JN vtHSIIY OF CA RIVERSIDE 3 121001851 6615 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE GIFT OF JOHN V. DENVER MADALINE. MADALINE: A POEM. BY - A. MABEL (gT FITCH. CHICAGO : HENRY A. SUMNER & COMPANY. 1881. COPYRIGHT, A. MABEL B. FITCH. 1881. PRINTED BY DONNELLEY, GASSETTE A LOYI). BOUND BY A. J. COX & CO. TO MR. AND MRS. A. J. BLACKMAN. TO YOU, MY DEAE FATHER AND MOTHER, WOULD I DEDICATE MY FIRST LITERARY LABOR. I SINCERELY WISH IT WERE MORE WORTHY YOUR ACCEPTANCE; BUT SUCH AS IT IS, I TENDER IT WITH MY WARMEST AFFECTION. PKEFACE. My Madaline : Pve drawn, as best I might, A portrait of thy character ; its faults and all ; With truth's own pencil ; making it more true, Perhaps, than beautiful : few may admire, And very many, doubtless, will condemn ; Yet, I will trust one here and there may see, Looking beneath the faulty surface lines, A spirit they can understand, and love. MAD ALINE. CANTO I. In trav'ling o'er some western prairie, where The sameness stretches far as eye can reach, One now and then comes suddenly in sight Of lovely, winding valley of a stream ; Whose silver waters, here and there, he sees Gleaming among the trees which skirt its banks. A tiny village nestles closely by ; With single store, and church ; or, if no church, The simple building where the people go To "meeting," and the children go to school ; And dotting the space beyond the village, are Farm houses on the thrifty farms, from small Log cabin, to the more pretentious frame ; And then the hills, and prairie land, again. 10 MADALINE. Lonely, and dreary, are these prairie lands, Even when clothed in purple and the gold Of regal prairie - queen and golden -rod, Or softened by the mild and hazy light Of Indian Summer. Thus, to the traveller These cozy valleys real oases seem, Where in the grassy desert he may rest. A farmer boy, these words are sweet to me And bring a vision of a nature, fresh, And pure, as are the crystal springs from which He drinks. Yet, I admit it true, That there are farmer boys, and farmer boys ; And that the vicious ones, more vicious seem, Than those who more than equal them in vice, But who have learned to gloss their evil deeds, Until men vice almost for virtue take. In such a valley as I have described, And from the little town two miles removed, On a small farm, in small home, built of logs, MADALINE. 11 A score of years ago our hero lived. . You never would have known him one, indeed, Without the telling. His hands were rough with work , His clothing coarse, home-made, and often patched, And on his feet most clumsy covering. Clodhopper, you had doubtless called the boy ; Alas ! Men judge us by the clothes we wear ; God, sees the soul, and He would tell you, his Would shamed nine - tenths of all the souls which walk Our city streets, wrapped in the latest mode. That soul was large, and deep ; yet clear and calm As were the eyes from out of which it looked ; And light, and bright, with lofty, constant hope. Despondent clouds no more than cast a shade, Brief and quick fleeing as the shadows which Glide so swiftly o'er the Summer fields. 12 MAD ALINE. Many years ago, and in the land Which by our Pilgrim Fathers first was tilled, Young Zachariah Hamilton had wooed And won the maiden with the calm, clear eyes, And open brow, she has our hero given. And when three birdlings came, whose open mouths The father found it difficult to fill, He took his little family and moved To the more fertile regions of the West ; Where were more crumbs and not so many birds. And for a time all went as he desired ; Until that enemy which ever lurks About these new made homes to seize its prey, Fastened upon him, infusing in his veins Its venom, dread ; whose slow, consuming fire At last burned up ambition and his hope. Thus, on the faithful Avife fell all the care And management of their small farm for years. This little woman was but weak and slight ; O Yet, the amount of labor she performed, MAD ALINE. 13 The judgment, and great patience, that she showed, The statesmanship profound which she displayed In governing her family of boys, Were truly marvelous. And now were five, Who called her mother. All of them were boys ; Who now for six years had been fatherless. Our hero was the third, who, at the time Of which I write, had fifteen summers seen. By dint of planning and economy, The products of the farm all gathered in, And time of rest from farming labor come, Each Winter saw these boys at district school. Through all the other eight months of the year About their home were busy as the bees, The mother with true wisdom planning all. The smallest hands were taught to be of use, Both in the garden and the house, the while The older ones were working in the fields ; And thus the sum of all their work was much, MADALINE. While none were ever worked beyond their strength. True cheerful labor brings us happiness, You had not found a happier home than this Though searching- through the country far and wide. And thus had fled the busy years till now, Brief, precious years by them to be enshrined Among most sacred memories of the past ; To look upon when tired with the world, And bring, 'mid care and struggle, thoughts of rest. Bright, manly boys were these five, every one, Down to the youngest, now but eight years old ; But Horace, the third son, more than the rest, Had longing after knowledge of all kinds, Acquiring it more readily than they. Although thus young, this boy would never rest Until he an assertion's why had searched, MADALINE. 15 And delving first until he found the root, Outgrowths required, then, no pains to solve. So in the village school it happened oft, Young Horace was more capable to teach His teachers, than they were to teach him. In consequence, the boy for some time past Had longed for something more, some real work. That would require all his energies ; And thirty miles away, a market town Boasted an academy for boys And could he but go there the thought was joy ! But then, his mother he would be leaving her ; He, who, when all the others had retired, Lingered to see that naught was left undone ; Or if, indeed, he could find aught to do, To make her coming day's work easier ; Who, in the morning, early as the light, Was up to build her fire and help her get The breakfast, ere the others scarce awaked ; He. who, beside his own allotted work, MAD ALINE. Found scores of little things to do through love. Not that the others, also, did not well, But he. with finer instinct and forethought, Anticipated mitch that they did not ; And could he leave her, then, and go away ? He pondered long before he spoke to her, But at the last came to her with his thought ; How, but for leaving her, would not delay To set his feet to climb the mountain high And on the side he stood all trackless, save Here and there the footprint of some man, Of great and lofty courage, who had dared To climb the rugged mount, without a path This Mount of Knowledge, on whose heights was space For grander living, greater deed and thought. And shs, who knew his mind's capacity, And had in secret also often wished For this son better opportunities, Now, when she saw his strength and his desire, MADALINE. 17 Her faith in him caused her to give assent. No thought of her, indeed, must hinder him ! Yet, warning him the way was long and rough, Sharp thorns grew thick, and ever 'and anon Some rocky barrier, or swollen stream, In distance now unseen, would bar his way. And then he bent and kissed her, with a smile : " Ah, mother, dear ! You know that I can swim, And surely will not mind the scratch of thorns ; I shall not shrink, from fear to dare and do ; But, if the heights are difficult to reach, The greater triumph feel in gaining them ! " Thus was it settled he should go from Her. And now my reader asks, from whence will come The clothes, the books, this boy will surely need ? Ah ! had my hero waited but to solve From whence should come what, from necessity,, He knew he should require, had never gone ! B 1* 18 MADALINE. He simply left the will to make the way. And now one moment let us look at him While lingering on the -threshold of the home, Absent from which, scarce one day of his life Has ever passed. He holds his mother's hands That mother looking on him with her eyes Full of great faith and hope and love, and all Shining through the glistening tears which came, But did not fall. He has just said to her That she must never have one fear for him ; Although he may work hard, is young and strong. To which she answers : "I shall have no fear, For I can trust you, Horace, and I know That if so all be right within yourself, All else is surely right by consequence." Wise little woman ! loving, sweet, as wise. My heart was sad when, late beside her grave, I wondered if on none her mantle fell. MAD ALINE. 19 No engine's fierce, demoniac shrieks as yet Had caused one rural deity to flee From that secluded valley's loveliness ; And nymphs of wood and field still held their sway, Or one was left in peace to dream they did. Not e'en a coach came within miles of them ; But Horace sprang with lightness on the load Of high-piled sacks of grain ; for this same o closed her eyes for ever on the world. Soon after his dear mother's death, and while Wearied and worn with watching and with grief, A letter came to him, from Judge LeRue, Telling him his daughter Madaline Was now betrothed wife of Edward Vaughn, And adding : "I had sometimes dared to hope To your strong arms I might entrust my child ; But as young love goes wheresoe'er it lists, Fathers must force themselves to be content." And now brave Horace felt the world a blank, With not one thing left worth the living for ; And for a time, both body weak and mind, He seemed to feel the stupor of despair. But yet, not long, before his spirit roused, And leaving home, which, with his mother gone, 48 MADALINE. Could never more to him seem home again Returned into the world and to his work. And though he now had found the world contained So sad a thing as unrequited love, (Truly, far sadder than is buried love, Where yet we may have leave to plant our flowers And water them, as we may list, with tears,) No selfish sorrow e'er should blight his life Albeit, might forever sadden it. But life was not so long, indeed, that one Could not afford the pains to live it well, E'en though it were not crowned with happiness. And far as lay his power, so should the world Be made the better for his having lived. ' Yet, Horace e'er must feel for Madaline The tenderness now grown a part of life Wife of another, near to him, or far And from his distance still watch over her, That so, perchance, the time should ever come She needed him, he might be there to help. MADALINE. 49 And she, the one who had umvittingly Thus mixed his cup of life with bitterness, Meanwhile was dreaming her first dream of love ; Yet finding it a restless dream, in truth, As all dependent, yet aspiring souls Will find, who try to lean on lesser strength, Thus constantly thrown back on their own hearts. An ivy will, instinctive, seek to climb, Although it has not strength to rise alone ; But, if so be a tree or wall be near To lean upon, will rise to height of it, E'en while it clings to it for its support. And this aspiring, clinging Madaline, Most surely was an ivy, meant to rise To lofty height ; and planted by the side Of some grand castle, or cathedral wall, i Would twine its grace and beauty over it ; But she was young, and did not even know Her nature's tendencies, or her own want. 50 MADALINE. Soon after their betrothal, Madaline And Edward Vaughn were talking by themselves ; She, rather, listening to him as he Recounted memories of various things Beheld while travelling* in foreign lands, Until h:s discourse led him, finally, To speak of modern, then of ancient Greece. From the attentive, yet half dreamy look With which she had been listening to him, A sudden flame, both radiant and intense, Lighted her face and burned in her dark eyes, As though she were some youthful prophetess ; And she exclaimed, " O, Edward ! I could wish That I had lived in those heroic times, To have been a Theseus, or a Hercules ! And might have fought like them against the great, The monsters horrible, which preyed on man ! And, were I not a woman, even now, There are Hydra -headed evils which to fight ! " She stopped, abashed, for on her lover's face MAD ALINE. 51 Was a displeased look she never saw before, Which quickly quenched the enthusiastic flame, (Save only in her cheeks) and like some child, Before the look her eyes fell timidly. And then her lover coldly answered her : " Such high flown thoughts are folly, Madaline. I know that women think, if they were men, They soon would bring the Golden Age again. " And then he, seeing her so penitent, More gently said : "I would not wish my wife, Instead of gathering flowers by the way, To be forever reaching for the stars." But Madaline was grieved. She was a flower That could not bear the chilly winds of blame ; Indeed, her beautiful, free growth owed much To the sunbeams of appreciative love, Which she had always in her father found. And she was deeply grieved. She had not thought This sudden flame, which sprang up from the depths 52 MAD ALINE. Without her bidding, firing all her soul, Could be a thing for censure ; and to have It come from one who loved her, and to whom She was to look for guidance all her life, Perplexed as well as disappointed her. Seven weeks ago, with calm and happy hearts, Horace and the father of loved Madaline Entered the spacious grounds of Hendrick Hall. As Judge LeRue now enters them alone, The strange, unwonted pallor on his face, Must be reflection of December's snow ! Not so. For many days, a heavy cloud Has threat'ningly been hanging, o'er his mind A dark cloud of foreboding and suspense For Panic is abroad in all the land, Devouring greedily, without respect Of person or of class, alike the poor Man's pittance and the substance of the rich ; And, on this day, back to his lovely home MAD ALINE. 53 And loved ones there, returns a ruined man. Prosperity's sun will doubtless rise again, But only shine for him on shattered hopes. Some years before this time of which I write, He had been urged by many friends, to act As one of the directors of a bank. . He had long time been Judge ; was widely known, And, unlike many of our public men, The better known, the more was felt to be The soul of honor and integrity ; And he consented, on the urgent plea The people would have confidence in him, And swelled the assets with his property, But to the others left the management ; And they seemed men of honor, every one. They might have been, and but in judgment lacked. It might have been nobody's fault at all 54 MADALINE. That caused men's faces suddenly to blanch, While white lips almost shrieked, "The Bank has failed ! " Her father had with strength herculean Drawn o'er his face the curtain of a smile ; But Madaline's tender love was not deceived. She saw his pale and haggard face, alarmed, And quickly spoke : " Dear father ! what is it ? Something has happened you, or you are ill ! " " I truly am not well," he but replied, "And I need rest and quiet. I will go Now to my room, until the dinner -hour." And Madaline kissed him tenderly and urged : "Can I do nothing for you, father, dear ? " To which he answered, as he turned away : "Nothing at all. I wish to be alone." When Judge LeRue his daughter left, she felt The great oppression of some coming ill ; MADAUNE. oo But she must dress for some expected guests, And had no time to entertain sad thoughts. One, seeing Madaline first time, this night, Her toilet so complete in everything From silver comb in her dark hair, worn high, To pretty slipper all, so suiting her, Might well have thought she had herself sur passed. But Madaline's own rare, instinctive taste Prompted her, unerringly, to choose Always just that best suited to herself. Indeed, in all she did was plainly seen Th' exquisite artist-touch ; and it was this, Perhaps, as much as her rich beauty, which Made her everywhere acknowledged belle. The most of her guests knew what she did not. Bad news, you know, has wings, and swiftly flies ; 56 MAD ALINE. And she, a gracious hostess, yet, to-night, Surprising, more than once, unusual looks, Looks half triumphant or whole pitiful, Which quickly roused all her defensive pride, Carried herself a little haughtily ; But they left early, and, with deep relief It was that Madaline saw the last depart ; And then she stood in the large rooms alone, Longing to seek her father, and to know What trouble dire was preying on his mind, Which he refused to let her share with him. She knew the mysterious glances she had seen Must somehow have connection with his grief, And her suspense was growing terrible. For an hour or more, like some caged animal, She paced the lengthy parlors up and down, All silence, save the rhythmic sound with which Her soft dress swept the richly-covered floors ; Then, suddenly she raised her head, and went Straight to her father's room, and gently tapped, MADALINE. 57 And, in a pleading voice said : ' ' Father, dear, Please let me in! Oh, please, do let me in ! This terrible suspense I can not bear." He opened then the door, without a word, And she quick threw her arms about his neck, And said with quivering lips: "You doubt my love, % To think I would not gladly share your grief, Whate'er it is. " And then he told her all How even their home must be, too, given up. He would not save it, if he could ; but all Should go, that much as possible might be Eeturned to the depositors of the bank, Many of whom, perhaps, but for his name, Had never thought of placing money there. It was not for himself he had endured This agony of mind. It was the thought, His children dear, so very dear to him, Should be thus brought to sudden poverty. Then, Madaline's noble spirit fully roused. MADALINE. Like Maid of Saragossa in the breach, She stood heroic, without thought of fear, And faced the foe. The brightness to her eyes, And color to her cheeks, had all returned. Her voice was firm, though tender, when she said : "Dear father, many years ago you said My f&ul was yet an undeveloped thing, Like baby robin, little else than mouth, Wide open always, craving for more food. And then you smiled down in my face and said, With such an appetite and proper food, I ought, in time, to grow a goodly bird - A bird with strong and well - developed wings. I truly feel full-fledged and strong, to-night ; And so, my father, dear, you must not grieve. I 'm very sure that I can learn to work ; I e'en could suffer all, for your dear sake, And in that sufiering rejoice ! " And with these words MADALINE. 59 She knelt beside the chair in which he sat, And taking up his hand in both of hers, She pressed it to her lips. With filling eyes, In turn he placed the hand upon her head, And murmured low : u God bless you, Madaline. ' MAD ALINE. 61 CANTO IV. As in the Summer all the trees are fair When covered by the graces of their leaves, And we do not their real outlines see, But, when their foliage falls, and bare they stand, Their forms sharp - drawn against the wintry sky, We find some still are fair, but many more Unshapely and with large excrescences, So 't is with men. In their prosperity, The graces of conventional life may hide Most grave defects, or characters deformed, * Which we espy but when misfortune comes And leaves their real selves in bold relief. Had not misfortune come to Madaline, The nearest ne'er had known her character, How fair it stood against adversity, 62 MADALINE. In delicate, yet firm, clear tracery. Some may complain she 's lost her gentleness, And has grown cold and proud ; but you must know, In Winter branches grow less pliable ; For, 't is the law of nature, when the frosts That blight and winds that chill have come, the sap Of all the plants will hasten to the roots, And more unfeeling leave the exposed parts, Lest blighting frost and chilling wind should kill. Far from the city's heart, and where, indeed. The houses seem but hanging by her skirts, Behold a row of small white cottages, O With dreary stretch of prairie land beyond. We will invoke the aid of fairy's wand, And, thus invisible, will enter here The new and humble home of the LeRues. How bright and cheerful ! What sweet, homelike air! MADALINE. 63 One well might fall in love with cottage life. A glowing fire burns upon the hearth, For, though the Summer's reign is scarcely o'er, E'en now the Winter's breath is sometimes felt, As now and then he turns his face our way. The fire's glow lights up the pretty room, Pretty and bright as any one could wish, Though, save the fine piano and guitar, There 's not a thing but of the simplest kind. But Madaline's taste has made all beautiful. But through that open door, who is 't that lies So prone and motionless upon his bed ? Oh, can it be that this is Judge LeRue ? Why should, while useless vessels sail the main, This noble craft lie wrecked upon the shore ? Some one bends over him and smooths his hair, Adjusts the snowy pillows for his head, Draws up the counterpane, lest he be cold, Q4: MAD A LINE. With tender, loving touch. But now she turns. My God ! and can this be the Madaline We knew, less, somewhat, than a year ago ? Ten years should not have made such change as this, So sink the eyes, and pale the cheeks, and leave That tired, care-worn look upon her face ! Dear Madaline ! Who 'd know you now so changed With half the luster of your eyes washed out By frequent tears ? and who will love you now ? The little girls, now sitting on the floor And dressing up their dolls to take them out, Are much the same as when you saw them first Too young to feel the blow, or know the care, That changed their father and their sister thus, The roses on their cheeks are near as fresh As when you saw them in their lovely home. They, doubtless, are as happy, though they Ve learned, MADALINE. 65 Since the illness of their father, to speak low And to move quietly about the house. But where was Madaline's lover all this while ? He was away when first he heard their loss, But hastened back to urge on Madaline His name and home ; and, too, he would be glad To help her father in all ways he could ; Or both he and the girls could live with them - With just a slight reluctance in his tone, Which, Madaline, grown doubly sensitive, Resented quickly in her heart, and said She knew her father ne'er could be obliged To any living man for daily bread ; And she, his daughter, could not leave him yet. So Edward Vaughn was forced to be content, Although displeased to see his future bride Descend to humble life, refusing still, Gently, yet firmly, all his proifered aid. They would need little, she had said to him ; _ MADALINE. Would want but comfort, and not luxury, And surely from no one they needed help. But as time passed, he one day learned that she, In music, for some time, had lessons given, Which a-ngered him : and when he went again To visit her he had upbraided much. Saying that if she cared not for herself, That, as his promised wife, might think of him. He would not ha,ve her turn a servant quite, To gratify some strange, Quixotic whims ! Through sorrow, Madaline was growing proud. She drew herself up haughtily, and took From oft' her finger the engagement ring, And handing it to him, said, "You are free." Had Madeline ever truly loved' this man, That she could break this tie so easily ? No ; I deem not ; for here you can but see Her pride was stronger than the love she bore, And Madaline's real love was strong as life MADALINE. 67 And deep as worship is. She 'd older grown And keener sighted since the time when she Had promised to be the bride of Edward Vaughn. Against her will, almost unconsciously, She oft contrasted Horace with this man, Which made the latter seem but frivolous. But she was shocked and frightened when she That she was growing thus indifferent, And tried to force herself to greater love By magnifying all his virtues large. He, on his side, not understanding her, Yet could not help, in some degree, to feel Her nature's depth and rarity, and loved Her well as he could love, perhaps ; although Love to this man was infinitely less Than love to Madaline. And so it was That when she gave to him the glittering ring, He loved her yet too well to give her up ; G8 MADALINE. And, speaking to her gently, pressed a kiss Upon her forehead white, then on her lips, And slipped the ring again upon her hand. And not long after this, there came a day When Judge LeRue was brought, insensible, Back to his little home and Madaline. It was an apoplectic stroke, they said ', And for two days and nights, with breaking heart, Madaline hung over him ; and then He roused, somewhat, from his unconscious state, But never was what he had been, again In mind and body a but a feeble child. And where, the while, is Horace Hamilton ? Is Madeline's sorrow added to his grief 1 Yes. He had returned in time to see His loved friends brought to sudden poverty And give to them his noble sympathy. No one but him, indeed, did Judge LeRue MADALINE. 69 E'er truly welcome to his humble home ; And, by no one but him would Madaline, Now proudly sensitive, e'er be advised ; And knowing that his presence comfort brought, He made his visits frequent, it is true, Which Edward Vaughn saw with deep jealousy. He saw, too, Madaline revered this man ; And this, toward Horace, filled his heart with hate. Upon the day that Judge LeRue fell ill, They both had hastened to extend their aid ; And Madaline, Edward scarcely noticing, Had, with white face and clasped, uplifted hands, Gone quick to Horace, crying in pleading voice : "Oh, Mr. Hamilton ! now you are come, Can you not make my father well again ? " A childish question, yet pathetic one, Which showed how, in her thought, she leaned on him. And Horace, in the pitying tenderness He would have felt for e'en dumb animal 70 HADALINE. That in distress appealed to him for help, (And how much more must feel for Madaline ! ) Took both her hands in his without a word, And with dimmed eyes looked on her tenderly. Then Edward Vaughn stepped forward haughtily, White with the jealous anger that he felt, And said, while looking sternly on them both : "You surely should remember, Madaline, I am the one to do what 's possible ! " And yet, this Horace, even in a thought, Too noble was to e'er wrong Edward Vaughn ; And if there was a living man to whom Edward might his honor safely trust, That man was surely Horace Hamilton ; But, for the happiness of Madaline, It better was to visit her no more. And charging her that should it ever chance Her father should arouse and ask for him, That she should send for him without delay, MADALINE. He took his leave of her, which proved to be The final sight of that dear face for years. But yet, for many weeks, there passed no day That Horace did not hear of Judge LeRue, Through the physician that attended him ; And learned, alas ! there was but little hope The father would be different from now, Though long in this same state might linger yet. And how can words express the daughter's grief ? Though I intrude on that grief's sanctity, And tell you how she wrung her hands, and prayed : "Oh ! anything but this ! my God ! my God ! I can bear anything yes, anything ! So Thou but give my father back to me ! " In vain her cries. Week after week passed on, And still her father lay as at the first, And scarcely noticed her, although she hung About his couch incessantly, and watched, With lessening hope, for his recovery. 72 MADALINE. She had cast herself down, prostrate, as it were, In anguished supplication 'fore God's throne ; But still He heeded not. What was her pain To Him, who sat enthroned so high above ? And so she raised herself, and prayed no more, But, with a bitter feeling at her heart, That God was cruel and unjust, she rose And carried her heavy burden without help. Of all his sorrow, far the bitterest drop That Horace drank indeed, could ever drink "Was knowing Madaline's deep grief, and he Deprived of e'en a brother's privilege Of giving her the comfort that he might. Truly can she never know how oft And deep the yearning was, to go to her As he might to a child that had been hurt, And without help lay moaning in its pain. He felt her need, but yet could not intrude. It was as if the mother of the child MADALINE. 73 Stood by, and thus precluded other help, While yet the child moaned on, and she Incapable, or careless, to relieve. And this it was more than all else combined, That fretted Horace's strength and life away, Till his physician ordered, so he wished To see another year, that he should leave All business for a time, and go abroad. A brave and noble spirit Horace had, But strength of body one as truly needs, To bear a heavy burden of the heart. And nature here had been so overtasked, She could not rally without change and rest. And putting by all pride for her he loved, He sought an interview with Edward Vaughn ; To ask was there no thing that he could do Either for Judge LeRue or Madaline. And coldly Edward Vaughn had answered him " The one that in two weeks will be my wife, MADALINE. Surely needs not the help of any friend. " And Horace left him filled with wretchedness ; Though had he felt assured that Madaline O Would with this man find aught of happiness, His own grief then he better could have borne. But Horace knew her nature well, and felt It was impossible, and as he left, He groaned in bitterness : " His wife so soon ? " And hastened to depart, that he might be Not even in her country, on that day ; But when upon the ocean's mighty breast, Where he seemed but a little, helpless child, The turbulence of grief was soothed to rest. Gazing upon the water's vast expanse, Or overarching sky, so filled with worlds, His soul was over-awed, and grew resigned, Before the greatness of the infinite. Why pain and disappointment came to man, He could not tell ; but man's Creator knew ; And was that not enough ? He would believe MADALINE. 75 That there was loving purpose in our pain, And to God's care, he surely could entrust Even his beloved Madaline. And close on this resignment of himself, A beautiful, deep peace stole over him. And not unhappy, Horace journeyed far, And many countries viewed, and in his mind Stored various knowledge for the coming years. And when two years had passed, and someAvhat more, One morning he, in far off Switzerland, Reading a paper sent him by some friend, A poem came upon, signed : " Madaline. " That name beloved, caused him to quickly read, And ere he finished, he exclaimed : ' ' My God ! This can be none but Madaline LeRue, Rather, that was now wife of Edward Vaughn Dear Madaline, Heaven help you bear your pain, For wretchedness, alone, prompts words like these ! " 76 MADALINE. The poem truly seemed a mortal groan ; Its cry of anguish pierced his very soul ; It was as though the suffering of years, Had into these few lines been all condensed ; And from behind the simple printed words, He saw the intense anguished soul look forth, Of her he had so dearly, deeply loved. And through long, sleepless nights and heavy days, Her suffering image ever filled his heart. And when the frosty heralds had appeared, Announcing icy Winter's fast approach, He sought the milder airs of Italy. But still that suffering image followed him. And on from place to place, in restlessness, At length he came one dreary eve, to Rome, As listlessly he took in hand the pen To place his name upon the register It quickly dropped ; for written there, among The latest names, was "Edward Vaughn and wife. " MAUALINE. 77 He felt himself grow giddy at the thought, That she, so long not absent from his mind, Was near to him. 'Twere joy to see her face, And yet, O, Heaven ! how could he bear the sight ? Still, it were better, if but for the hope Of finding her less sad than fancy showed. MADALINE. 79 CANTO V. Fully determined, now, that Madaline No longer should refuse to be his wife, Edward Vaughn, upon the very day That Horace had his native country left, Went to her home ; and too, he had some news To tell her, which he thought might make her glad. His well known name, and wealth, caused him to be Named for a seat in Congress in the Fall ; And when he told her this, he said to her : "If my friends work for me but as they should, Of my election I am very sure ; And will this please you, dearest Madaline ? " And in a listless manner she replied : " What makes you happy, Edward, will please me. 80 MADALINE. But why should much depend upon your friends? " "My simple Madaline, do you not know, From President, to pettiest officer, All are dependent on their friends ; who must Persuade the ignorant their man is best, Or buy the votes of the unprincipled, Who on their glorious right of suffrage trade, As any other merchandize ; their votes Being knocked down to the highest bidder ? " In Madaline's voice was a slight ring of scorn ; Her eyes grew somewhat brighter, as siie said : " Then, none stand on their merit any more ? And so, to be successful, virtue must Be mixed with baser metal, as is gold, Or silver, which alone, would be too soft ? Tis true, a silver spoon is easy bruised, And careless children leave their teeth prints on't ; For wear we'll find the plated is the best ! And as the real surely looks as well ! " Her lover smiled as thus he answered her : MADALINE. 81 "Yes, what you say is true, my Madaline, And that without the slightest irony. Of little use is virtue unalloyed. Yes ; even children feel there 's softness in 't, And take advantage of the merely good ; And so, for self -protection, one must mix Alloy of shrewdness and of policy, Or, over harder precepts of the world But put a shining plate of virtue on." She sighed and said : " Oh, Edward, is it so ? The world so base ? But life is short, and then It may be God will want to melt us down To mould us to another shape ; and He Will surely then reject all but the real. But tell me not that all have petty souls, With nought but little thoughts and smaller aims, Without one noble thought or grand desire ! Are men all dead 2 Such creatures are not men With mind and soul all narrowed down to self ? " Airain he smiled at her sreat earnestness : 82 MADALINE. *' You are too serious, my dear. We find No instinct truer than self-interest. We 're too enlightened now to lay great stress On abstract principles of right and wrong. Our motto now is, ' Each one for himself. ' Do lawyers e'er refuse retainer fee Because convinced their side has not the right ? Do ministers preach that which they believe, Or that which will most please their audience ? And so, through all professions and all trades, The right or wrong is good or bad to self. We take the world but as we find it, dear. It would be worse than useless for a man To try to stem the current of a stream. He can, in wisdom, but float with the tide. Would you have all Gils Bias, or Don Quixotes, And come to grief by their vagaries, dear I " "No," she replied with warmth; "but I would have Men dare to take firm stand for what is right. MADALINE. And even, if need be, to give their lives In fighting for the truth ! I yet will trust There must be some who still believe in them ! Some yet who will not fear to do the right Because the right is in minority ! Oh, brave, young Phreton ! I honor thee, Who, with such lofty courage, dared to drive The fiery coursers of the sun ! Than lead A life devoted to base, selfish ends, I sooner would be one would rashly dare To drive the coursers of some grand reform ! Albeit, I overestimate my strength, And thus, perchance, might set the world on fire, And myself perish in the brave attempt ! It can not be all men have fallen so low, In Honor's temple they have built a door, That they, indeed, may not the trouble have To go through Virtue's temple, to get in ! liong stand our grand republic ! thus, we cry, And gaze, admiring, at the temple built 84 MADALINE. By godlike men, and builded well and strong ; The style of architecture grand and free ; Our Pantheon ! dedicated by these men To all the deities of Right and Truth, Justice and Liberty, and all the rest. Then call we the oppressed from every land : Come ye, from all the nations ! Enter, here, The sacred temple ; worship, and find peace ! But the statues of these deities you show Thrown down and trampled on by dirty feet, And mutilated in mere wantonness ! And look ! in central prominence, there is Whose noble form we 'd take for Liberty ! But that pure marble breathed but purity And this is wanton made by garish paints And wide -spread, gaudy drapings, and her name is License ! If what you say be so, base men are With the keystones of the arches tampering ! Alas ! alas ! will no one look to it MADALINE. 85 Till the whole structure topples on our heads ? " And Edward, half -contemptuous, then replied : Madaline. such extreme views of right And wrong will make you wretched all your life. You peccadilloes magnify to crimes." '' Ah, Edward ! there is where the danger' lies ! Men do the wrong and do not see Vis wrong. They look but on the lovely face of vice, The beautiful Echidna, whose fair form Terminates in the hideous, slimy folds Of coiling dragon. They will see nought, alas 1 Except her beauty, till they feel her sting ! " " Madaline, you have filled your mind with thoughts Of the heroic ages of the world, Until you lose all sight that nations are In childhood, when they make so prominent, Rash deeds of bravery, and take extreme, Impracticable views. When they have grown To mental greatness, in short, civilized, 86 MADALINE. They will in all things take the golden mean." "Oh, Edward ! " quickly answered Madaline, "The golden mean oft means but selfish ease ! When nations reach the height of which you speak, Too oft, alas ! their strength is wholly gone ; They grow corrupt and die, as Greece, or Rome ! It should not be I think it would not be If, on their beings' high Olympus, there Were kept a place still sacred to the gods, For 't is their moral strength makes nations great ; But soul is left deserted for the mind" In her excitement, Madaline had risen, And she had paced the floor the while she spoke , Her eyes as bright as old, and cheek, and lip, With vivid hectic flush burned bright and warm. Her lover was rejoiced to see the change Which made her look her former self again, And tried to draw her to a close embrace ; But she shrank back, as though afraid, and chilled ; MADALINE. 87 It was his right, she knew ; and yet, and yet, Her heart had grown so cold ! oh, if he had, But once, this night, expressed one lofty thought, Or grand or noble feeling, then her heart Might have warmed toward him ! She longed, for some Strong spirit's help in this her time of need, But here, she found no strength that satisfied. Her lover frowned, as thus she shrank from him And said : " O, Edward ! let me go ! 1 fear I think my father may be wanting me ! " With one caress he let her go from him ; And when she came again, her step was slow, The sparkle on her face already gone,. And but the listless, tired look again. Her lover took both her cold hands and said : "My Madaline, how pale and tired you are ! Our wedding you no longer shall put off, They say your father may live thus for years, And this great care is surely killing you ! 88 MADALINE. Your father can be with you, same as now, But we will have a nurse, and you shall rest." Thus did he urge, and gently stroked her hair, As she, with head bowed down, before him stood ; And then she raised her suffering face to his ; "O, Edward ! urge no more, it can not be ! Xot yet ! not yet ! Oh, give me time ! perhaps, I can not tell, I may feel different ! I have grow T n hard and cold ; you now, would take An icy phantom to your breast, and which Would chill the very life blood in your heart ! " "The risk is mine, dear Madaline, I know, With rest, and one to care for you, you would, Ere long, become your former self again." "O, leave me, Edward ! "leave me to my grief! My heart is with my father while he lives, And will be buried with him in his grave ! Forgive me, and forget me, if you can ! " Angry that his persuasions were in vain, Edward Vaughn stopped not to weigh his words ; MADALINE. 89 "You are completely blind to your own good ! And now, I wish to say, and once for all, It shall be now, or never, Madaline ! " Perhaps 'twas well he spoke thus hastily ; For now, her pride would help her bear the pain, Which had been almost torture, as she thought She now was giving up her only friend. And now that pride gave momentary strength, And she, the second time, took oif the ring And laid it by him, saying : "Never, then." He turned, without a word, and left the house, But left the ring still shining where it lay, Which she, next day, sealed up and sent to him. And thus they wakened suddenly, to find, 'Twas but a dream, no more, but just a dream. By far, 'twere better that these tw T o should part. How r could one of a self- indulgent soul, Who thought the true philosophy of life To bask in sunny places, whence he looked, 90 MADALINE. Upon the " struggle for existence," with, Perhaps, some interest, but no sympathy, - And saw the weaker perish in the fight, With but the feeling, as he sunned himself, " "Tis better so, the fittest will survive." How were it possible, for such as he, To know the deep and tender heart of her, Who felt another's pain as if her own, Was champion of all she fancied wronged, And who, with instinct of self-sacrifice, Had gloried in a martyr's suffering, For aught sublime enough for which to die ? MADALINE. 91 CANTO VI. Our public schools ! the nation's pride, and hope ! Success of which, our land has cause to boast ; And yet, ye guardians of the doors, beware ! For evils are enforcing entrance there ! In a large building, built of dingy brick, Where, from the upper windows, you behold The lake's blue waters, find we our heroine ; Surrounded by small children, full three score, Who learn from her, first time to hold a pen, And say their three times six from memory. And is this lowly work ? Not in true sense : No work so lowly, but it may be grand, By workman great enough to make it so, And whereso'er she be, a teacher, may 92 MAD ALINE. Be Heaven's very messenger of light. 'Tis true that Madaline had better liked, Indeed, for this position had applied, To hold Instruction's lamp, and let it shine But on her admired heroes of the Past, - The heroes great of ancient Greece and Rome For which she felt most truly qualified ; But, without friends at court, this could not be, And to this humbler place she was assigned ; But as it was her nature to do well Whate'er she undertook to do at all, She was surprised to find, as time went by, How great became her interest in her work. While all the children loved her and she them. Yet constantly this interest was chilled, And, that it did not die, were marvellous. The Principal she found both large and tall, Which probably sufficient reason was For his assuming a superior air, For he inferior was in intellect MADALINE. To more than half of his subordinates, Of whom the number equalled full a score, And over whom, than this man exercised, Never was there more despotic rule 1 . To cause our free America to blush ; They were the slaves, and he the overseer, Who gloried to find cause, however small, To bring the heavy lash down on their backs ; And that, no more from caring for their work Than pleasure felt in showing them his power ; Though, truly, for their work he also cared, For, from their work, it was, he took his praise. Casting responsibility on them, He had the time to go from room to room, To criticise their work with frown, or sneer, Or oft stand at their doors, Avith scowling glance, Like some ferocious, watchful Cerberus, To whom, most there had learned to throw a cake 94 MADALINE. Of seeming deference, or flattery ; But Madaline, poor thing, had thought that she, By doing right because of right, would thus Escape this dreaded being's bark and bite ! So, with a feverish haste, these teachers worked, And many, really, with no higher aim Than please this man they did not dare oifend, For their positions, to most there, meant bread, And he the power had, by but a word, To turn them, any time, into the street. And thus they worked incessant and for what? To teach these children to lead noble lives, - To be upright and just and true, as well As learn to write, to " cipher " and to spell ? In truth, not so ; these teachers were employed To cram the youthful mind with mental food, As some do fatten turkeys, or their ducks, As if, indeed, in feeding these young minds, No different process could be requisite ! Mistake most fajal ! Any gardener MADALINE. 95 Might tell . you that a plant, whose growth is forced, Will never have the strength, or life, of those Which have been given a longer time to grow. Instead of this fictitious, hot-house growth, Give children time to grow, as nature does ; And give them moral sunshine and fresh air ; For, if we hope for tender, juicy fruit, We must not starve the soul to make the mind, And teach youth that the end and aim of life Is but to rival their associates In their attainments intellectual ! Look to it, parents, ere it be too late ; For this mode, if pursued in training them, May prove their country's ruin and their own. The world will grow but a monstrosity, The heart's life being sapped to make the head. Too large a head oft indicates disease ; And have we not, already, cause to fear The world's head of to - day is ricketty ? 96 MADALINE. Alas ! how often do some think that they Behold in others real faults, which prove To be but the reflection of their own ! It is accounted true if any one Has any special vice, he is the first To accuse some other of the very same, Like that poor man who had been drinking much, And, when was reeling homeward, loudly cried, ' ' Why, every man I meet is surely drunk ! " And really thought that it was so, poor man. Ah, well ! perhaps this is but natural ; We truly are too close to see ourselves ; And when we ride upon a railroad train, The outside objects move, not surely we ! Madaline had been three months in school, When, on a day, a woman, poorly clad, Came with her boy who had suspended been For absence, from the room of Madaline. But, as the week was drawing to a close, MADALINE. 97 The Principal would not restore the boy, But, on the following week, told him to come. And then to Madaline the woman went, And, as she wiped her eyes upon her shawl, Would Miss 'LeRue please let him have his seat Only till noon ? she then could be at home. And Madaline, quickly sorry for the poor, And with no thought of possible offense, Consented willingly ; but, before long The Principal came in, espied the boy, And, growing white with anger, caught at him And by the collar pushed him to the door. Poor Madaline endeavored to explain : The boy could not be blamed. If fault there was, It only was her own. Had she but thought He could dis'prove, it never had been clone. "You only thought,'" he said with wrathful sneer, "That you, indeed, Avould be the Principal !" His rudeness, misconception and his sneer Shocked, grieved and made her angry all at once. 98 MADALINE. The tears sprang to her eyes, dear little things, As 'twere to comfort her ; she forced them back ; She could accept no comfort now, she had not time, For sixty pairs of eyes were on her face, Her work was waiting, she must take it up ; And with one quick, convulsive clasp of hands, One moment's profound silence, as she thought : " My God ! how can this man mistake me thus ! " Resumed her work as if naught had occurred. There came another day, when Madaline Was rudely summoned to the Presence, where She found the Principal in wrathful mood. Why had she put that boy in lower class ? His mother was displeased ; why was it done ? And Madaline acquainted him with all ; How she had, in the branches that she taught, Most carefully examined all her room, According to their standing, seating them ; This certain boy stood low in scholarship, MADALINE- 99 And for this reason was he graded low ; She could not, surely, have done otherwise ! He, with his customary sneer, replied : "Had you the least discretion in the world, You ne'er had lowered this boy from higher class ! We can't afford, in fact, to have ill-will Of influential people like the Dales ; You can restore this boy to his old place." Had he but known this Madaline, I think He never would have spoken thus to her. He had not finished speaking, ere her eyes Flashed fiercest scorn from out her pallid face ; And in the fierce contempt she felt for him, He suddenly assumed a form so small, That never more could she feel fear, or dread, Or any thing, but this contempt and scorn. Her voice with passion trembled as she spoke : "Then, in our public schools, you mean to say, The rich and poor shall not have equal rights ? " He, rising, with a furious look, replied : 100 MADALINE. ' ' You need not question what I bid you do ; Your interest you'll find obedience ! " Her eyes flashed back defiance as she said : ' v I rather, first, my conscience will obey ! Obeying which, shall fear not God nor man ! " He, choked with wrath, went straightway to her room, Antl placed the boy again in higher class, While, in his heart, he vowed he'd crush the one Who had thus boldly dared defy his power. \ Should any think he recognize his coat In this, the garment I have made, of cloth Woven from the thread of truth, I swear, Why, let him put it on ; 'twill keep him warm ; And, even should it prove a haircloth shift, As monks were wont to use in penitence, Still, let him put it on ; 'tis not so bad ; I might have left truth's edges rougher yet, But, taking pity, I have felled the seams, MADALINE. 101 And, so he wear the garment as he should, It may prove to his soul a lasting good. Pope, surely, was not wrong when once he said : ' ' A little learning is a dangerous thing ; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring ; There, shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, But drinking largely sobers us again." Had this man drank more freely from the spring, He 'd ne'er mista'en himself for Jupiter And thought his nod- as irrevocable ; Nor, jealous lest his power be defied, Would, on the slightest possible offense, Have hurled his most terrific thunderbolts. At least, in reading truth and character, This man was yet not past the alphabet, And still mistook the little p's for q's, Because, perchance, they were somewhat alike. Those who have learned to read a language well, 102 MADALINE. Stop not to name the letters of a word, But with one comprehending glance can take The whole idea of a sentence in. And had this man read Madaline as he should, He might have found the entire thought was good. Thus conscious virtue suffers, and because Some man is ignorant and can not read, Or, with intent malicious, reads it wrong. Thus wretched in her work the months passed by, While Judge LeRue still lay in living death, But slowly growing weaker day by day. They had a faithful servant, but the care Of both her father and the girls was hers, Which, with her work at school God knows alone How heavy was the burden that she bore ; And I will leave to Him the man who dared It heavier make in wanton cruelty. MAD ALINE. 103 As Spring drew nearer, Madaline was missed Another being in her place for weeks ; And when she came again, her face was seen As cold and rigid as though carved in stone, As looking on Death's face had turned her heart. And those who have, like her, seen loved ones snatched From out their loving grasp forevermore, And know the aAvful desolation left, Can feel for her ; can know how one can move, And even work in way mechanical, Although she feel as truly dead as he, Lying in awful silence of the tomb. It seemed so strange to her that one could smile ! And with what petty things could be amused ! Was she the same who loved the birds and flowers ? She, now indifferent to every thing ? But she was turned to stone ; but do stones ache ? And all of her was but one great, dull ache, 104 MADALINE. Made just a little heavier at a laugh, Or when the children said : "She looks so cross." And so the dreary year drew to its close, While since her father's death she had been left Almost in peace. With her, all feeling gone, And all the righteous anger she had felt Drowned in that overwhelming flood of grief. Her persecutor, really think you, then, Knowing her sorrow, had forgiven her ? Not so, indeed ! Whatever might happen her, He 'd ne'er forego, not he, his own revenge ! A savage, who may find his victim dead, The lifeless body yet may mutilate. The morning after all the schools were closed And all the children, more like colts let loose, Wild with their freedom, had with noisy joy Begun already their long holiday, Madaline, when looking 'mong the names Of re-elected teachers for her own, MADALINE. 105 Espied it writ among the unassigned, Which meant appointment to another school. Though not expecting this, yet she was glad. All Principals could not be such as he Who had made her year's experience so hard ; And thus the fact brought sense of real relief. With truest wisdom now did Madaline So fill the Summer time with various work, Sometimes forgot the keenness of her grief. Oh, blessed labor ! Lethe spring from which We drink, and, for a time at least, forget Oar own sad hearts ! Who says thou art a curse ? But two days now ere from the various homes ' Would trickle all the tiny rivulets Which make the body vast of human life We call a school. Oh, teachers ! parents, too ! Stop you, sometimes, to think how true it is, As some one long ago has said, our words, 106 MADALINE. Our acts, are pebbles dropped in these young minds, The waves of influence from which will reach Through all the future generations till They break upon remotest shores of time ? For good, or ill Oh, teachers good, or ill ? Though but two days remained ere all the schools Were opened, Madaline had been as yet Assigned no place for the ensuing year. Then, to the one on whom the people's choice Had lately fallen, and who him had set Upon the height to overlook the schools, After this long suspense, went Madaline. As he in office scarce had ta'en his seat, It better were for her to go and see The visiting committee of her school. A man appointed because just and good, Of the merits of her case he best could judge. (Doubtless he could ; for once a year he came MADALINE. 107 And spent two minutes in each room, almost. Or, at the least, glanced in when passing by.) And Madaline, with growing sense of wrong, Proceeded to the office of this judge, Who told her her superior was displeased And had, in truth, informed him she had failed, Failed utterly in teaching ; was, in truth, Impertinent and impudent, and by all means She from the ranks of teachers should be dropped, For "discipline must be maintained," you know. Therefore, as he suggested, had they done. (Teachers are not asked, Will they resign ? Without one word of warning, are picked up And dropped, without a single thought, or care, Whether the fall will break their hearts, or no, And may be for no cause save petty spite. This is an easy, if not manly, way ! ) Her eyes grew large with greatness of surprise, And Madaline could not help wondering If arts were used, or greater strength of will, 108 MADALINE. By her so-called superior, to make This man, without his knowing it, his tool. Her voice intense, but calm, she answered him : "He knows the reasons he assigns are false, And an investigation I demand ! " In seemingly indifferent tone, he said : "It would be useless, quite. This man stands high Among our Principals, and was by some E'en named for Superintendent of our schools. We can't do otherwise than take his word. " Her eyes flashed angrily. She answered him : "You give the veriest criminal better chance. In his case, you would deign to hear both sides ! In Justice's name, I say it should not be His word should weigh mine down, and that, be cause His higher office is put in the scale ! 'T is cunning, more than merit, now-a-days, That helps to fill our public offices, MADALINE. 109 And if, perchance, it should elect a fool, Must we, in spite of reason, call him wise ? T is only simple justice that I ask. Had you but sent me to another school Where I could fairly have been judged, and then Had my work been condemned, I 'd be content ; But you admit no evidence, save that Of him who vowed he 'd be revenged on me ! " He sat unmoved, and Madaline said on more. What was her right she would not stoop to beg , But, taking up her heavy wrong, she rose And with firm step passed out into the street. " Ah, well ! " she murmured, as she left his door, "God help the Right, when good men thus can stand And tamely put their necks in yoke with wrong ! " MADALINE. Ill CANTO VII. The Autumn wind is sighing mournfully As dying leaves fall one by one to earth. Some trees already stand all bare and still Silent and still, save when some gust of wind, Convulsive shudders through their branches send, As though, indeed, they were convulsed with grief As memory turned their thoughts to Summer time, When they were happy all the livelong day In watching the sweet frolics of their leaves, And listening to their voices, soft and low, Now left in sorrow to bend over them And drop their icy tears upon their graves. From the windows of her room, our Madaline Is sadly gazing on the dreary scene. MAD ALINE. In humble dwelling, old and weather - stained, A stately residence on either side, And just across the way the towers and spires, Rising from a fashionable church, All looking down upon it in contempt, Is now T the home of Madaline and hers. Of three small rooms upon the upper floor, This little home consists ; but, happily, Two of them turn their faces to the street, Allowing those within, when so they choose, To watch the tide of life that flows beneath. Poor Madaline has found it difficult, Even in this humble way, to live And find the golden gifts with which to keep Relentless cold and hunger from the door. She had recourse to her accomplishments, Her knowledge of piano and guitar, But the musical profession, like the rest, Contains so many, they each other crowd ; MAD ALINE. H3 And those who glean in fields professional, To be successful gleaners, must, perforce, Boldly and rudely push them to the front ; In other words, must put on learned airs, Impress all with the knowledge they possess, So they would hope by them to be employed. But Madaline had studied much and deep, And would have blushed, assuming to be wise ; ("'T is but the wise that knows himself a fool,") And, otherwise, she was too sensitive, Too proud and modest her own praise to sound, And less successful was in consequence. And she, too, found so many needy ones, With whom to share the little that she got, And carry as a burden on her heart ; Some sick or dying woman, or some child Whose existence to her neighbors was unknown. ' ' None are sp blind as those who will not see ! " But Madaline saw sorrow every where, And when the sight was more than she could bear, MAD ALINE. And she would turn her eyes to brighter things, Imagination still would show to her The world's great host of heavy - laden hearts, Till she in sorrow sighed: "Poor world! poor Avorld ! If my small life could bring to you relief, How gladly would I lay it down for you ! " Upon this cold and drear November day, She gazes sadly out upon the street, Her white hands clasped before her, and her look Both sad and dreamy, as in revery. Ladies, richly dressed and daintily, It is the morning of a Sabbath day, Are passing by and entering the church. At length, two, dressed more richly than the most, Attract the dreamy look of Madaline ; And bitter smile, half scornful, curls her lip As she, thus to herself, says musingly : " Those ladies were, in happier days, my guests, MAD ALINE. H5 Well pleased to be invited to my home, Who now in rustling silks or velvet clad, If with a friend, will pass me on the street, Feigning they do not see me ; if alone, May condescend to give to me their white - gloved Finger - tips, and ask me what I do, And where do I now live, with well- feigned interest. And with what haughtiness I answer them ! Alas ! how true, that suffering makes us proud, And not prosperity ! Through suffering one be comes But hard and bitter. Even .wild crab-apples, Though but crab-apples still, are much improved By sunshine and good soil ; and so with men. T is easy to be good when one is blest, While noblest natures, crushed by work and care, Misunderstood, despised, as poor men are, Grow proud as Lucifer, and, in time, perhaps, Become as bad, and, fiendish, take delight MAD ALINE. In giving pain to others, as if thus Would be revenged for their own misery. "And now the one who steps across the street With such a conscious air of looking well, The lady is, who, that she might fulfil Her Christian duties well (for Mrs. Vane, Who lives in regal style, yet visits oft The poor,) the trouble took to call on me, And gave me good advice, for full an hour, Talking of things she did not understand, All with the greatest volubility. " How fluently most women always talk Who have nothing in the world to talk about ! Full often, without rudeness, one can not Put their small word, not even edgewise, in ; And then it so exasperates, to find That from the multitude of words to which You were compelled so long to listen, MADALINE. You can not glean one thought, e'en second - hand. Yet talk they smoothly and more prettily Than might a person who possessed a mind, Who sometimes pauses to await the thought. "And when she gave me opportunity, And had advised me well to go to church, I doubtless would find consolation there, How shocked she looked when thus I answered her ' Churches are for the rich, and not the poor ; Built by the rich, of course belong to them. They may invite the poor to come, 't is true, And patronize them kindly ; in fact, treat Them to a piece of piety, as they, Indeed, might treat a beggar child to pie ; But surely, no poor, sorrow-laden heart Will to these churches for their comfort go.' I said the large cathedrals were the best, For there the poor, as rich grief-laden hearts, Might feel when kneeling on the marble floor, 118 MAJ)ALINE. No presence there, excepting that of God. God pity us ! we went to church to see The dress of others, or to show our own, Or, it might be for change, or exercise, Or hear a sermon intellectual For any thing, God knew, but worship him ! I talked so earnestly I frightened her, And then she said to me, half-timidly : ' I hope, at least, that you are orthodox. ' To which I answered that I trusted not, And that I could not, for my life, see what These churches knew more than the ancients did : Chaos was still the father of all things, And Still the gods did rule us as they please, Not wisely, justly simply by caprice. We all were still attended by the fates, Who, when it pleased them, clipped the thread of life; And grim old Charon in his boat, at last MADALINE. H9 Ferried us all across death's turbid stream. How loftily the woman then arose, And closer her rich mantle round her drew, As if it were a robe of righteousness That might be sullied by one found so vile ! Yet, in contempt for her and her advice, My words were somewhat stronger than my thought, And I my doubts, as certainties, expressed. For, true, in every church are God-like men ; And some rare souls who stand before the world, Among the world's great masters may be placed, 'Fore whom my soul has bowed in reverence, And I have longed to worship at their feet, Till I remembered then, that though their light Might be divine, are human beings still, And even might have faults ; so I prefer To leave them at such distance that their light, Like that of the fixed stars, is all I see ; Bat brightest ray can ne'er reach my dark soul, 120 MADALINE. For in some cypress swamp, as 't were, am mired. On every side, as far as eye can reach, Nothing but mire. What do they reck to me, The light and beauty otherwheres ! The world to me Is mire ; nothing but mire ! and over me, The sad, dark cypress boughs w r ail drearily As 't were a requiem above my grave. My head has been bowed down so long with grief, I e'en almost forget there is a heaven, With a sun and stars." Unhappy Madaline Left to grope blindly in the dark, alone, With no one near to lead thee to the light. And now, she from the window turns away, And sighing, says : " I 'm tired ! very tired ! And soon, I know my strength, exhausted, fails, And I, so weary, would most gladly sleep The long, deep sleep of death, e'en if I knew That from that sleeping I should never wake. MADALINE. 121 But there, O Heaven, are Lola and Estelle ! I can not leave them in the world alone." She groans in anguish at the very thought. Go, look upon Laocoon, and note His anguish when the serpent coils were drawn So close he saw his utmost power was naught, And know the agony of Madaline Such agony as but strong souls can feel When conquered by inevitable fate. The dreary day to drearier night has turned, And Madaline at her window stands again, But in the deep, thick blackness seeing naught. Indeed, all sight seems into sound submerged, As round the house the fierce wind screams and howls ; She, shuddering, turns away. It truly seems A night to powers of darkness given o'er ! What is the fiercely raging wind, which shrieks MAD ALINE. And roars and shakes the windows of her room, But fiends, from the infernal region sent To mock her wild despair and laugh, " Ha, ha ! Where now is all the courage and the strength You bravely boasted but three years ago ! Ha, ha ! You are a goodly bird, no doubt ! With strong and well-developed wings, ha, ha ! We soon will give you big black wings, like ours ! Demoniac fires shall shine in those dimmed eyes, And you shall laugh again oh, yes, you shall A fiendish laugh, like ours. Ha, ha ! ha, ha ! " The voices seemed so near she almost shrieked. She put both hands before her face, lest she Should see the glaring eyes look in on her. But this soon grew too horrible to bear ; She rose and made a light, and paced the room Until the day appeared, at whose approach The phantoms of the night all turned and fled ; MADALINE. 123 And then you might have seen this Madaline, Move slow about the room, with face like death, But yet a perfect calmness in her eyes, As though some struggle that had lasted long, Was with decided purpose ended now ; And Madaline had suffered all she could. There is a limit to our suffering, And when we reach it, we can feel no more, Though sorrow upon sorrow may be poured. It is, in sooth, as if we set some cups Out in the rain, which may incessant fall, And yet these cups can hold but just so much Some more, some less, according to their size. Madaline's cup was large, but it was full ; And not until the sunshine of some joy Evaporate a portion of her grief, Can she feel more of sorrow or of pain. Let not the natures light, who never felt A real sorrow in their lives, now raise 124 MAD ALINE. Their hands in holy horror at this girl ; But let those judge her who have depth to know The anguish of despair of tender hearts. Had she not struggled hard for those she loved ? Had she not done her work, too, faithfully, Till cruel men had shut and barred her out, Unmindful if she perish in the cold ? Still, there was one thing left to dare and do ; With her own hand she would unlock life's door, Take both her loved ones with her and depart. Whither ? The secret passage from the world, 'T is true, looked dark ; but it must lead to rest Oh, yes : must lead to rest, she was so tired ! And she would go and, buy some sleeping draught, And at their supper -time would mix it with Some fragrant tea, in dainty china cups ; And she would watch her little sisters drink Those sweet young things whom she had loved so well, To save from harm she would have giv'n her life, MADALINE. 125 When life was sweet and clear ; and now, through love To save from harm, will take them where she goes. Yes ; she will watch them till they fall asleep The deep, deep sleep, from which they will not wake, And then, herself will drink the fatal cup, And then and then will leave the rest to God. She plans the details all out quietly, And when her sisters leave her for their school She starts in search of some life - taking drug. Hercules, when from his flesh he found He had not strength to tear th' envenomed robe, Calmly built his own funereal pile, And, as became a hero, waited death. 126 MADALINE. CANTO VIII. As Madaline is yielding to despair, Horace, the while, upon the spot renowned, Pressed by so many feet of Earth's great men, Has passed the drear, dark hour preceding day, And in the east, a rosy flush of hope Heralds the bright morn of some great joy. O Horace ! the rosy light which you behold, May be the tire from some funereal pile ! O Heart ! bow down again before thy God, And bless Him still for whatsoe'er he sends. The sweetest cup of life is bitter - sweet, And if it shall so prove, He knows for thee The purely bitter the more wholesome is ; MADALINE. Humbly submissive, drink the bitter draught. He knows our needs, and doeth all things well. Of all the myriad hearts that beat in Rome Upon the day that Horace chanced to read The written name of " Edward Vaughn and wife," Were none that beat more painfully than his As, at the dining hour, he sat with look Intent upon the door through which these two Now soon must pass in entering the room. The strong man's face is blanched to ghastliness. The paper rustles in his trembling hand. At length the moment comes. There, full in sight, Perfect in ease and grace, is Edward Vaughn. Strange ! Was he awake and sitting there, Or did he dream ? That lady by the side Of Edward Vaughn was surely not his wife ! A handsome lady, elegantly dressed, But not the very least like Madaline ! Bewildered, he some moments sat, while they, 128 MADALINE. On whom his intense, perplexed look was fixed, Not seeing him, were placed so near that he Soon heard a chance allusion to " my wife ; " And thus the truth at last dawned on his mind. Then, from his surcharged heart, tumultuous, Returned the life-blood in a mighty wave, Which, for a moment, drowned both sight and sense, And but confused within his memory Will ever be what after this transpired. His food, his drink, the very air he breathed, His very being's self, seemed but to be The single thought that he had leave to go To Madaline, in some great sorrow's pain. The speeding train how slowly bore him on ! Oh, had he but the wings to fly to her ! No need to haste thee, Horace ! She you love Will, at your coming, be but deaf to all The tender words of love that you may speak, And blind to all the tears that you may shed. MADALINE. 129 When Madaline, so tired, so tired of life, Started in quest of what might soothe to rest, Ere scarce she reached the street, she reeled and fell. It chanced that two were passing at the time, Who gently raised her up and carried her Back to the little home she had but left. And then two ministering angels came, Not as we picture them, in white, with wings, But in the dress of "Mercy's Sisters" clad, And through the fever which raged many days, In which she fought the fiends of that dark night, And shrieked for Horace's and her fathers help, With utmost care and patience tended her. (Whoever does his work as in God's sight, Will do that work, however lowly, well.) When deep, lethargic sleep stole over her The state of rest which to the most is sent Ere plunging in to cross death's chilling stream 130 MADALINE. The fever having all its fuel burned, And left her lying there so still, and white As pale and lifeless ashes from the fire Haggard and worn from haste and want of rest, Back from his long sojourn in foreign climes, Came Horace to his native land and her. A gentle " Sister" met him at the door, And in deep pity for this strong man's pain When briefly she of Madaline's illness told, Gave him her place as watcher by the couch. With kind consideration she, the while, That she might not upon his grief intrude, Softly about the room employed herself. For long, his sobs suppressed his strong frame shook ; But when the storminess of grief was past, With humble heart, he murmured brokenly : " I thank Thee, Father, I am come in time MADALINE. 131 To look upon my darling's face once more. If I but come to close her eyes in death, Teach me to say Thy will be done, O God ! " Horace, look up ! Heaven asks of thee no more. See now your loved one's eyes regarding you, Filled with the light of full intelligence. Now the physician enters carefully, And on his patient looks in glad surprise, Which Horace sees, and that he may conceal His great emotion, quickly leaves the room. When he, who by a glance had bid him hope, At length with cheerful face the sick-room leaves, Horace, with deepest feeling grasps his hand, And as that grasp as warmly is returned, He hears the words as Heavenly music sweet : " I think with greatest care that she may live." Days came and went ere Horace saw her more, For Madaline, with lingering step and slow, 132 MAD ALINE. Returned from brink of death again to earth ; And long the flame of life so feebly burned That but an agitating breath might quench. As she grew stronger, there would often come Before her vision Horace's suffering face, As she had seen it by her when she waked. And as she looked about the room and saw The evidence of tenderest regard, And with delight the pleasing fragrance breathed Of flowers, beautiful and rare, or ate The fruit which each returning day supplied, And with her thought from whence all came assured, A happy liglit would steal into her eyes As she would think : " This is for love of me." And then in memory she lived again The olden time before misfortune came ; And looking back, she thought she recognized In Horace's tender looks a depth beyond MADALINE. 133 What she had then supposed he felt for her ; Then, to herself, she musingly would say : " Strange, I could give my heart to Edward Vaughn While he, the prince of men, was standing by ! But then I was a child a very child. " Thus had mused Madaline ; and then came doubts. It could not be he loved her all this while, E'en were it true that he had loved her once, And what seemed evidence of love was prompted by A friendship for the daughter of his friend. It could be nothing more, for day by day She watched and waited, thinking he might come ; But he came not. Had it been love he felt, He ne'er had stayed away from her so long. And so the transient happiness would die, And than before leave her more lone and sad, While, with a feeling of shy diffidence, 134 MADALINE. Through all her thought she yet no question asked. Days passed away, and although Madaline Had walked with tottering step across the floor, There to her weakness came no farther strength, And into tired listlessness she sank. The man of medicine looked grave and said Life seemed to have no hope on which to feed ; And, seeking Horace, told him he might come. Seeing a friend might now result in good. So, after dreary waiting, came at last The happy summons to his loved one's side ; And when at length he stood before her there, His eyes so full of tenderness for her, Impulsively her whole heart went to him, And, stretching out her arms as infant will When it looks up and sees its mother near, She was clasped close in Horace's strong embrace. MADALINE. 135 CANTO IX. As after toil our rest is doubly sweet ; As freedom from pain is, after agony ; As brighter and more beautiful the day Succeeding to a dark and dreary night, So Horace's happiness in Madaline Is sweeter for the waiting and the pain. His love, so satisfying and profound, Compensates for all sorrows of the past ; And he, whate'er the future brings, can say : U I own my share of earthly bliss was large." And Madaline ? Is she, too, satisfied ? She truly Horace loves, and loves him well ; And even at the hearing of his step, A flush of joy quick mantles her fair face. 136 MADALINE. Not wholly happy, though, is Madaline. Once, love like this entirely had sufficed ; But now her restless heart cries out for more. Looking beyond earth's brief felicity, Her poet gaze, directed to the end, Is yet not keen enough to pierce the clouds Which throw their shadows even on her love ; And she, beyond the clouds, sees not'the light. Madaline, for satisfying peace, Must build her loves and hopes upon a rock ; But looking round she can see nought but sand. And thus it was that she, ere scarce had died The thrill that Horace's kiss at parting gave, Would turn away and sigh. Oh, if she dared But talk with him ! but then, would he not think She did not love him if she could be sad ? But he the sadness saw e'en through her smiles, And one day, taking both her hands in his, He bent on her a look of deepest love, While thus he said : " My darling Madaline, MAD ALINE. 137 Should not our hearts e'er to each other be As open book, without a secret page ? Something troubles you, my Madaline." And then, without reserve, she told to him How she had lost all faith in church and creed, And life and death were but dark mysteries, While not one ray of light pierced the Beyond. She might be wholly happy in his love, Could she but close and lock the door of thought ; But she could not, and through that open door She saw the path of life how short it was Yet, helpless creatures fainted by the way ; And if to good or ill this path might lead, She could not see, for at the end her view Obstructed was by darkness and thick gloom. Horace looked down tenderly on her And drew her closer to him as he said : "My dearest Madaline, try as we may, 138 MADALINE. No eyes but those of Faith can pierce the gloom." And she replied : " But one may wish, yet find it is Impossible in aught to have belief. To have a perfect faith, methinks one must Have but a narrow mind. Do not we all Now laugh at even what the men, called great In by-gone ages, have believed ? Dante" was great In depth, and yet, between contracted banks, The deep, strong current of his genius ran. He, without doubt, most thoroughly believed The center of our system was the Earth, And on this basis placed his Heaven and Hell, And thought he wrote both poetry and truth. Thus all philosophers, in ages past, Building upon the science of the times In which they lived, thought they had reached the truth. Those coming after, proving Earth is round, The stars are worlds, and our world, too, a star Revolving fast in space, thus also proved MAD ALINE. 139 Those structures of philosophy were false, And that without foundations, they were naught But unsubstantial 'castles in the air.' And can we think our light so great, that those Who may live here a century hence will not Prove, too, our theories ridiculous ? "And what belief is there, I might accept, Would end the strife between my head and heart ? My heart cries out for sweet, confiding faith In something high, yet personal and near. I 'm chilled by Positive Philosophy. Its coldness truly numbs my very life, While still my reason cries : ' Can you not see The road is straight and firm these great men tread These honest, earnest men, as well as great ? ' And it presumptuous seems, for such as I, To doubt conclusions of such lofty minds Men who, with greatest patience and broad sight, 140 MAD ALINE. Have spent their years in search of simple truth. Yet, all to me so cold and dreary seems, I sooner far had lived in olden times, When field and grove and air were all alive With higher beings, not too far removed . To be in sympathy with human life. "And then, what say to those Philosophers Who tell us that there is no Heaven or Hell, Nor Immortality, nor even God ; And tell us that our soul is but our life, And life is only matter, after all ? "And Horace, What is there left for those Who still believe that there is soul and God ? For learned men have thrown our old beliefs Down to the earth, and so bedraggled them, Who cares for cleanness ne'er can wear them more. MADALINE. Ml "And if, O Horace ! if there is a God, Does He stoop low enough to note the pain His creatures suffer, and yet give no help ? " And Mad aline sighed as thus she ceased to speak. Then Horace, with his eyes full of the light Which shone serene on him above the clouds Which cast their gloomy shade on Madaline, Thus answered her : u My darling, it is true That we may never have a perfect faith In theories of men ; but, nevertheless, May have a perfect trust that He who made The Universe will never do us wrong. Dear Madaline, e'en if we thought it true Our souls must wander through the beasts and birds, Or even thought we should be swallowed up In the Universal Intellect at last - As India believed therefore complain ? Shall we grow so audacious as to think 142 MAD ALINE. Our erring judgment better than our God's ? If we believe in God at all, we must, Knowing Him to be great, believe Him good, And better than can we, decide our fate. The very keystone of Religion's arch Is simple faith ' He doeth all things well. ' "And, if men err in letter of their creeds, We must not cast away the truth still there, Though, true, we must look higher than a church. And modern churches oft have made mistake When trying to point out the way to Truth, By singling out the footprints of some man, If Calvin's, or another's, chance to be, And bidding others step in those same tracks, Which make too long a stride for some to take, For others, may be short or indirect ; To any, awkward walking is, at least. None ever should attempt to others guide Until he first ascend some eminence MAD ALINE. 143 Where he can see how broad the way to Heaven How many footprints point that self-same way ; Then, rather, turn men's faces toward it By teaching them to lead true, noble lives, And they will surely reach it for themselves, Whether they choose to walk in somber shade, Or walk, instead, in higher, sunlit paths. ' ' And it is well for us to bear in mind Truth may change form as oft as Proteus, And we, like Hercules, must hold it fast Till it assume the shape we recognize. The various religions of the world Have really been the truth in various guise, Although we find it still with error mixed. And it were better far for man, indeed, To make the earth intelligent with life Of genii, nymphs and fairies, than to make All but the evolution of blind force. We say the Olympian gods were faulty Greeks ; 144 MADALINE. Yet, those who worshiped truly as they knew, Were certainly ennobled by the act. And one especial faith, than other faiths, Is not more saving. Surely, the good are good, For all the difference in belief. I think It so it be true gold, God will not ask In what especial manner purified ; And of less consequence what we believe, Than how, upon sincere belief, we act. Still, that form of religion should each choose, Which gives his moral nature wholesome food By which to daily grow in strength and size ; Remembering yet, what is good food for him May but rank poison to another be ; And not find fault with what another eats If so upon it that one well doth thrive. ' You, my sweet Madaline, are a flower That needs the sunshine, and that cold will kill ; And if as claimed, the air be fresh and pure MADALINE. 145 On high plateaus of Comte's Philosophy, It yet is cold and ehill ; too so, my dear, For tender poet hearts, like yours, to bloom. Stay in the valley, clearest, where soft clime Shall ripen all your nature's sweetest fruits. Those in the valley, too, may often see Farther than those upon the mountain may, If so they have not climbed above the clouds. And those Philosophers, dear Madaline, Who have, by constant and laborious thought, 'T is true, climbed far the mountain side, and thus Can take a truer view of that beneath Than those enveloped in the cloud and dust Of prejudice and creed may ever do, Yet, from their lofty height, they but look down. Scorning to use Imagination's glass, Rejecting all, except the so-called real, They little see with dull, unaided eyes. 146 MADALINE. " When all is said, my dearest Madaline, What more has Modern Science done, than show The Infinite is greater than we thought To finite minds, incomprehensible ? Try as he may, weak man can never sound Infinite depths with finite sounding - lines ; And those Philosophers who think that they, While on the earth, will e'er be capable To comprehend the ways of the All - Wise, Are much too rash in their self- confidence. The little flies, imprisoned in a room, May fly up to the ceiling, where they say : ' Now we have reached the highest point of all ! ' And then we laugh at them, we bigger flies Who can see all the boundless out-of-door ; And so may the Supreme, or angels, laugh At all the rash self-confidence of those Who think they've reached the limits of the Truth. Madaline, these great and wise Philosophers Remind me of the little Concord boy MAD ALINE. Whom one saw digging in the earth, and asked, What was he doing there ? who quick replied : ' Oh, sir, I 'm searching for the Infinite. ' 'T is true the man, than child, much taller is ; Thus, many inches nearer to the moon. The moon to each, howe'er, is yet far ofi ; And so I think, the distance is so great, The little child by digging in the earth "Will reach the Infinite as soon as they. But yet, Infinity can work both ways, And, just so sure as God is great and far, May also be enthroned in soul of man, And can hear, too, the humblest whispered prayer. Ah ! great and wise men ! This is where they err. They have strong sight, but only look one way ; Thus, are false teachers to their fellow-men Who strain their eyes the way these sages point, And, blinded by immensity and light, Leave all their work undone, or do it ill. They know full well that there is work to do 148 MAD ALINE. And is not that enough ? But they must try Boldly to see the very Master's self ! For those with eyesight strong enough to look Straight toward the Central Truth, like those rare men, True poets and philosophers, 't is well ; But they are very few who will not grow Confused and reel, perhaps may even fall, And so far lose their reason as to say, Because they can not see, ' There is no God ! ' Know, poor misguided ones, while on the earth These greatest who look farthest ne'er will see More than the light which penetrates the veil That hides the face of the Unknowable. "Then let weak man, instead, but contemplate The image of his God, which he may see Reflected in the lives of all good men Until he so in love with virtue grow, o He, too, may practice it ; that so, perchance, MADALINE. L49 At close of life, he may be strong enough To bear to see God's very self and live. " Let him, instead of standing but to gaze, - With eyes uplifted, true, yet standing low Stoop to the humble work -about his feet. Lowly deeds of love are lowly rounds Of that great ladder reaching to the skies. The ladder-rounds may be so much alike There may be dreary sameness in them, true, And while intent the where to place our feet, We may not realize we climb at all Until we feel ourselves grow blithe and strong, Breathing the purer air which we have reached. Ask those who spend their lives in loving acts, If they have not, by self-forgetting work, Climbed to an atmosphere so pure they feel Almost as light and joyous as the birds ; As one has felt when he has breathed the air Upon the mountains, when he ( neared the top; 150 MADALINE. Thus, slowly climbing higher, day by day, At length, when all our work is done, we hear A voice, which says : ' Look up ! Behold your God!' " I truly think it strange, so many men, Because they fancy Modern Science and Philosophy, have proved their faiths but false, Do, on account of that, lead careless lives. They say, that if there is a God and Heaven, God must be good, and so He surely will Let them, with others, share in Heaven's de lights. Poor, foolish men ! they do not stop to think, Things that are dead, to naught are sensible ! And they must not expect to pleasure feel, With moral natures lifeless as a stone Through life-long, selfish sinning. Would any know The depths of happiness which he may reach. MADALINE. 151 Let him with pains, and care, keep well alive His tender sensibilities of soul ; And neither let them die, become diseased, Nor, yet, by their improper use, be dulled. "And do you ask: 'What shall we say to those Who tell us that there is no Heaven, or Hell, Nor Immortality, nor even God ? ' We'll simply say to them, my Madaline, Science is a goodly animal, If so we keep him tame ; but if, perchance, It shall run mad, we will not calmly stand, And let it eat up both our souls and God ! We long will fight, ere it shall take our souls ! Without them, what are we, but corpses dead Drifting on life's sea, or here, or there ; No aim, no hope, because, in truth, no life. Our poor, white faces turned up to the sky, In stony stare, with which we can see nought. 152 MADALINE. "And, darling, is it hard to understand, How God can see our suff 'ring, and not help? She, doubtless, of the shining face of Truth, Had caught a glimpse, who wrote these lovely words : ' Suffering may be but joy, misunderstood. ' At least, I feel assured, dear Madaline, Who takes pain for the best, thus makes it so, And verities : ' Whatever is, is right. ' No evil is we may not turn to good, And with ourselves it lies, whether, so prove, Our ills become our servants, or we theirs. "And now, dear Madaline, .of all that I Have tried to show, this is the summary : Wiser, by far, and happier, are those Who learn to trust their instincts, Heaven-born ; And all, a safer guide, or soon, or late, Will find the intuitions of the soul, Than all the loftiest reasoning of the mind. MAD ALINE. 153 Intuition, is a bird that flies Straight to the point, and more unerringly, Than dull, slow-footed Reason, e'er can do. The latter may, in time, arrive at truth, Or, it may lose itself entirely, In labyrinthine paths of sophistry." Raising her eyes, in which a new-born hope Contended with regret, said Madaline : "O, Horace ! how have I wandered in the dark ! Had you but been beside me all these years, You might have kept me by you in the light, And I, the light to others might have shown. I longed, and tried, to comfort the distressed, But all that I could do was but to weep. " And then her face grew radiant as she said : "But still, I will not grieve, for you have taught My errors, and my darksome wandering, I may yet make my own. and others', good. MADALINE. 155 CANTO X. A June morn, beautiful and softly bright, Is Madaline's and Horace's marriage morn. The heaven has donned its dress of brightest blue, And lovely cirrus clouds of snowy white, Wrought in fantastic patterns, here and there Soften, but do not hide, the hue beneath ; As 't were a queen who had arrayed herself In richest azure robe, and over it Had draped exquisite lace of rare device. But fairer than the day is Madaline. Never has she been so beautiful In winning grace of youth and health. The while, Like halo 'round the moon when rain is near, Past sorrow has around her beauty left 156 MADALINE. A tender, chastened radiance of its own. The brooding shadows from her eyes are gone, And, as they had, from Horace's, sunshine caught, There shines in them the light of love and hope, As she, by Horace's side, her hand in his, Listens with sweet and trustful confidence To his strong, tender words, to cherish her Through good, through ill, till Death should come to part. And when the ring upon her hand was placed, And Horace on his young wife's lips had pressed The customary kiss, took her away To visit as she had expressed desire First time since leaving it, her childhood's home. No wedding tour could her the pleasure give, Equal to that she might receive from but One day of wandering with him, among The lovely spots she haunted as a child. MAD ALINE. 157 But when was there, and Horace rang the bell, Simply to ask the favor, as she thought, To spend a time in walking through the grounds, Her aunt, who had her second mother been. Whom she supposed so many miles away, Stepped forward to the door to welcome her ; And then, the joyous greeting at an end, She, into Horace's face, with wonder, looked ; Who, smiling lovingly upon her, said : " Welcome, my darling, to your future home. Accept your bridal gift, my Madaline. " When passed the shock of her surprise and joy, Horace led her through the well-known house, Showed her the rooms of Lola and Estelle, Who would come on the morrow from their school, Where they had been since Horace placed them there During the time that Madaline was ill. And then they spent the hours in wandering 158 MADALINE. Through lovely dells and shady woodland paths, More joyous than the birds which sang for them. And as the day was drawing to a close, And all the shadows on the grass grew long, Horace led her to a rustic bower, Where, years before, she had so often sat. As hushed and peaceful as were their own hearts, The lake lay stretched before them, lighted up With tender, iridescent hues, and dotted o'er With snowy sails bright with the sun's last rays, "While all the western heaven was glorious With royal colors borrowed from the sun. The lovely grounds, the lake, the glowing west It surely were sufficient loveliness E'en to inspire an unpoetic soul. They, for some time, in happy silence sat, And then, "O Horace!" exclaimed Madaline, " I would that I now had a poet's power, That I might paint this loveliness in words, That others with me might the beauty share ! " MADALINE. 159 And then, half pensively, she said to him : " Horace, I often used to think it hard To have a poet's sensibilities, To fancy and aspire, and yet be dumb. Often, oh, so often, have I ached With tender fancy, or with fiery thought, And felt that I must write, if but to cool The fever that consumed ; and so 4n haste Would set to work to find, alas ! my thoughts, Like molten metal from the furnace drawn, When written down, had grown but stiff and cold ! " And Horace, with the poem in his mind, Whose sad intensity had pierced his soul, Replied : " Dear Madaline do not say cold ! They were not like to molten metal, true, Whose very heat makes it with brightness glow. You will forgive me, dearest, when I say, Who read your poems, rather felt that they, In an abyss of boiling blackness, looked. " 160 MAD ALINE. She, then, into his face half sadly smiled : "I must have written truer than I knew, For at the time I wrote, my mind was like Earth's seething chaos ere the light was born. A poet's office is to soothe and charm ; So, of his lyre, must gently touch the strings, That all his music may be soft and sweet. I did, by my abruptness, startle all. Forgetting, I but loudly clashed the strings ; For I had suffered much, and had grown harsh And so my music also, when I played, Was but harsh, too, and, if inspired at all, Rather by Mars than by the god of love. A poet true, with fancies delicate, Should wrap an airy veil 'round nothingness, So all admire its graceful loveliness. His music must be low and sweet. He should So gently touch the strings, the strains will be As far and soft as sound of falling snow, MADALINE. 161 Or whisperings of leaves when they reply To tender, wooing breezes of the night. And he must paint his pictures with a brush Dipped in the liquid moonbeams ; or the faint, Sweet tints of Summer's clouds at set of sun. "My writing, at the best, is but a string Of common beads, with here and there a peart; Although the pearls were real, who 'd wear the string ? I '11 be your poet, Horace, not the world's. " And, looking up at him, she sweetly smiled, " A loving critic I may hope to please ; It would be pain, however just, to see Others tear in pieces what I weave, Declaring it ill- woven, and worse spun, And then untwist the threads, and burn a bit, To prove it only common cotton, too ; But, Horace, I have often sighed to think, Many with divine material, 162 MADALINE. Which might a fabric make of priceless worth, To be as precious heirloom handed down Through coming generations, will, through want, Oft spoil their work by haste, and all for naught, Except the paltry shillings it may bring. Ghibertti, on his gate, toiled fifty years ; And on one poem, Gray saw twenty die, Ere smoothed, and rounded, to its perfect shape. What modern worker thinks one year not long ? But gems of thought, 'tis true, will scarce buy bread ; Few can afford the time to polish them ; And though one spend his time in search of pearls, Diving far down into his nature's depths, For what the world may wear, and not himself, That world, meanwhile, stands by and lets him starve. 'T is sad that poets should have common needs ! " MAD ALINE. 163 And Horace, with his tender smile, replied : kt Ah ! Madaline, you have a poet soul ; And you might write true poem, if you would. And in the school of grief, where you have been, The best born poets often gain their wings. As winged Pegasus sprang from Gorgon's blood, A thing so dread, beholding turned to stone, So, from the blood of sorrow, oft will spring Divinest thoughts and fancies. Yet, Madaline, 'T is very sad to be a poet, dear, For all true thought is born in agony ; And child of Genius, whatsoe'er he be, A poet, painter, actor, what you will, Like pelican, tears open its own breast, And feeds its offspring with its own life-blood." The sun's last crimson rays had disappeared, AVhile Horace and his young wife thus conversed, And as they watched the daylight fade to dusk, He drew her closer with his circling arm, 164: MADALINE. And looking in her eyes' deep tenderness, He whispered: "Darling, have you so forgot Past sorrows, you are truly happy now ? " And as her eyes' soft light beamed into his, She answered, in a low, sweet, thrilling voice : "So happy, Horace, I could almost weep." One brief look more at Horace, and we leave Him and Madaline to live their lives, In unrecorded, happy usefulness. Two years have passed since their bright wedding- day, And in the halls of Congress, side by side With Edward Vaughn, sits Horace Hamilton. Thus, even in these days of Policy, Sometimes is real merit recognized, And Virtue, at the last, receives reward. Reward ! " Virtue is its own reward " ! How childishly we talk, as if, indeed, A little outward honor were so great ! MADALINE. 165 And is it not enough, that when we use Our moral faculties, the exercise Doth quicken all the life-blood of our souls, Till all its members thrill with new-born strength ? O, young man of to-day, beware ! beware ! Let not your moral nature become dead, Paralyzed, and dead, from want of use ! Keep well from harm your Conscience, that you ne'er May o'er its corpse, too late, weep your remorse ! DATE DUE "HINTED IN U.S A. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY ACIL TY AA 001 148264 3