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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hesperus, by Charles Sangster
+
+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: Hesperus
+       and Other Poems and Lyrics
+
+Author: Charles Sangster
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2008 [EBook #24819]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HESPERUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+HESPERUS,
+
+AND
+
+Other Poems and Lyrics
+
+
+BY CHARLES SANGSTER,
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE ST. LAWRENCE AND THE SAGUENAY, AND OTHER POEMS"
+
+
+
+
+Montreal:
+
+JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
+
+Kingston:
+
+JOHN CREIGHTON, KING STREET.
+
+
+1860.
+
+
+
+
+Entered, according to the Act of the Provincial Parliament,
+  in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty, by
+  CHARLES SANGSTER, in the office ef the Registrar of the
+  Province of Canada.
+
+
+
+
+THESE
+
+Poems and Lyrics
+
+ARE
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO
+
+My Niece,
+
+CARRIE MILLER,
+
+OF
+
+SANDWICH, C. W.
+
+
+
+
+{v}
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                           PAGE.
+
+Dedicatory Poem  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    9
+
+Hesperus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   11
+
+Crowned  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   29
+
+Mariline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   30
+
+The Happy Harvesters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   40
+
+Falls of the Chaudière, Ottawa . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   53
+
+A Royal Welcome  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   59
+
+Malcolm  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   61
+
+The Comet, October 1858  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   63
+
+Autumn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   65
+
+Colin  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   68
+
+Margery  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   70
+
+Eva  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   76
+
+The Poet's Recompense  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   77
+
+The Wine of Song . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   78
+
+The Plains of Abraham  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   80
+
+Death of Wolfe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   83
+
+Brock  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   84
+
+Song for Canada  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   86
+
+Song.--I'd be a Fairy King . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   89
+
+Song.--Love while you may  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   91
+
+{vi}
+
+The Snows, Upper Ottawa  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   92
+
+The Rapid. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   94
+
+Lost and Found . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   96
+
+Again  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   99
+
+Glimpses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  100
+
+My Prayer  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  102
+
+Her Star . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  104
+
+The Mystery  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  107
+
+Love and Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  109
+
+The Wren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  111
+
+Grandpere  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  113
+
+England's Hope and England's Heir  . . . . . . . . . . . .  114
+
+Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  116
+
+The Dreamer  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  118
+
+Night and Morning  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  119
+
+Within thine eyes  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  120
+
+Gertrude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  121
+
+Flowers  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  122
+
+The Unattainable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  123
+
+Yearnings  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  124
+
+Ingratitude  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  125
+
+True Love  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  126
+
+An Evening Thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  127
+
+A Thought for Spring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  128
+
+The Swallows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  129
+
+Song.--Clara and I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  130
+
+The April Snow Storm, 1858 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  132
+
+Good Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  134
+
+Hopeless . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  135
+
+Into the Silent Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  139
+
+{vii}
+
+SONNETS:--
+
+Proem  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  159
+
+Sonnet   I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  162
+
+        II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  163
+
+       III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  164
+
+        IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  165
+
+         V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  166
+
+        VI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  167
+
+       VII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  168
+
+      VIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  169
+
+        IX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  170
+
+         X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  171
+
+        XI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  172
+
+       XII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  173
+
+      XIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  174
+
+       XIV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  175
+
+        XV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  176
+
+       XVI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  177
+
+      XVII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  178
+
+     XVIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  179
+
+       XIX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  180
+
+        XX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  181
+
+       XXI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  182
+
+      XXII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  183
+
+Au Revoir  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  184
+
+
+
+
+{9}
+
+  POEMS.
+
+
+
+  DEDICATORY POEM.
+
+  Dear Carrie, were we truly wise,
+  And could discern with finer eyes,
+    And half-inspired sense,
+    The ways of Providence:
+
+  Could we but know the hidden things
+  That brood beneath the Future's wings,
+    Hermetically sealed,
+    But soon to be revealed:
+
+  Would we, more blest than we are now,
+  In due submission learn to bow,--
+    Receiving on our knees
+    The Omnipotent decrees?
+
+  That which is just, we have.  And we
+  Who lead this round of mystery,
+    This dance of strange unrest,
+    What are we at the best?--
+
+  Unless we learn to mount and climb;
+  Writing upon the page of time,
+    In words of joy or pain,
+    That we've not lived in vain.
+
+{10}
+
+  We all are Ministers of Good;
+  And where our mission's understood,
+    How many hearts we must
+    Raise, trembling, from the dust.
+
+  Oh, strong young soul, and thinking brain!
+  Walk wisely through the fair domain
+    Where burn the sacred fires
+    Of Music's sweet desires!
+
+  Cherish thy Gift; and let it be
+  A Jacob's ladder unto thee,
+    Down which the Angels come,
+    To bring thee dreams of Home.
+
+  What were we if the pulse of Song
+  Had never beat, nor found a tongue
+    To make the Poet known
+    In lands beyond his own?
+
+  Take what is said for what is meant.
+  We sometimes touch the firmament
+    Of starry Thought--no more;
+    Beyond, we may not soar.
+
+  I speak not of myself, but stand
+  In silence till the Master Hand
+    Each fluttering thought sets free.
+    God holds the golden key.
+
+
+Kingston, C. W., May 1st, 1860.
+
+
+
+
+{11}
+
+  HESPERUS:
+
+  A LEGEND OF THE STARS.
+
+
+  PRELUDE.
+
+  The Stars are heaven's ministers;
+    Right royally they teach
+  God's glory and omnipotence,
+    In wondrous lowly speech.
+  All eloquent with music as
+    The tremblings of a lyre,
+  To him that hath an ear to hear
+    They speak in words of fire.
+
+  Not to learned sagas only
+    Their whisperings come down;
+  The monarch is not glorified
+    Because he wears a crown.
+  The humblest soldier in the camp
+    Can win the smile of Mars,
+  And 'tis the lowliest spirits hold
+    Communion with the stars.
+
+  Thoughts too refined for utterance,
+    Ethereal as the air,
+  Crowd through the brain's dim labyrinths,
+    And leave their impress there;
+{12}
+
+  As far along the gleaming void
+    Man's tender glances roll,
+  Wonder usurps the throne of speech,
+    But vivifies the soul.
+
+  Oh, heaven-cradled mysteries,
+    What sacred paths ye've trod--
+  Bright, jewelled scintillations from
+    The chariot-wheels of God!
+  When in the spirit He rode forth,
+    With vast creative aim,
+  These were His footprints left behind,
+    To magnify His name!
+
+          ------
+
+  We gazed on the Evening Star,
+    Mary and I,
+    As it shone
+    On its throne
+      Afar,
+    In the blue sky;
+  Shone like a ransomed soul
+  In the depths of that quiet heaven;
+    Like a pearly tear,
+    Trembling with fear
+  On the pallid cheek of Even.
+
+  And I thought of the myriad souls
+  Gazing with human eyes
+    On the light of that star,
+    Shining afar,
+  In the quiet evening skies;
+
+{13}
+
+    Some with winged hope,
+    Clearing the cope
+  Of heaven as swift as light,
+    Others, with souls
+    Blind as the moles,
+  Sinking in rayless night.
+
+  Dreams such as dreamers dream
+    Flitted before our eyes;
+      Beautiful visions!--
+      Angelo's, Titian's,
+    Had never more gorgeous dyes:
+  We soared with the angels
+    Through vistas of glory,
+  We heard the evangels
+    Relate the glad story
+    Of the beautiful star,
+    Shining afar
+    In the quiet evening skies.
+
+  And we gazed and dreamed,
+  Till our spirits seemed
+    Absorbed in the stellar world;
+  Sorrow was swallowed up,
+  Drained was the bitter cup
+  Of earth to the very lees;
+  And we sailed over seas
+    Of white vapour that whirled
+    Through the skies afar,
+  Angels our charioteers,
+  Threading the endless spheres,
+
+{14}
+
+  And to the chorus of angels
+  Rehearsed the evangels
+    The Birth of the Evening Star.
+
+          ------
+
+  I.
+
+        Far back in the infant ages,
+  Before the eras stamped their autographs
+  Upon the stony records of the earth;
+  Before the burning incense of the sun
+        Rolled up the interlucent space,
+        Brightening the blank abyss;
+        Ere the Recording Angel's tears
+        Were shed for man's transgressions:
+        A Seraph, with a face of light,
+  And hair like heaven's golden atmosphere,
+  Blue eyes serene in their beatitude,
+        Godlike in their tranquillity,
+  Features as perfect as God's dearest work,
+        And stature worthy of her race,
+  Lived high exalted in the sacred sphere
+  That floated in a sea of harmony
+  Translucent as pure crystal, or the light
+  That flowed, unceasing, from this higher world
+  Unto the spheres beneath it.  Far below
+  The extremest regions underneath the Earth
+  The first spheres rose, of vari-coloured light,
+  In calm rotation through aërial deep,
+  Like seas of jasper, blue, and coralline,
+  Crystal and violet; layers of worlds--
+  The robes of ages that had passed away,
+
+{15}
+
+  Left as memorials of their sojournings.
+  For nothing passes wholly.  All is changed.
+  The Years but slumber in their sepulchres,
+  And speak prophetic meanings in their sleep.
+
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  Oh, how our souls are gladdened,
+    When we think of that brave old age,
+      When God's light came down
+      From heaven, to crown
+    Each act of the virgin page!
+
+  Oh, how our souls are saddened,
+    At the deeds which were done since then,
+      By the angel race
+      In the holy place,
+    And on earth by the sons of men!
+
+  Lo, as the years are fleeting,
+    With their burden of toil and pain,
+      We know that the page
+      Of that primal age
+    Will be opened up once again.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Progressing still, the bright-faced Seraph rose
+  From Goodness to Perfection, till she stood
+  The fairest and the best of all that waked
+  The tuneful echoes of that lofty world,
+  Where Lucifer, then the stateliest of the throng
+  Of Angels, walked majestical, arrayed
+
+{16}
+
+  In robes of brightness worthy of his place.
+  And all the intermediate spheres were homes
+        Of the existences
+        Of spiritual life.
+  Love, the divine arcanum, was the bond
+  That linked them to each other--heart to heart,
+  And angel world to world, and soul to soul.
+        Thus the first ages passed,
+        Cycles of perfect bliss,
+  God the acknowledged sovereign of all.
+  Sphere spake with sphere, and love conversed with love,
+  From the far centre to sublimest height,
+  And down the deep, unfathomable space,
+  To the remotest homes of angel-life,
+  A viewless chain of being circling all,
+  And linking every spirit to its God.
+
+
+  ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+    Spirits that never falter,
+    Before God's altar
+  Rehearse their paeans of unceasing praise;
+    Their theme the boundless love
+    By which God rules above,
+    Mysteriously engrafted
+    On grace divine, and wafted
+  Into every soul of man that disobeys.
+
+    Not till the wondrous being
+    Of the All-Seeing
+  Is manifested to finite man,
+    Can ye understand the love
+
+{17}
+
+    By which God rules above,
+    Evermore extending,
+    In circles never-ending,
+  To every atom in the universal plan.
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Oh, the love beyond computing
+    Of the high and holy place!
+    The unseen bond
+    Circling beyond
+  The limits of time and space.
+
+  Through earth and her world of beauty
+    The heavenly links extend,
+      Man feels its presence,
+      Imbibes its essence,
+    But cannot yet comprehend.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL.
+
+  But the days are fast approaching,
+    When the Father of Love will send
+      His interpreter
+      From the highest sphere,
+    That man fully may comprehend.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Oh, truest Love, because the truest life!
+  Oh, blest existence, to exist with Love!
+  Oh, Love, without which all things else must die
+  The death that knows no waking unto life!
+  Oh, Jealousy that saps the heart of Love,
+
+{18}
+
+  And robs it of its tenderness divine;
+  And Pride, that tramples with its iron hoof
+  Upon the flower of love, whose fragrant soul
+  Exhales itself in sweetness as it dies!
+  A lofty spirit surfeited with Bliss!
+  A Prince of Angels cancelling all love,
+  All due allegiance to his rightful Lord;
+  Doing dishonour to his high estate;
+  Turning the truth and wisdom which were his
+  For ages of supreme felicity,
+  To thirst for power, and hatred of his God,
+  Who raised him to such vast preëminence!
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+  Woe, woe to the ransomed spirit,
+    Once freed from the stain of sin,
+      Whose pride increases
+      Till all love ceases
+    To nourish it from within!
+  Its doom is the darkened regions
+  Where the rebel angel legions
+  Live their long night of sorrow;
+  Where no expectant morrow,
+    No mercy-tempered ray
+    From the altar of to-day,
+  Comes down through the gloom to borrow
+  One drop from their cup of sorrow,
+    Or lighten their cheerless way.
+
+{19}
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  But blest be the gentle spirit
+    Whose love is ever increased
+      From its own pure soul,
+      The illumined goal
+    Where Love holds perpetual feast!
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Ingrate Angel, he,
+  To purchase Hell, and at so vast a price!
+  'Tis the old story of celestial strife--
+  Rebellion in the palace-halls of God--
+  False angels joining the insurgent ranks,
+  Who suffered dire defeats, and fell at last
+  From bliss supreme to darkness and despair.
+  But they, the faithful dwellers in the spheres,
+  Who kept their souls inviolate, to whom
+  Heaven's love and truth were truly great rewards:
+  For these the stars were sown throughout all space,
+  As fit memorials of their faithfulness.
+  The wretched lost were banished to the depths
+  Beneath the lowest spheres.  Earth barred the space
+  Between them and the Faithful.  Then the hills
+  Rose bald and rugged o'er the wild abyss;
+  The waters found their places; and the sun,
+  The bright-haired warder of the golden morn,
+  Parting the curtains of reposing night,
+  Rung his first challenge to the dismal shades,
+  That shrunk back, awed, into Cimmerean gloom;
+  And the young moon glode through the startled void
+  With quiet beauty and majestic mien.
+
+{20}
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Slowly rose the daedal Earth,
+    Through the purple-hued abysm
+    Glowing like a gorgeous prism,
+  Heaven exulting o'er its birth,
+
+  Still the mighty wonder came,
+    Through the jasper-coloured sphere,
+    Ether-winged, and crystal-clear,
+  Trembling to the loud acclaim,
+
+  In a haze of golden rain,
+    Up the heavens rolled the sun,
+    Danae-like the earth was won,
+  Else his love and light were vain.
+
+  So the heart and soul of man
+    Own the light and love of heaven,
+    Nothing yet in vain was given,
+  Nature's is a perfect plan.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  The glowing Seraph with the brow of light
+  Was first among the Faithful.  When the war
+  Between heaven's rival armies fiercely waged,
+  She bore the Will Divine from rank to rank,
+  The chosen courier of Deity.
+  Her presence cheered the combatants for Truth,
+  And Victory stood up where'er she moved.
+  And now, in gleaming robe of woven pearl,
+  Emblazoned with devices of the stars,
+  And legends of their glory yet to come,
+
+{21}
+
+  The type of Beauty Intellectual,
+  The representative of Love and Truth,
+  She moves first in the innumerable throng
+  Of angels congregating to behold
+  The crowning wonder of creative power.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL CHORUS,
+
+  Oh, joy, that no mortal can fathom,
+    To rejoice in the smile of God!
+      To be first in the light
+      Of His Holy sight,
+    And freed from His chastening rod.
+  Faithful, indeed, that soul, to be
+  The messenger of Deity!
+
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  This, this is the chosen spirit,
+    Whose love is ever increased
+      From its own pare soul,
+      The illumined goal
+    Where Love holds perpetual feast.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  With noiseless speed the angel charioteers
+  In dazzling splendour all triumphant rode;
+  Through seas of ether painfully serene,
+  That flashed a golden, phosphorescent spray,
+  As luminous as the sun's intensest beams,
+  Athwart the wide, interminable space.
+  Legion on legion of the sons of God;
+  Vast phalanxes of graceful cherubim;
+
+{22}
+
+  Innumerable multitudes and ranks
+  Of all the hosts and hierarchs of heaven,
+  Moved by one universal impulse, urged
+  Their steeds of swiftness up the arch of light,
+  From sphere to sphere increasing as they came,
+  Till world on world was emptied of its race.
+  Upward, with unimaginable speed,
+  The myriads, congregating zenith-ward,
+  Reached the far confines of the utmost sphere,
+  The home of Truth, the dwelling-place of Love,
+  Striking celestial symphonies divine
+  From the resounding sea of melody,
+  That heaved in swells of soft, mellifluous sound,
+  To the blest crowds at whose triumphal tread
+  Its soul of sweetness waked in thrills sublime,
+  The sun stood poised upon the western verge;
+  The moon paused, waiting for the march of earth,
+  That stayed to watch the advent of the stars;
+  And ocean hushed its very deepest deeps
+        In grateful expectation.
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Still through the viewless regions
+    Of the habitable air,
+      Through the ether ocean,
+      In unceasing motion,
+  Pass the multitudinous legions
+    Of angels everywhere.
+
+  Bearing each new-born spirit
+    Through the interlucent void
+
+{23}
+
+      To its starry dwelling,
+      Angel anthems telling
+  Every earthly deed of merit
+    To each flashing asteroid.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL.
+
+  Through the realms sidereal,
+  Clothed with the immaterial,
+  Far as the fields elysian
+    In starry bloom extend,
+  The stretch of angel vision
+    Can see and comprehend.
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  Innumerable as the ocean sands
+  The angel concourse in due order stood,
+  In meek anticipation waiting for
+      The new-created orbs,
+      Still hidden in the deep
+    And unseen laboratory, where
+  Not even angel eyes could penetrate:
+  A star for each of that angelic host,
+  Memorials of their faithfulness and love.
+  The Evening Star, God's bright eternal gift
+  To the pure Seraph with the brow of light,
+    And named for her, mild Hesperus,
+  Came twinkling down the unencumbered blue,
+  On viewless wings of sweet melodious sound,
+  Beauty and grace presiding at its birth.
+  Celestial plaudits sweeping through the skies
+  Waked resonant paeans, till the concave thrilled
+
+{24}
+
+    Through its illimitable bounds.
+      With a sudden burst
+  Of light, that lit the universal space
+    As with a flame of crystal,
+      Rousing the Soul of Joy
+    That slumbered in the patient sea,
+  From every point of heaven the hurrying cars
+  Conveyed the constellations to their thrones--
+  The throbbing planets, and the burning suns,
+  Erratic comets, and the various grades
+  And magnitudes of palpitating stars.
+  From the far arctic and antarctic zones,
+  Through all the vast, surrounding infinite,
+  A wilderness of intermingling orbs,
+  The gleaming wonders, pulsing earthward, came;
+      Each to its destined place,
+      Each in itself a world,
+    With all its coining myriad life,
+  Drawing us nearer the Omnipotent,
+  With hearts of wonder, and with souls of praise:
+  Astrea, Pallas, strange Aldebaran,
+  The Pleiads, Arcturus, the ruddy Mars,
+  Pale Saturn, Ceres and Orion--
+    All as they circle still
+    Through the enraptured void.
+  For each young angel born to us from earth,
+  A new-made star is launched among its peers.
+
+
+  FULL ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+  Dreamer in the realms aërial,
+  Searcher for the true and good,
+
+{25}
+
+  Hoper for the high, ethereal
+  Limit of Beatitude,
+  Lift thy heart to heaven, for there
+  Is embalmed thy spirit prayer:
+  Not in words is shrined thy prayer,
+  But thy Thought awaits thee there.
+  God loves the silent worshipper.
+  The grandest hymn
+  That nature chants--the litany
+  Of the rejoicing stars--is silent praise.
+  Their nightly anthems stir
+  The souls of lofty seraphim
+  In the remotest heaven.  The melody
+  Descends in throbbings of celestial light
+  Into the heart of man, whose upward gaze,
+  And meditative aspect, tell
+  Of the heart's incense passing up the night.
+  Above the crystalline height
+  The theme of thoughtful praise ascends.
+  Not from the wildest swell
+  Of the vexed ocean soars the fullest psalm;
+  But in the evening calm,
+  And in the solemn midnight, silence blends
+  With silence, and to the ear
+  Attuned to harmony divine
+  Begets a strain
+  Whose trance-like stillness wakes delicious pain.
+  The silent tear
+  Holds keener anguish in its orb of brine,
+  Deeper and truer grief
+  Than the loud wail that brings relief,
+
+{26}
+
+  As thunder clears the atmosphere.
+  But the deep, tearless Sorrow,--how profound!
+  Unspoken to the ear
+  Of sense, 'tis yet as eloquent a sound
+  As that which wakes the lyre
+  Of the rejoicing Day, when
+  Morn on the mountains lights his urn of fire.
+  The flowers of the glen
+  Rejoice in silence; huge pines stand apart
+  Upon the lofty hills, and sigh
+  Their woes to every breeze that passeth by;
+  The willow tells its mournful tale
+  So tenderly, that e'en the passing gale
+  Bears not a murmur on its wings
+  Of what the spirit sings
+  That breathes its trembling thoughts through all the
+        drooping strings.
+  He loves God most who worships most
+  In the obedient heart.
+  The thunder's noisome boast,
+  What is it to the violet lightning thought?
+  So with the burning passion of the stars--
+  Creation's diamond sands,
+  Strewn along the pearly strands,
+  And far-extending corridors
+  Of heaven's blooming shores;
+  No scintil of their jewelled flame
+  But wafts the exquisite essence
+  Of prayer to the Eternal Presence,
+  Of praise to the Eternal Name.
+  The silent prayer unbars
+
+{27}
+
+  The gates of Paradise, while the too-intimate,
+  Self-righteous' boast, strikes rudely at the gate
+  Of heaven, unknowing why it does not open to
+  Their summons, as they see pale Silence passing through.
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  In grateful admiration, till the Dawn
+  Withdrew the gleaming curtains of the night,
+  We watched the whirling systems, until each
+  Could recognize their own peculiar star;
+      When, with the swift celerity
+      Of Fancy-footed Thought,
+  The light-caparisoned, aërial steeds,
+      Shod with rare fleetness,
+  Revisited the farthest of the spheres
+  Ere the earth's sun had kissed the mountain tops,
+  Or shook the sea-pearls from his locks of gold.
+
+          ------
+
+      Still on the Evening Star
+      Gazed we with steadfast eyes,
+          As it shone
+          On its throne
+            Afar,
+      In the blue skies.
+      No longer the charioteers
+      Dashed through the gleaming spheres;
+      No more the evangels
+        Rehearsed the glad story;
+      But, in passing, the angels
+        Left footprints of glory:
+
+{28}
+
+      For up the starry void
+      Bright-flashing asteroid,
+      Pale moon and starry choir,
+      Aided by Fancy's fire,
+      Rung from the glittering lyre
+      Changes of song and hymn,
+      Worthy of Seraphim.
+  Night's shepherdess sat, queenlike, on her throne,
+  Watching her starry flocks from zone to zone,
+  While we, like mortals turned to breathing stone,
+  Intently pondered on the Known Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+{29}
+
+  CROWNED.
+
+  Her thoughts are sweet glimpses of heaven,
+    Her life is that heaven brought down;
+  Oh, never to mortal was given
+    So rare and bejewelled a crown!
+  I'll wear it as saints wear the glory
+    That radiantly clasps them above--
+      Oh, dower most fair!
+      Oh, diadem rare!
+    Bright crown of her maidenly love.
+
+  My heart is a fane of devotion,
+    My feelings are converts at prayer,
+  And every thrill of emotion
+    Makes dearer the crown I would wear.
+  My soul in its fulness of rapture
+    Begins its millennial reign,
+      Life glows like a sun,
+      Love's zenith is won,
+    And Joy is sole monarch again.
+
+  My noonday of life is as morning,
+    God's light streams approvingly down;
+  Uncovered, I wait her adorning,
+    She comes with the beautiful crown!
+  I'll wear it as saints wear the glory
+    That radiantly clasps them above--
+      Oh, dower most fair!
+      Oh, diadem rare!
+    Bright crown of her maidenly love.
+
+
+
+
+{30}
+
+  MARILINE.
+
+  At the wheel plied Mariline,
+  Beauteous and self-serene,
+  Never dreaming of that mien
+  Fit for lady or for queen.
+
+  Never sang she, but her words,
+  Music-laden, swept the chords
+
+  Of the heart, that eagerly
+  Stored the subtle melody,
+  Like the honey in the bee;
+  Never spake, but showed that she
+
+  Held the golden master-key
+  That unlocked all sympathy
+
+  Pent in souls where Feeling glows,
+  Like the perfume in the rose,
+  Like her own innate repose,
+  Like the whiteness in the snows.
+
+  Richly thoughted Mariline!
+  Nature's heiress!--nature's queen!
+
+
+  II.
+
+  By her side, with liberal look,
+  Paused a student o'er a book,
+  Wielder of a shepherd's crook,
+  Reveller by grove and brook:
+
+{31}
+
+  Hunter-up of musty tomes,
+  Worshipper of deathless poems:
+
+  Lover of the true and good,
+  Hater of sin's evil brood,
+  Votary of solitude,
+  Man, of mind-like amplitude.
+
+  With exalted eye serene
+  Gazed he on fair Mariline.
+
+  Swifter whirled the busy wheel,
+  Piled the thread upon the reel--
+  Saw she not his spirit kneel,
+  Praying for her after-weal?
+
+  Like the wife of Collatine,
+  Busily spun Mariline.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Hour by hour, and day by day,
+  Sang the maid her roundelay;
+  Hour by hour, and day by day,
+  Spun her threads of white and gray.
+
+  While the shepherd-student held
+  Commune with the great of eld:
+
+  Pondered on their wondrous words,
+  While he watched his scattered herds,
+  While he stemmed the surging fords.
+  And he knew the lore of birds,
+
+{32}
+
+  Learned the secrets of the rills,
+  Conversed with the answering hills.
+
+  Like her threads of white and gray,
+  Passed their mingled Eves away,
+  One unceasing roundelay--
+  Winter came, it still was May!
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  When the spring smiled, opening up
+  Pink-lipped flower and acorn cup;
+
+  When the summer waked the rose
+  In the scented briar boughs;
+  When the earth, with painless throes,
+  Bore her golden autumn rows--
+
+  Field on field of grain, that pressed,
+  Childlike, to her fruitful breast--
+
+  When hale winter wrapped his form
+  In the mantle of the storm,
+  Tamed the bird, and chilled the worm,
+  Stopped the pulse that thrilled the germ;
+
+  As the seasons went and came,
+  One in heart, and hope, and aim,
+
+  Cheered they each the other on,
+  Where was labor to be done,
+  At day-break or set of sun,
+  Like two thoughts that merge in one.
+
+{33}
+
+  Dignified, and soul-serene,
+  Busily spun Mariline.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  Brightly broke the summer morn,
+  Like a lark from out the corn,--
+  Broke like joy just newly born
+  From the depths of woe forlorn,--
+
+  Broke with grateful songs of birds,
+  Lowings of well-pastured herds;
+
+  Hailed by childhood's happy looks,
+  Cheered by anthems of the brooks--
+  Chants beyond the lore of books--
+  Cawing crows, instead of rooks.
+
+  Glowed the heavens--rose the sun,
+  Mariline was up, for one.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  Like a chatterer tongue-tied,
+  Lo, the wheel is placed aside!--
+  Not from indolence or pride--
+  Mariline must be a Bride!
+
+  Fairest maid of maids terrene!
+  Bride of Brides, dear Mariline!
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  Up the meditative air
+  Passed the smoke-wreaths, white and fair,
+  Like the spirit of the prayer
+  Mariline now offered there:
+
+{34}
+
+  Passed behind the cottage eaves,
+  Curling through the maple leaves:
+
+  Through the pines and old elm trees,
+  Belies of past centuries,
+  Hardy oaks, that never breeze
+  Humbled to their gnarly knees:
+
+  Forest lords, beneath whose sheen
+  Flowers bloomed for Mariline.
+
+  Round the cottage, fresh and green,
+  Climbed the vine, the scarlet bean,
+  Morning-glories peeped between,
+  Looking out for Mariline.
+
+  Odours never felt before
+  Tranced the locust at the door,
+
+  Vieing with the mignonette
+  Bound the garden parapet,
+  Whose rare fragrances were met
+  By rich perfumes, rarer yet,
+
+  Stealing from the garden walks,
+  Sentineled with hollyhocks.
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  What a heaven the cottage seemed!
+  Love's own temple, where Faith dreamed
+  Of the coming years that beamed
+  On them, as pale stars have gleamed
+
+{35}
+
+  Through unnavigated seas,
+  To which the prophetic breeze
+
+  Whispered of a future day,
+  When swift fleets would urge their way,
+  Through the waters cold and gray,
+  Like the dolphins at their play.
+
+  There the future Bride, and he,
+  Prince of love's knight-errantry,
+
+  Whose good shepherd arms must hold
+  This pet yeanling of the fold,
+  Gift of God so long foretold,
+  Gift beyond the price of gold.
+
+  There the parents, aged and hale,
+  Passing down life's autumn vale,
+
+  With a joy as rare and true
+  As their daughter's eye of blue,
+  With such hopes as reach up to
+  Heaven's gate, when, passing through,
+
+  Peris, bound for higher skies,
+  Win the Celestial Paradise.
+
+
+  IX.
+
+  Thoughtfully stood Mariline,
+  Whitely veiled, and soul-serene;
+  Love's fair world for her demesne,
+  Never looked she more a queen--
+
+{36}
+
+  With her maidens by her side,
+  Smiling on the coming bride.
+
+  Her pet lamb, with comic mirth,
+  Licked her hand and scampered forth;
+  The fine sheep-dog, on the hearth,
+  Kindly eyed her for her worth.
+
+
+  X.
+
+  Up the air, across the moor,
+  As they left the cottage door,
+
+  Chimed the merry village-hells,
+  Music-wrapt the neighbouring fells,
+  Stirred the heart's awakened cells,
+  Like fine strains from fairy dells.
+
+  Past the orchard, down the lane,
+  By fresh wavy fields of grain,
+
+  By the brook, that told its love
+  To the pasture, glen, and grove--
+  Sacred haunts, that well could prove
+  Vows enregistered above.
+
+  By the restless mill, where stood,
+  Bowing in his amplest mood,
+
+  The old miller, hat in hand,
+  Rich in goodness, rich in land,
+  On whose features, grave and bland,
+  Glowed a blessing for the band.
+
+{37}
+
+  Through the village, where, behind
+  Many a half-uplifted blind,
+
+  Eyes, that might have lit the skies
+  Of Mahomet's Paradise,
+  Flashed behind the curtains' dyes,
+  With a cheerful, half-surprise.
+
+  Through the village, underneath,
+  Many a blooming flower-wreath,
+
+  Garlanding the arches green
+  Beared in honour of the queen
+  Of this day of days serene,
+  Day of days to Mariline.
+
+  To the church, whose cheering bells
+  Told the tale in music-swells--
+
+  Told it to the country wide,
+  With an earnest kind of pride--
+  Something not to be denied--
+  "Mariline must be a Bride!"
+
+
+  XI.
+
+  Up the aisle with solemn pace,
+  Meeting God there, face to face.
+
+  Never Bride more chaste or fair
+  Stood before His altar there,
+  Her ripe heart aflame with prayer,
+  Blessing Him for all His care:
+
+{38}
+
+  Every earthly promise given,
+  Registered with joy in heaven.
+
+  From the galleries looked down,
+  Village belle and country clown,
+  Men with honest labour brown,
+  Far removed from mart or town:
+
+  Smiling with a zealous pride
+  On the shepherd and his bride--
+
+  Playmates of their early days;
+  For their walks in wisdom's ways,
+  Ever crowned with honoured bays
+  Of esteem and ardent praise.
+
+
+  XII.
+
+  Well done, servant of the Lord!
+  Grave expounder of His Word,
+
+  Who in distant Galilee
+  Graced the marriage feast, that He,
+  With all due solemnity,
+  Might commission such as thee
+
+  To do likewise, and unite
+  Souls like these in marriage plight.
+
+  With what manly, gentle pride,
+  The glad Shepherd clasps his Bride!
+  Love like theirs, so true and tried,
+  Ever true love must abide!
+
+{39}
+
+  XIII.
+
+  Ye whose souls are strong and firm,
+  In whom love's electric germ
+
+  Has been fanned into a flame
+  At the mention of a name;
+  Ye whose souls are still the same
+  As when first the Victor came,
+
+  Stinging every nerve to life,
+  In the beatific strife,
+
+  Till the man's divinest part
+  Ruled triumphant in the heart,
+  And, with shrinking, sudden start,
+  The bleak old world stood apart,
+
+  Periling the wild Ideal
+  By the presence of the Real:
+
+  Ye, and ye alone, can know
+  How these twain souls burn and glow,
+  Can interpret every throe
+  Of the full heart's overflow,
+
+  That imparts that light serene
+  To the brow of Mariline.
+
+
+
+
+{40}
+
+  THE HAPPY HARVESTERS.
+
+  A CANTATA.
+
+  I.
+
+  Autumn, like an old poet in a haze
+  Of golden visions, dreams away his days,
+  So Hafiz-like that one may almost hear
+  The singer's thoughts imbue the atmosphere;
+  Sweet as the dreamings of the nightingales
+  Ere yet their songs have waked the eastern vales,
+  Or stirred the airy echoes of the wood
+  That haunt the forest's social solitude.
+  His thoughts are pastorals; his days are rife
+  With the calm wisdom of that inner life
+  That makes the poet heir to worlds unknown,
+  All space his empire, and the sun his throne.
+  As the bee stores the sweetness of the flowers,
+  So into autumn's variegated hours
+  Is hived the Hybla richness of the year;
+  Choice souls imbibing the ambrosial cheer,
+  As autumn, seated on the highest hills,
+  Gleans honied secrets from the passing rills;
+  While from below, the harvest canzonas
+  Link vale to mountain with a chain of praise.
+  Foremost among the honoured sons of toil
+  Are they who overcome the stubborn soil;
+  Brave Cincinnatus in his country home
+  Was even greater than when lord of Rome.
+  Down sinks the sun behind the lofty pines
+  That skirt the mountain, like the straggling lines
+
+{41}
+
+  Of Ceres' army looking from the height
+  On the dim lowlands deepening into night;
+  Soft-featured twilight, peering through the maze,
+  Sees the first starbeam pierce the purple haze;
+  Through all the vales the vespers of the birds
+  Cheer the young shepherds homeward with their herds;
+  And the stout axles of the heavy wain
+  Creak 'neath the fulness of the ripened grain,
+  As the swarth builders of the precious load,
+  Returning homewards, sing their Autumn Ode.
+
+
+  AUTUMN ODE.
+
+  God of the Harvest!  Thou, whose sun
+    Has ripened all the golden grain,
+  We bless Thee for Thy bounteous store,
+  The cup of Plenty running o'er,
+    The sunshine and the rain.
+
+  The year laughs out for very joy,
+    Its silver treble echoing
+  Like a sweet anthem through the woods,
+  Till mellowed by the solitudes
+    It folds its glossy wing.
+
+  But our united voices blend
+    From day to day unweariedly;
+  Sure as the sun rolls up the morn,
+  Or twilight from the eve is born,
+    Our song ascends to Thee.
+
+{42}
+
+  Where'er the various-tinted woods,
+    In all their autumn splendour dressed,
+  Impart their gold and purple dyes
+  To distant hills and farthest skies
+    Along the crimson west:
+
+  Across the smooth, extended plain,
+    By rushing stream and broad lagoon,
+  On shady height and sunny dale,
+  Wherever scuds the balmy gale,
+    Or gleams the autumn moon:
+
+  From inland seas of yellow grain,
+    Where cheerful Labour, heaven-blest,
+  With willing hands and keen-edged scythe,
+  And accents musically blythe,
+    Reveals its lordly crest:
+
+  From clover-fields and meadows wide,
+    Where moves the richly-laden wain
+  To barns well-stored with new-made hay,
+  Or where the flail at early day
+    Rolls out the ripened grain:
+
+  From meads and pastures on the hills,
+    And in the mountain valleys deep,
+  Alive with beeves and sweet-breathed kine
+  Of famous Ayr or Devon's line,
+    And shepherd-guarded sheep:
+
+{43}
+
+  The spirits of the golden year,
+    From crystal caves and grottoes dim,
+  From forest depths and mossy sward,
+  Myriad-tongued, with one accord
+    Peal forth their harvest hymn.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Their daily labour in the happy fields
+  A two-fold crop of grain and pleasure yields,
+  While round their hearths, before their evening fires,
+  Whore comfort reigns, whence weariness retires,
+  The level tracts, denuded of their grain,
+  In calm dispute are bravely shorn again,
+  Till some rough reaper, on a tide of song,
+  Like a bold pirate, captivates the throng:
+
+
+  A SONG FOR THE FLAIL.
+
+  A song, a song for the good old Flail,
+    And the brawny arms that wield it,
+  Hearty and hale, in our yeoman mail,
+    Like intrepid knights we'll shield it.
+      We are old nature's peers,
+      Right royal cavaliers!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+  A song, a song for the golden grain,
+    As it wooes the flail's embraces,
+  In wavy sheaves like a golden main,
+    With its bright spray in our faces.
+
+{44}
+
+      Mirth hastens at our call,
+      Jovial hearts have we all!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+  A song, a song for the good old Flail,
+    That our fathers used before us;
+  A song for the Flail, and the faces hale
+    Of the queenly dames that bore us!
+      We are old nature's peers,
+      Right royal cavaliers!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Fair was the maid, and lovely as the morn
+  From starry Night and rosy Twilight born,
+  Within whose mind a rivulet of song
+  Rehearsed the strains that from her lips ere long
+  Welled free and sparkling, as the vocal woods
+  Repeat the day-spring's sweetest interludes.
+  Her gentle eyes' serenest depths of blue
+  Shrined love and truth, and all their retinue;
+  The health and beauty of her youthful face
+  Made it the Harem of each maiden grace;
+  And such perfection blended with her air,
+  She seemed some stately Goddess moving there:
+  Beholding her, you thought she might have been
+  The long-lost, flower-loving Proserpine:
+
+{45}
+
+  AN AUTUMN CHANGE.
+
+  "Oh, dreamy autumn days!
+  I seek your faded ways,
+  As one who calmly strays
+    Through visions of the past;
+  I walk the golden hours,
+  And where I gathered flowers
+  The stricken leaves in showers
+    Are hurled upon the blast."
+
+  Thus mused the lonely maid,
+  As through the autumn glade,
+  With pensive heart, she strayed,
+    Regretting Love's delay;
+  In vain the traitor flies!
+  To pleading lips and eyes,
+  Sweet looks, and tender sighs,
+    He falls an easy prey.
+
+  "Oh, dreamy autumn days!
+  I tread your bridal ways,
+  As one who homeward strays,
+    Through realms divinely fair;
+  I walk Love's radiant hours,
+  Fragrant with passion flowers,
+  And blessings fall like dowers
+    Down the elysian air."
+
+  Thus mused the maiden now,
+  With sunny heart and brow,
+  For Love had turned his prow
+
+{46}
+
+    Towards the Golden Isles,
+  Where from Pierean springs
+  The soul of Music sings
+  Its sweet imaginings,
+    Through all the Land of Smiles.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Up the wide chimney rolls the social fire,
+  Warming the hearts of matron, youth, and sire;
+  Painting such grotesque shadows on the wall,
+  The stripling looms a giant stout and tall,
+  While they whose statures reach the common height
+  Seem spectres mocking the hilarious night.
+  From hand to hand the ripened fruit went round,
+  And rural sports a pleased acceptance found;
+  The youthful fiddler on his three-legged stool,
+  Fancied himself at least an Ole Bull;
+  Some easy bumpkin, seated on the floor,
+  Hunted the slipper till his ribs were sore;
+  Some chose the graceful waltz or lively reel,
+  While deeper heads the chess battalions wheel
+  Till some old veteran, compelled to yield,
+  More brave than skilful, vanquished, quits the field.
+  As a flushed harper, when the doubtful fight
+  Favors the prowess of some stately knight,
+  In stirring numbers of triumphal song
+  Upholds the spirits of the victor throng,
+  A sturdy ploughboy, wedded to the soil,
+  Thus sung the praises of the partner of his toil:
+
+{47}
+
+  THE SOLDIERS OF THE PLOUGH.
+
+  No maiden dream, nor fancy theme,
+    Brown Labour's muse would sing;
+  Her stately mien and russet sheen
+    Demand a stronger wing,
+  Long ages since, the sage, the prince,
+    The man of lordly brow,
+  All honour gave that army brave,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+  In every land, the toiling hand
+    Is blest as it deserves;
+  Not so the race who, in disgrace,
+    From honest labour swerves.
+  From fairest bowers bring rarest flowers,
+    To deck the swarthy brow
+  Of those whose toil improves the soil,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+{48}
+
+  Blest is his lot, in hall or cot,
+    Who lives as nature wills,
+  Who pours his corn from Ceres' horn,
+    And quaffs his native rills!
+  No breeze that sweeps trade's stormy deeps,
+    Can touch his golden prow;
+  Their foes are few, their lives are true,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  Fast sped the rushing chariot of the Hours.
+  Without, the Harvest Moon, through fleecy bowers
+  Of hazy cloudlets, swept her graceful way,
+  Proud as an empress on her marriage-day;
+  The admiring planets lit her stately march
+  With smiles that gleamed along the silent arch,
+  And all the starry midnight blazed with light,
+  As if 'twere earth and heaven's nuptial-night;
+  The cock crowed, certain that the day had broke,
+  The aged house-dog suddenly awoke,
+  And bayed so loud a challenge to the moon,
+  From the old orchard fled the thievish 'coon;
+  Within, the lightest hearts that ever beat
+  Still found their harmless pleasures pure and sweet;
+  The fire still burned on the capacious hearth,
+  In sympathy with the redundant mirth;
+
+{49}
+
+  Old graybeards felt the glow of youth revive,
+  Old matrons smiled upon the human hive,
+  Where life's rare nectar, fit for gods to sip,
+  In forfeit kisses passed from lip to lip.
+  Be hushed rude Mirth! as merry as the May
+  Is she who comes to sing her roundelay:
+
+
+  CLAIRE.
+
+  Whither now, blushing Claire?
+  Maid of the sylph-like air,
+  Blooming and debonair,
+    Whither so early?
+  Chasing the merry morn,
+  Down through the golden corn?
+  List'ning the hunter's horn
+    Ring through the barley?
+
+  "Flowerets fresh and fair,"
+  Answered the blushing Claire,
+  "Fit for my bridal hair,
+    Bloom 'mongst the barley;
+  Hark! 'tis the hunter's horn,
+  Waking the sylvan morn,
+  And through the yellow corn
+    Comes my brave Charlie."
+
+  Through the dew-dripping grain
+  Pressed the heart-stricken swain,
+  Crushed with a weight of pain,
+
+{50}
+
+    Drooped like the barley;
+  Ah! timid shepherd boy!
+  Man's love should ne'er be coy,
+  Sweet is Claire's maiden joy,
+    Kissing her Charlie!
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  A pleasant soul as ever trilled a song
+  Was hers who warbled "Claire."  All the day long
+  Her voice was ringing like a bridal bell;
+  Gladness and joy leaped up at every swell;
+  And love was deeper, warmer, for the tone
+  That clasped the heart like an enchanted zone.
+  A youth was there more comely than the rest,
+  One who could turn a furrow with the best,
+  Compete for manly strength and portly air,
+  Or wield a scythe with any reaper there.
+  The spirit of her voice had moved above
+  The waters of his soul, and waked his song to Love:
+
+
+  BALLAD.
+
+  "Come tell me, merry Brooklet, of a gentle Maid I seek,
+  Thou'lt know her by the freshness of the rose upon her cheek;
+  Her eyes are chaste and tender, and so serenely bright,
+  You can read her heart's pure secrets by their warm religious light."
+
+{51}
+
+  "The Maid has not come hither," said the Brooklet in reply;
+  "I've listened for her footfall ere the stars were in the sky;
+  The Fountain has been singing of a Maid, with eyes so bright
+  You may read the cherished secrets of her bosom by their light."
+
+  "Pray tell me, merry Brooklet, what saith her thoughts of one
+  Who wronged her loving nature ere the setting of the sun?
+  What say they of yon autumn moon that smiles so mournfully
+  On the slowly-dying season, and the blasted moorland tree?"
+
+  "She sitteth by the Fountain," the Brook replied again,
+  "Her heart as pure as heaven, and her thoughts without a stain;
+  'Oh, fickle moon, and changeful man!' she saith, 'a year ago
+  All the paths were true-love-lighted where I'm groping now in woe.'
+
+  "She sitteth by the Fountain, the gentle mists arise,
+  And kiss away the tear-pearls that tremble in her eyes,
+  The Fountain singeth to me that the Maiden in her dream
+  Shrinks as the vapours claim her as the Oread of the stream."
+
+{52}
+
+  Off sped the merry Streamlet adown the sloping vale;
+  The Shepherd seeks the Fountain, where sits the Maiden pale;
+  And to the wandering Brooklet, through many a lonely wild,
+  The burden of the Fountain was, that Love was reconciled.
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  But soon the Morn, on many a distant height,
+  Fingers the raven locks of lingering Night;
+  The last dark shadows that precede the day
+  Have stripped the splendour from the Milky Way;
+  And Nature seems disturbed by fitful dreams,
+  As one who shudders when the owlet screams;
+  The painful burden of the Whippoorwill,
+  Like a vague Sorrow, floats from hill to hill;
+  Along the vales the doleful accents run,
+  Where the white vapours dread the burning sun;
+  While human voices stir the haunted air,
+  One sings "the Plough," another warbles "Claire:"
+  The Happy Harvesters, a lightsome throng,
+  Dispersing homewards, prove the excellence of Song.
+
+
+
+
+{53}
+
+  THE FALLS OF THE CHAUDIÈRE, OTTAWA.
+
+  I have laid my cheek to Nature's, placed my puny hand in hers,
+   Felt a kindred spirit warming all the life-blood of my face,
+  Moved amid the very foremost of her truest worshippers,
+   Studying each curve of beauty, marking every minute grace;
+  Loved not less the mountain cedar than the flowers at its feet,
+   Looking skyward from the valley, open-lipped as if in prayer,
+  Felt a pleasure in the brooklet singing of its wild retreat,
+    But I knelt before the splendour of the thunderous Chaudière.
+
+  All my manhood waked within me, every nerve had tenfold force,
+    And my soul stood up rejoicing, looking on with cheerful eyes,
+  Watching the resistless waters speeding on their downward course,
+    Titan strength and queenly beauty diademed with rainbow dyes.
+  Eye and ear, with spirit quickened, mingled with the lovely strife,
+    Saw the living Genius shrined within her sanctuary fair,
+
+{54}
+
+  Heard her voice of sweetness singing, peered into her hidden life,
+    And discerned the tuneful secret of the jubilant Chaudière:
+
+    "Within my pearl-roofed shell,
+  Whose floor is woven with the iris bright,
+  Genius and Queen of the Chaudière I dwell,
+  As in a world of immaterial light.
+
+    My throne, an ancient rock,
+  Marked by the foot of ages long-departed,
+  My joy, the cataract's stupendous shock,
+  Whose roll is music to the grateful-hearted.
+
+    I've seen the eras glide
+  With muffled tread to their eternal dreams,
+  While I have lived in vale and mountain side,
+  With leaping torrents and sweet purling streams.
+
+    The Red-Man's active life;
+  His love, pride, passions, courage, and great deeds;
+  His perfect freedom, and his thirst for strife;
+  His swift revenge, at which the memory bleeds:
+
+    The sanguinary years,
+  When sullen Terror, like a raging Fate,
+  Swept down the stately tribes like slaughtered deers,
+  And war and hatred joined to decimate
+
+    The remnants of the race,
+  And spread decay through centuries of pain--
+  No more I mark their sure, avenging pace,
+  And forests wave where war-whoops shook the plain.
+
+{55}
+
+    Their deeds I envied not.
+  The royal tyrant on his purple throne,
+  I, in secluded grove or shady grot,
+  Had purer joys than he had ever known,
+
+    God made the ancient hills,
+  The valleys and the solemn wildernesses,
+  The merry-hearted and melodious rills,
+  And strung with diamond dews the pine-trees' tresses;
+
+    But man's hand built the palace,
+  And he that reigns therein is simply man;
+  Man turns God's gifts to poison in the chalice
+  That brimmed with nectar in the primal plan.
+
+    Here I abide alone--
+  The wild Chaudière's eternal jubilee
+  Has such sweet divination in its tone,
+  And utters nature's truest prophecy
+
+    In thunderings of zeal!
+  I've seen the Atheist in terror start,
+  Awed to contrition by the strong appeal
+  That waked conviction in his doubting heart:
+
+    'Teachers speak throughout all nature,
+      From the womb of Silence born,
+    Heed ye not their words, O Scoffer?
+      Flinging back thy scorn with scorn!
+    To the desert spring that leapeth,
+      Pulsing, from the parched sod,
+    Points the famished trav'ler, saying--
+      'Brothers, here, indeed, is God!'
+
+{56}
+
+    From the patriarchal fountains,
+      Sending forth their tribes of rills,
+    From the cedar-shadowed lakelets
+      In the hearts of distant hills,
+    Whispers softer than the moonbeams
+      Wisdom's gentle heart have awed,
+    Till its lips approved the cadence--
+      'Surely here, indeed, is God!'
+
+    Lo! o'er all, the Torrent Prophet,
+      An inspired Demosthenes,
+    To the Doubter's soul appealing,
+      Louder than the preacher-seas:
+    Dreamer! wouldst have nature spurn thee
+      For a dumb, insensate clod?
+    Dare to doubt! and these shall teach thee
+      Of a truth there lives a God!'
+
+    By day and night, for hours,
+  I watch the cataract's impulsive leap,
+  Refreshed and gladdened by the cheering showers
+  Wrung from the passion of the seething deep.
+
+    Pleased when the buried waves
+  Emerge again, like incorporeal hosts
+  Rising, white-sheeted, from their gloomy graves,
+  As if the depths had yielded up their ghosts.
+
+    And when the midnight storm
+  Enfolds the welkin in its robe of clouds,
+  Through the dim vapours of the cauldron swarm
+  The sheeted spectres in their whitest shrouds,
+
+{57}
+
+    By the lightning's flash betrayed.
+  These gather from the insubstantial vapour
+  The lunar rainbows, which by them are made--
+  Woven with moonbeams by some starry taper,
+
+    To decorate the halls
+  Of my fair palace, whence I'm pained to see
+  Thy human brethren watch the waterfalls--
+  Not with such rev'rence as I've found in thee:
+
+    Too many with an eye
+  To speculation and the worldling's dreams;
+  Others, who seek from nature no reply,
+  Nor read the oral language of the streams.
+
+    But of the few who loved
+  The beautiful with grateful heart and soul,
+  Who looked on nature fondly, and were moved
+  By one sweet glance, as by the mighty whole:
+
+    Of these, the thoughtful few,
+  Thou wert the first to seek the inner temple,
+  And stand before the Priestess.  Thou wert true
+  To nature and thyself.  Be thy example
+
+    The harbinger of times
+  When the Chaudière's imposing majesty
+  Will awe the spirits of the heartless mimes
+  To worship God in truth, with nature's constancy."
+
+{58}
+
+  Still I heard the mellow sweetness of her voice at intervals,
+    Mingling with the fall of waters, rising with the snowy spray,
+  Ringing through the sportive current like the joy of waterfalls,
+    Sending up their hearty vespers at the calmy close of day.
+  Loath to leave the scene of beauty, lover-like I stayed, and stayed,
+    Folding to my eager bosom memories beyond compare;
+  Deeper, stronger, more enduring than my dreams of wood and glade,
+    Were the eloquent appeals of the magnificent Chaudière.
+
+  E'en the solid bridge is trembling, whence I look my last farewell,
+    Dizzy with the roar and trampling of the mighty herd of waves,
+  Speeding past the rocky Island, steadfast as a sentinel,
+    Towards the loveliest bay that ever mirrored the Algonquin Braves.
+  Soul of Beauty!  Genius!  Spirit!  Priestess of the lovely strife!
+    In my heart thy words are shrined, as in a sanctuary fair;
+  Echoes of thy voice of sweetness, rousing all my better life,
+    Ever haunt my wildest visions of the jubilant Chaudière.
+
+
+
+
+{59}
+
+  A ROYAL WELCOME.
+
+    By England's side we stand,
+    We grasp her royal hand,
+  And pay her rightful homage through her Son;
+    Thank God for England's care!
+    Thank God for Britain's heir!
+  Our hearts go forth to meet him--we are one.
+
+    A loyal Province pours
+    Her thousands to her shores,
+  From iron-girt Superior to the sea;
+    We feel our youthful blood
+    Surge through us like a flood,
+  There's not a slave amongst us--we are free.
+
+    For none but Freemen know
+    The truly loyal throe
+  That gives heroic impulse to the Man--
+    The passion and the fire,
+    The chivalrous desire:
+  Our Fathers all were heroes--in the van.
+
+    And we, their ardent sons,
+    Through whom, triumphant, runs
+  The old intrepid attribute serene,
+    Would leave our chosen land,
+    Our homes, our forests grand,
+  To strike for England's honour and her Queen.
+
+{60}
+
+    No soulless welcome we
+    Dare give to such as thee:
+  Be thou a bright example to the world;
+    Great in thy well-earned fame,
+    Beloved in heart and name,
+  Wherever Britain's banner is unfurled.
+
+    Through all our leafy glades,
+    Through all our green arcades,
+  The living torrents, sweeping in, evince
+    That from their manly hearts
+    The Yeoman chorus starts:
+  'Honour to England's Heir!--long live the Prince!'
+
+    Oh, England! in this hour
+    We own thy sov'reign pow'r;
+  To thee and thine our best affections cling,
+    And when thy crown is laid
+    On Royal Albert's head,
+  With heart and soul we'll shout--GOD SAVE THE KING!
+
+
+
+
+{61}
+
+  MALCOLM.
+
+  Boy! this world has ever been
+    A bright, glad world to me;
+  Through each dark and checkered scene
+    God's sun shone lovingly.
+  But Content I've never known;
+    Hoping, trusting that the years,
+    With their April smiles and tears,
+    Would yet bring me one like thee
+      That I could call my own.
+
+  With thy soft and heavenly eyes
+    In deep and pensive calm,
+  I seem looking at the skies,
+    And wonder where I am!
+  Something more than princely blood
+    Courses in thy tranquil face:
+    When she lent thee such a grace,
+    Nature lit life's earnest flame
+      In her most queenly mood.
+
+  Such a sweet intelligence
+    Is stamped on every line,
+  Banqueting our craving sense
+    With minist'rings divine.
+  If thy Boyhood be so great,
+    What will be the coming Man,
+    Could we overleap the span?
+    Are there treasures in the mine,
+      To pay us, if we wait?
+
+{62}
+
+  Doth the voice of Music live
+    In that majestic brain,
+  Waiting for the Hand to give
+    Expression to the strain?
+  Are there wells of Truth--pure, deep,
+    Where the patient diver, Thought,
+    Finds the pearl that has been sought
+    Many a weary age in vain,
+      Entrusted to thy keep.
+
+  Doth the fire of Genius burn
+    Within that ample brow?
+  Or some patient spirit yearn
+    For things that are not now?
+  Hidden in the over-soul
+    Of the Future, to be born
+    When the world has ceased its scorn,
+    When the sceptic's heart will bow
+      To the divine control.
+
+  Patiently we'll watch and hope,
+    And wait, alternately;
+  Trusting that, when time shall ope
+    The casket's mystery,
+  We will be made rich indeed
+    With the wonders it contains;
+    Rich beyond all previous gains;
+    Richer for thy thought and thee,
+      Beyond our greatest meed.
+
+
+
+
+{63}
+
+  THE COMET--OCTOBER, 1858.
+
+    Erratic Soul of some great Purpose, doomed
+  To track the wild illimitable space,
+  Till sure propitiation has been made
+  For the divine commission unperformed!
+  What was thy crime?  Ahasuerus' curse
+  Were not more stern on earth than thine in Heaven!
+
+    Art thou the Spirit of some Angel World,
+  For grave rebellion banished from thy peers,
+  Compelled to watch the calm, immortal stars,
+  Circling in rapture the celestial void,
+  While the avenger follows in thy train
+  To spur thee on to wretchedness eterne?
+
+    Or one of nature's wildest fantasies,
+  From which she flies in terror so profound,
+  And with such whirl of torment in her breast,
+  That mighty earthquakes yearn where'er she treads;
+  While War makes red its terrible right hand,
+  And Famine stalks abroad all lean and wan?
+
+    To us thou art as exquisitely fair
+  As the ideal visions of the seer,
+  Or gentlest fancy that e'er floated down
+  Imagination's bright, unruffled stream,
+  Wedding the thought that was too deep for words
+  To the low breathings of inspirèd song.
+
+{64}
+
+    When the stars sang together o'er the birth
+  Of the poor Babe at Bethlehem, that lay
+  In the coarse manger at the crowded Inn,
+  Didst thou, perhaps a bright exalted star,
+  Refuse to swell the grand, harmonious lay,
+  Jealous as Herod of the birth divine?
+
+    Or when the crown of thorns on Calvary
+  Pierced the Redeemer's brow, didst thou disdain
+  To weep, when all the planetary worlds
+  Were blinded by the fulness of their tears?
+  E'en to the flaming sun, that hid his face
+  At the loud cry, "Lama Sabachthani!"
+
+    No rest!  No rest! the very damned have that
+  In the dark councils of remotest Hell,
+  Where the dread scheme was perfected that sealed
+  Thy disobedience and accruing doom.
+  Like Adam's sons, hast thou, too, forfeited
+  The blest repose that never pillowed Sin?
+
+    No! none can tell thy fate, thou wandering Sphinx!
+  Pale Science, searching by the midnight lamp
+  Through the vexed mazes of the human brain,
+  Still fails to read the secret of its soul
+  As the superb enigma flashes by,
+  A loosed Prometheus burning with disdain.
+
+
+
+
+{65}
+
+  AUTUMN.
+
+  If seasons, like the human race, had souls,
+  Then two artistic spirits live within
+  The Chameleon mind of Autumn--these,
+  The Poet's mentor and the Painter's guide.
+  The myriad-thoughted phases of the mind
+  Are truly represented by the hues
+  That thrill the forests with prophetic fire.
+  And what could painter's skill compared to these?
+  What palette ever held the flaming tints
+  That on these leafy hieroglyphs foretell
+  How set the ebbing currents of the year?
+  What poet's page was ever like to this,
+  Or told the lesson of life's waning days
+  More forcibly, with more of natural truth,
+  Than yon red maples, or these poplars, white
+  As the pale shroud that wraps some human corse?
+  And then, again, the spirit of a King,
+  Clothed with that majesty most monarchs lack,
+  Might fit old Autumn for his royal rule:
+  For here is kingly ermine, cloth of gold,
+  And purple robes well worthy to be worn
+  By the best monarch that e'er donned a crown.
+
+  Proclaim him Royal Autumn!  Poet King!
+  The Laureate of the Seasons, whose rare songs
+  Are such as lyrist never hoped to fling
+  On the fine ear of an admiring world.
+  Autumn, the Poet, Painter, and true King!
+  His gorgeous Ideality speaks forth
+
+{66}
+
+  From the rare colors of the changing leaves;
+  And the ripe blood that swells his purple veins
+  Is as the glowing of a sacred fire.
+  He walks with Shelley's spirit on the cliffs
+  Of the Ethereal Caucasus, and o'er
+  The summits of the Euganean hills;
+  And meets the soul of Wordsworth, in profound
+  And philosophic meditation, rapt
+  In some great dream of love towards
+  The human race.  The cheery Spring may come,
+  And touch the dreaming flowers into life,
+  Summer expand her leafy sea of green,
+  And wake the joyful wilderness to song,
+  As a fair hand strikes music from a lyre:
+  But Autumn, from its daybreak to its close,
+  Setting in florid beauty, like the sun,
+  Robed with rare brightness and ethereal flame,
+  Holds all the year's ripe fruitage in its hands,
+  And dies with songs of praise upon its lips.
+
+  And then, the Indian Summer, bland as June:
+  Some Tuscarora King, Algonquin Seer,
+  Or Huron Chief, returned to smoke the Pipe
+  Of Peace upon the ancient hunting grounds;
+  The mighty shade in spirit walking forth
+  To feel the beauty of his native woods,
+  Flashing in Autumn vestures, or to mark
+  The scanty remnants of the scattered tribes
+  Wending towards their graves.  Few Braves are left;
+  Few mighty Hunters; fewer stately Chiefs,
+  Like great Tecumseth fit to take the field,
+  And lead the tribes to certain victory,
+
+{67}
+
+  Choosing annihilation to defeat:
+  But having run thy gauntlet of their days,
+  This Autumn remnant of some unknown race,
+  Nearing the Winter of their sad decay,
+  Fall like dry leaves into the lap of Time;
+  Their old trunks sapless, their tough branches bare,
+  And Fate's shrill war-whoop thund'ring at their heels.
+
+
+
+
+{68}
+
+  COLIN.
+
+  Who'll dive for the dead men now,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Who'll feel for the anguished brow,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  True Feeling is not confined
+  To the learned or lordly mind;
+  Nor can it be bought and sold
+  In exchange for an Alp of gold;
+  For Nature, that never lies,
+  Flings back with indignant scorn
+  The counterfeit deed, still-born,
+  In the face of the seeming wise,
+  In the Janus face of the huckster race
+  Who barter her truths for lies.
+
+  Who'll wrestle with dangers dire,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Who'll fearlessly brave the maniac wave,
+  Thoughtless of self, human life to save,
+  Unmoved by the storm-fiend's ire?
+  Who, Shadrach-like, will walk through fire,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Or hang his life on so frail a breath
+  That there's but a step 'twixt life and death?
+  For Courage is not the heritage
+  Of the nobly born; and many a sage
+  Has climbed to the temple of fame,
+  And written his deathless name
+  In letters of golden flame,
+  Who, on glancing down
+
+{69}
+
+  From his high renown,
+  Saw his unlettered sire
+  Still by the old log fire,
+  Saw the unpolished dame--
+  And the dunghill from which he came.
+
+  Ah, ye who judge the dead
+  By the outward lives they led,
+  And not by the hidden worth
+  Which none but God can see;
+  Ye who would spurn the earth
+  That covers such as he;
+  Would ye but bare your hearts,
+  Cease to play borrowed parts,
+  And come down from your self-built throne:
+  How few from their house of glass,
+  As the gibbering secrets pass,
+  Would dare to fling, whether serf or king,
+  The first accusing stone!
+
+  Peace, peace to his harmless dust!
+    Since Colin is gone;
+  We can but hope and trust;
+  Man judgeth, but God is just;
+    Poor Colin is gone!
+  Had he faults?  His heart was true,
+  And warm as the summer's sun.
+  Had he failings?  Ay, but few;
+  'Twas an honest race he run.
+  Let him rest in the poor man's grave,
+  Ye who grant him no higher goal;
+  There may be a curse on the hands that gave,
+  But not on his simple soul!
+
+
+
+
+{70}
+
+  MARGERY.
+
+  "Truth lights our minds as sunrise lights the world.
+  The heart that shuts out truth, excludes the light
+  That wakes the love of beauty in the soul;
+  And being foe to these, despises God,
+  The sole Dispenser of the gracious bliss
+  That brings us nearer the celestial gate.
+  They who might feed on rose-leaves of the True,
+  And grow in loveliness of heart and soul,
+  Catch at Deception's airy gossamers,
+  As children clutch at stars.  To some, the world
+  Is a bleak desert, parched with blinding sand,
+  With here and there a mirage, fair to view,
+  But insubstantial as the visions born
+  Of Folly and Despair.  Could we but know
+  How nigh we are to the true light of heaven;
+  In what a world of love we live and breathe;
+  On what a tide of truth our souls are borne!
+  Yet we're but bubbles in the whirl of life,
+  Mere flecks upon its ever-restless sea,
+  Meteors in its ever-changing sky.
+  Eternity alone is worth the thought
+  That we expend upon the passing hour,
+  Chasing the gaudy butterflies that lure
+  Our footsteps from the path that leads us home.
+  We will not see the beacon on the rock;
+  The prompter is unheeded; and the spark
+  Of the true spirit quenched in utter night,
+  As we rush headlong, wrecked on Error's shoals.
+  Some hearts will never open; all their wards
+
+{71}
+
+  Have grown so rusty, that the golden key
+  Of Love Divine must fail to move the bolt
+  That Self has drawn to keep God's angels out."
+
+  So spake the merry Margery, the while
+  Her fingers lengthened out a filigree,
+  That seemed to me so many golden threads
+  Of thought between her fingers and her brain,
+  Bestrung with priceless pearls; her lightsome mood,
+  Worn as occasion might necessitate,
+  Replaced to-night by sober-sided Sense,
+  That made her beauty like an eve in June,
+  Just as the moon is risen.  I, to mark
+  My approbation of her present mood,
+  Rehearsed a rambling lyric of my own,
+  That seemed prophetic of her thoughts to-night:
+
+  Within my mind there ever lives
+    A yearning for the True,
+  The Beautiful and Good.  God gives
+    These, as He gives the dew
+
+  That falls upon the flowers at night,
+    The grass, the thirsty trees,
+  Because 'tis needful; and the light
+    That suns my mind from these--
+
+  Truth--Beauty--Goodness, doth but fill
+    A void within my soul;
+  And I fall prone before the Will
+    Of Him who gave the whole--
+
+{72}
+
+  The wondrous life--the power to think,
+    And love, and act, and speak.
+  Standing, half-poised, upon the brink
+    Of being--strong, yet weak--
+
+  Strong in vast hopes, but weak in deeds,
+    I lift my heart and pray,
+  That where the tangled skein of creeds
+    Excludes the light of day
+
+  From human minds, God's purposes
+    May be made plain, that all
+  May walk in truth's and wisdom's ways,
+    And lay aside the thrall
+
+  Of enmity, whose clouds have kept
+    Their souls as dark as night;
+  That they whose love and hope have slept,
+    May come into the light,
+
+  And live as men, with minds to grasp
+    Within the sphere of thought
+  The boundless universe, and clasp
+    The good the wise have sought,
+
+  As if it were a long-lost dove,
+    Or a stray soul returned
+  To worship in the fane of love,
+    That it so long had spurned.
+
+  Where'er I gaze, my eyes behold
+    Nought but the beautiful.
+  The world is grand as it is old;
+    The only fitting school
+
+{73}
+
+  For man, where he may learn to live,
+    And live to learn that what
+  He needs heaven will in mercy give.
+    Whatever be his lot,
+
+  He shapes it for himself; his mind
+    Is his own heaven or hell:
+  Just as he peoples it, he'll find
+    Himself compelled to dwell
+
+  With good or evil.  Good abounds
+    In this delightful sphere;
+  But man will walk his daily rounds,
+    And evermore give ear
+
+  To the false promptings that waylay
+    His steps at every turn;
+  Flinging the true and good away
+    For joys that he should spurn,
+
+  As being all unworthy of
+    His greatness as a man.
+  Why, man!--why tremble at the scoff
+    Of fools and bigots?  Scan
+
+  The mental firmament, and see
+    How men in every age,
+  Who strove for immortality--
+    Whose errand was to wage
+
+  Not War, but Peace--men of pure minds,
+    Who sought and found the truth,
+  And treasured it, as one who finds
+    The secret of lost Youth
+
+{74}
+
+  Restored and made immortal--see
+    How they were scorned, because
+  Their Sphinx-lives spake of mystery
+    To those to whom the laws
+
+  Of nature are as claspèd books!--
+    Poets, who ruled the world
+  Of Thought; in whose prophetic looks
+    And minds there lay impearled,
+
+  But hidden from the vulgar sight,
+    Such universal truths,
+  That many, blinded by the light--
+    Gray-haired, green-gosling youths,
+
+  With whips of satire, looks of scorn,
+    And finger of disdain,
+  Have crushed these harbingers of morn,
+    But could not kill the strain
+
+  That was a part of nature's mind,
+    And therefore can not die.
+  That which men spurned, angels have shrined
+    Among God's truths on high.
+
+  And so 't will ever be, till man
+    Knows more of Goodness, Truth,
+  And Beauty--more of nature's plan,
+    And Love that brings back youth
+
+  To hearts that have grown frail and old
+    By groping in the dark
+  With blinded eyes; their idol, Gold,
+    And Gain, their Pleasure-bark!
+
+{75}
+
+  "'Tis well that nature hath her ministers,"
+  She said, her voice and looks so passing sweet;
+  "Great-hearts that let in love, and keep it there,
+  Like the true flame within the diamond's heart,
+  Informing, blessing, chastening their lives.
+  Man has but one great love--his love for God;
+  All other loves are lesser and more less
+  As they recede from Him, as are the streams
+  The farthest from the fountain.  God is Love.
+  Who loves God most, loves most his fellow-men;
+  Sees the Creator in the creature's form
+  Where others see but man--and he, so frail
+  The very devils are akin to him!
+  There is no light that is not born of love;
+  No truth where love is not its guiding star;
+  Faith without love is noonday without sun,
+  For love begetteth works both good and true,
+  And these give faith its immortality."
+
+  We parted at the outer door.  The stars
+  Seemed never half so bright or numberless
+  As they appeared to-night.  Margery's laugh
+  Tripped after me in merry cadences,
+  Like the quick steps of fairies in the air
+  United to the chorus of their hearts
+  Breathed into silvery music.  Happy soul!
+  Nature's epitome in all her moods.
+
+
+
+
+{76}
+
+    EVA.
+
+    "God bless the darling Eva!" was my prayer.
+    A pure, unconscious depth of earnestness
+    Was in her eyes, so indescribable
+    You might as well the color of the air
+    Seek to daguerreotype, or to impress
+    A stain upon the river, whose first swell
+    Would swirl it to the deep.  A calm, sweet soul,
+    Where Love's celestial saints and ministers
+    Did hold the earthly under such control
+    Virtue sprung up like daisies from the sod.
+    Oh, for one hour's sweet excellence like hers!
+    One hour of sinlessness, that never more
+    Can visit me this side the Silent Shore,
+  To stand, like her, serene, unblushing before God!
+
+
+
+
+
+{77}
+
+    THE POET'S RECOMPENSE.
+
+    His heart's a burning censer, filled with spice
+    From fairer vales than those of Araby,
+    Breathing such prayers to heaven, that the nice
+    Discriminating ear of Deity
+    Can cull sweet praises from the rare perfume.
+    Man cannot know what starry lights illume
+    The soaring spirit of his brother man!
+    He judges harshly with his mind's eyes closed;
+    His loftiest understanding cannot scan
+    The heights where Poet-souls have oft reposed;
+    He cannot feel the chastened influence
+    Divine, that lights the Ideal atmosphere,
+    And never to his uninspirèd sense
+  Rolls the majestic hymn that inspirates the Seer.
+
+
+
+
+{78}
+
+  THE WINE OF SONG.
+
+  Within Fancy's Halls I sit, and quaff
+    Rich draughts of the Wine of Song,
+      And I drink, and drink,
+      To the very brink
+    Of delirium wild and strong,
+  Till I lose all sense of the outer world,
+    And see not the human throng.
+
+  The lyral chords of each rising thought
+    Are swept by a hand unseen;
+      And I glide, and glide,
+      With my music bride,
+    Where few spiritless souls have been;
+  And I soar afar on wings of sound,
+    With my fair AEolian Queen.
+
+  Deep, deeper still, from the springs of Thought
+    I quaff, till the fount is dry;
+      And I climb, and climb,
+      To a height sublime,
+    Up the stars of some lyric sky,
+  Where I seem to rise upon airs that melt
+    Into song as they pass by.
+
+  Millennial rounds of bliss I live,
+    Withdrawn from my cumbrous clay,
+      As I sweep, and sweep,
+      Through infinite deep
+    On deep of that starry spray;
+  Myself a sound on its world-wide round,
+    A tone on its spheral way.
+
+{79}
+
+  And wheresoe'er through the wondrous space
+    My soul wings its noiseless flight,
+      On their astral rounds
+      Float divinest sounds,
+    Unseen, save by spirit-sight,
+  Obeying some wise, eternal law,
+    As fixed as the law of light.
+
+  But, oh, when my cup of dainty bliss
+    Is drained of the Wine of Song,
+      How I fall, and fall,
+      At the sober call
+    Of the body, that waiteth long
+  To hurry me back to its cares terrene,
+    And earth's spiritless human throng.
+
+
+
+
+{80}
+
+  THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM.
+
+      I stood upon the Plain,
+      That had trembled when the slain,
+  Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe,
+      When the steed dashed right and left,
+      Through the bloody gaps he cleft,
+  When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low.
+
+      What busy feet had trod
+      Upon the very sod
+  Where I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid!
+      And I saw the combat dire,
+      Heard the quick, incessant fire,
+  And the cannons' echoes startling the reverberating glade.
+
+      I saw them, one and all,
+      The banners of the Gaul
+  In the thickest of the contest, round the resolute Montcalm;
+      The well-attended Wolfe,
+      Emerging from the gulf
+  Of the battle's fiery furnace, like the swelling of a psalm.
+
+{81}
+
+      I heard the chorus dire,
+      That jarred along the lyre
+  On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave
+      When the storm, at blackest night,
+      Wakes the ocean in affright,
+  As it shouts its mighty pibroch o'er some shipwrecked vessel's grave.
+
+      I saw the broad claymore
+      Flash from its scabbard, o'er
+  The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce attack;
+      When Victory gave the word,
+      Then Scotland drew the sword,
+  And with arm that never faltered drove the brave defenders back.
+
+      I saw two great chiefs die,
+      Their last breaths like the sigh
+  Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosy lips of morn;
+      No envy-poisoned darts,
+      No rancour, in their hearts,
+  To unfit them for their triumph over death's impending scorn.
+
+      And as I thought and gazed,
+      My soul, exultant, praised
+  The Power to whom each mighty act and victory are due,
+
+{82}
+
+      For the saint-like Peace that smiled
+      Like a heaven-gifted child,
+  And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view.
+
+      The sun looked down with pride,
+      And scattered far and wide
+  His beams of whitest glory till they flooded all the Plain;
+      The hills their veils withdrew,
+      Of white, and purplish blue,
+  And reposed all green and smiling 'neath the shower of golden rain.
+
+      Oh, rare, divinest life
+      Of Peace, compared with Strife!
+  Yours is the truest splendour, and the most enduring fame;
+      All the glory ever reaped
+      Where the fiends of battle leaped,
+  Is harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim.
+
+
+
+
+{83}
+
+  DEATH OF WOLFE.
+
+  "They run! they run!"--"Who run?"  Not they
+    Who faced that decimating fire
+    As coolly as if human ire
+      Were rooted from their hearts;
+  _They_ run, while he who led the way
+  So bravely on that glorious day,
+    Burns for one word with keen desire
+      Ere waning life departs!
+
+  "They run! they run!"--"_Who_ run?" he cried,
+    As swiftly to his pallid brow,
+    Like crimson sunlight upon snow,
+      The anxious blood returned;
+  "The French! the French!" a voice replied,
+  When quickly paled life's ebbing tide,
+    And though his words were weak and low
+      His eye with valour burned.
+
+  "Thank God!  I die in peace," he said;
+    And calmly yielding up his breath,
+    There trod the shadowy realms of death
+      A good man and a brave;
+  Through all the regions of the dead,
+  Behold his spirit, spectre-led,
+    Crowned with the amaranthine wreath
+      That blooms not for the slave.
+
+
+
+
+{84}
+
+  BROCK.
+
+  OCTOBER 13TH, 1859.*
+
+  One voice, one people, one in heart
+    And soul, and feeling, and desire!
+    Re-light the smouldering martial fire,
+    Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre,
+    The hero deed can not expire,
+      The dead still play their part.
+
+  Raise high the monumental stone!
+    A nation's fealty is theirs,
+    And we are the rejoicing heirs,
+    The honored sons of sires whose cares
+    We take upon us unawares,
+      As freely as our own.
+
+  We boast not of the victory,
+    But render homage, deep and just,
+    To his--to their--immortal dust,
+    Who proved so worthy of their trust
+    No lofty pile nor sculptured bust
+      Can herald their degree.
+
+  No tongue need blazon forth their fame--
+    The cheers that stir the sacred hill
+    Are but mere promptings of the will
+    That conquered then, that conquers still;
+    And generations yet shall thrill
+  At Brock's remembered name.
+
+{85}
+
+  Some souls are the Hesperides
+    Heaven sends to guard the golden age,
+    Illuming the historic page
+    With records of their pilgrimage;
+    True Martyr, Hero, Poet, Sage;
+      And he was one of these.
+
+  Each in his lofty sphere sublime
+    Sits crowned above the common throng,
+    Wrestling with some Pythonic wrong,
+    In prayer, in thunder, thought, or song;
+    Briarcus-limbed, they sweep along,
+      The Typhons of the time.
+
+
+
+* The day of the inauguration of the new Monument on Queenston Heights.
+
+
+
+
+{86}
+
+  SONG FOR CANADA.
+
+  Sons of the race whose sires
+  Aroused the martial flame
+      That filled with smiles
+      The triune Isles,
+  Through all their heights of fame!
+  With hearts as brave as theirs,
+  With hopes as strong and high,
+      We'll ne'er disgrace
+      The honoured race
+  Whose deeds can never die.,
+    Let but the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would flame throughout the land.
+
+  Our lakes are deep and wide,
+  Our fields and forests broad;
+      With cheerful air
+      We'll speed the share,
+  And break the fruitful sod;
+  Till blest with rural peace,
+  Proud of our rustic toil,
+      On hill and plain
+      True kings we'll reign,
+  The victors of the soil.
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+
+{87}
+
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would light him from the land.
+
+  Health smiles with rosy face
+  Amid our sunny dales,
+      And torrents strong
+      Fling hymn and song
+  Through all the mossy vales;
+  Our sons are living men,
+  Our daughters fond and fair;
+      A thousand isles
+      Where Plenty smiles,
+  Make glad the brow of Care.
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would flame throughout the land.
+
+  And if in future years
+  One wretch should turn and fly,
+      Let weeping Fame
+      Blot out his name
+  From Freedom's hallowed sky;
+  Or should our sons e'er prove
+  A coward, traitor race,--
+      Just heaven! frown
+      In thunder down,
+  T' avenge the foul disgrace!
+
+{88}
+
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would light him from the land.
+
+
+{89}
+
+  SONG--I'D BE A FAIRY KING.
+
+  Oh, I'd be a Fairy King,
+    With my vassals brave and bold;
+        We'd hunt all day,
+        Through the wildwood gay,
+    In our guise of green and gold;
+  And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
+    That the silly, toiling bee,
+        Would have no sweet
+        In its dull retreat,
+    So rich as our frolic glee.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+              We'd hunt all day,
+              Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+  At night, when the moon spake down,
+    With her bland and pensive tone,
+        The fairest Queen
+        That ever was seen
+    Would sit on my pearly throne;
+  And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
+    That the stars would laugh in show'rs
+        Of silver light,
+        All the summer night,
+  To the airs of the passing Hours.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+              We'd hunt all day
+              Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+{90}
+
+  We'd talk with the dainty flow'rs,
+    And we'd chase the laughing brooks;
+        My merry men,
+        Through grove and glen,
+    Would search for the mossy nooks;
+  And we'd be such a merry, merry band,
+    Such a lively-hearted throng,
+        That life would seem
+        But a silvery dream
+  In the flowery Land of Song.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+            We'd hunt all day,
+            Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+
+
+
+{91}
+
+  SONG--LOVE WHILE YOU MAY.
+
+  Day by day, with startling fleetness,
+      Life speeds away;
+  Love, alone, can glean its sweetness,
+      Love while you may.
+  While the soul is strong and fearless,
+  While the eye is bright and tearless,
+  Ere the heart is chilled and cheerless--
+      Love while you may.
+
+  Life may pass, but love, undying,
+      Dreads no decay;
+  Even from the grave replying,
+      "Love while you may."
+  Love's the fruit, as life's the flower;
+  Love is heaven's rarest dower;
+  Love gives love its quick'ning power--
+      Love while you may.
+
+
+
+
+{92}
+
+  THE SNOWS.
+
+  UPPER OTTAWA.
+
+    Over the snows,
+    Buoyantly goes
+  The lumberers' bark canoe;
+    Lightly they sweep,
+    Wilder each leap,
+  Bending the white caps through.
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer,
+    While the steersman true,
+    And his laughing crew,
+  Sing of their wild career:
+
+    "Mariners glide
+    Far o'er the tide,
+  In ships that are staunch and strong;
+    Safely as they,
+    Speed we away,
+  Waking the woods with song."
+    Away! away!
+  With the flight of a startled deer,
+    While the laughing crew
+    Of the swift canoe
+  Sing of the raftsmen's cheer:
+
+    "Through forest and brake,
+    O'er rapid and lake,
+  We're sport for the sun and rain;
+    Free as the child
+    Of the Arab wild,
+  Hardened to toil and pain.
+
+{93}
+
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer,
+    While our buoyant flight,
+    And the rapid's might,
+  Heighten our swift career."
+
+    Over the snows
+    Buoyantly goes
+  The lumberers' bark canoe;
+    Lightly they sweep,
+    Wilder each leap,
+  Tearing the white caps through.
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer;
+    There's a fearless crew
+    In each light canoe,
+  To sing of the raftsmen's cheer.
+
+
+
+
+{94}
+
+  THE RAPID.
+
+  ST. LAWRENCE.
+
+        All peacefully gliding,
+        The waters dividing,
+  The indolent bátteau moved slowly along,
+        The rowers, light-hearted,
+        From sorrow long parted,
+  Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:
+      "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
+      Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way;
+      Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,
+      Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."
+
+        More swiftly careering,
+        The wild Rapid nearing,
+  They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;
+        The surges delight them,
+        No terrors affright them,
+  Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:
+      "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
+      Shivers its arrows against us in play;
+      Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,
+      Our spirits as light as its feathery spray."
+
+        Fast downward they're dashing,
+        Each fearless eye flashing,
+  Though danger awaits them on every side;
+        Yon rock--see it frowning!
+        They strike--they are drowning!
+  But downward they speed with the merciless tide;
+
+  {95}
+
+      No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily
+      Shivers their bark in its maddening play;
+      Gaily they entered it--heedlessly recklessly,
+      Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!
+
+
+
+
+{96}
+
+  LOST AND FOUND.
+
+  In the mildest, greenest grove
+    Blest by sprite or fairy,
+  Where the melting echoes rove,
+    Voices sweet and airy;
+      Where the streams
+      Drink the beams
+      Of the Sun,
+      As they run
+      Riverward
+      Through the sward,
+    A shepherd went astray--
+    E'en gods have lost their way.
+
+  Every bird had sought its nest,
+    And each flower-spirit
+  Dreamed of that delicious rest
+    Mortals ne'er inherit;
+      Through the trees
+      Swept the breeze,
+      Bringing airs
+      Unawares
+      Through the grove,
+      Until love
+    Came down upon his heart,
+    Refusing to depart.
+
+  Hungrily he quaffed the strain,
+    Sweeter still, and clearer,
+  Drenched with music's mellow rain,
+    Nearer--nearer--dearer!
+
+{97}
+
+      Chains of sound
+      Gently bound
+      The lost Youth,
+      Till, in sooth,
+      He stood there
+      A prisoner,
+    Raised between earth and heaven
+    By love's divinest leaven.
+
+  Was there ever such a face?
+    Was it not a vision?
+  Had he climbed the starry space,
+    To the fields Elysian?
+      Through the glade
+      The milk-maid
+      With her pail,
+      To the vale
+      Passed along,
+      Breathing song
+    Through all his ravished sense,
+    To gladden his suspense.
+
+  "Love is swift as hawk or hind,
+    Chamois-like in fleetness,
+  None are lost that love can find,"
+    Sang the maid, with sweetness.
+      "True, in sooth,"
+      Thought the Youth,
+      "Strong, as swift,
+      Love can lift
+
+{98}
+
+      Mountain weights
+      To the gates
+    Of the celestial skies,
+    Where all else fades and dies."
+
+  Lightly flew the sunny days,
+    Joy and gladness sending;
+  Life becomes a song of praise
+    When true hearts are blending.
+      Guileless truth
+      Won the Youth,
+      Kept him there,
+      A prisoner;
+      While dear Love
+      From above
+    Poured down enduring dreams,
+    In calm supernal gleams.
+
+
+
+
+{99}
+
+  YOUNG AGAIN.
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Beating heart!  I deemed that sorrow,
+  With its torture-rack of pain,
+    Had eclipsed each bright to-morrow;
+    And that Love could never rise
+    Into life's cerulean skies,
+    Singing the divine refrain--
+      "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Passion dies as we grow older;
+  Love that in repose has lain,
+    Takes a higher flight, and bolder:
+    Fresh from rest and dewy sleep,
+    Like the skylark's matin sweep,
+    Singing the divine refrain--
+      "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Book of Youth, thy sunny pages
+  Here and there a tear may stain,
+    But 'tis Love that makes us sages.
+    Love, Hope, Youth--blest trinity!
+    Wanting these, and what were we?
+    Who would chant the sweet refrain--
+    "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+
+
+
+{100}
+
+  GLIMPSES.
+
+  Sounds of rural life and labour!
+  Not the notes of pipe and tabour,
+  Not the clash of helm and sabre
+      Bright'ning up the field of glory,
+  Can compare with thy ovations,
+  That make glad the hearts of nations;
+  E'en the poet's fond creations
+      Pale before thy simple story.
+
+  In the years beyond our present,
+  King was little more than peasant,
+  Labour was the shining crescent,
+      Toil, the poor man's crown of glory;
+  Have we passed from worse to better
+  Since we wove the silken fetter,
+  Changed the plough for book and letter.
+      Truest life for tinsel story?
+
+  Up the ladder of the ages
+  Clomb the patriarchal sages,
+  Solving nature's secret pages,
+      Kings of thought's supremest glory;
+  Eagle-winged, and sight far reaching--
+  Are we wiser for their teaching?--
+  Wrangling creeds for gentle preaching!
+      Falsest life for truest story!
+
+  Man is overfraught with culture,
+  Virtue early finds sepulture,
+  While our vices sate the vulture
+
+{101}
+
+      We misname a bird of glory;
+  Life is blindly artificial,
+  Rarely pass we its initial,
+  All our aims are prejudicial
+      To its earnest, simple story.
+
+  Hail, primeval life and labour!
+  Martial notes of pipe and tabour,
+  Gleam of spears and clash of sabre,
+      Hero march from fields of glory,
+  All the thundering ovations
+  Surging from the hearts of nations,
+  Poet dreams and speculations,
+      Pale before thy simple story!
+
+
+
+
+{102}
+
+  MY PRAYER.
+
+  O God! forgive the erring thought,
+    The erring word and deed,
+  And in thy mercy hear the Christ
+    Who comes to intercede.
+
+  My sins, like mountain-weights of lead,
+    Weigh heavy on my soul;
+  I'm bruised and broken in this strife,
+    But Thou canst make me whole.
+
+  Allay this fever of unrest,
+    That fights against the Will;
+  And in Thy still small voice do Thou
+    But whisper, "Peace, be still!"
+
+  Until within this heart of mine
+    Thy lasting peace come down,
+  Will all the waves of Passion roll,
+    Each good resolve to drown.
+
+  We walk in blindness and dark night
+    Through half our earthly way;
+  Our clouds of weaknesses obscure
+    The glory of the day.
+
+  We cannot lead the lives we would,
+    But grope in dumb amaze,
+  Leaving the straight and flowery paths
+    To tread the crooked ways.
+
+{103}
+
+  We are as pilgrims toiling on
+    Through all the weary hours;
+  And our poor hands are torn with thorns,
+    Plucking life's tempting flowers.
+
+  We worship at a thousand shrines,
+    And build upon the sands,
+  Passing the one great Temple, and
+    The Rock on which it stands.
+
+  O, fading dream of human life!
+    What can this change portend?
+  I long for higher walks, and true
+    Progression without end.
+
+  Here I know nothing, and my search
+    Can find no secret out;
+  I cannot think a single thought
+    That is not mixed with doubt.
+
+  Relying on the higher source,
+    The influence divine,
+  I can but hope that light may dawn
+    Within this soul of mine.
+
+  I ask not wisdom, such as that
+    To which the world is prone,
+  Nor knowledge ask, unless it come
+    Direct from God alone.
+
+  Send down then, God! in mercy send
+    Thy Love and Truth to me,
+  That I may henceforth walk in light
+    That comes direct from Thee.
+
+
+
+
+{104}
+
+  HER STAR.
+
+  When the heavens throb and vibrate
+    All along their silver veins,
+  To the mellow storm of music
+    Sweeping o'er the starry trains,
+  Heard by few, as erst by shepherds
+    On the far Chaldean plains:
+
+  Not the blazing, torch-like planets,
+    Not the Pleiads wild and free,
+  Not Arcturus, Mars, Uranus,
+    Bring the brightest dreams to me;
+  But I gaze in rapt devotion
+    On the central star of three.
+
+  Central star of three that tingle
+    In the balmy southern sky;
+  One above, and one below it,
+    Dreamily they pale and die,
+  As two lesser minds might dwindle,
+    When some great soul, passing by,
+
+  Stops, and reads their cherished secrets,
+    With a calm and godlike air,
+  Luring all their radiance from them
+    Leaving a dim twilight there,
+  Something vague, and half unreal,
+    Like the Alpha of despair.
+
+{105}
+
+  Gazing thus, and holding converse
+    With the silence of my heart,
+  I would speak with famed Orion,
+    I would question it apart,
+  Wrest her love's strange secret from it,
+    If there's strength in human art.
+
+  And there come to me sweet whispers,
+    Half in answer, half in thought:--
+  "Be but strong, impassioned mortal!
+    Love will come to thee unsought;
+  Love is the divine Irene,--
+    It is given, and not bought.
+
+  [Transcriber's note: In the original book,
+  the e's in the "Irene" in the above verse
+  were e-macrons, Unicode U+0113.]
+
+  Strong of heart.  Be wise, be steadfast,
+    Learn, endeavour, and endure;
+  Blest with strength and light, in wisdom
+    Make the higher purpose sure;
+  Never can her heart receive thee
+    Till thine own is rendered pure.
+
+  I but shone in truth above her;
+    Psyche-like, she yearned to me,
+  And her soul, an Aphrodite,
+    Rose above the ether sea.
+  Love.  Love should and will inherit
+    The divine Euphrosyne."
+
+  When at night, the gleaming heavens
+    Throb through all their starry veins,
+  Oft I ponder on Orion,
+    And I hear celestial strains
+  Passing through my soul, and flooding
+    All its green immortal plains.
+
+{106}
+
+  Then I pray for strength Promethean,
+    Pray for power to endure;
+  Then I say, O soul, be steadfast!
+    Make the lofty purpose sure;
+  And that love may be all-worthy,
+    God of heaven, make me pure!
+
+
+
+
+{107}
+
+  THE MYSTERY.
+
+  My mind is like a troubled sea
+    O'er which the winds forever sweep;
+  Within its depths, eternally,
+    My being's pulses throb and leap;
+  There germs of contemplation sleep,
+    Like stars beyond the Milky Way,--
+  Like pearls within the gloomy deep,
+    That never saw the light of day.
+
+  Oh, wondrous mind, how little known!
+    Whence comes the thought that through my brain
+  Floats weirdlike as the pleasing tone
+    That quickens a belovèd strain?
+  It may have graced some sweet refrain
+    A thousand years ago, or more;
+  Some Norman Prince, some valiant Dane,
+    May have imbibed it with their lore.
+
+  It may have strengthened Plato's soul,
+    Its clarion echoes ringing through
+  His brain, the heaven-reaching goal
+    Whence wisdom had its starry view;
+  It may have cheered the gifted few
+    Whose minds were mints of royal song,
+  Who toiled where Shakespeare soared, and drew
+    Down blessings from the grateful throng.
+
+  And on for ages yet to come,
+    Through minds by heavenly impulse fired,
+  That thought may strike some scorner dumb,
+    In all its regal guise attired;
+
+{108}
+
+  Divinely blest, though uninspired,
+    Some soul may change its swift career,
+  Bearing the great truth, long-desired,
+    In triumph to the highest sphere.
+
+  Unbounded universe of Thought!
+    Illimitable realms of mind!
+  Regions of Fancy, wonder-fraught!
+    Imagination unconfined!
+  Temples of mystery! behind
+    Whose veils the God-appointed plan
+  In perfect wisdom is enshrined,
+    Beyond the pigmy reach of man:
+
+  I cannot--dare not--seek to know
+    What finite vision, to the end,
+  Through years of strictest search below,
+    Must ever fail to comprehend!
+  God! whose intents so far transcend
+    Our poor discernment, let me see
+  Some portion of the truths that tend
+    By slow gradations up to Thee:
+
+  That in the less imperfect years,
+    When human frailty shall have died,
+  When the vexed riddle of the spheres,
+    Interpreted and glorified,
+  Shall be as nothing to the tide
+    Of light in which Thy hidden ways
+  Will be revealed: I may abide
+    Thy meanest instrument of praise,
+  And from the broad calm ocean of Thy truth
+  And wisdom drinking, find eternal youth.
+
+
+
+
+{109}
+
+  LOVE AND TRUTH.
+
+  Young Love sat in a rosy bower,
+    Towards the close of a summer day;
+  At the evening's dusky hour,
+    Truth bent her blessed steps that way;
+        Over her face
+        Beaming a grace
+    Never bestowed on child of clay.
+
+  Truth looked on with an ardent joy,
+    Wondering Love could grow so tired;
+  Hovering o'er him she kissed the boy,
+    When, with a sudden impulse fired,
+        Exquisite pains
+        Burning his veins,
+    Wildly he woke, as one inspired.
+
+  Eagerly Truth embraced the god,
+    Filling his soul with a sense divine;
+  Rightly he knew the paths she trod,
+    Springing from heaven's royal line;
+        Far had he strayed
+        From his guardian maid,
+    Perilling all for his rash design.
+
+  Still as they went, the tricksy youth
+    Wandered afar from the maiden fair;
+  Many a plot he laid, in sooth,
+    Wherein the maid could have no share
+        Sowing his seeds,
+        Bringing forth weeds,
+    Seldom a rose, and many a tare.
+
+{110}
+
+  Save when the maiden was by his side,
+    Love was erratic, and rarely true;
+  When she smiled on the graceful bride,
+    Over the old world rose the new,
+        Into life's skies
+        Blending her dyes,
+    Fairer than those of the rainbow's hue.
+
+  Sunny-eyed maidens, whom Love decoys,
+    Mark well the arts of the wayward youth!
+  Sorrows he bringeth, disguised as joys,
+    Rose-hued delights with cores of ruth;
+        Learn to believe
+        Love will deceive,
+    Save when he comes with his guardian, Truth.
+
+
+
+
+{111}
+
+  THE WREN.
+
+    Early each spring the little wren
+      Came scolding to his nest of moss;
+    We knew him by his peevish cry,
+      He always sung so very cross.
+  His quiet little mate would lay
+  Her eggs in peace, and think all day.
+
+    He was a sturdy little wren;
+      And when he came in spring, we knew,
+    Or seemed to know, the flowers would grow
+      To please him, where they always grew,
+  Among the rushes, cheerfully;
+  But not a rush so straight as he!
+
+    All summer long that little wren
+      Would chatter like a saucy thing;
+    And in the bush attack the thrush
+      That on the hawthorn perched to sing.
+  Like many noisy little men,
+  Lived, bragged, and fought that little wren.
+
+    There was a thoughtful maid, and I,
+      We used to play along the shore,
+    Searching for shells, and culling flowers,
+      As at the threshold of life's door,
+  Through which we had to pass, we stood,
+  Twin types of childish hardihood.
+
+{112}
+
+    Year after year we gathered flowers,
+      And grew apace, as children do;
+    And each returning spring we marked
+      The little wrens, they never grew;
+  One over-quiet and sedate,
+  The other, a bird-reprobate.
+
+    But now the marsh is overflowed,
+      The rushes rot beneath the sand;
+    No spring brings back the little wrens,
+      No children loiter hand in hand;
+  The maiden rose-bud, pure and good,
+  Grown to the flower of womanhood.
+
+
+
+
+{113}
+
+  GRANDPERE.
+
+  Old Grandpere gat in the corner,
+    With his grandchild on his knee,
+  Looking up at his wrinkled visage,
+    For his winters were ninety-three.
+
+  Fair Eleanor's locks were flaxen,
+    The old man's once were gray,
+  But now, they were white as the snow-drift
+    That lay on the bleak highway.
+
+  Her summers rolled on as golden
+    As waves over sunny seas;
+  But Grandpere could perceive no summers,
+    The winters alone were his.
+
+  He folded his arms around her,
+    Like Winter embracing Spring;
+  And the angels looked down from heaven,
+    And smiled on their slumbering.
+
+  But soon the angelic faces
+    Were filled with seraphic light,
+  As they gazed on a beauteous spirit
+    Passing up through the frosty night:
+
+  Till it stood serene before them,
+    A youth most divinely fair;
+  And they saw that the new-born angel
+    Was the spirit of old Grandpere.
+
+
+
+
+{114}
+
+  ENGLAND'S HOPE AND ENGLAND'S HEIR.
+
+  England's Hope and England's Heir!
+    Head and crown of Britain's glory,
+  Be thy future half so fair
+    As her past is famed in story,
+  Then wilt thou be great, indeed,
+    Daring, where there's cause to dare;
+  Greatest in the hour of need,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  By her past, in acts supreme,
+    By her present grand endeavour,
+  By her future, which the gleam
+    Of our fond hopes brings us ever:
+  We can trust that thou wilt be
+    Worthy of a fame so rare,
+  Worthy of thy destiny,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Be thy spirit fraught with hers,
+    Queen, whom we revere and honour;
+  Be thine acts love's messengers,
+    Brightly flashing back upon her;
+  Be what most her trust would deem,
+    Help the answer to her prayer,
+  Realize her holiest dream,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Welcome, Prince! the land is wide,
+    Wider still the love we cherish;
+  Love that thou shalt find, when tried,
+    Is not born to droop and perish;
+
+{115}
+
+  Welcome to our heart of hearts;
+    You will find no falsehood there,
+  But the zeal that truth imparts,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Welcome to our woodland deeps,
+    To our inland lakes, and rivers,
+  Where the rapid roars and sweeps,
+    Where the brightest sunlight quivers.
+  Loyal souls can never fail;
+    Serfdom crouches in its lair;
+  But our British hearts are hale,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+
+
+
+{116}
+
+  ROSE.
+
+  When the evening broods quiescent
+    Over mountain, vale and lea,
+  And the moon uplifts her crescent
+    Far above the peaceful sea,
+  Little Rose, the fisher's daughter,
+    Passes in her cedar skiff
+  O'er the dreamy waste of water,
+    To the signal on the cliff.
+
+  Have a care, my merry maiden!
+    Young Adonis though he be,
+  Many hearts are secret-laden
+    That have trusted such as he.
+  Has he worth, and is he truthful?
+    Thoughtless maiden rarely knows;
+  But, "He's handsome, brave and youthful,"
+    Says the heart of little Rose.
+
+  Hark! the horn--its shrill vibrations
+    Tremble through the maiden's breast,
+  As the sweet reverberations
+    Dwindle to their whispered rest;
+  Sweeter far the honied sentence
+    Sealing up her mind's repose;
+  Love as yet needs no repentance
+    In the heart of little Rose.
+
+  Heaven shield thee, trusting mortal!
+    Love has heaved its firstborn sigh;
+  But from the pellucid portal
+    Of her calm, indignant eye,
+
+{117}
+
+  Darts that make the strong man tremble
+    Pierce his bosom ere he goes;
+  Rank and station may dissemble,
+    There is truth in little Rose.
+
+  Take my hand, my fisher maiden,
+    There's a grasp for thee and thine;
+  Constancy is love's bright Aiden,
+    Self-denial is divine.
+  Take my hand upon this pláteau,
+    Let me share thy mortal throes;
+  Come, dear Love! we'll build our cháteau
+    In the heart of little Rose.
+
+
+
+
+{118}
+
+  THE DREAMER.
+
+  Spirit of Song! whose whispers
+    Delight my pensive brain,
+  When will the perfect harmony
+    Ring through my feeble strain?
+
+  When will the rills of melody
+    Be widened to a stream!
+  When will the bright and gladsome Day
+    Succeed this morning dream?
+
+  "Mortal," the spirit whispered,
+    "If thou wouldst truly win
+  The race thou art pursuing,
+    Heed well the voice within:
+
+  And it shall gently teach thee
+    To read thy heart, and know
+  No human strain is perfect,
+    However sweet it flow.
+
+  And if thou readest truly,
+    As surely shalt thou find
+  That truths, like rills, though diverse,
+    Are choicest in their kind.
+
+  The souls of Poet-Dreamers
+    Touch heaven on their way;
+  With the light of Song to guide them
+    It should be always Day."
+
+
+
+
+{119}
+
+  NIGHT AND MORNING.
+
+  The winds are piping loud to-night,
+    And the waves roll strong and high;
+  God pity the watchful mariner
+    Who toils 'neath yonder sky!
+
+  I saw the vessel speed away,
+    With a free, majestic sweep,
+  At evening as the sun went down
+    To his palace in the deep.
+
+  An aged crone sat on the beach,
+    And, pointing to the ship,
+  "She'll never return again," she said,
+    With a scorn upon her lip.
+
+          ------
+
+  The morning rose tempestuous,
+    The winds blew to the shore,
+  There were corpses on the sands that morn,
+    But the ship came nevermore!
+
+
+
+
+{120}
+
+  WITHIN THINE EYES.
+
+  Within thine eyes two spirits dwell,
+    The sweetest and the purest
+  That ever wove Love's mystic spell,
+    Or plied his arts the surest:
+        No smile of morn,
+        Though heaven-born,
+    Nor sunshine earthward straying,
+        E'er charmed the sight
+        With half the light
+    That round thy lips is playing.
+
+  The stars may shine, the moon may smile,
+    The earth in beauty languish,
+  Life's sorrows these can but beguile,
+    But thou canst heal its anguish.
+        Thy voice, like rills
+        Of silver, trills
+    Such sounds of liquid sweetness,
+        Each accent rolls
+        Along our souls,
+    In lyrical completeness.
+
+  If Friendship lend thee such a grace,
+    That men nor gods may slight it,
+  How blest the one who views thy face
+    When Love comes down to light it!
+        And, oh, if he
+        Who holds in fee
+    Thy beauty, truth, and reason,
+        A traitor prove
+        To thee and Love,
+    We'll spurn him for his treason.
+
+
+
+
+  {121}
+
+  GERTRUDE.
+
+  Underneath the maple-tree
+  Gertrude worked her filigree,
+      All the summer long;
+  To sweet airs her voice was wed,
+  As she plied her golden thread;
+  Echo stealing through the grove
+  Filched away the words of love,
+  And the birds, from tree to tree,
+  Bore the witching melody
+      Through avenues of Song.
+
+  Underneath the maple-trees
+  Zephyrs chant her melodies,
+      All the summer long;
+  Words and airs no longer wed,
+  Death has snapped the vocal thread
+  Echo sleeping in the grove
+  Dreams of liquid airs of love,
+  And the birds among the trees
+  Fill with sweetest symphonies
+      Whole avenues of Song.
+
+
+
+
+{122}
+
+  FLOWERS.
+
+  Thank God I love the Flowers!
+    Mute voices of the Spring,
+  That gladden all her bowers
+    With their varied blossoming;
+  They weave a charm around them
+    On each summer dale and bough,
+  For a Fairy train has bound them
+    In wreaths upon her brow.
+
+  Far up along the mountain,
+    And in the valleys green,
+  In the field, and by the fountain,
+    The smiling ones are seen;
+  Some looking up to heaven,
+    With eyes of deepest blue;
+  Some stooping down at even
+    To quaff the sparkling dew.
+
+  And from them all there speaketh
+    A language sweet and pure,
+  Fitted for him who seeketh
+    A God's nomenclature.
+  As tidal pulses thrill the seas,
+    And moments build the hours,
+  Heaven breathes her unvoiced mysteries
+    In sermons from the Flowers.
+
+
+
+
+{123}
+
+  THE UNATTAINABLE.
+
+  I yearn for the Unattainable;
+    For a glimpse of a brighter day,
+      When hatred and strife,
+      With their legions rife,
+    Shall forever have passed away;
+      When pain shall cease,
+      And the dawn of peace
+    Come down from heaven above,
+    And man can meet his fellow-man
+    In the spirit of Christian Love.
+
+  I yearn for the Unattainable;
+    For a Voice that may long be still,
+      To compel the mind,
+      As heaven designed,
+    To work the Eternal Will;
+      When the brute that sleeps
+      In the heart's still deeps
+    Will be changed to Pity's dove,
+    And man can meet his fellow-man
+    In the spirit of Perfect Love.
+
+
+
+
+{124}
+
+  YEARNINGS.
+
+  I long for diviner regions,--
+    The spirit would reach its goal;
+  Though, this world hath surpassing beauty,
+    It warreth against the soul.
+
+  There's a cloud in the eastern heaven;
+    Beyond it, a cold gray sky;
+  But I know that the sun's rare radiance
+    Will brighten it by and by.
+
+  In the fane of my soul is glowing
+    The joy of a hope to come,
+  That will touch with its Memnon finger
+    The lips that are cold and dumb:
+
+  Till illumed by the smile of heaven,
+    And blest with a purer life,
+  Will the gloom that o'ershades my spirit
+    Depart like a vanquished strife.
+
+
+
+
+{125}
+
+  INGRATITUDE.
+
+  Full on the wave the moonlight weeps,
+    To quiet its weary breast;
+  Cruelly cold the mad wave leaps,
+    With the moonshine on its crest;
+  Or with scowl, or growl, to the shore it creeps,
+    And sinks to its selfish rest.
+
+  Full on yon man-brute smiles the wife,
+    To gladden his turbid breast;
+  Savagely stern he seeks the life
+    Where he erewhile sought for zest;
+  With a curse, or worse, he ends the strife,
+    And sinks to his drunken rest.
+
+  Sea! has the moon no charms for thee
+    That can touch thy cruel breast?
+  Man! cannot woman's charity
+    Give ease to thy soul oppressed?
+  Thou shalt flee, O sea! the moon's witchery,
+    Till man has his final rest!
+
+
+
+
+{126}
+
+  TRUE LOVE.
+
+  Her love is like the hardy flower
+    That blooms amid the Alpine snows;
+  Deep-rooted in an icy bower,
+    No blast can chill its sweet repose;
+    But fresh as is the tropic rose,
+  Drenched in mellowest sunny beams,
+  It has as sweet delicious dreams
+    As any flower that grows.
+
+  And though an avalanche came down
+    And robbed it of the light of day,
+  That which withstood the tempest's frown
+    In grief would never pine away.
+    Hope might withhold her feeblest ray,
+  Within her bosom's snowy tomb
+  Love still would wear its everbloom,
+    The gayest of the gay.
+
+
+
+
+{127}
+
+  AN EVENING THOUGHT.
+
+  Bird of the fanciful plumage,
+    That foldest thy wings in the west,
+  Imbuing the shimmering ocean
+    With the hues of thy delicate breast,
+  Passing away into Dreamland,
+    To visions of heavenly rest!
+
+  Spirit! when thou art permitted
+    To bask in the sunset of life;
+  Serene in thine eventide splendour,
+    Thy countenance victory rife;
+  Leaving the world where thou'st triumphed
+    Alike o'er its greatness and strife:
+
+  Thine be the destiny, spirit,
+    To set like the sun in the west;
+  Folding thy wings of rare plumage,
+    Conscious of infinite rest,
+  Heralded on to thy haven,
+    The Fortunate Isles of the Blest.
+
+
+
+
+{128}
+
+  A THOUGHT FOR SPRING.
+
+  I am happier for the Spring;
+    For my heart is like a bird
+  That has many songs to sing,
+    But whose voice is never heard
+  Till the happy year is caroling
+    To the daisies on the sward.
+
+  I'd be happier for the Spring,
+    Though my heart had grown so old
+  Like a crone 'twould sit and sing
+    Its shrill runes of wintry cold;
+  For I'd know the year was caroling
+    To the daisies on the wold.
+
+
+
+
+{129}
+
+  THE SWALLOWS.
+
+  I asked the first stray swallow of the spring,
+  "Where hast thou been through all the winter drear?
+  Beneath what distant skies did'st fold thy wing,
+      Since thou wast with us here,
+  When Autumn's withered leaves foretold the passing year?"
+
+  And it replied, "Whither has Fancy led
+  The plumy thoughts that circle through thy brain?
+  Like birds about some mountain's lofty head,
+      Singing a sweet refrain:
+  There, without bound, I've been, and must return again."
+
+
+
+
+{130}
+
+  SONG.--CLARA AND I.
+
+  We have a joke whenever we meet,
+        Clara and I;
+  Prattle and laughter, and kisses sweet,
+        Clara and I.
+  Were I but twenty, and not two score,
+  Clara and I would laugh still more,
+  With plenty of hopeful years in store
+    For Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  With plenty of hopeful years in store
+        For Clara and I.
+
+  We will be true as Damascus steel,
+        Clara and I;
+  Sealing our truth with a honied seal,
+        Clara and I.
+  Eyes so loving, and lips of rose,
+  Cheeks where the dainty ripe peach grows,
+  And mouth where the sly god smiles jocose
+    At Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  And mouth where the sly god smiles jocose
+        At Clara and I.
+
+  We have a kiss whenever we part,
+        Clara and I;
+  Grasping of hand, and flutter of heart,
+        Clara and I.
+  Were she but twenty, and not sixteen,
+  Over my love she'd reign the queen,
+
+{131}
+
+  And no fair rival should come between
+    My Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  And no fair rival should come between
+        My Clara and I.
+
+
+
+
+{132}
+
+  THE APRIL SNOW-STORM--1858.
+
+  Spread lightly, virgin shower,
+    Your winding-sheet of snow;
+  Winter has lost his power,
+    But mock not at his woe.
+
+  Fall not so cold and bleak,
+    Nor blow the breath of scorn;
+  Gently.  Thy sire is weak;
+    And thou, his latest-born.
+
+  Frail type of life thou art:
+    At first, pure as the snow
+  We come--abide--depart;
+    What more, th' Immortals know.
+
+  Fall gently, virgin shower,
+    Though wild the west wind raves;
+  Watch through this midnight hour
+    Above the new-made graves!
+
+          ------
+
+  Spread gently, virgin shower,
+    Your winding sheet of snow;
+  My heart has lost its power,
+    But mock not at its woe.
+
+  Fall not so cold and bleak,
+    Treat not her corse with scorn;
+  Gently.  My heart is weak;
+    She, too, was April-born.
+
+{133}
+
+  Fall gently, virgin shower;
+    The heart once strong and brave
+  Hath lost its wonted power;
+    'Tis buried in her grave.
+
+
+
+
+{134}
+
+  GOOD NIGHT.
+
+      We never say, "Good Night;"
+  For our eager lips are fleeter
+  Than the tongue, and a kiss is sweeter
+      Than parting words,
+      That out like swords;
+  So we always kiss Good Night.
+
+      We never say "Good Night."
+  Words are precious, love, why lose 'em?
+  Fold them up in your maiden bosom;
+      There let them rest,
+      Like love unconfessed,
+  While we kiss a sweet Good Night.
+
+      There comes a last Good Night.
+  Human life--not love--is fleeting;
+  Heaven send many a birth-day greeting;
+      Dim years roll on
+      To life's gray-haired dawn,
+  Ere we kiss our last Good Night.
+
+          ------
+
+      We've kissed our last Good Night!
+  Love's warm tendrils torn and bleeding,
+  Vain all human interceding!
+      Oh, life! how dark!
+      Its one vital spark
+  Was quenched with our last GOOD NIGHT!
+
+
+
+
+{135}
+
+  HOPELESS.
+
+  I think through the long, long evenings,
+    Such thoughts of intensest pain,
+  And I hope and watch for her coming,
+    But I hope and watch in vain,
+  My life is a long, long journey
+    Over a barren moor,
+  With nought but my own dark shadow
+    Hastening on before.
+
+  I'm weary of all this watching,
+    Aweary of life and thought;
+  For there's little hope in the distance,
+    And for peace--I know it not!
+  Oh, why must we think and shudder,
+    And shudder and think again?
+  When life's but a dance of shadows
+    Haunting a barren plain!
+
+
+
+
+{139}
+
+  INTO THE SILENT LAND.
+
+  I.
+
+  "Oh for a pen of light, a tongue of fire,
+  That every word might burn in living flame
+  Upon the age's brow, and leave one name
+  Engraven on the future!  One desire
+  Fills every nook and cranny of my heart;
+  One hope--one sorrow--one belovèd aim!
+  She whose pure life was of my life a part,
+  As light is of the day, could she inspire
+  My unmelodious muse, or tune the lyre
+  To diapasons worthy of the theme,
+  How would her joy put on its robes of light,
+  And nestle in my bosom once again,
+  As when life, like an Oriental dream,
+  Fanned by Arabian airs, glode down the stream
+  To music whose remembrance is a pain.
+  The foot of time might trample on my strain,
+  But could not quench its essence.  There was might,
+  And majesty, and greatness in the love
+  She blest me with--a blessing without stain,
+  And that was earthly; since her spirit-sight
+  Looked through the veil, and learned love's true delight,
+  Which sainted ministrants alone can prove
+  Who taste the waters of eternal love:
+  I pause to think how wonderful has grown
+  The love that was to me so wondrous here!
+  Chained as I am to this terrestrial sphere,
+  Groping my way through darkness, and alone,
+
+{140}
+
+  Like a blind eaglet soaring towards the sun,
+  How would her full experience lift and cheer
+  The heart that never feels its duty done,
+  And with a girdle of pure light enzone
+  My flowery world of thought, and make it all her own."
+
+    Thus mused the Minstrel, for his heart was sad.
+  Death had bereaved him of his bride, while youth,
+  And looming years of future trust and truth,
+  Knit them together, till their souls were clad
+  With joy ineffable.  Love's great High Priest
+  Sacrificed in their hearts to Him that doeth
+  All things well; and such rare, perpetual feast
+  Of love and truth no mortals ever had,
+  To keep their memories green, their lives serene and glad,
+
+    He sat again within the quiet room,
+  Where Death had snapped one golden thread of life,
+  And the pale hand of Sickness, sorrow-rife,
+  Robbed the plump cheek of childhood of its bloom;
+  Where she, another Philomena, moved
+  Like a fond Charity--the coming wife
+  Ordained to crown his being: And he loved.
+  The future rose before him, joy and gloom;
+  For where the sunlight shone, there waved the sable plume.
+
+    And yet he failed not, for the coming pain;
+  The coming bliss would counterbalance all.
+  The sight prophetic that perceived the pall,
+  Looked far beyond for the celestial gain.
+
+{141}
+
+  They do not truly love who cannot yield
+  The mortal up at the Immortal's call,
+  Or fail to triumph for the soul that's sealed.
+  His mind was strung to one harmonious strain:
+  To give when God should ask, and not resign in vain.
+
+    Love was to him life's chiefest victory;
+  He knew no greater, and he sought no less.
+  Like a green isle surrounded by the sea
+  That gives it health and vigour, so was he
+  The centre of love's sphere of perfectness;
+  He breathed its heavenly atmosphere; the key
+  That opened every chamber in love's court
+  Was in his hand; love's mystery was his sport,
+  He knelt within love's fane and worshipped there--
+  But not alone, for one was by his side
+  Whose love refined his being, filled the air
+  Of life's irradiated sky with light,
+  As the sun floods the heavens with a tide
+  Of renovating freshness, as the night
+  Is mellowed by the ample moon.
+  And hoping for the recompense
+  That would be theirs in life's approaching noon,
+  They built on hope's high eminence
+  Their airy palaces, whose magnificence
+  Surpassed the dreams that fancy drew,
+  So fair the promised land that lay within their view.
+
+    And here they lived; just within reach of heaven.
+  They could put forth their hands and touch the skies
+  That brooded o'er the walls of chrysolite,
+  The airy minarets, and golden domes
+
+{142}
+
+  Of their new home, by Love, the Maker, given,
+  Steeped in his brightest dyes.
+  All nature opened up her ponderous tomes,
+  Whereby they had new knowledge and new sight,
+  Learned greater truths, and saw the paths of light,
+  Mosaic-paven, which to Duty led.
+  And there were secrets written overhead,
+  In burning hieroglyphs of thought,
+  From which they gleaned such lessons as are taught
+  Only to those whom heaven, in graciousness,
+  Lifts in her arms with a divine caress.
+  Earth, like a joyous maiden whose pure soul
+  Is filled with sudden ecstacy, became
+  A fruitful Eden; and the golden bowl
+  That held their elixir of life was filled
+  To overflowing with the rarest draught
+  Ever by gods or men in rapture quaffed;
+  Till from the altar of their hearts love's flame
+  Passed through the veins of the world, and thrilled
+  The soul of the rejoicing universe,
+  Which became theirs, and like true neophytes
+  They drained the sweet nepenthe, and love's rites
+  Wiped from their hearts all trace of the primeval curse.
+
+    The happy months rolled on; each wedded day
+  A bridal; and each calm and holy eve
+  Strewed with rare blessings all the sunny way
+  Through which they passed, with so divine a joy
+  That in his brain would meditation weave
+  Love's roses into garlands of sweet song,
+  To deck the brow of his devoted wife.
+
+{143}
+
+  In this their El Dorado, no alloy
+  Mixed with the coinage of their wedded life;
+  The workmen in the mint an honest throng.
+  No wonder, then, that with go fine a bliss
+  Informing every fibre of his brain,
+  His thoughts begat impressions such as this;
+  Linking their lives together with a chain
+  Of melody as rare as some divine refrain:
+
+      Like dew to the thirsty flower,
+        Like sweets to the hungry bee,
+      Is love's divinest dower,
+      Its tenderness and power,
+        To thee, dear Wife! to thee.
+
+      Like light to the darkened spirit,
+        Like oil to the turbid sea,
+      Like truthful words to merit,
+      Are the blessings I inherit
+        With thee, dear Wife! with thee.
+
+      Afar in the distant ages,
+        Soul-ransomed, and spirit-free,
+      I'll read all being's pages,
+      Unread by mortal sages,
+        With thee, dear Wife! with thee.
+
+    None but the happy heart could carol thus;
+  A feather stolen from Devotion's wing,
+  To keep as a memento of the time
+  When earth met heaven, in life's duteous
+  And prayerful journey towards the shadowy clime;
+
+{144}
+
+  Ere they descended from their height sublime,
+  Where at Love's well-filled table, banqueting,
+  They sat, and watched the first glad year,
+  Earthlike, revolving round the sun
+  Of their true life.  Within that sphere
+  Was the new Eden.  One by one
+  The precious moments dropped like golden sands,
+  And formed the solid hours.  No perilous strands
+  Delayed life's blissful current, as it sped
+  Through flowery realms with blue skies overhead,
+  To songs and laughter musically sweet,
+  As if all sorrow had forever fled;
+  And idylls, sung with cheerful tone,
+  Haunted the calm, enchanted zone
+  That hemmed them in,
+  Where, like a stately queen,
+  Sate Peace, beatified, serene,
+  The guardian, heaven-sent, of this their fair demesne:
+
+            ------
+
+  LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY.
+
+  Like a bold, adventurous swain,
+    Just a year ago to-day,
+  I launched my bark on a radiant main,
+    And Hymen led the way:
+  "Breakers ahead!" he cried,
+    As he sought to overwhelm
+  My daring craft in the shrieking tide,
+  But Love, like a pilot bold and tried,
+    Sat, watchful, at the helm.
+
+{145}
+
+  And we passed the treacherous shoals,
+    Where many a hope lay dead,
+  And splendid wrecks were piled, like the ghouls
+    Of joys forever fled.
+  Once safely over these,
+    We sped by a fairy realm,
+  Across the bluest and calmest seas
+  That were ever kissed by a truant breeze,
+    With Love still at the helm.
+
+  We sailed by sweet, odorous isles,
+    Where the flowers and trees were one;
+  Through lakes that vied with the golden smiles
+    Of heaven's unclouded sun:
+  Still speeds our merry bark,
+    Threading life's peaceful realm,
+  And 'tis ever morn with our marriage-lark,
+  For the Pilot-Love of our safety-ark
+    Stands, watchful, at the helm.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  A beautiful land is the Land of Dreams,
+    Green hills and valleys, and deep lagoons,
+  Swift-rushing torrents and gentle streams,
+    Glassing a myriad silver moons;
+  Mirror-like lakelets with lovely isles,
+    And verdurous headlands looking down
+  On the Neread shapes, whose smiles
+    Were worth the price of a peaceful crown.
+
+{146}
+
+    We clutch at the silvery bars
+    Flung from the motionless stars,
+        And climb far into space,
+        Defying the race
+    Who ride in aërial cars.
+
+  We take up the harp of the mind,
+    And finger its delicate strings;
+        The notes, soft and light
+        As a moonbeam's flight,
+    Departing on viewless wings.
+  Afar in some fanciful bower,
+    Some region of exquisite calm,
+  Where the starlight falls in a gleaming shower,
+        We sink to repose
+        On our couch of rose,
+    Inhaling no mortal balm.
+  The worlds are no longer unknown,
+    We pass through the uttermost sky,
+        Our eyelids are kissed
+        By a gentle mist,
+        And we feel the tone
+        Of a calmer zone,
+    As if heaven were wondrous nigh.
+
+  A fanciful land is the Land of Dreams,
+    Where earth and heaven are clasping hands;
+        No heaven--no earth,
+        But one wide, new birth,
+    Where Beauty and Goodness, and human worth,
+    Make earth of heaven and heaven of earth;
+    And angels are walking on golden strands.
+
+{147}
+
+    And the pearly gates of the universe
+    Of mind and fancy, opening
+    To the touch of the dainty finger-tips
+    Of elegant Peris with rose-bud lips,
+    Delicate, weird-like sounds are born
+    From the amber depths of odorous morn,
+    And spirits of beauty and light rehearse
+      Such strains as the young immortals sing,
+          When the souls of the blest
+          Are borne to their rest,
+    On luminous pinions of light serene
+    To the fragrant bowers of evergreen;
+    O'er the rosy plains, where the dying hours
+    Are changed by a spell to celestial flowers,
+    Where the skies have a hue no name can express,
+    For the tone of their passionate loveliness
+      Surpasseth all human imagining.
+
+    Such was their beautiful Dream of Life;
+        Each stern reality softened down;
+    Earth seemed to have ended her age of Strife,
+        And Harmony reigned, her olive crown
+    Besting on the Parian brow
+        Of the fair victor, like the gleam
+    Of the silvery moon on waves that flow
+        Thoughtfully down the summer stream.
+    Such was their earnest Dream of Life!
+    Was it some angel, with jealous eye,
+    Seeing such love beneath the sky
+    As never yet in world or star,
+    Or spheral height, that reached so far
+    'Twas never beheld by mortal sight,
+
+{148}
+
+    Or elsewhere, save in highest heaven,
+    Was duly earned, or truly given,
+    That leagued with the usurper, Death,
+    To quench the light that shone so bright
+    That in all the earth there was not a breath
+    So foul as to change their day to night?
+
+    Alone! alone!  Oh, word of fearful tone!
+    Well might the moon withhold her light,
+    The stars withdraw from human sight,
+    When Love was overthrown.
+    The Minstrel's heart how changed!
+    Love's principalities,
+    O'er which he reigned supreme,
+    Usurped by earth's realities;
+    The realm through which he ranged
+    Become a vanished dream!
+    And yet he sung, as sings
+    The dying swan that droops its wings
+    And drifts along the stream:
+
+            ------
+
+  THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW PANE.
+
+  A joy from my soul's departed,
+    A bliss from my heart is flown,
+  As weary, weary-hearted,
+    I wander alone--alone!
+  The night wind sadly sigheth
+    A withering, wild refrain,
+  And my heart within me dieth
+    For the light in the window pane.
+
+{149}
+
+  The stars overhead are shining,
+    As brightly as e'er they shone,
+  As heartless--sad--repining,
+    I wander alone--alone!
+  A sudden flash comes streaming,
+    And flickers adown the lane,
+  But no more for me is gleaming
+    The light in the window pane.
+
+  The voices that pass are cheerful,
+    Men laugh as the night winds moan;
+  They cannot tell how fearful
+    'Tis to wander alone--alone!
+  For them, with each night's returning,
+    Life singeth its tenderest strain,
+  Where the beacon of love is burning--
+    The light in the window pane.
+
+  Oh, sorrow beyond all sorrows
+    To which human life is prone:
+  Without thee, through all the morrows,
+    To wander alone--alone!
+  Oh, dark, deserted dwelling!
+    Where Hope like a lamb was slain,
+  No voice from thy lone walls welling,
+    No light in thy window pane.
+
+  But memory, sainted angel!
+    Rolls back the sepulchral stone,
+  And sings like a sweet evangel:
+    "No--never, never alone!
+
+{150}
+
+  True grief has its royal palace,
+    Each loss is a greater gain;
+  And Sorrow ne'er filled a chalice
+    That Joy did not wait to drain!
+
+              ------
+
+      "Man must be perfected
+      By suffering," he said;
+  "And Death is but the stepping-stone, whereby
+      We mount towards the gate
+      Of heaven, soon or late.
+  Death is the penalty of life; we die,
+
+      Because we live; and life
+      Is but a constant strife
+  With the immortal Impulse that within
+      Our bodies seeks control--
+      The time-abiding Soul,
+  That wrestles with us--yet we fain would win.
+
+      And what? the victory
+      Would make us slaves; and we,
+  Who in our blindness struggle for the prize
+      Of this illusive state
+      Called Life, do but frustrate
+  The higher law--refusing to be wise."
+
+      Rightly he knew, indeed,
+      Earth's brightest paths but lead
+  To the true wisdom of that perfect state,
+      Where Knowledge, heaven-born,
+      And Love's eternal morn,
+  Awaiteth those who would be truly great.
+
+{151}
+
+      With what abiding trust
+      He rose from out the dust,
+  As Death's swift chariot passed him by the way;
+      No visionary dream
+      Was his--no trifling theme--
+  The Soul's great Mystery before him lay:
+
+              ------
+
+  THE SOUL.
+
+  All my mind has sat in state,
+    Pond'ring on the deathless Soul:
+   What must be the Perfect Whole,
+  When the atom is so great!
+
+  God!  I fall in spirit down,
+    Low as Persian to the sun;
+    All my senses, one by one,
+  In the stream of Thought must drown.
+
+  On the tide of mystery,
+    Like a waif, I'm seaward borne,
+    Ever looking for the morn
+  That will yet interpret Thee,
+
+  Opening my blinded eyes,
+    That have strove to look within,
+    'Whelmed in clouds of doubt and sin,
+  Sinking where I dared to rise:
+
+  Could I trace one Spirit's flight,
+    Track it to its final goal,
+    Know that 'Spirit' meant 'the Soul,'
+  I must perish in the light.
+
+{152}
+
+  All in vain I search, and cry:
+    "What, O Soul, and whence art thou?"
+    Lower than the earth I bow,
+  Stricken with the grave reply:
+
+  "Wouldst thou ope what God has sealed--
+    Sealed in mercy here below?
+    What is best for man to know,
+  Shall most surely be revealed!"
+
+  Deep on deep of mystery!
+    Ask the sage, he knows no more
+    Of the soul's unspoken lore
+  Than the child upon his knee!
+
+  Cannot tell me whence the thought
+    That is passing through my mind!
+    Where the mystic soul is shrined,
+  Wherewith all my life is fraught?
+
+  Knows not how the brain conceives
+    Images almost divine;
+    Cannot work my mental mine,
+  Cannot bind my golden sheaves.
+
+  Is he wiser, then, than I,
+    Seeing he can read the stars?
+    I have rode in fancy's oars
+  Leagues beyond his farthest sky!
+
+  Some old Rabbi, dreaming o'er
+    The sweet legends of his race,
+    Ask him for some certain trace
+  Of the far, eternal shore.
+
+{153}
+
+  No.  The Talmud page is dark,
+    Though it burn with quenchless fire,
+    And the insight must pierce higher,
+  That would find the vital spark.
+
+  O, my Soul! be firm and wait,
+    Hoping with the zealous few,
+    Till the Shekinah of the True
+  Lead thee through the Golden Gate.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS,
+
+WRITTEN IN THE ORILLIA WOODS.
+
+August, 1859.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO
+
+My friends
+
+AT
+
+"ROCKRIDGE," ORILLIA, C. W.
+
+
+
+
+{159}
+
+  SONNETS.
+
+  PROEM.
+
+    Alice, I need not tell you that the Art
+  That copies Nature, even at its best,
+  Is but the echo of a splendid tone,
+  Or like the answer of a little child
+  To the deep question of some frosted sage.
+  For Nature in her grand magnificence,
+  Compared to Art, must ever raise her head
+  Beyond the cognizance of human minds:
+  This is the spirit merely; that, the soul.
+  We watch her passing, like some gentle dream,
+  And catch sweet glimpses of her perfect face;
+  We see the flashing of her gorgeous robes,
+  And, if her mantle ever falls at all,
+  How few Elishas wear it sacredly,
+  As if it were a valued gift from heaven.
+  God has created; we but re-create,
+  According to the temper of our minds;
+  According to the grace He has bequeathed;
+  According to the uses we have made
+  Of His good-pleasure given unto us.
+  And so I love my art; chiefly, because
+  Through it I rev'rence Nature, and improve
+  The tone and tenor of the mind He gave.
+  God sends a Gift; we crown it with high Art,
+
+{160}
+
+  And make it worthy the bestower, when
+  The talent is not hidden in the dust
+  Of pampered negligence and venial sin,
+  But put to studious use, that it may work
+  The end and aim for which it was bestowed.
+  All Good is God's; all Love and Truth are His;
+  We are His workers; and we dare not plead
+  But that He gave us largely of all these,
+  Demanding a discreet return, that when
+  The page of life is written to its close
+  It may receive the seal and autograph
+  Of His good pleasure--the right royal sign
+  And signet of approval, to the end
+  That we were worthy of the gift divine,
+  And through it praised the Great Artificer.
+
+    In my long rambles through Orillian woods;
+  Out on the ever-changing Couchiching;
+  By the rough margin of the Lake St. John;
+  Down the steep Severn, where the artist sun,
+  In dainty dalliance with the blushing stream,
+  Transcribes each tree, branch, leaf, and rock and flower,
+  Perfect in shape and colour, clear, distinct,
+  With all the panoramic change of sky--
+  Even as Youth's bright river, toying with
+  The fairy craft where Inexperience dreams,
+  And subtle Fancy builds its airy halls,
+  In blest imagination pictures most
+  Of bright or lovely that adorn life's banks,
+  With the blue vault of heaven over all;
+  On that serene and wizard afternoon,
+  As hunters chase the wild and timid deer
+
+{161}
+
+  We chased the quiet of Medonte's shades
+  Through the green windings of the forest road,
+  Past Nature's venerable rank and file
+  Of primal woods--her Old Guard, sylvan-plumed--
+  The far-off Huron, like a silver thread,
+  The clue to some enchanted labyrinth,
+  Dimly perceived beyond the stretch of woods,
+  Th' approaches tinted by a purple haze,
+  And softened into beauty like the dream
+  Of some rapt seer's Apocalyptic mood;
+  And when at Rockridge we sat looking out
+  Upon the softened shadows of the night,
+  And the wild glory of the throbbing stars;
+  Where'er we bent our Eden-tinted way:
+  My brain was a weird wilderness of Thought:
+  My heart, love's sea of passion tossed and torn,
+  Calmed by the presence of the loving souls
+  By whom I was surrounded.  All the while
+  They deemed me passing tame, and wondered when
+  My dreamy castle would come toppling down.
+  I was but driving back the aching past,
+  And mirroring the future.  And these leaves
+  Of meditation are but perfumes from
+  The censer of my feelings; honied drops
+  Wrung from the busy hives of heart and brain;
+  Mere etchings of the artist; grains of sand
+  From the calm shores of that unsounded deep
+  Of speculation, where all thought is lost
+  Amid the realms of Nature and of God.
+
+
+
+
+{162}
+
+  I.
+
+    My soul goes out to meet her, and my heart
+    Flings wide the portals of its love, and yearns
+    To have her enter its serene retreat.
+    A poor stray lamb, not wand'ring from the fold,
+    But all unstudied in the worldling's art,
+    Turning life's mintage into seeming gold,
+    Wherewith to purchase love and love's returns;
+    Unknowing that love's waters, though so sweet,
+    Lead to some bitter Marah.  So my soul
+    Goes out to meet her, and it clasps her home,
+    And seeks to bear her upward to the goal
+    At which the righteous enter.  From the dome
+    Of starriest Night two blest Immortals come,
+  To bear us spheral-ward to God's own mercy-seat.
+
+
+
+
+{163}
+
+  II.
+
+    'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf
+    Falls from some stately tree.  True type of life!
+    How emblamatic of the pangs that grief
+    Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one
+    Drop from us in our wrestle with the strife
+    And natural passions of our stately youth.
+    And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.
+    Each step conducts us through an opening door
+    Into new halls of being, hand in hand
+    With grave Experience, until we command
+    The open, wide-spread autumn fields, and store
+    The full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.
+    As on life's tott'ring precipice we stand,
+  Our sins like withered leaves are blown about the land.
+
+
+
+
+{164}
+
+  III.
+
+    Oh, holy sabbath morn! thrice blessed day
+    Of solemn rest, true peace, and earnest prayer.
+    How many hearts that never knelt to pray
+    Are glad to breathe thy soul-sustaining air.
+    I sit within the quiet woods, and hear
+    The village church-bell's soft inviting sound,
+    And to the confines of the loftiest sphere
+    Imagination wings its airy round;
+    A myriad spirits have assembled there,
+    Whose prayers on earth a sweet acceptance found.
+    I go to worship in Thy House, O God!
+    With her, thy young creation bright and fair;
+    Help us to do Thy will, and not despair,
+  Though both our hearts should bend beneath Thy chastening rod.
+
+
+
+
+{165}
+
+  IV.
+
+    The birds are singing merrily, and here
+    A squirrel claims the lordship of the woods,
+    And scolds me for intruding.  At my feet
+    The tireless ants all silently proclaim
+    The dignity of labour.  In my ear
+    The bee hums drowsily; from sweet to sweet
+    Careering, like a lover weak in aim.
+    I hear faint music in the solitudes;
+    A dreamlike melody that whispers peace
+    Imbues the calmy forest, and sweet rills
+    Of pensive feeling murmur through my brain,
+    Like ripplings of pure water down the hills
+    That slumber in the moonlight.  Cease, oh, cease!
+  Some day my weary heart will coin these into pain.
+
+
+
+
+{166}
+
+  V.
+
+    Blest Spirit of Calm that dwellest in these woods!
+    Thou art a part of that serene repose
+    That ofttimes lingers in the solitudes
+    Of my lone heart, when the tumultuous throes
+    Of some vast Grief have borne me to the earth.
+    For I have fought with Sorrow face to face;
+    Have tasted of the cup that brings to some
+    A frantic madness and delirious mirth,
+    But prayed and trusted for the light to come,
+    To break the gloom and darkness of the place.
+    Through the dim aisles the sunlight penetrates,
+    And nature's self rejoices; heaven's light
+    Comes down into my heart, and in its might
+  My soul stands up and knocks at God's own temple-gates.
+
+
+
+
+{167}
+
+  VI.
+
+    Through every sense a sweet balm permeates,
+    As music strikes new tones from every nerve.
+    The soul of Feeling enters at the gates
+    Of Intellect, and Fancy comes to serve
+    With fitting homage the propitious guest.
+    Nature, erewhile so lonely and oppressed,
+    Stands like a stately Presence, and looks down
+    As from a throne of power.  I have grown
+    Full twenty summers backwards, and my youth
+    Is surging in upon me till my hopes
+    Are as fresh-tinted as the checkered leaves
+    That the sun shines through.  All the future opes
+    Its endless corridors, where time unweaves
+  The threads of Error from the golden warp of Truth.
+
+
+
+
+{168}
+
+  VIII.
+
+    Our life is like a forest, where the sun
+    Glints down upon us through the throbbing leaves;
+    The full light rarely finds us.  One by one,
+    Deep rooted in our souls, there springeth up
+    Dark groves of human passion, rich in gloom,
+    At first no bigger than an acorn-cup.
+    Hope threads the tangled labyrinth, but grieves
+    Till all our sins have rotted in their tomb,
+    And made the rich loam of each yearning heart
+    To bring forth fruits and flowers to new life.
+    We feel the dew from heaven, and there start
+    From some deep fountain little rills whose strife
+    Is drowned in music.  Thus in light and shade
+  We live, and move, and die, through all this earthly glade.
+
+
+
+
+{169}
+
+  VIII.
+
+    Above where I am sitting, o'er these stones,
+    The ocean waves once heaved their mighty forms;
+    And vengeful tempests and appalling storms
+    Wrung from the stricken sea portentous moans,
+    That rent stupendous icebergs, whose huge heights
+    Crashed down in fragments through the startled nights.
+    Change, change, eternal change in all but God!
+    Mysterious nature! thrice mysterious state
+    Of body, soul, and spirit!  Man is awed,
+    But triumphs in his littleness.  A mote,
+    He specks the eye of the age and turns to dust,
+    And is the sport of centuries.  We note
+    More surely nature's ever-changing fate;
+  Her fossil records tell how she performs her trust.
+
+
+
+
+{170}
+
+  IX.
+
+    Another day of rest, and I sit here
+    Among the trees, green mounds, and leaves as sere
+    As my own blasted hopes.  There was a time
+    When Love and perfect Happiness did chime
+    Like two sweet sounds upon this blessed day;
+    But one has flown forever, far away
+    From this poor Earth's unsatisfied desires
+    To love eternal, and the sacred fires
+    With which the other lighted up my mind
+    Have faded out and left no trace behind,
+    But dust and bitter ashes.  Like a bark
+    Becalmed, I anchor through the midnight dark,
+    Still hoping for another dawn of Love.
+  Bring back my olive branch of Happiness, O dove!
+
+
+
+
+{171}
+
+  X.
+
+    Poor snail, that toilest at my weary feet,
+    Thou, too, must have thy burden!  Life is sweet
+    If we would make it so.  How vast a load
+    To carry all its days along the road
+    Of its serene existence!  Christian-like,
+    It toils with patience, seeking sweet repose
+    Within itself when wearied with the throes
+    Of its life-struggle.  The low sounds that strike
+    Upon the ear in wafts of melody,
+    Are cruel mockeries, O snail, of thee.
+    The cricket's chirp, the grasshopper's shrill tone,
+    The locust's jarring cry, all mock thy lone
+    And dumb-like presence.  May this heart of mine,
+  When tried, put on a resignation such as thine.
+
+
+
+
+{172}
+
+  XI.
+
+    Oh, that I were the spirit of these wilds!
+    I'd make the zephyrs dance for my delight,
+    And lead a life as happy as a child's.
+    Echo should tremble with unfeigned affright,
+    And mock its own weird answers.  I would kiss
+    Eliza's cheek, and touch her lips with dew
+    Stol'n from the scented rose.  And Carrie's laugh
+    Should be a portion of the silver rills'
+    Sweet music, breathed mellifluously through
+    The hearts of generations.  She should quaff
+    The nectar of inspired song, and thrills
+    Of sweet remembrances of her should strew
+    The woodland air, as sand-grains strew the shore;
+  And these two hearts should be my joy for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+{173}
+
+  XII.
+
+    The moon shone down on fair Eliza's face,
+    And made it beautiful.  No fitter place
+    Could she have chosen for her gracious smile;
+    For as she sat there in the languid light,
+    Methought I'd found a soul as free from guile
+    As ever came from God.  Oh, favored Night!
+    Oh, mild, impassioned moon and starry spheres!
+    To gaze upon her through the silent years
+    Without rebuke.  But I have looked within,
+    And found the truest beauty; have laid bare
+    A spiritual excellence as rare
+    As ever mortal being hoped to win.
+    Heart, mind, and soul, I analysed them all,
+  And saw where heaven kept divinest carnival.
+
+
+
+
+{174}
+
+  XIII.
+
+    I've almost grown a portion of this place,
+    I seem familiar with each mossy stone;
+    Even the nimble chipmunk passes on,
+    And looks, but never scolds me.  Birds have flown
+    And almost touched my hand; and I can trace
+    The wild bees to their hives.  I've never known
+    So sweet a pause from labour.  But the tone
+    Of a past sorrow, like a mournful rill
+    Threading the heart of some melodious hill,
+    Or the complainings of the whippoorwill,
+    Passes through every thought, and hope, and aim.
+    It has its uses; for it cools the flame
+    Of ardent love that burns my being up--
+  Love, life's celestial pearl, diffused through all its cup.
+
+
+
+
+{175}
+
+  XIV.
+
+    There is no sadness here.  Oh, that my heart
+    Were calm and peaceful as these dreamy groves!
+    That all my hopes and passions, and deep loves,
+    Could sit in such an atmosphere of peace,
+    Where no unholy impulses would start
+    Responsive to the throes that never cease
+    To keep my spirit in such wild unrest.
+    'Tis only in the struggling human breast
+    That the true sorrow lives.  Our fruitful joys
+    Have stony kernels hidden in their core.
+    Life in a myriad phases passeth here,
+    And death as various--an equal poise;
+    Yet all is but a solemn change--no more;
+  And not a sound save joy pervades the atmosphere.
+
+
+
+
+{176}
+
+  XV.
+
+    Last night I heard the plaintive whippoorwill,
+    And straightway Sorrow shot his swiftest dart.
+    I know not why, but it has chilled my heart
+    Like some dread thing of evil.  All night long
+    My nerves were shaken, and my pulse stood still,
+    And waited for a terror yet to come
+    To strike harsh discords through my life's sweet song.
+    Sleep came--an incubus that filled the sum
+    Of wretchedness with dreams so wild and chill
+    The sweat oozed from me like great drops of gall;
+    An evil spirit kept my mind in thrall,
+    And rolled my body up like a poor scroll
+    On which is written curses that the soul
+  Shrinks back from when it sees some hellish carnival.
+
+
+
+
+{177}
+
+  XVI.
+
+    My footsteps press where, centuries ago,
+    The Red Men fought and conquered; lost and won.
+    Whole tribes and races, gone like last year's snow,
+    Have found the Eternal Hunting-Grounds, and run
+    The fiery gauntlet of their active days,
+    Till few are left to tell the mournful tale:
+    And these inspire us with such wild amaze
+    They seem like spectres passing down a vale
+    Steeped in uncertain moonlight, on their way
+    Towards some bourn where darkness blinds the day,
+    And night is wrapped in mystery profound.
+    We cannot lift the mantle of the past:
+    We seem to wander over hallowed ground:
+  We scan the trail of Thought, but all is overcast.
+
+
+
+
+{178}
+
+  XVII.
+
+    THERE WAS A TIME--and that is all we know!
+    No record lives of their ensanguined deeds:
+    The past seems palsied with some giant blow,
+    And grows the more obscure on what it feeds.
+    A rotted fragment of a human leaf;
+    A few stray skulls; a heap of human bones!
+    These are the records--the traditions brief--
+    'Twere easier far to read the speechless stones.
+    The fierce Ojibwas, with tornado force,
+    Striking white terror to the hearts of braves!
+    The mighty Hurons, rolling on their course,
+    Compact and steady as the ocean waves!
+    The stately Chippewas, a warrior host!
+  Who were they?--Whence?--And why? no human tongue can boast!
+
+
+
+
+{179}
+
+  XVIII.
+
+    I do not wonder that the Druids built
+    Their sacred altars in the sacred groves.
+    Fit place to worship God.  The native guilt
+    Of our poor weak humanity behoves
+    That we should set aside no little part
+    Of the devotion of the yearning heart
+    To rest and peace, as typical of that
+    Sweet tranquil rest to which the good aspire.
+    Calm thoughts are as the purifying fire
+    That burns the useless dross from life's mixed gold,
+    And lights the torch of mind.  While grasping at
+    The shadow for the substance, youth grows old,
+    And groves of palm spring up in every heart--
+  Temples to God, wherein we pray and sit apart.
+
+
+
+
+{180}
+
+  XIX.
+
+    How my heart yearns towards my friends at home!
+    Poor suffering souls, whose lives are like the trees,
+    Bent, crushed, and broken in the storm of life!
+    A whirlwind of existence seems to roam
+    Through some poor hearts continually.  These
+    Have neither rest nor pause; one day is rife
+    With tempest, and another dashed with gloom;
+    And the few rays of light that might illume
+    Their thorny path are drenched with tearful rain.
+    Yet these pure souls live not their lives in vain;
+    For they become as spiritual guides
+    And lights to others; rising with the tides
+    Of their full being into higher spheres,
+  Brighter and brighter still through all the coming years.
+
+
+
+
+{181}
+
+  XX.
+
+    I sat within the temple of her heart,
+    And watched the living Soul as it passed through,
+    Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure.
+    The calm, immortal Presence made me start.
+    It searched through all the chambers of her mind
+    With one mild glance of love, and smiled to view
+    The fastnesses of feeling, strong--secure,
+    And safe from all surprise.  It sits enshrined
+    And offers incense in her heart, as on
+    An altar sacred unto God.  The dawn
+    Of an imperishable love passed through
+    The lattice of my senses, and I, too,
+    Did offer incense in that solemn place--
+  A woman's heart made pure and sanctified by Grace.
+
+
+
+
+{182}
+
+  XXI.
+
+    Intense young soul, that takest hearts by storm,
+    And chills them into sorrow with a look!
+    Some minds are open as a well-read book;
+    But here the leaves are still uncut--unscanned,
+    The volume clasped and sealed, and all the warm
+    And passionate exuberance of love
+    Held in submission to these threadbare flaws
+    And creeds of weaknesses, poor human laws.
+    Stand up erect--nay kneel--for from above
+    God's light is streaming on thee.  Fashion's daws
+    May fawn and natter like a cringing pack
+    Of servile hounds beneath the keeper's hand,
+    But these are not thy peers; they drive thee back:
+  Urge on the car of Thought, and take a higher stand!
+
+
+
+
+{183}
+
+  XXII.
+
+    Dark, dismal day--the first of many such!
+    The wind is sighing through the plaintive trees,
+    In fitful gusts of a half-frenzied woe;
+    Affrighted clouds the hand might almost touch,
+    Their black wings bend so mournfully and low,
+    Sweep through the skies like night-winds o'er the seas.
+    There is no chirp of bird through all the grove,
+    Save that of the young fledgeling rudely flung
+    From its warm nest; and like the clouds above
+    My soul is dark, and restless as the breeze
+    That leaps and dances over Couchiching.
+    Soon will the last duett be sweetly sung;
+    But through the years to come our hearts will ring
+  With memories, as dear as time and love can bring.
+
+
+
+
+{184}
+
+  AU REVOIR.
+
+  That morn our hearts were like artesian wells,
+  Both deep and calm, and brimming with pure love.
+  And in each one, like to an April day,
+  Truth smiled and wept, while Courage wound his horn,
+  Dispatching echoes that are whispering still
+  Through all the vacant chambers of our souls;
+  While Sorrow sat with drooped and aimless wing,
+  Within the solitary fane of thought.
+  We wished some warlike Joshua were there
+  To make the sun stand still, or to put back
+  The dial to the brighter side of time.
+  A cloud hung over Couchiching; a cloud
+  Eclipsed the merry sunshine of our hearts.
+  We needed no philosopher to teach
+  That laughter is not always born of joy.
+  "All's for the best," the fair Eliza said;
+  And we derived new courage from her lips,
+  That spake the maxim of her trusting heart.
+  We even smiled, at some portentous sign
+  That signified--well, if it turn out true,
+  Then, I'll believe it.  Heaven works in signs
+  More parting words, more lingering farewells,
+  Pressure of hands, and thrilling touch of lips,
+  A waving of white handkerchiefs, and Love
+  Grew prayerful, and knelt down, and wept
+  His scattered rosary of human hearts.
+
+{185}
+
+  Soon looking back, we saw where Ramah lay;
+  Cold, wan, and cheerless as the race it holds.
+  And as we neared the Lake the sun came forth,
+  As tardily as if the sluggard day
+  Had slept more soundly for the piping storm,
+  That, veering round, had flung its challenge out
+  In sullen menace to the western sky,
+  Now black with clouds.  A flash, a muffled roll
+  Of elemental passion, broke the spell,
+  And down on Simcoe fell the sudden rain,
+  Veiling the gloomy landscape from our sight.
+  Throughout the changeful day, alternate cloud
+  And sunshine left their traces on our hearts,
+  Until the evening reared its dreamy piles
+  Of cloud-built cháteaux steeped in gorgeous tints,
+  That from celestial censers are outpoured
+  When the grand miracle of sunset draws
+  Our souls, all yearning with a joy divine,
+  To share the fleeting glory, ere it goes
+  To glean new splendors for the ruby morn.
+  'Tis ever thus with true impassioned love;
+  Love's sun, like that of day, may set, and set,
+  It hath as bright a rising in the morn.
+  True love has no gray hairs; his golden looks
+  Can never whiten with the snows of time.
+  Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,
+  Like snow upon the evergreens; but love
+  Can gather sweetest honey by the way,
+  E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.
+  We have been spoiled with blessings.  Though the world
+
+{186}
+
+  Holds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,
+  God ever opens up new founts of bliss--
+  Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soul
+  Can wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.
+  We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,
+  Reversing the true image; we are weak
+  Where strength is needed most, and most is given.
+
+  Thus musing, as they chatted in the train,
+  The whistle broke my reverie, as one
+  Might be awakened from a truthful dream.
+  The city gas-lights flashed into our eyes;
+  And we, half-shrinking from the glare and din,
+  Thought but of two more partings on the morn,
+  When Love should be enfettered, hand and foot,
+  For the long aeon of a human year.
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hesperus, by Charles Sangster
+
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diff --git a/24819-8.zip b/24819-8.zip
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hesperus, by Charles Sangster
+
+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: Hesperus
+       and Other Poems and Lyrics
+
+Author: Charles Sangster
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2008 [EBook #24819]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HESPERUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+HESPERUS,
+
+AND
+
+Other Poems and Lyrics
+
+
+BY CHARLES SANGSTER,
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE ST. LAWRENCE AND THE SAGUENAY, AND OTHER POEMS"
+
+
+
+
+Montreal:
+
+JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
+
+Kingston:
+
+JOHN CREIGHTON, KING STREET.
+
+
+1860.
+
+
+
+
+Entered, according to the Act of the Provincial Parliament,
+  in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty, by
+  CHARLES SANGSTER, in the office ef the Registrar of the
+  Province of Canada.
+
+
+
+
+THESE
+
+Poems and Lyrics
+
+ARE
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO
+
+My Niece,
+
+CARRIE MILLER,
+
+OF
+
+SANDWICH, C. W.
+
+
+
+
+{v}
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                           PAGE.
+
+Dedicatory Poem  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    9
+
+Hesperus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   11
+
+Crowned  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   29
+
+Mariline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   30
+
+The Happy Harvesters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   40
+
+Falls of the Chaudiere, Ottawa . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   53
+
+A Royal Welcome  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   59
+
+Malcolm  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   61
+
+The Comet, October 1858  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   63
+
+Autumn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   65
+
+Colin  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   68
+
+Margery  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   70
+
+Eva  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   76
+
+The Poet's Recompense  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   77
+
+The Wine of Song . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   78
+
+The Plains of Abraham  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   80
+
+Death of Wolfe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   83
+
+Brock  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   84
+
+Song for Canada  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   86
+
+Song.--I'd be a Fairy King . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   89
+
+Song.--Love while you may  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   91
+
+{vi}
+
+The Snows, Upper Ottawa  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   92
+
+The Rapid. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   94
+
+Lost and Found . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   96
+
+Again  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   99
+
+Glimpses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  100
+
+My Prayer  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  102
+
+Her Star . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  104
+
+The Mystery  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  107
+
+Love and Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  109
+
+The Wren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  111
+
+Grandpere  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  113
+
+England's Hope and England's Heir  . . . . . . . . . . . .  114
+
+Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  116
+
+The Dreamer  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  118
+
+Night and Morning  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  119
+
+Within thine eyes  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  120
+
+Gertrude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  121
+
+Flowers  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  122
+
+The Unattainable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  123
+
+Yearnings  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  124
+
+Ingratitude  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  125
+
+True Love  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  126
+
+An Evening Thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  127
+
+A Thought for Spring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  128
+
+The Swallows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  129
+
+Song.--Clara and I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  130
+
+The April Snow Storm, 1858 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  132
+
+Good Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  134
+
+Hopeless . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  135
+
+Into the Silent Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  139
+
+{vii}
+
+SONNETS:--
+
+Proem  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  159
+
+Sonnet   I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  162
+
+        II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  163
+
+       III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  164
+
+        IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  165
+
+         V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  166
+
+        VI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  167
+
+       VII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  168
+
+      VIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  169
+
+        IX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  170
+
+         X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  171
+
+        XI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  172
+
+       XII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  173
+
+      XIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  174
+
+       XIV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  175
+
+        XV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  176
+
+       XVI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  177
+
+      XVII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  178
+
+     XVIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  179
+
+       XIX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  180
+
+        XX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  181
+
+       XXI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  182
+
+      XXII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  183
+
+Au Revoir  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  184
+
+
+
+
+{9}
+
+  POEMS.
+
+
+
+  DEDICATORY POEM.
+
+  Dear Carrie, were we truly wise,
+  And could discern with finer eyes,
+    And half-inspired sense,
+    The ways of Providence:
+
+  Could we but know the hidden things
+  That brood beneath the Future's wings,
+    Hermetically sealed,
+    But soon to be revealed:
+
+  Would we, more blest than we are now,
+  In due submission learn to bow,--
+    Receiving on our knees
+    The Omnipotent decrees?
+
+  That which is just, we have.  And we
+  Who lead this round of mystery,
+    This dance of strange unrest,
+    What are we at the best?--
+
+  Unless we learn to mount and climb;
+  Writing upon the page of time,
+    In words of joy or pain,
+    That we've not lived in vain.
+
+{10}
+
+  We all are Ministers of Good;
+  And where our mission's understood,
+    How many hearts we must
+    Raise, trembling, from the dust.
+
+  Oh, strong young soul, and thinking brain!
+  Walk wisely through the fair domain
+    Where burn the sacred fires
+    Of Music's sweet desires!
+
+  Cherish thy Gift; and let it be
+  A Jacob's ladder unto thee,
+    Down which the Angels come,
+    To bring thee dreams of Home.
+
+  What were we if the pulse of Song
+  Had never beat, nor found a tongue
+    To make the Poet known
+    In lands beyond his own?
+
+  Take what is said for what is meant.
+  We sometimes touch the firmament
+    Of starry Thought--no more;
+    Beyond, we may not soar.
+
+  I speak not of myself, but stand
+  In silence till the Master Hand
+    Each fluttering thought sets free.
+    God holds the golden key.
+
+
+Kingston, C. W., May 1st, 1860.
+
+
+
+
+{11}
+
+  HESPERUS:
+
+  A LEGEND OF THE STARS.
+
+
+  PRELUDE.
+
+  The Stars are heaven's ministers;
+    Right royally they teach
+  God's glory and omnipotence,
+    In wondrous lowly speech.
+  All eloquent with music as
+    The tremblings of a lyre,
+  To him that hath an ear to hear
+    They speak in words of fire.
+
+  Not to learned sagas only
+    Their whisperings come down;
+  The monarch is not glorified
+    Because he wears a crown.
+  The humblest soldier in the camp
+    Can win the smile of Mars,
+  And 'tis the lowliest spirits hold
+    Communion with the stars.
+
+  Thoughts too refined for utterance,
+    Ethereal as the air,
+  Crowd through the brain's dim labyrinths,
+    And leave their impress there;
+{12}
+
+  As far along the gleaming void
+    Man's tender glances roll,
+  Wonder usurps the throne of speech,
+    But vivifies the soul.
+
+  Oh, heaven-cradled mysteries,
+    What sacred paths ye've trod--
+  Bright, jewelled scintillations from
+    The chariot-wheels of God!
+  When in the spirit He rode forth,
+    With vast creative aim,
+  These were His footprints left behind,
+    To magnify His name!
+
+          ------
+
+  We gazed on the Evening Star,
+    Mary and I,
+    As it shone
+    On its throne
+      Afar,
+    In the blue sky;
+  Shone like a ransomed soul
+  In the depths of that quiet heaven;
+    Like a pearly tear,
+    Trembling with fear
+  On the pallid cheek of Even.
+
+  And I thought of the myriad souls
+  Gazing with human eyes
+    On the light of that star,
+    Shining afar,
+  In the quiet evening skies;
+
+{13}
+
+    Some with winged hope,
+    Clearing the cope
+  Of heaven as swift as light,
+    Others, with souls
+    Blind as the moles,
+  Sinking in rayless night.
+
+  Dreams such as dreamers dream
+    Flitted before our eyes;
+      Beautiful visions!--
+      Angelo's, Titian's,
+    Had never more gorgeous dyes:
+  We soared with the angels
+    Through vistas of glory,
+  We heard the evangels
+    Relate the glad story
+    Of the beautiful star,
+    Shining afar
+    In the quiet evening skies.
+
+  And we gazed and dreamed,
+  Till our spirits seemed
+    Absorbed in the stellar world;
+  Sorrow was swallowed up,
+  Drained was the bitter cup
+  Of earth to the very lees;
+  And we sailed over seas
+    Of white vapour that whirled
+    Through the skies afar,
+  Angels our charioteers,
+  Threading the endless spheres,
+
+{14}
+
+  And to the chorus of angels
+  Rehearsed the evangels
+    The Birth of the Evening Star.
+
+          ------
+
+  I.
+
+        Far back in the infant ages,
+  Before the eras stamped their autographs
+  Upon the stony records of the earth;
+  Before the burning incense of the sun
+        Rolled up the interlucent space,
+        Brightening the blank abyss;
+        Ere the Recording Angel's tears
+        Were shed for man's transgressions:
+        A Seraph, with a face of light,
+  And hair like heaven's golden atmosphere,
+  Blue eyes serene in their beatitude,
+        Godlike in their tranquillity,
+  Features as perfect as God's dearest work,
+        And stature worthy of her race,
+  Lived high exalted in the sacred sphere
+  That floated in a sea of harmony
+  Translucent as pure crystal, or the light
+  That flowed, unceasing, from this higher world
+  Unto the spheres beneath it.  Far below
+  The extremest regions underneath the Earth
+  The first spheres rose, of vari-coloured light,
+  In calm rotation through aerial deep,
+  Like seas of jasper, blue, and coralline,
+  Crystal and violet; layers of worlds--
+  The robes of ages that had passed away,
+
+{15}
+
+  Left as memorials of their sojournings.
+  For nothing passes wholly.  All is changed.
+  The Years but slumber in their sepulchres,
+  And speak prophetic meanings in their sleep.
+
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  Oh, how our souls are gladdened,
+    When we think of that brave old age,
+      When God's light came down
+      From heaven, to crown
+    Each act of the virgin page!
+
+  Oh, how our souls are saddened,
+    At the deeds which were done since then,
+      By the angel race
+      In the holy place,
+    And on earth by the sons of men!
+
+  Lo, as the years are fleeting,
+    With their burden of toil and pain,
+      We know that the page
+      Of that primal age
+    Will be opened up once again.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Progressing still, the bright-faced Seraph rose
+  From Goodness to Perfection, till she stood
+  The fairest and the best of all that waked
+  The tuneful echoes of that lofty world,
+  Where Lucifer, then the stateliest of the throng
+  Of Angels, walked majestical, arrayed
+
+{16}
+
+  In robes of brightness worthy of his place.
+  And all the intermediate spheres were homes
+        Of the existences
+        Of spiritual life.
+  Love, the divine arcanum, was the bond
+  That linked them to each other--heart to heart,
+  And angel world to world, and soul to soul.
+        Thus the first ages passed,
+        Cycles of perfect bliss,
+  God the acknowledged sovereign of all.
+  Sphere spake with sphere, and love conversed with love,
+  From the far centre to sublimest height,
+  And down the deep, unfathomable space,
+  To the remotest homes of angel-life,
+  A viewless chain of being circling all,
+  And linking every spirit to its God.
+
+
+  ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+    Spirits that never falter,
+    Before God's altar
+  Rehearse their paeans of unceasing praise;
+    Their theme the boundless love
+    By which God rules above,
+    Mysteriously engrafted
+    On grace divine, and wafted
+  Into every soul of man that disobeys.
+
+    Not till the wondrous being
+    Of the All-Seeing
+  Is manifested to finite man,
+    Can ye understand the love
+
+{17}
+
+    By which God rules above,
+    Evermore extending,
+    In circles never-ending,
+  To every atom in the universal plan.
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Oh, the love beyond computing
+    Of the high and holy place!
+    The unseen bond
+    Circling beyond
+  The limits of time and space.
+
+  Through earth and her world of beauty
+    The heavenly links extend,
+      Man feels its presence,
+      Imbibes its essence,
+    But cannot yet comprehend.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL.
+
+  But the days are fast approaching,
+    When the Father of Love will send
+      His interpreter
+      From the highest sphere,
+    That man fully may comprehend.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Oh, truest Love, because the truest life!
+  Oh, blest existence, to exist with Love!
+  Oh, Love, without which all things else must die
+  The death that knows no waking unto life!
+  Oh, Jealousy that saps the heart of Love,
+
+{18}
+
+  And robs it of its tenderness divine;
+  And Pride, that tramples with its iron hoof
+  Upon the flower of love, whose fragrant soul
+  Exhales itself in sweetness as it dies!
+  A lofty spirit surfeited with Bliss!
+  A Prince of Angels cancelling all love,
+  All due allegiance to his rightful Lord;
+  Doing dishonour to his high estate;
+  Turning the truth and wisdom which were his
+  For ages of supreme felicity,
+  To thirst for power, and hatred of his God,
+  Who raised him to such vast preeminence!
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+  Woe, woe to the ransomed spirit,
+    Once freed from the stain of sin,
+      Whose pride increases
+      Till all love ceases
+    To nourish it from within!
+  Its doom is the darkened regions
+  Where the rebel angel legions
+  Live their long night of sorrow;
+  Where no expectant morrow,
+    No mercy-tempered ray
+    From the altar of to-day,
+  Comes down through the gloom to borrow
+  One drop from their cup of sorrow,
+    Or lighten their cheerless way.
+
+{19}
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  But blest be the gentle spirit
+    Whose love is ever increased
+      From its own pure soul,
+      The illumined goal
+    Where Love holds perpetual feast!
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Ingrate Angel, he,
+  To purchase Hell, and at so vast a price!
+  'Tis the old story of celestial strife--
+  Rebellion in the palace-halls of God--
+  False angels joining the insurgent ranks,
+  Who suffered dire defeats, and fell at last
+  From bliss supreme to darkness and despair.
+  But they, the faithful dwellers in the spheres,
+  Who kept their souls inviolate, to whom
+  Heaven's love and truth were truly great rewards:
+  For these the stars were sown throughout all space,
+  As fit memorials of their faithfulness.
+  The wretched lost were banished to the depths
+  Beneath the lowest spheres.  Earth barred the space
+  Between them and the Faithful.  Then the hills
+  Rose bald and rugged o'er the wild abyss;
+  The waters found their places; and the sun,
+  The bright-haired warder of the golden morn,
+  Parting the curtains of reposing night,
+  Rung his first challenge to the dismal shades,
+  That shrunk back, awed, into Cimmerean gloom;
+  And the young moon glode through the startled void
+  With quiet beauty and majestic mien.
+
+{20}
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Slowly rose the daedal Earth,
+    Through the purple-hued abysm
+    Glowing like a gorgeous prism,
+  Heaven exulting o'er its birth,
+
+  Still the mighty wonder came,
+    Through the jasper-coloured sphere,
+    Ether-winged, and crystal-clear,
+  Trembling to the loud acclaim,
+
+  In a haze of golden rain,
+    Up the heavens rolled the sun,
+    Danae-like the earth was won,
+  Else his love and light were vain.
+
+  So the heart and soul of man
+    Own the light and love of heaven,
+    Nothing yet in vain was given,
+  Nature's is a perfect plan.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  The glowing Seraph with the brow of light
+  Was first among the Faithful.  When the war
+  Between heaven's rival armies fiercely waged,
+  She bore the Will Divine from rank to rank,
+  The chosen courier of Deity.
+  Her presence cheered the combatants for Truth,
+  And Victory stood up where'er she moved.
+  And now, in gleaming robe of woven pearl,
+  Emblazoned with devices of the stars,
+  And legends of their glory yet to come,
+
+{21}
+
+  The type of Beauty Intellectual,
+  The representative of Love and Truth,
+  She moves first in the innumerable throng
+  Of angels congregating to behold
+  The crowning wonder of creative power.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL CHORUS,
+
+  Oh, joy, that no mortal can fathom,
+    To rejoice in the smile of God!
+      To be first in the light
+      Of His Holy sight,
+    And freed from His chastening rod.
+  Faithful, indeed, that soul, to be
+  The messenger of Deity!
+
+
+  FIRST ANGEL.
+
+  This, this is the chosen spirit,
+    Whose love is ever increased
+      From its own pare soul,
+      The illumined goal
+    Where Love holds perpetual feast.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  With noiseless speed the angel charioteers
+  In dazzling splendour all triumphant rode;
+  Through seas of ether painfully serene,
+  That flashed a golden, phosphorescent spray,
+  As luminous as the sun's intensest beams,
+  Athwart the wide, interminable space.
+  Legion on legion of the sons of God;
+  Vast phalanxes of graceful cherubim;
+
+{22}
+
+  Innumerable multitudes and ranks
+  Of all the hosts and hierarchs of heaven,
+  Moved by one universal impulse, urged
+  Their steeds of swiftness up the arch of light,
+  From sphere to sphere increasing as they came,
+  Till world on world was emptied of its race.
+  Upward, with unimaginable speed,
+  The myriads, congregating zenith-ward,
+  Reached the far confines of the utmost sphere,
+  The home of Truth, the dwelling-place of Love,
+  Striking celestial symphonies divine
+  From the resounding sea of melody,
+  That heaved in swells of soft, mellifluous sound,
+  To the blest crowds at whose triumphal tread
+  Its soul of sweetness waked in thrills sublime,
+  The sun stood poised upon the western verge;
+  The moon paused, waiting for the march of earth,
+  That stayed to watch the advent of the stars;
+  And ocean hushed its very deepest deeps
+        In grateful expectation.
+
+
+  SECOND ANGEL.
+
+  Still through the viewless regions
+    Of the habitable air,
+      Through the ether ocean,
+      In unceasing motion,
+  Pass the multitudinous legions
+    Of angels everywhere.
+
+  Bearing each new-born spirit
+    Through the interlucent void
+
+{23}
+
+      To its starry dwelling,
+      Angel anthems telling
+  Every earthly deed of merit
+    To each flashing asteroid.
+
+
+  THIRD ANGEL.
+
+  Through the realms sidereal,
+  Clothed with the immaterial,
+  Far as the fields elysian
+    In starry bloom extend,
+  The stretch of angel vision
+    Can see and comprehend.
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  Innumerable as the ocean sands
+  The angel concourse in due order stood,
+  In meek anticipation waiting for
+      The new-created orbs,
+      Still hidden in the deep
+    And unseen laboratory, where
+  Not even angel eyes could penetrate:
+  A star for each of that angelic host,
+  Memorials of their faithfulness and love.
+  The Evening Star, God's bright eternal gift
+  To the pure Seraph with the brow of light,
+    And named for her, mild Hesperus,
+  Came twinkling down the unencumbered blue,
+  On viewless wings of sweet melodious sound,
+  Beauty and grace presiding at its birth.
+  Celestial plaudits sweeping through the skies
+  Waked resonant paeans, till the concave thrilled
+
+{24}
+
+    Through its illimitable bounds.
+      With a sudden burst
+  Of light, that lit the universal space
+    As with a flame of crystal,
+      Rousing the Soul of Joy
+    That slumbered in the patient sea,
+  From every point of heaven the hurrying cars
+  Conveyed the constellations to their thrones--
+  The throbbing planets, and the burning suns,
+  Erratic comets, and the various grades
+  And magnitudes of palpitating stars.
+  From the far arctic and antarctic zones,
+  Through all the vast, surrounding infinite,
+  A wilderness of intermingling orbs,
+  The gleaming wonders, pulsing earthward, came;
+      Each to its destined place,
+      Each in itself a world,
+    With all its coining myriad life,
+  Drawing us nearer the Omnipotent,
+  With hearts of wonder, and with souls of praise:
+  Astrea, Pallas, strange Aldebaran,
+  The Pleiads, Arcturus, the ruddy Mars,
+  Pale Saturn, Ceres and Orion--
+    All as they circle still
+    Through the enraptured void.
+  For each young angel born to us from earth,
+  A new-made star is launched among its peers.
+
+
+  FULL ANGEL CHORUS.
+
+  Dreamer in the realms aerial,
+  Searcher for the true and good,
+
+{25}
+
+  Hoper for the high, ethereal
+  Limit of Beatitude,
+  Lift thy heart to heaven, for there
+  Is embalmed thy spirit prayer:
+  Not in words is shrined thy prayer,
+  But thy Thought awaits thee there.
+  God loves the silent worshipper.
+  The grandest hymn
+  That nature chants--the litany
+  Of the rejoicing stars--is silent praise.
+  Their nightly anthems stir
+  The souls of lofty seraphim
+  In the remotest heaven.  The melody
+  Descends in throbbings of celestial light
+  Into the heart of man, whose upward gaze,
+  And meditative aspect, tell
+  Of the heart's incense passing up the night.
+  Above the crystalline height
+  The theme of thoughtful praise ascends.
+  Not from the wildest swell
+  Of the vexed ocean soars the fullest psalm;
+  But in the evening calm,
+  And in the solemn midnight, silence blends
+  With silence, and to the ear
+  Attuned to harmony divine
+  Begets a strain
+  Whose trance-like stillness wakes delicious pain.
+  The silent tear
+  Holds keener anguish in its orb of brine,
+  Deeper and truer grief
+  Than the loud wail that brings relief,
+
+{26}
+
+  As thunder clears the atmosphere.
+  But the deep, tearless Sorrow,--how profound!
+  Unspoken to the ear
+  Of sense, 'tis yet as eloquent a sound
+  As that which wakes the lyre
+  Of the rejoicing Day, when
+  Morn on the mountains lights his urn of fire.
+  The flowers of the glen
+  Rejoice in silence; huge pines stand apart
+  Upon the lofty hills, and sigh
+  Their woes to every breeze that passeth by;
+  The willow tells its mournful tale
+  So tenderly, that e'en the passing gale
+  Bears not a murmur on its wings
+  Of what the spirit sings
+  That breathes its trembling thoughts through all the
+        drooping strings.
+  He loves God most who worships most
+  In the obedient heart.
+  The thunder's noisome boast,
+  What is it to the violet lightning thought?
+  So with the burning passion of the stars--
+  Creation's diamond sands,
+  Strewn along the pearly strands,
+  And far-extending corridors
+  Of heaven's blooming shores;
+  No scintil of their jewelled flame
+  But wafts the exquisite essence
+  Of prayer to the Eternal Presence,
+  Of praise to the Eternal Name.
+  The silent prayer unbars
+
+{27}
+
+  The gates of Paradise, while the too-intimate,
+  Self-righteous' boast, strikes rudely at the gate
+  Of heaven, unknowing why it does not open to
+  Their summons, as they see pale Silence passing through.
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  In grateful admiration, till the Dawn
+  Withdrew the gleaming curtains of the night,
+  We watched the whirling systems, until each
+  Could recognize their own peculiar star;
+      When, with the swift celerity
+      Of Fancy-footed Thought,
+  The light-caparisoned, aerial steeds,
+      Shod with rare fleetness,
+  Revisited the farthest of the spheres
+  Ere the earth's sun had kissed the mountain tops,
+  Or shook the sea-pearls from his locks of gold.
+
+          ------
+
+      Still on the Evening Star
+      Gazed we with steadfast eyes,
+          As it shone
+          On its throne
+            Afar,
+      In the blue skies.
+      No longer the charioteers
+      Dashed through the gleaming spheres;
+      No more the evangels
+        Rehearsed the glad story;
+      But, in passing, the angels
+        Left footprints of glory:
+
+{28}
+
+      For up the starry void
+      Bright-flashing asteroid,
+      Pale moon and starry choir,
+      Aided by Fancy's fire,
+      Rung from the glittering lyre
+      Changes of song and hymn,
+      Worthy of Seraphim.
+  Night's shepherdess sat, queenlike, on her throne,
+  Watching her starry flocks from zone to zone,
+  While we, like mortals turned to breathing stone,
+  Intently pondered on the Known Unknown.
+
+
+
+
+{29}
+
+  CROWNED.
+
+  Her thoughts are sweet glimpses of heaven,
+    Her life is that heaven brought down;
+  Oh, never to mortal was given
+    So rare and bejewelled a crown!
+  I'll wear it as saints wear the glory
+    That radiantly clasps them above--
+      Oh, dower most fair!
+      Oh, diadem rare!
+    Bright crown of her maidenly love.
+
+  My heart is a fane of devotion,
+    My feelings are converts at prayer,
+  And every thrill of emotion
+    Makes dearer the crown I would wear.
+  My soul in its fulness of rapture
+    Begins its millennial reign,
+      Life glows like a sun,
+      Love's zenith is won,
+    And Joy is sole monarch again.
+
+  My noonday of life is as morning,
+    God's light streams approvingly down;
+  Uncovered, I wait her adorning,
+    She comes with the beautiful crown!
+  I'll wear it as saints wear the glory
+    That radiantly clasps them above--
+      Oh, dower most fair!
+      Oh, diadem rare!
+    Bright crown of her maidenly love.
+
+
+
+
+{30}
+
+  MARILINE.
+
+  At the wheel plied Mariline,
+  Beauteous and self-serene,
+  Never dreaming of that mien
+  Fit for lady or for queen.
+
+  Never sang she, but her words,
+  Music-laden, swept the chords
+
+  Of the heart, that eagerly
+  Stored the subtle melody,
+  Like the honey in the bee;
+  Never spake, but showed that she
+
+  Held the golden master-key
+  That unlocked all sympathy
+
+  Pent in souls where Feeling glows,
+  Like the perfume in the rose,
+  Like her own innate repose,
+  Like the whiteness in the snows.
+
+  Richly thoughted Mariline!
+  Nature's heiress!--nature's queen!
+
+
+  II.
+
+  By her side, with liberal look,
+  Paused a student o'er a book,
+  Wielder of a shepherd's crook,
+  Reveller by grove and brook:
+
+{31}
+
+  Hunter-up of musty tomes,
+  Worshipper of deathless poems:
+
+  Lover of the true and good,
+  Hater of sin's evil brood,
+  Votary of solitude,
+  Man, of mind-like amplitude.
+
+  With exalted eye serene
+  Gazed he on fair Mariline.
+
+  Swifter whirled the busy wheel,
+  Piled the thread upon the reel--
+  Saw she not his spirit kneel,
+  Praying for her after-weal?
+
+  Like the wife of Collatine,
+  Busily spun Mariline.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Hour by hour, and day by day,
+  Sang the maid her roundelay;
+  Hour by hour, and day by day,
+  Spun her threads of white and gray.
+
+  While the shepherd-student held
+  Commune with the great of eld:
+
+  Pondered on their wondrous words,
+  While he watched his scattered herds,
+  While he stemmed the surging fords.
+  And he knew the lore of birds,
+
+{32}
+
+  Learned the secrets of the rills,
+  Conversed with the answering hills.
+
+  Like her threads of white and gray,
+  Passed their mingled Eves away,
+  One unceasing roundelay--
+  Winter came, it still was May!
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  When the spring smiled, opening up
+  Pink-lipped flower and acorn cup;
+
+  When the summer waked the rose
+  In the scented briar boughs;
+  When the earth, with painless throes,
+  Bore her golden autumn rows--
+
+  Field on field of grain, that pressed,
+  Childlike, to her fruitful breast--
+
+  When hale winter wrapped his form
+  In the mantle of the storm,
+  Tamed the bird, and chilled the worm,
+  Stopped the pulse that thrilled the germ;
+
+  As the seasons went and came,
+  One in heart, and hope, and aim,
+
+  Cheered they each the other on,
+  Where was labor to be done,
+  At day-break or set of sun,
+  Like two thoughts that merge in one.
+
+{33}
+
+  Dignified, and soul-serene,
+  Busily spun Mariline.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  Brightly broke the summer morn,
+  Like a lark from out the corn,--
+  Broke like joy just newly born
+  From the depths of woe forlorn,--
+
+  Broke with grateful songs of birds,
+  Lowings of well-pastured herds;
+
+  Hailed by childhood's happy looks,
+  Cheered by anthems of the brooks--
+  Chants beyond the lore of books--
+  Cawing crows, instead of rooks.
+
+  Glowed the heavens--rose the sun,
+  Mariline was up, for one.
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  Like a chatterer tongue-tied,
+  Lo, the wheel is placed aside!--
+  Not from indolence or pride--
+  Mariline must be a Bride!
+
+  Fairest maid of maids terrene!
+  Bride of Brides, dear Mariline!
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  Up the meditative air
+  Passed the smoke-wreaths, white and fair,
+  Like the spirit of the prayer
+  Mariline now offered there:
+
+{34}
+
+  Passed behind the cottage eaves,
+  Curling through the maple leaves:
+
+  Through the pines and old elm trees,
+  Belies of past centuries,
+  Hardy oaks, that never breeze
+  Humbled to their gnarly knees:
+
+  Forest lords, beneath whose sheen
+  Flowers bloomed for Mariline.
+
+  Round the cottage, fresh and green,
+  Climbed the vine, the scarlet bean,
+  Morning-glories peeped between,
+  Looking out for Mariline.
+
+  Odours never felt before
+  Tranced the locust at the door,
+
+  Vieing with the mignonette
+  Bound the garden parapet,
+  Whose rare fragrances were met
+  By rich perfumes, rarer yet,
+
+  Stealing from the garden walks,
+  Sentineled with hollyhocks.
+
+
+  VIII.
+
+  What a heaven the cottage seemed!
+  Love's own temple, where Faith dreamed
+  Of the coming years that beamed
+  On them, as pale stars have gleamed
+
+{35}
+
+  Through unnavigated seas,
+  To which the prophetic breeze
+
+  Whispered of a future day,
+  When swift fleets would urge their way,
+  Through the waters cold and gray,
+  Like the dolphins at their play.
+
+  There the future Bride, and he,
+  Prince of love's knight-errantry,
+
+  Whose good shepherd arms must hold
+  This pet yeanling of the fold,
+  Gift of God so long foretold,
+  Gift beyond the price of gold.
+
+  There the parents, aged and hale,
+  Passing down life's autumn vale,
+
+  With a joy as rare and true
+  As their daughter's eye of blue,
+  With such hopes as reach up to
+  Heaven's gate, when, passing through,
+
+  Peris, bound for higher skies,
+  Win the Celestial Paradise.
+
+
+  IX.
+
+  Thoughtfully stood Mariline,
+  Whitely veiled, and soul-serene;
+  Love's fair world for her demesne,
+  Never looked she more a queen--
+
+{36}
+
+  With her maidens by her side,
+  Smiling on the coming bride.
+
+  Her pet lamb, with comic mirth,
+  Licked her hand and scampered forth;
+  The fine sheep-dog, on the hearth,
+  Kindly eyed her for her worth.
+
+
+  X.
+
+  Up the air, across the moor,
+  As they left the cottage door,
+
+  Chimed the merry village-hells,
+  Music-wrapt the neighbouring fells,
+  Stirred the heart's awakened cells,
+  Like fine strains from fairy dells.
+
+  Past the orchard, down the lane,
+  By fresh wavy fields of grain,
+
+  By the brook, that told its love
+  To the pasture, glen, and grove--
+  Sacred haunts, that well could prove
+  Vows enregistered above.
+
+  By the restless mill, where stood,
+  Bowing in his amplest mood,
+
+  The old miller, hat in hand,
+  Rich in goodness, rich in land,
+  On whose features, grave and bland,
+  Glowed a blessing for the band.
+
+{37}
+
+  Through the village, where, behind
+  Many a half-uplifted blind,
+
+  Eyes, that might have lit the skies
+  Of Mahomet's Paradise,
+  Flashed behind the curtains' dyes,
+  With a cheerful, half-surprise.
+
+  Through the village, underneath,
+  Many a blooming flower-wreath,
+
+  Garlanding the arches green
+  Beared in honour of the queen
+  Of this day of days serene,
+  Day of days to Mariline.
+
+  To the church, whose cheering bells
+  Told the tale in music-swells--
+
+  Told it to the country wide,
+  With an earnest kind of pride--
+  Something not to be denied--
+  "Mariline must be a Bride!"
+
+
+  XI.
+
+  Up the aisle with solemn pace,
+  Meeting God there, face to face.
+
+  Never Bride more chaste or fair
+  Stood before His altar there,
+  Her ripe heart aflame with prayer,
+  Blessing Him for all His care:
+
+{38}
+
+  Every earthly promise given,
+  Registered with joy in heaven.
+
+  From the galleries looked down,
+  Village belle and country clown,
+  Men with honest labour brown,
+  Far removed from mart or town:
+
+  Smiling with a zealous pride
+  On the shepherd and his bride--
+
+  Playmates of their early days;
+  For their walks in wisdom's ways,
+  Ever crowned with honoured bays
+  Of esteem and ardent praise.
+
+
+  XII.
+
+  Well done, servant of the Lord!
+  Grave expounder of His Word,
+
+  Who in distant Galilee
+  Graced the marriage feast, that He,
+  With all due solemnity,
+  Might commission such as thee
+
+  To do likewise, and unite
+  Souls like these in marriage plight.
+
+  With what manly, gentle pride,
+  The glad Shepherd clasps his Bride!
+  Love like theirs, so true and tried,
+  Ever true love must abide!
+
+{39}
+
+  XIII.
+
+  Ye whose souls are strong and firm,
+  In whom love's electric germ
+
+  Has been fanned into a flame
+  At the mention of a name;
+  Ye whose souls are still the same
+  As when first the Victor came,
+
+  Stinging every nerve to life,
+  In the beatific strife,
+
+  Till the man's divinest part
+  Ruled triumphant in the heart,
+  And, with shrinking, sudden start,
+  The bleak old world stood apart,
+
+  Periling the wild Ideal
+  By the presence of the Real:
+
+  Ye, and ye alone, can know
+  How these twain souls burn and glow,
+  Can interpret every throe
+  Of the full heart's overflow,
+
+  That imparts that light serene
+  To the brow of Mariline.
+
+
+
+
+{40}
+
+  THE HAPPY HARVESTERS.
+
+  A CANTATA.
+
+  I.
+
+  Autumn, like an old poet in a haze
+  Of golden visions, dreams away his days,
+  So Hafiz-like that one may almost hear
+  The singer's thoughts imbue the atmosphere;
+  Sweet as the dreamings of the nightingales
+  Ere yet their songs have waked the eastern vales,
+  Or stirred the airy echoes of the wood
+  That haunt the forest's social solitude.
+  His thoughts are pastorals; his days are rife
+  With the calm wisdom of that inner life
+  That makes the poet heir to worlds unknown,
+  All space his empire, and the sun his throne.
+  As the bee stores the sweetness of the flowers,
+  So into autumn's variegated hours
+  Is hived the Hybla richness of the year;
+  Choice souls imbibing the ambrosial cheer,
+  As autumn, seated on the highest hills,
+  Gleans honied secrets from the passing rills;
+  While from below, the harvest canzonas
+  Link vale to mountain with a chain of praise.
+  Foremost among the honoured sons of toil
+  Are they who overcome the stubborn soil;
+  Brave Cincinnatus in his country home
+  Was even greater than when lord of Rome.
+  Down sinks the sun behind the lofty pines
+  That skirt the mountain, like the straggling lines
+
+{41}
+
+  Of Ceres' army looking from the height
+  On the dim lowlands deepening into night;
+  Soft-featured twilight, peering through the maze,
+  Sees the first starbeam pierce the purple haze;
+  Through all the vales the vespers of the birds
+  Cheer the young shepherds homeward with their herds;
+  And the stout axles of the heavy wain
+  Creak 'neath the fulness of the ripened grain,
+  As the swarth builders of the precious load,
+  Returning homewards, sing their Autumn Ode.
+
+
+  AUTUMN ODE.
+
+  God of the Harvest!  Thou, whose sun
+    Has ripened all the golden grain,
+  We bless Thee for Thy bounteous store,
+  The cup of Plenty running o'er,
+    The sunshine and the rain.
+
+  The year laughs out for very joy,
+    Its silver treble echoing
+  Like a sweet anthem through the woods,
+  Till mellowed by the solitudes
+    It folds its glossy wing.
+
+  But our united voices blend
+    From day to day unweariedly;
+  Sure as the sun rolls up the morn,
+  Or twilight from the eve is born,
+    Our song ascends to Thee.
+
+{42}
+
+  Where'er the various-tinted woods,
+    In all their autumn splendour dressed,
+  Impart their gold and purple dyes
+  To distant hills and farthest skies
+    Along the crimson west:
+
+  Across the smooth, extended plain,
+    By rushing stream and broad lagoon,
+  On shady height and sunny dale,
+  Wherever scuds the balmy gale,
+    Or gleams the autumn moon:
+
+  From inland seas of yellow grain,
+    Where cheerful Labour, heaven-blest,
+  With willing hands and keen-edged scythe,
+  And accents musically blythe,
+    Reveals its lordly crest:
+
+  From clover-fields and meadows wide,
+    Where moves the richly-laden wain
+  To barns well-stored with new-made hay,
+  Or where the flail at early day
+    Rolls out the ripened grain:
+
+  From meads and pastures on the hills,
+    And in the mountain valleys deep,
+  Alive with beeves and sweet-breathed kine
+  Of famous Ayr or Devon's line,
+    And shepherd-guarded sheep:
+
+{43}
+
+  The spirits of the golden year,
+    From crystal caves and grottoes dim,
+  From forest depths and mossy sward,
+  Myriad-tongued, with one accord
+    Peal forth their harvest hymn.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  Their daily labour in the happy fields
+  A two-fold crop of grain and pleasure yields,
+  While round their hearths, before their evening fires,
+  Whore comfort reigns, whence weariness retires,
+  The level tracts, denuded of their grain,
+  In calm dispute are bravely shorn again,
+  Till some rough reaper, on a tide of song,
+  Like a bold pirate, captivates the throng:
+
+
+  A SONG FOR THE FLAIL.
+
+  A song, a song for the good old Flail,
+    And the brawny arms that wield it,
+  Hearty and hale, in our yeoman mail,
+    Like intrepid knights we'll shield it.
+      We are old nature's peers,
+      Right royal cavaliers!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+  A song, a song for the golden grain,
+    As it wooes the flail's embraces,
+  In wavy sheaves like a golden main,
+    With its bright spray in our faces.
+
+{44}
+
+      Mirth hastens at our call,
+      Jovial hearts have we all!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+  A song, a song for the good old Flail,
+    That our fathers used before us;
+  A song for the Flail, and the faces hale
+    Of the queenly dames that bore us!
+      We are old nature's peers,
+      Right royal cavaliers!
+  Knights of the Plough! for no Golden Fleece we sail,
+  We're Princes in our own right--our sceptre is the Flail.
+
+
+  III.
+
+  Fair was the maid, and lovely as the morn
+  From starry Night and rosy Twilight born,
+  Within whose mind a rivulet of song
+  Rehearsed the strains that from her lips ere long
+  Welled free and sparkling, as the vocal woods
+  Repeat the day-spring's sweetest interludes.
+  Her gentle eyes' serenest depths of blue
+  Shrined love and truth, and all their retinue;
+  The health and beauty of her youthful face
+  Made it the Harem of each maiden grace;
+  And such perfection blended with her air,
+  She seemed some stately Goddess moving there:
+  Beholding her, you thought she might have been
+  The long-lost, flower-loving Proserpine:
+
+{45}
+
+  AN AUTUMN CHANGE.
+
+  "Oh, dreamy autumn days!
+  I seek your faded ways,
+  As one who calmly strays
+    Through visions of the past;
+  I walk the golden hours,
+  And where I gathered flowers
+  The stricken leaves in showers
+    Are hurled upon the blast."
+
+  Thus mused the lonely maid,
+  As through the autumn glade,
+  With pensive heart, she strayed,
+    Regretting Love's delay;
+  In vain the traitor flies!
+  To pleading lips and eyes,
+  Sweet looks, and tender sighs,
+    He falls an easy prey.
+
+  "Oh, dreamy autumn days!
+  I tread your bridal ways,
+  As one who homeward strays,
+    Through realms divinely fair;
+  I walk Love's radiant hours,
+  Fragrant with passion flowers,
+  And blessings fall like dowers
+    Down the elysian air."
+
+  Thus mused the maiden now,
+  With sunny heart and brow,
+  For Love had turned his prow
+
+{46}
+
+    Towards the Golden Isles,
+  Where from Pierean springs
+  The soul of Music sings
+  Its sweet imaginings,
+    Through all the Land of Smiles.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+  Up the wide chimney rolls the social fire,
+  Warming the hearts of matron, youth, and sire;
+  Painting such grotesque shadows on the wall,
+  The stripling looms a giant stout and tall,
+  While they whose statures reach the common height
+  Seem spectres mocking the hilarious night.
+  From hand to hand the ripened fruit went round,
+  And rural sports a pleased acceptance found;
+  The youthful fiddler on his three-legged stool,
+  Fancied himself at least an Ole Bull;
+  Some easy bumpkin, seated on the floor,
+  Hunted the slipper till his ribs were sore;
+  Some chose the graceful waltz or lively reel,
+  While deeper heads the chess battalions wheel
+  Till some old veteran, compelled to yield,
+  More brave than skilful, vanquished, quits the field.
+  As a flushed harper, when the doubtful fight
+  Favors the prowess of some stately knight,
+  In stirring numbers of triumphal song
+  Upholds the spirits of the victor throng,
+  A sturdy ploughboy, wedded to the soil,
+  Thus sung the praises of the partner of his toil:
+
+{47}
+
+  THE SOLDIERS OF THE PLOUGH.
+
+  No maiden dream, nor fancy theme,
+    Brown Labour's muse would sing;
+  Her stately mien and russet sheen
+    Demand a stronger wing,
+  Long ages since, the sage, the prince,
+    The man of lordly brow,
+  All honour gave that army brave,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+  In every land, the toiling hand
+    Is blest as it deserves;
+  Not so the race who, in disgrace,
+    From honest labour swerves.
+  From fairest bowers bring rarest flowers,
+    To deck the swarthy brow
+  Of those whose toil improves the soil,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+{48}
+
+  Blest is his lot, in hall or cot,
+    Who lives as nature wills,
+  Who pours his corn from Ceres' horn,
+    And quaffs his native rills!
+  No breeze that sweeps trade's stormy deeps,
+    Can touch his golden prow;
+  Their foes are few, their lives are true,
+    The Soldiers of the Plough.
+      Kind heaven speed the Plough!
+      And bless the hands that guide it;
+        God gives the seed--
+        The bread we need,
+      Man's labour must provide it.
+
+
+  V.
+
+  Fast sped the rushing chariot of the Hours.
+  Without, the Harvest Moon, through fleecy bowers
+  Of hazy cloudlets, swept her graceful way,
+  Proud as an empress on her marriage-day;
+  The admiring planets lit her stately march
+  With smiles that gleamed along the silent arch,
+  And all the starry midnight blazed with light,
+  As if 'twere earth and heaven's nuptial-night;
+  The cock crowed, certain that the day had broke,
+  The aged house-dog suddenly awoke,
+  And bayed so loud a challenge to the moon,
+  From the old orchard fled the thievish 'coon;
+  Within, the lightest hearts that ever beat
+  Still found their harmless pleasures pure and sweet;
+  The fire still burned on the capacious hearth,
+  In sympathy with the redundant mirth;
+
+{49}
+
+  Old graybeards felt the glow of youth revive,
+  Old matrons smiled upon the human hive,
+  Where life's rare nectar, fit for gods to sip,
+  In forfeit kisses passed from lip to lip.
+  Be hushed rude Mirth! as merry as the May
+  Is she who comes to sing her roundelay:
+
+
+  CLAIRE.
+
+  Whither now, blushing Claire?
+  Maid of the sylph-like air,
+  Blooming and debonair,
+    Whither so early?
+  Chasing the merry morn,
+  Down through the golden corn?
+  List'ning the hunter's horn
+    Ring through the barley?
+
+  "Flowerets fresh and fair,"
+  Answered the blushing Claire,
+  "Fit for my bridal hair,
+    Bloom 'mongst the barley;
+  Hark! 'tis the hunter's horn,
+  Waking the sylvan morn,
+  And through the yellow corn
+    Comes my brave Charlie."
+
+  Through the dew-dripping grain
+  Pressed the heart-stricken swain,
+  Crushed with a weight of pain,
+
+{50}
+
+    Drooped like the barley;
+  Ah! timid shepherd boy!
+  Man's love should ne'er be coy,
+  Sweet is Claire's maiden joy,
+    Kissing her Charlie!
+
+
+  VI.
+
+  A pleasant soul as ever trilled a song
+  Was hers who warbled "Claire."  All the day long
+  Her voice was ringing like a bridal bell;
+  Gladness and joy leaped up at every swell;
+  And love was deeper, warmer, for the tone
+  That clasped the heart like an enchanted zone.
+  A youth was there more comely than the rest,
+  One who could turn a furrow with the best,
+  Compete for manly strength and portly air,
+  Or wield a scythe with any reaper there.
+  The spirit of her voice had moved above
+  The waters of his soul, and waked his song to Love:
+
+
+  BALLAD.
+
+  "Come tell me, merry Brooklet, of a gentle Maid I seek,
+  Thou'lt know her by the freshness of the rose upon her cheek;
+  Her eyes are chaste and tender, and so serenely bright,
+  You can read her heart's pure secrets by their warm religious light."
+
+{51}
+
+  "The Maid has not come hither," said the Brooklet in reply;
+  "I've listened for her footfall ere the stars were in the sky;
+  The Fountain has been singing of a Maid, with eyes so bright
+  You may read the cherished secrets of her bosom by their light."
+
+  "Pray tell me, merry Brooklet, what saith her thoughts of one
+  Who wronged her loving nature ere the setting of the sun?
+  What say they of yon autumn moon that smiles so mournfully
+  On the slowly-dying season, and the blasted moorland tree?"
+
+  "She sitteth by the Fountain," the Brook replied again,
+  "Her heart as pure as heaven, and her thoughts without a stain;
+  'Oh, fickle moon, and changeful man!' she saith, 'a year ago
+  All the paths were true-love-lighted where I'm groping now in woe.'
+
+  "She sitteth by the Fountain, the gentle mists arise,
+  And kiss away the tear-pearls that tremble in her eyes,
+  The Fountain singeth to me that the Maiden in her dream
+  Shrinks as the vapours claim her as the Oread of the stream."
+
+{52}
+
+  Off sped the merry Streamlet adown the sloping vale;
+  The Shepherd seeks the Fountain, where sits the Maiden pale;
+  And to the wandering Brooklet, through many a lonely wild,
+  The burden of the Fountain was, that Love was reconciled.
+
+
+  VII.
+
+  But soon the Morn, on many a distant height,
+  Fingers the raven locks of lingering Night;
+  The last dark shadows that precede the day
+  Have stripped the splendour from the Milky Way;
+  And Nature seems disturbed by fitful dreams,
+  As one who shudders when the owlet screams;
+  The painful burden of the Whippoorwill,
+  Like a vague Sorrow, floats from hill to hill;
+  Along the vales the doleful accents run,
+  Where the white vapours dread the burning sun;
+  While human voices stir the haunted air,
+  One sings "the Plough," another warbles "Claire:"
+  The Happy Harvesters, a lightsome throng,
+  Dispersing homewards, prove the excellence of Song.
+
+
+
+
+{53}
+
+  THE FALLS OF THE CHAUDIERE, OTTAWA.
+
+  I have laid my cheek to Nature's, placed my puny hand in hers,
+   Felt a kindred spirit warming all the life-blood of my face,
+  Moved amid the very foremost of her truest worshippers,
+   Studying each curve of beauty, marking every minute grace;
+  Loved not less the mountain cedar than the flowers at its feet,
+   Looking skyward from the valley, open-lipped as if in prayer,
+  Felt a pleasure in the brooklet singing of its wild retreat,
+    But I knelt before the splendour of the thunderous Chaudiere.
+
+  All my manhood waked within me, every nerve had tenfold force,
+    And my soul stood up rejoicing, looking on with cheerful eyes,
+  Watching the resistless waters speeding on their downward course,
+    Titan strength and queenly beauty diademed with rainbow dyes.
+  Eye and ear, with spirit quickened, mingled with the lovely strife,
+    Saw the living Genius shrined within her sanctuary fair,
+
+{54}
+
+  Heard her voice of sweetness singing, peered into her hidden life,
+    And discerned the tuneful secret of the jubilant Chaudiere:
+
+    "Within my pearl-roofed shell,
+  Whose floor is woven with the iris bright,
+  Genius and Queen of the Chaudiere I dwell,
+  As in a world of immaterial light.
+
+    My throne, an ancient rock,
+  Marked by the foot of ages long-departed,
+  My joy, the cataract's stupendous shock,
+  Whose roll is music to the grateful-hearted.
+
+    I've seen the eras glide
+  With muffled tread to their eternal dreams,
+  While I have lived in vale and mountain side,
+  With leaping torrents and sweet purling streams.
+
+    The Red-Man's active life;
+  His love, pride, passions, courage, and great deeds;
+  His perfect freedom, and his thirst for strife;
+  His swift revenge, at which the memory bleeds:
+
+    The sanguinary years,
+  When sullen Terror, like a raging Fate,
+  Swept down the stately tribes like slaughtered deers,
+  And war and hatred joined to decimate
+
+    The remnants of the race,
+  And spread decay through centuries of pain--
+  No more I mark their sure, avenging pace,
+  And forests wave where war-whoops shook the plain.
+
+{55}
+
+    Their deeds I envied not.
+  The royal tyrant on his purple throne,
+  I, in secluded grove or shady grot,
+  Had purer joys than he had ever known,
+
+    God made the ancient hills,
+  The valleys and the solemn wildernesses,
+  The merry-hearted and melodious rills,
+  And strung with diamond dews the pine-trees' tresses;
+
+    But man's hand built the palace,
+  And he that reigns therein is simply man;
+  Man turns God's gifts to poison in the chalice
+  That brimmed with nectar in the primal plan.
+
+    Here I abide alone--
+  The wild Chaudiere's eternal jubilee
+  Has such sweet divination in its tone,
+  And utters nature's truest prophecy
+
+    In thunderings of zeal!
+  I've seen the Atheist in terror start,
+  Awed to contrition by the strong appeal
+  That waked conviction in his doubting heart:
+
+    'Teachers speak throughout all nature,
+      From the womb of Silence born,
+    Heed ye not their words, O Scoffer?
+      Flinging back thy scorn with scorn!
+    To the desert spring that leapeth,
+      Pulsing, from the parched sod,
+    Points the famished trav'ler, saying--
+      'Brothers, here, indeed, is God!'
+
+{56}
+
+    From the patriarchal fountains,
+      Sending forth their tribes of rills,
+    From the cedar-shadowed lakelets
+      In the hearts of distant hills,
+    Whispers softer than the moonbeams
+      Wisdom's gentle heart have awed,
+    Till its lips approved the cadence--
+      'Surely here, indeed, is God!'
+
+    Lo! o'er all, the Torrent Prophet,
+      An inspired Demosthenes,
+    To the Doubter's soul appealing,
+      Louder than the preacher-seas:
+    Dreamer! wouldst have nature spurn thee
+      For a dumb, insensate clod?
+    Dare to doubt! and these shall teach thee
+      Of a truth there lives a God!'
+
+    By day and night, for hours,
+  I watch the cataract's impulsive leap,
+  Refreshed and gladdened by the cheering showers
+  Wrung from the passion of the seething deep.
+
+    Pleased when the buried waves
+  Emerge again, like incorporeal hosts
+  Rising, white-sheeted, from their gloomy graves,
+  As if the depths had yielded up their ghosts.
+
+    And when the midnight storm
+  Enfolds the welkin in its robe of clouds,
+  Through the dim vapours of the cauldron swarm
+  The sheeted spectres in their whitest shrouds,
+
+{57}
+
+    By the lightning's flash betrayed.
+  These gather from the insubstantial vapour
+  The lunar rainbows, which by them are made--
+  Woven with moonbeams by some starry taper,
+
+    To decorate the halls
+  Of my fair palace, whence I'm pained to see
+  Thy human brethren watch the waterfalls--
+  Not with such rev'rence as I've found in thee:
+
+    Too many with an eye
+  To speculation and the worldling's dreams;
+  Others, who seek from nature no reply,
+  Nor read the oral language of the streams.
+
+    But of the few who loved
+  The beautiful with grateful heart and soul,
+  Who looked on nature fondly, and were moved
+  By one sweet glance, as by the mighty whole:
+
+    Of these, the thoughtful few,
+  Thou wert the first to seek the inner temple,
+  And stand before the Priestess.  Thou wert true
+  To nature and thyself.  Be thy example
+
+    The harbinger of times
+  When the Chaudiere's imposing majesty
+  Will awe the spirits of the heartless mimes
+  To worship God in truth, with nature's constancy."
+
+{58}
+
+  Still I heard the mellow sweetness of her voice at intervals,
+    Mingling with the fall of waters, rising with the snowy spray,
+  Ringing through the sportive current like the joy of waterfalls,
+    Sending up their hearty vespers at the calmy close of day.
+  Loath to leave the scene of beauty, lover-like I stayed, and stayed,
+    Folding to my eager bosom memories beyond compare;
+  Deeper, stronger, more enduring than my dreams of wood and glade,
+    Were the eloquent appeals of the magnificent Chaudiere.
+
+  E'en the solid bridge is trembling, whence I look my last farewell,
+    Dizzy with the roar and trampling of the mighty herd of waves,
+  Speeding past the rocky Island, steadfast as a sentinel,
+    Towards the loveliest bay that ever mirrored the Algonquin Braves.
+  Soul of Beauty!  Genius!  Spirit!  Priestess of the lovely strife!
+    In my heart thy words are shrined, as in a sanctuary fair;
+  Echoes of thy voice of sweetness, rousing all my better life,
+    Ever haunt my wildest visions of the jubilant Chaudiere.
+
+
+
+
+{59}
+
+  A ROYAL WELCOME.
+
+    By England's side we stand,
+    We grasp her royal hand,
+  And pay her rightful homage through her Son;
+    Thank God for England's care!
+    Thank God for Britain's heir!
+  Our hearts go forth to meet him--we are one.
+
+    A loyal Province pours
+    Her thousands to her shores,
+  From iron-girt Superior to the sea;
+    We feel our youthful blood
+    Surge through us like a flood,
+  There's not a slave amongst us--we are free.
+
+    For none but Freemen know
+    The truly loyal throe
+  That gives heroic impulse to the Man--
+    The passion and the fire,
+    The chivalrous desire:
+  Our Fathers all were heroes--in the van.
+
+    And we, their ardent sons,
+    Through whom, triumphant, runs
+  The old intrepid attribute serene,
+    Would leave our chosen land,
+    Our homes, our forests grand,
+  To strike for England's honour and her Queen.
+
+{60}
+
+    No soulless welcome we
+    Dare give to such as thee:
+  Be thou a bright example to the world;
+    Great in thy well-earned fame,
+    Beloved in heart and name,
+  Wherever Britain's banner is unfurled.
+
+    Through all our leafy glades,
+    Through all our green arcades,
+  The living torrents, sweeping in, evince
+    That from their manly hearts
+    The Yeoman chorus starts:
+  'Honour to England's Heir!--long live the Prince!'
+
+    Oh, England! in this hour
+    We own thy sov'reign pow'r;
+  To thee and thine our best affections cling,
+    And when thy crown is laid
+    On Royal Albert's head,
+  With heart and soul we'll shout--GOD SAVE THE KING!
+
+
+
+
+{61}
+
+  MALCOLM.
+
+  Boy! this world has ever been
+    A bright, glad world to me;
+  Through each dark and checkered scene
+    God's sun shone lovingly.
+  But Content I've never known;
+    Hoping, trusting that the years,
+    With their April smiles and tears,
+    Would yet bring me one like thee
+      That I could call my own.
+
+  With thy soft and heavenly eyes
+    In deep and pensive calm,
+  I seem looking at the skies,
+    And wonder where I am!
+  Something more than princely blood
+    Courses in thy tranquil face:
+    When she lent thee such a grace,
+    Nature lit life's earnest flame
+      In her most queenly mood.
+
+  Such a sweet intelligence
+    Is stamped on every line,
+  Banqueting our craving sense
+    With minist'rings divine.
+  If thy Boyhood be so great,
+    What will be the coming Man,
+    Could we overleap the span?
+    Are there treasures in the mine,
+      To pay us, if we wait?
+
+{62}
+
+  Doth the voice of Music live
+    In that majestic brain,
+  Waiting for the Hand to give
+    Expression to the strain?
+  Are there wells of Truth--pure, deep,
+    Where the patient diver, Thought,
+    Finds the pearl that has been sought
+    Many a weary age in vain,
+      Entrusted to thy keep.
+
+  Doth the fire of Genius burn
+    Within that ample brow?
+  Or some patient spirit yearn
+    For things that are not now?
+  Hidden in the over-soul
+    Of the Future, to be born
+    When the world has ceased its scorn,
+    When the sceptic's heart will bow
+      To the divine control.
+
+  Patiently we'll watch and hope,
+    And wait, alternately;
+  Trusting that, when time shall ope
+    The casket's mystery,
+  We will be made rich indeed
+    With the wonders it contains;
+    Rich beyond all previous gains;
+    Richer for thy thought and thee,
+      Beyond our greatest meed.
+
+
+
+
+{63}
+
+  THE COMET--OCTOBER, 1858.
+
+    Erratic Soul of some great Purpose, doomed
+  To track the wild illimitable space,
+  Till sure propitiation has been made
+  For the divine commission unperformed!
+  What was thy crime?  Ahasuerus' curse
+  Were not more stern on earth than thine in Heaven!
+
+    Art thou the Spirit of some Angel World,
+  For grave rebellion banished from thy peers,
+  Compelled to watch the calm, immortal stars,
+  Circling in rapture the celestial void,
+  While the avenger follows in thy train
+  To spur thee on to wretchedness eterne?
+
+    Or one of nature's wildest fantasies,
+  From which she flies in terror so profound,
+  And with such whirl of torment in her breast,
+  That mighty earthquakes yearn where'er she treads;
+  While War makes red its terrible right hand,
+  And Famine stalks abroad all lean and wan?
+
+    To us thou art as exquisitely fair
+  As the ideal visions of the seer,
+  Or gentlest fancy that e'er floated down
+  Imagination's bright, unruffled stream,
+  Wedding the thought that was too deep for words
+  To the low breathings of inspired song.
+
+{64}
+
+    When the stars sang together o'er the birth
+  Of the poor Babe at Bethlehem, that lay
+  In the coarse manger at the crowded Inn,
+  Didst thou, perhaps a bright exalted star,
+  Refuse to swell the grand, harmonious lay,
+  Jealous as Herod of the birth divine?
+
+    Or when the crown of thorns on Calvary
+  Pierced the Redeemer's brow, didst thou disdain
+  To weep, when all the planetary worlds
+  Were blinded by the fulness of their tears?
+  E'en to the flaming sun, that hid his face
+  At the loud cry, "Lama Sabachthani!"
+
+    No rest!  No rest! the very damned have that
+  In the dark councils of remotest Hell,
+  Where the dread scheme was perfected that sealed
+  Thy disobedience and accruing doom.
+  Like Adam's sons, hast thou, too, forfeited
+  The blest repose that never pillowed Sin?
+
+    No! none can tell thy fate, thou wandering Sphinx!
+  Pale Science, searching by the midnight lamp
+  Through the vexed mazes of the human brain,
+  Still fails to read the secret of its soul
+  As the superb enigma flashes by,
+  A loosed Prometheus burning with disdain.
+
+
+
+
+{65}
+
+  AUTUMN.
+
+  If seasons, like the human race, had souls,
+  Then two artistic spirits live within
+  The Chameleon mind of Autumn--these,
+  The Poet's mentor and the Painter's guide.
+  The myriad-thoughted phases of the mind
+  Are truly represented by the hues
+  That thrill the forests with prophetic fire.
+  And what could painter's skill compared to these?
+  What palette ever held the flaming tints
+  That on these leafy hieroglyphs foretell
+  How set the ebbing currents of the year?
+  What poet's page was ever like to this,
+  Or told the lesson of life's waning days
+  More forcibly, with more of natural truth,
+  Than yon red maples, or these poplars, white
+  As the pale shroud that wraps some human corse?
+  And then, again, the spirit of a King,
+  Clothed with that majesty most monarchs lack,
+  Might fit old Autumn for his royal rule:
+  For here is kingly ermine, cloth of gold,
+  And purple robes well worthy to be worn
+  By the best monarch that e'er donned a crown.
+
+  Proclaim him Royal Autumn!  Poet King!
+  The Laureate of the Seasons, whose rare songs
+  Are such as lyrist never hoped to fling
+  On the fine ear of an admiring world.
+  Autumn, the Poet, Painter, and true King!
+  His gorgeous Ideality speaks forth
+
+{66}
+
+  From the rare colors of the changing leaves;
+  And the ripe blood that swells his purple veins
+  Is as the glowing of a sacred fire.
+  He walks with Shelley's spirit on the cliffs
+  Of the Ethereal Caucasus, and o'er
+  The summits of the Euganean hills;
+  And meets the soul of Wordsworth, in profound
+  And philosophic meditation, rapt
+  In some great dream of love towards
+  The human race.  The cheery Spring may come,
+  And touch the dreaming flowers into life,
+  Summer expand her leafy sea of green,
+  And wake the joyful wilderness to song,
+  As a fair hand strikes music from a lyre:
+  But Autumn, from its daybreak to its close,
+  Setting in florid beauty, like the sun,
+  Robed with rare brightness and ethereal flame,
+  Holds all the year's ripe fruitage in its hands,
+  And dies with songs of praise upon its lips.
+
+  And then, the Indian Summer, bland as June:
+  Some Tuscarora King, Algonquin Seer,
+  Or Huron Chief, returned to smoke the Pipe
+  Of Peace upon the ancient hunting grounds;
+  The mighty shade in spirit walking forth
+  To feel the beauty of his native woods,
+  Flashing in Autumn vestures, or to mark
+  The scanty remnants of the scattered tribes
+  Wending towards their graves.  Few Braves are left;
+  Few mighty Hunters; fewer stately Chiefs,
+  Like great Tecumseth fit to take the field,
+  And lead the tribes to certain victory,
+
+{67}
+
+  Choosing annihilation to defeat:
+  But having run thy gauntlet of their days,
+  This Autumn remnant of some unknown race,
+  Nearing the Winter of their sad decay,
+  Fall like dry leaves into the lap of Time;
+  Their old trunks sapless, their tough branches bare,
+  And Fate's shrill war-whoop thund'ring at their heels.
+
+
+
+
+{68}
+
+  COLIN.
+
+  Who'll dive for the dead men now,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Who'll feel for the anguished brow,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  True Feeling is not confined
+  To the learned or lordly mind;
+  Nor can it be bought and sold
+  In exchange for an Alp of gold;
+  For Nature, that never lies,
+  Flings back with indignant scorn
+  The counterfeit deed, still-born,
+  In the face of the seeming wise,
+  In the Janus face of the huckster race
+  Who barter her truths for lies.
+
+  Who'll wrestle with dangers dire,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Who'll fearlessly brave the maniac wave,
+  Thoughtless of self, human life to save,
+  Unmoved by the storm-fiend's ire?
+  Who, Shadrach-like, will walk through fire,
+    Since Colin is gone?
+  Or hang his life on so frail a breath
+  That there's but a step 'twixt life and death?
+  For Courage is not the heritage
+  Of the nobly born; and many a sage
+  Has climbed to the temple of fame,
+  And written his deathless name
+  In letters of golden flame,
+  Who, on glancing down
+
+{69}
+
+  From his high renown,
+  Saw his unlettered sire
+  Still by the old log fire,
+  Saw the unpolished dame--
+  And the dunghill from which he came.
+
+  Ah, ye who judge the dead
+  By the outward lives they led,
+  And not by the hidden worth
+  Which none but God can see;
+  Ye who would spurn the earth
+  That covers such as he;
+  Would ye but bare your hearts,
+  Cease to play borrowed parts,
+  And come down from your self-built throne:
+  How few from their house of glass,
+  As the gibbering secrets pass,
+  Would dare to fling, whether serf or king,
+  The first accusing stone!
+
+  Peace, peace to his harmless dust!
+    Since Colin is gone;
+  We can but hope and trust;
+  Man judgeth, but God is just;
+    Poor Colin is gone!
+  Had he faults?  His heart was true,
+  And warm as the summer's sun.
+  Had he failings?  Ay, but few;
+  'Twas an honest race he run.
+  Let him rest in the poor man's grave,
+  Ye who grant him no higher goal;
+  There may be a curse on the hands that gave,
+  But not on his simple soul!
+
+
+
+
+{70}
+
+  MARGERY.
+
+  "Truth lights our minds as sunrise lights the world.
+  The heart that shuts out truth, excludes the light
+  That wakes the love of beauty in the soul;
+  And being foe to these, despises God,
+  The sole Dispenser of the gracious bliss
+  That brings us nearer the celestial gate.
+  They who might feed on rose-leaves of the True,
+  And grow in loveliness of heart and soul,
+  Catch at Deception's airy gossamers,
+  As children clutch at stars.  To some, the world
+  Is a bleak desert, parched with blinding sand,
+  With here and there a mirage, fair to view,
+  But insubstantial as the visions born
+  Of Folly and Despair.  Could we but know
+  How nigh we are to the true light of heaven;
+  In what a world of love we live and breathe;
+  On what a tide of truth our souls are borne!
+  Yet we're but bubbles in the whirl of life,
+  Mere flecks upon its ever-restless sea,
+  Meteors in its ever-changing sky.
+  Eternity alone is worth the thought
+  That we expend upon the passing hour,
+  Chasing the gaudy butterflies that lure
+  Our footsteps from the path that leads us home.
+  We will not see the beacon on the rock;
+  The prompter is unheeded; and the spark
+  Of the true spirit quenched in utter night,
+  As we rush headlong, wrecked on Error's shoals.
+  Some hearts will never open; all their wards
+
+{71}
+
+  Have grown so rusty, that the golden key
+  Of Love Divine must fail to move the bolt
+  That Self has drawn to keep God's angels out."
+
+  So spake the merry Margery, the while
+  Her fingers lengthened out a filigree,
+  That seemed to me so many golden threads
+  Of thought between her fingers and her brain,
+  Bestrung with priceless pearls; her lightsome mood,
+  Worn as occasion might necessitate,
+  Replaced to-night by sober-sided Sense,
+  That made her beauty like an eve in June,
+  Just as the moon is risen.  I, to mark
+  My approbation of her present mood,
+  Rehearsed a rambling lyric of my own,
+  That seemed prophetic of her thoughts to-night:
+
+  Within my mind there ever lives
+    A yearning for the True,
+  The Beautiful and Good.  God gives
+    These, as He gives the dew
+
+  That falls upon the flowers at night,
+    The grass, the thirsty trees,
+  Because 'tis needful; and the light
+    That suns my mind from these--
+
+  Truth--Beauty--Goodness, doth but fill
+    A void within my soul;
+  And I fall prone before the Will
+    Of Him who gave the whole--
+
+{72}
+
+  The wondrous life--the power to think,
+    And love, and act, and speak.
+  Standing, half-poised, upon the brink
+    Of being--strong, yet weak--
+
+  Strong in vast hopes, but weak in deeds,
+    I lift my heart and pray,
+  That where the tangled skein of creeds
+    Excludes the light of day
+
+  From human minds, God's purposes
+    May be made plain, that all
+  May walk in truth's and wisdom's ways,
+    And lay aside the thrall
+
+  Of enmity, whose clouds have kept
+    Their souls as dark as night;
+  That they whose love and hope have slept,
+    May come into the light,
+
+  And live as men, with minds to grasp
+    Within the sphere of thought
+  The boundless universe, and clasp
+    The good the wise have sought,
+
+  As if it were a long-lost dove,
+    Or a stray soul returned
+  To worship in the fane of love,
+    That it so long had spurned.
+
+  Where'er I gaze, my eyes behold
+    Nought but the beautiful.
+  The world is grand as it is old;
+    The only fitting school
+
+{73}
+
+  For man, where he may learn to live,
+    And live to learn that what
+  He needs heaven will in mercy give.
+    Whatever be his lot,
+
+  He shapes it for himself; his mind
+    Is his own heaven or hell:
+  Just as he peoples it, he'll find
+    Himself compelled to dwell
+
+  With good or evil.  Good abounds
+    In this delightful sphere;
+  But man will walk his daily rounds,
+    And evermore give ear
+
+  To the false promptings that waylay
+    His steps at every turn;
+  Flinging the true and good away
+    For joys that he should spurn,
+
+  As being all unworthy of
+    His greatness as a man.
+  Why, man!--why tremble at the scoff
+    Of fools and bigots?  Scan
+
+  The mental firmament, and see
+    How men in every age,
+  Who strove for immortality--
+    Whose errand was to wage
+
+  Not War, but Peace--men of pure minds,
+    Who sought and found the truth,
+  And treasured it, as one who finds
+    The secret of lost Youth
+
+{74}
+
+  Restored and made immortal--see
+    How they were scorned, because
+  Their Sphinx-lives spake of mystery
+    To those to whom the laws
+
+  Of nature are as clasped books!--
+    Poets, who ruled the world
+  Of Thought; in whose prophetic looks
+    And minds there lay impearled,
+
+  But hidden from the vulgar sight,
+    Such universal truths,
+  That many, blinded by the light--
+    Gray-haired, green-gosling youths,
+
+  With whips of satire, looks of scorn,
+    And finger of disdain,
+  Have crushed these harbingers of morn,
+    But could not kill the strain
+
+  That was a part of nature's mind,
+    And therefore can not die.
+  That which men spurned, angels have shrined
+    Among God's truths on high.
+
+  And so 't will ever be, till man
+    Knows more of Goodness, Truth,
+  And Beauty--more of nature's plan,
+    And Love that brings back youth
+
+  To hearts that have grown frail and old
+    By groping in the dark
+  With blinded eyes; their idol, Gold,
+    And Gain, their Pleasure-bark!
+
+{75}
+
+  "'Tis well that nature hath her ministers,"
+  She said, her voice and looks so passing sweet;
+  "Great-hearts that let in love, and keep it there,
+  Like the true flame within the diamond's heart,
+  Informing, blessing, chastening their lives.
+  Man has but one great love--his love for God;
+  All other loves are lesser and more less
+  As they recede from Him, as are the streams
+  The farthest from the fountain.  God is Love.
+  Who loves God most, loves most his fellow-men;
+  Sees the Creator in the creature's form
+  Where others see but man--and he, so frail
+  The very devils are akin to him!
+  There is no light that is not born of love;
+  No truth where love is not its guiding star;
+  Faith without love is noonday without sun,
+  For love begetteth works both good and true,
+  And these give faith its immortality."
+
+  We parted at the outer door.  The stars
+  Seemed never half so bright or numberless
+  As they appeared to-night.  Margery's laugh
+  Tripped after me in merry cadences,
+  Like the quick steps of fairies in the air
+  United to the chorus of their hearts
+  Breathed into silvery music.  Happy soul!
+  Nature's epitome in all her moods.
+
+
+
+
+{76}
+
+    EVA.
+
+    "God bless the darling Eva!" was my prayer.
+    A pure, unconscious depth of earnestness
+    Was in her eyes, so indescribable
+    You might as well the color of the air
+    Seek to daguerreotype, or to impress
+    A stain upon the river, whose first swell
+    Would swirl it to the deep.  A calm, sweet soul,
+    Where Love's celestial saints and ministers
+    Did hold the earthly under such control
+    Virtue sprung up like daisies from the sod.
+    Oh, for one hour's sweet excellence like hers!
+    One hour of sinlessness, that never more
+    Can visit me this side the Silent Shore,
+  To stand, like her, serene, unblushing before God!
+
+
+
+
+
+{77}
+
+    THE POET'S RECOMPENSE.
+
+    His heart's a burning censer, filled with spice
+    From fairer vales than those of Araby,
+    Breathing such prayers to heaven, that the nice
+    Discriminating ear of Deity
+    Can cull sweet praises from the rare perfume.
+    Man cannot know what starry lights illume
+    The soaring spirit of his brother man!
+    He judges harshly with his mind's eyes closed;
+    His loftiest understanding cannot scan
+    The heights where Poet-souls have oft reposed;
+    He cannot feel the chastened influence
+    Divine, that lights the Ideal atmosphere,
+    And never to his uninspired sense
+  Rolls the majestic hymn that inspirates the Seer.
+
+
+
+
+{78}
+
+  THE WINE OF SONG.
+
+  Within Fancy's Halls I sit, and quaff
+    Rich draughts of the Wine of Song,
+      And I drink, and drink,
+      To the very brink
+    Of delirium wild and strong,
+  Till I lose all sense of the outer world,
+    And see not the human throng.
+
+  The lyral chords of each rising thought
+    Are swept by a hand unseen;
+      And I glide, and glide,
+      With my music bride,
+    Where few spiritless souls have been;
+  And I soar afar on wings of sound,
+    With my fair AEolian Queen.
+
+  Deep, deeper still, from the springs of Thought
+    I quaff, till the fount is dry;
+      And I climb, and climb,
+      To a height sublime,
+    Up the stars of some lyric sky,
+  Where I seem to rise upon airs that melt
+    Into song as they pass by.
+
+  Millennial rounds of bliss I live,
+    Withdrawn from my cumbrous clay,
+      As I sweep, and sweep,
+      Through infinite deep
+    On deep of that starry spray;
+  Myself a sound on its world-wide round,
+    A tone on its spheral way.
+
+{79}
+
+  And wheresoe'er through the wondrous space
+    My soul wings its noiseless flight,
+      On their astral rounds
+      Float divinest sounds,
+    Unseen, save by spirit-sight,
+  Obeying some wise, eternal law,
+    As fixed as the law of light.
+
+  But, oh, when my cup of dainty bliss
+    Is drained of the Wine of Song,
+      How I fall, and fall,
+      At the sober call
+    Of the body, that waiteth long
+  To hurry me back to its cares terrene,
+    And earth's spiritless human throng.
+
+
+
+
+{80}
+
+  THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM.
+
+      I stood upon the Plain,
+      That had trembled when the slain,
+  Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe,
+      When the steed dashed right and left,
+      Through the bloody gaps he cleft,
+  When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low.
+
+      What busy feet had trod
+      Upon the very sod
+  Where I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid!
+      And I saw the combat dire,
+      Heard the quick, incessant fire,
+  And the cannons' echoes startling the reverberating glade.
+
+      I saw them, one and all,
+      The banners of the Gaul
+  In the thickest of the contest, round the resolute Montcalm;
+      The well-attended Wolfe,
+      Emerging from the gulf
+  Of the battle's fiery furnace, like the swelling of a psalm.
+
+{81}
+
+      I heard the chorus dire,
+      That jarred along the lyre
+  On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave
+      When the storm, at blackest night,
+      Wakes the ocean in affright,
+  As it shouts its mighty pibroch o'er some shipwrecked vessel's grave.
+
+      I saw the broad claymore
+      Flash from its scabbard, o'er
+  The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce attack;
+      When Victory gave the word,
+      Then Scotland drew the sword,
+  And with arm that never faltered drove the brave defenders back.
+
+      I saw two great chiefs die,
+      Their last breaths like the sigh
+  Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosy lips of morn;
+      No envy-poisoned darts,
+      No rancour, in their hearts,
+  To unfit them for their triumph over death's impending scorn.
+
+      And as I thought and gazed,
+      My soul, exultant, praised
+  The Power to whom each mighty act and victory are due,
+
+{82}
+
+      For the saint-like Peace that smiled
+      Like a heaven-gifted child,
+  And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view.
+
+      The sun looked down with pride,
+      And scattered far and wide
+  His beams of whitest glory till they flooded all the Plain;
+      The hills their veils withdrew,
+      Of white, and purplish blue,
+  And reposed all green and smiling 'neath the shower of golden rain.
+
+      Oh, rare, divinest life
+      Of Peace, compared with Strife!
+  Yours is the truest splendour, and the most enduring fame;
+      All the glory ever reaped
+      Where the fiends of battle leaped,
+  Is harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim.
+
+
+
+
+{83}
+
+  DEATH OF WOLFE.
+
+  "They run! they run!"--"Who run?"  Not they
+    Who faced that decimating fire
+    As coolly as if human ire
+      Were rooted from their hearts;
+  _They_ run, while he who led the way
+  So bravely on that glorious day,
+    Burns for one word with keen desire
+      Ere waning life departs!
+
+  "They run! they run!"--"_Who_ run?" he cried,
+    As swiftly to his pallid brow,
+    Like crimson sunlight upon snow,
+      The anxious blood returned;
+  "The French! the French!" a voice replied,
+  When quickly paled life's ebbing tide,
+    And though his words were weak and low
+      His eye with valour burned.
+
+  "Thank God!  I die in peace," he said;
+    And calmly yielding up his breath,
+    There trod the shadowy realms of death
+      A good man and a brave;
+  Through all the regions of the dead,
+  Behold his spirit, spectre-led,
+    Crowned with the amaranthine wreath
+      That blooms not for the slave.
+
+
+
+
+{84}
+
+  BROCK.
+
+  OCTOBER 13TH, 1859.*
+
+  One voice, one people, one in heart
+    And soul, and feeling, and desire!
+    Re-light the smouldering martial fire,
+    Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre,
+    The hero deed can not expire,
+      The dead still play their part.
+
+  Raise high the monumental stone!
+    A nation's fealty is theirs,
+    And we are the rejoicing heirs,
+    The honored sons of sires whose cares
+    We take upon us unawares,
+      As freely as our own.
+
+  We boast not of the victory,
+    But render homage, deep and just,
+    To his--to their--immortal dust,
+    Who proved so worthy of their trust
+    No lofty pile nor sculptured bust
+      Can herald their degree.
+
+  No tongue need blazon forth their fame--
+    The cheers that stir the sacred hill
+    Are but mere promptings of the will
+    That conquered then, that conquers still;
+    And generations yet shall thrill
+  At Brock's remembered name.
+
+{85}
+
+  Some souls are the Hesperides
+    Heaven sends to guard the golden age,
+    Illuming the historic page
+    With records of their pilgrimage;
+    True Martyr, Hero, Poet, Sage;
+      And he was one of these.
+
+  Each in his lofty sphere sublime
+    Sits crowned above the common throng,
+    Wrestling with some Pythonic wrong,
+    In prayer, in thunder, thought, or song;
+    Briarcus-limbed, they sweep along,
+      The Typhons of the time.
+
+
+
+* The day of the inauguration of the new Monument on Queenston Heights.
+
+
+
+
+{86}
+
+  SONG FOR CANADA.
+
+  Sons of the race whose sires
+  Aroused the martial flame
+      That filled with smiles
+      The triune Isles,
+  Through all their heights of fame!
+  With hearts as brave as theirs,
+  With hopes as strong and high,
+      We'll ne'er disgrace
+      The honoured race
+  Whose deeds can never die.,
+    Let but the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would flame throughout the land.
+
+  Our lakes are deep and wide,
+  Our fields and forests broad;
+      With cheerful air
+      We'll speed the share,
+  And break the fruitful sod;
+  Till blest with rural peace,
+  Proud of our rustic toil,
+      On hill and plain
+      True kings we'll reign,
+  The victors of the soil.
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+
+{87}
+
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would light him from the land.
+
+  Health smiles with rosy face
+  Amid our sunny dales,
+      And torrents strong
+      Fling hymn and song
+  Through all the mossy vales;
+  Our sons are living men,
+  Our daughters fond and fair;
+      A thousand isles
+      Where Plenty smiles,
+  Make glad the brow of Care.
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would flame throughout the land.
+
+  And if in future years
+  One wretch should turn and fly,
+      Let weeping Fame
+      Blot out his name
+  From Freedom's hallowed sky;
+  Or should our sons e'er prove
+  A coward, traitor race,--
+      Just heaven! frown
+      In thunder down,
+  T' avenge the foul disgrace!
+
+{88}
+
+    But let the rash intruder dare
+      To touch our darling strand,
+        The martial fires
+        That thrilled our sires
+      Would light him from the land.
+
+
+{89}
+
+  SONG--I'D BE A FAIRY KING.
+
+  Oh, I'd be a Fairy King,
+    With my vassals brave and bold;
+        We'd hunt all day,
+        Through the wildwood gay,
+    In our guise of green and gold;
+  And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
+    That the silly, toiling bee,
+        Would have no sweet
+        In its dull retreat,
+    So rich as our frolic glee.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+              We'd hunt all day,
+              Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+  At night, when the moon spake down,
+    With her bland and pensive tone,
+        The fairest Queen
+        That ever was seen
+    Would sit on my pearly throne;
+  And we'd lead such a merry, merry life,
+    That the stars would laugh in show'rs
+        Of silver light,
+        All the summer night,
+  To the airs of the passing Hours.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+              We'd hunt all day
+              Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+{90}
+
+  We'd talk with the dainty flow'rs,
+    And we'd chase the laughing brooks;
+        My merry men,
+        Through grove and glen,
+    Would search for the mossy nooks;
+  And we'd be such a merry, merry band,
+    Such a lively-hearted throng,
+        That life would seem
+        But a silvery dream
+  In the flowery Land of Song.
+        I'd be a Fairy King,
+          With my vassals brave and bold;
+            We'd hunt all day,
+            Through the wildwood gay,
+          In our guise of green and gold.
+
+
+
+
+{91}
+
+  SONG--LOVE WHILE YOU MAY.
+
+  Day by day, with startling fleetness,
+      Life speeds away;
+  Love, alone, can glean its sweetness,
+      Love while you may.
+  While the soul is strong and fearless,
+  While the eye is bright and tearless,
+  Ere the heart is chilled and cheerless--
+      Love while you may.
+
+  Life may pass, but love, undying,
+      Dreads no decay;
+  Even from the grave replying,
+      "Love while you may."
+  Love's the fruit, as life's the flower;
+  Love is heaven's rarest dower;
+  Love gives love its quick'ning power--
+      Love while you may.
+
+
+
+
+{92}
+
+  THE SNOWS.
+
+  UPPER OTTAWA.
+
+    Over the snows,
+    Buoyantly goes
+  The lumberers' bark canoe;
+    Lightly they sweep,
+    Wilder each leap,
+  Bending the white caps through.
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer,
+    While the steersman true,
+    And his laughing crew,
+  Sing of their wild career:
+
+    "Mariners glide
+    Far o'er the tide,
+  In ships that are staunch and strong;
+    Safely as they,
+    Speed we away,
+  Waking the woods with song."
+    Away! away!
+  With the flight of a startled deer,
+    While the laughing crew
+    Of the swift canoe
+  Sing of the raftsmen's cheer:
+
+    "Through forest and brake,
+    O'er rapid and lake,
+  We're sport for the sun and rain;
+    Free as the child
+    Of the Arab wild,
+  Hardened to toil and pain.
+
+{93}
+
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer,
+    While our buoyant flight,
+    And the rapid's might,
+  Heighten our swift career."
+
+    Over the snows
+    Buoyantly goes
+  The lumberers' bark canoe;
+    Lightly they sweep,
+    Wilder each leap,
+  Tearing the white caps through.
+    Away! away!
+  With the speed of a startled deer;
+    There's a fearless crew
+    In each light canoe,
+  To sing of the raftsmen's cheer.
+
+
+
+
+{94}
+
+  THE RAPID.
+
+  ST. LAWRENCE.
+
+        All peacefully gliding,
+        The waters dividing,
+  The indolent batteau moved slowly along,
+        The rowers, light-hearted,
+        From sorrow long parted,
+  Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:
+      "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
+      Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way;
+      Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,
+      Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."
+
+        More swiftly careering,
+        The wild Rapid nearing,
+  They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;
+        The surges delight them,
+        No terrors affright them,
+  Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:
+      "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
+      Shivers its arrows against us in play;
+      Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,
+      Our spirits as light as its feathery spray."
+
+        Fast downward they're dashing,
+        Each fearless eye flashing,
+  Though danger awaits them on every side;
+        Yon rock--see it frowning!
+        They strike--they are drowning!
+  But downward they speed with the merciless tide;
+
+  {95}
+
+      No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily
+      Shivers their bark in its maddening play;
+      Gaily they entered it--heedlessly recklessly,
+      Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!
+
+
+
+
+{96}
+
+  LOST AND FOUND.
+
+  In the mildest, greenest grove
+    Blest by sprite or fairy,
+  Where the melting echoes rove,
+    Voices sweet and airy;
+      Where the streams
+      Drink the beams
+      Of the Sun,
+      As they run
+      Riverward
+      Through the sward,
+    A shepherd went astray--
+    E'en gods have lost their way.
+
+  Every bird had sought its nest,
+    And each flower-spirit
+  Dreamed of that delicious rest
+    Mortals ne'er inherit;
+      Through the trees
+      Swept the breeze,
+      Bringing airs
+      Unawares
+      Through the grove,
+      Until love
+    Came down upon his heart,
+    Refusing to depart.
+
+  Hungrily he quaffed the strain,
+    Sweeter still, and clearer,
+  Drenched with music's mellow rain,
+    Nearer--nearer--dearer!
+
+{97}
+
+      Chains of sound
+      Gently bound
+      The lost Youth,
+      Till, in sooth,
+      He stood there
+      A prisoner,
+    Raised between earth and heaven
+    By love's divinest leaven.
+
+  Was there ever such a face?
+    Was it not a vision?
+  Had he climbed the starry space,
+    To the fields Elysian?
+      Through the glade
+      The milk-maid
+      With her pail,
+      To the vale
+      Passed along,
+      Breathing song
+    Through all his ravished sense,
+    To gladden his suspense.
+
+  "Love is swift as hawk or hind,
+    Chamois-like in fleetness,
+  None are lost that love can find,"
+    Sang the maid, with sweetness.
+      "True, in sooth,"
+      Thought the Youth,
+      "Strong, as swift,
+      Love can lift
+
+{98}
+
+      Mountain weights
+      To the gates
+    Of the celestial skies,
+    Where all else fades and dies."
+
+  Lightly flew the sunny days,
+    Joy and gladness sending;
+  Life becomes a song of praise
+    When true hearts are blending.
+      Guileless truth
+      Won the Youth,
+      Kept him there,
+      A prisoner;
+      While dear Love
+      From above
+    Poured down enduring dreams,
+    In calm supernal gleams.
+
+
+
+
+{99}
+
+  YOUNG AGAIN.
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Beating heart!  I deemed that sorrow,
+  With its torture-rack of pain,
+    Had eclipsed each bright to-morrow;
+    And that Love could never rise
+    Into life's cerulean skies,
+    Singing the divine refrain--
+      "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Passion dies as we grow older;
+  Love that in repose has lain,
+    Takes a higher flight, and bolder:
+    Fresh from rest and dewy sleep,
+    Like the skylark's matin sweep,
+    Singing the divine refrain--
+      "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+  Young again!  Young again!
+    Book of Youth, thy sunny pages
+  Here and there a tear may stain,
+    But 'tis Love that makes us sages.
+    Love, Hope, Youth--blest trinity!
+    Wanting these, and what were we?
+    Who would chant the sweet refrain--
+    "Young again!  Young again!"
+
+
+
+
+{100}
+
+  GLIMPSES.
+
+  Sounds of rural life and labour!
+  Not the notes of pipe and tabour,
+  Not the clash of helm and sabre
+      Bright'ning up the field of glory,
+  Can compare with thy ovations,
+  That make glad the hearts of nations;
+  E'en the poet's fond creations
+      Pale before thy simple story.
+
+  In the years beyond our present,
+  King was little more than peasant,
+  Labour was the shining crescent,
+      Toil, the poor man's crown of glory;
+  Have we passed from worse to better
+  Since we wove the silken fetter,
+  Changed the plough for book and letter.
+      Truest life for tinsel story?
+
+  Up the ladder of the ages
+  Clomb the patriarchal sages,
+  Solving nature's secret pages,
+      Kings of thought's supremest glory;
+  Eagle-winged, and sight far reaching--
+  Are we wiser for their teaching?--
+  Wrangling creeds for gentle preaching!
+      Falsest life for truest story!
+
+  Man is overfraught with culture,
+  Virtue early finds sepulture,
+  While our vices sate the vulture
+
+{101}
+
+      We misname a bird of glory;
+  Life is blindly artificial,
+  Rarely pass we its initial,
+  All our aims are prejudicial
+      To its earnest, simple story.
+
+  Hail, primeval life and labour!
+  Martial notes of pipe and tabour,
+  Gleam of spears and clash of sabre,
+      Hero march from fields of glory,
+  All the thundering ovations
+  Surging from the hearts of nations,
+  Poet dreams and speculations,
+      Pale before thy simple story!
+
+
+
+
+{102}
+
+  MY PRAYER.
+
+  O God! forgive the erring thought,
+    The erring word and deed,
+  And in thy mercy hear the Christ
+    Who comes to intercede.
+
+  My sins, like mountain-weights of lead,
+    Weigh heavy on my soul;
+  I'm bruised and broken in this strife,
+    But Thou canst make me whole.
+
+  Allay this fever of unrest,
+    That fights against the Will;
+  And in Thy still small voice do Thou
+    But whisper, "Peace, be still!"
+
+  Until within this heart of mine
+    Thy lasting peace come down,
+  Will all the waves of Passion roll,
+    Each good resolve to drown.
+
+  We walk in blindness and dark night
+    Through half our earthly way;
+  Our clouds of weaknesses obscure
+    The glory of the day.
+
+  We cannot lead the lives we would,
+    But grope in dumb amaze,
+  Leaving the straight and flowery paths
+    To tread the crooked ways.
+
+{103}
+
+  We are as pilgrims toiling on
+    Through all the weary hours;
+  And our poor hands are torn with thorns,
+    Plucking life's tempting flowers.
+
+  We worship at a thousand shrines,
+    And build upon the sands,
+  Passing the one great Temple, and
+    The Rock on which it stands.
+
+  O, fading dream of human life!
+    What can this change portend?
+  I long for higher walks, and true
+    Progression without end.
+
+  Here I know nothing, and my search
+    Can find no secret out;
+  I cannot think a single thought
+    That is not mixed with doubt.
+
+  Relying on the higher source,
+    The influence divine,
+  I can but hope that light may dawn
+    Within this soul of mine.
+
+  I ask not wisdom, such as that
+    To which the world is prone,
+  Nor knowledge ask, unless it come
+    Direct from God alone.
+
+  Send down then, God! in mercy send
+    Thy Love and Truth to me,
+  That I may henceforth walk in light
+    That comes direct from Thee.
+
+
+
+
+{104}
+
+  HER STAR.
+
+  When the heavens throb and vibrate
+    All along their silver veins,
+  To the mellow storm of music
+    Sweeping o'er the starry trains,
+  Heard by few, as erst by shepherds
+    On the far Chaldean plains:
+
+  Not the blazing, torch-like planets,
+    Not the Pleiads wild and free,
+  Not Arcturus, Mars, Uranus,
+    Bring the brightest dreams to me;
+  But I gaze in rapt devotion
+    On the central star of three.
+
+  Central star of three that tingle
+    In the balmy southern sky;
+  One above, and one below it,
+    Dreamily they pale and die,
+  As two lesser minds might dwindle,
+    When some great soul, passing by,
+
+  Stops, and reads their cherished secrets,
+    With a calm and godlike air,
+  Luring all their radiance from them
+    Leaving a dim twilight there,
+  Something vague, and half unreal,
+    Like the Alpha of despair.
+
+{105}
+
+  Gazing thus, and holding converse
+    With the silence of my heart,
+  I would speak with famed Orion,
+    I would question it apart,
+  Wrest her love's strange secret from it,
+    If there's strength in human art.
+
+  And there come to me sweet whispers,
+    Half in answer, half in thought:--
+  "Be but strong, impassioned mortal!
+    Love will come to thee unsought;
+  Love is the divine Irene,--
+    It is given, and not bought.
+
+  [Transcriber's note: In the original book,
+  the e's in the "Irene" in the above verse
+  were e-macrons, Unicode U+0113.]
+
+  Strong of heart.  Be wise, be steadfast,
+    Learn, endeavour, and endure;
+  Blest with strength and light, in wisdom
+    Make the higher purpose sure;
+  Never can her heart receive thee
+    Till thine own is rendered pure.
+
+  I but shone in truth above her;
+    Psyche-like, she yearned to me,
+  And her soul, an Aphrodite,
+    Rose above the ether sea.
+  Love.  Love should and will inherit
+    The divine Euphrosyne."
+
+  When at night, the gleaming heavens
+    Throb through all their starry veins,
+  Oft I ponder on Orion,
+    And I hear celestial strains
+  Passing through my soul, and flooding
+    All its green immortal plains.
+
+{106}
+
+  Then I pray for strength Promethean,
+    Pray for power to endure;
+  Then I say, O soul, be steadfast!
+    Make the lofty purpose sure;
+  And that love may be all-worthy,
+    God of heaven, make me pure!
+
+
+
+
+{107}
+
+  THE MYSTERY.
+
+  My mind is like a troubled sea
+    O'er which the winds forever sweep;
+  Within its depths, eternally,
+    My being's pulses throb and leap;
+  There germs of contemplation sleep,
+    Like stars beyond the Milky Way,--
+  Like pearls within the gloomy deep,
+    That never saw the light of day.
+
+  Oh, wondrous mind, how little known!
+    Whence comes the thought that through my brain
+  Floats weirdlike as the pleasing tone
+    That quickens a beloved strain?
+  It may have graced some sweet refrain
+    A thousand years ago, or more;
+  Some Norman Prince, some valiant Dane,
+    May have imbibed it with their lore.
+
+  It may have strengthened Plato's soul,
+    Its clarion echoes ringing through
+  His brain, the heaven-reaching goal
+    Whence wisdom had its starry view;
+  It may have cheered the gifted few
+    Whose minds were mints of royal song,
+  Who toiled where Shakespeare soared, and drew
+    Down blessings from the grateful throng.
+
+  And on for ages yet to come,
+    Through minds by heavenly impulse fired,
+  That thought may strike some scorner dumb,
+    In all its regal guise attired;
+
+{108}
+
+  Divinely blest, though uninspired,
+    Some soul may change its swift career,
+  Bearing the great truth, long-desired,
+    In triumph to the highest sphere.
+
+  Unbounded universe of Thought!
+    Illimitable realms of mind!
+  Regions of Fancy, wonder-fraught!
+    Imagination unconfined!
+  Temples of mystery! behind
+    Whose veils the God-appointed plan
+  In perfect wisdom is enshrined,
+    Beyond the pigmy reach of man:
+
+  I cannot--dare not--seek to know
+    What finite vision, to the end,
+  Through years of strictest search below,
+    Must ever fail to comprehend!
+  God! whose intents so far transcend
+    Our poor discernment, let me see
+  Some portion of the truths that tend
+    By slow gradations up to Thee:
+
+  That in the less imperfect years,
+    When human frailty shall have died,
+  When the vexed riddle of the spheres,
+    Interpreted and glorified,
+  Shall be as nothing to the tide
+    Of light in which Thy hidden ways
+  Will be revealed: I may abide
+    Thy meanest instrument of praise,
+  And from the broad calm ocean of Thy truth
+  And wisdom drinking, find eternal youth.
+
+
+
+
+{109}
+
+  LOVE AND TRUTH.
+
+  Young Love sat in a rosy bower,
+    Towards the close of a summer day;
+  At the evening's dusky hour,
+    Truth bent her blessed steps that way;
+        Over her face
+        Beaming a grace
+    Never bestowed on child of clay.
+
+  Truth looked on with an ardent joy,
+    Wondering Love could grow so tired;
+  Hovering o'er him she kissed the boy,
+    When, with a sudden impulse fired,
+        Exquisite pains
+        Burning his veins,
+    Wildly he woke, as one inspired.
+
+  Eagerly Truth embraced the god,
+    Filling his soul with a sense divine;
+  Rightly he knew the paths she trod,
+    Springing from heaven's royal line;
+        Far had he strayed
+        From his guardian maid,
+    Perilling all for his rash design.
+
+  Still as they went, the tricksy youth
+    Wandered afar from the maiden fair;
+  Many a plot he laid, in sooth,
+    Wherein the maid could have no share
+        Sowing his seeds,
+        Bringing forth weeds,
+    Seldom a rose, and many a tare.
+
+{110}
+
+  Save when the maiden was by his side,
+    Love was erratic, and rarely true;
+  When she smiled on the graceful bride,
+    Over the old world rose the new,
+        Into life's skies
+        Blending her dyes,
+    Fairer than those of the rainbow's hue.
+
+  Sunny-eyed maidens, whom Love decoys,
+    Mark well the arts of the wayward youth!
+  Sorrows he bringeth, disguised as joys,
+    Rose-hued delights with cores of ruth;
+        Learn to believe
+        Love will deceive,
+    Save when he comes with his guardian, Truth.
+
+
+
+
+{111}
+
+  THE WREN.
+
+    Early each spring the little wren
+      Came scolding to his nest of moss;
+    We knew him by his peevish cry,
+      He always sung so very cross.
+  His quiet little mate would lay
+  Her eggs in peace, and think all day.
+
+    He was a sturdy little wren;
+      And when he came in spring, we knew,
+    Or seemed to know, the flowers would grow
+      To please him, where they always grew,
+  Among the rushes, cheerfully;
+  But not a rush so straight as he!
+
+    All summer long that little wren
+      Would chatter like a saucy thing;
+    And in the bush attack the thrush
+      That on the hawthorn perched to sing.
+  Like many noisy little men,
+  Lived, bragged, and fought that little wren.
+
+    There was a thoughtful maid, and I,
+      We used to play along the shore,
+    Searching for shells, and culling flowers,
+      As at the threshold of life's door,
+  Through which we had to pass, we stood,
+  Twin types of childish hardihood.
+
+{112}
+
+    Year after year we gathered flowers,
+      And grew apace, as children do;
+    And each returning spring we marked
+      The little wrens, they never grew;
+  One over-quiet and sedate,
+  The other, a bird-reprobate.
+
+    But now the marsh is overflowed,
+      The rushes rot beneath the sand;
+    No spring brings back the little wrens,
+      No children loiter hand in hand;
+  The maiden rose-bud, pure and good,
+  Grown to the flower of womanhood.
+
+
+
+
+{113}
+
+  GRANDPERE.
+
+  Old Grandpere gat in the corner,
+    With his grandchild on his knee,
+  Looking up at his wrinkled visage,
+    For his winters were ninety-three.
+
+  Fair Eleanor's locks were flaxen,
+    The old man's once were gray,
+  But now, they were white as the snow-drift
+    That lay on the bleak highway.
+
+  Her summers rolled on as golden
+    As waves over sunny seas;
+  But Grandpere could perceive no summers,
+    The winters alone were his.
+
+  He folded his arms around her,
+    Like Winter embracing Spring;
+  And the angels looked down from heaven,
+    And smiled on their slumbering.
+
+  But soon the angelic faces
+    Were filled with seraphic light,
+  As they gazed on a beauteous spirit
+    Passing up through the frosty night:
+
+  Till it stood serene before them,
+    A youth most divinely fair;
+  And they saw that the new-born angel
+    Was the spirit of old Grandpere.
+
+
+
+
+{114}
+
+  ENGLAND'S HOPE AND ENGLAND'S HEIR.
+
+  England's Hope and England's Heir!
+    Head and crown of Britain's glory,
+  Be thy future half so fair
+    As her past is famed in story,
+  Then wilt thou be great, indeed,
+    Daring, where there's cause to dare;
+  Greatest in the hour of need,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  By her past, in acts supreme,
+    By her present grand endeavour,
+  By her future, which the gleam
+    Of our fond hopes brings us ever:
+  We can trust that thou wilt be
+    Worthy of a fame so rare,
+  Worthy of thy destiny,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Be thy spirit fraught with hers,
+    Queen, whom we revere and honour;
+  Be thine acts love's messengers,
+    Brightly flashing back upon her;
+  Be what most her trust would deem,
+    Help the answer to her prayer,
+  Realize her holiest dream,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Welcome, Prince! the land is wide,
+    Wider still the love we cherish;
+  Love that thou shalt find, when tried,
+    Is not born to droop and perish;
+
+{115}
+
+  Welcome to our heart of hearts;
+    You will find no falsehood there,
+  But the zeal that truth imparts,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+  Welcome to our woodland deeps,
+    To our inland lakes, and rivers,
+  Where the rapid roars and sweeps,
+    Where the brightest sunlight quivers.
+  Loyal souls can never fail;
+    Serfdom crouches in its lair;
+  But our British hearts are hale,
+    England's Hope and England's Heir.
+
+
+
+
+{116}
+
+  ROSE.
+
+  When the evening broods quiescent
+    Over mountain, vale and lea,
+  And the moon uplifts her crescent
+    Far above the peaceful sea,
+  Little Rose, the fisher's daughter,
+    Passes in her cedar skiff
+  O'er the dreamy waste of water,
+    To the signal on the cliff.
+
+  Have a care, my merry maiden!
+    Young Adonis though he be,
+  Many hearts are secret-laden
+    That have trusted such as he.
+  Has he worth, and is he truthful?
+    Thoughtless maiden rarely knows;
+  But, "He's handsome, brave and youthful,"
+    Says the heart of little Rose.
+
+  Hark! the horn--its shrill vibrations
+    Tremble through the maiden's breast,
+  As the sweet reverberations
+    Dwindle to their whispered rest;
+  Sweeter far the honied sentence
+    Sealing up her mind's repose;
+  Love as yet needs no repentance
+    In the heart of little Rose.
+
+  Heaven shield thee, trusting mortal!
+    Love has heaved its firstborn sigh;
+  But from the pellucid portal
+    Of her calm, indignant eye,
+
+{117}
+
+  Darts that make the strong man tremble
+    Pierce his bosom ere he goes;
+  Rank and station may dissemble,
+    There is truth in little Rose.
+
+  Take my hand, my fisher maiden,
+    There's a grasp for thee and thine;
+  Constancy is love's bright Aiden,
+    Self-denial is divine.
+  Take my hand upon this plateau,
+    Let me share thy mortal throes;
+  Come, dear Love! we'll build our chateau
+    In the heart of little Rose.
+
+
+
+
+{118}
+
+  THE DREAMER.
+
+  Spirit of Song! whose whispers
+    Delight my pensive brain,
+  When will the perfect harmony
+    Ring through my feeble strain?
+
+  When will the rills of melody
+    Be widened to a stream!
+  When will the bright and gladsome Day
+    Succeed this morning dream?
+
+  "Mortal," the spirit whispered,
+    "If thou wouldst truly win
+  The race thou art pursuing,
+    Heed well the voice within:
+
+  And it shall gently teach thee
+    To read thy heart, and know
+  No human strain is perfect,
+    However sweet it flow.
+
+  And if thou readest truly,
+    As surely shalt thou find
+  That truths, like rills, though diverse,
+    Are choicest in their kind.
+
+  The souls of Poet-Dreamers
+    Touch heaven on their way;
+  With the light of Song to guide them
+    It should be always Day."
+
+
+
+
+{119}
+
+  NIGHT AND MORNING.
+
+  The winds are piping loud to-night,
+    And the waves roll strong and high;
+  God pity the watchful mariner
+    Who toils 'neath yonder sky!
+
+  I saw the vessel speed away,
+    With a free, majestic sweep,
+  At evening as the sun went down
+    To his palace in the deep.
+
+  An aged crone sat on the beach,
+    And, pointing to the ship,
+  "She'll never return again," she said,
+    With a scorn upon her lip.
+
+          ------
+
+  The morning rose tempestuous,
+    The winds blew to the shore,
+  There were corpses on the sands that morn,
+    But the ship came nevermore!
+
+
+
+
+{120}
+
+  WITHIN THINE EYES.
+
+  Within thine eyes two spirits dwell,
+    The sweetest and the purest
+  That ever wove Love's mystic spell,
+    Or plied his arts the surest:
+        No smile of morn,
+        Though heaven-born,
+    Nor sunshine earthward straying,
+        E'er charmed the sight
+        With half the light
+    That round thy lips is playing.
+
+  The stars may shine, the moon may smile,
+    The earth in beauty languish,
+  Life's sorrows these can but beguile,
+    But thou canst heal its anguish.
+        Thy voice, like rills
+        Of silver, trills
+    Such sounds of liquid sweetness,
+        Each accent rolls
+        Along our souls,
+    In lyrical completeness.
+
+  If Friendship lend thee such a grace,
+    That men nor gods may slight it,
+  How blest the one who views thy face
+    When Love comes down to light it!
+        And, oh, if he
+        Who holds in fee
+    Thy beauty, truth, and reason,
+        A traitor prove
+        To thee and Love,
+    We'll spurn him for his treason.
+
+
+
+
+  {121}
+
+  GERTRUDE.
+
+  Underneath the maple-tree
+  Gertrude worked her filigree,
+      All the summer long;
+  To sweet airs her voice was wed,
+  As she plied her golden thread;
+  Echo stealing through the grove
+  Filched away the words of love,
+  And the birds, from tree to tree,
+  Bore the witching melody
+      Through avenues of Song.
+
+  Underneath the maple-trees
+  Zephyrs chant her melodies,
+      All the summer long;
+  Words and airs no longer wed,
+  Death has snapped the vocal thread
+  Echo sleeping in the grove
+  Dreams of liquid airs of love,
+  And the birds among the trees
+  Fill with sweetest symphonies
+      Whole avenues of Song.
+
+
+
+
+{122}
+
+  FLOWERS.
+
+  Thank God I love the Flowers!
+    Mute voices of the Spring,
+  That gladden all her bowers
+    With their varied blossoming;
+  They weave a charm around them
+    On each summer dale and bough,
+  For a Fairy train has bound them
+    In wreaths upon her brow.
+
+  Far up along the mountain,
+    And in the valleys green,
+  In the field, and by the fountain,
+    The smiling ones are seen;
+  Some looking up to heaven,
+    With eyes of deepest blue;
+  Some stooping down at even
+    To quaff the sparkling dew.
+
+  And from them all there speaketh
+    A language sweet and pure,
+  Fitted for him who seeketh
+    A God's nomenclature.
+  As tidal pulses thrill the seas,
+    And moments build the hours,
+  Heaven breathes her unvoiced mysteries
+    In sermons from the Flowers.
+
+
+
+
+{123}
+
+  THE UNATTAINABLE.
+
+  I yearn for the Unattainable;
+    For a glimpse of a brighter day,
+      When hatred and strife,
+      With their legions rife,
+    Shall forever have passed away;
+      When pain shall cease,
+      And the dawn of peace
+    Come down from heaven above,
+    And man can meet his fellow-man
+    In the spirit of Christian Love.
+
+  I yearn for the Unattainable;
+    For a Voice that may long be still,
+      To compel the mind,
+      As heaven designed,
+    To work the Eternal Will;
+      When the brute that sleeps
+      In the heart's still deeps
+    Will be changed to Pity's dove,
+    And man can meet his fellow-man
+    In the spirit of Perfect Love.
+
+
+
+
+{124}
+
+  YEARNINGS.
+
+  I long for diviner regions,--
+    The spirit would reach its goal;
+  Though, this world hath surpassing beauty,
+    It warreth against the soul.
+
+  There's a cloud in the eastern heaven;
+    Beyond it, a cold gray sky;
+  But I know that the sun's rare radiance
+    Will brighten it by and by.
+
+  In the fane of my soul is glowing
+    The joy of a hope to come,
+  That will touch with its Memnon finger
+    The lips that are cold and dumb:
+
+  Till illumed by the smile of heaven,
+    And blest with a purer life,
+  Will the gloom that o'ershades my spirit
+    Depart like a vanquished strife.
+
+
+
+
+{125}
+
+  INGRATITUDE.
+
+  Full on the wave the moonlight weeps,
+    To quiet its weary breast;
+  Cruelly cold the mad wave leaps,
+    With the moonshine on its crest;
+  Or with scowl, or growl, to the shore it creeps,
+    And sinks to its selfish rest.
+
+  Full on yon man-brute smiles the wife,
+    To gladden his turbid breast;
+  Savagely stern he seeks the life
+    Where he erewhile sought for zest;
+  With a curse, or worse, he ends the strife,
+    And sinks to his drunken rest.
+
+  Sea! has the moon no charms for thee
+    That can touch thy cruel breast?
+  Man! cannot woman's charity
+    Give ease to thy soul oppressed?
+  Thou shalt flee, O sea! the moon's witchery,
+    Till man has his final rest!
+
+
+
+
+{126}
+
+  TRUE LOVE.
+
+  Her love is like the hardy flower
+    That blooms amid the Alpine snows;
+  Deep-rooted in an icy bower,
+    No blast can chill its sweet repose;
+    But fresh as is the tropic rose,
+  Drenched in mellowest sunny beams,
+  It has as sweet delicious dreams
+    As any flower that grows.
+
+  And though an avalanche came down
+    And robbed it of the light of day,
+  That which withstood the tempest's frown
+    In grief would never pine away.
+    Hope might withhold her feeblest ray,
+  Within her bosom's snowy tomb
+  Love still would wear its everbloom,
+    The gayest of the gay.
+
+
+
+
+{127}
+
+  AN EVENING THOUGHT.
+
+  Bird of the fanciful plumage,
+    That foldest thy wings in the west,
+  Imbuing the shimmering ocean
+    With the hues of thy delicate breast,
+  Passing away into Dreamland,
+    To visions of heavenly rest!
+
+  Spirit! when thou art permitted
+    To bask in the sunset of life;
+  Serene in thine eventide splendour,
+    Thy countenance victory rife;
+  Leaving the world where thou'st triumphed
+    Alike o'er its greatness and strife:
+
+  Thine be the destiny, spirit,
+    To set like the sun in the west;
+  Folding thy wings of rare plumage,
+    Conscious of infinite rest,
+  Heralded on to thy haven,
+    The Fortunate Isles of the Blest.
+
+
+
+
+{128}
+
+  A THOUGHT FOR SPRING.
+
+  I am happier for the Spring;
+    For my heart is like a bird
+  That has many songs to sing,
+    But whose voice is never heard
+  Till the happy year is caroling
+    To the daisies on the sward.
+
+  I'd be happier for the Spring,
+    Though my heart had grown so old
+  Like a crone 'twould sit and sing
+    Its shrill runes of wintry cold;
+  For I'd know the year was caroling
+    To the daisies on the wold.
+
+
+
+
+{129}
+
+  THE SWALLOWS.
+
+  I asked the first stray swallow of the spring,
+  "Where hast thou been through all the winter drear?
+  Beneath what distant skies did'st fold thy wing,
+      Since thou wast with us here,
+  When Autumn's withered leaves foretold the passing year?"
+
+  And it replied, "Whither has Fancy led
+  The plumy thoughts that circle through thy brain?
+  Like birds about some mountain's lofty head,
+      Singing a sweet refrain:
+  There, without bound, I've been, and must return again."
+
+
+
+
+{130}
+
+  SONG.--CLARA AND I.
+
+  We have a joke whenever we meet,
+        Clara and I;
+  Prattle and laughter, and kisses sweet,
+        Clara and I.
+  Were I but twenty, and not two score,
+  Clara and I would laugh still more,
+  With plenty of hopeful years in store
+    For Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  With plenty of hopeful years in store
+        For Clara and I.
+
+  We will be true as Damascus steel,
+        Clara and I;
+  Sealing our truth with a honied seal,
+        Clara and I.
+  Eyes so loving, and lips of rose,
+  Cheeks where the dainty ripe peach grows,
+  And mouth where the sly god smiles jocose
+    At Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  And mouth where the sly god smiles jocose
+        At Clara and I.
+
+  We have a kiss whenever we part,
+        Clara and I;
+  Grasping of hand, and flutter of heart,
+        Clara and I.
+  Were she but twenty, and not sixteen,
+  Over my love she'd reign the queen,
+
+{131}
+
+  And no fair rival should come between
+    My Clara and I, Clara and I;
+  And no fair rival should come between
+        My Clara and I.
+
+
+
+
+{132}
+
+  THE APRIL SNOW-STORM--1858.
+
+  Spread lightly, virgin shower,
+    Your winding-sheet of snow;
+  Winter has lost his power,
+    But mock not at his woe.
+
+  Fall not so cold and bleak,
+    Nor blow the breath of scorn;
+  Gently.  Thy sire is weak;
+    And thou, his latest-born.
+
+  Frail type of life thou art:
+    At first, pure as the snow
+  We come--abide--depart;
+    What more, th' Immortals know.
+
+  Fall gently, virgin shower,
+    Though wild the west wind raves;
+  Watch through this midnight hour
+    Above the new-made graves!
+
+          ------
+
+  Spread gently, virgin shower,
+    Your winding sheet of snow;
+  My heart has lost its power,
+    But mock not at its woe.
+
+  Fall not so cold and bleak,
+    Treat not her corse with scorn;
+  Gently.  My heart is weak;
+    She, too, was April-born.
+
+{133}
+
+  Fall gently, virgin shower;
+    The heart once strong and brave
+  Hath lost its wonted power;
+    'Tis buried in her grave.
+
+
+
+
+{134}
+
+  GOOD NIGHT.
+
+      We never say, "Good Night;"
+  For our eager lips are fleeter
+  Than the tongue, and a kiss is sweeter
+      Than parting words,
+      That out like swords;
+  So we always kiss Good Night.
+
+      We never say "Good Night."
+  Words are precious, love, why lose 'em?
+  Fold them up in your maiden bosom;
+      There let them rest,
+      Like love unconfessed,
+  While we kiss a sweet Good Night.
+
+      There comes a last Good Night.
+  Human life--not love--is fleeting;
+  Heaven send many a birth-day greeting;
+      Dim years roll on
+      To life's gray-haired dawn,
+  Ere we kiss our last Good Night.
+
+          ------
+
+      We've kissed our last Good Night!
+  Love's warm tendrils torn and bleeding,
+  Vain all human interceding!
+      Oh, life! how dark!
+      Its one vital spark
+  Was quenched with our last GOOD NIGHT!
+
+
+
+
+{135}
+
+  HOPELESS.
+
+  I think through the long, long evenings,
+    Such thoughts of intensest pain,
+  And I hope and watch for her coming,
+    But I hope and watch in vain,
+  My life is a long, long journey
+    Over a barren moor,
+  With nought but my own dark shadow
+    Hastening on before.
+
+  I'm weary of all this watching,
+    Aweary of life and thought;
+  For there's little hope in the distance,
+    And for peace--I know it not!
+  Oh, why must we think and shudder,
+    And shudder and think again?
+  When life's but a dance of shadows
+    Haunting a barren plain!
+
+
+
+
+{139}
+
+  INTO THE SILENT LAND.
+
+  I.
+
+  "Oh for a pen of light, a tongue of fire,
+  That every word might burn in living flame
+  Upon the age's brow, and leave one name
+  Engraven on the future!  One desire
+  Fills every nook and cranny of my heart;
+  One hope--one sorrow--one beloved aim!
+  She whose pure life was of my life a part,
+  As light is of the day, could she inspire
+  My unmelodious muse, or tune the lyre
+  To diapasons worthy of the theme,
+  How would her joy put on its robes of light,
+  And nestle in my bosom once again,
+  As when life, like an Oriental dream,
+  Fanned by Arabian airs, glode down the stream
+  To music whose remembrance is a pain.
+  The foot of time might trample on my strain,
+  But could not quench its essence.  There was might,
+  And majesty, and greatness in the love
+  She blest me with--a blessing without stain,
+  And that was earthly; since her spirit-sight
+  Looked through the veil, and learned love's true delight,
+  Which sainted ministrants alone can prove
+  Who taste the waters of eternal love:
+  I pause to think how wonderful has grown
+  The love that was to me so wondrous here!
+  Chained as I am to this terrestrial sphere,
+  Groping my way through darkness, and alone,
+
+{140}
+
+  Like a blind eaglet soaring towards the sun,
+  How would her full experience lift and cheer
+  The heart that never feels its duty done,
+  And with a girdle of pure light enzone
+  My flowery world of thought, and make it all her own."
+
+    Thus mused the Minstrel, for his heart was sad.
+  Death had bereaved him of his bride, while youth,
+  And looming years of future trust and truth,
+  Knit them together, till their souls were clad
+  With joy ineffable.  Love's great High Priest
+  Sacrificed in their hearts to Him that doeth
+  All things well; and such rare, perpetual feast
+  Of love and truth no mortals ever had,
+  To keep their memories green, their lives serene and glad,
+
+    He sat again within the quiet room,
+  Where Death had snapped one golden thread of life,
+  And the pale hand of Sickness, sorrow-rife,
+  Robbed the plump cheek of childhood of its bloom;
+  Where she, another Philomena, moved
+  Like a fond Charity--the coming wife
+  Ordained to crown his being: And he loved.
+  The future rose before him, joy and gloom;
+  For where the sunlight shone, there waved the sable plume.
+
+    And yet he failed not, for the coming pain;
+  The coming bliss would counterbalance all.
+  The sight prophetic that perceived the pall,
+  Looked far beyond for the celestial gain.
+
+{141}
+
+  They do not truly love who cannot yield
+  The mortal up at the Immortal's call,
+  Or fail to triumph for the soul that's sealed.
+  His mind was strung to one harmonious strain:
+  To give when God should ask, and not resign in vain.
+
+    Love was to him life's chiefest victory;
+  He knew no greater, and he sought no less.
+  Like a green isle surrounded by the sea
+  That gives it health and vigour, so was he
+  The centre of love's sphere of perfectness;
+  He breathed its heavenly atmosphere; the key
+  That opened every chamber in love's court
+  Was in his hand; love's mystery was his sport,
+  He knelt within love's fane and worshipped there--
+  But not alone, for one was by his side
+  Whose love refined his being, filled the air
+  Of life's irradiated sky with light,
+  As the sun floods the heavens with a tide
+  Of renovating freshness, as the night
+  Is mellowed by the ample moon.
+  And hoping for the recompense
+  That would be theirs in life's approaching noon,
+  They built on hope's high eminence
+  Their airy palaces, whose magnificence
+  Surpassed the dreams that fancy drew,
+  So fair the promised land that lay within their view.
+
+    And here they lived; just within reach of heaven.
+  They could put forth their hands and touch the skies
+  That brooded o'er the walls of chrysolite,
+  The airy minarets, and golden domes
+
+{142}
+
+  Of their new home, by Love, the Maker, given,
+  Steeped in his brightest dyes.
+  All nature opened up her ponderous tomes,
+  Whereby they had new knowledge and new sight,
+  Learned greater truths, and saw the paths of light,
+  Mosaic-paven, which to Duty led.
+  And there were secrets written overhead,
+  In burning hieroglyphs of thought,
+  From which they gleaned such lessons as are taught
+  Only to those whom heaven, in graciousness,
+  Lifts in her arms with a divine caress.
+  Earth, like a joyous maiden whose pure soul
+  Is filled with sudden ecstacy, became
+  A fruitful Eden; and the golden bowl
+  That held their elixir of life was filled
+  To overflowing with the rarest draught
+  Ever by gods or men in rapture quaffed;
+  Till from the altar of their hearts love's flame
+  Passed through the veins of the world, and thrilled
+  The soul of the rejoicing universe,
+  Which became theirs, and like true neophytes
+  They drained the sweet nepenthe, and love's rites
+  Wiped from their hearts all trace of the primeval curse.
+
+    The happy months rolled on; each wedded day
+  A bridal; and each calm and holy eve
+  Strewed with rare blessings all the sunny way
+  Through which they passed, with so divine a joy
+  That in his brain would meditation weave
+  Love's roses into garlands of sweet song,
+  To deck the brow of his devoted wife.
+
+{143}
+
+  In this their El Dorado, no alloy
+  Mixed with the coinage of their wedded life;
+  The workmen in the mint an honest throng.
+  No wonder, then, that with go fine a bliss
+  Informing every fibre of his brain,
+  His thoughts begat impressions such as this;
+  Linking their lives together with a chain
+  Of melody as rare as some divine refrain:
+
+      Like dew to the thirsty flower,
+        Like sweets to the hungry bee,
+      Is love's divinest dower,
+      Its tenderness and power,
+        To thee, dear Wife! to thee.
+
+      Like light to the darkened spirit,
+        Like oil to the turbid sea,
+      Like truthful words to merit,
+      Are the blessings I inherit
+        With thee, dear Wife! with thee.
+
+      Afar in the distant ages,
+        Soul-ransomed, and spirit-free,
+      I'll read all being's pages,
+      Unread by mortal sages,
+        With thee, dear Wife! with thee.
+
+    None but the happy heart could carol thus;
+  A feather stolen from Devotion's wing,
+  To keep as a memento of the time
+  When earth met heaven, in life's duteous
+  And prayerful journey towards the shadowy clime;
+
+{144}
+
+  Ere they descended from their height sublime,
+  Where at Love's well-filled table, banqueting,
+  They sat, and watched the first glad year,
+  Earthlike, revolving round the sun
+  Of their true life.  Within that sphere
+  Was the new Eden.  One by one
+  The precious moments dropped like golden sands,
+  And formed the solid hours.  No perilous strands
+  Delayed life's blissful current, as it sped
+  Through flowery realms with blue skies overhead,
+  To songs and laughter musically sweet,
+  As if all sorrow had forever fled;
+  And idylls, sung with cheerful tone,
+  Haunted the calm, enchanted zone
+  That hemmed them in,
+  Where, like a stately queen,
+  Sate Peace, beatified, serene,
+  The guardian, heaven-sent, of this their fair demesne:
+
+            ------
+
+  LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY.
+
+  Like a bold, adventurous swain,
+    Just a year ago to-day,
+  I launched my bark on a radiant main,
+    And Hymen led the way:
+  "Breakers ahead!" he cried,
+    As he sought to overwhelm
+  My daring craft in the shrieking tide,
+  But Love, like a pilot bold and tried,
+    Sat, watchful, at the helm.
+
+{145}
+
+  And we passed the treacherous shoals,
+    Where many a hope lay dead,
+  And splendid wrecks were piled, like the ghouls
+    Of joys forever fled.
+  Once safely over these,
+    We sped by a fairy realm,
+  Across the bluest and calmest seas
+  That were ever kissed by a truant breeze,
+    With Love still at the helm.
+
+  We sailed by sweet, odorous isles,
+    Where the flowers and trees were one;
+  Through lakes that vied with the golden smiles
+    Of heaven's unclouded sun:
+  Still speeds our merry bark,
+    Threading life's peaceful realm,
+  And 'tis ever morn with our marriage-lark,
+  For the Pilot-Love of our safety-ark
+    Stands, watchful, at the helm.
+
+
+  II.
+
+  A beautiful land is the Land of Dreams,
+    Green hills and valleys, and deep lagoons,
+  Swift-rushing torrents and gentle streams,
+    Glassing a myriad silver moons;
+  Mirror-like lakelets with lovely isles,
+    And verdurous headlands looking down
+  On the Neread shapes, whose smiles
+    Were worth the price of a peaceful crown.
+
+{146}
+
+    We clutch at the silvery bars
+    Flung from the motionless stars,
+        And climb far into space,
+        Defying the race
+    Who ride in aerial cars.
+
+  We take up the harp of the mind,
+    And finger its delicate strings;
+        The notes, soft and light
+        As a moonbeam's flight,
+    Departing on viewless wings.
+  Afar in some fanciful bower,
+    Some region of exquisite calm,
+  Where the starlight falls in a gleaming shower,
+        We sink to repose
+        On our couch of rose,
+    Inhaling no mortal balm.
+  The worlds are no longer unknown,
+    We pass through the uttermost sky,
+        Our eyelids are kissed
+        By a gentle mist,
+        And we feel the tone
+        Of a calmer zone,
+    As if heaven were wondrous nigh.
+
+  A fanciful land is the Land of Dreams,
+    Where earth and heaven are clasping hands;
+        No heaven--no earth,
+        But one wide, new birth,
+    Where Beauty and Goodness, and human worth,
+    Make earth of heaven and heaven of earth;
+    And angels are walking on golden strands.
+
+{147}
+
+    And the pearly gates of the universe
+    Of mind and fancy, opening
+    To the touch of the dainty finger-tips
+    Of elegant Peris with rose-bud lips,
+    Delicate, weird-like sounds are born
+    From the amber depths of odorous morn,
+    And spirits of beauty and light rehearse
+      Such strains as the young immortals sing,
+          When the souls of the blest
+          Are borne to their rest,
+    On luminous pinions of light serene
+    To the fragrant bowers of evergreen;
+    O'er the rosy plains, where the dying hours
+    Are changed by a spell to celestial flowers,
+    Where the skies have a hue no name can express,
+    For the tone of their passionate loveliness
+      Surpasseth all human imagining.
+
+    Such was their beautiful Dream of Life;
+        Each stern reality softened down;
+    Earth seemed to have ended her age of Strife,
+        And Harmony reigned, her olive crown
+    Besting on the Parian brow
+        Of the fair victor, like the gleam
+    Of the silvery moon on waves that flow
+        Thoughtfully down the summer stream.
+    Such was their earnest Dream of Life!
+    Was it some angel, with jealous eye,
+    Seeing such love beneath the sky
+    As never yet in world or star,
+    Or spheral height, that reached so far
+    'Twas never beheld by mortal sight,
+
+{148}
+
+    Or elsewhere, save in highest heaven,
+    Was duly earned, or truly given,
+    That leagued with the usurper, Death,
+    To quench the light that shone so bright
+    That in all the earth there was not a breath
+    So foul as to change their day to night?
+
+    Alone! alone!  Oh, word of fearful tone!
+    Well might the moon withhold her light,
+    The stars withdraw from human sight,
+    When Love was overthrown.
+    The Minstrel's heart how changed!
+    Love's principalities,
+    O'er which he reigned supreme,
+    Usurped by earth's realities;
+    The realm through which he ranged
+    Become a vanished dream!
+    And yet he sung, as sings
+    The dying swan that droops its wings
+    And drifts along the stream:
+
+            ------
+
+  THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW PANE.
+
+  A joy from my soul's departed,
+    A bliss from my heart is flown,
+  As weary, weary-hearted,
+    I wander alone--alone!
+  The night wind sadly sigheth
+    A withering, wild refrain,
+  And my heart within me dieth
+    For the light in the window pane.
+
+{149}
+
+  The stars overhead are shining,
+    As brightly as e'er they shone,
+  As heartless--sad--repining,
+    I wander alone--alone!
+  A sudden flash comes streaming,
+    And flickers adown the lane,
+  But no more for me is gleaming
+    The light in the window pane.
+
+  The voices that pass are cheerful,
+    Men laugh as the night winds moan;
+  They cannot tell how fearful
+    'Tis to wander alone--alone!
+  For them, with each night's returning,
+    Life singeth its tenderest strain,
+  Where the beacon of love is burning--
+    The light in the window pane.
+
+  Oh, sorrow beyond all sorrows
+    To which human life is prone:
+  Without thee, through all the morrows,
+    To wander alone--alone!
+  Oh, dark, deserted dwelling!
+    Where Hope like a lamb was slain,
+  No voice from thy lone walls welling,
+    No light in thy window pane.
+
+  But memory, sainted angel!
+    Rolls back the sepulchral stone,
+  And sings like a sweet evangel:
+    "No--never, never alone!
+
+{150}
+
+  True grief has its royal palace,
+    Each loss is a greater gain;
+  And Sorrow ne'er filled a chalice
+    That Joy did not wait to drain!
+
+              ------
+
+      "Man must be perfected
+      By suffering," he said;
+  "And Death is but the stepping-stone, whereby
+      We mount towards the gate
+      Of heaven, soon or late.
+  Death is the penalty of life; we die,
+
+      Because we live; and life
+      Is but a constant strife
+  With the immortal Impulse that within
+      Our bodies seeks control--
+      The time-abiding Soul,
+  That wrestles with us--yet we fain would win.
+
+      And what? the victory
+      Would make us slaves; and we,
+  Who in our blindness struggle for the prize
+      Of this illusive state
+      Called Life, do but frustrate
+  The higher law--refusing to be wise."
+
+      Rightly he knew, indeed,
+      Earth's brightest paths but lead
+  To the true wisdom of that perfect state,
+      Where Knowledge, heaven-born,
+      And Love's eternal morn,
+  Awaiteth those who would be truly great.
+
+{151}
+
+      With what abiding trust
+      He rose from out the dust,
+  As Death's swift chariot passed him by the way;
+      No visionary dream
+      Was his--no trifling theme--
+  The Soul's great Mystery before him lay:
+
+              ------
+
+  THE SOUL.
+
+  All my mind has sat in state,
+    Pond'ring on the deathless Soul:
+   What must be the Perfect Whole,
+  When the atom is so great!
+
+  God!  I fall in spirit down,
+    Low as Persian to the sun;
+    All my senses, one by one,
+  In the stream of Thought must drown.
+
+  On the tide of mystery,
+    Like a waif, I'm seaward borne,
+    Ever looking for the morn
+  That will yet interpret Thee,
+
+  Opening my blinded eyes,
+    That have strove to look within,
+    'Whelmed in clouds of doubt and sin,
+  Sinking where I dared to rise:
+
+  Could I trace one Spirit's flight,
+    Track it to its final goal,
+    Know that 'Spirit' meant 'the Soul,'
+  I must perish in the light.
+
+{152}
+
+  All in vain I search, and cry:
+    "What, O Soul, and whence art thou?"
+    Lower than the earth I bow,
+  Stricken with the grave reply:
+
+  "Wouldst thou ope what God has sealed--
+    Sealed in mercy here below?
+    What is best for man to know,
+  Shall most surely be revealed!"
+
+  Deep on deep of mystery!
+    Ask the sage, he knows no more
+    Of the soul's unspoken lore
+  Than the child upon his knee!
+
+  Cannot tell me whence the thought
+    That is passing through my mind!
+    Where the mystic soul is shrined,
+  Wherewith all my life is fraught?
+
+  Knows not how the brain conceives
+    Images almost divine;
+    Cannot work my mental mine,
+  Cannot bind my golden sheaves.
+
+  Is he wiser, then, than I,
+    Seeing he can read the stars?
+    I have rode in fancy's oars
+  Leagues beyond his farthest sky!
+
+  Some old Rabbi, dreaming o'er
+    The sweet legends of his race,
+    Ask him for some certain trace
+  Of the far, eternal shore.
+
+{153}
+
+  No.  The Talmud page is dark,
+    Though it burn with quenchless fire,
+    And the insight must pierce higher,
+  That would find the vital spark.
+
+  O, my Soul! be firm and wait,
+    Hoping with the zealous few,
+    Till the Shekinah of the True
+  Lead thee through the Golden Gate.
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS,
+
+WRITTEN IN THE ORILLIA WOODS.
+
+August, 1859.
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO
+
+My friends
+
+AT
+
+"ROCKRIDGE," ORILLIA, C. W.
+
+
+
+
+{159}
+
+  SONNETS.
+
+  PROEM.
+
+    Alice, I need not tell you that the Art
+  That copies Nature, even at its best,
+  Is but the echo of a splendid tone,
+  Or like the answer of a little child
+  To the deep question of some frosted sage.
+  For Nature in her grand magnificence,
+  Compared to Art, must ever raise her head
+  Beyond the cognizance of human minds:
+  This is the spirit merely; that, the soul.
+  We watch her passing, like some gentle dream,
+  And catch sweet glimpses of her perfect face;
+  We see the flashing of her gorgeous robes,
+  And, if her mantle ever falls at all,
+  How few Elishas wear it sacredly,
+  As if it were a valued gift from heaven.
+  God has created; we but re-create,
+  According to the temper of our minds;
+  According to the grace He has bequeathed;
+  According to the uses we have made
+  Of His good-pleasure given unto us.
+  And so I love my art; chiefly, because
+  Through it I rev'rence Nature, and improve
+  The tone and tenor of the mind He gave.
+  God sends a Gift; we crown it with high Art,
+
+{160}
+
+  And make it worthy the bestower, when
+  The talent is not hidden in the dust
+  Of pampered negligence and venial sin,
+  But put to studious use, that it may work
+  The end and aim for which it was bestowed.
+  All Good is God's; all Love and Truth are His;
+  We are His workers; and we dare not plead
+  But that He gave us largely of all these,
+  Demanding a discreet return, that when
+  The page of life is written to its close
+  It may receive the seal and autograph
+  Of His good pleasure--the right royal sign
+  And signet of approval, to the end
+  That we were worthy of the gift divine,
+  And through it praised the Great Artificer.
+
+    In my long rambles through Orillian woods;
+  Out on the ever-changing Couchiching;
+  By the rough margin of the Lake St. John;
+  Down the steep Severn, where the artist sun,
+  In dainty dalliance with the blushing stream,
+  Transcribes each tree, branch, leaf, and rock and flower,
+  Perfect in shape and colour, clear, distinct,
+  With all the panoramic change of sky--
+  Even as Youth's bright river, toying with
+  The fairy craft where Inexperience dreams,
+  And subtle Fancy builds its airy halls,
+  In blest imagination pictures most
+  Of bright or lovely that adorn life's banks,
+  With the blue vault of heaven over all;
+  On that serene and wizard afternoon,
+  As hunters chase the wild and timid deer
+
+{161}
+
+  We chased the quiet of Medonte's shades
+  Through the green windings of the forest road,
+  Past Nature's venerable rank and file
+  Of primal woods--her Old Guard, sylvan-plumed--
+  The far-off Huron, like a silver thread,
+  The clue to some enchanted labyrinth,
+  Dimly perceived beyond the stretch of woods,
+  Th' approaches tinted by a purple haze,
+  And softened into beauty like the dream
+  Of some rapt seer's Apocalyptic mood;
+  And when at Rockridge we sat looking out
+  Upon the softened shadows of the night,
+  And the wild glory of the throbbing stars;
+  Where'er we bent our Eden-tinted way:
+  My brain was a weird wilderness of Thought:
+  My heart, love's sea of passion tossed and torn,
+  Calmed by the presence of the loving souls
+  By whom I was surrounded.  All the while
+  They deemed me passing tame, and wondered when
+  My dreamy castle would come toppling down.
+  I was but driving back the aching past,
+  And mirroring the future.  And these leaves
+  Of meditation are but perfumes from
+  The censer of my feelings; honied drops
+  Wrung from the busy hives of heart and brain;
+  Mere etchings of the artist; grains of sand
+  From the calm shores of that unsounded deep
+  Of speculation, where all thought is lost
+  Amid the realms of Nature and of God.
+
+
+
+
+{162}
+
+  I.
+
+    My soul goes out to meet her, and my heart
+    Flings wide the portals of its love, and yearns
+    To have her enter its serene retreat.
+    A poor stray lamb, not wand'ring from the fold,
+    But all unstudied in the worldling's art,
+    Turning life's mintage into seeming gold,
+    Wherewith to purchase love and love's returns;
+    Unknowing that love's waters, though so sweet,
+    Lead to some bitter Marah.  So my soul
+    Goes out to meet her, and it clasps her home,
+    And seeks to bear her upward to the goal
+    At which the righteous enter.  From the dome
+    Of starriest Night two blest Immortals come,
+  To bear us spheral-ward to God's own mercy-seat.
+
+
+
+
+{163}
+
+  II.
+
+    'Tis summer still, yet now and then a leaf
+    Falls from some stately tree.  True type of life!
+    How emblamatic of the pangs that grief
+    Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one
+    Drop from us in our wrestle with the strife
+    And natural passions of our stately youth.
+    And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.
+    Each step conducts us through an opening door
+    Into new halls of being, hand in hand
+    With grave Experience, until we command
+    The open, wide-spread autumn fields, and store
+    The full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.
+    As on life's tott'ring precipice we stand,
+  Our sins like withered leaves are blown about the land.
+
+
+
+
+{164}
+
+  III.
+
+    Oh, holy sabbath morn! thrice blessed day
+    Of solemn rest, true peace, and earnest prayer.
+    How many hearts that never knelt to pray
+    Are glad to breathe thy soul-sustaining air.
+    I sit within the quiet woods, and hear
+    The village church-bell's soft inviting sound,
+    And to the confines of the loftiest sphere
+    Imagination wings its airy round;
+    A myriad spirits have assembled there,
+    Whose prayers on earth a sweet acceptance found.
+    I go to worship in Thy House, O God!
+    With her, thy young creation bright and fair;
+    Help us to do Thy will, and not despair,
+  Though both our hearts should bend beneath Thy chastening rod.
+
+
+
+
+{165}
+
+  IV.
+
+    The birds are singing merrily, and here
+    A squirrel claims the lordship of the woods,
+    And scolds me for intruding.  At my feet
+    The tireless ants all silently proclaim
+    The dignity of labour.  In my ear
+    The bee hums drowsily; from sweet to sweet
+    Careering, like a lover weak in aim.
+    I hear faint music in the solitudes;
+    A dreamlike melody that whispers peace
+    Imbues the calmy forest, and sweet rills
+    Of pensive feeling murmur through my brain,
+    Like ripplings of pure water down the hills
+    That slumber in the moonlight.  Cease, oh, cease!
+  Some day my weary heart will coin these into pain.
+
+
+
+
+{166}
+
+  V.
+
+    Blest Spirit of Calm that dwellest in these woods!
+    Thou art a part of that serene repose
+    That ofttimes lingers in the solitudes
+    Of my lone heart, when the tumultuous throes
+    Of some vast Grief have borne me to the earth.
+    For I have fought with Sorrow face to face;
+    Have tasted of the cup that brings to some
+    A frantic madness and delirious mirth,
+    But prayed and trusted for the light to come,
+    To break the gloom and darkness of the place.
+    Through the dim aisles the sunlight penetrates,
+    And nature's self rejoices; heaven's light
+    Comes down into my heart, and in its might
+  My soul stands up and knocks at God's own temple-gates.
+
+
+
+
+{167}
+
+  VI.
+
+    Through every sense a sweet balm permeates,
+    As music strikes new tones from every nerve.
+    The soul of Feeling enters at the gates
+    Of Intellect, and Fancy comes to serve
+    With fitting homage the propitious guest.
+    Nature, erewhile so lonely and oppressed,
+    Stands like a stately Presence, and looks down
+    As from a throne of power.  I have grown
+    Full twenty summers backwards, and my youth
+    Is surging in upon me till my hopes
+    Are as fresh-tinted as the checkered leaves
+    That the sun shines through.  All the future opes
+    Its endless corridors, where time unweaves
+  The threads of Error from the golden warp of Truth.
+
+
+
+
+{168}
+
+  VIII.
+
+    Our life is like a forest, where the sun
+    Glints down upon us through the throbbing leaves;
+    The full light rarely finds us.  One by one,
+    Deep rooted in our souls, there springeth up
+    Dark groves of human passion, rich in gloom,
+    At first no bigger than an acorn-cup.
+    Hope threads the tangled labyrinth, but grieves
+    Till all our sins have rotted in their tomb,
+    And made the rich loam of each yearning heart
+    To bring forth fruits and flowers to new life.
+    We feel the dew from heaven, and there start
+    From some deep fountain little rills whose strife
+    Is drowned in music.  Thus in light and shade
+  We live, and move, and die, through all this earthly glade.
+
+
+
+
+{169}
+
+  VIII.
+
+    Above where I am sitting, o'er these stones,
+    The ocean waves once heaved their mighty forms;
+    And vengeful tempests and appalling storms
+    Wrung from the stricken sea portentous moans,
+    That rent stupendous icebergs, whose huge heights
+    Crashed down in fragments through the startled nights.
+    Change, change, eternal change in all but God!
+    Mysterious nature! thrice mysterious state
+    Of body, soul, and spirit!  Man is awed,
+    But triumphs in his littleness.  A mote,
+    He specks the eye of the age and turns to dust,
+    And is the sport of centuries.  We note
+    More surely nature's ever-changing fate;
+  Her fossil records tell how she performs her trust.
+
+
+
+
+{170}
+
+  IX.
+
+    Another day of rest, and I sit here
+    Among the trees, green mounds, and leaves as sere
+    As my own blasted hopes.  There was a time
+    When Love and perfect Happiness did chime
+    Like two sweet sounds upon this blessed day;
+    But one has flown forever, far away
+    From this poor Earth's unsatisfied desires
+    To love eternal, and the sacred fires
+    With which the other lighted up my mind
+    Have faded out and left no trace behind,
+    But dust and bitter ashes.  Like a bark
+    Becalmed, I anchor through the midnight dark,
+    Still hoping for another dawn of Love.
+  Bring back my olive branch of Happiness, O dove!
+
+
+
+
+{171}
+
+  X.
+
+    Poor snail, that toilest at my weary feet,
+    Thou, too, must have thy burden!  Life is sweet
+    If we would make it so.  How vast a load
+    To carry all its days along the road
+    Of its serene existence!  Christian-like,
+    It toils with patience, seeking sweet repose
+    Within itself when wearied with the throes
+    Of its life-struggle.  The low sounds that strike
+    Upon the ear in wafts of melody,
+    Are cruel mockeries, O snail, of thee.
+    The cricket's chirp, the grasshopper's shrill tone,
+    The locust's jarring cry, all mock thy lone
+    And dumb-like presence.  May this heart of mine,
+  When tried, put on a resignation such as thine.
+
+
+
+
+{172}
+
+  XI.
+
+    Oh, that I were the spirit of these wilds!
+    I'd make the zephyrs dance for my delight,
+    And lead a life as happy as a child's.
+    Echo should tremble with unfeigned affright,
+    And mock its own weird answers.  I would kiss
+    Eliza's cheek, and touch her lips with dew
+    Stol'n from the scented rose.  And Carrie's laugh
+    Should be a portion of the silver rills'
+    Sweet music, breathed mellifluously through
+    The hearts of generations.  She should quaff
+    The nectar of inspired song, and thrills
+    Of sweet remembrances of her should strew
+    The woodland air, as sand-grains strew the shore;
+  And these two hearts should be my joy for evermore.
+
+
+
+
+{173}
+
+  XII.
+
+    The moon shone down on fair Eliza's face,
+    And made it beautiful.  No fitter place
+    Could she have chosen for her gracious smile;
+    For as she sat there in the languid light,
+    Methought I'd found a soul as free from guile
+    As ever came from God.  Oh, favored Night!
+    Oh, mild, impassioned moon and starry spheres!
+    To gaze upon her through the silent years
+    Without rebuke.  But I have looked within,
+    And found the truest beauty; have laid bare
+    A spiritual excellence as rare
+    As ever mortal being hoped to win.
+    Heart, mind, and soul, I analysed them all,
+  And saw where heaven kept divinest carnival.
+
+
+
+
+{174}
+
+  XIII.
+
+    I've almost grown a portion of this place,
+    I seem familiar with each mossy stone;
+    Even the nimble chipmunk passes on,
+    And looks, but never scolds me.  Birds have flown
+    And almost touched my hand; and I can trace
+    The wild bees to their hives.  I've never known
+    So sweet a pause from labour.  But the tone
+    Of a past sorrow, like a mournful rill
+    Threading the heart of some melodious hill,
+    Or the complainings of the whippoorwill,
+    Passes through every thought, and hope, and aim.
+    It has its uses; for it cools the flame
+    Of ardent love that burns my being up--
+  Love, life's celestial pearl, diffused through all its cup.
+
+
+
+
+{175}
+
+  XIV.
+
+    There is no sadness here.  Oh, that my heart
+    Were calm and peaceful as these dreamy groves!
+    That all my hopes and passions, and deep loves,
+    Could sit in such an atmosphere of peace,
+    Where no unholy impulses would start
+    Responsive to the throes that never cease
+    To keep my spirit in such wild unrest.
+    'Tis only in the struggling human breast
+    That the true sorrow lives.  Our fruitful joys
+    Have stony kernels hidden in their core.
+    Life in a myriad phases passeth here,
+    And death as various--an equal poise;
+    Yet all is but a solemn change--no more;
+  And not a sound save joy pervades the atmosphere.
+
+
+
+
+{176}
+
+  XV.
+
+    Last night I heard the plaintive whippoorwill,
+    And straightway Sorrow shot his swiftest dart.
+    I know not why, but it has chilled my heart
+    Like some dread thing of evil.  All night long
+    My nerves were shaken, and my pulse stood still,
+    And waited for a terror yet to come
+    To strike harsh discords through my life's sweet song.
+    Sleep came--an incubus that filled the sum
+    Of wretchedness with dreams so wild and chill
+    The sweat oozed from me like great drops of gall;
+    An evil spirit kept my mind in thrall,
+    And rolled my body up like a poor scroll
+    On which is written curses that the soul
+  Shrinks back from when it sees some hellish carnival.
+
+
+
+
+{177}
+
+  XVI.
+
+    My footsteps press where, centuries ago,
+    The Red Men fought and conquered; lost and won.
+    Whole tribes and races, gone like last year's snow,
+    Have found the Eternal Hunting-Grounds, and run
+    The fiery gauntlet of their active days,
+    Till few are left to tell the mournful tale:
+    And these inspire us with such wild amaze
+    They seem like spectres passing down a vale
+    Steeped in uncertain moonlight, on their way
+    Towards some bourn where darkness blinds the day,
+    And night is wrapped in mystery profound.
+    We cannot lift the mantle of the past:
+    We seem to wander over hallowed ground:
+  We scan the trail of Thought, but all is overcast.
+
+
+
+
+{178}
+
+  XVII.
+
+    THERE WAS A TIME--and that is all we know!
+    No record lives of their ensanguined deeds:
+    The past seems palsied with some giant blow,
+    And grows the more obscure on what it feeds.
+    A rotted fragment of a human leaf;
+    A few stray skulls; a heap of human bones!
+    These are the records--the traditions brief--
+    'Twere easier far to read the speechless stones.
+    The fierce Ojibwas, with tornado force,
+    Striking white terror to the hearts of braves!
+    The mighty Hurons, rolling on their course,
+    Compact and steady as the ocean waves!
+    The stately Chippewas, a warrior host!
+  Who were they?--Whence?--And why? no human tongue can boast!
+
+
+
+
+{179}
+
+  XVIII.
+
+    I do not wonder that the Druids built
+    Their sacred altars in the sacred groves.
+    Fit place to worship God.  The native guilt
+    Of our poor weak humanity behoves
+    That we should set aside no little part
+    Of the devotion of the yearning heart
+    To rest and peace, as typical of that
+    Sweet tranquil rest to which the good aspire.
+    Calm thoughts are as the purifying fire
+    That burns the useless dross from life's mixed gold,
+    And lights the torch of mind.  While grasping at
+    The shadow for the substance, youth grows old,
+    And groves of palm spring up in every heart--
+  Temples to God, wherein we pray and sit apart.
+
+
+
+
+{180}
+
+  XIX.
+
+    How my heart yearns towards my friends at home!
+    Poor suffering souls, whose lives are like the trees,
+    Bent, crushed, and broken in the storm of life!
+    A whirlwind of existence seems to roam
+    Through some poor hearts continually.  These
+    Have neither rest nor pause; one day is rife
+    With tempest, and another dashed with gloom;
+    And the few rays of light that might illume
+    Their thorny path are drenched with tearful rain.
+    Yet these pure souls live not their lives in vain;
+    For they become as spiritual guides
+    And lights to others; rising with the tides
+    Of their full being into higher spheres,
+  Brighter and brighter still through all the coming years.
+
+
+
+
+{181}
+
+  XX.
+
+    I sat within the temple of her heart,
+    And watched the living Soul as it passed through,
+    Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure.
+    The calm, immortal Presence made me start.
+    It searched through all the chambers of her mind
+    With one mild glance of love, and smiled to view
+    The fastnesses of feeling, strong--secure,
+    And safe from all surprise.  It sits enshrined
+    And offers incense in her heart, as on
+    An altar sacred unto God.  The dawn
+    Of an imperishable love passed through
+    The lattice of my senses, and I, too,
+    Did offer incense in that solemn place--
+  A woman's heart made pure and sanctified by Grace.
+
+
+
+
+{182}
+
+  XXI.
+
+    Intense young soul, that takest hearts by storm,
+    And chills them into sorrow with a look!
+    Some minds are open as a well-read book;
+    But here the leaves are still uncut--unscanned,
+    The volume clasped and sealed, and all the warm
+    And passionate exuberance of love
+    Held in submission to these threadbare flaws
+    And creeds of weaknesses, poor human laws.
+    Stand up erect--nay kneel--for from above
+    God's light is streaming on thee.  Fashion's daws
+    May fawn and natter like a cringing pack
+    Of servile hounds beneath the keeper's hand,
+    But these are not thy peers; they drive thee back:
+  Urge on the car of Thought, and take a higher stand!
+
+
+
+
+{183}
+
+  XXII.
+
+    Dark, dismal day--the first of many such!
+    The wind is sighing through the plaintive trees,
+    In fitful gusts of a half-frenzied woe;
+    Affrighted clouds the hand might almost touch,
+    Their black wings bend so mournfully and low,
+    Sweep through the skies like night-winds o'er the seas.
+    There is no chirp of bird through all the grove,
+    Save that of the young fledgeling rudely flung
+    From its warm nest; and like the clouds above
+    My soul is dark, and restless as the breeze
+    That leaps and dances over Couchiching.
+    Soon will the last duett be sweetly sung;
+    But through the years to come our hearts will ring
+  With memories, as dear as time and love can bring.
+
+
+
+
+{184}
+
+  AU REVOIR.
+
+  That morn our hearts were like artesian wells,
+  Both deep and calm, and brimming with pure love.
+  And in each one, like to an April day,
+  Truth smiled and wept, while Courage wound his horn,
+  Dispatching echoes that are whispering still
+  Through all the vacant chambers of our souls;
+  While Sorrow sat with drooped and aimless wing,
+  Within the solitary fane of thought.
+  We wished some warlike Joshua were there
+  To make the sun stand still, or to put back
+  The dial to the brighter side of time.
+  A cloud hung over Couchiching; a cloud
+  Eclipsed the merry sunshine of our hearts.
+  We needed no philosopher to teach
+  That laughter is not always born of joy.
+  "All's for the best," the fair Eliza said;
+  And we derived new courage from her lips,
+  That spake the maxim of her trusting heart.
+  We even smiled, at some portentous sign
+  That signified--well, if it turn out true,
+  Then, I'll believe it.  Heaven works in signs
+  More parting words, more lingering farewells,
+  Pressure of hands, and thrilling touch of lips,
+  A waving of white handkerchiefs, and Love
+  Grew prayerful, and knelt down, and wept
+  His scattered rosary of human hearts.
+
+{185}
+
+  Soon looking back, we saw where Ramah lay;
+  Cold, wan, and cheerless as the race it holds.
+  And as we neared the Lake the sun came forth,
+  As tardily as if the sluggard day
+  Had slept more soundly for the piping storm,
+  That, veering round, had flung its challenge out
+  In sullen menace to the western sky,
+  Now black with clouds.  A flash, a muffled roll
+  Of elemental passion, broke the spell,
+  And down on Simcoe fell the sudden rain,
+  Veiling the gloomy landscape from our sight.
+  Throughout the changeful day, alternate cloud
+  And sunshine left their traces on our hearts,
+  Until the evening reared its dreamy piles
+  Of cloud-built chateaux steeped in gorgeous tints,
+  That from celestial censers are outpoured
+  When the grand miracle of sunset draws
+  Our souls, all yearning with a joy divine,
+  To share the fleeting glory, ere it goes
+  To glean new splendors for the ruby morn.
+  'Tis ever thus with true impassioned love;
+  Love's sun, like that of day, may set, and set,
+  It hath as bright a rising in the morn.
+  True love has no gray hairs; his golden looks
+  Can never whiten with the snows of time.
+  Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart,
+  Like snow upon the evergreens; but love
+  Can gather sweetest honey by the way,
+  E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief.
+  We have been spoiled with blessings.  Though the world
+
+{186}
+
+  Holds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled,
+  God ever opens up new founts of bliss--
+  Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soul
+  Can wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins.
+  We carve our sorrows on the face of joy,
+  Reversing the true image; we are weak
+  Where strength is needed most, and most is given.
+
+  Thus musing, as they chatted in the train,
+  The whistle broke my reverie, as one
+  Might be awakened from a truthful dream.
+  The city gas-lights flashed into our eyes;
+  And we, half-shrinking from the glare and din,
+  Thought but of two more partings on the morn,
+  When Love should be enfettered, hand and foot,
+  For the long aeon of a human year.
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hesperus, by Charles Sangster
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