;! J -l^'%-%.'^'^'<^-0-'«^" '0''1fe>'^'' UimWY (W G>i.\(;i!ESS, -^/., ^ Oa/t^iiitfA .yiry // ^/i ^3 UNITED STATES OF AiMEIUCA.f • ■^'■'^••^'^'^■%,'^'%,<%,<^^ >^ht:[.'\^^^■ "mmk^KMn^^ mm. KwftfH WJKm^ Wk *' * '.A ,' m4 '^H^w \-: Am r m^ m0 LTU fr' ^C';:^^^^ v^ I MY GIFT. CYRUS 'elder 1867 ''>' of Washv^i^^ . NEW YORK: N. TIBBALS & CO 1 867. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, By N. TIBBALS & CO., in tlie Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. THIS UOOKlAiT IS I< K S !• K C T F IT I. I. Y U K I) f C A T H l> TO DANIEL J. MORRICLI OF JOHNSTOWN, I'KNN., AS A TOKEN OF ESTEEM, THE AUTHOK. r CONTENTS My Gift, ... Hector, . . . A Village Tale, . . . ^ . Maple, . . . . Asgard, . . . 5'^;?^, .... 5'/r Hu Id brand de Ringstetten, Uganda, . . . ■ . TZ'^ Token, . . . . 7;^ Memoriam, . Song, 7'o Sidney, My Voyage, . . . . Song, ..... I'AGE 9 12 19 26 28 29 32 34 38 4o 43 46 48 52 viii Contents. I'AGH The Moss -Worker, 53 Prelude, . . 5^ The Maiden* s Prayer, . , . , . 57 Warner Justice, , . . . • • 59 Song of the Chimes, , . . . . 62 My Attic, 64 J Tragical Tale, 68 Psyche, yj Written in a Lady's Album, . . . . 80 Song, . . . . . . . .82 Prelude, ....... 84 Dramatis Persona, . . . . . .86 Atlas, ........ 90 Gettyshurgh, . . . . . . -95 Question and Answer, . . . . . 96 The Test, . 98 The Dazvn, ....... 99 7^0 -Morrow, . . . . . . .100 / Care Not, Friendy . . . . .103 MY GIFT. FAIRY dame, when I was born, Or kind or cruel, she was wise, Took magic ointment in her palm, And touched one of my eyes. Thenceforward through my life I wear Two eyes endowed with different sight ; Two visions haunt me everywhere, Diverse — nor know I which is ris-ht The one reveals a glorious world, Lucent and sky -robed as a star, Where men walk like the gods of old. And women as the angels are. My Gift. And I among them keep a place, The fairest — peer of all I sec, And all my havings I contemn, Because of that which I shall be. The other shows a sodden sphere That ever swings from gloom to gloom. Where men crawl, cursed with little cares, To find at last a nameless tomb. And I am poorest of them all, And poorer that my pride is great. And that I lose their little joys. In longings for a happier state. Me from myself it severeth, This fatal gift, nor am I wise To know which vision I should trust. Yet know I one way madness lies. 10 My Gift. * 1 cannot win to perfect faith, 1 will not rest in abject doubt, I guard my speech — that other men May never search my secret out. And other men there be, who look On me with unanointed eyes, And say, " He is as one of us. He differeth not in any wise." And there be others, whom the pure And perfect vision maketh glad, Who say, " He hath some distant touch Of our madness — we are mad." 111 II HECTOR. AFTER A N T I E T A M A"! T'HEN youth in groove of pleasure ran. And song made all my pulses wild, I knew him, as a thoughtful child May know the great full-thoughted man. I knew him born for worthy strife. To put all to the touch, and win ; Grand battle instincts pent within The dreary commonplace of life. He mocked at ease — he longed for wars ; Forth through the w^orld his spirit went, Grasping a mighty discontent, And hurled it 'gainst the peaceful stars. 12 Hector. At length the whirHgig of time, Swung purposeless by idiot hands, Brought strange confusion in the lands. God waiting to close all in rhyme. The night strove to displace the day ; Unfaith with faith did warfare wasre ; True spirits trembled into rage. The timid coiled themselves away. And, gazing, with infrequent breath. Where marble -silent Laocoon Is eloquent, in endless moan. Of unknown, endless joys in death. An echo of this new-born strife, Smote sudden all his strength awake ; He grappled the encircling snake. And leaped from reverie into life. 13 Hector. Forth from the peaceful continent He sped o'er the dividing seas ; His sails outran the loitering breeze. Blown broad before his swift intent. And ere the ripple fell away From the sharp prow that touched the strand, A sword flamed from his loyal hand, And reached forth to the doubtful fray. I mourn no antique giant race, I weep not chivalry in dust : O Jongleur ! your famed heroes must To nobler heroes yield their place. Your armed knight who shakes the earth. Smiting secure at wretched kerns, 'Tis a coarse sight my spirit spurns. It is a spectacle for mirth. 14 Hector. * Ah ! bid him doff his Unked mail, And bare his breast and bare his brow To the swift bullet's unseen blow, And his bronzed cheek would blench and pale. C) the swift bullet ! how it tears The tender brows that love hath crowned. Where Poesy her wreath hath wound, To blossom in ambrosial airs ! (.) the swift bullet ! how it rends The bosoms that are strong in truth ! How doth it spill the blood of youth. How doth it spoil the hopes of friends ! Vet constant use all horror tames, And the eye runs with heedless glance Through the reports of change and chance, Down the long list of unknown names. 15 Hector. And thus it happened unto me, That reading on in careless trust, A Hne leaped like a dagger -thrust. Hector is wounded mortally ! O nearer friends ! I cannot claim A portion in your deeper grief, My sudden tears have wrought relief, And 1 remember all his fame. And nearer friends, and nearest thou. True wife — O pardon this poor song! It cannot do his patience wrong. Or vex his noble nature now. In middle air my spirit sings, It failed to win his glittering height, And falling downward from the light Beats the bleak wind with baffled wings. i6 Hector. i\ truer love had found the lie ; The wound could do no mortal wrong To the great life complete and strong Hector still lives — he will not die. 1 gave swift credence to the tale, As other friends — who weeping said, " Hector is numbered with the dead ; ' But the wife's instinct did not fail. And all regardless of his pain, He wearies of the quiet hours That medicine his shattered powers. And fit him for the fight again. Not therefore wasted is my song : On Antietam's bloody plain There were a thousand Hectors slain, And unto them its strains belong. 17 Hector. O mourning heart ! your hero's name I would embahii in deathless verse, That all his virtues should rehearse, That should immortalize his fame. And if you will not crown his head With my poor chaplet — twine it round Some rude, neglected, nameless mound That hides the Nation's unknown dead. 1 8 A VILLAGE TALE. T T NTO the village of my birth A charming stranger came, We knew not from what part of earth, And no one knew his name. His eyes were black, and black his hair, He drove a wondrous span Of coal-black steeds — how all did stare To see the race they ran ! He was indeed a very rare And most mysterious man. He smiled — his teeth were white and long ; He sang — his voice was sweet ; He danced — it was another song, A singing of the feet ; 19 ./ l^illagr Talc The vilkvAO maiJs — wlio know not wroni;- Confossod his charms complete. lie bought a house — h.e purchased lands. He paid in ruddy gold — 1 do not rightly understand His name was ever told. Vet absque hoc a lawyer planned How he might have and hold. He built a stately church — at least He drew a mighty plan. And gave such money to the priest The work at once began : Ho surely in the mystic luist Had been a holy man. So sacred all his secret grew. Our secret it became ; 20 A I'illagc Talc. O very silent were the few Who guessed from whence he came ; The priest was wise — and if he knew, He scorned to name his name. The Burgess — he is very wise, He yielded at the last ; O'er all the simple villagers The stranger's spell was cast ; Yet would not the rude village curs Cease snarling as he passed. The spaniel snarled his petty spite ; The fat pug wheezed his wrath ; The hollow hound did howl outright, And ever it crossed his path : They yelp by day — they yell by night, No peace the stranger hath. 21 A Village Tale. Tlie Burgess in the Council Hall, He sat serene and high ; The Constables, so stout and tall. Stood round him silently : And out he spake before them all — ''These dogs — shall they not die? ''These curs — a curse are they at best, These curs of low degree, Insultins: still our noble sfuest Whom by my side you see ; Neither in East nor in the West, A worthier than he." Up rose the stranger, full of grace, He smiled on fair and foul, And spake — when in that solemn place A (\o^^ began to howl ! 22 A Villairc Talc. •' Slow settled all the stranger's face Into a stealthy scowl. The Burgess cried — "My liegemen tall," His anger made him pale, " Go, kill this whelp within our hall — I charge you, do not fail ; And for a sign unto us all Bring me his ears and tail." Up rose a man — he too was pale, His voice was thin and fine — "To show you have dog's-meat for sale, Kind Sir, it needs no sign : Seek otherwhere for ears and tail, The whelp that howled is mine. " The noble stranger by your side, You know not whence he came ; A Village Talc ^>' Behold how I shall quell his pride, I dare to name his name." " Silence ! " the lusty Burgess cried ; The Councillors cried " Shame ! " It is" here, in his tinselled coat, A tipstaff, stout and tall, Did take him rudely by the throat To thrust him from the hall ; Yet, in a strange and strangled note. The fiend's name he did call ! •• I'm named ! I'm named," the stranger cried, *' I'm named ! I cannot stay." The lights turned blue — the doors flew wide — The stranger fled away. His footsteps still may be descried, Burned in the floor that day. 24 A Village Tale. The Burgess — he is very wise — He holds it was a shame, Nor any villager denies The man was much to blame. That wretched man they still despise Who named the foul fiend's name. %fh 25 ^ ^V \f>^, ''^^ ^>:'^ ^^^-^ ^-'^ MAPLE. T LOST the wearv angiiishini;' Of the long Winter's pains, And all the sweetness o\ the Spring I sueked into my veins. Upon a day the hot sun eame, June wantlered through the woixl ; The love-liglit in her eyes aflame. Gave eolor to mv blood. Its red tide mounted up more high, It ran m\' limbs along. And toueiiing the Oetober sky. Hurst int(> brilliant song. 26 Maple. * I said — Tlio year again is young, The winds their wings have furled I spread my hands, and widely flung My glories to the world. Ah ! they lie trodden in the mire» They are the blind -worm's seorn, While 1 confront rude Winter's ire, Naked aiid all forlorn. A sad old poet one poor shred Of my old brightness keeps, And musing on our glories tied, Me smiles and never wee])s, Mm- -/ ASGARD. I ") I^SIDK the gate whore I must pass A dextrous giant stands. A sheaf of swords he tiings aloft To eateh them in his hands. And as he eatehes them again. He hurls them to the sky : Should but one fall unto the ground. That moment I must die I 2S kt Mm MM MM..M SONG. T DREAMED this morning, dearest wife, I heard the robin sing ; Its note of love doth welcome in The early days of Spring ; It builds upon a budding bough. It braves the lingering snow, And weds as fearlessly as we. One happy year ago. You were my bird, my bonny bird. Among the warbling throng ; None, none could match in melody The sw^eetness of your song — 29 Song. As free as swallow on the wing, As innocent I know, When we were wedded in the Spring, One happy year ago. O loving wife ! our human life Is like the changing year — The chilly Spring must wear away Ere Summer flowers appear ; And tender buds may blossom forth, And golden fruit may grow, Around the nest we builded here One happy year ago. Dear wife, our state is far from great, But then our care is small ; We'll trust our little lives to Him Who marks the sparrow's fall ; 30 Song. And every day He lends us here, Betide us weal or woe, We'll bless the bond that bound our hearts One happy year ago. .:> c 31 SIR HULDBRAND DE RING- STETTEN. T N the green isle of knightly youth, I vowed eternal love to Truth ; Wedlock her wildness did control, And gave her perfect form a soul. In that fair isle we would not stay, We sped into the world away ; The brave, sweet world — ah ! with what pride I championed my peerless bride. O foolish pride ! O pride forlorn ! The strong world smote my truth with scorn O faithless love ! for day by day My spirit fell from hers away. 32 Sir Huldbrand de Rijtgstetten. And when I learned my bride to hate, She changed to an avenging Fate ! Behold the issue — do not grieve — I died that my own truth might live. 33 UGANDA. /^^N the shores of Lake Nyanza, Near the Nile river's hidden springs, Reigns the Emperor of Uganda, The greatest of Negro kings. He hides himself in his palace — Who looks upon him must die : For the Emperor of Uganda Is afraid of the Evil Eye. A guard of fierce black women Encircles his throne around ; With a singular wreath of reptiles Their sullen brows are crowned. 34 Ugaftda. Dark wine in a carven goblet Each holds in her hands on high, For a skull filled with wine of plantain Is a charm 'gainst the Evil Eye. There is doleful music sounding In the day and in the night ; The drums they are made of human skins, And beaten with thigh-bones white. By the side of the palace - portal, With a besom of bitter grass, There's a prophet that imprecates evil On the hapless ones who pass. And close by the prophet of evil Two terrible giants stay ; With swords ell -long and bloody, They smite men's heads away. 35 Uganda. Of the skulls is a barrier builded, An outermost wall breast-high, For an eyeless skull is a wonderful Strong charm 'gainst the Evil Eye. And within the horrible circle, And guarded by charm and spell. Harassed with a dread foreboding. Doth the Negro Emperor dwell. A look is the thing that he feareth, His people they well know why, For the people — with heads — all whisper That the King hath the Evil Eye. This tale of the King of Uganda, And his kingdom far away On the shores of Lake Nyanza, 1 read but the other day. 36 Usranda. ^» And I said — I no longer wonder At the tales that travellers bring, For Uganda might well be Richmond, And Davis the Negro King. 186.S. » 37 'J'HE TOKEN. T)Y the path of ferns, sweet Maud cloth go, Into the wild - wood sauntering slow: The touch of a tender trouble lies On her white brow and berry -brown eyes. The mottled maple is overhead, The gum-tree, waving its red, blood red ; But naught of beauty sweet Maud can see, For trouble born of her love for me. Staying her steps in the purple calm, Where the sumach slumbers, with breath of balm She whispered — " O wood! I seek a sign: Tell me, O wood ! if his love be mine ? 38 The Token. Swift was the answer — for, strange to tell. Fluttering down on her bosom fell The last green leaf of the Autumn wood, Stamped with a heart as red as blood. ^^, 39 IN MEMORIAM. T N that dim moment, ere the dawn appears, He came into a deep and dewy glen, Filled with the wreck of war — with shattered spears, Dulled swords, and dead and ghastly men. He feared not, though all weaponless he stood. Clad in a hunting suit of Lincoln green ; Nor gazed with sorrow on the field of blood. Nor moved with joy his countenance serene. But swiftly passed unto that palace where The princess slumbered ; staid not in the hall ; Nor did he loiter on the marble stair, But climbed unto a chamber highest of all. 40 In Me^noriam. There found her lying in a trance like death, With all the world around her lying dead ; Pulseless, with not enough of perfumed breath To stir the tresses falling from her head. His kiss unsealed her eyes ! their lids upraised The dead world from its trance, and waking life Flouted the mouldering silence, and amazed Long voiceless echoes with its babbling strife. O kiss of love ! thine is the master spell. The witchcraft that no hoary sage hath taught ; O perfect meeting lips ! what words can tell The marvel such another kiss had wrought ! But of that kiss there is another song ; For now the glad prince and his princess fair, Together glode the corridors along, Descended noiselessly from stair to stair, 41 In Menioriam, Until they passed the portal, to the dawn That touched with amber all the rim of day, And crossed the shade of the neglected lawn. To the dark place wherein the dead men lay. He paused, as with intent to linger there. " O love ! make haste. O linger not !" she cried, ** I knew them not, O love ! nor do I care To know by what mischance they grimly died." He made a solemn gesture of dissent, Full of all princely tenderness and grace ; Full, too, of priestly reverence, that lent A holy sign to hallow all the place. And said — " Beseemeth us to bow to fate. Believe me, but for those who perished there, O love ! I had not been thus fortunate, O love ! thou hadst not been so very fair." 42 1865. SONG. /^^NCE again this day returning. Bids the fount of song to flow, For my heart, sweet wife, is yearning With the love of long ago ; Long ago — while thus 'tis rhyming, But a moment it appears, But one golden moment chiming Through our happy wedded years. Fading flush and failing favor. Of our youth its changes speak Wife, my brow is growing graver. Paler is your matron cheek ; 43 Song. But 'tis well — and I will never Mourn as lost your maiden charms Lo, in sweeter guise than ever, Now you bear them in your arms. Our romance of love to banish, Time shall wave its wand in vain ; Though its fairy visions vanish, They shall live for us again. Little feet are treading lightly In the old, enchanted way, And its star is dawning brightly On the brow of Baby May. Wife and babe, I fondly gather Your dear forms unto my breast. Husband loved and loving father, Now am I supremely blest. 44 Song. Pleasures past and present gladness Flow not from my feeble arm — Lord, Thou givest joy and sadness — Keep my loved ones safe from harm.* Answered — Not to my wish, but according to His will. 45 %iAi '^i^iu^= TO SIDNEY. WITH IDYLS OF THE KING. T T ERE are four women, picked from all the world, By one, the foremost poet of the world : Enid, who purely serveth love and wins ; Vivien, who maketh love serve her and wins ; Elaine, lily maid, who dies for love ; And Guinevere, sad queen, who for love sins. All these are beautiful, and all, save one — The subtle Vivien — are sorrowful ; And to but one is love a lasting joy. O Poet ! your fine fable fools us not ; We do not deem you dreaming, though you dream. 46 To Sidney. The table -round and the round world are one, The same with Arthur and Victoria ; In beauty and in chivalry the same, The same in love, the same in wickedness — And surely thence in sorrow 'tis the same : It is your world, O Sidney ! a rare world, Full of rare creatures, as these Idyls sing, And rich in noble opportunity Of worthy use, true love and lasting fame ; And you, a woman in it, may so live, Your life shall make an Idyl, different From these, with such melodious difference As one bell from another in the chime, Which yet doth make the harmony complete. C PSG^ii *v ■'iBQ^ 47 ^ ^?^ '^^ ^}^ ^^^ MY VOYAGE. "There was a ship, quoth he." — Ancicfit Mariner. 'nr^HE trading fleet dropped down the bay, I saw their southward -bending sails Grow broad before the grateful gales, Dip a farewell, and fade away. So vanishing ; yet well I know O'er Summer seas, with prosperous tide, A gracious company they glide. Or in broad calms rock to and fro. Their decks are strewn with tropic flowers. And woman's smile and dance and song Make the rich sun -tide seem not long — And love claims all the twilight hours. 48 My Voyage. They win from strange and savage strands The dusky slave, the fruit, the wine. The diamond from the Indian mine, And all the wealth of foreign lands. Fate hath forgot the way they went, Their rosy round horizon beams A barrier to disturbing dreams, Measures a measureless content. The way they went I cannot go, No trader I — yet even now, Full freighted and with restless prow, My bark chafes at the cable -tow. Courage ! my soul, we venture forth Alone — : before the stars were born Fate crowned us to this hope forlorn — Our voyage lies to the north, 49 My Voyage^ The perils of the way I guess ; Ice barriers frown on either hand From the locked sea, and all the land Is a white, wide, waste wilderness. A horror waits and watches there, And, king o'er all the region rude. Silence awes shuddering solitude. While in thick darkness broods despair. Runs up the sky a rosy light That breaks, and a warm picture falls, Of seas, and palms, and latticed halls, Then drops into the jaws of night. Beneath, a spectral ship I see — All ice — the crew died one by one; They stand like statues carved in stone Nameless, and lost eternally ! 5Q My Voyage. I hate the south wind's wooing breath ; Rather than float with wind and tide, Or at the wharf Lethean ride, I would dash on the shores of Death. I know there is an open sea That Hes beyond the frozen Pole — If we may reach it, O my soul! Rest is appointed unto thee. 5' SONG. I AM not I — I seek myself in vain, And know not what I seek — this is my pain. Death shall unriddle all. Thou art thyself — thou hast no part in me; Thou art thyself, and I am naught to thee. Then welcome Death. ^52 THE MOSS-WORKER. G REEN and brown, Brown and green, Brightest mosses That ever were seen : Mosses of many a mingled hue, Her slender fingers are glancing through. Miniature towers, Miniature trees, Fairy bowers An elf to please. Cluster and cling in every part. Finer than any forms of art. 53 The Moss -Worker, ' Green and brown, With silvery dew, Darker shadows Are falHng through : She weaveth them featly with fancy free. And a face that is better than all to see. -54 m ^^"^ PRELUDE. T T was an ancient hunter Who leaned on the sycamore - tree, And told a tale of other times To the lady I love and me. The forest - leaves were yellow and red. The distant hills were blue ; And the Autumn air with a visible smile Did soften the sunlight through : And the sycamore spread its branching palms In their nakedness on high, - Like a sturdy beggar asking an alms Of the loving and pitying sky. 55 Prelude. We looked at the river beneath our feet, We looked o'er the hills away, And we looked on the old man's face, And his locks so thin and gra}'. He told us the story, as I said. In a voice that was solemn and slow, And her cheek touched mine, and I could feel How her breath would come and go. Of woman's love and woman's truth. It was thus the story ran — No other story hath ever been told Since first the world began. And the melting silence — the old man's voice. And my lady and I did seem, With the witnessing river, and death, and life. To be drifting away in a dream. THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER. /^"A'ER the storm ascending ; Over the raging sea ; Winds and waters blending Carry my prayer to thee. Queen, from heaven bending, Pity, O pity me ! Mary maiden, Mother mild, Hear thy trembling child. Passion's tempests lower, Threat'ning my lonely bark ; Tides of mystic power Hurry it through the dark. 57 The Maidens Prayer. In this dreadful hour Be thou a saving ark. Maiden mother, Hear my prayer, Make me still thy care. S<^ WARNER JUSTICE. AT OW that the day begins to dawn, We, who have waited through the night, And watched the long edipse of right. Must grieve the more that he is gone. Vanished, as in the earUer morn, The lofty longing Kings of old. And Prophets, who might not behold The Great Deliverance to be born. Yet we believe that from their skies They bend in still and steadfast forms. And through the earthquake and the storms They guard the cradle where it lies. 59 War7ter yiisticc. When he was with us here, we know His faith was pure ; his hand was strong, And sought such contact with the wrong As Uveth in a downright blow. And thus he kept his faith more pure Than doth the chary careful saint, Who holds himself aloof from taint. On lofty pedestal secure. His was the clear and steadfast thought ; The perfect truth he fully knew, Claimed all God's possible as true, While in man's possible he wrought. His was the old and simple plan ; He had no scheme beyond the sense Of daily - working Providence, Which slowly moulds the world and man. 60 Warner justice. He mingled with the hate of wrong The heavenly charity that still Rains blessings on the good and ill — The charity that sufifereth long. And thence his life was peace ; its breath So quiet, none could count it strange When fell the last and final change, And quietly he slept in death. ya)iuar)\ 1S63. 6r SONG OF THE CHIMES. A^ 7'EARY ones, weary ones, Rest from your toiling, Lose, lose your trouble now, Care and turmoiling ; Out in the sunshine come, With praise and blessing Unto the Saviour Fervent addressing : Proud ones and haughty ones. Humbler growing. Come, O ye sinful ones, Mercy is flowing ; 62 So Jig of the Chhnes. Hasten, O hasten, The morning is wearing. Wearing Hke Ufe in youth. Noon is appearing ; Hasten, O hasten. From evil flying. Ere love be wearied out, Ere day is dying. Weary ones, weary ones, Rest from your toiling ; Lose, lose your trouble now. Care and turmoiling. ^# 63 MY ATTIC. T AM a pleasant thinker, And merry things think I, In my dingy attic up aloft, In my attic near the sky. My attic -walls are tattered and bare. Yet it matters not a pin ; Through the broken windows I can look out, And no one cares to look in. My attic -ceiling is cracked and old, And rain comes a -dripping through ; But that is naught, for on Summer nights It lets in the moonlight too : 64 My Attic. And the pleasant stars go circling round To get a peep at me, As I smiling sit in my elbow-chair, With my head thrown back to see. I sit aloft in my attic dim, And laugh out merrily, While over the wide world everywhere Strange voices laugh with me. I sit aloft in my attic dim. In sadness and in mirth. That overflow my brimming heart And run through all the earth. Along the lines my hand hath traced The manly voice swells high ; The maiden listens to the tale, With tear-drops in her eye. 6s My Attic. The little children toss their arms Aloft in the rosy light, And murmur the word they overheard In their pleasant dreams at night. The aged pair, in their chimney - nook, Are smiling through their tears, As I flash a gleam from the morning land Through the rifted shadows of years. Where young souls press in a lover's kiss. My words are breathed between ; They are whispered in secret by many a heart That beats full high I ween. I am no old-time conjurer. With a wonderful magic wand. Yet I move an hundred thousand hearts By a movement of my hand. 66 My Attic. O, I am a pleasant thinker, And merry things think I, As I sit aloft, and laugh and weep In my attic near the sky. 67 A TRAGICAL TALE. I. /^^NCE on a time, on a Summer day, Not a great while ago, nor far away, At the place where the scene of my story lies, You might have discovered, by using your eyes, A little old woman quietly sitting All by herself in a cottage, knitting. No, not all alone, for there was the cat. Close by her foot, on the corn -husk mat ; And the old dog, lazily winking his eyes To chase from their lids the bothersome flies, Lay on his paws at the open door : The chickens — there must have been a score — Came close to his nose. Abroad was heard 68 A Ti'agical Tale. The chirp of cricket and coo of bird, And a little noise when the leaves were stirred ; For the life of Nature was all in tune With the quiet and warmth of Summer noon. II. 'T was an ominous calm — to be broken soon By a storm more fierce than the dread simoom ; For two great armies silently came Close to the cot of the dear old dame, The one in blue and the other in gray ; The fate of a mighty nation lay On the chances of war that Summer day. The fife was mum, And no tap of drum Told what had come. The cavalry men Trooped down the glen. Up on the mound 69 A Tragical Tale. The cannon found Their favorite ground. Down by the run Lurked a monstrous gun. This army in bkie, and that one in gray, AVere getting ready each other to slay, While the little old woman was knitting away. III. The pickets began it — pop -pop -pop- pop ! rhe old dame heard them, but could n't stop, She was setting the heel, and that, you know. Is nicer than narrowing oif the toe ; She must keep count of the stitches, and so She made her fingers the faster go ; Holding her breath. Half scared to death, Half scared to death — but she could n't stop ! As the scattering pickets' pop -pop -pop 70 A Tragical Tale. To a steady volley of musketry grew, The old dame's fingers the faster flew ; Faster and faster — nor long before The rifles were drowned in the great guns' roar, What with the bother of setting the heel. And the dread of the cannons' peal on peal, She was so bewildered she did n't know Whether to stay, or where she should go ; So she sat in her chair With a vacant stare, Swinging her gray head to and fro. Knitting away in a terrible trance, With a pinched and a pallid countenance. IV. Over the fields, by the tangled screen Of a narrow laurel -lined ravine, Down by the stream, and on the hill, 71 A Tras^ical Tale. ^o At the great stone fence, and the old stone mill. There was wild work during that Summer day, For a thousand brave men lifeless lay, Face downward, clasping the bloody sod, Or with dead eyes looking up to God ! There was one young boy, in a suit of blue. With his tender bosom shot through and through ; A pitiful sight ! O let us pray No rebel took aim at him that day, But by mischance Some shot did glance. Or a careless bullet went wide astray. O let us believe that his fate was blest, For he lay as an infant lies at rest. His white hands clasped o'er his wounded breast ; With a smile on his lip, and the light on his brow. Ah ! could his mother but see him now ! 7-' A Tragical Tale. V. Over the stream, past the laurel bloom, A thousand traitors had met their doom. There, all in his elegant suit of gray, A mortally wounded General lay ; Plucked by the Nation out of the dust, And raised to places of power and trust, Nourished and fed by her loving hand. Sworn doubly in her defence to stand. He was the first of the faithless band Who struck at the life of their native land ; Making of knighthood their empty boast — With sacred oath. And plighted troth. And every chivalric virtue lost ! Among his ignorant dupes he lay. And as his life-blood ebbed away. Through his filmed eye -balls' gathering gio-Mn 73 A Tiairical Talc, '»:> What vision he saw of judgment doom I shall not tell ; but the mortal dread Of that moment, fixed in the face of the dead, Makes horrid the lips, the eyes, the brow — Ah ! could all traitors see him now ! VI. The battle still nearer and nearer came To the cot of the dear old knitting dame ; The great guns made a terrible sound. And the bullets were flying thickly around. The little birds had no business where Whirled fiery shells that sang in the air, So they hid away in a precious scare ; The rabbits, started from under the vines. Ran plump into the enemy's lines ; And plumed and spurred Sir Chanticleer Drooped his feathers in craven fear ; Why, even the cat, 74 A Tragical Talc. Just think of that ! When the bullets were flying around like hail, And she found that it was of no avail To put up her back, and stiffen her tail, Withdrew in rather a hasty way To the cellar ; she was n't afraid to stay. No more than the colonels who go to the rear In the heat of battle are moved by fear : They mean, of course, to come back again When they 've looked " after rations for the men ! " VII. The tranced dame, at the setting of sun, Had rounded the heel, and the foot was done ; Nor fast nor slow Her fingers go. Steadily on in the way they know, And were just beginning to narrow the toe, When suddenly stocking, needles, and all, 75 A Trao;ical Tale. "^> Were shot away by a four -pound ball ! The dame did n't mind it at all, at all ; And still she sat in the twilight gray, Scared to death, as one might say, With her absent fingers knitting away ; And there she 'd have been till the present day, Had not a tall artillery man. Grizzled with smoke and brown with tan. With a voice as loud as his cannon's roar, Bounced suddenly in at the open door ; And before she had time for new alarms The dear old creature was fast in his arms, And kissed and pressed To his brave young breast ; Dear reader, you surely can guess the rest. 76 ^Q^ y/,^ frs€?^ :i^&C^^^ & m mmmn %mM^.m m PSYCHE. T LIVED in a phantom house, Fast by a phantom stream, And, near, a ghostly forest grew. On the mountains of a dream, Reflecting to the spectral sun His unsubstantial beam. I was lured by phantom sights, I was lulled by phantom sound, I walked upon the purple skies, I swam upon the ground ; And flowers of unreal dyes My foreign forehead crowned. 77 Psyche. I wept with phantom friends A fleeting shadow's woes ; In deadly strife my aHen arms Grappled with phantom foes : On the bosom of a phantom bride I lay down to repose. I learned a phantom lore, And all its wisdom knew, Of doubt and faith, of true and false, If aught be false or true ; Until — O, wonder not ! — I deemed Myself a phantom too. At last, in mercy from above, A swift, bright angel came. Monarch of all the phantoms he — Azrael is his name, 78 Psyche. ^ Through warp of sense and woof of thought, He smote with sword of flame. Dissolved the phantom show of life — It faded from my view ; And what I was, and what I am, I felt, and fully knew. Patience, O mortal ! bide thy time, And Death will teach thee too. ^^ 79 ^kJ ^H^ ^j ^P^ ^ ^k^ '^V ^/-^ '^V WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. T N spite of woman's worth and power, Love grows in man by small degrees, As swells the bud into a flower. As verdure clothes the leafless trees. A waving curl, or sparkling glance From eyes aglow with star -lit fire, Or feet that twinkle in the dance. First catch the eye — and we admire. The graces of a glowing heart Reveal themselves as moments fly, And budding friendship doth impart A brighter lustre to the eye. 80 Written in a Ladys Album. But soon unmeet so chill a name, For wreathed hands and lips must prove. These kindle an intenser flame, And quickly friendship turns to love. This course is sure ; but yet the wise Reliance on the rule should shun : The lightning of Lucinda's eyes Might melt the three degrees to one. SONG. T/^ ING Richard rides with flowing rein, On a pilgrimage afar ; One knight among his knightly train Shines as the brightest star ! Kemp Owyne, Sir Kemp Owyne, The Lord of Laristine. The monarch, with his lancers brave, "Redeems his plighted word ; They march to seek the Master's grave One seeks the arisen Lord ! Kemp Owyne, 82 Song. *■ Sir Kemp Owyne, The Lord of Laristine. More than a thousand knights of name, And bold as e'er drew breath ; They long for lands, or love, or fame ; One only longs for death ! Kemp Owyne, Sir Kemp Owyne, The Lord of Laristine. In Paynim lands, let minstrels tell What mighty deeds they wrought ; What fate unto their hopes befell ; One found all that he sousrht. Kemp Owyne, Sir Kemp Owyne, The Lord of Laristine. ^3 ^^^\^^r^d^ V v;5t) ^.£ C^^ ^^O ^..^<4 PRELUDE. T 1ST to the secrets that bloom and bloom Where the wild swamp roses grow ; And wander abroad in faint perfume Whenever the South winds blow. O, list to the secrets of wonder That the dark pine forests know ; They ring from a harp of thunder When the blustering North winds blow. In thy brain are the forests growing, In thy bosom the roses bloom, Thy pain in their shadows flowing, Thy .joy in their sweet perfume. 84 Prelude. And mine are the secrets of wonder, And mine are the winds that blow ; I smite on my harp of thunder The chords of thy joy and woe. S5 DRAMATIS PERSONA. MR. FUDGE, THE POET. A S easy, 't is, as lying. See ! I take Some fancied barren rascal — call him Sludge ; Put in his mouth familiar talk of Saul, Jonathan, Caesar, Bacon, and their like, Who speak through him their shallow messages From t'other world, mixed with a crude discourse On truth and falsehood, rather less obscure Than my best essays in philosophy. A dull invention — shallow! 86 That I irrant ; Dramatis Pcrsojta. Lacking the spice which thus I dredge upon it ; Add caricature, or its tags and rags — Some easy strokes — a chat of Presidents, Cocktails, V- notes, and Greeley's newspaper, A little ungrammatic nasal slang ; And straight my Sludge is something more than Sludge, A type of Yankee nationality ! And this is satire. Wise the artist, who, Missing a likeness to the noble face Of the great Emperor, painted his hat ; A hat, the like of which he never wore Save in such daubs. What odds .^ It did as well ; The hat was recognized — the people cry Vive I'Empereur ! Ah ! I know the tricks O' the trade, and use them to advantage ; And when the i)lay grows dull I laugh myself — <^7 Dramatis Perso?ia. {Vide Hamlet) — there's a barren quality Still left among my patrons ; if the wit Is thin, there is the toothsome malice left. A common poet, gazing from the tomb Of classic virtues unto the New World, Might see a soldier subjugating States, Great with the sword and greater with the pen. I see my Sludge — A statesman more than brave, Serene, while the rude storm shakes all the house ; Trusting the people, trusting more in God, And to the least of His poor little ones Giving the cup, e'en though the fount may fail. Sludge — Sludge, forever ! What I would, I know ; 88 Dramatis Persona. There's nothing mean but ministers to use. The Gladiator stood, with sword and shield Advanced, fronting the lion, masterful ; A gnat smote in his eye — the man went down, The beast was victor. So my Sludge, my gnat. My gad-fly, haply may annoy and harm, And help to give a triumph to the beast ; Or, show that I, in my philosophy, Questioning which is better — man or beast — Care nothing for the issue, break my jest And pass, well knowing that the beast will win. yaimary^ 1865.