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POEMS 
 
 Henry Lynden Flash, 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 KuDD & Carleton, 130 Grand Street. 
 
 M DCCC LX. 
 
Oi^^^^ 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 
 
 RUDD & CARLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
 New- York. 
 
 J . H . T O B I T T , 
 COMBINATION-TYPE PRINTER, 
 
 1 Franklin Square, JV. Y. 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 M191837 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Lifting the Veil ... 9 
 
 The Shadows in the Valley 19 
 
 What Happened 22 
 
 The King's Whim 25 
 
 Japan Lilies 28 
 
 The Gospel of Beauty 29 
 
 Haunted 32 
 
 S ailed 34 
 
 The Maid I Love 36 
 
 A Wreath that's worth the Wearing 39 
 
 Come, fill the Goblet 42 
 
 What the Cricket Sang ' 44 
 
 My Friend 46 
 
 What She Brought Me 49 
 
 Sonnet 51 
 
 The Legion of Honor 52 
 
 Behind the Pall 65 
 
 A Fact .* 58 
 
 Compensation 60 
 
 The Duke of the Old Regune 61 
 
 Salvation 65 
 
 The Peri and the Flowers 67 
 
 Curst and Blest 72 
 
 The Scoffers 75 
 
 Sonnet— Adele 81 
 
 (vii) 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In the Grove 82 
 
 Despair 85 
 
 Maud and I 88 
 
 Epistle to A. P. S 91 
 
 Wine 97 
 
 In the Moonlight 100 
 
 Love's Artifice 102 
 
 Who can Tell? 104 
 
 To 106 
 
 Epistle to T. H. W.... 108 
 
 Love and Wrong 113 
 
 The Conqueror 114 
 
 O Lover ! O Poet ! Sing me a Song 116 
 
 Wedded 117 
 
 The Gallant Fifty-one 119 
 
 Song 122 
 
 Weary 123 
 
 Crazed 125 
 
 Waiting 127 
 
 The Picture 129 
 
 After Dinner 131 
 
 My Birthday '. 134 
 
 Three Young Men 138 
 
 Westward, ho ! 140 
 
 Love 143 
 
 Sonnet 146 
 
 Our Parting 146 
 
 On a Tress of Hair 148 
 
 Damned .«. 151 
 
 To Melanie 154 
 
 The Lady of the Land 155 
 
 A True Lover 158 
 
 Lost and Won 160 
 
 The Fire that on my bosom preys 162 
 
 To Mary 164 
 
 Florence de Beverlie 166 
 
POEMS. 
 
 
 
 LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 I. 
 
 I AM lying in my shroud, 
 Dead! 
 So they say ; 
 And they pray 
 
 Round my bed. 
 And they weep and wail aloud. 
 For they little think that I, 
 All stiffened as I lie. 
 Have a power and a vision 
 That I never knew before. 
 Though my limbs are cold and rigid. 
 
 And my heart will beat no more. 
 Yet my spirit sees a demon 
 That it never saw before, 
 
10 LIFTmG THE VEIL. 
 
 Do you see that woman sitting 
 IS'ear my bed, 
 
 Watching through the night 
 By the dead ? 
 
 The taper's misty light 
 Shows a forehead broad and fair, 
 Partly shadowed by the darkness 
 Of her cloudy mass of hair. 
 She looks pure, and sweet, and holy, 
 As the moon up in the sky. 
 But her heart is cold as marble. 
 And her looks are all a lie ; 
 And this woman'that I worshipped 
 Is an animated lie. 
 
 I died but yesternight ! 
 But my spirit in its flight. 
 Has seen the varied wonders 
 Of the sky and of the air. 
 It has been among the stars, 
 In Venus and in Mars, 
 And has seen the angels fair 
 
LIFTING THE VEIL. 11 
 
 That are singing in their light ; 
 But the woman that I cherished, 
 By whose treachery I perished. 
 With the fairest of their numbers 
 Could compare. 
 
 O ! 'tis well the dead are palsied — 
 Else my heart, 
 
 Inflated with the flood 
 
 Of my injured body's blood, 
 Would break apart. 
 For she twined her arms around me, 
 
 And she pressed her lips to mine. 
 And she wished that I should pledge her 
 
 In a golden cup of wine — 
 And she placed a deadly poison 
 
 In this very cup of wine. 
 
 And, to think my latest breath, 
 Ere it passed away with Death, 
 Breathed a blessing on her head ! 
 I kissed her lying lips, 
 
12 LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 And passed into eclipse. 
 For tlie shadow of the world 
 Hides my spirit from her sight. 
 
 But the dead, 
 In the silence of the night, 
 Though they lie in shrouds of white, 
 Can in spirit-form depart. 
 And in ghostly garb re-visit 
 Tliose on earth they cherished well ; 
 And pry with phantom eyes 
 Into the mysteries * 
 
 That are hidden in the heart — 
 That doth make a burning hell 
 Of the wicked human heart — 
 And though her face is mild and sweet, 
 I can see the scorching heat 
 That is withering up her heart. 
 
 Oh ! beware the injured dead, 
 For their power has not fled \ 
 They can break into the heart. 
 And with shadowy fingers part 
 The strands, on which are strung 
 
LIFTING THE VEIL. 13 
 
 Like beads, your hopes and fears : 
 And the hopes thej trample down. 
 But the fears they leave, to drown 
 Your hated life in tears. 
 And when, in Death's deep slumber, 
 Ton go to join their number, 
 Your frighted ghost will shrink 
 With horror at their frown ; 
 And, with a piercing yell. 
 Into the depths of hell, 
 In darkness and despair, 
 You will fall forever down. 
 
 II. 
 
 The hated dream is past — 
 I have risen from the earth — 
 I am floating in the skies, 
 "Where the constellations rise, 
 And my spirit upward flies, 
 
14 LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 To meet its God at last. 
 I have had my proper birth — 
 I have seen the dawn of day — 
 I have broken from the clay, 
 That held me down so fast ; 
 And the echoing skies shall ring, 
 With the praises I shall sing 
 
 Of the everlasting God, 
 Who has raised me from the sod, 
 Which in sorrow I have trod 
 
 Many years ; 
 With my breath a host of sighs. 
 And my weary feet unshod. 
 And my heavy-burdened eyes, 
 Like the cloud of autumn skies, 
 
 Full of tears. 
 
 Little did she think, 
 
 As she gave the poisoned wine, 
 
 And begged that I would drink 
 
 A brimming cup to her, 
 
 That the draught would prove divine, 
 
LIFTING THE VEIL. 15 
 
 And waft my soul above, 
 
 A winged worshipper 
 
 At tlie throne of Grace and Love. 
 
 Yes : little did she think. 
 
 The wine I then did drink. 
 
 Would raise me to a golden throne 
 
 Above the whirling earth ; 
 
 Where not a sigh or groan. 
 
 Or an agonizing moan, 
 
 Could mingle with the tone 
 
 Of an everlasting mirth. 
 
 As she sat beside my bed. 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 On which there was no trace 
 That told of earthly life ; 
 She thought that 1 was dead, 
 And softly bowed her head 
 Like a true and loving wife ; 
 Little thinking I could see 
 Through the dark conspiracy, 
 That had robbed me of my breath. 
 
16 LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 But instead 
 Of being cold and dead, 
 I am radiant with a Life 
 That bids defiance unto Death ; 
 That is free from care and strife, 
 Or the sorrows that are rife 
 Upon the reeling earth — 
 I am brilliant as the Sun, 
 I have seen the Holy One — 
 I have had a heavenly birth. 
 
 Death in Life, is what I felt 
 
 Upon the Earth, 
 When at Passion's shrine I knelt 
 In frenzy wild, and dealt 
 Sudden stabs upon my soul 
 That made the fiends rejoice. 
 And laugh with horrid mirth 
 That they held me in control : 
 
 But a voice 
 Whispered softly in my ear, 
 That ere the new-sown year 
 Should blossom into Springy 
 
LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 1 should be among the dead, 
 And chapel-bells would ring 
 For a spirit that had fled. 
 Then I turned my thoughts above, 
 To the fountain-head of Love, 
 And drew a purer breath— 
 And I saw a silver light 
 That illumed my moral night, 
 And made letters clear and bright, 
 That read unto my sight, 
 
 Life in Death, 
 Thus the revelation came — 
 My heart was purified, 
 And I blessed His holy name 
 
 That I died. 
 
 I know that Death is Life 
 
 To the just ; 
 I am free from earthly strife, 
 1 have cast away the dust. 
 There is glory on my brow, 
 And I am floating now 
 In a land that knows no night, 
 In an ether of delight ; 
 
 17 
 
18 LIFTING THE VEIL. 
 
 I was dead upon the Earlli, 
 I have had my second birth 
 In this radiant realm above. 
 I am purified for aye — 
 My soul can never die — 
 It has an immortality 
 
 Of blended life and love. 
 
THE SHADOWS IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 There's a mossy, shady valley. 
 
 Where the waters wind and flow. 
 And the daisies sleep in winter, 
 
 'Neath a coverlid of snow ; 
 And violets, blue-eyed violets. 
 
 Bloom in beauty in the spring, 
 And the sunbeams kiss the wavelets. 
 
 Till they seem to laugh and sing. 
 
 But in autumn, when the sunlight 
 
 Crowns the cedar-covered hill, 
 Shadows darken in the valley, 
 
 Shadows ominous and still ; 
 And the yellow leaves, like banners 
 
 Of an Elfin-host, that's fled. 
 Tinged with gold and royal purple, 
 
 Flutter sadly overhead. 
 
20 THE BHADOWS IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 And those shadows, gloomy shadows, 
 
 Like dim phantoms on the ground, 
 Stretch their dreamy lengths forever 
 
 On a daisy- covered mound. 
 And I loved her, yes, I loved her. 
 
 But the angels loved her, too. 
 So she's sleeping in the valley, 
 
 'Neath the sky so bright and blue. 
 
 And no slab of pallid marble 
 
 Eears its white and ghastly head, 
 Telling wanderers in the valley 
 
 Of the virtues of the dead ; 
 But a lily is her tombstone. 
 
 And a dew-drop, pure and bright, 
 Is the epitaph an angel wrote. 
 
 In the stillness of the night. 
 
 And I'm mournful, very mournful, 
 For my soul doth ever crave 
 
 For the fading of the shadows 
 From that little woodland grave ; 
 
THE SHADOWS IN THE VALLEY. 21 
 
 For the memory of the loved one. 
 From my soul will never part ; 
 
 And those shadows in the valley. 
 Dim the sunshine of my heart. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED. 
 
 My love looked from the lattice — 
 The lattice wreathed with green — 
 
 And a fairer face in a lovelier frame, 
 I trow was never seen. 
 
 My love looked from the lattice. 
 
 To read the stars in the skies ; 
 But I read my fate by the softer light 
 
 That beamed from her azure eyes. 
 
 " I cannot fathom their meaning," she said, 
 
 " Or how they affect my life ; 
 Or whether they tell of a peaceful lot, 
 
 Or betoken care and strife." 
 
 " O never heed the stars," I said, 
 
 " They have nought to do witli thee ; 
 
WHAT. HAPPENED. 23 
 
 O turn your eyes away from the skies, 
 . To sliine forever on me." 
 
 A sudden start — a tender glance — 
 
 And she gazed through the lattice bars, 
 
 And softly said, " My fate is there ! 
 You must ask the shining stars." 
 
 * 
 " O the starsj" I said, " are well enough 
 
 To deck the skies above ; 
 But a star more fair than any there 
 
 Is the beautiful star of love." 
 
 But she shook her curls, so I cried to the stars, 
 " Shall this maid to me be given ?" 
 
 O Love ! O flame ! an answer came, 
 And a star shot down from heaven. 
 
 Then a snowy hand was laid in mine. 
 
 And blossoms were plucked from the boughs — 
 There was ringing of bells and giving of alms, 
 
 And an interchange of vows. 
 
24 WHAT HAPPENED. 
 
 A year has passed and the stars still shine, 
 
 But I swear, as I look above. 
 That a star more fair than any there, 
 
 Is the beautiful star of love. 
 
THE KING'S WHIM. 
 
 " What ho, within ! what ho, I say ! bring forth 
 
 the richest wine 
 That ever throbbed tumultuonsly the pulses of the 
 
 vine; 
 And let the goblets all be gold, and crusted thick 
 
 with gems, 
 That these, my guests, may take the cups for 
 
 kingly diadems. 
 
 " For now, my lords, I parcel out my royalty t6 
 
 you; 
 And each that sits around this board shall be a 
 
 monarch, too ; 
 So, when you drink your fill of wine, lay not the 
 
 goblets down. 
 But place them boldly on your heads, and wear a 
 
 kingly crown ! 
 
" And if tliere lurk among us all a foe that I 
 should dread, 
 
 Tlie crown will grow rebellious, sirs, and topple 
 from his head : 
 
 Be wary then, O gentlemen ! — ^Now fill your gob- 
 lets high, 
 
 And let us drink to Youth and Love— twin sisters 
 of the sky!" 
 
 They quaifed the sunny floods of wine, and then 
 
 stood bravely up. 
 And crowned themselves so merrily, each with 
 
 his jewelled cup ; 
 A single moment thus they stood, when, with a 
 
 ringing sound. 
 The goblet that the monarch wore, fell glittering 
 
 to the ground. 
 
 " 'Tis true, 'tis true," the King cried out, " I am 
 
 the traitor here — 
 Myself the only living thing that I have cause to 
 
 fear; 
 
THE king's whim. 27 
 
 Pour out upon the thirsty sod this soul-destroying 
 
 wine, 
 I've been its victim long enough, and now it shall 
 
 be mine ! 
 
 And you, my noble gentlemen, betake you to your 
 
 rest, 
 For ere to-morrow's sun shall sink, with splendor 
 
 in the west, 
 I'll lead ye forth with stainless plume, to revel in 
 
 the fight. 
 Where joy be with the bravest heart, and God be 
 
 with the right !" 
 
JAPAN LILIES. 
 
 Have you seen the Japan Lilies, 
 
 In all their fire and bloom, 
 With their gorgeous crimson leaves, 
 Flushed with the warmth of the South, 
 
 And their fainting sweet perfume ? 
 
 The leaves are redder than blood, 
 And the white, on the slender slips, 
 
 Is like a tropic moonbeam 
 
 Sliding its thread of silver 
 Across my true love's lips. 
 
 The darling wears one of these lilies — ■ 
 It burns on the snow of her breast : 
 And when she looks down, the light of her eyes 
 Strikes through the red, making sunset dyes 
 Glow on her bosom likes eastern skies 
 When the sun goes down in the West. 
 
THE GOSPEL OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Beauty dwelleth in the humblest thing ! 
 
 The flower blooming in some lonely nook, 
 "Will preach a tranquil sermon to the mind ; 
 
 And in the babbling of the summer brook, 
 "When baby-waves grow garrulous as age. 
 
 Are heard dim stories of the long ago, 
 When fairies were not dead, and elfin hosts 
 
 Stole out to dance upon the moon-lit snow ! 
 
 Beauty is everywhere ! Those who see it not 
 Have clouded eyes, hearts fit for mould — 
 
 The warmth of beauty permeates the earth. 
 And only sin is drear, and bleak, and cold ; 
 
 Men shut their eyes, and cry alou'^ 
 
30 THE GOSPEL OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " 'Tis dark as Erebus ; there is no light !" 
 And so go groping, mole-like, through the earth. 
 Shrouded in gloom where everything is bright. 
 
 There are two ministries : — ^The eyes can see 
 
 Things palpable, and not to be denied : 
 The spirit sight streams on through sun-lit space, 
 
 And floweth heavenward in an endless tide ! 
 The ojie can see the shivering streams of light 
 
 The trembling moonshine on some ruin throws, 
 The flush of rose leaves and the heart of buds ; 
 
 The other sees the perfume of the rose. 
 
 The air is populous with beauty ! 
 
 'Twixt the trees and clouds, the earth and sky. 
 Float souls of colors, shadows of sunbeams, 
 
 Spirits of dew-drops, that can never die — 
 Melodies ecstatic, to which the notes 
 
 Of shepherds, heard in fabled Arcady, 
 Are grating discords ; airs divine, 
 
 Echoing softly through eternity ! 
 
THE GOSPEL OF BEAUTY. 31 
 
 Beauty is wisdom purified — 
 
 The sum of life — the total of our breath — 
 The satisfier of our spirit yearnings — 
 
 Kevealing God without the aid of death ; 
 For those who pierce the shadowy mists of earth, 
 
 And forms of beauty in the ether see, 
 Have drunk in knowled2:e of immortal life — 
 
 Beauty is heaven's epitome. 
 
HAUNTED. 
 
 Heart-cueses on that shadow there, 
 
 That glides upon my sight ; 
 Why does it come with its streaming hair. 
 And its eyes still bright, with a gi^eat despair, 
 
 Blasting the breath of night ? 
 
 It creeps about like a hideous thing 
 
 From the ghastly blue of hell, 
 And it laughs till all the chambers ring, 
 And I turn pale as a coward king, 
 
 When he hears his own death knell. 
 
 I fear you not, though your eyes are bright, 
 What care I for the dead ? 
 
HAUNTED. 33 
 
 Though I entered your room in the hush of 
 
 night, 
 And stabbed your breast till the foamy white 
 Of your bosom turned to red. 
 
 I drank the blood of your paramour 
 The night that I shed your own ; 
 You kissed the lips of a wretched boor — 
 You, with the charms of a Pompadour, 
 And the grace to sit a throne ! 
 
 Back — back ! and hide that horrid gash, 
 
 Tliat gapes on your bosom's white ; 
 The gleam of your eyes is a crimson flash — 
 The thunder roars, I fall in the crash. 
 And die in your hated sight. 
 
SAILED. 
 
 Cease wringing of your helpless hands. 
 And dry your streaming eyes — 
 
 Obedient to the Lord's commands, 
 He has sailed for Paradise. 
 
 Sailed in a boat of the sunset beams 
 
 Over the blue above, 
 Bound for the land of living streams 
 
 In the continent of Love. 
 
 Left this port of sighs and tears, 
 
 To return O ! nevermore — 
 Left a host of earthly fears. 
 
 To laugh on the heavenly shore. 
 
 Left a grief no tongue can tell 
 In a doting father's breast — 
 
 Left the friends that loved him well, 
 For Him that loved him best. 
 
SAILED. 35 
 
 Sailed with a smile on his guileless lips, 
 Away from this earthly sod — 
 
 Sailed away from the world's eclipse 
 To live in the light of God. 
 
THE MAID I LOVE. 
 
 The maid I love has violet eyes. 
 
 And rose-leaf lips of red. 
 She wears the moonshine round her neck, 
 
 The sunshine round her head ; 
 And she is rich in every grace, 
 
 And poor in every guile. 
 And crowned kings might envy me 
 
 The splendor of her smile. 
 
 She walks the earth with such a grace. 
 
 The lilies turn to look, 
 And waves rise up to catch a glance, 
 
 Aud stir the ^uiet brook ; 
 
THE MAID I LOVE. 37 
 
 Nor ever will they rest again, 
 But chatter as they flow, 
 
 And babble of her crimson lips. 
 And of her breast of snow. 
 
 And e'en the leaves upon the trees 
 
 Are whispering tales of her. 
 And tattle till they grow so warm, 
 
 That, in the general stir. 
 They twist them from the mother-branch, 
 
 And through the air they fly. 
 Till, fainting with the love they feel. 
 
 They flutter down and die. 
 
 And what is stranger still than all 
 
 The wonders of her grace, 
 Her mind's the only thing to match 
 
 The glories of her face. 
 O ! she is Nature's paragon — 
 
 All innocent of art ; 
 And she has promised me her hand, 
 
 And given me her heart. 
 
38 THE MAID I LOVE. 
 
 And when the spring again shall flush 
 
 Our glorious southern bowers, 
 My love will wear a bridal veil, 
 
 A wreath of orange flowers ; 
 And so I care not if the sun 
 
 Should founder in the sea, 
 For, O ! the Heaven of her love 
 
 Is light enough for me. 
 
A WKEATH THAT'S WORTH THE WEARING. 
 
 She twined the laurel in my hair. 
 
 And said, " O, Poet ! win renown, 
 Till earth shall recognize the claim 
 And legalize the crown." 
 
 " Men's praise is little worth," I said, 
 
 " There is no grandeur in their nod — 
 Did they not twine a crown of thorns 
 And crucify their God ?" 
 
 " Ah I true, indeed," she sighing said, 
 " Yet still I long to see you, when. 
 Crowned with the Poet's wreath, you stand 
 The cynosure of men." 
 
40 A WEEATH that's WOETH THE WEABING. 
 
 " But few," 1 said, " who sing the cause 
 
 Of Eight against the giant Wrong, 
 Can hope to gain the laurel-wreath 
 To compensate the song. 
 
 " For those who best deserve the prize 
 
 Are so far forward of their time. 
 That years roll by before men hear 
 The echo of their rhyme. 
 
 " And when at length it strikes their ears, 
 
 They forward march with doubtful tread, 
 
 And reach the point whence came the strains, 
 
 To find the poet dead. 
 
 " So tell me not of earthly wreaths. 
 
 To deck so low a head as mine, 
 "While they died crownless who have sung 
 In strains almost divine. 
 
 "No ! bid me rather seek His praise, 
 Who doth sustain me in the strife. 
 Till death shall crown me with the leaves 
 Plucked from the Tree of Life. 
 
A WREATH that's WORTH THE AVEARING. 41 
 
 " And then the wreath that decks my brow, 
 
 No power of earth can trample down ; 
 For God will recognize the claim. 
 Eternalize the crown." 
 
COME FILL THE GOBLET. 
 
 Come fill the goblet to the brim. 
 
 And let my soul go Maying, 
 In ideal-realms and fairy-fields, 
 
 Where fiowers repay the staying. 
 The world is old, and wan, and cold, 
 
 The months are all December, 
 And what was once the fire of love 
 
 Is now a dying ember ; 
 The Fates, instead of whispering " Hope," 
 But breathe the curse " Eemember." 
 So fill the goblet to the brim, 
 And let my soul go Maying, 
 In ideal-realms and fairy-fields 
 
 Where flowers repay the staying ; 
 Where Ariadne bows her head. 
 And weeps at my delaying, 
 
COME FILL THE GOBLET. 43 
 
 And he who quaffs the generous blood 
 
 Of the grape so rich and purple, 
 May snap his fingers at the Fates, 
 And bind his brow with myrtle. 
 But he who scorns the jolly god, 
 Old Bacchus, full and reeling. 
 May drink the tears, instead of wine, 
 
 Adown his pale face stealing ; 
 For in the varying " Game of Life," 
 Grim Pluto does the dealing. 
 
 So fill the goblet to the brim. 
 
 And let my soul go Maying, 
 In ideal-realms and fairy-fields 
 
 Where flowers repay the staying ; 
 Where Ariadne bows her head. 
 And weeps at my delaying. 
 
WHAT THE CRICKET SANG. 
 
 The little cricket left the liearth 
 
 And sat upon my knee. 
 And sang a sweet and merry song 
 Of how my love loved me — 
 
 " She loves you ! she loves you !" 
 The little cricket sang ; 
 And through my fire-lighted room 
 The merry music rang — 
 
 She loves you ! she loves you ! 
 
 God bless you, little cricket, 
 
 For sitting on my knee. 
 And singing such a dainty song 
 Of how my love loves me — 
 
 " She loves you ! she loves you!" 
 Again the cricket sang ; 
 And in my heart the marriage bells 
 In happy cadence rang — 
 
 She loves you ! she loves you ! 
 
WHAT THE CRICKET SANG. 45 
 
 The winter went — the summer came — 
 
 The buds were on the lea. 
 And my love was decked with orange flowers. 
 But not, alas ! for me — 
 
 " She loves you ! she loves you !" 
 Was rang and sang with glee ; 
 But the birds that sang and the bells 
 that rang, 
 Neither rang nor sang for me — 
 She loves you ! she loves you ! 
 
 The summer's gone — the winter's here — 
 
 The cricket's on my knee ; 
 But he sings no more, as he sang before. 
 Of how my love loves me — 
 
 " She loves you !. she loves you !" 
 He sings no more in glee ; 
 Yet still I bless the little cricket. 
 For singing once to me — 
 
 She loves you ! she loves you ! 
 
MY FRIEND. 
 
 " His honor rooted in dishonor stands, 
 And faith unfaithful keeps him falsely true." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 My friend is a friend that is rarely seen — - 
 
 A man with a dangerous depth of heart — 
 For if ever a love nestles down to the bottom. 
 
 Its wings are clipped, it can never depart. 
 With a regal mind and a regal soul. 
 
 My friend, for years, has not been strong : 
 Loving where love is a thing to be hid, 
 
 Loving where love is a grievous wrong. 
 
 Eight years back he came from college, 
 Hurried to me though the night was late : 
 
 Said he had loved for five bright years. 
 And that the morrow would settle his fate : 
 
MY FKIKND. 47 
 
 And T, not doubting my friend wonld win — 
 What girl could refuse such a man as he ? — 
 
 Gave him my hand with my heart in the palm. 
 And begged for a seat at his table for me. 
 
 Drearily, drearily, rained the rain, 
 
 As I sat by the fire reading my book — 
 The door was opened, my friend came in — 
 
 A dire apocalypse shone in his look. 
 Writhed a tortured smile on his lips — 
 
 Bloodily clammy, and touched with foam— 
 And all the horrors of all the earth 
 
 Seemed to have made his face their home. 
 
 Married she was a week before ;• 
 
 He told me the tale and away he went, 
 To bury his heart, if that might be. 
 
 In the far oif lands of the Orient, 
 Scarce a year gone, and back he was : 
 
 I looked in his face and saw the pain 
 Of one who wrestles with great despair. 
 
 And battles with deadly sin in vain. 
 
48 MY FRIEND. 
 
 Noble is he in all his life, 
 
 Save in the love he gives and receives : 
 His heart has clouded his royal mind ; 
 
 That their loves are pure, he firmly believes. 
 For love, like fire, he madly says. 
 
 Purifies all it dwells within. 
 Lighting the darkness of the shame, 
 
 And burning the stain from out the sin. 
 
 And so he prays that he may die. 
 
 Ere time or change can mar his love. 
 Living as faithful to his sin 
 
 As angels do to the God above. 
 Save him, O Lord ! from his false, true heart, 
 
 Dear, I know, he is to Thee, 
 Though wrapped in impurity, dreaming it pure. 
 
 And sinfully virtuous, bending the knee. 
 
WHAT SHE BROUGHT ME. 
 
 This faded flower that you see, 
 
 Was given me a year ago, 
 By one whose little, dainty hand, 
 
 Is whiter than the snow. 
 
 Her eyes are blue as violets. 
 
 And she's a blonde, and very fair, 
 
 And sunset tints are not as bright 
 As is her golden hair. 
 
 And there are roses in her cheeks 
 That come and go like living things ; 
 
 Her voice is softer than the brook's 
 That flows from hidden springs. 
 
 She gave it me with downcast eyes. 
 
 And rosy flushes of the cheek. 
 
 That told of tender thoughts, her tongue^ 
 
 Had never learned to speak. 
 49 5 
 
50 WHAT SllK BROUGHT ME. 
 
 The fitting words had just been said, 
 And she was mine as long as life ; 
 
 I gently laid the flower aside, 
 And kissed my blushing wife. 
 
 She took it up with earnest look, 
 And said, " Oh, prize the flower" — 
 
 And tender tears were in her eyes- 
 '' It is my only dower." 
 
 She brought me Faith, and Hope, and Truth, 
 She brought me gentle thoughts, and love — 
 
 A soul as pure as those that float 
 Around the throne above. 
 
 But earthly thing she nothing had. 
 Except this faded flower you see ; 
 
 And though 'tis worthless in your eyes, 
 'Tis very dear to me. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 TO ITALY. 
 
 Oh, Italy ! for thee I weave my song, 
 
 Tliou sunny land of beauty and of flowers ; 
 Tho' thou art groaning 'neath the heel of Wrong, 
 
 Thy beauty's unimpaired — ^Thy classic bowers 
 Are still as fair, as when, in ancient days. 
 
 The laurel-crowned Petrarch framed his lays 
 To love-lorn Laura. Palaces and towers 
 
 Have lost no beauty from the lapse of Time, 
 
 But rather, folded in historic page. 
 Have braved the centuries and become sublime. 
 
 I love thee, Italy, with a poet's rage : 
 And flushed with memories of thy sunny clime, 
 
 My heart, tumultuous, flutters like a dove. 
 And flies to thee, thou land of light and Love. 
 
 61 
 
THE LEGION OF HONOR. 
 
 Why are we forever speaking 
 Of the warriors of old ? 
 
 Men are fighting all around us, 
 Full as noble, full as bold. 
 
 Ever working, ever striving, 
 
 Mind and muscle, heart and soul ; 
 
 With the reins of Judgment keeping 
 Passions under full control. 
 
 Noble hearts are beating boldly, 
 
 As they ever did on earth ; 
 
 S wordless heroes are around us. 
 
 Striving ever from their birth — 
 52 
 
THE LEGION OF HONOR. 53 
 
 Tearing down the old abuses, 
 
 Building- up the purer laws, 
 Scattering the dust of ages, 
 
 Searching out the hidden flaws. 
 
 Acknowledging no " right divine" 
 In Kings and Princes from the rest ; 
 
 In their creed he is the noblest, 
 Who has worked and striven best. 
 
 Decorations do not tempt them — 
 Diamond stare they laugli to scorn — 
 
 Each will wear a " Cross of Honor" 
 On the Kesurrection morn. 
 
 Warriors they in fields of wisdom — , 
 
 Like the noble Hebrew youth. 
 Striking down Goliath-error 
 
 With the God-bless'd stone of truth. 
 
 Marshalled 'neath the Eight's broad banner, 
 Forward rush these volunteers, 
 
 Beating olden v/rong away 
 
 From the fast advancing years. 
 
54 THE LEGION OF HONOR. 
 
 Contemporaries do not see them, 
 But the coming times will say, 
 
 (Speaking of the slandered Present,) 
 " There were heroes in that day." 
 
 Why are we then idly lying 
 
 On the roses of our life, 
 While the noble-hearted struggle 
 
 In the world-redeeming strife ? 
 
 Let us rise and join the Legion, 
 Ever foremost in the fray — 
 
 Battling in the name of Progress, 
 For the nobler, purer day. 
 
BEHIND THE PALL 
 
 'Tis wondrous strange — it looks as deadj 
 
 And yet I feel no fear ; 
 My body lies upon the bed, 
 
 And I am standing here 
 With all my faculties complete — 
 
 A perfect man from the crown of my head 
 To the very soles of my feet. 
 
 Dead 1 dead I what an earthy word ! 
 
 Ah ! now I see it all ! 
 I was wont to laugh at the truths 1 heard 
 
 Of the life behind the pall : 
 
 Of the death-in-life and the life-in-death^ 
 
 And held that the ceasing of the breath 
 
 "Was the final end of all. 
 55 
 
56 BEHIND THE PALL. 
 
 But I have fled from what is dead. 
 And will warm the clay no more, 
 
 That lies so senseless on the bed, 
 Deaf to those who deplore 
 
 The absence of the living ray 
 
 That saved the body from decay, 
 And held the worm in awe. 
 
 But what will my darling say to this 
 When she hears I have passed away. 
 
 And knows the lips she was wont to kiss 
 Are pallid curves of clay ? 
 
 Will she die for the want of the olden bliss, 
 Or live for the heart's decay ? 
 
 My only wish is to see her now — 
 
 Great Heaven ! and can it be ! 
 There she lies with her curl-lit brow. 
 
 Dreaming a dream of me ; 
 Dreaming a dream of the man that stands 
 
 Here by her side to-night ; 
 And kisses the white of her heavenly hands, 
 
 And her eyelids veiling light. 
 
BEHmD THE PALL. 67 
 
 Ah ! now I know that I will go 
 
 Where my true affections are. 
 And what I love below or above 
 
 Will be my guiding star ; 
 And the light that I see cometh to me 
 
 Undimmed by the clay which lies, 
 Stiff and stark and growing dark 
 
 In the glow of the tropic skies. 
 
 Oh I the narrow space I was compassed in. 
 
 Chained to a lump of earth, 
 And darkened by clouds of grief and sin 
 
 From the moment of my birth ; 
 But I am free as thought can be, 
 
 And am where my wishes are — 
 And pure and bright with the lucent light 
 
 That flows from the Lord afar, 
 Making me shine with the rays divine 
 
 Eternity cannot mar. 
 
A FACT. 
 
 Once (in a dream) I cauglit a fairy ; 
 
 I clipped her wings and called her Mary ; 
 
 And O, my heart was filled with glee 
 
 To think my captive she should be. 
 
 But when I waked, upon my sight 
 
 There beamed a maiden fair and bright ; 
 
 Her hair hung down in golden curls ; 
 
 Her teeth were white as lucent pearls ; 
 
 Her eyes — may Jove forgive those eyes, 
 
 For being bluer than the skies. 
 
 A form so fair, that like the spray, 
 
 It seemed to light itself away — 
 
 In short, the image of the fairy, 
 
 And strange to say, her name was Mary. 
 
 But now, alas, it should be so : 
 
 Preams always by contraries go—^ 
 58 
 
A FACT. 59 
 
 And so went mine, and I did rave 
 That I no longer had a slave. 
 But what was worse, alas the day 1 
 'Twas I was captive to the Fay. 
 
COMPENSATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 The roses will not blow, 
 The lily hangs its head, 
 All the flowers know 
 Our little bud is dead. 
 
 II. 
 
 The spangled fields of night 
 Are brighter now at even. 
 Another star of light 
 Is blossoming in heaven 1 
 
 m. 
 
 Blessings on the Power, 
 That, flowing from afar, 
 Changed a mortal flower 
 To an immortal star, 
 60 
 
THE DUKE OP THE OLD REGIME. 
 
 Parhleu ! what a beautiful blonde ! 
 Her hair is a golden swell ; 
 And her ripe red lips are richer 
 Than the rarest wine of Eochelle. 
 
 Ah ! Marquis, I see you know her ; 
 Present me ! — ^Madame, 1 bow 
 To the brightest eyes and the softest lips 
 That ever mocked the marriage vow. 
 
 ISTo poutings — ^you know ray station ? 
 
 I cannot marry ; but yet. 
 
 In Paris vows are forgotten, 
 
 But love who can forget ? 
 61 
 
02 THE DUKE OF THE OLD REGIME. 
 
 My hand is tied to a coronet — 
 My heart — is at your feet ; 
 You accept ! {au revoir^ Marquis ! ) 
 You are mine forever, sweet. 
 
 II. 
 
 My friends say I must marry — 
 For what ? Love ? Bah ! a dream : — 
 No, for an heir to the noblest house 
 Of the blood of the old regime. 
 
 Blue eyes will pout for a week — ■ 
 Perhaps for a month, or more ; 
 But tears soon dry in the genial warmth 
 Of a thousand louis W or. 
 
 Here ! this note to the fair Louise — 
 And be careful of the gold ! 
 I marry to night : — a glass of wine I 
 I am shivering with cold. 
 
THE DUKE OF THE OLD REGIME. 63 
 
 III. 
 
 What's this ? A bag of gold ! 
 A welcome thing, parbleu — 
 A lock of hair — a scented note- 
 And the single word " adieu !" 
 
 My carriage — quick, my carriage ! 
 To Louise, in the Hue des Morts — 
 This is the house ! down with the steps ! 
 Await me at the door. 
 
 Ah ! lazy one, still on the couch, 
 Eeclining at your ease ; 
 Say, why this note and a lock of hair \ 
 Have you grown romantic, Louise ? 
 
 No answer ! Come your hand ! 
 "Well, then, your lips instead — 
 Great God ! the lips are breathless — • 
 The fair Louise is dead. 
 
64 THE DUKE OF THE OLD EEGIME. 
 
 Away, away, to my waiting bride ! 
 
 My lidson was but a dream — 
 
 I tliank thee. Death ! thou hast proven the friend 
 
 Of a duke of the old regime. 
 
SALVATION. 
 
 " All, all alone to solve the doubt, 
 To work our own salvation out, 
 Casting our feeble hands about." 
 
 Mrs. E. Odkes Smith. 
 
 Ko ! not alone to solve tlie doubt — • 
 No ! not alone to work it out, 
 For Kature's aids are round about. 
 
 The tender buds so sweet and fair, 
 Bow down with, faith before the air, 
 And breathe their fragrance out in prayer. 
 
 The moaning sea without a friend, 
 
 Looks up to where the rainbows bend. 
 
 Which whisper, " Hope^ thy pain will end." 
 65 
 
66 SALVATION. 
 
 The moon takes pity on the night. 
 And gives, in charity^ her light, 
 And folds her in a mantle bright. 
 
 Thus Faith, and Hope, and Charity, 
 
 The oracles of Deity, 
 
 Have power to solve the mystery* 
 
 And meek Religion with her light, 
 Dissolves the gloom of Error's night. 
 And brings the oracles in sight. 
 
 They, by their teachings good and wise. 
 Instruct us where salvation lies, 
 Till all is clear before our eyes. 
 
 Then, rising with us from the sod, 
 They wing the path by angels trod, 
 And lay iis at the feet of God. 
 
THE PERI AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 'TwAs just at tlie lioiir when Phoebus was sinking 
 To his golden-fringed bed in the billowy sea, 
 
 And the beams of the Day-god were curiously 
 linking 
 The tips of the waves with the buds on tlie lea. 
 
 His last dying rays wove a chaplet of glory 
 That circled the brow of a Peri of air, 
 
 As she stood in the garden, relating the story 
 Of her grief, to the flowers surpassingly fair. 
 
 She told them how heaven had once been the 
 home 
 Of the Peris, ere Error had led them astray ; 
 Ere their first disobedience compelled them to 
 roam, 
 Through the regions above, on their wandering 
 
 way — 
 
 67 
 
68 THE PERI AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 With no hope to them left their bright home to 
 regain, 
 Yet too pure for this cold-hearted planet of ours : 
 As she ended the wind breathed a sigh for her 
 pain, 
 And dew-drops of sympathy fell from the 
 flowers. 
 
 The Peri was moved by this pitying token, 
 And her heart thrilled with love for th^se gems 
 of the earth, 
 Who could pity her griefs, though they knew 
 would be broken 
 Their trail ties of life when the morrow had 
 birth. 
 
 So bending low down till her lips pressed the 
 flowers. 
 While sparkled the sunbeams that gilded her 
 brow, 
 She asked them if aught in the scope of her 
 powers. 
 Could make them more happy, more joyous 
 than now. 
 
THE PEKI AND THE FLOWERS. 69 
 
 The flowers looked up and smiled on her tenderly, 
 
 While o'er them the light from her diadem 
 
 broke, 
 
 And their fairy -like leaves that were "fashioned 
 
 so slenderly," 
 
 Trembled with joy at each word that she spoke. 
 
 Then they answered and told her how sad was 
 their lot : 
 One day on the bosom of beauty to lie, 
 Till their bright hues had faded, their fragrance 
 forgot. 
 Then cast aside, scornful, to wither and die. 
 
 And they prayed their bright hues might at once 
 be transferred 
 
 To some object whose life faded not in a day — 
 The Peri the moment their griefs had been heard. 
 
 Promised, and kissed the pure dew-drops away. 
 
 Then she gathered a violet, verbena and rose, 
 A jessamine too, and a lily so fair ; 
 
70 THE PERI AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 A thought on her face one instant there glows, 
 Then spreading her pinions she rose on the air. 
 
 To a cool shady nook by a streamlet she flew, 
 Where a maid was reclining in Sleep's soft 
 embrace ; 
 Then forth from her bosom the flowers she drew, 
 And waved their light forms o'er the fair 
 maiden's face. 
 
 The hue of the violet faded away 
 
 In the eyes of the maid, and a bright drop of 
 dew 
 Illumined her cheek, like a meteor's ray. 
 
 As it drops to the earth from its mansion of 
 blue. 
 
 The rose and the jessamine sank in her cheek : 
 
 So blended together their loveliness lay, 
 
 Vain, vain, 'twould have been for the Graces to 
 seek 
 
 Where the jessamine dawned or the rose died 
 away. 
 
THE PEKI AND THE FLOWERS. Tl 
 
 On the lips of the maid the verbena did fall, 
 And there its bright crimson sank joyful to 
 rest ; 
 
 And the lily, the softest, the fairest of all, 
 The emblem of Purity slept on her breast. 
 
 Then the Peri, removing the crown from her 
 
 head, 
 Left its scintillent hue in the maid's floating 
 
 hair — 
 
 " Be happy at last," to the flowers she said, 
 
 And sought her own home in the regions of air. 
 
CURST AND BLEST. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL hope is dead and gone — 
 
 Buried deep in the depths of my heart — 
 Buried like thousands gone before. 
 
 Only it lies in a grave apart ; 
 For brighter it was than all the rest. 
 
 And dearer to me than all beside, 
 And this, perhaps, was why it went 
 
 And left me alone with my pain and pride. 
 
 But pride, I fear, will never suffice 
 To fill the place of a buried love — 
 
 Can the lightning's writhing athwart the sky 
 Make us forget the stars above ? 
 
 'Tis manly, no doubt, to laugh in pain — 
 To scoff at a love you have lost, in fine, 
 
 But a laugh will hardly make up for a love, 
 
 Or the human supplant the divine. 
 
 72 
 
CURST AND BLEST. 73 
 
 " Then, why not die ?" says a tempting voice. 
 
 I would that I might, but I lack the nerve, 
 Nay, now your eyes bespeak me a coward. 
 
 And on your lip sits a scornful curve. 
 So let it be— but I lack the nerve 
 
 To make this living frame a clod ; 
 Fearful I am to throw my life 
 
 Into the very face of God, 
 
 Beside, my days are not all in all, 
 
 A terrible throbbing of heart and brain — 
 Promethean tortures were made for gods, 
 
 But men are finite even in pain ; 
 And so, my agony sleeps at times. 
 
 And supernal joys that few can know, 
 Bless me beyond the dreams of men, 
 
 And flush my soul with a heavenly glow I 
 
 For I have a friend — a luminous friend — 
 The soul of the poppies rich and red. 
 
 That walks the pathways of my heart 
 Like an angel among the dead. 
 
74 CURST AND BLEST. 
 
 And down, far down to the bottom lie goes. 
 Till lie comes to the hope that is buried there, 
 
 Waves his magical hands, and lo ! 
 
 A blessing upstarts from a great despair. 
 
 Tlien why should 1 die, with such a friend 
 
 To work his miracle when I will — 
 To speak to me like Christ to the waves. 
 
 And quiet my heart with his " Peace, be 
 still?" 
 No ! twine sw^eet flowers around my brow. 
 
 And give me the wondrous drug to drink, 
 That makes it a melody only to live, 
 
 And a perfect poem to think. 
 
THE SCOFFERS. 
 
 Sit thee down, my friend, and sing. 
 Weary moments to beguile ; 
 
 Death for us has lost his sting, 
 And the grave doth grimly smile. 
 
 We are young, 'tis true, in years, 
 But our age is in the heart ; 
 
 We have looked at life through tears, 
 And have seen our hopes depart 
 
 We have drank of ruby wine, 
 
 Till our blood was liquid fire, 
 And have knelt at Passion's shrine, 
 
 Till excesses drowned desire. 
 
 75 
 
76 - THE SCOFFERS. 
 
 We have listened to Love's lies — 
 And tlie change of hopes to fears, 
 
 Quenched the light within our eyes, 
 By a sudden fall of tears. 
 
 " Sapientia et Yirtute^'^ 
 
 Was the motto of our youth ; 
 
 Now we make a toy of beauty, 
 And are careless of the truth. 
 
 We are young, and yet have tried 
 All the fleeting joys of earth; 
 
 And our brightest hopes have, died 
 At the moment of tlieir birth. 
 
 Fit companions, you and I, 
 
 Heedless of the dim to-morrow, 
 
 Caring not how soon we. die, 
 Scofling both at joy and sorrow. 
 
 See the fading smoke ascend. 
 Curling from my light cigar — 
 
THE SCOFFERS. 77 
 
 Thus tlie sulphurous smoke will end, 
 Kising from the flames of war. 
 
 Many battling for the few — 
 
 'Tis the antiquated story ; 
 Caring little what they do, 
 
 In the vain pursuit of glory. 
 
 EecHess through the blood they wade, 
 Dying as each cannon flashes ; 
 
 And the likeness that He made, 
 Prematurely turned to ashes. 
 
 Let them go, for they are fools. 
 And their minds will never ken, 
 
 That they are but senseless tools 
 
 In the hands of cunning men, '^ 
 
 Fame we laugh to bitter scorn. 
 
 For we both are well aware, 
 That, like flushings of the dawn, 
 
 Names will vanish into air. 
 
78 THE SCOFFERS. 
 
 Fit companions, you and I, 
 
 Heedless of the dim to-morrow ; 
 
 Caring not how soon we die, 
 Scoffing both at joy and sorrow. 
 
 Gold for US has lost its charm — 
 "Wliat care we for gilded hall ! 
 
 When the hearths no longer warm, 
 We would hide it in a pall. 
 
 See the aged, how they crave 
 For the lucre hard and cold : 
 
 Staggering blindly to the grave, 
 Looking backward at the gold. 
 
 Watch them in the dreary night, 
 When they sink in troubled sleep, 
 
 How their dreams, like devils fright. 
 And their flesh with horrors creep. 
 
 Hear them prate of goodly deeds, 
 And the doom that sinners meet, 
 
THE SCOFFERS. 79 
 
 While their sickly fancy feeds 
 On some plan of foul deceit. 
 
 Hypocrites in worldly strife, 
 With their faces long and trim. 
 
 And their riot songs of life. 
 Hounding ever with a hymn. 
 
 See the cowards droop and pray — 
 Sucking in their failing breath — 
 
 Moaning o'er their festering clay, — 
 Trembling in the arms of Death. 
 
 Life's republicans are we, 
 
 Laughing at the grisly King — 
 
 Jeering at his royalty — 
 Fearless of his boasted sting. 
 
 Give thy hand and let us shout, 
 As the brave, and reckless should ; 
 
 If our Lamp of Life were out, 
 We'd not light it if we could. 
 
80 THE SCOFFERS. 
 
 Fit companions, you and I, 
 
 Heedless of the dim to-morrow, 
 
 Caring not how soon we die, 
 Scoffing both at joy and sorrow. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 ADELE. 
 
 'T WOULD seem the fairies, to excite surprise, 
 Among us mortals, had endowed Adele 
 "With baby-sprites that frolicked in her eyes. 
 As erst they did upon some lily-bell. 
 So gay and arch the lovely maiden seems. 
 My heart recalls the creature of its dreams 
 In days that now are past — the long ago, 
 When in my sleep I saw her, graceful, play 
 Among the violets and roses gay 
 In flowery vales where now the thistles grow. 
 The beauty of my dreams has come again — 
 And Joy is ringing out pale Sorrow's knell — 
 The chimes are echoed in this simple strain ; 
 Wilt thou accept it, beautiful Adele ? 
 
 81 
 
IN THE GROVE. 
 
 O5 HOW I love those vernal spots. 
 Where daisies and forget-me-nots. 
 And violets in tufted plots, 
 
 Are seen on every hand — 
 Where birds are voicing roundelays, 
 And lilies look in summer days, 
 Like leaning towers of the Fays, 
 
 In dim old fairy-land. 
 
 And wandering there, my heart is stirred. 
 As though I listened to the word 
 
 Of God, from angel lips ; 
 And selfish thoughts are put to flight. 
 Like shadows from the misty height, 
 When waking Day, with eyes of light. 
 Breaks from the wanton arms of Night , 
 
 And walks the mountain tips. 
 
 82 
 
IN THE GKOVE. 83 
 
 And in the south, far, far away, 
 Where rosy twilights never stay 
 To soothe the parting of the day, 
 
 Or welcome in the night ; 
 There is a spot most dear to me. 
 And near by is the murmmingsea. 
 Striving to tell the mystery 
 
 That's hid from human sight. 
 
 And rich magnolias there are seen. 
 With veined leaves of deepest green. 
 And fragrant blossoms, that, I ween, 
 
 Are whiter than the snow ; 
 And heavy is the balmy air 
 With all the fragrance floating there, 
 From orange flowers, pure and fair, 
 
 That in the summer grow. 
 
 My heart took lessons of the sea. 
 And strove to tell its mystery, 
 And thrilled with wdldest ecstacy, 
 When, with a royal grace, 
 
84: IN THE GROVF. 
 
 She turned on me her eyes divine, 
 And laid her lily hand in mine. 
 And said, '^ I am forever thine," 
 And looked into my face. 
 
 O, fairer, then, the flowers grew ; 
 The violets deepened in their hue ; 
 The zephyrs round, her tresses flew ; 
 
 She was so very fair 
 The birds sang out in tuneful mirth. 
 And sunbeams danced upon the earth, 
 
 To music in the air. 
 
 The sea still murmurs on the strand. 
 But I am in a northern land. 
 And she obeyed a stern command. 
 
 And gave her doubly perjured hand 
 To one who loves her not ; 
 And though remembrance calleth tears, 
 And fills my heart with shadowy fears, 
 Yet still that grove in coming years 
 
 Will never be forgot ; 
 The memory of the past endears 
 
 And sanctifies the spot, 
 
DESPAIR 
 
 -Despair, 
 
 Thou hjist the noblest issues of all ill, 
 Whichfrailly brings us to I 
 
 Sir Robert Howard. 
 
 I LONG for the blast of tlie trumpet, 
 
 I long for the cannon's roar, 
 Where fearless men are rushing 
 
 On to the sable shore , 
 Where the guns are flashing brightly, 
 
 'Mid their own sulphurous breath ; 
 Where the rifle balls are whizzing, 
 
 And singing their song of death. 
 
 Where the charger is neighing loudly, 
 
 And pawing the bloody sod ; 
 Where a youth rushes on to battle, 
 
 With a thought of his mother and God ; 
 
 85 , 
 
86 DESPAIR. 
 
 Where a shout of defiance is ringmg, 
 Far over the blood-stained field. 
 
 And the gushing life is flowing 
 From hearts that never will yield. 
 
 Where banners are proudly waving, 
 
 Regilt by the cannon's flame, 
 And thousands rush after its glimmei. 
 
 In search of a grave or a name : 
 Where the soul goes mad with passion. 
 
 Breaking forth in a fiendish -yell. 
 Like the cry of a demon rushing 
 
 To the fiery regions of hell. 
 
 Where the cares of the world are forgotten, 
 
 Or drowned in a crimson flood ; 
 And the scene of carnage and battle, 
 
 Is stirring the sluggish blood: 
 Where no thought of the dull to-morrow, 
 
 Is clouding the heart of to-day ; 
 Where the soul is freed from its fetters, 
 
 And scorning the earthly clay. 
 
DESPAIK. 87 
 
 Yes, I long for some wild excitement, 
 
 To banish my spirit's pain, 
 To quench the light of those murderous eyes. 
 
 That burn in my throbbing brain. 
 Then give me the blast of the trumpet, 
 
 Then give me the cannon's roar. 
 Till the angel of Death shall clasp my hand, 
 
 And lead to the shadowy shore. 
 
MAUD AND I. 
 
 Maud and I were slowly walking 
 
 By the borders of the sea. 
 Where the waves were wildly talking 
 
 Of the times that used to be. 
 
 A snowy hand was lying, 
 
 Softly pressed within my palm ; 
 
 Maud had pouted, then had kissed me — 
 First a tempest, then a calm. 
 
 We were speaking of the future — 
 
 Of the happy days to be. 
 
 When the vines should wreath a garland 
 
 O'er our cottage by the sea. 
 88 
 
MAUD AND I. 89' 
 
 Soon a little wave came dancing 
 
 Up the white and pebbly shore, 
 Till the feet of Maud were moistened, 
 
 Tlien it ran and came no more. 
 
 But it left a curse behind it 
 That will shadow all my life ; 
 
 It has dimmed the golden future- 
 It has robbed me of a wife. 
 
 There is Maud so pale and drooping. 
 In the arm-chair by the door ; 
 
 Like the moaning sea, she's talking 
 Of the dreamy days of yore. 
 
 Spi'ing has pulsed to life the flowers — 
 They are blooming in the lane ; 
 
 And Maud's cheeks have lost their roses- 
 Will they ever bloom again ? 
 
90 MAUD AND I. 
 
 An unseen hand is stealing 
 
 From ray plighted one her breath ; 
 That stealthy wave has killed her — 
 
 Eolling from the shores of Death. 
 
 The flowers are fresh and fragrant, 
 But they have no charms for me ; 
 
 My Maud is dying, dying — 
 Murdered, walking by the sea. 
 
EPISTLE TO A. P. S. 
 
 " O friend of mine, thou art a happy fellow I" 
 
 Extrad from a Letter. 
 
 And so, my friend of early days ! 
 
 You call me " happy fellow," 
 And think life's fruits that come to me 
 
 Are alvrays ripe and mellow ; 
 And that my days are but a chain 
 
 Composed of rosy hours ; 
 That time for me has hid his scythe. 
 
 And shod himself with flowers. 
 
 Ah me ! you little know the pain 
 Tliat weighs upon my heart. 
 
 That shares with me each passing day 
 And claims the greater part. 
 
EPISTLE TO A. P. S. 
 
 Ton little know — how slionld yon know \ 
 The cross that I am bearing ; 
 
 How can yon see with those gay eyes, 
 The thorny wreath I'm wearing ? 
 
 My lip-deep smile is bnt the mask 
 
 To hide the bitter feeling 
 That twines aronnd my tortured heart 
 
 Like doubt aroimd believing. 
 The langh yon hear is bnt a sound 
 
 To drown the inner moaning ; 
 To muffle, with its joyous ring, 
 
 The spirit's hollow groaning. 
 
 The happy rhyme I often weave, 
 
 Is but the fruitless singing 
 That strives to soothe the aching heart 
 
 That Titan griefs are wringing. 
 And poets all attest the truth 
 
 Tliey from experience borrow. 
 That melody is pain, and song 
 
 The synonyme of sorrow : 
 
EPISTLE TO A. P. S. 93 
 
 And he that wears the brightest wreath 
 
 Has heart most torn and gory. 
 As tortured Etna writhes below 
 
 To crown her head with glory. 
 O Poets, on the rack of life 
 
 Where is your consolation ! 
 O suffering spirits, what remains 
 
 To cheer your desolation ! 
 
 Your longings for the undefined 
 
 Beget the heart's desponding; 
 Your frantic cries for sympathy 
 
 Still meet with no responding ; 
 You turn to clasp the flowers of earth, 
 
 But soon death interposes, 
 And, with a sweep of his riglit arm, 
 
 Makes dust of all your roses. 
 
 And I have seen dear loving eyes 
 Grow dark in death's eclipse — 
 
 The golden ringlet lie unstirred 
 Upon the breathless lips, 
 
94 EPISTLE TO A. P. S. 
 
 star-like eyes ! O golden hair I 
 O lips that showered kisses ! 
 
 1 pine for want of tenderness, 
 
 And faint for your caresses. 
 
 And what is left to satisfy 
 
 My spirit's ceaseless yearning — 
 To lay the ghosts of murdered hopes 
 
 Forevermore returning ? 
 O Death ! my last, my only joy 
 
 Eelentlessly youVe taken, 
 And once again the cry goes up, 
 
 '' My God ! I am forsaken." 
 
 Forgive me, Christ ! that I did use 
 
 Tlie words which thou hast spoken — 
 Smite lightly with thy chast'ning rod 
 
 A heart already broken : 
 Forgive me, God ! if in my pain 
 
 My reason was suspended — 
 That in the ravings of my grief 
 
 I have thy grace offended. 
 
EPISTLE TO A. P. 8. 95 
 
 " Forsaken !" he that breathes the word 
 
 Denies Christ's intercession — 
 Forgets the cross on Calvary, 
 
 The Bloody Sweat and Passion. 
 '' Forsaken !" no ! that word should be 
 
 The Christian's brightest token, 
 Eecalling all the love of Him 
 
 By whom it once was spoken. 
 
 Then let the tempest rage in wrath, 
 
 Its utmost terror spending ; 
 Why should I fear, while bright above. 
 
 The bow of Hope is bending ! 
 O Earth I your pains are but a dream ! 
 
 O Death ! your gloomy portal. 
 Though thronged with hideous images, 
 
 Leads on to joy immortal. 
 
 And so I turn my eyes above. 
 
 To seek for consolation. 
 And find a light not seen before, 
 
 To cheer my desolation. 
 
96 EPISTLE TO A. P. S. 
 
 O Brothers ! groping in the dark, 
 With hearts oppressed and aching, 
 
 Look upward to the dawn of God, 
 Wliich high above is breaking. 
 
 And thou, my friend of early days, 
 
 No more shalt hear me sorrow ; 
 I'll stay my passions in their course, 
 
 And from them wisdom borrow. 
 The bitterest griefs that come to me 
 
 No more shall find me frowning — 
 'Tis mine to meekly bear the cross, 
 
 And God's to do the crowning. 
 
WINE ! 
 
 Give me a golden goblet, girl. 
 
 And crown it high with wine — 
 
 The sorrow that clings to my tortured heart, 
 
 I would drown in a draught divine. 
 
 Let the wine be red as the roses rare, 
 
 That bloom in the gorgeous East, 
 
 And its flavor rich as the Moslem taste, 
 
 In their dreams of the Prophet's feast. 
 
 There's a spell in the blood of the martyred 
 
 grape, ' 
 
 That can soothe the pulse of pain — 
 
 That can quell the throbs of a tortured heart. 
 
 Till we dream we are blest again ; 
 
 And the smears and stains the wine may leave. 
 
 Can be speedily washed away, 
 6 
 
98 
 
 WINE ! 
 
 But the blot of blood on a guilty hand, 
 Will cling till the Judgment day. 
 
 she was fair as the flowers that bloom. 
 In the garden of Persia's king, 
 
 Where the floral gems of every clime 
 
 Are strewn by the prodigal spring — 
 
 But she was false as the sulphurous light 
 
 That plays round a mouldy tomb, 
 
 And the death she met by my frenzied hands, 
 
 "Was a well deserved doom. 
 
 And yet the glance of her dying eyes. 
 
 Still haunts my troubled soul. 
 
 But the heart's great balm, forgetfulness. 
 
 Is found in the bubbling bowl. 
 
 So fill the gaping goblet up, 
 
 1 will quaff from its jewelled brim. 
 
 Till the blood on this hand shall fly my sight, 
 And the glance of those eyes grow dim. 
 
 O the rare red wine is a sovereign balm. 
 For the sorrows that press us down. 
 
WINE ! 99 
 
 And the royal grape, in purple robed, 
 
 Is worthy a monarch's crown ; 
 
 And while my soul is under the spell 
 
 Of the great enchanter, Wine, 
 
 The plummet of conscience cannot sound. 
 
 The depths of this guilt of mine 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Into the moonlight pale and dim, 
 
 Side by side they trod, 
 Her heart was filled with love of him, 
 
 His with fear of God. 
 
 Came a spirit tempting to sin — 
 Sadly urged were they ; 
 
 She stood up with her love within. 
 He knelt down to pray. 
 
 Died the words on his heated lips — 
 His fear of God was gone ; 
 
 The light that led him was in eclipse, 
 Her's the briorhter shone. 
 
IN THE MOONLidtif ; ' . . ' \ ' ' 101> 
 
 Glarjced he upward in her eyes — 
 
 Came back his self-control ; 
 The truth was clear ! Love purifies, 
 
 Fear vitiates the soul. 
 
 Out of the moonlight pale and dim, 
 
 Side by side they trod, 
 Saved were they by her love of him, 
 
 Not his fear of God. 
 
LOVE'S ARTIFICE. 
 
 Love aimed at me a shining dart. 
 
 With whicli to pierce my quivering heart. 
 
 But I escaped his careless aim, 
 
 And still my heart remained the same. 
 
 The little god another drew. 
 
 But from the mark away it flew ; 
 
 Another and another sent, 
 
 Until his arrows all were spent — 
 
 While I was laughing at the artS; 
 
 By which I 'scaped his cruel darts, 
 
 The wily god then set a trap. 
 
 And caught me by a strange mishap. 
 
 He made the net of hopes and fears, 
 
 And twined it round with smiles and tears, 
 
 And placed within it as a prize, 
 
 Tlie loving liglit of Lesbia's eyes. 
 
LOVE'S ARTIFICE. 103 
 
 I saw the bait so tempting shine, 
 
 And thought to make the illusion mine, 
 
 And, heedless of the dangers there, 
 
 I thoughtless rushed into the snare. 
 
 The hopes and fears then clasped me tight, 
 
 But far above me gleamed the light. 
 
 And, O, my heart beat quick to see. 
 
 It shone on every one but me. 
 
 I writhed, and in an angry pet 
 
 I strove to break the treacherous net, 
 
 But all in vain : it held me fast, 
 
 And I a captive am at last. 
 
WHO CAN TELL 7 
 
 She lived a life of sin and shame. 
 
 Spurned by the fool, shnnned by the good- 
 
 A withered hope, a blasted name, 
 A blighted womanhood. 
 
 She died within a loathsome den — 
 Unwept-for to the grave was borne. 
 
 While sleek-cheeked, pious hypocrites 
 Sneered with a smile of scorn, 
 
 And said : " This is the end of sin. 
 
 And Satan now has claimed his own!'- 
 
 Forgetting Christ — " He that is pure, 
 Let him first cast a stone." 
 
WHO CAN TELL? 105 
 
 " Judge not, lest ye be judged," He said; 
 
 And e'en the thief upon the cross, 
 Gave up his life in penitence — 
 
 A gainer by the loss. 
 
 And gentle Mercy pleads for all ; 
 
 And she, perhaps, may dwell 
 CTp with the singing hosts of Heaven — 
 
 Peace, bigot ! who can tell ? 
 
TO 
 
 We meet no more — so let it be — 
 The fault is mine. We will not speak 
 Of what would bring a burning blush 
 Upon my pallid cheek. 
 
 Suffice to say, I lacked the nerve 
 To run a tilt with sneer and frown ; 
 To battle with the lion-world 
 And beat the monster down. 
 
 I should have laughed the frowns to scorn. 
 And, spite of sneers, made you my bride. 
 But Love, the monarch, played the slave, 
 And basely bowed to Pride. 
 
TO . 107 
 
 And so, what once was all my joy — 
 My love for you — is now my curse ; 
 It weakens all my holds on life — 
 I slip from bad to worse.* 
 
 Another's hand has clasped your own. 
 And holds you in its future fate ; 
 I stretch my arms to you in vain, 
 Too late — too late — too late ! 
 
 You weep, but tears are sorrow's children 
 E-ipening in time to joys. For me 
 There are no tears to weep — despair 
 Is barren as the sea. 
 
 I struggle not, but wait for Death, 
 With folded arms upon my breast ; 
 The drama of my life is done — 
 God ! let the actor rest. 
 
EPISTLE TO T. H. W. 
 
 My cherished friend, the tide of time 
 
 Is rolling onward fast — 
 And pleasure-bubbles on the stream, 
 
 Are sure to burst at last ; 
 And so, for once, Yl\ heed them not. 
 
 But graver things review, 
 And in an unpretending way, 
 
 Will send my thoughts to you. 
 
 To you, my friend, who knew me well 
 
 In boyhood's happy hours, 
 "When all the '' stern realities," 
 
 Were hid by summer flowers. 
 But flowers will fade and cares will come. 
 
 And brightest hopes will die— 
 And joyful laughs which onoe r^ng out, 
 
 Be muffled with a siffh. 
 
EPISTLE TO T. H. W. 109 
 
 For boyhood's dreams are idle things — 
 
 And vanish in a day, 
 And what we thought etherial then, 
 
 Is now but common clay. 
 For time will change — the flower of love 
 
 Be crushed and trampled down ; 
 Its balmy fragrance lost amid 
 
 The passions of the town. 
 
 The sympathy which once we felt, 
 
 For all our suffering brothers, 
 The nervous hand of Selfishness, 
 
 TJnpityingly smothers. 
 Men give no more to Misery, 
 
 A tear, or e'en a sigh. 
 But they would sell their brightest hope 
 
 If any one would buy. 
 
 The motto on the flag of Life, 
 Is, " Each one for himself ^^^ 
 
 — And Honesty and Charity, 
 Are laid upon the shelf. 
 
110 N EPISTLE TO T. H. W. 
 
 And so, you see, my valued friend, 
 Of Virtue there's a dearth. 
 
 Because men judge the worth of Man 
 By what the man is worth. 
 
 And Gold's a great Mechanic, friend, 
 
 And shapeth many things ; 
 He maketh Fame, — a^^e. Honor too, 
 
 And hateful wedding rings. 
 Yes, Gold's a great Mechanic, friend, 
 
 And Man is but the tool, 
 And every golden thing is loved. 
 
 Except tlie " Golden Bule.'^^ 
 
 E'en Poets, too,' have golden dreams, 
 
 Of maids with golden tresses. 
 Their faces wreathed in golden smiles, 
 
 Tlieir forms in golden dresses. 
 And heaven they call a golden land, 
 
 "Where clouds have golden rims. 
 And Angels on the golden strand, 
 
 Are singing golden hymns. 
 
EPISTLE TO T. H. W. Ill 
 
 And we have strange Idolaters, 
 
 Upon this Christian sod. 
 Who bow through life at Mammon's shrine, 
 
 And dying, call on God. 
 But He will see the counterfeit, 
 
 Though cast in Virtue's mould ; 
 And punish them for want of Faith, 
 
 In- anything, but Gold. 
 
 And I am weary of the strife, 
 
 And hope to leave it soon ; 
 For to my ears, the Harp of Life, 
 
 Seems sadly out of tune. 
 And though from friends I'm far apart, 
 
 My thoughts continual roam, 
 To that fair spot, I love the best. 
 
 My own dear Southern home. 
 
 And Fancy lifts the Future's veil. 
 And you before me stand ; 
 
 And once again I see your face. 
 And grasp your friendly hand. 
 
112 EPISTLE TO T. H. W. 
 
 But shadows dance upon the wall, 
 And mock my flickering light — 
 
 So praying God may guard you well, 
 I bid you, friend, Good night. 
 
LOVE AND WRONG. 
 
 A scoFFED-AT prayer — the flit of dress — 
 The glance of a frenzied eye — 
 
 A sullen splash, and the moon shone out, 
 And the stream went muttering by. 
 
 And never again will I walk by the moon 
 Through the oaks and chestnuts high, 
 
 For fear to see the flit of a dress, 
 And the glance of a frenzied eye. 
 
 And some may laugh and some may weep, 
 
 But as for me, I pray. 
 For I know that a tale of love and wrong 
 
 Will be told on the Judgment Day. 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 EooM for the Conqueror ! — ^room ! 
 Make way ! 
 He needs the total of the rounded earth 
 To stretch his limbs. 'Tis useless that ye pray. 
 He comes ! muffling mirth on pallid lips of 
 
 clay! 
 All must submit — his mandates all obey. 
 From frosty Age to things of yesterday. 
 E'en babes, within their mother's womb, 
 Are subject to his sway ! 
 Stern-hearted Manhood is his daily prey ; 
 And lily-browed, rose-cheeked maidens gay, 
 Eadiant in their bloom, 
 Kesign their lovers to become his bride ; 
 
 Eoom for the Conqueror ! — room ! 
 He comes ! 
 The Great Invisible ! with stealthy stride — 
 Wreathed in e-loom — 
 
THE CONQUEROR. 115 
 
 Pride 
 
 Unbends and grovels in the dust, 
 
 Before his frown ! 
 Kings leave their Inst, 
 And, pale as lilies on a moon-lit tomb. 
 
 Come down 
 From their gilt thrones, and lie supine. 
 Like tumbled statues, till the Day of Doom I 
 
 Love — Valor — Fame, 
 Shrink before his breath. 
 
 And mingle with the sod. 
 He comes ! — the Messenger Divine — 
 
 The calling voice of God ; 
 And in His name, 
 
 Eoom for the Conqueror ! — room ! 
 
 Eoom for the mighty Death ! 
 
O Lover ! O Poet ! sing me a song — 
 A song of my eyes and lips- 
 Till the rose turn pale with a secret dread 
 That my lips can boast of a deeper red, 
 And the sun that has lit the world so long, 
 Shall glance at my eyes and hide his head, 
 And own to a fair eclipse. 
 
 O Maiden ! your eyes are very bright, 
 
 And your lips are wondrous red ; 
 
 But never a song a poet can sing 
 
 Can make the sun hide his burning ring, 
 
 Or shine with a lesser light ; 
 
 And the rose will flush blood-red in the spring, 
 
 And glow when we are dead I 
 
WEDDED. 
 
 He placed a golden wedding ring 
 Upon her perjured hand — 
 
 To her it seemed a mark of love ; 
 To me, a burning brand. 
 
 And the priest spoke out and joined the two, 
 
 For better or for worse ; 
 But the blessing he said rang in my head 
 
 Like the muttering of a curse. 
 
 And now I walk the ways of life 
 With smiling lip and eye — 
 
 A dead hope buried in my heart, 
 A phantom hovering by ! 
 
118 WEDDED. 
 
 And he can laugh with his gold-bought 
 bride. 
 
 While I must weep and pray ; 
 For the self-same fire that warms his heart. 
 
 Is burning my life away ! 
 
THE GALLANT FIFTY-ONE, 
 
 WHO FORMED PART OF THE LOPEZ EXPEDITION AND WERE EXBCUTED BT 
 THE SPANISH AUTHORITIES IN HAVANA. 
 
 Freedom called tliem — up they rose, 
 Grasped their swords and showered blows 
 On the heads of Freedom's foes — 
 
 And Freedom's foes alone. 
 Fate decreed that they should die : 
 Pitying angels breathed a sigh ; 
 Freedom wildly wept on high, 
 
 For the gallant Fifty -one ! 
 
 There they stood in proud array ; 
 None for mercy there would pray ; 
 None would coward looks betray — 
 All stood forth with fearless eye, 
 
120 THE GALLANT FIFTY-ONE. 
 
 Showing by their dauntless air, 
 What their noble souls could dare ; 
 Showing to the tyrants there, 
 How Freedom's sons could die. 
 None there strove their fate to shun- 
 Gallant band of Fifty-one I 
 
 Then a voice the stillness broke : 
 'Twas their gallant leader spoke, 
 Scorning to receive Death's stroke, 
 
 Kneeling humbly on the sod ! 
 Gazing calmly on the dead, 
 Whose life-blood had just been shed, 
 Proudly then the words he said, 
 
 " Americans kneel but to God !" 
 
 Perished thus Kentucky's son — 
 
 Leader of the Fifty-one. 
 
 Eejoice ! sons of Thermopylae ! 
 
 Kindred spirits join with thee, 
 Who fell in fight for Liberty, 
 For Freedom's sacred name. 
 
THE GALLANT FIFTY-ONE. 121 
 
 Future days their deeds shall tell, 
 
 How the J nobly fought and fell. 
 
 Youthful bosoms proudly swell 
 At mention of their fame — 
 Rays of light from Freedom's sun. 
 Gallant band of Fifty-one ! 
 
 Honor's rays will ever shed 
 Glory 'round their hallowed bed. 
 Though their hearts are cold and dead. 
 
 Though their sands of life have run, 
 Still their names revered will be, 
 Among the noble and the free — 
 Glorious sons of Liberty ; 
 
 Gallant band of Fifty-one ! 
 
SONG : TO - 
 
 O ! THE Spring is here and decks the year 
 
 With roses red and white. 
 The birds they sing, and the bells they ring, 
 And all the day is bright ; 
 And the glowing stars. 
 In their golden cars, 
 Eide down the balmy night ! 
 
 But the rose may blow, and burn, and glow. 
 
 And crimson all the Spring ; 
 The bell may toll for a parting soul. 
 Or for a bridal ring ; 
 
 But neither roses white nor red, 
 Nor clanging bells, nor stars o'erhead. 
 Can tempt me still to woo or wed, 
 Or love so slight a thing ! 
 
WEARY. 
 
 My life is weary, and my days 
 ' Epitomes of weariness ; 
 Vacant of joy or liappiness. 
 
 And careless of tlie blame or praise 
 
 That men are wont to thrust on those 
 With whom they daily toil and fret : 
 
 I know my weakness, and regret 
 My stream of life so sluggish flows. 
 
 And yet, I mingle with my kind, 
 And trade and traffic with the rest, 
 
 And hide my yearnings in my breast 
 For larger pastures for the mind : 
 
124 WEAEY. 
 
 Wliere it may feed on higher things 
 Than ripen on a Ledger's page, 
 
 Till glowing with a noble rage 
 
 It feels the quivering of its wings— 
 
 And fain wonld try a flight above, 
 Through realms of ether and of light, 
 
 Untoucht by any shade of night, 
 With fuller joy and ampler love. 
 
 But ere the wish can breathe a breath, 
 To urge the thought into an act, 
 
 There rises up some hideous fact. 
 
 And stabs the noble thought to death. 
 
 And so some other life I crave. 
 Of fuller freedom for the mind. 
 
 Though, in the shifting, I may find 
 The deep contentment of the grave. 
 
^ CRAZED. 
 
 I HATE tlie stars with a deadly hate ! 
 
 Would they were bound in hell : 
 They stare at me wherever I go ; 
 
 And I know the reason well. 
 
 The hag and I met at the oak. 
 
 While the staring stars looked down. 
 
 And the tree seemed withering under a curse, 
 And shrinking under a frown. 
 
 " 'Tis here," she whispered. Give it me, 
 then : 
 There ! now 'tis hid in the earth ! 
 How long did it live ? " I strangled the babe 
 . , The moment of its birth." 
 
126 CRAZED. 
 
 Well done ! well done ! Here is the gold. 
 And the mother, how does she ? 
 
 " The babe was born as the clock struck one, 
 And the mother died at three." 
 * * * * * 
 
 None living know that the child was mine, 
 For I stabbed her as she spoke, 
 
 And threw the corse in the stagnant pool, 
 Down by the blasted oak. 
 
 The stars they saw me bury the babe 
 And stab the hag by the tree : 
 
 And this the reason — curse them all I 
 They stare forever at me ! 
 
WAITING. 
 
 I BEGGED one kiss, one parting kiss, 
 For love of thousands gone before ; 
 In vain, in vain — ^she shook her head, 
 And said, " the olden days are dead — 
 O ! why recall what now has fled 
 Perchance for ever more." 
 
 I strove to hide the scalding tears 
 That welled up from my writhing heart, 
 And thought and said — for men are vain, 
 And think what was should be again — 
 " My kisses once gave little pain 
 And now, alas ! we part." 
 
 " It cannot be," again she said, 
 
 " The days are dead, O I let them rest ; 
 
128 WAITING. 
 
 Tlie withered rose no more will bloom, 
 And when the sun sinks to his doom. 
 He gilds but cannot warm his tomb 
 Far in the dreamy west." 
 
 " The rose," I said, " will bloom again 
 And glow with crimson life, 
 And though the sun may hide his head 
 He shines again when night has fled — 
 Time even resurrects the dead — 
 Thou yet shalt be my wife." 
 
 " It cannot be, yet take this kiss — 
 Forget me — ^learn to hate." 
 She vanished, and I dried my tears — 
 Why should I fret my heart with fears ? 
 For love once born out-lives the spheres. 
 And so I patient wait. 
 
THE PICTURE. 
 
 The picture's fair, but fairer far, 
 I ween the lady's face ; 
 
 For art can but approximate 
 To nature's perfect grace. 
 
 The picture tells of snowy brow, 
 By auburn hair carest ; 
 
 The roses on her cheeks evince 
 The lily in her breast. 
 
 Her eyes — I cannot tell what hue, 
 The angels to them brought ; 
 
 But what has color still to do 
 With Feeling and with Tiiought \ 
 
130 THE PICTURE. 
 
 And art, fair nature's only child. 
 Here shadows forth such grace. 
 
 That though unknown, I can but choose 
 To love so fair a face. 
 
 As sunbeams lie upon the earth, 
 That through the heavens dart ; 
 
 So Beauty pierces through my eyes, 
 And rests upon my heart. 
 
AFTER DINNER. 
 
 Come, pass the bottle, let us deeply drink — - 
 In former days I held it passing wise, 
 To scoff at wine. Forsooth, my visions then 
 Were palpable. I saw them with my work-day 
 
 eyes. 
 But now tlie times are changed — I cannot see, 
 Aught on the earth, or in the skies, divine ; 
 My eyes are clouded and my heart is dull ; 
 Beauty only comes to me through wine. 
 
 Three bottles do away with time and space, 
 And give me glimpses of a heavenly range. 
 Where everything is real ; no shadows are there. 
 To mock our longings with perpetual change — 
 The roses' perfume, and the sunset's tints. 
 The glories of the earth, and sky, and sea, 
 The fleeting visions of our dreams are real, 
 Kadiant with life which is eternity. 
 
132 AFTER DINNEE. 
 
 And tender thoughts are there personified, 
 And hope is dead, for what we wish is ours. 
 Light flows from all ; the wandering rays, 
 Shoot down to earth and give the hue to flowers 
 And ITature there has left no room for Art ; 
 What we conceive is instant struck to life ; 
 Each is the framer of his own bright realm. 
 Founded on love and free from care or strife. 
 
 The rounded earth, w^hich once I deemed so fair, 
 Has lost its glories and its charms for me — • 
 Glowing with wine I pierce the misty veil, 
 That droops round Time and hides Eternity. 
 'Tis false that we must die before we see 
 The dazzling splendors of the world above : 
 The mists dissolve, the shadows flit away, 
 Before the radiance of a holy love. 
 
 And such a love I feel, when flushed with wine, 
 My grosser passions die or sink to rest, 
 Leaving my soul, untrammeled by the clay. 
 To seek its home, and for a time be blest. 
 
AFTER DINNER. 133 
 
 So give me wine, and let the bigots rave ; 
 I heed them not — my soaring spirit's free 
 To view the glories that they know not of — 
 "Wine makes a new apocalypse for me. 
 
MY BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 My friend, once more I sit me down, 
 
 To pen my thoughts to you, 
 For I have known you long and well, 
 
 And ever found you true ; 
 And may your truth be bound with love, 
 
 And both together thrive — 
 For me, a sorrow weighs me down — 
 
 To-day I'm twenty-five ! 
 
 I'm twenty-five ! Well, what of that ? 
 
 Methinks I hear you say. 
 You yet will revel many a night, 
 
 And laugh for many a day. 
 
MY BIRTH-DAY. 135 
 
 You talk as though you limped with age — 
 
 Eemember, man alive, 
 That many a glorious life began 
 
 Long after twenty-five 1 
 
 "Es true — 'tis true — ^I grant you that — 
 
 But I have lived so fast. 
 My youth grew old ere she matured, 
 
 And now she dies at last ; 
 And with her died the brightest hope 
 
 That lit my weary way ; 
 The morrow brings no joy for me — 
 
 I weep for yesterday. 
 
 'Tis scarce ten minutes since 1 left 
 
 The play-house and the scene 
 Where Falstaff stood with horned brows, 
 
 The " merry wives " between ; 
 And beauty smiled from every box, 
 
 And roared the groundling hive ; 
 I could not smile — ^my heart grew cold — 
 
 To-day I'm twenty-five I 
 
136 MY BIRTH-DAT. 
 
 I'm twenty-five ! What have I done 
 
 With all the teeming years ? 
 I've been a spendthrift with my joys 
 
 And nothing's left but tears ; 
 I've wasted love — the only coin 
 
 That God has ever given, 
 To pay the debts of nature with, 
 
 And pave the way to Heaven, 
 
 And Fame ! what have I done for Fame ? 
 
 Ah me ! the dreams of youth I 
 They weave a veil about our eyes, 
 
 And hide the face of Truth ; 
 I thought, in boyhood, for a name, 
 
 'Gainst Fate itself to strive — 
 I've made no effort, and, alas ! 
 
 To-day I'm twenty-five ! 
 
 And now, I only pray for peace — 
 That years will swiftly roll 
 
 Until the earth shall claim the clay 
 That hems my troubled soul ; 
 
MY BIRTH-DAY. 137 
 
 And then, perchance, the hope that's dead 
 
 Will rise again, alive ; 
 No more — no more— my eyes ar^ dim — 
 
 To-day I'm twenty-five ! 
 
THREE YOUNG MEN. 
 
 Three young men rode into the town. 
 Side by side as the snn went down ; 
 Shook hands and parted to seek their rest, 
 And each to live as to him seemed best. 
 
 The first caroused with cards and wine — 
 Decked his harlots with jewels fine. 
 And laughed as he tossed his glass on high, 
 Nor recked, God help him, he had to die. 
 
 The second did naught but moan and pray, 
 Groan through the night and through the 
 
 day- 
 He lived in fear, God help him, say I, 
 And only thought that he had to die. 
 
THREE YOUNG MEN. 139 
 
 The third enjoyed the goods he had : 
 Laughed with the gay and wept with the sad, 
 Nor ever forgot, God bless him, say I, 
 That he had to live and he had to die. 
 
WESTWARD, HOI 
 
 Dear Philomene, we two mitst part : 
 
 News has come to me from the West, 
 That calls me hence — nay do not start ! 
 
 Believe me, dear, 'tis for the best ; 
 We must have parted, spite of fate. 
 
 Before the summer died away ; 
 You've told me, love, that in the heart, 
 
 A year could shrink into a day — 
 
 Then, let the coming year shrink up 
 
 Into an hour in thy heart. 
 And shower the year's love on me now, 
 
 I should have known did we not part. 
 O ! cara mia^ think you not, 
 
 I sorrow at the step I take ? 
 I weep not, true, nor can I say 
 
 My heart indeed is like to break — ^ 
 
WESTWARD, HO ! 141 
 
 For hearts that have been nursed in woe. 
 
 As mine has been, get used to pain ; 
 You've seen the Arno, dry with drought, 
 
 Kise up and seek the sea again ; 
 And thus my heart though often dried. 
 
 Till earth seems only fit for graves, 
 Drinks in at last the grace of God, 
 
 And seeks anew for what it craves. 
 
 Follow me ever ? Ah ! my love, 
 
 You little know our Western clime, 
 Where love, unsanctioned by the priest. 
 
 Is reckoned as a deadly crime ; 
 Are we all virtuous ? Hardly so ; 
 
 But then, we hide with dexterous care 
 Our little slips, and claim respect 
 
 For what we seem, not what we are. 
 
 And she who sins must be content, 
 To live a lie to all the rest — 
 
 Play hypocrite and bend the knee. 
 With vice enshrined within the breast; 
 
142 WESTWARD, ho! 
 
 We show no grace to sinners there — 
 Once fallen, forever fixed your lot; 
 
 We worship dead Christ on the Cross— 
 The living Christ is all forgot. 
 
 And now, my love, the time has come — 
 
 What gold is mine is left with you ; 
 Nay, now I swear it shall be so ; 
 
 Dost think that thou alone art true ? 
 One kiss — ah me, and thou hast swooned 
 
 With thy poor, pallid lips to mine ; 
 'Tis better so — adieu — adieu — 
 
 And now, O Mammon, I am thine I 
 
LOVE. 
 
 O Love ! 
 Spirit Divine ! 
 Thou reignest in my heart to-night — 
 Above, 
 Like diamonds in a mine, 
 A million stars are bright ; 
 But none 
 Equals the splendor of thy chastening light. 
 
 One 
 Shines like Michael in the Immortal fight, 
 "When, foremost in the war, 
 And radiant with celestial might, 
 He clove 
 Aspiring Satan on the empyrean height. 
 But thou, O Love ! 
 Art brighter far 
 (Being a part of Deity,) 
 Than e'en this glowing, God-created star. 
 
144 LOVE, 
 
 Tliou reignest in my heart, 
 . Which, pulsed with thy creative purity, 
 Makes me a part 
 Of the Divinity — ' 
 Beneath thy sway 
 I claim affinity 
 With Almighty God, 
 And lay 
 My earthly grossness on its kindred sod. 
 I renounce the clay — 
 And, piercing with immortal ken 
 The gloomy clouds which hide the undying Day, 
 I see the light that blesses loving men — 
 
 A ray, 
 Swifter than the ark-flown dove, 
 Heralds my pathway to the Promised Land — 
 I cleave the holy realms above — 
 Full in the eternal light I stand, 
 God-flushed, through thee, O Love ! 
 
SONNET. 
 
 There is a beauty in thy soft blue eyes, 
 
 A sunny brightness in thy golden hair. 
 That turns to happy smiles my deep-drawn sighs, 
 And lights the darkness of my heart's despair. 
 Thy liquid laugh has drowned my heaviest care — 
 
 My cause of mourning's a forgotten thing — 
 And from my heart-depths joyous feelings flow, 
 
 Like gushing waters from a mountain spring, 
 When Summer's sun has thawed the Winter's 
 
 snow. 
 My thouglits grow clearer, and at last I know, 
 That Fate has pleasures still in store for me. 
 
 To glad my spirit in the coming years. 
 
 The light from thy dear eyes shines on my tears. 
 And Hope's fair rainbow owes its birth to thee. 
 
OUR PARTING. 
 
 We walked upon her father's lands, 
 'Mong fields of golden grain — 
 
 We met to say a sad farewell, 
 And pray to meet again. 
 
 " You go," she said, " to win a name, 
 As you have won my heart ; 
 Eemember Love attends on Fame, 
 And do a noble part'" 
 
 " But if I fail to gain the prize, 
 Despite of duty done ?" 
 She turned on me her flashing eyes, 
 As brilliant as the sun — 
 
OUR PARTma. 147 
 
 " My love is for the the man," she said, 
 " Whom Honor noblj hails^; 
 Not for the wretch who basely shrinks, 
 Nor him who meanly fails." 
 
 "The bad," I said, " are often raised, 
 
 The good are oft kept down — 
 
 And many bravely bear the cross. 
 
 Who never wear the crown." 
 
 " Then such a one is not for me," 
 She said, and turned aside — 
 
 " The feeling that you have for me 
 Is less of love than pride," 
 
 I answered as I gave her back 
 The ring she gave to me. 
 
 We parted there — ^Between us now, 
 Loud roars the stormy sea. 
 
ON A TRESS OF HAIR. 
 
 This little tress of Jiair I hold, 
 Has fluttered on a brow as white 
 
 As Genius guiding Phidias' hand, 
 Has ever brought to light. 
 
 And when this night, a ye^r ago, 
 She gave it me with kisses sweet, 
 
 New hopes came peeping from my heart, 
 Like daisies at my feet. 
 
 She bade me keep it till the love 
 I had for her should all depart-— 
 
 Though tears are gathering in my eyes, 
 I press it to my heart. 
 
ON A TRESS OF HAIR. 149 
 
 I swore that I would hold it dear, 
 As mine own honor or my life ; 
 
 Till vows should ripen into deeds, 
 And she become my wife. 
 
 And so we parted — I with hope, 
 And she with tremors and with sighs ; 
 
 But now, alas ! the hope is dead. 
 And tears are in my eyes. 
 
 And Memory summons up the Past- 
 Eecalls the kisses from her lips : 
 
 The sun of love that lit my life. 
 Has passed into eclipse. 
 
 And though sweet Spring has flushed the flowers. 
 
 And made the roses ruby-red, 
 Yet she cannot revive a hope 
 
 That in my heart is dead. 
 
150 ON A TRESS OF HAIR. 
 
 And nothing now remains to me 
 Of her who was so false and fair, 
 
 Except the tender thoughts that cling 
 Around this tress of hair. 
 
 And so I blush not at the tears. 
 
 That from my burning eyelids start, 
 
 When on this anniversary night, 
 I press it to my heart. 
 
DAMNED. 
 
 You tell me love is sweet. 
 
 But you lie ; 
 There is a sting, 
 Hid beneath his downy wing, 
 
 And his feet 
 Trample down the human heart, 
 Till the burning blood-drops start, 
 
 And you die. 
 
 I will tell you — she was fair, 
 
 Very fair ; 
 Her eyes were soft and meek. 
 Yet prodigal of light ; 
 
 And her hair, 
 Hung in wavy masses low, 
 On a brow as pure as snow ; 
 
152 DAMNED. 
 
 And her cheek, 
 
 Soft and white. 
 Had been tinged with rosy light, 
 
 By the spirit of a sun-set. 
 That had died for love of night. 
 I worshipped — I was weak — 
 I lost my self-control — 
 
 I clasped her jewelled hand — 
 And — but you cannot understand 
 How the waves of feeling roll. 
 Till they overwhelm the whole ; 
 How our passions are the daggers, 
 Stabbing reckless at the soul. 
 
 She is dead — so am I — 
 I cannot find her here — 
 
 There's no light, or air, or sky, 
 Only fear. 
 
 Time has ceased. — Tis Forever. 
 We will never meet again — 
 All my dark, despairing pain, 
 
 Will leave me never, never. 
 
DAMNED. 153 
 
 And she, who cursed me with deceit, 
 Even while I kissed her feet, 
 
 Is — can you tell me where ? 
 She is in some other sphere, 
 And it may be she can hear, 
 Thrilling wildly on her ear, 
 My despair. 
 
 She will shudder in the dark — 
 
 She will crave but for a spark. 
 To light her suffering soul on the darksome track 
 tome : 
 
 But she cannot find me here — 
 
 She must keep within her sphere, 
 And shudder on forever in her dark eternity. 
 
TO MELANIE. 
 
 WBITTEN IN AN ALBUX. 
 
 Perchance upon some summer day. 
 When lively friends are far away, 
 You'll wander by a shady brook. 
 And stop within some verdant nook, 
 And, gazing on the sweet wild flowers, 
 (Those gems that deck this world of ours,) 
 You'll say, " I doubt there's aught so bright 
 As blooming flowers to the sight.." 
 In fancy now I see you glance 
 Upon the glassy stream's expanse. 
 And all at once is put to rout. 
 That modest, unassuming doubt ; 
 You blush, to see reflected there, 
 A human flower twice as fair. 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAND. 
 
 There is a lady in the land, 
 
 She is very sweet and fair, 
 And she hath a lily hand. 
 Which I should love to press ; 
 But her air 
 Is so stately, and she mocks at my distress 
 
 With a manner debonair / 
 As though she had a queenly right 
 To dash my eyes with royal light. 
 And stare to death my happiness. 
 
 Yet there are times when she will change. 
 And gaze into mine eyes 
 With an earnest, sad surprise, 
 
 Whilst I hold my quivering breath ; 
 
156 THE LADY OF THE LAND. 
 
 Then 'twill seem as though she gazed 
 Down my fancy's wildest range. 
 
 Till, angrily amazed. 
 At the love that blossoms there, 
 Her eyes hurl back a scornful glance, 
 That stabs me like the fiery lance 
 
 Of an angel bright and fair ; 
 And I know a sudden death 
 Of every feeling, save despair. 
 
 But what cares she, so cold and proud, 
 
 Whether I live or die ? 
 
 I am nought to her 
 But a single one in a mighty crowd : 
 
 A neglected worshipper — 
 Who hopeless bows before a shrine 
 Till his eyes gi'ow dim, 
 As though with wine : 
 Till his swelling heart is heard to beat, 
 Not with pleasure soft and sweet, 
 But with a burning passion-heat 
 
 That withers it to the core : 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAND. 157 
 
 Yet though she should jeeringly mock at 
 
 my fate. 
 And shadow my name with her blackest 
 hate, 
 I should love her for evermore. 
 
A TRUE LOVER. 
 
 I LED her to a rustic seat 
 
 Beneath a spreading linden tree, 
 
 And, half reclining at her feet, 
 I told my love. Without deceit, 
 
 She said that she loved me. 
 
 Perhaj)s it was an hour we staid — 
 It may have been a longer time. 
 
 But when our mutual vows were njade, 
 We left the linden's friendly shade. 
 
 And in our hearts we heq^rd a chime, 
 
 Of marriage bells so sweet and clear. 
 It seemed as though all else had died . 
 
 Upon the portal of the ear ; 
 
 For outward sounds we did not hear 
 
 As we walked side by side. 
 
A TRUE LOVEK. 159 
 
 The apple trees were all in bloom, 
 Tlie lanes were white with blossoms fair ; 
 
 She stopped and pointed to a tomb. 
 Beneath a yew tree's ghostly gloom : 
 
 Tlie only dark thing there. 
 
 I am, she said, a child of shame. 
 
 My mother sleeps beneath that tree : 
 
 I never knew my Father's name — 
 
 Her cheeks were burning as with flame, 
 
 When she said this to me. 
 
 I strove to hide my sad surprise. 
 
 And took her trembling hand in mine — 
 
 And then was born within her eyes 
 A look of love that purifies : 
 
 Half human — half divine. 
 
 I told her it concerned me not 
 
 Who gave so fair a being life ; 
 I had a heart that soon forgot 
 
 Such trivial things — we left the spot — 
 And she is now my wife. 
 
LOST AND WON. 
 
 Why do the violets pale ? 
 
 Why droop the lilies fair. 
 
 The lilies so chaste and fair ? 
 
 A woman has scoffed at Purity, 
 
 And her breath is on the air ; 
 
 A guilty deed has been done on earth, 
 
 And left its shadow there. 
 
 A babe was born on a summer's morn, 
 
 When all the world was gay, 
 
 When the world was laughing and gay — 
 But the babe was dead ere the evening fled. 
 
 And a soul had passed away ; 
 A soul had fluttered its wings on earth. 
 
 And then had passed away. 
 
LOST AND WON. 161 
 
 And the fiends in Hell rang a spirit's knell, 
 For they knew their work was done, 
 That their horrid work was done ; 
 
 For the mother, wild, had slain her child, 
 And a soul was lost and won ; 
 
 A guilty soul was forever lost, 
 And a gentle soul was won. 
 
« The fire that on my bosom preys, 
 
 Is lone as some volcanic isle — 
 No torch is kindled at its blaze, 
 
 A funeral pile."— Syrow. 
 
 Within my troubled breast there burns a flame, 
 Blasting content forever with its blaze ; 
 
 'Tis the ambition to possess a name, 
 
 And this " the lire that on my bosom preys." 
 
 My heart which once was light with little joys. 
 Has sadly been enstranged from them the 
 while ; 
 
 And since have gone those soul-delighting toys, 
 'Tis drear, and " lone as some volcanic isle." 
 
 Like those sepulchrous flames from bogs that rise. 
 Cheerless, and warming nothing with their 
 rays, 
 
TBE FIRE THAT ON MY BO^OM PREYS. 163 
 
 Thus, thus my heart, although it light mine eyes, 
 Is cold — " no torch is kindled at its blaze." 
 
 Upon the altar where this fire doth burn, 
 I laid my best affections with a smile ; 
 
 They were consumed, and did to ashes turn. 
 And what is left ? Alas ! " a funeral pile." 
 
TO MARY. 
 
 In forming thy beauty, the angels, I ween, 
 
 Must surely have taken a part ; 
 For heavenly charms in thy face can be seen, 
 
 Reflecting the joys of thy heart. 
 
 And one must have stolen the last gilded band, 
 From a cloud, which the sun had left there ; 
 
 And gaily returning, the dyes in her hand. 
 Left the luminous hue in thy hair ; 
 
 And one on thy cheek. Love's signet did place. 
 And gave thee a dimple for dower ; 
 
 Another that smile that illumines thy face, 
 As a sunbeam illumines a flower ; 
 
TO MARY. 165 
 
 Another one gave those miraculous eyes. 
 
 So suited for smiling or weeping ; 
 She was flitting one day through the scintillant 
 skies. 
 
 And stole them from Psyche, while sleeping. 
 
 Another resolved, as thy form was so fair, 
 
 Thy head to adorn with her arts : 
 Wit's quiver she captured by means of a snare, 
 
 And embellished thy mind with his darts. 
 
 And now, I am sure, if the Graces could die, 
 And the search for three others begun. 
 
 The seekers, at once, will declare in the sky, 
 Thou combinest the three into one. 
 
FLORENCE DE BEVERLIE. 
 
 Florence de Beverlie, we are one — 
 You know it well, and you dare not lie — 
 For when we met we were born again, 
 We were the twins of destiny. 
 The light that dawned in your dark eyes 
 Lit up this hopeful heart of mine, 
 And back reflected from my soul, 
 Revealed the inmost thoughts of thine. 
 
 O you may stare, and you may frown, 
 And curl your lips with high disdain — 
 But all the hopes you kill in me. 
 Are quickened in your breast again ; 
 And back returning with- the light. 
 That flashes from your scornful eyes. 
 They ope the portals of my heart, 
 And tell me of your tears and sighs. 
 
FLORENCE DE BEVEKLIE. 167 
 
 Though you have stores of gems and gold, 
 And though your lands be bright with grain, 
 Yet can your riches buy you peace, 
 Or turn to joy your spirit's pain ? 
 No wealth is mine — what once I had, 
 Was squandered by my guardian's hand — 
 But I have that I would not give. 
 For all the riches in the land^ — 
 
 A soul that envy has not touched — 
 A brain that toils for fame, not gold- 
 A form that no excess has bent, 
 No godless passions have controlled. 
 My bronzed hands are free of rings, 
 Yet they can do a noble part ; 
 The riches of the poor are mine — 
 AJiealthful frame, an honest heart. 
 
 Believe me, Florence, Fate is strong- 
 We must be joined for good or ill — 
 The pleasures or the pains we feel. 
 Are not the creatures of our will — ' 
 
168 FLORENCE DE BEVERLIE. 
 
 They come as sunshine comes, or rain- 
 'Tis no avail that we resist — 
 They form a realm in which we live, 
 And lose the outer world in mist. 
 
 Florence de Beverlie, frown no more, 
 But give your lips the smiling curve — 
 Let loving light illumine your eyes, 
 For scornful looks no more will serve. 
 Together we will go our ways. 
 Unheeding if the world should frown — 
 When Love sits in the scales of life, 
 He weighs the whole creation down. 
 
-^ 
 
ivil91837 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 

 
 
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