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FLOWERS 
 
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 HOPE AND MEMORY: 
 
 Collection of |1ocms, 
 
 BT 
 
 COHNELIA J. M. JOHDAN. 
 
 RICHMOND, VA.: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY A. MORRIS. 
 
 1861. 
 
Entered, accordin/; to Act of Congresp, in the year ISOI, 
 
 ItY A. MO 11 HIS, 
 
 In the Clerk's OflScc of the District Court inr t lie District of Virginia. 
 
7 * 532- 
 
 Q'Tz^e FzTeside and fhue G-Tcuue, 
 
 Qltue Livzizg cuizd tlze (^eouoL 
 
 of a 
 
 ^ToTcen Home-CiTcle, 
 
 Q^Jizs Yoluime is cuffectzojiately 
 
 CLTid teOyTfuilly zriQGTzhed, 
 
 ]* 
 
 175704 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 175704 
 
 Page 
 
 Proem, .... . xi 
 
 The Bride of Heaven, . .13 
 
 V The Prayer of Faith, ..... 20 
 
 Song of the Morning Sprite, ..... 22 
 
 Little Thing?, ...... 25 
 
 Thou art Gone to the Grave, . . • .27 
 
 The Mansion by the Sea, . . . • • 29 
 
 . The Poor, ....■• 36 
 
 ^ Death of the Heart-flower, .... 38 
 
 Eulalie, ....... 42 
 
 To Spring, .....-• 46 
 
 'A Dirge for Laura, ....■• 49 
 
 - The Flowers have Come, . . . • 51 
 
 On the Death of Mrs. G. S. Meem, . .53 
 
 "The Summer Rain, . . - • ^"^ 
 
 ^There's a Cloud on my Spirit, .... 
 
 Musings at the Grave of a Young Sister, . 
 
 Invocation, .....•• 
 
 To Little Emily, ....•• 71 
 
 ^ A Farewell to the Dying Year, . .74 
 
 ^ To a Cross, ...... 77 
 
 • 'The Maniac Girl, ..... 79 
 
 59 
 62 
 
 68 
 
Vm CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 wTo a Miniature of the Dead, .... 82 
 
 ^ Ilarsh Words, ... ... 84 
 
 V *A Memory, ...... 86 
 
 A Little Child's Prayer, . . . . 90 
 
 ^ , "I Would not Live Ahvayp," .... 1)2 
 
 ^To a Friend. (For a Bouquet, during Illne.^s.) . 94 
 
 ^^hadows of Memory, ..... DO 
 
 •What a Zephyr Told Me, . . .101 
 
 ^^fcJiittle Carlton — A Lament, . . . 104 
 
 ^The Nose Out of Joint, . . . .106 
 
 •A Remembered Sermon, . . . 109 
 
 \/'«^In Memoriani, . .112 
 
 A Mother's Prayer, 115 
 
 V^^To Sleep. (AVritton in Siokne.<s.; .118 
 
 ^v^^"c llonce, . 120 
 
 ^vTlie Bride of Death, . .122 
 
 yTo a Dear Uncle, . 124 
 
 ^ Fat her' .s Lament, .127 
 
 w< .'Night Watch with a Dead Infant, ... 132 
 
 ^ The Soldiers Dream, . .136 
 
 ^.Childnii, ....... 138 
 
 Stanzas, .141 
 
 . Little Uclen, ...... 143 
 
 The Confirmation, ...... 147 
 
 . To a Sleeping Infant, 151 
 
 j^n the Death of Mrs. Fannie S. Gibbons, Ib'.i 
 
 V Aspirations, ...... 156 
 
 L'Envoi, ....... 158 
 
 ^The Woods in Summer, ..... ICO 
 
 . • To my Harp, ....... 163 
 
 The Christening, . .... 105 
 
 , Give me thy Blessing, Father, dear, .... 167 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 Guardian Spiritp, 
 . Summer's Gone, 
 
 ^ To Her who A'ked me for a Poem, 
 . . My Little Flower, 
 
 • To the Wind, 
 . A Child's Morning Hymn. 
 
 • The Blind Girl with FJower?, 
 k, w «' We had but One." 
 
 "^ Memory, .... 
 
 To Baby Frank — Sleeping. 
 - Shall I be Forgotten Thu?. 
 
 Wake up. Little Darling, 
 
 To an Angel Spirit, 
 V A Welcome, .... 
 ■ To a Young Sparr<iw, 
 . A Child'.s Evening Hymn, 
 • ' Musing.'' in a Churchyard, 
 
 To a Remembered Dream, 
 
 The Stricken Heart*.'' Lament, 
 
 To a Withering Ro.«e, . 
 
 • A Morning at Cliff Cottage, 
 
 Written for a Mother in her Son"." Bible, 
 Ah I I Felt I was Forgotten, 
 , A Little Hint to Little B\aux, 
 , . To an Only Sister, . 
 
 • Newsboy's Christmas Address, 
 
 On Revisiting the Home of my Childhood 
 . To Blanche, .... 
 "« • Stewart Holland, . 
 
 w A Little Hint to Little Belle.«, 
 A Sister's Farewell, 
 Flowers from the Convent of Mt. de Sale? 
 
 169 
 
 171 
 
 174 
 
 176 
 
 178 
 
 180 
 
 182 
 
 185 
 
 188 
 
 190 
 
 192 
 
 195 
 
 197 
 
 201 
 
 2(1.3 
 
 207 
 
 209 
 
 212 
 
 214 
 
 221 
 
 224 
 
 228 
 
 2.30 
 
 232 
 
 236 
 
 239 
 
 241 
 
 248 
 
 250 
 
 253 
 
 259 
 
 262 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 Pftge 
 2f)8 
 
 ^ My Little Star, ...... 
 
 .' Lipht in Darkne,«s, .... ^ 071 
 
 To I.-^a^el, 275 
 
 - My Mary, •••.... 277 
 
 : • A Place at thy Feet, Oh ! my Saviour, . . 281 
 
 ^ Old 'Winter lias Come, ...... 2S4 
 
 . vOver !...... ogg 
 
 A Little Boy's Wi.«h and Resolution, . . ^ . ogg 
 
 V An Evening at Cliff Cottage, ■ ... 291 
 
 . Not Again, • . . . . 2'^4 
 
 A Sabliath in May, 295 
 
 Little Rannie, 
 
 • Song, . . 
 
 - " A.>jhc8 of Roses," 
 
 To One in Ilearen, 
 
 Inuigen to Frederick, ... -^^^ 
 
 '•Where is Helen? ...^j 
 
 My Little Name.<sake, . '{j3 
 
 The Fear of Blindness, ^jg 
 
 A Daughter's Prayer, ... 300 
 
 Thy Will be Uone, 3o;j 
 
 I A National llviun for the New Year '>o7 
 
 298 
 30 1 
 302 
 305 
 
r R E M. 
 
 With loving hands I humWy bring 
 My little wreath of flowers; 
 
 Some gathered from the haunts of men, 
 And some from wild wood bowers. 
 
 Some blossom'd in my life's glad Spring, 
 
 Others in later years. 
 And some were cuU'd and woven in 
 
 The autumn time, of tears. 
 
 Some grew like sea-weeds, distant far. 
 
 By sounding Ocean caves, 
 And some (dearest of all are these). 
 
 Have blossom'd over graves. 
 
XU PROEM. 
 
 No rare exotics mingle here 
 Their rainbow hues combined, 
 
 But simple flowers alone look out 
 And ask your welcome kind. 
 
 Such as they are, — for you, my friends, 
 I've twined this wreath, to be 
 
 A votive offering at the shrine 
 Of lloj)e and Memory. 
 
FLOWERS OF HOPE AKD MEMORY. 
 
 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 
 
 She was arrayed as for a Bridal hour; 
 Round her fair forehead twined a matchless wreath 
 Of spotless Orange flowers, and her dark hair 
 Lay in rich, glossy folds, around a brow 
 Which wore the seal of youth and beauty too. 
 The smile of truth played on her coral lip, 
 And on her check the blush of innocence ; 
 While faith and hope beamed from her dark-brown 
 
 eyes. 
 In the gay world I had known Genevieve, 
 A being loved and lovely. Yet I marked 
 
 2 
 
J 4 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 
 
 That oft slie seemed as some lone star, whose light 
 
 Waned in the skies, forsaken. Oftentimes 
 
 A spell of brooding sadness darkly stole 
 
 Over her gentle spirit, causing friends 
 
 To marvel that her heritage of wealth. 
 
 And Nature's bounteous dower of rarest gifts. 
 
 Did fail to bring her happiness complete. 
 
 And there w^as one within whose noble heart 
 
 Her image lay, e'en like a mirror bright, 
 
 Which did reflect all that in Earth or Heaven 
 
 To him seemed beautiful. Aye, and his love. 
 
 His first, fresh, early love was hers. Alas ! 
 
 That w^e should ever Avaste the treasured wealth 
 
 Of deep and true affection, on a heart 
 
 Within whose depths there ne'er can throb one pulse 
 
 Of answering sympathy. She had long vowed 
 
 To let no human passion e'er find place 
 
 Within her maiden bosom, and the hour. 
 
 The solemn hour had come, when she should be 
 
 Declared the consecrated Bride of Heaven. 
 
 Lights shone resplendent through the vaulted dome 
 
 Of the old Convent Chapel ; tapers bright 
 
THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 15 
 
 Gleamed softly through the aisles, and, here and 
 
 there, 
 Lit up with mellow ray, the quaint Chef-d'oeuvre 
 Of some old Master. 
 
 Eager crowds pressed in : 
 The young and old, the gay and sad of heart ; 
 Mirth with her jests, and Sorrow with her tears; 
 Manhood and Beauty, Youth and Age were there. 
 And he was there, whose lofty brow was bent, 
 Whose heart was breaking at the sacrifice. 
 He saw the Orange wreath placed on her brow, 
 And in her hand, the mystic Crucifix, 
 While round her floated, gracefully, the veil. 
 Timidly, yet not with fear, she approached 
 The illumined altar, and the white-stoled Priest 
 Opened the Holy Book, and in loud voice • 
 Asked the stern questions : 
 
 " Dost thou here renounce 
 The world, its pomps and vanities ? Dost fling 
 Aside all tics of human love, and vow 
 To let no Earth-born passion e'er displace 
 The sacred love of Jesus ? Wilt forsake 
 
16 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 
 
 All that tlie world holds dear, wealth, honors, 
 
 friends. 
 To be henceforth the chosen bride of Christ ?" 
 A breathless silence reigned. The blushing cheek 
 Of the young novice paled, and gushing tears 
 Moistened her eyelids. Did a thought of home, 
 Of father, mother, and the parted band 
 Of brothers, sisters dear, wake in her heart 
 The slumbering chord of holiest affections ? 
 Ah ! did she feel in that stern, trying hour, 
 How hard it is, to coldly cast aside 
 Those who have loved us most ; to sever ties 
 By God and Nature hallowed and blest? Did 
 Her cradle hymn, fresh from a mother's lip. 
 Chime with the Anthem ; or the Organ's tone. 
 Wake the sweet memory of voices loved 
 In early childhood ? Ah, could we've withdrawn 
 The secret veil which guarded thus, the heart 
 Of that fair girl, we might have witnessed there 
 The bitter struggle which her spirit felt 
 At yielding thus, the cherished ties of life. 
 One bright hope had armed her for the conflict. 
 
THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 17 
 
 And she must tear all others from her heart, 
 E'en though it break. One gush of weeping more, 
 And she could then speak with unfaltering voice 
 The expected vow. 
 
 Silence more silent grew, 
 Until the very air seemed hushed and still. 
 " Hearken," at length was said, in tones that drew 
 Their firmness from some superhuman source. 
 " Hearken, oh. Earth ! and Heaven give listening 
 
 ear 
 To this, my utterance. I do here renounce 
 Henceforth, forever, every mortal tie. 
 E'en from this hour, I take thee. Saviour mine. 
 To be my all in all. For love of Thee 
 I do renounce all other loves. Thy Cross 
 Shall be my talisman, and thy holy name 
 My chosen watchword. That the world may know 
 I am no longer of it, this black veil 
 Shall soon displace the snowy one I wear. 
 Beneath its folds my consecrated face 
 Will be securely guarded from the view 
 Of men ; and, as a sacred sign, 'twill prove 
 
18 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 
 
 That I can ne'er admit another love, 
 Than that I bear to Jesus." 
 
 Hark, a sigh ! 
 One deep-drawn sigh, and Rudolph looked his last 
 Upon his brave heart's idol. She withdrew 
 To veil her love-sealed features from man's gaze 
 Forever. ****** 
 Quickly the scene was changed, and in her cell 
 Knelt Genevieve, a consecrated Nun, — 
 The sister Eulalie. 
 
 No rich brocade 
 Now waved its silken folds about her form : 
 No jewel sparkled from her close-veiled breast. 
 The coarse dark "habit" was her wedding dress, 
 A silver cross her bridal ornament. 
 Around her, freshly shorn from the young head, 
 Lay scattered strands of glossy, raven hair ; 
 And at her feet the snowy, orange wreath, — 
 An emblem meet of virgin purity. 
 O'er her fair brow the sombre "black veil" hung, 
 Shading, e'en like a cloud, her youthful face; 
 And in low voice, she meekly counted o'er 
 
THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. 19 
 
 The mystic beads, raising, anon, her eyes 
 
 To that bright Heaven, for which she had resigned 
 
 All, all the treasured hopes of earth. She asked 
 
 That no regret might ever come to thwart 
 
 The solemn keeping of those holy vows, 
 
 Her lips had but just spoken. As the prayer 
 
 Died on her virgin tongue, the Convent bell 
 
 Called her to matins ; and the saddened throng 
 
 Who came, as chosen witnesses, to see 
 
 Those solemn nuptial rites, heard the deep sound, 
 
 But as the death-knell of a cherished friend. 
 
 She only looked a hurried, last farewell, 
 
 And then withdrew, leaving a mournful spell 
 
 Of gloom upon us, as the massive door 
 
 Closed with an echo deep, upon those loved 
 
 Retiring footsteps we should hear no more. 
 
 A moment's pause, and clouds of incense rose, 
 
 Filling the air with fragrance. Voices sweet 
 
 Chimed Avith the Organ's peal, and loudly, all 
 
 Proclaimed our Genevieve the Bride of Heaven. 
 
20 
 
 THE PRAYER OF FAITH. 
 
 Father above ! 
 Around wliose throne the Cherubim are kneeling, 
 And Angels wait, their speechless praise revealing — 
 In whose pure presence veiled Seraphs bend, 
 Awed by the light Thy dazzling glories lend, — 
 
 Hear, and remove 
 All blight of sin from out a heart defiled 
 By dross and stain of Earth — I am thy child. 
 
 Thou Light of Light ! 
 Whose radiance fills the boundless sphere of Heaven, 
 Let one blest ray unto my soul be given. 
 And with its piercing radiance chase the gloom 
 Which hangs where Hope's fair blossoms fain would 
 bloom. 
 
 Cheer me to-night ! 
 
THE PRAYER OF FAITH. 21 
 
 At Thj command sorrow and darkness flee ! 
 Giver of Light, lift up my soul to thee. 
 
 Saviour divine I 
 On Calvary's mount Thy sacred heart was an- 
 guished, 
 Thy body bruised, pierced, torn and bleeding, lan- 
 guished ; 
 For us Thy brow, pressed by its thorny croAvn, 
 Pale with its ^'solemn agony," bowed down — 
 
 Let Thy grace shine 
 In human hearts crushed now by mortal strife — 
 Send us Thy love to soothe. Giver of Life ! 
 
 Spirit of Truth ! 
 At thy behest the doubtful soul, and erring, 
 May lose its fears. Thy changeless law revering. 
 And resting all its wavering hopes on Thee, 
 Straight to the guidance of Thy wisdom flee — 
 
 Bless Thou my youth ! 
 Ere the "long night" cometh, seal with Thy love, 
 This heart I ofl*er thee. Father above I 
 
99 
 
 SONG OF THE MOHNING SPRITE. 
 
 Lo ! I come with a joyous step and free, 
 
 The sunlight my brow adorning ; 
 Dewy gems I wear in my shining hair, 
 
 Eor I am the Sprite of Morning. 
 
 When I touch the Earth with my fairy wand, 
 Lo ! midnight and darkness vanish, — 
 
 The bright stars grow pale and the sweet moon- 
 beams fail. 
 As the Night's dull train I banish. 
 
 Hope, murmuring awhile in soft pensive tones. 
 Her low sweet melodies humming, 
 
 Breaks out in wild song as I pass along. 
 And cheerily greets my coming. 
 
SONG OF THE MORNING SPRITE. 23 
 
 The flowers impatiently wait my smile, 
 As, down in their green beds hidden. 
 
 They long for the day, as a child at play. 
 Seeks a loving glance unbidden. 
 
 And I shake from their drowsy leaves dull sleep, 
 I give to their bowed stalks lightness ; 
 
 I sprinkle the dew on their bosoms too. 
 For they love its shining brightness. 
 
 The birds are all glad when my step draws near. 
 As out, from their green boughs peeping. 
 
 Their warbles so clear, wake the zephyrs near, 
 On the breasts of the flowers sleeping. 
 
 Heaven's glowing light is the crown I wear, 
 
 No other my gay brow beareth ; 
 Its jewel, a Star, is more radiant far. 
 
 Than gems the proud monarch weareth. 
 
 I laugh and I sport with all joyous things, 
 I brighten the path of sadness ; 
 
24 SONG OF THE MORNING SPRITE. 
 
 I know I am wild, but I'm Nature's child, 
 And mine is a life of gladness. 
 
 Lo ! I come with a joyous step and free, 
 The sunlight my broAV adorning ; 
 
 Dewy gems I wear in my shining hair. 
 For I am the Sprite of Morning. 
 
25 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 Little things — aje, little things, 
 Make up the sum of life, — 
 
 A word, a look, a single tone. 
 May lead to calm or strife. 
 
 A word may part the dearest friends — 
 
 One, little, unkind word, 
 Which in some light, unguarded hour. 
 
 The heart with anger stirred. 
 
 A look will sometimes send a pang 
 
 Of anguish to the heart ; 
 A tone will often cause the tear 
 
 In Sorrow's eye to start. 
 
 One little act of kindness done — 
 One little soft word spoken. 
 
2G LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 Ilatli power to wake a thrill of joy, 
 E'en in a heart that's broken. 
 
 Then let us watch these '' little thinr/s,'' 
 And so respect each other, 
 
 That not a word, or look, or tone, 
 May wound or vex a brother. 
 
27 
 
 TIIOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 
 
 Tiiou art gone to the grave, its cold portals closed 
 o'er thee, 
 While Hope's brilliant star o'er thy pathway did 
 shine ; 
 While Love's fairest flowers shed their fragrance 
 around thee, 
 And Youth's brightest treasures, sweet sister, 
 were thine. 
 
 Thou art gone to the grave, its dark gloom is upon 
 thee. 
 And hushed is thy voice, full of kindness and 
 love ; 
 Yet still in my happiest dreams I behold thee. 
 All radiant with beauty and brightness above. 
 
28 THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. 
 
 Thou art gone to the grave, with no stain on thy 
 spirit, 
 
 No shadow of sorrow or care on thy broAV ; 
 All sinless and pure, endless bliss to inherit. 
 
 In life's early morn thy dear form was laid low. 
 
 Thou art gone to the grave, yet ah, why should I 
 mourn thee ! 
 Sweet flower, cut down in thy freshness and 
 bloom. 
 Perhaps hadst thou lingered, misfortune had claimed 
 thee. 
 Or sorrow thrown o'er thee its withering gloom. 
 
 Thou art gone to the grave, and I would not recall 
 
 thee. 
 
 For all that the world gives of rapture or joy ; 
 
 Well I know that the kind arms of Jesus enfold 
 
 thee, 
 
 And pleasures unceasing thy moments employ. 
 
29 
 
 THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 
 
 I KNOW a mansion, old and lone, 
 
 Near by a Sea-girt shore — 
 Its ivied towers are crumbling piles, 
 
 Its turrets grim and hoar. 
 And gaunt Decay in silence broods 
 Forever o'er its solitudes. 
 
 A lonely ruin, vast and grand. 
 Mould on the sculptured walls, 
 
 While moth and lizard trail and creep 
 Along the marbled halls. 
 
 There, when the Storm-king shows his face, 
 
 The Curlew finds a hiding-place. 
 
 No human forms are seen to glide 
 This dreary Mansion near, 
 
 o 
 
30 THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 
 
 And through its aisles no voices ring 
 
 In music wikl and clear. 
 But day and night the Ocean surge 
 There echoes low, its plaintive dirge. 
 
 Once, near the spot, at sunset hour, 
 
 An aged man I spied, 
 As, from the lonely, barren beach, 
 
 I watched the foaming tide. 
 His form was bent, and from his brow 
 The Sea-breeze lifted locks of snow. 
 
 Long hours I marked him, silent, gaze 
 
 Upon yon crumbling pile. 
 And down his furrowed cheek there rolled, 
 
 A burning tear the while. 
 Ah ! well I knew that Mansion dim 
 Waked mournful memories for him. 
 
 Perhaps 'twas here his boyhood passed ; 
 
 Perhaps a mother dear 
 First watched his timid, infant steps 
 
THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 31 
 
 And boyish beauty here. 
 Or, it may be, that here hath died 
 A gentle, loving, youthful Bride. 
 
 E'en as I mused, the Sun's last rays 
 
 Lit up that ruin old. 
 Till all its towers were bathed in light, 
 
 Its turrets crowned with gold. 
 And as the scene my thoughts beguiled. 
 The old man marked it too, and smiled. 
 
 Ere long his trembling steps approached, 
 
 And, standing by my side. 
 He gazed, in silent awe, upon 
 
 The darkly rolling tide. 
 And as a white Sail ploughed the main, 
 A tear-drop dimmed his eye again. 
 
 ''They'll not come back to me, ah ! no," 
 He turned, at length, and said, 
 
 " 111 not regain my treasures till 
 The Sea gives up its Dead." 
 
32 THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 
 
 And to the calm, blue smiling sky, 
 He, upward, raised his tearful eye. 
 
 My questioning thoughts a look betrayed, 
 
 And soon he thus began : 
 " Long, weary years have passed since there 
 
 I lived a happy man." 
 And pointing to the Mansion old, 
 A tale of sorrowing love he told. 
 
 " 'TAvas there I lived in calm content. 
 For Heaven had smiled on me. 
 
 And loving eyes, w^ith mine, looked out 
 Upon the murmuring Sea. 
 
 But while I watched their tender light, 
 
 Death veiled them from my yearning sight. 
 
 " So perished from my side my wife. 
 
 In youthful beauty's bloom. 
 And soon a smiling babe was laid ' " 
 
 Beside her in the tomb. 
 Yet though life's dearest joy was gone. 
 My stricken heart must still bear on. 
 
THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 33 
 
 " I felt that nought could fill again 
 
 The void which Death had made, 
 Yet still around my lonely hearth, 
 
 Two laughing children played. 
 These claimed my every thought and care. 
 My noble son and daughter fair. 
 
 ^' They grew to bless my fondest w^ish, 
 
 And I, that they might be 
 Acquainted with my fatherland. 
 
 Sent both across the Sea. 
 And from this spot I watched the tide 
 Which bore my children from my side." 
 
 He paused. " Where are they now ?" I asked. 
 
 His answer was a sigh ; 
 And then he pointed to the Sea, 
 
 And upward to the sky. 
 '' An Ocean grave," I, musing, said ; 
 The old man bowed his hoary head. 
 
 The Sea-breeze sighed a requiem round 
 That dim old Mansion grey. 
 
34 THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 
 
 As, o'er its towers and turrets now, 
 
 The twilight shadows lay. 
 And as I turned to leave the strand, 
 The stranger seized my proffered hand. 
 
 '' They came not back, in vain I watched 
 
 Each coming sail in view ; 
 The story of their fate, alas ! 
 
 No mortal ever knew. 
 No wreck was found — a fearful gale 
 Was all that told the sorrowing tale. 
 
 " My homestead yonder now became 
 
 Intolerable to me, — 
 I could not bear a breeze or flower 
 
 That whispered of the Sea. 
 Its doors were closed, and I became 
 A wanderer in heart and name. 
 * ^ t- * * * 
 
 *' But God is good, I know ; and Heaven 
 Not far away," he said. 
 
THE MANSION BY THE SEA. 35 
 
 '' I shall regain my treasures when 
 
 The Sea gives up its Dead." 
 And as I clasped his trembling hand, 
 Our tears fell mino-lino; on the strand. 
 
 Long years have vanished since I heard 
 
 That old man's parting sigh ; 
 Yet never, while my heart can feel 
 
 One sympathy, shall I 
 Forget the talc he told to me 
 Of that old Mansion by the Sea. 
 
36 
 
 THE POOR. 
 
 Have pitj on them, for their days 
 
 Are cheerless, cold and drear ; 
 And night, unwelcomed, comes to them 
 
 With many a grief-born tear. 
 The scanty meal, the slender fire, 
 Tired Nature's unattained desire : 
 Alas ! we know not half the care, 
 The poor, the very poor must bear. 
 
 Speak kindly to them, do not chide, — 
 E'en though by sin and shame, 
 
 Their paths are darkened thus ; yet oh ! 
 In pity do not blame. 
 
 His searching eye, who may endure. 
 
 To whom the purest are not pure, — 
 
THE POOR. 37 
 
 'Tis His alone to judge, not we, — 
 Poor heritors of misery. 
 
 Deal gently with them,— fearful Want 
 Hath filled their hearts with pain ; 
 
 Perchance a word may wake the chords 
 Of slumbering joy again. 
 
 Oh, to their gall-cup add not more : 
 
 Be kind, be soothing to the poor ; 
 
 For whatsoe'er their sins may be, 
 
 They still should claim our sympathy. 
 
 Give to them gladly, while thou hast. 
 
 In mercy don't delay ; 
 When Fortune smiles, turn not thy face 
 
 From helpless Want away. 
 Thy prompt assistance yet may save 
 Some brother from a huno-ered's grave : 
 ^'Riches have wings;" ah ! wisely said, — 
 You too may beg your " daily bread." 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 DEATH OF THE HEART-FLOWER.* 
 
 'TwAS a cheerless night — the last of Winter ; 
 O'er the quiet town darkness now rested 
 Like a gloomy pall. Not a sound Avas heard 
 Save when the restless winds swept howling by, 
 Eager for tempest. Li her lonely room 
 An anxious mother watched her suffering child ; 
 And oh, hoAV fraught with earnest love, and pain, 
 And silent anguish was that mother's vigil. 
 Close in its little cradle lay her charge, — 
 A babe of three bright summers. On its cheek 
 Health glowed but yesterday, and feebly now 
 The crimson life-stream wanders through its veins. 
 Anxiously the skilled physicians watch, while 
 Gentle nurses wait around. 
 
 * On the death of Laura, infant daughter of Dr. William S. 
 Morriss, of Lynchburg. 
 
DEATH OF THE HEAHT-FLOAVER. 39 
 
 Slumber seals 
 TlxC sufferer's eye, and hope springs up afresh 
 That morn will bring a change. * * * 
 ***** Fiercely without 
 
 The moaning wind sighs a last farewell to 
 Winter. Through the distant sky, the threat' ning 
 Clouds roll on, and leave the pale, sweet moon 
 As clear, and calm, and bright, as if no hearts 
 Were breaking then beneath it. 
 
 Hark ! 
 The old Church Clock strikes twelve. Winter has 
 
 gone; 
 And up from Nature's bosom springs the breath 
 Of comins; violets. O'er the Earth 
 A quiet stillness reigns — afar is heard 
 The music flow of waters, but the winds 
 Arc hushed to silence, and the folded buds, 
 And birds, and flowers, wake on the breast of Spring. 
 A feeble moan calls the young mother now 
 Close to the cradle. Earnestly she bends 
 To catch som^e symptom of returning health ; 
 But oh ! the wish is vain. That brightening eye 
 
40 DEATH OF THE HEART-FLOWER. 
 
 Is but tlie spirit peering ere it takes 
 Its heavenward fliglit. 
 
 The feeble pulse grows faint 
 And fainter, and around her neck are twined 
 The little arms that oft, in happier hours 
 Have fondled her before. " Too much, too much !" 
 Breaks from her lips in low convulsive sobs, 
 While friends, physicians, nurses, patient wait 
 For Death to claim his own. Ah, how could she 
 Yield silently her treasure to his cold, 
 Freezing arms ? The heart so worn with watching 
 And with hope deferred, is breaking now ; and, 
 Struggling with despair, at length pours forth 
 Its tide of pent-up anguish in one wild, 
 Piteous wail. 
 
 '' How can I give thee up. 
 Oh, child of many hopes and fondest love ? 
 
 Father, remove this cup 
 And send some other test my strength to prove. 
 
 So lovely, gentle, mild, — 
 Laura, thy smihng beauty haunts me now, 
 
 Sinless and undefiled ! 
 
DEATH OF THE HEART-FLOWER. 41 
 
 Oh, must I see thy form in death laid low ? 
 
 Thy voice, — its music tone. 
 Kings through my ear in merry accents wild ; 
 
 How desolate and lone 
 Must be our hearth without thee, angel child ? 
 
 Stay, stay thy blow, stern Death ! — 
 One moment let me gaze in that dear eye. 
 
 And feel as-ain the breath, 
 That fanned my throbbing breast in days gone by." 
 
 Alas ! too late. 
 
 No smile of love, no look 
 Of recognition met her gaze. Feebly 
 The little arms slacken their hold. A sigh, 
 A restless stir, and then a quivering 
 Of the stricken frame, and all is over. 
 Her heart-flower had perished with the morning 
 dawn 
 
 Of Spring. 
 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 EULALIE. 
 
 EuLALiE, when first I saw thee, 
 
 Thy young heart Avas blithe and free, 
 And the charm of youthful beauty, 
 
 Threw its radiance over thee. 
 Thou wert in the Convent Garden ; 
 
 I recall the moment well ; 
 'Twas when o'er the fragrant blossoms, 
 
 Twilight's dewy shadows fell. 
 By thy side, were Nuns repeating 
 
 Vespers to the Virgin mild : 
 " Holy mother, guard, protect her. 
 
 Save from sin our Novice child." 
 And I gazed on thee and wondered 
 
 If thy heart knew nought of care, 
 And if blighted human passion 
 
 Left no farewell shadow there.' 
 
EULALIE. 43 
 
 Then I watched a bright smile phiying 
 
 In thy beaming eye again, 
 And I felt that life had spared thee, 
 
 All its bitterness and pain. 
 Thou "wert like a wild flower growing 
 
 On some lonely river's brink, — 
 Waiting only for the tempest 
 
 In its silent waves to sink. 
 Months rolled on, I learned to love thee, 
 
 With devoted, earnest love ; 
 Thou wert all my dreams had pictured 
 
 Of the '' pure in heart" above. 
 I have sat for hours and listened 
 
 To the music of thy voice ; 
 And thy very name, thy footstep. 
 
 Made my youthful heart rejoice. 
 Oft I'd paint the distant future, — 
 
 Thou wert e'er its day-star bright ; 
 And thy cherished form was near me. 
 
 In each holy dream at night. 
 Till at length life's early sorrow. 
 
 In my spirit's depth found place. 
 
44 EULALIE. 
 
 When I saw the sombre "black veil" 
 
 Shade thy young and happy face. 
 And I heard thy own lips utter, 
 
 In their low, sweet music tone : 
 " Hearken, friends, henceforth I sever 
 
 Human ties for God alone." 
 Then they threw a black pall o'er thee : 
 
 " To the world thou'rt dead," they said; 
 And they clipped the raven tresses. 
 
 From thy meekly-bending head. 
 
 Eulalie, we noAV are parted — 
 
 I am still thy faithful friend ; 
 We are parted, yet affection 
 
 With my life alone can end. 
 I recall with fond emotion 
 
 Every stern and holy truth, 
 Which thy lips have ever taught me. 
 
 Gentle Guardian of my youth. 
 And I ponder oft the lessons 
 
 That I used to learn of thee ; 
 
EULALIE. 45 
 
 Whilst methinks I hear thee utter, 
 
 With a blessing, prayers for me. 
 But our lots are cast asunder. 
 
 And our paths are severed wide ; 
 Thy duties shun the world's rough Sea, • 
 
 Mine bear me with the tide. 
 Yet though perhaps on earth again 
 
 Thy face I ne'er may see. 
 My soul, through life, will fondly nurse 
 
 Thy memory, Eulalie. 
 
46 
 
 TO SPRING. 
 
 Once more we gladly greet thee, joyous Spring — 
 Clothed in thy dew-gemmed robe of rainbow dye ; 
 
 The smiling Earth, the flowing streams, the flowers, 
 All welcome with delight thy genial sky. 
 
 And we, who've sighed for Summer sunshine long — 
 We too unite with bird, and brook, and bee, 
 
 To hail the music whispers of the winds — 
 Glad Nature's melodies that tell of thee. 
 
 Long have we shivered 'neath the Snow-king's 
 breath. 
 
 And mourned the blight of dreary Winter's reign ; 
 Now warmed to light by thy soft, winsome touch — 
 
 The violets leave their frozen beds again. 
 
TO SPRING. 47 
 
 And ice-bound rivulets flow, sparkling on 
 
 Through flowery meadows bathed in dewy light ; 
 
 And birds are busy in the forest bowers — 
 Wooing lost mates to join their airy flight. 
 
 Already flies the summer Oriole near, 
 
 Seeking the sheltering bough, from which to swing 
 The oval nest, wherein, secure, her young 
 
 May bide all storm, hid 'neath her cosy wing. 
 
 And, here and there, in sunny places gleam 
 The sweet Forget-Me-Nots from mossy dells ; 
 
 While golden Buttercups their welcomes breathe 
 By lifting to thy glance their dewy bells. 
 
 What glories waken as thy steps draw near. 
 What joy thou bearest on thy gladsome wing ; 
 
 Hope blooms afresh, health follows in thy train — 
 A radiance lights thy shining pathway, Spring ! 
 
48 . TO SPRING. 
 
 Then once again we gladly greet thy smile, 
 Bathing in rosy light the dewy morn ; 
 
 On human hearts by Sorrow's Avinter seared, 
 Thou shedd'st, of prayerful hope, a brightening 
 dawn. 
 
49 
 
 A DIRGE FOR LAURA. 
 
 Lay her beneath the willoAV, 
 Let soft violets be her pillow ; 
 Far, fiir from the Ocean billow 
 Let the young and lovely rest. 
 
 Cover her grave with flowers ; 
 And in Summer's golden hours 
 Let the gentle evening showers 
 Fall above her silent breast. 
 
 Be not sad or broken-hearted, 
 That the loved one hath departed. 
 For no cloud of sin e'er darted 
 Thwart her life's unsullied sky. 
 5 
 
50 
 
 A DIRGE FOR LAURA. 
 
 Therefore cease, fond mother, cease your weepino-, 
 Her pure soul is in God's keeping ; 
 And her little form is sleeping 
 In the still earth peacefully. 
 
51 
 
 THE FLOWERS HAVE COME. 
 
 The flowers have come — from its mossy bed 
 
 The Violet lifts up its modest head ; 
 
 The Daisy, too — poor shy little thing, 
 
 Has opened its bright eyes to welcome the Spring. 
 
 The flowers have come — for the soft perfume 
 Of the Wallflower sweet, and the Rose's bloom 
 Is borne on the wing of the mild South breeze, 
 As it lovingly plays through the leafy trees. 
 
 The flowers have come — near the garden walk 
 The proud Lily raises its queenly stalk ; 
 The Buttercup opens its golden bell. 
 To take in the sunbeams it loves so w^ell. 
 
 The flowers have come — see, the red Woodbine 
 Wreathes its verdant leaves with the Jessamine vine ; 
 
52 THE FLOWERS HAVE COME. 
 
 The Humming-bird, lured by the sweet perfume, 
 Sips joy all day from its honeyed bloom. 
 
 The flowers have come — I have seen the Bee 
 Now kiss the bright clover that blooms in the lea, 
 Then buzzing away, like a heartless coquette, 
 Woo the very next innocent blossom he met. 
 
 The flowers have come — on the river's brink 
 
 The Daffodils cunningly nod and wink 
 
 To the ripples that sportively trifle all day. 
 
 With the blossoms that spring in their pebbly way. 
 
 The flowers have come — lo ! the Crocus too, 
 With its leaves of purple, and white, and blue, 
 Looks up from its home with the Cowslip sweet, 
 The smile of its mother, the Spring, to greet. 
 
 The flowers have come — even now I feel 
 
 Their fragrant breath o'er my senses steal; 
 
 Lifting my heart, in its happiest hours. 
 
 To Him who has brightened life's path with flowers. 
 
.03 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MRS G. S. MEEM. 
 
 " Oh ! for the world where thy home is now. 
 How may we love — but in doubt and fear, 
 How may we anchor our fond hearts here. 
 How should e'en joy, but a trembler be. 
 Beautiful dust, when we look on thee I" 
 
 Uemans. 
 
 Ah, brief indeed was life's fair dream, 
 
 Sweet Friend, to thee ! 
 How "passing strange" and sad doth seem 
 
 Thy destiny. 
 
 Two fleeting months — and thou didst stand, 
 
 A timid Bride ; 
 And he who claimed thy "heart and hand,'' 
 
 Stood by thy side. 
 
54 LINES. 
 
 "With rapt'rous ear he heard thee breathe 
 
 Love's fervent vow, 
 And saw the Orange blossoms wreathe 
 
 Thy queenly brow. 
 
 What blissful joy then did light 
 
 His loving eye. 
 Ah ! little thought he, one so bright 
 
 Could surely die. 
 
 Too true, alas ! the grave's cold breath 
 
 Is on thee now ; 
 No more the beauteous "bridal wreath" 
 
 Bedecks thy brow. 
 
 Fond hearts that loved thee, now are sad, 
 
 And sigh in vain ; 
 For thy dear smile to cheer and glad 
 
 Their home again. 
 
 They who around thy couch of pain 
 Did watch and weep. 
 
LINES. 55 
 
 Mourn now, that nought shall break again 
 Thy dreamless sleep. 
 
 She too, who soothed with gentle hand 
 
 Thy burning brow, 
 Sees noAV the fairest of her band 
 
 In death laid low. 
 
 Ah, little reck'st thou of the tears 
 
 Thus vainly shed ; 
 For hushed arc all thy trembling fears, 
 
 Thou sinless dead. 
 
 Blest, happy spirit — thou dost roam 
 
 In realms of light ; 
 And to thy distant, radiant home, 
 
 Shall come no blight. 
 
 No withering flowers there shall bind 
 
 Thy gentle brow : 
 A fadeless wreath, by Angels twined, 
 
 Adorns thee now. 
 
n 
 
 G LINES. 
 
 The joys that crown that life above, 
 
 Ah, who can tell ! — 
 He calls thee hence whose name is Love,- 
 
 Dear one — farewell ! 
 
57 
 
 THE SUMMER RAIX. 
 
 "Waking gales that slumbered long 
 
 In the woodland bowers, 
 Flinging odors on the air 
 • From a thousand flowers ; 
 Knocking with a gentle tap 
 
 'Gainst my window pane, 
 'Mid the sultry glare of noon. 
 
 Comes the Summer Rain. 
 
 Glittering showers from rainbow skies, 
 
 Sparkling drops so bright, 
 Coming with a pattering step. 
 
 Fill us with delight ; 
 Little flowerets, drooping long. 
 
 Lift their heads again ; 
 
68 THE SUMMER RAIN. 
 
 Little rills with merry song, 
 Hail the Summer Rain. 
 
 Bird and bee with folded wing 
 
 Watch the cooling showers, 
 From their hiding-places sweet, 
 
 'Mong the smiling flowers ; 
 Nature's welcom^-chorus glad, 
 
 Echoes o'er the plain ; 
 Blooming fields of waving corn 
 
 Laugh and sing again. 
 
 From the ground a thousand sweets 
 
 Gratefully arise, 
 Through the air a perfumed breath 
 
 AVafting to the skies ; 
 Flocks and herds delighted stand. 
 
 Verdure decks the plain ; 
 Earth, rejoicing, claps her hands, — 
 
 Lo ! the Summer Rain. 
 
59 
 
 THERE'S A CLOUD ON MY SPIRIT. 
 
 There's a cloud on my spirit, 
 
 A gloom in my heart ; 
 A shadow, a something, 
 
 That will not depart. 
 I've struggled in vain, love ! 
 
 To drive off the spell. 
 Which fain the heart's music 
 
 With murmurs would quell. 
 I've gazed from my window, 
 
 This beautiful day, 
 And clouds dim the landscape, 
 
 Before me alway. 
 I know 'tis not Autumn, 
 
 E'en now in the bowers, 
 I hear the birds singing 
 
 Of Spring to the flowers. 
 
60 there's a cloud on my spirit. 
 
 Si, 
 
 The clover is nodding 
 
 Its head to the bee, 
 As zephyrs approach it, 
 
 Far off in the lea. 
 The sunlight is gleaming 
 
 Through green forest woods, 
 Yet darkening the picture 
 
 A dim shadow broods. 
 All glad things are around me, 
 
 And whispering nigh ; 
 Yet, yet I am lonely. 
 
 And cannot tell why. 
 What is it that hides thus 
 
 The sunshine of life, 
 And stills the heart's music 
 
 With melody rife ? 
 It cannot be Winter, 
 
 For now in the bowers. 
 The birds are all singing 
 
 Of Spring to the flowers. 
 I'll ask them the secret, 
 
 Perhaps they can tell, 
 
there's a cloud on my spirit. CI 
 
 Why broods o'er mj spirit 
 
 This shadowy spell ? 
 The question propounded, 
 
 Thej laugh at me, dear ; 
 While mj heart gives the answer 
 
 That ^oii are not here ! 
 
62 
 
 MUSINGS AT THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG 
 
 SISTER.* 
 
 Beneath this sod thou'rt lowlj laid, oli, cherished 
 
 one and dear — 
 Thou, at whose name Affection gives to Memory's 
 
 claim — a tear. 
 Long years, long, weary years have passed, since 
 
 last we looked on thee. 
 And yet to-day blooms fresh as then, thy fadeless 
 
 memory. 
 The lonelv void which thou hast left, no other form 
 
 may fill, 
 Within our hearts, as in our home, thy place is 
 
 sacred still. 
 I look around, — but yesterday it seems, since glad 
 
 and gay, 
 
 * Who died, a school-girl, at the Academy of the Visitation, 
 Georgetown, D. C, Sept. 9th, 1846. 
 
MUSINGS. 63 
 
 Thy smile shone brightest in our midst, — a sun- 
 beam in our way. 
 
 Oh, Avhen life's pathway seemed so bright — Hope's 
 prophesy so fair, 
 
 Why did Death shade thy gentle brow, — why place 
 his signet there? 
 
 And while Affection's glowing font so fondly gushed 
 for thee, 
 
 Why did'st thou leave us, birdling bright, away 
 from earth to flee ? 
 
 Far, far in childhood's sunny home, wxrc loving 
 hearts that yearned 
 
 To clasp thee, darling, but to them thy step no more 
 returned. 
 
 I saw the rose fade from thy cheek, sweet, laughter- 
 loving child, — 
 
 For months I watched thy drooping eye, — its 
 brightness strange and Avild. 
 
 And sometimes there would come the thought (but 
 oh, how could it be 
 
 Long harbored in a breast so full of earnest love 
 and thee ?) 
 
6-4 MUSINGS. 
 
 That thou "wcrt fading, day by day — Disease with 
 
 blighting breatli, — 
 A withering simoon, bowing thee to an untimely 
 
 death. 
 Then all thy blooming loveliness, thy beauty's 
 
 matchless spell, 
 "Would drive from my too blinded heart the fears 
 
 I dared not tell. 
 And though the "hectic" on thy cheek, its pale- 
 ness seemed to share, 
 I dreamed not Death's cold dart would aim at one 
 
 so strangely fair. 
 At length upon a couch of pain, I watched thee 
 
 patient wait 
 The message that must summon thee beyond the 
 
 eternal gate. 
 No dark despair, no doubt, no fear, thy peaceful 
 
 bosom stirred, — 
 "I've left my home to die," was said without one 
 
 murmuring word. 
 An Angel's arms Avcre round thee then, — I knew 
 
 it by the smile 
 
MUSINGS. 60 
 
 Of heavenly hope that beamed upon thy suffering 
 face the Avhile. 
 
 Yes, holy angels waited near, impatiently, to bear 
 
 Thy soul to that far, radiant land, where endless 
 pleasures are. 
 
 I knew that thou wert dying, yet alas ! I could not 
 save. 
 
 E'en by my heart's deep anguish, our briglit Star- 
 ling from the grave. 
 
 But ah! since to the "pure in heart" Death brings 
 no bitter sting, 
 
 Why shouldst thou fear to sleep beneath the Ever- 
 lasting wing. 
 
 One look, one farewell glance on us, who wept 
 around thy bed. 
 
 And then, on viewless pinions borne, thy gentle 
 spirit fled. 
 
 I saw the form I fondly loved wrapped in the 
 
 " winding sheet ;" 
 I called, — those lips would part no more, Aftcc- 
 
 tion's voice to greet. 
 
66 MUSINGS. 
 
 They laid thee in thy girlhood's bloom, our young- 
 est, fairest, best, 
 With all thy maiden loveliness, low, in the grave's 
 
 cold breast. 
 That mournful scene, oh, Memory, hide, I dare not 
 
 dwell too long, — 
 It wakes within my heart a chord of anguish wild 
 
 and strong. 
 Methinks I see thee, sister mine, as then, a lifeless 
 
 mould. 
 Thy wasted hands crossed on thy breast, — thy 
 
 forehead pale and cold. 
 But ah, a brighter vision dawns, by Faith in mercy 
 
 given ; 
 I gaze, and lo ! thou com'st to me, an angel bright 
 
 from Heaven ! 
 I know thy sinless soul is free, and ne'er again 
 
 shall pine. 
 Yet oh, forget not those whose hearts in life were 
 
 linked with thine. 
 Still hover near his bending form, and soothe his 
 
 grief-worn brow, 
 
MUSINGS. 67 
 
 Whose father-love through long, long years, doth 
 
 claim remembrance now ; 
 And we, the still remaining two, who miss thee from 
 
 our side, 
 "Whenever morning's splendor shines, or evening's 
 
 shadows glide. 
 Eemember us in that bright land where sainted 
 
 spirits stray. 
 And to those blissful realms above, oh, gently 
 
 point the way. 
 Be near, our guardian angel still, when luring 
 
 snares beguile. 
 In health and sickness, life and death, be near us 
 
 all the while. 
 And when at last we, too, shall sleep within the 
 
 grave's dark breast. 
 Oh, may our souls like thine awake in realms of 
 
 endless rest. 
 Now, fare thee well ; thy cherished form lies cold 
 
 beneath this sod. 
 Yet well I know thy spirit pure rejoices with its 
 
 God. 
 
G8 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Tell me, ye Stars of night, 
 
 Is there beyond your burning orbs of light 
 
 A home — a licaven ; 
 Where spirits of the just, tlie pure, tlie blest. 
 Arc sheltered from all storms in realms of rest. 
 
 Where peace is given ? 
 
 To that far -world of Idiss, 
 
 That realm of light, can all the woes of this 
 
 No shadows bring ? 
 Flows there a Lethean stream whose silent wave 
 Once sipped by the departed, e'er will save 
 
 From Memory's sting ? 
 
 Do flowers ne'er fade and die 
 In that bright land, and in each pathway lie, 
 Stripped of their bloom ? 
 
INVOCATION. 60 
 
 Comes there no Autumn, with its chilling breath, 
 To stamp them with the livid hues of death — 
 No "Winter's gloom ? 
 
 Do angels, too, dwell there, 
 
 And tones of seraph voices fill the air 
 
 With music sweet ? 
 And do the saints, God's faithful children here, 
 llest from their toils in that heavenly sphere — 
 
 Their joy complete? 
 
 'Mid that celestial host 
 
 May they be found, the loved and early lost, 
 
 Whom we've mourned so long ; 
 And at the evening hour when smiles and mirth 
 Have met in gladness round the social hearth 
 
 Missed from our throng ? 
 
 Are there no farewells spoken. 
 No bright eyes dimmed with tears, no fond heart 
 broken 
 On that blest shore ? 
 
TO INVOCATIOX. 
 
 But do the severed links of Friendship's chain 
 Meet there in gladness and unite again 
 Bright as before ? 
 
 Oh, give me Faith's glad wings, 
 
 That I may soar above terrestrial things, 
 
 To realms on high ; 
 Where they have gone whom I have loved so well. 
 And where, wlien life is o'er, I too, may dwell 
 
 Eternally. 
 
71 
 
 TO LITTLE EMILY. 
 
 God's blessing on thee, darling, 
 Through thy life, as it rests now, 
 
 In the heavenly expression 
 Of thy little baby brow. 
 
 What a world of teeming glories 
 Now has burst upon thy sight, 
 
 With its thousand varied beauties, 
 And its fields all bathed in light. 
 
 How I love to watch thy features 
 
 As thy brightly beaming eye 
 Gazes up, as if in wonder. 
 At the splendor of the sky. 
 
72 TO LITTLE EMILY. 
 
 A J, and then, as though applauding 
 All thy Maker's skill the while, 
 
 Soon I see the sweet lips parting 
 In a merry baby smile. 
 
 Listen, hark ! — why start enchanted? 
 
 It was but a joyous bird. 
 Whose gay song among the leafy trees 
 
 In gladsome notes you heard. 
 
 Look, see there ! — on lightning pinion 
 He is darting through the air ; 
 
 Ah, how bright his warbling spirit 
 And his downy feathers are. 
 
 What are all thy thoughts, my darling, 
 Of this lovely world of ours, — 
 
 Seems it bright to thy young spirit, 
 Newly strayed from Eden bowers ? 
 
 Yes, I know it by the gladness, 
 To thy heart and features given, 
 
TO LITTLE EMILY. 73 
 
 That a something lingers round thee 
 Of the radiance of Heaven. 
 
 Oh, may future years bring to thee 
 Nought to mar thy soul's delight ; - 
 
 May Time hold for thee, fair cherub, 
 No dark, distant, coming blight. 
 
 But be all thy life as joyous 
 
 As the gushing song of bird. 
 And thy spirit's wave be never 
 
 By Sin's dark'ning ripples stirred. 
 
 That when Death draws near to claim thee. 
 He may wear an Angel's face, 
 
 And the grave, to thee, be only 
 But a blessed resting-place. 
 
74 
 
 A FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR. 
 
 Good-bye, Old Year ! I take tliy hand in sadness, 
 
 And gaze all tearfully along the Past, — 
 When I did welcome thee with smiles and gladness. 
 
 And golden hopes too wdldly dear to last ; 
 When, through Time's mystic veil, in wisdom 
 shading 
 
 The unseen Future's dim uncertain maze, 
 With Y^outh's bright prophet-dreams my vision 
 lading, 
 
 I strove, in restless eagerness, to gaze. 
 
 And as I caught that future's faint revealing. 
 Breaking upon my heart with shadow^y spell ; 
 
 And felt the gloom of disappointment stealing 
 O'er dreams ray foolish heart had nursed too well ; 
 
A FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR. 75 
 
 Ah, then I marvelled that Earth's transient glories 
 Could thus allure the soul's immortal trust ; 
 
 And I did learn that Pleasure's siren stories 
 Are gilded legends gathered from the dust. 
 
 Yet I've no harsh reproach, no vain complaining 
 
 To weave with this, mj parting lay to thee, 
 For thou hast mingled joys, bright and unfeigning, 
 
 In every cup thy hand hath proffered me ; 
 And though, at times, the "bitter" I have tasted. 
 
 Till all my soul seemed poisoned by its gall, 
 Yet I have felt these lessons were not wasted — 
 
 Some prayer, unsaid before, hath followed all. 
 
 And now I kneel, to bless, not to upbraid thee. 
 That thou hast wisely scattered thorns with 
 flowers ; 
 Since, varying thus my pathway, thou hast made me 
 Look upward yearningly to Heaven's changeless 
 bowers. 
 There, Joy's ecstatic season is not measured 
 By Time's swift-failing sands so quickly run; 
 
76 A FAREWELL TO THE DYING YEAR. 
 
 But, in Eternity's deep bosom treasured, 
 
 Our days, and months, and moments, all are one. 
 
 And I would tliank tliee too, witli fond emotion. 
 
 That from her grave, whose eyes thy hand did'st 
 close. 
 There comes to me a voice of sweet devotion. 
 
 For faith which placed on Heaven its high re- 
 pose — 
 That thus I learn, from lips now sealed forever. 
 
 Whose prayerful tones fell on my childhood's ear. 
 That all in vain my spirit's wild endeavor 
 
 For lasting joy, while darkly w^andering here. 
 
 And for those household bands thou leavest un- 
 broken, 
 
 In their deep, tender sympathies, how dear, — 
 That, kindly yet the mandate is unspoken. 
 
 Which bids them part, I bless thee, Dying Year. 
 Now, with full heart, my inmost bosom swelling. 
 
 And holy thoughts I may not pause to tell. 
 And gushing tears from Memory's fountain welling, 
 
 I breathe again. Old Year, my last farewell. 
 
77 
 
 TO A CROSS. 
 
 "In hoc signo spes mea." 
 
 Emblem of love (livino ! 
 Thou spcak'st to me of Calvary's holy hill, 
 Where Jesus, bowing to his Father's will, 
 
 Yielded his life for mine. 
 
 What pain, what agony, 
 O'erwhelmed his spirit in that fearful hour. 
 When love, subduing every sterner power, 
 
 Bled for humanity. 
 
 Nature's offended eye 
 Would not behold him of each friend bereft. 
 And on that drear and lonely mountain left 
 
 To suffer, groan, and die. 
 
78 TO A CROSS. 
 
 The Temple's veil was rent, 
 The glorious Sun withdrew his cheering light, 
 And earth was sunk in universal night, — 
 
 Man lost in wonderment. 
 
 One true heart scorned him not ; 
 When in all other bosoms pity slept, 
 Mary, his mother, sat her down and wept 
 
 O'er his forsaken lot. 
 
 So may I, Saviour, cling 
 In every trial to thy bleeding side. 
 And in thy wounds my weeping spirit hide 
 
 From stern Despair's dark sting. 
 
 Teach me this truth profound, 
 And let my heart the useful lesson know. 
 That in this dim and tearful vale below, 
 
 Happiness is not found. 
 
 But by thy Cross and love. 
 Oh ! may I learn to purify from sin 
 Each in Avar d feeling, that my soul may win 
 
 A crown of bliss above. 
 
79 
 
 THE MANIAC GIRL. 
 
 (from a scene in a lunatic asylum.) 
 
 She wept in anguish, clasped her hands, and madly 
 
 tore her hair. 
 And thus, in accents strange and wild, she raved 
 
 in her despair : 
 " Oh God ! remove this iron weight that hangs 
 
 about my heart. 
 Speak, Thou Almiglity, speak, and bid this raven 
 
 form depart. 
 I cannot live, — yet dare not die by my own feeble 
 
 hand : 
 Against the act Thy word hath fixed a fearful, 
 
 dark command. 
 I dare not take what Thou hast given, and yet, my 
 
 God, I crave 
 The unbroken peace, the silence deep, the oblivion 
 
 of the grave. 
 
80 THE MANIAC GIRL. 
 
 The grave — oblivion — ha ! ha ! ha ! — a wiser one 
 
 hath said 
 Dark dreams may come, there may not be oblivion 
 
 for the dead. 
 If so, and I should sip to-day a draught of Death's 
 
 cold wine. 
 What dreams of dark and dread despair, what 
 
 visions would be mine ! 
 These crushing memories, would they come to 
 
 haunt me in the grave? 
 My broken hopes — his trifling ! Oh ! one draught 
 
 from Lethe's w^ave." 
 
 «l^ «i^ -mif «dir ik^ ^Lr ^If ^AjT 
 
 *T« *7* *|* #7* *J^ *|» ^^ ^|t 
 
 " It may not be ; I must bear on, despite this anguish 
 
 wild. 
 Father, tlicn hear with pitying ear, the heart's 
 
 prayer of Thy child. 
 Take from me every murmuring thought, and, if it 
 
 be Thy will 
 To chasten thus, then let these ghastly phantoms 
 
 haunt me still. 
 It may be, when all others fail, I'll learn to lean on 
 
 Thee, 
 
THE MANIAC GIRL. 81 
 
 Since Thou alone canst fill the heart, who fill'st 
 immensity ! 
 
 Thou, only Thou, canst say to grief's wild passion- 
 storm, ^Be still!' 
 
 And Thou alone canst soothe the spirit's anguish 
 at Thy will. 
 
 Hear me. Oh ! God, my Father ! take this weight 
 from off my heart. 
 
 Or bid all restless, murmuring thoughts forever to 
 
 depart." 
 
 ******** 
 
 The prayer went up through Mercy's gate, low 
 
 bows the youthful head, — 
 A calm smile lights the pale, sweet face — the maniac 
 
 girl is dead. 
 
TO A MINIATURE OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Yes, sister dear, this is thine image own ; 
 This glad smile thy joyous heart's expression. 
 Fondly I love to gaze, e'en though through tears, 
 Upon each feature, and in each to trace 
 The sinless beauty of an Angel face. 
 And can it be, beloved, that thou art dead ? 
 That on that brow, so pure and beautiful. 
 Death's seal is resting now ? that those soft eyes 
 No more will open on Life's glorious things? 
 Those laughing lips ne'er part to speak to me ? 
 Oh ! sister mine, tell me what radiant spliere 
 Contains thy spirit? In its holy clime. 
 Dost thou retain aught of the love of earth ? 
 Am I now less thine own, because I tread 
 These darkened pathways still, which thou hast left ? 
 Or dost thou backward gaze o'er life's dim track, 
 
TO A MINIATURE OF THE DEAD. 83 
 
 And, mid the glories of that brighter world, 
 Pity the woes of this ? 
 
 Ah, well I know 
 That in the mansions of the "pure in heart" 
 Thou hast a place ; and when I look around 
 On all the evil which surrounds us here, 
 I thank my God that thou, so long, sweet dove, 
 Hast folded thy glad wings in Paradise. 
 
81 
 
 HAESII WORDS. 
 
 Air — '* Kind words can never die.'''' 
 
 Harsh words can never die ; 
 
 Deeply they rest, 
 In all their rankling power, 
 
 Down in the breast. 
 What though one may forgive, 
 
 And all regret be met 
 With kind response ? Alas ! 
 
 None can forget. 
 
 Harsh Avords will darkly rise 
 
 In happiest hours. 
 Rank thorns in Memory's path. 
 
 Crushing the flowers ; 
 Rank weeds, whose poisonous breath 
 
 Mildew and blisrht unfold. 
 
IIARSn WORDS. 85 
 
 "Wasting the heart like Death, 
 Chilling and cold. 
 
 Harsh words, once spoken, stand, — 
 
 Tear drops that fall 
 On Ocean's rolling waves, 
 
 Who can recall? 
 So by unkindness moved. 
 
 Deeply the heart must feel 
 Wounds, which, though pardoned all, 
 
 Nothing can heal. 
 
 Oh then beware, beware ! 
 
 Weigh well each word. 
 Lest in some tender breast 
 
 /languish be stirred ; 
 Lest when 'tis all too late. 
 
 Thou wouldst call back ajrain 
 Harsh words, whose memory 
 
 Mocks thee in vain. 
 8 
 
86 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 'TwAS on a' balmy morning in the month of May, 
 When the busy song of birds, and scent of flowers 
 Bespoke the glad return of Spring. 
 
 I stood 
 Beside a couch, where lay the pale death-stricken 
 
 form 
 Of a fair girl. The fresh breeze as it murmured by, 
 Soft fanned the glossy ringlets of her dark-brown 
 
 hair. 
 And cooled the fevered throbbing of her snow-white 
 
 brow. 
 She had been beautiful, and evien now disease 
 Had scarcely robbed her of iker youth's bright 
 
 bloom ; yet sure 
 Consumption with its blighting breath wasted her 
 
 frame. 
 
A MEMORY. 87 
 
 And stole the gentle rose-hue from her maiden 
 cheek, 
 
 Leaving the brilliant ^'hectic" in its place. She 
 
 lay 
 The uncomplaining victim to an early doom. 
 And softly by her side, in low convulsive sobs, 
 (Lest troubled grief like hers disturb the flowin<T 
 
 fount 
 
 Of deep, strong, deathless love within the sufferer's 
 
 heart), 
 Her mother wept. 
 
 And seeing that a fevered sleep • 
 Half sealed her dear one's eye, she in her wild 
 
 despair 
 Believed her dying. Raising her sad eyes to 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 As if to implore, in prayer, that God would kindly 
 
 will 
 " The bitter cup to pass," she exclaimed in anguish : 
 
 " Oh my child I my child ! I cannot see thee die, 
 Nor watch the fading brightness of thine eye. 
 
88 A MEMORY. 
 
 Thou art my widowed heart's idolatry, — 
 I cannot see thee die ! 
 How I should miss thy gentle voice's tone, 
 Thou, my first born, my beautiful, my own ; 
 Oh ! I could ne'er tread Earth's bleak path alone, 
 When thou, my child, art gone I" 
 
 ^ ^ 'J^ 'J* *?* ^ ^T* 'T* 
 
 Starting, as if some thrilling dream 
 Had broken her peaceful slumber, her pale, wasted 
 
 face 
 Radiant with a smile of sweet tranquillity, — 
 The maiden woke, and opening her large, languid 
 
 eyes, 
 Fixed them upon her mother, and began : 
 
 ^' Mother, draw near, I must leave thee now : 
 
 The cold dews of Death are upon my brow. 
 
 I must quit thy embrace and the home of my love; 
 
 But I go to a far brighter dwelling above. 
 
 I'll twine a bright chaplet of fair flowers there. 
 
 For thee, — meet reward for thy fond, gentle care, — 
 
A MEMORY. 89 
 
 And o'er thee a spirit's kind vigil 111 keep. 
 Oh mother, sweet mother, I pray do not weep. 
 Ne'er again shall I know either sickness or care : 
 Disease, Death, nor sorrow can e'er reach me there. 
 Mother ! the harp-notes of angels I hear, — 
 They're wooing my soul to that heavenly sphere. 
 I go — fare thee well" — 
 
 But the next word was spoken in Heaven, 
 
 For her pure soul had gone back to its God, and 
 
 now 
 The afflicted mother, bowing her chastened heart 
 In meek submission to Heaven's stern decree, 
 Murmured, " Thy will be done !" 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 A LITTLE CHILD'S PRAYER. 
 
 Low I bend my knee before Thee, 
 Gracious Saviour, meek and mild ; 
 
 Hear the prayer my young lips utter. 
 Thou wert once, like me, — a child. 
 
 In this world, a trembling stranger, 
 
 Timidly I grope alway. 
 For I know that foes are lurking 
 
 To entice my steps astray. 
 
 Let Thy gracious hand then guide me 
 ■ O'er life's dark and troubled tide, — 
 Take me under Thy protection. 
 Keep me ever near Thy side. 
 
A LITTLE child's PRAYER. 91 
 
 Let my footsteps never wander 
 
 From thy paths thou guid'st me in ; 
 
 Screen, Oh ! Lord, my soul from danger, 
 Guard my helpless heart from sin. 
 
 And when Death shall come to bear me 
 From the scenes of Earth away, 
 
 May my spirit find its guerdon, 
 Li the realms of endless day. 
 
 There to join the praise eternal 
 
 Of the myriad Angel host. 
 Who surround Thy throne, adoring 
 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
92 
 
 a 
 
 I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAYS." 
 
 I WOULD not live always, though fortune should 
 
 smile, 
 And pleasure should gladden my path all the while ; 
 Though friends should surround me to comfort and 
 
 cheer, 
 I still would not linger eternally here. 
 
 I would not live always, though glory and fame. 
 Should follow my footsteps and honor my name ; 
 Though joy like a sunbeam should brighten my way, 
 And peace in my heart shed its shadowless ray. 
 
 I would not live always, when they I most love 
 Have gone from this earth to their blest homes 
 above. 
 
a 
 
 I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAYS." 93 
 
 AYlien the fond ties that bind us to life are all riven, 
 Oh, who would then linger an alien from Heaven ! 
 
 I would not live always, when Death can restore 
 The friends I have loved and give back as before 
 Each link that hath dropped from AjQfection's bright 
 
 chain, 
 And bind us in Love's golden bondage again.' 
 
 I would not live always — no, fain would I fly 
 To that bright land of promise beyond the blue sky. 
 Where the sad work of sorrow forever is o'er. 
 And partings and farewells are heard of no more. 
 
94 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 FOR A BOUQUET DURING ILLNESS. 
 
 Thanks, many thanks, for your lovely flowers ; 
 They have sweetly gladdened my weary hours, — 
 They bring a smile in the sad heart to glow, 
 And a perfumed breath for the fevered brow. 
 Flowers ! they wake in the Invalid's breast 
 Glad thoughts of Earth in her Spring beauty drest ; 
 Of the open field and the forest wild, — 
 Where Nature's own glory hath brightly smiled. 
 I pine for the cool mountain's shady stream, 
 Where the bright-eyed blossoms in beauty gleam 
 From the sloping bank, and then stooping lave 
 Their light, pearly cups in the sparkling w^ave. 
 What would the Spring be, though a vocal train 
 Of forest warblers still herald her reign, 
 
TO A FRIEND. 9 
 
 n 
 
 If no blushing buds in our pathway grew, 
 Or lilies to gather the soft May dew ? 
 And what of the honey bee, — can ye tell 
 Where his light, airy form all day would dwell 
 In the Summer hours, if no sweet-celled bloom 
 Allured him not with its honeyed perfume ? 
 Flowers ! they are gems on the breast of Earth ; 
 How holy their mission, how pure their worth ! 
 Oh ! for that clime where no chill, autumn blight, 
 Can wither their freshness, or fade their light. 
 Thanks, gentle friend, for your sweet gift to me ; 
 It wakens a wish in my heart for thee. 
 That ever through life from Love's roseate bowers 
 Your hand may gather the choicest flowers. 
 
96 
 
 SHADOWS OF MEMORY. 
 
 One moment to my throbbing heart I clasped thee, 
 
 darling boy, — 
 One moment felt the gushing of a mother's holy joy. 
 And while I gazed with rapture on thy matchless 
 
 infant charms. 
 Death's envious Angel softly came, and stole thee 
 
 from my arms. 
 And oh, so stealthily he crept — so gently hushed 
 
 thy breath. 
 It seemed almost a mockery, to say that such was 
 
 Death. 
 So full of love and hope was I, that blessed April 
 
 morn, 
 I scarce had felt thou wert my own, my beautiful 
 
 first-born. 
 
SHADOWS OF MEMORY. 97 
 
 And e'en while I implored for strength, mj babe, 
 
 that I might be 
 Thy onlj mother,— that no stranger breast might 
 
 nurture thee. 
 They took thee sleeping from my side, and laid 
 
 thee snug and low — 
 Close by, within thy cradle-bed, as soft and white 
 
 as snow. 
 And there, in holy slumber wrapt, I watched thee 
 
 all the while. 
 
 Until my mother-fondness grew impatient for thy 
 smile ; 
 
 I longed to see thee ope thine eye, but wished alas, 
 in vain — 
 
 How little dreaming then that thou wouldst never 
 wake again. 
 
 At length so breathless still thy sleep, so motion- 
 less thy head. 
 
 That earnestly I begged they would just lay thee 
 on my bed ; 
 
 Where I might note each restless stir, and catch 
 each half-drawn sigh, 
 9 
 
98 SHADOWS OF MEMORY. 
 
 And if a sound disturbed, speak one soft word of 
 
 ''lullaby." 
 But no ; " So sweet he rests," they said, " he must 
 
 not \Yakened be," 
 And I, thus feeble, must not feel too anxious, love, 
 
 for thee. 
 They meant it kind, but I have felt, sometimes, in 
 
 my despair. 
 That, had they brought thee to my arms, I might 
 
 have kept thee there ; — 
 So closely nestled to my heart, my birdling might 
 
 have been 
 Warmed into life, if love could win the spirit back 
 
 again. 
 The weary hours dragged slowly on, till others 
 
 feared, like me. 
 That thy long slumber was too deep, and softly 
 
 crept to see. 
 All mutely gazed ! — I watched each mien — thy 
 
 little helpless head 
 Hung still and cold upon thy breast, — oh, God ! 
 
 my child was dead. 
 
SHADOWS OF MEMORY. 99 
 
 Yes, in the morning of thy life, ere sin could mar 
 thy day, 
 
 A band of smiling Cherubs came, and wooed thy 
 soul away. 
 
 Soft Angel-voices in thy sleep told thee, in whispers 
 low. 
 
 Of deathless flowers in Paradise, and bade thee, 
 
 darling, go. 
 If thou hadst only known the love that wildly 
 
 gushed for thee. 
 Ah, then I might have borne to let my little pet 
 
 dove flee. 
 
 Or if thou erst had parted that sweet coral mouth 
 
 of thine 
 To lisp but one soft word of love, in answer back 
 
 to mine, 
 
 I might bave felt to see thee die, thou couldst not 
 
 then forget 
 
 Thy mother's wild idolatry, which lingers, baby, 
 yet. 
 
 But ah, to yield thee thus, my boy-to give thee up 
 to Death, 
 
100 SHADOWS OF MEMOllY. 
 
 Ere I had scarcely felt the glow of thy soft per- 
 fumed breath ! 
 'Tis this that mocks my agony ! Yet I will not 
 
 despair, 
 Since Heaven is thine, and I may still clasp thee, 
 
 my lost one, there. 
 Oh, from that far off spirit land, where all is joy 
 
 divine, — 
 Where thou, mid radiant Seraph hosts, the loveliest 
 
 far, doth shine, 
 Sweet baby, sometimes give one thought — one kindly 
 
 thought to me. 
 And let thy mother feel that she is not estranged 
 
 from thee. 
 Hear this fond prayer, in anguish breathed, — and 
 
 on thy glad wing flee. 
 And bear it to His throne, who ne'er couldst turn 
 
 away from thee. 
 That where my child, my Angel-child, and little 
 
 Willie are, 
 I too may go, when life is o'er, — and tliou mayH 
 
 knoiu me there. 
 
101 
 
 WHAT A ZEPHYR TOLD ME. 
 
 I'm a beautiful zephyr, 
 
 Liglit, airy, and free; 
 And I roam the wide world, 
 
 O'er the Land and the Sea. 
 I follow old Winter 
 
 With warmth on my wing ; 
 And the Poets have called me 
 
 The breathing of Spring. 
 I kiss the young flowers, 
 
 And they Avake to the light ; 
 At my voice the birds carol 
 
 Their songs of delight. 
 I climb the tall mountain, 
 
 I rove through the plain. 
 
102 WHAT A ZEPnYR TOLD ME. 
 
 And I sport with the billows 
 
 On Ocean's broad main. 
 I fan the sweet garden-beds 
 
 With my soft wing, 
 And lo ! from their dewy breasts 
 
 Violets spring. 
 The rivulets owe all 
 
 Their music to me, 
 For I conquer the Ice-King 
 
 And thus, they are free. 
 I fan the poor Invalid's 
 
 Brow, and its gloom 
 Fades in light, 'neath the breath 
 
 Of my rosy perfume. 
 I lure the dull honey-bee 
 
 Back to the flowers. 
 And I wake the winged warblers 
 
 In green forest bowers. 
 I'm a beautiful zephyr, 
 
 Light, airy, and free; 
 And I roam the wide world, 
 
 O'er the Land and the Sea. 
 
WHAT A ZEPHYR TOLD ME. 10 
 
 I follow old Winter 
 
 With warmth on my wing ; 
 And the Poets have called me 
 
 The breathing of SiDring. 
 
 o 
 
104 
 
 LITTLE CARLTON. 
 
 A LAMENT.* 
 
 He came to us — a thing of joy, 
 
 Filling our home with glee ; 
 No warbling bird upon the wing 
 
 Seemed half so blithe as he. 
 
 The face so bright, e'er sickness dimmed 
 
 The light within his eyes ; 
 The tottering step, the laughing shout. 
 
 The look of glad surprise — 
 
 All now are sad remembered things. 
 
 That come to mock despair ; 
 And yet our fond hearts love to hold 
 
 Each treasured picture fair. 
 
 * Inscribed to his father and motlier,— Mr. and Mrs. John 
 R. Steptoe, of Virginia. 
 
LITTLE CARLTON. 105 
 
 For while we watched his angel smile, 
 
 Heaven seemed not far awaj — 
 We dreamed not that a phantom-form 
 
 Followed him, day by day. 
 
 But oh, at length the Spoiler drew 
 
 Nearer, with stealthy tread, 
 And marked the prize — our darling bowed 
 
 His little, sinless head. 
 
 For months, with anxious, prayerful hearts. 
 
 We watched him day by day, 
 As with hushed song, and weary wing. 
 
 Our precious birdling lay. 
 
 And now, a fresh, green baby-grave. 
 
 Out in the still, cold air. 
 Holds his pale dust— the faded robe 
 
 His freed soul used to wear. 
 
 A little life — a slender span. 
 
 Made up of Summer hours. 
 Was all of him—he ope'd his eyes. 
 
 And closed them with the flowers. 
 
106 
 
 THE NOSE OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO ** EMILY." 
 
 I WAS a spoiled and petted thing, 
 And "Baby" was the name 
 
 By which my mother called to me, 
 Till little brother came. 
 
 I used to have a cradle-bed 
 Just made to suit my form. 
 
 Where sweet I slept " all by myself," 
 So nice, and snug, and warm. 
 
 And gentle nurse would walk with me 
 In summer-time, where flowers 
 
 Of red, and white, and purple hue. 
 Bloomed in their fragrant bowers. 
 
THE NOSE OUT OF JOINT. 107 
 
 When neighbors called and asked to see 
 " The Darling," I was brought ; 
 
 And many a nut and sugar-plum 
 My eager fingers caught. 
 
 I had my little "party" scenes, 
 
 And pleased I used to be, 
 For every toy my father brought 
 
 Was always brought for me. 
 
 And yet I am not jealous now. 
 
 Though tmies are not the same ; 
 I had no mate to play with me, ^ 
 
 Till little brother came. 
 
 Although he has the cradle-bed 
 
 That used to be my owm. 
 Yet Avhen I wake at morning now, 
 
 I do not feel alone. 
 
 For well I know one little heart 
 My childhood's joy partakes — 
 
108 THE NOSE OUT OF JOINT. 
 
 One little mouth will share my meal 
 Of slighted ''thimble cakes." 
 
 He knows the language of mj lips. 
 When fain I would command 
 
 Some pleasure which our good mamma 
 Nor nurse can understand. 
 
 And many a time his finger points, 
 In our sweet walks together, 
 
 To some bright flower I had not seen 
 Or bird of shining feather. 
 
 I would not be without him now, 
 Though times are not the same ; 
 
 I had no brother dear to love 
 Till little "Edwin" came. 
 
109 
 
 A REMEMBERED SERMON.* * 
 
 It fell upon the ear like the rapt tones 
 
 Of Heavenly music, and the air around 
 
 Caught the sweet echo of the Pastor's words 
 
 All eloquent of love — the Saviour's love. 
 
 I cannot soon forget that face serene, 
 
 As, in the meekness of an humble trust, 
 
 It rose before us ; there was such zeal 
 
 And earnest pleading in each look and tone. 
 
 No clamor of complaint for misdeeds done. 
 
 No fearful curse for duties unperformed. 
 
 No cry of threatening wrath, — but a sweet call 
 
 Of ^^ mercy" to the wandering. ^' Brethren" — 
 
 He spoke, and every listening ear was bent 
 
 To catch each accent of his rich, clear voice, 
 
 * By Bishop Johns, of the Virginia Diocese. 
 10 
 
110 A REMEMBERED SERMON. 
 
 As, from the open pages of The Book, 
 
 He read the simple language of his text, — 
 
 ^' The Master is come and calleth for thee." 
 
 They were such words as e'en a little child 
 
 Might have expressed as plainly, yet they fell 
 
 From fhose inspired lips like melody; 
 
 And by each tone that followed, hearts were moved. 
 
 At length, the speaker's accents fervent grew, 
 
 As if the spirit of St. Paul was there 
 
 And spake again, through those meek, parted lips. 
 
 "Brethren," he said once more, "the Master's 
 
 come." 
 Faith lifted up her bright, exulting eyes. 
 " Hail, Heavenly Visitor, at whose coming step 
 All gloomy shadows fade ; in the blest light 
 Of whose joy-giving smile, darkness and clouds 
 Must vanish. 
 
 "Jesus, Redeemer, God, — Thou 
 At whose name the Cherubim bow down 
 And Angels veil their faces. Thou, whom the 
 
 Heaven 
 Of Heavens cannot contain, — whose presence fills 
 
A REMEMBERED SERMOX. Ill 
 
 Immensity, — dost Thou jet deign to choose 
 
 For thine abode, these earth-stained hearts of ours ? 
 
 Oh, make them then by thine own cleansing grace. 
 
 Fit dwellings for so great and pure a Guest. 
 
 Banish from thence, dear Lord, all dross of sin, 
 
 And bless them with the light of holiness ; 
 
 That when in judgment thy sure step draws near, 
 
 And Death proclaims in our dull, closing ear, 
 
 ' The Master's come,' our yearning souls may cry. 
 
 In eager, glad response, ' Even so, come Thou, 
 
 Lord Jesus, come quickly.' " 
 
 I have heard eloquence in Senate halls. 
 
 Have seen men stirred to wrath, and moved to tears, 
 
 As mighty tongues chained listening multitudes, 
 
 By the grand utterance of noble thoughts. 
 
 I have bowed down to Genius as displayed 
 
 On glowing pages of immortal verse. 
 
 But never yet did my ear catch such tones 
 
 Of thrilling pathos as, that morning, fell 
 
 In burning words, from the inspired lips 
 
 Of that meek man of God. « 
 
112 
 
 "IN MEMORIAM." 
 
 (W. C. M— ir.) 
 
 I HAD no thought when thou were with us here, 
 That I should write thy '' In memoriam ;" 
 That e'er this hand should, o'er a name so dear, 
 Trace that sad word, "departed." 
 
 Where are words 
 To speak thy praise, oh, friend of noble soul ? 
 What language shall my pen employ to tell 
 The thousand virtues that adorned thy life ? 
 That life, whose brightening sun ne'er reached its 
 
 noon. 
 The soldier falls upon the battle-field, 
 And muffled drum and martial music, slow. 
 Chime forth his requiem. The statesman dies, 
 And drooping banners wave above his bier. 
 
'' IN MEMORIAM." 113 
 
 While nations loud proclaim a nation's loss. 
 But ere the sculptured pile is reared, that marks 
 His grave, another takes his place, and fills 
 The vacant rank as Tvell. 
 
 Not so with thee ; 
 For in the hearts thou leav'st behind, there lives 
 The fadeless record of a good man's name. 
 And Memory calls, at mention of it. 
 Deeds, words, and smiles of kindness lost with thee. 
 Aye, Friendship loves to dwell on all thou wert — 
 Alas ! how few resemble thee, while none 
 Excel. So pure in heart, meek, gentle, mild. 
 Withal, of lofty aims, so emulous. 
 Thy manly heart throbbed but in unison 
 With truth and virtue ; noble thoughts there found 
 A fitting home, and love a sanctuary. 
 But Death disowns all greatness; and when Earth 
 Seemed fairest to thine eye, when Fortune smiled 
 And life's sky gleamed with rainbows — aye, when 
 
 Love 
 Circled thy heart with its pure sympathies. 
 And thy proud cheek had but just lately felt 
 
 10"^ 
 
114 ''IN MEMORIAM." 
 
 The thrilling sweetness of thy first-born's breath, 
 
 His icy dart was near thee. Slowly fell 
 
 The shaft that laid thee low ; the fading cheek,- 
 
 The brightening eye, the weary, laggard step, 
 
 All told that the Destroyer e'en would lay 
 
 A gentle hand on thee. The balmy airs 
 
 Of Southern climes were sought, alas ! in vain. 
 
 Thou didst return with the Spring violets, 
 
 And, as they breathed sweet incense round thy bed, 
 
 God's Angel hushed thy breath, and laughing May 
 
 Awoke the flowers, to lift their heads, and smile 
 
 Above thy grave. 
 
 Oh ! it is well with thee, — 
 Well, for a soul like thine, thus to lay down 
 Earth's needful cross, and, early thus, put on 
 Heaven's waiting crown. To us, the way is dark, 
 Of thy dear presence and thy smile bereft ; 
 Yet well we know that in life's conflict here, 
 Thine was, the while, a hero's noble part, 
 Thine now, a Conqueror's grave. 
 
115 
 
 A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 
 
 God of Mercy ! Father, Friend, 
 At thy feet we humbly bend ; 
 Comfort, in our sorrow, send — 
 
 Bless our little Willie. 
 
 Low he lies — his baby cheek 
 Fever-flushed, his eyelids meek 
 Closed in languor ; Jesus, speak. 
 Raise our little Willie ! 
 
 Thou a parent's care hath known, 
 Thou a mother's love didst own. 
 Let our hearts to Thee make moan- 
 Heal our little Willie. 
 
 Once to Thy kind bosom pressed, 
 
116 A mother's prayer. 
 
 Little ones -vvere fondly blest ; 
 Soothe a troubled soul's unrest, 
 
 Save our little Willie. 
 
 All day long his head hath lain 
 Restless from disease and pain — 
 Saviour, give him health again ! 
 Helpless little Willie. 
 
 Much of our life's dearest joy 
 Centres in him — angel boy ; 
 Do not our fond bliss destroy, 
 
 Do not take our AVillie. 
 
 But in mercy, God of power. 
 Spare, oh ! spare this cherished flower. 
 Drooping in our home's sweet bower. 
 Spare our little Willie ! 
 
 Send, from Heaven's glad realm of light. 
 Messengers of love to-night ; 
 Let thine angels, pure and bright. 
 Watch our little Willie. 
 
A mother's prayer. 117 
 
 And when morning comes to clieer 
 Gracious Saviour, be thou near ; 
 Brighten hope and banish fear, 
 
 Heal our little Willie. 
 
 Or if it should be Thy will. 
 We would Th J stern law fulfil ; 
 Only whisper, " Peace, be still," 
 Take our little Willie. 
 
 And above yon starry dome, 
 Where disease no more may come 
 Let our darling find a home, 
 
 Angel little Willie ! 
 
 V- 
 
118 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 (written in sickness.) 
 
 Touch me with thy soft hand, 
 Oh, gentle Soother of the weary-hearted ; 
 
 And bear me to that land 
 Where dreams restore the joys fore'er departed. 
 
 Take from my brow this pain, 
 And from my heart its dull, cold weight of sorrow ; 
 
 Let me feel once again 
 Health, buoyant health, returning with the morrow. 
 
 The daylight hath gone by. 
 Soft Night appears, her mystic shadows bringing ; 
 
 Seal with thy kiss mine eye. 
 And quench the tears from a full heart upspringing. 
 
TO SLEEP. 119 
 
 For though thy silent mien 
 Dost wear of Death perchance too close a seeming, 
 
 Yet in thy smile serene 
 I trace of quiet joy a -welcomed gleaming. 
 
 Fold me to thy kind breast — 
 Already do I feel thy presence stealing 
 
 Near with its balm of rest — 
 Oh, lull to Lethean calm each rebel feelins:. 
 
 And I will bless our God, 
 E'en while upon this couch of pain I languish, 
 
 That, fainting 'neath His rod, 
 Thy touch hath kindly soothed this fevered anguish. 
 
 Oh, once again draw nigh. 
 Bless the long, weary hours I still must number, 
 
 Seal with thy kiss mine eye — 
 Fold me to thy soft bosom, peaceful Slumber. 
 
 And when these aching eyes 
 Upon life's transient scenes are darkly closing. 
 
 May the freed spirit rise 
 To endless rest mid Heaven's own bliss reposing. 
 
120 
 
 GONE HENCE. 
 
 (on the death of an infant nephew, WILLIE E. MEEM.) 
 
 Thou hast gone hence, my angel boy, 
 Gone is thine eye's soft light ; 
 
 The little form so fondly loved 
 Hath vanished from our sight. 
 
 I see no more the smile that played 
 
 Upon thy baby face ; 
 No more, thy tiny arms reach out 
 
 To meet my fond embrace. 
 
 Thy dimpled cheeks no more may press 
 
 Thy mother's loving breast ; 
 No more her voice in " lullaby" 
 
 Hush thee to rosy rest. 
 
 The grave now hides, my precious boy. 
 Thy fair, though faded mould, — 
 
GONE HEXCE. 121 
 
 Thy little heart is pulseless now, 
 Thy forehead, pale and cold. 
 
 And jet around us everywhere 
 
 Are little things, that tell 
 Of all the joys we've lost in thee, — 
 
 Joys loved, perhaps, too well. 
 
 Thy vacant cradle, carriage, chair, 
 
 Thy mantle, toys, and ring, — 
 All, all are here to mock the tears 
 
 Which tender memories bring. 
 
 But where thy infant step hath been, 
 
 All now is grief and gloom ; 
 And we, who watched thy baby glee, 
 
 Are wailing round thy tomb. 
 
 Be still, my heart, why darkly mourn 
 
 The beautiful and free ; 
 Thou'lt not come back to us, my boy. 
 
 Yet we may go to thee. 
 11 
 
122 
 
 THE BRIDE OF DEATH. 
 
 (suggested by the death of a lady soon to have become a 
 
 BRIDE.) 
 
 Bring flowers, bring snowy lilies fair, 
 
 To twine around lier brow, 
 For lo ! the young, the pure, the bright, 
 
 In death is slumb'ring now. 
 
 Tread softly, — angels hover near. 
 
 Their viewless wings outspread — 
 
 Bright visitants returned to Earth 
 To watch around the dead. 
 
 How changed the home where she hath moved, 
 
 The blessing and the pride 
 Of loving hearts, that struggle now 
 
 Their helpless grief to hide. 
 
THE BRIDE OF DEATH. 123 
 
 Eut jesterclaj, all bright with hope, 
 Her voice in music burst ; — 
 
 Alas ! that in Death's phantom throng, 
 Our fairest should be first. 
 
 Ah, broken is the golden chain 
 Of hopes and memories dear, 
 
 That hung around the cherished form 
 Now slumb'ring on this bier. 
 
 And parted is the household band ; 
 
 All desolate and lone 
 Thej weep : from out the parent nest 
 
 The SAYcetest bird hath flown. 
 
 Afar is heard the tearful wail 
 
 Of love by hope denied ; 
 He mourns for her, the doubly lost, 
 
 AYho would have been his bride. 
 
 The Orange blossoms faded lie. 
 Culled for the bridal wreath ; 
 
 Lay them aside, — with lily-bells 
 Crown ye the Bride of Death. 
 
124 
 
 TO A DEAR UNCLE. 
 
 (ON HIS DETAETURE FOR CALIFORNIA.) 
 
 Heaven's blessing rest on thee, beloved, 
 
 As to a distant land 
 Thou wand'rest far, while we remain, 
 
 A broken household band. 
 
 The Summer birds will come and go — 
 The flowers will bloom and fade ; 
 
 The autumn winds sigh mournfully 
 Amid the forest's shade. 
 
 And loving lips will call thy name 
 
 In whispered accents low. 
 And yearning hearts will sigh for thee 
 
 Wherever thou mayst go. 
 
TO A DEAR UNCLE. 125 
 
 And yet thou'lt not return to us 
 
 For many a weary day : 
 Spring's verdure, Summer's bloom will find 
 
 The wand'rer still away. 
 
 And prayers will oft ascend for thee, 
 
 At morn and eventide ; 
 When gathered round the social hearth 
 
 We miss thee from our side. 
 
 Ah, then in Memory's trace will come 
 
 Thy well-remembered tone ; 
 The look of kindness and the smile 
 
 That's lost when thou art gone. 
 
 And at the board, the cheerful board. 
 
 Which thou wert wont to share, 
 Hushed now will be the merry jest. 
 
 Where sits thy vacant chair. 
 
 At evening too, when music rings 
 Loud through the parlor hall, 
 11^ 
 
126 TO A DEAR UNCLE. 
 
 When heard the song by thee loved best, 
 Tears will unbidden fall. 
 
 In Summer's glory, Winter's gloom, 
 By hearth, and on the stair. 
 
 All day, at morning, noon, and night, 
 We'll miss thee everywhere. 
 
 Nor will the gladness to our home 
 Come back, our hearts to cheer, 
 
 Or mirth and glee return again. 
 Beloved, till thou art here. 
 
 Then linger not too long away. 
 
 Far in a distant land ; 
 Remember that thou Icav'st behind 
 
 A lonely household band. 
 
127 
 
 A FATHER'S LAMENT. 
 
 I CANNOT make thee dead, mj child, 
 
 I cannot make thee dead. 
 Although thj form lies cold and still 
 
 Within its cradle-bed. 
 
 And on thj breast I see the flowers 
 
 Of Summer, fragrant lie. 
 Like thee to breathe out their sweet life, 
 
 And then, like thee, to die. 
 
 Meet emblems they, of thy brief span. 
 So joyous, calm, and free, — 
 
 Ko cloud to dim, no blight to stain 
 Thy soul's sweet purity. 
 
 I gaze upon thy little form, 
 So motionless and cold ; 
 
128 A FATHEll'S LAMENT. 
 
 And almost doubt that what I see 
 Is but a lifeless mould. 
 
 Thy gentle eyes seem closed in sleep, 
 To ope again more bright, 
 
 I cannot feel, that quenched and gone 
 Is their sweet spirit-light. 
 
 And in fond memory too, I see 
 A sweet, bright, baby face. 
 
 Following me with its earnest gaze, 
 And modest, winning grace. 
 
 How meekly o'er those little orbs 
 The close-sealed e3^elids lie, — 
 
 But when I speak, no soft tone comes 
 Like music, in reply. 
 
 And when I press the tiny hand 
 Near to my beating heart. 
 
 Its icy coldness makes the pulse 
 Of warm affection start. 
 
A father's lament. 129 
 
 Mj child, how can we give thee up, 
 
 Our Mary, sinless one ! 
 Where will the gladness of our home 
 
 Be now, thy smile is gone ? 
 
 But yesterday, thy baby arms 
 
 Reached out to welcome me ; 
 And now, a soulless shrine of dust 
 
 Is all I clasp of thee. 
 
 Oh God ! who know'st a parent's love, 
 
 Forgive, if, at Thy will. 
 Our hearts are crushed, — Thy mercy yet 
 
 May whisper, ^' Peace — be still." 
 
 No longer may I pause to hear, 
 
 In prattling accents sweet. 
 The voice whose baby tones were first 
 
 My coming step to greet. 
 
 Yet well I know that in that clime 
 Where all is light and love, 
 
130 A father's lament. 
 
 Close in tlie Saviour's tender breast 
 Nestles our timid Dove. 
 
 And though thou never more mayst come 
 
 To us, yet we may go 
 To thee, sweet baby, when the cares 
 
 And griefs of life are o'er. 
 
 Now fare thee well, my angel child. 
 
 Henceforth there'll surely be 
 Between our hearts and Heaven, a chain 
 
 Linking us still with thee. 
 
 One kiss upon the marble cheek, 
 
 Then to the arms of God 
 We yield thee, while, with chastened hearts, 
 
 We bow beneath His rod. 
 
 No more with gladness thy dear smile 
 Our home and hearts may fill. 
 
 Yet in the mansions of the blest 
 Thou art "our Mary" still. 
 
A father's lament. 131 
 
 And 'mid Heaven's radiant Cherub-hosts 
 
 Thy little face, so fair, 
 Will be, when we are called above, 
 
 The first to meet us there. 
 
 Oh, from that land of fadeless bloom, 
 
 Where thou art wandering now. 
 With no disease to mar the light 
 
 That shines upon thy brow, 
 
 Look on us, baby, still, and be 
 
 The guardian Angel given, 
 To guide our faltering, wayward steps 
 
 From this dull Earth to Heaven. 
 
132 
 
 NIGHT-WATCH WITH A DEAD INFANT. 
 
 (inscribed to MR. AND MRS. DEXTER OTEY, OP LYNCHBITRG.) 
 
 Tread softly here ! — Upon this little couch 
 An angel sleeps. Closed are its ejes, and cold 
 Its forehead fair, yet on the lip Heaven's seal 
 Of holiest love is placed, — a Cherub smile. 
 Upon the breast, so still and quiet now, 
 The little hands are folded peacefully ; 
 And the young heart will throb again no more 
 In restless agony. 
 
 This was a flower 
 Of rare and winning loveliness ; 'twas reared 
 And watched and tended with devoted care ; 
 But when it learned to know the voice of love, 
 And to give back affection's fragrance — lo ! 
 
NIGHT-WATCH WITH A DEAD INFANT. 133 
 
 The Spoiler came, and with his canker-touch 
 Blighted the tender blossom, till it fell 
 Withered and crushed from off the parent stem. 
 Angel hands caught up the faded floweret, 
 And afar to Heaven's immortal bowers 
 Bore it with gentle care, to live and bloom 
 Mid the soft genial airs of Paradise. 
 There, falls no blighting breath upon the flowers, 
 And there, no shadowy veil shuts from our gaze 
 The forms we love. In that bright radiant realm 
 Of endless joy and sunshine, wanders now 
 The little sinless soul, o'er Avhose pale shrine 
 We keep this midnight vigil. Angel child ! 
 Methinks I see thee in that Eden clime 
 Of glowing light and beauty. On thy brow, 
 So cold and pallid here, no trace is there 
 Of suffering or disease, — no quick-drawn sigh, 
 No labored, panting breath, tells me of pain 
 That mocks all human skill, and makes the prayer 
 Wrung from parental lips wild in its tone 
 Of fervor and of anguish. Cherub hands 
 Crown thee with garlands now, and round thee bloom 
 
 12 
 
134 NIGHT-WATCH WITH A DEAD INFANT. 
 
 Fadeless exotics, o'er whose shining leaves 
 
 Comes no decay. Never, ah, nevermore 
 
 Shall thy bright eyes close in dull languor, or 
 
 Thy baby cheek flush with disease. O'er fields 
 
 And pastures green, thy tiny feet are led 
 
 Near the still waters of the Better Land, 
 
 And the Good Shepherd takes thee in His arms 
 
 And folds thee to His bosom tenderly. 
 
 All night long I've watched beside thee, Mary, 
 
 And the hours have brought me holy musings 
 
 Of that bliss the freed soul must enjoy, when 
 
 Like a bird held captive from its own green 
 
 Forest bowers, it bursts, at length, the bars 
 
 'Gainst which its weary wing has fluttered long 
 
 And helplessly, and soaring high above 
 
 All storm, pours forth its warbling hymn of praise, 
 
 And love, and joyous thankfulness to Him 
 
 Who gave it liberty. 'Tis thus with thee. 
 
 And now as morning breaks o'er earth, and through 
 
 The window-casement daylight peers again, 
 
 I'll kiss once more thy dust and say to thee, 
 
 ' ' Farewell, sweet babe, farewell ! ' ' Thy home is now 
 
NIGHT-WATCH WITH A DEAD INFANT. 135 
 
 Where only the " pure in heart" maj hope to dwell ; 
 I thank my God that He has called thee hence, 
 And I would fain follow, in humble trust, 
 The path of Truth, which leads to Heaven and thee. 
 
136 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 
 
 FROM A PICTURE. 
 
 While o'er the bloody field night's shadows crept, 
 
 A weary soldier on the green turf slept ; 
 
 One arm his gun still clasping in his rest, 
 
 The other thrown across his brave, young breast, 
 
 With limbs worn down by all the toils of war, 
 
 His spirit in his slumber wandered far. 
 
 He had a dream, — 'twas of his far-off home. 
 To which all crowned with honors he had come : 
 He felt his wife's embrace, his infant's kiss, 
 And his soul revelled in the envied bliss, — 
 For which he had so toiled and fought, and borne 
 All the privations which his frame had worn. 
 
THE soldier's DREAM. 137 
 
 His favorite spaniel came his step to greet, 
 And played and gambolled round his dust-worn feet ; 
 Each kind domestic smiled his voice to hear, 
 And poured their gladdening welcomes in his ear. 
 Shrub, tree, and flower, as they met his sight. 
 Made him forget awhile his Country's fight. 
 
 Sleep on, brave soldier ! morn will come again-, 
 And bring to thy glad heart, distress and pain ; 
 Thou'lt know that joys which now so real seem, 
 Are but the sweet delusions of a dream. 
 And 'mid the angry Cannons' deepening roar, 
 Those voices of thy home thou'lt hear no more. 
 
 12^ 
 
138 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Happy cliildren ! Heaven bless them ; 
 
 Every day I chance to meet 
 Pleasant, cheerful, smiling faces, 
 
 Passing by me in the street. 
 
 Everywhere I meet glad children, 
 
 Hurrying on with busy feet ; 
 Little thinking, little caring, 
 
 How I love their steps to greet. 
 
 Noble lads and " bonnie lassies," 
 School-room truants, loitering, slow. 
 
 Conning, absently, the lessons 
 
 Which they " fear" they will not know. 
 
 Smiling girls, — confiding creatures. 
 Telling '' cronies," soft and low. 
 
CHILDREN. 139 
 
 How their morning tasks were hindered 
 By a favorite " College Beau." 
 
 And (how strange), no sooner mentioned, 
 
 Than the Beau himself, is seen 
 Very gallantly proposing 
 
 To escort, — the Books, I mean. 
 
 But I turn from lads and lassies, 
 
 With their school-day hopes and fears, 
 
 With a prayer that life may spare them 
 Sorrow's cup in later years. 
 
 Here are little ones, God bless them I 
 
 Gaily tripping to and fro ; 
 How like cherubs seem they, — only 
 
 Wanting wings to make them so. 
 
 Laughing babies from the cradle, 
 
 Closely hugged to nurses' arms ; 
 Little prattlers, tottling slowly. 
 
 With their dainty "two year" charms. 
 
140 CHILDREN. 
 
 Lisping accents ! ah, how dearly 
 Do I love such tones to greet, 
 
 As I daily hear, in passing 
 Little children on the street. 
 
 Heaven must bless them, they are Heaven's 
 Angels make them all their care; 
 
 And, as we are near to children, 
 Just so near to Heaven we are. 
 
 Who that sees their smiling faces, 
 Innocent, and pure, and mild. 
 
 Would not say, " My God, I thank thee, 
 /was once a little child." 
 
141 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 At early morn, from fragrant bowers, 
 
 With careless hand I gathered flowers ; 
 
 Fresh with the zephyr's breath they grew, 
 
 A starry cluster bathed in dew. 
 
 Until from off their native stems 
 
 In eager haste I plucked the gems, — 
 
 Toyed with their perfumed leaves awhile. 
 
 An idle moment to beguile — 
 
 When in my path, lo ! at midday, 
 
 A group of withered flow' rets lay : 
 
 Unlike the buds I plucked at morn, 
 
 Their dewy freshness faded, gone. 
 
 'Tis thus, thought I, in Youth's glad hours 
 
 We gather Time's joy-laden floAvers, 
 
142 STANZAS. 
 
 And toying idly with his glass 
 We let the golden moments pass. 
 Till in Life's noonday path we tread, 
 On Hope's bright morning-glories dead ; 
 Their freshness gone, we only see 
 The faded flowers of Memory. 
 
143 
 
 LITTLE HELEN. 
 
 They tell me thou art dead, fair child, 
 That on thy sweet, young brow. 
 
 The gloom and coldness of the grave 
 Is resting darkly now. 
 
 That in this world where thou didst move 
 
 As with an Angel's grace. 
 We never more may hope to meet 
 
 Thy soul-lit, beaming face. 
 
 That hushed is now the voice, whose tone 
 
 Brought gladness to the ear 
 Of fond Affection, while with us 
 
 Its music lingered near. 
 
 And that the love which softly shone. 
 So earnestly and bright, 
 
144 LITTLE HELEN. 
 
 From out the tender, spirit-depths 
 Of thine eyes' gentle light, 
 
 No more will bless us with its glance 
 
 Of sympathy so dear. 
 Which came, e'en like an Angel's smile, 
 
 Our yearning hearts to cheer. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! we dreamed not, on 
 
 That sad remembered day. 
 When in her snowy, flower-strewn shroud 
 
 Thy Baby-Sister lay, 
 
 That thou, of that bereaved band 
 Whose tears fell fast and long 
 
 Upon her breast, would be the next 
 To join the Angel throng. 
 
 That thou, though fairest, would be first 
 
 To greet her in that clime. 
 Where moments are not measured 
 
 By the falling sands of Time. 
 
LITTLE HELEN. 145 
 
 Nor did we dream when in the grave 
 
 We laid her form so low, 
 The dust upon her marble cheek, 
 
 Death's seal upon her brow, 
 
 That ere one month should fill its course. 
 
 Thou too wouldst sink to rest, 
 Where Summer birds would sing all day. 
 
 Above thy silent breast. 
 
 Ah, vain is human love, and vain 
 
 The dearest joys of Earth, 
 Since hopes that seem to us most fair, 
 
 Thus perish in their birth. 
 
 Thy life, sweet child, was like the blush 
 
 That lingers on the flower, 
 And only yields its perfumed tint 
 
 At morning's dewy hour. 
 
 Thy soul, thy stainless, cherub soul, 
 Could rest no longer here ; 
 18 
 
146 LITTLE HELEN. 
 
 It pined in Earth's dull, cheerless soil, 
 For Heaven's more genial sphere. 
 
 And there I know that thou art blest 
 Far more than thou couldst be 
 
 With us, e'en with the deep, wild love 
 That blindly mourns for thee. 
 
 Where thou art, Helen, all is bliss ; 
 
 No clouds in darkness rise 
 To mar the light that shines around 
 
 Thy pathway in the skies. 
 
 Oh, from that radiant spirit-clime. 
 
 Look still in pitying love 
 On those thy parting hath bereft. 
 
 Dear, cherished, household Dove. 
 
 And when God's messenger shall come 
 
 Their spirits to release. 
 Be thine the angel hand to close 
 
 Their weary eyes in peace. 
 
117 
 
 THE CONFIRMATION. 
 
 The night was calm and beautiful. The Stars, 
 The quiet Stars, looked down with gentle eyes 
 On Nature's sleeping loveliness. The flowers, 
 Those dewy gems tliat shine on Earth's fair breast, 
 Were nodding dreamily upon their stems ; 
 While the hushed zephyrs slumbered peacefully 
 Within their bosoms. All around breathed tones 
 Of soft subduing melody, stilling 
 To quiet peace, the clamorous discord 
 Of man's jarring nature. 
 
 By the might 
 Of Sabbath influences, solemn, deep, 
 Our steps were guided willingly, to where 
 Both love and duty beckoned them,— the House 
 Of God. A brooding stillness reigned within 
 
148 THE CONFIRMATION. 
 
 His Temple. Hearts were raised to Heaven, lips 
 Hushed in prayerful silence, while around 
 The sacred Chancel knelt the little band 
 Of suppliants for grace. Manhood there bowed 
 His lofty head, and meekly asked of long- 
 Neglected Mercy, strength — to finish out 
 The remnant of his days, a soldier of 
 The Cross. Youth offered up the morning bloom 
 And freshness of its heart to Heaven, and prayed 
 For aid to conquer all temptation, and 
 To keep a strict, close walk with God. Childhood, 
 With Childhood's trust, begged wisdom of our 
 
 Father, 
 And Orphanage bespoke protection of 
 His love. 
 
 Widowhood was there, with broken heart 
 And tearful eyes, pleading for meek submission 
 To His will. Sadness and joy commingled 
 Sympathy. Hope's glad, expectant bosom 
 Throbbed beside the pulse of Disappointment. 
 Happiness, that bright boon of young natures, 
 
THE CONFIRMATION. 149 
 
 Touched the sombre garb of Sorrow. Innocence 
 Bowed down, with sage Experience. 
 
 One common goal 
 Had brought their several paths this night 
 Together, and in God's pure sight, their wants 
 And pious claims were equal. Oh 'twas sweet 
 To see the holy man approach them near, 
 And "laying hands" on each, ask listening Heaven 
 For blessings on them all. 
 
 Doubt, lingering by 
 With timid footstep, tearfully embraced 
 Faith's proffered blessing. Penitence bowed down 
 In meek humility, and from his heart 
 Arose sweet incense of devotion. To 
 The Sinner's ear, there came sad tones of low 
 And earnest pleading. Would he longer strive 
 Against God's waiting Spirit ? AVould he still 
 Delay, even while that voice yet lingered 
 In his ear, which oft before, as now, had 
 Whispered, " Son, give me thy heart?" 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE CONFIRMATION. 
 
 Ah, never, 
 Nevermore, perhaps, to him may come its 
 Sweet, remembered music, — nevermore the 
 Kind assurance heard, ''Ask, and it shall be 
 Given, — seek, ye shall find, — knock, and it shall 
 Be opened unto thee." * * * * 
 
 ***** Oh, may our souls 
 No solace find, in this dim, tearful vale. 
 Till, shaking off Transgression's fetter, we 
 May all approach our Father's Mercy-seat ; 
 And listening Seraphs, waiting round, may catch 
 From our full hearts, and bear to Heaven's glad ear 
 The cry, " Oh Lord, — we come !" 
 
151 
 
 TO A SLEEPING INFANT. 
 
 Little one, with eyelids closing 
 
 Softly to their wonted rest, 
 In thy mother's arms reposing, 
 
 Folded gently to her breast — 
 
 Say, what visions, brightly glowing. 
 Float before thy slumbering eye. 
 
 On thy heart rich dreams bestowing 
 Of that world beyond the sky ? 
 
 Dost thou view the crystal river, 
 
 Sparkling clear through meadows green ; 
 
 Wanderest thou where dew-gems quiver 
 Mid the flowers of golden sheen ? 
 
152 TO A SLEEPING INFANT. 
 
 Lo ! a smile — I know its meaning — 
 Angel forms communion keep ; 
 
 Spirits from on high are gleaning 
 Secrets from thee, in thy sleep. 
 
 They are asking, sinless darling. 
 Of the path untried and new, — 
 
 Whether here so bright a starling 
 May to Heaven's high cause be true. 
 
 List their message — o'er thee bending. 
 Hear them in low whispers say : 
 
 "Lean on God, His truth attending, 
 Nought shall harm thee on thy Avay. 
 
 " Life is but a wavelet, shaken 
 By a storm from wintry skies ; 
 
 At its close thine eyes shall waken 
 In their native Paradise." 
 
153 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MUS. FANNIE S. 
 GIBBONS, 
 
 OF HARRISONBURG, VIRGINIA. 
 
 The breath of Spring is nigh — it comes once more 
 To glad the Earth where Winter's frown hath 
 been, 
 
 And violets their fragrant incense pour 
 
 On flowery paths, through dewy meadows green ; 
 
 But all in vain they smile for us — we mourn 
 
 For thee^ sweet Blossom, from our bosoms torn. 
 
 The birds, gay warblers, flit from tree to tree, 
 Waking glad melody in forest bowers. 
 
 And laughing brooks flow on in sportive glee — 
 While sunshine crowns the swiftly-passing hours ; 
 
 Alas ! we heed them not : Death's form hath passed 
 
 In at our threshold, since we saw them last. 
 
154 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. FANNIE S. GIBBONS. 
 
 And thou, with love's high hopes fresh in thj heart, 
 Joy's smile, like sunlight, on thy fair, young 
 brow, 
 
 Thou wert the prize won by his cruel dart ; 
 
 Thine the dear form his ruthless hand laid low — 
 
 Oh, ne'er before hath his cold fingers pressed 
 
 Their frozen clasp around a purer breast. 
 
 Thine was a spirit pure as Summer rose, 
 
 When morning wakes its fresh, young leaves to 
 light. 
 And in thy heart Affection found repose, 
 
 While holy thoughts there nestled, warm and 
 bright. 
 But, like the lily, which rude storms have tried. 
 Thou bow'dst thy lovely head and meekly died. 
 
 Yes, tliou art dead ! Deep, deep the sod, beneath 
 Whence Summer violets spring, thou'rt sleeping 
 low. 
 
 Say, wilt thou not return when May's soft breath 
 O'er timid buds and meek-eyed flow'rets blow ? 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. FANNIE S. GIBBONS. 155 
 
 Ah, vain these bitter tears, and vain the prayer 
 Affection murmurs in its wild despair. 
 
 Thou' It not come hack to us, though early flowers 
 Still pour their fragrance on the balmy air ; 
 
 Though "warbling birds make glad Earth's lonely 
 bowers. 
 We'll miss tht/ voice, dear lost one, everywhere ; 
 
 Yet Faith will whisper, in low accents sweet, 
 
 " There is a clime above, where we may meet." 
 
 Oh, from that land of never-fading bloom, 
 Still bend on us, dear one, thy pitying gaze. 
 
 While from the darkness of thy early tomb 
 
 We humbly strive our yearning thoughts to raise ; 
 
 Hover around us. Angel-guide, till we 
 
 Shall quit this world to live again with thee. 
 
156 
 
 ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 House thee, my soul, wake all thy slumbering 
 
 powers, 
 Nor longer trail thy pinions in the dust, — 
 Bright aims, high purposes, demand thy zeal ; 
 Upward and soar ! thou who canst dare to claim 
 That richest heritage, a spirit-birth. 
 What are the sordid gains for which they toil. 
 Whose highest guerdon is the world's poor praise ? 
 What is ambition, wealth, or even fame, 
 But empty bubbles broken by a breath ? 
 These do but mock thy cravings ; put thee on 
 Faith's burnished helmet, Truth's unfailing shield. 
 And gird thee with new hope and trusting love. 
 And patient, firm endurance ; look aloft. 
 And not to self alone devote thy powers ; 
 Live not for self alone. 
 
ASPIRATIONS. 157 
 
 Let others seek 
 In hidden treasures of the Earth and Sea, 
 That paltry, perishable thing called gold. 
 Aye, let them toil, as many do full oft, 
 AYith aching heart and brow to win a name; 
 Or let them grasp at potver, to learn that crowns 
 Msij jpress the brow which wears them. Not for 
 
 ' thee 
 These glittering baubles, not for thee, my soul. 
 Earth is thy battle-ground. Heaven tliy fair home; 
 Strive to obtain a victor's welcome there. 
 Live for mankind, thy Country — more than all. 
 Live for thy God, my Soul. 
 
 14 
 
158 
 
 L'ENVOL 
 
 (FROM "IMOGEX," AN UNFINISHED POEM.) 
 
 I HAVE been out, dear Love, this radiant morning, 
 
 In the broad open field and wikl wood near ; 
 Amid whose vocal shades and sunlit meadows 
 
 We took our last sweet walk, when thou wert 
 here. 
 The Sun shone clear as then, the air was balmy, 
 
 The while a quiet breeze played o'er the hill ; 
 And yet my heart was joyless, love, and lonely. 
 
 The music in my bosom hushed and still. 
 I could not heed the warbling matin-chorus. 
 
 Which, from a thousand throats, went up on 
 high; 
 Nor did I mark, as then, the low, sweet humming 
 
 Of each glad insect, as it murmured by. 
 
l'envoi. 159 
 
 Sad memories of sad things bowed down my spirit, 
 
 And dimmed mine eyes to Nature's cliarms 
 around, — 
 Cold, cruel tones, and colder Avords of parting, 
 
 Blent in strange discord with each vocal sound. 
 Ah ! Love and Change, ye have a mystic meaning. 
 
 Which only they Avho know ye both can tell. 
 With me Love ne'er could know such cold estrange- 
 mcnt. 
 
 Or Friendship even breathe such cold farewell. 
 
 Rememberest thou, that 'tis the mild September, 
 
 That month to Memory and to Love so dear ; 
 Why is it then, at this sweet, hallowed season, 
 
 I vainly pause thy coming step to hear ? 
 Thou shouldst be with me, — we should roam together 
 
 The tangled pathways of the forest dim. 
 Together pause, as oft of yore, to listen. 
 
 As Nature upward sends her choral hymn. 
 Yet if life offers thee more joy in absence, 
 
 And thou more happy art, when far away, 
 I'll welcome loneliness always, and sorrow, 
 
 To know that thou art always glad and gay. 
 
160 
 
 THE WOODS IN SUMMER. 
 
 The woods, the woods ! ah, what delicious calm 
 Their freshness brings. Once, with a fevered pulse 
 And weary heart, I sought these cooling shades, 
 And bj this flowing rill, so clear and bright, 
 I sat me down in very weariness. 
 It was a day of loveliness, in June, 
 When Nature seemed dressed for a holiday, 
 And little children Avelcomed it with joy, — 
 Tossing with busy hands the new-mown hay, 
 Or wreathing garlands of the sweet, wild flowers, 
 While bird and bee chorused each merry peal 
 Of ringing laughter. All the air around 
 Echoed the hum of voices — every breeze 
 Wafting a breath of incense, pure and sweet. 
 And blooming fields of yellow, waving grain, 
 Laughed in the golden sunlight. 
 
THE WOODS m summer. loi 
 
 To the woods 
 I wandered then, as now, with saddened heart, 
 ,And 'mid these rural sliades found sweet repose. 
 Ah, it is well, sometimes, to turn aside 
 From all the foot-worn paths of busy life. 
 And seek a respite from its clamorous toil 
 Amid the hush of solitude like this ; 
 To hear no sound save that of murmuring rill, 
 Or foaming cascade leaping to the light," 
 Or, now and then, the squirrel's lonely Ihirp 
 Blending in chorus with the wild bird's note;- 
 Anon the sigh of zephyrs, low and sweet, 
 As o'er us waves the leafy canopy. 
 Fraught with their perfumed breath. To watch the 
 while, 
 
 Through trembling boughs, the calm, blue, smiling 
 
 sky, 
 
 And think of those who early walked with us 
 Life's changeful paths beneath it ; whose blest feet 
 Now press tlie "golden streets" beyond. How 
 sweet, 
 
 Amid such scenes as this, to wander o'er 
 
 14* 
 
162 THE WOODS IN SUMMER. 
 
 Our childhood's faded track, and dream again 
 Of pleasant rambles through the forests wild, 
 With playmates, young and fair — in every tone 
 To catch an echo dim of " Auld Lang Syne ;" 
 To trace in every leaf and flower His smile, 
 Whose hand divine hath made them — aye, to hear 
 In running brook and foaming torrent wild, 
 The great voice of our Father. 
 
 It is thus 
 The woods, the sweet, calm summer woods, become 
 The trysting place for Memory and Hope ; 
 While Faith, the meek-eyed angel, waiting near, 
 Unfolds to each the antitype of God. 
 
1G3 
 
 TO MY HARP. 
 
 Cherished harp, my soul is saddened, 
 Nought can soothe like thy sweet strains ; 
 
 Though so long thy chords have slumbered, 
 I'll awake their tones a2;ain. 
 
 Tears I've shed since last we parted, 
 Burning tears of grief and pain, — 
 
 Hopes I fondly nursed have perished, 
 Nevermore to bloom again. 
 
 Once, thy notes of rapture thrilled me. 
 Now there's wailing in thy tone ; 
 
 And thy trembling strings, forsaken. 
 Answer to the Avind's low moan. 
 
 Gentle harp, I know thy meaning, 
 For my soul hath felt the spell 
 
16-1 TO MY HARP. 
 
 Left of loneliness and sorrow 
 
 Bj that parting word, " farewell.' 
 
 Once a form of matchless beauty, 
 O'er thee swept a skilful hand. 
 
 And a voice of thrilling sweetness 
 Did thy gentle tones command. 
 
 But that form, so fondly cherished, 
 JSTe'er shall know thee as of yore ; 
 
 And that voice, so sweet, shall waken 
 To thy gladdening strains no more. 
 
 Heavenly spirit ! stoop and hover 
 Near me, as I touch these strino-s, — 
 
 Catch the prayer my lips shall murmur, 
 Waft it on thy angel wings. 
 
 When my soul, no longer fettered. 
 Is from Earth's dull bondage free. 
 
 May we strike our harps together 
 In a bright Eternity. 
 
165 
 
 THE CHRISTENING. 
 
 A LITTLE cherub-band, in snow-wliite robes, 
 Were oiFered at the chancel. Loving eyes 
 Watched tenderly each smiling face, and arms 
 Of fond affection circled them. They gazed 
 In wonder now, first on the Pastor's face, 
 And then upon the Font inquiringly, 
 As though they fain would ask what mystic grace 
 Lay hidden in those glistening drops for them. 
 Lo ! as the Man of God lifts up his voice 
 To ask of Heaven its blessing, close they cling 
 In helpless weakness to the yearning breasts 
 That throb for them with parent sympathy. 
 And as he takes each, in his pastoral arms. 
 They timidly shrink back as half afraid. 
 Then to his kindly bosom nestle close. 
 Now as he lays his hand upon their brows, 
 
166 THE CHRISTENING. 
 
 And with a solemn mien closes tlie rite 
 
 Whicli pledges them to Heaven, Angels pause 
 
 To hear the vow of consecration — bend 
 
 To seal it with a kiss, and lo ! a smile 
 
 Stamps the impression on each beaming face. 
 
 Ye sinless little ones, in after years. 
 
 When worldly snares are set for your weak steps, 
 
 And Pleasure's siren tones call to allure 
 
 Your hearts from virtue, when perchance the arms 
 
 Which clasp you now, are folded stiff in Death — 
 
 Hark then ! " a still small voice" will softly breathe 
 
 Into your ear this truth : that while the dew 
 
 Of childhood innocence lay fresh upon 
 
 Your hearts, Love brought you here and offered you 
 
 To Jesus. Let that memory suffice 
 
 To keejD you ever in the path of Truth; 
 
 And when at last ye shall lie down to rest 
 
 Within your narrow beds, may dewy flowers 
 
 Spring over breasts which never lost in life 
 
 The 2? earl of their hai^tismal purity. 
 
167 
 
 GIVE ME THY BLESSING, FATHER 
 DEAR. 
 
 Give me thy blessing, father dear ! 
 
 On this, my bridal eve ; 
 Oh, let me from thy tender lips 
 
 Some whispered word receive. 
 Some accent spoken soft and low, 
 
 In earnestness and love. 
 That e'er will linger in my heart. 
 
 Its talisman to prove. 
 That heart is very sad to-day. 
 
 Though bright the future seems, — 
 Our parting hour approaching. 
 
 Throws a shadow o'er my dreams. 
 I think of all tJioust been to me. 
 
 And fear lest, when I roam, 
 
168 GIVE ME THY BLESSING. 
 
 / may not find such changeless love 
 As I have found at home. 
 
 Give me thy blessing, father dear ! 
 'Twill calm my troubled heart ; 
 
 One only balm may soothe me now. 
 Thy blessing ere we part. 
 
1G9 
 
 GUARDIAN SPIRITS. 
 
 [A beautiful feature in the Roman Catholic Faith, teaches that 
 each one of us, while on earth, is watched over continually by a 
 Guardian Spirit, whom Heaven appoints to direct and shield us ; 
 and that this viewless counsellor may, perchance, wear the form of 
 some loved one who has " gone befoi'e"' us to the Better Land.] 
 
 It is a holy thought, that while we dwell, 
 O'ershadowed bj the gathering clouds of Earth, 
 Each has an Angel friend, who follows near 
 On viewless wing, beside us, taking note 
 ^' Of thorns and briery places," ''lest we dash 
 Our foot against a stone," or darkly grope 
 On Error's brink, — that Spirits, pure and bright, 
 Are ever speaking to us, though the tones 
 Of their mysterious voices are not heard. 
 They prompt to deeds of kindness, love, and truth, — 
 Alas, that we, so often fail to heed 
 Their silent whisperings. They float around 
 
 15 
 
170 GUARDIAN SPIRITS. 
 
 On pinions light as air, — we ne'er may mark 
 The flutter of their wings, although, perchance, 
 They oft may wear the features we have loved. 
 A mother's eye, closed long ago, may beam 
 In their soft gaze ; a father's arm may clasp 
 In their embrace ; a sister's angel smile 
 Blend in their look of love ; a brother's form, 
 Hid from us by the grave, may wander still 
 Beside us, as in other years, when life and hope 
 Were new. Aye, it may be, that dimpled hands, 
 "Which we saw folded in the clasp of Death, 
 Are beckoning to us now from that bright sphere 
 Where ne'er is seen a vacant cradle, where 
 The little sufiering form o'er which we bowed 
 For days in agony, hath put aside 
 Its clay, and weareth now a Cherub's wings. 
 Babe, Sister, Mother, though I may not know 
 Who, of Love's buried trio. Heaven appoints 
 To guide my footsteps here, yet I have felt 
 New influences round life's pathway thrown 
 Since ye have entered the eternal gates. 
 Joy springs anew, as Faith breathes, low and sweet, 
 " Reunion there forever." 
 
171 
 
 SUMMERS GONE. 
 
 Ah ! Summer's gone ! The Autumn breezes sighing, 
 
 Murmur its requiem, while a dirge-like moan 
 Comes from the heart, an echo dim, replying — 
 
 '' Summer's gone !" 
 
 Lo ! in the forests faded leaves lie scattered, 
 And sweet young blossoms of their freshness 
 shorn. 
 And clinging vines that ruthless storms have shat- 
 tered. 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
 Pale roses, 'neath the breath of Autumn stooping. 
 Will lift their heads jio more to greet the morn ; 
 And lilies too, on slender stems are drooping — 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
172 summer's gone. 
 
 The song of birds is hushed mid vernal boAvers ; 
 
 The sportive butterfly, of sunlight born, 
 No more is seen to woo the gentle flowers, — 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
 The fragrant freshness of the bright June weather, 
 
 July's warm glory, August's mellow dawn, — 
 All, all have passed, bird, bee and flower together. 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
 And with it, too, how many a hope hath perished, 
 
 Leaving the joyous bosom sad and lone, — 
 Oh ! where are now the day-dreams they once 
 cherished? 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
 Aye, though its coming throw an emerald glory 
 
 O'er this glad world, yet hark I — a triumph tone 
 From our doomed cities'^ shouts the welcome story, 
 
 '' Summer's gone !" 
 
 * Norfolk and Portsmouth, in 1Sj5. 
 
summer's gone. 2-70 
 
 Yes, from thj homos, Virginia, smiles have vanished 
 
 That greeted merrily Spring's rosy dawn. 
 From stricken hearts, joy hath forc'er been ban- 
 ished ; 
 
 Summer's gone ! 
 
 Gone, gone,~thc Autumn breeze proclaims it, 
 sighing, 
 
 While to the ear, there eomes an echoing moan 
 From Hope's pale embers on Love's hearthstone 
 
 ^^ Summer's gone!" 
 
 15* 
 
174 
 
 TO HER WHO ASKED ME FOR "A POEM." 
 
 WouLDST liave a poem, dear one ? ah ! then look 
 Abroad this sunny morn on Nature's face, — 
 There, is true poetry in unmeasured lines, — 
 There God himself hath brightly pictured forth 
 His Glory and his Power. The mountains old. 
 In lofty grandeur rear their hoary crests 
 To meet the clouds. And yonder sky, so soft, 
 So calm, so clear, so beautiful, seems made 
 For eyes like yours to gaze on — eyes that see 
 No sombre hues in aught — to •which indeed 
 Life's darker scenes arc veiled — which only view 
 Through Hope's gay prism-glass those rainbow 
 
 tints 
 That bless the gaze of Innocence. Behold ! — 
 The world is full of poetry, — its herd 
 Of breathing forms, its busy insect life, 
 
TO HEU WnO ASKED ME FOR ''A POEM." 175 
 
 Its clouds, its storms, its sunshine, Day and 
 
 Night,— 
 Its changing seasons all, — the smiling Spring 
 In her rich garniture of buds and flowers, — 
 Glad Summer with her joyous harvest-time, 
 Sweet meek-eyed Autumn with her plenteous stores 
 Of golden fruits — her mild October sun — 
 Her scarlet leaves and berries. Winter, too, 
 With his cold breath and glittering icicles — 
 His ermine robe of snow — his Christmas chimes, — 
 Each is within itself a poem true. 
 And God the glorious Author. Thine own heart. 
 My gentle friend, thy young, gay, careless heart. 
 Is but another poem, rich and rare. 
 In voiceless thought and tuneful numbers. 
 Ah ! let its study be thy earliest care ; 
 So "prune" its "rougher lines," — so guard its 
 
 truth. 
 That, when at last thy silent pulses tell 
 The volume closed. Truth, like a "critic" kind. 
 May, o'er thy Life's bright pages, justly write 
 That envied sentence, — "Beautiful !" 
 
176 
 
 MY LITTLE FLOWER. 
 
 It was a rosebud, pure and sweet, 
 That blossomed in the Spring ; 
 
 And to my heart I fondly pressed 
 The little winsome thing. 
 
 I loved it for its fragile form. 
 And for a brow, so fair, — 
 
 It seemed a glistening pearl, half hid 
 By waves of shining hair. 
 
 I loved it for an eye of blue, 
 
 That on me softly shone ; 
 But I have thought I loved it most 
 
 Because — it was ''my own." 
 
 So closely with my being, did 
 This flower of beauty twine. 
 
MY LITTLE FLOWER. 177 
 
 That soon mj thankless mother-heart 
 Became an Idol-shrine. 
 
 And God, who lent the bud of love, 
 Called back to Heaven his own ; 
 
 Death kissed it sleeping, and no more 
 Its soft eyes on me shone. 
 
 Ah ! well do I remember now 
 
 The little winsome thinir ; 
 It was a rosebud, pure and sweet, 
 
 That perished in the Spring. 
 
178 
 
 TO THE WIND. 
 
 What wouldst thou teach us by thy murmurs low, 
 Oh, melancholy Wind ? — what message bear, 
 In the deep cadence of thy mournful voice, 
 From the Eternal sphere ? We know thou hast 
 Some mission pure, for thou receivedst thy tones 
 From Him whose will the elements obey ; 
 Thou speakst of Him in every murmuring sigh 
 That's wafted from thy breath, and oft I seem 
 To hear His voice in thine, mysterious Wind ! 
 Surely a magic power is given to thee, 
 For thou dost sometimes wear the zephyr's form, 
 Bringing to flowers soft airs, from sunny climes; 
 Then, with one touch of thy strange, mighty wand. 
 The dew is scattered from the lily's cup, 
 And sunbeams take its place. Thou dalliest near 
 The violet's bed, and lo ! it wakes to light — 
 
TO THE WIND. 179 
 
 Seeking some sheltered nook, or mossy dell, 
 Wherein to breathe its sweet young life away. 
 Capricious Wind !— by one rude kiss of thine, 
 I've seen the woodbine trailing in the dust, 
 And proud oaks bend, to own thy tyrant power ; 
 Aye more, the very waves are made to roll 
 Obedient to thy sway. Afar from home 
 The mariner counts thee his foe or friend, 
 For, of his loss or gain, thou seem'st to be 
 Heaven's instrument. 
 
 What is thy form, and what 
 The mien thou wearest ? Sometimes, in lonely hours, 
 I've fancied thee a spirit, and have held 
 Communion with thee oft ; half hoping then 
 That thou wouldst yet disclose the features fair 
 Of some departed face. But this I know 
 Was love's vain fantasy. Thy form and place- 
 None know save our Father. He " tempers thee 
 To the shorn lamb ;" and I will be content 
 To hear thy music tones, and humbly blend 
 My voice of grateful praise with thine, oh Wind ! 
 
180 
 
 A CHILD'S MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Father in Heaven I I rise once more 
 With morning's cheerful light, 
 
 To thank Thee for Thy watchful care 
 Throughout the long, long night. 
 
 Thy goodness kept me safe from harm 
 While darkness round me lay, 
 
 And to Thy faithful service now 
 I consecrate this day. 
 
 Let every thought my heart employs 
 
 Be pleasing in Thy sight; 
 And may Thy gracious eye behold 
 
 Each action with delight. 
 
 Preserve my lips from sinful speech, 
 My heart from evil free ; 
 
A child's morxixg hymn. 181 
 
 Since all I think, or say, or do, 
 Is known, my God, to Tlice. 
 
 Bless with Thy love my parents dear, 
 
 My sisters, brothers kind ; 
 Let all who seek to know Thy truth 
 
 That heavenly knowledge find. 
 
 Bless too, the poor, the rich, the great, 
 
 The sick, the bond, the free ; 
 And may the Heathen souls be taught 
 
 To worship only Thee. 
 
 Throughout life's everchanging scenes 
 
 Be Thou my constant friend ; 
 From aught that could my soul deceive 
 
 Preserve me to the end. 
 
 And when from Earth I pass away 
 
 In Death's severe embrace. 
 Father ! oh, may I then enjoy 
 
 Thy presence " face to face." 
 16 
 
182 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL WITH FLOAYERS. 
 
 (from a painting by leutze.) 
 
 On ! I could sit for hours 
 And gaze upon the placid beauty of thy fair, young 
 
 face, 
 S^Yeet child of Night. There is a spell of quiet 
 
 holiness 
 Upon thy brow, as if thy God had placed a seal 
 
 thereon, 
 Marking thee out as something that the obtrusive 
 
 hand of harm 
 
 And guilt must touch not. 
 
 Round 
 Thy close-sealed eye a shade of sadness lingers, yet 
 
 there's nought 
 Of restless murmuring at thy darkened lot — no 
 
 sombre trace 
 
THE BLIND GIRL WITH FLOWERS. 183 
 
 Of dull repining at the will of Heaven. There is a 
 
 calm 
 Of pious resignation sadly sweet, and throwing o'er 
 Thy veiled and sightless orbs, a halo pure and 
 
 lovely 
 As thy dreams of Light. 
 What were thy thoughts, oh ! gentle one, what were 
 
 thy thouglits of all 
 The glorious things that gladden earth, tlie sunlight, 
 
 stars, and flowers ? 
 'What thy dreams of rainbow, cloud, and mountain ? 
 
 Had the meadow's 
 Quiet stream no charm for thee, save the low mur- 
 muring music 
 Of its flow? the garden gems no varied form or 
 
 color ? 
 Ah, thou lov'dst the flowers, for thy rounded arm 
 
 now clasps a vase 
 Of gorgeous buds and blossoms, and thy curtained 
 
 eyes are bent 
 As wont to catch one faint gleam at their loveli- 
 ness. Alas ! 
 
184 THE BLIND GIRL WITH FLOWERS. 
 
 A lonely lot was thine, yet well I know tliy soul 
 
 had sweet 
 Revealings of that radiant clime, where Heaven's 
 
 own cloudless light 
 Would charm thy raptured vision, where thy lyre 
 
 no more attuned 
 To sadness, w^ould awake its tones of holy joy, that 
 
 thus 
 The very earliest ray that ever blest thy being, 
 
 shone 
 Direct from God. 
 
185 
 
 ^'WE HAD BUT ONE." 
 
 We had but one — lier little life 
 Seemed made of golden hours, 
 
 And each a gladness yielded, like 
 The fragrant breath of flowers. 
 
 We had but one — her glowing smile 
 
 Of innocence and mirth. 
 Shone like a star in wintry skies. 
 
 Around our lonely hearth. 
 
 We had but one — her angel voice 
 
 In baby accents heard. 
 Still falls upon my listening ear 
 
 Like sweetest song of bird. 
 16* 
 
186 "we had but one." 
 
 We had but one — how sweet the task 
 For Love's fulfilment given, — 
 
 Daily to Avatch the expanding floAver, 
 And keep it pure for Heaven. 
 
 How sweet, through coming years, to guide 
 
 In Truth's unerring way, 
 Her gentle heart, that Sin tempt not 
 
 Its timid thoughts to stray. 
 
 And Avhen her woman's course was run 
 Kissing the chastening rod. 
 
 How sweet to close her eyes in peace. 
 And yield her back to God. 
 
 Not thus, oh Father, hath it seemed 
 
 Good in thy sight to be ; 
 Long length of years was not for her. 
 
 Nor Woman's destiny. 
 
 But let us not arraign Thy love 
 In this dark hour of need : 
 
*'WE HAD BUT ONE." 187 
 
 Enough, Great God, to know Thou Avilt 
 Not break the bruised reed. 
 
 Our child is dead, — a wintry grave 
 Holds now her precious clay, — 
 
 " Thy will be done — 'twas thine to give, 
 And thine to take away." 
 
188 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 An ! I love to remember the days that are gone, 
 And the pleasures that brightened my life's early 
 
 morn ; 
 When the world, bathed in sunlight from Hope's 
 
 radiant skies, 
 Seemed a glad, fairy land to my joy-beaming eyes. 
 
 Now, alas ! the bright prism I saw it through then, 
 Has o'erdarkened its colors, again and again ; 
 I still gaze, but the rainbow tints silently fade. 
 And in hiding the sunlight, leave only the shade. 
 
 Yet despite the world's clamor, its turmoil and strife. 
 Some bright flowers will spring in the pathway of 
 life; 
 
MEMORY. 189 
 
 And the fairest to me are those blossoms that gleam 
 All along the green banks of fond Memory's stream. 
 
 They shine 'mid the vapory mists that arise 
 
 Like those sunbeams that glisten through showery 
 
 skies ; 
 And, whatever the future may bring us at last, 
 We've the fragrance still left of these flowers of the 
 
 Past. 
 
 Ah ! let us, then, seize the glad moments which fly, 
 To gather Love's flowers in our pathway that lie, 
 Since when all that is present lies dead in the past, 
 'Tis the chaplct of Memory that crowns us at last. 
 
190 
 
 TO BABY FRANK, SLEEPING. 
 
 Sleep on, baby, take thy rest 
 Calmly on thy mother's breast, 
 Slmnber seal thy gentle eye. 
 While she sings thy " lullaby." 
 
 Sorrow cannot harm thee now, 
 Care nor anguish shade thy brow ; 
 Eor thy heart is pure and free. 
 And thy pulse beats healthfully. 
 
 O'er thee bends a watchful eye. 
 Angel forms are hovering nigh — 
 Baby, thou art truly blest. 
 Pillowed on thy mother's breast. 
 
TO BABY FRANK, SLEEPING. 191 
 
 May tlie future bring no night 
 To thj soul's unclouded light; 
 Ne'er sin's bitter, rankling dart, 
 Throw one shadow on thy heart. 
 
 But be all life's dreams as briirht 
 As thy childhood's sleep was light, 
 Baby, mayst thou never know 
 Aught of sorrow, sin, or woe. 
 
192 
 
 SHALL I BE FORGOTTEN THUS ? 
 
 ON PASSING A NEGLECTED GRAVE BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE LOVED ONES AT HOME. 
 
 An, shall I be forgotten thus, when I am dead, 
 "Will not e'en a soft Daisy bloom over my head, 
 When these eyes have long closed in their visionless 
 
 sleep. 
 Will not Love o'er my grave still a kind vigil keep? 
 
 Aye, and when the glad Spring comes with verdure 
 
 and bloom, 
 Will not loving hands, tenderly, plant round my 
 
 tomb 
 Bright Roses and Woodbine, and meek Violets 
 
 blue. 
 Ever loving them best, because I loved them too. 
 
SHALL I BE FORGOTTEN THUS? 193 
 
 Say, will yon not then come, at the soft twilight 
 hour, 
 
 And wander awliile through the lonely Death-bower 
 Where sleeps my pale form, still and cold in its 
 rest, 
 
 Low down 'mi,! the gloom of the grave's silent 
 breast ? 
 
 Ah, then, as with soft timid footsteps you tread 
 On the turf which so mournfully covers my head, 
 Forget all thefaultB which the vanished life knew. 
 And thinh only, the heart once beat warmly for yo'u. 
 
 Though parted the link in your glad household 
 chain. 
 
 Thus let Memory's clasp reunite us again, 
 And her soft, gentle whispers call up from the past 
 Those glad moments of joy which death could not 
 o'ercast. 
 
 17 
 
194 SHALL I BE FORGOTTEN THUS? 
 
 The bright days of our childhood, when, joyous and 
 
 free, 
 We roamed through the wildwood, for blossom and 
 
 bee, 
 Or, lingering, knelt by the brook's tiny wave. 
 In its silvery ripples our bosoms to lave. 
 
 And won't you recall, too, the raptures we knew 
 When the first violets lifted their heads to the dew, 
 And the glad birds came back from their green 
 
 Southern bowers. 
 As the Spring waked to light the long-slumbering 
 
 flowers ? 
 
 Ah, then, do not forget me thus, loved ones and 
 
 true. 
 When hath faded the sound of my dying adieu ; 
 Aye, though parted the link in your glad household 
 
 chain, 
 Still let Memory's clasp reunite us again. 
 
19; 
 
 WAKE UP, LITTLE DARLING. 
 
 (to oxe who will undeustand it.; 
 
 Wake up, little darling, the Sun is awake, 
 And has taken his place in the skj ; 
 
 Even now, the sweet flowers are opening their 
 leaves 
 To the light of his radiant eje. 
 
 AVakc up— all the blossoms and buds are awake, 
 And the meadow is covered with dew. 
 
 But the bees arc not chasing the butterflies jet, 
 Thej are waiting, I dare saj, for you. 
 
 Wake up— the sweet birds are awake, for I hear 
 From a thousand gay flutterers nio-h 
 
 Glad matins of praise, like a chorus of love, 
 Floating up to the Ruler on high. 
 
196 WAKE UP, LITTLE DARLING. 
 
 Wake up ; jou are losing the bloom on your cheek, 
 And the bright morn is hastening away, 
 
 All other glad things are awake and astir. 
 Ah ! then, why will Mary delay ? 
 
 Up, up to your books, while the birds are about. 
 They are busy e'en now in the bowers, — 
 
 Learn a lesson of industry, darling, from them, 
 And be gentle and pure like the flowers. 
 
19T 
 
 TO AN ANGEL-SPIRIT.* 
 
 I SADDEN at thy mem'ry, darling child, 
 As thoughts of thy dark fate, thy painful doom. 
 Come up before me now, — dread picturings 
 Of agony and death. Thy slumbers deep. 
 So sweet and tranquil, full of angel-dreams. 
 And then the fearful wakening ! — senses lost 
 In wild bewildering terror, as the flames 
 Hissed around thy pillow angrily. Thy look 
 Of dread surprise to find thyself alone. 
 And then thy piteous cry for '''Help!'' 
 
 Ah, could 
 Thy mother's arm have clasped thee then, or had 
 
 * Mary, only daughter of Dr. Gilmer, of Lynchburg, Va., — 
 the recollection of whose melancholy fate is still painfully fresh 
 in the minds of her many friends. 
 
 17* 
 
198 TO AN ANGEL-SPIRIT. 
 
 Her voice been near to wliisper courage, thou 
 Miglitst yet have dared the window's height, and 
 
 leapt 
 To arms outstretched to save thee. But the while 
 She kept a midnight watch in her lone home, 
 Over thy baby-brother, shedding tears, — 
 Such tears as only fall from loving eyes, — 
 And mingling them with prayer, that God would 
 
 smile 
 Upon her cradled boy, and give him health, — 
 She little dreamed that thou, her bright-eyed child, 
 Her gentle daughter, at that very hour 
 Wrestled with Death by fire ! 
 
 Tell us. Angel -child, 
 What thoughts came to thee in that fearful hour. 
 Of home and friends, and "mother." Did lier 
 
 name, 
 Coupled with that of God, go up to swell 
 Thy martyr-shrieks of agony ? Did scenes 
 Of bygone blessings thou shouldst know no more, — 
 Thy father's features and thy brother's smile, 
 
TO AN AXGEL-SPmiT. 199 
 
 Float in thy visions ? or didst thou breathe again 
 The little prayer, learned at thy mother's knee, 
 Which lingered on thy lips as sleep that night 
 Stole gently o'er thine eyelids ? Didst thou say 
 " Our Father?" wilder sobbing forth the words 
 "Thy will be done!" and as the approaching flames 
 Drew near and nearer, piercino; the red nio-ht. 
 With a most piteous cry, ^'Deliver me 
 From eviW 
 
 Ah, we may not knoAV hoAV passed 
 Those awful moments with thee — but we know 
 That ere the stars had paled in the soft sky, 
 Or night withdrawn her mantle from the earth, 
 That grayer ivas ansivered. Daylight saw thy form 
 Consumed to ashes, — Dcatli had done his work 
 And thy pure soul had entered its new life ; 
 For Christ the Lord had taken it to dwell 
 Henceforth with Him. 
 
 Oh, it was better thus 
 To enter Heaven through a gate of fire 
 
200 TO AN ANGEL-SPIRIT. 
 
 With soul untainted, and with childhood's dew 
 Yet resting on the heart, than live to see 
 Thine innocence depart with length of years. 
 Beloved child, thy fate to us seems dark, 
 And fond lips breathe thy name mid gushing tears ; 
 Yet there will come a time (God's purposes 
 Revealed), when we will say of thee, " 'Tz's ivell^'' — 
 And Angels shall respond, ^' Yea, it is well." 
 
201 
 
 A WELCOME. 
 
 ^0 TUE MT. AIRY h'oUSEHOLD AND GUESTS, WHO VISITED CLIFF 
 COTTAGE IN THE SUMMER OF 1858. 
 
 HarIv, 'tis heard in simnj glades 
 
 Glowing with delight, — 
 Glad with merrj song of birds, 
 
 Musical and briirht. 
 
 Welcome to our vallej fair. 
 
 And to our mountains old, 
 Where Nature's gentlest charms arc blent 
 
 With loftiest grandeur bold. 
 
 Welcome to our whispering woods, 
 
 And to our fields so fair, 
 Where sweetest voices, chiming, fill 
 
 The glowing summer air. 
 
202 A WELCOME. 
 
 Welcome, list, the echo flies ; — 
 
 Each passing zephyr bends 
 To catch the sound, whose murmur breathes 
 
 A welcome to you, friends. 
 
 E'en timid flowers look meekly up, 
 
 As eager to prolong 
 The joyous tone, w^iile bird and bee 
 
 All share our welcome song. 
 
 Each beaming face, with rapture filled, 
 
 A gladness new imparts ; 
 Aye, welcome to our home and hearth, 
 
 Thrice welcome to our hearts. 
 
203 
 
 TO A YOUNG SPARROW. 
 
 WHICn HAD ESCAPED FROM THE NEST, AND FLUTTERED NEAR ME 
 IN AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 Come, little timid nestling, fear 
 
 No danger, pray, from me ; 
 I would not harm one feather which 
 
 Our God hath given to thee. 
 
 I would not give thy downy wing 
 
 One single stroke of pain ; 
 I'd only guide thy wandering fliglit 
 
 Back to the nest again. 
 
 Hark ! now thy mother calls for thee 
 
 In mournful chirping tone. 
 She knows not where, in this dim wood, 
 
 Her little one hath flown. 
 
204 TO A YOUXG SPAlirtOW. 
 
 I'll place tliee where her watching eye 
 May see thee with delight ; 
 
 For well I know her fears have marked 
 The coming of the night. 
 
 She thinks with terror and alarm 
 Of "Pussy" lurking nigh, 
 
 With ready paw^ to seize thee when 
 No rescuing hand is by. 
 
 Ah, oft do little ones like thee 
 Give pain to parents dear. 
 
 By wandering from the path of right, 
 With danger threatening near. 
 
 And little recking of the hearts 
 That sigh for them in vain. 
 
 They rove, till conscience, like a guide. 
 Conducts them back again. 
 
 This lesson teach them, little bird, — 
 Tliat though thy steps may stray, 
 
TO A YOUNG SPARROW. 205 
 
 Til Oil hast not reason^ as they have, 
 To show thee wisdom's way. 
 
 And tell them that the same great hand 
 Which made both them and you, 
 
 Hath marked for each some destiny, 
 Your life long to pursue. 
 
 Ye both are objects of his care. 
 
 The creatures of his will ; 
 Good children then should always strive 
 
 His wishes to fulfil. 
 
 Thy little warbling throat was made 
 
 His lofty praise to sing. 
 And he designed thy form to float 
 
 Through air, on lightsome wing. 
 
 Go then, thou little trembler, go — 
 Heaven's azure dome is thine ; 
 
 Thou hast life's freedom, I its cares — 
 Thy Maker though is mine. 
 18 
 
206 TO A YOUNG SPARROW. 
 
 Why He hath differed thus, our paths, 
 
 We, finite, may not tell ; 
 But this, I know, — He cannot err, 
 
 Who '' doetli all things welV 
 
207 
 
 A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. 
 
 As Day's bright splendor fades from view, 
 And Night's dark shades appear, 
 
 Father in Heaven ! low at Thy feet 
 I once again draw near. . 
 
 For all the blessings Thou hast strewn 
 
 Around my path to-day, 
 I thank Thee, though, I know the least 
 
 My praise can ne'er repay. 
 
 If I have sinned in word or deed, 
 
 Or thought an evil thing ; 
 Forgive, and let me sleep beneath 
 
 The shelter of Thy wing. 
 
208 A child's evening hymn. 
 
 Bless all I love, and let Thy grace 
 Extend the wide world o'er, 
 
 Till every tongue shall speak Thy praise, 
 And Thy great Name adore. 
 
 And when mine eyes shall close, to sleep 
 Through Death's long, fearful night, 
 
 Father, oh, may I wake to see 
 Thy face, in realms of light ! 
 
209 
 
 MUSINGS IN A CHURCHYARD. 
 
 I TOO shall (lie — the day will come 
 I know not when, or where ; 
 
 When stranger eyes will mark my grave 
 Out in the still, soft air. 
 
 Yes, busy hands will heap the earth 
 
 Above my silent breast, 
 Then careless turn to other tasks, 
 
 And leave me to my rest. 
 
 I know not if the opening flowers 
 Of Spring shall o'er me wave. 
 
 Or, if the Summer's fervid sun, 
 Shall light my new-made grave. 
 
 18* 
 
210 MUSINGS IN A CHURCHYARD. 
 
 I know not if the Autumn winds, • 
 Their requiem tones shall sigh, 
 
 Or, if the "Winter snows shall shroud 
 The lone spot where I lie. 
 
 It may be at the morning hour, 
 When Nature fairest seems. 
 
 And young hearts, gay w^ith life and hope, 
 Wake from their rosy dreams ; 
 
 It may be when the setting Sun 
 
 Lights up the parting day. 
 And little children homeward haste. 
 
 From coming shadows gray, 
 
 That friendly hands will bear me out. 
 
 And lay me calmly down. 
 To sleep my last, long, dreamless sleep. 
 
 Low in the quiet ground. 
 
 It matters not — I shall not heed 
 The scenes above my head. 
 
MUSINGS IN A CHURCHYARD. 211 
 
 Or know, when friendly footsteps pause 
 Around mj narrow bed. 
 
 I shall not heed the falling clods, 
 That hide my slumbering clay, 
 
 Or mark when sad or careless eyes 
 Turn from that mound away. 
 
 One wish I have,— that when I die. 
 
 All earthly cares removed, 
 My sleep may be that blessed sleep 
 
 Ood giveth His beloved. 
 
212 
 
 TO A REMEMBERED DREAM. 
 
 Comb back, sweet dream, come back, and fill my 
 spirit 
 
 With those bright, golden visions, flown too fast ; 
 Not once, but oft come back, and float around me, 
 
 Thou viewless guardian of the banished past. 
 
 Fond dream, beguiling to new life and gladness 
 The buried memories of other years. 
 
 And thrilling with new joy my inmost being. 
 Till slumber breaketh, and I wake — to tears. 
 
 When on life's sky I see no bow of promise. 
 No golden sunlight gleaming o'er my way. 
 
 When all is gloom around, within, about me. 
 And cold, and dark, and dreary, is my day : 
 
TO A REMEMBERED DREAM. 213 
 
 Come then, bright dream, as darkness gathers 
 round me, 
 
 And slumber soothes the sorrow-laden brow, 
 Unfold once more those visions of past hours. 
 
 Glad moments, which I ne'er again may know. 
 
 Dear dream, come back, and cheer mj weary spirit 
 With Hope's bright golden visions, flown too fast ; 
 
 Sleeping or waking, do thou float around me. 
 Oh, guardian angel of the banished past. 
 
214 
 
 THE STRICKEN HEART'S LAMENT. 
 
 [Written at the request of bereaved parents, to commemorate the 
 mournful fate of a beloved child, — James Ward (eldest son of 
 James B. Ward, Esq., of Campbell Co., Va.), who lost his life, by 
 the accidental discharge of a gun, from his own hand, on the 31st of 
 October, 1856.] 
 
 Oh, laughing sunsliine, shedding light 
 O'er mountain, stream, and lea. 
 
 Why bring'st thou not a ray of joy 
 To cheer my home, and me ; — 
 
 Alas ! in thy glad beams I trace 
 
 One vision fair, — an angel face. 
 
 In all bright things that speak to us 
 
 Of innocence and mirth ; 
 The glittering star, the murmuring rill, 
 
 The frail, young flowers of earth, — 
 In all I trace in lines of joy 
 The features of my buried boy. 
 
THE STRICKEN HEART'S LAxMENT. 215 
 
 And in each sighing tone that comes 
 
 On wintrj breezes borne ; 
 Whether from Kature's haunts bereft 
 
 Or firesides drear and lone ; 
 A whispering voice in accents wild 
 Still speaks of mj departed child. 
 
 Lost one ! — thj smile returns again 
 
 In Sunlight, Star/ and Flower, 
 But oh, a darker vision haunts 
 
 This lonelj musing hour ; 
 Methinks I see the current warm 
 Which stained thj stricken youthful form. 
 
 Oh, Memory ! thou canst paint for us 
 
 No mournful portrait fair, 
 Of features paled by slow disease. 
 
 Or wasting lines of care ; — 
 Love ne'er was privileged to keep 
 A " last watch" o'er his fevered sleep. 
 
216 THE STRICKEN HEART'S LAMENT. 
 
 Gone from us ! wert thou tired of life 
 SAveet Boj, that thine own hand 
 
 Should snap the subtle cord, and stay 
 The swiftly flowing sand ; — 
 
 Was there no charm in home and hearth 
 
 To bind thee, for awhile, to Earth ? 
 
 Age pleads full oft for length of years, 
 
 And pleads as oft in vain ; 
 Care, too, world-weary, murmurs, yet 
 
 Would run the race again, — 
 And must thou quit the shores of Time 
 Ere Life had passed its flowery prime ? 
 
 r 
 
 Sweet Boy, had crime its guilty blight 
 Thrown o'er thy heart a shade. 
 
 And thou hadst ended thus the woes 
 Sin's blasting touch had made, — 
 
 Ah, then, I might have borne to see 
 
 The warm, fresh life-blood mantle thee. 
 
THE STRICKEN HEART'S LAMENT. 217 
 
 Or, if Disease, with conquering strength, 
 
 Had breathed upon thy brow, 
 And restless hours of anguish paled 
 
 Thy young cheek's fervent glow ; — 
 I might have closed the beaming eye. 
 And meekly bowed to see thee die. 
 
 But in my heart a vision dwells, 
 A dark scene, strange and wild ; 
 
 Yet as I gaze. Heaven's mystic light 
 Surrounds my phantom child ; — 
 
 And radiant forms of beauty glide 
 
 About thee, sinless Suicide ! 
 
 I see thee, as on that bright morn. 
 
 When, full of hope and joy, 
 Thou, like a warbling bird, went forth 
 
 To come not back, my boy ; 
 With gun in hand, and merry heart. 
 Sure thou must try the Huntsman's art. 
 19 
 
218 THE STRICKEN HEAET'S LAMENT. 
 
 And soon the sunlit rocks and hills 
 
 Re-echoed with the sound, 
 Thy watchful, eager eye, meth ought 
 
 Some luckless prize had found, — 
 But oh, too soon the echo came, — 
 A wild shriek coupled with thy name. 
 
 And then, to our half palsied arms 
 Thy bleeding form was given ; 
 
 The fatal ball had reached thy heart, 
 Life's golden chords were riven ; 
 
 We prayed, begged, wept, in anguish wild. 
 
 That Death would yield our guiltless child. 
 
 But all in vain, — no tears could heal 
 The dark wound in thy side ; 
 
 The crimson life-drops, fresh and warm, 
 Still flowed — a streaming tide ; 
 
 And when upon thy face so fair 
 
 We gazed, no answering smile was there. 
 
THE STRICKEN IIEART'S LAMENT. 219 
 
 Pale, cold and still — thy boyish face 
 
 Ne'er looked more sweetly fair, 
 Than when Death's silent An2:el left 
 
 His frozen impress there, — 
 It seemed as though some Cherub bright 
 Had clothed each lineament in light. 
 
 My boy, — Spring's balmy touch may wake 
 
 All other gladsome things ; 
 The birds, the warbling birds may come, 
 
 With sunshine on their wings, 
 But oh, their sweetest songs will be 
 But mournful requiems for thee. 
 
 And on each verdant hillside fair 
 Earth's dewy flowers may spring, 
 
 And there the Butterfly may float 
 Its rainbow-tinted wing. 
 
 But Summer-flowers will only wave 
 
 Their fragrant incense o'er thy grave. 
 
220 THE STRICKEN HEART'S LAMENT. 
 
 And yet, I would not call thee back 
 To tread Life's patli with me ; 
 
 I only ask, my angel boy, 
 That I may go to thee, 
 
 When Time's resistless cares are o'er. 
 
 And pain shall grieve the heart no more. 
 
 Child of my love, awhile farewell, 
 
 I feel thy presence nigh ; 
 Chiding each wayward, murmuring thought, 
 
 Each vain rebellious sigh, — 
 Then let my meek submission tell 
 His praise, A\'ho " doeth all things tvcll.'* 
 
221 
 
 TO A AVITHERING ROSE, 
 
 I UAD NURSED IN MY CHAMBER. 
 
 Alas ! thou art fading, my beautiful flower ! 
 To honor no more either garden or bower, — 
 Though Spring with its glories may come and restore 
 All its beauteous gifts to the glad earth once more ; 
 Though Morn, fresh and balmy, may gather and 
 
 shed 
 Cool dews on thy gentle and languishing head ; 
 Though Evening's soft breeze may still kiss thee 
 
 and sigh. 
 As in low fitful murmurs it passes thee by : 
 Not Morn's dewy fragrance nor Evening's pale light, 
 Can give back thy freshness or save thee from blight ; 
 Yet I love thee the more, for in moments of sadness. 
 Sweet Rose, thou hast wakened my spirit to glad- 
 ness; 
 
 19^- 
 
222 TO A WITHERING ROSE. 
 
 And now I will press tliy frail stem to my heart, 
 And there let thy beauty and fragrance depart. 
 Ah, well I remember, pale, perishing flower ! 
 The Morn when I pluck' d thee from Flora's gay 
 
 bower ; 
 Thy leaves were all laden with zephyrs and dew. 
 While the Sun o'er thy beauty a radiance threw; 
 And sure from the deference shown thee, I ween, 
 Thou wert of that bower the pride and the Queen. 
 By thy side the young hyacinths modestly grew, — 
 At thy feet were the violets, glistening with dew ; 
 All around the young flowers peep'd forth to the 
 
 light. 
 While the birds gaily carolled their song of delight. 
 How changed now the scene : surly Winter has come. 
 And invaded with boldness my own little room ; 
 Even thou, the sweet gem that I've cherished so 
 
 much. 
 Art yielding thy bloom to his cold, freezing touch. 
 AVhat lesson, ah, what wouldst thou teach me, my 
 
 flower. 
 By the pale, yellow hue that spreads o'er thee this 
 
 hour ? 
 
TO A "WITHERING ROSE. 223 
 
 Must I learn from thy gentle and lovely decay, 
 That the bright things of Earth are all passing 
 
 away? 
 Then long shall I bless thee, that thou dost impart 
 So faithful a truth to my thoughtless young heart. 
 
224 
 
 A MORNING AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 
 
 All Nature wakes with that soft, peering light 
 
 Which bright'neth yonder Orient. See the flowers, 
 
 With what new joy they lift their pearly cups 
 
 To drink the fallen dew, while each young leaf 
 
 Stirs with a new-born grace to the soft touch 
 
 Of the light zephyr, passing o'er its face. 
 
 I bless God for the flowers, the dewy flowers, — 
 
 Their fragrant breath wakes in my heart new hopes. 
 
 And when at early morn I rouse from sleep. 
 
 And leave the quiet stillness of my room 
 
 To watch their perfumed welcome to the day, — 
 
 Methinks I see in this, an emblem meet 
 
 Of that delight the spirit must enjoy 
 
 When first its clay-sealed eyes open to greet 
 
 The radiant light of Heaven. Ah ! silently 
 
 Ye teach, but sweetly, voiceless flowers ! Ye speak 
 
A MORNIXa AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 225 
 
 Like Angels, without words, but je, like them. 
 
 Speak truthfully, and bj your frailty teach 
 
 The young heart sober lessons. Deep within 
 
 Your fragrant bosoms lie mysterious truths, 
 
 If man would only heed them. Fresh and fair 
 
 Ye hang upon your stems this glowing morn, 
 
 The dew yet glittering like sparkling gems 
 
 Upon each petal, till the passing breeze 
 
 Shakes off the shining drops, and leaves each tint 
 
 Of rainbow beauty, brighter than before. 
 
 Alas ! too soon beneath a noontide sun, 
 
 Your slender heads will droop, and when at eve, 
 
 I come again to seek your perfumed smile, 
 
 A faded hue will rest upon your leaves ; 
 
 Your blush and dewy freshness, vanished, gone. 
 
 And in my pathway, I shall soon behold 
 
 A group of withered flow'rets, blighted, dead. 
 
 Ah, such is life, frail blossoms ! Such the end 
 
 Of hopes that waked in childhood's golden morn 
 
 Promise of coming joys. They yielded then 
 
 Their fragrant freshness to the early dawn 
 
 Of our brief day ; and when we go back now. 
 
226 A MORNING AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 
 
 To seek them by the wayside of the Past, 
 
 We only see around us faded Jlo2vers. 
 
 Yet why pause now, at this delicious hour. 
 
 To muse upon the sober truths of life ? 
 
 Enough to know, that Nature hath put on 
 
 Her robe of fairest loveliness to-day ; 
 
 That round me breathe her richest harmonies 
 
 Of thankfulness and joy. Summer birds 
 
 Fly near, on gladsome wing, from tree to tree. 
 
 And from their warbling throats gush forth sweet 
 
 notes 
 Of welcome to the morn. 
 
 And e'en the vine 
 Of the Clematis, which above me climbs 
 Its tendrils sweet, hath oped its starry eyes, 
 To share the morning's favor with the Rose, 
 While 'neath the craggy cliff that skirts our home. 
 The murmuring '' Hawksbill" sings itself along — 
 Dashing its sportive ripples to the light, 
 Or hiding 'mid the shades of forests dim 
 Its tuneful flow. And, now afar I see. 
 
A MORNIXG AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 227 
 
 Above jon mountain's brow the dazzling Sun, 
 Kising in glorious majesty, to give 
 New radiance to the scene. His glowing face 
 Bathes hill and field, and flowing stream in light. 
 And 'neath the bright effulgence of his smile. 
 Earth seems a garden spot of Eden bloom. 
 Oh, God I m J heart is full of gushing praise ; 
 I bless thee for the Morn, and I would fain" 
 Bless thee, kind Father, too, for the deep joy 
 Its freshness gives. I would lift up my voice 
 Amid this din of Nature's melodies. 
 And say, with Bird, and Stream, and Flower, 
 I thank Thee, Great Creator, that I live. 
 
228 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A MOTHER, 
 
 IN HER son's bible, ON HIS LEAVING HOME FOR COLLEGE, 
 
 " My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not." 
 Prov. 1 : 10. 
 
 The time has come, when thou must go 
 Forth from thy mother's side ; 
 
 The world, its dangers and its snares, 
 Now opens for thee wide. 
 
 Thou'lt miss her guiding hand, my boy, 
 Her love's fond watch o'er thee. 
 
 Yet may this Book, her parting gift. 
 Thy guide and counsel be. 
 
 When sin allures with siren tongue, 
 And tempts thy feet to stray. 
 
WRITTEX FOR A MOTHER. 229 
 
 Let this bright waj-mark point thee, tlien, 
 To Christ, the Living Waj. 
 
 When proud Ambition speeds thee on 
 
 To glory and to fame, 
 Seek first God's kingdom,--love thou best 
 
 A Christian's holy name. 
 
 When Hope's glad rainbow shines above, 
 
 And all seems well with thee, 
 Prove thine own heart, and let this book 
 
 That heart's pure standard be. 
 
 Dark days will come— the brightest sky 
 
 Must sometimes be o'ercast, 
 Search then thy Bible, trust in God, 
 
 Be faithful to the last. 
 
 20 
 
230 
 
 AH, I FELT I WAS FORGOTTEN ! 
 
 Ah, I felt I was forgotten, 
 
 I knew it by the spell 
 Of loneliness, and dark despair, 
 
 Which on my spirit fell. 
 It haunted me in Pleasure's halls 
 
 When all around were gay, 
 It came when joyous mirth and glee 
 
 Held everywhere their sway. 
 
 I could not smile when others smiled. 
 
 In vain they sought to chide, — 
 Pale Memory, a spectre, stood 
 
 Forever at my side. 
 And pointing with her finger wan. 
 
 To pictures of the past, 
 She shut from out my tearful heart 
 
 Fond hopes, too hright to last. 
 
All, I FELT I WAS FORGOTTEN. 231 
 
 She bade me turn to bjgone years 
 
 When I was all to thee ; 
 When gushing from thy heart, there flowed 
 
 A fount of love for me. 
 Of late, a fairer brow hath charmed 
 
 That fickle heart of thine, 
 A siren-voice hath lured, and won 
 
 The heart that once was mine. 
 
 What bitter tears these eyes have wept, 
 
 I may not pause to tell ; 
 Suffice, the pang is over now, 
 
 I too can say farewell. 
 And I can backward gaze, nor feel 
 
 One single fond regret, 
 I C'An forgive, too, thy false part, 
 
 Bo aught, but not forget. 
 
232 
 
 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BEAUX. 
 
 I'll tell yon lads, what sort of lass 
 
 To fancy for a wife ; 
 And by the way, no other kind 
 
 Should ' harness me for life.' 
 
 I'd have her be a child, I mean 
 
 In childhood so at least. 
 Not ^ partying' when she should be at 
 
 A bread-and-butter feast. 
 
 Not sporting hoops and crinoline, 
 
 Or dress of silken goods, 
 When she might look so sweeter far 
 
 In calico and hoods. 
 
A LITTLE HIXT TO LITTLE BEAUX. 233 
 
 Not gazing absently in church, 
 
 To where the ^ buttons' flash ; 
 Not on the street, or anywhere, 
 
 Seeking to 'cut a dash.' 
 
 Not manifesting at her home 
 
 A stubborn will, or strife ; 
 For if she's not obedient there. 
 
 She'll not be so 'for life.' 
 
 I'd choose a modest little girl, 
 
 A girl with girlish ways ; 
 Retiring, gentle, — one whom none 
 
 Could mention but to praise. 
 
 I'd watch her conduct everywhere ; 
 
 From church, if it occurred, 
 I'd ask her what the text was — just 
 
 To see if she had heard. 
 
 And on the street, I'd notice if — 
 With silly, smirking air, 
 20* 
 
2-34 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BEAUX. 
 
 To every boy she chanced to meet, 
 She nodded- here and there. 
 
 And at her home, I'd look to see 
 Each act with kindness rife, 
 
 A kind, good daughter's very apt 
 To make a kind, good wife. 
 
 I'd mark her in the fireside group. 
 
 To see a noble heart 
 Display itself, in things that bear 
 
 Upon a sister's part. 
 
 And when the kitten from the hearth 
 
 Come purring to her lap, 
 I'd notice if her welcome were 
 
 A kind stroke, or — a slap. 
 
 And when I found one good and true 
 
 As I Avould have her be. 
 When we were ' grown folks' I would ask 
 
 Her then to marry me. 
 
A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BEAUX. 235 
 
 I tell you, bojs, such is the girl 
 
 To fancy for a mfe ; 
 And were I you, no other kind 
 
 Should * harness 7Jie for life.' 
 
oo 
 
 6 
 
 TO AN ONLY SISTER. 
 
 'Tis night, sweet sister, and the stars 
 
 Are trembling in the sky, — 
 Brightly as when we watched their light 
 
 In other years gone by. 
 The moon hath climbed the distant hill 
 
 And decks Heaven's starry dome. 
 As when her soft rays shone around 
 
 Our own, sweet childhood-home. 
 
 The Whippoorwill has hushed his song, 
 
 The dew is on the ground, — 
 The flowers have closed their fragrant cups, 
 
 And all is still around. 
 What marvel then that Memory's flight 
 
 Should wing its way to thee ; 
 And to the only parent dear 
 
 Now left to you and me ! 
 
TO AN ONLY SISTER. 237 
 
 Our Mother lies asleep, tlic grave 
 
 Hath hid her from our view, 
 And Father's eye is growing dim, 
 
 And we are now but two. 
 The youngest of our parted band 
 
 Wanders, an angel bright, 
 Where streams of '^living waters" glide 
 
 Through radiant realms of light. 
 
 Mother and child, united, dwell 
 
 In that blest home on high, 
 AYhile we are left, that path to seek 
 
 Which led them to the sky. 
 By all the love we lost in them. 
 
 By his, whose parent-care 
 Still follows us, where'er we go, 
 
 With blessings and with prayer, 
 
 Let's be, through life, devoted, true. 
 
 Sustaining each the other, 
 Remembering always the wish 
 
 Of our sweet angel Mother. 
 
238 TO AN ONLY SISTER. 
 
 In childhood's bright and sunny hours, 
 
 When hushed to rosy rest — 
 Soothed by the same low "lullaby," 
 
 Clasped to the same fond breast. 
 
 How oft, ere envied slumber chained 
 
 Our senses with its spell, 
 Did these sweet words fall on our ear : 
 
 " Love one another well.''' 
 The lips that breathed them, now are mute, 
 
 Death's seal upon them laid; 
 Yet ne'er may their soft music-tones 
 
 From our remembrance fade. 
 
 Eut let our hearts the motto heed 
 
 Each "loving well" the other — 
 Remembering the last, fond wish, 
 
 Of our sweet, angel mother. 
 Good night, beloved — the moonbeams fall 
 
 Gently o'er hill and lea, 
 The while I breathe, to listening Heaven, 
 
 Love's fervent prayer for thee. 
 
239 
 
 NEWSBOY'S CHRISTMAS ADDRESS. 
 
 Since our last year's Christmas ^reetincr 
 
 Faithful friends, and patrons kind, 
 We have followed one, whose footprints 
 
 Leave a mournful shade behind. 
 We have seen the bright Spring blossoms 
 
 Blooming fair on hill and dell. 
 And we've heard the gentle Summer, 
 
 Breathe her plaintive, low farewell. 
 
 Then we've watched the mcek-ejed Autumn 
 
 With her mystic face serene ; 
 Mantling all this world of ours 
 
 In a robe of rainbow sheen. 
 Next, with noiseless step advancing, 
 
 Winter comes with chilling breath ; 
 Clothing hill, and vale, and mountain. 
 
 In the livery of Death. 
 
240 newsboy's CHRISTMAS ADDRESS. 
 
 See you not, a Phantom figure 
 
 Drawing near, Avitli features pale, — 
 Hear you not a requiem swelling ? 
 
 'Tis the Old Year's dying wail. 
 Hark ! the Christmas bells are chiming 
 
 With his moan, and busy feet, 
 All unmindful of the spectre, 
 
 Glide along the crowded street. 
 
 Let us join the merry circle. 
 
 And be happy while we may ; 
 'Tis the idle workman, only. 
 
 Who deserves no holyday. 
 Spare us then the Christmas trifle. 
 
 We have never claimed in vain ; 
 And may Heaven, in countless blessings. 
 
 Give it back to you again. 
 
241 
 
 ON REVISITING THE HOME OF MY 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 My heart beats with a quickened pulse. Behokl, 
 The tide of Time rolls back ! — I tread once more 
 The hallowed footprints of mj earlier years ; 
 This is the threshold, this the open door, 
 Through which my eager steps have entered in, 
 How oft before ! 
 
 Here, was my Mother's room ; 
 Aye, it was here she gave me birth, and here 
 These lips received her dying, farewell kiss. 
 A baby-sister lay, that dreary morn, 
 Upon her wasted breast, — now, both are gone. 
 
 From this low window, I have often watched 
 The thick, fast falling of the summer rain, — 
 
 21 
 
242 ON REVISITING THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Fears for the birds, whose songs, the storm had 
 
 hushed, 
 Haunting my childish breast. I little dreamed 
 That after years would shed upon my heart 
 Cold, pelting showers ; that would drive Hope and 
 
 Joy. 
 
 Like frightened birds, to fold their timid wings 
 'Neath the o'erdarkened sky. My heart looks up 
 And thanks thee, Father, that thou minglest thus 
 Thorns with the flowers about Life's pathway 
 
 strewn. 
 These would but bind us here ; those point us where 
 No clouds shut out Heaven's sunshine from the 
 
 soul. 
 Oh, how "old times" come back! — This mansion 
 
 old, 
 With its dim halls, and silent chambers lone, 
 Tells a sweet tale of childhood happiness. 
 There was a time, when nook and corner rang 
 With the glad shout of merry voices. Aye, 
 'Twas here I passed the joyous, fleeting hours 
 Of life's glad Springtime, — now, each way I turn 
 
ON REYISITIXG THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 243 
 
 Some old familiar haunt calls up the Past. 
 
 My Grandmother's room ! I well remember 
 
 How, when Mother died, w^e shared it with her, — 
 
 Sisters two, I and our little cousins, 
 
 A heljilcss band, to whom she did become 
 
 The second mother. Ah, long years have passed 
 
 Since on her gentle form we looked our last. 
 
 Yon crumbling porch led to the parlor, where. 
 
 With songs and music, passed the evening hours. 
 
 Even now I see the quaint old pictures 
 
 Hanging 'gainst the walls, — my father's portrait. 
 
 Picturing him in all the pride of manhood. 
 
 This was the dining-room ; just on that spot 
 
 Stood the old sideboard ; there the little stand 
 
 On which the Bible rested ; here the desk 
 
 And time-worn bookcase, — relics quaint and old. 
 
 I shut mine eyes, and see the table spread, — 
 
 I almost hear the laughing jest go round. 
 
 From loving lips, now voiceless. Aye, the Dead, 
 
 Come back to-day, and seem to fill once more. 
 
 Their old accustomed places. Absent ones 
 
 Long parted meet — but mournful thoughts shut out 
 
244 ON REVISITING THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The cherished vision, and I look to see 
 
 Only the dreary change which time hath wrought. 
 
 There is the tree beneath whose leafy shade 
 
 We oft '^hept Jiouse' in Summer's noontide hours, 
 
 Wooing the' birds and butterflies for guests, 
 
 And chiding them that they did seem to scorn 
 
 Our mimic hospitality. 
 
 That path 
 Led to the schoolhouse, where we first did learn 
 To ivelcome " rainy days f' and where, full oft, 
 The forfeit of a playtime had to pay 
 For playing truant at the grapevine swing. 
 Oh, halcyon days of sunshine and of joy ! — 
 There is the garden with its rustic gate 
 Crowned with gay trumpet flow^ers ; how oft before 
 I've seen it thus, in other years gone by, 
 Only more beautiful beneath the light 
 AVhich childhood's gaze is wont to shed on all 
 Around, above, about us. Shrub and vine, 
 The very rose I planted bloomed more fair, 
 When I, a glad child, watched each mystic growth, 
 And proudly hailed each new development. 
 
ON REVISITING THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 245 
 
 That beaten road led to Mount Olivet, — 
 The country Church whose Summer Sabbath-school 
 I can recall as 'twere but yesterday. 
 Yon shady grove, parting the meadow green. 
 Circles the spring, the bright, clear, gushing spring, 
 Whose crystal depths mirrored each waving bough 
 That hung above it. 'Twas a favorite spot 
 Whereby to loiter when we came from school, — 
 Tired out with rules, "hard lessons," and dull books. 
 I can remember how, in Summer time. 
 We made our play-house here, on holidays, — 
 Launching our mimic boats made up of leaves 
 And hickory-nut shells, on the eddying stream, 
 Whose gurgling fountain was that woodland spring. 
 And then 'twas sweet to come at sultry noon, 
 And sit beneath those tall, proud forest trees. 
 Whose tAvining arms stretched out protectingly 
 Above our heads. Ah, we were careless then. 
 And young, and free, a little hand of mx^ — 
 All motherless. Grief could not long have sway 
 O'er hearts so blest Avith love's kind sympathies. 
 
 We did not know that Death would lay his hand 
 
 21* 
 
246 ox REVISITING THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 On others of our household, and that Tnne 
 Would rob us of this home we loved so well, — 
 That stransier hands would tend the flowers we 
 
 reared, 
 And write strange records on familiar things. 
 Lo ! where yon sunlight falls so tenderly 
 Upon a hillside fair, are the lone graves 
 Of our departed ones. There rest our Dead ; 
 There sleeps my mother close beside her own. 
 Who, in my childhood, held her place to me. 
 Peace to their ashes, peace, beloved Dead ! 
 To you may come no more sunshine or storm ; 
 Yet well I know, that He whose kind eye marks 
 The sparrow's fall, will guard your sleeping dust, 
 Till He shall bid it rise. Oh, may He then 
 Unite again, each precious, parted link 
 Of our glad household chain, and may we dAvell 
 Together in that changeless clime above, 
 Where Death comes never more, and where no tears 
 Fall from fond eyes o'er ruins Time hath made. 
 The evening shadows fall, how soft and still. 
 Upon this hallowed scene, — the air is hushed, 
 
ON REVISITING THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 247 
 
 The mellow rays of the declining sun 
 Shed a mild radiance on each object round, — 
 Nature breathes in concord with my spirit,^- 
 Wood, rock, and hill, echo my parting words. 
 Graves of my Dead ! Home of my heart ! farewell. 
 
248 
 
 TO BLANCHE. 
 
 Little one, with pensive eye, 
 Soft and blue as yonder sky ; 
 Lip as pure as Summer flower, 
 Wet with dew at morning hour ; 
 Form of fair and fragile mould. 
 Heart where love can ne'er grow cold ; 
 Voice as sweet as cooing dove 
 When it mourns its absent love ; 
 In thy mirth, so blithe and free. 
 What is Life, sweet one, to thee ? 
 
 Such the language of thy face. 
 So much sadness, so much grace ; 
 Such thy noiseless step, as light 
 As the poet's dreams at night; 
 
TO BLANCHE. 249 
 
 Such the soft, appealing tone, 
 
 Of thy voice, like music's own. 
 
 That I've thouglit there ne'er should dwell 
 
 In thy heart one shadowy spell ; 
 
 That all joy and peace should be 
 
 Mingled in Life's cup for thee. 
 
 May it prove that years will shed 
 Blessings on thy gentle head ; 
 Faith a sacred halo flino;, 
 Radiant as the dawn of Spring ; 
 Hope, forever near thy side. 
 Linger still an Angel guide; 
 Love lend ever her soft liixht 
 To direct thy steps aright. 
 And to thy young heart be given 
 Peace and happiness from Heaven. 
 
250 
 
 STEWART HOLLAND, 
 
 THE HERO-VICTIM OF THE LOST "ARCTIC." 
 
 "He could not be induced to leave the ship ; his post was at the 
 gun, firing signals ; he kept firing the gun till the vessel sunk ; we 
 saw him in the very act of firing as the vessel disappeared below 
 the waters." 
 
 A REQUIEM for thee, oh, true and brave ! 
 Whose winding-sheet is the Atlantic wave ; 
 No braver heart e'er sunk 'neath Ocean's surge, — 
 Ill-fated Holland ! billows moan thy dirge. 
 
 And ah I how many fond eyes vainly Aveep, 
 As, gazing o'er the trackless, foaming deep, 
 A voice comes to them with the Sea's sad moan. 
 That tells of thee, their loved, brave, perished one ! 
 
 True to thy trust, and to thine honor true, — 
 Alone in all that panic-stricken crew ; 
 
STEWART HOLLAND. 251 
 
 No fears disarmed, nor did thy bosom quail, 
 Though stout hearts faltered, and stern lips grew 
 pale. 
 
 Rough, hardy seamen rushed by thee on deck. 
 Each struggling to escape the fearful wreck ; 
 Men, women, children, frantic with despair. 
 Pierced with their shrieking tones the misty air. 
 
 And high above, the startled sea-bird soared, 
 "While close beneath thee, angry billows roared ; 
 Yet, at thy post, unflinching to the last, 
 Thou heed'st not then the danger threatening fast. 
 
 But all undaunted, self-forgetting, brave. 
 Thou stood'st unmoved, — thy life to duty gave ; 
 Nor ceased to fire thy mournful signal-gun, 
 'Till Death pronounced thy martyr-duty done. 
 
 Down went the noble ship, till Ocean's roar 
 Mingled with cries of human woe no more ; 
 Manhood and Beauty, Love and Hope and Pride, 
 All sunk beneath the foaming, billowy tide. 
 
252 STEWART HOLLAND. 
 
 Firm on the deck, deserted, thou didst stand, 
 The last of that ill-fated, hapless band ; 
 One signal more, — then down to Ocean's caves. 
 As that last sound dies o'er the engulfing waves. 
 
 What yearning thoughts were thine, in that dark 
 
 hour, 
 No tongue may tell, — yet trusting to that Power, 
 Whose voice the winds and restless waves obeyed, 
 We know His arm thy dauntless spirit stayed. 
 
 And if, in Memory's vista, then arose 
 Faces and forms beloved, whose life's repose 
 Linked with thy love, henceforth must broken be. 
 He whispered softly, "Leave them all to me." 
 
 Ah ! nobly hast thou yielded thy young life, 
 With all high purposes and proud aims rife ; 
 Martyr to Duty ! — thou hast given to Fame 
 The long, sweet echo of a hero's name. 
 
253 
 
 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 
 
 And now I'll tell you, little girls, 
 What sort of boj to choose, — 
 
 For husbands are like lotteries. 
 You win a prize or lose. 
 
 I'd have him he a boy — at least 
 
 Till far down in his "teens ;" 
 Not squandering in idle trash. 
 
 His little surplus means. 
 
 Not boasting of his "fast" exploits, 
 
 To prove himself a man ; 
 Not turning out a scant mustache. 
 
 To show you that he can. 
 
254 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 
 
 Not bragging that he goes to church, 
 
 Only to see "who's there, 
 And that in sermons he couhl have 
 
 No interest or share. 
 
 Not jeering what the preacher says. 
 
 As foolish "stuff" and vain, 
 Avowing that he'd never let 
 
 Such '^taW disturb his brain. 
 
 Not sauntering along the street. 
 With stately step and air. 
 
 As though for ^^ small tilings'' — Books or 
 Work- 
 He had no taste to spare. 
 
 Not every lassie's lad he meets — 
 
 No service be refused. 
 Except when '^ Sister ' asks his aid. 
 
 And then he'd " 5e excused.'' 
 
 Not twirling a shillaly "nice," 
 Within a nicer hand. 
 
A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 255 
 
 While talking of his parents, as 
 " Old woman" and " old man." 
 
 Not ''dropping in" at bar-room haunts, 
 
 To get — a good cigar (!) 
 When well he knows a Father's eje 
 
 Would frown to see him there. 
 
 Not interspersing idle talk 
 
 With ''small oaths'' here and there, 
 Regardless that a Mother's heart 
 
 Would ache to hear him swear. 
 
 Not fearing lest he should be thought 
 
 Unmanly, foolish, weak, 
 If from temptation's snare he'd turn 
 
 Some loftier aim to seek. 
 
 I'd choose a boy that's bold and brave — 
 
 Not impudent or fast. 
 But one who'd dare to do the right, 
 
 Undaunted to the last. 
 
256 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 
 
 I'd have him be industrious, 
 
 And persevering, too — 
 Doing with willing hand and heart, 
 
 Whate'er he had to do. 
 
 I'd watch him closely on the street. 
 To see him shun the place. 
 
 Where, 'neath a Father's frowning eye, 
 He'd blush to show his face. 
 
 I'd note him in the house of God, 
 And at the hour of prayer. 
 
 To see a close, attentive ear. 
 And reverential air. 
 
 I'd mark his conduct well abroad. 
 
 And at his fireside, too, — «- 
 
 A " motlicrs soil" is apt to make 
 A husband kind and true. 
 
 I'd notice when his humble dog 
 Ventured his hand to lick, 
 
A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 2o7 
 
 Whether his welcome hnpulse "were 
 A ^' soft pat" or a kick. 
 
 Or when I'd satisfy myself, 
 
 If he were kind or cross, 
 I'd only wait some careless time, 
 
 To watch him with his horse. 
 
 If he were gentle, brave, and good, 
 
 As noble boys should be, 
 Td wait till tve ivere groini, — then let 
 
 Ilim whisper love to me. 
 
 For I should feel that I had found 
 
 A heart both true and warm, 
 On wliich my own might safely lean. 
 
 Through sunshine and through storm. 
 
 So, if my parents both agreed 
 
 To let me be his wife, 
 
 IM tell him so, and joining hands, 
 
 We'd settle down ''for life." 
 22* 
 
258 A LITTLE HINT TO LITTLE BELLES. 
 
 I tell you, girls, all jest aside, 
 Such is the boy to choose ; 
 
 For husbands are like lotteries, — 
 You win a prize, or lose. 
 
259 
 
 A SISTER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 How shall we give thee up, 
 
 Brother, so dear? 
 Glad is the household band 
 
 While thou art here. 
 Changed, changed will be the hearth, 
 
 Dreary and lone. 
 Vanished our life's delight. 
 
 When thou art gone. 
 How shall we give thee up. 
 
 Noblest and best ? 
 Happy have been the hearts 
 
 Thy smile hath blest. 
 Brightly our childhood passed, 
 
 Thy love its star ; 
 Memory now sees its light 
 
 Shining afar. 
 
260 A sister's farewell. 
 
 Gladly tlie days flew by, 
 
 Thou at my side, 
 Pleasure and mirthfulness 
 
 On thee relied. 
 Oft by the river's brink 
 
 Culled we the flowers, 
 Wreathed them in garlands gay 
 
 For Summer hours. 
 Then tired of passive sports, 
 
 Chased we the bee, 
 I, full of childish trust. 
 
 Following thee. 
 Ah ! those Avere joyous times; 
 
 Would, but how vain, 
 Childhood's unclouded days 
 
 Might come again. 
 Would that its faith and hope 
 
 Time might restore ; 
 But vainly said, those joys 
 
 Come back no more. 
 Gone is life's sweet spring-time, 
 
 Faded its bloom, 
 
A sister's farewell. 261 
 
 O'er the heart's cherished hopes 
 
 Rests autumn's gloom. 
 Now the dark hour has come 
 
 When thou must roam — 
 Life's slippery path untried, 
 
 Far from thy home. 
 All the deep yearning love, 
 
 Trusting and tried, 
 Which in our childhood years. 
 
 Clung to thy side. 
 Follow thee, brother dear, 
 
 ^From our lone hearth. 
 Where'er thy steps may stray 
 
 O'er the broad earth. 
 Oh, may Heaven's blessing rest 
 
 On thee through life — 
 Shield thee in time of need, 
 
 Danger and strife. 
 May God his grace bestow. 
 
 Make thee his care ; 
 This be my last farewell. 
 
 This my last prayer. 
 
262 
 
 FLOWERS 
 
 FROM THE CONVENT OF MT. DE SALES, NEAR 
 BALTIMORE. 
 
 PRESENTED BY "SISTER CECILIA.' 
 
 Ye wert born afjir from the haunts of men, 
 
 In the shades of tlie perfumed bowers ; 
 Ye Avert given to me by a gentle hand, 
 
 With a kindliest smile, fair flowers. 
 And though passed long since is your fragrant 
 breath. 
 
 And the light of your blooming hours. 
 Yet I love, ah ! well, the sweet memories linked 
 
 With your brief, fleeting lives, pale flowers. 
 Ye wert watched, aye long, by an eye as bright 
 
 As the stars that look down at even ; 
 And your smiles did gladden a heart as pure 
 
 As the Seraphs who smile in Heaven. 
 
FLOWERS. 263 
 
 How well I remember that sweet retreat, 
 
 Her home — in its calm seclusion, 
 Like an isle of beauty, where fairies dwell, 
 
 Shut out from mortal obtrusion. 
 'Tis a woodland wild, where the squirrel's chirp. 
 
 And the hum of the mountain bee, 
 Blend in chorus glad with the red bird's note, 
 
 And the oriole's, so blithe and free. 
 'Tis a hillside fair, from whose verdant crest 
 
 Rose the Convent spire, — ah, well 
 I recall, e'en now, how it pointed then 
 
 To that home, where the sinless dwell. 
 And I thought of one, in her girlhood's bloom, 
 
 More fair than these flowers so cherished. 
 Whose bright cheek grew pale 'ncath my anxious 
 gaze. 
 
 Whose form from my side had perished. 
 I murmured her name — the echo which came 
 
 Was soft as the whispers of even. 
 And when it was lost to my ear, I gazed — 
 
 The spire — still — still pointed to Heaven ! 
 
264 FLOWERS. 
 
 How sadly I mused, as I clasped lier hand, 
 
 Who had guided us both in youth — 
 A " Sister" in name to me and to mine. 
 
 She was ^'Mother" indeed and in truth. 
 Around me were faces and forms beloved. 
 
 In the bright days of " Auld Lang Syne," 
 When my life was new and my heart was young. 
 
 And the day-dreams of youth were mine, 
 And near me were voices whose sweet, low tones. 
 
 Led my spirit rejoicing back. 
 With its burden of years, to roam again 
 
 O'er my lost childhood's shining track. 
 I lingered long, and on Memory's wall 
 
 Hangs the picture I saw that day. 
 Of the woodland wild, with its Convent spire. 
 
 And, distant, the beautiful Bay. 
 Can I ever forget it ? — pure and sweet 
 
 As the odor of Southern gales. 
 Is the dream I hold in my heart of hearts. 
 
 Of that visit to Mt. de Sales. 
 In those cloistered halls there are forms as bright 
 
 As a painter might love to trace — 
 
FLOWERS. 265 
 
 Of innocent Childhood with laughino; broAV, 
 
 And of Beauty, with half-veiled face. 
 As I stood mid that black-veiled group, each smile 
 
 AVoke the past, Avith its mystical train 
 Of my school-day joys, with their roseate hues — 
 
 Lost blessings, which come not again. 
 While we strolled through those stately halls, they 
 rang 
 
 With the echoes of voices clear. 
 And the merry sound waked a slumbering chord, 
 
 As I, musingly, paused to hear. 
 'Twas the laughing shout of a happy band, 
 
 At their play on the green below — 
 Meek innocence smiled in each fair young face, 
 
 Joy beamed from each beautiful brow ; 
 Then my OAvn glad school-days came back to me. 
 
 And I thought of my playmates fair, — 
 Some had passed, long since, to the Silent Land, 
 
 Some were living, — I knew not where. 
 And a murmured prayer went up from my heart 
 
 To Our Father who reigneth above, 
 
 23 
 
266 FLOWERS. 
 
 That when Death shall have gathered every one, 
 
 We may meet in His Home of Love ! 
 On we passed, through corridors, rich and grand. 
 
 With their frescoes and pictured walls, — 
 Art, Industry, Learning, and Genius too, 
 
 Find a home in these cloistered halls. 
 The clock told the fast-fleeting hours, — too soon 
 
 Came the moment to say farewell, — 
 Still I paused, — my heart heat faster the while, 
 
 As we entered our loved one's cell. 
 'Twas a neat, small room, where we paused before 
 
 A shrine of the Virgin and Child, — 
 The Babe looking up in the meek, bowed face 
 
 Of the Mother, so pure and mild. 
 At the feet of the Virgin stood a vase. 
 
 Newly filled from the garden bowers, 
 And from out that vase, the dear hand I held. 
 
 Culled, and gave me these pale sweet flowers. 
 With a smile she added, " They II tell of us^'' 
 
 And my heart gave its answer true. 
 As in silence I clasped each friendly hand. 
 
 And in silence, wept an adieu ! 
 
FLOWERS. 267 
 
 Ob ! voiceless flowers, ye are faded now ! 
 
 Yet sweet as the echoes of even 
 Is the tale ye tell of that Avoodland wild, 
 
 With its spire that pointed to Heaven. 
 And though distant far is that sunny spot, 
 
 More pure than the soft Southern gales, 
 Is the dream I hold in my heart of hearts. 
 
 Of that visit to Mt. De Sales. 
 Long, long may the picture my spirit cheer. 
 
 With its rainbow tints, lovely and bright. 
 Till Death to my soul fairer visions unfold 
 
 In the radiant regions of Light. 
 
268 
 
 MY LITTLE STAR. 
 
 I've watched a Star, dear one, since last we parted, 
 
 A solitary star which shines above, 
 As though 'twould lure me, by its strange pure 
 brightness, 
 
 To dream, once more, of happiness and love. 
 
 A little trembling star, it shines at even, 
 So pure, so holy, too, its soft rays are, — 
 
 I almost question if some Angel spirit 
 
 Does not bend o'er me from that little star. 
 
 At twilight, when my saddened heart is lonely, 
 That star looks calmly down as though to cheer 
 
 My weary bosom, when dim spectres only 
 And shadows of the Past are gliding near. 
 
MY LITTLE STAR. 269 
 
 Each dewy evening as I gaze upon it, / 
 
 So mild, so heavenly, as it shines afar, 
 I, musing, wonder if its soft light reacheth 
 ■ Beyond those mountain summits where you are. 
 
 I wonder, too, whether your eyes behold it. 
 The while I gaze upon its mystic light, — 
 
 If so, then tell me, does it charm your spirit 
 By its soft rays, so beautiful and bright ? 
 
 A cloud passed o'er my little star this evening, 
 A cold, dark cloud, so cold, it made me weep; 
 
 Yet still I mused, mine eyes still upward gazing 
 Through blinding tears, their silent watch to 
 keep. 
 
 And when I bowed me down in prayerful sorrow, 
 A sudden calmness swept my spirit o'er, — 
 
 I gazed again, and lo ! the cloud had vanished, — 
 My little star shone brighter than before. 
 
 Didst view it thus, beloved, and didst thou question 
 
 The direful omen when the cloud appeared ? 
 
 23^- 
 
270 MY LITTLE STAR. 
 
 And did thj soul, like mine, bow down in sorrow ? 
 And was thj heart's deep fountain strangely 
 stirred? 
 
 And didst thou welcome, too, the star's returning. 
 When pure, and beautiful, and calm, and bright, 
 
 It shone again, more radiant still, still soothing 
 Our fevered senses by its mystic light ? 
 
 Thus may Life's path for thee, dear one, be lighted 
 By Hope's glad ray which dawneth from above, 
 
 And may each transient cloud which passes o'er it 
 But add new radiance to thy Star of Love. 
 
 This silent prayer my fond lips utter nightly. 
 As through the shadows dim and mists of even, 
 
 My little Star looks down and seems to whisper 
 Of Peace, and Happiness, and Love, in Heaven. 
 
271 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Tins world is not all darkness, — forms of light 
 Float ever round us in the thickest night ; 
 Kind, minst'ring spirits pass us to and fro 
 AYith ready greeting in this vale of Avoe. 
 And on us from their radiant home, the skies, 
 Bright, guardian angels look with tender eyes, — 
 Or, sent to earth upon some high behests. 
 They leave their starry sphere to be our guests. 
 And hov'ring 'round us on their viewless wings, 
 They cheer the heart with silent whisperings 
 Of endless joy and peaceful rest above. 
 Where in God's presence all is light and love ; 
 Where life's dull cares and mocking fears all o'er. 
 Sorrow shall pain the timid heart no more. 
 
272 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 Where clouds no longer o'er our footsteps rise 
 To hide the light that on our pathway lies. 
 Where Hope's glad song may greet th' Eternal ear, 
 And Faith is lost in vision bright and clear. 
 Where from the heart there comes no grieving 
 
 moan 
 For friendship lost, no quenchless murmuring tone 
 Of silent suffering it is pressed to bear. 
 With no kind bosom in its grief to share. 
 Look up, sad spirit, o'er yon azure dome 
 Is thy inheritance, that blessed home 
 Whose portals open for the faithful heart. 
 Subdued and chastened by affliction's smart. 
 Our Father offers it ; can He deceive ? 
 The sole condition is '''repent, believe.'" 
 Oh, rouse thee, heart ! rush to thy Master's fight ; 
 His yoke is easy and his burden light ; 
 Shake off Sin's rankling fetter — strength is His 
 Whose faithful service perfect freedom is. 
 His eye will watch. His arm protect thee here 
 From lurking foes and dangers threat'ning near. 
 
LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 273 
 
 His love will guide thee through that vale of gloom 
 Which leads to fields of fresh, immortal bloom ; 
 Where thou mayst wander by those crystal streams, 
 On whose clear depths the Sun of Glory beams. 
 In that bright land no cherished flow'rets lie 
 Fresh in our pathway, then bow down and die. 
 No gentle spirits, — formed to bless and cheer 
 Our yearning bosoms while we linger here, — - 
 Stay with us only till their love hath made 
 The light that round our weary footsteps played ; 
 Then leaving us, of banished joy no trace, 
 Say, ^' Fare-thee well,'' and quit our fond embrace. 
 In that sweet, heavenly clime, no tears are shed 
 In helpless anguish o'er the loved and dead ; 
 No mem'ries haunt us of fond eyes that shone 
 On us in love, their light now quenched and gone, — 
 Eyes that looked on us with sad lustre bright, 
 Then meekly closed in Death's dim, starless night. 
 No lips delight us with fond tones aAvhile, 
 Then on our darken'd pathway cease to smile. 
 No voice comes to us in low tones and clear, 
 Mocking with its sweet melody, the ear— 
 
274 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 Telling of lips whose whispers hushed and gone 
 Once gladdened us like music's softest tone. 
 No silent, secret woe is ours to bear ; 
 No tearful eyes, no broken hearts are there. 
 But lost in rapture, fill'd with boundless love, 
 The freed soul wanders in those realms above ; 
 The praise of God, its endless theme and song, 
 While Seraphs the ecstatic notes prolong. 
 Heart, bear on bravely, to thyself be true ; 
 Whate'er betide thee, keep thy goal in view ; 
 Assured that for the chastened spirit given. 
 There yet remaineth a sweet rest in Heaven, 
 Where the swift, fleeting hours of Time shall be 
 Lost in the reck'ning of Eternity. 
 
275 
 
 TO ISABEL. 
 
 WITH THE BRIDAL-GIFT OF A BIBLE, 
 
 Let others bring their gifts to thee, 
 
 Of silver and of gold, — 
 Rare pearls from Lidia's coral seas, 
 
 Rich gems from Oceans old : 
 Mine be this Bible, — blessed book, 
 
 A friend, sincere and true, — 
 A beacon star, to light the way 
 
 Thy footsteps should pursue. 
 
 Clasp it with fervor to thy heart 
 
 Now, in thy bridal hours, 
 'Twill w^ake new^ joys Avithin thy soul. 
 
 And strcAV thy path with flowers. 
 
276 TO ISABEL. * 
 
 Study its precepts — it will prove 
 
 A guide, both safe and sure, 
 When earthly dangers threaten near, 
 
 And earthly snares allure. 
 
 Hold it while living — search its truths, — 
 
 Make sure its promise sweet. 
 "A light 'twill be unto thy path, 
 
 A lamp unto thy feet ;" 
 Clasp it when dying, it will prove 
 
 A talisman, pure and bright, — 
 To guide thee through Death's shadowy vale. 
 
 Up — to the Land of Light. 
 
277 
 
 MY MARY. 
 
 (A husband's lament.) 
 
 I KNEW that Tve must part — 
 
 She often told me so, 
 But I did not know how hard 
 
 'T would he to let her go ; 
 I knew not till it came 
 
 How hard the stroke must be 
 Which made my joj, a dream — 
 
 My hope, a memory. 
 
 I watched her fading cheek. 
 Slow step, and languid eye ; 
 
 I prayed that she might live, 
 I felt that she must die. 
 24 
 
278 MY MARY. 
 
 And when the moment ciime 
 
 An angel Imshed her breath ; 
 I said it must be sleep, 
 
 They told me it was Death. 
 
 My eyes were blinded now, 
 
 I nothing saw that day, 
 Till in a coffin dim 
 
 Her slumbering face of clay. 
 Mute lips that w^ould not speak, 
 
 A placid forehead fair ; 
 Closed eyes, a marble cheek, 
 
 And stirless folds of hair. 
 
 Oh ! God, if word of mine 
 
 E'er pained that pulseless heart, 
 If e'er I caused a tear 
 
 In that closed eye to start : 
 Let her pure spirit speak. 
 
 And say I am forgiven. 
 Ere yet the "pearly gates" 
 
 Have shut her in Thy Heaven. 
 
MY MARY. 279 
 
 No answering look or smile, 
 
 Only a dreadful sound, 
 Which struck against my heart. 
 
 When they screwed the black lid down. 
 I turned to go — but where ? 
 
 The waiting hearse is near, — 
 They've borne my Mary out, 
 
 And I must follow her. 
 
 Beside an open grave 
 
 They paused, and prayers were read ; 
 Then busy hands threw in 
 
 Dull clods upon the dead. 
 They piled the fresh, cold earth 
 
 Above her silent breast ; 
 Two lieavy stones w^ere laid. 
 
 To mark her place of rest. 
 
 Their part was over now ; 
 
 They left me, one by one ; 
 The sexton, with his spade, 
 
 Ilis weary task was done. 
 
280 MY MAKY. 
 
 But I — where could I go ? 
 
 How turn me from that mound, 
 Where slept my gentle wife, 
 
 My Mary, in the ground ? 
 
 Oh I this is worse than death, 
 
 To breathe, yet not to live ; 
 To know that all the world 
 
 Hath no more joy to give. 
 I'll go from place to place. 
 
 Do aught the hours to vary ; 
 But not on earth again 
 
 Shall I behold my Mary. 
 
281 
 
 A PLACE AT THY FEET, Oil ! MY 
 SAVIOUR. 
 
 Aiu — " A jjlace 171 thy memory, dearest.'''' 
 
 A PLACE at Thy feet, oh ! my Saviour, 
 
 Is all that I claim, — 
 That in the Lamb's Book of remembrance 
 
 Thou Avilt write my name. 
 Let others seek fortune and pleasure, 
 
 The world and its phantoms pursue, — 
 Thou only canst give lasting treasure, 
 
 Immortal and true. 
 
 Remember me. Lord, as a sinner. 
 
 Weak, erring, and blind; 
 No merit I bring as a passport 
 
 Thy favor to find. 
 
 24* 
 
282 A PLACE AT THY FEET, OH ! MY SAVIOUR. 
 
 No price can I offer for pardon, 
 
 Thy grace must be freely supplied ; 
 
 A worm in Thy sight, poor and helpless, 
 For such Thou hast died. 
 
 Kemember Gethsemane's garden, 
 
 Thine anguish and prayer ; 
 The sadness which bowled down Thy spirit 
 
 In agony there. 
 Remember thy soul's desolation, 
 
 Thy death upon Calvary ; 
 And, oh ! from that cross, bleeding Jesus, 
 
 Turn thy dying eyes on me. 
 
 When shineth Hope's rainbow above me, 
 
 And earth seems most fair ; 
 Dear Lord, in thy wisdom unerring. 
 
 Still make me Thy care. 
 When the sunlight of Fortune is beaming 
 
 In days of prosperity, 
 And the cup of my joy runneth over. 
 
 Dear Jesus, remember me. 
 
A PLACE AT THY FEET, OH ! MY SAVIOUR. 283 
 
 When the light o'er life's pathway is darkened 
 
 By sorrow and gloom, 
 And the flowers of Hope I have cherished 
 
 Lie stripped of their bloom ; — 
 When sickness and Death overtake me. 
 
 And Earth's mocking phantoms shall flee ; 
 As I walk through the Valley of Shadows, 
 
 Dear Saviour, remember me. 
 
284 
 
 OLD WINTER HAS COME. 
 
 Old Winter has come ao-ain : harsh through the door 
 
 The cokl, chilling blasts creep in ; 
 The fast-falling snow-flakes are gathering without, 
 
 The hickory blazing within. 
 
 Old Winter has come, aye, and we are all blest 
 With plenty of warmth and of bread ; 
 
 While many a creature is braving the storm 
 With no shelter to cover his head. 
 
 Old Winter has come, and the trees are all clad 
 
 In their beautiful vestures of snow. 
 The dark, threatening storm-clonds are lowering 
 above. 
 
 The rivulets freezing below. 
 
OLD WINTER HAS COME. 285 
 
 Old Winter has come, see, the snow-bird hops round 
 And chirps for a spare little crumb, 
 
 While on, Master Harry still heedlessly sings 
 The song of Bopeep and Tom Thumb. 
 
 Old Winter has come ; the bold schoolboy cries out, 
 
 ^' Old Winter's the season for me ;" 
 And hio"h in the air the bridit snow-balls are 
 hurled. 
 
 With a halloo of innocent glee. 
 
 Old Winter has come ; yes, but ah ! not to all 
 Does he bring with him laughter and mirth, — 
 
 E'en to-day there are little ones shivering around 
 Full many a comfortless hearth. 
 
 Old AVinter has come ; then remember the poor, 
 llelieve their sad wants whilst ye may, — 
 
 What ye have, what ye are, ye owe all to His love 
 Who hath given and can take away. 
 
286 
 
 OVER ! 
 
 The struggle is over — tlie agony past, 
 And the dear little sufferer is quiet at last ; 
 Press down the fringed lids o'er those shadowless 
 
 eyes 
 Where the spirit of beauty and holiness lies ; 
 
 Then fold the soft hands on his innocent breast, 
 Nou2;ht now can disturb the sweet calm of his rest ; 
 He has felt the last pang, he has yielded his 
 
 breath, 
 And his sleep is the still, dreamless slumber of 
 
 death. 
 
 Thank God, he is done now with sickness and pain. 
 Would I call his freed soul to its prison again — 
 
OYER ! 287 
 
 Would I bar tlie glad things, the bright joys of 
 
 Heaven, 
 From his spirit, whom Death to the angels hath 
 
 given ? 
 
 Ah no, yet I bury in Earth's frozen breast 
 The hopes I have cherished as dearest and best; 
 To thy voiceless keeping, oh ! Grave, I impart 
 The joy of my being — the pearl of my heart. 
 
 One kiss on the marble cheek — baby, farewell ! 
 Thy home now is where only blest ones may dwell. 
 Too bleak was our pathAvay, oh, sinless, for thee ; 
 Thy fetters are broken — bright seraph, thou'rt free. 
 
 We lay thy dear form in the grave, yet no gloom 
 Can reach thee, pale flower, cut down in thy 
 
 bloom ; 
 In Heaven, where thou art now, bliss is thy part ; 
 No blight shall fall on thee there. Bud of my heart. 
 
288 
 
 A LITTLE BOY'S WISH AND RESO- 
 LUTION. 
 
 ^^ I WANT my mamma !" said a beautiful boy, 
 As tbe brigbt, early morn was breaking, — 
 
 He bad opened his eyes, and no fresh, Avarm kiss 
 Fell soft on his lips, at his waking. 
 
 " I want my mamma !" and his bright azure eyes, 
 With fast-gathering tears were filling. 
 
 While his piteous tones swelled a father's heart 
 With an anguish deep and thrilling. 
 
 And, lifting his little one on his knee, 
 He smoothed back the golden tresses. 
 
 While only a sob from the motherless child. 
 Could answer his fond caresses. 
 
A LITTLE boy's WISH AXD RESOLUTION. 289 
 
 Then lie told of a radiant clime above, 
 Where tempest and storms come never, 
 
 To blight the immortal flowers that bloom 
 On the banks of the crystal river. 
 
 And he said, " In that region of fadeless bloom. 
 Is the friend to your infancy given ; 
 
 Last night, while you slept, lo ! an angel came. 
 And carried your mother to Heaven. 
 
 " Oft, oft in that beautiful land, my child. 
 Where sorrow and death come never. 
 
 Young children and mothers, long parted, meet, 
 With no more partings forever." 
 
 The boy, looking up with a wondering gaze. 
 His eye kindling bright at the story, 
 
 Said, "I wish the good Angel w^ho took my mamma, 
 Would come back and take me to glory." 
 
 " Then be a good boy," the sad father replied, 
 " Let nought her pure influence smother ; 
 
 25 
 
290 A LITTLE boy's WISH AND RESOLUTION. 
 
 And in God's own time the good Angel will come, 
 And carry you home to your mother." 
 
 Bounding off with a heart full of childish delight, 
 His bosom relieved of its sorrow, — 
 
 '•'Til make haste to he good, Pa,'' the innocent said, 
 '''And then maybe hell take me to-morrow.'' 
 
291 
 
 AN EVENING AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 
 
 'Tis moonlight on the mountains; and around 
 
 A brooding stillness, save the night-wind's tone, 
 
 AYooing sweet rest amid the folded flowers, 
 
 Or mingling with the "Whip-poor-will's sad song. 
 
 To swell the fading echoes that resound 
 
 So softly from the parting melodies 
 
 Of day. It is the hour when holy truths 
 
 Press deeply on the heart, — the boundless might 
 
 And majesty of God! His voice proclaimed 
 
 "Let there be light!" And lo, the earth was 
 
 bathed 
 In radiance ; Nature smiled, and warbling throats 
 Swelled with a morning paean. Now He bids 
 The dazzling sun withdraw, and moonlight falls 
 Gently on vale and mountain. Oh, hoAV sweet 
 
292 AN EVENING AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 
 
 Its message to tlie spirit : '' Grod is love!'' 
 The zephyrs bear it in their whispering tones, 
 As with a murmuring sigh they breathe '' Good 
 
 night," 
 And sleep among the blossoms. It is read 
 Upon each tiny leaflet, and the flowers 
 Proclaim it from their perfumed cells, e'en now, 
 As dreamily they hang, all wet with dew. 
 Yielding their farewell fragrance to the night. 
 Aye, it is heard, too, in the lulling flow 
 Of our own streamlet, as it winds around 
 The rugged clifi", telling of Him who made 
 Each trembling star that's mirrored in its face. 
 Hush, beating heart, be still ! I fain would catch 
 Each murmur of its melody. I feel 
 An angel presence hovering 'mid this scene. 
 And musing thought, guided by its sweet spell, 
 Looks upward to the Infinite. Oh, Thou, 
 Beneath whose watchful eye this great world 
 
 sleeps ; 
 Under whose parent care the tiniest bird 
 May fold its wing in peace ; whose love extends 
 
AN EVENING AT CLIFF COTTAGE. 293 
 
 E'en to the smallest butterfly that plays 
 All day with sunbeams in the lily's cup ; 
 Teach me to live, that when Death's shadows fall 
 Around me at life's evening, hope may smile 
 Like moonlight on my heart, and whisper low 
 Its message to my spirit : "God is love /" 
 
 25* 
 
294 
 
 NOT AGAIN. 
 
 Not again, lady fair ; 
 
 Never, ah ! never ; 
 Thou who didst sport the chain, 
 
 Rent it forever. 
 
 Gone is the spirit's trust, 
 
 Gone, and forever ; 
 Thou canst not call it back, 
 
 Charming deceiver. 
 
 Once it were pain to part, — 
 Then I believed thee ; 
 
 Now I can bear the smart, — 
 Thou hast deceived me. 
 
295 
 
 A SABBATH IN MAY. 
 
 How peacefully Heaven's light upon thee dawns, 
 Sweet day of rest. A mellow radiance 
 Falls from bright skies o'er all this blooming earth, 
 And softly to the ear comes the slow chime 
 Of distant Sabbath bells. The weary heart 
 Throws oiF its weight of earthly cares, calls back 
 Its scattered thoughts the while, and yields itself 
 To its immortal promptings. Prayer now parts 
 The faithful Christian's lip, and the soft air 
 Bears to the sinner's heart, a sweet, low tone. 
 Which seems to say, "Repent." Not harshly frills 
 Upon his ear that mute, appealing voice, 
 As if th' avenging wrath of Heaven e'en now 
 Was ripening for him, if he longer grieved 
 
296 A SABBATH IN MAY. 
 
 God's long-forbearing Spirit, — but a low 
 Pleading tone, all rife with mournful music, 
 As if borne by Angel tongues from Calvary, 
 Aye, breathing of love, long-suffering love, 
 It steals upon his heart and wakes within 
 An answering chord of earnest penitence. 
 Anon, he wanders sadly forth, beneath 
 The azure arch of Heaven, and feels the touch 
 Of soothing summer warmth steal softly o'er 
 His weary temples. It is God's light 
 That dawns so cheeringly upon him, 'tis 
 His atmosphere that feeds that principle 
 Of life within his veins. It is His air 
 That plays about his forehead, and he hears 
 A mute reproach from Nature. Gazing round, 
 Sees bird and bee, and blossom, busy all 
 In their own sphere of duty, — Man alone, 
 Of all created things, most favored, too. 
 Delinquent. Timid flowers look meekly up 
 With their bright smiling eyes, and seem to say, 
 " We cheerfully fulfil our destiny. 
 We obey our glorious Maker's will, — 
 
A SABBATH IN MAY. 207 
 
 Why do not you, for whom Earth yields her gifts 
 Of fragrant bloom and beauty, and for whom 
 "We smilingly discharge our mission pure, 
 Of summer joy and sunshine?" 
 
298 
 
 LITTLE RANNIE. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM R. BARBEE. 
 
 I HELD him in mj arms, the while 
 Death nearer drew each hour, 
 
 Until, at length, a blighting change 
 Passed o'er the little flower. 
 
 He did not shrink, but unto me 
 A long, fixed gaze was given, 
 
 And well I knew the pearly gates 
 Now stood ajar in Heaven. 
 
 I clasped his hand, and closer drew 
 The sweet face to my bosom, 
 
 But all the while Death waited near, 
 To cull the dying blossom. 
 
LITTLE RANNIE. 299 
 
 And when, at last, his icy breath 
 Swept o'er the form so cherished, 
 
 A still, pale lip was all that told 
 The little flower had perished. 
 
 A nestling Dove might so have died — 
 
 Fearless, and tranquil-hearted ; 
 As lilies droop, and violets fade, 
 
 The baby-soul departed. 
 
 And when the spirit pure, had fled 
 
 Back to our Father's keeping, 
 A smile lit up the pale, cold face, 
 
 As of an Angel sleeping. 
 
 And soon we dressed him for the grave, 
 And smoothed his shining tresses ; 
 
 I knew the while, he did not need 
 Our yearning fond caresses. 
 
 But yet my heart went out to you, 
 Sad father, stricken mother, 
 
300 LITTLE RANNIE. 
 
 And ah I felt how hard to yield 
 Our dear ones to another. 
 
 We laid him in the coffin dim, — 
 No ties of earth now bound him ; 
 
 A spotless shrine of dust he lay, 
 Spring's early flowers around him. 
 
 And now where hemlock branches wave 
 
 O'er mountain-summits, keeping 
 A silent watch o'er lonely graves, 
 ' His baby-form is sleeping. 
 
 Look up, then, to our Father's House, 
 With all your love immortal, — 
 
 Look up ; behold, there waits for you 
 An Angel at the portal. 
 
301 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Air — " Fve Wandered by the Brookside.''' 
 
 And must our spirits severed be, 
 
 And must we say farewell, — 
 We who have nursed so tenderly 
 
 The hopes we dared not tell. 
 Fast gushing tears are trembling now, 
 
 In eyes that once were bright, 
 And hearts that bounded joyously, 
 
 Are sunk in cheerless night. 
 
 How hard the fate that thus will break 
 
 Hearts fondly pledged and true. 
 How sadly falls, from lips that love. 
 
 That parting word, "" A<licu !" 
 But, be it so, though never more 
 
 On earth, Hope's light may shine. 
 There's comfort in the single thought. 
 
 That still in Heaven thou'rt mine. 
 26 
 
302 
 
 ''ASHES OF ROSES."* 
 
 Bring hither snowy garlands fair, 
 And wreathe them round her head, 
 
 Bring violets and lily -bells 
 To crown the youthful Dead. 
 
 Ah ! hither bring the "bridal wreath," 
 
 And place it on her brow, — 
 That brow, so warm beneath its folds, 
 
 Alas ! so frozen now. 
 
 Three fleeting months ! — too soon, too soon. 
 
 The joyous marriage bell 
 Is hushed, — a wail is on the air, 
 
 A wail, — her funeral knell. 
 
 * On the death of Isabel, daughter of John 0. L. Goggin — wife 
 of F. C. Hutter, of Lynchburg, Va. 
 
"ashes of roses." 303 
 
 Three months I — a brilliant festive scene, 
 
 Mirth, Tvit, and laughter loud, — 
 To-day a funeral throng, a pall, 
 
 A coflBn and a shroud. 
 
 Three months I — the beautiful, the bright 
 
 Were gathered to her side. 
 With snowy garlands, fresh and gay. 
 
 To crown the youthful Bride. 
 
 To-day they come — no laughing voice 
 
 Each welcomed footstep cheers, — 
 They come with garlands, pure and sweet, 
 
 All wet with funeral tears. 
 
 Alas ! how changed, — the Man of God 
 
 Is here, and by his side. 
 The brave young Bridegroom, trembling, pale, — 
 
 Death claims the blooming Bride. 
 
 Ah, Love and Death, strange words — he weeps, 
 All desolate and lone — 
 
304 "ashes of roses." 
 
 The Dove, scarce folded to his heart, 
 Hath upward gazed, and — flown. 
 
 The sunlight of his marriage joy 
 Hath set, how soon, in cloud, — 
 
 The bridal veil, a winding sheet, — 
 The bridal dress, a shroud. 
 
 And we, a parted household band, 
 
 We mourn the vanished light. 
 Whose presence at our fireside shone, 
 
 A sunbeam, glad and bright. 
 
 One kiss, — draw near, ye weeping group, — 
 
 Oh, Parents ! — sad the hour. 
 Which from your darkened dwelling, bears 
 
 This beautiful, pale flower. 
 
 They come, they come, with garlands white,- 
 Ah, wreathe them round her head. 
 
 With Orange -flowers and Lily-bells, 
 Crown ye, the sainted Dead ! 
 
305 
 
 TO ONE IN IIEIYEN. 
 A mother's lament. 
 
 INSCRIBEJ) TO MIlS. JOHN 0. L. GOGGIN, OF LYNCHBURG. 
 
 On thou, SO early gone ! 
 
 Lent for awhile, not given ; 
 Thou who "wcrt here on earth so clear, 
 
 Say, shall we meet in Heaven ? 
 
 I know that thou art there, — 
 
 Briglit, beautiful, and blest ; 
 Shall I, through paths of trial, reach 
 
 The same eternal rest ? 
 
 Child of my love I I feel 
 
 Thy presence hov'ring nigh. 
 In every whispering tone that's heard 
 
 In earth, or air, or sky. 
 26* 
 
306 TO ONE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The sun with splendor shines 
 At morning's clewj hour ; 
 
 Thy vanished smile I see the while, 
 In every opening flower. 
 
 The stars look calmly down 
 When evening shadows glide, 
 
 And then, ah then thou'rt near again, 
 An angel, by my side. 
 
 Thy fcivorite haunts I love, — 
 
 In every spot I trace 
 Some tone or sign, tliat calls to mind 
 
 Thy dear, departed face. 
 
 Ah, whither art thou gone, 
 
 What distant, heavenly spliere 
 
 Contains that spirit, glorified, 
 So fondly cherished here. 
 
 I bow me in the dust, 
 
 I weep Avhen none are near,— 
 
TO ONE IN IIEAVEX. 307 
 
 Say, dost thou, from thy starry home, 
 Behohl each burning tear ? 
 
 And art thou less mine own 
 
 Because with me 'tis night, — 
 "While thou, among the ransomed throng, 
 
 Art walking in the Light ? 
 
 Look up ! my heart, receive 
 
 This rod in wisdom given, — 
 "Endure the cross, and win the crown:" 
 
 We'll meet again in Heaven. 
 
 Child of my love I I seem 
 
 To see thee even now, — 
 Harp in thy hand, a crown of Light 
 
 Upon thy sinless brow. 
 
 And thou wilt know me there 
 
 (What joy the thought hath given) — 
 
 Thou'lt know me when through Death's 
 dark vale 
 I go to thee in Heaven. 
 
308 
 
 IMOGEN TO FREDERICK. 
 
 WITH A BOUQUET OF PRESSED FLOWERS. 
 
 FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 
 
 " 'lie forbids me to write,' said the ^Yife, musingly, 'but I will 
 send him these pale sweet flowers : they cannot offend ; thej' will 
 say all that my heart prompts of my unchanging love — of our child 
 now in Heaven — of the Past — of God. Surely the appeal cannot be 
 in vain ;' and Imogen folded the faded bouquet in a neat envelope, 
 and enclosed with it a few simple lines."' — Start/ of " Imogen,'''' by 
 An Old Schoolmate. 
 
 Flowers have a language of mute appeal, 
 
 Let these then into thj presence steal ; 
 
 And let them kindly, though mutely, tell 
 
 Of a wounded heart ^Yhich hath loved you well ; — 
 
 A heart which unkindness hath bowed to earth. 
 
 Whose songs are wailings, whose joy hath dearth ; 
 
 Oh, let them whisper in soft, low tone. 
 
 Of a yearning love which was all thine own ; 
 
IMOGEN TO FREDERICK. 309 
 
 A loYC which the tempest and storm have tried, 
 
 Clinging 'mid all to thine alien side. 
 
 Ah ! let them tell of the banished Past, 
 
 With its record of fond hopes, flown too fast ; — 
 
 AYith its vision fair which, through tears, I trace, 
 
 Of a little shroud and a hahy face. 
 
 Oh ! let them point thee to Him above, 
 
 Whose arm is almighty, whose name is Love ; — 
 
 To Him who alone hath the power to save 
 
 Earth's sorrowing children beyond the grave : 
 
 With all thy burden of errors done, 
 
 Still, still look up to that sinless One. 
 
 This be the message I send to-day. 
 
 On a perfumed breath from my heart away. — 
 
 In all thy moments of mirth and joy. 
 
 When sorrows cloud, and when cares annoy ; — 
 
 In all thy lonely and musing hours, 
 
 Harhy to the voice of my faded jioivers- 
 
310 
 
 WHERE IS HELEN? 
 
 Where is Helen ? — I have listened long 
 For the joyous tones of her welcome song; — 
 I've waited her footstep on the stair ; 
 I've been to her home, but she is not there. 
 
 Childhood's sweet voice hath greeted my car, 
 With its silvery music, wild and clear; 
 And daintiest lips, too, ni}^ own have pressed 
 With the fervor of Innocence, pure and blest. 
 
 But I look in vain for an cjc that shone 
 With Affection's light as it met my own ; 
 And a form is missed that was wont to Hide 
 With an Angel's gentleness near my side. 
 
WHERE IS HELEN? 311 
 
 I've questioned the flowers if they would tell 
 Where this bud of my heart may chance to dwell ; 
 But the flowers reply, " AVe are sleeping low 
 In our wintry prisons, and may not know." 
 
 Then I asked the birds which she used to love. 
 Whither had wandered the household Dove ; 
 And they warbled an answer wild and clear, 
 But its mournful melody pained my ear. 
 
 I gazed on the clouds as they floated by. 
 Through the azure depths of the distant sky. 
 And methought of a radiant clime above, 
 AVhere all is gladness, and peace, and love. 
 
 Where "little ones" find an eternal rest 
 In the Saviour's gentle and loving breast; 
 And Faith whispered low, to my listening ear- 
 " Earth's brightest and best find a haven here. 
 
312 WHERE IS HELEN? 
 
 "The form thou hast missed lies asleep with the 
 
 flowers; 
 Thy Bird sings its song amid heavenly bowers ; 
 The crown of the ransomed is on her brow — 
 The child whom thou seek'st is an Angel now." 
 
O 1 o 
 
 oio 
 
 MY LITTLE NAMESAKE. 
 
 I HAVE a little namesake, 
 A pet of two years old, 
 
 Whose baby features all were cast 
 In Beauty's fairest mould. 
 
 She's a joyous little creature. 
 
 As blithe as any bird ; 
 And sweeter prattle all day long, 
 
 I'm sure I never heard. 
 
 She tries to play "the lady," 
 And takes her little chair, 
 
 And places it beside my own 
 With such a roguish air ; 
 
 And with her sweet hands folded, 
 Her bright eyes fixed on me, 
 
 27 
 
314 MY LITTLE NAMESAKE. 
 
 She laughs, to have me notice 
 Her mimic dignity. 
 
 But while I pause to praise her, 
 She's up and tottling round ; 
 
 And such a busy "■ lady" 
 Can nowhere now be found. 
 
 Sometimes she hides, to have mc 
 Look for her anxiously, 
 
 And if I fail to find her, 
 
 She'll call out, '-^ ycr is me.'' 
 
 And when I walk at morning, 
 I scarcely reach the gate. 
 
 Ere I hear her sweet voice calling, 
 " Oily Aunty y jycseum 'ait.'' 
 
 Then over field and meadow. 
 And up the green hillside. 
 
 This little sunbeam follows. 
 An Angel at my side. 
 
MY LITTLE NAMESAKE. 315 
 
 She loves the bright-eyed blossoms, 
 
 And not a blade of grass 
 Can hide its tiny head t' escape 
 
 Her notice as we pass. 
 
 The bird, "vvith plumage gay and bright. 
 
 The bee, the butterfly. 
 All, all are welcomed as they float 
 
 Before her wondering eye. 
 
 God bless my little namesake ! 
 
 Watch o'er her from the skies. 
 Until in Death some Angel, bright, 
 
 Shall close her beaming eyes. 
 
316 
 
 THE FEAR OF BLINDNESS. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING A PERIOD OP GREAT SUFFERING FROM 
 ASTHENOPIA. 
 
 A BROODING shadow clouds my heart, 
 
 A shadow dark and deep, 
 Which crowns with gloom my waking hom'S, 
 
 And haunts me when I sleep. 
 
 The strange, wild fear that veiled to me 
 
 Must be Earth's glorious things. 
 Shut from my gaze each beauteous flower 
 
 Which from her bosom springs. 
 
 * 
 I dearly love yon arching sky, 
 
 In sunshine and in storm ; 
 Its calm, bright smile, its lightning glance, 
 
 Its rainbow's circling form. 
 
THE FEAR OF BLINDNESS. 317 
 
 I love the pale, sweet, quiet moon 
 
 That lights that sky at even ; 
 And, more than all, the holy stars 
 
 That gem the brow of Heaven. 
 
 I love, ah I Avell, the woods and streams, 
 
 Mid summer's fervid ray ; 
 To Avatch the foaming torrent's leap, 
 
 The brooklet's sparkling play. 
 
 I love the mountains, ohl and grand. 
 
 The valleys, green and fair ; 
 The flowers that deck tlie verdant hills, 
 
 The birds that swim the air. 
 
 I love the Sea, the murmuring Sea, 
 
 When calm its blue waves rest, 
 E'en as a sleeping child might lay 
 
 Upon its mother's breast. 
 
 I love it Avhen its billows wild 
 In madness darkly roll, 
 
 27* 
 
318 THE FEAR OF BLINDNESS. 
 
 And angry waves swell high beneath 
 The storm-kmg's fierce control. 
 
 I love all bright and glorious things, 
 The earth, the sky, the sea ; 
 
 And yet the while I gaze on anght, 
 This strange fear haunteth me. 
 
 Why is it that the brightest sun 
 Thus mocks my yearning sight ? 
 
 I once could view each dazzling beam 
 With rapture and dcliglit. 
 
 AVliy is it from the noodtide glare 
 
 I sadly turn away ? — 
 Alas ! to my poor heart there comes 
 
 A pang witli every ray. 
 
 Yes, strange, dark lines, of late, appear 
 
 Before my burning eyes ; 
 And when I test their waning power. 
 
 Distorted visions rise. 
 
THE FEAR OF BLINDNESS. 319 
 
 In mercy, Father, close them not ; 
 
 Take not, take not I pray. 
 That priceless boon which Thou hast given, — 
 
 The boon of siirht, away. 
 
 Let me yet look in thankfulness 
 
 On Nature's glorious face. 
 And in her smile or frown the while, 
 
 Thyself, her Maker, trace. 
 
 Ileal, oh I my God ; in pity, heal 
 
 These aching orbs of mine. 
 That e'en on earth I still may sec 
 
 Thine image faintly shine. 
 
 Ah, let me welcome, as of yore, 
 
 Tlie Day's returning light. 
 And I will bless the hand which gave 
 
 This priceless boon of sight. 
 
 Or if, in wisdom. Thou wouldst not 
 
 Thy threatening rod displace. 
 Let me. Thy name still praising, still 
 
 In darkness see Thy face. 
 
320 
 
 A DAUGHTER'S TRAYER. 
 
 From tliis low couch of pain whereon he lies, 
 Whom Thou hast given me, my father dear, 
 I lift mine eyes, and with full heart, Oh, God ! 
 I pray that Thou wilt hear me from the i?kies. 
 'Tis not for us in blindness to arraiirn 
 That wisdom wliicli afflicts, or seek to know 
 The hidden ways, by wliich Thou lead'st us here 
 Through paths of trial oft, disease, and pain. 
 I know til at we have sinned and gone astray 
 From Thy commandments ; yet we are. Oh, God ! 
 Thy children still, — as such, then lead us back 
 To Thee again, through Christ, the Living Way. 
 Thy chastening hand lies heavily and sore 
 On one I dearly love ; — a father's form 
 Is slowly wasting from a sure disease, — 
 
A DAUGHTEirs PRAYER. 821 
 
 Be Thou liis strength, Oh, Christ ! I ask no more. 
 Thou who hast suffering known, whose sinless brow 
 Once drooped in anguish 'neath its thorny crown, — 
 Oh I from Thy throne in Heaven look kindly down 
 On him, for whom these tears are falling now. 
 Lo I through the partings of his thin gray hair, 
 And on his cheek, a shadowy paleness lies, — 
 My heart grows heavy as mine eyes behold it, — 
 I pray Thee, Saviour, make him all Thy care. 
 Say to disease, away, and let the glow 
 Of health once more illume his pallid fiice, — 
 Bid the weak knees be strong, and once again 
 Let the cool breath of hcalinjr fan his brow. 
 Give him but length of years, and deign to bless 
 The filial prayer, adding to this that boon, 
 "' A Iwary head ivith its bright Glory-crotvn^ 
 Found only in the ivay of righteousness.'' 
 Hear me, oh, God ! our times are in Thy hands. 
 The number of our days recorded there, — 
 Thy voice alone didst say when should begin, 
 And Thine alone canst stay Life's flowing sands. 
 Or if it be Thy will that I must see 
 
322 A daughter's prayer. 
 
 These dear ejes close in Death's ne'er-waking 
 
 sleep, 
 In that dark hour open Heaven's ''pearly gates" 
 To him, and send Thj Comforter to me. 
 
323 
 
 ''THY WILL BE DONE." 
 
 The twilight deepens into night, 
 
 And stars look down with pensive light 
 
 As oft before, 
 And from yon distant sky so clear. 
 The gentle moonbeams wander near, 
 
 E'en to my door. 
 
 Spring's early flowers, — the Violet blue, 
 The Cowslip and the Crocus, too. 
 
 Have come again. 
 And from its moonlit bed of green. 
 The sweet Forget-me-not is seen, — 
 
 Ah ! not in vain. 
 
 For to my heart the twilight dim, 
 And night-time with its holy hymn 
 Of voices low, 
 
324 "thy will be done." 
 
 Brings but one picture, — that I trace 
 In star and flower, — a father's face 
 Hid from me now. 
 
 My God, I prayed that Thou wouldst stay 
 The blow, and take him not away 
 
 And leave me here, 
 For ^\c\\ I knew the world would be 
 Alas, how dark and drear to me. 
 
 Without him near. 
 
 But on that cheerless winter night 
 When floating shadows dimmed the light 
 
 From hearthstone cast, 
 I watched a change, though slight its trace. 
 Pass o'er his patient, suflfering face — 
 
 It was the last. 
 
 And then they told me he must die. 
 But resignation's calm reply 
 I could not speak. 
 
^^THY WILL BE DONE." 325 
 
 For love is selfish, and Thy rod 
 Seemed very hard to bear, my God, 
 For I was weak. 
 
 And when all motionless he lay, 
 
 A soulless shrine of slumbering clay, 
 
 My brain grew wild, — 
 I said I could not live and see 
 Him dead, and know that I must be 
 
 An orphan child. 
 
 Ah, Jesus, — this poor weary heart 
 Hath learned to bear, of grief, its part, 
 
 And still throb on. 
 The broken heart Thou bindcst up. 
 And Thou hast portioned out my cup, — 
 
 ** Thy will be done." 
 
 Close to Thy cross, oh, Christ ! I cling. 
 Under the shadow of Thy wing. 
 Hide me, ah ! hide. 
 28 
 
326 *'thy will be done." 
 
 Low at Thy feet my spirit lies, — 
 Look on me with Thy pitying eyes, 
 Thou Crucified ! 
 
 The way is dark, but Thou wilt be 
 My guide ; and clouds and shadows flee 
 
 At Thy command. 
 Oh ! 'mid the waves that darkly roll, 
 And threaten to o'erwhelm my soul. 
 
 Stretch forth Thy hand. 
 
 And though through all Life's sorrow^ing vale, 
 My heart sends forth its tearful wail, — 
 
 " Alone, alone !" 
 Let Thy dear Cross but strengthen me 
 Always, and all my song shall be, 
 
 '' Thy Avill be done." 
 
327 
 
 A NATIONAL HYMN FOR THE NEW 
 YEAR. 
 
 Air— ''Old Ihmdred:' 
 
 God of tlic Y^car ! — whose watchful eye 
 
 O'er all Thy great Creation bends; 
 Whose mercies all Thy children share ; 
 
 Whose love to all Thy works extends — 
 In this our Country's hour of need, 
 
 A Nation's heart bows down to Thee ; 
 In mercy rule the impending storm 
 
 Fast gathering o'er our liberty. 
 
 Righteous and wondrous are Thy ways, 
 And all Thy judgments true and just — 
 
 Ah ! let not vaunting Discord trail 
 Our glorious Banner in the dust ; 
 
328 A NATIONAL HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 That banner, o'er whose stainless folds 
 Hath flowed the life-blood of the brave ; 
 
 For which, in times of danger past. 
 Their all our fathers nobly gave. 
 
 Shall gaunt Disunion hovering nigh 
 
 To our bright flag destruction bring. 
 While, 'mid the brooding shadows dark, 
 
 Our Eagle droops his wounded wing ? 
 No ! show Thy face, Almighty God, 
 
 While peril stalks on every hand; 
 Stretch forth tliinc own all-powerful arm. 
 
 And save our own, our Native Land. 
 
 Ah, save the Land which gave us birth; 
 
 The Land for which our fathers bled ; 
 Through whose worn paths our infant feet 
 
 Were, earliest, to Thy Temples led. 
 God ! save the Land, in whose blest soil 
 
 Sleeps Freedom's best and noblest son, 
 Nor let Discord her triumphs boast 
 
 Above the Grave of Washington. 
 
A NATIONAL HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR. 320 
 
 Stay, stay the raging billows, Lord, — 
 
 E'en waves obey Thy great command. 
 Thou boldest Nations, great and small, 
 
 "Within the hollow of Thy hand. 
 Oh ! in this fearful, trying hour, 
 
 Our refuge and our safety be, 
 As 'mid the tempest, threat'ning, dark, 
 
 A Nation's heart looks up to Thee. 
 
 Hide not Thy face in anger now. 
 
 Though we have erred and strayed from Thee, 
 And in our boasted might, perchance. 
 
 To other idols bowed the knee. 
 Remember not our wanderings. Lord, 
 
 As on Destruction's brink we stand ; 
 But kindly call, in Mercy's voice. 
 
 And lead us back by Mercy's hand. 
 
 God of the Year ! receive our prayer. 
 In this our Country's trying hour ; 
 
 Unveil Thy face — stretch forth Thine arm — 
 And save us by Thy mighty power. 
 
330 A NATIONAL HYMN FOR THE NEAV YEAR. 
 
 So shall our praise be of Thy name, 
 Our glad hosannas all of Thee, 
 
 As o'er Columbia still shall wave 
 The banner of the brave and free. 
 
 January 1st, 1861. 
 
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