Hii 
 
THE ROBERT E. COWAN !ON 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 C. P. HUNTINGTON 
 
 flee sssion No 
 
 Class No 
 
 ^-i 
 
 University of California Berkeley 
 
SA.THST 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHEE POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. DE WITT HUBBELL. 
 
 (IVORVJLUC.t 
 
 i 
 
 1\ i; I> BLUFF: 
 
 PRINTED BY CHALMERS & BISHOP, 
 
 MDCCCLXI. 
 
ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, A.D. 1861, by 
 
 S. DE WITT n n 
 
 Tn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for 
 thr Northern District of California. 
 
TO THE 
 HON. J. G-RA-N 
 
 EVBR IHS WARM-HEAH1ED FRISND OF EVERY ENTERPRISE THAT TENDS TO ADTANCS 
 THE WELFARE OF HIS FELLOW MEN J AXD TO 
 
 Xh.e Citizens of Tehama Cou.nty, 
 
 AMONG WHOM HE HAS LIVED SO MANY HAPPY YEARS, AND TO WHOSE KISHO 
 APPRECIATION HE COMMITS IT, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 1C GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 
. 
 
POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 SATIN SLIPPERS. 
 
 A cobbler sat in a dim -lit stall, 
 Stitching away with needle and awl ; 
 Making a pair of slippers small. 
 Two little slippers of satin white, 
 With soles of cork so thin and light, 
 And a lining of silk all smooth and bright. 
 From morning to eve at his task he plies, 
 Till finished these slippers of marvellous size, 
 So dainty and neat with their ribbon ties. 
 As the lamps were lit, the cobbler hied 
 To the gorgeous mansion where did reside, 
 Miss Florence Ellea Alice McBride. 
 
 ! she was as fair as the lily white, 
 When the dew-drop lies on its cheek at night ; 
 But proud and haughty as the devil, quite. 
 Her eyes were blue, and her teeth were pearls, 
 Her head was covered with auburn curls, 
 And her lips were like leaves the moss roseHmfurls. 
 Her arms were round, and her fingers slim, 
 Her ankles were small, and neat and trim, 
 With the smallest of feet attached to them. 
 ! such an exquisite, dear little foot 
 That none of her friends could wear her boot, 
 Though they tugged till their faces were black as soot; 
 And, as she danced, you could scarcely tell 
 When it touched the floor, 'twas handled ?o well. 
 
Old McBride was as rich as a Jew, 
 Or, as some did say, he wag rich as t 
 And all of his kin were as rich as he, 
 Down to cousins of the tenth degree. 
 He was puffy, and stout, with little red eyes, 
 And his breathing resembled a porpoise's sighs. 
 He was bow-legged and short, with a bullet head, 
 And a crop of hair of the coarsest red. 
 lie was pompous and grave ; looked knowing and wise, 
 As he twirled his seals of a monstrous size ; 
 His name was extremely heavy on 'Change, 
 And his ci n astonishing range. 
 
 Madame M. had departed this sphere, 
 morn that our heroine did appear, 
 Which old Mac thought so devilish queer, 
 That one day, over a pint of I 
 Ho told to the parson :i pious man, 
 Who of her funeral drew up the plan 
 Thut he thought it was strange his 1' 
 
 Should go off and leave him in such a way. 
 
 When he scarcely had needed her till that 
 
 And now he wa- ..>ny alone 
 
 With a squalling babe scarce two days gi 
 
 Then he scrat< h<-d hi> head, and swore an oath 
 
 That, thank his luck ! he'd enough for both. 
 
 And, in spite of her mother's loss, that she, 
 aid be all that HIS daughter ought to 
 
 Three nurses sat at her cradle side ; 
 Number oe the mother's place supplied, 
 Number two rocked the cradle when she cried, 
 And the third wa,i on hand for what might betide. 
 Uut now. i through 
 
 The same course of life the first year or two ; 
 Have each one their equ;\ s and pap, 
 
 With bumpin^s on floor, and piuchings on lap, 
 Mis- eedless to tell. 
 
 Save, wondrous well. 
 
SAT IX SUPPERS. 
 
 At the ripe Hge of eight she was sent off to school 
 In a coach and four, to be taught by strict rule 
 To dance and to sing, to curtsey and faint, 
 To bang a piano, and daub with oil paint ; 
 Through Society's jam to swing with a grace 
 Her steel-ribbed skirts to the very best place ; 
 To tease and torment, to flirt and to slander, 
 To sneer with contempt at all mention of candor ; 
 In short, to a school where most wonderful pains 
 Are taken to develop all else but the brains ; 
 And, as for the heart, the seventieth rule 
 Says that " no such thing is allowed in the school." 
 After eight years of life in that "finishing college," 
 Miss McBride was declared perfected in knowledge, 
 And sent back to her pa. as a young lady, whose skill 
 Gould turn a " Jack" for husband from the world's " deck,' 
 at will. 
 
 Miss Florence Ellen Alice McBride 
 Was seated her toilet table beside, 
 While her waiting maid, with a.skillful prido, 
 Arranged each curl of her auburn hair 
 To gracefully fall on the neck so fair. 
 1 that toilet table, of rosewood made, 
 Was a real bijou, for which old Mac paid 
 A fabulous sum, so I am told, 
 For its surface was inlaid with pearl and gold. 
 It held perfumes and extracts, divinely sweet, 
 With soap for the hands and sgap for the feet, 
 Soap for the face, and soap for the arms, 
 Cosmetics and washes to add to her charms ; 
 With brushes and combs of all shapes and sizes, 
 And powders and pastes beyond ones surmises; 
 With hundreds of pins, large, middling and small. 
 And hundreds of boxes to hold each and all. 
 Besides numbers of things, whose use none can tell 
 Save a beautiful, fashionable, young city belle. 
 
 Miss Florence had lately returned from her school, 
 And, as bon-ton life is all done up by rule, 4t 
 
-ATI\ >[.!! 
 
 An old mnid'Mi u'lnt. < >ut. 
 
 Hud promised to bring the jronn ut.' 
 
 And to give to her entrance into life a tone, 
 Had rousrnted to act as Miss Flor's chaper, 
 And, as this was the night for her splend! 
 
 is u iimkiiig up," the scene to jro tlirough. 
 
 At last lb( : 1 lovely ?hf sfe 
 
 All curls, and all smiles, like the angels of dre 
 < >r the sweet little girls we meet in romar, 
 Whom we know to hi- myth--, but still a!!< nee. 
 
 ^Ue Steps into her carriage with the eld-r!y aunt, 
 NN'ho looks wi-. tchedly solemn as becomes one so gaunt. 
 
 little slip! 
 
 l:i a c 'long. 
 
 With tii- tirsh colored hose, SO fine nnd so thin, 
 Wh'u-h yoiniLT ladie-; delight to encase their limi. 
 Ami which, \\heu drawn ti^ht on a leg round and small, 
 Ot all woman's lun- f all. 
 
 In the ball d 
 And an-a-: 
 
 Th- biOl it w i- for all of th' 
 
 owding arnl crashing, 
 iperbly dn 
 
 But Mill 1 >t>ed all tin- 
 
 Ther- ^ 
 
 And hun .: Q the go. 
 
 'I'lit-re w.i< liirt, \erchiefs fine. 
 
 Till tli. 
 
 heat ii PTai -ling and old. 
 
 .old. 
 
 . 
 
 Comfort, enjoyment and mirth. 
 T VAS found on t: 'rth. 
 
SATIN 31IPP1GRS. 
 
 At last, as the day was beginning to dawn, 
 
 The ball came to an end, lest the clear, honest morn 
 
 Should peep in at the window, and see, with surprise. 
 
 So many pale faces, and weak, pallid eyes. 
 
 Miss Florence McBride, in her carriage snug stowed, 
 
 By three of her partners, most terribly blowed, 
 
 Rode home to her father's, where going to bed, 
 
 She enjoyed the hard throbbiugs of a hot, aching head. 
 
 For two years thus through life she danced. 
 Flirted and flounced, and hopped and pranced. 
 Had admirers a score, but lovers none ; 
 For love is a thing frowned down by the " ton." 
 At length, one day, came a white, whiskered thing, 
 With a huge moustache, and a diamond ring. 
 He was dressed and fashioned up to the rule, 
 And some relation to Doestick's " Damphool." 
 He asked Miss Flor, with a simper sweet, 
 At how much she valued her hand and feet ? 
 She named the sum, and the bargain was made. 
 With old Mac's disinterested aid. 
 The wedding was fine, the trousseau grand, 
 And the papers blazoned it through the land : 
 " The groom was handsome the bride a queen, 
 Twas the finest affair that ever was seen." 
 But not half of its splendors could ever be told, 
 This wonderful wedding of whiskers and gold. 
 
 As a maid, Miss McBride had danced much before, 
 Asa wife, she danced, at least, as much more, 
 And her husband, who sickened of so much show, 
 Would cheerfully give her up to a beau. 
 Five years of their married life thus pass'd, 
 One year very much resembling the last : 
 At the Club, her husband his time spent all, 
 While Madame, the nights would pass at a ball. 
 But one day there came a financial smash, 
 And old Mac went down with the rest in the crash, 
 And the loss of his wealth so affected his brain, 
 That the old gentleman never recovered again. 
 
10 
 
 B LTIN 8LIPPKR8 
 
 11 Damphool's" relation, having spent rvf-rv i !. 
 
 With another man's wife, robbed her husband, and fled. 
 
 On a rude bed of straw, a garret within, 
 Lies a half naked form, starved, wasted, and thin, 
 With the traces of beauty still lingering where 
 Down the shrivelled neck rolls the thin, matted hair. 
 Alone, and dying, with the cold winter wind 
 Moaning and whistling through the old, broken blind ; 
 No lamp, and no fire, save one feeble light. 
 That hardly dispels the darkness of night ; 
 With the cold form of Death lying down by her 
 Is all that remains of Miss Florence McBride. 
 On her thin, little feet some caprice, to-night, 
 Has half fastened a pair of slippers white ; 
 Soiled, worn, and in tatters, full well do they mate 
 With her own sad, dark and desolate fate. 
 Poor, wretched being ! she's danced her last "set," 
 For Death, as a partner, his victim has met ; 
 And the music above, is the drive of the sleet 
 On the roof, as he finds that partner a seat ; 
 And the carriage that takes her, at morn, I 
 Is the hearse with its plumes and sable array, 
 To a couch, where no dreams, or throbbing headache 
 Disturbs the slumber from which none awake. 
 
A SONG OF SPRING. 
 
 The golden violet of spring time 
 
 On the red land lifts its head, 
 And the sunbeam amongst the clover 
 
 Tells that winter has fled. 
 
 Though the snow 'mid old " Yoly's 1 ' wrinkles 
 Looks cold and white through the air ; 
 
 And the midnight leaves frozen kisses, 
 On old "Lassen's" temples bare ; 
 
 Yet, hither the sunlight cometh, 
 
 In smiles so merry and^bright, 
 That frosts, if still lingering near us, 
 
 Steal by with a footstep light. 
 
 The earth, like some lady of fashion, 
 
 At toilette passes the hours ; 
 Her torn robes and gray tresses trimming 
 
 With buds, and leaves, and flowers. 
 
 She looks in her deep azure mirror, 
 Then smiles and gazes once more, 
 
 In the pride of the beauty they've lent her ; 
 So old and withered before. 
 
 Rejoice ! for the glorious spring time 
 Has come, and the bird and the bee, 
 
 On feathered and silken pinion, 
 
 Woo flower, and shrub, and tree. 
 
 Through yon cloud of silver, whose whiteness 
 Is sheening from heaven, afar, 
 
 The light of the moon falls, blended 
 With the glory of many a star. 
 
A DIRGE. 
 
 Moan, moan, moan 
 
 As you sway in the winds, old oak ; 
 And a cry goes forth on the midnight air 
 
 From a heart all shattered and broke. 
 
 Still darker the midnight grows, 
 
 Ami the woods in the shade sink deep ; 
 
 Hut the heart that is ever calling the lost 
 Knows not of the iweetness of sleep. 
 
 (Jone! gone! gone 1 
 
 Tis all that my soul doth know ; 
 And, oh 1 the sorrows of those that are left 
 
 To mourn for the ones that go ! 
 
 The red right arm of the sun, 
 
 With a sceptre of golden light, 
 Will drive the darkness, at morn, away, 
 
 And scatter the shadows of night. 
 
 Yet, there'll never come back to me, 
 
 The light that has gone from my soul : 
 
 But on through the day and on through the night 
 A funeral bell will toll. 
 
 Toll, toll, toll 
 
 A muffled, funeral bell, 
 Ever ringing within my heart, 
 
 For the lost, a dismal knell. 
 
 My soul, in its wildness of grief, 
 
 On the name of the lost doth cry : 
 And my heart will wait for an answering voice 
 
 lYrclmnce it may come, ere I dit. 
 
EL RODEO.* 
 
 Few are the sunny years, Fair Land of Gold, 
 
 That round thy brow their circlet bright have twined ; 
 Yet, each thy youthful form hath still enrolled 
 
 In wondrous garb of peace and wealth combined, 
 Few are the years, since old Hispania's sons 
 
 Reared here their Missions, tolled the chapel bell, 
 Subdued the native with their priestly guns, 
 
 To bear the cross of God, and man, as well. 
 
 Oft have the holy fathers careless stood 
 
 Within thy valleys, then a blooming waste ; 
 Or heedless toiled along the mountain flood, 
 
 That, rich with treasure, downward foamed and raced. 
 Those ^times and scenes have all long passed away, 
 
 Before the white man's wisdom-guided tread, 
 As fly the shades before the steps of Day, 
 
 When in the East he lifts his radiant head. 
 
 But still, thy valleys and thy mountains teem 
 
 With customs, common to the race of old ; 
 Like Indian names bequeathed to lake and stream, 
 
 They'll live while Time his restless reign shall hold. 
 'Tis of one such that I essay to sing ; 
 
 A custom much in vogue, and, no doubt, dear 
 To all who brood 'neath Spain's maternal wing, 
 
 Or " swing a lass" they call it El Rodeo. 
 
 Last night, at sunset, down the stream. I saw 
 The dark vaquerosf ride along the plain, 
 
 * The common pronunciation, (Rodere), is giren in the poein to this \rord, though, 
 perhaps, it may not be strictly correct. 
 
 t Bucharos men who herd stock, and perform other duties on a stock ranch. They 
 ar generally Mexicans or Chilenos. 
 
II 
 
 With jingling -pur. Mini bit, and ja 
 
 And snake-like lariatsf scarce e'er hurled in Tain. 
 The steeds they rode were chain pin- on the bit, 
 
 The agile riders ligi. ir " trees," 
 
 And many a laugh, jind iraif of Spanish wit, 
 men v music on the evening b: 
 
 it beyond tin- hill- their course they took. 
 
 And, when- then- III summer d 
 
 A h.kr. or slouch. OT - pebbly brook, 
 
 Th'- their camp-tire wildly b'. 
 
 All night they ; h its lurid glare, 
 
 Till had upsprung morn's beauteous herald star, 
 And then, received each horse the needed care, 
 
 Ouick, o'er the plains, they scattered near an-i 
 
 They come ! and thundering down the red land sb 
 
 The fierce ganado* mad! 
 While, close behind, urged to their utmost lope. 
 
 Tin- wild cuballo>?. drive the surging throng. 
 At headlong speed the riders k'-t-p the band. 
 
 With yells ind oath*. :ind waving hal< and t> 
 Till in the strong corral they panting stand. 
 
 When, re.t is gained for horses, and for throats. 
 
 Then conies the breakfast : soon the steer they kill, 
 
 And quickly is the dressing hurried through ; 
 The meat is cooked by ; . !l-liked skill. 
 
 And all do know what hungry men can do. 
 The Patron sits beneath yon old oak tree, 
 
 Kucircled by a _ui'"Up of chatti: 
 Tor. at Rodeo all one 
 
 , all around in greasy union bit: 
 
 - 
 1 u-uMlv M-I-V .iorsi. 
 
 atrh- 
 id ibr ft hwndred other purp - ..ir. or 
 
 IMU |,|.1,. ; \. ^n in<-h thi - noo*e 
 
 
 
 tttl-. 
 
EL KODKn. 
 
 The breakfast finished, risrarii's alight, 
 
 Unto the huge corral all hands proceed : 
 The strong-wove sinches are made doubly tight. 
 
 And the reata's noose prepared for need. 
 The fire is kindled, and the iron brand, 
 
 Amid its coals, receives the wonted heat; 
 The Patron waves assent, with eager hand. 
 
 And the dark riders bound to saddle seat. 
 
 Where yon dark cloud of dust is rising high. 
 
 The swart vaqueros, like the lightning, dart : 
 And singling out their prey with practiced eye, 
 
 Rush him from the affrighted herd apart. 
 Then whirls the lasso, whistling through the air, 
 
 In rapid circles o'er each horseman's head, 
 Till round the yearling's throat is hurled the snare, 
 
 Burning like a huge coil of molten lead. 
 
 Then, heedless of its struggles to get free, 
 
 They drag it to the Major Domo's* stand, 
 Who, though of tender heart he's wont to be, 
 
 Xow, merciless, sears deep in its flesh the brand. 
 The Spanish mother, at her youngling's cry, 
 
 Comes charging down with maddened hoof and horn- 
 While far and wide the crowd of gazers fly, 
 
 And hide behind the fence-posts till she's gone. 
 
 In faith, it is a sight well worth to see, 
 
 For those who love excitement's feverish touch : 
 And he who can look on and passive be, 
 
 lias ice within his nature over much. 
 What frantic bellowings pierce the startled air. 
 
 What clouds of dust obscure the mid-day sky, 
 What frenzied looks the maddened cattle wear. 
 
 As round and round, in vain, they raging fly. 
 
 These things, and many more, tend well to fill 
 The eager cravings of a morbid mind : 
 
 * The overseer or boss. 
 
 15 
 
lu 
 
 Akin to passions that full oft instill 
 
 Feelings that prompt the torture of its kind ; 
 
 But he, who rashly seeks a closer view 
 
 Of tortured calf, to mark each groan and sigh, 
 
 Receives, full oft, rebuke in black and blue, 
 
 Pointed, with force, to where his brains most lie. 
 
 The last calf now has met the common fate ; 
 
 Ear clipped, and branded, they have set him free, 
 The crowd have left, a few alone do wait, 
 
 And we have seen all that there is to see. 
 IVrliMps, some day, by some far abler pen, 
 
 These things shall, o'er again, be better r 
 And strangers to our clime shall mark them i 
 
 And deem them far from either tame or cold. 
 
THE "SHAKER." 
 
 Since the day when Eve first opened a style, 
 By donning a fig-leaf garb, the tf hile ; 
 Each year some peculiar mode has had, 
 That set the women all running mad 
 
 To be of its charms a partaker. 
 But all the years that have seen a "run," 
 Are thrown into the shade by '61 ; 
 Arid completely is darkened the noted shine 
 Of Bloomer, Red Petticoat, Crinoline, 
 
 By the bonnet a la "Shaker." 
 
 Bonnets of silk, and fine bonnets of straw, 
 Flats, hats and hoods, of patterns a score, 
 Have each been the rage, and passed away, 
 To give to some other gear the sway, 
 
 With more of oddity on it. 
 But of all the articles ever displayed 
 On the heads of matron, or of maid ; 
 The ugliest, meanest thing of the pile 
 Of a horrible shape, and an antique style 
 
 Is the confounded "Shaker" bonnet. 
 
 Better the sun should darken the neck, 
 Better that tan the cheek should fleck; 
 Better the looks of each freckle and speck, 
 Than this thing with which the ladies deck 
 
 The cranium's upper story. 
 It is shaped like a coal-scoop upside down, 
 With sooty ribbons trimming it round ; 
 And feebly dyed to a yellowish hue, 
 With a joint behind, and a scollop, or two ; 
 
 And lo ! the feminine glory ! 
 
18 
 
 Tilt: 
 
 If the sort, from whom it lakes it? name. 
 Should by 'M the same 
 
 Kinds, that on our street* appear. 
 I'll bet two to one, without a fear. 
 
 They'd have a "rand " kernip- 
 For in all the year- that h .: 
 Since the time Oi say. 
 
 That the eye of nior: IW, 
 
 In all of the world, a tiling before, 
 
 Just answering its description. 
 
 Now take . dcnr ladies, pr. 
 
 Ami throw the odiou< "Shake: 
 
 i.nnet I'm sure you 
 That'll help \rnir look?, and so pleas- 
 
 \Vhich should be your firm intention. 
 None of those thing? that smother th 
 And render ujjly hn: 
 Hut a nice little bonnet, jauty and i. 
 With ribbons, wax-flowers, all complete 
 me charming bit of invent. 
 
GRAINS OF GOLD. 
 
 Grains of gold! grains of gold ! 
 Out in the day-dawn gray and cold, 
 Delving beneath the frost-bound mold, 
 For the scattered grains of glittering gold. 
 
 Through the sleety day, through the freezing night, 
 'Xeath the blazing sun, in the pale moonlight; 
 'Mid the summer's bloom, and the winter's blight, 
 I have worn away life for these grains so bright. 
 
 An aching head and a mangled limb, 
 And an eye that a blast has rendered dim ; 
 A shrunken arm, maimed, wasted and slim, 
 With a fever, that makes my brain to swim ; 
 
 Rheumatism gnawing at every bone, 
 
 Consumption wheezing in every tone, 
 
 Are all that remain to me alone, 
 
 The grain I have reaped from the harvest sown. 
 
 Oh God! how I toiled for those grains of gold ! 
 Conscience was seared, and honor was sold, 
 And heaven was lost, in the battle bold 
 I waged against fate, for her crumbs of gold. 
 
 Gold is the God of my native land ! 
 Gold the best gift of the bridal hand ; 
 And gold is the link of the brotherly band 
 That welds into friendship, or weakens to sand ! 
 
 In the sunny years of my boyhood's life, 
 In days of peace, and in nights of strife, 
 Radiant with bliss, or with sorrows rife, 
 My eyes have turned to one star of my life : 
 
20 
 
 llairofgold! hair of gold! 
 
 Beautiful, lifeless, shining and cold ; 
 
 My darling sleeps 'neath the cburcb-jard mold, 
 
 The faireat flower its hillocks enfold ! 
 
 A sa<: mory of hours flown, 
 
 Of a love-lit eye, and a voice whose tone 
 , Was the swer my ear hath known. 
 
 Thrills me, and kilU me I'm poor, and alone! 
 
 \ 11 mi net! : hope of n 
 
 A simple picture chained to my breast, 
 Of JUT who was ever my angel best, 
 Are all that are miae in the golden West. 
 
A BIRTH-DAY REVERIE. 
 
 I am out in the deep, cold gloom, to-night, 
 
 With the years that have passed away and flown, 
 Musing in secret o'er the rapid flight 
 
 Of hours I once had counted as my own ; 
 And Memory's bloodless hand, so thin and cold, 
 
 Snake-like about my heart is tightly twined, 
 Awhilst its fingers steadily unfold 
 
 The past, with malice but too well defined. 
 
 The cold drops gleam upon my icy brow, 
 
 As, up from out the dark depths of the past, 
 Those things of yore, in a continuous flow. 
 
 Sweep through my brain like a keen winter blast, 
 Oh, for one tear ! my eyes are parched and dry : 
 
 Long years have dragged their snail-like course away, 
 Since in their depths did soothing tear-drop lie, 
 
 Or down my cheek; in moisture fade away. 
 
 Fond friends were once, enshrined within my heart, 
 
 But they've been torn from it, one after one ; 
 It was my fate, though hard, that we should part ; 
 
 And now, of them, to me remaineth none. 
 1 have not led a life nor never may 
 
 Such as can either win, or keep a friend 
 Shut up within myself, I've lived alway 
 
 A prisoner to my nature ne'er to blend. 
 
 "When life's fair morn glowed on 1113- boyish brow, 
 And 1 was full of youth's bright, tinsel dreams, 
 
 Beauty became my god. and, even now, 
 
 1 bend the knee when on my sight it beams. 
 
22 
 
 A i;; . 11:. 
 
 'Tis destiny! Thus, superstition's slave 
 
 Worships the image graven out of stone, 
 And deems him blest, if its rude feet to lave, 
 
 Hi.- brains around the idol's scat are strewn. 
 
 And this lias been my curse! My mind has teemed 
 
 So oft with phantom shapes of what it sought. 
 1 1. is SCMMI MI much unlike thoc things it dreamed, 
 
 That now it hath no faith or hope in aught. 
 The beauty that it worshipp'-d. never yet 
 
 Ha- been what it would have it, nor e'er will : 
 lit* real IP -.\ hat the thoughts beget 
 
 The painter's hru-!i outdoes e'en nature's skill. 
 
 Nature is ir i line : 
 
 Hut still, i _:* vary in 
 
 1 act ; ivine 
 
 Its end : but. i.ids me shun 
 
 The \\ays. that mo-t linve taken as a rule, 
 
 red who differ from their kind, 
 They call me crazy, or. WO1 
 
 I'nto their own uueer ti'iduct whollv blind. 
 
 The Turks DAYI 
 
 That on man's brow it is all written clear; 
 On mine 'tis farrowed, and I dread, each day, 
 
 To see another page of that dark lore appear. 
 The one. beneath whose fiat I now bend, 
 
 Is pitiless in power and dread in might 
 '.one. knows how that long page will end, 
 
 <M- whether healed will be this deadly blight. 
 
 He. who doth w. 
 
 Is mad ! ii.in he wh 
 
 Slril'e never can its iron gr. 
 
 ( T. di i\ < one single wa\ . 
 
 better then, to quietly .-ubmil 
 To it? decrees, howe'er they rack t 
 In hope that l>eath ere long will conquer it. 
 And bleta its victim with an endlcco real. 
 
oo 
 
 A BIRTH-DAY RKVMIUK. *-'> 
 
 A score, and four, of years have passed away, 
 
 And left me what? A broken, shattered thing ; 
 A ball with which rude circumstances play, 
 
 And here and there, as suits their caprice, fling. 
 But yet, I wait, and sometimes hope for what ? 
 
 Let Heaven answer; it, alone, can tell 
 Whether the boon I crave shall be, or not, 
 
 Or, unborn years bear still the stamp of hell. 
 
M A.GG I I-:. M A.VOURN 1-1 i 
 
 i lie night I : 
 
 Their beauty grows dim at the dawning ot 
 i he Spirit of Gloom, through the cold air long sailing, 
 
 To the lone mountain glens has hastened away. 
 Awake, Awake ! With thy brown hair loose flowing, 
 
 From thy lattice gaze forth on the rosy young morn, 
 Which on thy fair cheek a light kiss bestowing, 
 
 Will leave a new beauty to grace it, ere gone. 
 
 wourneen, the wild lark is bringing 
 A tribute of song to the merry red morn ; 
 Tlu> bright p-arly d-\f -drop.-?, to the wild flowers clinging, 
 
 ! their bosoms, and faded, and gone. 
 Awake, oh, awake! From thy soft sleep upspringing, 
 
 :e the long holies of thy dreamy eye, 
 Which o'er thy soul a rich glory flinging, 
 
 Will reflect back the smiles that beam from the sky. 
 
 Maggie, Mavourneeu, while all nature is teeming 
 
 With beauties, no mists arise now to mar; 
 On thy angel-watched couch thou'rt silently dreaming 
 
 The sweetest of morn's lovely beauties, by far. 
 Awake, awake 1 Soon the sun will be sweeping, 
 
 O'er you mountains of snow, in a torrent of wrath ; 
 One kiss from his lips will banish thy sleeping 
 
 Maggie, Mayourneen, linger not in his path. 
 
 
SCENE IN THE TROPICS. 
 
 Slow the shades of eve are stealing 
 
 Through the balmy, dreamy air ; 
 Silvery vesper bells are pealing 
 
 Forth the call to evening prayer ; 
 And the light-winged zephyr, sighing 
 
 O'er the sleeping, star-lit sea, 
 Wafts, from where the day is dying, 
 
 Low, soft strains of melody. 
 
 Fragrant orange groves are sending 
 
 Forth a perfume, rich and rare ; 
 Thither, joyously, are wending 
 
 Dancers, dark-eyed, bright and fair ; 
 And the guitar's silver tinkling 
 
 Softly swells the trees among, 
 Setting roguish eyes a twinkling, 
 
 As their songs of love are sung. 
 
 But the shadow's growing dimmer, 
 
 Where the moon-beams strike yon tree; 
 And a strange light's feeble glimmer 
 
 Breaketh o'er the moaning sea. 
 Hark ! the distant thunder booming! 
 
 Every moment drawing nigher; 
 See the ink-black storm-clouds looming, 
 
 Deeply tinged with lurid fire. 
 
26 
 
 A SCKM. is i in: ntOPIOS 
 
 Along the wavt-lasbed, quaking shore 
 
 The shivered trees are falling t. 
 And, high above the tempest's roar, 
 
 Shrill shrieks of pain, thrill on the l>la>t. 
 From ruined village, grove, and fane, 
 
 Where, through the long dark hours of night, 
 The storm-fiend of the hurricane 
 
 Sweeps onward with resistless might. 
 
 Slow dawns, at last, the morning light, 
 
 Revealing scenes of wildest dread ; 
 And all that bloomed so fair o'er night, 
 
 In ruins, now, is blighted spread. 
 And, where the guitars witching breath 
 
 Floated, at eve, the trees among, 
 Stretched out in cold and mangled death , 
 
 Full many a beauteous form is Hung. 
 
 The church, where hung the vesper bell. 
 
 Whose silvery tones so charmed the ear, 
 Hoard, 'mid the blast, its hoarse death knell, 
 
 And lies, a pile of ruins, near. 
 Peru's dark daughters long will mourn 
 
 Above their lovely sisters' graves ; 
 With many a cross, they'll, shuddering, turn 
 
 To where the blighted Orange waves. 
 
PLOW DEEP. 
 
 Down in the depths of the musty old tome, 
 
 Did the eyes of the student pore ; 
 Seeking amid the volume's rich loam 
 
 The kernels of precious lore. 
 And large was the harvest knowledge sent, 
 
 The student's mind to o'er heap, 
 As a glad reward for the time he spent 
 
 In plowing her pages deep. 
 
 Fathoms beneath old ocean's blue wave, 
 
 The intrepid diver sank; 
 And, standing within that mighty grave, 
 
 Drew wealth from Death's "Saving's Bank." 
 Coin, and jewels, and gold he bore 
 
 Back, on his upward leap ; 
 For great the richness of ocean's store, 
 
 To be found by plowing deep. 
 
 When moistened the earth by genial rains, 
 
 The farmer prepares his land ; 
 From early dawn till twilight wanes, 
 
 The plow seldom leaves his hand. 
 Deep tilled the soil the buried grains 
 
 To life, in the rich loam, leap ; 
 Soon a heavy crop rewards the pains 
 
 Of 4he farmer in plowing deep. 
 
 'Twill thus be seen that he who would gain 
 
 Fame, wealth, or a heavy crop, 
 Wherever he seeks them, seeks in vain, 
 
 If he goes not beneath the top. 
 Light plowing is but poor work, at the best, 
 
 Then, point the plowshare in steep ; 
 For, he with fortune is always blest, 
 
 Who seeks it by plowing deep. 
 
MARGARET LEE. 
 
 I'm kneeling within the church-yard to-night, 
 Where they're laid thee, my pretty Madge Lee ; 
 My arms are thrown round thy tombstone white, 
 I droop o'er the mound that hides thee from sight- 
 On I beautiful Margaret Lee ! 
 
 his life is a weary one of mine, 
 Since thou hast left me, my darling Madge Lee ; 
 For ihe smile that has fled from thy lips I pim-. 
 For the joy of the voice, that so sweet, was thine 
 
 Oh ! dark-eyed Margaret Lee ! 
 
 I was happy, too happy, \\hcn thou 
 Looked thy fond love, my \\orshipi e ; 
 
 But a hand of ice on my wrecked heart, ii 
 !< pressing its fingers, and chilling my brow 
 Oh ! wildly loved Margaret Lee ! 
 
 Oh ! why ilidst thou i MIS sadly u'. 
 
 To seek thee in heaven, my own Madge J. 
 Didst thou not know, when ///// Fi>irit had flown, 
 Drooping to death would then b/my own ? 
 Oh ! brown-haired Margaret Lee ! 
 
 The night winds come moaning around thy tomb, 
 Cold, cold as thy brow, my lost Madge Lee ; 
 Ami the damp mists are blending in with the gloom, 
 F.ut 1 heed not their poisonous breath of doom 
 I'm comii Margaret Lee ! 
 
 ! the blood in my veins grows cold ! 
 On thy prave my head sinks slowly, V 
 From thy tombstone white my arnus unloM. 
 I'm tailing asleep on the rhnrch-yaul niolti!- 
 Lioing ! going ! to M.n _ 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 Strange are night's visions, that around the brow 
 Fold their wild wings, and nestle in the breast ; 
 Of mystic fabric are our dreams composed, 
 And deep within the heart they find a rest. 
 Perchance, these things are in the book impresi'd 
 That holds our destinies, of which the mind, 
 Set free, by sleep, from the dull, cloddish breast, 
 Soaring far upward, leaves the earth behind, 
 And reads a portion to all the balance blind. 
 
 Ah, who can tell their purpose or explain 
 Their mystic meaning? 7 Tis beyond man's skill; 
 Noiseless they come, and noiseless go again : 
 And one creates a charm, the next doth kill ; 
 
 ' Filling the soul with hope or fear at will. 
 
 I, too, have dreamed, of late, a strange, wild dream ; 
 
 And pondered o'er its shape and form until 
 
 My brain has throbbed, nor caught a single gleam 
 
 To light the darkness that enwraps that dream. 
 
 As on my couch, in slumber stretched along, 
 I careless lay, one moonlight summer night, 
 A form of brightness, garbed in robes of gold, 
 Anear my pillow closed its pinions white. 
 And with a pen of flame it seemed to write, 
 Upon a silver tablet, words of gold, 
 That glowed like fire upon my dazzled sight ; 
 Then in a sweet, low voice it did unfold 
 Its state and purpose, as you here behold. 
 
 'From yon bright orb, where Venus sits enthroned 
 On radiant piles of silver and of gold, 
 And guides the timid eve and forward morn, 
 As they the gates of night and day unfold, 
 Lighting the stars with twilight fi*m of gold, 
 

 : \STKKV 
 
 their luatre u iili tic 
 llitht-r I come, unto this louer worl 
 To do those th'mjjs Unit 1 was l'nl t" 
 
 Fale insiy explain t- 
 
 from you star my \vliitc \\injr* cut tlu-ir \ 
 I psin.-ed to look upon this iv 
 
 Which mortals call t!n-ir own in foolish pride 
 Ami >aw a lo nil of beauty sleeping i 
 Which, deemi'u 
 Auiiil the inilk-wiiiti' linrn of In r ' 
 
 ed, ami BO 
 
 VIMI / liiin^ 'raptured o'er her i 
 Ami halt' forgot tin: \v..;k for wlii-h to earth I I 
 
 "on the pillow .-r ihirk-broxrn hair 
 
 A s'ha!tw M>tt upon a mound of snow 
 Falling from I'.ml lair. 
 
 Ki\ ailed the mvk \\hieh sheened the hair ati 
 
 arm. on \\hieh the Idtic veins traced the flow 
 (M'therieh lilood, henealh the 
 Wai till a i-heek, with health aglow, 
 
 Sh: ' ireil in. 
 
 A mi ii Hnd thin. 
 
 ' I linger tl for a mome.nl. 
 
 i. pon the l-eiiiit. j cd, 
 
 trom otl'her lovely head, 
 And brought it liitln Qaeeo hath 
 
 / y tinis hath licen-ed In-anty'a i 
 Tli- spirit finished, and I -aw it hold 
 The silken tress, OIMM- \virii ly tiiat fair maid, 
 Cnto my hand, \vhieh .^hortly did infold 
 The b ;:er than threads of gold. 
 
 I' ('folding its lonu" \\ . i 
 
 'I'iie -hint \anUhed. oftly a> it came : 
 Ami, then, a^ain lit up ihe startled D 
 A brilliant column of supernal H.tn 
 nhieh the \\< r r \\\. Id seen before r 
 
T 
 
 A MY3TKKY. ' 
 
 From out a cloud of mingled fleeca aud haze, 
 A melody, lika chime of church bells, came; 
 And while th room seemed all around nblaze. 
 Voices of spirits thus this chant did raise : 
 
 CHANT. 
 
 "Thou art holding a lock of silken hair 
 Have a care! have a care ! beware ! 
 Clipped from the head of maiden rare, 
 But blonde or brunette, dark or fair, 
 Whisper it, lock of hair ! 
 
 "Be she old or young, short or tall 
 Have a care ! have a care! beware ! 
 Dwells she in cottage, or in hall, 
 Loveth she much, or none at all, 
 Whisper it, lock of hair ! 
 
 " The serpent hides in the lily's breast 
 Have a care ! have a care ! beware ! 
 He glistens when the wind is at rest, 
 But will he not sting when his coils are press'd ? 
 Whisper it, lock of hair! 
 
 " A ring of gold, and a serpent, too 
 Have a care ! have a care ! bewaro ! 
 This little tress shall pass into, 
 But which of the twain is meant for you ; 
 The future will declare/' 
 
 I twined the silken, dark-brown tress of hnir 
 Around my finger in a single folfl ; 
 It glowed, as though afire, a moment there, 
 Then changed into a little ring of gold 
 But soon again its former shape did hold. 
 I placed it in my bosom, and it wore 
 A serpent's form, and slimy grew, and cold ; 
 It raised its head to strike ; its tongue I gaw, 
 And woke my dream, and night were o'er. 
 
39 
 
 - A MY5TERT. 
 
 The day had dawned, when from my sleep I brok*. 
 And mid-way up the morning-gilded sky, 
 Venus had veiled her glories in a cloud, 
 And every star had sought its couch on high, 
 While the red sun the horizon was nigh. 
 My dream I thought of as fled with the night ; 
 But springing from my conch, there caught my eye 
 A little coil, which glistened in the light 
 A lock of hair! a mystery of the night ! 
 
FOR MUSIC. 
 
 When sorrow o'er thy young heart is stealing, 
 
 And grief on thy brow casts a shade, 
 As blighted by this world's cold feeling, 
 
 The flowers of thy bright dreams fade ; 
 Oh, turn to the cage where is biding 
 
 The sweet bird your heart holds so dear : 
 Perchance, in his gay song there's hiding 
 
 Some charm that will banish each tear. 
 
 When in anguish thy head is low bending, 
 
 As life's star shines darkly and dim; 
 And tears from thy pure heart are wending, 
 
 Till in pearl-drops thy bright eyes swim ; 
 Oh, turn to the cage whence is welling 
 
 The music so sweet to thine ear ; 
 Perchance, in the melody's dwelling 
 
 Some charm that will banish each tear. 
 
 When loved friends are coldly forsaking 
 
 The heart that they never could prize ; 
 And in silence thy young spirit's breaking, 
 
 And thy breast runneth over with sighs ; 
 Then turn to the pet bird that's flinging 
 
 Around thee a melody dear ; 
 Perchance, to some note there is clinging 
 
 A charm that will banish each tear. 
 
 The soul that in sorrow is pining, 
 
 Oft a solace in music can find ; 
 As round it each fond note is twining, 
 
 Every grief at once flies from the mind ; 
 When melody around it is stealing, 
 
 As soft as the light, summer air ; 
 There will come to thy soul a calm feeling, 
 
 That drives from the eye every tear. 
 
LITTLE -BELLE BEAUTY. 
 
 Dark-eyed child with the midnight hair, 
 
 Thy merry laugh's sweet silv'ry peals, 
 Into this weary heart of mine, 
 
 Like a half- forgotten music, steals ; 
 And, as with thy little frisky prt. 
 
 You while the hour in graceful play, 
 The accents of thy soft voice ring 
 
 With the vanished charm of another .1." 
 
 I have sat and watched thy nimble foot 
 
 Go tripping it lightly to and fro ; 
 I have marked the sunny smile-beams flit 
 
 From thy rosy lips to thy brow of snow ; 
 1 have seen thy dark hair's glist'ning carls 
 
 Float out, like down, on the Autumn air ; 
 Then fall, like feathers of jet on snow, 
 
 Back to thy neck of a whiteness rare : 
 
 And I've thought of one as fair as thou, 
 
 Who nestled nnear me, in boyhood's day. 
 But whose bright dark eye and lute-toned voice* 
 
 To the angel land are passed away. 
 Her merry voice hath oft made glad 
 
 A brothers heart, with its girlish glee ; 
 Her face was so like to thine, bright child, 
 
 Xo wonder I love to gaze on thee ! 
 
 .M.-iy thy life, so glad in its early morn, 
 
 Through years, and years of happiness run : 
 May the same bright smile, that I saw to-day, 
 
 As merrily greet each morning's sun ! 
 May the tomb ne'er steal, as it did from one 
 
 Who faded away, oh, long ago, 
 The rose-tint from My fair young cheek, 
 
 Or twine thy brow with its wreath of snow ! 
 
LITTLE " BELLE BEAl "IT." 
 
 Strangers are we ; though the hand of Fate 
 
 Has brought us, the while, each other ancar, 
 We part, perchance, never again to meet, 
 
 Nor more may thy sweet voice greet my ear ; 
 Yet, its winsome tones will linger long 
 
 In my heart, when thou art far away : 
 And thy sunny gmile in my mind will gleam 
 
 As bright as it wreathed thy lips, to-day. 
 
 35 
 
ON THE ROAD. 
 
 Away ! away ! o'er the dusty plain, 
 With blood-stained spur, and a slackened reiii, 
 With a muttered joy at each quickened bound, 
 I hurl my steed o'er the trembling ground. 
 
 The gun is sinking afar in the West, 
 The night-wind sweeps down from the mountain ere* 
 The grey owl's wild eyes peer out from the graig, 
 And the bat wheels into the air as I pass. 
 
 Away ! away ! on his straining breast 
 The great cords swell and the foam is prest ; 
 But the fire glows in the grey steed's eye, 
 And his breath comes hissing, hot, and dry. 
 
 On my anxious brow the sweat beads stand, 
 And fall like fire-drops on my hand ; 
 But I shout like mad at the whirlwind speed, 
 To which I have urged my panting steed. 
 
 Away ! away! I am into the night; 
 And the stars are out in their mantles white : 
 My blue steel spur is with red gore drent, 
 And half of the whip from my wrist is reut. 
 
 A stumble a fall and my horse is down ! 
 But, with a wild snort, he springs from the ground ; 
 I breathe him a moment in saddle again 
 And madly, once more, we tear o'er the plain. 
 
 On ! on ! the shadows in the road lie dark, 
 And echoes anear the cayote's bark ; 
 But nor whip nor spur can know of a reat. 
 'Till the form I love ii strained to my breait. 
 
A SONG OF AUTUMN. 
 
 The leaves are sighing, sadly sighing 
 
 The requiem of the dying year 
 And dark-browed cloudlets slowly flying 
 
 O'er the earth, drop down a tear. 
 Nature now wears a sombre face, 
 
 As conscious that its smiles must fade, 
 When Winter rules, in Summer's place, 
 
 From its cold throne enwreathed with shade. 
 
 The leaves are mourning, ever mourning ; 
 
 In silence all night long they weep ; 
 Their gay green robes are slowly turning 
 
 To the dark-brown garb of sleep. 
 The flowers that by the fountain dwelt, 
 
 When smiled the merry Summer sun, 
 The change that's coming, too, have felt, 
 
 And droop their crumbling stems upon. 
 
 The leaves are falling, thickly falling ; 
 
 On the ground they mouldering lie, 
 Or, upon the winds of Autumn, 
 
 Round in freakish circles fly. 
 The little birds that once sang gaily, 
 
 Peeping the green foliage through, 
 Now chirping hop amid them daily, 
 
 Bidding them a longj adieu. 
 
 My soul ,is musing, sadly musing, 
 
 Within my little chamber here, 
 O'er the dreams that, too, are loosing 
 
 All their brightness with the year. 
 The hopes that in my heart once dwelt, 
 
 When smiled the morn of youth's bright sky, 
 The changeful hand of time have felt, 
 
 And, like the flowers, but bloomed, to die. 
 
38 
 
 My heart is wishing, often wishing, 
 
 When sighs the wind so mournful deep, 
 
 That with earth's flowerets now fading, 
 It, too, could droop and go to sleep. 
 
 For it is like the earth in winter, 
 
 Its flowers gone, its song birds flown, 
 
 And barre* as a frozen meadow, 
 
 ro/Jloom hath reared his ebon throne. 
 
SECRET GRIEF. 
 
 The smile around the lips may play, 
 
 The eye may flash with merry light, 
 And still the heart be far from gay, 
 
 Nor teem the mind with visions bright ; 
 A joyous look the face may wear, 
 
 And lightsome words the tongue may speak, 
 The brow may show no trace of care, 
 
 Nor shade of sorrow blanch the cheek 5 
 
 Yet, still, within the silent breast, 
 
 A fire of anguisheji thought may burn, 
 Whose searing flame ne'er knoweth rest, 
 
 Or smoulders in its living urn ; 
 A weight of grief that none may know, 
 
 Is hidden in each smother'd sigh ; 
 From eyes and lips wells forth a woe, 
 
 That finds no vent when man is nigh. 
 
 The mirthful song, the flash of wit, 
 
 To other ears may seem as bright, 
 As though some one had uttered it, 
 
 Whose heart had never known a blight. 
 The eye that oft in moisture swims, 
 
 Reflects a sorrow, light and brief ; 
 But not a tear the vision dims, 
 
 To tell the pangs of secret grief. 
 
 But, when alone, the breaking heart 
 
 Unburdens from the breast each care, 
 And thrilling sighs unbidden part, 
 
 The thin, cold, silent wreaths of air ; 
 When from the icy brow there spring 
 
 Tears, that with anguish gleam and glow, 
 And fleeting minutes seem to bring 
 
 Upon their wings an age of woe ; 
 
40 i KT GRIEF. 
 
 When every thought breathes but despair, 
 When every scene is tinged with gloom, 
 
 When the soul's ceaseless, only prayer, 
 Asks but the rest found in the tomb ; 
 
 1Vhen hope's sweet promises are shed, 
 Upon an eat- to solace deaf, 
 
 The heart to joy, life, all, is dead- 
 All, but its own consuming grief. 
 
MORE LIGHT. 
 
 More Light! more light ! is the student's sigh, 
 
 As low o'er his book he doth pore ; 
 And wildly flashes his gleaming eye, 
 
 As he gathers the priceless lore. 
 His lamp burns dim as the night breeze sighs 
 
 Through the creaking and broken blind ; 
 But with iron will his task he plies, 
 
 Gathering more light for the mind. 
 
 More light ! more light ! is the Christian's prayer, 
 
 As he bows o'er the page of grace, 
 To glean the truths that are hidden there, 
 
 And its wonders of love to trace. 
 In the closet hours of silent night, 
 
 As he bends o'er the sacred scroll, 
 His prayer to Heaven oft wings its flight, 
 
 In search of more light for the soul. 
 
 More light ! more light ! is the poet's cry, 
 
 As he raises his aching head, 
 And wistfully gleams his bright, dark eye, 
 
 As his spirit by dreams is fed. 
 His soul grows sick as the dark hours fly, 
 
 And his brow is throbbing with pain ; 
 From his breast there breaketh a feeble sigh, 
 
 As he seeks more light for the brain. 
 
 More light ! more light ! is the plaintive wail 
 
 That sadly breaks o'er Afric's sea. 
 From lands where millions in darkness quail, 
 
 Blind in their own idolatry. 
 With imploring voice the heathen turns 
 
 To lands that Gospel light doth cheer ; 
 Dim in the distance the spark he discerns, 
 
 And o'er the sea his shouts ring clean 
 
42 
 
 tfOBl LIGHT. 
 
 Morn light! more light! 'tis our greatest need, 
 
 For life is short, the future dark ; 
 With doubt our souls must always bleed, 
 
 Till death shall quench the guiding spark. 
 And oft ascends the murmuring cry, 
 
 From those who wander, wrapt in gloom, 
 Asking from Heaven the reason why 
 
 Mankind must blindly meet their doom. 
 
TEARS. 
 
 How beautiful a blue eye looks, 
 Seen through a yail of tears ! 
 
 How brightly, when the grief is past, 
 The sweet smile reappears ! 
 
 Thus, oft, the night-sky's softest blue 
 Through some fleece-vail will sheen ; 
 
 And moon-beams, as the cloud drifts by, 
 Smile sweetly o'er the scene. 
 
 Tears are the dew-drops of the heart : 
 From its deep cells they spring ; 
 
 When care and grief a blight impart, 
 They fall and soothe the sting. 
 
 Tears are the fairest, richest gems 
 Sweet maidenhood can wear ; 
 
 No jewels grace earth's diadems, 
 More lustrous, pure, and rare. 
 
 Tears are the mind's own rays of light : 
 When darkly throbs the brain, 
 
 They flash, and through the mental night 
 It brightens up again. 
 
 They nestle 'on the young girl's cheek, 
 Like dew on flowers, the while 
 
 In beauty, till the eyes look down, 
 And melt them with a smile. 
 
 Tears are the soul's warm, summer rain : 
 When hope has nearly fled, 
 
 Its fading bloom returns again, 
 As those warm drops are shed. 
 
E U N I N E. 
 
 Far off in tin- <1 
 
 There's a glimmer of misty light, 
 As star after star quietly slips 
 
 From out the numb grasp of Night. 
 
 We have watched them fade away 
 The shadows and I, from the plain ; 
 
 Thy star-bright eyes, like them, Eunine, 
 Seemed brightest when on the wane. 
 
 When Day furled his banner of light, 
 Ami left his world-charge to Sleep, 
 
 I wandered out 'mid the tents of Night, 
 My watch for the lost to keep. 
 
 I made me a seat of brown moss, 
 'Neath a tangled wild-wood vine, 
 
 And I gazed in the eyes of heaven, Eunine, 
 As oft I have gazed in thine. 
 
 As I saw each star go down 
 
 'Mid that ocean of moon-lit blue, 
 
 I thought of hopes that, once as bright, 
 Had vanished as quickly, too. 
 
 Some madcap Spirit of light ; 
 
 As merry and wild as thee ; 
 Out from behind the curtains of night 
 
 Leapt down in smiles on me. 
 
 But quickly their brilliant light 
 Faded away from my brow ; 
 
 So like to that of thy smiles Eunine 
 A bright memory only, iio\v. 
 
TO AD EL LA. 
 
 Beautiful thought of a mind divine. 
 
 Bright-eyed child of the voice of song ; 
 What echoes woke in this heart of mine, 
 
 As o'er thy strain it lingered 'long. 
 Music was made for the saddened heart 
 
 A voice like thine, to soothe the soul ; 
 ; Tis God's own gift ! in vain would art 
 
 Seek thus man's spirit to control ! 
 
 My mind was dark with things of the past, 
 
 The stings of many a heavy blow ; 
 With dreams of friendship, ne'er to last. 
 
 And much of ill that earth doth know ; 
 From thy lips there came a sweet, low strain, 
 
 That charmed the ear with its gentle spell ; 
 It glowed in the Ijeart, and soothed the brain, 
 
 And calmed the breast's wild, angry swell. 
 
 I lingered long o'er that witching air, 
 
 Till it died away in echoes sweet ; 
 And oft my mind, when dull with care. 
 
 Bids memory the charm repeat ; 
 But in thy voice the spell is bound, 
 
 And soothes not now, as once ; the strain : 
 My heart leaps up at music sound. 
 
 And calls on thee to soothe in vain ! 
 
 Then, since thy voice man's woes can calm, 
 Thy soul and it keep ever pure ! 
 
 And let its gentle accents gush 
 
 From out a heart no guile can lure. 
 
4(1 
 
 Th y brow is fair, for thy young mind 
 On it, as yet, no pang has wrote ; 
 
 And may the years to come ne'er find 
 A sully on thy brow or note ! 
 
 Sing on ! but never tune thy voice 
 
 To aught of ill ; but let its charm * 
 Soothe ever grief, and woe, and wrong, 
 
 And ne'er be raised to scorn or harm. 
 So shall each one, as I do now, 
 
 Whene'er thy gentle song they hear, 
 A blessing breathe upon thy brow, 
 
 For moments tbou bast rendered dear. 
 
OF A VERITY. 
 
 Tis strange that a sensible man should go mad, 
 When woman proves naught but a flirt ; 
 
 There's more of the kind in the world to be had, 
 And as cheap, too, as dust and dirt. 
 
 The fish just drawn from the rivulet's breast, 
 
 By the fisherman's skillful hand, 
 Is not so much better than all the rest, 
 
 Left nestling still in the sand. 
 
 The first peach that falls from the laden tree, 
 That we eat with such pleasure now, 
 
 Is no sweeter than those that above, we see, 
 Bend low the stout old bough. 
 
 " The lovely Miss is enriched with such charms ; 
 
 Her waist is a span in size , 
 Perfection modeled her hands and arm:!, 
 And the Heavens colored her eyes ;" 
 
 But ten to one, were the truth but known, 
 
 The form, by " beauty so graced," 
 Unpadded, would prove all skin and bone, 
 
 And her waist but tightly laced. 
 
 Another charmer is, oh ! so sweet, 
 
 With her words and honied smiles ; 
 
 But she gives them alike to all she doth meet ; 
 To catch fools, she expends her wiles. 
 
 Then take my advice and do not feel hurt, 
 Should your love but meet with scorn ; 
 
 For woman soon learns to be but a flirt ; 
 With hearts they are rarely born. 
 
! N DA II K N ESfi 
 
 Out in the silent niuht. 
 
 Alo 
 And I hear the sound of a much lovnl nuine 
 
 In the rustle of every leaf. 
 
 The ! '. on the : 
 
 Or whirl to th- ink : 
 
 : "' ' m PPy> * or not J'^e me 
 
 >ower to think. 
 
 I call to the d-irk-br 
 
 Wh.u reward doth friendship meet ? 
 
 " Injrr 
 
 ;.e 
 :ig J 
 
 ur, know n . 
 Id i itteg. 
 
 '.l^'il in ^i' 
 
 ii a \\ nth. 
 ><>m. 
 
 I turn tc> > 
 
 ye ray anguish hear ? 
 
 :' falls down to my feet : 
 
 
 
 Out in the silent night, 
 
 Alone with a broken dream ; 
 ! I see the smile of a shadowy fare, 
 ale moonbeam. 
 
A LOVE SONG. 
 
 (TO MUSIC.) 
 
 Fondly the pale stars watch, love, 
 
 Watch o'er the flowers asleep ; 
 And the silver wave with its snowy crest, 
 
 Is catching the tears they weep. 
 Softly the dew-drops fall, love, 
 
 Fall on the mossy green ; 
 And the leaves of the lily gently fold, 
 
 With the sparkling drops between. 
 
 There's music in the air, love, 
 
 Music for the heart alone ; 
 And dreams of love, too wildly bright, 
 
 Breathe softly in each tone. 
 Sweetly the strains are played, love, 
 
 Played by a fairy hand ; 
 And the soul grows sadder whilst it lists 
 
 To the song of the sylphid band. 
 
 Sighing, I sit and dream, love, 
 
 Dream 'neath the green-leafed tree ; 
 And my heart beats high in gladsome hope, 
 
 That thou'rt dreaming, too, of me. 
 Sweetly the pale stars smile, love, 
 
 Smile, in their quiet mirth ; 
 They know that deep is the love I bear, 
 
 Their fairy sister on earth. 
 
TIN-; OLD MAID'S BURIAL. 
 
 dark midnight, along tin- 
 In heavy clouds the dump mi.st lay; 
 When in her noisome grave was laid, 
 ;:, wrinkled, crabbed old maid ; 
 And those who stood by the coffin's side, 
 Chuckled to think of death's n<-w bride. 
 
 An owl, perched on a tombstone white, 
 Hooted in scorn at such a sight ; 
 And the slimy snake, that near did hide. 
 Hissed his contempt of woman's pride; 
 While those who bent o'er the old maid's tomb, 
 devils and imps dance through the gloom. 
 
 "Go search," they said, '-in the serpent's bed, 
 And bring the de;i wreathe her IK 
 
 The poisonous night-shade we will 
 To rot, on this mass of useless clay 
 1 the worms below, that laugh at the sight, 
 Will feast to their fill, on old bones this night! 
 
 " Go catch the toad, 'neath yonder yew, 
 And take from its back the blistering dew : 
 Then, as the grave with sods you stop, 
 On each tuft of grass let fall a drop, 
 So that nothing green will wave above 
 The grave of one whom none could love. 
 
BELLA DOWE. 
 
 (TO MUSIC.) 
 
 The pale moon-beams, with mellow light, 
 
 In dreamy silence crept 
 O'er a low couch where, calm and bright, 
 
 A child ofbeauty slept. 
 Many a tear of woe was shed 
 
 O'er her pale, marble brow, 
 From hearts whose cherished hopes had fled 
 
 With my lost Bella Dowe. 
 
 CHORDS. Then scatter flowers o'er her grave, 
 
 The head in sorrow bow ; 
 The little mound with tear drops lave, 
 Where sleeps sweet Bella Dowe. 
 
 Where flowers bloom the summer long, 
 
 Down by the brooklet's wave, 
 The oak tree bends its branches strong, 
 
 To guard my Bella's grave. 
 The violet and wild rose-tree, 
 
 When twilight shades their brow, 
 Droop their fair heads, to mourn with me 
 
 The loss of Bella Dowe. 
 
 When evening shades steal on apace, 
 
 And o'er the brown leaves creep, 
 I often roam to that sweet place, 
 
 Where Bella lies asleep ; 
 And kneeling by the little stone 
 
 That marks the spot, e'en now, 
 I muse on all the joys I've known 
 
 With my lost Bella Dowe. 
 
MINNIE MA V 
 
 (AlK XKTTV MOURE.) 
 
 In a little brown cottage. 
 
 When the bysy day was o'er, 
 1 have passed many happy hours away, 
 
 In gazing on the br-auty. 
 
 And in list'ning to the voice 
 Of pretty, little, winsome Minnie May. 
 
 CHORUS Then I miss you. Minnie May, 
 And my heart is sad to-day, 
 For the music of thy voice no mgre I hear ; 
 All my happiness has fled, 
 And to joy my heart is dead, 
 e no longer, gentle Minnie, thou art near. 
 
 Through the long and lonely hours 
 
 I have toiled with content, 
 For I knew that night was slowly drawing nigh ; 
 
 And when my work was done, 
 
 With a joy that naught could quell, 
 To that little cottage I would quickly hie. 
 
 In the silent hours of dark 
 
 As I slumber, all alone, 
 Oft I dream of thee, so beautiful and gay, 
 
 While angels seem to whisper, 
 
 Ever softly in my ear, 
 The cherished name of darling Minnie May. 
 
 From thy lips the smiles are gone, 
 
 And I look for them in vain. 
 While my heart is growing sadder, day by day ; 
 
 Shall I hear thy voice no more ? 
 
 the happy days all o 
 Have 1 lo.-t thce. tl. . Minnie May? 
 
LOST. 
 
 With its dark wings flapping about rny heart, 
 A spectre, whithersoe'er T go, 
 I> thrilling my brain with a cry of wo*\ 
 
 That pierceth my soul through, like a dart : 
 And as around me those wings are tossed, 
 Wildly it crieth, ''Lost! Lost! Lost!" 
 
 It comes when the shadows earthward hie ; 
 And my pale soul turneth in affright, 
 To hide from the cold, gray eyes of night ; 
 
 But, frightfully plain, 'tis ever nigh ; 
 
 And round me, still, as its wings are tossed, 
 Wildly it crieth, "Lost! Lost! Lost!" 
 
 It haunteth the sunshine smiles of day ; 
 
 And my soul is learning to curse the light. 
 
 That brings no relief to the woes of night. 
 With my heart-strings its sharp talons play ; 
 
 And around me as its wings are tossed. 
 
 Wildly it crieth, " Lost I Lost ! Lost!" 
 
 Must that spectre grim, with its terrible might, 
 Till the end of life thus torture my heart. 
 Withering, and blighting with demonish art? 
 
 Can no charm be found that this fiend will affrig-bt, 
 And still those wings that around me are toss* 1 -!, 
 And hush that wild cry, " Lost ! Lf>*t ! Lost?" 
 
 Yes, there's a charm ! but in vain I seek 
 
 A spirit of light of power divine. 
 
 That can soothe this all-killing woe of mine, 
 That can turn to a heaven this world so bleak ; 
 
 But, between me and it those wings are tossed ; 
 y ,brilleth that cry of u Lost ! Lost ! Lout!" 
 
54 
 
 LOST. 
 
 Oh, Spirit of beauty, love and light! 
 
 Pity me I save me ! stretch forth thy hand I 
 For the spectre will fly if thou wilt command. 
 
 Leave me not longer to struggle in night ; 
 
 But over my heart let thy pinions be crossed, 
 
 And whisper, "Feund! Found! oh, nevermore hit /" 
 
THE DAUGHTER'S SACRIFICE, 
 
 (PROM THE LADY OF LYONS.) 
 
 Father ! my heart is breaking now, 
 
 The bloom has left my cheek ; 
 The damps of death are on my brow 
 
 Hush, father ! do not speak ! 
 Thy limbs in prison ne'er shall rest ; 
 
 Thy child will grateful prove ; 
 I'll still the woe within my breast 
 
 But, talk no more of love.' 
 
 Father! my thoughts are turning now 
 
 To yon white-tented field ; 
 To him who gained the only vow 
 
 My heart can ever yield. 
 'Tis hard to tear it thus from one 
 
 It holds all else above 
 Father no more ! thy tears have won 
 
 But, talk no more of love! 
 
 Father ! the thing thou bidst me wed 
 
 I hate ! oh, how I hate! 
 Revenge and spite not love has led 
 
 Him thus to choose a mate ! 
 Be still, my heart ! thy pulse I'll chain ! 
 
 Down! down ! thy strength I'll prove ! 
 Father! 'tis done! but, ne'er again, 
 ,. Talk to me of Aw love ! 
 
 Father! I'm calm I'm very still ! 
 
 My tears, thou need'st not fear ! 
 My heart must bear this grievous ill 
 
 'Twill save thee, father, dear ! 
 On moment let me kneel in praver 
 
 To ths kind Heaven above 
 I'm r-6-a-d-y n-o-w the bond prepare 
 
 But, talk no more of love! 
 
X<> MORE. 
 
 Mj soul, thy dreaming cease, awake! 
 
 : -lly to longer hope ; 
 Tby nir-built cii>tle=> of joy will break, 
 
 the \\iili grief to cope. 
 I of eight, 
 
 ;r 
 
 Their smi! - a blight 
 
 In the In-art, when they disappear. 
 
 My hear?, tin .-i^iiiu.- ce.i.-e. forbear! 
 
 Tis folly to longer pine : 
 There - 
 
 e'er >> thin--. 
 The: > i thec aright : 
 
 Those :it thy despair ; 
 
 Hut though they may treat thee with despite, 
 
 My In-art from thy Hghing for! 
 
 My bruin tiiy throlb: 
 
 'Ti> folly to longer work ; 
 The p : < -tn: ;liee impro 
 
 Are t h naught hni murk, 
 
 ncil touch is V)iit light. 
 
 - it- color- 
 
 ketch will fade light. 
 
 Then away with th; 
 
H-2SL53 
 
 OF 
 
 'TJNIVER?