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diff --git a/19096.txt b/19096.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0400bb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/19096.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3138 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Indian Legends and Other Poems, by Mary Gardiner Horsford + +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: Indian Legends and Other Poems + +Author: Mary Gardiner Horsford + +Release Date: August 21, 2006 [EBook #19096] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INDIAN LEGENDS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Lisa Reigel, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + + +INDIAN LEGENDS + +AND + +OTHER POEMS. + + + + +INDIAN LEGENDS + +AND + +Other Poems. + + +BY + +MARY GARDINER HORSFORD. + + +NEW YORK: +J. C. DERBY, 119 NASSAU STREET. + +BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO. +CINCINNATI: H. W. DERBY. + +1855. + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by +MARY GARDINER HORSFORD, +in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts. + + +HOLMAN & GRAY, Printers and Stereotypers. + + + + +TO MY FATHER, + +SAMUEL S. GARDINER, ESQ., + +This Volume is Inscribed, + +AS A + +SLIGHT TESTIMONIAL OF A DAUGHTER'S GRATITUDE + +AND AFFECTION. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +INDIAN LEGENDS. + + PAGE +THE THUNDERBOLT 11 + +THE PHANTOM BRIDE 16 + +THE LAUGHING WATER 23 + +THE LAST OF THE RED MEN 27 + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + +THE PILGRIM'S FAST 36 + +PLEURS 40 + +THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS 46 + +MY NATIVE ISLE 53 + +THE LOST PLEIAD 57 + +THE VESPER CHIME 60 + +THE MANIAC 68 + +THE VOICE OF THE DEAD 72 + +"A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM" 75 + +THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD 78 + +THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT 82 + +TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY 89 + +THE POET'S LESSON 92 + +MADELINE.--A LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK 95 + +THE DEFORMED ARTIST 104 + +THE CHILD'S APPEAL 110 + +THE DYING YEAR 115 + +SONG OF THE NEW YEAR 119 + +I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY 123 + +THE FALL OF JERUSALEM 126 + +THE FIRST LOOK 132 + +THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 135 + +MONA LISA 141 + +SPRING LILIES 145 + +LINES TO D. G. T., OF SHERWOOD 149 + +LITTLE KATE 152 + +A THOUGHT OF THE STARS 155 + +A MOTHER'S PRAYER 160 + +NOTES 165 + + + + +INDIAN LEGENDS. + + + + + THE THUNDERBOLT. + + There is an artless tradition among the Indians, related by Irving, + of a warrior who saw the thunderbolt lying upon the ground, with a + beautifully wrought moccasin on each side of it. Thinking he had + found a prize, he put on the moccasins, but they bore him away to + the land of spirits, whence he never returned. + + + Loud pealed the thunder + From arsenal high, + Bright flashed the lightning + Athwart the broad sky; + Fast o'er the prairie, + Through torrent and shade, + Sought the red hunter + His hut in the glade. + + Deep roared the cannon + Whose forge is the sun, + And red was the chain + The thunderbolt spun; + O'er the thick wild wood + There quivered a line, + Low 'mid the green leaves + Lay hunter and pine. + + Clear was the sunshine, + The hurricane past, + And fair flowers smiled in + The path of the blast; + While in the forest + Lay rent the huge tree, + Up rose the red man, + All unharmed and free. + + Bright glittered each leaf + With sunlight and spray, + And close at his feet + The thunder-bolt lay, + And moccasins, wrought + With the beads that shine, + Where the rainbow hangeth + A wampum divine. + + Wondered the hunter + What spirit was there, + Then donned the strange gift + With shout and with prayer; + But the stout forest + That echoed the strain, + Heard never the voice of + That red man again. + + Up o'er the mountain, + As torrents roll down, + Marched he o'er dark oak + And pine's soaring crown; + Far in the bright west + The sunset grew clear, + Crimson and golden + The hunting-grounds near: + + Light trod the chieftain + The tapestried plain, + There stood his good horse + He'd left with the slain; + Gone were the sandals, + And broken the spell; + A drop of clear dew + From either foot fell. + + Long the dark maiden + Sought, tearful and wide; + Never the red man + Came back for his bride; + With the forked lightning + Now hunts he the deer, + Where the Great Spirit + Smiles ever and near. + + + + + THE PHANTOM BRIDE. + + During the Revolutionary war, a young American lady was murdered, + while dressed in her bridal robe, by a party of Indians, sent by + her betrothed to conduct her to the village where he was encamped. + After the deed was done, they carried her long hair to her lover, + who, urged by a frantic despair, hurried to the spot to assure + himself of the truth of the tale, and shortly after threw himself, + in battle, on the swords of his countrymen. After this event, the + Indians were never successful in their warfare, the spectre of + their victim presenting itself continually between them and the + enemy. + + + The worn bird of Freedom had furled o'er our land + The shattered wings, pierced by the despot's rude hand, + And stout hearts were vowing, 'mid havoc and strife, + To Liberty, fortune, fame, honor, and life. + + The red light of Morning had scarcely betrayed + The sweet summer blossoms that slept in the glade, + When a horseman rode forth from his camp in the wood, + And paused where a cottage in loneliness stood. + The ruthless marauder preceded him there, + For the green vines were torn from the trellis-work fair, + The flowers in the garden all hoof-trodden lay, + And the rafters were black with the smoke of the fray: + But the desolate building he heeded not long, + Was it echo, the wind, or the notes of a song? + One moment for doubt, and he stood by the side + Of the dark-eyed young maiden, his long-promised bride. + Few and short were their words, for the camp of the foe + Was but severed from them, by a stream's narrow flow, + And her fair cheek grew pale at the forest bird's start, + But he said, as he mounted his steed to depart, + "Nay, fear not, but trust to the chief for thy guide, + And the light of the morrow shall see thee my bride." + Why faltered the words ere the sentence was o'er? + Why trembled each heart like the surf on the shore? + In a marvellous legend of old it is said, + That the cross where the Holy One suffered and bled + Was built of the aspen, whose pale silver leaf, + Has ever more quivered with horror and grief; + And e'er since the hour, when thy pinion of light + Was sullied in Eden, and doomed, through a night + Of Sin and of Sorrow, to struggle above, + Hast thou been a trembler, O beautiful Love! + + 'T was the deep hush of midnight; the stars from the sky + Looked down with the glance of a seraph's bright eye, + When it cleaveth in vision from Deity's shrine + Through infinite space and creation divine, + As the maiden came forth for her bridal arrayed, + And was led by the red men through forest and shade, + Till they paused where a fountain gushed clear in its play, + And the tall pines rose dark and sublime o'er their way. + Alas for the visions that, joyous and pure, + Wove a vista of light through the Future's obscure! + Contention waxed fierce 'neath the evergreen boughs, + And the braves of the chieftain were false to his vows; + In vain knelt the Pale-Face to merciless wrath, + The tomahawk gleamed on her desolate path, + One prayer for her lover, one look towards the sky, + And the dark hand of Death closed the love-speaking eye. + + They covered with dry leaves the cold corpse and fair, + And bore the long tresses of soft, golden hair, + In silence and fear, through the dense forest wide, + To the home that the lover had made for his bride. + He knew by their waving those tresses of gold, + Now damp with the life-blood that darkened each fold, + And, mounting his steed, pausing never for breath + Sought the spot where the huge trees stood sentries of Death; + Tore wildly the leaves from the loved form away, + And kissed the pale lips of inanimate clay. + + But hark! through the green wood what sounded afar, + 'T was the trumpet's loud peal--the alarum of war! + Again on his charger, through forest, o'er plain, + The soldier rode swift to his ranks 'mid the slain: + They faltered, they wavered, half turning to fly + As their leader dashed frantic and fearlessly by, + The damp turf grew crimson wherever he trod, + Where his sword was uplifted a soul went to God. + But that brave arm alone might not conquer in strife, + The madness of grief was conflicting with Life; + His steed fell beneath him, the death-shot whizzed by, + And he rushed on the swords of the victors to die. + + 'Neath the murmuring pine trees they laid side by side, + The gallant young soldier, the fair, murdered bride: + And never again from that traitorous night, + The red man dared stand in the battle's fierce storm, + For ever before him a phantom of light, + Rose up in the white maiden's beautiful form; + And when he would rush on the foe from his lair, + Those locks of pale gold floated past on the air. + + + + + THE LAUGHING WATER. + + The Indian name for the Falls of St. Anthony signifies "Laughing + Water," and here tradition says that a young woman of the Dahcotah + tribe, the father of her children having taken another wife, + unmoored her canoe above the fall, and placing herself and children + in it, sang her death-song as she went over the foaming declivity. + + + The sun went down the west + As a warrior to his grave, + And touched with crimson hue + The "Laughing Water's" wave; + And where the current swept + A quick, convulsive flood, + Serene upon the brink + An Indian mother stood. + + With calm and serious gaze + She watched the torrent blue + And then with skilful hand + Unmoored the birch canoe, + Seized the light oar, and placed + Her infants by her side, + And steered the fragile bark + On through the rushing tide. + + Then fitfully and wild + In thrilling notes of woe + Swept down the rapid stream + The death-song sad and low; + And gathered on the marge, + From many a forest glen, + With frantic gestures rude, + The red Dahcotah men. + But onward sped the bark + Until it reached the height, + Where mounts the angry spray + And raves the water's might + And whirling eddies swept + Into the gulf below + The smiles of infancy + And youth's maturer glow; + The priestess of the rock + And white-robed surges bore + The wronged and broken heart + To the far off Spirit Shore. + + And often when the night + Has drawn her shadowy veil, + And solemn stars look forth + Serenely pure and pale, + A spectre bark and form + May still be seen to glide, + In wondrous silence down + The Laughing Water's tide. + And mingling with the breath + Of low winds sweeping free, + The night-bird's fitful plaint, + And moaning forest tree, + Amid the lulling chime + Of waters falling there, + The death-song floats again + Upon the laden air. + + + + + THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. + + Travellers in Mexico have found the form of a serpent invariably + pictured over the doorways of the Indian Temples, and on the + interior walls, the impression of a red hand. + + The superstitions attached to the phenomena of the thunderstorm and + Aurora Borealis, alluded to in the poem, are well authenticated. + + + I saw him in vision,--the last of that race + Who were destined to vanish before the Pale-face, + As the dews of the evening from mountain and dale, + When the thirsty young Morning withdraws her dark veil; + Alone with the Past and the Future's chill breath, + Like a soul that has entered the valley of Death. + + He stood where of old from the Fane of the Sun, + While cycles unnumbered their centuries run, + Never quenched, never fading, and mocking at Time, + Blazed the fire sacerdotal far o'er the fair clime; + Where the temples o'ershadowed the Mexican plain, + And the hosts of the Aztec were conquered and slain; + Where the Red Hand still glows on pilaster and wall, + And the serpent keeps watch o'er the desolate hall. + + He stood as an oak, on the bleak mountainside, + The lightning hath withered and scorched in its pride + Most stately in death, and refusing to bend + To the blast that ere long must its dry branches rend; + With coldness and courage confronting Life's care, + But the coldness, the courage, that's born of despair. + + I marked him where, winding through harvest-crowned plain, + The "Father of Waters" sweeps on to the main, + Where the dark mounds in silence and loneliness stand, + And the wrecks of the Red-man are strewn o'er the land: + The forests were levelled that once were his home, + O'er the fields of his sires glittered steeple and dome; + The chieftain no longer in greenwood and glade + With trophies of fame wooed the dusky-haired maid, + And the voice of the hunter had died on the air + With the victor's defiance and captive's low prayer; + But the winds and the waves and the firmament's scroll, + With Divinity still were instinct to his soul; + At midnight the war-horse still cleaved the blue sky, + As it bore the departed to mansions on high; + Still dwelt in the rock and the shell and the tide + A tutelar angel, invisible guide; + Still heard he the tread of the Deity nigh, + When the lightning's wild pinion gleamed bright on the eye, + And saw in the Northern-lights, flashing and red, + The shades of his fathers, the dance of the dead. + And scorning the works and abode of his foe, + The pilgrim raised far from that valley of woe + His dark, eagle gaze, to the sun-gilded west, + Where the fair "Land of Shadows" lay viewless and blest. + + Again I beheld him where swift on its way + Leaped the cataract, foaming, with thunder and spray, + To the whirlpool below from the dark ledge on high, + While the mist from its waters commixed with the sky. + The dense earth thrilled deep to the voice of its roar, + And the "Thunder of Waters" shook forest and shore, + As he steered his frail bark to the horrible verge, + And, chanting his death-song, went down with the surge. + + "On, on, mighty Spirit! + I welcome thy spray + As the prairie-bound hunter + The dawning of day; + No shackles have bound thee, + No tyrant imprest + The mark of the Pale face + On torrent and crest. + + "His banners are waving + O'er hill-top and plain, + The stripes of oppression + Blood-red with our slain; + The stars of his glory + And greatness and fame, + The signs of our weakness, + The signs of our shame. + + "The hatchet is broken, + The bow is unstrung; + The bell peals afar + Where the war-whoop once rung: + The council-fires burn + But in thoughts of the Past, + And their ashes are strewn + To the merciless blast. + + "But though we have perished + As leaves when they fall, + Unhonored with trophies, + Unmarked by a pall, + When our names have gone out + Like a flame on the wave, + The Pale race shall weep + 'Neath the curse of our brave. + + "On, on, mighty Spirit! + Unchecked in thy way; + I smile on thine anger, + And sport with thy spray; + The soul that has wrestled + With Life's darkest form, + Shall baffle thy madness + And pass in the storm." + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + + + + THE PILGRIMS' FAST. + + The historical incident related in this poem is recorded in + Cheever's "JOURNAL OF THE PILGRIMS." + + + 'T was early morn, the low night-wind + Had fled the sun's fierce ray, + And sluggishly the leaden waves + Rolled over Plymouth Bay. + + No mist was on the mountain-top, + No dew-drop in the vale; + The thirsting Summer flowers had died + Ere chilled by Autumn's wail. + + The giant woods with yellow leaves + The blighted turf had paved, + And o'er the brown and arid fields + No golden harvest waved; + + But calm and blue the cloudless sky + Arched over earth and sea, + As in their humble house of prayer, + The Pilgrims bowed the knee. + + There gray-haired ministers of God + In supplication bent, + And artless words from childhood's lips + Sought the Omnipotent. + + There woman's lip and cheek grew pale + As on the broad day stole; + And manhood's polished brow was damp + With fervency of soul. + + The sultry noon-tide came and went + With steady, fervid glare; + "O God, our God, be merciful!" + Was still the Pilgrims' prayer. + + They prayed as erst Elijah prayed + Before the sons of Baal, + When on the waiting sacrifice + He called the fiery hail: + + They prayed as once the prophet prayed + On Carmel's summit high, + When the little cloud rose from the sea + And blackened all the sky. + + And when around that spireless church + The shades of evening fell, + The customary song went up + With clear and rapturous swell: + + And while each heart was thrilling with + The chant of Faith sublime, + The rude, brown rafters of the roof + Rang with a joyous chime. + + The rain! the rain! the blessed rain! + It watered field and height, + And filled the fevered atmosphere, + With vapor soft and white. + + Oh! when that Pilgrim band came forth + And pressed the humid sod, + Shone not each face as Moses' shone + When "face to face" with God? + + + + + PLEURS. + + The town of Pleurs, situated among the Alps and containing about + two thousand five hundred inhabitants, was overwhelmed in 1618 by + the falling of Mount Conto. The avalanche occurred in the night, + and no trace of the village or any of its inhabitants could ever + after be discovered. + + + 'T was eve; and Mount Conto + Reflected in night + The sunbeams that fled + With the monarch of light; + As great souls and noble + Reflect evermore + The sunshine that gleams + From Eternity's shore. + + A slight crimson veil + Robed the snow-wreath on high, + The shadow an angel + In passing threw by; + And city and valley, + In mantle of gray, + Seemed bowed like a mourner + In silence to pray. + + And the sweet vesper bell, + With a clear, measured chime, + Like the falling of minutes + In the hour-glass of Time, + From mountain to mountain + Was echoed afar, + Till it died in the distance + As light in a star. + + The young peasant mother + Had cradled to rest + The infant that carolled + In peace on her breast; + The laborer, ere seeking + His couch of repose, + Told his beads in the shade of + A fortress of snows. + + Up the cloudless serene + Moved the silver-sphered Night; + The reveller's palace + Was flooded with light; + And the cadence of music, + The dancer's gay song, + In harmony wondrous, + Went up, 'mid the throng. + + The criminal counted, + With visage of woe, + The chiming of hours + That were left him below; + And the watcher so pale, + In the chamber of Death, + Bent over the dying + With quick, stifled breath. + + The watchman the midnight + Had told with shrill cry, + When through the deep silence + What sounded on high, + With a terrible roar, + Like the thunders sublime, + Whose voices shall herald + The passing of Time? + + On came the destroyer;-- + One crash and one thrill-- + Each pulse in that city + For ever stood still. + The blue arch with glory + Was mantled by day, + When the traveller passed + On his perilous way;-- + + Lake, valley, and forest + In sunshine were clear, + But when of that village, + In wonder and fear, + He questioned the landscape + With terror-struck eye, + The mountains in majesty + Pointed on high! + + The strong arm of Love + Struggled down through the mould; + The miner dug deep + For the jewels and gold; + And workmen delved ages + That sepulchre o'er, + But found of the city + A trace never more. + + And now, on the height + Of that fathomless tomb, + The fair Alpine flowers + In loveliness bloom; + And the water-falls chant, + Through their minster of snow, + A mass for the spirits + That slumber below. + + + + + THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. + + "There dwelt a nun in Dryburgh bower + Who ne'er beheld the day." + + + Twilight o'er the East is stealing, + And the sun is in the vale: + 'T is a fitting moment, stranger, + To relate a wondrous tale. + + 'Neath this moss-grown rock and hoary + We will pause awhile to rest; + See, the drowsy surf no longer + Beats against its aged breast. + + Years ago, traditions tell us, + When rebellion stirred the land, + And the fiery cross was carried + O'er the hills from band to band,-- + + And the yeoman at its summons + Left his yet unfurrowed field, + And the leader from his fortress + Sallied forth with sword and shield,-- + + Where the iron cross is standing + On yon rude and crumbling wall, + Dwelt a chieftain's orphan daughter, + In her broad ancestral hall. + + And her faith to one was plighted, + Lord of fief and domain wide, + Who, ere he went forth undaunted + War's disastrous strife to bide, + + 'Mid his armed and mounted vassals + Paused before her castle gate, + While she waved a last adieu + From the battlements in state. + + But when nodding plume and banner + Faded from her straining sight, + And the mists from o'er the mountains + Crept like phantoms with the night,-- + + Low before the sacred altar + At the crucifix she bowed, + And, with fervent supplication + To the Holy Mother, vowed + + That, till he returned from battle, + Scotland's hills and passes o'er, + Saved by her divine protection, + She would see the sun no more! + + In a low and vaulted chapel, + Where no sunbeam entrance found, + Many a day was passed in penance, + Kneeling on the cold, damp ground. + + Autumn blanched the flowers of Summer, + And the forest robes grew sere; + Still in darkness knelt the maiden, + Pleading, "Mary! Mother! hear!" + + Cold blasts through the valleys hurried, + Dry leaves fluttered on the gale; + But of him, the loved and absent, + Leaf and tempest told no tale. + + Still and pale, a dreamless slumber + Slept he on the battle-plain,-- + Steed beneath and vassal o'er him,-- + Lost amid the hosts of slain. + + Spring, with tranquil breath and fragrant, + Called the primrose from its grave, + Woke the low peal of the harebell, + Bade the purple heather wave;-- + + Lilies to the warm light opened, + Surges, sparkling, kissed the shore; + But the chieftain's orphan daughter + Saw the sunbeam--never more! + + Suitors sent, her hand to purchase, + Some with wealth and some with fame; + But the vow was on her spirit, + And she shrank not from its claim. + + Yet when starry worlds looked downwards, + Spirit-like, from realms on high, + And the violets in the valleys + Closed in sleep each dewy eye,-- + + While the night in wondrous beauty + O'er the softened landscape lay, + She came forth, with noiseless footstep + Moving 'mid the shadows gray, + + Gazing ever towards the summit, + Where the gleam of scarf and plume + Faded in the hazy distance, + Leaving her to prayer and gloom. + + Years, by her unmarked, unnumbered, + Crossed the dial-plate of Time; + Then she passed, one quiet midnight, + To the unseen Spirit-Clime. + + But the twilight has departed, + And the moon is up on high; + Stranger, pass not, in thy journey, + Yon deserted court-yard by; + + For it is whispered that, at evening, + Oft a misty form is seen, + In its silent progress casting + Not a shadow on the green, + + 'Neath the iron cross that standeth + On the mouldering wall and rude, + Like a noble thought uplifted + In the Past's deep solitude. + + + + + MY NATIVE ISLE. + + + My native isle! my native isle! + For ever round thy sunny steep + The low waves curl, with sparkling foam, + And solemn murmurs deep; + While o'er the surging waters blue + The ceaseless breezes throng, + And in the grand old woods awake + An everlasting song. + + The sordid strife and petty cares + That crowd the city's street, + The rush, the race, the storm of Life, + Upon thee never meet; + But quiet and contented hearts + Their daily tasks fulfil, + And meet with simple hope and trust + The coming good or ill. + + The spireless church stands, plain and brown, + The winding road beside; + The green graves rise in silence near, + With moss-grown tablets wide; + And early on the Sabbath morn, + Along the flowery sod, + Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, + Go up to worship God. + + And dearer far than sculptured fane + Is that gray church to me, + For in its shade my mother sleeps, + Beneath the willow-tree; + And often, when my heart is raised + By sermon and by song, + Her friendly smile appears to me + From the seraphic throng. + + The sunset glow, the moonlit stream, + Part of my being are; + The fairy flowers that bloom and die, + The skies so clear and far: + The stars that circle Night's dark brow, + The winds and waters free, + Each with a lesson all its own, + Are monitors to me. + + The systems in their endless march + Eternal truth proclaim; + The flowers God's love from day to day + In gentlest accents name; + The skies for burdened hearts and faint + A code of Faith prepare; + What tempest ever left the Heaven + Without a blue spot there? + + My native isle! my native isle! + In sunnier climes I've strayed, + But better love thy pebbled beach + And lonely forest glade, + Where low winds stir with fragrant breath + The purple violet's head, + And the star-grass in the early Spring + Peeps from the sear leaf's bed. + + I would no more of strife and tears + Might on thee ever meet, + But when against the tide of years + This heart has ceased to beat, + Where the green weeping-willows bend + I fain would go to rest, + Where waters chant, and winds may sweep + Above my peaceful breast. + + + + + THE LOST PLEIAD. + + + A void is in the sky! + A light has ceased the seaman's path to cheer, + A star has left its ruby throne on high, + A world forsook its sphere. + Thy sisters bright pursue their circling way, + But thou, lone wanderer! thou hast left our vault for aye. + + Did Sin invade thy bowers, + And Death with sable pinion sweep thine air, + Blasting the beauty of thy fairest flowers, + And God admit no prayer? + Didst thou, as fable saith, wax faint and dim + With the first mortal breath between thy zone and Him? + + Did human love, with all + Its passionate might and meek endurance strong,-- + The love that mocks at Time and scorns the pall, + Through conflict fierce and long,-- + Live in thy soul, yet know no future's ray? + Then, mystic world! 't was well that thou shouldst pass away. + + Perchance a loftier fate + Removed thy radiance from our feeble sight. + Did HE, whose Spirit wills but to create, + Far upward urge thy flight + From this low fraction of expiring time, + To realms where ages roll, as hours, in peace sublime? + + E'en there does science soar + With trembling pinion, bright and eager eye, + Striving to reach the still-receding shore + That bounds the vision high: + Immortal longings fill the fettered mind; + Unfathomed glory lies around it, veiled and shrined! + + Oh! when the brooding cloud + Shall pass like mist from o'er our straining sight, + And, as the sun-born insect, from its shroud + The soul speed forth in might, + From phase to phase in Being's endless day, + Shall we behold thy light, and learn thy future way? + + + + + THE VESPER CHIME. + + + She dwelt within a convent wall + Beside the "blue Moselle," + And pure and simple was her life + As is the tale I tell. + + She never shrank from penance rude, + And was so young and fair, + It was a holy, holy thing, + To see her at her prayer. + + Her cheek was very thin and pale; + You would have turned in fear, + If 't were not for the hectic spot + That glowed so soft and clear. + + And always, as the evening chime + With measured cadence fell, + Her vespers o'er, she sought alone + A little garden dell. + + And when she came to us again, + She moved with lighter air; + We thought the angels ministered + To her while kneeling there. + + One eve I followed on her way, + And asked her of her life. + A faint blush mantled cheek and brow, + The sign of inward strife + + And when she spoke, the zephyrs caught + The words so soft and clear, + And told them over to the flowers + That bloomed in beauty near. + + "I know not," thus she said to me, + "If my young cheek is pale, + But daily do I feel within + This life of mine grow frail. + + "There is a flower that hears afar + The coming tempest knell, + And folds its tiny leaves in fear,-- + The scarlet Pimpernel: + + "And thus my listening spirit heard + The rush of Death's cold wing, + And tremulously folded close, + In childhood's early Spring. + + "I never knew a parent's care, + A sister's gentle love: + They early left this world of ours + For better lands above. + + "And so I loved not earthly joys, + The merry dance and play, + But sought to commune with the stars, + And learn the wind's wild lay. + + "The pure and gentle flowers became + As sisters fair to me: + I needed no interpreter + To read their language free. + + "And 'neath the proud and grand old trees + That seemed to touch the sky, + We prayed, alike with lowly head, + The violets and I. + + "And years rolled on and brought to me + But woman's lot below, + Intensest hours of happiness, + Intensest hours of woe. + + "For one there was whose word and smile + Had power to thrill my heart: + One eve the summons came for him + To battle to depart. + + "And when again the setting sun + In crimson robed the west, + They bore him to his childhood's home,-- + The life-blood on his breast. + + "Another day, at vesper chime, + They laid him low to sleep, + And always at that fated hour + I kneel to pray and weep. + + "'T is said the radiant stars of night, + When viewed through different air, + Appear not all in golden robes, + But various colors wear. + + "And through another atmosphere, + My spirit seemed to gaze + For never more wore life to me + The hues of other days. + + "Once to my soul unbidden came + A strange and fiery guest, + That soon assumed an empire there, + And never is at rest. + + "It binds the chords with arm of might, + And strikes with impulse strong; + I know not whence the visitant, + But mortals call it song. + + "It never pants for earthly fame, + But chants a mournful wail + For ever o'er the loved and dead, + Like wind-harps in a gale." + + She said no more, but lingered long + Upon that quiet spot, + With such a glory on her brow, + 'T will never be forgot! + + Next eve at nine, for prayers we met, + And missed her from her place; + We found her sleeping with the flowers, + But Death was on her face. + + We buried her, as she had asked, + Just at the vesper chime; + The sunbeams seemed to stay their flight, + So holy was the time. + + I've heard that when the rainbow fades + From parting clouds on high, + It leaves where smiled the radiant arch + A fragrance in the sky: + + It may be fantasy, I know, + But round that hour of Death + I always found an aroma + On every zephyr's breath. + + And this is why the twilight hour + Is holier far to me, + Than gorgeous burst of morning light, + Or moonbeams on the sea. + + + + + THE MANIAC. + + A story is told in Spain, of a woman, who, by a sudden shock of + domestic calamity, became insane, and ever after looked up + incessantly to the sky. + + + O'er her infant's couch of death, + Bent a widowed mother low; + And the quick, convulsive breath + Marked the inward weight of woe. + + Round the fair child's forehead clung + Golden tresses, damp and bright; + While Death's pinion o'er it hung, + And the parted lips grew white. + + Reason left the mother's eye, + When the latest pang was o'er; + Then she raised her gaze on high, + Turned it earthward nevermore. + + By the dark and silent tomb, + Where they laid the dead to rest; + By the empty cradle's gloom, + And the fireside once so blest; + + In the lone and narrow cell, + Fettered by the clanking chain, + Where the maniac's piercing yell + Thrilled the heart with dread and pain;-- + + Upward still she fixed her gaze, + Tearless and bewildered too, + Speaking of the fearful night + Madness o'er the spirit threw; + + Upward, upward,--till in love + Death removed the veil of Time, + Raised the broken heart above, + To the far-off healing clime. + + Mortal! o'er the field of Life + Pressing with uncertain tread; + Mourning, in the torrent strife, + Blessings lost and pleasures fled;-- + + A sublimer faith was taught + By the maniac's frenzied eye, + Than Philosophy e'er caught + From intensest thought and high. + + When the heart is crushed and broken + By the death-bell's sullen chime, + By the faded friendship's token, + Or the wild remorse of crime, + + Turn to earth for succor never, + But beyond her light and shade, + Toward the blue skies look forever: + God, and God alone, can aid. + + + + + THE VOICE OF THE DEAD. + + + Oh! call us not silent, + The throng of the dead! + Though in visible being + No longer we tread + The pathways of earth, + From the grave and the sky, + From the halls of the Past + And the star-host on high, + We speak to the spirit + In language divine; + List, Mortal, our song, + Ere its burden be thine. + + Our labor is finished, + Our race it is run; + The guerdon eternal + Is lost or is won; + A beautiful gift + Is the life thou dost share; + Bewail not its sorrow, + Despise not its care; + The rainbow of Hope + Spans the ocean of Time; + High triumph and holy + Makes conflict sublime. + + Work ever! Life's moments + Are fleeting and brief; + Behind is the burden, + Before, the relief. + Work nobly! the deed + Liveth bright in the Past, + When the spirit that planned + Is at rest from the blast; + Work nobly! the Infinite + Spreads to thy sight, + The higher thou soarest + The stronger thy flight. + + And when from thy vision + Loved faces shall wane, + And thy heart-strings thrill wildly + With anguish and pain; + The voices that now + Are as faint as the tone + Of the Zephyr, that stirs not + The rose on its throne, + Shall burst on thy soul,-- + An orchestra divine, + With seraph and cherub + From Deity's shrine. + + + + + "A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." + + + Through the half-curtained window stole + An Autumn sunset's glow, + As languid on my couch I lay + With pulses weak and low. + + And then methought a presence stood, + With shining feet and fair, + Amid the waves of golden light + That rippled through the air, + + And laid upon my heaving breast, + With earnest glance and true, + A babe, whose fair and gentle brow + No shade of sorrow knew. + + A solemn joy was in my heart,-- + Immortal life was given + To Earth, upon her battle-field + To discipline for Heaven. + + Soft music thrilled the quiet room,-- + An unseen host were nigh, + Who left the infant pilgrim at + The threshold of our sky. + + A new, strange love woke in my heart, + Defying all control, + As on the soft air rose and fell + That birth-hymn for a soul! + + And now again the Autumn skies, + As on that evening, shine, + When, from a trance of agony, + I woke to joy divine. + + That boundless love is in my heart, + That birth-hymn on the air; + I clasp in mine, with grateful faith, + A tiny hand in prayer. + + And bless the God who guides my way, + That, mid this world so wide, + I day by day am walking with + An angel by my side. + + + + + THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD. + + Diodorus has recorded an impressive Egyptian ceremonial, the + judgment of the dead by the living. When the corpse, duly embalmed, + had been placed by the margin of the Acherusian Lake, and before + consigning it to the bark that was to bear it across the waters to + its final resting-place, it was permitted to the appointed judges + to hear all accusations against the past life of the deceased, and + if proved, to deprive the corpse of the rites of sepulture. From + this singular law not even kings were exempt. + + + With sable plume and nodding crest, + They bore him to his dreamless rest, + A cold and abject thing; + Before the whisper of whose name + Strong hearts had quailed in fear and shame, + While nations knelt to fling + The victor's laurel at his feet; + Now gorgeous pall and winding-sheet, + Were all that royalty could bring + To mark the despot and the king: + In solemn state they swept the glowing strand, + To meet the conclave of the judgment band. + + And soon, with bright, exultant eye, + Where fierce revenge flashed wild and high, + Accusers gathered fast; + From prison-keep and living grave + Came forth the mutilated slave, + With faltering step aghast; + And sightless men with silver hair, + The record of their dungeon air, + Who for long years had sought to die, + And wrestled with their agony + Till thought grew wild and intellect grew dim, + The clanking fetters' mark on every limb. + + With pallid cheek and eager prayer + And maniac laugh of dark despair + The widowed mother stood; + And, with white lips, an orphan throng + Rehearsed a fearful tale of wrong + And misery and blood. + And strong in virtue others came, + Unnumbered victims to proclaim + Of vengeance, perfidy, and dread, + Who slumbered with the silent dead. + The world might start, the sable plumes might wave, + But for that haughty king there was no grave. + + O! ye who press life's crowded mart, + With hurrying step and bounding heart, + A solemn lesson glean; + Beware, lest, when ye cross that stream + Whose breaking surges farthest gleam, + No mortal eye hath seen, + Discordant voices wake the shore + The struggling spirit would explore, + And to the trembling soul deny + Its latest resting-place on high; + Our acts are Judges, that must meet us there + With seraph smiles of light, or fiendish glare. + + + + + THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT. + + The ancient Highlanders believed the spirits of their departed + friends continually present, and that their imagined appearances + and voices communicated warnings of approaching death. + + + Oh! set the bridal feast aside, + And bear the harp away; + The coronach must sound instead, + From solemn kirk-yard gray. + + I heard last eve, at set of sun, + The death-bell on the gale. + It was no earthly melody:-- + The eglantine grew pale; + + And leaf and blossom seemed to thrill + With an unuttered prayer, + As, fraught with desolateness wild, + The strange notes stirred the air. + + And on the rugged mountain height, + Where snow and sunbeam meet, + That never yet in storm or shine + Was trod by human feet, + + A weird and spectral presence came + Between me and the light; + The waving of a shadowy hand + That faded into night. + + I felt it was the first who left + Our little household band,-- + The child, with waving locks of gold, + Now in the silent land. + + And when the mist at morn arose + From Katrine's silvery wave, + A form of aspect ominous, + With pensive look and grave, + + Moved from the waters towards the glen + Where stands the holly-tree; + 'T was the brother who is sleeping low + Beneath the stormy sea. + + And while to-night the curfew bell + Rang out with solemn chime, + As soundeth o'er the buried year, + The organ peal of time, + + And, near the fragrant jessamine, + I mused in garden glade, + A phantom form appeared to me + Beneath the hawthorn shade. + + The dews had wept their silent tears, + The moon was up on high, + And every star was sphered with calm, + Like an archangel's eye; + + And melancholy music swept + With cadence low and sweet, + Such as ascends when spirit-wings + Around a death-bed meet. + + O was it not a mother's heart + That gave that warning sign; + The loving heart that used to thrill + To every grief of mine? + + I oft have deemed, in sunny hours, + When life with love was fraught, + The nearness of the dead to us + A fantasy of thought. + + But, standing on the barrier + I used to view with pain, + I feel the chains of severed love + Are linking close again. + + Another hand must smooth and bless + My father's silver hair; + Another voice must read to him + At morn and evening prayer. + + The flowers that I have trained will bloom, + But at another's side; + And he I love will seek perchance, + A gentler, fairer bride. + + And soon another shade will haunt + The echo and the gloom, + With pining heart of restless love, + And omens of the tomb. + + Then set the festal board aside, + And bear the harp away; + The coronach must sound instead + From solemn kirk-yard gray. + + + + + TO MY SISTER. + + ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + + 'T is said that each succeeding year + Another circlet weaves + Within each living, waving tree; + Yet not in buds or leaves,-- + But far within the silent core, + The tiny shuttles ply, + At Nature's ever-working loom, + Unseen by human eye. + + And thus, within my "heart of hearts," + Doth this returning day, + Another golden zone complete, + Another circle lay; + And when unto the shadowy past + In retrospect I flee, + I numerate the fleeting years + By deepening love for thee. + + Since last we met this sunny day + How bright the hours have flown! + Youth, Love, and Hope, with fadeless light, + Around our way have shone; + And if a shadow from the past + Has floated o'er the dream, + 'T was softened, like a violet cloud + Reflected in a stream. + + Yet if an hour of bitter grief, + Should e'er thy spirit claim, + May it the trying ordeal pass, + As gold the fiery flame; + And may the years that bind our hearts + In love that cannot die, + Still draw us hourly nearer God, + And nearer to the sky. + + + + + THE POET'S LESSON. + + "He who would write heroic poems, must make his whole life a heroic + poem."--MILTON. + + + There came a voice from the realm of thought, + And my spirit bowed to hear,-- + A voice with majestic sadness fraught, + By the grace of God most clear. + + A mighty tone from the solemn Past, + Outliving the Poet-lyre, + Borne down on the rush of Time's fitful blast. + Like the cloven tongues of fire. + + Wouldst thou fashion the song, O! Poet-heart, + For a mission high and free? + The drama of Life, in its every part, + Must a living poem be. + + Wouldst thou speed the knight to the battle-field, + In a proven suit of mail? + On the world's highway, with Faith's broad shield, + The peril go forth to hail. + + For the noble soul, there is noble strife, + And the sons of earth attain, + Through the wild turmoil and storm of Life, + To discipline, through pain. + + Think not that Poesy liveth alone, + In the flow of measured rhyme; + The noble deed with a mightier tone + Shall sound through latest time. + + Then poems two, at each upward flight, + In glorious measure fill; + Be the Poem in words, one of beauty and might, + But the Life one, loftier still. + + + + + MADELINE. + + A LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK. + + + Where the waters of the Mohawk + Through a quiet valley glide, + From the brown church to her dwelling + She that morning passed a bride. + In the mild light of October + Beautiful the forest stood, + As the temple on Mount Zion + When God filled its solitude. + + Very quietly the red leaves, + On the languid zephyr's breath, + Fluttered to the mossy hillocks + Where their sisters slept in death: + And the white mist of the Autumn + Hung o'er mountain-top and dale, + Soft and filmy, as the foldings + Of the passing bridal veil. + + From the field of Saratoga + At the last night's eventide, + Rode the groom,--a gallant soldier + Flushed with victory and pride, + Seeking, as a priceless guerdon + From the dark-eyed Madeline, + Leave to lead her to the altar + When the morrow's sun should shine. + + All the children of the village, + Decked with garland's white and red, + All the young men and the maidens, + Had been forth to see her wed; + And the aged people, seated + In the doorways 'neath the vine, + Thought of their own youth and blessed her, + As she left the house divine. + + Pale she was, but very lovely, + With a brow so calm and fair, + When she passed, the benediction + Seemed still falling on the air. + Strangers whispered they had never + Seen who could with her compare, + And the maidens looked with envy + On her wealth of raven hair. + + In the glen beside the river + In the shadow of the wood, + With wide-open doors for welcome + Gamble-roofed the cottage stood; + Where the festal board was waiting, + For the bridal guests prepared, + Laden with a feast, the humblest + In the little village shared. + + Every hour was winged with gladness + While the sun went down the west, + Till the chiming of the church-bell + Told to all the hour for rest: + Then the merry guests departed, + Some a camp's rude couch to bide, + Some to bright homes,--each invoking + Blessings on the gentle bride. + + Tranquilly the morning sunbeam + Over field and hamlet stole, + Wove a glory round each red leaf, + Then effaced the Frost-king's scroll: + Eyes responded to its greeting + As a lake's still waters shine, + Young hearts bounded,--and a gay group + Sought the home of Madeline. + + Bird-like voices 'neath the casement + Chanted in the hazy air, + A sweet orison for wakening,-- + Half thanksgiving and half prayer. + But no white hand drew the curtain + From the vine-clad panes before, + No light form, with buoyant footstep, + Hastened to fling wide the door. + + Moments numbered hours in passing + 'Mid that silence, till a fear + Of some unseen ill crept slowly + Through the trembling minstrels near, + Then with many a dark foreboding, + They, the threshold hastened o'er, + Paused not where a stain of crimson + Curdled on the oaken floor; + + But sought out the bridal chamber. + God in Heaven! could it be + Madeline who knelt before them + In that trance of agony? + Cold, inanimate beside her, + By the ruthless Cow-boys slain + In the night-time whilst defenceless, + He she loved so well was lain; + + O'er her bridal dress were scattered, + Stains of fearful, fearful dye, + And the soul's light beamed no longer + From her tearless, vacant eye. + Round her slight form hung the tresses + Braided oft with pride and care, + Silvered by that night of madness + With its anguish and despair. + + She lived on to see the roses + Of another summer wane, + But the light of reason never + Shone in her sweet eyes again. + Once where blue and sparkling waters + Through a quiet valley run, + Fertilizing field and garden, + Wandered I at set of sun; + + Twilight as a silver shadow + O'er the softened landscape lay, + When amid a straggling village + Paused I in my rambling way. + Plain and brown the church before me + In the little graveyard stood, + And the laborer's axe resounded + Faintly, from the neighboring wood. + + Through the low, half-open wicket + Deeply worn, a pathway led: + Silently I paced its windings + Till I stood among the dead. + Passing by the grave memorials + Of departed worth and fame, + Long I paused before a record + That no pomp of words could claim: + + Simple was the slab and lowly, + Shaded by a fragrant vine, + And the single name recorded, + Plainly writ, was "Madeline." + But beneath it through the clusters + Of the jessamine I read, + "_Spes_," engraved in bolder letters,-- + This was all the marble said. + + + + + THE DEFORMED ARTIST. + + + The twilight o'er Italia's sky + Had spread a shadowy veil, + And one by one the solemn stars + Looked forth, serene and pale; + As quietly the waning light + Through a high casement stole, + And fell on one with silver hair, + Who shrived a passing soul. + + No costly pomp or luxury + Relieved that chamber's gloom, + But glowing forms, by limner's art + Created, thronged the room: + And as the low winds carried far + The chime for evening prayer, + The dying painter's earnest tones + Fell on the languid air. + + "The spectral form of Death is nigh, + The thread of life is spun: + Ave Maria! I have looked + Upon my latest sun. + And yet 't is not with pale disease + This frame is worn away; + Nor yet--nor yet with length of years;-- + A child but yesterday," + + "I found within my father's hall + No fervent love to claim, + The curse that marked me at my birth + Devoted me to shame. + I saw that on my brother's brow + Angelic beauty lay; + The mirror gave me back a form + That thrilled me with dismay." + + "And soon I learned to shrink from all, + The lowly and the high; + To see but scorn on every lip, + Contempt in every eye. + And for a time e'en Nature's smile + A bitter mockery wore, + For beauty stamped each living thing + The wide creation o'er," + + "And I alone was cursed and loathed: + 'T was in a garden bower + I mused one eve, and scalding tears + Fell fast on many a flower; + And when I rose, I marked, with awe + And agonizing grief, + A frail mimosa at my feet + Fold close each fragile leaf." + + "Alas! how dark my lot, if thus + A plant could shrink from me! + But when I looked again, I saw + That from the honey-bee, + The falling leaf, the bird's gay wing. + It shrank with pain or fear: + A kindred presence I had found,-- + Life waxed sublimely clear." + + "I climbed the lofty mountain height, + And communed with the skies, + And felt within my grateful heart + New aspirations rise. + Then, thirsting for a higher lore, + I left my childhood's home, + And stayed not till I gazed upon + The hills of fallen Rome." + + "I stood amid the glorious forms + Immortal and divine, + The painter's wand had summoned from + The dim Ideal's shrine; + And felt within my fevered soul + Ambition's wasting fire, + And seized the pencil, with a vague + And passionate desire" + + "To shadow forth, with lineaments + Of earth, the phantom throng + That swept before my sight in thought, + And lived in storied song. + Vain, vain the dream;--as well might I + Aspire to light a star, + Or pile the gorgeous sunset-clouds + That glitter from afar." + + "The threads of life have worn away; + Discordantly they thrill; + And soon the sounding chords will be + For ever mute and still. + And in the spirit-land that lies + Beyond, so calm and gray, + I shall aspire with truer aim:-- + Ave Maria! pray!" + + + + + THE CHILD'S APPEAL. + + AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND REIGN OF ROBESPIERRE. + + + Day dawned above a city's mart, + Yet not 'mid peace and prayer: + The shouts of frenzied multitudes + Were on the thrilling air. + + A guiltless man to death was led, + Through crowded streets and wide, + And a fairy child, with waving curls, + Was clinging to his side. + + The father's brow with pride was calm, + But, trusting and serene, + The child's was like the Holy One's + In Raphael's paintings seen. + + She shrank not from the heartless throng, + Nor from the scaffold high; + But now and then, with beaming smile, + Addressed her parent's eye. + + Athwart the golden flood of morn + Was poised the wing of Death, + As 'neath the fearful guillotine + The doomed one drew his breath. + + Then all of fiercest agony + The human heart can bear, + Was suffered in the brief caress, + The wild, half-uttered prayer. + + Then she, the child, beseechingly + Upraised her eyes of blue, + And whispered, while her cheek grew pale, + "I am to go with you!" + + The murmur of impatient fiends + Rang in her infant ear, + And purpose strong woke in her heart, + And spoke in accent clear:-- + + "They tore my mother from our side, + In the dark prison's cell; + Her eyes were filled with tears,--she had + No time to say farewell. + + "And you were all that loved me then, + And you are pale with care, + And every night a silver thread + Has mingled with your hair. + + "My mother used to tell me of + A better land afar, + I've seen it through the prison bars + Where burns the evening star. + + "O let us find a new home there, + I will be brave and true; + You cannot leave me here alone, + O let me die with you!" + + The gentle tones were drowned by shrill + And long-protracted cries; + The father on his darling gazed, + The child looked on the skies. + + Anon, far up the cloudless blue, + Unseen by mortal eye, + God's angels with two spirits passed + To purer realms on high. + + The one was touched with earthly hues, + And dim with earthly care, + The other, as a lily's cup, + Unutterably fair. + + + + + THE DYING YEAR + + + With dirge-like music, low, + Sounds forth again the solemn harp of Time; + Mass for the buried hours, a funeral chime + O'er human joy and woe. + The sere leaves wail around thy passing bier, + Speed to thy dreamless rest, departing year! + + Yet, ere thy sable pall + Cross the wide threshold of the mighty Past, + Give back the treasures on thy bosom cast; + Earth would her gems recall: + Give back the lily's bloom and violet's breath, + The summer leaves that bowed before the reaper Death. + + Give back the dreams of fame, + The aspirations strong for glory won; + Hopes that went out perchance when set thy sun, + Nor left nor trace nor name: + Give back the wasted hours, half-uttered prayer, + The high resolves forgot that stained thine annals fair. + + Give back the flow of thought, + That woke within the poet's yearning breast, + Soothing its wild and passionate unrest; + Love's rainbow-visions, wrought + Of youth's deep, fearless trust, that light the scroll + With an intenser glow,--records of heart and soul! + + Give back--for thou hast more-- + Give back the kindly words we loved so well, + Voices, whose music on the spirit fell, + But tenderness to pour; + The steps that never now around us tread, + Faces that haunt our sleep: give back, give back the dead. + + Give back!--who shall explore + Creation's boundless realms to mark thy prey? + Who mount where man has never thought to sway, + Or science dared to soar? + Oh! who shall tell what suns have set for aye, + What worlds gone out, what systems passed away? + + Not till the stars shall fall, + And earth and sky before God's mandate flee, + Shall human vision look, or spirit see, + Beneath thy mystic pall: + But hark! with accent clear, and flute-like swell, + Floats up the New Year's voice,--Departed one, farewell! + + + + + SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. + + + As the bright flowers start from their wintry tomb, + I've sprung from the depths of futurity's gloom; + With the glory of Hope on my unshadowed brow, + But a fear at my heart, earth welcomes me now. + I come and bear with me a measureless flow, + Of infinite joy and of infinite woe: + The banquet's light jest and the penitent prayer, + The sweet laugh of gladness, the wail of despair, + The warm words of welcome, and broken farewell, + The strains of rich music, the funeral knell, + The fair bridal wreath, and the robe for the dead, + O how will they meet in the path I shall tread! + O how will they mingle where'er I pass by, + As sunshine and storm in the rainbow on high! + + Yet start not, nor shrink from the race I must run; + I've peace and repose for the heart-stricken one, + And strength for the weary who fail in the strife, + And falter before the great warfare of Life. + I've love for the friendless; a morrow of light + For him who is wrapped in adversity's night; + With trust for the doubting, a field for the soul, + That has dared from its loftier purpose to stroll, + To haste to the conflict, and blot out the shame + With the deeds of repentance, and resolute aim + To seek, 'mid the struggle with tempters and sin, + The high meed of virtue triumphant to win. + + Unsullied and pure is the future's broad scroll, + And as leaf after leaf from its folds shall unroll, + The warp and the woof they are woven by me, + But the shadows and coloring rest, mortal, with thee. + 'T is thine to cast over those leaves as they bloom, + The sunlight of morning or hues of the tomb; + Though moments of sorrow to all must be given, + There 's a vista of light that leads up to heaven; + Nor utterly starless the path thou hast trod, + Till thy heart prove a traitor to thee or to God. + + + + + I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. + + + I looked upon the fair young flowers + That in our gardens bloom, + Gazed on their winning loveliness, + And then upon the tomb; + I looked upon the smiling earth, + The blue and cloudless sky, + And murmured in my spirit's depths, + "O I can never die!" + + I heard my sister's joyous laugh, + As she danced lightly by, + Her heart was glad with love and hope, + Its pulse with youth beat high; + I sought my mother's quiet smile, + She fondly drew me nigh, + And still I said within my heart, + "O I can never die!" + + Stern winter came,--the fairy flowers + Were swept by storms away, + And swiftly passed the verdant bloom + Of summer's lovely day; + My mother's smile grew more serene, + And brighter was her eye, + And now I know her only as + An angel in the sky. + + And sorrow's wing had cast a shade + Upon my sister's smile, + Had checked the voice of gladsome mirth, + And bounding step the while; + And when the bright spring came again, + And clouds forsook the sky, + Then I knelt down and thanked my God + There was a time to die. + + + + + THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. + + + The sunset on Judah's high places grew pale, + And purple tints shadowed the gorge and the vale, + While Venus in beauty, with dilating eye, + Out-riding the star-host, looked down from the sky + On the city that struggled with foemen below,-- + Jerusalem, peerless in grandeur and woe! + O'er the fast crumbling walls thronged the cohorts of Rome, + Their batteries thundered on palace and dome, + And the children of Israel in voiceless despair + At the foot of the Temple had breathed a last prayer; + For their armies were spent in the unequal strife, + And Famine was maddening the pulses of life, + The pestilence lurked in the zephyr's soft breath, + And the gall-drops were poured from the drawn sword of Death. + + The Night with starred garments moved noiseless on high, + When they felt a hot blast on the cool air draw nigh;-- + Did pinions infernal rejoicing sweep by? + They beheld a wild flash o'er the firmament shine;-- + Came there aid from above,--a legation divine? + There is fire on the mount, there is smoke in the air; + The red flames shoot upward with bright, spectral glare; + Men of Jacob, draw nigh, but like Moses unshod, + 'T is the shrine of Jehovah, the temple of God. + The cherubim drooped and the pomegranates lay + In the dust with the lamps that had glimmered all day; + The censers and altar the ashes must claim, + Though their unalloyed gold be the gold of Parvaim. + + Fierce raged the consumer insatiate and strong, + And cursed was its light by that soul-stricken throng, + Who beheld their destruction and anguish and shame, + Engraved by the lurid and forked tongues of flame, + On pillar and pommel and chapiter high, + Distinct as the law they had dared to defy, + Was traced through the cloud where the Deity shone + By the finger of God on the tablets of stone; + They beheld e'en the Holy of Holies consume; + Then with frenzied bemoaning lamented their doom. + + The cedars of Lebanon thrilled with the wail + That swept like a torrent Jehoshaphat's vale; + Mount Tabor and Zion re-echoed afar + The voice of lamenting for Judah's lost star; + The Kedron replied from its sanctified glade; + The olive-leaves shook in Gethsemane's shade; + And a strange world came forth from the regions of space + And hung like a sword o'er the grave of that race; + While the watchman, who terror-struck gazed on the sight, + Not a signal gave forth from his fire-girded height, + But breathlessly muttered, with cold lips and pale, + "'T is the tenth day of Lous,--Jerusalem, wail!" + + Day dawned o'er Judea, but never again + Might the sunbeam in splendor flash back from her fane. + No prophet stood forth, and, with prescience sublime, + Told of light in the Future unkindled by Time: + No poet-king sounded his lyre o'er her tomb; + No ruler went up 'mid the cloud's awful gloom + And fervently plead with Jehovah's fierce ire; + No God on Mount Sinai descended in fire; + The eyes of the daughters of Rachel were dim; + The priesthood were anguished by visions of HIM + Who, patient and God-like, climbed Calvary's side; + The ancient men sorrowed by Siloah's tide, + And Israel to shame and oppression were sold, + To bondage and exile for ages untold; + And the hearts of the captives grew hollow and dry + As the fruit that o'er Sodom hangs fair to the eye. + + + + + THE FIRST LOOK. + + + I heard the strokes of the midnight bell + As they thrilled the quiet air, + And saw the soft, white curtains wave + In the lamp's uncertain glare; + And felt the breath of the July night, + Laden with fragrance and warmth and blight. + + I knew that scarcely an hour before, + With plaintive and feeble wail, + A spirit had entered the gates of time, + A being helpless and frail; + That cradled beside me the stranger lay, + Though I had not dared o'er her face to pray. + + But roused by the voice of the midnight chime, + O'er the little one I bent, + And soft, sweet eyes were upraised to mine, + As blue as the firmament,-- + Eyes that had never beheld the day, + Or the chastened light of the moonbeam's ray. + + O wonderful meeting, on the verge + Of Life and the dark BEYOND! + O wonderful glance from soul to soul + United by tenderest bond! + The one corroded with earth and care, + The other as falling snow-flakes fair;-- + + The one oppressed with contrition's tear, + Familiar with grief and sin, + The other with naught but the angel's face + Who ushered the human in; + The one a wrestler with Fate's decrees, + The other environed with saintly ease;-- + + The one acquainted with Death and change, + And with anguish faint and pale, + The other as fresh as the earliest rose + That opened in Eden's vale. + Dear Lord! that ever the blight should fall, + That sin should sully and Death appall! + + + + + THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. + + + Night bent o'er the mountains + With aspect serene; + The deep waters slept + 'Neath the moon's pallid sheen, + And the stars in their courses + Moved noiseless on high, + As a soul, when it cleaveth + In thought the blue sky. + + The low winds were spent + With the fever of day, + And stirred scarce a leaf + Of the green wood's array; + And the white, fleecy clouds + Hovered light on the air, + Like an angel's wing, bent + For a penitent prayer. + + Sleep hushed in the city + The tumult and strife, + And calmed in the spirit + The unrest of life: + But one, where Mount Lebanon + Lifted its snow, + Slumbered not till the morn + Wakened earth with its glow. + + Beneath the dark cedars, + Majestic, sublime, + That for ages had mocked + Both at tempest and Time, + In whose tops the wild eagle + His eyrie had made, + She knelt with pale cheek + In the damp, mossy glade. + + The small hands were folded + In worship divine, + And the silent leaves thrilled. + In that lone forest shrine, + With the voice of the pleader, + That, earnest and low, + Was sad as the sea-shell's + And plaintive with woe. + + She prayed not for life, + Though Youth's early bloom + Glowed on her fair cheek, + And recoiled from the tomb; + But a heart pure and strong, + Sublimed by its pain,-- + A spirit attuned + To the seraph's bright strain. + + She saw not the dark boughs + That, spectral and hoar, + With lattice-work rude + Arched her wide temple o'er; + She marked not their shadows + Gigantic and dim; + Her soul was communing + In triumph with Him;-- + + With the Ancient of Days, + Who from mercy-seat high + Beheld the pale pleader + With vigilant eye; + And Peace with white pinion + Came down from His throne, + And the gleam of her wing + On that fair forehead shone. + + O Thou that upholdest + The feeble and frail, + And leadest the pilgrim + Through Life's narrow vale! + When the days that are measured + My spirit below + Shall have ceased to the past + From the future to flow,-- + + May the Summoner find me + As placid and strong, + As meet for endurance + Of agony long, + With a faith as divine + And vision as clear, + As the watchers who wept + On the hills of Judaea! + + + + + MONA LISA. + + Leonardo da Vinci is said to have been four years employed upon the + portrait of Mona Lisa, a fair Florentine, without being able to + come up to the idea of her beauty. + + + Artist! lay the brush aside; + Twilight gathers chill and gray; + Turn the picture to the wall,-- + Thou hast wrought in vain to-day. + + Thrice twelve months have hastened by + Since thy canvas first grew bright + With that brow's bewitching beauty, + And that dark eye's melting light. + + But the early morning shineth + On thy tireless labors yet, + And the portrait stands before thee + Till the evening sun has set. + + Faultless is the robe that falleth + Round that form of matchless grace; + Faultless is the softened outline + Of the fair and oval face. + + Thou hast caught the wondrous beauty + Of the round cheek's roseate hue, + And the full, red lips are smiling + As this morn they smiled on you. + + To that Lady thou hast given + Immortality below; + Wherefore then, with moody glances, + Dost thou from thy labor go? + + From the living face of beauty + Beams the soul's expressive ray, + And with all thy god-like genius + This thou never canst portray. + + Of the countless throng around me + Each hath labors like to thine, + Each, methinks, some Mona Lisa + In his spirit's inmost shrine. + + Visions haunt us from our childhood + Of a love so pure, so true, + Time and tears, and care and anguish, + Leave it steadfast, fair and new;-- + + Visions that elude for ever, + As the silent years depart, + Some unhappy ones and weary,-- + Mona Lisas of the heart. + + Gleams of that divine completeness + God's angelic ones attain, + Pass amid our toils before us, + And we emulate in vain. + + Poet fancies crowd the spirit, + We would print upon the scroll-- + But that perfect utterance faileth-- + Mona Lisas of the soul. + + + + + SPRING LILIES. + + + 'Neath their green and cool cathedrals, + In the garden lilies bloom, + Casting to the fresh Spring Zephyrs + Peal on peal of sweet perfume. + Often have I, pausing near them + When the sunset flushed the sky, + Seen the coral bells vibrating + With their fragrant harmony. + + And, within my quiet dwelling, + I have now a Lily fair, + Whose young spirit's sweet Spring budding + Watch I with unfailing care: + God, in placing her beside me, + Made my being most complete, + And my heart keeps time for ever + With the music of her feet. + + I remember not, while gazing + In her earnest eyes of blue, + That the earth has aught of sorrow + Aught less innocent and true; + And the restlessness and longing + Wakened by the cares of day, + With the burden and the tumult, + In her presence fall away. + + Shield my Lily, Holy Father! + Shield her from the whirlwind's might, + But protracted sunshine temper + With a soft and starry night; + 'Neath the burning suns of Summer, + Withered, scorched, the spring-flower lies, + Human hearts contract, when strangers + Long to clouds and tearful eyes. + + Give her purpose strong and holy, + Faith and self-devotion high; + These Life's common by-ways brighten + Every hope intensify. + Teach her all the brave endurance + That the sons of earth require; + May she, with a patient labor, + To the great and good aspire. + + Should some mighty grief oppress her, + Heavier than she can bear, + Oh! sustain her by Thy presence, + Hear and answer Thou her prayer: + And whene'er the storms of winter + Round my precious Lily reign, + To a fairer clime transplant her, + There to live and bloom again. + + + + + LINES TO D. G. T., OF SHERWOOD. + + + Blessings on thee, noble boy! + With thy sunny eyes of blue, + Speaking in their cloudless depths + Of a spirit pure and true. + + In thy thoughtful look and calm, + In thy forehead broad and high, + We have seemed to meet again + One whose home is in the sky. + + Thou to Earth art still a stranger, + To Life's tumult and unrest; + Angel visitants alone + Stir the fountains in thy breast. + + Thou hast yet no Past to shadow + With a fear the Future's light, + And the Present spreads before thee + Boundless as the Infinite. + + But each passing hour must waken + Energies that slumber now, + Manhood with its fire and action + Stamp that fair, unfurrowed brow. + + Into Life's sublime arena, + Opening through the world's broad mart, + Bear thy Mother's gentle spirit, + And her kind and loving heart. + + With exalted hope and purpose, + To the great and good aspire; + Downward, in unsullied glory, + Hand the honor of thy sire,-- + + With that love for Truth and Justice, + Future annals shall declare + Highest proof of moral greatness;-- + Nobly live and bravely dare. + + Cloudless pass thine infant days, + Childhood bring thee naught but joy, + Manhood, thought, and dignity; + Blessings on thee, noble boy! + + + + + LITTLE KATE. + + + Beside me, in the golden light + That slants upon the floor, + She twines the many-colored silks + Her dimpled fingers o'er; + Uplifting now and then her eye, + Or praise or blame in mine to spy. + + For her sweet sake I've cast aside + The books I've loved so well, + And given up my being to + Affection's mighty spell; + Ambition's visions vanish all, + Before the music of her call. + + The fancy of the past, that lent + To jewels bright and rare + Ascendency at every birth + In this our planet's air, + Hath to October's children given + The opal with its hues of Heaven. + + The golden sunlight in the sky, + The red leaf on the plain; + Beneath the opal's changeful light + Hope and Misfortune reign; + And mid gay leaves of wondrous dyes, + My darling first unclosed her eyes. + + I cannot in the future look + The augury to prove, + But earthly joys and earthly woes + Must human spirits move; + And she, like all, must strive with care, + Disasters meet, and suffering bear. + + But I will teach her hopefully + To meet what Fate betides, + To live and labor earnestly, + In narrow path or wide; + And, with salt tears on paling cheek, + A benediction still to speak. + + And if in some sweet inner sphere, + Some home of love apart, + An angel's duty she fulfil + With but a woman's heart, + Haply the red leaf, in its advent, may + Find Hope o'er sorrow dominant for aye. + + + + + A THOUGHT OF THE STARS. + + + I remember once, when a careless child, + I played on the mossy lea; + The stars looked forth in the shadowy west, + And I stole to my mother's knee, + + With a handful of stemless violets, wet + With the drops of gathering dew, + And asked of the wonderful points of light + That shone in the distant blue. + + She told me of numberless worlds, that rolled + Through the measureless depths above, + Created by infinite might and power, + Supported by infinite love. + + She told of a faith that she called divine, + Of a fairer and happier home; + Of hope unsullied by grief or fear, + And a loftier life to come. + + She told of seraphs, on wings of light, + That floated from star to star, + And were sometimes sent on a mission high + To a blighted orb afar. + + And with childish sense, I forgot the worlds, + She had pointed out on high, + And deemed each wonderful beam of light + The glance of an angel's eye. + + And when she knelt with her babes in prayer,-- + I know each petition now,-- + I saw the gleam of those wings of light + Lie beautiful on her brow. + + Years passed, and in earliest youth I knelt + By my mother's dying bed; + The lips were mute that had spoken love, + And the eye's bright glance had fled. + + And when I turned from that silent room + Where the latest word was spoken, + The shadow of death o'er my spirit lay, + And I thought that my heart was broken + + I sought the hush of the midnight air, + And wept till the founts were dry; + The earth was clad in a wintry garb, + But the star host filled the sky. + + And then I remembered the faith divine + And the loftier life to come, + And felt the shadow of Death depart + From my childhood's sacred home. + + And often now when my heart is faint + With earth and its wearying care, + When my soul is sick with a feverish thirst + And burdened with contrite prayer, + + I hasten forth to the starry gems, + That circle the brow of night, + And track with them the eloquent depths + Of the boundless Infinite. + + They whisper low of a holier life + And a faith sublime and high; + And again I fancy each golden beam + The glance of a seraph's eye, + + As in days of yore, when a careless child, + I stole to my mother's knee, + And asked of the wonderful points of light + That shone o'er the deep, blue sea. + + + + + A MOTHER'S PRAYER. + + + I knelt beside a little bed, + The curtains drew away, + And, 'mid the soft, white folds beheld, + Two rosy sleepers lay; + The one had seen three summers smile + And lisped her evening prayer; + The other,--only one year's shade + Was on her flaxen hair. + + No sense of duties ill performed + Weighed on each heaving breast, + No weariness of work-day care + Disturbed their tranquil rest; + The stars to them as yet were in + The reach of baby hand, + Temptation, trial, grief, were words + They could not understand. + + But in the coming years I saw + The turbulence of life + O'erwhelm this calm of innocence + With melancholy strife; + "From all the foes that lurk without, + From feebleness within, + What Sovereign guard from Heaven," I asked, + "Will strong beseeching win?" + + Then to my soul a vision came, + Illuming, cheering all, + Of him who stood with shining front + On Dothan's ancient wall; + And, while his servant's heart grew faint + As he beheld with fear + The Syrian bands encompassing + The city far and near, + + With lofty confidence to his + Sad questioning replied, + "Those armies are outnumbered far + By legions at our side:" + Then up from starry sphere to sphere, + Was borne the Prophet's prayer, + "Unfold to his blind sight, O God! + Thy glorious hosts and fair." + + The servant's eyes bewildered gazed + On chariots of fire, + On seraphs clad in mails of light, + Resistless in their ire; + On ranks of angels marshalled close, + Where roving comets run, + On silver shields and rainbow wings, + Outspread before the sun. + + I saw the Syrian hosts, at noon, + Led sightless through the land, + And longed to grasp the Prophet's robe + Within my feeble hand; + While my whole soul went out in deep + And passionate appeal, + That faith like his might set within + My babes' pure hearts its seal. + + + + +NOTES. + + +_Page_ 66. + + 'T is said the radiant stars of night, + When viewed through different air, + Appear not all in golden robes, + But various colors wear. + +In Syria, where the atmosphere is less humid than ours, the whole +heavens are said to sparkle at night, as with various-colored gems. + + +_Page_ 94. + +MADELINE.--_A Legend of the Mohawk._--The events narrated in +this poem occurred during the struggle of the American Colonies for +Independence, immediately after the battle of Saratoga, in a small +village on the banks of the Mohawk. + + +_Page_ 99. + + By the ruthless Cow-boys slain. + +"Cow-boys" was the term applied to the corps of freebooters attached to +the British army. + + +_Page_ 127. + + And the gall-drops were poured from the drawn-sword of Death. + +According to a Rabbinical tradition, gall-drops fall from the suspended +sword of the Angel of Death on the lips of the dying. + + +_Page_ 128. + + The cherubim drooped and the pomegranates lay + In the dust with the lamps that had glimmered all day; + The censers, and altars, the ashes must claim, + Though their unalloyed gold be the gold of Parvaim. + +2 Chronicles, 3:10: "And in the most holy house he made two Cherubims of +image-work, and overlaid them with gold." + +1 Kings, 7:20: "And the chapiters upon the two pillars had pomegranates +also above: and the pomegranates were two hundred in rows round about +upon the other chapiter." + +2 Chronicles, 4:20: "Moreover the candlesticks with their lamps and the +censers were of gold." + +2 Chronicles, 3:6: "And he garnished the house with precious stones for +beauty, and the gold was gold of Parvaim." + + +_Page_ 129. + + On pillar, and pommel, and chapiter high. + +2 Chronicles, 4:11,12: "And Hiram finished the work that he was to make +for King Solomon for the house of God." + +"To wit: the two pillars and the pommels, and the chapiters which were +on the top of the two pillars." + + +_Page_ 129. + + The Cedars of Lebanon thrilled with the wail, + That swept, like a torrent, Jehoshaphat's vale. + +It is related by Josephus, that when the Jews perceived the +conflagration of the Holy House, they broke out into such groans and +outcries that all the mountains round about the city returned the echo. + + +_Page_ 130. + + And a strange world came forth from the regions of space + And hung like a sword o'er the grave of that race. + +According to Josephus "a star resembling a sword stood over the city." + + +_Page_ 130. + + 'T is the tenth day of Lous--Jerusalem wail! + +The same month and day in which the Temple was burned by the +Babylonians, and which, according to an oracle of the Jews, was to be a +fatal one in their annals. + + +_Page_ 136. + +"And the said unto her father, Let me alone two months, that I may go up +and down upon the mountains."--_Judges_ 11:37. + + +_Page_ 163. + +2 Kings 6:15, 19. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Indian Legends and Other Poems, by +Mary Gardiner Horsford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INDIAN LEGENDS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19096.txt or 19096.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/0/9/19096/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Lisa Reigel, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +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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