3WS* Ki w, fv^Ji r ^ aF*v . v V r'Xt*, &$m -. ^ -.. Air^a^S *J3 ' r-'^^ >-^7i_ ^ f^L^ ^r4^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES if^4t> ; w*l^ifv ijS v .... A REVERIE AND OTHER POEMS ROBERT A. CHESEBROUGH NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY ROBERT A. CHESEBROUGH. Press of J. J. Little & Co., Astor Place, New York. TO MARION M. CHESEBROUGH THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY HER DEVOTED FATHER 612996 fOBUH TO THE PUBLIC. T AM well aware that in this practical age, poetry is at a sad discount, and must give way to machinery, the pursuit of wealth, and the hard- headed sciences. At least most poetry must do so, and in accordance with the proverbial modesty of authors, I consent that mine may be classed with the "most." It is unlikely that I shall be much dis- appointed at the reception my attempt will receive at your hands, as I expect but slight commenda- tion, and concede in advance that your judgment and criticism will be altogether righteous. Nearly everything you will find in this little volume was written when I was quite a young man, was not intended for publication, and probably never would have been published had I not recently submitted "A Reverie" to the judgment of a critical friend, who deemed it worthy of cold type, and in a 4 TO THE PUBLIC. moment of weakness I decided to become an author. The rest of the poems were added to fill up with, and I can only hope they will not weary you. If on the contrary (and the world oft-times goes by con- traries) you like my style, I may assail you again. Au revoir. R. A. C. NEW YORK, January, 1889. INDEX. PAGE Preface in Verse (written in 1864) 7 A Reverie 9 Why Love is Blind 22 A 1'Aide, mon Roi 25 The Earthly Love 28 Our Father which art in Heaven 32 A Vision 33 My Maud, My Marguerite 37 Anything to beat Grant 39 All is Vanity, saith the Preacher 42 A Serenade 44 Retrospect 46 Forever ... 48 The Maid with the Golden Hair 50 Ode to Innocence 53 Tired 55 To Our Little Neighbor Opposite 57 On the Death of Gen'l Philip Kearney 58 Look Forward 59 To F. R. C 62 For Miss Lillie's Album 63 The Battle of Pittsburg Landing 64 Thy Heart shall Live Forever 67 INDEX. PAGE To Lady Gay 69 Wood-fire Fancies 70 Monotony 75 To Florence 77 My Old Friends 79 Commander Maxwell Woodhull, U. S. N 81 Epitaph 83 PREFACE. (Written in 1864.) "T'WAS meant not, Reader, that this book should 1 be An open page for public scrutiny: I claim not, that the verse is true or good, Or that the rhymes, flow smoothly as they should ; It was not meant, that e'en thy friendly eye Shouldst scan the lines, or mark where errors lie. I reckless wrote whate'er you may find here, To please a whim, and not the critic's ear. I do not call it poetry, but only rhymes Wrung from my foolish pen, at various times : Times when my heart was sad and ill at ease, Or idle moments ; be it which you please. My Muse, is not one which I can command Whene'er I choose, or with a ready hand Note down, the half-completed shapeless train Of thought, which swells and surges through my brain. For oft-times things of beauty, visions rare, Have crossed my spirit, midst the thoroughfare Of business, and the daily scenes of lite ; Then, quickly vanquished been, without a strife. A merchant cannot well a poet be, For 'twixt the two there is no sympathy. A "Jack of all trades " never can excel ; Of each he something knows, but nothing well. Bear with me therefore, your compassion lend, For Sympathy is Approbation's nearest friend ; But if you will not grant this common need, Lay down my book, 'tis not for you to read. A REVERIE. 1\ TOW the hours of light are ending, * ^ And the slowly setting sun, With the sky its glory blending ; Signals that the day is done. Wave on wave, in crimson legions, Bank on bank of azure light ; Pathways to the heavenly regions, Day, coquetting with the night. Sadness o'er my spirit stealing, Mingled with a strange delight ; To my soul a glimpse revealing, Joyous, painful, sad, yet bright. Earth before my window fading Into nothing ; one fixed glance Chains my fancy, leads me wading Through a weird delicious trance. Somber hues are swiftly changing, Gold and purple strands of light ; Giant clouds, like armies ranging, Sweep their glories from my sight. A REVERIE. Twilight coming, slowly, surely, Turns the crimson vision gray; Darkness falling fast, securely Wraps her mantle 'round the day Now the lamps of heaven, are lighted By unseen, seraphic hands, Beacons for the souls benighted ; Roaming in those trackless strands. Spirits from the distant heaven, Never wearied in their flight ; And perchance, to them is given, Knowledge hidden from our sight. Backward down the path of ages, Runs a train, a countless one, Of unlearn'd men, and wisest sages ; Watching with faint hearts, the sun Sinking in its bed of splendor, Wond'ring what the mystery meant ; If the future state should render, All its meanings, and extent. Working out in short probation, Tangled skeins of earth and life ; A REVERIE. Deeds of sin, the pomp of station, Cruel acts of selfish strife ; Souls of those who once were mortal, Sons of toil, and slaves of sin ; Waiting till the deathly portal, Yawn'd at last, and drew them in. For a brief and fleeting hour, Standing on the shore of Time ; Till the waves' resistless power, Sweeps them past the unknown line : Like a billow of the ocean, Rising with a crest of foam ; Grand and beautiful in motion, Breaks, recedes, and then is gone. So our lives go, following after Each the other's even tread ; Rising, cresting, breaks in laughter, Foams in rage, and then is dead: Leaving naught to trace its being, In the grasping undertow; Weary are the eyes at seeing, Still that everlasting flow. A REVERIE. From the passing cycles, gleaning Scraps of knowledge, flakes of gold ; All the total, nothing seeming To the centuries of old. Arts forgotten, science hurried To its doom, but, at its birth ; Swept away, and quickly buried In the all consuming earth. Delving deeply, later ages Raise a mouldy stone to light ; Aim to read its defaced pages, And restore its form aright. On a pedestal erected, In some Louvre perchance is stood ; There to stare, and be inspected, By the gaping multitude. Science tells of earthly matter, Naught is ever wholly lost ; Though its atoms widely scatter, In tumultuous changes tost ; Somewhere in the vast Creation, Will be found each minute grain, A REVERIE. 13 Changed in form, remote in station ; Still the total bulk, the same. And the learned sage, will show you God is only Nature's power, With a soul he will endow you, Fleeting as this twilight hour ; Transient as the meteor's flight, Shooting past the watcher's eye ; Flashing with a moment's light, Buried in a midnight sky. From the seething cooling masses, Tells us, comes the finished Earth ; Rock and metal, by their gases Point their spectroscopic birth. And the feeble life beginning, Teems ere long, thro' all the realm : That, Evolution always winning, Upward tends, and guides the helm. Ever changing, ever rising, From the monad to the ape; Each improving form, revising, Yields at last the human shape: 14 A REVERIE. And as need demands new uses, Grafts them on the former kind ; Striding o'er the worn abuses, Instinct turns at last, to Mind. Is that Mind pulsating slowly, Symbol of an august reign ; Only yeast, which rises wholly Thro' a dull gray mass of brain ? Lighting up the moorland dreary, With the glimmer of its light ; Startled by the effort, weary, Flickers out into the night. Can the day, the sun forgetting, Independent radiance claim ? What the diamond to the setting, What the lamp is to the flame ; So the body to the spirit, Is the shell which holds the pearl ; Shall Clay, Eternity inherit, And Spirit, vanish in a whirl ? Is the value of the casket, Greater than the gleaming gem ? A REVERIE. 15 Is the perfume of the basket, Sweeter than the flowers within ? Shall the body live forever ? And the soul forever die ? And shall Matter, ending never; Gain o'er Mind, the mastery ? Fool ! the mighty power which made thee, Lit the spark of life within ; Is so great, so far beyond thee, That the mind, can ne'er begin To grasp the raiment of its grandeur ; Guess the problem of its birth: Look ! the stars that 'round me wander, Mock the littleness of Earth. Aye ! that priceless Earth ; thy dwelling, Adds to the whole, an atom more ; The might of God's Creation swelling, As counts a sand upon the shore. What then is thy weak opinion, Whence this vain and empty pride ? See ! the driftwood of the ocean, Goes out with the ebbing tide. 1 6 A REVERIE. In the dim horizon fading, Out beyond the feeble sight; Each returning wave evading, Sucked into the endless night : On the trackless waters floating, Sinks at last beneath the wave ; While remorseless Time is gloating, O'er the conquest he hath made. Is the tale of man's redemption, Terrors of the Judgment Seat ; A Saviour's loving intervention, Only fiction and deceit ? That, the Christian's fond endeavor, His hope to gain the promised view ; Merely dreams, which fade forever ? Then, oh ! then, is nothing true. Vain, the work of buried ages ; False, the prophets, and the seers ; False, the lore of saints and sages ; Vain, the martyr's holy tears ; Shattered is the sweet illusion, Lost, the faith which looks on high ; A REVERIE. Life, the merest weak delusion, Immortality, a lie. After centuries of error, Too late, the scheme to be revis't ; Man awak'ning from his terror, Tramples on the throne of Christ. Nothing, then, is worth the knowing,. All attempts to build are vain ; Futile, planting seed, and sowing ; Chaos has returned again. Useless, is the gentle Saviour Stripped of his divinity ; Patience, love, and meek behavior, Cannot make a God for thee. Down the ponderous structures rattle,. Falls the arch without the key : Might as well, give up the battle, From the worthless rubbish, flee. Faith, alone, oh ! doubting mortal, Only faith, can pierce the scroll, Which obscures the mighty portal ; Up the envious curtains roll. 2 l8 A REVERIE. Trust not to the power of reason, 'Twill crumble as a tower of sand ; Deluding for a transient season, Faith, alone, yields solid land. Cling to that with fond endeavor, Be thy creed whate'er it may ; Forms and symbols pass forever, With the coming light of day. Strip't from man's poor weak invention, Mighty truth alone shall rise ; With a glorious ascension, And illuminate the skies. Burning out the dross of ages From the pure refin-ed gold; Blotting from the bigot pages, Hoary lies too long enrolled. Rive the chains which strongly bound thee, Sweep the mist from off the land ; And, as morning breaks around ye, See, the " Rock of Ages " stand. Aye ! and it shall stand forever, Fiercely though the torrents run ; A REVERIE. 19 Like a wild tumultuous river, And the clouds obscure the sun ; Bravely, though the wave breaks o'er it> It shall rear its crest on high, Future millions shall adore it : Man, infallible, shall die. Priestly rule which led the masses, In a maze of wildering doubt ; Blindly blocked the easy passes, Blew the lights of Science out : Trod upon the knowledge dawning, Burnt its heralds at the stake ; Grieved to see the light of morning, O'er the Earth, triumphant break. Ruled the world with rod of iron, Gave the conscience for mankind ; To the tiger and the lion, Flung the independent mind. Made the law for a Creator, Steeped in self idolatry : Truth, the final expiator, Lives eternal as yon sky. A REVERIE. Who art thou, oh ! wondrous stranger, Cleaving space with giant stride ? Is some ruined world in danger ? Hath its Lord been crucified ? Is its day of judgment dawning ? Must it kiss the fiery rod ? Art thou speeding, without warning ? Th' Executioner of God. From the awful depths of ether, Rushing with the lightning's pace ; Rule nor order, knowing neither, Foe, to all the laws of space. Weird the train which follows after : What thine errand, gay or sad ? Thou mightst move the stars to laughter ; Thinking thee, a sphere gone mad. Only thou, canst reach the station Of the farthest stars of all. Probe the limits of Creation, Plunge against the final wall : Find where ends the great beginning, Where begins what ends no more ; A REVERIE. 2: What, the power which hurls thee spinning, On through Space forever more. Yes ! I'm coming ; are you calling ? Have I sat here all the night ? Through the links of fancy falling ; Reckless of the dawning light. Are the little ones still sleeping ? Dear ! I did not know 'twas day : Surely, you have not been weeping ? Fades my reverie away. WHY LOVE IS BLIND. T N ev'ry age, in ev'ry clime, * Where streamlets stray or bright stars shine, Have dreamers wrote, and poets sung, Of Love, the beautiful, the young. They paint him as a truant boy, With wings of light, and face of joy. With bounding step and voice as clear, As ever spake in maiden's ear. With bow and quiver in his hand, He wandered over ev'ry land, And shot his darts with careless glee, Or e'en one thought of sympathy. Woe to the luckless swain or maid, Across whose path our " young Love " strayed. Quick flew the shaft, the deed was done, Smiles changed to sighs, and peace was gone. WHY LOVE IS BLIND. 23 Now, Jove, who for a good long while, Had watched the urchin with a smile, Began to think the time had come, To put an end to poor Love's fun. Before the Throne, with downcast eye. Our hero stood dejectedly ; The mandate harsh and stern he heard, Yet Love, he uttered not one word. His golden bow was in his hand, And on it lay a winged brand ; Thought Love, " I'll quickly answer you," And, quick as thought, the answer flew. Jove saw the act, and turned aside, The missile from it's mark flew wide ; Else, in the realm Love first had been, The conqueror of gods and men. Dismayed he stood, and pale with fright, His ruby lips turned ashen white, And he who never pity knew, With tears for mercy dared to sue. 24 WHY LOVE IS BLIND. Then Beauty at the feet of Jove, Added her tears to those of Love, And Jove could stand no more than I, Youth, Love and Beauty's tearful eye. 'Twas, therefore left for Love to choose, Whether he would his eyesight lose, Or, from the world forever sent. Doomed be, to lasting banishment. Love chose the first, and to this day, Though blind, on earth he wings his way, More dauntless, reckless than before, A tyrant now, and evermore. A L'AIDE, MON ROI. In ancient days Harold was King of France, and was known as the champion of all the poor and oppressed in his kingdom. To call upon the king was to invoke aid and speedy justice. " A 1'aide, mon Roi," was the popular cry which spread throughout the whole kingdom, until it became the faith of the peasants, and was never uttered in vain at the foot of the throne. IS ING HAROLD sat on his regal throne, *^ For Harold was king of the realm alone ; Dispensing right to rich and poor, To noble knight and lowly boor. Whene'er his ear heard the earnest plead, Of serf oppressed by baron's greed ; The king responded to the call, And measured justice out to all. Thus, each sad tale and feeble moan, Was told at the foot of that royal throne ; The power of might was powerless there, For Harold could strike, as well as spare. 26 A L'AIDE, MON ROI. And so, throughout the realm, his name The watchword of the poor became. " Harold, mon roi ; a 1'aide, a 1'aide ! " Was the peasant's constant cry for aid. Until at last it seemed to ring Through all the land ; " A 1'aide, my king,' By anguished hearts, raised everywhere, Became th' oppressed one's daily prayer. King Harold was ta'en to his long last rest, In a tide-washed isle at his own behest : At dead of night his pall they bore, Silent and sad to that lonely shore. The grave was ready, the prayer was said, The coffin was placed in its lowly bed ; The mourners gazed on the solemn rite, When a piercing cry rang thro' the night : " Harold ! A 1'aide, a 1'aide, my king," And a half wild serf pushed thro' the ring, Knelt by the open grave at once, And silently waited the king's response. A L'AIDE, MON ROI. 27 " Who calls on the king calls not in vain," A voice thro' the welkin rang again. " State forth thy wrong, what is thy need ? Though dead, King Harold will hear thy plead." *' My king, this land is mine," he said, " My all ; I ask but to be paid." " And shalt be," spoke King Harold's son, " For Harold, the King, does wrong to none." And there in the night was the silver paid, Ere Harold to rest in his grave was laid ; Then piled they the earth on his kingly head, And left him to sleep in his lowly bed. THE EARTHLY LOVE. T~"HE angels tuned their harps of gold, * And struck the trembling strings ; Through endless courts the anthem rolled, With clearest echoings. A shining throng of spirits bright Stood round the azure throne ; Bathed in the dew of Heaven's light, Their wings like brilliants shone. But one sweet seraph standing there, Sang with the angel throng ; Yet plaintive was the sacred air Which mingled with her song. And on her beauteous cheek, there fell A pearly crystal tear ; The joys of Heaven, might not dispel A lingering memory dear. THE EARTHLY LOVE. 29 Lest one she loved might never come, To join that heavenly band ; Lest one dear soul might not be won, At last, to reach that land. " A boon, oh, Lamb of God " she plead, " A loved one's soul to save ; To still the grief his heart doth shed Upon my earthly grave." Permission ! Hallelujahs rang All down the golden plain ; In chords of joy the angels sang, A touching farewell strain. The spirit swept with sudden flight Through the gates of Paradise ; Swift as a star falls thro' the night, Far back to earth she flies. To bring the loved one calm and peace, His sorrowing soul to soothe ; To bid his useless tears to cease, His heart toward Heaven to move. 30 THE EARTHLY LOVE. PART II. 'Twas night, and round a banquet spread, Had met the rich and fair ; Gay was the throng, and at its head There sat a youthful pair. For wine and mirth now ruled the hour, Twixt song and music tost ; Forgotten, was the mystic power, The loved one, and the lost. A fair young face was close to his, Was bent, his words to hear ; Lest she, the love he spoke, might miss, Poured in her listening ear. Where was the love of yesterday ? The plighted troth, the vow ? Oh ! for the truth of manhood, say, Are they forgotten now ? The unseen seraph, standing there, Had seen with glistening eye ; With saddened heart she watched the pair, Then turned, and soared on high. THE EARTHLY LOVE. 31 Back to the realms of endless day, Enough of earthly love ; How can the things of life repay For the heavenly joys above ? The love of man, like fleeting light, Is changeful as a dream ; While joys of Heaven flow ever bright, In an unending stream. Home, home once more to ruby skies, Anew her flight she wings ; Again once more in Paradise, Her song of rapture rings. She tunes her golden harp again, No more with plaintive moan ; But holier is the seraph's strain Which floats towards the throne. OUR FATHER WHICH ART IN HEAVEN. /^VUR Father in Heaven ! We hallow Thy name : ^-^ O'er Earth, as on high, Thou ever dost reign ; We pray that, to us, Thy peace may be given, And Thy Will done by men, as by angels in Heaven. Oh ! give us this day, the bread that we need, Forgive ev'ry trespass, in word and in deed ; Teach us to pardon each other, that we May finally obtain forgiveness of Thee. Oh ! lead us away from the manifold snares Which Temptation spreads for us. each day una- wares ; Oh ! keep us from evil, of all hues whatever, And Thine be the Power and Glory forever. A VISION. I BEHELD a lofty mountain, lifting to the farthest sky, And upon its utmost crest, wreathed in clouds of brilliancy ; There, a golden palace stood, builded by immortal hands ; And the luster of its glory spread o'er all the dis- tant lands. Glowing with a clear effulgence, and a mild and 1 holy light ; Thro' the sunshine of the morning, and the black- ness of the night. Then I heard faint music swelling, over all the land' and sea ; E'en to earth's remotest dwelling, bearing sweetest melody. All the peoples of the nations, upward bent their yearning gaze ; Upward, toward the golden palace, and toward the devious ways ; 3 34 A VISION. Winding on the lofty mountain, round and round in various lines, Paths, and zigzag roads, and thickets scattered o'er its vast confines ; And there seemed a countless number, pressing on with toiling feet ; Up the painful pathways climbing, o'er the rock and up the steep ; There I saw the hardy yeoman, priest and layman, maidens mild ; Many a fainting, weary woman, and the mother with her child. And it seemed, that all the pathways leading to the mountain's crest, Were intricate, and wearisome, with scarce a place to rest : While many a broad and noble road with shaded nooks and trees, Branched downward from the stony paths, to those of pleasant ease. And of the countless multitude, who on the glorious shrine, Had fixed their longing eyes at first, with constancy divine ; A VISION. 35 It seemed as though a little band, of ail that host remained ; Which neared the mountain's topmost land, the golden palace gained. And all the rest of that vast throng, lured by the love of ease, Or by some tempting view, which served their way- ward souls to please ; Forgetful of the golden shrine, now hidden from their sight ; Had missed their way, and wandered o'er the moun- tain's dizzy height. Adown some darkling precipice, unwary ones were hurled ; While some retraced their steps again, regretful of the world: Unheard the glorious melody, which with celestial air, Still floated through the canopy, and lingered everywhere. And evening came, and twilight had bathed the mountain's crest, In a robe of crimson splendor; and the sun was in the west 36 A VISION. Slowly falling ; yet the warning, all unheeded, on them fell; As though some evil spirit had o'er them cast its spell. And darkness drew its mantle, and then the gates of gold Were sadly closed, and blackness dropt down its sable fold ; And as the doors shut swinging, passed the Vision from my eyes, And fainter grew the singing, till lost within the skies. MY MAUD, MY MARGUERITE. MY Maud, my Marguerite ! My little dove ; So eloquently sweet And fair. Thy love Is more to me, Than life or gain Can ever be. Thy gentle name Fills up my life, And bids me seek: My lasting joy in thee, My Marguerite. My Maud, my Marguerite ! Upon thy brow, Sit Truth and Purity As white as snow. Thy gentle voice, That darling little hand: No maid so fair, In all the land. 38 MY MAUD, MY MARGUERITE. To live for thee, This life were sweet ; My darling Maud, My Marguerite. My Maud, my Marguerite ! Both joys and pain, May welcome come, If not in vain: My trust, my hope, Are strong in thee, Nor Time revoke Their constancy. Thy joys all mine, And mine thy grief ; My own dear Maud, My Marguerite. ANYTHING TO BEAT GRANT. *FOR THE PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN OF 1872. " A NYTHING to beat Grant," anything to drag ** The hero down who bravely bore aloft the Union flag, While patriot souls were fainting, and exultant was the foe, While waves of war beat wildly, and drenched the land in woe, Who stayed the fiery tempest, with steadfast hand and heart, Who rolled the billows back, and tore, the clouds of gloom apart ? " Anything to beat Grant," anything to beat The victor who would not exult upon the foe's de- feat, * The watchword of the combined Democratic and Liberal parties. R. A. C. 40 ANYTHING TO BEAT GRANT. But modestly who turned away from Richmond's fallen pride, Refused like conquerors of old her bloody streets to stride. But gave his promise to the foe, a pledge that war should cease, And uttered, " We were brothers once : oh, let us now have peace." " Anything to beat Grant, " anything to blot The record of his glowing name, on which there rests no spot. To cover up with infamy his glorious career, Oh ! 'tis a noble deed for those who hold their country dear. But vain the tongues of malice, for as the years roll on, His fame will clearer, brighter grow, like that of Washington. " Anything to beat Grant." say, brothers, will you join The crew, who would with impious hands Colum- bia's fame purloin ? ANYTHING TO BEAT GRANT. 41 The foe again is in the field ; his battle cries re- sound, Come, comrades, to the rescue, for the field is holy ground, Raise high aloft our starry flag, and to the millions tell, The ballot is our weapon now : oh ! wield it strong and well. ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER. A LL things are Vanity, earth cannot give ** The joys we seek after, and for which we strive ; The future but promises hope, which proves vain, And when present it yields us but sorrow and pain. The silver lined cloud, which soars peaceful above, And seems a bright Eden of bliss and of love ; Is a vapory mist, which deceives but the eye, And losing its outline is lost in the sky. The love which you sought, and which promised to prove A bliss, which Death only could ever remove ; Though sweet, is so mingled with sorrow and care, As to lose the clear halo it first seemed to wear. The dreams which you dreamt, from your earliest days; Of successes and triumphs, the golden hued rays Of a glorious manhood, how have they been met ? And years creeping on find you dreaming them yet. ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER. 43 The gold which you toiled for, perchance may have won ; Does it bring you the joys, you once thought 'twould have done ; Is the taste of its splendor as sweet to the lip, As you dreamed 'twould have been, when you struggled for it ? The chalice of bliss, which at last you have gained, You have tasted the dregs, ere its contents are drained ; The roses of youth, they have vanished, have fled, And shrinking to ashes, lie withered and dead. The conqueror's wreath, the bright garland of fame, 'Twas to deck thy young brow with a glorious name ; Oh ! how has it faded, that dream of thy life : Its heritance, bitterness, mockery, strife. All things are vanity, Heaven alone Gives hope of a life, which shall fully atone For the vain disappointments which follow us here ; Have faith, for the wealth of the grain is the sere. A SERENADE. 1 ADY, from thy bower of love, * ' Sweetly sleeping night away ; From thy dreams a moment rest thee, Listen to my ardent lay. All on earth is still and quiet, Cloudless beauty reigns above ; Silent stars look down upon me, And the zephyrs whisper love. Summer nights will not be with us, Always, sweet ! nor will yon star Shine as bright as now it shineth, From its heavenly home afar. It doth tell me, 'tis the hour, Love awakes ; then break the chain, That brings unseen in leaden slumbers, Dreams of joy, perchance of pain. Lady wake, the night is waning, Sunlight o'er the eastern sky, A SERENADE. 45 Soon will spread its radiant brightness, Hiding night's dark canopy. And the pale clear moon will sorrow, Not on thee in peace to shine ; Friends will claim thee on the morrow, Let this night be love's and mine. RETROSPECT. T TORE a leaf from Memory, * And studied it with care ; I pondered over bygone years, Of rapture rich and rare : Scenes passed away, long, long ago, Sped swiftly thro' my brain, And with them brought a mingled sense Of pleasure and of pain. The days of innocence and peace, Of boyish pride and grief, The dreams of youth, the earliest love, Were written on that leaf. A little sunny face looks forth, Ah ! yes : I see it now, With laughing eyes it smiles on me. Above that fair white brow Her golden hair in wavelets falls, Like foam upon the sea : Her gentle voice so sweet and low, Brings love and peace to me. RETROSPECT. 47 Long years have vanished like a dream, I am a boy once more ; The quick blood thrills my heart again, As once it did of yore. The furrows on my brow are but An idle fantasy ; Fool that I was, to dream that death Had taken her from me. Oh ! Memory ! Oh ! Mockery ! Thine images are vain, The weary years of manhood's life Can need no other pain ; Enough ! Enough ! I will not look Too long upon the past, A gleam of hope at least remains, The present cannot last. FOREVER. COREVER ! Forever ! * Oh ! what can it mean ? Forever ! Forever ! A sound in a dream : A stray glimpse of glory, An instant in sight, A vain fairy story, A vision of light. Forever ! Forever ! To angels alone, Forever ! Forever ! Its meaning is known : Humanity hails The thought with delight ; But instantly quails In dismay from the sight. Forever ! Forever ! Earth cannot tell : Forever ! Forever ! Through Heaven and Hell Is eternally ringing The lost spirit's cry ; While angels are singing Its joys in the sky. 4 THE MAID WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR. PART I. A ND oh ! there is joy in the house to-night, *" From turret and door stream floods of light ; And hurrying feet are hastening there, To swell the crowd of the young and the fair. The old man came with his locks of snow, His trembling limbs, and his furrowed brow ; With bounding step came the village maid, In tasteful robes of white arrayed. And happiness reigns in the hearts of all, At the bridal feast in the stately hall ; For dearly, they loved the wedded pair, And the bride was the maid with the golden hair. Amidst the throng, like a spirit bright, With a blushing cheek, and an eye whose light Was sweetly dimmed by the pearly tear, Of joy and peace which lingered there : THE MAID WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR. 51 She stood, in her robes of spotless white, Unseen, at her side was an angel bright. But the feast begins, and the music's note The silence of the still night broke ; And louder, and longer, swells the strain, And the echoes take up the theme again ; The distant hills repeat the air, In praise of the maid with the golden hair. PART II. And oh ! there is grief in the house to-night, And the curtains are drawn, and pale and white Are the faces of those who went and came, From that sorrowful bed of youthful pain. With tearful eyes, and whispered tones, And hearts, which echoed the stifled moans Of him, who crushed by the bitter woe Of a wilder grief than they could know. But the spirit of light is standing near, And whispers " Come " in the maiden's ear ; Two angels are leaving the house of despair, And one is the maid with the golden hair. Beneath the willows, far out in the night, With the gale to soothe, and the moon to light ; 52 THE MAID WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR. And the quiet stars to watch her tomb, And flowers to over it fade and bloom, And loved ones to utter her cherished name, Through years to pass, and come again : She sleeps in peace, 'neath her marble pall, Awaiting the blast of the trumpet call, Which shall open the grave, roll back the stone, And Christ shall call his loved ones home : And joy and peace shall evermore there, Belong to the maid with the golden hair. ODE TO INNOCENCE. /^\H ! Innocence ! Sweet Innocence ! ^-^ There is no holier charm Than that which decks thy maiden brow, And steels thy infant arm. No golden light, which gilds the sky, Can clearer, purer shine, In all its glorious brilliancy, Sweet Innocence, than thine. Oh ! Innocence ! Sweet Innocence ! No other joy can give A tithe of that which they shall know. Who with thee ever live. No knowledge of the mighty sage, Not e'en a kingly throne, Bestows the peace which thou canst call, Sweet Innocence, thine own. Oh ! Innocence, sweet Innocence ! Amid the storms, alone 54 ODE TO INNOCENCE. Thou art the polar star, to guide The wanderer to his home. Whate'er of ill may him betide, Shall matter naught, if he Will only cling, with steadfast faith. Sweet Innocence to thee. Oh ! Innocence ! Sweet Innocence ! What diamond of the night, Or jewel, equals in its wealth Thy coronet of light ? Thou art from God, a holy thing To lead us to that shore, Where we shall need thy guardian wing. Sweet Innocence no more. TIRED. /"^\H ! for the eagle's wing to soar away, ^-^ From this dull earth of endless agony ; To leave these daily scenes of strife and pain, Where hope is crushed, and life itself is vain. Bright flowers, perchance, thy lonely path may light, Bright joyous dreams may gild the hours of night ; But in the rose's bosom dwells a thorn, And shapes of horror break thy vision ere the morn. Friends who have clung, and twined around thy heart When Fortune smiled, will one by one depart, When clouds of darkness gather o'er the sky, And leave thee hopeless in thy helpless misery. Oh ! for the eagle's pinions, swift to trace, Far in the unknown universe of space ; From star to star, from world to world to rove, Where spirits bright, and angels dwell in love. To wander o'er the golden clouds of light, To revel in a land of blessed and calm delight : 56 TIRED. Where happiness and peace and joy are won, And aught of life or earth can never come. Aye ! death were robbed of all its shadowy fear, The fatal scythe, more welcome as more near : The spirit yearns to take its first brave flight, And bid friends, home, and earth a long good night. TO OUR LITTLE NEIGHBOR OPPOSITE. O WEET little Bertha, in her bright blue dress, ^ A white rose to her heaving bosom prest, A red one hidden in her glossy hair, And, in each cheek a dimple round and fair. Her eyes, which as the evening planets shine, Or brilliant gems from famed Golconda's mine, A matchless arm, and rounded hand to suit, As that which plucked the sweet forbidden fruit. A form, which sages dreamed of in their lore ; And such a pretty ankle, but I'll say no more. GENERAL PHILIP KEARNEY. KILLED AT THE BATTLE OF BULL'S RUN, AUGUST, 1862. PEACE to the ashes of the valiant dead : * A hero and a soldier ; Time shall write His name upon the pillars of the state, In living letters of eternal light. Mourn ye not for him ; sleep alone Dims his bright eye, and stills his warrior breast ; The great and noble heart can never die, The soldier's grave, is but the hero's rest. LOOK FORWARD. I OOK forward ! *-' Look not back Along the track Of withered years : An aimless strife, A wasted life, The hope which never came, Proves thou hast lived in vain. Look forward ! Canst thou bring A single thing Back from the past ? Will grief prevail, Or tears avail To change what might have been, To live thy life again ? Look forward ! Canst thou see No light for thee ? 60 LOOK FORWARD. No promised land ? Or dost thou fear Each future year, Will echo but the tread, Of those which now are dead ? Look forward ! Know'st thou not The way to blot A failure out Is to begin Thy life again ; By ceaseless constancy, Thou must a victor be. Look upward ! Is earth all That man can call His aim or hope ? Eternity begun When life is done, Shall last, when time shall reap The earth no more ; but sleep. LOOK FORWARD. 6 1 Look heavenward ! Fix thy gaze Upon the rays Of immortality, Which break the might Of earth's long night, And light the golden way To everlasting day. TO F. R. C. JV/l Y valued friend, I dedicate to thee * * * These lines, though thou mayst never see Or hear them uttered in thy praise. Yet 'tis not in the power of my poor lays, To add or to detract from thy clear fame, Or wreathe one laurel for thy honored name. This verse is not to flatter, 'tis to bear True witness to a worth which is so rare, That I have never, midst the ranks of men Found its superior, and scarce hope again To meet its equal ; though my walk in life, Hath brought me much experience of this world's strife. As Christian father, husband, earnest friend, In truest types, thy character doth blend All these in one, and yet thy modest mien Lays claim to none ; and only those may deem, Who know thee well, how much of worth there lies In thy calm life ; how much of good to prize. FOR MISS LILLIE'S ALBUM. '""TO the beautiful flower whose name you bear, Miss Lillie, pray what relation are you ? And when in the winter the flowers are gone, Pray tell me, Miss Lillie, what do you do ? When all the sweet roses are scattered and fled, The last rose of summer has always repined, I don't then understand when the lilies are dead, Why, unlike the roses, they leave you behind. THE BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING. DULLETS were bearing *-' Death on the breeze, Cannon was tearing The old forest trees ; The sabre's dull clanging The musketry's hail, The threads of life hanging, Like leaves on the gale. Brave men were falling Thickly and fast, On high heaven calling For mercy at last. Brother met brother, Father 'gainst son, One killing the other, Rare triumph he won ! Who, who is the victor ? Go ask of the slain Whose torn limbs are lying In heaps on the plain ; THE BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING. 65 While life blood is welling, In streams swift and red ; From the living is swelling The ranks of the dead. The battle is over, The carnage is done, The dead in the clover, The victor has gone. The groan of the dying, Is stilled to a moan : The fear of the flying Has left them alone : Alone in their sorrow, Alone on the sod, No hope of a morrow, Scant mercy in God. The woe of a mother, The wail of a wife, The last pang is over : And ebbs the strong life. Darkness is falling Down on the slain, Silence appalling Is over the plain. 5 66 THE BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING. Nought heard but the raven, Nought left me to tell ; Save of pity in heaven, And mocking in hell. THY HEART SHALL LIVE FOR- EVER. ''T'HY heart shall live forever, even when * To dust thy body shall have turned again ; When the gorged earth has swallowed every trace Left by decay, and purified its place. Thy heart shall live forever, when thy name, Oblivious and forgotten, has no place nor fame ; But break the marble letters on thy tomb, And fading memory, thy common doom. Thy heart shall live forever, when shall fall Of the proud city, palace, dome, and wall ; When its gay haunts, its marts, are ruins all ; And stalks the tiger, where stood banquet hall. Thy heart shall live forever, when in wrath The elements shall sweep all from their path ; When the red lava in a fiery torrent pours, And the fierce glaciers grind its ruined shores. 68 THY HEART SHALL LIVE FOREVER. Thy heart shall live forever, when there reigns Unbroken silence o'er those moldering remains ; Aye ! even when the desert sand shall rise, And choke out every vestige 'neath a burning skies. Thy heart shall live forever, when shall melt With fervent heat, the earth, and all which dwelt ; Lashed by the seething flame, shall groan and break apace, And gleaming fragments fly through boundless space. Thy heart shall live forever, when is made Another world, in which there is no grave ; Where toil and death are not the heritage of life ; Where soul may tranquil dwell, and comes not strife. Where love forever reigns, and hope grows never dim, Of pain no consciousness, and banished every sin ; Where spirit knows no want, and needs no care ; Thy heart shall live forever, even there. TO LADY GAY. F^vON'T turn, dear Lady Gay, * ^ Those laughing eyes away, Or quite so firmly say, You only were in play. For truly, I believe You meant not to deceive, And if you'll not retrieve, I'll promise not to grieve. I vow, you ne'er shall see, The pain 'twill give to me, Merely a friend to be, Dear Lady Gay to thee. WOOD-FIRE FANCIES. \17ITHOUT the wild storm whistles, * " And on the frozen street, There falls a blinding icy cloud, Of piercing hail and sleet. The night is dark and wintry, And downward in its path The rising gale, with mighty strength, Sweeps on in fitful wrath. Beside the blazing fireside, My easy chair I draw, Safe from the battling elements, And listen to their roar. The wind howls wild with anguish, Then moans as if in pain ; Then roars again, as tho' it found Its supplications vain. WOOD-FIRE FANCIES. 71 The flames shoot up with sadden glare, As dying embers fall ; The shadows flit in ghostly dance Upon my chamber wall. How long I sat, I know not, Gazing, staring, in the fire ; In a dreamy trance that seemed As though 'twould never tire. And the hours still kept striking, Till I lost them in the night ; And the fire still kept burning, With a strangely lurid light. Wreaths of smoke were upward cresting, Floating like a misty fog ; And now and then a face seemed peering From behind a blackened log. And from out the glowing embers, Spirit forms, and phantoms swept ; Springing from their hot embraces, As the forked flames upward leapt. 72 WOOD-FIRE FANCIES. All at once the room seemed peopled, With a strange and motley crew ; Of specters unfamiliar, And shapes I never knew. They marched in serried compact, They swam upon the air ; They wandered round in circles, And floated everywhere. Then suddenly they vanished, And bluer burnt the fire ; While heavenly music filled the room, As from an unseen lyre. And all around me drifted A misty cloud of light ; Entrancing all my senses With a strange yet sweet delight. Soon in the gauze-like vapor. A shadowy form there grew ; Clearer growing every instant, Till before my raptured view WOOD-FIRE FANCIES. 73 Stood a female form seraphic, One of a heavenly race : Serenity, and wondrous power, Stamped on a marble face. Her garments flowing round her, Like waves of moonlight were ; Exquisite was the perfume, Which bathed and filled the air. A snowy arm extended, A wand of crystal raised ; And from its gleaming silver point, A priceless jewel blazed. What art thou, wondrous spirit ? My soul sought to inquire ; Canst thou be that devouring thing, The element, called Fire ? The spring of joy and beauty, Of heat and light the source ; Parent alike of death and life, What, makes thy wondrous force ? 74 WOOD-FIRE FANCIES. Then with a start I waken'd, Which put my dreams to rout ; And I found as explanation, That the fire had gone out. The moon was brightly shining, The stars shone still on high ; But in the East, an orange tint Was lighting up the sky. Yet, I'll dream that dream again, On some other winter's night ; And I'll claim the answer then, From that spirit form of light. I will pile the embers on, To last quite thro' my naps ; And the secrets which I learn, I'll tell to you, perhaps ! MONOTONY. f^vAY after day shines forth the golden sun, *' Night after night the twinkling stars appear ; In endless course the seasons go and come, And winter blights the fields in every year. The river toward the sea runs swiftly on, And mingles with its depths with ceaseless tide ; The ocean rears its cresting waves, upon Whose bosom sweeps the storm with giant stride. The earth goes plunging down a trackless space, The planets in their tireless course have trod ; And all the stars join in the endless race, Through the vast universal heaven of God. And hoary Time looks on, and from his throne Drops cycles from his hand ; as on the sea Fall drops of rain ; and these are drawn To the insatiate bosom of eternity. j6 MONOTONY. Far through the fading visions of the past, Far down the dim and misty ages gone ; Grown gray with endless centuries, as vast As the grand train of ages yet to come. And what art thou ? Oh, vain and boastful man, So self-reliant in thy puny might ; The life which beats in thy weak frame, began But yesterday ; 'twill take its flight to-night. Thou lookest o'er the everlasting field ; Tis mine, thou say'st ! Oh, poor and vain deceit ; Thy father and thy father's sire, did yield The same delusion, proved it but a cheat. How thine ? for see the vaunting words, have left Thy lips a moment, e'er thou turnest pale ; Of life and field in one short hour bereft, And rumbling wheels wind up the cypress vale. And yet the patient field remains, to mock, And laugh a thousand title deeds to scorn ; Smiles in the summer sun ; the winter's shock Outbraves, until the resurrection's morn. TO FLORENCE. A LMOST have I forgotten thee, ** But the magic of thine art Still swells with strange velocity Across my aching heart. In dreams, at times I've seen thee, As I knew thee years ago, And the grief those dreams have brought me, Thou, of all, canst never know. 'Tis true thou'rt strangely altered, In face, in form, in mind, A proud and peerless beauty, Once gentle, good and kind. The world hath been thy study, Thou hast learned the lesson well, And the change it hath wrought in thee, I alone perchance can tell. What matter ? we are passing To the unknown future fast ; 78 TO FLORENCE. Leaving memory soon forgotten, Far in the silent past. And life grows dark with shadows, Full of sorrow, pain and gloom ; For the blighted early roses, Lie withered on the tomb. MY OLD FRIENDS. /^NE by one, silently, ^^ Gone to the tomb ; Following rapidly, Yet there is room ; Room for the rest of them Waiting their turn, After life's history ; Food for the worm. Great though they might have been, Little they care ; What the world says of them, Foul words or fair. All of the wealth, they had Gained by long strife ; Could not insure for them, More of this life. Boastful humanity, Where is thy power ? 80 MY OLD FRIENDS. Can all that strength of thine Gain thee an hour ? Will death the destroyer Wait for thy call ? No : soon must thou follow After them all. COMMANDER MAXWELL WOODHULL, U. S. NAVY. KILLED AT BALTIMORE, FEBRUARY I9TH, 1863. \\ 7TTHIN thy soldier's grave in calm repose, * * Oh ! rest thee, noble heart, no voice shall break Thy long and peaceful sleep ; not friends nor foes Shall bid thee from thy earthly tomb awake. Across thy bier, with loving hands we spread That flag, which was thy earliest, holiest pride ; Through life, it waved in triumph o'er thy head ; In death, 'twere well to moulder at thy side. Upon the heaving deck, thy feet shall stand No more, as master of the main and sky ; Thy ship shall sail without thee from the land, Unmindful where the chieftain's head may lie. No more, thy manly heart shall dare to brave The tempest's wrath, the wild waves' tuneful roar ; Thy voice, once heard amidst the wind and wave, Is hushed in silent death forevermore. 6 82 COMMANDER MAXWELL WOODHULL, U. S. NAVY. Sleep on in peace, the race of noble forms Is nobler, that to theirs is joined thy fame. The earth has lost thee, and a nation mourns, Posterity shall cherish up thy name. A host of heroes, brothers, comrades, friends, Who fought with thee, who sailed with thee ; at last Shall leave to us their works and glorious ends, And join thy spirit in the crowded past. EPITAPH. 'T'HERE lies, beneath this cold gray stone, * A man who was sincere to none ; He meant to speak the truth alone, Which, for his errors may atone. The good he always did revere, Though none may in his acts appear ; He lived in falsehood year by year ; At last, in truth, he does lie here. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. AUG291987 HfTEBLTBT? *TTY L< FAIW THREE WEEKS M TE NON-RENEWABLE \W\ OF RECtl^T flW>25'67 -2/ %v, / ^: ;:rf M N Form L9-2m-6,'49(B4568)444 JlS ^ K ^^\ W ^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY iilfliiiii B 000012977 5 PLEA C1 & DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARDZi ^l LIBRARY^/:. ] . University Research Library