2i 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. - 
 
 UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, 
 
 |UNn 
 
■■^^--n. 
 
[siwi^a 
 
 im ]E]HI¥ 
 
 BY "NEMO," 
 
 (OF LOUISIANA.) 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 J. & H. G. LANGLEY, 8 ASTOR HOUSE 
 
 NEW ORLEANS : J. B. STEEL, CAMP STREET. 
 
 M DCCC XLVI. 
 
^15 
 
 i\-i> 
 
 
 Entered according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by 
 
 J. & H. G. LANGLEY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 S. W. BENEDICT, 
 Stet. and Print., 16 Spruce street. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Song of the Flower-Spirit 5 
 
 Song of the Fountain 8 
 
 My Grave 12 
 
 Hymn to the God Pan . . . , . .15 
 
 Reveillee ... 18 
 
 Twilight Fancies 19 
 
 The City of the Pestilence 22 
 
 Love's Carelessness 28 
 
 " Requiescam " 32 
 
 The Return of a Spirit . . . . . .33 
 
 To Dolores • . 37 
 
 The Indian Maid 39 
 
 Dream Sketches .41 
 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 To the Stormy Petrel 47 
 
 Miserere, Domine 50 
 
 Summer Hours 52 
 
 «* The Soul from Purgatory" 54 
 
 The Prophecy of the Tagus 59 
 
 From Quevedo 64 
 
 "Resurgam" . . 67 
 
 A Heahh to Christmas . . . . . . .70 
 
 Undine and the Hunter 72 
 
 The Surprise 76 
 
 The Waterfall 79 
 
 To Ideala 81 
 
 A Matrimonial Dialogue 84 
 
 From the Spanish of Gil Vicente 87 
 
 From Horace 88 
 
SONG OF THE FLOWER-SPIRIT. 
 
 I AM the Spirit that dwells in the flowers ; 
 I waft their breath on the gentle breeze 
 That murmuring sighs through the woodbine bowers, 
 And bends the tops of the waving trees ; 
 When the air is blent 
 With their fragrant scent 
 I peep from the folds of my leafy tent, 
 And the flow'rets laugh with a glad surprise 
 As they catch the light of my star-like eyes. 
 
 I love to quaff from the lotus cup 
 
 The nectar drops that the stars diffuse, 
 And lift the head of the sweet rose up 
 
 When bent to the earth by gleaming dews, 
 2 
 
b SONG OF THE FLOWER SPIRIT. 
 
 To catch as I fly 
 The violet's sigh, 
 And brush the tear from its bright bhie eye ; 
 To shake with my wing the hyacinth bells 
 And the leaves of the delicate asphodels. 
 
 'Tis bliss to rest on the snow-white breast 
 
 Of the Nymph-like lily that gems the pool. 
 And ride on the Oriole's wind-rock'd nest 
 In the breezy shade of some arbor cool ; 
 To lurk in the cell 
 Of some sweet flower's bell 
 Whence delicate odors like music swell. 
 And at noontide's sultry hour recline 
 In the cool deep woods 'neath the tangled vine. 
 
 In southern climes, where the air grows mute 
 And faint with the odors from every stem, - 
 Where the citron bends with its golden fruit 
 And the fly-bird flits like an opal gem ; 
 Where the bird and bee 
 Have a banquet free 
 From the orange bough and magnolia tree ; 
 Where the mock-bird's song on the breeze is blown 
 With a thousand sweets, I have made my throne. 
 
SONG OF THE FLOWER SPIRIT. / 
 
 I shelter and shade each lovely form 
 
 From withering winds and the mildew's blight, 
 And nourish their buds with sunbeams warm, 
 And fold their leaves at the close of night ; 
 A veil of moss 
 O'er the rose I toss 
 To shade from the sun her cheek's pure gloss. 
 And when night-winds damp make their features pale 
 I fling over all a gossamer veil. 
 
 I revel in Summer and Spring-time's hours. 
 
 Nor mourn over Autumn's hectic leaf, 
 But when Winter has come with his clouds and showers 
 Then bitter and sad are my tears of grief ; 
 For my flow'rets' bloom 
 Is o'ercast v/ith gloom. 
 And they wither and sink to their cold, cold tomb : 
 Void are their places on valley and glade. 
 Oh ! that Earth's beautiful things should fade ! 
 
SONG OF THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 From secret mines, "where the diamond shines. 
 
 And the changing opal gleams, 
 Through the pores so cold of earth's dark mould 
 
 J send my crystal streams ; 
 They leap from the edge of a dark rock's ledge, 
 
 " On the side of a slanting hilL," 
 And sparkling glide in the silver tide 
 
 Of a small and winding rill : 
 Concealed they pass where the waving grass 
 «i*?ffiM5s«f*5. Bends o'er like a verdant veil. 
 
 And lave with their showers a thousand flowers 
 
 Whose fragrance fills the gale ; 
 The violet meek with its lowly cheek, 
 >4=Fi,. . Wild roses and harebells blue. 
 
 The daisy white and the pansy bright 
 
 Drink deep of my crystal dew : 
 
 ^^^^S^ 
 
 'Sjr-**' 
 
SONG OF THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 With their varied ranks they gem my banks, 
 
 A feast for the laden bees ; 
 The troutlet leaps from my tranquil deeps 
 
 In the shade of the bending trees ; 
 On, like a snake, through the tangled brake 
 
 I glide on my winding way. 
 Through verdant glades, through the sombre shades 
 
 Where shines not a sunbeam's ray. 
 And sun-bright meads where the waving reeds 
 
 With the whispering breezes play. 
 
 I love to dance in the sunlight's glance 
 
 Round many a fairy isle, 
 Where the silver sand of my glistening strand 
 
 Grows bright in his ardent smile. 
 And w^hen at her noon the sad sweet moon 
 
 Is robed with a misty veil, 
 I love her beam on my dimpling stream 
 
 That crisps with the midnight gale. 
 The rippling trill of my pebbly rill 
 
 And my murmuring waters play 
 Accord with the note of the mock-bird's throat 
 
 As he sits on the bending spray : 
 
 And at break of morn when the hunter's horn 
 
 Rings over the woodlands near, 
 2# 
 
p'aMBWWfci'^ 
 
 10 SONG OF THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 O'er the wakening earth with a song of mirth 
 
 I glance with my waters clear ; 
 Over the mead, like a reinless steed, 
 
 Over the banks and braes, 
 By valley and glen .and by moorland fen 
 
 My'^andering streamlet strays ; 
 From the copses green of some wild ravine, 
 
 From dells in the mountains rude, 
 My path I take to a silvery lake 
 
 In the heart of a lonely wood, 
 In the waters cool of whose silent pool 
 
 I lose my wandering flood. 
 
 Thence issuing swift by. a slender rift 
 
 In the rocks around me made, 
 With a bound and a leap like the storm-rain's sweep 
 
 I j)lunge in a white cascade ; 
 Around me the foam in a cloud-wreathed dome. 
 
 And the mist-like sprays arise. 
 And the sunlight glows on a thousand bows 
 
 Of the hues of the tinted skies. 
 I nourish the gloss of the velvet moss 
 
 On the rocks that my waters lave ; 
 The wild deer dips with his parching lips 
 
 In the cool of my crystal wave. 
 
SONG OF THE FOUNTAIN. 11 
 
 And when winter again with his icy chain 
 
 Has frozen my leaping springs, 
 My desolate bank he loves to prank 
 
 With a thousand glittering things : 
 On the leafless trees my dew-drops freeze, 
 
 Like gems on a corpse's brow. 
 The icicle gleams where my silent streams 
 
 . Are gliding unseen below. 
 But when the wing of the breathing spring 
 
 Is fanning the lake and lea, . ^ 
 
 Like a fawn I leap from my wint'ry sleep 
 
 As fetterless, wild, and free, 
 And onward sweep to the boundless deep 
 
 Of my home in the azure sea. 
 
12 
 
 MY GRAVE. 
 
 t ♦ * * ♦ * * " ibi tu calentem 
 Debiti sparges lacrj'iiia favillam 
 
 V'atis ainici." — HoR. 
 
 Mine be no scrolled and sculptured grave, 
 
 Within some time-worn hallowed pile, 
 Where trophied draperies flaunting wave 
 
 Around the dim-illumined aisle, 
 And many a line of lies and guile, 
 
 On marble tombs engraven deep, 
 Makes demons swear, and mortals smile, 
 
 And pitying angels turn and weep. 
 
 Not holy ground — Can priestly pray'r 
 Or ban or bless this earth of God ? 
 
MY GRAVE. 13 
 
 Sleep the cold dead more calmly there ? 
 
 Leave worms the consecrated sod ? 
 'Tis earth to earth, whate'er the clod ; 
 
 And fitter far the lowliest tomb 
 " By little footsteps lightly trod," 
 
 Than churchyard's vault or minj^ter's gloom. 
 
 Nor where the blue and billowy waves 
 
 Around the isles of ocean sweep, 
 And flame with priceless gems the caves 
 
 Far down its dark mysterious deep : 
 No nobler tomb our clay could keep. 
 
 Or more inviolate, purer be ; 
 But ne'er can Love and Friendship weep 
 
 By those who rest beneath the sea. 
 
 But build for me a funeral pyre 
 
 With branches from the greenwood torn, 
 And give to elemental fire 
 
 The dust that will to dust return : 
 I would not that the worm we spurn 
 
 Should battening crawl through breast and brain, 
 Till all who love me sickening turn 
 
 From thing so foul, in fear and pain. 
 
14 MY GRAVE. 
 
 And when the absorbing breath of flnme 
 
 Has cleansed my cold and soulless clay, 
 Place the frail urn that tombs my frame 
 
 'Mid scenes made lovelier by decay ; 
 Near some old arch, moss-veiled and grey, 
 
 Reared in the blue sequestered hills, 
 Where wandering winds and sunbeams play, 
 
 And Nature's aspect soothes and stills. 
 
 Yes ! mine to sleep where wild flow'rs bloom 
 
 Among the clustering leaves of spring, 
 And joyous birds their songs resume 
 
 When morn and eve new fragrance l)ring ; 
 Where fluttering insects rest the wing. 
 
 And dews from heaven fall pure and clear, 
 And friends whose memories to me cling 
 
 May gaze and drop a glistening tear. 
 
15 
 
 HYMN TO THE GOD PAN. 
 
 Haunter of forest, wilderness, and hill, 
 
 Pan Universal ! In what woody brake 
 Piping sweet music, does thy reed distil 
 
 Clear strains of merry song that wandering wake 
 The sleeping echoes into soft replying ; 
 Over stream and rock and tree 
 Hovering, a wild melody. 
 Like choral murmurs from the ever sounding sea 
 
 On the swift wind in fitful cadence dying ; 
 While round, from many a sheltered cover, peep 
 
 Young Fawns and shaggy Satyrs, quaintly prying 
 And creatures of the wild that listening creep, 
 
 And sportive Dreads with half-stifled giee, 
 Carelessly veiling with a leafy screen 
 Bright eyes and glowing cheeks thai hide but to be seen. 
 
16 HYMN TO THE GOD PAN. 
 
 Dost thou, with Bacchus and his Mtetiads, urge 
 
 On the green hills a noisy festival, 
 Draiuingthe brimming goblet from its verge. 
 
 And make the woods re-echo with the call, 
 Evoe! or, with young Pomona, twine 
 With many a fragrant coronal 
 Of forest flowers and ivy tall. 
 The shaggy locks that on thy brawny shoulders fall, 
 
 And in some cool and mossy cavern dine 
 On luscious fruit, the ripe and ruddy pear, 
 
 The purple clusters of some spreading vine 
 Rich as the tresses of a wood-nymph's hair. 
 
 Brown nuts, the glowing peach, and berries small. 
 And quench thy thirst in some pure crystal spring 
 That through the grotto flows with gentle murmuring. 
 
 Hail ! son of winged Hermes, hail. Oh ! hear 
 Our joyous voices — On these ancient rocks, 
 Lo ! to thy praise a sylvan shrine we rear, 
 
 Crowned with the produce of our herds and flocks. 
 Ripe fruits, sweet broken cakes, and golden grain, 
 Incense of Saba3an pine : 
 Wreaths of autumn fiow'rs we twine. 
 And over all we pour a sweet and fragrant wnne. • 
 God of the shepherds ! on each grassy plain 
 
HYMN TO THE GOD PAN. 17 
 
 Our tender flocks from every evil keep. 
 
 Guardian of harvests ! from the tempest's rain. 
 From blight and mildew guard the sheaves we reap. 
 
 King of the forests ! Lo ! around thy shrine, 
 With lightly tripping feet and jocund song, 
 Glide many a youth and maid to swell thy votive throng. 
 
18 
 
 REVEILLES. 
 
 Oh ! waken, love, waken ; morn calls from repose, 
 The fresh wdnds are fanning night's dew from the rose. 
 The breath of the wild flow'r is scenting the gale, 
 And grey mists float wreath-like o'er forest and vale. 
 
 Oh ! waken, love, waken ; there's life in the breeze 
 Whose soft breath hath ruffled the tremulous seas ; 
 The clouds o'er the mountain grow golden and dun. 
 And glad birds are ^jouring their hymns to the sun. 
 
 Oh ! waken, love, waken ; the deer leave the dell, 
 The blithe bees are winging their flight from their*cell ; 
 Morn breaks, and our coursers impatiently neigh. 
 Oh ! waken, love, waken; arise and away. 
 
19 
 
 TWILIGHT FANCIES. 
 
 When to past hours Memory wanders, 
 Thoughts, Hke ghosts to wizard spell, 
 
 Rise; the mind intently ponders 
 Over scenes remembered well. 
 
 Dreams, like those which haunt our slumbers, 
 Half thought, half shadow, vague and dim : 
 
 Round us come, and chant in numbers 
 Faint and low, their mournful hymn. 
 
 Like a wind-harp's note, the ending 
 
 Of some tone, forgotten long. 
 Wafted back to mind — a blending, 
 
 Dreamy maze of thought and song. 
 
20 TWILIGHT FANCIES. 
 
 Then, too, comes that sateless thirsting 
 For some good ungained, unknown ; 
 
 Till the sad heart, strained to bursting, 
 Like some harpstring, loses tone. 
 
 Memories, then, of parted gladness, 
 Shared with those we lield most dear, 
 
 Wake a mood of musing sadness ; 
 Earth seems cold and dark and drear. 
 
 Yet not always cold and cheerless 
 Are the dreams that o'er me brood ; 
 
 Thoughts as wild, but firm and fearless. 
 Haunt my spirit's happier mood. 
 
 Often, when the firelight traces 
 
 Shades and shapes in evening's gloom: 
 Shadowy forms, familiar faces. 
 
 Throng around the darkening room. 
 
 Oft I feel them hovering near me, 
 Mark in air their star-like eyes, 
 
 Hear their whispering voices cheer me 
 Onward, on to bold emprise. 
 
TWILIGHT FANCIES. 21 
 
 And they tell me — Stay not, sigh not. 
 Steep the path, but bright the shrine, 
 
 Life decays, but Fame will die not, 
 Let the glorious prize be thine. 
 
 On they bid me press, unfaltering. 
 Firm of will, each sinew strained. 
 
 Never wavering, never paltering, 
 Onward, till the goal be gained. 
 
22 
 
 THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 * * * * The sun-light falls, 
 Tinted and flecked with countless varying hues, 
 Azure and piirple, deepening into dun, 
 Magnificently dim, on fretted spire. 
 Temple and dome, and high embattled wall, 
 Tall column, tow'r, and marble colonnade. 
 Lessening away in distance, lost and dim 
 In their excess of radiance. Far beyond 
 Rear their blue crests the old primeval hills, 
 Rock-browed and beetling, girt by hoary trees. 
 And laved by foaming torrents. Beautiful ! 
 And yet how still and spectral all ! there reigns 
 A mighty silence, filled with shapeless fears; 
 Through the long lonely streets a footfall rings, 
 With most unnatural sound, distinctly clear, 
 
THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 23 
 
 Wakening the ghost-like echoes. Not one sign. 
 One shape of hfe, or living thing, to cheer. 
 The tomb-like stillness of the desolate scene. 
 The Pestilence was here ! 
 
 At first it came 
 With noiseless footstep, as the thin light frost 
 Of gradual winter on autumnal flowers, 
 Spirits away their beauty. Slowly came 
 That fearful visitant. The cheek grew pale 
 And colorless ; and the strong, manly limbs 
 Shrank from their bold proportions, bleached and wan. 
 Until through blue veins, and shadowy frame, 
 Might pass the glimmering moonbeam's ray. There shone 
 Strange lustre in the bright, unnatural eyes. 
 Strange vigor nerved each parched and wasted limb. 
 Yet painless life exhaled ; its dim, wan flame 
 Played flashing in the socket, and was gone. 
 Death leaving beauty on the shadowy clay. 
 Happy were these — the Plague's deep agony 
 Filled not their being ; Love and Pity there. 
 With meek affection smoothed the bed of death, 
 And pious hands with solemn ritual reared, 
 'Mid natural sights and sounds, the votive tomb 
 Strewn with fair flowers and wet with tears undried 
 As yet by mightier fear. 
 
 
24 THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 But soon the fiend 
 Poured from his venomed chaUce a worse Plague, 
 Withering and tainting, like unholy fire. 
 Men, sickening, fell and writhed away their souls, 
 As writhes the trodden worm. The still warm life, 
 Curdled and massed within the livid veins, 
 Deadening by slow degrees each palsied limb 
 With chill and foul decay, while round the heart 
 Boiled the hot blood like lava ; — ^thus they lay, 
 Corpse-like, but conscious, perishing, until 
 With eyeballs glaring, tense with agony, 
 Forth from corruption's living mould, that shook 
 Quivering with each strong gasping breath — they died 
 And from them alt in shuddering terror fled, 
 Even as from visible death. All art was vain^, 
 Or charm, or mystic rite, or holier prayer, 
 To stay the fell destroyer. Hope was none^ 
 Envy or shame, love, pity, or regret ^ 
 All was cold selfish fear and black despair,. 
 Wild, reinless crime, and maniac revelry. 
 Or forced forgetfulness of many things 
 That would not be forgotten. From the heart 
 All natural love was fled. Friends knew not friendsj^ 
 Or foes their deadliest foes. Even mothers cast 
 Away their sickening infants ; children shunned 
 
THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 25 
 
 Parents, and these their children ; lovers shrank 
 With mutual dread and loathing hate. The dog 
 Forsook, in cowering fear, the hand that gave 
 His daily food ; yet near some forms that lay 
 Green, livid, swarming with pestiferous life. 
 Blackening and rotting in the torrid sun, 
 Some faithful few, with sad, perpetual moan, 
 And wistful look, and broken, desolate cry, 
 Kept melancholy guard. Round every fount, 
 River, and well, were clustered dying men. 
 Whose plague-blood, mixing with the waters, ran, 
 Tainting their lymph with poison. Some reeled forth 
 Frantic with inward agony, and tore 
 Unconsciously their ulcerated flesh; 
 Then, uttering curses, died. Some wandered on 
 With folded arms and dull eyes vacantly 
 Gazing on earth, their blue lips muttering 
 Strange inarticulate sounds, and some lay down 
 On the cold earth in silence. Strong men wept, 
 Maidens were tearless. In late populous streets 
 Sprang up the long rank grass. All things grew still ; 
 Silence and solitude held desert reign. 
 Unbroken all, save by the mournful howl 
 ,:^Qi: famished dogs that wandered masterless. 
 Or prowling jaguar's yell, or vulture's cry 
 
 % 
 
26 THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 And the dull flapping of their funeral wings. 
 Prisons stood open, for the unsated tomb 
 Held guard and felon. At the sacred shrines 
 Knelt corpses, blue and bloated as they died, 
 Howling their prayers to demons. Open swung 
 Portals of vast and gorgeous palaces, 
 Silent and vacant, guardless, tenantless, 
 Except by things upon whose festered brows 
 Gold and unheeded gems in mockery shone. 
 Flight gave not life or safety. Many sought 
 The far blue hill-tops or sequestered vales, 
 Woodlands and streams, or th€ pure mountain peaks, 
 Crested with spire-like, ice-built pmnacles. 
 Fanned by the sleepless winds of heaven ; his young 
 There reared the eagle ; yet the Plague was there — 
 Around, above, below. Earth's breast was dry. 
 The stars of night shone red and rayless all,. 
 The heavens grew dusk and lurid, and the air 
 Breathed hot and parching, like a furnace blast. 
 And fetid as a charnel. One dense haae 
 Hung like a pall around. The very winds 
 Were still and stagnant ; breathless, motionless 
 — Death was omnipotent. 
 
 Soon came once more, 
 A mighty change and fearful. All was life : 
 
THE CITY OF THE PESTILENCE. 27 
 
 The sea was life — it swarmed with reptile shapes ; 
 
 The air was life — it teemed with insect things; 
 
 The earth was life — each clod was wreathed with worms ; 
 
 — All lived and breathed and felt — all, all was life, 
 
 Dense, crawling, twining, slimy, loathsome life. 
 
 Life formed of lives, foul, rank, and reeking ; life 
 
 Of death engendered, and but born to die. 
 
 — Life's principle — corruption, ruled and reigned. 
 
 And now, where girt by gloom-encumbered woods. 
 And herbless peaks of rock and shadowy hills 
 ^ Rise into air yon vast and ancient piles. 
 
 In all their dream-like beauty, lowers and fanes, 
 
 Statues, and giant pyramids and spires. 
 
 And shafts, and taper obelisks, and halls 
 
 Engraved with strange and grotesque tracery. 
 
 The ruined records of a perished race ; 
 
 Prowls round, in mood of solitary ire. 
 
 The spotted cougar, and the lithe, long snake 
 
 Glides o'er the marbled floors of rooms where blink 
 
 The twilight bat and owl. But over all 
 
 Falls the vast shadow of eternal death. 
 
28 
 
 LOVE'S CARELESSNESS. 
 
 On a sultry summer's day, 
 Cupid, wearied out with play. 
 Sought a cool and still retreat 
 From the red meridian heat. 
 Loitering on, he found a spot; 
 'T was a deep, sequestered grot. 
 Tangled vines had formed a door. 
 Crystals strewed the sparkling floor. 
 And a fountain, gaily springing, 
 Round the cave its dews was flinging. 
 Falling with a tinkling trill, 
 From the bosom of the hill. 
 
 Love alone seemed vigil keeping. 
 Earth and air were silent sleeping. 
 
29 
 
 Tempering o'er the noontide's blaze 
 Spread a thin and dreamy haze ; 
 Not a zephyr breathed to wake 
 Ripples on the glassy lake ; 
 On the branches slept the bird ; 
 Not a somid the stillness stirred, 
 Save the drowsy locust throng 
 With their sultry summer song 
 Droned upon some branching oak. 
 O'er the blue hills curled the smoke, 
 Lazily it seemed to stir. 
 Floating, like a gossamer, 
 As its fading volumes blent 
 With a cloudless firmament. 
 
 On a bank with pansies spread> 
 Laid the child his listless head. 
 Listening to the fountain's lull. 
 Turning now, a flower to cull, 
 Till, with heat and sleep oppressed, 
 The restless urchin sank to rest. 
 Nerveless falls his hand, the bow 
 Strikes the glittering sand below. 
 His quiver turns, the arrows fall. 
 And through the grot are scattered all- 
 4 
 
30 
 
 Closing eyes and drooping pinion, 
 Love, presage thee lost dominion. 
 
 To this grot, tradition saith, 
 Oft the pale destroyer, Death, 
 Came to rest his weary wings. 
 For the morrow's wanderings. 
 Here and there upon the ground 
 Many a shaft he'd scattered round; 
 Love's own arrows, loosely tossed, 
 Mingled lay, among them crossed. 
 
 Nestling there, 'mid shades and gleams 
 Dreamed he — Love's are pleasant dreams; 
 Happier, could they ne'er be past. 
 Or t?ie loveliest linger last. 
 Long he lay, his slumbers faded 
 Just as eve his couch had shaded; 
 Waked, he smoothed each ruffled wing. 
 Strained his bow's relaxing string. 
 Then, in twilight's deepening grey, 
 Sought the darts he'd cast away. 
 Thrown at random, mixed and crossed. 
 With the weapons Death had lost ; 
 
31 
 
 These, commingled with his own. 
 Placed he in his quivered zone. 
 
 Often, since that fatal hour, 
 Love and Death mistake their power : 
 Love hath winged in heedless play- 
 Bolts of death, that bore decay ; 
 Death has hurled, in cheated ire. 
 Love's own darts of quenchless fire : 
 Youth, in all its loveliest bloom, 
 Sinks to age's destined tomb ; 
 Age, with weak and wasted powers. 
 Tottering, treads Love's path of flowers. 
 Careless Eros ! man must weep 
 With many a tear thy noonday sleep. 
 
32 
 
 '' REQUIESCAM." 
 
 When, earth to earth, shall pass this mortal frame, 
 And the freed spirit soar to whence it came, 
 I ask no costly tomb above my dust, 
 No monumental urn or sculptured bust. 
 No hypocritic praise or prayer be mine, 
 No epitaph — a lie in every line : 
 My name must be my chronicle ; if not 
 By all remembered — then by all forgot. 
 
33 
 
 THE RETURN OF A SPIRIT. 
 
 At midnight's tranquil hour, 
 Breathless and cloudless was the world-starred sky ; 
 The wild bird's song had ceased ; each leaf and flow'r, 
 
 Dew-bent, slept heavily. 
 
 Frail as a passing dream, 
 A filmy form, whose traceried outlines shone 
 Half lost and blended in the moon's pale beam, 
 
 Bent o'er a mossy stone. 
 
 A lowly, lonely tomb 
 O'er which the light with mellow radiance fell 
 Through ihe dark cypress boughs that waved in gloom 
 
 Over the woodland dell. 
 
 4* 
 
34 THE RETURN OF A SPIRIT. 
 
 Long, with its starry eyes 
 Calmly the Spirit viewed the mound where lay 
 Its earthly form ; through life's dim memories, 
 
 Leaving its thoughts to stray. • 
 
 Here had its childhood played ; 
 These solitudes had known its youthful bloom.. 
 Its years maturer and its age decayed. 
 
 Here was its quiet tomb. 
 
 Lake, fount, and pebbled rill, 
 Grey rock and grassy bank, where wild flowers grew, 
 Wood, glen, blue outlines of each distant hill. 
 
 All, all, the Shadow knew. 
 
 It sought each sight and sound 
 Familiar long ; grove, bower, and brooklet cold. 
 Where through dark rocks and roots the waters wound 
 
 And murmured as of old. 
 
 And through a shadowed aisle 
 By arching boughs and vines o'ertwining made. 
 On to a mansion's ivy mantled pile 
 
 In life its home, it strayed. 
 
THE RETURN OF A SPIRIT. 35 
 
 Through the dim halls it passed 
 Light as the floating gossamer its tread, 
 To where its rays a paling taper cast 
 
 Upon a dreamer's bed. 
 
 Over the sleeping maid 
 It hmig : her polished brow and snowy breast 
 Gleamed through dark glossy curls that o'er them strayed 
 
 Her lips the shadow pressed ! 
 
 And with a long, long gaze 
 Of love ineffable and fondest care. 
 Slow melting into faint and formless haze. 
 
 Faded, like mist in air. 
 
 Deem not, when dies the clay 
 And soars to purer worlds the prisoned mind 
 Perish its loves and memories, nor stray 
 
 Oh ! loftier, holier far 
 When the freed spirit leaves its earthly frame> 
 Its nobler thoughts, affections, feelings are, 
 
 Unstained by selfish aim. 
 
36 THE RETURN OF A SPIRIT. 
 
 . A fair, immortal thing. 
 All thought, all bliss, all beauty, it can trace 
 From world to world, on strong untiring wing, 
 Its way through endless space. 
 
 And oft, like stars that fleet, 
 Tracing through middle air their bright career, 
 Returns to this dim earth, to guard and greet 
 
 Scenes, friends, for ever dear. 
 
37 
 
 TO DOLORES. 
 
 Oh ! pure in soul as fair of fame, 
 
 Thou dost not dream who breathes thy name, 
 
 Who gazing on thee as his Star, 
 
 Bends, worships, loves, reveres afar 
 
 As seraphs worship round the Throne, 
 
 And wastes with love he dares not own. 
 
 Afar, at midnight's lonely hour, 
 I've watch'd the lamp that lit thy bow'r, 
 And as its pale and quivering ray 
 Shone forth amid the moonbeams' play, 
 Have thought how blest the light must be 
 Whose little life was spent for thee. 
 
 A student I, but vainly pore 
 On tome and task of ancient lore 
 
38 TO DOLORES. 
 
 From every leaf, from every line 
 Thy clear dark eyes look up in mine : 
 By day, by night, thine image beams 
 On waking thought, on slumber's dreams. 
 
 Free was my soul — not lightly stirred 
 By woman's glance or woman's word — 
 Cold as the pure and feathery snow, 
 Unthawed, unstained by passion's glow, 
 Until upon my spirit fell 
 The magic of thy beauty's spell. 
 
 Alas ! too late the bird would wake 
 When round it coils the gazing snake ; 
 With shrivelled wings and writhing frame 
 Too late the moth would fly the flame ; 
 And he who dwells on Beauty's glance 
 Too late will wake from passion's trance. 
 
 I feel like those unblest who wait 
 
 Gazing afar on Eden's gate 
 
 From fires that round them snrge and swell, 
 
 Eternal, fierce, unquenchable 
 
 — This agony ! with love to cope 
 
 Yer know the hopelessness of hope ! 
 
39 
 
 THE INDIAN MAID, 
 
 A TALE OF LOUISIANA. 
 
 'Tis dead of night in the forest shade, 
 And the glimmering watch-fires fail and fade, 
 And their red light falls obscure and dim 
 On swarthy form and sinewy limb. 
 
 An Indian maid, at that lonely hour, 
 Sits pale and sad in her sylvan bow'r, 
 For a captive youth, of the bright blue eye 
 Awaits the smile of morn — to die. 
 
 He waits the doom of the red man's ire. 
 The rending steel and the searing fire ; 
 
40 THE INDIAN MAID. 
 
 And the bitter thoughts of his full heart roam 
 Far, far away, to his friends and home. 
 
 He turns — 'tis the step of an Indian maid, 
 Light as the fall of the leaves that fade : 
 She kneels— and his pinioned limbs are freed 
 — Away ! where her noiseless footsteps lead. 
 
 On their track ere morn came the hunter foes, 
 But with wild-herb's juice she had charmed their bows, 
 And the sharp shafts trimm'd with the eagle's wing 
 Fell harmless all from each broken string. 
 
 On, on, like deer by the wild wolf pressed, 
 From the bayou's pool to the dark lake's breast. 
 As swift as a hawk o'er the waters flew 
 The feathery keel of their light <}anoe. 
 
 Ere long, afar, in a stately pile 
 There were bridal songs, and the dance and smile ; 
 For the orange flow'r with its mystic braid 
 Gems the rich dark hair of the Indian maid. 
 
41 
 
 DREAM SKETCHES. 
 
 (from an unpublished poem.) 
 
 ' But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
 Down the green hills athwart a cedarn cover ! 
 A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
 By woman wailing for her demon-lover." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Beneath a wooded cliff's gloom-haunted cover, 
 O'er which the moonlight's mellow radiance broke, 
 
 Together sat the lady and her lover, 
 And low and earnest were the words they spoke. 
 
 At times his dark eye flashed, as when at night 
 
 The lightning glimmers through the storm-cloud's pile, 
 And passionate tremors shook the lady's frame. 
 
 5 
 
42 DREAM SKETCHES. 
 
 Unheeded near with foam and arrowy flight, 
 Rushed the wild waters through their channeled aisle 
 Of rock and forest — where remained mTeanwhile, 
 
 Absorbed in converse deep, the knight and dame. 
 
 Upon his ample brow, high, pale, and fair. 
 Was stamped, as if by flame, one ghastly scar 
 
 Hid by the clustering of his raven hair ; 
 His deep-set eyes, each like a gleaming star, 
 
 Shone with unearthly lustre ; with a scorn 
 Unspeakable his proud lip curled. The face 
 Was nobly featured, but all bloodless pale 
 
 As if by hidden anguish inly worn 
 
 And wasted ; but there lingered still a trace 
 Of superhuman beauty, and of grace 
 
 That even suffering could not change or veil. 
 
 Her's was a proud, yet mournful countenance ; 
 
 Her fair form tall, majestically regal. 
 Yet light as youthful Hebe's ; her's a glance 
 
 Whose brightnesswould not shame the bright-eyed eagle. 
 Clear, keenly penetrating ; and the high 
 
 And ample surface of her polished brow 
 
 Told of a strong, imaginative mind. 
 
DREAM SKETCHES. 43 
 
 And passions of a fierce intensity, 
 
 Burning like lava fires beneath their snow — 
 Formed for extremes of hajipiness or woe, 
 
 Are spirits of her order, thus enshrined. 
 
 There is a wild and melancholy wail, 
 The howl of frenzy and the maniac's cry 
 
 Around, and madness with thin visage pale. 
 Gibbering at phantoms with its glaring eye ; 
 
 And human wrecks of woe and wretchedness, 
 Madness in many shapes, and misery ■ 
 Untold is here — methinks I here discover 
 
 A well known form of passing loveliness, 
 Mournful, magnificent — Oh ! can it be. 
 The vision of my former dream ! 'Tis she — 
 
 And hark ! " she waileth for her demon-lover." 
 
 In her bright eyes there gleams the fire of madness ; 
 
 Down her white shoulders rains her rich dark hair; 
 And her clear voice, how sweet, how full of sadness I 
 
 Comes swelling mournfully upon the air ; 
 As wild iEolian tones, whose cadences 
 
 Aerial fingers wake, in music die, 
 
 So sink her trembling accents ; now she weeps, 
 
44 DREAM SKETCHES. ^ 
 
 And gazes now with looks of wild unease 
 Into the empty air as if to spy- 
 Some shadowy form that haunts her memory, 
 
 Shuns her when sought, unsought before her keeps. 
 
 Again I hear a sweetly mournful song — 
 
 There is an old grey venerable pile ; 
 I see a kneeling sisterhood that throng 
 
 The marble pavement of a fretted aisle, 
 Dim with the light that tinted windows throw 
 
 On antique column, sculptured capital, 
 
 And arch through which the mellowed radiance steals, 
 Bathing in rich and sunset- softened glow 
 
 Old statue, shrine, and painting-storied wall. 
 
 And the calm worshippers ; while over all. 
 Echoing, the solemn organ's anthem peals. 
 
 'Midst the mild light athwart the long aisle stealing, 
 
 Once more I spy that unforgotten form. 
 Lowly, among her lowly sisters kneeling ; 
 
 How changed again ! yet still with beauty warm. 
 Like Autumn's rose, a frail and fading flower. 
 
 Is she, the lady of the lonely dell. 
 
 Wasted and changed, by fearful suffering worn. 
 
DREAM SKETCHES. 45 
 
 Pangs of the mind, her demon-lover's power. 
 Strange madness, and the maniac's fearful cell. 
 Brief be her earthly pilgrimage — to dwell 
 
 On earth is misery when we live to mourn. 
 
 Once more I hear a melancholy strain 
 
 Come sweetly on the wailing wind ; once more 
 
 I see the cloistered aisle, the kneeling train 
 Of dark-robed votaries mine eyes before. 
 
 The evening sun again is beaming clear 
 
 Through pictured windows, and the autumnal gale 
 Moans round the time-worn turrets mournfully, 
 
 Mingling with hymns low-chanted round the bier 
 Of one departed. Wildly swells the wail — 
 That shrouded form with waxen features pale 
 
 Beautiful even in death — 'Alas ! 'tis she !, 
 
 And there upon her bier she lieth lowly I 
 A lovely, lifeless thing, with folded palm- 
 
 Upon her bosom ; resignation holy 
 
 Smiles on the pale pure face, serene and calm 
 
 As in a quiet, deep, and dreamless steep- 
 Surely she is not his — her nameless lover's — 
 None, not of heaven, so calmly sleep and well : 
 5* 
 
46 DREAM SKETCHES. 
 
 Good angels guard her in their sacred keep ! 
 
 O'er her cold clay the white-winged spirit hovers ; 
 
 Light lie the green and flower-lit earth that covers 
 The form of which we take a last farewell. 
 
47 
 
 TO THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 Bird of unwearied wing ! 
 Whose only home is ocean's restless wave, 
 Whither, while storm and tempest round thee rave 
 
 Art thou now wandering ? 
 
 Night after night has passed, 
 Wave after wave along the angry deep 
 Has swelled and swells ; more furious grows the sweep 
 
 Of the wild, maddening blast. 
 
 Sunless our skies by day. 
 Starless by night — no seaman's eye hath traced 
 Aught on the dull and leaden- colored waste 
 
 Where lies our trackless way. 
 
48 THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 Strong frames are worn by toil. 
 Strong timbers tried ; strained mast and shivered sail 
 Tell that our gallant bark begins to fail ; 
 
 But what thy course can foil ? 
 
 Alike in calm and storm 
 Secure from harm and careless thou dost roam ; 
 Even now, amid the driving spray and foam 
 
 I see thy tiny form. 
 
 To thee wise Nature gave 
 No soft melodious note or plumage gay, 
 But the dark wings that bear thee on thy way 
 
 Unwetted by the wave . 
 
 Thine was no greenwood nest 
 Poised among ruddy fruit and rustling leaves, 
 Thy food no young grain from the ripening sheaves ; 
 
 But the dark billow's crest. 
 
 And the sea's drifting weed 
 Received thy callow wing ; not even a rock 
 Of ocean gave to thee from ocean's shock 
 
 A shelter in thy need. 
 
THE STORMY PETREL. 49 
 
 Thine origin unknown, 
 No eye hath pierced the mystery of thy birth, 
 None e'er hath seen thee touch the shores of Earth, 
 
 None heard tliy voice's tone. 
 
 For on the waste of waves 
 Thou dwellest ever — there thy Ufe is passed, 
 And summer's torrid ray and winter's blast 
 
 AHke, thy small frame braves. 
 
 Harsh seems such lot, and hard ; 
 Yet He who formed and sent thee forth to roam 
 With restless wing the mighty ocean's foam 
 
 Thy happiness will guard. 
 
 — Man, thou to whom is given 
 The task of livelong toil and strife from birth ; 
 Fear not lest He forget thy wants on earth, 
 
 Thy happiness in Heaven, 
 
50 
 
 MISERERE, DOMINE. 
 
 When the Spirit, sent on earth, 
 In its hour of mortal birth, 
 Save of pain and sorrow, senseless, 
 Clay-encumbered and defenceless, 
 Bears its young life tearfully 
 — Miserere, Domine. 
 
 When the circling flight of time 
 Brings maturer powers and prime, 
 And a needful strength for strife 
 With the billowy waves of life 
 On its dark and stormy sea 
 —Miserere, Domine. 
 
MISERERE, DOMINE. 51 
 
 When with age is bent the frame, 
 And hfe's faint and flickering flame, 
 Low and pale, is dimly burning. 
 And our dust to dust returning; 
 As the parting soul is free 
 — Miserere, Domine. 
 
52 
 
 SUMMER HOURS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Morning is up, the fresh, the breezy morn 
 
 In grey robe heralding the coming day ; 
 
 O'er the green uplands lies our pleasant way 
 By many a field of ripe and rustling corn 
 Spangled with dew-tears. On the air is borne 
 The scent of countless starry flowers that throng 
 The grass-enamelled earth, the wild bird's song 
 Trilled from the summit of some blossomed thorn. 
 
 The fresh pure breeze flits by — this, this is breathing 
 That makes life luxury ; it thrills the soul 
 That, yearning, flutters to escape control. 
 
 And, where the mists round yonder hills are,wj:eathing 
 Their thin grey veils, o'er such a scene as this 
 Bird-like to soar, in ecstasy of bliss. 
 
SUMMER HOURS. 53 
 
 II. 
 
 Then at the dreamy noon of Summer's day- 
 Is it not sweet, recHning in the shade 
 Of some sequestered dell or grassy glade, 
 
 To listen to the murmuring bees, the play 
 
 Of crystal streamlets rippling on their way, 
 The locust's drone, the lulling serenade 
 And drop of twinkling waters, half-displayed 
 
 Through clustered leaves, where gleams some sunny ray ? 
 Thus, while ^olian tones enrich the gale, 
 
 Falling in clear and plaintive cadences, 
 
 And heavy with sweet odors comes the breeze, 
 I love to con some wild romantic tale. 
 
 And, fancy-rapt, all dreamily explore 
 
 The storied pages of poetic lore. 
 
54 
 
 THE SOUL FROM PURGATORY. 
 
 FROM C. DELAVIGNE. 
 
 Beloved one ! I have burst my chain, 
 And from the realm of tears and pain. 
 Before thee come, to weep and say, 
 " Oh ! pray for me, in mercy pray ! 
 Where are thy vows of prayer through life. 
 That cheered my parting spirit's strife. 
 
 Of prayer for ever ? 
 Oh ! since I left thy circling arms 
 No voice of prayer my spirit charms. 
 
 No, never, never ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day ; 
 I hearken— weep — thou dost not pray ! 
 
"the soul from purgatory." 55 
 
 *' By Lido may thy spirit keep," 
 
 (Said'st thou) " to see me sadly weep ;" — 
 It fled without a thought of gloom. 
 Friend ! on the stone that marks my tomb 
 Heaven's tearful dews fall cold and clear ; 
 But from thine eyes no single tear 
 
 Bedews the stone. 
 Oh ! pray for me, for prayer disarms 
 The Heaven that saw me in thine arms — 
 
 f writhe alone. 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day, 
 I hearken — weep — thou dost not pray ! 
 
 My friend ! our raptured ecstasies 
 
 Have cost me bitter agonies ! 
 
 Oh ! in this fearful place of ill 
 
 The unchanging days are endless still ; 
 
 There ceaseless creeps, to tell my trial, 
 
 The index round an hourless dial. 
 
 While I am burning. 
 Alas ! I vainly, vainly wait 
 Of thee deliverance from my fate, 
 
 Yet no returning ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day, 
 I wait and weep— thou dost not pray. 
 
56 " THE SOUL FROM PURGATORY." 
 
 Even when my crime was consummate 
 
 One sole regret had changed my fate : 
 
 Twice had my spirit nigh repented, 
 
 And twice just Heaven's fierce wrath relented, 
 
 When of the messenger of Death 
 
 I felt the viewless icy breath 
 
 My heart-strings sever : 
 But thou wert resting on my breast ; 
 Could I repent while thou wert blest ? 
 
 Now, woe for ever ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day ; 
 I writhe and weep — thou dost not pray ! 
 
 Call back the hours on Brenta's side ; 
 The place where oft our bark would glide, 
 Thence not till roseate morning's tinge 
 Leave the soft bank of grassy fringe. 
 Leave the close trees that drooped above 
 The spot that heard thy vows of love, 
 
 The cool, clear river ; 
 Where, in thine arms, Death marred my bliss, 
 Still trembling from thy burning kiss — 
 
 I burn for ever. 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day : 
 I burn and weep — thou dost not pray ! 
 
THE SOUL FROM PURGATORY." 57 
 
 Give me them back, those jasmine bowers 
 Strewn by thy hands with cooling flowers, 
 Where, watched by thee, my fevered brow 
 Was wont to rest — oh ! give me now, 
 The Hlac leaves that rain-drops threw. 
 Oh ! let my hot lips drink their dew — 
 
 Oh ! bear me thither. 
 Alas ! just Heaven ! I thirst, I thirst ; 
 Thou dost not pray, and I am cursed ; 
 
 I scorch, I wither ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day, 
 I parch, I wail — thou dost not pray. 
 
 By wood and stream I see thee rove, 
 And one is near thee, \vhispering love. 
 Oh ! when her madly jealous grasp 
 Tore even my portrait from thy clasp 
 And cast it on the engulphing wave 
 Thou did'st not interpose to save. 
 
 Ah ! misery ! 
 Why thus to tempt thy pity turn i* 
 In silence, let me weep and burn, 
 
 For, woe is me ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day ; 
 My fate is cast — thou ivilt not pray 1 
 6* 
 
58 " THE SOUL FROM PURGATORY." 
 
 Farewell, no more my ghost appears. 
 To weary thee with fruitless tears ; 
 But, since thy heart another charms 
 From me — be happy in her arms, 
 And blest in love, her love return. 
 For thee I died, for thee I burn, 
 
 Lost, lost, for ever ! 
 Ah ! think, while revelling in her kiss. 
 Of me within my red abyss, 
 
 There I descend, oh ! follow never ! 
 Years pass, and day succeeds to day, 
 Think of my doom, and learn to pray. 
 
59 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF FRAY LUIS DE LEON. 
 
 When dark King Roderick lay- 
 Mid Tagus' solitary groves of oak 
 
 Alone with Cava fair, his hapless prey, 
 Forth from his realm of waters rismg broke . 
 The Spirit of the wave, and thus indignant spoke. 
 
 In dark and evil hour, 
 False ravisher, of pleasure dost thou cloy — 
 
 Even now, I see the gathering tempest lower, 
 I hear the clang of arms, the fearful joy. 
 The deepening roar of War, impatient to destroy. 
 
 Ah ! for thine amorous mirth ! 
 How fraught with bitter wailing ! yon fair dame. 
 Evil the day that shone upon her birth, 
 
4k>,. 
 
 60 THE PROPHECY GF THE TAGUS.. 
 
 Evil for Spain ! what tears her sorrows claim, 
 
 And to the Gothic throne how filled with costly shame. 
 
 Flames, discord, griefs untold. 
 Death, desolation, ills like beasts of prey 
 
 Cruel and fierce, thy clasj)ing arms enfold ; 
 Terrors and toils that must endure for aye. 
 To thee and thine, to all who own thy sceptre's sway. 
 
 From those who round the homes 
 Of Constantina delve the fertile plain 
 
 To those who dwell where Ebro's current foams. 
 To Sansuena, Lusitania's reign, 
 To all the realm of wide, of most unhappy Spain. 
 
 Even now from Cadiz' walls 
 
 The injured Count, on direst vengeance prone>, 
 
 And deaf to fame, to reputation, calls 
 On the barbarian unbeliever's throne. 
 To whom, alas for thee ! delay is all unknown. 
 
 Hark ! to the heavens how rings. 
 With wild and startling clang the trumpet's blare. 
 Whose call from Afric's red recesses brings 
 
THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS. 61 
 
 The swarthy Moor to rear on high and bear 
 
 The bannered moon that waves hght flaunting on the air. 
 
 Even now, the Arab shakes 
 His long lance, quivering like a beam of light ; 
 
 Cleaving the winds he flies afar and wakes 
 Innumerable squadrons for the fight-^ 
 A moment, and they come, — I see their ranks unite. 
 
 Their numbers hide the soil, 
 The sea is white with many a swelling sail ; 
 
 The sound of many tongues in wild turmoil 
 Confused and various grows, and through the veil 
 Of rising dust the sun beams dim, obscure, and pale. 
 
 How swiftly o'er the main 
 Rise from the dim horizon's distant lifie 
 
 Their towering ships ! how fast the sinewy strain 
 Of vigorous arms impels their prows ! how shine 
 Their white and flashing tracks along the foamy brine. 
 
 Filled with their warlike freight 
 Before the favoring wind they sweeping glide 
 Through stern Gibraltar's Herculean strait. 
 
62 THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS. 
 
 Where to their hissing keels, his portals wide 
 Grey Neptune opes before the fell Armada's pride. 
 
 Alas ! and wilt thou still 
 Lie lapped in joys unholy ? must I call 
 
 In vain to warn thee of the coming ill ? 
 Rise to the rescue ! see'st thou not the wall 
 
 Of Calpe's sacred rock yon fierce invader's thrall. 
 
 « 
 
 Oh ! haste, speed, speed thee, fly ! 
 Climb the steep mountain ridge, intrench the plain, 
 
 Man every wall, the foemen to defy, 
 Spare not the bloody spur, nor draw the rein, 
 But wave the angry sleel, it must not flash in vain ! 
 
 Ah ! me ! what endless woes. 
 What troubles, hot fatigues, and stern turmoil, 
 
 Even now await the hardy frames of those 
 Who don their armor for their native soil. 
 To chief and vassal, man and steed, what fearful toil ! 
 
 And thou, bright Guadalquivir, 
 Stained with the blood of friend and foe, till strong 
 And turbid flows thy wave, thou gentle river, 
 
THE PROPHECY OF THE TAGUS. 63 
 
 Helmet and corselet crushed, a mangled throng, 
 And many a noble corse thy current bears along. 
 
 Five suns have shone from heaven, 
 Still, on thy redly plashed and trampled banks 
 
 With equal pow'r the furious fight hath striven — 
 The sixth morn dawns ! and o'er thy broken ranks 
 And thee, fair land, his chain the fell barbarian clanks. 
 
64 
 
 FROM QUEVEDO. 
 
 Orpheus, so ancient legends say, 
 
 Went, for his wife, to hell ; 
 Which were more strange, the wish or way, 
 
 'Twere hard, indeed, to tell. 
 
 He sang, and pain forgetful paused 
 
 Among those realms of fire ; 
 More by his wondrous errand caused, 
 
 Than by his heavenly lyre. 
 
 The gloomy God, incensed at first, 
 
 That mortal so could dare ; 
 Of every torment gave the worst, 
 
 For Orpheus gained his prayer. 
 
FROM QUEVEDO. 65 
 
 Yet, though, indignant at the wrong, 
 The God would not refuse her ; 
 
 To recompense the poet's song, 
 He aided him to lose her. 
 
66 
 
 RESURGAM.'' 
 
 " Oh ! the grave ! the grave I It buries every error — covers every defect — 
 extinguishes every resentment. * * * * Be sure that every unkind look, 
 every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon 
 the memory * * * be sure thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on 
 thy grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear ; more deep 
 more bitter, because unheard and unavailing."— Irving. 
 
 The grave ! The grave ! It is a bitter thing 
 To bend o'er those we love, when life away 
 
 Sinks like a failing lamp, and gaspings wring 
 The wasted form, precursors of decay; 
 
 When from its cage the fluttering soul takes wing 
 Like a freed bird, and all is lifeless clay 
 
 — The deep, the wild immedicable grief 
 
 That cannot, will not, must not know relief ! 
 
^^RESURGAM.. 67 
 
 Gaze on the bloodless cheek, the pallid brow, 
 And mark the rigid, strange, unwonted air ; 
 
 The heart that feels not, heaves not, throbs not now ; 
 The mute pale lips, the fixed and glassy glare 
 
 Of the filmed eye ; the veins, whose restless flow 
 Is frozen. Death has stamped his impress there. 
 
 Gaze on — fear, wonder, weep and smile — what preaching 
 
 Conveys a moral like Death's silent teaching ? 
 
 Hark to the eloquence of each cold clod, 
 Whose dull sound from the hollow coffin lid 
 
 Strikes heavy to the heart ! The bright green sod. 
 Gemmed with some little flower, soon springs unbid 
 
 Oathe low mound by careless footsteps trod 
 Or moist with many tears — Whose clay lies hid, 
 
 Peasant's or prince's .' spade's or sceptre's rust ? 
 
 — Their skulls grin equal mockery ; both are dust. 
 
 Mourn we the dead ? Transformed, on angel wing 
 They watch our sleep with many a smile or tear ; 
 
 The loving, loved, and lost, revisiting 
 Old scenes familiar, beings ever dear. 
 
 To whom fond memories of existence cling ; 
 For the blest spirit in its happier sphere 
 
68 
 
 Some trace of earthly passions ever keeps, 
 Smiles with the smiling, with the mourner weeps. 
 
 It must be so ; or love's terrestrial ray 
 
 Is not the love that lights our homes on high. 
 
 Can they who once have trod life's lingering way 
 Now gaze-, with calmly cold, unpitying eye, 
 
 On souls still struggling in their chains of clay ? 
 Heed they nor joy or sorrow, smile or sigh ? 
 
 Can Angels hail a wandering soul's recall^ 
 
 But not lament a human spirit's fall ? 
 
 And in Man's dwelling-places many sent 
 Dwell with us and around us, but unknown ; 
 
 Peopling with viewless forms each element ; 
 We walk not earth's green solitudes alone, 
 
 Spirits are there, on good or ill intent ; 
 And sprites, that till with wild and elfin tone 
 
 The wind-harp, haunt the fragrance-breathing flowers, 
 
 Or sadly wail round old deserted towers. 
 
 Relics of long forgotten glories fled, 
 
 Now, like their builders, mouldering to decay ; 
 
 Silent and songless, dark, untenanted. 
 Save by the owl and prowling fox that stray 
 
*^ RESURGAM." 69 
 
 Where erst the Ughtsonie dance gay Beauty led. 
 
 — Now mark their walls, the pale moon's trembling ray 
 Stealing through tangled ivy and the vine 
 That round the broken casements clambering twine. 
 
 Oh ! dee^Dly, sweetly, mournfully they thrill, 
 
 Those spirit-tones, as if a requiem lay 
 From time to time, with wild and wondrous skill 
 
 Were chanted forth for things that pass away ; 
 Yet Nature weeps not, but with kindly will 
 
 Creates new life, new beauty from decay; 
 Fair flowers will bud and blossom o'er a tomb» 
 And daily dawns a glory from the gloom. 
 
70 
 
 A HEALTH TO CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Heap the red hearth high, drain the wine cup dry, 
 
 Pile the board with our Christmas cheer ; 
 Here's a welcome bright to the fine old wight. 
 
 The king of the parting year : 
 Though white be the snow on his frosted brow. 
 
 Yet his eyes glance clear and cold, 
 And his fresh red cheek has a healthy streak 
 
 —Here's a health to Christmas old. 
 
 Though the grey skies frown on the cold earth down, 
 
 And the frost-work veil the tree, 
 And the bleak wind sough through the leafless bough, 
 
 'Tis the cheerier time for glee : 
 Let the circling glass and the gay jest pass, 
 
 And the merriest tale be told : 
 
A HEALTH TO CHRISTMAS. 71 
 
 Fly, care, from each sonl as our song we troll 
 — Here's a health to Christmas old. 
 
 He smiles on us now with his open brow, 
 
 As he smiled on our ancient sires 
 At their festal ball in the wide oak hall 
 
 By the blaze of the bright yule fires. 
 He is linked with the lore of the times of yore, 
 
 — Then be there no heart so cold 
 That cares to gainsay ns our pledge to-day 
 
 —Here's a health to Christmas old. 
 
72 
 
 UNDINE AND THE HUNTER. 
 
 Morning breaks brightly. 
 
 The beautiful morn ! 
 As a young hunter lightly 
 
 With hound and with horn 
 Forth joyously sallies 
 
 All reckless of fear 
 Through green woods and valleys 
 
 To chase the wild deer. 
 
 From her lair in the hollow 
 
 A white doe upsprings ; 
 Hound and hunter, they foUaw ; 
 
 The old forest rings ! 
 Away ! and away 
 
 Sweeps the chase from the scene- 
 
UNDINE AND THE HUNTER, 73 
 
 *Tis the witch-deer, the white deer 
 Of Lady Undine i 
 
 Noonday is glowing ; 
 
 There breathes not a breeze, 
 There stirs not a leaf 
 
 On the motionless trees. 
 What hunter dare follow ? 
 
 The hounds lag behind — 
 That deer, like a swallow, 
 
 Outspeedeth the wind. 
 
 Noon ! and the sun 
 
 Sheds a fierce fieiy glow. 
 Yet untiringly One 
 
 Hath still followed the doe ; 
 Still tracking that light deer 
 
 Through solitudes green, 
 The witch-deer, the white deer 
 
 Of Lady Undine. 
 
 In vain ! o'er yon river 
 
 The quarry hath crossed, 
 And the shafts from his quiver 
 
 Are scattered and lost. 
 
74 UNDINE AND THE HUNTER. 
 
 She scapes thee, she scorns thee, 
 Light bounding away — 
 
 Young hunter ! naught warns thee, 
 Thyself art the prey. 
 
 He seeks the dark torrent 
 
 To taste of its wave, 
 And in the cool current 
 
 His temples to lave — 
 Why stands he as spell-bound ? 
 
 What there hath he seen ? 
 'Tis the slumbering form of 
 
 The Lady Undine. 
 
 Like clouds scarce concealing 
 
 The moonbeams they dim, 
 Seemed her robes, half revealing 
 
 Each beautiful hmb: 
 Witched, won by her beauty, 
 
 His rapt senses reel, 
 And his footsteps still nearer 
 
 Unconsciously steal. 
 
 The dry twigs break crushing— 
 Her blue eyes unclose, 
 
:S^ 
 
 UNDINE AND THE HUNTER. 75 
 
 And startled and blushing 
 
 She springs from repose; 
 To the still, silent water 
 
 She flies, its fair qneen — 
 He pursues, he hath caught her, 
 
 The Lady Undine ! 
 
 He hath checked, he hath clasped her 
 
 'Twixt deep wave and land, 
 And his strong hand hath grasped her 
 
 Own small taper hand : 
 She strives not, she flies not 
 
 — Now fain would he Hy, 
 Yet scapes not and tries not, . 
 
 Spell-fixed by her eye. 
 
 Her bright glance hath bound him, 
 
 Her sweet accents thrill. 
 In her arms she hath wound him 
 
 She smiles on him still ; 
 Deep, deep they are sinking, 
 
 — The wave flows serene : 
 She hath witched a new lover, 
 
 The Lady Undine. 
 
76 
 
 THE SURPRISE, 
 
 Where the forest cool and shady 
 
 Doth our loitermg steps invite, 
 Wilt thou wander with me, Lady, 
 
 In the evening's fading light, 
 Through yon long aisles arched and airy 
 
 Where the twining branches meet, 
 And bright Spirits, nymph and fairy. 
 
 Haunt the greenwood's still retreat ? 
 
 Lady ! oft, while thus I wander 
 By dim wood and silvery tide. 
 
 Fancy-rapt, to dream and ponder, 
 One fair spirit haunts my side : 
 
 Sunlight, shadow, forest, fountain, 
 Kippling wave, or leaves that stir, ' 
 
THE SURPRISE. 77 
 
 Every wind whose light wings wanton 
 — Earth, air, heaven— all breathe of her. 
 
 Gentle Spirit, graceful Spirit, 
 
 Of the brown and braided hair, 
 Wert thou not, this world what were it. 
 
 Loveliest form of Earth or Air ! 
 Spirit of the dim old forest. 
 
 With thy dark and dreamy eyes. 
 Wear once more the shape thou worest, 
 
 Radiant all with beauty, rise ! 
 
 Through the gloom whose veils enfold her, 
 
 Like a star that clouds enfold, 
 Dream-like, dimly seen, behold her ! 
 
 — Earth hath naught of lovelier mould. 
 Such, long since, she beamed upon me 
 
 With that pure and Parian brow. 
 When her glorious beauty won me 
 
 — 'Twas at evening's hour, as now. 
 
 Gazing on her beauty's splendor, 
 Feelings long suppressed were stirred ; 
 
 And in accents low and tender 
 
 Faltering came each fervent word ; 
 8 
 
78 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 Downcast still, her soft eyes glisten 
 'Tis love's fondest, holiest vow ; 
 
 And my Spirit — Lady, listen ! 
 Loved one, loveliest, it is thou. 
 
79 
 
 THE WATERFALL. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 — The Cataract ! 
 Pouring through riven cliffs its swift dark stream 
 Whose glassy curve upon the dizzy edge 
 Hangs as in silent horror— Lo ! it shoots 
 Headlong, and startled into mad despair, 
 Falls writhing down the abyss. The foam and coil ! 
 And roar of flashing waters as they hang 
 Transfixed upon the jagged rocks, or dashed 
 Into pale mist and thin prismatic spray 
 Glittering like shivered opal gems. But see 
 Where, through the forest showered, yon sunbeams fall 
 Athwart the torrent's thickest rain, there flit 
 
80 THE WATERFALL. 
 
 Twin butterflies at play, their yellow wings 
 Glancing among yon rainbow's mimic drops 
 Like autumn leaves. 
 
 How wildly beautiful ! 
 A gnarled elm upon the very verge 
 Of the sheer precipice has twined its roots 
 Into the rough grey crags ; here let me cling 
 And look into the chasm. The shattered wave 
 Whirls through yon deep black shadow-darkened pool 
 Studded with iron rocks, its weary surge 
 Roughened and plashed with spots of whitened foam 
 Like a strong courser panting. Lower down 
 Leaps the swift current o'er its channeled bed 
 Shadowed and dark w^ith meeting trees, and lit 
 At intervals with hazy sunlight ; now 
 'Tis lost behind a jutting point, and now 
 Again beheld in distant glimpses, filled 
 With light and shade alternate. 
 
81 
 
 TO IDEALA. 
 
 Vision Ideal 
 
 That hauntest my sight ! 
 Shade of a Real 
 
 Of beauty and light ! 
 Spirit ! that ever 
 
 From youth's early hour 
 Hast thrown o'er my spirit 
 
 The spell of thy power, 
 To last till turns hoary 
 
 The hair on my brow — 
 In thy grace and thy glory 
 
 Appear to me now. 
 
 8* 
 
82 TO IDEALA. 
 
 Come ! though the vision 
 
 Bring madness and pain, 
 The bliss were Elysian 
 
 To meet thee again : 
 To thee, as to woman. 
 
 Adoring I bow ; 
 I know thee not'human 
 
 Yet vow thee love's vow. 
 Smile on me, hear me, 
 
 Bright Spirit of Air ! 
 Vanish not — cheer me, 
 
 And hark to my prayer. 
 
 Bring back the brightness. 
 
 The bloom of this Earth, 
 Life's loveliness, lightness. 
 
 Its joys and its mirth ; 
 The fervor, the feeling. 
 
 The freshness of youth. 
 Unchecked, unconcealing, 
 
 Its trust, and its truth ; 
 The calmness I cherished 
 
 When still fancy-free j 
 And my peace, that has perished, 
 
 Confided to thee ! 
 
TO IDEALA. 83 
 
 Bring back the beauty 
 
 And brightness of years 
 Undimmed, till stern duty. 
 
 Love's sorrow, Avrung tears : 
 For my world was once lighted 
 
 By Love — the divine ! 
 When my heart was first plighted, 
 
 For ever to thine ; 
 When my mind did surrender 
 
 Its powers at thy throne, 
 And flashed back the splendor 
 
 That flashed from thine own. 
 
 Give back life's gladness. 
 
 Its glory and peace. 
 Or else let my madness. 
 
 My misery, cease. 
 Let this wild, weary yearning 
 
 Not torture my soul : 
 Let my spirit, earth-spurning, 
 
 Escape Earth's control ; 
 Oh ! loose the strong chain. 
 
 Let the captive be free ; 
 Or call him again 
 
 Back to life, love, and thee. 
 
84 
 
 A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 (from the SPANISH OF JUAN DE TIMONEDA.) 
 
 Come in the house now, Gil Garcia/' 
 Lay by the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
 Oh ! who could patiently silent be 
 
 When plagued with a husband such as he, 
 
 Ever quarrelling, making a stir, 
 And 1 must not speak to him ! mighty fine ! 
 
 Come in, don't stand in the street there, sir. 
 ■ Lay by the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
 Gil, come in to mind your business. 
 
 And cease to vex me with this disdain." 
 
A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE. 85 
 
 " Wife, in the street there's less uneasiness, 
 And therefore here I'd rather remain ; 
 
 A dispute, my dear, I must fain decUne, 
 For your tongue, when it runs, has never a rein, 
 
 So to enter now 1 don't incline ; 
 Lay by the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
 *• Come in to scour and clean the floor ; 
 
 You've always done it, let's have no strife." 
 ** Why, indeed, I would enter, wife. 
 
 But I fear me much of something more." 
 " Come, you can enter, the words I spoke 
 Were merely uttered in fun and joke, 
 For I love my joke as you love your wine." 
 " Lay by the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
 " Come in, come in, for the market's made, 
 And I want a fire to be kindled quick." 
 " Wife, excuse me, I'm somewhat afraid ; 
 I like not the size of that firewood stick, 
 If I enter, you'll lay it on fast and thick ; 
 For no fault that I've done my bones will pine ; 
 Layby the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
86 A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 " Gil, come in without demurring ; 
 
 That my anger's over I'll give you proof." 
 *' Yes, my dove, but the broomstick's stirring. 
 Throw it away to the yard or roof; 
 Once scared, I'll trust no promises fine. 
 Lay by the broomstick, wife of mine." 
 
87 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF GIL VICENTE, 
 
 Graceful is the Lady's air 
 As her form is bright and fair. 
 
 Tell me, mariner who dwellest 
 On the blue and foamy sea, 
 
 Is thy snowy sail or vessel. 
 Or the stars as fair as she ? 
 
 Tell me, knight who donnest armor, 
 Proud in deeds of chivalry. 
 
 Are thine arms, thy fiery charger, 
 Or the conflict fair as she ? 
 
 Tell me, shepherd, thou who guardest 
 Flocks upon the grassy lea. 
 
 Are thy flocks, thy pleasant valleys, 
 Or the green earth fair as she ? 
 
88 
 
 FROM HORACE. 
 
 I HATE all pompous Persian show ; 
 
 No crowns entwined with linden bring, 
 Nor search, my boy, each nook, to know 
 
 Where Autumn's roses spring. 
 
 Weave me no wreaths with anxious care ; 
 
 Not ill becomes my brow or thine 
 The myrtle leaf that decks my hair, 
 
 Here drinking 'neath the vine.