/26'9
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 U r
 
 10 
 
 AUTUMN DREAMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHIQUITA. 
 
 " TRUTH is of the essence of poetry, as well as of science. But in the one 
 case, the truth is always enveloped in form ; in the other, it is eliminated 
 from foim. Science gives you truth in algebraic formula; poetry gives you 
 truth in the dance of the stars." BAYNE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 90, 92 & 94 GRAND STREET. 
 1870.
 
 ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 
 in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 PS 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 On page 18, fourth line, for their, read dim. 
 On page 19, third line, for trains, read train. 
 On page 52, twelfth line, for sweet, read sweep. 
 
 " ' " light, read like. 
 
 On page 98, second line, for griefs, read grief. 
 
 the lips. 
 
 A woman must be "lifted out of herself," 
 to write in a manner that will charm. It would 
 have been a difficult task, in these two years of 
 domestic trials, of changes, and duties, occurring 
 to those who are not wealthy, to have forgotten 
 often the stern realities of life. 
 
 1 03591 8
 
 PS 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 OFTENTIMES it happens that those who 
 have the fullest enjoyment which poetic feeling 
 affords, are bitterly disappointed in themselves 
 when they venture to lisp in numbers the 
 sweet feeling which has so enlarged and ele 
 vated their souls ; and that which so rilled the 
 soul, when written, seems but to have touched 
 the lips. 
 
 A woman must be "lifted out of herself," 
 to write in a manner that will charm. It would 
 have been a difficult task, in these two years of 
 domestic trials, of changes, and duties, occurring 
 to those who are not wealthy, to have forgotten 
 often the stern realities of life. 
 
 1 0-359 j 8
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 bouquet one bud of beauty, its fragrance will 
 cause a kindly feeling for the author. 
 Respectfully, 
 
 EPPIE BOWDRE CASTLEN. 
 
 MACON, GA., April, 1870.
 
 CO NTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FIFTEEN .......... 9 
 
 Autumn Days ........ 12 
 
 We Two . i . . . . . .14 
 
 "Angels' Flowers" . . ...... 16 
 
 Evening . ... . . . . .18 
 
 " Homage I do not seek "...... 19 
 
 Earth's Beauty . . . . . . . .20 
 
 The Deluge ........ 93 
 
 To a Beautiful Young Friend . . . . . . 26 
 
 Come back ! . . . . . . . .37 
 
 " O Blessed Home ! " . . . . . . .28 
 
 Sweep, O Sea ! ....... 32 
 
 Why ... . .33 
 
 To my Little Daughter ...... 34 
 
 Night 35 
 
 The Southern Forest Flower ...... 37 
 
 Rain at Night ........ 38 
 
 Lines to my Mother ! . . . . . . .40 
 
 The Dead Infant ........ 42 
 
 Reflections ........ 43 
 
 Lines respectfully inscribed to Miss Sally W., of Augusta, Ga. . 45 
 
 Decorating the Graves of our Dead on the 26th of April . . 47 
 
 Lines . . . . . . . . -49 
 
 Lines to " a Friend " . . . . . . .50 
 
 " One of these Days " . . . . . . .5* 
 
 A Scene ........ 52
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Hope .... . . 54 
 
 The Valley of the Past ...... 55 
 
 My Faded Flowers . . . . . . -58 
 
 To my Sweet Juliette .... 59 
 
 Ye know not . . . . . . . .61 
 
 Memnon ........ 62 
 
 To Myra ..... ... 63 
 
 O Leaves ........ 65 
 
 Absence ......... 66 
 
 In Dreams ........ 68 
 
 Desolate . . . . . . . . .69 
 
 Thorns ........ 71 
 
 Sighing for Thee . . . . . . . -72 
 
 To Mary 73 
 
 All is dreary now . . . . . . . -74 
 
 " Is it a Sin to love Thee ?" ...... 75 
 
 Lines ......... 77 
 
 Lines . . . . . . . . -79 
 
 Nearer Home ........ 80 
 
 "Chiquita" . . . . . .81 
 
 A Petition ......... 83 
 
 To "Chiquita" ....... 85 
 
 To Eppie, of Macon . . . . . . .86 
 
 Lines ...... 88 
 
 Only a Tear . . . . . . . .89 
 
 To E . . . . . . . 90 
 
 Sweet Summer Night . . . . . . 91 
 
 To E., on gazing at her Portrait ..... 93 
 
 To Chiquita ........ 95 
 
 Our Dead . . . . . . 97 
 
 Burlington . . . . . . . -99 
 
 To my Dear Little Boys, Eddie and Johnnie . . . 100 
 
 Stanzas to Chiquita ....... 101 
 
 To my Grandmother on her Seventy-second Birthday . . 102 
 
 To Leola ......... 103 
 
 Lines to the Memory of General Cobb .... 104 
 
 Lebanon ......... 105 
 
 To Tangetta . . . . . . . 107
 
 AUTUMN DREAMS. 
 
 FIFTEEN ! 
 
 JIFTEEN to-day ! Sweet Mother, once again 
 
 I come to ask your blessing and your prayer. 
 Upon my moisten'd eyelids let your lips, 
 Dear Mother, softly rest ; while through them comes 
 The faint, low breathing of your sweet words, kiss 
 Away these rising tears, and pray that I 
 This hour so fraught with Hope may ne'er forget. 
 Your blessing will e'er bloom like roses sweet 
 Upon the grave of this fair, fleeting Time 
 And ne'er again will I 'twixt mountains stand 
 Dismayed, uncertain rocks and winds before ; 
 But on the gleaming top, in all the strength 
 Of Womanhood, will I, down Childhood's green, 
 Fresh valley, cast my last and ling'ring look. 
 Sweet Vale, so full of thrilling beauty wild, 
 Ethereal melody thy gates are closed !
 
 io FIFTEEN! 
 
 No more upon thy beds of violets 
 Or mossy banks, when wearied from the race 
 With wayward, sporting Zephyrus, shall I 
 E'er lay me down nor wander in thy fields 
 With joyous Flora, whose unfading crown, 
 And ever blooming cheek, bold lovers won. 
 Her pencil dipped in rosy hues of Heav'n, 
 No more shall paint the Rose's velvet cheek. 
 No more from her bright coronet shall fall 
 Sweet odors o'er the lily's snowy brow. 
 No longer seated under leafy trees, 
 Fast by the margin of the silver stream 
 Where sported Dryads with their floating hair, 
 Shall I e'er be nor o'er the mist-wreath'd hills 
 Shall hail Aurora's rosy car and steeds, 
 Swift driving through the purple Morn, and o'er 
 The verdant valley scattering dew and flowers. 
 
 No, no ! now sail I on the ruffled sea 
 Of Life my " gate of fancy " closed ! No more 
 To sport with playful Xereids, or think 
 Again upon wild Neptune as I sail ; 
 Nor in the stormy blast e'er call upon 
 Old ^Eolus again and woman-like 
 I now must turn from worshipp'd idols leave 
 My choicest pleasures bow to other shrines. 
 Ah, Mother ! pray the shining wreaths around 
 Young Hope's fair head may never fade or die.
 
 FIFTEEN! II 
 
 My Child ! look out upon the day 'tis clear 
 
 And bright of patient waiting speaks it, and 
 
 Of cheerful trust. Of patient waiting for 
 
 The golden harvest. Does it brighten, Child, 
 
 Into Hope's radiant light ? Nay steady, calm 
 
 It is fit type, methinks, of woman's life. 
 
 Look up with fortitude to future days 
 
 For us there is a sphere of duty, plain ; 
 
 To it with upright heart and quiet mien, 
 
 Strive, Child, to go. Tho' happiness is plucked 
 
 From thy young heart, and sad wounds made which 
 
 cling 
 
 Fast to its fibres, still thy murmurings, 
 And yield for He will temper winds for thee, 
 And His own hand of comfort will be laid 
 In loving kindness on that troubled heart. 
 If lonely, faint, and burdened by the way, 
 The journey is not long, and wayside flow'rs 
 By hands of friendship proffer'd will be sweet, 
 And bright, and fadeless and give joy to thee. 
 Life is not all a dancing light a morn 
 In May. Soft mellow rays of evening steal 
 Upon us ; but the sun is still the same, 
 And Life is after all a dim, dim dream.
 
 A UTUMN DA YS. 
 
 AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 |HE melancholy days are come the saddest 
 
 of the year ! " 
 The berries have to scarlet turned; and bare, and 
 
 brown, and sere, 
 Hard-beaten by the fretful rain, the harvest fields 
 
 appear. 
 
 Unfolded lie the grand and gorgeous glories of the 
 
 wood ! 
 And on the hill-side, where the blue-eyed flow'rs in 
 
 beauty stood, 
 The Autumn-hued vines lowly bend, to meet winds 
 
 strong and rude. 
 
 Like Summer rain the golden leaves in showers patter 
 
 down, 
 Adorning gnarl'd and knotted roots with Nature's 
 
 brilliant crown 
 Not heeding moans, nor winds, nor storms that tell of 
 
 Winter's frown. 
 
 Or on the clear, bright bosom of the ever-murmuring 
 
 stream, 
 They softly lie, and kiss with crimson lips the waves 
 
 that gleam, 
 And dance, and rise, and swell, and tremble 'neath 
 
 the Moon's pale beam.
 
 AUTUMN DAYS, 13 
 
 Upon projecting, barren rock?, midst mountain wilds 
 
 its home, 
 The fierce, defensive, bristling Pine, with stiff and 
 
 spiral form, 
 In scanty dress a Guardian stands, and proudly meets 
 
 the storm. 
 
 And patriot Chief, thou grand old Oak, thou Monarch 
 
 brave and true ! 
 How much of human feeling (since from acorns small 
 
 you grew) 
 Has ebbed and flowed 1 How much of grandeur, 
 
 space and time, seem you ! 
 
 The heart has felt the beauty of the Summer woods 
 
 of gales 
 That waved the leaves and blossoms, blushing in the 
 
 lowly dales, 
 And these sweet, thornless treasures, lost, the sad 
 
 heart still bewails. 
 
 A morn of beauty soon will rise ! nor over Summer's 
 
 bier, 
 Nor folded, faded petals, shall we drop the hopeless 
 
 tear. 
 Sweet flow'rs! bright days will come again the 
 
 gladdest of the year. 
 
 2
 
 14 WE TWO. 
 
 WE TWO. 
 
 jjALKING we two heart whispering to heart 
 
 And through the bright, bright meadows 
 pranked with flow'rs, 
 
 The insects hummed in their sweet unknown tongues, 
 And trilling birds were loving 'way the hours. 
 
 Walking we two hand fondly clasped in hand 
 Treading at every step the rich perfume 
 
 P'rom rainbow-tinted leaves ; nor heeded we 
 
 Their crushed and bruised heads their early doom. 
 
 What if they sighed and pined these silken flow'rs. 
 
 No sweet, fresh, spell of life to us could come ; 
 We had been crushed, and bruised, and broken too 
 
 The light been driven from our heart's sweet home. 
 
 The light ! not all for, like the murmur faint 
 From downy wing of some lone wood-land bird, 
 
 Comes his low whispered " Darling, we can hope " 
 All is not darkness for my heart has heard. 
 
 Yes, yes, my heart has heard and taken in 
 The truth, the precious truth and soon will close 
 
 And fold it in, as dew-drops bright and pure 
 Are folded to the bosom of the rose.
 
 WE TWO. 15 
 
 Again his whispered words when sadly I 
 
 Had said, " Sweet, I have trod upon your heart 
 
 Yea, trod and crushed out all its sweet perfume, 
 And you have thought I calmly sent the dart. 
 
 " And calm and silent, as when filled a soul 
 With fears you passed beneath the chast'ning rod, 
 
 The timid quiver of your lips told well 
 
 How withered your heart-flowers I had trod. 
 
 " How crushed and bleeding that warm heart, tho' lips 
 Else whispered to the busy world the light 
 
 Within your eye had faded bitterness 
 
 Had choked up Hope's sweet spring and all was 
 night." 
 
 Reply came "No, in sight of God, while 'neath 
 His broad, bright canopy we walk and wait, 
 
 A part of Him I think you, Darling, nor 
 
 Has aught e'er trod upon my heart but Fate. 
 
 " Like ' Morn from Memnon,' you can ever draw 
 From my closed lips the softest tones of love." 
 
 We sadly watched the westering of the sun, 
 Nor looked I in his eyes his words to prove. 
 
 Too well I knew the quiver on his lip 
 
 Too well his heart, surcharged, would soon run o'er ;
 
 16 " ANGEL 'S FLOWERS." 
 
 I felt his trembling knew too well the wealth 
 Of his pure love, which made us both so poor. 
 
 Again " Sweet thoughts of what you yet may be 
 Are mine my own, my wife I calmly wait. 
 
 A part of Him I think you, Darling, nor 
 
 Has aught e'er trod upon my heart but Fate." 
 
 A long, deep, river and a valley dark 
 
 With shadows eyes too sad and dim to see. 
 
 Too wide the stream our hands can never meet ; 
 Pulseless the heart, once full of love for me. 
 
 Fate has trod on us breaking heart and hand ! 
 
 From out her sick'ning grasp we yet shall rise 
 " My own my wife ? " Yes, when we 'wake again, 
 
 Beholding beauties of a Paradise ! 
 
 "ANGELS' FLOWERS." 
 
 My little girl, three years old, asked me to-night if the stars were the 
 A ngels' Flowers. 
 
 |HE Angels' Flowers ! my Darling, thinkest thou 
 
 Yon starred Firmament a meadow bright, 
 Upon whose jeweled bosom smiling brow 
 Bloom flowers rare fore'er in beauty's light?
 
 "ANGEL'S FLOWERS." 17 
 
 Look up through dim cloud-curtains, hanging low 
 While 'neath this dome of hollow boughs we sit, 
 
 And watch yon sky your meadow spangled o'er 
 And see our bower, your tiny buds have lit. 
 
 The waters glisten, Darling, 'neath their smile, 
 And leap, and chime the sweetest melody. 
 
 Yon folds of mist and cloud grow gorgeous while 
 Your buds flash into visibility. 
 
 Each Earthly blossom sparkles 'neath the light 
 Your smiling, peeping flowers shed ; and throws 
 
 Back quivering kisses on the winds of Night 
 Our blue forget-me-not our blushing rose. 
 
 Sweet, guileless child, O for thine eyes of Faith 1 
 To see with thee the Angels' fadeless flow'rs, 
 
 To walk with thee thy beauty-woven path, 
 To feel again the trust that once was ours. 
 
 Time-worn and dim the gaze we fix on High 
 
 And on the troubled Ocean of our life, 
 Faith's wreck is sailing Hope, the Pilot, nigh, 
 
 But weak and wearied with the storm and strife.
 
 18 EVENING. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 WE can appease the yearnings of the heart, and drive away reflection 
 nay, we can live without sympathy, until evening steals around our path 
 and tells us with a voice which makes itself be heard, that we are alone. - 
 MRS. ELLIS. 
 
 |OW comes still evening on," and charming is 
 
 Its sweet repose delicious, silent, calm ! 
 Light fades around us like our own sweet hopes 
 Their shadows with their strange, mysterious pow'r, 
 Blend with the gently sinking, dying light, 
 As Faith, thin, careworn, and neglected, blends 
 Her tranquillizing beauty still with Hope's 
 Own fading, hectic flush. The stillness lulls 
 The passion in our hearts cares seem to sleep 
 And in this soft, sweet, blushing hour, old 
 And tender memories will fall upon 
 Our saddened hearts, and melt us unto tears. 
 Some half-forgotten air the perfume of 
 Some fav'rite flow'r, brings back to us a flood 
 Of recollection purifies the soul ; 
 New life is given to pure impulses great 
 And noble aspirations opened paths 
 Of life and beauty and the prisoned soul 
 Dreams sweetly on of freedom and delight ! 
 . . . And Nature's bosom is scarce throbbing now 
 The heated race is o'er thrown off the red 
 And glaring raiment. Robed in pure, white mist,
 
 "HOMAGE I DO NOT SEEK." 19 
 
 With dusky, shadowy veil she stands and 'waits 
 
 The soft gale's perfumed kiss for soon her robes 
 
 Of royalty, of midnight hue, and trains 
 
 Of light and glory, puts she on, and pins 
 
 With Heaven's own sparkling gems these sweeping 
 
 robes 
 
 Of black. Soon will her fair brow glisten 'neath 
 The radiant light of that bright coronet 
 And gray-winged evening shall give way to night. 
 
 May ambition burn in your young heart, and give to thought and word 
 " the aspiring and the radiant hue of fire." 
 
 [Extract from a friend's letter.] 
 
 |OMAGE I do not seek, for well you know 
 
 My simple rhymes are writ in lonely hours, 
 When shine few stars o'er life's dark way when need 
 A tender, pruning hand, my heart's wild flowers. 
 
 'Tis true my soul is often filled with wild, 
 Unuttered, trancing songs of beauty ring 
 
 Shivers of melody upon my ears ; 
 
 But of this thrilling joy I cannot sing. 
 
 I do not write for fame 'tis joy enough 
 
 If I have coaxed the shadowy, brooding wings
 
 20 EARTH'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Of Sorrow to pass gently o'er a heart 
 
 Which else would sadly feel the shade she flings. 
 
 Nor yet for praise my spirit loves to pour 
 Itself out into song. Though music lives 
 
 Not in its echoes beauty finds no home 
 My spirit worships all that Nature gives. 
 
 Yea, worships all the gems of Winter cold 
 
 And heartless Winter young and joyous Spring 
 
 The Summer, gambolling o'er scented flow'rs 
 Of all that Nature gives, my soul would sing. 
 
 Then do not deem my rude and simple lays 
 Are offered at the throne of Science given 
 
 They only to some lonely pilgrim sung 
 
 Oft when the soul would dream of love and Heaven, 
 
 EARTH'S BEAUTY! 
 |hJfjj|LONE, alone, to-night! Beneath the starry 
 
 Beneath the glist'ning, jewelled canopy of Heaven. 
 The sad soul whispers, Earth hath too much light to 
 
 die, 
 And into this sweet light the burdened soul is driven.
 
 EARTH'S BEAUTY. 21 
 
 Aye, too much light to die ! Earth breaks into glad smiles, 
 Though under Cypress shadows we may weep at even ; 
 
 The " timid trembling of the purple Dawn" soon wiles 
 Away these star-shaped shadows falling night has 
 given. 
 
 The golden languor, trance-like joy of summer's day 
 Delicious, dreamy, calm still hush the heart's wild 
 
 beating ; 
 
 Sweet odors climbing heavenward, trailng branches stay, 
 And dark, low, waving foliage, fragrant waters meet 
 ing. 
 
 Through curling, wreathing mist of happy by-gone 
 
 years, 
 
 Wild floods of music, Nature from her lyre is shaking; 
 This rich and thrilling harmony of love brings tears 
 This slumb'ring heart to Earth's new beauty is awak 
 ing. 
 
 Now breaks the light upon the mountain's golden brow ! 
 
 Bright stars before th' ascending, radiant day expir 
 ing 
 Like guardian angels guiding lonely steps, till now 
 
 Before th' unfolding gates of Morn they smile retiring. 
 
 Yes, Earth hath too much light to die ! In midnight grief 
 The soul sees not the gorgeous beauties o'er her 
 trailing ;
 
 22 THE DELUGE. 
 
 Too low and faint its flick'ring dream-light far too brief! 
 And Nature's leaping, quiv'ring melody but wailing. 
 
 Low drop the crimson" bells beneath the blushing sky ! 
 
 To smiling waves the Morn her bridal kiss has given ; 
 The glad soul whispers, Earth hath too much light to die, 
 
 And into this sweet light the trembling soul is driven. 
 
 THE DELUGE. 
 
 |HAT hast thou seen, Mount Ararat what felt ? 
 Ah ! couldst thou speak, the traveller, dumb 
 with awe 
 
 And trembling with alarm, shouldst pause and hear, 
 At thy grand base, in thundering tones, of that 
 Far-distant time when God displayed His power, 
 His wondrous power, His rightful vengeance, and 
 Made thee, thou mighty summit, sacred first 
 In human history ; thy head to look 
 Far o'er the waters down upon all else 
 All coming generations to the end, 
 Yea, to the end of time. 
 
 Thy peaks did gleam 
 
 And glitter as the sunbeams o'er them danced 
 Thy face o'erlooked a smiling, tranquil sea ;
 
 THE DELUGE. 
 
 And though near by there lay a desert hot 
 
 And sterile, thy white, snowy brow felt not 
 
 The scorching breath that o'er its bosom swept. 
 
 Serene all Nature seemed the fields were dressed 
 
 In their bright holiday apparel birds 
 
 Were building nests and hunting cooing mates 
 
 The grazing herd rejoiced in sweet, fresh grass 
 
 The clear, blue sky showed not a speck and men 
 
 And women ate and drank, and gave themselves 
 
 To pleasure, marrying, and feasts ; nor cared 
 
 They aught for that deep, warning voice save one, 
 
 Whose aged head was whitened by the frosts 
 
 And cares of six long centuries. While o'er 
 
 Him floated perfumed breezes, and the sound 
 
 Of busy life was falling on his ear, 
 
 By faith alone he laid the first great beam 
 
 Of that strange structure, which he knew would sail 
 
 And ride in safety o'er the troubled deep. 
 
 And now, his task well done, he kindly bade 
 
 His chosen ones to enter in ; the door 
 
 He closed upon a jeering, scoffing world, 
 
 And sat him calmly down to wait in faith 
 
 The issue God's own time ; not weakened yet 
 
 That faith when out came peeping starlets, and 
 
 All Nature still wore peaceful smiles nor yet 
 
 When morning rose in undimmed splendor, and 
 
 The laugh and jest were heard hard by, for he 
 
 Had rested on the strength of God's own word. 
 
 Thy peaks still glittered, Mount, and at thy foot
 
 24 THE DELUGE. 
 
 The sea lay smiling tranquilly and passed 
 Were seven prayerful days since, deep within 
 This holy resting-place, had Noah given, 
 On bended knee, himself up to his God. 
 
 A tiny, floating cloud ! no larger than 
 His own rough hand. The sky is soon o'ercast ! 
 The rain descends ! a welcome show'r to those 
 Of little faith to him the tidings sure 
 Of that convulsion which should drown the world. 
 Days pass! and faster, fiercer, falls the rain. 
 The tiny streams are swelling, surging seas, 
 Upon whose maddened bosoms wealth and life 
 Alike are borne to death. Grim Famine stalks 
 Abroad, and Desolation fills the land. 
 
 Days pass ! and from the blackened cloud still pours 
 This endless water-sheet. No longer stirs 
 From his shut door the man of pleasure, and 
 The laboring peasant seeks the hills around 
 For safety from the threat'ning waves. Yet still 
 The angry waters rise and roar, and shake 
 The Earth's foundations with their violence, 
 Till, on the cold and black and cruel waves 
 A drifting mass of human flesh is seen. 
 Fierce struggles, then, for life ! as thund'ring high 
 The mad, devouring waves are lapping up 
 Each struggling, climbing wretch, and swelling high 
 In pride and anger as each victim falls, 
 Crazed, crushed, and hopeless, in their mighty and 
 Remorseless grasp and rushing wildly on
 
 THE DELUGE. 25 
 
 Still higher, higher ! wrap, and sweep from off 
 The reeling, tottering house-tops, those who seek 
 Dismayed this place of safety, hoping yet 
 T' escape the wrath of God. The weak are hurl'd 
 From off their point of refuge by the strong, 
 Into the seething, surging sea below. 
 The mother's sharp, shrill cry of agony 
 Is heard, as though the sweeping waters she, 
 White, wet and chilled, is walking, clutching at 
 The floating, flying wrecks, and fighting back 
 With bare, imploring arms the coming Death 
 Despairing, frenzied, holding high above 
 Her dripping head her crowing infant child ; 
 Or, fleeing to the mountain-tops, she checks 
 With her vehement cries and prayers its smiles. 
 " The fountains of the deep are broken up ! " 
 Still higher rise the swift and fearful waves, 
 Till o'er the groaning, trembling Earth they sweep 
 And hide forevermore each scene of shame, 
 Brutality, and vice. 
 
 Amid the storm, 
 
 The black and fearful midnight that had wrapp'd 
 The frenzied Earth, as calm as if in sleep, 
 Beat one true heart ; no fear had overthrown 
 His sweet, abiding faith no tremor passed 
 O'er his brave heart, as on the shoreless deep 
 And over buried mountains rode his lone 
 And helmless ark. His voice was lifted up 
 In prayer ; and heaving, rolling billows, nor
 
 26 TO A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 The ocean's angry voice e'er dimmed the light 
 Of faith ; still tranquil as a babe asleep 
 Upon its mother's breast, he laid him down 
 To wait the coming calm. 
 
 And when upon 
 
 Mount Ararat he stood and viewed, with those 
 He loved, the changed and solitary Earth, 
 He built thereon an altar, tearful knelt, 
 And "lifted up his voice again in prayer," 
 And soon the flame of this new sacrifice 
 Arose from that lone mountain top and bore 
 His prayer to Heaven ! 
 
 And lo ! God's signet ring, 
 Grand emblem of a sacred promise and 
 Undying warrant of His covenant, 
 Appeared and arched the aged man of God! 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 j]ORDS cannot tell how beautiful thou art, 
 
 How sweet the calmness of thy soft, dark eye- 
 Stars of a pure, young twilight ! In thy hair, 
 Thy shining hair, a thousand glories lie. 
 
 Thine is an ever-dancing shape a form 
 Of grace a houri maid were proud to wear ; 
 
 Thy face a soul of passion but thy heart 
 From ev'ry shade of passion wholly clear.
 
 COME BACK! 27 
 
 Too pure thou seemest with thy gentle way. 
 
 Sure, Sorrow's wings will never be unfurled ; 
 Yet, say they, Pain and Sorrow come to all 
 
 And Maiden, 'tis a weary, weary world. 
 
 " At deep scars jest they who have known no wounds." 
 To move and win young hearts are arrows hurled 
 
 Of poisoned sweetness, in unguarded hours 
 Ah Maiden ! tis a weary, weary world. 
 
 When swears man by the glory of thine eyes 
 Thy hair thy rounded form of life and light ; 
 
 By ev'ry grace by ev'ry charm declares 
 You ever Queen and he thine own true Knight : 
 
 Oh, Maiden, at these empty vows of love, 
 
 Let thy red, pouting lip with scorn be curled ; 
 
 A moment's ornament they think you and 
 'Tis they who make a weary, weary world. 
 
 COME BACK! 
 
 jOME back, O days, O long lost, jewelled hours, 
 That through these faded years can never fling 
 O'er memory's azure sky a cloud, but seems 
 The passing shadow of an Angel's wing. 
 Come back, O days !
 
 28 "O, BLESSED HOME!" 
 
 Return, O days, with all your golden store, 
 
 Ere, "whitening in the sun," Love's harvest lay; 
 
 Come back, O busy feet, O buoyant hearts ; 
 Bright, sunny hours of youth, fade not away. 
 Fade not, O daysJ 
 
 O melodies O hours of glory, come, 
 
 With gentle mem'ries soothe Life's beaten way ; 
 
 Come with your garlands wove of Hope's fair flowers,. 
 Ere in the dust their vivid beauty lay. 
 Be mine, O days ! 
 
 "Glorious things are spoken of Thee, O City of God!" Psalm Ixxxvii. 3. 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to Rev. Dr. Wills, whose last Sabbath Sermon 
 was from the above beautiful Words. 
 
 blessed Home ! much loveth God thy gates 
 Thy holy mountain-paths, where Righteousness 
 And Peace each other ever kiss. Mercy 
 And Truth together meet, and Glory dwells 
 In all thy spotless land for evermore. 
 In thee the Church triumphant firmly stands, 
 A rock immovable ! nor 'gainst it shall 
 The gates of Hell prevail ; for He hath said 
 His Christ and He this Kingdom loveth well, 
 And in it they shall reign fore'er and e'er.
 
 "O BLESSED HOME!" 29 
 
 Mountains of power and beauty girdle thee ! 
 Aye, even as Jerusalem of old. 
 And on thy deep foundations planted He 
 The everlasting covenant and God 
 The Son redeemed it with His precious blood, 
 And on the palm of His own hand engraved 
 He it. He thy defence is, Zion, by His love, 
 Omnipotence, and truth. " Fair as the moon, 
 Clear as the sun," to-day thou'rt marching forth, 
 While glories of the Earth, as morning cloud 
 And early dew, swift pass away. Shinest 
 Thou "as Eastern gold," O Zion, city 
 Of our God, who in thy midst is mighty 
 And whose promise shall not fail for e'er. 
 O Zion ! tears thou oft hast had, as well 
 As raptures suffering as well as joy, 
 When sadly by those fountains sat and wept, 
 To music of the murmuring stream, thine own 
 Forsaken ones. Neglected hung their harps 
 Upon the weeping willow-trees, and sad 
 And lonely felt they in a land so strange ; 
 And in their woe cried, Sit we down, yea, weep 
 We by these rivers bitter tears when we 
 Remember Zion, city of our love. 
 Deep notes of lamentation filled the air 
 When thy sad captive children shook from off 
 Their slowly dragging feet thy precious dust 
 Ne'er resting in their toilsome flight and march, 
 'Till in a desert land they laid them down.
 
 30 "O BLESSED HOME!" 
 
 From hopeless bondage, deepest ruin, He 
 Soon called thee, and in robes of beauty made 
 Thee, Zion, glorious again " The Lord 
 Hath chosen thee." Behold, thy house is left 
 No longer, Zion, lone and desolate ! 
 No longer, Zion, lone and desolate 
 Shall thine own glorious house be left ; for thou 
 Hast called upon Him who, unsinking, walked 
 The waves of Galilee who didst so rule 
 The raging of the sea, that when the waves 
 Thereof did rise in anger, He did still 
 By His own wondrous voice their violence. 
 Him thou hadst called upon and He, so full 
 Of love, compassion, mercy, grace and truth, 
 Did teach His way to thee and glorified 
 Thy name, till, like a Bride adorned for Him 
 The chosen one, thou standest undefiled, 
 Exalted, free from wrath that once did lie 
 And compass thee like deep and weltering waves. 
 How great hath been His mercy who hath raised 
 Thee from the dead and given new life to thee ! 
 More than the house of Jacob loveth He 
 Thy gates, O Zion thee and all thy works. 
 Through Him thou hast been faithful, and 'tis He 
 Who guards thee " 'gainst assemblies," and who loves 
 Thy faithfulness, thy wondrous beauty, strange 
 And fearful, glorious in its strength and light. 
 No need hast thou, O Zion, of the sun, 
 Nor of the moon to shine upon thy face ;
 
 "0 BLESSED HOME/" 31 
 
 For God's own glory lightens it the Lamb, 
 
 O Holy City, is the light thereof. 
 
 A day in thy fair courts, aye, one short day, 
 
 Far better is than thousands here far better 
 
 A lowly keeper, Zion, in thy house, 
 
 Than dwell a king in wickedness below. 
 
 High is His right hand over thee, and strong 
 
 And mighty is His loving arm. His face 
 
 Is shining over all thy hills, that once 
 
 Were dark with shadows. Never more shall boughs 
 
 And branches of thy sacred cedars bend 
 
 Unto the seas and rivers ne'er again 
 
 Shall all thy hedge be broken, nor thy flowers 
 
 Be plucked by stranger hands. He who so lov'd 
 
 And pitied thee hath clave the hardened Rock, 
 
 And thou shalt drink for evermore of sweet 
 
 And sparkling waters. Ne'er again upon 
 
 Thy mountain's sacred top shall conquering troops 
 
 Sweep in their power. Upon its summit now 
 
 Glad hearts will ever throb to music sweet ; 
 
 And when upon thy valleys' bosom fall 
 
 Soft shades of eve, and on thy gates of pearl 
 
 The lingering light dim shadows fondly kiss, 
 
 By thine own rivers come with songs and harps 
 
 Again thy virgins fair, whose beating hearts, 
 
 Like that deep-troubled sea, have felt the storm, 
 
 And now are " stilled," and feel the storm no more.
 
 32 SWEEP, O SEA! 
 
 SWEEP, O SEA! 
 
 [WEEP, sweep, sweep, o'er a cold, pale face, O 
 
 Sea 
 
 O'er a closed red mouth with its sobbing and song, 
 With its kisses of passion, lips dumb with wrong 
 O'er a blind, strangled Hope, sweep, O Sea. 
 
 Too late the poor sensuous soul felt, O Sea, 
 
 While leaping with all the " wild sweetness of love," 
 The earth's slime and bitterness. Light from above 
 
 Glimmered not o'er the wrecked one, O Sea. 
 
 Sweep, sweep, sweep, o'er golden billows of hair 
 O'er whitest of bosoms o'er fairest of flesh 
 O'er gleaming and glitt'ring gems from the mesh 
 
 That Dishonor hath wove for the fair. 
 
 Break, break, break, o'er this fallen one, O Sea ; 
 
 The warm, sheltering wing under which it once crept 
 Feels no more the heart-throbs in sweet faith it 
 slept, 
 
 And awakes now to sorrow and thee. 
 
 Fold, fold, fold, to thy bosom cold, O Sea, 
 
 This sad mateless heart, that has dared leave the 
 pain
 
 WHY. 33 
 
 That beat back the sin, yet fell once again 
 Aye, fold, fold o'er the frail one, O Sea. 
 
 Break, break, break, O thou surging billow, o'er 
 A baffled young life o'er a sad, songless soul. 
 O black, hungry sea O blinding waves, roll 
 
 O'er this passion and pain evermore. 
 
 WHY. 
 
 |HY are the brightest stars before our eyes 
 
 The soonest gone? 
 Their sacred trust resign they to their Queen, 
 Sweet, blushing Morn. 
 
 " What from this barren being do we reap " 
 What joyous see ? 
 
 Ah ! as we sow, so reap we in the field 
 Of Destiny. 
 
 Why. ere the smile has died upon the lip, 
 The stain of grief? 
 
 'Tis sent to tell how lasting joys of Heaven 
 Of Earth, how brief I
 
 34 TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER. 
 
 Why comes not through this black and stormy night 
 My loved my own ? 
 
 Faith points me to the paths by pastures green, 
 And fadeless crown. 
 
 TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER. 
 
 [WRITTEN ON A RAINY NIGHT IN DECEMBER.] 
 
 j]Y daughter ! Ah , what other name can stir 
 
 The inmost depths of this fond heart like 
 thine ? 
 
 Sweet, worshipped Idol Fragile Flowret Star 
 Of purest ray sent o'er my path to shine. 
 
 Bright little Starlet, thou'rt my one sweet Dream 
 The Hope that nestles deepest in my heart 
 
 Whose throbbings seem an echo of the soul, 
 So wildly praying we may never part. 
 
 This long and lonely night, on bended knee, 
 I pray our Father to watch o'er and keep 
 
 Thy unstained soul forever pure and thou 
 Art smiling on me, Darling, in thy sleep. 
 
 Smile on, sweet Baby, smile, and softly dream 
 There is within my breast some hidden wire ;
 
 NIGHT. 35 
 
 Thy smiles alone the secret chords can trill, 
 Thy name alone the gentle string inspire. 
 
 Smile on, I know bright angels are around 
 Thy little couch and whispering in thine ear 
 
 Undying words of love, and faith, and trust, 
 That thou canst never learn, my sweet One, here. 
 
 The storm is raging and the night is lone ; 
 
 Yet seem there gleams of sunshine o'er my way. 
 May thy last sleep by guardians pure be watched 
 
 Thy bright eyes op'd to an eternal day ! 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 JOW sad, how beautiful the Night is, and 
 
 The darkness how profound ; how heavy when 
 The sable goddess o'er a slumbering world 
 Her " leaden sceptre " stretches forth ! Did not 
 Yon glorious orb, so fraught with charity 
 And love, throw light and smiles and splendor on 
 The black-robed earth to purest silver turn 
 With this enchanting, this soul-stirring light, 
 The lining of yon floating cloud? Is this 
 The same soft moon, whose silver crescent hung 
 High in the clear blue Heavens years ago,
 
 36 NIGHT. 
 
 When first young Night was 'rayed in drapery 
 
 Of thick and gloomy black a shadow dim 
 
 And long, from her cold shoulders hanging low 
 
 A mantle, under which the playful winds 
 
 Would peep, and frolic with the grave, dark maid ? 
 
 Is this the moon, which, when the infant world 
 
 First shadowed was by Night's mysterious wing, 
 
 Peeped from her curtain of dim ether, bland, 
 
 Benign, and softly beautiful ? That moon 
 
 To which the Spartans sacrificed their share 
 
 Of glory on the field of Marathon, 
 
 And to whose honor Israel's King did build 
 
 That edifice so grand and gorgeous, scarce 
 
 A work of human hands it seemed? Ah, yes ! 
 
 This moon, which rocks the restless tide from shore 
 
 To shore, and gilds the heaving waters as 
 
 They foam and lave the lonely vessel's side 
 
 Which, through the watches of the sleepless night, 
 
 The one Companion, Friend, who loves us then, 
 
 And looks in kindness on our tear-stained face, 
 
 Is that same orb which smiled back to the star 
 
 Which taught us " Peace on earth, good will to men."
 
 THE SOUTHERN FOREST FLOWER. 37 
 
 THE SOUTHERN FOREST FLOWER. 
 
 | WEET, fragile flower, deep in thy clear blue eye 
 And trusting face we trace the smile of Heaven. 
 What hast thou felt of sorrow's night what known 
 Of that black grief by which our souls are riven ? 
 
 No wintry showers or white-winged tempests leave 
 Their icy tributes on thy perfumed cheek ; 
 
 But softest zephyrs print the amorous kiss 
 
 On thy fair, blushing brow, so pure and meek. 
 
 Bright-blooming flow'ret, in thy forest home, 
 Rocked not by storm nor ocean's ceaseless swell, 
 
 Thou art not sad or lonely, for thou hast 
 No piteous tale of hopeless love to tell. 
 
 How many tempest-tossed hearts, sweet flower, 
 That feel " the pain without the peace of death," 
 
 Sigh for thy forest home, thy peaceful hours, 
 The low, soft music of thy zephyr's breath. 
 
 When weary hearts send to a smiling face 
 
 The warm life-blood, how sweet to them 'twould be, 
 
 To share thy lonely home with thee, to view 
 The birthplace of undying melody 1
 
 38 RAIN AT NIGHT. 
 
 RAIN AT NIGHT. 
 
 JATTER, patter, dreary rain 
 
 'Gainst my lonely window-pane 
 Hid from view the Night's fair Queen, 
 Peeping stars no longer seen, 
 
 Patter, dreary rain ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Poured out is the soul to-night 
 Flickers in the heart the light, 
 Through the darkness and the damp, 
 Sweet and precious from the lamp 
 Memory has lit ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Fast and steadily the rain 
 Dashes 'gainst my window-pane 
 Close and heavy is the air, 
 Burdened is the heart with care ; 
 
 Darker grows the night 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dull, determined, plashing rain, 
 Wet with tears my lonely pane, 
 Lull me to delicious dreams 
 Voices sweet your dropping seems, 
 
 And my soul is stirred !
 
 RAIN AT NIGHT. 39 
 
 V. 
 
 Thrilling the mysterious chain, 
 Binding heart to heart again ; 
 Come sad yearnings vain and sweet, 
 For those forms we ne'er can meet 
 In this land of tears I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet their loving glances seem 
 Ever stealing through my dream 
 Fitful, homeless, moaning wind, 
 Bringing voices sad and kind, 
 
 Sing, oh, sing to me ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sing ! to-night my spirit grieves 
 And, ye dark and shaken leaves, 
 Trembling, struggling in the rain, 
 Whisper, too, against my pane 
 
 All the low winds say I 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Softly, sweetly dies the rain 
 Gently sighs the wind again ; 
 Odors float upon its wings, 
 And it joyful tidings brings 
 
 Lo, the morn has come!
 
 40 LINES TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Night, with garments black, is o'er 
 Shivering Spirits come no more ; 
 Weird, fantastic Spirits bold, 
 Through the wind and rain and cold, 
 Sigh and moan no more ! 
 
 LINES TO MY MOTHER! 
 
 EAR Mother, let me weep I yield to Memory's 
 
 power, 
 
 She gently leads me back to Girlhood's happy hour, 
 To starlit scenes I loved ah ! golden dreams of joy 
 Ah bitter, bitter Life, why sweet, bright dreams de 
 stroy? 
 
 Know, Mother, while I weep, this is no wasted shower ; 
 Tears purify the heart, and oft through suffering's hour 
 They turn to patient smiles, and sweeten daily care 
 Tears do not always come from " some divine despair." 
 
 And, Mother, still I weep ; check not the tears that fall, 
 Storms swell the summer seas ; and Mother, for us all, 
 To each and every heart, storms come in mighty 
 
 wrath, 
 And swell to seas of Grief each wavelet in our path.
 
 LINES TO MY MOTHER. 41 
 
 Then, Mother, let me weep ; thou wilt not scorn my 
 
 tears ; 
 Through night and storm and darkness, thou hast 
 
 calmed my fears, 
 
 Thy love so wide, so deep, no fleeting Time decays, 
 But still increaseth ever with increasing days. 
 
 Ah, Mother, let me smile; joy is not doomed to 
 
 death 
 Tho' Time has blighted hopes, with cold and withering 
 
 breath ; 
 
 O thou " deep well of life," my Mother's tender love ! 
 Bring meekness to this heart, and lift my thoughts 
 
 above 
 
 Above these blighted hopes, above these falling tears ! 
 Where throbbing, homeless hearts feel not the storms 
 
 and fears 
 That swell and break them here O God ! Thy mercy 
 
 prove 
 And shield me Father, shield me, with a Mother's 
 
 love.
 
 42 THE DEAD INFANT. 
 
 THE DEAD INFANT. 
 
 |OW white it is! How fair the tiny hand at rest 
 Upon its bosom cold! What has this stainless 
 
 breast 
 E'er known of sin or grief? Pure as the bud whose 
 
 leaves 
 
 Are nestling near that young and sinless heart, it grieves 
 Us much to part with one so fair ; yet faith can give 
 This comfort, holy, sweet "the child tho' dead shall 
 
 live." 
 
 He who unsinking walked the tempest-tossed waves, 
 Can bring us to the Gem our heart, so stricken, craves 
 To wear once more. Our Treasure is not lost, but given 
 In holy trust to Him who loves it now in Heaven. 
 " God loveth whom He chasteneth " to the poor shorn 
 
 Lamb 
 
 He tempers, too, the wind, till in the bl.ssed calm 
 Which falls upon the heart, we pant not for the strife, 
 Only for the water-brooks there to drink the life 
 Those waters give to walk where " Gilead sheds her 
 
 balm," 
 We pant to rest our forms on Jordan's banks of palm.
 
 REFLECTIONS. 43 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 |T is the calm, sweet hour of moonlight: o'er 
 
 the distant hill 
 The echo of the bells is dead, the curfew-tones are 
 
 still ; 
 The fitful wind no longer sighs ; no longer falls and 
 
 swells 
 Upon my listening ear to-night, the music of those bells. 
 
 The pearly dew-drop on the leaf, still trembling, glit 
 tering, lies 
 
 Pressed to the daisy's bosom white, in sweets it lives 
 and dies. 
 
 As to the flower it beauty adds, as sparkling clear it 
 clings 
 
 So love enchanted oft o'er forms a pure, bright mantle 
 flings. 
 
 As gazing on the shining, beaming glory of the skies, 
 
 I seem to meet a glance that glows deep in my soul 
 from eyes 
 
 Whose crystal deep reflects the bliss in heaven we trust 
 to meet. 
 
 " More pure, more clear, it could not be, nor more di 
 vinely sweet."
 
 44 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 'Twere best if from my soul, to-night, thine image I 
 
 could rend, 
 
 But hate or e'en indifference with love will never blend. 
 My spirit trembling falters, but my passion brightly 
 
 burns ; 
 To clasp thee as in days of yore, my throbbing heart 
 
 still yearns. 
 
 I see no joy, no light, no hope, beyond thy heavenly 
 
 smile ; 
 
 I catch a glad revealing and a glimpse of Heaven while 
 Thy love-lit eyes like azure sheen, look smilingly on me, 
 I have no thought, no wish, no dream, but thee and 
 
 only thee. 
 
 Then leave, oh leave me not alone in sorrow's shade to 
 
 bear 
 The weight of loneliness, of tears, of cold neglect and 
 
 care; 
 Bright-loving forms aress thee oft, but my poor bosom, 
 
 torn 
 Of all it loves, bleeds for those smiles by thee, thee 
 
 only worn. 
 
 Thou'st been to me a ray-of light, a bright, immortal 
 
 star, 
 A beacon-fire some wrecked one sees through black 
 
 night-clouds afar,
 
 LINES TO MISS SALLY W. 45 
 
 That guides to shores with friendly light o'er dark and 
 
 stormy wave, 
 Lit by a watching, loving hand, the hapless wreck to 
 
 save. 
 
 No longer shines that beacon-light o'er life's deep joy 
 less sea, 
 
 Fierce storms have wrecked life's gliding bark, and 
 dimmed that star to me. 
 
 If thou hast turned that radiant smile that stirred my 
 soul, to scorn, 
 
 If thou hast left me, then, oh then I'm desolate forlorn. 
 
 LINES RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO MISS 
 SALLY W., OF AUGUSTA, GA. 
 
 HREE moons agone I met and loved 
 A fair-haired, winsome girl, who seemed 
 
 Fore'er to be a messenger 
 
 Of joy and love. A harp, a lute, 
 
 Attuned to softest melody, 
 
 Was not more sweet, more strangely sweet, 
 
 Than was the soft, soul-stirring tones, 
 
 Whose cadence one sweet April eve 
 
 Fell on my ear and filled my soul 
 
 With love. 
 
 And I had said, " I dare
 
 46 LINES TO MISS SALLY W. 
 
 Not let my hungry, begging heart 
 Go out to her. Hers never feels ; 
 Her soul thrills not at strains that move 
 That hidden wire within my own." 
 
 But I had erred. Fresh as it were 
 From Eden's emerald bowers, Love, 
 Tender, patient, pure, had folded 
 Long ago his rosy wings, and 
 Shrouded, lay deep in that feeling 
 Heart. Love for the beautiful 
 Of earth. Love for the truth, and for 
 The tears that spring from sorrow's 
 Never-failing well ; a sweet and 
 Gentle sympathy, bathing all 
 Who, making idols, find them clay, 
 In floods of love and tenderness. 
 
 Sweet, stranger Friend, methinks that, in 
 Those everlasting walks of saints 
 And blessed spirits, none more pure 
 Will ever trace the margin of 
 The Jasper Sea no purer feet 
 Be wet with Hermon's dews, or be 
 " Sandalled with immortality."
 
 DECORATING THE GRAVES. 47 
 
 DECORATING THE GRAVES OF OUR DEAD 
 ON THE 26TH OF APRIL. 
 
 |HILE bright clouds gather round the rising sun, 
 
 Like Southern banners in their day of pride ; 
 A labor sweet, of love, is to be done. 
 This day we thank Thee, Father, that upon 
 These precious heads, these hearts so "true and tried," 
 No trouble falls. 
 
 The " trumpet's stirring blast" wakes not their sleep ! 
 
 No war's wild note, or wail of glories past 
 Can reach these soldier hearts and we who weep 
 Need not a glittering marble shaft to keep 
 
 Their image fresh thoughts of their deeds will last 
 Till life is done. 
 
 We kneel and thank Thee that their tents are spread 
 
 On " Fame's eternal camping-ground; " no foe 
 Disturbs sweet dreams, nor calls to arms ! they're led 
 Through pastures sweet and green, by One who fed 
 And nurtured Hagar's son through all his woe 
 And journey lone. 
 
 But Father, 'tis yet night with many a poor 
 Lone heart a night of storm ! Though years have 
 sown
 
 4S DECORATING THE GRAVES. 
 
 Bright blooming flowers and herbage sweet thick o'er 
 Their lonely graves, far distant seems that shore 
 
 Those loved feet press and widowed hearts still 
 mourn 
 
 Their buried joys. 
 
 Fond Mother (as in prayer you kneel), e'en now 
 Your boy is resting neath sweet olive-shades 
 His lips are laved in waters pure his brow 
 Is cool and damp with Hermon's dew. Ah ! how, 
 Bright spirit, could we call thee from those glades 
 To see our woe ? 
 
 Dear Father ! as we come this day to spread 
 Our humble tributes on each lowly grave, 
 Lock not Thy heart ! but, as we bow the head 
 In meek submission, let Thy grace be shed 
 On all these mourning ones. We comfort have 
 They rest with Thee !
 
 LINES. 49 
 
 LINES 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to the fair Poetess, Mrs. E. B. C. 
 
 BY A FRIEND.* 
 
 JWAKEN, fair Lady, thy muse from its slumbers, 
 
 Thy lyre has been silent too long ; 
 Attune it once more to harmonious numbers, 
 Dispel ev'ry care which thy genius encumbers, 
 And pour forth thy spirit in song. 
 
 In thy lyrics of yore there's a pathos, a feeling 
 
 So tender, so gentle, so lone, 
 A pleasant, a sweet melancholy revealing, 
 Whose influence so soft o'er my senses comes stealing, 
 
 With visions of joy that have flown. 
 
 I dwell with delight on thy soft flowing measures, 
 
 There's a charm, there's a spell in each line, 
 A sadness of heart blending with the rich treasures 
 Of thought, the ideal of lost cherished pleasures, 
 That finds a deep echo in mine. 
 
 Then waken, fair Lady, thy muse from its slumbers, 
 
 Thy lyre has been silent too long, 
 Attune it once more to harmonious numbers, 
 Dispel ev'ry care which thy genius encumbers, 
 
 And pour forth thy spirit in song. 
 
 * Dr. J. Emmett Blackshear, Macon, Ga. 
 5
 
 50 LINES TO "A FRIEND." 
 
 LINES TO "A FRIEND." 
 
 |HILE through the twilight soft and gray, 
 
 The stars of Heaven break; 
 I touch with trembling hand my lyre, 
 Its lays once more to wake. 
 
 The clinging, mystic veil, dear Friend, 
 
 I lift for you disclose 
 
 The simple charms my Muse possessed 
 
 for you break her repose. 
 
 I've little cared to wake from sleep 
 
 This Muse, forsaken long ; 
 I knew not I had touched one soul 
 
 With my rude, simple song. 
 
 I dreamed not I had planted flowers 
 
 By any barren road; 
 I knew not I had ever stilled 
 
 In hearts a woe-swept chord. 
 
 Yes, yes, my begging soul has felt, 
 
 While hope has sent no beam, 
 How sweet to teach some fainting heart 
 
 To hush its griefs and dream !
 
 "ONE OF THESE Z)AYS." 51 
 
 Dream on, O hearts ! The moonlight comes 
 
 To cheer the soul's dark cell ; 
 The moonlight of sweet words ! O hearts, 
 
 Dream on ! "all will be well." 
 
 "ONE OF THESE DAYS." 
 
 [Suggested by a promise once made the writer.] 
 
 |NE of these days ! " and I have waited, never, 
 
 No, never doubting it would come at last ; 
 And now like soft winds o'er the ripples breaking, 
 Comes o'er my heart that promise of the past. 
 
 Yes, sweet and tuneful as the white spray rustling, 
 As back it leaps from wings of lone sea-birds ; 
 
 As Autumn's falling leaves as low, as plaintive 
 Come sad, low echoes of your parting words. 
 
 And now, though Hope is dead, or silent slumbers, 
 And chains the cold world bids us keep too fast, 
 
 Bind hand, not heart, the torn and bleeding bosom 
 Finds healing in sweet mem'ries of the past. 
 
 Impassioned souls by grief are held together ! 
 
 Friendship of joy-bound hearts can never last ; 
 Those joyous hearts I love, but give me, rather, 
 
 A spirit 'wake to mem'ries of the past.
 
 52 A SCENE. 
 
 To-night my tuneful soul is sadly dreaming 
 In sorrow far too deep for tears, of lays 
 
 Of "Long ago's," sad words of your sweet speaking 
 Then whisper once again, " One of these days." 
 
 REPLY. 
 
 " One of these days " will surely come, and, coming, 
 This " Land of Shadows " will be filled with rays 
 
 Bright, beauteous, gleaming, grand, oh, like to Heaven ! 
 Will this dark, cloud-land be, " one of these days." 
 
 A SCENE. 
 
 BREATH of Summer comes ! low breezes waft 
 From out the quiv'ring pines and shad'wy woods 
 A sweet perfume; and o'er the throbbing brow 
 Sweet tuneful gales light childhood's happy laugh. 
 The Rose's bosom 'neath the soft embrace 
 Of low night-winds, with passion pants and swells 
 (That sweet emotion welling in her heart 
 But wakes to power some blushing, budding grace). 
 Beneath the light of yon pale, yellow moon 
 Whose beams come down to wed the bright, fresh dew, 
 A young girl's heart with melody runs o'er ; 
 A new, fond light shines in her beauteous eye ! 
 With womanhood's sweet, early dawn there came
 
 A SCENE. 53 
 
 A gush of feeling, new, delicious, strange ! 
 
 No gloomy shadows linger in the folds 
 
 Of that young, trusting heart-^/br she is loved. 
 
 He comes ! On scented air the sound is borne ! 
 
 The tide of love flows crimson to her brow, 
 
 And that fair bosom pants as does the Rose 
 
 When her affianced Zephyr stoops to print 
 
 Its maiden kiss on pouting, dewy lips. 
 
 Sweet, trembling, blushing girl, hast thou no fear 
 
 That in thy "web of life " lie sombre threads? 
 
 Or that to which we cling a bubble is 
 
 Bursting whene'er we feel it in our grasp ? 
 
 Ah, no ! those eyes that speak to thee of love, 
 
 Have moved thy heart to hope, and faith, and trust. 
 
 We know him not ; but as o'er gravelled walks 
 
 He treads to yon loved trysting-bow'r, we feel 
 
 That manly step bespeaks a manly heart. 
 
 Again the moonbeams dance the sweet, fresh flowers 
 
 Bloom in that bow'r but tears are on their cheeks, 
 
 And where that tiny foot was wont to rest 
 
 A daisy drooped its head and died ! for she 
 
 Who loved and nursed it she, that fair, young maid 
 
 Whose heart one bright, brief year ago beat high 
 
 With mortal love and joy is laid to rest ; 
 
 And he whose dream, whose light, whose life she was, 
 
 'Neath green-robed weeping willows calls in vain.
 
 54 HOPE. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 " I could lie down, like a tired child, 
 And weep away this life of care." 
 
 |ES, Friend ! and I have borne the burdens too, 
 
 That heavy lay upon our mortal being ; 
 I, too, have prayed that "death might steal on me " 
 When Hope seemed ever from my pathway fleeing. 
 
 Ah, yes ! and often prayed that I might feel 
 
 This poor, proud heart grow cold to worldly feeling ; 
 
 When mem'ry of the hearts I've fondly loved, 
 Of lips I've fondly kissed, came o'er me stealing. 
 
 I've seen my sweet, short summers come and go, 
 And knelt with tearful face o'er flowers dying ; 
 
 I've seen (as lone birds to some stranger shore) 
 Without one hope, my cherished visions flying. 
 
 And when for me the sweet, bright May had passed 
 When coming Night shut out my radiant Morning ; 
 
 I've knelt despairing, bathed in bitter waves, 
 
 And kneeling, praying, ft It no bright hope dawning. 
 
 I've sobbed, low bent, at evening's holy hour, 
 
 O'er precious forms stilled to a dreamless sleeping ; 
 
 And when the sunlight crept thro' mossy eaves 
 To win a gladsome smile, it found me weeping.
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE PAST. 55 
 
 When life's fast sinking sun shall set, O Friend ! 
 
 These hearts that with'ring cares below have riven ; 
 When on Earth's bosom night's dark veil hangs low, 
 
 Will greet the sweet, glad morning light in Heaven. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE PAST. 
 
 [ EE in yonder distance looming 
 Through the Summer eve's soft gloaming 
 Yon sweet Valley of the Past. 
 
 Clear blue skies are kindly bending 
 O'er the lovely vale, and sending 
 Soft light to the tender flow'rs. 
 
 Green and fresh, years have not faded 
 Aught of beauty's light, nor shaded 
 This bright mirror of the past. 
 
 And my soul with love is flooded 
 As the vale, star-gemmed and studded 
 With earth's glories, meets my eye, 
 
 With its joyous birds and flow'rs 
 With ephemeral hosts whose hours 
 Were a lifetime of delight.
 
 56 THE VALLEY OF THE PAST. 
 
 Busy wings in odors dipping, 
 Bathed in gold and crimson, sipping 
 Dew-drops from the rose's breast, 
 
 While the slender vines are trilling 
 Music soft and low and thrilling, 
 Comes one picture of the Past. 
 
 Ah ! methinks while breezes flutter 
 'Mong the eglantine, and utter 
 Echoes of the loved and lost, 
 
 That I hear a promise given 
 Of a lasting love till Heaven 
 
 Hushed the murmuring of the lips. 
 
 Yea, a sweet and trembling promise, 
 As all light seemed fading from us 
 Save the light of hope and love. 
 
 Fondly trusting that to-morrow 
 Which hid parting, death, and sorrow- 
 Lived we in a Land of Smiles 
 
 And the Morrow came not bringing 
 Joy upon her wing, nor flinging 
 Hope's sweet light upon the heart. 
 
 Coming o'er the hills, and meeting 
 
 Sorrow, gloomy-browed, entreating 
 
 And forlorn, her hand she gave.
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE PAST. 57 
 
 "Whither art thou, Morning, going?" 
 Sorrow asked, " so gayly throwing 
 Purple light o'er land and sea ? 
 
 " I had thought all light to gather, 
 All of hope and joyance, rather 
 Than be gloomy-browed like thee. 
 
 " I have promised hearts awaiting 
 My swift coming, never hating 
 My bright presence, joy to bring. 
 
 " You have joined me ; promise, Sorrow, 
 That you grief no more will borrow, 
 And will turn your tears to smiles. 
 
 " Yesternight Death laid her fingers 
 On a brave young heart, and lingers 
 In my heart the shadow yet. 
 
 " Tearful I am sent, the vision 
 Of her joy to kill sad mission ! 
 Bright Companion now farewell. 
 
 " I must, ere your warm light blesses, 
 Still her heart-throbs with my kisses 
 Shade her young head with my wing."
 
 53 MY FADED FLOWERS. 
 
 This one picture through the gloaming 
 Sends sad Mem'ry from her roaming, 
 Leaving me to busy life. 
 
 MY FADED FLOWERS. 
 
 JES, close your crimson eyes ! Ye teach, 
 Ye sadly teach of change. My heart 
 Will gather dew and freshness then 
 With dew and freshness live apart, 
 As ye are living now. 
 
 Ye cannot feel that Time is hard 
 Or cruel, tho' he steals your bloom ; 
 No memory's ghost from out the past 
 Is gathering heart joy to his tomb, 
 No grave-damp on your brow. 
 
 Ye see no night no gloom that seems 
 The darkness just before the hour 
 Of death. You've never felt the need 
 Of saving kisses, little flower, 
 Or kissed a tear-stained face. 
 
 No, no ! You've never felt the proud 
 Bright, trailing purple of your love
 
 TO MY SWEET JULIETTE. 59 
 
 Turned to Hope's winding-sheet ; you've lost 
 No sweet, glad echoes tones that move 
 Our hearts throughout life's space. 
 
 Nor know (while o'er our saddened souls 
 Sweep mem'ries wild) our country's woe 
 You bloom ! you wither ! but we live 
 Live hopeless on and moanings low 
 Still sweep our spirits' chords. 
 
 And little buds, ye do not know 
 (Ungrateful flowers) nor love the hand 
 That placed ye in my own. Yes, hang 
 And droop upon my breast yet stand 
 Fit emblem of my words. 
 
 TO MY SWEET JULIETTE. 
 
 JIFE'S morning dreams are with thee now, 
 
 And stars unnumbered gild thy way ; 
 And Hope, with young and beauteous brow, 
 Tells not that life is but a day 
 
 Tells not of changes we may meet, 
 That make the heart a living tomb ; 
 
 Tells not how friends, like roses sweet, 
 Will soon be shattered while in bloom.
 
 60 TO MY SWEET JULIETTE. 
 
 I would, sweet girl, thy life should be 
 A dream of beauty and of love ; 
 
 That hearts be full of prayers for thee, 
 And angels guide to joys above. 
 
 May dark Despair, which ever leaves 
 The heart a crushed and faded flow'r, 
 
 Ne'er visit thee for deep she grieves, 
 And mighty is her silent pow'r. 
 
 May life a radiant rainbow be, 
 Smiling when Heav'n is overcast ! 
 
 A bark upon a moonlit sea, 
 Which glides and never feels the blast 
 
 But, Juliette, vain are wishes such 
 As nestle deep and fill my soul 
 
 Do but your duty, 'tis as much 
 Of joy as e'er o'er mortals roll. 
 
 And oh, remember while you live 
 
 (And shine as brightest starlets shine), 
 
 *' To err is human " to forgive 
 The faults of other hearts " divine."
 
 YE KNOW NOT. 
 
 YE KNOW NOT. 
 
 |E know not, happy, beating hearts, 
 
 The burden of Earth's bliss ; 
 Ye know not, pouting, dewy lips, 
 The poison of a kiss. 
 
 Ye see not haunted shadows, not 
 Ye bright and laughing eyes 
 The fading, falling leaflets, nor 
 The young Rose when it dies. 
 
 Ye feel not, faces young and fair, 
 The hot and sinful breath ; 
 Nor fear the endless midnight hours, 
 That ever shadow death. 
 
 Ye are not bound, O sinless souls, 
 In gyves of wickedness ; 
 Ye're born of Heaven no vital air 
 Of yours is wretchedness. 
 
 Your heritage a pure, bright star, 
 Scarce shadowed by a cloud 
 A dream of gladness and of joy 
 
 A sweet, remembered word. 
 6
 
 f.2 MEMNON. 
 
 A scented breeze a soft, low note 
 A tone for Angels' ears 
 And mine the soiled and trampled leaf 
 No breath of Heaven stirs. 
 
 MEMNON ! 
 
 jEMNON ! thy low, sweet voice, has silent been 
 
 For many years ; 
 No more the rays of that fast sinking sun, 
 
 Calls forth sad tears. 
 To wanderers through the Libyan Desert comes 
 
 No voice of woe, 
 Nor streams upon the wings of morning winds 
 
 Thy meanings low. 
 Was it thy Mother's tears at morning shed,* 
 
 That gave thy tone 
 The plaintive melody, that made the heart 
 
 Feel sad and lone ? 
 To songsters sweet, thy ashes first were turned ; 
 
 And in the waves 
 Of Esepus their wings they dipped, and came 
 
 As from lone graves 
 A sad, low, requiem to sing, and guard 
 
 With tender care 
 
 * Ovid speaks of the sorrow of A urora, and of the tears she shed at 
 morning, over the metamorphosis of her son.
 
 TO MYRA. 63 
 
 Thy grand and gloomy monumental pile * 
 
 Now black and bare. 
 Upon the Plain of Thebes thy form is seen 
 
 Of towering height ; 
 Thy guardian Spirit needs not, Memnon, now 
 
 The warmth and light. 
 Naught but the vulture's hoarse notes o'er thy head 
 
 Sounds through the Plain ; 
 Bleak, blackened, stone, no ray can waken thee 
 
 To life again. 
 
 TO MYRA. 
 
 j]E AR Myra> full well I remember 
 
 Your sweet " Cottage " home on " The Hill ; " 
 Your own happy, fun-loving nature, 
 That bent ev'ry one to its will. 
 
 A white, low-roofed, vine-wreathed cottage, 
 
 The pillars with sweet-suckle draped ; 
 A running rose climbing to kiss it, 
 
 A truant from beds you had shaped. 
 
 * These birds, called Memnonides, which were said to have sprung from 
 the ashes of Memnon, were also said to come at certain seasons of the 
 year to cleanse the monument with great care. In Pliny's time, the Mem- 
 nonic birds arrived each year, in the middle of Ethiopia, to honor the hero.
 
 64 TO MYRA. 
 
 The jessamine, mingling its blossoms 
 With rich blushing clusters of rose; 
 
 And sending away the delicious 
 
 Perfume, to their friends and their foes. 
 
 Yea, foes, for some hearts never waken 
 To beauties the primrose so slim, 
 
 Is naught but a primrose ne'er shaken 
 This feeling so constant to them. 
 
 And Myra, those sweet summer evenings 
 The broad, shady steps, looking on 
 
 The far-distant green, waving meadows 
 Near by, the gay flower-decked lawn. 
 
 On those steps, the red sun a-glowing, 
 
 And dying away in the west ; 
 Discovered were we by the rompers, 
 
 Discordantly broke, our sweet rest. 
 
 Or with flowers so fragile and fragrant, 
 And mosses rich, dewy, and green, 
 
 A basket for Bennie we fashioned, 
 To send to his own "Fairy Queen; " 
 
 When lamps in the parlor were lighted 
 When long walks and rambles were o'er, 
 
 And breezes with rich perfume laden, 
 Came in at the wide open door ;
 
 LEAVES! 
 
 When, on the old dark satin sofa, 
 
 I sat dreaming on those afar; 
 My heart beating time to the echoes, 
 
 You woke from your silver guitar. 
 
 " A feeling of sadness and longing " 
 A moment swept over my heart 
 
 Soon, bright, happy faces, beside me, 
 Caused feelings of pain to depart. 
 
 We could not be sad if we wished to 
 No Sorrow reached out her gaunt hand 
 
 To grapple our white throats, and strangle 
 The joys that to new life were fanned. 
 
 Dear Myra, I wonder if ever 
 The earth will as green be again 
 
 As years come will faces beside us 
 Chase away our sadness and pain ? 
 
 O LEAVES ! 
 
 LEAVES ! why sink before the dim wet blast, 
 
 And to the dusky bosom of the Earth 
 Press your young heads? the shadows will not last, 
 But back to sunshine, where they had their birth. 
 O Moon ! why hide thy face in cloudy skies? 
 Art thou, too, sad and barred from happiness?
 
 06 ABSENCE. 
 
 Is this a tear-drop from those Argus eyes 
 That 'gainst my thirsty parched lips I press ? 
 
 Perhaps 'twas shed in sadness by the flowers 
 
 Dew-gemmed and fragrant that around me sleep ! 
 Or hast thou seen aught that in ivied bowers, 
 
 Thy rival Sun has done to make thee weep? 
 Ah, envious orb ! the sunset leaves its ray, 
 
 And gilds with beauty every opening rose ; 
 But when thy radiant light shines o'er our way, 
 
 Like purest gems each lovely flow'ret glows. 
 
 O restless spirit that for Lethe's waves 
 
 Art deeply sighing, while dim shadows fall 
 And longer grow on lonely, mossy graves, 
 
 Cease thy complaint, and hearken to the call 
 Of One who ever bids our troubles cease. 
 
 Fear not the chastenings of His mighty rod ; 
 Know that "beyond these voices there is peace," 
 
 And trust the tender mercy of thy God. 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 
 [BSENCE! Oh, say, is not the weary soul 
 
 Torn by it ? Hearts shut out from life and light ? 
 Wild prayers, that Lethe's friendly waves may roll 
 O'er aching bosoms that feel naught but night !
 
 ABSENCE. 67 
 
 Is not that "cherished hope" fast fading, Friend, 
 As years roll on and thy soul's treasure yet 
 
 Is silent ? Will not cold suspicion blend 
 
 With sick'ning doubt and vain prayers to forget ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! and weary days and hours must pass, 
 Must come and go, and coming, bring their woe ; 
 
 But we must laugh, and dance, and sing, alas ! 
 Yet feel the doom that brings him back no more. 
 
 Why feel " the pain, without the peace of death? " 
 Why shrine an image, but to weep its loss ? 
 
 Why meet a glance that thrills, why feel a breath 
 Pure, sweet then lose it, and keep but life's dross ? 
 
 Look up ! to what ? 'twere better far, to tell 
 Yon "sunbent eagle," stricken in the flight, 
 
 To soar in majesty again. 'Twere well, 
 
 Yes, well, if this might be but ah ! this night ! 
 
 Some sudden joy might dawn on us to-day ? 
 
 Perhaps, when westward rises yonder sun, 
 Dull, aching hearts may feel an ecstacy ? 
 
 Ah yes ! when sobbing " God, thy will be done." 

 
 68 IN DREAMS. 
 
 IN DREAMS.* 
 
 |HEN this soft-breathing, blushing hour of night, 
 Clasps round my neck her brilliant jewelled 
 
 arms; 
 When trembling leaves sigh farewell to the bright 
 
 Sunbeams, and e'en the clinging dew alarms 
 With touch too free the modest, shrinking flowers ; 
 
 When dancing stars smile that the envied sun 
 Has sleepy grown, and left them these pure hours, 
 
 With not a track of glory now upon 
 The clouded west in such an hour my soul 
 
 Turns from the heated race of life, to woo 
 Sweet sleep. As o'er my slumbering senses roll 
 
 Bright visions of my youth when friends were true 
 And sorrow blossomed not in dreams I see 
 
 " A star that turned from earth its tender beam." 
 Sweet girlhood's Friend ! one tender sigh for thee ! 
 
 Then back to busy life but not to dream. 
 
 * Affectionately inscribed to Mrs. H. G. Lamar, of Macon, the mother 
 of my early friend, S. R. V.
 
 DESOLATE! 69 
 
 DESOLATE! 
 
 JITYING Father, I am weary! Is there no rest 
 
 for me, 
 With bands immortal, star-like bright, beyond the 
 
 jasper sea ? 
 My tottering limbs are bending 'neath this heavy load 
 
 of care ; 
 
 I'm helpless, hopeless, desolate ! with yielding to 
 despair, 
 
 I've waited duteous, oh so long ! now ceaseless mur 
 murs moan 
 
 And tear my soul and yet I wait, O God ! and pite 
 ous groan. 
 
 Still sweltering at the forge of sin, I fashion coils and 
 chains ; 
 
 Tho' gold they be, they rivet fast my soul to torturing 
 pains. 
 
 Alone I walk Earth's dreary waste, no flower gems I 
 
 view 
 Naught richly wrought, or fair, or bright, adorns with 
 
 beauteous hue. 
 Yon surging wave's white, dancing foam but seems a 
 
 heated bath, 
 Prepared for my poor quivering flesh, seething in 
 
 mighty \vraih !
 
 70 DESOLATE! 
 
 Few gentle words, no lissome oils t'anoint the gaping 
 
 wound 
 The world makes in our bleeding hearts no fragrant 
 
 ointment bound 
 To feet bruised by the cruel flints. Friends cold, 
 
 neglectful, give 
 But with'ring frowns, and little care how bitter 'tis to 
 
 live. 
 
 Wearied, I long to leave the strife, and, like some tired 
 
 child, 
 Lie near cool, gushing waters, where the whitening 
 
 blossoms wild, 
 Nursed by the breeze, send odors sweet to greet me as 
 
 Hie, 
 Freed from the heated race of life thus, Father, would 
 
 I die, 
 
 So weary, pitying Father ! Ah ! to lap the cold, dark 
 
 wave 
 Until my thirsty soul could feel that rest the quiet 
 
 grave 
 Gives to its guests driv'n by the blast to seek its deep, 
 
 cold breast ! 
 I'm helpless, hopeless, desolate ! O Father, give me 
 
 rest!
 
 THORNS. 71 
 
 THORNS. 
 
 "And thorns must grow as well as roses." 
 
 |AR out upon a lonely, hoary rock, 
 
 'Midst tangled, matted weeds, there bloomed 
 
 and smiled, 
 
 And looked up to the glad, bright, shining sun, 
 A lovely, blushing, tender flower wild. 
 
 And gently through the strong, rough weeds it crept, 
 And found its sweet way to the open day ; 
 
 There, basking, smiling, thanking that kind orb 
 That gave it nursing with his glorious ray. 
 
 I leaning o'er that tender orphan rose, 
 Caressing with my hand its blushing face 
 
 Sighed, as I thought, ere many suns should set, 
 It, too, would be an emblem of life's race. 
 
 The bee which woo'd you, flower, but yester-noon, 
 To-morrow comes to find your sweetness gone ; 
 
 Your pink and scented bosom white with age. 
 
 Then come ! Ah, rose ! you've, too, a cruel thorn. 
 
 I've heard that hearts the soonest 'wake to flowers 
 
 Are ever first to feel the cruel thorn ; 
 But, little stranger, in my happier hours, 
 
 I've said, " And of the thorns are roses born."
 
 72 SIGHING FOR THEE BALLAD. 
 
 Indeed an emblem ! modest little flower 
 As hid among your shining, sheltering leaves 
 
 (Whose odorous breath floats on the summer gale). 
 Is found a thorn for him who yet believes. 
 
 He, in His wisdom, has affixed some sting 
 To all that sweet and fair upon us dawns ; 
 
 I know that in Fate's Lexicon there stands 
 'Gainst suffering woman's name "thorns, cruel 
 thorns." 
 
 SIGHING FOR THEE BALLAD. 
 
 Inscribed to my spirit-friend, Miss C****** >******. 
 
 |gg|IGHING for thee, Love, yes, yes, ever sighing, 
 H As winds rock the white-crested waves of the 
 
 sea ; 
 
 As low moans the lulling winds, wailing and dying, 
 So moans and sighs, dearest, my spirit for thee. 
 
 Mellow, o'er earth's emerald bosom is growing 
 The faint, gilding light of the fast-dying day ; 
 
 Soon will the clustering brilliants be throwing 
 O'er the scene a refulgence a hallowing ray. 
 
 Soon from her bright, azure dome will be shining, 
 And kissing the cloud-rifts, the pale, yellow moon.
 
 TO MARY . 73 
 
 Enters my heart, Love, this beauty and, pining 
 In solitude's vale, is my spirit alone. 
 
 Sighing for thee while the shadows are creeping 
 And hiding the violet's blue, perfumed bed ; 
 
 Darling, I know these sweet flowers are weeping 
 With me o'er the hopes that forever are dead. 
 
 " Life's dearest band is forever untwining ! " 
 On care's stormy wings will our joys ever flee ; 
 
 Sighs thro' the storm the torn flower for the shining 
 Of rays that will warm it so I sigh for thee. 
 
 Sighing for thee, Love ; ah, yes ! ever sighing 
 
 A poor, wounded, broken-winged bird, without thee ; 
 
 As low moans the lulling wind, wailing and dying, 
 Forever, Love, wailing my spirit shall be. 
 
 TO MARY 
 
 [On being laughingly asked to write her " a node."] 
 
 NODE," you beg, what could I ever say, 
 
 My blithesome Mary, unassailed as yet 
 By aught but joy ? A long and plaintive lay 
 Would not with patience, I am sure, be met. 
 
 And sure my Muse seems sad or vexed to-day 
 The strain my lyre 'wakes would please you not ;
 
 74 ALL IS DREARY NOW. 
 
 'Twould send perhaps some bright dream from your 
 
 way, 
 Or cause some joyous air to be forgot. 
 
 Then ask me not to sing, my bonny May; 
 
 Perpetual sunshine fills your happy heart; 
 I would not chase its brightness all away, 
 
 Or cause one sweet, glad echo to depart. 
 
 Bright joys beat back the shadows near your way, 
 Leaving sweet pictures on your sunny heart ; 
 
 I dare not chase their brightness all away, 
 Or cause a sweet, glad echo to depart. 
 
 ALL IS DREARY NOW. 
 
 The following simple rhyme was written at eight years of age. The sad 
 style pervading the book, to which some may object, it will be seen, is not 
 tinctured with the slightest shade of affectation. 
 
 |LL is dark and dreary now 
 Since all I love has gone; 
 Even to the dear old cow 
 We used to milk at morn. 
 
 Once I was a happy child, 
 
 As sprightly as the fawn ; 
 Once I had a mother mild 
 
 But now she's dead and gone.
 
 "SS IT A SIN TO LOVE THEE?" 75 
 
 Even to my school-mates dear, 
 
 Have all gone one by one ; 
 Now I'm left alone and drear, 
 
 Until my life is done. 
 
 "IS IT A SIN TO LOVE THEE?" 
 
 I have a friend who has vainly endeavored to recall the words of a 
 favorite ballad, " Is it a sin to love thee?" I have hastily penned these 
 verses. Though far less beautiful than the original, will he sometimes sing 
 them? 
 
 | H is it a sin to love thee? 
 
 Then my soul is steeped in sin 
 And despair's dark waves roll o'er me 
 As I feel " it might have been." 
 
 And I feel my pulses quicken 
 
 As that yielding form I press, 
 But I pray, e'en while I'm gazing 
 
 In those eyes, to love thee less. 
 
 Oh, if '/ a sin to love thee, 
 Then why hast thou been given 
 
 A spirit so divine, it breathes 
 Alone of love and Heaven f 
 
 As I feel thy heart throb wildly 
 And I know its throbs are mine,
 
 76 "IS IT A SIN TO LOVE THEE?" 
 
 Ev'ry sigh from that warm bosom 
 Makes me thine, and only thine. 
 
 Ah, to hear thy sighs, like zephyrs, 
 And to feel thy sweet warm breath 
 
 Stealing o'er me as I hold thee, 
 I would welcome even death. 
 
 Tho' stern Fate has torn thee from me, 
 Still in dreams I feel thee mine 
 
 That thou art and ever shalt be 
 That I'm thine, forever thine. 
 
 Oh, is it a sin to love thee ? 
 
 Ah, my soul with passion fires I 
 Yet I feel that, as I clasp thee, 
 
 Ev'ry hope of bliss expires. 
 
 Yes, it is a sin to love thee ! 
 
 Then, O heart, dare not complain 
 Let thy grief and passion slumber ; 
 
 It is best we love in vain. 
 
 Yes, "the world" will sneer upon us, 
 And forgive us not the stain ; 
 
 It will blot thy fame forever, 
 I shall see thee ne'er again. 
 
 I care not for idle praises, 
 
 Or the world's unfeeling frown
 
 LINES. 77 
 
 I could give up all Earth's glory, 
 I could ev'ry claim disown. 
 
 We must part ! O God, forgive me, 
 
 That I cannot teach my heart 
 To forget I still shall meet thee 
 
 For in Heaveti we'll never part. 
 
 Let me go ! Thou'lt not forget me 
 
 Ah, I feel thee trembling now, 
 And I know the cold dews dampen, 
 
 With their chilling breath thy brow. 
 
 Thou'lt forget not that sweet hour 
 When my soul to thee was given ; 
 
 We can wait with " patient sorrow " 
 Thou wilt yet be mine in Heaven. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On receiving a picture from a lady in Augusta, Ga., whom I had 
 never seen. 
 
 |Y heart knows not a language, Ruthie, sweet, 
 
 Enough to bless thee for the gift I hold 
 I feel that friendship's far more than " a name," 
 E'en tho' the hearts we worship oft grow cold. 
 
 Such acts warm all our feelings into life, 
 And call out odors sweet, of faith and trust ;
 
 ;3 LINES. 
 
 They gently dry the gushing tears of pain, 
 And trample vaunting pride into the dust. 
 
 Earth seems to me more full of upright hearts, 
 
 Since I that sinless bosom freely trust ; 
 It seems to lend far brighter rays to guide 
 
 Thro' darkness, to the mansions of the just. 
 
 My unknown Friend, a casket "violet gemmed," 
 And "pearled with dews." may earth for thee e'er 
 
 be- 
 No stormy winter tell of cold neglect, 
 
 But hearts beat tender, warm, and true for thee. 
 
 But, Ruth, if cruel tempest should arise, 
 
 And wintry winds around thy bright head moan, 
 
 Trust that an angel's wing is ever spread, 
 
 'Twixt thee and anguish thou'lt be not alone. 
 
 It seems the daisies, blooming at my feet, 
 Wet with the dews that sparkle in the sun, 
 
 Smile on me, yet the tear-drops on their cheek 
 Tell of some blighting trouble just begun. 
 
 We all are made for interrupted joy 
 
 For sunshine only would soon parch the heart, 
 
 The flowerets need and love the dark'ning storm 
 Meet trouble nobly, and 'twill soon depart.
 
 LINES. 79 
 
 LINES 
 
 To the Memory of Mrs. S. L. V. 
 
 | AD, sad on my heart falls the thought of the 
 
 past, 
 
 Dim thoughts that are borne in the night-time to me ; 
 O low, wailing wind ! whisper faintly her name ! 
 O sad, burdened heart ! ask again, Where is she ? 
 
 The winds chill my bosom ! my thoughts chill my 
 
 soul! 
 The shadows have gathered ! the gloom round my 
 
 heart 
 
 Makes bleak winter-time of a thoughtless young life 
 The past comes before me, and will not depart. 
 
 Her pure feet are laved now in Jordan's swift tide ; 
 She sweeps in her beauteous robes through the throng ; 
 She's freed from all stain, she is crowned by our Lord ; 
 Her voice echoes faintly the angels' sweet song. 
 
 Sweet Friend of my girlhood, bright Seraph of Heav'n, 
 My bark is still sailing on Life's stormy sea ; 
 You'll watch for me, darling, on bright, unseen shores ; 
 As I cross the cold stream, oh, beckon to me !
 
 8o NEARER HOME. 
 
 NEARER HOME. 
 
 JHE solemn thought steals sweetly o'er my soul 
 Like ocean-waves that o'er the lone rock roll 
 That, though I tread the cruel flints unshod 
 The way is short I thank thee, O my God ! 
 
 What though my life is like the autumn leaf 
 The with'ring stem the trembling flower whose brief 
 And fading life whose sear and blighted form 
 Is but life's emblem ? I am nearer Home ! 
 
 What though my life is like the lonely rock 
 Which firmly stands to meet the Ocean's shock ? 
 What though upon its rugged bosom bloom 
 No sweet wild flowers ? it needeth not perfume. 
 
 Hope, to my lone heart, firmly, wildly clings, 
 Like sea-moss to that ocean-rock and brings 
 Back to the heart's fold tender thoughts that roam, 
 And guides my homeless feet still nearer Home.
 
 " CHIQUITA." 8l 
 
 CHIQUITA." 
 
 After reading her recent poem, " Glorious things are spoken of thee, 
 O city of God." 
 
 BY OSSIAN D. GORMAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 |HIQUITA," fair enchantress of a land 
 
 That claims thee as her own sweet child of 
 
 song, 
 Sure thou hast beauty at thy fend command, 
 
 While round thee her thought-idyls willing throng. 
 No weird ghoul-shapes flit through thy gladsome lays, 
 
 No shadow of a grief that died in tears, 
 Disturbs the sunshine of thy happy days, 
 Or gloats upon the pathway of thy years. 
 
 II. 
 
 Soft lead us where the Jewish maidens wept, 
 
 When they remembered Zion, mount of God ; 
 Nor, when they by the distant waters slept, 
 
 Did they forget their Zion's sacred sod. 
 Among the orient hills the brightest crown, 
 
 O Zion, thou 1 Perched in thine ancient site, 
 Thou stand'st to all thy wandering ones a throne, 
 
 Begirt with Mercy and Truth's radiant light.
 
 82 " CHIQUITA." 
 
 III. 
 
 Soft lead us by Siloam's sparkling flood, 
 
 Where maiden's eyes have looked in their own hue, 
 And on whose banks the bards of Salem stood, 
 
 To catch the first wild wind-notes as they blew. 
 E'en now, O Zion, softly as of yore, 
 
 Blows ever breath of morning o'er thy hills, 
 And through thy mountain-gorges ever pour 
 
 Continuous streams their weird and lonely thrills. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not "lone and desolate" are thy strong walls. 
 
 " Much loveth God thy gates," and " glorious things 
 Are spoken of thee," when thy inner halls 
 
 Are opened, and the new hosanna rings. 
 O Zion ! Truth and Mercy on thee wait ; 
 Thy paths are holy, and lead up to God ; 
 While Faith and Hope are guarding every gate 
 
 That ushers pilgrims on thy holy sod. 
 TALBOTTON, GA., February \(>th, 1870.
 
 A PETITION. 
 
 A PETITION. 
 
 My little boy, six years of age, brought me yesterday a "reward of 
 merit " from his teacher, and said, " Little Mamma, keep my ticket for me, 
 and if I ask God every night to make me good, I'll get another next week, 
 won't I? " 
 
 |H, Mamma ! " (and he gently came and nestled 
 
 at my side) 
 " Dear Mamma, keep my ticket, and be very sure you 
 
 hide 
 
 It, please, where naughty fingers cannot find it to de 
 stroy " 
 
 And his arms were clasped around me my gentle, 
 noble Boy. 
 
 " And Mamma, little Mamma " (and his voice to whis 
 pers grew), 
 
 " If I'll be good to Johnnie, to my Papa, and to you, 
 If I'll < notice little Sister ' and 'member 'bout my hat, 
 Will I get another ticket, say, Mamma, just like that? 
 
 "And say my 'Now I lay me' very slow, and always 
 
 let 
 My Brother have the nicest place, and kiss you 'fore I 
 
 get
 
 8j A PETITION. 
 
 In my trundle near the cradle, where little Sister lies, 
 I'll get another ticket if I'm good? You know I tries. 11 
 
 As I clasped him to my bosom, the tears my eyelids 
 
 wet 
 
 I told my Boy of Jesus, and I bade him ne'er forget 
 That He loved good little children. "Pray, darling, 
 
 while He's near ; 
 Ask Him to make you ' good,' my child ; He turns no 
 
 deaf ning ear." 
 
 Father, I tremble often as I meet these earnest eyes, 
 Though the burden's sweet, 'tis heavy to nurture such 
 
 a prize 
 As this fair, pure, spotless child, I must pure and 
 
 spotless be ; 
 Help, Father, that I bring it unpolluted unto thee. 
 
 Thou "who gavest to my guiding hand this wand'rer" 
 
 to lead 
 Through paths that oft are lone and dark, where feet 
 
 so often bleed, 
 Bruised and pierced by cruel thorns, oh leave me not 
 
 alone 
 To guide him to those gates of pearl; Thou he must 
 
 lean upon.
 
 TO "CHIQUITA." 85 
 
 TO "CHIQUITA." 
 
 On reading her last poem, inscribed to Rev. Dr. Wills, suggested by 
 hearing him preach a sermon from the following text: "Glorious things 
 are spoken of thee, O city of God ! " Ps. Ixxxvii. 3. 
 
 | WEET minstrel, do not deem it bold 
 
 That, hearing, I should answer thee, 
 Whose magic lute, like strains of old, 
 Is sweet as David's harp to me. 
 
 Whene'er my Muse is nestling near, 
 
 To me, sweet solace does it bring; 
 But often sheds a crystal tear 
 
 When I forbid that it should sing. 
 
 Since thou has waked it, as it slept 
 Beneath yon drooping, weeping tree, 
 
 It leaves its sorrows all unwept, 
 That it may sing with me to thee. 
 
 When it heard thy " song " of praise, 
 
 It oped its timid, tearful eye 
 It turned on me a wistful gaze, 
 
 And then looked upward to the sky. 
 
 And when I said that it might sing, 
 
 It took my harp off from the tree, 
 Then shook the tear-drops from its wing, 
 
 And sang with me this song to thee.
 
 86 TO EPPIE, OF MA CON. 
 
 But thinking that thou didst not hear, 
 Perchance, the low, deep-muffled strain, 
 
 I now will, through a Messenger, 
 Repeat the plaintive song again. 
 
 TO EPPIE, OF MACON. 
 
 BY LEOLA. 
 
 Written by my girlhood's lovely friend, Loula W. Kendall, of Upson 
 County, Ga., whose absence in another land prevented her attendance at 
 my marriage. She was then quite young, and has since become one of our 
 sweetest poets. 
 
 WEET bride of innocence and love ! 
 
 The word is spoken now, 
 And all yon twinkling stars above 
 Repeat the solemn vow. 
 Orange-flowers add new beauty 
 To thy girlish face so fair ; 
 Brightly gleaming, 
 Softly beaming, 
 Eyes that never knew a care ! 
 
 In thine ear kind friends are breathing 
 
 Wishes that thy life may be 
 Like the sunlight, ever wreathing 
 
 Earth with beauty, love, and glee.
 
 TO EPPIE, OF MACON. 87 
 
 Hope, with starlit banner, dances 
 Round and round thy trembling heart, 
 
 Fears dispelling, 
 
 Gently telling 
 That thy dreams shall ne'er depart. 
 
 Ever thus may hope enchant thee 
 
 With those blissful dreams so fair, 
 Ne'er may grief and sorrow haunt thee, 
 Darkly mingling with despair ; 
 Happiness, with viewless fingers, 
 O'er thy heartstrings wildly sweep ; 
 Bright angel-eyes 
 From starry skies 
 Vigils o'er thy spirit keep. 
 
 Bride of Beauty ! near thy side 
 Memory wafts me, tho' away, 
 While snowy forms around thee glide, 
 Wilt thou hear my simple lay ? 
 
 And oh ! if all my warmest wishes, 
 Wove together, were a flower, 
 Its beauteous light 
 Should grow more bright, 
 Every day and every hour ! 
 
 UPSON COUNTY, GA., 1861.
 
 88 LINES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On receiving an exquisite basket of flowers from Mr. Theodore W. E., 
 of Macon, Ga. 
 
 |ES, the low South-wind has told me, 
 
 As it passed o'er the wakening earth, 
 Of the primrose, stars and daisies, 
 And the blue-eyed violets' birth. 
 
 But my heart, so prone to doubting, 
 
 Cared not what the South-wind had seen ; 
 
 Thought not of the flow'r-gemmed meadows, 
 Or the young pine's soft fringe of green. 
 
 Till, kind Friend, there comes a token, 
 Which awakes my heart to the flow'rs ; 
 
 And I know the sweet, glad Spring-time 
 Is here, with its soul-stirring hours. 
 
 Darkly the rain and the shadows, 
 Which threaten me often, may fall ; 
 
 Fiercely the chill winds of Autumn 
 May scatter dead leaves like a pall. 
 
 The cloud, the storm, and the midnight, 
 May chain me to gloom for a while ; 
 
 But the mem'ry of flowers and sunshine 
 Will ever bring back the glad smile.
 
 ONLY A TEAR. 89 
 
 ONLY A TEAR. 
 
 JXLY a tear ! A tiny tear, 
 
 That glistens on the dark, fringed lashes. 
 " Face joy's a costly mask to wear; " 
 'Tis bought with pangs, oft with despair, 
 And tears lie hidden where it flashes. 
 
 Yes, yes, 'tis but a glist'ning tear, 
 
 That tells of hopeless love long nourished 
 Of patient waiting through the drear, 
 Dark days of love that casts out fear, 
 
 And in the light of hope once flourished. 
 
 Only a tear, that tells of wars 
 
 As mem'ry's busy train is making ; 
 " Fate cannot part not worldly jars 
 Our hearts will touch for mountain-bars ! " 
 
 Then came the sad awaking. 
 
 Only a tiny tear a moan 
 
 Of souls once led out into beauty ; 
 Only a bosom swelling, lone, 
 Forsaken now its world all gone; 
 
 And left the clasping knife of duty. 
 
 Only a tear that this dark night 
 No arm can fold in warm embraces,
 
 90 TO E . . . . 
 
 Seeds of despair, fast budding white 1 
 Smiles, bought \\i\hpride, to make the fight, 
 And sent through tears to suffering faces. 
 
 Only a trembling tear ! a sigh 
 The dread and heavy silence breaking. 
 
 Are sighs and tears above yon sky ? 
 
 Ah ! if I only dared to die ! 
 His, yes but, oh, not God's forsaking. 
 
 Only a tear to show that still, 
 
 By pain's sharp wedge, the heart is riven ; 
 Only a tear the sad eyes fill 
 In sweet obedience to His will 
 
 'Twill be all love in heaven. 
 
 TO E .... 
 
 |HINE eyes, with cold, unconscious rays, 
 
 Return mine own most ardent gaze. 
 Oh, can it be thou dost not know 
 The thoughts which set my soul aglow? 
 So speechless are my dullard eyes, 
 So silent are my deep-drawn sighs, 
 That thou hast not the skill to learn 
 The thoughts which in my bosom burn ?
 
 SWEET SUMMER NIGHT. 91 
 
 As dimpled waves, with sparkles bright, 
 Dart back the sun's reflected light; 
 As sunset clouds with softened beams 
 Reflect the day's most fondling gleams ; 
 As flash for flash the lightnings play 
 'Twixt two lone clouds at close of day 
 So let thine eyes send back the fire 
 That tells my soul's most fond desire. 
 
 SWEET SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 | WEET, purely sweet, to my sad, watching heart, 
 
 Is a clear Summer night like this ; 
 When Zephyrs so sly awake with a start 
 The sleeping young Buds with a kiss. 
 
 All day they have danced to melody sweet 
 
 To wild, touching music of birds, 
 Who have left their dark, green woodland retreat 
 
 To whisper and trill their soft words. 
 
 When the Sun's bright face in the west was lost, 
 And a shade o'er their charms was thrown, 
 
 These young Buds wept as tho' fallen the frost 
 Of neglect and they left alone. 
 
 Now, while the Moon leans her face on the cloud, 
 And waters starlit kiss the shore,
 
 92 SWEET SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 In tears they forget, while young heads are bow'd, 
 The smiles that in sunshine they wove. 
 
 Weep not that the noon, bright, golden, has passed 
 Sweet Flowers the musi: the dream ; 
 
 When morning light comes, bright sunbeams will cast 
 O'er your heads a halo and gleam. 
 
 Awake to the breeze, ye Flowers of June 
 
 And, innocent, startled young Bud, 
 If the Winds whisper love count it a boon 
 
 Believe, and be drowned in the flood. 
 
 The whispering Leaves a rival would seem, 
 
 As bending with praises to tell, 
 They tremble and sigh, "Ah, Wind, we might deem 
 
 This your work dishonest ? ah, well, 
 
 " You're fickle, we know not shaken our trust 
 
 Because of your conduct to those 
 Who whisper soft words when you say they must, 
 
 Who tremble and bend when you choose." 
 
 O sweet Summer night, in short burning dreams 
 
 Your warm life will soon pass away ! 
 Our visions of love, of silver-lit streams 
 
 Of joy will depart with your ray. 
 
 But favoring airs and soft winds remain 
 When the sweet summer night has fled ;
 
 TO E , ON GAZING AT HER PORTRAIT. 93 
 
 The loss we deplore is often our gain 
 'Tis best when life's romance is dead. 
 
 The deep, mellow tones of Autumn oft chill 
 
 The sad, cheerless soul ; yet we find 
 In echoes, low, mournful, accents that thrill 
 
 Like far distant bells on the wind. 
 
 Winter, too, brings on its white, frozen face 
 
 A smile in its cold heart a lyre, 
 Whose wild chords, when swept, sweet music we trace 
 
 Its grandeur alone can inspire. 
 
 Then weep not o'er clouds that darken life's way 
 
 For, ere sounds of sad weeping cease. 
 The gay laugh is heard the tears of to-day 
 
 To-morrow may bring us sweet peace. 
 
 TO E , ON GAZING AT HER PORTRAIT. 
 
 JHY that abstracted, dreamy gaze 
 
 That lures from me thy gladdening eye? 
 Dost seek to pierce the misty haze 
 
 Of dim, untried futurity ? 
 Oh, wherefore art thou strangely changed? 
 
 For change of eye is change of heart : 
 Is it, thou art so soon estranged ? 
 Or that thou nearer to me art ?
 
 94 TO E , ON GAZING AT HER PORTRAIT. 
 
 I know the earth is gay and bright, 
 
 And heaven's cerulean, cloudless blue 
 May well enchain the raptured sight 
 
 To watch for angels peeping through ; 
 For oft, in waking hours and dreams, 
 
 The mild eyes of the loved and lost 
 From heav'n, in soft, immortal beams, 
 
 Cheer on my soul when tempest-tossed, 
 
 I know most human hearts are frail, 
 
 And shrink away at slightest touch, 
 As sensitive as summer snail ; 
 
 But I have deemed thine not of such. 
 Has slander blackened o'er my name ? 
 
 Are others fairer in thine eyes, 
 Or art thou to me still the same ? 
 
 Or fonder 'neath this strange disguise ? 
 
 Oh, I would fain thy secrets share, 
 
 Thy spirit's sorrows and delights ; 
 Would lift from thee each burdening care, 
 
 And aid thy spirit's loftiest flights ! 
 Then bend thy dreamy eyes to mine, 
 
 And let them beam as in the past : 
 Fain would I have their lights so shine 
 
 While immortality shall last !
 
 TO CHIQUITA. 95 
 
 TO CHIQUITA. 
 
 |HEN I gaze on thy beautiful young face, 
 
 My heart is grieved that I cannot retrace 
 The years of Life's sad voyage till I stand 
 Beside thee on the shore of Youth's bright land; 
 Then would I clasp thy hand, and beg to be 
 Thy chosen pilot o'er Life's dark, rough sea. 
 But now I only stand and gaze far back 
 Upon the wrecks along the foamy track 
 Too far before thee to be overtaken, 
 Voyaging alone, half-shipwrecked, quite forsaken. 
 
 II. 
 
 I am. a bubble on Life's turbid tide : 
 
 Far, far behind me, on the mountain-side, 
 
 The sparkle of thy gladsome wave I see 
 
 Dash onward in its crystal purity ; 
 
 But ere thou reach'st this spot, I shall be swept 
 
 Into the tideless sea, where all is kept 
 
 That time bequeaths unto Eternity. 
 
 Alas ! thou canst not course the stream with me \ 
 
 Would we, as streamlets on the mountain-side, 
 
 Had met and mingled, never to divide !
 
 96 TO CHIQUITA. 
 
 III. 
 
 I am a waning cloud, which disappears 
 
 Behind the dark horizon of the years ; 
 
 Thou, bright and beautiful as love's young dream, 
 
 Sail'st up, bedecked in morning's roseate beam, 
 
 Into the high aerial arch of life, 
 
 A splendor o'er the darkness of Earth's strife; 
 
 But as thou comest up with glory bright, 
 
 I sink behind th' horizon's dreamless night. 
 
 Alas ! that my life's vapor were not given 
 
 To float with thine thro" all life's azure heaven ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 I am yon little star that in the west 
 Drops down at dawn upon the Night's dead breast ; 
 Thou, bright Aurora, flushing eastern skies, 
 Lighting both earth and heaven with glorious dyes, 
 Thy day's grand march of genius just begun, 
 Proud daughter of the bright, life-giving sun ! 
 O that my day's life -march had been with thine ! 
 Lost in thy light, though not my lot to shine, 
 Companion of thy course, I had been blest 
 Unseen, borne thro' the skies on thy bright breast. 
 
 v. 
 
 O Bark of beauty ! Wavelet of delight 1 
 
 Bright Vapor ! gorgeous morning's heavenly Sprite !
 
 OUR DEAD. 97 
 
 On, on ! Most glorious be thy bright career 
 Throughout the realm of Fame's resplendent sphere ! 
 I know that I am naught feel that I must 
 Soon sink back to my nothingness of dust : 
 But wilt thou not one instant o'er the dead 
 Pause, and behold the clod that hides my head ? 
 Then utterly forgot shall be my name, 
 While thine shall live as long as Time and Fame ! 
 
 GEORGIA, April, 1870. 
 
 OUR DEAD. 
 
 | HE sun is sinking, sinking low, adown the crim 
 son west ; 
 The breeze is softly whispering that the beauteous 
 
 Night is near ; 
 And Nature's heart is trembling, as young Night's 
 
 dark feet are prest 
 
 'Gainst meadow-sweets and violets that hide their heads 
 in fear. 
 
 As 'gainst my lonely window-sill I lean my weary 
 
 head, 
 And think upon " the Land we love," our sorrow, woe, 
 
 and pain, 
 9
 
 9<? OUR DEAD. 
 
 Our shattered hopes our nameless graves our noble, 
 
 gallant dead, 
 It seems that ev'ry passion cf my soul, save griefs, were 
 
 slain. 
 
 Yon " grave without a monument " rebukes despair and 
 
 hate 
 I know that God is merciful, and pain no brave heart 
 
 fears, 
 Yet I long to clasp the loving hands torn from us by 
 
 Fate 
 My soul is filled with bitterness, my eyes are filled with 
 
 tears. 
 
 O Father ! teach submission to this restless, throb 
 bing heart ; 
 
 Have pity and compassion, Lord, for we are sore dis 
 tressed ; 
 
 Strip off this robe of unbelief, and bid our grief depart ; 
 
 Still love our poor, our blighted Land, and place us 
 'mong the blest. 
 
 Thou art our Shield, our great Reward, our Light, our 
 
 Life, our Way ! 
 Thou'st bidden Hagar "have no fear," for Thou hadst 
 
 heard her pray'r 
 
 We're wanderers in a wilderness, yet waiting to obey 
 Thy slightest word, for, Lord, we know how sweet Thy 
 
 teachings are.
 
 BURLINGTON. 99 
 
 BURLINGTON. 
 
 [Written on a friend's envelope one evening, whilst conversing with him.] 
 
 BURLINGTON, Burlington, city of song, 
 
 I adore thy fair Queen say, can it be wrong? 
 Tho 1 Mary, sweet maiden, my love may disdain, 
 I love thy bright mem'ries, fair Bride of Champlain. 
 
 No skies can be brighter no waters so blue, 
 No eyes are such diamonds no hearts beat as true 
 As those in my " Venice " ah me ! when again 
 Shall I greet thy loved shores, fair Bride of Cham- 
 plain ? 
 
 Ye "angels of strangers" all ebbing hopes stayed 
 When clasped by those hands all wishes obeyed ; 
 All sweetness all pleasure no shadow of pain 
 To grieve us when near thee, fair Bride of Champlain ! 
 
 Those graces so winning, so artless, so sweet, 
 Transfer all our burdens. Whenever we greet 
 The echoes of Mary and Fannie, we're fain 
 To think thee a heaven, fair Bride of Champlain !
 
 ioo EDDIE AND JOHNNIE. 
 
 George, Mary, Ab, Fannie, dear Burlington, all, 
 I'll forget not thy friendships. Whenever the call 
 To wake on that Shore for our loss or our gain, 
 Remembrance will glide to thy shores, O Champlaln ! 
 
 TO MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS, EDDY AND 
 JOHNNIE. 
 
 | HE low, moaning winds thro' my lone window 
 
 come, 
 
 And the night is all starless and dim ; 
 When the morning light breaks, will the veil from 
 
 Night's dome 
 Then be lifted, and joy reign supreme ? 
 
 I shut out the world from my heart ! What of love 
 
 Can I feel for its vain pomp and pride? 
 Can I faint by the wayside, though slowly I move, 
 
 When I live to have you by my side ? 
 
 My " treasures on earth," o'er my poor, weary head, 
 The fierce tempest may gather and break ; 
 
 But my bruised feet shall walk thro' the storm firmly 
 
 tread 
 The rough paths sweet and bright for your sake.
 
 STANZAS TO CHIQUITA. 101 
 
 STANZAS TO CHIQUITA. 
 
 BY QU1EN SABE. 
 
 |H, lovely Chiquita, 
 
 'Tis you who are sweeter, 
 Than all the sweet verses you sing ! 
 O bella Chiquita, 
 Love's true light shall greet her ; 
 While their flight the sun-eagles wing. 
 
 Most lovely Chiquita ! 
 
 O where may we meet her ? 
 Wherever a living heart loves. 
 
 Mi bella Chiquita, 
 
 Thy tones are far sweeter 
 Than all the soft cooing of doves. 
 
 Enchanting Chiquita, 
 
 Thy songs how replete, ah ! 
 With life, love, and soothing repose ; 
 
 O charming Chiquita ! 
 
 Say, how shall we treat her? 
 We'll crown her with laurel and rose.
 
 102 TO MY GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 TO MY GRANDMOTHER ON HER SEVENTY- 
 SECOND BIRTHDAY. 
 
 |H, years! ah, youthful dreams! how fleeting 
 
 To her who nears the end of life ! 
 Ah, hopes ! no cheating one who reckons 
 This world's vain glories but a strife. 
 
 Sweet Mother, through life's many shadows, 
 Through paths of trials, toil, unrest, 
 
 You've passed ; now, while our shadows deepen, 
 Dear Mother, you are near His breast. 
 
 Far past the noontide of your glory 
 Nearing that tender, loving Friend ; 
 
 Ah, Mother, who, when thou hast left us, 
 Will He, in mercy, to us send ? 
 
 Deep sighs will come fast tears unbidden 
 Drop on our hands now clasped in prayer ; 
 
 Yet smile we through our anguish, knowing 
 In our deep gloom you have no share. 
 
 Thy pardon's sure O Mother, help us 
 To reach that bright, immortal shore ; 
 
 Pray that our bark may glide in safety 
 
 Through waters thou hast long passed o'er !
 
 TO LEOLA. 103 
 
 TO LEOLA.* 
 
 jO-DAY, sweet Friend, my heart is beating time 
 
 To sad, sad melodies of long ago, 
 When life was young and ev'ry hope sublime, 
 And time flew by as rippling streamlets flow. 
 
 No breath of murmur e'er escaped the heart, 
 No withered hopes or flowers to deplore ; 
 
 No thought of parting, or desire to part, 
 
 No strife or turmoil in those " days of yore." 
 
 But past our childhood's happy days and hours, 
 And we a robe of grief and sorrow wear ; 
 
 The threatening cloud above our bowed head lowers, 
 And we have learned to shed the silent tear. 
 
 Life seems to us a vague, a fitful dream, 
 No sweet, fresh joys to glad the rayless hour ; 
 
 The bright and beauteous sunlight sends no gleam 
 To warm our feelings into sudden power. 
 
 Though hope is crushed, and youth has found a grave, 
 Our hearts must bear the blow, and feel no ill ; 
 
 We must not o'er our shattered fortune rave 
 We yet can meekly " suffer, and be still." 
 
 * Written at the close of the war.
 
 104 TO THE MEMORY OF GENERAL COBB. 
 
 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF GENERAL COBB. 
 
 [LOW, loitering Time, 
 Thou canst not cheat sweet Memory of her debt ! 
 No, no ! her loving hand upon us yet 
 Is nestling. Bleeding hearts cannot forget 
 This thought sublime. 
 
 Yes, wounded hearts, 
 
 Your dark and ruined home before our eyes 
 Forever is. The picture never dies ; 
 But in the depth of saddened souls it lies, 
 
 And ne'er departs. 
 
 The proudest son, 
 
 The noblest, truest patriot Georgia bore, 
 Our country's sinking ark can guide no more ; 
 He stands a glowing vision on that shore 
 
 His work well done. 
 
 Thou hast the power, 
 
 O God, from out the foaming surge, the deep, 
 The mad, the bitter waves to lead, and keep 
 Within Thy wings these trembling ones who weep 
 
 And mourn that hour.
 
 LEBANON. 105 
 
 Look down upon 
 
 Thy blighted ones, O Father God, to-day, 
 And in Thy spirit clothe them, that they may 
 All see Thy power all love it Lord, all say, 
 
 "Thy will be done!" 
 
 MACON, GA., 1870. 
 
 LEBANON ! 
 
 ]OST holy, sacred Mount, 
 
 Thy snow-capped peaks and rocks 
 Were Syria's pride. No fount 
 
 More pure, more clear unlocks 
 Such generous store as that 
 Which from thy bosom leaped. 
 
 Thy summit white and chill, 
 
 Immortal Mount, gave joy 
 And health and freshened will 
 
 To toil-worn man. No boy 
 Roamed through thy cedar's shade, 
 And felt thy grandeur not. 
 
 Cut from thy slopes the wood 
 
 Which formed that Temple's height, 
 
 Whose matchless beauty could 
 Make suffering faces bright ; 
 
 Whose pillars sunlight kept 
 
 Like thee, where else was drear.
 
 io6 LEBANON. 
 
 To see thee Moses prayed, 
 
 Ere death his heart should still; 
 
 On harps King David played 
 
 (Whose touch stern hearts could thrill), 
 
 And sang thy praises, Mount, 
 
 In soft, low melody. 
 
 Sweet Psalms are full of thee, 
 
 " O woods of Lebanon ! " 
 Isaiah, rapturous, free 
 
 To sing thy beauties, won 
 By sweet exalting strains, 
 For thee increasing fame. 
 
 Around thy hallowed form 
 
 Wild beauties still remain ; 
 We, from the sea thy dome 
 
 Still gorgeous view still plain 
 Thy ancient peaks are seen 
 Near sands of Esdraelon. 
 
 Gone are thy glories now, 
 O Mount of Lebanon, 
 
 Thy subjects scattered bow 
 To other shrines upon 
 
 Thy head have curses come, 
 
 As on ours, Lebanon !
 
 TO TANGETTA. 107 
 
 TO TANGETTA. 
 
 JO dream of thee through hours of sleep, 
 
 To dream of thee by day, 
 To wake from bliss, and vainly weep 
 
 To know thee far away ; 
 To bear thine image in my breast 
 
 Where'er my footsteps rove ; 
 But in thy presence to feel blest 
 Oh, is this love ? oh, is it love? 
 
 I know how vain, alas ! it is 
 
 To worship at thy shrine; 
 That I can never feel the bliss 
 
 To know that thou art mine ; 
 But Reason's voice will not suffice 
 
 This throbbing heart to move ; 
 Still, still for thee my bosom sighs 
 
 Oh, is this love? oh, is it love? 
 
 One kiss of love from thy fond lips, 
 
 One love-look from thine eyes, 
 Would, to my soul, far, far eclipse 
 
 The joys of Paradise.
 
 io3 TO TANGETTA. 
 
 And that to me can be no heaven, 
 
 In all the realms above, 
 Unless, near thine, my seat be given 
 
 Oh, is this love ? Yes, yes, 'TIS love !
 
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