UC-NRLF B 3 135 Efl? PEELUDES. BY MAURICE F. EGAN. " The world is too much with us late and soon, Getting and spending, ive lay waste our powers, Little we see in Nature that is ours, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon." WORDSWORTH. L I . II \ It. Y [PUBLISHED TO AID IN THE REBUILDING QF THE CALIFORNIA. >^ _______ : __ PHILADELPHIA: PETER F. CUNNINGHAM & SON, 817 ARCH STREET. 1880. COPYRIGHT. THE UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME. 1879. ^ ^ "^^ J. PAGAN & SON, ^ STEREOTYPKRS, PHILAD A TO THE REV. DANIEL E. HUDSON, C.S.C., OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME, THIS BOOK WITH THE ESTEEM AND ADMIRATION THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. // is related in an ancient fable, that when a rustic called Marsyas, who, being young, and consequently prone to self-delusions, tried to compete with Apollo in the art of music, he was not only worsted, but severely punished for his presumption. But the modern Marsyas may pipe to-day, and Apollo who doubtless only pre figured our great poets not only listens, but encourages : and so there is much piping of many tunes. Now the author of PRELUDES does scarcely resemble Marsyas ; he is rather like certain exiles from sunny Italy. He pipes with a purpose. He says to you, "Listen to my music, if you will; but, if you will not, at least drop something into my hand." In this manner, which he flatters himself is very delicate and ingenious, he calls attention to the cause for which his book is published a cause which should enlist the best efforts of every man who knows the value of education in shaping the desti nies of his race. !* V "Theocritus," "Maurice de Guerin," and " Of Flowers" are published with the kind permission of the editor oSScribner s Monthly; " The Sleeping Song" and " My Friend s Answer" by the favor of the Editor of Lippincott s Magazine. vi CONTENTS. SONNETS. PAGE OF FLOWERS ... . . 13 A ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE ... .14 LEGENDS OF THE SNOWDROP: I. THE CHILD 15 II. MARGUERITE .... .16 AT THE END OF AUTUMN 17 NOVEMBER . .18 ERA ANGELICO 19 RAPHAEL 20 MAURICE DE GUERIN .... . . 21 THEOCRITUS 22 ON READING "THE POET AND His MASTER" . . 23 CERVANTES .24 FREDERIC OZANAM 25 JESSICA 26 LOVE . . . . 27 ARRIERE PENSEE . 28 Vlll CONTENTS. MY FRIEND S ANSWER PA 2g BY RIGHT DIVINE 30 ON MEADOWS GREEN 3I ILLUSION ^ ORDER ~, THE SACRED HEART 34 THE HEART IMMACULATE . . . 35 A PIERCED HEART ..... 36 SAINT THERESA TO OUR LORD . ... . 37 TROUBLED SOULS ^ AT THE "AGNUS DEI" .... 30 GUI BONO? 40 THE POWER OF PRAYER 4I THE LESSON OF A SEASON 4 -? CONSOLATION - 9 .- AFTER LENT . . 44 " RESURREXIT SICUT DIXIT" . . . . 4 c ST. PATRICK S DAY . . . .. , 4 DANIEL O CONNELL . . . . : . 47, 48, 49 THE CENTENNIAL FOUNTAIN: I. THEOBALD MATHEW ..... c II. THE CARROLLS AND OTHERS ... c r III. THE WORKERS . . ... . . 52 BISMARCK - CONTENTS. IX PAGE HYLAS,AND OTHER POEMS. HYLAS .... -57 THE SLEEPING SONG . . 62 CYCLOPS TO GALATEA ... . . 64 BETWEEN THE LIGHTS ... 67 ON READING " OUT OF SWEET SOLITUDE" . 70 CHARITY .... 7 2 FROM THE GRAVE 75 FADED LEAVES . 7 6 TO-DAY -77 OF LIFE ... .78 SONGS. I. " GREEN AND GOLD " -79 II. AFTER HAFIZ .... .80 III. FROM THE FRENCH . .81 IV. APPLE BLOSSOMS . .82 V. LIKE A LILAC 83 VI. DANGEROUS FRANKNESS . 85 VII. A RHAPSODY 87 VIII. DRIFTING 89 IX. A SWEDISH LEGEND . . 91 X. AN OLD FRENCH BALLAD . . . -93 XI. THE CHANGELESS ONE . . . .95 I, I B K A k i UNIVERSITY OF OALIFOKNfA, SONNETS. What is a sonnet ? T is the pearly shell That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea ; A precious jewel carved most ciiriously ; It is a little picture painted well. What is a sonnet ? Tis the tear that fell From a great poef s hidden ecstasy ; A two-edged sword, a star, a song ah me ! Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell. This was thefiame that shook with Dante s breath ; The solemn organ whereon Milton played ; And the clear glass where Shakespeare s shadow falls. A sea this is beware who "venture th ! For like a fjord the narrow floor is laid Deep as mid-ocean to the sheer mountain walls. R. W. GlLDER, in " The Poet and His Master." xi LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. PRELUDES. OF FLOWERS. were no roses till the first child died, 1 No violets, nor balmy-breathed heart s-ease, No heliotrope, nor buds so dear to bees, The honey-hearted suckle, no gold-eyed And lowly dandelion, nor, stretching wide, Clover and cowslip-cups, like rival seas, Meeting and parting, as the young spring breeze Runs giddy races playing seek and hide : For all flowers died when Eve left Paradise, And all the world was flowerless awhile, Until -a little child was laid in earth ; Then from its grave grew violets for its eyes, And from its lips rose-petals for its smile, And so all flowers from that child s death took birth. 2 13 A ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE. A FAIRER light than ever since has shone, Fell on that garden where Queen Eve s sweet bower Was hid in roses and the jasmine flower, Curtained with eglantine, and overrun With morning-glories glowing in the sun Late into noon, unheeding of the hour When now they close ; these were our mother s dower! She lived and loved amid all flowers, save one. There was no red rose in the garden wide Of all her world, until its mistress went From out its gates with roses in her hand, Spoil of past joys ; then, like a new-made bride, She blushed in shame, and that first blush has lent The rose its color over all our land. I LEGENDS OF THE SNOWDROP. I. THE CHILD. N the late winter, when the breath of spring Had almost softened the great fields of snow, A mother died, and, wandering to and fro, Her sad child sought her frightened, little thing ! Through the drear woodland, as on timid wing Flutters a young bird; amid bushes low It sunk in sleep, thus losing all its woe, With smiling lips her dear name murmuring : No loving arms were there to hold it fast, There were no kisses for it warm and sweet, But snowflakes, pitying, fell like frozen tears. Then said its angel, " Snowflakes, ye shall last Beyond the life of snowflakes ; at spring s feet Bloom ye as flowers through all the coming years ! " 15 l6 LEGENDS OF THE SNOWDROP. II. MARGUERITE. A SHAMED before the world a woman stood 1\ Near a great church, where lovely statues line The vaulted chapels : if tears be a sign Of sorrow, she was sorrowing ; her hood Showed golden hair astray that never could, Even in sin, forget its young design To curl like tendrils of a summer vine. From out the church passed women sternly good ; Upon her fevered brow was laid no hand, Though Christ had blessed her sister Magdalen; She wept and prayed, yet scornful words were said ; But soon soft snowflakes, falling o er the land, Soothed her hot brow: her angel spoke, "These, men, Shall bloom as flowers when ye lie cold and dead." AT THE END OF AUTUMN. LOST ! all the flush of roses and of skies That change at morning to the red of eve, O er clover-waves that in soft meadows heave In foam of blossoms with white-fringed eyes - The changing glamor that the sun fays leave, The snow of summer that on green sward lies When roses faint and all their spells unweave In vale and coppice, ere the autumn flies ! Ah, naught is left to me but winter days, For all my summer has been lost to me Amid dull drudging in the toil of trade. Lost gold of grain-fields, green of country ways A dream ! my dream ! for one whole day of ye I d risk all gold of men, and be well paid ! 2* B 17 NOVEMBER. ^T^ic&K^r-. PHE crimson, and the russet, and the gold, The palest green that gives a hint of spring, And nameless colors that swift breezes fling From waving trees : tall dahlias crisped by cold Vie with the sunrise, as some men when old Are brightest, or as swans, when dying, sing, Or a sweet strain the fickle zephyrs bring Stopped short before its burden is all told. O fair November, lesson us, we pray ; O sweet, sad season, teach us ere you go; O teach us, ere your mellow lights have passed, The secret in the fading of your day ; That when life s end approaches, we may know The way to make our fairest, brightest, LAST ! 1 8 FRA ANGELICO. ART is true art when art to God is true, And only then : to copy Nature s work Without the chains that run the whole world through Gives us the eye without the lights that lurk In its clear depths : no soul, no truth is there. Oh, praise your Rubens and his fleshly brush ! Oh, love your Titian and his carnal air ! Give me the trilling of a pure-toned thrush, And take your crimson parrots. Artist saint ! O Fra Angelico, your brush was dyed In hues of opal, not in vulgar paint ; You showed to us pure joys for which you sighed. Your heart was in your work, you never feigned : You left us here the Paradise you gained ! RAPHAEL. STEEPED in the glow and glory of old Rome- So old, so young, in life, and death, and art His pictures shine, so near to Truth s great heart, That through the ages Truth has in her home The brightest stars in her celestial dome Kept them alive ; and will, till time is done, Fill them with stronger light than fire or sun. Great Prince of Painters ! laurel wreathes his name ; The world may babble, she s an ancient dame ! And say his life and art held much of clay, Reproaching him ; yet saints fell on their way. If sin repented be a blot on fame, His fame is fameless, though he reached fame s goal, And left us glory shining from his soul. 20 MAURICE DE GUERIN. -^^-fr^ffS^^* THE old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyes Anoint of Nature, fauns and dryads fair Unseen by others ; to him maidenhair And waxen lilacs and those birds that rise A-sudden from tall reeds at slight surprise Brought charmed thoughts : and in earth every where He, like sad Jaques, found unheard music rare As that of Syrinx to old Grecians wise. A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he, He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed, Till earth and heaven met within his breast : As if Theocritus in Sicily Had come upon the Figure crucified And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest. THEOCRITUS. DAPHNIS is mute, and hidden nymphs com plain, And mourning mingles with their fountains song; Shepherds contend no more, as all day long They watch their sheep on the wide, Cyprus plain ; The master-voice is silent, songs are vain ; Blithe Pan is dead, and tales of ancient wrong, Done by the gods when gods and men were strong, Chanted to waxed pipes, no prize can gain. O sweetest singer of the olden days, In dusty books your idyls rare seem dead, The gods are gone, but poets never die ; Though men may turn their ears to newer lays, Sicilian nightingales enraptured Caught all your songs, and nightly thrill the sky. 22 ON READING " THE POET AND HIS MASTER." (TO RICHARD WATSON GILDER.) COMES that sad voice, O poet, from your heart ? That austere voice that vibrates on the strings Of your sweet lyre, and into blithe song brings Notes solemn, as if Christian chants should start Into weird concord with the notes that dart From Pluto s bride in exile when she sings Of woodland days, when near her mother s springs, To Syrinx-music, she bade care depart: In all your songs the birds and trees are heard, But through your singing sounds an undertone Wind-message through the reeds, not sung, but sighed : Your heart sings like a silver-throated bird, Your soul, remembering, sea-like, makes its moan, Not for the dead gods, but that Christ has died. 23 CERVANTES. T^HERE was a time when books of chivalry J- Were full of monster-men and dragons great ; When Amadis of Gaul and his fair mate Were bound in love against all rivalry; When he who strove a faithful knight to be Must lengthened vigils keep and, longing, wait, And also fight until he stood, elate, O er giants and dragons in proud victory. Then came Quixote, peerless gentleman, Who put the dragons and the giants to flight, And turned the world from knights all am orous ; Then through the world the rippled laughter ran When Sancho came. No shadows were the knight And clown our great Cervantes gave to us. L 1 B H A K Y UNIVKKSITY OF CALIFORNIA FREDERIC OZANAM. A SOUL alight with purest flame of love, A heart aglow with sweetest charity, A mind all filled and this is rarity With even-balanced thoughts, his eyes above, Yet saw the earth in its dread verity ; For is t not true that some who Heaven see Cast down no looks upon the shadows of This shadowed world ? A serpent, yet a dove, He read the world, and, seeking, found the clue To all the secrets of our troubled time, And from the past drew other secrets down ; He placed, mid Dante s bays, a diamond true Of purest water; and in every clime Prayers of God s poor add gems to his bright crown. 3 2 5 JESSICA. THE youth beneath her balcon sings of love Old Shylock s gone : " O Jessica, come thou Unto this heart, which in one fervent vow Has burned its flesh and blood ! " The moments move As days in Eden ; she goes, like a dove From great St. Mark s at Venice, to endow Her lover with her life. The rosy Now Seems Heaven itself, and he the Lord thereof. But love is rainbow-tinted and as short As is the life of rainbows. "Mine? Oh, nay!" Say st thou, fair Jessica, who maketh sport Of that old Jew thy father? In love s court Thou dost eat lotos, but old lovers say To love s own chamber memories oft resort. 26 LOVE. IS love the passion that the poets feign, Drawn from the ruins of old Grecian time, Born of Priapus and all earthly slime, And tricked by troubadours in trappings vain Of flowers fantastic, like a Hindoo fane, Or the long metre of an antique rhyme Dancing in dactyls ? Is love, then, a crime - A rosy day s eternity of pain ? If we love God, we know what loving is ; For love is God s : He sent it to the earth, Half-human, half-divine, all glorious, Half-human, half-divine, but wholly His ; Not loving God, we know not true love s worth, We taste not the great gift He gave to us. 27 ARRIERE PEN SEE. TT7HY is it that our life seems full of wrong; V V That even poets, who are human birds, Set saddest music to the saddest words, And mingle sighs and tears in all their song? For Chaucer s marguerites still bloom along Our rustic fences, herdsmen and their herds Know Shakespeare s cuckoo-cups, and the new curds Are hard and white, and violet-scent is strong : Tis not because the gods are silent all, For in Sienna the Brigata held Their revels, and joy s golden badges wore,- So sayeth sweet Folgore, carnival Reigned blithe and jocund: Giant Thought has felled The gay Page Laughter: there is mirth no more. 28 MY FRIENDS ANSWER. I READ, O friend, no pages of old lore, Which I loved well, and yet the winged days, That softly passed as wind through green spring ways And left a perfume, swift fly as of yore, Though in clear Plato s stream I look no more, Neither with Moschus sing Sicilian lays, Nor with bold Dante wander in amaze, Nor see our Will the Golden Age restore. I read a book to which old books are new, And new books old. A living book is mine In age, two years : in it I read no lies ; In it to myriad truths I find the clew A tender, little child ; but I divine Thoughts high as Dante s in its clear blue eyes. 3* 2 9 BY RIGHT DIVINE. T N this free land I know a tyrant king Who rules supreme a kingdom all his own, Who reigns supreme by right divine alone, Who governs slaves that always cringe and sing, " He walks ! He talks ! " in most admiring- o tone ; They quail with fear, if he but make a moan, And wild confusion comes, if he but fling Away his sceptre coral, jingling thing! He is a king, though loving anarchy, A tyrant king, whom our fond land obeys, A tyrant king, yet scarce a mimic man ; And this whole land is bound in monarchy, All mother-hearts some little monarch sways, If harder fathers be republican ! 30 L 1 B K A K Y UNIVKHS1TY OF CAL1FOUNIA. ON MEADOWS GREEN. WHEN the first blush and bloom of life have fled, And on the summit of youth s mound we stand, And youth to manhood gladly gives his hand, And then quick dies, and manhood in his stead Shows us a mist that hides an unknown land, By wild, chill breezes are our faces fanned : The world s before us, and no longer red, Nor glowing with fair hope, for youth is dead. A mist all gray is drawn before the world This great wide life ! To fight life all alone Is now our lot ; yet other men have seen The same vague foe ; and patient souls have hurled Their fear away, and, going, made no moan, To find the mist God s rain on meadows green. 31 ILLUSION. (AFTER THE FRENCH OF SAINTE-BEUVE.) INTO the dimness of a chamber closed, 1 Curtained with care and full of slumb rous rest, A ray of light came, sloped from the west, To the small cradle where a child reposed A dainty cradle, laced and satin-rosed By mother s hand, and in its fairy nest The child soft slumbered, by the angels blest - Near it lay Mouser, white-furred and pink-nosed : The cat was motionless as if of clay, Until the gold ray moved upon the floor O er crimson carpet in its wanton game, Then all a-sudden Mouser saw the ray And chased it till it vanished evermore : Ah, sleeping child, thus ^ve chase wealth and fame ! 32 ORDER. (FROM THE ITALIAN OF ST. FRANCIS D ASSISI.) Our Lord Speaks : AND though I fill thy heart with warmest love Yet in true order must thy heart love me ; For without order can no virtue be. By thine own virtue, then, I from above Stand in thy soul ; and so, most earnestly, Must love from turmoil be kept wholly free. The life of fruitful trees, the seasons of The circling year, move gently as a dove. I measured all the things upon the earth ; Love ordered them, and order kept them fair, And love to order must be truly wed. O soul ! why all this heat of little worth ? Why cast out order with no thought or care ? For by love s warmth must love be gov erned. C 33 THE SACRED HEART. A JUNE PHANTASY. HOW red it burns within yon crimson rose ! Deeper than fire in rubies is its hue Of brightest blood, which, shed for me and you, From that dear Heart has flowed, forever flows. In waving sprays of buds, carved mountain snows, I see her heart, forever pure and true, Sweet Mary s heart! and in the morning dew The tears of joy she shed when her great woes Were lost in Heaven : and all June things speak, From ambient perfume in the sunlit air To trembling stalklets tipped by clover bloom, Of Christ, His Mother, and the Heart we seek Through tangled roads and by-ways foul or fair, The Heart that cheers us in the murkest gloom. 34 THE HEART IMMACULATE. ~^*tf?m^r .- r pHROUGH street and field wild howls the -I March wind s blast, The bare trees, shiv ring, loudly wail and moan, Like souls remorseful for the bright days flown, When life was young and no sin dimmed the past ; Deep sounds in minor key run through the vast Gloomed cavern of the night : alone, alone, Yet in a warring world, our weak hearts groan, And catch at prayer, to find sweet peace at last. And this we know : let all the world be dark, Dear Mary watches o er our troubled sea ; And this we know : though unknown danger lurks In all our land, her pure heart is an ark, In which we shelter, childlike, trustingly O heart unstained ! the greatest of God s works. 35 A PIERCED HEART. " Come colui, che andando per lo bosco, Da spino punto, a quel si volga e guarda." DANTE. BREAK not, sad heart, for Christ is over all. Rejoice, sad soul : His Mother suffered, too ; And in your desert shall fall silver dew Before the echo of faint hope s weak call Shall into the dim depths of silence fall. Poor heart, poor heart, your sorrow seemeth new, Yet from all ages the same law holds true, That hearts must bleed outside of Heaven s wall. Sink not in dumb despair, for never vain, Since Christ is Christ, has proved the power of prayer ; Has He not said it, who our great King is ? Oh, sorrow is not new, and when the rain And storm are passed, your heart will blossom fair As roses in God s sight, and wholly His. 36 SAINT THERESA TO OUR LORD. AFTER THE FRENCH OF SAINTE-BEUVE, I DO not love Thee for the joy, O Lord, Which Thou hast promised souls who love Thee well ; I do not fear Thee for the fires of hell, Which burn for those whose right to Thy reward Is lost by sin ; but with the whole accord Of mind, and soul, and longing heart as well, I love Thee for the time when Thou didst dwell Scorned on the earth, mocked by a faithless horde : Were there no Heaven, I would love Thee still ; I love Thee for Thy Cross, Thy thorn-crowned Head; For Thy dread Passion, Lord, I love Thee best; And though in firmest hope I wait Thy will, Compared with love, my strongest hope is dead; For without hope, in love I d, trusting, rest! 4 37 TROUBLED SOULS. -^v*"-** - TO seek true rest and peace in wilds away, It is not strange that men have fled the world From all the storm and strife perpetual hurled At the fair form of silence all the day ; For day and night do good and evil sway In close-knit fight, as when the Titans twirled And twisted in fierce combat : never furled Is Satan s flag, blood-reddened in hell s ray. And though Thy cross, dear Christ, shines ever bright, And Thy sweet Mother downward bends her gaze, And Thy high saints own us in brother hood, Our souls are troubled, the world s wrong seems right, Our sight is dim, we falter in the maze ; For all our evil seems so near our good. 38 AT THE "AGNUS DEL" PEACE, not of earth, I ask of Thee, O God, Peace, not in death, and yet Thy will be done; I would not die until my soul has won Some little grace : a barren, withered sod My life has been, now touch me with Thy rod, That I may blossom, as in summer sun Thy flowers open ; pray Thee give me one Sweet touch of peace, for I am but a clod. I know that Thou art all and I am naught, Yet I would show my new-found love for Thee By days all rilled with striving for Thy grace. Peace, peace, O peace! the peace which Thou hast bought With Precious Blood for us, O give it me, Dear Lamb of God, that I may see Thy face! 39 GUI BONO? F^ROM thy whole life take all the sweetest days Of earthly joy ; take all the lucent jewels Of words far-brought by all the learned schools Since man first thought, then take the brightest rays Which poets limned with their rose-flushed tools ; Take heart-wrung music chastened with strict rules Of greatest masters ; and in all thy ways Find things that make men only pleasure s fools. Take these; beside them lay one soul -felt prayer ; Take these; beside them lay one little deed One simple act done for Christ s Sacred Heart - And all earth s fairest toys, like graspless air To it will be; this being, then what need To strive for things that will, with time, depart ? 40 THE POWER OF PRAYER. WORLD, great world, now thou art all my own, In the deep silence of my soul I stay The current of thy life, though the wild day Surges around me, I am all alone ; Millions of voices rise, yet my weak tone Is heard by Him who is the Light, the Way, All Life, all Truth, the centre of Love s ray ; Clamor, O Earth, the great God hears my moan ! Prayer is the talisman that gives us all, We conquer God by the force of His love, He gives us all ; when prostrate we implore The Saints must listen; prayers pierce Heaven s wall; The humblest soul on earth, when mindful of Christ s promise, is the greatest conqueror. 4* 41 W THE LESSON OF A SEASON. HAT comfort now, when summer days have fled, Have you, O heart, that in the sunshine basked? Have ye, O hands, that held all that was asked ? For all your fruits and flowers lie frosted, dead. You did not dream amid the roses red, Gold-hearted, scented, which your green bowers masked, That cold would come, and with it wild winds tasked To tear away the garlands from your head. O lover of red roses and red wine, O scorner of Christ s Blood, to whom a prayer Brought thoughts of dying, shudders, and vague fear, Will dreams of pleasure and past joys of thine Make dreary winter hours more bright and fair Amid your dust and ashes ? Death is here. 42 L I F> K A K Y UNIVERSITY OK ^ CALIFORNIA.// CONSOLATION. LET me forget the world all, all, but Thee ; Let my whole soul arise as smoke from fire In praise of Thee ; let only one desire Fill my whole heart that through eternity, Forever and forever, I may be As incense ever rising to the Sire, The Son, and Spirit ; may I never tire Of praising thus the glorious Trinity ! Poor soul, poor soul, such earthliness hast thou ! The world s thyself, thou canst not flee from it ; Thy prayers are selfish when thou prayest best, Thy love is little, and thy warmest vow As charred wood moistened, the fire free from it ; Thou lackest much, but Christ will give the rest. 43 AFTER LENT. *<**NL~- NOW the drear storm is past, the snow is gone, And from the brown earth peeps the violet, And from the west, where late the dim sun set In winter clouds, with weak rays, pale and wan, Comes light reflected, of a newer dawn ; Dark days have passed since the sad Mother met The sweet Saint John, with her dark garments wet With precious blood shed by the Holy One : O Mother Mary, all our hearts are thine, In joy and sorrow we give praise to thee, In this glad time, our hearts we raise to thee, For Christ s great glory lends its rays to thee, His love and Thy love in our hearts entwine Like knotted tendrils of a Tropic vine ! 44 RESURREXIT SICUT DIXIT." AND He has risen ! " O my God, my Lord, When shall I cease to pierce Thy heart with woe? For all my life I Ve wandered to and fro From sin to sin, and Thou hast kept strict ward And watch upon me, staying Thy dread sword Of justice o er me. Even now I know, Though I have washed where the clear waters flow From out Thy Rock, my heart is with a cord Bound fast to sin. " And He is Christ indeed ! " And all His brightness makes me feel my sin, For as He brightens, I grow darker still A spot upon Christ s sun ; yet, in my need For me He s risen ! I will enter in His joyful heart, and wait His holy will ! 45 57: PATRICK S DAY. TS there a land in all the great round earth 1 In which thy name s unknown, O gracious Saint? Thy people praise thee ; wild, strong, March winds faint Beneath the burden of a pious mirth In mem ry of thee. Where s the sad complaint Of yesterday? To-day our preachers paint Thy glory, Truth-bearer. Hope takes new birth ; Old tales of Ireland light the dullest hearth. Greater than Israel have thy people been ; Greater than Moses, gracious Patrick, thou : For greater sorrow have no people seen, And so resigned did no people bow Unto God s will, which changing all Spring s green Leads them to Spring through Fall and Win ter now. 46 S IN MEMORY OF DANIEL CON NELL. I O like a slave she lies," the nations said, Pitying or scornful, as all dolorous Erin lay bound, like old Prometheus, With vultures gnawing, though she was not dead, At that large heart, which in past days was red With valor, love, and all things glorious Of truth, and faith, and great things amorous: "A slave she lies, with ashes on her head." A voice arose from out the sorrowing- souls o Of sons who loved her, but could help her not O Connell s voice and all the nations stood In wild amaze, for as the ocean rolls After a calm into each sounding grot, Pale Erin answered, claiming freedomhood ! 47 48 IN MEMORY OF DANIEL o CONNELL. II. r\ GREATER than the greatest of the men \J Who lived in Rome in ancient Roman days ! For thou vvert Christian, thou in all thy ways Didst follow Christ ; and on that dark day when, Falling for honor s sake, didst rise again With contrite heart, and Faith sent forth its rays O er thy clean soul, thou didst thy country raise To higher life : who should not love thee, then ? He who is base enough to spot thy fame, Is worthy of the fearful fate of those Whom, says the proverb, all the great gods hate : Traducing thee, he wallows low in shame ; Not loving thee, he loves his country s foes Great soul ! None great as thou there lives of late ! IN MEMORY OF DANIEL O CONNELL. 49 III. ODAY of little thought and little mind, When love of gain is all the love we hold Of any worth ; when Faith has grown so cold That all the world seems dark, men signet-signed With Satan s mark, souls vile and serpent-twined With lust of gain, and even in Christ s fold So few are worthy praise : sad, unconsoled, Erin, half free, wails to the careless wind. O Connell loosed her bonds : to-day she stands Waiting another to complete his work For mid the nations she is half a slave : Among her children there are hearts and hands Strong for the task, but in their proud souls lurk Envy and hatred, and they cannot save. 5 D THE CENTENNIAL FOUNTAIN. (PHILADELPHIA.) " In that day there shall be a fountain open to the house of David." ZACHARIAS, xii. i. THEOBALD MATHEW. HE led the way, and yet the people feared, And fearing fell, and almost doubted God ; He led the way, unmoved, far from his sod, He burned to drive a demon, hell-fire seared With darkest crimes; his clouded way was cheered By one great hope : that with Faith s blessed rod, Though through an endless desert, worn, unshod, Like Moses he should walk, with cross upreared He d strike the hardened rock of his tribe s heart, And when the precious flood of sorrow gushed, He d lead his people, contrite, safe at last, Into that Land, from which all graces dart, Whence none are exiled, where all groans are hushed And God s sweet mercy lights the darkest past. 50 THE CENTENNIAL FOUNTAIN. 51 II. THE CARROLLS AND OTHERS. r |^HESE exiles have no part," some, sneering, J. said, " In the gold-lettered record of our land ; What names of theirs were borne among the band That trod the Mayflower, or by them that fled From their dear France, when, kingly, at the head Of her affairs, the Fourteenth Louis hand Firm bore \\\s fleur de Us?" O ropes of sand Are names mere names ! if of the boasted dead The names are all that live, we point to deeds; Yes, we the exiles, though we boasted not, Can point to names of noblest deeds high- crowned That in the spring-time bravely sowed the seeds From which have sprung the flowers that grace our lot, The flowers that cluster blood-won Freedom round. 52 THE CENTENNIAL FOUNTAIN. III. THE WORKERS. WHAT if the way be dark and sown with thorns, What if the sun go down in yawning night, What if all Satan s minions gainst us fight, And our best hope in helpless anguish mourns, Our vanquished strength may die, but, dying, scorns To swerve one instant from the path of right ; Our feet may weary, but the fixed light Of Christ s own promise shines, as crescent-horns Are silver still behind the murkest cloud : So thought the men who, in the thickest din Of clam rous indecision, stood and held Aloft their hopes above a doubting crowd. More blest than Moses, they have lived to win That Gift from which, in dreams, the water welled. M BISMARCK. (1878.) EN are inconstant as the changeful sea That ebbs and flows at feet of Lady Moon, Raising high sand-hills in the sun of noon And crushing them to level sand when she Arises in the night; men s cry will be For one uncrowned, but, changing swift and soon, They call a crowned head Heaven s greatest boon : Constant are they in their inconstancy. And there lives one whom nations called a god, Who governed all with stern, despotic hand ; You breathed against him ; you were " free dom s foe," Yet naught was free beneath his crushing rod ; Let him look round ; through all the German land His worship dies : thus world-tides ebb and flow. 5* 53 HYLAS, AND OTHER POEMS. "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter: KEATS. 55 HYLAS. (FROM THE THIRTEENTH IDYL OF THEOCRITUS.) A LTHOUGH he towered on the battle-plain \ As if he owned a breast and heart of steel, Alcides, slayer of the lion, had felt The pangs of sorrow and of wounded love ; He loved young Hylas, Theodamas son, For Theodamas had Alcides slain, And so he was a father to this boy, And called him son ; and as the days went by Taught him the arts of counsel and of war ; Each hour a lesson brought: when milk-white steeds Bore forth the morn from out Jove s stable- door, Or Phoebus left his noontide mark on walls, 57 58 HYLAS. Or night called clucking fowls unto their rest, Alcides, teaching, wrought bright threads of gold The boy s fair thoughts among, that in good time A perfect man might graceful Hylas be. Anon bold Jason sailed with Grecian hosts, To seek the Golden Fleece in lands afar ; Alcides joined them, toil-enduring chief, With Hylas, and they crossed the salty tide In Argo, twixt Cyane s isles they flew, And in deep Phasis furled their sails at last. Twas when the Pleiades uphold their lights, And tender meads foretell the summer near, The flower of Greece outburst in this emprise, Past Hellespont ahead of southern gales, And sleek Propontis, when the land is turned In straight, smooth furrows by Cyanean steers Again they sailed ; and when at eve they land, Some careless on the verdure spread their meal, While others for the night rough couches make Of stunted Cyprus and sweet-smelling reeds. HYLAS. 59 Telamon was the guest of Alcides, And, ministering to them, Hylas went to bring In brazen vase fresh water from a fount. With bluest celandine, and maidenhair, And twisting vines, thick-starred with white- veined buds Of flowers that open when the morn is high And close at noon, and beds of parsley green Of darkest tint, gem-like the spring was set ; Deep in its waters, lucent, starry clear Deep in its waters dwelt the jocund nymphs, Eunica, Malis, and bright Nychea, Who, ever watching, gayly danced and sang. Young Hylas stood, ah, hapless Grecian boy, His vase in hand, to catch the crystal tide, And fair was he as hapless : his bright hair Curled close in crisped ringlets round a brow As white as gold-throned Juno s ; his soft limbs Were rosy with young blood, as if within 60 HYLAS. A light was burning, fed by heavenly hands ; His eyes were pure as water : thus he seemed Holding the carved vase in his dimpled hands ; Those hands the Na ids seize, he falls, he sinks, As some mad star swift cleaves the ocean-depths, He cuts the waters, and the waters close The Na ids laugh, and hold young Hylas fast. Alcides shook with rage; in red right hand He grasped his heavy club and thrice he called ; And Hylas, hearing him, strove hard to cry; From the deep fount soft murmurs came to him, The sound seemed distant, though the voice was near, As wild beasts run to feast, Alcides flew Through woods and brakes, heart-broken for the boy. The Argo sailed, but still Alcides sought And found not; but the scornful chieftains said, " He fled from Argo," which they deemed a shame; HYLAS. 61 But soon Alcides, coming, sad of heart, Yet strong of arm, to Colchis did such deeds That Jason and the Greeks unsaid their words. To us whose Golden Fleece is Holy Grail, To us whose Argo is the bark of Faith, The tale of Hylas brings a meaning grave Unthought of by the sweet Sicilian bard. Do not the snares of pleasure wait for us In banks of flowers, near life s placid streams, So clear, so fair, and yet so treacherous, In these our days ? Forgetful, we are lost ; And then Alcides Age remorseful roves And cries out for lost Youth till life is done. 6 / LIBRA UY | jl UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. THE SLEEPING SONG. (PARAPHRASE FROM THE TWENTY-FOURTH IDYL OF THEOCRITUS.) "PEN months had passed since rosy Hercules J- Had opened wondering eyes unto the sun, When in the sloping light of summer s eve, Alcmena, mother of the little twins, Hercules and his brother, fair to see, Bared her soft breasts, as all our mothers did, In tender love, and gave her boys their food : And having laved them in the mellow stream, She laid them down within Amphitryon s shield A half sphere of bright brass by bold blows won From slaughtered Pterelas then, with her hands, Like blush-rose petals, on the head of each In tones like cithern echoes, thus she sang: 62 THE SLEEPING SONG. 63 " Sleep, my boys, in gentle, dewy sleep, Until the dawn in glowing beauty peep To call the hours from out the night s dark deep Into the light. " Sleep, for the day has sunk in the red west ; Sleep, neath the Mother-heart that loves you best; Sleep, sleep, and peaceful, peaceful be your rest Till dark is light. Anemones and roses drop their leaves In silent night, but still the ocean aheaves, And so my heart fresh waves of love receives Through all the night " My other self in two, my heart in two, Sleep happy, and wake joyous ! Oh, for you I pray the gods to give me all I sue Through day and night." And as sea-nymphs soft toss a favored boat, She rocked the buckler, singing as it moved. CYCLOPS TO GALATEA. (PARAPHRASE FROM THE ELEVENTH IDYL OF THEOCRITUS.) SOFTER than lambs and whiter than the curds, O Galatea, swan- nymph of the sea ! Vain is my longing, worthless are my words ; Why do you come in night s sweet dreams to me, And when I wake, swift leave me, as in fear The lambkin hastens when a wolf is near? Why did my mother on a dark-bright day Bring you for hyacinths a-near my cave ? I was the guide, and through the tangled way I thoughtless led you ; I am now your slave. Peace left my soul when you knocked at my heart Come, Galatea, never to depart ! 64 CYCLOPS TO GALATEA. 65 Though I am dark and homely to the sight A Cyclops I, and stronger there are few Of you I dream through all the quick-paced night, And in the morn ten fawns I feed for you, And four young bears : Oh, rise from grots below, Soft love and peace with me forever know ! Last night I dreamed that I, a monster finned, Swam in the sea and saw you singing there: I gave you lilies, and refreshing wind Laden with odors of all flowers rare ; I gave you apples, as I kissed your hand, And reddest poppies from my richest land. Oh, brave the restless billows of your world : They toss and tremble ; see my cypress-grove, And bending laurels, and the tendrils curled Of honeyed grapes, and a fresh treasure-trove In vine-crowned y-Etna, of pure-running rills! O Galatea, kill the scorn that kills 6* E 66 CYCLOPS TO GALATEA. Softer than lambs and whiter than the curds, O Galatea, listen to my prayer ; Come, come to land, and hear the song of birds : Rise, rise, from ocean-depths, as lily-fair As you are in my dreams ! Come, then, O Sleep, For you alone can bring her from the deep. And Galatea, in her cool, green waves, Plaits her long hair with purple flower bells, And laughs and sings, while black-browed Cy clops raves, And to the wind his love-lorn story tells : For well she knows that Cyclops will erelong Forget, as poets do, his pain in song. BETWEEN THE LIGHTS. A PHANTASY. (To JOHN J. STAFFORD.) IN the cool, soft, fragrant summer grass, Mid trembling stalks of white-tipped clover, I lie and dream, as the shadows pass From twilight s gates the cloud-bridge over. On the other side, dim other side, Lie starlight, gloom, and the night s chill wind. Calm eve comes forth, like a timid bride, And with shaded eyes looks on mankind ; She looks at me, as I lounge and dream ; She builds in the sky for my delight High-towered castles that glow and gleam Redder than snow-crests in North fires bright. 67 68 BETWEEN THE LIGHTS. She shows me Ceres, mid corn-flowers blue, And Pluto s bride on her throne below, And Helen fair, to her lord untrue, Anguished and wailing in deathless woe ; Gold arabasques on a jasper ground, Gray cameo-faces, cold and grand, Puck and Peas-blossom hovering round, Oberon and his glittering band. She changes her aspect, opal eve ! - Shows me a plain near the walls of Troy, Where shepherds sheep in low shrubs leave In haste, to gaze on a bright-haired boy - The boy is Paris, he cometh out, Out of the city, strong-limbed and fair. Live I in future or past? I doubt Am I Greek shepherd or gay trouvere Who lieth, dreaming perhaps of her, CEnone weeping for him, forlorn? Who strives with the plaintive lute to stir Some love in a Norman heart of scorn? BETWEEN THE LIGHTS. 69 Out of a balcon of hues that glow, There leans a lady against the sky, Her robe is bordered with pearls, I know, Pearls on her neck with her pearl-skin vie. There stands a lover in gay slashed hose, With a bright plumed hat and purple cloak, He calls her " lily " and " damask rose ; " Even in cloudland they wear love s yoke. Bold knights ride forward on prancing steeds, King Arthur s court, with Sir Launcelot Presto ! T is Syrinx among the reeds, Apollo seeks her, but finds her not. I am so idle in summer grass, I cannot think for scent of clover; No moral I find in clouds that pass, I only know that sunset s over. ON READING "OUT OF SWEET SOLITUDES (TO ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.) " Perpetuam carmen ab prima origine mundi." OVID. HOW blind we are, how deaf, how void of sense The finer sense that sees the good around, That hears the angels when there is no sound, Finds silence music, muteness eloquence. Ah, if we knew ( t is seeing through a wall) The golden art which the great Poet gave In Arden s forest to his Jacques the grave, Of hearing soundless words and good in all, We would be wiser in God s little things Things grand and sweet beyond mere human speech, So, when an angel came within our reach, We d hear the benediction of his wings. 70 "OUT OF SWEET SOLITUDE." 7! In olden times men strove to pierce the cloud, To find in sad sea-waves the longing sighs Of waiting ghosts ; and Argus many eyes In peacocks tails ; seeing a nameless crowd Of giants and pigmies ; Daphne hid her face In the green laurel, fauns and satyrs wild, With Bacchantes, the wine-hued hours beguiled, And dreams and fancy peopled every place. But Pan is dead, and Syrinx near the stream, Within her reedy cell, no longer lives ; And now to YOU our Mother Nature gives The grace to hear God s tone in life s swift dream o How blind, how dull, how deaf, how helpless we The angels come, and when they go away, We feel a cold change in our April day : We know not they were near; we cannot see ! CHARITY. (SUGGESTED BY DORE S "SPANISH BEGGARS.") DONA Inez was a lady Very rich and fair tp see, And her heart was like a lily In its holy purity Through the widest street in Cadiz Dona Inez rode one day, Clad in costly silk and laces, Mid a group of friends as gay. Near the portals of a convent From the Moors just lately won Sat a crowd of dark-skinned beggars Basking in the pleasant sun ; One an old man he a Christian Blind to all the outward light Told his black beads, praying softly For all poor souls still in night. 72 CHARITY. 73 " I am but a Moorish beggar," Said a woman with a child ; " I am but a Moorish beggar, And the Moors are fierce and wild. You may talk of Christian goodness - Christian Faith and Charity, But / // never be a Christian Till some proof of these I see. Christians are as proud and haughty As the proudest Moor of all ; And they hate the men that hate them With a hate like bitter gall." " You judge rashly, O my sister, In the words you speak to me." " I would be a Christian, blind man : Show me Christian charity ! " Lo ! here comes proud Dona Inez, Very rich and fair to see ; I am but a Moorish beggar, Will the lady come to me ? 74 CHARITY. No ! she will not, for she hateth All the children of the Moor. If she come, I tell you, blind man, I will kneel, and Christ adore ! " Passing was the Lady Inez, When the dark group met her eye, And she leant from out her litter Smiling on them tenderly. " They are poor, they are God s children," Said a voice within her soul, And she lightly from her litter Stepped to give the beggars dole. Sneered, and laughed, and laughing, wondered All the other ladies gay ; And the Lady Inez knew not She had saved a soul that day. FROM THE GRAVE. ("Chaque fois que tu laisses tomber une larme, mon cercueil est plein de sang. Chaque fois que ton coeur est gai, mon cer cueil est plein de feuilles de roses.") WEEP not for me, O tender heart ! Thou know st my wish that all thy part In life should be a happy way As sunlit as a summer day. Weep not fcr me ! In life thy tears were bitter drops, In death thy woe s a hand that stops The current of Eternity, And smites thy echoed grief to me, O tender heart ! No tears, O love ! be happy now ! " A little while," and know shalt thou What t is to lie and wait in earth The resurrection and the birth. Weep not for me ! 75 FADED LEAVES. HE heard a maiden singing in a wood, He saw the wild vines kiss her as she stood, With face upturned to note their wavy grace. There was no note of sadness in her song, And yet his thoughts were saddened, as along The woodland path she went, mid tender leaves. " To-day s a dream, to-morrow s real," he said; " For life s a dream, the wakened ones are dead ; She sings a lullaby for all her race." And death is real, for life is but to-day; To-morrow s death, to-day will pass away, And hold, for green and sunlit, faded leaves. 76 TO-DAY. I^O-DAY is bright with golden gleams of spring, To-day is fair, and all our sweet hopes sing, But night comes down, and then our day is done. It is not always bright, nor always spring, And sunny seasons are the ones that bring Most sudden showers, and the light is gone ! Live in the sunlight, in the fair to-day ! To-morrow keeps to-morrow, and the way May, in a moment, lose the light of sun! 7* 77 OF LIFE. HE, fixing eyes of hope upon the sun, And never steering while the swift waves run, Him turning as they list, reaches no goal. For all our life is made of little things, Our chain of life is forged of little rings, And little words and acts uplift the soul. T is good to look aloft with ardent eyes, And work as well; he, doing these, is wise; But one without the other gains no goal. 78 L I B K A li Y UN I V K K s I T Y O F CALIFORNIA. ===^=^ SONGS. * I. " GOLD AND GREEN." GOLD and green and blue and white, Daisies, buttercups, and sky, Grass, and clouds, and birds unite In a chorus of delight For the tender spring is nigh, Soon will winds no longer sigh. March and April pass away, And the dainty-fingered rain Plays sweet symphonies all day Welcoming the lovely May, Soon will chickweed fill the lane, And poppies sprout amid the grain. 79 80 SONGS. II. AFTER HAFIZ. NARCISSUS-FLOWERS drunk with dew of night, Her eyelids droop, to veil a scornful light ; And on her white brow curl the black love locks, Twin serpents on the pale orb of the moon. O breath of roses, rose of red and white, O voice of bulbul, O my heart s delight, I care not though your languid smile but mocks, A smile from you is Allah s greatest boon. SONGS. 8l III. (FROM THE FRENCH OF FRANCOIS COPPEE.) HEART of exile, dream thou of the day When the fair future all thy nature stirred, And in thy hand her white hand nestling lay, Like a tired bird. Ah, then, how quickly all thy soul within Grew warm and trembled in that tender hour, How silently thou drank st the moments in, Like a faint flower. Again dark clouds of sorrow fill thy sky, For she, afar, can give no look or word Thy tender thoughts away all drooping fly, Like a tired bird. Already o er thy soul comes winged distrust, And grief is born anew in love s late bower, Thou know st love will fall and fade in dust, Like a faint flower. F 82 SONGS. IV. APPLE BLOSSOMS. THE tender branches sway and swing, Whispering all that the robins sing Of hope and love, and lightly fling Showers of apple blossoms. A head of black and a head of gold, Her little hands in his firm hold, Eyes that speak more than words have told Under the apple blossoms. Ever on earth again shall they Find in springtime so fair a day ? T is true that love can pass away With spring and apple blossoms. SONGS. 83 V. LIKE A LILAC. * 1IKE a lilac in the spring -J Is my love, my lady love ; Purple white the lilacs fling Scented blossoms from above. So my love, my lady love, Throws sweet glances on my heart; Ah, my dainty lady love, Every glance is Cupid s dart. Like a pansy in the spring Is my love, my lady love, For her velvet eyes oft bring Golden fancies from above. * Music by Biederman. Published by D. Nolan, 37 Bar clay St., New York. 84 SONGS. Ah, my heart is pansy-bound, By those eyes so tender-true ; Balmy heart s-ease have I found, Dainty lady love, in you. Like the changeful month of spring Is my love, my lady love ; Sunshine comes and glad birds sing, Then a rain-cloud floats above. So your moods change with the wind, April-tempered lady love, All the sweeter to my mind ; You re a riddle, lady love. SONGS. 85 VI. DANGEROUS FRANKNESS. INCONSTANT? And why not, O fair Hel- 1 ene? You have the bluest eyes I ve ever seen, Blue as the violets in that season when The fields and hills are tinged with faintest green ; But you have not fair Marie s tender voice, Or Constance s smile in which all hearts rejoice. Inconstant? Why? I love the good in all, The good in one,, and like the roving bee, (Are you has bleu, fair Helene, will you call My " roving bee " a threadbare simile ?) I go from flower to fruit, and I love each, The faint-tinged rose-bud and the carmine peach. 8* 86 SONGS. I love you for your eyes, O fair Helene, Your blue, blue eyes, so deep and limped-clear, In whose deep depths are drowned many men, And for their deaths have you not shed a tear? And yet I love dear Rosalind s shy grace, And can I help it? little Celia s face. I love the good in all, the good in one : Too frank am I ? Can t help it ! t is my way. If you 11 be Clytie, I will be the sun, And you can follow me about all day, And yet I 11 smile on all, and that will be Love universal, not inconstancy. Conceited ? How you wrong me, fair Helene ; I m not Apollo, and I know that well : But you re not Clytie ; if you were, why then I d follow you. Good gracious ! who could tell The girl would get so mad ! A temper, too ! I 11 never trust in meekest eyes of blue ! SONGS. 87 VII- A RHAPSODY. " Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne." OTHELLO. HE walks in vain by yonder garden-gate, Where hollyhocks and tall carnations rise, Sweet marjoram and blooms that linger late, And all the scented herbs that housewives prize. A late rose throws soft kisses to the breeze, On petals sunrise-hued, like his love s cheeks ; He hears a child s voice in the apple-trees; He starts ! Ah, no ; it is not she that speaks ! Gone ! lost ! Her voice must ever be afar- Those tones that made his fond heart fervent bound ; T was not a voice as other voices are, For blithesome hope and love were in the sound. SONGS, She was a damsel, dainty, fair, and fine, A princess in the city s latest style, And " darts " and " hearts " were not much in her line, A little nonsense was : many a mile Stretches between the lonely heart that s left, Mid fading hedges, and the maiden fair, One heart is hot with pain, of joy bereft, The other s gay, and bright, and free from care. A summer season and a wounded heart A man s strong heart that sufT ring makes no moan Alas ! that reason and true love should part ; "Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne." And Cupid sneered, for Cupid s young no more, And in my face he puffed his cigarette ; " Drop sentiment, it s such an awful bore ; She has forgotten, he will soon forget ! " SONGS. VIII. DRIFTING. (To C. DE B.) IN August, when the sun shone o er the wheat, Standing in shocks in the quiet, pleasant fields, We, hand in hand, walked through the noonday heat, Along the land to where the pond lay still, Neath water-lilies floating at its will. And, while we walked and spoke of other days, In August, too, before my love and I Had been made one, to walk through this world s ways As man and wife, until the end shall be, When life shall live itself eternally, 8* SONGS. Her sister, speaking to her, softly said : "How far," she asked, "my Alice, have you solved Life s problem ? Well, I mind me, ere were wed Camille and you, you often thought it o er, Fearful of darkness on the unseen shore." And, as we skirted the sweet, verdant shores, And drifted near the lilies, spoke no word My thoughtful wife, and the unmoved oars Caught in the branches of the hanging trees, Came from the land the murmuring hum of bees. " Life is no problem," said my wife, at last; Tis our own weakness makes us think it one; For we can read the future by the past. Has God not kept us ? We are anchored here, Floating, yet anchored lilies in a mere." SONGS. IX. A SWEDISH LEGEND. THOU wilt be mine ! " the Swedish monarch sighed. " No, never thine ! " the fair Christine replied ; "Thou hast a queen a good and lovely bride." " But thou shalt have bright robes and laces old, And thou shalt wear a dazzling crown of gold, And thou shalt half of all my kingdom hold! " " My soul is dearer than thy garments bright ; I love not flowers plucked in guilt s dark night ; I fear the wrong, I love God s holy right." " Thou shalt be mine, or die in torture dire, Thou shalt not die by water or by fire, My love was life, now death is my desire." 9 2 SONGS. And in a cask strong-spiked with points of steel, Men place the maiden, and then roughly wheel The cask along by blow of fist and heel. Ah, she is dead, with blood upon her brow; Three angels with white wings before her bow And bear her up, her pain is rapture now. SONGS. 93 X. AN OLD FRENCH BALLAD. (TRANSLATED FROM A COLLECTION OF POETRY BY GERARD DE NERVAL.) WHEN Jean Renaud came home from the war, His body and mind were sick and sore. " Good-day, my mother." " Good-day, my son ; Your little child s life has just begun." "Arrange, my mother, the great white bed, That I may lie down and rest my head ; But make no noise, my mother, for fear My wife on her couch of pain may hear." And when the old hamlet clock had tolled The midnight hour, the death-angel rolled Away the stone from the cave of life, And Jean Renaud passed from sin and strife. 94 SONGS. " Mother, dear mother," his poor wife said, " Why do they sing as if one were dead ? " " Daughter, dear daughter, t is but a crowd That passes us by, chanting aloud." " But, mother, my dear, why weep you so ? I see the tears as they shine and flow." "Alas ! the sad truth I cannot hide, Tis our own poor Jean who has just died." " O mother, say to the sexton, who Digs in the earth, that a grave for two Must be made so very wide and deep That my husband, I, and our child may sleep/ 1 SONGS. 95 XL THE CHANGELESS ONE. THE flaming fire of the oriole No longer glows in the summer air; The waves of the stream no longer roll Under the feathery maidenhair : Days that seemed changelessly soft and mild Have changed to the winter fierce and wild. The Castanet of the katydid Soundeth no more in the autumn air; The grass and the tree-roots all lie hid Deep neath a cloak more soft and fair Than wool that is shorn in shearing-time, Than flowers that fall in the orange clime. 96 SONGS. Changes the call of the katydid, Changes the oriole s scarlet glare, Changes all earth ; and the frolic kid, And the child that climbs his father s chair, Will ripe and ripe as the swift hours chime And change neath the hand of changing time. Swift changes even the human soul, Humanly tarnished, then Godlike fair, Redder than blood or the oriole, Whiter than robes that the angels wear. Alone God is changeless, soul beguiled By dreams that are changing, sin-defiled ! THE END. 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