II HBMB .vlV'v 1- ' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ' CATHERINE, AND OTHER POEMS f CATHERINE AND OTHER POEMS BY JAMES ALFRED GORNALL bonbon ROBERT DAVIES, BOOKSELLERS' ROW, STRAND labtliff* THOMAS GORNALL, BLACKBURN STREET 1885 radcliffe: printed bt thomas gornall, at 26 and 28, blackbvrn-street. Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide Like all created things secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity ; And I, how shall I praise thee well and wide From -where I dwell, upon the hither side ? Thou little veil for so great mystery, When shall I penetrate all things and thee, And then look back ? For this I must abide Till thou shall grow and fold and be unfurled Literally between me and the world ; Then shall I drink from in beneath a spring, And from a poeVs side shall read his book ; daisy mine, what will it be to look From God's side even of such a simple thing. "Sonnet to a daisy," Alice Thompson. 881831 CONTENTS. PARE Catherine : Part 1 1 Catherine : Part II 15 Poems (1872-84) :— Changed, tho' Changeless . . . . 39 The Cushat 41 The Burn 42 Luna 45 The Everlasting Arms 47 Fragment 49 1 Wandered Far 51 Splendid 53 Mid Nature's Scenes 54 Fragment 56 There are Hours 51) Unlovely, Eerie 60 In the Spring 61 And Why ,62 V111. CONTENTS. Poems (1872-84) :- I Have Seen To Winter (A Song) Throbbing Breast . So Young . The Clouds .... 1 Cannot Conceive How When I Bade O Was It . The Flowers and the Fields A Distant Day . By Colours .... Old Time .... L'Avenir . 'Tis Pleasant . TARE 63 G4 Go 07 08 GO 70 71 72 73 74 75 70 >-*• • i 78 CA THERINE. IX TWO PARTS. INSCRIBED WITH ALL DEVOTION AND REVERENCE TO H. N. 1S77. Yet talk not of wasted affection. CATHERINE. PART I. Old Caleb could not die in peace until His daughter promised him she ne'er would wed One whom the girl, alas, had learned to love : " For child," he said, " my soul may know no peace Unless this little last request you grant." From Catherine's eyes the tears fell thick and fast, And ere he breathed his last she kissed him thrice : " Dear father, I shall never wed," she cried ; . " Nay, Kate, I wish not that. Wed whom thou wilt, But wed not him." Again she turned and kissed Him, and again his earnest wish he seemed 5 CATHERINE. Fain to repeat ; but blessing her his sight Grew dim, and forth the spirit passed. 'Twas summer, and the days were at their length, When by the open window Catherine sate. Two months have now elapsed since from the house Her father's clay was borne, and since that time She has but seldom stepped beyond the door ; And on this summer evening those who view Her face will see the traces of deep grief About the mouth, and 'ncath the yearning eyes. She loved her father dearly, and his loss Felt much. His parting wish was also pain To her, and as his memory she adored Far far too much to entertain a thought Of disobedience, she felt at times That all her hope of happiness was blighted. CA THERINE. 7 Oft-times she from restless sleep awoke And turning on her tear-stained pillow, cried : " father, would that heaven had spared thee, Charles Had shown thee that his worth was not too slight For me, hut far too great. What villain was it Told thee such lies that even his very name Was hateful to thee ? Whosoe'er it he May God forgive." Such bursts of grief as this Kate knew for long. Thro' all her life she ne'er Had known the wish that might not he supplied. Her mother dying ere she learned to lisp, Beneath a fond, indulgent father's care Scarce armed for worldly trials she'd grown up. But now poor Kate must learn life's cruel ways, And presently grew tranquil, taking her Sad heart to task. She went about the house, And talked with friends, who soon rejoiced to see The smile come back upon her pale, thin cheek. 8 CATHERINE. The strife was hard, and once she left her friends, And flying to her room, a smothered cry Broke from her as she hid her face among The pillows, wailing words half-heard about Her father's dying wish. But earnest prayer And thought diverted had effect with time, And to her sad young heart came peace. 'Twas summer, and the days were at their length ; Kate by the window sate ; a letter, whose Unbroken seal would augur trifling worth, Beside her. Far from trifling was its worth To her, although it thus neglected lay. Six had she so received from him since when 'Twas known that they must part forever, nor Had answered one, nor ev'n had opened one. To him 'twas cruel pain thus to be used ; To her 'twas far more cruel pain to use Him thus. She knew him safe and well from that Her friends, who were his friends likewise, could tell. CATHERINE. But for this fact the seals she would have broke, Arid read his loving anxious words, although Her heart had bled and broken with the deed. How changed her will from three short months ago His letters then were opened with all speed, And with her cheek aglow 'twixt happiness And maiden bashfulness, read and re-read, Until their contents were as much her own As erst they had been his. Ah, well could she Recall the time when first she knew his love, In sooth the happiest moment of her life. And yet, 'twere best that moment ne'er had been, Since bitterness alone was of its fruit. A shy, sweet girl of eighteen summers she, And tall, and dark, and handsome, with her eyes And long eye -lashes bearing in each glance A world of music. Thrice she met with him, Charles Maurice, when they visited with friends, And looks half told what words scarce need reveal. io CATHERINE. The moon was full upon that happy eve, And by the gate, and 'lieath the whispering trees She paused, ere bidding him good-bye, to end The little anecdote, not yet all told, Then laughing placed her hand in his. A thrill Of sweet excitement filled her heart when she Looked up and met that earnest, loving glance, And heard the tale that needs no writing here. But still, 'twere best such moment ne'er had been, Since bitterness alone was of its fruit : Her father hearing that which had no proof Against her lover's fame implored of Kate No more to think of him. And thus our tale. A friend at her request now wrote to him And told him that she ne'er could tell herself, And begged that he for both their sakes would not Come near for many months, nor write again To her, since what must be, must be, alack ! CATHERINE. n Yet still remembrances they might exchange Through friends. Of this he would not hear, but still Wrote on, and soon her cousin told to her The day, the hour, on which he would arrive. And now we find her on this summers' eve In tremor wondering what to do or say When he, her choice of all, should come to her, And with his dear-loved voice should speak her name. But soon she 'gan repeating to herself, And conning o'er each word that she would say, And sat in attitude as though he stood Before her now, and she were telling him : At length such strength was given unto her heart She almost marvelled at her recent dread. 'Tis done, 'tis o'er, and she has told him all ; Her oft-repeated lesson she has said : 12 CATHERINE. No dangerous tender word crept in, nor did She falter once. He spoke but once — her name. She, staring with fixed look into his face, Held out her hand and straight began to speak. A sigh came from his heart when she had said, And with an anxious, troubled, liugering glance Into her marble face he rose to go. One hand is on the door ; he turns again To look upon his Catherine's face and form. She has not moved. Her hands lie on her lap ; Her face as white and hard and cold still turned Ilim toward. He stepped to her, and stooping kissed Her brow. She moved not, only said " Goodbye," And forth he went, half wondering if the girl Had ever loved him as he'd fondly thought, And with each footstep sounding on his ear So strange he wondered if he dreamed. CATHERINE. 13 Kate moved not till the outer door was slammed ; Then stepped across the room and sate upon The music stool, and with her fingers o'er The keys struck thence weird chords that scarce' would seem To harmonise with what she sung : her voice So hard and strange none could have sworn it hers. And who had made that song ? Was it the child Of her sad heart and her sad thoughts ? 'Twas all of love, that love there none could be But lightly one might play or smile away. Her voice died out, but still her fingers moved Along the keys, and wandering in the theme She strayed into the minor, playing still More softly, till at length the notes refused To answer to her touch. She left her seat, And passing to the window looked abroad. i 4 CATHERINE. Her lover still was moving through the trees, And when her vacant glance fell on his form A change came o'er her face. A shudder ran Through all her frame, and wailing grief and woe She thrust her slender fingers in her hair, And hid her sad young face. CATHERINE. PART II. " At times how strange it seems to be alive ; how the tears will well and strive to break Beneath these aching eyes. This weary heart, Heaven, how at times 'twill hunger for the clays It may not know again. And yet the while 'Twould rather burst than turn to what is past, Since what must be, must be. Think her who writes No craven, one whose soul must sink beneath Life's task ; for now, as in the past, where God The nature sensitive hath given he gives Pride, jealous pride, and that will conquer fate." Thus wrote poor Catherine to her loving friend ; Thus, after one sad week had dragged away, i6 CATHERINE. Wrote Catherine to her anxious friend. How brave Her letter seems when first 'tis conned. How strange When studiously again we read. Here breathes No resignation ; here for Kate no peace Is shadowed forth. Her letter speaks of tears, But tears there arc none. Then in manly phrase She writes of pride and boasts of conquering fate. Alas ! But now 'tis time we somewhat spake Of him who sadly left her sad. He went With steps all firm and long. Between his teetli The live cigar he thrusts, and walks amid A thickly blown, albeit fragrant, cloud. And home he went, nor moved abroad for days ; Then forth he stepped in silence, nor would talk With any whom he met. A faithful dog, Of breed St. Bernard, trotted by his side ; And still would glance in wonder, half in fear, To meet that downcast eye, which once did turn Full often to his doggish look responsive, CATHERINE. 17 Anon he wandered to his club, and stared At newspapers, and turned o'er magazines ; For answer all to question or remark Full short and something cold he spoke, and scarce Within the bounds of courtesy. His friends Glanced toward him with raised eyebrow, and in turn Ceased to disturb him. So the months dragged on, And spring came round, and presently 'twas told That Maurice soon would leave his native land, And that the day was fixed when he should sail. And this was so. His face grew something bright, And tokens of the wonted mood returned. His faithful dog rejoiced to hear his voice, And in the streets he paused with friends, and talked Of lands afar which soon he hoped to see. None asked wherefore he went ; some guessed the truth, And knew that love was in the mischief ; some 18 CATHERINE. Ascribed liis mood to disappointed hope In uncle's will, and some to other cause. The Fates hung o'er our hero, shook their heads, And silently, albeit sorrowful, Decreed that he should never sail. He rose Full early on the morn before that one On which he meant to leave, and leave for aye. No sleep that night had come to him, and from His heart there rose a longing, when the sun Stole in his room, to wander through the lanes, And through the fields and woods that he for years Had loved. The month was May, young May, And forth he went with throbbing breast to greet The morn. Strange feelings crowded on him now, And memories tumultuous. From his heart, O'cr-pcnt, the silent tear would come despite CATHERINE. 19 His bravest will. The morning sky, so beautiful, The fragrant air so full of eloquence, And all the laughing clouds, did move his soul. All through the fields and lanes he stepped, and stood Upon a little height. glorious view ! It seemed to him the world had rolled away From out her usual course into a pure, A happier far and brighter region than That she had left had ever seemed. The clouds, If clouds they might be called, like clouds in shape, Yet seeming composed not like to clouds, but of Material ne'er to be transformed, to float About the sky, a sky unchangeable, In happiness and peace for aye ; how sweet They smiled on all the earth, which breathless stood Amazed to find itself in such a realm ; The heavens the while smiled sweetly on them both, Both earth and clouds. The trees stood looking up 20 CATHERINE. With timid gaze, and trembling in surprise, While scattered houses seemed to ask each other What meant it all ? The brook purled swiftly down As if, it seemed, 'twould flee away to hide, Then paused and stood, motionless almost, Surveying all around. Naught save the birds Appeared to be at home ; these busy things, Bustling, chirping, singing, raised the thought That by some feat mysterious they had caused This great and wondrous change. Long did he walk Amid the glories of the morn ; then home And slept till eve, when forth he stepped again And saw the moon stand o'er the silent hills. Strange thoughts once more thronged in his breast, And as he slowly went, up through the trees lie glanced to see the night, and half aloud Revealed his thought, which, had he written verse, Had been set down in fashion for our tale : CATHERINE. 21 The stars were blinking of bis love, the moon Looked down in pity for bis love, the breeze Was whispering in the leaves about his love. Sudden he turned and strode vehemently : " Heaven, what a love-lorn fool am I," cried he, And fiercely stepped along to join his club. A flush had come upon his cheek, and right And left his blue eyes flashed. Came forth All friends, who shook his hand, rejoiced to see Him well, and led him through the rooms to one Where stood the tables spread with choicest viands And richest wines, his long farewell to celebrate. Down sat they all, and swiftly rolled the night With mirth and song. Broke in the room a fool, A noted braggadocia — duellist : His brain inflamed with brandy, vow he'd sworn 22 CATHERINE. To some boon comrade o'er the billiard board That he would join the party, though unasked. One look, and then none deigned to see The rude intrusion. Down plumped he on couch All vacant, staring round with clever smile. Annoyed that none looked to him, in his heart The brutal spirit swelled. Our hero's dog Sat near, and blinked in canine wonderment Up in the stranger's face. The other dog, Or cur, drew forth his fusee lights, and threw With some dexterity one all ablaze Into the dumb one's ear. The creature howled With pain. Uprose three stalwart youths, who saw The fiendish deed. Each paused and looked to Maurice " My quarrel, gentlemen," said he, in tone So low and calm as one might say Goodbye ; CATHERINE. 23 Then seized a cane, and thrashed the coward fool Until his cries were louder than had been The nobler brute's. Out from the door he flung The splintered cane, and after it thrust forth The cur he'd whipped. Back to his seat he came With frowning brow, and spake no word. Some deemed His course too rough, and some deemed he'd done well And rightly, for they knew 'twas not the first Occasion that he'd known, although passed by, Gross insult from that quarter. Divers there, More thoughtful than the rest, had anxious care Concerning consequence, and each with eye Half-clouded, somewhat glanced from friend to friend. " Come, gentlemen," said Maurice, with cleared air, " Let not this incident disturb our mirth ; Yon fool hath stripes that he shall feel for days." 24 CATHERINE. " Aye," said his neighbour, slowly, " that is true, Provided always that yc shoot hirn not Before the sun hath quite revealed his face." The one to whom 'twas said glanced sharply toward The speaker. Then broke o'er his handsome face The sunniest smile had lit it up for months. " Why, so," said he, and pushed his glass re-filled, away. " But, Maurice," spoke a tim'rous friend, " The rapier choose, since he must challenge thee ; His aim is deadly, and he slew, 'tis known, Three whom he fought last year in Paris." But Maurice only smiled, and rising asked The time : 'Twas two hours past the night. Another morn, another young May morn ; Again amid the bonnic woods and fields CATHERINE. 25 Our scene is laid. The light is bad, the wind Is somewhat chill ; not like that other morn, For such as that could never come atwain. The trees sway somewhat ominous. Who's there, Within that clearing in the wood ? Three forms That we have seen before, and two we know not. Why, Maurice, friend, thou shouldst be sleeping now ; And prithee, why so pale, and why so stern ? And who is that thou watchest so, and what Is that thou boldest in thy hand ? Why, lad, Thy eye is true, thy hand is firm, thy heart Is sound. But what are these compared with use '? He'll shoot thee, Maurice, shoot thee — dead, And we must stand and watch. The brutal soul, That thrice has tasted blood, feels no remorse In shedding thine. Will nothing stay his hand ? Nothing. His flesh still twitcheth with the stripes 26 CATHERINE. So new, which thou — thou, Maurice, gavest him When like a mongrel cur thou whippedst him, And scarce three hours ago. A little bird Cheeps plaintively among the sighing trees ; A kerchief flutters to the ground, and all The woods re-echo with the fearful note Of pistols. Maurice falls. The other falls, But rises swift and to his hleeding check, Scored by our hero's lead, he claps with speed His kerchief. There he bears the mark that ne'er Shall leave him, and which ho shall never hide. Toor Maurice lies among his blood, which flows From the left shoulder. O'er the Avenger's face An ugly smile flits when he stands and sees The surgeon stoop to Maurice ; then with friend Almost himself as callous, hence he walks And talks in exultation of the stripes So fearfully re-paid. CATHERINE. 27 And this the morn Poor Maurice meant to leave his fatherland : And all because a love which filled his breast Had turned to bitterness. Yea, all because A handsome girl, the sweetest in the world, Had said in terms which he might not dispute That he must give her up, that she could wed Him never, and that they must part. The Fates Decreed our hero should not sail, and there He lies amid his blood, and from that spot Would never move, save that his mourning friends In bitterness and sorrow bear him hence. Another morn, another young May morn ; Again, yea, yet again, amid the fields And woods our scene is laid. And who is this That cometh o'er the hills ? who is this That cometh o'er the hills ? Most beautiful ! 28 CATHERINE. Not like the morn, but like that sweetest night Of " cloudless climes " of which the poet sung. dearest girl, and prithee why so wan ? As if no sleep had visited those eyes — Forth flashing glorious music on the morn — For weary hours, and why that headlong haste ? With sweetest lips apart, and breathless, through The wood she hastes, and through that dreadful glade She shudders as she steps, not knowing why ; And to the little town she goes, and in The morning street she pauses not, but toward A house known well to her, though never yet Has she been in its rooms. The iron gate Swings to her touch, and up the garden steps And through the door, and up the winding stair She passes on. One little pause, her hand To press, ungloved, against her trembling heart ; Then to a door, by instinct taught, she moves CATHERINE. 29 And taps. Tis softly opened ; through she steps, And glancing swiftly round the little room Moves toward the couch. The doctor, nurse, and friends, Who form a little group, unnoticed stand : " love," she moaned, and knelt. One little prayer Broke from her heart, then toward the still white face, Of him, her stricken lover, turned her glance. As if in answer to her prayer he looked To her, but from his fever-brightened eye Came naught of recognition. Wearily He closed them for some moments, then He looked to her again, and laughed a low Short laugh. " Why, Katie, girl, how fares it now ?" He said. " God, it was wild fierce work for you, A gentle thing, to shoot mc thus. Your friends, 30 CATHERINE. My love, are fiends to prompt a deed like that. Ten thousand devils crucify my flesh." The doctor led the weeping girl aside ; " My dear," said he, a kind old mau, " he raves 'Twas you who shot him, but that mood will pass, And shortly." " Will he die ?" said Kate, and turned All suddenly to meet the doctor's glance. " Nay, nay, I think not," answered he. " pray, Bid me to stay and nurse him. May I stay ? " " Why, you shall help, my dear," the doctor said ; " But come away just now ; your nerves so tried Require attention first, and you must rest." Ten days of wracking fever drag away, And Kate will neither cat nor sleep, and friends And foes alike may not persuade her hence. CATHERINE. 31 The doctor shook his head perplexed : " If you Remove her she will break her heart and die." The fever passed at length, and Maurice slept, And when lie woke and slowly turned his head His eyes were met by two of wondrous depth, And yearning sympathy and sweetest love Shone hi them, Long he looked, then stretched A thin white hand, and touched the pale young face, Which smiled with joy. " Why, Katie, sweet, Then this is not a dream ?" " Ah, no, dear love." But Maurice only woke to say Farewell. What needs the muse to linger in her tale ? The icy hand is on our friend, and naught Can save his life. That end not even Kate's 32 CATHERINE. Sweet presence shall effect. Her tender words And gentle touch shall naught avail. But she, Poor girl, was bright and happy for some days. Then came the dread relapse, and Kate looked on In mute alarm, and in her eyes there grew A far-off yearning look, and it was said That two lives in the balance hung — not one. He died, and Kate in silence watched, her glance Still fixed upon the face, whose parting look Had been for her. She neither spoke nor wept, But when they took her hand she willingly Went forth. She sought her couch and seemed to sleep ; But in the early morn her anxious friends Found she had stolen hence. In some alarm A search ensued, and in the dead man's room They found her Kneeling, with her little head Beside her silent lover's. Kate was dead. CATHERINE. 33 And was it not far better so ? say : But tell me not that 'twas not better so ; For who shall mend a broken heart ? And life Is very long when hope has passed. POEMS. 1872-84. DEDICATED TO S. AND S. M. Away with these ; true wisdom's world will be Within its own creation, or in thine, Maternal Nature. CHANGED, THO' CHANGELESS. Hey presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure bright air Their tops the green trees lift. The Spirit of Poetry is not dead, Nor fled away— but just as young, and fair, And beautiful, as years ago she hovers round. Yet shy, more sweetly shy, than once ; And few indeed shall know the silent thrills Of deep and precious joy, deigned but to those "Who love her well. The gibbering fools who crowd Our street — rushing for what they ne'er shall find, Whose hearts can ne'er be touched save thro' 4 o CHANGED, THO' CHANGELESS. Their pockets, — these have made her shy ; and one Or two, who but for these would love her well, Treat her with scant respect ; and tho' their hearts She never wholly leaves, aloof she stands. grant that in the years to come, as now, Still may I hear her in the whispering breeze, Still may I see her in the bonnie stars, Still may I hear her in the murmuring sea ; And here and there — the sweetest thing of all — Still may I find her in a human face, And know that, through some sentence lightly dropped, She moves unknown the thought of her or him "Who speaks, half wondering why the heart is stirred. 4i THE CUSHAT. This evening, as I paced a shady lane, I heard the wild doves in the wood complain ; Anon the fox's bark spoke sharp and clear, And fain I lingered nigh the trees to hear : But not a sound was to my ears conveyed For some few moments after I delayed. I stood in slight surprise, not knowing how To read the silence in each bush and bough ; To pierce the bushes with my sight I tried, In vain, no thing of life was there descried. Then from the inmost trees I heard again In silent joy, the cushat's low, sweet strain. How shall I tell the feelings of my heart — The thoughts that came upon me how impart ? Though trained to town-life, Nature's every scene Much loved from early age by me has been ; Yet never till that moment had I known How deep within my breast that love had grown. 4 2 THE BURN. Adown by the burn, I love to turn, When none but myself is nigh ; And watch it dash, With its musical splash, So merrily, merrily by. High slopes the ground, On all sides round, For the climber far too steep ; And ne'er will you find, The fierce north wind, Adown this valley to leap. THE BURN. 43 While forth on its way, This brooklet so gay, AU noisily clashes along ; Full well does it know, The way it must go, And never for once goes it wrong. tell me I pray, tell me to-day, Thou merry wild burn tell to me : Some secret thou know'st, "Which man cannot boast, I pray thee now tell it to me. 1 look to the right, Where it first comes in sight, And watch it come rippling near ; It climbs o'er the stones, Or around them it runs, If high from the surface they rear. 44 THE BURN. And it laughingly glances, As by me it dances ; I'll swear that it laughs in my face ! No being on earth, Could feel aught of dearth, If he stood on its banks a short space. I've stood on thy banks, And watched thy gay pranks, Till merry as thou I've become ; And own a wild wish, To joyously rush, With thee to thy distant home. tell me I pray, tell me to day, Thou merry wild burn tell to me : Some secret thou know'st, "Which man cannot boast, I pray thee now tell it to me. 45 LUNA. Ye scores of clouds, that all the livelong day Have driven in swift career across the sky, Sailing and crowding in each other's way — Fleeing as though some dreaded foe were nigh ; Why is it when night serene falls over hill, And dale, and all the earth reclines in peace, Why is it ye slower float, soon hanging still, As though your foe the driving chase did cease ? When that majestic godlike face forth treads, And silent mounts up through the still, soft night, 46 LUNA. Do you in reverence bow your silver beads, And linger with respect within its light ? And feel witbin it that you need not fear Pursuing foe, from earth, or other sphere ? Perhaps your more gifted intellect doth know What my awed heart to me is whispering low : That God Himself is in that globe of fire, And whilst His mortal works to rest retire, With careful, loving watch doth guard them all, That in their sleep no harm on them may fall. 47 THE EVERLASTING ARMS. bonnie flowers, I've loved them long, And years will make that love more strong, For underneath are the everlasting arms. The pretty stars that sweetly shine, Serene — not like this breast of mine, For underneath are the everlasting arms. The eternal hills, I love them well, For deep, deep thoughts among them dwell, And underneath are the everlasting arms. 48 THE EVERLASTING ARMS. seas that rage, and seas that sleep, smiling skies, and skies that weep, Tho' underneath are the everlasting arms. flowers and stars, and hills and sea, None loves yon as you're loved by me, For underneath are the everlasting arms. But the bonnie flowers, I love them best, The flowers that bring me peace and rest, And underneath are the everlasting arms. 49 FRAGMENT. the moon came out as swift they flew, The plains and streams all splendour knew ; The hills tower'd o'er and approved as they passed, The glens wondered much at their speed unsurpassed ; The woods echoed loud as they thundered along, All live creatures fled as they thundered among. "When at length they reached the plain of sand The silvery clouds looked down and smiled ; The silver-peaked hills saw the sight so grand, The black frowning forest looked stern and wild, And moaned with rage to the chill night wind ; They were soon left behind, out of sight, out of mind. 50 FRAGMENT. O'er leagues, and leagues, and leagues again, Without relaxing speed, they sped ; Oft, and oft, and oft again, The traveller paled at their thundering tread, And, while his own steed backed with a startled prance, He watched thern pass with a quivering glance, And uttered a prayer that Heav'n would spare Him ever from such a sight of dread, For he deemed it one from the land of the dead. O'er leagues, and leagues, and leagues again, Without relaxing speed, they sped; O'er hill and dale, o'er plain, through glen, They flew until the east was red, . And morn came from her rosy bed. 5 1 / WANDERED FAR. I wandered far along the shore One eve, with slow and lingering pace The moon was rail, and o'er and o'er I paused to look upon her face ; Such sweet, sad beauty ne'er before Did mortal in her features trace. I looked upon the silvery sea, And felt my soul moved at the sight ; 52 / WANDERED FAR. A ripple scarcely could I see, The summer breezes were so light ; How wretched is the glare of day, Compared, thought I, with lovely night, And I could wish the day's proud sun Might never glare on me again , But 'neath the light, now softly thrown, I e'er might wander, free from pain ; Or float the silvery sea upon, And with the fairies there remain. 53 O SPLENDID. splendid is the day— the sky Is blue on every side, And the lovely fairy clouds on high Do sweetly onward glide. On all the housetops to be seen The slates like silver show, Awaking pangs my heart within, The reason scarce I know. And along the walls the shadows creep, In peaceful, gentle play ; And the windows in the sunlight sleep, happy things are they. Far, far up in the clouds I see Birds sailing in the blue ; creatures blest of liberty, Would I were one of you ! 54 MID NATURES SCENES. Disturb me not, disturb me not ; Thy converse cease, Sit clown in peace ; Disturb me not. The sound of the river is in my ear, And birds without number are singing near ; I can feel the warm beams of the glorious sun, And I know that the clouds on high Serenely and sweetly are smiling beneath, Those lovely clouds in the sky. MID NATURE'S SCENES. 55 And I know that a wood close beside us doth rest, Whose beauty none other surpasses ; And I know that the country around us is blest With a peace and repose little known to man's breast, let me be silent, me never molest, Disturb me not ; Converse at present my soul distresses. 1 believe that the joy those in Paradise know Far, far will exceed all we meet here below ; But a small comprehension's the human mind's lot, And a bliss than this greater 'tis hard to conceive ; Therefore, I pray thee, disturb me not. 56 FRAGMENT. A gravestone stands the swelling wave beside, Near to that spot where I did long reside : Oft, as I wandered on the sandy shore, And heard the billows purl, or wildly roar, Oft did I pause beside this mournful stone, That sadly rearing, silent stands alone, And pondering o'er it sought in vain to know Whose buried bones lay mouldering down below. Some strange, wild whim it was that placed a grave Beside the restless and unsilent wave, Nor left aught nigh the marvel to explain, Nor tell if dukes or beggars there be lain. Methought no souls, whose bodies rested there, Could be at peace and void of every care ; FRAGMENT. 57 Methought at night they'd wander 'neath the moon And in the wind moan an ungracious tune ; Or when the storm was raging near the beach Methought they'd add a wild, unearthly screech Unto the roaring, striking him with fear Who dared to pause where it might reach his ear. The stone, close-scanned, conveyed not any name, Nor taught the gazer whence the lifeless came. One only line was on its surface wrought, And nor of kin, nor aught of nation, taught. A sad, sad line that added to the gloom And mystery that circled round the tomb ; A deep-cut line, that seemed to shrink through flight Inward, as though it dreaded mortal sight ; And wierd the story which it did convey : tym lit toljo lobcir, vtt Situ eacf) ofytv slag. O doleful words, mysterious thing to read ! What caused thy being, what strange tragic deed ? 58 FRAGMENT. If loved, why were they by each other slain ? How oft the truth I asked, but asked in vain ! The seagull's scream came from the seaward sky, The startled fish leapt from the wave on high ; The waves purled onward : All these knew, methought, But feared that any should the tale be taught ; As if remembrance of it so did pain, Composure they for long might not regain. 59 THERE ARE HOURS. There are hours when rny life seems full of grief, And all is dark for evermore ; 0, how can I smile when my heart is sick, And all seems dark for evermore ? But a beautiful face has power e'er me, And beautiful thoughts have far, far more ; And a beautiful poem has shown me heaven "When all seemed dark for evermore. 0, how could we live in this weary world, If the end of things were here ? But grief is given to teach our hearts That God is near — is very near. 6o * > &*+• Unlovely, eerie, dreary, dark November, "Who loves November, bleak and dark November ? But every cloud a silver lining knows, And gleams of sunlight come in dark November, When God looked round for some sweet thing to send To cheer your little world one dark November, And fixed on you — a brighter, bonnier gleam Ne'er dropped from heaven in that sad month, November. And in the future may you be as good — Whilst birthdays pass as happy may you be — As you are beautiful. And who could wish You more. 6i IN THE SPRING. the grass was so green and the sky was so blue, And the bonnie white clouds were so fleecy and few, And the broad shining river so slowly did crawl, One scarce could discern if it journeyed at all ; And 1 wandered along with my love by my side, And we looked to the west by the setting sun dyed, And we listed the birds in their sweet revelry, And I spoke not nor spoke my dear love unto me ; For the sweet little sigh that my pretty one sighed Said a thousand times more than vows, gifts, all beside ; And my tongue had no words that would serve to reveal All the love that my bosom that evening could feel. 62 AND WHY. And why was I sad ? But I may not say why, Though beautiful things are a rapture to me ; Yet when I remember, 'tis only to sigh, And stifle the wish for what never must be. Dear girl, would you knew, but you never shall know Of the pain that your sweetness has given ; 'Twas a glimpse, with the gate shutting surely, tho' slow, 'Twas a glimpse at the splendour of heaven. 63 'Twixt the gloaming and the mirk. I have seen the bonniest girl in the world, But I dare not write her name, And I walked with her and talked with her, Till the twilight softly came. And I peeped in her eyes and she smiled in mine, My bonniest of bonnie girls ; And her eyes were diamonds when she smiled, And her lovely teeth were pearls. 6 4 To With a bunch of Forget-me-Nots. Sweetheart, these flowers will fade away, Their bloom depart ; Not like my love, for that must stay Forever in my heart. Then need I say Forget-me-Not, My own sweet Fate ? Ah, no ! for while you've life and thought You never can forget. 65 WINTER: (A Song). where are the scents that filled the air, And the breeze that whispered low ? where is your foliage, giants bare, There's a heart that longs to know ? And the fleecy clouds that hung in the sky, And the hum of the busy bee, And the sweet, sweet song of the lark on high, where are they fled ? Tell me. Sweet birds and flowers, where are ye gone ? Too soon did ye steal away ; And chilled is the aching heart of one Who fain would have bid ye stay. 66 \y INTER : (A Song). Chill moans the blast, the sky grows dark, And the rain falls heavily ; 'Tis in vain that ye list for the song of the lark, And the hum of the busy bee. The fleecy clouds have changed their form, The very sun is changed ; No whispering breeze steals by — the storm Eoars forth like a giant deranged. Fell Winter has strode from the distant hills, He has come through each wood and each field, And all that shall meet him he chills or he kills, The bravest and strongest must yield. 6 7 THROBBING BREAST. throbbing breast, weary breast, proud, proud heart ; Around the moon the sweet clouds rest, Now close beside, and now apart. The night is very beautiful, So beautiful, so beautiful ; And yet it is not beautiful, 'Tis almost horrible. Soft and low is the whispering wind, So sweet and low, so soft and low ; Yet cruel to one, aye, most unkind, Whispering of time — not long ago, 68 SO YOUNG. So young, so sweet, so very fair, How swift the time flies when she's nigh ; And when she's gone I think of her, And sigh. Around her absent form a light, Of something more than earth, is thrown, That, when she comes within our sight, Is mellowed down. 6 9 THE CLOUDS MAY FROWN. The clouds may frown, obscuring all, Both fields and woods, and hills so tall The wind may blow, the rain may fall, If I may come to thee. I care not now the fields to pace, I care not Nature's scenes to trace, If I may view thy pretty face, 'Tis all in all to me. 7 o / CANNOT CONCEIVE. I caunot conceive Low so fair a thing May exist as mortals do, And meet all the trials that age shall bring, And the change that must surely ensue. And yet I know well that a thousand as fair, Have lived, and live now, and in future shall live, And each with her own little burden to bear — The cares and the trials her mission doth give. 7i WHEN I BADE. "When I bade her farewell on that sorrowful clay, She wept not, nor even gave vent to a sigh ; But the glance which she gave me when turning away, "lis engraved on my heart, 'twill be there when I die. "When the night closes round and the stars peep in sight, My sighs are redoubled in thinking of thee ; That form which I viewed with such joy and delight, Full oft at this hour how distinctly I see. 72 WAS IT. was it her beautiful, beautiful eyes, Or was it her perfect mouth ? Or the prettiest form that God could devise To perfect the charms of her youth ? Or was it her voice ? But I may not surmise, Aud I might uot say the truth. But the trance that came over me would not depart As I gazed ou her beautiful face, And the feeling of sadness that stole in my heart Was all that its flight would replace ; Yet why was I sad ? But I may not impart, Nor yet the remembrance efface. 73 THE FLOWERS AND THE FIELDS. The flowers and the fields, aud the hills and the woods, I have loved with a love that's akin to disease ; And the rain and the wind in their various moods Have told me dear tales from the sensitive trees. And these I love now, but not, not as of old, For the dreams that now sleep I might almost despise, And thrillings far deeper than these could unfold Have their birth in a glance front her soul- speaking eyes. 74 A DISTANT DAY. In a Lady's Album. A distant clay will surely come "When tins, your book, shall be complete ; Some of the writers distant roam, And some you never more shall meet. when that day has journeyed here, Pause o'er each page, with memories fraught ; Some claim a sigh, and some a tear, Pass not o'er mine without a thought. 75 BY COLOURS INTERMINGLED. In a Lady's Album. By colours intermingled, so and so, What beauteous things the hand of man can form. A lovely face on canvas I have seen ; I stood and gazed entranced for long, but still It would not smile the more, or smile the less ; Nor would it blush, nor turn away, and so It could not move this heart of mine. I know One breathing, moving, sweet warm face and form Were worth ten thousand cold, dead paintings. 7 6 OLD TIME. In a Lady's Album. Old Time is stealing slowly ou, The world sees changes every day ; Some friends remain, but some are gone, Are dead, or wandered far away. Alas for those who leave no mark By which their names we may retain ; Remembrance of them soon grows dark, Ere long a trace may not remain. Then gladly do I take my pen To write these verses and my name, For now I know, where'er I go, Upon your thoughts I've fixed a claim. 77 L'AVENIR. In a Lady's Album. The breeze that through the window strayed, A landscape for the first time seen, A chord of music softly played, Oft speak of something that has been. The thought scarce lives before forgot— As transient, fleeting, as a breath ; And if 'twere asked of what we thought, We could not tell from then till death. But friends leave records firm and clear ; And though the sea may roll between, And time has added year on year, Not quite forgot is all that's been. And though to-day's events grow dim, When o'er these leaves some care you show A passing thought may be for him, The friend, perchance, of long ago. 78 'TIS PLEASANT. In a Lady's Album. 'Tis pleasant when we journey from the house, And wander forth upon familiar ground — 'Tis sweet to know the sight of us shall rouse A smile of joy from some who look around. But when we know that miles away from home Dwell one or two who keep us in their thoughts, Then life is not the dreary place to roam Some say, but has its share of pleasant spots. Then gladly do I write these verses here, For they shall serve to keep me in your mind ; They bring their own reward — to mo 'tis dear That with things dead my name is not resigned. radcliffe: printed by thomas gornall, at 26 and 28, blackburn-strket. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. -"■SS^"— PR ^ornall - U725 Catherine G56c PR U725 G56c UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 378 169 7 i hi iiiii mi in tH