^ •> kP•7^ ^^^^^ ^* •*;<. ° POEMS ANNIE E. CLARK PHILADELPHIA B. LIPPIjS^COTT & CO. 1866. r T5 lz<^ej Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for tlie Eastemi District of Penisylvaria. TO BENNINGTON T. KANBOLPH, ESQ. j YOUR LOVING NIECE OFFERS YOU THESE POEMS AS AN EX- PRESSION OF HER ESTEEM, AND FOR THE PLEA- SURE OF CONNECTING HER EFFORTS WITH YOUR NAME. . Philadelphia, Now, 1865. CONTENTS PAGE WHAT THE VOICE SAID 9 SLEEP WELL 12 ONLY 14 MY MOTHER 15 LINES 16 CONSUMPTION 17 I REMEMBER 19 THE MURDER OF RUTLAND 20 AN INVOCATION 23 THE SAME OLD PLACE 23 THOUGHTS AT SUNSET 24 PRAYER ON THE BATTLE-FIELD 26 THE CHANGE 27 TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM 29 TO THEE I COME 30 LONGINGS 31 IF 32 MY LOST SCHOOLMATE 33 QUIETLY 36 GONE 37 I ASK NOT 38 LITTLE JIM 39 1* 5 6 CONTENTS. PAGE TWILIGHT 41 GO 42 ASPIRATIONS ; 43 LINES TO THE DEPARTED 45 THE STREAMLET 46 YEARNINGS 47 SILENTIA 50 THE WINTER NIGHT 51 LINES TO A WANDERER 52 THREE YEARS 54 THE THREE GRACES 55 LINES TO 56 GOD LOVE THEE 57 LOUISE SCHEPLER 59 MUSIC OF THE DEEP 60 HOW LONG? 62 THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP 63 BRIGHT AND DARK 64 SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE? 65 SHIPWRECKED 66 A WISH 68 THE PHANTOM VOICE 69 LINES : 70 LIFE 71 THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT 72 WE TWO 74 FALTER NOT 75 A PICTURE 76 BESIDE THE LAKE 78 THE QUESTION SI AT NIGHTFALL 82 HE DID HIS DUTY 83 CONTENTS. 7 PAGE CLOUDS 84 A VISION 85 FROZEN TO DEATH 87 LOOK ON HER TENDERLY 90 LINES .^ 91 FORGET 93 LOVE ONCE 95 THE GOLDEN CROWN 95 AUTUMN DAYS 97 AT TflE HOSPITAL 98 WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY? 101 AMERICA 102 LINES WRITTEN AT A GRAVE 103 A CHILD'S WISH 104 THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE 105 ECHOINGS 106 SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? 107 PROSPECTIA^E AND RETROSPECTIVE 109 YOUTH'S DREAM 110 THEN, AND NOW Ill DREAMS 113 A THOUGHT OF DEATH 114 SONG OF THE VIOLET 115 REVERIE 117 COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS 119 LEONIE 120 ABSENCE 121 SPRING DAYS 122 LINES 124 THE DAYS OF YORE 125 WHAT THEN? 126 QUESTIONINGS 128 8 CONTENTS. PAGE DEATH'S DRAFT 129 A VISION 131 WHEN SHALL I THINK OF THEE? 132 THY VOICE 133 THE BEGGAR'S DEATH 135 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM 136 LITTLE EFFIE 137 A MOTHER'S FAREWELL TO HER CHILD 138 LINES TO MY BIRD 141 THOUGHTS 142 LINES 143 REFUGE ' 144 THE IDLE WORD 145 POEMS. WHAT THE VOICE SAID. Said a voice at break of day, In the sweet and flow'ry May, "All things bright must fade away." Looking from my own heart's gloom Out upon the violet's bloom. Scarce believed I this their doom. Looked I o'er the fields of green, Where the brooklet leaps between, Over which the willows lean. Thinking why on such a day That prophetic voice should say, "All things bright must fade away." Buttercups of golden hue Speckled all the meadows through. As the stars the heavens do. 10 POEMS. Tufts of moss, contrasting neat With the wild flowers at my feet, Carpet made, most downy sweet. Summer grew with wealth of bloom, Spring flowers vanished in their tomb, Leaving not a trace of gloom; For the roses, rich and rare, Bloomed and blossomed, bright, and fair. O'er the landscape everywhere. Richly laden were the trees, Richly laden roamed the breeze; Richer still the honey-bees. Broadest fields of golden wheat Nodded to the clover sweet. Making summer's prime complete. But the Autumn ripened fast, Bearing on its ruthless blast Lingering roses — summer's last. While decay with wing dark-singed, x\nd with finger crimson-tinged. All the woodland tree-tops fringed; WHAT THE VOICE SAID. 11 Till a glory and a blush Fell o'er every hill and bush, In the great autumnal hush. Leaves fell silently and slow, In the peaceful sunset's glow. To the withered leaves below. For the red man's summer long Lingered like a parting song, The hushed hills, and woods among. But December, chill with gloom. Wailed a dirge o'er nature's tomb. Sighing for her buried bloom. o And her sighing seemed to say. With that voice at break of day, All things bright must fade away." Nature must in every clime Yield her gifts of God sublime. To the harvest scythe of time." Yet that hand which deals the blow, A fresh beauty can bestow As the changing seasons a'o." 12 POEMS. "Resurrection is no dream! Nature types a fitting gleam, Of the God-liglit that shall seem," "' Floating round our loved ones there, In the calm celestial air Of the heavenly home so fair." " Faces long with dust allied, Noble hearts, and sorrow-tried. There shall greet us, glorified!^ '^ There, where living waters gleam, And the earth-life past shall seem, Like the shadow of a dream." SLEEP WELL. She lingers where the sun's last ray Upon the hill reposes. And gently o'er her soldier's grave Strews summer's latest roses. " Sleep well, my brave," she softly saith, "The willow-branch above thee. The twilight star, the wind's low breath, Shall whisper that I love thee." SLEEP WELL. lo •• Sleep well, my brave, no ruder tone Shall reach thy peaceful pillow. Than yon calm river's liquid moan, Or rustling of the willow. The fading leaves from yonder oak Shall softly drift above thee. And each one whisper as it falls. The secret that I love thee." ''Thou sleepest well! thy rest is deep! No cry of mine may wake thee 5 And here, though all the summer long. The song-birds ne'er forsake thee. Thou canst not hear their cheerful song. Nor mine, so full of aching. Then sleep thou well, my noble one. Nor heed this wild heart-breaking." "As man may do, thy truth is proved; Thy courage, and thy valor; And now, what matter though life's flus^ Be quenched in death-like pallor? 'Tis I alone have not forgot While Autumn winds are sighing, To strew fresh roses o'er the spot Where thou, my brave, art lying." '•Sleep well, sleep well! for far away. Where angel harps are ringing. 14 POEMS. I know tliy voice, on earth so sweet. Is mingled with their singing. And those pure eyes of thine now see Me at thy grave, me only. In the dim Autumn twilight left All desolate, and lonely.'' ONLY. Only another sword Dripping with human blood; Only another drop Swelling the crimson flood. ^& Only another tear Wiped from the face of time; Only a brother dear Lost in his manhood's prime ! Smoothly the garments fold Over the silent breast. Only another soul Gone to its dreamless rest! MY MOTHER. 15 MY MOTHER. My Mother! — 'tis the gentlest word E'er heard from mortal tongue j And on that word in earlier years My childish accents hung, Unconscious then, of all she wrought In tenderness for. me, \Yhen I was but a fretful child, Upon that mother's knee. My Mother ! ah, the thrilling word I Could angel eyes look down To watch my bed-side while I sleep, I'd think they were her own, — Her tender eyes! Ah! never more Shall slightest look from me, Cause one sad tear within those eyes To dim their brilliancy. Her gentle voice within whose tone Forever sweet and kind, I've often found a soothing balm For my o'erwearied mind; It thrills me yet! Like summer eves When storm and cloud have past, Its memory in my spirit leaves A calm too sweet to last. 16 POEMS. My Mother! ah, these tender words, Ml/ Mother, in whose heart A welcome place is ever kept For my own love apart. How might I on that bosom now As in the days of yore, Drink in the sweetness of those eyes, And hear that voice once more. LINES. High thoughts lie stillest, and high brows Are calm; But who to the way-worn spirit Can minister true balm? The brow may rise serene; the eye May beam As though no canker in the heart Did grow; the world may deem, No worm hath ever pierced its leaves, Nor care. Alas! no heart so blest but grief Will soon find lodsrment there. CONSUMPTION. 17 And there is only one can send True rest Through all life's ebbing waves; for life In him alone is blest. The high and holy One! whose brow Of light, Reflected clearly down through life, Can make our own brows bright. CONSUMPTION. Thy smiles are for the grave ! Thy brilliant eyes With their calm earnest look, thy virgin brow, Are all marked for the grave. I've watched the skies At sunset, 'ere the last faint hues have died, And seen amid the flickering light, a queenly star arise All luminous, and pure; and often I have thought, How like are thy dear eyes which beam so clearly forth, To that fair evening star. Above the rosy tinge Which flushes now thy cheek, they kindle and grow bright. The day-beam flickers; and as night creeps on That star sinks to its rest. Yet murmur not ! 2* A 2 18 POEMS. Thy trembling lips shall soon awake in song Triumphant over death. Oh ! when the soft winds come And murmur o'er thy grave, how will my sad heart mourn ! Then life will seem a weary clog to keep my soul from thine. The flowers will bloom again — the flowers which we have loved, The singing birds will come, and warble round our door, The southern winds will come, breathing their summer song. But ah ! ^mid all these sights, and sounds, Thy voice will come no more — no more ! Move gently, calmly, on ! No bitter pain Will mar thy peaceful death. Thine eyes will softly close. And as thy last breath parts, the tranquil soul will soar, Where death, with wasting hand, shall never reach thee more. I REMEMBER. 19 I EEMEMBER. I REMEMBER it well, — the queer wee house. With its roof all thatched and brown, It nestled close to the hill's broad base, Just one mile from the town : And Maud lived there, the miller's child, The miller old and stern, Who knew that she, with her childish ways, Had all things yet to learn. I remember her well: she was just fifteen When the early snow flakes fell, A sweeter face I had never seen. And I learned to love her well. But the old man died, and a stranger came To dwell in the lonely place; And my welcome there was not the same, Except from Maud's kind face. I remember them all; — the frozen stream That slumbered beside her door. The silent mill, whose echoing clang Was heard on the hills no more; The still white mantle of spotless snow That shrouded her humble roof. The long sad days, when vrith heavy heart, I silently kept aloof. 20 POEMS. But tlie spring returned, and the violet blue Sprang up by the murmuring stream, And old Millvale was fair once more As the page of an angel's dream. But a soft white hand that was clasped in mine, And an eye with its starry gleam. Were fairer far in that sweet old time, Than the page of an angel's dream. I remember them all at old Millvale, The mill-stream, and the mill, The old brown house, whose shrunken frame Stands mouldering there still: But Maud's dark eyes, and graceful form. Are huried near that stream. And her memory comes through sorrow's storm Like the thought of a peaceful dream. THE MURDER OF RUTLAND. Rutland — " Oh let me pray before I take my death, To thee I pray ', sweet Clifford pity me ! Clifford — Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rutland — I never did thee harm, Avhy wilt thou slay me? Clifford — Thy father slew my father ; therefore die." Oh, cruel Clifford! spare that boy, So innocent, and free, THE MURDER OF RUTLAND. 21 Who never in his little life Has thought to injure thee. Lift not thy hcand to harm that head With all its shining hair, As thou would'st ever look to heaven, And hope for mercy there. See those sweet eyes with all the wealth , Of heaven in their blue, Now raised in tearful agony With their mute prayer to you; And those pale, trembling, pleading lips, Lisping their earnest cry — "Oh, Clifford! Clifford! pity me! Say, wherefore must I die?" Oh! shame upon thy vengeful soul; Throw down the glittering steel! Has thy proud heart, once young like his. Forgotten how to feel? 'Tis true that in an angry hour His father slew thine own. But, think you for his father's sin That poor boy should atone? See him now crouching at thy feet In agony of fright, 22 POEMS. See liis pale clieek all wet with tears; Look, Clifford, on the sight! Those little hands so tightly clasped, Have clasped thine own before, Now they are raised in prayer to thee, Oh! what would'st thou have more? Take his young life from out his veins? Forever hush that voice? Oh! what remorse will sting thy soul If this is now thy choice. For very shame throw down thy sword, Have mercy on the boy; Upraise his trembling form, and fill His little heart with joy. Thou wilt not? oh, revenge is strong Within thy stony heart; His father's crime hath hardened thee, And made thee what thou art. But oh! remember, there is One, Who though to anger slow, Will one day disregard fhi/ prayer, And leave thy soul to woe. AN INVOCATION. 23 AN INVOCATION. I, IN tliis central patch liemmed round With disappointments, deep and long; Within whose gloomy thread is found No fabric for a cheerful song, Would look to Thee. High over yonder mountain gleams The morning star, divinely clear; The hills look up to catch its beams, As doth my waiting spirit here. Look up to Thee. Oh, morning star of happiness. Look down and light my soul within; Illumine every dark recess Where sorrow's lingering steps have been, And set me free! THE SAME OLD PLACE. I CANNOT drive away the vision of those years! Still, still mine eyes o'erclouded with their tears, Graze dimly through the past. • Oh! how I long for thee. AVilt thou not come? "No more" — my sad heart answers, till at home We all shall meet at last. 24 POEMS. I tear away the covering, and disclose to view Thy dearest features; while a tear or two Falls o'er the inanimate eyes. Oh ! heart of mine, poor throbbing weight, be still ! Is passion stronger than thy strongest will ? This sorrow is not wise. Vain reasoning! as I hold it in my hand, (This little picture) all my self-command Is gone, entirely gone! I press it to my heart, and close my weary eyes, To shut out all things bright beneath the smiling skies, Save this one face alone The same old place for thee! No other voice Has echoed through the soul of thy first choice, Nor shall, — till in eternity, Thy face shall seek my face, thy mind my mind, Thy dearest heart my heart; and there shall find, The same old 'place for thee I THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. The autumn leaves are falling now Upon this rustic seat. Where thou and I, in happier hours, Have often loved to meet. THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. 25 The same old homestead on the hill Looks westward to the sun; Its windows sparkle in the light, And day is almost done. Why is it that a strange unrest Within my bosom burns, As o'er these once familiar scenes My tearful eye now tarns? Why is it that I cannot learn To conquer and control. These nameless lono-ino'S that arise Within my troubled soul? Why is it? Oh! I miss the voice That made me so light-hearted: My life has been a weary round Since thou and I last parted. They tell me, that the earth is glad : I know her beauty, well. For nature smiles though hearts are sad, Too deeply sad to tell. They tell me that my hope is vain. The past has gone, they say; Ah, well ! I hardly dare to look Within my heart to-day. 3 B 26 POEMS. The evening breezes murmur low Around this lonely seat, And scatter all the golden leaves, Which rustle at my feet. And now the last foint hues have died Behind the western hill; And left the earth more like my heart, My heart more sad and chill. Why is it? Oh! I miss the smile That made me so light-hearted: My life has been a weary round Since thou and I last parted. PRAYER ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. We wrapped the flag around his form — , The flag for which he died; We placed his sword, all stained with blood, In silence by his side. We spake no word, we shed no tear, But in the waning light, Each raised a silent prayer to heaven, For victory in the right. THE CHANGE. 27 Oh! who shall say that earnest prayer Was offered up in vain, Or say 'twas chance that ruled the day And marked the loss or gain? There is a God above us all, Whose heart is moved by prayer. And when we plead the rightful cause, Will make that cause his care. Strike, then, for liberty and peace ! Avenge the noble dead! Strike! for the tears in silence wept For every fallen head. Strike! that rebellion now may cease; And you who stand aloof. Come in your country's hour of need And give your loyal proof. THE CHANGE. Look where the baby lies, All still and white. With dark, unmoving eyes So strangely bright! 28 POEMS. What fixes now his gaze Far off through space? Does he, in sweet amaze, See one lost face? Ah ! image of the dead, Left lone on earth, A glory that hath fled. Smiled on thy birth. Now, in the silent night. Thy dream fulfil — Gaze with inspired sight, And see her still. Look where the baby lies, All cold and white, With strange, unmeaning eyes No longer bright. Where hath the spirit fled Through yonder space? Do baby and the dead Stand face to face? Ah! image of the lost, Thy lot is blest j Thy little hands are crost, 'Thy thoughts at rest. TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM. 29 Here, in the silent niglit, My soul stands awed; " Death brought the torch to light Thy soul to God! TWILIGHT AFTER A STORM. Most sweet of all the hours of day! The noise, and glare, have passed away. And one pure star gleams in the west Lighting the song-bird to its rest. The storm hath passed, and still, and clear, As when the infant morn is near, Shines the fair sky; and fairer far Is that one dazzling, pointed star, For all the storm-clouds past, I ween, Than if those clouds had never been. Oh! is it that an hour like this Can fill no mourning heart with bliss? Nor high resolve, nor warm desire, The eye uplift, nor spirit fire? Calm as some dream of heaven, conceived By angel mind, that ne'er hath grieved O'er cares of earth, the placid sky Bends smiling o'er the mountains high, 3* 30 POEMS. While through the valley, far and near, The voices of the night grow clear; The sighing wind — the rill's low tone, The melancholy night-bird's morn, And myriad voices that impart A soothing quiet to the heart. TO THEE I COME. Thy holy blood, and precious tears, Oh! were they shed for me? And may I casting off my fears In meekness come to thee? Yes! thou hast bid me look above To where thou art enthroned, And think of all thy dying love, Which for my sin atoned. The heavy cross was borne for me, For me thy blood was spilt, ^ That I might one day look to thee To wash away my guilt. Then take it now — this broken heart I lay it at thy feet, And guard it till from earth I part, And thee in glory meet. LONGINGS. 31 For there are trials to be borne, Temptations to be met, Along life's path from early morn, Until life's sun is set: And thou, Lord, alone canst know How oft temptations win. With false allure, and outward show, The good that is within. Then take my heart, and keep it near To thy most blessed feet. That I may live with conscience clear Thy loving glance to meet. And when at last all grief is o'er. And death creeps o'er my form. Oh ! take my hand on that dim shore And shield me from the storm. LONGINGS. Oh! for a gleam of light from youth's long lost aurora. To gild once more the tenor of life's changeful dream • To cull one gentler thought from love's proud book of sorrow, Whose blood-red leaves went drifting down oblivion's stream. 32 POEMS. Oh ! for the clear soul glance of eyes long closed in darkness, Whose light still made life glad, with hope of joy in store. Oh! for the tender clasp of hands long crossed in silence. Whose slightest touch was bliss, that can return no Oh ! for that peace of heart which crowneth all the desert. Like evening's rosy hue, when tempest-winds are past: That it might waft me on, with hopes and fears faith-guided To that high realm of peace, where longings cease at last. IF. If Life indeed he Life, Live well! Its hours are brief as summer's breath, And solemn as the voice of death. Which ends, at last, the strife. MY LOST SCHOOL-MATE. 33 If Truth indeed be Truth, Look up! Blush not to act a nobler part, With truth's fresh garland round thy heart, To renovate thy youth. If Love indeed be Love, Have faith! For ever constant to its trust, True love, made pure from earthly dust, Will shine supreme above. If Grod indeed he God, Serve Him! No life is found, though sorrow- tried, With peace of heart more sanctified, Than in the path He trod. MY LOST SCHObL-MATE. She was my friend, both tried, and true : Our young hearts knew no sweeter love, Than that we for each other knew, And for each other sought to prove. 34 POEMS. Oh, loved and lost! tliougli swift and sad, The heavy-hearted moments wear. One thought of heaven makes me glad; 'Tis, "that thou art an angel there." Those eyes, those earnest eyes of thine ! They beam ujDon my memory yet. Like rays of starlight half divine, From under eyelids dewy wet When we two parted. Oh! the fear That we might never meet again. Called up that hour the blinding tear, And filled our yearning hearts with pain. We parted then. I was not near To see thy waning life grow dim; Nor hear one word of comfort dear, Before thy rest was found in Him Who heals all sorrows. Thine, were brief As clouds upon a spring sky fair, And now, I joy in full belief — Thou art a shining angel there. Our hearts together seemed to blend In those sweet childish days of old; Our joys seemed not to have an end. Our well of thoughts seemed never told. MY LOST SCHOOL-MATE. 35 We wandered oft, by hill, and stream, All arm in arm, as school-girls walk. With hearts more pure than poet's dream, And thus we mingled girlish talk. Oh, friend ! those years are long gone by, Far down the horizon seems to glow My star of hope, which shone so high, Undimmed by earthly care, or woe. But thou art high, where years are not, Forever shining bright and fair; Say! am I now by thee forgot, Although thou art an anuel there? No answer from the starlit skies Through the night-stillness greeteth me, Far off the tranquil river lies. Where oft my footsteps roved with thee. No friendship since like thine hath blest. No blue eyes beamed their constant truth, Since thine were closed in dreamless rest, Sweet spirit-mate of my lost youth! 36 POEMS. QUIETLY. Quietly flow the crystal waters Over the sparkling sand, Wandering gently through the meadows, Parting: the fruitful land. 'G Quietly shine the noon-day sunheams Over the land and stream, Crowning the landscape with a beauty Bright as an angel's dream. Quietly fall the leaves of autmnn, Kiss'd by the wooing wind; Quietly rise, through dreamy stillness. Scenes that are left behind. Memory peers through far-off shadows. Back to a golden time; Sees by the stream a happy maiden, Linking her thoughts in rhyme. Sees by her side, through those dim shadows, One in the glow of youth. Vowing a vow, full deep, and tender. Earnest with love and truth. GONE. 37 Sees by her side, through those vague shadows, One who will speak no more, Save from his shroud in silent language, Down hy the river-shore. Quietly fall the leaves of autumn, Over the crystal stream; But the quiet joy of days gone by, Can live but in a dream. Quietly shine the golden sunbeams Over the meadow-land; But the heart still yearns to meet once more The touch of a parted hand. GONE. Where have the golden sunsets fled That lit my native shore? The clouds hang dull; the leaves lie dead; And bright days come no more. Oh! mourning heart, rejoice! Stern winter soon will die. And spring, with gentle voice, Call back the golden sky. 38 ' POEMS. Where have the kindred spirits fled, Who trod my native shore? Their graves are cold, where flowers lie dead, Their bright smiles come no more! Oh ! mourning heart, weep on ! No changes of the year Can bring the loved ones gone; Their spring-time is not hei'e. I ASK NOT. I ASK not that the joys of earth May ever thus be mine, I only ask that light divine Within my heart may shine, To banish night, And o-uide arii!:ht, x\nd make me wholly Thine. I ask not that the cup of life Be free from sorrow's stain, I only ask that in the strife Some joy may follow pain; Some ray from Thee May follow me. And make me smile asrain. LITTLE JIM. 39 Nor do I ask that fame may lay Her laurels at my feet; Enough to feel around my way Thy sunlight falling sweet,— A glory shed Around my head, From thy dear mercy-seat. I ask not that my years may grow To number many more; Thou knowest best, and knowing so, A journey to the shore, With tranquil breast, And fears at rest, And ask for nothing more. LITTLE JIM. The light within his hazel eyes Was faded, wan, and dim, As though the joyous hours of life Had seldom shone for him; And none had ever thought, or cared, For little beggar Jim. 40 POEMS. And yet, his years were very few; "Just six" I heard him say, ^ When I smoothed back his sun-burnt hair And wiped his tears away. But ah ! that look with which he said — "Just six years old to-day !'' He was no child to win the glance Of proud contempt, or scorn; His features small, were formed more fair Than many nobler born; And in his dauntless little breast A heavy heart was worn. Bare-headed, in the burning sun He roamed the crowded street. I vowed to claim him for my own Next time we chanced to meet; But ah! no more the burning sun. Nor crowded street for him; Kind Heaven has claimed the friendless one. The little beggar Jim. TWILIGHT. 41 TWILIGHT. Sweet twiliglit! — sister of the day, Who, with thy tender hand doth lead Her brightness to repose; How sweet to weary hearts, depressed With hourly griefs art thou! How like an angel's wing of peace, Most gently folded over all. Thy softness lightly comes! Sinks in the heart, and soothing there Its discord, sweetly reigns. Recalling thoughts of earlier hours, And youthful feelings long gone by; Yet bringing not regret. But softening all; and pointing far To where the weary rest. And, as thy shadows deepen round, Mark where the evening star grows bright Above the shrouded world; The night draws on!- Her beauty fuller beams. 4* b2 42 POEMS. So witli the heart; — amid the din, And dazzUng brightness of the day, Its light is ahnost lost: The mind grows weary, steps grow faint, And all things seem confused: But when the ticilight sweetly comes. The hidden light begins to dawn From out the secret soul; And star-like round the troubled mind, Weaves peaceful dreams of hope. And memory too, like that strange flower, Unfolds its leaflets one by one When others all are closed. Hour of the heart ! Sweet twilight hour ! Sweet gleaner of the past! GO! I'll pray for thee, I'll pray for thee, my noble-hearted son! Gro forth and fight for liberty until the cause is won. It may seem strange a while to miss thy comfort, and thy care. But now our army calls for aid, and thou art needed there. ASPIRATIONS. 43 I'll pray for tliee, I'll pray for tliee, go forth upon thy way : A mother's love shall follow thee, and bless thee, day by day. I would not place my feeble hand before thy kind- ling eyes, While gazing on the altar — red with freedom's sacri- fice ! No ! leave me now, and act thy part. Yet sometimes at the hour When twilight shadows gather round, and gentler thoughts have power To sway the heart, oh! think of her who hourly prays for thee ; And bind the watch-word to thy heart — the watch- word, ^'■Liberty." ASPIRATIONS. The soul, the soul must rise above The fleeting joys of earth; Aspire to something higher far, Something of nobler birth! 44 POEMS. The upward glance, the weary sigh, These are the things which speak The feeling words can ne'er express, Although they vainly seek. The dearest joy the world can give, Still leaves unsatisfied The weary soul, that ever craves, And will not be denied. Its voice is often stilled beneath The tumult it is lain, Yet like a sword from out its sheath, It flashes forth again. Hast ever watched an eagle's flight Till almost lost to view. Nor wished, as earthward fell that glance, Such wings belonged to you; That you might proudly soar away, ■ Where all is pure, and bright, And angel eyes alone behold The progress of your flight? Oh ! there are hours when thoughts like these Come rushing o'er the mind; We long to join the infinite And leave the world behind. LINES TO THE DEPARTED. 45 Alas! liow often such desires. Like rockets in the sky, Attain a certain hrilUant height Then in the darkness die. How often too, the yearning soul Murmurs its silent prayer, xYnd worships beauty in the stars, And beauty everywhere; Yet ah! beyond that starry vail Unmindful still to look, Or worship Him, whose name is writ In nature's glowing book. LINES TO THE DEPARTED. Last time I saw thy happy face, . So full of love, and youthful grace. The early spring-flowers bloomed. I little dreamed ^ere summer past. Her golden days would be thy last. And thou to death be doomed. I mourn for thee, thou fair young bride I The white rose fading at thy side Beneath the coffin lid, 46 POEMS. Thy tender hands so dumbly crost, Oh ! thou the loved, and early lost, Can I these tears forbid? My words of gi"ief can move thee not. The earth now holds but one small spot Devoted to thy rest. Yet in our hearts thy form shall live. And this one thought sweet comfort give. That "thou art with the blest." There is thy home ! as some fixed star Shines from its place in heaven afar, Thy spirit-realm is found. Beyond the whirlwind, and the storm, Thy voice is tuneful, though thy form Lies slumbering in the ground. THE STREAMLET. Pure streamlet gurgling at my feet. How clear thy waters flow! Beneath the surface, one can count Each stone that e;leams below. YE4RNINGS. 47 And mirror'd there, the April sky Beholds her royal blue; With here and there, a swan-like cloud, Just lightly skimming through. Fit emblem thou of that sweet time. When mind shall see through mind; When disembodied soul shall blend With soul of kindred kind: And there shall see, reflected clear. Each thought unhidden lie. As thy pure depth reflects below, The life-light of the sky. YEARNINGS. ()h that I were a wild, free bird. That I might fly away and be at rest. Where never mortal voice is heard ! I would wander far o'er the billow's breast To some fair isle, whose loneliness is sweet. Whose air is balm, whose solitude complete I 48 POEMS. (jrray walls shut out the sunlight fair, Bright thoughts are bounded by the vision's scope Which here is limited. But there, No dreary walls, no gloom would darken hope Of peaceful days, and joys which should not be Mere fleeting phantoms, as they seem to me. There the still evening hours would seem, (While sunset's glory flooded all the sea,) Like the still picture of a dream Which oft in childhood, hath appeared to me — Of that far home whose beauty is divine. Oh ! that such dreams might once again be mine. There the illimitable sea My God, would speak thy greatness; far and few The bright isles whisper but of Thee Among their leafy solitudes. The blue And boundless sky, stretching from pole to pole, With thine immensity, would awe my soul! Oh! would that I might flee away. The wild bird knoweth not a care, save one — Where she shall rest, at close of day. Her gay, sea-roving wing; then with the sun Next morn she wakens, to traverse the sea With eye new-lighted, ever joyfully! YEARNINGS. 49 In that calm isle methioks no siffli. Xo wild, wild yearning would escape the heart. To breathe the air of that pure sky Were bliss enough; for I should seem a part Of all things round me — the dim, leafy wood, The low-voiced wave — tongue of the solitude! No vexing cares would there intrude; No unkind thoughts or wishes be expressed; No tearful prayers for fortitude To bear life's ills, for ills would be at rest. Oh I could such home to mortal heart be given, Then every heart might find on earth its heaven ! Yet this cannot be so. Beyond Earth's farthest bound live the pure joys we seek The loved ones gone before — the fond — With spirits glorified, and bright eyes meek. From which all tears are wiped for evermore — • There they await us on the farther shore. Of that dim river, which no eye May see, until our feet have touched its waves. Oh! for strong faith to check each sigh O'er trials to be buried in our graves. 2''hcij rise not with the good at that great day, When none shall wish in vain, for wings to flee away L 50 POEMS. SILENTIA. Silence now, — each thought seems frozen To a dull and lifeless calm, Thinking of the words once chosen To . describe me as I am. Not as I then was, remember, In those days (so long ago) Of the mild and bright September, When two sad lips told me so. Silence now: oh! hapless dreamer — Dreaming ever of the past, It is now those words are truer, Than when they were uttered last. "Cold and heartless" — ah, the death-damp Gathering o'er pale sufferer's brow, May look cold beneath the night-lamp. But those drops are frozen now. Whether wrung from pain, or anguish, On the brow, or in the eye, They have gone, and left forever Silent calm, without a sigh. Hapless dreamer! dreaming ever On the sunless Lethe's shore. Of the days that went and left thee Cold and tearless evermore. THE WINTER NIGHT. 51 Sadness now for eyes so peerless That they scarcely look abroad j While the skies so dull and cheerless, Seem to hide the smile of Grod. Silence now! lips spoke untruhj : Eyes forgot to read aright, When they came to judge unduly Of a soul-love hid from sight. Silence now, then, and forever. No word spoken loud, or bold. Thus it is some are mistaken, While the careless deem them cold. "Cold and heartless" — ah! the heart-acAe 'Mid the jostling crowd and din, 'Tis the undertone our lives make. Wrung from out the pain within. THE WINTER NIGHT. The ever weary watchful day. With all its glare, hath passed away. The night is here. And through the cold and sparkling air, The moonbeams glisten everywhere, Most beautifully clear. 52 POEMS. No single cloud! but all serene The starry heavens seem to lean More near the earth. The same old stars whose music rang Throughout creation, when they sang Together at their birth. The river glancing in the light, Reflects another moon as white As that on high. And countless stars are shining there, As they had fallen through the air. And left their native sky. Above, beneath me, and around, All things are lovely : not a sound Disturbs the ear. And grief remembered, does but seem More like the sorrow of a dream, — Less wortliy of a tear. LINES TO A WANDERER. My heart is like the ocean deep, Whose waves toss wild and free, Where none may listen or reply To their sad melody. LINES TO A WANDERER. 53 Sometimes a golcleu wave rolls out Upon the barren shore; But ah! its music is a moan Which echoes more and more. I As back it flows, with ceaseless tide, To where the depths are stirred, By feelings too profound to breathe By look, or sign, or word. Oh thou! where'er on earth thou art — My inspiration given, Would that my light for thee could shine To guide thy soul to Heaven! Would that the stars which nightly beam Above the lonely sea. Could whisper thoughts unto thy soul, Such as they bring to me. They speak of life where sorrows cease. Beyond the march of years, They sweetly soothe my aching heart, And calm my troubled fears. And often when at midnight hour Alone I watch them shine, I think how love at last is crowned Immortal, and divine : — 5* 54 POEMS. How nought is vain; each little orb That sparkles in the sky, Is like the little acts of love, Which never, never die. And so each effort to endure The cross upon us lain, Will aid the weak immortal soul, A heavenly crown to gain. THREE YEARS. Thrice have the swallows homeward flown, Thrice have the autumn leaves From yonder naked boughs been blown. And scattered by the breeze; Thrice have the stars looked down to see The empty nest, the leafless tree. And where art tlwiif I seem to rove In some lone cavern dim. And list the winds and waves above Moan their perpetual hymn; While I forever sigh for thee, And echo their monotony. THE THREE GRACES. 55 Ah, friend ! life's winds and waves are wild 1 They part us beyond reach. 'Tis little joy the spring-time mild A broken heart may teach; And now, it is December gloom, Both in my heart, and o'er thy tomb. THE THREE GRACES. FAITH. Bloom brightly little bud; All humble as thou art, God sendeth the still dew To nestle in thy heart; And all He sends is heat for thee. E'en though it be adversity. HOPE. Soar calmly my sweet bird. Ne'er flutter, faint, nor fail. Though many a mocking word Thine upward flight assail; 'Ere long the starry heavens will ope, And crown with joy my patient hope. 56 POEMS. CHARITY. Flow gently little stream Beneath a burning sky; Spread gladness like a gleam Of mercy from God's eye. Though parched the land, one touch from thee, May quench that thirst, oh charity! LINES TO Oh ! do not claim the picture now That I have loved so well, It still retains a dearer charm Than these poor lips can tell: I've sat and gazed on it for hours. And wept, and prayed, and longed. To clasp once more in mine, the hand Of her I blindly wronged. But now no more! — it is not well To break these thoughts to thee, Which linger still within my soul. In strange consistency With all my outward words and deeds ! Ah! how the heart may wear A mask of cold indifference. When only pain is there. GOD LOVE THEE. 57 Here take it now! 'twas next my heart; And has been worth to me More in my utter loneliness, Than it can be to thee. Now leave my side I I cannot look With calmness in thine eyes, Since thou hast robbed my bosom of Its dearest earthly prize. But do not deem when thou art gone I shall be left alone: The imcard image I have drawn Shall still be all my own; And tell her, in some happier world It may be mine to prove, The deep repentance of my soul, And all its wealth of love. GOD LOVE THEE.' I "God love thee," is the simple prayer, That on my lips shall be. And may ray soul's devotion bear An answering gift to thee. 58 POEMS. I'll breathe it when the rosy dawn Smiles in the eastern sky, And bid the fragrance of the morn Embalm it in a sigh. I'll breathe it when the dewy night Weeps o'er the dying day, Just when the lingering lines of light Melt lovingly away. I'll breathe it to each angel ear Attending vesper prayer, When mercy earthward leans to hear The sorrow uttered there. "Grod love thee" wheresoe'er thou art, And what thy fate may be — Shall be the one prayer that my heart Will ever breathe for thee. And when all earthly love is vain. And friendship proved untrue. Amid your sorrow and your pain, GocVs love still be with you. LOUISE SCHEPLER. 59 LOUISE SCHEPLER. " Louise Schepler was the faithful servant and friend of the celebrated Lutheran pastor Oberlin, the author of Infant Schools, The last letter addressed by him to his children, for their perusal after his decease, affectionately commemorates her unwearied zeal in visiting and instructing the children of the mountain hamlets through all seasons, and in all circumstances of difficulty and danger." Ah! who wert thou, through mountain snow, Didst wend thy soHtary way, Undaunted by the piercing cold, Uncheered by fortune's smihng ray? A lonely pilgrim, weary, worn, Who heeded not the wintry gloom; But with thy trials meekly borne. Pursued thy pathway to the tomb.' And what wert thou in earlier days. Ere youth had left thy blushing cheek, And thy young eyes shone clearly forth Beneath a brow so pure and meek? A pilgrim then in duty's path, Both strong of limb and free of heart, With heavenly love and grace imbued, To act through life thy humble part. GO • POEMS. Thy hnmhie part! — ah, was it so? — The world has seen great names hung out, And blazoned round with fame's proud glow, Whose brilliant tints full oft depart. But thine Louise, a nobler fame Than earthly minds e'er speak or love, For angel eyes have read th^ name Upon the starry lists above. MUSIC OF THE DEEP. Oh! how often I have listened To the music of the deep, Watching the white waves that glistened In their far and sunny sweep; Watched and listened, till their language Filled my very soul and eyes. And the angels seemed to answer. Bending earthward from the skies. Deep and solemn was that music. Talking with me day by day, — Sweet and gentle, as a sister. Wooing my sad thoughts away. I MUSIC OF THE DEEP. 61 Oil! I loved that solemn grandeur Of tlie wide and lonely sea, Speaking thoughts no other language Ever uttered unto me. Oft at evening when the last ray Of the golden • sun had gone, And the pale pure stars of heaven Shone out brightly one by one, I have watched the deepening shadows Stealing softly o'er the sea, 'Till its waves were hid in darkness — Yet their music spake to me! Spake in tones that thrilled my spirit, As they were the voice of One Who could still an angry tempest — By a word — and it was done. Ah such music! bringing calmness With the quiet summer air; Would that all my prayers to heaven, Might be uttered only there. Far away from earthly yearnings. Lonely, with but Grod above. And the great calm deep around me, Emblem of his boundless love. 62 POEMS. These are thoughts that fill my spirit As I dream of that lone shore, Where sweet music finds an echo. In my heart, for evermore. HOW LONG? How long ere such things cease to be? We dream of life ^mid April bloom, And wake in cold November gloom, To prove its stern reality! How long ere such things cease to 'be? I dropped the letter at my feet! Whereon the name, so sounding-sweet, Looked up as though in prayer to me. How long ere such things cease to be? I ask, as one whose joys are pastj — Whose sands run sunless to the last;— Is there no voice can answer me? How long? a whisper sad and low From out the darkness greeteth me; — "'Till dawn of heaven's eternity, Such things on earth must still he so.'* THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP. 63 THE SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP. Clear as the silvery dew of morn That cools the opening flower, Bright as the star at twilight born To sparkle for an hour, Sweet as the wave-reflected hue Of evening's golden sky, — The smile of friendship, deep and true, That lightens up the eye. There is a smile which curls the lip In pride, or quiet scorn. Yet lingers not within the eye. Nor is of pity born; — A careless smile that hath no soul; Nor meaneth aught save this, — "Thy grief is thine, and is not mine. Life is but what it is." Oh ! passing sweet from eyes like these To turn where goodness beams; And read a smile, like that through life Hath haunted us in dreams: — An angel smile, so full of love. And tender sympathy. That looking back we almost lose Our old despondency. 64 POEMS. And dearer than some cherished hope Long laid beneath the dust, Is that sweet feeling, warm and true, Of constant friendly trust. The dead are dear, yet they are gone, And living, we but know, How fiir one honest, loving friend, Can mitigate our woe. BRIGHT AND DARK. Be of good cheer! the sands which run So swiftly through the glass of time. May shine with beauty half divine If only looked at in the sun. We look too often through the shade Upon the moments parsing by, Forgetting with a weary sigh. For what, and how, our lives are made. Be of good cheer! yet have an aim; For every life must have its cares, And sorrow cometh unawares, To dreg the sweetest cup of fame. SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE. 65 Our life is no mere roundelay By foolish children played and sung, Nor are our steps with roses hung, On which to trample by the way. The path is rough! but here and there, Across the dark, God's mercy gleams, And all the future brighter seems For these same flashes, rich and rare. SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE ? In Heaven's peaceful home, where dwells each bright immortal. Forever free from pain, and blest beyond compare ; When our two souls at last have crossed the sunny portal, Oh! tell me, shall we know and love each other there ? I know not, and ^ooidd know! There are some thoughts which fill The heart with vague unrest, when it would banish c 2 GG POEMS. And there is one burns deep wlien others all arc still : 'Tis this, — " shall we two know and love each other there r If only this were true, I'd welcome with a smile Each cloud of grief that floats beneath the encircling blue, And sing away the sadness of earth's little while, With free and gladsome heart, if only this were true ! But Grod, who gave all love, implanted in our souls A never-ending hope beyond this life of care; And that enduring hope, while life still onward rolls. Oft whispers we shall meet, and love each other there. SHIPWRECKED. Look where the wrecks go down! Some silently and slow Upon the sea of life. Full freighted with their woe; Others, with tattered sail From battling with rough wind. Sink down with mournful wail, Nor leave one trace behind. SHIPWRECKED. 07 Look where the wrecks go down, All round us on the way; Some strike on sudden rock, With warning clear as day; And some with calmest tide. Whose course hath still been bright, Beneath the dark waves hide Their last uncertain light. Look where the wrecks go down, With Heaven full in view, With warnings everywhere To guide the traveler through. Look where the wrecks go down, Or wander tempest-tossed, With light and anchor gone; For ever, ever, lost! Oh soul of mine keep calm! Sail firmly on thy way. To meet the great "I am" At Heaven's all-crowning day. Thy fears will all be o'er. Thy anchor then at rest, And thou for evermore Safe havened with the blest! 68 POEMS. A WISH. When tlie red leaves foil, And the sun shines down through the mist Like a burning eye; When the silent air seems rife (I know not why,) With a spirit's voiceless strife. When all have fallen. The bright, the beautiful, the ever dear, In the dust to lie. When naught is left of fresh earth's beauty here, Oh! let me die. II. In the quiet woods: When the violets no more bloom. Where the wintry winds may sigh Above my lonely tomb. Where the withered leaves may spread Beneath the open sky, Their rustling curtain round my head, There let me die. THE PHANTOM VOICE. 69 III. But ivhen spring retiums, When bright things once more bloom, When earth with joy is rife, Oh! whisper above my tomb, And call me back to life! THE PHANTOM VOICE. As one who walketh at even-tide. Along some shadowy river-side. Reflective and alone; Recalling memories that are dear. And listening with attentive ear To that deep river's moan; So I, in these failing years of life, While looking back through the noisy strife In which I late have moved; Recall to my heart a vanished tone. Sweet, sad, and low, as the river's moan. The voice of her I loved. As one who searcheth some cavern still, To find the source of a hidden rill His steps have followed long; 70 POEMS. And mourneth because the search is vain, et follows the streaml Enamored of its sont Yet follows the streamlet back again 'o> So I, as I rove the world about, With the last faint gleam of joy gone out In bitterness and woe; Endeavor to clasp the phantom voice Of the one who was my heart's first choice, And died so long ago! LINES. There are those who around me are happy and glad But their mirth wakes no echo within my lone breast, Like the wind that keeps moaning its requiem sad, Is the tone of my grief, though subdued and supprest. Is harmony blended in earth blooming flowers ? Does music awaken the soul-thrilling thought? The roses soon fade in the sweetest of bowers. And rapture, and discord, are closely inwrought. LIFE. 71 Is the flush of the morning refreshing and sweet, When the broad laughing sun creeps above the cahn sea? Oft the fliir summer day, and the stormy night meet, And both are alike in their meaning to me. Yet oft when at evening I watch the bright star Which tremulous hangs in its zenith of light. And know 'tis the herald of beauty unborn, — The deep solemn beauty of star-crowded night. I feel that no matter how fleeting its ray, Or how dark the stern fate against which I rebel; If the gems are but hidden throughout the long day, To sparkle at midnight, why all will be well. LIFE. Look how they come, — a mingled crowd Of bright and dark, but rapid days ; Beneath them, like a summer cloud, The wide world changes as I gaze." Oh Life! so brief thy busy day, — Would that the hours which slip away Could be revised. 72 POEMS. Alas! tliy moments come and go. And few there are who care to know If they are prized. The golden sunbeams fade away, The night soon follows after day, Man's work is done. And thus tliy golden moments past, May end in darkness, when at last His race is run. Oh! lived we only more for Heaven^ Enough of earth would still be given For nature's call. But thousands hurry to and fro. And spend thy precious hours as though This life were all. THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT. 'Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun ! One mellow smile thi'ough the soft vapory air, Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare." Bryant. Not now, still earth; I would not leave thee now, In the strange beauty of thy twilight hour. THE INDIAN SUMMER TWILIGHT. 73 Though shadows lengthen o'er the withered bough; Though dead the leaves, and gone the fragrant flower, I would not leave thee now. For yet the brightness blooms in yonder sky. Oh! rich and radiant beyond compare Are these November eves. No weary sigh Uprising from the heart should vex the air, Nor trembling wish to die. Not now, not now ! I would not leave thee now. For yet a little while the sun smiles bright O'er beauty's grave ; gilding the naked bough, And flinging over all ere winter's night, A golden charm as now. How long these hues remain ! E'en while the moon Hangs peerless in the sky, the clouds are bright In the far west : — soft floating things, that soon Must hide their beauty in the garb of night. As must yon crescent moon. Down deep within the water's chilly blue, . Reflected stars lie quivering in glee; While waves have caught from clouds the rosy hue, Which spreads, and dimples, over all the sea, In beauty sweet and true. 74 . POEMS. I would not leave tliee now ! The morn will come, The calm November morn, wrapped in its shroud Of mist, from which the sun will flash. As some Bright sword from out its sheath, so from the cloud The flashing sun will come. And day will shine again, as days have shone Before : — those summer ones, now past and gone. Earth's faded flowers, and withered leaves, alone Must speak the change. Sweet day, haste to thy dawn And shine as thou hast shone. WE TWO. We stood upon the mountain height, And gazed far down the glen; The sky spread o'er us fair and bright, And we were happy then! Dost thou remember, dear beloved, How clear that river shone, When hand in hand its banks we roved, And neither felt alone? We trod so lightly o'er the earth, Our hearts so light within; And sang aloud in pleasant mirth Each other's smile to win. FALTER NOT. 75 Dost thou remember, dear beloved, The sadness of that horn'. When song was hushed, as on we roved. And clouds began to lower? The storm has come, and dark our way! But night will soon be past: And thinking of those hours I say They were too sweet to last. Wilt thou remember, dear beloved. When I have passed away, How oft beside those banks we roved, In love's first happy day? FALTER NOT. Oh ! falter not in bearing the rude cross ! Though sore the weight, and deep the wound it probes; The way-worn spirit, freed from earthly dross. Shall soon stand crowned, and drest in perfect robes. Oh ! do not falter now ; the way, though rough, Shows many a sunny spot where thou mayest rest; And heaven's glad sunlight here were sweet enough, Though thou of all things else wert dispossessed. 76 POEMS. When gloom and mist are past for evermore, How sweet will be the dawning of that day — Slow breaking, fair and cloudless, on the shore Where every bitter tear is wiped away ! How passing sweet and clear, will chime the sound Of angel voices, waked to welcome thee ! How earthly thoughts will fade with their low bound, When soul and sight are in eternity I Then falter not below ! but fix thine eye With faith's keen vision on a world to come ; Whose mansions are prepared beyond the sky. Whose " Light thereof" calls every wanderer home. A PICTURE. Let me paint her as I see her, Standing at the window there. With the autumn wind about her, And the sunlight in her hair. Ten times have the apple-blossoms Dropt their perfume o'er her head, Ten times have the wooded alleys Rustled 'neath her airy tread. A PICTURE. 71 Rosy lips, and parted slightly, Teeth of pearly white within. Almond eyes, bright blue, and sprightly, Curved and dimpled little chin. Saintly forehead, pure and milky, Over which the golden hair Drops in ringlets, close and silky, Holding all the sunbeams there. She is looking at the chestnut Dropping half its fruited store, — Claps her hands, and smiles, while waiting " Till the wind shall loosen more. Oh! the slender little fingers, Tapered to the rosy tips, Oh! the hap23y smile which lingers. Round the small curve of her lips! Just a few more years may sadden The sweet light within her eyes; Or may serve her heart to gladden, With love's innocent surprise. Yet, I think her far more lovely. With her heart of childhood free. Happier with her ten years' knowledge, Than in future she can be. 7« 78 POEMS. BESIDE THE LAKE. A DREAMY lake serene, upon whose breast No ripple trespassed! Ah! I see it now As in the days gone by, — its margin curved So faultlessly, o'erhung with grasses soft And green. Athwart its bosom, all day )ong, The sleepy summer sunbeams shone; and there The wild bird came to rest its weary wing. Sweet solitude was there, and to the south A slight acclivity, o'ertopped with trees Of giant growth, beneath whose shade I sat And dreamed the . dreams of early life. I wove Bright visions in those silent hours. At times I fancied a strong arm was stretched to cull The lilies at the water's hem: I saw Them gathered in a manly hand, and offered With a royal grace which did me homage. Sometimes a face would seem to rise, all in The noon-tide stillness, and eyes, such eyes as Spirits only have, looked love upon me. Oft when the golden cloud-gates opened were In the west, I seemed to see heaven's glory Keflected on the surface of that lake, As in a dream. Then, when the sun's last kiss Flushed the far cloudlets with a rosy tinge. Which soon departed, I have softly wept BESIDE THE LAKE. 79 To see the day die sweetly from tlie earth. Many the wild flowers there which blossomed, Mingling their perfume with the sunlit air. Many the wild songs sweetly warbled there, By bright-hued songsters in the leafy trees. The soft and dreamy atmosphere of those Bright sunny days, gave to my tranquil youth A tinge of romance, which my heart approved, And no eye witnessed. There alone I roved At morning, noon, and eve, whene'er I found My presence was not needed at my home. Sweet days of childhood by the dreamy lake. Where I reflected saw a happier face Than that which now I wear, when will return Your beauty and your peace? Ah, never more beside the lake. The sunny lake I roam; And gather lilies for her sake Who waited me at home; My mother dear, no more I hear Her tender voice at morn — " Arise my Birdie, Birdie dear, It is the hunter's horn." Beside the lake — the lonely lake, The hunter's horn is still. 80 POEMS. The flowers unplucked are blooming there, The mournful whip-poor-will Moans his soft, plaintive melody, Above a lonely grave! ♦ My mother dear! ah, woe is me! I could not heal or save. Beside the lake, beside the lake. No more the homestead stands; Its walls are crumbled to the earth, Another owns the lai>ds. Beside the lake, the dreamy lake, I come alone to mourn, Where once I roamed so gay, and free, And heard the hunter's horn. Ah! never more beside the lake A happy child I roam, And gather lilies for her sake Who waited me at home. My mother dear! no more I hear Thy tender voice at morn — " Awake, my Birdie, Birdie dear. It is the hunter's horn." THE QUESTION. 81 THE QUESTION. She heard \t; yet she half forgot. Her thoughts were far away, And if she loved, or loved him not, Her lips refused to say: For deeply in her spirit dwelt The spell of other years. And eyes looked backward through the mist Of slowly gathering tears. She heard it! and another voice Came echoing from the past, Which thrilled her with such sudden pang Her tears fell thick and fast. Strange answer this to Lover's quest! Those dark eyes streaming so, And lips convulsed with secret pain, That smiled an hour ago. She heard it once again, and calmed Her very soul to hear: — "Now do you love me as I hope? • Say, Amy! — Amy dear!" Enough! no echo in her heart Responded to that tone; The chords were voiceless save when thrilled By memory alone. 82 POEMS. AT NIGHTFALL. As one wlio liatli erred and strayed, Come I, oil Father, to thy sacred shrine; Contrite, and unafraid, Assured thou wilt forgive, and make me thine I We wander through the dark — No light save thine to guide the narrow way; Oft we forget our mark. Amid the cares and sorrows of the day; But night brings holy calm: The stars with their mute eyes look softly down, Seeming to shed a balm Of peaceful dew upon our sorrow's crown ; And we remember Thee! Thou infinite, eternal, in the skies; Oh ! deign to visit me, Who am the least of all in thy pure eyes. For I have erred and strayed; Yet come I, Father, to thy sacred shrine; Contrite, and unafraid. Assured thou wilt forgive, and make me thine I HE DID HIS DUTY. 83^ HE DID HIS DUTY. Come, bear liim to his resting-place With still and solemn tread. No crown of laurel shall be placed Above his youthful head, No words of praise upon his tomb To speak of how he fell — Only the honest epitaph, "He did his duty well." Come near and gaze upon the dead Ere laid beneath the dust; Gaze on the calm and settled face With still and solemn trust. Look on him ! let your grief be still. And do not mourn as they Who mourn a youthful spirit lost, Or birthright cast away. How might a mother's heart rejoice, To know amid the brave Her son, the brightest and the best, Had found his early grave; Amid the foremost ranks had fought. With bold and fearless eye. And felt within his noble heart 'Twas honor thus to die. 84 POEMS. Then bear him to his resting-place With still and solemn tread. No crown of laurel shall be placed Upon his youthful head, No words of praise upon his tomb To speak of how he fell — Only the honest epitaph, "jSe did Ms duty loell" CLOUDS. While the last dim light is waning, Tune the voice of thy complaining, Soul, oh bitter soul ! Lift thine eyes where float the yellow Grolden clouds, with tints so mellow In one gorgeous scroll. Far away they kiss the river, Gleaming like a bar of silver Through the dusky wold. See! its waves have caught the splendor, Deeper light, more sweet, more tender. Waves of liquid gold! A VISION. 85 Pass! within my breast ye waken Sunshine, that was once o'ertaken By the lightning stroke. Clouds which followed, rained their tear-drops Only o'er the blighted heart crops, When my soul awoke. Pass ! and leave the chill dark shadow. Creeping over hill and meadow. Creeping, creeping on. Night with cold and dusky fingers. Soon will shroud the light which lingers, When your hues have gone. A VISION. I HAD a vision that was not a dream. Life, Death, and Immortality, did seem To stand beside me in that silent hour. Each seemed to woo me with a subtle power Unto herself Life, rosy as the dawn Of summer mornings, and with laughing eye, Called to me with a voice of minstrelsy Like that of gurgling waters; saying "come! All nature calls thee, earth shall be thy home 8 Jb POEMS. For many years. Enjoy each lovely scene ! The verdant hills, and streams that roll between, The glowing meadows, and the arching skies. The bloom of flowers where cool fountains rise; All these are thine to share." " Sweet Life" I said, ■' I will embrace thee :" but a shadow spread Like autumn mist at twilight round my bed ; So quickly ! and a voice more sweet and calm Than any I e'er heard, fell like a balm Ul3on my weary heart. An outstretched hand Hung lightly o'er me, as in morning land A cloudlet hangs above the mountain's brow; And the white silence seemed to whisper, " now, Now will I claim mine own." I hieio that voice, For oft in starry watches of my choice At midnight hour, my soul had dreamed of such. And I, (although I feared not the soft clutch Of those white arms,) half shuddered with a thrill Of mortal pain; — Death looked so cold and still. Yet looming from its shroud methought there rose A perfect creature, with divine repose Upon her features bright. Her eyes like stars Grieamed heavenward; and a glittering crown Adorned her forehead. From her fair head down, A veil of majesty was hung. Her lips Moved not in utterance : yet their meaning broke So deeply through my vision, that I woke. FROZEN TO DEATH. 87 " This last, was Immortality " said I : " She dwells not ou the earth, but in the sky : And though she speaks not with a mortal voice. Her more than uttered promise be my choice." FROZEN TO DEATH. "On the morning of the 5th inst., a young girl (apparently not more than seventeen years of age,) was found frozen to death upon the first floor of a tenement house, in B Street." Cold, bitter cold ! no sunlight and no food. My very heart seems frozen ! One little log of wood Lies mouldering on the stones. I ask if wrong it be, To wish the solemn funeral bell, were tolling now for me. I hear the cartmen swearing, as through the crowd they pass, I cannot see them, for my breath is frozen on the glass. Even the rats and mice have fled. More happy they than I, Whose only hope on earth is this — in quietness to die. 88 POEMS. The bell strikes five. How many hours I've watched and sufifered here ! But he whose promise strengthened me, has never once come near. He will not come ! I care not now how cold the night- winds blow; No outward things could warm my heart-^-'twas broken long ago. I know this night the cold will freeze the life-blood in my veins; What there is left, like yonder flame, now flushes, and now wanes. The night creeps on more bitter cold. Oh ! welcome sleep of death. More sweet to me forsaken here, than summer's warmest breath. Farewell, false world ! I have not sought your gilded, heartless touch; To ask the hand of sympathy, were asking fiir too much — So I have proved! my years are few; but very far the sound Of gentle words, since one dear form was laid beneath the ground. FROZEN TO DEATH. 89 Farewell ! alone in all the world, unsought, unloved, by all. The watchmen here will find me dead to-morrow when they call; The last tears frozen on my cheek, the last dry mor- sel gone; They'll point in wonder to my corpse — all meagre and forlorn : Perchance will pity my hard fate. Ah ! watchmen, spare your tears; I know an angel watcher, who has watched her child for years; Beyond this cold, cold stream of death, I see her out- stretched hand. And hear the heavenly music of that bright and happy band. Next morn, the watchman on his round, beheld the snow-piled door; And entering, found a girlish form hard frozen on the floor. He did not know that wretched room had held a heavenly guest; He only saw the truth (cold world !) We have sur- mised the rest. d2 90 POEMS. LOOK ON HER TENDERLY. Look on her tenderly, Slied not a tear, Life's chain but slenderly Wound the links here. Cross the small drooping hands Over her breast: Think where her spirit stands Joined with the blest. Stain not the winding sheet! Marks of thy grief, Dropt o'er her shrouded feet, Bring no relief. Come press the parting kiss On her pale brow. May be she seeth this In glory now. Press the kiss tenderly! Shed not a tear! Earth's chain but slenderly Bound her soul here. LINES. 91 Still, tlirougli all grief and pain, Where eyes grew dim, Shone there a stronger chain, Binding to Him. LINES. The night was one of wind and rain; Before the dawning of the day The lasif red leaves had whirled away, And left the old trees bare again. The autumn woods survive their loss. They drop their bright leaves, one by one. And stand up in the morning sun, Like sternest truths bereft of gloss. And now, reflected on the stream Where late their cooling shadows fell, The naked branches sadly tell. That earthly pomp is but a dream. A dream that soon must fade away. Ah! well for those, when winds are mild. Who keep their heart-life undefiled. In fitness for a darkening day. 92 POEMS. The joyous spring again will come, To clotlie tlie brandies fresh and fair; So may a spring-time blossom there Around the heart, in heaven's great home. The dead leaves rustle merrily! I love to trample them below. Because I feel decay my foe, And know that death must conquer me. But shall it conquer? 'tis a thought I cannot fully comprehend — That I must cease, and have an end, Fade as the leaf, and come to naught. "Dust unto dust," was Heaven's decree. Thus all have died, and so must I; Nor need I stop to question u'%; What comes to all, must come to me. Oh! sad indeed were life below. This consummation still in view, Did not the go&pel light shine through, And gild the death to which we go. It fills the troubled soul with peace, And whispers sweetly — "here is rest: Come, lay thy head on Jesus' breast, Then fall asleep, and find release/' FORGET. 93 FORGET. It is easy to say " forget," and to let the heart grow cold, To find another face as fair, to change for a new the old. To look as long into other eyes, with as fond, and earnest gaze, To steel the soul against the thought of better and happier days. It is easy to say "forget," the world has others as fair, There are others with eyes that shine as bright, and just as beautiful hair, If one won't listen, another will, and we need not pine for love. If one star disappears from the sky, there are many left above. .It is easy to say "forget" — to join in life's gay dance, To clasp the hand of every one, and look with a ten- der glance. Or laugh in a cold, and careless tone, schooled in lessons of art. And never to let the worldling's eye see that you have a heart. 94 POEMS. It is easy to say " forget/' but ah ! if ever you knew The love which sprang from a gentle heart, that was good, and pure, and true, That taught you to look to better things, and a world of higher bliss, You could never change your holy faith, for a doc- trine false as this. Ah! no, you can never forget; it will come when least you think. The thought will check your wandering step upon destruction's brink, Her eyes will beam on you then, lier voice will fall on your ear, And like a guilty thing you will start, and think to find her near. Yes ! the echo of that love, like the restless moan of the sea. Will follow you through the future years, wherever you chance to be. You will find the gay and fickle world, will \)Q fahe to you at the last, And turn with an aching heart, too late, to that beautiful dream of the past. THE GOLDEN CROWN. 95 LOVE OXCE. Love once! love well! Life knowetli not A more ennobling power tlian this, When all that seems, and all that is, Are mingled ne'er to be forgot. Love once! love well! Yet never deem Thy life may know no sorrow here, Love's surest token is a tear, And happiness is but a dream. Love once ! love well ! Through bliss or woe Prove Faith, and Constancy, sublime. There lies beyond a happier clime, Love ceaseth not with life below! On earth begun, and sorrow tried. Found true and noble at the last, In heaven, when pain and death are past, Twin-spirits mingle, glorified. THE GOLDEN CROWN. How beautiful upon the mountain's brow Shine the last glances of the setting sun;- A crown of glory, to encircle now Its lofty forehead till the day is done. 96 POEMS. Below tlie shadows rest. The river glides Unseen through mist. But there God's smile doth lie. Oh golden summit where the splendor hides, How beautiful art thou to mortal eye! How strangely the autumnal leaves contrast With the blue sky above, serenely clear, Like tongues of flame, confessing at the last To some pure soul, because their end is near Oh ! distant light, unearthly, yet how fair, Crowning the mountain summit with delight, Would that your beams might rest forever there, Nor melt away, in cold, and cheerless night. I in the shadows walk; and looking up, View the angelic vision fade away. A dream of childhood to my heart comes back, And is embodied in that sunset ray. Oh ! dream too bright to last where life is loss ! Oh, light too far to warm this mist of tears ! Within the valley if we bear our cross, God's smile may light the summit of our years. AUTUMN DAYS. 97 AUTUMN DAYS. The sun each day sets golden in the west, The leaves fall golden from each woodland tree, And happy are the long, long autumn days, I spend, dear love, with thee. The fruit hangs golden o'er the orchard wall. The river glanceth in the noon-day sun; And bright within the span of each brief hour, The golden sand-grains run. I hear the murmur of thy gentle voice Which floateth bird-like o'er the rushing tide, And read the . language of thine eye's clear glance, Thou triest in vain to hide. For thou art happy in these golden days; And love more true than thine were sought in vain ; Yet this lies hidden in thy earnest gaze, — "Can earthly bliss remain?" Ah ! sunny days, ye cause the heart to ache E'en when the cup we quaff brims o'er with love. For soon the golden bowl though bright must break. The soul seek rest above. POEMS. AT THE HOSPITAL. ^TwAS the still sweet hour of twilight, In the west the clouds were red; Death was dimming many an eyesight, Hovering darkly o'er each bed Where the wounded men lay dying. Thirsting for the breath of life, Without murmur, groan, or sighing, Silent victims of the strife. Open were the broad low windows; All the outer world was still. And the pure fresh breath of heaven Seemed the whole long room to fill. Now and then a word was spoken — Some last message left behind. (Such men need nor word nor token To recall them to our mind!) One I marked with eyes uplifted Gazing on the western sky: Well I knew his mind was gifted. By the calm depth of the eye! Silently I watched the expression Change to one of troubled pain. Ah ! I thought, with strange depression. He can never walk again. AT THE HOSPITAL. 99 Botli limbs gone! so young, so noble; Suffering without word or groan. Can the glorious boon of freedom For these brave lost sons atone? I had dared to ask the question Grazing on his troubled face, Till the eyelids closed, and trembled, Then I went and took my place. I had watched for many a twilight O'er that couch in days before, When his pale young lips were speechless. And his body torn and sore. Lately he had seemed to rally, Waking as it were from sleep. Stepping forth from that dark valley Where the slumber mists are deep. He had questioned me on waking: ''Where am I?" "Maud is it you?" Ah, 'tis hard ! this undertaking To remind them luhat is true. It was on an evening clearer Than the one of which I write, And his look as I drew nearer Was indeed a painful sight. 100 POEMS "'Tis not Maud, but look around you. You are here among the slain. These are strips with which I've bound you, You will never walk again. That brave man is dead off yonder; This one dying at your side." As I spoke he turned in wonder, And his eyes were opened wide. Startled was their first expression, After which they vacant grew, Losing all the love that lit them When he asked — "Maud is it you?" Not a tear rose up to lighten All the misery at his heart. Sorrow's grip but seemed to tighten As I tried to soothe the smart. But there came at last a calmness Which I could not all divine; Deeper calmness than has ever Come to spirit such as mine. And I thought of it that twilight As I watched his bed beside, Little thinking that ere midnight. The poor sufferer would have died. WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY. 101 Sweetly as in youth's briglit morning Drops a little . cliild to rest, So his head in death's calm slumber Gently drooped upon his breast. Brave young heart! I wept his sorrow; Truly suffering is sublime — Borne in meekness, till some morrow, Wakes us in a happier clime. WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY? Oh! pity those whose lifeless hearts Have never known a patriot's thrill j Who, though they have a mind and will. Lack courage now to act their parts. Yes, pity them ! for where the power To rouse those feelings that remain, If Liberty has called in vain In this their country's needful hour? They cannot feel (who stand aloof) That glow of noble, inborn pride, For which men barter all beside, And give the world their loyal proof 102 POEMS. Yes, pity them! the thronged Broadway, Where selfishness and fashion meet, — The very stones beneath their feet Might boast of hearts as well as they. AMERICA. My country! beautiful and free, My heart still yearns, still mourns for thee, America ! And is there left one traitor's arm, That would not strike to save thee harm, America ? Thy guiding star, — where is it found? Thy brother's blood calls from the ground, America ! Thy flower of youth ! — where has it fled ? Go thou and ask the silent dead. America ! Rise from the dead! Hope shall not die! Let every loyal heart still cry America ! LINES. 103 LINES. WRITTEN AT A GRAVE. Tread lightly o'er the turf which hides her form, Speak gently as the whispering angels talk; Above her grave, through sunshine, and through storm, Let lilies bloom upon their slender stalk. Let the wild ivy cling, a symbol clear That memory is green through all the years; And the lone weeping willow bending near. At eve and morn shed its unconscious tears. Here let the robin, in the leafy spring Build her small nest, or sing the hours away; And the last sunbeam slanting from the west, Linger as fondly at each closing day. Here let the winter, with her snowy wing Shrouding all nature in a garment white, O'er the dead lilies her soft plumage fling, Hiding their withered beauty from the sight. Then, as the spring reneweth leaf and flower, Bursting to beauty in a warmer sun; So may she, in the resurrection hour. Bloom once again in youth, when time is done. 104 POEMS. A CHILD'S WISH. Mother, I long to be away. The city's noise and strife Seem pressing harder, day by day, To crush away my life. I long for the green hills once more; The river, pure and free, That rolled on calmly by our door. And brought such joy to me. I long to taste the bubbling fount Of water, cold and clear, And watch the wild bird proudly mount Through the blue atmosphere. Oh ! when shall I return once more To that dear mountain glen. And breathe its freedom as of yore. Sweet mother, tell me when ! Some hearts there are by nature nursed, Who love her language more Than aught beside the world can teach, Of glory, art, or lore; THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE. 105 And the dull city's dust and din Were never meant for me. I bear an aching heart within, Sweet mother, make me free! THE FIRST FOND DREAM OF LOVE. Sweet as the bloom of Spring, to one who feels His life no more may know a spring-time here; Pure as the snow on highest mountain peak, That glistens mildly 'neath the morning star; So sweet, and pure! the first fond dream of love. \Yild as an untamed bird, that haunts the shade Of some far island in the southern sea; Deep as the soundless depth o'er which it soars. To sun its plumage in the light of day; So wild! so deep! the first fond dream of love! Confiding as a child that rests its head Upon a father's breast, secure from ill; Immortal as the fount from which alone All love in life — all perfect love — is drawn; Oh life of life I the first fond dream of love ! 106 POEMS. ECHOINGS. I WOULD this weak and trembling hand Might strike a noble chord, And sound abroad through all the land, The praises of my Lord! I would these feet might tread the way My blessed Saviour trod; Nor deviate, from day to day. Until they reach my God ! I would these eyes less oft might weep O'er trials by the way; And on tliy cross their dim sight keep, Thou glorious Star of Day! I would this heart might early turn From all, to worship Thee; Bow at thy feet, of thee to learn. Through all eternity. SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? 107 SOME TIME, BUT WHEN? Some time, I know, but when ? Oh when shall I be free From sorrow and from pain, which now encompass me ? — Far in the distance dim, I see the beaten shore, Of that dark stream, beyond whose waves. The weary weep no more. Some time, but when, oh when ? The world is with me now; Its thorns have formed a crown, to pierce my aching brow. My bleeding feet are sore ; and round my throbbing heart A chain of earthly love is bound. Too firm and strong to part. Some time, but when — oh when? Night creepeth after night, And day succeedeth day, each with a faded light. Love's anchor sinks so deep, the chain still weighs* me down; n And bitter, blinding, are the drops That fall from sorrow's crown. 108 POEMS. Some time, but when — oh when ? I gasp for purer air; The clouds shut out the stars, which used to beam so fair. These words wear through the dark — "Alas ! it might have been." Some time, I know, it shall be so — • But when ? Oh ! tell me when. When shall my soul be free from this its constant smart ? Oh that I were with thee, and happy where thou art — I dreamed of thy sweet face; it looked most radiant then, I woke in agony, and cried, " Oh darling, tell me when !" When shall the conflict cease — the spirit be at rest; The weary head repose upon our Saviour's breast ? Oh, shall it not be soon ? I languish for thy home, Where grief is o'er for evermore — Death, tarry not! but come. PROSPECTIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE. 109 PROSPECTIVE AND EETROSPBCTIVE. Yes tliey have gone! Those morning hours That shed their glory round my heart, Have past away like April showers, Whose rainbow tints new life impart. It cannot be this life may know Such long continued hours of peace, For soon, ah ! soon, the seeds of woe Take root, and scatter, and increase. Ere childhood dawns in conscious youth, Uj)on the lip, and in the eye, The tear succeeds the smile of truth, And mirth is followed by a sigh. And far away the waters seem That lit the dream-land of our hopes; And coldly doth the one star gleam, Where yonder heaven gently slopes. Yet while I watch its flickering light, I think of one hope passing far Above all earthly things in height, As o'er the world, that silent star. 10 110 POEMS. One franquil hope, that cheers my life Above the dark horizon's rira, And whispers sweetly through the strife, Of rest at last, in heaven, with Him. YOUTH'S DREAM. Oh ! bid him reverence in his manhood's prime His youth's bright, morning dream. Don Carlos. Forget not the dream of thy youthful heart In the years of long ago, Ere time had sullied life's holy chart With furrows of care or woe; Revere it as something that once was thine, And hung like the morning dew, On the flower — thine heart — in its vernal time, Reflecting heaven's own hue. Revere it as something that passed away Like a spirit from the earth. Yet left thy soul on its parting way A sense of its heavenly birth. Revere it as something more bright in truth Than the stars of midnight be : Oh! was it a dream that upheld thy youth. Or thy soul's first purity? THEN, AND NOW. Ill If thy feelings more true in their earlier years Appear but as dreams of a day, Was it earth with her cares, or her sorrowing tears, That washed the bright vision away? Will the tears never dry, nor the cares ever cease, That the soul may stand upright and free ? Oh! pray that the thoughts of thy youth may return. In their freshness and beauty to thee. Revere them ! they met thee at threshold of life. With blessings and joys in their wake; Sweet voices spake kindly apart from the strife, In which, nobler thoughts men forsake. Oh ! pray that the dream of thy youth may return, In its beauty, its freshness, and truth; Fra.ught deeply with faith, and with trust in the true. Oh revere the bright dream of thy youth ! THEN, AND NOW. I KNOW not if the days gone by Have been more purely spent, Yet this I know, they seemed more bright, More pleasant as they went; 112 POEMS. And hope was tinged with such fair hue. That future hours seemed fraught With beauty, and with happiness, These hours have never brought. I know not if the smiling skies Were then more dear to me, And yet they do not seem so fair As once they seemed to be. The sunlight sparkles on the stream As when I was a child, Yet cannot now beguile my thoughts As they were then beguiled. How fir it seemed — that narrow bound Where earth and heaven meet! Ah ! childhood's fancies are too fair For anything so fleet. And thoughts crowd up, as years come on, And earth seems all too cold For those warm yearnings that arise Within the feeling soul. The skies seem bending all around To close our sorrows in: The eye of faith can hardly pierce Above the world's rude din : DREAMS. 113 And silent moments that recall The thoughts of earlier days, Are green oases 'mid the waste Of all our worldly ways. DREAMS. Apparel'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. Wordsworth. Beneath the quiet of the sky — The twilight of the early day, Upon my wakeful couch I lay With thoughtful mood, and dreamy eye; And thus unto myself I said; "What matters it? 'twas but a dream; And things which are, and things which seem Most beautiful, are soonest fled." The hush of morning passed HYiaj, And with it all celestial beams, That held the net-work of my dreams Within their soft illusive sway. 10 * E 2 114 POEMS. Yet here, afar from love's retreat, Whose golden flowrets spangle o'er That fairy land I tread no more. With joyous heart, and willing feet; I sit within the sunset gleam, Where a calm river rolls away: And whispering to my heart I say, "What matters it, ^twas but a dream!" A dream that lit youth's transient day, Yet haunts the soul though youth be past: A gleam too bright and sweet to last, Where storm and darkness check the way. A THOUGHT OF DEATH. The thought of death falls still and voiceless On the heart, as some seared autumn leaf; Which, dropt from parent tree, is emblem Of our fate. Leaves open in strange beauty, And their vernal hours are sweet: but when Life's joys look brightest on the golden Side, full soon our fall time comes. One common orrave there is for all SONG OF THE VIOLET. 115 Beneath the clods of earth! One common Grave for all, though scattered far and wide; E'en as the autumn leaves which grow o'er Mount and stream, are sifted to the winds. Some drift adown a glittering stream, and Perish 'neath its waves. How eloquently clear Are nature's teachings oft! She wreathes her Laurels fair to crown the heart of youth, Then bids the garland drop, to mind us We must die. SONG OF THE VIOLET. "A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky." WORPSWORTH. I LOVE in truth a simple flower, A very little thing. It cannot clamber wall or tower. Nor rose-like shade a rustic bower, This violet of Spring. 11(3 POEMS. It blooms more sweetly for the eye, 111 quietness alone; Where some clear streamlet wanders by, Or drinks its life-light from the sky Beside a mossy stone. Most modestly it nestles there And hangs its pretty head. As it would say wdth simple air, " I am not proud though I am fair Within my little bed." ' "I love to dwell within the sound Of this pure valley stream; The tree's broad shadow o'er the ground Half cover the fresh grassy mound. On which I lie and dream. "At eve beneath the stars I lie And drink the falling dew, With blue eye lifted to the sky, I sip the crystal draught and sigh For nothing else to do. "I envy not in my low place The rose's richer boon, Nor the tall lily's stately grace, So clearly seen in her white face — Pale daughter of the Uioon ! REVERIE. 117 Though often passed unheeded by, I never shall repine; For one will love me where I lie, If I but catch her deep blue eye Bent musingly on mine/' REVERIE. To die on such a night, — oh! blissful dream! The clear still depths of that transparent stream Spoke strangely to my heart. The very stars Reflected on its trembling bosom, bore A fearful longing to my soul It never knew before. A glance was raised to mine. A low voice spoke, And as the whisper died, my own sad heart awoke To memories of the past : — that treasured word ! Had I been dreaming while the moonbeams played Around that down-bent head? I almost felt afraid ! Still drifting down the stream! One moment more All memory of the past, all sorrow might be o'er. The wave rolls dark and deep! — an idle hand 118 POEMS. Sought mine, unconscious of the pain Those careless words revived, In this sad heart again. Still drifting down the stream! Oh! never more Should I have wished to reach that lonely shore. Death's cold embrace spoke peace. The whispering winds Sighed mournfully; and all my trembling frame Still thrilled beneath the sound Of that familiar name. That dear familiar name ! The laurel branches wave Upon the river's brink, above one lonely grave. Where lie two buried hearts. The weary hours roll on. Ah well ! some perish in the strife, While I keep drifting down The stream of life. Still drifting down ! When will the current cease ? When will the chain be loosed — the spirit find release ? Ah! tell me when. Around my lonely path N"o hope-light beams! My heart beats slow! And almost sinks beneath Its weight of woe. COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS. 119 Is there no place of rest? I mark one star Just setting, and its radiant beams afor Shine o'er the wave. Oh! for a spirit's power To reach that star! — beyond all grief or pain, My life should set with it, Nor rise on earth asrain. COME TUNE THY THOUGHTS. Come tune thy thoughts to quietness, The wild wild thoughts that roam. And bid them seek for happiness In no ideal home. Though sweet the hues which fancy throws O'er time's fast crumbling ^vall. The light which in the S2nrit glows. Is sweeter far than all. Come gather round thee all thy foes — Pale grief, regret, and care; Then look them boldly in the face And ask them whence they are. Ask lioio they came, and icliy they came, Then answer, "'Twas His will," And faith will speak the sweetest name To triumph o'er them still. 120 POEMS. Then tune thy thoughts to quietness, Bid them no longer roam, And teach them how to greet the foes That meet them in their home. Though dark the woes which sorrow sows This side of time's great wall. The faith that in the spirit glows Can triumph o'er them all. LEONIE, Leonie bright, Leonie fair. With eyes of light, and golden hair. Where art thou gone? the voice is still Which laughed more sweet than mountain rill, Leonie ! As sunset's glory disappears Thy beauty fled, and bitter tears Blend with the brooklet's minstrelsy! Ah! bonnie Bird, come back to me, Leonie ! The leaves are wooed by summer's breath, All nature seems to smile at death, — Save one lone tree, which drooping weeps, Above the grave, where coldly sleeps Leonie ! ABSENCE. 121 ABSENCE. Just five short years ago, mother, You pressed me to your heart, And wept warm tears upon my head The day we were to part; But now I tread a foreign shore, And think of that same day, And wonder — will we meet no more In life's tempestuous way? Just five short years ago, mother! So full of hope and youth, I left your side a willing bride To prove another's truth. But ah! the world is rough, mother; No other love like thine, Can weave a glory round the heart. Half earthly, half divine. Just five short years ago, mother! You've traveled farther on; The golden gate is almost reached, The crown is almost won : And I have followed in your wake The steep and narrow road, And murmured not for your dear sake. But meekly borne my load, n F 122 POEMS. We'll meet no more on ecn-fh, mother; The waves have dashed so wild, And grief has gnawed my heart so deep, You would not know your child. But upward now, and on, mother, My watch-word is, and prayer, And though your years outnumber mine, I may be soonest there. Then upward now, and on, mother, Though seas between us roll. No heights, nor depths, can sever those United soul to soul. And when we meet at last, mother, (The pain all gone, you know,) You'll weep far sweeter tears than those Wept five short years ago. SPRING DATS. Now sunlight, and now shade! Oh ! lovely, changing days. My heart her tribute pays, Ere yet the sunbeams fiide. SPRING DAYS. 123 Sweet cliildhood of the year! Whose tear-drops lightly fall, Whose clear smiles brighten all, And failing youth endear. Like winter-brooding cares, The clouds pass, one by one, Beneath the cheerful sun. Or float away in pairs. Forth from my darkened home I seek the fresh green fields; And all my sorrow yields To gladness while I roam. New life, these fresh winds bring. That wave the cool, young grass, And as I onward pass, I hear the sweet birds sing. The tender flowers peep forth: — The silken fields are rife, With beauty, light, and life. And the freedom of the North. 124 POEMS. LINES. There was one, who for long years was dearer To my heart than Ufe : — one whose very air, As he past by along the crowded mart, Told that a nobler than the herd was there. For in his firm, free step, and restless eye, There dwelt a power, howe'er subdued, and chained. To conquer in the right, or else to die. And never had that wayward heart been tamed. Though fate had done her worst, and some had even blamed. His voice was as the music of the spheres To me, when it would utter my own name ! And often in my eyes the feeling tears. According to his discourse, went and came. Oh ! those were golden days, for it was then Soul answered unto soul, and I was loved By him, the noblest, brightest, best of men ; (For so his image in my fancy moved,) And well had time, and grief, our sacred passion proved. First love is beautiful ! Clear as the sun. The glad, bright morning sun, which drives all mist Away; trustful as childhood just begun, Hopeful as youth, and strong, few can resist THE DAYS or YORE. 125 Its sway. 'Tis deep and solemn as the night Upon wild ocean's shore, that echoes back The lonely night bird's wail, until all sight, And sound grows painful; and the pale stars lack Their wonted lustre, to throw brightness o'er our track. THE DAYS OF YOKE. x\h1 could the hours we all have known, Return to cheer us still, When life was sweeter than the tone Of some low mountain rill; When pure and calm the months went on, While peace slept at our door. And fair and sweet were those calm days, The golden days of yore. Ah! could the hands we once have clasped And felt their pressure grow Around the heart, as it were grasped. Because we loved them so. Return to take our hand again, While wintry winds are rough. Perhaps 'twould smother half the pain, And that were sweet enough! 11* 126 POEMS. , Or could the eyes we used to read, Returning glance for glance, But drop a tear for our sore need. To comfort life's advance : Or could the lips we oft have kissed, While conning love's sweet lore, Come back to ask if we have missed Those golden days of yore ! But hands are still, and dumbly crost. And cold beneath the sod; And hearts to us for ever lost. Are happy with their God. And eyes that shed their starry light, Are closed for evermore; And lips have uttered their last prayer, Since those sweet days of yore ! WHAT THEN? After a promise given In friendship's sacred name, With eyes as true as heaven. Flashing their liquid flame. What then? WHAT THEN? 127 Only a broken vow, — A cold indifferent eye Only a tearful look Asking the reason why. After a sentence kind When no one else is near, After a '-never mind" Soft whispered in the ear, What then? Only a scornful lip, — An artful, meaning, smile Only a painful grip Around one's heart the while. After the faded mask Has fallen quite aw^ay; After the night's dark fiice Has brightened into day, What then? Only a clearer view Of things that should not be; Only a just reward. In Gods eternity. 128 POEMS. QUESTIONmaS. What is it that you bring, oh ! lovely Spring, With your sweet-scented breath, And gentle winds that o'er the meadows sing, As though there were no death. Nor grief in all the land ? What is it that you bring? A thousand things That speak of summer hours. While from the earth the modest violet springs, Bright leaves twine round the bowers Where roses soon will cling. But what is it you bring ? A roseate glow Still crowns each parting day, And sunset's splendor o'er the heart can throw A mild, enchanting ray. Half soothing in its power. What is it that you bring beside yon sky Arrayed in cheerful blue, And tiny flowers, and brooks that rattle by, And leaves of sweetest hue, And rainbow-tinted showers? DEATH S DRAFT. 129 Oh ! gentle Spring, what bring' st thou to the heart 'Mid all these fairest scenes ? Why is it that the hidden tears will start And fill the eye, as dreams Come breathing of the past ? Canst thou restore our dead? — they coldly lie Deep down beneath the sod. Brave souls were they, and did not fear to die, Who now are with their God, Where endless spring-time reigns. DEATH'S DRAFT. A GRIM and ghostly shadow stalks Across the moonlit plain, And when the morn begins to dawn, I see him there again. He laughs aloud, and claps his hands. His voice is that of Death; The very air Seems everywhere Polluted by his breath. He sings a song — the words are these : "Bury their bones in peace; 130 POEMS. Though thousands fall, mine are they all, My draft shall never cease. I make my call, and millions come, (Though naught have I to tempt,) And though they plead Their strongest need, Not one shall be exempt." And o'er the happiest homes of earth This shadow ever lowers, It haunts the depths of every heart, E'en in its merriest hours. Too oft forgotten by the crowd Whose souls have fondly dreamt — " Though death is near. We need not fear, For we shall be exempt." Yes, Death is making his fearful draft Among the ranks of men; How old they are, how young they are, It matters little then. For all are there, the strong, the weak, The man with hoary head, The maiden fair, All, all, are there — In the army of the dead. A VISION. 131 A VISION. I SAW tlie broad ocean, all calm, and at rest; No wind waked its silent repose, The tide clambered np on the earth's sunny breast, As a child for a kiss ere it goes. The whole sea was shining like one precious gem, In the beams of a fresh morning sun. And ships stood like statues, or ghosts, in the light, With white robes all loosely undone. And one of them slowly assumed the fair form Of my lost one far down in her grave, As calmly it stood pointing up to the sky Above her wan form 'neath the wave. And still the strange silence oppressed me like pain ; When suddenly, sweet, and most clear, I heard her calm voice in my ear once again, — That voice I remember so dear. " Weep not," the voice said, " for the night will soon pass. And joy will return with the morn." I awoke with that sound in my desolate room, And a joy in my heart had been born. 132 POEMS. When I looked on the ocean, so tranquil it seemed, So peaceful and sweet in the light, That it seemed like the picture of what I had dreamed, In the darkness and storm of the night. And thus it is now, when with sorrow and pain The suffering spirit is torn, I thinb of the joy when this brief life is o'er, That will surely return with the morn : And as I look outward across the dim sea To mark the white sails going on, A low, tender voice, still seems calling to me, And still I go journeying on. "WHEN SHALL I THINK OF THEE?" When shall I think of Thee? On the still bed of death? With my last failing breath — Say, " Lord, remember me ?" Oh! I would love thee noiv : Ere death's dark hours draw on. Now at the day's sweet dawn, Accept my early vow. THY VOICE. 133 When shall I think of Thee? At the still eventide! When nature far and wide Speaks of her God to me. And in the silent night When I awake from dreams: When life more solemn seems, And wrong, more clear from right. When shall I think of Thee? Each hour of every day! While this faint heart would pray, Dear Lord, remember me." Happy to trust thee still! Hoping each day may see Some trial borne for thee, If it should bo thy will. THY VOICE. The first time that I heard thy voice Was all unknown to thee; The glory of the summer stars Shone soft and tremblingly, 12 134 POEMS. And niglit was calm, without a tone To break its deep repose, Save that of thy sweet voice alone, Which through the stillness rose. I, leaning from a easement' near, Caught up the flowing strain; And thinking of my boyhood years I lived them o'er again. I saw the homestead by the stream. My sisters hand in hand, And once again within my dream I joined that household band. The murmur of the rushing tide Kan sweetly through my brain, A thousand happy thoughts were stirred By thy soul-thrilling strain. It rose so clear, so free, and fine; A wild bird on the wing Might envy that sweet voice of thine, And droop to hear thee sing. Thy song had ceased ere I arose To leave the outer night; But when my eyelids sought repose Thy presence filled my sight. THE beggar's death. 135 Our souls had mingled in one dream Of youth, and joy gone by, And my lone heart seemed drawn to thine By some etherial tie. Ah, well I the years have flown since then. We both are older grown. Yet still I love to sit and hear tone Thy low and thrilling No longer new, yet far more sweet For all it speaks to me. Of constant love, which yet may live Through Heaven's eternity. THE BEGGAR'S DEATH. He died in bitter want and cold, On whom earth's scorn was hurled, A creature very weak and old. Forsaken by the world. His forehead wears a starry crown, For Christ has dried each tear. And angel eyes are looking down On this vile body here! 136 POEMS. Then lift him gently from his bed, On whom earth's scorn was hurled, His "title clear'' in Heaven is read, "Forsaken by the world." ''THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM." Ah! there was one o'er whose pale brow No laurel ever twined, And yet whose spirit soared above The herd of mortal kind. Divine he stood, with light like that Which early day adorns, E'en while his head was bowed beneath The cruel crown of thorns. A glorious star announced his birth — Moved slowly o'er the sky: Perchance its strange, lone course was marked By many a gazer's eye. Sweet star of hope! o'er all the world New risen to proclaim. The advent of a nobler one. Than earth could ever name. LITTLE EFFIE. 137 The "Star of Bethlehem" was then The finger-mark of God, To cheer his weary pilgrims on, And guide them in the road. Methinks that as it wandered by, An awe crept o'er the heart, Of each, who in their after years Enacted his sad part! And as its beauty shone at last Above the humble place. Where Jesus, (man of sorrows here) Began his mortal race; So now He shines above the stars, And points each wanderer home, To meet him in his glory crowned 'Neath heaven's paternal dome. LITTLE EFFIE. Blue eyes beaming bright and fearless Like the clear autumnal sky, Silken lashes, brown, and tearless, Lips unburdened with a sigh. 12 '- F 2 138 POEMS. Flowing liair which gleameth golden In the mild November sun, Waving darkly o'er her forehead When the long bright day is done. Grentle voice, like water leaping From its fountain, pure, and free; Happy heart, within whose keeping Rests the peace of infancy. There she kneels beneath the starlight Lisping forth her evening prayer. May the holy angels ever Keep her in their guardian care! A MOTHER'S FAEBWELL TO HER CHILD. GtOOD-night! fair child, I go Whither thou could'st not know Were I to tell. Death is unknown to thee, Life still a mystery, And it is well! A mother's farewell to her child. 139 Oh! could'st thou only know Life's deeper joy or woe, Thou would'st be sad; Nor lift those starry eyes, In sudden, mute surprise, To see me glad. « For I a7n glad! I go Whither nor blight, nor woe, May reach me more. Nor echoing voice shall call, Nor weary tear-drops fall, On that blest shore. Oh! never ask in vain '•Will mother come again?" For we shall meet, When earth is past for thee. In heaven's eternity, At Jesus' feet. Good-night! dear one, till then. Come press these lips again, And sink to rest. Calm be thy slumber mild! Fain would I bear my child To Jesus' breast. 140 POEMS. If ever life should be A painful dream to thee, And sunshine dim; Oh! lift thine eyes above: God, is a God of love, Trust all to Him. Now close those wistful eyes, Or my sad tears will rise When leaving thee. Goodnight! a long good-night! Ere dawn of morning light I shall be free. Free from this painful life, Free from the weary strife Which troubleth me. Jesus, to thee I come. Oh! take the wanderer home, Take me to thee. Hush! she is sleeping now. One kiss upon that brow So mild, and fair. God keep her for his own! In this wide world alone. She needs His care. LINES TO MY BIRD. 141 LINES TO MY BIRD. Gro! I release thee, little bird, A captive now no more, Yet sometimes come with thy sweet voice, And sing about my door. Flit lightly now from bough to bough, Where lurk the shadows green, A singing sunbeam that thou art! And happy too, I ween. Sing on! sweet bird of sunny climes, Enjoy the fleeting hours. No Queen is happier on her throne, Than thou among the flowers. How oft I've wished that I like thee Could lightly fly away, Could ever free and happy be, The whole long summer's day. And when the sunbeams grew more dim Far in the glowing West, Beside some fountain's glittering spray Could lay me down to rest: 142 POEMS. With one sweet star above my head, The evening star of Love; Keflected in the wave below, Clear as it shone above. The pupil hright in heaven^ s blue eye Keflected in my own; Till twilight deepened into night. And that sweet star had gone. But ah! such joy is not for me, Sweet warbler of an hour! My life is like the troubled sea; And thine is like the flower, Which feeds on sunshine, and the dew, And passes in a day. So thou, at Winter's faintest breath Will quickly flee away. THOUGHTS. If one were weeping here, And I should (oh! so gently) lay Her head upon my breast, And wipe away each tear; If all were vain that I could say To soothe her heart's unrest: LINES. 143 If I sliould speak of hope, A.nd see the weary eyehds eiose Without one upward ghmce; Then watch them slowly ope While I recalled my own past woes, As one in sorrow's trance: If I should say — "Dear one! The spring-time of your earthly years. Though fraught with grief, and care, And shrouded from the sun. Will brighten yet; come! dry these tears, Let not your heart despair:" If all were said in vain, And I beheld no courage there. Dear Saviour! but for thee To mitigate the pain, And pluck the arrow from despair, That one were like- to me. LINES. Say, what is man? his words so great, His acts at times so small; His thoughts still bounded by the curse Of his primeval fall. 144 POEMS. One moment mounting to the stars, Beholdmg Heaven's glory; Then clinging to the dust, as though Faith were an idle story. A worm of dust! A fallen star! Keflecting still a splendor Which emanates from God's high throne, Pure, spirit-like, and tender. How often does the inner truth Find outer contradiction! The doubting spirit fail to win Heaven's peaceful benediction. Yet never doubt that Grod is Grod, And truth is truth immortal; — The only light on earth to guide The soul to Heaven's portal. REFUGE. Learn to "walk with still footsteps, and with hum- ble eyes;" And as the startled fawn unto its covert hies When threatenino; foes are near, THE iDLK WORD. 145 So thy God on high, who can from ills defend, Betake thy troubled soul, and on his grace depend. Secure from every fear. Then o'er thy path below a radiance will be thrown, (If perfect trust is thine,) such as thou hast not known In all thy days before. Earth's burden will seem light, with Heaven for thy goal, • And one long hymn of praise, within thy tranquil soul Shall dwell for evermore. THE IDLE WORD. I KNEW a fountain, deep and clear. That calmly smiled the hours away. Reflecting all things bending near. In heaven's glad sunlight day by day ; And so, because its rest was fkir. And sweet its peaceful under-tone. A wanton idler loitered there. And in that fountain cast a stone. 13 r. 14G POEMS. Ah, broken rest! — ah, troubled heart! Where mournfully the ripples break. Ah, idle icord! though small thou art, Still canst thou cause the heart to ache. Rest, troubled one ! when pain is past. Again reflect a cloudless sun. •'For every idle word, at last, 3Ien shall be judged." Rest troubled one! THE END. % 56 , * O H ^ -(J, WERT II . <^ n^ . 4 o o^