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 :U
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 * 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIA C. R. DORR. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 
 1879.
 
 Copyright, 1879, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 
 
 Press of 
 FRANCIS HART & Co.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 co FRIAR ANSELMO 3 
 
 ^ THE KING'S ROSEBUD , 1 1 
 
 cc SOMEWHERE . 13 
 
 35 
 
 U A SECRET 14 
 
 PERADVENTURE 17 
 
 * RENA A LEGEND OF BRUSSELS 19 
 
 in WHAT NEED ? 35 
 
 g THE Kiss 37 
 
 WHAT SHE THOUGHT 39 
 
 THIS DAY 42 
 
 ci UNANSWERED 44 
 
 jg " CHRISTUS ! " 48 
 
 ^ THE CLAY TO THE ROSE 54 
 
 ill Two .56 
 
 L- EVENTIDE 60 
 
 -J To THE " BOUQUET CLUB " 63 
 
 AT THE LAST 65
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 MY LOVERS 67 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER 69 
 
 AT DAWN 77 
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH 79 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 89 
 
 WEAVING THE WEB 91 
 
 ^ RABBI BENAIAH 94 
 
 A CHILD'S THOUGHT 98 
 
 " GOD KNOWS " 101 
 
 UNSOLVED 104 
 
 FIVE 109 
 
 QUIETNESS 112 
 
 WINTER 114 
 
 THE "CHRISTUS" OF OBERAMMERGAU 115 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 1 16 
 
 ENTERING IN 119 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE 122 
 
 THOU KNOWEST 125 
 
 A FLOWER FOR THE DEAD 126 
 
 A RED ROSE 129 
 
 MY BIRTHDAY 131 
 
 TWENTY-ONE 133 
 
 THOMAS MOORE (MAY 28, 1779 1879) 136 
 
 SINGING IN THE DARK 139
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Two SONNETS. I. II 141 
 
 To ZULMA. I. II 143 
 
 MERCEDES 145 
 
 SLEEP 146 
 
 TO-DAY 147 
 
 GRASS-GROWN 148 
 
 AT THE TOMB 149 
 
 AT REST 150 
 
 F. A. F 151 
 
 Too WIDE ! 152 
 
 RESURGAMUS 153 
 
 IN KING'S CHAPEL 1 54 
 
 THY NAME 155 
 
 THREE DAYS. I. II. Ill 156 
 
 VERMONT 159 
 
 A LAST WORD 177
 
 TO S. M. D. 
 
 T BROUGHT thee, love, the first pale buds of spring, 
 Frail blooms that trembled in the lonely dells ; 
 Wild violets, mayhap, or nodding bells 
 Gathered when happy birds on joyous wing 
 Fluttered from bough to bough to coo and sing. 
 I brought thee summer roses, such as grow 
 In our <nvn garden ground, and do not know 
 The grace of tenderer culture. Now I bring 
 The early fiowers of autumn golden-rod 
 Plucked by the wayside, asters starry-eyed, 
 With here and there, alas ! a crimson leaf 
 That dropped, untitnely, on the waiting sod. 
 Dear heart .' refuse not thou this later sheaf 
 From fields where we have wandered side by side. 
 
 " The Maples," September,
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO,
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO. 
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO for a secret sin 
 Sat bowed with grief the convent cell within 
 Nor dared, such was his shame, to lift his eyes 
 To the low wall whereon, in dreadful guise, 
 The dead CHRIST hung upon the cursed tree, 
 Frowning, he thought, upon his misery. 
 What was his sin it matters not to tell. 
 
 But he was young and strong, the records say ; 
 Perhaps he wearied of his narrow cell ; 
 
 Perhaps he longed to work, as well as pray; 
 
 Perhaps his heart too warmly beat that day ! 
 Perhaps for life is long the weary road 
 That he must travel, bearing as a load 
 The slow, monotonous hours that, one by one, 
 Dragged in a lengthening chain from sun to sun, 
 Appalled his eager spirit, and his vow 
 Pressed like an iron hand upon his brow. 
 Perhaps some dream of love, of home, of wife, 
 Had stirred this tumult in his lonely life,
 
 4 FRIAR ANSELMO. 
 
 Tempting his soul to barter heavenly bliss, 
 And sell its birthright for a woman's kiss ! 
 At all events, the struggle had been hard; 
 And as a bird from the glad ether barred, 
 So had he beat his wings till, bruised and torn, 
 He wished that night he never had been born ! 
 And still the dead CHRIST on the cursed tree 
 Seemed but to mock his hopeless misery; 
 Still Mary mother turned her eyes away, 
 Nor saint nor angel bent to hear him pray ! 
 
 The calm, cold moonlight through the casement shone; 
 
 Weird shadows darkened on the floor of stone; 
 
 Without, what solemn splendors ! and within 
 
 What fearful wrestlings with despair and sin ! 
 
 Sudden and loud the cloister bell outrang; 
 
 Afar a door swung to with sullen clang; 
 
 And overhead he heard the rhythmic beat, 
 
 The measured monotone of many feet 
 
 Seeking the chapel for the midnight prayer. 
 
 Black wings seemed hovering round him in the air, 
 
 Beating him back as with a stifled moan
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO. 5 
 
 He would have sought the holy altar stone. 
 Then with a swift, sharp cry, prostrate he fell 
 Before the crucifix. " The gates of hell 
 Shall not prevail against me ! " loud he cried, 
 Stretching his arms to CHRIST, the crucified. 
 " By Thy dread cross, Thy dying agony, 
 Thine awful passion, LORD, deliver me ! " 
 
 Was it a dream ? The taunting demons fled ; 
 Through the dim cell a wondrous glory spread 
 And all the air was filled with rare perfumes 
 Wafted from censers rich with heavenly blooms. 
 Transfigured stood the CHRIST before his eyes, 
 Clothed in white samite, woven in Paradise, 
 And from the empty cross upon the wall 
 Streamed a wide splendor that encompassed all! 
 Was it a dream ? Anselmo's sight grew dim ; 
 The cloistered chamber seemed to reel and swim ; 
 Yet well his spirit knew the glorious guest, 
 And all his manhood rose to meet the test. 
 "What wilt Thou have me, LORD, to do?" he cried 
 With pallid lips, and kissed the sacred feet.
 
 6 FRIAR ANSELMO. 
 
 And then in accents strangely calm, yet sweet, 
 These words he heard from CHRIST, the crucified, 
 The pitying CHRIST his inmost soul who read, 
 With all its wild unrest, its doubt and dread : 
 " MAKE THOU A COPY OF MY HOLY WORD ! " 
 Then mystic presences about him stirred ; 
 The vision faded. At the dawn of day 
 Prostrate and pallid in the dusk he lay. 
 Was it a dream ? GOD knows ! The narrow cell 
 Wore the old aspect he had learned so well, 
 And from the crucifix upon the wall 
 No glory streamed illuminating all ! 
 Yet still a subtile fragrance filled the room ; 
 And looking round him in the soft, gray gloom, 
 Anselmo saw upon the fretted floor 
 An eagle's quill that this grave legend bore: 
 " He works most nobly for his fellow-men 
 Who gives My word to them, by tongue or pen ! " 
 
 Henceforth Anselmo prayed, but worked as well, 
 Nor felt the bondage of his cloister cell ; 
 For all his soul was filled with high intent,
 
 FRIAR ANSELMO, y 
 
 He had no dream save its accomplishment 
 To make a copy of the Holy Word, 
 Fairer than eye had seen, or ear had heard, 
 Or heart conceived of ! Day by day he wrought, 
 His fingers guided by a single thought; 
 Forming each letter with the tenderest care, 
 With points of richest color here and there ; 
 With birds on swaying boughs, and butterflies 
 Poised on gay wings o'er sprays of eglantine; 
 With tangled tracery of flower and vine 
 Through which gleamed cherub faces, half divine; 
 With fading leaves that drift when Summer dies, 
 And angels floating down the evening skies 
 Each word an orison, each line a prayer! 
 Slowly the work went on from day to day; 
 The seasons came and went; May followed May; 
 Year after year passed by with stately tread 
 To join the countless legions of the dead, 
 Till Fra Anselmo, wan and bowed with age, 
 Bent, a gray monk, above the parchment page. 
 Death waited till he wrote the last fair line, 
 Then touched his hand and closed the Book Divine!
 
 POEMS.
 
 THE KING'S ROSEBUD. 
 
 ONLY a blushing rosebud, folding up 
 Such wealth of sweetness in its dewy cup 
 That the whole air was like rare incense flung 
 From golden censers round high altars swung! 
 One day the king passed by with stately tread, 
 And, reaching forth his hand, he lightly said, 
 " All sweets are mine ; therefore this rose I take, 
 And wear it in my bosom for Love's sake." 
 Then, while the king passed on with smiling face, 
 The sweet rose gloried in its pride of place. 
 
 But ah ! the deeds that in Love's name are done ! 
 The woeful wrack wrought underneath the sun ! 
 Still with that smile upon his lip, the king 
 Laid his rash hand upon the beauteous thing;
 
 12 THE KING'S ROSEBUD. 
 
 In hot haste tore the crimson leaves apart, 
 And drained the sweetness from its glowing heart; 
 Seared the soft petals with his fiery breath, 
 Then tossed it from him to ignoble death ! 
 When next with idle steps I passed that way, 
 Prone in the mire the king's fair rosebud lay.
 
 SOMEWHERE. 
 
 How can I cease to pray for thee? Somewhere 
 In God's great universe thou art to-day: 
 
 Can He not reach thee with His tender care ? 
 Can He not hear me when for thee I pray ? 
 
 What matters it to Him who holds within 
 The hollow of His hand all worlds, all space, 
 
 That thou art done with earthly pain and sin? 
 Somewhere within His ken thou hast a place. 
 
 Somewhere thou livest and hast need of Him : 
 Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights to climb; 
 
 And somewhere still there may be valleys dim 
 That thou must pass to reach the hills sublime. 
 
 Then all the more, because thou canst not hear 
 Poor human words of blessing, will I pray, 
 
 O true, brave heart! God bless thee, wheresoe'er 
 In His great universe thou art to-day !
 
 A SECRET. 
 
 IT is your secret and mine, love! 
 
 Ah, me! how the dreary rain 
 With a slow persistence, all day long 
 
 Dropped on the window pane ! 
 The chamber was weird with shadows 
 
 And dark with the deepening gloom 
 Where you, in your royal womanhood, 
 
 Lay waiting for the tomb. 
 
 They had robed you all in white, love; 
 
 In your hair was a single rose 
 A marble rose it might well have been 
 
 In its cold and still repose!
 
 A SECRET. 15 
 
 O, paler than yonder carven saint, 
 
 And calm as the angels are, 
 You seemed so near me, my beloved, 
 
 Yet were, alas, so far! 
 
 I do not know if I wept, love ; 
 
 But my soul, rose up and said, 
 " My heart shall speak unto her heart, 
 
 Though here she is lying dead! 
 I will give her a last love-token 
 
 That shall be to her a sign 
 In the dark grave or beyond it! 
 
 Of this deathless love of mine. 
 
 So I sought me a little scroll, love; 
 
 And thereon, in eager haste, 
 Lest another's eye should read them 
 
 Some mystic words I traced. 
 Then close in your clasped fingers, 
 
 Close in your waxen hand, 
 I placed the scroll for an amulet, 
 
 Sure you would understand !
 
 16 A SECRET. 
 
 The secret is yours and mine, love ! 
 
 Only we two may know 
 What words shine clear in the darkness, 
 
 Of your grave so green and low. 
 But if when we meet hereafter, 
 
 In the dawn of some fairer day, 
 You whisper those mystical words, love, 
 
 It is all I would have you say !
 
 PERADVENTURE. 
 
 I AM thinking to-night of the little child 
 That lay on my breast three summer days, 
 
 Then swiftly, silently, dropped from sight, 
 While my soul cried out in sore amaze. 
 
 It is fifteen years ago to-night ; 
 
 Somewhere, I know, he has lived them through, 
 Perhaps with never a thought or dream 
 
 Of the mother-heart he never knew! 
 
 Is he yet but a babe ? or has he grown 
 To be like his brothers, fair and tall, 
 
 With a clear bright eye, and a springing step, 
 And a voice that rings like a bugle call? 
 
 I loved him. The rose in his waxen hand 
 Was wet with the dew of my falling tears; 
 3
 
 18 PERADVENTURE. 
 
 I have kept the thought of my baby's grave 
 Through all the length of these changeful years. 
 
 Yet the love I gave him was not like that 
 
 I give to-day to my other boys, 
 Who have grown beside me, and turned to me 
 
 In all their griefs and in all their joys. 
 
 Do you think he knows it ? I wonder much 
 If the dead are passionless, cold and dumb ; 
 
 If into the calm of the deathless years 
 No thrill of a human love may come ! 
 
 Perhaps sometimes from the upper air 
 
 He has seen me walk with his brothers three ; 
 
 Or felt in the tender twilight hour 
 
 The breath of the kisses they gave to me ! 
 
 Over his birthright, lost so soon, 
 
 Perhaps he has sighed as the swift years flew; 
 O child of my heart ! you shall find somewhere 
 
 The love that on earth you never knew !
 
 RENA. 
 
 (A LEGEND OF BRUSSELS.) 
 
 ST. GUDULA'S bells were chiming for the midnight, 
 
 sad and slow, 
 In the ancient town of Brussels, many and many a 
 
 year ago, 
 
 And St. Michael, poised so grandly on his lofty, airy 
 
 height, 
 Seemed transfigured in the glory of the full moon's 
 
 tender light, 
 
 When, a fair and saintly maiden, crowned with locks 
 
 of palest gold, 
 Rena stood beside her lover, son of Hildebrand the 
 
 Bold.
 
 20 RENA. 
 
 She with grief and tears was pallid; but his face was 
 
 hard and stern: 
 All the passion of his being in his dark eyes seemed 
 
 to burn. 
 
 " Never dream that I will give thee back thy plighted 
 
 faith," he cried, 
 " By St. Michael's sword I swear it, thou, my love, 
 
 shalt be my bride ! " 
 
 " Nay, but hear me," she responded ; " hear the 
 
 words that I must speak; 
 I must speak, and thou must hearken, though my 
 
 heart is like to break. 
 
 " Yestermorn, as I sat spinning blithely at my cot 
 tage door, 
 
 Straightway fell a stately shadow in the sunshine on 
 the floor; 
 
 "And a figure stood before me, so majestic and so 
 grand,
 
 REN A. 21 
 
 That I knew it in a moment for the mighty Hilde- 
 brand ; 
 
 " Stood and gazed on me till downward at my feet 
 the distaff dropped, 
 
 And in all my veins the pulsing of the swift life-cur 
 rent stopped. 
 
 " ' Thou art Rena,' then he uttered, and he swore a 
 
 dreadful oath, 
 And the tempest of his anger beat on me and on 
 
 us both. 
 
 " ' She who thinks to wed with Volmar must have 
 
 lands and gold,' said he, 
 ' Or must come of noble lineage, fit to mate with 
 
 mine and me ! 
 
 " ' Thou art but a peasant maiden, empty-handed, 
 
 lowly born ; 
 All the ladies of my castle would look down on thee 
 
 with scorn.
 
 22 RENA. 
 
 11 ' Even he will weary of thee when his passion once 
 
 is spent, 
 Vainly cursing her who doomed him to an endless 
 
 discontent ! ' 
 
 " Then I, trembling, rose up slowly, and I looked 
 
 him in the face, 
 Though the dreadful frown it wore seemed to darken 
 
 all the place. 
 
 " ' Sir, I thank you for this warning,' said I, speak 
 ing low and clear, 
 
 ' But the laughter of your ladies I must teach my 
 heart to bear. 
 
 " ' For the rest your son is noble and my simple 
 
 womanhood 
 He will hold in loving honor, as a saint the holy 
 
 rood ! ' 
 
 " Oh ! then his stern face whitened, and a bitter 
 laugh laughed he :
 
 RENA. 23 
 
 ' Truly this my son is noble, and he shall not wed 
 with thee. 
 
 " ' Hear rny words now, and remember ! for by this 
 
 good sword I swear, 
 And by Michael standing yonder, watching us from 
 
 upper air, 
 
 " ' If he dares to place a wedding-ring upon your 
 
 dowerless hand, 
 On his head shall fall a father's curse the curse of 
 
 Hildebrand!' 
 
 " O, my Volmar ! Then the earth rocked, and I fell 
 
 down in a swoon; 
 When I woke the room was silent ; it was past the 
 
 hour of noon; 
 
 " And I waited for thy coming, as the captive waits 
 
 for death, 
 With a mingled dread and longing, and a half-abated 
 
 breath ! "
 
 24 RENA. 
 
 Straight the young man bowed before her, as before 
 
 a holy shrine : 
 " Never hand of high-born lady was more richly 
 
 dowered than thine ! 
 
 "What care I for gold or honors, or my father's 
 
 curse?" he said; 
 But the words died out in shudders, and his face 
 
 grew like the dead. 
 
 Then she twined her white arms round him, and she 
 
 murmured, sweet and low, 
 As the night wind breathing softly over banks where 
 
 violets blow: 
 
 " ' He who is accursed of father, he shall be accursed 
 
 of God,' 
 Long ago said one who followed where the holy 
 
 prophets trod. 
 
 ' ; Kiss me once, then, O my Volmar ! just once more, 
 my Volmar dear,
 
 RENA. 25 
 
 Even as you would kiss my white lips if I lay upon 
 my bier! 
 
 " For a gulf as dark as death has opened wide 'twixt 
 
 thee and me; 
 Neither thou nor I can cross it, and thy wife I may 
 
 not be ! " 
 
 ii. 
 
 ONCE again the bells of midnight chimed from St. 
 
 Gudula's towers, 
 While St. Michael watched the city slumbering through 
 
 the ghostly hours. 
 
 But no slumber came to Rena where she moaned in 
 
 bitter pain, 
 For the anguish of that parting wrought its work on 
 
 heart and brain. 
 
 Suddenly the air grew heavy as with magical per 
 fume, 
 4
 
 26 RENA. 
 
 And a weird and wondrous splendor filled the dim 
 and silent room. 
 
 In the middle of the chamber stood a lady fair and 
 
 sweet, 
 With bright tresses falling softly to her small and 
 
 sandaled feet. 
 
 Flushed her cheeks were as a wild rose, and the 
 
 glory of her eyes 
 Was the laughing light and glory of the kindling 
 
 morning skies. 
 
 Airy robes of lightest tissue from her white arms 
 
 floated free ; 
 They seemed woven of the mist that curls above the 
 
 azure sea, 
 
 Wrought in curious devices, star and wheel and leaf 
 
 and flower, 
 That, like frost upon a window-pane, might vanish 
 
 in an hour.
 
 RENA. 27 
 
 In her hands she bore a cushion, quaintly fashioned, 
 strangely set 
 
 With small silver pins that spanned it like a branch 
 ing coronet; 
 
 And from threads of finest texture swung light bob 
 bins to and fro, 
 
 As the lady stood illumined in the weird and won 
 drous glow. 
 
 Not a single word she uttered; but, as silent as a 
 
 shade, 
 Down the room she swiftly glided and beside the 
 
 startled maid 
 
 Knelt, a radiant vision, smiling into Rena's wonder 
 ing eyes, 
 
 Giving arch yet gracious answer to her tremulous 
 surprise. 
 
 Then she laid the satin cushion on the wondering 
 maiden's knee,
 
 28 REN A. 
 
 And to all her mute bewilderment, no syllable spake 
 she. 
 
 But, as in and out and round about, the silver pins 
 
 among, 
 Flashed the white hand of the lady, and the shining 
 
 bobbins swung, 
 
 Lo ! a web of fairy lightness like the misty robe she 
 
 wore, 
 Swiftly grew beneath her fingers, drifting downward 
 
 to the floor! 
 
 And as Rena looked and wondered, inch by inch 
 
 the marvel grew, 
 Till the eastern windows brightened as the gray 
 
 dawn struggled through. 
 
 Then the lady's hand touched Rena's, and she 
 
 pointed far away, 
 Where the palace towers were gleaming in the first e 
 
 red light of day.
 
 REN A. 29 
 
 But when once again the maiden turned her glance 
 
 within the room, 
 With the lady fair had vanished all the splendor and 
 
 perfume. 
 
 Still the satin cushion lay there, quaintly fashioned, 
 
 strangely set 
 With the silver pins that spanned it like a branching 
 
 coronet ; 
 
 Still the light web she had woven lay in drifts upon 
 
 the floor, 
 Like the mist wreaths resting softly on some lone, 
 
 enchanted shore ! 
 
 in. 
 
 SLOWLY Rena raised the cushion, with her sweet 
 
 eyes shining clear, 
 Lightly tossed the fairy bobbins, half in gladness, 
 
 half in fear.
 
 30 RENA. 
 
 Ah ! not vain had been her watching as the lovely 
 
 lady wrought; 
 All the magic of her fingers her own cunning hand 
 
 had caught! 
 
 Many a day above the cushion Rena's peerless head 
 
 was bent, 
 And through many a solemn night she labored on 
 
 with sweet intent. 
 
 For, mayhap, the mystic marvels that she wove 
 
 might bring her gold 
 A fair dowry fit to match the pride of Hildebrand 
 
 the Bold! 
 
 Then she braided up her long hair, and put on her 
 
 russet gown, 
 And with wicker basket laden passed she swiftly 
 
 through the town, 
 
 To the palace where Queen Ildegar, with dames of 
 high degree,
 
 RENA. 31 
 
 In a lofty oriel window sat, the beauteous morn to 
 
 see. 
 
 In the door-way she stood meekly, till the queen 
 
 said, " Maiden fair, 
 What have you in yonder basket that you carry with 
 
 such care ? " 
 
 Eagerly she raised her blue eyes, hovering smiles 
 
 and tears between, 
 Then across the room she glided, and knelt down 
 
 before the queen. 
 
 Lifting up the wicker cover, " Saints in heaven ! " 
 
 cried Ildegar, 
 " Here are tissues fit for angels, wrought with wreath 
 
 and point and star, 
 
 " In most curious devices ! Never saw I aught so 
 rare 
 
 Where found you these frail webs woven of the light 
 est summer air ? "
 
 32 REN A. 
 
 " Well they may be fit for angels," said she, under 
 neath her breath ; 
 
 " O my lady, hear a story that is strange and true 
 as death." 
 
 But ere yet the tale was ended, up rose good Queen 
 
 Ildegar, 
 And she sent her knights and pages to the castle 
 
 riding far. 
 
 " Bring me Hildebrand and Volmar, ere the sun 
 
 goes down ! " she cried, 
 " Ho ! my ladies, for a wedding, and your queen 
 
 shall bless the bride ! 
 
 " I will buy these airy wonders, and this maiden in 
 
 her hand 
 Shall a dowry hold as royal as the noblest in the 
 
 land." 
 
 So they combed her shining tresses, and they brought 
 her robes of silk,
 
 RENA. 33 
 
 Broidered thick with gold and silver, on a ground as 
 white as milk. 
 
 But she whispered, " Sweetest ladies, let me wear my 
 
 russet gown, 
 That I wore this happy morning walking blithely 
 
 through the town. 
 
 " I am but a peasant maiden, all unused to grand 
 
 estate, 
 And for robes of silken splendor, dearest ladies, let 
 
 me wait ! " 
 
 Then the good queen, smiling brightly, from the 
 
 wicker basket took 
 Lightest web of quaintest pattern, and its filmy 
 
 folds outshook. 
 
 With her own white hand she laid it over Rena's 
 
 golden hair, 
 And she cried, " Oh, look, my ladies ! Ne'er before 
 
 was bride so fair ! " 
 
 5
 
 34 RENA. 
 
 Ladies ! when you wear your Brussels laces, costlier 
 
 far than gold, 
 Think of Rena, and her lover, son of Hildebrand 
 
 the Bold!
 
 WHAT NEED ? 
 
 " What need has the singer to sing? 
 And why should your poet to-day 
 His pale little garland of poesy bring, 
 
 On the altar to lay ? 
 
 High-priests of song the harp-strings swept 
 Ages before he smiled or wept ! " 
 
 What need have the roses to bloom ? 
 
 And why do the tall lilies grow ? 
 And why do the violets shed their perfume 
 
 When night-winds breathe low ? 
 They are no whit more bright and fair 
 Than flowers that breathed in Eden's air! 
 
 What need have the stars to shine on ? 
 
 Or the clouds to grow red in the west, 
 When the sun, like a king, from the fields he has won, 
 
 Goes grandly to rest? 
 No brighter they than stars and skies 
 That greeted Eve's sweet, wondering eyes ! 
 
 35
 
 36 WHAT NEED? 
 
 What need has the eagle to soar 
 
 So proudly straight up to the sun? 
 Or the robin such jubilant music to pour 
 
 When day is begun ? 
 The eagles soared, the robins sung, 
 As high, as sweet, when earth was young ! 
 
 What need, do you ask me ? Each day 
 Hath a song and a prayer of its own, 
 As each June hath its crown of fresh roses, each May 
 
 Its bright emerald throne ! 
 Its own high thought each age shall stir, 
 Each needs its own interpreter! 
 
 And thou, O, my poet, sing on ! 
 
 Sing on until love shall grow old ; 
 Till patience and faith their last triumphs have won, 
 
 And truth is a tale that is told ! 
 Doubt not, thy song shall still be new 
 While life endures and God is true !
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 WHEN you lay before me dead, 
 
 In such pallid rest, 
 On those passive lips of thine 
 
 Not one kiss I pressed! 
 
 Did you wonder looking down 
 From some higher sphere 
 
 Knowing how we two had loved 
 Many and many a year ? 
 
 Did you think me strange and cold 
 
 When I did not touch, 
 Even with reverent finger-tips, 
 
 What I had loved so much ? 
 
 Ah ! when last you kissed me, dear, 
 Know you what you said ? 
 
 452644
 
 38 THE K!SS. 
 
 " Take this last kiss, my beloved, 
 Soon shall I be dead! 
 
 " Keep it for a solemn sign, 
 Through our love's long night, 
 
 Till you give it back again 
 On some morning bright." 
 
 So I gave you no caress; 
 
 But, remembering this, 
 Warm upon my lips I keep 
 
 Your last living kiss !
 
 WHAT SHE THOUGHT. 
 
 MARION showed me her wedding gown 
 
 And her veil of gossamer lace to-night, 
 And the orange-blooms that to-morrow morn 
 
 Shall fade in her soft hair's golden light. 
 But Philip came to the open door: 
 
 Like the heart of a wild-rose glowed her cheek, 
 And they wandered off through the garden paths 
 
 So blest that they did not care to speak. 
 
 I wonder how it seems to be loved ; 
 
 To know you are fair in some one's eyes; 
 That upon some one your beauty dawns 
 
 Every day as a new surprise ; 
 To know, that, whether you weep or smile, 
 
 Whether your mood be grave or gay, 
 Somebody thinks you, all the while, 
 
 Sweeter than any flower of May. 
 
 39
 
 40 WHAT SHE THOUGHT. 
 
 I wonder what it would be to love: 
 
 That, I think, would be sweeter far, 
 To know that one out of all the world 
 
 Was lord of your life, your king, your star. 
 They talk of love's sweet tumult and pain : 
 
 1 am not sure that I understand, 
 Though a thrill ran down to my finger-tips 
 
 Once when somebody touched my hand ! 
 
 I wonder what it would be to dream 
 
 Of a child that might one day be your own; 
 Of the hidden springs of your life a part, 
 
 Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone. 
 Marion stooped one day to kiss 
 
 A beggar's babe with a tender grace; 
 While some sweet thought, like a prophecy, 
 
 Looked from her pure Madonna face. 
 
 I wonder what it must be to think 
 To-morrow will be your wedding-day, 
 
 And you, in the radiant sunset glow 
 Down fragrant flowery paths will stray,
 
 WHAT SHE THOUGHT. 41 
 
 As Marion does this blessed night, 
 With Philip, lost in a blissful dream. 
 
 Can she feel his heart through the silence beat ? 
 Does he see her eyes in the starlight gleam ? 
 
 Questioning thus, my days go on ; 
 
 But never an answer comes to me: 
 All love's mysteries, sweet as strange, 
 
 Sealed away from my life must be. 
 Yet still I dream, O heart of mine ! 
 
 Of a beautiful city that lies afar; 
 And there, some time, I shall drop the mask, 
 
 And be shapely and fair as others are.
 
 THIS DAY. 
 
 I WONDER what is this day to you, 
 
 Looking down from the upper skies ! 
 Is there a pang at your gentle heart ? 
 
 Is there a shade in your tender eyes ? 
 Do you think up there of the whispered words 
 
 That thrilled your soul in the long ago ? 
 Does ever a haunting undertone 
 
 Blend with the chantings sweet and low ? 
 
 When this day dawned (if where you are 
 
 Skies grow red when the morn is near) 
 Did you know that before its close 
 
 The love once yours would be on its bier ? 
 Did you know that another's lip 
 
 Would redden with kisses once your own, 
 And the golden cup of a younger life 
 
 O'erflow with the wine once yours alone?
 
 THIS DAY. 43 
 
 Do you remember ? Ah ! my saint, 
 
 Bend your ear from the ether blue ! 
 Have you risen to heights so far 
 
 That earth and its loves are nought to you ? 
 Do you care that your place is filled ? 
 
 Does it matter that now at last 
 The turf above you has grown so deep 
 
 That its shadow overlies your past ? 
 
 O, beloved, I may not know! 
 
 Heaven is afar, and the grave is dumb, 
 And out of the silence so profound 
 
 Neither token nor voice may come ! 
 We try to think that we understand; 
 
 But whether you wake, or whether you sleep, 
 Or whether our deeds are aught to you, 
 
 Is still a mystery strange and deep !
 
 UNANSWERED. 
 
 WHERE mountain-peaks rose far and high 
 Into the blue, unclouded sky, 
 And waves of green, like billowy seas, 
 Tossed proudly in the freshening breeze, 
 
 I rode one morning, late in June. 
 The glad winds sang a pleasant tune; 
 The air, like draughts of rarest wine, 
 Made every breath a joy divine. 
 
 With roses all the way was bright; 
 Yet there upon that upland height 
 The darlings of the early spring 
 Blue violets were blossoming. 
 
 And all the meadows, wide unrolled, 
 Were green and silver, green and gold,
 
 UNANSWERED. 45 
 
 Where buttercups and daisies spun 
 Their shining tissues in the sun. 
 
 Over its shallow, pebbly bed, 
 A sparkling river gayly sped, 
 Nor cared that deeper waters bore 
 A grander freight from shore to shore. 
 
 It sung, it danced, it laughed, it played, 
 In sunshine now and now in shade ; 
 While every gnarled tree joyed to make 
 A greener garland for its sake. 
 
 Deep peace was in the summer air, 
 A peace all Nature seemed to share; 
 Yet even there I could not flee 
 The shadow of life's mystery ! 
 
 A farm-house stood beside the way, 
 Low-roofed and rambling, quaint and gray ; 
 And where the friendly door swung wide 
 Red roses climbed on either side.
 
 46 UNANSWERED. 
 
 And thither, down the winding road 
 Near which the sparkling river flowed, 
 In groups, in pairs, the neighbors pressed, 
 Each in his Sunday raiment dressed. 
 
 A sober calm was on each face ; 
 Sweet stillness brooded o'er the place; 
 Yet something of a festal air 
 The youths and maidens seemed to wear. 
 
 But, as I passed, an idle breeze 
 Swept through the quivering maple-trees ; 
 Chased by the winds in merry rout, 
 A fair, light curtain floated out. 
 
 And this I saw : a quiet room 
 Adorned with flowers of richest bloom 
 A lily here, a garland there 
 Fragrance and silence everywhere. 
 
 Then on I rode. But if a bride 
 Should there her happy blushes hide,
 
 UNANSWERED. 47 
 
 Or if beyond my vision lay 
 
 Some pale face shrouded from the day, 
 
 I could not tell. O Joy and Pain, 
 Your voices join in one refrain ! 
 So like ye are, we may not know 
 If this be gladness, this be woe !
 
 "CHRISTUS!" 
 
 OVER the desolate sea-side town 
 With a terrible tumult the night came down, 
 And the fierce wind swept through the empty street. 
 With the drifting snow for a winding-sheet. 
 Elsie, the fisherman's daughter, in bed 
 Lay and listened in awe and dread, 
 But sprang to her feet in sudden fear 
 When over the tempest, loud and clear, 
 A voice cried, " Christus ! " 
 
 " Christus ! Christus ! " and nothing more. 
 Was it a cry at the cottage-door ? 
 She left her chamber \\ith flying feet; 
 She loosened the bolts with fingers fleet ; 
 She lifted the latch, but only the din 
 
 48
 
 "CHRISTUS/" 49 
 
 Of the furious storm and the snow swept in. 
 She looked without : not a soul was there, 
 But still rang out on the startled air 
 The strange cry, " Christus ! " 
 
 Christus ! Christus ! " She slept at last, 
 
 Though the old house rocked in the wintry blast; 
 
 And when she awoke the world was still, 
 
 A wide, white silence from sea to hill. 
 
 No creature stirred in the morning glow ; 
 
 There was not a footprint in the snow; 
 
 Yet again through the hush, as faint and far 
 
 As if it came from another star, 
 
 A voice sighed, " Christus ! " 
 
 " Christus ! Christus ! " Who can it be, 
 O Christ our Lord, that is calling Thee 
 In a foreign tongue, with a woe as wild 
 As that of some lost, forsaken child ? 
 She turned from the window with startled gaze: 
 She clasped her hands in a pale amaze, 
 Hearkening still, till again she heard, 
 7
 
 50 "CHRISTUS!" 
 
 As in a waking dream, the word 
 
 That strange word, " Christus ! " 
 
 Then over the hill with weary feet 
 She toiled through the drifts to the village-street. 
 The villagers gathered in eager haste, 
 And all day long in the snowy waste 
 They sought in vain for the one who cried 
 To Him who of old was crucified : 
 Then, turning away with a laugh, they said, 
 " 'T was only the wild wind overhead, 
 Your cry of ' Christus ! ' " 
 
 She watched their going with earnest eyes : 
 Hark ! what voice to the taunt replies ? 
 The trees were still as if struck with death; 
 The wind was soft as a baby's breath ; 
 The sobbing sea was asleep at last, 
 Scourged no more by the furious blast; 
 Yet, surely as ever from human tongue 
 A cry of grief or despair was wrung, 
 
 Some voice sighed, " Christus ! "
 
 CHRISTUS I" 51 
 
 Burned on her cheek a sudden flame 
 As her heart's strong throbbings went and came, 
 And she stood alone on the lonely shore, 
 Gazing the wide black waters o'er. 
 " Whether it comes from heaven or hell, 
 This voice I have learned to know too well 
 Whether from lips alive or dead, 
 Or from the hovering air," she said 
 " Whether it comes from sea or land, 
 I will not sleep till I understand 
 This cry of ' Christus ! ' " 
 
 " Christus ! Christus ! " Faint and slow 
 Rose the wail from the drifted snow 
 Under a low-browed, beetling rock, 
 Strong to withstand the whirlwind's shock. 
 There, in the heart of the snowy mound, 
 The buried form of a man she found 
 A Spanish sailor, with beard of brown 
 Over his red scarf flowing down, 
 And jeweled ears that were strange to see. 
 She was bending over it, when ah me! 
 The shrill cry, " Christus ! "
 
 52 " CHRISTUS ! " 
 
 Rang out as if from the stony lips 
 Whence life had parted in drear eclipse, 
 As if the soul of the dead man cried 
 Again unto Christ the Crucified. 
 The rose had fled from her cheeks so red, 
 But still she knelt by his side and said, 
 Under her breath, " I must understand 
 Whether from heaven or sea or land 
 Comes that cry, ' Christus ! ' ' 
 
 She laid her hand on the pulseless breast : 
 What fluttered beneath the crimson vest ? 
 A bird with plumage of green and gold, 
 Nestling away from the piercing cold, 
 Was folded close to the silent heart 
 From which it had felt the life depart; 
 And when she held it against her cheek, 
 As plainly as ever a bird could speak 
 It sobbed out, " Christus ! " 
 
 And evermore when the winds blew loud, 
 
 And the trees in the grasp of the storm were bowed,
 
 " CHRIST US ! " 53 
 
 And the lowering wings of the tempest beat 
 The drifting snow in the village-street, 
 Just as its master in death had cried 
 To Christ, the Holy, the Crucified, 
 Pouring his soul in one wild word 
 Pray God that the cry in heaven was heard ! 
 The bird cried, " Christus ! "
 
 THE CLAY TO THE ROSE. 
 
 O BEAUTIFUL, royal Rose, 
 O Rose, so fair and sweet! 
 
 Queen of the garden art thou, 
 And I the Clay at thy feet! 
 
 The butterfly hovers about thee; 
 
 The brown bee kisses thy lips; 
 And the humming-bird, reckless rover, 
 
 Their marvelous sweetness sips. 
 
 The sunshine hastes to caress thee 
 
 Flying on pinions fleet ; 
 The dew-drop sleeps in thy bosom, 
 
 But I I lie at thy feet! 
 
 The radiant morning crowns thee; 
 And the noon's hot heart is thine;
 
 THE CLAY TO THE ROSE. 55 
 
 And the starry night enfolds thee 
 In the might of its love divine ; 
 
 I hear the warm rain whisper 
 
 Its message soft and sweet ; 
 And the south-wind's passionate murmur, 
 
 While I lie low at thy feet! 
 
 It is not mine to approach thee; 
 
 I never may kiss thy lips, 
 Or touch the hem of thy garment 
 
 With tremulous finger-tips. 
 
 Yet, O thou beautiful Rose ! 
 
 Queen rose, so fair and sweet, 
 What were lover or crown to thee 
 
 Without the Clay at thy feet?
 
 TWO. 
 
 WE two will stand in the shadow here, 
 
 To see the bride as she passes by ; 
 Ring soft and low, ring loud and clear, 
 
 Ye chiming bells that swing on high ! 
 Look ! look ! she comes ! The air grows sweet 
 
 With the fragrant breath of the orange blooms, 
 And the flowers she treads beneath her feet 
 
 Die in a flood of rare perfumes ! 
 
 She comes ! she comes ! The happy bells 
 
 With their joyous clamor fill the air, 
 While the great organ dies and swells, 
 
 Soaring to trembling heights of prayer ! 
 Oh! rare are her robes of silken sheen, 
 
 And the pearls that gleam on her bosom's snow ; 
 But rarer the grace of her royal mien, 
 
 Her hair's fine gold, and her cheek's young glow. 
 56
 
 TWO. 57 
 
 Dainty and fair as a folded rose, 
 
 Fresh as a violet dewy sweet, 
 Chaste as a lily, she hardly knows 
 
 That there are rough paths for other feet. 
 For Love hath shielded her; Honor kept 
 
 Watch beside her by night and day; 
 And Evil out from her sight hath crept, 
 
 Trailing its slow length far away. 
 
 Now in her perfect womanhood, 
 
 In all the wealth of her matchless charms, 
 Lovely and beautiful, pure and good, 
 
 She yields herself to her lover's arms. 
 Hark ! how the jubilant voices ring ! 
 
 Lo ! as we stand in the shadow here, 
 While far above us the gay bells swing, 
 
 I catch the gleam of a happy tear! 
 
 The pageant is over. Come with me 
 To the other side of the town, I pray, 
 
 Ere the sun goes down in the darkening sea, 
 And night falls around us, chill and gray.
 
 58 TWO. 
 
 In the dim church porch an hour ago, 
 We waited the bride's fair face to see; 
 
 Now Life has a sadder sight to show, 
 A darker picture for you and me. 
 
 No need to seek for the shadow here; 
 
 There are shadows lurking everywhere ; 
 These streets in the brightest day are drear, 
 
 And black as the blackness of despair. 
 But this is the house. Take heed, my friend, 
 
 The stairs are rotten, the way is dim; 
 And up the flights, as we still ascend, 
 
 Creep stealthy phantoms dark and grim. 
 
 Enter this chamber. Day by day, 
 
 Alone in this chill and ghostly room, 
 A child a woman which is it, pray? 
 
 Despairingly waits for the hour of doom ! 
 Ah ! as she wrings her hands so pale, 
 
 No gleam of a wedding ring you see ; 
 There is nothing to tell. You know the tale 
 
 God help her now in her misery!
 
 TWO. 59 
 
 I dare not judge her. I only know 
 
 That love was to her a sin and a snare, 
 While to the bride of an hour ago 
 
 It brought all blessings its hands could bear! 
 I only know that to one it came 
 
 Laden with honor, and joy, and peace : 
 Its gifts to the other were woe and shame, 
 
 And a burning pain that shall never cease ! 
 
 I only know that the soul of one 
 
 Has been a pearl in a golden case; 
 That of the other a pebble thrown 
 
 Idly down in a way-side place, 
 Where all day long strange footsteps trod, 
 
 And the bold, bright sun drank up the dew ! 
 Yet both were women. O righteous God, 
 
 Thou only canst judge between the two !
 
 EVENTIDE. 
 
 WHENEVER, with reverent footsteps, 
 I pass through the mystic door 
 
 Of Memory's stately palace, 
 Where dwell the days of yore, 
 
 One scene, like a lovely vision, 
 Comes to me o'er and o'er. 
 
 'T is a dim, fire-lighted chamber ; 
 
 There are pictures on the wall, 
 And around them dance the shadows 
 
 Grotesque and weird and tall, 
 As the flames on the storied hearth-stone 
 
 Wavering rise and fall. 
 
 An ancient cabinet stands there, 
 
 That came from beyond the seas, 
 With a breath of spicy odors
 
 EVENTIDE. 6 1 
 
 Caught from the Indian breeze; 
 And its fluted doors and moldings 
 Are dark with mysteries. 
 
 There 's an old arm-chair in the corner, 
 Straight-backed and tall and quaint; 
 
 Ah! many a generation 
 Sinner and sage and saint 
 
 It hath held in its ample bosom 
 With murmur nor complaint ! 
 
 In the glow of the fire-light playing, 
 
 A tiny, blithesome pair, 
 With the music of their laughter 
 
 Fill all the tranquil air, 
 A rosy, brown-eyed lassie, 
 
 A boy serenely fair. 
 
 A woman sits in the shadow 
 
 Watching the children twain, 
 With a joy so deep and tender 
 
 It is near akin to pain,
 
 62 EVENTIDE. 
 
 And a smile and tear blend softly 
 Sunshine and April rain ! 
 
 Her heart keeps time to the rhythm 
 Of love's unuttered prayer, 
 
 As, with still hands lightly folded, 
 She listens, unaware, 
 
 Through all the children's laughter, 
 For a footfall on the stair. 
 
 I know the woman who sits there; 
 
 Time hath been kind to her, 
 And the years have brought her treasures 
 
 Of frankincense and myrrh 
 Richer, perhaps, and rarer, 
 
 Than Life's young roses were. 
 
 But I doubt if ever her spirit 
 Hath known, or yet shall know, 
 
 The bliss of a happier hour, 
 
 As the swift years come and go, 
 
 Than this in the shadowy chamber 
 Lit by the hearth-fire's glow!
 
 TO THE "BOUQUET CLUB." 
 
 O ROSEBUD garland of girls! 
 
 Who ask for a song from me, 
 To what sweet air shall I set my lay ? 
 
 What shall its key-note be ? 
 The flowers have gone from wood and hill; 
 The rippling river lies white and still; 
 And the bird that sang on the maple bough, 
 Afar in the South-land singeth now ! 
 
 O Rosebud garland of girls! 
 
 If the whole glad year were May; 
 If winds sang low in the clustering leaves, 
 
 And roses bloomed alway; 
 If youth were all that there is of life; 
 If the years brought nothing of care or strife, 
 Nor even a cloud to the ether blue, 
 It were easy to sing a song for you! 
 63
 
 64 TO THE "BOUQUET CLUB." 
 
 Yet, O my garland of girls ! 
 
 Is there nothing better than May ? 
 The golden glow of the harvest time! 
 
 The rest of the Autumn day ! 
 This thought I give to you all to keep: 
 Who soweth good seed shall surely reap ; 
 The year grows rich as it groweth old, 
 And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!
 
 AT THE LAST. 
 
 WILL the day ever come, I wonder, 
 
 When I shall be glad to know 
 That my hands will be folded under 
 
 The next white fall of the snow ? 
 To know that when next the clover 
 
 Wooeth the wandering bee, 
 Its crimson tide will drift over 
 
 All that is left of me ? 
 
 Will I ever be tired of living, 
 
 And be glad to go to my rest, 
 With a cool and fragrant lily 
 
 Asleep on my silent breast ? 
 Will my eyes grow weary of seeing, 
 
 As the hours pass, one by one, 
 Till I long for the hush and the darkness 
 
 As I never longed for the sun ? 
 
 65
 
 66 AT THE LAST. 
 
 God knoweth ! Sometime, it may be, 
 
 I shall smile to hear you say : 
 " Dear heart ! she will not waken 
 
 At the dawn of another day ! " 
 And sometime, love, it may be, 
 
 I shall whisper under my breath : 
 " The happiest hour of my life, dear, 
 
 Is this the hour of my death!"
 
 MY LOVERS. 
 
 I HAVE four noble lovers, 
 
 Young and gallant, blithe and gay, 
 And in all the land no maiden 
 
 Hath a goodlier troupe than they! 
 And never princess, guarded 
 
 By knights of high degree, 
 Knew sweeter, purer homage 
 
 Than my lovers pay to me! 
 
 One of my noble lovers 
 
 Is a self-poised, thoughtful man, 
 Gravely gay, serenely earnest, 
 
 Strong to do, and bold to plan ! 
 And one is sweet and sunny, 
 
 Pure as crystal, true as steel, 
 With a soul responding ever 
 
 When the truth makes high appeal ! 
 
 67
 
 68 MY LOVERS. 
 
 And another of my lovers, 
 
 Bright and debonair is he, 
 Brave and ardent, strong and tender, 
 
 And the flower of courtesie ! 
 Last of all, an eager student, 
 
 Upon lofty aims intent : 
 Manly force and gentle sweetness 
 
 In his nature rarely blent ! 
 
 But when of noble lovers 
 
 All alike are dear and true, 
 And her heart to choose refuses. 
 
 Pray, what can a woman do ? 
 Ah, my sons! For this I bless ye, 
 
 Even as I myself am blest, 
 That I know not which is dearest, . 
 
 That I care not which is best !
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 
 
 DAY by day the Organ-Builder in his lonely cham 
 ber wrought; 
 
 Day by day the soft air trembled to the music of 
 his thought ; 
 
 Till at last the work was ended, and no organ voice 
 
 so grand 
 Ever yet had soared responsive to the master's magic 
 
 hand. 
 
 Ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom or 
 
 bride 
 Who in God's sight were well-pleasing in the church 
 
 stood side by side, 
 
 Without touch or breath the organ of itself began to 
 play, 
 
 69
 
 70 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN.BUILDER. 
 
 And the very airs of heaven through the soft gloom 
 seemed to stray. 
 
 He was young, the Organ-Builder, and o'er all the 
 
 land his fame 
 Ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly 
 
 rushing flame. 
 
 All the maidens heard the story; all the maidens 
 
 blushed and smiled, 
 By his youth and wondrous beauty and his great 
 
 renown beguiled. 
 
 So he sought and won the fairest, and the wedding 
 
 day was set : 
 Happy day the brightest jewel in the glad year's 
 
 coronet ! 
 
 But when they the portal entered, he forgot his 
 
 lovely bride 
 Forgot his love, forgot his God, and his heart 
 
 swelled high with pride.
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 71 
 
 " Ah ! " thought he, " how great a master am I ! 
 
 When the organ plays, 
 How the vast cathedral arches will re-echo with my 
 
 praise ! " 
 
 Up the aisle the gay procession moved. The altar 
 
 shone afar, 
 With its every candle gleaming through soft shadows 
 
 like a star. 
 
 But he listened, listened, listened, with no thought 
 
 of love or prayer, 
 For the swelling notes of triumph from his organ 
 
 standing there. 
 
 All was silent. Nothing heard he save the priest's 
 
 low monotone, 
 And the bride's robe trailing softly o'er the floor of 
 
 fretted stone. 
 
 Then his lips grew white with anger. Surely God 
 was pleased with him
 
 72 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 
 
 Who had built the wondrous organ for His temple 
 vast and dim ? 
 
 Whose the fault, then ? Hers the maiden standing 
 
 meekly at his side ! 
 Flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was false 
 
 to him his bride. 
 
 Vain were all her protestations, vain her innocence 
 
 and truth ; 
 On that very night he left her to her anguish and 
 
 her ruth. 
 
 ********* 
 Far he wandered to a country wherein no man knew 
 
 his name. 
 For ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still his 
 
 wrath and shame. 
 
 Then his haughty heart grew softer, and he thought 
 
 by night and day 
 Of the bride he had deserted, till he hardly dared 
 
 to pray
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 73 
 
 Thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beautiful 
 
 and good; 
 Thought of his relentless anger that had cursed her 
 
 womanhood ; 
 
 Till his yearning grief and penitence at last were all 
 
 complete, 
 And he longed, with bitter longing, just to fall down 
 
 at her feet. 
 
 ***####*# 
 Ah ! how throbbed his heart when, after many a 
 
 weary day and night, 
 Rose his native towers before him, with the sunset 
 
 glow alight ! 
 
 Through the gates into the city on he pressed with 
 
 eager tread ; 
 There he met a long procession mourners following 
 
 the dead. 
 
 " Now why weep ye so, good people ? and whom 
 bury ye to-day ?
 
 74 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 
 
 Why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers 
 along the way ? 
 
 " Has some saint gone up to Heaven ? " " Yes," 
 
 they answered, weeping sore : 
 " For the Organ-Builder's saintly wife our eyes shall 
 
 see no more ; 
 
 " And because her days were given to the service of 
 God's poor, 
 
 From His church we mean to bury her. See ! yon 
 der is the door." 
 
 No one knew him ; no one wondered when he cried 
 
 out, white with pain ; 
 No one questioned when, with pallid lips, he poured 
 
 his tears like rain. 
 
 " T is some one whom she has comforted who 
 
 mourns with us," they said, 
 As he made his way unchallenged, and bore the 
 
 coffin's head.
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 75 
 
 Bore it through the open portal, bore it up the 
 
 echoing aisle, 
 Set it down before the altar, where the lights burned 
 
 clear the while : 
 
 When, oh, hark ! the wondrous organ of itself began 
 
 to play 
 Strains of rare, unearthly sweetness never heard until 
 
 that day ! 
 
 All the vaulted arches rang with the music sweet 
 and clear ; 
 
 All the air was filled with glory, as of angels hover 
 ing near; 
 
 And ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore the 
 
 coffin's head, 
 With the smile of one forgiven, gently sank beside 
 
 it dead. 
 
 They who raised the body knew him, and they laid 
 him by his bride ;
 
 76 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 
 
 Down the aisle and o'er the threshold they were 
 carried side by side ; 
 
 While the organ played a dirge that no man ever 
 
 heard before, 
 
 And then softly sank to silence silence kept for 
 evermore.
 
 AT DAWN. 
 
 AT dawn when the jubilant morning broke, 
 And its glory flooded the mountain side, 
 
 I said, " 'T is eleven years to-day, 
 Eleven years since my darling died ! " 
 
 And then I turned to my household ways, 
 To my daily tasks, without, within, 
 
 As happily busy all the day 
 
 As if my darling had never been ! 
 
 As if she had never lived, or died ! 
 
 Yet when they buried her out of my sight, 
 I thought the sun had gone down at noon, 
 
 And the day could never again be bright. 
 
 Ah, well! As the swift years come and go, 
 It will not be long ere I shall lie
 
 78 A T DAWN. 
 
 Somewhere under a bit of turf, 
 
 With my pale hands folded quietly. 
 
 And then some one who has loved me well 
 Perhaps the one who has loved me best 
 
 Will say of me -as I said of her, 
 
 "She has been just so many years at rest," 
 
 Then turn to the living loves again, 
 
 To the busy life, without, within, 
 And the day will go on from dawn to dusk, 
 
 Even as if I had never been ! 
 
 Dear hearts ! dear hearts ! It must still be so ! 
 
 The roses will bloom, and the stars will shine, 
 And the soft green grass creep still and slow, 
 
 Sometime over a grave of mine 
 
 And over the grave in your hearts as well ! 
 
 Ye cannot hinder it if ye would; 
 And I ah! I shall be wiser then 
 
 I would not hinder it if I could !
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH. 
 
 KING IVAN ruled a mighty land 
 
 Girt by the sea on either hand; 
 
 A goodly land as e'er the sun 
 
 In its long journey looked upon ! 
 
 His knights were loyal, brave, and true, 
 
 Eager their lord's behests to do ; 
 
 His counselors were wise and just, 
 
 Nor ever failed his kingly -trust; 
 
 The nations praised him, and the state 
 
 Grew powerful, and rich, and great; 
 
 While still with long and loud acclaim, 
 
 His people hailed their monarch's name! 
 
 Fronting the east, a stately pile, 
 
 The palace caught the sun's first smile; 
 
 Lightly its domes and arches sprung, 
 
 As earth's glad hills when earth was young; 
 
 79
 
 8o KING IVAN'S OATH. 
 
 And, miracles of airy grace, 
 
 Each tower and turret soared in space. 
 
 Within But here no rhythmic flow 
 
 Of words with light and warmth aglow 
 Can tell the story. Not more fair 
 Are your own castles hung in air ! 
 Painter and sculptor there had wrought 
 The utmost beauty of their thought ; 
 There the rich fruit of Persian looms 
 Glowed darkly bright as tropic blooms; 
 There fell the light like golden mist, 
 Filtered through clouds of amethyst ; 
 There bright-winged birds and odorous flowers 
 With song and fragrance filled the hours; 
 There Pleasure flung the portals wide, 
 And soul and sense were satisfied! 
 
 The queen ? No fairer face than hers 
 E'er smiled upon its worshipers; 
 And she was good as fair, 't was said, 
 And loved the king ere they were wed. 
 And he? No doubt he loved her, too,
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH. 81 
 
 After a kingly fashion knew 
 She had a right his throne to share, 
 And would be mother of his heir. 
 But yet, to do him justice, he 
 Sometimes forgot his royalty, 
 Forgot his kingly crown, and then 
 Loved, and made love, like other men! 
 
 There seemed no shadow near the throne; 
 
 Yet oft the great king walked alone, 
 
 Hands clasped behind him, head bowed down, 
 
 And on his royal face a frown. 
 
 Sat Mordecai within his gate ? 
 
 What scoffing specter mocked his state ? 
 
 What demon held him in a spell ? 
 
 Alas ! the sweet queen knew too well ! 
 
 Apples of Sodom ate he, since 
 
 She had not borne to him a prince, 
 
 Though thrice his hope had budded fair, 
 
 And he had counted on an heir. 
 
 Three little daughters, dainty girls 
 
 With sunshine tangled in their curls, 
 
 ii
 
 82 KING IVAN'S OATH. 
 
 Bloomed in the palace; but no son 
 The long-expected, waited one, 
 Flower of the state, and pride of all 
 Grew at the king's side, straight and tall ! 
 
 The king was angered. It may be 
 
 No worse than other men was he ; 
 
 But a high tower upon a hill 
 
 His light shone far for good or ill! 
 
 In from the chase one day he rode; 
 
 To the queen's chamber fierce he strode; 
 
 Where, bending o'er her 'broidery frame, 
 
 Her pale cheeks burned with sudden flame 
 
 At his quick coming. Up she rose, 
 
 Stirred from her wonted calm repose, 
 
 A lily flushing when the sun 
 
 Its stately beauty looked upon ! 
 
 Alas! alas! so blind was he, 
 
 Or else he did not care to see 
 
 He had no pity, though she stood 
 
 In perfect flower of womanhood ! 
 
 "You bear to me no son," he said;
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH. 83 
 
 Then flinging back his haughty head : 
 " Each base-born peasant has an heir, 
 His name to keep, his crust to share, 
 While I the king of this broad land 
 Have no son near my throne to stand ! 
 Who, then, shall reign when I am dead ? 
 Who wield the scepter in my stead ? 
 Inherit all my pride and power, 
 And wear my glory as his dower? 
 Give me a man-child, who shall be 
 Lord of the realm, himself, and me ! " 
 
 Then pallid lips made slow reply, 
 " God ordereth. Not you nor I ! " 
 
 His brow flushed hot; a sudden clang 
 As of arms throughout the chamber rang, 
 And turning on his heel, he threw 
 Back wrathful answer : " That may do 
 For puling women not for me! 
 Now, by my good sword, we shall see ! 
 So help me Heaven, I will not brook
 
 84 KING IVAN'S OATH. 
 
 On a girl's face again to look! 
 
 And when you next shall bear a child, 
 
 Though fair a babe as ever smiled, 
 
 If it be not a princely heir, 
 
 By all the immortal gods,, I swear 
 
 I ne'er will speak to it, nor break 
 
 My soul's stern silence for Love's sake ! " 
 
 Then forth he fared and rode away, 
 
 Nor saw the queen again that day : 
 
 The hapless queen, who to the floor 
 
 Sank prone and breathless, as the door 
 
 Swung to behind him, and his tread 
 
 Down the long arches echoed. 
 
 In truth she was in sorry plight 
 
 When her maids found her late that night, 
 
 The king learned that which spoiled his rest, 
 
 But kept the secret in his breast ! 
 
 ******** 
 At length, when months had duly sped, 
 High streamed the banners overhead, 
 And all the bells rang out at morn
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH. 85 
 
 In jubilant peals a Prince was born! 
 Now let the joyous music ring ! 
 Now let the merry minstrels sing ! 
 Now pour the wine and crown the feast 
 With fruits and flowers of all the East! 
 Now let the votive candles shine 
 And garlands bloom on every shrine ! 
 Now let the young, with flying feet 
 Time to bewildering music beat, 
 And let the old their joys rehearse 
 In stirring tale, or flowing verse ! 
 Now fill with shouts the waiting air, 
 And scatter largess everywhere! 
 
 Ah ! who so happy as the king ? 
 Swift flew the hours on eager wing; 
 And the boy grew apace, until 
 The second summer, sweet and still, 
 Dropped roses round him as he played 
 Where arched the leafy colonnade. 
 How fair he was tongue cannot say, 
 But he was fairer than the day!
 
 86 KING IVAN'S OATH. , 
 
 And never princely coronet 
 
 On brow of nobler mold was set; 
 
 Nor ever did its jewels gleam 
 
 Above an eye of brighter beam ! 
 
 And never yet where sunshine falls, 
 
 Flooding with light the cottage walls, 
 
 'Mid hum of bee, or song of birds, 
 
 Or tenderest breath of loving words, 
 
 Blossomed a sweeter child than he ! 
 
 How the king joyed his strength to see, 
 
 Counting the weeks that flew so fast 
 
 Each fuller, happier than the last ! 
 
 Six months had passed since he could walk; 
 
 Was it not time the prince should talk? 
 
 Ah ! baby words with tripping feet ! 
 
 Ah ! baby laughter, silver sweet ! 
 
 At length within the palace rose 
 Rumor so strange that friends and foes 
 Forgot their love, forgot their hate, 
 Pausing to croon and speculate. 
 Vague whispers floated in the air;
 
 KING IVAN'S OATH. 87 
 
 A hint of mystery here and there ; 
 
 A sudden hush, a startled glance, 
 
 Quick silences and looks askance. 
 
 Thus day by day the wonder grew, 
 
 Till o'er the kingdom wide it flew. 
 
 The prince his father what was this 
 
 Strange tale so surely told amiss ? 
 
 The young prince dumb? Who dared to say 
 
 That nature such a prank could play? 
 
 Dumb to the king? In silence bound, 
 
 With voiceless lips that gave no sound 
 
 When the king questioned ? Yet no lute, 
 
 Nor chiming bell, nor silver flute, 
 
 Nor lark's song, high in ether hung, 
 
 Rang clearer than the prince's tongue ! 
 
 The court physicians came and went; 
 
 Learned men from all the continent 
 
 Gave wise opinions, talked of laws, 
 
 Stroked their gray beards, nor found the cause. 
 
 Then bribes were tried, and threats. The child, 
 
 As one bewildered, sighed and smiled,
 
 88 KING IVAN'S OATH. 
 
 In a wild storm of weeping broke, 
 Moved its red lips, but never spoke. 
 
 The changeful years rolled on apace; 
 The young prince wore a bearded face ; 
 The good queen died; the king grew gray; 
 A generation passed away. 
 Courtiers forgot to tell the tale; 
 Gossip itself grew old and stale. 
 But never once, in all the years 
 That bore such freight of joys and tears, 
 Was the spell broken : not one word 
 From son to sire was ever heard. 
 Mutely his father's face he scanned 
 Mutely he clasped his aged hand 
 Mutely he kissed him when at last 
 To death's long slumber forth he passed! 
 Come weal or woe, he could not break 
 The mystic silence for Love's sake!
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 [Cyrus M. and Mary Ripley Fisher, lost on Steamship Atlantic, 
 April ist, 1873.] 
 
 ONCE, long ago, with trembling lips I sung 
 
 Of one who, when the earliest flowers were seen, 
 
 So sweet, so dear, so beautiful and young, 
 
 Came home to sleep where kindred graves were 
 green. 
 
 Soft was the turf we raised to give her room; 
 
 Clear were the rain-drops, shining as they fell; 
 Sweet the arbutus, with its tender bloom 
 
 Brightening the couch of her who loved it well. 
 
 Yet, in our blindness, how we wept that day, 
 When the earth fell upon her coffin-lid ! 
 
 O, ye beloved whom I sing this day, 
 
 Could we but know where your dear forms lie hid ! 
 
 8 9
 
 90 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Could we but lay you down by her dear side, 
 Wrapped in the garments of eternal rest, 
 
 Where the still hours in slow succession glide, 
 And not a dream may stir the pulseless breast 
 
 Where all day long the shadows come and go, 
 And soft winds murmur and sweet song-birds sing 
 
 Where all night long the star-light's tender glow 
 Falls where the flowers you loved are blossoming 
 
 Then should the tempest of our grief grow calm; 
 Then moaning gales should vex our souls no 
 
 more ; 
 And the clear swelling of our thankful psalm 
 
 Should drown the beat of surges on the shore. 
 
 But the deep sea will not give up its dead. 
 
 O, ye who know where your beloved sleep, 
 Bid heart's-ease bloom on each love-guarded bed, 
 
 And bless your God for graves whereon to weep !
 
 WEAVING THE WEB. 
 
 "THIS morn I will weave my web," she said, 
 
 As she stood by her loom in the rosy light, 
 And her young eyes, hopefully glad and clear, 
 
 Followed afar the swallow's flight. 
 "As soon as the day's first tasks are done, 
 
 While yet I am fresh and strong," said she, 
 " I will hasten to weave the beautiful web 
 
 Whose pattern is known to none but me ! 
 
 " I will weave it fine, I will weave it fair, 
 
 And ah ! how the colors will glow ! " she said ; 
 " So fadeless and strong will I weave my web 
 
 That perhaps it will live after I am dead." 
 But the morning hours sped on apace ; 
 
 The air grew sweet with the breath of June ; 
 And young Love hid by the waiting loom, 
 
 Tangling the threads as he hummed a tune. 
 
 9 1
 
 92 WEAVING THE WEB. 
 
 " Ah, life is so rich and full ! " she cried, 
 
 " And morn is short though the days are long ! 
 This noon I will weave my beautiful web, 
 
 I will weave it carefully, fine and strong." 
 But the sun rode high in the cloudless sky ; 
 
 The burden and heat of the day she bore 
 And hither and thither she came and went, 
 
 While the loom stood still as it stood before. 
 
 "Ah! life is too busy at noon," she said; 
 
 " My web must wait till the eventide, 
 Till the common work of the day is done, 
 
 And my heart grows calm in the silence wide." 
 So, one by one, the hours passed on 
 
 Till the creeping shadows had longer grown ; 
 Till the house was still, and the breezes slept, 
 
 And her singing birds to their nests had flown. 
 
 " And now I will weave my web," she said, 
 As she turned to her loom ere set of sun, 
 
 And laid her hand on the shining threads 
 To set them in order one by one.
 
 WEAVING THE WEB. 93 
 
 But hand was tired, and heart was weak : 
 " I am not as strong as I was/' sighed she, 
 
 " And the pattern is blurred, and the colors rare 
 Are not so bright, or so fair to see! 
 
 " I must wait, I think, till another morn ; 
 
 I must go to my rest with my work undone; 
 It is growing too dark to weave ! " she cried, 
 
 As lower and lower sank the sun. 
 She dropped the shuttle ; the loom stood still ; 
 
 The weaver slept in the twilight gray. 
 Dear heart! Will she weave her beautiful web 
 
 In the golden light of a longer day ?
 
 RABBI BENAIAH. 
 
 RABBI BENAIAH at the close of day, 
 
 When the low sun athwart the level sands 
 Shot his long arrows, from far Eastern lands 
 
 Homeward across the desert bent his way. 
 
 Behind him trailed the lengthening caravan, 
 The slow, weird camels, with monotonous pace; 
 Before him, lifted in the clear, far space, 
 
 From east to west the towers of his city ran ! t 
 
 Impatiently he scanned the darkening sky; 
 Then girding in hot haste, " What ho ! " cried he, 
 " Bring the swift steed Abdallah unto me ! 
 
 As rode his Bedouin master, so will I !" 
 
 Soon like a bird across the waste he flew, 
 Nor drew his rein till at the massive gate 
 
 94
 
 RABBI BENAIAH. 95 
 
 That guards the citadel's supremest state 
 He paused a moment, slowly entering through. 
 
 Then down the shadowy, moonlit streets he sped; 
 The city slept; but like a burning star, 
 Where his own turret-chamber rose afar, 
 
 A clear, strong light its steady radiance shed ! 
 
 Into his court he rode with sudden clang. 
 
 The startled slaves bowed low, but spake no word ; 
 
 By no quick tumult was the midnight stirred, 
 No shouts of welcome on the night air rang ! 
 
 But with slow footsteps down the turret-stairs, 
 
 With trembling lips that did but breathe his name, 
 And sad, averted eyes, his fair wife came, 
 
 The lady Judith, wan with tears and prayers. 
 
 Then swift he cried out, less in wrath than fear, 
 " Now, by my beard ! is this the way ye keep 
 My welcome home ? Go wake my sons from sleep, 
 
 And let their glad tongues break the silence here ! "
 
 96 RABBI BENAIAH. 
 
 " Not so, my dear lord ! Let them rest," she said. 
 
 " Young eyes need slumber. But come thou with 
 me. 
 
 I have a trouble to make known to thee 
 Ere I before thee can lift up my head." 
 
 Into an inner chamber led she him, 
 
 And with her own hands brought him meat and 
 wine, 
 
 A purple robe, and linen pure and fine. 
 He half forgot that her sweet eyes were dim ! 
 
 " Now for thy trouble ! " cried he, laughing loud. 
 
 " Hast torn thy kirtle ? Are thy pearls astray ? 
 
 What ! Tears ? My camels o'er yon desert way 
 Bring treasures that had made Queen Esther 
 proud ! " 
 
 Slowly she spake, nor in his face looked she. 
 " My lord, long years ago a friend of mine 
 Left with me jewels, costly, rare, and fine, 
 
 Bidding me guard them carefully till he
 
 RABBI BENAIAH. 97 
 
 " Again should call for them. The other day 
 He sent his messenger. But I have learned 
 To hold them as my own ! Have I not earned 
 
 A right to keep them ? Speak, my lord, I pray ! " 
 
 " Strange sense of honor hath a woman's heart ! " 
 The rabbi answered hotly. " Now, good lack ! 
 Where are the jewels ? I will send them back 
 
 Ere yet the sun upon his course may start ! 
 
 " Show me the jewels ! " Up she rose as white 
 As any ghost, and mutely led the way 
 Into the turret-chamber whence the ray 
 
 Seen from afar had blessed the rabbi's sight. 
 
 And with slow, trembling hands she drew aside 
 The silken curtain from before the bed 
 Whereon, in snowy calm, their boys lay dead. 
 
 " There are the jewels, O, my lord ! " she cried.
 
 A CHILD'S THOUGHT. 
 
 SOFTLY fell the twilight; 
 
 In the glowing west 
 Purple splendors faded; 
 
 Birds had gone to rest; 
 All the winds were sleeping; 
 
 One lone whip-poor-will 
 Made the silence deeper, 
 
 Calling from the hill. 
 
 Little Fred, the darling, 
 
 On his mother's knee, 
 In the gathering darkness, 
 
 Still as still could be, 
 Watched the deepening shadows; 
 
 Saw the stars come out; 
 Saw the weird bats flitting 
 
 Stealthily about ;
 
 A CHILD^S THOUGHT. 99 
 
 Saw across the river 
 
 How the furnace glow, 
 Like a fiery pennant, 
 
 Wavered to and fro : 
 Saw the tall trees standing 
 
 Black against the sky, ' 
 And the moon's pale crescent 
 
 Swinging far and high. 
 
 Deeper grew the darkness ; 
 
 Darker grew his eyes 
 As he gazed around him, 
 
 In a still surprise. 
 Then he listened, listened ! 
 
 "What is this I hear 
 All the time, dear mamma, 
 
 Sounding in my ear ? " 
 
 " I hear nothing," said she, 
 
 "All the earth is still." 
 But he listened, listened, 
 
 With an eager will,
 
 A CHILD'S THOUGHT. 
 
 Till at length a quick smile 
 O'er the child-face broke, 
 
 And a kindling luster 
 In his dark eyes woke. 
 
 " Now I know, dear mamma ! 
 
 I can hear the sound 
 Of the wheels, the great wheels 
 
 That move the world around ! " 
 Oh, ears earth has dulled not ! 
 
 In your purer sphere, 
 Strains from ours withholden 
 
 Are you wise to hear ?
 
 "GOD KNOWS.' 
 
 OH ! wild and dark was the winter night 
 
 When the emigrant ship went down, 
 But just outside of the harbor bar, 
 
 In the sight of the startled town. 
 The winds howled, and the sea roared, 
 
 And never a soul could sleep, 
 Save the little ones on their mothers' breasts, 
 
 Too young to watch and weep. 
 
 No boat could live in the angry surf, 
 
 No rope could reach the land: 
 There were bold, brave hearts upon the shore, 
 
 There was many a ready hand,
 
 KNOWS:' 
 
 Women who prayed, and men who strove 
 When prayers and work were vain ; 
 
 For the sun rose over the awful void 
 And the silence of the main. 
 
 All day the watchers paced the sands, 
 
 All day they scanned the deep, 
 All night the booming minute-guns 
 
 Echoed from steep to steep. 
 " Give up thy dead, O cruel sea ! " 
 
 They cried athwart the space; 
 But only a baby's fragile form 
 
 Escaped from its stern embrace. 
 
 Only one little child of all 
 
 Who with the ship went down 
 That night when the happy babies slept 
 
 So warm in the sheltered town. 
 Wrapped in the glow of the morning light, 
 
 It lay on the shifting sand, 
 As fair as a sculptor's marble dream, 
 
 With a shell in its dimpled hand.
 
 "GOD KNOWS." 103 
 
 There were none to tell of its race or kin. 
 
 " God knoweth," the pastor said, 
 When the sobbing children crowded to ask 
 
 The name of the baby dead. 
 And so, when they laid it away at last 
 
 In the church-yard's hushed repose, 
 They raised a stone at the baby's head, 
 
 With the carven words, " God knows."
 
 UNSOLVED. 
 
 T is the old unanswered question ! Since the stars 
 
 together sung 
 In the glory of the morning, when the earth was 
 
 fair and young, 
 
 Man hath asked it o'er and over, of the heavens so- 
 
 far and high, 
 And from out the mystic silence never voice hath 
 
 made reply ! 
 
 Yet again to-night I ask it, though I know, O friend 
 
 of mine, 
 There will come, to all my asking, never answering 
 
 voice of thine. 
 
 Ah ! how many times the grasses have grown green 
 above thy grave,
 
 UNSOLVED. 105 
 
 And how many times above it have we heard the 
 cold winds rave ! 
 
 Thou hast solved the eternal problem that the ages 
 
 hold in fee ; 
 Thou dost know what we but dream of; where we 
 
 marvel, thou dost see. 
 
 What is truth, and what is fable; what the prophets 
 
 saw who trod 
 In their rapt, ecstatic visions up the holy mount of 
 
 God! 
 
 Not of these high themes I question but O friend, 
 
 I fain would know 
 How beyond the silent river all the long years come 
 
 and go ! 
 
 Where they are, our well-beloved, who have vanished 
 
 from our sight, 
 As the stars fade out of heaven at the dawning of 
 
 the light;
 
 106 UNSOLVED. 
 
 How they live and how they love there, in the 
 
 " somewhere " of our dreams ; 
 In the " city lying four-square " by the everlasting 
 
 streams ! 
 
 Oh, the mystery of being! Which is better, life or 
 
 death ? 
 Thou hast tried them both, O comrade, yet thy 
 
 voice ne'er answereth ! 
 
 Hast thou grown as grow the angels ? Doth thy 
 
 spirit still aspire 
 As the flame that soareth upward, mounting higher 
 
 still, and higher? 
 
 In the flush of early manhood all thy earthly days 
 
 were done ; 
 Short thy struggle and endeavor ere the peace of 
 
 heaven was won. 
 
 But for us who stayed behind thee oh! our hands 
 are dark with toil,
 
 UNSOLVED. 107 
 
 And upon our souls, it may be, are the stains of 
 earthly moil. 
 
 Hast thou kept the lofty beauty and the glory of 
 
 thy youth ? 
 Dost thou see our temples whitening, smiling softly 
 
 in thy ruth ? 
 
 But for us we bear the burdens that you dropped 
 
 so long ago, 
 And the cares you have forgotten, and the pains you 
 
 missed, we know. 
 
 Yet the question still remaineth ! Which is better, 
 
 death or life ? 
 The not doing, or the doing ? Joy of calm, or joy 
 
 of strife ? 
 
 Which is better to be saved from temptation and 
 
 from sin, 
 Or to wrestle with the dragon and the glorious fight 
 
 to win?
 
 lo8 UNSOL VED. 
 
 Ah ! we know not, but God knoweth ! All resolves 
 
 itself to this, 
 That He gave to us the warfare, and to thee the 
 
 heavenly bliss. 
 
 It was best for thee to go hence in the morning of 
 
 the day; 
 Till the evening shadows lengthen it is best for us 
 
 to stay !
 
 FIVE. 
 
 " BUT a week is so long ! " he said, 
 
 With a toss of his curly head. 
 " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 
 Seven whole days ! Why, in six you know 
 (You said it yourself you told me so) 
 The great GOD up in heaven 
 Made all the earth and the seas and skies, 
 The trees and the birds and the butterflies ! 
 How can I wait for my seeds to grow ? " 
 
 " But a month is so long ! " he said, 
 With a droop of his boyish head. 
 " Hear me count one, two, three, four 
 Four whole weeks, and three days more ; 
 Thirty-one days, and each will creep 
 As the shadows crawl over yonder steep. 
 Thirty-one nights, and I shall lie 
 109
 
 o FIVE. 
 
 Watching the stars climb up the sky ! 
 How can I wait till a month is o'er?" 
 
 " But a year is so long ! " he said, 
 
 Uplifting his bright young head. 
 " All the seasons must come and go 
 Over the hills with footsteps slow 
 Autumn and Winter, Summer and Spring; 
 Oh, for a bridge of gold to fling 
 Over the chasm deep and wide, 
 That I might cross to the other side, 
 Where she is waiting my love, my bride!" 
 
 "Ten years may be long," he said, 
 
 Slow raising his stately head, 
 
 "But there 's much to win, there is much to lose; 
 A man must labor, a man must choose, 
 And he must be strong to wait ! 
 The years may be long, but who would wear 
 The crown of honor, must do and dare ! 
 No time has he to toy with fate 
 Who would climb to manhood's high estate ! "
 
 FIVE. in 
 
 " Ah ! life is not long ! " he said, 
 Bowing his grand white head. 
 
 " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ! 
 
 Seven times ten are seventy. 
 
 Seventy years ! as swift their flight 
 
 As swallows cleaving the morning light, 
 
 Or golden gleams at even. 
 
 Life is short as a summer night 
 
 How long, O GOD ! is eternity ? "
 
 QUIETNESS. 
 
 I WOULD be quiet, Lord, 
 
 Nor tease, nor fret; 
 Not one small need of mine 
 
 Wilt Thou forget. 
 
 I am not wise to know 
 
 What most I need; 
 I dare not cry too loud 
 
 Lest Thou shouldst heed : 
 
 Lest Thou at length shouldst say, 
 
 " Child, have thy will ; 
 As thou hast chosen, lo ! 
 
 Thy cup I fill ! " 
 
 What I most crave, perchance 
 Thou wilt withhold,
 
 QUIETNESS. 113 
 
 As we from hands unmeet 
 Keep pearls, or gold ; 
 
 As we, when childish hands 
 
 Would play with fire, 
 Withhold the burning goal 
 
 Of their desire. 
 
 Yet choose Thou for me Thou 
 
 Who knowest best; 
 This one short prayer of mine 
 
 Holds all the rest!
 
 WINTER. 
 
 O MY roses, lying underneath the snow ! 
 Do you still remember summer's warmth and glow ? 
 Do you thrill, remembering how your blushes burned 
 When the Day-god on you ardent glances turned ? 
 
 Great tree, wildly stretching bare arms up to heaven, 
 Do you think how softly, on some warm June even, 
 All your young leaves whispered, all your birds sang 
 
 low, 
 As with rhythmic motion boughs swayed to and fro ? 
 
 River, lying whitely in a frozen sleep, 
 Know you how your pulses used to throb and leap? 
 How you danced and sparkled on your happy way, 
 In the summer mornings when the world was gay ? 
 
 Dear Earth, dumbly waiting God's appointed time, 
 Are you faint with longing for the voice sublime ? 
 Wrapped in stony silence, does your great heart beat, 
 Listening in the darkness for the coming of His feet?
 
 THE "CHRISTUS" OF THE PASSION PLAY 
 OF OBERAMMERGAU. 
 
 How does life seem to thee? I long to look 
 Into thine inmost soul, and see if thou 
 Art even as other men! Oh, set apart 
 And consecrate so long to purpose high, 
 Canst thou take up again our common lot, 
 And live as we live ? Canst thou buy and sell, 
 Stoop to small needs, and petty ministries, 
 Work and get gain, eat, drink, and soundly sleep, 
 Sin and repent, as these thy brethren do ? 
 Unto what name less sacred answerest thou 
 Who hast been called the Christ of Nazareth ? 
 Thou who hast worn the awful crown of thorns, 
 Hanging like Him upon the dreadful Tree, 
 Canst thou, uncrowned, forget thy royalty ?
 
 THE MOUNTAIN ROAD. 
 
 ONLY a glimpse of mountain road 
 That followed where a river flowed; 
 Only a glimpse then on we passed 
 Skirting the forest dim and vast 
 
 I closed my eyes. On rushed the train 
 Into the dark, then out again, 
 Startling the song-birds as it flew 
 The wild ravines and gorges through. 
 
 But, heeding not the dangerous way 
 O'erhung by sheer cliffs, rough and gray, 
 I only saw, as in a dream, 
 The road beside the mountain stream. 
 
 No smoke curled upward in the air, 
 
 No meadow-lands stretched broad and fair;
 
 THE MOUNTAIN ROAD. 117 
 
 But towering peaks rose far and high, 
 Piercing the clear, untroubled sky. 
 
 Yet down the yellow, winding road 
 That followed where the river flowed, 
 I saw a long procession pass 
 As shadows over bending grass. 
 
 The young, the old, the sad, the gay, 
 Whose feet had worn that narrow way, 
 Since first within the dusky glade 
 Some Indian lover wooed his maid ; 
 
 Or silent crept from tree to tree 
 
 Spirit of stealthy vengeance, he ! 
 
 Or breathless crouched while through the brake 
 
 The wild deer stole his thirst to slake. 
 
 The barefoot school-boys rushing out 
 An eager, crowding, roisterous rout ; 
 The sturdy lads; the lassies gay 
 As bobolinks in merry May ;
 
 ii8 THE MOUNTAIN ROAD. 
 
 The farmer whistling to his team 
 When first the dawn begins to gleam; 
 The loaded wains that one by one 
 Drag slowly home at set of sun ; 
 
 Young lovers straying hand in hand 
 Within a fair, enchanted land ; 
 And many a bride with lingering feet ; 
 And many a matron calm and sweet ; 
 
 And many an old man bent with pain ; 
 And many a solemn funeral train ; 
 And sometimes, red against the sky, 
 An army's banners waving high ! 
 
 All mysteries of life and death 
 To which the spirit answereth, 
 Are thine, O lonely mountain road> 
 That followed where the river flowed !
 
 ENTERING IN. 
 
 THE church was dim and silent 
 
 With the hush before the prayer, 
 Only the solemn trembling 
 
 Of the organ stirred the air; 
 Without, the sweet, still sunshine; 
 
 Within, the holy calm 
 Where priest and people waited 
 
 For the swelling of the psalm. 
 
 Slowly the door swung open, 
 
 And a little baby girl, 
 Brown-eyed, with brown hair falling 
 
 In many a wavy curl, 
 
 IT 9
 
 ENTERING IN. 
 
 With soft cheeks flushing hotly, 
 Shy glances downward thrown, 
 
 And small hands clasped before her, 
 Stood in the aisle alone. 
 
 Stood half abashed, half frightened 
 
 Unknowing where to go, 
 While like a wind-rocked flower, 
 
 Her form swayed to and fro, 
 And the changing color fluttered 
 
 In the little troubled face, 
 As from side to side she wavered 
 
 With a mute, imploring grace. 
 
 It was but for a moment; 
 
 What wonder that we smiled, 
 By such a strange, sweet picture 
 
 From holy thoughts beguiled ? 
 Then up rose some one softly; 
 
 And many an eye grew dim, 
 As through the tender silence 
 
 He bore the child with him.
 
 ENTERING IN. 121 
 
 And I I wondered (losing 
 
 The sermon and the prayer) 
 If when sometime I enter 
 
 The " many mansions " fair, 
 And stand, abashed and drooping, 
 
 In the portal's golden glow, 
 Our God will send an angel 
 
 To show me where to go ! 
 
 16
 
 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 ONLY a week ago and thou wert here ! 
 
 I touched thy hand, I saw thy dear, dark eyes, 
 I kissed thy tender lips, I felt thee near, 
 
 I spake, and listened to thy low replies. 
 
 To-day what leagues between us ! Hill and vale, 
 The rolling prairies and the mighty seas; 
 
 Gray forest reaches where the wild winds wail, 
 And mountain crests uplifted to the breeze ! 
 
 So far thou art, who wert of late so near ! 
 
 The stars we watched have changed not in the 
 
 skies ; 
 Still do thy hyacinth bells their beauty wear, 
 
 Yet half a continent between us lies !
 
 THE DIFFERENCE. 123 
 
 But swift as thought along the " singing wires " 
 There flies a message like a bright- winged bird 
 
 " All 's well ! All 's well ! " and ne'er from wood 
 land choirs 
 By gladder music hath the air been stirred! 
 
 But thou, O thou, who but a week ago, 
 
 Passed calmly out beyond our yearning gaze, 
 
 As some grand ship all solemnly and slow 
 
 Sails out of sight beyond the gathering haze 
 
 Oh, where art thou ? In what far distant realm, 
 What star in yon resplendent fields of light, 
 
 On what fair isle that no rude seas may whelm, 
 Dost thou, O brother, find thy home to-night ? 
 
 Or art thou near us ? There are those who say 
 That but a breath divides our world from 
 thine ; 
 
 A little cloud that may be blown away 
 A gossamer veil than spider's web more fine.
 
 I2 4 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 Dost thou, a shadowy presence, linger near 
 Thine own loved haunts, the paths thou wert 
 
 wont to tread, 
 Where woods were still, and shining brooks ran 
 
 clear, 
 And waving boughs arched greenly overhead ? 
 
 Oh ! be thou far or near, it is the same ! 
 
 From thee there floats no message thro' the air ; 
 No glad " All 's well " comes to us in thy name 
 
 That we the joy of thy new life may share !
 
 THOU KNOWEST. 
 
 THOU knowest, O my Father! Why should I 
 
 Weary high heaven with restless prayers and tears ? 
 
 Thou knowest all! My heart's unuttered cry 
 
 Hath soared beyond the stars and reached Thine 
 ears. 
 
 Thou knowest ah, Thou knowest ! Then what need, 
 O, loving God, to tell Thee o'er and o'er, 
 
 And with persistent iteration plead 
 
 As one who crieth at some closed door ? 
 
 " Tease not ! " we mothers to our children say, 
 " Our wiser love will grant whate'er is best." 
 
 Shall we, Thy children, run to Thee alway, 
 Begging for this and that in wild unrest ? 
 
 I dare not clamor at the heavenly gate, 
 
 Lest I should lose the high, sweet strains within ; 
 
 O, Love Divine ! I can but stand and wait 
 Till Perfect Wisdom bids me enter in ! 
 125
 
 A FLOWER FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 You placed this flower in her hand, you say ? 
 This pure, pale rose in her hand of clay ? 
 Methinks could she lift her sealed eyes 
 They would meet your own with a grieved surprise ! 
 
 She has been your wife for many a year, 
 
 When clouds hung low and when skies were clear; 
 
 At your feet she laid her life's glad spring, 
 
 And her summer's glorious blossoming. 
 
 Her whole heart went with the hand you won; 
 If its warm love waned as the years went on, 
 If it chilled in the grasp of an icy spell, 
 What was the reason ? I pray you tell ! 
 
 You cannot ? I can ; and beside her bier 
 My soul must speak and your soul must hear. 
 126
 
 A FLOWER FOR THE DEAD. 127 
 
 If she was not all that she might have been, 
 Hers was the sorrow, yours the sin. 
 
 Whose was the fault if she did not grow 
 Like a rose in the summer ? Do you know ? 
 Does a lily grow when its leaves are chilled ? 
 Does it bloom when its root is winter-killed ? 
 
 For a little while, when you first were wed, 
 Your love was like sunshine round her shed ; 
 Then a something crept between you two, 
 You led where she could not follow you. 
 
 With a man's firm tread you went and came ; 
 You lived for wealth, for power, for fame; 
 Shut in to her woman's work and ways, 
 She heard the nation chant your praise. 
 
 But ah ! you had dropped her hand the while ; 
 What time had you for a kiss, a smile ? 
 You two, with the same roof overhead, 
 Were as far apart as the sundered dead !
 
 128 A FLOWER FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 You, in your manhood's strength and prime ; 
 She, worn and faded before her time. 
 'T is a common story. This rose, you say, 
 You laid in her pallid hand to-day ? 
 
 When did you give her a flower before ? 
 Ah, well ! What matter when all is o'er ? 
 Yet stay a moment ; you '11 wed again. 
 I mean no reproach ; 't is the way of men. 
 
 But I pray you think when some fairer face 
 Shines like a star from her wonted place, 
 That love will starve if it is not fed ; 
 That true hearts pray for their daily bread.
 
 A RED ROSE. 
 
 O ROSE, my red, red Rose, 
 
 Where has thy beauty fled ? 
 Low in the west is a sea of fire, 
 But the great white moon soars high and higher, 
 
 As my garden walks I tread. 
 
 Thy white rose-sisters gleam 
 
 Like stars in the darkening sky; 
 They bend their brows with a sudden thrill 
 To the kiss of the night-dews soft and still, 
 
 When the warm south wind floats by. 
 
 And the stately lilies stand 
 
 Fair in the silvery light, 
 Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; 
 Their pure breath sanctifies the air, 
 
 As its fragrance fills the night. 
 
 17 129
 
 130 A RED ROSE. 
 
 But O, my red, red Rose! 
 
 My Rose with the crimson lips ! 
 So bright thou wert in the sunny morn, 
 Yet now thou art hiding all forlorn, 
 
 And thy soul is in drear eclipse ! 
 
 Dost thou mourn thy lover dead 
 
 Thy lover, the lordly Sun ? 
 Didst thou see him sink in the glowing west ? 
 With pomp of banners above his rest ? 
 
 He shall rise again, sweet one! 
 
 He shall rise with his eye of fire 
 And thy passionate heart shall beat, 
 
 And thy radiant blushes burn again, 
 
 With the joy of rapture after pain 
 At the coming of his feet !
 
 MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 MY birthday! "How many years ago? 
 
 Twenty or thirty ? " Don't ask me ! 
 " Forty or fifty ? " How can I tell ? 
 
 I do not remember my birth, you see! 
 
 It is hearsay evidence nothing more ! 
 
 Once on a time, the legends say, 
 A girl was born and that girl was I. 
 
 How can I vouch for the truth, I pray ? 
 
 I know I am here, but when I came 
 Let some one wiser than I am tell! 
 
 Did this sweet flower you plucked for me 
 Know when its bud began to swell? 
 
 How old am I ? You ought to know 
 Without any telling of mine, my dear!
 
 132 MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 For when I came to this happy earth 
 Were you not waiting for me here ? 
 
 A dark-eyed boy on the northern hills, 
 Chasing the hours with flying feet, 
 
 Did you not know your wife was born, 
 By a subtile prescience, faint yet sweet ? 
 
 Did never a breath from the south-land come 
 With sunshine laden and rare perfume 
 
 To lift your hair with a soft caress, 
 
 And waken your heart to richer bloom? 
 
 Not one? O mystery strange as life! 
 To think that we who are now so dear 
 
 Were once in our dreams so far apart, 
 Nor cared if the other were far or near! 
 
 But how old am I ? You must tell. 
 
 Just as old as I seem to you ! 
 Nor shall I a day older be 
 
 While life remaineth and love is true!
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 GROWN to man's stature ! O my little child ! 
 
 My bird that sought the skies so long ago! 
 My fair, sweet blossom, pure and undefiled, 
 
 How have the years flown since we laid thee low ' 
 
 What have they been to thee ? If thou wert here 
 Standing beside thy brothers, tall and fair, 
 
 With bearded lip, and dark eyes shining clear, 
 And glints of summer sunshine in thy hair, 
 
 I should look up into thy face and say, 
 
 Wavering, perhaps, between a tear and smile, 
 
 " O my sweet son, thou art a man to-day ! " 
 And thou wouldst stoop to kiss my lips the while. 
 
 But up in heaven how is it with thee, dear? 
 Art thou a man to man's full stature grown ?
 
 134 TWENTY-ONE. 
 
 Dost thou count time as we do, year by year? 
 And what of all earth's changes hast thou known? 
 
 Thou hadst not learned to love me. Didst thou take 
 Any small germ of love to heaven with thee, 
 
 That thou hast watched and nurtured for my sake, 
 Waiting till I its perfect flower may see ? 
 
 What is it to have lived in heaven always? 
 
 To have no memory of pain or sin ? 
 Ne'er to have known in all the calm, bright days, 
 
 The jar and fret of earth's discordant din ? 
 
 Thy brothers they are mortal they must tread 
 Ofttimes in rough, hard ways, with bleeding feet; 
 
 Must fight with dragons, must bewail their dead, 
 And fierce Apollyon face to face must meet. 
 
 I, who would give my very life for theirs, 
 I cannot save them from earth's pain or loss; 
 
 I cannot shield them from its griefs or cares; 
 Each human heart must bear alone its cross!
 
 TWENTY-ONE. 135 
 
 Was God, then, kinder unto thee than them, 
 O thou whose little life was but a span ? 
 
 Ah, think it not! In all his diadem 
 
 No star shines brighter than the kingly man, 
 
 Who nobly earns whatever crown he wears, 
 Who grandly conquers, or as grandly dies; 
 
 And the white banner of his manhood bears, 
 Through all the years uplifted to the, skies ! 
 
 What lofty pseans shall the victor greet ! 
 
 What crown resplendent for his brow be fit ! 
 O child, if earthly life be bitter-sweet, 
 
 Hast thou not something missed in missing it ?
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 MAY 28, 1779-1879. 
 
 HUSH! O be ye silent, all ye birds of May! 
 Cease the high, clear trilling of your roundelay 
 Be the merry minstrels mute in vale, on hill, 
 And in every tree-top let the song be still ! 
 
 O ye winds, breathe softly ! Let your voices die 
 In a low, faint whisper, sweet as love's first sigh ; 
 O ye zephyrs, blowing over beds of flowers, 
 Be ye still as dews are in the starry hours ! 
 
 O ye laughing waters, leaping here and there, 
 Filling with sweet clamor all the summer air, 
 Can ye not be quiet ? Hush, ye mountain streams, 
 Dancing to glad music from the world of dreams ! 
 136
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 137 
 
 And thou, mighty ocean, beating on the shore, 
 Bid thy angry billows stay their thunderous roar ! 
 O ye waves, lapse softly, in such slumberous calm 
 As ye know when circling isles of crested palm ! 
 
 Bells in tower and steeple, be ye mute to-day 
 As the bell-flowers rocking in the winds of May ! 
 Cease awhile, ye minstrels, though your notes be 
 
 clear 
 As the strains that soar in heaven's high atmosphere ! 
 
 Earth, bid all thy children hearken, for a voice, 
 Sweeter than a seraph's, bids their hearts rejoice; 
 Floating down the silence of a hundred years, 
 Lo ! its deathless music thrills our listening ears ! 
 
 'T is the one our fathers loved so long ago, 
 
 The same songs it taught them warbling clear and 
 
 low; 
 
 Hark, " Ye Disconsolate ! " while the voice so pure 
 Sings " Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot 
 
 cure ! " 
 
 18
 
 138 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 Sings of love's wild rapture triumphing o'er pain, 
 Glorying in giving, counting loss but gain ; 
 Sings the warrior's passion and the patriot's pride, 
 And the brave, unshrinking, who for glory died; 
 
 Sings of Erin smiling through a mist of tears ; 
 Of her patient waiting all the weary years ; 
 Sings the pain of parting, and the joy divine 
 When the bliss of meeting stirs the heart like wine; 
 
 Sings of memories waking in " the stilly night " ; 
 Of the " young dreams " fading in the morning light ; 
 Of the " rose of summer " perishing too soon ; 
 Of the early splendors waning ere the noon ! 
 
 O thou tender singer ! All the air to-day 
 Trembles with the burden of thy " farewell " lay ; 
 Crowns and thrones may crumble, into darkness 
 
 hurled, 
 Yet is song immortal ; song shall rule the world !
 
 SINGING IN THE DARK. 
 
 O YE little warblers, flying fast and far 
 
 From the balmy south-land, where the roses are, 
 
 Robins red and blue-birds, do ye faint to see 
 
 How the chill snow-blossoms whiten shrub and tree? 
 
 Through the snowy valley cold the north winds 
 
 sweep ; 
 
 Mother Earth, half-wakened, turns again to sleep; 
 Silent lies the river in an icy trance, 
 And the frozen meadows wait the sun's hot glance. 
 
 Dull and gray the skies are. Soft and blue were 
 
 those 
 
 That so late above you bent at daylight's close; 
 Do ye grieve, remembering all the balm and bloom, 
 All the warmth and sweetness of the starlit gloom ? 
 139
 
 140 SINGING IN THE DARK. 
 
 Do ye sadly wonder what strange impulse drew 
 All your flashing pinions the far ether through ? 
 Do ye count it madness that so wide ye strayed 
 From the starry jasmine and the orange shade ? 
 
 Yet this morn I heard ye singing in the dark, 
 Songs of such rare sweetness that the world might 
 
 hark! 
 
 O ye blessed minstrels, silent not for pain, 
 God is in the heavens, and your sun shall shine 
 
 again !
 
 TWO SONNETS. 
 
 WHEN I awake at morn, refreshed, renewed, 
 Glad with the gladness of the jocund day 
 And jubilant with all the birds of May, 
 
 My spirit shrinks from Night's dull quietude. 
 
 With it and Sleep I have a deadly feud. 
 I hear the young winds in the maples play, 
 The river singing on its happy way, 
 
 The swallows twittering to their callow brood. 
 
 The fresh, fair earth is full of joyous life ; 
 The tree-tops toss in billowy unrest; 
 The very mountain shadows are astir ! 
 
 With eager heart I thrill to join the strife; 
 Doing, not dreaming, to my soul seems best, 
 And I am lordly Day's true worshiper!
 
 142 TWO SONNETS. 
 
 II. 
 
 BUT when with Day's long weariness oppressed, 
 With folded hands I watch the sun go down, 
 Lighting far ^torches in the steepled town, 
 
 And kindling all the glowing, reddening west; 
 
 When every sleepy bird has sought its nest ; 
 
 When the long shadows from the hills are thrown, 
 And Night's soft airs about the world are blown, 
 
 Thou heart of mine, how sweet it is to rest ! 
 
 O, Israfil ! Thou of the tuneful voice ! 
 
 It will be night-fall when thy voice I hear, 
 Summoning me to slumber -soft and low ! 
 
 Day will be done. Then will I not rejoice 
 That all my tasks are o'er and rest is near, 
 And, like a tired child, be glad to go?
 
 TO ZULMA. 
 
 SOMETIMES my heart grows faint with longing, dear, 
 
 Longing to see thy face, to touch thy hand. 
 
 But mountains rise between us ; leagues of land 
 Stretch on and on where mighty lakes lie clear 
 In the far spaces, and great forests rear 
 
 Their somber crowns on many a lonely strand ! 
 
 Yet, O my fair child, canst thou understand, 
 Thou whose dear place was once beside me here, 
 How yet I dare not pray that thou and" I 
 
 Again may dwell together as of old ? 
 
 There is a gate between us, locked and barred, 
 Over which we may not climb, and standing nigh 
 
 Is the white angel Sorrow, who doth hold 
 The only key that may unlock its ward !
 
 144 TO ZULMA. 
 
 II. 
 
 YET think not I would have it otherwise ! 
 
 Our God, who knoweth women's hearts, knows 
 best 
 
 And every little bird must build its nest 
 From whence it soareth, singing, to the skies. 
 What though the one that thou hast builded lies 
 
 Where sinks the sun to its enchanted rest, 
 
 If, on each breeze that bloweth east or west, 
 To thee, on swiftest wing, my spirit flies? 
 We are not far apart, and ne'er shall be ! 
 
 For Love, like God, knoweth not time, nor space, 
 
 And it is freer than the viewless air; 
 And well I know, beloved, that if we 
 
 Trod different planets in yon starry space 
 
 We should reach out, and find each other there!
 
 MERCfiDES. 
 
 (JUNE 2;th, 1878.) 
 
 O FAIR young queen, who liest dead to-day 
 In thy proud palace o'er the moaning sea, 
 With still, white hands that never more may be 
 
 Lifted to pluck life's roses bright with May 
 
 Little is it to you that, far away, 
 Where skies you knew not bend above the free, 
 Hearts touched with tender pity turn to thee, 
 
 And for thy sake a shadow dims the day ! 
 
 But youth and love and womanhood are one, 
 Though across sundering seas their signals fly; 
 
 Young Love's pure kiss, the joy but just begun, 
 The hope of motherhood, thy people's cry 
 O thou fair child ! was it not hard to die 
 
 And leave so much beneath the summer sun? 
 
 J 9 MS
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 WHO calls thee "gentle Sleep?" O! rare coquette, 
 Who comest crowned with poppies, thou shouldst 
 
 wear 
 Nettles instead, or thistles, in thy hair; 
 
 For thou 'rt the veriest elf that ever yet 
 
 Made weary mortals sigh and toss and fret ! 
 Thou dost float softly through the drowsy air 
 Hovering as if to kiss my lips and share 
 
 My restless pillow; but ere I can set 
 
 My arms to clasp thee, without sign or speech, 
 Save one swift, mocking smile thou 'rt out of 
 reach ! 
 
 Yet, sometime, thou, or one as like to thee 
 As sister is to sister, shalt draw near 
 With such soft lullabies for my dull ear, 
 
 That neither life nor love shall waken me ! 
 
 146
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 WHAT dost thou bring to me, O fair To-day, 
 That contest o'er the mountains with swift feet ? 
 All the young birds make haste thy steps to greet 
 
 And all the dewy roses of the May 
 
 Turn red and white with joy. The breezes play 
 On their soft harps a welcome low and sweet ; 
 All nature hails thee, glad thy face to meet, 
 
 And owns thy presence in a brighter ray. 
 But my poor soul distrusts thee ! One as fair 
 
 As thou art, O To-day, drew near to me, 
 Serene and smiling, yet she bade me wear 
 The sudden sackcloth of a great despair! 
 O, pitiless! that through the wandering air 
 
 Sent no kind warning of the ill to be ! 
 
 147
 
 GRASS-GROWN. 
 
 GRASS grows at last above all graves, you say ? 
 
 Why, therein lies the sharpest sting of all ! 
 
 To think that stars will rise and dews will fall, 
 Hills flush with purple splendor, soft winds play 
 Where roses bloom and violets of May, 
 
 Robin to robin in the tree-tops call, 
 
 And all sweet sights and sounds the senses thrall, 
 Just as they did before that dreadful day! 
 
 Does that bring comfort ? Are we glad to know 
 That our eyes sometime must forget to weep, 
 
 Even as June forgets December's snow ? 
 Over the graves where our beloved sleep, 
 
 We charge thee, Time, let not the green grass grow, 
 Nor your relentless mosses coldly creep !
 
 AT THE TOMB. 
 
 (), SOUL! rememberest thou how Mary went 
 In the gray dawn to weep beside the tomb 
 Where one she loved lay buried ? Through the 
 gloom, 
 
 Pallid with pain, and with long anguish spent, 
 
 Still pressed she on with solemn, high intent, 
 Bearing her costly gifts of rare perfume 
 And spices odorous with eastern bloom, 
 
 Unto the Master's sepulcher! But rent 
 
 Was the great stone from its low door away; 
 
 And when she stooped to peer with startled eyes 
 Into the dark where slept the pallid clay, 
 
 Lo, it was gone ! And there in heavenly guise, 
 So grandly calm, so fair in morn's first ray, 
 
 She found an angel from the upper skies!
 
 AT REST. 
 
 " ' WHEN Greek meets Greek,' you know," he sadly 
 said, 
 
 " ' Then comes the tug of war.' I deem him great, 
 
 And own him wise and good. Yet adverse fate 
 Hath made us enemies. If I were dead, 
 And buried deep with grave-mold on my head, 
 
 I still believe, that, came he soon or late 
 
 Where I was lying in my last estate, 
 My dust would quiver at his lightest tread ! " 
 
 The slow years passed; and one fair summer night, 
 When the low sun was reddening all the west, 
 
 I saw two grave-mounds, where the grass was 
 
 bright, 
 Lying so near each other that the crest 
 
 Of the same wave touched each with amber light. 
 But, ah, dear hearts ! how undisturbed their rest !
 
 F. A. F. 
 
 WHEN upon eyes long dim, to whom the light 
 Of sun and stars had unfamiliar grown, 
 Eyes that so long in deepening shades had known 
 
 The mystic visions of the inner sight, 
 
 Day broke, at last, after the weary night, 
 I cannot think its sudden glory shone 
 
 In pitiless brightness, dazzling, clear, and white 
 A piercing splendor on the darkness thrown ! 
 
 Softly as moonlight steals upon the skies, 
 Slowly as shadows creep at set of sun, 
 Gently as falls a mother's tender kiss, 
 
 So softly stole the light upon his eyes; 
 
 So slowly passed the shadows one by one; 
 So gently dawned the morning of his bliss !
 
 TOO WIDE! 
 
 O MIGHTY Earth, thou art too wide, too wide I 
 Too vast thy continents, too broad thy seas, 
 Too far thy prairies stretching fair as these 
 
 Now reddening in the sunset's crimson tide! 
 
 Sundered by thee how have thy children cried 
 Each to some other, until every breeze 
 Has borne a burden of fond messages 
 
 That all unheard in thy lone wastes have died! 
 
 Draw closer, O dear Earth, thy hills that soar 
 Up to blue skies such countless leagues apart ! 
 Bid thou thine awful spaces smaller grow ! 
 
 Compass thy billows with a narrower shore, 
 
 That yearning lips may meet, heart beat to heart, 
 And parted souls forget their lonely woe ! 
 
 152
 
 RESURGAMUS. 
 
 WHAT though we sleep a thousand leagues apart, 
 
 I by my mountains, you beside your sea? 
 
 What though our moss-grown graves divided be 
 By the wide reaches of a continent's heart ? 
 When from long slumber we at length shall start 
 
 Wakened to stronger life, exultant, free, 
 
 This mortal clothed in immortality, 
 Where shall I find my heaven save where thou art? 
 Straight as a bird that hasteth to its nest, 
 
 Glad as an eagle soaring to the light, 
 
 Swift as the thought that bears my soul to thine 
 When yon lone star hangs trembling in the west, 
 
 So straight, so glad, so swift to thee my flight, 
 Led on through farthest space by love divine ! 
 
 20 
 
 153
 
 IN KING'S CHAPEL. 
 
 (BOSTON, Nov. 3, 1878.) 
 
 O, LORD OF HOSTS, how sacred is this place, 
 Where, though the tides of time resistless flow, 
 And the long generations come and go, 
 
 Thou still abidest! In this holy space 
 
 The very airs are hushed before Thy face, 
 And wait in reverent calm, as voices low 
 Blend in the prayers and chantings, soft and slow, 
 
 And the gray twilight stealeth on apace. 
 
 Hark ! There are whispers from the time-worn walls ; 
 The mighty dead glide up the shadowy aisle; 
 And there are rustlings as of angels' wings 
 
 While from the choir the heavenly music falls! 
 Well may we bow in grateful praise the while 
 In the King's Chapel reigns the King of Kings ! 
 
 154
 
 THY NAME. 
 
 WHAT matters it what men may call Thee, Thou, 
 The Eternal One, who reign'st supreme, alone, 
 The boundless universe Thy mighty throne ? 
 
 When souls before Thee reverently bow, 
 
 Oh, carest Thou what name the lips breathe low 
 Jove, or Osiris, or the God Unknown 
 To whom the Athenians raised their altar stone, 
 
 Or Thine, O Holiest, unto whom we vow ? 
 
 The sun hath many names in many lands; 
 Yet upon all its golden splendors fall, 
 
 Where'er, from age to age entreating still, 
 
 The adoring earth uplifts its waiting hands. 
 Love knows all names and answereth to all 
 Who worships Thee may call Thee what he will ! 
 
 155
 
 THREE DAYS. 
 
 WHAT shall I bring to lay upon thy bier 
 O Yesterday ! thou day forever dead ? 
 With what strange garlands shall I crown thy head, 
 
 Thou silent One ? For rose and rue are near 
 
 Which thou thyself didst bring me ; heart's-ease clear 
 And dark in purple opulence that shed 
 Rare odors round worm- wood, and herbs that fed 
 
 My soul with bitterness they all are here ! 
 
 When to the banquet I was called by thee 
 
 Thou gavest me rags and royal robes to wear; 
 Honey and aloes mingled in the cup 
 
 Of costly wine that thou didst pour for me ; 
 
 Thy throne, thy footstool, thou didst bid me share ; 
 On crusts and heavenly manna bade me sup ! 
 
 156
 
 THREE DAYS. 157 
 
 II. 
 
 THOU art no dreamer, O, thou stern To-day ! 
 
 The dead past had its dreams ; the real is thine. 
 
 An armored knight, in panoply divine, 
 It is not thine to loiter by the way, 
 Though all the meads with summer flowers be gay, 
 
 Though birds sing for thee, and though fair stars 
 shine, 
 
 And every god pours for thee life's best wine ! 
 Nor friend nor foe hath strength to bid thee stay. 
 Gleaming beneath thy brows with smoldering fire 
 
 Thine eyes look out upon the eternal hills 
 
 As forth thou ridest with thy spear in rest. 
 From the far heights a voice cries, " Come up higher ! " 
 
 And in swift answer all thy being thrills, 
 
 When lo ! 'tis night thy sun is in the west!
 
 158 THREE DAYS. 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT thou, To-morrow ! never yet was born 
 In earth's dull atmosphere a thing so fair 
 Never yet tripped, with footsteps light as air, 
 
 So glad a vision o'er the hills of morn ! 
 
 Fresh as the radiant dawning, all unworn 
 By lightest touch of sorrow, or of care, 
 Thou dost the glory of the morning share 
 
 By snowy wings of hope and faith upborne ! 
 
 O, fair To-morrow! what our souls have missed 
 Art thou not keeping for us, somewhere, still ? 
 The buds of promise that have never blown 
 
 The tender lips that we have never kissed 
 
 The song whose high, sweet strain eludes our skill 
 The one white pearl that life hath never known !
 
 VERMONT. 
 
 (WRITTEN FOR THE VERMONT CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, AT 
 BENNINGTON, AUGUST 15, 1877.) 
 
 O, WOMAN-FORM, majestic, strong and fair, 
 Sitting enthroned where in upper air 
 Thy mountain-peaks in solemn grandeur rise, : 
 Piercing the splendor of the summer skies, 
 Vermont ! Our mighty mother, crowned to-day 
 
 In all the glory of thine hundred years, 
 If thou dost bid me sing, how can I but obey ? 
 What though the lips may tremble, and the verse 
 That fain would grandly thy grand deeds rehearse 
 May trip and falter, and the stammering tongue 
 Leave all unrhymed the rhymes that should be sung ? 
 I can but do thy bidding, as is meet, 
 Bowing in humble homage at thy feet 
 Thy royal feet and if my words are weak, 
 O crowned one, 't was thou didst bid me speak ! 
 
 159
 
 160 VERMONT. 
 
 II. 
 
 YET what is there to say, 
 
 Even on this proud day, 
 This day of days, that hath not oft been said ? 
 
 What song is there to sing 
 That hath not oft been sung? 
 
 What laurel can we bring, 
 
 That Ages have not hung 
 A thousand times above their glorious dead ? 
 
 What crown to crown the living 
 
 Is left us for our giving, 
 
 That is not shaped to other brows, 
 That wore it long ago ? 
 
 Our very vows but echo vows 
 Breathed centuries ago ! 
 
 Earth has no choral strain, 
 
 No sweet or sad refrain, 
 No lofty paean swelling loud and clear, 
 
 That Virgil did not know, 
 
 Or Dante, wandering slow 
 In mystic trances, did not pause to hear!
 
 VERMONT. 161 
 
 When gods from high Olympus came 
 To touch old Homer's lips with flame, 
 The morning stars together sung 
 To teach their raptures to his tongue. 
 For him the lonely ocean moaned; 
 For him the mighty winds intoned 
 Their deep-voiced chantings, and for him 
 Sweet flower-bells pealed in forests dim. 
 From earth and sea and sky he caught 
 The spell of their divinest thought, 
 While yet it blossomed fresh and new 
 As Eden's rosebuds wet with dew ! 
 Oh ! to have lived when earth was young, 
 With all its melodies unsung! 
 The dome of Heaven bent nearer then 
 When gods and angels talked with men, 
 When Song itself was newly born, 
 The Incarnation of the Morn ! 
 But now, alas ! all thought is old, 
 All life is but a story told, 
 And poet-tongues are manifold; 
 And he is bold who tries to wake 
 21
 
 162 VERMONT. 
 
 Even for God, or Country's sake, 
 In voice, or pen, or lute, or lyre, 
 Sparks of the old Promethean fire ! 
 
 in. 
 
 AND yet, O Earth, thank God! the soul of song 
 
 Is as immortal as the eternal stars ! 
 O, trembling heart ! take courage and be strong. 
 
 Hark ! to a voice from yonder crystal bars : 
 
 " Did the roses blow last June ? 
 
 Do the stars still rise and set ? 
 And over the crests of the mountains 
 
 Are the light clouds floating yet ? 
 Do the rivers run to the sea 
 
 With a deep, resistless flow ? 
 Do the little birds sing north and south 
 
 As the seasons come and go ? 
 
 " Are the hills as fair as of old? 
 Are the skies as blue and far?
 
 VERMONT. 163 
 
 Have you lost the pomp of the sunset, 
 
 Or the light of the evening star ? 
 Has the glory gone from the morning ? 
 
 Do the wild winds wail no more ? 
 Is there now no thunder of billows 
 
 Beating the storm-lashed shore ? 
 
 " Is Love a forgotten story ? 
 
 Is Passion a jester's theme ? 
 Has Valor thrown down its armor? 
 
 Is Honor an idle dream ? 
 Is there no pure trust in woman ? 
 
 No conquering faith in God? 
 Are there no feet strong to follow 
 
 In the paths the martyrs trod ? 
 
 " Did you find no hero graves 
 
 When your violets bloomed last May 
 
 Prouder than those of Marathon, 
 Or 'old Plated s day' ? 
 
 When your red and white and blue 
 On the free winds fluttered out,
 
 i6 4 VERMONT. 
 
 Were there no strong hearts and voices 
 To receive it with a shout? 
 Oh ! let the Earth grow old? 
 And the burning stars grow cold .' 
 And, if you will, declare man's story told > 
 
 Yet, pure as faith is pure, 
 
 And sure as death is sure, 
 
 As long as love shall live, shall song endure ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 WHEN one by one the stately, silent Years 
 
 Glide like pale ghosts beyond our yearning sight, 
 Vainly we stretch our arms to stay their flight, 
 So soon, so swift, they pass to endless night! 
 
 We hardly learn to name them, 
 
 To praise them, or to blame them, 
 
 To know their shadowy faces, 
 
 Ere we see their empty places ! 
 
 Only once the glad Spring greets them; 
 
 Only once fair Summer meets them; 
 
 Only once the Autumn glory
 
 VERMONT. 165 
 
 Tells for them its mystic story; 
 
 Only once the Winter hoary 
 
 Weaves for them its robes of light ! 
 Years leave their work half done ; like men, alas ! 
 With sheaves ungathered to their graves they pass, 
 And are forgotten. What they strive to do 
 Lives for a while in memory of a few ; 
 Then over all Oblivion's waters flow 
 The Years are buried in the Long Ago ! 
 But when a Century dies, what room is there for tears ? 
 Rather in solemn exaltation let us come, 
 With roll of drum 
 (Not muffled as in woe), 
 With blare of bugles, and the liquid flow 
 Of silver clarions, and the long appeal 
 Of the clear trumpets ringing peal on peal 
 With clash of bells, and hosts in proud array 
 To pay meet homage to its burial day ! 
 For its proud work is done. Its name is writ 
 Where all the ages that come after it 
 Shall read the eternal letters, blazoned high 
 On the blue dome of the impartial sky.
 
 166 VERMONT. 
 
 What ruthless fate can darken its renown, 
 Or dim the luster of its starry crown ? 
 On mountain-peaks of Time each Century stands 
 
 alone ; 
 
 And each, for glory or for shame, hath reaped what 
 it hath sown ! 
 
 v. 
 
 BUT this the one that gave thee birth 
 A hundred years ago, O beauteous mother! 
 This mighty century had a mightier brother, 
 
 Who from the watching earth 
 
 Passed but last year ! Twin-born indeed were they, 
 For what are twelve months to the womb of time 
 Pregnant with ages? Hand in hand they climbed 
 With clear, young eyes uplifted to the stars, 
 With great, strong souls that never stopped for bars, 
 Through storm and darkness up to glorious day ! 
 Each knew the other's need; each in his breast 
 The subtle tie of closest kin confessed ; 
 Counted the other's honor as his own ; 
 Nor feared to sit upon a separate throne ;
 
 VERMONT. 167 
 
 Nor loved each other less when wondrous fate ! 
 One gave a Nation life, and one a State! 
 
 VI. 
 
 OH ! rude the cradle in which each was rocked, 
 
 The infant Nation, and the infant State ! 
 Rough nurses were the Centuries, that mocked 
 At mother-kisses, and for mother-arms 
 Gave their young nurslings sudden harsh alarms, 
 Quick blows and stern rebuffs. They bade them 
 
 wait, 
 
 Often in cold and hunger, while the feast 
 Was spread for others, and, though last not least, 
 Gave them sharp swords for playthings, and the din 
 Of actual battle for the mimic strife 
 
 That childhood glories in ! 
 
 Yet not the less they loved them. Spartans they 
 Who could not rear a weak, effeminate brood. 
 Better the forest's awful solitude, 
 Better the desert spaces, where the day 
 Wanders from dawn to dusk and finds no life !
 
 168 VERMONT. 
 
 VII. 
 
 BUT over all the tireless years swept on, 
 
 Till side by side the Centuries grew old, 
 
 And the young Nation, great and strong and bold, 
 Forgot its early struggles, in triumphs later won ! 
 
 It stretched its arms from East to West ; 
 
 It gathered to its mighty breast 
 
 From every clime, from every soil, 
 
 The hunted sons of want and toil ; 
 
 It gave to each a dwelling-place; 
 
 It blent them in one common race; 
 
 And over all, from sea to sea, 
 
 Wide flew the banner of the free ! 
 
 It did not fear the wrath of kings, 
 
 Nor the dread grip of deadlier things 
 
 Gaunt Famine with its ghastly horde, 
 
 Dishonor sheathing its foul sword, 
 
 Nor faithless friend, nor treacherous blow 
 
 Struck in the dark by stealthy foe; 
 
 For over all its wide domain, 
 
 From shore to shore, from main to main,
 
 VERMONT. 169 
 
 From vale to mountain-top, it saw 
 The reign of. plenty, peace, and law ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THUS fared the Nation, prosperous, great, and free, 
 Prophet and herald of the good to be ; 
 And on its humbler way, in calm content, 
 The lesser State, the while, serenely went. 
 Safe in her mountain fastnesses she dwelt, 
 Her life's first cares forgot, its woes unfelt, 
 And thought her bitterest tears had all been shed, 
 For peace was in her borders, and God reigned 
 overhead. 
 
 IX. 
 
 BUT suddenly over the hills there came 
 
 A cry that rent her with grief and shame 
 
 A cry from the Nation in sore distress, 
 
 Stricken down in the pride of its mightiness ! 
 
 With passionate ardor up she sprang, 
 
 And her voice like the peal of a trumpet rang, 
 
 22
 
 1 70 VERMONT. 
 
 " What ho ! what ho ! brave sons of mine, 
 Strong with the strength of the mountain pine ! 
 To the front of the battle, away ! away ! 
 The Nation is bleeding in deadly fray, 
 The Nation, it may be, is dying to-day ! 
 On, then, to the rescue ! away ! away ! " 
 
 x. 
 
 AH ! how they answered let the ages tell, 
 
 For they shall guard the sacred story well! 
 
 Green grows the grass, to-day, on many a battle-field ; 
 
 War's dread alarms are o'er; its scars are healed; 
 
 Its bitter agony has found surcease ; 
 
 A re-united land clasps hands in peace. 
 
 But, oh! ye blessed dead, whose graves are strown 
 
 From where our forests make perpetual moan, 
 
 To those far shores where smiling Southern seas 
 
 Give back soft murmurs to the fragrant breeze, 
 
 Oh! ye who drained for us the bitter cup, 
 
 Think ye we can forget what ye have offered up ? 
 
 The years will come and go, and other centuries die,
 
 VERMONT. 171 
 
 And generation after generation lie 
 
 Down in the dust; but long as stars shall shine, 
 
 Long as Vermont's green hills shall bear the pine, 
 
 As long as Killington shall proudly lift 
 
 Its lofty peak above the storm-cloud's rift, 
 
 Or Mansfield hail the blue, o'erarching skies, 
 
 Or fair Mount Anthony in grandeur rise, 
 
 So long shall live the deeds that ye have done, 
 
 So deathless be the glory ye have won ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 NOT with exultant joy 
 
 And pride without alloy, 
 Did the twin Centuries rejoice when all was o'er. 
 
 What though the Nation rose 
 
 Triumphant o'er its foes ? 
 
 What though the State had gained 
 
 The meed of faith unstained ? 
 
 Their mighty hearts remembered the dead that came 
 no more ! 
 
 Remembered all the losses, 
 
 The weary, weary crosses,
 
 172 VERMONT. 
 
 Remembered earth was poorer for the blood that 
 
 had been shed, 
 And knew that it was sadder for the story it had 
 
 read ! 
 
 So clasping hands with somewhat saddened mien, 
 And eyes uplifted to the Great Unseen 
 That rules alike o'er Centuries and men, 
 Onward they walked serenely towards the End! 
 
 XII. 
 
 ONE reached it last year. Ye remember well 
 The wondrous tale there is no need to tell 
 How the whole world bowed down beside its bier, 
 How all the Nations came, from far or near, 
 Heaping their treasures on its mighty pall 
 Never had kingliest king such funeral! 
 Old Asia rose, and girding her in haste, 
 Swept in her jeweled robes across the waste, 
 And called to Egypt lying prone and hid 
 Where waits the Sphinx beside the pyramid; 
 Fair Europe came with overflowing hands,
 
 VERMONT. 173 
 
 Bearing the riches of her many lands ; 
 Dark Afric, laden with her virgin gold, 
 Yet laden deeper with her woes untold ; 
 Japan and China in grotesque array, 
 And all the enchanted islands of Cathay ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 TO-DAY the other dies. 
 
 It walked in humbler guise, 
 
 Nor stood where all men's eyes 
 
 Were fixed upon it. 
 Earth may not pause to lay 
 
 A wreath upon its bier, 
 Nor the world heed to-day 
 
 Our dead that lieth here ! 
 Yet well they loved each other 
 It and its greater brother. 
 To loftiest stature grown, 
 Each earned its own renown; 
 Each sought of Time a crown, 
 And each has won it.
 
 174 VERMONT. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 BUT what to us are Centuries dead, 
 And rolling Years forever fled, 
 Compared with thee, O grand and fair 
 
 Vermont our goddess-mother? 
 Strong with the strength of thy verdant hills, 
 Fresh with the freshness of mountain-rills, 
 Pure as the breath of the fragrant pine, 
 Glad with the gladness of youth divine, 
 Serenely thou sittest throned to-day 
 Where the free winds that round thee play 
 Rejoice in thy waves of sun-bright hair, 
 
 O thou, our glorious mother ! 
 Rejoice in thy beautiful strength and say, 
 
 Earth holds not such another! 
 Thou art not old with thy hundred years, 
 Nor worn with toil, or care, or tears; 
 But all the glow of the summer time 
 Is thine to-day in thy glorious prime! 
 Thy brow is fair as the winter snows, 
 With a stately calm in its still repose;
 
 VERMONT. 
 
 While the breath of the rose the wild bee sips 
 
 Half-mad with joy, cannot eclipse 
 
 The marvelous sweetness of thy lips ; 
 
 And the deepest blue of the laughing skies 
 
 Hides in the depths of thy fearless eyes, 
 
 Gazing afar over land and sea 
 
 Wherever thy wandering children be ! 
 
 Fold on fold, 
 
 Over thy form of grandest mold, 
 
 Floweth thy robe of forest green, 
 
 Now light, now dark, in its emerald sheen. 
 
 Its broidered hem is of wild flowers rare, 
 
 With feathery fern-fronds light as air 
 
 Fringing its borders. In thy hair 
 
 Sprays of the pink arbutus twine, 
 
 And the curling rings of the wild grape vine. 
 
 Thy girdle is woven of silver streams; 
 
 Its clasp with the opaline luster gleams 
 
 Of a lake asleep in the sunset beams ; 
 
 And, half concealing 
 
 And half revealing, 
 
 Floats over all a veil of mist 
 
 Pale tinted with rose and amethyst!
 
 176 VERMONT. 
 
 
 
 XV. 
 
 RISE up, O noble mother of great sons, 
 
 Worthy to rank among earth's mightiest ones, 
 
 And daughters fair and beautiful and good, 
 
 Yet wise and strong in loftiest womanhood, 
 
 Rise from thy throne, and standing far and high 
 
 Outlined against the blue, adoring sky, 
 
 Lift up thy voice, and stretch thy loving hands 
 
 In benediction o'er these waiting lands ! 
 
 Take thou our fealty ! at thy feet we bow, 
 
 Glad to renew each oft-repeated vow ! 
 
 No costly gifts we bring to thee to-day; 
 
 No votive wreaths upon thy shrine we lay; 
 
 Take thou our hearts, then ! hearts that fain would be 
 
 From this day forth, O goddess,, worthier thee!
 
 A LAST WORD. 
 
 WHERE will it go to reach thine ears ? 
 
 My father, thou dost wear 
 Somewhere beyond the stars to-night 
 
 Thy crown of silver hair. 
 
 Somewhere thou art. No wandering ghost 
 In vast, vague realms of space 
 
 But thine own self, majestic, fair, 
 In thine appointed place. 
 
 By one long look thy soul replied 
 
 When last I cried to thee, 
 As thou wert drifting out of sight 
 
 Upon the unknown sea; 
 
 And well I know that thou wouldst turn 
 
 Even from joys divine, 
 2 3 177
 
 1 78 A LAST WORD. 
 
 If but thy listening ears could hear 
 One faltering word of mine. 
 
 Yet, knowing this, I cannot lay 
 My book upon thy knee, 
 
 Saying, " O father, once again 
 I bring my sheaves to thee ! "
 
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