THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 iStstnii f urits 
 
 BV 
 
 ANNA LOUISA HILDEBRAND, 
 
 (A. L. H.) 
 
 3^<Prt-i 
 
 dubli:n" : 
 
 McGLASHAN & GILL, UP. SACKVILLE STKEET ; 
 
 LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO. ; 
 EDINBURGH : J. MENZIES & CO. 
 
 1872.
 
 DUBLIN : 
 PRINTED BY W. J. ALLEY AND CO., 
 
 Ryder's row, capel street.
 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 J?EIEND of », happy ,„uth. who. te..l«..„i,e 
 
 Was my best guerdou in the days gone by, 
 If that departed spuits for a while 
 
 May stoop to us, poor mortals 'ueath the sky, 
 I would now dedicate with tears to thee 
 These flow'rets gathered from fond memory. 
 
 Take them, oh fiiend, thou wert my teacher first 
 
 In poesy's divinest, noblest art. 
 It was thy sweet companionship which nurst 
 
 The infant germs within me, and my heart 
 Goes back in tender musing to the days 
 When that my new-born Muse first won thy praise.
 
 IV 1 HE DEDICATION. 
 
 Take tliem, they are tlie better part of me, 
 Tliey are the untrained breathings of my soul, 
 
 Aught in me fair or pure I give to thee. 
 As backward from life's cave the stone I roll, 
 
 The world may scoff at them and me, but I 
 
 Have that within which 'hove it lifts me high. 
 
 And when my name from its great roll departs, 
 And low beneath its dust my body lies, 
 
 If that my simple songs can touch some hearts. 
 And dim with thoughtful tears some gentle eyes, 
 
 Methinks 'twill gladden me to feel thy name 
 
 "Was interwoven close with my poor fame. 
 
 A. L. H.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 As with many hopes and fears a mother 
 commits her first-born to the great ocean of life, 
 so do I commit this A'olume of poems, tlie first- 
 born of my sonl and of my heart, to the sea of 
 pnblic opinion. I know that to a critical eye 
 many faults will be evident in the following 
 verses. My love for them, though great, is not 
 so blind as not to be fully alive to this ; but they 
 have been my earliest friends, the companions of 
 my thoughtful moments, the solace of lonely 
 houi'S, the comforters of dark days — therefore, I 
 hold them dear, and, therefore, I strive to Avin 
 for them a place, however humble, however 
 retired, in the grand edifice which the heads and
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 hearts of noble-minded men and thoughtful, 
 tender women have erected m our midst. The 
 literature of a country is its noblest monument ; 
 and to be permitted to add even a pebble to the 
 pile is an honour I, humble though I be, aspire 
 to. If failure in this hope is to be my doom, let 
 the critic pause ere he condemn me to the torturi^ 
 of his lash, for to quote the words of the author 
 of " Endymion" — " There is no fiercer punish- 
 ment than the failure of a great object." 
 
 A. L. H. 
 
 Tiirlough, Castlebar, 
 Co. Mayo.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pnge. 
 A Connemara Giii ... 97 
 A Child's Questions . . .110 
 A Defence of Woman . . 27 
 A Happy Home .... 42 
 A Greeting and Farewell . 50 
 A Good Woman . . . .121 
 A Friendly Greeting- . . .190 
 A Legend of the Middle Ages 45 
 A Eemembrance . . . .102 
 A Retrospect — Sold . . .170 
 A Slanderer Rebuked . . 81 
 A Woman of Fashion . .100 
 All Things Must Die . . 20 
 Allan and Bessie .... 32 
 AU for Love, or, the World 
 
 Well Lost 92 
 
 An Old Song 75 
 
 An Invocation . . . .105 
 
 By the Fire 14 
 
 Betrayed 73 
 
 By the Hope Witliin Me 
 
 Springing 109 
 
 Broken Vows 155 
 
 Christmas Day, 18— . . 39 
 Church of St. Nicholas, Gal- 
 way 117 
 
 Cornelia 142 
 
 Consolation . - . . . .178 
 Chance Meetings . . . .188 
 
 Dean Kirwan's Last Charity 
 Sermon 186 
 
 
 Pa-o. 
 
 Echoes 
 
 . . 30 
 
 Emmet's Capture . . 
 
 . . 128 
 
 Erin, My Country 
 
 . . 136 
 
 Eleanore's Pictiu-e . . 
 
 . . 172 
 
 Edith's Sacrifice . . 
 
 . . 183 
 
 Frozen to Death .... 1-3 
 
 Free 82 
 
 Fairy Land 147 
 
 Fleeting 148 
 
 Home 13 
 
 Home From the Wars — " Dis- 
 
 figm-ed" 18 
 
 Historic Kisses . . . . 27 
 Home Sickness .... 66 
 
 In Memoriam 53 
 
 Incorruptible Treasure . . 62 
 
 Invocation to the Muse . . 94 
 
 Ida's Faith ...... 179 
 
 Kylemore Lake 
 
 86 
 
 Life's Lessons 70 
 
 Love versus Fame .... 149 
 
 Leonorc 159 
 
 My Alice 17 
 
 MyCoUeen 40 
 
 Maclise's Last Paintino" . . 52 
 
 Mabel's Lovers .... 77 
 
 My Star 153
 
 Yin 
 
 CONIENTS. 
 
 No Man Hath Hired Us 
 No Irish Need Apply 
 
 Our Blind Child . 
 Out of Danger 
 Our Little Pruicess 
 
 Peaceful Evenings 
 
 Remorse . . . . 
 Rosamond's Bower 
 
 Stella's Epitaph 
 Spring Flowers 
 Song .... 
 Spirit Music 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 Sucked Oranges 
 
 The Eagle and the Dove 
 The Maid and the Rose 
 The Sicilian Mother's L 
 
 for her Daughter 
 Time Brings Roses 
 The Hidden Wound . 
 The Lovers . . . 
 Tlie Huguenot Lovers 
 The Blind Man's Bride 
 The Haven of Rest 
 To One'^Beloved . . 
 The Forsaken . . . 
 
 Paw. 
 127 
 166 
 
 72 
 104 
 1.32 
 
 1.51 
 
 183 
 139 
 
 26 
 41 
 49 
 
 93 
 116 
 
 7 
 21 
 
 xnaent 
 
 22 
 24 
 25 
 29 
 31 
 44 
 51 
 57 
 58 
 
 Page. 
 The Letter-Box .... 60 
 The Burial of Napoleon in 
 
 Paris 64 
 
 True Fortitude .... 67 
 The Haunted Mind ... 68 
 The Waves' Replies ... 76 
 
 The Escape 83 
 
 Turning Over the Leaves . 87 
 To A. M. H. on her 17th 
 
 Bii-thday 90 
 
 To — on R — Weeping . 96 
 
 The Post Bag 107 
 
 The Turlough River. . .112 
 The Muse's Defence on Hear- 
 ing Her Contemned . .122 
 The Devil's Holiday . . 125 
 
 The Old Story 131 
 
 The Way of the World . .134 
 
 To a Sea Bird 143 
 
 Through Evil Report . . 146 
 The Approach of Summer . 156 
 The Grave of BaKe . . .163 
 The Spectre Bridegroom . 173 
 The Ballad of Effie Biuion . 175 
 The Turning of the Tide . 187 
 
 Woman's Rights . . 
 
 . . 168 
 
 Union is Strength . . 
 
 . . 119 
 
 "VacVictis" . . . 
 
 . . 98
 
 "W^JJlem SuTO/' 
 
 ffliiiiiiiiiii! 
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE 
 
 eOME rest thee, beside this river, 
 And sing me that plaintive air, 
 While I watch thy starry eyes peeping 
 Thro' the clouds of thy silken hair. 
 
 And I will forget my sorrows, 
 And my spirit will glide along 
 
 As this stream thro' the fragant meadows, 
 On the wings of thy sweet old song. 
 
 And 'twill waft me back to the springtide. 
 
 That in visions I behold ; 
 'Twill turn dim eyes to sapphires, 
 
 And silver locks to gold. 
 
 'Twill banish the scars and furrows 
 
 From many an aching brow ; 
 'Twill call back the vanished faces 
 
 That are dust in the churchyard now.
 
 8 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 
 
 Yos, sing me the song of my cliiklliood, 
 That I loarueJ at my mother's knee, 
 
 In each pause of thy tender music 
 I will catch the deep voice of the sea. 
 
 i will hear its waves repeating 
 In tender and tuneful tone, 
 
 Tlie burden of that old hallad 
 
 Which around my heart has grown. 
 
 "Twas the tale of a lordly eagle 
 Who had wooed a forest dove, 
 
 To share his lofty eyrie 
 And yield her heart's deep love. 
 
 But she told him she was not worthy, 
 That no fitting mate was she 
 
 For him in his power and beauty ; 
 That her home was a greenwood tree. 
 
 ]^>ut he came in the early morning, 
 And he came in the twilight grey, 
 
 And at last to his rocky fortress 
 He bore the sweet dove away. 
 
 r>ut her soul was sick within her 
 For the bowers of her forest home, 
 
 And ever her eyes were turning 
 Away o'er the salt sea's foam. 
 
 And ever above the thunders 
 That shook her cloud-capt nest, 
 
 Slie heard the song of the woodlands 
 In tlieir rustling raiment drest. 
 
 '^o 
 
 Then day by day she faded, 
 And day by day she sighed 
 
 For the home of her snowy sisterhood, 
 W1]o in leafy coverts hide.
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 
 
 The voice of lier lordly lover, 
 
 Or the Ivingly love lie gave, 
 Could uot still her spirit's yearuiug — 
 
 But wherefore so pale and grave ? 
 
 Does it grieve thee to think, one evening 
 When the waves "neath the sun blushed red, 
 
 In the home where her lord had borne her 
 The forest dove lay dead ? 
 
 Ah, child, would'st thou know the meaning 
 
 Of this quaint old tale I tell ? 
 Nay, turn not thine eyes from me, Ethel, 
 
 Methinks thou knowest it well. 
 
 And he of the stately presence. 
 
 And he of the eagle eye. 
 Whom yester eve in the gloaming 
 
 I saw passing our dwelling by. 
 
 In whose veins the blood of mouarchs 
 
 With quickened tide doth flow, 
 Must not pluck our one sweet violet 
 
 To tAvine round his lordly brow. 
 
 ■\\hy does he covet the flow'ret. 
 
 That low by the wayside grows, 
 Wlien within his pleasaunce stately 
 
 Blooms many a queenly rose. 
 
 Bethink thee, child of tlie eyrie. 
 Of the eagle's woodland mate ; 
 Bethink thee of one who watches 
 E'en noAv, by the garden gate. 
 
 He has loved thee from thy childhood, 
 
 No belted knight is he ; 
 But the heart that beats in his bosom 
 
 Is true as heart may be.
 
 10 THE EAGLE AND THE DO^Tl. 
 
 Aucl better the woodman's cottage, 
 
 Better an lionest name, 
 Than the silken couch of a noble, 
 And a heritage of shame. 
 
 Now hie thee to thy chamber, 
 The wind blows cold and chill ; 
 
 Long since in his car of glory- 
 Sank the sun behind the hill. 
 
 And when to-night thou'rt saying 
 Thy prayers by thy quiet bed, 
 
 Bethink thee, child, of the eyrie 
 Where the forest dove lay dead. 
 
 'Twas night, but no moon was shining 
 
 In thro' the lattice pane, 
 When the maiden rose from her pillow, 
 
 While her tears fell fast as rain ; 
 
 And with footsteps light as the snowflake 
 That floats thro' the midnight air ; 
 
 Like a shadowy ghost from a churchyard, 
 She stole down the creaking stair. 
 
 And out into the darkness 
 With lapwing's haste she sped ; 
 
 Then paused as she reached the covert. 
 To list for her warrior's tread. 
 
 A moment, and crushing the fern leaves, 
 
 With eager steps he came, 
 And beijt on the shrinking maiden 
 
 His eyes of ardent flame.
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE. 11 
 
 And swept back the veiling tresses, 
 
 Her sweet young face to see ; 
 But e'er lie could clasp her to him 
 
 She sank down on her knee. 
 
 " My Lord, I have sinned deeply, 
 The eagle's no mate for the dove — 
 
 To-night they told me a story — 
 A story of hapless love. 
 
 ' ' They told me of shame and sorrow, 
 They told me of doom and death ; 
 
 Nay, seek not to raise me fondly, 
 Here will I breathe my last breath." 
 
 " Now by the Holy Virgin, 
 
 And by mine ancient name, 
 Methinks thou hast grown fickle — 
 
 As fickle as courtly dame. 
 
 "What ailetli thee, little Ethel, 
 
 That thou ravest thus to-night ? 
 S'death, girl, thou shak'st like an aspen, 
 
 And thy cheek is ashen white. 
 
 " Here on the heart that loves thee, 
 
 Mine own sweet flow'ret rest ; 
 May the foul fiend blast the babbler 
 
 That has tortured thy timid breast. 
 
 " Does not love make all men equal '? 
 
 And what is my wealth to me. 
 If 'neatli my castle's rooftree 
 
 No shelter is found for thee ? 
 
 " Now by mine ancient lineage. 
 
 And by my father's sword, 
 By the knightly faith of the warrior 
 
 Who never broke plighted word,
 
 12 THE EAGI.K AXJ) THE DOVE. 
 
 *' This liaud that thmc is daspiucr 
 
 In honour thine doth hold. 
 Aye, cling closer, little trembler, 
 
 Deem not I think thee bold." 
 
 May God in his mercy shield them. 
 
 These lovers fond and true ; 
 For e'en now thro' the wood's green tresses 
 A winged arrow flew. 
 
 And o'er his faithful bosom 
 Her pure blood spouted red — 
 
 In the arms of her lordly lover. 
 The forest Dove lay dead.
 
 HOME. 1'^ 
 
 HOME, 
 
 ^ 
 
 AN bumble room, but ricb to me. 
 As tbo' ^^-itb silken broidery 
 Its walls were bung ; 
 Not e'en tbe imlaces of kings 
 Have in tbem two more precious tilings 
 Tbeir gems among. 
 
 It liolds my all, tbis little place, 
 A gentle woman's winsome face 
 
 Witb feeling lit ; 
 Tbe index to tbe tender lieart 
 On wbicb, metbinks, tbe largest part 
 
 Has my name Anit. 
 
 And, if you look, you well can see 
 Sometbing reposing on ber knee 
 
 Her cbild and mine. 
 Our one wee lamb, our pure pale pearl, 
 Our darling little baby girl, 
 
 "SVitb eyes divine. 
 
 Her motber's eyes, so dark, so deep. 
 So wond'rous, waking from ber sleep. 
 
 Sweet wife let me 
 Just kneel beside tbee for awbile, 
 And watcb ber bappy dimpling smile 
 
 Eegarding tbee. 
 
 Wbicb is tbe dearer ; sbe or tbou ? 
 All, love tbat I can never knoAV, 
 
 I only feel 
 Tbat tboii, sweet cbild, and tbou, sweet wife 
 Are botb far dearer tlian my life 
 
 As tbus I kneel.
 
 14 
 
 BY THE FIRK. 
 
 I BY THE FIBE. j 
 
 WITHOUT 'tis bleak and bitter cold 
 A wild and stormy night, 
 But sit tliee here my own sweetheart, 
 
 Here in the warm firelight — 
 The warm firelight, my own sweetheart, 
 The blessed warm firelight. 
 
 Hark ! how the snllen thunder peals. 
 
 How loudly booms the sea ! 
 But closer cling to me sweetheart 
 
 Still closer unto me. 
 Closer to me, my own sweetheart, 
 
 Still closer unto me. 
 
 How sweet to look in those dear eyes, 
 To know them answering mine : 
 
 To feel my burning soul, sweetheart, 
 Is echoed back by thine. 
 
 Is echoed back by thine, sweetheart, 
 Is echoed back by thine. 
 
 We have not much of worldly gear. 
 
 But better far than gold 
 Is true fond love, my own sweetheart. 
 
 That is not bought nor sold. 
 That is not bought nor sold, sweetheart 
 
 That is not bought nor sold. 
 
 In storm or calm we'll ever keep 
 
 Our guiding star in sight. 
 And to life's close may we, sweetheart. 
 
 Love as we love to-night. 
 Here in the warm firelight, sweetheart, 
 
 The blessed warm fireliglit.
 
 FROZEN TO DEATH. 
 
 15 
 
 I FBOZEN TO DEATH. \\ 
 
 rill Sir Leopold ircClintock's Artie Expedition tlie body of a young Spaniard was 
 found in tlie ice in a state of perfect preservation.] 
 
 HE lies not asleep 'neatli his sunny vines 
 Or his fragrant orange bowers, 
 The budding spring will ne'er deck his grave 
 
 No lovilng footsteps will ever break 
 
 That slumberer's repose ; 
 For he lies on the slwres of the frozen main 
 
 Where the icy north wind blows. 
 
 No cross erected by pious hands 
 
 A watch o'er his grave will keep, 
 No maiden will come in the dewy eve 
 
 Beside his couch to weep. 
 
 For him was no mournful death wail sung, 
 
 No funeral masses said, 
 In the loving breast of our mother earth 
 
 His form will ne'er be laid. 
 
 For he sleeps, he sleeps, and nor prayers nor tears 
 
 Can break his profound repose ; 
 He lies on the shores of the frozen main, 
 
 Where the icy north wind blows. 
 
 A robe of snow was his winding sheet. 
 
 His winding sheet and grave. 
 His masses were sung by the whisp'ring sea, 
 
 In many a far off cave.
 
 16 FROZKN TO DEATH. 
 
 The lovely stars of a polar niglit 
 
 Were the tapers rouucl his bed ; 
 He slept his last sleep with a pillow of ice 
 
 Beneath his weary head. 
 
 The cold north winds sang his lullaby, 
 
 As round his couch they crept, 
 And the moou was the only mourner there 
 
 To watch him as he slept. 
 
 He had laid him down in the soft soft snow. 
 
 And in thought he was at home. 
 He had 'scaped from his di'eary solitude, 
 
 He had crossed the ocean's foam ; 
 
 He stood "ncath the vine clad hills of Spain, 
 
 He saw his cottage door, 
 Then softly softly he sanlv to sleep 
 
 To aAvakcn nevermore. 
 
 Oh ! mother, mother, that keepest watch, 
 
 Btill waiting from day to day, 
 Go not at morn to the Holy Well, 
 
 To our Ladj'^'s grace to pray. 
 
 Oh, maiden fix not thy longing eyes 
 
 For ever on the sea. 
 He Cometh not back, he cometh not back, 
 
 He Avill never come back to thee. 
 
 For he sleeps, he sleeps, and nor prayers nor tear.-; 
 
 Can break his profound repose, 
 He lies on the shores of the frozen main. 
 
 Where the icy north wind blows.
 
 MY ALICK. 
 
 17 
 
 MY ALICE, 
 
 MY sister, my soul's love, my darliug, my o^Yll, 
 I am parted from thee and my heart feels alone, 
 I yearn, but in vain, for thy sweet winsome face. 
 And I long for the touch of thy tender embrace. 
 
 My Alice ! 
 
 I can see thee before me, thy dark braided hair, 
 That droops like a cloud o'er thy forehead so fair. 
 And thy lovelighted eyes, that like stars shining out. 
 Fling a shower of glory and radiance about. 
 
 My Alice ! 
 
 Yet it is not thy beauty, my darling, I prize, 
 Kot thy rose tinted mouth nor thy silken fringed eyes, 
 'Tis the soul and the heart that so truly can speak. 
 In thy eloquent glance and thy swift changing clieek. 
 
 My Alice 1 
 
 'Tis the feeling, the rapture, that of thy warm heart, 
 With its pulses all fire, my life has a part. 
 That whatever my sins or my shortcomings be. 
 I am sure of fond pity and pardon from thee. 
 
 My Alice ! 
 
 Oh ! girl of my blessing and girl of my prayers, 
 In this cold world of sorrow and sighing and tears, 
 In this wilderness path that thy dear feet must tread. 
 Mav the rainbow of promise hang over thy head, 
 
 My Alice ! 
 
 My love is but weakness, but better than mine 
 Is the love that God gives thee, that ever is thine. 
 Bethink thee my dear one, whatever the gloom. 
 Wc loolv for a l)ctter and happier home. 
 
 i\Iy ^lice [
 
 18 HOME FROM THE WARS- 
 
 Now farewell my own love, keep ever my place, 
 I hold thee to-day in my spirit's embrace ; 
 And thou, ne'er forget me when years have gone by, 
 And time steals life's music to leave but its sigh. 
 
 My Alice ! 
 
 Yes, love of my heart, when thou art grown old. 
 And this poor form of mine in the churchyard is cold, 
 And this voice that's now speaking is silent aijd still. 
 May a mem'ry of me give thy bosom a thrill. 
 
 My Alice 
 
 -00- 
 
 HOME FBOM THE WARS— ''DISFIGUEED." | 
 
 QTUMMEE in the sunshine, 
 J^ Smnmer in the air, 
 Summer in my bosom, 
 
 Summer everywhere, 
 Why ? because she loves me, 
 
 She will not despise 
 All these scars and seamings, 
 
 Dearer in her eyes. 
 
 Shrunk I from the meeting, 
 
 Feared to seek her door. 
 Lest one glance should tell me 
 
 Everything was o'er. 
 But my darling clasped me 
 
 Closer to her breast. 
 And on my scarred forehead 
 
 Tender lasses prest.
 
 HOME FROM THE WARS " DISFIGURED." 10 
 
 Said I was her hero. 
 
 Chid me for my fears, 
 Stroked my empty coat-sleeve, 
 
 'Dewed it with her tears ; 
 Brought the softest pillows, 
 
 Made me lie quite still, 
 Said she was my captain, 
 
 I should do her will. 
 
 Said that since I left her, 
 
 Light had left the day ; 
 'Tis a way with women, 
 
 Such a winning way. 
 God for ever bless her, 
 
 God for ever spare 
 . Her who makes my summer, 
 
 Summer everywhere.
 
 -*' ALL THINGS MUST DIE. 
 
 I ALL THINGS MUST DIE. | 
 
 ALL tilings must die, so saitli the proverb olden, 
 Yet to the sad refrain I make reply, 
 Write thou the glorious truth, each word is golden, 
 Deep iu men's hearts, some things can never die. 
 
 The whispered word of trust and fond affection, 
 The lofty musing iu the thoughtful hour. 
 
 The glance that was the upright soul's reflection, 
 The song that nerved our failing hands to power ; 
 
 The record of some vicfry o'er temptation, 
 The generous impulse and the purpose high, 
 
 Tlie noble deed, the spirits glad elation — 
 These things can never fade, can never die. 
 
 Dust must return to dust, the grave must cover 
 What most we value from om* yearning eye. 
 
 Low lies the child, the father, husband, lover, 
 All that is mortal must decay and die. 
 
 But fadeless and undying, the glad spirit 
 riings oft' the fetters that upon it weighed, 
 
 And in that world which patient souls inherit. 
 Nothing shall ever die, or change, or fade. 
 
 c?5to^
 
 THE MAID AND THE ROSE. 
 
 21 
 
 j THE MAID AND | 
 
 I THE ROSE. 
 
 HOW cliill iiiid cold, 
 AVicTely unrolled, 
 Cloud banners float atlnvart tlie sky, 
 And on her bed 
 The rose lies dead. 
 Who poured her soul out in a sigh. 
 
 Oft in these bowers, 
 
 In byegone hours, 
 She to the breezes sweets has poured, 
 
 But now their breath 
 
 Chills her to death. 
 And slays the beauty they adored. 
 
 E'en so the maid 
 
 Whose hopes are laid 
 I'pou the shrine of traitor's faith; 
 
 His love once past 
 
 Droops i' the blast 
 And withers, like the rose, to death. 

 
 22 THE SICILIAN MOTHEr's LAMENT 
 
 f THE SICILIAN MOTHER'S 
 
 ■Uiiiitailirrlrnn'r. T J i li.,... 
 
 liTi 
 
 I LAMENT FOR | | HER DAUGHTER 
 
 :i» 
 
 FROM THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 HERE she lies my little claugliter, 
 Maiden fair of fifteen years ; 
 Christ unto himself has caught her, 
 
 But all fastly flow my tears. 
 When I see her thus before me, 
 A chill agony comes o'er me. 
 
 With her tresses all uubraicled. 
 
 In her richest robes arrayed, 
 Save that her rose cheek has faded, 
 
 None could dream death's hand had laid 
 His dread signet on her brow, — 
 Ah, my girl, where art thou now ? 
 
 Born wert thou for bowers celestial. 
 Thou our queenly radiant rose ! 
 
 Thou wouldst droop 'neath skies terrestrial 
 Where the wintry tempest blows. 
 
 Stolen awhile from Paradise, 
 
 Now thou seek'st thy native skies. 
 
 As the moon the stars outshineth 
 Thou all others didst outshine. 
 
 Many a heart in sorrow pineth, 
 Grief is not alone in mine. 
 
 I have seen full many an eye 
 
 Brighten as thy form drew nigh.
 
 THE SICILIAN MOTHEE's LAJIENT. 23 
 
 In the holy chapel kneeling 
 
 I have watched their hearts grow faint 
 While the fading sunlight stealing 
 
 Down o'er sculptured nun and saint, 
 Filling all the sacred place, 
 Flung a glory on thy face. 
 
 I have seen the red blood flushing 
 To thy modest downcast brow, 
 
 All the pure stream swiftly rushing, 
 Crimsoned the fair fi'ont of snow, 
 
 As their glances met thine eye, 
 
 As thine ears caught each fond sigh. 
 
 Who will now console or cheer me ? 
 
 Thou my only hope art gone, 
 When I call who now will hear me, 
 
 I must ever be alone. 
 Why did God desire thee so ? 
 Why, my daughter, didst thou go ? 
 
 If I could but die and meet thee, 
 
 Be wherever now thou art, 
 Hear thy sweet voice once more greet me. 
 
 Clasp thee to my aching heart. 
 If I could but find the shore 
 Where I ne'er should lose thee more. 
 
 Child I know thou art in Heaven, 
 Kneel thee ever at God's feet, 
 
 'Till thou hear'st the summons given 
 And the swift- winged angels fleet 
 
 Bear me to a perfect rest 
 
 In the mansions of the blest.
 
 24 TIME BRINGS ROSES. 
 
 I TIME BRINGS BOSES 
 
 OLD PROVERB. 
 
 DAEKNESS changeth into light, 
 Trials turn to treasure, 
 Heaviness endures a night, 
 Dawn brings pleasure. 
 
 Flowers bud from rotting leaves, 
 
 Joys cliase sorrow, 
 He, to-day, who groans and grieves 
 
 Smiles to-morrow. 
 
 Bitter is the proffered cup. 
 
 Wild the wailing, 
 But be brave and didnk it up 
 
 Heart ne'er failing. 
 
 Cowards only turn and fly, 
 Brave men strength discover ; 
 
 Sweet the smile that hides the sigh. 
 Anguish masking over. 
 
 ^o^ 
 
 Grasp your nettle, 'twill not sting. 
 Grasp it boldly, brother. 
 
 Be o'er circumstance a king, 
 Vain repining smother. 
 
 Darkness changes aye to light, 
 
 Trials turn to treasure. 
 Heaviness endures a night. 
 
 Dawn brings pleasure.
 
 THE HDDDEN WOUND. 25 
 
 iMIIIi IlillMT 
 
 I THE HIDDEN WOUND, j 
 
 YOU bid me dry the foolish tears 
 With which my cheeks are wet, 
 You tell me life has nobler aims 
 
 Thau useless vain regret, 
 I thauk the kindly Providence 
 That's done so much for me, 
 But there's a wound within my breast 
 No eye but God's can see. 
 
 I strive to do my household work 
 
 As it is right and meet, 
 I joy me in the children's talk 
 
 And in their kisses sweet ; 
 But when they're nestling in their beds 
 
 And silence dwells with me, 
 I feel the wound within my breast 
 
 No eye but God's can see. 
 
 I love to see the wakened earth 
 
 Blush 'neath the rising sun, 
 I love to hear the lark's loud song 
 
 That tells the day's begun ; 
 But when the twilight's misty veil 
 
 Falls soft o'er hill and lea, 
 I feel the wound within my breast 
 
 No eye but God's can see. 
 
 When all my daily tasks are done 
 
 I put my work away, 
 And kne'eling down beside my bed 
 
 I strive to think and pray ; 
 But in the strange weird world of sleep 
 
 Dead faces peer at me. 
 And oh the wound within my breast 
 
 No eye but God's can see. 
 
 4
 
 26 Stella's epitaph. 
 
 I STELLA'S EPITAPH. | 
 
 lilt 
 
 ' ONLY A woman's HAIR. 
 
 ONLY a woman's hair, 
 Only a heap of dust. 
 Only a life woe darkened, 
 Only a murdered trust. 
 
 Only a soul troth slighted, 
 
 Only a little token. 
 Only a mute memento 
 
 Of a heart by anguish broken. 
 
 Only a world of passion 
 Prest into one short hour, 
 
 Only a sweet bud blasted 
 Just as it set to flower. 
 
 Only a noon of rapture 
 Ending in nights of tears, 
 
 Only a wearing burden 
 Borne thro' weary years. 
 
 Only a sick, sick longing, 
 
 Only an aching care. 
 Only a hope deep nurtured 
 
 Under a deep despair. 
 
 Only a love undying 
 
 In a wild warm heart represt, 
 Only a dream departed, 
 
 Only a life's unrest.
 
 HISTORIC KISSES. 27 
 
 Only a ceasele^ craving 
 
 Ne'er to be satisfied, 
 Only a woman's passion 
 
 Mightier than woman's pride. 
 
 Oh what a mournful story, 
 
 Oh what a hurt laid bare, 
 Oh what a wail of sorrow, 
 
 " Only a woman's hah\" 
 
 -00- 
 
 II A DEFENCE OF WOMAN. } 
 
 TO ONE WHO SMD ALL WOMEN WERE MERCENARY. 
 
 YOUR satu'e is severe yet I can't blame you, 
 'Tis aimed at those who ventured to defame you, 
 Yet of high treason do you stand attainted, 
 Women are not so black as you have painted, 
 Tho' some to win a home and to escape 
 A life of toil — too often wed an ape. 
 Needs must when some one drives, and 
 
 Oh, Sir Poet, 
 We oft can't help ourselves and 
 
 Well you know it. 
 
 -00- 
 
 \ HISTORIC KISSES. | 
 
 ^Ji||i 
 
 THE kiss that, on the fair and sunny brow 
 Of Petrarch's Laura, once was humbly prest 
 By a most gallant monarch, kneeling low 
 Beside the footstool of his gentle guest.
 
 28 HISTORIC KISSES. • 
 
 The kiss Paolo gave a soft cheek's bloom 
 
 Upon that day in which they " read no more ' — 
 
 Oh fatal kiss that doomed their souls to roam 
 For countless ages on the Stygian Shore ! 
 
 The kiss of Gauffre Kudel, Prince of Blaye, 
 Who pined for love, and sailing o'er the sea 
 
 With dying haste, cast anchor in the hay 
 That laves the shores of sunny Tripoli. 
 
 And when they told the Ladye of his love 
 How that to death the noble prince was nigh, 
 
 She came, and pitying hung his couch above 
 To feel upon her lips his latest sigh. 
 
 And then that other, precious fatal kiss 
 That Kaimon's wife to her fond lover gave, 
 
 So full of anguish, rapture, sorrow, bliss — 
 That hurried both to an untimely grave. 
 
 There was the kiss of haughty Marguerite, 
 Of which the happy poet sung so oft. 
 
 When kneeling humbly at his mistress' feet 
 He felt its touch so exquisite — so soft. 
 
 The kiss that fair, ill-fated Mary gave 
 
 The sleeping boy, in presence of her court, 
 
 She saw not then dim shadows o'er her wave, 
 When she bestowed that kiss in playful sport. 
 
 Sweet is the kiss the faithful maiden gives 
 To her young lover, in the Peri's tale, 
 
 For ever in our hearts that fond kiss lives, 
 Mixed with the anguish of her bosom's wail. 
 
 "The last long kiss which she expires in giving," 
 When from his lips she stole the poisoned breath ; 
 
 For her no aching void, no bitter grieving, 
 " Lovely in life, united in their death."
 
 THE LOVERS. 29 
 
 Mournful the kisses of that hapless pair 
 
 Whose story yet can thrill us, while we read 
 
 How young they were, how faithful and how fair, 
 How helpless, friendless, in their direst need. 
 
 Full of poetic fancy, to our eyes, 
 
 Is the first kiss of her, the Night's fair queen ; 
 While on Mount Ida's tops Endymion lies, 
 
 And di'oops she o'er him clad in silver sheen. 
 
 -00- 
 
 II THE LOVEES \\ 
 
 CARESSED and caressing 
 She lies on his hreast, 
 His pride and his blessing 
 
 His dearest and best ; 
 Caressed and caressing 
 She pillows her face 
 On the arms fondly pressing 
 In tender embrace. 
 
 The paleness of feeling 
 
 Is over his brow. 
 His spirit is kneeling 
 
 In reverence now ; 
 Divine and yet h^^man 
 
 Half earth and half heaven 
 Seems blent in the woman 
 
 Who to him is given. 
 
 The world all unheeded, 
 Cheek prest unto cheek ; 
 
 No language is needed 
 Their rapture to speak ;
 
 30 ECHOES. 
 
 In tremulous breathing 
 The story is told, 
 
 In arms fondly wreathing 
 The page is unrolled. 
 
 The angels in heaven 
 Are smiling at this, 
 
 For in Eden was given 
 This exquisite bliss. 
 
 And beings immortal 
 Untainted by sin, 
 
 Keep watch by the portal 
 That shutteth love in. 
 
 ■00- 
 
 I ECHOES. I 
 (From an Arabic MS.) 
 
 THE days of my youth, oh ! where are they ? 
 I seek, but I may not find ; 
 They're past, like a dream of morn, away, 
 Or an echo on the wind. 
 
 The voices of youth, they, too are fled, 
 
 I seek them in many a hall. 
 But a dreary silence reigns instead. 
 
 None answer to my call. 
 
 The hopes of my youth, oh ! they have past, 
 Like the mist from the mountain's brow. 
 
 To the winds and waves they were long since cast. 
 But their memory is with me now.
 
 THE HUGUENOT LOVERS. 31 
 
 I stand iu the mausiou my fancy made, 
 
 No living faces there, 
 But many a pale and mournful shade 
 
 Is hovering in the air. 
 
 The love of my youth, I hear a voice, 
 And it shrieks to me " Lost, lost, lost," 
 
 Oh, dream of my life ! my heart's first choice, 
 Art thou but a sheeted ghost ? 
 
 -00- 
 
 II THE HUGUENOT LOVEES. | 
 
 GO ! go ! I will not pain thee more, 
 Go from my arms and die. 
 See I have wiped away my tears. 
 Thou shalt not hear one sigh. 
 
 '^o' 
 
 Go, for thine honour unto me 
 
 Is dearer than my life. 
 Away — while I am strong to bear 
 
 The anguish and the strife. 
 
 Oh, not for me, oh, not for me, 
 Shalt thou dishonoured live. 
 
 Would that for thine this life of mine 
 I to the sword could give. 
 
 But tho' my heart is strong for thee. 
 
 My woman's arm is weak. 
 Yet may I love thee to the last. 
 
 And words of comfort speak.
 
 32 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 
 
 I will pluck off this snowy scarf, 
 
 And cast it to the flame, 
 Better to fill a glorious grave, 
 
 Than live a life of shame. 
 
 Go forth, I will not keep thee back. 
 
 My bosom's only lord ! 
 See, I will buckle on thy spurs 
 
 And gird thy knightly sword. 
 
 Oh, may the God of Battles shield 
 
 Thy dear life in the fight, 
 Yet if thou diest I still shall know 
 
 'Twas to defend the right. 
 
 And tho' the stroke that drinks thy blood 
 
 My life will sever too, 
 Still, still, I would not have thee live 
 
 Unto thy faith untrue. 
 
 •00- 
 
 ALLAN AND BESSIE 
 
 A Story, founded on Fact. 
 
 TWILIGHT has fallen all silently 
 On the quiet village street. 
 No longer upon the pavement came 
 
 The pattering of busy feet. 
 And loud in the old clock tower 
 You could hear its great heart beat.
 
 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 3B 
 
 Silently, softly, and slowly 
 
 The mantle of niglit fell down, 
 Away to its nest each wild-wood bird 
 
 Had long since gladly flown, 
 And up from the spreading meadows 
 
 Came the scent of the hay new mown. 
 
 In the porch of the miller's cottage 
 
 Sat the miller's daughter fair. 
 The first faint beams of the moonlight 
 
 Cast a halo on her hau-, 
 Not a maiden in all the village 
 
 With sweet Bessie could compare. 
 
 Not alone 'mid the roses and jessamine 
 
 Was Bessie that summer night, 
 In the brown palm of Allan, the blacksmith. 
 
 Lay her hand so soft and white. 
 The moon as she sailed in her glory 
 
 Ne'er looked on a fairer sight. 
 
 ^o-' 
 
 Stalwart was he and handsome, 
 
 Of all the youths the pride. 
 His name and his praise were spoken 
 
 In all the country side ; 
 Long had he loved fair Bessie 
 
 And wooed her for his bride. 
 
 All day he had worked at his anvil, 
 
 And he thought when that work was done, 
 
 Of how, from her father's fireside, 
 To meet him his love would run, 
 
 And he blessed God for the promise 
 That from her lips he'd won. 
 
 And now, as he watch'd the moonlight 
 
 Upon her fair brow gleam. 
 To him as the face of an angel 
 
 That young girl's face did seem ; 
 Oh happy lover and maiden. 
 
 Ye are dreaming the old old dream !
 
 34 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 Dream ou now, happy lovers, 
 This cahn, sweet night in June, 
 
 Dream on now, happy lovers, 
 The morn will come too soon ; 
 
 " Oh not too soon," they whisper, 
 "While faded fast the moon, 
 
 " To-morrow," and he kissed her 
 
 On upturned lip and brow, 
 " To-morrow," and he blessed her 
 
 With tender voice and low. 
 Oh, fool ! can any " Morrow" 
 
 Bring half such bliss as " Now ?" 
 
 "To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
 What joy to us 'twill bring ! 
 
 To-morrow — When the villagers 
 Our wedding bells shall ring." 
 
 He ceased — around her fondly 
 His eager arms to fling. 
 
 And now he goes — yet going 
 He hurries back once more 
 
 To where she still is standing, 
 Within the half- closed door ; 
 
 It is to whisper softly 
 
 " To-morrow" o'er and o'er. 
 
 But then at last she bids him, 
 With pretty passion, " Go," 
 
 And from her side he parteth 
 With halting step and slow. 
 
 While e'en the flowers round him 
 Looked up his joy to know.
 
 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 35 
 
 Blithe rose the morniug, and blithely 
 
 The miller's household rose, 
 One face new beauty borrowed 
 
 E'eu from its short repose,^ 
 And like a pearl was Bessie 
 
 In bet white wedding clothes. 
 
 Now all her young companions 
 
 Came trouping in to see 
 The darling of the village, 
 
 And in her ti'ain to be ; 
 Oh, blest is he who claimeth 
 
 A bride so fair as she ! 
 
 They gathered round to greet her. 
 They touched her hand and smiled, 
 
 The miller's eyes were misty — 
 She was his only child — 
 
 While near her, ever watchful. 
 Sat her dear mother mild. 
 
 "God bless you, girl, God bless you," 
 
 The good old miller said. 
 And stroked with tender fondness, 
 
 His darling's golden head. 
 " God bless you and the partner 
 
 Whom you to-day will wed." 
 
 " 'Tis time that we were going 
 
 The Bridegroom's gone, I trow — 
 Who calls me ? for a tumult 
 
 Seems 'mong the people now. 
 And as in fright or anger. 
 
 They're moving to and fro." 
 
 Forth strode the miller swiftly. 
 
 And pushed the crowd aside, 
 " Tell me," he said, " nor strive ye 
 
 Some cruel truth to hide 
 Is the Lord's hand npon us ? 
 
 Has our young Allan died ? "
 
 36 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 
 
 Not SO, but they have sought for, 
 And none knew aught of him ; 
 
 Then fiercely swore the miller. 
 And shook in every limb ; 
 
 But by his side was Bessie, 
 Her eyes with terror dim. 
 
 " What is it, oh, what is it ? 
 
 Oh, father is he dead ?" 
 " Better he were, my daughter. 
 
 They say that he has fled ;" 
 Then like a flower broken. 
 
 Low drooped poor Bessie's head. 
 
 And on her mother's bosom 
 She like a corpse sank down. 
 
 Her soft cheek blanching whiter 
 Than her white wedding gown. 
 
 " Not false, oh, no, my Allan, ' 
 She gasped out with a groan. 
 
 They bore her in and laid her 
 Within her curtained room, 
 
 And on the miller's cottage 
 Fell the silence of the tomb. 
 
 While every fireside whispered 
 The tale of grief and gloom. 
 
 Days passed, but still he came not. 
 Week followed after week. 
 
 And Bessie's eyes waxed dimmer. 
 And paler grew her cheek, 
 
 But no word of complaining 
 Her sad sweet voice did speak. 
 
 And when the miller's anger 
 Broke forth in curses low, 
 
 She pressed her hands together. 
 And writhed as 'neath a blow ; 
 
 " Oh, father, do not curse him. 
 Oh, God, it hurts me so."
 
 ALLAN AND BESSIE. 
 
 Thus the dark years di-agged onward 
 
 Their dreary, doleful way, 
 Till in their graves together 
 
 The good old couple lay, 
 And Bessie's golden tresses 
 
 Had long since changed to gray. 
 
 Her brothers and her sisters 
 Had wedded each a mate, 
 
 But still for one who came not 
 She ever seemed to wait, 
 
 Still gazed she from the window, 
 Still paused she at the gate. 
 
 One morn the neighbours told her, 
 
 How miners digging deep 
 Had found a cold corpse lying 
 
 Unharmed in its last sleep. 
 So forth she went, and softly 
 
 To the pit's mouth did creep. 
 
 And there, as when she saw him, 
 
 Full thirty years before, 
 There as when last she kissed him. 
 
 Beside her father's door, 
 Lay dead her own true lover, 
 
 Come back to her once more. 
 
 With a wild strength she struggled 
 In through the surging crowd, 
 
 And then above the noises 
 Her full heai-t shrieked aloud, 
 
 " Not false, my love, my darling," 
 And o'er the corpse she bowed. 
 
 All knew her tale, and awestruck 
 The people backward stept, 
 
 The women smote their bosoms. 
 Stern men in silence wept, 
 
 While quietly beside him 
 She lay as tho' she slept. 
 
 37
 
 38 CHEISTMAS DAY, 18 . 
 
 Yes, quietly beside liim, 
 lu the last sleep she lay, 
 
 Never again to waken 
 
 Till Christ's great Judgment Day ; 
 
 Parted in life, death mingles 
 Within one grave their clay. 
 
 ■00- 
 
 I CHEISTMAS DAY, 18—. | 
 
 AND this is Christmas time, but v^here the faces 
 That made our Christmas in the days gone by ? 
 We look around the hearth on vacant places, 
 Till our faint smiling fades into a sigh. 
 
 Many a bright eye bids welcome to this morning, 
 Many a young voice is carolling aloud. 
 
 All thoughs of care with gladsome laughter scorning, 
 For such are there no tears, no dark rain-cloud. 
 
 And silently and softly tears are falling. 
 
 But tears may not the lost, the loved restore. 
 
 Vainly such hearts are for their dear ones calling, 
 One sad voice breaks the silence, " Nevermore." 
 
 Oh, nevermore — it is the solemn chorus. 
 
 It is the sad refrain to earthly chimes, 
 Oh, never more — a mournful pall hangs o'er us. 
 
 While memory brings us back past Christmas times. 
 
 Where are the warm hand-claspings we remember ? 
 
 Where is the welcoming look, the whispered tone ? 
 How dull and dreary is this dark December ! 
 
 While over lonely graves the wild winds moan.
 
 CHEISTMAS DAY, 18 • 39 
 
 Where are the golden simsets, where the glory 
 
 That wrapt us in a halo sea and sky ? 
 Oh, sad and strange is life's mysterious story, 
 
 And vain the yearning for the long gone by. 
 
 Where are the dreamings fond we used to cherish ? 
 
 Where are the flowers we gathered long ago '?_ 
 We watched our dearest dream joy fade and perish. 
 
 We laid our best loved treasure 'neath the snow. 
 
 God's mighty hand our air-built castle shattered, 
 God's mighty voice dispelled our waking dreams, 
 
 Lo ! on the earth hope's brightest buds are scattered, 
 Yet see a streak of light from Heaven gleams. 
 
 I hear a voice — " Be hushed your bitter crying, 
 I come to pour my peace in your sad breast ; 
 
 Mourn not your lonely home, your loved ones dying. 
 Bethink you they are safe, they are at rest. 
 
 " Poor blinded mortal, would you keep them ever 
 Still bearing the sad burden of life's care '? 
 
 Will you not meet again no more to sever ? 
 Sad child of sorrow, I your grief can share. 
 
 " My love is everlasting — tho' I chasten 
 
 I would not have you shed one needless tear, 
 
 Home to myself I would your footsteps hasten. 
 And those you loved so well to me are dear." 
 
 5
 
 40 MY COLLEEN. 
 
 i MY COLLEEN. § 
 
 'TANDING with her pitcher, 
 See my Colleen fair ! 
 Sunny drops like diamonds 
 
 Glistening on lier hair ; 
 Underneath their lashes 
 
 Brighter gleam her eyes, 
 There are shifting glories 
 Blue as summer skies. 
 
 Is there any lady, 
 
 Of whate'er degree, 
 Crown'd Queen or Empress, 
 
 Half so fair as she ? 
 Let them count their jewels, 
 
 Gems, and gold and pearl. 
 None are half so lovely 
 
 As my Irish Girl. 
 
 Faii-er is her girdle, 
 
 Tho' 'tis hodden grey. 
 And her snowy 'kerchief 
 
 Than their gewgaws gay ; 
 Underneath that 'kerchief 
 
 Beats a heart of gold. 
 And a love unmeasured 
 
 Makes its worth untold. 
 
 Now she hears my footstep, 
 
 Ah, that happy start 
 Sends the blood in torrents 
 
 Up from her warm heart. 
 Has there not a brightness 
 
 Fallen upon the place ? 
 Yes, the sunny smiling 
 
 Of her glowing face.
 
 SPEING FLOWERS. 
 
 41 
 
 Eosy mouth uplifted, 
 
 Would it be amiss — 
 How the sweet lips tremble — 
 
 Just to snatch one kiss ? 
 Sure she would not blame me 
 
 When her eyes smile so ? 
 Sweet ! those eyes forgive me 
 
 Tho' the lips say "No." 
 
 -00- 
 
 \ SPBING- 
 
 .■flflflllil 
 
 FLO WEBS. I 
 
 I . 
 
 IGATHEEED these flow'rets this morning. 
 While night's tears on their sweet faces lay, 
 The hedgerow and wild- wood adorning. 
 The heralds of sunshine and May. 
 
 I send them, nor fear tlioult despise them, 
 All their beauty I know thoxi wilt see, 
 
 As the children of Nature I prize them, 
 They are " footsteps of angels" to me. 
 
 They are " stars of our earth," and a token 
 Of a Hope ever- springing and new. 
 
 Of a Promise thro' ages unbroken, 
 Of a Love never-dying and true. 
 
 Like them in the winter we perish, 
 
 Like them close our world- wearied eyes, 
 
 But the beautiful hope we all cherish 
 
 That, like them, from the dust we'll arise. 
 
 6
 
 42 A HAPPY HOME. 
 
 A HAPPY HOME. 
 
 SHUT in by loving kindness, 
 By holy lulls fenced round, 
 Far from tlie world's rude clamour, 
 
 A liai^i^y home is found. 
 The dove of peace is brooding 
 
 That quiet nest above, 
 Where life's best chords make music, 
 Touched by the minstrel. Love. 
 
 There morn brings no sad waking, 
 
 Or midnight no di-ead dreams. 
 But thro' the opened lattice 
 
 The sun of promise gleams ; 
 There sleep, like dews descending, 
 
 But ope's a fairer world. 
 While o'er the peaceful dwelling 
 
 God's banner is unfurled. 
 
 There childi-en's merry laughter 
 
 Startles the stilly air, 
 There Faith and Love are kneeling 
 
 Beside their beds in prayer. 
 There tales of past endeavour 
 
 The twilight hours will while 
 And brave man find his guerdon 
 
 In loving woman's smile. 
 
 You've seen the forest monarch 
 By graceful vine clasp'd round. 
 
 And high amid his branches 
 
 The purple fruit you've found;
 
 A HAPPY HOME. 43 
 
 So roimcl liis manhood stately 
 
 lu beauty twineth she, 
 And God's own flowers are blooming 
 
 Upon the parent tree. 
 
 Oh ! proud must be the mother 
 
 Of her three bonny boys, 
 What wells of hope are in them, 
 
 What pure, untainted joys ; 
 But nestling in her bosom 
 
 The fairest flower is seen, 
 And baby is the darling. 
 
 And baby is the queen. 
 
 The one sweet little daughter 
 
 God to her yearning sent, 
 The golden rose of beauty, 
 
 From Heaven's garden lent. 
 Oh, lady fair and gentle. 
 
 True wife and mother good. 
 Thou wearest on thy forehead 
 
 The crown of womanhood. 
 
 Oh, clasp thine hands in gratitude, 
 
 And bend thy spirit's knee, 
 To Him who in the cup of life. 
 
 Poured so much sweet for thee ; 
 And when thou steal'st at midnight 
 
 To bless thy treasures rare. 
 Thank God, who led thee to this fount, 
 
 To quench thy soul's thirst there. 
 
 These are thy jewels — guard them well, 
 
 Nor let their lustre fade. 
 But e'en yet lovelier may they grow 
 
 What God so lovely made. 
 As He in mercy did by thee 
 
 E'en so do thou by them. 
 Then polished by thy careful hand, 
 
 Brighter shall gleam each gem.
 
 44 
 
 Tlie bills of God stand round thee, 
 
 The hope of heaven is thine, 
 Christ's hand has changed the water 
 
 Of this sad life to wine. 
 He fills the golden chalice 
 
 With blessings to the brim, 
 Oh, while we taste His mercy 
 
 May we remember Him. 
 
 ■00- 
 
 I "THE BLIND MAN'S BEIDE." i| 
 
 THE Blind Man's Bride, and dost thou think for me 
 That there is aught of sadness in the word ? 
 Oh, that thou were not blind, that thou could'st see 
 The deep deex? joy that in my soul is stirred. 
 
 With me thou wilt forget that thou art blind, 
 For I will walk for ever at thy side. 
 And with the glorious vision of the mind, 
 Thoii'lt see how blest am I, the Blind Man's Bride. 
 
 I will be eyes to thee, and I will teach 
 To thee the wondrous language of the earth. 
 For these the whispering waves will have a speech, 
 And thou wilt joy thee in the storm's fierce mirth. 
 
 For thee I never never shall grow old, 
 Others may see a dimness in my eye, 
 And silver where thou'lt see but threads of gold, 
 As thou last saw them on thy bosom lie. 
 
 I, too, will be thy guardian — at that thought 
 How my weak woman's heart swells high with pride ; 
 Oh, may I love and guard thee as I ought, 
 And may'st thou live to bless the Blind Man's Bride.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 45 
 
 And thou sbalt see me iu tlie world above, 
 Where nought of sorrow or of gloom may be, 
 There shall I love thee vnth a holier love, 
 Then what now darkest seems v;e both shall see. 
 
 -00- 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE 
 
 ft MIDDLE i f AGES. | 
 
 IT was a holy morn, and calm, and wi'apt in vapours 
 gray. 
 All cradled round by circling hills a peaceful valley lay, 
 And from the sombre forest's shade the gazer's eye might 
 
 see 
 The curling smoke in columns rise from an ancient 
 
 priory. 
 No sound of life the silence broke, but on the stilly air 
 Was heard the tuneful matin chime calling the monks to 
 
 prayer. 
 And now within the ancient pile the pious brethren 
 
 prayed, 
 And fervent orisons to God in reverence they made. 
 Down thro' the oriel window pane the morning sunlight 
 
 poured 
 A flood of light on sculptured tombs, where decked with 
 
 helm and sword 
 Full many a warrior's marble form in stately slumber 
 
 lay, 
 While far below his crumbling dust awaits the judgment 
 
 day. 
 It fell on many a lovely face of martyr and of saint, 
 On many a tall and sculptured arch and many a carving 
 
 quaint ; 
 But with a tenderer lustre, methought the sunbeams shed 
 A halo round the silver locks of the prior's hoary head.
 
 46 A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 A brooding calm, a witching spell, fell o'er the sacred place, 
 And a light that was not of this earth beamed from his 
 
 earnest face, 
 As lovingly he told the tale of Him, that perfect One, 
 Who by His death a crown of life for all His followers 
 
 won. 
 Before him, clad in garments white, two fau'-haired 
 
 children knelt, 
 Gazing on them the sternest heart with tenderness might 
 
 melt 
 So fair they were, so beautiful, so free from mortal stain, 
 They seemed not creatures of this world of sin and shame 
 
 and pain ; 
 Clad in their shining, spotless robes, their sunny tresses fell 
 O'er cheeks that wore the roseate hue of ocean's tinted 
 
 shell, 
 Their meek hands folded on their breasts, then* soft eyes 
 
 turned to heaven, 
 They looked like angels who awhile unto this earth were 
 
 given ; 
 They had been orphans from their birth, a soldier was 
 
 their sire. 
 Who, torn from his twelvemonth's bride to glut a tyrant's 
 
 ire. 
 Fell on a distant battle-field, while she, the widowed one, 
 Just lived to bless her new-born babes, nor saw another 
 
 sun. 
 The orphans are the care of God, and now his servant 
 
 came 
 To lead them early in the way that honoureth His name, 
 And every morn these infants went, like Samuel of old. 
 To minister unto the priest as he God's page unrolled. 
 Soon as the sacred rites were done the holy prayers 
 
 prayed. 
 In blessing on their golden heads his hand the prior laid. 
 Then bade them seek the little nook where every morning 
 
 they 
 Sat down to eat the frugal meal which waited them 
 
 always.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 47 
 
 Once as they sat and broke their bread in peaceful quiet 
 
 there, 
 Unseen by them approached a child of presence -wondrous 
 
 fair, 
 Heard they no sound of opening door, no tread of busy 
 
 feet. 
 But, lo ! between them at the board sat down the stranger 
 
 sweet. 
 His was no face of mortal mould, it was too pure and 
 
 bright. 
 And in his eyes a glory dwelt — a radiant, heavenly light — 
 As tenderly he talked to them, and tasted of their bread, 
 Then silently, e'en as he came, away he vanished. 
 Soon to the holy man they haste, and tell their wondrous 
 
 tale, 
 His withered cheek flushed crimson deep, then faded ashy 
 
 pale, 
 " Oh, children ! blessed are ye now, it was the Holy Child, 
 The meek, the spotless Lamb of God, the Saviour 
 
 undefiled ; 
 It was the Babe of Bethlehem who deigned your feast to 
 
 bless, 
 When next He comes His sacred feet with kisses fond 
 
 caress. 
 And say, e'en as you sink to earth on humble rev'rent 
 
 knee. 
 Grant, Lord, as thou hast shared our bread, that we may 
 
 sup with thee." 
 The children sought their simple toil, and whiled the noon 
 
 away 
 In healthful labour and in bursts of happy boyish play, 
 But ever thro' the hours they longed for morning's light 
 
 once more, 
 That they might see the wondrous face that bent their 
 
 table o'er. 
 It came, at the appointed hour the gentle form drew nigh. 
 Then low they sank into the earth, with rev'rent lip and eye, 
 And cried, " Lord, as thou hast shared our bread and 
 
 let us see
 
 48 A LEGEND OP THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 Thy lioly face, grant that in Heaven "we yet may sup with 
 
 thee." 
 He smiled, and blessed them silently, then s^iake — " Oh, 
 
 infant's twain 
 " A little while, and this, your x^rayer, shall not he prayed 
 
 in vain, 
 " Not many suns shall o'er this earth in golden splendour 
 
 rise, 
 " Till you, who loved me here on earth, shall feast in 
 
 Paradise." 
 He ceased, then risiag in the air on wings of amber light, 
 'Mid sweet-voiced angels' harmonies, he vanished from 
 
 their sight. 
 And now another day has dawned, and, kneeling at the 
 
 shrine, 
 Eehold the altar fitly spread with sacred bread and wine ; 
 Behold the father raise the cup — the bread all meekly 
 
 share, 
 Then bowed each head till he should breathe a blessing 
 
 and a prayer. 
 He knelt with awe-uplifted eyes, the children at his side, 
 The monks, with shrouded faces, thought on Him who for 
 
 them died, 
 And waited, with a reverent hush, the solemn words to 
 
 hear. 
 But lo ! all dumbly there he knelt, no blessing reached the 
 
 ear. 
 They rose, and to the altar steps, with hasty feet they 
 
 X^rest, 
 Lifeless was he, with withered hands crost calmly on his 
 
 breast ; 
 His spirit, summoned by his God, to Heaven had passed 
 
 away. 
 And death but beautified the face that now was changed 
 
 to clay. 
 They turned to rouse the little ones, who seemed as tlio' 
 
 they slept ; 
 Then broken was the awful spell, and loud the brethren 
 
 wejit —
 
 SONG. 49 
 
 For dead and cold, like liim tliey loved, lay the sweet 
 
 cliildi-en there. 
 The waiting angel had not stirred one ringlet of their hair ; 
 And as in mute amaze each sank down on adoring knee, 
 A voice was heard that shook the walls of the ancient 
 
 priory, 
 That cried — "Weep not for those who died, they sup in 
 
 Heaven with Me." 
 
 -00- 
 
 I SONG. I 
 
 OH, strike thine harp to other themes, 
 Sing not to me of love, 
 Athwart my soul strange glory gleams, 
 Thro' brighter worlds I rove. 
 
 I tremble to my heart's deep core. 
 
 My firmness I forget, 
 Away ! I can endure no more 
 
 This yearning, this regret. 
 
 Oh ! if thou sing'st of love to me, 
 Say 'twas unsought or crost ; 
 
 It must not blest or happy be, 
 For all of mine was lost. 
 
 Yet strike thy tender harp again. 
 
 And I will choose the song ; 
 Let every note be stored with pain, 
 
 With agony and wrong. 
 
 Sing of a bright life darkened o'er. 
 
 Sing of despair and woe ; 
 But sing of happy love no more, 
 
 There's none the Heavens below.
 
 50 A GEEETING AND FAEEWELL. 
 
 A GBEETING AND FABEWELL. | 
 
 eOME closer comrades to tlie hearth, 
 Let bumpers brimming be, 
 And we will drink the New Year's birth, 
 The Old Year's memory. 
 
 The cup is mixed both sad and sweet. 
 We drink with smiles and tears. 
 
 As by us Sixty-nine doth fleet, 
 To join the vanished years. 
 
 He goes with bowed and silvered head, 
 With footsteps faint and slow ; 
 
 Ah, blithe and gladsome was his tread 
 But twelve short months ago. 
 
 He came with light and laughing hours. 
 
 He goes with mingled tears. 
 Faded his coronal of flowers. 
 
 He joins the vanished years. 
 
 His work is done, but still remain, 
 
 Tasks neither light nor few, 
 For us, who laughed at sorrow's chain 
 
 When this old year was new. 
 
 We learned the lesson time will teach, 
 
 Howe'er we may rebel, 
 Striving in vain the clouds to reach, 
 
 Down to the earth we fell. 
 
 We laid some faces in the dust, 
 
 Beneath the coffin lid. 
 Their souls are safe with God, we trust, 
 
 Altho' their forms be hid.
 
 THE HAVEN OF REST. 51 
 
 And fair and bright the New Year stands, 
 
 With heart and hope elate, 
 His buds of promise in his hands, 
 
 Without the city gate. 
 
 The dew of youth is on his brow, 
 
 Its glory in his eyes ; 
 New Year we bid you welcome now 
 
 With smiles, and yet with sighs. 
 
 For oh ! the past was strangely sweet. 
 
 And who can chide our tears 
 As by us Sixty-nine doth fleet 
 
 To join the vanished years ? 
 
 -00- 
 
 I THE HAVEN OF BEST. | 
 
 " So he bringeth them to the haven where they would be." 
 
 I FEEL as tho', a child again, I sought my mother's 
 breast. 
 And I am glad, like Israel, because I am at rest ; 
 No more my bark is bufieted upon life's angry sea. 
 He has brought me to the haven where I fain would be. 
 
 The path was very thorny, the way seemed very long, 
 But now, from out a grateful heart, I raise a joyful song ; 
 A strange, sweet beauty wraps me round, my panting soul 
 
 is free. 
 For he brings me to the haven where I fain would be. 
 
 The draught was bitter at the dregs, 'twas bitter at the 
 
 brim. 
 Yet who shall dare to curse the cup that is poured out by 
 
 Him? 
 I cried out in my grief to God, ho has delivered me, 
 And brings me to the haven where I fain would be.
 
 52 maclise's last painting. 
 
 Now out upon the cruel hearts that triumphed in my woe, 
 I shook your dust from off my feet, and left you long ago ; 
 Your bitter taunts, like venomed darts, no more may fall 
 
 on me, 
 God brings me to the haven where I fain would be. 
 
 Oh, while I live His Holy Name I shall for ever bless, 
 He hearkened to my misery, he mocked not my distress, 
 His voice can chain the roaring winds, can calm the vexed 
 
 sea. 
 He brings me to the haven where I fain would be. 
 
 The haven is a loving heart within an honest breast, 
 'Tis there I find my happiness, 'tis there I find my rest ; 
 An isle of peace it rose for me out of life's troubled sea, 
 God bless for ever my dear home, for there I fain would be. 
 
 -00- 
 
 MACLISE'S LAST PAINTING. | 
 
 The Geraldine borne from the field by the followers of Omiond. 
 
 THE battle had been fierce and long. 
 On the red plain a mighty throng 
 Of dead and dying lay ; 
 And forth from that hard-conquered field 
 The victors bore upon his shield 
 A vanquished chief that day. 
 
 Speechless he lay, his dark locks wet 
 With muddy stain and gory sweat, 
 
 His stricken hand 
 Down by his side all powerless hung. 
 But yet his stiff'ning fingers clung 
 
 Fast to his brand.
 
 IN MEMORIUM. 53 
 
 But tbo' the blood bad fled bis cbeek, 
 His flasbing eyeballs still could speak, 
 
 His spirit bigb ; 
 He bore witb a grim, silent smile 
 His captors tauutings for a wliile, 
 
 Nor made reply. 
 
 But wben tbey cried, witb mocldug word, 
 " Wbere art thou now, tbou baugbty lord ; 
 
 Tben fierce be spake — 
 " Wbere ever was tbe Geraldine, 
 And every sou of bis great line — 
 
 On Butlers' necks." 
 
 -CO- 
 
 IN MEMOEIUM. '" 
 
 CHABLES DICKENS. 
 
 *E did not dream tbat tbou could'st die, 
 Wbo late among us moved. 
 We tbougbt tbat deatb must pass tbee by. 
 
 So mucb, so well beloved ; 
 But now, indeed, too well we know, 
 Tbat even tbee be bas laid low. 
 
 Ob ! friend to many a lonely beart, 
 
 Higb soul and glorious mind. 
 Too soon from us tbou did'st depart, 
 
 Leaving no peer bebind ; 
 To fill tby place wbom sball we call ? 
 Ah ! wbere did tby great mantle fall ? 
 
 Full many a tender tear we sbed 
 
 Wbile banging o'er tby words. 
 And ob, to tbink tbat tbou art dead, 
 
 Wbo toucbed our beart's best cbords ; 
 Pietreating from life's dusty road, 
 Tbou bast cast off its weary load.
 
 54 IN MEMOKIUM. 
 
 Yes, thou hast now beguu "that world 
 
 Which maketh up for this," 
 The shattered ship her sail has furled 
 
 Across death's dark abyss ; 
 The Orient gate of Heaveu lies 
 God knows how welcome to thine eyes. 
 
 For thou, tho' seated on a throne 
 
 High above other men. 
 Perhaps some bitter griefs hast known 
 
 Far, far beyond our ken; 
 Immortal and yet mortal too. 
 Only thy surface life we knew. 
 
 Bitter and sweet — 'tis ever so, 
 
 Yet, if thou could'st believe 
 With what a deep and heartfelt woe 
 
 We o'er thine ashes grieve, 
 Methinks thy spirit eyes ^vould smile, 
 And thy freed soul be glad the while. 
 
 We lay thee down — a nation's tear 
 Thine honoured grave bedews. 
 
 Nor shall men's hearts for many a year 
 Their tribute grief refuse ; 
 
 Back to thy God thy life we give. 
 
 And dying know thou still shalt live.
 
 SPIRIT MUSIC. 55 
 
 .^31 
 
 I SPIBIT MUSIC. I 
 
 HERE I'm sitting, ever di-inking 
 Long, deep drafts from fancy's bowl, 
 And of thee my heart is thinking. 
 While strange music floods my soul. 
 
 Sweei^ing softly, low and faintly 
 Comes this music in the night. 
 
 And a solemn rapture saintly 
 Thrills me with a pure delight. 
 
 'Tis as tho', on white clouds seated, 
 Sang some seraph in the air, 
 
 And the cadence is repeated, 
 Eound me, 'bove me, everywhere. 
 
 Down through fields of light it stealeth. 
 
 Fields of azure and of gold. 
 Till my eager spu-it kneeleth, 
 
 As it were, in Heaven's fold. 
 
 And I close my eyes in slumber. 
 While the angels bear my head. 
 
 Angels beauteous without number 
 Bending softly o'er my bed. 
 
 When the golden arrows hovering 
 Thro' the eastern window, dart 
 
 Thro' its fleshy mortal covering 
 Eight into my waking heart. 
 
 While each opening flower's distilling 
 
 Perfumes fragrant to the sky. 
 And the song of birds is filling 
 
 All my ear as calm I lie.
 
 56 
 
 SPIRIT MUSIC. 
 
 Then above the tlionsand voices 
 With which Nature offers praise, 
 
 Still my inmost soul rejoices 
 In her own fantastic lays. 
 
 And an unseen minstrel, sweeping 
 Golden strings, such music makes, 
 
 That a rain of happy weeping 
 From my dreamy eyelid breaks. 
 
 When at noon I'm toiling onward 
 'Neath the load all flesh must bear. 
 
 Still my soul is soaring sunward 
 To the music murmuring there. 
 
 O'er the clamour and the beating 
 
 On life's road of busy feet. 
 Still my soul thy soul is meetins 
 
 In a converse low and sweet. 
 
 ig 
 
 O'er the sadness and the pleasure. 
 O'er the laughter and the sighs, 
 
 Ever breathes that tuneful measure 
 Floating downward from the skies. 
 
 Love, thou art the minstrel making 
 Sounds harmonious in my soul, 
 
 Of life's harp each chord awaking 
 Drawing music from the whole.
 
 TO ONE BELOVED. 57 
 
 TO ONE BELOVED. | 
 
 OH, poet soul ! tlio' slirined iu house of clay, 
 tVliy sliould'st tliou weep aud chide thy prison state ? 
 Thine is the glory of undying day ; 
 Around thee white-winged seraphs ever wait, 
 To wander at thy bidding thro' the air ; 
 Methinks their breath iiings perfume everywhere. 
 
 Thou boldest converse with them, thou can'st hear 
 Their plaintive voices murmuring lovely things 
 
 Of beauty and of poesy, and in thine ear 
 It is the songs of Heaven each minstrel sings, 
 
 The songs of a fair world — a far-off clime — 
 
 Filled with the breath of orange flower and lime. 
 
 The songs of di-eamland where, with chaplets crowned, 
 Upon a couch of violets, genius lies, 
 
 Her mantle cast aside, her hair unbound, 
 While from her worshippers faint hymns arise ; 
 
 Soft, tuneful poeans, as, with rev'rent tread. 
 
 They scatter perfumes on her od'rous bed. 
 
 Thy soul is steeped in thought, as in a sea 
 Of rosy light — and as its billows stealing 
 
 In from the boundless ocean surge o'er thee, 
 Each wave returning bears some spark of feeling. 
 
 Some gem of rarest brightness from the shore 
 
 That lay deep buried in the sand before. 
 
 A world of poesy is in thine eyes. 
 The fount that gave them light is not of earth, 
 
 On heavenly hills, methinks, it had its rise ; 
 Oh, sweet ciii Id-woman ! often in the dearth 
 
 Of pity or of feeling have I prayed 
 
 On thy fond breast my head might soon be laid. 
 
 .8
 
 58 THK FOESAKEN. 
 
 I never gazed upon a sunlit sea, 
 I never wandered by a rock-girt shore, 
 
 But a vague yearning want arose in me 
 For thy sweet answering face, that I might pour 
 
 Into thine earnest, listening ear a part 
 
 Of that which swelled to breaking my full heart. 
 
 A burst of martial music — a low tune 
 Breathed in the solemn hush of eventide ; 
 
 A tale of fruitless love — a fading moon, 
 A fleecy cloud of glory rainbow-dyed. 
 
 Aught that exalts, ennobles, purifies. 
 
 Wins glorious tribute from thy deep dark eyes. 
 
 Like to a forest temple is thy mind, 
 From which the incense-breathing odours steal, 
 
 Yielding their treasures to the wooing wind. 
 While round the shrine fond votaries humbly kneel ; 
 
 My fancy hath run riot — on this shrine 
 
 No hand a garland lays, save only mine. 
 
 I see thee, and I tremble — thou wert given 
 Those noblest gifts of God — a poet's soul, 
 
 And a warm human heart, which must be riven 
 By many a lightning shaft, until the scroll 
 
 Of thy life's fate be read, and freed from prison 
 
 Up to Heaven's gate thy radiant soul hath risen. 
 
 -00- 
 
 THE FOESAKEN. | 
 
 I'M sitting in xay lonely room, 
 And watching a starlit sky. 
 My thoughts are with the happy past, 
 
 The days so long gone by, 
 I wonder if their mem'ry wake 
 Within your breast a sigh.
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 59 
 
 I wonder if you ever wish 
 
 Those days again could be, 
 Or have you blotted from your heart 
 
 The faintest trace of me ? 
 And cast my memory and my love 
 
 Into oblivion's sea ? 
 
 Alas ! I know my prayers are weak, 
 
 I know my tears are vain, 
 I know you have forgot the face 
 
 That on your breast has lain ; 
 But ah ! for me this yearning want, 
 
 This never dying pain. 
 
 Within the busy haunts of men 
 
 You fill your wonted place ; 
 Your step is lightsome as of yore, 
 
 A smile is on your face ; 
 I know, I feel, you've blotted out 
 
 Of me the faintest trace. 
 
 They told me — but I mocked their words — 
 
 For you I was no mate ; 
 Ah, me ! that bitter, bitter truth 
 
 I learned, alas ! too late ; 
 Yet I have borne, and I will bear, 
 
 The stern decree of fate. 
 
 Perchance you yet may know and feel 
 
 What 'tis to be alone. 
 Perchance you yet may miss the light 
 
 That from your life has gone, 
 The love so passionately sought, 
 
 That was so much your own. 
 
 There may be hours when you shall bend 
 
 Beneath a load of care. 
 When you shall look in vain for one 
 
 Who all your grief would share, 
 Who would have deemed it happiness 
 
 Life's load for you to bear.
 
 60 THE LETTER BOX. 
 
 Yet we were happy, and I know 
 You loved me for awhile, 
 
 You hung upon my lightest word, 
 Your heaven was in my smile ; 
 
 A false, false world set cunning snares 
 Your heart from me to wile. 
 
 Woe ! woe ! to those who dig the pits 
 
 For poor unwary feet. 
 Who make the poisoned cup of sin 
 
 So exquisitely sweet. 
 Who stay not till their victims fall 
 
 Is certain and comx^lete. 
 
 -00- 
 
 II THE LETTEB BOX, j 
 
 YES, cast them in, some fraught with woe, 
 Some blistered o'er with hate. 
 Some bearing burning words of love. 
 Some terrible with fate. 
 
 Some whispering hope and happiness. 
 
 Some maddening in despair. 
 Some painting life a blissful scene, 
 
 All stored with pleasures rare. 
 
 Some calling it a weary load 
 
 A thing of toil and tears. 
 Some sick with disappointed hope 
 
 And worn with jealous fears. 
 
 Some full of tender, trusting love — 
 
 The heart in every line — 
 Some from dark clouded lonely lives, . 
 
 Who 'neath earth's sorrows pine.
 
 THE LETTER BOX. 61 
 
 Some writ as tlio' the pen were steeped 
 
 In wormwood and in gall, 
 Raising 'twixt tried and trusty friends 
 
 An adamantine wall. 
 
 Some quivering o'er with new-born hope 
 
 All tremulous with bliss, 
 And bearing on their blotted leaves 
 
 The impress of a kiss. 
 
 Some full of anguish and remorse, 
 
 And useless vain regret. 
 Filling the heart with grief and love — 
 
 And some mtli sad tears wet. 
 
 All bearing into waiting homes 
 
 Or tidings good or ill. 
 Making hearts leap with raptui'e high, 
 
 Or stand with horror still. 
 
 Yes, cast them in, these messengers 
 
 Of happiness and pain, 
 Some full of anxious thought and care 
 
 For wanderers o'er the main. 
 
 For dwellers in the tented field. 
 
 For rovers on the sea, 
 Who nightly pray for words of cheer 
 
 From the dear old couutrie.
 
 62 INCORRUPTIBLE TREASURE. 
 
 I INCOBRUPTIBLE 
 
 it TBEASUBE 
 
 " Behold we count tliem happy who endure." 
 
 ^OME treasures moths cannot corrupt, 
 QJ Or thieves break through and steal — 
 A heart of love and charity 
 
 For other's woe to feel, 
 That the world's teaching cannot change 
 
 Or the world's frost congeal. 
 
 A spirit that in every ill 
 
 Thanks God it is no worse, 
 That e'en in sad affliction's hour 
 
 Can some past good rehearse, 
 Is better far than rank and power 
 
 And red gold in our purse. 
 
 To bear our trials patiently. 
 
 To do what good we can. 
 To cast our mite in willingly 
 
 To help our fellow man. 
 To strive, howe'er imperfectly. 
 
 To work out God's good plan. 
 
 To feel that many a toiling life 
 
 Has wearier days than ours, 
 To see the footprints of His love 
 
 E'en in the wayside flowers, 
 And look for shelter after storm, 
 
 And sunshine after showers.
 
 INCORRUPTIBLE TREASURE. G3 
 
 To eat our crust with thankfulness, 
 Nor grudge our neighbour's store, 
 
 Nor e'en to better our sad fate 
 Our honour's crest to lower. 
 
 But trust e'en when the wolf is heard 
 To clamour at our door. 
 
 To keep our garments white and clean, 
 Our soul's thoughts calm and pure, 
 
 And learn from the dear patient Christ 
 With patience to endiu-e. 
 
 Knowing He has us in His care, 
 That His word standeth sure. 
 
 To cast no stones at other men 
 
 Because then- faults appear. 
 The reckless heart to wrestle with. 
 
 The drooi^ing one to cheer. 
 To give unto their pain a balm 
 
 And to their griefs a tear. 
 
 To breathe the word of gentleness, 
 
 Of pardon and of love, 
 The cruel wrong to wipe away 
 
 For sake of One above. 
 Who prayed e'en for His murderers. 
 
 And for their soul's weal strove. 
 
 This is to work His holy will, 
 
 This is to praise His name. 
 This the religion of the heart, 
 
 That putteth pride to shame ; 
 These are the precious things of life. 
 
 Better than wealth or fame.
 
 64 THE BURIAL OF NAPOLEON IN PARIS. 
 
 THE BUEIAL OF | 
 
 NAPOLEON I I IN PAEIS. || 
 
 miiHIIIIIIII IllllllillilllUJ!!^ 
 
 WHEPiE does this weeping multitude 
 So slowly take their way ? 
 "What mighty warrior do they bear 
 To his long home to-day ? 
 
 Now, unto me, I pray thee, friend, 
 His name and lineage tell ? — 
 
 Know you not him who wished to lie 
 'Mid those he loved so well ? 
 
 Does there breathe one who has not heard 
 
 The great Napoleon's name ? 
 A time there was when hearts were stirred 
 
 At whisper of his name. 
 
 When Europe trembled 'neath his feet. 
 
 And thro' a path of blood 
 He walked to glory's glittering height. 
 
 And on its summit stood. 
 
 When crowns were baubles, kings were slaves, 
 And the whole world stood still 
 
 To see this master-spirit work 
 The dictates of his will. 
 
 Oh, friend, I've fought on Jena's field. 
 
 And seen his eagle eye 
 Light like a torch when he beheld 
 
 The vanquished Prussians fly.
 
 THE BURIAL OF NAPOLEON IN PARIS. 65 
 
 I saw liim curb his fiery steed 
 
 On Austerlitz red plain, 
 And gaze around him pityingly 
 
 Upon the gory slain. 
 
 I heard the cry " Vive TEmpereur" 
 
 From lips of wounded men — 
 Ah! friend, they valued more his smile 
 
 Than crowns or crosses then. 
 
 But now they hear him to his grave, 
 
 While o'er the mighty dead 
 From countless eyes and countless hearts 
 
 The tears of France are shed. 
 
 Far, far, upon a barren rock 
 
 He met the tyrant death, 
 Surrounded by his captors cold. 
 
 He yielded up his breath, 
 
 Like some great lion snared at last 
 
 By wily hunters, he 
 Gave up the soul that could not brodc 
 
 Such foul captivity. 
 
 Close by the everlasting sea 
 
 They laid him down to sleep. 
 Far from the hearts that here to-day 
 
 Above his ashes weep. 
 
 And evermore the restless sea 
 
 A mournful requiem made 
 O'er him who slept so quietly 
 
 Beneath the willows' shade, 
 
 While wanderers fi'om distant lands 
 
 Would pause upon the sod. 
 Which covered him who oft upon 
 
 The necks of monarchs trod.
 
 66 HOME SICKNESS. 
 
 But now is tardy justice done, 
 
 By royal mourners borne, 
 With kingly pomp they bury him 
 
 To wait the rising morn. 
 
 And prayers and tears bedew the path 
 
 By which his body goes. 
 While white-l'obed priests their masses sing 
 
 For his great soul's repose. 
 
 -00- 
 
 f HOME SICKNESS. 
 
 WHEN in a foreign land the exile hears 
 Some dear, familiar strains of his own land, 
 Perchance not heard for many weary years, 
 How will his head drop down upon his hand. 
 
 His manhood for a little laid aside — 
 
 His eyes grow dim with tears at the old strain, 
 
 Nor the unwonted wealmess does he hide — 
 Its tones have led him to his home again. 
 
 He feels his mother's kisses on his brow, 
 Her gentle words of counsel seems to hear ; 
 
 Alas, alas ! where is that mother now ? 
 No marvel that he sheds a silent tear. 
 
 He hears his brothers' voices and the sound 
 Of their blithe feet upon the garden walk. 
 
 His sister's arms around his neck are wound. 
 He joins once more their laughter and their talk. 
 
 That song ! 'twas breathed to him in happier days, 
 'Tis linked with many a pleasure now no more ; 
 
 This, this that dims the proud man's eagle gaze. 
 And fills his heart with yearnings vain and sore.
 
 TRUE FORTITUDE. 67 
 
 There are a thousand raemories in that song 
 That yet have power to soften and to thrill, 
 
 The silent room is peopled by a throng 
 Of forms and faces that are cold and still. 
 
 Oh, to return — to see the pleasant fields. 
 The sparkling waters of his native shore, 
 
 With every note a weary longing steals 
 
 To be at home — to be at home once more. 
 
 Once more, once more, the dear place of his birth, 
 The forms and faces of his youth to see ; 
 
 Nought seems so fair upon the wide, wide earth 
 As thou, sweet Erin, where he ne'er may be. 
 
 With every note that liari? breathed out to him 
 
 The life and beauty of a day gone hy, 
 'Twas this that made his eye so strangely dim. 
 
 And brought, fresh from the heart, that yearning sigh. 
 
 -00- 
 
 f TRUE FOBTITUDE 
 
 TO bear unmoved misfortune's stroke, 
 To struggle bravely on. 
 To feel the iron entering in. 
 And yet to make no moan. 
 
 To see in all a Providence, 
 To rise even from the dust, 
 
 Whate'er your fate, to look above, 
 Thro' good and ill to trust. 
 
 To see hopes wither, joys depart, 
 
 Yet to be strong the while, 
 And even in the darkest hour 
 
 To wear a hopeful smile.
 
 ^^ THE HAUNTED MIND. 
 
 Oh, more than Spartan fortitude, 
 
 Grace by religion given 
 To bear the thousand ills of earth, 
 
 And look thro' all to Heaven. 
 
 -00- 
 
 II theIiaunted mindT 
 
 After Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 IN the depths of every human heart 
 There is a silent tomb, 
 And it open's oft to the watcher's eye 
 In the midnight's lonely gloom. 
 
 In an hour like this, when blessed sleep 
 
 The weary eyelid flies, 
 A funeral train comes round the bed. 
 
 And buried ghosts arise. 
 
 Your early love, with mournful smile, 
 
 bo sadly pale and fair, 
 With her garments all faded and defaced, 
 
 And dust on her golden hair. 
 
 With echoless steps her form will "lide 
 Across the chamber floor, '^ 
 
 She will look for a moment in your face, 
 Ihen back to her grave once more. 
 
 She had loved you well— you turned away 
 
 A iau-er face to seek, 
 Then faded the lustre from her eye, 
 
 Ihe roses from her cheek.
 
 THE HAUNTED MIND. 09 
 
 She died, and tliougli never a word was breathed 
 
 You knew her secret well, 
 And wild remorse and vain regret 
 
 Now in your bosom swell. 
 
 Her form flits by, and a sterner one 
 
 Is standing by your bed, 
 'Tis the demon who first to paths of sin 
 
 Your youthful footsteps led. 
 
 See now the Avi-ithiug lips of scorn, 
 
 The mocking, glittering eye, 
 Blush, blush, and hide your face, oh, man, 
 
 Your shame is passing by. 
 
 Oh, 'tis well, 'tis well for the sleepless one 
 
 If a yet more fearful band 
 Do not gliding come, with noiseless step, 
 
 Around his bed to stand. 
 
 What if remorse should wear the face 
 
 Of the friend of early youth. 
 Your boyhood's friend— yet you blasted him 
 
 By envy and untruth. 
 
 What if the fiend should steal to you 
 
 In a woman's floating di-ess. 
 With wild reproach in her burning eyes 
 
 And sin-stained loveliness. 
 
 If your injured friend and your murdered love 
 
 Should stand before you now, 
 With scorn and reproach on his pale face 
 
 And a brand upon her brow. 
 
 If her hair should drip with the horrid sound 
 
 Of water;: ibul and dank. 
 If you hear her cry in the silent room 
 
 As 'neath the waves she sank.
 
 70 life's lessons. 
 
 And if on your silken couch of state 
 This ghostly thing should lie, 
 
 Would you not turn your face to the wall, 
 And pray that you might die ? 
 
 What ! if there enters a horrid form 
 
 In garments of the dead, 
 With bloody stains on the winding-sheet. 
 
 The blood that you have shed. 
 
 Oh, God in his mercy pity those 
 
 To whom such ghosts arise. 
 Better for them they had ne'er been born — 
 
 Oh, would that men were wise. 
 
 Could they see the bitter fruits that spring 
 
 From seeds they madly sow, 
 Would they not reap some present peace, 
 
 And be spared much future woe ? 
 
 -00— 
 
 It LIFE'S LESSONS. 
 
 OH, look not back into the past, 
 It can return no more, 
 God's purposes are deep as vast, 
 
 Your way still lies before, 
 Onward and hope that at the last 
 Your foot may touch Heaven's shofe. 
 
 Oh, look not back, save to be warned 
 
 By dangers you have known. 
 The counsels you so oft have scorned 
 
 Now all your care must own. 
 The robe your idol that adorned 
 
 To fluttering rags has grown.
 
 LIFE S LESSONS. 
 
 71 
 
 The flowers that carefully you nurst 
 Have witliered in your hands, 
 
 Your air-blown bubble, long since burst. 
 Only your scorn demands ; 
 
 And in its nakedness accurst 
 Your folly shivering stands. 
 
 Improve the present, God has given 
 
 The present for our good. 
 We prize it not, yet much of Heaven 
 
 It teaches, if we would 
 But strive to work out the old leaven 
 
 Even from our daily food. 
 
 The daily sorrows, daily cares 
 
 That come alike to all. 
 The thousand pitfalls and the snares, 
 
 The ills nor few nor small. 
 The bait that the weak soul ensnares, 
 
 The wants that on us call. 
 
 These in the present we shall find, 
 
 God's ways are hid in each, 
 Unlearned, most ignorant, and blind, 
 
 We strive in vain to reach 
 What unto all our human kind 
 
 God yearns in love to teach. 
 
 Yet, fear not, for the weakest heart, 
 Resting on him, grows strong, 
 
 The future may the good impart 
 For which we yearned so long, 
 
 And e'en when sinking 'neath death's dart 
 We may lift up Heaven's song.
 
 72 OUR BLIND CHILD. 
 
 I OUR BLIND 1 
 
 t 
 
 CHILD 
 
 I SAW, and my heart melted iu my breast the while, 
 With what a patient, gentle, loving smile 
 She gave her place upon her father's knee 
 To her boy brother, because he could see, 
 Then stood with her long eyelashes cast down 
 While swept the glittering pageant thro' the town ; 
 And when the thoughtless boy, with eager cry, 
 Called unto her to look e'er they'd pass by, 
 I heard the faint, low sigh, and marked the streak 
 Of vivid crimson on the pure pale cheek; 
 Yet when I called my darling to my chair. 
 And said I grieved that she should have no share 
 In all this gaiety, she swift replied, 
 '' Nay, mother, nay, 'tAvas not for that I sighed." 
 Oh, sweet deception, that would hide from me 
 The deej), deep want, for well I knew that she 
 Yearned for the day and hungered for the light 
 Of but one sun on her eternal night. 
 She is our first-born and our fairest one, 
 When all the rest unto their sports have gone, 
 Who glides to the old place — her father's knee — 
 Or nestles at my side ? — ah, who but thee ; 
 Who, when with weary pain my head bends low, 
 Comes with her little hand as soft as snow 
 To press it to my brow, while to my eyes 
 The beauty of thy face is of the skies. 
 And as I gaze upon its light divine, 
 I ask myself, with trembling, " Is she mine ?" 
 Who stills her brother's laughter with the word, 
 Mother is sleeping, but my precious bird,
 
 BETRAYED. 73 
 
 Who lightens every care, whate'er it be "? 
 
 Who is my dearest blessing, who, but thee. 
 
 One thought oft saddens me — thou ne'er hast gazed 
 
 Upon my face, tho' oft thine eyes are raised 
 
 When thy dear head reposes on my knee — 
 
 Oh, then, my child, I long that thou could'st see, 
 
 That thou could'st see the deep, deep love exprest 
 
 Which sighs and trembles in thy mother's breast. 
 
 In vain my wish — but well I know, my own. 
 
 How to thy parents' hearts thy heart has grown, 
 
 And tho' thou seest no sun in blue skies blaze, 
 
 Nor may on this fair earth a moment gaze, 
 
 Nor see thy brothers' faces, dimpling o'er 
 
 With joyous laughter on the nursery floor. 
 
 And oh, what grieves me most, can mark no sign 
 
 Of all thy father's fondness, nor of mine ; 
 
 Yet oh, not blind, my darling, oh, not blind. 
 
 There is a day-spring in thy soul enshrined, 
 
 For when at evening prayer I see thee kneel, 
 
 I know that God does unto thee reveal 
 
 The glories of his Heaven, by the light 
 
 That makes it radiant, for so bright 
 
 And beauteous its expression, I have felt 
 
 A saint and not a child beside me knelt. 
 
 -00- 
 
 BETBAYED. | 
 
 YES, it is true, and she whom you so prized 
 Has but deceived you with her whispered words, 
 The love you lavished forth her heart despised, 
 
 And snapt, with careless hand, life's tenderest chords ; 
 Yet, let her go, her love was but a name. 
 To you be all the praise, to her the shame. 
 
 10
 
 74 BETRAYED. 
 
 She knew you loved her, and she joyed to see 
 The captive bovmd beneath her chariot wheel — 
 
 Oh, how can woman thus deceitful be, 
 
 And wound an honest heart she may not heal; 
 
 Woe, woe to those who thus without remorse 
 
 Poison life's fountain at the very source. 
 
 Oh, it is ever thus — we still are bringing 
 Our choicest offerings to be trampled on, 
 
 Our richest wealth of love all wildly flinging 
 To marble hearts and natures cold as stone, 
 
 Worshipping idols that, alas the day ! 
 
 Melt while we clasp them to their kindi-ed clay. 
 
 What castle can we build nor fear the rains ! 
 
 What goblet can we drain, nor taste the lees ! 
 We lean on broken reeds, our best sun wanes. 
 
 We look for summer fruits on barren trees ; 
 Our joys are oft ideal, but we know 
 That mortal man must taste of mortal woe. 
 
 Where can we turn to in this changing earth. 
 And find no change or shadow in our sky ? 
 
 Full oft the notes of anguish cross our mirth, 
 The opening smile is crushed out by a sigh. 
 
 The fondest hope we cling to may depart. 
 
 And there's a secret void in every heart. 
 
 We trust and hope, and find we were deceived 
 In those we would have trusted to the last. 
 
 O'er unaccomplished dreams we all have grieved, 
 Some cherished thing we to the winds have cast ; 
 
 The lesson that life teaches us is hard. 
 
 And yet the upright soul must have reward. 
 
 And better love and lose than never know 
 The glory and the beauty love can give. 
 
 No fate can from us take the rapturous glow 
 It ever leaves us, tho' it did deceive ; 
 
 There is strange sweetness in the broken string 
 
 That once such music to our souls could bring.
 
 AN OLD SONG. 
 
 75 
 
 And you, who have, alas, too early tasted 
 The poisou di-ops of sorrow in life's bowl, 
 
 Think not the boon you gave was idly wasted. 
 Has it not filled with song your poet soul ? 
 
 The fount of youth renews itself again, 
 And beautiful is sunlight after rain. 
 
 For her — may God forgive her — she has ^ilanted 
 Within a generous bosom many a dart, 
 
 And hours must come when conscience, mem'ry haunted, 
 AVill show her all the work of that true heart, 
 
 Once all her own, then haply, richly blest 
 
 With the deep fondness of a truer breast. 
 
 -00- 
 
 i AN OLD SONG. | 
 
 TELL me why, when I am singing, 
 In a plaintive voice and low, 
 That from hidden sources springing 
 Tears unbidden softly flow. 
 
 And within his drooping fingers 
 
 Yonder listener veils his face, 
 'Tis because within him lingers 
 
 Mem'ries time cannot erase. 
 
 And so thrilling and so mournful 
 Is the sweet old song you sing. 
 
 That to eyes tho' seared and scornful 
 You have power the tears to bring. 
 
 'Tis because you can awaken 
 
 Feelings that have slept for years. 
 
 And the pride before unshaken 
 Now is humbled into tears.
 
 76 THE waves' replies. 
 
 See the cliildreu cease their playiug, 
 Closer to each other creep, 
 
 In their wonder softly saying, 
 
 " Wherefore does the old man weep ?" 
 
 Ah, they know not he is wringing 
 To the vanished past again, 
 
 And a voice now hushed is singing 
 To his heart that plaintive strain. 
 
 As it sang wdien life was pleasure, 
 When his ear with rapture hung 
 
 On the old, familiar measure 
 
 You to-night have softly simg. 
 
 That is why, when you are singing, 
 In a tender voice and low. 
 
 That from hidden sources springing 
 Tears unbidden gently flow. 
 
 -00-' 
 
 THE WAVES' BEPLIESri 
 
 ANSWEE me, answer me, waves of the sea. 
 Say will my lover return to me. 
 Say will he come with the love of old, 
 Will his voice be changed or his heart be cold. 
 Will he bend on me those witching eyes 
 That first filled my soul with glad sui-prise. 
 With the same bright glances that they wore 
 In those sweet, sweet hours that too soon were o'er. 
 Ye cruel waves, ye answer me not. 
 Can the beautiful past be quite forget ? 
 Oh, I wake in the early morning's light. 
 And I watch all day till the shades of night, 
 But in vain, in vain, from sea to sky. 
 His vessel's sails ne'er meets my eye.
 
 MABEL S LOVERS. 
 
 Each morn I rise and keep hoping on 
 He'll come .to me e'er the set of sun, 
 Each night I lie down with a weight of woe 
 Such as none but the desolate heart can know. 
 But what speck is that on the dark blue sea ? 
 'Tis the bark of my lover, 'tis he ! 'tis he ! 
 Slow pass the hours till my love I meet, 
 Beautiful waves, bring him here to my feet ; 
 Forgive me, Heaven, for my doubting heart, 
 And grant that we never more may part. 
 
 77 
 
 -00- 
 
 t MABEL'S 
 
 } L Y E B S . 
 
 eOME kiss me on the lips, Mabel, 
 And kiss me on the brow, 
 I care not for my cruel doom, 
 Death has no terrors now. 
 
 For you and Walter Tyrrell 
 Have both forgiven my sin, 
 
 And I have what I long wanted — 
 Heaven's peace my breast within. 
 
 Thank God, tlio' I am dying, 
 
 My doubts are all removed, 
 And I know you are the same Mabel 
 
 Whom long ago I loved. 
 
 My eyes are opened now, Mabel, 
 
 My eyes are opened now, 
 The nearer we come to the grave, dear, 
 
 The more clearsighted we grow.
 
 78 Mabel's lovers. 
 
 And I see it was all my own folly, 
 
 All my owTi folly and pride, 
 Or long ago I'd have made you 
 
 A happy, happy bride. 
 
 And 'twas all the jealous doubting 
 
 Of my own rebellious heart, 
 That has been my curse, my torment, 
 
 And cast our lives apart. 
 
 For even if Walter TjTrell 
 
 Did love you, Mabel dear, 
 I ought to have known you better, 
 
 And had no selfish fear. 
 
 "Why did I blame his loving 
 What I had learned to adore. 
 
 But you know there was more than that, Mabel, 
 You know that there was more. 
 
 And cursed be the traitor 
 
 Who whispered first to me 
 That the woman I almost worshipped 
 
 Could false or faithless be. 
 
 But I see it all now, darling, 
 
 He loved my Mabel, too, 
 And his bitter envy made me 
 
 To you and himself untrue. 
 
 He told me you smiled on Walter 
 
 While I had been away. 
 You remember you would not answer 
 
 The question I asked that day. 
 
 When I, with my jealous fury. 
 
 Drove the colour from your cheek, 
 
 No wonder to one so hateful 
 
 You would not deign to speak.
 
 JIABEL S LOVERS. 
 
 But that night when I saw you whisp'ring 
 With him 'neath the hawthorn tree, 
 
 My heart was on fire with rage, Mabel, 
 And cruel jealousy. 
 
 And I swore a bitter oath, Mabel, 
 
 That I would never stoop 
 To be first a woman's humble slave, 
 
 And then to be her dupe. 
 
 I vowed revenge on the traitor 
 Who had stolen my more than life, 
 
 God forgive me, I thirsted and panted 
 To meet him in bloody strife. 
 
 I could not believe then, darling. 
 
 That Walter was my friend. 
 Oh, deeply I have suffered 
 
 And deeply I have sinned. 
 
 I could not believe then, Mabel, 
 That 'neath that trysting-tree 
 
 He was crushing his own heart's longings, 
 And pleading with you for me. 
 
 But, thank God, I did not slay him 
 
 On that awful, awful night. 
 Nay, shrink not away from me, dearest, 
 
 From blood this hand is white. 
 
 Come nearer, Walter Tyrrell, 
 
 Come closer to my bed. 
 And show her the hand she's clasping 
 
 Is not with your blood red. 
 
 You have forgiven me, too, Walter, 
 
 Forgiven me long ago, 
 God bless you, my friend, my brother, 
 
 You bear no hate, I know. 
 
 79
 
 80 MABEl/s LOVERS. 
 
 For you came from distant countries 
 
 To comfort my dying bed, 
 May the blessings God has denied me 
 
 Be showered on your head. 
 
 And when I am dead and gone, Walter, 
 
 Mabel will be your wife, 
 And with her may Heaven grant you 
 
 A long and happy life. 
 
 You'll be a better husband 
 
 Than ever I could have been, 
 
 Kaise my head, Walter, and let it . 
 Upon her bosom lean. 
 
 Mabel, for my sake love him — 
 
 You must make up to him 
 For the wrong I did — ah, I'm going, 
 
 The light is getting dim. 
 
 Has the sun sunk behind the mountains ? 
 
 Love, I see not your face, — 
 Put your arms round my neck, let me hold you 
 
 Once more in a last embrace. 
 
 There — now I'm dying happy, 
 Kiss me, my own, he said. 
 
 Give me your hand, Walter Tyrrell, 
 And the restless spirit fled.
 
 A SLANDEKER EEBUKED. 81 
 
 t • A SLANDEBER REBUKED, j 
 
 BREATHE not that name, unless to praise, 
 For tho' "tis nothing now to me, 
 In better, brighter, happier days 
 
 How blest was I, how fond was he ; 
 He was the lover of my youth, 
 
 My heart's first idol, and shall I, 
 While thou proclaimest a bitter truth, 
 Unmoved, unpaincd, sit calmly by. 
 
 If thou hast aught of praise to speak. 
 
 Then of thy voice I cannot tire. 
 But bring no blush into my cheek, 
 
 And bring into my eyes no fire ; 
 He may be all that thou hast said, 
 
 But wherefore wilt thou wound and wing 
 The heart that has so often bled. 
 
 And pierce it with another sting. 
 
 Oh, thinkest thou I can bear to hear 
 
 IJpbraidings harsh and words unkind 
 Of one who was to me so dear, 
 
 Round whom my heartstrings were entwined ; 
 No, let the sin be what thou wilt. 
 
 From scorn and censure now forbear, 
 Thy path, perchance, is free from guilt, 
 
 Because there lurked in it no snare. 
 
 No praise to him who walks aright 
 
 Because no other path he's known, 
 Thy past hath not been all so white 
 
 Hadst thou been left, like him, alone; 
 Alone, when blood and pulse beat high, 
 
 A prey unto unnumbered arts, 
 Too weak to bear, too proud to fly 
 
 The counsels of deceitful hearts.
 
 82 FKEE. 
 
 Say which of us can cast a stone, 
 
 What life is free from shame and sin '? 
 Turn back thine eyes upon thine own, 
 
 And then, oh turn those eyes within ; 
 What seest thou in that hidden place ? 
 
 Is it from all pollution free ? 
 If so, thank him who gave thee grace 
 
 To pass unstained thro' life's dark sea. 
 
 And show compassion unto those 
 
 Whom the fell su-en leads astray, 
 Ease, if thou canst, their hearts deep woes, 
 
 And for their peace and pardon pray ; 
 Go, o'er their sins and sorrows grieve — 
 
 Go, point them to a pitying Heaven, 
 Learn like thy Saviour to forgive. 
 
 E'en as thou hop'st to be forgiven. 
 
 00 
 
 FEEE 
 
 w 
 
 YES, falsest and frailest of women, 
 I'm free from your trammels at last, 
 The meshes you wove are all sundered. 
 
 Your spells to the winds I have cast ; 
 Your beauty no longer distracts me. 
 
 Your false lips no longer betray. 
 You laid the last burden upon me. 
 And, thank Heaven, I flung it away. 
 
 No more at the feet of Delilah 
 
 A Samson degraded I kneel, 
 The withs are all burst that enchained me, 
 
 My strength and my manhood I feel ; 
 Your kiss, I would deem it pollution. 
 
 Your smile, 'tis the lightning of hell, 
 Your eyes are twin daggers empoisoned, 
 
 That murdered your foe ere he fell.
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 Go, think of a future fear-haunted, 
 
 Go, think of a past that is red 
 With the blood of the souls you have blighted, 
 
 And toss on your thorn-bestrewed bed ; 
 Go, bury your shame in oblivion, 
 
 The voice of your conscience go still. 
 The wrath- cup of painful repentance 
 
 And sad retribution go fill. 
 
 83 
 
 -00- 
 
 I THE ESCAPE. |, 
 
 A FKAGMENT. 
 
 •Y* OKD Ulric feasts within his hall, 
 XjX His minstrels strike the tuneful lyre, 
 A thousand vassals wait his call. 
 One only daughter calls him sire. 
 
 Hers is the pure, sweet loveliness 
 
 Of opening violet in the spring. 
 She wears it as her native _di*ess, 
 
 A beauteous, yet unprized thing. 
 
 To-night a gallant suitor waits 
 
 To win from her one favoring smile, 
 
 Great lord is he of fair estates, 
 
 And welcomed by her sire the while. 
 
 But she is proud, and coy, and cold, 
 
 And turns her from his suit to sigh 
 
 For one who owns not lands nor gold, 
 
 Who may not to her bower draw nigh. 
 
 With many a gem and many a flower 
 They deck her shining hair to-night, 
 
 Her beauty with new charms they dower, 
 And praise her dark eyes' tender light.
 
 84 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 Now, who will like oiu- lady he, 
 
 At board or dance, they proudly say, 
 
 Low drooped her forehead on her knee, 
 And turned she from their gaze away. 
 
 " Oh, leave me for a little while," 
 She to her bower maidens said. 
 
 Her soft cheek brightened with a smile, 
 Then coloured to a rosy red. 
 
 Then, as their footsteps died away, 
 
 She stripped her jewels from her hair. 
 
 And guided by the moon's pale ray. 
 Stole swiftly down the castle staii*. 
 
 Loud sang the mmstrels as she past 
 
 The praise of him who sought her hand, 
 
 And loudly beat her heart and fast 
 
 As caught her ear her sire's command. 
 
 " Now to thy mistress hie in haste. 
 
 Tell her the banquet is begun. 
 Speed, laggard, speed, the hours we waste, 
 
 To-night is Hilda wooed and won." 
 
 She looked up to the silent sky, 
 
 She trembled, but no tear she shed, 
 
 Unto the past she gave one sigh. 
 
 Then out into the night she sped. 
 
 The snow, the pure, the dazzling snow, 
 Veils in its whiteness all the earth. 
 
 Hushed is the babbling streamlet's flow. 
 And silent is the song-bird's mirth. 
 
 How chill, how lone — my father's hall 
 Glows with the ruddy logs ablaze. 
 
 Ah, even now I hear him call 
 
 Upon my name in wild amaze.
 
 THE ESCAPE. 85 
 
 His steed is champing at the gate, 
 
 His sword is girded by his side, 
 Oh, love, for thee I've braved his hate, 
 
 Oh save, oh shield, oh guard thy bride. 
 
 I see his footprints on the earth, 
 
 He's followed by his good greyhound, 
 Ah, who can bear a father's wrath, 
 
 Woe, woe to us if here we're found. 
 
 His glove upon the grass I see. 
 
 And yonder frets his eager steed, 
 Now, Christ be praised, he comes to me, 
 
 " Oh love, and art thou here, indeed. 
 
 " And shall we never, nevermore, 
 
 By cruel hands be torn apart, 
 Now doubting and despair are o'er," 
 
 He said, and claspt her to his heart. 
 
 " Come let me kiss away the tears 
 
 That hang within thy starry eyes. 
 Thou hast no cause, sweet love, for fears — 
 
 See the day's king begins to rise. 
 
 " And long ere he has sunk to rest 
 
 Within the chambers of the sea. 
 My dove shall shelter in her nest. 
 
 And who shall take her thence from me. 
 
 *' My followers are stout and bold, 
 
 My good broadsword is true and tried, 
 
 And once within my mountain hold, 
 
 What fate shall harm my bonny bride. 
 
 "Aye closer press to mine thy cheek, 
 
 IStep proudly now, my gallant grey. 
 Yes, toss thy mane and arch thy neck, 
 
 Thou bear'st a gentle freight to-day.
 
 86 KYLEMORE LAKE. 
 
 " Aucl fail US not, my noble steed, 
 
 We have no liope on earth but thee, 
 
 Back, gentles, I the way will lead, 
 Let him who loves me follow me." 
 
 He said, and in his stiiTups rose, 
 
 " Our Ladye shield thee, then," they cried,. 
 
 " We shall be pathways to thy foes 
 Ere they shall harm thy bonny bride. 
 
 " Lead on, lead on, we'll do or die, 
 'Tis joy to us to work thy will," 
 
 He gazed on them with kindling eye. 
 Then turned and led them o'er the hill. 
 
 -00- 
 
 ,1 KYLEMOEE LAKE, j 
 
 OH lone Kylemore, oh lone Kylemore, 
 The tears will dim mine eye, 
 While wandering by thy pebbly shore, 
 Beneath the silent sky. 
 
 Each breeze that wantons o'er thy breast 
 
 Brings airs from purer skies, 
 And forth upon its useless quest 
 
 My yearning fancy flies. 
 
 Each wave that murmurs at my feet 
 
 Doth tell its tale to me, 
 And mem'ries wild, and sad, and sweet 
 
 Belong, Kylemore, to thee. 
 
 They come again, the vanished hours 
 
 Of summer's golden prime, 
 The song, the sunshine, and the flowers 
 
 Of that delicious time.
 
 TURNING OVER THE LEAVES. 87 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kylemore, thy waves 
 
 Are studded o'er and o'er 
 With hopes that slumber in their graves, 
 
 To live for me no more. 
 
 There is strange music in the song 
 
 Thy murmuring water sings, 
 Yes, dreams of Heaven to thee belong, 
 
 Thou daughter of three kings. 
 
 -00- 
 
 I TUBNING QVEB THE LEAYES. I 
 
 WHAT am I doing all alone, you say ? 
 Why thinking of old times and scenes. 
 Of the bright sunny morning of life's cloudy day. 
 
 When I was in my twenties and you were in your teens. 
 
 When I was in my twenties, long, long ago, 
 
 And you were budding forth like a rose upon the tree. 
 
 My spring of life is past and my pulse is beating slow, 
 But the freshness of your beauty my mental eye can see. 
 
 Full thirty years have flitted since I looked upon your face. 
 And now I see it withered 'neath the chilling touch of time, 
 
 But to me it wears the beauty of the old familiar grace, 
 'Twas the sunshine of my boyhood, 'twas the mem'ry of 
 my prime. 
 
 Ah, many a pleasant day in that bygone time was ours, 
 Alas, they flew too quickly, and we counted not their 
 flight, 
 We have had our golden morning, with its sunshine and 
 its showers, 
 Now we're waiting calmly for the coming shades of night. 
 
 11
 
 88 TURNING OVER THE LEAVES. 
 
 We have floated in our shallops down the fitful stream of 
 time, 
 And a single hreath may waft us o'er the steep into the 
 main, 
 Let us anchor for a little 'ucath the shelter of this lime, 
 While we turn o'er the pages of the book of life again. 
 
 Here's the first, when merry children on the daisied grass 
 we played, 
 Wild hunters of the butterfly and chasers of the bee, 
 When for your golden ringlets a leafy crown we made, 
 And filled your lap with roses from my garden's favorite 
 tree. 
 
 Oh, happy days of childliood, but I turn the pages o'er. 
 And a deeper joy is flooding the leaves before me now. 
 
 Our way is still together, but as children no more. 
 
 Your voice has tenderer music and a blush is on your brow. 
 
 You know that we were lovers in the old days that are gone, 
 
 The days o'er which I ponder in the twilight ' s lonely gloom, 
 
 But you could not give your hand, tho' your gentle heart 
 
 was won, 
 
 And with many tears our youthful hopes we buried in the 
 
 the tomb. 
 
 The anguish of our parting, ah, me ! I think on still 
 
 The burning words of madness that in bitterness I said 
 AVhen you told me all was over, for you dared not cross 
 their will, 
 And I wished we were together in the churchyard cold 
 and dead. 
 
 But you soothed me into calmness, and I parted from you 
 there 
 With a holier love and deeper, than e'er I felt before ; 
 See, the page is stained and blotted, once so stainless and 
 so fair. 
 Tell me not my tears were idle, for my brightest dream 
 was o'er.
 
 TURNING OVER THE LEAVES. 89 
 
 You wecTcled one wlio loved you — a happier fate tlian mine, 
 The woman that I wedded never cared to smile on me, 
 
 But to her dreary portion she had learned her to resign 
 When the pitying angel called her, and set her spirit free. 
 
 There were children at your table, and love beside your 
 hearth. 
 And I blessed the God who granted such blessings to 
 your life, 
 But oh, it grieved me sadly in my spirit's gloom and 
 dearth. 
 That tho' I called you angel, another called you wife. 
 
 Last night I saw your daughter — she has her mother's 
 eyes — 
 Dear child, my whole heart blessed her as she knelt 
 beside my chair, 
 And she sang a sweet old song till my breast was filled 
 with sighs. 
 For 'twas one you used to sing me when the gold was on 
 your hair. 
 
 She told me that you loved it, for that many a time and 
 oft 
 You would sing it in the twilight till your eyes were 
 dimmed with tears, 
 Then she added in a whisper, oh so reverent and so soft, 
 'Twas prized because 'twas taught you by one loved in 
 early years. 
 
 12
 
 90 TO A. M. H. ON HER 17tH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 I TO A. M. H 
 
 ON HER 17th 
 
 I BIRTHDAY. 
 
 eAN'ST tliou not hear my spirit's voiceless cries ? 
 Canst tliou not feel how much I yearn o'er thee ? 
 Bound unto me by earth's most precious ties, 
 
 In whose sweet face such beauty dwells for me, 
 Half child, half sister, sharer in the best 
 And purest dreams that animate this breast. 
 
 Gentle enthusiast, in thy pensive soul 
 
 What burning thoughts, what tender fancies lie. 
 
 Would that my hand might trace thy fortune's scroll 
 With lines as stainless as thy young heart's sigh, 
 
 And that from life to death, from youth to age, 
 
 Ko bitter tear should blot the shining page. 
 
 Thine is the clinging nature that could love 
 With wild abandonment and all believe. 
 
 Nought could the anchor of thy faith remove ; 
 And if o'er broken trust thy breast should grieve 
 
 Yet would'st thou kneel before an empty shrine. 
 
 And round thy shattered idols flow'rets twine. 
 
 When late I gazed upon thy quiet face. 
 Hushed in the beauty of a still repose. 
 
 When late I clasped thee close in fond embrace. 
 And kissed upon thy cheek the deepening rose, 
 
 God knows how earnestly my full heart prayed 
 
 Life's cross on thee might tenderly be laid.
 
 TO A. M. H. ON HER 17tH BIRTHDAY. 91 
 
 And as I prayed, metliotiglit a golden light 
 Filled all the chamber, and beside the bed 
 
 Stood there an angel, who, with fingers bright, 
 Laid a fair garland on thy sleeping head. 
 
 The primrose and the violet both were there, 
 
 Hiding their blossoms in thy dusky hair. 
 
 I held my breath, and reverently gazed 
 
 On the sweet, solemn face that o'er thee hung, 
 
 "Fear not," he softly said, "nor be amazed, 
 I am the guardian of the pure and young, 
 
 They hear my voice, they touch my clasping hand, 
 
 While their souls wander in enchanted land. 
 
 "And I am ever near them — God has sent 
 
 Me from the glorious Heavens, my native home, 
 
 To watch o'er flowers like this, which are but lent 
 To beautify your earth with then- soft bloom 
 
 Until the day when He shall gather them 
 
 By angel fingers home to grace His diadem." 
 
 With that a stream of tenderest music stole 
 
 Into the room, and his bright wings unfolding, 
 
 This purest guardian of a pure young soul 
 Rose and departed from my rapt beholding, 
 
 But much it comforts me to know that he 
 
 Even in sleep, my child, keeps watch o'er thee.
 
 92 " ALL FOR LOVE, OR, THE WORLD WELL LOST.' 
 
 ff '' ALL FOR LOVE, 
 
 ..rtnimili 
 
 I OR, THE WORLD 1 f WELL LOST." 
 
 PRESS thy clieek to my cheek, 
 Lay thy soft hand iu mine, 
 While thou art beside me 
 Dost think I repine. 
 
 What are wealth, fame, or fortune, 
 
 Or kindred to me, 
 When weighed in the balance, 
 
 My own love, with thee ? 
 
 Would I give up the feeling 
 
 That thou art my own 
 For the pomp or the power 
 
 Of a conqueror's throne ? 
 
 Would I barter thy kiss 
 For the best gift of fate ? 
 
 It can give me nought better 
 Than thou my soul's mate. 
 
 It brimmed o'er my cup 
 When it gave me thy love, 
 
 And now to the whole world 
 I fling down the glove. 
 
 With thy smile for my guerdon. 
 Thy prayers for my shield. 
 
 My steps will not falter. 
 
 My sword shall not yield. 
 
 And if I am vanquished 
 
 My comfort will be 
 That the life thou wilt mourn for 
 
 Was given for thee.
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 
 93 
 
 II SIB PHILIP SIDNEY. | 
 
 WHO has not heard of gallant Sidney bleeding 
 Upon the gory plain at close of day, 
 Sore, sore athirst, a cup of water needing, 
 Yet, pointing to a soldier, hear him say — 
 
 " Give him to drink, his need is more than mine," 
 And so gave up the ghost without a groan ; 
 
 Oh, thon, the noblest of a nohle line, 
 
 A deathless fame for thee the deed has won. 
 
 Of all the names that glow on glory's page 
 
 None wears a brighter lustre in our eyes, 
 Who in death's pangs another's could assuage. 
 
 And give to a poor hind the needed prize. 
 
 Thou wert a second Bayard, gentlest, best — 
 
 " A lamb at home, a lion in the field ;" 
 A woman's heart beat 'neath thy steel-clad breast, 
 
 Strong to defend the right, the weak to shield. 
 
 Would there were more like thee, more who could bear 
 To see the cup pass by them, nor complain, 
 
 Who in life's battle would the water share, 
 And give to those athirst, nor ask again.
 
 94 INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. 
 
 INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. | 
 
 eOME, my Muse, nor linger so, 
 Fold thy wings beside me, 
 All my love, thou well dost know, 
 Tlio' I sometimes chide thee. 
 
 Thou hast been my constant friend 
 
 When all else deiDarted, 
 Giv'n me pleasure without end 
 
 E'en when heavy hearted. 
 
 When I hungered thou hast fed, 
 When I languished blessed me. 
 
 Twined a garland for my head, 
 And with smiles caressed me. 
 
 When in solitude I wept, 
 
 None I pined for near me, 
 Ah, how often hast thou stept 
 
 To my side to cheer me. 
 
 Brutish natures, dull as lead, 
 
 Cannot see thy beauty, 
 Cannot hear thy gliding tread, 
 
 Love with them is duty. 
 
 I have laughed unto myself 
 When they dared to flout thee. 
 
 They, forsooth, in pride of pelf, 
 Can do well without thee. 
 
 Eicher far am I with thee 
 Than their gold possessing, 
 
 For new charms each day I see 
 In thee, my best blessing. 

 
 INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. 95 
 
 Eiclies may take wings and fly, 
 
 Gross enjoyments perish, 
 But, my Mnse, both you and I 
 
 Nobler pleasures cherish. 
 
 Let the dull fool hug his store, 
 
 Wlien my hearth thoii sharest 
 I have piles of golden ore 
 
 And of gems the rarest. 
 
 He has stores of precious things 
 
 Which have been denied me. 
 But I sup "s\dth queens and kings 
 
 When thou art beside me. 
 
 Poets, princes, heroes come. 
 
 All their glories showing, 
 'Till o'erflows my humble home. 
 
 My heart, too, o'erflowing. 
 
 Lovely ladies, queens of old. 
 
 Maidens fair and holy, 
 Some in robes of cloth of gold, 
 
 Some with presence lowly. 
 
 All with beauty on each brow 
 
 Thou could'st give them only, 
 Come, my Muse, and bless me now, 
 
 Come, for I am lonely. 
 
 Haste, sweet goddess, why so slow, 
 
 Fold thy wings beside me, 
 All my love thou well dost know, 
 
 Tho' I sometimes chide thee.
 
 90 
 
 TO 
 
 ON E 
 
 WEEPING. 
 
 f TO ON B WEEPIN&.l 
 
 I HAVE seen the wealth of a virgin heart 
 Laid down on pity's shrine, 
 I have seen tlie blood to a pure cheek start 
 
 At a grief and wrong of thine, 
 And tears on that cheek, rare, priceless gems 
 From feeling's golden mine. 
 
 Oh, blest be the grief that has bidden such tears 
 
 From purest sources flow. 
 And blest be the wound where such balm is poured, 
 
 For now, indeed, I know 
 There are angels lingering still on earth 
 
 White as unsullied snow. 
 
 In my soul there was rev'rence sweet and strange 
 
 As I watched those falling tears, 
 Methought I had past o'er a weary waste 
 
 Of sinful, stormy years, 
 And I felt like one who, with holy joy, 
 
 The gate of Heaven nears. 
 
 Oh, child, may the Mighty One have heard 
 
 Thy spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 And when a crown of unfading light 
 
 Thy spotless brow shall wear, 
 May those you have loved in the world of woe 
 
 Your bliss eternal share.
 
 A CONNEJIARA GIRL. 97 
 
 I A CONNEMABA 
 
 f GIRL, i 
 
 MY fair-liaired forest girl, my mountain maid, 
 Oft wilt my heart recal tliy winning wiles, 
 Thy glances, sunshine laden, given unweighed, 
 
 Unmeasured, and the wealth of smiles 
 That lingered ever round thy roseate mouth. 
 Where dwell the perfumed odours of the south. 
 
 Within the dimples of thy downy cheek 
 The loves and graces evermore abide. 
 
 And when thy violet eyes mine own will seek 
 Methinks twin fairies in their blue deeps hide, 
 
 Mischievous sprites of frolic and of fun, 
 
 But when thou weepest, child, my heart's undone. 
 
 For as the flower which to the sun's fierce blaze 
 Its fairest petals shrinketh to display. 
 
 But joyous turns to meet the dew always, 
 And gives to night what ne'er it granted day, 
 
 Thy grief more than thy gladness thee endears. 
 
 More dewy bright thine eyes when seen thro' tears. 
 
 Bright, happy tears w^hich from the fountain spring 
 Of pure, deep feeling, " such as angels shed," 
 
 Eileen mavourneen, may those angels fling 
 
 Soft, thornless roses on the path thou'lt tread, 
 
 And oh, may Heaven never, never let 
 
 With bitter, bitter tears thy cheek be wet. 
 
 And now, my pale, white flower, adieu, adieu, 
 My water lily with the golden leaves. 
 
 Thy mountain home is fading from my view, 
 But o'er its woods and wilds my spirit grieves ; 
 
 My path leads o'er the hills — a time-worn track — 
 
 But to the past my heart looks fondly back.
 
 98 "VACVICTIS ' 
 
 And shall look back for ever to those clays 
 When loving fingers round my own would twine, 
 
 And dear eyes flash forth welcome — in the dusty ways 
 Of life hereafter I will not repine — 
 
 But those sweet, kindly faces will recal, 
 
 And pray that in their " lives, no rain may fall." 
 
 '00- 
 
 I '^ VAC VICTIS." I 
 
 IAVOULD I were in that blest place 
 Where all this toil would cease. 
 Where, gazing on my Saviour's face, 
 
 I might have endless peace, 
 Where, lying on his loving breast, 
 I might have recompense and rest. 
 
 There never more a cruel word 
 
 My tortured soul might wring. 
 My heart by foulest wrong be stirred. 
 
 Or writhe beneath venom's sting. 
 No pain or shame would curse me there, 
 No hidden stab, no carping care. 
 
 Marked from the first by some dread blight, 
 
 My life has ever been 
 A long, long never-ending night, 
 
 A shifting, chequered scene, 
 A useless struggle with my fate, 
 Which must be dark and desolate. 
 
 A landscape — where a fitful sun 
 
 A chilly radiance shed, 
 A battle lost as soon as won. 
 
 Where hearts have inly bled 
 And died — tlio' not a single stain 
 Crimsoned the surface of the plain.
 
 VAC ^^CTIS. 
 
 99 
 
 I have been worshipped, and my cheek 
 Has glowed 'neath passion's kiss, 
 
 Hush, treacherous heart, why wilt thou speak 
 In such an hour as this ; 
 
 With the dead past thou'rt long since done, 
 
 The dull, drear present is thine own. 
 
 With love and hope I've nought to do, 
 
 My dreams are laid aside. 
 The goal has faded from my view. 
 
 Mine is an ebbing tide, 
 One wave which all my fortunes bore 
 Eeturns not to life's dreary shore. 
 
 Oh, God! the pangs of fruitless love. 
 
 The loss of murdered hope. 
 The strong must still successful prove 
 
 When might with right doth cope. 
 Woe to the vanquished — woe and doom — 
 A galling chain — or bloody tomb. 
 
 Mine is the chain, and, oh, its weight 
 
 Hangs heavy on my heart, 
 And when the wrong is sore and great 
 
 Some haunting thing will start 
 Out of the past, until I cry 
 " Let me forget it, God, or die."
 
 100 A WOMAN OF FASHION. 
 
 A AVOMAN OF FASHION. | 
 
 I MUST have a box at the opera, clear, 
 Says charming Lady Grace, 
 And I thmk I must get Madame Eachel soon 
 To enamel my pretty face. 
 
 Late hours and dancing are trying, indeed, 
 
 But what can a woman do '? 
 And for so little she'll wonders work, 
 
 Give you beauty fresh and new. ' 
 
 My carriage is getting quite out of date, 
 
 I saw such a lovely thing 
 Standing at Storr and Mortimer's, dear — 
 
 You must get me one this spring- 
 Harry can wait for a year, I'm sure. 
 
 He's too young to be sent to school — 
 Oh, I have not shown you my last new dress, 
 
 "With the sweetest trimmings in tulle. 
 
 ■'o'- 
 
 Lord Alfred told me at Lady C's 
 
 I looked lovelier every night. 
 But I will not wear that moire again. 
 
 It makes me a perfect fright. 
 
 Pray don't look sulky, I'm sure I spend 
 
 But a very small sum in dress, 
 Indeed, if I am to go out at all 
 
 I cannot do it on less. 
 
 Stay in to-night and chat with you ? 
 
 Dear — how romantic you've grown — 
 What would they say if they knew that you 
 
 And I played Darby and Joan ?
 
 A WOMAN OF FASHION. 101 
 
 You wish I could spare .my cliildren some time, 
 
 What are yoii fussing about '? 
 Do you think I can go to the nm-sery now, 
 
 Just as I'm drest to go out ? 
 
 Nurse has been telling you tales, I see, 
 
 Something the matter with Bell, 
 I'm sure when I saw the childi-en last week 
 
 They both looked healthy and well. 
 
 I can't disappoint Lady C, you know, 
 
 I promised to be at her ball, 
 Can't you go sit at your club, my dear. 
 
 Or give some old friend a call. 
 
 Or if you don't like going out to-night. 
 
 There's the new novel to read. 
 Now, Charles, I'm sure it is very hard, 
 
 You are very unkind, indeed. 
 
 Looking as if I had said something wrong, 
 
 And I'm certain I heard you swear. 
 There, Pauline, I think I am ready now. 
 
 Put this diamond in my hair. 
 
 Has the carriage come round, 'tis striking twelve, 
 
 Are the children not yet in bed? 
 Charles, will you ring, I'm sure I bear 
 
 Some footsteps overhead ? 
 
 There, never mind, 'tis some nonsense of Bell's, 
 
 Don't I look well, Pauline ? 
 Yes, I think Lord Alfred will surely say 
 
 That I am beauty's queen. 
 
 Your master has gone, well, I never met 
 
 Such a bear in all my life, 
 Heigho, if I was as wise as I'm now 
 
 I'd never have been his wife.
 
 102 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Be sure and sit up for me — give me my fan — 
 
 I think I'll be home by four, 
 Quick, button this glove — yes, come at last, 
 
 The carriage is at the door." 
 
 The rosy hands of the coming dawn 
 Were drawing night's sable veil. 
 
 When the lady entered her stately home, 
 Her cheek as her roses pale. 
 
 While one with a brow of anguish stood 
 
 To wait her coming there, 
 His face had grown old in a single night 
 
 With agony and despair. 
 
 " Well, Charles, you see I am early to-night, 
 But you look like a ghost," she said; 
 
 " Madam, you come back an hour too late. 
 Your little girl is dead." 
 
 -00- 
 
 j A BEMEMBBANCE. t 
 
 IBEMEMBEB how she loved me 
 In the old days that are gone, 
 I remember how she trembled 
 At my lightest whispered tone. 
 
 How her dear eyes used to brighten. 
 And her soft cheek used to gloAV, 
 
 When her hand clasped mine in meeting 
 In the sweet hours long ago.
 
 A REMEMBRANCE. 103^ 
 
 I have gazed on otlier faces, 
 
 I have looked iu other eyes, 
 I have seen the flush of feelmg 
 
 To fairer cheeks arise. 
 
 But a love so pure and perfect 
 
 I never more may meet. 
 May God my madness pardon, 
 
 I crushed it 'neath my feet. 
 
 In soul and mind a woman, 
 
 A child in trust and love, 
 fSo lofty and so tender. 
 
 And pure as saint above. 
 
 She feared not for the future, 
 
 She doubted not the truth 
 Of the idol of her girlhood, 
 
 Whose kiss to her was ruth. 
 
 Uh, God ! the hand she trusted. 
 
 The hand which once caressed, 
 "Was that which di'ove the arrow 
 
 Deep in her gentle breast. 
 
 Lost love, thy toil is over, 
 
 The anguish and the strife, 
 And the love is with thee now iu death 
 
 Which spurned thine in life. 
 
 IB
 
 104 OUT OF DANGEE. 
 
 OUT OF DANGEE 
 
 WE welcome thee back from the shadowy land 
 Where thy feet have wandered long, 
 And our praise is given to the gracious hand 
 
 Which changed our sighs to song ; 
 We wrestled with him, and he gave us thee, 
 And we humbly thank him on bended knee. 
 
 We welcome thee back, we welcome thee back, 
 
 Thou art all our own once more, 
 We writhe not now on doubt's awful rack, 
 
 The shadow has left our door. 
 The cloud is lifted from off our home, 
 Thou wert all too bright for the ghastly tomb. 
 
 We stand and dream, tlio' with unshut eyes. 
 
 Oh, God ! if the words were spoken, 
 If, spite of our groans, our anguished cries, 
 
 The golden bowl was broken ; 
 Then, bereaved of thee, we were bereft. 
 But, Jesu be praised, thou still art left. 
 
 Oh, love, we have missed thee from thy place, 
 
 We have missed thee everywhere. 
 We have looked in vain for thy winsome face, 
 
 For the gleam of thy golden hair. 
 We have listened oft for thy bounding feet, 
 For thy gladsome voice and thy laughter sweet. 
 
 Oh child, we have stood by thy couch of pain 
 
 With breaking, bursting hearts. 
 While our tears fell fast as summer rain; 
 
 Ah, me, when hope departs. 
 And fear, in its chilly grave clothes drest, 
 Creeps silently into each aching breast.
 
 A\ INVOCATION. 105 
 
 How cold and chill is the fireside hearth, 
 
 How dark the sunniest noon, 
 Yes, God's precious gifts were of Kttle worth 
 
 Were we still denied this boon ; 
 Thy life, beloved one, thy life He gave, 
 And, oh, not in vain did our sick souls crave. 
 
 He bowed himself from His glorious throne 
 
 To hearken to our distress, 
 Ah, gentle Saviour, in ages gone 
 
 'Twas ever Thy joy to bless. 
 There was one who besought Thee, with bitter crying. 
 For his little daughter who lay a-dying. 
 
 And now, as then, Thou did'st o'er her bend 
 
 To whisper "Maid, arise," 
 Dear, never- changing, eternal friend. 
 
 In Thy home beyond the skies, 
 Thou did'st pity us as Thou pitied him. 
 And di'ove fi-om our darling the tyrant grim. 
 
 Yes, we hold her, we clasp her, we fondly gaze 
 
 On the face we love so well, 
 The veil from the awful past we raise. 
 
 And our grateful bosoms swell 
 With thanks to that Saviour who heard our crying 
 
 For our little daughter who lay a-dyuig. 
 
 -00- 
 
 I AN INVOCATION, f , 
 
 gTEETCH out thine arms to me, and come thou near. 
 Bridge with thy mighty love the heaving wave, 
 Hast thou long sought for me '? — then I am here, 
 
 And thou wilt comfort me, will bless, will save ; 
 I have been, oh, so weary — but at last, 
 At last the bitterness of life has past. 
 
 U
 
 106 AN IN\'OCATION. 
 
 Say wilt thou love me less because tlie tears 
 
 That have bedewed my cheek had poisoned springs, 
 
 I hear thy gentle chiding of my fears, 
 
 As to thy honest heart my heart close clings ; 
 
 Yes, let me lean upon thy gen'rous breast, 
 
 Hast thou not given to me of gifts the best. 
 
 Oh, there is recompense for bygone ]Dain, 
 Oh, there is rest for weary, wayworn feet. 
 
 And as the thirsty flower drinks up the rain 
 
 When, drooping low, it lies 'neath summer heat, 
 
 So do I drink the di-aught poured out by thee, 
 
 And drinking, know it will be well with me. 
 
 I close my eyes, and let a blessed peace 
 
 Steal to my soul — I had not dreamed that ever 
 
 This aching craving at my heart would cease, 
 I thank thee, God, who art the gracious giver, 
 
 Did'st thou not send this life to search out mine, 
 
 To teach me the great deeps of love divine. 
 
 Lord, thou art full of pity, wounding only 
 
 Where thou can'st pour the balm to soothe and heal, 
 
 Oh, my soul's friend and lover, I was lonely, 
 And now it is so sweet to know and feel 
 
 I shall not sit in darkness any more, 
 
 For, lo, a sunbeam stealeth thro' the door. 
 
 The glitt'riug thing makes all the chamber bright, 
 I'll lay down my head in the golden track, 
 
 How beautiful it is, how warm, how bright ; 
 What saitli the Scripture — " They shall never lack 
 
 Any good thing who put their trust in Me," 
 
 I trust my God and bend a rev'rent knee.
 
 THE POST BAG. 107 
 
 I THE POST BAG. H 
 
 OPEN tlie Post Bag — wliat comes here ? 
 " My sweetest love, my dearest dear," 
 And all the rest just like to this, 
 With fifty vows and many a kiss, 
 And all to end in sighs and frowns, 
 A life-long curse, or lawyers' gowns. 
 And what comes now ? — from some dear friend- 
 " Su% if you don't by next post send 
 That ten pound five, so long now due, 
 I'll bid my attorney wi'ite to. you ;"' 
 But can't my readers guess the rest, 
 Oh, may such waiters all be — blessed. 
 Now humble pie — "Most honoured sir," 
 (This to some petty, worthless cur, 
 Who, just because you chance to be 
 Placed in his power, will let you see 
 That he is master, quite forgetting 
 That your sun may rise when his is setting, 
 And that some time you'll have your day ; 
 However, we have nought to say 
 To those who are so much our iDetters, 
 Let us return and read their letters). 
 " Most honoured su-," but, on my word, 
 I can't the humble pie record, 
 Tis " if you please," and " be so good," 
 And much that stirs rebellious blood, 
 Till, for my part, I'd rather grant 
 Ten thousand favors than one, want. 
 Now comes what thrills and melts the heart. 
 In this no meanness has a part, 
 But words of kindliness are here 
 That waken an unwonted tear. 
 And makes us feel we're not bereft
 
 103 THE POST BAG. 
 
 Of all earth's good while this is left. 
 
 Here's news which came o'er laud and seas 
 
 That hrings us humbly to our knees 
 
 In thanks to Him who shielded those 
 
 How dear to us He only Icnows, 
 
 And here's some record of a faith 
 
 That triumphed in the hour of death, 
 
 And we are told our fiiend has past 
 
 Away to his reward at last, 
 
 And that he died as brave men die, 
 
 With childlike trust and courage high. 
 
 The letters lie — a motley crew — 
 
 White, black, and yellow, green and blue ; 
 
 Some a faint odorous perfume bear, 
 
 That shows the touch of lady fair, 
 
 It makes us think the hand was white 
 
 And soft that did the words indite. 
 
 Could we but break that tiny seal 
 
 What histories might the page reveal. 
 
 But we'll not seek to know e'en part 
 
 Of that strange compound — woman's heart. 
 
 Here is a rough and misspelt thing. 
 
 Shall we aside impatient fling 
 
 The soiled and blotted envelope ? 
 
 Xo, it is rich with many a hope, _ 
 
 And warm with many a fervent blessing. 
 
 Tender as mother's fond caressing, 
 
 Mary and Pat have hearts as well 
 
 As Frederick and Isabel, 
 
 And love is here perhaps more true 
 
 Than in the scented billet-doux. 
 
 Tis a strange jumble — love and hate. 
 
 From humble poor and wealthy great, 
 
 The creamlaid and the crested note 
 
 Sail with coarse foolscap in one boat, 
 
 It doth remind me of that spot 
 
 Where all distinctions are forget. 
 
 And young and old, and rich and poor. 
 
 Pass in together by one door.
 
 " BY THE HOPE WITHIN ME SPEINGING." 109 
 
 *^'" ^fltnili 
 
 II "BY THE HOPE | j WITHIN ME l| 
 
 ^.,nili!iiLi,;!^>^^ ^%^i!H'!l(illllIlBnw fc5 
 
 t SPEINGING ■" I 
 
 '"IQY the hope within me spriugiug," 
 
 Jt3 By the light thy love has shed, 
 By the foud thoughts to thee winging, 
 Scattering blessings on thy head, 
 By the renewal of my youth, 
 By thy tenderness and truth. 
 
 Think of me when daylight stealing 
 
 From the chambers of the East 
 Cloudy glory is revealing 
 
 In that world so bright and blest, 
 "Where the hills of Heaven rise 
 From the mystery of the skies. 
 
 Think of me when dews are falling 
 
 On the leaves of waiting flowers, 
 Hear my spu-it to thee calling 
 In the lonely midnight hours ; 
 See my shadowT' form and face, 
 Clasp me in thy soul's embrace. 
 
 Breathe thy soul in tender sighing 
 
 As I lean upon thy breast, 
 Hear my heart in fond replying, 
 Let its meaning be exprest 
 In the pulsing of its blood, 
 Bounding in tumultuous flood.
 
 110 A child's questions. 
 
 i A CHILD'S QUESTIONS. | ' 
 
 eHILD, to your childish questions, 
 Asked with eager lip and eyes, 
 My heart from out of its prison 
 
 All earnestly replies, 
 Yes, there is a world, my darling, 
 Far above those clear, calm skies. 
 
 It is true — you cannot see it — 
 No matter, child, 'tis there ; 
 
 Its walls are of pearl and jasper, 
 Ah, love, when I despair 
 
 God sends me thoughts of the city 
 Where all is bright and fair. 
 
 •■o^ 
 
 You wonder why I keep thinking 
 
 Of that far-off, unseen place, 
 And I see a tender pity 
 
 In your sweet, uplifted face, 
 While vainly amid the cloud-world 
 
 You strive my world to trace. 
 
 Fau" is your home, my Bertha, 
 Stately its walls and towers, 
 
 And blithely beneath its shelter 
 
 You are passing life's happiest hours, 
 
 Oh, that I might for ever, darling, 
 Keep the serpent from the flowers. 
 
 Alas, in the Book 'tis written 
 
 That so it may not be. 
 There will come a day, my Bertha, 
 
 When my world you will see. 
 When you, too, learn the lesson 
 
 Long since learned by me.
 
 A child's questions . Ill 
 
 Wlieii you kuow, as, alas, I know it, 
 
 How dark this earth appears 
 To those who gaze on its beauty 
 
 Thro' a mist of blinding tears, 
 To those who in vain are hungering 
 
 For the joys of other years. 
 
 I am old, and worn, and weary 
 
 Tho' my hair is not yet grey, 
 If you were tired, my darling, 
 
 With j^our childish toil or play, 
 Would you not like on my bosom 
 
 Your little head to lay. 
 
 Yes, I know how you would nestle 
 
 Your soft, fair cheek to mine, 
 Then when your chamber was flooded 
 
 With the holy, pale moonshine 
 I would lay you down on your pillow 
 
 In slumber to recline. 
 
 So, I have grown tired, my Bertha, 
 
 Tired of earth's care and pain, 
 The pillow for me is waiting 
 
 Where all my fathers have lain. 
 And when I have slept a little 
 
 I will waken up again. 
 
 I will wake in the lovely city 
 
 That is far above those skies. 
 Wake no more a weary woman, 
 
 With tear-beclouded eyes, 
 But wi'apt in a robe of glory 
 
 From that long sleep I'll rise. 
 
 I know that I speak in riddles, 
 
 You cannot yet understand 
 How near, yet how far, is the beauty 
 
 Of that mysterious land 
 To which we are journeying daily, 
 
 Led by God's mighty hand.
 
 112 THE TUELOUGH RIVER. 
 
 But I know that liaud will teacli you, 
 I know that hand will guide, 
 
 I must leave you one day, my darling, 
 I must steal out from your side, 
 
 But He will be mth you ever, 
 In Him you will abide. 
 
 And whene'er in your childish bosom 
 
 A thought of me will rise. 
 Then remember beyond the mountains 
 
 A glorious city lies. 
 Beyond the blue of those mountains. 
 
 And above the blue of those skies. 
 
 And in that glorious city 
 
 Still waiting shall I be. 
 Till, 'mid thy sister angels. 
 
 Thy sweet face I shall see, 
 And hear thy soft voice blending 
 
 With Heaven's minstrelsv. 
 
 -00- 
 
 THE I 
 
 „l,!l!''l|||l!|llll ' 
 
 Tlie Tiirloiigh River flows by the Clmrcliyard of Turlough — riuite imder its walls. 
 
 THE woods, the fields, the verdant hill, 
 The village church, I see them still, 
 Of Turloughmore ; 
 The sloping lawn, the ruined tower. 
 As last they looked at evening's hour 
 In days of yore.
 
 THE TURLOUGH EIVER. 
 
 The stately home that once was mine, 
 Whose casements in the moonbeams shine, 
 
 The gateway old ; 
 The bridge, with'battlements and iner. 
 Thro' which the river, calm and clear. 
 
 To ocean rolled. 
 
 Oh, river rushing to the sea. 
 How often have I paused by thee 
 
 In dreamings fond, 
 Striving, with questioning face and pale, 
 To raise the future's misty veil. 
 
 And look beyond. 
 
 How oft with scented bud and flower, 
 Gathered in many a wild-wood bower, 
 
 I've strewed thy waves ; 
 And watched them on thy bosom glide. 
 Borne on by the resistless tide 
 
 Down to their graves. 
 
 Thou did'st a lesson to me teach 
 If I could read thy voiceless speech, 
 
 Oh, current free ; 
 So down the stream of hurrying life 
 We rush, with hope and purpose rife. 
 
 To death's dark sea. 
 
 So onward thro' the world we go, 
 On to the end, be it swift or slow, 
 
 Till o'er the steep, 
 With one long sigh, one shuddering breath. 
 Into the gulf that yawns beneath 
 
 We wildly leap. 
 
 But such were not my childish dreams, 
 I only saw thy rippling gleams 
 
 Thro' banks of green ; 
 I only heard thy tuneful song 
 While thou did'st swiftly sweep along 
 
 Thro' the fair scene. 
 
 113
 
 114 THE TUKLOUGH RIVER. 
 
 Into tliy waves the sweet woodbine, 
 Tlie wild rose and the eglantine, 
 
 Their perfume shed ; 
 And round about thy margin grew 
 The primrose pale and violet blue, 
 In leafy bed. 
 
 So into my young life was poured 
 Of fancy's flowers a magic hoard, 
 
 Earth, air, and sky 
 Were teeming with the beauty bright, 
 The visions of a young delight. 
 
 Born but to die. 
 
 Oh, river gliding to the sea. 
 Thou bear'st a pensive memory 
 
 Of bygone years. 
 That calls from out their silent sleep 
 Dead hopes and dreams, and ope's the deep 
 
 Of secret tears. 
 
 Dear friends, whom I shall see no more. 
 Whose feet have touched the silent shore, 
 
 Have trod thy brink ; 
 Have gazed upon thy dimpled breast 
 With smiling faces, hearts at rest, 
 
 Oh, let me think. 
 
 Oh, let me think, let me retrace 
 jMy way through the familiar place, 
 
 Let me live o'er 
 The love, the confidence, the truth, 
 The days of my departed youth 
 
 In Turloughmore. 
 
 Come back ye lost, ye loved return, 
 Recross the shadowy, silent bourne 
 
 For one short hour ; 
 Here is the mossy, rock-piled seat. 
 Twined round and round with wild briar sweet 
 
 And passion flower.
 
 THE TUKLOUGH RIVER. 115 
 
 Here is the spot where oft we stood 
 To gaze upon the dark pine wood, 
 
 Its bouglis ablaze 
 In the departing monarch's smile, 
 Just pausing on his march awhile 
 
 For one last saze. 
 
 i>^ 
 
 Here at the close of peaceful day 
 We listened to the song-bird's laj', 
 
 Hand clasped in hand ; 
 Here watched we the bright stars appear 
 Above us in the ether clear, 
 
 A glittering band. 
 
 And the pure radiance of that sk}-, 
 The glory that came flitting by 
 
 On wings of night, 
 But thrilled us with a deeper sense 
 Of rapture exquisite — intense — 
 
 And new delight. 
 
 Oh, river rushing to the sea, 
 No voice I call may answer me, 
 
 No sound I hear. 
 Save the unceasing, rapid How 
 Of thy wild song, now sweet and low, 
 
 Now loud and clear. 
 
 No flowers I scatter on thee now. 
 But many a broken, blasted bough 
 
 Of hope's fair tree, 
 And many a dream and purpose high, 
 And many a quivering, long-di'awn sigh 
 
 I give to thee. 
 
 Oh, river rushing to the sea, 
 I kneel in solitude by thee, 
 
 And sad tears pour 
 Into thy waters, gliding down 
 By verdant mead and forest brown, 
 
 Thro' Turloughmore.
 
 116 SUCKED ORANGES. 
 
 I kueel and kiss the waving sedge 
 That flutters on thy winding edge, 
 
 I kiss the stones 
 Once trodden by the feet that never 
 8hall wander hy thee, gentle river, 
 
 That hear'st my moans. 
 
 Oil, when the dark, dark gulf is past. 
 And on the Heavenly shore at last. 
 
 All pain is o'er, 
 I would my body they should lay 
 To moulder till the Judgment Day 
 
 In Turloughmore. 
 
 There in the quiet summer eves. 
 Amid the hush of whispering leaves, 
 
 My dust might hear. 
 Like some familiar, well-known tread. 
 Thy solemn requiem o'er the dead 
 
 That slumber near. 
 
 -00- 
 
 I l!i 
 
 t SUCKED OEANGES. | 
 
 SUCK your orange, then throw it away, 
 'Tis a lesson taught us every day. 
 Work a brute till he fails on the road. 
 Strive to rouse him with spur and goad. 
 Curse him as lazy, forget the past. 
 And leave him to die in a ditch at last. 
 
 Welcome your friend while his hope is new. 
 If fortune smiles will not yoit smile, too ? 
 But if in misfortune his head he would hide 
 Why pass him by on the other side ? 
 Like the worn-out hunter, he had his day, 
 And an orange sucked must be thrown away.
 
 CHUECH OF ST. NICHOLAS, GALWAY. 117 
 
 Fondle the woman whose love you won, 
 
 Smile and caress till the web is spun. 
 
 But when thorns bestrew her path 
 
 Visit on her your righteous wrath. 
 
 What can she in her madness say 
 
 But an orange sucked must be throwni away. 
 
 Lover seek not your lady's bower 
 While shadows over your pathways loi.ir. 
 If with her you would still find grace 
 Seek her ever with smiling face, 
 Learn that the motto of lady gay 
 Is suck your orange, then throw it away. 
 
 Cheated lover and slighted friend, 
 
 If your best hope fail you in the end 
 
 "Tis but the story often told. 
 
 The world's heart is hard and cold, 
 
 And this lesson is taught you every day — 
 
 That an orange sucked must be thrown away. 
 
 — 00- 
 
 II CHUBCH OF ST. iNICHOLAS, GALWAY. \ 
 
 ' iP^ 
 
 CALMLY beneath those tombstones 
 Slumber the sacred dead. 
 The soft light of the evening 
 Gleams on each lowly bed. 
 Without the restless ocean 
 
 Its mournful requiem sings, 
 And to mine ear it speaketh 
 A world of solemn things. 
 
 Here lie the young and lovely, 
 
 The good and kind lie here, 
 Oft are these loved names watered 
 
 By many a bitter tear,
 
 118 CHUECH Oy ST. NICHOLAS, GALWAY. 
 
 For many a dream and longing 
 Lie these low graves beneath, 
 
 And many a high aspiring 
 Is ended here by death. 
 
 Here slumbers one whose summons 
 
 Came in the bloom of life, 
 Not weary of the struggle, 
 
 Not tired in the strife, 
 Cut off without a warning 
 
 While yet his sun was high. 
 And men stood still to marvel 
 
 How one so blest could die. 
 
 Oh, deep the voiceless anguish 
 
 That broods this grave above. 
 This mute, this sad memento. 
 
 This shrine of buried love ; 
 Weei? as thou wilt, pale mourner, 
 
 Thy tears fall idly here, 
 The reaper old but whetteth 
 
 His scythe with every tear. 
 
 Here sleeps a weary pilgrim, 
 
 Worn with the toilsome fight, 
 Worn with the tears and tossings 
 
 Of many a day and night ; 
 Sick of the fleeting pleasures, 
 
 Sick of the dreary waste. 
 Sick of the Dead Sea apples. 
 
 So bitter to the taste. 
 
 Sick of the fitful sunshine. 
 The faint light in the gloom, 
 
 Longing for calm and quiet. 
 And rest within the tomb ; 
 
 Worn with the ceaseless striving, 
 The seeking after rest, 
 
 And now the clods are lying- 
 Unmoved upon his breast.
 
 UNION IS STRENGTH. 119 
 
 Here, deaf to tears and crying, 
 
 The loved and lovely sleep, 
 Unmoved by the sad mourners 
 
 Who o'er them vigils keep ; 
 And such shall be my pillow, 
 
 And such shall be my bed, 
 The grass upon my bosom, 
 
 The carved stone at my head. 
 
 And such shall be my dwelling 
 
 When all earth's show is past, 
 Here to this solemn company 
 
 I, too, shall come at last ; 
 After " life's fitful fever" 
 
 This shall be my abode. 
 To ripen till the morning 
 
 When men shall meet their God. 
 
 To ripen till the morning 
 
 When gleams the great white throne, 
 Then shall the dust be gathered, 
 
 And bone cleave to His bone ; 
 Oh, blessed dead now sleeping 
 
 My dear Lord Christ in thee. 
 Oh, Death ! the gate to glory, 
 
 Thou hast no fears for 'me. 
 
 -00- 
 
 f UNION IS 
 
 f STBENGTH. 
 
 "T AND of Eussell and of Sydney, land where Hampden 
 
 Ji^ bled and died, 
 
 Land of Milton and of Shakespeare, land of freedom and 
 
 of joride, 
 Hear my voice, which calleth to thee far across the 
 
 moauiug tide. 
 
 15
 
 120 UNION IS STRENGTH. 
 
 Land of statesmen and of poets, land of heroes and of 
 
 kings, 
 Land, whose very name an segis o'er her freeborn children 
 
 flings, 
 'Tis to thee, oh, glorious country, I would strike my wild 
 
 harp's strings. 
 
 I am not an alien, Albion, I am of thy soil and blood. 
 What, tho' wide between our mountains rolls the ever- 
 lasting flood. 
 The same stream that feeds my being warms thy great 
 heart true and good. 
 
 When thy bravest led the legions of our armies in the 
 
 fight 
 Did not my Avhole soul go with thee and my sons in 
 
 harness dight 
 Eose like giants at thy bidding to uphold thee in the right. 
 
 Strike together, men and brethren, for the altar and the 
 
 hearth. 
 Ask not is it Albion, Erin, or old Scotia gave you birth. 
 Children of one mighty mother, zealous for her weal and 
 
 worth. 
 
 Boundless be your peace and plenty and your glory 
 
 endless be, 
 Higher than the clouds above you, deeper than the circling 
 
 sea. 
 Which, for ever foaming round us, holds us scathless, 
 
 proud, and free.
 
 A GOOD WOMAN. 121 
 
 A GOOD WOMAN. | 
 
 A companion picture to a poem by Owen .Meredith. 
 
 A WOMAN slioiild be pure and fair, 
 Her mission every woe to share, 
 Her joy to love ; 
 And to be loved with faith sincere, 
 Deeming this gift of gifts most dear 
 'Neath Heaven above. 
 
 Her heart with tend'rest pity filled 
 
 Like odorous scents from flowers distilled 
 
 Her life should be ; 
 A yearning all things to forgive, 
 While in her gentle breast should live 
 
 Sweet charity. 
 
 Sweet charity for other's sin, 
 
 Sweet hope that all may Heaven win ; 
 
 A holy faith 
 And trust in rest beyond the sky, 
 And patience that will glorify 
 
 A bed of death. 
 
 A fortitude in trial's hour 
 
 O'er w^hich no tempter can have power, 
 
 Her only law 
 Her sense of right ; and tlio' by pain 
 And suffering seared, yet free from stain 
 
 Oi- marring flaw. 
 
 Her world should be her sheltered home, 
 Nor from it should she care to roam 
 
 To giddy scene ; 
 Her empire here, her sweet domain, 
 Where she in gentleness doth reign 
 
 By love a queen. 
 
 16
 
 122 THE muse's defence on heaking her contemned. 
 
 Mistress of every winning grace, 
 Her eyes the sunshine of the place ; 
 
 Her tender song 
 And her light foot upon the floor 
 The music that our souls adore, 
 
 Nor deem it wrong. 
 
 A ready wit to catch and see 
 The airiest shaft of raillery ; 
 
 A soul to feel, 
 To sympathise, to share, admire, 
 And to all nohle things inspire ; 
 A tact to heal 
 
 Where others may inflict a wound ; 
 When such a woman we have found 
 
 We know that God 
 Has to our lives an angel given 
 To lead us on the path to Heaven — 
 
 A glorious road. 
 
 -00- 
 
 I THE MUSE'S DEFENCE || 
 
 ON HEABING HEB j f CONTEMNED. 
 
 WHO'S he that scofieth at the Muse, 
 And calls her worship madness ? 
 May wicked sprites him now misuse. 
 And turn his mirth to sadness. 
 
 His eyes, unused to tender tears. 
 Looks in her sweet face boldly. 
 
 He knows not of her hopes or fears, 
 But tramples down both coldly.
 
 THE JIUSe's defence ON HEARING HER CONTEMNED. 123 
 
 He never felt the bliss of love, 
 
 Or yet the pain of pining, 
 On to his kindred clods he'll move, 
 
 His life's great business — dining. 
 
 Who's he, because his purse is full, 
 
 Looks down with scorn upon her, 
 And thinks, dull fool, and poor as dull, 
 
 She deemed his notice honour. 
 
 Was not his vision blinded so 
 
 By earth's gross mists and vapour. 
 And that his soul's lamp ever low, 
 
 Has dwindled to a taper. 
 
 Before the scorning on her brow 
 
 He'd shrink away in terror. 
 But she, at chiding ever slow, 
 
 Forbears to mark his error. 
 
 Who's he, because his birth is high, 
 Thinks that he bends to greet her — 
 
 She had her birthplace in the sky, 
 Where angels joy to meet her. 
 
 She stooped froin her high throne awhile 
 
 To bless us by her smiling. 
 We feel the sunshine of that smile 
 
 E'en half our cares beguiling. 
 
 Who's he that comes with lagging foot 
 
 And measured words and phrases 
 To proffer to the Muse his suit 
 
 And stammer out his praises. 
 
 He comes because his brethren come, 
 And knows not why they're kneeling 
 
 But half with mute amazement dumb, 
 He feigns what they are feeling.
 
 124 THE muse's defence on hearing heb contemned. 
 
 Binds the scales closer on his eyes, 
 
 And leave him still pursuing 
 His narrow round — she doth despise 
 
 Such forced and tardy wooing. 
 
 She must he wooed, as women are, 
 
 With tenderness and ardour, 
 For lukewarm love a suit will mar, 
 
 And make its winning harder. 
 
 But when the lowliest lover kneels 
 With truth to pour his passion, 
 
 Her tender soul his fondness feels. 
 And pays him in like fashion. 
 
 Oh, Muse, oh hlessing of our life. 
 
 Thou sunshine never fading, 
 Thou calm in midst of vexing strife. 
 
 Thou joy in man's uphraiding. 
 
 I clasp thy yielding hands in mine, 
 
 I kiss thy lips and tresses, 
 I pour thee out my soul's hest wine. 
 
 My heart thy footprints blesses. 
 
 Let those who have no power to feel 
 
 In ignorance despise thee. 
 We, we, who love thee round thee kneel, 
 
 It is the fool that flies thee.
 
 THE devil's holiday. 125 
 
 I THE DEVIL'S j 
 
 II HOLIDAY. I 
 
 HIGH on a mountain crag the Devil sate, 
 And gazing on the scene with devilish pleasure, 
 Bade his surrounding satellites not hate 
 
 Their fiendish efforts, but fill up the measure 
 Of the doomed city's woe, then laughing, cried, 
 " Now is my hunger almost satisfied 
 
 *' Down with it to the ground, hark to its moans. 
 How warmly flows along that bloody tide, 
 
 How pleasant to mine ear its shrieks and groans, 
 Here, here at least my name is deified ; 
 
 Hence, minions, to your work, away, away, 
 
 This is your master's feast, your monarch's holiday." 
 
 Then forth upon their tasks the hellish crew 
 
 Went gleefully, in their foul hands 
 The signals of destruction, as they flew 
 
 A groan uprose that spread o'er seas and lands, 
 Men's curses, women's wailing, and the cry 
 Of feeble age and slaughtered infancy. 
 
 And now a roar like thunder rent the sky, 
 And 'neath death's sable banner wide unfurled 
 
 In blackened nxins on the red earth lie 
 The wonders and the glory of a world, 
 
 While from afar the Devil smiled to see 
 
 The horrid din, the awful revelry. 
 
 There brother slew his brother, son his sire. 
 Infant and wife and mother, hoary priest 
 
 And shrieking maiden, while a rain of fire 
 Keddened the summer sky from west to east,
 
 126 THE devil's holiday. 
 
 And, as the work of woe went madly on, 
 Shook every dome from roof to basement stone. 
 
 All Europe heard and trembled, and a cry 
 
 Of mingled anger and of sorrow rose 
 From every nation, when, the smoke pass'd by, 
 
 Men saw fair Paris writhe in mortal throes, 
 Her beauty laid in ashes, all defiled, 
 The mother murdered by her sucking child. 
 
 Oh, crown and pride of France, thy people's joy, 
 How is thy glory gone, thy garments stained, 
 
 Crushed as a child might crush its gilded toy — 
 For thee the world's heart is sorely pained ; 
 
 No time or art can unto thee restore 
 
 The grandeur and the glories that are o'er. 
 
 Thy sacred things profaned by ruthless hands, 
 Thy hero's image trampled in the mire. 
 
 While round it grouped the sanguinary bands 
 Who glutted here in vain their savage ire ; 
 
 Did they not tremble as thy calm face fell. 
 
 Nor fear his shade who loved their land so well. 
 
 Oh, desolated city, by the tears thou'st shed, 
 By this di-ead cup of A\T:ath and fiery pain, 
 
 By shattered palace and by heaped up dead, 
 By every blighed heart and ruined fane, 
 
 I bid thee rise and let thy sons go free 
 
 From the accursed thrall of infamy. 
 
 Eise from thy ruin, France, and give no more 
 The devil cause for laughter, he has had 
 
 A fearful harvest, bid his joy be o'er, 
 
 Nor at thy blood and tears let him be glad; 
 
 Fair, lovely land, would thou could'st feel and know 
 
 How the world weeps with thee thy shame and woe.
 
 NO MAN HATH HIRED US. 127 
 
 NO MAN HATH HIKED US. 
 
 " Why stand ye here all the day idle, and they said, because no 
 man hath hired us." 
 
 NO man hatli hired us, we have watched and waited, 
 Waited with patience thro' the live long day, 
 To some dread doom our hopes seem ever fated, 
 And now, at evening's close, we sadly say — 
 No man hath hired us. 
 
 No man hath hired us, we are strong and willing. 
 Our hands are iron, and our nerves are steel. 
 
 Our hearts with noblest impulses are thrilling. 
 Yet all in vain, these strivings must we feel — 
 No man hath hired us. 
 
 No man hath hired us, many feet go by us. 
 Speeding with joyful haste the road along, 
 
 They care not for our state, they come not nigh us. 
 Unnoticed and unknown we bear life's wrong — 
 No man hath hired us. 
 
 No man hath hired us, we have aspirations, 
 We have quick bosoms, chafing at delay 
 
 What is our life — a chain of enforced patience. 
 Till our warm pulses cool, our heads grow grey — 
 No man hath hired us. 
 
 No man hath hired us, oh, ye hearts nigh broken 
 'Neath the dread burden that the poor must bear, 
 
 Not in unheeding ears the words are spoken. 
 
 One mightier than your fellows knows your care. 
 He will have pity.
 
 128 emmet's capture. 
 
 No man Lath liired us, know yon not, oh, mourners, 
 " They also serve then- God who stand and wait ;' 
 
 Many of this sad creed are haughty scorners, 
 Yet not alone the mighty who are great. 
 The great are patient. 
 
 Not now, not here, hut in the grand " for ever," 
 Shall the strange riddle of our life he read. 
 
 Sorrow from earth, alas, we may not sever. 
 But in the Heavenly vineyard none have said, 
 No man hath hired us. 
 
 -00- 
 
 i EMMET'SCAPTUBE. j 
 
 It is well known that Emmet was seized in Curran's garden, 
 while saying farewell to Sarah Curran, to whom he was 
 betrothed. 
 
 " A I^ISE, awake, e'er the day doth break, 
 
 XX I have crossed o'er mountain and moor, 
 Passed thro' flood and fire and dangers dire 
 To stand without thy door. 
 
 " The bloodhounds fleet have tracked my feet, 
 
 A price is on my head. 
 But I'd rather die than from thee fly 
 
 "With my last farewell unsaid. 
 
 "Arise, awake, ere the day doth break, 
 
 For I dare not linger here. 
 Let me clasp thy neck, let me kiss thy cheek. 
 
 Let me breathe my last sigh in thine ear.
 
 emmet's capture. ' 12'J 
 
 " Let me bear o'er tlie sea dear thoughts of thee 
 
 To sweeteu my lonely lot, 
 Ere I go away let me bear thee say 
 
 I shall never be forgot. 
 
 " By this pledge I've worn I will soon return 
 
 To bear thee o'er the wave, 
 Or I will lie 'neath a foreign sky, 
 
 In a nameless, lonely grave." 
 
 She hath ope'd the door, she hath flown once more 
 
 To the breast she loved so well. 
 He has clasped her neck, he has kissed her cheek 
 
 Whereon both their sad tears fell. 
 
 Oh, the pain, the bliss of that parting kiss 
 
 Sure none but lovers know. 
 And the strength of the love that rose above 
 
 Their anguish and their woe. 
 
 With footsteps slow he has turned to go, 
 
 But, alas, he was bought and sold. 
 One hand is laid on the shrinking maid 
 
 And one on her lover bold. 
 
 Her frenzied cry rings wild to the sky, 
 
 One groan speaks his despair, 
 Then helpless he stands 'neath their armed hands, 
 
 As the bird in the fowler's snare. 
 
 As the hounds the deer, they have tracked him here, 
 
 And here he now must yield. 
 They plucked from his side the sword once dyed 
 
 With the best blood of the field. 
 
 Then she stilled her moan, but cold as the stone 
 
 Was the hand in his she laid. 
 And closer she prest to his faithful breast 
 
 As their last farewell was said.
 
 130 emmet's capture. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell, this is my cTeatli-knell, 
 
 I ne'er sliall behold tliee more. 
 This Idss is our last, all, all is past, 
 
 Our bright, brief dream is o'er. 
 
 " For the felon's doom and the prison's gloom 
 
 Are what await me now. 
 Woe to thee and me, yet to God's decree 
 
 We both must learn to bow. 
 
 " To thee and to Heaven my life is given 
 
 Oh, land that I could not save. 
 Love, mourn not so, or I cannot go 
 
 With firmness to my grave." 
 
 " Go, noblest and best, to thy glorious rest. 
 
 They shall not us long divide. 
 For me will be room in thy narrow home, 
 
 And in death I'll be thy bride. 
 
 " Thou hast graven thy name on the roll of fame 
 
 In letters that cannot fade, 
 From the bloody dust of the brave and just 
 
 Are future heroes anade. 
 
 " They may strike thee to death, but the victor's wreath 
 
 Unwithered shall deck thy brow. 
 And weep not for me, I have lived but for thee. 
 
 And thy love is my comfort now." 
 
 He went to his death with unquickened breath, 
 
 She faded with the flowers, 
 But their pain now o'er, they have met once more 
 
 In a fairer world than ours.
 
 THE OLD STORY. 131 
 
 ffTHE OLD STORY. I 
 
 YOU say I'm sadly altered, Ned, 
 Within the last few years, 
 I've learned the truth of woman's kiss, 
 The worth of woman's tears. 
 
 'Tis strange that such a byegone pain 
 
 Has power to hurt me yet, 
 Old friend, at times I've almost prayed 
 
 To curse her and forget, 
 
 Sit here beside the hearth, dear Ned, 
 
 And I will tell you all. 
 Just let the firelight on your face 
 
 It's flickering radiance fall. 
 
 You say I'm sadly changed and worn, 
 
 I did not know till now 
 That tlio' the wound was deep within 
 
 It's marks were on my brow. 
 
 I've struggled hard thro' everything 
 
 To bear a manly part. 
 But wherefore need I hide it now — 
 
 She well nigh broke my heart, 
 
 I kept a brave fi'ont to the world, 
 
 I was not one to whine, 
 I tried to think it was God's will, 
 
 And never would repine. 
 
 But, oh, at night, I oft have sobbed 
 And moaned out like a child 
 
 For the sweet face that long ago 
 Into my own has smiled.
 
 132 THE OLD STORY. 
 
 Not e'en to yon, my comrade true, 
 Could I the old wounds bare, 
 
 But I have seen her dead to-day, 
 No more the mask I'll wear. 
 
 I'll tell you all, for one moon more 
 
 Will see me on the wave, 
 I'll wait until the grass is green 
 
 Ux^n her quiet grave. 
 
 I'll wait until the grass is green, 
 
 And then I'm oil' to sea. 
 East or West, or North or South, 
 
 'Tis all alike to me. 
 
 'Tis the old thing — her foolish heart 
 
 Believed a traitor's tale ; 
 Our wedding day was near at hand — 
 
 The fire that makes me pale. 
 
 There,^give me time, I'm better now — 
 
 One eve I went to meet 
 Her in our own old trysting-place, 
 
 I listened for her feet. 
 
 I listened for her joyous voice, 
 
 I hungered for her kiss ; 
 Oh, God, it makes me mad e'en now 
 
 To think or talk of this. 
 
 They came together through the wood. 
 Her head was on his breast. 
 
 His false, false lip was prest to hers, 
 His hand her hair caressed. 
 
 I cursed them with a mighty curse. 
 
 And from the spot I fled. 
 Then never, never saw her more 
 
 Till now I saw her dead.
 
 THE OLD STORY. 133 
 
 When morning dawned tliey sought for her — 
 
 Poor wanderer, never more 
 The treshold of her happy home 
 
 Her erring feet crost o'er. 
 
 Her father fretted for his child, 
 
 Her mother pined away, 
 She was their all of joy on earth — 
 
 They died upon one day. 
 
 And I, I laid them in the grave. 
 
 Where soon I'll lay her, too ; 
 Ah, Ned, before the awful last 
 
 My face and voice she knew. 
 
 I found her dying at my door. 
 
 My love, my lamb, my pride ; 
 Oh, would that in your happy youth 
 
 You in my arms had died. 
 
 I bore her in and laid her down, 
 
 Poor lost one, on my bed, 
 So worn, so wan, so ghastly white, 
 
 She seemed already dead. 
 
 I chafed her famished hands in mine 
 
 Until her senses came, 
 And then her poor, pale, wasted cheek 
 
 Blushed crimson with her shame. 
 
 And, with a moan, she dashed her head, 
 
 My, darling, 'gainst the wall, 
 But I, thank God, I kissed her lips. 
 
 Kissed and forcrave her all. 
 
 ■•o* 
 
 I drew her back upon my heart, 
 I bade her shelter there, 
 
 And from her brow put softly back 
 Her tossed and tangled hair.
 
 134 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 The hair with which in happier hours 
 
 My fingers loved to play — 
 Nay, do not chide me for these tears, 
 
 I'm not a man to-day. 
 
 She looked at me — her yearning eyes 
 
 Will hannt me till I die, 
 " Forgive, forgive," she faltered out, 
 
 I Idssed her for reply. 
 
 Then a strange glory lit her face — 
 
 Ah, now that all is past — 
 I know she came hack to her troth, 
 
 She loved me at the last. 
 
 For wild she claspt her wasted hands, 
 
 And as her spirit fled 
 I heard my name with blessings breathed, 
 
 And then she fell back dead. 
 
 •00- 
 
 I THE WAY OF j 
 
 II THE WOBLD. f 
 
 THE way of the world's to spend your life 
 In serving a thankless lord, 
 To find too late 'twas on barren ground 
 Your choicest gifts were poured. 
 
 The way of the world's to break the hearts 
 
 Of those who are good and true. 
 To slight old friends if they're down the hill, 
 
 And to flatter and fawn on new.
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 135 
 
 To pass by a man on the other side 
 
 If his coat is getting old, 
 To kneel at the shrine of the idol self, 
 
 And to worship the Moloch — gold. 
 
 Knowledge was power in days of yore, 
 
 Money is power now. 
 It can diaw in its train the mightiest man, 
 
 Make the haughtiest lordling how. 
 
 The way of the world's to smile in your face, 
 * " And murder you with that smile," 
 
 To rejoice when it leads the innocent 
 Into ways of sin and guile. 
 
 To charm the eye of the thoughless one 
 
 By many a pleasant lure. 
 To spread a net for unwary feet. 
 
 To grind the helpless poor. 
 
 To cringe and whine at a rich man's door, 
 
 To hunt a poor one down. 
 To greet the one with a bending head. 
 
 The other with chilling frown. 
 
 To bid the tired starveling work, 
 
 The desperate outcast pray 
 While hunger is gnawing at the heart 
 
 That cm-ses the light of day. 
 
 To stretch no hand to a sinking man. 
 
 But push him beneath the wave ; 
 To hurry the broken-hearted wretch 
 
 To the shelter of the grave. 
 
 * "And 1 can smile and murder while I smile."— Richaed 111. 
 
 17
 
 13G 
 
 The way of the world's to labour and toil 
 
 For that which is not bread, 
 To mock at the fable — constancy — 
 
 And without loving, wed. 
 
 To veil 'neatli the hand the bitter tear, 
 
 To check the rising sigh, 
 To bear with calmness a deadly stroke, 
 
 Then hide the wound and die. 
 
 To mask the sting that unkindness gives, 
 
 To fight a glorious fight. 
 To struggle with want as an " armed man" 
 
 And misfortune's cruel blight. 
 
 To be beaten to earth a thousand times 
 
 A conqueror at last to rise. 
 To meet disappointment at every step 
 
 And sorrow in every guise. 
 
 To wait and hope, and to live to see 
 
 Both waiting and hoping vain ; 
 To grow faint with the weary march of life 
 
 And sick with the sad heart's pain. 
 
 Oh, strange and bitter the world's ways, 
 
 A mournful tale at best ; 
 But, ah, there's a land Avhere ho tears are shed, 
 
 And where the weary rest. 
 
 00 
 
 I ERIN, MY COUNTBY. \ 
 
 OH Erin, my country, the home of the Graces, 
 The birthplace of fairies, and witches, and fays ; 
 The land of warm hearts and of soul-speaking faces, 
 Thou'rt dear to thy sons as in palmier days, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon.
 
 EBIN, MY COUNTEY. 137 
 
 Oil Erin, my country, thy green hills of beauty, 
 Thy fields and thy valleys smile fair as of old, 
 
 In the grand march of nations do thou but thy duty. 
 And thy peace shall be boundless, thy glory untold, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 Let the great trust the humble, the humble give gladly 
 That honour and love that are better than wealth. 
 
 And no more may the wail of the orphan rise sadly, 
 Or the hand of the murderer slaughter by stealth, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 Let the strong use with justice the power God gave him, 
 Nor turn a deaf ear to the cry of the poor. 
 
 No more let the worship of Mammon enslave him. 
 The hope of the needy be his to ensure, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 Dear land of my birth, oh, fain, fain would I bring thee 
 All joy and all blessing, all comfort and peace. 
 
 With a glow at my heart, oh, my country, I sing thee, 
 And that heart shall still love thee till being shall cease, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 Fair darling of nature, thy praise has been sounded 
 In language that burns by thy children gone by, 
 
 What eye has not sparkled, what pulse has not bounded. 
 As thy bards waked the music that never shall die, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 'Neath the green turf that nursed them for ever lie sleeping 
 Those great ones, those loved ones who gloried in thee. 
 
 By the urns of thy dead a sad watch thou art keeping. 
 Yet thou know'st not oh land, what hereafter may be, 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 Dear land of my love, this scant wreath that I bring thee. 
 Not worthy thy brow, I lay low at thy feet. 
 
 With a glow at my heart, oh, my country, I sing thee. 
 And would wish that for thee my poor song were more meet 
 Erin acushla, Erin aroon. 
 
 18
 
 138 REMORSE. 
 
 BEMOBSE. \\ 
 
 OH, look not so, for I can bear 
 Aught save thine anguish, thy despair ; 
 Curse and upbraid me, if thou wilt, 
 Add shame to shame, heap guilt on guilt, 
 But, oh, I cannot bear to see 
 Thy sorrow and thine agony ; 
 It maddens me to think that I, 
 Who for thy sake would gladly die. 
 Have wounded in its tenderest part 
 Thy loving, faithful, noble heart. 
 Have blighted in its sunniest houi- 
 The beauty of thy life's sweet flower ; 
 Yet, oh, by all thy hopes of Heaven, 
 Say that in time I'll be forgiven. 
 I do not ask the blessing now, 
 While thou art smarting from this blow. 
 But when away long years have fled. 
 And I am numbered with the dead. 
 Then, if thou can'st, forgive this wrong 
 While on thy soul past memories throng 
 Of times and scenes ere yet my name 
 Was seared by sin and stained by shame ; 
 When I was like thee pure and good, 
 Ere evil passion fired my blood — 
 Sinless and happy, not as now, 
 With writhing breast and aching brow. 
 Farewell — oh, never more thou'lt be 
 Condemned to look on wretch like me. 
 Accursed as Cain, I'll cross the wave. 
 To find in other lands a grave ; 
 The past, the future, reels my brain, 
 I dare not think on these again — 
 T]ie past, so beautiful and bright, 
 The future, cheerless as the night 
 When not one star in Heaven appears.
 
 Rosamond's bower. 189 
 
 What ! dost tliou weep— are these thy tears ? 
 
 Thou pitiest me — oh, say, oh, speak, 
 
 Is it for me they dew thy cheek. 
 
 For me and my most wretched fate ? 
 
 Thou w41t not curse me, then, nor hate ; 
 
 Wilt pity, pardon — oh, my love, 
 
 My hroken-hearted, wounded dove, 
 
 God in his mercy ever bless thee — 
 
 Nay, nay, I do not dare caress thee, 
 
 But let me low beside thee kneel, 
 
 Thy pity pierces me like steel. 
 
 Thy tears are drops of liquid fire — 
 
 What ! dost thou raise me, higher yet higher. 
 
 Are these thy kisses on my face ? 
 
 Am I, indeed, in thy embrace ? 
 
 Now I am strong, I will not shrink, 
 
 The cup with firmness I shall drink ; 
 
 Yet while I clasp thee must we sever, 
 
 Farewell, farewell, farewell for ever, 
 
 The dream, the blessed dream is o'er, 
 
 Thou'st pardoned me — I ask no more. 
 
 -00- 
 
 1 ROSAMOND'S BOWEB. | 
 
 THE birds were singing merrily and perfume filled the 
 air, 
 When deep within old Woodstock's bower sat Rosamond 
 
 the fair, 
 And all in brilliant day-dreams lost, bright dreams of 
 
 happy love. 
 She watched to see her lover's form come to her thro' the 
 grove.
 
 140 kosamond's bower. 
 
 She waited, with her longing eyes fixed on the path he'd 
 
 come, 
 
 Waited mth wildly-throbbiug heart, unconscious of her 
 doom — 
 
 Unconscious that the fatal shaft e'en now had towards her 
 
 sped, 
 Or that the bolt suspended hung 'Ijove her devoted head. 
 
 Ah, Kosamond, unto thine arms no lover comes to-day, 
 Never will Henry's fingers more with thy bright ringlets 
 
 play, 
 Never agam will thy soft eyes gaze on his well loved face, 
 Never again wilt thou be claspt within his fond embrace. 
 
 Instead of kisses, thou must taste to-day the poisoned 
 
 bowl. 
 Instead of whispers, bitter words must stab thy tortured 
 
 soul, 
 Instead of England's monarch, comes the dark and grizzly 
 
 King, 
 And for thy sweet, delicious dream a fearful reckoning. 
 
 Why comes he not, she musing said, his usual hour is 
 
 past ? 
 Hark, what was that, I cannot tell, my poor heart beats so 
 
 fast, 
 A footstep — 'tis my lord, my love — swift to the door she 
 
 flew. 
 But, ah, what stranger form is this which sternly meet her 
 
 view ? 
 
 A woman with revengeful eyes, and proud imperious mien, 
 Great Heaven, it bursts upon her now, before her stands 
 
 the Queen, 
 Her dreaded rival — ah, poor Eose, prepare, thine end is 
 
 near ; 
 Say wherefore lingers Henry now — would God that he 
 
 were here.
 
 eosamond's bower. 141 
 
 For in her hand she holds a bowl — alas, poor Eose, for 
 
 thee, 
 Yet, love, false love, thou wert the cause of all this 
 
 misery ; 
 Oh, why in this sad world of ours will heart still seek for 
 
 heart 
 When might and right stand stern between to cast them 
 
 far apart. 
 
 No pity — nought but furious hate — in Eleanor she sees, 
 And stretching out her snowy arms, she sinks upon her 
 
 knees, 
 "Oh, spare my life for Henry's sake, spare me," she wildly 
 
 cries, 
 Eoused by the name to more than rage, the vengeful 
 
 Queen replies — 
 
 " Drink of this cup, or, by my soul, I'll stab you where 
 
 you kneel, 
 False minion, you shall now the hate of Eleanor feel ; 
 Ay, call upon your absent love — he'll answer you, I trow, 
 When he has set his spear in rest and laid aside his bow." 
 
 *' Is there no pity ? Oh, my love, if thou wert here to-day 
 This cruel Queen would not have dared, thy Rosamond to 
 
 slay ; 
 Lady, he loved but me, but me, I pledge him now in this 
 Witii lips yet fi-agrant from the touch of his last parting 
 
 kiss." 
 
 She ^iook the cup, she drank the wine — her soul is going 
 
 fast. 
 One longing look upon the scene of all her bliss she cast, 
 Then with a prayer for Henry's weal she, softly closed her 
 
 eyes, 
 And at her rival's feet ere long a lovely corpse she lies. 
 
 And still the pensive traveller will pause upon his way 
 To gaze upon the grassy mound where murdered Rosa lay,
 
 142 CORNELIA. 
 
 The spot where, like a uymph of old, amid her flowers she 
 
 dwelt, 
 While low beside her on the earth her royal Henry knelt. 
 
 Then musing on the happy time ere yet the haughty dame 
 With poisoned bowl and dagger keen to Woodstock's bower 
 
 came. 
 He'll sigh that in this world of ours heart still will seek 
 
 out heart 
 When might and right stand stern between to cast them 
 
 far apart. 
 
 00 
 
 I COBNELIA. i 
 
 THESE are my jewels — dost thou think 
 That I could envy thine ? 
 In thy rich casket can one gem 
 Compare at all with mine ? 
 
 Ai'e not my children's eyes more bright 
 
 Than any diamond there ? 
 What pearl or ruby like to these, 
 
 Tho' rich they be and rare ? 
 
 Oh, dost thou think I envy thee 
 
 Thy chains of glittering gold, 
 While I can call these babes my own 
 
 Is not my wealth untold ? 
 
 There is more gold in one bright tress 
 
 Of this soft, clustering hair 
 Than in the rich and costly things 
 
 That thou hast gathered there. 
 
 Go, sit beside thy childless hearth. 
 Thy brow with bright gems deck. 
 
 Put bracelets on thine arms of snow. 
 And chains around thy neck.
 
 TO A SEA BIRD. 143 
 
 But bear no voice and see no face 
 
 That thou can'st call thine own, 
 And feel with all thy gold and gems 
 
 That thou art still alone. 
 
 Then see me with my bright, brave boys 
 
 Kneeling around my knee, 
 And think that one so blest as I 
 
 Could never envy thee. 
 
 -00- 
 
 TO A SEA BIED_ 
 
 SEEN MANY MILES INLAND. 
 
 BIED of the snowy wing and mournful cry, 
 I hail thee as a friend, but thou should'st be 
 Where waves lift up their heads as mountains high — 
 
 Back to thine home, this is no place for thee ; 
 Yet stay with me a little, I would fain 
 Ope memory's prison gate, loose fancy's rein. 
 
 Thou dost restore again what ne'er may be. 
 Thou dost recal me joys that live no more, 
 
 I breathe my native air, so pure and free, 
 I hear in my soul's ear the breakers roar ; 
 
 I'm at home again in that lone isle 
 
 Round which the very ocean seemed to smile. 
 
 Oh, mountains grand and hoar from which I caught 
 My love for all things lovely — waters wild 
 
 And breezes pure, whose every breath was fraught 
 With dreams poetic for the island child ; 
 
 I am your worshipper as in those days 
 
 When first my rude harp hymned its song of praise.
 
 144 TO A SEA BIRD. 
 
 Ye were my earliest friends, and fain would I 
 
 Unto your gentle company return, 
 But sooner shall unclose the death-sealed eye, 
 
 Or life be kindled in the funeral urn 
 As the quick pulse and tln-obbing heart be mine 
 Which make us feel that we are half divine. 
 
 Oh sea, oh shore, oh happy childish days, 
 
 Oh, dreams as golden as the clouds at eve 
 
 When the departing sun his richest rays 
 Flings o'er a world he seems as loth to leave ; 
 
 I trace my name upon your soft white sand, 
 
 I kneel to catch your billows in my hand. 
 
 Too faithful memory, how plainly now 
 
 I see the shell-strewn beach, the gleaming towers, 
 
 The old, old house, with chambers quaint and low, 
 In which were nurst my childhood's earliest hours ; 
 
 The porch, with western window, where I'd run 
 
 To catch the last glimpse of the setting sun. 
 
 The fields where oft in infancy I played, 
 
 The fairy dells, with buds and blossoms bright, 
 
 The little osier bower my brothers made. 
 
 The blazing hearth round which we grouped at night. 
 
 While from some chosen volume one would read, 
 
 And back to glories gone our spirits lead. 
 
 Oh, hospitable roof, which never yet 
 
 Eefused its shelter to the old or poor, 
 And fireside gay, round which were often met 
 
 Blithe, cheerful faces in the days of yore ; 
 Grey is thy master's head and old to-day, 
 While weary is the heart that then was gay. 
 
 There ever welcome waited on the guest 
 Whom fortune wafted to our lonely shore, 
 
 There kindly hands on him their favors prest, 
 
 And soothed and cheered him till the storm was o'er ; 
 
 Then bade God speed him as he launched again 
 
 To seek his distant home beyond the main.
 
 TO A SEA BIRD, 145 
 
 Come witli me now and climb tlie ruined fort, 
 And gaze down on the waves that seethe below, 
 
 Proudly it stood the guardian of our port, 
 While in its buttressed walls a goodly show 
 
 Of loopholes tells us that in days gone by 
 
 Here war and slaughter did their red trade ply. 
 
 We'll stand and watch the white-sailed fishing boats 
 
 After their daily toil to anchor glide. 
 Hark to the challenge hoarse from lusty throats. 
 
 Mellowed to softness by the swelling tide, 
 Now home each wends his way, and the profound. 
 Calm beau.ty of the night is shed around. 
 
 Here is the corner 'neath the broken wall 
 
 In which, with tender care, my flowers were set. 
 
 This nook once held the volume, worn and small. 
 Still sweeter to me than my mignonette. 
 
 Those tender songs o'er which I used to brood 
 
 Till I grew faint from the delicious food. 
 
 How beautiful the landscape, through the fields 
 Of waving corn how soft the breezes blow ; 
 
 Let us return — o'er all my senses steals 
 A flood of happy feeling — well I know 
 
 This path, smooth trodden by the bounding feet 
 
 That never on life's road again may meet. 
 
 Oh, dear dead faces that no more, no more 
 
 In fond aft'ection may be prest to mine. 
 Ye take your peaceful rest — your warfare o'er. 
 
 And for these blessed ones shall we repine ? 
 No ; they have fought the fight, and now the vast 
 Eternity is their's — life's sorrow past. 
 
 Dear, quiet home, where peace and plenty reigned, 
 What fell fate drove us from your happy walls ? 
 
 For what returns no more my heart is pained 
 And for its household gods my sick soul calls 
 
 Come back — but in the stillness far-oflt' waves 
 
 Seem moaning o'er dead joys and grass grown graves..
 
 146 " THROUGH EVIL REPORT." 
 
 I dreamed and wake — vacant is now the hearth 
 Where children gathered rouad a mother's knee, 
 
 While snatches of old song and bursts of mirth 
 Bubblec) from hearts as full of careless glee 
 
 As now their fiill of sadness and pale fear, 
 
 Which then they never deemed could come them near. 
 
 Mine island home, farewell — I owe to thee 
 These halting rhymes — therefore I dedicate 
 
 To thee my song. The eternal soul is free. 
 And though I often chafe at the curst fate 
 
 Which prisons me in cares nor few nor light, 
 
 My soul's lamp burnetii ever purely bright. 
 
 -00- 
 
 '^ THROUGH EVIL BEPOBT." j 
 
 THOU art left to me still, my bonnie, bonnie love, 
 Then why should I despair ; 
 If thou'rt left to me my bonnie, bonnie love, 
 For the world's frown I'll not care. 
 
 Let it work its worst, my bonnie, bonnie love. 
 
 It cannot alter thee ; 
 And nothing can harm me, my bonnie, bonnie love, 
 
 As long as thou'rt left to me. 
 
 As I walked thro' our town on yesterday morn 
 
 One passed me by with a sneer, 
 And another gave me a welcome cold, 
 
 But did I heed them, my dear. 
 
 No, I looked on their faces, poor crawling worms, 
 
 I lifted my own up high. 
 And I felt there was one, my bonnie, bonnie love, 
 
 Who would never pass me by. 
 
 But a month ago, my bonnie, bonnie love. 
 
 They would kneel to kiss my feet ; 
 "Tis the way of the world, my bonnie, bonnie love, 
 
 But little I heed them, sweet.
 
 FAIRY LAND. 147 
 
 Ob, little I lieed them, the cowards cold, 
 
 Fro'vvTi or smile is alike to me, 
 For thou'rt left to me, my bonnie, boimie love, 
 
 Aud my world is made up in thee. 
 
 -00- 
 
 f FAIRY LAND. \ 
 
 -mm 
 
 IT is my fairy land — no foot profane 
 May ever enter on my soul's domain ; 
 One chamber in my heart, one secret bower, 
 In which I wander in the twilight hour 
 Will only open when the clue I give, 
 "Tis there I love and hate and breathe and live ; 
 There shapes of beauty hover o'er my head, 
 Aerial visitants of " fancy bred," 
 With waving tresses and with snowy wings — 
 Softly they speak to me of wondrous things, 
 In tender, tuneful voices, and each tone 
 Is only heard by me— by me alone. 
 They tell of where unfading flow'rets grow. 
 Of wand"ring rivers that, with rippling flow. 
 Steal thro' the blossomed beds of rich perfume 
 That never di'oop or change their golden bloom ; 
 There, on each bending spray, the woods among 
 The wild-bird pours untired her thrilling song. 
 And happy lovers wander hand in hand 
 O'er the green turf of that enchanted land. 
 And none are weary there or heavy-hearted, 
 And none who love are ever, ever parted ; 
 No sighs are breathed, no bitter taunts e'er spoken. 
 No kiss unvalued and no troth-plight's broken. 
 No graves are there, no mourners, and no tears — 
 What sound is that my eager fancy hears ? 
 Is it some seraph's song — some angel's tread — 
 " Why, bless my soul, the girl's not yet in bed ! "
 
 148 FLEETING. 
 
 I FLEETING. 
 
 THE Laud 3'ou touch so Hglitly now 
 How often you have prest, 
 With words of passiou, sweet and low, 
 To your warm lips and breast. 
 
 The face on which you coldly look 
 
 Once haunted you in dreams, 
 You saw it in each babbling brook 
 
 On which the pale moon beams. 
 
 The voice whose accents now you hear 
 
 With an unquickened breath 
 Once had the power, it was so dear, 
 
 To loose the grasp of death. 
 
 Another's voice enchains you now, 
 
 Another's hand you hold, 
 Before another's shrine you bow. 
 
 To her your vows are told. 
 
 And I — I, also, hear unmoved 
 
 The voice so dear before ; 
 Say can it be that we have loved, 
 
 And that we love no more. 
 
 If our's was love, it passed away 
 
 As passes morning's dream, 
 It was the passiou of a day, 
 
 A bubble on life's stream. 
 
 A truer breast I lean upon, 
 
 A fairer face you found. 
 Thank Heaven, we both have long since won 
 
 Balm for our bosom's wound.
 
 LOVE V. FAME. 149 
 
 f LOVE vEmrs FAME. | 
 
 WHEN my eyes wander over history's i^age 
 My heart leaps up as at a trumpet hlast, 
 I melt with pity, or I glow with rage, 
 
 While hanging o'er the annals of the past. 
 
 I glory in the deeds that men have done — 
 
 They were not men, but gods, in those old days ; 
 
 When at great Marathon the field was ,won 
 I give the Athenians few, their meed of praise. 
 
 In the dread pass " three hundred" I behold. 
 Their perfumed locks loose floating on the air, 
 
 Each warrior cast in more than hero's mould, 
 Each sworn to conquer or to moulder there. 
 
 I see upon the bridge that spanned the flood 
 The brave Horatius take his noble stand. 
 
 And when on Eoman earth he safely stood 
 
 I stretch my hand thro' time to grasp his hand. 
 
 But wherefore need I look to Greece or Eome 
 Eor deeds of valour done by valiant man, 
 
 I turn from far my wandering vision home. 
 And my heart bm"ns within my breast again. 
 
 I stand with mighty Edward on the hill 
 
 " Where Cressy's battle fatally was struck," 
 
 I feel my eyes grow dim, my pulses thrill, 
 
 While 'neath the tramp of steeds the red plain shook. 
 
 I see bold Harry drawing in his train 
 
 The captured monarchs of the Bourbon line, 
 
 I see the shattered ships of baffled Spain, 
 
 While from afar the good Queen's banners shine.
 
 150 LOVE V. FAME. 
 
 I hear within my cars the brave words ring, 
 As gleams the light upon her burnished helm — 
 
 " And think (foul scorn) that any Prince or King 
 Shall dare invade the borders of my realm." 
 
 Before my watching eyes a noble band 
 
 Of mighty warriors, deathless heroes, pass, 
 
 The wonder and the glory of our land, 
 
 They rise before me now in memory's glass. 
 
 For them there is no dying — " for to live 
 In hearts you leave behind is not to die ;" 
 
 I muse and wonder till I almost grieve 
 I had not being in the days gone by. 
 
 And yet the story of Leander dying 
 
 For his young love has more of charms for me ; 
 I hear from her high tower sad Hero's crying, 
 
 I see him sinking in the billowy sea. 
 
 I mourn with her, poor captive at the gate. 
 Longing and listening for one loving word ; 
 
 He was her all, her life, her hope, her fate, 
 She, only, his "beloved in the Lord." 
 
 I weep with hapless Juliet in the tomb 
 
 Beside the pale form of her deathlike lover ; 
 
 I sigh o'er their sad fate, their young lives doom, 
 And with a wreath of flowers their graves I cover. 
 
 Beautiful ghosts, you flit along my path, 
 
 I hold your ashes in a fancied urn. 
 More beauty unto me your sad fate hath 
 
 Than dwells in that which bids my cheek to burn.
 
 PEACEFUL EVENINGS. 151 
 
 t PEACEFUL EVENINGS. || 
 
 DEAE peaceful evenings, can I e'er forget you, 
 Dear quiet room, the very shrine of home, 
 In some safe corner of my heart I'll set you, 
 To be remembered in the clays to come. 
 
 The warmth, the light, the comfort of the place, 
 The calm that filled me as I entered it, 
 
 But, more than this, than all, the kindly face 
 That would on either side the ingle sit. 
 
 The friendly hands stretched forth in welcome warm. 
 The words so simply kind, yet so sincere ; 
 
 Oh, heart that's tossed about in life's rude storm. 
 Would peace be yours, I bid you enter here. 
 
 Here the most vexed soul must calmer grow. 
 Here noble thoughts are nurst and nourished, 
 
 Here poesy's sweet stream doth softly flow, 
 And blest religion moves with holy tread. 
 
 Here simple pleasures, simple joys are found. 
 Here counsels wise and good are gently given ; 
 
 I feel as tho' I tread on hallowed ground. 
 
 Or wandering, press awhile the path to Heaven. 
 
 Oh, chamber quaint and old, when far away 
 I take my journey o'er life's trackless sea, 
 
 Oft shall I hear again the good man pray 
 His nightly prayer on humbly bended knee. 
 
 His holy head, with silver fitly crowned, 
 
 Will rise from out the past — a beacon blest ; 
 
 Dear reverend head, much comfort have I found 
 While gazing on thee, much of soothing rest. 
 
 19
 
 152 " OUR LITTLE PRINCESS, 
 
 )> 
 
 And when tormented by earth's fret and care, 
 Perchance in future hours I fail or faint, 
 
 Oh, may the seed thou'st sown good harvest bear, 
 And hope and memory hush the vain complaint. 
 
 00 
 
 "QUE LITTLE i 
 
 "PBINCESS." i 
 
 " Affection never is wasted." — Longfellow. 
 
 'YTpTEAE not, oh gentlest heart that ever beat 
 JC In breast of woman — fear not thou to lay 
 The wealth of thy pure fondness at his feet, 
 
 For with a reverence deep he doth repay 
 Thee for the priceless gift that thou has given, 
 And at thy side he dreams of hope and Heaven. 
 
 He Imows thy worth and goodness, and the light 
 As of a star-gemmed sky encircles thee, 
 
 With a strange glory all thy face is bright ; 
 In spirit worship low he bends the knee, 
 
 And feels as if some seraph passing by 
 
 Paused in his flight to breathe a parting sigh. 
 
 Or as if some fair Princess from her throne 
 Stooped down to offer him a priceless gem 
 
 Plucked from her perfumed hair or dazzling zone ; 
 He, daring not to touch her garment's hem, 
 
 Wishes that for her sake he were a king. 
 
 That he might claim the gift her white hands bring. 
 
 He walks beside thee, and he thinks some saint 
 Has stolen down to nestle at his heart. 
 
 His own with busy thought grows sick and faint, 
 He thinks of what he was and what thou art ; 
 
 He looks into thine eyes, his own grow dim 
 
 With pitying tears, thou art too good for him.
 
 " OXJE LITTLE PRINCESS." 153 
 
 Oh, that lie were a monarcli for thy sake, 
 To wrap thee in love's robe as in a dress ; 
 
 Alas, the careless hand will lightly shake 
 The dew from off the flower, nor ever guess 
 
 That tho' in beauty's pride it rears its head, 
 
 Its morning freshness has for ever fled. 
 
 " Deceived, deceived," it is the sad refrain 
 
 Sung in its loneliness by many a life, 
 'Tis graven deep on many a throbbing brain ; 
 
 " Deceived, deceived" — the doleful words are rife 
 With sad, stern meaning, like avenging fate, 
 Around our every path they stand and wait. 
 
 Like some pale Nemesis they haunt our bed. 
 They hover ghostlilie by our fireside hearth,- 
 
 In midnight's lonely hours, when all have fled 
 Who revelled round us in unthinking mirth ; 
 
 A horrid phantom steals from out the gloom, 
 
 We feel its unseen presence in the room. 
 
 Ah, once, my girl, ah, once it was not so, 
 A boundless wealth of love was all his own ; 
 
 He was deceived, and with one mighty throe, 
 One shuddering sigh, more sad than louder moan, 
 
 He saw his bark go down beneath the wave. 
 
 While 'bove the wreck grim furies wildly rave. 
 
 Bankrupt in love, he has no store to lay 
 
 In open-handed bounty at thy feet. 
 Yet when he basks beneath thine eyes' pure ray 
 
 His senses thrill with rapture wildly sweet ; 
 Thou art so fair, so bright, that he is blest 
 To be in such a heart a passing guest. 
 
 Love on, fau' child, enrich him with thy trust, 
 Thou wanderest now by fancy's fauy shore, 
 
 Too soon, alas, our idols turn to dust, 
 
 Such di-eams as thine, once fled, return no more ; 
 
 Therefore, be happy, thine the golden hours 
 
 When mercy veils the thorns beneath the flowers. 
 
 20
 
 154 " OUE LITTLE PRINCESS." 
 
 Think not thy fondness wasted, 'twill return 
 Into tliy generous breast a thousand fold — 
 
 O'er the unchanging past I fain would mourn, 
 His was a nature cast in rarest mould ; 
 
 Had he but known thee in that byegone time 
 
 Methinks I had no cause for this poor rhyme. 
 
 He would have worshipped thee, thou would'st have been 
 An ever faithful guardian at his side, 
 
 Poor wearied soul — oh, keep this mem'ry green, 
 Think of this love with fond, regretful pride ; 
 
 Alas for her who blasted flowers and fruit, 
 
 And struck thy tree of promise at the root. 
 
 Farewell, sweet soul, I have no fears for thee, 
 Thine unselfish nature brings its own reward ; 
 
 Knowest thou not, girl, of that divinity 
 Which hedges in and will for ever guard 
 
 A being fair and spotless as thou art — 
 
 Thy shield and buckler is thine own true heart. 
 
 It never can mislead thee — grief may come, 
 Alas, it must come, 'tis our human fate; 
 
 But an Almighty Hand will line the gloom 
 With rays of glory, and the glittering gate 
 
 Of hope and love will ope at thy behest, 
 
 And thou wilt enter into perfect rest. 
 
 And in the dim hereafter he will gaze 
 Down the long vista of the past and see 
 
 Thy face love-lighted as in byegone days, 
 
 Then will his worn heart breathe a prayer for thee, 
 
 While musing o'er the paths he with thee trod. 
 
 He'll walk more worthy Heaven and nearer God.
 
 BBOKEN VOWS. 155 
 
 i BBOiaiN VOWS. i 
 
 YOU come to give me back my love, to ask me to 
 restore 
 To you the pledge once to be mine till both our lives were 
 
 o'er ; 
 Oh, give me back my fond belief in human love and truth, 
 And give me back the sweet, bright di-eams of innocence 
 
 and youth ; 
 Oh, give me back the trusting heart, the confidence of yore. 
 And give me back the undoubting faith that can return no 
 
 more. 
 
 You give me back my vow and troth, but can you give to 
 
 me 
 The simple faith, the hopeful trust that never more may 
 
 be? 
 Can you recal to life and light the joy your words have 
 
 slain ? 
 Ah, no, for me life's unsoiled page will never ope agp^iu. 
 
 If others come to breathe the vows you whispered in my ear 
 With what distrust and bitter scorn shall I their story hear, 
 For I will think they also come to wound me and deceive. 
 No, tho' they swore by highest Heaven I could not them 
 believe. 
 
 For once you swore your heart and love were mine, were 
 
 only mine, 
 That when you changed the sun would cease in the blue 
 
 heavens to shine. 
 And now you give me back my troth, you say your love is 
 
 o'er, 
 You bid me to forget the past, to think of it no more.
 
 156 THE APPROACH OF SUMMER. 
 
 Forget the past — oli, would to God I could the past forget, 
 Would I could fling you back your x^ledge and feel no vaiu 
 
 regret ; 
 But can I think of what you were, and what you now 
 
 appear, 
 Without keen pangs of bitter grief, altho' I shed no tear ? 
 
 Of what you were, my worshipped love, and, oh, what are 
 
 you now ? 
 False to yourself, false unto me, false to each plighted 
 
 vow ; 
 Yes, I must carry in my breast that sting you planted 
 
 there, 
 And learn the hardest lesson taught — ^to suffer and to bear. 
 
 Yet, here's your jpledge, I would not now you to your 
 
 promise hold 
 For all the wealth of Shela's Queen, for all far India's 
 
 gold ; 
 I would not now, were you a king, be sharer of your 
 
 throne, 
 Take back, take back your stained faith, my idol is 
 
 o'erthrown. 
 
 -00- 
 
 l THE APPROACH OF SUMMER. % 
 
 "Consider the lilies." 
 
 SUMMER is coming— from then- long sleep waking, 
 The flowers are bursting forth on hill and lea, 
 The wild bird soaring high, glad music making, 
 Is telling of a Heaven we cannot see. 
 
 Summer is coming — the delightful story 
 Is told by all the children of the wood, 
 
 From the tall oak, with branches grey and hoary. 
 That all unmoved for centuries has stood.
 
 THE APPROACH OF SUMMER. 157 
 
 Down to the slender willow, whose long tresses 
 Bend gracefully to meet the murm'ring stream 
 
 That, rippling round its roots in soft caresses. 
 
 Seems glad between its leaves to glance and gleam. 
 
 Summer is coming — on the verdant meadows 
 Skip the white lambs, and on the daisied grass 
 
 We know her by the lengthening of the shadows 
 And the low 1mm of insects as we pass. 
 
 Summer is coming — golden beams are stealing 
 
 Athwart the azure skies at ev'ning time, 
 And stars at night seem little angels kneeling 
 
 To peep thro' Heaven's curtains on our clime. 
 
 Summer is coming — every breath is laden 
 With perfume borne to us by glittering seas, 
 
 And spring is ripening from a timid maiden 
 Into a glorious woman born to please. 
 
 Hark to the tidings glad — ^lift hearts and voices 
 
 Ye toiling chilch-en bowed by weary care. 
 When every living thing on earth rejoices 
 
 Shall we, the sons of God, alone despair. 
 
 Shall we not act like men — 'tis cowards only 
 
 Who lie with craven faces in the dust, 
 What ! if our lot be hard, our life's road lonely, 
 
 Let us be strong and work, be brave and trust. 
 
 What if the cup be bitter — to my thinking 
 
 No draught but has some sweetness in the bowl ; 
 
 Let us then pledge our fate, and calmly drinking, 
 Feel that it may not harm the living soul. 
 
 Is not this lesson taught us — morn still follows 
 With all its gladsome train, the dreary night, 
 
 And though oxxv path to-day is 'mong the hollows, 
 To-morrow it may scale the mountain's height.
 
 158 MY STAE. 
 
 Out of the thunder- cloud the lightning starting 
 Makes glorious with its light the leaden skies, 
 
 And when the king of day is just departing 
 'Tis with a kingly pomp the naonarch dies. 
 
 So should oiu* hearts, when fainting 'neatli earth's sorrow, 
 We fain would go to God in one long sigh, 
 
 From the day's death a hright example horrow. 
 And die like valiant men, if we must die. 
 
 After the winter's frost the glad stream rushing 
 On with rejoicing song now greets the sea, 
 
 So may we rend the chains our spirits crushing. 
 And know the glorious birthplace of the free. 
 
 Work while 'tis day — and your true souls possessing 
 The blessed gift of patience, soon shall find 
 
 The load that was to earth your weak forms pressing 
 Had some good plan of God concealed behind. 
 
 We have despaired too long — too long have fainted, 
 
 Forgetting in our misery that He 
 Whose skilful finger every flower has painted, 
 
 Clothed every field and decked each forest tree, 
 
 Has us in His good keeping. If his tender kindness 
 Leaves not a flower unwaked from winter's death. 
 
 Is there not hope for us, whose mortal blindness 
 Makes us like those of old—" of little faith ?" 
 
 '00- 
 
 II MY STAE. I 
 
 THOU comest along my path to shine, 
 As stars upon the sea. 
 And if there's aught in me divine, 
 I caught the s^Dark from thee.
 
 LEONOKE. 159 
 
 I filled my empty cistern up 
 
 At thy resplendent eyes, 
 And as I quaffed the brimming cup, 
 
 I was both blest and wise. 
 
 Thine was the unseen hand which led 
 
 Me from the brink of doom — 
 Thou wert the guiding star which shed 
 
 Such radiance in the gloom. 
 
 And ever may thy holy light 
 
 Illume life's troubled way, 
 Thou star, that in my darkest night 
 
 Beamed with thy brightest ray. 
 
 When the big waves of dark despair 
 
 Had risen like mountains high, 
 And murky clouds of grief and care. 
 
 Were low'ring in the sky ; 
 
 Piercing the gloom, I saw thee shine, 
 
 With steady light on me. 
 And, oh ! sweet star of joy be mine, 
 
 I owe it all to thee. 
 
 -00- 
 
 LEON QBE. I 
 
 HEEE is the spot I saw thee first. 
 And here my faithful heart has nurst 
 Dear thoughts of thee. 
 I wandered east, I wandered west, 
 But still thine image in my breast 
 Unfaded yet must be.
 
 160 LEONOEE. 
 
 A kiss lias made it lioly ground, 
 For never on the earth's wide bound, 
 
 Such rapture have I known. 
 When as thy passion stood confest 
 I drew thee closer to my breast, 
 
 And hailed thee as my own. 
 
 Thy face — it rises to me now — 
 The drooping eyes, the modest brow, 
 
 The flitting blush 
 That stole across thy virgin cheek, 
 While neither dared with words to break 
 
 Our souls' deep hush, 
 
 I went my weary way since then, 
 Amid the busy haunts of men 
 
 I filled my place. 
 But not alone — thou still wert near, 
 Tho' thy dear voice I could not hear, 
 
 Nor see thy face. - 
 
 For me, sweet love, thou hast not died. 
 For thou wert ever at my side — 
 
 Fair, as of old. 
 Oft have I turned me in my chair 
 And stretched my arms to empty air 
 
 Thee to enfold. 
 
 I have one blessing in my life — 
 Thou know'st they gave to me a wife, 
 
 And she has given 
 One child — a daughter — unto me, 
 And I have named her after thee 
 
 My saint in Heaven. 
 
 Yes, I have called her by thy name ; 
 Surely, my love, thou didst not blame 
 
 My faithlessness. 
 Thou pitiest and forgave the sin, 
 For thou could see the void within 
 
 They could not guess.
 
 LEONOEE. 
 
 They thought me happy — and I tried 
 To smile on my unwelcome hride ; 
 
 But all in vain, 
 ffhen when a year had passed away, 
 And on her breast a baby lay,_ 
 
 Death snapt the chain. 
 
 But she— my child,— I had almost said 
 Our child, — but we were all unwed — 
 
 She knows my care. 
 And often when the fire burns low, 
 Her heart seems unto mine to grow, 
 
 Her face to wear 
 
 An angel's beauty ; while to me 
 She talks with rev'rent voice of thee, 
 
 And bids me tell 
 How beautiful, and good, and true, 
 Was that sweet lady once I knew 
 
 And loved so well. 
 
 Her name — I breathe it o'er and o'er 
 Thy name — my own lost Leonore. 
 
 But yesternight 
 I spake it to myself, and she 
 Came gliding softly to my knee. 
 
 With footsteps light. 
 
 " Father," my gentle darling said, 
 And on my bosom laid her head, 
 
 And raised her eyes — 
 Her soft sad tearful eyes to mine ; 
 Her eyes : nay love, I swear their thine, 
 
 Blue as the skies, 
 
 With just the pleading tender look 
 Which first my heart a captive took, 
 
 When long ago. 
 In our own native woods I felt. 
 My soul before thy presence melt, 
 
 And to thee flow. 
 
 161
 
 162 
 
 LEONORE. 
 
 " Father," she said, and soft caressed 
 My hand in hers, and gently pressed 
 
 To mine her cheek, 
 "There is one star which clearly, brightly 
 Burns at our chamber window nightly, 
 
 It seems to speak 
 
 " Of that fair home, that blissful shore 
 Where dwells thine own lost Leonore ; 
 
 Oh, think that she 
 Is happy there," and then she raised 
 My face, and on the star we gazed 
 
 She's given to thee. 
 
 I blessed her then my darling sweet, 
 For this her simple fond conceit. 
 
 And evermore 
 At twilight hour, my child and I 
 Will search thy star out on the sky. 
 
 My Leonore ; 
 
 And looking on it I will think 
 That thou hast stolen to the brink 
 
 Of thy fair land. 
 To gaze down on my earthly home. 
 And tho' thou may'st not, durst not cQjne 
 
 To clasp my hand, 
 
 Yet when thou seest my daughter's face. 
 All her sweet beauty and her grace, 
 
 Thou wilt exclaim — 
 " One day I'll welcome him to Heaven, 
 Meantime a saint to him is given, 
 
 Who bears my name."
 
 THE GRAVE OF BALFE. 163 
 
 t THE GBAVE f 
 
 ^fliffllil' 
 
 I OF BALFE. i 
 
 •X*«X> 
 
 S Erin wept lier sainted son 
 Passed from this world of weeping 
 To where — his work for mortals done — 
 The harps of Heaven he's sweeping ; 
 The goddess bright of song appearing, 
 Spake to her soul these words of cheering — 
 
 "Why weepest thou that men on earth 
 
 Did not reward him rightly ? 
 He's gone where angels know his worth, 
 
 And where his crown glows brightly ; 
 New who would weep earth's gifts ungiven 
 When crowned by the hand of Heaven ! 
 
 " Cheer thee and dry thy weeping eyes, 
 Draw thy rent robe around thee. 
 
 Think from thy breast his life did rise, 
 A mother true he found thee ; 
 
 Thou gavest thy love — thou had'st no more, 
 
 And deathless is the name he bore. 
 
 " I have enrolled that tuneful name 
 
 'Mid those of byegone glory. 
 Within the holiest niche of fame. 
 
 To tell its undying story ; 
 Hereafter when men speak his worth 
 I'll point them to his place of birth. 
 
 " 'Twas Erin nursed his earliest years, 
 
 'Twas Erin's bosom bore him, 
 His broken harp now dews with tears 
 
 And the green turf that's o'er him ; 
 With Erin is his name entwined. 
 And by my hand the link was joined.
 
 164 MAVOURNEEN MACHREE. 
 
 " I sent this favorite of my train 
 Awhile to glad and cheer thee, 
 
 But tho' I take him back again 
 His spirit still is near thee ; 
 
 Bind up thy dark, dishevelled hair. 
 
 And weep not in such wild despair. 
 
 " Has he not left his songs to thee 
 
 To echo through all ages, 
 To make thine island of the sea 
 
 Shine brighter on fame's pages ? 
 And who would weep earth's gifts ungiven 
 Thus crowned by the hand of Heaven." 
 
 Then Erin rose and gently dried 
 The tears she late was weeping. 
 
 On her soft cheek the flush of pride 
 With sorrow's pallor keeping ; 
 
 A rapid conflict — till a smile 
 
 Broke from her dewy eyes the while. 
 
 " I will not weep, my son," she said, 
 " Tho' grief my life has shaded, 
 
 The crown you have placed upon his head 
 Shall last thro' time unfaded ; 
 
 And who would weep earth's gift ungiven 
 
 When crowned by the hand of Heaven." 
 
 -00- 
 
 MAVOUENEEN MACHREE 
 
 THERE is no land on earth so dear as the land we 
 call our own. 
 There's no home like the old home, where life's best hours 
 
 have flown, 
 And there's no love like the old love that round our hearts 
 have grown, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree.
 
 MAVOUBNEEN MACHREE. 165 
 
 We travel far, we travel wide, and other lands we see, 
 We make us greater, grander homes, and newer loves have 
 
 we, 
 But the old home and the old love are shrined in memory, 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 They think I have forgotten you, but my heart is with you 
 
 stiU, 
 Tho' you're lying far away in your grave so cold and chill, 
 And the memory of your tenderness my inmost soul can 
 
 thrill, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 If I had robes of silken sheen and jewels for my hair, 
 If I had slaves to wait on me, could dine on dainties rare, 
 I'd si3urn them all one little hour with you again to share, 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 Oh, lonely is the world to me, since you, love, went away. 
 
 They blame me often for my tears, but how could I be gay ; 
 
 Sure the very sun looks dim to me and all the sky is grey, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 Its not like summer to me now, e'en when the summer's 
 
 here, 
 There's winter ever in my heart, and winter in the year, 
 It was not so when, long ago, you walked with me, my 
 
 dear, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 Last week I saw a happy bride — oh, why is she so blest ; 
 Come back from out your grave to me, and take me to 
 
 your breast. 
 And give me back the last, last kiss that on your lips I 
 
 prest, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree.
 
 166 NO IRISH NEED APPLY. 
 
 Oh, come and gather me again, close to your loving heart, 
 And wipe away these blinding tears that from my eyelids 
 
 start, 
 Tell me 'twas all a horrid di-eam, and that we ne'er will 
 
 part, 
 
 Mavom*neen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 Oh, there's no land on earth so dear as the land we call 
 
 our own. 
 There's no home like the old home where life's best hours 
 
 have flown. 
 And no love like the old love that with our growth has 
 
 grown, 
 
 Mavourneen, mavourneen, mavourneen machree. 
 
 -00- 
 
 NO lEISH NEED APPLY. 
 
 SHAME on the lips that utter it, shame on the hands 
 that write, 
 Shame on the page that publisheth such slander to the 
 
 light; 
 I feel the blood with lightning speed, thro' all my veins 
 
 fast fly. 
 At the old taunt, for ever new — No Irish need apply. 
 
 Are not our hands as stout and strong, our hearts as warm 
 
 and true. 
 As their's, who fling this mock at us, to cheat us of our 
 
 due? 
 "While 'neath our feet God's earth stands firm, and o'er us 
 
 hangs His sky, 
 "Where there is honour to be won — The Irish need apply.
 
 NO IBISH NEED APPLY. 167 
 
 Oh, have not glorious things been clone, by Irish hearts 
 
 and hands ; 
 Is not our fame emblazoned far, o'er many seas and lands ? 
 There may be tears on Ii-eland's cheek, but still her heart 
 
 beats high, 
 And where there's valour to be shown — The Irish need 
 
 apply. 
 
 Wherever noble thoughts are nurst, and noble words are 
 
 said — 
 Wherever patient endures, when hope itself seems dead — 
 Wherever honest industry, to win its goal will try — 
 Wherever manly toil prevails — The Irish need apply. 
 
 Wherever woman's love is pure, as is unsullied snow — 
 Wherever woman's cheelf, at tales, of injury will glow — 
 Wherever pitying tears are shed, and breathed is feelings 
 
 sigh- 
 Wherever kindliness is sought — The Irish need apply. 
 
 If there is aught of tenderness — if there is aught of 
 
 worth — 
 If there's a trace of Heaven left, upon our sin-stained 
 
 earth — 
 If there are noble steadfast hearts, that uncomplaining die, 
 To tread like them, life's thorny road — The Irish will 
 
 apply. 
 
 Till on Killarney's waters blue, the soft stars cease to 
 
 shine — 
 Till round the parent oak no more, the ivy loves to twine — 
 Till Nephiu topples from his place, and Shannon's stream 
 
 runs dry, 
 For all that's great and good and pure — The Irish will 
 
 apply. 
 
 21
 
 168 woman's eights. 
 
 I WOMAN'S EIGHTS. 
 
 IS it not woman's fate, to smotlier in 
 Each soul-felt thought, each impulse of the heart ; 
 To hide her love as 'twere a mortal sin — 
 To act a careless, nay, unfeeling part. 
 
 E'en from her childhood is the lesson taught ; 
 
 She must not show her fondness, nor her hate — 
 She must not seek, she must herself be sought — 
 
 She must be silent and in patience wait. 
 
 If but a word could bring her happiness, 
 
 That word she dare not, ought not — will not speak ; 
 All must be hid, and none may ever guess, 
 
 Why is her eye so dim, so pale her cheek. 
 
 Men say then- love is stronger ; but I know 
 
 A woman's self-control is greater far, 
 She sees her heart's desire, still come and go, 
 
 As far from her as is the evening: star. 
 
 ■'o 
 
 She bids a cold "good morrow," while her breast 
 Is all disturbed and quivering with her joy ; 
 
 The love may grow apace, but ne'er confest 
 
 She 'neath her mantle hides, the troublous boy. 
 
 Like to the fabled Spartan who of old 
 
 f Hid a fierce beast within his breast, nor gave 
 
 Sign of his agony, till chill and cold 
 
 He sank, brave, patient soul, into the grave. 
 
 E'en so she smiles and smiles and presses down 
 The anguish and the sickness of her soul, 
 
 For her the " world's dread laugh" or withering frown 
 If once her o'erwrought feelings pass control.
 
 woman's eights. 169 
 
 She sees lier loved one pass into death's gloom 
 While her heart frights her with its yearning cry, 
 
 For her the flowers have lost their crimson bloom, 
 And the warm light has faded from the sky. 
 
 And yet she bows her head and taketh up 
 The cross of pain and goes her weary way, 
 
 Drinks, tho' with trembling lips, the bitter cup, 
 And strives " Thy will be done" in faith to say. 
 
 Oh, woman ! in thy weakness thou art strong, 
 Oh, woman ! in thy meekness thou art blest. 
 
 Sweet hopes and tender dreams to thee belong, 
 The path of life by thee with flowers is drest. 
 
 We would not have thee seek a higher place 
 Than that ordained thee by gracious Heaven — 
 
 The fireside hearth to gladden and to grace 
 As comforter, consoler, wert thou given. 
 
 " Heaven's last, best gift wert thou," thy mission only 
 To act with patience thine appointed part. 
 
 To speak the gentle word where sad and lonely 
 And over-burdened beats some human heart. 
 
 To bless a husband's life, to cheer a brother, 
 
 To be the light within a father's home. 
 Fond child, true sister, loving wife and mother, 
 
 Thy task to chain with love what else might roam. 
 
 •Such holy work is thine — by none disputed. 
 
 These are thy "woman's rights," oh, cherish them ; 
 
 Then shall each wayside flower thy hand has rooted 
 Be in thy crown of life a fadeless gem. 
 
 22
 
 170 A RETKOSPECT SOLD. 
 
 II A BETROSPECT— SOLD, j 
 
 HOW tliou comest to me, lost Alice, 
 When my daily toil is done, 
 And I'm musing in the twilight 
 
 By my silent hearth alone ; 
 When to midnight ball and revel 
 
 Troop the young, the fair, and gay, 
 And the voices and the footsteps 
 Of the daylight's past away. 
 
 Then with head bowed on my bosom. 
 
 And hands clasped upon my knee, 
 In the flickering, dying embers 
 
 All the past I seem to see, 
 And the weight of years falls from me. 
 
 While within my musing brain 
 Shadowy phantoms seem to hover, 
 
 And the lost I see again. 
 
 Then with noiseless footsteps treading 
 
 Through the half-closed open door 
 Comes the first love of my being 
 
 In the happy days of yore, 
 Ere the world had come between us, 
 
 And the glitter of his gold 
 Made her turn to my warm pleadings 
 
 A careless ear and cold. 
 
 And again I see her standing 
 
 In her father's stately home. 
 Again within the woodlands wide 
 
 With her in thought I roam ; 
 And a blush like lingering sunset 
 
 Is glowing on her cheek. 
 And a smile that makes it radiant 
 
 Beams upon me as I speak.
 
 A RETROSPECT SOLD. 
 
 She breathes her vows with fervor, 
 
 She promises to be 
 My faithful love, my darling, 
 
 While life is left to me ; 
 But those vows were long since broken, 
 
 Those words were all unsaid, 
 And the hopes which that morn budded 
 
 Are withered now and dead. 
 
 I wonder is she happy now 
 
 With the husband of her choice, 
 I loved her so, my spu-it 
 
 At her pleasure could rejoice. 
 Yet they tell me she is paler 
 
 And thinner than of old, 
 Some whisper that for money 
 
 Her peace of mind was sold. 
 
 And that she for whose soft bidding 
 
 My life I'd once laid down 
 Is but reaping bitter harvest 
 
 From seed herself has sown. 
 They say her witching beauty 
 
 Has begun to di-oop and fade, 
 That to fairer, fresher faces 
 
 His homage now is paid. 
 
 While she seldom looks and coldly 
 
 On her fair, unconscious child. 
 And that never by its prattling 
 
 Is her loneliness beguiled. 
 That her once bright eyes are heavy 
 
 With tears in secret shed, 
 And that she I almost worshipped 
 
 In heart and soul is dead. 
 
 Oh, lost love of my boyhood, 
 Had'st thou been true to me, 
 
 Had the babe that calls thee " Mother" 
 But climbed upon my knee 
 
 171
 
 172 eleanoee's picture. 
 
 I'd uot be sitting lonely 
 
 By my silent hearth to-night, 
 
 And thine eyes would be less heavy 
 And thy soft cheek be less white. 
 
 -00- 
 
 I ELEANORE'S PICTXJBE. 
 
 I FAIN would paint thy picture, but my hand 
 Drops useless down. I cannot paint aright. 
 As on the brink of some clear stream I stand, 
 
 To catch from its soft breast the varying light. 
 Oh, for a magic pencil, my best friend. 
 To paint a life in which all virtues blend. 
 
 E'euwhile one sang of thee in loving words, 
 And our hearts echoed to the tender strain, 
 
 'Twas with a skilful hand he swept the chords ; 
 In poesy's cloud-palace some souls reign, 
 
 While others only serve — wake silent lute. 
 
 My heart o'erflows altho' my tongue be mute. 
 
 Our " sweet Aunt Nelly," 'tis by that dear name 
 We must for evermore remember thee — 
 
 Justly our tenderest memory dost thou claim ; 
 Must the days come when we no more shall see 
 
 Thy kind eyes bid us welcome at the door, 
 
 Fain would we keep thee with us, Eleanore. 
 
 Few, few like to thyself are left behind, 
 I look around in vain thy peer to seek. 
 
 Who was so tender (wise, so thoughtful) kind, 
 I cannot help these tears upon my cheek ; 
 
 A precious link wert thou in my life's chain. 
 
 Where shall I find a friend like thee again. 
 
 Older than thou, I ever looked to thee 
 For counsel and for comfort in distress. 
 
 Oft when my blinded eyes no light could see 
 I've learned from thee to praise, to hope, to bless. 
 
 And in thy soothing words there lay such balm 
 
 The troubled waves were stilled, and all was calm.
 
 THE SPECTKS BKIDEGROOJI. 173 
 
 All me, when I bethink me of our walks, 
 
 Our pleasant wanderings in the sunny noon, 
 
 Thy snatches of sweet song, our fireside talks. 
 Now gay, now solemn, like some tender tune 
 
 Learned in our youth — forgotten, nevermore 
 
 Come memories of thee, loved Eleanore. 
 
 Friend of my youth — oh, it is hard to let 
 The few who love us from our pathway glide ; 
 
 But thou, tho' we are parted, ne'er forget 
 In the dim, shadowy future yet untried. 
 
 That, graven deep within our bosoms' core. 
 
 Thy cherished name is found, my Eleanore. 
 
 -00 
 
 IlilEiiiTim 
 
 t THE SPECTRE BBIDEGBOOM. \ 
 
 MY heart o'erfloweth to mine eyes. 
 And my tears flow down like rain, 
 Wlien I think of the love that is gone for aye. 
 
 That ne'er shall be mine again. 
 When I think of the di-eams I used to dream, 
 Of the hopes that all were vain. 
 
 My heart o'erfloweth to mine eyes 
 When I think of auld lang syne, 
 
 And tlie cup that was once so strangely sweet 
 Tastes bitter and salt as brine ; 
 
 All, nought but the lees are left me now, 
 God's hand spilt the rich red wine. 
 
 The cup of pain I drain it deep, 
 There is wormwood on the brim, 
 
 There is fennel floating dark below. 
 Oh, God ! how my eyeballs sAvim ; 
 
 What is this stealing to my side ? 
 'Tis a spectre stern and grim.
 
 174 THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 " There's a dark, dark stain on your brow, my love, 
 
 A stain of the red, red mould, 
 These are not the arms that oft of yore 
 
 My waist would close enfold, 
 And the lips that clung warm and soft to mine 
 
 Are icy, icy cold. 
 
 " Are these the kisses you used to give 
 
 In the bonny woods long ago, 
 When we watched the lazy cloudlets sail 
 
 O'er the sky-fields to and fro, 
 "When we paused by the rippling river's brink 
 
 To list to its tuneful flow. 
 
 Why are your lips so cold, so cold, 
 
 I feel no quivering breath. 
 Can you not rest in your quiet bed. 
 
 The waving grass beneath ?" 
 " I have stolen awhile from the churchyard's gloom. 
 
 From the dark domain of death. 
 
 *' I cannot rest in my narrow bed, 
 
 'Tis dark and I'm alone. 
 Why do you shrink so from my kiss — 
 
 On earth were you not my own ; 
 Ah, you're grown paler now than you used to be, 
 
 And your cheek has thinner grown. 
 
 " Do you think of the wide old window seat 
 
 In the old house far away. 
 When together we gazed on the purple peaks 
 
 Blush red at the close of day, 
 Ere they silently sank to their shadowy sleep 
 
 In the summer twilight grey. 
 
 " Oh, the sweet old songs you used to sing 
 As we stood by the salt sea waves, 
 
 I hear them still at the midnight hour 
 Sighing softly o'er the graves. 
 
 With a mournful sound like the distant dash 
 Of ocean in its caves.
 
 THE BALLAD OF EFFIE BURTON. 175 
 
 "Do you think of the nights we used to stand 
 
 And watch the pale stars shine, 
 Wlien closer and closer round my neck 
 
 Your arms you would fond entwine ; 
 Nay, turn not so from my clasp away. 
 
 Your lips — are they not mine. 
 
 " Ere long, ere long I must hie me back 
 
 To the place where worms creep, 
 Oh, say will you come with me, my love. 
 
 And share my di-eamless sleep, 
 Our bridal bed may be cold and chill, 
 
 But our rest will be calm and deep ? 
 
 " At crow of cock I must return, 
 
 Say will you share my bed ?" . 
 
 Then he kissed her lips with a greedy kiss. 
 
 And with a groan he fled ; 
 But when morning dawned they found her lie 
 
 All stiff and stark and dead. 
 
 -00- 
 
 II THE BALLAD OF EFFIE BURTON, j 
 
 *^r3> FFIE , lay aside thy broidery, I would speak alone 
 J23L with thee, 
 
 Look, the sun is almost sinking to his rest within the sea, 
 And I must be on the billow ere the dawn is in the sides, 
 I have much to tell you, cousin, heavy on my heart it lies. ' 
 
 Paished the red blood to her forehead, bathing all the 
 
 downcast face. 
 And she rose to give him answer with a woman's gentle 
 
 grace, 
 In my father's quiet garden stands my favorite linden tree. 
 On ti'i'e rustic bench beneath it I will sit and talk with thee.
 
 176 THE BALLAD OF EFFIE BURTON. 
 
 Effie, long before I knew you, when with blessing life was 
 
 stored, 
 There was one on whom I doted, whom my inmost soul 
 
 adored, 
 She — but ah, I will not name her — it is written on my worb 
 What her treachery has made me, but I will not curse her 
 
 now. 
 For her heart was pure and sinless till the wily tempter 
 
 came 
 From the paths of peace to lure her to a deep abyss of 
 
 shame ; 
 I had wooed her, I had wed her, laid the glory of my life 
 At the feet of her trusted — perjured woman, faithless wife, 
 'Twas one morn as I lay sleeping that she stole out from 
 
 my side. 
 Need I wound thy gentle bosom — by this hand the spoiler died. 
 Is it for the crime, sweet EfQe, that those tender tears you 
 
 weep? 
 Know you not revenge is precious, and my wrongs were 
 
 foul and deep ; 
 Think not, cousin, that I slew him with the base assassin's 
 
 knife. 
 No, it was in open combat that I took away his life. 
 From that hour I did not see her, but they tell me that 
 
 within 
 The deep cloister's stern seclusion made she penance for 
 
 her sin. 
 That by sorrow, worn and wasted, stung by anguish and 
 
 remorse, 
 Ere the year had flown they found, her in the cold grey 
 
 dawn a corpse. 
 Cursed and wretched, sick and weary, maddened by my 
 
 heart's deep pain. 
 Fled I from my sullied hearthstone far across the trackless 
 
 main, 
 Over land and sea I wandered until fainting, sick and poor, 
 You, my gentle cousin, found me lying at your father's door. 
 Thick the snow lay on the threshold, these old trees looked 
 
 grim and bare.
 
 THE BALLAD OF EFFIE BURTON. 177 
 
 And you seemed like some good angel sent down from the 
 
 realms of aii*, 
 O'er me then you bent and lifted from the snow-clad earth 
 
 my head, 
 And I felt the tears of pity that for me you freely shed, 
 Like the blessed dew of Heaven fell they on my burning 
 
 brain, 
 And methinks each bright di'op lightened the deep burden 
 
 of my pain ; 
 Then your kind old father led me to the comfort of his 
 
 hearth, 
 Asked me of my name and lineage, bade me tell my place 
 
 of birth, 
 And when I my name repeated, with a gladsome voice he 
 
 cried — 
 *' Oh, my sister's son, my nephew, with us evermore abide." 
 Then beneath your quiet rooftree, found I peace and rest 
 
 at last ; 
 For your gentle kindness led me from the agonizing past. 
 And tho' e'en the name of woman, had been loathsome 
 
 unto me. 
 Yet I would be more than human, thus to think, and look 
 
 on thee. 
 Yes, tho' seared in heart and blighted, I can love and trust 
 
 once more. 
 Knowing this, I now must leave you, tho' the struggle will 
 
 be sore ; 
 You could never look with fondness, on a wretch so lorn 
 
 as I ; 
 Oh, forgive me ! that I pain you, that I make you thus to sigh. 
 Never shall I curse you, Efiie, with a love so sad as mine, 
 If my own life has been clouded, wherefore cast a gloom 
 
 o'er thine ; 
 Fare thee well my gentle cousin — turn not thus your face 
 
 away — 
 Let my sad fate be remembered, when your nightly prayer 
 
 you pray ; 
 And when years have passed, my Effie, when sweet childi-eu 
 
 climb your knee,
 
 178 CONSOLATION. 
 
 And youcall another "husband"— oh, with pity think of me. 
 Then arose fair Effie Burton, lifted up her drooping head, 
 While her soft cheek, flushed and faded, in the stillness 
 
 thus she said — 
 "Eichard, since the day I found you, now six happy 
 
 months, and more. 
 In the chilly wintry evening, lying at my father's door ; 
 Since that blessed hour, dear Eichard, I have loved but 
 
 you alone — 
 If you prize my heart's devotion, it has long been all your 
 
 own." 
 
 00 ■ 
 
 I CONSOLATION, j 
 
 OH, say not the swallows will come no more. 
 They've but skimmed the purple sea. 
 They willbuild 'neath your eaves, when the budding leaves 
 
 Axe decking each forest tree. 
 Say not the flowers are cold and dead. 
 
 They're but buried 'neath the snow. 
 And they will arise, when from azure skies, 
 
 The balmy breezes blow. 
 Say not the light of the sun is quenched. 
 
 By yon driving thunder cloud ; 
 He yet will shine, with his light divine. 
 
 From behind his sable shroud. 
 
 And oh, when thy Maker hides His face 
 
 Say not thou art forgot ; 
 He but waits awhile upon thee to smile — 
 
 But, ah, He forgets thee not. 
 'Tis the fogs and mists of our own dear isle, 
 
 That makes her turf so green ; 
 So 'neath mountams of cares, and thro' mists of tears. 
 
 Are hearts of emerald seen. 
 This weary waiting, but tries our faith. 
 
 For the promise in patience wait, 
 Though it tarry long — let our hope be strong — 
 
 It can never come too late.
 
 Ida's faith. 179 
 
 I IDA'S I 
 
 I FAITH. I 
 
 " Love is strong as death." 
 [Taken from a legend told by Lord Lttton, in " The Pilgrims of the Rhine."] 
 
 THE angels swept their harps in Heaven, 
 Theii- notes like perfumed air, 
 And the harp of the angel Seralim, 
 Made the sweetest music there. 
 
 From the throne came forth, the Mighty Voice, 
 
 Of Him no eye can see. 
 And He spake to the Angel Seralim — 
 
 " Ask thou a boon of me." 
 
 " There's a star : 'tis a place of torturing 
 
 Where the souls of many dwell, 
 'Tis the painful porch of our glorious Heayen — 
 
 'Tis the one escape from hell. 
 
 " There be many there, who worship Thee, 
 
 Yet faint 'ueath tortm-es dire ; 
 Grant me the boon, to visit them, 
 
 And soothe them with my lyre," 
 
 The voice replied — " Thy prayer is heard : 
 
 Go gentlest angel, go 
 Touch thy sweet harp, if its tender strains 
 
 Can mitigate their woe." 
 
 The angel entered the crystal gates 
 
 And folding his snowy wings, 
 With skilful hand he touched his lyre, 
 
 And swept its golden strings.
 
 180 Ida's faith. 
 
 Then peace on tlie wretclied seemed to fall, 
 Yet one wail the wide hall crost — 
 
 " Oh Adenheim, Adenheim," said the voice, 
 " Mourn not the loved and lost." 
 
 The angel struck chord after chord. 
 
 But still the cry arose ; 
 Wondering, he questioned, " whose was the soul, 
 
 That could not know repose ?" 
 
 'Twas the soul of a woman, young and fair, 
 
 That poured this plaintive cry, 
 Chained to a rock, while demons grim. 
 
 Were standing idle by. 
 
 " Does the song I sing, lull even ye 
 
 Foul torturers to rest ?" 
 And they said, " Our torments are not so great 
 
 As the anguish in her breast." 
 
 " Wherefore, daughter, dost thou mourn 
 
 With such a plaintive wail. 
 Why is the song that soothes the rest 
 
 To thee of no avail ?" 
 
 " Oh stranger, beautiful and bright. 
 
 Thou seest before thee one. 
 Who on the earth loved the creature more. 
 
 Than the dweller on Heaven's throne. 
 
 "My torment is just — but my Adenheim] 
 
 Mourns ceaselessly for me. 
 And the thought of his grief, is greater pain 
 
 Than these fiery tortures be." 
 
 " And how knowest thou he mourns thee thus 
 
 " Because," the spirit cried, 
 " Thus I would have mourned my Adenheim, 
 
 If he before me died."
 
 Ida's faith. 181 
 
 The heart of the gentle angel thrilled, 
 
 " How can I ease thy pain ?" 
 " Give me, oh give me, to visit earth — 
 
 To see his face again," 
 
 " I would grant thy hoon, hut the penalty 
 
 To visit earth is great, 
 Thou must linger here still a thousand years — 
 
 'Tis too terrible a fate." 
 
 " Willingly " then the spirit cried, 
 
 " The doom thou fearest, I'll brave ; 
 Ages of torture I'll endm-e, 
 
 One hour from him to save." 
 
 And the spirit stretching her shadowy arms, 
 
 Pleaded so piteously, 
 That the angel opened the barred gates 
 
 And set the mourner free. 
 
 It was night in the halls of Adenheim, 
 And dressed in robes of state — 
 
 His vassals round — the lord of the feast, 
 In pomp and power sate, 
 
 And one who was fairer than the moon, 
 
 Sat his chau- of state beside ; 
 'Twas the noble dame of Falkenberg, 
 
 He wooed to be his bride. 
 
 " Thy words of love, Lord Adenheim, 
 
 What lady can believe — 
 Did not Loden's maidens, a wedding crown 
 
 For the brows of Ida weave ?
 
 182 Ida's faith. 
 
 " And scarce three little mouths have past, 
 Till thou plightest me the same — 
 
 The blush that is rising on my cheek 
 Is less of love than shame." 
 
 " By my halidom," quoth Lord Adenheim, 
 " Thou doest thy beauty wrong ; 
 
 Love Ida — nay, thou mockest me, 
 I did not love her long. 
 
 " A few gay words — a few bright smiles — 
 
 Behold the love I bore ! 
 No; trust me, fair dame of Falkenberg, 
 
 I never loved before." 
 
 He ceased, and a faint sad sigh he heard 
 
 Behind his golden chair. 
 He turned to see but a misty cloud. 
 
 That vanished into air. 
 
 " Was it for this," quoth Seralim, 
 " Thou hast added years of pain. 
 
 For a thousand more in these painful halls 
 Thy spirit must remain ?" 
 
 " Alas ! after what I endured on earth, 
 
 What are those years to me, 
 The suffering there, in one little hour, 
 
 Was an eternity !" 
 
 v-^'
 
 EDITH S SACEIFICE. 
 
 183 
 
 fl" EDITH'S SACBIFICE. | 
 
 i|iili||"ji^ 
 
 "From a .scene iu Lord Lytton's "Harolds" 
 
 eOME, sweet liarp, and let me tuue thee 
 To a wild and mournful lay, 
 Let me sing of days departed, 
 And of ages passed away. 
 
 Sing of liim, the great and noble, 
 Who for fi-eedom bled and died, 
 
 Seventh son of great Earl Godwin — 
 England's glory and her pride. 
 
 Sing of her, the true and faithful, 
 
 Half a woman, half a saint ; 
 All of earth that's pure and lovely, 
 
 Yet without one early taint. 
 
 She who gave up all we cherish. 
 
 All we value most in life — 
 Love and hope and joy unbounded. 
 
 And the sweet, sweet title — wife. 
 
 Ere within her golden tresses 
 
 Time had sown one thread of grey, 
 
 When the pulse of youth was bounding. 
 And life seemed one holiday. 
 
 In that hour when passion pleadeth, 
 And the heart beats loud and high, * 
 
 On the altar of fair freedom 
 
 Did her true heart bleed and die. 
 
 23
 
 184 Edith's sacrifice. 
 
 lu lier chamber sat tlie maiden — 
 Sat aiicl dreamed she of her love, 
 
 And the sunbeams were not brighter 
 Than the dreams her fancy wove. 
 
 She was 'neath her husband's roof-tree, 
 Played her children round her knee, 
 
 Happy wife and happy mother — 
 Who on earth so blest as she ? 
 
 When he late had kissed her forehead 
 He had bidden her have no fear ;' 
 
 All the toil at last was over, 
 
 He had made the pathway clear. 
 
 Hark ! a footstep — scarce joy's tear-drops 
 On her soft, fair cheek are dried. 
 
 When she sees with mute amazement 
 Priest and warrior by her side. 
 
 Thrilled her heart with nameless terror. 
 Had some sorrow fallen on him ? 
 
 And she rose and turned upon them 
 Eyes with fear and loving dim. 
 
 " Daughter, we have come to ask thee 
 Wilt thou save our native land ? 
 
 Choose between thy love and England- 
 Girl, our fate is in thine hand ! 
 
 " If Earl Harold weds thee, Edith, 
 Nought can this poor country save. 
 
 And our fair, our lovely England, 
 Will be one wide, yawning grave. 
 
 " Aldyth, with her stout retainers, 
 Keady waits to be his bride. 
 
 And, with all her trusty spearmen, 
 E'en the Norman is defied.
 
 Edith's sacrifice. 185 
 
 ' ' And the people wait to crowii him 
 
 King of this fair isle, if he — 
 May God comfort thee, my daughter ; 
 
 Yes, thou kuow'st it — given up thee. 
 
 " Ah, poor heart ! thou can'st not do it. 
 
 But for this great sacrifice. 
 Think, a heavenly crown awaits thee, 
 
 In the mansions of the skies." 
 
 Thrice she spoke, but vain the effort. 
 
 Nothing could her lips reply, 
 And they read the mute inquiry 
 
 In the wildly mournful eye. 
 
 Then outspake the warrior stately — 
 
 "Edith, cousin, thinkest thou 
 Tliat lie sent us thus to wound thee 
 
 By my knightly faith, not so ! 
 
 " He will ne'er resign thee, Edith, 
 
 Tho' it be for England's sake, 
 And the ties that bind thee to him 
 
 Thou alone on earth can break." 
 
 Flushed her cheek — and one short moment 
 
 To her love and hope she gave, 
 Then she cried, " Oh, Harold, hear me, 
 
 'Tis our own loved land to save. 
 
 " All is over, ye have conquered — 
 To him still this heart may cling ; 
 
 But he ne'er shall wed with Edith — 
 Go and hail him England's King." 
 
 24
 
 18f> UEAN KIRWAN's LAST CHARITY SKRJION. 
 
 II DEAN KIBWAN'S | 
 
 ^^'1^ I :!Hii|ffl![ippi»«^ 
 ^nini l111l:iiiiili!illil->-'^^ . 
 
 f LAST CHARITY SEBMON 
 
 A SEA of faces, fixed on one grey head 
 That rose like some old lighthouse 'mid the crowd ; 
 He looked around, yet never word he said, 
 
 But o'er his snowy 'kerchief calmly bowed. 
 Then turned, and with a look of love and woe 
 Ga/ed on the orphan group who knelt below. 
 
 He took the white cloth slowly from his face, 
 And lo ! 'twas reddened with his true heart's blood ; 
 
 Then, with a gesture like a fond embrace. 
 
 He bent him o'er the babes that nigh him stood, 
 
 And lifting up to Heaven his aged head, 
 
 "Oh, my poor children," with a groan, he said. 
 
 It was enough, the anguish of that tone, 
 The mute imploring of that gesture mild — 
 
 His heart's blood he had given, his work was done, 
 He leaves to others now each orphan child. 
 
 They bore him to his bed with weeping eyes. 
 
 From which the soldier worn, no more may rise. 
 
 But that dyed 'kerchief and that anguished cry, 
 That " oh, my children," echoed in each soul, 
 
 Out of their gifts men gave abundantly, 
 
 And few their mournful sobbings could control ; 
 
 And all went forth with meekness and with awe 
 
 To tell their children's children what they saw. 
 
 Still is the scene remembered, still warm tears 
 Are loosened fifom their sources by the tale, 
 
 That " oh, my children," echoes thro' all years. 
 That bubbling life-stream bids the cheek groAv pale ; 
 
 Still is his mem'ry hallowed, and his tomb 
 
 Is hung with garlands that for aye shall bloom.
 
 THE TURN'INti OF THi: TIDE. 187 
 
 11 THE TUBNING- OF THE TIDE, f 
 
 FEW the joys aud mauy sorrows 
 That our lot iu life divide, 
 Aud from youth to age we"re waiting 
 For the turniug of the tide. 
 
 Ever hoping that the morroAv 
 Will some blessed tidings bring 
 
 To uproot a rooted sorrow, 
 
 To pluck out some secret sting. 
 
 Ever hoping that the future 
 
 Will be brighter than the past ; 
 
 That our night is nearly over, 
 
 That the day must dawn at last. 
 
 Up the steep we've long been toiling, 
 And the top we soon must gain ; 
 
 Yet, when we have reached the summit, 
 'Tis to find our hopes were vain. 
 
 For a higher peak is looming 
 
 In the distance far away. 
 And the pathway grows more rugged. 
 
 And the shadowy clouds more grey. 
 
 On the beach of time we"re standing, 
 Watching for the tide to turn. 
 
 Till Death's pitying angel leads us 
 Softly o'er the silent bourne. 
 
 Oh ! that to our Heavenly Father 
 We could all our cares confide, 
 
 Aud with faith aud hope and patience 
 Wait the turning of the tide.
 
 188 CHANGE MEETINGS. 
 
 CHANCE MEETINGS. I 
 
 AS tln-o' the uight we're going, 
 How pleasant 'tis to find 
 A stai', its bright face showing, 
 Tho' dayhght's left behind ; 
 And now and then, when keeping 
 
 Our lonely vigils, we 
 Feel all our pulses leaping 
 Its welcome light to see. 
 
 So as thro' life we're taking 
 
 Perchance our weary way, 
 Our pleasant paths forsaking. 
 
 Our rosy clouds tui-ned grey ; 
 'Tis pleasant kindly faces 
 
 To meet e'en for a while, 
 To see the warm heart's traces 
 
 Within the kindly smile. 
 
 We know the cup we're di-inking 
 
 Will pass us by-and-bye. 
 And yet each moment's linking 
 
 Our hearts by mem'ry's tie. 
 Time passes, swiftly fleeing — 
 
 We own the spirit's sj)ell ; 
 Touch hands in friendly greeting, 
 
 Then grasp them in farewell. 
 
 So airs from Heaven drove thee 
 
 A moment in my way. 
 My spirit fain would love thee — 
 
 Yet knows thee but a day. 
 My fancy e'en now lingers 
 
 Upon thy fan- girl face, 
 I clasp thy soft, warm fingers. 
 
 And mark thy artless grace.
 
 CHANCE MEETINGS. 189 
 
 Thou'lt go, and I may never 
 
 Behold thy face again ! 
 The air-spun cord will sever 
 
 As snow dissolves in rain ; 
 But still the gold hair shining 
 
 Above thine open brow 
 Shall round my thoughts be twining 
 
 Ev'u as it twineth now. 
 
 A child, and yet a woman — 
 
 Never the charm resign ; 
 The heavenly and the human 
 
 Are blent in souls like thine. 
 Be still a child in spirit 
 
 When years have passed o'er thee ; 
 "Tis woman's chiefest merit 
 
 Guileless and fond to be. 
 
 May all love ever hold thee, 
 
 May all love ever bless, 
 The kindest doth enfold thee 
 
 Now as in long caress ; 
 With it, except the blessing 
 
 A stranger sends in this. 
 Nor chide her frank conFessincr 
 
 If she has done amiss.
 
 liJO A FRIENDLY GREETING. 
 
 I A FBIENDLY G REETING. I 
 
 FPiIENDS, tlio' I may ne'er behold you, 
 Never clasp your hands in mine, 
 Yet my spirit anus enfold you, 
 
 And around you mem'ries twine — 
 Tender mem'ries that shall never 
 Fade or perish from my heart ; 
 Bound by links no time can sever. 
 Ye are of my past a part. 
 
 Ye have writ your name in kindness 
 
 Deep within an anguished breast, 
 ]\Iourned a sick soul's moaning blindi>ess, 
 
 And its agonising guest. 
 Tears the angels now are weeping 
 
 Were the tears your kind eyes shed 
 O'er the worn out heart that's sleeping 
 
 Calmly with its kindi-ed dead. 
 
 Love and death with hands enfolden 
 
 Draw you ever to my side — 
 Mine a story sad and olden, 
 
 Yours a friendship true and tried ; 
 Oft my fancy now shall wander 
 
 To your city by the sea, 
 Oft my di-eaming heart shall ponder 
 
 O'er your tenderness for me. 
 And tho' I may ne'er behold you — 
 ^ Never clasp your hands in mine. 
 Yet my spirit arms enfold you. 
 
 And around you mem'ries twine. 
 
 Dublin : Printed by W. J. Alley & Co., Kydfr's Row, Capcl ^t.
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Allan and Bessie— VSige 33. verse 4. 1st line, for "jessamine" read '-jasmine." 
 
 page 35, verse 8 (part II.), 4tli line, for " only" read ■' favorite." 
 HUnd Man's Bride— Yage 44, verse 3, 3rd line, for '• these" read " thee." 
 Afac/ise's Last Paintinfj— Page 53, last verse. 3rd line, for " spake" read 
 
 "speaks." 
 I/i Memoriam — Page 53, " In Memori«m" should be " In Memoriam." 
 An Old Song— Page. 76, verse 6, 1st Une, for " wringing " read " winging," and 
 in page 81, verse 2, 6th line, for " wing " read " TVTing." 
 
 On K. xceeping—VagQ 96, " on R. weeping" should be " on K. weeping." 
 
 Vx Victis — Page 98, " Vae Victis" should be " Vre Victis." 
 
 A« /nwc«/ion.- Page 106, last verse, 2nd line for "I'll lay down my Iiead," 
 
 should be " I'll lay my head down." 
 Afuses' Defence — Page 122, verse 2, 2nd Une, for "loolcs" read "look ;" page 
 
 124, verse 11, for " binds" read " bind." 
 
 Devil's Holiday —Vage. 125, verse 9, 4tli line, for " heart" read " hearth." 
 
 No Irisli Need Apply— 'Paget 167, verse 4, 2nd line, the word " faith" is left out 
 after " patient." 
 
 Approach of Summer — Page 158, verse 13, 4th line, for "birthplace" read 
 " birthright."
 
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