/Vtrr*- -<&*- 
 
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POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY NOEL McDONALD 
 
 " To me, the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 N E W - Y O R K 
 1844. 
 
COPY-BIGHT SECURED 
 
 I'UDNET, HOOKEB & RUSSELL, Printers. 
 
A volume like the present, whose circulation it was supposed would be a 
 limited one, seems scarcely to require an introduction : but, having met 
 with a success which has far exceeded the writer's expectations, she deems 
 it proper to state, that many of the pieces have previously appeared in the 
 periodicals of the day, and are now for the first time collected. They have 
 not been arranged in the order of their dates, but in accordance with their 
 subjects those at the close of the volume being the productions of earlier 
 years. 
 
 M191971 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGK. 
 
 The Emigrant's Sabbath Day, 9 
 
 The Heavens, 17 
 
 The Loved and Lost 21 
 
 The Marriage Vow 25 
 
 Nature's Teachings 28 
 
 The Dying Boy, 32 
 
 An Old Man's Reminiscence 37 
 
 The Spirit's Whisper, 41 
 
 The Promised Land, 45 
 
 The Child at Prayer, 48 
 
 To a City Pigeon, 51 
 
 Thought, 55 
 
 Tasso's Crown, 58 
 
 The Return of Summer 62 
 
 Keepsakes, 67 
 
 The Sculptor's Dream of Home, 75 
 
 To Estelle, 80 
 
 Remembrance, , 85 
 
V) CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Lament of Age for Boyhood, 88 
 
 An Autumn Thought, 92 
 
 The Dying Wife to Her Husband, 95 
 
 The Land of Joy, 100 
 
 The Summer Rain, 103 
 
 Elegiac in Memory of Mrs. S. W. C e, 106 
 
 Night, 109 
 
 The Diamond of the Desert, 110 
 
 Our Rest, 113 
 
 Ministering Spirits. 116 
 
 The Absent Communicant, 117 
 
 Stanzas, suggested by the death of a young daughter of the 
 
 Rev. Dr. Schroeder, 121 
 
 Ordination, 124 
 
 Christmas, 126 
 
 Happiness, 129 
 
 A Lament, inscribed to the Memory of L. A. C 130 
 
 Prosperity, 133 
 
 Adversity, 134 
 
 To the Portrait of a Child, 135 
 
 Ten Years Ago, 137 
 
 In Memory of Henry S. Craig, 142 
 
 To a Friend at Parting, 146 
 
 Winter Twilight, 148 
 
 Past and Present, 149 
 
 To a Picture of Pierre De Coruillan, Grand Master of the Knights 
 
 Hospitallers, in a Painter's Studio, 152 
 
 June, 155 
 
 Sonnet to a Child, 158 
 
 The Old Album 159 
 
 March,.. ..164 
 
CONTENTS. VII 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Frozen Stream, 167 
 
 A Whisper from Fairy Land, 168 
 
 Early Days, 174 
 
 Thanks for a Boquet, 178 
 
 The First Snow, 180 
 
 To , 181 
 
 To the Moon, 184 
 
 The Maiden to her Mirror, 189 
 
 Constancy, 193 
 
 To Annie, a Valentine, 195 
 
 Winter, 197 
 
 The Love Letter, suggested by a Picture, 200 
 
 A Sigh for the Past, 203 
 
 Serenade,.. ...207 
 
THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 
 
 THE morning breaketh, and the sacred day, 
 JEHOVAH'S Sabbath, calls each heart to pray ; 
 A deeper hush the universe pervades ; 
 A softer whisp'ring fills the forest shades ; 
 The streams go murmuring with a gentler flow, 
 And sweeter breezes fan the vales below ; 
 Birds trill their notes, to fancy's ear less gay, 
 In blest accordance with the sacred day ; 
 
 2 
 
10 THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 
 
 While flowers send up their incense thro' the dews 
 
 To Him who robed them in their varied hues, 
 
 Who filled each bell with fragrance, gave each bud 
 
 A richer dye, or some abundant good, 
 
 And strewed them, gemlike, o'er the smiling land, 
 
 Marks of his love, and wonders of his hand. 
 
 No\# on the breeze, from verdant valleys swell 
 
 The distant echoes of the Sabbath bell ; 
 
 To the rapt ear, as they were voiced from heaven, 
 
 The mellow tones harmoniously are given ; 
 
 To humble fanes the villagers repair, 
 
 Bow down the heart, and bend the knee in prayer, 
 
 And hear from lips revered the message high 
 
 Of Him who governs all immensity. 
 
 But turn awhile to other scenes than these 
 Lo ! 'neath the shelter of umbrageous trees, 
 Within some forest of the western wilds, 
 In sweet seclusion, a rude cabin smiles. 
 A little band, from regions far away, 
 Here find a home and happy children play 
 On the green sward, as careless and as free, 
 As summer birds that build on every tree. 
 
THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 11 
 
 Now breaks the day of rest his labour done, 
 Gladly the exile greets the coming sun. 
 Hush'd every sound, the heavy axe is still, 
 Nor waken' d echo haunts the wooded hill. 
 'Tis silent all the blue o'er-arching sky 
 Scarce answers to the wild birds' melody ; 
 Within the forest glades the dappled deer 
 Roams undisturbed, nor dreams of danger near ; 
 All is so peaceful, beautiful, and still, 
 He quaffs the stream without a thought of ill, 
 Forgets the hunter's rifle flashing nigh, 
 Nor turns, with quivering ear, to start and fly. 
 
 The sun rides on, beside their cabin door, 
 Within the tree's deep shadow arching o'er 
 Its branching arms, to shelter from the heat 
 The lowly roof and the green mossy seat 
 The emigrants repose ; to them the day 
 Passes serenely, ling'ringly away. 
 Mem'ry retraces happier hours gone by, 
 Dwells on past joys, with retrospective eye, 
 Which thro' the lengthen' d vista brightly glow, 
 With rainbow light, the future cannot know. 
 
12 THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 
 
 Vainly, alas ! they strain the anxious ear 
 
 The Sabbath bell's sweet harmony to hear 
 
 No sacred temple, 'neath their glorious sky, 
 
 Points its tall spire, to lift the thoughts on high ; 
 
 No voice proclaims the Gospel message blest, 
 
 Nor Christian worship marks the day of rest. 
 
 The mother, with a babe upon her knee, 
 
 Lulls its complaint with some low melody, 
 
 Musing, with eye half-dimm'd by gathering tears, 
 
 On the lov'd scenes of earlier, happier years, 
 
 In fancy seeks the viUage church again, 
 
 Joins in the prayer, and lifts the hallow'd strain, 
 
 Sings the sweet hymns she learned in childhood's day, 
 
 With friends beloved, in places far away. 
 
 The father, while his children cluster round, 
 Opens GOD'S book, with reverence profound, 
 And reads some sacred story of the past, 
 Of him upon the Nile's dark waters cast, 
 A helpless babe, till she of high degree, 
 Proud Pharaoh's daughter, chanc'd the ark to see ; 
 Of him, the shepherd boy, whose single blow 
 Brought great Goliah's boasted prowess low ; 
 
THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 13 
 
 Of youthful Samuel, early call'd to be 
 
 The chosen servant of the Deity ; 
 
 Or where angelic hosts at night proclaim 
 
 The infant Saviour born in Bethlehem ; 
 
 And as they listen still with fixed eye, 
 
 Traces the rugged path to Calvary, 
 
 Binds on the sinless brow the thorny crown, 
 
 Marks the dark stream of blood come flowing down, 
 
 Hears the last cry, sees how the rocks are riven, 
 
 Till parting clouds convey Him back to heaven, 
 
 Then shuts the holy volume to exclaim, 
 
 " My little flock, for you the Saviour came." 
 
 Eve brings its shadows, all the western sky 
 Is hung with sunset's gorgeous drapery 
 Of gold and crimson where the wearied sun 
 Spreads his rich couch, the day's long journey done. 
 The air is freshen'd, and the silver dew 
 Falls silently upon the violet's tender blue, 
 Softening its beauty and the fair wild rose 
 Droops its young head, like childhood to repose. 
 The birds have sought their shelter ; each soft nest 
 Hides a wing'd rover, as on downy breast, 
 
14 THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 
 
 And head close crouched beneath its feathery dress, 
 The wind-rock' d cradle soothes its weariness. 
 The twilight deepens in the welkin blue, 
 A few pale stars are glimmering faintly through 
 Night's sentinels. But hark ! what voices raise, 
 Within the forest depths, the hymn of praise ? 
 'Tis childhood's melody, in sweet accord 
 Breaks forth the simple lay of hallo w'd word, 
 And when the trembling notes almost expire, 
 A mother's tongue assists the timorous choir. 
 
 They cease and borne upon the summer air, 
 
 Come the firm tones of pure and earnest prayer. 
 
 In solitary wilds that household band 
 
 Kneel to the GOD of nations he whose hand 
 
 Hath guided safely thro' the parted day 
 
 Their pilgrim footsteps, in the narrow way. 
 
 They pray for home and friends, the dear ones bending, 
 
 Perchance for them when twilight shades are blending, 
 
 Before the mercy seat but oh ! the prayer 
 
 More fervently ascends, when pleading there 
 
 For the pure light of heavenly truth, to bless 
 
 Their lonely home within the wilderness. 
 
THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 1.5 
 
 They ask, that yet, amid the forests dim, 
 
 May echo holy psalm, and pealing hymn; 
 
 That once again, ere life's short day is gone, 
 
 Their ears may list the Gospel's cheering tone, 
 
 Proclaim'd by one commission'd from on high, 
 
 To speak the message of the Deity. 
 
 And when the day is past, and night's dark pall 
 
 Is spread o'er earth, while stars a festival 
 
 Are keeping in their high and holy home, 
 
 And soft on human lids sweet slumbers come, 
 
 The exiles rest, to greet in pleasant dreams 
 
 Their native vales, green woods, and shining streams, 
 
 Forgetful of the weary leagues that spread 
 
 Between them and the land they long to tread. 
 
 Go forth, ye heralds may the Gospel's voice 
 Soon bid the lonely wilderness rejoice. 
 Tho' friends and home the emigrant has left, 
 Still let him feel as not of all bereft ; 
 Bear to his ear, with all their thrilling power, 
 The strains he learned to love in childhood's hour, 
 The prayers which taught his youthful heart to rise 
 On faith's unfailing pinion to the skies ; 
 
16 THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY. 
 
 Spread the lov'd feast, and to the sacred board 
 Invite each trembling servant of the LORD ; 
 Seal with baptismal water infant brows ; 
 Join plighted hands, and sanction nuptial vows ; 
 Beside the bed of death speak words of peace, 
 And soothe the spirit waiting its release ; 
 And when the last dark conflict shall be o'er, 
 When sin and sorrow pain the soul no more, 
 Then lay the form in dust with solemn prayer, 
 And consecrate the ashes slumb'ring there. 
 
17 
 
 THE HEAVENS. 
 
 'The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
 firmament showeth his handy-work." 
 
 Is it not glorious the arch of blue 
 Spread out above us by our Maker's hand ? 
 The mighty dome a heaven-built temple knew, 
 When springing forth at God's all- wise command ; 
 How it doth stretch away o'er sea and land, 
 Unpillared since the hour His mandate clear 
 Fixed its unmeasured limit, thus to stand 
 Till the last trump shall burst upon the ear, 
 And nations wake from death, their final doom to hear ! 
 
 3 
 
18 THEHEAVENS. 
 
 'Tis morn, the gates of light are opened wide 
 See from the orient comes the god of day ! 
 He mounts his dazzling chariot to ride, 
 Like a proud monarch, his appointed way : 
 Onward he journeys, till his noontide ray 
 Pierces each leafy screen, each wooded dell, 
 Then westward rolling, pass the heats away ; 
 And when chimes clearly out the vesper bell, 
 'Mid clouds of gorgeous hue, he bids the world farewell. 
 
 Night curtains earth again, each weary child 
 Of frail mortality it calls to rest ; 
 And now the moon's pale crescent undefiled, 
 Hangs like a silver boat in the cool west ; 
 Or, older waxing, pours her radiance blest, 
 Where city streets lie silent 'neath her beams, 
 Robing all nature in her spotless vest, 
 And mirrored in a thousand mighty streams, 
 And lighting ocean's foam, and on the white sail gleams. 
 
 Nor cometh she alone the stars are there, 
 Those flaming jewels set by God on high ; 
 
THEHEAVENS. 19 
 
 Transient but beautiful, the meteor's glare 
 Lights for a moment the uplifted eye ; 
 Orion and the Pleiades are nigh, 
 The Polar Star unwearied, and with them 
 The day's bright herald, as the night lays by 
 The regal splendors of her diadem, 
 And lost in greater glory, fades each radiant gem. 
 
 But more, look up once more, and trembling see 
 The clouds unfurl their banners in the sky : 
 Loud rolls the thunder's dread artillery, 
 And swift and fierce the winged lightnings fly ; 
 Veil, mortal, veil thy terror-stricken eye, 
 Jehovah speaks to listening man below ; 
 And now the blast is spent, the storm gone by, 
 The sun shines forth triumphantly, and lo ! 
 The darkest cloud is spanned by the bright promise- 
 bow ! 
 
 The heavens declare thy glory in his might 
 The sun tells out thy praise from day to day 
 The stars, the myriad stars, at noon of night, 
 Sing as they keep their fixed, unerring way ; 
 
20 THEHEAVENS. 
 
 Silent they seem to man but oh ! each ray 
 Is vocal with creation's choral hymn 
 Far rolling orbs take up the rapturous lay, 
 And distant planets, vast, obscure and dim, 
 Swell the loud anthem, clear as white-robed seraphim, 
 
 The heavens declare thy glory who can gaze, 
 Almighty Father ! on that azure sea, 
 With all its countless barks of light, yet raise 
 Nor voice nor grateful tribute unto thee ? 
 Thine are the dazzling worlds of light we see, 
 And each their Maker's majesty proclaim, 
 Burn in their orbits by thy sure decree, 
 And write thy power in characters of flame, 
 Meet page, Eternal God ! to bear thy glorious name. 
 
THE LOVED AND LOST. 
 
 "The shadows of death o'er my path have been sweeping, 
 
 There are those who have loved me, debarred from the day ; 
 The green turf is bright where in peace they are sleeping, 
 
 And on wings of remembrance my soul is away. 
 'Tis shut to the glow of this present existence, 
 
 It hears from the past a funereal strain, 
 And eagerly turns to the high-seeming distance, 
 Where the last blooms of earth will be garnered again." 
 
 WILLIS G. CLARK, 
 
 Come to my heart again, ye long departed, 
 
 Come, fill the vacant places at our hearth; 
 Vainly for you the bitter tears have started, 
 
 Since ye forsook for heaven the haunts of earth. 
 Vainly, ye lost, we yearn for your caressing, 
 
 And ask the tender tones which once we heard ; 
 On the still air there comes no whispered blessing, 
 
 Mute is each lip, and lost each loving word. 
 
22 THE LOVED AND LOST. 
 
 Come once again, there is a shadow o'er us, 
 
 Earth seems a weary land since ye are gone, 
 Dim is the lengthened pathway spread before us, 
 
 And distant far the goal which ye have won : 
 Vainly the spring-time, in its bloom returning, 
 
 Wakes the young buds, and clothes the earth anew ; 
 Unto our hearts, with quenchless love still burning, 
 
 What, what avails its beauty, 'reft of you ! 
 
 Thou, the dear friend of girlhood, memory traces 
 
 Full many an hour of gladness linked with thee, 
 And in thy children's fair and gentle faces, 
 
 Some loved resemblance of thyself may see. 
 Thou, the kind guardian of my childhood's hours, 
 
 My guide in youth, thine absence I deplore ; 
 See the dark cloud that on her pathway lowers, 
 
 Come to thy child, and be her shield once more. 
 
 And thou, the best and dearest, words can never 
 Speak the keen anguish of my stricken breast ; 
 
 'Twas but our summer day how soon to sever 
 The sacred bond which made our life so blest. 
 
THE LOVED AND LOST. 23 
 
 The past, the past, 'tis robed in hues of brightness, 
 Its records tell of years how full of bliss, 
 
 When my young spirit in its joy and lightness, 
 Dreamed not of such a fearful woe as this. 
 
 Dost thou still love me in that far-off heaven V 
 
 Or art thou near me on thy spirit wings ? 
 Beloved, beloved, I cannot deem it riven, 
 
 That holy tie to which my heart yet clings : 
 Hast thou not seen the tears, which, like a river, 
 
 Swelled to the flood-gates of my breaking heart ? 
 O say not thou art lost to me for ever 
 
 We have been linked too fondly, thus to part. 
 
 Come, come to bless me, with thine eyes kind beaming, 
 
 Let thy loved voice upon my fond ears thrill ; 
 Come, with the light of heaven around thee streaming, 
 
 Come to the heart that weeps thee, loves thee still. 
 Ay ! in its inmost core with sorrow breaking, 
 
 Still does that love with quenchless ardor burn ; 
 While a sad voice within its depths awaking, 
 
 Hath but one echo, " O return, return." 
 
24 THELOVEDANDLOST. 
 
 Hark ! on mine ear seraphic notes are ringing ! 
 
 Your voices, loved ones, mingle in the lay ; 
 Ye join the hymns which angel choirs are singing, 
 
 But, 'mid your songs, methinks I hear you say, 
 "There is no darkness here, the clouds are riven, 
 
 The veil is lifted from our earthly eyes ; 
 Would' st thou recall us from the light of heaven, 
 
 And all the ceaseless joys of Paradise ?" 
 
 No ! no ! let mortal vision greet ye never ; 
 
 Silence thy yearning, O repining heart ! 
 Bliss, bliss unending, ye have gained for ever, 
 
 No more in earthly sorrow to have part ; 
 Joy for the free and blessed ! all unheeding 
 
 The world, its fleeting pleasures or its care ; 
 Onward my soul, be then thine eager speeding, 
 
 To those pure realms, and join thy lost ones there. 
 
25 
 
 THE MARRIAGE VOW. 
 
 " For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to 
 cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance ; and thereto I plight thee 
 
 my Troth." 
 
 MARRIAGE SERVICE OF THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH. 
 
 Speak it not lightly 'tis a holy thing, 
 
 A bond enduring through long distant years, 
 
 When joy o'er thine abode is hovering, 
 
 Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears, 
 
 Recorded by an angel's pen on high, 
 
 And must be questioned in Eternity. 
 
 4 
 
26 THE MARRIAGE VOW. 
 
 I 
 
 Speak it not lightly though the young and gay 
 Are thronging round thee now with tones of mirth, 
 
 Let not the holy promise of to-day 
 
 Fade like the clouds that with the morn have birth, 
 
 But ever bright and sacred may it be, 
 
 Stored in the treasure-cell of memory. 
 
 Life may not prove all sunshine there will come 
 Dark hours for all : O will ye, when the night 
 
 Of sorrow gathers thickly round your home, 
 Love as ye did, in time when calm and bright 
 
 Seemed the sure path ye trod, untouched by care, 
 
 And deemed the future, like the present, fair ? 
 
 Eyes that now beam with health may yet grow dim, 
 And cheeks of rose forget their early glow ; 
 
 Languor and pain assail each active limb, 
 
 And lay perchance some worshipped beauty low; 
 
 Then will ye gaze upon the altered brow, 
 
 And love as fondly, faithfully, as now ? 
 
THE MARRIAGE VOW. 27 
 
 Should fortune frown on your defenceless head, 
 
 Should storms o'ertake your barque on life's dark sea; 
 
 Fierce tempests rend the sail so gayly spread, 
 When Hope her syren strain sang joyously 
 
 Will ye look up, though clouds your sky o'ercast, 
 
 And say, " together we will bide the blast ? " 
 
 Age with its silvery locks comes stealing on, 
 
 And brings the tottering step, the furrowed cheek, 
 
 The eye from whence each lustrous gleam hath gone, 
 And the pale lip, with accents low and weak 
 
 Will ye then think upon your life's gay prime, 
 
 And smiling, bid Love triumph over Time ? 
 
 Speak it not lightly O beware, beware ! 
 
 'Tis no vain promise, no unmeaning word 
 Lo, men and angels list the faith ye swear, 
 
 And by the High and Holy One 'tis heard : 
 O then kneel humbly at his altar now, 
 And pray for grace to keep your marriage vow. 
 
28 
 
 NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 
 
 I. 
 Go forth with Nature she hath many voices, 
 
 Speaking deep lessons to the human heart, 
 Where the blue streamlet in its course rejoices, 
 
 And where amid the forest wild birds dart, 
 
 Bearing in some sweet chorus each a part ; 
 Wind, wave and blossom, tree and fragrant sod, 
 
 The mossy hillock in its robe of green, 
 The tiny bells that in the breezes nod, 
 
 Lifting their dewy heads, broad leaves between 
 
NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 21 
 
 Each has a tone, a lesson ; man hath need 
 Oft to go forth and ponder all their lore : 
 
 In Nature's open volume he may read 
 
 Truths of the mightiest import, and in awe 
 
 Bow down an humble heart, an unseen power adore, 
 
 n. 
 
 Go to the ocean, when its giant waves 
 
 Are lashed to fury in the tempest's hour, 
 And while each tortured billow madly raves, 
 
 Learn thou the LORD JEHOVAH'S might and power ; 
 
 Then turn thee to the little modest flower, 
 That blooms unnoticed 'mid the gay and fair, 
 
 Or gives its bright cheek to the summer shower, 
 And read His watchful love and goodness there. 
 The lilies of the field are still His care, 
 
 And He who fixed the rolling worlds on high, 
 And spread above the broad blue arch of heaven, 
 And clothes it with the gorgeous hues of even, 
 
 Looks on the meanest worm with guardian eye, 
 
 And marks the sparrow's fall, and heeds the raven's 
 cry. 
 
30 
 
 III. 
 
 Go trace the waters of the sparkling rill, 
 
 From out their rocky birthplace wildly gushing, 
 Trickling in infant beauty from the hill, 
 
 Or in the sun with diamond lustre flushing : 
 Now gliding onward for awhile serene, 
 Now, twisted roots and vexing rocks between, 
 Then dashing on, with fiercer, wilder force, 
 And swifter race along their destined course, 
 
 To mingle with the ocean waves at last ; 
 And such is Life its Childhood's fount so fair, 
 
 Its Youth's gay morn so joyous and so free, 
 Its Manhood's hour of fearful strife and care 
 Its Age of rapid flight so quickly past 
 'Till lost amid thy depths, Eternity. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Go in the spring-time when the smiling earth 
 Puts on her robes of beauty for thine eye, 
 
 And lo, she speaks of that celestial birth 
 
 The Spirit knows in brighter worlds on high : 
 
NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 31 
 
 And when the Autumn winds all mournful sigh 
 Through leafless branches, then go forth and store 
 Thy mind with thoughts of death, and read once more 
 
 The lesson of thine own mortality. 
 Ay, wander forth with Nature, every glade, 
 Each leafy aisle amid the forest's shade 
 The lightning's flash the thunder's awful roll 
 
 The rainbow's arch the dazzling orb of day 
 
 The silent moon upon her pathless way 
 All have mysterious tones to pierce the human soul. 
 
32 
 
 THE DYING BOY. 
 
 'Twas early summer, pleasant June had come, 
 
 Flinging her coronals on every bough, 
 
 And from the soft southwest, with perfume rife, 
 
 The light-winged zephyrs wooed the coy young flowers. 
 
 The brooks like playful children babbled on, 
 
 Loosed from their icy bondage, and the birds, 
 
 Nature's unwearied choir, tuned their clear notes, 
 
 And in the wild-wood shades held revelry. 
 
 Earth wore her robes of light and loveliness ; 
 
 There were no clouds athwart the deep blue heaven, 
 
THEDYINQBOY. 33 
 
 Naught that might tell of darkness or decay : 
 But in a cottage home, where the green vines 
 Clambered about the casement, and the sun 
 Peeped stealthily amid the clustering boughs, 
 And the red rose gave her sweet odors forth 
 There Sorrow sat, and claimed her heritage 
 In human hearts. 
 
 Upon his lowly couch 
 Lay like a broken lily, a fair child 
 Just numbering then his tenth bright summer. 
 His clasped hands were white as braided snow-wreaths , 
 And his silken hair, once waving lightly 
 In the summer's breath, now wet with death dews, 
 Fell all heavily on his pure forehead. 
 There was no rose-teint on his wasted cheek, 
 It seemed like Parian marble and his eye, 
 The lid half drawn, shone faintly, as a star 
 'Mid parting clouds. 
 
 Beside him leaned, heart-sick 
 
 With hope deferred, and worn with ceaseless vigils, 
 She who had borne him. There was much that told 
 
 5 
 
34 THEDYINGBOY. 
 
 Of patient suffering in her pallid face, 
 
 For she had struggled earnestly, till faith 
 
 Could spread its eagle pinions and soar up, 
 
 From the cold bed where she must lay her boy, 
 
 To his bright spirit-home. Oh, only they 
 
 Who with a mother's speechless agony, 
 
 Have watched the life-blood ebb, and the young cheek 
 
 Grow pale ; counted each feeble pulse, and seen 
 
 The full round limbs shrink in undue proportion 
 
 Only they, can tell a mother's sorrow, 
 
 And may own, how hard to bow submissively, 
 
 And say, " Thy will be done." 
 
 Hush ! he is waking, 
 
 The dim eyes re-open, and the white lips, 
 Long sealed as though in death, find utterance. 
 She had thought he slept, but when he turned 
 Those soft dark orbs to hers, she saw that tears 
 Were on their silken fringe, and o'er his face 
 Passed a deep shade of gloom. " Mother," he said, 
 And the faint tones were tremulous with grief, 
 " Mother, I know how soon the time will come 
 When I must die ; and as I lay but now, 
 
THEDYINGBOY. 35 
 
 And thought of the sweet spring and summer days 
 Which, each revolving year, make the green earth 
 So beautiful, and how they all would pass 
 Over my grave, and I should see them not 
 I thought how sad it were to be forgotten. 
 Will it be so, dear mother ? I would care 
 But little if all others should forget ; 
 But I was thinking, that you too, perhaps, 
 When you grew older, and your tears were dried, 
 And I had slumbered long, you might forget 
 The timid boy who wandered by your side 
 In the sweet garden paths at close of day, . 
 Or gathered wild flowers in the shady nooks 
 Of the old pasture meadow ; he who knelt 
 Each morn and eve, to lisp his childish prayers 
 Low at your knee, and grasped your gentle hand, 
 When the clear Sabbath bells rang joyously, 
 To seek our heavenly Father's hallowed house ; 
 You might forget the hour when he was wont 
 To come with bounding step and gleesome call, 
 From his wood rambles to your open arms. 
 Will it be so, dear mother ? Must I die, 
 And you forget your child ?" 
 
30 THEDYINGBOY. 
 
 She pressed her lips 
 
 On his cold forehead, and her burning tears 
 Fell fast with his : but when the first keen pang 
 Was past, she nerved herself to comfort him, 
 And told him, in her heart were images, 
 And gentle names of loved and lost, which ne'er 
 Could fade from her remembrance, and that he 
 Would ever live among the brightest there, 
 'Till death should bear her to his arms in heaven. 
 
37 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE. 
 
 The writer's grandfather, an old Revolutionary officer, now on the verge of ninety-two, 
 paid a visit several years since to a house in the city of Albany, in which, more than half 
 a century before, he had been married. The touching narration of his feelings, as he stood 
 in that time-worn apartment, suggested the following lines. 
 
 An old man stood in a serious mood, within an ancient 
 
 room, 
 And o'er his features gathered fast, a shade of deepest 
 
 gloom, 
 While to his eye, bedimmed with age, came up the 
 
 gushing tears, 
 As memory from her hidden caves, recalled long buried 
 
 years. 
 
38 AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE. 
 
 What were his thoughts that hour, which thus awakened 
 
 many a sigh ; 
 And brought the shadow o'er his brow, the moisture 
 
 to his eye ? 
 What, in that old familiar place, had power to touch 
 
 his heart ? 
 To call that cloud of sorrow up, and bid that tear-drop 
 
 start? 
 
 The past ! the past ! how rolled the tide of Time's 
 * 
 
 swift river back, 
 
 While the bright rays of Youth and Love shed lustre 
 
 on its track : 
 Full fifty summer suns had shone, since on that silent 
 
 spot, 
 Had passed a scene, while life was left, could never be 
 
 forgot. 
 
 There had the holiest tie been formed, the marriage 
 
 vow been given, 
 And she who spoke it then with him, was now a saint 
 
 in heaven : 
 But long, long intervening years, seemed like an idle 
 
 dream, 
 As o'er his soul with glowing light, came that bright 
 
 vision-gleam. 
 
AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE. 39 
 
 He stood before the holy man, with her, his youthful 
 
 bride, 
 And spoke again the plighting word, that bound him to 
 
 her side ; 
 Again he clasped the small fair hand that hour had 
 
 made his own, 
 The vision faded and he stood all desolate alone. 
 
 His youthful brow is silvered o'er with fourscore winter 
 
 snows ; 
 The faltering step, the furrowed cheek, tell of life's 
 
 certain close : 
 The plighted bride, the faithful wife, beloved so long, 
 
 so true, 
 Now sleeps beneath the burial sod, where spring the 
 
 wild flowers blue. 
 
 There is no music in his home no light around his 
 
 hearth, 
 The childish forms that frolicked there, have passed 
 
 with all their mirth ; 
 Years have rolled by, the changing years, and now he 
 
 stands alone, 
 Musing upon the past the past hopes faded, loved 
 
 ones gone. 
 
40 AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE. 
 
 Yet, aged pilgrim, dry the tear, suppress the rising 
 
 sigh, 
 
 Look upward, onward, to the scenes of immortality ; 
 Fleet be the moments, if they bear in their resistless 
 
 flight, 
 The spirit on to that pure world of blessedness and 
 
 light. 
 
 There are thy loved ones gathered safe, in beauty side 
 
 by side, 
 And there the partner of thy life, thy manhood's gentle 
 
 bride ; 
 Fair as she stood in that bright hour, this day recalled 
 
 to mind, 
 
 A little season gone before, a better rest to find ; 
 And thou, when death shall close thine eye, in heaven 
 
 that rest will share, 
 And find the tie once broken here, indissoluble there. 
 
41 
 
 THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. 
 
 She is an angel now ! 
 
 Weep not, dear friend, that ere the rust of time 
 Had gathered o'er thy bright and priceless gem, 
 A hand Divine hath riven the casket fair, 
 And placed thy radiant jewel in the skies, 
 To shine for ever in the Saviour's crown. 
 Do thy thoughts cling to earth ? O, bid them rise 
 On faith's strong wing, and in the spirit-land 
 Behold thy lost one. See ! her brow is lit 
 With loveliness immortal. There, no tears 
 
 6 
 
42 THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. 
 
 Shall dim her beauty, and no weary sighs 
 Fill her young bosom with their heaviness ; 
 For in that world of bliss, pain cannot enter 
 Sorrow is unknown and O, blest bliss of all ! 
 They never part in heaven. 
 
 Dost thou catch 
 
 The gentle whisper of that angel voice ? 
 Methinks the air is stirred with viewless plumes 
 That quiver round us ; while unto mine ear 
 There comes a strain, like music heard in dreams, 
 Or, soft and low, as an jEolian lyre, 
 And this the burden of its melody : 
 
 Sweet mother, do not weep ! 
 The joy of sainted spirits now is mine ; 
 I roam the fields of light, with those who keep 
 Bright watch, where heaven's own golden portals shine, 
 
 I am the babe no more, 
 Who gave its feeble wailing to thine ear ; 
 Free from the cumbering clay, I mount, I soar, 
 Upward and onward, through a boundless sphere ! 
 
THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. 43 
 
 O, could 'st thou know how fair, 
 How full of blessedness this better land, 
 Thou would' st rejoice, thy child in safety there, 
 Had place for ever 'mid the angel band. 
 
 I may not tell thee all 
 
 Its light and loveliness ; its hymns of joy 
 
 Upon a mortal ear may never fall, 
 
 And tongues immortal can alone employ : 
 
 But O, 'tis sweet to be 
 A sinless dweller 'mid its radiant bowers ; 
 To join its seraph-songs of harmony 
 To breathe the incense of its fadeless flowers 
 
 To dwell no more with pain 
 To shed no tears to feel no panting breath 
 Sweet mother, do not grieve for me again, 
 I am so blest ; I bless the hand of death. 
 
 Turn with unwavering trust 
 From the green earth-bed, where my body lies ; 
 Thou did'st but lay its covering in the dust, 
 Thy child yet lives, will live, beyond the skies. 
 
44 THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER. 
 
 There we shall meet again : 
 O yes ! believe it, meet to part no more ! 
 I'll welcome thee with heaven's angelic train, 
 And lead thee to the Saviour we adore. 
 
45 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 
 
 "They thought scorn of that pleasant land, and gave no credence unto his word. 
 
 Scorn of that pleasant land ! 
 That place of crystal founts, and palmy shade : 
 Where the vine tendrils in the soft air played, 
 
 By wandering zephyrs fanned 
 Where cooling waters, 'mid the verdant hills, 
 
 Gushed in a thousand rills. 
 
 That land of sunny skies 
 Of flowers and fruits luxuriant ; where the bee 
 On tireless wing to every balmy tree 
 
 Seeking its nectar, hies. 
 That land of corn and wine, that place of rest 
 
 The dews of heaven had blessed ! 
 
46 THE PROMISED LAND. 
 
 Turned they once more to thee, 
 Oppressing Egypt ? asked they yet again 
 The tyrant's heavy yoke, the galling chain 
 
 Of bitter slavery ? 
 The life of bondsmen, and their nameless graves, 
 
 Meet sepulture for slaves ! 
 
 Had they forgotten now 
 The heavenly manna from the hand of God ? 
 The Rock, from whence the Prophet's smiting rod 
 
 Bade the clear waters flow ? 
 The cloud-wrapt height of Sinai, when His word 
 
 That trembling Prophet heard ? 
 
 And did they doubt the hand 
 That led them safely through the parted sea ? 
 And could they ask a surer guide than He 
 
 Unto the Promised Land ? 
 He, who the fiery pillar reared to bless 
 
 In the dark wilderness ? 
 
 Read thou thyself, O man ! 
 In their eventful story far away 
 Lies the fair region of eternal day ; 
 
THE PROMISED LAND. 47 
 
 Yet through thy little span, 
 
 Thou would'st resign a world with glory rife, 
 
 For the short dream of life. 
 
 Too often thou dost turn, 
 
 Like them of old, from Canaan's heavenly shore, 
 And seek the grovelling joy s of earth once more, 
 
 And where her altars burn 
 Bow down in homage, yielding unto dust 
 
 Thy heart's unholy trust. 
 
 Thou, too, dost turn away 
 From the bright goal before thee, and pursue 
 Some fleeting shadow, that must cheat thy view ; 
 
 Some idol, which decay 
 Must stamp with ruin, till the light 
 
 Of heaven eludes thy sight. 
 
48 
 
 i 
 THE CHILD AT PRAYER, 
 
 'Twas summer eve, the rosy light 
 
 Had faded from the sky, 
 And stars came twinkling pure and bright, 
 
 Through the blue arch on high : 
 The western breezes softly stole 
 
 To kiss the sleeping flower, 
 And kindly, o'er the wearied earth, 
 
 Came evening's peaceful hour. 
 
THE CHILD AT PRAYER. 49 
 
 There sat, within a quiet room, 
 
 A mother, young and fair, 
 And close beside her knee, there knelt 
 
 A cherub boy in prayer : 
 For every living thing he loves, 
 
 That prayer ascends to heaven, 
 While for himself, he humbly asks 
 
 Each sin may be forgiven. 
 
 And oft, in after years, when care 
 
 Shall bow his spirit down, 
 And the world, the cold, unfeeling world, 
 
 Shall meet him with a frown ; 
 Or when, allured from virtue's path, 
 
 He treads a dangerous way, 
 O, he will turn to this blest hour, 
 
 When first he knelt to pray. 
 
 And the kind hand, which then was laid 
 
 Upon his silken hair, 
 And the soft voice, which taught him first 
 
 His simple words of prayer 
 
 7 
 
50 THE CHILD AT PRAYER, 
 
 Will come again, with thrilling power, 
 
 To still his pulses wild, 
 And lure him back in that dark hour, 
 
 Once more in heart, a child. 
 
 'Tis o'er the last "good night," is said- 
 
 The last fond kiss is given 
 But rises not that childish prayer 
 
 To Him who dwells in heaven ? 
 Will not His ear give heed as soon 
 
 Unto an infant's cry, 
 As when a seraph bows the knee 
 
 Before His throne on high ? 
 
 Yes, He who marks the sparrow's fall 
 
 Who feeds the raven's young 
 Will listen to the simple words 
 
 Lisped by an infant tongue ; 
 And thou, blest mother, teach thy child 
 
 Early to kneel and pray, 
 'Twill prove a beacon of the past, 
 
 To light his future way. 
 
51 
 
 TO A CITY PIGEON. 
 
 And thou hast wings to bear thee far away, 
 
 Over bright fields, and to the tree-tops high ; 
 And yet thou art content with us to stay, 
 
 'Mid heat and turmoil 'neath our sultry sky. 
 Bird, hast thou no desire to wander free ? 
 
 No wish to taste the fresh, pure summer air ? 
 Where greenwood songsters fill the swaying tree, 
 
 Would' st thou not speed thee, all their mirth to share ? 
 Stooping by some clear fount to lave thy breast, 
 And smooth thy plumage soft, ere flitting to thy nest ? 
 
52 TOACITYPIGEON. 
 
 What have the haunts of men to tempt thy stay ? 
 
 Here are no forests waving in the breeze ! 
 No leafy bowers, where fragrant zephyrs play : 
 
 Within our city bounds we know not these ; 
 Here, there is toil, and care, and bustling strife 
 
 How can'st thou linger with us, bird, so long ? 
 Why in thy noisome air wear out thy life ? 
 
 Fly to the woodland build its bowers among ; 
 Make thee a home amid the fresh green leaves 
 Quit for at least awhile, these dull and heated eaves, 
 
 Had I the pinions folded by thy side, 
 
 Thy glossy feathers, and the power to spring 
 Upon the air, and stretch them far and wide, 
 
 How quickly would I mount on swiftest wing : 
 Resting at noonday in some cool retreat, 
 
 The abode of birds, and where the wild flowers lie 
 Bent only by the hare's adventurous feet, 
 
 And only gazed on by the fawn's soft eye : 
 Where streams o'er pebbly beds are murmuring low, 
 Thither I'd bear me on, their music sweet to know. 
 
TOA CITY PIGEON. 53 
 
 I'd fly where'er my fancy led the way, 
 
 Far from the noise and discord reigning here ; 
 Light on green lawns, where leafy shadows play, 
 
 And drink from bubbling fountains bright and clear : 
 Seek out the scented violet's mossy bed, 
 
 Hid from the sunbeam by a clustering vine ; 
 I'd know each bank with daisies overspread, 
 
 And at the cottage porch, where wild brier's twine, 
 There would I pause, to catch the household hymn, 
 Ringing in infant tones, out in the twilight dim. 
 
 And can'st thou linger V In its pride, the rose 
 
 Hangs on the garden wall, to lure the bee ; 
 Clad in her summer beauty, Nature glows, 
 
 And must she smile to bless all else but thee ? 
 Thou answerest, there are ties to keep thee here 
 
 A parent's love swells in thy gentle breast ; 
 Thou can'st not leave the fluttering brood so dear, 
 
 And hie thee out to find a greener nest ; 
 Have they not wings like thee to follow on ? 
 Would they not seek the land, where thou before had'st 
 gone ? 
 
54 TOACITYPIGEON. 
 
 Thou wilt not leave them gentle bird, in thee 
 
 I read a lesson of eternal things ; 
 So does the spirit, longing to be free, 
 
 Too oft forget its birth, and fold its wings : 
 We, too, have ties that bind us here below, 
 
 And dread to break them all and soar away ; 
 There is a brighter, better land, we know, 
 
 Yet fondly cling to one which must decay ; 
 We know beyond us, lies a world of bliss, 
 And yet, with all its ill, we fix our hearts in this ! 
 
55 
 
 THOUGHT, 
 
 i. 
 Boundless, illimitable, who can trace 
 
 Thy varied journeyings through the realms of air ? 
 Thou mock'st each barrier of time or space, 
 
 And fliest on swiftest pinions every where ; 
 By thee we track the past, long ages gone, 
 
 Lost in the dark abyss of buried time, 
 Or strive to pierce the future, dim, unknown, 
 
 Or, soaring upward, seek th' eternal clime : 
 We revel 'mid the stars, in the high dome 
 
 Of God's all glorious temple richly spread, 
 Make 'mid their shining hosts the spirit's home, 
 
 Among their living lights where seraphs tread ; 
 Hold our free course unchecked, till lost, amazed, 
 We sink again to earth, with our bright pathway dazed. 
 
56 THOUGHT. 
 
 II. 
 
 But thou hast earthly rovings, boundless Thought ! 
 
 O'er the wide world thine eager wing is flying, 
 
 To vine-clad realms, where fragrant winds are sighing ; 
 To fairy-haunted grove, or storied grot, 
 Thither thou lead'st us : hoary mountains piled 
 
 High in the clouds, broad lakes, and rivers fair, 
 And green savannas stretching vast and wild 
 
 We know them all, by thee borne swiftly there. 
 The lava-buried cities, ancient Rome, 
 
 Judea's queen, so honored, so debased, 
 Where He, the Man of Grief, vouchsafed to come, 
 
 And through her streets His path of sorrow traced 
 To these we speed us, what can stay thy flight 
 Ethereal essence ! swift as flash of light ? 
 
 ill. 
 And yet a power more dear is thine, O Thought ! 
 
 By thee, long-parted friends together meet, 
 Though seas divide them, by thy magic brought 
 
 In close companionship again ! how sweet 
 
THOUGHT. 57 
 
 To speak kind words of sympathy, once more 
 
 To linger spell-bound on some long-loved face, 
 
 Again each faded lineament retrace, 
 Till faithful memory all their charms restore ! 
 The lonely mother at her cottage hearth, 
 
 Shudders to hear the storm go rushing past ; 
 And as in fitful and demoniac mirth, 
 
 Shrieks forth in trumpet-tones the maddened blast 
 She sees in thought, while roll the blackened clouds, 
 Her sea-boy's form, rocked in the spray-wreathed 
 shrouds. 
 
58 
 
 TASSO'S CROWN. 
 
 "It was resolved, that the greatest living poet of Italy should be crowned with the laurel 
 in the imperial city, as Petrarch had been more than two hundred and fifty years before- 
 The decree to that effect was passed by the Pope and the Senate ; but ere the day of triumph 
 came, Tasso was seized with an illness, which lie instantly felt would be mortal. At his own 
 request, he was immediately conveyed to the neighbouring Monastery of St. Onofario, where, 
 surrounded by the consolations of that faith which had been through life his constant sup- 
 port, he patiently awaited what he firmly believed would be the issue of his malady. He 
 expired in the arms of Cardinal Cinthio Aldobrandini. The Cardinal had brought him the 
 Pope's benediction ; on receiving which, he exclaimed, ' This is the crown with which I hope 
 to be crowned, not as a poet in the capital, but with the glory of the blessed in heaven.'" 
 
 Within a dim monastic pile 
 
 The gifted poet lies 
 Haste ! bring the bright triumphal crown, 
 
 The victor's glorious prize : 
 Not here should be his resting place, 
 
 Fame beckons him away, 
 With laurel wreath his brow to grace 
 
 Upon no distant day. 
 
TASSOS CROWN. 59 
 
 No distant day ! Alas ! for him 
 
 Vainly the leaves are twined 
 The pulse beats low, the eye grows dim. 
 
 Where reason sat enshrined ; 
 Disease is preying on his frame, 
 
 And death has paled his brow 
 To the dread despot's mighty power 
 
 He bends a victim now. 
 
 They bear a blessing to his couch, 
 
 It wakes that death-like trance, 
 And o'er the dying poet's soul 
 
 Celestial visions glance : 
 Hope lights the pathway to the tomb, 
 
 Faith speaks of sin forgiven 
 " Be this," he cried, " my better crown, 
 
 Joy with the blessed in heaven. 
 
 " Not earthly honors shall I win, 
 
 Nor laurel wreath shall wear, 
 But bending with the cherubim, 
 
 In adoration there 
 
60 TASSO'S CROWN. 
 
 Before JEHOVAH'S throne with them 
 Shall gain a crown of light, 
 
 A fair, eternal diadem, 
 
 Nor time, nor change can blight. 
 
 " Away, away, each thought of earth, 
 
 Be mine to seek the sky 
 Come, blessed hour, and bring the birth 
 
 Of immortality ; 
 Not here, not here, my tuneless lyre, 
 
 Thy notes again shall swell ; 
 A golden harp, with strings of fire, 
 
 Emmanuel's praise shall tell. 
 
 " What now, the bard's undying fame ? 
 
 What, but an idle breath ! 
 I yield the glory of a name 
 
 To thy dominion, death. 
 Not with thy lofty sons, O Rome, 
 
 The garland shall I wear 
 A crown of pure, unfading light 
 
 In heaven, awaits me there. 
 
TASSO'S CROWN. 61 
 
 " Then earth, farewell; the fevered dreams 
 
 Which wild ambition gave, 
 Have faded like the sunset gleams 
 
 That gild the distant wave ; 
 But fairer visions fill my breast, 
 
 And cheer my closing eye 
 For angels, pointing to my rest, 
 
 Smile on me as I die." 
 
 So passed the gifted one, whose lay 
 
 Hallowed Italia' s clime 
 Serenely, joyously away, 
 
 Just in his manhood's prime : 
 Exchanged the poet's wreath of fame, 
 
 The bard's entrancing lyre, 
 For brighter crowns, and holier lays, 
 
 With heaven's angelic choir. 
 
THE RETURN OF SUMMER, 
 
 1 1 turned from all chc brought, to all she could not brinjj." 
 
 CHILDE HAUOLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet summer ! glorious summer ! 
 
 Thy footsteps once again 
 Are on the green delighted earth, 
 
 And o'er the sounding main ; 
 Thy light is on the wilderness, 
 
 Thy glory in the sky, 
 And thy richly varied melodies 
 
 Are ever floating by ; 
 
THE RETURN OF SUMMER. 63 
 
 And out upon the ocean 
 
 Go the ships all bounding free, 
 With thy gales to bear them onward, 
 
 O'er the bright rejoicing sea. 
 
 ii. 
 There are voices, many voices, 
 
 That ever wake with thee 
 The laughter of the mountain streams, 
 
 The music of the bee ; 
 The humming of bright insect wings 
 
 Amid the leafy trees, 
 And the softly breathing whispers 
 
 Of the perfume-laden breeze 
 And the merry, merry measures 
 
 Of the feathered songsters gay, 
 In the meadows and the woodlands, 
 
 Far away far away ! 
 
 in. 
 Thou art roving on the mountains, 
 
 And thy voice is in the dells, 
 By the sheen of silvery fountains, 
 
 Where the water-spirit dwells ; 
 
64 THE RETURN OF SUMMER. 
 
 Where the wild flowers sweet are blushing, 
 
 In many a quiet nook, 
 And the starry moss lies gleaming 
 
 By the softly-singing brook ; 
 And gemmed with diamond dew-drops, 
 
 The garden blossoms stand, 
 In their robes of grace and beauty 
 
 O'er all the pleasant land. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou art roving on the mountains ! 
 
 But the pent-up city child, 
 Amid his toil and weariness, 
 
 With thee hath seldom smiled ; 
 He dreameth of thy greenwood shades, 
 
 Where, 'neath'its roof of leaves 
 The summer bird, more blest than he, 
 
 Its airy fabric weaves ; 
 He dreameth of thy solitudes, 
 
 And haply sighs to be 
 But for one hour, one blessed hour, 
 
 On the breezy hills with thee. 
 
THE RETURN OF SUMMER. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sweet summer ! joyous summer ! 
 
 Unto every living thing 
 Thou art bearing light and gladness 
 
 On thy richly freighted wing ; 
 Thy gifts of bloom are round me, 
 
 And fair thine azure skies, 
 Yet to me thou bring' st, Oh ! Summer fair ! 
 
 But tender memories : 
 Loved voices, whose sweet music 
 
 A spell around me cast; 
 Sweet Summer ! glorious Summer ! 
 
 Bring me back the past, the past. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I am musing on the brightness 
 
 That has faded from my view, 
 And hopes which soared like bright-winged birds, 
 
 In skies for ever blue ; 
 For clouds have dimmed my vision, 
 
 And sadness filled mine eye ; 
 9 
 
66 THE RETURN OF SUMMER. 
 
 And vainly, Oh ! how vainly, 
 Do thy golden moments fly ; 
 
 And in thy sunny gladness 
 I can bear no willing part ; 
 
 Oh ! give me back, thou joyous time, 
 The summer of the heart ! 
 
67 
 
 KEEPSAKES. 
 
 "I have been looking over a box of keepsakes. Each little trinket had a voice which 
 spoke to me of the Past." 
 
 PKIVATE LHTTER. 
 
 A ring a simple band of pearl 
 
 And yet the image fair 
 Of a true-hearted, merry girl, 
 
 With step as free as air, 
 And eye all bright as evening's star, 
 
 These faded pearls recall 
 The earliest playmate of my love, 
 
 And fairest of them all : 
 Around a pure, unclouded brow, 
 Her silken tresses gaily flow, 
 
68 KEEPSAKES. 
 
 And her sweet tones of youthful glee 
 Come ringing as they did to me 
 Long years ago, ere Care or Time 
 Had stolen the freshness of her prime. 
 
 We stood together 'neath the stars, 
 
 It was a night of June 
 And listened to the far-off voice 
 
 Of a waterfall in tune ; 
 And we spoke of old, familiar things 
 
 That happened long before 
 Of dear companions scattered wide, 
 
 Whom we should meet no more ; 
 And she said, lest I should e'er forget 
 
 The friend of Life's young day 
 The holly walk where first we met, 
 
 So shy, and then so gay 
 The pleasant hours by field and stream 
 
 That we had passed together, 
 When the world seemed just like fairy land, 
 
 And Life like Summer weather 
 This ring should on my finger be 
 A talisman of memory, 
 
KEKPSAKES. 69 
 
 i 
 
 To waken thoughts of love and her 
 When she might be a wanderer 
 Far, far from all we looked on then ; 
 
 Away from those long prized so dearly, 
 Whom she might never see again, 
 
 Though she would love them, Oh sincerely! 
 Then from her hand the gift she drew, 
 
 And placed the glittering pledge on mine 
 Hush ! 'twas but Fancy's whispered tone : 
 
 Sweet friend, it is not thine ! 
 Thou art beyond the surging sea, 
 
 A thousand leagues away, 
 But this band of pearl hath called thee back 
 
 Unto my heart to-day, 
 The same fair thing of light and glee 
 That lives within my memory. 
 
 A braid of hair : the hand which gave 
 
 This golden tress, had nought beside ; 
 
 Hers were no jewels of the wave, 
 
 No radiant gems, no high-born pride ; 
 
 Unskilled in art, unknown to fame, 
 
 Of lowly birth and humble name 
 
70 KEEPSAKES. 
 
 A simple cottage maid ; 
 Yet well I loved the gentle child ! 
 Like some fair floweret of the wild 
 Untrained, yet fragrant still, she smiled, 
 
 In native grace arrayed. 
 
 I long had known sweet Amy Lee, 
 As blithe as wild-bird, or as bee, 
 As meek as are the lilies white, 
 Which hide their petals from the light 
 
 Beneath their leaves of green ; 
 As gentle as the young gazelle 
 So fragile, yet beloved so well 
 She seemed a thing that might not dwell 
 
 Where storms had ever been. 
 Twelve summers only had she known 
 
 How swift their course was run ! 
 So gaily, gladly had they flown, 
 
 We deemed them scarce begun. 
 Then came the blight upon our flower : 
 
 Consumption's fatal breath 
 Had doomed our rose-bud of an hour 
 
 To bend its head in death : 
 
KEEPSAKES. 71 
 
 And well she knew her fate must be 
 
 To bid farewell to stream and tree, 
 
 To mossy bank, to sylvan dell, 
 
 To woodpaths that she loved so well, 
 
 To bird and bud, to earth and sky, 
 
 Then turn from all their charms and die. 
 
 'Twas sad to part; yet well she knew 
 
 Of that bright world beyond her view 
 
 Of those unfading flowers, that blow 
 
 Where pure, untroubled waters flow : 
 
 And she had gazed, with Faith's keen eye, 
 
 Till doubt was changed to ecstacy, 
 
 And longed to seek those regions fair, 
 
 And find eternal spring-time there. 
 
 One morn I sought her cottage-door, 
 The old green woodbine, clambering o'er, 
 Checkered the sunshine on the floor, 
 
 With sweets perfumed the air : 
 I sat beside the dying child, 
 And watched how tranquilly she smiled 
 
 How calm her features were : 
 Then from her head she bade me take, 
 
72 KEEPSAKES. 
 
 And keep it for poor Amy's sake, 
 
 This tress of golden hair : 
 That when long years had rolled o'er me, 
 And she was sleeping peacefully, 
 Its shining threads perhaps might tell 
 Of one who loved me passing well. 
 She died upon that summer morn 
 
 I marked her fleeting breath, 
 And caught her last faint sigh, and saw 
 
 Her features fixed in death ! 
 And I have kept the braid of hair, 
 In memory of one so fair : 
 Its glossy folds still speak to me 
 The gentle name of Amy Lee ! 
 
 A broken chain its severed links 
 
 Are where ? in some strange land they He ; 
 But he who holds them hath, methinks, 
 
 A day-dream when they meet his eye : 
 He turns in thought, half musing then, 
 
 Unto one bright, autumnal even, 
 When moonbeams lit our native glen, 
 
 And stars were thickly set in heaven, 
 
KEEPSAKES. 73 
 
 And we together stood beneath 
 
 The old home porch, and, half in jest, 
 He played the lover, kneeling low, 
 
 And a deep passion then confessed : 
 And when I smiled, and said I knew 
 
 His ardent love would yield to time, 
 He broke this golden chain in two, 
 
 And asked, when in a foreign clime 
 'Twas his to linger, sad and lone, 
 That I would sometimes gaze upon 
 Its glittering circles, and believe 
 His was no heart that could deceive. 
 We parted, as warm friends would part, 
 
 And he went o'er the tossing main ; 
 Another won \h&\, faithful heart, 
 
 And he forgot the broken chain : 
 And now he may not think of me, 
 Save its bright remnant he should see. 
 
 A leaf a seal a faded flower 
 
 Each have a different tale, 
 And each recall some pleasant hour, 
 
 By streamlet, wood or vale, 
 10 
 
74 KEEPSAKES. 
 
 This bracelet clasped a lovely arm ; 
 This heart of topaz hath a charm 
 
 Of other days for me ; 
 Some fair companion's merry glance, 
 My partner in the mazy dance, 
 
 In this old broach I see ; 
 And this small volume's sacred lore 
 Recalls a counsellor of yore, 
 Whose faithful warnings, heard no more, 
 
 Yet live in memory. 
 
 Oh, ye have voices for mine ear, 
 
 Ye silent things ! none else can hear ; 
 
 Each little offering hath for me 
 
 A sweet, a separate history : 
 
 A tale of Love, or Joy, or Grief 
 
 An hour of gladness, bright and brief; 
 
 And those long dead, or far away, 
 
 Have lived and smiled for me to-day ! 
 
75 
 
 THE SCULPTOR'S DREAM OP HOME. 
 
 He stood alone, amid the magic forms 
 
 His chisel's touch had wakened. There were shapes 
 
 Of rare and most exceeding loveliness ; 
 
 And the cold marble seemed instinct with life, 
 
 So vividly had his high art called back 
 
 The buried past, and peopled that dim spot 
 
 With the bright creatures of poetic thought. 
 
 He stood alone, a stranger. His loved home, 
 
 Far o'er the sea, in the fair western world, 
 
 Lay in its untold beauty. Mountain heights 
 
76 THE SCULPTOR'S DREAM OP HOME. 
 
 Reared their blue summits to the summer heaven ; 
 Broad prairie lands, where bounds the buffalo, 
 Still stretched, unmeasured by the gazer's eye ; 
 And the far-reaching rivers, deep and strong, 
 Linked shining lakes with ocean. But for him, 
 Though fair as Eden were its grassy vales, 
 Its wooded heights, and rush of crystal waves, 
 His spirit's eager wing sought other climes. 
 A restless craving for the beautiful 
 In art, lured him from home and country : 
 Fame's silver trumpet rang upon his ear 
 Her laurel wreath hung o'er him in the clouds, 
 And for the deathless garland burned his brow. 
 Italy ! thrice glorious Italy ! 
 The cradle of young Genius, nurse of Art, 
 Seemed as the Promised Land, and thither roamed 
 His willing feet. 
 
 And the bright goal was won ! 
 Fame numbered him among her noblest sons, 
 And 'neath his touch, shapes of unearthly beauty, 
 Such as in dreams ethereal only dwell, 
 Or in the poet's fancy start to life, 
 
THE SCULPTOR'S DREAM OF HOME. 77 
 
 Sprang from the senseless marble. Men looked on, 
 
 And marvelled at his power ; his name was heard 
 
 In the high halls of great and god-like Art, 
 
 And his the hour of triumph lo, his brow 
 
 Wore the green wreath he sighed for ; but there came 
 
 To dim the sunlight of that glorious morn, 
 
 A heartsick yearning for his early home, 
 
 And the fond playmate of his boyhood years. 
 
 Fame could not fill the places of the lost 
 
 Her clarion music, proud although it be, 
 
 Was discord to the tones of tenderness 
 
 His wearied spirit asked, yet asked in vain. 
 
 He is alone but thought hath borne him on, 
 'Till the dim studio seems a greenwood shade, 
 'Neath the blue skies of his own native land. 
 The gush of rills, the song of summer birds, 
 And the low hum of busy insect wings, 
 Break on the stillness of the summer day : 
 A wild, sweet laugh, the echo of glad thoughts, 
 Comes to his ear his gentle sister's voice 
 Calls him to join her rambles, and they roam 
 Through the cool arches of the quiet wood, 
 
78 THE SCULPTOR'S DREAM OF HOME. 
 
 Till the first star hath risen, and amid 
 
 The dark green boughs is flashing, like a gem, 
 
 The fire-fly's light. 
 
 Theirs is the converse sweet 
 Of souls congenial, for each youthful heart 
 Hath in its hidden depths a perfect world 
 Of poetry, and a most subtle sense 
 Of all things beautiful in Nature. She 
 Hath some rare fancy floating through her brain, 
 And whispers in his ear that she hath clothed 
 A fairy legend in bewitching rhyme ; while he, 
 Catching the glories of a sunset sky, 
 Tells, how in Italy the eve is bright 
 With hues Italian skies can only know. 
 Oh ! blessed vision ! linger, linger still, 
 Cheer the lone heart, that pines for home once more, 
 And bear the exile back on memory's wing, 
 To the dear haunts of boyhood. 
 
 Lo ! a step 
 
 Hath roused him from his dream'; the greenwood shades 
 Have vanished, and the arches of the wood 
 
THE SCULPTOR'S DREAM OP HOME. 70 
 
 Give place to time-stained walls of massive stone : 
 
 The low, sweet murmur of his sister's voice 
 
 Hath passed, like music from the wind-harp's string ; 
 
 Far o'er the booming billow lies his home, 
 
 And he is in his studio alone. 
 
so 
 
 TO BSTELLE. 
 
 " No, the eye of friendship may not read 
 
 All that the heart contains, 
 Its wealth of love, its tenderness, 
 
 Its pleasures, and its pains. 
 
 ESTELLE. 
 
 And say'st them so, my gentle friend ? 
 
 And dost thou deem, indeed, 
 Thy poet-heart a secret page, 
 
 Which none beside may read ? 
 It may be so with many a one 
 
 Who idly scans the leaf, 
 They may not guess how pure its joy, 
 
 How deep its inmost grief, 
 
TOESTELLE. 81 
 
 They may not dream its love must burn 
 
 An ever quenchless flame, 
 How oft a chord within thy breast 
 
 May vibrate at a name, 
 But ah ! a sybil's power is mine, 
 
 To read its hidden lore ; 
 And the witching spell of poetry 
 
 Can a poet's heart explore. 
 
 I know thou lov'st the beautiful, 
 
 In earth, and air, and sea, 
 The sunset clouds, as they robe the west 
 
 In a gorgeous drapery ; 
 The lurid glare of the lightning's flash, 
 
 And the meteor's path of light ; 
 The silver moon, and the quiet stars, 
 
 In the holy hours of night. 
 
 The ocean waves have a voice for thee, 
 And the gentle woodland streams, 
 
 And they haunt thy heart with their melody, 
 In the far-off land of dreams ; 
 11 
 
82 TOESTELLE. 
 
 The whispering winds in the forest boughs, 
 
 Have for thee a mystic tone, 
 And the green arcades, and the leafy glades, 
 
 Speak to thy heart alone. 
 
 Thou lovest the wild bird's mellow note, 
 
 When he carols his morning hymn, 
 And the dew-drop that lies on the violet's breast, 
 
 Or jewels the lily's brim : 
 Thou weavest a tissue all fair and bright, 
 
 To color the humblest things, 
 For a world lies hidden within thy heart, 
 
 Where ever sweet fancy springs ; 
 A world, where dwelleth in rainbow hues 
 
 The thoughts that in heaven have birth ; 
 Which hover o'er, like the fabled bird, * 
 
 But touch not this clouded earth. 
 
 Thou lovest the summer, that gaily flings 
 Green wreaths upon every bough, 
 
 * The Hunia, which is said to fly above, but never to touch the earth. 
 
TOESTELLE. 83 
 
 And I know thpu lovest the glittering gems 
 
 That circle the Frost-king's brow: 
 The insect that floats on the perfumed gale, 
 
 Were a theme for many an hour, 
 For thou see'st its Maker's mighty hand 
 
 In the tiniest leaf or flower ; 
 I know thou readest a lesson pure, 
 
 In each blossom that decks the sod, 
 And lookest up with a trusting heart, 
 
 Through Nature, to Nature's GOD. 
 
 But deeper things, far deeper things, 
 
 Lie hid in that heart of thine, 
 Like jewels that sleep in their earthy beds, 
 
 Low down in the secret mine : 
 The hoarded wealth of affections pure, 
 
 A child, and a sister's love, 
 And the Christian hope, that will light thy way, 
 
 To a glorious world above : 
 And Oh ! there are tender memories, 
 
 Of the lost and lovely there, 
 That come when the busy world is still, 
 
 And thou hast knelt down in prayer : 
 
84 TOESTELLE. 
 
 That come o'er thy heart in the holy hush 
 
 Of the solemn midnight, lone, 
 And the by-gone years, and the parted friends, 
 
 Are once again thine own. 
 
 Then say, fair friend, have I read aright 
 
 Thy heart's mysterious page ? 
 Hath my sybil power, and witching spell, 
 Unlocked the door of that holy cell, 
 Where Love, with his shining wings, doth dwell, 
 
 And Thought hath his golden cage ? 
 Ah ! deem not thou the prying eye, 
 
 To intrude in that spot, would dare, 
 I did but look in my own fond heart, 
 
 And thine was reflected there. 
 
85 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 'To live in hearts we leave behind, 
 Is not to die." 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 Do not forget me I would not my name 
 As a strange language, to your ears became, 
 But seldom uttered, only heard with sighs, 
 As harp-string to the moaning wind replies, 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 
 Speak of me, when the summer day is bright 
 With glorious sunbeams, and the golden light 
 Streams through the lattice of my own green bower ; 
 Let me be there in that rejoicing hour 
 
 At least in name. 
 
R E M E M BRA NCE . 
 
 Speak of me, when the twilight's purple haze 
 Shuts each fair prospect from your ardent gaze, 
 And turning to the quiet joys of home, 
 Fond memories of departed dear ones come 
 
 To stir the heart. 
 
 Speak of me, when in heaven's blue arch afar, 
 Shines forth in glory each effulgent star ; 
 Say how I loved their lustre, that my name 
 May ever dwell amid their hosts of flame 
 
 To meet your eyes. 
 
 Speak of me, when my own sweet garden rose, 
 On slender stem, in moss-clad beauty blows : 
 I would be linked with all the flowers that bloom, 
 Till ye might half forget the cold, dark tomb, 
 
 Where I must lie. 
 
 Speak of me, when around the winter's hearth, 
 Young hearts are cheerful with the season's mirth, 
 And strike the soft guitar I love so well, 
 And let its chords in some old ballad tell 
 
 A tale of me. 
 
REMEMBRANCE. 87 
 
 Speak of me not in sorrow, for ye know 
 To what calm skies and gentle streams I go ; 
 To flowers that fade not, through eternal Spring, 
 All robed in light, to wear an angel's wing, 
 
 An angel's crown. 
 
 9 
 
 Speak of me, then, with gladness, not with tears ; 
 For when have flitted by a few short years, 
 Ye too will pass from earthly care and pain, 
 And we shall meet all joyfully again, 
 
 No more to part. 
 
88 
 
 LAMENT OF AGE FOR BOYHOOD 
 
 My boyhood ! Oh ! my boyhood ! 
 
 Give me back the blessed time, 
 When the heart so gay and careless, 
 
 And the light-winged hours were mine ; 
 Give me back the bounding footstep, 
 
 Give me back the merry tone, 
 And the laugh that rang so lightly, 
 
 Ere those golden hours had flown. 
 
LAMENT OF AGE FOR BOYHOOD. 89 
 
 Give me back but for a moment, 
 
 Those happy, happy days ! 
 For the path we tread in manhood, 
 
 Is a dim, bewildering maze ; 
 The flowers that bloom the fairest, 
 
 Are the earliest to decay ; 
 And the joys we prize the dearest, 
 
 Are the first to pass away. 
 
 But Oh ! the hours of boyhood 
 
 Fleet by on pinion's fair ; 
 And the sunshine of untroubled hearts 
 
 Makes constant summer there : 
 For care is but a phantom shade, 
 
 To bosoms light and gay ; 
 And sorrow comes, but in the cloud 
 
 That dims a holy day. 
 
 Oh ! gaily flew the butterfly 
 
 I chased across the lea ; 
 And but to catch the fluttering thing, 
 
 Was joy enough for me, 
 12 
 
90 LAMENT OF AGE FOR BOYHOOD. 
 
 Alas ! since then, I've followed far 
 
 Full many a painted toy ; 
 And found it like the gilded moth 
 
 That lured the truant boy. 
 
 
 Oh ! give me back my boyhood ! 
 
 Let me feel the keen delight 
 Of a kite upon the summer gale, 
 
 Like an eagle in its flight, 
 The bounding ball, the flying race, 
 
 The arrow on the wing 
 The old man's heart can vibrate still 
 
 If memory touch the string. 
 
 I see the old green meadows, 
 
 Where of yore I used to stray ; 
 They have lost methinks their verdure, 
 
 And my play-mates where are they ? 
 The grass is green o'er many a brow, 
 
 That wore no shadow then 
 And the rest, have changed from merry boys, 
 
 To strange, cold-hearted men. 
 
LAMENT OP AGE FOR BOYHOOD. 91 
 
 Oh ! give me back the feelings 
 
 Of my early by-gone years ! 
 Ere my heart had throbbed with sorrow, 
 
 Or mine eye been dimmed with tears ; 
 I would forget each present scene, 
 
 And know again the joy 
 That blessed me in the golden days, 
 
 When I was but a boy. 
 
92 
 
 AN AUTUMN THOUGHT. 
 
 Methinks I never saw the autumn woods 
 
 So beautiful as now. They have put on 
 
 Their rainbow coloured garments hastily, 
 
 As from his icy palace in the North, 
 
 With a stern eye upon the shrinking flowers, 
 
 And hoarsely heralding the coming cold, 
 
 The Frost King hurries; and like courtiers, soon 
 
 Donned each their robes of state, at his approach. 
 
AN AUTUMN THOUGHT. 93 
 
 How brightly the October sunlight gleams 
 Over the changing forest. See ! tall shafts 
 Of opal, or of amber, rise around, 
 Like pillars of a genii's banquet hall ; 
 With a fair dome of sapphire over them, 
 Exceeding beautiful ! 
 
 For me they wear, 
 
 These frost-touched forest leaves of varied hue, 
 A beauty which the summer yieldeth not, 
 Despite its wealth of flowers. I love thee, June ! 
 With thy soft breath, and deeply azure skies, 
 And purple twilight hours ; but more I love 
 A noon-tide ramble in the Autumn woods, 
 When through the half-stript branches streams the sun, 
 And 'neath our feet the dry leaves rustle ; 
 When answering echo mocks the sportsman's gun, 
 And swift across our path the squirrel springs, 
 Or nimble-footed hare. The Autumn gales 
 Have a reviving influence, and awake 
 A thought of earlier hours, when there seemed 
 No shadow in the sunshine, and the streams 
 
94 AN AUTUMN THOUGHT. 
 
 Were ever musical and far away 
 
 From half conned lessons, with a chosen few, 
 
 We sought the falling nuts, and joyfully 
 
 Broke like a bubbling fountain's silvery tone, 
 
 The merry laugh from young and careless hearts ; 
 
 And life seemed all as full of happiness, 
 
 As did that bright day in the Autumn woods. 
 
95 
 
 THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 
 
 They tell me life is waning fast, 
 
 And Death's dark wing unfurled, 
 Will bear my spirit soon from earth, 
 
 Unto an unknown world : 
 I feel, beloved, it must be so, 
 
 I feel that even now 
 His hand is on my fluttering heart, 
 
 His shadow o'er my brow. 
 
96 THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND 
 
 How shall I leave thee ? how resign 
 
 Thy tenderness and care ? 
 The pressure of thy clasping hand, 
 
 Thy blessing, and thy prayer ? 
 Together we have tasted joy, 
 
 Together wept in ill, 
 And the love that was so bright in bliss, 
 
 In grief was brighter still. 
 
 Wilt thou not miss me from thy side 
 
 When twilight's hour hath come ? 
 Will it not seem a desert place, 
 
 The paradise of home ? 
 Then, gather close with brooding love 
 
 Our children round thy knee, 
 And wipe with tenderest hand the tears 
 
 Which they will shed for me. 
 
 And soothe each little throbbing heart 
 
 That asks for me in vain, 
 And say, that in the far-off heaven 
 
 Their mother lives again ; 
 
THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 97 
 
 Link not my name with thoughts of death, 
 
 But point them to the sky, 
 And tell them, in the " Better Land" 
 
 They neither weep nor die. 
 
 Go with them to their lonely couch 
 
 At evening's silent close, 
 And softly press each pillowed cheek, 
 
 And hush them to repose ; 
 Or bid them kneel with clasped hands 
 
 To lisp their evening prayer ; 
 Thou must unite a father's love, 
 
 With all a mother's care. 
 
 A mother's care ! a mother's love ! 
 
 And must they never know 
 How deeply in her "heart of hearts" 
 
 A mother's love may glow ? 
 Will they yet bloom in girlhood fair, 
 
 While she who gave them birth 
 Lies all forgotten far away, 
 
 In one lone spot of earth ? 
 13 
 
98 THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 
 
 Forgotten ! no, beloved one, no ! 
 
 Thou wilt remember still 
 The being who hath shared thy lot 
 
 Alike in good or ill ; 
 Thou wilt remember all her love, 
 
 With faithful, fond regret ; 
 And but the faults she could not hide, 
 
 Thy heart will e'er forget. 
 
 And thou wilt come to that lone spot 
 
 Where the green willow waves, 
 And lead our children's tiny feet 
 
 Among the quiet graves ; 
 And read for them the sculptured stone 
 
 Brief record of my life 
 Then say how faithfully I loved, 
 
 As mother, and as wife. 
 
 How can I say farewell to thee ? 
 
 How mark thy bitter tears ? 
 Look up, beloved, we only part 
 
 For a few fleeting years ; 
 
THE DYING WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 99 
 
 They will roll o'er thy darkened path, 
 
 Swiftly as shadows flee, 
 And in a world of holier love 
 
 Will our blest meeting be. 
 
100 
 
 THE LAND OF JOY. 
 
 " The inhabitants of this country (Zinge) are never afflicted with sadness or melancholy. 
 
 NOTES TO LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Bear me to that blest place ! 
 That home of cheerful hearts and tearless eyes ; 
 
 Whereon no shadow lies, 
 And where no sorrow leaves its wonted trace. 
 
 This is a land of care ! 
 Tears dim the eye, and cheeks are early pale : 
 
 Grief is on every gale ; 
 But that bright shore have they no sorrow there ? 
 
THE LAND OF JOY. 101 
 
 Do they not mourn the dead ? 
 Do not the lovely pass like ours away ? 
 
 Do they not weep by day, 
 And through the night toss on a sleepless bed ? 
 
 Do they not part for years, 
 As we do, from the beings loved the best? 
 
 And can they, do they rest, 
 With no vain longings, no dark bitter fears ? 
 
 Are they not called to keep 
 Long weary vigils by the couch of pain ? 
 
 Have they ne'er watched in vain 
 For th' awakening from that dreamless sleep ? 
 
 Oh ! Are they so much blest ! 
 While here we combat with unending care ? 
 
 Then bear me, bear me there 
 Give me in that bright land, a home, a rest ! 
 
 Imaginary spot ! 
 There cannot be on earth such place of peace, 
 
 Where joys can ne'er decrease, 
 Where cares, and tears, and sorrows, enter not ! 
 
102 THELANDOFJOY. 
 
 Be still, then, panting heart ! 
 Forbear thy longing for such blest abode, 
 
 And struggle on, till God 
 Shall bid thee to a better rest depart. 
 
103 
 
 THE SUMMER RAIN. 
 
 The Summer rain, the Summer rain ! 
 
 It is streaming down to the earth again ; 
 
 The hills are green where the bright drops lie, 
 
 And hid are the bee and the butterfly : 
 
 The pools are filled, and the streamlets flow 
 
 O'er pebbly beds, with their music low ; 
 
 And the lily is lifting her chalice fair, 
 
 And the red-rose swings in the freshened air, 
 
 And flower-cups bend to the blessed rain, 
 
 That is streaming down to the earth again. 
 
104 THE SUMMER RAIN. 
 
 It bringeth joy to a thousand things, 
 The thirsty herbage to meet it springs ; 
 The corn is drinking the blessed draught, 
 And the oak of the forest its stream hath quaffed, 
 And the light leaves laugh, as its silvery tide, 
 Like a gift of beauty, falls far and wide ; 
 The smallest flower, in the deepest glen, 
 That never bloomed for the eye of men 
 The gayest plant in the garden's bound 
 The broadest bough in the greenwood found 
 Each blade of grass, and each stately tree, 
 Drinketh the rain-drops joyfully. 
 
 What doth it image the Summer rain, 
 When clouds are spread over earth again ? 
 And softly on meadow, and hill, and grove, 
 It comes like a voice from the world above ? 
 It speaks of the Spirit's holy power 
 On the human heart in affliction's hour; 
 So doth it fall, when the heart is sere, 
 With the parching cares of this lower sphere ; 
 
THE SUMMER RAIN. 105 
 
 So doth it fall, when the smiling sky 
 
 Is dim with the clouds of adversity ; 
 
 So doth it soften the stony breast, 
 
 As the glittering drops upon earth are pressed ; 
 
 'Till, as incense sweet after Summer rain, 
 
 The soul will rise towards heaven again. 
 
 14 
 
106 
 
 ELEGIAC. 
 
 N MEMORY OF MRS. S. W. C 
 
 Why should we mourn thee ? 
 
 See, the captive bird 
 
 Hath burst its prison bar, and wanders free 
 Through the clear ether, till no more is heard 
 
 Its minstrelsy. 
 
 Should we deplore its flight, 
 As up the blue expanse with quivering wings 
 
 Exultingly it springs, 
 
 Spreading its pinions toward the throne of light, 
 And leaving far behind, the land of chains and night ? 
 
ELEGIAC. 107 
 
 Why should we mourn thee ? 
 
 When the exile lone, 
 Homeward returning, from afar espies 
 His cot's low roof with verdure overgrown, 
 'Mid the green foliage where embowered it lies ; 
 And pressing forward with a bounding heart 
 And quickened footstep, gains the destined spot 
 From its loved shelter could we say, Depart, 
 And seek again the pilgrim's weary lot 
 Each hardship o'er, each peril now forgot ? 
 
 Why should we mourn thee V 
 
 Gifted one, thy lyre 
 
 Gave the sweet echoes of thy soul's warm lay : 
 Strings such as angels sweep, the golden wire 
 That vibrates to a seraph's touch of fire ; 
 
 The holy, holy song 
 
 Immortal lips prolong ; 
 
 These were thy high aspirings, and thy robe of clay, 
 Bound but thy spirit-wings, which longed to soar away. 
 
108 ELEGIAC. 
 
 Why should we mourn thee ? 
 
 In thy bright abode 
 
 Pain is unknown, and sorrow hath no place, 
 The heritage alone of those who trace 
 
 Life's thorny road. 
 'Tis for ourselves we weep, 
 
 Poor earth-bound prisoners still, 
 On our toilsome way and steep, 
 
 With our load of care and ill ; 
 But for thee, sweet songstress, thee ! 
 
 Be our purest praises given, 
 Like the captive bird made free ; 
 Like the exile, joyously, 
 
 Thou hast gained thy home in heaven, 
 And thine earthly lyre, 
 Though quenched its fire, 
 Will echo again, 'mid the angel choir. 
 
109 
 
 NIGHT, 
 
 Draw down thy misty curtains, " solemn night," 
 Dim the fierce fires which still illume the west ; 
 
 While stars look down with sweet though distant light, 
 Bring to each weary thing its hour of rest : 
 Sleep to the little song-bird in its nest, 
 
 Dew to young blossoms, bending on the tree ; 
 
 Call home, on busy wing, the housewife bee, 
 And seal up infant eyes, in fond arms pressed. 
 
 Be thine, to soothe earth's worn and weary child, 
 With hours of sweet and undisturbed repose 
 Still human hearts, that beat with wants and woes, 
 
 And lull a thousand griefs ; physician mild ! 
 
 The couch of pain with healthful visions bless, 
 
 And cure all ills in deep forgetfulness. 
 
110 
 
 THE DIAMOND OF THE DESERT. 
 
 "It is called in the Arabic language," answered the Saracen, "by a name which signifies f 
 
 the ' Diamond of the Desert.' " 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 Slowly o'er parched and dreary plains, 
 
 Fainting beneath the solar ray ; 
 While hope of rescue scarce remains, 
 
 The weary pilgrim takes his way. 
 Around him, barren deserts lie, 
 Above him, bends a burning sky, 
 Or the dread Simoon's fatal breath, 
 Sweeps o'er his pathway, fraught with death. 
 
THE DIAMOND OP THE DESERT. Ill 
 
 But now, to cheer his anxious eye, 
 
 Appears one little spot of green, 
 Sole vestige of fertility, 
 
 Amid that desolated scene. 
 And oh ! how grateful none can know, 
 Is the cool fountain's silver flow, 
 Which brightly beams to cheer and bless, 
 In that wild waste of barrenness. 
 
 To rest beside the bubbling fount, 
 
 Quaffing its waters as they glide, 
 And dangers of the way recount 
 
 To fellow pilgrims by his side ; 
 How shall the wanderer leave its brink ? 
 He stoops again, again, to drink, 
 And bears through all his desert way, 
 The memory of that fountain's play. 
 
 So, 'mid the arid wastes of life, 
 
 Where panting pilgrims onward roam, 
 
 Wearied with earth, its toil, its strife, 
 Sighing to find some surer home ; 
 
112 THE DIAMOND OP THE DESERT 
 
 Religion, like the silver wave, 
 Pours its pure stream to bless and save ; 
 And lies, like that bright fountain clear, 
 The " Diamond of the Desert " here. 
 
 And ye who vainly sigh for rest, 
 
 Who thirst for purer streams of joy 
 Here, with the living waters blessed, 
 Drink, deeply drink, without alloy. 
 Sparkling with light its waves flow on, 
 Refreshing all they gleam upon, 
 And he who tastes the healing tide, 
 Will ask no other fount beside. 
 
113 
 
 OU'R REST, 
 
 ; This is not your rest, it is polluted." 
 
 This is not our rest 'tis a region of care, 
 
 A land of perplexities, dangers, and fears, 
 And hearts that are beating with rapture, may share 
 
 An hour of transport, with bitterest tears : 
 And when we look round on life's pathway of ill, 
 
 Although it may sometimes seem happy and blsst, 
 Back, back to our bosoms, conviction will thrill, 
 
 And everything teach us, this is not our rest. 
 
 15 
 
114 OUR RE ST. 
 
 This is not our rest for the dark wing of grief, 
 
 May shadow the sunlight that beamed o'er our home, 
 And some long cherished idol, like autumn's pale leaf, 
 
 Go down to the grave in its beauty and bloom : 
 Or those whom we trusted would never betray ; 
 
 And hearts that we prized as the truest and best, 
 Grow cold and forgetful, and friendship decay 
 
 We thought most undying this is not our rest ! 
 
 This is not our rest youthful dreamer, awake ! 
 
 Believe not that here, thy best moments are given : 
 The hopes that are brightest will soonest forsake, 
 
 Earth holds not abliss that should lure thee from heaven : 
 The song may resound, and the festal be gay, 
 
 And beauty seem flattered, or idly caressed : 
 But the world and its fashion are passing away 
 
 Awake, youthful dreamer, this is not thy rest ! 
 
 This is not thy rest though a voice may be near, 
 In some tranquil hour, to whisper of peace ; 
 
 To promise that life shall be sunny and clear, 
 And all the wild storms of adversity cease ; 
 
OUR REST. 115 
 
 That pleasure shall wait on thy steps evermore, 
 And thou wilt be always as happy and blest, 
 'Tis a voice that hath cheated fond bosoms before, 
 O trust not the syren, this is not thy rest ! 
 
 This is not our rest thou on manhood's broad track, 
 
 Or toiling in age for life's perishing things, 
 From its fatal allurements in season turn back, 
 
 And plume for the skies, wearied spirit, thy wings : 
 Each day brings its trials, vexations, and pain, 
 
 And vainly thou dream' st of a future more blest ; 
 Alas ! it but pictures the present again 
 
 Look upward, look upward, this is not thy rest ! 
 
 This is not our rest far beyond the dark tomb, 
 
 It rises in beauty more bright than the day ; 
 Its sun never darkened, and fadeless the bloom, 
 
 That smiles in a region which knows not decay. 
 There, the River of Life, its pure waters will roll, 
 
 By the mansions of glory, prepared for the blest, 
 And there with the Saviour, oh ! then will the soul, 
 
 Enjoy an eternal, unchangeable rest. 
 
116 
 
 MINISTERING SPIRITS, 
 
 And do ye still, on wings of love and light, 
 
 Oh ! heavenly guardians, hover round our way ? 
 To shield from danger creatures of a day, 
 
 Do ye abandon realms all fair and bright ? 
 
 Ye are about our daily paths unseen, 
 
 Our darkened eyes your glory may not scan 
 Breathe still your sweet monitions unto man, 
 
 Ye of celestial form and holy mien. 
 
 Still watch above us in our lot of care, 
 Be infancy to your protection given, 
 
 Teach manhood meekly life's sharp ills to bear, 
 And to the aged, bring sweet dreams of heaven ; 
 
 And be your last employ, at Death's stern nod, 
 
 To waft the ransomed spirit back to God. 
 
117 
 
 THE ABSENT COMMUNICANT. 
 
 The holy feast is spread again, 
 
 And all are gathered there, 
 And to the altar's foot they press 
 
 With reverence and with prayer, 
 Young heads of bright and sunny locks, 
 
 And those of silvery hair: 
 Age, youth, and beauty, side by side, 
 Commemorate the crucified. 
 
118 THE ABSENT COMMUNICANT. 
 
 I hear in thought the organ's tone, 
 
 Its rich harmonious swell, 
 The plaintive hymn breathed forth again, 
 
 Of Jesus' love to tell, 
 The pastor's voice of kind regard, 
 
 Beloved so long and well, 
 Then see the sacred symbols given, 
 And mortals eat the bread of heaven. 
 
 In thought, alas ! in thought alone, 
 
 I may not kneel to-day, 
 Among that band of worshippers, 
 
 Or in that temple pray, 
 Or taste with them that blessed food, 
 
 Strength for life's pilgrim way : 
 The holy feast is spread, and prayer 
 Ascends, but one is absent there. 
 
 The church bells have been ringing out 
 
 With their enlivening tone, 
 And yet within my chamber's bound, 
 
 All silent and alone, 
 
THE ABSENT COMMUNICANT. 119 
 
 I sit to muse upon the past, 
 The hours for ever flown, 
 When through the sacred aisle I trod, 
 To bow within the house of GOD. 
 
 And as the weary hart doth pant, 
 
 For water-courses fair, 
 I long to reach the holy fane, 
 
 And pay my homage there, 
 And with GOD'S people kneel me down, 
 
 Forgetting earthly care : 
 It may not be my heart be still, 
 And bend thee to Jehovah's will. 
 
 Thou, who in desert mountains lone, 
 
 Did'st hie where none might see, 
 To pour thy soul in secret prayer, 
 
 And bend the suppliant knee, 
 And ask thy Father's pardoning love 
 
 For guilty ones like me ; 
 Give me thy presence, though alone 
 I bow before thy glorious throne. 
 
120 THE ABSENT COMMUNICANT 
 
 Saviour, be with me : may thy love 
 
 Light up my path to-day, 
 And may thy Spirit's power divine 
 
 My every action sway ; 
 Bless thou this sacred Sabbath time, 
 
 Although alone I pray, 
 And lift my soul, and cheer my heart, 
 When from thy people far apart. 
 
121 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF THE 
 REV. DR. SCHROEDER. 
 
 I saw a lovely flower 
 
 Upon a slender spray, 
 But a rude blast came, with sudden power, 
 
 And swept its bloom away : 
 It bent beneath the blow, 
 
 And its leaves to earth were given, 
 But the bitter wind that had laid it low, 
 
 Bore its fragrance unto heaven. 
 16 
 
122 STANZAS. 
 
 I marked a rainbow's form, 
 
 When the summer shower went by, 
 Born of the sunbeam and the storm 
 
 Spanning the eastern sky : 
 And I gazed upon the sight, 
 
 Till the glorious arch was riven, 
 And its varied hues of gorgeous light 
 
 Melted away in heaven. 
 
 I watched a merry bird, 
 
 Building its fairy nest, 
 And the glossy leaves by its wings were stirred, 
 
 Round that little spot of rest ; 
 And I deemed its gushing song 
 
 Would still to mine ear be given, 
 But it plumed its wing for the skies ere long, 
 
 And soared, and sang, in heaven. 
 
 I gazed on a gentle star, 
 
 That was bright in the evening sky, 
 And thought, how it smiled in its home afar, 
 
 When watched by a mortal's eye ; 
 
STANZAS. 123 
 
 But the tempest gathered fast, 
 
 And wildly the clouds were driven, 
 
 And the star was lost, as their dark folds passed, 
 But I knew it was still in heaven. 
 
 So, like that lovely flower, 
 
 And like that rainbow's light, 
 And like the bird of the summer bower, 
 
 And the glittering star of night ; 
 Hath thy loved one, in life's pure spring, 
 
 From thy fond embraces riven, 
 Been borne away on an angel's wing, 
 
 To dwell in the light of heaven. 
 
124 
 
 ORDINATION. 
 
 High upon Zion's holy walls, 
 
 Thy place and portion hence will be ; 
 It is Jehovah's voice which calls, 
 
 To gird thee with His panoply. 
 
 Sleep not upon thine honoured post 
 Bear thou an eagle's piercing eye 
 
 Blow loud the trumpet 'mid the host, 
 And warn them that the foe is nigh. 
 
ORDINATION. 125 
 
 Unfurl the blood-stained banner free, 
 
 To float above thee far and wide ; 
 And let thy watchword ever be, 
 
 In good or ill, " Christ crucified !" 
 
 Watch, for thou know'st not of the time 
 Thy Lord will come with mighty power 
 
 Whether at day's unsullied prime, 
 At early dawn, or midnight hour. 
 
 Go forth undaunted ever bear 
 
 A fearless heart, when danger springs ; 
 
 For Oh, remember, thou dost wear 
 The armour of the King of Kings ! 
 
 Fight the good fight thy steady aim 
 Shall make the vengeful foe despair ; 
 
 Go forth in thy Redeemer's name, 
 
 And be thy weapons Faith and Prayer. 
 
 Go forth fulfil the work begun 
 Forsaking earth, and earth's renown 
 
 Then rise from death, the conquest won, 
 To wear the victor's fadeless crown. 
 
126 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 "This is time, when most divine to hear, 
 
 The voice of Adoration rouses me, 
 
 As with a cherub's trump ; and high upborne, 
 
 Yea, mingling with the choir, I seem to view 
 
 The vision of the heavenly multitude, 
 
 Who hymned the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's fields." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 A star hangs bright o'er Bethlehem's vale 
 Angelic voices wake the morn ; 
 
 And shepherds hear the wond'rous tale, 
 Jesus, the promised child, is born. 
 
 The harps of heaven on earth are strung : 
 
 Good will to men, by seraphs sung. 
 
CHRISTMAS. 127 
 
 They seek the babe no regal state 
 No princely pomp are His the while ; 
 
 On Him no bright-robed courtiers wait, 
 But humble peasants watch His smile : 
 
 The magi kneel, and shepherds bend, 
 
 To Him whom angels did attend. 
 
 He has resigned a crown of light 
 Laid all his glorious vestments by 
 
 And shrouding in this world of night 
 The splendors of the Deity, 
 
 Hath come to succor, save, and bless, 
 
 His creatures in their wretchedness. 
 
 Saviour, again we hail the day, 
 When brightly rose thy natal star ; 
 
 And join the angel's heaven-taught lay, 
 Which in the azure fields afar 
 
 The music of celestial spheres, 
 
 Rang on the shepherd's listening ears. 
 
128 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 And lo, from Nature's hand we bear 
 An offering for thy holy shrine ; 
 
 With evergreen, and garlands fair, 
 High arch and lofty pillar twine : 
 
 And joyfully our paeans raise, 
 
 Redeemer, Saviour, in Thy praise. 
 
 And though no bright, peculiar gem, 
 Is hung upon our midnight sky 
 
 Like that which shone o'er Bethlehem, 
 What time the heavenly hosts were nigh 
 
 Thy Word our polar star shall be, 
 
 Guiding us on, to heaven and Thee. 
 
129 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Thou hast no earthly home, thou radiant guest, 
 Brief is thy sojourn with the sons of clay; 
 
 Thy smiles, like parting sunbeams, scarcely rest 
 Upon our path, ere they have passed away : 
 It is in vain we ask their farther stay, 
 
 It may not be, thou hast no dwelling here, 
 
 Thou art a winged angel hovering near, 
 But seldom stooping to our clouded way. 
 
 Where flaming cherubim for ever swell 
 High-pealing anthems on the ambient air, 
 
 And harps by seraphs tuned, for ever tell 
 Immanuel's love and glory Spirit, there, 
 
 There is thy home, thy bright and true abode, 
 
 Only a lingerer here, thy birth-place is with God, 
 17 
 
130 
 
 A LAMENT. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF L. A. C. 
 
 "Youth and the opening rose, 
 May look like things too glorious for decay, 
 
 And smile at thee ; but thou art not of those 
 That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey." 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Gone hence to thy rest in a far brighter land 
 
 Thou hast entered the mansions of glory and bliss ; 
 In that radiant clime, with the seraphim band, 
 
 Thou forgettest the thorns and the shadows of this : 
 Oh, who can deplore thee, or ask thy recall, 
 
 Thus early unfettered, for ever made free, 
 Or wish thee again in the world's bitter thrall 
 
 We may weep for ourselves, but we must not for thee. 
 
A LAMENT. 131 
 
 Thy blue eye is dim, there is dust on thy brow, 
 
 The rose hue of life, it hath faded away ; 
 How peacefully dear one thou slumberest now, 
 
 Nought, nought can awake thee, nor darkness, nor day : 
 The heart that was beating with kindness alone, 
 
 Is still all its throbbings for ever are o'er, 
 And the voice that we loved for its sweetness of tone, 
 
 Alas ! we may list to its music no more. 
 
 How short was thy sojourn, how brief was thy stay, 
 
 A summer of beauty, a season of love 
 Bright forms that we knew not have called thee away, 
 
 And wings that we heard not, have borne thee above : 
 Thou wert snatched from the sorrows that haply may 
 throw 
 
 Their withering blight over life's riper years ; 
 And in regions immortal, thou never can'st know 
 
 The heart's weary pining, the eye's bitter tears. 
 
 And gladly the springtime shall waken the flowers, 
 And summer clothe brightly with blossoms each tree ; 
 
 But the joy of the sunbeams, the calm of the hours, 
 Will come not again gentle sleeper to thee : 
 
132 A LAMENT. 
 
 The earth in its robes of delight will be dressed, 
 
 And the soft winds may sigh o'er thy place of repose ; 
 
 Thou wilt heed not their whisper, nor wake from thy rest, 
 To greet the young lily and welcome the rose. 
 
 But as the soft moonbeams when shed o'er the sea, 
 
 Will tinge with their lustre the wave's tossing foam, 
 So, lost one, will come the fond memory of thee, 
 
 To throw its pure light o'er the grief of thy home : 
 So, blessed recollections shall ever arise, 
 
 To soothe the deep sorrow that pierces each breast, 
 And Faith shall point up to thy home in the skies, 
 
 And Love shall rejoice thou art safe and at rest. 
 
 Yes, safe and at rest not a shade to o'ercast 
 
 The light of thy soul in that radiant sphere, 
 Life's brief journey over, its perils all passed, 
 
 Thou art basking in sunshine celestial and clear : 
 Could thy voice reach us now from that far distant shore, 
 
 We should list to the notes of an angel's sweet strain, 
 To say when a few fleeting seasons are o'er, 
 
 In gladness and light, we shall meet thee again. 
 
133 
 
 PROSPERITY. 
 
 All seek thee from the palace walls of state, 
 To the low cottage where the poor man bides, 
 
 The sons of earth for unseen blessings wait, 
 And ask, in each estate, some gift beside. 
 
 We trust to thee for happiness, and deem 
 We shall know all of bliss in finding thee 
 Believe not, fortune's favours oft may be 
 
 As vague and shadowy as a midnight dream : 
 
 Ah ! we should humbly bask beneath thy smile, 
 For thou may'st prove a fatal boon when given 
 
 Under thy mask the tempter may beguile, 
 
 Luring the soul from virtue and from heaven ; 
 
 Thou hold'st a poisoned chalice to the lip, 
 
 Sweet to the taste, yet they may die who sip. 
 
134 
 
 ADVERSITY. 
 
 Thou art a harsh instructor yet by thee 
 
 We learn important lessons thou dost teach 
 How frail and fleeting earthly hopes may be, 
 
 How oft the goal recedes we strive to reach : 
 Thine is a form of darkness, and we turn 
 
 Heart-sick and weary from the sad embrace, 
 Would fly thy dreaded presence ever stern, 
 
 And trembling, hide us from thy frowning face. 
 But through the world's dim pathway, thy cold hand 
 
 Is leading to a home of joy and peace, 
 And on the borders of that better land, 
 
 Will thy sharp ministry for ever cease, 
 And we shall bless thee, safely landed there, 
 And know in heaven how good thy bitter teachings 
 were. 
 
135 
 
 TO THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD. 
 
 ; Thou art so life-like, speak to me." 
 
 Thy lip hath a curl of winning grace, 
 
 And smiles are lighting thy cherub face, 
 
 And thine eyes beam forth with a cunning glee, 
 
 Meet for the features of infancy ; 
 
 And thy silken tresses in beauty fall 
 
 Round thy temples fair, like a coronal : 
 
 How much like life ! Can it really be 
 
 Only the canvass that smiles on me ? 
 
136 TO THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD. 
 
 Oh ! well hath the painter's skill portrayed 
 Thy fairy figure in light and shade ! 
 So well, that I list for thy laughing tone, 
 And look for thy fingers to grasp my own, 
 And hear thy wishes for some gay toy 
 In thy gentle accents, my bright-haired boy ! 
 Wilt thou not bound in thy joyousness 
 To my open arms, and my fond caress ? 
 
 Picture, thou tellest of beauty bright, 
 Lip like the ruby, and eye of light 
 Cheek of the rose-tint, and forehead fair, 
 And a buoyant spirit unchained by care. 
 Boy as thy years roll swiftly on, 
 When childhood's visions and hopes have flown, 
 Look on thine image, and strive to be, 
 Guileless and pure as in infancy. 
 
137 
 
 TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Too soon, Oh! all too soon will come 
 
 En later years the spell, 
 Touching with changing hues the path 
 
 Where once but sunlight fell." 
 
 FRANCES S. OSOOOD. 
 
 Ten years ago ! a weary age it seems 
 To look ten years beyond the present hour ; 
 But when far down the lengthened hill of Time, 
 We cast a backward glance at some far point 
 Our pilgrim feet ten years before had left 
 How easily the retrospective eye 
 May span the pathway : but a moment's flight 
 Hath marked the parted hours, and memory asks, 
 Half cheated of her power, the scattered leaves, 
 Where, with recording pencil, she hath writ 
 The pains or pleasures of that by-gone time. 
 
 18 
 
138 TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 Ten years ago! it seems but yesterday! 
 
 And I remember then, a happy girl, 
 
 Upon whose face the world had cast no care, 
 
 Stood at the altar-side, and gave her heart 
 
 With all its hoarded wealth of tenderness 
 
 To one who long had loved her. They had grown 
 
 Together like young plants ; and when the world 
 
 Deemed them as children, or spoke jestingly 
 
 Of that, which, to their young untroubled hearts 
 
 Was light, and dew, and sunshine they had vowed 
 
 With the deep fervor of a deathless love, 
 
 To wander hand in hand through life's long way, 
 
 To launch their bark together on the waves, 
 
 And to one haven steer their onward course. 
 
 Little they recked of peril and of storm 
 
 They had exchanged that high and holy faith 
 
 Which angels bless, and with a perfect trust 
 
 In all the fairy promises of Hope, 
 
 They deemed an angel's wing would shelter them 
 
 From the rude billow's chiding. 
 
 They were wed. 
 I do remember that bright morning hour 
 
TEN YEARS AGO. 139 
 
 Of sunny May, and the fair company 
 
 Of bridal guests ; and still, methinks, I hear 
 
 Voices of gratulation, and kind words 
 
 From loving hearts, and a fond blessing breathed 
 
 From lips parental, as together passed 
 
 That youthful pair adown the sacred aisle : 
 
 So blessed to find their dream of joy fulfilled, 
 
 They asked no boon beside. 
 
 And o'er them rolled, 
 
 From that auspicious hour, ten happy years. 
 How swift, when joy hath winged them, do they fly 
 How slowly creep along their destined course, 
 When leaden-footed Sorrow drags them on. 
 But with the beings of my history, 
 The sunlit hours on golden pinions flew. 
 There were no clouds to dim their tranquil sky 
 No storms to fright them no wild waves to dash 
 The fragile bark whose helm Affection ruled ; 
 And when a blue-eyed babe upon them smiled 
 In its young beauty, like a bud of heaven, 
 Life's cup of blessedness seemed brimmed for them, 
 'Till the pure sparkling waters must o'erflow. 
 
140 TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 Ten years ! ten years ! all numbered with the past ! 
 
 And the revolving months again have brought 
 
 That nuptial day. But where are now the hearts 
 
 So closely linked ? They have been parted ! 
 
 He is reposing by the church's side, 
 
 And she is widowed. In her lonely home, 
 
 With her eye fixed upon the weeping clouds, 
 
 Which seem to give their tears in sympathy, 
 
 And her fair orphan boy beside her knee, 
 
 She muses on the past recalls fair forms, 
 
 And faded scenes, and days of happiness, 
 
 And looks of love, and words of holy trust 
 
 And asks her heart if it indeed be true 
 
 That she has lost them all. 
 
 A widow's grief ! 
 
 There are no words can speak it. He who gave 
 A language unto man, gave him no power 
 To syllable such sorrow. They had loved 
 Too ardently for those whom death must sever 
 Loved, 'till the full o'erladen heart had throbbed 
 With all its weight of untold tenderness. 
 He had been more than all the world to her, 
 
TEN YEARS AGO. 141 
 
 The idol in the temple of her soul, 
 
 The radiant star that in her cloudless heaven 
 
 Beamed with a light above its fellow stars. 
 
 She had hung proudly on his gifted words, 
 
 When others deemed she scarce had heard their flow, 
 
 Or drank, as from a fount of purest wave, 
 
 The gushing love poured on her ear alone. 
 
 Ah ! she had prized the gift too far above 
 
 The bounteous Giver garnered up her love 
 
 In a clay casket leaned upon a reed 
 
 Frail as a willow-twig, yet breaking, pierced 
 
 The heart which clung to it. And God had known, 
 
 How at an altar consecrate to Him, 
 
 She burned sweet incense for a mortal shrine, 
 
 And now to draw her spirit heavenward, 
 
 Severed the golden chain which bound her here, 
 
 And placed her idol nearer to Himself, 
 
 To lure her onward to the better land. 
 
142 
 
 IN MEMORY OF HENRY S. CRAIG.* 
 
 The fair earth looketh dim the golden sun 
 
 Gleams not, methinks, so brightly as of yore, 
 And each familiar thing he looks upon, 
 
 With a strange gloom is darkly shadowed o'er : 
 But nature is not changed unto our eyes 
 
 Alone she seemeth sad, for thou art gone, 
 Whose smile was sunshine for our wintry skies, 
 
 Whose words were music, and whose gentle tone 
 Of love or kindness, came upon the ear 
 Like the pure gushing of a fountain clear. 
 
 * Beloved and respected by all who knew him, perished in the burning of the steamboat 
 Lexington, 13th January, 1840. The above lines were written at the time, but never 
 before published. 
 
IN MEMORY OP HENRY S. CRAIG. 143 
 
 Life was all bright before thee who could deem 
 
 It's fairy promises would fade so soon ? 
 Fond hopes have perished like the rainbow's gleam 
 
 A sun obscured at its high hour of noon : 
 Age had not stamped his furrows on thy brow, 
 
 Nor strewed his silvery threads in thy dark hair : 
 Still wore thy manly cheek its wonted glow, 
 
 Unwrinkled by the withering touch of care : 
 Thine eye yet flashed with all the fire of youth, 
 And on thy lip dwelt stern, unbending truth. 
 
 Oh! there is darkness o'er thy home, and tears, 
 
 Deep, burning tears of heart-felt agony, 
 As memory brings again thine earlier years, 
 
 Oh ! loved and lost one, still are shed for thee : 
 Thy mother for her first-born bows in dust, 
 
 Her stay in widowhood, her pride and joy ; 
 Recalls thy childhood's time of love and trust, 
 
 And wails thy manhood's glory fall'n for ay : 
 And thy young sisters, who will guard as thou, 
 Their orphan heads from every evil now ? 
 
144 IN MEMORY OP HENRY S. CRAIG. 
 
 But there is one who in her girlhood's hour, 
 
 Gave up her sweet affections unto thee, 
 How she lies smitten like a withered flower, 
 
 When autumn winds have swept its native tree : 
 Her idol in the dust hath fallen low 
 
 And the white wreath that twined amid her hair, 
 When at thy side a few short months ago 
 
 She stood a happy bride, so young, so fair, 
 Is changed, for what ? Alas ! that pallid brow, 
 Wears the dark shrouding of the widowed now. 
 
 Oh ! who shall speak her anguish ! who may tell 
 
 The misery that clouds her sunniest years ! 
 Who shall e'er fathom pure affections well, 
 
 Or dry the fountain of her bitter tears ! 
 What unto her are spring's first fragrant flowers, 
 
 Or all the charms of summer's blushing day ? 
 Will she not read the past, in such bright hours, 
 
 And hear thy voice in every wind's soft play V 
 Will not the smiling earth, the balmy air, 
 Whisper of moments blessed, when thou wert there ? 
 
IN MEMORY OF HENRY S. CRAIG. 14 
 
 Yes, they will miss thee, unto whom belong 
 
 The ever dear remembrance of thy worth 
 They will lament thee, when the heartless throng 
 
 Have quite forgotten thou wert once of earth ; 
 At morning's prime, at daylight's dewy close, 
 
 When Summer flings her bloom on field and tree ; 
 When Autumn's hand her gorgeous livery throws 
 
 O'er hill and forest, they will dream of thee. 
 In the lone midnight, when the world is still, 
 How will thine image each sad bosom thrill. 
 
 Heart-stricken mourners ! mother, widowed wife ! 
 
 And ye, fond sisters, still your tears restrain ; 
 " He is not dead but sleepeth" in the life 
 
 Beyond, immortal, ye shall meet again : 
 Press on, press on, to that eternal shore, 
 
 Where the tossed barque at last in safety moors ; 
 God to your arms the lost one will restore, 
 
 And love, celestial love, be ever yours. 
 Then turn from earth, with its o'ershadowing care, 
 And fix your hearts in heaven, for he is there. 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 TO A FRIEND AT PARTING. 
 
 Think of me when ? 
 Just at the gentle twilight hour, 
 When the dew is falling on leaf and flower, 
 When birds to their quiet nests have gone, 
 And the summer night comes softly on, 
 
 Think of me then. 
 
 Think of me when ? 
 As thou art roving through pleasant glades, 
 Or wandering 'mid the deep forest shades, 
 Gazing on flower, and field, and tree, 
 Let thy thoughts turn for awhile to me 
 
 Think of me then. 
 
TO A FRIEND AT PARTING. 147 
 
 Think of me when ? 
 
 As some sweet strain we have loved to hear, 
 Comes with a pathos deep to thine ear, 
 And a soft note over thy senses flung, 
 Brings back the time when that lay was sung, 
 
 Think of me then. 
 
 Think of me when ? 
 In the early hours of the summer morn, 
 When no rude sounds on the breeze are borne, 
 When all is balmy, and sweet, and still, 
 And the mists are rising from stream and hill, 
 
 Think of me then. 
 
 Think of me when ? 
 At that lone hour, when on bended knee, 
 Thou art breathing a prayer to the Deity, 
 That all whom thou lovest he may defend, 
 Oh, ask some boon for thy distant friend 
 
 Think of me then. 
 
148 
 
 WINTER TWILIGHT. 
 
 Brief hour for thought! the dark and wintry day 
 Is deepening into night, though no pale star 
 
 To guide the traveller with its timorous ray 
 Yet glimmers in the purple depths afar. 
 
 Darkness comes stealing on ; from- labor free, 
 The weary woodman seeks his cottage door, 
 Where mirthful children on the sanded floor 
 
 Leap at his coming, and press round his knee. 
 
 From distant casements lights are twinkling now, 
 Where busy matrons still the needle ply, 
 Or some pale student strains the anxious eye, 
 
 And bends o'er classic page with thoughtful brow. 
 Stir we the fire ; seek fancy's wild domain, 
 And rear some airy fabric's dizzy height again. 
 
149 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Can this be the creature of laughter and light, 
 
 Who, twenty short summers ago, 
 O'er the clouds of my spirit threw colours as bright 
 
 As heaven's own beautiful bow? 
 
 Can this be the maid of the merry blue eye, 
 That chained the young heart in my breast, 
 
 'Till it throbbed with delight if her form flitted by, 
 Or came in bright dreams to my rest ? 
 
150 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Who roamed o'er the green with a fairy-like trip, 
 Or so featly danced over the dew, 
 
 While laughter seemed born on her roseate lip, 
 And smiles were the breath that she drew? " 
 
 Whose voice had the gladness and mirth of a rill, 
 
 The sweetness of musical birds, ' 
 And the ear and the heart were made captive at will, 
 
 By the sound of her soft-flowing words ? 
 
 How changed ; yet methinks there's a lovelier light 
 That beams from her gentle blue eye 
 
 A something more holy, more tenderly bright, 
 Than lit them in seasons gone by. 
 
 The rich golden curls that once shaded her brow 
 
 Are parted with matronly grace, 
 And a few silver threads intertwined with them now, 
 
 Usurp all too quickly their place. 
 
 She is changed but long vigils in weariness kept, 
 
 Her lily-like paleness bespeak, 
 And eyes will grow dim that too often have wept, 
 
 And grief leave its trace on the cheek. 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 151 
 
 For sorrow's dark pall o'er her life hath been cast, 
 
 The life once so happy and gay ; 
 And idols, as dear as the life-blood, have passed 
 
 From her heart's inmost temple away. 
 
 She is changed the rare beauty, my pride and de- 
 light, 
 
 Like a blossom too soon hath decayed, 
 But her soul, a pure jewel transcendently bright, 
 
 Still shines, though the casket may fade. 
 
 Sweet wife of my bosom, though years have flown o'er, 
 Since the moment I called thee my bride, 
 
 Yet the love that we cherished so fondly of yore, 
 Shall still keep me close to thy side. 
 
 Shall still every thought of my being engage, 
 
 To prize all thy goodness and truth, 
 And still will I love thee as fondly in age, 
 
 As fondly I loved thee in youth. 
 
152 
 
 TO A PICTURE 
 
 OF PIERUE DECOKNILLAN, GRAND MASTER OF THE KNIGHTS HOSPITALLERS, IS 
 A PAINTER'S STUDIO. 
 
 What dost thou here, old knight? 
 With thine armour on, and thy casque laid by ; 
 To the field ! to the field ! where the valiant fight, 
 
 And brave men meet to die. 
 
 This is no place for thee ! 
 The sound of the bugle should greet thine ear ; 
 Hie, hie where thy banner is waving free ! 
 
 Why art thou lingering here ? 
 
TO A PICTURE. 153 
 
 They wait thee to lead them on, 
 They list thy war-note by hill and stream : 
 Hath the spirit that nerved thee to battle flown ? 
 
 Oh ! wake thee from thy dream ! 
 
 Thou phantom of the past ! 
 Long hast thou slumbered in dull decay : 
 And thy comrades, the bravest, the best, the last, 
 
 Have passed like thee away. 
 
 Vainly I call thee now ! 
 
 Thou heed'st not a moment my feeble breath, 
 Thine eye is dim, and thy noble brow 
 
 Pressed by the hand of Death. 
 
 Thy clarion's voice is still; 
 And thy banner furled, to the moth is given, 
 No more shall its folds at thy sovereign will, 
 
 Float in the breeze of heaven. 
 
 All is alike forgot ! 
 
 Thou, as do others, have laid thee down, 
 Thy deeds of valor remembering not, 
 
 And deaf to all renown. 
 20 
 
154 TO A PICTURE. 
 
 Thou art but imaged here, 
 For time o'er thy spirit hath no more sway : 
 Thou hast finished thy bright and high career, 
 
 And passed to thy doom away. 
 
 And only a glorious art, 
 May bear thee back by it wonderous power, 
 And methinks it whispers the human heart, 
 
 "So brief is glory's hour." 
 
155 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Come with thy rose-wreaths, fair and laughing June ! 
 
 Fling thy rich odors upon every gale ; 
 Bid the blue waters wake their blithest tune, 
 
 And joy, and light, and melody prevail. 
 Thou hast a store of treasures, and with thee 
 
 We look for all things lovely : butterflies 
 
 Flit like winged jewels 'neath thy sunny skies, 
 And roam, with tones of music, bird and bee. 
 Thou art the loveliest of the sisters three 
 
 Summer's most beauteous child ! Oh, still delay, 
 
 Fairest of months ! thy parting ; fondly stay, 
 And pour thy radiant smiles on lake and lea : 
 
 Bear not from earth thy blessed gifts so soon ; 
 
 Stay, stay thy flight, oh fair and laughing June ! 
 
156 JUNE. 
 
 I would be with thee on the sunny hills, 
 
 And by the streams would linger, as they flow 
 With their perpetual music, sweet and low : 
 
 And where, in light, leap out the shining rills, 
 
 Like chains of liquid diamonds, I would be ; 
 
 Methinks 'twere sweet to wander far and free, 
 
 Tempting each craggy height or sylvan shade 
 
 A loiterer, where the mossy banks, inlaid 
 With Nature's flowery gems, invite repose ; 
 
 And stealing o'er my brow, thy breath of balm 
 Might lull each care my beating bosom knows, 
 
 And bid the tossing waves of thought be calm ; 
 And I might half forget life's boding ills, 
 Roaming with thee out on the sunny hills. 
 
 Alas ! it may not be ; I am forbid 
 
 By a stern duty, and my feet must press, 
 Day after day, in toil and weariness, 
 
 The city's streets ; while in my heart is hid 
 
 Strange, passionate yearnings for a brighter spot: 
 
 My childhood's home is stealing on my sight 
 In native loveliness all unforgot, 
 
 Fancy reveals it. Well I know, the blight 
 
JUNE. 157 
 
 Of time has dimmed its beauty ; yet to me 
 It ever rises with the summer day, 
 Decked by thy hand in fair and fresh array ; 
 
 And on its verdant slopes I long to be, 
 A happy child, as careless and as gay, 
 As erst in thy bright reign I laughed the hours away. 
 
158 
 
 SONNET TO A CHILD. 
 
 Lovely thou art as earliest buds of spring, 
 
 And fresh as glowing summer's opening rose ; 
 
 Fair as the vale's young lily blossoming, 
 
 When, 'neath the sunbeam's touch, its leaves unclose. 
 
 My own loved child, thou art a sunny gleam 
 Lent as a light to cheer my earthly way : 
 Thy fairy footsteps in thy bounding play, 
 
 And thy soft tones, delicious music seem. 
 
 What would a mother's heart not ask for thee 
 From Him who gave thee in thy loveliness ? 
 Ever around thy path, to shield, to bless, 
 
 Beloved one, may thy heavenly Guardian be : 
 
 Thy portion here, then with His bright-robed choir, 
 
 Give thee an angel's wing, a seraph's burning lyre. 
 
159 
 
 THE OLD ALBUM. 
 
 I've drawn thee from thy hiding-place, 
 
 Relic of by-gone days, 
 Again thy gilded leaves to trace, 
 
 Thy well-known garb to praise ; 
 To bring thee to the glaring light, 
 
 From out thy silent nook ; 
 Come, tell old tales of moments bright, 
 
 Thou long-neglected book ! 
 
160 
 
 THE OLD ALBUM. 
 
 How well I know thy crimson coat, 
 
 So garnished o'er with gold ! 
 And half with sorrow, half with smiles, 
 
 The tarnished robe behold. 
 And fondly I recall the hour, 
 
 When first I saw thee He 
 Affection's gift, all glossy bright, 
 
 Beneath my 'raptured eye. 
 
 And first, the faded lines I trace, 
 
 Penned by a gentle hand ; 
 They bring to me the fairest face 
 
 That graced a youthful band. 
 Sweet play-mate of my earlier years 
 
 Companion of the past ! 
 Thou hast forgot thy life of tears, 
 
 In happier realms at last ! 
 
 Again I turn the rustling leaf: 
 Who comes before me now, 
 
 With the light heart that mocked at grief 
 The fair, unclouded brow ; 
 
THE OLD ALBUM. 161 
 
 The eye that flashed with Passion's ray, 
 
 Unalterably bright ? 
 How changed ! long years have stolen away 
 
 That wild, fantastic light. 
 
 Ha ! my gay cousin ! thou whose mirth 
 
 Was never on the wane ! 
 I read thy sonnet, till I deem 
 
 Thou'rt by my side again, 
 With thy wild laughter ringing free, 
 
 Thy sly and merry air ! 
 That time is gone ; thy manly brow 
 
 A graver look doth wear. 
 
 What fairy fingers held the pen 
 
 That traced this dainty page ? 
 It bears the date of other years, 
 
 And seems quite pale with age. 
 Ah ! I remember me of one 
 
 Just then become a bride ; 
 She smiles a careful matron now, 
 
 With prattlers at her side. 
 21 
 
162 T1IBOLB ALBUM. 
 
 And here is writ a blithesome song, 
 
 And here a tender lay ; 
 This page is sad enough, I ween, 
 
 And this one passing gay. 
 And here a youthful poet's hand 
 
 Placed the sweet rhymes he wove ; 
 The truant ! in a foreign land 
 
 He sought another love. 
 
 Thou mak'st me sad, thou gilded toy ! 
 
 And as I gaze on thee, 
 I think how time and change have thrown 
 
 Their shadows over me : 
 The flush of youth has vanished now, 
 
 Friends severed far and wide ; 
 In curls that wave on many a brow, 
 
 Time's silvery foot-marks hide. 
 
 Go back then to thy silent nook, 
 
 Memento of the past ! 
 Thou tell'st a tale, my much-loved book, 
 
 Of years that flew too fast ; 
 
THE OLD ALBUM. 163 
 
 And read'st a lesson to my heart, 
 
 Perused full oft before : 
 That hopes must fade, and friends must part, 
 
 Till Life's dark day is o'er. 
 
164 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 Thou art a rude and noisy wight, 
 
 Though thou bear'st the name of spring ; 
 And the wintery winds with their chilling blight, 
 That we thought were gone to the realms of night, 
 Come back on thy restless wing. 
 
 We look in vain for the gentle flowers, 
 
 That blush with the spring-time gay ; 
 They wait till soft April's dewy showers 
 Shall waken the leaves, and the woodland bowers 
 Are decked in their green array. 
 
MARCH. 165 
 
 The birds still wander in southern lands, 
 
 Afar from the clime they left ; 
 And the streams still sleep in their icy bands, 
 And the giant oak of the forest, stands 
 
 Of his emerald robe bereft. 
 
 The clouds are dark on thy frowning skies, 
 
 Like the leaden pall of night ; 
 And they wave like massive draperies, 
 Till a flush of sunset's crimson dyes 
 
 Hath turned them to banners bright. 
 
 Oh ! why should' st thou bear the name of Spring, 
 
 Thou month of cold and gloom ? 
 Her gentle treasures thou can'st not bring, 
 For in greener bowers the wild birds sing, 
 
 And the flowers forget to bloom. 
 
 The city belle, with a pensive sigh, 
 
 Deplores thy rigorous sway ; 
 The winter's garb she would fain lay by, 
 And robed like the light-winged butterfly, 
 
 Come forth with the insects gay. 
 
166 MARCH. 
 
 And the cottage girl hath her 'kerchief blue, 
 
 And ribbon of pearly white, 
 And she looks full oft at their spotless hue, 
 And asks, " will the sunbeams ne'er peep through, 
 
 And the skies again look bright?" 
 
 Oh ! why should' st thou bear a gentle name, 
 
 Thou month so drear and chill ? 
 We hear thy blast through the forest ring, 
 And ask in vain for the meek-eyed Spring, 
 
 For Winter is with us still. 
 
167 
 
 THE FROZEN STREAM. 
 
 Chained with strong fetters, fair and restless stream, 
 Thine onward course, thou rover, harshly stayed, 
 No more by mossy bank or sylvan glade, 
 
 Goest thou rejoicing and the solar beam 
 
 That erst threw glittering gems upon thy breast, 
 No longer owns a power to set thee free : 
 
 Fain would the golden rays disturb thy rest, 
 But faint and trembling, fail to succor thee. 
 
 A mighty arm forbids thy further flow, 
 
 And seals with icy band each sparkling wave 
 Lays bare the verdant bank thou lov'st to lave, 
 
 And stills thy babbling tongue ; nor shalt thou know, 
 
 Sweet captive, aught of liberty again, 
 
 Till Spring, with gentle hand, unbinds the chilling chain. 
 
168 
 
 A WHISPER FROM FAIRY LAND. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! for the fairy folk, 
 
 Who, under the boughs of the elm or oak, 
 
 Danced in the moon-beams till morning broke. 
 They made their homes in our brightest bowers, 
 
 They revelled at night 'neath our favourite tree, 
 They slept 'mid the leaves of our fairest flowers, 
 
 And woke the still air with their fairy glee : 
 The rose was the throne of the elfish queen, 
 
 With a royal flush of crimson dye ; 
 And her couch was the lily's cup I ween, 
 
 Where she slept till the stars came out on high, 
 
A WHISPER F R O M F AIRY LA X 1) . 169 
 
 And one reposed on the violet's lip, 
 
 Where the earliest dew-drops all sparkling lay ; 
 Oh ! sweet were the honied gems to sip, 
 
 As a nectar draught to that dancing fay. 
 Alas ! alas ! for the fairy folk 
 As thus I sighed, on the still air broke 
 A silvery voice, and this answer spoke : 
 
 " Sad indeed the fatal hour 
 Fairies fled from earthly bower, 
 When no more in magic ring, 
 They could dance, and laugh, and sing, 
 Tripping through each haunted grove, 
 While the Moon was bright above, 
 And amid their gentle mirth, 
 Flinging fairy gifts o'er earth. 
 
 "First they threw the dew-drops sweet, 
 Where the vales were parched with heat ; 
 And the cotter woke at morn, 
 Glad to find the springing corn. 
 Where the busy wheel was still, 
 There they led the laughing rill ; 
 22 
 
170 A WHISPER FROM FAIRY LAND. 
 
 And at morning's earliest beam, 
 Joyed the miller o'er the stream, 
 Deeming 'twas the summer rain 
 Thus had filled his pools again. 
 Where the tidy housewife's care, 
 Would the early meal prepare 
 Hands unseen at midnight drear, 
 Spread the board with dainty cheer, 
 Woke the maids at peep of day, 
 With a fairy roundelay ; 
 And a thousand favors then 
 Lavishly bestowed on men. 
 
 " Thus we lived the summer day 
 Wore all peacefully away, 
 As we slumbered in the cell 
 Of the fragrant lily's bell, 
 'Till the purple twilight fell 
 Soft on meadow, grove, and dell, 
 And our queen's attendant train, 
 Called us to our tasks again. 
 
 " All the balmy summer through, 
 Thus we lived, a merry crew, 
 
A WHISPER FROM FAIRY LAND. 171 
 
 Gay and lightsome, 'till a foe, 
 Came to work us fear and woe. 
 Hideous was the monster grim, 
 Strange alike in face and limb ; 
 Wheresoe'er he chanced to roam, 
 There did wonderous changes come. 
 Hard it were for me to tell 
 All the harm which then befell, 
 As before his giant sway 
 Fled the frightened elves away. 
 Soon our magic ring gave place 
 To the courser's flying race ; 
 Swiftly through the land there came 
 Steedless chariots urged by flame, 
 Hissing with such horrid tone 
 As they rushed all madly on, 
 That the fays in great affright 
 Feared to tempt the summer night. 
 
 " Soon the groves were borne to earth, 
 Once resounding with our mirth ; 
 Nature's children, faint at heart, 
 Fled before the steps of Art. 
 
172 A WHISPER FROM FAIRY LAND 
 
 Where the mineral waters bright 
 Sparkle in the morning light, 
 Cure for every fairy's ill, 
 Bathing in the healing rill, 
 Whiskered dandy, perfumed bel!e, 
 Came to break the holy spell : 
 Once by mortal taste defiled, 
 Lost the charm for elfland child ; 
 And where bright those waters play, 
 Never more their steps may stray. 
 
 " Sad the change ungrateful man, 
 Then to doubt our power began ; 
 Wickedly proclaimed, that we 
 Lived alone in phantasie ; 
 Scorned our gifts with skeptic word, 
 Left our warnings all unheard, 
 And with impious jeer and jest, 
 Other sway than our's confessed. 
 
 " What then could the fairies do ? 
 Far away from earth we flew, 
 At our gracious queen's command, 
 Back again to fairy land : 
 
A WHISPER PROM FAIRY LAND. 173 
 
 Nor shall mortal ever see 
 
 Aught of elfish revelry. 
 
 Changed is now each haunted spot, 
 
 And the elves are half forgot, 
 
 Only sung in legends wild, 
 
 To the gay and wondering child ; 
 
 Or remembered, it may be, 
 
 Lady fair, by such as thee." 
 
174 
 
 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 Do you remember, Mary, 
 
 All our happy childish days ? 
 When our hearts were light and airy, 
 
 And with footsteps like a fays 
 We bounded o'er the meadow, 
 
 Or adown the wooded lane, 
 And plucked each summer blossom, 
 
 And mocked the wild bird's strain ? 
 When in that old fashioned garden 
 
 We built our grotto fair, 
 With the shells that were so lovely, 
 
 We were loth to leave them there ? - 
 
EARLY DAYS. 175 
 
 When we planted by the willow 
 
 The hyacinth so blue, 
 And early left our pillow 
 
 To watch how fast it grew ? 
 Do you remember, Mary, 
 
 Those happy, happy days ; 
 When our hearts were light and airy, 
 
 And our footsteps like a fays ? 
 
 Do you remember ever 
 
 Our happy girlhood hours, 
 When we wandered by the river, 
 
 Or amid the forest bowers ? 
 When we had so many secrets 
 
 That were never to be told, 
 And we thought them quite as weighty 
 
 As a miser's bag of gold ? 
 When we conned our lessons over 
 
 By the old laburnum tree, 
 With sweet summer sounds to lure us 
 
 In the voice of bird and bee ? 
 
176 
 
 EARLY U A \ 
 
 And our games upon the hill-side, 
 
 On the green, or by the swing, 
 With Antoinette and Amy, 
 
 Who were foremost in the ring ? 
 Or our quarrel in the greenwood, 
 
 Underneath the spreading vine, 
 Because a school-boy lover 
 
 Preferred your eyes to mine ? 
 Do you remember, Mary, 
 
 All those happy girlhood hours, 
 When our hearts were light and airy, 
 
 And we trod a path of flowers ? 
 A path of thornless flowers, 
 
 Beneath a smiling sky, 
 Nor dreamed in such fair bowers 
 
 That care could ever lie. 
 
 And I hope you've not forgotten 
 Our first and famous ball, 
 
 When we tripped it gay and lightly 
 Through that antiquated hall ; 
 
EARLY DAYS. 177 
 
 When our mothers sat beside us, 
 
 With a mother's partial eye, 
 And thought their girls the fairest, 
 
 Though a thousand sylphs were by ; 
 And we deemed that scene of pleasure, 
 
 Was just what life would be, 
 We have learned a harsher measure, 
 
 And turned to grief from glee. 
 We have known the heart's deep sorrow, 
 
 Since those happy days were past ; 
 We have seen each coming morrow 
 
 Look darker than the last ; 
 We have wept in bitter anguish, 
 
 And felt how sharp the sting, 
 When some fair, but fragile blossom, 
 
 In our arms lay withering: 
 But we've garnered hopes immortal, 
 
 That we knew not of before, 
 And yet have hours of gladness, 
 
 Though our girlhood days are o'er. 
 
 23 
 
178 
 
 THANKS FOR A BOQUET, 
 
 TO 3. R. 
 
 Thanks for thy gift, my gentle friend, 
 
 Thy lovely gift of blushing flowers ; 
 Methinks a voice amid them, tells 
 
 Of smiling skies, and sunny hours ; 
 Thy treasured offering's sweet perfume, 
 
 Bears me in fancy far away 
 To gardens redolent of bloom, 
 
 And all the charms of summer day : 
 The zephyr breaths to fan my brow, 
 That come but with my fancy now. 
 
THANKS FOR A BOQUET. 179 
 
 But not alone of smiling skies, 
 
 Or zephyr's fragrant breath they tell ; 
 A tone they have, which more I prize 
 
 Than painted leaf, or perfumed belle ; 
 They whisper me, these blushing flowers, 
 
 That Friendship culled the fresh boquet, 
 To cheer the sick one's languid hours, 
 
 And cheat the weary time away. 
 They whisper, kindness, sympathy, 
 Have yet a home, dear friend, with thee. 
 
 Ah ! well I love their pleasant tones, 
 
 Perchance unheard by other ears ; 
 But to my listening heart they speak, 
 
 My heart their silent language hears. 
 Then let me thank thee for thy gift, 
 
 Thy blooming gift of fragrant flowers ; 
 They come like angel visitants, 
 
 To cheer my sick one's languid hours, 
 And on each leaf can fancy frame 
 The letters of thy gentle name. 
 
180 
 
 THE FIRST SNOW. 
 
 Thy mantle white is on the senseless earth, 
 
 Spirit of Winter old Eolus rude 
 
 Pipes from his northern home in fiercest mood ; 
 And o'er the crisped wreaths, with shouts of mirth, 
 And chiming bells, and laughter ringing free, 
 
 Glides the swift sleigh ; while merry urchins play, 
 Tossing the frozen balls in heart-felt glee, 
 
 Or forming uncouth shapes of monsters grim, 
 To melt like youthful hopes, when next the ray 
 
 Of noontide streams on each misshapen limb. 
 The naked branches wear a spotless vest 
 
 While through the window infant faces peep, 
 
 Lured from their downy beds and early sleep, 
 Wondering to mark the earth in wintry garments drest. 
 
181 
 
 TO 
 
 We learned to love in life's gay spring, 
 When radiant sunshine lit our way ; 
 
 When Hope, like bird upon the wing, 
 Soared up, and on, throughout the day ; 
 
 When earth was bright as earth could be, 
 
 And nought might dim our constancy. 
 
 And now life's fragrant summer-time 
 Upon our path its light hath poured ; 
 
 But Hope forgets her airy clime, 
 
 Nor soars so high as once she soared : 
 
 Yet beat our hearts, as warm, as true, 
 
 As when the merry springtide flew. 
 
182 TO 
 
 But shall we love when falling leaves 
 The autumn of our lives disclose ? 
 
 When Time his silver frost-work weaves, 
 O'er tress of gold, and cheek of rose ? 
 
 When eyes grow dim, and sadly say, 
 
 How all things fair must pass away ? 
 
 Shall we love on through wintry hours, 
 Our pleasant journey nearly done ? 
 
 When failing limbs, and weakened powers, 
 Proclaim how near our set of sun ? 
 
 When youth's gay visions all are o'er, 
 
 And come to light our steps no more ? 
 
 Oh ! doubt it not Time cannot chill 
 The passion of our youthful hearts, 
 
 A holy flame, 'twill brighten still, 
 Its living radiance ne'er departs ; 
 
 I feel, I know, its power must last 
 
 'Till even life itself be past. 
 
TO 183 
 
 Oh! doubt it not like some fair tide 
 
 That sparkles in the morning light, 
 Yet keeps its course, as deep, as wide, 
 
 Though dark may prove the coming night, 
 So shall the love that blest our prime, 
 Flow on, through every change of time. 
 
184 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Fair mistress Moon, that up on high 
 
 With many a brilliant star, 
 Goes sailing through the midnight sky 
 
 Pray tell me what you are ? 
 I long to have a nearer view, 
 To scan thy beauties through and through. 
 
 I see a face in thee, sweet Moon, 
 
 Art thou a curious elf, 
 Who look'st to find upon our earth 
 
 Some fair one like thyself? 
 Or hast thou but a wish to see 
 What passes in society ? 
 
TO THE MOON. 18/5 
 
 And prithee, lady pure and bright, 
 What doth thy piercing eye 
 
 Discover, by the witching light 
 Thy gentle beams supply ? 
 
 Pray tell me, mild and beauteous one, 
 
 What hath it ever gazed upon ? 
 
 No answer ? art thou speechless then ? 
 
 Upon this earth thou'lt find, 
 Fair lady Moon, that silence is 
 
 No fault of woman-kind : 
 We've tongues, and we can use them too, 
 As I shall plainly prove to you. 
 
 Strange thoughts come o'er me when I think 
 
 Of all thou'st witnessed here ; 
 The thousand, thousand years thou'st rolled, 
 
 Unwearied in thy sphere ; 
 Surely ihou art a wonderous creature, 
 Not to grow old in form or feature. 
 24 
 
186 TO T H E M O O N . 
 
 Thou wer'st the same soft silvery hue, 
 When first thy beams were given 
 
 To bless a sinless world, and night 
 Curtained the new-made heaven ; 
 
 When mother Eve looked up and praised 
 
 Thy light to Adam as she gazed. 
 
 And since that time, what mighty change 
 Thy watching eye hath seen ; 
 
 And yet, thou'rt ever moving on 
 With the same quiet mien. 
 
 Does not thy knowledge turn thy brain ? 
 
 'Tis sometimes so, when wit we gain. 
 
 And thou art worshipped here by all 
 
 All hail thee with delight ; 
 And who, for half the glare of day, 
 
 Would give thy blessed light ? 
 Nature looks fairer, and thy sway 
 Old ocean owns, the wise ones say. 
 
TO THE MOON. 
 
 The lover, when thine orb is full, 
 In many a lady's bower, 
 
 Will tell a tale in burning words, 
 Of Love's subduing power ; 
 
 And swear by thy soft beams, to be 
 
 A pattern of fidelity. 
 
 And many a poet like myself, 
 Will woo thee in his song, 
 
 And sing perhaps more pleasantly, 
 Nor keep thee half so long : 
 
 But lady Moon so mild and dear, 
 
 I have a secret for thine ear. 
 
 Don't whisper it to idle airs, 
 Lest they should waft it on ; 
 
 But, there is somebody I love, 
 From thy poor votary gone : 
 
 I'm sure that if he gaze on thee, 
 
 His thought is fixed the while, on me. 
 
188 TO THE MOON. 
 
 He's gone across the deep blue sea 
 For months, perhaps for years ; 
 
 I try to smile, but often, Moon, 
 I cannot hide my tears : 
 
 We loved as playmates was it strange 
 
 Time our affection could not change ? 
 
 And when he asked my beating heart, 
 
 In tones so sweet and low, 
 And told me, we so soon must part, 
 
 I could not answer " No." 
 Did'st mark the hour? I know thine eye 
 Was peeping from thy home on high. 
 
 And can'st thou, on thy silver beams, 
 
 Kind messages convey ? 
 Then tell him I am all his own, 
 
 Although so far away ; 
 And say, beneath thy gentle light, 
 My dreams will be of him to-night. 
 
189 
 
 THE MAIDEN TO HER MIRROR. 
 
 Thou tellest a pleasant tale to me 
 
 Thou sayest my form is fair, 
 And over a brow of spotless white 
 
 Is braided my silken hair : 
 That mine eye is bright, as the stars that lie 
 
 Far off in their depths of blue ; 
 That my cheek hath stolen the rose's dye, 
 
 And my lip the ruby's hue. 
 
190 THE MAIDEN TO HER MIRROR. 
 
 And thou wert the first, long years ago, 
 
 In my childhood's laughing hour, 
 To whisper a thought of beauty bright, 
 
 Though I guessed not of its power : 
 But one hath knelt at that beauty's shrine. 
 
 And proffered a noble heart ; 
 And the word is spoken in holy faith, 
 
 From which we may never part. 
 
 And to-morrow then kind hands will deck 
 
 My form for the altar's side ; 
 And with murmured wishes of health and joy, 
 
 They will hail me, a happy bride. 
 Wilt thou give me back as bright a cheek 
 
 As leans to thy surface now ? 
 Will thy shining bosom, old mirror, speak 
 
 Of a pale but lovely brow? 
 
 Wilt thou say beneath my bridal veil, 
 Half hid by their swelling tears, 
 
 Mine eyes beam forth with the liquid light 
 Of my girlhood's happy years ? 
 
THE MAIDEN TO HER MIRROR. 191 
 
 It will be our parting, oh, mirror bright ! 
 
 Our last fond parting then ; 
 And as years ?oll o'er us, it yet may be 
 
 We shall never meet again. 
 
 For my home, it must now be far away 
 
 O'er the waves of the bright blue sea ; 
 But oh ! will the vales of that verdant land 
 
 E'er seem as my own to me ? 
 The love of a trusting heart I know 
 
 Can make each spot seem fair ; 
 But shall I not sigh for the loving smiles, 
 
 And the sweet home-voices there ? 
 
 My mother's eye, will it come to bless 
 
 Her child with its tender gleams ? 
 Shall I yearn for my sister's gentle words, 
 
 Yet hear them alone in dreams ? 
 Shall my father's blessing, my brother's tone, 
 
 No longer greet mine ear ? 
 And is love so deep in my heart for him, 
 
 I can part with the loved ones here ? 
 
192 THE MAIDEN TO HER MIRROR. 
 
 Yet oft will they come to my chamber lone, 
 
 And gaze on thy glossy face ; 
 Would I might stamp upon thee, old friend, 
 
 The features they love to trace : 
 But not forgotten, though all unseen, 
 
 Will the parted dear one be ; 
 I shall dwell in faithful hearts, I ween, 
 
 Oh mirror ! if not in thee. 
 
193 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 It is like love Oh ! love should be 
 
 An ever changing thing : 
 The love that /could worship, must 
 
 Be ever on the wing. 
 
 L. E. 1,- 
 
 Not so for me I could not brook 
 
 A love that changed with every wind : 
 A colder tone, a calmer look, 
 
 A passion less refined ; 
 Though deep might flow the blessed tide, 
 I would not that its waves aside 
 Should turn a moment, though I knew 
 Again they'd seek the channel true. 
 25 
 
194 CONSTANCY. 
 
 I could not bear an altered eye, 
 I could not list a careless lay 
 
 A thoughtless tone, whose vague reply 
 Told the heart far away : 
 
 I would not other lips should praise, 
 
 I would not other eyes should gaze, 
 
 If one, and only one alone, 
 
 Felt the deep love that matched my own. 
 
 I would be prized all else above, 
 Valued as some peculiar star ; 
 
 Worshipped, as if no other gem 
 Lit the blue arch afar. 
 
 Mine, the heart's deep devotion be, 
 
 Unchanging, half idolatry ; 
 
 The polar beam, whose light divine 
 
 Nor sets, nor fades, such love be mine, 
 
 1839. 
 
195 
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 Chilled by winter's frosts and snows, 
 Where hath fled the summer rose ? 
 Hath it lost its flush of pride ? 
 Are its red leaves scattered wide ? 
 No its beauties would you seek, 
 Lo, they bloom on Annie's cheek. 
 
196 TO ANNIE. 
 
 What hath hid the gentle star 
 
 In its azure home afar? 
 
 Have the clouds with envious blight, 
 
 Curtained all its pearly light ? 
 
 Look not for the star on high 
 
 See, it beams in Annie's eye. 
 
 Summer sunbeams, where are ye ? 
 Bring once more your joys to me : 
 Must we sigh, alas ! in vain, 
 For your ardent glance again ? 
 Ask not summer suns the while, 
 
 If ye bask in Annie's smile. 
 
 
 
 Who so true, so fair as she ? 
 Whom adored so faithfully ? 
 Airy shape, and faultless feature, 
 Rivaling every mortal creature 
 Tell me, what can most beguile ? 
 Annie's cheek, and eye, and smile. 
 
197 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 " I deem thee not unlovely, though thou com'st 
 With a stern visage." 
 
 MBS. SIGOURNKV. 
 
 I love thee, Winter, though thy name 
 
 Comes harshly on the ear, 
 And foes have called thy frosty face 
 
 The saddest of the year: 
 They say thy tears in hailstones fall 
 That bitter blasts are in thy call 
 That all things shudder, when thy cry 
 In the wild tempest rushes by. 
 
198 WINTER. 
 
 Well, though thy face may wear a frown, 
 
 It is not always so ; 
 
 And though thou send'st in plenty down, 
 On barren heath or peopled town, 
 
 The pale unsullied snow 
 Full many a pleasure does it bring, 
 Upon its silent flakey wing : 
 The merry hills ring out amain, 
 When it lies thick on hill and plain. 
 
 Thou fling' st thy jewels on the bough 
 
 Of every naked tree, 
 And hang'st thy pendant diamonds, where 
 
 The poorest hind may see ; 
 And oft thou giv'st us skies as fair 
 As gentle Spring is wont to wear ; 
 While pleasantly the soft winds play 
 Through all the clear and balmy day. 
 
 The Christmas faggot blazing high 
 The games of wonderous skill 
 
 And oft the dismal legend told, 
 
 Of nightly ghost or robber bold, 
 To make young bosoms thrill ; 
 
WINTER. 199 
 
 The gambols in the new falPn snow 
 The white balls tossing to and fro, 
 These prove thouhast some joys to bless, 
 Though thou art famed for dreariness. 
 
 Then let the roses cease to bloom 
 
 Beside my cottage door ; 
 And wild birds seek a greener home 
 
 Upon some distant shore ; 
 The rose of love still blooms for me, 
 With all its wonted fragrancy ; 
 And fond affection hath a tone, 
 The greenwood songsters ne'er have known. 
 
 The summer's flush, its glowing breath, 
 
 Its breezes, fruits, and flowers, 
 Have charms for all but still I prize 
 
 The dark and wintry hours : 
 Storms may be thine, and cold, and snow, 
 And keen the whist'ling winds may blow ; 
 And yet, though wanting many a grace, 
 Winter, I love thy rugged face. 
 
200 
 
 THE LOVE LETTER 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE. 
 
 Lady, in thy summer bower, 
 Sure, enchantment rules the hour ! 
 All around thee seems so bright 
 With the sunbeam's mellowed light, 
 Through the twisted branches streaming 
 On each leaf and floweret gleaming 
 Resting on thy dark brown hair, 
 In a crown a queen might wear ; 
 And a robe of golden light 
 Flinging o'er thy shoulder white. 
 
THE LOVE L E T T K R . 
 
 Pleasant breezes fan thy cheek, 
 Blushing flowers thy care bespeak; 
 Birds upon the branching tree 
 Warble forth their melody ; 
 And the hum-bird glances by, 
 With the gauze-winged butterfly, 
 Tossing in the summer air, 
 As bright gems were floating there. 
 All is lovely, fair, and free 
 Nature's banquet spread for thee. 
 
 Vain each charm that haunts thy bower 
 They have lost their wonted power ; 
 Flowers may blossom, birds may sing, 
 Zephyrs roam on fragrant wing, 
 Insects hum, and sunbeams fall, 
 Thou art heedless of them all. 
 What to thee the azure sky ? 
 What the song-bird's minstrelsy ? 
 What the flush of summer day ? 
 Thou, in thought, art far away, 
 Roving with thy distant lover, 
 
 Other climes and countries over. 
 26 
 
202 THE LOVE LETTER. 
 
 On the written page thine eye 
 Resteth now most earnestly, 
 As its burning words reveal 
 Love, nor time nor change rnay steal 
 Love in every line confessed ; 
 Gentle maiden thou art blessed ! 
 Bird, and flower, and sunny gleam, 
 ' Cannot lure thee from thy dream. 
 
203 
 
 A SIGH FOR THE PAST. 
 
 "Alas ! for the sordid propensities of modern days, when everything is coined into gold, and 
 this once holiday planet of ours, is turned into a mere working-day world." 
 
 WASHINGTON IKVING. 
 
 Oh ! for the days of chivalry, 
 For a knight of heroic deed, 
 
 With a glittering helmet on his head, 
 And a fiery, prancing steed. 
 
 I'm tired of beaux with beaver hats, 
 
 And coats of black or blue 
 
 i 
 
 Oh ! for the days of old romance, 
 And their mail-clad heroes too. 
 
204 A SIGH FOR THE PAST. 
 
 It must have been a pleasant thing 
 
 To dwell in a castle high, 
 With a draw-bridge o'er a deep dark moat, 
 
 And turrets against the sky ; 
 To have a warder on the wall, 
 
 And a banner waving free, 
 And a lover who came from the Holy-land, 
 
 And wooed upon bended knee. 
 
 I wish I had lived in those glorious days, 
 
 Some centuries ago, 
 With good broad lands and plenty of gold, 
 
 And a will of my own, I trow ; 
 A tapestried chamber with secret doors, 
 
 And galleries lone and long ; 
 Such as I've read of a thousand times, 
 
 In volumes of tale and song. 
 
 I'd have braided the locks of my raven hair, 
 And woven each shining tress 
 
 With the richest gems of the earth and sea, 
 To add to my loveliness. 
 
A SIGH FOR THE PAST. 205 
 
 And over embroidery rich and rare, 
 Have bent through the livelong day, 
 
 And a little maiden at my feet, 
 With a lute and a pleasant lay. 
 
 And I would have graced the tournament 
 
 Where knights were in the list, 
 Or swept along with a merry train, 
 
 And a falcon on my wrist : 
 I'd have had a milk-white palfrey too, 
 
 And a page in green and gold ; 
 And tales of love should have lulled mine ear, 
 
 By a wandering harper told. 
 
 I'm weary of all the things I see, 
 
 Of steeples and chimnies high ; 
 Of houses standing in long straight rows, 
 
 With carriages rolling by ; 
 I hate a modern residence, 
 
 Fine sofas and Brusseled floors, 
 And a chandelier from the ceiling hung, 
 
 Or a mansion with folding doors. 
 
206 A SIGH FOR THE PAST. 
 
 And I must dress quite a-la-mode, 
 
 From bonnet to silken hose, 
 And follow the fashions of foolish France, 
 
 For a reason nobody knows : 
 I have to walk with outrageous men, 
 
 Who I'm sure I could never love, 
 With monstrous whiskers, and little canes, 
 
 And hand in a hosskin glove. 
 
 Oh ! for the golden days gone by, 
 
 The days of old romance, 
 When there were knights in armor clad, 
 
 With shield, and spear, and lance ; 
 When to noble dames and ladies fair, 
 
 They bent the willing knee : 
 Would I had lived in those glorious times, 
 
 For they were the days for me ! 
 
207 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 List while I sing to thee, 
 
 Fairest and best ; 
 Chase thy sweet slumbers, 
 
 Awake from thy rest 
 Hear the soft melodies 
 
 Floating afar, 
 Breathed from the strings 
 
 Of my tuneful guitar. 
 
208 SERENADE. 
 
 Steal from thy pillow, 
 
 The casement unclose ; 
 Lift the light curtain 
 
 That veils thy repose 
 Softly the moonbeam 
 
 Its mantle will throw, 
 O'er thy fair tresses 
 
 And ivory brow. 
 
 Part but one bud 
 
 From the jessamine spray j 
 Press to thy bosom, 
 
 Then toss it away 
 Swift through the lattice 
 
 Kind zephyr will bring 
 Love's fairy token, 
 
 To bless while I sing. 
 

M191971 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY