POEMS 
 
 BY f 
 
 '&-JL*4$) 
 
 ^ 
 MAEY E. TUCKER. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 M. DOOLADY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 448 BECOME STEEET. 
 
 1867.
 
 ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
 M: DOOLADY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the United States District Court for the 
 Southern District of New Tork. 
 
 JOBS J. BBED, PRINTER AND STEBBOTYPBB, 
 
 4S Centre Street, N. Y.
 
 TO 
 
 HONORABLE CHARLES J. JENKINS, 
 Governor of Georgia, 
 
 MRS. GOVERNOR JENKINS, 
 
 MY HONORED AND TRUSTED FRIENDS, 
 
 My First Volume 
 
 'FULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 626183
 
 Vi PREFACE. 
 
 very beautiful, they give to any soul the 
 perfume of simple truthfulness and genuine 
 feeling. u Homely" was once an endearing 
 epithet, reminding the heart of its most 
 sacred earthly associations. In this sense, 
 the writer will be gratified to have her 
 poems pronounced "homely."
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The First Grey Hair, 5 
 
 Found who Lost ? 9 
 
 " Did you call me, Father ?" 11 
 
 The Blight of Love, 14 
 
 Heart's Ease, 16 
 
 My Mother's Voice, 19 
 
 Adieu, 21 
 
 I Smile, but oh ! my Heart is Breaking, 24 
 
 The Crushed Flower, 26 
 
 The Old Crib, 28 
 
 Christmas Eve, South, 1865, 31 
 
 Arria to Foetus, 84
 
 viii CONTEXTS. 
 
 PAOK 
 
 To Mary, 37 
 
 Spring, 40 
 
 Revenge, 42 
 
 Lift me Higher, 45 
 
 Silvery Fountain, 48 
 
 Crazed, 50 
 
 No Letter, 53 
 
 The Tryst, 56 
 
 Hope, 58 
 
 Autumn Thoughts, 60 
 
 " That Glove," 62 
 
 Wail of the Divorced, 65 
 
 The Opium-eater, 70 
 
 Little Bell, 73 
 
 Weariness, 75 
 
 Only a Blush, 77 
 
 AKiss, 79 
 
 / Kindness, 80 
 
 Child Life, 82 
 
 Evanishings, 86 
 
 Life for a Life, , . 89
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Apple Dumplings, 95 
 
 Life, 97 
 
 The Signal Gun, 101 
 
 All Alone, 103 
 
 j/ Upon Keceipt of a Pound of Coffee in 1863, 105 
 
 Mrs. Myrick's Lecture, 107 
 
 To Fannie, 110 
 
 I am weary, Mother, 113 
 
 Light in Darkness, 117 
 
 The Humming-bird, 120 
 
 The Soldier Boy's Dream, 122 
 
 Mine, 126 
 
 Mistletoe, 129 
 
 Family Portraits, 132 
 
 Lines to an Old Dress, 136 
 
 The Mother's Lament, 139 
 
 To Father, 142 
 
 I am Fashion's Toy, 145 
 
 The Mail has Come, 148 
 
 To Don Juan Baz, Ex-Governor of Mexico, 152 
 
 Disappointment, 154
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOH 
 
 ,. 156 
 
 
 Gone, 
 
 I was a stranger and ye took me in," 158 
 
 The Drunkard's Wife, 159 
 
 The Father's Love, . 1( 
 
 Burial of a Fairy Queen, 16 7 
 
 Mysteries of Life, l71 
 
 Lines upon the Death of Charley du Bignon. ... 175 
 
 We Met, 1Y9 
 
 Drink on, 182 
 
 Speak to Her Tenderly 184: 
 
 Knitting, 186 
 
 Lines on the Death of the Rev. S. K. Talmage, 192 
 
 To Annie, 194 
 
 The Beautiful, 196 
 
 The Beautiful Sea, 199 
 
 Hugging the Shore, 203 
 
 Christmas South, 1866, 205 
 
 A Love-letter, 208 
 
 To One who Sleepeth, 211
 
 THE FIRST GREY HAIR. 
 
 "VT"0, let it stay. It speaks but truth : 
 
 My Autumn's day is dawning. 
 The dream is past ; sweet dream of youth. 
 
 Hair, I accept thy warning. 
 With mournful thought, my spirit swells, 
 At the wild chime of memory bells. 
 
 Why will we in the present time, 
 Of by-gone days be dreaming ? 
 
 Say, why throughout the storm sublime, 
 Is lightning ever gleaming ? 
 
 Ah ! there is naught on earth that quells 
 
 The chiming of sad memory bells.
 
 THE FIRST GREY HAIR. 
 
 Hope, garlands fair of future bliss, 
 With Fancy's pearls is weaving ; 
 
 Alas ! we find in world like this, 
 That Hope too is deceiving, 
 
 As on the past, our full heart dwells, 
 
 At your sad chiming, memory bells. 
 
 In youth all Earth was passing bright, 
 And life with joy was teeming 
 
 But hidden in each flower was blight, 
 And happiness was seeming. 
 
 Yet charm me with your mystic spells 
 
 With your sweet chiming, memory bells. 
 
 Why speak ye of the cruel wrong, 
 
 That I am ever grieving ? 
 I would forget, forgive, be strong, 
 
 With faith in Christ, believing. 
 But oh ! the strain triumphant knells 
 Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells.
 
 THE FIRST GREY HAIR. 
 
 Avaunt, dark image of despair ! 
 
 Why dost thou still go raving ? 
 I would to Lethe's streams repair, 
 
 And drown thy taunts in laving. 
 Alas ! can nothing still thy yells ? 
 Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells. 
 
 Now mournful is the solemn strain, 
 
 And sadly I am weeping. 
 For those I love in battle slain, 
 
 Who all unknown are sleeping, 
 Like murmuring of ocean shells, 
 Swells your sad requiem, memory bells. 
 
 Now much loved voices in their glee 
 Their joyous shouts are sending ; 
 
 And the sweet chorus, light and free, 
 Of many a song is blending, 
 
 Yet bitter tear-drops, sad fare-wells, 
 
 Melt in your chiming, memory bells.
 
 THE FIRST GREY HAIR. 
 
 Yet I would fain recall the past, 
 The bright celestial gleaming, 
 
 Which my first love around me cast, 
 Too sweet to be but dreaming. 
 
 Like flowing water, in lone dells, 
 
 Is your sweet chiming, memory bells. 
 
 Yes, silver hair, rest thee in peace, 
 I know that life is waning, 
 
 That soon will all my troubles cease, 
 And I, the goal attaining, 
 
 Will list the joy your music tells, 
 
 And love your chiming, memory bells.
 
 FOUND WHO LOST ? 
 
 FOUND WHO LOST? 
 
 ~T~ ADY, tell me, will you, pray, 
 -*- Why that cheek of roseate hue ; 
 Why so downcast, fond, yet shy, 
 Is thine eye of heavenly blue ? 
 
 Let my eye gaze into thine ; 
 
 Let me scan each fold of hair ; 
 Let me gaze upon thy cheek 
 
 By George ! I've found the secret there. 
 
 Lady, lady, tell me, pray, 
 
 How you could do a thing so rash ? 
 Found what was not lost by you, 
 
 One little hair from dark moustache !
 
 10 FOUND WHO LOST? 
 
 So firmly printed on thy face ! 
 
 There I detach it from the spot ; 
 Now blush no more thy secret's safe, 
 
 Known but to me, I'll tell it not.
 
 "DID YOU CALL ME, FATHER?" 11 
 
 "DID YOU CALL ME, FATHER?" 
 
 She opened the door, and said in an alarmed tone : " Father, 
 was that you calling mo ?" And again, " Father !" And once 
 again, after listening, " Father I I thought I heard you call me 
 
 twice before 1" No response. 
 
 Dickens' "Mutual Friend:' 
 
 " TVD you call me, Father?" Ah no, 
 
 'twas the surge, 
 
 Swelling a requiem, wailing a dirge : 
 Back, maiden ! create still thy images rare, 
 Thy bright glowing castles, so frail yet so fair. 
 
 " Did you call me, Father ?" He hears thee no 
 
 more, 
 
 Life's tide has run out, he has drifted afshore ; 
 No bright angels guided the sinner's frail bark 
 He was wrecked on the breakers, alone, in 
 the dark.
 
 12 "DID YOU CALL ME, FATHER?" 
 
 " I thought that I heard you call twice before this, 
 
 And, Father, I felt on my brow your last kiss ; 
 
 Come back to me, Father, come back to your child, 
 
 Ere you be in the darkness, by false lights 
 
 beguiled." 
 
 Go gaze in the hollow, way down by the flare, 
 Say, beautiful dreamer, what seest thou there ? 
 Not the form of thy Father, cold, silent, and dead, 
 With the waves, and winds toying around his 
 grey head. 
 
 Thou seest the future, bright, happy and free, 
 When thy present through veil of past years 
 
 thou shalt see : 
 Now, garlands of hope, with thy love, and faith 
 
 blend, 
 All fading, alas 1 as the gold sparks ascend.
 
 " DIB YOU CALL ME, FATHER ?" 13 
 
 Did you call me, Father ? N"o, 'twas but the 
 
 wind, 
 
 As searching, and prying, some secret to find ; 
 It wailed round the dwelling, again sought the 
 
 shore, 
 And lifted the rags from the body once more. 
 
 His grey hair is all stiff, with the cold ocean brine, 
 His eyes have a look which no word can define 
 As if in his struggles, while borne by the tide, 
 He thought of his darling, he called her, and died. 
 
 " Did you call me, Father ?" Awake, girl, awake ! 
 Thy burden of sorrow, within thy heart take ; 
 Awake from thy dreaming, each joy's fraught 
 
 with care, 
 And Life's but a " hollow, way down by the flare."
 
 14 THE BLIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 THE BLIGHT OF LOVE. 
 
 "A IT AN Y long years ago, I loved a youth, 
 -LVJ_ wllo seeme( j the soul of honor and 
 
 of truth 
 
 He charmed my heart with some unholy spell, 
 He was a serpent, whom I loved so well. 
 
 The blush of girlhood had just ting'd my cheek ; 
 He knew me young perchance he thought me weak. 
 'Tis said, he often boasted of his power, 
 To gather for his own each new-blown flower. 
 
 My simple language can not well describe 
 How first he stood before me in his pride ; 
 His form was cast in beauty's manly mould ; 
 His eyes shot fire, and his hair was gold.
 
 THE BLIGHT OF LOVE. 15 
 
 Fain, fain would I describe to you his glance ; 
 One look enough, to throw me in a trance ; 
 His flute-like voice ah ! from my sleep I woke, 
 When on mine ear the cadence gently broke. 
 
 A month passed by : he lingered by my side, 
 Longed for the time, when I should be his bride ; 
 Ah ! bitter ending, of that month of years, 
 A life of sorrow, and a life of tears. 
 
 The scathing truth, like any lightning stroke, 
 Fell'd me to earth, and my poor heart was broke ; 
 He, frightened, turned and left me, with my woe, 
 For, in my wrath, I sternly bade him go. 
 
 I've never loved again ; for there, and then, 
 All my faith vanished in the truth of men. 
 Of that short month, 'tis seldom that I speak, 
 And to forget my youth, in vain I seek.
 
 16 HEART'S EASE. 
 
 HEART'S EASE. 
 
 ~T OXELY and dreary was the day, 
 * * Lonely and weary swelled my heart, 
 Fainting for need of Hope's bright ray 
 For without Hope will Joy depart. 
 
 We may survive, but do we live 
 
 As God has willed his children should, 
 
 While craving, praying, give, oh give, 
 All, all is evil, give me good ? 
 
 I wandered far from haunts of men 
 
 Cold, bitter cold, the Xorth wind blew ; 
 
 It even reached my favorite glen, 
 
 Where first spring flowerets always grew
 
 HEART'S EASE. 17 
 
 I threw myself in my despair 
 
 Upon a bed of faded leaves 
 I wept aloud, and tore my hair, 
 
 Grieved, as a bereaved mother grieves. 
 
 I prayed for death ; for death will bring 
 Oblivion, and rest, sweet rest ! 
 
 Then memory will lose its sting, 
 
 And peace is found on Jesus' breast. 
 
 Give me, oh Father, was my prayer, 
 Some taken, that my Spring is near, 
 
 Soothe my deep grief, calm my despair, 
 Console me, Lord, assuage my fear. 
 
 A sunbeam cleft the dense, cold air, 
 And rested on a Heart's Ease bloom ; 
 
 Life, life in death ! adieu, despair ! 
 
 The morning dawns o'er night's deep gloom.
 
 18 HEART'S EASE. 
 
 I clasped the omen to my soul, 
 
 And to my lips the Heart's Ease pressed, 
 Tumultuous storms may o'er me roll 
 
 That token future joys expressed.
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 19 
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 /"~\H never on my youthful ear 
 ^^^ A Mother's gentle accents broke ! 
 The vital spark, from which I sprung, 
 Expired, as I to life awoke. 
 
 No mother pressed me to her breast, 
 And bade my childish heart rejoice, 
 
 For with my infant first-born wail, 
 
 Death hushed for aye my mother's voice. 
 
 Alone I climbed the dizzy height, 
 That led to never-dying fame, 
 
 I sought and won, and now I wear 
 A famous, but unenvied name.
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 Had she been near, to shield and guide 
 Her wayward, but her trustful child, 
 
 Rare flowerets would hare bloomed where now 
 Are weeds in rank luxuriance, wild. 
 
 In visions, sometimes, I behold 
 Her form of heavenly loveliness ; 
 
 She speaks, and o'er me gently bends, 
 And prints on my pale brow a kiss. 
 
 And I awake 'tis but a dream ! 
 
 But still the voice strikes on mine ear, 
 And from my callous heart calls forth 
 
 Up through mine eyes the scorching tear. 
 
 Then pass not judgment rash, or harsh, 
 On stern Misfortune's chosen child, 
 
 Who never heard a mother's voice, 
 On whom a mother never smiled !
 
 ADIEU. 21 
 
 ADIEU. 
 
 ~T IFE is full of mirth and pleasure, 
 
 But all joy is on the wing 
 Base alloy corrodes each treasure, 
 And enjoyment hides a sting. 
 Bliss is like a rainbow, cheating, 
 Beautiful and bright, but fleeting. 
 
 True, there's real bliss in the greeting 
 Of each loving, kindred heart ; 
 
 But a sadness dims our meeting, 
 
 For we know we soon must part 
 
 Thus ties of Love, and friendship true, 
 
 Are severed by the sad adieu.
 
 Adieu, and from the mother's eyes 
 Streams her deep love, in tears. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my child, she cries, 
 Adieu, perchance for years. 
 
 And of our parting, keep this token, 
 
 My bitter tears my heart is broken. 
 
 And that mother, in her anguish, 
 Prays to God that she may die 
 
 Better thus, than still to languish, 
 Crying ever, this sad cry : 
 
 Give me back my child, my treasure, 
 
 Ye have o'er flown my bitter measure. 
 
 Alas ! the hand of reckless fate, 
 As on time's wings, she flies ; 
 
 Severs, with most remorseless hate, 
 The tenderest, holiest ties. 
 
 E'en sacred bonds of heaven's making, 
 
 Fate laughs to scorn, and smiles in breaking.
 
 23 
 
 Thus all earthly friendships sever 
 Such is Heaven's stern decree. 
 
 But God's loved ones meet, to never 
 Part again in land of free, 
 
 There, there above the sky's deep blue, 
 
 Hearts are not broken by adieu.
 
 24 I SMILE, BUT OH ! MY HEART IS BREAKING. 
 
 I SMILE, BUT OH! MY HEART IS 
 BREAKING. 
 
 ~T~ MIXGLE with the young and gay, 
 
 In halls where Fashion holds her sway ; 
 I gaze upon the giddy throng, 
 While for some quiet spot I long. 
 
 They call me heartless. Do they know 
 
 That mirth is but an empty show ? 
 
 That silvery grandeur often shrouds 
 
 The storms which lurk within bright clouds ? 
 
 The eye may beam with dazzling light, 
 And shed on all its glances bright, 
 Yet be unburdened of the tears, 
 That shone like diamonds there, for years.
 
 I SMILE, BUT OH ! MY HEART IS BREAKING. 25 
 
 The lips may breathe the thoughtless word, 
 And yet, too oft alas ! unheard, 
 That word may mingle with a sigh 
 From reckless heart which prays to die. 
 
 I seek each joy I fain would lave 
 My restless mind in Lethe's wave ; 
 But memory is ever waking 
 I smile, but oh, my heart is breaking.
 
 THE CRUSHED FLOWER. 
 
 THE CRUSHED FLOWER. 
 
 A 
 
 S through earth's garden once I strayed 
 
 I saw a rose tree fair 
 And from it plucked an opening bud, 
 In all its beauty rare. 
 
 I gazed deep in its heart of hearts 
 
 It blushed beneath my eye ; 
 While its faint fragrance seemed to breath'. 1 
 
 A gentle, unheard sigh. 
 
 'Twas mine alone 1 I cherished it 
 
 My frail and lovely flower I 
 Until another bud I found, 
 
 More beauteous, in an hour.
 
 THE CRUSHED FLOWER. 2t 
 
 Then with relentless hand I broke 
 
 The floweret's fragile stem : 
 I spoiled the gem that would hare graced 
 
 A monarch's diadem ! 
 
 But stern remorse soon touched my heart, 
 
 Back to the spot I rushed. 
 Alas ! too late ; my flower was there, 
 
 But its poor heart was crushed !
 
 23 THE OLD CRIB. 
 
 THE OLD CRIB. 
 
 "Sell that crib? Indeed! indeed I cannot, for I see in 
 it the faces of my children. I will starve before I sell that 
 
 Confederate Lady, 1864. 
 
 "T" KNOW thou art a senseless thing, 
 -^ Still recollections round thee cling 
 
 Of joys long past; 
 And I would fain retain thee now, 
 Yet want's stern hand and lowering brow 
 
 Has o'er me cast 
 His misery with weight untold, 
 And, much prized crib, thou must be sold I 
 
 Ah 1 well do I remember yet, 
 Remember ? can I well forget 
 That happy day,
 
 THE OLD CRIB. 29 
 
 When a swift tide my spirit moved, 
 Aiid with a mother's soul, I loved 
 
 The child that lay 
 Within thy lap my precious boy ! 
 How throbbed my heart with untold joy. 
 
 How swiftly, then, the years sweep on, 
 With love, joy, wealth, they come, are gone, 
 
 And very soon 
 
 A little dark-eyed, bonny girl, 
 Pressed on thy pillow many a curl. 
 
 Most precious boon 
 That ever was to mortal given 
 A cherub, from the gates of heaven. 
 
 And yet again, some powerful spell, 
 Called to this earth, sweet baby Bell, 
 
 My sunbeam child, 
 With hair of gold, and eyes of blue, 
 And cheeks that vie the rosebud's hue 
 
 Pure, undented !
 
 30 THE OLD CIUB. 
 
 About my heart she seems to twine, 
 As round the oak, the clinging vine. 
 
 Take back thy gold ! It shall not go ! 
 'Twas mine in weal, and now in woe : 
 
 It comforts me. 
 
 It takes me back, in fitful gleams, 
 To the sweet, fairy land of dreams, 
 
 And then I see 
 
 Those little heads, with glossy curls, 
 My manly boy, my little girls !
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE, SOUTH, 1865. 31 
 
 CHRISTMAS EYE, SOUTH, 1865, 
 
 "T^OYERTY, remorseless spectre, 
 
 Reigns throughout our once fair land, 
 And he wields no fancy sceptre, 
 
 In his iron-covered hand. 
 Stifled sighs our hearts are rending, 
 Thanks for peace with want contending. 
 
 Widows, orphans, homeless, dreary, 
 Call in vain for earthly aid, 
 
 There is rest for all the weary, 
 
 On Hun, let your cares be stayed 
 
 He his helpless ones protecting, 
 
 Who abideth his directing.
 
 32 CHRISTMAS EVE, SOUTH, 1865. 
 
 'Tis the merry Christmas even, 
 
 Hallowed throughout all the earth ; 
 
 Angels, too, rejoice in Heaven, 
 O'er the blessed Saviour's birth. 
 
 Yet many are sad vigils keeping 
 
 For those who all unknown are sleeping. 
 
 Children hush their eager voices, 
 They by instinct seem to feel, 
 
 That the heart which now rejoices 
 Must, indeed, be cased in steel. 
 
 Yet still they turn with bitter sighing, 
 
 To where their little socks are lying. 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! darling mother ! 
 
 Please don't weep so any more ; 
 We are left you, I and brother, 
 
 "We don't care if we are poor. 
 Now, mother, darling, stop your weeping, 
 And kiss us ere we both are sleeping."
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE, SOUTH, 1865. 33 
 
 Rosy sleep at last lias bound them ; 
 
 Now they revel in their dreams ; 
 " Santa Glaus " now hovers round them, 
 
 Showering o'er them fairy gleams 
 Darlings, what is life but dreaming ? 
 Grasp a pleasure 'tis but seeming. 
 
 Mother ! kneel in adoration, 
 
 That thou hast some comfort left ; 
 
 Send forth, now, thy invocation 
 For the sad of all bereft. 
 
 With faith in God, in Christ believing, 
 
 For Heaven is real, and earth deceiving.
 
 34 ARRIA TO FOETUS. 
 
 ARRIA TO FOETUS. 
 
 ~PN vain ! in vain ! my pleading all in vaiii ! 
 
 Have I my senses, or am I insane ! 
 Is it a dream, a fearful, bloody dream, 
 In which a mirage something real doth seem ? 
 
 Or is it truth, truth, stunning real, yet truth, 
 That pales with age the sunny hair of youth ? 
 Truth, nearest truth, that lying earth can give ; 
 That thou hast, Foetus, but a day to live. 
 
 Have they no pity, or have they no shame, 
 That they should blacken thy illustrious name ? 
 It is not death. Then dost not fear to die, 
 For thy pure soul will waft to God on high.
 
 ARRIA TO FOETUS. 35 
 
 'Tis the disgrace, the ignominious end, 
 That our captors on thee fain would send. 
 Ah 1 we will thwart them, Foetus : you and I 
 Will show how well the noble brave can die. 
 
 And God will pardon. He, the God of love, 
 
 Will let us rest together, far above. 
 
 Ah, earth is fair and beautiful to seo ; 
 
 But what are joys, my husband, without thee ? 
 
 To me, this dungeon is a palace gay, 
 For thou, beloved, art my soul's bright ray ; 
 But wert thou gone, each day would seem to me 
 Years, years, on years, a dark eternity. 
 
 Ah ! death is nothing but a moment's pain, 
 'Tis but the breaking of a link of chain, 
 'Tis but the ebbing of the tide of life, 
 'Tis but the leaving of this world of strife.
 
 36 ARRIA TO FOETUS 
 
 'Tis but the fading of a summer's flower, 
 To bloom again in Heaven's blissful bower ; 
 Tis but the ending of a verse of time, 
 To add to death but yet another rhyme. 
 
 'Tis but the changing of the robes of earth 
 For spotless garments of immortal birth ; 
 Then, husband ! lover ! let us welcome death, 
 Our foes defy with e'en our latest breath. 
 
 This dagger, see how sharp its shining blade ! 
 But one slight blow, and then death dues are paid. 
 She placed the knife upon her faithful breast 
 Forgave the conquerors, and her husband blest. 
 
 Then plunged it in, and faintly, sweetly cried, 
 It is not painful, Foetus, and she died. 
 The faithful husband grasped the glittering knife, 
 And with his hand the forfeit paid of life.
 
 37 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 E sky low down in distant West, is 
 
 with golden hue, 
 While all the glorious vault above is one brignt 
 
 mass of blue. 
 Now as I still gaze in the West, my favorite 
 
 star I see, 
 A diamond bright, queen of the night, the 
 
 evening star for me. 
 
 Some love the warlike star of Mars : he pleaseth 
 
 not my eyes ; 
 Some say that Jupiter is bright : his looks I 
 
 little prize ; 
 The morning star is passing fair, but still I love 
 
 it not ; 
 
 For none to me shines lovingly, as Venus* on my cot. 
 * Written when Venus was evening star.
 
 38 TO MART. 
 
 Now the pale moon, as if in love, is sending from 
 
 the sky 
 Her tender beams upon the field, where, Mary, 
 
 you and I 
 So oft have stood at close of day, and talked our 
 
 little cares 
 Love, children, cooks, our thoughts of books, our 
 
 prospects, hopes and fears. 
 
 Now standing out in bold relief, I see your cottage 
 
 white ; 
 The once green trees are bare of leaves, they fell 
 
 at winter's blight. 
 All is so still ! No light is there, I know you 
 
 are at rest ; 
 May slumber's light be yours this night may you 
 
 be ever blest. 
 
 Soon, very soon, for aught we know, our pathway 
 
 may divide ; 
 Bat, Mary, will you think of me, when I'm not by 
 
 your side ?
 
 39 
 
 And oh ! look on, with pitying eye, in distant, 
 
 distant years ; 
 My virtues few, my friendship true, and o'er my 
 
 faults shed tears.
 
 40 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 PRIXGr, glad Spring, has dawned on earth ; 
 
 Birds rejoice for her bright birth ; 
 Farewell now to winter dear 
 Spring, with all her joys, is here. 
 
 Trees clothed in green, our hearts' delight, 
 Rare flowerets bloom, ia colors bright ; 
 Earth joyful now, her riches yields, 
 While Spring her radiant sceptre wields. 
 
 V 
 
 Lowing kine with thanks rejoice ; 
 Insects hum with drowsy voice ; 
 Everything on earth, in air, 
 Join in the chorus, Spring is fair !
 
 41 
 
 But now, alas, no transient bloom 
 Can take from each sad heart its gloom ; 
 For misery, with might untold, 
 Rests on each heart of mortal mould. 
 
 We mourn, because war's chilling blast 
 Its arm of death has round us cast ; 
 We mourn the noble and the brave, 
 Xow sleeping in an unknown grave.
 
 42 REVEXGE. 
 
 A 
 
 REYENGE. 
 
 H ! I could curse them in my woe, 
 
 E'en as the viper stings, 
 And to the heel that strikes it clings, 
 So I could plant my blow. 
 
 Yes, I could pray that fell disease 
 Should torture them with pain 
 That plague should fall in every ram, 
 Miasma taint each breeze. 
 
 That wealth should vanish, and the curse 
 Of poverty should reign ; 
 That cries for bread should be ha vain I 
 An always empty purse.
 
 43 
 
 That friends should die, ana every pride 
 Should vanish in a day ; 
 'Till even hope withdraws her ray, 
 And naught of joys abide. 
 
 Yes, I could whisper in the ear 
 Of one who loves to tell 
 Some fabrication, dark as hell, 
 As scandal loves to hear. 
 
 Revenge is sweet ; I could invent 
 Full many a thousand way, 
 That would my heartfelt wrongs repay, 
 Could they my soul content. 
 
 But could I go to sleep in peace, 
 And could I dream of heaven 
 Could I e'er hope to be forgiven 
 When death came to release ?
 
 44 REVENGE. 
 
 Revenge is sweet to those who live ; 
 But when we think of death 
 The ebbing of this life-tide breath 
 'Tis sweeter to forgive.
 
 LIFT ME HIGHER. 45 
 
 LIFT ME HIGHER. 
 
 ' IFT me higher ! Lift me higher ! 
 From this sphere of earthly dross ; 
 Upward still ! far yonder gleaming, 
 Shines my Saviour's glorious cross. 
 
 Oh, very beautiful is life, 
 
 And earthly flowers are passing fair 
 But lift, oh lift me up to heaven, 
 
 And let me rest forever there. 
 
 There, no care shall plough its furrows ; 
 
 There, no sin shall blur my heart ; 
 There, in blessed choirs of angels, 
 
 I shall sing a humble part.
 
 46 LIFT ME HIGHER. 
 
 Lift me higher 1 Lift me higher ! 
 
 Friends of earth, no tears for me I 
 From temptation, sin, and sorrow, 
 
 Let me be forever free ! 
 
 Ah ! I hear my Saviour call me ! 
 
 Clad in heavenly robes of white ; 
 He will lift me higher, higher, 
 
 From this world of storm and night. 
 
 Lift me higher ! Lift me higher ! 
 
 Farewell earthly friends I love. 
 Lift me higher ! Lift me higher ! 
 
 To that better world above ! 
 
 " Lift me higher !" And our darling 
 Gently closed her wearied eyes ; 
 
 <Lnd her spirit, lifted higher, 
 
 Reached its home beyond the skies.
 
 LIFT ME HIGHER. 
 
 She is sleeping, and white marble 
 This inscription only bears : 
 
 "Oar lost flower thirteen summers 
 Lifted higher " than life's cares.
 
 48 SILVERY FOUNTAIN". 
 
 SILVERY FOUNTAIN. 
 
 QJILYERY Fountain ! soft and clear 
 ^-^ Falls thy murmuring on mine ear ; 
 And thy flowing ever brings 
 The memory that round me clings 
 Of long ago. 
 
 Resting on thy brink so oft, 
 Mingling with thy music soft, 
 I have heard words, sad and sweet, 
 "Words no mortal can repeat 
 
 In days of yore. 
 
 When thy shining streamlet fell, 
 Ere it reached the crystal shell
 
 SILVERY FOUNTAIN. 49 
 
 My head would catch the glittering glearn, 
 And diamonds with my gold would beam 
 Like stars on night. 
 
 In waking dreams, with half-closed eyes, 
 I've seen fair forms from thee arise, 
 And wondered were they beings of earth, 
 With fairy forms, yet mortal birth, 
 
 Or rays of light. 
 
 I felt that angel ones were near, 
 And hoping, knowing, they would hear 
 My heart's thoughts to my lips would rise, 
 And prayers be wafted to the skies, 
 
 On wings of love. 
 
 Ah, speak again ! No unknown tongue 
 Was thine to me, when I was young ; 
 Fain would I linger near thy side 
 And die, that those I love might guide 
 My soul above.
 
 50 
 
 CRAZED. 
 
 ~VTO rest ! no rest on this bleak earth for me ; 
 A thousand fancies flit across my brain ; 
 Dun phantoms of the shadowy past I see 
 I know, oh God ! I know I am insane. 
 
 Deep in my breast the secret I will hide- 
 To those who love me 'twould give bitter pain : 
 
 Foes would rejoice should evil ere betide, 
 And 'tis an awful curse to be insane. 
 
 Ho ! ho ! a light ! I say, my wife, a light ! 
 
 This heavy darkness crushes my poor heart ; 
 And, darling, sit beside my bed to-night 
 
 Thy kind words comfort to my soul impart.
 
 CRAZED. 51 
 
 Ah, do not start, when my deep groans you hear : 
 I stagger, struck with agony so fell ; 
 
 See there ! see there ! 'tis gone ; you need not fear ; 
 You cannot see the Devil's mystic spell. 
 
 I hear a footstep ! Halt ! I say, who's there ? 
 
 The wind, you answer ; ah, I'm not insane ! 
 You can't deceive me with your words so fair 
 
 There ! there ! I hear the sound approach again. 
 
 The light ! I say ! I tell you I will see- 
 It is a thief, with murderous thought intent ; 
 
 5Tou can't prevent me but, ah, woe is me I 
 Are you, too, on some hidden mischief bent ? 
 
 Forgive me, darling ; I did wildly rave ; 
 
 I think I am a little crazed to-night. 
 Stay with me, pet-wife, you are good and brave ; 
 
 The spell will pass with morning's dawning bright.
 
 52 CRAZED. 
 
 Press your soft hand upon my aching head 
 Weeping again ? Why will you always weep ? 
 
 Your eyes their brightness with the tears will shed : 
 There, good night, darling ! now, I fain would
 
 53 
 
 NO LETTER. 
 
 64 ~\T letter ! " P oor mother I <*, well may'st 
 thou weep, 
 
 For thy noble and manly first-born 
 Is now sleeping peacefully death's dreamless sleep ; 
 
 He shall never again see the morn. 
 
 " No letter I" and yet from his pocket they took, 
 When they searched there to find out his name, 
 
 A missive unfinished in his Holy Book, 
 All hopeful of glory and fame. 
 
 " In battle to-day our flag I'll uphold, 
 
 And defend, though I lose my right arm ; 
 
 I am young, I have strength, and with courage 
 
 am bold, 
 With my life, I will shield it from harm.
 
 54 NO LETTER. 
 
 " I must go, dear mother ! I hear the drums call, 
 And I will write more on the morrow." 
 
 Alas ! ere that day closed, the enemy's ball 
 To that mother bequeathed ceaseless sorrow. 
 
 No letter ! and sadly the wife turned away, 
 And crushed in her heart the great pain, 
 
 As God gave her patience, while day after day 
 She sought for the letter in vain. 
 
 " No letter !" your children are fatherless now ; 
 
 Bow in meekness to God's stern decree, 
 Your husband, with laurel wreaths twined round 
 his brow, 
 
 Is at rest in the land of the free. 
 
 " No letter !" sweet maiden, your lover so brave, 
 To his heart clasped your image and fell ; 
 
 Said he gloried to fill a poor soldier's grave, 
 For the country he loved so well.
 
 NO LETTER. 55 
 
 To leave you alone was his only regret, 
 In this sad world of sorrow and sin ; 
 
 But your grief he was hopeful you soon would 
 
 forget, 
 And sighing for what might have been. 
 
 " No letter 1" dear sister, your brother is dead ; 
 
 Alas ! he was shot in the battle ; 
 No sister's hand near to hold his cold head, 
 
 With no one to hear the death-rattle. 
 
 Only those who have writhed 'neath the heart- 
 crushing thought, 
 
 And who live upon hope's brittle thread, 
 Can know the sad trial, with which life is fraught, 
 
 Brings the longing to be with the dead.
 
 56 THE TRYST. 
 
 THE TRYST. 
 
 r WAITED full two hours, or more, 
 L Beneath the old pine tree, 
 Where oft I've lingered twilight hours, 
 Watching, my Lore, for thee. 
 
 I waited till the shadows grew 
 Like giants, grim and grey ; 
 
 I waited till night's coming chased 
 The shadows far away. 
 
 I waited for, I knew not what ; 
 
 But, oh, I waited there, 
 Hoping, perchance, some ray to find, 
 
 To lighten my despair.
 
 THE TRYST. 51 
 
 A year ago last May, I sat 
 Beneath the old pine-tree ; 
 
 My tryst was not a broken one, 
 For, Love, you came to me. 
 
 I waited, and my spirit called 
 Thy spirit, Love, to me ; 
 
 No tryst was ever broken there 
 Beneath the old pine-tree.
 
 58 HOPE - 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 \ S shines the sunbeam through dark clouds, 
 
 Hope breaks the spirit's lowering shrouds 
 E'en as the morning dawns o'er night, 
 Hope sheds her radiant, golden light. 
 
 Like the soft dew to thirsting flower, 
 Hope e'er revives the soul's faint hour 
 A soothing balm for every grief ; 
 Hope, precious hope, finds sure relief. 
 
 The anchor of the tide-bound soul, 
 With breakers near, while billows roll 
 Around, about, but ne'er o'erwhelm, 
 With Hope the anchor, Faith the helm.
 
 59 
 
 Hope, like the olden Shepherd's star, 
 Telleth her tidings from afar ; 
 And though earth's flowers fade and die, 
 Hope, Hope revives them in the sky.
 
 6Q AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 T FROM my chamber-window, mark 
 5 The dying of the year ; 
 The trees in red and green and gold, 
 
 Show Autumn's progress sere ; 
 And soon, alas ! these richest tints 
 
 Will change to sober brown ; 
 The trees of their bright garb bereft, 
 
 Wear winter's sternest frown. 
 
 The warbling songster seeks in vain 
 
 Some place to shield his wings, 
 And shivering on the bare cold oak, 
 
 In piteous notes he sings. 
 The flowerets hide their frail bright heads 
 
 Till winter shall be o'er, 
 'ihen at the first faint call of Spring, 
 
 They show themselves once more.
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 61 
 
 The autumn rain is falling slow, 
 
 With chilling, solemn spell, 
 As if no brightness ever more 
 
 On this bleak earth shall dwell. 
 The dying of the day or year 
 
 With awe impress the mind ; 
 For though we know God's ways are right, 
 
 His mercies ever kind, 
 
 We mortals seldom stop to think, 
 
 When brooding o'er the night, 
 How quickly day will dawn again, 
 
 And Spring again bloom bright ; 
 And at the end of life's short path 
 
 The aged should remember, 
 Eternal Spring-time dawneth bright 
 
 Soon after bleak December.
 
 62 "THAT GLOVE." 
 
 THAT GLOVE/ 
 
 "TT"T"HY cherish thus the senseless thing ? 
 * * Do memories around it cling 
 
 Of joys long past ? 
 Or does it speak of present bliss ? 
 Do sweet last word, or parting kiss, 
 Charms o'er it cast ? 
 
 Now were it but a thing with life, 
 In which were earthly passions rife, 
 
 Then I could see 
 
 Why you should press it to your heart, 
 Nor let it from your hand depart 
 
 It cannot flee.
 
 " THAT GLOVE." 63 
 
 You touch it, and you are unmann'd 
 I hold it passive in my hand 
 
 No thrill of love 
 
 Shoots through my veins ; you bow before it, 
 The loving slave of her who wore it 
 
 That white kid glove ! 
 
 Yon fought for freedom. You were brave, 
 I grant it. Even now you rave 
 
 Of subjugation. 
 
 Yet you are subject of a queen, 
 Whose power greater is, I ween, 
 
 Than Yankee nation. 
 
 Yes, e'en the touch of her small hand 
 Is equal to a stern command, 
 
 Because you love. 
 You walk submissive in her band, 
 And when you cannot hold her hand, 
 
 You hold her glove.
 
 64 " THAT GLOVE." 
 
 I do not judge thee go thy way. 
 I have a glove (what can I say ?) 
 
 And I adore it. 
 
 Ah ! often in the hours for sleep, 
 I kiss the glove, and sadly weep 
 
 For one who wore it.
 
 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 65 
 
 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 
 
 "T TOW can I give thee up, my child, my dearest, 
 
 earliest born, 
 While fond hopes are 'round thee clustered, like 
 
 bright clouds o'er morning's dawn ? 
 Xo, I will not leave thee, darling ; thou at least 
 
 shall never say 
 That no tender hand did guide thee through the 
 
 cares of childhood's day. 
 
 My child ! when first thy mother heard thy feeble, 
 
 first-born wail, 
 Love's tide came rushing through the heart, I 
 
 thought encased in mail. 
 For the few years of my young life had been scenes 
 
 of mirth and woe, 
 For I grasped the pleasures, darling, grasped them, 
 
 ere I let them go !
 
 66 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 
 
 E'eu the brightest days of summer have their sun- 
 shine and their showers ; 
 
 And the piercing thorn will wound us, as we pluck 
 the fairest flowers ; 
 
 But the perfume of the flowers makes us glory ii: 
 the pain, 
 
 And exulting in the sunshine, we forget the chilling 
 
 I know 'twould break my aching heart to leave 
 
 thee, precious one ! 
 How can they brand me with a curse what have 
 
 I ever done ? 
 I know that I have never sent a sister down to 
 
 shame, 
 By casting blots of foulest sin upon a snow-white 
 
 name. 
 
 Have charity, have charity, my child, for every sin 
 For the sore temptation, darling, may all-powerful 
 liave been ;
 
 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 67 
 
 And always lend a helping hand to those who 
 
 chance to fall ; 
 Forgive, forget, be ready to obey your Saviour's 
 
 call. 
 
 Learn, learn, my child, and ne'er forget, learn 
 
 while thou art still young, 
 That he will have the truest friends, who bridleth 
 
 his tongue. 
 Speak well of all, if aught you know of evil, or 
 
 of ill ; 
 Deep in thy bosom let it rest, and keep the scandal 
 
 still. 
 
 My baby, should you ever choose a partner for 
 
 this life, 
 
 Oh, darling, ever strive to be a fond, devoted wife ; 
 And never let thy husband's name be spoken but 
 
 in praise ; 
 For some will, if you let them, sadly misconstrue 
 
 his ways.
 
 68 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 
 
 Seek not happiness in pleasure, for the dregs of 
 
 every cup 
 Are so bitter, darling, bitter, as we quaff the 
 
 latest sup ! 
 And never seek, my child, to win the laurel wreath 
 
 of fame, 
 Unless thou hast a heart to bear the world's taunts, 
 
 even shame. 
 
 Kind, noble, generous, they will give thy sister to 
 
 me, dear : 
 But I must leave thee, child, and seek a home 
 
 away from here. 
 Ah ! I defy them to the last ; they shall not part 
 
 us, child 
 And thy mother's hand shall rear thee rear thee, 
 
 pure and undefiled ! 
 
 May the fond prayers of thy mother prove a love- 
 protecting shield 
 
 From each sorrow, and each harrowing care, that 
 life doth ever yield.
 
 WAIL OF THE DIVORCED. 69 
 
 And may the hand of love, my child, pluck thorns 
 
 from thy bright flowers ; 
 And may'st thou find a home at last in heaven's 
 
 celestial bowers.
 
 70 THE OPIUM-EATER. 
 
 THE OPIUM-EATER. 
 
 [Before taking a dose.'} 
 
 ~|~ IFE'S pathway to me is dreary ; 
 I am ill, and cold, and weary : 
 Would my lonely walk were done, 
 And my heavenly race begun ! 
 
 Once all things to me were bright, 
 Things that now seem dark as night : 
 Is the darkness all within ? 
 Dark without from inward sin ? 
 
 The present dark ; eyes dim with age 
 Can see no joy, save memory's page. 
 The present, future, ne'er can be 
 Bright as the past they once did see.
 
 THE OPIUM-EATER. 71 
 
 My hair is turning quite grey now ; 
 I see some wrinkles on my brow ; 
 My teeth they must be failing too, 
 And corns are growing in my shoe. 
 
 I muffle up my aching face, 
 And pray from pangs a moment's grace. 
 Ah ! now the misery seeks my head 
 Would I were with the pangless dead ! 
 
 There is a cure for pain and grief 
 Come, Opium, come to my relief I 
 Soothed by thy influence, I shall find 
 A moment's rest, and peace of mind. 
 
 [After taking a dose.] 
 
 Ah ! now I sit in bowers of bliss, 
 Soothed by an angel's balmy kiss I 
 Delicious languor o'er me stealing 
 Is now my only sense of feeling.
 
 THE OPIUM-EATER. 
 
 The breath of flowers perfumes the air ; 
 The forms around are oh, so fair ! 
 The once cold air seems warm and bright, 
 And I, too, seem a being of light. 
 
 My hair is not so very grey- 
 Some dye will take that hue away ; 
 A little powder shall, I vow, 
 Hide the small wrinkles on my brow. 
 
 My teeth are sound I feel no pain 
 Their slight ache was but sign of rain ; 
 And then the twinging of my feet 
 Was nothing but a dream, a cheat. 
 
 To me, the night, though dark, seems day, 
 Colored by Hope's most beauteous ray : 
 Xo sorrow hence shall give me pain 
 I know I'll never weep again !
 
 LITTLE BELL. T3 
 
 LITTLE BELL. 
 
 TT^ YEXIXG came, a child was missing, 
 -* ^ Where she was, we could not tell, 
 Hiding, thought we, just for mischief ; 
 Fall of fun was little Bell. 
 
 Soon we found the little darling, 
 
 Hiding in a grassy dell ; 
 All alone ? No, gentle angels 
 Kept safe guard o'er little Bell. 
 
 Her sweet chubby cheek was resting 
 On her little dimpled hands ; 
 
 While her sunny curls were shining 
 On her brow, in goWen bands.
 
 74 LITTLE BELL. 
 
 Silken eyelids softly closing 
 
 O'er the dancing eyes of bine, 
 Kept the envious stars from seeing 
 Earth can have her diamonds too. 
 
 A stick for gun and flag of bonnet 
 By her on the grass-bed lay ; 
 
 Ah, poor Bell, our cruel warfare 
 
 Came to naught, like children's play. 
 
 Naught, alas ! but blood and sorrows, 
 By each hearth a vacant place ; 
 
 Years of joy can not redeem us 
 As a nation from disgrace. 
 
 Gentle be thy life's sweet slumbers ; 
 
 Purity in thy heart dwell ; 
 Every blessing rest upon thee 
 
 Is my prayer for little Bdl.
 
 WEARINESS. 75 
 
 WEARINESS. 
 
 II, is there no, no place on earth 
 Where weary souls can rest ? 
 Are none who spring from mortal birth 
 With perfect bliss e'er blest ? 
 
 A 
 
 Or shall we be forever longing 
 Be with wants and wishes filled ; 
 
 Craving things to earth belonging, 
 
 Not the things that God hath willed ? 
 
 Oh ! how weary, weary, weary, 
 
 And how long doth seem the day, 
 
 When too sad, and lone and dreary, 
 Plod we on our toilsome way ?
 
 76 WEARINESS. 
 
 With not one, not one to lore us, 
 How can we of bliss e'er dream ? 
 
 Of the blissful heaven above as 
 Can we ever catch a gleam ? 
 
 Can we long endure such sorrow 
 Without longing for the day 
 
 Praying God that ere the morrow 
 We may pass from earth away ? 
 
 Is there even one, a mortal, 
 
 Who content with life's sad store 
 
 Would retreat from heaven's blest portal, 
 And return to earth once more ?
 
 ONLY A BLUSH. 17 
 
 ONLY A BLUSH. 
 
 a blush ! O'er the cheek it swept, 
 In a tint, but a shade more bright, 
 While over the forehead the soft glow crept, 
 Like Aurora's roseate light. 
 
 Only a blush ! 'Twas a single word 
 That the heart's deep fountain woke, 
 
 And in turbulent gushes, its depths were stirred, 
 For the lips were loved that spoke. 
 
 Only a blush ! Yet the glow revealed 
 That she loved him, and with pride 
 
 In the armor of many a conquest steel'd, 
 He lingered near her side,
 
 78 ONLY A BLUSH. 
 
 And breathed into her credulous ear, 
 
 In the whim of an idle hour, 
 Vows never forgotten by those who hear 
 
 When subjected to Love's cruel power. 
 
 Only a blush ! Long it lingered there 
 
 And assumed a hectic token, 
 When the vows that woke it had vanished in air, 
 
 And the maiden's heart was broken.
 
 A KISS. 
 
 A KISS ? Pray tell me, what is in a kiss, 
 -"- That it should be the ultimate of bliss ? 
 I've tried it, and in vain ; I cannot see 
 Why so much sought for a mere kiss should be. 
 
 I wish I knew wherein lies the delight, 
 The smacking part ! What's in that to excite ? 
 Or drinking souls from lips, as lovers do 
 Ah, let me see and did I try that too ? 
 
 I have convinced myself it must be good, 
 When people kiss each other as they should ; 
 A mouth with rosy lips and a moustache 
 Together met, knock reason " all to smash."
 
 80 KINDNESS. 
 
 o 
 
 KINDNESS. 
 
 NE single word of heartfelt kindness, 
 Oft is worth a mine of gold, 
 
 Yet how oft, we, in our blindness, 
 The most precious wealth withhold. 
 
 Like soft dews on thirsting flowers, 
 It revives the drooping heart ; 
 
 And its magical blest showers 
 Is the soul's best healing art. 
 
 Oh ! however sad and lonely 
 
 Life's dark, sterile path may be, 
 
 One, one single kind word only 
 Causeth all its gloom to flee.
 
 81 
 
 How can we know of the troubles 
 That must rack another's soul, 
 
 All must know that empty bubbles 
 Of Life's cares o'er all heads roll. 
 
 Then forgiving and forgetting, 
 Let for aye the kind word fall, 
 
 Only our own sins regretting 
 With a charity for all. 
 
 Then this life will be a pleasure, 
 When we all speak words of love 
 
 For we know our earthly measure 
 "Will be more than filled above.
 
 CHILD-LIFE. 
 
 CHILD LIFE. 
 
 T~ IKE the cadence of an old love song, 
 -^ Borne on a zephyr's wings along, 
 Fading 
 
 and dying, 
 
 Then sounding again, 
 
 Touching the heart with its mournful strain, 
 Tearing my soul from its worldly strife, 
 Came a dream or vision of life, child-life. 
 
 Me thought the heart of a child stood bare, 
 And I saw all human passions there, 
 Urging 
 
 and surging 
 
 Like waters grand, 
 
 Hurled by the mselstrom's mighty hand, 
 While the billows dashed with a sullen sound, 
 And scattered the foaming spray around.
 
 CHILD-LIFE. 83 
 
 Twas a tiny seed in its embryo state, 
 
 Yet I saw there the germs of love and hate 
 
 Loving 
 
 and hating ! 
 
 Together they stood, 
 
 Strange that the evil should rest by the good ! 
 Oh ! would that to mortals was granted the meed 
 To cherish the flower, but pluck out the weed ! 
 
 Faith, Hope and Charity, all were- there, 
 Ambition, revenge, dark revenge, and despair, 
 Doubting 
 
 and wondering, 
 
 I touched a small sore, 
 
 And the heart of the child was enveloped in gore. 
 'Twas a slight disappointment that brought forth 
 
 the blood, 
 For a sire's broken promise disturbed the deep 
 
 flood.
 
 84 CHILD-LIFE. 
 
 All 1 I covered my eyes to shut out the sad sight, 
 For the face of the child was as dark as the night 
 Craving 
 
 and praying 
 
 That knowledge to find 
 A rest for the weary, a balm for the mind. 
 With Faith I looked up, and the child's face was 
 
 fair; 
 ITope's flower had blossomed through blood and by 
 
 prayer. 
 
 And as the dream-vision was passing away, 
 Through the deep silence reigning I heard a voice say, 
 Receive 
 
 and believe, 
 
 Thou, a mother of youth, 
 
 Oh ! doubt not this vision, thou knowest its truth ! 
 Thou knowest that virtues and passions are rife 
 Tn the beautiful morning of life, child-life.
 
 CHILIMJFE. 85 
 
 Beware how thou touchest its heart cords wrong, 
 For the virtues are weak and the vices are strong. 
 Gently 
 
 and tenderly, 
 
 "Wake the sweet strain, 
 
 Touch pleasure and peace, and no discord will reign. 
 Thou hast seen, oh my daughter, that each child 
 
 of earth 
 Doth emulate manhood, yes, e'en at its birth. 
 
 Then deal with it lovingly, let the dream last, 
 When comes a deep sorrow, the child-life is past. 
 Softly 
 
 and sweetly 
 
 Like light falling ram, 
 Then dying away as JEolian strain, 
 The dream-vision vanished, I heard still the voice, 
 Group no longer in darkness, in thy knowledge 
 
 rejoice. 
 
 I woke, and the sun newly born, grand and bright, 
 Hud flooded my room, and my soul with its light.
 
 86 EVANISHIXGS. 
 
 EVAXISHIXGS. 
 
 L ARLIXG, how long before this breath 
 
 will cease ? 
 
 How long before my soul shall have sweet peace ? 
 I am so weary, that I fain would rest, 
 Would rest forever on my Saviour's breast. 
 
 Ah ! let me gaze once more upon the earth, 
 So gay, so bright, so full of joy and mirth. 
 The song-birds sing, and bright flowers bloom for me, 
 And night's pure stars shine on me lovingly : 
 
 Earth is all brightness, still I fain would go 
 Where all is real, where joy ne'er turns to woe, 
 Where this frail body will be free from pain, 
 Where we shall meet, no more to part again.
 
 EVANISHINGS. 81 
 
 'Tis dark here, father ! Oh, weep not for me, 
 For Heaven is light through all Eternity. 
 In the pure garland of her Saviour's love 
 Your bud will shed her fragrance far above. 
 
 Oh, mother ! Think I've only gone before, 
 My sisters ! That we soon shall meet once more. 
 Weep not for me ! my heart is passing light, 
 I'll rest to-morrow robed in spotless white. 
 
 Speak louder ! for my earthly senses fail 
 Terrestrial things before my dim sight pale. 
 Celestial visions meet my fading sight ; 
 I hear sweet music in the realms of light. 
 
 And thou, beloved, who art near my side 
 But one short month and I had been thy bride. 
 How can I leave thee ? 'Tis my Saviour's voice, 
 He would espouse me fainting heart, rejoice.
 
 88 EVAXISHIXGS. 
 
 Farewell to all, a long and last farewell 1 
 The angels call me where immortals dwell ! 
 "With a sweet smile she breathed her latest breath, 
 And thus our darling triumphed over death.
 
 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 89 
 
 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 ?r~TUS but a phantom of the weary brain, 
 
 An image wrought by sleepless nights of 
 
 pain 
 
 I know 'tis false, as false as earth can be, 
 Thy hand, my son, from blood of man is free. 
 
 Ah ! ha ! Thou shrinkest, oh, my son ! my son ! 
 If thou art guilty then am I undone ! 
 Still thou art mine, a widow's only child ; 
 Some subtle serpent has thy heart beguiled. 
 
 Plead for thee, boy ? ay, give my life for thine 
 
 A mother's love is holy, pure, divine. 
 
 I will away, to Cromwell will I hie, 
 
 And save thee, boy, ay, save or with thee die !
 
 90 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 With brow unbent, grim Cromwell stood 
 
 Within the Council Hall, 
 Vouchsafing scarce the slightest glance 
 
 Upon the form to fall 
 Of her who pleaded for the boon 
 
 Most precious earth can give. 
 " Life for a life," old Cromwell said. 
 
 She pleaded, let him live. 
 No eloquence so powerful as eloquence of love, 
 It melts the frozen fountain and the hardest heart 
 
 can move. 
 Let me go back, the woman cried, to happy days 
 
 of yore ! 
 That wayward boy you doom to death is a young 
 
 child once more. 
 See, see his bright and sunny curls now cradled on 
 
 my breast ! 
 Again I sing sweet lullaby and soothe my babe to
 
 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 91 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep, 
 
 Thy mother's near, 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, 
 
 Thou knowest no fear. 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, 
 
 Upoa niy breast ; 
 Sleep, darling, sleep, 
 
 Sweet be thy rest. 
 
 Cromwell, your heart is hard, they say, but you 
 
 have children too ; 
 War's tide may turn, you too may plead for some 
 
 life dear to you. 
 Then let your better nature act, oh, let my son go 
 
 free, 
 And daily prayers by me and mine shall soar aloft 
 
 for thee. 
 
 His features soften ; does his heart relent towards 
 
 my son ? 
 I will another picture draw, then is my pleading 
 
 done :
 
 92 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 See, Cromwell, see, upon the lawn, my curly headed 
 
 boy, 
 He knows not he is fatherless, my blessed, only 
 
 joy- 
 See how he gambols ! how can he know aught of 
 
 my deep grief ? 
 Tears, scalding tears pour from mine eyes, to give 
 
 my heart relief. 
 Ah, now he rushes to my side, and wipes away a 
 
 tear: 
 Oh, weep not, mother, for my sire, for, mother, I 
 
 am here. 
 
 Soon, very soon I'll be a man ; and then I'll work 
 
 for you 
 But I am little now, mamma, and what can 
 
 children do ? 
 Now all forgetful of my grief, he playful leaves my 
 
 side 
 You cannot slay my only son, my darling and my 
 
 pride!
 
 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 93 
 
 " Life for a life," again he said, yet hurried a tear 
 
 to hide ; 
 Then gazing from the casement low, his cheek 
 
 flashed in its pride. 
 The pleader's eye had followed his, to where his 
 
 mother stood, 
 Well might the conqueror be proud of one so pure 
 
 and good ! 
 
 The doomed man's mother grasped his arm ; thy 
 
 mother, Cromwell, see ! 
 Perchance the time may come, stern man, she may 
 
 thus plead for thee. 
 " Vengeance is mine, I will repay," hath said the 
 
 Lord thy King 
 Spare, spare my child, and blessings rare upon thy 
 
 household bring. 
 
 " Life for life," then spare my son, and, Cromwell, 
 
 let me die ; 
 A mother's love will brave all earth, and even 
 
 death defy.
 
 94 LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 The warrior in his fancy saw his mother's bended 
 
 knee, 
 Tearing her gray hairs in her grief, yet all unheard 
 
 her plea. 
 
 His stern heart softened, and his eye betrayed the 
 
 pitying gleam 
 Which brightened his harsh, stern old face, like a 
 
 celestial beam. 
 Go, woman, go, thy prayer is heard, and thy dear 
 
 son shall live ! 
 This time shall mercy, justice rule, and I for once 
 
 forgive.
 
 APPLE DUMPLINGS. 95 
 
 APPLE DUMPLINGS. 
 
 BY REQUEST. 
 
 aAZE not upon my outside, friend, 
 With scorn or with disgust 
 Judge not, until you condescend 
 To look beneath the crust. 
 
 Rough and unsightly is my shell, 
 But you just dues will render ; 
 
 And to the world the truth will tell, 
 And say my heart is tender. 
 
 The young may scorn my olden ways, 
 With their new-fashioned notions ; 
 
 The old the insult soon repays 
 By claiming double portions.
 
 APPLE DUMPLINGS. 
 
 'Tis true, like modern Misses, gay, 
 The truth is sad, distressing ! 
 
 But I must now say out my say 
 I need a little dressing ! 
 
 My sauce, my rich apparel, hides 
 My ugly form from sight ; 
 
 The goodness of my heart, besides, 
 Will always come to light. 
 
 Then judge not by the surface, dear ; 
 
 Look deeper at the heart : 
 Above the faults of earth appear 
 
 Beneath the better part. ,
 
 LIFE. 
 
 T IFE ? What is life but fleeting bliss, 
 -"^ As transient as a lover's kiss, 
 
 Or like a flower 
 
 Of beauty and of fragrance rare 
 Which blooms, then vanishes in air, 
 
 In one short hour. 
 
 Unlike the flower, the soul will bloom, 
 Transplanted far above earth's gloom, 
 By God's vast power. 
 
 Life? What is life? 'Tis but a dream 
 Of weal or woe, a lightning's gleam, 
 
 That fades away. 
 
 Yet leaves its impress on the mind 
 Some tie that memory will bind
 
 9S 
 
 With Love's warm ray : 
 Or, like the fiery subtle light, 
 The thoughts of its destroying blight 
 
 May last for aye. 
 
 Life ? What is life ? A morning mist, 
 Which vanishes when e'er 'tis kissed 
 
 By Sol's rays bright ; 
 'Tis but a silver-tinted cloud, 
 Which floats so beautifully proud 
 
 In realms of light. 
 But gaze beneath the silver crest, 
 You find, deep buried in its breast, 
 
 Storms dark as night. 
 
 Life? What is life? Hopes, bright hopes 
 
 wrecked ; 
 Desire curbed, ambition checked, 
 
 By earthly scorn. 
 
 Vows, sacred vows, too lightly spoken ; 
 Hearts filled with joy, neglected, broken,
 
 Till at each dawn 
 
 The victim sighs for death's release 
 For with death will all troubles cease, 
 
 And peace is born. 
 
 Life ? What is life ? A heaving sea, 
 Which take us to Eternity ; 
 
 Its billows, Time 
 
 Upon whose waves our barks are mann'd, 
 By God's all-powerful command, 
 
 To other clime, 
 
 Perchance our goal is land of night, 
 Or we may take the form of light 
 
 In realms sublime. 
 
 Life ? what is life ? that we should grieve 
 The transient pomps of earth to leave, 
 
 When we must see 
 That flowers bloom to fade away 
 That joys last not, for e'en a day.
 
 100 
 
 That pleasures flee : 
 "We know that in the land above 
 We shall redeemed by hand of love 
 
 All perfect be. 
 
 Then gladly should our souls rejoice 
 To hear our dear Redeemer's voice 
 
 Call us away. 
 
 Glad to exchange this land of night 
 This land of sorrow and of blight 
 
 For endless day ; 
 
 "Where, clothed in robes of spotless white, 
 We'll live in realms of boundless light, 
 
 For aye, and aye.
 
 THE SIGNAL GUN. 101 
 
 THE SIGNAL GTJN. 
 
 OOFTLY now the day is dawning, 
 ^^^ Song-birds sing the lays of morning ; 
 All else around is calm and still, 
 Except the picket on the hill. 
 
 Now where once the morning breeze 
 Sweetly floated through the trees ; 
 Grim earth-batteries rear on high 
 Their ghastly heads up to the sky. 
 
 From morning's light to evening shades 
 We dwell in dread of martiral raids ; 
 With faith we trust protecting power 
 Will shelter us iu this dark hour.
 
 102 THE SIGNAL GUN. 
 
 Listen ! now the signal-gun 
 Tells the picket's work is done ; 
 Xo more will he watch and wait 
 Stands he now at heaven's gate. 
 Yes, the picket's race is run, 
 And his heavenly life begun.
 
 ALL ALONE. 103 
 
 ALL ALONE. 
 
 A ND shall we ever seek in vain, 
 - In this cold world of ours, 
 The love of kindred heart to gain 
 
 To rouse our latent powers ? 
 Or shall our hearts forever mourn 
 All alone ? 
 
 Upon the silvery moon I gaze 
 And the bright gems of night ; 
 
 And from their loving, tender rays, 
 My soul imbibes God's light. 
 
 Why to me is that radiance borne 
 All alone ?
 
 104 ALL ALONE. 
 
 I fed each gentle, soothing word 
 The perfume of the flower 
 
 The thrilling music of the bird 
 The twilight's quiet hour : 
 
 And sigh to think these joys mine own, 
 All aloue. 
 
 Once in my early youth I thought 
 That answered was my prayer ; 
 
 Alas ! experience soon taught 
 Twas but a dream so fair : 
 
 In heaven, blest heaven, I shall not mourn 
 All alone !
 
 UPON RECEIPT OF A POUND OF COFFEE IN 18G3. 105 
 
 UPOX RECEIPT OF A POUND OF 
 COFFEE IX 1863. 
 
 nr^HE sight of the coffee was good for sore eyes, 
 For I have not learned yet its worth to 
 
 I welcomed each grain as I culled with care o'er, 
 A nd in fancy increased it to ten thousand more. 
 
 I put it on fire, and stirred round and round, 
 Then took it off gently when it was quite browned ; 
 When cool I proceeded to fill up my mill, 
 And ground up a boiling with very good will. 
 
 I measured three spoons full, you see, for us three 
 The old Lady Lane, my Grand-mother and me ; 
 I added some water, then put it to boil, 
 And stood close by, watching, for fear it might spoil.
 
 106 UPON RECEIPT OF A POUND OF COFFEE IN 1863. 
 
 I put cream and sugar in three of our cups, 
 Then poured out our coffee, and took some good sups. 
 I thought of the Turk, sitting on his curled knees, 
 And was sure that our coffee, his Lordship would 
 please. 
 
 It spoiled me, and now I'm beginning to think, 
 When that coffee gives out, what the mischief I'll 
 
 drink ; 
 
 I must get some coffee beg, borrow, or steal 
 For after that Java, I can't drink parched meal ! 
 
 Thus down to the bottom we drank your good 
 
 health ! 
 
 May God shower o'er you of blessings a wealth : 
 May you never want for good coffee and tea 
 And, friend, in your buying, remember poor me !
 
 MRS. MYRICK'S LECTURE. 107 
 
 MRS. MYRICK'S LECTURE. 
 
 OU know, dear, that this vicious world is 
 
 Y 
 
 ever prone to see, 
 
 Most glaring faults and blemishes, in even purity ; 
 And thus, my dear, a shade of black will much the 
 
 darker show, 
 Should it chance to be embedded in the virgin 
 
 white of snow. 
 
 The modest floweret of the wood that's born to 
 
 blush unseen, 
 May all its simple defects hide with its own veil 
 
 of green ; 
 But woe betide the stately rose, the pride of the 
 
 parterre, 
 Should but the canker-spot of life upon its leaves 
 
 appear.
 
 108 MRS. MVRICK'S LECTURE. 
 
 The rose's heart, for that is hid, may with the 
 
 blight corrode ; 
 Have faults, but ever hide them well, for that is 
 
 a-la-mode ; 
 Should you but say that you have sinned that you 
 
 are but a mortal 
 The world, amazed, will scorning cry, " she'll ne'er 
 
 see heaven's portal !" 
 
 The brittle glass of character will have stains on it 
 
 cast 
 By malice of the slanderous world, for simple faults, 
 
 long past ; 
 No matter how much tempted, or how pure your 
 
 heart has been, 
 You're wicked, in the last degree, if scandal knows 
 
 your sin. 
 
 Thank God ! repentant sinners are not judged by 
 
 those of earth, 
 Or they would never be redeemed by an immortal 
 
 birth.
 
 MRS. STYRICK'S LECTURE. 109 
 
 Ah ! He, when the last trump shall sound, " who 
 
 doeth all things well," 
 Will wipe our sorrowing tears away, and pains of 
 
 anguish quell. 
 
 See the flaw in this bright diamond ; were it but a 
 
 thing of glass, 
 A much larger flaw, unnoticed, would before the 
 
 world's eye pass ; 
 Gaze in the clearest waters, rocks and blemishes 
 
 you spy, 
 That in less clearer streamlets would be hidden 
 
 from your eye. 
 
 Be not offended now, my dear, at counsel from a 
 
 friend, 
 Who blessings on thy youthful head, would daily, 
 
 hourly send. 
 Deep in your heart your secrets keep ; to enemies 
 
 be civil ; 
 And oh, be careful, and avoid appearances of evil.
 
 HO TO FAXKIE. 
 
 TO FANNIE. 
 
 ~YJTT"RITE to thine eyes ? Why, my poor peu 
 
 Quails at the unequal task ; 
 I fear you don't appreciate 
 The mighty boon you ask. 
 
 Thine eyes, I know, oh ! beautiful ! 
 
 True poets would inspire ; 
 But, dear, you should remember, that 
 
 I've not a poet's fire. 
 
 But still at thy request I call 
 My sleeping muse to me, 
 
 To write a sonnet to thine eyes 
 Would it were worthy thee I
 
 TO FANNIE. Ill 
 
 Tender and loving, soft and pure, 
 They pierce the heart of man ; 
 
 And with the aid of Cupid's darts, 
 Maim all the hearts they can. 
 
 Bright as the stars in yonder sky, 
 
 They shine for all on earth : 
 So sad in sorrow, glad in joy, 
 
 And sparkling in their mirth. 
 
 They, like the eyes of the gazelle, 
 Gaze fondly where you love ; 
 
 And who receives such gaze, esteems 
 Them angels from above. 
 
 Bright as the light of long-sought home 
 To pilgrims o'er earth's way, 
 
 Whose footsteps sore, have wandered far, 
 Through weary year and day.
 
 112 TO FANNIE. 
 
 The light of love, the light of truth, 
 From thy soft eyes e'er beam ; 
 
 And from thy heart, so kind and true, 
 A host of virtues gleam. 
 
 Now if this sonnet, Fannie, dear, 
 
 "Were written by a lover, 
 A thousand charms no doubt he'd see, 
 
 lhat I cannot discover.
 
 I AM WEARY, MOTHER. 113 
 
 I AM WEARY, MOTHER, 
 
 T AM weary, Mother, and I fain would rest 
 
 Beside thee, in the cold and silent tomb 
 The rayless pathways of a life unblest, 
 Are dark, beside the brightness of death's gloom. 
 
 I place my hand upon the marble white 
 Above thee, Mother, and it chills my frame ; 
 Yet 'tis not cold as hearts which take delight 
 In casting stains upon a once fair name. 
 
 Few summers, Mother, smiled above thy head ; 
 Ere thou wast chilled by breath of Azael's wing, 
 Love, flowers and sunshine brightness o'er thee 
 
 shed, 
 But naught had power immortal life to bring.
 
 114 I AM WEARY, MOTHER. 
 
 My life has been one checkered scene of woe ; 
 True, Spring and Summer flowers 'round me cast 
 But ah, they faded, like all things below 
 Bloomed but a moment, and like dreams, were past. 
 
 Why didst thou leave me, Mother ? thy frail child 
 Had not the strength to guide her bark alone ; 
 Full many a soul by false lights are beguiled, 
 But few are safely o'er life's breakers borne. 
 
 Ah ! I have erred, my Mother ; but my sin 
 Upon Him rests, whose blood all guilt redeems ! 
 My heart was weak but who is pure within ? 
 What heart untouched by sin's dread, seething 
 gleams? 
 
 But, Mother, I have left me some bright hours 
 
 I revel 'mid the Barmacidian feast ! 
 
 I cull imagination's fairest flowers ; 
 
 I live again, with Shepherds in the East.
 
 I AM WEARY, MOTHER. 115 
 
 Oft Cleopatra's magic wand I wield 
 O'er Anthony and Julius Caesar's reign 
 "With Sheba's queen, to Solomon I yield 
 And, with fair Ruth, I glean the scanty grain. 
 
 With Beatricia Canci now I sigh, 
 
 The helpless victim of a Father's sin ; 
 
 In loathsome dungeons, with her prey to die, 
 
 And weeping, think of joys which might have been 
 
 By Eloise, within the convent cell, 
 I listen for my Abelard's loved voice, 
 Whose every cadence, ah ! I know full well, 
 Whose softest footsteps make my heart rejoice. 
 
 Is it a sin to dream ? to live once more 
 Among remembered nations of the past 
 To recall those who've only gone before, 
 And live beyond the reach of earth's rude blast ?
 
 116 I AM WEARY, MOTHER. 
 
 The future, Mother, hath bright charms for me ; 
 Not on this earth, but in my home above, 
 Where from temptation, sin, and sorrow free, 
 I'll see once more the dear ones that I love.
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 117 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 "A /T OTHER, for months a mist has been before 
 
 me, 
 
 And I have sought, in memory, to bind 
 
 All objects loved, ere darkness gathered o'er me, 
 
 For in my heart, I felt I would be blind. 
 
 I am so young, my Mother, that my sorrow 
 Is fraught with bitter anguish of despair ; 
 
 How can I bear to think, that each to-morrow 
 Will robe in darkness all earth's beauties rare I 
 
 I feel a sunbeam, Mother, resting on me ; 
 
 I take the omen to my breaking heart 
 For thy sweet voice, thy loving hand upon me, 
 
 Will to thy son bright rays of light impart.
 
 118 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 'Tis said that beauties, Mother, grow still fairer, 
 When looked upon through vista of past years, 
 
 And that joy's paintings seem still brighter, rarer, 
 Their colors set by sorrow's briny tears. 
 
 On memory's tablet, Mother, I have flowers 
 More beautiful than artist's cherished gems 
 
 And bright tipped clouds of twilight quiet hours, 
 More prized by me than countless diadems. 
 
 And trees of Autumn, with their hues e'er changing, 
 And then the gentle budding green of Spring 
 
 Will keep my thoughts from ever, ever ranging 
 To leafless boughs that winter's blasts e'er bring 
 
 And I have faces passing sweet, too, Mother 
 More holy than Corregio's fair saint ; 
 
 Yes, I have drawn thy image, sister, brother, 
 And thine too, Mother, without earthly taint.
 
 LIGHT IN" DARKNESS. 119 
 
 And, Mother, now too surely I am dreaming : 
 Sweet Lily's eyes will soon become my light, 
 
 Xo, 'tis no dream, and earth with joy is teeming, 
 For Lily promised to be mine last night.
 
 120 THE HUMMING-BIRD. 
 
 THE HUMMIXG-BIRD. 
 
 T ENTERED my parlor one bright summer morn, 
 My vases with flowers, sweet flowers to adorn. 
 In arranging the curtains, there fell on my head 
 A dear little humming-bird, dead quite dead ! 
 
 I pressed the poor darling so close to my heart, 
 And thought that I felt a slight, flutter, a start ! 
 Could I but restore it to life, how divine, 
 How sweet, how delicious a joy would be mine ! 
 
 I rushed to the garden and placed its long mouth 
 In the sweet honey-suckle which blooms in the South ; 
 I saw that the humming-bird drew a long breath, 
 As it tasted the nectar that saved it from death !
 
 THE HUMMIKG-BIRD. 121 
 
 Tlie minutes flew past, yet I staid in the bower, 
 Aud moved my poor birdliug from flower to flower ; 
 At last, with a sweet strain of grateful heart's 
 
 praise, 
 It flew upward, far upward, beyond my eyes' gaze. 
 
 Thus when you, dear children, are dying in sin 
 When all is a void and an aching within 
 Drink deep of the nectar of God's holy love, 
 And your souls will be wafted to mansions above.
 
 122 THEE SOLDIKR BOY'S DREAM. 
 
 THE SOLDIER BOY'S DREAM 
 
 A SOLDIER boy lay dreaming 
 
 In his lonely prison cell, 
 While the stars above were gleaming, 
 
 And their lustre on him fell. 
 His dreams were bright, angels of light 
 
 Were hovering o'er his head ; 
 'Twas day in night, the spirit's sight, 
 The living of sleep's dead. 
 
 On wings of love his soul was borne 
 
 By the celestial band, 
 Where he no longer mourned alone, 
 
 To his home in Southern land.
 
 THE SOLDIER BOY'S DREAM. 123 
 
 He roved in bowers, amid sweet flowers 
 
 Of every kind, and shade, 
 The mock-bird's note thrilled from its throat, 
 
 And music filled the glade. 
 
 His noble sire, with silver hair, 
 
 Again stood by his side ; 
 His saintly mother breathed a prayer 
 
 For this her son, her pride. 
 And yet again, joy deep brings pain 1 
 
 His Katy meets him there 
 Stands by his side, his promised bride ; 
 
 Sweet Katy, pure and fair. 
 
 Again he cools his fever'd brain 
 
 With water soft and clear, 
 Whose murmuring, like distant rain, 
 
 Falls soothing on his ear. 
 And now a stroke the silence broke, 
 
 The wood-bird seeks his prey, 
 Ah ! 'tis not dreams, the daylight gleams, 
 
 The wood-bird's strokes still stay.
 
 124 THE SOLDIER BOY's DREAM. 
 
 The boy sprang to his window small, 
 
 Gazed on the passing night 
 A new-made gallows, grim and tall, 
 
 Loomed to his eager sight : 
 In his despair, he tore his hair, 
 
 And cursed the craven nation, 
 Who for but hate, made death his fate 
 
 Noble retaliation ! 
 
 A soft hand touched the stricken'd boy, 
 
 And an ^Eolian yoice 
 Bade him, in accents full of joy, 
 
 To follow, and rejoice ! 
 On by the guards, the sleeping guards, 
 
 They flew like silent death, 
 Without a sound the gate they found, 
 
 Scarce drawing e'en a breath. 
 
 Xow the dread danger all is o'er ; 
 
 He turned to thank his guide ; 
 He gazed again once more, once more 
 
 No one stood near his side.
 
 THE SOLDIER BOY'S DREAM. 125 
 
 Celestial light dawned o'er his night, 
 Earth seemed with glory bound, 
 
 Filled him with joy, the blissful joy 
 Of LIBERTY, new found.
 
 126 
 
 H 
 
 MINE. 
 
 EH eyes are bright as sparkling s1 
 
 And as the violet blue ; 
 In them celestial beauty lies, 
 
 The soul-light flashing through. 
 
 No painter, how e'er great his skill, 
 
 Can imitate her hair ; 
 Naught save a sunset sea of gold 
 
 Had ever shade so rare. 
 
 The lilies with pale roses blend, 
 And melt upon her cheek 
 
 Her carmine lips disclose seed pearls, 
 When e'er they ope to speak !
 
 MINE. 127 
 
 Her tiny ear, like sea-side shell, 
 Pink-ting'd, of perfect mould, 
 
 A moment gleams, then disappears, 
 Lost hi the sea of gold. 
 
 Ah, should you see my birdie blithe, 
 
 In some lone sylvan dell, 
 You r d think she was a fairy child, 
 
 Made mortal by a spell. 
 
 Her voice ! ah, never tropic bird 
 
 Could trill so sweet a glee ; 
 Nor is the sad JEolian harp 
 
 So full of melody. 
 
 My birdie speaks, no earthly strain 
 
 Could thus my spirit move, 
 For her sweet notes pierce through my heart, 
 
 And thrill the cords of love.
 
 128 MINE. 
 
 For this fair child, this fairy bright, 
 So nearly being divine, 
 
 To me is sunshine, hope and life 
 For she is mine, all mine !
 
 129 
 
 MISTLETOE. 
 
 yonder oak, upon its lordliest height, 
 Is fastened the destroying parasite ; 
 His mighty arms caress his fawning foe, 
 And yield their life-sap to the mistletoe. 
 
 Through bark, through wood, the fatal roots 
 
 extend ; 
 
 The parasitic verdure seems a friend, 
 Overspreading the gnarled trunk with livelier 
 
 green 
 Alas ! decay, and death soon end the scene ! 
 
 First dies the oak, and then the parasite 
 Cannot survive its royal patron's blight ; 
 And when I look abroad among mankind, 
 Close semblance, and fit moral do I find.
 
 130 MISTLETOE. 
 
 God feared that poor, weak mortals here below 
 By chance might be too fond of earth's vain show 
 In hopes to draw our hearts from earth to heaven, 
 The monster jealousy to us was given. 
 
 Search where you may, this wide, wide world around, 
 The green-eyed thing in every house is found ; 
 In truth, it bitters every sweet of life, 
 And creates discord between man and wife. 
 
 To some it wears the winning garb of love, 
 And seems as sweet as any cooing dove : 
 Look closely, and perchance you can discover 
 The thing has other form than that of lover. 
 
 To sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers too, 
 As friend it goes, and seems so kind and true, 
 That they would fain believe all that it says, 
 And take, for pattern, its own nolle ways.
 
 MISTLETOE. 131 
 
 Like mistletoe, it seems so green and bright, 
 At first you'd view it with unfeigned delight ; 
 Examine it again, and you will see 
 Its nature with its looks does not agree. 
 
 For jealousy from out the tree of love 
 Its verdure draws, and like the plant above, 
 The roots, instead of dying, as they should 
 With age, become embedded in the wood. 
 
 And thus it lives, long, weary months and years, 
 And causes sorrow, guilt, and heartfelt tears, 
 The boisterous winds of sorrow bear the seed, 
 And plant on other trees the loathsome weed. 
 
 Alas ! in mercy sent, no tender hand 
 Can take this parasite from our good land ; 
 It stays, and from its birth-place never hies, 
 Until it kills the tree, and then it dies.
 
 132 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 "TT^IYE buds were on the parent tree, 
 -*- But God took one away ; 
 
 " This flower will be too fair," said He, 
 " Upon this earth to stay." 
 
 And now, by His own throne above, 
 Our bud is blooming fair ; 
 
 Twined in the garland of His love, 
 Our Prince is proud to wear. 
 
 A smaller bud now groweth there, 
 Whose red we just descry 
 
 A blithesome child, with silken hair, 
 Gay as a butterfly.
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 133 
 
 With joy and gladness for her dower, 
 
 And always on the whig, 
 She extracts sweets from every flower 
 
 For her, life has no sting. 
 
 ***** 
 
 My Pet ! of all, I love tkce best 
 
 Thou child of noblest mind, 
 Who lov'st me more than all the rest, 
 
 So generous, good and kind ! 
 
 Sweet bud ! Thou'rt very fair to me, 
 
 Unfolding day by day ; 
 From sorrow be thou ever free, 
 
 On earth long be thy stay ! 
 ***** 
 
 And still another opeueth rare, 
 
 Its petals now unclose, 
 More lovely far beyond compare 
 
 Than any splendid rose.
 
 134 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 Graceful her form, as willow tree, 
 Her hair of sunny hue ; 
 
 Face fair as mortal face can be, 
 Her eyes of heavenly blue. 
 
 Endowed with nature's every gift 
 With beauty, mind and health ; 
 
 Oh, may she never cast adrift 
 Such store of Nature's wealth ! 
 
 Transplanted to another clime, 
 The eldest bud hath bloomed ; 
 
 But cankered ere the opening tune, 
 Her life to sorrow doomed. 
 
 Once, thoughtless, happy, gay and bright, 
 
 In life's young opening day, 
 Till the fell frost, with glittering blight, 
 
 Ate her young heart away.
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 135 
 
 Now she awaits her Saviour's voice, 
 
 To kindly bid her come ; 
 Her broken heart can but rejoice 
 
 To hear the summons home !
 
 136 LINES TO AN OLD DRESS. 
 
 LINES TO AN" OLD DRESS. 
 
 A LAS ! the time has come, old dress, 
 
 When you and I must part ; 
 To say adieu, my valued friend, 
 Is tearing heart from heart. 
 
 Long years have passed since thou wert new, 
 
 Long years of war and crime ; 
 But sight of thee to memory brings 
 
 The olden golden time. 
 
 I'd braid my silken tresses smooth ; 
 
 Then cast thee o'er my form, 
 And press my hand upon my heart, 
 
 To quell tumultuous storm.
 
 LINES TO AN OLD DRESS. 137 
 
 For well I know whose eye would beam 
 
 To see me thus arrayed ; 
 Twas one whose gentle tender glance, 
 
 His love for me betrayed. 
 
 Old dress, dost thou remember well 
 That beauteous moon-light night, 
 
 When the hoped-for truth o'erwhelmed my heart, 
 With a perfect blaze of light ? 
 
 How he clasped us to his heart, old dress, 
 And he vowed beneath the stars, 
 
 That naught in heaven could us divide 
 'Twas registered by Mars. 
 
 Ah, the Gods but mocked us then, old dress, 
 With a short, sweet dream of bliss, 
 
 That vanished, alas ! from our mortal sight, 
 Like the dew at the sun's warm kiss.
 
 138 LINES TO AN OLD DRESS. 
 
 Jn but a short year from then, old dress, 
 That sudden gleam of light 
 
 Had passed away, and left me naught, 
 But the darkness of midnight. 
 
 For Mars laughed at our arrogance, 
 And he hurled his mighty dart, 
 
 And my love lies in the battle-field, 
 And broken is my heart. 
 
 Ah, I cannot give thee up, old dress, 
 For thy threads are links of chain, 
 
 That bind my memory to the past 
 To long gone joys and pain.
 
 THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 139 
 
 THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 
 
 UPON THE LOSS OF HER CHILDREN'S PHOTOGRAPHS 
 AT SEA. 
 
 "TTAST thou no mercy, wind, that thou should'st 
 tear from me, 
 
 All that is left me of my loved my own ? 
 Thy hand is human, else it could not be 
 
 With weight of sorrow in my poor heart borne. 
 
 Two clinging vines, trained by my erring hand, 
 Two rose-buds, with their petals scarce 
 unclosing 
 
 See how they float, like tiny barks well manned, 
 Now like a bird upon the wave reposing. 
 
 Mock me not, waves ! Why on your flirting spray, 
 Toss ye my precious darlings to and fro ? 
 
 Oh ! save them, sailor, ere they pass away ; 
 
 Their worth to me, no mortal's soul can know.
 
 140 THE MOTHER'S LAMEXT. 
 
 There ! see ye not their fairy brightness gleaming, 
 Like stars upon the darkness of the night ? 
 
 See that fond smile upon each feature beaming ; 
 Wave, can ye thus deprive my soul of light ? 
 
 On, on they fly ! too late ! the ocean cave 
 Now claims among her jewels two rare gems, 
 
 Worth thousands such as Eastern monarchs crave, 
 To form star-clusters in their diadems. 
 
 Whene'er I looked into those faces fair, 
 Into those eyes of clear celestial blue, 
 
 I always prayed, and felt God heard my prayer, 
 That for their sakes I might be good and true. 
 
 Now those fair faces and those eyes of blue, 
 
 No more will daunt me with their pleading gaze; 
 
 The deep sea hides them from my reckless view, 
 And unrebuked I'll walk in worldly ways.
 
 THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 141 
 
 No ! not unchecked ; when sin's allurements fair, 
 Tempt me to err, with wily, subtle art, 
 
 I hear sweet voices in each breath of air, 
 
 " See, mother, see ! thy children in thy heart." 
 
 Then keep my jewels, sea, and guard them well ; 
 
 I care not, wind, for your revengeful rage ; 
 My babes are painted by love's mystic spell, 
 
 In colors rare, upon fond memory's page.
 
 142 TO FATHER. 
 
 M 
 
 TO FATHER. 
 
 Y father ! when I saw thee last, 
 
 Thy noble, manly form, 
 "Was unbent by the cares of time 
 TJnshattered by life's storm. 
 
 The raven hair around thy brow 
 Was scarcely tinged with gray 
 
 While the bright lustre of thine eye 
 Denied old age's sway. 
 
 Oft in my dreams I see thy face, 
 As 'twas when last we met ; 
 
 If we should never meet again, 
 Thy smile I'll ne'er forget.
 
 TO FATHER. 143 
 
 My father, years have passed siuce then ; 
 
 Aye, stern, heart-breaking years ; 
 And we have each been made to feel 
 
 Life's sorrows, and life's tears. 
 
 ^N"ow, I am in my womanhood 
 
 They say, life's glorious page ; 
 And, father, I regret to think, 
 
 That you have readied old age. 
 
 Grieve not, grieve not, for broken buds, 
 
 They'll open in the sky ; 
 In bower of celestial light, 
 
 They'll bloom, and never die. 
 
 Dear father, thou hast ever been 
 
 To me, thy orphan child, 
 A father and a mother too, 
 
 Kind, thoughtful, just and mild.
 
 144 TO FATHER. 
 
 Then grant me, father, but this boon, 
 
 Then will thy child be blest- 
 Let me watch o'er thy latest years, 
 And lay thee down to rest.
 
 i AM FASHION'S TOY. 145 
 
 I AM FASHION'S TOY. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN UPON SEEING A FASHIONABLY-DRESSED 
 LADY ASK A SERVANT FOR A FEW BLADES OF GRASS, 
 WHICH SHE PLACED UPON HER BOS01I. 
 
 /~\ H ! give to me of the bright green leaves, 
 
 ^^ For they tell me of the past ; 
 "When I roved at will mid the golden sheaves 
 And my heart it wildly, madly grieves, 
 
 And it throbs so painfully fast, 
 As I think of the days of peace and joy 
 That forever are gone I am fashion's toy. 
 
 Yes, the modeste decks my raven hair, 
 
 In many a shape and coil 
 And she dyes my cheek with the carmine rare, 
 And she makes my brow as the lily fair,
 
 146 I AM FASHION S TOY. 
 
 And they tell me, for beauty I can compare 
 
 With the daughters of eastern soil ; 
 Yet, I sigh when I smile in my empty joy, 
 For I know, alas ! I am fashion's toy. 
 
 My form is stately, and full of pride 
 
 And the high of the land linger near my side, 
 
 Yet as they fawning bow, 
 My heart flows back on sweet memory's tide, 
 And I forget they are near my side, 
 
 And the past seems to me now. 
 Then I dream of the sweets that could not cloy, 
 For a moment forget, I am fashion's toy. 
 
 Yes, this grass reminds me of long past hours, 
 
 When in the woodland glen 
 I revelled 'mid song and birds and flowers, 
 And formed, with the evergreen, fairy bowers. 
 
 Ah ! I was not lonely then ; 
 For he was with me, my pride, my joy 
 He is dead to me now, I am fashion's toy.
 
 i AM FASHION'S TOY. 147 
 
 Ah ! the hearts and the diamonds that lie at my 
 
 feet- 
 Hearts are all hollow, and diamonds a cheat, 
 
 Yet I cannot cast them away ; 
 I need much wealth for my life of deceit 
 
 Yes, I need it every day. 
 I must give to the poor, for that bliss doesn't cloy; 
 'Tis my only relief I am fashion's toy. 
 
 And is there no end to this empty life ; 
 
 To this life of lip-smiles and a soul at strife ? 
 
 Must it ever, ever last ? 
 Shall I look through the vista dim of years, 
 And see there naught but grief, sin, and tears ? 
 Ah ! these blades of grass for a moment brief, 
 O'erflood my soul with a sweet relief, 
 
 And I live in the happy past. 
 In my dreams, I again am a maiden coy, 
 And I live o'er my life of love and joy 
 Now, the dream is past. I am fashion's toy.
 
 148 THE MAIL HAS COME. 
 
 THE MAIL HAS COME. 
 
 "XTOW the bitter pangs of hope deferred 
 
 O'er us no longer reign, 
 But the very depths of our hearts are stirred 
 
 With a still more poignant pain ; 
 And we sadly think of the lapse of years, 
 And our eyes grow dim with the unshed tears. 
 
 Where are the noble, the good, the brave, 
 
 The father, husband, son ? 
 Can we bless the hand that the sorrow gave, 
 
 And say, " Thy will be done ?" 
 Ah ! we sadly weep o'er their honored graves 
 But we glory to think, that they died not slaves.
 
 THK MAIL HAS COME. 149 
 
 Yes, we scorn to yield to a tyrant's power : 
 
 For oppression we despise ; 
 But ah, in the twilight's quiet hour, 
 
 In bereaved hearts will arise 
 Fond thoughts of our kindred far away ; 
 And again Hope emits her bright diamond-like 
 ray. 
 
 Xow the mail has come ; in my trembling hand 
 
 Many missives of love I hold ; 
 Northern brothers, such love is a stronger band 
 
 Than our cotton, our slaves, your gold. 
 Xow I open them, one by one, in dread 
 To hear from the living, and the dead. 
 
 Ah ! Ava Maria, mother mild, 
 
 I thank thee for thy care ; 
 My father will see again his child, 
 
 Thou hast hearkened to my prayer. 
 But his form is bent, and the hand of time 
 Has silvered his locks with its war and crime.
 
 150 THE MAIL HAS COME. 
 
 Why with bitter will mingle the sweets of earth ? 
 
 Why with hope will come despair ? 
 Why cherish sweet flowers, when at their birth, 
 
 We know that their beauties rare, 
 At the touch of stern winter's chilling blast, 
 Will vanish forever, like dreams of the past ? 
 
 My sister, my darling, has passed away 
 
 She is not dead, but sleeping ; 
 Again we will meet, in a short earthly day, 
 
 Then why are we still weeping ! 
 We should gladly rejoice that the pride of our life 
 Was transplanted above all this war, sin, and 
 strife. 
 
 All send kindest greeting from over the sea 
 Not a word that can wound the full heart ; 
 
 Full of deep tender feeling and sympathy, 
 Their letters but cheer impart : 
 
 Then shall I for tins, but a national pride, 
 
 Cast the friends of my childhood's days aside ?
 
 THE MAIL HAS COME. 151 
 
 No, I love the fair South, and my heart would 
 bound 
 
 In its fulluess of ecstacy, 
 Could but the glad cry from each hill resound 
 
 We are free ! we are free ! we are free ! 
 Yet again I send greeting far over the sea, 
 Each kind letter thence is thrice welcome to inc.
 
 152 TO DON' JUAN' BASS. 
 
 TO D X J U A X B A Z , 
 
 EX-GOV. OF MEXICO. 
 
 ~rT7~ELCOME, stranger ! glad I greet thee, 
 
 Welcome to our friendly shore ; 
 Kindred hearts exult to meet thee, 
 Rest thyself in peace once more. 
 
 Think not I ignore the angnish 
 
 Which must rack thy soul with pain, 
 
 As thou dream'st of those who languish, 
 Far across the distant main. 
 
 No. I, too, am homeless, weary, 
 Fainting in my worldly strife ; 
 
 And I know how very dreary 
 Tis to be alone hi life.
 
 TO DON JUAX BAZ. 153 
 
 'Tis in sympathy I greet thee ; 
 
 May my simple words impart 
 Some ray of light, a ray to cheat thee 
 
 Of sad thoughts that swell thy heart. 
 
 Sept. 20th, I860.
 
 154 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 , bow can I live in a torture so wild, 
 And yet always be dreaming of bliss ? 
 Why not learn Fate has doomed me to be sorrow's 
 
 child, 
 And in meekness the heavy rod kiss ? 
 
 I have lived for long months in a bright laud of 
 dreams, 
 
 Dawning roseate as th' opening of day ; 
 But alas 1 the bright tints were but lightning gleams, 
 
 Flashing wrath, and then fading away. 
 
 True bliss of the soul I have constantly sought, 
 But alas ! I have sought it in vain ; 
 
 Oft earth its base semblance is rended and bought, 
 And I never will seek it again.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 155 
 
 How I long for some spot iu the solitude deep, 
 All alone I could dwell there for years ; 
 
 My only companion, Repentance, and weep 
 Living fountains of sorrowful tears. 
 
 I feel we are drifting too surely apart, 
 
 And sadly I think of the pain, 
 For my loss, which will gnaw the proud core of 
 your heart, 
 
 As alone you sail over life's main. 
 
 Oh, why do I sorrow ? I know there is rest 
 For the weary, in mansions above ; 
 
 And I long to go home to the land of the blest, 
 And drink deep of God's pardoning love.
 
 156 
 
 GONE. 
 
 " She was beautiful in life 
 And beautiful in death." 
 
 ONE, with all her sparkling beauty, 
 Gone, with innocence and youth ; 
 
 Gone, with loving ways and kindness, 
 Gone, with happiness and truth. 
 
 In the tomb they gently laid her 
 Even strangers dropped a tear ; 
 
 And one heart will feel the anguish 
 Of her loss for many a year. 
 
 Father, mother, loving sisters, 
 
 Deeply mourn the lov'd and lost ; 
 
 Who can tell the 'crushing sorrow 
 Of the heart who lov'd her most ?
 
 GOXE. 157 
 
 Oft, I fancy, in the twilight, 
 That I see her winning face ; 
 
 Dream to find, ah, sad awakening ! 
 I was gazing into space. 
 
 Sister, this our earthly parting, 
 Will not, cannot, be for aye ; 
 
 "We will meet, ah, soon, my darling, 
 Where there is eternal day !
 
 158 " I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN. 
 
 " I WAS A STRANGER AND YE TOOK ME IN." 
 
 rr^ 
 
 on the stormy waves of time, 
 By sternest cares oppressed, 
 I sought and found in Northern clime 
 A holy place of rest. 
 
 Blessed, thrice blessed be this spot, 
 
 Abiding place of peace, 
 May trouble's hand pollute it not, 
 
 And only joys increase. 
 
 And you, fair Annie, may your days 
 Be fraught with joy and lightness ; 
 
 May thornless flowers bestrew your ways, 
 And all your hours be brightness.
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 159 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 
 
 "T TOW slowly glide the hours by, the minutes 
 
 hours seem ; 
 
 Ah ! can such misery be real, or is it but a dream ? 
 'Tis passing strange that such as this should be 
 
 my lot in life 
 The curse I've always dreaded most, to be an 
 
 unloved wife. 
 
 The lark sung blithely as he left, quite early in 
 
 the day ; 
 The noon-time came, and then the night, and still 
 
 he stays away ; 
 Alas ! I am too lonely now, for the children are 
 
 asleep, 
 And I have nothing else to do, but watch, and 
 
 wait, and weep.
 
 160 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 
 
 The moon is shining brightly, and her calm and 
 
 chilly beams 
 Would woo me if they could to seek the fairy land 
 
 of dreams ; 
 And the stars look down with pity from their lofty 
 
 thrones above, 
 And tell me of the many things I have on earth 
 
 to love. 
 
 Ah ! earth is very beautiful : its sunshine .and its 
 
 flowers 
 Can truly heal the broken heart, and cheer its 
 
 lonely hours ; 
 But, ah ! when night comes lonely night, with all 
 
 its starry train, 
 The new-healed wound, the broken heart, begins to 
 
 bleed again. 
 
 How endless seems this dreary night ! and yet, 
 
 'tis only ten ; 
 I ask aloud, " when will he come ?" Echo repeats 
 
 the "when?"
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 161 
 
 I fancy in each leaf that falls, 'tis his footsteps I hear; 
 But I will learn to school myself, nor deign to shed 
 a tear. 
 
 Eleven, now ! the night wears on, and still I am 
 
 alone, 
 How favored are the mortals who are blessed with 
 
 hearts of stone ! 
 My Father, on thy daughters look with pitying 
 
 eye, I pray ; 
 Ere such a lot in life be theirs, take them from 
 
 life away. 
 
 Ah ! oft, too oft. such lives of woe merge into lives 
 
 of sin ; 
 Poor woman's heart must bow before some image 
 
 loved within ; 
 Man's love must guide her footsteps, and her daily 
 
 pathway cheer 
 Then can it be a sin to love the one who hold:; 
 
 her dear ?
 
 162 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 
 
 'Tis twelve o'clock ! How can I still this throbbing 
 
 of my brain ? 
 I wonder how much life like this makes loving 
 
 wives insane ! 
 Each passing sound the gentle breeze falls on my 
 
 ear like fire, 
 And yet I dread to hear his voice I dread the 
 
 drunkard's ire ! 
 
 The ceaseless ticking of the clock, with hollow, 
 
 vocal sound, 
 Smites on my heart with boding voice, that leaves 
 
 a bleeding wound : 
 And now, 'tis on the stroke of one ! Will this 
 
 night never end ? 
 The watch-dog's bark, the mock-bird's note, and 
 
 cock's shrill clarion blend. 
 
 Another hour rolls slowly on, and in the distant west 
 The pale moon hides her pearly beams, by sinking 
 down to rest ;
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 163 
 
 And now adown the distant road his horse I surely 
 
 hear 
 Ah, yes ! ah, yes ! his maudlin tones fall on my 
 
 listening ear. 
 
 " Down, Flora, down ! here, Pup, come here ! 
 
 Why, puppies, are you glad 
 To see your master home again ? I believe the 
 
 dogs are mad !" 
 And now he comes with tottering steps, and fury 
 
 in his eye 
 Ah ! if I could, right gladly would I lay me down 
 
 and die. 
 
 How can I bear this heavy load for months, 
 
 perhaps for years ; 
 Wear out my life of misery with sorrow, sin, and 
 
 tears ? 
 How long ! how long ! how long ! oh, Lord, will 
 
 last this life of strife ? 
 And shall I always always be a drunkard's 
 
 wretched wife ?
 
 164 THE FATHER'S LOVE. 
 
 THE FATHER'S LOYE. 
 
 ~TpAR more priceless than the diamonds rare 
 
 from Golconda's rich mine ; 
 Far more precious than the laurel wreaths that 
 
 victor's brows entwine, 
 Is the garland that fond memory weaves, and 
 
 twines about the heart 
 For care nor time, nor war nor crime, can make its 
 
 tints depart. 
 
 A mother's love ! most sacred boon to mortals 
 
 ever given ; 
 'Tis not of earth ; a mother's love was- surely born 
 
 in heaven ! 
 See witli what gentle, tender care her darling child 
 
 she shields 
 From harms of life, from every strife this sphere 
 
 terrestrial yields !
 
 THE FATHER'S LOVE. 165 
 
 But ah, to me, of all the buds in memory's garland 
 
 fair, 
 And I have there full many a gem of worth and 
 
 beauty rare, 
 Is remembrance of my Father's love, that ever 
 
 shineth bright ! 
 To me, its ray tells of the day that dawns upon 
 
 the night. 
 
 He gave to me a double share a Joseph's sacred 
 
 part, 
 And it twined itself, like ivy-green, about my 
 
 infant heart. 
 I have revelled in gay fashion's throng, have boived 
 
 at folly's shrine, 
 But I am sure my heart is pure, while Father's 
 
 love is mine. 
 
 All other love is mockery to this, a Father's love 
 Fit emblem of the strength of His, who dwelleth 
 far above :
 
 166 THE FATHER'S LOVE. 
 
 More lasting than eternity more boundless than 
 
 the sea ! 
 The blessing mine, the ray divine, may Father's 
 
 love e'er be.
 
 BURIAL OF A FAIRY QDEEK. 16T 
 
 BURIAL OF A FAIRY QUEEN 
 
 o 
 
 N a verdant summer islet 
 
 I beheld a woudrous sceue, 
 In a trance of dreamy waking- 
 Burial of a Fairy Queen ! 
 
 First I heard some small pipes playing, 
 Like faint night-winds on the breeze, 
 
 Or the sound of distant rain-drops, 
 As they fall among the trees. 
 
 Floating softly o'er the waters, 
 And from every bell of foam, 
 
 The fairy anthem echoed sweetly, 
 Sad as thoughts of distant home.
 
 168 BURIAL OF A FAIRY QUEEX. 
 
 Next the sound, as if of footsteps, 
 O'er the grass plot mov'd along ; 
 
 And distinctly came the accents 
 Of the solemn funeral song. 
 
 Like the melting of the dew-drops, 
 Without words of grief or death, 
 
 Was the soul-enthralling music, 
 Scarcely louder than a breath. 
 
 Then my dreaming eyes were opened, 
 
 And in wonder I espied 
 Thousands of the fairy creatures 
 
 In a circle, side by side. 
 
 Scarcely taller than the leaflets 
 Of the herbage on the plain, 
 
 While their heads were bowed with anguish, 
 And their tear-drops fell like rain.
 
 BURIAL OF A FAIRY QUEEN. 169 
 
 Iii the middle of the circle, 
 
 On a plat of grass most green, 
 
 Stood a bier of unknown flowers, 
 Whereon lay the Fairy Queen. 
 
 Ah, she was pale as any lily, 
 Cold and motionless as snow ! 
 
 Fainter grew their solemn dirges, 
 And still deeper grew their wo ! 
 
 Two sisters of the queenly fairy, 
 
 Stood at her feet and head, 
 And sang heart-broken measures, 
 
 Their requiems o'er the dead. 
 
 Scarcely louder than the twittering 
 Of the wood-lark's dewy breath 
 
 But too full of desolation, 
 
 And the dark despair of death I
 
 170 BURIAL OF A FAIRY QUEEN. 
 
 Then the flower-bier sank gently, 
 At the spot whereon it lay ; 
 
 And the magic turf clos'd o'er it 
 Thus the dead queen pass'd away ! 
 
 Bright dew-drops glittered on the sward 
 One fleet moment more, and then 
 
 The mystic troop sailed duskily, 
 And far from mortal ken. 
 
 The silence of the still midnight 
 The murmuring waters broke ; 
 
 The moon, emerging from a cloud, 
 Shone on me, and I woke.
 
 MYSTERIES OF LIFE. 171 
 
 MYSTERIES OF LIFE. 
 
 aOD said, " Let there be light, and there was 
 light," 
 
 Created from the darkness infinite : 
 And from the waters, called he forth the Earth, 
 And Heaven rejoiced at this, her sister's birth. 
 The Earth brought forth the grass, the herb, the 
 
 tree, 
 And flowers, bright flowers, so priceless and so 
 
 free. 
 The heavens, God decked with mighty geins of 
 
 light, 
 
 Sol ruled the day, the moon and stars the night. 
 " Let waters bring forth creatures that have life." 
 On earth, in air, in water there was strife.
 
 172 MYSTERIES OF LIFE. 
 
 God saw that all his wondrous work was good, 
 As on his throne of Holiness he stood. 
 One thing was wanting, and the world so fair, 
 He perfect made ; He placed his image there. 
 And woman too of man the better part, 
 He made to twine herself about man's heart. 
 We gaze upon all natural works sublime, 
 Mark daily births, and sad decay of time : 
 We see flowers blooming see them fade away 
 We see bright visions vanish in a day : 
 We dream of joy of perfect earthly bliss, 
 Dreams soft and sweet, yet fleeting as a kiss. 
 The wild wind comes ah, whither does it go ? 
 From whence do all these gushing waters flow ? 
 Why do the roots take moisture from the soil ? 
 And beauteous flowers neither spin nor toil ; 
 Yet they in robes of splendor are arrayed, 
 Of texture fine, and colors of each shade. 
 Birds, beasts, and flowers, throughout our beau- 
 teous land, 
 Mysterious works of an Almighty hand.
 
 MYSTERIES OP LIFE. 173 
 
 ID vain we seek solution here to find, 
 
 Of these great problems earth and all mankind. 
 
 Man is the greatest mystery of life, 
 
 For in his soul are passions ever rife. 
 
 He in his Saviour's mighty image plann'd, 
 
 To love, to hate, to serve, and to command : 
 
 Yet changing ever one thing but a day ; 
 
 First young, then old, then passing quite away. 
 
 In his blind ignorance doomed to never know, 
 
 From whence he cometh, whither he will go. 
 
 Perchance his soul once lived in a bright flower, 
 
 Which bloomed and faded in a short sweet hour ; 
 
 Perchance he dwelt in yonder twinkling stars 
 
 In loving Yenus, or the warlike Mars ; 
 
 In youth he ever craves to be of age, 
 
 In age he sighs while reading memory's page 
 
 Forever filled with longings undefined, 
 
 With high-wrought fancies of a craving mind : 
 
 Craving, alas ! but doomed to never find 
 
 Congenial nature to our hearts to bind.
 
 174 MYSTERIES OF LIFE, 
 
 Yearning for something cloudy as a dream, 
 
 He grasps the rainbow, finds it lightning's gleam. 
 
 The soul drinks beauty from each hill and dale, 
 
 The clouds of sunset and the flowery vale ; 
 
 Revels amid the histories of yore, 
 
 Drinks deep of knowledge, wildly craves for more. 
 
 He is ambitious he seeks lasting fame, 
 
 Will earth defy to win immortal name. 
 
 He would be happy. Ah, all joy, all bliss 
 
 Lasts but a moment in a world like this. 
 
 Why should we seek to solve this mystery ? 
 
 Through time 'twill last, until Eternity ; 
 
 We know that God, in his omnipotence, 
 
 Will make dark, light, when we are called from 
 
 hence. 
 
 And then alone, when ceases this frail breath, 
 We'll read the mystery of Life, and Death.
 
 ON THE DEATH OF CHARLEY DU EIGNON. 175 
 
 LINES UPON THE DEATH OF 
 
 CHARLEY DU BIG X ON. 
 
 riHE years of manhood had not tinged 
 
 His young life with their gloom, 
 He tasted not the bitter cup 
 
 That comes with life's full bloom, 
 
 Of fond hopes wrecked, ambition crushed, 
 
 'Till doubting even truth, 
 The sternest soul would hide itself 
 
 In memories of youth. 
 
 He saw not that in friendship's smile, 
 
 Was lurking hate, deceit ; 
 Nor had he proven earthly bliss, 
 
 A mirage, dream a cheat.
 
 176 OX THE DEATH OF CHARLEY DU BIG.VON. 
 
 While youth sees but the beautiful, 
 The sunshine and the flowers, 
 
 Maturity will have its cares, 
 And whiter its cold showers. 
 
 Fortune bestowed on this her child, 
 High heritage, proud birth, 
 
 Dame Nature added, as her dower, 
 Rare gifts of untold worth ; 
 
 More priceless than most sparkling gems, 
 
 As pure as gold refined ; 
 Most glorious birth-right sacred gifts, 
 
 A noble heart and mind. 
 
 How his proud, young soul revolted 
 At oppression's cruel reign, 
 
 And he rushed forth to the battle-field, 
 Our freedom to regain.
 
 ON THE DEATH OF CHARLEY DU BIGNOK. 177 
 
 He thought not of his slender frame, 
 His heart was filled with might ; 
 
 His armor God Truth for his shield 
 His watchwords, Freedom ! Right ! 
 
 Alas, alas ! where are they now, 
 Our noble, good our braves ? 
 
 Does our shame reflect upon them ? 
 No, they rest in soldiers' graves. 
 
 And the old star-spangled banner, 
 Dyed with gore above us waves, 
 
 And our gallant dead are freemen, 
 And the living Union's slaves. 
 
 Then mourn not, parents, for your son, 
 Your much-beloved your pride ; 
 
 He dwells above this earthly sphere, 
 Where lasting joys abide.
 
 178 OX THE DEATH OF CHARLEY DU BIGXOX. 
 
 When this troubled dream is over, 
 You will meet your boy again , 
 
 Ah, you would not then recall him 
 To this earth of war and pain ? 
 
 Then mourn not, parents, for your dead, 
 But think that his pure name 
 
 Is on the list with those who wear 
 The laurel wreath of fame.
 
 WE MET. 179 
 
 WE MET. 
 
 "TT"7"E met, and memory flew to joys and tears, 
 Back through the vista dim, of long-past 
 years. 
 
 In my childhood's home I was a child again 
 A home to me, save only in the name. 
 
 And yet I loved it, for there grew apace 
 Fonr lovely children ripening into grace ; 
 If 'twas not home, they sisters were to me, 
 And even now their fairy forms I see. 
 
 Once by a tomb, alone I stood so drear 
 Dropped on a mother's grave a daughter's tear. 
 A soft voice murmured, " She's my mother too ; 
 Sister, I'll pnt some flowers there for you."
 
 180 WE MET. 
 
 God bless the child, she was too fair for earth ; 
 Such flowers as she should have immortal birth ; 
 And so God took our darling home on high, 
 Where she will bloom to never fade and die. 
 
 No stranger was she in that home above, 
 Where she was greeted with a mother's love ; 
 A wife stood waiting for a husband's child ; 
 A sister welcomed with a gladness mild. 
 
 We met, and I to him brought back iiot years, 
 But months deep fraught, alas, with joys and tears, 
 That child a maiden grown, stood by his side ; 
 His light, his life, his darling, promised bride. 
 
 Again he stood by that sad bed of death, 
 And felt the painful throbbing of her breath. 
 " I am so weary that I fain would rest 
 Oh, darling, place my head upon your breast."
 
 181 
 
 We meet with hearts fast bound by mutual grief ; 
 We knew that sympathy could give relief ; 
 So when our stranger hands were joined together, 
 A lonely sister found a loving brother.
 
 182 DRIXK ON T . 
 
 DRINK ON. 
 
 r~T^ AKE in hand the cup of delusion, 
 -*- 'With your eyes on the future, drink ; 
 Scorn the results, however appalling, 
 
 Tho' you see that you stand upon Hell's 
 dark brink. 
 
 The bubbles that float on the top of the cup 
 Are only the tears of your wife ! 
 
 You have drained her happiness in the draught 
 Drink on, you will drain her life. 
 
 Drink on, fill the glowing cup anew 
 Now the drops look red, blood red : 
 
 It is only the blood of your little ones 
 And their doom rests on your head !
 
 183 
 
 Drink then, drink on ; take the cup to your lips ! 
 
 What matter if parents' grey hairs 
 Are floating upon its surface in scores ! 
 
 Drink on, you will drown your cares ! 
 
 Drink then, drink on ; for you must take the 
 cup 
 
 'Tis no longer a matter of will ; 
 Xo longer the cup of habit or choice 
 
 But the cup of punishment fill ! 
 
 Yes, drain the cup to the bitter dregs, 
 "While the fiends laugh at your pains ; 
 
 And exult to know that but wretchedness 
 In the tempting wine remains.
 
 184 SPEAK TO HER TENDERLY. 
 
 SPEAK TO HER TEXDERLY. 
 
 SPEAK to her tenderly, taunt her not now, 
 Tho' a million of sins hath deep furrowed 
 
 her brow ; 
 
 Greet her with kindness. Her once raven hair 
 Is frosted with silver time's hand hath left there. 
 
 Cheeks now so colorless, bloomed like the rose ; 
 Lips now all tremulous, spoke but repose ; 
 Dun eyes, all clouded with fountains of tears, 
 Were like the young fawn's eyes, in long agone 
 years. 
 
 Speak to her tenderly. How can you know 
 Why bowed her young soul 'neath temptation's 
 fell blow?
 
 SPEAK TO HER TENDERLY. 185 
 
 It may be that poverty planted the seed 
 Tears nourished its growth, Pride matured the 
 rank weed. 
 
 It may be, she loved, tho' unwisely, too well ; 
 It may be, the serpent allured, with his spell, 
 That from his sweet charming she woke but to 
 
 know 
 The death in life sorrow the all-alone woe. 
 
 It may be, in sinning, she erred but to save 
 A dear one from filling want's desolate grave ; 
 Perchance some unkindness first drove to despair, 
 A manly heart saved her, she wept her grief there. 
 
 Then judge not too harshly. Remorse's heavy 
 
 hand 
 
 Is a terrible stricture an icy-cold band ; 
 Long years of repentance, of praying, and pain, 
 And the blood of the Savioar, hath cleansed her 
 
 from stain i
 
 tSG 
 
 M 
 
 KNITTING. 
 
 Y muse is in the sulks to-day, 
 
 I've tried in vain to find 
 A subject fit for rhyme and song, 
 Just suited to my mind. 
 
 I called last night upon the stars, 
 
 To-day upon the sun, 
 My, muse would leave me in the lurch, 
 
 With just a line begun. 
 
 I tried to work, I tried to sing, 
 And then I tried to play ; 
 
 And then I took my knitting up, 
 To while the time away.
 
 187 
 
 And then the flashes of quick thought, 
 With bliss thrilled all my soul ; 
 
 With every stitch did fancy's hand, 
 A saddening page unroll. 
 
 The dullest of the dullest work, 
 
 So tiresome, and so slow ! 
 To knit, and knit, the live-long day, 
 
 And still small increase show 
 
 But as I knit, a fairy web 
 
 My brain wore in its dreaming, 
 
 And in each stitch my fancy saw 
 Some bright poetic gleaming. 
 
 And stitch by stitch the work goes on, 
 For some proud soldier brave, 
 
 Who may, perchance, these stitches wear, 
 Into a soldier's grave.
 
 188 KNITTING. 
 
 Far away from mother, sister 
 
 Aye, from wife and daughter true, 
 
 With their feet all bare and bleeding. 
 And their hearts all bleeding too. 
 
 Now, perchance, one may be lying 
 Wounded on the cold earth damp, 
 
 While so feebly, faintly burning, 
 Is the last light of life's lamp. 
 
 Bright visions of the happy past, 
 Move slow before his eyes 
 
 And then the mocking present comes 
 To taunt him ere he dies. 
 
 The glorious future once so bright, 
 To him has now grown dim 
 
 Alone he dies, while song-birds sing 
 The solemn funeral hvrnn.
 
 189 
 
 Ah ! in some distant cottage, 
 His dear wife knitting there, 
 
 Is sending with each stitch she takes, 
 An earnest, heartfelt prayer. 
 
 She little thinks, as, in her pride, 
 She rolls the finished pair, 
 
 That his loved feet are cold and still, 
 And his body free from care. 
 
 God grant that in the future, 
 
 The bliss may be in store, 
 That they may meet in heaven above 
 
 Aye, meet to part no more. 
 
 Fond mother, cease your knitting, 
 For your boy with curly hair 
 
 Is dead upon the battle-field, 
 So cold, and, oh, so fair 1
 
 190 KNITTING. 
 
 Poor child, why did they send him 
 
 Too young, and yet so brave, 
 To be a bullet's shining mark, 
 And fill a soldier's grave ? 
 
 Bend gently o'er him, comrades 
 Drop on his curls a tear 
 
 Write on his rude-carved head board, 
 A mother's pride sleeps here. 
 
 A mother's joy her treasure, 
 
 A widow's only son, 
 Has gained the life eternal. 
 
 Death's victory is won. 
 
 Around his noble brow is twined 
 The laurel wreath of fame, 
 
 The mother's darling boy has now 
 A never-dying name.
 
 191 
 
 I will not say, I will not think, 
 
 Knitting is dull, again ; 
 For, from steel needles sparkling thoughts 
 
 Will fly into the brain.
 
 192 OX THE DEATH OF REV. S. K. TALMAGE. 
 
 LIXE3 OX THE DEATH OF THE 
 
 KEY. S. K. TALMAGE. 
 
 ~~\ /f~OURX not, Mends, mourn not, bereaved, 
 
 That his earthly race is run ; 
 He hath reached the gates celestial, 
 Over death the victory won. 
 
 Moulded in his Father's image, 
 He the Saviour's footsteps trod ; 
 
 And God claimed his sainted spirit, 
 Ere the body reached the sod. 
 
 Ah ! ye would not then recall him, 
 
 But a tenement of clay ; 
 Bless, oh ! bless God, that his mercy, 
 
 Called his loved one away.
 
 OX THE DEATH OF REV. S. K. TALMAGE. 193 
 
 Meek and lowly, pure in spirit 
 
 Humble as a little child 
 Mighty in his love of Jesus 
 
 He is with the undefiled. 
 
 Ever ready with his counsel, 
 
 And his prayers to guide the young ; 
 Choirs of redeemed sinners, 
 
 When he died, the requiem sung. 
 
 Mourn not, friends, mourn not, bereaved, 
 
 That his earthly race is run ; 
 He hath reached the goal eternal, 
 
 Over death the victory won.
 
 194 
 
 TO AXXIE. 
 
 A XXIE, my first-born, gentle child, 
 " My tender, fragile flower ; 
 
 Why twines thy image round my heart, 
 "With such mysterious power ? 
 
 Is it because thy infant wail 
 
 The icy barrier moved, 
 That bound my soul's affections fast ? 
 I knew 'twas mine I loved. 
 
 A mother's love no tongue can tell 
 How boundless is that sea ! 
 
 Twas never mine ; her spirit fled, 
 As she gave birth to me.
 
 195 
 
 Annie, I gave to thce, my child, 
 
 The love my heart could yield : 
 God grant its influence o'er thee cast 
 From all life's ills a shield.
 
 106 THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 rTlHE beautiful ! what is not perfect here below, 
 
 Created by the great Almighty power ? 
 Each grain of sand Omnipotence doth show, 
 And beauty beameth in the humblest flower. 
 
 There's beauty in the budding leaves of spring, 
 In the maturity of summer born 
 
 And in the many hues that autumn's bring, 
 
 And in bright winter's glittering sheen at dawn. 
 
 Mark you the smallest insect's many hues ; 
 
 What beauty in their ever changing shade ! 
 The diamond glistening of the morning dews, 
 
 The sunbeams on the ocean's bosom stayed.
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL. 197 
 
 Xight robed in darkness, and with bright gems 
 crowned 5 
 
 The silvery softness of the midnight moon ; 
 The sunrise-sky, with gold and blue zone-bound ; 
 
 The fiery splendor of the day at noon. 
 
 The snow-white summit of the mountain proud ; 
 
 The solemn stillness of the flowery dell ; 
 The fleecy brightness of the sun-capped cloud ; 
 
 The gem-decked chambers of the ocean's cell. 
 
 There's regal grandeur in the rushing storm ; 
 
 There's sweetness hi the gentle rain soft falling ; 
 There's splendor in the lightning's dazzling form, 
 
 And thunder is majestic, yet appalling. 
 
 See life and beauty in the thoughtless child 
 The nobler beauty of good manhood's grace ; 
 
 The saintlier beauty of the aged mild, 
 
 Who waiteth summons to the resting place.
 
 198 THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Can ye not see the beautiful repose, 
 
 O'er all the earth ? How blind then, are your 
 
 For there is dearth of beauty but to those 
 Who scorn the Giver, and His gifts despise.
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL SEA. 199 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL SEA. 
 
 T HAVE pined for the sight of the sea for years 
 
 Pined amid hoping, and wished amid fears ; 
 And my heart grew glad, and it bounded in glee 
 At the sight of the broad expanse of the sea. 
 
 The sea, the beautiful, beautiful 
 
 Beautiful, boundless, joyful and free ! 
 
 See how they glimmer, those white-capped waves, 
 
 Reflecting the sunlight from deep ocean caves ! 
 
 Can things so bright and beautiful, hide 
 
 The breakers that rise and sink with the tide ? 
 
 There, see that gay gleaming of white, bead-like 
 
 spray, 
 
 Transformed to a rainbow by Sol's colors gay ; 
 It gleams for a moment, and then disappears, 
 Like lost pleasures, as seen through despair's briny 
 
 tears.
 
 200 THE BEAUTIFUL SEA. 
 
 Far, far in the distance, the houses so white, 
 Faintly show through their veiling of green, red 
 
 and light ; 
 
 Very soon the diy laud we shall leave far away, 
 And onward we'll bound o'er the billows so gay. 
 
 But what is the matter ? what is the little swell ? 
 It can surely be nothing I still feel quite well ; 
 Then another, another, another small swell, 
 And my feelings are too undefined now to tell 
 And the sea at length loses its silvery light, 
 And its snow-capped, bright waves grow as dark as 
 midnight. 
 
 Ah, what has become of those laughing young 
 
 graces 
 
 Who entered the vessel with bright, smiling faces ? 
 Their gladness is lost in the swell of the sea, 
 And to Xeptune they pray from their ills to be free. 
 I laugh, I can't help it, to see the distress ; 
 A;i-,l yet I am sick myself, nevertheless !
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL SEA. 20 i 
 
 'Tis the vessel that tosses, she sinks and she heaves, 
 And my sea-admiration all quits me and leaves. 
 I am sick as the mischief ! The sea, oh, the sea ! 
 Thou hast lost all thy charms and thy beauty to me. 
 
 Sick ? is there no word in our language to tell 
 The nausea and anguish of that rolling and swell ? 
 'Tis so funny to see how each quick, sudden lurch, 
 Brings down a new victim from Romance's perch. 
 
 And now conies that torment that Tom the 
 
 young sinner ! 
 Says he, " darling sister, shall I bring up your 
 
 dinner ? v 
 Bah ! dinner, you torment ! oh, pray drown me, 
 
 quick, 
 
 For I am so miserable sick, oh, so sick ! 
 The men, how I hate them ! just see how they 
 
 smile 
 At our torture, because they are well all the while.
 
 
 202 THE BEAUTIFUL SEA. 
 
 Such pitching and tossing inexpressible woe ! 
 For we heave with the vessel, and join in each 
 
 throe ; 
 
 The faces around me I cannot portray 
 But they show their disgust of the billows so gay. 
 
 There is nothing, no, nothing, can bring us relief 
 From this torture of tortures, this grief of all grief. 
 The sea, the boundless expanse of the sea, 
 Thrills others with rapture, but cannot charm me.
 
 HUGGING THE SHORE. 203 
 
 HUGGING THE SHORE. 
 
 I AO you think you will hug the shore, 
 
 Captain, to-day ?" 
 Asked a saucy young flirt, with a smile ; 
 
 With crimson flush was dyed her cheek, 
 And over her brow swept the roseate hue, 
 While her eyes revealed in their dancing blue 
 All the lips declined to speak. 
 
 The captain glanced at the distant shore, 
 
 And then at the maid awhile 
 The shore was distant, and she was near, 
 And the rose-tint deepened, as he said, " Dear, 
 
 I'll neglect the shore to-day !"
 
 204 HCGGIXG THE SHORE. 
 
 And around her waist crept the captain's hand 
 It was so much better than hugging dry land ! 
 And he said, glancing over the vessel's bow, 
 " The ship is hugging Cape Hatteras now, 
 But I'll hug the Cape of May."
 
 CHRISTMAS, SOUTH, 1866. 205 
 
 CHRISTMAS, SOUTH, 1866. 
 
 ~T~ AUGHINGr, merry, childish voices, woke us 
 
 in their eager glee, 
 When the rosy blush of morning in the east we 
 
 scarce could see : 
 Surely, ne'er a Christmas morning was so cold and 
 
 drear as this ; 
 Can it be our hearts are frozen with the sere frost's 
 
 icy kiss ? 
 Ah, stern want and desolation has a heavy, heavy 
 
 hand, 
 And no mirth should ever issue from beneath the 
 
 iron band. 
 Now the voices draw still nearer bless the 
 
 children, all are here ! 
 " Mother, don't weep, they won't mind it ; oh, 
 
 God help thee, mother, dear 1"
 
 206 CHRISTMAS, SOUTH, 1866. 
 
 One by one they took their stockings, gazed upon 
 
 the store, then turned : 
 " Sissic," said the bravest rebel, " did Santee have 
 
 his cotton burned ?" 
 " Hush, hush, Buddie ; don't say nothing ; just see 
 
 how poor mamma cries." 
 Now the repentant Buddy to his mother's bedside 
 
 hies 
 " I'm so sorry, mother, darling : when I'm grown 
 
 you shan't be poor ; 
 I'll write for the Yankee papers, that will make us 
 
 rich once more." 
 Off I turned to hide my feelings feelings deep by 
 
 care refined, 
 Ah t my child, like sister Annie's, your poor piece 
 
 may be declined. 
 Ah, there is some joy in sorrow ! in the door two 
 
 freed-men creep : 
 " Christmas gif, ole Mis, Miss Annie why, what 
 
 fur you white folks weep ?
 
 CHRISTMAS, SOUTH, 1866. 207 
 
 All dis time you give us Christmas ; now, we going 
 
 to give to you : 
 Here, old Missus, here, Miss Annie children, here's 
 
 your Christmas, too !" 
 lu black bosoms true love lingers, deeply by our 
 
 kindness riven, 
 And the tender tie that binds us, can be severed 
 
 save by heaven. 
 O'er the day that dawned so sadly, that kind act 
 
 a ray imparts, 
 And we grasp the sunbeam gladly, for it cheers 
 
 our achini? hearts.
 
 208 A LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 A LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 J wished for a love-letter, Doctor but 
 Y 
 
 then, 
 
 I know you to be most conceited of men ; 
 You'll think Fin in earnest, I vow now I ain't, 
 For I would not deign to love even a saint. 
 
 You must never believe what the fair ladies say: 
 Take their nay for a yes, and their yes for a nay. 
 Like doctors, the darlings are very deceiving, 
 And most that they say is not half worth believing. 
 
 But now for my letter. How shall I begin ? 
 If I say, my dear Doctor, that will be a sin ! 
 And a love-letter without dear, darling, or dove, 
 Would be as insipid as one without love.
 
 A LOVE-LETTER. 209 
 
 . it- 
 Love, glorious love, with its grand mystic art, 
 Sways each mortal mind, and scathes each human 
 
 heart ; 
 
 Without care or regret it inflicts pain or joy, 
 Tossing high the frail heart that becomes its day's 
 
 toy. 
 
 It drinks up the life-sap, becomes life itself, 
 Regardless of true love, of beauty or pelf 
 An object most " homely " in love's eye I ween 
 Will seem like an angel, as bright as a queen. 
 
 It glosses its object, like man's serpent tongue 
 Makes even the aged appear as if young ; 
 Waving locks to love's eye, e'en if sprinkled with 
 
 gray, 
 Does not lessen, but strengthens its powerful sway. 
 
 Love, bright, joyous love, heals each sad, breaking 
 
 heart, 
 But breaks it again when it strives to depart :
 
 210 A LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 For the void, when once filled by love, never again 
 A vision can fill it, save only great pain. 
 
 The blessing of blessings, the greatest of woes, 
 Will leave its bright signet wherever it goes : 
 Then seek love and find it, whenever you can 
 My counsel is needless, for you are a man. 
 
 Xow, Doctor, I'm sure that this letter you'll find 
 Is suited exactly to your turn of mind ; 
 I've sent what I promised a true loving letter, 
 And if it don't suit you, why, just write a better !
 
 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 211 
 
 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 
 
 WRITTEN BY A SCHOOL-HOUSE WELL. 
 
 T ONGr years have passed since first a merry 
 -M child, 
 
 I quaffed the precious drink with eager joy, 
 And dashed the silvery drops, with laughter wild, 
 
 Upon the saucy youth, and maiden coy. 
 
 To the old well we wandered, hand in hand, 
 
 And by the way we cull'd each new-blown flower ; 
 
 Then near the large old oak-tree we would stand, 
 And fashion wreaths to wither in an hour. 
 
 With a large leaf you made a tiny cup, 
 
 And call'd me then your little fairy queen ; 
 
 And you, the king, would dip the water up 
 Most faithful subject in my realm, I ween.
 
 212 TO OXE WHO SLEEPETH. 
 
 Up to the sky we built a mighty pile 
 Of lofty, splendid castles in the air ; 
 
 Then dashed them down, you laughing all the while 
 At my half-smiling and half-sad despair. 
 
 We watched the others as they came to drink, 
 With lore prophetic did their fortunes tell ; 
 
 All by the way they made the bucket sink, 
 With motion fast or slow, down in the well. 
 
 How often shelter'd from the sudden shower, 
 Beneath the roof we'd sit, and sweetly dream ; 
 
 Charmed with the lightning's swift and dazzling 
 
 power, 
 We reached our hands to grasp the fatal gleam. 
 
 Then when the sun its radiant beams did lend 
 The glorious beauty of the clouds t' unfold. 
 
 We sought in vain to reach the rainbow's end- 
 To find a treasure there a pot of gold !
 
 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 213 
 
 Too short, alas ! would be our dream of bliss 
 For wakened by the school-bell's lively ring, 
 
 We did, as mortals must, in earth like this, 
 Our airy thoughts to things terrestrial bring. 
 
 Long years have passed, and once again I stand 
 Upon the brink of this much-loved old well ; 
 
 An alien and a stranger in the land, 
 
 Drawn thither by some mystic charm or spell. 
 
 Where are ye now, friends of my early days ? 
 
 Why stand I here so desolate and lone ? 
 Alas ! alas ! all gone their earthly ways, 
 
 Or in the angel throngs around God's throne. 
 
 And you who swore to win, in youthful pride, 
 The laurel wreath of fame to deck your brow, 
 
 And then to come and claim me as your bride 
 Where are you now ? oh, God ! where are you 
 now?
 
 214 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 
 
 Oh, that your sainted spirit had the power 
 
 To seek the earth, and on this loved spot stand, 
 
 That I could tell you, in this twilight hour, 
 
 All my past life, while clasping hand in hand : 
 
 Could put my hand upon your manly breast, 
 
 And tell you since the night, to young love's 
 dawn, 
 
 The saddening shadows of a life unblest, 
 
 Veil-like athwart my spirit have been drawn. 
 
 And tell yon, ere the flush of youth was past, 
 All bright hopes faded from my sight away ; 
 
 And how I wished each hour could be my last, 
 For to me, tune was night without its day. 
 
 How sadly I have roved from shore to shore 
 Sought happiness in palace and in cot : 
 
 And still I seek, and shall forever more-r 
 But shall I find it ? Ah, you answer not !
 
 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 215 
 
 How I have quaffed from pleasure's giddy cup, 
 And sought to win a never-dying name ! 
 
 Alas ! to taste with but the smallest sup 
 
 The bitter that is mixed with sweets of fame. 
 
 I am not wretched now. The heavy cloud 
 
 That shaded from my sight each joyous gleam, 
 
 And robed my spirit, as if with a shroud, 
 
 Has passed away. I see the moon's pale beam : 
 
 Peace should content me, but we mortals crave 
 Some earthly fame, some happiness and love ; 
 
 But disappointed soon we reach the grave, 
 And find such bliss alone in heaven above. 
 
 In heaven ? Oh, tell me from that other shore, 
 Where with the favored beings of God you 
 dwell 
 
 [s there a place they torture evermore 
 
 Oh, is there without doubt a heaven or hell ?
 
 TO ONE WHO SLEEPETH. 
 
 Say, will the doors of heaven be open thrown 
 To all who sorrow for a life of sin, 
 
 Far upward by their strong repentance borne 
 Say, can such stricken, weary souls go in ? 
 
 "Why do I doubt ! I know there is a heaven, 
 And that this life is nothing but a dream, 
 
 And hope one day, with all my sins forgiven, 
 To meet thee where all things are what thej 
 seeni ! 
 
 I must away, for now the night draws nigh, 
 And stars begin to glimmer o'er my head : 
 
 Ah ! would my home was up above the sky 
 My name, with yours, was numbered with the 
 dead.
 
 L 006 847 315 6