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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10216-0.txt b/10216-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..990f573 --- /dev/null +++ b/10216-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4586 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10216 *** + +POEMS + +by + +"Josiah Allen's Wife," +(Marietta Holley) + + + + +DEDICATION. + + +When I wrote many of these verses I was much younger than I am now, +and the "sweetest eyes in the world" would brighten over them, +through the reader's love for me. I dedicate them to her memory +--the memory of +MY MOTHER. + + + +Contents + +WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? +THE BROTHERS +A RICH MAN'S REVERIE +GLORIA THE TRUE +THE DEACON'S DAUGHTER +SONGS OF THE SWALLOW +THE COQUETTE +LITTLE NELL +THE FISHER'S WIFE +THE LAND OF LONG AGO +LEMOINE +SLEEP +THE LADY MAUD +THE HAUNTED CASTLE +THE STORY OF GLADYS +FAREWELL +THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY +SOMETIME +MOTIVES +NIGHTFALL +HIS PLACE +A DREAM OF SPRING +WAITING +A SONG FOR TWILIGHT +THE FLIGHT +COMFORT +JENNY ALLEN +THE UNSEEN CITY +THE WAGES OF SIN +ISABELLE AND I +GOOD-BY +THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING +IONE +SUMMER DAYS +THE LADY CECILE +HOME +STEPS WE CLIMB +SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE +ROSES OF JUNE +MAGDALENA +MY ANGEL +GRIEF +WILD OATS +AUTUMN +THE FAIREST LAND +THE MESSENGER +SLEEP +THE SONG OF THE SIREN +EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO +AWEARY +TOO LOW +AT LAST +TWILIGHT +THE SEWING-GIRL +HARRY THE FIRST +THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED +GONE BEFORE +A WOMAN'S HEART +WARNING +GENIEVE TO HER LOVER +THE WILD ROSE +OUR BIRD +THE TIME THAT IS TO BE + + + + +PREFACE. + + +All through my busy years of prose writing I have occasionally +jotted down idle thoughts in rhyme. Imagining ideal scenes, +ideal characters, and then, as is the way, I suppose, with more +ambitious poets, trying to put myself inside the personalities +I have invoked, trying to feel as they would be likely to, speak +the words I fancied they would say. + +The many faults of my verses I can see only too well; their merits, +if they have any, I leave with the public--which has always been +so kind to me--to discover. + +And half-hopefully, half-fearfully, I send out the little craft +on the wide sea strewn with so many wrecks. But thinking it must +be safer from adverse winds because it carries so low a sail, and +will cruise along so close to the shore and not try to sail out +in the deep waters. + +And so I bid the dear little wanderer (dear to me), God-speed, and +bon voyage. + +Marietta Holley. + +New York, June, 1887. + + + + + + +WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? + + +It is not the lark's clear tone +Cleaving the morning air with a soaring cry, +Nor the nightingale's dulcet melody all the balmy night-- +Not these alone +Make the sweet sounds of summer; +But the drone of beetle and bee, the murmurous hum of the fly +And the chirp of the cricket hidden out of sight-- +These help to make the summer. + +Not roses redly blown, +Nor golden lilies, lighting the dusky meads, +Nor proud imperial pansies, nor queen-cups quaint and rare-- +Not these alone +Make the sweet sights of summer +But the countless forest leaves, the myriad wayside weeds +And slender grasses, springing up everywhere-- +These help to make the summer. + +One heaven bends above; +The lowliest head ofttimes has sweetest rest; +O'er song-bird in the pine, and bee in the ivy low, +Is the same love, it is all God's summer; +Well pleased is He if we patiently do our best, +So hum little bee, and low green grasses grow, +You help to make the summer. + + + +THE BROTHERS. + + +High on a rocky cliff did once a gray old castle stand, +From whence rough-bearded chieftains led their vassals--ruled + the land. +For centuries had dwelt here sire and son, till it befell, +Last of their ancient line, two brothers here alone did dwell. + +The eldest was stern-visaged, but the youngest smooth and fair +Of countenance; both zealous, men who bent the knee in prayer +To God alone; loved much, read much His holy word, +And prayed above all gifts desired, that they might see + their Lord. + +For this the elder brother carved a silent cell of stone, +And in its deep and dreary depths he entered, dwelt alone, +And strove with scourgings, vigils, fasts, to purify his gaze, +And sought amidst these shadows to behold the Master's face. + +And from the love of God that smiles on us from bright + lipped flowers, +And from the smile of God that falls in sunlight's golden showers, +That thrills earth's slumbering heart so, where its warm rays fall +That it laughs out in beauty, turned he as from tempters all. + +From bird-song running morn's sweet-scented chalice o'er + with cheer, +The child's light laughter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near, +From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of + the golden day, +He counting these temptations all, austerely turned away. + +And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone, +Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone +In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear +A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer. + +Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross, +A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across, +The clay lips settled into calm--thus did the monk attest, +A look of one who through much peril enters into rest. + +Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master's face; +But in earth's lowly places did he strive his steps to trace, +Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous complaint, +There he beheld his Lord--naked, athirst, and faint. + +And when his hand was wet with tears, wrung with a grateful grasp, +He lightly felt upon his palm the Elder Brother's clasp; +And when above the loathsome couch of woe and want bent he, +A low voice thrilled his soul, "So have ye done it unto Me." + +Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim +The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and name; +To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still, +His mother and his brethren were all who did God's will + +All little ones were dear to him, for light from Paradise +Seemed falling on him through their pure and innocent eyes; +The very flowers that fringed cool streams, and gemmed + the dewy sod, +To his rapt vision seemed like the visible smiles of God. + +The deep's full heart that throbs unceasing against the silent + ships, +The waves together murmuring with weird, mysterious lips +To hear their untranslated psalm, drew down his anointed ear, +And listening, lo! he heard God's voice, to Him was he so near. + +The happy hum of bees to him made summer silence sweet, +Not lightly did he view the very grass beneath his feet, +It paved His presence-chamber, where he walked a happy guest, +Ah! slight the veil between, in very truth his life was blest. + +And when on a still twilight passed he to the summer land, +Those whom he had befriended, weeping, clinging to his hand, +The west gleamed with a sudden glory, and from out the glow +Trembled the semblance of a crown, and rested on his brow. + +And with wide, eager eyes he smiled, and stretched his hands + abroad, +As if his dearest friend were welcoming him to his abode; +Eternal silence sealed that wondrous smile as he cried-- +"Thy face! Thy face, dear Lord!" and, saying this, he died. + +But legends tell that on his grave fell such a strange, pure + light, +That wine-red roses planted thereupon would spring up white, +Holding such mystic healing in their cool snow bloom, that lain +On aching brows or sorrowful hearts, they would ease their pain. + + + +A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. + + +The years go by, but they little seem +Like those within our dream; +The years that stood in such luring guise, +Beckoning us into Paradise, +To jailers turn as time goes by +Guarding that fair land, By-and-By, +Where we thought to blissfully rest, +The sound of whose forests' balmy leaves +Swaying to dream winds strangely sweet, +We heard in our bed 'neath the cottage eaves, +Whose towers we saw in the western skies +When with eager eyes and tremulous lip, +We watched the silent, silver ship +Of the crescent moon, sailing out and away +O'er the land we would reach some day, some day. + +But years have flown, and our weary feet +Have never reached that Isle of the Blest; +But care we have felt, and an aching breast, +A lifelong struggle, grief, unrest, +That had no part in our boyish plans; +And yet I have gold, and houses, and lands, +And ladened vessels a white-winged fleet, +That fly at my bidding across the sea; +And hats are doffed by willing hands +As I tread the village street; +But wealth and fame are not to me +What I thought that they would be. + +I turn from it all to wander back +With Memory down the dusty track +Of the years that lie between, +To the farm-house old and brown, +Shaded with poplars dusky green, +I pause at its gate, not a bearded man, +But a boy with earnest eyes. + +I stand at the gate and look around +At the fresh, fair world that before me lies. +The misty mountain-top aglow +With love of the sun, and the pleasant ground +Asleep at its feet, with sunny dreams +Of milk-white flowers in its heart, and clear +The tall church-spire in the distance gleams +Pointing up to the tranquil sky's +Blue roof that seems so near. + +And up from the woods the morning breeze +Comes freighted with all the rich perfume +That from myriad spicy cups distils, +Loitering along o'er the locust-trees. +Scattering down the plum-trees' bloom +In flakes of crimson snow-- +Down on the gold of the daffodils +That border the path below. + +And the silver thread of the rivulet +Tangled and knotted with fern and sedge. +And the mill-pond like a diamond set +In the streamlet's emerald edge; +And over the stream on the gradual hill, +Its headstones glimmering palely white, +Is the graveyard quiet and still. +I wade through its grasses rank and deep, +Past slanting marbles mossy and dim, +Carven with lines from some old hymn, +To one where my mother used to lean +On Sunday noons and weep. +That tall white shape I looked upon +With a mysterious dread, +Linking unto the senseless stone +The image of the dead-- +The father I never had seen; +I remember on dark nights of storm, +When our parlor was bright and warm, +I would turn away from its glowing light, +And look far out in the churchyard dim, +And with infinite pity think of him +Shut out alone in the dismal night. + +And the ruined mill by the waterfall, +I see again its crumbling wall, +And I hear the water's song. +It all comes back to me-- +Its song comes back to me, +Floating out like a spirit's call +The drowsy air along; +Blending forever with my name +Wonderful prophecies, dreamy talk, +Of future paths when I should walk +Crowned with manhood, and honor, and fame. + +I shut my eyes and the rich perfume +Of the tropical lily fills the room +From its censer of frosted snow; +But it seems to float to me through the night +From those apple-blossoms red and white +That starred the orchard's fragrant gloom; +Those old boughs hanging low, +Where my sister's swing swayed to and fro +Through the scented aisles of the air; +While her merry voice and her laugh rung out +Like a bird's, to answer my brother's shout, +As he shook the boughs o'er her curly head, +Till the blossoms fell in a rosy rain +On her neck and her shining hair. +Oh, little Belle! +Oh, little sister, I loved so well; +It seems to me almost as if she died +In that lost time so gay and fair, +And was buried in childhood's sunny plain; +And she who walks the street to-day, +Or in gilded carriage sweeps through the town +Staring her humbler sisters down, +With her jewels gleaming like lucent flame, +Proud of her grandeur and fine array, +Is only a stranger, who bears her name. + +And the little boy who played with me, +Hunting birds'-nests in sheltered nooks, +Trudging at nightfall after the cows, +Exploring the barn-loft, fording the brooks, +Ending, in school-time, puzzled brows +Over the same small lesson books; +Who knelt by my side in the twilight dim, +Praying "the Lord our souls to keep," +Then on the same pillow fell asleep, +Hushed by our mother's evening hymn; +Whose heart and mine kept such perfect time, +Such loving cadence, such tender rhyme, +Blent in child grief, and perfected in glee-- +We meet on the street and we clasp the hand, +And our names on charitable papers stand +Side by side, and we go and bow +Our two gray heads with prayer and vow, +In the same grand church, and hasty word +Of anger, has never our bosoms stirred. +Yet a whole wide world is between us now; +How broad and deep does the gulf appear +Between the hearts that were so near! + +I have pleasure grounds and mansions grand, +Low-voiced servants come at my call, +From Senate my name sounds over the land +In "ayes" and "nays" so solemnly read; +They call me "Honorable," "General," and all, +But to-night I am only Charley again, +I am Charley, and want to lay my head +On my mother's heart and rest, +With her soft hand pressed upon my brow +Curing its weary pain. +But never, nevermore will it be, +For mould and marble rises now +Between my head and that loving breast; +And death has a cruel power to part-- +Forever gone and lost to me +That true and tender heart. + +Oh, mother, I've never found love like thine, +Never have eyes looked into mine +With such proud love, such perfect trust. +Never have hands been so true and kind, +To lead me into the path of right-- +Hands so gentle, and soft, and white, +That on my head like a blessing lay, +And led me a child and guided my youth; +To-night 'tis a dreary thought, in truth, +That those gentle hands are dust. +That I may be blamed, and you not be sad, +That I may be praised, and you not be glad; +'Tis a dreary thought to your boy to-night, +That over your sweet smile, over your brow, +The clay-cold turf is pressing now, +That never again as the twilight falls +You will welcome your boy to the old brown walls +Of the homestead far away. + +The homestead is ruined--gone to decay, +But we read of a house not made with hands, +Whose firm foundation forever stands; +And there is a twilight soft and sweet. +Will she not stand with outstretched hands +My homesick eyes to meet-- +To welcome her boy as in days before, +To home, and to rest, forevermore? + +But the years come and the years go, +And they lay on her grave as they silently pass, +Red summer buds and wreaths of snow, +And springing and fading grass. +And far away in an English town, +In the secluded, tranquil shade +Of an old Cathedral quaint and brown, +Another grave is made-- +A small grave, yet so high +It shadowed all the world to me, +And darkened earth and sky. +But only for a time; it passed, +The unreasoning agony, +Like a cloud that drops its rain; +And light shone into our hearts at last. +And patience born of pain. +And now like a breath of healing balm +The sweet thought comes to me, +That my child has reached the Isle of Calm, +Over the silent sea-- +That my pure little Blanche is safe in truth, +Safe in immortal beauty and youth. + +When she left us in the twilight gloom, +When she left her empty nest, +And the aching hearts below; +Full well, full well I know, +What tender-eyed angel bent +Down for my brown-eyed little bird, +From the shining battlement. +I know with what fond caressing, +And loving smile and word, +And look of tender blessing, +She took her to her breast, +And led her into some quiet room, +In the mansions of the blest. +Oh, mother, beloved, oh, child so dear, +Not by a wish, would I lure you here. + +My son is a bright, brave boy, with a grace +Of beauty caught from his mother's face, +And his mother and he in truth are dear, +Full tenderly, and fond, and near +My heart is bound to my wife and child; +But the summer of life is not its May, +And dreams and hopes that our youth beguiled, +Are but pallid forms of clay. + +There's the boy's first love and passionate dream, +A face like a morning star, a gleam +Of hair the hue of a robin's wing-- +Brown hair aglow with a golden sheen, +And eyes the sweetest that ever were seen. + +Mary, we have been parted long, +You were proud, and we both were wrong, +But 'tis over and past, no living gleam +Can come again to the dear, dead dream. +It is dead, so let it lie, +But nothing, nothing can ever be +Like that old dream to you or to me. + +I think we shall know, shall know at last, +All that was strange in all the past, +Shall one day know, and shall haply see +That the sorrows and ills, that with tears and sighs, +We vainly endeavored to flee, +Were angels who, veiled in sorrow's guise +Came to us only to bless. +Maybe we shall kneel and kiss their feet, +With grateful tears, when we shall meet +Their unveiled faces, pure and sweet, +Their eyes' deep tenderness. +We shall know, perchance, had these angels come +Like mendicants unto a kingly gate +When we sat in joy's royal state, +We had barred them from our home. +But when in our doorway one appears +Clothed in the purple of sorrow's power, +He will enter in, no prayers or tears +Avail us in that hour. +So what we call our pains and losses +We may not always count aright, +The rough bars of our heavy crosses +May change to living light. + + + +GLORIA THE TRUE. + + +Gayly a knight set forth against the foe, +For a fair face had shone on him in dreams; +A voice had stirred the silence of his sleep, +"Go win the battle, and I will be thine." + +So, for the love of those appealing eyes, +Led by low accents of fair Gloria's voice, +He wound the bugle down his castle's steep, +And gayly rode to battle in the morn. + +And none were braver in the tented field, +Like lightning heralding the doomful bolt; +The enemy beheld his snowy plume, +And death-lights flashed along his glancing spear. + +But in the lonesome watches of the night, +An angel came and warned him with clear voice, +Against high God his rash right arm was raised, +Was rashly raised against the true, the right. + +He strove to drown the angel voice with song +And merry laughter with his princely peers; +But still the angel bade him with clear voice, +"Go join the ranks you rashly have opposed." + +"Oh, Angel!" cried he, "they are few and weak, +They may not stand before the press of knights;" +But still the angel bade him with clear voice, +"Go help the weak against the mighty wrong." + +At last the words sunk deep within his heart, +With god-like courage cried he out at last, +"Oh, Gloria, beautiful, I can lose thee, +Lose life and thee, to battle for the right." + +And when he joined the brave and stalwart ranks, +Like Saul amid his brethren he stood, +Braver and seemlier than all his peers, +And nobly did he battle for the right. + +Gentlest unto the weak, and in the fray, +So dauntless, none--no fear of man had he; +He wrought dismay in Error's blackened ranks +So nobly did he battle for the right. + +But at the last he lay on a lost field; +Couched on a broken spear, he pallid lay; +With dying lips he murmured Gloria's name, +"The field is lost, and thou art lost to me." + +When lo! she stood beside him, pure and fair, +With tender eyes that blessed him as he lay; +And lo! she knelt and clasped his dying hands, +And murmured, "I am thine, am thine at last." + +With wondering eyes, he moaned, "All--all is lost, +And I am dying." "Ah, not so," she cried, +"Nothing is lost to him who dare be true; +Who gives his life shall find it evermore." + +"Methought I saw the spears beat down like grain, +And the ranks reel before the press of knights; +The level ground ran gory with our wounds; +Methought the field was lost, and then I fell." + +"Be calm," she cried, "the right is never lost, +Though spear, and shield, and cross may shattered be, +Out of their dust shall spring avenging blades +That yet shall rid us of some giant wrong. + +"And all the blood that falls in righteous cause, +Each crimson drop shall nourish snowy flowers +And quicken golden grain, bright sheaves of good, +That under happier skies shall yet be reaped. + +"When right opposes wrong, shall evil win? +Nay, never--but the year of God is long, +And you are weary, rest ye now in peace, +For so He giveth His beloved sleep." + +He smiled, and murmured low, "I am content," +With blissful tears that hid the battle's loss; +So, held to her true heart he closed his eyes, +In quietest rest that ever he had known. + + + +THE DEACON'S DAUGHTER. + + +The spare-room windows wide were raised, + And you could look that summer day +On pastures green, and sunny hills, + And low rills wandering away. +Near by, the square front yard was sweet + With rose and caraway. + +Upon a couch drawn near the light, + The Deacon's only daughter lay, +Bending upon the distant hills + Her eyes of dark and thoughtful gray; +The blue veins on her forehead shone + 'Twas wasted so away. + +She moved, and from her slender hand + Fell off her mother's wedding-ring; +She smiled into her father's face-- + "So drops from me each earthly thing; +My hands are free to hold the flowers + Of the eternal spring." + +She had ever walked in quiet ways, + Not over beds of flowery ease, +But Sundays in the village choir + She sweetly sang of "ways of peace," +Of "ways of peace and pleasantness," + She trod such paths as these. + +No sweeter voice in all the choir + Praised God in innocence and truth, +The Deacon in his straight-backed pew + Had dreams of her he lost in youth, +And thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids-- + Of Rachel, and of Ruth. + +But she had faded, day by day, + Growing more mild, and pure, and sweet, +As nearer to her ear there came + A distant sea's mysterious beat, +Till now this summer afternoon, + Its waters touched her feet. + +Upon the painted porch without + Two women stood, and whispered low, +They thought "she'd go out with the day," + They said, "the Deacon's wife went so." +And then they gently pitied him-- + "It was a dreadful blow." + +"But she was good, she was prepared, + She would be better off than here," +And then they thought "'twas strange that he, + Her father, had not shed a tear," +And then they talked of news, and all + The promise of the year. + +Her father sat beside the bed, + Holding her cold hands tenderly, +And to the everlasting hills + He mutely turned his eyes away: +"My God, my Shelter, and my Rock, + Oh shadow me to-day!" + +He knew not when she crossed the stream, + And passed into the land unseen, +So gently did she go from him + Into its pastures still and green; +Into the land of pure delight, + And Jordan rolled between. + +Then knelt he down beside his dead, + His white locks lit with sunset's flame: +"My God! oh leave me not alone-- + But blessed be Thy holy name." +The golden gates were lifted up + The King of Glory came. + + + +SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. + + +SPRING. + +The sides of the hill were brown, but violet buds had started + In gray and hidden nooks o'erhung by feathery ferns and heather, +And a bird in an April morn was never lighter-hearted + Than the pilot swallow we saw convoying sunny weather, +And sunshine golden, and gay-voiced singing-birds into the land; + And this was the song--the clear, shrill song of the swallow, +That it carolled back to the southern sun, and his brown + winged band, + Clear it arose, "Oh, follow me--come and follow--and follow." + +A tender story was in his eyes, he wished to tell me I knew, + As he stood in the happy morn by my side at the garden-gate; +But I fancy the tall rose branches that bent and touched his brow, + Were whispering to him, "Wait, impatient heart, oh, wait, +Before the bloom of the rose is the tender green of the leaf; + Not rash is he who wisely followeth patient Nature's ways, +The lily-bud of love should be swathed in a silken sheaf, + Unfolding at will to summer bloom in the warm and perfect days." + +So silently sailed the early sun, through clouds of fleecy white; + So stood we in dreamy silence, enwrapped in a tender spell; +But the pulses of soft Spring air were quickened to fresh delight, + For I read in his eye the story sweet, he longed, yet feared + to tell; +It spoke from his heart to mine, and needed no word from his mouth, + And high o'er our heads rang out the happy song of the swallow; +It cried to the sunshine and beauty and bloom of the South, + Exultingly carolling clear, "Oh, follow me--oh, follow." + + +SPRING SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +So rang the jubilant song of the swallow; + I come a-bringing beauty into the land, +The sky of the West grows warm and yellow, + Oh, gladness comes with my light-winged band, + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer, +The wavy gleam of fluttering wings, + Touching the silent earth so lightly, +Will wake all the sleeping, beautiful things, + The world will glow so brightly--brightly; + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer, +All the rivulets dumb will laugh, and run + Over the meadows with dancing feet; +Following the silvery plough of the sun, + Will be furrows filled with wild flowers sweet: + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +Over whispering streams will rushes lean, + To answer the waves' soft murmurous call; +The lily will bend from its watch-tower green, + To list to the lark's low madrigal, + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +When they lengthen to ripe and perfect prime, + Then, oh, then, I will build my happy nest; +And all in that pleasant and balmy time, + There never will be a bird so blest; + And the days are growing longer. + + * * * * * + +SUMMER. + +Now sinks the Summer sun into the sea; + Sure never such a sunset shone as this, + That on its golden wing has borne such bliss; + Dear Love to thee and me. + +Ah, life was drear and lonely, missing thee, + Though what my loss I did not then divine; + But all is past--the sweet words, thou art mine, + Make bliss for thee and me. + +How swells the light breeze o'er the blossoming lea, + Sure never winds swept past so sweet and low, + No lonely, unblest future waiteth now; + Dear Love for thee and me. + +Look upward o'er the glowing West, and see, + Surely the star of evening never shone + With such a holy radiance--oh, my own, + Heaven smiles on thee and me. + + +SUMMER SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + +You will journey many a weary day and long, + Ere you will see so restful and sweet a place, +As this, my home, my nest so downy and warm, + The labor of many happy and hopeful days; +But its low brown walls are laid and softly lined, + And oh, full happily now my rest I take, +And care not I when it lightly rocks in the wind, + For the branch above though it bends will never break; +And close by my side rings out the voice of my mate--my lover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + +Now the stream that divides us from perfect bliss + Seems floating past so narrow--so narrow, +You could span its wave such a morn as this, + With a moment winged like a golden arrow, +And the sweet wind waves all the tasselled broom, + And over the hill does it loitering come, +Oh, the perfect light--oh, the perfect bloom, + And the silence is thrilled with the murmurous hum +Of the bees a-kissing the red-lipped clover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + +When the West is a golden glow, and lower + The sun is sinking large and round, +Like a golden goblet spilling o'er, + Glittering drops that drip to the ground-- +Then I spread my lustrous wings and cleave the air + Sailing high with a motion calm and slow, +Far down the green earth lies like a picture fair, + Then with rapid wing I sink in the shining glow; +A-chasing the glinting, gleaming drops; oh, a diver +Am I in a clear and golden sea, and Summer will last forever. + +The leaves with a pleasant rustling sound are stirred + Of a night, and the stars are calm and bright; +And I know, although I am only a little bird, + One large serious star is watching me all the night, +For when the dewy leaves are waved by the breeze, + I see it forever smiling down on me. +So I cover my head with my wing, and sleep in peace, + As blessed as ever a little bird can be; +And the silver moonlight falls over land and sea and river, +And the nights are cool, and the nights are still, and + Summer will last forever. + +I think you would journey many and many a day, + Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see; +Not all the wealth of the world could lure my love away, + For my brown little nest is all the world to me; +And care not I if brighter bowers there are + Lying close to the sun--where tall palms pierce the sky; +Oh, you would journey a weary way and a far, + Ere you would behold a bird so blest as I; +And singing close to my side is my mate--my kin--my lover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + + * * * * * + +AUTUMN. + +Yes! yes! I dare say it is so, +And you should be pitied, but how could I know, +Watching alone by the moon-lit bay; +But that is past for many a day, +For the woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +She had loving eyes, with a wistful look +In their depths that day, and I know you took +Her face in your hands and read it o'er, +As if you should never see it more; +You were right, for she died long years ago, + Years ago. + +Had I trusted you--for trust, you know +Will keep love's fire forever aglow; +Then what would have mattered storm or sun, +But the watching--the waiting, all is done; +For the woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +Yes; I think you are constant, true and good, +I am tired, and would love you if I could; +I am tired, oh, friend, tired out; and yet, +Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset? +The woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you, +No; even your tears cannot move me now; +So leave me alone, what is said is said, +What boots your prayers, she is dead! is dead! +The woman you loved, long years ago, + Years ago. + + +AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + +The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, + I go to a warmer clime afar and away; +Though my heart is so tired I do not care for it now, + But here in my empty nest I cannot stay; + Thus cried the swallow, +I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + +One night my mate came home with a broken wing, + So he died; and my brood went long ago; +And I am alone, and I have no heart to sing, + With no one to hear my song, and I must go; + Thus cried the swallow, +Away from dust and decay, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + +But I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest, + As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, +I think I shall never fold my wings in such happy rest, + Never again--oh, never again till I die; + Thus cried the swallow, +But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + + + +THE COQUETTE. + + +How can I be to blame? + Is it my fault I am fair? +I did not fashion my features, + Or brush the gold in my hair; +Because my eyes are so blue and bright, + Must I never look up from the ground, +But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, + Lest some foolish heart they should wound? + +How can I be in fault? + I am sure where hearts are so few, +It is difficult to discern + The diamonds of paste from the true; +I thought him like all the rest, + Skilful in playing his part; +As careful at cards or at chess, + As winning a woman's heart. + +I am sure it is nothing wrong, + Nothing to think of--and yet +I know I lured him with glance and song, + Into my shining net; +Provokingly cold at first he seemed, + Like crystal to smiles and sighs, +But at last he felt the magic that gleamed + In my dreamy violet eyes. + +And I led him on and on, + Farther, in truth, than I strove, +For he frightened me with the earnestness + And violence of his love; +These calm-eyed men deceive-- + Had I known the man had a heart, +I would have paused, I would, I believe, + Have acted a different part. + +In his royal indignation + He uttered some wholesome truth-- +He almost roused the emotion + That died in my innocent youth; +Emotion that lived when life was new, + Ere that man my pathway crossed, +Who played me a game untrue, + When I staked all my love, and lost. + +Oh for a saintly beauty, + What efforts my soul did make; +I thought all goodness and purity + Were possible for his sake; +The world seemed born anew, my life + Such holy meaning wore, +I fancy so fair and fond a dream + Never fell into ruins before. + +He toyed with my fresh affection + As he breathed the country air, +To refresh him after a season + Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare; +Had he not slain my tenderness, + Had my life been more sweet, +I might have known nobler happiness + Than to humble men to my feet. + +But now I love to lure them on, + To make them slaves to my gaze, +Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot, + Like moths to a candle-blaze. +I melt most royally time, the pearl, + And quaff the cup like a queen, +And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl, + The woman I might have been. + + + +LITTLE NELL. + + +Clasp your arms round her neck to-night, + Little Nell, +Arms so delicate, soft and white, +And yet so strong in love's strange might; +Clasp them around the kneeling form, +Fold them tenderly close and warm, + And who can tell +But such slight links may draw her back, +Away from the fatal, fatal track; + Who can tell, + Little Nell? + +Press your lips to the lips of snow, + Little Nell; +Oh baby heart, may you never know +The anguish that makes them quiver so; +But now in her weakness and mortal pain, +Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain, + And who can tell +But your innocent love, your childish kiss +May lure her back from the dread abyss; + Who can tell, + Little Nell. + +Lay your cheek on her aching breast, + Little Nell; +To you 'tis a refuge of holy rest, +But a dying bird never drooped its crest +With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart; +Ah! love's sweet links may be torn apart, + Little Nell; +The altar may flame with gems and gold, +And splendor be bought, and peace be sold, + But is it well, + Little Nell? + +Veil her face with your tresses bright, + Little Nell; +Hide that vision out of her sight-- +Those dark dark eyes with their tender light-- +Uplift your pure face, can it be +She will bid farewell to heaven and thee, + Little Nell? +No; your mute lips plead with eloquent power, +Her tears fall like a tropic shower; + All is well, + Little Nell. + +Close your blue eyes now in sleep, + Little Nell; +Her angel smiles to see her weep; +At morn a ship will cleave the deep, +And one alone will be borne away, +And one will clasp thee close, and pray; + Oh Little Nell, +Never, never beneath the sun, +Will you dream what you this night have done, + Done so well, + Little Nell. + + + +THE FISHER'S WIFE. + + +A long, low waste of yellow sand +Lay shining northward far as eye could reach, +Southward a rocky bluff rose high +Broken in wild, fantastic shapes. +Near by, one jagged rock towered high, +And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, +Striving to peer into the mysteries +The ocean whispers of continually, +And covers with her soft, treacherous face. +For the rest, the sun was sinking low +Like a great golden globe, into the sea; +Above the rock a bird was flying +In dizzy circles, with shrill cries, +And on a plank floated from some wreck, +With shreds of musty seaweed +Clinging to it yet, a woman sat +Holding a child within her arms; +A sweet-faced woman--looking out to sea +With dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child, +And this the song she in the sunset sang: + +Thine eyes are brown, my beauty, brown and bright, + Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep +Is clasping thee within her arms so white, + Bearing thee up the dreamland's sunny steep. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud + Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro +Against the ledges of a crimson cloud, + A tiny bird with flutt'ring wing of snow. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar, + And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee; +Lit by the red lamp of the evening star + Home will he come, will come to thee and me, + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet, + The table shall be set, the fire shall glow, +We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet, + And if my eye be sad, he will not know-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +He will not pause to ponder things so slight, + He is not one a smile to prize or miss; +Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might, + And he will meet us with a loving kiss-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +But would I could forget those other days + When if with gayer gleam mine eyes had shone, +Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes would gaze + With tender questioning into my own. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thine eyes are brown--thou hast thy father's eyes, + But those, my darling, those were clear and blue, +Ah, me! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries, + Cries for its mate, oh, tender bird and true; + My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Oh, of my truest love well worthy he, + And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart; +But ships are parted on the dreary sea + Swept by the waves, forever swept apart-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say, + Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest, +So in their weakness they are lured to lay + Their head upon some strong and loving breast. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Our cabin stands upon the dreary sands, + And it is sad to be alone, alone. +But on my bosom thou hast lain thy hands, + Near to me art thou, near, my precious one-- + My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +The red light faded as she sung, +A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea, +She drew her cloak still closer round the child, +And turned toward the cabin; +As she went a faint glow glimmered +In the east, and slowly rose-- +The silver crescent of the moon. +Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow, +But clear enough to guide her home. + + + +THE LAND OF LONG AGO. + + +Now while the crimson light fades in the west, + And twilight drops her purple shadows low-- +We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest, + That overlooks the land of Long Ago. + +Unmoved and still the form beside us stands, + While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'erflow, +As silently he lifts his shadowy hands, + And points us to the land of Long Ago. + +It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range, + Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow; +For fairer moons, and sunsets rare and strange, + Illume the landscape of the Long Ago. + +We see its vales of peace, its hills of light + Shine in the rosy air, ah! well we know-- +That nevermore will bless our yearning sight, + So fair and dear a land as Long Ago. + +We see the gleaming spires of those high halls + We garnished with bright gems and precious show; +No foot within the gilded doorway falls, + Empty the rooms within the Long Ago. + +Troops of white doves still haunt the shining towers, + And fold in blissful calm, their wings of snow; +We bade them build their nests in brighter bowers, + But still they linger in the Long Ago. + +There in its sunny bay stand stately ships, + We freighted for fair lands where we would go; +Still gleams our gold within their secret crypts, + Becalmed beside the shore of Long Ago. + +Between that land and this of dread and doubt, + The silent years have drifted trackless snow; +Hiding the pathway where we wandered out, + Forever from the land of Long Ago. + + + +LEMOINE. + + +In the unquiet night, +With all her beauty bright, + She walketh my silent chamber to and fro; +Not twice of the same mind, +Sometimes unkind--unkind, + And again no cooing dove hath a voice so sweet and low. + +Such madness of mirth lies +In the haunting hazel eyes, + When the melody of her laugh charms the listening night; +Its glamour as of old +My charmed senses hold, + Forget I earth and heaven in the pleasures of sense and sight. + +With sudden gay caprice +Quaint sonnets doth she seize, + Wedding them unto sweetness, falling from crimson lips; +Holding the broidered flowers +Of those enchanted hours, + When she wound my will with her silk round her white finger-tips. + +Then doth she silent stand, +Lifting her slender hand, + On which gleams the ring I tore from his hand at Baywood; +The tiny opal hearts +Are broken in two parts, + And where the ruby burned there hangeth a drop of blood. + +Then with my burning cheek, +Raising my head, I speak, + "Lemoine, Lemoine, my lost! Oh, speak to me once, I pray!" +But no word will she deign, +Adown the shining lane, + The long and lustrous lane of the moonlight she glides away. + +I fancy oft a stir, +Of wings seem following her, + Trailing a terrible gloom along the oaken floor, +As she walks to and fro; +Louder the strange sounds grow + To a nameless, dreadful horror, that floods the chamber o'er. + +And then I raise my head +From terror-haunted bed, + And hush my breath, and my very pulses hush and hark; +But as I glance around, +The stir, the murmuring sound, + Dies away in the moonlight, lying there stiff and stark. + + * * * * * + +And thus you ever flee, +Elude and baffle me, + My lady you will not always so lightly glide away; +Though on the swiftest breeze, +You sail o'er farthest seas, + Remember, side by side we two will stand one day. + +Though my dust feed the wind, +Yours be with prayer consigned + To the keeping of churchyard seraphs and marble saints; +Lemoine, we two shall meet, +And not then at my feet + Will you fetter a late repentance with wiles and tearful plaints. + +Repentance and strong, +That would have found a tongue, + And shrieked the truth to heaven with madd'ning din; +The truth of that dread hour, +That black accursed hour, + When to free you from hated fetters, I plunged my soul in sin. + +Whatever wise man thinks, +Sin forges strongest links, + You can break them never, although for a time you may hide +Buried in flowers and wine; +This chain of thine and mine, + At the last dread day of doom will draw us side by side. + +If one, then both are cursed, +And come the best, the worst, + Forever and ever your fate and mine are entwined; +And though it be mad--mad, +Heaven knows the thought is glad, + I do not breed my thoughts, how can I help my mind. + + * * * * * + +So silent doth she come, +Standing here pale and dumb, + With her finger laid on her lips in a warning way; +Her dark eyes looking back, +As if upon her track + And mine, some phantom shape of impending evil lay. + +But when I strive to see, +Of what she's warning me, + Cruelly calm, no sign will she deign to love or fears; +Unheeding vow or prayer, +As noiseless as the air, + She glideth into the pallid moonlight and disappears. + + + +SLEEP. + + +Come to me soft-eyed sleep, + With your ermine sandalled feet; +Press the pain from my troubled brow + With your kisses cool and sweet; +Lull me with slumbrous song, + Song of your clime, the blest, +While on my heavy eyelids + Your dewy fingers rest. + +Come with your native flowers, + Heartsease and lotus bloom, +Enwrap my weary senses + With the cloud of their perfume; +For the whispers of thought tire me, + Their constant, dull repeat, +Like low waves throbbing, sobbing, + With endless, endless beat. + + + +THE LADY MAUD. + + +I sit in the cloud and the darkness + Where I lost you, peerless one; +Your bright face shines upon fairer lands, + Like the dawning of the sun, +And what to you is the rustic youth, + You sometimes smiled upon. + +You have roamed through mighty cities, + By the Orient's gleaming sea, +Down the glittering streets of Venice, + And soft-skied Araby: +Life to you has been an anthem, + But a solemn dirge to me. + +For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills, + Or by the silvery Rhine, +You win all hearts to you, where'er + Your glancing tresses shine; +But, darling, the love of the many, + Is not a love like mine. + +Last night I heard your voice in my dreams, + I woke with a joyous thrill +To hear but the half-awakened birds, + For the dark dawn lingered still, +And the lonesome sound of the waters, + At the foot of Carey's hill. + +Oh the pines are dark on Carey's hill, + And the waters are black below, +But they shone like waves of jasper + Upon one day I know, +The day I bore you out of the stream, + With your face as white as snow. + +You lay like a little lamb in my arms, + So frail a thing, so weak, +And my coward lips said burning words + They never had dared to speak +If they had not felt the chill of your brow, + And the marble of your cheek. + +Life had been but a bitter gift, + That I fain would have thrown away, +But I could have thanked my God on my knees, + For giving me life that day, +As I took you, lying so helpless, + From the gates of death away. + +How your noble kinsmen laughed and wept + O'er their treasure snatched from the flood, +And your white-faced brother brought me gold-- + You loved him, or I could +Have obeyed the fiend that told me + To curse him where he stood. + +Gold! Oh, darling, they had no need + Such insults to repeat; +I knew the Heaven was above the earth, + I knew, I knew, my sweet, +I was not worthy to touch the shoes + That covered your dainty feet. + +I knew as you laid your hand in mine, + So kind as I turned away, +That we were severed as wide apart, + That hour, as we are to-day, +And you in your stately English home, + So far, so far away. + +That soft white hand you laid in mine + With a smile as I turned to go, +Oh, Lady Maud, I marvel + If you ever stoop so low, +As to wonder what those tears meant, + That glittered on its snow. + +But I know if you had dreamed the truth + Your beautiful dark brown eyes +Would only have grown more gentle, + With a sorrowful surprise; +For a nobler and a kinder heart + Ne'er beat beneath the skies. + +You never meant to give me pain, + But oh, 'twas a cruel good, +I so low in the world's esteem, + You of such noble blood, +That you stooped to as gentle words and deeds, + As ever an angel could. + +I blessed you for your brightness + When you came unto our shore, +For the dull earth caught a beauty + It never had before; +But you left a lonesome shadow, + That will lie there evermore. + +How proud the good ship bore you + Adown the golden bay, +The sun's last light upon its sails-- + I stood there mournfully; +For I know it left the darkness-- + Took the sunlight all away. + + + +THE HAUNTED CASTLE. + + +It stands alone on a haunted shore, +With curious words of deathless lore + On its massive gate impearled; +And its carefully guarded mystic key +Locks in its silent mystery + From the seeking eyes of the world. + +Oft do its stately walls repeat +Echoes of music wildly sweet + Swelling to gladness high-- +With mournful ballads of ancient time, +And funeral hymns--and a nursery rhyme + Dying away in a sigh. + +Pictures out of each haunted room, +Up through the ghostly shadows loom, + And gleam with a spectral light; +Pictures lit with a radiant glow, +And some that image such desolate woe + That, weeping, you turn from the sight. + +Shining like stars in the twilight gloom +Brows as white as a lily's bloom + Gleam from its lattice and door; +And voices soft as a seraph's note, +Through its mysterious chambers float + Back from eternity's shore. + +In the mournful silence of midnight air +You hear on its stately and winding stair + The echoes of fairy feet. +Gentle footsteps that lightly fall +Through the enchanted castle hall, + And up in the golden street. + +And still in a dark forsaken tower, +Crowned with a withered cypress flower, + Is a bowed head turned away; +A face like carved marble white, +Sweet eyes drooping away from the light, + Shunning the eye of day. + +And oft when the light burns low and dim +A haggard form ungainly and grim + Unbidden enters the door; +With chiding eyes whose burning light +You fain would bury in darkness and night, + Never to meet you more. + +Mysteries strange its still walls keep, +Strange are the forms that through it sweep-- + Walking by night and by day. +But evermore will the castle hall +Echo their footsteps' phantom fall, + Till its walls shall crumble away. + + + +THE STORY OF GLADYS. + + +"I leave my child to Heaven." And with these words +Upon her lips, the Lady Mildred passed +Unto the rest prepared for her pure soul; +Words that meant only this: I cannot trust +Unto her earthly parent my young child, +So leave her to her heavenly Father's care; +And Heaven was gentle to the motherless, +And fair and sweet the maiden, Gladys, grew, +A pure white rose in the old castle set, +The while her father rioted abroad. + +But as the day drew near when he should give, +By his dead lady's will, his child her own, +He having basely squandered all her wealth +To him intrusted, to his land returned, +And thrilled her trusting heart with terrors vague, +Of peril, of some shame to come to him, +Did she not yield unto his prayer--command, +That she would to Our Lady's convent go, +Forget the world and save him from disgrace. + +But hidden as she had been all her life +From tender human ties, she loved the world +With all her loving heart, the fresh, free world +That God had made, and this life seemed to her +As but a living death. A living tomb +The harsh stone walls that from the convent frowned +Upon the peaceful valley sweet with flowers. +The beautiful green valley, threaded by +Bright rivulets that sought the quiet lake, +Dear haunts sought daily by her maiden feet. +And "wilt thou not, for my sake?" and "thou shalt +To save thy sire from shame!" so wore the days, +And still she did not promise, though she wept +At his wild pleadings, trembled at his rage; +Then of her mother's dying words he thought-- +Her dying words--"I leave my child to Heaven." +And twisting them with his own wishes, wove +A chain therewith that bound her wavering will; +A chain made mighty by the golden threads +Of rev'rence and of holy memories. +And so with heavy heart she gave her vow, +That in the autumn she would leave the world, +But first for one free summer did she pray. + +And through those bright spring days she roamed abroad, +And poured upon the winds her low complaints; +The while her dark soft eyes sought all the earth, +The beauteous earth that she too soon must leave; +And all her mournful murmurs ended thus +With this sad cry of, "Oh, the happy world!" +Ended with these low words as a sigh, +I will obey, but, "oh, the happy world!" + +Oh, wondrous beauty of the morning skies! + Oh, wide green fields with beady dew impearled! +The lark soars upward, singing as she flies, + Oh, wave of free, swift wings, oh, happy world! + +Oh, wordless wonder of the evening sky, + Far ivory citadels with flags unfurled; +Deep sapphire seas where rosy fleets float by + The golden shores remote; oh, happy world! + +Oh, my blue violets by the laughing brook! + My shy, sweet darlings, in your green leaves curled, +Bright eyes, sometime you will all vainly look + For me, your lover. Oh, the happy world! + +So passed the days of spring, and she must sign +Dull papers to appease the hungry law, +And to the castle down a writer came; +No graybeard old, and dryer than his tomes, +A tall, fair-faced youth, with bright, bold gaze, +And blood that leaped afresh like crimson wine, +Rash blood that led him to leap o'er a gate +Five-barred, within the mossy park, upon +The knight's old stumbling steed that played him false +To its own harm, for which it lost its life, +More fortunate the youth, though bruised he, +And bleeding from his many grievous wounds, +And Gladys tended him with gentlest care +Till love crept in and took the place of pain, +And in her heart took Pity's weeping place +And dwelt a king. He knew she was the bride +Of Heaven, not to be vexed with earthly love, +But yet, upon the last night of his stay, +As by the lake's low marge he met the maid, +And saw her soft eyes fall before his own, +He laid an almond blossom in her hand, +A blossom that both sweet and bitter is, +And said but this, "Say, is dear love a dream?" + +"Nay, not a dream," she murmured, looking out +To where the light upon the waters lay, +A golden pathway leading to the sun, +"Dear love the wakening is, this life we live +Is but a dream." Then with a sudden hope +He would have caught her hands, but no, she clasped +Them o'er the snowy muslin on her breast, +And on her heart like drops of crimson blood, +There lay the almond blossoms, bitter, sweet; +And far away her pure eyes looked adown +That shining path across the summer sea, +"Nay, life a long dream is, a sleep that lasts +Until we waken in the land of love." +But though thus calmly did she speak to him, +When he had gone to hide his breaking heart +As best he might, to bravely bide his time, +And do his life work as she bade him do, +Then all her lonely haunts echoed this cry, +This cry of deeper anguish--"Oh, my heart!" + +Why did I pray for one more summer bright, + The outward world but held me in time past; +Now, life and love have added links of might, + A chain that fetters me, that holds me fast; +I will, I will obey, but oh, my heart! + +My life was like some little mountain spring + By slight waves stirred till some deep overflow +Swift breaks its peace, then with its risen king + Down to the mighty deep it needs must go; +Thus did I follow love, but oh, my heart! + +For dear love sought me, claimed me for his own, + And called me with his voice so strong, so low, +I followed unto bliss, thou hapless one, + I did bethink me of my cruel vow, +The vow I will obey, but oh, my heart! + +And through the long, still nights this cry was hers, +As on her couch she lay till dreary dawn, +Her large eyes dark with horror looking out +Upon the pitchy darkness unafraid. +And as the breathings of the new spring breeze, +Soft sights of sad complaint, to autumn's storms +That hold the burdened sorrow of a year, +Was this, her sigh of, "oh, the happy world!" +To this despairing cry of, "oh, my heart!" +And as the year's late winds leave pale and chill +The earth, so did this weary cry of hers +So oft repeated leave her lips like snow. +And oft the lonely midnight heard her moan +Of hopes foregone, that women hold most dear. + +"No little ones to ever cling to me +In closest love, look on me through his eyes +And call me mother, bless me with his smile." +Then low in tearful prayer her voice would sound +Despairing, wailing, through the lonely room, +The silent turret chamber steep and high, +"Thou maiden mother, Mary, knows my heart, +Thou who didst love and suffer, look on me, +Oh, pity me, sweet mother of the Christ!" + +Then would the passion of her woe die out +In dreary calm, and as a chidden child +Who cries himself to rest, sobs in his sleep, +So pitifully would sound the latest words-- +"I will, I will be patient, and obey." +But all the long days' silent anguish, all +These secret trysts she kept alone with pain +Wore her meek face, till like a spirit's looked +It, gleaming white from out her shadowy hair, +And so the last day came, the day of doom, +The dreaded day when she should leave the world. + +But He who holdeth little useless birds +In His protecting care, looked tenderly +Upon this patient soul, so sorely tried. +This sweet soul purified by all its pain, +For on this day, so fair a morn, it seemed +A heavenly peace sunk down to this sad earth +From gate ajar, the bright and pearly gate +Swung widely open for an angel guest. +A faithful servant climbed the winding stair, +Sent by her eager father with the dawn +To rouse her, tell her that the hour had come +When she to save his name should leave the world. +And as the woman stood beside the couch +She said, "Sweet soul, she talks out in her sleep." +For there she lay with closed eyes murmuring low, +With mournful brow and sad lips, "oh, dear love." +Then cried out with a sob, "'tis not a dream." +Then spake of blood-red blossoms, bitter, sweet, +And with her white lips sighing this, she sunk +Into what seemed to be a dreamless sleep. + +And as the loving servant weeping stood, +Loath to awake her to her evil doom, +She opened her large violet eyes, and gazed +Upon the morning sunlight stealing in; +The clear light trembling, growing on the wall, +And as she looked, her eyes grew like the eyes +Of blessed angels looking on their Lord. +And high toward Heaven she lifted up her hands, +Then clasped them in content upon her breast, +And cried out in a glad voice, "oh, my heart!" +And with such glory lighting up her face, +As if the flood of joy had filled her heart, +And overrun her lips with blissful smiles +She left the world, and saved her sire from shame. + + + +FAREWELL. + + +Lift up your brown eyes, darling, + Not timidly and shy, +As in the fair, lost past, not thus + I'd have you meet my eye. +But grave, and calm, and earnest, + Thus bravely should we part, +Not sorrowfully, not lightly, + And so farewell, dear heart. + +Yes, fare thee well, farewell, + Whate'er shall me betide +May gentlest angels comfort thee, + And peace with thee abide; +Our love was but a stormy love, + 'Tis your will we should part-- +So smile upon me once, darling, + And then farewell, dear heart. + +But lay your hand once on my brow, + Set like a saintly crown, +It will shield me, it will help me + To hurl temptations down. +God give thee better love than mine-- + Nay, dear, no tears must start, +See, I am quiet, thou must be, + And now farewell, dear heart. + + + +THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY. + + +Clear shone the moon, my mansion walls + Towered white above the wood, +Near, down the dark oak avenue + An humble cottage stood. + +My gardener's cottage, small and brown, + Yet precious unto me; +For there she dwelt, who sat by me + That night beside the sea. + +So sweet, the white rose on her neck + Was not more fair than she, +As silently her soft brown eyes + Looked outward o'er the sea. + +So still, the muslin o'er her heart + Seemed with no breath to stir, +As silently she sat and heard + The tale I told to her. + +"It was a knight of Normandy, + He vowed on his good sword +He would not wed his father's choice, + The Lady Hildegarde. + +"Near dwelt the beauteous Edith, + A lowly maiden she--" +Ah! still unmoved, her dark sweet eyes + Looked far away from me. + +"Dearer to him one blossom small + That had but touched her hand, +Than all the high-born beauties-- + The ladies of the land. + +"Dearer to him," quick came my breath + As I looked down on her, +But the white roses in her hand + No lightest leaf did stir. + +Ah! wistfully I read her face, + Full gently did I speak, +No light dawned in her tender eye, + No flush stole o'er her cheek. + +"He wore her colors on the field, + He went where brave hearts were; +Ah, gallantly and nobly + He fought for love of her. + +"He loved her with his whole true heart," + Now like a sudden flame +Up to her cheek so pure and white, + A flood of crimson came. + +Her hands unclasped, down to her feet + My flowers unnoticed shook; +I leaned and followed with my gaze + Her glad and eager look. + +I saw a boat sweep round the rock, + Rowed with a steady grace; +I saw the fisher's manly form, + His brown and handsome face. + +"For love of her, to victory + He his brave squadron led, +Then broke his true heart, and her scarf + Pillowed his dying head. + +"So died this knight of Normandy, + Died with his sword unstained;" +I know not that she heard my words, + So near the boat had gained. + +I said, Heaven bless her, in my heart, + She had no thought for me; +I turned away and left them there + Beside the beating sea. + +Behind me lay the sweet moonlight, + My shadow went before, +And passed a dark and gloomy shape + Before me through the door. + +Oh strange and sad this life of ours, + This life beneath the sun; +O sad and strange and full of pain + God help us, every one. + +God help us, that we may endure + Like him of Normandy; +And die with sword unstained, that has + Led us to victory. + + + +SOMETIME. + + +On the shore I sit and gaze + Out on the twilight sea, +For my ship may come, though many days + I have waited patiently; +With waiting trusting eyes, + A lonely watch I keep +For its silver sails to rise + Like a blossom out of the deep. + +It is built of a costly wood, + Bearing the strange perfume +Of the gorgeous solitude, + Where it grew in tropical gloom; +And the odorous scent, the spicy balm + Of its isle it will bear to me, +As I stand on the shore, in the magic calm. + And my ship come in from sea. + +It is laden with all that is sweet + Of the beauty of every clime; +Slowly and proudly 'twill glide to my feet + In the eve of that fair "Sometime," +Before me its sails will be furled, + A princess I shall be, +Crowned with the wealth of the world, + When my ship comes in from sea. + +Sweet faces I then shall see, + Tender, undoubting, true, +Soft hands will be stretched to me + With a welcome I never knew; +In the peace of such tenderness + I shall rest forevermore, +And weep in my perfect bliss, + As I never wept before. + +Sometimes I think it is not far + And I bend my head and list, +For I think I see a slender spar + Gleam through the golden mist; +And I fancy I hear the sound + Of wind in a silken sail, +And an odor rare from Eastern ground, + Floats in on the languid gale. + +But I sit and watch the west + Till the sun goes down, in vain; +It was only a cloud with an ivory crest, + A cloud of vapor and rain; +It rises and hides the sea, + And my heart grows chill and numb, +Lest this terrible thing should be, + That my ship will never come. + +But the morn is bright--the wave + Is a golden and shining track, +Softly the waters the white sands lave, + And my trusting faith comes back; +Oh, all that I ever lost, + And all that I long to be, +Will be mine when the deep is crossed, + And my ship comes home from sea. + + + +MOTIVES. + + +I said that I would see + Her once, to curse her fair, deceitful grace, +To curse her for my life-long agony; + But when I saw her face, +I said, "Sweet Christ, forgive both her and me." + +High swelled the chanted hymn, + Low on the marble swept the velvet pall, +I bent above, and my eyes grew dim, + My sad heart saw it all-- +She loved me, loved me though she wedded him. + +And then shot through my soul + A thrill of fierce delight, to think that he +Must yield her form, his all, to Death's control, + The while her love for me +Would live, when sun and stars had ceased to roll. + +But no, on the white brow, + Graved in its marble, was deep calm impressed, +Saying that peace had come to her through woe; + Saying, she had found rest +At last, and I, I must not love her now. + +It may be in Heaven's grace, + Beneath the shade of some immortal palm, +That God will let me see her angel face; + Then wild, wild heart be calm, +Wipe out that old love, every sorrowful trace. + +I know that if it be, + We two should meet again in Paradise, +'Twould trouble her pure soul if she should see + The old grief in my eyes; +'Twould grieve her dear heart through eternity. + +Wipe out that grief, my soul, + And shall I lose all love, in losing this? +Unclasp my spirit, self's close stolid stole. + Are there no lives to bless? +So will I give my love, my life, no stinted dole. + +God will note deeds and sighs, + Throned in far splendor on the heavenly hill, +Though mad sounds from this wretched planet rise-- + Moans wild enough to fill +Heaven's air, and drown its harps in doleful cries. + +And angels shall look down, + Through incense rising from my godly deeds. +Approving gleam those eyes of tender brown; + Sure on a brow that bleeds, +The thorns should change to a more glorious crown. + +Well done, my soul, well done, + Out of thy grief to rear a ladder tall +To reach the land that lies beyond the sun, + To scale the jasper wall, +And rise to glory on grief's stepping stone. + +God looks into the tide, + Angel and demon troubled, of a man's mind; +And if my alms are scattered far and wide, + Only my love to find, +Only to pave a path to reach her side-- + +Will he accept from me + My worship, gifts--the heavens are very still, +No answer do I hear, no sign I see, + If I but knew His will; +Would He would come a-walking on the sea. + + * * * * * + +The storm is overpast, for sweet and fair + A sudden radiance shone o'er wave and lea; +And in the glory trembling through the air, + He came unto me walking on the sea. + +The heavy waves that had rushed to and fro + Cowered at His feet in sudden melody; +And all transfigured in the shining glow + Did He come to me walking on the sea. + +Far off I saw His form, but knew it not; + He nearer drew, He smiled, my fears did flee; +His loving look dispelled a lingering doubt, + As He came to me o'er the twilight sea. + +I dropped my burden on the shelving sand + So I might meet Him, if such bliss could be, +I reached the shore, I knelt and kissed His hand + With blissful tears beside the twilight sea. + +Such love He woke, I would my life have lain + Low down to pave His way, "He loveth me +Who loveth this sad world, and blesseth man," + Came blown to me across the twilight sea. + +Perplexing questions died within my breast, + "Deep peace hath he who doeth lovingly +My will, who loveth most, he loveth best," + Came blown to me across the twilight sea. + +The storm was overpast, a breath of balm + Lapped the low waves, and lingered on the lea, +For in the twilight fell a holy calm, + He came unto me walking on the sea. + + * * * * * + +Was this a dream? If it were not a dream + My life is blest in truth, and if it be, +I know across the deep has fallen a gleam, + A bridge of glory spans the twilight sea. + + + +NIGHTFALL. + + +Soft o'er the meadow, and murmuring mere, +Falleth a shadow, near and more near; +Day like a white dove floats down the sky, +Cometh the night, love, darkness is nigh; + So dies the happiest day. + +Slow in thy dark eye riseth a tear, +Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near; +Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast, +As day like a white dove flies down the west; + So dies the happiest day. + + + +HIS PLACE. + + +So all things come to our mind at last, + He is close by your side in the twilight gloom, + And you two are alone in the dim old room, +Yet he is mute, as you bade him be, time past. + +You bade him to weary you, never again + With his idle love, in truth he was wise, + For he spake no more, although in his eyes +You read, you fancied, a language of pain. + +But this is past, and vex you he never will, + With loving glance, or look of sad reproach; + His lips move not, smile not at your approach; +The flowers he clasps are not more calm and still. + +Your favorite flowers he has heard you praise, + Purple pansies, and lilies creamy white; + But he offers them not to you to-night, +He troubles you not, he has learned "his place." + +You wished to teach him that lesson, you told + Him as much, you know, in this very room, + 'Twas about this hour, for the twilight gloom +As now, was enwrapping you, fold on fold. + +Was "his place" in the haunts of the herded poor, + Where the pestilence stalked with deadly breath? + Face to face with its dreadful shadow, death, +How he wrestled with it from door to door, + +Giving his life that others life might find, + Shaming you with his toil, his bravery, + Not by a word or look, no boaster he, +He was always gentle to you, and kind. + +He has found "his place," but no need of fears, + No; you need not summon your jealous pride, + For "his place" will never be by your side, +Nevermore, nevermore, through all the years. + +And when from Time shall drop Earth's days + Like chaff from the bloom of the year sublime, + With the gentle spirits of every time, +And the martyr souls, he will find his place. + +So answers will come to our seeking wills, + Nevermore will his sad face vex your sight, + For you never will make your robes so white +As to stand by him on the heavenly hills. + +Yes, lay your cheek upon his, and press + The clustering hair from his broad white brow, + Have no fear, he will not annoy you now +By a word in praise of your loveliness. + +Yes, kneel by him, moaning, kissing his brow, + Not now will it grieve him, your tears' swift rain, + And he will not ask you to share your pain; +Ah! Once he would, but not now--not now. + +So leave the old room in the waning light, + Go out in your peerless beauty and pride, + And let no shadow go out by your side +To follow you under the falling night. + + + +A DREAM OF SPRING. + + +The world is asleep! All hushed is Nature's warm, sweet breath. + The world is asleep, and dreaming the silent dream of snow, +But through the silence that seems like the silence of death, + Under their shroud of ermine, the souls of the roses glow. + +And forever the heart of the water throbs and beats, + Though bound by a million gleaming fetters and crystal rings, +No sound on lonesome mornings the lonely watcher greets, + But the frosty pane is impressed with the shadow of coming wings. + + + +WAITING. + + +I know not where you wait for me in all your maiden sweetness, +Sweet soul in whom my life will find its rest, its full completeness; +But somewhere you await me, Fate will lead us to each other, +As roses know the sunlight, so shall we know one another. + +Dear heart, what are you doing in this twilight's purple splendor, +Do you tend your dewy flowers with fingers white and slender, +Heavy, odor-laden branches in blessing bent above you, +Fond lilies kneeling at your feet, winds murmuring they love you? + +Mayhap, your heart in maiden peace is like a closed bud sleeping, +Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender freshness + keeping. +Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, your soul sweet quiet + breaking, +Is a thought of me, my darling, that shall come true on waking. + +Perchance you turn from passionate vows, words wild with + love's sweet madness, +With soft eyes looking far sway, in yearning trust and sadness; +A look that tells his alien soul how widely you are parted, +Though he knows not whom your rapt eyes seek, my sweet, + my loving-hearted. + +Oh, the world is rough; the heart against its sneers, its cold + derision, +Locks all its better feelings, making it a gloomy prison; +But your hand, my angel, shall unlock its rocky, dust-strewn + portal, +Your smile shall rouse its dying dreams of good to life immortal. + +You will make me better, purer, for love, the true refiner, +Burning out the baser passions, will kindle the diviner, +Will plead and wind my spirit, not to shame its heavenly station, +You will trust me, and that trust will prove my tempted soul's + salvation. + +God keep you tenderly, my life's dear hope and unseen blessing; +Oh, night wind, touch her tresses till I come with fond caressing, +Thy crown of pearl-linked light, oh, royal moon stoop down + and give her, +Till queen of love's own kingdom, I crown her mine forever. + + + +A SONG FOR TWILIGHT. + + +Oh! the day was dark and dreary, + For clouds swept o'er the sun, +The burden of life seemed heavy, + And its warfare never done; +But I heard a voice at twilight, + It whispered in my ear, +"Oh, doubting heart, look upward, + Dear soul, be of good cheer. +Oh, weary heart, look upward, + Dear soul, be of good cheer." + +And lo! on looking upward + The stars lit up the sky +Like the lights of an endless city, + A city set on high. +And my heart forgot its sorrow + These heavenly homes to see-- +Sure in those many mansions + Is room for even me, +Sure in those many mansions, + Is room for thee and me. + + + +THE FLIGHT. + + +Here in the silent doorway let me linger + One moment, for the porch is still and lonely; +That shadow's but the rose vine in the moonlight; + All are asleep in peace, I waken only, +And he I wait, by my own heart's beating + I know how slow to him the tide creeps by, +Nor life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meeting; + Were worlds between, his soul to mine would fly. + +Oh, shame! to think a heap of paltry metal + Should overbalance manhood's noblest graces; +A film of gold had gilt his worth and honor, + Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces; +Gentle to me, they rise in condemnation, + And plead with me than words more powerfully. +Oh! well I love them--but they have wealth and station + To fill their hearts, and he has only me. + +But oh, my roses, how their great pure faces + Beseech me as they bend from sculptured column. +So with my wet cheek closely pressed against them, + I listen to their pleadings sweet and solemn. +Oh, Memory, if an hour of gloom and grieving + I here have known, that hour before me set; +But all the peace and joy I am leaving, + In mercy, Memory, let me forget. + +Oh, home! if here a frown has ever chilled me, + Let it now rise and darken on my sight. +If a harsh word or look has ever grieved me, + Let me remember that harsh word to-night. +But all the tender words, the fond caressing, + The loving smiles that daily I have met, +The patient mother love, God's crowning blessing, + In mercy, Memory, let me forget. + +Here she has kissed me with fond looks of greeting; + Will that smile fade when waiting me no longer? +Oh, true first love, tender and changing never; + But there's a love that nearer is and stronger-- +He comes! I kneel and kiss the stone, oh, mother, + Where you have stood and blessed me with your eyes; +Forgive--forgive me, mother--father--brother-- + For oh, he loves me--and love sanctifies. + + + +COMFORT. + + + Once through an autumn wood + I roamed in tearful mood, +By grief dismayed, doubting, and ill at ease; + When from a leafless oak, + Methought low murmurs broke, +Complaining accents, as of words like these: + + "Incline thy mighty ear + Great Mother Earth, and hear +How I, thy child, am sorely vexed and tossed; + No one to heed my moan, + I shudder here, alone +With my destroyers, wind and snow, and frost. + + Then low and unaware + This answer cleaved the air, +This tender answer, "Doubting one be still; + Oh trust to me, and know + The wind, the frost, the snow, +Are but my servants sent to do my will. + + "For the destroyer frost, + His labor is not lost, +Rid thee he shall of many noisome things; + And thou shalt praise the snow + When drinking far below +Refreshment sweet from overflowing springs. + + "My child thou'rt not alone, + I love thee, hear thy moan, +But winds that fret thee only causeth thee + To more securely stand, + More firmly clasp my hand, +And soaring upward, closer cling to me." + + Then from my burdened heart + The shadows did depart, +Then said I softly--"winds of sorrow blow + So I but closer cling + To thee, my Lord, my King, +Who loves me, even me, so weak and low." + + + +JENNY ALLEN. + + +I never shall hear your voice again, + Your voice so gentle and low +But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, + Will go with me where I go. +Your sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave + And the rush of the Alpine snow. + +You were very fair, Jenny Allen, + Fair as a woodland rose; +Your heart was pure as an angel's heart, + Too good for earth and its woes, +And I loved you, Jenny Allen, + With a sorrowful love, God knows. + +You loved me, Jenny Allen, + My sorrow made me wise; +And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task, + For within your clear blue eyes, +Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out + Like stars from the summer skies. + +He had riches and fame with his seventy years + When he won you for his wife; +You were but a child, and poor, and tired, + Tired of toil and strife; +And you only thought of rest, poor dove, + When you sold your beautiful life. + +Alas, for the hour I entered in + Your halls of lordly mirth; +For I lost there, Jenny Allen, + All that gives life worth; +You taught your teacher, Jenny, + The saddest lesson of earth. + +Ah, woe's the hour I ever stepped + Your mansion walls within; +For you loved me, Jenny Allen, + But you never dreamed 'twas sin; +Your heart was white as a lily's heart, + When it drinks the sunshine in. + +God pity me, Jenny Allen, + That I ever loved you so, +I would have died to give you peace, + And I only gave you woe; +For your eyes looked like a wounded dove's, + When I told you I must go. + +You were but a child, Jenny Allen, + But that hour made you wise; +A woman's grief and holy strength + Sprang up in your mournful eyes; +Ah, you were an angel, Jenny, + An angel in woman's guise. + +But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny, + Your seraph features wore, +As I left you that dark autumn morn, + Left you forevermore; +And heaven seemed shut against me + As I blindly shut that door. + +The years have rained on you golden gifts, + You dwell in a queenly show; +There are jewels of price in your silken hair, + And upon your neck of snow. +Do you ever think of me, Jenny, + And the dream of the long ago? + +I have sat me down under foreign skies + Afire with an Orient glow; +I have seen the moon gild the desert sand, + And silver the Arctic snow, +But the thought of you Jenny Allen, + Goes with me where I go. + + + +THE UNSEEN CITY. + + +Not far away does that bright city stand, + 'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream, +That wraps the glory of its glitt'ring strand, + Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam; +Oh, often in the blindness of our fate +We wander very near the city's gate. + +We love that unseen city, and we yearn + Ever within our earthly homes to see +Its golden towers, that in the sunset burn, + Its white walls rising from the quiet sea; +Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow, +Filled with the treasure lost to us below. + +Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there; + Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now; +Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair, + Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow; +Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours +Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers. + +Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet, + Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er, +Since o'er them lightly fall the little feet-- + The light feet bounding through our homes no more; +Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed, +That city's filled with melody like this. + +It is not far away; down from its arches roll + Anthems too sacred for the outward ear, +Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul; + Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear, +In listening to the low bewildering strain, +Voices they said we should not hear again. + +Oh, dear to us that city. He is there, + He whom unseen we love; no need of light; +His tender eyes illume the crystal air + Where His beloved walk in vesture white, +What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed, +And saw through tears His glory, now they rest. + +Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide, + Thither we journey through the storm and night; +But soon shall we adown its still bay glide, + Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight, +There with our own forever shall we be, +In that fair city rising from the sea. + + + +THE WAGES OF SIN. + + +I am an outcast, sinful and vile I know, + But what are you, my lady, so fair, and proud, and high? +The fringe of your robe just touched me, me so low-- + Your feet defiled, I saw the scorn in your eye, +And the jeweled hand, that drew back your garments fine. + What should you say if I told you to your face +Your robes are dyed with as deep a stain as mine, + The only difference is you are better paid for disgrace. + +You loved a man, you promised to be his bride, + Strong vows you gave, you were in the sight of Heaven his wife, +And when you sold yourself for another's wealth, he died; + And what is that but murder? To take a life +That is a little beyond my guilt, I ween, + To murder the one you love is a crime of deeper grade +Than mine, yet in purple you walk on the earth a queen; + I think the wages of sin are very unequally paid. + +For what did you receive when you sold yourself for his gold, + When with guilty loathing you plighted your white, false hand, +A palace in town and country, his name long centuries old, + A carriage with coachmen and footmen, wealth in broad tracts + of land, +Wealth in coffers and vaults, high station, the family gems, + For these you stood at God's altar and swore to a lie; +But smother your conscience to silence if it condemns, + With this you are liberally paid for your life of infamy. + +What wages did I receive when I gave myself for his love, + So young, so weak, and loving him, loving him so-- +What did I get for my sin, O merciful God above! + But the terrible, terrible wages--pain and want and woe; +The world's scorn, and my own contempt and disdain, + The hideous hue of guilt that stares in every eye. +Like you I cannot 'broider with gold my garments' stain, + You see, my lady, you get far better wages than I. + +In your constancy to sin you far exceed my power, + Since that day marked with blackness from other days-- +The day before your marriage--never since that hour + Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face; +For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away + Anywhere--anywhere--only out of his sight, +Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day, + Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the light. + +And long I strove to hate him, for I thought + I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care, +It was a terrible sin that he had wrought, + And since I had the burden of guilt to bear +It was enough without the wild despair of love, + So I strove to reason my passionate love to hate. +Can we kneel with tears and bid the strong sun move + Away from the sky? It is vain to war with fate. + +That a hard life I have lived since then, 'tis true, + My hands are unblackened by sinful wages since that day, +And my baby died, I was not fit, God knew + To guide a sinless soul, so He took my bird away; +And my heart was empty and lone as a robin's winter nest, + With the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully, +The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast, + And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me. + +But I knew it were best for God to unclasp her hand + From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust, +Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand, + Blush for her mother--had she lived she must. +And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes, + Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways--his heart. +It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies + Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart. + +For I am a sinful woman, well I know, + And though by others' sins my own are not excused +Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe, + In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused; +Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love, + Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame, +Legal below, I think in the courts above + The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right name. + +But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat + Of the world, and it calls you pure, +That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet, + Holier than other holy women, higher, truer, +So sweet a creature an angel in woman's guise. + They would not wonder much, though much they might admire, +Should you be caught again up to your native skies + From an alien world in a chariot of fire. + +So we stand before the tender judgment-seat + Of the world, and it calls me vile, +So low that it is a wonder God will let + His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles, +An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope, + Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light, +They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope + And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight. + +Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand + You and I, my lady, and he by our side, +He who won my heart, who held my life in his hand, + He who bought you with gold to be his bride; +Before an assembled world we shall stand, we three, + To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal or woe, +He holds His righteous balance true and evenly, + And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know. + + + +ISABELLE AND I. + + +Isabelle has gold, and lands, + Fate gave her a fair lot; +Like the white lilies of the field + Her soft hands toil not. +I gaze upon her splendor + Without an envious sigh; +I have no wealth in lands and gold, + And yet sweet peace have I. + +I know the blue sky smiles as bright + On the low field violet, +As on the proud crest of the pine + On loftiest mountain set. +I am content--God loveth all, + And if He tenderly +The sparrow guides, He knoweth best + The place where I should be. + +Her violet velvet curtains trail + Down to the floor, +But brightly God's rich sunshine streams + Into my cottage door; +And not a picture on her walls, + Hath beauty unto me, +Like that which from my window frame + I daily lean to see. + +She has known such pomp, she careth not, + For any humble sight; +Flowers bending o'er the brook's green edge, + To her give no delight; +She tends her costly eastern bird + With gold upon its wing; +But her wild roses bloom for me, + For me her wild birds sing. + +She tires of home, and fain would see + The brightest clime of earth, +And so she sails for summer lands + With friends to share her mirth; +She waves her jewelled hand to me + The opal spray-clouds fly; +She leaves me with the fading shore-- + Do I envy her? not I. + +She will see the sailor's hardened palms + Curbing the toiling sails, +She will faint beneath the tropic calms + And face the angry gales. +She will labor for her happiness + While I've no need to speak, +But on a lotus leaf I float, + Unto the land they seek. + +There, like a dream from out the wave, + I see a city rise, +I stand entranced, as by a spell, + Upon the Bridge of Sighs. +The low and measured dip of oars + Falls softly on my ear +Blent with the tender evening song, + Of some swart gondolier. + +And down from marble terraces + Veiled ladies slowly pass, +And, entering antique barges, + Glide down the streets of glass; +And eyes filled with the dew and fire + Of their own midnight sky, +Gleam full on me, as silently + The gondolas float by. + +The sunset burns, and turns the wave + To an enchanted stream, +And far up on the shadowy steeps + The white walled convents gleam, +The music of their bells float out-- + The sweet wind bears it by, +Adown the warm and sunny slopes, + Where purple vineyards lie. + +And I stand in old cathedrals, + By tombs of buried kings, +White angels bend above them-- + Mute guard with folded wings. +Far down the aisle the organ peals, + The priests are knelt in prayer +And memories flood its ancient walls, + As the music fills the air. + +I may not see that blessed land, + But she roams o'er the sod +The Lord's pure eyes have hallowed, + Where once His feet have trod. +Yet He in mercy has drawn near, + He has me comforted-- +So near He seemed I almost felt + His hand upon my head. + +And I with slow and reverent steps + Through ancient cities roam, +Treading o'er crumbling columns, + The dust of spire and dome; +The tall and shattered arches + Their flickering shadows cast, +Like bent and hoary spectres, + Low murmuring of the past. + +And Isabelle toils o'er the Alps, + Through fields of ice and snow, +To see the lofty glaciers + Flash in the sun's red glow. +I feel no cold, and yet on high + Their shining spires I see. +Why should I envy Isabelle? + Why should she pity me? + +Why should I envy Isabelle + When thus so easily, +Upon a tropic flower's perfume + I float across the sea? + + + +GOOD-BY. + + +Again I see that May moon shine, +Dost thou remember, soul of mine? +I held your hand in mine, you know, +And as I bent to whisper low, +A tender light was in your eye, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + +There came a time my lips were white +Beneath the pale and cold moonlight, +And burning words I might not speak, +You read, love, in my ashen cheek, +As my whole heart breathed in this one cry, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + +Time's waves that roll so swift and fleet +Have borne you far from me, my sweet, +Have borne you to a sunny bay, +Where brightest sunshine gilds your way, +Do these words ever dim your sky-- +Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by? + +I cannot tell, but this I know +They go with me where'er I go, +I hear them in the crowded mart, +At midnight lone, they chill my heart-- +They dim for me the earth and sky, +Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart good-by. + +And in that hour of mystery, +When loved ones shall bend over me, +Near ones to kiss my lips and weep, +As nearer steals the dreamless sleep, +From all I'll turn with this last sigh, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + + + +THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING. + + +Put the crown of your love on my forehead, + Its sweet links clasped with a kiss, +And all the great monarchs of England + Never wore such a gem as this. +Give me your hand, little maiden, + That sceptre so pearly white, +And I'll envy not the kingliest wand + That ever waved in might. + +I know 'tis like asking a morning cloud + With a grim old mountain to stay, +But your love would soften its ruggedness, + And melt its roughness away. +I have seen a delicate rosy cloud, + A rough, gray cliff enfold, +Till his heart was warmed by its loveliness, + And his brow was tinged with its gold. + +Oh, poor and mean does my life show + Compared with the beauty of thine, +Like a diamond embedded in granite + Your life would be set in mine; +But a faithful love should guard you, + And shelter you from life's storm, +The rock must be shivered to atoms + Ere its treasure should come to harm. + +How your sweet face has shone on me + From the tropics' midnight sea, +When the sailors slept, and I kept watch + Alone with my God and thee. +I know your heart is relenting, + The tender look in your eyes +Seems like that sky's soft splendor + When the sun was beginning to rise. + +You need not veil their glorious light + With your eyelids' cloud of snow, +A tell-tale bird with a crimson wing + On your cheek flies to and fro; +And whispers to me such blissful hope + That my foolish tears will start, +Ah, little bird! your fluttering wing + Is folded on my heart. + + + +IONE. + + +I might strive as well to melt to softness the soulless breast + Of some fair and saintly image, carven out of stone, +With my smile, as to stir you heart from its icy rest, + Or win a tender glance from your royal eyes, Ione; +But your sad smile lures me on, as toward some fatal rock + Is the fond wave drawn, but to break with passionate moan. +Break! to be spurned from its cold feet with a stony shock, + As you would spurn my suppliant heart from your feet, Ione. + +Ione, there is a grave in the churchyard under the hill, + The villagers shun like the unblest haunt of a ghost, +Dropped there out of a dark spring night, I remember still, + For a foreign ship had anchored that night on the coast; +On the gray stone tablet is written this one word "Rest." + Did he who sleeps underneath seek for it vainly here? +What is the secret hidden there in the buried breast, + The secret deeper sunken by dripping rains each year. + +When autumn's bending boughs and harvests burdened the ground + An early laborer, chancing to pass that way alone, +Saw a small glove gleaming whitely upon the mound, + And into the delicate wrist was woven "Ione," +And he said as he dropped it again his eye did mark-- + For this unknown, unhallowed grave had been shunned by all-- +A narrow footpath winding through to the lofty wall, + That guards the wild grandeur and gloom of your father's park. + +'Tis well to put small faith in a simple rustic's eye, + This story your father heard, and haughtily denied, +The grass waves rankly now, and gives the fellow the lie, + How many secrets the tall, deceitful grasses hide, +Patting the turf that covers a maiden's innocent rest, + And creeping and winding old haunted ruins among, +As silently smooth's the mould above the murdered breast, + Smothering down to deeper silence a buried wrong. + +In your father's gallery once, I saw your pictured face, + Ione you were not always so sad and pale as this, +No beauty in all the long line of your noble race + Had eyes so softly bathed in bright bewitchment of bliss, +You were just nineteen, they said--it was painted in Spain + The year before you came--it was on your foreign tour, +By an artist too low to be reached by your disdain, + A delicate, passionate-hearted boy, proud and poor. + +So said the rumors floating to us across the sea, + You had only an invalid mother with you there, +I fancy that then you set your heart's pure feelings free + For the first time, far from your proud old father's care, +For you used to wander down the shaded garden ways, + Your slight hand closely clasped by the fair-haired + English youth, +His blue eyes bent on your blushing face, so rumor says, + Though such light birds are not to be trusted much in truth. + +Your face is not the face that looked from the antique frame, + Ione, and even that is gone from the oaken wall; +That picture that never was painted for gold or fame, + So vowed the artist friend who went with me to the hall; +But the pain on your white brow sits regally I ween, + The smile on your perfect lips is perilously sweet, +My slavish glances crown you my love, my fate, my queen, + As you pass in peerless beauty adown the village street. + + + +SUMMER DAYS. + + +Like emerald lakes the meadows lie, + And daisies dot the main; +The sunbeams from the deep blue sky + Drop down in golden rain, +And gild the lily's silver bell, + And coax buds apart, +But I miss the sunshine of my youth, + The summer of my heart. + +The wild birds sing the same glad song + They sang in days of yore; +The laughing rivulet glides along, + Low whispering to the shore, +And its mystic water turns to gold + The sunbeam's quivering dart, +But I miss the sunshine of my youth, + The summer of my heart. + +The south wind murmurs tenderly + To the complaining leaves; +The Flower Queen gorgeous tapestry + Of rose and purple weaves. +Yes, Nature's smile, the wary while, + Wears all its olden truth, +But I miss the sunshine of my heart, + The summer of my youth. + + + +THE LADY CECILE. + + +Sitting alone in the windy tower, + While the waves leap high, or are low at rest, +What does she think of, hour by hour, + With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, + And a fresh white rose on her withered breast, +What does she think of, hour by hour? + The Lady Cecile. + +Low under the lattice, day by day, + White homeward sails like swallows come, +But the sad eyes look afar and away, + And the sailors' songs as they near their home, + No glance may win, for she sitteth dumb, +With her sad eyes looking afar and away, + The Lady Cecile. + +Just forty years has she dwelt alone + With an ancient servant, grim and gray, +Sat alone under sun and moon; + But once each year, on the third of June, + She treads the creaking staircase down, +But back in her tower with the dying day, + Is the Lady Cecile. + +Beneath the tower of the lonesome hall, + Stone stairs creep down where the slow tide flows, +There, out of a niche in the mouldering wall, + Low leaneth a royal tropical rose: + Who set it there none cares, nor knows, +Long years ago in the mouldering wall, + But the Lady Cecile. + +But each third of June as the sun dips low, + She descends the stairs to the water's verge, +And plucks a rose from the lowest bough + Which the lapping waves almost submerge, + And what forms out of the deep, resurge +To vex her, maybe, with mournful brow, + Knows the Lady Cecile. + +Her locks are sown with silver hairs, + And the face they shroud is pale and wan; +Once it was sweet as the rose she wears, + Though the perfect lips wore a proud disdain! + But the rose-face paled by time and pain, +No new springs know, like the flower she wears, + The Lady Cecile. + +Why does she set the fresh white rose + So faithfully over her silent breast? +And what her thoughts are nobody knows, + She sits with her secret hid, unguessed, + With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, +So the slow years come, and the slow year goes, + O'er the Lady Cecile. + +Forty years! and June the third + Came with a storm--loud the winds did blow-- +And up in her tower the lady heard + The deep waves calling her far below; + Wild they leaped and surged, wild the winds did blow, +And, listening alone, she thought she heard + "Cecile! Cecile!" + +And, wrapping her cloak round her withered form, + She crept down the stairs of crumbling stone; +Higher and fiercer raged the storm + As she bent and plucked the rose--but one + Had the tempest spared--and the winds did moan, +And she thought that she heard o'er the voice of the storm, + "Cecile! Cecile!" + +She placed the rose on her bloodless breast, + And dizzy and faint she reached the tower, +And her strange eyes looked out again on the west, + And a wave dashed up, as she looked from the tower, + Like a hand, and lifted the roots of the flower, +And swept it--carried it out to the west, + From the Lady Cecile. + +And like death was her face, when suddenly, + Strangely--a tremulous golden gleam +Pierced the pile of clouds, high-massed and gray, + And the shining, quivering, golden beam + Seemed a bridge of light--a gold highway +Thrown o'er the wild waves of the bay; + And the Lady Cecile + +Did eagerly out of her lattice lean + With her glad eyes bent on that bridge gold-bright, +As if some form by her rapt eyes seen, + Were beckoning her down that path of light, + That quivering, shining, led from sight, +Ending afar in the sunset sheen. + And the Lady Cecile + +Cried with her lips that erst were dumb + "See! am I not true? your flower I wore," +And her thin hand eagerly touched the flower, + "He is smiling upon me! yes, love, I come." + And a pleasant light, like the light of home, +Lit her eyes, and life and pain were o'er + To the Lady Cecile. + + + +HOME. + + +A spirit is out to-night! + His steeds are the winds; oh, list, +How he madly sweeps o'er the clouds, + And scatters the driving mist. + +We will let the curtains fall + Between us and the storm; +Wheel the sofa up to the hearth, + Where the fire is glowing warm. + +Little student, leave your book, + And come and sit by my side; +If you dote on Tennyson so, + I'll be jealous of him, my bride. + +There, now I can call you my own! + Let me push back the curls from your brow, +And look in your dark eyes and see + What my bird is thinking of now. + +Is she thinking of some high perch + Of freedom, and lofty flight? +You smile; oh, little wild bird, + You are hopelessly bound to-night! + +You are bound with a golden ring, + And your captor, like some grim knight, +Will lock you up in the deepest cell + Of his heart, and hide you from sight. + +Sweetheart, sweetheart, do you hear far away + The mournful voice of the sea? +It is telling me of the time + When I thought you were lost to me. + +Nay, love, do not look so sad; + It is over, the doubt and the pain; +Hark! sweet, to the song of the fire, + And the whisper of the rain. + + + +STEPS WE CLIMB. + +I. + +Like idle clouds our lives move on, +By change and chance as idly blown; +Our hopes like netted sparrows fly, +And vainly beat their wings and die. +Fate conquers all with stony will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +II. + +No! change and chance are slaves that wait +On Him who guides the clouds, not fate, +But the High King rules seas and sun, +He conquers, He, the Mighty One. +So powerless, 'neath that changeless will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +III. + +As a young bird fallen from its nest +Beats wildly the kind hand against +That lifts it up, so tremblingly +Our hearts lie in God's hand, as He +Uplifts them by His loving will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +IV. + +Uplifts them to a perfect peace, +A rest beyond all earthly ease, +'Neath the white shadow of the throne-- +Low nest forever overshone +By tenderest love, our Lord's dear will; +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + + + +SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. + + +The Squire was none of your common men + Whose ancestors nobody knows, +But visible was his lineage + In the lines of his Roman nose, +That turned in the true patrician curve-- + In the curl of his princely lips, +In his slightly insolent eyelids, + In his pointed finger-tips. + +Very erect and grand looked the Squire + As he walked o'er his broad estate, +For he felt that the earth was honored + In bearing his honorable weight; +Proudly he strolled through his wooded park + Deer-haunted and gloomily grand, +Or gazed from his pillared porticoes + On his far-outlying land. + +In a tiny whitewashed cottage, + Half-covered with roses wild, +His cheerful-faced old gardener dwelt + Alone with his motherless child; +The Squire owned the very floor he trod, + The grass in his garden lot, +The poor man had only this one little lamb + Yet he envied the rich man not. + +Poor was the gardener, yet rich withal + In this priceless pearl of a girl, +So perfect a form, so faultless a face + Never brightened the halls of an Earl; +Her eyes were two fathomless stars of light, + And they shone on the Squire day by day, +Till their warm and perilous splendor + So melted his pride away, + +That he fain would have taken this pretty pet lamb + To dwell in his stately fold, +To fetter it fast with a jeweled chain, + And cage it with bars of gold; +But this coy little lamb loved its freedom, + Not so free was she, though, to be true, +But, oh, the dainty and shy little lamb + Well her master's voice she knew. + +'Twas vain for the Squire the story to tell + Of his riches and high descent, +As it fell into one rosy shell of an ear + Out of its mate it went; +How one grim old ancestor into the land + With William the Conqueror came, +She thought, the sweet, of a conqueror + She knew with that very name. + +So in this tender conflict + The great man was forced to yield +To the handsome, sunburnt ploughman + Who sowed and reaped in his field; +For vainly he poured out his glittering gifts, + Vainly he plead and besought, +Her heart was a tender and soft little heart, + But it was not a heart to be bought. + +So strange a thing I warrant you + Happens not every day, +That the pride that had thriven for centuries + One slight little maiden should slay; +Why the proud Squire's Roman features + Quivered and burned with shame, +And the picture of his grim ancestor + Blushed in its antique frame. + +Were this a romance, an idle tale, + The Squire would sicken and die, +Slain by the pitiless cruelty, + Of her dark and dazzling eye; +And she in some shadowy convent + Would bow her beautiful head, +But the hand that should have told penitent beads + Wore a plain gold ring instead. + +And he, not twice had his oak trees bloomed + Ere he wedded a lady grand, +Whose tall and towering family tree, + Had for ages darkened the land; +'Twas a famous genealogical tree, + With no modernly thrifty shoots, +But a tree with a sap of royalty + Encrusting its mossy old roots. + +This leaf he plucked from the outmost twig + Was somewhat withered, 'tis true, +Long years had flown since it lightly danced + To the summer air and the dew; +Not much of a dowry brought she, + In beauty or vulgar pelf, +But she had two or three ancestors + More than the Squire himself. + +'Twas much to muse o'er their musty names, + And to think that his children's brains +Should be moved by the sanguine current, + That had flown through such ancient veins; +But I think, sometimes, in his secret heart, + The Squire breathed woeful sighs +For the fresh sweet face of the little maid, + With the dark and wonderful eyes. + +But she, no bird ever sang such songs + To its mate from contented nest, +As this wee waiting wife, when the twilight + Was treading the glorious west; +As she looked through the clustering roses, + For the manly form that would come +Up through the cool green evening fields + To this sweet little wife and home. + +She could see the great stone mansion + Towering over the oaks' dark green, +And the lawn like emerald velvet, + Fit for the feet of a queen; +But round this brown-eyed princess, + Did Love his ermine fold, +Queen was she of a richer realm, + She had dearer wealth than gold. + + + +ROSES OF JUNE. + + +She sat in the cottage door, and the fair June moon looked down + On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face and sweet + As the roses dewy white that grow so thick at her feet, +White royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. + +And one is clasped in her slender hand, and one on her bosom lies, + And two rare blushing buds loop up her light brown hair, + Ah, roses of June, you never looked on a face so white and fair, +Such perfectly moulded lips, such sweet and heavenly eyes. + +This low-walled home is dear to her, she has come to it to-day + From the lordly groves of her palace home afar, + But not to stay; there's a light on her brow like the light + of a star, +And her eyes are looking beyond the earth, far, far away. + +She was born in this cottage home, the sweetest rosebud of spring, + And grew with its flowers, the fairest blossom of all, + Till her friends ambitiously said she would grace + the kingliest hall, +And flattery breathed on her ear its passionate whispering. + +A man of riches and taste saw the maiden's face, + And thought her beauty would grace his stately southern home, + So he took her there, with pictures from France, and + statues from Rome, +And marvellous works of art from many an ancient place. + +He decked her in costly attire, and showed her beauty with pride + As for sympathy and love, what need of these had she? + He had placed her amidst the choicest treasures of land and sea, +His marble Hebe never complained, and why should his bride? + +He had polished the beautiful unknown gem and set it in gold, + He had given her his name and his wealth, what more + could she ask? + When all other gifts were hers, it were surely an easy task +Her pleading spirit's restless wings to fold. + +The wise world called her blest, so heart be still, + She had beauty, and splendor, and youth, and a husband + calmly kind, + And crowds of flattering friends her lofty mansion lined, +And dark-browed slaves awaited her queenly will. + +Why should she dream of the past, of the days of old, + Of her childhood home, and more oft of the home of the dead, + Of the grave where she went alone the night before she was wed, +And knelt, with her pure cheek pressed to the marble cold? + +It was not sin, she said, that those eyes of darkest blue + Haunted her dreams more wildly from day to day, + Since they looked on Heaven now, and she was so far away, +She could love the dead and still be to the living true. + +She could think of him, the one who loved her best, + Of him who true had been if all the world deceived, + Who felt all grief with her when she was grieved, +And shared each joy that thrilled her girlish breast. + +It was not sin that she heard that voice, gentle and deep, + And the echo of a name--it was cut in marble now-- + So it was not sin, she said, as she breathed it low +In the midnight hour when all but she were asleep. + +But she wearier grew of pride and pomp, like a home sick child + she pined, + And paler grew her cheek, as worn with a wearing pain, + She said the fresh free country air would seem so sweet again, +So she went to her childhood home, as a pilgrim goes to a shrine, + +And she looked down the orchard path and the meadow's clover bloom; + She stood by the stone-walled well that had mirrored her face + when a child, + She saw where the robins built, and her roses clambered wild, +And lingered lost in thought in each low and rustic room. + +And she sat in the cottage door while the fair June moon + looked down + On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face, and sweet + As the roses wet with dew that grew so thick at her feet, +White, royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. + +But at night, when silence and sleep on the lonely hamlet fell + Like a spirit clad in white through the graveyard gate + she passed, + And the stars bent down to hear, "I have come to you, love, + at last," +While through the valley solemnly sounded the midnight bell. + +And her southern birds will wait her coming in vain, + Their starry eyes impatiently pierce the palm-trees' shade, + And her roses droop in their bowers, alone they'll wither + and fade. +Roses of June you are gone, but we know you will blossom again. + + + +MAGDALENA. + + +Who falsely called thee destroyer, still white Angel of Death? + Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou, +For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath, + And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow. + +Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of woe, + The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years, +The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame from her brow + Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace. + +I fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's gown + Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch + the red of the skies +On the old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun + went down, + With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the west + in her eyes. + +"An outcast vile and lost," you say, yes, she went astray, + Astray, when the crimson wine of life ran fresh and wild, +With mother's tender hand no more on her brow, put away + The grasses beneath, and she was alone and almost a child. + +Like a kid decoyed to its death, the stealthy panther lures, + Mocking the voice of its dam, thus he led the innocent child +Through her tenderness down to ruin, he is a friend of yours, + And admired by all; as you say, "men will be wild." + +But I wonder if God, so far above on His great white throne + The clanging tumult of trouble and doubt that mortals vex; +When the murmur of a crime sweeps up from earth with woeful moan, + If He pauses, ere He condemns, to ask the offender's sex. + +And if so, whether the weaker or stronger He blames the most, + The tempter or tempted a tithe of His tender compassion claims, +Whether the selfish or too unselfish, those who through love + or lust are lost, + He in His infinite wisdom and mercy most condemns. + +Frown not, I know her evil our womanly nature shuns, + Turns from, with shuddering horror; but now so low is her head +For God's sake, woman, remember your own little ones + Lying safely at home in their snow-white sheltered bed. + +Your own little girls, for them does the flame of your anger burn, + "Such creatures will draw down innocence into guilt and woe." +I think from eternity vast she will scarcely return + To entice them to sin, you can safely forgive her now. + +"You will not countenance wrong, but fiercely war for the right + Even unto the bitter death." Very good, you should do so, +But, my friend, if your own secret thought had blossomed to light + In temptation, you might have been in this outcast's place, + you know. + +So let us be pitiful, grateful that God's strong hand + Has held our own, and the tale of a woman's despair +And penitent sin, He stooped and wrote in the perishing sand; + We carve the record in stone, weak, sinful souls that we are. + +In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close + to the sorrowful wave, + With its voice no longer moaning to her a despairing call, +But a dirge deploring and deep; we will make her grave, + With healing grasses above her, and God over all. + + + +MY ANGEL. + + +Last night she came unto me, + And kneeling by my side, +Laid her head upon my bosom, + My beautiful, my bride; +My lost one, with her soft dark eyes, + And waves of sunny hair. +I smoothed the shining tresses, +With tearful, fond caresses, + And words of thankful prayer. + +And then a thrill of doubt and pain, + My jealous heart swept o'er; +We were parted--she was dwelling + Upon a far-off shore; +Yet He who made my sad heart, knew + I loved her more and more; +My love more true and perfect grew, + As each dark day passed o'er; +But she whose heart had been my own, + Who loved me tenderly, +Whose last low words I knelt to hear, + Were, "How can I leave thee?" + +And "Death would seem as sweet as life, + Could we together be." +Now, though we two were parted + By such a distance wide, +By such a strange and viewless realm, + By such a boundless tide, +Her gentle face was radiant + With a surpassing bliss; +She was happier in that distant land, + Than she ever was in this. +And in some other tenderness, + Some other love divine, +She had found a peace and happiness, + She never found in mine. + +So with a tender chiding, + I could not quite suppress, +Though well my darling knew + I would not make her pleasures less. +"Are you happy, love?" I said, + "Are you happy, love, without me?" +Then she raised her gentle head, + And twined her arms about me; +Yet while my tears fell faster, + Beneath her mute caress, +Her face had all the glory + Of a sainted soul at rest; +And her voice was sweet as music, + "I am happy--I am blest." + +"Do you know how lonely-hearted + I have been each weary day, +Praying that each passing hour + Would bear my life away, +That we might be united + Upon that distant shore?" + +"Laurence, we are not parted, + I am with your evermore." + +"I cannot see you, darling, + Your face I cannot see." + +"Can you see the moon's white fingers, + That leads the pleading sea? +Can you see the fragrance lingering + Where summer roses be? +The soft winds tender clasping, + The close-enwrapping air +Enfolding you--Oh, Laurence, + I am with you everywhere." + +Then while her face grew brighter + As with a heavenly glow, +In tenderness unspeakable, + She kissed my lips and brow; +Then I lost her--then she left me, + As at the set of day +The snowy clouds float outward, + And melt in light away. +I heard low strains of melody + No earthly choir could sing, +A light breath floated past me, + As from a gliding wing; +And on my darkened spirit + There fell so bright a gleam, +I knew the blessed vision + Was not in truth a dream; +Though death had won from my embrace, + My beautiful, my bride, +I had won a richer treasure, + An angel by my side. + +The Father careth for us all + In pity, and I know +My love is not forever gone + From him who loved her so; +When a few more days have drifted + Their shadows over me, +When the golden gates are lifted, + My angel I shall see; +Her veiled face in its glory + Upon my gaze will rise, +And Heaven will shine upon me + Through the sweetness of her eyes. + + + +GRIEF. + + +What though the Eden morns were sweet with song + Passing all sweetness that our thought can reach; +Crushing its flowers noon's chariot moved along + In brightness far transcending mortal speech; +Yet in the twilight shades did God appear, +Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near. + +Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease + And grants indulgences to pride of word, +Robing our soul in pomp and vanities, + Ah! no fit dwelling for our gentle Lord; +Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin, +And so our Lord will deign to enter in. + +Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong, + We walk more softly, with more reverent feet-- +As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue, + And in the holy quiet, solemn, sweet, +We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low, +So we can bless Him that He gave us woe. + +What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove + For the past peril of the stormy sea; +Dear from grief's storm the haven of His love, + And so He bringeth us where we would be; +We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast, +Who shall make trouble when He giveth rest? + + + +WILD OATS. + + +Oh gay young husbandmen would you be sure of a crop + Upspringing rankly, an abundant and bountiful yield? + Go forth in the morning, and sow on your life's broad field +This pleasantly odorous seed, then smooth the ground on top, + Or leave it rough, with the utmost undeceit, +Never you fear, it will thriftily thrive and grow, + Loading the harvest plain beneath your feet, +With the ripened sheaves of shame, remorse, and woe. + +You have but to sow the seed, no care will it want, + For he who soweth tares while the husbandman sleeps + Taketh unwearied pains, a vigilant guard he keeps +Tirelessly watching, and tending each evil plant. +These are his pleasure gardens, leased to him through time + Where he walketh to and fro, chanting a demon song; + Tending with ghastly fingers, the scarlet buds of wrong, +And drinking greedily in the sweet perfume of crime. + +And of all the seeds, the one that thriftiest thrives + Is the color of ruby wine, when it flashes high-- + Who would think the tiny seed so fair to the eye +Could cast such a deadly shade over countless lives, +And branch out into murder in one springing shoot; + Thrifty branches of sin, bristling with thorns of woe + Shadowing graves where broken hearts lie low, +And minds that were God-like lowered beneath the brute. + + + +AUTUMN. + + +How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, + What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous air; +A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depth of the silent wood, + And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, +Thrilling my being through with its bitter, bitter cry-- +"It were better to die, it were better to die." + +For she, my love, my fate, she sat by my side + On a fallen oak, her cheek all flushed with a bashful shame, +Telling me what her innocent heart had hid-- + "For was not I her brother, her dear brother, all but in name." +I listened to her low words, but turned my face away-- +Away from her eyes' soft light, and the mocking light of the day. + +"He was noble and proud," she said, "and had chosen her from all + The haughty ladies, and great; she didn't deserve her lot." +I knew her peer could never be found in palace or hall, + And my white face told my thought, but she saw it not. +She was crushing some scarlet leaves in her dainty fingers of snow, +Her maiden joy crowning her face with a radiant glow. + +"She had wanted me to know," and then a smile and a blush; + Her smile was always just like a baby's smile, and the red +Came to her cheek at a word or a glance--then there fell a hush. + She was waiting some word from me, I knew, so I said, +"May Heaven bless you both"--words spoken full quietly, +And she, God bless her, never knew how much they cost to me. + +How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, + What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous air; +A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depths of the silent wood, + And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, +Thrilling my being through with its desolate, desolate cry-- +"It were better to die, it were better to die." + +The white dawn follows the darkness; out of the years' decay + Shineth the golden fire that gildeth the autumn with light; +From another's sin and loss, cometh this good to me, + By another's fall am I raised to this blissful height. +"Let me be humble," said my heart, as from her sweet lips fell, +"Let a prayer for him arise, with the sound of our marriage bell." + + + +THE FAIREST LAND. + + +'Twas a bleak dull moor that stretched before +The low stone porch of the cottage door, +And standing there was youth and maid, +He for long journeying seemed arrayed, +And the sunset flamed in the burnished west, +And a proud throb beat in the young man's breast, +As he whispered, "Sweet, will you come to me +In that fairer land beyond the sea?" + +"The wonderful western land; in dreams +I have seen its prairies green, and gleams +Of its shining waterfalls, valleys fair, +And a voice in my dreams has called me there +Where man is a man, and not a clod, +And must bend the knee to none but God. +A home will I make for thee and me +In that fairer land beyond the sea." + +"But the cruel seas where the fated ships +Go down to their doom"--But he kissed the lips-- +The trembling lips, till they smiled again, +And his bright hopes cheered her heart's dull pain, +And she laid her head on his hopeful breast, +And looked with him to the glowing west, +And said, "I will come, I will come to thee +To that fairer land beyond the seas." + +And the crimson light changed to daffodil-- +To ashen gray, but they stood there still, +And high o'er the west shone the evening star +As still he pictured that home afar-- +"The peace and the bliss our own at last +When this dreary parting all is past, +When my heart's dear love, you come to me +In that fairer land beyond the sea." + +So he sailed; but saddest 'tis alway +Not for those who go, but for those who stay; +And her sweet eyes gathered a shadow dim +As days went by with no news of him, +And weeks and months, but at last it came, +As the gray moor shone with the sunset flame +Her quick eyes glanced the strange lines o'er, +Then she fell like dead on the cottage floor. + +'Twas a stranded ship on a rocky coast, +One true heart brave, when hope was lost, +How he toiled till all the shore had gained, +And only a baby form remained +On ship, how he breasted the surging tide +With Death a-wrestling side by side, +How he lifted the child to its mother's knee, +As a great wave washed him out to sea. + +And for days the maid in the cottage door +Sat and looked o'er the dreary moor, +Her cheeks grew white 'neath her blinding tears, +And the sunset rays seemed cruel spears +That pierced her heart; and ashen gray +Turned the earth and sky, the night, the day; +But at last a star shone high above-- +The tender star of the heavenly love. + +For as her life ebbed day by day, +The High Countrie, the Fair alway, +Rose 'fore her eyes, the safe, sweet home, +And she seemed to hear, "Love, will you come?" +And so one eve when a bridge of gold +Seemed spanning the last sea dim and cold, +She went to him, for aye to be +In the fairest land beyond the sea. + + + +THE MESSENGER. + + +Is his form hidden by some cliff or crag, + Or does he loiter on the shelving shore? +We know not, though we know he waits for us, + Somewhere upon the road that lies before. + +And when he bids us we must follow him, + Must leave our half-drawn nets, our houses, lands, +And those we love the most, and best, ah they + In vain will cling to us with pleading hands! + +He will not wait for us to gird our robes, + And be they white as saints, or soiled and dim, +We can but gather them around our form, + And take his icy hand and follow him. + +Oh! will our palm cling to another palm + Loath, loath to loose our hold of love's warm grasp. +Or shall we free our hand from the hand of grief, + And reach it gladly out to meet his clasp? + +Sometimes I marvel when we two shall meet, + When I shall hear that stealthy step, and see +The unseen form that haunteth mortal dreams, + The stern-browed face, the eyes of mystery. + +Shall I be waiting for some wished-for wealth, + Impatient, by the shore of a purple sea? +But when the vessel's keel grates on the sand, + Will HE lean down its side and call to me? + +Shall I in thymy pastures cool and sweet + See the lark soaring through the rosy air? +Ah, then, will his dark face look down on me, + 'Neath the white splendor of the morning star. + +Shall I be resting from the noonday blaze, + In the rich summer of a blossoming land, +And idly glancing through the lotus leaves, + Behold the shadow of his beckoning hand? + +Or in some inland village, shaded deep, + With silence brooding o'er the quiet place, +Shall I look from some lattice crowned with flowers, + In the calm twilight and behold his face? + +Or shall I over such a lonely way, + Beset with fears, my weary footsteps wend, +So desolate, that I shall greet his face + With joy as a desired and welcome friend? + +Oh, little matters it when we shall meet, + Upon the quiet shore, or on the sea, +If he shall lead us to the golden gate, + Dear Lord, if he shall lead us unto Thee. + + + +SLEEP. + + +Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night, + Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, +Come with your train of handmaids bright, + Blessed and beautiful dreams. + +Bring the exile to his home again, + Let him catch the gleam of its low white wall; +Let his wife cling to his neck and weep, + And his children come at their father's call. + +Give to the mother the child she lost, + Laid from her heart to a clay-cold bed; +Let its breath float over her tear-wet cheek, + And her cold heart warm 'neath its bright young head. + +Take the sinner's hand and lead him back + To his sinless youth and his mother's knee; +Let him kneel again 'neath her tender look, + And murmur the prayer of his infancy. + +Lead the aged into that wondrous clime, + Home of their youth and land of their bliss; +Let them forget in that beautiful world, + The sin and the sorrow of this. + +And gently lead my love, my own, + Tenderly clasp her snow-white hand, +Wrap her in garments of soft repose, + And lead her into your mystic land. + +Let your fairest handmaids bow at her feet, + Her path o'er your loveliest roses be; +And let all the flowers with their perfumed lips + Whisper of me--of me. + +Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night, + Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, +Come with your train of handmaids bright, + Blessed and beautiful dreams. + + + +THE SONG OF THE SIREN. + + +Oh, I am the siren, the siren of the sea, + The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before; +I stand a fairy shape upon the shadow of a cliff + Where the water's drowsy ripple laps the phantom of a shore, +And, oh, so fair, so fair am I, I draw all hearts to me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +All the glory of my golden tresses gleams upon the air, + How it falls about my snowy shoulders, round and bare and white; +My lips are full of love as rounded grapes are full of wine, + And my eyes are large and languid, and full of dewy light; +Oh, I lure the idle landsmen many a league for love of me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +Sometimes they press so near that my breath is on their cheek, + And their eager hands can almost touch the glowing bowl I bear, +They can see the beaded froth, the ruby glitter of the wine, + Then I slip from their embraces like a breath of summer air; +Oh, I lightly, lightly glide away, they come no nigher me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +Sometimes I float along a-standing in a boat, + Before the ships becalmed, where dusky sailors stand, +And the helmsman drops his oar, and the lookout leaves his glass, + So I beckon them, and lure them, with the whiteness of my hand; +Oh, this the song I sing, well they listen unto me? +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + + Would you from toil and labor flee, + Oh float ye out on this wonderful sea, + From islands of spice the zephyrs blow, + Swaying the galleys to and fro; + Silken sails and a balmy breeze + Shall waft you unto a perfect ease. + + Fold your hands and rest, and rest, + The sun sails on from the east to the west, + The days will come, and the days will go, + What good can man for his labor show + In passionless peace, come float with me + Over the waves of this wonderful sea. + + Would you forget, oh sorrowful soul, + Come and drink of this golden bowl, + With jewelled poppies about the rim, + Drink of the wine that flushes its brim, + And drown all your haunting memories there, + Your woe and your weary care. + +Oh, I am the siren, the siren of the sea, + The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before; +Oh, the mystic music ripples, how they break in rosy spray, + But the crystal wave will mock them, they will reach it + nevermore, +For it glides away, I glide away, they come no nigher me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + + + +EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. + + +I. + +There's a tear in your eye, little Sybil, + Gathering large and slow; +Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, + What are you thinking of now? + +Push back the velvet curtains + That darken the lonely room, +For shadows peer out of the crimson depths, + And the statues gleam white in the gloom. + +How the cannons' thunder rolls along, + And shakes the lattice and wall, +Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, + What if your father should fall? + +The smoky clouds sweep up from the field + And darken the earth and sea, +"God save him! God save him!" + Wherever he may be. + + +II. + +Oh, pretty dark-eyed bird of the South, + With your face so mournful and white +There is many a little Northern girl + That is breathing that prayer to-night. + +There's a little girl on the hills of Maine + Looking out through the fading light, +She looks down the winding path, and says, + "He will surely come to-night!" + +The table is set, the lamp is trimmed, + The fire has a ruddy glow +That streams like a beacon down the path, + To the dusky valley below. + +There is smiling hope on the pretty face + Pressed so close to the pane, +And her eyes are like blue violets + After a summer rain. + + +III. + +How you tremble, little Sybil, + At the cannons' dreadful sound, +Did you see far away, the fallen steed, + And its rider prone on the ground? + +The dark brown locks so low in the dust, + The scarf with a crimson stain-- +Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil, + He will not come back again. + + +IV. + +Right gallantly and well he fought + Hand to hand with as brave a foe, +Their faces hid by the nodding plumes, + And the dense clouds hanging low. + +Did they think, these hot-blooded captains, + That Death was so close by their side, +When Howard has fallen, the bravest-- + Rung out on the air far and wide. + +"Howard?" His foeman kneels by his side, + And raises his head to his knee-- +Oh, God! that brothers should part in youth, + And thus should their meeting be. + +Unheard is the deafening battle roar, + Unseen is that dying look; +He hears but the sound of a childish laugh, + And the song of a Northern brook. + +He sees two white forms kneeling + In the twilight sweet and dim, +One low couch angel-guarded, + By a mother's evening hymn. + + +V. + +The Angel of Death came down with the night, + Came down with the gathering gloom; +God pity the little dark-eyed girl, + Alone in the lonely room. + +But still by his side his brother kneels, + Chill horror has frozen his veins; +He heeds not the glancing shower of shells, + That with red fire glitters and rains. + +And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge, + That sweeps like a billow on +To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight, + That man ever gazed upon! + +The last shot! What is one life + To the battle's gory gain? +But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid + Away on the hills of Maine! + + + +AWEARY. + + +The clouds that vex the upper deep + Stay not the white sail of the moon; +And lips may moan, and hearts may weep, + The sad old earth goes rolling on. + +O'er smiling vale, and sighing lake, + One shadow cold is overthrown; +And souls may faint, and hearts may break, + The sad old earth goes rolling on. + + + +TOO LOW. + + +"My house is thatched with violet leaves + And paved with daisies fine, +Scarlet berries droop over its eaves, + Tall grasses round it shine; +With softest down I have lined my nest, +Securely now will I sit and rest. + +"When their wings break from their silvery shell, + Touched by my tender care, +Here shall my little ones safely dwell, + Little ones soft and fair; +Some summer morn they shall try their wings +While their father sits by my side and sings." + +Hard by, just over the streamlet's edge + A great rock towered in might, +High up, half hidden in moss and sedge, + Were safe little nooks and bright; +Ah well for the bird with her tender breast, +Had she flown to the rock to build her nest! + +Poor bird, she built her nest too low; + Alas! for the bird, alas! +That she chose that spot to her woe + In the low dewy grass; +For the reaper came with his gleaming blade. +Alas for love in the violet shade! + + + +AT LAST. + + +What though upon a wintry sea our life bark sails, +What though we tremble 'neath its cruel gales, + Its icy blast; +We see a happy port lie far before, +We see its shining waves, its sunny shore, +Where we shall wander, and forget the troubled past, + At last. + +No storms approach that quiet shore, no night +Falls on its silver streams, and valleys bright, + And gardens vast; +Within that pleasant land of perfect peace +Our toil-worn feet shall stay, our wanderings cease; +There shall we, resting, all forget the past, + At last. + +The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness, +As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast, + Their bright plumes cast; +The griefs like mourners in a dark array, +That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away, +And leave us to forget the sorrowful past, + At last. + +Voices we loved sound from those far-off lands, +And thrill our hearts; life's golden sands + Are dropping fast; +Soon shall we meet by the river of peace, and say, +As the night flees before the eye of day, +So faded from our eyes the mournful past, + At last. + + + +TWILIGHT. + + +Draped in shadows stands the mountain + Against the eastern sky, +Above it the fair summer moon + Looks downward tenderly; +And Venus in the glowing west, + Opens her languid eye. + +Now the winds breathe softer music, + Half a song, and half a sigh; +While twilight wraps her purple veil + Around us silently, +And our thoughts appear like pictures, + Pictures shaded wondrously. + +Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely, + Silvery sea, and shadowy glade, +Forest lakes by man forsaken, + Where the white fawn's steps are stayed; +And contadinos straying + 'Neath the Pantheon's solemn shade. + +And we see the wave bridged over + By the moonlight's mystic link, +Desert wells by tall palms shaded, + Where dusky camels drink; +While dark-eyed Arab maidens + Fill their pitchers at the brink. + +And secluded convent chapels, + Where veiled nuns kneel to pray, +With a dim light streaming o'er them + Through arches quaint and gray, +While down the long and winding aisles + Low music dies away. + +There is a starry twilight + Of the soul, as sadly fair, +When our wild emotions are at rest, + Like the pale nuns at prayer; +And our griefs are hushed like sleepers, + And put off the robes of care. + + + +THE SEWING-GIRL. + + +I asked to see the dead man's face, + As I gave the servant my well-filled basket; +And she deigned to lead me, a wondrous grace, + Where he lay asleep in his rosewood casket. +I was only the sewing-girl, and he the heir to this + princely palace. + Flowers, white flowers, everywhere, +In odorous cross, and anchor, and chalice. + The smallest leaf might touch his hair; +But I--my God! I must stand apart, +With my hands pressed silently on my heart, +I must not touch the least brown curl; +For I was only the sewing-girl. + +If his stately mother knew what I know, + As she weeping stood by his side this morning, +Would she clasp me in motherly love and woe-- + Or drive me out in the cold with scorning? +If she knew that I loved him better than life, + Better than death; since for him I gave +My hopes of rest, that I faced life's strife, + And renounced the quiet and restful grave, +When his strong, true hand drew me back that day, + When woe, and want, and the want of pity +Drove me down where the cold waves lay + Like wolves round the walls of this cruel city. +"Not much?" would she say with her proud lip's curl-- +"Only the life of a sewing-girl?" + +Now love for me in his heart did linger-- + I saw the lady, his promised bride, +I saw his ring on her slender finger, + As she weeping stood by his mother's side. +That same ring shone, as he lifted me + Dripping and cold from the sea-waves bitter. +I had thought Heaven's light I next should see, + But earth's sun shone in its ruby glitter; +I had thought when I looked in the Lord's mild face, + That He would forgive my rashness and sin, +When He knew there was not a single place, + Not a place so small that I could creep in. +And I wanted a home, and I longed for love, +And God and mother were both above. +But he showed me my sin, and taught me to live, +Above this life of tumult and whirl, +Though I was only a sewing-girl. + +What shall I do with the life he won, + From death that day, in a hard-won battle? +Shall I lay it down e'er the rising sun + Looks down on the city's roar and rattle? +Shall I lay it down e'er the midnight dim +With horrible shadows is roofed and paved? + No, I will make it so pure and sweet, +That angels shall say with smiles to him, + When we meet above on the golden street: +"Behold the soul of her you saved." +Maybe it shall add to his crown one pearl, +Though only the soul of a sewing-girl. + + + +HARRY THE FIRST. + + +In his arm-chair, warmly cushioned, +In the quiet earned by labor, +Life's reposeful Indian summer, +Grandpa sits; and lets the paper +Lie upon his knee unheeded. +Shine his cheeks like winter apples, +Gleams his smile like autumn sunshine, +As he looks on little Harry, +First-born of the house of Graham, +Bravely cutting teeth in silence, +Cutting teeth with looks heroic. +Some deep thought seems moving Grandpa, +Ponders he awhile in silence, +Then he turns, and says to Grandma, +"Nancy, do you think that ever +There was such a child before?" + +Grandma, with prim precision +The seam-stitch impaleth deftly +On her sharp and glittering needle, +Then she turns and answers calmly, +With a deep assurance--"Never +Was there such a child before!" + +Papa thinks so, but in manly +Dignity controls his feelings; +More than half a year a father, +He must show a cool composure, +He must stately be if ever. +But his dark eyes plainly tell it, +Tell it, as he sayeth proudly, +"Papa's man is little Harry." + +Mamma, maybe, does not speak it, +But she prints the thought on velvet, +Rosy-hued, with fondest kisses, +When the pink, soft page is lying +Folded closely to her bosom. + +A little farther goes his auntie, +Aged fourteen--age of fancy; +She looks down the future ages +With her wise, prophetic vision; +Sees the babies pass before her, +Babies of the twentieth century, +All the long and dusty ages, +To the thousand years of glory. +Oh, the host of bright-eyed children, +Thronging like the stars at midnight, +Faces sweet and countless, as the +Rose-leaves of a thousand summers. +All the pretty heads so curly +That shall hold a riper wisdom +Than our youthful planet dreams of; +All the ranks of dimple shoulders, +That shall move Time's rolling chariot +Nearer to the golden city; +Vieweth these the blue-eyed prophet, +Still the oracle says calmly, +Speaks the seer with golden tresses-- +"No! there never was, nor will be +Such a child as our Harry, +Such a noble boy as Harry." + +Summer brings a wealth of flowers, +Flowers of every form and color, +Orange, crimson, royal purple, +All along the mountain passes, +All along the pleasant valley, +Low the emerald branches bendeth +With their weight of summer glory. + +But they do not waken in us +Half the tender, blissful feeling, +Half the pure and sweet emotion +As the first spring-flower in April, +With its lashes tinged with crimson, +Partly raised from eyes half-timid, +Fearful that the snow will drown it; +How we love the dainty blossom, +How we wear it in our bosom. + +Just so with the tree ancestral, +Many flowers may blossom on it, +But the first wee bud that's grafted, +To its heart, ah, how we love it; +Others may be loved as fondly, +But they are not loved so proudly, +Loved so blindly, so entirely. + +Yes, when first the heart's door opens +To the touch of baby fingers, +Quick the dimpled feet will bear them +To the dearest place and warmest +Plenty room enough for other +Buds of beauty, buds of promise, +In the heart's capacious chambers; +But the first is firmly settled-- +Little Harry's firmly settled +In the centre of affection; +Later ones must settle round him. + + + +THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED. + + +As on a waveless sea, a vessel strikes + Upon a treacherous rock; +Waking the sailors from their happy dreams + By the swift, terrible shock. + +Dreaming of shaded village streets, and home, + Forgetting the cruel sea +Till the shock came--so woke I, yet I know + 'Twas Love, I loved, not he. + +'Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps, + Only its form reflected in the stream; +'Tis not a broken heart I mourn, + Only a broken dream. + +I should have died when he was brought so low, + Had it been him I loved, +Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak + The ivy clings unmoved. + +'Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes + Burning with marvellous flame; +Love was the idol that I worshipped, though + I gave to it his name. + +I gave to Love his name, his glance, his brow, + His low-toned voice, his smile, +Oh, soul be patient; I can sever them + But yet a little while-- + +Before I put away these outward forms + Deceiving, sweet disguises, which Love wore +Let my heart break into regretful tears + Just once, and then no more. + +Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail + Bearing away a guest of truest worth, +They give this little time to grief, and then + Return to their desolate hearth, + +And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers, + Let the pure air into the vacant room, +So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all + Shall penetrate its gloom. + +I will be patient, in a little time + Quiet, and full of rest, +Gods's peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird, + Settle upon my breast. + +Not always thus shall beat my restless heart + Like a wild eagle 'gainst its prison-bars; +In some calm twilight of the future time + I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars. + + + +GONE BEFORE. + + + Smooth the hair; +Silken waves of sunny brown +Lay upon the white brow down, +Crowned with the blossoms rare; +Lilies on a golden stream, +Ne'er to float in summer air +Wreathed with meadow daisies fair. +Lay away the broken crown +And your broken dream, +With one shining tress of hair, +Nevermore to need your care. + + + +A WOMAN'S HEART. + + +My heart sings like a bird to-night +That flies to its nest in the soft twilight, + And sings in its brooding bliss; +Ah! I so low, and he so high, +What could he find to love? I cry, + Did ever love stoop so low as this? + +As a miser jealously counts his gold, +I sit and dream of my wealth untold, + From the curious world apart; +Too sacred my joy for another eye, +I treasure it tenderly, silently, + And hide it away in my heart. + +Dearer to me than the costliest crown +That ever on queenly forehead shone + Is the kiss he left on my brow; +Would I change his smile for a royal gem? +His love for a monarch's diadem? + Change it? Ah, no, ah, no! + +My heart sings like a bird to-night +That flies away to its nest of light + To brood o'er its living bliss; +Ah! I so low, and he so high, +What could he find to love? I cry, + Did ever love stoop so low as this? + + + +WARNING. + + +When enwrapped in rosy pleasure, + Our careless pulses beat, + With a rhythm sweet, sweet, +To the music's merry measure. + +When world waves rise around us, + With soft transparent weight, + Light in seeming, yet so great, +The liquid chains have bound us. + +Then softly downward falling, + If we listen, we can hear, + From a purer atmosphere, +A warning and a calling. + +'Tis not uttered to our ear, + To our spirit it is spoken, + In the wonderful, unbroken +Heavenly speech that spirits hear. + +Strange and solemn doth it roll + Downward like a yearning cry, + From that belfry far on high, +Warning, calling to our soul. + +Ever, ever, doth it roll, + Our angel guards the tower, + Ringing, ringing, every hour, +Warning, calling to our soul. + + + +GENIEVE TO HER LOVER. + + +I turn the key in this idle hour + Of an ivory box, and looking, lo-- +See only dust--the dust of a flower; + The waters will ebb, the waters will flow, +And dreams will come, and dreams will go, + Forever. + +Oh, friend, if you and I should meet + Beneath the boughs of the bending lime, +Should you in the same low voice repeat + The tender words of the old love rhyme, + It could not bring back the same old time, + Never. + +When you laid this rose against my brow, + I was quite unused to the ways of men, +With my trusting heart; I am wiser now, + So I smile, remembering my heart-throbs then, + The dust of a rose cannot blossom again, + Never. + +The brow that you praised has colder grown, + And hearts will change, I suppose they must, +A rose to be lasting, should blossom in stone, + Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, + Dead are the rose, the love, and the trust, + Forever. + + + +THE WILD ROSE. + + +In a waste of yellow sand, on the brow of a dreary hill, + A slight little slip of a rose struggled up to the light, +The seed maybe was sown there by the south wind's idle will, + But there it grew and blossomed, pale and white. +Only one flower it bore, and that was frail and small, +But I think it was brave to try to grow at all. + +In groves of fair Cashmere, or sheltered garden of kings, + Sweet with a thousand flowers, with birds of paradise +Fanning her blushing cheeks with their glowing wings, + Praising her deepening bloom with their great bright eyes, +Life would have been a pleasure instead of a toil, +To my pale little patient rose of the sandy soil. + +Did she ever sadly think of her wasted life, + Folding her wan weak hands so helpless and still; +And the great oak by her sheltering glad bird life, + And the thirsty meadows praising the running rill; +She could hear the happy work-day song of the busy brook, +While she, poor thing, could only stand and look. + +Did the wee white rose ever think of her lonely life, + That there were none to care if she tried to grow; +None to care if the cloud that hung in the west + Should burst, and scatter her pale leaves far and low? +Did she ever wish that the heavy cloud would fall +And hide her, so unblest, from the sight of all? + +One sky bends o'er rich garden flowers, and those + That dwell in barren soil, untended and unblest; +And I think that God was pleased with the small white rose, + That tried so patiently to live and do its best; +That bravely kept its small leaves pure and fair +On the waste of dreary sand, and the desert air. + + + +OUR BIRD. + + +She lay asleep, and her face shone white + As under a snowy veil, +And the waxen hands clasped on her breast + Were full of snowdrops pale; +But a holy calm touched the baby lips, + The brow, and the sleeping eyes, +The look of an angel pitying us + From the peace of Paradise. + +And now though she lies 'neath the coffin-lid, + We cannot think her dead; +But we think of her as of some delicate bird + To a milder country fled. +'Twas a long, dark flight for our gentle dove, + Our bird so tender and fair; +But we know she has reached the summer land + And folded her white wings there. + + + +THE TIME THAT IS TO BE. + + +I am thinking of fern forests that once did towering stand, +Crowning all the barren mountains, shading all the dreary land. + +Oh, the dreadful, quiet brooding, the solitude sublime, +That reigned like shadowy spectres o'er the third + great day of time. + +In long, low lines the tideless seas on dull gray shores did break, +No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or reedy lake-- + +No flowers perfumed the pulseless air, no stars, no moon, no sun +To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done. + +Only silence rising with the ghostly morning's misty light, +Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless night. + +And the ferns, and giant mosses, noiseless sentinels did stand, +Looking o'er the tideless ocean, watching o'er the dreary land. + +Ferns gave place to glowing olives, and clusters dropping wine, +Mosses changed to oaken tissues, and cleft to fragrant pine. + +Deft and noiseless fingers toiled, and wrought the great + Creator's plan, +Through countless ages moulding earth for the abode of man. + +Till each imperial day was bound by sunset's crimson bars, +The purple columns of the night crowned with the shining stars. + +The ripe fruit seeks the sunlight through all the clustering leaves +The earth is decked with golden maize, and costly yellow sheaves. + +Countless silent centuries passed in fashioning good + that doth appear, +Shall we weary and grow hopeless, waiting for the Golden Year? + + * * * * * + +Thy kingdom come, in which Thy will is done, + From myriad souls rises the yearning cry; +Scatter palm-boughs--behold, a brighter sun + Shall dawn in splendor, in a clearer sky; +Upon the distant hills a glow we see, +That tells us of the Time that is to be. + +The desert then shall blossom like the rose, + The almond flourish on the rocky slopes; +Wisdom and beauty in rare union close, + Making earth beautiful beyond our hopes. +High in the dusky east a star we see, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + +The free-born soul shall not be captive then, + Bound by decaying cords of narrow creeds, +God's image shall more clearly shine in men, + Divinely shaped by holy aims and deeds. +Gleam, golden star, oh gleam o'er earth and sea, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + +Fetters are broken, so the fern-leaves fall, + A richer growth is budding, wondrous fair, +The flower of liberty shall bloom for all, + And all shall breathe the healing of the air; +The blessed air that wraps a people free, +Within that glorious Time that is to be. + +For what is slavery but woe and crime, + And freedom is but liberty from these; +Oh perfect hours, ye come, fair and sublime, + Bearing the sweet form of the baby, Peace, +Shine, golden star, oh shine o'er earth and sea, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Marietta Holley + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10216 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23643b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10216 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10216) diff --git a/old/10216.txt b/old/10216.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a34c7d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10216.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5004 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Marietta Holley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Marietta Holley + +Release Date: November 22, 2003 [EBook #10216] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Mardi Desjardins + + + + +POEMS + +by + +"Josiah Allen's Wife," +(Marietta Holley) + + + + +DEDICATION. + + +When I wrote many of these verses I was much younger than I am now, +and the "sweetest eyes in the world" would brighten over them, +through the reader's love for me. I dedicate them to her memory +--the memory of +MY MOTHER. + + + +Contents + +WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? +THE BROTHERS +A RICH MAN'S REVERIE +GLORIA THE TRUE +THE DEACON'S DAUGHTER +SONGS OF THE SWALLOW +THE COQUETTE +LITTLE NELL +THE FISHER'S WIFE +THE LAND OF LONG AGO +LEMOINE +SLEEP +THE LADY MAUD +THE HAUNTED CASTLE +THE STORY OF GLADYS +FAREWELL +THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY +SOMETIME +MOTIVES +NIGHTFALL +HIS PLACE +A DREAM OF SPRING +WAITING +A SONG FOR TWILIGHT +THE FLIGHT +COMFORT +JENNY ALLEN +THE UNSEEN CITY +THE WAGES OF SIN +ISABELLE AND I +GOOD-BY +THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING +IONE +SUMMER DAYS +THE LADY CECILE +HOME +STEPS WE CLIMB +SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE +ROSES OF JUNE +MAGDALENA +MY ANGEL +GRIEF +WILD OATS +AUTUMN +THE FAIREST LAND +THE MESSENGER +SLEEP +THE SONG OF THE SIREN +EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO +AWEARY +TOO LOW +AT LAST +TWILIGHT +THE SEWING-GIRL +HARRY THE FIRST +THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED +GONE BEFORE +A WOMAN'S HEART +WARNING +GENIEVE TO HER LOVER +THE WILD ROSE +OUR BIRD +THE TIME THAT IS TO BE + + + + +PREFACE. + + +All through my busy years of prose writing I have occasionally +jotted down idle thoughts in rhyme. Imagining ideal scenes, +ideal characters, and then, as is the way, I suppose, with more +ambitious poets, trying to put myself inside the personalities +I have invoked, trying to feel as they would be likely to, speak +the words I fancied they would say. + +The many faults of my verses I can see only too well; their merits, +if they have any, I leave with the public--which has always been +so kind to me--to discover. + +And half-hopefully, half-fearfully, I send out the little craft +on the wide sea strewn with so many wrecks. But thinking it must +be safer from adverse winds because it carries so low a sail, and +will cruise along so close to the shore and not try to sail out +in the deep waters. + +And so I bid the dear little wanderer (dear to me), God-speed, and +bon voyage. + +Marietta Holley. + +New York, June, 1887. + + + + + + +WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? + + +It is not the lark's clear tone +Cleaving the morning air with a soaring cry, +Nor the nightingale's dulcet melody all the balmy night-- +Not these alone +Make the sweet sounds of summer; +But the drone of beetle and bee, the murmurous hum of the fly +And the chirp of the cricket hidden out of sight-- +These help to make the summer. + +Not roses redly blown, +Nor golden lilies, lighting the dusky meads, +Nor proud imperial pansies, nor queen-cups quaint and rare-- +Not these alone +Make the sweet sights of summer +But the countless forest leaves, the myriad wayside weeds +And slender grasses, springing up everywhere-- +These help to make the summer. + +One heaven bends above; +The lowliest head ofttimes has sweetest rest; +O'er song-bird in the pine, and bee in the ivy low, +Is the same love, it is all God's summer; +Well pleased is He if we patiently do our best, +So hum little bee, and low green grasses grow, +You help to make the summer. + + + +THE BROTHERS. + + +High on a rocky cliff did once a gray old castle stand, +From whence rough-bearded chieftains led their vassals--ruled + the land. +For centuries had dwelt here sire and son, till it befell, +Last of their ancient line, two brothers here alone did dwell. + +The eldest was stern-visaged, but the youngest smooth and fair +Of countenance; both zealous, men who bent the knee in prayer +To God alone; loved much, read much His holy word, +And prayed above all gifts desired, that they might see + their Lord. + +For this the elder brother carved a silent cell of stone, +And in its deep and dreary depths he entered, dwelt alone, +And strove with scourgings, vigils, fasts, to purify his gaze, +And sought amidst these shadows to behold the Master's face. + +And from the love of God that smiles on us from bright + lipped flowers, +And from the smile of God that falls in sunlight's golden showers, +That thrills earth's slumbering heart so, where its warm rays fall +That it laughs out in beauty, turned he as from tempters all. + +From bird-song running morn's sweet-scented chalice o'er + with cheer, +The child's light laughter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near, +From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of + the golden day, +He counting these temptations all, austerely turned away. + +And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone, +Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone +In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear +A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer. + +Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross, +A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across, +The clay lips settled into calm--thus did the monk attest, +A look of one who through much peril enters into rest. + +Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master's face; +But in earth's lowly places did he strive his steps to trace, +Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous complaint, +There he beheld his Lord--naked, athirst, and faint. + +And when his hand was wet with tears, wrung with a grateful grasp, +He lightly felt upon his palm the Elder Brother's clasp; +And when above the loathsome couch of woe and want bent he, +A low voice thrilled his soul, "So have ye done it unto Me." + +Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim +The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and name; +To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still, +His mother and his brethren were all who did God's will + +All little ones were dear to him, for light from Paradise +Seemed falling on him through their pure and innocent eyes; +The very flowers that fringed cool streams, and gemmed + the dewy sod, +To his rapt vision seemed like the visible smiles of God. + +The deep's full heart that throbs unceasing against the silent + ships, +The waves together murmuring with weird, mysterious lips +To hear their untranslated psalm, drew down his anointed ear, +And listening, lo! he heard God's voice, to Him was he so near. + +The happy hum of bees to him made summer silence sweet, +Not lightly did he view the very grass beneath his feet, +It paved His presence-chamber, where he walked a happy guest, +Ah! slight the veil between, in very truth his life was blest. + +And when on a still twilight passed he to the summer land, +Those whom he had befriended, weeping, clinging to his hand, +The west gleamed with a sudden glory, and from out the glow +Trembled the semblance of a crown, and rested on his brow. + +And with wide, eager eyes he smiled, and stretched his hands + abroad, +As if his dearest friend were welcoming him to his abode; +Eternal silence sealed that wondrous smile as he cried-- +"Thy face! Thy face, dear Lord!" and, saying this, he died. + +But legends tell that on his grave fell such a strange, pure + light, +That wine-red roses planted thereupon would spring up white, +Holding such mystic healing in their cool snow bloom, that lain +On aching brows or sorrowful hearts, they would ease their pain. + + + +A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. + + +The years go by, but they little seem +Like those within our dream; +The years that stood in such luring guise, +Beckoning us into Paradise, +To jailers turn as time goes by +Guarding that fair land, By-and-By, +Where we thought to blissfully rest, +The sound of whose forests' balmy leaves +Swaying to dream winds strangely sweet, +We heard in our bed 'neath the cottage eaves, +Whose towers we saw in the western skies +When with eager eyes and tremulous lip, +We watched the silent, silver ship +Of the crescent moon, sailing out and away +O'er the land we would reach some day, some day. + +But years have flown, and our weary feet +Have never reached that Isle of the Blest; +But care we have felt, and an aching breast, +A lifelong struggle, grief, unrest, +That had no part in our boyish plans; +And yet I have gold, and houses, and lands, +And ladened vessels a white-winged fleet, +That fly at my bidding across the sea; +And hats are doffed by willing hands +As I tread the village street; +But wealth and fame are not to me +What I thought that they would be. + +I turn from it all to wander back +With Memory down the dusty track +Of the years that lie between, +To the farm-house old and brown, +Shaded with poplars dusky green, +I pause at its gate, not a bearded man, +But a boy with earnest eyes. + +I stand at the gate and look around +At the fresh, fair world that before me lies. +The misty mountain-top aglow +With love of the sun, and the pleasant ground +Asleep at its feet, with sunny dreams +Of milk-white flowers in its heart, and clear +The tall church-spire in the distance gleams +Pointing up to the tranquil sky's +Blue roof that seems so near. + +And up from the woods the morning breeze +Comes freighted with all the rich perfume +That from myriad spicy cups distils, +Loitering along o'er the locust-trees. +Scattering down the plum-trees' bloom +In flakes of crimson snow-- +Down on the gold of the daffodils +That border the path below. + +And the silver thread of the rivulet +Tangled and knotted with fern and sedge. +And the mill-pond like a diamond set +In the streamlet's emerald edge; +And over the stream on the gradual hill, +Its headstones glimmering palely white, +Is the graveyard quiet and still. +I wade through its grasses rank and deep, +Past slanting marbles mossy and dim, +Carven with lines from some old hymn, +To one where my mother used to lean +On Sunday noons and weep. +That tall white shape I looked upon +With a mysterious dread, +Linking unto the senseless stone +The image of the dead-- +The father I never had seen; +I remember on dark nights of storm, +When our parlor was bright and warm, +I would turn away from its glowing light, +And look far out in the churchyard dim, +And with infinite pity think of him +Shut out alone in the dismal night. + +And the ruined mill by the waterfall, +I see again its crumbling wall, +And I hear the water's song. +It all comes back to me-- +Its song comes back to me, +Floating out like a spirit's call +The drowsy air along; +Blending forever with my name +Wonderful prophecies, dreamy talk, +Of future paths when I should walk +Crowned with manhood, and honor, and fame. + +I shut my eyes and the rich perfume +Of the tropical lily fills the room +From its censer of frosted snow; +But it seems to float to me through the night +From those apple-blossoms red and white +That starred the orchard's fragrant gloom; +Those old boughs hanging low, +Where my sister's swing swayed to and fro +Through the scented aisles of the air; +While her merry voice and her laugh rung out +Like a bird's, to answer my brother's shout, +As he shook the boughs o'er her curly head, +Till the blossoms fell in a rosy rain +On her neck and her shining hair. +Oh, little Belle! +Oh, little sister, I loved so well; +It seems to me almost as if she died +In that lost time so gay and fair, +And was buried in childhood's sunny plain; +And she who walks the street to-day, +Or in gilded carriage sweeps through the town +Staring her humbler sisters down, +With her jewels gleaming like lucent flame, +Proud of her grandeur and fine array, +Is only a stranger, who bears her name. + +And the little boy who played with me, +Hunting birds'-nests in sheltered nooks, +Trudging at nightfall after the cows, +Exploring the barn-loft, fording the brooks, +Ending, in school-time, puzzled brows +Over the same small lesson books; +Who knelt by my side in the twilight dim, +Praying "the Lord our souls to keep," +Then on the same pillow fell asleep, +Hushed by our mother's evening hymn; +Whose heart and mine kept such perfect time, +Such loving cadence, such tender rhyme, +Blent in child grief, and perfected in glee-- +We meet on the street and we clasp the hand, +And our names on charitable papers stand +Side by side, and we go and bow +Our two gray heads with prayer and vow, +In the same grand church, and hasty word +Of anger, has never our bosoms stirred. +Yet a whole wide world is between us now; +How broad and deep does the gulf appear +Between the hearts that were so near! + +I have pleasure grounds and mansions grand, +Low-voiced servants come at my call, +From Senate my name sounds over the land +In "ayes" and "nays" so solemnly read; +They call me "Honorable," "General," and all, +But to-night I am only Charley again, +I am Charley, and want to lay my head +On my mother's heart and rest, +With her soft hand pressed upon my brow +Curing its weary pain. +But never, nevermore will it be, +For mould and marble rises now +Between my head and that loving breast; +And death has a cruel power to part-- +Forever gone and lost to me +That true and tender heart. + +Oh, mother, I've never found love like thine, +Never have eyes looked into mine +With such proud love, such perfect trust. +Never have hands been so true and kind, +To lead me into the path of right-- +Hands so gentle, and soft, and white, +That on my head like a blessing lay, +And led me a child and guided my youth; +To-night 'tis a dreary thought, in truth, +That those gentle hands are dust. +That I may be blamed, and you not be sad, +That I may be praised, and you not be glad; +'Tis a dreary thought to your boy to-night, +That over your sweet smile, over your brow, +The clay-cold turf is pressing now, +That never again as the twilight falls +You will welcome your boy to the old brown walls +Of the homestead far away. + +The homestead is ruined--gone to decay, +But we read of a house not made with hands, +Whose firm foundation forever stands; +And there is a twilight soft and sweet. +Will she not stand with outstretched hands +My homesick eyes to meet-- +To welcome her boy as in days before, +To home, and to rest, forevermore? + +But the years come and the years go, +And they lay on her grave as they silently pass, +Red summer buds and wreaths of snow, +And springing and fading grass. +And far away in an English town, +In the secluded, tranquil shade +Of an old Cathedral quaint and brown, +Another grave is made-- +A small grave, yet so high +It shadowed all the world to me, +And darkened earth and sky. +But only for a time; it passed, +The unreasoning agony, +Like a cloud that drops its rain; +And light shone into our hearts at last. +And patience born of pain. +And now like a breath of healing balm +The sweet thought comes to me, +That my child has reached the Isle of Calm, +Over the silent sea-- +That my pure little Blanche is safe in truth, +Safe in immortal beauty and youth. + +When she left us in the twilight gloom, +When she left her empty nest, +And the aching hearts below; +Full well, full well I know, +What tender-eyed angel bent +Down for my brown-eyed little bird, +From the shining battlement. +I know with what fond caressing, +And loving smile and word, +And look of tender blessing, +She took her to her breast, +And led her into some quiet room, +In the mansions of the blest. +Oh, mother, beloved, oh, child so dear, +Not by a wish, would I lure you here. + +My son is a bright, brave boy, with a grace +Of beauty caught from his mother's face, +And his mother and he in truth are dear, +Full tenderly, and fond, and near +My heart is bound to my wife and child; +But the summer of life is not its May, +And dreams and hopes that our youth beguiled, +Are but pallid forms of clay. + +There's the boy's first love and passionate dream, +A face like a morning star, a gleam +Of hair the hue of a robin's wing-- +Brown hair aglow with a golden sheen, +And eyes the sweetest that ever were seen. + +Mary, we have been parted long, +You were proud, and we both were wrong, +But 'tis over and past, no living gleam +Can come again to the dear, dead dream. +It is dead, so let it lie, +But nothing, nothing can ever be +Like that old dream to you or to me. + +I think we shall know, shall know at last, +All that was strange in all the past, +Shall one day know, and shall haply see +That the sorrows and ills, that with tears and sighs, +We vainly endeavored to flee, +Were angels who, veiled in sorrow's guise +Came to us only to bless. +Maybe we shall kneel and kiss their feet, +With grateful tears, when we shall meet +Their unveiled faces, pure and sweet, +Their eyes' deep tenderness. +We shall know, perchance, had these angels come +Like mendicants unto a kingly gate +When we sat in joy's royal state, +We had barred them from our home. +But when in our doorway one appears +Clothed in the purple of sorrow's power, +He will enter in, no prayers or tears +Avail us in that hour. +So what we call our pains and losses +We may not always count aright, +The rough bars of our heavy crosses +May change to living light. + + + +GLORIA THE TRUE. + + +Gayly a knight set forth against the foe, +For a fair face had shone on him in dreams; +A voice had stirred the silence of his sleep, +"Go win the battle, and I will be thine." + +So, for the love of those appealing eyes, +Led by low accents of fair Gloria's voice, +He wound the bugle down his castle's steep, +And gayly rode to battle in the morn. + +And none were braver in the tented field, +Like lightning heralding the doomful bolt; +The enemy beheld his snowy plume, +And death-lights flashed along his glancing spear. + +But in the lonesome watches of the night, +An angel came and warned him with clear voice, +Against high God his rash right arm was raised, +Was rashly raised against the true, the right. + +He strove to drown the angel voice with song +And merry laughter with his princely peers; +But still the angel bade him with clear voice, +"Go join the ranks you rashly have opposed." + +"Oh, Angel!" cried he, "they are few and weak, +They may not stand before the press of knights;" +But still the angel bade him with clear voice, +"Go help the weak against the mighty wrong." + +At last the words sunk deep within his heart, +With god-like courage cried he out at last, +"Oh, Gloria, beautiful, I can lose thee, +Lose life and thee, to battle for the right." + +And when he joined the brave and stalwart ranks, +Like Saul amid his brethren he stood, +Braver and seemlier than all his peers, +And nobly did he battle for the right. + +Gentlest unto the weak, and in the fray, +So dauntless, none--no fear of man had he; +He wrought dismay in Error's blackened ranks +So nobly did he battle for the right. + +But at the last he lay on a lost field; +Couched on a broken spear, he pallid lay; +With dying lips he murmured Gloria's name, +"The field is lost, and thou art lost to me." + +When lo! she stood beside him, pure and fair, +With tender eyes that blessed him as he lay; +And lo! she knelt and clasped his dying hands, +And murmured, "I am thine, am thine at last." + +With wondering eyes, he moaned, "All--all is lost, +And I am dying." "Ah, not so," she cried, +"Nothing is lost to him who dare be true; +Who gives his life shall find it evermore." + +"Methought I saw the spears beat down like grain, +And the ranks reel before the press of knights; +The level ground ran gory with our wounds; +Methought the field was lost, and then I fell." + +"Be calm," she cried, "the right is never lost, +Though spear, and shield, and cross may shattered be, +Out of their dust shall spring avenging blades +That yet shall rid us of some giant wrong. + +"And all the blood that falls in righteous cause, +Each crimson drop shall nourish snowy flowers +And quicken golden grain, bright sheaves of good, +That under happier skies shall yet be reaped. + +"When right opposes wrong, shall evil win? +Nay, never--but the year of God is long, +And you are weary, rest ye now in peace, +For so He giveth His beloved sleep." + +He smiled, and murmured low, "I am content," +With blissful tears that hid the battle's loss; +So, held to her true heart he closed his eyes, +In quietest rest that ever he had known. + + + +THE DEACON'S DAUGHTER. + + +The spare-room windows wide were raised, + And you could look that summer day +On pastures green, and sunny hills, + And low rills wandering away. +Near by, the square front yard was sweet + With rose and caraway. + +Upon a couch drawn near the light, + The Deacon's only daughter lay, +Bending upon the distant hills + Her eyes of dark and thoughtful gray; +The blue veins on her forehead shone + 'Twas wasted so away. + +She moved, and from her slender hand + Fell off her mother's wedding-ring; +She smiled into her father's face-- + "So drops from me each earthly thing; +My hands are free to hold the flowers + Of the eternal spring." + +She had ever walked in quiet ways, + Not over beds of flowery ease, +But Sundays in the village choir + She sweetly sang of "ways of peace," +Of "ways of peace and pleasantness," + She trod such paths as these. + +No sweeter voice in all the choir + Praised God in innocence and truth, +The Deacon in his straight-backed pew + Had dreams of her he lost in youth, +And thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids-- + Of Rachel, and of Ruth. + +But she had faded, day by day, + Growing more mild, and pure, and sweet, +As nearer to her ear there came + A distant sea's mysterious beat, +Till now this summer afternoon, + Its waters touched her feet. + +Upon the painted porch without + Two women stood, and whispered low, +They thought "she'd go out with the day," + They said, "the Deacon's wife went so." +And then they gently pitied him-- + "It was a dreadful blow." + +"But she was good, she was prepared, + She would be better off than here," +And then they thought "'twas strange that he, + Her father, had not shed a tear," +And then they talked of news, and all + The promise of the year. + +Her father sat beside the bed, + Holding her cold hands tenderly, +And to the everlasting hills + He mutely turned his eyes away: +"My God, my Shelter, and my Rock, + Oh shadow me to-day!" + +He knew not when she crossed the stream, + And passed into the land unseen, +So gently did she go from him + Into its pastures still and green; +Into the land of pure delight, + And Jordan rolled between. + +Then knelt he down beside his dead, + His white locks lit with sunset's flame: +"My God! oh leave me not alone-- + But blessed be Thy holy name." +The golden gates were lifted up + The King of Glory came. + + + +SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. + + +SPRING. + +The sides of the hill were brown, but violet buds had started + In gray and hidden nooks o'erhung by feathery ferns and heather, +And a bird in an April morn was never lighter-hearted + Than the pilot swallow we saw convoying sunny weather, +And sunshine golden, and gay-voiced singing-birds into the land; + And this was the song--the clear, shrill song of the swallow, +That it carolled back to the southern sun, and his brown + winged band, + Clear it arose, "Oh, follow me--come and follow--and follow." + +A tender story was in his eyes, he wished to tell me I knew, + As he stood in the happy morn by my side at the garden-gate; +But I fancy the tall rose branches that bent and touched his brow, + Were whispering to him, "Wait, impatient heart, oh, wait, +Before the bloom of the rose is the tender green of the leaf; + Not rash is he who wisely followeth patient Nature's ways, +The lily-bud of love should be swathed in a silken sheaf, + Unfolding at will to summer bloom in the warm and perfect days." + +So silently sailed the early sun, through clouds of fleecy white; + So stood we in dreamy silence, enwrapped in a tender spell; +But the pulses of soft Spring air were quickened to fresh delight, + For I read in his eye the story sweet, he longed, yet feared + to tell; +It spoke from his heart to mine, and needed no word from his mouth, + And high o'er our heads rang out the happy song of the swallow; +It cried to the sunshine and beauty and bloom of the South, + Exultingly carolling clear, "Oh, follow me--oh, follow." + + +SPRING SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +So rang the jubilant song of the swallow; + I come a-bringing beauty into the land, +The sky of the West grows warm and yellow, + Oh, gladness comes with my light-winged band, + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer, +The wavy gleam of fluttering wings, + Touching the silent earth so lightly, +Will wake all the sleeping, beautiful things, + The world will glow so brightly--brightly; + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer, +All the rivulets dumb will laugh, and run + Over the meadows with dancing feet; +Following the silvery plough of the sun, + Will be furrows filled with wild flowers sweet: + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +Over whispering streams will rushes lean, + To answer the waves' soft murmurous call; +The lily will bend from its watch-tower green, + To list to the lark's low madrigal, + And the days are growing longer. + + Oh, the days are growing longer; +When they lengthen to ripe and perfect prime, + Then, oh, then, I will build my happy nest; +And all in that pleasant and balmy time, + There never will be a bird so blest; + And the days are growing longer. + + * * * * * + +SUMMER. + +Now sinks the Summer sun into the sea; + Sure never such a sunset shone as this, + That on its golden wing has borne such bliss; + Dear Love to thee and me. + +Ah, life was drear and lonely, missing thee, + Though what my loss I did not then divine; + But all is past--the sweet words, thou art mine, + Make bliss for thee and me. + +How swells the light breeze o'er the blossoming lea, + Sure never winds swept past so sweet and low, + No lonely, unblest future waiteth now; + Dear Love for thee and me. + +Look upward o'er the glowing West, and see, + Surely the star of evening never shone + With such a holy radiance--oh, my own, + Heaven smiles on thee and me. + + +SUMMER SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + +You will journey many a weary day and long, + Ere you will see so restful and sweet a place, +As this, my home, my nest so downy and warm, + The labor of many happy and hopeful days; +But its low brown walls are laid and softly lined, + And oh, full happily now my rest I take, +And care not I when it lightly rocks in the wind, + For the branch above though it bends will never break; +And close by my side rings out the voice of my mate--my lover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + +Now the stream that divides us from perfect bliss + Seems floating past so narrow--so narrow, +You could span its wave such a morn as this, + With a moment winged like a golden arrow, +And the sweet wind waves all the tasselled broom, + And over the hill does it loitering come, +Oh, the perfect light--oh, the perfect bloom, + And the silence is thrilled with the murmurous hum +Of the bees a-kissing the red-lipped clover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + +When the West is a golden glow, and lower + The sun is sinking large and round, +Like a golden goblet spilling o'er, + Glittering drops that drip to the ground-- +Then I spread my lustrous wings and cleave the air + Sailing high with a motion calm and slow, +Far down the green earth lies like a picture fair, + Then with rapid wing I sink in the shining glow; +A-chasing the glinting, gleaming drops; oh, a diver +Am I in a clear and golden sea, and Summer will last forever. + +The leaves with a pleasant rustling sound are stirred + Of a night, and the stars are calm and bright; +And I know, although I am only a little bird, + One large serious star is watching me all the night, +For when the dewy leaves are waved by the breeze, + I see it forever smiling down on me. +So I cover my head with my wing, and sleep in peace, + As blessed as ever a little bird can be; +And the silver moonlight falls over land and sea and river, +And the nights are cool, and the nights are still, and + Summer will last forever. + +I think you would journey many and many a day, + Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see; +Not all the wealth of the world could lure my love away, + For my brown little nest is all the world to me; +And care not I if brighter bowers there are + Lying close to the sun--where tall palms pierce the sky; +Oh, you would journey a weary way and a far, + Ere you would behold a bird so blest as I; +And singing close to my side is my mate--my kin--my lover; +Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and + Summer will last forever. + + * * * * * + +AUTUMN. + +Yes! yes! I dare say it is so, +And you should be pitied, but how could I know, +Watching alone by the moon-lit bay; +But that is past for many a day, +For the woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +She had loving eyes, with a wistful look +In their depths that day, and I know you took +Her face in your hands and read it o'er, +As if you should never see it more; +You were right, for she died long years ago, + Years ago. + +Had I trusted you--for trust, you know +Will keep love's fire forever aglow; +Then what would have mattered storm or sun, +But the watching--the waiting, all is done; +For the woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +Yes; I think you are constant, true and good, +I am tired, and would love you if I could; +I am tired, oh, friend, tired out; and yet, +Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset? +The woman that loved, died years ago, + Years ago. + +Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you, +No; even your tears cannot move me now; +So leave me alone, what is said is said, +What boots your prayers, she is dead! is dead! +The woman you loved, long years ago, + Years ago. + + +AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW. + +The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, + I go to a warmer clime afar and away; +Though my heart is so tired I do not care for it now, + But here in my empty nest I cannot stay; + Thus cried the swallow, +I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + +One night my mate came home with a broken wing, + So he died; and my brood went long ago; +And I am alone, and I have no heart to sing, + With no one to hear my song, and I must go; + Thus cried the swallow, +Away from dust and decay, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + +But I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest, + As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, +I think I shall never fold my wings in such happy rest, + Never again--oh, never again till I die; + Thus cried the swallow, +But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. + + + +THE COQUETTE. + + +How can I be to blame? + Is it my fault I am fair? +I did not fashion my features, + Or brush the gold in my hair; +Because my eyes are so blue and bright, + Must I never look up from the ground, +But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, + Lest some foolish heart they should wound? + +How can I be in fault? + I am sure where hearts are so few, +It is difficult to discern + The diamonds of paste from the true; +I thought him like all the rest, + Skilful in playing his part; +As careful at cards or at chess, + As winning a woman's heart. + +I am sure it is nothing wrong, + Nothing to think of--and yet +I know I lured him with glance and song, + Into my shining net; +Provokingly cold at first he seemed, + Like crystal to smiles and sighs, +But at last he felt the magic that gleamed + In my dreamy violet eyes. + +And I led him on and on, + Farther, in truth, than I strove, +For he frightened me with the earnestness + And violence of his love; +These calm-eyed men deceive-- + Had I known the man had a heart, +I would have paused, I would, I believe, + Have acted a different part. + +In his royal indignation + He uttered some wholesome truth-- +He almost roused the emotion + That died in my innocent youth; +Emotion that lived when life was new, + Ere that man my pathway crossed, +Who played me a game untrue, + When I staked all my love, and lost. + +Oh for a saintly beauty, + What efforts my soul did make; +I thought all goodness and purity + Were possible for his sake; +The world seemed born anew, my life + Such holy meaning wore, +I fancy so fair and fond a dream + Never fell into ruins before. + +He toyed with my fresh affection + As he breathed the country air, +To refresh him after a season + Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare; +Had he not slain my tenderness, + Had my life been more sweet, +I might have known nobler happiness + Than to humble men to my feet. + +But now I love to lure them on, + To make them slaves to my gaze, +Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot, + Like moths to a candle-blaze. +I melt most royally time, the pearl, + And quaff the cup like a queen, +And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl, + The woman I might have been. + + + +LITTLE NELL. + + +Clasp your arms round her neck to-night, + Little Nell, +Arms so delicate, soft and white, +And yet so strong in love's strange might; +Clasp them around the kneeling form, +Fold them tenderly close and warm, + And who can tell +But such slight links may draw her back, +Away from the fatal, fatal track; + Who can tell, + Little Nell? + +Press your lips to the lips of snow, + Little Nell; +Oh baby heart, may you never know +The anguish that makes them quiver so; +But now in her weakness and mortal pain, +Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain, + And who can tell +But your innocent love, your childish kiss +May lure her back from the dread abyss; + Who can tell, + Little Nell. + +Lay your cheek on her aching breast, + Little Nell; +To you 'tis a refuge of holy rest, +But a dying bird never drooped its crest +With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart; +Ah! love's sweet links may be torn apart, + Little Nell; +The altar may flame with gems and gold, +And splendor be bought, and peace be sold, + But is it well, + Little Nell? + +Veil her face with your tresses bright, + Little Nell; +Hide that vision out of her sight-- +Those dark dark eyes with their tender light-- +Uplift your pure face, can it be +She will bid farewell to heaven and thee, + Little Nell? +No; your mute lips plead with eloquent power, +Her tears fall like a tropic shower; + All is well, + Little Nell. + +Close your blue eyes now in sleep, + Little Nell; +Her angel smiles to see her weep; +At morn a ship will cleave the deep, +And one alone will be borne away, +And one will clasp thee close, and pray; + Oh Little Nell, +Never, never beneath the sun, +Will you dream what you this night have done, + Done so well, + Little Nell. + + + +THE FISHER'S WIFE. + + +A long, low waste of yellow sand +Lay shining northward far as eye could reach, +Southward a rocky bluff rose high +Broken in wild, fantastic shapes. +Near by, one jagged rock towered high, +And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, +Striving to peer into the mysteries +The ocean whispers of continually, +And covers with her soft, treacherous face. +For the rest, the sun was sinking low +Like a great golden globe, into the sea; +Above the rock a bird was flying +In dizzy circles, with shrill cries, +And on a plank floated from some wreck, +With shreds of musty seaweed +Clinging to it yet, a woman sat +Holding a child within her arms; +A sweet-faced woman--looking out to sea +With dark, patient eyes, and singing to the child, +And this the song she in the sunset sang: + +Thine eyes are brown, my beauty, brown and bright, + Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep +Is clasping thee within her arms so white, + Bearing thee up the dreamland's sunny steep. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud + Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro +Against the ledges of a crimson cloud, + A tiny bird with flutt'ring wing of snow. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar, + And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee; +Lit by the red lamp of the evening star + Home will he come, will come to thee and me, + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet, + The table shall be set, the fire shall glow, +We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet, + And if my eye be sad, he will not know-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +He will not pause to ponder things so slight, + He is not one a smile to prize or miss; +Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might, + And he will meet us with a loving kiss-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +But would I could forget those other days + When if with gayer gleam mine eyes had shone, +Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes would gaze + With tender questioning into my own. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Thine eyes are brown--thou hast thy father's eyes, + But those, my darling, those were clear and blue, +Ah, me! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries, + Cries for its mate, oh, tender bird and true; + My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Oh, of my truest love well worthy he, + And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart; +But ships are parted on the dreary sea + Swept by the waves, forever swept apart-- + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say, + Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest, +So in their weakness they are lured to lay + Their head upon some strong and loving breast. + Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +Our cabin stands upon the dreary sands, + And it is sad to be alone, alone. +But on my bosom thou hast lain thy hands, + Near to me art thou, near, my precious one-- + My, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. + +The red light faded as she sung, +A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea, +She drew her cloak still closer round the child, +And turned toward the cabin; +As she went a faint glow glimmered +In the east, and slowly rose-- +The silver crescent of the moon. +Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow, +But clear enough to guide her home. + + + +THE LAND OF LONG AGO. + + +Now while the crimson light fades in the west, + And twilight drops her purple shadows low-- +We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest, + That overlooks the land of Long Ago. + +Unmoved and still the form beside us stands, + While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'erflow, +As silently he lifts his shadowy hands, + And points us to the land of Long Ago. + +It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range, + Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow; +For fairer moons, and sunsets rare and strange, + Illume the landscape of the Long Ago. + +We see its vales of peace, its hills of light + Shine in the rosy air, ah! well we know-- +That nevermore will bless our yearning sight, + So fair and dear a land as Long Ago. + +We see the gleaming spires of those high halls + We garnished with bright gems and precious show; +No foot within the gilded doorway falls, + Empty the rooms within the Long Ago. + +Troops of white doves still haunt the shining towers, + And fold in blissful calm, their wings of snow; +We bade them build their nests in brighter bowers, + But still they linger in the Long Ago. + +There in its sunny bay stand stately ships, + We freighted for fair lands where we would go; +Still gleams our gold within their secret crypts, + Becalmed beside the shore of Long Ago. + +Between that land and this of dread and doubt, + The silent years have drifted trackless snow; +Hiding the pathway where we wandered out, + Forever from the land of Long Ago. + + + +LEMOINE. + + +In the unquiet night, +With all her beauty bright, + She walketh my silent chamber to and fro; +Not twice of the same mind, +Sometimes unkind--unkind, + And again no cooing dove hath a voice so sweet and low. + +Such madness of mirth lies +In the haunting hazel eyes, + When the melody of her laugh charms the listening night; +Its glamour as of old +My charmed senses hold, + Forget I earth and heaven in the pleasures of sense and sight. + +With sudden gay caprice +Quaint sonnets doth she seize, + Wedding them unto sweetness, falling from crimson lips; +Holding the broidered flowers +Of those enchanted hours, + When she wound my will with her silk round her white finger-tips. + +Then doth she silent stand, +Lifting her slender hand, + On which gleams the ring I tore from his hand at Baywood; +The tiny opal hearts +Are broken in two parts, + And where the ruby burned there hangeth a drop of blood. + +Then with my burning cheek, +Raising my head, I speak, + "Lemoine, Lemoine, my lost! Oh, speak to me once, I pray!" +But no word will she deign, +Adown the shining lane, + The long and lustrous lane of the moonlight she glides away. + +I fancy oft a stir, +Of wings seem following her, + Trailing a terrible gloom along the oaken floor, +As she walks to and fro; +Louder the strange sounds grow + To a nameless, dreadful horror, that floods the chamber o'er. + +And then I raise my head +From terror-haunted bed, + And hush my breath, and my very pulses hush and hark; +But as I glance around, +The stir, the murmuring sound, + Dies away in the moonlight, lying there stiff and stark. + + * * * * * + +And thus you ever flee, +Elude and baffle me, + My lady you will not always so lightly glide away; +Though on the swiftest breeze, +You sail o'er farthest seas, + Remember, side by side we two will stand one day. + +Though my dust feed the wind, +Yours be with prayer consigned + To the keeping of churchyard seraphs and marble saints; +Lemoine, we two shall meet, +And not then at my feet + Will you fetter a late repentance with wiles and tearful plaints. + +Repentance and strong, +That would have found a tongue, + And shrieked the truth to heaven with madd'ning din; +The truth of that dread hour, +That black accursed hour, + When to free you from hated fetters, I plunged my soul in sin. + +Whatever wise man thinks, +Sin forges strongest links, + You can break them never, although for a time you may hide +Buried in flowers and wine; +This chain of thine and mine, + At the last dread day of doom will draw us side by side. + +If one, then both are cursed, +And come the best, the worst, + Forever and ever your fate and mine are entwined; +And though it be mad--mad, +Heaven knows the thought is glad, + I do not breed my thoughts, how can I help my mind. + + * * * * * + +So silent doth she come, +Standing here pale and dumb, + With her finger laid on her lips in a warning way; +Her dark eyes looking back, +As if upon her track + And mine, some phantom shape of impending evil lay. + +But when I strive to see, +Of what she's warning me, + Cruelly calm, no sign will she deign to love or fears; +Unheeding vow or prayer, +As noiseless as the air, + She glideth into the pallid moonlight and disappears. + + + +SLEEP. + + +Come to me soft-eyed sleep, + With your ermine sandalled feet; +Press the pain from my troubled brow + With your kisses cool and sweet; +Lull me with slumbrous song, + Song of your clime, the blest, +While on my heavy eyelids + Your dewy fingers rest. + +Come with your native flowers, + Heartsease and lotus bloom, +Enwrap my weary senses + With the cloud of their perfume; +For the whispers of thought tire me, + Their constant, dull repeat, +Like low waves throbbing, sobbing, + With endless, endless beat. + + + +THE LADY MAUD. + + +I sit in the cloud and the darkness + Where I lost you, peerless one; +Your bright face shines upon fairer lands, + Like the dawning of the sun, +And what to you is the rustic youth, + You sometimes smiled upon. + +You have roamed through mighty cities, + By the Orient's gleaming sea, +Down the glittering streets of Venice, + And soft-skied Araby: +Life to you has been an anthem, + But a solemn dirge to me. + +For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills, + Or by the silvery Rhine, +You win all hearts to you, where'er + Your glancing tresses shine; +But, darling, the love of the many, + Is not a love like mine. + +Last night I heard your voice in my dreams, + I woke with a joyous thrill +To hear but the half-awakened birds, + For the dark dawn lingered still, +And the lonesome sound of the waters, + At the foot of Carey's hill. + +Oh the pines are dark on Carey's hill, + And the waters are black below, +But they shone like waves of jasper + Upon one day I know, +The day I bore you out of the stream, + With your face as white as snow. + +You lay like a little lamb in my arms, + So frail a thing, so weak, +And my coward lips said burning words + They never had dared to speak +If they had not felt the chill of your brow, + And the marble of your cheek. + +Life had been but a bitter gift, + That I fain would have thrown away, +But I could have thanked my God on my knees, + For giving me life that day, +As I took you, lying so helpless, + From the gates of death away. + +How your noble kinsmen laughed and wept + O'er their treasure snatched from the flood, +And your white-faced brother brought me gold-- + You loved him, or I could +Have obeyed the fiend that told me + To curse him where he stood. + +Gold! Oh, darling, they had no need + Such insults to repeat; +I knew the Heaven was above the earth, + I knew, I knew, my sweet, +I was not worthy to touch the shoes + That covered your dainty feet. + +I knew as you laid your hand in mine, + So kind as I turned away, +That we were severed as wide apart, + That hour, as we are to-day, +And you in your stately English home, + So far, so far away. + +That soft white hand you laid in mine + With a smile as I turned to go, +Oh, Lady Maud, I marvel + If you ever stoop so low, +As to wonder what those tears meant, + That glittered on its snow. + +But I know if you had dreamed the truth + Your beautiful dark brown eyes +Would only have grown more gentle, + With a sorrowful surprise; +For a nobler and a kinder heart + Ne'er beat beneath the skies. + +You never meant to give me pain, + But oh, 'twas a cruel good, +I so low in the world's esteem, + You of such noble blood, +That you stooped to as gentle words and deeds, + As ever an angel could. + +I blessed you for your brightness + When you came unto our shore, +For the dull earth caught a beauty + It never had before; +But you left a lonesome shadow, + That will lie there evermore. + +How proud the good ship bore you + Adown the golden bay, +The sun's last light upon its sails-- + I stood there mournfully; +For I know it left the darkness-- + Took the sunlight all away. + + + +THE HAUNTED CASTLE. + + +It stands alone on a haunted shore, +With curious words of deathless lore + On its massive gate impearled; +And its carefully guarded mystic key +Locks in its silent mystery + From the seeking eyes of the world. + +Oft do its stately walls repeat +Echoes of music wildly sweet + Swelling to gladness high-- +With mournful ballads of ancient time, +And funeral hymns--and a nursery rhyme + Dying away in a sigh. + +Pictures out of each haunted room, +Up through the ghostly shadows loom, + And gleam with a spectral light; +Pictures lit with a radiant glow, +And some that image such desolate woe + That, weeping, you turn from the sight. + +Shining like stars in the twilight gloom +Brows as white as a lily's bloom + Gleam from its lattice and door; +And voices soft as a seraph's note, +Through its mysterious chambers float + Back from eternity's shore. + +In the mournful silence of midnight air +You hear on its stately and winding stair + The echoes of fairy feet. +Gentle footsteps that lightly fall +Through the enchanted castle hall, + And up in the golden street. + +And still in a dark forsaken tower, +Crowned with a withered cypress flower, + Is a bowed head turned away; +A face like carved marble white, +Sweet eyes drooping away from the light, + Shunning the eye of day. + +And oft when the light burns low and dim +A haggard form ungainly and grim + Unbidden enters the door; +With chiding eyes whose burning light +You fain would bury in darkness and night, + Never to meet you more. + +Mysteries strange its still walls keep, +Strange are the forms that through it sweep-- + Walking by night and by day. +But evermore will the castle hall +Echo their footsteps' phantom fall, + Till its walls shall crumble away. + + + +THE STORY OF GLADYS. + + +"I leave my child to Heaven." And with these words +Upon her lips, the Lady Mildred passed +Unto the rest prepared for her pure soul; +Words that meant only this: I cannot trust +Unto her earthly parent my young child, +So leave her to her heavenly Father's care; +And Heaven was gentle to the motherless, +And fair and sweet the maiden, Gladys, grew, +A pure white rose in the old castle set, +The while her father rioted abroad. + +But as the day drew near when he should give, +By his dead lady's will, his child her own, +He having basely squandered all her wealth +To him intrusted, to his land returned, +And thrilled her trusting heart with terrors vague, +Of peril, of some shame to come to him, +Did she not yield unto his prayer--command, +That she would to Our Lady's convent go, +Forget the world and save him from disgrace. + +But hidden as she had been all her life +From tender human ties, she loved the world +With all her loving heart, the fresh, free world +That God had made, and this life seemed to her +As but a living death. A living tomb +The harsh stone walls that from the convent frowned +Upon the peaceful valley sweet with flowers. +The beautiful green valley, threaded by +Bright rivulets that sought the quiet lake, +Dear haunts sought daily by her maiden feet. +And "wilt thou not, for my sake?" and "thou shalt +To save thy sire from shame!" so wore the days, +And still she did not promise, though she wept +At his wild pleadings, trembled at his rage; +Then of her mother's dying words he thought-- +Her dying words--"I leave my child to Heaven." +And twisting them with his own wishes, wove +A chain therewith that bound her wavering will; +A chain made mighty by the golden threads +Of rev'rence and of holy memories. +And so with heavy heart she gave her vow, +That in the autumn she would leave the world, +But first for one free summer did she pray. + +And through those bright spring days she roamed abroad, +And poured upon the winds her low complaints; +The while her dark soft eyes sought all the earth, +The beauteous earth that she too soon must leave; +And all her mournful murmurs ended thus +With this sad cry of, "Oh, the happy world!" +Ended with these low words as a sigh, +I will obey, but, "oh, the happy world!" + +Oh, wondrous beauty of the morning skies! + Oh, wide green fields with beady dew impearled! +The lark soars upward, singing as she flies, + Oh, wave of free, swift wings, oh, happy world! + +Oh, wordless wonder of the evening sky, + Far ivory citadels with flags unfurled; +Deep sapphire seas where rosy fleets float by + The golden shores remote; oh, happy world! + +Oh, my blue violets by the laughing brook! + My shy, sweet darlings, in your green leaves curled, +Bright eyes, sometime you will all vainly look + For me, your lover. Oh, the happy world! + +So passed the days of spring, and she must sign +Dull papers to appease the hungry law, +And to the castle down a writer came; +No graybeard old, and dryer than his tomes, +A tall, fair-faced youth, with bright, bold gaze, +And blood that leaped afresh like crimson wine, +Rash blood that led him to leap o'er a gate +Five-barred, within the mossy park, upon +The knight's old stumbling steed that played him false +To its own harm, for which it lost its life, +More fortunate the youth, though bruised he, +And bleeding from his many grievous wounds, +And Gladys tended him with gentlest care +Till love crept in and took the place of pain, +And in her heart took Pity's weeping place +And dwelt a king. He knew she was the bride +Of Heaven, not to be vexed with earthly love, +But yet, upon the last night of his stay, +As by the lake's low marge he met the maid, +And saw her soft eyes fall before his own, +He laid an almond blossom in her hand, +A blossom that both sweet and bitter is, +And said but this, "Say, is dear love a dream?" + +"Nay, not a dream," she murmured, looking out +To where the light upon the waters lay, +A golden pathway leading to the sun, +"Dear love the wakening is, this life we live +Is but a dream." Then with a sudden hope +He would have caught her hands, but no, she clasped +Them o'er the snowy muslin on her breast, +And on her heart like drops of crimson blood, +There lay the almond blossoms, bitter, sweet; +And far away her pure eyes looked adown +That shining path across the summer sea, +"Nay, life a long dream is, a sleep that lasts +Until we waken in the land of love." +But though thus calmly did she speak to him, +When he had gone to hide his breaking heart +As best he might, to bravely bide his time, +And do his life work as she bade him do, +Then all her lonely haunts echoed this cry, +This cry of deeper anguish--"Oh, my heart!" + +Why did I pray for one more summer bright, + The outward world but held me in time past; +Now, life and love have added links of might, + A chain that fetters me, that holds me fast; +I will, I will obey, but oh, my heart! + +My life was like some little mountain spring + By slight waves stirred till some deep overflow +Swift breaks its peace, then with its risen king + Down to the mighty deep it needs must go; +Thus did I follow love, but oh, my heart! + +For dear love sought me, claimed me for his own, + And called me with his voice so strong, so low, +I followed unto bliss, thou hapless one, + I did bethink me of my cruel vow, +The vow I will obey, but oh, my heart! + +And through the long, still nights this cry was hers, +As on her couch she lay till dreary dawn, +Her large eyes dark with horror looking out +Upon the pitchy darkness unafraid. +And as the breathings of the new spring breeze, +Soft sights of sad complaint, to autumn's storms +That hold the burdened sorrow of a year, +Was this, her sigh of, "oh, the happy world!" +To this despairing cry of, "oh, my heart!" +And as the year's late winds leave pale and chill +The earth, so did this weary cry of hers +So oft repeated leave her lips like snow. +And oft the lonely midnight heard her moan +Of hopes foregone, that women hold most dear. + +"No little ones to ever cling to me +In closest love, look on me through his eyes +And call me mother, bless me with his smile." +Then low in tearful prayer her voice would sound +Despairing, wailing, through the lonely room, +The silent turret chamber steep and high, +"Thou maiden mother, Mary, knows my heart, +Thou who didst love and suffer, look on me, +Oh, pity me, sweet mother of the Christ!" + +Then would the passion of her woe die out +In dreary calm, and as a chidden child +Who cries himself to rest, sobs in his sleep, +So pitifully would sound the latest words-- +"I will, I will be patient, and obey." +But all the long days' silent anguish, all +These secret trysts she kept alone with pain +Wore her meek face, till like a spirit's looked +It, gleaming white from out her shadowy hair, +And so the last day came, the day of doom, +The dreaded day when she should leave the world. + +But He who holdeth little useless birds +In His protecting care, looked tenderly +Upon this patient soul, so sorely tried. +This sweet soul purified by all its pain, +For on this day, so fair a morn, it seemed +A heavenly peace sunk down to this sad earth +From gate ajar, the bright and pearly gate +Swung widely open for an angel guest. +A faithful servant climbed the winding stair, +Sent by her eager father with the dawn +To rouse her, tell her that the hour had come +When she to save his name should leave the world. +And as the woman stood beside the couch +She said, "Sweet soul, she talks out in her sleep." +For there she lay with closed eyes murmuring low, +With mournful brow and sad lips, "oh, dear love." +Then cried out with a sob, "'tis not a dream." +Then spake of blood-red blossoms, bitter, sweet, +And with her white lips sighing this, she sunk +Into what seemed to be a dreamless sleep. + +And as the loving servant weeping stood, +Loath to awake her to her evil doom, +She opened her large violet eyes, and gazed +Upon the morning sunlight stealing in; +The clear light trembling, growing on the wall, +And as she looked, her eyes grew like the eyes +Of blessed angels looking on their Lord. +And high toward Heaven she lifted up her hands, +Then clasped them in content upon her breast, +And cried out in a glad voice, "oh, my heart!" +And with such glory lighting up her face, +As if the flood of joy had filled her heart, +And overrun her lips with blissful smiles +She left the world, and saved her sire from shame. + + + +FAREWELL. + + +Lift up your brown eyes, darling, + Not timidly and shy, +As in the fair, lost past, not thus + I'd have you meet my eye. +But grave, and calm, and earnest, + Thus bravely should we part, +Not sorrowfully, not lightly, + And so farewell, dear heart. + +Yes, fare thee well, farewell, + Whate'er shall me betide +May gentlest angels comfort thee, + And peace with thee abide; +Our love was but a stormy love, + 'Tis your will we should part-- +So smile upon me once, darling, + And then farewell, dear heart. + +But lay your hand once on my brow, + Set like a saintly crown, +It will shield me, it will help me + To hurl temptations down. +God give thee better love than mine-- + Nay, dear, no tears must start, +See, I am quiet, thou must be, + And now farewell, dear heart. + + + +THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY. + + +Clear shone the moon, my mansion walls + Towered white above the wood, +Near, down the dark oak avenue + An humble cottage stood. + +My gardener's cottage, small and brown, + Yet precious unto me; +For there she dwelt, who sat by me + That night beside the sea. + +So sweet, the white rose on her neck + Was not more fair than she, +As silently her soft brown eyes + Looked outward o'er the sea. + +So still, the muslin o'er her heart + Seemed with no breath to stir, +As silently she sat and heard + The tale I told to her. + +"It was a knight of Normandy, + He vowed on his good sword +He would not wed his father's choice, + The Lady Hildegarde. + +"Near dwelt the beauteous Edith, + A lowly maiden she--" +Ah! still unmoved, her dark sweet eyes + Looked far away from me. + +"Dearer to him one blossom small + That had but touched her hand, +Than all the high-born beauties-- + The ladies of the land. + +"Dearer to him," quick came my breath + As I looked down on her, +But the white roses in her hand + No lightest leaf did stir. + +Ah! wistfully I read her face, + Full gently did I speak, +No light dawned in her tender eye, + No flush stole o'er her cheek. + +"He wore her colors on the field, + He went where brave hearts were; +Ah, gallantly and nobly + He fought for love of her. + +"He loved her with his whole true heart," + Now like a sudden flame +Up to her cheek so pure and white, + A flood of crimson came. + +Her hands unclasped, down to her feet + My flowers unnoticed shook; +I leaned and followed with my gaze + Her glad and eager look. + +I saw a boat sweep round the rock, + Rowed with a steady grace; +I saw the fisher's manly form, + His brown and handsome face. + +"For love of her, to victory + He his brave squadron led, +Then broke his true heart, and her scarf + Pillowed his dying head. + +"So died this knight of Normandy, + Died with his sword unstained;" +I know not that she heard my words, + So near the boat had gained. + +I said, Heaven bless her, in my heart, + She had no thought for me; +I turned away and left them there + Beside the beating sea. + +Behind me lay the sweet moonlight, + My shadow went before, +And passed a dark and gloomy shape + Before me through the door. + +Oh strange and sad this life of ours, + This life beneath the sun; +O sad and strange and full of pain + God help us, every one. + +God help us, that we may endure + Like him of Normandy; +And die with sword unstained, that has + Led us to victory. + + + +SOMETIME. + + +On the shore I sit and gaze + Out on the twilight sea, +For my ship may come, though many days + I have waited patiently; +With waiting trusting eyes, + A lonely watch I keep +For its silver sails to rise + Like a blossom out of the deep. + +It is built of a costly wood, + Bearing the strange perfume +Of the gorgeous solitude, + Where it grew in tropical gloom; +And the odorous scent, the spicy balm + Of its isle it will bear to me, +As I stand on the shore, in the magic calm. + And my ship come in from sea. + +It is laden with all that is sweet + Of the beauty of every clime; +Slowly and proudly 'twill glide to my feet + In the eve of that fair "Sometime," +Before me its sails will be furled, + A princess I shall be, +Crowned with the wealth of the world, + When my ship comes in from sea. + +Sweet faces I then shall see, + Tender, undoubting, true, +Soft hands will be stretched to me + With a welcome I never knew; +In the peace of such tenderness + I shall rest forevermore, +And weep in my perfect bliss, + As I never wept before. + +Sometimes I think it is not far + And I bend my head and list, +For I think I see a slender spar + Gleam through the golden mist; +And I fancy I hear the sound + Of wind in a silken sail, +And an odor rare from Eastern ground, + Floats in on the languid gale. + +But I sit and watch the west + Till the sun goes down, in vain; +It was only a cloud with an ivory crest, + A cloud of vapor and rain; +It rises and hides the sea, + And my heart grows chill and numb, +Lest this terrible thing should be, + That my ship will never come. + +But the morn is bright--the wave + Is a golden and shining track, +Softly the waters the white sands lave, + And my trusting faith comes back; +Oh, all that I ever lost, + And all that I long to be, +Will be mine when the deep is crossed, + And my ship comes home from sea. + + + +MOTIVES. + + +I said that I would see + Her once, to curse her fair, deceitful grace, +To curse her for my life-long agony; + But when I saw her face, +I said, "Sweet Christ, forgive both her and me." + +High swelled the chanted hymn, + Low on the marble swept the velvet pall, +I bent above, and my eyes grew dim, + My sad heart saw it all-- +She loved me, loved me though she wedded him. + +And then shot through my soul + A thrill of fierce delight, to think that he +Must yield her form, his all, to Death's control, + The while her love for me +Would live, when sun and stars had ceased to roll. + +But no, on the white brow, + Graved in its marble, was deep calm impressed, +Saying that peace had come to her through woe; + Saying, she had found rest +At last, and I, I must not love her now. + +It may be in Heaven's grace, + Beneath the shade of some immortal palm, +That God will let me see her angel face; + Then wild, wild heart be calm, +Wipe out that old love, every sorrowful trace. + +I know that if it be, + We two should meet again in Paradise, +'Twould trouble her pure soul if she should see + The old grief in my eyes; +'Twould grieve her dear heart through eternity. + +Wipe out that grief, my soul, + And shall I lose all love, in losing this? +Unclasp my spirit, self's close stolid stole. + Are there no lives to bless? +So will I give my love, my life, no stinted dole. + +God will note deeds and sighs, + Throned in far splendor on the heavenly hill, +Though mad sounds from this wretched planet rise-- + Moans wild enough to fill +Heaven's air, and drown its harps in doleful cries. + +And angels shall look down, + Through incense rising from my godly deeds. +Approving gleam those eyes of tender brown; + Sure on a brow that bleeds, +The thorns should change to a more glorious crown. + +Well done, my soul, well done, + Out of thy grief to rear a ladder tall +To reach the land that lies beyond the sun, + To scale the jasper wall, +And rise to glory on grief's stepping stone. + +God looks into the tide, + Angel and demon troubled, of a man's mind; +And if my alms are scattered far and wide, + Only my love to find, +Only to pave a path to reach her side-- + +Will he accept from me + My worship, gifts--the heavens are very still, +No answer do I hear, no sign I see, + If I but knew His will; +Would He would come a-walking on the sea. + + * * * * * + +The storm is overpast, for sweet and fair + A sudden radiance shone o'er wave and lea; +And in the glory trembling through the air, + He came unto me walking on the sea. + +The heavy waves that had rushed to and fro + Cowered at His feet in sudden melody; +And all transfigured in the shining glow + Did He come to me walking on the sea. + +Far off I saw His form, but knew it not; + He nearer drew, He smiled, my fears did flee; +His loving look dispelled a lingering doubt, + As He came to me o'er the twilight sea. + +I dropped my burden on the shelving sand + So I might meet Him, if such bliss could be, +I reached the shore, I knelt and kissed His hand + With blissful tears beside the twilight sea. + +Such love He woke, I would my life have lain + Low down to pave His way, "He loveth me +Who loveth this sad world, and blesseth man," + Came blown to me across the twilight sea. + +Perplexing questions died within my breast, + "Deep peace hath he who doeth lovingly +My will, who loveth most, he loveth best," + Came blown to me across the twilight sea. + +The storm was overpast, a breath of balm + Lapped the low waves, and lingered on the lea, +For in the twilight fell a holy calm, + He came unto me walking on the sea. + + * * * * * + +Was this a dream? If it were not a dream + My life is blest in truth, and if it be, +I know across the deep has fallen a gleam, + A bridge of glory spans the twilight sea. + + + +NIGHTFALL. + + +Soft o'er the meadow, and murmuring mere, +Falleth a shadow, near and more near; +Day like a white dove floats down the sky, +Cometh the night, love, darkness is nigh; + So dies the happiest day. + +Slow in thy dark eye riseth a tear, +Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near; +Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast, +As day like a white dove flies down the west; + So dies the happiest day. + + + +HIS PLACE. + + +So all things come to our mind at last, + He is close by your side in the twilight gloom, + And you two are alone in the dim old room, +Yet he is mute, as you bade him be, time past. + +You bade him to weary you, never again + With his idle love, in truth he was wise, + For he spake no more, although in his eyes +You read, you fancied, a language of pain. + +But this is past, and vex you he never will, + With loving glance, or look of sad reproach; + His lips move not, smile not at your approach; +The flowers he clasps are not more calm and still. + +Your favorite flowers he has heard you praise, + Purple pansies, and lilies creamy white; + But he offers them not to you to-night, +He troubles you not, he has learned "his place." + +You wished to teach him that lesson, you told + Him as much, you know, in this very room, + 'Twas about this hour, for the twilight gloom +As now, was enwrapping you, fold on fold. + +Was "his place" in the haunts of the herded poor, + Where the pestilence stalked with deadly breath? + Face to face with its dreadful shadow, death, +How he wrestled with it from door to door, + +Giving his life that others life might find, + Shaming you with his toil, his bravery, + Not by a word or look, no boaster he, +He was always gentle to you, and kind. + +He has found "his place," but no need of fears, + No; you need not summon your jealous pride, + For "his place" will never be by your side, +Nevermore, nevermore, through all the years. + +And when from Time shall drop Earth's days + Like chaff from the bloom of the year sublime, + With the gentle spirits of every time, +And the martyr souls, he will find his place. + +So answers will come to our seeking wills, + Nevermore will his sad face vex your sight, + For you never will make your robes so white +As to stand by him on the heavenly hills. + +Yes, lay your cheek upon his, and press + The clustering hair from his broad white brow, + Have no fear, he will not annoy you now +By a word in praise of your loveliness. + +Yes, kneel by him, moaning, kissing his brow, + Not now will it grieve him, your tears' swift rain, + And he will not ask you to share your pain; +Ah! Once he would, but not now--not now. + +So leave the old room in the waning light, + Go out in your peerless beauty and pride, + And let no shadow go out by your side +To follow you under the falling night. + + + +A DREAM OF SPRING. + + +The world is asleep! All hushed is Nature's warm, sweet breath. + The world is asleep, and dreaming the silent dream of snow, +But through the silence that seems like the silence of death, + Under their shroud of ermine, the souls of the roses glow. + +And forever the heart of the water throbs and beats, + Though bound by a million gleaming fetters and crystal rings, +No sound on lonesome mornings the lonely watcher greets, + But the frosty pane is impressed with the shadow of coming wings. + + + +WAITING. + + +I know not where you wait for me in all your maiden sweetness, +Sweet soul in whom my life will find its rest, its full completeness; +But somewhere you await me, Fate will lead us to each other, +As roses know the sunlight, so shall we know one another. + +Dear heart, what are you doing in this twilight's purple splendor, +Do you tend your dewy flowers with fingers white and slender, +Heavy, odor-laden branches in blessing bent above you, +Fond lilies kneeling at your feet, winds murmuring they love you? + +Mayhap, your heart in maiden peace is like a closed bud sleeping, +Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender freshness + keeping. +Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, your soul sweet quiet + breaking, +Is a thought of me, my darling, that shall come true on waking. + +Perchance you turn from passionate vows, words wild with + love's sweet madness, +With soft eyes looking far sway, in yearning trust and sadness; +A look that tells his alien soul how widely you are parted, +Though he knows not whom your rapt eyes seek, my sweet, + my loving-hearted. + +Oh, the world is rough; the heart against its sneers, its cold + derision, +Locks all its better feelings, making it a gloomy prison; +But your hand, my angel, shall unlock its rocky, dust-strewn + portal, +Your smile shall rouse its dying dreams of good to life immortal. + +You will make me better, purer, for love, the true refiner, +Burning out the baser passions, will kindle the diviner, +Will plead and wind my spirit, not to shame its heavenly station, +You will trust me, and that trust will prove my tempted soul's + salvation. + +God keep you tenderly, my life's dear hope and unseen blessing; +Oh, night wind, touch her tresses till I come with fond caressing, +Thy crown of pearl-linked light, oh, royal moon stoop down + and give her, +Till queen of love's own kingdom, I crown her mine forever. + + + +A SONG FOR TWILIGHT. + + +Oh! the day was dark and dreary, + For clouds swept o'er the sun, +The burden of life seemed heavy, + And its warfare never done; +But I heard a voice at twilight, + It whispered in my ear, +"Oh, doubting heart, look upward, + Dear soul, be of good cheer. +Oh, weary heart, look upward, + Dear soul, be of good cheer." + +And lo! on looking upward + The stars lit up the sky +Like the lights of an endless city, + A city set on high. +And my heart forgot its sorrow + These heavenly homes to see-- +Sure in those many mansions + Is room for even me, +Sure in those many mansions, + Is room for thee and me. + + + +THE FLIGHT. + + +Here in the silent doorway let me linger + One moment, for the porch is still and lonely; +That shadow's but the rose vine in the moonlight; + All are asleep in peace, I waken only, +And he I wait, by my own heart's beating + I know how slow to him the tide creeps by, +Nor life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meeting; + Were worlds between, his soul to mine would fly. + +Oh, shame! to think a heap of paltry metal + Should overbalance manhood's noblest graces; +A film of gold had gilt his worth and honor, + Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces; +Gentle to me, they rise in condemnation, + And plead with me than words more powerfully. +Oh! well I love them--but they have wealth and station + To fill their hearts, and he has only me. + +But oh, my roses, how their great pure faces + Beseech me as they bend from sculptured column. +So with my wet cheek closely pressed against them, + I listen to their pleadings sweet and solemn. +Oh, Memory, if an hour of gloom and grieving + I here have known, that hour before me set; +But all the peace and joy I am leaving, + In mercy, Memory, let me forget. + +Oh, home! if here a frown has ever chilled me, + Let it now rise and darken on my sight. +If a harsh word or look has ever grieved me, + Let me remember that harsh word to-night. +But all the tender words, the fond caressing, + The loving smiles that daily I have met, +The patient mother love, God's crowning blessing, + In mercy, Memory, let me forget. + +Here she has kissed me with fond looks of greeting; + Will that smile fade when waiting me no longer? +Oh, true first love, tender and changing never; + But there's a love that nearer is and stronger-- +He comes! I kneel and kiss the stone, oh, mother, + Where you have stood and blessed me with your eyes; +Forgive--forgive me, mother--father--brother-- + For oh, he loves me--and love sanctifies. + + + +COMFORT. + + + Once through an autumn wood + I roamed in tearful mood, +By grief dismayed, doubting, and ill at ease; + When from a leafless oak, + Methought low murmurs broke, +Complaining accents, as of words like these: + + "Incline thy mighty ear + Great Mother Earth, and hear +How I, thy child, am sorely vexed and tossed; + No one to heed my moan, + I shudder here, alone +With my destroyers, wind and snow, and frost. + + Then low and unaware + This answer cleaved the air, +This tender answer, "Doubting one be still; + Oh trust to me, and know + The wind, the frost, the snow, +Are but my servants sent to do my will. + + "For the destroyer frost, + His labor is not lost, +Rid thee he shall of many noisome things; + And thou shalt praise the snow + When drinking far below +Refreshment sweet from overflowing springs. + + "My child thou'rt not alone, + I love thee, hear thy moan, +But winds that fret thee only causeth thee + To more securely stand, + More firmly clasp my hand, +And soaring upward, closer cling to me." + + Then from my burdened heart + The shadows did depart, +Then said I softly--"winds of sorrow blow + So I but closer cling + To thee, my Lord, my King, +Who loves me, even me, so weak and low." + + + +JENNY ALLEN. + + +I never shall hear your voice again, + Your voice so gentle and low +But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, + Will go with me where I go. +Your sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave + And the rush of the Alpine snow. + +You were very fair, Jenny Allen, + Fair as a woodland rose; +Your heart was pure as an angel's heart, + Too good for earth and its woes, +And I loved you, Jenny Allen, + With a sorrowful love, God knows. + +You loved me, Jenny Allen, + My sorrow made me wise; +And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task, + For within your clear blue eyes, +Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out + Like stars from the summer skies. + +He had riches and fame with his seventy years + When he won you for his wife; +You were but a child, and poor, and tired, + Tired of toil and strife; +And you only thought of rest, poor dove, + When you sold your beautiful life. + +Alas, for the hour I entered in + Your halls of lordly mirth; +For I lost there, Jenny Allen, + All that gives life worth; +You taught your teacher, Jenny, + The saddest lesson of earth. + +Ah, woe's the hour I ever stepped + Your mansion walls within; +For you loved me, Jenny Allen, + But you never dreamed 'twas sin; +Your heart was white as a lily's heart, + When it drinks the sunshine in. + +God pity me, Jenny Allen, + That I ever loved you so, +I would have died to give you peace, + And I only gave you woe; +For your eyes looked like a wounded dove's, + When I told you I must go. + +You were but a child, Jenny Allen, + But that hour made you wise; +A woman's grief and holy strength + Sprang up in your mournful eyes; +Ah, you were an angel, Jenny, + An angel in woman's guise. + +But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny, + Your seraph features wore, +As I left you that dark autumn morn, + Left you forevermore; +And heaven seemed shut against me + As I blindly shut that door. + +The years have rained on you golden gifts, + You dwell in a queenly show; +There are jewels of price in your silken hair, + And upon your neck of snow. +Do you ever think of me, Jenny, + And the dream of the long ago? + +I have sat me down under foreign skies + Afire with an Orient glow; +I have seen the moon gild the desert sand, + And silver the Arctic snow, +But the thought of you Jenny Allen, + Goes with me where I go. + + + +THE UNSEEN CITY. + + +Not far away does that bright city stand, + 'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream, +That wraps the glory of its glitt'ring strand, + Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam; +Oh, often in the blindness of our fate +We wander very near the city's gate. + +We love that unseen city, and we yearn + Ever within our earthly homes to see +Its golden towers, that in the sunset burn, + Its white walls rising from the quiet sea; +Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow, +Filled with the treasure lost to us below. + +Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there; + Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now; +Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair, + Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow; +Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours +Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers. + +Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet, + Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er, +Since o'er them lightly fall the little feet-- + The light feet bounding through our homes no more; +Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed, +That city's filled with melody like this. + +It is not far away; down from its arches roll + Anthems too sacred for the outward ear, +Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul; + Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear, +In listening to the low bewildering strain, +Voices they said we should not hear again. + +Oh, dear to us that city. He is there, + He whom unseen we love; no need of light; +His tender eyes illume the crystal air + Where His beloved walk in vesture white, +What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed, +And saw through tears His glory, now they rest. + +Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide, + Thither we journey through the storm and night; +But soon shall we adown its still bay glide, + Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight, +There with our own forever shall we be, +In that fair city rising from the sea. + + + +THE WAGES OF SIN. + + +I am an outcast, sinful and vile I know, + But what are you, my lady, so fair, and proud, and high? +The fringe of your robe just touched me, me so low-- + Your feet defiled, I saw the scorn in your eye, +And the jeweled hand, that drew back your garments fine. + What should you say if I told you to your face +Your robes are dyed with as deep a stain as mine, + The only difference is you are better paid for disgrace. + +You loved a man, you promised to be his bride, + Strong vows you gave, you were in the sight of Heaven his wife, +And when you sold yourself for another's wealth, he died; + And what is that but murder? To take a life +That is a little beyond my guilt, I ween, + To murder the one you love is a crime of deeper grade +Than mine, yet in purple you walk on the earth a queen; + I think the wages of sin are very unequally paid. + +For what did you receive when you sold yourself for his gold, + When with guilty loathing you plighted your white, false hand, +A palace in town and country, his name long centuries old, + A carriage with coachmen and footmen, wealth in broad tracts + of land, +Wealth in coffers and vaults, high station, the family gems, + For these you stood at God's altar and swore to a lie; +But smother your conscience to silence if it condemns, + With this you are liberally paid for your life of infamy. + +What wages did I receive when I gave myself for his love, + So young, so weak, and loving him, loving him so-- +What did I get for my sin, O merciful God above! + But the terrible, terrible wages--pain and want and woe; +The world's scorn, and my own contempt and disdain, + The hideous hue of guilt that stares in every eye. +Like you I cannot 'broider with gold my garments' stain, + You see, my lady, you get far better wages than I. + +In your constancy to sin you far exceed my power, + Since that day marked with blackness from other days-- +The day before your marriage--never since that hour + Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face; +For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away + Anywhere--anywhere--only out of his sight, +Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day, + Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the light. + +And long I strove to hate him, for I thought + I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care, +It was a terrible sin that he had wrought, + And since I had the burden of guilt to bear +It was enough without the wild despair of love, + So I strove to reason my passionate love to hate. +Can we kneel with tears and bid the strong sun move + Away from the sky? It is vain to war with fate. + +That a hard life I have lived since then, 'tis true, + My hands are unblackened by sinful wages since that day, +And my baby died, I was not fit, God knew + To guide a sinless soul, so He took my bird away; +And my heart was empty and lone as a robin's winter nest, + With the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully, +The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast, + And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me. + +But I knew it were best for God to unclasp her hand + From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust, +Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand, + Blush for her mother--had she lived she must. +And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes, + Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways--his heart. +It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies + Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart. + +For I am a sinful woman, well I know, + And though by others' sins my own are not excused +Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe, + In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused; +Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love, + Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame, +Legal below, I think in the courts above + The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right name. + +But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat + Of the world, and it calls you pure, +That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet, + Holier than other holy women, higher, truer, +So sweet a creature an angel in woman's guise. + They would not wonder much, though much they might admire, +Should you be caught again up to your native skies + From an alien world in a chariot of fire. + +So we stand before the tender judgment-seat + Of the world, and it calls me vile, +So low that it is a wonder God will let + His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles, +An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope, + Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light, +They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope + And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight. + +Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand + You and I, my lady, and he by our side, +He who won my heart, who held my life in his hand, + He who bought you with gold to be his bride; +Before an assembled world we shall stand, we three, + To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal or woe, +He holds His righteous balance true and evenly, + And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know. + + + +ISABELLE AND I. + + +Isabelle has gold, and lands, + Fate gave her a fair lot; +Like the white lilies of the field + Her soft hands toil not. +I gaze upon her splendor + Without an envious sigh; +I have no wealth in lands and gold, + And yet sweet peace have I. + +I know the blue sky smiles as bright + On the low field violet, +As on the proud crest of the pine + On loftiest mountain set. +I am content--God loveth all, + And if He tenderly +The sparrow guides, He knoweth best + The place where I should be. + +Her violet velvet curtains trail + Down to the floor, +But brightly God's rich sunshine streams + Into my cottage door; +And not a picture on her walls, + Hath beauty unto me, +Like that which from my window frame + I daily lean to see. + +She has known such pomp, she careth not, + For any humble sight; +Flowers bending o'er the brook's green edge, + To her give no delight; +She tends her costly eastern bird + With gold upon its wing; +But her wild roses bloom for me, + For me her wild birds sing. + +She tires of home, and fain would see + The brightest clime of earth, +And so she sails for summer lands + With friends to share her mirth; +She waves her jewelled hand to me + The opal spray-clouds fly; +She leaves me with the fading shore-- + Do I envy her? not I. + +She will see the sailor's hardened palms + Curbing the toiling sails, +She will faint beneath the tropic calms + And face the angry gales. +She will labor for her happiness + While I've no need to speak, +But on a lotus leaf I float, + Unto the land they seek. + +There, like a dream from out the wave, + I see a city rise, +I stand entranced, as by a spell, + Upon the Bridge of Sighs. +The low and measured dip of oars + Falls softly on my ear +Blent with the tender evening song, + Of some swart gondolier. + +And down from marble terraces + Veiled ladies slowly pass, +And, entering antique barges, + Glide down the streets of glass; +And eyes filled with the dew and fire + Of their own midnight sky, +Gleam full on me, as silently + The gondolas float by. + +The sunset burns, and turns the wave + To an enchanted stream, +And far up on the shadowy steeps + The white walled convents gleam, +The music of their bells float out-- + The sweet wind bears it by, +Adown the warm and sunny slopes, + Where purple vineyards lie. + +And I stand in old cathedrals, + By tombs of buried kings, +White angels bend above them-- + Mute guard with folded wings. +Far down the aisle the organ peals, + The priests are knelt in prayer +And memories flood its ancient walls, + As the music fills the air. + +I may not see that blessed land, + But she roams o'er the sod +The Lord's pure eyes have hallowed, + Where once His feet have trod. +Yet He in mercy has drawn near, + He has me comforted-- +So near He seemed I almost felt + His hand upon my head. + +And I with slow and reverent steps + Through ancient cities roam, +Treading o'er crumbling columns, + The dust of spire and dome; +The tall and shattered arches + Their flickering shadows cast, +Like bent and hoary spectres, + Low murmuring of the past. + +And Isabelle toils o'er the Alps, + Through fields of ice and snow, +To see the lofty glaciers + Flash in the sun's red glow. +I feel no cold, and yet on high + Their shining spires I see. +Why should I envy Isabelle? + Why should she pity me? + +Why should I envy Isabelle + When thus so easily, +Upon a tropic flower's perfume + I float across the sea? + + + +GOOD-BY. + + +Again I see that May moon shine, +Dost thou remember, soul of mine? +I held your hand in mine, you know, +And as I bent to whisper low, +A tender light was in your eye, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + +There came a time my lips were white +Beneath the pale and cold moonlight, +And burning words I might not speak, +You read, love, in my ashen cheek, +As my whole heart breathed in this one cry, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + +Time's waves that roll so swift and fleet +Have borne you far from me, my sweet, +Have borne you to a sunny bay, +Where brightest sunshine gilds your way, +Do these words ever dim your sky-- +Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by? + +I cannot tell, but this I know +They go with me where'er I go, +I hear them in the crowded mart, +At midnight lone, they chill my heart-- +They dim for me the earth and sky, +Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart good-by. + +And in that hour of mystery, +When loved ones shall bend over me, +Near ones to kiss my lips and weep, +As nearer steals the dreamless sleep, +From all I'll turn with this last sigh, +"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." + + + +THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING. + + +Put the crown of your love on my forehead, + Its sweet links clasped with a kiss, +And all the great monarchs of England + Never wore such a gem as this. +Give me your hand, little maiden, + That sceptre so pearly white, +And I'll envy not the kingliest wand + That ever waved in might. + +I know 'tis like asking a morning cloud + With a grim old mountain to stay, +But your love would soften its ruggedness, + And melt its roughness away. +I have seen a delicate rosy cloud, + A rough, gray cliff enfold, +Till his heart was warmed by its loveliness, + And his brow was tinged with its gold. + +Oh, poor and mean does my life show + Compared with the beauty of thine, +Like a diamond embedded in granite + Your life would be set in mine; +But a faithful love should guard you, + And shelter you from life's storm, +The rock must be shivered to atoms + Ere its treasure should come to harm. + +How your sweet face has shone on me + From the tropics' midnight sea, +When the sailors slept, and I kept watch + Alone with my God and thee. +I know your heart is relenting, + The tender look in your eyes +Seems like that sky's soft splendor + When the sun was beginning to rise. + +You need not veil their glorious light + With your eyelids' cloud of snow, +A tell-tale bird with a crimson wing + On your cheek flies to and fro; +And whispers to me such blissful hope + That my foolish tears will start, +Ah, little bird! your fluttering wing + Is folded on my heart. + + + +IONE. + + +I might strive as well to melt to softness the soulless breast + Of some fair and saintly image, carven out of stone, +With my smile, as to stir you heart from its icy rest, + Or win a tender glance from your royal eyes, Ione; +But your sad smile lures me on, as toward some fatal rock + Is the fond wave drawn, but to break with passionate moan. +Break! to be spurned from its cold feet with a stony shock, + As you would spurn my suppliant heart from your feet, Ione. + +Ione, there is a grave in the churchyard under the hill, + The villagers shun like the unblest haunt of a ghost, +Dropped there out of a dark spring night, I remember still, + For a foreign ship had anchored that night on the coast; +On the gray stone tablet is written this one word "Rest." + Did he who sleeps underneath seek for it vainly here? +What is the secret hidden there in the buried breast, + The secret deeper sunken by dripping rains each year. + +When autumn's bending boughs and harvests burdened the ground + An early laborer, chancing to pass that way alone, +Saw a small glove gleaming whitely upon the mound, + And into the delicate wrist was woven "Ione," +And he said as he dropped it again his eye did mark-- + For this unknown, unhallowed grave had been shunned by all-- +A narrow footpath winding through to the lofty wall, + That guards the wild grandeur and gloom of your father's park. + +'Tis well to put small faith in a simple rustic's eye, + This story your father heard, and haughtily denied, +The grass waves rankly now, and gives the fellow the lie, + How many secrets the tall, deceitful grasses hide, +Patting the turf that covers a maiden's innocent rest, + And creeping and winding old haunted ruins among, +As silently smooth's the mould above the murdered breast, + Smothering down to deeper silence a buried wrong. + +In your father's gallery once, I saw your pictured face, + Ione you were not always so sad and pale as this, +No beauty in all the long line of your noble race + Had eyes so softly bathed in bright bewitchment of bliss, +You were just nineteen, they said--it was painted in Spain + The year before you came--it was on your foreign tour, +By an artist too low to be reached by your disdain, + A delicate, passionate-hearted boy, proud and poor. + +So said the rumors floating to us across the sea, + You had only an invalid mother with you there, +I fancy that then you set your heart's pure feelings free + For the first time, far from your proud old father's care, +For you used to wander down the shaded garden ways, + Your slight hand closely clasped by the fair-haired + English youth, +His blue eyes bent on your blushing face, so rumor says, + Though such light birds are not to be trusted much in truth. + +Your face is not the face that looked from the antique frame, + Ione, and even that is gone from the oaken wall; +That picture that never was painted for gold or fame, + So vowed the artist friend who went with me to the hall; +But the pain on your white brow sits regally I ween, + The smile on your perfect lips is perilously sweet, +My slavish glances crown you my love, my fate, my queen, + As you pass in peerless beauty adown the village street. + + + +SUMMER DAYS. + + +Like emerald lakes the meadows lie, + And daisies dot the main; +The sunbeams from the deep blue sky + Drop down in golden rain, +And gild the lily's silver bell, + And coax buds apart, +But I miss the sunshine of my youth, + The summer of my heart. + +The wild birds sing the same glad song + They sang in days of yore; +The laughing rivulet glides along, + Low whispering to the shore, +And its mystic water turns to gold + The sunbeam's quivering dart, +But I miss the sunshine of my youth, + The summer of my heart. + +The south wind murmurs tenderly + To the complaining leaves; +The Flower Queen gorgeous tapestry + Of rose and purple weaves. +Yes, Nature's smile, the wary while, + Wears all its olden truth, +But I miss the sunshine of my heart, + The summer of my youth. + + + +THE LADY CECILE. + + +Sitting alone in the windy tower, + While the waves leap high, or are low at rest, +What does she think of, hour by hour, + With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, + And a fresh white rose on her withered breast, +What does she think of, hour by hour? + The Lady Cecile. + +Low under the lattice, day by day, + White homeward sails like swallows come, +But the sad eyes look afar and away, + And the sailors' songs as they near their home, + No glance may win, for she sitteth dumb, +With her sad eyes looking afar and away, + The Lady Cecile. + +Just forty years has she dwelt alone + With an ancient servant, grim and gray, +Sat alone under sun and moon; + But once each year, on the third of June, + She treads the creaking staircase down, +But back in her tower with the dying day, + Is the Lady Cecile. + +Beneath the tower of the lonesome hall, + Stone stairs creep down where the slow tide flows, +There, out of a niche in the mouldering wall, + Low leaneth a royal tropical rose: + Who set it there none cares, nor knows, +Long years ago in the mouldering wall, + But the Lady Cecile. + +But each third of June as the sun dips low, + She descends the stairs to the water's verge, +And plucks a rose from the lowest bough + Which the lapping waves almost submerge, + And what forms out of the deep, resurge +To vex her, maybe, with mournful brow, + Knows the Lady Cecile. + +Her locks are sown with silver hairs, + And the face they shroud is pale and wan; +Once it was sweet as the rose she wears, + Though the perfect lips wore a proud disdain! + But the rose-face paled by time and pain, +No new springs know, like the flower she wears, + The Lady Cecile. + +Why does she set the fresh white rose + So faithfully over her silent breast? +And what her thoughts are nobody knows, + She sits with her secret hid, unguessed, + With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, +So the slow years come, and the slow year goes, + O'er the Lady Cecile. + +Forty years! and June the third + Came with a storm--loud the winds did blow-- +And up in her tower the lady heard + The deep waves calling her far below; + Wild they leaped and surged, wild the winds did blow, +And, listening alone, she thought she heard + "Cecile! Cecile!" + +And, wrapping her cloak round her withered form, + She crept down the stairs of crumbling stone; +Higher and fiercer raged the storm + As she bent and plucked the rose--but one + Had the tempest spared--and the winds did moan, +And she thought that she heard o'er the voice of the storm, + "Cecile! Cecile!" + +She placed the rose on her bloodless breast, + And dizzy and faint she reached the tower, +And her strange eyes looked out again on the west, + And a wave dashed up, as she looked from the tower, + Like a hand, and lifted the roots of the flower, +And swept it--carried it out to the west, + From the Lady Cecile. + +And like death was her face, when suddenly, + Strangely--a tremulous golden gleam +Pierced the pile of clouds, high-massed and gray, + And the shining, quivering, golden beam + Seemed a bridge of light--a gold highway +Thrown o'er the wild waves of the bay; + And the Lady Cecile + +Did eagerly out of her lattice lean + With her glad eyes bent on that bridge gold-bright, +As if some form by her rapt eyes seen, + Were beckoning her down that path of light, + That quivering, shining, led from sight, +Ending afar in the sunset sheen. + And the Lady Cecile + +Cried with her lips that erst were dumb + "See! am I not true? your flower I wore," +And her thin hand eagerly touched the flower, + "He is smiling upon me! yes, love, I come." + And a pleasant light, like the light of home, +Lit her eyes, and life and pain were o'er + To the Lady Cecile. + + + +HOME. + + +A spirit is out to-night! + His steeds are the winds; oh, list, +How he madly sweeps o'er the clouds, + And scatters the driving mist. + +We will let the curtains fall + Between us and the storm; +Wheel the sofa up to the hearth, + Where the fire is glowing warm. + +Little student, leave your book, + And come and sit by my side; +If you dote on Tennyson so, + I'll be jealous of him, my bride. + +There, now I can call you my own! + Let me push back the curls from your brow, +And look in your dark eyes and see + What my bird is thinking of now. + +Is she thinking of some high perch + Of freedom, and lofty flight? +You smile; oh, little wild bird, + You are hopelessly bound to-night! + +You are bound with a golden ring, + And your captor, like some grim knight, +Will lock you up in the deepest cell + Of his heart, and hide you from sight. + +Sweetheart, sweetheart, do you hear far away + The mournful voice of the sea? +It is telling me of the time + When I thought you were lost to me. + +Nay, love, do not look so sad; + It is over, the doubt and the pain; +Hark! sweet, to the song of the fire, + And the whisper of the rain. + + + +STEPS WE CLIMB. + +I. + +Like idle clouds our lives move on, +By change and chance as idly blown; +Our hopes like netted sparrows fly, +And vainly beat their wings and die. +Fate conquers all with stony will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +II. + +No! change and chance are slaves that wait +On Him who guides the clouds, not fate, +But the High King rules seas and sun, +He conquers, He, the Mighty One. +So powerless, 'neath that changeless will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +III. + +As a young bird fallen from its nest +Beats wildly the kind hand against +That lifts it up, so tremblingly +Our hearts lie in God's hand, as He +Uplifts them by His loving will, +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + +IV. + +Uplifts them to a perfect peace, +A rest beyond all earthly ease, +'Neath the white shadow of the throne-- +Low nest forever overshone +By tenderest love, our Lord's dear will; +Oh, heart, be still--be still! + + + +SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. + + +The Squire was none of your common men + Whose ancestors nobody knows, +But visible was his lineage + In the lines of his Roman nose, +That turned in the true patrician curve-- + In the curl of his princely lips, +In his slightly insolent eyelids, + In his pointed finger-tips. + +Very erect and grand looked the Squire + As he walked o'er his broad estate, +For he felt that the earth was honored + In bearing his honorable weight; +Proudly he strolled through his wooded park + Deer-haunted and gloomily grand, +Or gazed from his pillared porticoes + On his far-outlying land. + +In a tiny whitewashed cottage, + Half-covered with roses wild, +His cheerful-faced old gardener dwelt + Alone with his motherless child; +The Squire owned the very floor he trod, + The grass in his garden lot, +The poor man had only this one little lamb + Yet he envied the rich man not. + +Poor was the gardener, yet rich withal + In this priceless pearl of a girl, +So perfect a form, so faultless a face + Never brightened the halls of an Earl; +Her eyes were two fathomless stars of light, + And they shone on the Squire day by day, +Till their warm and perilous splendor + So melted his pride away, + +That he fain would have taken this pretty pet lamb + To dwell in his stately fold, +To fetter it fast with a jeweled chain, + And cage it with bars of gold; +But this coy little lamb loved its freedom, + Not so free was she, though, to be true, +But, oh, the dainty and shy little lamb + Well her master's voice she knew. + +'Twas vain for the Squire the story to tell + Of his riches and high descent, +As it fell into one rosy shell of an ear + Out of its mate it went; +How one grim old ancestor into the land + With William the Conqueror came, +She thought, the sweet, of a conqueror + She knew with that very name. + +So in this tender conflict + The great man was forced to yield +To the handsome, sunburnt ploughman + Who sowed and reaped in his field; +For vainly he poured out his glittering gifts, + Vainly he plead and besought, +Her heart was a tender and soft little heart, + But it was not a heart to be bought. + +So strange a thing I warrant you + Happens not every day, +That the pride that had thriven for centuries + One slight little maiden should slay; +Why the proud Squire's Roman features + Quivered and burned with shame, +And the picture of his grim ancestor + Blushed in its antique frame. + +Were this a romance, an idle tale, + The Squire would sicken and die, +Slain by the pitiless cruelty, + Of her dark and dazzling eye; +And she in some shadowy convent + Would bow her beautiful head, +But the hand that should have told penitent beads + Wore a plain gold ring instead. + +And he, not twice had his oak trees bloomed + Ere he wedded a lady grand, +Whose tall and towering family tree, + Had for ages darkened the land; +'Twas a famous genealogical tree, + With no modernly thrifty shoots, +But a tree with a sap of royalty + Encrusting its mossy old roots. + +This leaf he plucked from the outmost twig + Was somewhat withered, 'tis true, +Long years had flown since it lightly danced + To the summer air and the dew; +Not much of a dowry brought she, + In beauty or vulgar pelf, +But she had two or three ancestors + More than the Squire himself. + +'Twas much to muse o'er their musty names, + And to think that his children's brains +Should be moved by the sanguine current, + That had flown through such ancient veins; +But I think, sometimes, in his secret heart, + The Squire breathed woeful sighs +For the fresh sweet face of the little maid, + With the dark and wonderful eyes. + +But she, no bird ever sang such songs + To its mate from contented nest, +As this wee waiting wife, when the twilight + Was treading the glorious west; +As she looked through the clustering roses, + For the manly form that would come +Up through the cool green evening fields + To this sweet little wife and home. + +She could see the great stone mansion + Towering over the oaks' dark green, +And the lawn like emerald velvet, + Fit for the feet of a queen; +But round this brown-eyed princess, + Did Love his ermine fold, +Queen was she of a richer realm, + She had dearer wealth than gold. + + + +ROSES OF JUNE. + + +She sat in the cottage door, and the fair June moon looked down + On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face and sweet + As the roses dewy white that grow so thick at her feet, +White royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. + +And one is clasped in her slender hand, and one on her bosom lies, + And two rare blushing buds loop up her light brown hair, + Ah, roses of June, you never looked on a face so white and fair, +Such perfectly moulded lips, such sweet and heavenly eyes. + +This low-walled home is dear to her, she has come to it to-day + From the lordly groves of her palace home afar, + But not to stay; there's a light on her brow like the light + of a star, +And her eyes are looking beyond the earth, far, far away. + +She was born in this cottage home, the sweetest rosebud of spring, + And grew with its flowers, the fairest blossom of all, + Till her friends ambitiously said she would grace + the kingliest hall, +And flattery breathed on her ear its passionate whispering. + +A man of riches and taste saw the maiden's face, + And thought her beauty would grace his stately southern home, + So he took her there, with pictures from France, and + statues from Rome, +And marvellous works of art from many an ancient place. + +He decked her in costly attire, and showed her beauty with pride + As for sympathy and love, what need of these had she? + He had placed her amidst the choicest treasures of land and sea, +His marble Hebe never complained, and why should his bride? + +He had polished the beautiful unknown gem and set it in gold, + He had given her his name and his wealth, what more + could she ask? + When all other gifts were hers, it were surely an easy task +Her pleading spirit's restless wings to fold. + +The wise world called her blest, so heart be still, + She had beauty, and splendor, and youth, and a husband + calmly kind, + And crowds of flattering friends her lofty mansion lined, +And dark-browed slaves awaited her queenly will. + +Why should she dream of the past, of the days of old, + Of her childhood home, and more oft of the home of the dead, + Of the grave where she went alone the night before she was wed, +And knelt, with her pure cheek pressed to the marble cold? + +It was not sin, she said, that those eyes of darkest blue + Haunted her dreams more wildly from day to day, + Since they looked on Heaven now, and she was so far away, +She could love the dead and still be to the living true. + +She could think of him, the one who loved her best, + Of him who true had been if all the world deceived, + Who felt all grief with her when she was grieved, +And shared each joy that thrilled her girlish breast. + +It was not sin that she heard that voice, gentle and deep, + And the echo of a name--it was cut in marble now-- + So it was not sin, she said, as she breathed it low +In the midnight hour when all but she were asleep. + +But she wearier grew of pride and pomp, like a home sick child + she pined, + And paler grew her cheek, as worn with a wearing pain, + She said the fresh free country air would seem so sweet again, +So she went to her childhood home, as a pilgrim goes to a shrine, + +And she looked down the orchard path and the meadow's clover bloom; + She stood by the stone-walled well that had mirrored her face + when a child, + She saw where the robins built, and her roses clambered wild, +And lingered lost in thought in each low and rustic room. + +And she sat in the cottage door while the fair June moon + looked down + On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face, and sweet + As the roses wet with dew that grew so thick at her feet, +White, royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. + +But at night, when silence and sleep on the lonely hamlet fell + Like a spirit clad in white through the graveyard gate + she passed, + And the stars bent down to hear, "I have come to you, love, + at last," +While through the valley solemnly sounded the midnight bell. + +And her southern birds will wait her coming in vain, + Their starry eyes impatiently pierce the palm-trees' shade, + And her roses droop in their bowers, alone they'll wither + and fade. +Roses of June you are gone, but we know you will blossom again. + + + +MAGDALENA. + + +Who falsely called thee destroyer, still white Angel of Death? + Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou, +For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath, + And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow. + +Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of woe, + The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years, +The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame from her brow + Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace. + +I fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's gown + Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch + the red of the skies +On the old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun + went down, + With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the west + in her eyes. + +"An outcast vile and lost," you say, yes, she went astray, + Astray, when the crimson wine of life ran fresh and wild, +With mother's tender hand no more on her brow, put away + The grasses beneath, and she was alone and almost a child. + +Like a kid decoyed to its death, the stealthy panther lures, + Mocking the voice of its dam, thus he led the innocent child +Through her tenderness down to ruin, he is a friend of yours, + And admired by all; as you say, "men will be wild." + +But I wonder if God, so far above on His great white throne + The clanging tumult of trouble and doubt that mortals vex; +When the murmur of a crime sweeps up from earth with woeful moan, + If He pauses, ere He condemns, to ask the offender's sex. + +And if so, whether the weaker or stronger He blames the most, + The tempter or tempted a tithe of His tender compassion claims, +Whether the selfish or too unselfish, those who through love + or lust are lost, + He in His infinite wisdom and mercy most condemns. + +Frown not, I know her evil our womanly nature shuns, + Turns from, with shuddering horror; but now so low is her head +For God's sake, woman, remember your own little ones + Lying safely at home in their snow-white sheltered bed. + +Your own little girls, for them does the flame of your anger burn, + "Such creatures will draw down innocence into guilt and woe." +I think from eternity vast she will scarcely return + To entice them to sin, you can safely forgive her now. + +"You will not countenance wrong, but fiercely war for the right + Even unto the bitter death." Very good, you should do so, +But, my friend, if your own secret thought had blossomed to light + In temptation, you might have been in this outcast's place, + you know. + +So let us be pitiful, grateful that God's strong hand + Has held our own, and the tale of a woman's despair +And penitent sin, He stooped and wrote in the perishing sand; + We carve the record in stone, weak, sinful souls that we are. + +In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close + to the sorrowful wave, + With its voice no longer moaning to her a despairing call, +But a dirge deploring and deep; we will make her grave, + With healing grasses above her, and God over all. + + + +MY ANGEL. + + +Last night she came unto me, + And kneeling by my side, +Laid her head upon my bosom, + My beautiful, my bride; +My lost one, with her soft dark eyes, + And waves of sunny hair. +I smoothed the shining tresses, +With tearful, fond caresses, + And words of thankful prayer. + +And then a thrill of doubt and pain, + My jealous heart swept o'er; +We were parted--she was dwelling + Upon a far-off shore; +Yet He who made my sad heart, knew + I loved her more and more; +My love more true and perfect grew, + As each dark day passed o'er; +But she whose heart had been my own, + Who loved me tenderly, +Whose last low words I knelt to hear, + Were, "How can I leave thee?" + +And "Death would seem as sweet as life, + Could we together be." +Now, though we two were parted + By such a distance wide, +By such a strange and viewless realm, + By such a boundless tide, +Her gentle face was radiant + With a surpassing bliss; +She was happier in that distant land, + Than she ever was in this. +And in some other tenderness, + Some other love divine, +She had found a peace and happiness, + She never found in mine. + +So with a tender chiding, + I could not quite suppress, +Though well my darling knew + I would not make her pleasures less. +"Are you happy, love?" I said, + "Are you happy, love, without me?" +Then she raised her gentle head, + And twined her arms about me; +Yet while my tears fell faster, + Beneath her mute caress, +Her face had all the glory + Of a sainted soul at rest; +And her voice was sweet as music, + "I am happy--I am blest." + +"Do you know how lonely-hearted + I have been each weary day, +Praying that each passing hour + Would bear my life away, +That we might be united + Upon that distant shore?" + +"Laurence, we are not parted, + I am with your evermore." + +"I cannot see you, darling, + Your face I cannot see." + +"Can you see the moon's white fingers, + That leads the pleading sea? +Can you see the fragrance lingering + Where summer roses be? +The soft winds tender clasping, + The close-enwrapping air +Enfolding you--Oh, Laurence, + I am with you everywhere." + +Then while her face grew brighter + As with a heavenly glow, +In tenderness unspeakable, + She kissed my lips and brow; +Then I lost her--then she left me, + As at the set of day +The snowy clouds float outward, + And melt in light away. +I heard low strains of melody + No earthly choir could sing, +A light breath floated past me, + As from a gliding wing; +And on my darkened spirit + There fell so bright a gleam, +I knew the blessed vision + Was not in truth a dream; +Though death had won from my embrace, + My beautiful, my bride, +I had won a richer treasure, + An angel by my side. + +The Father careth for us all + In pity, and I know +My love is not forever gone + From him who loved her so; +When a few more days have drifted + Their shadows over me, +When the golden gates are lifted, + My angel I shall see; +Her veiled face in its glory + Upon my gaze will rise, +And Heaven will shine upon me + Through the sweetness of her eyes. + + + +GRIEF. + + +What though the Eden morns were sweet with song + Passing all sweetness that our thought can reach; +Crushing its flowers noon's chariot moved along + In brightness far transcending mortal speech; +Yet in the twilight shades did God appear, +Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near. + +Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease + And grants indulgences to pride of word, +Robing our soul in pomp and vanities, + Ah! no fit dwelling for our gentle Lord; +Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin, +And so our Lord will deign to enter in. + +Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong, + We walk more softly, with more reverent feet-- +As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue, + And in the holy quiet, solemn, sweet, +We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low, +So we can bless Him that He gave us woe. + +What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove + For the past peril of the stormy sea; +Dear from grief's storm the haven of His love, + And so He bringeth us where we would be; +We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast, +Who shall make trouble when He giveth rest? + + + +WILD OATS. + + +Oh gay young husbandmen would you be sure of a crop + Upspringing rankly, an abundant and bountiful yield? + Go forth in the morning, and sow on your life's broad field +This pleasantly odorous seed, then smooth the ground on top, + Or leave it rough, with the utmost undeceit, +Never you fear, it will thriftily thrive and grow, + Loading the harvest plain beneath your feet, +With the ripened sheaves of shame, remorse, and woe. + +You have but to sow the seed, no care will it want, + For he who soweth tares while the husbandman sleeps + Taketh unwearied pains, a vigilant guard he keeps +Tirelessly watching, and tending each evil plant. +These are his pleasure gardens, leased to him through time + Where he walketh to and fro, chanting a demon song; + Tending with ghastly fingers, the scarlet buds of wrong, +And drinking greedily in the sweet perfume of crime. + +And of all the seeds, the one that thriftiest thrives + Is the color of ruby wine, when it flashes high-- + Who would think the tiny seed so fair to the eye +Could cast such a deadly shade over countless lives, +And branch out into murder in one springing shoot; + Thrifty branches of sin, bristling with thorns of woe + Shadowing graves where broken hearts lie low, +And minds that were God-like lowered beneath the brute. + + + +AUTUMN. + + +How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, + What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous air; +A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depth of the silent wood, + And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, +Thrilling my being through with its bitter, bitter cry-- +"It were better to die, it were better to die." + +For she, my love, my fate, she sat by my side + On a fallen oak, her cheek all flushed with a bashful shame, +Telling me what her innocent heart had hid-- + "For was not I her brother, her dear brother, all but in name." +I listened to her low words, but turned my face away-- +Away from her eyes' soft light, and the mocking light of the day. + +"He was noble and proud," she said, "and had chosen her from all + The haughty ladies, and great; she didn't deserve her lot." +I knew her peer could never be found in palace or hall, + And my white face told my thought, but she saw it not. +She was crushing some scarlet leaves in her dainty fingers of snow, +Her maiden joy crowning her face with a radiant glow. + +"She had wanted me to know," and then a smile and a blush; + Her smile was always just like a baby's smile, and the red +Came to her cheek at a word or a glance--then there fell a hush. + She was waiting some word from me, I knew, so I said, +"May Heaven bless you both"--words spoken full quietly, +And she, God bless her, never knew how much they cost to me. + +How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, + What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumbrous air; +A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depths of the silent wood, + And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, +Thrilling my being through with its desolate, desolate cry-- +"It were better to die, it were better to die." + +The white dawn follows the darkness; out of the years' decay + Shineth the golden fire that gildeth the autumn with light; +From another's sin and loss, cometh this good to me, + By another's fall am I raised to this blissful height. +"Let me be humble," said my heart, as from her sweet lips fell, +"Let a prayer for him arise, with the sound of our marriage bell." + + + +THE FAIREST LAND. + + +'Twas a bleak dull moor that stretched before +The low stone porch of the cottage door, +And standing there was youth and maid, +He for long journeying seemed arrayed, +And the sunset flamed in the burnished west, +And a proud throb beat in the young man's breast, +As he whispered, "Sweet, will you come to me +In that fairer land beyond the sea?" + +"The wonderful western land; in dreams +I have seen its prairies green, and gleams +Of its shining waterfalls, valleys fair, +And a voice in my dreams has called me there +Where man is a man, and not a clod, +And must bend the knee to none but God. +A home will I make for thee and me +In that fairer land beyond the sea." + +"But the cruel seas where the fated ships +Go down to their doom"--But he kissed the lips-- +The trembling lips, till they smiled again, +And his bright hopes cheered her heart's dull pain, +And she laid her head on his hopeful breast, +And looked with him to the glowing west, +And said, "I will come, I will come to thee +To that fairer land beyond the seas." + +And the crimson light changed to daffodil-- +To ashen gray, but they stood there still, +And high o'er the west shone the evening star +As still he pictured that home afar-- +"The peace and the bliss our own at last +When this dreary parting all is past, +When my heart's dear love, you come to me +In that fairer land beyond the sea." + +So he sailed; but saddest 'tis alway +Not for those who go, but for those who stay; +And her sweet eyes gathered a shadow dim +As days went by with no news of him, +And weeks and months, but at last it came, +As the gray moor shone with the sunset flame +Her quick eyes glanced the strange lines o'er, +Then she fell like dead on the cottage floor. + +'Twas a stranded ship on a rocky coast, +One true heart brave, when hope was lost, +How he toiled till all the shore had gained, +And only a baby form remained +On ship, how he breasted the surging tide +With Death a-wrestling side by side, +How he lifted the child to its mother's knee, +As a great wave washed him out to sea. + +And for days the maid in the cottage door +Sat and looked o'er the dreary moor, +Her cheeks grew white 'neath her blinding tears, +And the sunset rays seemed cruel spears +That pierced her heart; and ashen gray +Turned the earth and sky, the night, the day; +But at last a star shone high above-- +The tender star of the heavenly love. + +For as her life ebbed day by day, +The High Countrie, the Fair alway, +Rose 'fore her eyes, the safe, sweet home, +And she seemed to hear, "Love, will you come?" +And so one eve when a bridge of gold +Seemed spanning the last sea dim and cold, +She went to him, for aye to be +In the fairest land beyond the sea. + + + +THE MESSENGER. + + +Is his form hidden by some cliff or crag, + Or does he loiter on the shelving shore? +We know not, though we know he waits for us, + Somewhere upon the road that lies before. + +And when he bids us we must follow him, + Must leave our half-drawn nets, our houses, lands, +And those we love the most, and best, ah they + In vain will cling to us with pleading hands! + +He will not wait for us to gird our robes, + And be they white as saints, or soiled and dim, +We can but gather them around our form, + And take his icy hand and follow him. + +Oh! will our palm cling to another palm + Loath, loath to loose our hold of love's warm grasp. +Or shall we free our hand from the hand of grief, + And reach it gladly out to meet his clasp? + +Sometimes I marvel when we two shall meet, + When I shall hear that stealthy step, and see +The unseen form that haunteth mortal dreams, + The stern-browed face, the eyes of mystery. + +Shall I be waiting for some wished-for wealth, + Impatient, by the shore of a purple sea? +But when the vessel's keel grates on the sand, + Will HE lean down its side and call to me? + +Shall I in thymy pastures cool and sweet + See the lark soaring through the rosy air? +Ah, then, will his dark face look down on me, + 'Neath the white splendor of the morning star. + +Shall I be resting from the noonday blaze, + In the rich summer of a blossoming land, +And idly glancing through the lotus leaves, + Behold the shadow of his beckoning hand? + +Or in some inland village, shaded deep, + With silence brooding o'er the quiet place, +Shall I look from some lattice crowned with flowers, + In the calm twilight and behold his face? + +Or shall I over such a lonely way, + Beset with fears, my weary footsteps wend, +So desolate, that I shall greet his face + With joy as a desired and welcome friend? + +Oh, little matters it when we shall meet, + Upon the quiet shore, or on the sea, +If he shall lead us to the golden gate, + Dear Lord, if he shall lead us unto Thee. + + + +SLEEP. + + +Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night, + Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, +Come with your train of handmaids bright, + Blessed and beautiful dreams. + +Bring the exile to his home again, + Let him catch the gleam of its low white wall; +Let his wife cling to his neck and weep, + And his children come at their father's call. + +Give to the mother the child she lost, + Laid from her heart to a clay-cold bed; +Let its breath float over her tear-wet cheek, + And her cold heart warm 'neath its bright young head. + +Take the sinner's hand and lead him back + To his sinless youth and his mother's knee; +Let him kneel again 'neath her tender look, + And murmur the prayer of his infancy. + +Lead the aged into that wondrous clime, + Home of their youth and land of their bliss; +Let them forget in that beautiful world, + The sin and the sorrow of this. + +And gently lead my love, my own, + Tenderly clasp her snow-white hand, +Wrap her in garments of soft repose, + And lead her into your mystic land. + +Let your fairest handmaids bow at her feet, + Her path o'er your loveliest roses be; +And let all the flowers with their perfumed lips + Whisper of me--of me. + +Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night, + Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, +Come with your train of handmaids bright, + Blessed and beautiful dreams. + + + +THE SONG OF THE SIREN. + + +Oh, I am the siren, the siren of the sea, + The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before; +I stand a fairy shape upon the shadow of a cliff + Where the water's drowsy ripple laps the phantom of a shore, +And, oh, so fair, so fair am I, I draw all hearts to me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +All the glory of my golden tresses gleams upon the air, + How it falls about my snowy shoulders, round and bare and white; +My lips are full of love as rounded grapes are full of wine, + And my eyes are large and languid, and full of dewy light; +Oh, I lure the idle landsmen many a league for love of me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +Sometimes they press so near that my breath is on their cheek, + And their eager hands can almost touch the glowing bowl I bear, +They can see the beaded froth, the ruby glitter of the wine, + Then I slip from their embraces like a breath of summer air; +Oh, I lightly, lightly glide away, they come no nigher me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + +Sometimes I float along a-standing in a boat, + Before the ships becalmed, where dusky sailors stand, +And the helmsman drops his oar, and the lookout leaves his glass, + So I beckon them, and lure them, with the whiteness of my hand; +Oh, this the song I sing, well they listen unto me? +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + + Would you from toil and labor flee, + Oh float ye out on this wonderful sea, + From islands of spice the zephyrs blow, + Swaying the galleys to and fro; + Silken sails and a balmy breeze + Shall waft you unto a perfect ease. + + Fold your hands and rest, and rest, + The sun sails on from the east to the west, + The days will come, and the days will go, + What good can man for his labor show + In passionless peace, come float with me + Over the waves of this wonderful sea. + + Would you forget, oh sorrowful soul, + Come and drink of this golden bowl, + With jewelled poppies about the rim, + Drink of the wine that flushes its brim, + And drown all your haunting memories there, + Your woe and your weary care. + +Oh, I am the siren, the siren of the sea, + The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before; +Oh, the mystic music ripples, how they break in rosy spray, + But the crystal wave will mock them, they will reach it + nevermore, +For it glides away, I glide away, they come no nigher me, +For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. + + + +EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. + + +I. + +There's a tear in your eye, little Sybil, + Gathering large and slow; +Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, + What are you thinking of now? + +Push back the velvet curtains + That darken the lonely room, +For shadows peer out of the crimson depths, + And the statues gleam white in the gloom. + +How the cannons' thunder rolls along, + And shakes the lattice and wall, +Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, + What if your father should fall? + +The smoky clouds sweep up from the field + And darken the earth and sea, +"God save him! God save him!" + Wherever he may be. + + +II. + +Oh, pretty dark-eyed bird of the South, + With your face so mournful and white +There is many a little Northern girl + That is breathing that prayer to-night. + +There's a little girl on the hills of Maine + Looking out through the fading light, +She looks down the winding path, and says, + "He will surely come to-night!" + +The table is set, the lamp is trimmed, + The fire has a ruddy glow +That streams like a beacon down the path, + To the dusky valley below. + +There is smiling hope on the pretty face + Pressed so close to the pane, +And her eyes are like blue violets + After a summer rain. + + +III. + +How you tremble, little Sybil, + At the cannons' dreadful sound, +Did you see far away, the fallen steed, + And its rider prone on the ground? + +The dark brown locks so low in the dust, + The scarf with a crimson stain-- +Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil, + He will not come back again. + + +IV. + +Right gallantly and well he fought + Hand to hand with as brave a foe, +Their faces hid by the nodding plumes, + And the dense clouds hanging low. + +Did they think, these hot-blooded captains, + That Death was so close by their side, +When Howard has fallen, the bravest-- + Rung out on the air far and wide. + +"Howard?" His foeman kneels by his side, + And raises his head to his knee-- +Oh, God! that brothers should part in youth, + And thus should their meeting be. + +Unheard is the deafening battle roar, + Unseen is that dying look; +He hears but the sound of a childish laugh, + And the song of a Northern brook. + +He sees two white forms kneeling + In the twilight sweet and dim, +One low couch angel-guarded, + By a mother's evening hymn. + + +V. + +The Angel of Death came down with the night, + Came down with the gathering gloom; +God pity the little dark-eyed girl, + Alone in the lonely room. + +But still by his side his brother kneels, + Chill horror has frozen his veins; +He heeds not the glancing shower of shells, + That with red fire glitters and rains. + +And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge, + That sweeps like a billow on +To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight, + That man ever gazed upon! + +The last shot! What is one life + To the battle's gory gain? +But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid + Away on the hills of Maine! + + + +AWEARY. + + +The clouds that vex the upper deep + Stay not the white sail of the moon; +And lips may moan, and hearts may weep, + The sad old earth goes rolling on. + +O'er smiling vale, and sighing lake, + One shadow cold is overthrown; +And souls may faint, and hearts may break, + The sad old earth goes rolling on. + + + +TOO LOW. + + +"My house is thatched with violet leaves + And paved with daisies fine, +Scarlet berries droop over its eaves, + Tall grasses round it shine; +With softest down I have lined my nest, +Securely now will I sit and rest. + +"When their wings break from their silvery shell, + Touched by my tender care, +Here shall my little ones safely dwell, + Little ones soft and fair; +Some summer morn they shall try their wings +While their father sits by my side and sings." + +Hard by, just over the streamlet's edge + A great rock towered in might, +High up, half hidden in moss and sedge, + Were safe little nooks and bright; +Ah well for the bird with her tender breast, +Had she flown to the rock to build her nest! + +Poor bird, she built her nest too low; + Alas! for the bird, alas! +That she chose that spot to her woe + In the low dewy grass; +For the reaper came with his gleaming blade. +Alas for love in the violet shade! + + + +AT LAST. + + +What though upon a wintry sea our life bark sails, +What though we tremble 'neath its cruel gales, + Its icy blast; +We see a happy port lie far before, +We see its shining waves, its sunny shore, +Where we shall wander, and forget the troubled past, + At last. + +No storms approach that quiet shore, no night +Falls on its silver streams, and valleys bright, + And gardens vast; +Within that pleasant land of perfect peace +Our toil-worn feet shall stay, our wanderings cease; +There shall we, resting, all forget the past, + At last. + +The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness, +As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast, + Their bright plumes cast; +The griefs like mourners in a dark array, +That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away, +And leave us to forget the sorrowful past, + At last. + +Voices we loved sound from those far-off lands, +And thrill our hearts; life's golden sands + Are dropping fast; +Soon shall we meet by the river of peace, and say, +As the night flees before the eye of day, +So faded from our eyes the mournful past, + At last. + + + +TWILIGHT. + + +Draped in shadows stands the mountain + Against the eastern sky, +Above it the fair summer moon + Looks downward tenderly; +And Venus in the glowing west, + Opens her languid eye. + +Now the winds breathe softer music, + Half a song, and half a sigh; +While twilight wraps her purple veil + Around us silently, +And our thoughts appear like pictures, + Pictures shaded wondrously. + +Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely, + Silvery sea, and shadowy glade, +Forest lakes by man forsaken, + Where the white fawn's steps are stayed; +And contadinos straying + 'Neath the Pantheon's solemn shade. + +And we see the wave bridged over + By the moonlight's mystic link, +Desert wells by tall palms shaded, + Where dusky camels drink; +While dark-eyed Arab maidens + Fill their pitchers at the brink. + +And secluded convent chapels, + Where veiled nuns kneel to pray, +With a dim light streaming o'er them + Through arches quaint and gray, +While down the long and winding aisles + Low music dies away. + +There is a starry twilight + Of the soul, as sadly fair, +When our wild emotions are at rest, + Like the pale nuns at prayer; +And our griefs are hushed like sleepers, + And put off the robes of care. + + + +THE SEWING-GIRL. + + +I asked to see the dead man's face, + As I gave the servant my well-filled basket; +And she deigned to lead me, a wondrous grace, + Where he lay asleep in his rosewood casket. +I was only the sewing-girl, and he the heir to this + princely palace. + Flowers, white flowers, everywhere, +In odorous cross, and anchor, and chalice. + The smallest leaf might touch his hair; +But I--my God! I must stand apart, +With my hands pressed silently on my heart, +I must not touch the least brown curl; +For I was only the sewing-girl. + +If his stately mother knew what I know, + As she weeping stood by his side this morning, +Would she clasp me in motherly love and woe-- + Or drive me out in the cold with scorning? +If she knew that I loved him better than life, + Better than death; since for him I gave +My hopes of rest, that I faced life's strife, + And renounced the quiet and restful grave, +When his strong, true hand drew me back that day, + When woe, and want, and the want of pity +Drove me down where the cold waves lay + Like wolves round the walls of this cruel city. +"Not much?" would she say with her proud lip's curl-- +"Only the life of a sewing-girl?" + +Now love for me in his heart did linger-- + I saw the lady, his promised bride, +I saw his ring on her slender finger, + As she weeping stood by his mother's side. +That same ring shone, as he lifted me + Dripping and cold from the sea-waves bitter. +I had thought Heaven's light I next should see, + But earth's sun shone in its ruby glitter; +I had thought when I looked in the Lord's mild face, + That He would forgive my rashness and sin, +When He knew there was not a single place, + Not a place so small that I could creep in. +And I wanted a home, and I longed for love, +And God and mother were both above. +But he showed me my sin, and taught me to live, +Above this life of tumult and whirl, +Though I was only a sewing-girl. + +What shall I do with the life he won, + From death that day, in a hard-won battle? +Shall I lay it down e'er the rising sun + Looks down on the city's roar and rattle? +Shall I lay it down e'er the midnight dim +With horrible shadows is roofed and paved? + No, I will make it so pure and sweet, +That angels shall say with smiles to him, + When we meet above on the golden street: +"Behold the soul of her you saved." +Maybe it shall add to his crown one pearl, +Though only the soul of a sewing-girl. + + + +HARRY THE FIRST. + + +In his arm-chair, warmly cushioned, +In the quiet earned by labor, +Life's reposeful Indian summer, +Grandpa sits; and lets the paper +Lie upon his knee unheeded. +Shine his cheeks like winter apples, +Gleams his smile like autumn sunshine, +As he looks on little Harry, +First-born of the house of Graham, +Bravely cutting teeth in silence, +Cutting teeth with looks heroic. +Some deep thought seems moving Grandpa, +Ponders he awhile in silence, +Then he turns, and says to Grandma, +"Nancy, do you think that ever +There was such a child before?" + +Grandma, with prim precision +The seam-stitch impaleth deftly +On her sharp and glittering needle, +Then she turns and answers calmly, +With a deep assurance--"Never +Was there such a child before!" + +Papa thinks so, but in manly +Dignity controls his feelings; +More than half a year a father, +He must show a cool composure, +He must stately be if ever. +But his dark eyes plainly tell it, +Tell it, as he sayeth proudly, +"Papa's man is little Harry." + +Mamma, maybe, does not speak it, +But she prints the thought on velvet, +Rosy-hued, with fondest kisses, +When the pink, soft page is lying +Folded closely to her bosom. + +A little farther goes his auntie, +Aged fourteen--age of fancy; +She looks down the future ages +With her wise, prophetic vision; +Sees the babies pass before her, +Babies of the twentieth century, +All the long and dusty ages, +To the thousand years of glory. +Oh, the host of bright-eyed children, +Thronging like the stars at midnight, +Faces sweet and countless, as the +Rose-leaves of a thousand summers. +All the pretty heads so curly +That shall hold a riper wisdom +Than our youthful planet dreams of; +All the ranks of dimple shoulders, +That shall move Time's rolling chariot +Nearer to the golden city; +Vieweth these the blue-eyed prophet, +Still the oracle says calmly, +Speaks the seer with golden tresses-- +"No! there never was, nor will be +Such a child as our Harry, +Such a noble boy as Harry." + +Summer brings a wealth of flowers, +Flowers of every form and color, +Orange, crimson, royal purple, +All along the mountain passes, +All along the pleasant valley, +Low the emerald branches bendeth +With their weight of summer glory. + +But they do not waken in us +Half the tender, blissful feeling, +Half the pure and sweet emotion +As the first spring-flower in April, +With its lashes tinged with crimson, +Partly raised from eyes half-timid, +Fearful that the snow will drown it; +How we love the dainty blossom, +How we wear it in our bosom. + +Just so with the tree ancestral, +Many flowers may blossom on it, +But the first wee bud that's grafted, +To its heart, ah, how we love it; +Others may be loved as fondly, +But they are not loved so proudly, +Loved so blindly, so entirely. + +Yes, when first the heart's door opens +To the touch of baby fingers, +Quick the dimpled feet will bear them +To the dearest place and warmest +Plenty room enough for other +Buds of beauty, buds of promise, +In the heart's capacious chambers; +But the first is firmly settled-- +Little Harry's firmly settled +In the centre of affection; +Later ones must settle round him. + + + +THE CRIMINAL'S BETROTHED. + + +As on a waveless sea, a vessel strikes + Upon a treacherous rock; +Waking the sailors from their happy dreams + By the swift, terrible shock. + +Dreaming of shaded village streets, and home, + Forgetting the cruel sea +Till the shock came--so woke I, yet I know + 'Twas Love, I loved, not he. + +'Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps, + Only its form reflected in the stream; +'Tis not a broken heart I mourn, + Only a broken dream. + +I should have died when he was brought so low, + Had it been him I loved, +Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak + The ivy clings unmoved. + +'Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes + Burning with marvellous flame; +Love was the idol that I worshipped, though + I gave to it his name. + +I gave to Love his name, his glance, his brow, + His low-toned voice, his smile, +Oh, soul be patient; I can sever them + But yet a little while-- + +Before I put away these outward forms + Deceiving, sweet disguises, which Love wore +Let my heart break into regretful tears + Just once, and then no more. + +Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail + Bearing away a guest of truest worth, +They give this little time to grief, and then + Return to their desolate hearth, + +And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers, + Let the pure air into the vacant room, +So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all + Shall penetrate its gloom. + +I will be patient, in a little time + Quiet, and full of rest, +Gods's peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird, + Settle upon my breast. + +Not always thus shall beat my restless heart + Like a wild eagle 'gainst its prison-bars; +In some calm twilight of the future time + I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars. + + + +GONE BEFORE. + + + Smooth the hair; +Silken waves of sunny brown +Lay upon the white brow down, +Crowned with the blossoms rare; +Lilies on a golden stream, +Ne'er to float in summer air +Wreathed with meadow daisies fair. +Lay away the broken crown +And your broken dream, +With one shining tress of hair, +Nevermore to need your care. + + + +A WOMAN'S HEART. + + +My heart sings like a bird to-night +That flies to its nest in the soft twilight, + And sings in its brooding bliss; +Ah! I so low, and he so high, +What could he find to love? I cry, + Did ever love stoop so low as this? + +As a miser jealously counts his gold, +I sit and dream of my wealth untold, + From the curious world apart; +Too sacred my joy for another eye, +I treasure it tenderly, silently, + And hide it away in my heart. + +Dearer to me than the costliest crown +That ever on queenly forehead shone + Is the kiss he left on my brow; +Would I change his smile for a royal gem? +His love for a monarch's diadem? + Change it? Ah, no, ah, no! + +My heart sings like a bird to-night +That flies away to its nest of light + To brood o'er its living bliss; +Ah! I so low, and he so high, +What could he find to love? I cry, + Did ever love stoop so low as this? + + + +WARNING. + + +When enwrapped in rosy pleasure, + Our careless pulses beat, + With a rhythm sweet, sweet, +To the music's merry measure. + +When world waves rise around us, + With soft transparent weight, + Light in seeming, yet so great, +The liquid chains have bound us. + +Then softly downward falling, + If we listen, we can hear, + From a purer atmosphere, +A warning and a calling. + +'Tis not uttered to our ear, + To our spirit it is spoken, + In the wonderful, unbroken +Heavenly speech that spirits hear. + +Strange and solemn doth it roll + Downward like a yearning cry, + From that belfry far on high, +Warning, calling to our soul. + +Ever, ever, doth it roll, + Our angel guards the tower, + Ringing, ringing, every hour, +Warning, calling to our soul. + + + +GENIEVE TO HER LOVER. + + +I turn the key in this idle hour + Of an ivory box, and looking, lo-- +See only dust--the dust of a flower; + The waters will ebb, the waters will flow, +And dreams will come, and dreams will go, + Forever. + +Oh, friend, if you and I should meet + Beneath the boughs of the bending lime, +Should you in the same low voice repeat + The tender words of the old love rhyme, + It could not bring back the same old time, + Never. + +When you laid this rose against my brow, + I was quite unused to the ways of men, +With my trusting heart; I am wiser now, + So I smile, remembering my heart-throbs then, + The dust of a rose cannot blossom again, + Never. + +The brow that you praised has colder grown, + And hearts will change, I suppose they must, +A rose to be lasting, should blossom in stone, + Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, + Dead are the rose, the love, and the trust, + Forever. + + + +THE WILD ROSE. + + +In a waste of yellow sand, on the brow of a dreary hill, + A slight little slip of a rose struggled up to the light, +The seed maybe was sown there by the south wind's idle will, + But there it grew and blossomed, pale and white. +Only one flower it bore, and that was frail and small, +But I think it was brave to try to grow at all. + +In groves of fair Cashmere, or sheltered garden of kings, + Sweet with a thousand flowers, with birds of paradise +Fanning her blushing cheeks with their glowing wings, + Praising her deepening bloom with their great bright eyes, +Life would have been a pleasure instead of a toil, +To my pale little patient rose of the sandy soil. + +Did she ever sadly think of her wasted life, + Folding her wan weak hands so helpless and still; +And the great oak by her sheltering glad bird life, + And the thirsty meadows praising the running rill; +She could hear the happy work-day song of the busy brook, +While she, poor thing, could only stand and look. + +Did the wee white rose ever think of her lonely life, + That there were none to care if she tried to grow; +None to care if the cloud that hung in the west + Should burst, and scatter her pale leaves far and low? +Did she ever wish that the heavy cloud would fall +And hide her, so unblest, from the sight of all? + +One sky bends o'er rich garden flowers, and those + That dwell in barren soil, untended and unblest; +And I think that God was pleased with the small white rose, + That tried so patiently to live and do its best; +That bravely kept its small leaves pure and fair +On the waste of dreary sand, and the desert air. + + + +OUR BIRD. + + +She lay asleep, and her face shone white + As under a snowy veil, +And the waxen hands clasped on her breast + Were full of snowdrops pale; +But a holy calm touched the baby lips, + The brow, and the sleeping eyes, +The look of an angel pitying us + From the peace of Paradise. + +And now though she lies 'neath the coffin-lid, + We cannot think her dead; +But we think of her as of some delicate bird + To a milder country fled. +'Twas a long, dark flight for our gentle dove, + Our bird so tender and fair; +But we know she has reached the summer land + And folded her white wings there. + + + +THE TIME THAT IS TO BE. + + +I am thinking of fern forests that once did towering stand, +Crowning all the barren mountains, shading all the dreary land. + +Oh, the dreadful, quiet brooding, the solitude sublime, +That reigned like shadowy spectres o'er the third + great day of time. + +In long, low lines the tideless seas on dull gray shores did break, +No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or reedy lake-- + +No flowers perfumed the pulseless air, no stars, no moon, no sun +To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done. + +Only silence rising with the ghostly morning's misty light, +Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless night. + +And the ferns, and giant mosses, noiseless sentinels did stand, +Looking o'er the tideless ocean, watching o'er the dreary land. + +Ferns gave place to glowing olives, and clusters dropping wine, +Mosses changed to oaken tissues, and cleft to fragrant pine. + +Deft and noiseless fingers toiled, and wrought the great + Creator's plan, +Through countless ages moulding earth for the abode of man. + +Till each imperial day was bound by sunset's crimson bars, +The purple columns of the night crowned with the shining stars. + +The ripe fruit seeks the sunlight through all the clustering leaves +The earth is decked with golden maize, and costly yellow sheaves. + +Countless silent centuries passed in fashioning good + that doth appear, +Shall we weary and grow hopeless, waiting for the Golden Year? + + * * * * * + +Thy kingdom come, in which Thy will is done, + From myriad souls rises the yearning cry; +Scatter palm-boughs--behold, a brighter sun + Shall dawn in splendor, in a clearer sky; +Upon the distant hills a glow we see, +That tells us of the Time that is to be. + +The desert then shall blossom like the rose, + The almond flourish on the rocky slopes; +Wisdom and beauty in rare union close, + Making earth beautiful beyond our hopes. +High in the dusky east a star we see, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + +The free-born soul shall not be captive then, + Bound by decaying cords of narrow creeds, +God's image shall more clearly shine in men, + Divinely shaped by holy aims and deeds. +Gleam, golden star, oh gleam o'er earth and sea, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + +Fetters are broken, so the fern-leaves fall, + A richer growth is budding, wondrous fair, +The flower of liberty shall bloom for all, + And all shall breathe the healing of the air; +The blessed air that wraps a people free, +Within that glorious Time that is to be. + +For what is slavery but woe and crime, + And freedom is but liberty from these; +Oh perfect hours, ye come, fair and sublime, + Bearing the sweet form of the baby, Peace, +Shine, golden star, oh shine o'er earth and sea, +A herald of the Time that is to be. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Marietta Holley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 10216.txt or 10216.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/1/10216/ + +Produced by Mardi Desjardins + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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