*^f 
 
 ^y 
 
 SAINT : GREG- 
 ORY'S : GVEST 
 AND : RECENT 
 
 POEMS 
 
 
 
 BY : JOHN : GREEN- 
 LEAF : WHITTIER 
 
 << A . D . - 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVI. 
 

, 
 
POEMS. Diamond Edition. i8mo, $1.00. 
 
 Household Edition. With Portrait. i2mo, $2.00; full gilt, 
 
 $2.50. 
 
 Family Edition. Illustrated. 8vo, full gilt, $2.50. 
 Red-Line Edition. With Portrait and Illustrations. Small 
 
 4to, full gilt, $2.50. 
 Illustrated Library Edition. With Portrait and Illustrations. 
 
 8vo, full gilt, $4.00. 
 Cambridge Edition. With Portrait. 3 vols., i2mo, gilt top, 
 
 $6.75. 
 PROSE WORKS. Cambridge Edition. 2 vols., i2mo, gilt 
 
 top, $4.50. 
 Riverside Edition. 5 vols., crown 8vo, gilt top, paper label, 
 
 $12.50. 
 THE VISION OF ECHARD, AND OTHER POEMS. i6mo, 
 
 gilt top, $1.25. 
 
 SNOW-BOUND. x6mp, $1.00. 
 
 Illustrated Edition. With 40 Illustrations. 8vo, full gilt, $3.00. 
 MAUD MULLER. With Illustrations. 8 vo, full gilt, $2.50. 
 BALLADS OF NEW ENGLAND. With 60 Illustrations. 
 
 8vo, full gilt, $3.00. 
 
 MABEL MARTIN. With 58 Illustrations. Svo, full gilt, $3.00. 
 Popular Edition. Illustrated. i6mo, gilt top, $1.50. 
 THE RIVER PATH. Illustrated. Square i6mo, full gilt, $1.50. 
 THE KING'S MISSIVE. With Portrait. i6mo, gilt top, $1.00. 
 THE BAY OF SEVEN ISLANDS. With Portrait. i6mo, 
 
 gilt top, $1.00. 
 POEMS OF NATURE. With Illustrations. Quarto, full 
 
 gilt, $6.00. 
 SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST. AND RECENT POEMS. 
 
 i6mo, illuminated vellum covers, $1.00. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 
 
SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST 
 AND RECENT POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1886, 
 BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 
 
To 
 GEN. S. C. AEMSTRONG, 
 
 OF HAMPTON, VA. 
 
 Whose generous and self-denying labors for the elevation 
 
 of two races have enlisted my sympathies and 
 
 commanded my admiration, 
 
 I offer this Volume. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 I AM well aware that for the publication of 
 a new volume of verse, when one is on the verge 
 of fourscore, no adequate excuse can be offered. 
 I frankly own that I know of no call for such 
 an act of temerity. I have consulted nobody as 
 to its expediency and I cannot even adopt the 
 doubtful apology of Bunyan : 
 
 " Some said, John, print it ; others said not so : 
 Some said it might do good, others said no." 
 
 In taking upon myself the responsibility, I am 
 influenced solely by a not unnatural wish to 
 speak once more to those who have been pleased 
 to listen to me heretofore, and to whom this 
 little belated collection may not be without in- 
 terest. J. G. W. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST 9 
 
 REVELATION 13 
 
 ADJUSTMENT 17 
 
 THE WOOD GIANT 20 
 
 THE HOMESTEAD ... 24 
 
 BIRCHBROOK MILL 29 
 
 How THE ROBIN CAME 33 
 
 SWEET FERN 37 
 
 BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS 40 
 
 THE Two ELIZABETHS 45 
 
 THE REUNION 52 
 
 REQUITAL 56 
 
 THE LIGHT THAT is FELT 58 
 
 THE Two LOVES 59 
 
 AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT 61 
 
 MULFORD .... 62 
 
 AN ARTIST OF THE BEAUTIFUL 63 
 
 HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ 64 
 
SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST. 
 
 A TALE for Kornan guides to tell 
 To careless, sight-worn travellers still, 
 
 Who pause beside the narrow cell 
 Of Gregory on the Cselian Hill. 
 
 One day before the monk's door came 
 A beggar, stretching empty palms, 
 
 Fainting and fast-sick, in the name 
 Of the Most Holy asking alms. 
 
 And the monk answered, " All I have 
 In this poor cell of mine I give, 
 
 The silver cup my mother gave; 
 
 In Christ's name take thou it, and live. 9 ' 
 
10 SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST. 
 
 Years passed; and, called at last to bear 
 The pastoral crook and keys of Kome, 
 
 The poor monk, in Saint Peter's chair, 
 Sat the crowned lord of Christendom, 
 
 "Prepare a feast," Saint Gregory cried, 
 "And let twelve beggars sit thereat." 
 
 The beggars came, and one beside, 
 An unknown stranger, with them sat. 
 
 "I asked thee not," the Pontiff spake, 
 " O stranger ; but if need be thine, 
 
 I bid thee welcome, for the sake 
 
 Of Him who is thy Lord and mine." 
 
 A grave, calm face the stranger raised, 
 Like His who on Gennesaret trod, 
 
 Or His on whom the Chaldeans gazed, 
 Whose form was as the Son of God. 
 
 "Know'st thou," he said, "thy gift of old?" 
 And in the hand he lifted up 
 
SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST. 11 
 
 The Pontiff marvelled to behold 
 Once more his mother's silver cup. 
 
 "Thy prayers and alms have risen, and bloom 
 Sweetly among the flowers of heaven. 
 
 I am The Wonderful, through whom 
 Whate'er thou askest shall be given." 
 
 He spake and vanished. Gregory fell 
 With his twelve guests in mute accord 
 
 Prone on their faces, knowing well 
 Their eyes of flesh had seen the Lord. 
 
 The old-time legend is not vain; 
 
 Nor vain thy art, Verona's Paul, 
 Telling it o'er and o'er again 
 
 On gray Vicenza's frescoed waU. 
 
 Still wheresoever pity shares 
 
 Its bread with sorrow, want, and sin, 
 
 And love the beggar's feast prepares, 
 The uninvited Guest comes in. 
 
12 SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST. 
 
 Unheard, because our ears are dull, 
 Unseen, because our eyes are dim, 
 
 He walks our earth, The Wonderful, 
 And all good deeds are done to Him. 
 
REVELATION. 
 
 " And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached repent- 
 ance to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a great cloud 
 came over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was said : All things 
 come by Nature ; and the Elements and the Stars came over me. And as 
 I sat still and let it alone, a living hope arose in me, and a true Voice 
 which said : There is a living God who made all things. And immedi- 
 ately the cloud and the temptation vanished, and Life rose over all, and 
 my heart was glad and I praised the Living God." Journal of George 
 Fox, 1690. 
 
 STILL, as of old, in Beavor's Vale, 
 O man of God! our hope and faith 
 
 The Elements and Stars assail, 
 
 And the awed spirit holds its breath, 
 Blown over by a wind of death. 
 
 Takes Nature thought for such as we, 
 What place her human atom fills, 
 
 The weed-drift of her careless sea, 
 The mist on her unheeding hills? 
 What recks she of our helpless wills? 
 
14 REVELATION. 
 
 Strange god of Force, with fear, not love, 
 Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer 
 
 Eeach the shut ear of Fate, or move 
 Unpitying Energy to spare? 
 What doth the cosmic Vastness care? 
 
 In vain to this dread Unconcern 
 For the All-Father's love we look; 
 
 In vain, in quest of it, we turn 
 
 The storied leaves of Nature's book, 
 The prints her rocky tablets took. 
 
 I pray for faith, I long to trust; 
 I listen with my heart, and hear 
 
 A Voice without a sounds "Be just, 
 Be true, be merciful, revere 
 The Word within thee: God is near! 
 
 "A light to sky and earth unknown 
 
 Pales all their lights: a mightier force 
 Than theirs the powers of Nature own, 
 And, to its goal as at its source, 
 His Spirit moves the Universe. 
 
REVELATION. 15 
 
 " Believe and trust. Through stars and suns, 
 Through life and death, through soul and 
 sense, 
 
 His wise, paternal purpose runs; 
 The darkness of His providence 
 Is star-lit with benign intents." 
 
 joy supreme! I know the Voice, 
 Like none beside on earth or sea ; 
 
 Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, 
 By all that He requires of me, 
 I know what God himself must be. 
 
 No picture to my aid I call, 
 
 I shape no image in my prayer ; 
 
 1 only know in Him is all 
 
 Of life, light, beauty, everywhere, 
 Eternal Goodness here and there! 
 
 I know He is, and what He is, 
 
 Whose one great purpose is the good 
 Of all. I rest my soul on His 
 
16 REVELATION. 
 
 Immortal Love and Fatherhood; 
 
 And trust Him, as His children should, 
 
 I fear no more. The clouded face 
 
 Of Nature smiles ; through all her things 
 
 Of time and space and sense I trace 
 The moving of the Spirit's wings, 
 And hear the song of hope she sings. 
 
ADJUSTMENT. 
 
 THE tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must 
 
 shed 
 That nearer heaven the living ones may 
 
 climb ; 
 The false must fail, though from our shores 
 
 of time 
 The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is 
 
 dead!" 
 That wail is Error's, from his high place 
 
 hurled ; 
 
 This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod ; 
 Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God 
 Troubling with life the waters of the world. 
 Even as they list the winds of the Spirit 
 
 blow 
 
 To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; 
 Sands shift and waste; the rock alone 
 remains 
 
18 ADJUSTMENT. 
 
 Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come 
 and go, 
 
 And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and 
 wind, 
 
 Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars be- 
 hind. 
 
 Therefore I trust, although to outward sense 
 Both true and false seem shaken ; I will 
 
 hold 
 
 With newer light my reverence for the old, 
 And calmly wait the births of Providence. 
 No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look 
 
 down 
 Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and 
 
 creeds ; 
 
 Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds 
 Counting in task-field and o'er peopled town; 
 Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word 
 
 survives, 
 
 And, day by day, its revelation brings ; 
 Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things 
 
ADJUSTMENT. 19 
 
 Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy 
 
 lives 
 
 Eeveal the Christ of whom the letter told, 
 And the new gospel verifies the old. 
 
THE WOOD GIANT. 
 
 FROM Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, 
 
 From Mad to Saco river, 
 For patriarchs of the primal wood 
 
 We sought with vain endeavor. 
 
 And then we said : " The giants old 
 
 Are lost beyond retrieval; 
 This pigmy growth the axe has spared 
 
 Is not the wood primeval. 
 
 "Look where we will o'er vale and hill, 
 
 How idle are our searches 
 For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, 
 Centennial pines and birches ! 
 
 "Their tortured limbs the axe and saw 
 Have changed to beams and trestles; 
 
THE WOOD GIANT. 21 
 
 They rest in walls, they float on seas, 
 They rot in sunken vessels. 
 
 "This shorn and wasted mountain land 
 
 Of underbrush and boulder, 
 Who thinks to see its full-grown tree 
 Must live a century older." 
 
 At last to us a woodland path, 
 
 To open sunset leading, 
 Revealed the Anakim of pines 
 
 Our wildest wish exceeding. 
 
 Alone, the level sun before; 
 
 Below, the lake's green islands; 
 Beyond, in misty distance dim, 
 
 The rugged Northern Highlands. 
 
 Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill 
 
 Of time and change defiant I 
 How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, 
 
 Before the old-time giant! 
 
22 THE WOOD GIANT. 
 
 What marvel that, in simpler days 
 Of the world's early childhood, 
 
 Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise 
 Such monarchs of the wild-wood ? 
 
 That Tyrian maids with flower and song 
 Danced through the hill grove's spaces, 
 
 And hoary-bearded Druids found 
 In woods their holy places? 
 
 With somewhat of that Pagan awe 
 With Christian reverence blending, 
 
 We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms 
 Above our heads extending. 
 
 We heard his needles' mystic rune, 
 
 Now rising, and now dying, 
 As erst Dodona's priestess heard 
 
 The oak leaves prophesying. 
 
 Was it the half-unconscious moan 
 Of one apart and mateless, 
 
THE WOOD GIANT. 23 
 
 The weariness of unshared power, 
 The loneliness of greatness? 
 
 O dawns and sunsets, lend to him 
 Your beauty and your wonder! 
 
 Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song 
 His solemn shadow under ! 
 
 Play lightly on his slender keys, 
 
 O wind of summer, waking 
 For hills like these the sound of seas 
 
 On far-off beaches breaking! 
 
 And let the eagle and the crow 
 
 Find shelter in his branches, 
 When winds shake down his winter snow 
 
 In silver avalanches. 
 
 The brave are braver for their cheer, 
 
 The strongest need assurance, 
 The sigh of longing makes not less 
 
 The lesson of endurance. 
 
THE HOMESTEAD. 
 
 AGAINST the wooded hills it stands, 
 Ghost of a dead home, staring through 
 
 Its broken lights on wasted lands 
 Where old-time harvests grew. 
 
 Unploughed, unsown, by scythe unshorn, 
 The poor, forsaken farm-fields lie, 
 
 Once rich and rife with golden corn 
 And pale green breadths of rye. 
 
 Of healthful herb and flower bereft, 
 The garden plot no housewife keeps; 
 
 Through weeds and tangle only left, 
 The snake, its tenant, creeps. 
 
 A lilac spray, once blossom-clad, 
 
 Sways bare before the empty rooms ; 
 
THE HOMESTEAD. 25 
 
 Beside the roofless porch a sad 
 Pathetic red rose blooms. 
 
 His track, in mould and dust of drouth, 
 On floor and hearth the squirrel leaves. 
 
 And in the fireless chimney's mouth 
 His web the spider weaves. 
 
 The leaning barn, about to fall, 
 
 Resounds no more on husking eves ; 
 
 No cattle low in yard or stall, 
 No thresher beats his sheaves. 
 
 So sad, so drear ! It seems almost 
 
 Some haunting Presence makes its sign ; 
 
 That down yon shadowy lane some ghost 
 Might drive his spectral kine ! 
 
 O home so desolate and lorn ! 
 
 Did all thy memories die with thee? 
 Were any wed, were any born, 
 
 Beneath this low roof -tree ? 
 
26 THE HOMESTEAD. 
 
 Whose axe the wall of forest broke, 
 And let the waiting sunshine through? 
 
 What good-wife sent the earliest smoke 
 Up the great chimney flue? 
 
 Did rustic lovers hither come? 
 
 Did maidens, swaying back and forth 
 In rhythmic grace, at wheel and loom, 
 
 Make light their toil with mirth? 
 
 Did child feet patter on the stair? 
 
 Did boyhood frolic in the snow? 
 Did gray age, in her elbow chair, 
 
 Knit, rocking to and fro? 
 
 The murmuring brook, the sighing breeze, 
 The pine's slow whisper, cannot tell; 
 
 Low mounds beneath the hemlock-trees 
 Keep the home secrets well. 
 
 Cease, mother-land, to fondly boast 
 Of sons far off who strive and thrive, 
 
THE HOMESTEAD. 27 
 
 Forgetful that each swarming host 
 Must leave an emptier hive! 
 
 O wanderers from ancestral soil, 
 
 Leave noisome mill and chaffering store ; 
 
 Gird up your loins for sturdier toil, 
 And build the home once more ! 
 
 Come back to bayberry-scented slopes, 
 And fragrant fern, and ground-mat vine ; 
 
 Breathe airs blown over holt and copse 
 Sweet with black birch and pine. 
 
 What matter if the gains are small 
 That life's essential wants supply? 
 
 Your homestead's title gives you all 
 That idle wealth can buy. 
 
 All that the many-dollared crave, 
 
 The brick-walled slaves of Change and mart, 
 Lawns, trees, fresh air, and flowers, you have, 
 
 More dear for lack of art. 
 
28 THE HOMESTEAD. 
 
 Your own sole masters, freedom-willed, 
 With none to bid you go or stay, 
 
 Till the old fields your fathers tilled, 
 As manly men as they ! 
 
 With skill that spares your toiling hands, 
 And chemic aid that science brings, 
 
 Reclaim the waste and outworn lands, 
 And reign thereon as kings ! 
 
BIRCHBROOK MILL. 
 
 A NOTELESS stream, the Birchbrook runs 
 
 Beneath its leaning trees ; 
 That low, soft ripple is its own, 
 
 That dull roar is the sea's. 
 
 Of human signs it sees alone 
 The distant church spire's tip, 
 
 And, ghost-like, on a blank of gray, 
 The white sail of a ship. 
 
 No more a toiler at the wheel, 
 
 It wanders at its will; 
 Nor dam nor pond is left to tell 
 
 Where once was Birchbrook mill. 
 
 The timbers of that mill have fed 
 Long since a farmer's fires; 
 
30 BIRCHBROOK MILL. 
 
 His doorsteps are the stones that ground 
 The harvest of his sires. 
 
 Man trespassed here; but. Nature lost 
 
 No right of her domain; 
 She waited, and she brought the old 
 
 Wild beauty back again. 
 
 By day the sunlight through the leaves 
 Falls on its moist, green sod, 
 
 And wakes the violet bloom of spring 
 And autumn's golden-rod. 
 
 Its birches whisper to the wind, 
 
 The swallow dips her wings 
 In the cool spray, and on its banks 
 
 The gray song-sparrow sings. 
 
 But from it, when the dark night falls, 
 The school-girl shrinks with dread; 
 
 The farmer, home-bound from his fields. 
 Goes by with quickened tread. 
 
BIRCHBROOK MILL. 31 
 
 They dare not pause to hear the grind 
 
 Of shadowy stone on stone; 
 The plashing of a water-wheel 
 
 Where wheel there now is none. 
 
 Has not a cry of pain been heard 
 
 Above the clattering mill? 
 The pawing of an unseen horse, 
 
 Who waits his mistress still? 
 
 Yet never to the listener's eye 
 Has sight confirmed the sound; 
 
 A wavering birch line marks alone 
 The vacant pasture ground. 
 
 No ghostly arms fling up to heaven 
 
 The agony of prayer; 
 No spectral steed impatient shakes 
 
 His white mane on the air. 
 
 The meaning of that common dread 
 No tongue has fitly told; 
 
32 BIRCHBROOK MILL. 
 
 The secret of the dark surmise 
 The brook and birches hold. 
 
 What nameless horror of the past 
 Broods here forever more? 
 
 What ghost his unforgiven sin 
 Is grinding o'er and o'er? 
 
 Does, then, immortal memory play 
 The actor's tragic part, 
 
 Eehearsals of a mortal life 
 And unveiled human heart ? 
 
 God's pity spare a guilty soul 
 
 That drama of its ill, 
 And let the scenic curtain fall 
 
 On Birchbrook's haunted mill! 
 
HOW THE ROBIN CAME. 
 
 AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND. 
 
 HAPPY young friends, sit by me, 
 Under May's blown apple-tree, 
 While these home-birds in and out 
 Through the blossoms flit about. 
 Hear a story, strange and old, 
 By the wild red Indians told, 
 How the robin came to be : 
 
 Once a great chief left his son, 
 Well-beloved, his only one, 
 When the boy was well-nigh grown, 
 In the trial-lodge alone. 
 Left for tortures long and slow 
 Youths like him must undergo, 
 Who their pride of manhood test, 
 Lacking water, food, and rest. 
 
34 HOW THE ROBIN CAME. 
 
 Seven days the fast he kept, 
 
 Seven nights he never slept. 
 
 Then the young boy, wrung with pain, 
 
 Weak from nature's overstrain, 
 
 Faltering, moaned a low complaint : 
 
 " Spare me, father, for I faint ! " 
 But the chieftain, haughty-eyed, 
 Hid his pity in his pride. 
 
 "You shall be a hunter good, 
 Knowing never lack of food; 
 You shall be a warrior great, 
 Wise as fox and strong as bear ; 
 Many scalps your belt shall wear, 
 If with patient heart you wait 
 Bravely till your task is done. 
 Better you should starving die 
 Than that boy and squaw should cry 
 Shame upon your father's son! " 
 
 When next morn the sun's first rays 
 Glistened on the hemlock sprays, 
 Straight that lodge the old chief sought, 
 
HOW THE ROBIN CAME. 35 
 
 And boiled samp and moose meat brought. 
 " Rise and eat, my son ! " he said. 
 Lo, he found the poor boy dead! 
 
 As with grief his grave they made, 
 
 And his bow beside him laid, 
 
 Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid, 
 
 On the lodge-top overhead, 
 
 Preening smooth its breast of red 
 
 And the brown coat that it wore, 
 
 Sat a bird, unknown before. 
 
 And as if with human tongue, 
 " Mourn me not," it said, or sung ; 
 "I, a bird, am still your son, 
 
 Happier than if hunter fleet, 
 
 Or a brave, before your feet 
 
 Laying scalps in battle won. 
 
 Friend of man, my song shall cheer 
 
 Lodge and corn-land ; hovering near, 
 
 To each wigwam I shall bring 
 
 Tidings of the coming spring; 
 
 Every child my voice shall know 
 
36 HOW THE ROBIN CAME. 
 
 In the moon of melting snow, 
 
 When the maple's red bud swells, 
 
 And the wind-flower lifts its bells. 
 
 As their fond companion 
 
 Men shall henceforth own your son, 
 
 And my song shall testify 
 
 That of human kin am I." 
 
 Thus the Indian legend saith 
 How, at first, the robin came 
 With a sweeter life from death, 
 Bird for boy, and still the same. 
 If my young friends doubt that this 
 Is the robin's genesis, 
 Not in vain is still the myth 
 If a truth be found therewith: 
 Unto gentleness belong 
 Gifts unknown to pride and wrong; 
 Happier far than hate is praise, 
 He who sings than he who slays. 
 
SWEET FERN. 
 
 THE subtle power in perfume found 
 Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned ; 
 
 On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound 
 No censer idly burned. 
 
 That power the old-time worships knew, 
 The Corybantes' frenzied dance, 
 
 The Pythian priestess swooning through 
 The wonderland of trance. 
 
 And Nature holds, in wood and field, 
 Her thousand sunlit censers still; 
 
 To spells of flower and shrub we yield 
 Against or with our will. 
 
 I climbed a hill path strange and new 
 With slow feet, pausing at each turn; 
 
38 SWEET FERN. 
 
 A sudden waft of west wind blew 
 The breath of the sweet fern. 
 
 That fragrance from my vision swept 
 The alien landscape ; in its stead, 
 
 Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, 
 As light of heart as tread. 
 
 I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine 
 
 Once more through rifts of woodland shade ; 
 I knew my river's winding line 
 
 By morning mist betrayed. 
 
 With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, 
 Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call 
 
 Of birds, and one in voice and look 
 In keeping with them all. 
 
 A fern beside the way we went 
 
 She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, 
 
 While from her hand the wild, sweet scent 
 I drank as from a cup. 
 
SWEET FERN. 39 
 
 O potent witchery of smell! 
 
 The dust-dry leaves to life return, 
 And she who plucked them owns the spell 
 
 And lifts her ghostly fern. 
 
 Or sense or spirit? Who shall say 
 
 What touch the chord of memory thrills? 
 
 It passed, and left the August day 
 Ablaze on lonely hills. 
 
BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 1660. 
 
 ON A PAINTING BY E. A. ABBEY. 
 
 OVER the threshold of his pleasant home 
 Set in green clearings passed the exiled 
 
 Friend, 
 
 In simple trust, misdoubting not the end. 
 44 Dear heart of mine ! " he said, " the time 
 
 has come 
 To trust the Lord for shelter." One long 
 
 gaze 
 The good wife turned on each familiar 
 
 thing, 
 
 The lowing kine, the orchard blossoming, 
 The open door that showed the hearth-fire's 
 
 blaze, 
 And calmly answered, " Yes, He will provide." 
 
BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS. 41 
 
 Silent and slow they crossed the homestead's 
 
 bound, 
 
 Lingering the longest by their child's grave- 
 mound. 
 " Move on, or stay and hang ! " the sheriff 
 
 cried. 
 They left behind them more than home or 
 
 land, 
 And set sad faces to an alien strand. 
 
 Safer with winds and waves than human 
 
 wrath, 
 With ravening wolves than those whose zeal 
 
 for God 
 
 Was cruelty to man, the exiles trod 
 Drear leagues of forest without guide or path, 
 Or launching frail boats on the uncharted sea, 
 Round storm-vexed capes, whose teeth of 
 
 granite ground 
 The waves to foam, their perilous way they 
 
 wound, 
 Enduring all things so their souls were free. 
 
42 BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 Oh, true confessors, shaming them who did 
 Anew the wrong their Pilgrim Fathers bore! 
 For you the Mayflower spread her sail once 
 
 more, 
 
 Freighted with souls, to all that duty bid 
 Faithful as they who sought an unknown 
 
 land, 
 
 O'er wintry seas, from Holland's Hook of 
 Sand! 
 
 So from his lost home to the darkening 
 
 main, 
 Bodeful of storm, stout Macey held his 
 
 way, 
 And, when the green shore blended with 
 
 the gray, 
 His poor wife moaned : " Let us turn back 
 
 again." 
 " Nay, woman, weak of faith, kneel down," 
 
 said he, 
 
 " And say thy prayers : the Lord himself 
 will steer; 
 
BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS. 43 
 
 And led by Him, nor man nor devils I 
 
 fear ! " 3 
 
 So the gray Southwicks, from a rainy sea, 
 Saw, far and faint, the loom of land, and 
 
 gave 
 With feeble voices thanks for friendly 
 
 ground 
 
 Whereon to rest their weary feet, and found 
 A peaceful death-bed and a quiet grave 
 Where, ocean-walled, and wiser than his age, 
 The lord of Shelter scorned the bigot's rage. 
 
 Aquidneck's isle, Nantucket's lonely shores, 
 And Indian-haunted Narragansett saw 
 The way-worn travellers round their camp- 
 fire draw, 
 
 Or heard the plashing of their weary oars. 
 
 1 " He [Macey] shook the dust from off his feet, and departed with all 
 his worldly goods and his family. He encountered a severe storm, and 
 his wife, influenced by some omens of disaster, besought him to put back. 
 He told her not to fear, for his faith was perfect. But she entreated him 
 again. Then the spirit that impelled him broke forth : ' Woman, go be- 
 low and seek thy God. I fear not the witches on earth, or the devils in 
 hell ! "' Life of Robert Pike, page 55. 
 
44 BANISHED FROM MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 And every place whereon they rested grew 
 Happier for pure and gracious womanhood, 
 And men whose names for stainless honor 
 
 stood, 
 
 Founders of States and rulers wise and true. 
 The Muse of history yet shall make amends 
 To those who freedom, peace, and justice 
 
 taught, 
 Beyond their dark age led the van of 
 
 thought, 
 
 And left unforfeited the name of Friends. 
 Oh mother State, how foiled was thy design! 
 The gain was theirs, the loss alone was thine. 
 
THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 
 
 Read at the unveiling of the bust of Elizabeth Fry at the Friends' 
 School, Providence, R. I. 
 
 A. D. 1209. 
 
 AMIDST Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt, 
 A high-born princess, servant of the poor, 
 Sweetening with gracious words the food she 
 
 dealt 
 
 To starving throngs at Wartburg's blazoned 
 door. 
 
 A blinded zealot held her soul in chains, 
 Cramped the sweet nature that he could 
 not kill, 
 
 Scarred her fair body with his penance-pains, 
 And gauged her conscience by his narrow will. 
 
 God gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, 
 With fast and vigil she denied them all ; 
 
46 THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 
 
 Unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, 
 
 She followed meekly at her stern guide's 
 caU. 
 
 So drooped and died her home-blown rose of 
 
 bliss 
 
 In the chill rigor of a discipline 
 That turned her fond lips from her children's 
 
 kiss, 
 And made her joy of motherhood a sin. 
 
 To their sad level by compassion led, 
 
 One with the low and vile herself she 
 
 made. 
 While thankless misery mocked the hand that 
 
 fed, 
 
 And laughed to scorn her piteous masque- 
 rade. 
 
 But still, with patience that outwearied hate, 
 She gave her all while yet she had to 
 give; 
 
THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 47 
 
 And then her empty hands, importunate, 
 In prayer she lifted that the poor might 
 live. 
 
 Sore pressed by grief, and wrongs more hard 
 
 to bear, 
 
 And dwarfed and stifled by a harsh con- 
 trol, 
 She kept life fragrant with good deeds and 
 
 prayer, 
 
 And fresh and pure the white flower of her 
 soul. 
 
 Death found her busy at her task: one word 
 
 Alone she uttered as she paused to die, 
 " Silence ! " then listened even as one who 
 
 heard 
 
 With song and wing the angels drawing 
 nigh I 
 
 Now Fra Angelico's roses fill her hands, 
 And, on Murillo's canvas, Want and Pain 
 
48 THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 
 
 Kneel at her feet. Her marble image stands 
 Worshipped and crowned in Marburg's holy 
 fane. 
 
 Yea, wheresoe'er her Church its cross uprears, 
 Wide as the world her story still is told ; 
 
 In manhood's reverence, woman's prayers and 
 
 tears, 
 She lives again whose grave is centuries old. 
 
 And still, despite the weakness or the blame 
 Of blind submission to the blind, she hath 
 
 A tender place in hearts of every name, 
 And more than Rome owns Saint Elizabeth ! 
 
 A. D. 1780. 
 Slow ages passed : and lo ! another came, 
 
 An English matron, in whose simple faith 
 Nor priestly rule nor ritual had claim, 
 
 A plain, uncanonized Elizabeth. 
 
 No sackcloth robe, nor ashen-sprinkled hair, 
 Nor wasting fast, nor scourge, nor vigil long, 
 
THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 49 
 
 Marred her calm presence* God had made 
 
 her fair, 
 And she could do His goodly work no wrong. 
 
 Their yoke is easy and their burden light 
 Whose sole confessor is the Christ of God; 
 
 Her quiet trust and faith transcending sight 
 Smoothed to her feet the difficult paths she 
 trod. 
 
 And there she walked, as duty bade her go, 
 Safe and unsullied as a cloistered nun, 
 
 Shamed with her plainness Fashion's gaudy 
 
 show, 
 And overcame the world she did not shun. 
 
 In Earlham's bowers, in Plashet's liberal hall, 
 In the great city's restless crowd and din, 
 
 Her ear was open to the Master's call, 
 
 And knew the summons of His voice within. 
 
 Tender as mother, beautiful as wife, 
 
 Amidst the throngs of prisoned crime she 
 stood, 
 
50 THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 
 
 In modest raiment faultless as her life, 
 
 The type of England's worthiest woman- 
 hood ! 
 
 To melt the hearts that harshness turned to 
 
 stone 
 
 The sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, 
 And guilt, which only hate and fear had 
 
 known, 
 Saw in her own the pitying love of Christ. 
 
 So wheresoe'er the guiding Spirit went 
 She followed, finding every prison cell 
 
 It opened for her sacred as a tent 
 
 Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacob's well. 
 
 And Pride and Fashion felt her strong ap- 
 peal, 
 And priest and ruler marvelled as they 
 
 saw 
 How hand in hand went wisdom with her 
 
 zeal, 
 And woman's pity kept the bounds of law. 
 
THE TWO ELIZABETHS. 51 
 
 She rests in God's peace ; but her memory 
 
 stirs 
 
 The air of earth as with an angel's wings, 
 And warms and moves the hearts of men like 
 
 hers. 
 The sainted daughter of Hungarian kings. 
 
 United now, the Briton and the Hun, 
 
 Each, in her own time, faithful unto death, 
 
 Live sister souls ! in name and spirit one, 
 Thuringia's saint and our Elizabeth! 
 
THE REUNION. 
 
 Read September 10, 1885, to the surviving students of Haverhill Acad- 
 emy in 1827-28. 
 
 THE gulf of seven and fifty years 
 
 We stretch our welcoming hands across; 
 The distance but a pebble's toss 
 
 Between us and our youth appears. 
 
 For in life's school we linger on 
 The remnant of a once full list; 
 Conning our lessons, undismissed, 
 
 With faces to the setting sun. 
 
 And some have gone the unknown way. 
 And some await the call to rest ; 
 Who knoweth whether it is best 
 
 For those who went or those who stay? 
 
THE REUNION. 53 
 
 And yet despite of loss and ill, 
 If faith and love and hope remain, 
 Our length of days is not in vain, 
 
 And life is well worth living still. 
 
 Still to a gracious Providence 
 
 The thanks of grateful hearts are due, 
 For blessings when our lives were new, 
 
 For all the good vouchsafed us since. 
 
 The pain that spared us sorer hurt, 
 The wish denied, the purpose crossed, 
 And pleasure's fond occasions lost, 
 
 Were mercies to our small desert. 
 
 'Tis something that we wander back, 
 Gray pilgrims, to our ancient ways, 
 And tender memories of old days 
 
 Walk with us by the Merrimac ; 
 
 That even in life's afternoon 
 
 A sense of youth comes back again, 
 
54 THE REUNION. 
 
 As through this cool September rain 
 The still green woodlands dream of June. 
 
 The eyes grown dim to present things 
 Have keener sight for by-gone years, 
 And sweet and clear, in deafening ears, 
 
 The bird that sang at morning sings. 
 
 Dear comrades, scattered wide and far, 
 Send from their homes their kindly word, 
 And dearer ones, unseen, unheard, 
 
 Smile on us from some heavenly star. 
 
 For life and death with God are one, 
 Unchanged by seeming change His care 
 And love are round us here and there ; 
 
 He breaks no thread His hand has spun. 
 
 Soul touches soul, the muster roll 
 
 Of life eternal has no gaps ; 
 
 And after half a century's lapse 
 Our school-day ranks are closed and whole. 
 
THE REUNION. 55 
 
 Hail and farewell ! We go our way ; 
 
 "Where shadows end, we trust in light; 
 
 The star that ushers in the night 
 Is herald also of the day! 
 
REQUITAL. 
 
 As Islam's Prophet, when his last day drew 
 Nigh to its close, besought all men to say 
 Whom he had wronged, to whom he then 
 
 should pay 
 
 A debt forgotten, or for pardon sue, 
 And, through the silence of his weeping 
 
 friends, 
 A strange voice cried : " Thou owest me a 
 
 debt," 
 
 " Allah be praised ! " he answered. " Even yet 
 He gives me power to make to thee amends. 
 Oh, friend ! I thank thee for thy timely word." 
 So runs the tale. Its lesson all may heed, 
 For all have sinned in thought, or word, or 
 deed, 
 
REQUITAL. 57 
 
 Or, like the Prophet, through neglect have 
 
 erred. 
 
 All need forgiveness, all have debts to pay 
 Ere the night cometh, while it still is day. 
 
THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. 
 
 A TENDER child of summers three, 
 Seeking her little bed at night, 
 
 Paused on the dark stair timidly. 
 "Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, 
 "And then the dark will all be light," 
 
 We older children grope our way 
 
 From dark behind to dark before; 
 And only when our hands we lay, 
 Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, 
 And there is darkness nevermore. 
 
 Reach downward to the sunless days 
 Wherein our guides are blind as we, 
 
 And faith is small and hope delays; 
 
 Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, 
 And let us feel the light of Thee ! 
 
THE TWO LOVES. 
 
 SMOOTHING soft the nestling head 
 
 Of a maiden fancy-led, 
 
 Thus a grave-eyed woman said : 
 
 " Richest gifts are those we make, 
 Dearer than the love we take 
 That we give for love's own sake. 
 
 " Well I know the heart's unrest ; 
 Mine has been the common quest 
 To be loved and therefore blest. 
 
 " Favors undeserved were mine ; 
 At my feet as on a shrine 
 Love has laid its gifts divine. 
 
 "Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet 
 With their sweetness came regret, 
 And a sense of unpaid debt. 
 
60 THE TWO LOVES. 
 
 " Heart of mine unsatisfied, 
 Was it vanity or pride 
 That a deeper joy denied? 
 
 "Hands that ope but to receive 
 Empty close; they only live 
 Richly who can richly give. 
 
 " Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, 
 " Love is sweet in any guise ; 
 But its best is sacrifice! 
 
 "He who, giving, does not crave 
 Likest is to Him who gave 
 Life itself the loved to save. 
 
 "Love, that self -forgetful gives, 
 Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, 
 Late or soon its own receives." 
 
AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. 
 
 O DEAREST bloom the seasons know, 
 Flowers of the Resurrection blow, 
 
 Our hope and faith restore ; 
 And through the bitterness of death 
 And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath 
 
 Of life f orevermore ! 
 
 The thought of Love Immortal blends 
 With fond remembrances of friends ; 
 
 In you, O sacred flowers, 
 By human love made doubly sweet, 
 The heavenly and the earthly meet, 
 
 The heart of Christ and ours! 
 
MULFOKD. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE NATION " . AND " THE REPUBLIC 
 OF GOD." 
 
 UNNOTED as the setting of a star 
 
 He passed; and sect and party scarcely 
 
 knew 
 
 When from their midst a sage and seer with- 
 drew 
 
 To fitter audience, where the great dead are 
 In God's republic of the heart and mind, 
 Leaving no purer, nobler soul behind. 
 
AN ARTIST OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 G. F. 
 
 HAUNTED of Beauty, like the marvellous 
 
 youth 
 Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve ! How passing 
 
 fair 
 
 Her shapes took color in thy homestead air ! 
 How on thy canvas even her dreams were 
 
 truth ! 
 
 Magician! who from commonest elements 
 Called up divine ideals, clothed upon 
 By mystic lights soft blending into one 
 Womanly grace and child-like innocence. 
 Teacher ! thy lesson was not given in vain. 
 Beauty is goodness ; ugliness is sin ; 
 Art's place is sacred : nothing foul therein 
 May crawl or tread with bestial feet profane. 
 If rightly choosing is the painter's test, 
 Thy choice, O master, ever was "the best. 
 
HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. 1 
 
 I. 
 
 THE mercy, O Eternal One! 
 
 By man unmeasured yet, 
 In joy or grief, in shade or sun, 
 
 I never will forget. 
 I give the whole, and not a part, 
 
 Of all Thou gavest me; 
 My goods, my life, my soul and heart, 
 
 I yield them all to Thee! 
 
 ii. 
 
 We fast and plead, we weep and pray, 
 From morning until even ; 
 
 1 I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj 
 of India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional exercises 
 of that remarkable religious development which has attracted far less 
 attention and sympathy from the Christian world than it deserves, as a 
 fresh revelation of the direct action of the Divine Spirit upon the human 
 heart. 
 
HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. 65 
 
 We feel to find the holy way, 
 
 We knock at the gate of heaven ! 
 And when in silent awe we wait, 
 
 And word and sign forbear, 
 The hinges of the golden gate 
 
 Move, soundless, to our prayer ! 
 Who hears the eternal harmonies 
 
 Can heed no outward word ; 
 Blind to all else is he who sees 
 
 The vision of the Lord! 
 
 in. 
 
 O soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, 
 
 Have hope, and not despair ; 
 As a tender mother heareth her child 
 
 God hears the penitent prayer. 
 And not forever shall grief be thine; 
 
 On the Heavenly Mother's breast, 
 Washed clean and white in the waters of joy 
 
 Shall His seeking child find rest. 
 
66 HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. 
 
 Console thyself with His word of grace. 
 
 And cease thy wail of woe, 
 For His mercy never an equal hath, 
 
 And His love no bounds can know. 
 Lean close unto Him in faith and hope; 
 
 How many like thee have found 
 In Him a shelter and home of peace, 
 
 By His mercy compassed round! 
 There, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, 
 
 They sing their grateful psalms, 
 And rest, at noon, by the wells of God, 
 
 In the shade of His holy palms! 
 
\