George Washington Flowers 
 Memorial Collection 
 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ESTABLISHED BY THE 
 FAMILY OF 
 COLONEL FLOWERS 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/poemstranslation01laza 
 
POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 BY 
 
 EMMA LAZARUS. 
 
 BETWEEN THE AGES OF FOURTEEN AND SIXTEEN. 
 
 " They have just stolen from me — how I pity thy grief! — 
 All my manuscript verse ; — how I pity the thief I •' 
 
 Epigram from Lebrun 
 
 FEINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 1866. 
 
RIVEKSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
 Emma Lazarus, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
 New York. 
 
i!T 1") f a 1 1] c r 
 
 Decemeee is. lStJ5. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 ORIGINAL PIECES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In Memokiam . . . . . . . 1 
 
 Eaded Flowers ...... 4 
 
 The Echo ....... 6 
 
 The Sea-Queen's Toilet .... 8 
 
 The East Indian Girl . . . . .11 
 
 The Casket and the Elower ... 14 
 
 "IcH Habe Gelebt und Geliebt" . . .16 
 
 Something to Weep Over .... 17 
 
 The Holt of Holies . . . . .18 
 
 A Cradle and a Grave .... 20 
 
 Beginning and End . . . . . .22 
 
 The Broken Toy ..... 23 
 
 The Lamp of the Ganges . . . . .25 
 
 Links . . . . . . .27 
 
 Only a Dream . . . . . .28 
 
 Brevet Brigadier-General Ered. Winthrop . 29 
 
 April 27th, 1865 . . . . . .31 
 
 The Mother's Prayer ..... 34 
 
 Un Recuerdo . . . . . . .36 
 
 Rest at Last ...... 38 
 
 A Lament for the Summer . . . .40 
 
 Niagara ....... 42 
 
 Niagara River below the Ealls . . . .43 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lucia to Edgardo ..... 45 
 
 On a Lock of my Mother's Hair . . .50 
 
 Spring .... ... 52 
 
 Eemember . . . . . . .54 
 
 Eomance . . . . . . .56 
 
 Daphne . . . . . . .57 
 
 Bertha . . . . . . . 63 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Songs from Heinrich Heine. 
 
 The Fisher Maiden 121 
 
 The Lotus Flower . - ... 122 
 
 A Little Star fell down once, etc. . . . 122 
 
 To a Star . . . . . .1^3 
 
 Friendship, Love, and Wisdom .... 123 
 
 My Love's Jewels ..... 123 
 
 Say, where is thy little Loved One," etc. . . 124 
 
 You have Merry Friends, etc. . . . 125 
 
 How fragrant breathes the Red Carnation, etc. . 125 
 
 Fleeting Kisses, etc. ..... 126 
 
 The Water-Lily . . . . . .126 
 
 My Songs 127 
 
 The Rose, the Lily, the Sun, and the Dove . .127 
 That thou lovest me, etc. . . . .127 
 
 Atheism of Love ..... 128 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 Song from Alexandre Dumas . . ' . 129 
 
 FROM VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 Reassuring Sight ...... 131 
 
 To Thee ! . . . . • .133 
 
 Song . . . ' . • • • -136 
 
 To My Daughter . . . . . 138 
 
CONTEXTS . vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 What the Two Cavaliers were Thixkixg- of ix the 
 
 Forest ...... 141 
 
 At Yillequier . . . . . 1-44 
 
 Three Years After ' . . . . . 155 
 
 Abide ix Hope ...... 161 
 
 XiGHTS IN June ...... 164 
 
 Etexixg at Sea ...... 165 
 
 The Eose axd the Butterfly . . . 171 
 
 L^ExTOi TO ...... 173 
 
 To A W03IAX ...... 175 
 
 To E 176 
 
 GCITARE ...... . 178 
 
 The Streamlet and the Ocean .... 179 
 
 To ISO 
 
 The Bridge . . . . . .183 
 
 To King Eouis-Philtppe . . . . . 185 
 
 Written on the Toj.ib of a Eittle Child by the 
 
 Sea-shore . . . . . .186 
 
 OCEANO Xos . . . . . .188 
 
 The Captive . . . . . • . 192 
 
 EovE ....... 195 
 
 Song ........ 196 
 
 "While E!nocking at a Door . . . 197 
 
 Vanity ....... 199 
 
 Content with Thee ! . . . . . 201 
 
 Sunsets . . . . . . .204 
 
POEMS. 
 
 IX AIEMOKIAAL 
 
 J, E. 
 
 XE bv one the summer flower 
 
 ^ She. the fairest of them all. 
 
 With them lyiug\ 
 The fi'esh roses from her cheeks 
 
 Xovr are fled : 
 That ToiTug soul is early uiimbered 
 
 TTith the dead. 
 Of the dying summer-flowers 
 
 She was fairest. 
 For in her were sweetly gathered 
 
 All the rarest. 
 Like a lily fair, her sonl was, — 
 
 Pnre and white : 
 Eoses. on her cheeks so dimpled. 
 
 Blushed all bright. 
 And her eyes forget-me-nots were, 
 Full of feelino\ — 
 
2 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Woman's strength and childish freshness, 
 
 Both revealing. 
 All her hopes here, now are scattered 
 
 To the earth; 
 Noiseless are the halls where sounded 
 
 Her gay mirth. 
 And in our hearts, so empty, 
 
 Nought is there 
 Save the shadow of her sweetness, — 
 
 Memory fair. 
 Such was she, our lovely flower, 
 
 Faded now; 
 For her were joy, and summer sunshine. 
 
 Wintry snow. 
 And stern misfortune's nipping blast. 
 
 At its first breath. 
 Struck down the blossom and consigned it 
 
 To drear Death. 
 And the flowers that are now all 
 
 Quickly dying, 
 At the blast of Autumn's keen breath, 
 
 Lowly lying, 
 They will bloom in future spring-times, 
 
 Bright as ever. 
 Budding sweet in field and meadow, 
 
 And by river. 
 So the soul of that fair maid, of 
 
 Early doom. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 3 
 
 In the Spring* of heaven above will 
 Once more bloom : 
 
 Shining brighter than in days here 
 To her given, — 
 
 Beautitying with its fairness 
 God's own heaven. 
 
 September of/, 1863. 
 
FADED FLOWERS. 
 
 'Tis but two faded flowers, that have lost both 
 
 hue and scent, — 
 A red geranium -blossom, with its loveliness all 
 
 spent, 
 
 And a purple modest violet, that bloomed be- 
 neath the sky. 
 
 But to show forth all its beauty, to wither and 
 to die. 
 
 More dear to me than life itself are these poor 
 faded flowers. 
 
 And oft have they consoled me in my sad and 
 gloomy hours ; 
 
 Like them, I, too, have faded, since her spirit 
 passed away. 
 
 And my weary heart, though broken, must lin- 
 ger day by day. 
 
 You ask me when she gave them ? The gera- 
 nium when, above. 
 
FADED FLOWERS. . . 5 
 
 The moon shone bright with glory, and I whis- 
 pered her my love ; 
 
 And the "s-iolet so faded, that my tears so often 
 lave. 
 
 After one short year of absence, I plucked from 
 ofP her grave. 
 
 September, 1863. 
 
THE ECHO. 
 
 When the shadows of evening fell low on the 
 earth, 
 
 As I wearied of sadness, yet wished not for 
 mirth, 
 
 Then I climhed the steep side of the mount old 
 and bare, 
 
 Whose dark, slender top seemed to cleave the 
 blue air. 
 
 And then sadly I mused on the death of my 
 love, 
 
 Looking down upon forest, and meadow, and 
 grove. 
 
 And I cried with a passionate burst of despair, 
 "Where again can I see her? Oh, tell me but 
 where ! 
 
 But the merciless heaven my cry will not hear ! " 
 Then the lone mountain-echo gave answer, — 
 "Not here." 
 
 And again I cried forth, all my soul in the cry, 
 To the mounts, and the woods, and the gold- 
 tinted sky, 
 
THE ECHO. 
 
 7 
 
 "I am sad, I am weary of all this world's strife, 
 And I yearn to meet her in a happier life. 
 Shall I e'er see again my youth's hope, my one 
 love ? 
 
 Oh, now answer, ye heavens, that smile so 
 above ! " 
 
 And the lone mountain-echo gave answer, — 
 " Ahove ! " 
 
 October I'lth, 1863. 
 
THE SEA-QUEEN'S TOILET. 
 
 Under the sea, far under the sea, 
 In the emerald depths of the glorious sea, 
 Sits the Queen of the Mermaids, laughing and 
 singing. 
 
 The pearly drops out of her golden hair wring- 
 
 Weaving them all 
 
 In a coronal, 
 For the King of the Ocean, her husband to be. 
 
 Singing she weaves, 
 
 And her fair bosom heaves 
 With laughter and song, and music and mirth, 
 Happier far than being on earth. 
 There does she sit on her emerald throne, 
 
 Alone, all alone. 
 Weaving her lord a coronal bright 
 Of the drops from Tier hair, so pearly and 
 white. 
 
 She wearies of solitude, laying aside 
 The wreath to be offered to husband from 
 bride. 
 
THE SEA-QUEEX'S TOILET. 
 
 9 
 
 And now dues she call. 
 
 From her inner hall, 
 
 Her mermaids and men. 
 From cdiamliers and halls beyond human ken ; 
 
 And this jovoiis hand. 
 
 Maids and yonths hand in hand. 
 At the feet of their queen throw them down, 
 one by one ; 
 
 Sure never was seen such a sight meath the 
 sun. 
 
 The maidens all wear, 
 In their long' waving' hair. 
 Fairest drops of pure amber and opals and 
 pearls, 
 
 That peep forth in beauty from out their long 
 curls. 
 
 And some have bh;e eyes. 
 
 As pure as the skies ; 
 And some have deep black, or voluptuous brown. 
 That low on the gem-scattered ground are cast 
 down. 
 
 And their delicate lips are so fair and so red. 
 
 They seem as if stolen from some coral bed. 
 And the lovely Undines, 
 And the sweet river queens, 
 Are so dazzlingly fair, 
 As they bow themselves there, 
 That even they seem 
 Too bright for a dream. 
 
10 
 
 THE SEA QUEEN'S TOILET. 
 
 But the Queen of the Mermaids is handsomer 
 far 
 
 Than the Undines 
 Or Queens, 
 
 All bright as they are. 
 And now they all deck 
 With jewels her neck ; 
 
 Here a drop of pure amber 
 
 From some inner chamber; 
 There a diamond rare 
 On her shoulder so fair; 
 
 And her arms and her dresses, 
 
 And her long golden tresses, 
 All glitter and shine 
 With the spoils of the mine. 
 But the topaz, so fair, 
 That they place in her hair. 
 Is not half as bright 
 As her curls, in the light 
 Of the golden-green sea. 
 And the coral they haste 
 To put in her waist, 
 Is not as red or as small 
 As her lips, when they call 
 To her maids in the hall ; 
 
 And the pearls that they wreathe 
 Round her fair little head. 
 
 Are eclipsed by her teeth. 
 With their frame of red. 
 
 April '20th, 1864. 
 
THE EAST INDIAN GIRL. 
 
 (ILLUSTRATION OF A I'lCTURE. ) 
 
 Adowx the dark'ning forest glades 
 
 There fell the suu with slanting beam, 
 
 Right through the leafy, long arcades. 
 All gladdening with dazzling gleam. 
 
 And swift athwart the deepest shade 
 There came one golden rav of sun, 
 
 But just to kiss a lovelv maid 
 Who sat upon a mossy stone. 
 
 Adown it came, that golden thread, 
 
 And sported in her jetty hair ; 
 Then deeped her mantle's glowing red, 
 
 Then touched her cheek, and lingered there. 
 
 All low the pensiye eye was cast, 
 Half-hidden by the silken fringe; 
 
 And where that dark'ning shadow past 
 There was a softer, loyelier tinge. 
 
12 
 
 THE EAST INDIAN GIRL. 
 
 The ruby lip appeared as though 
 
 'T were jealous of the cheek's rich hue, 
 
 But gave it yet a fresher glow, 
 
 And burned with added beauty too. 
 
 Around the snowy neck was strung 
 A dazzling row of fairest pearls. 
 
 That sought in vain, from where they hung, 
 To ripple in among the curls. 
 
 Of purest white a garment thin 
 But half-concealed the form so light, 
 
 And girdled was by zone of green. 
 With flashing jewels studded bright. 
 
 Her head was resting^ on the tree, 
 That bent o'er her its grateful shade. 
 
 Reclining 'gainst it listlessly, 
 
 There sat and dreamed the pensive maid. 
 
 Long, long she 'd waited — all in vain, 
 Upon that green and mossy stone. 
 
 Through sunny calm and beating rain. 
 Each morning and each eve alone. 
 
 Till when the heat of day was strong. 
 Or night's black shadows rose and fell — 
 
 For one who swore to love her long. 
 And guard her tenderly and well. 
 
THE EAST IXDIAX GIRL. 
 
 And morn and even to tliat stone • 
 Thus faithfully she went for years, 
 
 Till every bright-winged hope had flown, 
 And frozen were the welling tears. 
 
 But he she waited ne'er was known, 
 And ne'er her fervent love repaid ; 
 
 So, underneath the mossy stone 
 They laid the broken-hearted maid. 
 
 January Sd, 1864. 
 
THE CASKET AND THE FLOWER. 
 
 (THIRD ACT OF "FAUST.") 
 
 The leaves with the iiight-dew are drooping' 
 and wet, 
 
 The moon has arisen on high; 
 But there in her garden sits Marguerite yet, 
 
 Nor heeds how the hours flit by. 
 
 In one hand a violet fair does she hold, 
 As blue as her own truthful eyes. 
 
 And a burnished and dazzling casket of gold 
 In the other, glittering, lies. 
 
 The moonlight a tear in her earnest eye shows 
 
 As she looks on the drooping stem ; 
 And a smile o'er a blush, like the sun on a 
 rose, 
 
 When she dwells on the sparkling gem. 
 
 She puts in the waves of her long, golden hair, 
 The violet, saying, " Thou art 
 
THE CASKET AND THE FLOWEH. 
 
 15 
 
 The pledge of a friend who is loving and fair;" 
 But the jewel she lays on her heart. 
 
 No sound is breathed forth from the depths of 
 the night, 
 
 Xo zephyr is borne from afar; 
 But a black cloud comes oyer the sky so bright, 
 
 And darkens the light of a star. 
 
 January '11 th, 1SG4. 
 
"ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT.' 
 
 Yes, I have lived tliroiigli.iiiany weary years 
 Of suffering, and grief, and endless pain, 
 And little joy, and bitter, bitter tears; 
 And all my darkened life lias been in vain. 
 For w^hat is left me in my old age now ? 
 These locks of snow. 
 
 Yes, I have loved, and madly loved, and long, 
 With all the passion of a woman's loving, 
 Through joy and sorrow, through distrust and 
 wrong ; 
 
 And through behoving, and through unbehov- 
 ing. 
 
 And now, in my old age, what is my part? 
 A broken heart. 
 
 July mh, 1864. 
 
SOMETHING TO WEEP OVER. 
 
 'Tis but a lock of golden hair. 
 
 Kept from the years of long ago, 
 Just to recall a face loved well, 
 
 Now 'ueatli the flowers sleeping low. 
 To press it once more to my heart of hearts ; 
 
 To kiss it for her in her long, long sleep ; 
 To curl it once more in its form of old ; 
 To gaze at it fondly, to smile and weep. 
 
 Little have I, in these sad years, 
 
 E'en to recall those golden days: 
 Sometimes a strain of music sweet, 
 
 Sometimes a look like the old fond gaze. 
 So ask me not now why I kiss the lock, 
 
 ^Tiy hold the tress in my day-dreams and 
 sleep ; 
 
 'T is all I have left- o'er which I can smile, 
 'T is all I have left o'er wliich I can weep. 
 
 New Brighton, August 20th, 1864. 
 
 2 
 
THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 
 
 Once I knew a little cliapei, 
 
 And it held a sacred altar. 
 And before it e'er I trembled, 
 
 While my footsteps e'er did falter. 
 Still before that shrine I worshipped 
 
 In the dark night and the day, 
 Little thinking that my idol 
 
 Was but wrought of fragile clay. 
 O'er the shrine there burned a taper 
 
 Of a small, but dazzling light, 
 And I called the slender taper 
 
 Hope, because it burned so bright. 
 And that altar I had builded 
 
 To a maiden young and fair. 
 To a form of wondrous beauty. 
 
 With a halo of gold hair; 
 Like a pure Madonna, smiling 
 
 Down upon me from above, 
 While I ever offered incense 
 
 At the altar of my love. 
 
THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 
 
 And I deemed that form of beauty 
 From my soul would ne'er depart, 
 
 For the maiden was my idol, 
 And the altar was my heart. 
 
 Now I know a little chapel. 
 
 And it holds a shattered altar, 
 And before it e'er I tremble, 
 
 While my weary footsteps falter. 
 O'er the shrine there burns a taper 
 
 Of a dim and fading light. 
 And I call the taper Mem'ry, 
 
 For it gleams athwart the night 
 With a pallid, faint reflection 
 
 Of the ray that once was there, 
 O'er the altar, rudely shattered. 
 
 By the one I thought so fair. 
 And I weep before my altar 
 
 Now, with prayerless lips apart. 
 For my idol now is broken. 
 
 Like my mocked and ruined heart. 
 
 New Brighton, August, 1864. 
 
A CRADLE AND . A GRAVE, 
 
 See this little empty cradle 
 
 Hung" with silk all draped arouudy 
 And with snowy curtains drooping 
 
 Idly over to the ground. 
 'T is so lately since the linen 
 
 Bore the impress of the form 
 That each night in slumher lay there. 
 
 And the pillow yet was warm 
 With the soft and gentle pressure 
 
 Of the rosy velvet cheek, 
 With the coral lips' light breathing, — 
 
 Lips not formed enough to speak. 
 Not to earth's sad cares and trials 
 
 Was this little soul here doomed. 
 For the fragile bud, unopened. 
 
 Faded e'en before it bloomed. 
 
 See this gentle mound here rising, — 
 Sigh upheaved by earth's sad breast; 
 
 Here the cypress droops, a mourner 
 O'er a baby form at rest. 
 
A CRADLE AND A GRAVE. 
 
 The violets have not blossomed, 
 
 Xor the grass begun to wave, 
 jS'or the summer sunshine brightened, 
 
 O'er this little new-made grave. 
 And the snow falls fast and heayj, 
 
 But the mound is not yet white, 
 For the little knoll was shapen 
 
 In this bitter winter night. 
 Earth is dreary, man is feeble, 
 
 And, perchance, 't is better so 
 That the cradle should be empty, 
 
 And a full grave in the snow. 
 
 September 2d, 1864. 
 
BEGINNING AND END. 
 
 Just enough light from the stars and the moon 
 
 To see my beloved's face, 
 Out in the blooming garden late. 
 
 In the darkest, fairest place. 
 Silver and beaming the full round moon 
 
 On that little golden head, 
 Like a halo of glory on sainted maid 
 
 Softly and tenderly played. 
 
 Just enough light from the stars and the moon 
 
 To see a low-shapen mound 
 Rising up soft from the grassy earth. 
 
 With blooming flowerets crowned. 
 Silver and beaming the full round moon 
 
 Makes the long shadows wave ; 
 Bitterly weeping alone I sit 
 
 By my beloved's grave. 
 
 February 'lid, 1865. 
 
THE BROKEN TOY. 
 
 'T IS veiy long ago now, 
 
 I was a little boy, — 
 I had, and guarded carefully, 
 
 A pretty little toy; 
 A golden heart, all sparkling 
 
 And set with jewels bright, 
 With opals and with rubies, 
 
 And with pearls so pure and white. 
 I saw a lovely maiden 
 
 With SDiiling lips apart. 
 And rashly did I give her 
 
 My pretty golden heart. 
 She toyed with it an hour. 
 
 So gay and merrily; 
 Up in the dazzling sunbeams 
 
 She tossed it playfully. 
 And with her tiny foot, then. 
 
 She crushed and broke it quite, — 
 My golden heart, all sparkling 
 
 With jewels clear and bright. 
 
THE BROKEN TOY. 
 
 Then back she, careless, gave me 
 
 My Httle broken toy, 
 With i3retty scornful laughter, 
 
 And a merry childish joy. 
 Poor heart, all crushed and broken, 
 
 I 'm weeping o'er it yet ; 
 Alas ! the lovely maiden 
 
 I never can forget. 
 'Tis very long ago, now, 
 
 I was a little boy, — 
 But still I 'm weeping sadly 
 
 Over my broken toy. 
 
 March 1st, 1865. 
 
THE LAMP OF THE GANGES. 
 
 [When their lovers leave them, the maids of the Ganges send 
 out lamps on the river, and believe the former faithless if the 
 flame is extinguished before passing out of sight.] 
 
 Fragrant and moonless, starry and bright, 
 Lovely and cool, is the summer night; 
 There 's nothing to stir the silence round 
 Save the river's low and rippling sound; 
 Each little wave is crowned with a star, 
 Brought down from the deep blue vault afar. 
 Through the black, shadowy waving trees, 
 Soft and low whispers the evening breeze. 
 A rustling sound is borne on the air. 
 Quickly darts forward a maiden fair. 
 Swaying and graceful her figure light, 
 Jewelled and scented her garments white. 
 Long silken lashes her black eyes shade; 
 Swiftly she breaks through the tangled glade. 
 With the midnight dew-drops, cold and damp, 
 Her lingers arch o'er a burning lamp. 
 Gentle and noiseless she nears the stream. 
 And sends o'er the waves the lamp's bright 
 gleam. 
 
26 
 
 THE LAMP OF THE GANGES. 
 
 Rising and falling, it floats afar; 
 Twinkling, it shines like a golden star. 
 Fearful and trembling, still in tlie shade 
 Watching the flame, stands the fair young maid. 
 It flickers, quivers, then burns once more ; 
 Still waits the maid on the distant shore. 
 Sudden it pales and it dies away. 
 And vanished now is the last bright ray. 
 Nought on the stream save the star's pale light, 
 And the rising moon on the summer night. 
 No sound on the bank save a gentle sigh. 
 That dies on the zephyr floating by. 
 A plunge is heard from the river's shore, — 
 A stir in the waves, and all is o'er. 
 Fragrant and moonlit, starry and bright, 
 Lovely and cool is the summer night. 
 There 's nothing to stir the silence round 
 Save the river's low and rippling sound. 
 
 . March M, 1865. 
 
LINKS. 
 
 The little and the great are joiued iu one 
 By God's great force. The ^YO^drous golden 
 Sim 
 
 Is linked unto the glow-worm's tiny spark ; 
 The eagle soars to heaven in his flight ; 
 And in those realms of space, all bathed iu 
 light, 
 
 Soar none except the eagle and the lark. 
 
 April Qth, 1865. 
 
ONLY A DREAM. 
 
 A DREAM of glory and youth and faith, 
 And a love that should last through life and 
 death. 
 
 A dream of a face with violet eyes, 
 And a smile of a tender, sweet surprise. 
 With a golden frame of wavy, soft hair, 
 Of a maiden at once both pure and fair. 
 A glorious dream, while erst it did last, 
 That illumined so brightly all my past, — 
 A dream that was lighted by Hope's bright 
 gleam. 
 
 Through golden days, — but only a Dream. 
 
 September ISth, 1864. 
 
BREVET BRIGADIER-GENEEAL FRED. 
 WINTHROP. 
 
 KILLED AT THE BATTLE OF FIVE FORKS, APRIL 1, 1865. 
 
 MoEE hearts will break than gladden wlieu 
 
 The bitter struggle's past; 
 The giant form of Victory must 
 
 A giant's shadow cast. 
 
 The shadow only can we see, 
 
 Through blinding mists of tears; 
 
 God sees the dazzling light that will 
 Illumine future years. 
 
 Bloom, flowers, with early blossoms fair, 
 
 Above his narrow bier ! 
 Weep, dawn, your saddest tears of dew 
 
 For him who slumbers here ! 
 
 Shine out, ye little silver stars. 
 
 Like tearful, weeping eyes ! 
 Sing, birdlings fair, his praises now, 
 
 And bear them to the skies ! 
 
30 BRIGADIER-GENEEAL FRED. WINTHROP. 
 
 Weep, maidens, o'er him resting here 
 In his long, dreamless sleep ! 
 
 Alas ! the saddest of ye all 
 Is she who cannot weep. 
 
 April 12th, 1865. 
 
APRIL 27th, 1865. 
 
 " Oh, where can I lay now my aching head ? " 
 The weary-worn fugitive sadly said. 
 "I have wandered in pain all the sleepless 
 night, 
 
 And I saw my pursuers' distant light 
 As it glared o'er the river's waves of blue, 
 And flashed forth again in each drop of dew. 
 I 've wandered all night in this deadly air. 
 Till, sick'ning, I drop with pain and despair." 
 
 Go forth! Thou shalt have here no rest again, 
 For thy brow is marked with the brand of 
 Cain. 
 
 " I am weary and faint and ill," said he, 
 And the stars look down so mercilessly \ 
 Do ye mock me with your glittering ray, 
 And seek, like the garish sun, to betray? 
 Oh, forbear, cruel stars, so bright and high; 
 Ye are happy and pure in God's own sky. 
 Oh, where can I lay me now down to slee]). 
 To rest and to slumber, to pray and weep ? " 
 
32 
 
 APRIL 27TH, 1865. 
 
 Go forth ! Thou shalt have here no rest again, 
 For thy brow is marked with the brand of 
 Cain. 
 
 " To sleep ! What is sleep now but haunting 
 
 dreams ? 
 
 Chased oiF, every time, by the flashing gleams 
 Of the light o'er the stream in yonder town, 
 Where all are searching and hunting me down ! 
 Oh, the wearisome pain, the dread suspense. 
 And the horror each instant more intense! 
 I yearn for rest from my pain and for sleep, — 
 Bright stars, do ye mock, or, quivering, weep ? " 
 
 Go forth ! Thou shalt have here no rest again. 
 For thy brow is marked with the brand of 
 Cain. 
 
 On the marsh's grass, without pillow or bed, 
 Fell the rain and dew on his fated head; 
 While the will-o'-the-wisp, with its changeful 
 
 light. 
 
 Led him on o'er the swamp in the darksome 
 night ; 
 
 And all Nature's voices cried out again. 
 To the weary fugitive in his pain, — 
 
 Go forth ! Thou shalt have here no rest again, 
 For thy brow is marked with the brand of 
 Cain. 
 
APKIL 27TH, 1865. 
 
 33 
 
 The pursuers are near ! Oh, bitter strife ! 
 Youth, more strong than despair, still clings to 
 life. 
 
 More near and more near ! They find him at 
 last; 
 
 One desperate struggle, and all is past, — 
 One desperate struggle, 'mid smoke and flame. 
 For life without joy, and darkness and shame. 
 A prayer ascends to high Heaven's gate 
 For his soul, — 0 God, be it not too late ! 
 A ball cleaves the air. ... He is lying there, 
 Pale, stiff, and cold in the fresh morning air; 
 And the flames' hot breath is all stifled now. 
 And the breezes caress his marble brow. 
 
 All sorrow has gone with life's fitful breath. 
 Rest at last ! For thy brow bears the seal of 
 Death. 
 
 April 29th, 1865. 
 
 3 
 
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 
 
 Oh, let me go weep on his flowerless grave ! 
 I will go in the night, the rain, or the storm ; 
 The perils of gloom and of darkness I'll brave, 
 To watch and to weep o'er that well-beloved 
 form . 
 
 Ay, more than the night, I will go in the sun, 
 When my anguish and grief are seen by each 
 one ! 
 
 Oh, break not thus rudely life's holiest ties. 
 Let the mother now know where the fated son 
 lies. 
 
 He needs so much prayer in his untimely 
 sleep, — 
 
 None will pray ! He needs tears, — there 's no 
 
 one will weep ! 
 Oh, tell me, where rises that misshapen 
 
 mound ? 
 
 I will pray and will weep on the cold, clayey 
 ground. 
 
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 
 
 35 
 
 I would give all the joy of my happiest years 
 To go there and shed these my bitterest tears. 
 
 I would go to his victim's revered, honored 
 tomb, 
 
 And beg, of that merciful heart in the gloom, 
 His pardon and pity, — lie would not refuse ! 
 And then would I haste, in the night's deadly . 
 
 dews. 
 
 And whisper it soft to my doomed son, all low. 
 By my tears, ever watered, bright blossoms 
 
 might gTOW, — 
 Sweet tlowers that over his grave would arise. 
 To show that God knows where the fated one 
 
 lies. 
 
 May Ut/i, 1865. • 
 
UN RECUERDO. 
 
 I SAW, long ago, in the fleeting dance. 
 
 That beautiful maid, 
 With her flashing eyes, and their poisoned 
 glance 
 
 . 'Neath the lashes' shade. 
 
 Ah, lovely she was then, and fair to see, 
 
 With her tiny feet. 
 That moved to the cadence, gracefully, 
 
 Of the music sweet. 
 
 She smiled as she swayed in the giddy dance, — 
 Ah, those golden hours ! — 
 
 And she threw me, in merry, girlish joy, 
 Some pale purple flowers. 
 
 Ay, gentle Peplta was fair to see. 
 
 In the mystic dance, — 
 With her sable hair, with its rippling waves, 
 
 And her piercing glance. 
 
UN EECUERDO. 
 
 37 
 
 But I weep when I think of Pepita now. 
 
 As she stood that day, 
 And my sad thoughts back to that happy time 
 
 Now evermore stray. 
 
 Wliere the frowning and dark Sierra high 
 
 Shades the lowly vale, 
 There 's a snowy stone that coveretli now 
 , The fair and the frail; 
 
 And a marble cross, that shadows her form 
 
 In sun and in showers ; 
 And over the cross there are ever wreathed 
 
 Some pale, purple flowers. 
 
 May Uth, 1865. • 
 
REST AT LAST. 
 
 "Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of 
 hands to sleep." — Proverbs xxiv. 33. 
 
 When all joy is cold and dead, 
 
 And our youth and smiles are fled; 
 
 When our dreams all fade in air. 
 
 And hope cliangeth to despair ; 
 
 When our heart grows worn and cold, 
 
 Ere our weary years be told ; 
 
 When we, yearning, long for sleep. 
 
 And our eyes can only weep ; 
 
 Wlien we traverse, all in tears. 
 
 The drear desert of our years, 
 
 Seeking ever some sweet spot 
 
 To repose, and find it not; 
 
 When we 're weary, faint, and worn. 
 
 And our heart is sorely torn ; 
 
 When the sun's hues linger yet, 
 
 And we muse but on suns set; 
 
 When we dream, in Spring's glad hours 
 
 But of those beneath her flowers ; 
 
REST AT LAST. 
 
 When a faded bud is worth 
 
 More than fairest one on earth ; 
 
 AVlien but sad strains can beguile, 
 
 And awake a flitting- smile ; 
 
 When all forms that meet our gaze 
 
 Only bring us back past days ; 
 
 When with fate in vain we cope, 
 
 And have nought in life to hope ; 
 
 Wlien we 'd rest our weary head, 
 
 And have nought in death to dread ; — 
 
 Then, to bury the dead Past, 
 
 The sweet slumber comes at last. 
 
 No closed eyes can ever weep. 
 
 And we bless the little sleep, 
 
 And the gentle slumber soft 
 
 That we 've yearned for, long- and oft, 
 
 Through the hours' lingering sands. 
 
 All earth's sighs are now repress'd. 
 
 In our worn and weary breast. 
 
 By the folding of the hands. 
 
 By the folding o'er the breast. 
 
 And to peace and calm and rest. 
 
 Freed from woes and want and breath, 
 
 Float we down the stream of Death. 
 
 June mh, 1865. 
 
A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER. 
 
 Oh, we mourn thee, lovely Summer, 
 
 As thou liest on thy bier, — 
 As we see thy blossoms faded. 
 
 And thy leaflets pale and sere. 
 All thy long" warm days so peaceful, 
 
 With their golden sunsets crowned, 
 When thy roses blushed in blooming. 
 
 Spreading perfume wide around. 
 All thy tranquil, happy evenings, 
 
 Wlien thy moon rose proud and cold, 
 Like a queen, in robes of silver, 
 
 Midst the twinkling stars of gold. 
 When she rose and flung a garment 
 
 O'er the earth, of ermine fair, 
 Whitest lights and blackest shadows, 
 
 In the Summer night's blue air. 
 When the little, gleaming starlets, 
 
 In the fields of heaven God sets. 
 Were like dew-drops, brightly sparkling 
 
 On a bed of violets. 
 
A LA^rEXT FOR THE SUMMER. 
 
 41 
 
 Xow. oil fair and lovely Summer, 
 
 Thou art lying in thy tomb : 
 Xought can come save gaudy Autumn 
 
 That must die in Winter's gloom. 
 Thou art gone with all thy flowers, 
 
 Thou hast faded in the Past; 
 Far too lovely here to linger, 
 
 Far too beautiful to last. 
 Yet thou, too, had 'st days of sadness. 
 
 Sighing winds and dropping rain ; 
 ^^Tiy did'st mourn, gay-seeming Summer ? 
 
 What could give thee cause for pain ? 
 Xone on earth can ever know it. 
 
 And thy secret none can tell, — 
 Save, perhaps, the sobbing ocean, 
 
 And the birds that sing farewell. 
 
 September 2d, 1865. 
 
NIAGARA. 
 
 Thou art a giant altar, where the Earth 
 Must needs send up her thanks to Him above 
 Who did create her. Nature cometh here 
 To lay its offerings upon thy shrine. 
 The morning and the evening shower down 
 Bright jewels, — changeful opals, em'ralds fair. 
 The burning noon sends floods of molten gold, 
 The calm night crowns thee with its host of 
 stars. 
 
 The moon enfolds thee with her silver veil. 
 And o'er thee e'er is arched the rainbow's 
 span, — 
 
 The gorgeous marriage-ring of Earth and 
 Heaven. 
 
 While ever from the holy altar grand 
 Ascends the incense of the mist and spray, 
 That mounts to God with thy wild roar of 
 praise. 
 
 Clifton-House, Niagara Falls, Canada, 
 August 24:th, 1865. 
 
NIAGARA RIVER BELOW THE FALLS. 
 
 Flow on forever, in thy tranquil sleep, 
 Thou stream, all wearied by thy giant leap ; 
 Flow on in quiet and in peace fore'er, 
 No rocky steep, no precipice is there. 
 
 The rush, the roar, the agony are past; 
 The leap, the mighty fall, are o'er at last; 
 And now with drowsy rippling-s dost thou flow. 
 All murmuring in whispers soft and low. 
 
 Oh, tell us, shimb'ring, em'rald river, now, 
 With that torn veil of foam upon thy brow; 
 Now, while thou sleepest quietly below, — 
 What are thy dreams ? Spent river let us 
 know. 
 
 Again, in thought, dost dash o'er that dread 
 steep. 
 
 By frenzy maddened to the fearful leap? 
 By passion's mists all blinded, cold and white. 
 Dost plunge once more, now, from the dizzy 
 height ? 
 
44 NIAGARA RIVER BELOW THE FALLS. 
 
 Or else, forgetful of the dangers past, 
 
 Art dreaming calm and peacefully, at last, 
 
 Of that fair nymph who pressed thy liv^d hrow, ^ 
 
 And gave thy past a glory vanished now? 
 
 The Bainhow, whom the royal Sun e'er wooes. 
 For whom, in tears, the mighty Storm-king 
 sues; 
 
 Who left her cloud-built palace-home above, 
 To crown thy awful brow with light and love. 
 
 Yes, in thy tranquil sleep, oh, wearied stream, 
 Still of the lovely Iris is thy dream ; 
 The agony, the perils ne'er could last; 
 But with all these the rainbow, too, has past. 
 
 No life so wild and hopeless but some gleam 
 Doth lighten it, to make a future dream. 
 Thy course, 0 Stream, has been mid fears and 
 woe. 
 
 But thou hast met the Rainbow in thy flow. 
 
 New York, November Sd, 1865. 
 
LUCIA TO EDGARDO. 
 
 Yes, I have loved tliee, oh, thou First and 
 Only ! 
 
 Who ever from my heart these humbled words 
 hath drawn. 
 
 And what has been my life? A desert lonely, — 
 A black and starless night, that knew no other 
 dawn 
 
 Than death, — a hopeless, agonizing lot : 
 For what meant joy and life where thou wert 
 not? 
 
 • Edgardo! 
 
 How oft, in dreams, my last heart-rending scene 
 with thee 
 
 I yiew again. The waxen tapers' mellow light. 
 Brightening all that hall of fatal revelry; 
 The bridal maidens round me in their robes of 
 white ; 
 
 And my stern father sacrificing me 
 To long-forgotten feuds of family. 
 
 And I, so pale and trembling all, a death-like 
 bride. 
 
46 LUCIA TO EDGARDO. 
 
 Amidst the scene of siicli fell mockeiy to me; 
 Wlien lo ! the crimson curtain slowly waved 
 aside, 
 
 And cold, reproachful, oh, Edgardo, I saw thee; 
 Thy love to hate distorted on thy face. 
 Where scorn of tenderness had ta'en the place. 
 
 Nor would'st thou e'en regard the passionate 
 despair 
 
 Felt in my heart of hearts, and written on my 
 face; 
 
 But with thy storm of hate lashed her, once 
 
 thought so fair; 
 And pitilessly saw the form, once deemed all 
 
 grace. 
 
 Quiver and fall, all death-like, at thy feet; 
 My bridal-robe, my rent heart's winding-sheet. 
 
 And then I knew no more ; and when I woke 
 again. 
 
 Oh, thou, my love, hadst gone forever, ever- 
 more, 
 
 And I awoke to agony and tears and pain; 
 And dark Despair her mantle spread my whole 
 life o'er; 
 
 And all my days had changed, and hope was 
 dead ; 
 
 And all the joy of years to come had fled. 
 
LUCIA TO EDCrAEDO 
 
 47 
 
 And now. again. I feel a sudden thrill of joy : 
 For I am dying. love, and I shall meet thee 
 soon. 
 
 I would that I could see once more on earth, 
 thy form. 
 
 But no I tlie sun dies, too ; and with the risings 
 moon 
 
 I shall have passed to other, brighter spheres, 
 And other lips will tell thee of my tears. 
 
 They tell me, oh, my love, I oft have raved of 
 thee. 
 
 And wandered, all regardless of their tears and 
 pain, 
 
 With mad appeals to thee, and looks of va- 
 cancy. 
 
 And senseless words of love, and crazed and 
 
 Vy-ildered hraiu : 
 And. in my frenzy, I would ciy to thee. 
 And beg thee to rettirn. on bended knee. 
 
 I might have better borne through life thy 
 awful hate. 
 
 Edgardo, than I bore thy silence and thy 
 scorn. 
 
 Oh. scorn me not, but love me, love me, 
 
 though so late : 
 I, dying, rise, and wild, beseech thee to return. 
 
48 
 
 LUCIA TO EDGARDO. 
 
 And I shall, with my woe, thy stern heart move. 
 Return, and love me with the old fond love ! 
 
 * 
 
 Once more I rave ! — Now all delirium is past. 
 And I, Edgardo, will not ask again thy love ; 
 And though I would caress and love thee to 
 the last, 
 
 I would not with my grief thy heart, my loved 
 one, move. 
 
 I would not now reproach thee with my fate. 
 Though I have heen so sad and desolate. 
 
 And now, I will not send thee e'en a lock of 
 hair 
 
 To cluster round thy heart-strings and recall 
 my woe; 
 
 For thou, too, wilt forgive, when all my dread 
 despair, 
 
 And tears and grief and love, Edgardo, thou 
 dost know. 
 
 I will not leave to thee such mem'ries vain, — 
 Bequeath thy heart such fearful, needless pain. 
 
 No, I will send to thee no more, save one last 
 friend. 
 
 Beside me now, to tell thee all my misery. 
 And let thee know my faith, e'en to the dark, 
 sad end. 
 
LUCIA TO EDGARDO. 
 
 49 
 
 And how I still could love tlirougli all mine 
 agony. 
 
 So, with the sunlight on me, as I lie, 
 I can forgive thee, love, forgive and die, 
 
 Edgardo. 
 
 My im, 1864. 
 
 4 
 
ON A LOCK OF MY MOTHER'S HAIR. 
 
 In looking o'er the souvenirs 
 Of days when I was young, 
 
 I found a lock of silver hair 
 The tokens dear among. 
 
 And, like a hright connecting link, 
 That lock recalled the Past, 
 
 And brought me saddening memories, 
 And sweet thoughts crowding fast. 
 
 For well did I remember me, — 
 When that dear lock was bright 
 
 With mellow gold, of sunny tint. 
 That changed in every light. 
 
 And, then, the shade of earthly cares 
 Touched, e'er with saddening hand, 
 
 The little tress, until it soon 
 Became this silver band. 
 
ON A LOCK OF MY MOTHER'S HAIR. 
 
 And pray I now that Sorrow may. 
 Whene'er she comes to me. 
 
 But change my heart's now golden joy 
 To silver's purity. 
 
 And pray I, that though to my heart 
 Earth's saddest woes are given, 
 
 They may hut tint with purer ray, 
 And make it worthy heaven. 
 
 December, 1863. 
 
SPRING. 
 
 The cold white snow has faded fast, 
 And stilled now is the wintry blast. 
 Where erst it lay, that cold, dull snow, 
 The pale-pink primrose now doth blow, 
 With meekness blushing, in the wood, 
 The first of her fair sisterhood. 
 
 The runlet's icy chains are burst; 
 He flows in joy and peace at first. 
 Then, babbling, sports in merry glee, 
 And sings aloud at being free. 
 And whispers to the sprouting grass, 
 " Come, weave a carpet where I pass." 
 
 The violets, tinted like the sky. 
 
 Seem freshly fallen from on high. 
 
 And bloom in every shady nook. 
 
 Fair Spring, through those blue eyes, doth look 
 
 Upon the gladsome, happy earth. 
 
 To which she bringeth joy and mirth. 
 
SPRING. 
 
 63 
 
 Midst purple clover graze the herds, 
 
 Midst fresh greeu branches sing the birds. 
 
 And now, the heart, too, groweth gay, 
 
 Throws off old sorrows day by day, 
 
 And praiseth God with gladness rife 
 
 For Spring, and flowers, and earth, and life. 
 
 January 2od, 1866. 
 
REMEMBER. 
 
 " Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth ; while 
 the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh when thou shalt 
 say, I have no pleasure in them.^' — Ecdesiastes xii. 1. 
 
 Kemember Him, tlie Only One, 
 
 Now, ere the years flow by, — 
 Now, while the smile is on thy lip, 
 
 The light within thine eye. 
 Now, ere for thee the sun have lost 
 
 Its glory and its light. 
 And Earth rejoice thee not with flowers, 
 
 Nor with its stars the Night. 
 Now, while thou lovest Earth, because 
 
 She is so wondrous fair 
 With daisies and with primroses. 
 
 And sunlit, waving air; 
 And not because her bosom holds 
 
 Thy dearest and thy best. 
 And some day will thyself enfold 
 
 In calm and peaceful rest. 
 Now, while thou lovest violets. 
 
 Because mid grass they wave, 
 
EEMEMBER. 
 
 And not because tliey bloom upon 
 
 Some early-sbapen grave. 
 Now, while thou lovest trembling stars, 
 
 But just because tliej shine, 
 And not because they're nearer one 
 
 Who never can be thine. 
 jSTow, while thou lovest music's strains, 
 
 Because they cheer thy heart, 
 And not because from aching eyes 
 
 They make the tear-drops start. 
 Now, while thou lovest all on earth, 
 
 And deemest all will last. 
 Before thy hope has vanished quite, 
 
 And eveiT joy has past. 
 Kemember Him, the Only One, 
 
 Before the days draw nigh 
 When thou shalt havQ no joy in them. 
 
 And praying, yearn to die. 
 
 Januanj 20tli, 1866. 
 
ROMANCE. 
 
 C'etait au mois de Mai, 
 
 Je te voyais, mon amour, 
 Et la Nature souriait, 
 
 Tu me parlais bas ee jour. 
 Les ondes, les roses, les fleurs, 
 
 Et les oiseaux dans leur nid, 
 Ecoutaient tous, ee jour, 
 
 Le mot que tu m'as dit. 
 Mais e'est aujourd'hui I'hiver, 
 
 Je ne vois plus mon amour, 
 Et la Nature tristement pleure, 
 
 Tu as oublie ee jour. 
 Les roses, les violettes, 
 
 Sout effeuillees par les vents, 
 L'oiseau a fui son nid, 
 
 Et vainement je t'attends. 
 Car tu m'as parle bas, 
 
 Ce jour que Dieu benit, 
 Mais ton coeur deja oublie, 
 
 Ce que tes l^vres ont dit. 
 
 January^ 1866. 
 
DAPHXE. 
 
 Daphxe, the fair one, with the sea-blue eyes, 
 Aud rich gold locks upon her shoulders pure, 
 Ambrosial, bright, aud loug as Here's owu, 
 Aud cheeks iu color like the Spriug's first rose. 
 All shaded iuto soft aud meltiug piuk. 
 As relvety aud smooth as is the peach, 
 Aud dimpliug like the Oceau's suu-kissed waves; 
 With perfect-moulded limbs aud sleuder form, — 
 The lovely daughter of the river-god, — 
 "Was pierced by Cupid, that youug archer bold, 
 Pierced throuo-li the heart with arrow thick aud 
 bluut, 
 
 Aud tipped with, dark aud heavy leadeu-poiut, 
 
 That deadeued her to love's most foud caress. 
 
 Apollo, with the dazzliug, suuuy locks, 
 
 Waviug iu glorious curls above his brow, 
 
 Diviuely-lit with geuius of a god, 
 
 Beuevoleut, sereue, aud beautiful, — 
 
 Apollo, beuder of the silver bow, 
 
 Apollo, player of the goldeu harp, 
 
 God of the Suu, aud fairest of the gods, 
 
 Was pierced by Cupid, that youug archer bold, 
 
58 
 
 DAPHNE. 
 
 Pierced through the heart with arrow fine and 
 sharp, 
 
 And tipped with bright and lightsome golden 
 point, 
 
 That wakened him to love's sweet influence. 
 So thus it chanced, the Sun-god loved the maid, 
 Apollo loved fair Daphne, chaste and pure. 
 And sought her with the longings of desire; 
 But she repelled him with cold haughtiness, 
 And fled him, vritli the blush upon her cheek, 
 In emulation of proud Cynthia. 
 He saw her, in her beauteous maidenhood, 
 Standing beside the blue and limpid stream 
 Wliere dwelt the river-god, old Peneus, 
 And burned at once with an imperious love, 
 That bore him onward irresistibly, 
 And with one spring he darted toward the maid. 
 To seize her in his eager, trembling arms. 
 But Daphne, quivering with maiden-fear. 
 And kindling to her locks with maiden-shame, 
 Sprang forward, too, adown the flowering glen, — 
 A sun-ray o'er the mountain-shadowed vale. 
 Swift as the wind, she darted from his grasp, 
 And fled from him, while he pursued her form. 
 And followed her adowai the shadowed vale, 
 All through the flowering glen, as swift as 
 light. 
 
 Forward impelled, her quick feet winged by 
 fear, 
 
DAPHNE. 
 
 59 
 
 Her tresses blown around her blushing" face, 
 ^ Her rosy feet scarce brushing from the grass 
 The filmy dew-drop that there lightly hung; 
 Her sea-blue eyes wet with a mist of tears, 
 Her mouth half-oped, like a pomegranate cleft, 
 Panting, with heaving breast and wearying 
 feet, 
 
 She sprang and fled through shadow and 
 
 through shine. 
 And quickly after her the glorious god. 
 His large eyes lustrous, longing-ftill of love. 
 Upon his back the glittering silver bow. 
 Within his hand the magic golden harp, 
 And round his brow the halo of sun-rays, — 
 Swift darted through the shadow and the shine. 
 So these two flee. She cries, " Oh, help me, 
 
 Jove ! 
 
 Help me, oh, chaste Diana, whom I love ; 
 Save me and help me ! " T\Tiile he loudly cries, 
 
 Oh, why dost flee so swiftly. Daphne fair "? 
 Jove is my father, and the sovereign lord 
 Am I of Delphos and of Tenedos, 
 The god of the bright sun, the god of song. 
 Hold ! I will glorify thy days with light. 
 And I will woo thee with my sweetest song." 
 But still she flees, nor listens to his plaint. 
 He nears her now, he gains upon her steps. 
 Love, ardent, hopeful, doth outrun Despair. 
 More near, more near, he touches her at last, 
 
60 
 
 DAPHNE. 
 
 His breath is on her cheek and on her hair; 
 Her trembling limbs scarce hold, her on the 
 earth, 
 
 But that his arm supports her drooping form. 
 " Oh, help me, Peneus, Dian ! " loud she cries. 
 And suddenly all rigid doth she grow ; 
 A tender bark surrounds her heaving breast, 
 Her flowing hair becomes fair laurel leaves, 
 Her arms are branches, and her face hath gone, 
 And beauty, now, is all of her that 's left. 
 Apollo kisses oft the shrinking bark. 
 Caressing the fair, tender trembling leaves. 
 And cries, "Thou shalt be evermore my crown, 
 And thy green leaf shall never know decay." 
 So saying, on the yielding branches fair. 
 He hangs his silver bow and golden harp. 
 And each leaf flutters as it murmurs thanks. 
 
 February 12th, 1866. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 '■OX A TOUJOURS SOUITZRT, OU BUS OX SOmRrRA.-- 
 
s 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 " On a toujours souffert, ou bien on souffrira/' — Victor Hugo. 
 
 WEET BERTHA, daughter of mild Cou- 
 radiu, 
 
 The heiress of the inerrv Biirguudr, — 
 The noblest of the daughters of proud France, 
 The fairest of the daughters of the earth, 
 The purest of the children of the Lord, — 
 And Robert, king, and suzerain of all 
 The rich, broad acres of the fruitful France, — 
 King Robert, whose right noble blood made 
 king, 
 
 Saint Robert, whose right noble heart made 
 saint, 
 
 Thus crowned twice king before his God and 
 man, - — 
 
 Sweet Bertha and King Robert slowly rode 
 Unto the royal chapel, to be wed. 
 A lovely, sunny summer-day it was ; 
 The azure sky was flecked with snow-white 
 clouds, 
 
64 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 The em'rald carpet of the meadows fair 
 Was sprinkled o'er with dandelions bright, 
 Like coins of gold upon a velvet rohe. 
 Beside each winding stream that purled along, 
 The violets low drooped, all wet with dew. 
 Like sparkling amethysts set round with pearls. 
 The trees bent o'er the monarch and his bride, 
 And shed their gifts of jewels, — drops of dew. 
 That in the leaves and on the grass were em'- 
 ralds ; 
 
 And in the blue forget-me-nots were sapphires; 
 And in the lily, pearls and opals pure; 
 And in the crimson rose-bud, rubies bright; 
 And in the constant sun-flower, beads of gold; 
 And each one, in the air, a diamond. 
 And evermore, as forward the gay train 
 Wound through the curving pathways of the 
 wood. 
 
 Above their heads the tender leaflets played, 
 And made them ride in sun and shadow on. 
 And then, again, in shadow and in sun. 
 So that the lovely Bertha now seemed crowned 
 With brightest circlet of the sun's own rays; 
 And now, again, she seemed all dark and sad. 
 Yet dark and sad she was not, for her heart 
 Was full of gladness and of joy and love. 
 And beat in answer to that royal one 
 That throbbed beside her, each heart-throb for 
 her. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 65 
 
 Oh, fair she was, as thus she rode alono- 
 Upon her snowy palfrey, by the steed 
 Of deepest black, of him her mouarch-love. 
 Her long fair hair fell o'er her shoulders pure 
 lu golden waves, e'en as the yellow grain, 
 TThen whispered to, and wooed by suiLimer airs, 
 Doth thrill and tremble over all the field, 
 And bend and droop in luxury of joy. 
 Her blue eyes, darkly shadowed o'er and fringed 
 By lashes long, were soft and brightly gay, 
 And all her smiles seemed centred in their 
 depths. 
 
 But when she looked upon her noble lord 
 They melted into tenderness and love, 
 And all their brightness sparkled fairer still 
 Behind a misty veil of happy tears, 
 Like dew upon the sunlit violet. 
 And fit for royal bride her garments were : 
 A spotless mantle of white samite fell 
 In folds adown from the still whiter neck, 
 That seemed enfettered by a chain of pearls. 
 And all her robe was broidered o'er with pearls; 
 And on her head, from out the tresses fair. 
 They here and there peered forth half modestly, 
 As though they dared not and they could not 
 shine 
 
 Beside that wealth of waving, molten gold. 
 And noble and right royal seemed the king, 
 With darkest chestnut locks and flashing eje, 
 5 
 
66 BERTHA. 
 
 And with his stately form, all robed around 
 In richest purple, broidered o'er with gold; 
 And with the circle winding round his head. 
 That crowned him king of all the people's 
 lands ; 
 
 And with the halo, seen by God alone, 
 That crowned him king of all the people's 
 hearts. 
 
 So thus they rode on, through the forest's 
 • paths. 
 
 The monarch and his bride, and that long train 
 That followed to the music of gay bells 
 And merry flutes and clashing cymbals loud. 
 That hushed the voices of the startled birds; 
 The winding train of nobles and of lords. 
 The proudest and the bravest youths of France, 
 All clothed in scarlet, and in blue and white, 
 And richest hues, in sportive dalliance with 
 The queenly dames of good King Robert's court. 
 There rode the brave Gerbert, but wedded late 
 To lovely •Ermen garde, beside him now. 
 There, too, the princely Otho, proud and cold; 
 And there his sister, gentle Adela; 
 And gay Guyenne, and Poictou, and Provence; 
 And all the far-famed knights of noble blood, 
 Each with his bride or sister by his side. 
 And so they rode with pomp and rich display 
 On through the quiet greenwood to the church. 
 And woke the echoes with their merry sounds. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 67 
 
 At length tliev reach the chapel, where they 
 pause ; 
 
 And novr ther enter through the sacred door 
 The holy temple, where the dazzling sun 
 Striketh the stained -windows into flame, 
 And light eth all the crimson tapestiw, 
 And maketh all the incense, rising up 
 From silver vessels, like a mist of gold. 
 There stood the Bishops in their robes of state. 
 And there the great Ai'chhishop with the cross 
 Before him, carried by a youthful page, 
 And bearing on his breast the snowy band, 
 The scapulary long, his order's sign. 
 Then, as the royal couple drew anear. 
 He rose and blessed them, giving to the bride 
 The circling crown that made them King and 
 Queen ; 
 
 "While Robert gave to her the circling ring 
 Of ruddy gold, that made them man and wife. 
 And then the nobles fell upon their knee. 
 And swore, by all most sacred and most dear, 
 Life-long allegiance of their hearts and hands 
 To Bertha, cousin of their ou'ii good King j 
 To Bertha, heiress of nch Burgundy; 
 To Bertha, now anointed Queen of France. 
 And then, arising from the bended knee, 
 They shouted "Xoell" tiU the vaulted roof 
 Reechoed with their cries of happiness. 
 
68 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And now they turned to leave the sacred 
 walls, — 
 
 Fair Bertha leaning on the King's strong arm, 
 With all the stream of light full on her hrow. 
 And with the golden crown upon her head. 
 Queen Bertha, now, the chosen wife of him 
 Her royal sovereign, and her heart's dear lord. 
 But ere they reached the door a dark gray 
 cloud 
 
 Passed o'er the sun, and all the church grew 
 dim. 
 
 And when again the sun's bright rays shone 
 forth, 
 
 They pierced the painted window up above 
 The great tall altar, with its waxen lights, 
 And hangings, and Madonnas, and they threw 
 Upon the floor the altar's shadow there, 
 Eight at Queen Bertha's feet, who, walking on 
 All modestly, her lovely eyes downcast. 
 Started and paled, and trembling felt her heart 
 With one great throb upheave within her 
 breast^ 
 
 While from her lips escaped a choking sob, 
 Like the last murmur of the swollen wave, 
 When, after sudden storm, with one low moan, 
 It lessens, breaks, and dies upon the beach. 
 And Robert questioned her, his trembling queen. 
 And asked her what she feared when by his 
 side. 
 
* BEETHA. 
 
 69 
 
 But as he bent, his eves fell on the groTind, 
 And at then* feet, he saw the shadow dark 
 Of the high altar's top, all draped around 
 In cloth, and wreathed for their wedding-day, 
 And lo ! the shade was as a coffin formed. 
 He started and recoiled, and all the blood 
 Forsook his cheek and trembling lip ; but then, 
 Recalling her his Queen, who now did lean 
 On him alone for comfort and support, — 
 As she would lean through life, — he boldly 
 passed. 
 
 And murmured, "Bertha, oh, my queenly bride, 
 'T is nought, and we will cast such omens by, 
 Xor heed them, for our happy days are near. 
 The coffin doth but bury all the fears 
 And trials of our love; it is a sign 
 That all our sorrow's dead, and a new life 
 This day begins. And even though it seem 
 The shadow of a coffin, what of thatP 
 We know it is the shadow of a shrine.'' 
 Thus tenderly and loving spoke the King, 
 And brought the color back to Bertha's cheek ; 
 But he, too, trembled at the omen dread. 
 Then each one of the train the shadow crossed, 
 And murmurings and whispers passed around. 
 " Unlucky augury," — " our poor young Queen 
 Must step on this upon her wedding-day." 
 And all the gentle dames sweet pity felt, 
 And all the youths swore to themselves again, 
 
70 
 
 BERTHA. * 
 
 To stand by her, their Queen, now come what 
 might. 
 
 Right glad was Bertha when they stood once 
 more 
 
 Out in the cool, fresh summer-morning's air. 
 And when, remounting all their waiting steeds, 
 They rode again unto the palace gates. 
 
 Full merry, on that lovely summer-day, 
 Was the proud palace of the King of France. 
 Through spacious halls gay music sounded loud. 
 And flowers, wreathed and braided, spread per- 
 fume 
 
 In each wide chamber. Stately youths at once. 
 With graceful dames, began the waving dance. 
 In sooth it was a rich and gorgeous scene. 
 The noble courtiers, in their costly robes. 
 Their brilliant precious jewels flashing forth; 
 The dames in robes of satin and of silk. 
 Of samite and of velvet, broidered o'er 
 With traceries of flowers and of leaves. 
 In golden thread, or in bright sparkling gems, 
 That writhed and wandered o'er the floating 
 robes. 
 
 And wove themselves in wondrous forms and 
 shapes. 
 
 And all the walls were draped with tapestry; 
 And woven in were pictures of the deeds 
 Of Hugh Capet, the father of the King. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 71 
 
 And there, upon the great high royal throne, 
 Was gentle Bertha, in her queenly robes, 
 With him, her noble Robert, by her side. 
 And while they thus sat there Queen Bertha 
 thought 
 
 Xo more of that strange omen in the church ; 
 And Robert now, with her, forgot it too. 
 When looking in the depths of those blue eyes, 
 Or at the golden waves of that fair hair. 
 For ten long days the feasting lasted thus 
 Beneath the palace roof, until the Queen 
 Looked hopefully for ever happy days. 
 And saw the distant Future's heavy mist 
 Become a golden haze, and all its light 
 Streamed backwards on the joyful Present, too, 
 Illuming it with tender radiance. 
 For ten long days, the land rejoicing, seemed 
 As though the horn of plenty had let fall 
 Its contents on the happy fields below. 
 And ruby, amethyst, and amber wines. 
 Were drained from foaming flagons to the 
 King 
 
 And to his lovely Queen ; and boards were 
 spread 
 
 With juicy meats, and blushing peaches ripe, 
 And golden-purple grapes in clusters fair. 
 And all the fruits that bless the fruitful France, 
 All at the generous bidding of the King. 
 At length the feasting and the joys were o'er. 
 
72 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And quiet reigned throughout the land again. 
 And Robert ruled with gentleness and love, 
 And Bertha moved him unto deeds of peace, 
 And doubly blest was France now in her King 
 And in her Queen, for all was happiness. 
 No foreign wars, no harvests poor and scant; 
 No wars intestine, and no armed revolt; 
 No robberies, no murders fierce and wild ; 
 But peace and plenty all thoughout the land, 
 And gentle laws obeyed; until, at last. 
 The royal sceptre seemed the magic wand 
 Of some kind fairy working for the good 
 Of each and all. 
 
 Ay, those were happy days, 
 Those first, sweet, golden summer-days of love, 
 When both could pluck its full, fair-blooming 
 flower, 
 
 Before Life's darksome blight had fallen there. 
 And Bertha moved about the palace, then. 
 All proud and joyful; proud that she should be 
 The kinswoman of one so good and great; 
 The Queen of such a happy, fertile land; 
 The Queen of such a great and noble heart. 
 And Robert was the soul of all her joy ; — 
 Her love and hopes and dreams were twined 
 about 
 
 His noble heart, and there would cling through 
 sun 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 73 
 
 Or storm, e'en as the hy round tlie oak 
 Doth cling through summer heats and wintry 
 blasts, 
 
 And parts not till the oak itself doth fall. 
 He was the sun that lighted all her life, 
 And any cloud of fear that flitted past 
 Upon her azure sky, he gilded tair, 
 And even could transform it to a hope, 
 And all her tears became as rainbows bright, 
 Vvdien ^he was smiled upon by him. And she, 
 For Robert, was the moon, that softens all 
 With its pure, myotic rays ; and in his life 
 The rugged, hard, and rocky pathways made 
 All soft and beautiful and silvery 
 With her sweet tender light. She led him on 
 "With words of love. e"en as the queenly moon 
 Binds with her silver chains, so marvellous, 
 Old foaming Ocean, while she sheds her light 
 Upon his swelling and upheaving breast, 
 And soothes him thus to peace and quietness. 
 For Robert did Queen Bertha love each scene 
 Of Mature that with him she gazed upon. 
 She loved the gentle-drooping flowers fair. 
 Because they spread for him their perfumes 
 sweet ; 
 
 She loved the singing-birds, because she 
 dreamed 
 
 For him alone they poured so wildly forth 
 The madness of their tender melody; 
 
74 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 For him, slie loved the night-skies with their 
 gems, 
 
 The sapphire Jupiter, and ruby Mars, 
 And opal Venus, and the diamond Moon, 
 And all the pearly planets' softened gleam. 
 And she would say that Heaven's coronet 
 Of stars was fair and varied, too, as Earth's 
 Bright, girdling zone of flowers. So she loved 
 All these for him, and him above them all. 
 And then, from out the ladies of her train. 
 Did Bertha choose the gentlest for a friend. 
 The sweet Gisele, a maiden pure and chaste, 
 With cheek as fair as is the blushing snow 
 Upon the mountain-top when kissed by Dawn, 
 And eyes as blue as the forget-me-not. 
 E'er faithful was Gisele unto the Queen, 
 Though she was wooed by brave young Adal- 
 bert, 
 
 The noblest of the King's own gentlemen. 
 She would not wed him, so she loved the 
 Queen, 
 
 Whose followers must all be maidens pure. 
 
 So, day by day, she put off Adalbert, 
 
 Who waited all impatiently, until 
 
 She promised him that after two short 
 
 months, — 
 Upon the feast of good Saint Valery, 
 Then would she wed with him, her chosen love. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 75 
 
 All, wtiv are, evermore, the lieavr folds 
 Of the dark Future's veil so dense that Man, 
 All blinded, tries iu vain to pierce through 
 them. 
 
 But must go groping on in darkness e'er, 
 And see the veil recede before his steps, 
 Still hiding all the morrow, till, at last, 
 Upon Death's dawn, it risetli up for aye, 
 Eevealiug to his dazzled sight that world 
 ^Aliere there are no more morrows, with their 
 cares. 
 
 But all is one eternal, happy Xow I 
 
 All joyfully and merry passed the time. 
 Until, one day, a Legate from the Pope — 
 The stern Fifth Gregory — arrived in France, 
 And none could guess his mission to the King, 
 For suddenly, and with no state he came; 
 And craving audience of Robert, then 
 He gave to him the orders of the Pope, — 
 To meet with all the clergy and the peers, 
 And high-born dames, and nobles of the realm, 
 In the great Hall of State, the morrow morn, 
 To listen there unto the Pope's commands. 
 That he, his Legate, would disclose to all. 
 This summons was proclaimed abroad to each 
 In Robert's noble court, and he, the King, 
 And Bertha, too, prepared themselves at once 
 The council to attend, yet not without 
 
76 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Some fear and trembling in his pious heart, 
 The King thought o'er the summons all the 
 day, 
 
 Repeating, " I have done naught to offend 
 The Holy Father of the Church, and should 
 He wish now to enrich the Holy See, 
 A castle or a province e'en of mine, 
 In due obedience I shall comply." 
 And then he searched the records of his deeds, 
 And all of them in memory reviewed, 
 And read again the tablet of each day ; 
 And though he naught could find of sinful 
 there. 
 
 Yet did this strange and sudden order now. 
 Disturb him all that anxious day and night. 
 And Bertha trembled at this message strange 
 From Gregory, the all-puissant Pope, 
 And dreaded that some great mishap would 
 chance. 
 
 So all day long she pondered it, but spoke 
 No word unto King Robert of her fears. 
 And in the gloomy darkness of the night 
 Strange troublous dreams did flit about her 
 couch, 
 
 And wake her often with a sudden start ; 
 Till late, near dawn, she fell asleep once more 
 In an unquiet slumber, and she dreamed 
 That she and Robert stood again, as on 
 Their marriage-day, within the royal church, 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 77 
 
 As though they were to wed. But in the place 
 Of bishops, and of knights, and peers, and 
 dames, 
 
 Were strange-robed creatures seated all around, 
 Of which she nauo-ht could see save mantles 
 black 
 
 About their shapes. The crown was on her 
 head, 
 
 And in her hand the ring King Robert gave; 
 But stern, cold Leon, the Pope's Legate, stood 
 In the Archbishop's place, and tried to tear 
 The ring and crown away; and suddenly 
 The mantles fell from off the creatures' forms. 
 Revealing each a skeleton, while she 
 Stood there alone with them upon that ground, 
 That seemed all covered o'er with coffins now. 
 Then looking down the church-aisle, which ap- 
 peared 
 
 So long she scarce could follow it, she saw. 
 Far, far away, the King, who fled from her. 
 And then she cried aloud, and, waking, found 
 The golden light of day full on her face, 
 And Robert bending over her with love. 
 " My Queen, awake ! " cried he ; thou hast 
 
 been vexed 
 With dreary visions, such as haunted me. 
 For, in the night, I thought I saw the Pope, 
 Who tried to part us. Thrice I dreamt that 
 
 dream, 
 
78 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And then I woke, and would not sleep again. 
 But come, arise. To-day we must go forth 
 Into the Cliamher, there to hearken to 
 The Pope's commands. What care I should he 
 take 
 
 My castles or my provinces away? 
 Thou art the brightest and most precious gem 
 I own, my Queen, and thee he cannot take, 
 My noble and my lawful-wedded wife." 
 Queen Bertha trembled, but she did not tell 
 Her dream, and soothed the King with loving 
 words ; 
 
 And he calmed her with tenderness, until 
 They parted to prepare them for the day. 
 
 All now was ready in the Hall of State. 
 The King and Queen, in royal purple, sat 
 Upon the throne within the Hall. The King 
 Seemed cold, but gentle as he ever was. 
 And (^alm and full of dignity he sat. 
 But Bertha looked all weak and drooping yet. 
 As though she suffered from her weary night. 
 Her blue eyes shone more darkly, and her 
 cheek 
 
 Had even lost the delicate, pale rose, 
 That there was wont to blush. The mantle 
 long. 
 
 Of gorgeous purple, with its heavy folds. 
 
 And with its ermine edge, but made more fair 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 79 
 
 The spotless whiteness of her swanlike neck, 
 Where from her snowy shoulders low it drooped. 
 Disclosing the pure rohe of white beneath, 
 With all its winding* traceries of pearls. 
 Around the Hall were grouped King Robert's 
 court. 
 
 And all the Bishops with their sable robes. 
 And at the end of that long Chamber, there, 
 Upon his seat upraised, the Legate sat. 
 Robed in his long and flowing purple stole. 
 While on his bosom shone the silver cross. 
 The token of his rank and mission there; 
 And in his hand he held the long white scroll, 
 Wherefrom to read the orders of the Pope. 
 Then all was hushed in the assembly vast, 
 And Robert waved his royal sceptre twice. 
 As sign to Leon that he should begin; 
 And Leon read the Bull of Gregory, 
 And each word, calm and clear, fell on the air. 
 In the forced silence of a multitude, 
 With solemn, dread significance to all. 
 And sank within the hearts of those who heard. 
 Like a sharp stone that rufiles all a pool, 
 And sinks forever low within its bed. 
 
 "I, Gregory the Fifth, the Pope of Rome, 
 Invested, by a Providence divine. 
 With this most holy and most sacred charge. 
 Proclaim through Leon, Legate unto France, 
 
80 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 My orders, in the interests of the Church, 
 
 The blessed mother of mankind on earth. 
 
 Unholy is it for all those to wed 
 
 Who are already in the blood allied, 
 
 And those who at the font of baptism have 
 
 E'er stood as sponsors for the self-same child ; 
 
 And, as King Robert, sovereign of all France, 
 
 Is thus allied with Bertha, now his Queen, 
 
 I here proclaim the marriage of these two 
 
 Unlawful and unholy, and command 
 
 Them now to separate before all men, 
 
 As they are separate in the sight of God." 
 
 He ceased, and o'er the whole assembly ran 
 A shudder, e'en as when the wintry wind 
 Doth touch one little swelling ocean-wave, 
 Wliich flows and passes it along the breast 
 Of the whole sea, and all is wild unrest. 
 Queen Bertha, though the mantling blood first 
 rushed 
 
 In dark'ning current to her cheeks, then fled 
 Back to her heart, and left her paler still. 
 Yet looked she stately, proud, and resolute. 
 Nor spoke, but moved more near unto the King. 
 And when he saw that form beside his own. 
 And that warm, golden hair so near his cheek, 
 And that small lily hand upon his robe. 
 He felt her weakness give him strength anew, 
 And list'ning to the dictates of his heart, 
 
« 
 
 BERTHA. 81 
 
 He answered tliiis the Pope's ambassador: — 
 "To Gregory the Fifth, the Pope of Rome, 
 Bear thou this answer back, from me, the King, 
 The second Robert, suzerain of France. 
 Upon me hath no earthly power bestowed 
 The treasure that he asks me. God alone 
 Gave me my Queen; from Him I hold her now. 
 In His name will I keep her evermore, 
 In His name mil I guard her from all ill, 
 In His name is she mine, and mine alone, 
 And I will yield her only unto Death, 
 The messenger divine from Him to me, 
 Allien she will go where I can follow her." 
 Thus spake the King, and Leon stood aghast. 
 That he, the Monarch-Saint, should dare the 
 Pope, 
 
 And thus defy his solemn, stern commands. 
 But not a word he uttered. Then arose 
 Queen Bertha, who addressed him from the 
 
 throne : — 
 " Go, tell thy Holy Master Gregory, 
 That in submission I acknowledge him 
 Our sacred Father, wedded to the Church ; 
 But with his mighty power bid him, first, 
 Unbind the surging Ocean's silver chains. 
 That coil around him from the moon on high. 
 Or bid him part the rainbow from the air. 
 Or from the mighty thunder-cloud in heaven 
 Tear the gold bolt that dwells within its folds, 
 6 
 
82 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Ere he essays to part two tender hearts, 
 When once they 're bound with subtle chains 
 of love, 
 
 Wlien once they 're joined by Joy's bright rain- 
 bow arch, 
 
 Wlien once the golden shaft of Love lies deep 
 In the dark chambers, making all their light. 
 0 nobles, and ye gentle knights of France, 
 Ye who have sworn to aid us with the strength 
 Of your strong hands, and your still stronger 
 hearts, 
 
 Desert us not, in this our darkest hour. 
 But make around your sovereign and his queen 
 A bulwark for their love, with all your might. 
 And, Leon, may the sad tears of a wife 
 Now move and touch your heart despite your- 
 self. 
 
 And bring sweet flowers of tender pity forth. 
 As falling rain-drops soften the hard earth. 
 Oh, go fall down low at your master's feet. 
 And pray to him for us as you would pray 
 For your own heart's dear mistress. Then, if 
 you 
 
 Have ever felt the gentle thrall of love 
 Binding your life, oh, bid him part us not ! 
 If you have whispered in the summer night 
 Sweet loving words unto a loving heart. 
 Recall such words, and let them prompt you, 
 then, 
 
BERTHA. 83 
 
 To soften him, and bid liim part us not ! 
 But no ! I need not to a mortal pray, 
 For we are joined forever by our God ; 
 Let no man sunder what is joined by Him." 
 She stood upon the throne all pale and proud, 
 A Queen indeed before her subjects there; 
 But looking round upon the multitude, 
 A crimson blush suffused her pallid cheek. 
 And low she sank again beside the King, 
 A Woman all un queened. And then arose 
 The cry of many voices in the hall, — 
 " Long live King Robert and his noble Queen ! 
 All hail to royal Bertha, Queen of France!" 
 The cry arose, and swelled anon, until 
 A mighty shout, but died away again 
 As sudden as it rose, and all was still 
 As the wild blasts of moaning winds die out, 
 And all is silent in the wintry air. 
 Then, when the hush had fallen on the Hall, 
 Again the Legate, Leon, calm and cold, 
 Drew forth a scroll, and, rising, spoke once 
 more. 
 
 And slow and solemn were the chilling words : 
 
 " I, Gregory the Fifth, the Pope of Rome, 
 Invested by a Providence divine 
 With this most holy and most sacred charge. 
 Proclaim, through Leon, Legate unto France, 
 My orders, in the interest of the Church, 
 
84 BEETHA. 
 
 The blessed Mother of mankind on earth. 
 
 From intercourse with all good Christian souls. 
 
 Who worship faithfully their God above, 
 
 And here on earth the holy Church of Rome, 
 
 I excommunicate the King of France, 
 
 This Robert and his most unlawful Queen; 
 
 And blessed are all those who disobey 
 
 His orders from this day, for I absolve 
 
 His subjects from allegiance unto him. 
 
 And under interdict his kingdom lies, 
 
 A forfeit to the holy See of Rome. 
 
 No bells shall sound, no burial take place, 
 
 No rites now of religion be performed, 
 
 But mourning will be over all the land. 
 
 And it shall lie beneath the curse of God." 
 
 Then all was hushed again at these dread 
 words. 
 
 And then the King: "We will not part in life, 
 And after death a Mightier will judge." 
 Then Bertha, too, essayed to answer him; — ^ 
 But suddenly her falt'ring voice did break. 
 And die away in one long anguished sob, 
 Though not a tear fell from the proud blue 
 eyes. 
 
 Then Leon, once again : I' All in this hall 
 Wlio honor and obey the Holy Pope, 
 Will leave at once, before their souls be lost. 
 The presence of these two who brave him 
 thus." 
 
BERTHA. 85 
 
 Tlieu, at tlie words, the bisliops first arose, 
 And theu the dames, aud then the noble 
 knights, 
 
 Who woukl have given up their lives for her, 
 Their royal Queen, but dared not give their 
 souls. 
 
 Then Leon followed them with solemn pace, 
 And left King Kobert and his Queen alone. 
 All mournfully did Bertha watcdi each form 
 That passed from out the hall, as though she 
 hoped 
 
 That some at least would stay beside the throne; 
 And thus she saw evanish from her sight 
 Her joy, her hope, her glory, and her pride. 
 And naught was left with her but grief and 
 love. 
 
 Then turning tov»ard the King, all pale aud 
 sad, 
 
 She biu'st forth in a flow of bitter tears, 
 That all the morn had welled up in her eyes. 
 And choked her throat, and that she had till 
 then. 
 
 With queenly dignity repressed. But now. 
 When looking round on the deserted hall, 
 She saw not one leal follower remain. 
 She let them start forth from her aching eyes, 
 And, passionately weeping, mourned aloud. 
 " What I are none left to comfort their sad 
 King ? 
 
86 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 0 Robert, Robert, curse me where I stand, 
 Thou, who erewhile, wast lord of blooming 
 
 France, 
 
 And who hast lost a kingdom now for me ! 
 Thou who to me, thy happy bride, gave all, — 
 A seat upon thy throne, thy palace proud, 
 For my own home, and, more than all, thy 
 heart. 
 
 How have I now repaid thee, 0 my King ! 
 
 1 've torn the golden crown from off thy head. 
 Where it was wont to rest so royally ; 
 
 I 've seized the sceptre from thy kingly hands. 
 That swayed it to the noble impulses 
 Of thy great heart ! And now thou standest 
 there 
 
 Unkinged, with but the shadow of a crown; 
 Unkinged, with but the ghost of thy dead 
 power. 
 
 And I have done it all ! Ay, more than this. 
 For me thou forfeitest thy place in heaven. 
 I 've brought thee fitting dowry for a bride ! 
 All misery and sorrow on the earth. 
 And after death perdition ! Curse me now ! 
 What words are these? Nay, nay, oh, curse 
 me not, 
 
 For, Robert, I have loved thee all my days. 
 And even now I love thee more than life, 
 And I will love thee, 0 my King, till death. 
 My past and present, ay, and future too. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 87 
 
 Are glorified and bright with love of thee. 
 So curse and hate me not, but pardon me; 
 And thou who know'st so well sweet Mercy's 
 art, 
 
 Forgive her now who ruined thee with love ! " 
 And saying this, she knelt at Robert's feet, 
 And all her golden wealth of flowing hair 
 Swept o'er his kingly robe and brightened it, 
 Like sunshine on a bed of purple flowers. 
 And then the King raised up, all tenderly. 
 Her prostrate form, and soothingly caressed. 
 And spake unto her words of love and hope. 
 " Weep not for me," said he, " my noble Queen, 
 For I am happy in thy love, and hold 
 'T is more to be the monarch of thy heart 
 Than sovereign of the lands of all the world. 
 What matters it that all my courtiers now 
 Should thus desert me, and should leave me 
 here ? 
 
 I care not so they leave me but thee. 
 And weep not, Bertha, for my soul, for heaven, 
 Without thee, were a hell, and hell itself, 
 With thee, were heaven, — no, we ne'er shall 
 part ; 
 
 But I shall bless thee for thy constant love, 
 And thank all those who leave me thus with 
 thee. 
 
 To prove thy heart as faithful and as true 
 As theirs are fickle, worldly, false, and vain." 
 
88 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Then Bertha rose and blessed her noble King", 
 But, sighing, looked around the hall once more, 
 And said, " Oh, is there not one faithful soul 
 Who loves us and would ne'er abandon us. 
 Recalling all thy generous deeds, my King, 
 And all our happy days of peace and love?" 
 "Ay, there are two such souls," a voice then 
 cried ; 
 
 And from behind the waving tapestry 
 There stepped a goodly knight and gentle maid, 
 And Bertha knew Gisele and Adalbert. 
 " Pardon ! " cried they, and fell upon the 
 ground 
 
 Before the King and Queen. Then Adalbert: 
 "We offer at your feet two constant hearts. 
 That love and reverence, through gloom and 
 night, 
 
 As they have loved through sunlight and 
 
 through joy." 
 "Arise," cried Robert; "'tis a happy night 
 That briugeth stars of such pure brightness 
 
 forth." 
 
 And Bertha fell upon her fond Gisele 
 And wept, and thanked her for her noble love, 
 And called her gentle sister and sweet friend. 
 " Now am I rich indeed ! " then cried the 
 King, 
 
 The sovereign proud of two such generous 
 hearts, 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 89 
 
 Who tliiis will serve me in my darkest hour, 
 And blest and glorified with snch a love 
 As queenly Bertha, my true wife bestows." 
 Then Bertha rose, and walking with Gisele, 
 And followed by the King and Adalbert, 
 She traversed all the lone deserted hall, 
 And went into her vacant palace home. 
 
 0 Constancy, thou precious jewel fair ! 
 
 Thou art a pearl, born low beneath the waves, 
 
 That shrinketh modestly from human eyes. 
 
 As doth the violet on earth. Unknown 
 
 Thou bloomest there till chance revealeth thee. 
 
 And when all other gems corrupt and fade, 
 
 Thou only changest to become more bright, 
 
 Transformed into the brilliant opal fair, 
 
 That gleams more beautiful in each new light. 
 
 A deathlike silence reigned within the halls 
 Of Robert, King of France. No busy feet 
 Crossed the long corridors' deserted floors ; 
 Within the chambers was no sound e'er heard. 
 And none were ever seen beneath the roof. 
 Save Robert and Queen Bertha, and those two 
 Who still were faithful to their King and 
 Queen. 
 
 Then all the land was hushed and deathlike, 
 too. 
 
 And none approached the monarch and his 
 Queen; 
 
90 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And if, perchance, in their full lonely walks, 
 They met some passenger helated there, 
 He quickly crossed himself and turned away. 
 And fled, as though there were pollution in 
 The very sight of such accursed souls. 
 No bells tolled forth the requiem for the dead, 
 No bells pealed forth the merry marriage sound. 
 And no religious rites were e'er performed. 
 Save christening of little new-born babes. 
 All innocent of Robert's crime, and prayers 
 For dying ones, at death-beds offered up ; 
 While every church and every crucifix 
 Were draped around in deepest folds of black. 
 And Bertha and King Robert found no face 
 Of friendly man or woman round them now, 
 But naught could see save their own shadows 
 dark, 
 
 That now did follow, now precede their steps; 
 
 And naught could hear, save that full mourn- 
 ful sound. 
 
 The echo of their voices in the halls. 
 
 Then truly and with all their hearts they 
 loved, — 
 
 A love made chaste and pure afar from men, 
 A love all sanctified by Sorrow's breath, 
 A love that filled up all their hearts and souls, 
 And took the place of every earthly joy. 
 And Robert, thus, did e'en more royal seem. 
 For now he wore an air of dignity, 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 91 
 
 All proud and natural, with no outward sign 
 Of sceptre or of golden coronet, 
 But born of native dignity of heart. 
 That proved him kingly in his soul. But she, 
 His Queen, grew day by day more pale and 
 weak, 
 
 And on her pallid cheek the blood, at times, 
 Would flush and burn, then quickly fade away, 
 Like to the dying flashes of a lamp, 
 And leave her as though each gleam were the 
 last. 
 
 And then, despite of Kobert's tender love, 
 Despite of all his anxious cares for her. 
 She drooped and paled, and grew each day 
 more weak ; 
 
 And in her eyes appeared a strange new light, 
 As though the soul gleamed through before it 
 fled. 
 
 One day, while Robert gently spoke with her. 
 She sigh'd, and suddenly she swooned away, 
 All white and deathlike, in King Robert's arms. 
 And he bent over her, and wooed her, then. 
 With sweet caresses and with gentle love. 
 And chafed the little lily hand again, 
 And burned mth ardent kisses cheek and 
 mouth, 
 
 And rained his tears upon the golden hair, 
 
 As though he would impart his own young life 
 
 Unto tliat frail and drooping, soulless frame. 
 
92 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 But naught availed, and loud he cried for aid, 
 And then Gisele came in, with Adalbert, 
 And to her chamber did they bear the Queen, 
 Who lay there in a long and quiet trance, 
 Nor once raised up the fringed curtains white 
 Of those blue eyes, nor once essayed to ope 
 The two pale lips, so fast enlocked in sleep ; 
 But all the while she lay there, cold and still, 
 Forgetful of the Present's misery, 
 Forgetful of the Fast's glad happy hours. 
 Forgetful of the Future's joyous hopes. 
 Now dead to grief and joy alike. It seemed 
 As though, within the volume of her life. 
 The hand that wrote the passions and the woes 
 For each day, had forgotten all these hours, 
 And left them blank. Then, in those days, the 
 King 
 
 Did wander sadly through his palace-halls. 
 Now doubly desolate, for sweet Gisele, 
 Through Adalbert, had warned him not to 
 come 
 
 Anear the Queen as in her trance she lay. 
 For fear lest he might wake her suddenly, 
 And make her pass into the deeper sleep 
 Of death. So all the time he wept alone ; 
 And then he mourned, and then fell down and 
 prayed, 
 
 In agony of grief and penitence. 
 
 He saw the shadow of her death arise * 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 93 
 
 Aud darken all liis days, and in the gloom 
 He felt the hand of God upon his head, 
 That did not bless him with a soothing* love, 
 Kor press his brow in sorrow for his sin, 
 But bore him down, then, with the dire weight 
 Of chastisement and anger. Then he moaned, 
 And with a bitter, vain regret, too late 
 He wept that he had brought such blooming 
 youth, 
 
 And such a wealth of lore, such rich young 
 life, 
 
 And such bright, dazzling beauty, ere their 
 time. 
 
 Unto the dark and gloomy night of death. 
 It was as if a softly flowing stream, 
 That purled along its course of happiness, 
 And wound its way through groyes and flow'rj 
 meads. 
 
 Toward that great Ocean where all streams are 
 lost, 
 
 Should suddenly, in happy, peaceful flow, 
 Be stopped foreyer by a frowning rock ; 
 And, further on, the field should neyermore 
 By rippling stream be freshened, and no more 
 The air be gladdened with its joyful song, 
 But oyer all the rock its shadow cast. 
 Then Robert felt that all his heayen had erst 
 Smiled forth from out the depths of those blue 
 eyes, . 
 
94 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And when their light was clouded all was blank. 
 And only once he caught a passing glimpse, 
 Through the oped curtains of the chamber-door. 
 Of the pale, sleeping face of her he loved, 
 With all its golden frame of sunny hair. 
 That made it seem the portrait of some saint. 
 And not the once-glad Bertha lying thus; — 
 A saint, indeed, all heavenly and cold, 
 But wanting that rich earthly tint, that proved 
 Her all his own, and not a spirit pure. 
 Too chaste and too serene for mortal love. 
 All motionless and cold she slumbered now. 
 Like the Greek artist's statue, that he loved 
 For its proud beauty, ere the gods endued 
 Its form, in answer to his prayers, with life. 
 And when the King beheld his lovely bride, 
 So pale and still and deathlike lying there, 
 Half maddened with its cold and sweet repose. 
 He rushed back to his chamber once again, 
 And cursed himself, and wept and prayed for 
 her. 
 
 Then, while Queen Bertha all unconscious lay, 
 She bore the King a child, a little Prince ; 
 And when she woke again she found it there. 
 Beside her on her couch, and then she asked 
 Gisele what this fair child did there, and whose 
 It was; for she remembered naught of all 
 The pangs that wracked, erewhile, her tortured 
 frame. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 95 
 
 And when Gisele replied, "It is jour own," 
 Then suddenly she felt the mother-love 
 Arise and swell within her gentle heart, 
 E'en as the precious water swelled and burst 
 From Meribah, when Moses smote the rock; 
 And with a tender, happy smile, that gleamed 
 Through a glad flow of sudden, grateful tears, — 
 A sun -bow through the rain, — she seized the 
 child. 
 
 And pressed it close unto her bosom fair. 
 And fondled it, and bent above its form, 
 And kissed it with such passionate delight. 
 That sweet Gisele did tremble lest this joy 
 Should prove too much for her faint, drooping 
 frame, 
 
 And half essayed to take from her the child ; 
 But Bertha pressed it closer to her breast. 
 Nor would entrust it unto other hands. 
 " Oh, now," cried she, " I can repay my lord. 
 My noble King, for all his love to me; 
 And now these little hands will smooth for him 
 The paths of life. This rose will make amends 
 For all the thorns, and this sweet angel-face 
 Will brighten up once more the dreary road 
 That I have made so dark. Oh, when the 
 tones, 
 
 All full of music, of this feeble voice, 
 Can speak to France with simple, touching 
 words, 
 
96 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 They '11 plead for ns, and win the people's love. 
 And now, come robe me in my richest robe, 
 For I will go unto my lord the King", 
 To bear myself this little infant prince 
 Unto his arms, and bid him love my child 
 For my sake and its own." "Nay," cried 
 Gisele ; 
 
 "You yet are far too weak and faint to rise; 
 Myself will bear your child unto the King." 
 And then the Queen essayed to rise, and prove 
 That she was strong and well, but, fainting, 
 fell 
 
 Upon her couch once more. " I cannot go," 
 She sighed, all sadly smiling through her tears; 
 " But since I cannot, go thou, bid a priest 
 Come bless my child, and he can bear for me, 
 Unto its royal father, my sweet babe." 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 97 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 AxEAE the palace of the Kiug of Frauce 
 Arose the monasteiy's g-loomy walls. 
 That grimly frowned upon the passers-hv. 
 Without could uaught be seen save windows 
 barred, 
 
 And drawbridge and deep moat, like castle 
 strong 
 
 Of some great baron; but within the walls. 
 Was the fair chapel with its altar tall, 
 All covered with Madonnas, strangely carved 
 In precious wood or cut in marl)le white. 
 And hung with costly jewels and bright gold. 
 The gifts of pious nobles to the Church. 
 Unto the preacher's desk v>'as firm attached, 
 By a short silver chain, the Book of God, 
 With velvet cover, broidered o'er in gold, 
 And written on rich vellum of all tints ; 
 While on the margin wide of every page 
 Were pictures of the saints and holy men. 
 The chapel walls around were tapestried 
 
98 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 With heavy haiig-ings, all embroidered rich 
 With deeds of saints, of martyrs, and of Popes, 
 And costly ornaments were strewed around. 
 Here lay a silver vase with incense filled. 
 And there a golden, holding precious drops 
 Of brackish water from the Holy Land, 
 By some good pious pilgrim brought to France. 
 Beside the chapel was the Council Room, 
 Where met the Brothers, to decide upon 
 Some weighty question on occasions grave. 
 Of flowered damask was the Abbot's chair, 
 All framed in ebony, carved curious. 
 And raised upon broad steps of marble pure. 
 Here, too, appeared the gifts of pious men, 
 And sacred relics from far distant shrines ; 
 For at his death, to expiate his sins. 
 Each noble deemed he should endow the Church, 
 And of all orders there was none so dear 
 As this, "The Monks of good Saint Augustine." 
 Helgaut, the Abbot, was a frowning man. 
 With fierce, cold, gleaming eyes, e'er glitt'ring 
 forth 
 
 From out the shadow of his darksome cowl. 
 Stern, grasping, and severe, 't was said of him. 
 He had himself outlived his icy heart. 
 And all the monks did tremble 'neath his rule. 
 Yet some of these were jolly-humored souls, 
 Who, faring well from out the vessels rich 
 Of the old monastery, bore its ills 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 99 
 
 Eight patiently, and all the laws obeyed. 
 While others, still, in all, their abbot grave 
 Did imitate, and worship as a saint. 
 
 Snch was the monastery near the King, 
 When, in the black and stormy night in which 
 Qneen Bertha to her infant Prince gave birth, 
 Above the thunder's roar and beating rain 
 Was heard a knock upon the outer gate, 
 Prolonged and loud ; and when the doors were 
 oped 
 
 And drawbridge raised, "within the gloomy night 
 No sign of man or woman could be seen ; 
 But, looking down, the monks espied a child 
 Upon the threshold of the portal tall. 
 Then hastily they bore the infant in 
 Unto the light, and found it all deformed, 
 A monster hateful to the eye of man. 
 That stared around unmeaningly and strange. 
 The priests recoiled before the horrid sight, 
 And, with one voice, proposed to throw the 
 child 
 
 Into the moat around the outer wall. 
 But here a tender-hearted monk advanced, 
 And said, "Alas! the child's deserted now 
 By all of human kind. 'T is sadly cursed. 
 And monstrously malformed, but what of that ? 
 0 brethren, in the bitter hour of death 
 Our sinning souls may seem deformed and dark 
 
100 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And hateful to the eye of God, as now 
 This child doth seem to us. Forget ye not 
 The Leper, touched by a far greater hand. 
 But prove that this poor child, although by 
 man 
 
 Abandoned, shall be saved in God's own house. 
 Then let us bear it to the Abbot good. 
 And pray that he will keep it in these walls, 
 And try to guard it from all further ill." 
 Thus spoke the good old Brother Innocent, 
 With such a tender pleading in his tones, 
 And such kind pity for the loathsome thing. 
 That all the monks were touched and bowed 
 
 their heads. 
 So Innocent then raised the hateful babe 
 And bore it to the Abbot, stern Helgaut, 
 Who, when lie saw the infant horror there. 
 And heard the good monk. Brother Innocent, 
 Thus beg him for its life with tender words. 
 Cried forth, as though his heart were softened 
 
 too, 
 
 "Although I cannot bear to have this child 
 Within these sacred walls, yet still, for thee 
 I '11 shelter it this night, and in the morn 
 We all will meet within the Council Room, 
 And there decide upon its future fate." 
 The good old Innocent, with grateful heart. 
 Low to the Abbot bowed, and bore the child 
 Again within his arms unto his cell. 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 101 
 
 His own small chamber, and he left it there. 
 And thoug-h his sight with loathing turned 
 from it, 
 
 Yet, as a sacred duty, did he guard 
 
 The malformed infant, close an ear his couch, 
 
 And with his prayers he blended prayers for it. 
 
 Gay morn arose, all fair and smiling bright, 
 As though unconscious of the night's wild 
 storm. 
 
 She came, and breathed forth light and hope 
 anew, 
 
 And with her glowing touch the curtains black 
 Of the dark night did part, and woA^e for them 
 A rich, bright-orange fringe. Then, while the 
 wheels 
 
 Of her gold chariot rolled o'er the sky. 
 All changed to glory and to light, and soon 
 A cloudless azure heaven smiled on France. 
 Then, too, the little droplets of the rain 
 Had in their heart a tiny golden sun, — 
 Reflection of the mighty one on high, — 
 And so they twinkled like a thousand eyes. 
 And peered from every bush and leafy shrub 
 And tree and flower, smiling merrily 
 To the great eye of day, the sun on high. 
 
 From early dawn, within the holy waJls 
 Of the old monastery all was life; 
 
102 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And after tlie long worship of the morn 
 And early meal were o'er, the monks repaired 
 Unto the Council with the babe deformed. 
 The walls were now hung round in deepest 
 black. 
 
 That hid the gorgeous arras underneath; 
 The crucifix in mourning, too, was veiled 
 At every hour, to remind the monks 
 Of Robert's sin, and Gregory's dr-ead curse 
 Upon fair France, their wicked King's estate. 
 Then, when Helgaut God's blessing had invoked 
 Upon til' assembled monks, and prayed for 
 light 
 
 Within their souls, to see the better path, 
 And do His will upon the cursed child. 
 The horrid thing deformed was brought before 
 The Council of the Priests, ^nd all around 
 In silence waited for the Abbot's words. 
 But ere he spoke the hangings of the door 
 Were waved aside, and there appeared without 
 A menial, a lay-brother, who then craved 
 Admission of the Abbot for a maid 
 Coming with some grave message from the 
 Queen. 
 
 Helgaut, with haste, a mantle black threw o'er 
 The child beside him, and then bade the monk 
 Bring forth the maiden to his presence there. 
 The monk obeyed, and entered with Gisele, 
 Still pale from nights of anxious watching late, 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 103 
 
 With delicate slight form, and white arms 
 crossed 
 
 Upon her bosom, o'er her robe of black, 
 With step all firm, but eyes upon the ground, 
 A pale-pink blush suffusing the pure cheek. 
 Up the long aisle, between the gazing priests, 
 Gisele advanced ; then, meekly bowing low, 
 She stood before the Abbot, nor dared speak 
 Until he bade her tell her mission there; 
 And then, with womanly, low, thrilling voice: 
 
 I come," she said, " to ask you, in the name 
 Of Bertha, Queen of France, some holy priest 
 To bless her little new-born infant prince, 
 A lovely babe all innocent of sin." 
 "A lovely babe," the cruel Abbot thought; 
 And then compared it with the child deformed 
 That lay concealed beside his chair of state. 
 And, suddenly, a thought flashed through his 
 brain, — 
 
 A fiendish thought, — and, then he said aloud, 
 " 'T is well, fair maid ! Myself will follow you 
 Unto the Queen, her little prince to bless. 
 And try to turn her from her sinful ways." 
 Then did he bid Gisele await without. 
 And called a few most trusty priests to him, 
 And, whispering with them, he left the hall ; 
 Then, with Gisele, he went unto the Queen. 
 
 Right glad was Bertha when she saw again 
 
104 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Another human face beneath her roof. 
 "Welcome!" she cried, "0 reverend father 
 here ; 
 
 I pray thee bless this little new-born babe, 
 And bear it to King Robert in thy arms, 
 And bid him bless it with a father's love." 
 But to her words the Abbot answered not. 
 And only murmured " Benedicite " 
 Over the innocent doomed babe, and took 
 Its passive form within his arms; and then 
 Did Bertha bid farewell unto her child. 
 With one long* kiss upon its angel brow. 
 The seal of all her new-born mother-love. 
 
 All solemnly Helgaut withdrew, and left 
 
 The chamber of the Queen, and then the hall. 
 
 And then essayed he not to find the King, 
 
 But stealthily he issued from the door. 
 
 And, bearing in his arms the infant prince. 
 
 Unseen he passed into the open air. 
 
 And wound his way unto the forest paths. 
 
 Right by the entrance of the wood there flowed 
 
 A little streamlet, narrow, and yet deep. 
 
 And over it the drooping grasses long 
 
 Made a green fringe, that hid it from the eye 
 
 Of the indiflPerent passer-by. But those 
 
 Who lived anear well knew the stream, and so 
 
 Helgaut crept slowly on until he reached 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 105 
 
 The deep blue waters of the little hrook. 
 That looked as though a sapphire from heaveu 
 Had falltui -mid the emerald- of earth. 
 Aud there, all -uddeuly. the priest >auk down 
 Ou oue kuee iu the smooth, greeu. velvet turf 
 That carpeted the Ixu'ders of the stream, 
 Aud. lookiug iu the Ijahe's >oft azure eyes. 
 He smiled a cruel suiile aud dropped the child, 
 Like a pale rose-leaf, ou the liowiug waves. 
 But LTrtcVv great gift of life already had 
 Growu dear, aud so oue ieeVdc cry awoke 
 The sleepiug echoes, but they died away. 
 Aud all was still. Aud theu the hahe aro^e 
 Aud floated dead upou the river's Ijreast, 
 Like a white lily oaliuly ou a lake. 
 Theu hastily the Abbot seized again 
 The little body floating out of reach, 
 Aud. Idudiug rouud its t'ovm a heavy stoue, 
 He let it drop ouce more, aud dowu it sauk. 
 Stirring the ripples for its re(|uiem. 
 The happy l:iird> sang ou their loving songs. 
 The azure sky smiled down upon the laud. 
 The green leaves of the trees, far overhead, 
 Still seemed to weave a delicate, flue lace. 
 With mingling of their trembling branches fair 
 Against the Idue of heaven, and -till the stream 
 Flowed on all gurgling low beneath the rocks. 
 Aud soft between the grass-euliued l:>auks. 
 In ripple, wave, and eddy flowed along, 
 
106 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And told not of that fragile burden small 
 
 That lay so far below, or, if it did, 
 
 It sang in such a tender, gentle tone. 
 
 That none could understand the words it spoke. 
 
 When all was quiet once again Helgaut 
 Arose and turned unto the old retreat. 
 The frowning monastery. Then, when he 
 Had passed the portal, with a mocking grace, 
 A "blessing on the inmates and the roof," 
 He entered the great Council Hall again, 
 Wliere all the monks were still awaiting him. 
 And took his seat upon the chair of state. 
 "Most worthy, reverend brethren," said he 
 then, 
 
 "Ye know that by the sinful Queen, erewhile, 
 I was besought to bless her new-born babe. 
 And that, in answer to her call, I went. 
 I went, my brothers, and she gave to me 
 Her child to bear unto the wicked King; 
 Then knowing our Father Gregory, 
 The holy Pope's commands, and holding more 
 The welfare of the soul than life, I bore 
 The babe from out that atmosphere of sin. 
 And then I drowned it in the passing stream. 
 And prayed to God it might not be too late 
 To save its soul. And now we all can take 
 This monster to the King, and say it is 
 The fruit of sinning Bertha; then will he 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 107 
 
 Believe this is a judgment on his liead, 
 And part from her at last ; and Gregory, 
 The Father of us all, will then, perchance, 
 Eeward our little service, and enrich 
 Our Order with some monastery new. 
 Then, too, we each will feel T^^thin our souls 
 That we have done what 's pleasing unto God, 
 And cleared from all pollution our vile King. 
 What say ye, 0 my brethren, unto this ? " 
 He ceased, and suddenly the cry burst forth, 
 " God bless our holy Abbot, good Helgaut, 
 And give him after death rich recompense 
 For all his pious deeds ! But Innocent 
 Alone, of all the monks, sighed low, and 
 groaned. 
 
 And cursed himself that he had saved the 
 child, 
 
 TMiile down his cheeks there coursed two silent 
 tears. 
 
 Alas, poor little prince of one short night, 
 Whose death has caused such bitter tears to 
 flow, 
 
 Thy life has been more blessed than some more 
 long ! 
 
 Then rose Helgaut and took the child deformed 
 Within his arms, and, with four other priests, 
 He bore it to the palace of the King, 
 And through the halls unto his chamber-door. 
 
108 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And then they entered all King Robert's room, 
 And found him praying, low upon his knees, 
 With fervor of devotion ; but he rose 
 With mingled looks of gladness and suprise, 
 At seeing once again, within his court, 
 New faces strange, and bid them welcome there, 
 And asked them what their mission was with 
 him. 
 
 Then first advanced the stern Helgaut, and held 
 Within his arms the loathsome child deformed. 
 And said, " 0 King, we come to clear you now 
 Of all pollution, for we bring to you 
 A sign and proof that you offend your God 
 By living with your most unlawful Queen. 
 For while she lay unconscious in her trance 
 She bore a babe, and this child is her fruit ! 
 Oh, pause awhile, and think upon your fate ! 
 The awful Thousandth Year doth now approach 
 When all the world shall die, and Earth resolve 
 Once more into that chaos whence she sprang. 
 The Lord will now judge every secret thing, 
 And every secret work, howe'er concealed. 
 If good or evil. Oh, beware, beware ! 
 Soon shall the silver cord, 0 King, be loosed. 
 The golden bowl be broken at the fount, 
 Man's flesh return to dust that erst it was, 
 Man's spirit to the God who gave it life. 
 For now the dreaded Thousandth Year is nigh. 
 And woe, 0 King, if thou dost disregard 
 
BERTHA. * 
 
 109 
 
 This proof of God's just anger at tliy deeds." 
 Aud, saving tliis, lie offered to the King 
 The hateful infant ; hut the King drew back 
 And groaned, and hid his face to see it not. 
 "Away I " cried he; "oh, torture me not tlins ! 
 I see, I see niy own sin and niv Queen's, 
 But still I cannot think this thing is hers. 
 Oh, see ve not the agony of mind 
 That I have suffered, and that wracks me now? 
 Oh, tell me, tell me that this is not hers ! " 
 "'Xay, nay," replied Helgant, "it is, in sooth, 
 The offspring of your Queen, and we will swear. 
 By all most sacred in this life or heaven. 
 That it is hers." "' Then swear," replied the 
 King, 
 
 " For my crazed mind refuseth to believe." 
 Then first Helgant, the Abbot, bowed, and made 
 The sign upon his bosom of the cross. 
 And murmured, "By the blessed blood of Christ 
 I swear this child is Bertha's and your own." 
 And then another came and swore by Heaven ; 
 And, lastly, did they all appeal to God, 
 And swear 't was Bertha's and King Robert's 
 child. 
 
 Then Robert groaned and wept and tore his 
 hair, 
 
 And cried " Alas ! God's anger smiteth me. 
 And I will part from her." Then said Helgant, 
 " Swear \v the Church ! " And then the King, 
 I swear."' 
 
110 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And then another cried, " Oh, swear by Christ." 
 And, in a low and broken voice, the King, 
 " I swear." And then the others said, " Oh, 
 swear 
 
 By God." And, broken by an anguished sob, 
 "I swear by God in heaven to part with her. 
 And never to behold her face again ! " 
 Then did the Brothers go from out the hall. 
 And leave King Robert with his mighty grief. 
 And when he found himself alone once more 
 He burst forth with a passionate despair, — 
 " Oh, must I part with thee, at last, my Queen, 
 And never see thy lovely face again. 
 And never hear thy low and thrilling voice, 
 Nor even bid thee now a last farewell? 
 Oh, must the tender light of those blue eyes 
 Forever vanish from my yearning sight. 
 And leave me dark and lo-nely ? Must that form 
 Which was to me the precious casket fair 
 That held all gems that made life bright for 
 me. 
 
 Forever disappear, now, like a dream 
 Of beauty and of joy? Despite the sin. 
 Despite God's judgment on us both, my Queen, 
 My noble Bertha, oh, I love thee still. 
 I love thee with a love more passionate. 
 More deep, more rich than e'er I loved before; 
 It swells up in my heart as though 'twould 
 burst 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 That feehle prisoiij small to hold so much. 
 0 Bertha, Bertha, yes, I love thee still. 
 Despite that hideous deformity, — 
 Thy fruit, thy gift to me. And eyen thou 
 Wilt deem my heart is faithless unto thee, 
 And thou wilt curse and hate me, 0 my Queen. 
 Ay, sooner that, still sooner would I haye 
 My harshness turn the loye that hurns within 
 Thy nohle heart for me, to deepest hate. 
 Than haye thee feel such pangs of fruitless loye 
 As I feel now." He ceased, and, rising slow, 
 He opened wide liis arms, and then he gave 
 A long, despairing, piercing cry that held 
 His soul, his passion, and his loye, and cried, 
 " Farewell, farewell foreyer ! " Then he fell 
 Exhausted, fainting, and unconscious, low 
 Upon his face, as though all life had fled. 
 
 Into the chamber of King Robert's queen 
 There entered, all alone, the Abbot graye, 
 Helgaut, who, walking on with solemn pace, 
 Stopped at her bedside, bending low to her. 
 Queen Bertha looked an instant at the priest. 
 Then cried, Where is my child? What harm 
 
 has come ? " 
 "What child?" .exclaimed the monk with 
 
 feigned surprise ; 
 " That hateful monster that you gaye to me. 
 To show unto tlie King? Oh, call you that 
 
112 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Your child and do not blush?" "No, no," 
 cried she,- 
 
 " My little cherub, my sweet, rosy child, 
 That you erewhile did take from out my arms. 
 Come, come, oh, mock me not with these vain 
 fears, 
 
 But give to me once more my lovely babe." 
 Then solemnly and slowly spoke the monk, — 
 "I know not of a lovely little babe; 
 I know no more than that you gave to me 
 A child malformed and hateful. Unto you, 
 I well can fancy, it seemed beautiful. 
 But to all others 't was a monster dread, 
 And e'en the King did find it horrible." 
 "Nay, nay," then cried the terror-stricken 
 Queen, 
 
 " It was no monster, cruel-hearted monk ; 
 And if it were, I '11 love it still the same, 
 And cherish it, and think it beautiful. 
 If you will but restore it unto me." 
 Then went the monk from out the chamber- 
 door. 
 
 And, entering again, he brought with him 
 The child deformed, and gave it to the Queen. 
 She looked at it a moment, then recoiled, 
 All wildly shrieking, " Give me back my babe. 
 For that is none of mine! Where is my boy?" 
 "Well knew I," said the monk, "that none 
 could be 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 113 
 
 E'er blinded unto such deformities. 
 This is the awful judgment of the Lord ; 
 For this, Queen Bertha, this child is your 
 own." 
 
 And then Queen Bertha rose upon her couch, 
 As though she had not heard his words, and 
 cried, — 
 
 " Where have you left my babe, oh, cruel 
 monk ? 
 
 If in your hard and rocky heart there be 
 One tender spot, oh, give me back my child ! 
 I see, I see, you would but raise my fears. 
 And make me doubly happy when you bring, 
 Once more, my little blooming child to me. 
 But mock no more, for see, I will go mad ! 
 Oh, say no longer that this thing is mine ! 
 Then wdll I pardon you the agony 
 You cause me now. Fear not, I '11 pardon all." 
 "Alas!" replied Helg'aut, with artful sigh, 
 •^'All gladly would I bring some little child. 
 With merry, laughing, pretty infant face, 
 And swear it was your own, if Truth were not 
 Above all else with me. But this child is 
 The same one that you gave me as your own. 
 And, as a proof that this is so, the King 
 Saw only God's just chastisement and wrath. 
 And bade me tell you, you must part from 
 him, 
 
 And leave at once his palace and his home, 
 8 
 
114 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 And nevermore behold his face again." 
 A moment since, all flushed and warm, she 
 stood 
 
 Beside her couch, while weeping bitter tears, 
 And with both arms outstretched, as though in 
 prayer ; 
 
 But now each tear rushed backward to its 
 source. 
 
 And froze upon her brain ; her arms dropped 
 down 
 
 Beside her form, the rosy color fled 
 From cheek and lip, and left no sign of life. 
 Save the quick gasp, the choking, painful 
 breath. 
 
 And one long shudder that ran o'er her frame. 
 Helgaut had looked for violence and tears. 
 And cursings and loud cries, but none such 
 came. 
 
 While one great tear coursed down her pallid 
 cheek. 
 
 With dry, wide-opened eyes she looked at him, 
 Nor spoke nor moved. Then a long sigh up- 
 heaved 
 
 Her snowy breast, and thus she spoke to him. 
 Not madly, but with low and saddened tone. 
 And slow as though all life and strength had 
 gone. 
 
 " Since Robert, since my noble lord, believes 
 That this thing is the child I bore to him, 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 115 
 
 I, also, now believe that it is mine, 
 For in all things I ever think with him." 
 And meekly did she how her queenly head, 
 And all again was silent. Then the monk : 
 "What parting message shall I give the King?" 
 Again, in low, soft tones, she answered him, — 
 " Tell Robert that his loyal Queen obeys 
 His least commands, and leaves his home to- 
 day." 
 
 She spoke so low and painfully, Helgaut 
 Feared each word was her last, but still essayed 
 One question more. '-This eliild, your child?" 
 said he. 
 
 Again, in soft and choking tones she spoke : 
 " Go, take it with you, tend and try to love. 
 And God will bless you ; but, oh, show it not 
 Unto my tearless eyes again. Xow go, 
 Put all your heart and passion and past youth 
 Into one word, and say it to the King, 
 And be that word 'Farewell."' The monk with- 
 drew. 
 
 And slowly went from out the royal halls. 
 Then, sinking down upon her couch again, 
 The Queen lay there all calm and pale and still. 
 And wept not, nor could pray, but only said, 
 " ' To leave at once his palace and his home, 
 And nevermore behold his face again.' " 
 And o'er and o'er repeated this, until 
 The words had lost all meaning in her ears. 
 
116 BERTHA. 
 
 Low ill the Western sky the full round sun 
 Was piercing with his darts of fire the clouds 
 Of purple and of gold around his throne, 
 And sinking all in glory to his rest; 
 While in the East there hung the pale-faced 
 moon, 
 
 Like a round silver mirror, burnished bright, 
 For the great sun, who saw his image there 
 Reflected palely in its polished disk. 
 Then twilight fell upon the busy earth, 
 And clothed with mystery each tree and bush ; 
 And, sparkling in the darkness, twinkled forth, 
 From out the azure mantle of the skies, 
 The diamond stars, erst hid within its folds. 
 All sounds died out upon the plain and hill. 
 Save the low cricket chirp, or the soft burr 
 Of grasshopper concealed beneath the leaves. 
 No more was heard upon the twilight air. 
 While France lay 'neath the Pope's dread in- 
 terdict. 
 
 The pealing of the mellow vesper-bell, 
 But all around was hushed in still repose. 
 Then, when the quiet of that peaceful hour, 
 On each and all had fallen, slowly forth. 
 From out the palace of the King of France, 
 There came a stately woman robed in black. 
 With such a pallid, calm, and saddened face. 
 With such great, yearning, tearless azure eyes, . 
 With such a fixed and vacant gaze, she seemed 
 
BERTHA. 
 
 117 
 
 The Angel of Despair upon this earth. 
 Her steps were slow, and often did she pause 
 For strength and breath before she could pursue 
 Her short, but wearisome and painful path, 
 That led unto the convent's gloomy walls, 
 Arising near the palace of the King. 
 And now she seemed so sad and faint and ill. 
 That scarcely could she reach the gate alone. 
 At length she came before the portal tall, 
 And, knocking there, a white-robed nun ap- 
 peared, 
 
 And asked her what she would in those old 
 
 walls. * 
 Then answered she, " I craye admission here 
 To wipe away my sin with prayers and tears, 
 For I am Bertha, once the Queen of France." 
 And when the gentle-hearted sisters heard 
 That she had been their good and noble Queen, 
 And found her thus in grief and misery, 
 They welcomed her within the convent walls, 
 And prayed for her, and spoke not of her sin. 
 But promised, on the morrow, she could take 
 The black veil of the nun, nor wait the time 
 That should expire in novitiate. 
 
 The little chapel of the convent old 
 Was lighted up with slender tapers bright. 
 The incense rose from waving censers full. 
 The great high altar was with flowers decked. 
 
♦ 
 
 118 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 When Bertha entered, robed right regally 
 In fairest white, with all her golden hair 
 Upon her snowy shoulders waving down, 
 And crowned now with a wreath of lilies pure, 
 That could not pierce her brain and wound her 
 heart. 
 
 As the rich crown of gold she erst had worn. 
 No color lighted up the marble cheek, 
 No tears had yet relieved the aching eyes. 
 But beautiful, surpassing earthly grace. 
 She looked, as slowly up the chapel-aisle. 
 And followed by the white-robed chanting nuns, 
 She walked unto the altar. There she fell 
 Before it prostrate on her face, and then 
 The sisters o'er her flung the great black veil 
 That covered all her form; and half the nuns. 
 In low and tender voices, chanted slow. 
 With musical soft tones, " Our sister 's dead." 
 And all the rest, in rich and thrilling voice, 
 That seemed to pierce the high and vaulted 
 roof. 
 
 Then chanted loud, ''Alive in Jesus Christ!" 
 And after this they went to raise the veil, 
 And lo ! the chants were true, for she was dead. 
 
TRANSLATION^ S. 
 
TEAXSLATIOXS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 SOXGS FROM HEIXRICH HEIXE. 
 I. 
 
 HOU fairest Fislier Maiden^ 
 Row thy boat to the laud; 
 Come here, we '11 sit together, 
 TMiisperiug hand iu hand. 
 
 Lay on my heart thy head, love, 
 And, dearest, fear not me ; 
 
 Thonghtless thon trustest daily 
 The wild and restless sea. 
 
 My heart is like the sea, dear, 
 With storm, and ehh, and flow, 
 
 And many a lovely pearl lies 
 Hid in the depths below. 
 
SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Lotus-flower trembles 
 Before tlie sun's gold light, 
 
 And, with her head low drooping, 
 Waits, dreamily, the night. 
 
 The Moon, he is her lover. 
 He wakes her with his light. 
 
 And unto him reveals she 
 Her flower-face so bright. 
 
 She blooms and glows and brightens, 
 
 And dumbly looks above ; 
 She weeps and sighs and trembles 
 
 With love and the woes of love. 
 
 III. 
 
 A LITTLE star fell down once 
 From its silver throne above ; 
 
 I saw it falling downwards, — 
 It was the star of Love. 
 
 And many leaves and flowers 
 Fell down from the apple-tree; 
 
 There came the fresh young breezes 
 And toyed with them playfully. 
 
SOXGS FROM HEIXRICH HEIXE. 
 
 123 
 
 There sang a swau on the lakelet, 
 Rowing calm upon the wave, 
 
 And, ever softly singing, 
 Dived in his watery grave. 
 
 Flower and leaf are vanished, 
 And darkness shrouds the hill ; 
 
 The star has, crackling, fallen, 
 And the song of the swan is still. 
 
 IT. 
 
 LoTELT, clear, and golden star. 
 Greet my loved one from afar; 
 
 Tell her what I tell to you, — 
 
 That I ^m heart-sick, pale, and true. 
 
 T. 
 
 Friendship, Love, the Stone of Wisdom, 
 Heard I praised in every spot; 
 
 And I praised them, too, and sought them. 
 But, alas ! I found them not. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Sapphiees are thy little eyes, 
 So lovely and so sweet ; 
 
124 SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 Oh, three times happy is the man 
 Whom they with love will greet. 
 
 Thy heart it is a diamond 
 That overflows with light; 
 
 Oh, three times happy is the man 
 For whom it glows so bright. 
 
 Red rubies are thy lovely lips, — 
 
 No fairer can man press; 
 Oh, three times happy is the man 
 
 For whom they love confess. 
 
 I only know that happy man, 
 
 I saw him roaming last, 
 Alone and sad, the forest green ; 
 
 His happiness soon past. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 *^Sat, w^here is thy little loved one, 
 That thou sang of, erst, so well. 
 As a flame that through thy heart, once, 
 Pierced with wondrous, magic spell ? " 
 
 Every flame must be extinguished. 
 And my heart is cold above; 
 
 And this little book the urn is 
 For the ashes of my love. 
 
SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 125 
 
 VIII. 
 
 You liave merrv friends this evening, 
 
 The house is full of light; 
 There moves a darksome shadow 
 
 Across the windows bright. 
 
 In the dark thou canst not see me, 
 
 I stay here all alone; 
 Still less canst thou peer into 
 
 My heart, so sad and lone. 
 
 My sad, lone heart, it loves thee, 
 And brightens, loving thee; 
 
 It glows and pants and blossoms, 
 Only thou wilt not see. 
 
 IX. 
 
 How fragrant breathes the red carnation ! 
 
 How the stars, a swarm on high 
 Of golden bees, all brightly glimmer 
 
 In the violet-blue sky. 
 
 Through the chestnut trees' dark shadows 
 Shines the cottage white and fair ; 
 
 And I hear the glass-door clicking, 
 And thy voice floats on the aij.*. 
 
SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 Friendly 4remblings, loving tremblings, 
 Fearful, fond embraces bring; 
 
 And the little roses listen, 
 
 And the nightingales they sing. 
 
 X. 
 
 Fleeting kisses, shadow-life, 
 Love in darkened shadow too; 
 
 Think'st thou all remains, Coquette, 
 Unchanged e'er, and ever true ? 
 
 What we lovingly possessed 
 
 Disappeared, like dream so deep, 
 
 And the hearts they have forgotten. 
 And the eyes have gone to sleep. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The dreaming water-lily 
 
 From the lake looks up above. 
 
 The moon looks down upon her 
 All full of the woes of love. 
 
 Ashamed, she droops her head, then 
 Again in the waves so blue. 
 
 And lo ! at her feet she sees there 
 The lover so pale and true. 
 
SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 127 
 
 XII. 
 
 Upon my loved one's little eyes 
 
 I wrote my sweetest song; 
 Upon my loved one's little cheeks 
 
 I wrote fair verses long. 
 As for my loved one's little mouth, 
 
 I wrote a stanza on it ; 
 And, if my loved one had a heart, 
 
 I 'd write for it a sonnet. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The rose and the lily, the sun and the dove, 
 I loved all these once, with an equal love. 
 I loved not one more, but I loved alone 
 The little, the fine one, the pure one, the one. 
 And, now, you yourself are worth all this 
 love, — 
 
 You're the rose and the lily, the sun and the 
 dove. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 That thou lovest me well knew I, 
 
 I saw it long ago; 
 And yet, when you confessed it. 
 
 It frightened me to know. 
 
SONGS FROM HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 I stood upon the mountain 
 And sang so merrily; 
 
 All in the lovely sunset 
 I wept upon the sea. 
 
 My heart is like the sun, dear, 
 So flaming" and so light. 
 
 And in a sea of love, deep. 
 It sinketh great and bright. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I BELIEVE not in the Heaven 
 Of which the Prophets write, 
 
 But only in thy little eyes; 
 They are my Heaven-light. 
 
 I believe not in the Lord God, 
 Of whom so much they cry; 
 
 But only in thy heart, love, — 
 No other God have I. 
 
 I believe not in the wicked 
 In Hell, and all Hell's smart 
 
 But only in thy little eyes. 
 And in thy wicked heart. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 SONG FROM ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 WAS the hour of eve, the mysterious 
 hour, 
 
 Wheu, suspending its wing. 
 The nightingale, seated on some lonely flower, 
 Commences to sing. 
 
 'T was the hour of eye, ^t was the hour so 
 graye, 
 
 'T was the noiseless twilight, 
 When the drooping rose sends o'er the mur- 
 muring waye 
 Incense rich to the night. 
 
 The air ceased to sigh, and the water to flow. 
 Whilst everything heard — 
 
 E'en the silvery star with its quivering glow — 
 The song of the bird. 
 
130 
 
 SONG FROM ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 He said to the rose, "Wliy, oli, blossom so fair. 
 
 Dost thou bloom but at night?" 
 And she said, "Why dost offer thy song to the 
 air 
 
 But in the starlight?" 
 
 And he answered, " My song is but for the 
 flower 
 
 That blooms in the night." 
 She, "My scent for the bird that sings at the 
 hour 
 
 Of lovely twilight." 
 
 In a mystery sweet, then, those words full of 
 love. 
 
 Did blend that calm hour; 
 And the morn found the bird — no longer 
 above — 
 By the deep-blushing flower. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF 
 VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 REASSURING SIGHT. 
 
 All is gladness, all is light, 
 
 The spider, at a busy pace, 
 To the silken tulips bright 
 
 Fastens his round silver lace. 
 
 Now the dragon-fly admires 
 
 The bright globes of his sparkling eye 
 In the splendid pond, where swarms 
 
 A whole world full of mystery. 
 
 The rose, grown young again, now seems 
 To join with the pink bud so bright; 
 
 The bird sings, full of harmony. 
 In the green branches full of light. 
 
 He praises thus the soul's great God, 
 Who, ever seen by all hearts true, 
 
 Makes dawn a pupil bright of flame, 
 For the fair sky an eye of blue. 
 
REASSURING SIGHT. 
 
 In tlie dark woods, where all is hushed, 
 The timid peacock plays and dreams : 
 
 And in fair caskets green of moss, 
 Like living gold, the May-bug gleams. 
 
 The moon by day is warm and pale, 
 Like convalescent, full of mirth; 
 
 Uncloseth she her opal eyes. 
 
 Whence heaven's sweetness comes to earth. 
 
 The gilly-flower, with the bee. 
 
 Caresses, kissing, the old wall; 
 The furrow warm awakens gay. 
 
 Moved by the germ beneath it all. 
 
 All lives, and rises now with grace 
 
 The sun upon the cottage sill. 
 The shadow on the passing wave. 
 
 The blue sky on the em'rald hill. 
 
 The plain shines happy, now, and pure, 
 The woods prate, and the grass, too, grows. 
 
 Man, fear thou naught, for Nature smiles. 
 And Nature the great secret knows. 
 
 April 1st, 1865. 
 
TO THEE! 
 
 Since each soul here must give 
 
 To some one name, 
 Its perfumes or its songs, 
 
 Or else its flame : 
 
 Since each heart that on earth 
 
 Does throb and live, 
 Its rose or thorn to Love 
 
 Must ever give : 
 
 Since April gives the oak 
 
 A rustling noise. 
 Since night to grief gives sleep, — 
 
 The best of joys : 
 
 Since air gives to the branch 
 
 The birdling blue. 
 And dawn gives to the flower 
 
 A little dew: 
 
 Since, when it comes at last 
 To rest in bliss. 
 
134 
 
 TO THEE! 
 
 The sad wave to the shore 
 Does give a kiss : 
 
 I give thee, at this hour, 
 
 Inclined o'er thee, 
 The best and truest thing 
 
 I have in me. 
 
 Receive then, love, my thoughts, 
 
 E'er sad with fears ; 
 That reach thee like the dew 
 
 Embalmed in tears. 
 
 Receive, dear, all my vows. 
 
 And all my praise; 
 The shadow or the light 
 
 Of all my days. 
 
 My transports full of love. 
 
 And void of wrongs, 
 And all the tender words 
 
 Of all my songs. 
 
 My mind, that without sail 
 Floats on with chance. 
 
 And knows no other star 
 Than thy bright glance. 
 
TO THEE! 
 
 135 
 
 My muse, too, that the hours 
 
 Now cradle soft, 
 That, weeping when thou weep'st, 
 
 Does weep full oft. 
 
 Receive, clear, all my wealth 
 
 From Heaven above; 
 My heart, where naught remains 
 
 Without its love ! 
 
 April 2d, 1865. 
 
SONG. 
 
 If there be a charming spot. 
 
 All wet with little showers, 
 Where, in every season, bloom 
 
 Some sweetly- budding flowers; 
 Where we pluck whatever grows, — 
 
 Lily, honeysuckle, rose; 
 I will make the pathway there, 
 
 Where thy foot, dear, can repose! 
 
 If there be a loving breast 
 
 Of which Honor doth dispose. 
 And whose firm devotion ne'er 
 
 Has aught sombre or morose ; — 
 If this noble breast does beat 
 
 With some purpose good and meet, 
 I will make the cushion there. 
 
 Where thy brow, dear, can repose ! 
 
 If there be a dream of love, 
 All perfumed with a rose, 
 
SOXG. 
 
 137 
 
 "Wliere one finds that every day 
 
 Sometliiiig good and worthy grows, — 
 
 A dream that God has blest, 
 Where soul with soul may rest, 
 
 I will make of it the nest 
 
 Where thy heart, dear, can repose! 
 
 April :th, 1865. 
 
TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Thou seest, my child, that I bow nie to God; 
 Do like me, leave the world; bear Him ever in 
 mind. 
 
 Be happy here ? no ! Be triumphant ? still less ! 
 ^ Be resigned ! 
 
 Be good e'er and pure, and a pious brow raise, 
 And as day in the sky its flame does unroll; 
 So thou, oh, my child, in the blue of thine eyes 
 Put thy soul. 
 
 No man here can triumph or happily live ; 
 The hour's a thing incomplete, — but a shade; 
 The hour 's a shadow, — of that our life 
 Must be made. 
 
 Of his fate every man is aweary at heart. 
 To be happy on earth, in this life full of pain. 
 All we need we 're without, and that all only 
 means 
 
 Trifles vain. 
 
TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 139 
 
 These trifles, they are what each mau for his 
 part, 
 
 In the universe seeks aud desires the while, — 
 A word or a name, or some gohl, a sweet look, 
 Or a smile ! 
 
 The niio'litv crowned kino^ without love has no ■ 
 
 joy; — 
 
 Without one drop of dew is the desert immense; 
 And Life is a well where the void ever must 
 Kecommence. 
 
 See these thinkers, my child, that we deify so, 
 See these heroes, with brows e'er resplendent 
 and l)right 
 
 Above us. whose horizons, all dark, they illume' 
 With their light. 
 
 After having, like torches with flashing bright 
 flame. 
 
 Dazzled all by their rays that never can fade. 
 They have gone now to seek, in the depths of 
 the tomb, 
 
 Grateful shade. 
 
 Heaven knows our sorrows, aud knows our 
 woes, 
 
 Taketh pity on our vain days full of fears, 
 
140 TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 And each morning it bathes our fair golden 
 dawns 
 
 With its tears. 
 
 God enliglitens us all here, at every new step, 
 On what He himself is, and what we are then; 
 A law comes from things here below on this 
 earth, 
 
 And from men. 
 
 To this holy law, dear, every soul should con- 
 form : 
 
 It is this, — it may easily be reached, too, by 
 all,— 
 
 Hate nothing, my child, love all here, or else 
 Pity all! 
 
 May 1th, 1865. 
 
WHAT THE TWO CAVALIERS WERE THINK- 
 ING OF IN THE FOREST. 
 
 The heavens were black, in the wood was no 
 light; 
 
 At my side Hermann seemed like a shade of 
 the night; 
 
 Our horses sped on, but few were our words ; 
 The clouds in the heaven resembled fair marble, 
 The stars, through the trees where was hushed 
 
 every warble. 
 Fled like swarms of fiery birds. 
 
 Broken down by a grief with which no man 
 could cope. 
 
 The great mind of Hermann was void of all 
 hope. 
 
 I was full of regrets, but my sorrows reposed. 
 Then, in crossing the woods in the night's 
 
 darksome glooms, 
 Hermann said, " I am thinking of half-opened 
 
 tombs." 
 
 And I said, "I am thinking of those that are 
 closed." 
 
142 THE TWO CAVALIERS. 
 
 Hermann ever looks forward, I ever look back; 
 Our horses sped on in tlie forest's dark track; 
 Then the angelus rang* from the far distant 
 shore. 
 
 Of all those who are, of all those who must live." 
 He said, " I am thinking of those who must 
 strive, 
 
 And I said, I am thinking of all those no 
 more." 
 
 The founts sang; we knew not what words the 
 
 founts spoke. 
 The oak talked; we knew not what murmured 
 
 the oak; 
 
 Every bush with another talked like an old 
 friend. 
 
 Hermann said, "Ne'er the woes of the living 
 can end ; 
 
 At this moment eyes watch, and other eyes 
 weep." 
 
 And I answered, " Alas ! and still other eyes 
 sleep." 
 
 Hermann said, " Earthly life here is nothing 
 but woe ; 
 
 Oh, I sigh for the grave, where the happy 
 dead go ; 
 
 Where the grass grows, and all the sweet 
 flowers can bloom. 
 
THE TWO CAVALIERS. 143 
 
 Tliey all are caressed by tlie flames of tlie 
 night ; 
 
 All the souls there are calmed by the sky full 
 of light, 
 
 At the same time in every tomb." 
 
 And I answered, " Respect for the dark mys- 
 tery ! 
 
 'IN'eatli our feet, in the earth, the dead sleeping 
 lie ; 
 
 They 're the hearts that once loved thee, the 
 
 hearts of thy choice, — 
 Thy father, thy mother, thy angel now dead. 
 With thy irony dark, mock them never ! " I 
 
 said, 
 
 ' For as if through a dream they hear our 
 voice." 
 
 May VZth, 1865. 
 
AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 Now that Paris, its streets, and its temples, 
 and noise, 
 
 And its mists and its roofs are afar from mine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 That I sit me heneath the cool shade of the 
 trees, 
 
 And can dream of the heauty and light of the 
 skies ; 
 
 Now that, pale hut triumphant, this hour I can 
 
 From my sorrow depart, 
 And can feel the sweet peace of all Nature so 
 grand, 
 
 ' That doth enter my heart ; 
 
 Now that, moved hy the gorgeous horizon all 
 still. 
 
 As I sit on the shore, here, and see the waves 
 pass, 
 
 I can look at the truths that lie deep in my 
 heart. 
 
 And the flowerets blooming so fair in the grass. 
 
AT VILLEQUIER. 145 
 
 And again, oli, mv God, tliat I feel this sad 
 calm, 
 
 That I can, from this day, 
 See this stone with mine eyes, where I know, 
 in the gloom, 
 That she sleepeth for aye. 
 
 Xow that, softened and moved by these sights 
 so divine, 
 
 Plains and forests, rocks, Talleys, and silvery rill. 
 As my nothingness, God, and thy greatness I 
 see, 
 
 I can bow me all humbly l)efore thy dread will. 
 
 I now come to thee. Father, whom all must 
 b eh eve, 
 And I bring, as a token, 
 The crushed fragments, 0 God, of my heart 
 full of love. 
 Of the heart thou hast broken. 
 
 Yes, I come to thee, God, and confess that 
 thou art 
 
 Good and clement, indulgent and mild ; in my 
 grief 
 
 I acknowledge that thou knowest alone what 
 thou dost. 
 
 And that man here is naught but a frail trem- 
 bling leaf. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 The tomb slmts on tlie dead, but it opes on the 
 sky 
 
 That above us doth bend; 
 And in life the beginning of all is but that 
 Which we take for the end. 
 
 Thou possessest the real, the absolute, all ! 
 On my knees I submit, with thy glory now 
 filled. 
 
 Oh, I feel it is good, and I feel it is just, 
 That my heart should have bled thus, since God 
 had so willed. 
 
 I no longer resist aught that comes from thy 
 hand. 
 
 For I know that our soul 
 Doth from grief unto grief, man from shore 
 unto shore, 
 To eternity roll. 
 
 On this earth we can only see one side of all; 
 The rest 's plunged in the night of a mystery 
 great. 
 
 Man submits to the yoke without knowing the 
 cause, — 
 
 All he sees here is short, and is useless and 
 fleet. 
 
 Thou dost ever make solitude follow his steps, — 
 Never gladness nor mirth ! 
 
AT VILLEQUIER. 147 
 
 And tliou wiliest not that we slioulcl certainty 
 have^ 
 
 Nor bliss on this earth. 
 
 For as soon as one joy man possesses in life, 
 Fate doth snatch it away. Oh, thou great God 
 above. 
 
 Thou hast given him naught that he ever may 
 say,— 
 
 "Here, now, this is my home, and my fields, 
 and my love ! " 
 
 We can look but a moment at all that we see, 
 We grow old with no shield. 
 
 Since these things are, 0 God, 't is because 
 they must he, — 
 I yield, yes, I yield ! 
 
 Earth is darksome, 0 Lord, and thy harmony 
 grand. 
 
 Is composed, too, of sobs, e'en as well as of 
 song. 
 
 Man 's an atom in all of this infinite gloom, — 
 Gloom, where pure souls ascend, where fall 
 those who do wrong. 
 
 Oh, I know indeed well thou hast else to do 
 God, 
 
 Than to pity us all; 
 
148 AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 That a child here who dies, its poor mother's 
 despair 
 Is to thee naught at all. 
 
 And I know the fruit falls to the wind that 
 doth blow; 
 
 The bird loses its feather, its perfume the 
 flower ; 
 
 And Creation is only a great giant wheel. 
 That can move not without crushing some every 
 hour. 
 
 Months and days, Ocean's waves, and the eyes 
 that weep, pass 
 'Neath the sky at thy nod; 
 And the grass here must grow, and the children 
 must die, — 
 Oh, I know it, my God. 
 
 In thy skies, far beyond the vast sphere of the 
 clouds. 
 
 In that motionless heaven our eyes cannot 
 scan ; 
 
 Oh, perhaps there unknown things thou mak- 
 
 est, of which 
 E'er one element must be, — the sorrow of man. 
 
 And perhaps 'tis of use to thy purposes great. 
 Thou should'st .ever take back 
 
AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 149 
 
 Cherished souls, that seem borne by the whirl- 
 wind so dread, 
 Of this earth's events black. 
 
 Our destinies dark thou dost rule by great 
 laws, 
 
 That naught e'er disconcerts, and that nothing 
 can move; 
 
 And thou canst not, 0 God, sudden clemencies 
 have, 
 
 That derange the whole world. All is fixed 
 there above. 
 
 I implore thee, 0 God, to look into my soul, 
 Low before thee struck dumb ; 
 
 For as humble as infant, and mild as a maid, 
 To adore thee I come. 
 
 IS'ow consider I had from the dawn, oh, my 
 God, 
 
 Walked, thought, worked, and struggled all day 
 
 for the right; 
 Explaining to man all thy works he knows not, 
 And illuming all things with thy great divine 
 
 light; 
 
 That I had here, defying man's hatred and 
 wrath, 
 Done my duty to thee ; 
 
150 
 
 AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 That I could not expect then, these wages, 
 0 God; 
 That I could not foresee 
 
 That thou, too, on my trembling and bent 
 
 mortal head, 
 Should strike me thus low with thy chastening 
 
 rod ; 
 
 And that thou, who could' st see e'er how small 
 was my joy. 
 
 So soon should take from me my child, oh, my 
 God! 
 
 A soul thus struck down must full often com- 
 plain, — 
 I blasphemed even thee; 
 And I threw thee my cries like a child who 
 casts out 
 A stone into the sea. 
 
 When we suffer, consider, 0 God, that we 
 doubt, — 
 
 Eyes that weep too much finish in blindness at 
 length, — 
 
 That a soul, plunged by grief in the deepest 
 
 abyss, 
 
 Wlien it sees thee no more cannot bow 'neath 
 thy strength. 
 
AT VILLEQUIER. . 151 
 
 And man cannot, 0 Lord, when lie founders 
 and sinks 
 In Grief's ocean so deep, 
 In his mind, of thy grand constellations nn- 
 ^ - moved. 
 
 The serenity keep. 
 
 To-day, I who was weak as a mother before, 
 I fall low at thy feet, like a reed in the wind; 
 And I feel lighted now, in my deep, hitter 
 grief, 
 
 By the glance full of love I have cast on man- 
 kind. 
 
 Man is crazy to murmur, for thou, in thy 
 hands, 
 
 Dost his destiny keep. 
 I no longer accuse, I no longer blaspheme, — - 
 
 But, 0 God, let me weep ! 
 
 Alas ! now from mine eyes let the sad tears 
 e'er flow, 
 
 Since 't is only for that thou createst man 
 here. 
 
 Let me bend me, 0 Lord, now, above this cold 
 stone. 
 
 And say soft to my cliild^ " Do you feel I am 
 near ? " 
 
152 
 
 AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 Let me speak to her, over her grave thus in- 
 clined, 
 
 And her eyes may tlien shine, 
 As if, in the still night, she could hear my low 
 words, — 
 This sweet angel of mine ! 
 
 Alas ! e'er turning thus on the Past my sad eyes. 
 Naught consoles me on earth when my thoughts 
 
 backward stray; 
 I can see but that hour, in all of my life. 
 When she opened her wings, and then flew 
 
 far away. 
 
 Yes, that moment will e'er be before me till 
 death. 
 
 When for aye joy was o'er; 
 When I cried, This fair child that this instant 
 was mine. 
 What ! I have her no more ! " 
 
 Feel no anger, ♦O God, that I ever should 
 grieve. 
 
 So long has this wound bled no peace can I 
 find ; 
 
 And my soul's anguish now, is as strong as at 
 first. 
 
 Though my heart doth submit, it can ne'er be 
 resigned. 
 
AT A^LLEQriER. 
 
 153 
 
 Feel uo auger, ve brows that to sorrow be- 
 long, 
 
 Mortals ever in tears ! 
 *T is not well for us always to tear our souls 
 From these griefs and these fears. 
 
 Only look ! our children we need veiy much ; 
 Oh, my God, when we see in our life one fair 
 morn. 
 
 In the midst of our troubles and woes and the 
 shade, 
 
 Oui' destiny makes, when we see a child born ; 
 
 A sweet infant, a loved and a sacred young 
 head. 
 
 With its bright smiling eyes ; 
 So fair that we think, at its birth, thou hast 
 then 
 
 Oped a door of the skies. 
 
 When we see sixteen years, this our other self, 
 bloom, 
 
 With endearments, from which we ne'er dream 
 
 we must part ; 
 When we see that this child we so tenderly 
 
 love, 
 
 Makes the light of our house, and makes day 
 in our heart ; — 
 
154 
 
 AT VILLEQUIER. 
 
 That this joy is, of all of the joys we have 
 dreamed, 
 
 The sole one that will stay; — 
 Then consider, 0 God, 'tis a very sad thing 
 
 To see this go away ! 
 
 May 20th, 1865. 
 
THREE YEAHS AFTER. 
 
 It is time for me to rest, 
 
 I can do naught now, but weep ; 
 
 Do not speak to me of aught, 
 
 Save dark shadows where they sleep. 
 
 What e'er could I recommence ? 
 
 Xow I only ask — God knows — 
 Of Creation, all immense, 
 
 Some calm silence and repose. 
 
 TVliy thus call me back again ? 
 
 I have done my task aright; 
 He who worked before the dawn 
 
 Can go rest before the night. 
 
 At Jbut twenty years mine eyes, 
 
 Eyer bent upon the grass, 
 Were allowed no more on earth 
 
 To behold my mother pass. 
 
156 
 
 THREE YEARS AFTER. 
 
 Then she left us for the tomb, 
 And you know well that to-day 
 
 I am seeking, in this gloom, 
 One more angel flown away. 
 
 You now know that I despair; 
 
 That no longer am I mild. 
 And, as father, that I weep, 
 
 Who did weep so much as child. 
 
 You all say my work 's not o'er, 
 Adam-like, first exiled one, 
 
 I behold my fate so stern, 
 
 And see well that I have done. 
 
 The sweet child God tore away 
 Helped me merely in her love; 
 
 'T was my joy to see her gaze 
 Up at me, so far above. 
 
 If God would not end the task 
 For which ever I did strive. 
 
 If He wishes me to work, 
 He need only let her live. 
 
 He need only let me live. 
 With my daughter, fair to see. 
 
 In this bliss, where I e'er saw 
 Lights all full of mystery, — 
 
THREE YEAES AETER. 
 
 157 
 
 Dazzling lights from other spheres. 
 
 God, thou sellest wisdom dear ! 
 Why didst take from me the light 
 
 That I had in this Kfe here ? 
 
 Didst thou think. 0 ]\[aster dread, 
 
 Seeing Thee from day to day. 
 This fair child T saw no more, 
 
 And she well might go awav ? 
 
 Didst Thou think that man — vain shade — 
 His heart loses here, in sooth, 
 
 When that splendor dark he sees. 
 That we name in this world Truth ? 
 
 Thou could'st strike, he 'd feel it not, 
 His heart 's dead, v^dthout one bliss ? 
 
 That, by looking on the gulf, 
 He 's within but an abyss ? 
 
 That he '11 go where he is sent. 
 Coldly, hieath the heavens blue '? 
 
 With no longer any joys, 
 
 He can have no sorrows, too ? 
 
 That a tender soul to Thee 
 
 Opes, to s^iut more close its door 
 
 And that those who 'd understand, 
 End by loving here no more ? 
 
THEEE YEARS AFTER. 
 
 Didst thou truly think, 0 God, 
 I preferred, beneath, the skies. 
 
 Thy dread glory's awful ray, 
 To the sweet light of her eyes? 
 
 Had I known that here below, 
 By thy stern laws, without ruth. 
 
 To one mind thou givest not 
 
 These things, — Happiness and Truth, 
 
 I thy veils would not have raised. 
 Seeking, pure heart with no mirth, 
 
 To see Thee beyond the stars, 
 Oh dark God of a dark earth ! 
 
 No, I should have, far from thee. 
 Kept a straight road, calm and mild, 
 
 Glad to be an unknown man. 
 Passing, leading on a child. 
 
 To be left by all I wish. 
 
 Fate has conquered, I depart; 
 
 What all would ye light again 
 In the gloom that fills my heart? 
 
 Ye who speak to me, now say 
 
 That I must be strong and proud; 
 
 Toward the far horizon's light 
 I must lead the falt'ring crowd. 
 
THREE YEARS AETER. 
 
 And when people all arise^ — 
 An aim thinkers have, alas ! — 
 
 Thev belong to those who dream, 
 They belong to those who pass. 
 
 That a soul with fires pnre, 
 
 Should then hasten with its light, 
 
 Of earth's ages yet to come. 
 The sublime enlightening bright ; 
 
 That, true hearts, we must take part, 
 Without fearing wave or winds. 
 
 In the feasts of new things now. 
 In the struggles of great minds. 
 
 Ye see tears upon my cheeks. 
 
 And accost me in strange tongue^ 
 
 As a man would moye and shake 
 One who sleeps too late and long. 
 
 But, oh think of what ye do ! 
 
 This fair angel in the gloom^ 
 When ye call me to your feasts, 
 
 May feel cold there in her tomb. 
 
 Perhaps, pale and liyid, then, 
 She says, softly, as of old, — - 
 
 " Does my father now forget 
 
 To come here, that I 'm so cold ? • ' 
 
THREE YEARS AFTER. 
 
 What ! when scarce I can resist 
 Mem'ries sad that make me dumb; 
 
 When I 'm broken, weary, faint. 
 
 When I hear her whisper, " Come ! " 
 
 What ! you wish me to desire 
 
 All earth's fragile, useless joys ; — 
 
 Praise that follows poets here, 
 And the paladin's loud noise ! 
 
 And you wish me to aspire 
 
 To bright triumphs, when I cope 
 
 With my fate, and dawn announce 
 To weak dreamers, crying " Hope ! " 
 
 In the struggle's heat you wish, 
 
 'Midst strong brows, to see my head ; 
 
 On the starry vault mine eyes ! 
 
 Oh ! dark grass, where lie the dead/ 
 
 June 2d, 1865. 
 
ABIDE IN HOPE. 
 
 Where on earth thou spread'st thy tent, 
 
 As night falleth from above, 
 Do not ever ask for Joy, 
 
 But content thyself with Love. 
 
 Man 's a tree whose sap doth fail 
 Ere he's in his flower and pride; 
 
 And his fate is ne'er worked out, 
 Save on Sorrow's gloomy side. 
 
 All seek Joy together here. 
 
 And to all, Hope smileth bright; 
 
 Each extends a trembling hand 
 To some object far, of light. 
 
 But to each soul, meek or proud. 
 
 Woe mounts, ere its course he notes, 
 
 Like a ghost with feet of stone, — 
 All the rest, here, vaguely floats. 
 11 
 
ABIDE IN HOPE. 
 
 We have iianglit on earth but Grief, — 
 Bliss, for weeping mankind here, 
 
 Is a fleeting image vain 
 
 Of the things that are elsewhere. 
 
 Hope 's the dim, uncertain dawn 
 On our end ; 't is, as we see. 
 
 Like the gilding, bright and fair, 
 Of a ray of mystery. 
 
 The reflection, mist, or flame 
 That e'er poureth from on high. 
 
 In its calm, upon our souls. 
 All the joy of the blue sky. 
 
 'Tis the lovely visions white. 
 That e'er see man's cursed eyes 
 
 Through the branches, waving fair, 
 Of the trees of Paradise. 
 
 'Tis the shade upon our strand 
 
 That these lovely trees e'er throw. 
 Of which, in its dreams, the soul 
 • Hears the rustling, soft and low. 
 
 This reflection, pale of bliss. 
 We call Joy upon this sod; 
 
 And we would the shadow seize, 
 While the thing belongs to God. 
 
ABIDE IN HOPE. 
 
 163 
 
 Away ! none can rise so high ; 
 
 God will still on earth man keep. 
 We may smile at what we dream, 
 
 But o'er what we have we weep. 
 
 Since a God at Calv'ry hied, 
 
 Murmur not, weak man or child. 
 
 Suffer ! 'T is the .law severe, — 
 Love ! It is the dictate mild. 
 
 Let us love ! Be two ! The wise 
 Ne'er alone is in his bark. 
 
 The two eyes e'er make the face; 
 The two wings e'er make the lark. 
 
 Be united ! All invites 
 
 To Love, ere with Fate we cope; 
 Let us have here but one Life ! 
 
 Let us have here but one Hope ! 
 
 In this lying world I 'd love 
 All the grief that e'er was mine ; 
 
 If my visions were thy dreams. 
 If my tears were only thine ! 
 
 June &th, 1865. 
 
NIGHTS IN JUNE. 
 
 When in summer daj^ flees, the plain covered 
 
 with flowers, 
 Sweetest perfumes exhales, that its blossoms 
 
 e'er keep; 
 
 With closed eyes, and with ears but half oped 
 
 to the noise, 
 Then we only sleep half with a transparent 
 
 sleep. 
 
 The stars seem more pure, and the shadow 
 more soft, 
 
 A vague twilight illumes the eternal dome 
 high. 
 
 And Dawn, mild and pale, while awaiting her 
 hour. 
 
 Seems to wander all night on the edge of the 
 sky. 
 
 June m, 1865. 
 
EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 Neae the fislier in the dark, 
 While we both, as daylight flies, 
 Slowly wander in our bark. 
 And to frail man's song we hark. 
 And the mighty wave's low sighs; 
 
 'Neath the shadow of the sail. 
 As we sit us now both down ; 
 While thy fair face thou dost veil, 
 And thy glance, from the stars pale, 
 Seems to bring all bright rays down ; 
 
 When what Nature now doth hide, 
 We can neither read the while, 
 Tell me, oh, my lovely bride. 
 Why my sad heart erst low sigli'd ? 
 Why thine angel brow doth smile? 
 
 Say, why like a bitter bowl, 
 
 E'en though brought thus near to thee, 
 
 Do sad thoughts now fill my soul? 
 
EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 ^Tis that I see dark waves roll, 
 And bright heaven thou dost see. 
 
 'Tis that I see billows dread, 
 Thou the mystic stars so bright, 
 And all lost and sore afraid, 
 Alas ! I but mark the shade, 
 While thou only see'st the light. 
 
 Each one, — 'tis the law supreme, — . 
 To the end, rows on in pain. 
 Not one man, — oh, fatal scheme ! — 
 Tills and sows not, does it seem. 
 Upon something here in vain. 
 
 Man is on a wave that sighs. 
 And the storm-wind tears his cape; 
 He rows on beneath night's skies. 
 And bright hope, before his eyes. 
 Through the boat's chinks doth escape. 
 
 Tempests tear his sail away, — 
 It is tattered even now; 
 On his path the waters play. 
 And obstructions in his way 
 Foam up ever at the prow, 
 
 Alas ! all works here below, 
 'Neath thine eyes, God far away ! 
 
EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 On whatever side we go 
 
 Doth some shudd'ring wavelet flow. 
 
 And some man goes sad away. 
 
 Where dost thou go ? To the Mght ! 
 Where goest thou P To Day above ! 
 ThoiiP I seek if Doubt be right! 
 Thou ? Toward glory do I move ! 
 And thou, too ? I go to Love ! 
 
 No ! ye all go to the tomb ! 
 To the unknown, dreaded bourn. 
 Vulture, eagle, dove, midst gloom, 
 Wliere all fall on earth that bloom. 
 And whence none can e'er return. 
 
 Ye all go where those are gone, 
 With most glory and most light. 
 With the flower Spring gilds bright. 
 * Ye all go where goes the dawn. 
 Ye all go where goes the night. 
 
 To what end are all these woes ? 
 Why such jealous watch here keep ? 
 Drink the fountain's wave that flows. 
 Take the acorn ere it grows. 
 And then love, and rest in sleep. 
 
 When, like bees with busy flight, 
 We have worked and toiled alway; 
 
168 
 
 EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 When we 've dreamed of wonders bright, 
 And when, on many a night, 
 We 've heaped up many a day, — 
 
 On the fairest rose of all. 
 
 On your lily's purest bloom. 
 
 Do you know what then must fall ? 
 
 Dark oblivion for all. 
 
 And for every man the tomb ! 
 
 For the Lord e'er takes away, 
 As they 're plucked, our fruits all frail ; 
 To the ship, "Sink!" doth He say; 
 To the flame, Now die away ! " 
 And to the flower, "Pale!" 
 
 To the warrior doth He call, 
 "E'er the last word I must keep. 
 Mount, 0 worldly king of all, 
 Highest summit has the fall. 
 To abyss most dark and deep." 
 
 And He says to beauty fair, — 
 " Dazzle now all eyes thou must ; 
 Ere Death , cometh with Despair, 
 Be once flame and sparkle fair. 
 Then, forever, be thou dust ! " 
 
 This dread order swallows here 
 Everything, — it is our fate. 
 
EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 Mortal, niurmnr, if you dare, 
 Unto God, who, 0 Despair ! 
 Made man little, heaven great. 
 
 Each, e'en though he e'er denies, 
 Strugg'les, working out his path. 
 The eternal harmonies. 
 Like an irony man sees. 
 Weighing down this human WTath. 
 
 All false joys we envy so, 
 Pass, like Summer eve, unmoved 
 To the shadow all must go. 
 What remains of life below, 
 Saving' only to have loved. 
 
 It is thus I bend my head. 
 E'en whilst thou dost raise thine eyes 
 Thus, upon the waters dread, 
 I now listen sore afraid. 
 To the murmuring wave's sighs. 
 
 Thus I question all, and crave 
 Answers that ne'er come to me. 
 In this gulf, where I would lave, 
 The earth mixes with the wave. 
 Thou, oh, never do like me ! 
 
 On the waters dark I now 
 Ever turn my weary eye. 
 
EVENING AT SEA. 
 
 But oh, loved and veiled soul, thou 
 Toward bright, starry hope thy brow 
 Dost forever raise on high. 
 
 Thou dost well. Each star appears, 
 Watch, and never know vain fears. 
 Thou art drawn on high the while. 
 For above thou see'st God's smile, 
 And below I see man's tears ! 
 
 June 23c/, 1865. 
 
THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 To the heavenly butterfly, " Soar not afar ! " 
 
 The poor flower did say. 
 "Only see how we differ, — I e'er must remain, 
 
 While thou fly'st away. 
 
 "And yet well do we love, we can live without 
 man, 
 
 And far from his power; 
 We resemble each other, 't is said that we are, 
 Each one, a bright flower. 
 
 " But alas ! air takes thee, and the earth en- 
 chains me. 
 
 Ah, woe, cruel fate ! 
 Oh, I would with my perfume embalm thy 
 winged flight 
 
 To heaven's high gate. 
 
 " But too far dost thou go, and 'midst myriad 
 flowers 
 
 Thou ever dost fleet; 
 
172 THE ROSE AND THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 E'en while I stay alone and watch sadly my 
 shade 
 
 Turn round at my feet. 
 
 "Thou soarest, returnest, and then soarest 
 again. 
 
 To sooth others' fears; 
 And 't is thus at each dawn, here, thou findest 
 me, love, 
 
 All bathed in my tears. 
 
 " Oh now, so that our love may have long 
 
 faithful days, 
 
 My king, take like me, 
 Deepest root in the earth, or else give to me 
 
 wings 
 
 E'en like unto thee!" 
 
LTXVOI TO 
 
 All^ roses and butterflies, together Death 
 brings, 
 
 Or sooner or late ; 
 Come, oil wilt tliou not live with me some- 
 where, my love ? 
 
 For what dost thou wait ? 
 
 Some place in the air, if 't is there thou wouldst 
 wing 
 
 Thy heavenly flight, 
 Or some spot in the fields, if thy chalice there 
 pours 
 
 Its treasures so bright. 
 
 TVhere thou wilt ! Oh, what matters it ? Be 
 thou my life. 
 
 My perfume, my flower. 
 My radiant butterfly, my blossom-cup full, 
 
 The light of each hour. 
 
174 L'ENVOI TO — . 
 
 Let us first live together. That joy we must 
 have. 
 
 And when that bliss is given, 
 We can choose as we will, 'tis the same, then, 
 our home 
 
 On earth or in heaven ! 
 
 June 25th, 1865. 
 
TO A WOMAN. 
 
 Child, if I were a king I 'd my kingdom cast 
 down, 
 
 And my car, and my sceptre, and warriors true, 
 And my porphyry baths, and my bright golden 
 crown, 
 
 And my fleets, and my people on knees falling 
 down. 
 
 For a glance, dear, from you. 
 
 And I 'd give, were I God, all the wavy blue 
 air. 
 
 All the angels and demons who bent me their 
 knee. 
 
 And the chaos so deep, and the green earth so 
 fair, 
 
 And eternity, space, and the skies, — naught 
 I 'd spare, — 
 
 For a kiss, dear, from thee. 
 
 June 2m, 1865. 
 
TO L- 
 
 All hope here below, oh, my child, is a reed, — 
 God holds our joys in his hands, my sweet 
 dove. 
 
 Unwinding them at his fell distaff with speed. 
 Then, breaketli the thread, joy falls down into 
 gloom. 
 
 For in every cradle 
 There germs a tomb. 
 
 Oh, unto my dazzled soul, erst in the past. 
 The future seemed like a bright veil from afar: 
 I saw flowers of light burst forth in the shade. 
 The sea with its halcyon, sky with its star. 
 Now this vision so bright, 
 Alas ! fades from my sight. 
 
 If near thee one weeps as in dreams he doth go. 
 Let him weep without seeking the cause e'en to 
 know. 
 
TO L . 177 
 
 It is sweet, oft, to weep. Tears bless, as they 
 flow, . 
 
 Weak mankind, alas ! on whom Fate dark doth 
 weigh. 
 
 Each tear, oh, my child, 
 Wipes something away. 
 
 June 1st, 1865. 
 
 12 
 
GUITARE. 
 
 "How now," said the youths, 
 "With our barks so slow, 
 Flee the alguazils?" 
 And the maids said, " Kow ! " 
 
 " How now," said the youths, 
 "Never grieve or weep, 
 And all wrongs forget?" 
 
 And the maids said, " Sleep ! " 
 
 "How now," said the youths, 
 "Beauty thrill and move 
 With no subtle spells?" 
 
 And the maids said, " Love ! " 
 
 June 1865. 
 
THE STREAMLET AND THE OCEAN. 
 
 From the rocks once there flowed down the 
 streamlet, " 
 Drop by drop, to the terrible sea; 
 And the Ocean, to mariners fatal, 
 
 Said, " 0 weeper, what wouldst thou with 
 me? 
 
 "I am tempest, and darkness, and terror; 
 
 I but end where the sky doth commence. 
 Have I need, then, of thee, oh, thou stream- 
 let, — 
 
 Thou so little, and I so immense?" 
 
 Said the stream to the darksome gulf bitter, — 
 
 "Without glory I come to thy brink; 
 And I bring thee, vast sea, what thou hast 
 not, — 
 
 A fresh drop of pure water to drink." 
 
 June 2ith, 1865. 
 
TO 
 
 Since thy days on earth are filled 
 With grief that shatters pride ; 
 
 Since the things that thou unit'st 
 Are detached on every side; 
 
 Since our fathers now are gone 
 Where we all of us must go; 
 
 Since our children, cherished heads, 
 Now hefore iis slumber low; 
 
 Since the earth o'er which thou how'st. 
 Where thy tears flow in sad showers. 
 
 Has already all our roots. 
 
 And has some, too, of our flowers ; 
 
 Since the voices we have loved 
 Join with those we love, at last; 
 
 Since our very dreams are filled 
 With the shadows of the Past; 
 
TO 
 
 Since e'er Sorrow overflows 
 
 When with bliss we burn and thrill 
 Since our life is like a vase 
 
 Man can empty not^ nor fill; 
 
 Since at every step we feel 
 Shadows thicken, like a spell; 
 
 Since now lying Hope for us 
 Has no longer tales to tell; 
 
 Since the hour can promise naught 
 For the morrow, now so nigh; 
 
 Since we know no longer one 
 Of all those who pass us by; 
 
 Raise thy mind beyond this world, 
 Elsewhere dream than here below; 
 
 In our wave is not thy pearl, 
 Nor thy path where we all go. 
 
 When the night-sky is not starred 
 On the sea's waves, far from strife, 
 
 Dream, the sea is veiled like Death, 
 The waves bitter are, like Life. 
 
 Gulfs and shades a mystery have. 
 Known to no poor mortal weak; 
 
 It is God who made them mute 
 Till the day when all will speak. 
 
TO 
 
 Other eyes have tried to pierce 
 These deep waves, in days gone by, 
 
 Other eyes have filled with shade, 
 As they looked upon the sky. 
 
 Thou ask peace for thy sad heart 
 Of the world so full of wrong ! 
 
 Ask a drop from out this urn, 
 From this music ask a song! 
 
 Let thine eyes e'er wander far. 
 As thou soarest from our glooms, 
 
 'Twixt the sky, where are the souls. 
 And the earth, where are the tombs. 
 
 June \st, 1865. 
 
THE BRIDGE. 
 
 Befoee me was gloom. Tlie abyss full of woes. 
 The abyss that no shore, no summit e'er knows. 
 Was there, dark, immense. Xothing moved in 
 
 the gloom, 
 I felt myself lost in the Infinite, dumb. 
 Through all of the shade, like a veil, down afar. 
 There God could be seen, like a gloomy, dark 
 
 star. 
 
 " My soul, oh, my soul ! '' I cried forth in my 
 fears, 
 
 " To traverse this gulf, where no shore now ap- 
 pears. 
 
 And to go where the Lord walks, afar in the 
 night. 
 
 On millions of arches, a bridge I must build. 
 Who e'er could do that ? [N'one ! 0 sorrow ! 
 0 fright! 
 
 Weep ! " A phantom arose, with awe was I 
 filled 
 
 As I cast on the shade an eye full of fear. 
 The spectre so pale had the form of a tear. 
 
184 
 
 THE BRIDGE. 
 
 'T was the hrow of a maid, with hands of a 
 
 child, — 
 A lily defended by purity mild. 
 Her hands, as she clasped them, a bright light 
 
 did show. 
 
 She looked at th' abyss where all dust e'er must 
 go; 
 
 So deep that no echo can answer, all filled 
 With gloom, and she said, then, " This bridge 
 
 will I build." 
 I looked at the phantom, so pale and so fair, — 
 " Thy name ? " then I asked, and she answered 
 
 me, Prayer ! " 
 
 May mh, 1865. 
 
TO KIXG LOUIS-PHILIPPE. 
 
 WEITTEX AT MIDXTGHT, THE 1 2TH OF JULY, AFTER THE 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH PRONOUNCED JULY 12Tn, 1839. 
 
 Fon thine an gel, flown off like a dove in the 
 gloom, 
 
 For thine own royal infant, poor frail little 
 thing, 
 
 Mercy ! Pardon, once more, in the name of 
 the tomb. 
 
 In the name of the cradle, oh, mercy, great 
 King ! 
 
 May 2Zd, 1865. 
 
WRITTEN ON THE TOMB OF A LITTLE 
 CHILD BY THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 Old ivy, fresli grass, shrubs, branches, green 
 boughs. 
 
 Church, where man sees the God that elsewhere 
 
 he dreams, 
 
 Bright insects that murmur ineffable words, 
 I' the shepherd's ear, sleeping beneath the sun's 
 beams ; 
 
 Winds, waves, stormy hymn, endless song, voices 
 loud. 
 
 And woods that wake dreams in the sad passer- 
 by; 
 
 Fruits, e'er falling down from the dark gloomy 
 tree. 
 
 And stars that fall down from the dim obscure 
 sky; 
 
 Birds, with songs full of joy, and waves with 
 sad sighs. 
 
 Green lizards, so cold in the sun and the rain; 
 
ON THE TOMB OF A LITTLE CHILD. 187 
 
 Plains, spreading your perfumes afar on the 
 waves ; 
 
 Sea, wliere groweth the pearl ; earth, where 
 bursts forth the grain; 
 
 And Xature, whence comes and where falls 
 again all; 
 
 Leaves, nests, and sweet boughs that the 
 
 breezes glad keep ; 
 Oh, be ye all hushed now, around this low 
 
 grave, 
 
 Let the child slumber on, and the poor mother 
 weep ! 
 
 June 1st, I860. ' 
 
OCEANO NOX. 
 
 Ah ! how many poor sailors and captains there 
 are. 
 
 Who, all joyous, departed for travels afar, 
 And, upon this horizon, have vanished for aye! 
 And how many have sunk now, oh, sad, gloomy 
 fate! 
 
 In this endless deep sea, in some moonless 
 night, late, 
 
 And beneath this blind ocean are buried away. 
 
 With their vessels, oh, how many captains have 
 died! 
 
 The wild storm of their life in their flower and 
 pride. 
 
 With one breath, each page scattered, beneath 
 
 the waves dark. 
 None can e'er know the fate of those plunged 
 
 in this grave ; 
 As it passed, with some booty was laden each 
 
 wave. 
 
 One the sailors had seized, and another the 
 bark. 
 
OCEAXO XOX. 
 
 189 
 
 IS'one cau e'er know vour fate, oli, poor heads, 
 
 now all lost ! 
 Ye roll on tlirougli this sea that ye each would 
 
 have cross'd. 
 And ye strike with dead brows unknown rocks, 
 
 far from shore. 
 Oh, the parents, with only a dream left on land, 
 Who have died as they waited each day on the 
 
 strand, 
 
 For those lost ones who ne'er have returned to 
 them more ! 
 
 Many speak of you yet, and while seated 
 around 
 
 Upon rusty old anchors all over the ground. 
 Blend your names, covered over with shadows 
 so deep, 
 
 With their laughs and their songs, and now, 
 
 since ye have died, 
 With the kisses they steal from your loves, 
 
 once your pride. 
 Whilst *mid tangled green sea-weed ye quietly 
 
 sleep. 
 
 They ask, Where have they gone ? In some 
 isle that none share 
 
 Are they kings ? Have they left us for coun- 
 tries more fair ? " 
 
 Then your memory 's buried at last 1 Xo mau 
 knows 
 
190 OCEANO NOX. 
 
 Of your life. The form 's lost, from the mind 
 
 the name 's past. 
 Time, who o'er every shade doth a deeper one 
 
 cast, 
 
 O'er the ocean so dark hlack Oblivion throws. 
 
 And your shade from all eyes here has disap- 
 peared now. 
 
 Has not this man his bark? Has not that man 
 his plough? 
 
 But in long stormy nights, from all others 
 apart. 
 
 Your sad widows, pale-browed, though sore 
 
 weary, await. 
 And they whisper and dream of you, even thus 
 
 late, 
 
 As the ashes they stir of their hearthstone and 
 heart. 
 
 When the darksome tomb closes their eyes and 
 they 're gone. 
 
 Nothing knows then your name, even no hum- 
 ble stone 
 
 In the graveyard so narrow, where echo re- 
 plies ; 
 
 Nor the willow, now green, that in Autumn is 
 bare. 
 
 Nor the song, with its simple, monotonous air, 
 That the beggar, who sits on some bridge, 
 sings and sighs. 
 
OCEANO NOX. 
 
 191 
 
 Where are all those now gone who dark ^nights 
 
 found their graves ? 
 Oh, ye know mournful histories, murmuring 
 
 waves, — 
 
 Waves that mothers who pray fear and tremble 
 at so ! — 
 
 And ye tell these sad t^Jes to the earth and 
 the air; 
 
 And that gives you those voices, all choked with 
 despair, 
 
 That ye sob with at evening when toward us ye 
 flow. 
 
 June 27th, 1865. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 If I were not captive here, 
 Oil, this country would seem sweet. 
 And this plaintive sea, that moans, 
 And these fields of golden wheat. 
 And these myriad bright stars, 
 If, then, only in the shade, 
 Did not gleam along the wall. 
 Every Spahi's sabre-blade. 
 
 Not a Tartar maid am I 
 That a eunuch black should pass 
 In my hands my stringed guitar, 
 And should hold for me my glass. 
 From these Sodom s, far away 
 In the country where I live. 
 With the gay, young cavaliers. 
 One can sit and talk at eve. 
 
 And yet I, too, love a shore 
 Where dark Winter's tempests keen 
 Never reach you, cold and drear. 
 The oped lattice bars between. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 193 
 
 There the rain, in Summer's warm, 
 And the insects green, that pass, 
 Ail, like living emeralds, gleam 
 In the caskets of green grass. 
 
 Oh, fair Smyrna is a queen, 
 With her graceful chapel tall ; 
 Happy Spring, forever here, 
 Swiftly answers to her call. 
 E'en, as in a cup, are grouped 
 Blooms from every flower that grows, 
 In her seas the isles all break 
 Into archipelagoes. 
 
 All these towers, fair, I love. 
 And these banners floating gay. 
 And gold houses, like frail toys, 
 Wherewith any child might play. 
 And I love my thoughts to be 
 Ever cradled, sweet and soft. 
 In these bright pagodas, perched 
 On the elephants aloft. 
 
 In these fairy-like abodes 
 Xow my joyous heart, ne'er dumb. 
 Thinks it hears, in all the sounds 
 From the Desert far that come. 
 All the genii's voices sweet. 
 Blending harmonies so fair, 
 
 13 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 In the hymns and songs they chant 
 Ever up in the bhie air. 
 
 And I love the burning scents 
 
 Of this country's forest scene; 
 
 On the casement gold I love 
 
 All the trembling foliage green. 
 
 And the stream, whose wave o'erflows. 
 
 And the drooping palm-tree, wet. 
 
 And the snowy stork that sits 
 
 On the pure white minaret. 
 
 On a bed of moss I love 
 To sing low some Spanish song, 
 While my young companions fair 
 On the sward all dance along, — 
 Smiling, wandering legion bright. 
 Like the ocean's waves that roll. 
 Ever whirling, in their dance, 
 'Neath their rounded parasol. 
 
 But still more, when soft the breeze 
 Doth caress me, fluttering by 
 At calm night, I love to dream 
 By the sea, while in the sky 
 The fair moon arises pale. 
 Far above the ocean's span, 
 And below, upon the wave, 
 Opens wide her silver fan. 
 
 July 1st, 1865. 
 
LOVE. 
 
 0 FAIR maiden, at first Love is only a glass 
 Where coquettes like to mirror tlieir face as 
 
 they pass, 
 Bending over it, dreaming or bright. 
 Then, like Virtue, when once it possesses the 
 
 heart, 
 
 It makes evil and all mocking vices depart, 
 And it maketli your soul pure and white. 
 
 Then you fall just a little, your foot slips, you 
 bend ; 
 
 'T is a darksome abvss, vain vou clin^" to the 
 end ; 
 
 The wild water's deception you 've found. 
 Love is charming and mortal. 0 maid, trust it 
 not 1 
 
 Thus the child, slowly drawn to a stream's smil- 
 ing spot. 
 
 First is mirrored, then laves, then is drowned. 
 
 July 1865. 
 
SONG. 
 
 If to me you have nothing to say, 
 
 What doth bring you, love, here to my side? 
 And why smile at me now in that way. 
 
 That would turn a king's head, in your pride ? 
 If to me you have nothing to say. 
 
 What doth bring you, love, here to my side? 
 
 If to me you have nothing to tell, 
 
 Oh, why press you my hand in that way ? 
 
 Of the tender and angel-like spell, 
 That you dream as you pass on your way. 
 
 If to me you have nothing to tell. 
 
 Oh, why press you my hand in that way? 
 
 If you wish me to go now away. 
 
 Tell me, why do you pass, love, by here? 
 
 When I see you I tremble, oh, stay. 
 
 You 're my joy, oh, my love, and my fear ! 
 
 If you wish me to go now away. 
 
 Tell me, why do you pass, love, by here? 
 
 June 2m, 1865. 
 
WHILE KXOCKIXG AT A DOOR. 
 
 I 'ye my father and motlier now lost^ 
 
 And my first-born yet young, and I dwell 
 On this earth, where all Xature for me 
 Tolleth the knell. 
 
 'Twixt my brothers, in childhood, I slept ; 
 
 We were three little birds with no fears. 
 Alas ! Fate their two cradles has changed 
 Into two biers. 
 
 I haye lost thee, 0 daughter, I loyed. 
 
 Thee, who fillest now all the deep gloom 
 Of mj days with the light that doth come 
 Out from thy tomb. 
 
 I haye soared and descended again, 
 
 In my sky I 'ye seen light and shade rest ; 
 I 'ye worn purple and sackcloth; the last 
 Suits me the best. 
 
 I haye known the deep passions of earth, 
 I haye found the dark shade in Loye's rays^ 
 
198 WHILE KNOCKING AT A DOOE. 
 
 I have seen winds and waves pass away, 
 Hours and days. 
 
 O'er my head the wild ospray doth flit; 
 
 They have scorned all my labors till now; 
 'Neath my feet is dust, wounds in my heart. 
 Thorns on my hrow, 
 
 I have tears in my sad, pensive eye. 
 
 And my robe 's tattered all in this gloom ; 
 On my conscience, I've naught — I await — 
 Open, thou Tomb ! 
 
 June 2m, 1865. 
 
YAXITY. 
 
 What to tliee. 0 my heart, is tlie birtli of a 
 king, 
 
 And tliese ^"ictories, when always they merrily 
 ring 
 
 Joyous peals, and the cannon roars forth ? 
 Each one pompously praising the God throned 
 on high, 
 
 And at night sending far to the dome of blue 
 sky 
 
 All these starry sheaves upward from earth. 
 
 On thy God all alone, oh. turn elsewhere thine 
 eyes, 
 
 For on earth, in each thing here, some vanity 
 lies. 
 
 And with mankind can Glory ne'er rest. 
 Golden mitres and crowns brightly shine, hut 
 they pass, 
 
 They are worth not a single green hhide of 
 fresh grass, 
 That God makes for the swallow's soft uest. 
 
200 
 
 VANITY. 
 
 The most greatness, alas, does most nothing- 
 ness hold ! 
 
 And the shell reaches sooner the obelisk old 
 Than doves' nests, hid by flowering blooms. 
 And by death is God's union with monarchs 
 e'er shown. 
 
 For His cross makes the top of their bright 
 golden crown. 
 And His temple is paved with their tombs. 
 
 What ! of all our towers and castles no trace ? 
 And of Bonaparte, Mahomet, Caesar, each race, 
 Naught that falls not? All vain, worldly toys? 
 Oh, dread, darksome abyss, where man's mind 
 
 God doth keep. 
 At a few feet beneath us a silence so deep. 
 On the surface above so much noise ! 
 
 June 28th, 1865. 
 
CONTENT WITH THEE ! 
 
 When von speak to me of Fame, 
 Then with bitterness I smile ; 
 
 For this voice that you believe, 
 I have proved its lying- guile. 
 
 Glory quickly is struck dumb ; 
 
 Envy's bloody torch, midst gloom, 
 Only spares this statue when 
 
 At the threshold of the tomb. 
 
 From us flees all happiness, 
 Power falls with other joys. 
 
 And a little soothing love 
 
 Is much best, and makes less noise. 
 
 Naught I ask for, save thy smile 
 And thy voice, o'er all my days; 
 
 The blue air, the rose, the shades. 
 And the golden sun's bright rays. 
 
CONTENT WITH THEE! 
 
 Oh, I only wish on earth, 
 E'er in joy or sorrow's hour, 
 
 Thy bright glances, 0 my star ! 
 Thy sweet perfume, 0 my flower ! 
 
 In thine eyes, illumed with light. 
 
 All celestial from above. 
 Though I know a whole world sleeps, 
 
 Yet I only seek there Love ! 
 
 My deep thought is like an urn, 
 'Tis a vase with liquid still. 
 
 That could fill the universe, 
 But thy heart alone would fill. 
 
 Sing — bliss thrills in every vein; 
 
 Smile — I need no other joys. 
 What to me, love, is the crowd. 
 
 With its distant, roaring noise? 
 
 All in vain, to break our ties, 
 
 Wliile you plunge me in joy's stream. 
 Do I conjure up the forms 
 
 Of the poets, in my dream. 
 
 No ! I care not what they say, 
 
 E'er this preference will I keep, — 
 
 To Fame's trumpets, that awake. 
 Thy sweet song, that lulls to sleep. 
 
CONTENT WITH THEE ! 
 
 Should my name be blazoned forth, 
 E'en to heaven's brow above, 
 
 Oh, still half of me on earth 
 
 Would yet stay with thee, to love. 
 
 Let me love thee in the shade. 
 
 Sad, or serious, at least; 
 Sadness is a darksome place. 
 
 Where love can shine forth best. 
 
 Angel, with thy sparkling eyes, 
 With thy days all tear-wet, sweet, 
 
 Take my soul up on thy wings. 
 Let my heart rest at thy feet ! 
 
 May m, 1865. 
 
SUNSETS. 
 
 Merveilleux tableaux que Foeil decouvre a la pens^e. — Charles 
 Nodier. 
 
 Calm and quiet eves love I. Yes, love I those 
 eves, 
 
 If they gild bright and fair, buried deep in the 
 leaves. 
 
 Some old mansion's brow, frowning and proud, 
 Or in fiery banks the mist rises on high. 
 Or a thousand rays break in the pure azure 
 sky. 
 
 Into isle-dotted oceans of cloud. 
 
 Oh, now look at those clouds, moving swift in 
 the sky, 
 
 Heaped far up by the breath of the winds there 
 on high ! 
 
 In strange forms do they group all in crowds. 
 And at times, 'neath their waves, a flash gleam- 
 
 eth forth there 
 Of pale lightning, as if some dread giant of air 
 Drew his sword from its sheath midst the 
 
 clouds. 
 
SUBSETS. 
 
 205 
 
 ^Twixt their shadows the sun shines all brill- 
 iantly still, 
 
 And he maketli like dome of rich gold on the 
 hill, 
 
 Some poor cottage-roof gleam wondrous bright. 
 Or else long he disputes with the mists the 
 dim sky, 
 
 Or cuts out on the grass, where his gorgeous 
 rays lie, 
 
 Spots like lakes fair and broad, all of light. 
 
 Then we think we can see in the sky, swept 
 away, 
 
 A great crocodile hang-, its striped back to dis- 
 play, 
 
 With its three rows of teeth, sharp and fine. 
 On its leaden-like breast a gold sunbeam doth 
 glide. 
 
 And red clouds shine and burn, now upon its 
 
 dark side, 
 E'en like gilded scales over its spine. 
 
 Then arises a palace ; a breeze comes, all 's 
 gone ! 
 
 The dread building of clouds crumbles up, all 
 alone, 
 
 Into ruins swift hurried and burned. 
 And it strews the whole sky, while each coral 
 red tower, 
 
206 
 
 SUNSETS. 
 
 With its top pointing down, o'er our head now 
 doth lower, 
 
 Like great mounts that have been overturned. 
 
 And these clouds of gold, copper, and iron, 
 where dwell 
 
 The tempest and waterspout, thunder and hell. 
 That all sleep there with murmurings low ; 
 God suspends from the sky every one with its 
 gleams, 
 
 As a warrior hangs from the ceiling's high 
 beams. 
 
 All his armor, that brightly doth glow. 
 
 All now fades, and the sun from above falleth 
 down. 
 
 Like a great globe of brass, that, on fire, is 
 thrown 
 
 Once more back to the furnace, its home. 
 As it falls on their waves, that its shock parts, 
 it makes. 
 
 To the zenith jet out, now in fiery flakes, 
 All the clouds' burning, crimson-hued foam. 
 
 Ever contemplate heaven, when Night falls 
 above, 
 
 At all times, in all parts, with ineffable love; 
 Try to see through and pierce those veils' folds 
 from afar ! 
 
SUXSETS. 207 
 
 There 's a mystery deep 'neatli the beauty of 
 all, — 
 
 In dark Vwuter, when heayen is black as a 
 pall, 
 
 And iu Summer when broidered with many a 
 star. 
 
 Juhj 1st, 1865. 
 
 THE EXD.