"JIMTJX 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 Shelf „:.E6.€)fc 
 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

2 
 
 y ^yU-C 
 
 C/l^p tsTsi^&L^/ 
 
ONE OR TWO? 
 
 i 
 
 ItY 
 
 two SISTERS. 
 
 ST. LOUIS, MO. 
 
 MERIWETHER, BROS., 
 
 1883. 
 
T<3 
 
 COPYRIGHT jss.; r.v 
 
 LIDE MERIWETHER. 
 
Wc; blend these wandering dreams of twin sisters — one here, 
 :in<l fine on "the ol her side"- -and lovingly dedicate them to our 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 L. Virginia French, 
 Lide Meriwether, 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 One ok Two ? 9 
 
 Biographical Sketch of L. Virginia French 11 
 
 My Lide 17 
 
 Twenty Years Ago J S 
 
 The Long Ago 20 
 
 Old Forest Home 21 
 
 The Auctioneer 2-1 
 
 The Toy Seller 26 
 
 Burning The Brisii 28 
 
 ( )xi.v Leaves SO 
 
 The Palmetto and the Pine 32 
 
 August 36 
 
 Liberty Bells 38 
 
 ■ October 43 
 
 The Vacant Chair 46 
 
 November 49 
 
 ' 'Mammy. " 52 
 
 The Sycamores 55 
 
 "White Frost 56 
 
 TnE Better Land 59 
 
 Watching 60 
 
 San Martino 6 : 
 
 Onward 67 
 
 Victor (i'j 
 
 Building the Bridge 71 
 
 Roses 74 
 
 fontanelle 76 
 
 Violets 79 
 
 Beyond the Sea 80 
 
 S w eet Peas 82 
 
 Waking the Wilderness 84 
 
 Dead on the Field , 85 
 
 Ashes 88 
 
 Dead 90 
 
G TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Shadow Land 95 
 
 Tecumseh's Foot 98 
 
 Gwynn Araun 102 
 
 Painted Rook 105 
 
 Katy Did 10!) 
 
 The Bride op the Sun 114 
 
 The Fire-Fly 118 
 
 The Enchanted Mountain 121 
 
 The Dew Drops 123 
 
 The Maiden of the Moon ' 125 
 
 The Woodstream 127 
 
 The Lost Soul 130 
 
 The Enchanted Sleepers 131 
 
 Legend of the Infernal Pass , 134 
 
 Genius and Talent 13S 
 
 The Black Hand 141 
 
 Italy 144 
 
 The Cave of Death 147 
 
 The Scorpion 149 
 
 The Dancing Ghosts. 152 
 
 The Night-Blooming Cereus '54 
 
 Origin of the Water-Lily 158 
 
 Fairy's Fire l |i;; 
 
 The Mystic Music 105 
 
 The Indian Simmer 170 
 
 The Lover Star 172 
 
 The Ra i nbow 175 
 
 The Robin Red-breast 177 
 
 Etri scan Gold 180 
 
 The Origin of the Mississippi 184 
 
 The Burning Heart 191 
 
 Tin: L< >st Bride 200 
 
 The Lily of the Valley 207 
 
 The Old 1 > ate Tree 209 
 
 Tin: Wind 213 
 
 Ala i: \ma 215 
 
 J Rose of Jericho 217 
 
 Legend op the Piasa 219 
 
 We Two 22 J 
 
 Christmas Caroi 226 
 
 Next Yeab 22!) 
 
 Only One 230 
 
 Notes 231 
 
BOOK FIRST. 
 
ERRATA 
 
 Page 9. For the period in the title "One or Two," 
 
 read interrogation mark. 
 
 Page 41 — third stanza — for "from" read "upon" and 
 
 for "every" read "each." 
 
 Page 64 — first stanza — for ".strand" read "sand." 
 Page 62 — third stanza — for "heap" read "head." 
 Page 81 — fifth stanza — for "ameola" read "aureola." 
 Page 85 — first stanza of "Dead on the Field" — for 
 
 "flaunting" read "floating." 
 
 Page 135 — third stanza — for "cave" read "cane.' 
 
 Fourth stanza — for "cane" read "cave." 
 
 Page 271 — fifth stanza— for "forest" read "frost." 
 Page 210 — fifth stanza — for "quaint" read "gaunt." 
 
ONE OR TWO. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 Are we one, my sister, dearest ? 
 
 One or two, my azure-eyed, 
 Sunny-hearted gipsy, fairest 
 
 Little laughter-loving Lide ? 
 Like the fabled " Star " and " Stella " 
 
 To the morn and even sun, 
 Don't you think, sweet Zingarella, 
 
 That our spirits are but one ? 
 
 Blending brightly, shall we frame them 
 
 Into Spring's seolian tune ? 
 Or disparting softly, name them 
 
 Laughing May and Smiling June ? 
 As the sunshine and the shower 
 
 That, in flashing jewels, run 
 Through one golden April hour, 
 
 So our spirits are but one. 
 
 Joy, to them, is like the springing 
 
 Of the birdling's choral swell, 
 Sweetly wild, and softly ringing 
 
 With a chiming matin bell ; 
 And when round them sadly linger 
 
 Shadows of the lovely flown, 
 Sorrow's stained and tear-dewed finger 
 
 Writes upon them : " Ye are one." 
 
10 ONE OR TWO. 
 
 Long ago our gentle mother 
 
 Bought the sunny spirit-land, 
 And w e never had a brother ; 
 
 So we wander hand in hand, 
 Through life's lahyrinthine mazes, 
 
 Where to guide us there are none : 
 Yet amid its thousand phases, 
 
 Still our spirits are but one. 
 
 Smile, my love ! the great All-seeing 
 
 Is our Father, and we bow 
 To the laud that gave us being, 
 
 As our noble mother now ; 
 Pillared flame and cloud before us 
 
 Through the wilderness begun, 
 They shall journey, watching o'er us, 
 
 That our spirits may be one. 
 
 I have often thought, if only 
 
 I might pass from earth with you, 
 That our hearts would ne'er be lonely. 
 
 If, in Heaven, we were hut two ; 
 But a deeper bliss is given 
 
 Us, to know : our mission done. 
 As on earth, so in the Heaven, 
 
 Shall our spirits be but one. 
 
L.VIRGINIA FKKNCH. 
 
 J.. M. 
 
 I assume, reluctantly, the duly of giving to the readers of 
 this book, a short sketch of the earth life of my twin spirit, who 
 has passed over to the other shore. 
 
 From our earliest childhood we were, in all our tastes, aims, 
 habits, and pursuits, so completely one, that to write in eulogy 
 of her, seems like self-praise. Strangers could pass more correct 
 judgmenl upon her mental power than one so closely allied; 
 therefore, I will give only plain fads regarding her Life, and 
 quote from others, when speaking of the estimate placed upon 
 her mind and heart. The Nashville Courier, announcing her 
 death, says : 
 
 " Her maiden name was Smith. Slut was horn on the eastern 
 shore of Virginia, in March, 1825, being descended from leading 
 families of that .State, and of Pennsylvania. Her maternal 
 grandfather, Colonel Thomas Parker, whose country seat was 
 her birthplace, was an officer of the Revolutionary army. Her 
 literary talent was first shown during her school days', which 
 were passed at Washington, Pennsylvania. In 1848, after their 
 graduation, she and her sister began, at Memphis, the conduct 
 of a school. Miss Smith contributed over the nom de plume of 
 "L'Inconnue," numerous articles to newspapers and magazines,, 
 both North and South, which gained her marked distinction. In 
 1852, she engaged, with others, in the publication of the South- 
 ern Ladies' Book, at New Orleans. It was while in charge of this 
 magazine that a poem from her pen attracted the attention of 
 Colonel John II. French, a wealthy and estimable Tennessee 
 
r /. riROTXIA n:r\rn. 
 
 gentleman, Mid led to their iirst m< in a most romant 
 
 manner, and finally culminated, in January, 185S, in tin 
 happy marriage. They began life together, at I - Homo. 
 r McMinnville, Tennesse* a most lovely and picturesque 
 t, and the homestead of the French family. Here they re- 
 mained throughout the I - of their wedded life : 
 and here much ary labor was pei formed." 
 In isv>. she published Inn- iirst volume of poems, entitled 
 "Wind Whisp I .nor in I ie year, she published a 
 
 . Dtitled " l.talika. the Lady of Tula," the 
 no of which is laid in Mexi« .-.....- 
 
 Betwen this and the year 1872, when her iirst novo! was pub- 
 w as a,eti\ sev< ral 
 
 them, the \ 
 
 \ - . McMii - ■ 
 
 Hid others which she contributed h. Mid 
 
 t ability. In 1872, her firs 1. "My Roses,"v - 
 
 published, by Claxton, Hemso .v I v. Philadelphia; Mid in 
 
 IS79, her - published in 
 
 s, still remain unpublished. If I 
 do not her quickly, 1 hope I them to the world 
 
 1\ 
 
 S work woi th, the V - 
 
 ent death of 1.. \ h has left a void 
 
 mong the li i o -. . - S ■ - »m her 
 
 \ a hi author, her ----- the s vial 
 
 y lofty .so of Chu 
 
 charity suited to the spin-. Oman. The world has r. 
 
 uted compMiy with a nobler, brighter spirit, A.lv 
 d obliging, her cheerful genius never h> - - : . to 
 
 any demand when great thoughts were wanted I 
 
 ornament toapu luss Lnd whether that caus 
 
 cerned the gl st'sk in on earth, the mi 
 
 the country that she loved, or the gentle charities that 
 sa the chalice of ] affliction, hi 
 
/.. I //,'.,/ A/ I FltNS'CIf, 
 
 i:; 
 
 Its i <•:!. i \ wonders, for nil aliko, with an nlncrit] and success 
 dull looked i i K t • Inspiration. She litis been m prolific writer^ 
 ii( 1 1 1 1 i>r |u M'i r\ and prose, bul w e have seen not ninpc from lier 
 fertile 11 i it l facile pen, even IVoni her girlhood's flrsl offerings :i ' 
 the shrine of song, thai 'li'l uo1 have upon 1 1 the royal stamp of 
 genius, indeed, her talonts were of :i loftj type, and many of 
 her finer utterances will bo crystallized among the i'i rbfi mctnotw 
 ftiVt'aofthe ago in which she lived. Bhe was a native of Vh 
 gin in, inii for many years lias lived al llio beautiful borne, near 
 McMinnvtlle, Tennessee, where she died, Her husband and 
 three children survive lier one son and two daughters. The 
 ion, Walter Scotl French, is quite b promising young business 
 111:111 .1 1 Chattanooga Her accomplished daughters, Jessie and 
 M.i\. Imvo alroadj given oarnesl of n rich boreditamenl of 
 genius under the treacherous pttudonym, respectively, of 
 '< Blondino " and " Urownie." A i home, where greatness is al 
 ways flrsl aci red i ted and besl appreciated, Mrs French was but 
 little loss than an Idol, When the life of thi gifted woman shall 
 lir truthfully written, our poor humanity will have the besl "i" 
 occasion to plume itself, no loss upon the achievements of her 
 genius than the simple annals of the Inglosido whore bIio mado 
 nil so brighl and hapi>3 aboul her. 
 
 U though her health had been (Vail for several months, her 
 lasl illness was short. I was tolegraphod upon tlio flrsl appear 
 unco of danger, bu1 reached her too late For any recognition, 
 ,s:i\c one feeble pressure of her hand, and one long, conscious, 
 loving look. I give, In the words of her daughtor, her last In 
 telligible words i " 1 1 was the lasl time the little earth-spark 
 glimmered, to tell us she was siili with us. The room was 
 darkened, and the doctor said it> me! 'Raise the curtains, a 
 little change may rouse her.' I tli'l so ; she raised herself up, 
 looked full al me, and smiled. I know 11 was the lasl thoro 
 was too much of heaven In ii 1 • 1 1 1 l smiled, hoping to encour- 
 age her ; and she sa it I . looking oul of the window pasl me ■ '* di ! 
 ii is the Lighl ; the beautiful Lighl !' From the exproBsion <»r 
 
 her face, and tone of her voice, l knew :ill was over. I could 
 
 iiliimsi Bee her feel touching the far off shore." 
 
puss • - 
 
 58 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 or. 
 
 \\ . . 
 
 \ ' ■ - 
 
 - 
 - 
 
 the path torothei 
 
 ikfttlhou 
 
 - n awl u 
 
 in 
 that high fcutt 
 
 w . 
 
 s 
 
L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. 15 
 
 Not so, not so! Though sorrowing ;in<l lonoly, 
 We comprehend her pure and perfect peace ; 
 
 We understand the life that served God only, 
 Looking to Him alone for its release ; 
 
 And when Death's gentle summons to surrender 
 Was as sweetly answered, let none say, 
 
 Of such example— lofty, simple, tender— 
 We buried it to-day ? 
 
 Not so, not so ! When such a lovely story 
 As that of her sweet life on earth appears 
 
 It crowns all womanhood with gentle glory, 
 And when it fades there is no room for tears, 
 
 The good her life has wrought will perish never; 
 And though the worker may be laid away 
 
 To her last rest, the work remains forever, 
 Nor crumbles with the clay ! 
 
W ' • - - ss still lir. 
 
 W\ - - - - - ;ht l>k\ 
 
 s 
 C - s in its 
 
 ^ - n tho I 
 
 V- - r mijrUty l a high, 
 
 Whiten] - hymn is* pealinj 
 
 - •• - si thoiu 
 
MY I IDE, 
 
 i . \ . K. 
 
 rhe Bpring time is waking to beautj and bloom, 
 The storm clouda are*breaking, and brighl through 
 
 the gloom, 
 n u , blue heaven flashes, like gleams of thine eye, 
 Chrougb the dark Bilken lashes thai deepen its dye; 
 'Tis a glance full of tenderness, blended with pride, 
 Lite thine own a are eye beam, my sweet sister 
 
 Lide, 
 
 The rosebuds are sleeping, bu1 odors around 
 Tell of hyacinths peeping from yon grassj mound . 
 The peach bloom is blushing like cloudlets a1 even, 
 When the sunsel Is flushing the calm summer 
 
 heaven j 
 An i i dream, as Its leaflets float down a1 my Bide, 
 Of the rose tinted cheek of my sweet Bister Lide. 
 
 Hie south wind is blowing, and up from the wood, 
 Where the streamlel is flowing In deep Bolitude, 
 Swells in low, liquid numbers, the waterfall's song, 
 As its singing \\ ave slumbers, or dashes along. 
 And the silvery tone of thai murmuring tide 
 Seems the love laden voice of my sweel sister Lide, 
 
 The world thinks uslonelj 'tis true, we're alone, 
 \,,| as twin spirts only our Ixorts are bui our: 
 With uo parent, no brother, no glad, happy home, 
 We're the world to each other, wherever we roam ; 
 Ami my young life glides onward like spring's sunny 
 
 tide, 
 When i dwell with nun.' own one my "love oi R 
 
 Lide." 
 
rw r\ rv \t.vk> u«0 
 
 • 
 
 :ho purple twilight sittil) 
 - I and lone. 
 \\ »t< ' ■ •.; - insa I sin 
 ■ 
 ting how tlu « - '.- \*i n w Riling, 
 
 How the th , . \ - 
 
 with bridal garments twulii 
 
 r w < y years i 
 
 Thinking laughing nut 
 
 \\ ^ i ssonislad 
 
 hooping round tho I 
 l oving hearts with high hop* swi lling 
 
 x ^ - : and I 
 
 th tears were wellii 
 
 Dwi ■ \* years ago, 
 
 - smiling 
 
 Through their mis 
 Hom I - of hope's hegnilii 
 
 y heart was aeh 
 
 V th the pain 
 
 - 
 
 nght in s - 
 Thinking how tho band is 
 B> the roll 
 
HI /'\ l) ) /' I RS AGO. 
 
 10 
 
 Thinking of the dumb lips lying 
 
 Underneal li I he snow . 
 Then wi tli warmest wishes vying 
 
 Twenty years ago. 
 
 Thinking of youth's blossom meadow, 
 
 Wit li iis purple haze, 
 Thinking of the shine and slim low 
 
 Of the old dead days : 
 Chinking of the sun brighl vision , 
 
 In iis golden glow, 
 Peopling earth with shapes elysian 
 
 Twenty years ago 
 
 Thinking how the day dreams clouded 
 
 r nder deepesl nidi t . 
 Watching love's in sere clothes shrouded 
 
 Buried from our sighl ; 
 Crumbling castles ivy covered, 
 
 Through t hem sad and slow , 
 WVlk the shapes thai round us hovered 
 
 Twenl y years auto. 
 
 Thinking of the placid present 
 ( )f our bonnie bride, 
 
 Of I ho faces bright an<l pleasant 
 Round her fireside ; 
 
 of i he love so i rue and i ender 
 ( Guarding fondly now, 
 
 As il promised to defend her 
 
 Twenty years ago. 
 
 Thinking of t ho promise given 
 
 As we said, "good-bye" — 
 Firm as Faith and true as Heaven, 
 
 Still its llanie burns high, 
 
 Thanking God for loves that cluster 
 
 Round its all ar glow, 
 Pure and bright as beamed their lustre 
 
 Twenty years ago. 
 
nil' 1 ONG AGO, 
 
 1 . V. K. 
 
 You are far away, my Lida, 
 
 And the April breeses blo\< 
 O'er the hills of "Allequida," 
 
 Where we wandered long ago, 
 When the sunny hours of childhood 
 
 Swept like singing streams alon 
 And the valley and the wildwood 
 
 Echoed to our merry son 
 When we used to run bright races 
 
 w ith the sunshine on the hill— 
 O'er those old familiar places, 
 
 Poos the sunbeam linger still ? 
 
 Do you ever wander, sister, 
 
 By the lonely, bushy bank, 
 Where the crimson lilies cluster 
 
 1 the v. - s OUg and dank ? 
 
 Where, whene'er we wen! a-nuttii 
 
 We would rest at eventide, 
 the rocky ledges jutting 
 
 Fi om the bosk) -dingle side? 
 Robins built beneath the arches, 
 
 Lnd a blue-bird in a bough 
 Of the overhanging larches 
 
 Do j ou ov er hoar them nov< 
 
 Canst recall the legends olden 
 Of that shadow-haunted dell, 
 
 Where the sunlight, green and golden, 
 Most fantastically fell? 
 
 a d the range of n ssj mountains, 
 Where sweet "Allequida'a bower*' 
 
OLD FOREST ROME. 21 
 
 Rose beside the forest fountains, 
 
 'Neath a jewel-dropping shower 
 Of the hazel's pearly tassels, 
 
 Ami the maple's ruby sheen, 
 Which the winds, her fairy vassals, 
 
 Poured around the Indian Queen? 
 
 Then the jolly rides at morning, 
 
 ()n t he pony, sleek and old, 
 Every danger proudly scorning 
 
 On the upland bleak and bold ; 
 And the search For silver fishes, 
 
 Wading in the crystal pool, 
 .(Just the spot to suit our wishes,) 
 
 At the noun tide clear and cool ; 
 How the tiny billows tinkled 
 
 O'er the pebbles and the net ; 
 And your little white feet twinkled — 
 
 Oh, 1 think I see them yet ! 
 
 Yes, 1 see yon often, I.ida, 
 
 As yon used to look, when we 
 Dwelt at bon'nie "Allequida," 
 
 With the bird, and breeze, and bee; 
 Laughing eyes of limpid azure, 
 
 And the snowy baby hrow , 
 Peeping from the gold embrasure 
 
 Of its curls — 1 see it now ! 
 Then I wish that God had laid us 
 
 Down to slumber in the wild ; 
 For His love would then have made us 
 
 Each His little angel child. 
 
 OLD FOREST HOME. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 I sit in the dusky shadow, 
 
 Under the idlest nut tree, 
 I hear the song of the piping quail, 
 
 And the hum of the drowsy bee ; 
 
:••: 
 
 OLD FOREST HOME, 
 
 1 see bright Bhapea in the waving trees, 
 1 hoar soft words in tin- rustling bre< 
 l see v\ bite ships <>\ er hi ure seas, 
 Bailing to j ou and me. 
 
 You're telling tin- story over, 
 
 Saj ing ' Mignon, you must come 
 \\ ben Biuniuer Buns shall shine again, 
 
 \ nd see i be stately dome 
 1 [fting aloft its princely bead, 
 While tinted columns round it spread 
 And grace and beauties n< w are shed 
 Round beautiful Forest Home." 
 
 1 mi in the dusky shadow 
 And think of the faithful tow . 
 
 Tbe loving hand now thinning fast, 
 With pulses strong ahd true; 
 
 1 think of the warm bearts chilled with 
 doubt. 
 
 Mill storm and shipwreck tossed about, 
 
 J think of the lights and lives gone out 
 Since this old house was new. 
 
 I'm back in t he dusky shadow 
 
 Of :ni April eventide, 
 When l bad round a now brother love, 
 \wd \ on were a happy bride : 
 
 1 land iii hand as wo Mta\ od along, 
 
 Heart linked heart in a circle strong, 
 Soul met soul, as witli laugh and Song, 
 w o w andered Bide by side. 
 
 1 see through the dusky shadow 
 
 of cloudless blue, 
 And bright curia Boat on the Bummex 
 w ind 
 Of Bummer's golden hue : 
 I sit again in the chestnut Bhade 
 Where "Bouse" and "Bedo" and 
 
 •■ Birdie " played, 
 And children's laughter our heaven made 
 \\ hen this old house was now. 
 
 1 see through the curtained window 
 The firelight's ruddj hue 
 
OLD FOREST HOME. 23 
 
 Glancing on spotless bridal robes, 
 
 And snow -while garlands tOO ] 
 
 I see the shades of the youthful band, 
 Again the circle around me stand, 
 As l took my destiny hand in hand 
 \Y hen t his old house \\ as new. 
 
 l see i hrough the dusky shadow 
 
 The child thai the angels knew, 
 As borne on the Bofl October wind 
 
 She floats to my bosom true ; 
 In her Fat her's house she is dwelling now, 
 With a starry crown on he] babybrow, 
 But she lay on our hearts like an angel's 
 
 \ o\\ 
 
 When this old house vvas new. 
 
 1 M'c through the dusky shadow 
 Bright fairy forms thai grew 
 
 Into our hearts and homes and lives, 
 
 An<l i heir magic lustre t hrew 
 A tenderer light over earth and skies, 
 A brighter glow on the blossom's dyes, 
 Opening Paradise tooureyes 
 
 When tins old house was new. 
 
 1 see through the dusky shadow 
 
 A loyal hand and I nu\ 
 Our bright-eyed children hand in hand 
 
 Come trooping to my view ; 
 [ breathe the player, bo their hearts as 
 light, 
 
 Their hopes as high, and their faith as 
 
 bright 
 
 As ours, when we climbed life's moun- 
 tain height , 
 When this old house was new. 
 
 I sit in I he dusky shadow 
 
 l' nder the ehestnnl tree, 
 1 hear the BOng of the piping quail, 
 
 And the hum oi' t he drowsy hee ; 
 
 The angels peep t hrough the waving trees 
 Their voices call in the rustling breeze, 
 
 Their w hilo ships sail over azure seas, 
 Coming for you ami me J 
 
THE AUCTIONEER. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 Up with the red flag ! wave it wide. 
 Over the gay and fair ! 
 
 it things oi love, and things of pride, 
 It flaunteth everywhere ! 
 
 Bring the hammer, the auction block- 
 Gather, ye hearts of stone— 
 
 •• Here's excellent bargains, and premium stock 
 Going— going — gone !' 
 
 Wrecks of a ruined household band 
 
 Cast on a silent shore : 
 Heart-breaks scattered along the sand. 
 
 Where the tide comes up no more. 
 Amid the relies, the Auctioneer 
 
 Standeth— a wrecker lone. 
 Bidding them off with a jest and jeer — 
 " Going — going — gone I" 
 
 Here's a mirror, a faithful friend. 
 
 lor, without a shade of guile. 
 It tells when passions the dark brow bend. 
 
 And it gives you smile for smile ; 
 \ more, no more will it council lend — 
 
 Hark to that flippant tone — 
 •• How much— how much for this faithful friend? 
 
 Going- 
 Here is a purple divan, soft 
 
 And circled with silken fringe : 
 Here the lord of the manor slumbered oft, 
 
 \nd the COUCh's richest tinge 
 
THE AUCTIONEER. 25 
 
 Was dull and cold, to the golden shower 
 That over lus vision shone — 
 
 " Who bids who bids for the dreams of power ? 
 
 Going— going —gone !" 
 
 A pendule strikes with a dreamy chime, 
 Like that which the spirit hears 
 
 in the notes of a curious, quaint old rhyme, 
 
 That toilet h id by-gone years ; 
 But the owner has passed to another clime, 
 His hint sad sands are run — 
 
 "How much how much for the wings of Time? 
 ( roing going— gone I" 
 
 Costly lamps when the golden spire 
 
 Rose over the festal board, 
 How dim it shone to t he eves of lire 
 
 Where Love's sweel light was stored; 
 Bui those eyes grew dim like stars that roam 
 
 A fa I- from the " great white throne"— 
 •• Who bids— w ho bids for I he lights of home '.' 
 ( roing — going - gone |" 
 
 A dainty volume, clasped with gold, 
 
 lis links st ill bright and new , 
 It whispered of love that could ne'er be told, 
 
 And it bound t he giver I rue ; 
 On the first blank leaf it is written now — 
 
 " Thine, thine alone !" 
 " Who bids- -who bids for the broken Now '.' 
 ( ioiug — going- -gone !" 
 
 Here is a picture, bright and fair, 
 
 And a soul looks from its eyes 
 Through veiling clouds of golden hair. 
 
 Like a Peri from t he skies : 
 
 So like to her in the church-yard laid, 
 
 When t he autumn rains came on ; 
 ■ How much, for a beauty that cannot fade? 
 Going — going — gone !" 
 
 Here is the carpel with flowers dense, 
 
 1 Eer fain feet once trod, 
 And the little cradle bed from w hence 
 
 1 ler babv went up to God ; 
 
////' /'<») s/7 / EH. 
 Hew is the harp, with ii> broken strings, 
 
 Hot while hands moved upon — 
 
 " Who bids who bids for this lot of things 
 
 Goillj :;e !" 
 
 rhtmk Goil ' ho cannot sell the heart— 
 
 \\ .■ burj our treasures 1 h< 
 Warua tears that up to i he eyelids start, 
 
 \u«l i lie babj 'a lisping nra) er, 
 
 that we loved in a i<\ -ceue day, 
 
 S» eel words, main :l 0110 
 
 ^ e bur) them deep, where none can sa\ 
 •• k Joins going scone "' 
 
 rnr iv\ ski 1 ri; 
 
 I M. 
 
 lie stands in ihe . \ - ■ POM - - eel. 
 
 V\ th his board of painted to> s 
 w th heavj eyelids and \vear\ Feet, 
 
 Dreaming of \ anished joj - . 
 Of a loving voioe, and a gentle hand 
 
 That gnided his golden years, 
 Ere the bloom and song of that far-off land 
 
 Was - En a rain of teal - 
 
 Sudden he starts with his measured erj 
 
 •■ roys and faueies ! Who'll huj w ho I 
 
 Ho ' all \ o w ho are r.- t>ss ll on< - 
 In the crowded hi\ e of 1 
 
 ) i illers OH gilded thrones 
 Of a nation's toil and sir 
 
 Dwellers in industry 's humble cell, 
 Should m\ ( -all halt an\ such, 
 ss alone, for ye will not swell 
 Mj audiem i vet much ; 
 
 dher around n\e w itb Ions 
 •• foys and fanou - \> ho'll bu\ ? who'll buj 
 
/■///■■ /") n/7 / n;. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Beaut i ful bI w hob, white as snow , 
 
 As dainl ilj pure and fair, 
 With the regal head, and the God like brow 
 
 Of the Old World orator ; 
 <l ill Km I bright as tho jowolod crown 
 
 Of the fabled Elf land king, 
 Painted light as i he dainty dow ii 
 
 Of t he but terliy's gauasy w ing ; 
 
 Fair as t ho ri ft s on a summer skj 
 
 Fair and fleet lug ! Who'll buj '.' who'll buj 
 
 ■• Filled with air?" I ,\ke tho empty sound 
 
 Of 3 our polil icians' fame ; 
 Windj and \\ ordj . it float s around 
 
 On the breeze of an ill bought uame ; 
 Till halting :it Victory's vestibule, 
 
 The toj comoB i ummiug dow n, 
 Pricked \\ ii li a pin of ridicule, 
 
 I ii i he hand of :i \ ulgar clow n ; 
 
 Light as :i bubble, ;i pain tod lie ! 
 
 Empty as honors 1 Who'll buy V who'll hn \ 
 
 " I hi 1 1 1 1'," you say, and quick to break 
 
 A mill children's lit ful st ri fo; 
 Like tin' venomed tongues that swaj and shake 
 
 The wmks of au earnest Ii fo : 
 What boots kind deed, or gracious word, 
 
 From u greii I and glorious mind ? 
 ( >ih' blow from :i w eapon malice barbed, 
 
 Will seal i er it in t he \\ ind ; 
 
 Brittle as friendship, us quick to fly ! 
 
 Wort hi ess as gratitude come, who'll buj 
 
 " Easy to soil ?" What love you best, 
 
 To i rail in i he dusl of shame '.' 
 Whal plaything suits your jeer and jest, 
 
 Like a woman's spotless name ? 
 Tossed in the Bmoke clouds, high and higher, 
 
 I ii your club loom's murk inrss, 
 
 Dragged through the reeking mud and mire, 
 
 At I hi' heels of Q IviiiL; press ; 
 
 l'u ri ■ as the glance of a woman's eye, 
 
 ^s easily tear-stained Who'll buy? who'll buy? 
 
 • Hollow inside?" Oh, fle I for Bhame ! 
 
 Js that, in ;i toy, :liuiss '.' 
 
28 BURNING THE BRUSH. 
 
 I marvel that you have the face to name 
 
 So puerile a plea as this ! 
 When all the love that is fair and false 
 
 Finds never a longing eye ; 
 When all the passion that is hut dross 
 
 Goes begging for fools to buy ; 
 
 Show me hut this, and you hush my cry — 
 
 Hollow and heartless ! Who'll buy? who'll buy? 
 
 " Empty?" indeed ! And what are the heads 
 
 Where you crawl, and cringe, and bow? 
 Where gilded Pomp, with Dishonor, treads. 
 
 The magical circle now. 
 Show me the idol, false and fair, 
 
 That finds not a fool to follow, 
 And I shall believe your story rare, 
 
 That you "hate the toys that are hollow ;" 
 Fiekle and faithless ! A gilded lie ! 
 
 Empty and worthless ! Who'll buy ? who'll buy? 
 
 BURNING THE BRUSH. 
 
 r.. v. f. 
 
 Old rubbish from grove-land and garden, 
 
 Dry weeds from the shrubbery's steeps, 
 Dead branches from trees in the orchard. 
 
 hay gathered in conical heaps : 
 And from each the red (lames through the twilight 
 
 Rose up with a roar and a rush, 
 For the children were out on a frolic. 
 
 And merrily "burning the brush." 
 
 I low still are the star-tires above us 
 When the smoke-girdled beacons arise ! 
 
 'Tis the wind-wasted flame of earth's passion, 
 To the infinite calm of the skies ! 
 
 Above me the apple boughs drooping 
 
BURNING THE BRUSH. W 
 
 With blossoms were Hvishly lush, 
 Around me the children were trooping, 
 And busily " burning the brush." 
 
 Aloof, in the shadows, I watched them, 
 
 And still thro' the smoke laden air, 
 Keeping sight of my beautiful '• Daisy " 
 
 By the gold-gleaming cloud of her hair — 
 By her eye like a star in the twilight, 
 
 Her laugh with its glcefullest gush — 
 As she flitted from beacon to beacon, 
 
 With the little ones " burning the brush." 
 
 Her heart was as light as the zephyr 
 
 Which fanned the red flames from below, 
 Her soul was as white as the blossoms 
 
 Down drifting their delicate snow. 
 I was double the age of my darling — 
 
 I thought of it then with a blush — 
 That day I had quarrelled with " Daisy," 
 
 The child who was " burning the brush." 
 
 As I moodily stood in the shadow, 
 
 With gloom on my spirits and brow. 
 No beauty for me in the bonfires — 
 
 No charm in the bloom-laden bough — 
 There came a swift, footstep behind me, 
 
 A face in its rosiest flush 
 Peered round, as she merrily whispered : 
 
 '•You see, we are ' burning the brush' — 
 
 " All things that are idle and useless, 
 
 " Dead things that would" mar our domain, 
 " We give to the flames, that our borders 
 
 " May brighten and blossom again. 
 " So, I'll fling all my willfulness from me, 
 
 " Caprices and coquetries crush — 
 " Here they go to the dross-pile bon am.ie. 
 
 " See! I burn them alive with the brush !" 
 
 Then a spray of the delicate blossoms, 
 
 Which she crushed in her dainty white hands, 
 
 In a moment lay smoking and shrivelled, 
 And dead, on the red-hearted brands ! 
 
 I was double the age of my darling, 
 My manhood had sins on its Hush, 
 
30 ONLY LEA I'A'N. 
 
 But the blossorn-like faults of the sinless 
 Lay dead — like the flames <>f the brush ! 
 
 Each spring, from the orchard and grove-land, 
 The smoke-wreaths float out on the air, 
 
 And the children go forth 'mid theflowers — 
 My " I >aisy " no longer is there. 
 
 Her home was not here in the twilight, 
 Where earth-fires of passion arise ; 
 
 she lias floated away through the morning 
 To the infinite calm of the skies. 
 
 I? — I stand all alone in the shadows, 
 But my heart has a holier hush 
 
 Since, down in its deeps a great Sorrow- 
 Sits, wearily " burning the brush/' 
 
 ONLY LEAVES." 
 
 I,. M. 
 
 Wake ! 'tis the night wind's moan 
 
 Round the eaves. 
 List ! as its sobbing tone 
 
 Sadly grieves 
 Round the lone haunted spring 
 Where the weird night birds sing, 
 Silently scattering 
 
 " Only leaves." 
 
 Where the bright billow's crest 
 
 Softly heaves, 
 Where the wild fowl her nest 
 
 Deftly weaves. 
 Propped from the mountain side, 
 Into the crystal tide 
 Idly along they glide, 
 
 "Olilv leaves." 
 
ONLY LEA VES. 31 
 
 Slowly her pearly shroud 
 
 Summer weaves, 
 Sadly her misty cloud 
 
 Sobs and grieves, 
 Sighing for roses fled, 
 Sobbing for lilies dead, 
 While her hands o'er them spread 
 
 " Only leaves." 
 
 Wake ! 'tis the spirit's moan 
 
 Round the eaves. 
 List ! as its sobbing tone 
 
 Sadly grieves 
 Round the lone haunted spring 
 Where ghostly memories sing, 
 Silently scattering 
 
 "Only leaves." 
 
 Slowly her shadow shroud 
 
 Friendship weaves, 
 Faith from her fading cloud 
 
 Sobbing grieves, 
 Sighing for passions tied, 
 Sobbing for loves long dead, 
 Pallid hands o'er them spread, 
 
 " Only leaves." 
 
 Ask ye the just reward 
 
 Faith achieves? 
 Seek ye the pure record 
 
 Love receives ? 
 Wrought ye works meet for these ? 
 Planted ye fruitful trees, 
 That your sad autumn sees, 
 
 "Only leaves." 
 
 'Graved ye on victor's shield 
 
 Laurel leaves? 
 Bare ye from harvest held 
 
 Golden sheaves ? 
 Love for the broken heart ? 
 Aid for the desolate ? 
 Brought ye notfor your part 
 
 " Only leaves V 
 
32 THE PALMETTO aND THE PINE. 
 
 Wrought your deeds but the shame 
 
 Lust achieves '.' 
 Was your lamp but the Same 
 
 That deceives ? 
 Start not when demons tread 
 Round your pale sheeted dead, 
 And on their lone graves spread 
 
 "Only leaves." 
 
 Up ! fight ye for 1 lie gem 
 
 Faith achieves ; 
 Win ye the diadem 
 
 Love receives ; 
 
 Wake! from thy Lifeless trance, 
 Work ! that the ages hence 
 Mete not thy recompense 
 " Only leaves!" 
 
 THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 They planted them together— our gallant sires of 
 old— 
 
 Though one was crowned with crystal snow, and 
 one with solar gold ; 
 
 They planted them together, on the world's ma- 
 jestic height, 
 
 At Saratoga's deathless charge, at Eutaw's stub- 
 horn fight ; 
 
 At midnight on the dark redoubt, 'mid plunging 
 shot ami shell— 
 
 At noontide gasping in the crush of battle's bloody 
 
 swell, 
 With gory hands and reeking hrows, amid the 
 
 mighty fray, 
 Which singed ami swelled around them on that 
 
 memorable day, 
 
THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 
 
 When they planted independence, as a symbol and 
 
 a sign — 
 They struck deep soil' and planted the Palmetto 
 and the Pine. 
 
 They planted them together, by the river of the 
 
 Years, 
 Watered with our fathers' hearts' Mood, watered 
 
 with our mothers' tears ; 
 In the strong, rich soil of Freedom, with a bounte- 
 ous benison, 
 From their Prophet, Priest and Pioneer— our Father 
 
 Washington ! 
 Above them floated echoes of the ruin and the 
 
 wreck, 
 Like "drums that beat at Louisburg, and thundered 
 
 at Quebec." 
 But the old light sank in darkness as the new stars 
 
 rose to shine 
 o'er those emblems of the sections— the Palmetto 
 
 and the Pine. 
 
 And we'll plant them still together, for 'tis yet the 
 self same soil 
 
 Our fathers' valor won for as by victory and toil ; 
 
 On Florida's fair everglades, by bold Ontario's 
 flood, 
 
 Ami thro' them send electric life as leans the kin- 
 dred blood! 
 
 For thus it is they taught us who for Freedom lived 
 and died, 
 
 The Eternal laws of justice must and shall be justi- 
 fied ; 
 
 That God has joined together by a fiat all divine 
 
 The destinies of dwellers 'neatb the Palm-tree and 
 the Pine. 
 
 Aye! we'll plant them yet together, tho' the cloud 
 
 is on their brows. 
 And winds antagonistic writhe and wrench their 
 
 stalwart boughs ; 
 Driving winds that drift the nations into gaping 
 
 gulfs of* gloom ; 
 Sweeping ages, cycles, systems into vortices of 
 
 doom ; 
 
: i THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 
 
 Though the waves of faction, rolling in triumphant 
 
 to tlic shore, 
 Are breaking down our bulwarks with their sullen 
 
 rage and roar ; 
 Serried armaments of ocean tiling in line after line, 
 Washing up the deep foundations of Palmetto and 
 
 of Pine. 
 
 Shall this, tin- soil of Freedom, from their roots be 
 
 washed away 
 By the chafing of the billows and the breaking of 
 
 t he spray '.' 
 
 No! the Hand that rules the vortex which is surg- 
 ing now before us 
 
 Above its '• hell of waters " sets the how of promise 
 o'er ns ; 
 
 And the time will come when Discord shall be 
 buried in the Past, 
 
 The oritlamme ot Love shall wave above the beach 
 at last. 
 
 ^.nd beneath the starry banner— type of unity di- 
 vine — 
 
 Shall stand those stately signals, the Palmetto ami 
 the Tine. 
 
 Shall the old victorious Eagle from their boughs be 
 wrenched away 
 
 By the double-headed Vulture of Disunion and 
 Decay? 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven! Columbia, guard thine em- 
 blems sheltered here. 
 
 To grace the brilliant dawning of this grand Cen- 
 tennial year ; 
 
 And hear them as t lion marcltest on with gonfalons 
 unfurled, 
 
 With thy feet upon the fetter, for the freeing of the 
 world : 
 
 Ami guard thy Holy Sepulchre— Mount Vernon's 
 sacred shrine— 
 
 For this is Freedom's Holy Land, her promised 
 Palestine. 
 
 oh! thou voice of God outflowing from the lip- of 
 holy Peace, 
 
 Soothe t he turmoil ami the tumult, bid this strife 
 a nil sorrow cease ! 
 
THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 
 
 35 
 
 O'er savannas steeped in snnshine, over mountains 
 
 i lark with rain. 
 Send the glad and thrilling tidings in thy sweetly 
 
 solemn st rain ; 
 Lei snowy North ami sunny South send up the 
 
 shout, " All's well !" 
 
 And the music of thy coming strike onr heart st rings 
 
 with its swell. 
 
 (As to Jessie Brown at Lucknow, struck the air of 
 
 " Aul.l Lang Syne!" 
 From the Highland pipes of Ilaveloek) -save the 
 
 Palm ami save t he Tine ! 
 
 God plant them still together! lei them flourish 
 
 side by side 
 In the halls of our Centennial, mailed in more than 
 
 marble pride ; 
 With kindly deeds and noble names we'll grave 
 
 t hem o'er and o'er, 
 With brave historic legends of the glorious days of 
 
 yore. 
 While the clear, exultant chorus, rising from united 
 
 hands. 
 The echo of our triumph peals to eart h's remotest 
 
 lands ; 
 While •• Faith, Fraternity and Love " shall joy fully 
 
 ent wine 
 Around our chosen emhleins, t he Palmetto and the 
 
 Pine. 
 Together!" shouts Niagara his thunder-toned de- 
 cree ; 
 
 ' Together!" echo hack the waves upon the Mexic 
 
 sea ; 
 " Togel her !" Sing t he sylvan hills w here old A t lau - 
 t ic roars ; 
 
 "Together!" boom the breakers on the wild Pacific 
 
 shores ; 
 
 "Together!" cry the People — ami "together" still 
 shall be 
 
 An everlasting charter-bond forever for the free ; 
 Of liberty the signet-seal the one eternal sign — 
 
 lie those united emhleins, the Palmetto and the 
 Pine! 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 I . M. 
 
 Here lei us rest! in the cool shadows lying 
 
 Beneal h I he \\ hispering pine, 
 Whose low, swtvt voices overhead are sighing, 
 
 Whoso wreathing arms entwine 
 With murmured sounds like loving, lingering kisses 
 
 On sleeping eyelids pressed, 
 While the sofl South wind wooes us with caresses, 
 
 And whispers — "let us rest." 
 
 The forest rests -its late glad voice of singing 
 
 A dreaming echo seems ; 
 The bahbling mountain stream, with rythmic ring- 
 ing, 
 
 (iocs murmuriug in soft dreams ; 
 Sweel Slumber spreads her wings, with softest 
 whisper 
 
 Wooing us to her breast , 
 And Nature, wit li closed eyelids, chants her vesper, 
 
 And whispers " let us rest." 
 
 The heron dips his beak, where brightly gleaming 
 
 The waves flow clear and cool, 
 The water fow 1 with drooping crest is dreaming 
 
 Beside the darkling pool, 
 When- white pond lilies mid their dank leaves 
 lying 
 
 By crystal waves caressed. 
 Ami tangled river weeds are softly sighing 
 Their whisper — <% let us rest." 
 
AUGUST. 37 
 
 Long yellow lines through forest aisles are gleam- 
 ing, 
 
 Willi shadows deep and wide 
 In unite embrace, like Night and Noonday seeming 
 
 To slumber side by side ; 
 On his dark breast her golden head reposes 
 
 In silent rapture blest , 
 His shadow arm her glowing form encloses. 
 
 Ami murmurs — " let us rest." 
 
 The summer sun on whitening fields is glowing 
 
 In Hoods of amber light, 
 The summer wina o'er bending vineyards blowing 
 
 With purple clusters brighl : 
 Through grassy lanes and gleaming hedgerows 
 singing, 
 
 In sweet contentment blest, 
 The " Harvest Home" o'er hill and vale goes ring- 
 ing. 
 
 And echoes— "' let US rest." 
 
 Yes, lei ns rest— aii ! why should we remember 
 
 That summer suns will set. 
 And with the hoarfrost of the grey November 
 
 The crumbling leaves he wet '.' 
 Why note the storm clouds brooding, moaning, 
 sailing, 
 
 I'p from the darkling west '.' 
 Why see the serpent through the blossoms trailing? 
 
 Ah ! leave us let us rest. 
 
 What boots it, that in shine and shadow blending 
 
 We've mingled good with sin? 
 Our harvest time is past, our summer ending, 
 
 Our vintage gathered in ; 
 
 Why mock us now with visions false and Meeting, 
 
 And shadows of unrest '.' 
 Why set our hearts to lying legends beating? 
 
 All ' leave us— let us rest. 
 
 flic past, however golden while 'twas ours. 
 
 Is dark with vain desire. 
 And ghostly with the maddening, mocking powers 
 
 Thai vainly beckoned higher, 
 
38 LIBERTY BELLS. 
 
 Like shores on which the summer's sun is setting 
 
 In clouds and shadows dressed ; 
 Then, with the present, all the past forgetting, 
 
 Leave us — and let us rest. 
 
 LIBERTY BELLS. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 Dedicated to the "Centennial Legion," General Harry 
 Heth, of Virginia, composed of companies from each of the Old 
 Thirteen States, on Parade in front of Independence Hall, Phil- 
 adelphia, 4th of July, 1776. 
 
 Land of the Beautiful and Brave ! the Eagle and 
 the Star ! 
 
 Of verdant vale and silver wave, we hear thy voice 
 afar ; 
 
 "We listen to thy pine-clad hills in all their sound- 
 ing pride, 
 
 And hymns thy rushing rivers bear along the rolling 
 tide ; 
 
 Thy record of a hundred years, thy grand and 
 storied name, 
 
 That thrills to every Freeman's soul and tires his 
 heart of flame. 
 
 Ah ! many a voice is thine, proud Land, as forth 
 
 upon the blast 
 Are borne the far-off echoes of thy stern and stately 
 
 past ; 
 Full well thy sunny plains could tell how died the 
 
 dauntless brave, 
 As perishes some gallant bark from off the crested 
 
 wave ; 
 Full well thy heights could echo back the broadly 
 
 booming gun 
 
/ TBERTY BELLS. ;; '' 
 
 That thundered from its brazen throat the news of 
 Freedom w on ! 
 
 Thy woods could tell of foray fierce and mid-nighl 
 
 battle-rout, 
 Of blood-enslaughtered warrior chief and stealthy 
 
 tooted scout ; 
 
 Thy streams could murmur talcs of woo, bow rose 
 the dreadful pyre 
 
 That gave the settlor's roof-tree to the hate-en- 
 kindled fire ; 
 
 Thy vales reveal how murdered there upon their 
 
 v erdanl sod, 
 The children of the Pioneer were gathered back to 
 God. 
 
 My brothers! list thelfe voices— bold, and beautiful 
 
 and grand — 
 For they bind a'"glorioU8 brotherhood, a nation, 
 
 hand to hand ; 
 For they speak of the Republic asil rose triumphant 
 
 t hen, 
 A mighty purpose kindled in the hearts of mighty 
 
 men ; 
 Gather up the links of ".Union" every stalwarl 
 
 State is one. 
 And let the clasp that joins them he, the grave oj 
 Washington. 
 
 Aye! let our land preserve them well, these voice, 
 of t he past, 
 
 To children's children send them down unsullied to 
 the last ; 
 
 Preserve them pure and nndeliled, a heritage di- 
 vine, 
 
 Baptized in flame en Camden's plain, in blood at 
 Brandywine, 
 
 Our shrines of " UNION " keep alight, our heac.n 
 
 fires aglow, 
 
 The tires our fat hersjdndled, just one hundred 
 years ago ! 
 
 Ohl the struggles of the nations 1 Ohl the prayers 
 
 that reached the skies ! 
 
Ill 
 
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42 LIBERTY HELLS. 
 
 Well — thus around the dames of old, so beautiful 
 
 and strong, 
 An unincumbered sea of space would seem to roll 
 
 along ; 
 But, if you take the glass of Love, and yield you to 
 
 its sway. 
 You'll see those spaces gemmed with stars— the 
 
 Women of To-day ! 
 
 'Tis not the crown of bays that makes a woman's 
 
 forehead grand ; 
 'Tis not the fiery flashing gem that nerves a woman's 
 
 hand ; 
 'Tis not the silken, sceptered state that conquers 
 
 Life and Time — 
 But Pubpose, Effort, Action, make a woman's life 
 
 sublime ! 
 Some, like the stars i' the milky way, that whiten 
 
 as they roll, 
 Irradiate our life-path with the whiteness of their 
 
 soul ; 
 And some there are who live and move within a 
 
 soul eclipse 
 Who yet reveal in works their woman's mute Apoca- 
 lypse ! 
 
 There sounds a silvery trumpet-call from every 
 
 mountain high, 
 The music of our morning stars rings nobly up the 
 
 sky. 
 Prophetic lights loom up along another Century's 
 
 years. 
 Like Borealis crimsoning about the Northern 
 
 spheres ; 
 Another " Legion " leads the way — is working hand 
 
 to hand, 
 And heart to heart, to give us back a strong, united 
 
 land ; 
 And in this work is cheered, (we trust) by richest 
 
 music swells 
 From Woman's soul of Love— our sweetest Inde- 
 pendence Hells. 
 
 strike off the gyves of Discord! Let new Union 
 
 heights he won 
 With hearts like hearts of eagles beating up toward 
 the sun ! 
 
OCTOBER. 43 
 
 No need to plead that Honor then shall keep our 
 
 " statutes " sure, 
 No need to plead for plighted Faith when all shall 
 
 keep it pure — 
 When every stone in Freedom's fane, deep-graven 
 
 and sublime, 
 Tells Woman's patriotic truth to every earthly 
 
 clime, 
 And like the Memphian marbles, holds her record 
 
 to all time. 
 
 Clod speed the hour ! 'Twill come perchance, when 
 
 we that work to-day 
 To the great Land of Love and Light shall all have 
 
 passed away — 
 But still may each with angel eyes, and vision 
 
 heavenly clear, 
 Look down from Love and Union there, to Love and 
 
 Union here, 
 And, thro' eternity behold the sacred altar-glow 
 We guarded on the earth — a thousand thousand years 
 . ago ! 
 
 Fokkst Home, Tkn.w, July, 1876. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 L. SI. 
 
 Slowly, and lazily, the deepening shadows lengthen 
 
 Through the still autumn days; 
 Silent, and stealthily, the gathering mist wreaths 
 strengthen 
 Their dim, and spectral haze ; 
 Through the cool forest shades the mountain stream 
 goes singing 
 His gladsome roundelay; 
 The shallow, sunny hrook, through meadows brown; 
 is ringing 
 
44 OCTOBER, 
 
 Her laugh, the live-long day ; 
 Nature's many mingled voices, blending echoes sad 
 
 and gay, 
 Swell the choral hymn, to welcome in the brown 
 
 October day. 
 
 Far up the darksome gorges of the mountain 
 
 The chorus echoes round, 
 From laughing waterfall and singing fountain, 
 
 With wild, entangled sound ; 
 Singing soft love-words to the snowy blossom 
 
 That on its margin lies, 
 Breathing sweet fragrance from its lulling bosom 
 
 Where the blue violet dies ; 
 And the streamlet's laughing tinkle, and the cas- 
 cade's silvery sound, 
 Hush the song, and still the footsteps, where the 
 pools lie dark around. 
 
 From branch to branch, like soft, grey shadows 
 flying, 
 The chattering squirrels run, 
 The smooth brown chestnuts, on the green moss 
 
 lying. 
 Gleam in the western sun ; 
 Purple, and orange glows the sleeping mountain, 
 
 Scarlet, and green, and gold; 
 Legends of elf-land sings the silver fountain 
 
 Deep in its woodlands old ; 
 In the glow of golden sunsets, and the scarlet pomp 
 
 of woods, 
 Flit the mystic shapes that people Autumn's syl- 
 van solitudes. * 
 
 The dun deer, in his leafy covert lying, 
 
 Sleeps in its shadows cool, 
 The waterfowl on white wing slowly flying, 
 
 Rests by the darkling pool ; 
 The woodlands echo back the answered lowing 
 
 Of quiet browsing herds, 
 Sweet autumn winds the tuneful harps are blowing, 
 
 Of waters and of birds ; 
 In the whisper of her woodland, or the thunder of 
 
 her wave, 
 The voice of Nature speaks alike, to sovereign and 
 to slave. 
 
OCTOBER. 45 
 
 With languid step, and dreamy eye, October 
 
 Enters the vale of years ; 
 Casting behind her garments sear and sober, 
 
 And shadow-haunted fears, 
 Robing her queenly limbs with rainbows, trailing 
 
 Their glowing, dazzling sheen, 
 Crowning her brow with crimson clouds swift sail- 
 ing 
 To meet the Autumn Queen ; 
 Calling wind, and cloud, and' billow, bidding hill, 
 
 and vale, and wood 
 Bend the knee to hail her glowing, warm, impas- 
 sioned womanhood. 
 
 Gay sumach, flaunt your cones of crimson glory 
 
 In the gold sunbeam's flash, 
 Tell to the winds your burning passion story, 
 
 Whispering mountain ash ; 
 Rustle your tissues, flashing green and golden, 
 
 Bright birch, and spicy pine, 
 Your purple robes their royal hues unfolding, 
 
 Strong oak and clinging vine ; 
 Proud, imperial, reigning Passion! with your gor- 
 geous sunset gleam 
 Flood the rainbow-tinted temple of a woman's latest 
 dream. 
 
 For, ere your whispered lyric, warm and tender, 
 
 Has told its mystic rhyme, 
 With stealty footsteps, shrunken, grey November, 
 
 Steals in the wake of Time ; 
 His ghostly arms her glowing form encircle 
 
 With haunting doubts and fears, 
 His stony eyes her golden visions darkle 
 
 In floods of raining tears ; 
 And down the darkened forests ring his weird and 
 
 hollow moans, 
 And echo o'er the rocks and waves in wild, funereal 
 tones. 
 
 Ghosts in white cere clothes through the air come 
 trooping, 
 
 With swift and noiseless flight, 
 On her cold form their silent shadows grouping, 
 
 In the still hush of night ; 
 Shadowy forms, with white and gleaming faces, 
 
46 THE VACANT (HAIR. 
 
 Over the waters glide, 
 The Ice King in his cold and still embraces 
 
 Gathers the rushing title ; 
 And the rainbow-crowned October, with her sold 
 
 and crimson glow, 
 Lies sleeping, still and dreamless, under softly fall- 
 ing snow. 
 
 THE VAC VNT CHAIR. 
 
 I.. V. F. 
 
 Respectfully inscribed to the Law Class of the Vanderbilt 
 University, June 20, 1876. 
 
 "The vacant chair of the dead Chief Justice Nicholson, 
 draped in the symbols of mourning, was placed on the floor in 
 
 front of the bench, and in full view of the vast multitude that 
 tilled the chamber : and after the memorial ceremonies, it was 
 placed in the great hall of the State Library, there to remain." 
 
 Silent and vacant ! Idle, empty arms 
 'Reft of their occupant, and standing lone 
 In Sorrow's dim and shadowy Sanctuary — 
 And always thus to be! Lonely and void ; 
 Still are the keepers of the house of clay — 
 Sleeping the warders on the ruined wall — 
 Closed its grand portals with the signel seal 
 Of silence — evermore ! Amid our pain. 
 Stricken and woful, sad at heart and sore, 
 Wc bow before this stern Promethean power. 
 Silence — " that shuts Endeavor down at last 
 And says—' Achievement hath its mocker: - 
 No less than Failure !' " 
 
 Silent and lone! Yet, mutely eloquent, 
 'No orator whose language-lightnings sweep 
 
 The souls of swaying multitudes at will. 
 
 Lit with •'live coals" from Inspiration's shrine. 
 
 Bunting in beauty with •'the gift of tongU< - 
 
THE VACANT CHAIR. 47 
 
 Could move us more than this. Silence, which 
 
 -reins 
 The echo of a mind magnificent, 
 With magical and solemn cadences 
 Telling of that undaunted intellet 
 Late passe. I away, like some proud comet-star, 
 lnt«> the far eternal silence 
 Of unreturning time. This vacant seat 
 Telleth in muffled monotones how much 
 Of sterling manhood's honor, strength and force, 
 (.Tossed the dark isthmus into the unknown 
 With him. who comes no more— the brave, the just. 
 In whose majestic immortality 
 We t'eel ourselves immortal '. 
 
 Silent and vacant ! Vet not .old. not dark, 
 Not chilling with its weariness of woe 
 Silence that sits serene, a rose against her lip. 
 And on her brow '- warm pallor. Seemingly, 
 When all the world is lying fair and still, 
 hike some wing-weary angel dropped to sleep. 
 Fulfilling still her mission in a dream : 
 Smiling her sorcery, yet seeking still 
 That tender chord in every human heart 
 That holds the sigh, and softly gives it forth 
 If touched aright. Dreamful she sits amid 
 A wealth of leafage, and a flush o( flowers, 
 Where even the lapping flow of lulling wav< 3, 
 And all sweet sounds that are in unison 
 And League with silence, drift away to die. 
 When splendrous sunsets hum across the sky 
 And make the mountain summits flame and glow 
 Like jeweled thrones of gods : she softly tells 
 A- in waves ofdeep-toned melody. 
 Of him who honored once this vacant chair, 
 Whose path of duty struck through life direct 
 And swerveless as those radiant lines ol' light ! 
 Amhition. mountaindike. all high and pure ; 
 For man to live, to lahor, to endure. 
 Whose virtues gemmed the whiteness of his soul 
 A- stars come up at eve from out their graves 
 Of clearest sunlight. And, she says to us. 
 Pressing the rose of silence to her lips. 
 •■ Aimels contented with their fame in Heaven 
 Seek not the praise of men !" 
 
48 THE VACANT C HA IK. 
 
 Silent and vacant ! Not a sigh or sound. 
 The boles and branches of gigantic pines, 
 Smitten by rushing tempests, will send forth 
 Grand and tumultuous harmonies ; aloft 
 The clouds drift by like white-robed choristers 
 Chanting their monodies ; we seem to hear 
 The blended choruses of sea and sky. 
 The thundering of the axles of the sun, 
 Swelling the dirge—" deep calling unto deep "— 
 And yet, their voices move us not like these 
 Brief words, that are a wringing of the heart," 
 (When all is calm— no wringing of the hands—) 
 " Silent and vacant !" For it is in these 
 The silence of thought and feeling, that our hearts 
 In unison with all " the heavens declare 
 The glory of our God." 
 
 Silent and vacant ! But a silence like 
 
 The ripened glow of rich autumnal eves, 
 
 That broadens our earth, and glorifies 
 
 The full fruition of the harvest time, 
 
 Bringing in stalwart arms the garnered sheaves, 
 
 Golden with sunshine, bient with breath of balms, 
 
 And bearing blessings of a perfect rest, 
 
 Yet, while it bears the boon of rarest rest, 
 
 Telling in stately, slow, solemn rythm, 
 
 Of that heroic type of man, supreme, 
 
 The mighty music of whose noble life 
 
 AVas Labor; he who struck with the steadfast hand 
 
 The harp of iron strings, and sent its peal 
 
 Crashing thro' soul and sense ; the harp of Toil 
 
 Chiming in bravely to the worker's song. 
 
 The clash and clamor of the looms of Life ; 
 
 With stirring words to nerve the weak anew, 
 
 And rouse the strong to action— tho' perchance 
 
 The struggle might be stubborn, and the meed 
 
 Of conquest dearly won. With bold hand 
 
 He struck the harp of Toil, and the brave bells 
 
 That rung out freedom to the world, and call 
 
 Its crowdi-d multitudes to prayer; he seemed 
 
 Acrowned apostle of that stronger day 
 
 When men had faith of children, and the force 
 
 Of gods ! 
 
 Silent and vacant ! Hushed in calm profound. 
 Silent, because we could not now endure 
 The mighty speech of that all-glorious realm 
 
NO VEMBER, 49 
 
 Whither our friend beloved has passed, to learn 
 " The last great secret all men hear, and none 
 Shall e'er betray." 
 
 Silence— but silence melting into tears, 
 
 Sad as the sea-maid's song, and sweet as Triton 
 
 shell, 
 Placid and peaceful— not a pulse of pain- 
 But just a solemn twilight, full (if stars, 
 When dusk and dewfall meet in slumbrous shades, 
 And holy as a Sabbath of the soul, 
 In all earth's silences there seems to be 
 An element waiting — earnestly 
 Yet patiently they wait and hope— for what t 
 Thus in this utter silence wait we now. 
 For what .' And waiting too, Love sentinels 
 The tomb, and Sorrow palest roses brings, 
 Pallid as pearls, or vestals in their veils. 
 And lays them thus— on silent vacancy- 
 Love's tribute to the memory of him 
 Who, having fought the light, and kept the faith, 
 Has passed from gloom to glory— storm to peace— 
 Thro' strife to triumph, and thro' toil to rest- 
 Thro' strong temptation to divinest grace- 
 Thro' Death to Life — and to a waiting chair 
 Beyond the far eternal silences ! 
 A grand life, chiseled on historic years— 
 A soldier of the Right, invincible — 
 A king crown-royal on the throne of Mind— 
 A sage in council, and a " strong man armed." 
 Yet, with a child's undoubting faith, he scaled 
 The steps of Nature, up to Nature's God, 
 Till, like a child when following a star, 
 He journeyed forward to the Gates of Pearl, 
 "Stole with soft step the shining archway thro', " 
 And there was — lost in Light ! 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 1.. M. 
 
 " Ho ! to arms for the deadly light ! " 
 The echoing challenge sounds; 
 
 [hto the broad arena's light 
 The peerless Athlete bounds ; 
 
50 NOVEMBER. 
 
 His giant limbs, erect and bare, 
 Like rock-ribbed pillars tower, 
 
 And his massive, corded sinews wear 
 The kingliness of power. 
 
 He has hurled his leafy gauntlets down, 
 
 He has bared his mighty breast, 
 And his brawny arms have the lances thrown 
 
 In watchful, waiting rest ; 
 The scarlet berry, and purple vine 
 
 Their garlands round him throw. 
 And the white frost jewels gleam and shine 
 
 On his haughty, regal brow. 
 
 . His recreant court have turned and fled, 
 
 At the bugle's martial ring, 
 And his stalwart soldiers, cold and dead, 
 
 On the field lie mouldering ; 
 His banners, borne in his mighty hands, 
 
 Its folds to the fierce winds fling, 
 Last of his race, defiant stands 
 
 The dauntless Autumn King:. 
 
 '»• 
 
 Mild-eyed September taught him first 
 
 A sister's faithful love, 
 And his manly heart into blossom burst, 
 
 And its dewy garlands wove ; 
 But the mighty Reaper his sickle swung, 
 
 And the snowy blossoms wave, 
 And the loving breeze the dirge has sung 
 
 Over affection's grave. 
 
 Soft o'er his waiting senses stole 
 
 October's crimson gleam, 
 Steeping body, and heart, and soul, 
 
 In a burning passion dream ; 
 Lulling hope to the perfect rest 
 
 By full fruition given, 
 Sinking to sleep on her glowing breast, 
 
 And dreaming that earth was heaven. 
 
 But the Reaper gathered the form so fair 
 
 In his cold, and ghostly arm, 
 Leaving the kingly lover there 
 
 Alone in the raging storm. 
 Where mournful memories wildly sweep, 
 
 And their maddening pageants swell, 
 
NOVEMBER. 51 
 
 Muttering, curses dark and deep, 
 And deeming that earth was hell. 
 
 The mists of doubt hang, dark, and drear, 
 
 Over his regal brow, 
 And the ghastly, haunting shapes of fear 
 
 Around him mock and mow ; 
 The weird night-wind, with stealthy tread 
 
 Walks moaning round the tomb 
 Where his hopes, and joys, and loves, lie dead, 
 In their light, and song, and bloom. 
 
 Brother, nor friend, can the monarch boast, 
 
 Sister, nor love hath lie ; 
 Worn, and wearied, and tempest-tossed 
 
 On the battle's surging sea ; 
 Thundering down on the field of Time, 
 
 The hoofs of the foemen ring, 
 Calmly he fronts them, in strength sublime. 
 
 And every inch a King. 
 
 The mad winds shriek, the billows roar, 
 
 And the forests rock and swing, 
 As on the conquering legions pour 
 
 Of the mighty Winter King ; „ 
 
 With gleaming blades and murderous hands, 
 
 'Idie foemen round him throng, 
 Firm as a rock, the Athlete stands 
 
 The serried hosts among. 
 
 "Smite to the death !" the monarch calls; 
 
 He quarter asks, nor gives ; 
 Pierced by a thousand wounds, he falls 
 
 < >n the brown and crumbling leaves ; 
 The scarlet holly, and fragrant pine 
 
 Their spicy incense throw, 
 And the shining laurel leaves entwine 
 
 To wreathe his pallid brow. 
 
 Purple and gray, the mountains tower, 
 
 Azure and pearl the sky, 
 Misty shapes through the forest pour, 
 
 Where he lays him down to die ; 
 Crimson and gold, the sunset cloud 
 
 His dying couch has spread, 
 The Indian Summer weaves his shroud. 
 
 And the Autumn King lies dead. 
 
MAMMY"— A HOME PICTURE. 
 
 I.. V. F. 
 
 When the broad mulberry branches hang a canopy 
 of leaves. 
 
 Like an avalanche of verdure, drooping o'er the 
 kitchen eaves. 
 
 And the sunshine and the shadow dainty arabes- 
 ques have made 
 
 On the quaint old oaken settle, standing in the 
 pleasant shade, 
 
 Sits good "Mammy" with "the children," while 
 the summer afternoon 
 
 Wears the decoy veil of April, or the brilliancy of 
 June. 
 
 Smooth and snowy is the 'kerchief lying folded 
 with an air 
 
 Of matronly dignity, above her silver-sprinkled 
 hair ; 
 
 Blue and white the beaded necklace, used " on Sun- 
 days to bedeck 
 
 (A dearly cherished amulet) her plump and dusky 
 neck ; 
 
 Dark her neatly-ironed apron, of a broad and ample 
 size, 
 
 Spreading o'er the dress of "homespun" with its- 
 many-colored dyes. 
 
MAMMY— A HOME PICTURE. 53 
 
 True, her lips are all untutored, yet how genially 
 they smile, 
 
 And how eloquent their fervor praying, "Jesus, 
 bless de chile !" 
 
 True, her voice is hoarse and broken, but how ten- 
 der it replies ; 
 
 True, her hands are brown and withered, yet how 
 loving are her eyes ; 
 
 She has thoughts both high and holy, tho' her brow 
 is dark and low ; 
 
 And her face is brown and wrinkled, but her soul is 
 white as snow ! 
 
 An aristocrat is " Mammy " in her dignity sedate — 
 11 Haught as Lucifer " to " white trash," whom she 
 
 cannot tolerate ; 
 Patronizing, too, to " Master," for she "nussed 'im 
 
 when a boy;" 
 Familiar, yet respectful to the " Mistis " — but the 
 
 joy 
 
 Of her bosom is " de .children," and delightedly 
 
 she'll boast 
 Of the "born blood" of her darlings — "good as 
 
 kings and queens a' most." 
 
 There she sits beneath the shadow crooning o'er 
 
 some olden hymn, 
 Watching earnestly, and willingly, although her 
 
 eyes are dim ; 
 Laughing in her heart sincerely, yet with counte- 
 nance demure, 
 Holding out before her " babies " every tempting 
 
 little lure ; 
 Noting all their merry frolicks with a quiet loving 
 
 gaze, 
 Telling o'er at night to " Mistis " " all their cunnin' 
 
 little ways." 
 
 Now and then her glance will wander o'er the pas- 
 tures far away, 
 
 Where the tasselled cornfields waving, to the 
 breezes rock and sway ; 
 
 To the rivers gleaming silver, and the hazy distance 
 where 
 
 Giant mountain peaks are peeping thro' an amir© 
 veil of air ; 
 
oi MAMMY— A HOME PICTURE. 
 
 But the thrill of bahy voices — baby laughter, low 
 
 and sweet, 
 Recall her in a moment ti> the treasures at her feet. 
 
 So "rascally," so "rollicking," our bold and sturdy 
 boy , 
 
 In all his tricky waywardness, is still her boast and 
 joy ; 
 
 She'll chase him through the shrubbery — his mis- 
 chief mood to cure — 
 
 " Hi ! whar dat little rascal now ? De b'ars will git 
 'im shure !'* 
 
 When caught she'll slightly swing him to her shoul- 
 der, and in pride 
 
 Go marching round the pathways — "jus' to see how 
 gran' lie ride." 
 
 And the " Birdie " of our bosoms — oh ! how oft and 
 tenderly 
 
 Bows good "Mammy's" mother-spirit to her baby 
 witchery ! 
 
 All to her is dear devotion, whom the angels bind 
 to bless, 
 
 And all thoughts of her are blessed with a holy ten- 
 derness ; 
 
 Coaxing now, and now caressing, saying with a 
 smile or kiss, 
 
 " Jus' for Mammy — dat's a lady — won't it now 7" do 
 that or this. 
 
 On the sweet, white-tufted clover, worn and weary 
 with their play, 
 
 Toying with the creamy blossoms, now the little 
 children lay , 
 
 Harnessed up with crimson ribbons, hobby horses 
 side by side, 
 
 " Make believe " to eat their " fodder " — (blossoms 
 to their noses tied ). 
 
 Near them stands the willow wagon — in it Birdie's 
 mammoth doll — 
 
 And our noble " Brave " beside them, faithful guar- 
 dian over all. 
 
 Above them float the butter-flies, around themhum 
 the bees ; 
 
THE S3 C A MORES.] 
 
 A 1 1 • I birdlinga warble, darting in and out, among 
 
 t he i rees ; 
 The kitten sleeps at "Mammy's" side, and two 
 
 brown rabbits pass, 
 Hopping close along the paling, stealing thro' the 
 
 w aving grass ; 
 Gladsome tears blue eyes are filling as a watching 
 
 mother praj s, 
 •■ ( tod bless ' Mammy ' and my children !' " in th 
 
 happy halcyon day. 
 
 
 THE SYCAMORES. 
 
 I,. M. 
 
 r. my chamber window the sycamores stand, 
 
 pled by bird and bee, 
 ,\n< I the winds dwell in them, a Bhadowy band, 
 \n.i they whisper their thoughts to me ; 
 
 Sorrow ami joy ill I Inn nun iiini'H blend, 
 
 ;\n«l I sit by m) windoM alone, and lend 
 A willing ear to their mystic lor.-, 
 Voices of \\ imis in the Sycamore, 
 
 "Spring time has come," laughs the merry breeze, 
 
 " ( 'row ned wit ii ber garlands fair, 
 Trailing ber green robes over the trees, 
 
 Breathing inn- balmy air ; " 
 Bright-eyed childhood comes skipping along, 
 Filling tin- air with itw laugh and song ; 
 
 " < iaiiv dance on youth's sunny shore !" 
 
 Singetb the wind through the Sycamore. 
 
 Summer's bere, with ber amber hair, 
 
 A ml her w itching, dreamy eyes, 
 
 Bainbow-hued an- ber garments lair, 
 Passion's resplendent dyes ; 
 
 " Steer your hark to yon shadowy dell, 
 
 There, where the ' lotus eaters ' dwell, 
 
 , 
 
50 117/777'; FROST. 
 
 Hope lies asleep on Fruition's shore," 
 Whispers the wind through the Sycamore. 
 
 Sad-eyed Autumn conies stealing on, 
 
 In her rohes of russet brown ; 
 Bird, and blossom, and bee, arc gone, 
 
 Head leaves fluttering down ; 
 " Friends and lovers, of all bereft, 
 Summer's pleasures have only left 
 
 Quivering heart strings, bleeding and sure !" 
 
 Waileth the wind through the Rvcamore. 
 
 
 White-haired Winter is coming now, 
 
 With his sad and sober pace ; 
 Icicles hang from his furrowed brow, 
 
 And shadow his gloomy face. 
 " Blossoms blighted, and song birds flown, 
 Hopes all withered, and dreams all gone, 
 
 Death sits crouched on my branches hoar !" 
 
 Moaneth the wind through the Sycamore. 
 
 WHITE FROST.— ON SUNDAY MORNING, 
 OCTOBER 20TH. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 Blue laughing eyes that dose in sleep. 
 
 At setting of the sun, 
 What saw ye when the Lord of day 
 
 His journey had begun ? 
 Like music bells your voices chime, 
 
 Quick clap your baby hands, 
 Why ripples forth your laughter like 
 
 Soft waves on coral strands ? 
 Then low the lisping accents fell. 
 
 As sweet as drops of hydromel. 
 
WHITE FROST. 
 
 Oh ! such a sight ! as o'er the hills 
 
 The stiii I ican is 'gan to peep — 
 While still within the cedar tree 
 
 Our blue-birds were asleep ! 
 For, (you must know) when stars were put, 
 
 Anil skies were cold and bright, 
 The Frost Queen came with all her train 
 
 To dance away the night. 
 
 Our clear, young eyes are strong and keen, 
 
 Our souls are pure within, 
 They ne'er have shrunk with hidden shame, 
 
 Or looked on darker sin ; 
 So saw we what to older eyes 
 
 The angels have denied — 
 "We saw the Frost Qheen's train sweep by 
 
 In all its royal pride. 
 
 They held a revel wild and gay, 
 
 They danced about the lawn, 
 Unheeding how the hours flew by 
 
 To herald in the dawn. 
 So while the merry dance swept on, 
 
 With ouphe, and elf, and fay, 
 Up rose the broad and hright-eyed sun 
 
 And caught them at their play. 
 
 Then thick and fast his kisses fell 
 
 On lips of ruby hue, 
 Perhaps he thought them hlossoms, filled 
 
 With drops of honey-dew ! 
 But, with a rush of wings, as when 
 
 The forest leaves are stirred, 
 Away the Fairies flew — a train 
 
 Of joyous, gleaming birds. 
 
 Off! off, the merry elfin troop 
 
 In clouds went flying forth, 
 As tho' a rain of jewelry 
 
 Had drifted from the North ! 
 Away they speed, in glittering crowds, 
 
 Like to a rush of light ; 
 You might have thought them golden cloud* 
 
 Fast fading from the sight. 
 
58 WHITE FROST. 
 
 But, in their haste what diamonds fell 
 
 In showers all around ! 
 Rich opals, pearls, and emerald sheen 
 
 Came twinkling to the ground. 
 Till every vine and shrub was clad 
 
 With waifs from fairies won ; 
 See ! even the grass and little weeds 
 
 Have gala jewels on ! 
 
 Oh ! eyes that are joyous and sinless. 
 
 That close at the set of the sun — 
 You live so near to the Beautiful Land 
 
 Where Fantasy's rivers run — 
 You hear the bugles of Elfland blow, 
 
 You listen the ouphe's shrill horn ; 
 Oh ! fair was the pageantry ye beheld 
 
 On that blessed October morn ! 
 
 But — I sat me down by the window 
 
 And pondered the children's words ; 
 And I saw only fiends of the Fever 
 
 Slain by the crystal swords ! 
 I saw but the darts of the Ice King." 
 
 His javelins glint and sheen, 
 His dagger points, and his burnished spears 
 
 And his scimitars sharp and keen ; 
 And ten thousand forms of the Evil 
 
 Lay stricken and dead between. 
 
 Then softly I cried in my gladness. 
 
 " Be jubilant every one — " 
 For the merciful day is breaking, 
 
 The night of despair is done ! 
 Rejoice! on this blessed Sabbath, 
 
 The warfare of woe has been crossed, 
 The "other side " of the depths is gained, 
 
 For the field has been won, and lost, 
 In the battle the legions of Fever 
 
 Lie crushed by the hosts of the Frost. 
 
 Forest Home, Oct. 20th, 1878. 
 
THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 White-souled — and simply grant 1, 
 This portraiture of earnest human faith, 
 Which passes all earth's sorrow, sin and death, 
 
 Seeking the Better Land. 
 
 *fe 
 
 Softly the shadows lie 
 Of Earth's bright roses, o'er her folded hands. 
 But tempt her not — as silently she stands, 
 
 I Icr spirit seeks the sky. 
 
 So sweet — so calm— so fair — 
 The evening breeze just lifts her floating hair, 
 Ko stain of earth, no shadow in the air 
 
 Darkens the beauty rare. 
 
 ]5ut pure, angelic grace, 
 Encompasses the form, and softly down. 
 The gleaming of an amaranthine crown, 
 
 Sheds light upon her face. 
 
 Serene and perfect peace 
 Sleeps on her upturned brow and lifted eyes 
 Reflecting that great peace beyond the skies 
 
 Where sin and sorrow cease. 
 
 White-souled— and simply grand, 
 This portraiture of woman's fadeless faith, 
 Which passing earth and life, and love and death 
 
 Seeks still a " Better Land." 
 
\\ \ rciuxt? 
 
 I M 
 
 \u:inri<M\t town b) a river's Side, 
 
 \\ Ii>>-m' t«>\\ iM ->. Iu\>\\ 11 :l!l«l :>.i. \ . 
 
 \u> washed by the sullen, rushiug tide, 
 
 \iui crumbling fast aw a) . 
 in .i dim old attic, l>K-:ik and cold, 
 
 With the chill \<>\ ember rain, 
 v wear) woman, brown and old, 
 
 Sits b) t he w indovt pane. 
 
 Her tear dimmed eyes are watching far, 
 
 Where the light house beacon glov - 
 Her withered lingers slowly move, 
 
 Knitting :i pair of hose 
 a blue eyed child stands listening 
 
 r.< the ringing vesper chimes, 
 Ami bearing again the storj old 
 
 sin* has heard :i thousand ti; 
 
 "The) otter mo homes the neighbors do j 
 
 r.s kind, but i cannot go . 
 For here I saw in) husband's ship 
 
 S« sail for the land of snow 
 Out of (ins w nulv'w l w atehed hei 
 
 r her inn a lost bo sight, 
 
 Ami her Hoating ean> as, \\ hite :>s snow . 
 
 \\':is hid in the deepening night. 
 
 "Right umnths would bring her back, th< j - 14 
 
 w hen the gladsome matin chime 
 V .• • ng clear, ami garlands spread 
 
 1\m iho ln*l\ Kaster lime. 
 
111 TVH1XG. 
 
 •a 
 
 The months wore onj but she never caine 
 
 And I sat. wato^ing here 
 Till nay baby blossom drooped and difed 
 
 With the dreary dying year. 
 
 *'l always knew my sailor's brig, 
 
 By a hank oi Ua\ I lial si reamed 
 I 1 Hun her nii/.zen inasl, ami threads like gold 
 
 in <l»i' summer sunlight gleamed, 
 A vrilnw Hake on the western wind. 
 Like a i ress <>i my hair, he said 
 
 And when lir was will) me, Safe and sound. 
 
 Tin' flax into hose l made. 
 
 "Kli'viMi voyages come and •■<>. 
 
 And ever my w atchful eye 
 Would see, as the v^stern breezes blow, 
 
 The Ha\ at ilir masthead fly, 
 \nd hear my sailor's cheer 3 voice, 
 
 E'er t ho ship could anchor hea> e, 
 ■ Viini'inic, here is more flax to spin, 
 
 And here is more hose to weave.' 
 
 "» Mir day, in I lie dark inidw inter, 
 A roaster dri II ing in. 
 
 Brought tidings how, in the Hanisli seas, 
 
 They boarded a briganl ine, 
 And round her 1 1 1 1 1 1 all riven in two, 
 
 I Icr crew all drow 1 1 c< I and dead, 
 
 And a hank of lla\, with sea word Iwinrd, 
 
 Tied fast i«> her mizisen -head. 
 
 "Hill I do not know my hoy is dead, 
 
 And sonic da\ w ho can say 
 lie may no! leap on I on the wharf he low 
 
 A nd call, in his. cheery way, 
 'Anneinie, here is more lla\ to spill, 
 
 And here is more hose lo \\ca\c ;' 
 
 So lei me watch by the window pane, 
 For you see I cannot leave. 
 
 "I shall see Bgaill I he smile so dear 
 And the love in his clear blue eye. 
 
 The angels tell me that I shall hear 
 His voice before I die. 
 
 lie was not drowned, my strong-limbed lad , 
 With his brave, true knightlihood ; 
 
•2 
 
 ii i rem va. 
 
 1 1 cannot i)c he was all l had, 
 And they tell me God is good." 
 
 Meager and brow d and « > 1 * 1 . she sits 
 
 By (lie river's ringing chime, 
 Blind to the whiteness of her hair, 
 
 I >eaf to t he bells of t ime ; 
 Blind and deaf to the talcs they tell 
 
 Of bitter, saddening truth, 
 
 Thinking alone of I he sea slain love 
 
 She knew in her early youth 
 
 Watching lor eves whose Loving beams 
 
 I >ank sea-weed covers o'er. 
 By the Br clad hills and rushing streams 
 
 Of the snow hound Swedish shore ; 
 
 Watching still, till the welcome breeze, 
 
 The lloat ing Signal show , 
 From a masthead sunk in northern seas 
 
 Full tilt y years ago. 
 
 They found her onee in the twilight grey, 
 
 Ami t he chill midwinter rain 
 
 Fell on the silvered heap that lay 
 
 By the broken window pane. 
 \ pipe and pouch beside her lay 
 
 ( >n the lilt le candle-stand, 
 \ nd a pair of hose was tightly held 
 
 In her withered, stiffening hand. 
 
 ••hook for the brig," she muttered low, 
 As her life ebbed fast aw ay, 
 
 "Von cannot see the mast head now . 
 
 For the fog IS thick and grey ; 
 I'.ut his pipe is ready, his socks art- dry 
 
 \nd the lire is clear and bright. 
 Keep watch ! keep looking ' the brig is nigh, 
 She will he in port to-night." 
 
 lie never came her sailor hoy, 
 But out on t he twilight dim 
 
 The weary soul, with a song of joy 
 
 Floated at last to him. 
 Under the Window the white ships >_;o. 
 
 Freighted with hopes and tears, 
 WithoUl one thought of thai nighl of woe 
 
 \ in! its w atch of fifty years. 
 
S \N MARTINO. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 < )n the hill that overlooks Naples, jusl under the castle « » f St. 
 Elmo, stands the Carthusian monastery of San Martino. The 
 monks who formerly inhabited it were men of noble birth and 
 fortune. Ct was founded in 1829 by Duke Charles of Calabria. 
 
 The monks look a vow of perpetual silence, lived and ate apart 
 and met only lor prayer. Their monastery was rich in jewels 
 and its altars elaborately and expensively decorated. These 
 monks have heen driven from their retreat and (heir I erasures 
 
 confiscated by Victor Emanuel. 
 
 " A \ e Maria- !" voices sing 
 
 'I b.rOUgh cloisters dim and grey ; 
 
 " A ve Maria !" echoes ring 
 O'er purple waves away, 
 
 Where sunset hanners slowly swing 
 
 Their folds to the dying day. 
 The glow-worm lights its fairy lamp 
 
 Where sea-weeds kiss the shore, 
 
 Through plumy rushes, green and damp, 
 
 The golden fire-flies pom-, 
 A white star presses its signet stump 
 
 Bach crested hillow o'er. 
 
 The mandolin's mellow, dulcet tune 
 Breaks On the hushed repose, 
 
 Love's soft utterance, passion's own, 
 
 That Italy only knows, 
 Drifting tenderly, downward thrown 
 
 lake leaves from a shaken rose. 
 
W s i.v i/.i/;/7.V". 
 
 Two blending shadows Ho among 
 The shapes on the gleaming sand, 
 
 With soft words Bpoken in whispered tongue, 
 Two lovers, hand in hand, 
 
 Watch the stream as it glides along 
 To its grave in the grey sea sand. 
 
 No prophet mntters boding fears 
 Nor their passion's " deathless Bre " 
 
 Tolls how its Qame shall die in tears, 
 its rushing Btream siiall tire, 
 
 Is it silont glides, through cold, grey years, 
 To its grave of dead desire. 
 
 •• Semper Silentia !" chimes the bell 
 
 From Martino's dizzy height : 
 
 Sadly its echoes ebb and swell 
 
 Vhovo (ho billows bright, 
 Its hollow voice, like a funeral knoll. 
 
 Comes wailing on the night. 
 
 \ ith grey St. Elmo's towering height, 
 
 Circled by clouds of snow , 
 San Martinois turrets, coldly bright, 
 
 in Bunlight gleam and glow. 
 Pounded by fair Calabria's knight, 
 
 Five hundred j oar- ago. 
 
 Agate and jasper, pearl and gold, 
 
 Vhovo the altars gleam, 
 Diamonds rare, of price untold, 
 
 Their sunbright glories stream 
 Down Parian cloisters, white and cold 
 
 \- arctic snows, t hat seem. 
 
 Rare marble, hued like ocean shell, 
 
 In rich mosaic throw n, 
 
 in garlands wrought by magic spoil. 
 
 Lake Eden's bowers shone, 
 hransfixed as by a miracle, 
 
 \iul fro ten into stone. 
 
 Here, through the hoary centuries, 
 'Mid death, ami dust, and mould, 
 
 v priesthood wrought its mysteries 
 In silence Mill ami cold 
 
N I A M ART1N0. 
 
 
 " Semper Silentia I" in its sighs, 
 Their deal h in life is told. 
 
 Of noble birth, and fortune vast, 
 
 Lives, in their early bloom 
 Out from the lap of pleasure cast, 
 
 llcic iuci their dreary doom 
 Of solitude, silence, prayer, and fast, 
 
 l n Marl ino's living tomb. 
 
 Year after year they live apart, 
 
 Day drearily follow b daj . 
 No pulse is si i i roil . no kind words start, 
 
 As they silent ineel to pray 
 
 •• Semper Silentia I" toils each heart, 
 \s iis life slow ebbs away. 
 
 Four times an hour, o'er hill and wood, 
 
 \nd valleys fair beneath, 
 The chapel bell, with echoes dread, 
 
 Teals out its warning breath 
 " Ye ghasl i\ sons of soiii ude, 
 
 Draw so much nearer <le:it b !" 
 
 •• Semper Silentia I" peals the bell 
 ( >n the listening ear of uighl . 
 
 Solemnly steals its funeral knell 
 
 \cross the valleys bright — 
 Never again will its echoes swell 
 From doomed Martino's heisht. 
 
 lis tones die OUl in the crash ami <lin 
 
 Of rolling musketry ; 
 Hotly ami high the cries within 
 
 Mount upward to the sky — 
 
 •' Victor Emanuel ! live the King 
 Of ransomed Italy I" 
 
 The .lav dawns fair on Martino's skies, 
 And her gardens white as snow , 
 
 The summer wind through the cloister sighs, 
 
 And the summer roses glow, 
 
 (dad peasant voices echoing rise 
 
 From the vine-clad depths below . 
 
 No fluttering robe the soldier sees, 
 
 Who looks from the turret high, 
 
^ S i A MA RTJNO 
 
 No incense floats among the trees 
 
 Ami tills the summer sky ; 
 
 ■• Semper Silentia '" Bighs the breese, 
 Weirdly and mournfully. 
 
 One lone heart, from its weight of W068, 
 
 is shaking its pinions free, 
 < me sa»l life to its drear] clos< 
 
 Is drifting silently. 
 Under the whispering olive boughs, 
 
 Where they laid bim dow n to die 
 
 Last of his hand, he still remained. 
 
 When his brethren tied apace, 
 Wearied, and worn, and travol-stauied. 
 
 In life's unequal race ; 
 Over his feat mi's, shrunk and strained. 
 
 The grey doat h shadow s chase 
 
 Not one whisper, from white lips wrung, 
 
 Falls on the listening ears. 
 For he lias forgotten the crowding throng 
 
 Of human hopes and fears — 
 Forgol ten the son ml of the human tongue, 
 
 Tbrougb fifty silent years 
 
 A gleam of memory, fitful now. 
 
 In its dim, uncertain quest. 
 Kindles his eye- it is often so. 
 
 ESre a w anderer sinks t<> rest . 
 His withered fingers tremble -low 
 
 o'er his feebly throbbing breast. 
 
 ' Do not take it," he whispered low . 
 
 " She was fair as (lowers of spring 
 She gave it me — and she laughed you know — 
 
 Bui she did not mean to sting 
 Bury it w ith me for 1 go 
 
 Where 1 bear mj Alma sing." 
 
 •' Semper Silentia !" voices sing, 
 
 Through the ambient upper an . 
 " Semper silentia !" answering 
 
 From the still form sleeping there. 
 His hand close clasping a broken ring, 
 A nd a circlet of golden hair. 
 
o\\v.\ki> 
 
 I,. V. b\ 
 
 Time's a mist-en shrouded valley 
 
 Life, its river deep and \\ ide ; 
 Human squadrons, crowding, rally 
 
 By ii s swifl ly rushing i ide ; 
 I Urging mid its wild commol ion 
 
 War-ships freighted heavily, 
 l low ii upon t lie shoreless ocean 
 
 Of a dark Eternity. 
 
 Sweeping <>u 1 1 if long procession, 
 
 Glide t In- phantom frigates bj , 
 Hasting, struggling for possession 
 
 < >f Borne bubble as i bey fly. 
 Souls which love and peace inherit. 
 
 Hearts :ii war with earth and heaven, 
 [die dreamer, Are-fraugh1 spirit, 
 
 ( )n\\ ard l>\ t his tide are driven. 
 
 Like t lie rush and roar of bal t If 
 
 'I'll under on t he booming waves, 
 Driving fleets thai reel and rattle 
 
 Down ii|kiii their yawning graves. 
 Hosts on maddened hosts assailing 
 
 Woo i he spoiler's deadly fang, 
 I drowning moans of wrong and wailing 
 
 Willi the haughty trumpet's clang. 
 
 <>\ proud soul, iiiniil the thunder! 
 
 Win nml wear a deal bless name, 
 ' i Make thy mark " engrave it under 
 
 < J iv at ones on the scroll of fame. 
 
68 
 
 :< \ n i/.7». 
 
 < Inward ' o'ei i hal mighty river, 
 
 Struggle Oil With spirit brave. 
 
 Be the lenith star forever 
 Riding <>n its loftiest w Rve. 
 
 Onward ! b till ofTRUTH the agent, 
 
 Hear her hla/onrv abroad, 
 
 j\ik1 in Life's majestic pageant 
 
 I earn to " work t lie w ill " of < rod. 
 
 o'er the dark and troubled surges, 
 Battling with the stormy night, 
 
 Honored be the aim that urges 
 On the glorious cause of Right. 
 
 Though temptations without number, 
 
 rhrong and bar thy narrow way. 
 There's an ej e I bat cannot slumber, 
 
 There's an arm to be thy stay. 
 Then be strong, whate'er betide thee. 
 
 \ 11 of joy, or all of ill — 
 shall not God, bimself beside thee. 
 
 Soothe the storm with "Peace he still!' 
 
 On ' to coward hearts appalling, 
 
 Death's a pale, remorseless king j 
 
 But, to thee, an angel calling 
 To i by realm of triumphing ! 
 
 I Me be thine where Death comes never. 
 
 Ransomed by immortal Love ; 
 
 Passed from want and woe forever, 
 
 Reigning with thy God above. 
 
VICTOR. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 A stately sliip is walking, with her white Bails float- 
 ing free, 
 
 Through the softly swelling billows of a Laughing 
 azure se:i ; 
 
 The gulls are flying landward with a swift and noise- 
 less sweep, 
 
 Ami the moon steals, wan and ashen, on a hushed 
 and waiting deep. 
 
 Now, sweeping through the forest aisles, the night 
 winds fiercely pour, 
 
 Like desert beasts, that seek their prey with In.arse 
 and hollow roar ; 
 
 The lightning's baleful, blinding -hue is whirling 
 down the sky, 
 
 The thunder rolling, peal on peal, its dread artil- 
 lery. 
 
 The roused and angry sea lifts up his slumbering 
 giant form, 
 
 And answers with a hollow roar the challenge of the 
 storm, 
 
 His mighty wall of waters lift their billows moun- 
 tain high, 
 
 And black, and fathomless, his graves are yawning 
 fearfully. 
 
 The minute {inn is silenced by the thunder of the 
 gale, 
 
 But shrieking o'er the water comes a shrill and 
 piercing wail ; 
 
70 VICTOR. 
 
 The masts are broken, the rigging gone, the canvas 
 
 rent in twain, 
 And through the gloom her spectral form rises, and 
 
 sinks again. 
 
 Breasting the seething billows comes a noble, manly 
 
 form, 
 With giant strength resisting still the fury of the 
 
 storm ; 
 And from the broken, shapeless wreck there rings a 
 
 cheer sublime, 
 The paean of a dying crew to him who dies for them. 
 
 The ship has struck— a dying wail comes moaning 
 on the night, 
 
 The crowding lives that swarm her deck are swal- 
 lowed out of sight. 
 
 The hungry Sea devours his dead — the monsters of 
 the deep, 
 
 Those cold and slimy, nameless things, above them 
 crawl and creep. 
 
 He lies upon the waters, waiting till the lightning's 
 glare 
 
 Shall lend its light, to let him reach the dead and 
 dying there ; 
 
 But with a wild and wailing moan, like fierce, re- 
 morseless fate, 
 
 A giant wave sweeps over them — their savior comes 
 too late. 
 
 Two yet remain — two little boys, with fragile limbs 
 
 and fair, 
 With eyes as blue as summer skies, and floating 
 
 -olden hair ; 
 The elder lays the little one upon the stranger's 
 
 breast — 
 " Take Freddy first, and leave me here — our mother 
 
 loved him best." 
 
 A whelming wave has parted them— again he clea ves 
 
 his way, 
 Out from the midnight gloom of death, to land, and 
 
 life, and day ; 
 
BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 71 
 
 The fight is fought, the battle won— and cheer on 
 
 cheer arise, 
 As back he turns, to brave again, the wrath of sea 
 
 and skies. 
 
 Too late, my hero ! turn again, and cleave thy way 
 
 to land ; 
 The greater hero's little feet now press the golden 
 
 strand — 
 An angel chorus floats far down the mansions of the 
 
 blest, 
 To welcome little Victor— for his Father loved him 
 
 best. 
 
 BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 
 
 h. V. F. 
 
 We have not the slightest doubt that a better understanding 
 North and South will be the fruit of the seed so liberally planted 
 here by the former section in these last three months and that 
 a full restoration of the ancient friendly relations will come in 
 due time. — New Orleans Times. 
 
 The Southern people will understand now, if they failed to 
 understand before, that the North bears no grudge against the 
 South, has no disposition to stir up strife for partisan effect is 
 not indifferent to Southern wants and would gladly make sym- 
 pathy in suffering a starting point of unrestrained and kindly 
 
 intercourse. At any rate this is the position of the North. 
 
 New York Times. 
 
 From the sunny Land of Palms arose a wailing fierce 
 
 and fearful, 
 Thro' the flush of flowers and leafage pouring to the 
 
 brassy sky — 
 Worn and weary with long watching toiled the 
 
 friends so tried and tearful 
 Whose ready hands and hearts at first responded 
 
 to that cry ; 
 
72 BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 
 
 While before the scourge appalling, 
 Like to shrivelled blossoms Calling, 
 Fell the stricken, and the wail went up, "Help! 
 save US, for we die !" 
 
 No warrior's bugle Mast replied, no drums, or can- 
 non thundering — 
 
 Sleeping in the sunny silence slumbered all the 
 trumpet bands ; 
 
 Bui a little "font of type" upbore, and while the 
 world was wondering, 
 
 Its "still small voice,'' a message sent to earth's 
 remotest lands ; 
 
 And ten thousand pulses waken, 
 As the Northern Pines are shaken, 
 When the Tress calls into action hero hearts and 
 helping hands. 
 
 Then across the "bloody chasm," where they tell 
 
 us hatred rages, 
 (Politician'^ blatant tirade, and the demagogue's 
 
 harangue, 
 Urging on a blind vendetta worthy of the Middle 
 
 Ages ;) 
 From great heads of honest workers, swift a noble 
 
 structure sprang, 
 
 Of a grandeur most supernal, 
 May that beauty be eternal, 
 Abridge — with angels passing o'er to soften every 
 pang. 
 
 Traitors told us that on one side red Victory was 
 
 riding, 
 Scything down the South as foemen, as they battled 
 
 hilt to hilt; 
 On the other dark Defeat within her sullen cave lay 
 
 hiding, 
 Dumb, brooding o'er the ashes where her dearest 
 
 blood was spilt. 
 
 Yes, deep doub tings did assail us — 
 Would they hear us? would they fail us? 
 But—" Lei it be," the people said — and so the bridge 
 was built. 
 
BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 73 
 
 Silent— as when through the midnight silver cinct- 
 ured Aldebaran, 
 
 Stands a warder on .the ramparts watching west- 
 ward o'er the war; 
 
 With his energies of iron nerved to deeds of daunt- 
 less daring, 
 
 Marches Manhood to the rescue— swiftly forging 
 bolt and bar, 
 Till the fair foundation ridges 
 Of this grandest of all bridges, 
 
 Lay suspended, like a blessing, o'er the black abyss 
 afar. 
 
 Silent— as the sisters seven—" stars serenest in the 
 
 I lr;| veil," 
 
 Shedding sweetesi lambent luster on the silken 
 
 sward below; 
 Came fair woman in her beauty — in her eyes the 
 
 summer Levin 
 Veiled in mist, and quenched its Hashes as the tears 
 
 of sorrow How ; 
 Then in long progressive marches 
 See her white hands raise the arches, 
 Of this bridge, to reach a people hallowed by a 
 
 mighty love. 
 
 Silent — like the crystal dropping of the dainty dew- 
 fall drifting 
 
 Over seared and scorched savannas, where the 
 blooms lay sorely curled, 
 
 Came the children bringing little gifts like snow- 
 flakes softly sifting 
 
 Till the angel chrism bad every bolt, and bar, and 
 arch impearled. 
 Childhood, royal in its dower, 
 In the purples of its power, 
 
 A benison from "little things" that guide and rule 
 the world. 
 
 Thus the people went on silently, that noble bridge 
 
 upbuilding, 
 And they sculptured ob its key-stone not the eagle, 
 
 but the dove ; 
 When t'was finished came a lustre, like the smile of 
 
 ( rod, engilding 
 
I ROUES. 
 
 Earth's grandest superstructure with a blessing from 
 above. 
 Christ, tiif merciful, the gilder, 
 For .the Christlike earthly builder 
 
 Whs charily another and a better name for Love. 
 
 Forest Home, Nov. l ith, L878. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 I . M. 
 
 " Tlir flowers of secrecy and silence." 
 
 •■ Roses ! my seeivt keep ;" 
 Whispers a maiden from her casement <lim. 
 Where, <>n the night, their passion-laden hymn 
 The summer roses Bweep. 
 
 •• l tell ii but to thee, 
 
 Sweel Maiden's Blush and Woodland Margaret \\ hite 
 What, underneath tne fair Magnolia's height, 
 I te whispered low to me. 
 
 •• No jewel Laden ships. 
 
 Flying white-winged before the summer breeie. 
 Bear half such treasure from theooral seas 
 As whispered from his lips. 
 
 •' When, from its kingly throne. 
 
 The proud head bending, Looked into my oyes, 
 \n.i murmured soft, beneath the Bummer skies — 
 • My beautiful ! my own !' 
 
 •• Roses ! my secrel keep — 
 
 These fairy \isions, holy mysteries, 
 
 rinse golden gleams from Passion's paradise, 
 
 'Mi.l folded petals sleep." 
 
ROSES. 
 
 " Roses I my secret keep I" 
 Whispers a woman, pale and sorrow-worn, 
 By crimson clusters sadly gazing down, 
 With eyes that fain would weep. 
 
 A thousand buried liours 
 Lie coiled within the fragrant crimson leaves, 
 A thousand dreams, each balmy breeze upheave* 
 From the dew-laden dowers. 
 
 A thousand memories 
 
 Rise on the sweetness of their odorous .lews, 
 
 And Haunt their mocking, rainbow-tinted hues 
 Before those baunted eyes. 
 
 With gaze Of mule despair, 
 
 And desert thirst, she drinks their fragrance in, 
 
 Type of a bliss she never more shall win 
 By penance, or by pmyer. 
 
 "Roses! her secret keep!" 
 
 Sine the soft zephyrs of the blushing June 
 
 Roun d alone gravestone, where their rythmic tune, 
 
 Its mellow murmurs sweep. 
 
 << Unfold vour crimson wings, 
 Sweep your white banners, fair as A.lpine snow, 
 Where round her grave the summer breezes blow, 
 And the Lone mock-bird sings. 
 
 "Watch o'er her dreamless sleep; 
 Nor tell of visions vain, and sorrows past, 
 That, blind, and voiceless, found their rest at last- 
 Bosesl her secret keep 1" 
 
 75 
 
FONTANELLE. 
 
 1 .. \ . I". 
 
 Logan Fontanelle, the brave young chieftain of the OmahaSi 
 was slain by a band of Sioux near Loupe Fork, K. T., in August, 
 1855. Alone ami almost exhausted be fled before his enemies 
 and ai last thoughl bimself beyond the reach of danger, when 
 
 in a valley just in front of him he saw fifty braves starting up 
 the hill and meeting him. They were a party returning from 
 the pursuit of his people. He changed his direction immedi- 
 ately and attempted to escape, bul liis horse was too much ex- 
 hausted to bear him with sufficient speed. With savage yells 
 the Sioux plunged t heir lance-heads in their horses' thinks and 
 gained upon him. As the foremost approached within good 
 Bhooting distance Logan turned suddenly and sent a bullet 
 through his brain ; then reloading as he urged his steed along he 
 Boon made a second bite the dusl ; then another and another 
 until four were strewed upon the plain, .lust then, however, as 
 he was again reloading, his horse stumbled and fell and the 
 whole hand rushed upon him before he had recovered from the 
 shock, lie was shot with bullets and arrows, gashed with tom- 
 ahawks and pierced with lances, notwithstanding all which he 
 arose mid his foes and with his clubbed rifle and hunting knife 
 he piled around him five prostrate bodies fell at last with his 
 hack upon their corpses and expired still fighting. 
 
 Thus Logan Fontanelle departed and his noble spirit was fol- 
 lowed to the " Land ol' Souls " hy the cites and lament at ions of 
 his nation and the s\ mpathios and aspirations of the hrave in 
 every land. 
 
 Woe for t he proud departed ! 
 
 r.ow ed in grief. 
 Wail for the lion-hearted 
 Warrior-chief! 
 
FONTANELLE. >7 
 
 Not from the white man's steeple 
 
 Moans thy knell, 
 But from thy stricken people 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 They wail thee in thy mystic 
 
 Temple's dome, 
 The shades of thy majestic 
 
 Foresl home. 
 Like some great warrior-eagle 
 
 Fought and fell, 
 Their Sachem, brave and regal — 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 Sublime and self-reliant, 
 
 Stern he stood, 
 High heart and brow defiant 
 
 Raining blood, 
 Death-waters like a river 
 
 Rage and swell, 
 Then didst thou blench? No— never I 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 Like Death himself, thou'rt scything 
 
 Down the foe ! 
 Around thee they are writhing 
 
 Prone and low. 
 Yet shadows darkly, dimly, 
 
 O'er thee fell ; 
 Thy soul lied, strong and sternly, 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 Thy clay in scorn they taunted, 
 
 Stark and frore ; 
 The owls' cry from the haunted 
 
 Sycamore, 
 Echoed the Sioux' sharp, savage 
 
 Whoop and yell, 
 Over their deeds of ravage, 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 The springtime blooms in gladness 
 
 Everywhere, 
 Yet dwells a tone of sadness 
 
 On the air ; 
 
\rwriir 
 
 \ id tj Ihmic winds :iro sighing 
 
 1 Vw n the dell, 
 Where thy dead heart is lying, 
 
 Fontanel!* 
 
 In thine ancestral bowei - 
 
 1 Ottg ago, 
 
 W here through their banks offlowera 
 
 Streamlets flov. 
 v voice, like some soft«ringing 
 
 Fairy boll. 
 W .~.s wont to greet thee, singing 
 
 Foutsuelle. 
 
 Did life joj s like ;» ri> 
 
 Sweeping bj . 
 [q death's dread moment Tr- 
 evor thine i s • 
 \ .1. Au\ thy brave heart dying, 
 
 St vivo to quell 
 
 »ught of that lone one, crj ing 
 Fontanel!* 
 
 I one sweet lace, ol> sian, 
 
 Fond :»nvl dear, 
 
 Seem to thy (ailing vision 
 
 Floating near? 
 
 that thou wert loving 
 
 Passing well, 
 1 ook forth to vind their rovius 
 
 ■ 
 
 Fontanc)l< 
 
 \v i Ryes watch from th\ ( teas 
 Palisade, 
 
 v n glances of the F -- 
 
 Pierce the shade : 
 \ . - - ce the mai kU ss 
 
 lie, 
 v ome bounding through the dai - ss 
 Fontanel^ 
 
 That shall greet thee 
 
 Home again, 
 Her fleet - . to moot th< 
 
 O'ei the plain ; 
 
VIOLETS, ™ 
 
 Yel all the world, admirant, 
 
 Owns thy spoil, 
 Oh! Glory's young aspirant, 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 We've known no saddor story 
 
 Heretofore ; 
 Yel live live in thy glory 
 Evermore ; 
 
 Lot age to age thy stately 
 Triumphs tell, 
 
 Thon'st perished hut how greatly, 
 
 Fontanelle. 
 
 VIOLETS. 
 
 1.. M. 
 
 -oil through tin- gold and purple gates of even 
 The day has passed, with trossos dropping dev . 
 
 Whj.te-winged the young moon mounts the glowing heaven, 
 Shedding soft radiance o'er its cloudless blue ; 
 
 Low Bighs the south wind to the Languid hours 
 
 That watch with dreamy eyes the passing day. 
 While mine look down through tears on fragranl Bowers 
 
 That talk to llie of loved ones tar away. 
 
 Lino eyes, like thoirs, are lovingly turning, 
 
 Voices, like thoirs, call Bweetly and low— 
 '• Come to us now, for the wost is burning, 
 
 Come ere il darkens ah ! no, ah ! no." 
 
 Sweet-scented violets, 'mid green leaves lying, 
 
 Look up to mo with eyes of deepest 'duo. 
 And bring mo loving glances, swiftly flying 
 
 From loving eyes of their own tender hue, 
 
BO BEYOND THE SEA. 
 
 And bear me on their purple pinions westward, 
 
 Where brown wings flutter in a leafy nest 
 Ami cradle me to Blumber, softly nestled 
 
 In peaceful shelter on a faithlul breast. 
 Eyes of mj soul far westward are turning, 
 
 Voices i love call sweetly and low — 
 •■ Come to us now, for the west is burning, 
 
 Come ere it darkens— ah ! no, ah ! no." 
 
 How many shadows 'mid their leaves are lying, 
 
 How many memories on their odors rise 
 Of purple mountain sides \\ hero day is dying, 
 
 (H' erimson glories erow ning sunset skies ; 
 Of Still, white t'aees, where love's smile yet lingers 
 
 On purple pillows softly laid to rest, 
 With purple violets held in nerveless tinkers 
 
 Breathing their Fragrance o'er a pulseless breast. 
 Anus of my soul far westward are turning, 
 
 Quivering heart-strings answering low — 
 •• Come to as now, tor the west is burning, 
 
 Come ere it darkens— ah ! do, ah! no." 
 
 BEYOND THE SE L 
 
 1 . V. P. fO M VI' WIT 1 E VERT, 
 
 Would I could see again thy soft brown tresse< 
 By southern breezes blown, 
 
 And answer to thy gentle arms' caress s, 
 
 My hands within thine own. 
 Would l COUld list the musie flowing ever 
 
 From that sweet lip of thine; 
 It is a rosy ehaliee brimming over — 
 
 Vud, kindness is its w iue. 
 
BEYOND THESE 1. 83 
 
 How shall 1 tell thee how our hearts haw missed thee, 
 
 Dear wanderer o'er the sea ? 
 Or murmur of the man; prayers thai Most thee, 
 
 Fondly and fervently '.' 
 Puisi thou not feel them aa the wesl wind kissed thee, 
 
 Far o'er the ocean's foam ? 
 Didst thou not know when its light wing caressed thee 
 
 1 w as from the lo\ ed at homo '.' 
 
 Thou an afar, where legion-haunted castles 
 
 O'erhang the " hounding Rhine," 
 And close the peasant's lowlj cottage nestles 
 
 Beneat it t he laughing vine. 
 Or, mill the •• snow-clad hills," w here like « streamer 
 
 Bright Borealis Boats upon the wind, 
 The birth-place o( the good and gentle Bremer, 
 
 Ami noble hearted Land. 
 
 Far through the famed Alhamhra thou hast wandered, 
 
 Where Moorish shadows kneel ; 
 
 Ami Spanish domes whose vaulted halls have thundered 
 
 To—" I. eon and Castile !" 
 The inisis Jura, and the Alpine ranges 
 
 With rich melodious swell. 
 
 Have sung to thee of all the mighty changes 
 
 That swept the laud of Tell. 
 
 And thou hast looked upon those ruins solemn. 
 The palaee, arch, and dome. 
 
 With fallen architrave and prostrate column 
 
 Of old imperial Rome. 
 Where, like to life, gleamed outward from their niches 
 
 The Cenci's pallid Face ; 
 
 The sweet Madonna, the surpassing riehos 
 
 of Fornarina's grace. 
 Fair Venice shone above thy swift gondola 
 
 That skimmed the bright lagoon, 
 
 As through an amber-tinted ameola 
 
 Shines out the .summer moon. 
 And elassie Athens, o'er her temples hoary 
 
 still keeping guarded trust. 
 
 Has whispered in thine ear her olden story 
 
 Of ages gone to dust. 
 
82 SWEET PEAS. 
 
 Thou hast gazed on Fontainbleau, the ancient Louvre ; 
 
 And where on every breeze 
 The gay tri-color floats in beauty over 
 
 The stately Tuilleries. 
 And thou hast past the haughty, frowning portals 
 
 Of many a gallery 
 Where stalked in days gone by that dread of mortals, 
 
 The "Man of Destiny." 
 
 Then " Caledonia wild " spread out before thee 
 
 The treasures of her own, 
 Sweet Abbotsford and Ayr, with Sterling hoary, 
 
 And glorious Bannockburn. 
 And " Merrie England," led thee from the splendors 
 
 Of castellated domes, 
 O'erturning with ten thousand storied wonders, 
 
 Unto her " hearts and homes." 
 
 Still, as the changing panorama shifted, 
 
 Thy place was ever shown. 
 Within the circle of the great and gifted, 
 
 A station — all thine own. 
 For there thou standest — all serenely 
 
 In loveliness enshrined ; 
 As if to show how great is she, and queenly. 
 
 Whose monarchy is mind. 
 
 SWEET PEAS. 
 
 ].. M. 
 
 "A single sense, or a single memory is touched, and a thrill 
 runs through countless others. The smell of autumn woods 
 the color of dying fern, may turn, by a subtile transubstantia- 
 tion, into pleasures and faces that will never come again ; a red 
 sunset and a windy seashore into a last farewell and the regret 
 of a lifetime." 
 
 She sat by the tire ; lone and worn. 
 
 Her brown hair flecked with gray ; 
 While the bells without were ringing in 
 
 The coining of Christmas day. 
 
SWEET PEAS. 83 
 
 I laid on her knee a little gift, 
 
 (As I held her hand in mine) 
 With a hunch of sweet peas on a Christmas card, 
 
 The motto—" For auld lang syne." 
 
 She looked at the flowers — then into my eyes, 
 
 While over her features swept 
 The storm of a sudden, wild surprise. 
 
 As faces that long had slept 
 Rose up from the wave, and the grassy mound, 
 
 In their early girlhood's hloom, 
 And voices of old familiar sound 
 
 Came echoing through the room. 
 
 We stand in a circle, clad in white, 
 
 And girdled with ribbons hlue, 
 With sweet peas lying upon each breast, 
 
 Of the dawn's first rosy hue ; 
 Laughing and singing, glad and gay. 
 
 In our girlhood's golden glow, 
 In the sunlight of old Commencement day. 
 
 Ah ! how many years ago ! 
 
 She stands apart — and her deep brown eyes 
 
 Are searching among the throng ; 
 And a laughing comrade quick descries 
 
 Soft glances answering 
 From bold, black eyes, while dreams arise 
 
 As fair as the cloudless noon, 
 Of" the old, old story told again," 
 
 Beneath a September moon. 
 
 The changing ghosts of the long ago 
 
 Sweep by on the wintry blast ; 
 Song, and sighing, and joy, and woe, 
 
 Have faded — the dream is past — 
 Two old, sad women sit clasping hands, 
 
 While salt tears glistening shine 
 On a bunch of sweet peas on a Christmas card. 
 
 And its motto — " For auld lang syne." 
 
WAKING THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 Till: 1 VST POEM WRITTEN BY L. V. 1. 
 
 Long years and years, the wilderness, in regal beauty 
 
 slept, 
 As did the enchanted Princess whom the bans o( 
 
 Faerie kept 
 In slumber for a century, until a princely knight 
 should come to bxeak that bondage with his glance 
 
 o( love ami light. 
 October decks, to-day, the sleeping solitude— a 
 
 Queen, 
 In robes of crimson, emerald ami opalescent sheen ; 
 Enveile hot- with the mists that float from ame- 
 thystine pyres, 
 An>i crown her with a coronal of ruddy, sunlit tires: 
 For why! The princely knight has come, so loyal 
 
 and so true, 
 With love light from the Old World as a blessing to 
 
 the New. 
 
 This wild and lovely mountain land, as fair as Eden 
 isles — 
 
 Wo see her sleeping eyelids lift ; we see her as she 
 smiles 
 
 In gladsome solitude: she wakes— at first in unite 
 surprise, 
 
 "With hands uplifted, like a child's, above her daz- 
 zled eyes ; 
 
 She soes her prince's suntlushed brow ; she ^ee^ sueh 
 glorious things 
 
 In his triumphal train, thai wake her wildest won- 
 deriugs. 
 
DEA D c.v ill i: FIE1 D, sr> 
 
 Smiles sink in sweetest laughter, ms she Bwifl ly com" 
 
 prehends, 
 1 u meet ing t hus his eyes, i iiat here her ban o\' bond* 
 
 age i'ii. is. 
 Aiul now we have a bridal day a wedding, brave 
 
 and true, 
 The glory ol the oid World to the grandeur of the 
 
 New. 
 
 He, bearing in his breast the love of lion-hearted 
 
 sires ; 
 She, holding riches drowsing in her undeveloped 
 
 lilt's ; 
 
 li>. bringing intellectual lore for many a storied 
 
 shrine : 
 She, yielding up her boarded wealth from many a 
 
 darksome mine ; 
 
 His buoyant courage Striking forth iii labor of his 
 hands. 
 
 While slio unveils the treasures of broad and lovely 
 
 lands : 
 Here, Albion's braves and Scotia's sons, and Erin's 
 hearts oi' Are, 
 
 From castle, court, and cottage home, and ivy-man- 
 t led spire : 
 
 We bail you all, as brothers burn, we bless the 
 
 union true 
 Of this royal pair n\' lovers the Old World and the 
 
 New . 
 
 IT \l> OX THE FIELD. 
 
 i . \i. 
 
 
 The golden beams of a summer's sun 
 Have t'aded away from a held hard won. 
 And flaunting alofl on her silver car 
 
 The fair moon smiles on the conqueror : 
 
n- /'/.i /» OJH THE nil />. 
 
 Roll call, challenging echo, "here," 
 Salts, at :i aame lo each Boldier dear : 
 Out on tiu< air, like a bugle-note pealed, 
 Rings back the answer, "dead on the field." 
 
 True to bis Btandard, "For God and the Right," 
 Faithful and fearless, be led on tin- fight, 
 Clarion tike rang ins word of command, 
 Death in the stroke of his gallant right hand, 
 Flashing his sword in the beams of the sun. 
 •• Cheer, my brave boys, tor I lie \ ictory's won I" 
 Bleeding and pale, from his saddle-boy reeled, 
 Dauntless, exultant, " but dead on tho field." 
 
 Mourn not the hero, triumphant and true, 
 Strew not bis grave with the cypress and vow. 
 Plant o'er ids bosom the evergreen tree, 
 •' So in our hearts lot bis memory ho." 
 Never that proud bead to victor shall how . 
 Shame of defeat never cloud tho fair brov . 
 Never that Btrong arm to foeman shall yield, 
 Peerless, triumphant, though "dead on tho field." 
 
 Mourn hi in not, lovod onos w ho knool hv his sido. 
 
 Father, and mother, and sistor. and bride; 
 Faithful to death, to his country and you, 
 1 oval and chivalrous, tender and true. 
 Wreathe tor his forehead tho laurel and hay. 
 Smile, as you lay him beneath tho oold clay, 
 Fair as the sunlight his name stands revealed, 
 True to ins colors till " dead on tho field." 
 
 " Fair as tho moon " shall his memory ho. 
 
 •• Clear as tho sun," shim- in hearts of the free, 
 
 •• I'orrihlo " BOUndeth his naino to tho too 
 
 \s a strong " army with banners " aglow: 
 
 Still shall that namo at each role-call ho hoard, 
 
 Each bead uncovered, and bowed at tho word. 
 Bach Boldier's answer, like trumpet call pealed, 
 
 Sound his proud roquiom. " dead on tho field." 
 
 Soldier of fortune ! in battle of life, 
 
 \\ on id you ho conqueror, still, in t ho Btrife '.' 
 
 StOUt must your hoart ho and willing your hand, 
 Faithful through shine or though shadow to stand. 
 
DEAD <>X THE FIELD 87 
 
 Nailing your standard secure to the mast. 
 Safe ride the tempest, though torn by Its blast, 
 si ill let your strong arm the battle as w ield, 
 Ne'er strike your colors till "dead on t be field." 
 
 Soldier of honor ! free lance would ye I brusl , 
 Champion be for the " right and thejusl ?*' 
 Though tlif world's scorning shriek higher and 
 
 bigher 
 Stand toyourgunsl let them belch forth their lire. 
 Manning your battlements, stand for the right, 
 Staunch and unwavering, lead on the fight, 
 E'en though your creed with your heart's blood be 
 
 sealed, 
 Martyr to principle, " dead on t he lie Id." 
 
 Soldier, enlisted in pure paths to tread ! 
 Following On where I lie Master has led, 
 l,et not Ingratitude turn you away, 
 Ridicule weaken, or scorn lead astray ; 
 
 What though a thousand should fail at the test? 
 One sinner ransomed were worth all the rest. 
 Faithful through life, unto charity's guild, 
 True write your epitaph, " dead on t he field." 
 
 Soldier, Or Christian ! where'er ye may stand, 
 
 Cnder w hat banner, upheld by w hat hand ; 
 
 Watchful and wary of friend or of foe, 
 Truthful and tender, in weal or in woe. 
 Stand by your colors, through war's wildest, hlasl, 
 Fight for them faithfully, true to the last, 
 
 Heavenward bearing, on stainless shield, 
 
 The henison " Dead on the Battle Field." 
 
ASH PS. 
 
 1 . v. r. 
 
 I'hou art lord of all peoples and nations : 
 And humbly they bow at thy shrine; 
 Thou art despot of all desolations. 
 And all the world's despots are thine. 
 All ages, all creeds, all conditions, 
 
 Supinely must sink to thy sway 
 
 With an imbecile, abject submission — 
 Grim god oft ho kingdom Decay I 
 
 There is never a glory that Bashes, 
 
 But is ruined and rots in thy rust : 
 The world's wail is " ashes to aslu -.' 
 Its heart-cry is- -"• dust unto dust !" 
 All things that we prize we surrender, 
 The gems Of the past and to-da> . 
 The pride of our life, and its splendor, 
 shn\ smouldering into Dei 
 
 We are sore with the fret and the fe\ 
 
 We wander bewildered and blind — 
 
 But calmly watchest forever 
 
 The •• nulls of the cods " as they grind. 
 
 Qaunt wheels with their dirge-like intoning, 
 
 That are wearing the old world away. 
 
 In a mournful, monotonous droning — 
 
 The mill-stones oi Dust and Decay. 
 
 Thy face that is shrunken and shrivelled 
 Shows out like a Famine in stone ; 
 And thy cynical curses are drivelled 
 From lips that are misery' own. 
 
I'liv forehead is lurid in pallor, 
 
 Thy locks are dishevelled and grey, 
 
 And thy vestments still reek with the squalor 
 
 Dhal reigns in thy kingdom Decay. 
 
 But thine eyes thru are bitter and burning, 
 Like the w ine of I by lees, 
 And thy nameless expression, returning 
 Our gaze, seems to fire us— and freeze. 
 They are fateful, and fell, and abysmal, 
 Our golden gods crumble today 
 Before them dull, dreary, and dismal. 
 Dissolving to Deatb and Decay, 
 
 On graves that are sunken and sodden, 
 
 Is planted thy Pompeian throne : 
 
 On souls thai aiv tortured and trodden, 
 
 On bearts that are turning to stout'. 
 
 Is rested thy merciless pinion, 
 
 Scorched wings that arc gory and grey — 
 
 Deep laid is thy dusky dominion 
 
 In the blackened fire-crypts "i' Decay. 
 
 There the fires never fail for our crying — 
 Thy furnace-flames scoff at our fears — 
 They can never be stayed by our sighing, 
 They arc not to be quenched by our teats. 
 While our jewels melt down into cinders, 
 And our idols dissolve into clay, 
 We are helpless defenseless -naught binders 
 The on-coming doom <>\' Decay. 
 
 Post thou sneer at Love's roses and laurels? 
 
 Post question us ••What is your Fame?" 
 
 Post thou smile at our "minds" and our "morals?" 
 
 And ask— "Which is Honor or Shame?" 
 
 Post mutter "What matter if guerdons 
 
 Or crosses your strivings shall pay '.' 
 
 I ('you carry life's crowns, or its hut-dens. 
 
 When both shall he swept to Decay?" 
 
 "And why do yon scorn to he carried 
 
 To rot with the pauper — unless 
 
 You hope that your sins shall he buried 
 
 In your grand mausoleum— Success ?" 
 
90 DEAD. 
 
 I'hr s'lino is bitter and biting 
 
 That lurks in this insolent way. 
 
 Of cloudiug quick lives with the blighting 
 \u«l mould of thy kingdom Dei 
 
 Thou art caustic, and cold, ami chaotic, 
 Thy calmness Bt offs :it us in scorn : 
 \n.l th\ cruel command is despotic 
 
 " IV dust VI it h all things that are bom " 
 
 la dust then we drift down the current 
 
 Of w iiwls t hat are w and'ring for a\ e, 
 
 For th>>u signest on all the death-warrant - 
 Inflexible doom of iv< 5 
 
 All joys that the spirit remembers 
 All loves, ;ill beliefs, all desires 
 Fall away into idle, dead embers, 
 Burnt out in the fiercest of fires, 
 
 Thou art lord of all peoples anol nations. 
 Supinely we sink to th\ sw..\ 
 
 Thou art despot of all desolations 
 Grim irod ^( the kingdom 1V> 
 
 DKAD 
 
 1 . M. 
 
 vly the night wanes dead loaves faintly flutter 
 w th ghostly taps upon the window-pai 
 lly the night winds sob and moan and mutter, 
 Drearily falls the chill December rain ; 
 Tale phantoms, flitting by with wines outspread, 
 .0 the baleful cry, "Bring out your dead 
 
 Urine out the buds and blossoms of your childhood, 
 
 Lnd lav then\ softlv in the elav cold ground : 
 
DEAD. 91 
 
 Gather the faded violets of the wildwood, 
 
 And strew their scentless petals o'er the mound j 
 Let not one fragranl memory rear Its head. 
 To dark forgetfulness, "bring out your dead." 
 
 Bring out your day *dreams, lay them <>n the altar — 
 Tin* faded, fruil less dreams of faithless years ; 
 
 i |ghl up the dame, nor let your fingers falter, 
 Nor quencb the sacrifice with useless tears. 
 
 Willi while lips firmly set, and measured (rend, 
 
 To Bacriflcial Are, "bring out your dead I" 
 
 Bring oul your memories of friendship's fervoi 
 The lying legends told of ''faith and trust," 
 
 With iron band your sheeted <le:i<l uncover, 
 Take up the broken links, nil stained with nisi , 
 
 Ami ens! i hem in where billows break o'erhead, 
 
 To sin;', inv, Lethean streams, "bring ou1 your dead ' 
 
 Bring ou( your burning fever-dream * » I passion, 
 
 The regal lh v thai held your life in swaj . 
 Smite i he fair idol of your soul's creal ion 
 
 li shivers at your touch ii was but clay 
 lis shattered fragments at your feet li<' spread, 
 To desolal ion's dust "bring out your dead 1" 
 
 Bring on i your dreams of fame, and pride, and powei 
 \ H.l lay them in the vaull of dull decay ; 
 
 Bring OUl the M real bs of dead a nihil ion's hour, 
 
 The withered laurel, and I he seenlless hay, 
 All vainly seek ye I hus to crown your head, 
 
 To Failure's sepulchre, "bring out your dead !" 
 Bring out the shown daisies of your Bpring-time, 
 
 Bring OUl the roses of 1 our summer day, 
 < iat her I he sea Me red fruits of Waning autumn. 
 
 And lay them 'neath I he valley's clods aw ay, 
 Willi "du si I o dust !" how low \ our wearied head . 
 "Ashes to ashes !" I hus "bring Otil your dead." 
 

SHADOW LAND 
 
 BOOK u. 
 
 " Shadows wt are and shadows we pursue." 
 
SHADOW LAND. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 "Shadows we are, 9nd shadows we pursue." 
 
 Over distant mountains drooping, 
 
 Pearl and gray the curtains fall ; 
 Misty shades come through them, trooping 
 
 To the sounding autumn call ; 
 Hushed and still, the forests listen 
 
 To the footfalls of the hand, 
 And their garments gleam ami glisten 
 
 With the hues of Shadow Land. 
 
 Sofl their fairy feet are creeping 
 
 O'er the maple, beech, and pine ; 
 Bright-hued, elfin shapes lie sleeping 
 
 In the sumach, oak and vine ; 
 Arch on arch, like rainbows meeting, 
 
 Tower the forest giants grand, 
 Warm and glowing, fair ami fleeting, 
 
 As the dreams of Shadow Land. 
 
 Rainbow wings are softly flitting 
 Through the deep, entangled wood ; 
 
 Ghostly shadows silent sitting 
 
 In its twilight solitude ; 
 Fairy echoes sweet are ringing, 
 
 From the river's gleaming si rami. 
 As the elves are softly singing 
 
 Syren songs of Shadow Land. 
 
 Rustling wings above me hovei , 
 
 Whispering echoes to me call, 
 
96 SHADOW LAND. 
 
 * 
 
 Elfin hands my eye-lids cover. 
 
 Fairy footsteps round me fall ; 
 Misty shapes are dimly falling 
 
 Through the wood, with beckoning hand, 
 And their spirit voices calling 
 
 To their home, in Shadow Land. 
 
 Softly sweep the nut-brown tresses, 
 
 Sweet and balmy, floats the breath, 
 Warm and glowing press the kisses 
 
 Of the autumn's crimson mouth ; 
 Gleaming round me — floating o'er me, 
 
 Troop the dreamy, wooing band ; 
 Earth and Heaven fade before me, 
 
 And I dwell in Shadow Land. 
 
 Through the meadows, blossom-laden, 
 
 In the rosy, blushing dawn, 
 Trip two blue-eyed, laughing maidens, 
 
 Singing to the glad May morn ; 
 Fairy pinions o'er them rising, 
 
 Fairy sponsors round them stand, 
 With the morning dews baptizing — 
 
 "Daughters of the Shadow Land !" 
 
 O'er each swiftly pulsing bosom, 
 
 Course the glowing veins of youth, 
 All the sweets of bud and blossom 
 
 Dwell within the rosy mouth ; 
 Dream-eyed Passion's dusky tresses, 
 
 Ripple o'er each snowy hand, 
 And he wafts his burning kisses 
 
 From the realms of Shadow Land. 
 
 And beside him, proud Ambition, 
 
 Regal.head, and eye of lire, 
 With the dreams of his creation 
 
 Wooes them onward — upward — higher- 
 Till the brave, dead years shall reckon 
 
 On their pages none so grand, 
 Still his maddening Anders beckon 
 
 Onward into Shadow Land. 
 
SHADOW LAND. 97 
 
 Bat behind them slowly creeping, 
 
 Steal the wan and ghostly Years, 
 All their beams in shadows steeping, 
 
 All their blosoms drenched with tears ; 
 And the gleaming wings that hovered, 
 
 Bleaching lie on burning sand, 
 And the darkling stream is covered 
 
 With the wrecks of Shadow Land. 
 
 Dust and darkness dimly cover 
 
 Buried Friendship's broken vow, 
 Dusky pinions hover over 
 
 Trusts betrayed and lying low ; 
 Records of the "old, old story," 
 
 Scattered with relentless hand, 
 Dreams of love, and pride and glory, 
 
 Sleeping cold in Shadow Land. 
 
 Loving arms no longer press me 
 
 In their soft clasp, as of yore, 
 Loving lips no longer kiss me, 
 
 Liquid blue eyes smile no more ; 
 Memory's swinging gate discloses 
 
 Angels of the household band, 
 Sleeping under snow-white roses, 
 
 Dwellers pale in Shadow Land. 
 
 And as memories circle o'er me, 
 
 And their darkling shadows teem, 
 Oft the queries press me sorely, 
 
 Do I wake ? or do I dream ? 
 What is shadow? what is human? 
 
 Thus the vexing questions stand ; 
 Which, the worn and wearied woman ? 
 
 Which, the elf of Shadow Land? 
 
 Shall a life be ours, where never 
 
 Will the soul unanswered call? 
 Where the real liveth ever, 
 
 And the shadows from us fall ? 
 Shall the spirit, soaring higher, 
 
 Circled by a shining band, 
 Bathed in God's own sun-bright fire, 
 
 Dwell no more in Shadow Land ? 
 
TECUMSEH'S FOOT. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "At the coimnenenient of the war of 1812, this noted warrior 
 after many conferences with the British at Detroit, journeyed 
 to the South for the purpose of inciting the Indians to take up 
 arm against the Americans. He visited all the important Creek 
 towns enlisting all whom he could upon the side of England. 
 One of the chiefs, Tustinuggee Thlucco (Big Warrior), still re- 
 mained true to the Federal government, which so enraged 
 Tecumseh, that he declared in the counsel that he would leave 
 immediately ; and that they might be convinced that his mis- 
 sion was of the Great Spirit, when he arrived at Detroit, he 
 would stamp with his foot upon the ground, and shake down 
 ever}- house in Tookabatcha. The chief was quite unmoved by 
 this threat, but the people, half believing, began to count the 
 numbers of days required for the Shawnee chief to reach Detroit. 
 One day a rumbling noise was heard in the earth, the houses of 
 Tookabatcha reeled and tottered, and the people ran about, 
 vociferating, ' Tecumseh has got to Detroit ! We feel the shak- 
 ing of his foot!' That an earthquake did take place at that 
 time, is attested by many of the early settlers of Alabama." 
 
 The eve crept westward— dusky shades 
 Stole through the forest fanes, 
 And winds from out the everglades 
 Sighed o'er the feathery cams : 
 Low humming, on the verge of night. 
 The beetle wheeled his droning flight. 
 And still at intervals was heard 
 The chirp of some small, restless bird, 
 In thicket close, on downy nest, 
 Yet not quite satisfied to rest : 
 
TEVlUSEirs FOOT. 99 
 
 The cricket blithe, and Katy-did 
 
 Amid embowering branches hid, 
 
 Made shrilly echoes ring ; 
 
 And half assured, and half afraid, 
 
 The black bat twanged his leathern wing, 
 
 And flitted through the shade. 
 
 Far out on lonely woodland hill 
 
 The melancholy whip-poor-will 
 
 Took up her mournful strain ; 
 
 And though 'twas scarcely nightfall, yet 
 
 The fires were lit, the guards were set, 
 
 The Braves in council stern had met, 
 
 On old Coosawda's plain. 
 
 In ranks within a circle wide, 
 Were ranged the warriors, side by side, 
 Each in his war paint ; unconcern 
 Lay cold upon each visage stern, 
 Like red volcanoes, crowned with snow 
 That mocks the fires that burn below. 
 No word, no whisper, not a sound 
 Broke on the ear, as slowly round 
 The calumet was passed ; 
 Then forth from out the shadows rose 
 A stately chief, before whose blows 
 Full oft, the gathering frowning foes 
 Had quailed, and fled aghast. 
 Crownless, yet kingly, forth he ste;«t, 
 One glance around the circle swept, 
 Glittering and icy cold, as there 
 He saw, not men, but vacant air — 
 Not arms of might and hands of blood, 
 But calm expanse of field, or flood. 
 In silence thus he stands awhile, 
 Anon, a deep and murky smile 
 Flits o'er his swarthy visage, now 
 The slumber lifts from off his brow, 
 As cold dark mists at morning's light 
 Roll upward from the mountain height : 
 His soul has wakened, from his eye 
 It shrieks, and startles like the cry 
 Of famished eagle ; from his heart 
 The words of power and passion start, 
 Like to the rushing wind that brings 
 The fierce night-tempest on its wings. 
 
100 TECUMSEH'S FOOT. 
 
 "Tecumseh lias dwelt where the thunder-god wakes, 
 A ad the ( rr'eat Spirit looks at himself iii the Lakes ; 
 The Big Lakes, that mirror the Manitou's form, 
 His smile in the sunshine, his frown in the storm ; 
 And the Shawnee has come at his bidding, to show 
 The secret approach of your merciless foe. 
 
 " His deep thoughts grow deeper, as stai-iires ap- 
 pear, 
 His stout heart beats faster, his vision is clear ; 
 When the cloud and the darkness hang over his 
 
 land 
 His voice waxes louder, and stronger his hand, 
 As the night calleth out, on her shadowy way, 
 The hoarse rush of rivers, unheard in the day. 
 
 "Like the far-sounding sweep of the rock-torrent. 
 
 water, 
 He hears the deep roll of the red stream of slaugh- 
 ter ; 
 With the eye of a prophet, he sees where the shore 
 Of the Coosa is crimson with warrior's gore ; 
 And his soul, like a shaft from a strong bended how, 
 Is quivering, and leaping, to speed on the foe! 
 
 "Then listen! the Georgian has seized on your 
 lands, 
 
 Like the slave dogs, ye heard, ye obeyed his com- 
 mands ; 
 
 His power around you will slowly entwine, 
 Until, as the great oak is crushed by the vine, 
 Ye fail, like weak women, and perish at length, 
 In the snares of his cunning, the toils of his 
 strength. 
 
 " Tecumseh has called ye, ;it distance, and near, 
 Saying, dig up the hatchet, and sharpen the spear; 
 Let the symbol of faith, and the peace-pipe be bro- 
 ken, 
 Ho! send forth the red stick —a terrible token ! . 
 But his words to the wandering winds ye have cast, 
 And t he voice of his warning, unheeded has passed. 
 
 " He has stood by the mounds of your mighty and 
 dread, 
 
 He has Called on the souls of your sepulchred dead, 
 
TECUMSEH' 8 FOOT. 101 
 
 By the bones of your fathers, that round us lie sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 By the tears of your mothers, low over them weep- 
 ing; 
 
 By the hills of Coosawda, their ancient domain, 
 
 He has called on their children— he called them in 
 vain. 
 
 Tustinuggee Thlucca ! your heart's blood is white ; 
 A chief in the wigwam, a coward in fight ; 
 You will not believe, from the far frozen north, 
 By the Manitou's mandate. Tecumseh came forth 
 To warn his red children of evil 'and show 
 By the spells of a prophet, the foot of the foe. 
 
 " You yet shall believe— when he sees the Big 
 
 Lakes, 
 He will stamp on the ground till the Thunder-bird 
 
 wakes, 
 It will shake down your lodges, and bury your fires, 
 It will rouse the old bones in the mounds of your 
 
 sires ; 
 You yet shall believe— in a moment of dread, 
 When it shall not avail you— Tecumseh has said !" 
 
 Days passed. The people anxiously, 
 
 And timidly looked forth, 
 
 They feared that champion bold and free, 
 
 Red ruler of the North : 
 
 Yet sate their chiefs inactive all, 
 
 Within their vine-clad village wall, 
 
 For little heeded they, 
 
 If true, or false, the words he spoke, 
 
 Until conviction o'er them broke, 
 
 And to the truth their souls awoke 
 
 Upon a later day ; 
 
 When burning on the midnight air, 
 
 High streamed a comet's blazing glare ; 
 
 Abroad its baleful glow was shed, 
 
 The Coosa murmured in his bed, 
 
 And heaved, and tossed amain ; 
 
 Unearthly lights, the billows took, 
 
 Then reeled the hills, as thunder-struck, 
 
 And Tookabatcha swayed, and shook, 
 
 On old Coosawda's plain : 
 
102 GWYNN .l/.'.l UN. 
 
 The people gaze aghast, as falls, 
 Each after each, the village walls, 
 They shriek— (hen as the chiefs appear, 
 Their white lips mutter fast in fear — 
 
 " The Shawnee Brave ! he still! be mute! 
 Wo feel the shaking of his foot !" 
 
 GWYNN ARAUN. 
 
 I . M. 
 
 Where Time's mantle dim and sable 
 
 In oblivion vanishel h. 
 
 Once there dwelt a race called Fable, 
 
 III the golden a»e of .Myth ; 
 Where Utopia's sin^in^ river 
 Into Dreamland's valley pours, 
 Fairy visions dance and quiver 
 Round its misty moonlit shores. 
 
 There (Iwynn Arann lived and flourished, 
 
 Founder of a happy race, 
 
 Who all kindly virtues cherished, 
 
 Born to brighten, and to bless ; 
 
 Knowing naught of false pretenses, 
 
 Living by the golden rule, 
 
 Eye, and ear, and soul, and senses 
 
 Only knew the beautiful. 
 
 And they shunned the sultry noon-day, 
 Where the glaring Real gleams, 
 Dwelling where the misty moon-ray 
 Silvers o'er the land of dreams; 
 Taking any shape that pleased them, 
 Learning any lore at will, 
 Where the whim or fancy seized them 
 
 Wandering invisible. 
 
GWYNN ARAUN. 10 
 
 And they talked with streams and Mowers, 
 Learned the lore of stars and trees, 
 Sang their songs with clouds and showers, 
 Birds, and butterflies, and hees, 
 Answered hack the squirrel's chatter 
 Through the deep entangled wood, 
 Knew each insect's chirp and twitter, 
 J n its sylvan solitude. 
 
 In his airy flights, Gwynn Arann 
 Rode a horse with shining wings, 
 Bearing him from planets barren, 
 To the worlds where summer sings; 
 And a magic lute he carried, 
 At whose music glad and gay, 
 Guilt and Grief, with footsteps hurried, 
 Faint and trembling, fled away. 
 
 Once a syren voice he fancied, 
 Calling from the singing streams, 
 Asking questions never answered 
 In the shadow-land of Dreams; 
 As on problems dark, he pondered, 
 Searching through the dim Ideal, 
 All unwittingly, he wandered 
 Into regions of the Real ; 
 
 To a land where shine and shadow, 
 Wailing woe, and laughing mirth, 
 Arid plain, and blooming meadow, 
 Make the mingled scenes of Earth ; 
 And he wanders through its mazes, 
 Gardens bright, and forests wild ; 
 Pleased and wondering, lie gazes. 
 Like a sunny-hearted child ; 
 
 Till at last his eyes alighted 
 On a Sage with silvered head, 
 And he straightway him invited 
 To a feast by Nature spread ; 
 Food to meet a monarch's wishes, 
 Spices sweet, of worth untold, 
 Luscious fruits on jewelled dishes, 
 Vintage rare, in cups of gold. 
 
104 Ml VNN ARAX \ 
 
 lint his comrade, scorning fable, 
 Saw with eyes of flesh alone, 
 And maintained thai at his table, 
 Food or vintage there were none ; 
 Only leaves, all dead and dying, 
 
 W Inch I he early frost had nipped, 
 
 Only draughl unsatisfying, 
 
 From the babbling Btreamlel dipped. 
 
 Taunt , and jest and sneer lie showered, 
 
 Till Gwynn A.raun, wounded sore. 
 \ nd by sorrow overpowered, 
 Fled from Earth forevermore; 
 
 Knt, as down 1 he hoary ages, 
 'Time's light sandal steals apace, 
 
 Sometimes still, among the Sages, 
 Wanders one of Axaun's race. 
 
 l [earing i>nt t he voice of duty, 
 
 I [eeding lam., h, nor sneer, nor gibe, 
 Seeing only forms of beauty, 
 
 With the insl incl of his t rihc ; 
 And again he spreads the banquet 
 
 By the hand of nature dressed, 
 
 And with haughty smile, and languid, 
 
 Saunters in, the bidden guest. 
 
 And again, with scornful laughter, 
 Is t he cruel arrow hurled, 
 
 Poisoned weapons follow after 
 
 From the mob yon call "t he world ;" 
 
 Till Gwynn A rami, lone and weary. 
 
 Fainting on Earth's arid sand, 
 From a life all bleak and dreary, 
 
 I I ides him in his Fatherland. 
 
 Lifl your t rumpet, Sage I and blow it ; 
 Hurl your last envenomed dart — 
 
 "Here another hare-brained Poet, 
 Perished of a broken heart ; 
 Just because we sane folk wouldn't 
 All turn madmen on t he spot ; 
 Being sane we tried, but couldnt 
 
 See the world, 06 it WOS not." 
 
PAINTED ROCK 
 
 A LEGEND OFTENNESSEE. 
 
 L. v. r 
 
 The Rock alluded to is a tremendous precipice on the 
 Tennessee river, which rises perpendicularly from the water to 
 a height of three hundred feet. It is probably four hundred 
 yards in length, and is the headland of one of the ridges of the 
 Cumberland, which appears to ha\e heen broken in twain at 
 that point to allow I he river to pass. Along the top of t lie prec. 
 ipice there are many places when; the water exudes, strongly 
 impregnated with iron and other coloring substances, which, 
 running down the face of the Rock give it the appearance of 
 having Keen rudely painted. From this circumstance it takes 
 its name. Old Indian traditions, however, assign another and 
 Very different cause for the coloring, believing thai it was the 
 blood of their noted braves slain in battle upon the summit, 
 which ho deeply dyed the river front of the famous Painted 
 Rock. 
 
 Long years rustle by, like the time-1 inted Leaves 
 
 That low on the waters are shed, 
 When the wind through the frost-smitten foliage 
 grieves, 
 
 And the birds of the Summer have fled. 
 Yet leave they an echo — those swift-gliding years, 
 
 Of races that fearless and free 
 ll^yi' dwelt, (ere had settled the stout " Pioneers,") 
 
 On the banks of the bright Tennessee. 
 
10G VMSTF.h lincK. 
 
 It rises from river, from valley ami glen, 
 That echo, -it steals from the glade, 
 \ ii<l it Whispers its stories of dark-visaged men 
 
 Id the depths of the old forest shade. 
 And here, where the craggy, and weather- stained 
 rock 
 Hangs over the murmuring tide, 
 It tells of the night battle's terrible shock, 
 And the valiant who met it — and died. 
 
 True, tourists may tell us that over the face 
 Of that precipice hoary and dread, 
 
 Rude marks of the graver and paint we may trace 
 But the colors hi/ Xatnre were spread, 
 
 Bui they know not the tale of that night-shadowed 
 fight, 
 
 When down to the brink of t he wave. 
 Both summit and side of that perilous height 
 
 Were dyed with the blood of the hra\ e. 
 
 'Twas the time when the first chills of Autumn 
 around 
 
 Had fallen, and blossoms all pale, 
 hay dying away on the frost-covered ground 
 
 In the dells of that beautiful vale; 
 Far down on the lowlands t he buffalo herds 
 
 Sought out the green pasturage still, 
 And hues like the plumage of Paradise birds • 
 
 hay bright o'er the sun-crested hill. 
 
 O'er the chestnut trees shaking their hardy brown 
 burrs 
 
 The wild-grape lay trailing across; 
 And ripe coin's, fresh fallen from cedar and firs 
 
 J lalf co\ ered t he emerald moss. 
 
 Blue mountains from under the rich amber haze 
 
 Looked up to the westering sun, 
 Whose softening splendor and Long-slanting rays 
 Declared that the summer had gone. 
 
 A flame on the precipice ! Boldly its gleam 
 Shunts up from the top of the " Rock ;" 
 
 "lis the trunk of a pine-tree that hangs o'er the 
 stream, 
 And breasted the hurricane's shock. 
 
PAINTED ROCK. 107 
 
 An<l there on the summit ;i warrior baud 
 
 Lies, gathered to silenl repose, — 
 "lis t lie brave Tuscarora — the pride of t be land 
 
 on the track of his treacherous Iocs. 
 
 He scorus in the lowland to make bim a lair — 
 
 He .scorns in the forest to bide ; 
 When the foeman comes on, Tuscarora is there, 
 
 Willi bis warriors, trusty and tried. 
 He loves on the crag-rifted mountain alone 
 
 To sleep OH Some tomilit less peak, 
 
 Where the cry of i he vull are can answer his own 
 With a hungered and death-telling shriek. 
 
 Ami here where i he night wind in rapid career 
 
 Sweeps over the rock-cradled nesl 
 Of the sun loving eagle, t he dark mountaineer, 
 
 And his followers, laid them to rest; 
 While rose on the aighl a magnificent blaze 
 
 As the pine beacon's quivering glow 
 Cast down its huge fire Hakes and deep tinted rays 
 
 When- the water-tones tinkle below. 
 
 Like a y^ eye in heaven the blood circled moon 
 
 Looked oul with a wondering stare, 
 And cloud, cliff and river, and precipice soon 
 
 Were lit with its wildering glare. 
 And the mist rolling up from the face of die stream 
 
 Hung heavily over t he heighl , 
 Yet, shining beneath it, the bright billows gleam 
 
 Jn the wizzard and wandering light. 
 
 As down the deep gorges the winter wind launches', 
 
 I lis voice through the caverns re-echoing hoarse; 
 His fury abroad 'mid the hare forest, branches, 
 
 Uprooting the rocks in his terrible course ; 
 So, dread to the sleepers, the sudden up-breaking 
 
 ( )f pleasantest dreaming and peaceful repose, 
 The sentinel's shout brought ;i fearful awaking 
 
 That saw them environed by murderous Ides 
 
 Close gathered the "Braves" — like a thunder-bo 
 rung 
 
 The Chieftain's defiance on high ; 
 Abroad to the wind-gust his signal was flung 
 
 And his warriors echoed the cry ; 
 
108 PAINTED ROCK. 
 
 His eye in its socket, a fountain of flame, 
 Rolled redly, as gashing his cheek 
 
 Down-flashing the blade of a battle-axe came, 
 And was died with the blood-gushing reek. 
 
 To withering hatred those spirits were given, 
 
 They fought not for victory then — 
 And souls that knew naught of the mercy of Heaven 
 
 Disdained now to ask it of men : 
 The red stream of carnage a cataract runs 
 
 Far over the precipice side ; 
 With the blood of a thousand — the wilderness' 
 sons — 
 
 The sward on the summit was dyed ! 
 
 The conflict was over — and out on the brow 
 
 Of the " Rock," where the beacon had shone, 
 All wounded, and bleeding, and desolate now, 
 
 Stood the brave Tuscarora— alone. 
 His falcon-eye measured the perilous steep 
 
 Deep-dyed with its streamlets of gore — 
 Quick ! ere the foes reach him — one tiger-like leap, 
 
 And they saw the young Sachem no more ! 
 
 Swift waters closed o'er him — the gallant and 
 brave — 
 
 And the pride of his nation and land 
 Sank, whelmed in the rushing and fetterless wave — 
 
 The last of his warrior band. 
 And red with his life-blood was sullied the foam 
 
 Of the blue billows wandering free, 
 When the battle was lost and he sought his last- 
 home 
 
 In the depths of the dark Tennessee ! 
 
KATY DID. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 Summer twilight's slow declining, 
 
 All the summer stars are shining, 
 Gleams of go-Id and silver twining, 
 
 In their glow ; 
 Summer breezes gently blowing, 
 Summer blossoms brightly glowing, 
 Summer waters softly flowing, 
 
 Sweet and low. 
 
 Daylight's sound and song is over, 
 Piping quail, and pealing plover 
 Under reeds and grasses hover, 
 
 Shyly hid ; 
 Elfln shapes through forest winging, 
 'Mid the branches softly swinging, 
 Raise the chorus shrilly ringing — 
 
 "Katvdid!" 
 
 'Neath a giant oak I'm lying, 
 Where a cloud of elves, swift flying, 
 Under shining leaflets hieing, 
 
 Softly slid ; 
 And an elfin spell has bound me, 
 And an elfin vinion found me, 
 While the echoes ring around me, 
 
 "Katydid!" 
 
110 KATYDID. 
 
 Down the trunk, an elf" came creeping, 
 With his gauzy pinions sweeping, 
 Ami the rash intruder's sleeping 
 
 Harshly chid ; 
 On my scaled eyelids fluttered, 
 And in accents sternly uttered, 
 O'er and o'er lie slowly muttered, 
 
 •• Katy did!" 
 
 " Tell me, goblin, grim and hoary ! 
 What, the burden of your story V 
 What, of crime, or grief, or glory, 
 
 It has hid ? 
 That the world may know, to-morrow, 
 What, from Elfland she did horrow, 
 What of love, 01 joy. or sorrow, 
 
 Katydid?" 
 
 •"Long ago, in the April days. 
 
 When the world was in its youth, 
 When Chivalry wrote his golden lays, 
 
 And Friendship dwelt with Truth ; 
 Where a crystal river merrily rang 
 
 Its silvery summer chime. 
 Two maidens lived, and laughed, and sang, 
 
 In the bloom of their biossom-time. 
 
 One was pure as a sweet May day. 
 
 With a brow as calm ami fair, 
 Its radiant sunshine gleaming lay 
 
 On the trail of her golden hair ; 
 Soft as the heaven's misty veil. 
 
 Was the glance of her azure eye. 
 Her smile as bright as the star beam pale, 
 
 That shoots from a cloudless sky. 
 
 The other, seemed like a summer day, 
 
 As glowing, and bright, and warm, 
 All Loves and Graces, sleeping lay, 
 
 In the curves of her swaying form ; 
 The lire of passion softly glows 
 
 In her dark eyes' liquid light, 
 Like the rich perfume of a summer rose. 
 
 On the warmth of a tropic night. 
 
K i /') DID. HI 
 
 o'er the fragranl warinthof her dreaming hours 
 
 The breal b of passion fell, 
 Like summer de^ on the thirsty flowers 
 
 Of n shadov haunted dell ; 
 (Jiving to face, and form, and eye 
 
 Thai potent . God-like power, 
 
 Thai lends its glory to the Bky, 
 its fragrance to t he flower, 
 
 A kingly spirit was Victor Vane, 
 
 Loyal in hearl and word. 
 His soul as knightly, and free from stain 
 
 As the blade of his trusty sword 
 Bu1 Cupid had taken him by surprise, 
 
 And woven a cunning snare 
 In the glance of (Telia's azure eyes, 
 
 And the gleam of her sunny hair. 
 
 Pure as snow . w as t lie maiden's hrow , 
 
 As stainless, her finger a white, 
 As lir clasped them close, in the languid glow 
 Of a suit r\ summer nighl ; 
 
 Where. s\\ i ft to kindle, and SWifl to die, 
 
 False eye-love reigned alone. 
 
 lie plighted his troth, and honor high, 
 As many a man has done — 
 
 Plighted a love lie did not know ; 
 
 Recorded a vow on high, 
 Faithful to live, through weal or woe. 
 
 To a soulless, sensuous lie — 
 As many a fateful web was spun 
 I n t he ages gone before, 
 
 As many a lite shall he undone 
 Till time shall he no more. 
 
 Sleeping he lay, on the lulling tide 
 
 of the senses' ebb and sw ell. 
 Till his soul awoke to the pomp and pride 
 
 ^">( a gianl passion spell ; 
 
 Where flowers of fancy, and fruit of thought, 
 
 And fragrance of hearl and soul, 
 \ll beautiful gifts their power w rought 
 
 Wit h a limitless cent rol. 
 
11-' KATYDID. 
 
 And both awoke from the slumbrous ease 
 
 Of a false, deceitful dream, 
 As all barques founder in passion's seas, 
 
 At the mouth of friendship's stream ; 
 Awoke to know, earth held no joy, 
 
 Xor could heaven's golden strand, 
 Hold the bliss supreme, without alloy, 
 
 Of a single clasping hand. 
 
 And what did Victor ? He prayed and plead, 
 
 As men always plead and pray — 
 That his darling should by his hand be led 
 
 To elysian fields away — 
 Prayed, though his truth plead loud and long 
 
 At the feet of his headlong will ; 
 For truth was faithful, and honor strong, 
 
 But passion was stronger still. 
 
 And what did Katy ? Immortal bays 
 
 Over graves of mortals bend, 
 And minstrels sing, in triumphant lays, 
 
 " He gave his life for a friend — " 
 But love is stronger than life, or death, 
 
 What sceptre to her extend, 
 What victor's crown, or what minstrel's breath, 
 
 Who gave her love for her friend ? 
 
 Praying and pleading, she prostrate lay, 
 
 One tropical summer night, 
 For a power to conquer passion's sway, 
 
 For absence, or death, or flight — 
 AVhen an elf of our tribe (we are elves you know)' 
 
 Whispered softly within her ear — 
 " I'll work you a spell that shall lay him low, 
 
 And quiet your every fear." 
 
 From field and forest, from hill and vale, 
 
 Troop round her the shadows grey, 
 And the mortal maid, like a vision pale, 
 
 Is fading from earth away ; 
 They tread the circle, they weave the spells 
 
 That in elfin shapes lie hid, 
 And now the maiden in Elf-land dwells, 
 
 A gauze-winged Katy-did. 
 
KATYDID. 113 
 
 Around her, flowers of every form, 
 
 Exhale their fragrant breath, 
 And a magic circle shields her from 
 
 The curse of age and death ; 
 And the love that wrought such grief before, 
 
 A radiant, blissful fire, 
 Has left her all things to adore, 
 
 And nothing to desire. 
 
 AVhere roses blossom, and jessamines swing, 
 
 And lovers still plead and sigh, 
 She soars aloft on her gossamer wing, 
 
 And views them with watchful eye ; 
 And when, for their selfish, sensuous joys, 
 
 They've fancied that conscience chid, 
 The words but spoke in the warning voice 
 
 Of the gauze-winged Katy-did. 
 
 When we lie at night where the branches swing 
 
 To the breeze's fitful swell, 
 The singing Katy's a feminine thing, 
 
 And always wants to tell; 
 But if mortal hand on the tree is laid, 
 
 The elfin speech is sealed, 
 And they crouch and cower under leafy shade, 
 
 Lest the tale should be revealed. 
 
 And whenever a mortal hears the tale 
 
 From human vision hid, 
 His mortal life must fade and pale, 
 
 He becomes a Katy-did — 
 Now gather round her, Elfin Shades ! 
 
 With your weird and wizard spell, 
 And bear her off to the everglades, 
 
 Where the elves and fairies dwell." 
 
 Shadows dim are trooping round me, 
 And the elfin dream that found me, 
 With its wizard spell has bound me, 
 
 As they bid ; 
 Now my gauzy wings are sweeping, 
 And my tiny eyes bright peeping, 
 And I spring aloft— a leaping 
 
 "Katv-did." 
 
114 THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 
 
 All tay human hopes are dying, 
 
 All my human visions flying, 
 
 And my human tongue from crying 
 
 Is forbid ; 
 AVhen my wings I vainly flutter, 
 Try in vain, the tale to utter, 
 I can only hoarsely mutter, 
 
 Katy-did ! 
 
 All my mortal days are over ; 
 In the ripening grain and clover, 
 I shall chirp, and spring, and hover 
 
 Elves amid ; 
 So shall never come, the morrow 
 When the world the tale shall borrow, 
 What, of love, or joy, or sorrow, 
 
 Katy did. 
 
 THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF NATCHEZ. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO SARAH A. DORSEY, BY L. V. F. 
 
 "A woman dreamed in early youth that she was betrothed 
 to the sun. She built her a wigwam apart, filled it with the em- 
 blems of her alliance, and means of an independent life. There 
 she passed her days, sustained by her own exertions, and true 
 to her supposed engagement." Stories of the Natchez. 
 
 Early in the moon of flowers, 
 When the sweet magnolia bowers 
 Of the haughty tribes of Natchez, 
 
 First were flushing into bloom— 
 From the land of lost E-ya-sho, * 
 Came the Princess Kee-chin-ja-shu, f 
 
THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 115 
 
 And her royal wigwam builded, 
 
 Where the Temple's shadows gloom. 
 
 'Twas a chosen nook, where flourished 
 All the trees the maiden cherished, 
 The catalpa, the palmetto, 
 
 And the dainty-leaved pecan ; 
 And their trunks the climbing roses 
 (Called the " Cherokee,") encloses, 
 Flinging forth their hoarded fragrance 
 
 On the early summer dawn. 
 
 Sweeping, broad acacia branches 
 Swung their heavy avalanches 
 Of sweet, snowy bloom above it, 
 
 Drooping to the conic dome ; 
 Gemmed it was with treasures floral, 
 Hung with webs of dyes auroral, 
 And a streamlet, crystal-footed, 
 
 Crept around the maiden's home. 
 
 And the Princess ? Gems were glowing 
 O'er her matchecota, flowing, 
 And her lantn proud was woven 
 
 Of the plumes incarnadine, 
 That bedeck the bright flamingo ; 
 While the sunsets' blushes linger 
 'Mid the jewels that are clustered 
 
 In its circlet opaline. 
 
 Oft a strange, sybillic splendor, 
 On her brow, appeared to lend her 
 Gifts and graces, more than human, 
 
 In angelic beauty drest ; 
 Pure that brow as sunlit crystal, 
 Pure the eyes with passion vestal, 
 While the great, true heart of woman 
 
 Beat within her noble breast. 
 
 When the dawning's crimson tinges 
 Light the sky, and lift the fringes, 
 Laid like clouds of dewy darkness 
 
 Over eyes of darker night ; 
 Robed in white, severe and simple, 
 Soft she glides within the temple, 
 
116 THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 
 
 Orisons of love to offer 
 
 To the rising god of light. 
 
 When are o'er the Temple's duties 
 She will sit, and shape out beauties 
 In the burnished clouds above her, 
 
 Thinking oracles to find ; 
 Omens in the leaf's low whisper, 
 And the birdling's song of vesper — 
 Hidden voices in the rushing 
 
 Ditbyrambics of the wind. 
 
 Gifts the chieftains brought to greet her, 
 The She-she-gwam of the meta 
 Sounded loudly ; the chi-chi-cois 
 
 Whirled they in the mazy dance ; 
 But her sweet voice did not falter 
 As she sang before the altar 
 Of her love, for naught so earthly 
 
 Wins her calm, uplifted glance. 
 
 Then the "Wind that Rushes," o'er her, 
 Breathed his sighs of love, before her 
 Knelt the " Unbending Pine," with presents 
 
 For a royal maiden meet ; 
 The " Lone Cloud," in marriage sought her 
 And the "' Sounding Serpent " brought her 
 Belts of wampum, looking love-words 
 
 As he laid them at her feet. 
 
 All in vain — a spirit bridal 
 
 Wedded her unto an idol, 
 
 One who rules the sky, whose image 
 
 She kept guarded in her breast ; 
 She was pledged— the Sun-God's We-wun, * 
 And her heart could not be re-won, 
 So her tent stood like the japu's 
 
 Lonely, isolated nest. 
 
 When, with eye-beam like the eagle, 
 And with spirit rightly regal, 
 
THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 117 
 
 Comes the woman to redeem us 
 
 From old custom's scourging rod? 
 
 In her nature deep and real, 
 
 Shrining all our bright ideal, 
 
 Who shall dare to be a Sun Bride, 
 
 Dare to worship naught but God. 
 
 When, oh ! when shall perfect woman, 
 This our darkened "sphere" illumine? 
 When our gods of clay and gilding 
 
 To the earth, abhorred, be east? 
 What shall be the sign and token 
 That our idols, old, lie broken — 
 And that light alone we worship, 
 
 Oh! thou bright Iconoclast 
 
 Type of womanhood's completeness, 
 Yet retaining all the sweetness, 
 All the purity of childhood ; 
 
 Like the sunny bloom of June, 
 In the loveliest connection, 
 Blending summer's light perfection, 
 And the spring-time's dewy freshness, 
 
 In a softened, splendid noon. 
 
 As the years around her (duster, 
 They but bring increasing lustre 
 To the heart that still keeps tuneful, 
 
 All its sweetly sounding strings ; 
 For each year is added dower 
 Unto her, whose pride and power 
 Ne'er allowed earth's dust to gather, 
 
 On her spirit's snowy wings ! 
 
 As the Sun-Bride watcdied the marches 
 
 Of her lover up the arches 
 
 Of the morning wdien his arrows 
 
 Pierced the mountain's shaggy crest; 
 Till its wrinkled front, and hoary, 
 Dripped with crimson, gashed and gory — 
 And a thousand streams, ensanguined, 
 
 Rippled down its snowy breast. 
 
 Let us watch our dim horizon, — 
 Soon may come a Sun, surprising 
 
US THE FIXE-FLY. 
 
 \'l the nations with its splendor, 
 
 Irmed with arrows sharp and strong, 
 
 To destroy the ghostly terroi 
 
 And the boary-neaded errors 
 
 l og by custom trenched and guarded 
 In the mountain-holds of wrong ! 
 
 a- the sun at rising, see-eth 
 
 How the old moon-shadow thv-oth. 
 Like a spectre, wan and faded, 
 
 O'er the western hills aw . 
 - -hall flee the light that guides us 
 Now— yet, falsely blinds, and hides US 
 From the true, right revelation — 
 
 Womanhood's pure "perfect da\ 
 
 THE 11 KK Id Y 
 
 1 . M. 
 
 The summer sun has sunk to n - 
 Behind the crimson shrouded west, 
 And closed the gates of day ; 
 
 The summer moon is sailing s. >\\ . 
 Through lakos of blue and rifts of snow . 
 And soft the summer s - glow 
 B< Q< ..' . silver ray. 
 
 Her censer swoet the orange throw-. 
 And through the spreading live-oak boughs, 
 e starry jessamines run : 
 
 oath a tall magnolia's height, 
 Where glance the moonbeams silver bright. 
 Two shadows fall athwart the light, 
 \ ad mingle into one. 
 
 The crowd is left— the circling dan, 
 Forgotten in the pleading glance 
 
THE run: fly. 119 
 
 Of wist lul tenderness ; 
 Two outstretched bands together creep, 
 Locks, black and gold, together sweep, 
 And soft sighs tremble into sleep, 
 
 'Neath passion's mute caress. 
 
 Her hair floats out like golden bars, 
 Her eyes gleam like two mist-veiled stars, 
 
 From tuit a summer sky ; 
 Hor Blender fineters, suit and fair, 
 Thread the dark masses of his hair, 
 And pluck from out its clusters rare, 
 
 A glimmering Fire-fly. 
 
 •Can'sl toll mo why the Fire-flies shine? 
 And what they are, sweel Viva mine '.' 
 
 Wonld'st learn the legend rare? 
 1 hoard it from a dark-eyed girl, 
 With ohooks of rose, and teeth of pearl, 
 Who gleaned them w here the Ivies curl, 
 
 To sot them in her hair. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 "Once in the days long buried, 
 
 When love was in its flower, 
 Bros, the god whom lovers hail, 
 
 Wont floating from bower to bower, 
 Folding in youthful bosoms 
 
 His pinions, light and (loot. 
 And breathing from dewy, crimson lips, 
 
 His murmurings, soft and sweet. 
 
 u He folded his light wings softly, 
 
 And basked in the sv eel perfume, 
 That floated out from the dewy heart, 
 
 Ufa white magnolia bloom ; 
 Under its shade two lovers 
 
 Worshiped before his shrine, 
 Ami stood as he willed it— heart to heart, 
 
 As wo do -Viva mine ! 
 
 "And softly, in silence musing, 
 
 ll«' thought of these love-word's death : 
 'How sad, how sad ! that such perfect things 
 
120 THE FIRE-FL V. 
 
 Should perish thug in a breath; 
 These murmuring, burning love words, 
 
 So old, and yet always new. 
 Surely, if Love shall forever live, 
 
 These should be immortal too. 
 
 " 'For no man's mouth grows weary 
 
 Of saying them o'er and o'er, 
 And no woman's ear shall ever tire 
 
 Of learning their magic lore; 
 So Eros, the god of lovers. 
 
 Will give to these sweet words wings, 
 And cast them out on the summer nights, 
 
 With their star-like glimmerings. 
 
 " 'And their fire shall burn like star beams 
 
 On the breast of the dewy rose, 
 And their sweetness float from the lily's heart, 
 
 Where they linger in hushed repose ; 
 So no love word shall perish, 
 
 No lover's kiss shall die, 
 But live and float on the summer wind, 
 
 A glimmering Fire-tiv.' 
 
 o* 
 
 "Year after year they're burning, 
 
 These tender and fitful fires, 
 That owe their birth to the whisperings 
 
 Of lover's warm desires ; 
 Some say they live on forever, 
 
 Some say they die in a day ; 
 Who knows? For they always look the same, 
 
 And always the same words say ; 
 
 "For are not the words of passion, 
 
 Whatever its object be, 
 To-day, to-morrow, forever, 
 
 One murmuring , blessed three? 
 'I love you,' is all they whisper, 
 
 Forever; at Eros' shrine — 
 'I love you' — answer me in this kiss — 
 
 Do you love me, Viva mine?" 
 
THE ENCHANTED MOUNTAIN. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "This mountain is situated in the north-eastern part of 
 Georgia, near the Tennessee line. It derives its name, partly 
 from the traditions of the Indians, and partly from the fact 
 that a great number of impressions appear in the rocks above 
 the surface of the earth, which present to the eye the ap- 
 pearance of having been made when the rock was in a soft 
 state, by the hands and feet of human beings, and the feet of 
 birds and animals. The "Giant Foot" mentioned, is seventeen 
 and a half inches in length, with six toes, and near it is the 
 distinct impression of a finely formed female hand. This 
 mountain is the Ararat of the Southern Aborigines." 
 
 Our Sires 
 
 Who long ago have sought the land of souls, 
 
 Were wont to tell a story of this mount, 
 
 To us, their children. Once, they say, of old, 
 
 This pleasant world was drowned, wild tumult trod 
 
 The raging waters, rousing from his bed 
 
 That mighty Eastern Sea, which sleeping, hides 
 
 The early sunrise ; and when wakened, he 
 
 Like a great giant rose, and clasped the earth 
 
 In his embrace, till tempest-surges swept 
 
 All life from her fair bosom. Many days 
 
 A world of cloud above o'erhanging, hurled 
 
 Its driving rains abroad ; and thunder crouched 
 
 Behind its folds, and shot his arrows through 
 
 Down the deep darkness. For there was no light, 
 
 The starry fires went out, the moon had hid, 
 
 And that great orb which brings the day, still slept 
 
 In the red tents of sundown. 
 
122 THE EXCHA XT ED MOUN T. I IN. 
 
 Then, they say, 
 All people perished, save one mighty chief, 
 And his fair bride, whom the Manitou loved, 
 And placed them in a great canoe, with birds, 
 And many beasts ; that there they might be safe 
 Till the dark days were over. Thus they lived, 
 For they were good and beautiful, and both 
 Served the Great Father, who had made them so. 
 
 Night was o'er ; 
 The darkness broke at last, the rosy morn 
 Peered through dissolving haze, and shadowy 
 And slow, the light poured in. The great canoe 
 Stood stranded on this lofty pinnacle 
 That far o'ertops his comrades. A bright path 
 Was painted down the sky, with gorgeous hues, 
 And then the chieftain and his bride first saw 
 This world's good angels coming back to her, 
 And this, the road they came. Time passed away, 
 The waters fell, the earth grew green anew, 
 And they looked forth again upon a scene 
 Of grandeur, and of beauty. Day arose, 
 They saw the star-fires wane, the valley's smile, 
 The slumbrous shadows of (he dewy hills, 
 The clear, broad river flowing past the steep, 
 A sea of glassy fire, as on it's wave 
 Slept the red blaze of morning. Then alone, 
 Sole dwellers in a new and blooming world, 
 The two went forth, and all the beasts and birds, 
 Rejoicing, followed them. 
 
 Pale daughter of the snow ! 
 If thou dost doubt the red man's legend, told 
 By his old ancestors ; thou needs must scale 
 This mountain summit, there to be assured 
 Of all its solemn truth. There wilt thou see 
 The proofs they left their children, bedded deep, 
 In solid granite, still is kept the mould 
 Of our queen mother's hand ; the giant foot 
 Of her great lord ; and round them lie the tracks 
 Of bird and beast, with closely circling coil 
 Of scaly serpent. There 'tis all as plain 
 As if in written record on that rock 
 T'were registered, and this the signet-stamp 
 Of the Great Spirit. 
 
THE DEW DROPS. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 I >nce in the days of the olden time 
 When the gods held speeeh with men, 
 
 Three hand-maidens of Krishna came 
 With a prayer for his benison, 
 
 And a wish that he would their wisdom test- 
 He gave them three drops of dew, 
 
 Bade each bestow where she deemed it best 
 And bring him her record true. 
 
 The first flew earthward, and soon she saw 
 
 The singing waters run 
 Where a crystal fountain leaped and played 
 
 In the gleaming summer sun ; 
 The fainting pilgrim died of thirst, 
 
 And the earth was parched and dry, 
 But the king's bright fountain upward burst 
 
 In murmuring melody. 
 
 And she thought — "if over this arid waste 
 
 I could scatter a flood of rain — 
 But what could a single dew-drop d<> 
 
 To assuage this mighty pain ? 
 Here where her bright companions dwell 
 
 She shall live and gleam anew" — 
 And into the crystal fountain fell 
 
 Her glistening drop of dew. 
 
 The second hovered over the sea, 
 
 And under it's climbing waves 
 She saw the Indian oyster lie 
 
 Among sea weed and coral caves ; 
 
124 THE DEW-DROPS. 
 
 And she thought— "each drop of dew that falls 
 
 In an oyster's open shell 
 Becomes a pure and priceless pearl, 
 
 So the mystic legends tell — 
 
 Now in this shell it is surely hest 
 
 I should drop my treasure down, 
 "Where it shall soon to a gem be changed, 
 
 And may shine in a monarch's crown ; 
 Untold wealth it may bring to man 
 
 By this alchymistic spell'' — 
 And she shook the crystal dew-drop down 
 
 In the mouth of the open shell. 
 
 The third had scarce begun her flight 
 
 O'er the seared and parching land, 
 When she saw a little helpless bird 
 
 Dying upon the sand ; 
 Its wings were drooped, and it's bright eyes 
 glazed, 
 
 Xo song from it's bosom burst, 
 But it's little life was going out 
 
 In an agony of thirst. 
 
 And she thought — "thus shall my boon be given, 
 
 If it be but a drop of rain, 
 To help the first, and lowliest thing 
 
 That I see in mortal pain ; " 
 Into the parched and silent throat 
 
 The cooling dew-drop fell, 
 It"s dull eyes beamed, and it's song uprose 
 
 It's gratitude to tell. 
 
 Then Krishna said that she alone 
 
 Had used her power well, 
 And gave her good and gladsome news 
 
 To the thirsting earth to tell ; 
 And since that day, this maiden fair 
 
 Has scattered her blessing true 
 Over a hushed and waiting world 
 
 In the welcome morning dew. 
 
 - 
 
 Genius is like the morning dew 
 To a dry and parching earth ; 
 
THE MAIDEN Ob' THE MOON. 125 
 
 Use it wisely, ye favored few 
 
 Who garner it's priceless -worth ; 
 Scatter it's gems where'er a heart 
 
 An answering echo gives, 
 Nor deem it's blessings ill bestowed 
 
 On the lowlie6t thing that lives. 
 
 THE MAIDEN OF THE MOON. 
 
 h. v 
 
 "Many summers have passed since the Sweet Strawberry be- 
 came the Maiden of the Moon, yet among all the people of he 
 nation she is ever remembered, for her beauty, and the mystery 
 of her being." Indian Legends. 
 
 Wild was Weesh-Ka-dalola, 
 As the woodland lavandola, 
 Radiant as the aureola 
 Shining round the summer moon ; 
 One of those bright, earnest faces 
 Beaming out in dreary places 
 Like a dew-besprent oasis 
 Flashing in the desert's noon. 
 
 Graceful as the slender willows 
 Swaying o'er the dancing billows, 
 Pure as snowy water lilies 
 On the sleeping waves that ride ; 
 And her silvery, ringing laughter 
 'Mid the rocks re-echoed, after 
 Her white bark canoe would waft her 
 Down the river's pebbled side. 
 
 "Where the sunshine's golden wedges 
 Lie between the rocky ledges, 
 Lighting up the spiky sedges, 
 Came the little maiden too ; 
 
126 THE MAIDEN OF THE MOON. 
 
 Peering down the bosky dingles 
 Where the wave with sunlight mingles, 
 And her brown cheek burns and tingles 
 With a feeling strange and new. 
 
 Lonely still, but older, stronger, 
 She was now a child no longer 
 And the soul's unsated hunger 
 Gleamed, and started from her eye ; 
 Far along, through mist and shadow, 
 Down the cypress shaded meadow 
 Wooing phantom voices led her, 
 Calling— calling, from the sky. 
 
 ?» 
 
 To the phantoms, low — "I fear thee, 
 
 Said she, for her heart grew weary, 
 
 And the path of life seemed dreary, 
 
 She was walking all alone ; 
 
 On a starless path, and sparkless, 
 
 On a wildered way, and markless, 
 
 Where the night-wind, down the darkness, 
 
 With the tempest wandered on. 
 
 Clear the night, and iridescent 
 Shone the new moon's halved crescent, 
 And the bark canoe, quiescent 
 Floated on the still lagoon ; 
 When in robes of silver whiteness, 
 Like the gossamer in lightness, 
 Gleaming in unshadowed brightness, 
 Came the Spirit of the Moon. 
 
 "Child of mystery's baptismal ! 
 Leave this shore so dim and dismal, 
 Rising through the blue abysmal, 
 Reign with me— forever mine ! ' : 
 To her brow the bright blood rushes, 
 From her soul glad music gushes, 
 And amid her burning blushes, 
 Soft she murmurs— "ever thine ! " 
 
 Soul with soul forever blended, 
 Heart to heart, with wings extended, 
 Hand in hand, they swift ascended 
 Where the tempest armies form ; 
 
THE WOOD-STREAM. 127 
 
 And she gazed with timid wonder 
 At the misty realms beyond her, 
 On the kingdom of the thunder, 
 And the birth-place of the storm. 
 
 Softly sped they — lest some Kraken 
 Of this upper deep should waken, 
 And the fair earth-child be taken 
 To the goblin's cloudy lair; 
 Passing swift, the thunder's highland, 
 And along the misty skyland, 
 Reached at last, the crescent island 
 In the purple deeps of air. 
 
 THE WOOD-STREAM. 
 
 L. JI. 
 
 "Where do I come from ?" the singing stream 
 That winds through the forest dim, 
 
 Glinting like shapes in an infant's dream, 
 Over grey rocks, gnarled and grim. 
 
 Mingling my song with the summer's gleam, 
 And the wood-lark's choral hymn? 
 
 "Here he arises ;" you vainly think, 
 
 As you peep round a giant stone 
 With dripping mosses, link on link, 
 
 Through the time-worn chambers grown ; 
 But I laugh from yon pool where the herons drink, 
 
 In my elfish, mocking tone. 
 
 Look farther on ; you will see me still — 
 
 Then ask of the plumy weed, 
 Or the lily that nods to the rippling rill, 
 
 But none will your question heed ; 
 Then listen! and I, with a fairy's skill 
 
 Will the forest riddle read. 
 
128 THE WOOD-STREAM. 
 
 1 1 i lt 1 1 on a pearl-embattled cloud 
 
 In t he realms <>t" upper air, 
 Singing her enrol clear and loud, 
 
 Sat an elfin maiden fair, 
 And wove for her queen, a circlel proud, 
 
 Out of ocean treasure's rare. 
 
 As she wove and sang, a tricksy sprite, 
 In shape of a wandering breeze, 
 
 Her casket hurled from the cloudy height, 
 And the frightened maiden sees 
 
 Her scattered pearls on the earth alight, 
 On flowers, and grass, and trees. 
 
 Fast she hies, but the laughing Fay 
 
 Her glittering treasure hurls 
 Beyond her reach, till helplessly 
 
 Her weary wings she furls, 
 When lo ! on the grass beside her lie 
 
 A thousand lustrous pearls. 
 
 Swiftly her fairy lingers swept 
 Over grass and buds, and flowers ; 
 
 But soon she saw that her casket kept, 
 In gleaming,, glittering showers, 
 
 Not pearls, the tears by the ocean wept, 
 But dvw, the tears of the flowers. 
 
 Now she halts where a pearly fount appears 
 In a mother's anguished eyes, 
 
 Whose fondest hope lies drowned in tears 
 Where her dying darling lies — 
 
 Then onward — gathering tears on tears 
 From human mysteries. 
 
 For smite the rock of t lie human heart 
 
 With passion's divining rod 
 < >f grief, or joy, and tears will start — 
 
 From the veriest human clod 
 Up to the dreamer, who soars apart 
 
 On the win«j;s of a demiyod. 
 
 *o 
 
 Then up to the fairy queen's abode 
 On the cloud-built castle's height 
 
 Onward the sorrowing maiden rode, 
 Still grasping her casket tight ; 
 
THE WOOD-STREAM. 129 
 
 Heavy, and heavier, grew her load, 
 For tears do not weigh light. 
 
 And kneeling lowly before the throne, 
 
 She laid her burden down ; 
 With contrite heart, her fault made known, 
 
 Despite her sovereign's frown ; 
 "Sorrow and tears, bring I alone, 
 
 In lieu of a stainless crown." 
 
 "Sorrow and tears," her queen replies, 
 
 "Have washed clean many a stain ; 
 But vain will prove your bitterest cries, 
 
 A sin-lost cup to drain, 
 No expiation can suffice 
 
 To win it back again. 
 
 "But good thus lost, though never found, 
 
 A seed full often leaves, 
 Which, buried deep in fruitful ground, 
 
 Springs up in golden sheaves ; 
 More blessed harvests gird him round 
 
 Who gives, than who receives. 
 
 "Hasten down to the deepest part 
 
 Of the forest's sylvan shade, 
 And pour these tears in his secret heart, 
 
 Where the thirsting flowers fade, 
 Till blent in one, shall the Wood-stream start, 
 
 By the tears of the forest made." 
 
 His glad leaves whirl in a merry dance, 
 
 As the hemlock's roots I lave, 
 The modest violet looks askance 
 
 In the mirror of my wave, 
 Wistfully, tenderly, like the glance 
 
 Blue eyes at parting gave. 
 
 The thirsty oak as his branches part, 
 
 My grateful murmur hears, 
 Lily and cardinal laughing start 
 
 Where my crystal sheen appears — 
 Here, as in many a human heart, 
 
 Is gladness born of tears. 
 
THE LOST SOIL. 
 
 "After midnight, I was lulled to sleep by the melancholy notes 
 of a bird called 'El-Alma Perdida,' or 'The Lost Soul.' The 
 legend, in the Inca language runs thus : An Indian and his 
 wife went out to work their chacra, taking their infant with 
 them. Searching for water, they left the child cradled on a bed 
 of moss, and when they returned, it was gone. To their repeated 
 cries, as they roamed the woods in search of it, they could get 
 no response save the wailing cry of a little bird, heard then for 
 the first time ; the notes syllabled into 'papa — mamma' — (the 
 present Inichna name of the bird.) The Spanish, with their 
 poetic instinct, called it the Lost Soul." 
 
 Herndon's Amazon. 
 
 Hark ! what a frenzied cry 
 dp the lone forest aisles comes sadly wailing, 
 Now quick and sharp— now choked with agony — 
 
 As sight and sense were failing! 
 
 The far stars coldly smiled 
 Down through the arches of the twilight wood, 
 "Where sire and mother sought their child 
 
 In that dark solitude. 
 
 And low the phantom wind 
 Came stealing o'er the lulls with ghostly feet, 
 Yet paused not in it's Bight to bear one kind, 
 
 Soft echo, shrill and sweet. 
 
 O'er them, the giant trees 
 All proudly waving tossed their arms on high, 
 Yet no loved baby voice, from midst of these, 
 
 Answered their broken cry. 
 
THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 131 
 
 But one sad, piping note, 
 That strangely syllabled a blended name, 
 As seemed it's cadences to fall, or float, 
 
 From boughs above them came. 
 
 The mother started — wild — 
 As the strange sound the forest foliage stirred, 
 Then hastened to the sire— she knew her child 
 
 In that lone spirit bird. 
 
 No word the father spake ; 
 His face was ghastly, and it's haggard lines 
 Lay stern and rigid, like some frozen lake, 
 
 O'ershadowed by it's pines. 
 
 The night came down — afar 
 Was heard the hoarse, deep baying of the storm, 
 And thunder clouds around each captive star 
 
 In black battalions form. 
 
 Now all the mighty wood 
 Has voices like the sullen, sounding sea, 
 While onward rolls the deep, majestic flood 
 His surges solemnly. 
 
 Down came the rushing rain — 
 The bird had down where thunders never roll, 
 And evermore, they call, and call in vain, 
 
 Upon the Wandering Soul. 
 
 THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 Twas the eventide of a golden day 
 In the witching summer time ; 
 Under the hemlock boughs I lay, 
 Learning the mystic rhyme 
 
132 THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 
 
 Made by the whispering winds that play 
 Out :in<l in, as the branches sway ; 
 Silver bells, at the close of day 
 Kinging their vesper chime. 
 
 Echoing back the streamlet's song, 
 The wild wood notes resound, 
 And the hoary rocks lift their heads among 
 The flowers that bloom around ; 
 Ghastly and weird, in thedying day, 
 Clustering round me these giants lay, 
 Spell-bound slumberers grim and grey, 
 Sleeping on haunted ground. 
 
 Over the iorest's deepening shade 
 
 A silvery halo hung, 
 
 Shadowy forms through the branches played, 
 
 And flitted the flowers among. 
 
 Lute-like melodies tilled the air, 
 
 Answer spoke to my voiceless prayer, 
 
 "Take, oh, mortal the guerdon fair, 
 
 Gift of the mystic tongue !" 
 
 "Wouldst thou learn of the magic spell 
 
 By fairy wisdom found, 
 
 Under whose power these giants fell, 
 
 In dreamless slumber bound ? 
 
 Learn how these murderers dark and grim 
 
 Under the swell of the conqueror's hymn, 
 
 Voiceless, and still through the ages dim, 
 
 Sleep, on enchanted ground. 
 
 "Under yon willow lies, still' and cold, 
 One who, with stealthy tread, 
 Basilisk glances, and slimy fold, 
 Lifted his serpent head — 
 Giant Doubting — but o'er his brow, 
 Star-eyed Faith drops her fingers now, 
 "Trust the Father," she whispers low ; 
 Doubting lies, cold and dead. 
 
 "Under that hemlock, sear and dry. 
 Shattered by tiery hands, 
 Dull Despair, with his ghastly eye, 
 Lies under mystic bands; 
 
THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 133 
 
 White winged Hope, to the rescue came, 
 Touched the heart with her vestal flame, 
 Armed the souLwith her holy name, 
 Conqueror now, she stands. 
 
 "Under the clustering nightshade's dye, 
 Deadly, though fair to see, 
 Envy, Hatred, and Malice lie, 
 Victors no more to be ; 
 Ransomed legions her power prove, 
 Captives, chained by the links of love, 
 Dove-like Charity, broods above — 
 Chiefest among the three. 
 
 "Captive giants on each side lie, 
 Clustering close around, 
 Vengence, Cruelty, Calumny, 
 Sleep on enchanted ground, 
 Holy made, by a Master hand, 
 Over them royally see him stand, 
 Love, all-conquering, waves his wand, 
 God-like, and kingly crowned. 
 
 "Wayward daughter of changeful earth ! 
 
 Doubting, and passion-bound, 
 
 Oft, by the demons that spring to birth, 
 
 Weak and despairing found ; 
 
 Faith, Hope, Charity — own their sway, 
 
 Under Love's sceptre your passions lay, 
 
 Spell-bound forever, your demons may 
 
 Sleep on enchanted ground." 
 
LEGEND OF THE INFERNAL PASS. 
 
 L. V. 1-. 
 
 "About sixty miles south of Santa Fe, in the mighty range of 
 the Sierra Blanca, there is a famous gorge, some fifteen miles 
 through, called El Canone Inferno, where rise stupendous masses 
 of rock piled upon rock, until the traveler sees at the top, 
 but a narrow strip of sky, while around him, all is involved in 
 chaotic gloom. The white steed of the tradition is still seen at 
 intervals, by the warriors of the Comanches." 
 
 In the white man's tent, on the far frontier, 
 
 At the fall of the faded leaf. 
 'Mid the pale faced followers of the deer, 
 
 Sat an old Comanche chief; 
 And the sigh of the wailing wind swept by 
 
 Through the troubled autumn sky. 
 
 They had passed through the canone wild that day 
 
 And they noted a solemn spell, 
 As they entered the toilsome, darkling way, 
 
 O'er the red man's features fell ; 
 For a sound came up through the ravines grey, 
 
 Like a wild steed's startled neigh. 
 
 The men leaped up at the thrilling sound, 
 
 For their toiling mules moved slow, 
 But the chief cast a wary glance around, 
 
 And his guarded tone was low, 
 As he bade them haste, while the kindly sun 
 
 Looked down in the gorges dun. 
 
 And then, when the evening camp was set, 
 And the hunters rest had found — 
 
LEGEND OE THE INFERNAL PASS. 135 
 
 When all, in the deer-skin lodge had met, 
 
 They asked of this mystic sound ; 
 And the chief, while his bronzed cheek grew pale, 
 
 Thus told them the fearful tale. 
 
 "Pale sons of the eastern ocean's foam ! 
 
 'Twas before your fathers came 
 To take for their own, the red man's home, 
 
 And to give his hills their name, 
 That the bold Comanche held this laud 
 
 With a high, and mighty hand. 
 
 "My nation dwelt on the prairie plain— 
 
 Their wigwam fires shone bright, 
 Their children played in the waving cave ; 
 
 And the mothers' hearts were light, 
 And the fathers' soul like the bended bow 
 
 On the hills of long ago. 
 
 "In those old days, by tho snake-like pass 
 That down through the mountain creeps, 
 
 Where grows the spotted and sunless grass 
 That a dew of poison weeps — 
 
 In a huge cane cleft of the rifted stone, 
 A stranger dwelt alone. 
 
 "None knew the name of his father's race, 
 
 Or from what far land he came, 
 He went not forth on the hunter's chase, 
 
 Or the warrior's path of fame ; 
 But often the cavern rocked and rang 
 
 To a hammer's sounding clang. 
 
 "He roamed through the savage glens that lie 
 
 'Mid the giant rocks up-piled, 
 Where a shining ore from the Suu-god's eye 
 
 Lies hid in the ravines wild 
 And the towering, misty shadows form 
 
 The midnight's bellowing storm. 
 
 "Like some tall tree on the waste alone, 
 
 Was his steru and lofty mein ; 
 It told of a power not yet o'erthrown, 
 
 And it suited that desert scene, 
 And his voice, like a trumpet seemed to roll 
 
 Through fathomless gulfs of soul. 
 
136 LEGION OF THE ISFEIIS'AL PASS. 
 
 "He loved a maid of my kingly race, 
 
 And he sought her for his bride ; 
 But the Red Bird .shrank from his dark embrace, 
 
 And his den on the mountain side ; 
 From his offered love, she turned and fled, 
 
 For her heart grew sick with dread. 
 
 "Her sire looked on with a knitted brow. 
 
 Full scornfully he smiled ; 
 And said — "shall the cawing carrion crow 
 
 Be mate for the eagle's child '.' 
 In our eyrie fallen, we know not whence — 
 
 Let the children drive him hence !" 
 
 "But a vengeance vow, on the wind had passed, 
 A flame on the night had shown ; 
 
 And the hoofs of a snow-white steed struck fast 
 On the mountain pathway lone — 
 
 And they say that steed, from the cavern won, 
 Was the Machinito's son. 
 
 "His neigh to the wind rose, wild and high — 
 
 (Thou rider bold, take heed !) 
 With the stag's fleet foot, he bounded by, 
 
 That beautiful demon steed ! 
 But the glare of his eye the spirit shook, 
 
 With it's terrible human look. 
 
 "The camp was roused at the break of day, 
 
 By a frantic shriek upborne 
 On the passing winds of the dawning grey, 
 
 Through the silent hush of morn ; 
 And the warriors armed them for the fight, 
 
 By the morning star's pale light. 
 
 "Away ! away ! 'tis the demon steed, 
 And his trampling shakes the grove — 
 
 Afar ! afar ! at a fearful speed 
 The night-hawk bears the dove; 
 
 But the eagle's brood are on his route, 
 With a fierce, triumphant shout. 
 
 "O'er hill, o'er vale, for many a mile, 
 
 By a hundred braves pursued, 
 The steed and rider tied the while, 
 
 With a courage unsubdued ; 
 
LEGEND OF THE INFERNAL PASS. 
 
 The maiden's friends may toil, and strain, 
 But the dark-mouthed pass they gain. 
 
 "The rider, here, at his utmost need, 
 
 When the goal was almost won, 
 Half checked, in mid-career, his steed 
 
 Still steadily bounding on, 
 And shook his spear at the following foes, 
 That over (he summit rose. 
 
 "An arrowy flight on the darkened air! 
 
 A shriek, and a fearful hound — 
 A dart struck deep in her bosom fair, 
 
 And the Red-Bird fell ! Around 
 Her lover (he lire darts fall like rain— 
 
 The prize he may not regain. 
 
 "The steed dashed on, as thai ll inly floor 
 
 Had been soft strewn with flowers, 
 His nostrils smoke, and the red flames pour 
 
 Around, in burning showers — 
 Away ! away ! from his stifling breath ! 
 
 Away ! for he speeds to Death ! 
 
 '"Tis o'er, hold rider ! and did'sf thou shrink 
 
 From his neighing wild, and loud, 
 Whe'n thy snow-white steed, on the horrid brink, 
 
 Dissolved, in a snow-white cloud '.' 
 From the set lips rose a, maddening yell, 
 
 As down through the gulf he fell. 
 
 >&■" 
 
 "They found the Red-Bird, pale and cold, 
 
 And softly her maiden grace 
 They laid to rest in the flower-crowned inould, 
 
 By the graves of her ancient race, 
 Where over her bosom the wild rose springs, 
 
 And the WOOd-dove sits, and sings. 
 
 "Yet often, in that dreary glen 
 Where the sunbeams dare not play, 
 
 I've heard the shouts of pursuing men, 
 And a wild steed's startled neigh, 
 
 And hasted on, with a nameless fear, 
 From the danger prowling near. 
 
 ••Some hold Comanche, who skims the plain 
 On the prairie courser's track, 
 
138 GENIUS AND TALENT. 
 
 In his camp will ne'er be seen again, 
 From the chase he comes not back — 
 
 Woe ! woe ! to him whom the demons lead 
 To follow the path of the phantom steed !" 
 
 GENIUS AND TALENT. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 When darkness over the waters walked. 
 
 And the young Earth lay asleep, 
 The spirit of God took voice, and talked 
 
 With the waves of the mighty deep ; 
 When the two great lights of heaven had birth. 
 
 And His six days' work was done, 
 A radiant creature sprang to earth. 
 
 Full armed, from the central sun. 
 
 He sang his song with the morning stars. 
 
 Touched the clouds with rainbow dyes, 
 He talked by turns with the flowers, the trees, 
 
 And the bright winged butterflies ; 
 All beautiful gifts his young life laved 
 
 In a gleaming, golden shower, 
 And God's own breath on his forehead, gave 
 
 llis own creative power. 
 
 He walks the earth in a human form, 
 
 And his glorious liit'ts of mind 
 llr showers down like the sunlight warm, 
 
 To brighten and bless mankind : 
 He lives in the sculptor's Cod-like hand, 
 
 Whose marbles, living seem. 
 He breathes through the blind musician's wand, 
 
 And walks through the poet's dream. 
 
GENIUS AND T. 1 L ENT. 130 
 
 Still burns forever, his glowing pyre, 
 
 Illuming the ages' gloom, 
 When the hand that lit its altar lire 
 
 Is dust within the tomb ; 
 The deathless strain that Genius woke 
 
 All human hearts shall thrill, 
 Though the human voice through which it spoke 
 
 Is mute, and hushed, and still. 
 
 The deathless marble sounds his fame 
 
 Down the hoary centuries ; 
 Eternal Youth has found a name, 
 
 True Genius never dies ; 
 Eternal sunbeams round him sweep, 
 
 And their noon refulgence pour, 
 Where Hope, and Promise lie asleep 
 
 On bright Fruition's shore. 
 
 When the greater light had dolled his crown 
 
 To hail the dying day, 
 His fair young sister floated down 
 
 On the moon's urst lambent ray ; 
 A band of stars, with their liquid (lame, 
 
 Encircled her forehead fair, 
 And Talent wrote her mystic name 
 
 On the trail of her golden hair. 
 
 Through light and shade, through calm and storm, 
 
 She wanders from vale to hill, 
 Aglow with the restless longings warm 
 
 Of a woman's wayward will ; 
 Forever decking some borrowed throne 
 
 With borrowed garlands bright, 
 Forever pining, that she alone 
 
 Can shine by reflected light. 
 
 A wayward torch, whose fitful beams 
 
 Have radiant lustre thrown, 
 Lighting the hopes, the joys, the dreams, 
 
 On all paths but it's own ; 
 A tender, soft, melodious lute 
 
 Attuned in the dreamer's land, 
 Whose sweetest chords lie hushed and mute 
 
 Till struck by a master-hand. 
 
 Fart a child, with it's mad delight 
 In sounding, sea-girt eaves, 
 
140 GEJSflUS AND TALENT. 
 
 In the loves of the birds and blossoms bright, 
 And the song of the winds and waves ; 
 
 Tart a woman, with April's play 
 In her changing hopes and fears, 
 
 Whose sweetest laughter, glad and gay, 
 Lies close to her saddest tears : 
 
 Part a ( roddess, whose soul has gleamed 
 With the beacons of sundit tires, 
 
 But the passionate heart is ridged and seamed 
 With the graves of vain desires; 
 
 Part an angel, with wistful eyes 
 Still clouded by doubt, and sin, 
 
 Standing in sight of Paradise- 
 Forbidden to enter in. 
 
 In the after life, will she too stand 
 
 ( >n proud Fruition's tower ? 
 Will she grasp her fair twin brother's hand 
 
 With equal, Goddike power? 
 Will the gifts be tiers, that most she prized? 
 
 Will her doubts and shadows die? 
 AVill her golden dreams be realized 
 
 In the cloudless bye and bye ? 
 
 Or must that too, be the tangled skein 
 
 That shine and shadow weaves 
 From the changing, lustrous opaline 
 
 Of the frost-kissed autumn leaves? 
 From the fair, and fading bow that bends 
 
 Where the summer rain is o'er, 
 From the fitful breath of the wandering winds, 
 
 And the sands on a shifting shore? 
 
THE BLACK HAND. 
 
 I,. V. F. 
 
 "On a range of cliffs, <»' the banks of the Licking rive r, ap 
 pears the impress of an immense black hand. It was there 
 ■when the country was first, settled, and must have been painted 
 hy the Indians, "with some imperishable color, for it has never 
 faded. A noted chief gave the following tradition regarding it, 
 to one of Ohio's early settlers." 
 
 'Twas many and many a year ago, 
 And spring-time o'er the hills of snow 
 (lame gaily glancing down ; 
 The river caught the silver sheen 
 Reflected crystal clouds between, 
 And woodlands took a tint of green 
 I'pon their hanks ofbrown. 
 
 Away to lakes that chain the north 
 The clanging wihl geese wended forth, 
 A fleet of snowy prows, 
 And sails of silver blent with black ; 
 The south-wind idly roving back, 
 Brought wren, and blue-bird on his track, 
 To glad the budding boughs. 
 
 The booming bittern sought his fen, 
 
 The wood-thrusn whistled through the <;len, 
 
 The yellow honey-bee 
 
 Flew forth at morn, with busy hum, 
 
 The pheasant sounded loud his drum, 
 
 Ring-dove, and robin, piping come, 
 
 To join the minstrelsy. 
 
142 THE BLACK HAND. 
 
 As changeful as the smile of spring, 
 As blithe as blue-bird on the wing, 
 Inconstant as the breeze ; 
 As brightly beautiful and gay, 
 As full of buoyant life as they, 
 Sweet Outallissa* sang all day 
 Among the forest trees. 
 
 Caprice was here — she frowned, she smiled, 
 
 Now womanhood, and now, the child, 
 
 Like blushes tied and came ; 
 
 Her forehead bore a queenly crest, 
 
 Of tinted plumes, across her breast 
 
 Was bound, the gorgeous feather vest, 
 
 And hence, her strange, sweet name. 
 
 'Twas when the spring with living green 
 
 Last lighted up the sylvan scene, 
 
 Two chieftains bold and free, 
 
 In council strong, in danger tried, 
 
 Had claimed her love — had sought her side, 
 
 And wooed her to become a bride 
 
 With gallant courtesie. 
 
 "Oh ! see," said they, "the white-winged dove, 
 
 Her song all day is naught bat love; 
 
 And list ! a tender tone 
 
 Has wind, and wave, and waterfall ; 
 
 And shall the Humming Bird, of all 
 
 Our birds, the sweetest, hear the call 
 
 Of love, yet dwell alone ?" 
 
 "I see not, hear not, will not wed" — 
 The wayward, willful maiden said; 
 "For dove it may be meet 
 Within her nest the live long day 
 To brood at home — her mate away, 
 But shines her silver wing so gay, 
 And is her song as sweet ?" 
 
 'e 
 
 But out his royal lodge before, 
 
 Stood up her sire, the Sagamore, 
 
 Pride kindled in his eyes ; 
 
 "To him," he said, "who next in spring, 
 
 From war-path redly glittering, 
 
 The greatest trophies back shall bring, 
 
 1 freely yield this prize !" 
 
THE BLACK HAND. 143 
 
 The spring returned — from war and raid 
 
 The chieftains came ; the lovely maid 
 
 With broidered band and belt 
 
 Had bound her arms, and decked her hair, 
 
 And smiled to see her form so fair 
 
 Reflected from the waters there, 
 
 As by the stream she knelt. 
 
 Where meets the stream with shore and wood, 
 
 The people, and their chieftains stood, 
 
 Segondaaf, the brave 
 
 And Kanozid,f like mountain pine, 
 
 Piled on the sward their war-spoil's shine, 
 
 And flaunting o'er the gallant line 
 
 Their plumy banners wave. 
 
 The din had ceased, and breathless all, 
 Reigned silence through that forest hall, 
 As slow, the Sagamore, 
 With stately mein, and glittering eye, 
 Yet frigid bearing, stern and high, 
 Laid, one hy one, their trophies by, 
 And named their number o'er. 
 
 Twas done — the shouts like wave on wave 
 
 Rolled up — "Segondaa, the brave ! 
 
 "Segondaa has won !" 
 
 Then Outallissa, from the band 
 
 Of maidens that around her stand, 
 
 Her father led, and gave her hand 
 
 To Nouga's noble son. 
 
 Saw Kanozid— then drooped his head, 
 "Enough, enough," he slowly said ; 
 High raised his tomahawk, 
 One trenchant blow wrought deadly harm, 
 His right hand severed from the arm, 
 He flung it, quivering still, and warm, 
 Against the rifted rock. 
 
 It struck — the strong imprint it made 
 In bloody outline was displayed 
 A moment ; falling back 
 It hissing, dropped into the tide, 
 The shadow spread, till far and wide 
 It covered all the granite side, 
 It's hue, an inky black. 
 
144 ITALY. 
 
 The awe-struck people crowded near, 
 
 And gazed in wonder and in fear ; 
 
 Up from the silent shore 
 
 There rung one long and piercing yell ; 
 
 "No more !" a splash — a bubbling swell 
 
 Of closing waters— like a knell 
 
 The rock replied — "no more !" 
 
 All ghastly grew the graceful bride, 
 Her lover bent his brow of pride, 
 And some their faces hid, 
 And some upon the ground were cast, 
 As forth upon the northern blast 
 A mighty spirit-warrior passed, 
 The shade of Kanozid ! " 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 Long ago in the dawn of days, 
 
 When the world from chaos sprang, 
 And the morning stars their melodies 
 
 Together sweetly sang ; 
 The Lord took rest on the seventh day, 
 
 When his mighty work was done, 
 And angels four, with folded wings 
 
 Stood round about his throne. 
 
 "The world is finished," the Mighty said, 
 
 "The sky, the sea, the ground ; 
 But see these fragments lying lure 
 
 All scattered and tossed around ; 
 Gather them up, and choose them well, 
 
 And give to them human birth, 
 Making four nations, great and strong, 
 
 To people the new-made earth." 
 
ITALY. 145 
 
 Then first, St. George found a grain of gold 
 
 All gleaming, and pure, and fair, 
 .And buried it-deep in a mass of lead. 
 
 So none could guess it was there ; 
 And the Saint looked on and smiled, well pleased 
 
 With his new and queer creation, 
 And sent it humping along to earth, 
 
 And called it the English nation. 
 
 St. Iago, peering among the mass, 
 Ingredients dark to find, 
 
 Put the heart of a fOX, and 1 he fangofawolf 
 
 In a bladder filled with wind ; 
 With treacherous tongue, and a specious lie 
 
 On it's darkly gleaming face, 
 He sent it sailing adown the sky, 
 
 And called it the Spanish race. 
 
 St. I>enis, a Hying sunbeam caught, 
 
 And Hashed it t<> earth by chance, 
 Tied with a knot of ribhons bright, 
 
 As the people of sunny France ; 
 But though the heart id' the Saint heat right, 
 
 He sadly erred in head, 
 For he gave no ballast to hold it firm, 
 
 And he dyed the ribbons red. 
 
 St. Michael, seeing the others' faults, 
 
 And thinking their wrongs to heal, 
 Collected a mask (d' velvet soft, 
 
 And a poinard of gleaming steel, 
 A lightning flash, and a sunbeam bright, 
 
 The chords from a soft lute stole, 
 The heart of a pure and sinless child, 
 
 And the sigh of a poet's soul. 
 
 The kiss of a Lover, burning deep, 
 
 And melting like lava tire, 
 A rose from the bowers of Paradise, 
 
 And a string from an angel's lyre ; 
 These in his hand, he lowly knelt 
 
 At the throne of the Blessed Three— 
 "Give me now, hut a smile of God, 
 
 And my work shall perfect be." 
 
146 ITALY. 
 
 But Satan, watching the gates of hell 
 
 One sultry summer even, 
 Thought— "if I spoil not Michael's work, 
 
 His Italy will be Heaven"— 
 So he sped a swift-winged arrow forth, 
 
 Poisoned with envy's sting, 
 And it eleft the rose of Paradise, 
 
 And broke the angel's string. 
 
 And to this day, the Italian keeps 
 
 ( rod's smile in his sunny eyes, 
 But the Devil's arrow rankles deep 
 
 In his heart's dark mysteries ; 
 But Italy, with freedom blest, 
 
 AVill pluck away this rod, 
 And on her sunny land shall rest 
 
 But the radiant smile of God. 
 
THE CAVE OF DEATH. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "In the southern portion of Jefferson Co., Tenn., in the side of 
 a mountain called English's mountain, there is a cavern from 
 which a current of air rushes, at short intervals, like the breath- 
 ing of some Titanic monster. From the fact of this gigantic 
 breathing, and that of the atmosphere within being said to be 
 destructive to animal life, (probably owing to the presence of 
 some noxious gases,) arose the old Indian tradition that this 
 cave was the retreat of a spirit of evil, or Machinuito, whose 
 poisonous breath destroyed all who dared to intrude upon his 
 domain. 
 
 Hist ! softly, pale stranger ! 
 
 And light be thy tread ; 
 Thou walkest with Danger, 
 
 A region of Dread. 
 Swift-down to the level — 
 
 "We're passing the glen 
 Where the Spirit of Evil 
 
 Lies hid in his den ! 
 The dun deer is bounding 
 
 Along the ravine, 
 The pheasant is sounding 
 
 His drum on the green ; 
 Pursue not— by river, 
 
 Or precipice lone, 
 Those strange shadows never 
 
 The hunter has won. 
 
 From his rock-rifted dwelling 
 Aloft on the height, 
 
148 THE CA VE OF DEATH. 
 
 Yon eagle is yelling — 
 Avoid thou his sight — 
 
 And pause not — tis feigning — 
 That white eagle's plume 
 
 Thon dreamest of gaining, 
 But lures thee to doom. 
 
 Oh ! haste thee ! a sighing 
 
 Comes down tli rough the canes, 
 The wind-scud is flying, 
 
 The moon-sickle wanes; 
 From the black-bosomed water 
 
 Uprises a form, 
 Tis the night-tempest's daughter 
 
 "Unchaining the storm. 
 
 That muttering lowly 
 
 That steals through the glooms 
 Is the Thunder-god slowly 
 
 Unfolding his plumes ; 
 The storm-spirits haunt him, 
 
 And forth from his lair, 
 The eloud-crested Phantom 
 
 Comes, cleaving the air : 
 Oh ! seek not, though weary. 
 
 Yon sheltering cave — 
 It's dark halls are dreary, 
 
 It's shadow — a grave ! 
 The tempest may blind thee — 
 
 Full rude is his breath ; 
 But that cavern behind thee 
 
 Would woo thee — to death. 
 
 Our forefathers hoary 
 
 This legend have told, 
 (In the days of their glory, 
 
 It happened of did) 
 That a tierce, fallen Spirit 
 
 Created sublime, 
 Had sworn to inherit 
 
 A kingdom of crime. 
 
 lie wrought ruin, smilii.g 
 
 Deceitfully then, 
 To error beguiling 
 
 The children of nun ; 
 
THE SCORPION. 149 
 
 Till the Great Father found hiin 
 
 Abroad on the air, 
 And the good angels bound him, 
 
 And prisoned him there. 
 
 Thou nearest his breathing, 
 
 His deep uttered sighs, 
 As the storm clouds up-wreathing 
 
 About him arise ; 
 From his moanings or terror, 
 
 His pestilent breath, 
 And his wild eye of horror, 
 
 We flee, as from death. 
 For oft 'tis related, 
 
 That lost in this cave, 
 The hunter— belated, 
 
 Has found, but a grave ; 
 Then haste thee, young Stranger— 
 
 And light be thy tread ; 
 Thou walkest with Danger, 
 
 A region of Dread ! 
 
 THE SCORPION. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 He sits in his sea-girt chamber, 
 
 A scorpion old and grey, 
 In a dim Venetian prison wall 
 
 Round which the waters play ; 
 He has watched the rise of the harvest moon, 
 He has heard the sigh of the dark lagoon, 
 Echo the gondolier's rythmic tune 
 As centuries roll away. 
 
 He sits in his sea-girt chamber, 
 
 A prisoner old and grey, 
 In the darkness and mould of the prison walls 
 
 He has wasted his years away ; 
 
160 THE SCORPION. 
 
 He watches the white moon softly rise, 
 He lists to the water's sobbing sighs, 
 He echoes them back with his feeble cries. 
 As his years and hopes decay. 
 
 ( >ften these strange companions 
 
 Will talk, when the day is done, 
 As they sit in a niche in the prison wall 
 
 In a line with the setting sun ; 
 Talk of the long dead hopes and fears, 
 The shine and shadow of vanished years. 
 The roar and rattle, the blood and tears, 
 Of the battles lost and won. 
 
 "Swiftly the silent ages 
 
 Have passed me in their flight, 
 Since I came from old Byzantium 
 
 In a fold of tissue bright, 
 Brought by one of Dandolo's men, 
 And flung on the couch of his mistress, when 
 He watched the love-signals blaze again, 
 One amorous August night. 
 
 "I crawled through the shining tissues 
 
 That sparkled like golden grain, 
 And I pierced her bosom fair and white 
 
 "With my dark and deadly stain — 
 "Why not '.' Since all love holds its sting, 
 And the quickest death is the kindliest thing 
 A generous heart or hand can bring 
 To its weary, ceaseless pain. 
 
 " What is our mystic }>oi>Tr f" 
 
 And "what the death in our sting f" 
 The secret for which your human kind 
 
 Its curses npon us fling — 
 The parching thirst no draught can slake, 
 The quenchless fire from Tophet's lake, 
 The venomed tooth no power can shake 
 From its dire and deadly spring ? 
 
 "Listen, and learn — this venom 
 
 That gives us such devil's rule 
 Is born of yourselves, and not of us, 
 
 Oli, blinded, and blundering fool! 
 In the dawn of days — so the Legends tell — 
 When Death rode forth from the gates of hell, 
 
THE SCORPION. 151 
 
 Be found, where the human pulses swell, 
 Bis darkest, deadliest tool. 
 
 "Riding his bloodless charger, 
 
 He scattered himself around ; 
 In many a fashion, many a shape, 
 
 With many a direful sound; 
 Visions of death ami doom he nursed, 
 Till, searching the mystic legends cursed, 
 lie made the scorpions, last and worst 
 In their hellish record found. 
 
 "The first was a harmless beetle 
 
 Crawling across the sand, 
 Ugly, but innocent of ill 
 
 As anything in the land, 
 Till Death steeped the plodding, senseless clay 
 In two human hearts he had wrenched away, 
 And bleeding and fuivering now they lay 
 In the hollow of his hand. 
 
 "And out of the man's warm pulses 
 
 The scorpion sucked desire, 
 That burned with a flame unquenchable, 
 
 Like liquid and molten tire ; 
 And out of the woman's icy veins, 
 Fierce jealousy's venomed draught he drains, 
 Pouring its deadly, poisonous rains 
 In torrents that never tire. 
 
 "And when he was tilled and sated, 
 
 Death saw that his work was done, 
 And the deadliest spell by demon wrought 
 
 On the human race, was won ; 
 "Now be ye fruitful, and multiply, 
 And do your work on humanity, 
 For you have a sting that will never die 
 
 While the world rolls round the sun." 
 
 The Gondolier's song was ringing 
 
 It's melody wild and free, 
 As thus the old scorpion blinked and talked, 
 
 In his palace by the sea ; 
 And thus the prisoner anwered him. 
 "The roses are withered, the stars are dim, 
 And a scorpion lurks in each goblet's brim, 
 Watching and waiting for me." 
 
THE DANCING GHOSTS. 
 
 i.. v. r. 
 
 The Aurora Borealis was known among many tribes of the 
 aborigines, as the "Dancing Ghosts." The legends concerning 
 it are numerous and diversified, in accordance with the char- 
 acters of the different tribes. The following is peculiar to those 
 southern localities, visited by yellow fever. 
 
 The Avenger's wing is on the wind, 
 
 His voice is in the forest shade, 
 Low whispering — "Die ! for ye have sinned, 
 Red dwellers of the glen and glade" — 
 Fresh graves lie yawning 'neath the sod, 
 The Fever-Plague has gone abroad. 
 
 Fear walks at midnight, darkly there, 
 
 With pallid lip, and quivering breath, 
 A spirit broods upon the air 
 Whose every glance is dread and death, 
 And terror, torture, and dismay, 
 Each follow each, with rival sway. 
 
 Then hoary priests, and prophets wise 
 
 In solemn council nightly held, 
 Demand a human sacrifice, 
 That thus tlie spoiler may be quelled, 
 And the Great Spirit smile once more 
 Upon his children, as of yore. 
 
 The lots were cast-— three warriors young 
 Were singled from the breathless crowd ; 
 
THE DANCING GHOSTS. 153 
 
 With shouts of triumph, forth they sprung 
 Like victors in a conquest proud, 
 Exultant that they soon should stand 
 Great chieftains in the Spirit-land. 
 
 They cast all thought of fear away. 
 
 A 6 * through the stormy clouds' dominion, 
 The eagle mounting to the day 
 Shakes the thick snow-flakes from his pinion ; 
 These strong souls girded on their might 
 Like armor, for the coming fight. 
 
 Along the plain— a gloomy pall, 
 
 Low hung the sable waving wood, 
 And on its borders, breatnless all, 
 The awed and silent people stood, 
 Watching the pyre whose fiery glow 
 Like red plumes, wavered to and fro. 
 
 The winds were hushed, the moon had fled, 
 
 The rocking pines were still again ; 
 And a solemn chant for the mighty dead 
 From the dark and silent plain 
 Rolled slowly up through the forest lone, 
 As the mourning train passed on. 
 
 Lo ! next night, when the stars shone forth, 
 
 And wandering winds were hid, or lost, 
 On white wings, from the frozen north 
 Sped on the Spirit-king of Frost ; 
 His cool breath stole through the forest shade, 
 And the fiery fever plague was stayed. 
 
 In three nights more, the valley's streams 
 
 Were sheeted o'er with gleaming ice, 
 On twinkling sprays, in rainbow beams, 
 High hung the Frost-king's quaint device, 
 Like crystal groves on that far shore 
 Our fathers left, in days of yore. 
 
 Then, swift as meteor-arrows fly 
 
 Athwart the cloudless summer blue, 
 That clear, transparent depth of sky 
 Was tinged with a crimson hue ; 
 A mighty kindling sea, it seemed, 
 Whose splendor, to the zenith streamed. 
 
1M THE KIGHT-JiLOOMIXG CEKEUS. 
 
 And in that glory, side by side, 
 
 Where gorgeous dyes tbe Dragon lave, 
 Three giant forms were soon to glide, 
 Ami wide their blood-red mantles wave, 
 Like swift birds darting to and fro, 
 In a red sunset's fiery glow . 
 
 Spell-hound a moment, ami amazed, 
 
 That crowd looked on that pageant fair. 
 On the far Spirit -land they gazed, 
 An.l know the Sacrificed were there — 
 1'lion a shout wont up from the gathered hosl s 
 For they know their friends, in the "Dancing 
 
 Ghosts." 
 
 nil- Miill r-Bl OOMIXG iTKIT 
 
 1 . V. 
 
 In a valley green ami golden, 
 
 With its wealth of clustering vinos. 
 K u nod by shadows grey and olden, 
 
 Prom the snow-clad Aponnir, - 
 Where each gentle slope was swelling 
 
 With sweet promises of bloom, 
 W eis youthful shepherd dwelling 
 
 In his peaceful mountain homo 
 
 W it h its waters leaping gladly 
 
 Where the April showers weep, 
 And its white snows rushing mad 
 
 Down the avalanche's swoop; 
 With its meek dun cattle lowing 
 
 In the Bummer twilight bom - 
 And its April breezes blowing 
 
 Over fields of mountain flow* s 
 
THE NIQHT BLOOMING CEREUS. 155 
 
 But bis heart was sad and lonely, 
 Ami his life seemed dull and tame, 
 
 For no woman found hint comely, 
 
 And no herald brought him lame ; 
 And he scorned each simple treasure, 
 
 For his soul was Longing t hen 
 
 For the pride, and pomp, and pleasure 
 
 In the lives of other men. 
 Once he sat beside his cottage, 
 
 And his scorn was waxing hot 
 
 'Gainst the humble mess of pottage 
 
 That was all a peasant's lol ; 
 When, like softly falling shower, 
 Stole an incense strangely sweet, 
 
 And a snowy, stainless flower 
 Floated swiftly to his feet. 
 
 Like a softly chanted vesper, 
 
 As the snowy petals part, 
 Steals a sweet, melodious whisper 
 
 From the glowing, golden heart— 
 "Take the doubtful gilt, oh, .Mortal ! 
 With its mingled smiles and tears ; 
 
 < >nly once I ope (he portal 
 
 In a hundred weary years. 
 
 When t he curfew peals for vesper, 
 Lay me on the Virgin's shrine, 
 
 < inly breathe on me and w hisper, 
 
 And the w ish at once is thine ; 
 'Tis a doubtful gift, oh .Mortal ! 
 
 With its crowding hopes and fears— 
 Only once I ope the portal 
 
 In a hundred rolling years." 
 
 Proudly heal, the youthful bosom— 
 
 "All the joys of earl h are mine"— 
 And he laid the snowy blossom 
 
 Down upon the Virgin's shrine ; 
 
 While the vesper slowly pealing 
 
 Scut its echoes through t he glen, 
 
 Came (he whisper softly stealing, 
 ''Give me gold, like other men." 
 
 Then king Midas rained his treasure 
 
 In a gleaming, golden shower, 
 
156 THE NIGHT-BLOOMINQ CEBEUS. 
 
 But it brought no throb of pleasure 
 With its joyless pride of power ; 
 
 And, again, as softly pealing, 
 stole the echoes up the glen, 
 
 Came the eager whisper stealing, 
 "Let ine laugh, like other men." 
 
 Then the flashing silver flagon 
 
 Poured its flood of ruby rain, 
 But behind it, stood a dragon 
 
 "With his lurid eyes of pain ; 
 And the laugh was cold and cheerless, 
 
 And his soul was sickened then — 
 •Mirth is eold, and laughter wearies, 
 
 Let me love, like other men." 
 
 In his eager arms he press* a 
 
 A maiden young and fair. 
 Whose soft and dewy ki>- - 
 
 Lure him with their promise rare 
 But the gleam and glow that mingled, 
 
 A mocking mirage prove. 
 For its flame was never kindled 
 
 At the altar-lire of love. 
 
 Then he knew his dream of passion 
 
 For a false, and soulless lie, 
 And he smote the fair creation, 
 
 And in sadness watched it die ; 
 ••Let the shape of living marble, 
 
 And the tire of poet's pen 
 Crown my aching brow with laurel, 
 
 Give me fame, like other men." 
 
 Then the wreaths of hay and laurel 
 
 Circled round the brow of youth. 
 But Experience, with iron tongue 
 
 Soon taught its hitter truth, 
 How the serpent fangs of evil 
 
 Pierce his heart with venomed lie. 
 Who dare rise above the level 
 
 of a poor humanity. 
 
 With hitter tears, he trampled 
 His thorn-encircled crown, 
 
 And he breathed upon the flower, 
 And sadly east it down ; 
 
77/ A' NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. 157 
 
 "Let others seek love's bower, 
 
 And pleasure's summer sen, 
 Love, and laughter, pride, and power, 
 
 Are gifts not meant for me." 
 
 Then his heavy heart was Lightened, 
 
 And its throbbing pulse grew still, 
 And his darkened soul was brightened 
 
 With a light ineffable ; 
 While above him, 'mid a shower 
 
 Of star-beams pure ami fair, 
 Floated up his l'airy-llower 
 
 On wings of gossamer. 
 
 "I take back the gift, ob Mortal! 
 
 With its mingled smiles, and tears, 
 And I close my snowy portal 
 
 For a hundred waiting years ; 
 Let your heart and soul grow stronger, 
 
 And their strength, for others tell, 
 You shall need the gift no longer, 
 
 You have learned its lesson well. 
 
 Only he shall learn the power 
 
 'Mid it's snowy petals furled, 
 Who shall use his fairy flower 
 
 For the gladness of the world ; 
 Duly he, who, bringing incense 
 
 To the altar-fires of hea~v en. 
 Counts his richest treasure worthless, 
 
 And his dearest, nothing given." 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WATER-LILY. 
 
 1.. V. F. 
 
 Swift the basting steps of Even 
 O'er the western mountains hieing, 
 Passed the golden gates «>f sun-down ; 
 
 "While the moon, her pale hand-maiden 
 Bearing forth a silver crescent, 
 Kissed the hem of Night's dark mantle 
 And passed outward, with the Twilight. 
 
 Downward, through the forest arches, 
 Flashing like the sheen of opal, 
 Ruby, gold, and amethystine, 
 Streamed the glories of the sunset ; 
 Where a proud and princely chieftain 
 On the mossy turf lav dying. 
 
 Far away, his royal wigwam 
 Rose beside the shaded water. 
 But the lone, and stricken eagle 
 Never more shall reach his eyrie ; 
 For his soul is heading deathward 
 On a sea of gloom, and silence ; 
 Like the hour, his mortal being 
 Slopeth down apor. its twilight, 
 And the night of the Hereafter 
 Slanteth shadows on his spirit. 
 
 Yet, amid his keenest anguish, 
 Close he clasped a precious arrow, 
 Best, and last, of all his treasures. 
 'Twas a strong, white-shafted arrow 
 Tufted o'er with crimson plumage, 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WATER-LILY. 15$ 
 
 Full of mystery, and magic : 
 
 Never swerving, never failing ; 
 
 Much be fears some foe might snatch it, 
 
 'Mid the shadow of the forest, 
 
 And direct it 'gainst his people, 
 
 When the war-wolf's long fierce gallop, 
 
 And the vulture's eager pinion 
 
 Should have bore them there, to banquet 
 
 On his cold, insensate body. 
 
 Prayed he then, with earnest fervor 
 
 That the Manitou would send it, 
 
 When the night of death closed o'er him, 
 
 To the star he loved while living, 
 
 Diamond-crested Cynosura. 
 
 Then his frame grew weak, and weary ; 
 
 On his brow, the fatal pallor 
 
 Met, and mingled with the death-dew : 
 
 All his soul was full of shadows, 
 
 And ainid them, rose the children 
 
 That brought sunshine to his threshold : 
 
 All his heart was full of murmurs, 
 
 Music-tones from out his wigwam. 
 
 But he saw no more — his spirit 
 
 Like the moon on the horizon, 
 
 Bearing hope in his Hereafter, 
 
 Pure, clear-shining as her crescent, 
 
 Kissed the hem of Earth's dark mantle 
 
 And passed outward, with the Twilight. 
 
 Underneath the woodland arches, 
 Deep the rushing river shuddered ; 
 Fluttered then, the silvery aspen 
 Like the wringing of white fingers : 
 Fearfully, the wild witch-hazel 
 Dropped its fairy tassels downward ; 
 While the oak, a stately Druid, 
 Stood above the proud, dead chieftain, 
 And the rythmic wind came rolling 
 Through his long, grey, mossy branches, 
 Like a wild and stormy Saga 
 Through the hoary beard of Odin, 
 When he welcomes ghostly heroes 
 To the halls of the Valhalla. 
 
160 ORIGIN OFTHE WATER-LILY. 
 
 Loud the winds came rushing onward, 
 
 Marshalling their mighty forces, 
 
 Strong, to hear the magic arrow 
 
 To the favored Cynosnra. 
 
 As they bore it high in heaven. 
 
 Like a meteor, gleamed the flint-head : 
 
 Like a burnished ciond at sunset 
 
 Streamed afar, the crimson plumage. 
 
 All the stars looked on in wonder, 
 Coveting this magic arrow ; 
 Borealis, phantom-fingered, 
 Dripping gore, clutched at it wildly, 
 Where it shone upon the darkness 
 And when foiled, sank hack as swiftly 
 To his home amid the iee-ber:_'s. 
 
 Then the Evening Star, who watched it, 
 Peeping o'er his clouds of purple, 
 Drifting idly in the sundown, 
 Left his orbit in the heavens, 
 Spread his wines of hurnisheil amber, 
 And sped forward, like a meteor 
 For the capture of the treasure. 
 
 Then the Pole Star 'gan to tremble, 
 
 And, for once, he tied his station, 
 
 He, the universe's warder, 
 
 On the hattlements of Heaven ! 
 
 A.s some tall, terrific glacier 
 
 From the far and frozen Ocean. 
 
 Mailed in ice, and crowned with sunheams, 
 
 Sweeping by the Arctic islands, 
 
 Spurns the blue, dissolving billows 
 
 On its passage to the southward : 
 
 Ice-Star, fair, and tierce, and pallid ; 
 
 So he sailed in sheen, and splendor 
 
 Down the azure deeps of Ether. 
 
 Like the Kainsin of the Desert 
 Driving o'er the palmy islands. 
 Diademed with lire eternal, 
 Shod with swiftness of the lightning, 
 From his gorgeous tinted covert 
 'Mid the citadels of sunset. 
 
ORIGIN OF Till: WA TER-L II Y. 161 
 
 Swiftly up the purple cloudland 
 Swept the armed Star of Evening. 
 
 Dread their meeting in mid-heaven — 
 Dire as when, beneath the Tropics, 
 Angry clouds drink up the sunshine : 
 When, on thousand hills, the earthquake, 
 With the surge and swell of battle 
 Roars and rages through the gorges. 
 Swarming hordes of lurid Spectres, 
 Shapes that drive the mad tornado, 
 Eide the blast, and forge the lightning, 
 In a stormy, savage squadron, 
 Yelled around the dauntless champions ; 
 And the Thunder in the distance. 
 Stalked along his cloudy ramparts, 
 While his voice of hoarse approval, 
 Shook them to their deep foundations ! 
 
 Clouds of smoke enclosed the combat ; 
 Yet anon, as swayed the foldings, 
 Fiery fluid, like to lava 
 Fell in gouts and streams from out them ; 
 While from off the starry bodies 
 Sparks of gleaming light were stricken, 
 Flying, leaping off in showers; 
 And their wings of snow and amber 
 Rose and fell, like mighty banners, 
 Gorgeous gonfalons of brightness, 
 ( >n the sulphurous breeze of battle. 
 
 But the winds, aghast, and frighted, 
 Howled, and tied, and dropped the arrow, 
 Lost the precious magic treasure : 
 And the angry stars, disheartened, 
 That the prize was lost forever, 
 Ceased the combat, each despairing, 
 Each vindictive, each unconquered. 
 
 Like a troubadour, the lav'rock 
 Sang at morning's golden portals, 
 And the glad, up-springing sunshine 
 Leaping, bounded from the Orient. 
 You could hear the early zephyr 
 Calling softly to the Dew-fall, 
 And the little streamlet singing 
 
162 ORIGIN OF THE WA TER-LIL V. 
 
 A- it rippled o'er its pebbles, 
 
 As tbe cloud which leaves its shadow 
 
 On the bosom of the hill side 
 
 For a brief and passing moment, 
 
 And then floats away forever; 
 
 So the champion stars in battle, 
 
 Winds, and Shapes that sail the Ether, 
 
 Had dispersed, and fled like shadows 
 
 From the bosom of the Heaven. 
 
 But the sparks of light that showered 
 
 From those shining planet bodies 
 
 Like great flakes of liquid diamond. 
 
 Fell abroad upon the waters 
 
 Of the quiet lakes, blue bosomed, 
 
 And became (so runs the Legend,) 
 
 Snowy, scented Water-Lilies. 
 
 We have many an old Tradition, 
 Many a story Oriental, 
 Telling how the Water-Lily 
 Loves the Kingly Star of Evening : 
 And those legends call it folly 
 In this simple little lily, 
 Thus to pant with wistful passion 
 For a burning star in Heaven : 
 No— oh ! no— 'tis true affection — 
 Noble, holy aspiration ; 
 Like the soul — the soul immortal. 
 Pristine glory it remembers ; 
 Like the soul, it still must covet 
 What its origin bequeathed it ; 
 Skyward then, it turns forever. 
 Dreaming of the Cynosura, 
 Watching for the Star of Evening, 
 Seeking still, its native Heaven. 
 
FAIRY'S FIKE. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 "Fairy's Fire" the legendary name for the Pyrus Japonica. 
 Small circles made by burrowing insects, and kept filled in 
 
 winter by moisture oozing from the ground, are called in Folk- 
 lore, Fairy wells. 
 
 Under my window, a tall bush grows, 
 
 Of flame-hearted Fairy's tire. 
 Its banners wave as the bleak wind blows. 
 It burns on the white mid-winter snows 
 
 Like a blazing funeral pyre ; 
 Under its shadow the fairy wells 
 
 Ave whispering legends olden. 
 Blossoms are weaving theil mystical spells. 
 Violets blue, from the mossy dells. 
 Sweet scented Roman hyacinth bells. 
 And crocuses peeping from grassy swells 
 
 All purple, and white, and golden. 
 
 I leaned from my window one winter night 
 
 And listened to all the story ; 
 A soft south-wind from the tropics bright 
 Passe. 1 over the purple mountain's height, 
 
 Touching the branches hoary 
 Of the elm that towered above my head, 
 
 Like a sweet -Folian lyre ; 
 Beams from the summer, that day had shed 
 Their kisses warm on the grassy bed, 
 And each blossom lifted its fragrant head 
 And summoned the elves and fays, to tread 
 
 Found the magical Fairy's tire. 
 
 This tire and heat (from Elfland sent,) 
 Seem whimsical, vague pretences 
 
164 FAIRY'S FIRE. 
 
 To mortals on earthly pleasures bent, 
 And only to fairy eyes are lent, 
 
 And to Poet's keener senses ; 
 The south-wind had bidden its pulses start, 
 And called from the core of its passionate heart 
 
 The flame of a sweet desire ; 
 "Come hither !" the crocus' trumpet rings, 
 "uome hither !" the hyacinth's white bell swings, 
 "Come hither!" the violet's sweet breath sings, 
 
 "And circle the Fairy's fire !" 
 
 Flying, flitting, in crowds they come — 
 
 These dwellers in Dreamland olden, 
 Pixie, and Kelpie, and Sprite, and Guorac, 
 Some from the shades of a woodland home, 
 
 And some from a palace golden, 
 Deep under the earth, or under the wave, 
 
 In their rainbow-hued attire, 
 Brought from the deeps of the coral cave, 
 The diamond mine, or the forest brave, 
 Their feet keep time to the rythmic stave 
 And their gauzy wings in the red light lave 
 
 Of the luminant Fairy's fire. 
 
 I ran to my window next day, to greet 
 
 The sunlight's glad renewal — 
 A bleak wind blew, and a driving sleet 
 Had wrapped my bush in a winding sheet 
 
 Of icicles cold and cruel, 
 Had frozen the drops in the fairy well, 
 
 And broken the mimic lyre : 
 No more shall the Kelpies weave their spell, 
 No more she lists to the choral swell, 
 The violets whisper, the hyacinth's bell, 
 The tinkling feet that on green sward fell, 
 
 All gone from the Fairy's fire. 
 
 I looked on the frozen blossoms sweet, 
 And thought of an "old, old story," 
 
 "Where a bleak wind blew, and a wintry sleet 
 
 Had shrouded a life in a winding sheet, 
 And darkened its dawning glory ; 
 
 Of a dauntless spirit, by high aims led 
 To dare, and to aspire, 
 
 Prisoned and chained in an icy bed, 
 
THE MYSTIC MUSIC 165 
 
 The fire in the veins all turned to lead, 
 And the leaping life-blood chilled and dead, 
 As that ice-storm circled thy sun-bright head, 
 My flame-hearted Fairy's Fire ! 
 
 THE MYSTIC MUSIC. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "The singular sounds known by this name, are mostly heard 
 on the waters of Pascagoula and Biloxi Bays. They seem to 
 issue from caverns, or grottoes in the bed of the bay, and, some- 
 times, to ooze up from the water under the very keel of the boat 
 which contains the inquisitive traveler, whose ear it strikes, 
 like the distant concert of a thousand iEolian harps." Gayarre's 
 Louisiana. 
 
 'Twas when first the bold DeSoto led his mail-clad 
 
 cavaliers, 
 (Since that dark and distant era, have passed three 
 
 hundred years,) 
 With their Andalusian chargers marshalled on the 
 
 battle plain, 
 And banners waving to the cry — "St. Jago strikes 
 
 for Spain !" 
 To the siege of fair Mauvila, on the Alabamian 
 
 shore, 
 That we date this wondrous story of the fabled days 
 
 of yore. 
 
 By the silver Pascagoula, shadowed by the tulip 
 tree, 
 
 Dwelt a strange and pallid people, called the Chil- 
 dren of the Sea ; 
 
 And not the least resemblance to the red man's rug- 
 ged race 
 
 Bare they— of mild, majestic mood, and sunny, 
 smiling face ; 
 
166 THE MYSTIC MUSIC. 
 
 They followed not the war-path; never paid the 
 battle vow, 
 
 Nor rose the council fire at night, beneath the for- 
 est bough. 
 
 Unharmed, for them, the eagle sailed upon the 
 
 deeps of air, 
 The ban-wolf slumbered in his den, the panther in 
 
 his lair, 
 TJnfrighted, peered the spotted fawn from out the 
 
 reedy brake, 
 And fearlessly the wild duck led her convoy on the 
 
 lake, 
 They never on the savage bear, the arrowy lances 
 
 drew, 
 Or chased the dun deer's flying track upon the 
 
 morning dew. 
 
 And stranger still it seems, to say, they had no 
 "place of graves ; " 
 
 They drew existence from the sea — were buried in 
 its waves ; 
 
 They lived as live the fairy tribes afloat on sum- 
 mer's breeze, 
 
 They died as die the summer flower, when autumn 
 paints the trees ; 
 
 Their only care, to dance and sing within the forest 
 free, 
 
 In worship of their idol Queen, who dwelt beneath 
 the Sea. 
 
 A hoary Prophet of the Cross, unto them came one 
 even, 
 
 Ferchance, from dark DeSoto's band, (perchance he 
 came from Heaven, 
 
 The old tradition does not tell,) yet certain 'tis, 
 that he 
 
 Soon wrought a mighty change upon those Children 
 of the Sea ; 
 
 They sought no more the temple hid beneath its 
 leafy screen, 
 
 Where they used to chant, in worship of their God- 
 dess and their Queen. 
 
 One night— 'twas in the summer time— the gentle 
 ladve moon 
 
THE M VSTIi ' M USIC. 167 
 
 Stole up from tents of snowy clouds, with shining, 
 silver shoon, 
 
 To tread the fields of ether— 'neatli a giant tulip 
 tree 
 
 That like a domed temple rose in solemn majesty, 
 
 Were priest, and people gathered, and through the 
 
 branches dim, 
 
 Went up a pealing anthem— 'twas the Virgin's ves- 
 per hymn. 
 
 The pines, like stately sentinels, each in his barky 
 mail 
 
 Stood round them, lifting up their crests into the 
 moonlight pale ; 
 
 The orange, and magnolia hung their heavy, frag- 
 rant blooms 
 
 Amid the shade the wild grape made, of rich and 
 leafy glooms ; 
 
 And as their white flakes floating fell, from out the 
 
 verdant mass, 
 
 It seemed the .Spirit of the Snow lay sleeping on 
 the grass. 
 
 Upon the clear and buoyant air, a breeze-like music 
 swell 
 
 Of vocal hymns, along the wood, and o'er the waters 
 fell ; 
 
 The Prophet's voice rose over all, a full, free, sweep- 
 ing tone, 
 
 Like an organ-peal, resounding on that shore so 
 
 wild and lone ; 
 High it swelled the Ave Mary, and the giant 
 
 branches toss 
 To the song that shook their shadows, like great 
 
 banners of the Cross. 
 
 What sound of fear was that which broke upon the 
 
 anthem's close ? 
 Was it a seaward rush of winds? The trampling 
 
 march of foes ? 
 
 Or strong careering tempest ? What is that amid 
 the din 
 
 That up the troubled river, like a cloud comes roll- 
 ing in ? 
 
 What curse of blight is spoken on the fading tulip 
 tree ? 
 
 Say, what may this betoken— pallid Children of the 
 Sea? 
 
168 Til E M ) STIC M USIC. 
 
 In a wan, and long procession, clown the margin 
 they detile, 
 
 So steadily, so silently, so breathless all the while, 
 
 That e'en the cricket chirruped on, it felt no thrill of 
 dread, 
 
 The wakeful mock-bird heeded not their softly fall- 
 ing tread, 
 
 The parroquet to downy rest lay nestled close and 
 high, 
 
 And but the owl a moment woke, and shrieked his 
 boding cry. 
 
 In solid, serried phalanx stood they on the water's 
 
 brink, 
 The Prophet only, stood alone, a solitary link 
 In being's dark, mysterious chain— his frighted 
 
 pulses quiver, 
 As, gazing on a wizard scene — lo ! on the misty 
 
 river 
 Unfolds an elfin pageant — never more shall mortal 
 
 e'e 
 Behold such mystic beauty as the Goddess of the 
 
 Sea. 
 
 She sat upon the mist-cloud, lightly as the summer 
 
 air, 
 Round her brow there shone a halo, and a stream 
 
 of flowing hair 
 Golden as the deeps of sunshine fell, the tresses 
 
 floating far 
 
 Like amber waves of brightness from a coming comet 
 star : 
 
 Yet her cheek was pale with anger, and her eye 
 
 was full of ire, 
 
 A subtle spell of witchery, and yet, a tameless fire. 
 
 She sang — her voice was wild and sweet, and like 
 the fountain's play 
 
 When chanting forth its orison beneath the sum- 
 mer ray ; 
 
 Its euphony, in gliding by, sank deep into the soul, 
 
 As oft the billows swell, and sink, upon a sanded 
 shoal ; 
 
 A spell of balmy silence on the fettered breezes 
 hung, 
 
 And breathless stood the forest, as the weird mer- 
 maiden sung. 
 
THE M YisTIC M USIC. 169 
 
 "Leave the forest — come to rue — 
 Children of the sounding sea ! 
 Leave your transient woodland homes, 
 For the ocean's crystal domes ; 
 None but we, their joys may tell — 
 Bid the land a long farewell ! 
 
 Leave the Prophet — come to me — 
 Children of a faith more free ! 
 Spirits like the wave or wind, 
 Spirits that have never sinned, 
 . Neither cross, nor book, nor bell, 
 Need ye— bid the Priest farewell. 
 
 "Leave the temple — come to me — 
 From a strong oppressor flee, 
 Strangers tread the southern shore, 
 I may guard you there no more ; 
 See ! I weave my magic spell — 
 Bid the earth a last farewell !" 
 
 They started — paused a moment — then took up the 
 
 silver strain, 
 In a long, and swelling chorus, the woods replied 
 
 again ; 
 Then, hand in hand, a loving band, they rushed 
 
 into the stream, 
 The waters closed— the mist went down — the moon's 
 
 last fading beam 
 Looks down upon the placid wave whereon her 
 
 splendor shone, 
 The silent shore — the woodland wild — the pallid 
 
 Priest, alone. 
 
 Yet often now, when woods are green, and summer' 
 
 skies are clear, 
 And when the moon sails slowly through the azure 
 
 atmosphere, 
 From out the sea-girt palaces beneatb the sounding 
 
 main, 
 Steals up in fitful choruses, that mystic music 
 
 strain ; 
 And oft the traveler starts, and lists, and wonders 
 
 curiously, 
 Encb anted by the voices of those Children of the 
 
 Sea. 
 
THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 They are coming again — the dusky Ghosts, from the 
 happy hunting ground ; 
 
 Low echoes whisper from far-off coasts of the hunt- 
 er's horn and hound, 
 
 The air grows dark with the serried hosts that rise 
 from each grassy mound. 
 
 The smoke of the camp-fire slowly curls round the 
 
 misty mountain side, 
 The hirch canoe its light sail furls, through shadowy 
 
 caves to glide, 
 The fisher's spear in the moonlight whirls, and 
 
 sinks in the deepening tide. 
 
 Their oars dip soft in the darkening rills where the 
 
 water lilies hlow, 
 They have lit their bon-fires on the hills, in the 
 
 maples' golden glow, 
 
 The warrior dresses his scarlet quills where the rip- 
 ening sumachs grow. 
 
 The wild duck's plumage glistening turns, where the 
 
 cedar waves apart, 
 The crimson thread of the wampum burns in the 
 
 woodbine, at its heart, 
 
 The moccasin lies where the yellow ferns from the 
 grey rock's fissures start. 
 
 The burning bush lights the calumet fire 'mid its 
 leaves of gold and green, 
 
 The Chieftain's tawny feathers tower where the 
 sour-wood's plumes are seen, 
 
 He has dropped his scarlet blanket o'er its branches' 
 glistening sheen. 
 
THE INDIA N S UMMER. 171 
 
 Did'st think ye had driven him out for aye — Pale- 
 face, in your cruel pride ? 
 
 Oh, fools, and blind ! his memory from wood, nor 
 
 wave has died, 
 
 His bow still bends in your forests free, his skiffs 
 your waters ride. 
 
 When summer has breathed her last low sigh, when 
 
 the weird witch-hazel blooms, 
 The Manitou's voice is lifted high — "Bed men ! to 
 
 your old world homes !" 
 Then ghosts in a thousand graves that lie, come 
 
 forth from their mossy tombs. 
 
 And nature, in robes of red and gold, decks moun- 
 tain, and vale, and plain, 
 
 And birds in the depths of forests old re-echo the 
 glad refrain 
 
 Of wind, and water, and wood, and wold, to wel- 
 come the Ghosts again. 
 
 The sparrows twitter, the robins Bing, the partridge 
 
 calls in the eorn, 
 The pheasant drums, as he did in spring, in the 
 
 hazy autumn morn, 
 
 The wild duck spreads his dusky wing, at the sound 
 of the ghostly horn. 
 
 Chieftain, and maiden, brave, and bride, in their 
 pomp and paint appear, 
 
 Under the forest leaves they hide when the day- 
 dawn draweth near, 
 
 You gaze on the wood in its festal pride, and say, 
 "the forest is here." 
 
 Ye are mortal clay, and your eyes are blind, these 
 shapes ye cannot see, 
 
 But come where the mandrake grows behind, the 
 wild witch-hazel tree, 
 
 Its juices shall your eyes unbind, to watch their re- 
 velry. 
 
 You must come to the deeps of a forest old, when 
 
 the midnight moon shines bright, 
 A lake in its heart gleams clear and cold, and their 
 
 oars are dipping light, 
 
 I know their trysting spot of old — will you come 
 with me to-night ? 
 
THE LOVER STAB. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 In accounting for the "Will-o-the-Wisp," the aborigines have, 
 strange to say, embodied a similar idea to that which has, in 
 later days, employed the pens of so many poets — the love of "the 
 sons of God for the daughters of men." 
 
 In days of yore — so warriors tell 
 
 When bright the lodge-fire glows ; 
 Among the stars in Heaven that dwell, 
 
 A deadly feud arose. 
 
 For one had sinned — they said he loved 
 
 A maid of mortal mould, 
 And though from Heaven his spirit roved, 
 
 'Twas unconfessed — untold. 
 
 The shuddering stars were wrapt in gloom, 
 
 And on the thunder's path, 
 For that Star-spirit's final doom 
 
 They gathered in their wrath. 
 
 They soiled the snow-plumes on his wings, 
 
 They reft his radiant crown, . 
 They crushed his harp of golden strings, 
 
 And dimmed his bright renown. 
 
 With fierce, bent brow, and angry frown, 
 
 Dark scowled each angel high ; 
 And when the rushing night came down, 
 
 They scourged him from the sky. 
 
 'Twas at the time when snow-wreaths melt, 
 And spring birds warble wild, 
 
THE LOVER STAR. 173 
 
 He sought the lodge where Mona dwelt, 
 Kohooma's only child. 
 
 Ah ! surely 'twas no lawless crime 
 
 To love so fair a thing ; 
 A dew-drop in the morning's prime, 
 
 A lily of the spring ! 
 
 So pure in heart, so free from guile, 
 
 So beautiful, and still 
 So sad ; yet was her April smile 
 
 Like sunshine on a rill. 
 
 Her wild, sweet voice, on cloudless nights, 
 
 Like some strange spirit hymn, 
 Came winding up along the heights, 
 
 Until the stars grew dim. 
 
 Full oft her father's tribe would come, 
 
 As eve stole on apace, 
 To old Kohooma's woodland home, 
 
 To gaze upon her face. 
 
 Then slowly, to their wondering sight, 
 
 Upon the dusk would rise 
 The lonely, wandering Star, whose light 
 
 Lay deep in Mona's eves. 
 
 Each night it hung above her brow 
 
 In all its lustrous pride, 
 And dark-eyed maidens called her now 
 
 The Starry-Spirit's Bride. 
 
 One morn — 'twas when the days were long, 
 
 And in their summer glow, 
 She wandered where, the swamps among, 
 
 The bright red berries <n-ow. 
 
 'e 1 
 
 Her osier basket on her arm, 
 
 Her tresses floating free ; 
 The robes that decked her slender form 
 
 Were broidered curiously. 
 
 If, roaming thus amid the wild, 
 
 The hunter met her there, 
 He might have deemed the lovely child 
 
 Some spirit of the air. 
 
174 THE LOVER STAR. 
 
 She wandered on— the trail she lost 
 
 Amid the thickets dark, 
 And many a weary mile she crost 
 
 To find one homeward mark. 
 
 Her feet were scarred— the trickling hlood 
 Had stained her path that day, 
 
 Yet through, the green and oozy flood 
 she kept her lonely way. 
 
 The night came down — the winds were out, 
 And hoarse the thunders rolled, 
 
 The storm was on his hurrying route, 
 Ou pinions dark and cold. 
 
 Amid the gloom so deep and dread 
 
 The driving rain fell fast, 
 The cypress hovved its graceful head, 
 
 Low moaning to the blast. 
 
 Then why was Mona's love afar ? 
 
 Why hid he from her sight ? 
 Alas ! not even a Lover Star 
 
 Could i-jhine on such a night. 
 
 The day came up — the tempest slept — 
 The summer splendors burned ; 
 
 But to the lodge of those who wept, 
 Young Mona ne'er returned. 
 
 Yet oft the hunter, lost at night 
 
 In some enchanted vale, 
 Still sees that lonely planet's light 
 
 Far floating on the gale ; 
 
 As o'er the swamp, and through the fen, 
 And by the woodland wave, 
 
 In forest dell, or haunted glen 
 It seeks sweet Mona's grave. 
 
THE RAINBOW. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 On a cloud of pearl and azure, sailing slowly o'er 
 
 the plain, 
 Sat the favored fairy hand-maid in Titania's elfin 
 
 train ; 
 The summer sunlight glinted through her floating, 
 
 golden curls, 
 As she took from out her casket, a string of costly 
 
 pearls. 
 
 With a laugh, the little fairy held her treasures 
 
 high in air, 
 Thinking that the sunheam's glitter would make 
 
 them still more fair, 
 For diamonds shine with borrowed light, the world's 
 
 applause to win, 
 But ocean's tears, like loving hearts, shed radiance 
 
 from within. 
 
 Behind the elfin maiden, as she laughed in her de- 
 light, 
 
 Sat Puck, the waggish fairy, born for teasing man 
 and sprite ; 
 
 He cut the string, and down to earth the priceless 
 treasures flew, 
 
 And scattered over grass and flowers, like drops of 
 morning dew. 
 
 The little maid flew after them, her heart was sore 
 
 afraid, 
 But though she traveled fast and far, no pearl her 
 
 search repaid ; 
 
176 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 The clouds made haste to help her, but they gath- 
 ered dew in vain, 
 The ocean tears so lightly lost, were never found 
 
 Now Puck sat weaving many plans within his gob- 
 
 lin brain, 
 For though he loved to laugh at her, he would not 
 
 give her pain ; 
 So down he dipped within the earth, and sought 
 
 their darksome homes, 
 And held a solemn council with his ugly friends, 
 
 the Gnomes. 
 
 Gay gleaming ore they brought him, and shining 
 
 spangles too, 
 And holding them within a shell, aloft he gayly 
 
 flew, 
 Then lightly dancing round her his waggish head 
 
 he tossed, 
 Saying, "here are jewels brighter far than any you 
 
 have lost." 
 
 The clouds left off their weeping, and the fairy 
 laughed in glee, 
 
 But when she looked more closely, at the flashing 
 trumpery, 
 
 She shook the shell in anger, with a loud and bitter 
 cry, 
 
 When lo ! a radiant circle spanned 1 lie glowing : sum- 
 mer sky. 
 
 Now often when the grieving clouds weep out their 
 
 woes in rain, 
 Puck brings his spangles, and the play is acted o'er 
 
 again ; 
 But like the ill-got gold that gleams in many 
 
 wretched homes, 
 'Tis but a vain, deceitful show — a present from the 
 
 Gnomes. 
 
THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 The little folk will be interested in learning that perhaps, the 
 reason why,when the birds found the dead "Babes in the Wood," 
 "The Robin Redbreast, pityingly, 
 Did cover them up with leaves" — 
 was because the Robin himself, was once a little child, who died 
 of the "cruel Hunger-pain." 
 i 
 
 'Twas lon<r ago, when red men roamed the fore.st, 
 
 Lords of this broad domain, 
 When in the valley, rose his simple wigwam, 
 
 His village, on the plain ; 
 There lived a chieftain's son young I-a-dilla, 
 
 The sachem's only child, 
 Just of the age to seek what guardian spirit 
 Upon bis birth had smiled. 
 
 The old man was ambitious for his darling, 
 
 Who loved him passing weil ; 
 And trusted that his deeds of noble daring 
 
 ' >ne day he would excel ; 
 So, for his son, a longer fast was ordered, 
 
 And longer prayers woe said 
 Than had been used for any noted warrior 
 
 Whose fame he coveted. 
 
 A little lodge was built beside the river, 
 
 Fresh lined with matting clean, 
 
 And twelve long days and nights, the little chief- 
 tain 
 
 Must keep his fast therein, 
 lie laid him down upon the fragrant rushes, 
 
 And covered up his face, 
 Calm, waiting till the Manitou should visit 
 
 The consecrated place. 
 
178 THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 
 
 Each morning, to the Lodge door, came the father 
 
 With words of hope, and cheer, 
 Exhorting him to dream of power and glory, 
 
 And still to pet sc\ ere. 
 To all these glowing words of joyful promise 
 
 The boy made no reply, 
 But there, without a sigh, or moan, or murmur, 
 
 He lay, with half closed eye : 
 
 Till at the dawning of the ninth day, meekly 
 1 [e murmured fori h al Last — 
 
 "My father ! all my dreams do bode but evil ; 
 
 Oh ! may l break my fast'.' 
 Our sachems thoughl that nine Long days of fast- 
 ing 
 Were the Greal Spirit's due— 
 
 My strength fails fast, my father— Oh ! sweet mo- 
 ther- 
 May 1 not come to you?" 
 
 The father answered rapidly and sternly, 
 "You know not what you ask ! 
 
 Rise now'.' come forth? and what greal meed of 
 glory 
 Will bless a broken task ? 
 
 Iu three days more your term will be completed; 
 
 A star without compeer, 
 1 then shall see you shine, "beloved of battle :" 
 
 My brave boy, persevere I" 
 
 The boy obeyed and shrouding up his features, 
 
 lie strove to shut the light 
 Which seemed to tempt his spirit to complaining, 
 
 ( tut from bis failing sight ; 
 But on the eleventh morning, when Ins breathing 
 Told nature must give way ; 
 
 He moaned again "I die oh! save me father — 
 
 ( rive me some drink to-day !" 
 
 The father heard— "Mj only son— and will you 
 Bring shame upon my crest '.' 
 
 Bring night upon the old man, when his day- 
 spring 
 Is failing to the West ?" 
 
 "] will not shame you father! ' 1-a-dilla 
 Responded proudly— then 
 
THE ROBIN RED nil EAST. 170 
 
 All fainting, back upon bis bed of rushes 
 
 The poor boy ,s;mk again. 
 
 Another day — another night of torture, 
 
 When he so long In vain 
 Had struggled to command his reeling senses, 
 
 And crush the hunger pain : 
 Another day, whose light would strike like lances, 
 
 Deep in his fevered brain ; 
 Another night, whose spectres crowd the dark- 
 ness, 
 
 With nerves upon the strain. 
 
 He heeded not — his heart was with his mother, 
 
 Bereft of every joy — 
 So pale — so silent — all her loving spirit 
 
 Gone out unto her boy : 
 ( >h ! how she plead for him ! his youth, his beauty, 
 
 His spirit from above — 
 But the cold heart of pitiless Ambition 
 
 Heeds not the tears of Love. 
 
 The child oft heard, in his uneasy slumber, 
 
 Her whisper at the door, 
 And saw, between him and the twinkling si arlight, 
 
 Her shadow on the floor ; 
 But shadowy waves of darkness came— unfurling 
 
 Between them evermore 
 Like clouds and mists which hurricanes are hurl- 
 ing 
 
 Upon some lonely shore. 
 
 Next morn, tin; father, bearing richest viand 8, 
 
 A fresh, delicious store, 
 Rare fruits, and dainty meats in bowls of cedar, 
 
 Stood by the low lodge door : 
 He whispered— "I-a-dilla ! I-a-dilla !" 
 
 But no soft answer came ; 
 He shouted loud — the wigwam all deserted, 
 
 Re-echoed to the name. 
 
 He entered— lo ! upon the ridge-pole summit 
 
 There sat a strange bright bird, 
 With rich, vermilion, breast, and raven pinions — 
 
 Wild thoughts within him stirred— 
 
ISO ETRUSCAN GOLD. 
 
 For well he knew his child — the good Manitou 
 
 More merciful than he, 
 Had looked upon the Buffering boy with pity, 
 
 And soothed his agony: 
 
 Had changed him to a bird— fair, friendly Robin, 
 
 (Which ne'er was seen till then,) 
 But which e'en now — though dimmed his primal 
 plumage, 
 
 Still haunts the homes of men. 
 Bright bird ! thy warbled lay, beside my window 
 
 Is sounding clear and strong ; 
 Who knows hut thou dost tell this sad, sweet 
 story 
 
 In thine enchanted song? 
 
 ETRUSCAN GOLD. 
 
 I,. M. 
 
 In the Tuscan olive valley, where the Arno's waters 
 
 flow, 
 Round the grey walls of Arezzo, the shining ivies 
 
 -row ; 
 She saw the dead gods come and go, the old faiths 
 
 rise and fall, 
 'With the silence of the Ages spread above them 
 
 like a pall ; 
 And the Bona Pea's temple, and the shrine where 
 
 Christians pray, 
 Alike have crumbled into dust— alike have passed 
 
 away. 
 
 When ivy-clad Arezzo stood in pomp and pride and 
 
 power, 
 There lived a young gold-worker hy her temple's 
 
 gleaming tower ; 
 
ETRUSCAN GOLD. 181 
 
 An olive grew in beauty by his humble cottage 
 
 door, 
 And he sang beneath its shadows, though he lived 
 
 alone and poor, 
 For, like the spider's web, the threads beneath his 
 
 fingers were 
 
 Fine drawn, and bright, and rippling as a maiden's 
 shining hair. 
 
 One morning the king's daughter rode beneath his 
 
 olive's shade, 
 The summer sun looked dim beside the light her 
 
 presence made ; 
 She took no thought of him, but rode on gaily with 
 
 her train ; 
 J'.ut peace and sunlight rode with her — and came 
 
 not back again — 
 Beaten and cursed, he haunted still her steps by 
 
 night and day, 
 The olive pined for him, and drooped, and withered 
 
 quite away. 
 
 Over the plains of Tuscany the wings of Famine 
 
 spread, 
 And bleak starvation's hollow eyes their baleful 
 
 glimmers shed ; 
 The voice of lamentation filled the land with groans 
 
 and sighs, 
 
 And mothers slew their children, not to hear their 
 
 piercing cries ; 
 
 They besought the l>ona Deato raise her mighty 
 hand, 
 
 And lift the bitter curse from off the black and bar- 
 ren land. 
 
 Then spoke the temple's oracle : "Make me a sheaf 
 of corn 
 
 Of gold, with jewel grains that gleam like dews of 
 
 early morn, 
 Bound with twelve thousand threads of gold, in 
 
 strength like iron bands, 
 But finer than the spider's web, more gauze-like, in 
 
 the hands ; 
 Then your vines shall bend with clusters where the 
 
 summer sunlight glows, 
 And all this parching desert shall blossom like the 
 
182 ETRUSCAN GOLD. 
 
 Great fear fell on the people— silence bound them 
 
 like a spell, 
 For who among that starving host should work such 
 
 miracle '.' 
 Hundreds essay the hopeless task, but one by one 
 
 they fail, 
 Who could weave gold that spider's web should be 
 
 less tine and frail ? 
 
 Then rose the poor ^old-worker from his bed of 
 
 misery, 
 Recalled his ancient lore, said : "Give me gold, and 
 
 I will try ;" 
 The people mocked and jeered him, but the king 
 
 came slowly down, 
 With feeble step and heavy eye, from off his weary 
 
 throne ; 
 His voice was faint and trembling, and his face was 
 
 wild and pale — 
 
 "We perish daily — give the begger gold — he can but 
 fail." 
 
 They gave him gold — he shut himself alone six 
 weary days. 
 
 And on the seventh, lo ! he stood before the people's 
 gaze, 
 
 And in his hands twelve thousand threads of gleam- 
 ing <iold did shine ; 
 
 No spider ever wove so slight, no gossamer so fine — 
 
 They dragged their fleshless limbs along— they 
 watched with blood-shot eyes — 
 
 Would Bona Dea graciously accept the sacrifice ? 
 
 There was silence in the temple— a voice came 
 through the air — 
 
 "By gold shall all Etruria live— let earth rejoice and 
 bear ;" 
 
 Then o'er the plain the summer rain through sum- 
 mer sunlight glows, 
 
 And every hill and valley smiled and blossomed 
 like the rose. 
 
 Then cried the people with one voice— "Adore him 
 
 through the land ! 
 Quick ! bear him to the palace ! crown him on the 
 
 king's right hand !" 
 
ETRUSCAN GOLD. 183 
 
 But kneeling at the altar still, he gazed far down 
 
 the aisle, 
 "I nothing need, I gladly die, since it has made hei 
 
 smile." 
 
 She never knew it was for her the golden web was 
 spun, 
 
 But the gods knew that perfect lore this miracle had 
 won, 
 
 And said : "It's witness shall endure though na- 
 tions pass away, 
 
 And fade as summer clouds dissolve before the 
 beams of day ; 
 
 A priceless boon, a deathless fame, this sacrifice 
 shall give — 
 
 Through all the future, by her gold, Etrtaria shall 
 
 And to this day, throughout the length of old Etru- 
 
 ria's land, 
 Her vanished people can be traced by one unerring 
 
 hand — 
 Etruscan gold, that glistens through her ruined 
 
 temple's gloom, 
 And rises from the ashes of her world-forgotten 
 
 tomb. 
 Where olives shiver in the wind, and bright maize 
 
 feathers fly 
 Above the buried cities, where forgotten nations 
 
 lie. 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 T.. V. F. 
 
 Far back adown the vale of time, 
 While yet the world was in its prime, 
 
 There runs a story old, 
 Of how the giant River's might, 
 On one enchanted summer night, 
 First broke upon the gazer's sight — 
 
 And thus, the tale is told. 
 
 Above the waters winding clear, 
 
 By strangers named "La Belle Riviere," 
 
 So beautiful and grand ; 
 No shining rivers fell, it seems, 
 And but a few half hidden streams 
 Reflected back the morning's beams, 
 
 O'er all that pleasant laud. 
 
 Not then, as now, on azure lake 
 
 Far winding like a silvery snake 
 
 The tall, white-shafted sycamore 
 
 Flung his long shadow from the shore, 
 
 Yet oft the hunter, when he strayed 
 
 To chase the game, by glen or glade, 
 
 Would say, when slumbering on the ground, 
 
 He heard a torrent's rage resound 
 
 Far, far beneath, until the shocks 
 
 Jarred harshly on the mighty rocks, 
 
 And shook their deep foundations — said, 
 
 (While sunk his voice with trembling dread,) 
 
 In whisper to the viewless air, 
 
 "Some Manitou lies prisoned there!" 
 
THE ORIGIN OF Til E MISSISSIPPI. 185 
 
 For scattered o'er these pleasant lands, 
 
 There dwelt two friendly Indian bands ; 
 
 And each, a youthful "Brave" could name, 
 
 Who, in the martial race for fame, 
 
 And daring, meet fur riper years, 
 
 Had far outstripped his young compeers. 
 
 Close friends they were : in childhood they 
 
 Had mingled in the mimic fray, 
 
 Had danced in light and careless glee 
 
 With summer breezes blowing free ; 
 
 Across the prairie wild and wide, 
 
 In youth, they hunted side by side 
 
 Together sought the eagle's brood 
 
 On mountain summits, grey and rude, 
 
 Or craggy cliffs, as bleak and bold 
 
 As those that crown the Odenwald. 
 
 Though both were strong, and fair to view,. 
 And both were brave — but one was true. 
 Yatoba's broad and stalwart form 
 Stamped him a nursling of the storm, 
 And war was sunshine to his sight, 
 Whose path was as the vulture's flight. 
 His gifts, by nature's hand infused, 
 Had been for good, but all misused, 
 Their very wealth of force and fire 
 Enkindled hate and wrong desire, 
 Till whelmed beneath proud passion's wave, 
 He lived, the Machinitto's slave — 
 Who to him gave, in evil hour, 
 The soul that doth itself devour. 
 
 Not so Haw-ketah — ne'er was seen 
 A chieftain of more noble mien; 
 Brave was he in red battle hours 
 And quick to speed the arrowy showers ; 
 On weary march, in skirmish rude, 
 Famous for skill, and fortitude ; 
 An aged Prophet blest his name — 
 "The Son of Thunder and of Flame"— 
 And bade him, for the right, be strong, 
 And bow to Death, but not to Wrong. 
 
 With manhood's prime there came a change, 
 And childhood's friends grew cold and strange, 
 Ah ! often thus first friendship ends — 
 They loved — and were no longer friends. 
 
1 86 Til E ORIGIN F Til E M I SS I SS TPPI. 
 
 They loved a Sachem's only child) 
 Sweet blossom of that lonely wild ; 
 Wynona bird upon the air — 
 Wynona, of the raven hair. 
 A cheek of bloom, a cloudless eye, 
 
 A voice of love and melody, 
 A form of grace, afoot of speed, 
 
 A motion like the Swaying reed ; 
 The softened dusk of twilight skies 
 Had looked into her loving eves ; 
 And, like the night-bird which awakes 
 An echo from a thousand brakes, 
 Her spirit heard its answer start 
 From every lofty, loving heart . 
 A noble beauty left its trace 
 
 On that serene and sunny face ; 
 For oft the sign of danger nigh 
 Would curl her lip, and light her eye, 
 The blood that warmed her noble sires 
 Would kindle on her cheek its fires, 
 And baughty smile and motion free, 
 Assert Wynona's majesty : 
 Vivid, and startling to behold 
 Such spirit in so soft a mould ; 
 It spoke in every feature fair, 
 The will to do— the soul to dare. 
 
 A Warrior's shadow, o'er her dreams 
 Shone pure and hright, as from afar 
 
 There shines within the Polar streams 
 The image of the Northern star. 
 
 Yatoba loved her ; and the dart. 
 
 Was madness to his fiery heart; 
 
 And though forebodings, vague and vain, 
 
 Hung o'er his soul and racked his brain, 
 He labored, hoped, and struggled on, 
 To win a love— already won. 
 As the lithe serpent in the ^rove 
 Close Matches the unconscious .love, 
 Heeding what time he best may dare 
 Beguile her to his subtle snare, 
 The fierce Yatoba's love and wrath 
 bay lurking in Wynona's path. 
 Wynona, with a nameless fear 
 
 Beheld his brow and lip austere, 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 187 
 
 And when she met his serpent eye, 
 Shuddered, and fled, she knew not why. 
 She loved his rival, fair and brave, 
 Bold rider of the dancing wave, 
 Fleet foot upon the sylvan chase, 
 Keen eye upon the foeman'H trace ; 
 And they were happy. Oft of late, 
 They heard the pheasant call his mate, 
 They saw the blossom kiss the bee, 
 The ivy clasp the stately tree, 
 The white-limbed clouds reposing lie 
 On the broad bosom of the sky — 
 All loving things around, above, 
 Unnoted, save by those who love. 
 
 The tribe was gathered, glad and gay, 
 To chase the night's soft hours away 
 In dance and song — for who could grieve 
 
 On sweet Wynona's bridal eve ? 
 
 Beneath a stately maple's shade, 
 
 Beside her father, stood the maid ; 
 
 The dancing fire-light ruby warm, 
 
 Fell softly o'er her slender form, 
 
 Flowed richly o'er her broidered dress, 
 
 Slept, jewel-like in every tress, 
 
 Blushed on her cheek, which love had paled, 
 
 And t hrobbing bosom half unveiled. 
 
 The Sachem's eye was on his child, 
 Its glance was softened now, and mild ; 
 lie murmured low — "Okona's pride !" 
 And drew her closer to his side. 
 Clasped were his hands, and calm his air, 
 The breeze just stirred bis silvered hair; 
 On many a war-path he had been, 
 Mingled in many a battle keen ; 
 And now, must show the gathering crowd 
 That time his spirit had not bowed. 
 But hark ! a shout rings loud and high, 
 The Bridegroom and his band are nigh, 
 The chief his belt and mantle dons, 
 And stands — a statue wrought in bronze. 
 
 That instant o'er the moonlit sod 
 A stately band of Warriors trod ; 
 
188 THE ORIGIN OF THE M ISSISSIITI. 
 
 And at one quick, elastic tread 
 Wynona's blushes came and fled ; 
 When on her heart fell love's low words 
 How beat it, like a frightened bird's ; 
 And then, as on her soul the while 
 They melt ! how radiant was her smile ! 
 In presence of that gathered band, 
 The Sachem took his daughter's hand, 
 And gave it to Haw-ketah bold ; 
 Then gathered up his mantle's fold, 
 And thus in mingled pride and grief 
 Addressed the youthful stranger chief. 
 
 "Young Pine tree ! in thy pride of place, 
 The hope of thine illustrious race ; 
 
 The red blood's fiery glow 
 That warmed Okona's noble dead, 
 That lit Okona's life has fled, 
 And years about his aged head 
 
 Have bound a wreath of snow. 
 
 "Nanioya left him one bright flower 
 To cheer his lodge in darkest hour, 
 
 And light his lonely fate ; 
 But when Okona forth has gone 
 To rest beneath Namoya's stone, 
 His only flower will be alone, 
 
 Her wigwam desolate. 
 Then, in the morning of thy pride, 
 Take thou this blossom to thy side ; 
 While woodlands wave, and waters shine, 
 Son of the mighty— she is thine !" 
 
 What means that group of painted men 
 In covert hid, in yonder glen ? 
 What band of armed marauders, these 
 With stealthy footsteps through the trees 
 Advancing — now in shade concealed, 
 And now in moonlight half revealed? 
 Ha ! bursts the war-whoop wild and high, 
 Yatoba's fearful battle cry ! 
 A moment— fierce replies resound, 
 Conflict and carnage rage around. 
 Haw-ketah hears— his answer rings, 
 And like the panther, forth he springs, 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 189 
 
 Yet turns again, with frenzied start, 
 To clasp Wynona to his heart, 
 That burning heart — then fiercely, in 
 He plunges, 'mid the strife and din. 
 
 Wynona, like the Bride of Death, 
 
 With straining eye, and gasping breath, 
 
 Stands rigid — on her cheek no tear, 
 
 Wild throbs her bosom— 'tis not fear 
 
 But love divine, and duty high 
 
 There struggle for the mastery. 
 
 Like winds that mingle wave and cloud, 
 
 The vengeful Braves to battle crowd ; 
 
 A war-whoop rings— a pause — again 
 
 Thrill6 through her heart that piercing strain ; 
 
 They sway apart— ha ! can it be 
 
 Haw-ketah on his bended knee — 
 
 And high above Yatoba's dart 
 
 Just poised, to strike him to the heart '.' 
 
 She sees it — with a sudden cry 
 
 Of maddened, 'wildered agony. 
 
 She springs into the conflict high, 
 
 To save her lover — and to die — 
 
 Her arms about him wildly thrown, 
 
 She shields his bosom with her own ! 
 
 Vain hope had been Wynona's then, 
 
 Had mercy rested but with men : 
 
 Yatoba, stung afresh, to view 
 
 His rival thus defended drew 
 
 One moment back, to make his aim 
 
 More deadly, and their death the same — 
 
 Hark ! the Great Spirit, from above, 
 
 Beholds the sacrifice of Love, 
 
 And ere the deadly dart descends, 
 
 The solid earth in sunder rends, 
 
 And lo ! enwrapt in flaming sheen, 
 
 A dreadful chasm yawns between ! 
 
 'Mid rolling mists, that upward curled, 
 
 A strong, swift, sweeping torrent hurled 
 
 And heaved, (though not a breath was there,) 
 
 His mountain billows high in air. 
 
 Then, through the rock-embattled steep 
 
 Clove his great pathway, dark and deep ; 
 
 As when some veteran chief at bay, 
 
 With trenchant, dripping blade, his way 
 
190 THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 Cuts through the serried hosts — his blows 
 Devouring all who dare oppose. 
 
 Thus were they rescued — 'mid the roar 
 And din, from the receding shore, 
 One solitary, fiendish cry 
 Of disappointment rent the sky — 
 Then wave and flame, a sable wreath 
 Sent up — the echo died beneath — 
 And by the crag, and on the shore, 
 Yatoba's form was seen no more. 
 
 Perchance these woods, and wild flowers wave 
 
 O'er sweet Wynona's forest grave ; 
 
 Perchance the breeze that wanders by 
 
 Is whispering — "Here her ashes lie !" 
 
 It matters not — life's nobler part 
 
 Was hers — the empire of the heart ; 
 
 Its glory to her grave is lent, 
 
 The River is her monument. 
 
 Hail mighty torrent ! broad and free, 
 
 Whose waters seek the Southern Sea ; 
 
 As lightning cleaves the cloudy mass, 
 
 Thy shining billows swiftly pass, 
 
 And o'er still earth and sleeping sky 
 
 Send up their awful harmony. 
 
 At Love's command, these hills were torn, 
 
 There, Giant River, thou wert born — 
 
 God's mighty argument, to prove 
 
 That all things great are bora of Love. 
 
THE BURNING HEART. 
 
 I.. M. 
 
 The idea embodied in this legend was suggested by reading 
 the History of The Caliph Vathek, by Win. Beckford. The 
 concluding paragraph of the story runs thus : 
 
 "In the midst of this immense hall, a vast multitude was in- 
 cessantly passing, who severally kept their right hands on their 
 hearts, without once regarding anything around them. They 
 had all the livid paleness of death, their eyes deep sunk in their 
 sockets resembled those phosphoric meteors that glimmer by 
 night in places of interment. Some stalked slowly on, absorbed 
 in profound reverie, some shrieking with agony, ran furiously 
 about, like tigers wounded with poisoned arrows, whilst others, 
 grinding their teeth in rage, foamed along, more frantic than the 
 maniac. They all avoided each other, and though surrounded 
 by a multitude that no one could number, each wandered at 
 random, unheedful of the rest, as if alone on a desert which 
 no foot had trodden." 
 
 * «- * - ■:•:- * * * * * 
 
 ''Having uttered this exclamation, Soliman raised his har.ds 
 towards Heaven, in token of supplication, and the Caliph dis- 
 covered through his bosom, which was transparent as crystal, 
 his heart enveloped in liames." 
 
 "At almost the same instant, the same voice announced to 
 the Caliph, Xouronihar, the five princes, and the princess, the 
 awful and irrevocable decree. Their hearts immediately took fire> 
 and they at once lost the most precious of the gifts of Heaven — 
 Hope. These unhappy beings recoiled, with looks of the most 
 furious distraction; Vathek beheld in the eyes of Xouronihar, 
 nothing but rage and vengeance; nor could she discern aught 
 
192 Til E BURN1 N G II E . I R T. 
 
 in his, but aversion and despair. The two princes, who were 
 friends, and till that moment had preserved their attachment, 
 shrunk back, gnashing their teeth, with mutual and unehang- 
 able hatred. Kalilah and his sister made reciprocal gestures of 
 imprecation, whilst the two other princes testified their horror 
 for each other by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that 
 could not be smothered. All severally plunged themselves into 
 the accursed multitude, there to wander in an eternity of un- 
 abating anguish." 
 
 In the creed of the orthodox Mahometan, Mouker and Nakir, 
 two black and terrible angels, called the Searchers of the Grave, 
 are supposed to visit the graves of the newly dead, examine 
 them regarding their earthly life and conduct, and pronounce 
 their sentence of reward or punishment. 
 
 'Neath a dull grey sky, where the wild winds sigh, 
 
 And the weeping willows wave, 
 On a cold white stone, with a gibbering moan, 
 
 Crouch the Searchers of the Grave ; 
 In the grasses dank, with a hollow clank, 
 
 Their skeleton feet keep time 
 With the iron hands on their ileshless hands. 
 
 To a weird and ghostly rhyme. 
 
 *'IIo ! Spirits fair— on the viewless air 
 
 Upborne upon shadowy wing — 
 Look on as we tread the dance of the dead, 
 
 And list to the dirges ring ; 
 And hear us tell of the blight that fell 
 
 On the beautiful and brave, 
 How the proud and the gay, became the prey 
 
 Of the Searchers of the Grave. 
 
 Oh ! sweet and fair was the maiden rare, 
 
 Of a pure and spotless fame ; 
 Oh ! brave and proud was the noble lord 
 
 Who gave her his princely name ; 
 Divine the grace of his brother's face, 
 
 And matchless the charms that won 
 By their passion spell, to the deepest hell, 
 
 These children of the Sun. 
 
 Oh ! keen was the sword of that noble lord, 
 Oh! false weri' the hearts it clave, 
 
THE B URNING HE A R T. 193 
 
 Oh ! swift was the blow that laid them low 
 
 In the gloom of the traitor's grave : 
 Now speed your flight on the wings of night — 
 
 Where the ebony portals part, 
 King Eblis stands with welcoming hands 
 
 To the halls of the Burning Heart." 
 
 Deep in that sin-stained grave, two forms are lying, 
 
 Locked in a close embrace 
 Above it, two winged Shades are slowly flying 
 
 Through midnight's clouded space ; 
 Before her gaze, her shameful past revealing, 
 
 Dread shapes of memory roll ; 
 Pale-eyed Forgetfulness is sadly sealing 
 
 His guilt-beclouded soul. 
 
 Their shadow wings, each spectral shape upholding, 
 
 Pause in their onward flight ; 
 His shadow arms her phantom form enfolding, 
 
 Like Darkness clasping Night ; 
 Like winter's stars, that midnight clouds are veiling, 
 
 His eyes gleam coldly drear, 
 Like winter's wind through midnight forest wailing, 
 
 His voice falls on the ear. 
 
 "Whence came we ? Whither journey ? What our 
 mission ? 
 
 Since mortal life is done, 
 Eemembrance but recalls love's sweet fruition, 
 
 Through death's dark portal won ; 
 Through blinding clouds that o'er me darkly hover, 
 
 One star alone doth shine — 
 That thou wert once Francesca — I, thy lover— 
 
 And that thou still art mine." 
 
 In this dim hour, when spirits disembodied 
 
 Can shape, nor substance claim, 
 Then only is 'Remembrance' light afforded 
 
 On joy, or grief, or shame ; 
 So Memory's key, Francesca's eyes beholding. 
 
 The past's dark scroll unsealed, 
 The Legend of the Burning Heart, unfolding, 
 
 Never before revealed. 
 
 Afar on the outward verge of Time, 
 In the cold, grey dawn of Years, 
 
194 THE B URN IS a HEART. 
 
 Ere the morning stars sang their matin chime 
 
 Over human hopes and fears, 
 Ere joy, and sorrow, and peace, and strife 
 
 Were joined in a God-like whole — 
 And He breathed in his nostrils the breath of life, 
 
 And man was a living soul ; 
 
 The world was peopled with beings bright, 
 
 More subtle, and strong, and free, 
 Fairy, and Peri, and Gnome, and Sprite, 
 
 Joined hands in their goblin glee, 
 And builded the palace of Istakhar, 
 
 With its temples, and towers, and wings, 
 For Gian Ben Gian, who reigned, the peer 
 
 Of the oid Pre-Adamite kings. 
 
 He builded the Pyramids, towering high 
 
 Over Egypt's arid plain, 
 Turret, and minaret pierced the sky, 
 
 The secrets of Heaven to gain ; 
 With wand, and talisman, charm, and spell, 
 
 Wrought deeper, and broader, and higher, 
 Till he dared at last, the powers of hell 
 
 As a worshiper of fire. 
 
 Two thousand years, over earth he reigned, 
 
 Through ruin, and discord dire, 
 When Eblis, him and his subjects chained 
 
 In the subterranean fire, 
 Where Afrit, and Demon, fierce and fell, 
 
 Through its lurid chasms dart, 
 Where hatred and anguish ever dwell, 
 
 In the halls of the Burning Heart. 
 
 As clear as crystal the bosom shone, 
 
 Where the life-blood circling came, 
 And the heart within was scorched and worn 
 
 In a bed of glowing fiame ; 
 And Hope — Heaven's brightest, chiefest boon, 
 
 Fled shrieking from the shore. 
 And through these halls of ghostly gloom 
 
 Despair reigned evermore. 
 
 Age after age, from his throne of fire, 
 King Eblis watched their pain, 
 
THE B URNING HE A R T. 195 
 
 Till slowly upon the funeral pyre 
 
 The flames began to wane ; 
 And eyes that glared with the maniac's wail, 
 
 Or fierce, demoniac dread, 
 Grew dull and cold, as a corpse-light pale, 
 
 That glimmers above the dead. 
 
 As up from his gloomy cavern springs 
 
 The monarch of the storm, 
 The tempest cloud, as a mantle flings 
 
 Around his giant form, 
 And breathes in the lightning's deadly stroke, 
 
 And laughs in the thunder's tone, 
 So the mighty Evil within him spoke 
 
 To the demons round his throne. 
 
 The fire is waning — the heart grows cold, 
 
 The worm is uncoiling his deadly fold, 
 
 The frenzied cry, and the madman's glare 
 
 Is hushed, and sunk to a stony stare ; 
 
 No hellish agonies keenly dart, 
 
 Through the quivering core of the Burning Heart; 
 
 For anguish only a heart can wring 
 
 Where good with evil, is combatting; 
 
 No torturing fire can kindled be 
 
 In a soul of black malignity, 
 
 And this numbed state, when the worst is told, 
 
 Is only a palsy, dull and cold : 
 
 How shall I bid the Fire-fiend start 
 
 From his deepening sleep in the Burning Heart ? 
 
 No living sacrifice waits its turn, 
 
 No torch to kindle, no brand to burn ; 
 
 For there on its altars, cold and dark, 
 
 Lie the ghosts of dead loves, stiff and stark, 
 
 And the blackened brands of its scattered fire 
 
 Are strewn with the ashes of dead desire ; 
 
 Ambition lifts not his regal head 
 
 Within these halls of the living dead, 
 
 No dreams of fame through these dulled brains play, 
 
 For Failure's besom to sweep away, 
 
 No golden visions of wealth to be, 
 
 Lie starving in hovels of penury, 
 
 No budding blossoms of promise good 
 
 Sink drowning in Disappointment's flood, 
 
 No fair creation of painter's brush 
 
 For the critic's cruel sneer to crush, 
 
196 THE BURNING HEART. 
 
 No dream Elysian, of poet's pen, 
 
 For the vulgar jeering of ribald men — 
 
 Lo ! Eblis, formed of ethereal fire, 
 
 Must trail his mantle in earthly mire, 
 
 His crown and scepter, must Bign away 
 
 To mau, who was fashioned of common clay, 
 
 And from Earth-born passion's ebb and swell, 
 
 The secret learn of t lie deepest hell. 
 
 Wing you r Bight to the upper air, 
 
 Ye who the brand of Eblis bear! 
 
 Afrit and Demon, ( J In nil, and Dive, 
 
 Swim tlic seas, and the mountains rive, 
 
 Ride on the whirl-wind, cleave the sky 
 
 Where the black browed tempest rushes by ; 
 
 Marking the children of men, who tear 
 
 The linage of (Jod from (heir foreheads fair, 
 
 Setting the seal of the dragon there ; 
 
 Aiding the Devils of Drink and Play 
 
 To burn their brand on the child of clay, 
 
 Bidding the damning witness stand 
 
 On the midnight murderer's blood-stained hand, 
 
 And passion's pulses to throb and dart 
 
 Through the seething veins, and the molten hearl ; 
 
 Thus shall the soil prepared be 
 
 For the roots of the old ancestral tree. 
 
 And next, to the realms of upper air, 
 The doomed of the hall of Eblis bear, 
 And breathe each soul, with its passions wild, 
 Into the form of anew born child; 
 Christen each brow with its Prince's name, 
 Sprinkle each heart with its seething dame, 
 Brand in each bosom, a blood red dart, 
 The sij^n, and seal of the Burning Heart. 
 
 No need 1 lien for t he powers of hell 
 To work with philter, and ban, ami spell, 
 but leave these souls in the fostering care 
 Of Adam's sons, and his daughters fair. 
 
 Regal ambition shall rear his head, 
 And beckon, to follow his princely tread, 
 And brave Endeavor, his altars raise, 
 
 Ami star-eyed Elope, bid the fagots blaze ; 
 
THE B UR XING HE A R T. 197 
 
 But the mighty besom in Failure's hand 
 Threatens to scatter the burning brand, 
 When smooth tongued Sophistry whispers low— 
 "This evil plant, that this good may grow." 
 
 Ye toil, ye build, but on turret high 
 The ghost of your dead sin, white shall lie, 
 And gilded tower, and palace fair 
 Shall crumble to ashes, and melt in air ; 
 For the deadly breath of an evil done 
 Shall trail its venom o'er triumphs won, 
 Staining the fair, bright future years 
 With its leprous hue, and its rain of tears. 
 
 Ye toil, ye strive, but ye cannot rebuild 
 The castle with sun-bright visions filled, 
 Each day its battlements gleaming higher, 
 In a knightly soul, and a heart of fire ; 
 The cup ye held to that eager lip, 
 Its gall and wormwood, your life shall sip ; 
 A legion strong ye may save from death 
 By the magic power of your warning breath, 
 But. the strength of angels cannot roll 
 That stone from the sepulchre of your soul. 
 
 Ye sleep, ye dream, through the charmed hour, 
 Cradled in Passion's rose-crowned bower, 
 His world is a garden of blossoms bright, 
 His breath is summer, his smile is light, 
 His promise, your faithful covenant bow, 
 His mandate, the only God you know ; 
 His kiss, the sun on your darkness riven, 
 His full fruition — your highest heaven. 
 
 Sleep on ! dream on ! till his cursed spell 
 Has kindled your heart with the fires of hell, 
 And filled each bounding and quivering vein 
 With the molten fire of its sulphurous rain ; 
 Then wake, to see that your sun has set, 
 Your blossoms with chilling frosts are wet, 
 Your bow has faded, your smile has fled, 
 Your Heaven has vanished — your God lies dead — 
 And know, no powers that in darkness dwell 
 Can heap the coals of so fierce a hell. 
 
198 THE BURNING HEART. 
 
 Then sleep again — for another face 
 
 Shall haunt your dreams with its witching grace, 
 
 The curves of another swaying form 
 
 Shall thrill your bosom with visions warm, 
 
 A lip of coral, an eye of pride, 
 
 Shall start the ilow of the pulses' tide, 
 
 And the demon spell shall be brought again, 
 
 Forever fading — forever vain. 
 
 Thus toil through the span assigned to men, 
 The measure of "three score years and ten," 
 When the mortal frame must waste, and die — 
 Then cleave your way through the vaulted sky, 
 From the charnel house, through the gloorny hells, 
 To the burning halls where Eblis dwells. 
 Your mortal life from your view to hide, 
 He will lave your spirit in Lethe's tide, 
 And deep in your quivering brain will press 
 The burning brand of forgetfulness. 
 
 And then, in another mortal frame, 
 
 With bounding pulses, and heart of flame, 
 
 You shall bear your burdens, and weep your tears, 
 
 And learn the passion and pain of years ; 
 
 Building forever, on hopes that fade, 
 
 Dreaming forever, on loves betrayed, 
 
 Piling a fresh oblation ever, 
 
 On the altar-stone ot strong Endeavor, 
 
 The fuel, Hope, and the torch, Desire — 
 
 Oh ! passionate soul and heart of fire ! 
 
 Go forth from the hall where demons dwell, 
 
 To a deeper, darker, deadlier Hell ! 
 
 Thus, climbing, falling, fainting — as the ages roll 
 away, 
 
 The Legion of the Burning Heart their dread atone- 
 ment pay ; 
 
 Forever climbing upward, where the sun of Pas- 
 sion shines, 
 
 Forever plunging downward, when its beacon light 
 declines ; 
 
 Forever roaming onward, through Hope's summer 
 scented wood, 
 
 Forever chilled and hungered in its midnight soli- 
 tude ; 
 
THE B URNING HE A R T. 199 
 
 Forever building palaces, with rainbow-tinted halls, 
 Forever crushed and bleeding, 'neath the ruins of 
 
 its walls ; 
 Forever sailing outward, over Pleasure's rosy sea, 
 Forever sinking in its waves of black satiety. 
 
 But, as down the hoary centuries Time's sandal 
 steals apace, 
 
 This legion of the lost is gaining heritage of grace ; 
 
 For, as no torture can endure, save good with evil 
 wars, 
 
 These souls, though worn, and covered o'er with 
 many battle scars ; 
 
 From out the dross of earth, and sense, in crucible 
 sore tried, 
 
 Slow, one by one, show grains of gold — by fire puri- 
 fied ; 
 
 Slow, one by one, the upas leaves are seared, and 
 scorched, and dried, 
 
 Ambition shades no more the heart — by fire puri- 
 fied ; 
 
 Slow, drop by drop, the poisoned waves of earth- 
 born Passion's tide 
 
 Exhale from out the Burning Heart— by fire puri- 
 fied ; 
 
 Slow, one by one, the angels come, and in its halls 
 abide, 
 
 And Self and Sense die in the heart — by fire puri- 
 fied; 
 
 Slow, inch by inch, the ramparts yield— the seige is 
 pressing on — 
 
 Slow, step by step, the walls are scaled— the Citadel 
 is won ! 
 
THE LOST BRIDE. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 In the upper part of New Orleans, not far from the river, 
 stands an old house, well known in that part of the city as 
 "The Haunted House," or "The House of the Lost Brides." It 
 is said no tenant can be induced to remain long in it, but all 
 frightened by supernatural sights and sounds, speedily seek an- 
 other dwelling. 
 
 Yonder looms the Crescent city ! see her castellated 
 
 spires 
 Glow like heaven-pointed torches, in the sunset's 
 
 ruddy fires ; 
 There is pride within her mansions, there is mirth 
 
 within her walls, 
 Laughter on her dancing waters, music in her 
 
 lighted halls. 
 
 Yet dream not all is happiness, for haunts of bitter 
 
 woe, 
 And pits of seething wretchedness lie hidden deep 
 
 below ; 
 Her reeking bosom bears within, the plague-spot 
 
 and the stain, 
 For want, and wickedness, and woe lurk in its dark 
 
 domain. 
 
 She bears too, on her breast, a scar, that tells to 
 coming time 
 
 A tale of wild and wasted love, and beauty's blight- 
 ed prime ; 
 
 It is an old deserted house, with chambers dim and 
 
 grey, 
 Long years ago enshrouded in the mantle of decay. 
 
THE L OST BRIDE. 201 
 
 A nameless horror long hath hung its shadow o'er 
 
 the spot, 
 By man and beast alike 'tis shunned, and yet 'tis 
 
 not forgot, 
 For dark Tradition wanders there, and peers from 
 
 casements old, 
 Or whispers tales that chill the heart, and make 
 
 the blood run cold. 
 
 "In ancient days"— she mutters— "in the darkling 
 
 days of yore — 
 (Her voice is hoarse, as when at night the river 
 
 chafes the shore,) 
 There dwelt within these lofty halls, a Cavalier of 
 
 Spain, 
 And where your noble city stands, spread out his 
 
 broad domain. 
 
 This house of solitude, now filled with dim, deserted 
 shades, 
 
 Hose grandly then, with pillared halls, and airy col- 
 onnades, 
 
 Bright, laughing eyes glanced in and out its beauti- 
 ful alcoves, 
 
 And fairy footsteps sped along its blooming orange 
 groves. 
 
 All desolate is now the court, and silent is the hall, 
 
 No passing shadow save the bat's, is on the mould- 
 ering wall ; 
 
 If sound creeps up the corridors from out the ruin's 
 gloom, 
 
 ; Tis only mine— and what is mine ?— an echo from 
 the tomb. 
 
 It was not so in other days, when shook this lordly 
 house 
 
 To morn's triumphant tourney peal, or midnight's 
 deep carouse, 
 
 When evening stars glanced down upon the mask- 
 er's quaint array, 
 
 And daughters of its noble line led out the dancers 
 say. 
 
 Seven damsels they, of beauty rare, and heaven will 
 never bless 
 
202 THE LOST BRIDE. 
 
 The world again with purer souls, or richer loveli- 
 ness : 
 
 Zarada, of the clear dark eye, at times so shy and 
 wild, 
 
 Whose face was shadow if she wept, and sunshine 
 if she smiled ; 
 
 And Zulieme a timid flower thai shunned the Maze 
 of noon, 
 
 But oped the treasures of her heart beneath the 
 midnight moon ; 
 
 Leora, with her lips of love, and cheek like summer 
 rose, 
 
 Imelda, of the regal form and mien of proud re- 
 pose, 
 
 Ximena, bright, imperial queen, whose beauty 
 seemed to throw 
 
 O'er every brilliant scene of earth, its own resplend- 
 ent glow. 
 
 With raven tress, and lustrous eye, the child of 
 sunny Spain, 
 
 Of loyal heart, and noble mind, the beautiful Ro- 
 maine ; 
 
 And last, and loveliest of all, so gentle, and so true, 
 
 Young Elenoire, with golden hair, and eyes of won- 
 drous bine. 
 
 But beauty will be wooed and won — a glorious brid- 
 al morn 
 
 Shone over young Zarada's brow, of light and 
 splendor born ; 
 
 And dark browed maidens wreathed the rose, and 
 snowy orange flowers, 
 
 With jessamine buds, and myrtle blooms, t<> crown 
 the festal hours. 
 
 And see ! a proud and gallant barge adown the state- 
 ly stream 
 
 Bears on to landward— all her sails are tipped with 
 golden gleam, 
 
 Zarada's lordly lover comes — the boat man's choral 
 song 
 
 Reverberates, the swelling waves and verdant 
 • shores along. 
 
THE LOST BRIDE. 203 
 
 In sooth it was a gallant sight, to see the sunlight 
 
 pour 
 O'er burnished side, and pennon fair, and quaintly 
 
 carved prore ; 
 And sweet to list the cadences of oar, and song, and 
 
 wave, 
 Till soft, responsive choruses the waiting echoes 
 
 gave. 
 
 The bridal train was gathered there, the holy priest 
 
 was nigh, 
 The sire so fond, the sisters fair, already standing 
 
 by, 
 
 The bridegroom, and his company, when loud the 
 
 herald cried, 
 "The hour wanes on — make way, my Lords — Ho! 
 
 wait we for the Bride !" 
 
 The Bride? No one has seen. the Bride! and flying 
 footsteps traced 
 
 The chambers, corridors, and halls, with wild and 
 frantic haste ; 
 
 They through the groves and gardens called, up- 
 starting if a bird, 
 
 Or wanton wing of summer wind, the glossy leaf- 
 lets stirred. 
 
 The Bridegroom, frenzied in his grief, through thick- 
 ets hunted wild, 
 
 The father smote his breast, and cried — "Oh God! 
 restore my child !" 
 
 The pallid sisters called her name along the sound- 
 ing shore, 
 
 But sweet Zarada's gentle voire an answer gave no 
 more. 
 
 Oh ! where was she? that lovely one — beneath the 
 orange boughs, 
 
 Had she a traitress, listened to another's passion 
 vows? 
 
 Had some foul fiend from out the swamps her foot- 
 steps led astray ? 
 
 Or pirates from the stormy gulf this treasure borne 
 away ? 
 
 oli Sire! bethink thee earnestly— did reddjrowed 
 vengeance then 
 
204 Till: LOST BRIDE. 
 
 For sin of thine, around her spread a sure and secret 
 
 snare ? 
 For some deep wrong, some covered crime, which 
 
 seared thine early day, 
 Did thus, the dread Avenger seek, and claim his 
 
 rightful prey? 
 
 We cannot know. So time passed on. The spirit's 
 
 buoyant swell 
 Lifts up again the mourning soul from sorrow's 
 
 blighting spell ; 
 As rises to the sun again, the light, elastic flower, 
 Which laid its cheek upon the earth before the 
 
 driving shower. 
 
 'Tis strange — and yet the wounds of heart, that 
 
 weep rich blood like rain, 
 When Time, the vampire, fans them, lose their deep 
 
 and deadly pain ; 
 We bow at last to Destiny, whose Medean decree 
 'Tis worse than madness to resist, and folly still to 
 
 flee. 
 
 It lists me not to tell how Youth and valor owned 
 
 the power 
 Of Beauty— till was wooed and won each lovely 
 
 Spanish flower; 
 Or how, upon each bridal morn, they vanished, one 
 
 by one, 
 Until the last, sweet Elenoire, stood by her sire 
 
 alone. 
 
 And how her heart was pledged to one returned 
 from battle held, 
 
 With laurels round his lofty brow, and honors on 
 his shield ; 
 
 Distinguished he for valor, toil, and manly forti- 
 tude, 
 
 Whose pathway to the goal of Fame lay through 
 the forest rude. 
 
 He laughed away his lady's fears, and kissed from 
 
 off her brow 
 The gloom which gathered when he sought her 
 
 plighted marriage vow, 
 
THE LOST BRIDE. 205 
 
 With love's most potent arguments he wiled her 
 
 doubts away, 
 Till blushing on his breast, she smiled, and named 
 
 the fatal day. 
 
 Again the bridal train had met, but dimly through 
 
 the room 
 There crept a chill of dread suspense, a harbinger 
 
 of doom ; 
 The melting voice of song was hushed, the jest, the 
 
 laugh, were dead, 
 And from the maiden's cheek and lip the summer 
 
 rose had fled. 
 
 The priest had named the bridal pair— when, burst- 
 ing from its shroud, 
 
 Down poured the rain in torrents from the cleft and 
 inky cloud, 
 
 And shook the stately mansion, as the storm went 
 d living past, 
 
 As though a host of battle-fiends rode forth upon 
 the blast. 
 
 Then, borne along in mad career, they heard the 
 headlong speed, 
 
 The rush and bay of blood-hounds, and the neigh 
 of demon steed ; 
 
 Anon, a giant form, which east no shadow on the wall, 
 
 In kirtle green, and sable plumes, strode up the sil- 
 ent hall. 
 
 Fixed was his stern, relentless eye— it swerved to 
 neither side, 
 
 But glared with thirsty lustre, on the pallid, shrink- 
 ing bride, 
 
 His glances fell like fire-flakes— deep as molten ore 
 in hue, 
 
 Scorching, drinking up the life-light in those pit- 
 eous orbs of blue. 
 
 She feels she faints in gazing, yet she cannot choose 
 
 but gaze 
 In those eyes of hellish lustre, steadfast in that 
 
 demon face ; 
 
200 THE LOST BRIDE. 
 
 O'er her purple lips is ebbing fast, a rich and ruddy 
 
 slain, 
 The ripples of a dying brook which ne'er shall How 
 
 again. 
 
 Surging like the hungry ocean round the jewel- 
 freighted ships, 
 
 Closed his strong embrace around her, while the 
 vow was on her lips; 
 
 She sank, as into an abyss— the crowd, by fear dis- 
 armed, 
 
 Sat white and mute with terror, like birds when 
 serpent charmed. 
 
 Then swift, as through a crowd of dead, he passed, 
 and oif again, 
 
 His triumph shout was echoed by his fiendish 
 phantom train, 
 
 With wild, weird bugle ringing out, and shrieks of 
 laughter rude, 
 
 Passed on, the savage tumult of his trampling mul- 
 titude. 
 
 Yet to this day — when storms are out, the wretched 
 father stands 
 
 Before his desolated hearth, and wrings his shad- 
 owy hands ; 
 
 "While loud above the tempest rings the din of 
 hound and horse, 
 
 And bugle horn, as scouring forth along the Me- 
 tairie course, 
 
 The Demon-hunter rides amain, 'mid showers of 
 sulphurous ore, 
 
 Close clasping to his breast his bride, the Lady 
 Elenoire ! 
 
THE LILY OF THE VALLEY 
 
 L. M. 
 
 In the valley of Gethsemane, where Sharon's roses 
 
 bloom, 
 The Mother of our risen Lord lay sleeping in the 
 
 tomb ; 
 And Jesus to his angels said— "What honor shall 
 
 • be given 
 To her who was the Mother of the Lord of earth and 
 
 heaven ?" 
 
 Then answered they — "Lord, suffer not thy Holy 
 One to see 
 
 Corruption — and thy dwelling place let not destroy- 
 ed be;" 
 
 Then Jesus said — "Eise up, my Dove ! my fair one, 
 come away, 
 
 Thou shalt not lie in darkness — rise to Heaven's 
 glorious day !" 
 
 Then her soul rejoined her body, and in youth's 
 eternal bloom, 
 
 The Mother Mary, glorified, ascended from the 
 tomb. 
 
 With silent, sorrow-stricken hearts, oppressed with 
 grief and gloom, 
 
 The lone Apostles wept for her, beside her empty 
 toinb ; 
 
 But one among them halted still, to trust his broth- 
 ers' word, 
 
 'Twas Thomas— he who doubted first, the rising of 
 his Lord ; 
 
208 • THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 Depressed, and doubting still, lie stood among the 
 
 sad eleven, 
 And asked, as he had asked before — "Give me a 
 
 sign from Heaven !" 
 
 Thej' opened the sarcophagus — it held no body fair, 
 Bnt heavenly fragrance floated up, and rilled the 
 
 summer air; 
 Hiding their waxen bells beneath broad leaves of 
 
 shining green, 
 Lay Lilies of the Valley — first on earth that e'er 
 
 were seen. 
 
 Henceforth, on Easter morning, when the altar's 
 
 roses bloom, 
 To hail the Prince and Savior, who has risen from 
 
 the tomb, 
 Bring Lilies of the Valley, and their fragrance shall 
 
 award 
 A stainless, virgin tribute to the Mother of onr 
 
 Lord . 
 
THE OLD DATE TREE. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 This strange relic of the past, stands in a neglected spot near 
 the corner of Orleans and Danphine streets, New Orleans. 
 Palm-like, the trunk rises to the height of perhaps, forty feet, 
 and appears to be of two distinct growths. From the ground to 
 about one-half its height, it is some three feet in circumference, 
 and presents the appearance of an agglomerated mass of thin 
 fibrous roots ; while from this, springs a slender shaft, appar- 
 ently composed of small flat stones, irregularly laid and ce- 
 mented by rude masonry. From the summit of this shaft 
 spreads out a leafy eapitol of long, graceful foliage, mingled 
 with heavy, clustering blooms, of a rich, creamy whiteness. Of 
 all the beautiful trees and flowers that rill the groves and gar- 
 dens of that sunny clime, I remember but this wild stranger of 
 the desert, standing in the solitary place, neglected, and alone. 
 
 Wake, wake thy harp !— be its minstrelsy 
 
 The lays that it lightly held 
 When the wine flowed free, 'mid the festal glee, 
 
 In the storied days of Eld . 
 
 Or tell us a tale of gramarye, 
 
 For a shade on thy soul is cast, 
 And thy life throbs weak and wearily, 
 
 Thou voice of the hoary Past i 
 
 The minstrel bard was old, and the Southron 
 young and bold, 
 And they sat 'neath the wizard tree, 
 As the rude, and mystic rhyme of a tale of olden 
 time ; 
 On the wind sighed fitfully. 
 
210 THE OLD DATE THEE. 
 
 "List thee, gentle Cavalier !" thus began the ag 
 Seer, 
 "And the legend mock not thou ; 
 For its cur.se is deep and dread, and it lieth on the 
 dead, 
 "lis a fearful meed, I trow. 
 
 Many the moons that have have waxed and waned 
 
 O'er the giant river's How, 
 On the lonely shore, it was marked, and more 
 
 Than a hundred years ago. 
 
 A cabin rough and rude by the rushing river stood. 
 
 Where an exile dwelt alone, 
 And his solitary lamp struggled though the murky 
 
 damj), 
 When the day's red tires were gone. 
 
 His story was wrapped in mystery, 
 And often the honest hind 
 If lie passed, at twilight late, by the lonely wicket 
 
 gate, 
 Stole a restless glance behind. 
 
 Where, like a goblin quaint, sat he in his ghostly 
 haunt, 
 With his head beneath a cowl, 
 And the only friends to him, were a wolf-dog huge 
 and grim, 
 Ami a blear-eyed, mousing owl. 
 
 When he trod the open glade, his presence seemed 
 a shade 
 < >n the morning's golden air, 
 The frightened children tied, and the gossip shook 
 her head, 
 And mumbled a hasty prayer. 
 
 Dark with storm grew the brow of heaven, 
 Darker its gathering frown, 
 
 And the clouds were riven by the burning levin, 
 And the dun night shades came down. 
 
 Through the dank and drooping moss, as its Bhaggy 
 surges toss, 
 Howled the melancholy wind, 
 
THE OLD DATE TREE. 211 
 
 And raging cold, o'er the wintry wold 
 The battling tempest dinned. 
 
 Sullenly, and hoarse, sped the river on its course, 
 As the storm waxed loud and high, 
 
 And the wolves were out on their midnight rout, 
 With their famished, wailing cry; 
 
 Is it the muffled strokes or" the wind among the 
 oaks — 
 That dreary, doleful sound ? 
 Or the chafing of the tide 'gainst the sullen river's 
 side, 
 That echoes deep around ? 
 
 There! a heavy, grating sound 
 A crash, and a ring of steel ; 
 But the storm fiend shrieked, and wild winds drown- 
 ed 
 The tramp of an armed heel. 
 
 Clank ! o'er the lonely threshold stone; 
 Tramp! through the silent hall ; 
 Round the stranger lone, on the white wall shone 
 Three shadows 'lark and tall. 
 
 With armor ready laced, and sinews steady braced, 
 
 They desperate stood — and dire, 
 Through the heavy visions 'lark, shot the red, de- 
 fiant spark 
 
 Of a couchant tiger's ire. 
 
 With frenzied eyes, and bristling hair, 
 
 That gaze the victim shuns 
 Too well he knows the scowl, and stare 
 
 Of Fate's dread myrmidons. 
 
 In his wavering glance, the corpse-lights 'lance, 
 
 And he hears a spirit cry — 
 "Tis the evil hour when death clouds lower, 
 
 Prepare — thou doomed — to die !" 
 
 Wild glared his eye of flame, and his color fled and 
 came 
 "What would ye here?" he said ; 
 
212 THE (tl. I> 1>A TE TREE. 
 
 Like a melancholy moan, ruse the measured mono- 
 tone, 
 And it muttered — "Mahmoud'a head!" 
 
 The tempest broke, and e'er it ran 
 Its course, the strife was o'er; 
 With a deadly ban, the yataghan 
 
 Was dyed in kindred gore. 
 
 Three steel blue blades were drenched in blood, 
 Three points, the heart had found — 
 
 Like lightning played the trenchant blade, 
 
 And reeling, sunk, a headless trunk 
 Upon the bloody ground. 
 
 In gloom the naked garden boughs 
 Fierce battled with the blast, 
 
 And the sleet-storm froze on swarthy brows 
 As a muffled train stub- past. 
 
 Sounds strange, and dull, in the tempest's lull, 
 Were heard o'er the water's rave, 
 
 As they shovelled the mold o'er the victim cold, 
 And trampled his hurried grave. 
 
 "Allah il Allah !" they muttered low, 
 "Tis a royal, rightful doom ; 
 
 Stinted and slow, let the date tree grow 
 On the traitor's gory tomb !" 
 
 The dun clouds broke as the day awoke, 
 And the dismal rites were done ; 
 
 With the last rude stroke, the leader spoke, 
 "Hence — hence — we must be gone !" 
 
 Through the swamp they toil and strain, till the 
 Xebec's deck they gain, 
 And the storm-swept snore is lone — 
 Of their vengeance fierce and fell can the hoary 
 Creole tell, 
 A.nd the doom of the dark unknown. 
 
 In the casement low at night, burned no more the 
 pallid light, 
 Nor the wan, wild eyes looked through, 
 
THE WIND. 213 
 
 And for him, no tolling bell woke the echoes with 
 a knell, 
 Save the north-wind'a dismal sough. 
 
 By the lonely mound, the wolf-like hound 
 
 Had moaned, and starved, and died, 
 
 As the owl's last cry from the branches high 
 Smote shivering far and wide. 
 
 But a slender shoot there struck its root 
 
 In the grave of guilt and gloom, 
 And "stinted and slow does the date tree grow 
 
 On the traitor's gory torub." 
 
 So ends the tale ; as told to me 
 
 I tell it — weird and dread ; 
 Would'st question more ? go ask the tree 
 
 That guards the guilty dead. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 Out of his sea-girt cavern rides 
 
 The monarch of the storm; 
 The frighted moon her wan face hides 
 
 At sight of his goblin form ; 
 His smile breaks out in the lightning's flash, 
 
 He speaks in the thunder's tone, 
 And his slaves, the Whirlwinds, madly dash 
 
 Around his cloud-wreathed throne. 
 
 His thunders roll, and his lightnings flash 
 
 Athwart the midnight skies, 
 As the groaning timbers reel and crash 
 
 Where the white-capped billows rise ; 
 And he breathes his fierce, destroying breath, 
 
 And laughs in his demon glee, 
 
-14 THE KIND. 
 
 As white lips quiver, and sink in death, 
 In the sounding, surging sea. 
 
 Far over the gladsome, laughing world 
 
 I [e si retches his giant form, 
 And castle, and col into dust arc hurled, 
 
 In the wrath of the raging storm; 
 Then— silence follows his laughter loud, 
 
 And his thunderous curses die, 
 And lie sinks i" sleep on a rosy cloud, 
 
 To a low, sweet lullahy. 
 
 lie spreads a couch for lie dying sun, 
 
 With rainbow lines bedight, 
 Then over the earth he wanders on 
 
 I ii rays of purpling light, 
 I lr sings his song in t he -lens below, 
 
 Where the echoes ring alar, 
 Ami chants his hymn on the mountain's brow, 
 
 Tn t he rising e\ ening star. 
 
 His twilight garb is as pearly laii- 
 As the robe of a sporl Lve fay, 
 
 Bui the night-wind chants his legends rare 
 I n a robe of sombre grey ; 
 
 And glens re-echo the sob ami wail 
 ( if t he moaning midnight air, 
 
 As the white n 1 clasps In her bosom pale 
 
 The w aves of his raven hair. 
 
 He hanii's his harp on the swaying boughs 
 
 Of the solemn swelling pines, 
 His whispering lute he softly throws 
 
 In t he shining ivy vines, 
 lie strikes the strings of his light guitar 
 
 ( >n t he lea\ es of a .1 clad bower, 
 
 And sings like a wandering troubadour 
 
 In t he ruined abbey's tower. 
 
 .Many a visage, and many a tongue 
 lias the mocking, wayward Wind, 
 As the mingled fancies, at random strung 
 ( >n a Poet's fitful mi ml ; 
 Who rests his hopes on a Poet's heart, 
 
 A life must prepare In find, 
 \- many visaged, and many voiced 
 As the shifting, wandering Wind. 
 
ALABAMA. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "The emigrant Indians, moving westward, weary and dispir- 
 ited, having crossed the river, the aged Chief struck his hatchet 
 into the trunk of a giaUt cypress, exclaiming, 'Alabama! Ala- 
 bama!' — ILr, we rest! Hen we rest!" 
 
 O'er the rolling Chattahoochee 
 
 Came a weary cavalcade. 
 In the sombre autumn twilight 
 
 Toiling through the everglade; 
 From the silvery Savannah, 
 
 And the rushing Ockmulgee, 
 To a wilderness primeval 
 
 Fled the footsteps of the free. 
 
 Through the pathless thicket wending, 
 
 By the giant rocks up-piled, 
 Over dark ravines impending, 
 
 Rugged ramparts of the wild; 
 ( lame I tie Chieftain, and his people, 
 
 Belted Brave, and dusky bride, 
 With her dark cheek flushed with fever, 
 
 And her red lip curled with pride. 
 
 Not upon the bloody war-path. 
 
 Panoplied in paint and plume, 
 Spread they, like a stream of meteors 
 
 Flashing through the forest gloom ; 
 But a spell of haggard silence 
 
 Lay upon each visage stern, 
 As if each his dead heart carried 
 
 In a monumental urn ; 
 For these haughty spirits, driven 
 
216 ALABAMA. 
 
 By an unrelenting fate, 
 Like a brood of forest eagles 
 Left their eyrie desolate. 
 
 All the orient is purpled 
 
 With the amethystine hue, 
 And the western heaven slumbers 
 
 On a bed of gold and blue ; 
 From the somber mists dark rolling 
 
 On the bosom of the hill 
 Sounds the melancholy night cry 
 
 Of tbe lonely Whip-poor-will : 
 Heavily the dry canes rustle 
 
 With the yellow tinted vines, 
 And the wild wind-sough is sighing 
 
 Through the ever tossing pines. 
 
 Then the venerable Sachem 
 
 With his tameless soul of flame, 
 Gave the desert place a nation, 
 
 And the wilderness a name ; 
 When he, turning to his warriors 
 
 Who around him closely pressed, 
 Broke the spell of silence, saying — 
 
 "Alabama" ! — here we rest. 
 
THE ROSE OF JERICHO. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 "Tradition tells us that it first bloomed on Christmas Eve, to 
 salute the birth of the Redeemer, and paid homage to His res- 
 urrection by remaining expanded until Easter. It is not a poi- 
 sonous plant, and can be hung on a nail, or carried in the pocket 
 for an indefinite time, and when moistened, will expand, and be 
 as fresh as ever. Hence, it is also known as the 'Resurrection 
 Flower.' " 
 
 Who brings to the altar, (with blossoms gay) 
 
 A Rose of Jericho ? 
 Born under the pale December ray, 
 
 Two thousand years ago — 
 To herald the dawn of a perfect day, 
 
 It bloomed, amid Christmas snow. 
 
 Fearlessly springing from chilly bed, 
 
 This flower frail and white 
 Has opened its heart to the wind that sped 
 
 Through the bleak midwinter night, 
 Till, pure and perfect, it lifts it head 
 
 In the dawning Easter light. 
 
 Who lays on the altar, this Easter day, 
 
 This flower of perfect peace ? 
 Have ye hid its roots from your sight away, 
 
 In the ashes of slothfulness ; 
 Bidding them molder and decay, 
 As your sands of life decrease ? 
 
 Have ye thrown them down upon stony ground, 
 Where the rank and poisonous weed 
 
2i8 THE R OSE OF JERICHO. 
 
 The mold in its fissures dark lias found, 
 And avarice, lust, and greed 
 
 Their snake-like tendrils clasp around 
 Choking the goodly seed ? 
 
 Dead, it seems— but it only sleeps— 
 
 This Resurrection flower 
 Deep in its heart, a life germ keeps, 
 
 Waiting the charmed hour 
 When He who holds it sounds the deeps 
 
 Of Love's all-potent power. 
 
 Wake, thou Sleeper ! visions lent 
 
 To slumber, are but vain ; 
 Work, thou Sluggard ! hours mis-spent 
 
 But yield thee years of pain ; 
 Work ! that thy flower of sweet content 
 
 In time, may bloom again. 
 
 Water its roots with timely showers 
 Of Penitence deep and true ; 
 
 Moisten its leaves and budding flowers 
 With Pity's sparkling dew ; 
 
 Waft soft winds from Charity's bowers 
 To quicken its sap anew. 
 
 Shedding his healing beams around, 
 Bid Love's warm sun arise ; 
 
 Child of pleasure, in earth-chains bound- 
 This Rose of Paradise, 
 
 Springs only out of the stony ground 
 Of stern self sacrifice. 
 
LEGEND OF THE PIASA. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 "In descending the Mississippi river to Alton, the traveler 
 will observe, between that town and Illinois, a narrow ravine 
 by which a small stream pours its waters into the Mississippi. 
 This stream is the Piasa, (pronounced Piasaw.) The name is 
 an Indian one, and signifies 'The bird that devours men.' Near 
 the mouth of that stream, on the smooth and perpendicular 
 face of the bluff, and at an elevation which no human art could 
 reach, is the figure of an enormous bird, with its wings extend- 
 ed. The bird which this figure represents was called by the 
 Indians the Piasa, and from this, is derived the name of the 
 stream. Not long since I visited the caves below the 
 mouth of the Illinois river, and above that of the Piasa. My 
 examination was principally confined to the caves connected 
 with the tradition, as being those to which the bird had carried 
 its human victims. The cave I most desired to enter was ex- 
 tremely difficult of access, and at one point I stood at an ele- 
 vation of more than one hundred and fifty feet on the face of 
 the bluff, with barely room to sustain one foot ; the unbroken 
 wall towered above me, while below me rolled the river. After 
 long and perilous clambering, we at length reached the cavern. 
 The roof was vaulted, hardly less than twenty-five feet in 
 height, the shape was irregular, and the floor throughout the 
 whole extent, was a mass of human bones, skulls, etc., mingled 
 together in the utmost confusion. To what depth they extended 
 I am unable to say, but we dug to the depth of three or four 
 feet in various parts of the cavern, and still we found nothing 
 but bones. The remains of thousands must have been depos- 
 ited there ; how, by whom, or for what purpose, I must leave 
 for wiser heads to determine." 
 
 As when, through the midnight, a bell slowly toll- 
 ing, 
 Leaves mournful vibrations to chime in our ears, 
 
220 LEGEND OF THE PI. 1 SA . 
 
 Wild tales of the by-gone, and buried, corne rolling, 
 
 Adown the long lapses — the darkness of years. 
 What though the grey Genius of Gloom, sable- 
 hooded, 
 Hath sat by their grave-stones, and shrouded 
 them long ; 
 Though the dusk wing of Silence above them hath 
 brooded, 
 And their names are forgot by the Children of 
 Song? 
 
 List ! now a wild legend of ages Titanic 
 
 When Mound-builders peopled the valleys of 
 yore — 
 Their great tribes were wasted in peril and panic, 
 
 By a Spirit of Evil, that haunted the shore. 
 In a far away time, ere the stormy Atlantic 
 
 Had wafted the Pale-face to this pleasant land 
 "When the megalonyx, and mammoth gigantic 
 
 Roamed free in the forest, and slept on the strand. 
 
 'Mid the hills of the Northland, a region enchanted 
 
 Lay where the Missouri and Great River meet, 
 And the bright Illinois by a Horror was haunted, 
 
 Till the haughtiest red man bowed low at its feet ; 
 Like some mighty Cormorant — some giant Condor, 
 
 From a deep "outer darkness," it fled to this shore, 
 And oft the bold chieftains in council would ponder, 
 
 Death — death to this Phantom of gloom and of 
 gore. 
 
 In the flash of the lightning, his eye was reflected, 
 
 In rapine and ravage he buried his beak ; 
 In his hunger for blood was the ghoul-soul detected, 
 
 And lost spirits echoed his death-telling shriek, 
 On the mist shrouded cliff was his terrible dwelling, 
 
 Where the wild wastes of waters incessantly rave, 
 And e'en when above it the midnight was knelling, 
 
 The Piasa's shadow fell black on the wave ! 
 
 He blent his keen shriek with the roar of the water, 
 He dipped his black plumes in the dash of the 
 
 spray, 
 
 And swept from his pinion the red stain of slaughter 
 
 Where the earth-rocking cataract foams on its 
 way. 
 
LEGEND OF THE PI AS A 221 
 
 When the tempest rode up on the clouds of the 
 even, 
 He met it afar in the wind shaken dome, 
 Down plunging at speed with the deep striking 
 levin, 
 And resting his wing in the Thunderer's home. 
 
 The brave Illinois oft had dared him to battle, 
 
 But their flint-headed arrows fell harmless as hail, 
 When the tiny white ice drops but quiver and rattle 
 
 O'er casings of iron, and platings of mail. 
 The cold crashing hatchet, the point-poisoned lan- 
 ces, 
 
 Struck off from his plumage as water drops glide 
 From the breast of the swan, when the blue lakelet 
 dances 
 
 Around her white bosom, and soft swelling side. 
 
 Like a demon, the Garagay wasted the nations, 
 Their chieftains, their children, were swept from 
 the plain ; 
 The people grew maddened with wrongs and impa- 
 tience. 
 And prayed for a Savior, yet prayed they in vain ! 
 Their day had gone down like a pale captive, droop- 
 ing 
 To the red fires of sunset, and died in their glow, 
 And shadows came on, as the night wolves come 
 trooping 
 With long hungered gallop o'er deserts of snow. 
 
 Lone, lone was the night in each death-leagured vil- 
 lage ; 
 
 No shelter availed them, for each passing day 
 The monster swept down on his errands of pillage, 
 
 And his talons were bathed in the blood of his 
 prey: 
 The wail of the people grew 'wildered and weary, 
 
 Deep grief woke the saddest of soul symphonies, 
 Oh ! well may the strain be a wild miserere, 
 
 When Death is the player, and hearts are the keys. 
 
 As the sun-god looks forth when the Orient is burn- 
 ing 
 And flashes the glories of ligtit o'er the land, 
 i'he great Owatoga from war-palhs returning, 
 
222 LEGEND OF THE PI A S. 1 . 
 
 Cried — "Rouse ye, bold chieftains— the Day is at 
 
 hand!"" 
 His form rose aloft, like the pillared palmetto, 
 
 His light limbs were pliant, and polished as steel, 
 
 His frame bore the brand of no festering fetter, 
 
 His soul hid no thought which he dared not reveal. 
 
 On war-paths, a warrior watchful and wary, 
 
 His fleet foot had measured the Great River's 
 source, 
 He sat like a statue, the steed of the prairie, 
 
 When dashing along in his turbulent course. 
 The hills of the Northland a warrior braver 
 
 Ne'er called to the council, or sent to the strife, 
 His great deeds had won him the Manitou's favor, 
 
 And he came, for his people, to peril his life. 
 
 For a space of a moon, in the valley he fasted, 
 
 Up the arches of midnight resounded his prayer, 
 That the Master of Life, on this people so wasted 
 
 Would look down in pity, and make them his care. 
 On the last fearful night of that watch in the forest 
 
 The Great Spirit spoke to the Chief in the wind, 
 And, promising succor when need was the sorest, 
 
 Said — "Thou — thou shalt save them, although 
 they have sinned !" 
 
 Then forth to his tribe, bearing light on his visage, 
 
 Strode out Owatoga — his mission was told, 
 'Mid loud acclamation, and many a pressage 
 
 Of victory, hailing the gallant and bold. 
 Then twenty tried warriors straight he selected, 
 
 Each bearing white arrows with plumes tufted 
 o'er, 
 (Such weapons the Master of Life had directed 
 
 To drink the dark blood of this Phantom of gore.) 
 
 In secret and silence his band then he musters ; 
 
 Where rich vines curl upward their emerald spray , 
 Their hint-heads are pointed through deep ivy 
 clusters 
 
 To pierce him the moment he seizes his prey. 
 Then brave Owatoga stood forth as the victim — 
 
 So true in the council, in battle so tried — 
 The people rushed forward to shield and protect 
 him, 
 
 He warned. them of danger, and waved them aside. 
 
LEGEND OF THE PI A SA . 223 
 
 Then drawing his form to its loftiest stature, 
 
 He breathed to the Master, a low murmured 
 prayer, 
 A radiant brilliancy brightened each feature, 
 
 And clearly his death song arose on the air. 
 The black Machinnitto, far over the river 
 
 With eye-balls red blazing, glared out on his prey, 
 A moment his sable plumes rustle and quiver, 
 
 His eye names with vengeance— he speeds on his 
 way. 
 
 Swift— swifter, and stronger, his pinions sweep on- 
 ward, 
 Oh ! noble young victim, prepare for the worst ! 
 His red beak yawns open— his dread swoop is down- 
 ward, 
 They hear the fiend heart throb with passions 
 accurst ; 
 Loud thunders his pinion— his talons he gathers 
 
 To strike at the heart of the hero — 'tis o'er— 
 Ha ! the twanging of bow strings— the snow tufted 
 feathers, 
 Of twenty white arrows are dyed in his gore ! 
 
 Then wild shouts of welcome upsurging from de- 
 mons 
 
 That hide in the ghoul-haunted regions of woe 
 Rose dread on the air — at the terrible summons 
 
 The fiend-soul fled outward— the black corse lay 
 low. 
 But the great Owatoga stood dauntless before them, 
 
 Nor arrow, nor talon his blood had revealed ; 
 For the Master of Lile, in his mercy, held o'er him 
 
 The gold-woven sunshine's invisible shield. 
 
 To mark out the spot where this tierce demon vul- 
 ture 
 
 Had dwelt in the rock cavern's battlements grey, 
 And victims he chose for the bloody sepulture 
 
 Of thousands on thousands— his innocent prey; 
 The good spirits came, and with sable emblazon 
 
 Engraved his black image far up the lone height, 
 That the red man forever, might reverently gaze on 
 
 This work of the Master— and trust in His might. 
 
WE TWO. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 F>leak and barren, dark and dreary, 
 Beat the waves on sullen shore ; 
 
 Grey and goblin, weird and weary 
 Hang the leaden curtains o'er ; 
 
 Wind and wave, with voices eerie, 
 Wail the death-dirge — "never more I" 
 
 Lost, and aimlessly we wander, 
 With a dreary, ceaseless pain, 
 
 Dull with cold, and faint with hunger, 
 Whispering feeble prayers in vain, 
 
 For the warmth, and light, and shelter, 
 Which we ne'er shall know again. 
 
 Swiftly o'er the waters flying, 
 
 Shoots a tiny scallop shell, 
 And a bright and shining Presence 
 
 Guides it through the ebb and swell ; 
 Silent — signs for us to enter, 
 
 Silent — yield we to the spell. 
 
 Swift, the tiny shallop turning, 
 To the breeze her sails unfurl ; 
 
 Purpling billows, diamond crested. 
 Over rosy wavelets curl, 
 
 Chasing on like joyous children, 
 Over beds of purest pearl. 
 
 Crimson, purple, pearl, and golden 
 
 Sunset clouds above us swing, 
 And from out their downy bosoms 
 
WE TWO. 225 
 
 Viewless hands are scattering 
 Roses, violets and lilies, 
 Laden. with the breath of spring. 
 
 Brightly, through the cloudless ether, 
 Shines the gleaming, golden strand 
 
 Of the shore to which we're hasting, 
 Glowing like a fairy land ; 
 
 Eadiant shapes upon its margin 
 Lure us on with beckoning hand. 
 
 Stately palaces of crystal 
 
 In the sunlight gleam and shine, 
 
 Garlands sweet, of rarest flowers 
 Round their massive pillars twine, 
 
 Countless forms are gliding through them, 
 Clothed with radiance divine. 
 
 Tiny cottages are peeping 
 
 Through the trees, like snow-white doves, 
 And around them, happy beings 
 
 Roam through ever verdant groves, 
 Murmuring, with arms entwining, 
 
 Fairy tales, of faithful loves. 
 
 Pearl and rosy crested billows 
 Bear us swift, their bosoms o'er; 
 
 ;Now, the boat and Guide have left us, 
 Vanished— to return no more ; 
 
 And we stand amid the blooming 
 Gardens of the "other shore." 
 
 Radiant beings come to greet us, 
 Shining wings around us sweep, 
 
 And in light, and love, and gladness 
 Soul and senses softly steep — 
 
 Thus my golden vision passes 
 Into peaceful, dreamless sleep. . 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 FOR THE ROSES OF MELROSE, BY L. V. F. 
 
 " Lovingly dedicated to the Misses Narcissa and Cynthia 
 Pillow Saunders, of Melrose, near Nashville, Tennessee." 
 
 We have Beauty of the Bower, we have Queen and 
 gay Coquette, 
 
 And that pure and pallid flower, called the Wood- 
 land Margaret. 
 
 We have roses of Damascus, we have roses of Cash- 
 mere, 
 
 E'en to name them all would task us — but the roses 
 without peer, 
 
 Roses like to those of Eden's-land, where spring 
 eternal glows, 
 
 Are two rare and radiant maidens — lovely Roses of 
 Melrose. 
 
 Oh ! lovely is the rose that blooms, upon the clifl's 
 
 grey side, 
 The wild red-rose of summer-time, the stately Kal- 
 
 mia's bride. 
 And lovely is St. Mary's flower, which villagers have 
 
 styled 
 The Christmas rose, so frail and fair, December's 
 
 lonely child ; 
 But brighter than the sheen of one, and purer than 
 
 the snows, 
 That gem the other — are my twain, sweet Roses of 
 
 Melrose. 
 
 They're climbing now the purple stair of girl-hood's 
 golden day, 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 227 
 
 The air is full of bird-songs, and the sky is fraught 
 with May, 
 
 Entranced in gorgeous dreaming, flushing 'with a 
 fairy blOom, 
 
 Is the life around them gleaming, with its sunshine 
 and perfume. 
 
 Through an ever verdant valley their happy life- 
 tide flows, 
 
 And they rest there in their beauty — twin Roses of 
 Melrose. 
 
 Be they silent, be they songful, still your heart will 
 
 linger yet, 
 There's a glamour in those brilliant eyes, that dares 
 
 you to forget ; 
 There's a magic in their voices, like bird-notes 
 
 breathing over 
 Far stretching fragrant emerald waves of fresh bee- 
 haunted clover, 
 The lark upon the cloud above, would fold his wings 
 
 so brown 
 To list that gay heart-carol, so much richer than 
 
 his own ; 
 For voices like gay music, with a minor key's soft 
 
 close, 
 Have those chosen buds of beauty — our Roses of 
 
 Melrose. 
 
 As beneath the mother pinions nestled, guarded 
 from all pain, 
 
 The young bird sits and listens to the rushing of 
 the rain, 
 
 So they harken to the tumult of the outer world be- 
 yond 
 
 As the tempest-laden waters in the distance thun- 
 der on ; 
 
 But soft as on the bosom ef an open azure sea 
 
 Wafted by the balmy spice-wind, sailing buoyantly 
 and free. 
 
 Sweep the life-barques of (he Sisters, and in beauti- 
 ful repose, 
 
 Sleep the world-tides all around them — gentle Roses 
 of Melrose. 
 
 Be happy ! rock your fairy boat, on Time's enchant- 
 ed bay, 
 
228 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 Where every care dissolving floats, in shadowy 
 mists away ; 
 
 Where passing seasons, year by year, shall weave a 
 chiming spell, 
 
 Like blending soft ot mermaid song, and mellow 
 Triton shell. 
 
 And when you reach that Thither shore, the Better- 
 land afar, 
 
 Clear as the silver shining coast of some far rising 
 star, 
 
 May kindly angels o'er the sea whose limit no one 
 knows, 
 
 Bear safely to eternal heavens— the Roses of Mel- 
 rose. 
 
 On this grandly glorions morning, blessed above all 
 other morns, 
 
 As the natal day of Him who wore the cruel crown 
 of thorns, 
 
 All my heart is full of murmurs, as when bells have 
 ceased to toll 
 
 Still their soft vibrations linger in the temple of the 
 soul. 
 
 All the earth is crowned with glory, and her mighty 
 voice astir, 
 
 Speaks of Christ the King and Savior, of the Cross 
 and Sepulchre ; 
 
 Then I look beyond earth's shadows, where the sea 
 of crystal glows, 
 
 Round the great white throne of Jesus— and a ten- 
 der prayer out-flows. 
 
 That golden gates of Paradise, may one day all un- 
 close, 
 
 And in God's eternal Eden bloom, my Roses of 
 Melrose. 
 
NEXT YEAR. 
 
 L. V. F. 
 
 The lark is singing gaily in the meadow, 
 
 The sun is rising o'er the far hlue hills ; 
 But she is gone, the music of whose talking 
 
 Was sweeter than the song of summer rills. 
 Sometimes I see the blue bells blooming in the 
 forest, 
 
 And think of her blue eyes ; 
 Sometimes I hear the rustle of her garments — 
 
 'Tis but the wind's Ioav sighs. 
 
 I see the sunlight trail along the orchard, 
 
 And fall, in thought, to tangling up her hair ; 
 And sometimes, round the sinless lips of childhood, 
 
 Breaks forth a smile, such as she used to wear : 
 But never any pleasant thing around, above us 
 
 Seems to me like her love ; 
 More lofty than the skies that bend and brighten 
 o'er us, 
 
 More constant than the dove. 
 
 She walks no more beside me in the moraine:. 
 
 She meets me not on any summer eve ; 
 But once at night, I heard a low voice calling— 
 "Oh ! faithful friend— thou hast not long to 
 grieve !" 
 Next year, when larks are singing in the meadow, 
 
 I shall not hear their tone ; 
 But she, in that dim, far-offcountry of the stranger, 
 Shall walk no more alone. 
 
ONLY ONE. 
 
 L. M. 
 
 "Only one !" the winds are moaning, 
 "Only one !" the woodlands sigh, 
 
 "Only one !" the waves intoning, 
 "Only one !" the stars reply : 
 
 Easter lilies pale and shiver- 
 In the struggling April sun, 
 
 Pallid moonbeams wane and quiver, 
 "Whispering sadly— "only one !" 
 
 Every bush and tree is swaying 
 
 With the sorrow-laden tone, 
 Every bird and bee is saying 
 
 "One is here— and one is gone !" 
 Every running stream is telling 
 
 Out its weary monotone, 
 Every bud to blossom swelling, 
 
 Mutely answers— "only one !" 
 
 Every mission meek and lowly, 
 
 Where two wrought in days of yore, 
 Every purpose high and holy, 
 
 Mourns its helper— gone before ; 
 Every pure and fair creation 
 
 In a poet's brain begun, 
 Lacks its soul and inspiration, 
 
 Droops, and falters— "only one !" 
 
 Faint and far, a pleading whisper 
 
 Blends with bird, and breeze, and bee- 
 Shall I go to you, my Sister, 
 
 Since you come not back to me ? 
 Will the great and loving Giver 
 
 Grant us choicest benison, 
 ' And beyond the shining river, 
 
 Blend our spirts— only one ? 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Page 114. Note """. "E ya-sho" signifies "the 
 home of a people that are gone " or lost. 
 
 Note t. "Kee-chin-ja-shu"" the gift of the Great 
 Spirit." 
 
 Page 116. Note'"". "We-wun" — wife. 
 
 Page 14 2. Note"". " Outalissa" — Humming- 
 bird. 
 
 Page 143. Note t. "Segondaa" — The Brave 
 chief. Note \. "Kanozid"— The Tall chief. 
 

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