air, 
 
 Of a sincere man s virtues. MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 THE years shall pass on, with their sorrow and 
 sinning, 
 
 With struggle and failure, and recompense meet; 
 But naught shall imperil the crown of his winning, 
 
 Who sat like a child at the Nazarene s feet. 
 Oh, softly we name him, with heart-broken voic- 
 
 ings, 
 
 And lonely the pathway bereft of him here; 
 But full is the anthem of heaven s rejoicings, 
 That echo in vain on our earth -fettered ear. 
 
 Pale Grief had walked with him, and shown his 
 
 meek spirit 
 The darkest abodes of her somber domain; 
 
 63 
 
64 -fly REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 But pure was the faith which doth all things inherit, 
 And broken and vanquished the shaft of her pain! 
 
 Oh, loyal and tender, his strong heart was beating, 
 To comfort the struggling who faint by the way; 
 
 And dumbly our souls, to our souls, are repeating 
 The message of heaven he brought us, to-day. 
 
 Up! linger no more in the valley of shadow; 
 
 (Methinks that I hear him entreating anew.) 
 There is work to be done in the world s harvest 
 meadow; 
 
 Delay not! it urges it calls upon you. 
 There is wrong to be righted, and truth to be 
 spoken, 
 
 And love s gentle ministry yet to fulfill; 
 Oh, let not the box of anointing, unbroken 
 
 Remain for the service of brotherhood still! 
 
 The years shall sweep on to eternity s ocean; 
 
 The ages unceasing, their purpose fulfill; 
 But the life-giving force of his spirit s devotion, 
 
 Shall blend with the currents of destiny still. 
 Tho his shrine were unbuilt, and his name were 
 unspoken, 
 
 Should honor and truth in the dust be defaced ? 
 Or, think you such proof of remembrance the token 
 
 By which the high path of his being were traced ? 
 
IN REMEMBRANCE. 65 
 
 He is one with the hope, he is one with the sorrow, 
 
 That beats in humanity s bosom for aye; 
 He is one with love s work of to-day and to 
 morrow, 
 
 He is one with the faith that can never decay. 
 Why stand we here gazing ? The clouds that were 
 
 rifting, 
 Will give him no more to our tear-darkened 
 
 view: 
 There are souls for the saving, and burdens for 
 
 lifting; 
 Up! faltering never, the journey pursue. 
 
SWEET SPRING. 
 
 I PINE to hear the brooklet s flow, 
 I pine to hear the robin s song, 
 To see the peach-bloom s fiery glow 
 Sweet Spring, thou tarriest long! 
 
 Oh, waft, soft wind, the clouds away. 
 
 And fan my cheek with light caress! 
 I weary of this darksome day 
 
 It doth my heart oppress. 
 
 And arch above me, radiant sky! 
 
 Fair snowdrop! bloom beneath my feet. 
 Let every breeze that wanders by 
 
 Bear fragrance, pure and sweet. 
 
 Yet, did thy advent now befall, 
 How vain the idle wish would seem! 
 
 I know that nothing can recall 
 The springtime of my dream. 
 
 Ah, April! could st thou bring to me, 
 
 With all thy opening buds and flowers, 
 The joy the bliss the careless glee 
 
 Of childhood s early hours, 
 66 
 
 
SWEET SPRING. 67 
 
 Then vvert thou doubly welcome here, 
 
 Like sunshine on a wintry day; 
 For Hope would smile thro every tear, 
 
 And scatter mists away. 
 
 Yet, come once more! I yearn to hear 
 The first faint echo of thy tread; 
 
 And many a memory, old and dear, 
 Awaits to crown thy head. 
 
 O voice, whose music thrills me yet, 
 You mingle with the robin s strain! 
 
 Dear eyes! each wild- wood violet 
 Restores your glance again. 
 
 And all thy fairest gifts unite 
 To speak of her in bloom and song! 
 
 Oh, stir my heart with past delight, 
 Sweet Spring! thou tarriest long! 
 
A WOODLAND MEMORY. 
 
 OH, balmy and clear was the air, 
 And the black-birds were twittering shrill, 
 As we walked thro the stubble-field bare, 
 (No grace of the autumn was there), 
 To the woodland enchanted and still. 
 
 I remember the silence that fell 
 On laughter and jest, as we stayed 
 
 Our steps in its shadow; the spell 
 
 Of the sprites that in solitude dwell, 
 Of the boldest a captive had made. 
 
 Far, far did the aisles stretch away, 
 
 O er-arched by a canopy rare; 
 Gold and green, and of crimson and gray, 
 And colors more somber than they, 
 
 The warp and the woof of it were. 
 
 Oh, lovely, on boughs of the oak, 
 
 The light as it shifted and fell! 
 How trembling the rays as they broke 
 On fern and on mosses, and woke 
 
 Every coy-hidden charm of the dell! 
 
 68 
 

 A WOODLAND MEMORY. 69 
 
 But what fairy-like splendors were these ? 
 
 For, fluttering, fluttering down, 
 Fell, stirred by the soft autumn breeze, 
 What wonderful wafts from the trees, 
 
 On the sward that was faded and brown! 
 
 From the maple, its gold and its red; 
 
 From the beech tree, its emerald sheen; 
 From the poplar that sighed overhead 
 From each and from all there was shed 
 
 Some loveliness meet for the scene. 
 
 Bright leaves! how they quivered and danced 
 
 A part of the ambient air! 
 In the sunlight, a glory they glanced; 
 In the shadow, they floated entranced; 
 
 Above, and beneath everywhere! 
 
 And I pondered: When Life s little year 
 
 Is rounded and ended at last, 
 May Love, like the autumn boughs here, 
 Hide all that is barren or sere 
 
 In the silent domains of the Past. 
 
 Some things we may never forget 
 
 Life s burden of toil and of care 
 Slips from us; the fear and the fret, 
 The fever of hope and regret, 
 
 Are lost in a healthier air. 
 
70 A WOODLAND MEMORY, 
 
 But I think, when in beauty and bliss 
 The new earth shall perfected roll, 
 The remembrance of scenes such as this 
 Will live where their counterpart is 
 A memory dear to the soul. 
 
" BUT THEN." 
 
 T WONDER did you ever hear 
 1 That sweetest little story, 
 Of darling little Sunshine bright, 
 Our lovely morning-glory. 
 
 Our April blossom, blooming fair 
 
 In face of wind and shower; 
 And welcoming, with glad delight, 
 
 Each golden sunlit hour. 
 
 But out of every gentle phrase 
 
 That Love devised for naming, 
 The quaintest, sure, she found herself, 
 
 That one could think of claiming. 
 
 " How dark the sky! how dull the clay! 
 
 The rain how ceaseless falling! " 
 " But then, 1 our darling made reply, 
 
 " How all the birds are calling! " 
 
 "Alas, this frost has killed, I fear, 
 
 The tender fruit buds swelling," 
 " But then, oh, come!" her sweet voice cried, 
 
 " I ve found the snowdrop s dwelling." 
 
72 "&UT THEN." 
 
 " How poor and mean this narrow room, 
 How pent for stormy weather," 
 
 " But then, oh, auntie dear, you know, 
 It keeps us all together." 
 
 " Poor child! Your frock so sadly worn, 
 You could not go a-Maying; 
 
 I grieve to see you still at home, 
 When all your mates are playing." 
 
 " But then, mamma," a sudden smile 
 Dispelled the passing shadow 
 
 " We ll have our Maying, Rob and I, 
 Down yonder in the meadow." 
 
 And so that little phrase became 
 A household word and treasure; 
 
 A sweet rebuke to useless care 
 A sweet recall to pleasure. 
 
 Ah, time may try, and rudely thwart, 
 Her spirit s brave endeavor; 
 
 But then, we know our darling true 
 Will keep her trust forever. 
 
SEEING, UNSEEN. 
 
 The following lines were suggested by reading Christina 
 Rosetti s poem bearing the above title a poem whose terrible 
 pathos must penetrate every heart. 
 
 T^HE firelight glanced upon the walls, 
 1 Faded and rose in fitful gleams ; 
 It was that mystic hour that calls, 
 From past and future, spirit dreams. 
 
 He watched her muse beside the hearth, 
 
 He noted each familiar thing ; 
 An atmosphere of love, of mirth, 
 
 Of sorrow, round her seemed to cling. 
 
 But he from earth had passed away ; 
 
 Unseen, unfelt, he lingered near. 
 And did she, from that long-past day, 
 
 He marveled, hold his memory dear? 
 
 For he remembered, when, with her, 
 He sought the Muse s crystal spring ; 
 
 And felt the poet s rapture stir 
 His soul, and thro his pulses ring. 
 
 73 
 
74 "SEEING, UNSEEN." 
 
 What hand had smote the water fair ? 
 
 Alas ! (unlike the marvel old.) 
 The lips that touched it unaware, 
 
 Shrank, shuddering, from the stagnant cold. 
 
 We pass with yesterday away ; 
 
 We come not, with the dawning, back. 
 We pass, and are not, (sang the lay), 
 
 And those who mourned us know no lack. 
 
 Dark silence for a moment fell 
 
 Between them, born of doubt and dread ; 
 They dare not, each to other, tell 
 
 The horror chill, that smote and fled. 
 
 And then she raised the sweetest eyes 
 That ever shone in woman s face : 
 
 O Love ! believe it not, she cries, 
 Time can not work such treason base! 
 
 Ah, easy was it to respond, 
 
 And lightly chase the gloom away, 
 
 When lip to lip with answer fond, 
 Might sweetly seal their faith for aye. 
 
 But years of absence cold and dumb, 
 Do faith and hope indeed endure? 
 
 And if to thee, Beloved, I come, 
 Oh, shall I find my trust secure ? 
 
"SEEING, UNSEEN." 75 
 
 The lights and shadows round her played, 
 
 And wove their idle tracery there ; 
 And soft and low, as one who prayed, 
 
 Her whispered reverie stirred the air : 
 
 Love, the years are long, she said, 
 But all are bearing me to thee. 
 
 1 know not thro what shadow dread, 
 
 Or what soft light, the end shall be. 
 
 His gifts without repentance are ; 
 
 And thou art mine for evermore. 
 Nor lost, nor faded oh, my star ! 
 
 Thou shinest on a deathless shore. 
 
 Oh, years that come ! Oh, years that pass ! 
 
 I would not watch them idly glide. 
 Nay, may they mirror, as a glass, 
 
 Some duty done, some help supplied. 
 
 My dearest ! never hands of mine 
 
 May minister to thee, below ; 
 But may they still, in thought of thine, 
 
 On others, service sweet bestow. 
 
 So, every day thy presence keep 
 Beside me, in each thronging care ; 
 
 And every night, thro peaceful sleep, 
 Some vision of thee bless me there. 
 
76 "SEEING, 
 
 False, false the voice ! tho silver clear 
 Its rythmic music flow and swell, 
 
 That tells us Love may only here, 
 On this sad earth, find room to dwell. 
 
 Again she raised the sweetest eyes 
 That ever shone in woman s face : 
 
 Oh no ! believe it not, she cries ; 
 Love hath not limit, time nor space. 
 
 Then sudden, o er her spirit swept 
 An answering hope, and faith and prayer. 
 
 A solemn, tender silence kept, 
 A moment, all the listening air ; 
 
 And he was gone. She knew not whence 
 That sweet, mysterious blessing fell ; 
 
 But in her heart abode a sense 
 Of peace and joy ineffable. 
 
BUT A DREAM. 
 
 " It was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear delight." 
 
 COME, back to me, beloved ! 
 Come, in the silent watches of the night, 
 When daylight s ceaseless cares that round me 
 
 roved, 
 Betake themselves to flight. 
 
 Come, when the heart so tried, 
 
 Weary of sorrow, yields itself to rest; 
 
 Oh, come and in thy beauty glorified, 
 Make the sad slumber blest. 
 
 Ah, once when slumber weighed 
 
 My heavy eyelids down, such bliss was mine ! 
 Day s long unrest was ended sheltering shade 
 
 Brought joy and hope divine. 
 
 Methought that I was sad, 
 
 And weak and weary; o er an arid plain 
 With faltering step I toiled, yet purpose had 
 
 A distant goal to gain. 
 
 77 
 
78 BUT A DREAM. 
 
 Dark grew the threat ning sky; 
 
 Hoarse thunder muttered; on my lonely path 
 The tempest lowered, nigher and more nigh, 
 
 And whelmed me in its wrath. 
 
 Faith failed, and courage died; 
 
 When, in the pauses of the storm, I heard 
 A voice of music unto me it cried, 
 
 And all my being stirred ! 
 
 So rare the utterance rang, 
 
 No human language could the sound repeat; 
 I heard, but could not fathom, what it sang 
 
 In rapture passing sweet. 
 
 While, far remote, I saw 
 
 A form of angel beauty angel grace ! 
 With joy unspeakable, with reverent awe, 
 
 I gazed upon that face. 
 
 Oh, with what peace it shone ! 
 
 What pure, unuttered, perfect bliss was there ! 
 My mortal vision dared not linger on 
 
 A loveliness so fair. 
 
 But ah, I knew it well ! 
 
 Earth stained, and weary, and despairing yet 
 Thy angel pity yearned with me to dwell, 
 
 Thy love could not forget. 
 
BUT A DREAM. 79 
 
 Once, once again, the strain 
 
 Of heavenly rapture swelled upon the air ! 
 It shook my heart with mingled joy and pain 
 
 It thrills forever there. 
 
 And all the distant height 
 
 Glowed in celestial radiance, crystal clear: 
 Had st thou not passed beyond the realm of night, 
 
 To morning s fairer sphere ! 
 
 O vision glad and brief! 
 
 Would I might hold thee as a prophecy, 
 When earthly toil is ended earthly grief, 
 
 And weariness, gone by. 
 
 O sweet and wonderous strain ! 
 
 Wilt thou not echo in a clearer air? 
 When all thy marvelous music rendered plain 
 
 I, too, the song may share. 
 

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