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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013534635 
 
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SKELETON LEAVES 
 
SKELETON LEAVES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK LEYTON 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd. 
 
 PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD 
 1892 
 
h.\(\<\^-^^ 
 
This book is dedicated to the Chairman and Members 
 of the Howard Association, who have done so much 
 to rescue the Orphan Children of this country' from a 
 contamination which is often worse than death. 
 
 " I thought I heard a voice from heaven saying, 
 ' It shall be well for thee . . . that such . . . are the 
 angels vfho behold my Father's face.' " 
 
 A Walk in a Workhouse. Dickens. 
 
Note. — The author is indebted to the editor of the "Spectator" 
 for permission to republish the poem entitled "Anxiety" at the 
 commencement of Chapter XIII. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prologue i 
 
 Preludes 3 
 
 Introduction 5 
 
 Leaves from the Diary of a Suicide. 
 
 I. Light II 
 
 IL Shade 19 
 
 III. Darkness 31 
 
 IV. Hell 37 
 
 V. Pollution 43 
 
 VI. Hope 51 
 
 VII. Love 59 
 
 VIII. Passion 69 
 
 IX. The Wind 81 
 
 X. The Whirlwind , 86 
 
 XI. Repentance 91 
 
 XII. Rest 97 
 
 XIII. Anxiety 105 
 
 XIV. Laughter in 
 
 XV. Tears 119 
 
 XVI. Madness 123 
 
 XVII. Weakness 131 
 
 XVIII. Death I37 
 
 Conclusion . 144 
 
 Ehlogue 146 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The story that now is written 
 
 Is destined for some to hear, 
 The voice of the dead is speaking, 
 
 The soul of the lost is near, 
 Though weak is the trembling finger 
 
 Here chosen to point the way 
 That leads through the gloomy forest 
 
 To the light of sun-lit day. 
 How sweet are the many voices 
 
 That have sung and yet shall sing ; 
 Yet nature has sounds of sadness 
 As well as her notes of gladness, 
 
 And it is not always spring. 
 
 The poet can only utter 
 
 The words he is bid to speak ; 
 
 He finds but the vision granted 
 Whatever his heart may seek. 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 It may be a fairy picture 
 
 With flashes of rosy light, 
 Or but a wild waste of shadows 
 
 That hover through realms of night. 
 The music of words that follow 
 
 Oft mingle in tumult wild, 
 And hideous groans come after 
 The rippling sounds of laughter 
 
 That rose from a little child. 
 
 How often, through hours of waiting, 
 
 No vision will greet his sight. 
 Till silence break up in tumult 
 
 And darkness is changed to light. 
 Yet oh for how short a moment 
 
 Such flashes of glory stay ! 
 His eyes are still dim with brightness, 
 
 But the scenes have passed away ; 
 And in the succeeding silence, 
 
 When he weaves the tangled thread, 
 The colours fade and mists conceal 
 A glory he would fain reveal. 
 
 And half the flowers are dead. 
 
PRELUDES. 
 
 I. 
 Does silence reign where sound can never reach, 
 Or darkness where no light may penetrate, 
 Or depth unfathomed that no skill shall probe ? 
 Is there a sorrow that no tender love 
 Can breathe away, if only for a time, 
 Where hope is lost and faith is lying dead? 
 Dwells there a soul whose love is turned to hate ; 
 Whose joy is changed to boundless misery ; 
 Whose days drag out their weary hours in pain ; 
 Whose nights are haunted by some direful shape, 
 Foul progeny of sickness borne by sin? 
 If any such upon the earth still breathe, 
 Were it not best their souls should pass away 
 Far from the tyrant body's cruel grasp 
 Into the unknown region of the dead ? 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 II. 
 
 There was brightness in the morning, 
 There was sunlight in the day, 
 
 Yet I heard a sound of moaning 
 As the daylight passed away. 
 
 Out of the mountain crevice 
 A stream burst, pure and bright ; 
 
 Men mixed it with corruption 
 And buried it from sight. 
 
 A child in innocence lay down, 
 
 And the Angels watched her sleep ; 
 
 Did they lack the prophet's vision ? 
 Did they lack the power to weep ? 
 
 A body all polluted 
 
 Floats on the putrid flood, 
 Corruption on corruption, 
 
 In water and in blood. 
 4 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 From out a shady lane that winds along 
 By cowslip-tinted fields and tangled woods 
 A footpath breaks, leading the curious step 
 Some twenty paces to a wicket gate ; 
 Beyond the gate a cottage thatched with straw 
 Is partly seen through wild, neglected growth 
 Of twining creepers that surround its walls. 
 The place is slipping quickly to decay ; 
 The owl has made its nest within the thatch. 
 The ivy creeps along through broken panes 
 And wanders ia the desolated rooms ; 
 Weeds hide the gravelled pathway, and the flowers 
 That still live on fight for the light and air. 
 No human voice is heard, nor any sound 
 Of laughter or of play, but silence reigns 
 From morn till eve, save that the songs of birds 
 Still pass at times over this still retreat, 
 S 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Like wavelets struggling through a stagnant lake. 
 
 When last I stood here, in the evening time, 
 The bats flew round me, and a death's-head moth 
 Was resting on a broken tree hard by. 
 Around whose stem the deadly nightshade crept ; 
 The croak of frogs rose from the winding pond 
 Where once fair spreading water-lilies grew. 
 While o'er my head a screeching owlet flew. 
 
 How changed a scene was this ! Years now have passed 
 Since I came here to bid a long farewell 
 To Herbert Inglow and his little child. 
 I well remember both the place and hour. 
 It was in harvest time, when men work late, 
 And thus the cottage still was tenantless ; 
 But soon I heard the sound of footsteps pass 
 Along the lane, and saw my friend approach 
 With weary step toward me. By his side 
 A little girl danced merrily along, 
 His only child, a pretty wayward imp. 
 Whose dark hair curled in many waving rings 
 Upon her shoulders, and whose deep brown eyes 
 Revealed strange indiscoverable depths 
 Beneath their merry light. As thus they came, 
 Bathed in the warmth of pleasant sunset light, 
 
 6 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 They formed a picture of contrasting life — 
 Of laughing merry youth, and weary age. 
 
 The father sat beside me, and we talked 
 Of my new life, and all the hopes of fame 
 That dwelt in my young heart, and thus he spoke : 
 "It seems so strange that you should leave behind 
 This country life, in eager hope to gain , 
 Amid the turmoil of the city's toil, 
 A greater good ; for well you know that I — 
 Weary of ceaseless struggle with the world 
 Which took the little that I ever had — 
 Came here at last, and found in humbler work 
 A happier life, both for myself and child ; 
 A happier death for her whose toil is o'er. 
 Ah, little one," he said, now stooping down 
 To stroke his child's soft curls, " your mother loved 
 To hear the song of birds, and pick the flowers 
 And smell their breath, and feel her weary feet 
 Press the soft mossy grass. And here she died. 
 Rejoicing to the last j and yet more glad 
 To know that you, her little baby girl, 
 Should ever live far from the hated town j 
 Still free to chase the gaudy butterfly 
 And wade your naked feet in dewy fields : 
 7 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 As she herself had also wandered wild 
 In country freedom, when a little child." 
 
 Then did he try to urge me from the path 
 Which seemed so rosy in my youthful eyes ; 
 Bidding me be content with what I had, 
 Nor risk the little to obtain the great. 
 " The rich," he said, " the very rich are there ; 
 And like the straws that float upon a pool 
 Are slowly drawn to any log of wood 
 By sure attraction, so the greater wealth 
 Attracts the lesser heaps and sucks them in ; 
 Thus poor men lose what richer men must win." 
 
 Yet was I not content, for youth believes 
 In its own wondrous power, and conjures up 
 Grand strength to change the common law of life, 
 Dreaming that failure is the lot of fools ; 
 And seldom troubled by the thought that he 
 Not only stands among the foolish herd, 
 But likewise as a fool among the fools. 
 
 At length we parted, and through many years — 
 I'ossed in the tumult of the busy world, 
 First in this country, then across the sea — 
 I almost lost remembrance of the past ; 
 Until once more, in weariness, I sought 
 8 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 My country home and my lost solitude. 
 
 But when I came to seek my former friend 
 His home was passing quickly to decay, 
 Untenanted by any human life, 
 And haunted by foreboding sounds of woe. 
 I gathered soon from those who dwelt around 
 That many years gone by the old man died, 
 Leaving 'his child, a girl twelve years of age. 
 Orphaned and fatherless, an object fit 
 For some sweet ministering hand of love 
 To shelter and protect. But though I heard 
 That many thought it was a bitter wrong 
 To take a child, so used to tenderness, 
 And bury her within the workhouse gloom. 
 Yet none had offered her the sheltering care 
 Of their own cottage, and had bid her dwell 
 As child of theirs among their little ones. 
 
 Thus burdened by a bitter weight of fear, — 
 Remembering that pretty childish face, 
 And thinking of the father, now no more, — 
 I sought with eager care through weary weeks 
 To gain some tidings of her ; till at last 
 A cold sad light broke through the circling gloom 
 Upon a nameless and unhallowed tomb. 
 9 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 I also found, in papers of the dead, 
 
 The record of a hfe so full of pain, 
 
 So full of awful and accusing truth, 
 
 That though I fain would hide the misery, 
 
 And am compelled in part to cast a veil 
 
 Over the horror that is written there. 
 
 Yet, for the sorrows of the sorrowful. 
 
 For purity that is about to fall. 
 
 And for the dying that are still alive. 
 
 Whose groans of pain may never reach the ears 
 
 Of pitying hearts, am I compelled to give 
 
 This story from the records of the dead. 
 
LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF A 
 SUICIDE. 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 When the morn is fresh and bright, 
 When the sun in softened light 
 Comes half veiled by mists of night, 
 
 Then each little child is bid 
 To throw back the coverlid 
 Under which its form is hid. 
 
 Nature, in awakened pride. 
 Night's dark curtain opens wide 
 And reveals the country-side. 
 
 Happy children, come away. 
 Shout and sing, and laugh and play, 
 Welcome thus the opening day. 
 
 Peeping through their tangled hair 
 Childish faces look more fair 
 Painted by the balmy air. 
 
 All things beautiful and bright 
 Now would add to your delight ; 
 Cast away the dreams of night. 
 
I. 
 
 It was my mother's custom ere she died 
 
 To write each evening of our simple life ; 
 
 Now month by month the book lies on its shelf, 
 
 Save that my father takes it down at times 
 
 When we are quite alone, and with wet eyes 
 
 Reads on and on and never speaks a word, 
 
 Leaving me lonely in the fading light. 
 
 And so the other day I asked his leave 
 
 To write about our life as mother did. 
 
 He smiled at me, and said that I was young 
 
 To tease my brain with such a weary task. 
 
 But when my birthday came he brought this book, 
 
 With lock and key, and bade me try my hand 
 
 If I so wished it. And I mean to try. 
 
 It was so nice this morning ; the bright sun 
 Came right into my bedroom as I slept. 
 For I forgot last night to draw the blind ; 
 13 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 The window too was open, and a thrush 
 Was standing on the sill with open beak 
 And singing, Oh ! so loudly and so sweet, 
 I did not like to move about the room 
 For fear that I should frighten it away ; 
 So quietly moving all the bed-clothes off 
 To let the sun shine warmly down on me, 
 I lay and listened, wondering what it said. 
 
 Father has always told me that the birds 
 Can understand each other ; that they talk 
 Even as we do ; but it seems to me 
 They say one thing and then the same again. 
 And just sing on as if to please themselves ; 
 This being done, they wait for no reply, 
 But shake their feathers and away they fly. 
 
 It was so pleasant thus to wait and feel 
 The soft warm air upon me as I lay 
 Uncovered in the sunlight. It was joy 
 To note the shadows cast by ivy leaves 
 Dance on my legs and arms, and see the motes 
 That wavered in the sunlight, and to count 
 The playful flies that ever over me 
 Circled in some strange dance ; now one would rest 
 Until his part had come to join the play, 
 14 
 
SKELETOX LEAVES 
 
 Called by some passing playmate on its way. 
 Thus I lay watching, till my restless feet 
 Would stay no longer, and with eager bound 
 I leaped up quickly, scattering the flies, 
 That hurried off to find-a quieter spot. 
 The thrush his wide bill shut and flew away, 
 To close his song upon the apple tree. 
 Oh ! the delight of action after sleep, 
 The joy of thinking of the joys to come, 
 The tickling softness of the dewy grass 
 To my bare feet as I went down to bathe 
 Among the water-lilies in the pool. 
 I love the pool. It is the sweetest place 
 In all the garden, with the drooping trees 
 Touching its surface, and the mossy steps 
 Which lead right down on to its gravelly bed. 
 It is so nice to bathe in. When I stand 
 About the centre all the wavelets beat 
 Around my waist, making a circle there ; 
 And if I bend, they slowly rise around. 
 Getting entangled in my floating hair. 
 This morning, as I stepped from off the stones, 
 My feet got tangled in the lily stems, 
 And I fell over, crushing all the flowers. 
 15 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 A butterfly was resting on a leaf 
 
 And very nearly found a watery grave, 
 
 For when I rose and pushed the dripping hair 
 
 From off my face, I saw it tossed about 
 
 Upon the troubled water, and borne on 
 
 To where the stream escapes from out the pond 
 
 And passes down a little waterfall 
 
 Into a tangled wood. I struggled near, 
 
 And just had time to reach the butterfly 
 
 With a broad leaf. Poor helpless little thing. 
 
 Unable yet to use those damaged wings 
 
 On which the soft light bloom would rest no more ! 
 
 But soon the sunlight, falling where it lay, 
 
 Dried its wet wings, and then it flew away. 
 
 When it had gone, I picked some lily flowers 
 And smaller leaves, winding them round and round 
 Into a garland, which I placed in pride 
 Upon my head ; and sitting down in state 
 Upon the mossy step, I chose a bud 
 With its green stem, and used it as a wand. 
 Thus like a fairy queen I waiting sat, 
 And hoped the other fairies, seeing me — 
 Alone and still — would come and lightly play 
 In circles round, and teach me too the way, 
 i6 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 The hidden path that leads to fairyland. 
 
 Now, as I waved my wand above the pool, 
 A pair of shining eyes looked up to mine 
 Through that clear water, and I stayed my hand, 
 Waiting in breathless hope the vision fair 
 That soon should rise into the lighter air. 
 Slowly the eyes drew nearer as I watched, 
 Rising above the surface, but alas ! 
 Behind them moved the figure of a toad. 
 Then did this creature drag, with clinging claws. 
 Its bloated body up the mossy stones, 
 And sat between my feet and looked at me. 
 ThQ cold, strange glitter of its golden eyes. 
 Sunk in the horrid reptile's lumpy skin, 
 Froze all my blood with creeping icy chill. 
 And as in loathing soon I turned away 
 To look elsewhere, I found an altered day. 
 
 The scene was changed. The sun had passed from sight 
 Behind the clouds. The pool lay still and cold, 
 No ripples on it, and no dancing light. 
 But here and there some falling rain was shown 
 By quickly passing rings, and even now 
 Drops fell upon my face and trickled down 
 Like falling tears. 
 
 r7 c 
 
SHADE. 
 
 In slmnber deep a child will sleep, 
 And who regards its dreams ? 
 
 So calm the rest, by angels blest. 
 How beautiful it seems ! 
 
 Hush'd is the night ; the softened light 
 
 Falls on the infant's face : 
 No pain is near, no breath of fear — 
 
 A half-formed smile we trace. 
 
 Then joy will fade : some ghostly shade 
 
 Hovers before its eyes ; 
 A fancied harm disturbs the calm. 
 
 And in its dream it cries. 
 
 What man can tell from where it fell. 
 That shadow, dark and cold ? 
 
 Nor would we know what coming woe 
 The shadow has foretold. 
 
II. 
 
 Scarce have I filled the tenth of all my book, 
 Though just a year has passed since I began, 
 And night by night covered the empty leaves. 
 At first it seemed an easy, pleasant task 
 To talk about myself and all I did ; 
 But as each day went by, so like the last, 
 I let it drop, just once or twice at first, 
 Then, having broken through the even rule, 
 It soon was left fi-om week to week untouched, 
 Till now I write just when the fancy comes, 
 And very seldom in the summer-time. 
 
 To-day I went with father to the fields, 
 That I might help him bind the sheaves of wheat. 
 It still seems strange, seeing him working there 
 Among the labourers and common folk, 
 His face so unlike theirs, his voice so soft 
 Heard 'mid their louder jests and coarser speech. 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 As in the evening we were walking home 
 I thought him sad, for though I talked enough 
 He seldom answered ; and, on looking up. 
 The face turned to me wore a pallid hue 
 Through all the sun-burn, and a weary gaze 
 Was in those eyes, as if he heeded not 
 The words I said ; while every now and then 
 A look of pain passed over that dear face 
 That made me sad. I wonder why it came. 
 
 To-night he sleeps as I am writing here, 
 Yet over those closed eyes that look of pain 
 Still seems to lie. I also slept at first, 
 Weary through working in the sultry heat ; 
 And while I slept I dreamed a curious dream. 
 
 I thought that I was back among the corn, 
 Leaning against the sheaves, and still I heard 
 The oft-repeated sound of ripping straw 
 As the bright sickle cut the bending blades. 
 Circling around, the darting swallowschased 
 The flying ants, disturbed in their retreat. 
 The sun beat down upon me as I lay 
 With scorching heat, till I could bear no more, 
 And wandered forth to seek some leafy shade. 
 Now as I lookedj before me seemed to lie 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 A little glen, through which a streamlet flowed 
 
 With gurgling sound, as creeping through the stones 
 
 It found a narrow course. Close to its edge, 
 
 And on a mossy bank, I lay to rest. 
 
 A mighty beech tree cast a pleasant shade 
 
 On all around j its smooth and silver stem 
 
 Seemed lost in endless green, through which bright 
 
 gleams 
 Of sunlight darted ever here and there. 
 While thus I rested in the leafy glen 
 I heard the sound of rustling, and the crack 
 Of broken boughs, which, lying on the ground, 
 Are snapped asunder by some passing feet. 
 And, looking up, I saw the willow wands 
 That grew beside the brook divide in twain, 
 And through the parting stood a boy, so fair, 
 That first I thought some spirit form had come 
 To wander in the wood ; but when his eyes 
 Were turned to where I lay he shouted out 
 A merry welcome, and with ready bound 
 Crossed the dividing stream, and lay him down 
 Upon the ferns that grew about my feet. 
 Then, with a voice as clear and softly sweet 
 As running water, he spoke thus to me : 
 
 23 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 " Let us wander together down the stream 
 
 That runs through the woods so merrily on, 
 
 For it leads through a country fairer far 
 
 Than your eyes have seen or your fancy shown. 
 
 'Tis a land where the warmth is not too warm, 
 
 And the breezes blow with the softest breath ; 
 
 Where the birds sing on through the night and daj 
 
 And the flowers are bright and their scent is sweet 
 
 The murmuring water is good to drink. 
 
 And the fruit hangs ripe on the bending bough. 
 
 Yet no one may ever these glories see 
 
 Except they are bidden to come by me." 
 
 Then did it seem that, hand in hand, we passed 
 
 Beneath the trees along the winding course 
 
 Of that bright stream, until we came at length 
 
 To other waters which increased its flow. 
 
 And now a shallow river moved along 
 
 Upon our right, thus, following it, we reached 
 
 A dark chill tunnel in the rocky side 
 
 Of some steep hill, through which the water flowed 
 
 Now hidden from our sight. 
 
 I looked around 
 For some fresh guidance to my new-found friend. 
 And in a dreamy half surprise beheld 
 24 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 That we were clad in loose white flowing robes 
 That reached our knees, leaving our arms and feet 
 Uncovered in sweet freedom from restraint. 
 One only difference in our dress I marked : 
 That, while my garments fell in soft light folds, 
 Unbound by any girdle, round his waist 
 A circle of pure gold, made like a snake. 
 Was wound about in many shining rings. 
 I would have asked the meaning of this change. 
 But, ere I spoke, my boy companion stepped 
 Into the chilly water, Vnd passed on 
 Until he, waiting, stood beneath the shade 
 Of that dark opening, and called back to me. 
 Bidding me take his hand, as we must pass 
 Through this dark cavern ere we reached at length 
 The glories of the land which lay beyond. 
 
 I crept towards him half reluctantly, 
 For from the darkness came a chilly breath 
 Of wind, that smelt of dying leaves and mould. 
 And, as we passed under the shadowing rock, 
 I thought my snow-white dress was quickly changed 
 To one of blood-red hue, yet while I looked 
 The gathering datkness hid it from my sight. 
 
 Beneath my feet the smooth and polished rock 
 25 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Was slippery as ice, and often then 
 
 I should have fallen, but his circling arm 
 
 Was placed around my waist. 
 
 Now there appeared 
 In the far distance a small speck of light, 
 That ever grew and widened, till we saw, 
 As in a picture, all the glorious land 
 To which our eager steps were hastening on 
 Lie bathed in light, a light so soft and pure 
 That our strained eyes, though long in darkness wrapped, 
 Looked out upon it with no dazzled pain ; 
 And, as we left the gloom, soft balmy air 
 Played in our hair, and wonderful delight 
 Ran through my blood as side by side we raced 
 Over the grassy slope. 
 
 — Oh ! land so fair 
 That spread on every side in varied charm, 
 Hidden thou art, for only in my dreams 
 I wander through thy strange unknown delights ! — 
 
 Far in the distance lofty mountains pierced. 
 With needle-pointed spires, the cloudless blue, 
 And streams of frothy water hurried down 
 Their rocky sides ; now with a mighty bound 
 They leaped into the air, to fall at last 
 
 26 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Behind a cloud of their own frothy spray, 
 Cutting asunder in their downward course 
 Some brilliant rainbow, whose encircling arch 
 Embraced both sky and earth. 
 
 These many streams 
 All found their way by various paths at last 
 To a pure lake of water down below 
 In the fair valley. Towards this lake we sped. 
 Resting at times to gather fruit and flowers, 
 Or drink the sparkling water as it flowed 
 Close to the winding path. 
 
 Upon otu: right 
 Strange arches formed of rock, and lofty towers 
 Of wondrous shapes, appeared ; while mighty trees, 
 Woven with flowering creepers, made a wall 
 Of glorious changing colour on our left. 
 Now and again the rocky arches spread 
 Across the stream, and then, with wild delight. 
 The climbing plants wove sucking, greedy stems 
 Over their juicy moss, and hung long chains 
 Of gaudy flowers above the path we trod. 
 We wandered on until the light of day 
 Had passed, and shades of darkness fell around. 
 Yet now we reached the spreading water's edge, 
 27 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Where gentle wavelets washed the reedy shore ; 
 And, as we stopped, above the distant hills 
 The moon rose slowly, casting on the lake 
 Its tender light, while from the woods around 
 The nightingale sang softly, " Sleep, oh, sleep ! " 
 And as it sang, the echoes answered, " Sleep ! " 
 Then, looking round, we saw not far away 
 A spot most fitly formed for pleasant rest, 
 To which we climbed, and underneath the trees 
 Lay happy, resting in each other's arras. 
 Yet as I dozed, half dreaming, half awake, 
 I thought my fellow sleeper seemed to move, 
 And then with one wild bound I saw him rise 
 And stand before me. He ! No, no ! Not he ! — 
 This could not be my merry, pleasant friend. — 
 Before me now a hideous monster stood. 
 With hollow staring eyes and grinning jaw ; 
 And, as I lay, this awful shape knelt down. 
 And with fierce hands, which looked like cruel claws 
 Siezed my bare arms and drove them with his weight 
 Deep in the yielding ground. I strove to cry, 
 But over me a sense of nameless power 
 Sealed up my trembling lips. I strove to move, 
 Yet to my will no answering force replied. 
 28 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 And still that awful shape drew yet more near, 
 
 Until I felt its breath upon my face, 
 
 And the fierce light from its relentless eyes 
 
 Burnt through my brain like darts of flashing fire. 
 
 And circled through my blood, and made it boil — 
 
 A frenzy of fierce pain ; till, with a writhe 
 
 Of anguish, I awoke. 
 
 And waking, found 
 Tears on my face and pain in all my limbs. 
 For I had dropped asleep while sitting down 
 Upon an oaken chest, my head propped up 
 Against the window, as I watched the clouds 
 Veil with their changing shapes the setting sun. 
 Thus had I slept. 
 
 29 
 
DARKNESS. 
 
 Light must fade, but tarries fading ; 
 
 Not with one fell sweep 
 Nature's darkness falls upon us. 
 
 So impenetrably deep. 
 
 But how quickly sorrow's shadow 
 Hides joy's radiant light ! 
 
 Ere we miss the mid-day sunshine 
 We stand groping in the night. 
 
III. 
 
 Oh, father ! father ! Oh, the lonely night, 
 
 That mocks me with a vision of the dead ! 
 
 How can I live ? yet I am young to die, 
 
 Nor know I yet the way men seek for death. 
 
 Oh, God ! that I might go to those I love, 
 
 And find in that fair land again a home 
 
 Where I might feel once more my father's kiss, 
 
 That loving kiss that now I seek in vain. 
 
 Ah ! what is left me of the life I had ? 
 
 Only my book, whose pages it were pain 
 
 To look upon ; for in them I should read 
 
 The tale of happy days that once I knew, 
 
 Yet which is past, and never can return. 
 
 Yet will I write, the movement of my pen 
 
 Is some relief, for here I can complain 
 
 And pour my sorrow forth, though none will heed 
 
 Or listen to my cry. Yet in the words 
 
 33 D 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 I find a respite from my bitter woe, 
 Which, when enclosed in silence, seems to swel 
 To torture in my brain, while round my head 
 Fierce bands of pressure tighten, and each sob, 
 Striving to pass my aching swollen throat, 
 Seems to throb out its anguish in my heart. 
 Yet, can I write ? Oh ! how can I recall 
 The shock of unexpected agony 
 When first I knew, my father, thou wert dead ! 
 I see it all again : — I hear the cry 
 That roused me in the darkness of the night 
 To hasten to your side. I see the moon 
 Pouring its pale and ghostly light around. 
 And showing me that look of bitter pain 
 That passed across your face. I see the smile 
 That pitifully strovQ to force its way, 
 Through suffering, to welcome me with love. 
 And still again I hear those parting sounds 
 With which you tried to form some farewell woi 
 For your poor child, yet did you strive in vain ; 
 For as I bent down close, to catch the sounds. 
 Your last long sigh breathed warmly on my che 
 As, shuddering, you died. 
 
 Then all was dark 
 34 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 For many days and nights, yet through the gloom 
 
 I heard strange sounds and dreamed strange horrid 
 
 dreams. 
 Voices unknown were there, and knocking sounds 
 And unfamiliar faces in my room, 
 And heavy trampling footsteps on the stairs, 
 Whilst still I heard the oft-repeated words : 
 "Coffin," and "grave-clothes," "churchyard," and "the 
 
 dead"; 
 Till frenzied, I arose from where I lay. 
 When none were by, and crept from out my room 
 To where my father died ; and in the dark. 
 For all the blinds were down, I strove to reach 
 The bed on which he lay, but in my path 
 Some ghastly object seemed to keep me back 
 And stay my steps, until, confused with dread, 
 I cried aloud, and fainting, senseless fell 
 Upon the open coffin and the dead. 
 Thus did they find me, lying white and still ; 
 Nor knew I that my arms lay folded round 
 The body of the one so dear to me, — 
 That cold still form that they have buried now 
 Close to the yew tree, at the western porch. — 
 How often have we passed there, side by side, 
 
 35 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 I leaning on his arm ; while now he sleeps 
 Under the cold, cold clay, beneath a mound 
 Of withered grass, which marks alone the spot. 
 No monument is there, save for the flowers 
 Which I, with trembling fingers, strove to weave 
 Into the likeness of a simple cross ; 
 Yet soon the flowers will fade, and none shall place 
 Others where they have died, for I must go 
 Far, far from here, they will not tell me where. 
 But if it must be so, and I must leave 
 All that I love, it matters not to me 
 Where I am sent, for life must ever be 
 A long deep sigh of endless misery. 
 
 36 
 
HELL. 
 
 Some have said that we must tarry 
 Until death before we know 
 
 All the awful pain and sorrow 
 That is bound in hell below. 
 
 But a path has long been opened 
 Which the living often tread, 
 
 And the torment of damnation 
 Is not only for the dead. 
 
 Ye who think some greater anguish 
 Than is known on earth can be, 
 
 Pray to hold this faith unshaken 
 Till you gain eternity. 
 
IV. 
 
 Poor wretched book, that I should drag you here, 
 Cursed comrade of a still more cursed child ! 
 It is not fit that I should soil your page 
 With records- of this place which is our home ; — 
 This congregation of the damned, this pit 
 Where all the filth collects from every side. 
 Children far younger than myself are here, 
 Whose loathsome thoughts find words so strange and vile. 
 The devil must have formed them into sounds 
 And crammed them down their loud blaspheming throats. 
 What devil ? I begin at times to think 
 The world is full of fiends who circle round, 
 And that this workhouse den is their abode. 
 And then again I fear that I am dead. 
 And for my former guilt I now must writhe 
 In tortures such as these, for I have read 
 That those who die in unrepented sin 
 Go downward to a place of endless woe. 
 
 39 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 And what is here ? From weary week to week 
 The same sad, changeless round of loveless toil, 
 The same sad faces, hopeless, coarse, or bad — 
 Children cut off from home and every joy ; 
 Children who know no home, but tramp about 
 From place to place, dragged by a parent's vice. 
 To whom the name of father, word of love. 
 Brings a strange shrinking look of hate or fear. 
 Who drank from babyhood their mother's curse 
 Into their hearts, from which the sickly stream 
 Of parent vice pours from their childish lips. 
 
 How long have I been here ? It seems for years. 
 Oh ! for some rescue from this cruel lot ! 
 For even now the things I hear each day 
 Fill me no longer with the same sad fear, 
 And all the thoughts of sweetness and of light 
 That once I knew are vanishing away, 
 Covered by coarser use and sad distrust 
 Of all I knew in brighter, happier times. 
 Oh ! awful thought ! that these surrounding walls 
 Not only hold within their barren grasp 
 The refuse of the earth, but folding round 
 They shall exclude the bright and heavenly light 
 Of sweet remembrance, till my tired brain, 
 40 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Weary of effort to recall the past, 
 Must sink at last into the ceaseless round 
 Of vacant movement like a dead machine. 
 I cannot bear it ; live I must, and will. 
 And if in hell, then like a hell-born child 
 I'll dance to devils' music, and will sing 
 The wild, mad song of fiends. Ah yes, my book, 
 I fancy yet your pages may be filled 
 With some strange laughter, and your snowy leaves 
 Be covered with contaminating lines 
 Too awful for the light. For still I feel 
 Within my blood a bubbling, surging stream 
 Of life that will not die ; and if no course 
 I yet may find where it shall sweetly flow 
 Along the fields where gentle flowers peep down 
 And smile upon it as it passes by, 
 Why then, o'erflowing from the stagnant bed 
 Where it is bound, I see, or think I see, 
 A dark and awful chasm which shall lead 
 I know not where, — o'er whose sharp-pointed rocks 
 It must dash on in fury, cut and lashed 
 Into wild frothy spray, until it find 
 A channel to the light, or, it may be. 
 Is lost for ever in some endless tomb. 
 41 
 
POLLUTION. 
 
 Decay and Death for ever change. 
 And Nature rests not day or night ; 
 But from corruption's foulest haunts 
 Will rise anew bright frarms of light. 
 
 Fair fragile insects burst their bonds. 
 Unfolding brightly-tinted wings ; 
 They cast away the loathly shapes 
 That long had fed on noisome things : 
 
 And thus arrayed for victory. 
 They wander forth at break of day ; 
 Yet still pollution follows them 
 Where'er they rest upon their way. 
 
V. 
 
 Among my fellow-sufferers is a child 
 But lately come, — a strange and awful girl, 
 Full of dark secrets from the nether world, 
 Yet fair to look upon. Her dark blue eyes 
 Beneath their heavy lashes seem at times 
 To draw me near with yearning tenderness ; 
 And then again, before a moment pass, 
 Look mad with passion, furious with rage. 
 Her face is pale, yet often will a flush 
 Of burning beauty flame on either cheek. 
 Coming and fading from no seeming cause. 
 
 When first she came and looked around at us 
 A strange attraction drew me to her side. 
 Like love half mixed with hate and nameless fear, 
 Yet all attracting ; and she seemed well pleased, 
 And swore she loved me, and would draw her arms 
 Around my neck and press her lips to mine — 
 45 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Now fiercely, now with tender, yearning touch. 
 These kisses were the first that I had known 
 Since father died, and as I felt their warmth 
 Upon my lips a chilly trickling stream 
 Seemed pouring down into my frozen heart. 
 Yet did I love her, and I love her still ; 
 For though she has revealed her life to me. 
 So full of strange and awful deeds of sin 
 That when I came here first the very words 
 Would have conveyed no meaning to my brain. 
 Yet still I love her. 
 
 Oh ! what dark, strange sins, 
 What midnight devilry, what awful deeds 
 That none may write, has she for ever known 
 Since, as a babe, she drew her poisonous food 
 From its unhallowed source ! On crimes she lived. 
 Until the guardians of slow-moving law 
 Found out at last, when she was quite defiled, 
 The mother seemed to be a doubtful guide 
 For female youth, and so — Oh, bitter jest ! — 
 They sent her here, a very fitting seed 
 To grow and flourish in the workhouse soil. 
 Soon after she had come we lay one night 
 Within a ward divided from the house, 
 46 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 And set apart for sickness ; — for her kiss 
 That touched ray lips had carried on its breath 
 The fever that now held us in its grasp. 
 And so it happened that the nurse had gone, 
 Leaving us quite alone for one short hour ; 
 And I, less feverish than my friend, lay still. 
 Watching the moon cast down her pale cold 
 
 light 
 Upon the wooden floor, finding its way 
 Between the window-bars that cast their shade 
 Grimly in patterns on the things around. 
 As thus I lay, the girl began to talk 
 In a wild way with feverish rambling ; 
 At last, in her delirium, she rose up 
 And stood upon the bed with staring eyes. 
 Ghastly to look upon ; her hand upraised, 
 Thinking, perchance, she stood upon the stage 
 As in past years. Then did she sing this song : 
 
 " Tripping merrily, come away ; 
 Look, 'tis near the close of day. 
 Fairy followers, dance and sing. 
 Taking hands in the magic ring. 
 What care we for the ways of earth, 
 47 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 All its weeping and all its mirth ! 
 
 I wave my wand and the scene is new, — 
 
 All is fair to the fairies' view.'' 
 
 Scarce were the last words said, when down she leapt 
 
 With agile grace upon the wooden boards, 
 
 Her light and subtle form revolving round 
 
 Or lightly tripping in some elfin dance, 
 
 Gliding in movements delicate and smooth, 
 
 Until at last she stood, with arms outstretched, 
 
 Rigid and motionless, waiting, it seemed, 
 
 To greet some wished-for chorus of applause. 
 
 Then, from the sweetest smile of tenderness, 
 
 Her face became transformed by bitter hate 
 
 As thus again she spoke : — 
 
 " The fiends they are laughing, laughing, 
 
 As they hold out inviting arms ; 
 They love to embrace the fairies. 
 
 And to revel in fairy charms ; 
 To kiss the bloom from the tender peach 
 
 And crush with their hands the rose. 
 Now look at them, how they strive to reach 
 
 For the fairest flower that grows. 
 48 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Oh, catch me, catch me if you can. 
 
 Thou pretty youth or grey old man ; 
 Reserved am I for a higher fate, 
 
 I shall rejoice in a nobler mate — 
 The devil himself unfolds his wings 
 
 To chase the sweetest of all sweet things. 
 When my silver wings shall folded lie, 
 
 And naught is seen of the smiling sky, 
 Then through the valleys where now we play 
 
 A whisper shall pass at close of day, 
 And to the shadows that tremble tell 
 
 That the fairy queen is queen of Hell ; — 
 The queen of Hell, the queen of Hell, 
 
 See me now as the queen of Hell." 
 
 Then, suffocated by her wild delight, 
 She tore her linen dress and cast it down, 
 And trampled it in frenzy 'neath her feet ; 
 Then danced again, swaying with snake-like grace, — 
 Fiendish, yet beautiful ; and as the moon 
 Still brightly shone between the iron bars. 
 Her slender limbs seemed writhing round and round 
 In some gigantic net of light and shade. 
 And dancing thus, she cried " Applaud, applaud." 
 49 E 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Now the door opened, and with stupid gaze 
 The nurse, half-drunken from her late carouse, 
 Stood looking on, till, with a hideous string 
 Of coarse, blaspheming oaths, she seized the child 
 And fiercely struck it. Then I hid my face 
 Beneath the clothes and sobbed myself to sleep. 
 
 5° 
 
HOPE. 
 
 Lover of youth and childhood, 
 
 Fickle in later years. 
 Little you care for the aged ones 
 
 Or notice their falling tears. 
 
 Merry your games with children 
 
 All through the sunny day, 
 Bidding them follow your phantom form 
 
 While at hide-and-seek you play. 
 
 Fondly you love to linger 
 Within some maiden's breast ; 
 
 Sweet to her then are the daylight hours. 
 And sweeter the hours of rest. 
 
 But in the mid-day turmoil 
 
 Of life's engrossing round. 
 In the heart of the weary toiler, 
 
 Your light is but seldom found. 
 
 Happy indeed the aged 
 
 Who still your face behold, 
 If it be but a dim reflection 
 
 Cast back from the days of old. 
 
VI. 
 
 Free, free at last ! No longer all around 
 
 Rise those dim walls, and hope bursts forth anew. 
 
 Though warmed as yet by sunlight's weakest ray ; 
 
 Yet change must be improvement, when the bed 
 
 From which chance tosses us in reckless sport 
 
 Is canopied with helpless wretchedness. 
 
 Now I, at last, can see the spreading trees 
 
 And feel upon my face the country air, 
 
 Fresh from the woodlands, not the poisonous breath 
 
 Of smoky vapour that has dragged its way 
 
 Through courts and alleys, bearing thence the taint 
 
 Of mingling horrid odours, but once more 
 
 I trace the scent of flowers and new-turned earth. 
 
 Rich with the blessing of sweet sun and rain. 
 
 Yet what am I still but a workhouse girl 
 Scorned by my mistress, and for cheapness held ? 
 While I, because she shows her petty pride, 
 
 S3 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Hate her with bitter fear. How strange it seems ! 
 
 In those far happier days I knew no fear ; 
 
 But now the workhouse curse is in my blood — 
 
 That deep, dark curse that nought can ever cleanse ; 
 
 The cowardly fear that leads to treachery, 
 
 Or sullen gaze, shrinking from every eye ; 
 
 That looking back expectant of reproof. 
 
 And ready lie spoken with changeless face. 
 
 I feel the varied taints through various hours, 
 
 And know how changed my heart by memories 
 
 That this new life calls back of earlier days. 
 
 For when I walk out now no answering voice 
 
 Comes back to me from every passing life, 
 
 But through my brain courses a strong desire 
 
 For gaiety and life, — fo"r some new thing. 
 
 Some wild excitement, that might leave no trace 
 
 To think of past or present, but should bear 
 
 Me ever onward in a fierce delight ; 
 
 For what care I for goodness or for sin, 
 
 Since darkness looms so deeply all around. 
 
 The light that draws me first shall be my guide, 
 
 Whether it fall from Heaven or from Hell. 
 
 Last Sunday evening as I came from church, 
 Alone and dreaming in the gathering gloom, 
 
 54 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 I heard a step behind me, and turned round, 
 Half fearfully, to see whose it might be ; 
 And as I turned, a tender woman's face 
 Looked down on mine, and confidence came back 
 While listening to these words : " Tell me, my 
 
 child, 
 ' How long is it since you came here to live. 
 For in this valley every maiden's face 
 Is soon familiar and each name is known ; 
 Yet, though the sight of you recalls some thoughts 
 That seem to bring remembrance of the past, 
 They still are shadowy, and perchance unreal." 
 Then I looked down, and on my face I felt 
 The burning blush of shame as thus I spoke : 
 " My name is Enar Inglow, and I came 
 But just a week ago to live near here. 
 I was a workhouse girl, and now I live 
 In Sherland Farm to help the farmer's wife. 
 She thought it would be harmless, so she said, 
 Seeing she had no children of her own, 
 And that the cattle and the fowls and pigs 
 Alone could feel the tainting touch I bring. 
 So she has tried me, and with watchful eyes 
 Awaits the likely fall she deems must come, 
 55 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Seeing my bringing up. And you, you too, 
 Knowing my story, will expect the worst ; 
 Yet, oh ! I pray you, if you hold the power. 
 Bid her not send me back from whence I came, 
 For, though the curse may be within my blood. 
 The sweet fresh air of country life can cleanse 
 A stain like this." 
 
 Then did she answer me : 
 " My child, my poor, poor child ! you need not fear 
 That I should harm you. Far too sad indeed 
 It is to look upon your troubled face 
 And read the record of your bitter pain. 
 Only this evening, as I sat in church 
 And watched you while the organ softly played, 
 I knew that you had suffered bitterly. 
 Yet knew not why, and all my heart was full 
 Of some deep wish to help you if I could. 
 Tell me the story of your past sad life, 
 And how the sorrow came, for well I know 
 The signs that tell me you have known past joy 
 As well as pain, and also breathed before 
 This country air which now you love so well." 
 Then did she in her love place one soft arm 
 Around my waist as, sobbing, I poured forth 
 
 56 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 The Story of my life. When I had ceased, 
 She, stooping down, pressed on my lips a kiss, 
 Such as a mother gives to her loved child, 
 And bade me hope again ; and in her eyes 
 I read a promise deeper than her words. 
 
 57 
 
LOVE. 
 
 Spirit of many passions, 
 
 Some holy and some defiled, 
 Thou art found in the hearts of devils 
 
 And the breast of the infant child. 
 
 A curse and holy blessing, 
 
 The parent of joy and strife, 
 Thou wieldest the two-edged sword of death 
 
 While scattering the seed of life. 
 
 Touch but the lips of the pure in heart, 
 And out. of their souls shall flow 
 
 The nearest foretaste of holy light 
 That the dwellers on earth can know. 
 
 And yet mid the foul and the evil 
 
 Thy footstep is heard as well. 
 For thy wings are the wings of heaven. 
 
 But thy feet are the feet of hell. 
 
VII. 
 
 It is a year to-day since love returned, 
 When my sweet mother — for I call her so — 
 Came down and drew me from the servitude 
 I knew for three short weeks. Ah ! what a day 
 To be remembered in the coming years ! 
 I see it all again, — the old farm porch, 
 WTiere, sitting sewing in the welcome shade, 
 And wondering if I should see again 
 The face of her who whispered words of hope, 
 I heard the gate swing on its creaking hinge, 
 And then the presence which my thoughts had raised 
 Stood close beside me, and the gentle voice. 
 Which I so soon had learned to love, spoke thus : 
 "Was it so tiring through the anxious hours 
 To keep expectancy alive by hope ? 
 Or had forgetfulness dismissed my words ? " 
 Thus while she spoke she softly stroked my hair, 
 6i 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Which hung disordered round my heated fac 
 And sitting down beside me thus spoke on : 
 " When first I saw your face in that dim light 
 Which fell upon it from the coloured glass 
 A rosy gleam had lit this pallid cheek ; 
 And, looking on you, soon I felt my life 
 Glide back upon the wheels of memory, 
 Till all at once the place and scene were chai 
 No more I seemed to sit within the church 
 Nor hear the voices of the village choir. 
 But all around the evening sunset light 
 Was over me, and in my thoughts I heard 
 The song of birds, the sound of rustling leavi 
 While by my side, her arm around my waist, 
 Walked one I loved, whom I long years have 
 And as I looked into her face, the words 
 With which we parted seemed to pass again,- 
 Those fond and foolish promises of love, 
 Unchanging love, which youth so often make 
 And breaks as soon as uttered. Now again 
 The light grew dim, the voices of the choir 
 Came back once more, and still my eye 
 
 fixed 
 Upon your face, and there I saw again 
 62 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 The image of my friend come back to me. 
 
 So strange this likeness seemed, that, as you know, 
 
 I spoke to you, and learned your name and life ; 
 
 And having followed link by link the chain 
 
 Which was commenced when first I heard your name, 
 
 I found in you the daughter of my friend. 
 
 Now in fulfilment of those words of love, 
 
 Which were so soon forgotten, I have come. 
 
 If it may be, to take you as my child, 
 
 To be to you a mother in her place. 
 
 Well, will you come ? " And as she said these words 
 
 She held her arms towards me, and I came, 
 
 Giddy and faint with joy, to find my rest 
 
 With her and in the influence of love. 
 
 Yes, it must be a blessed thing to dwell 
 In such a home, where righteousness and peace 
 Go hand in hand, and where the morning light 
 Calls us to prayer, and through the evening shades 
 Sweet incense rises day by day to God. 
 Yet sometimes I am weary of the life. 
 Ah ! had I never known those awful years 
 Of restless misery, for then indeed 
 I now might settle down in sweet content 
 To this calm, flowing life. But like a bird, 
 
 63 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 That being taken from its wild retreat 
 And caged for years, if free at last to pass 
 Among- the leafy woods, still evermore 
 A restless, discontented thing mopes on 
 Among its freer kindred ; so do I, 
 Now brought again into the purer air, 
 Seem suffocated by the weight of good 
 That presses me around, and strive in vain 
 To cast from me those brooding tales of crime 
 That once I learned so eagerly to crave — 
 The only relaxation that I had. 
 And even now, within my dreams at night, 
 Dim visions float, and wild and feverish scenes, 
 Which I can never banish from my mind. 
 And as each month I feel my childhood pass 
 Still further on to womanhood, and know, 
 By some strange intuition, deeper depths 
 Behind the former darkness, I grow cold 
 With sickly wonder, and my inmost heart — 
 That those who know me deem so innocent — 
 
 Could they but see 
 
 The other day a friend 
 Came down to see my mother, and he stood 
 Looking at me, and as I left the room 
 64 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 I heard him say, " How innocent those eyes 
 
 Of your adopted child look on the world." 
 
 Hearing these words I hastened to my room, 
 
 And in my pillow strove to drown the sounds 
 
 Of the mad laughter which I could not check. 
 
 I innocent ! Oh ! my admiring friend, 
 
 If you for just a moment might look through 
 
 The veiling purity of these mine eyes 
 
 Into the heart beneath, you would behold, 
 
 Man as you are, knowledge that all your life 
 
 Has never shown : — a dancing ground for thoughts 
 
 That mocking spirits blow red-hot from hell ; 
 
 Thoughts which, now bound and kept restrained within, 
 
 Seem burning up my heart. For how dare I 
 
 Tell to my mother what she dreams not of. 
 
 And thereby court her hatred ? You alone. 
 
 My private book, shall know the lesser part — 
 
 That they exist, but on your spotless page 
 
 I dare not write them down. 
 
 Dance on, oh fiends ! 
 Point, point, and scoff; yes, writing, even now 
 I seem to hear your voice in mocking tones 
 As when I stood before my glass last night 
 And looked into the picture mirrored there. 
 
 65 F 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 For while I wondered at those wondering eyes 
 
 That gazed so innocently back to mine, 
 
 At that pure skin, which seemed so strangely white 
 
 Against the darkness of my falling hair, 
 
 I fancied all at once that I could see 
 
 An evil face bending above my own, 
 
 And from behind me came some soundless words 
 
 Wound into song, that seemed to run like this : 
 
 " Fair is the tender and opening bud 
 Swelling to fulness, and snow-white in bloom ; 
 
 Who would believe that within it could lie 
 The canker that tells of its doom ? 
 
 " The apple of Sodom is rounded and fair, 
 Soft to the eye is the treacherous crust ; 
 
 Seek not to taste it, for lying within 
 Is bitter and poisonous dust. 
 
 " Sweet were those eyes that looked tender and true, 
 Lighted by something that surely was love ; 
 
 AVas it the passion that comes from below^ 
 But mocking the light from above ? 
 66 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 " Fair swelled the bosom so white and so pure, 
 
 Softly it rose and softly it fell ; 
 Was it fair innocence stirring below, 
 
 Or but the pulsations of hell ? " 
 
 67 
 
PASSION. 
 
 Light shines : the bursting rosebud 
 
 Unfolds each tight-closed leaf. 
 The warmth and sunlight splendour, 
 
 Why should their stay be brief? 
 Closed in the shielding calyx, 
 
 Heedless of night or day, 
 Those petals all unfolded 
 
 In placid darkness lay ; 
 
 When roused, they feel th? glory 
 
 Breathing on all around. 
 They look toward the heaven, 
 
 Nor heed that on the ground. 
 All soiled with mire and withered, 
 
 A thousand leaves are spread. 
 What to the rosebud living 
 
 Are all the roses dead ? 
 
 Love shines, and childhood opens 
 
 Beneath that wondrous light : 
 Is love, then, not eternal, 
 
 The world not always bright ? 
 Nature breathes forth her warnings. 
 
 And calls on us to hear ; 
 Yet what to youthful passion 
 
 Are all the tales of fear? 
 
VIII. 
 
 It is my birthday, and the morning light 
 That welcomes me gives forth a promise fair 
 Of pleasant brightness for the coming day. 
 A faint and' clinging vapour lies around 
 In all the valleys, and the meadow-land 
 Is covered with a shade of misty cloud 
 Through which the trees and hedges penetrate 
 Into a softened sunlight, while the birds 
 Waken the heavy stillness with their songs. 
 
 As I sit looking on the things around. 
 The vision of my life seems passing by. 
 Borne softly on the mist. Yes, eighteen years 
 Have come and vanished. First, the hidden time 
 Of infancy ; and then those pleasant dreams 
 Of childhood, ending in a hideous gloom ; 
 And now this sweet expectancy of joy 
 After the years of healing. — Am I healed ? 
 71 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 At times I fancy so ; and then, again, 
 That all the loving training I have known 
 Has failed to reach as yet my inmost heart, 
 But that sometime, if aught should burst the shell 
 In which these poisons lie concealed from sight, 
 They might again pour darkly through my blood 
 And overwhelm my life. 
 
 Away, away 
 With these sad thoughts, when all around is fair. 
 And I the queen of fairness. — Is that true. 
 That I am beautiful ? Yet he should know — 
 My lover, he should know. — Ah ! there at last 
 I'm writing down the words that tell my love. 
 And I will write, not only of this love. 
 But how its blessed light has come to me ; 
 For, till I knew for certain, shame has stayed 
 My hand, and even from this private page 
 I hid'the stirring of my anxious heart. 
 Yet now I know that all the love I give 
 Is but the overflow of that deep stream 
 Which he has poured so freely on my heart. 
 
 Six months have hardly passed since Henry Vein 
 Came down from London to his country house ; 
 Then all the quiet neighbourhood rejoiced, 
 72 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 For year by year the lonely Hall had stood 
 
 Devoid of life, like some forsaken queen 
 
 Sleeping her prime away until lost love 
 
 Should wake her from sad dreams. So, till he came, 
 
 The house stood desolate ; but now at last 
 
 These heavy iron gates are open wide. 
 
 The sound of horses' feet is often heard 
 
 Upon the drive, and lights shine brightly forth 
 
 From those big oriel windows. Thus young life 
 
 Breathes once again in these deserted halls. 
 
 How little did I dream that life should be 
 
 Soon knit so closely to my own poor lot — 
 
 I, once a workhouse girl, and now the child 
 
 Of a poor widow, who her slender means 
 
 Ekes out within this humble cottage home. 
 
 Strange, twisting Destiny, how many paths 
 
 You bid me wander in ; with what fierce hands 
 
 You drag my soul down to the lowest depths 
 
 To lift it up to Heaven ! I pray thee stay 
 
 This sport of thine, and cast me not again 
 
 From my great joy, but let it rather swell 
 
 Into the fuller harmony of peace. 
 
 I met my lover thus. It chanced one day 
 That, walking through the park among the trees, 
 73 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 I saw a shady spot beside the lake, 
 And sat to rest, watching the leaping trout ; 
 For it was early spring-time, and the flies 
 Were new and dainty food. Thus, as I watched, 
 Coming toward the water with his rod 
 I saw an angler. Now, although the park 
 Is open to the world to wander through, 
 I knew that both the stream and lakes were kept 
 For the sole use of him who owned the land. 
 This angler, then, I thought, is Henry Vein, 
 To whom belong the park and woods around ; 
 And I, unwilling to be found alone, 
 Would have retreated to the welcome shade 
 Among the trees, but when about to rise 
 He turned and saw me. So I, waiting, stayed, 
 Striving to seem unconscious, till he stood 
 Close over me, and spoke in pleasant tones 
 Some words about the weather and the place ; 
 And as at each slight pause he made I moved, 
 Anxious to slip away from him and fly 
 Back to my home, he held me still in talk. 
 At last he asked if I would rest awhile. 
 And watch him draw from out their watery homi 
 The greedy fish, that waited but his cast. 
 74 
 
SKELETON LEA FES. 
 
 So I sat down again, and watched him throw 
 The waving line, and saw the foolish trout 
 Rise eagerly to seize the deadly bait, 
 Till soon beside my feet a number lay. 
 Their dark and shining bodies marked with spots 
 Of dull, soft red ; and as I looked at them. 
 They gaped back at me with distended mouths. 
 In years gone by I should have pitied them, 
 But now a keen delight — the sportsman's joy — 
 Took full possession of me, and I cried, 
 Unthinking what I said, " Oh, let me try ! " 
 He turned at once and placed within my hand 
 The light and supple rod, and bade me cast. 
 Striving to show me with his hand on mine. 
 Then did I swing my arm, and near my head 
 The artificial flies swept quickly round. 
 Till one unruly insect found its way 
 Through my thin dress, and as I flinched with pain 
 The movement drove it deeper in my breast. 
 Helpless I waited while he strove to draw 
 The cruel hook out of its resting place. 
 Yet tried in vain ; the twisted barb had passed 
 Too far to be withdrawn the way it came. 
 And every touch was torture. Then I loosed 
 75 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 The fastening of my gown, and, drawing back 
 The covering from my neck, I also drew 
 That cruel steel from out my flesh, and showed 
 A tiny spot of blood where it had pierced. 
 And as I looked, free now from all the pain, 
 Up to his face, there passed a curious light 
 Of passion downward from his eyes, and struck 
 The whiteness of my bosom, part unveiled ; 
 And through my blood a sense of burning shame 
 Crept over me, as, starting from his side, 
 I turned and fled. 
 
 Week after week went by. 
 In which I ventured not to pass again 
 Within his boundary, though still I knew, 
 Down in my heart, a new, disquieting pain, 
 That was more sweet than any former joy ; 
 And half I feared, and half I longed to see 
 The burning passion in my lover's eyes, 
 And hear his voice. And so it came to pass 
 That, ere a month was out, I stole once more 
 Down to the water's edge when none seemed near, 
 And, resting on a bank of tender ferns. 
 Thought of my lover till I fell asleep. 
 
 While thus I slept he seemed to come and stand 
 76 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Above me, yet I neither rose or spoke 
 Until he stooped down over me and kissed 
 My sleepmg lids. Then at his touch I woke, 
 And lo ! as if my dream were partly true, — 
 In the faint grasp of my awakened sight, — 
 His face seemed slowly moving back from mine ; 
 And, when the mist had cleared away, he stood 
 Looking down on me with a pleasant smile. 
 " At last ! " he said. " And so my fairy maid 
 Has deigned to rise from out the shining lake 
 Where she so long has hidden. I have watched 
 In eager hope that fate might kindly grant 
 Another vision of her once again ; 
 Yet did I fear, knowing my double crime ; 
 For not alone have I drawn from the lake 
 Those sacred fish, but also with my barb 
 Have pierced their queen's soft breast." Thus he began, 
 And sitting down poured forth a stream of talk 
 Which flowed through varied channels. Soon he told 
 About the distant city and its joys. 
 Its gaiety and life, where beauty seems 
 Made far more lovely by enchanting light ; 
 Where dancing flows so smoothly to the sound 
 Of dreamy music, and where night and day 
 
 77 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Are blended in the all-unconscious round 
 Of varied pleasure. 
 
 So the time passed on 
 Until the evening shades began to fall ; 
 But, ere I left him, I had pledged my word 
 To come once more and try the angler's sport. 
 
 And many times we met, till soon I learned 
 To cast a line with a more skilful hand, 
 Nor did I pierce myself again with steel ; 
 Yet a more subtle and far-reaching barb 
 Was sinking hourly deeper in my heart, — 
 The burning dart of love, — while I, meanwhile, 
 Regardless of the pain, still held it there. 
 And let him press it closer, closer down. 
 
 Yet till last night no spoken words of love 
 Had passed between us. Then at length they came. 
 As after some long drought we wait in vain 
 For rain to drench the parched and thirsty ground, 
 And at the close of some hot day may see 
 The lurid clouds gather more closely round, 
 Then from above a flash of darting light 
 That bursts the gloom and frees th' imprisoned 
 
 shower ; 
 Thus I, expectant, waited till the storm 
 
 78 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Of pent-up passion burst in one wild flash, 
 And drenched me with the torrent of its love. 
 
 My lover urged that I should meet him once 
 Beside the lake by moonlight, and should see 
 How fair the woods and hills stood forth revealed 
 In that pure light. And so last night we met ; 
 I, stealing secretly from out the house. 
 Fearful of watching eyes, was somewhat late, 
 And as I came toward him, darkly robed 
 And treading softly on the mossy path, 
 He saw me not until I spoke to him. 
 " Behold ! " I said, "your fairy queen has come, 
 Risen from yonder calm and moonlit lake." 
 And, speaking, I let fall the shrouding cloak, 
 And stood before him all arrayed in white, — 
 A simple dress of some light muslin, made 
 For evening wear, while round my waist was tied 
 A sa,sh of scarlet silk. 
 
 He turned and looked 
 For one short moment, speaking not a word, 
 And then came on to where I waiting stood, 
 Half paralyzed with pleasure mixed with fear — 
 For now I saw the passion in his eyes ; 
 Then, trembling, he drew me to his arms, 
 79 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 And poured such wild, mad kisses on my lips 
 As drove my blood to frenzy, while I heard 
 Between each kiss the words I longed to hear, 
 The only words, " My love ! " 
 
 80 
 
THE WIND AND THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 A BOAT becalmed on the tranquil sea 
 
 Lay motionless and still ; 
 Not a fitful breath of wind passed by 
 
 Her drooping sails to fill. 
 
 The sailors looked on the wished-for port, 
 
 Seen through the misty light ; 
 They thought of their wives and little ones, 
 
 And whistled for wind that night. 
 
 They laughed for joy at a tiny puff 
 
 That woke the idle sea. 
 While wavelets roused at the sound of mirth 
 
 Seemed dancing merrily. 
 
 The men lay down with no thought of harm, 
 
 And dreamed of welcome near 
 When answer came to their anxious call. 
 
 When the distant winds should hear 
 
 Now the wind came down, and it caught the sea. 
 And together they danced that night ; 
 
 But the chosen dance was the " Dance of Death," 
 As they revelled in wild delight. 
 
 They illumined their path with the lightning flash. 
 And their music the thunder found. 
 
 While Horror and Fear awoke from sleep 
 To rejoice in the welcome sound. 
 
 But at last the sun looked over the cliff. 
 
 And the spirits of tumult fled ; 
 Yet he smiled at the storm-cloud's mocking tears 
 
 That fell on the mangled dead. 
 
IX. 
 
 He loves me ; loves me, yet he speaks such words- 
 Cold, scoffing words — of all conventional rule ; 
 Of bigotry and marriage that must tie 
 The callous lover to his callous bride. 
 He says that now, among the cultured world, 
 Such dreams are passing quickly to decay ; 
 That freedom, shaking off the cUnging soil 
 Of superstition from its wings, soars high 
 Into the purer air, and laughs to see. 
 Still groping in the dust, the foolish herd 
 Who tie themselves to love; love that, unbound. 
 Would wind itself so firmly round fond hearts. 
 And draw them into such a close embrace. 
 They should grow one — inseverably one — 
 By sweet commingling of the life and blood. 
 They sound so true, these \ > to me ; 
 
 Yet am I not content, for 1 iiavc ucaiu 
 83 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Too much of changing passion's fickle Hfe, 
 To live on trust if I may live secure. 
 No, he shall wed me ; I will be his wife ; 
 I know full well he cannot say me nay. 
 Each day my loving fetters draw him down, 
 And I will drive him to that greater love 
 Where all considerations pass away. 
 Till they shall vanish as the morning mist 
 Fades at the touch of some awakened breeze. 
 
 Yet sometimes in my heart a secret fear 
 Comes all unbidden. If I raise this wind, 
 Hoping to drive him by its warm, soft breath 
 Nearer to my desire, what, what if I, 
 Borne by the whirlwind that I cannot stay. 
 Am swept to my destruction ! No, 'tis false ; 
 My knowledge is my guard with which I fence, 
 Though hiding it for ever from his view 
 Beneath the mantle of my innocence. 
 Yet is this knowledge dangerous, for at times 
 It gives me power to strike to burning heat 
 The fury of his love; and love draws love. 
 And, like the flash of bright electric light 
 That passes from attracting pole to pole 
 Through seeming space, so from his kindled heart 
 84 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Passion burns down to mine like living fire. 
 Yet will I play but once with this wild fire, 
 And if I burn, I burn. 
 
 To-night once more 
 I go to meet him in our chosen bower, 
 Our summer-house of love, which he with care 
 Has furnished as a study or retreat, 
 Where people deem he goes for solitude, 
 To read or work. He will not work to-night, 
 Nor read, save what is written in my eyes. 
 And there, when I have led him on to love 
 Fuller than he has known, I'll bid him choose 
 If he would rather see my face no more 
 Or take me as his wife. Thus shall I win, 
 And evermore rejoice in that sweet love 
 For which I risked my all. 
 
 8S 
 
X. 
 
 My head seems circling in a giddy whirl, 
 
 And my cold fingers hardly form the words 
 
 Through constant trembling. Look, ah ! what are these ? 
 
 Are they the stains of blood upon my hands ? 
 
 Oh God ! that they should look so clean and white ! 
 
 What is it, then, that floats before my eyes 
 And half blots out the page, and makes me wild 
 With dreamy madness ? Ah ! the wine ! the wine ! 
 The quick destroyer of my hope and pride ! 
 
 Man, thou art cruel in thy cursed power, 
 Knowing our weakness, thus with cunning craft 
 To call up vapours from the realms of hell, 
 And fan with these the passion love has roused 
 Until the guard that heaven in mercy gave 
 Is snapped asunder in unconscious dreams, 
 Through which we float into the unknown land, 
 
 86 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Where half-felt joy bears us on drowsy wings 
 Down to the feverish torment of the damned. 
 
 I am accursed, and yet I hardly f$el 
 Aught but a tingling movement in my blood 
 AVhich tells me of damnation. I am lost, 
 And yet the wind of helf that breathes on me 
 Is sofnehow sweet with nameless odorous scent. 
 And bears my thoughts back to that promised land 
 Where trickling streams pour forth the sweetest wine. 
 
 What have I done, or what was done to me, 
 That thus I rave ? Ah ! now the clouds float back 
 And leave the vision clear. 
 
 I see a girl, 
 Proud in her knowledge of the ways of men, 
 Go forth in her own strength to meet the storm 
 Of man's mad passion, that in foolish pride 
 She dreamed she could control. I see her walk 
 Toward her coming doom, her head erect — 
 As queens go forth to some sure victory. 
 
 And now the scene is changed. A maiden lies 
 With languid ease upon an Eastern couch, 
 While over her, and looking sweetly down, 
 Her lover bends, placing within her hand 
 87 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 A goblet full of frothy, sparkling wine, 
 
 That shines like sunlight which some drops of blood 
 
 Have faintly tinted with their ruby flush. 
 
 Upon a marble table standing near 
 Both fruit and wine and dainty sweets are spread ; 
 Whilst the deep perfume of the numerous flowers 
 Comes wandering in upon the warm night air. 
 
 I see the girl reach out her hand and drink ; 
 And as she drinks, she looks into his eyes 
 With that shy look of half-reluctant love 
 Which drives a man to madness. 
 
 Hark ! he speaks, 
 Whispering to her some sweet and tender words. 
 
 Now all is dim, and only through a mist 
 A sparkling torrent of pure wine I see. 
 Which seems to bear upon its headlong way 
 The unrobed body of a sleeping maid ; 
 Until at last, caught from the hurrying tide, 
 A whirlpool in delirious, maddened power 
 Revolves the body wildly round and round, 
 And drags it down to some unfathomed depth. 
 
 Enough that, later on, a girl came forth 
 Trembling and pale, with wild distended eyes ; 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 And, looking upward at the pure chill moon, 
 Burst forth in mad, low laughter ; then knelt down, 
 Resting her forehead on the dewy grass, 
 And wept deep, bitter tears. 
 
 89 
 
REPENTANCE. 
 
 Why is it that man, though gifted with the greatest power of-mind, 
 Still must fail to learn the lessons that are taught by all mankind. 
 But through pain and bitter sorrow, through the tumult and the strife, 
 He alone can gain experience of the mysteries of life ? 
 In the thoughtless joy of childhood, in the passion of his youth, 
 The rich chorus of the sirens drowns the softer voice of truth. 
 Grief untasted seems but fancy, and a heart untried by pain 
 Might behold the damned in torment and from sin would not refrain ; 
 For the blood if chilled may slacken, and may lose its wanton heat. 
 But the heart shall bring reaction and the pulse more fiercely beat. 
 In the bright soft morning stillness, in the mid-day burning glow, 
 When the sky is bright above us and the earth so fair below, 
 When the birds sing in the branches and the waters murmur near. 
 Little think we of repentance ; what to us are tales of fear ? 
 So we run the race of Pleasure till the shades of evening fall. 
 And amid the gathering twilight still we hear our priestess call. 
 Nearer then we press, and nearer, to the prize we seek to win, 
 Till we grasp it in the darkness, and first taste the cup of sin. 
 Then the heavens slowly open, and the meaning is revealed 
 Of those lessons light had hidden, and the warnings joy concealed. 
 Losing all our mirth and laughter, wisdom now we gain instead. 
 Lying 'neath the tree of knowledge when its shadowing leaves are 
 dead. 
 
XI. 
 
 What hidden tyrant holds within his hand 
 The key to that closed gateway of the past ? 
 In vain we look between those iron bars 
 Upon the road that led us to our fate, 
 Yet cannot enter or retrace one step ; 
 Though now from where we stand, and just beyond 
 Upon the other side, a path leads straight — 
 We see it now — straight upward to the hills 
 Where joy and freedom dwell. So have I learned 
 A further meaning in that wondrous tale — 
 The story of our faU from Paradise ; 
 For now before the gate an angel stands, 
 And in his hand a flaming sword I see 
 That turns on every side and guards the way 
 Back to the tree of life. Had I but known. 
 When once I walked beneath its healing shade, 
 93 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 The virtue of those leaves ! But now, alas ! 
 
 I know too late, and seek its fruit in vain. 
 
 It may be that some path is left to me 
 
 That even now, through darkness and through tears, 
 
 Would lead at last to that bright promised land, 
 
 Through which a river flows, upon whose banks 
 
 I once again might see the tree of life. 
 
 Bearing twelve kinds of fruit. Yet not for me. 
 
 The leaves ! — if I may only touch the leaves 
 
 I shall be healed ! 
 
 Alas ! what shall I do ? 
 I dare not stay in this sweet home. Ah no ! 
 Confess my crime, and see that look of love 
 Turn into hatred ! No ! one only course 
 Is open to me now. I must go on. 
 On, ever on ! whither God only knows — 
 If God indeed look down on such an one, 
 Which I half doubt : the Devil's children play 
 Under the shadow of the Devil's wing. 
 Stretch out thy wings, thou monarch of dark hell, 
 And let me shelter underneath their shade. 
 The piercing eye of God shines down on me ; 
 I cannot bear the look of that deep pain ; 
 It seems as if the light of heaven shone through 
 
 94 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 My father's dying eyes. A veil ! a veil ! 
 Whate'er it be, to hide me from those eyes ! 
 
 No hope is left for me to gain at last 
 My wedded life of joy with him I love ; 
 To keep that love is now my only hope, 
 And follow where he leads. His greater power 
 Has swept me in its vortex, and my life 
 Must ebb and flow only as he ordains. 
 Yet still he loves me, and with softest words 
 Bids me to trust in his unchanging love. 
 If I could but believe it, then ! ah, then ! 
 Fearless of aught, I would rejoice once more, 
 Nor heed the censure of a jealous world. 
 Yet even then remains the bitter pain 
 Of parting from my home and her I love. 
 O thou whom I must leave ! — for never more 
 Shall I look down upon that loving face, 
 Or see from out those eyes the tenderness 
 Thou pourest forth upon thy worthless child — 
 How can I leave thee ? How can I go forth 
 Without one word, and grieve thy trusting heart 
 Yet it must be ; I dare not stay to face 
 The hideous moment that reveals my sin. 
 Oh, mother ! mother ! when you know the worst, 
 95 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Think even then some kindly thought of me 
 And pity me ; for, though my act may seem 
 Dark with ingratitude for all your care, 
 I love you ! Oh, I love you ! 
 
 96 
 
REST. 
 
 Spirit whom all men worship. 
 Goddess of all men's love ; 
 The sweetest of earthly blessings 
 Sent down from the realms above ; 
 Soother of infant trouble. 
 Playmate of youth and child ; 
 Thou calmest the brow of labour 
 And stillest the tumult wild. 
 The old and weary-hearted. 
 Soothed by that gentle breath, 
 Rejoice when thy wings are round them,- 
 Thy kiss is the balm of death. 
 
XII. 
 
 I AM at rest — such rest as comes to those 
 Who, leaning with their dreaming eyes half-closed 
 On some soft couch, revel in present joy, 
 Unconscious of the future or the past. 
 With set, determined mind have I shut out 
 The whispering memory of bygone days, 
 Nor do I dare for one brief hour to dwell 
 On what may be. Enough if I can feel 
 The joy of each bright moment passing by ; 
 The presence of my lover close to me : 
 Enough that I can see this glorious land 
 ^Vhere he has brought me, and have gained at last 
 The unforeseen fulfilment of my dream ; 
 That I should be in Italy, and see. 
 As now I see, the wondrous mountains rise, 
 Range upon range of piu:ple, crowned at last 
 By their pure noble sisters, cold and bright, 
 99 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Robed in the silver of the sunlit snow. 
 
 Close by my window the calm, dreamy lake 
 Lies hushed to stillness by the vap'rous heat 
 That presses on its bosom, like warm love. 
 And glimmers with translucent, nameless light. 
 With waves half visible, that half elude 
 The eager dazzled eye. Through this soft light 
 Boats with strange, curious sails glide slowly past, 
 That some soft, fitful breeze has found at rest — 
 A breeze that reaches not this sheltered spot. 
 But, passing quickly down from heights above, 
 Through the wide chasm in the encircling hills. 
 Is hushed to sleep upon the winding lake. 
 Thus like the wind my anxious heart is hushed 
 To rest, content beneath the pleasant warmth 
 That love each day now casts upon my life. 
 Nor do I care to dwell on what may be 
 Should this light fail, and the wild storm descend 
 Upon me from the lonely ice-bound hills ; 
 Rather I strive by every word and deed 
 To draw my lover closer to my heart — 
 For if I lose him I am lost indeed. 
 
 Last night he rowed me out upon the lake. 
 And landed me upon a tiny isle 
 
SKELETON LEAVES, 
 
 Clothed with luxuriant foliage and flowers. 
 The sweet syringa poured its perfume forth 
 Upon the warm night air, as 'neath the trees 
 We sat and talked; while from the distant shore 
 The bells rang out to tell the passing hours. 
 And, as he talked, he plucked from off a bough 
 Some sprays of the syringa's star-like bloom, 
 And wove them in the likeness of a wreath. 
 Such as brides wear upon their wedding-day. 
 This wreath he placed upon my head, and said : 
 " Fairer thou art, my love, than any maid 
 Who stands adorned before the altar steps, 
 And fairer far are these pure fragrant flowers 
 Than the stiff orange bloom men form of rags 
 And cover over with some shining paste. 
 And as the wreath that now adorns your hair 
 Is fairer than the hand of man can form, 
 So is our love, which, springing wild and true 
 Fresh from the hand of nature, pours its breath 
 So freely forth. No man's restraining laws 
 Have wound their cursed fetters round our hearts 
 To make us loathe the bondage. We are free. 
 And in this freedom Love unfolds his wings 
 And deigns to hover ever over us." 
 
 lOI 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 " True," I replied ; "but Cupid, when unbound, 
 Is said to be a fickle, wayward child. 
 Who uses many arrows, few the same ; 
 And those he shoots into the hearts of men 
 Are sharp and piercing, but withdrawn with ease. 
 While in our hearts he slowly presses down 
 A shaft so delicate, we feel its prick 
 Almost unconsciously ; yet, should we strive 
 To draw it forth, its arrow-headed barb 
 Would draw our bleeding hearts along with it. 
 Thus custom has ordained that, though its power 
 May not encroach upon the realms of love. 
 It will preserve the weaker sex from shame, 
 And therefore through each wedded pair she strikes 
 Her matrimonial skewer, and bids the world 
 Call it a Cupid's arrow. Down below 
 The arrow of true love may be secure. 
 Or may be wanting ! and in after years 
 If any man should draw it from his heart, 
 Letting some other passion enter there, 
 The wife, fearless of scoffing tongues, can still 
 Point down toward the matrimonial skewer 
 To hide her suffering from inquiring eyes." 
 " And yet," he said, "it is this very bond 
 
 I02 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Which, when man knows he must for ever wear, 
 And the first passion of the moment pass, 
 He longs to sunder, and so hates its shape 
 That very soon he plucks the tiny dart 
 Which is so like it from him, and some shafts 
 That do not come from heaven oft take its place. 
 
 Tell me, my loved one, would you rather know 
 The arrow of your love was buried deep — 
 So deep that none could tear it from my heart ; 
 Or have upon your hand the marriage bond 
 Which bound you to me in the name of love, 
 But knowing all the while 'twas all a name ? " 
 
 " I would have both," I answered, " but if one, 
 One only, it is possible to have, then give me love- 
 Undying, changeless love." And saying this 
 I looked into his eyes, and thought therein 
 Lay answer to my prayer. 
 
 103 
 
ANXIETY. 
 
 Thou infant sister of more dread Despair, 
 Chill visitant of every troubled heart, 
 Who, stealing on us from we know not where, 
 Will all unwelcome play thy impish part ; 
 Who Cometh softly, driving gentle Sleep — 
 Fair bidden guest who met thee on thy way — 
 Behind those phantoms called from out the deep 
 Where direst Future dwells, and where no ray 
 Of brightness ever shines, nor gleam of opening day : 
 
 In vain we strive to banish from the mind 
 The scenes thy ghostly fingers ever draw ; 
 Where'er we look, surrounding us we find 
 New visions taken from thy hidden store ; 
 The background may be changed, yet still we see 
 The same dark shadow hovering ever near 
 Pointing to something — something that shall be — 
 An unknown dread, whose mocking voice we hear, 
 Rising and falling still on changing waves of fear. 
 
 As some entangled fly will strive in vain, 
 When first its fragile wings are lightly bound, 
 To battle with the thin transparent chain 
 Which by each effort is more tightly wound ; 
 So dost thou lead us on, with cunning power. 
 
To fiercely argue and with thee contend ; 
 And thus do we more deeply, hour by hour, 
 Our failing strength in useless effort spend, 
 To find our mind enthralled more closely at the end. 
 
 We would outsoar the aching realm of thought, 
 And gain the region of the lotus-flower, 
 \\Tiere past and future are so softly brought 
 To mingle faintly with the passing hour ; 
 Where the unconscious mind is free from care. 
 Sweetly regardless of all joy or pain ; 
 And where the odorous perfume in the air 
 Might lull into oblivion again 
 These scenes, that ever pass, like phantoms, through the brain. 
 
 Weak, hopeless eflFort ! If by conscious might 
 We strive, before the bitter turmoil cease. 
 To draw between us and the foes we fight 
 The royal presence of unfettered Peace, . 
 She Cometh not, while still our foes arise ; 
 We lift our sword, ten thousand swords are there ; 
 We bid defiance to the threatening skies, 
 A thousand echoes vibrate in the air. 
 Filling the trembling heart with its own wild despair. 
 
 Then Weariness and chill Exhaustion creep. 
 With lagging steps, to give their needed aid 
 To their fair, gentle mistress, banished Sleep, 
 Who, hovering near us, still has waiting stayed ; 
 And now, with arms outstretched, they freeze the air. 
 The feverish fancies vanish from the sight. 
 Struggling through dreamland as they disappear, 
 Darkening the dreams that meet them in their flight, 
 Until, with regal calm, Peace rules the hours of night. 
 
XIII. 
 
 The summer now is over, and those days 
 Of beauty on the fair Italian lakes 
 Have vanished as a dream, too sweet to last ; 
 And in their place has come this whirl of life, 
 This round of ceaseless tumult in a fog ; 
 A seething city, whose unnumbered crowds. 
 Hurrying for ever on, are lost to sight. 
 How strange, that each small unit passing by 
 Contains within its breast a world distinct. 
 In which the thousands passing by are nought, 
 And touch each mind with just as little force 
 As the tall pine trees touch us if we pass 
 Through some lone forest's gloomy solitude. 
 Nay, often less than these, for when alone 
 Man moves through nature's haunts, untenanted 
 By any other human life, his soul 
 Goes forth in speechless, sympathetic thought 
 107 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 To one whose low sweet voice is always heard, 
 Though without speech or language. 
 
 Here, alas ! 
 Man, having gained that individual power 
 In which alone he shows his Godlike birth, 
 Becomes a little god, and rules the land, — 
 And little gods would make a hell of heaven 
 By too much pettiness. But why this strain 
 Of discontent with all the passing show ? 
 I like the gaiety and life we lead. 
 But chiefly do I love to sit and watch 
 The curtain rise, revealing scene on scene ; 
 To watch the passions of the mimic life 
 That seems so real and carries me away 
 From all the present, till I live a life 
 That is not mine, and feel each joy or grief 
 Passing before me in the changing act. 
 
 The last play that I saw still clings to me, 
 So full was it of sadness and of pain ; 
 For the pale face of Margaret, as she knelt 
 Under the shadow of the crucifix. 
 Seems still to mock me ; and one night I dreamt 
 She came, and kneeling down beside my bed, 
 And pointing upward at the form of Christ, 
 io8 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 She spoke to me and said : " My sister, come, 
 Thou too hast known the bitterness of sin ; 
 Kneel down with me and seek the healing touch 
 Christ deigns to give to even such lost souls. 
 Why art thou sleeping? Oh, awake and rise. 
 For even now thy Faust is being chained 
 By fallen angels who will drag him down." 
 Then did it seem that I arose and saw 
 Some hateful forms of darkness bind my love 
 As he lay sleeping, and I cried aloud : 
 " Take me, oh ! take me with him down to hell." 
 And one replied : " Thou shalt go down to hell. 
 But thou shalt go alone." And I awoke. 
 And since that hour a brooding fear has crept 
 Into my heart, and when my lover stays 
 For long away, as now sometimes he must, 
 The fear is torture, and mad, jealous wrath 
 Takes full possession of me, till once more 
 He brings back to me a reacting joy 
 That fills my heart. My life ! my love ! my all ! 
 If thou shouldst leave me, never to return, 
 And I should wait, and feel this anguish grow 
 More fearful in its power each passing day. 
 Then would it end in madness or the grave. 
 109 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Yet why thus fill my cup with useless pain ? 
 Is it that I can read within his heart 
 More clearly than of yore, or that the stream 
 Of his deep love is purer than at first, 
 When to my eyes it seemed so wondrous deep ? 
 For now at times, as I look sadly down 
 Beneath its flow, my fancy seems to see 
 A bed of stones. Oh ! should the stream run dry, 
 And leave me stranded on its cruel bed ! 
 
LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 
 
 In laughter gay, in foolish play, 
 The hours glide quickly by ; 
 
 We grasp to-day what flowers we may, 
 And care not if they die. 
 
 Thus all around upon the ground 
 The withered blossoms lie. 
 
 Perchance 'twas well that thus they fell ; 
 
 Indifference soon appears, 
 And what at night gave sweet delight 
 
 The morning clothes with fears. 
 Pleasures will pall ere petals fall. 
 
 And laughter end in tears. 
 
XIV. 
 
 Fools' laughter is like crackling thorns, that flash 
 
 And sparkle with a momentary heat, 
 
 To die away before their work is done : 
 
 They leave but dust and ashes, no sure warmth 
 
 To comfort us when the bright flame has died. 
 
 And he who would retain the light and heat 
 
 Must ever heap fresh fuel on his fire, — 
 
 More thorns, which tear his maimed and bleeding hands ; 
 
 Until at last, exhausted, he shall see 
 
 The last faint spark fly up and die away. 
 
 Such seems our merriment, as week by week 
 My lover, tiring of one round of life, 
 Seeks still another, and, I often fear, 
 One on a lower plane. Here we meet those 
 Whom he would never bid me mingle with 
 If I were but his wife. Yet to refuse 
 Were but to drive him oftener from my side, 
 
 "3 I 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 And I would rather join with them and know 
 That he was ever near me, than stand back. 
 Feeling the sting of doubt — death-pain of faith. 
 
 When first he took me to these gatherings — 
 Where gorgeous dresses can but faintly hide 
 The deep vulgarity which suits them not — 
 I urged him on my knees, that nevermore 
 I might be mixed with those whose love was trade, 
 Though trade so hidden 'neath a shallow grace. 
 And he replied : " My child, what foolish talk ! 
 The great ones of the land mix now with such. 
 All men, and many women, feel no shame 
 To boast that they are versed in this gay life. 
 Which now is termed Bohemian latitude. 
 Nay, few societies are so select ; 
 For none are welcomed in this paradise 
 Who are not either witty, bright, or fair ; 
 And many a dame of high and spotless fame, 
 Bored by the dulness of conventional life, 
 Would gladly change her place with those fair queens 
 Who rule with tender sway this freer land." 
 
 " Yet," I replied, " vice still is surely vice. 
 Whether it pass along arrayed in silk 
 And glittering with many priceless gems, 
 114 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Or creeps at night along the dim-lit streets, 
 A mockery and shame on every side. 
 Nay, rather it would seem a lesser crime 
 That one should sell herself if starved for food, 
 Though for the price of but her daily bread. 
 Than that her painted sister, knowing naught 
 Of all the deep necessities of want, 
 Should but for avarice, or love of ease. 
 Or vanity, or any weak desire. 
 Sell her fair body for the highest bid. 
 Whoe'er may be the bidder ; and then change 
 Her master, without any thought or pain, 
 If but a richer one will take his place 
 And pour upon her still more costly gifts." 
 
 "Ah," he replied, "your mind, I see, is warped 
 By those old fables we have cast aside." 
 And then he bade me listen while he read 
 What one had written as a law of love. 
 
 Little I can remember of the scheme 
 This writer gave, whereby the female sex. 
 No longer tied in servitude to man. 
 Were bidden to arise and cast aside 
 All wedded love, all tender dreams of home. 
 
 He bade us think of all the care and skill 
 "5 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 That is required to raise a valued strain 
 Of cattle or of swine — with how much care 
 The sire is chosen to improve the breed ; 
 Then told us, likewise, to look round and choose 
 The man most likely to advance our race ; 
 Never to chain ourselves to one alone, 
 But take the rule, and in ourselves combine 
 The functions of the breeder and the swine. 
 
 Thus is it that, behind a veil of praise 
 To our advancing power, man still will try 
 To drag us back into his toils once more, 
 While feigning to exalt us. Feeling this. 
 And bitter in my heart, I spoke again. 
 
 " Would you," I said, " my lover, have me tread 
 Along the path your writer bids us climb, 
 That thus you read to me his rules of love ? " 
 To which he answered : " Nay, my love, not yet 
 Is the world ripe for such a sudden change ; 
 But rather I would show you how the laws 
 Of thought and passion tend, that you may view 
 The world no longer through this tangled robe 
 Of worn-out superstition, but may learn 
 The higher objects of the cultured few." 
 " And is this culture ? " I replied ; " this road, 
 ii6 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Think you, would it^^lead onward to the light ? 
 Will those who walk along this path, at length 
 Find out a cure for all their present ills ? 
 Rather it seems more like the wayward light- 
 That, rising up from some foul, putrid marsh. 
 Leads down to suffocation and to death." 
 
 Yet, though I spoke so boldly for my faith 
 In something higher than material use, 
 For what we now call Love, he gained the day ; 
 Leading my will a captive by those chains 
 That I myself had forged in passion's fire. 
 So now among the midnight revelry 
 My voice is heard, and mingles with the crowd. 
 I gather too, with others, all these thorns 
 That make our sparkling flame ; and laugh and sing 
 To drown the thoughts that come in solitude. 
 
 For custom breeds contempt, and use will soon 
 Blunt the sharp edge that pierced us to the quick. 
 And in this gay society I find 
 That constancy is treated as a crime ; 
 Almost, it seems, the only real offence, 
 Save dulness, that their canons would forbid. 
 Yet Tie assures me that the gold of love 
 Lies still unharmed beneath this gilded show, 
 117 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Nor loses volume through the lavish hands 
 That spread it thus so recklessly around. 
 
 Yet, striving to believe, I lose my faith. 
 Mid so much glitter, who may know pure gold 
 From tawdry gilding? And I hear within 
 A voice proclaiming that it is not well. 
 
 Thus often, when alone, I sit and think, 
 Weighing with even balance all the past. 
 That voice cries still more loudly in my ear : 
 " Awake, thou dreaming fool ! awake and see ! " 
 Yet something answers : " Thou hadst best sleep on, 
 While thou canst dream in peace. Shouldst thou awake, 
 Perchance thy rest might never more return." 
 
 ii8 
 
XV. 
 
 As when we sweetly sleep and dream of joy, 
 Feeling our spirits borne by unknown powers 
 Swiftly through termless space, some change may 
 
 come, 
 At first unnoticed, of expectant fear, 
 Yet fear that grows, and calls on us to wake 
 And spare ourselves the horrors drawing near ; 
 So I, alas ! awakened from my dream, — 
 Lately so troubled by disturbing shades, — 
 Have found the dreaded anguish of despair. 
 
 Never could I compel my hand to form 
 The words that he, who once had all my love. 
 Has dared to speak — even to speak to me. 
 And this is what men call an endless love, — 
 That tires ere seven months have passed away ! 
 Yet even this is nought beside the means 
 With which he strives to cast me from his life, 
 119 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 And thus relieve the burden from his back, 
 
 That ways so heavily. Oh, cursed load ! 
 
 Cut through the band which circles round thy 
 
 neck, 
 And let it fall upon the miry street 
 For all to trample. Never shalt thou say 
 That willingly this burden was removed 
 From oif thy shoulders. 
 
 All my love is dead, 
 Dwelling no longer in this cold, chill heart; 
 And that which thou call'st love in thine, long 
 
 since 
 Was more than dead, and now corruption's taint 
 Bids thee to bury the decaying form 
 And hide it from thy sight. Go ! Go thy way ! 
 For never, more shalt thou behold my face 
 Or hated form, or ever hear my voice, 
 Save at some future time when from the dead 
 A spirit may be sent to visit thee 
 As thy tormenting fiend, and, with like souls 
 Whom thou hast also damned and cast aside, 
 May draw thee down to thine own judgment day ; 
 Then in that burning light thou wilt behold 
 Thyself at last, and thou shalt cry aloud, 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Bidding the rocks and mountains fall from high 
 
 To hide us from thy sight. What shalt thou see 
 
 To wake thy torpid pity, and to fill 
 
 Thy staring eyes with paralyzing fear ? 
 
 Only a woman lying stiff and cold 
 
 Within a wretched hovel, starved to death. 
 
 Or will it be that girl who broke her heart 
 
 When left alone with shame, and thought revealed 
 
 Hersad, forsaken home. Or else, perchance, 
 
 That formless, bloated body borne along 
 
 Upon the gloomy tide ; or but that child 
 
 Lying so still upon its mother's knee — 
 
 So still, to hide her shame. Or, last of all, 
 
 That woman hanging with quick, shuddering limbs, 
 
 Who could not bear the outcome of her sin, 
 
 And in her madness slew it. Thou shalt then 
 
 Cry vainly to the rocks to cover thee. 
 
 The mountains move but to the prayer of faith. 
 
 And faith is swallowed up in heaven and hell 
 
 By all-revealing fires unquenchable. 
 
 The light from both, I deem, is strangely like ; 
 
 Each man alone decides his endless fate 
 
 By what those lights reveal : to some, past love 
 
 And tenderness and mercy, which shall lead 
 
 121 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 To everlasting joy ; while others see 
 The outcome of their deeds of selfish sin, 
 And suffer, in the suffering they wrought, 
 The endless, torturing fire of vain remorse. 
 
MADNESS. 
 
 Genius forsook his love. 
 Fair Wisdom, and instead 
 
 With Folly wed ; 
 But from the nuptial bed 
 Arose a form of dread. 
 
 The infant Madness casts 
 On Genius its eyes, 
 
 Mocking the wise. 
 And with wild, piercing cries 
 The father looks and dies. 
 
XVI. 
 
 I HAVE been mad, but now for one brief hour 
 Light shines, though dimly, on my shattered mind. 
 And part reveals and part conceals the past. 
 Yet were it better nought were shown to me. 
 For, though my heart is cold and dead within, 
 I like not these strange scenes to pass so near 
 To where my baby lies in peaceful sleep. 
 But yet I fancy only in her Hfe 
 I breathe and see ; for till she came to me 
 All was a horrid darkness, where fiends grinned, 
 Holding out loaves of bread to beckon me 
 Into their dens of darkness ; while behind, 
 Driving me on before them, often crept 
 Two frightful shapes — one like a writhing snake. 
 That, when I stayed, wound round my waist and gnawed 
 My empty chest with cruel, hungry teeth ; 
 The other — some invisible cold power — 
 
 125 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Pierced all my limbs with icy points of pain ; 
 While in the air bright sparks and turning wheels 
 Danced in a fog around me, as I heard 
 The sound of constant humming, then the snap 
 Of some wire overstrained. 
 
 What scenes, oh God ! 
 Did I pass through — what things were done to me ! 
 I dare not analyze the false and real, 
 Or separate the phantom from the fact ; 
 For when I woke, behold ! my child was here, 
 Lying beside me, and I thought it smiled ; — 
 Could it have smiled if what I dreamed were true ? 
 
 So do I lie and watch it, wondering. 
 And draw my reason back from out the dark 
 Where it was lying bound. Yet still at times 
 My mind refuses to be held in check, 
 And wanders into endless, aimless grooves. 
 Sometimes, returning to my childish days, 
 I seem to play, a happy, thoughtless girl ; 
 Or fall asleep upon my father's knee. 
 Then, fancy blending with each passing sound, 
 I lose the thread, and wander aimlessly 
 Into the hidden land of infancy. 
 And half confuse my baby with myself j 
 126 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 So when the child cries out, I weep with it, 
 
 And when I think, it seems my baby's thought. 
 
 Sometimes in sleep it comes and speaks to me, 
 
 Saying : " Look ! look ! and see how white my skin, 
 
 How pure and delicate my helpless limbs. 
 
 What art thou doing, thus to let me live ? 
 
 Canst thou not see those angel hands spread out 
 
 Waiting to carry me to light and joy ? 
 
 Yet, watching close behind the angel hosts, 
 
 A numerous band of evil spirits stand, 
 
 Eager to grasp me if I tarry here. 
 
 Awake, my mother ! Oh ! awake and see ! 
 
 And give me to the outstretched arms of love. 
 
 What conscious harm have I poured down on thee 
 That thou hast brought me to this hateful land ? " 
 
 So when I wake, and see my baby girl 
 Lying thus helplessly beside my heart ; 
 And when she innocently turns her face 
 To mine and sobs, with tearless, wistful eyes ; 
 I feel that I, of all, am most accurst. 
 Thus to have brought her to this evil world. 
 Then, as I press her closer to my heart 
 And dream again, I seem to stand alone 
 Before the seat of judgment. On a throne 
 127 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 One sits, whose Face is veiled by glorious light, 
 
 On which I may not look ; but standing there — 
 
 Knowing my doom is sealed eternally — 
 
 I watch for one to lead me down to hell. 
 
 While waiting thus a voice speaks in my ear: 
 
 "Thou art in hell; look up and thou shalt see." 
 
 And looking up I see God's throne no more. 
 
 But darkness, as a background, and strange scenes 
 
 Now float before me ; visions of a life 
 
 Such as I once had known, yet worse than mine, — 
 
 More dark, more wicked, and more terrible ; 
 
 And through them all the figure of a girl 
 
 With piteous eyes — Oh God ! so like my child's ! 
 
 Thus I pass on from madness into life. 
 And back from life to madness, till I know 
 Not which is true, both are so horrible. 
 And if I strive to utter words of prayer 
 That both of us may die, no voice replies, 
 Only the wind moans in the rafter beams 
 And whistles through each hole derisively, 
 While the fierce rain beats on the window panes 
 Or hisses at me from the dying fire. 
 
 The gates of heaven are closed ; God's ear is deaf; 
 Reason has left me, and will leave again ; 
 128 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Madness draws closer with each passing day ; 
 No friend is left me, and no pitying hand 
 To guide through all the darkness and the pain. 
 If I should die, my child, alas ! will know 
 All the deep gloom that once my childhood knew, 
 Only with no remembrance of joy. 
 If I go mad, behind some iron bars 
 Shall I grin out upon the gaping world ; 
 If I recover, nought but sin and shame, 
 Or hunger, cold, and rags, await us here. 
 O God ! I cannot bear it ! Kill us both ! 
 Or if no God will answer, then to thee, 
 Thou monarch of all sin, I cry to thee ! 
 Give me thy power ; oh nerve my feeble will 
 To do that deed which none may ere undo. 
 And which shall make me thine for evermore ! 
 Thus can I save, and only thus, my child! 
 
 129 
 
WEAKNESS. 
 
 Powers of strength and Powers of weakness wage a battle fierce 
 
 and long 
 For man's soul, with strange reverses ; for the prize shall not 
 
 belong 
 Always to the mightier Spirits, neither victory to the strong. 
 
XVII. 
 
 I THOUGHT from hell or heaven was granted me 
 The power I sought for ending earthly pain ; 
 And in this faith I took my little one 
 To meet slow, tarrying death upon his way. 
 I passed along the crowded streets and courts 
 Unheeding them, for lo ! the end drew near ! — 
 One plunge, one struggle, and a stifled cry, 
 Then rest, if but the rest that wakes to pain. 
 
 Passing along amid the multitude, 
 A phantom flame of long-forgotten pride 
 Flickered anew. Whither, I thought, press on 
 These eager men through dimly lighted streets ? 
 'Tis I alone of all, despised and shunned, 
 Who lead the march to death ; yet soon they all, 
 Aye, every living soul, shall follow me 
 Through that dim gate whose portals now I seek : 
 And some shall be dragged trembling, and their cries 
 133 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 For respite shall be hurled by them in vain 
 At the unpitying void ; and some shall cling, 
 With clutching hands, to husband, wife, or child, 
 Yet find their fingers 'clasp but empty dust. 
 That crumbles 'neath their touch ; while I alone 
 Go forth, with all I love bound near my heart, 
 To welcome what they dread, and seek their fear. 
 Such thoughts as these flowed swiftly through my mind, 
 Until at last I came and stood alone 
 Where the dark water flowed beneath my feet ; 
 And in an evil moment all my love 
 Burst forth anew, and bid me see once more 
 The sleeping face that lay upon my breast. 
 With shaking hands I loosed the numerous folds 
 Which bound the child to me and to her doom ; 
 And as I gazed the fitful moon shone forth, 
 Bathing her features in a pale pure light, 
 And all the river shimmered in the glow. 
 Then turned I round and looked upon the tide. 
 Which in the glimmer seemed more horrible 
 Than when the darkness veiled it from my sight. 
 Now like a putrid sewer it slowly crept 
 Over its slimy bed, as thus I spoke : 
 "And must I take thee, O my Httle one, 
 134 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Who art so pure and fair, and drag thee down 
 Into this putrid flood, where thou wilt lie 
 A marred and mangled image of thyself, 
 Borne to and fro amid the noisome things 
 That crawl beneath its surfade ? None shall know 
 How sweet it was to look upon thy face 
 As now I see it, resting peacefully ; 
 But at the sight of what thou then shalt be 
 Strong men will, shuddering, turn away their heads, 
 And women seeing thee will dream at nights, 
 To wake up trembling at the awful form 
 Recalled to their remembrance." As I spoke 
 The child looked up at me and raised its arms, 
 As if in pleading, while a smothered sob 
 Broke from its tiny lips, that seemed to say : 
 " Oh, spare me ! spare me ! from this cruel fate ! " 
 Defeated by that cry, I waiting stood. 
 My resolution vanquished, and all power 
 Drawn from my brain to fill my throbbing heart. 
 So I unbound the baby from my side. 
 And covered her with kisses and with tears, 
 Rocking her fears to rest upon my knee. 
 Till with one gentle sigh she fell asleep. 
 But I still sat upon the chilly stones, 
 135 
 
SKELETON LEA VES. 
 
 Knowing full well I could not take her life, 
 And knowing nought beside, and caring nought ; 
 Till daylight drove me here. Thus my last hope 
 Was yielded as a tribute unto love. 
 Oh ! in the future may I never find 
 That I, in weakness, offered to my child 
 The sacrifice of her immortal soul 1 
 
 136 
 
DEATH. 
 
 The shadows linger, lingering they fall ; 
 Darkness descends, yet tarries on its way ; 
 Night draws her mantle gently o'er the day. 
 
 And twilight softly lingers above all. 
 
 We breathe once more : how weary is the breath, 
 How tired the eyes, how misty all things seem, 
 Passing and fading, till we cease to dream ! 
 
 At last we see the dreaded face of Death 
 
 Look kindly on us through the clouds above. 
 And all our sad expectancy of fear 
 Fades from our mind, while from afar we hear 
 
 Sweet songs of welcome to the land of love. 
 And where we lay now only may be found 
 The broken fetters that our souls have bound. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 The wind is silent, and the passing sounds 
 
 Seem dull and faint, hushed by some unknown 
 
 power. 
 She sleeps, my little babe sleeps calmly on — 
 The last long rest of life, that men call death. 
 Angels have borne the infant soul away 
 Back to the purer realm from whence it came. 
 And I am left alone. Wondrous indeed 
 Are all these changing impulses that draw 
 Our wayward hearts. I thought to bear the child 
 Within my arms and give her back to God, 
 Yet tried in vain. And when, as weeks passed by, 
 I saw her fade, and knew that soon my prayer 
 For her release would be indeed fulfilled, 
 I fought as fiercely with that dread decree, 
 Striving t(i keep her near me, and with tears 
 139 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 Prayed that my former prayer would fail to reach 
 The ear of God. Yet she has gone to Him ; 
 And now, as I look down on that sweet face, 
 And see the smile that lingers on her lips, 
 I know that God was merciful and kind. 
 
 Dear, tender little one, thou shalt not know 
 Aught now of tears in that bright heavenly land. 
 But with fair spirit children shalt rejoice 
 And play amid the fields of Paradise. 
 Thou art more blessed than the happiest child 
 Who lives upon the earth, for thou canst see 
 That Heavenly light whose all-revealing rays 
 Will make thee wiser than earth's greatest sage. 
 Thou art where orphan children find a friend 
 Whose love is deeper than a father's love, 
 And whose sweet tenderness is gentler far 
 Than ever mother poured upon her child ; 
 For there, in that blessed land, dwells one who 
 
 said: 
 " Suffer the little ones to come to Me, 
 Forbid them not ! " then took them in His arms 
 And folded them in His o'ershadowing love. 
 They, only they, called back to His sad heart 
 The blest remembrance of His former home — 
 140 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 An image of the glory left behind; 
 
 " For such pure souls," He said, " alone can see 
 
 My Father's face, or penetrate the light 
 
 Which ever radiates around His throne." 
 
 O Thou, the Son of God, take this my child 
 
 Into the arms of Thy Eternal Love ; 
 
 Hide thou from her all knowledge of the life 
 
 That drew her for a moment down to earth ; 
 
 For I shall never see her, never know 
 
 The joy of welcoming my angel child ; 
 
 No tender spirit arms shall come to draw 
 
 My soul from out th' unconscious sleep of death 
 
 Into the world of light and happiness. 
 
 Farewell for evermore ! I go alone, 
 
 Unfettered now by innocence, to die ; 
 
 The putrid rivei- is a fitting bed 
 
 Where all contaminated things may lie — 
 
 Though not, my love, for thee. But thou art gone ; 
 
 The tender chain is snapped which bound me here. 
 
 In the last moment of my life I see 
 The heavens open and the clouds roll back. 
 Madness has passed away and reason shines. 
 Illuminating all the bitter road — 
 The path I entered with such careless feet. 
 141 
 
SKELE TON LEA VES. 
 
 I will not look behind me, but straight on ; 
 And there I see no turning right or left, 
 Only one road that, through the gate of death. 
 Leads on to darkness and at last to hell. 
 
 Thou, my God ! my God ! whom once I loved,- 
 If my cold passion may befit the name, — 
 Where art Thou hidden in Thy holiness ? 
 
 When, as a child, I often lay at night 
 Upon my bed, and felt some unknown fear 
 Or horror of the darkness shadow me, 
 
 1 would lift up my arms to draw Thee near. 
 And nestle down again in sweet content 
 Under the shadow of those outspread wings. 
 Yes, Thou once loved me ! Ah ! if I could know 
 Such calm and still delight ! But now Thy face 
 Is turned away. I am no more Thy child, — 
 Sold by my sin to Thy base enemy, — 
 
 Yet grant this prayer, the last that I shall speak : 
 That, ere my spirit pass away from earth 
 To darkness and the silence of the dead, 
 I may for one brief moment see Thy face. 
 And on it read some look of pitying love. 
 Thus, through the Eternal centuries of pain, 
 I still may keep that vision in my heart, 
 142 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 And so escape the awful thought of woe, 
 That thou dost hate me in my misery. 
 My God ! my God ! forgive me, oh, forgive ! 
 I ask not heaven, but Thy love in hell ! 
 
 143 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 So ends the last sad page of manuscript, 
 
 From whose o'er-burdened leaves I choose but few, 
 
 And these now gathered by an unskilled hand 
 
 Show but the tracery of what they were. 
 
 Yet, skeleton and naked as they lie, 
 
 I would some kindly eye may rest on them ; 
 
 And that fresh strength to labour in the fight 
 
 May pass as pity from their dying breath. 
 
 Until that still small voice, which now we hear 
 
 Striving amid the tumult of , 
 
 Shall swell into the universa 
 
 That bids an evil cease. Then shall it cease. 
 
 I heard two voices speaking in my ear, 
 One bade me hide the misery and pain. 
 " If thou must sing, try some sweet tender song, 
 Joyful and merry as yon' soaring lark's, 
 Nor fill the world with puling morbid strains." 
 144 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 But in the evening, as I passed along 
 Near to our church, I saw beside the porch 
 A simple block of granite I had placed 
 In memory of the dead. And then I heard — 
 Or thought I heard — a voice speak thus to me, 
 That childish voice that once I knew so well : 
 " Go, write the words I bid thee ; hasten, write ! 
 Dost thou not know that, hour by hour, lost souls 
 Are hurrying down into the sea of death ? 
 Why tarriest thou amidst these gardens fair. 
 Weaving fresh garlands of sweet-scented flowers ? 
 . Listen ! from every side the nightingale 
 Makes the still air throb with its deep, full notes ; 
 And through them all, ever those strange, sad sounds, 
 Like bitter sobs of pain." 
 
 145 
 
SKELETON LEAVES. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 The gloom has passed away; I see the light 
 Of heaven shine, and now my dazzled sight 
 Rests for a moment on the glorious rays 
 That mingle in the rainbow. Sounds of praise 
 Pass throbbing downward ; while the balmy air 
 Whispers in passing, " Why this dull despair ? " 
 Hark to those spirit voices from above ! 
 They sing one song, whose every line is love. 
 Seen from below how dark the clouds appear, 
 Fit canopy for earthly pain and fear ; 
 But couldst thou rise above where now they lie. 
 Far up into the bright and sun-lit sky. 
 How changed a scene ! — pure as fresh-fallen snow. 
 Clouds of bright vapour then would roll below. 
 Like ocean waves of ever-changing form — 
 The heavenly vision of an earthly storm. 
 
 146 
 
CHISWICK press: — C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, 
 CHANCERY LANE.' 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 THE SHADOWS OF THE LAKE. 
 
 PXESS NOTICES OF THE FIRST AND SECOND EDITIONS. 
 
 " There is indubitable merit in F. Leyton's ' The Shadows of the 
 Lake, and Other Poems.' Many of these compositions are deeply 
 tinged with melancholy. ... At the same time, it is no less true 
 that one of our greatest poets said that ' sweetest songs oft come of 
 saddest thought,' and everybody knows what point of time it is that 
 the swan chooses for its most dulcet strains. Among the most fluent 
 and musical of these pieces is ' The Night of Death. ' . . . ' A 
 Wanton Spirit,' which was thrown into verse after a spiritualistic 
 stance, is calculated to ruffle the serenity and self-respect of 
 mediums." — Graphic, February 14th, 1891. 
 
 "Written by a man with plenty of poetic temperament, and 
 marked by considerable imagination and power." — Westminster 
 Review, July 1891. 
 
 '"The Shadows of the Lake' is not, as the author's preface 
 suggests, unduly full of melancholy. Sad they are, no doubt, but 
 the keynote is one of sympathy with human suffering. The blank 
 verse of this volume is ftiU of interest to us." — Observer, August, 
 9th, 1 89 1. 
 
 "Rare indeed is the poet who can touch, even with ' flying finger,' 
 the subject of a mourner's sorrow. Still, considering the immense 
 difficulties of this subject, we think that this author has acquitted 
 himself well. To our mind the two longest poems— namely, ' The 
 Bells beneath the Sea' and 'Father and Child' — are also.the best. 
 These, together with ' The Shadows of the Lake,' are of sufficient 
 length to give scope to the author's imagination and sense of the 
 picturesque." — Vanity Fair, February I4.th, 1891. 
 
 " Makers of verses and poets are of a very different order. The 
 first, plentiful enough ; the second, rare indeed. . . . Mr. Leyton, 
 who must certainly be admitted to the select circle of poets, touches 
 the highest range of contemplated thought and speculation on those 
 fascinating but hidden mysteries of the universe we all long to solve, 
 
PRJSSS NOTICES OF THE 
 
 the eternal why and wherefore, whence and whither. . . . ' Many 
 Voices ' is didactic and yet most musical in composition, also 
 inspired with a thoroughly wholesome optimism in presence of the 
 acknowledged existence of guilt and evil. But we recommend 
 publicity for Mr. Leyton's poems, as there is a high purpose running 
 through his teaching, conveyed in true poetic spirit." — Jewish World, 
 April, 3rd, 1 891. 
 
 " A volume of thoughtful verse, showing considerable power of 
 expression. We prefer, however, such pieces as ' The Idle Hour ' 
 to those in which the author shows his sympathy with Laurence 
 Oliphant and the spiritualists." — Literary World, March 6th, 1891. 
 
 " In 'Lonely Age' a true note is struck. . . . ' Father and Child,' 
 a poem in dialogue, is to our thinking one of the best things in the 
 book." — Public Opinion, February 20th, 1 89 1. 
 
 " The ' Poems on Death,' for the sadness of which Mr. Leyton 
 apologizes, are in truth the best he has written, because, being actu- 
 ated by deep personal feeling, he has allowed his thoughts to choose 
 their own time of appearance and their own suitable apparel." — 
 Whitehall Review, February 14th, 189 1. 
 
 ' ' We must confess we have left many leaves uncut, and those we 
 have read contain much that we do not understand. For instance, 
 we do not in the least know the poet's real opinion of Laurence 
 Oliphant. ... 'A Wanton Spirit,' written after a 'spiritualistic 
 manifestation, ' is certainly original, but is it poetry ? "—John Ball, 
 February 2lSt, 1891. 
 
 " A vein of sadness runs through this volume of verse — none, 
 however, the worse for that. The best vei-se is melancholy. A 
 close observation of Nature in all her changing moods is also notice- 
 able in the writer's lines, and considerable power of fixing the im- 
 pressions in appropriate words." — Bookseller, January gth, 1891. 
 
 "The writer is deeply imbued with spiritualistic faiths, and 
 reflects, not unworthily, we think, alike the hopefulness and dreami- 
 ness of many spiritualist teachings." — Inquirer, January 31st, 1891. 
 
 " Mr. F. Leyton's ' Shadows of the Lake, and Other Poems ' are 
 gracefully written, full of passion and pathos, and not without deep 
 and interesting thoughts. But his religion is not that of the Christ, 
 with a definite reliance and a distinct revelation. High thoughts of 
 justice, noble aspirations after abiding love, are mingled with misty 
 shadows of sentiment and intangible dissatisfaction with ' the beaten 
 track.' "—The Record, July 3rd, 1891. 
 
 " A volume of poems distinctly above the average in literary 
 merit. There is considerable power, both of thought and of versi- 
 fication. Of the line of feeling we cannot say that, so far as we 
 understand it, we agree with it ; it seems to be what is usually 
 
FIRST AND SECOND EDITIONS. 
 
 called, by misapplication of another and a greater poet's words, 
 the ' larger hope.' " — Baptist, June I2th, 1891. 
 
 " Is the work of an educated, thoughtful man. . . . 'Many Voices ' 
 has strong points, and tells how the love of material beauty may be 
 harmful." — Church Review, January Z2ud, 1891. 
 
 " Graceful if melancholy. " — Times, August 7th, 1891. 
 
 "' Shadows of the Lake' is a very dismal production, . . . and is 
 uttei'ly destitute of poetic feeling. . . . There is no excuse for such 
 a work as this." — Daily Chronicle, February iSth, 1891. 
 
 " Mr. Leyton writes well enough to make his work worth reading 
 for the aptness of its thoughts and the neatness of his metrical ex- 
 pressiveness. " — Scotsman, January Sth, 1891. 
 
 " 'Father and Child' is in some sense a remarkable poem. It is 
 the story of a father who has deliberately refrained from teaching his 
 child anything of religion and of the life to come, but at last does so 
 while they are sitting by the sea. It is a singularly bold idea, and 
 is worked out with considerable skill. The whole volume is a 
 thoughtful one." — Glasgow Herald, February 3rd, 1891. 
 
 "The author of 'The Shadows of the Lake' has a wonderfully 
 steady flow of ideas ; his mental ' output ' is exceptionally great. " — 
 Inverness Courier, March loth, 1891. 
 
 "The volume contains twenty-two poems, all of which are of a 
 very high order. The author apologizes, but we think needlessly, for 
 the tone of sadness which runs through some of the pieces entitled 
 ' Poems on Death,' as they are marked by much sweetness of expres- 
 sion and genuine earnestness." — Newcastle Chronicle, January 6th, 
 189 1. 
 
 " ' The Shadows of the Lake, and Other Poems ' are tinged 
 throughout with a tone of sadness that will only consort with the 
 feelings of such as have suffered bereavements of a more or less 
 acute character." — Manchester Courier, January 31st, 1891. 
 
 " In spite of their frequent truth and tenderness of feeling, Mr. 
 Leyton's poems lack the purely expressional qualities which touch 
 with delight the ear of the world." — Manchester Examiner, January 
 loth, 1891. 
 
 "There is mixch in the volume entitled 'The Shadows of the 
 Lake 'which is worth reading, Perhaps 'The Bells beneath the 
 Sea' is the best thing in the \ioa\." —Yorkshire Post, March i8th, 
 1891. 
 
 " Mr. Leyton's recent volume of verses is stamped with true 
 genius. . . . ' The Shadows of the Lake ' is very impressive, and 
 shows some powerful imagery. Another touching poem is founded 
 on the death of Laurence Oliphant. " — Yorkshire Gazette, February 
 28th, 1891. 
 
PRESS NOTICES. 
 
 " The ' Poems on Death ' are the product of earlier years, but we 
 may say that they do not suffer from this fact, for they bear the im- 
 press of cultivated thought and refined feeling. . . . The lines on the 
 death of Laurence Oliphant perhaps explain a little of the author's 
 mode of thought, and we prefer the lines on Father Damien, which 
 breathe a higher spirit. They are, in fact, very fine. ... In ' Many 
 Voices ' the lines on ' The Town ' are full of suggestive power. . . . 
 ' Lonely Age ' is one of the most beautiful pieces in a book which is 
 richly stored with the graces of the poet, and shows a certain power 
 of analysis which is uncommon." — Bristol Times, January 17th, 
 1891. 
 
 " A poet of a somewhat sombre mood, though evidently an ardent 
 lover of the picturesque in nature." — Liverpool Courier, May l8th. 
 
 "The verses do not exhibit any atttempt to imitate the style of 
 any great living or dead poet." — Dublin Evening Mail, January 
 7th, 1 89 1. 
 
 " A volume of verse which many will read with that interest which 
 is born of earnestness and solemnity. . . . The volume is full of 
 beautiful thought, while the style is strong and attractive to all who 
 like good poetry." — Western Morning News, February l6th, 1891. 
 
 "In ' Orphan Children' the writer sounds a noble note — an echo 
 of Mrs. Browning's 'Cry of the Children' — in behalf of the joyless 
 young creatures in our workhouses. The long poem entitled ' The 
 Bells beneath the Sea ' is full of promise for the author's future, and 
 the dialogue poem, ' Father and Child, ' contains some just and 
 helpful thoughts on the enigmas of life." — Sheffield Independent, 
 February 27th, 1891. 
 
 "'The Shadows of the Lake,' from which Mr. Leyton's volume 
 takes its name, is but one of several serious poems, besides many 
 shorter and slighter pieces, which give great variety to the book, 
 and the reader must be hard to please if he does not in it find some- 
 thing to his mind. For the most part the tone of Mr. Leyton's 
 muse is grave, and in the first part, called ' Poems on Death,' 
 necessarily sad, but there is at least hopefulness even in his question- 
 ing attitude towards death, and the impression which the whole 
 book leaves on the mind is not one of melancholy so much as 
 a sober joy in living and hopefulness for the future." — Bradford 
 Observer, March 31st, 1 89 1. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5166.P2S6 1892 
 
 Skeleton leaves. 
 
 3 1924 013 534 635