LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 fS 32^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

 
SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 JOHN ALBERT WILSON, 
 
 M 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE PARADOX AND OTHER POEMS," ETC., ETC. 
 
 / have but marked the place, 
 
 But half the secret told, 
 That, following this slight trace, 
 
 Others may find the gold.'" 
 
 Longfellow — " In the Uarbor. 
 
 wV 13 1882/ 
 
 A. WILLIAM^lS'D company. 
 
 ©ItJ (Corner. Bookstore 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIII. 
 
•s^**'! 
 ^>i* 
 
 Copyright, 1882, 
 By JOHN ALBERT WILSON. 
 
 Printed by 
 Wright & Potter Printing Company. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Prelude 9 
 
 Solitude 10 
 
 Aspiration . .17 
 
 The Unattainable . . . ' . . . .21 
 
 Legend of Lurlei 24 
 
 In the Wild Arkansas Wood . . : . .27 
 
 Shelley's Grave 80 
 
 Hath Any One seen my Love? . . . .34 
 
 The Divers . .36 
 
 The Ideal 38 
 
 The Greenwood Fairy 40 
 
 The Message 42 
 
 Afloat 44 
 
 Sunrise on the Pacific .47 
 
 Only 49 
 
 The Minstrel 50 
 
 The Fishers' Return 51 
 
 Two Lives 53 
 
 My Lost Love 54 
 
 Communion with God 56 
 
 Life 57 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Fruits of Sorrow .... 
 When Whispering Zephyrs woo the Pine 
 Floral Courtship 
 
 Love longest lives in Freedom 
 
 The Escape . 
 
 Live it down 
 
 The Inner Life . 
 
 Our Father . 
 
 Platonic Philosophy 
 
 Billiards Intensified 
 
 Falling Leaves . 
 
 Burbles 
 
 The Summons 
 
 Retrospection 
 
 The School of Wisdom 
 
 Soon or Late 
 
 Page 
 59 
 
 60 
 
 62 
 
 63 
 
 65 
 
 67 
 
 69 
 
 71 
 
 73 
 
 75 
 
 76 
 
 78 
 
 79 
 
 80 
 
 81 
 
 82 
 


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PREFACE. 
 
 The very flattering reception accorded to 
 my first book of poems, five years ago, must 
 be my excuse for the publication of a second 
 volume. Poetry is my pastime, not my 
 vocation, and these "Captives" are the 
 spoils of occasional excursions, on this con- 
 tinent and abroad, at periods when overwork 
 in an arduous profession has compelled rest 
 and change of scene. I am deeply conscious 
 of their many defects ; I would they were 
 more worthy ; but, such as they are, I free 
 them to the world. 
 
 (o) 
 
SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 I cannot sins: them as I would — 
 The melodies that thrill my soul ; 
 I cannot paint the wondrous whole — 
 
 My vision — and esteem it good. 
 
 As he who wanders forth at morn 
 To snare God's messengers of song, 
 At eve is shamed to own the wrong, 
 
 Or show his victims — plumage-torn. 
 
 So, half-reluct antly, I bear 
 
 These trembling captives in my hand ; 
 
 Mere shadows from the vision-land, 
 Faint echoes of the songs I hear. 
 
 Cambridge, Mass., March 1, 1SS2. 
 
SOLITUDE. 
 A SUMMER IDYL. 
 
 How sweet to leave the bustle of the town, 
 
 And wander thro' the woodlands all alone : 
 To mark the mellow sunbeams drifting down 
 Through hanging boughs, while, like a loose 
 
 veil thrown, 
 High over all is seen the azure sky's majestic 
 dome. 
 
 What myriad, myriad voices in the air, 
 Shrill, tiny voices, hailing as I pass ; 
 
 A ceaseless hum which greets me everywhere, 
 The very leaves seem vocal, and the grass 
 For rapturous joy is fain, each blade, all 
 others to surpass. 
 
 (10) 
 
SOLITUDE. 11 
 
 The drowsy locust, hymning as he goes, 
 The merry cricket, and the amorous bee ; 
 
 The humming-bird, who lingers o'er the rose 
 One instant only, then away doth flee, 
 Midst other charms to wanton, and still 
 other scenes to see. 
 
 Like far-off echoes from the land of dreams, 
 
 I hear the distant bleating of the flocks ; 
 The watch-dog's bark, while yet more distant 
 seems 
 The measured striking of the village 
 
 clocks, 
 And angry clarion challenges rehearsed by 
 rival cocks. 
 
 The babbling brooklet in its pebbly bed, 
 
 A tortuous course with rippling murmur 
 weaves ; 
 The gentle wood-doves cooing overhead, 
 
12 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 The voiceless rhythm of the falling leaves, 
 And all the countless sounds unheard which 
 yet the mind perceives. 
 
 How calm the aspect of yon purple hills, 
 
 Which brood, and brood, and brood forever- 
 more ; 
 Forever brooding. O ! my spirit thrills 
 With eager longing for their hidden store 
 Of secret knowledge, and their mystic leg- 
 endary lore. 
 
 For they have brooded thus for countless years, 
 
 Aye, brooded thus ere Time his course 
 
 began ; 
 
 Unmoved, have marked the flood of human 
 
 fears, 
 
 And human hopes, which crowd life's little 
 
 span ; 
 Have heard unmoved, the last faint piping 
 of the insect man. 
 
SOLITUDE. 13 
 
 Forever waiting still they seem to be, 
 Forever waiting for we know not what : 
 
 An awful sense of mighty mystery, 
 
 Of something yet to come, or something that 
 Hath passed beyond our ken, which was, 
 but now is not. 
 
 Like mighty giants, limned against the sky, 
 Each monstrous bulk upheaves from out the 
 plain ; 
 All motionless, in endless sleep they lie, 
 Nor babble of the secrets they retain 
 Within their rock-ribbed bosoms, ever probed 
 by man in vain. 
 
 Like mighty giants of some elder day, 
 
 They seem no part or parcel of our time ; 
 
 Nor heed unto the present ever pay, 
 But slumber on in attitude sublime ; 
 Girt by their leafy beards, and capp'd with 
 hoary rime. 
 
14 SOXG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 The rise and fall of empires is to them 
 
 No more than fate of yonder leaflet blown ; 
 
 They ne'er have bow'd to kingly diadem, 
 
 Nor spurned the neck of despot overthrown ; 
 Nor ever wept to hear the dying patriot's 
 plaintive moan. 
 
 And yonder river, with its ceaseless flow 
 Of placid waters, rolling to the sea ; 
 
 Hath seen alike, unmoved, all human woe, 
 All human joy ; unmoved, hath heard for aye 
 The victor's cry of triumph mock the van- 
 qui shed's agony. 
 
 Or crystal pure as dew-drop at the birth ; 
 
 Or gore ensanguined from some mortal fray 
 Upon his banks ; or thick with clayey earth 
 Washed from the mountain's side ; he wends 
 
 his way, 
 As calmly now, as poured the flood which 
 marked his natal day. 
 
SOLITUDE. 15 
 
 Alike to him the Indian's frail canoe 
 
 Freighted with furs ; or, rich with many a 
 bale, 
 Our modern argosies ; or deep with woe, 
 
 The slaver's keel ; or yacht with snowy sail ; 
 Or steamship swift; or warlike squadrons 
 clad in iron mail. 
 
 Or yet more distant in the lapse of years 
 
 His flood hath roll'd, — a long forgotten 
 race, 
 Cultured and strong; whose handiwork still 
 bears 
 Mute witness, — they, like us, once filled a 
 
 space 
 In Time's great album, but have passed, and 
 left but scanty trace. 
 
 And in the distant future, may not we, 
 
 Who vaunt our modern culture, modern 
 thought, 
 
1 6 SONG- CAPTI VES. 
 
 Mouldered to dust, like them, forgotten be ; 
 
 Our very name a blank, — unknown, un- 
 sought, 
 
 Or sought in vain, — the crumbling relics 
 that our hands have wrought ? 
 
 O ! may this thought, borne constantly in 
 mind, 
 Still serve to check our pride from day to 
 day : — 
 Life is a leaf, fann'd by the passing wind 
 A season only, then to fade away; 
 To join the myriads gone before, and share 
 their swift decay. 
 
ASPIRATION. 
 
 When the shades of night are falling, 
 
 When the whip-poor-will is calling, 
 
 When the last faint tints are fading from the 
 
 gateways of the West — 
 Then, impelled by eager yearning, 
 All my soul within me burning, 
 Still I wander through the gloaming like a spirit 
 
 of unrest. 
 
 In the moonlight, in the shadow, 
 
 Over mountain, over meadow. 
 
 Through the forest dark and lonely now I wend 
 my wistful way ; 
 
 Onward, onward still I wander, 
 
 To the distant churchyard yonder, 
 
 Where the dead of many centuries are mould- 
 ering into clay. 
 
 (17) 
 
18 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Here, like ocean wavelet swelling, 
 
 Lies each circumscribed dwelling, 
 
 All uncultured and uncared for, with rank net- 
 tles overgrown ; 
 
 Full weary am I gleaning 
 
 Or the wording or the meaning 
 
 Of the time-effaced inscription on each ivy-cov- 
 ered stone. 
 
 Yet these lived, and loved, and mated ; 
 
 Yet these feared, despised, and hated ; 
 
 Yet these quaffed the cup of happiness and 
 
 drank the dregs of woe ; 
 Yet these wondered as I've wondered ; 
 Yet these pondered- as I've pondered — 
 Pondered o'er the great life-problem, in the 
 
 ages long ago. 
 
 We are gods ! We question therefore : 
 Suffering, death, and sorrow — wherefore? 
 
ASPIEATION. 19 
 
 We are beasts ! Then why this yearning for a 
 
 higher, purer life ? 
 Gods, or beasts, or both, I know not — 
 Gods, or beasts, or both, I trow not — 
 But I know there wages evermore a fierce, re- 
 lentless strife. 
 
 There are hours of soul-awaking, 
 
 When, these earthly fetters breaking, 
 
 My soul springs up triumphant, and affirms her 
 
 latent might ; 
 I can feel my spirit striving, 
 All the bonds of Nature rivinsr — 
 I can feel the God within me struggling upward 
 
 toward the light. 
 
 Then I know, though born of woman, 
 I am something more than human ; 
 Then I know this flame within me with the fire 
 Divine is fraught. 
 
20 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Though Death ope his gloomy portal, 
 What care I ? For I'm immortal ! 
 I may beard him, and defy him ! Oh, there's 
 rapture in the thought ! 
 
 There is heavenly music ringing, 
 
 There are angel-voices singing, 
 
 There are spirit-fingers beckoning, ever beck- 
 oning me away ; 
 
 Through my dreams they're floating ever ; 
 
 Ah ! full gladly would I sever 
 
 These ^allins: bands that bind me to this tene- 
 ment of clay. 
 
 Per e-la- Chaise, Paris, June 12, 1878. 
 
THE UNATTAINABLE. 
 
 In a dungeon of stone am I wall'd around, 
 With fetters of iron my limbs are bound ; 
 Vainly I seek for a ray of light, 
 But my eyes are wrapp'd in the pall of night. 
 
 Fain would I soar to the realms of day, 
 And plant my feet on the starry way ; 
 Fain would I pierce to the central throne, 
 And make my plaint to the Great Unknown. 
 
 Fain would I fathom the gloomy past, 
 And scatter the shadows the ages cast ; 
 To the outmost bounds of the future fly, 
 And know the decrees of Destiny. 
 
 (21) 
 
22 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 I would probe the recesses of Nature's heart, 
 The breast of the universe rend apart ; 
 I would take my stand on the highest star, 
 And scan the horizon near and far. 
 
 On the gates of heaven I'd warfare wage, 
 And upon its battlements spend my rage ; 
 Nor ever I'd rest from my eager strife, 
 Till I knew the meaning of human life. 
 
 Till I knew the meaning of human woe, 
 The whence we come, the where we go ; 
 Till I learn'd the riddle whose answer lies 
 Enwrapp'd in eternal mysteries. 
 
 Alas ! I am here, — I know no more ; 
 Alas ! I am bound, — I niay not soar ; 
 Alas ! I am blind, — I cannot see ; 
 And the riddle of life is unread by me. 
 
THE UNATTAINABLE. 23 
 
 Ah ! surely my spirit shall some time know 
 The things which it vainly seeks for now ; 
 Ah ! surely this heart shall some time bide 
 In peace, and its yearnings be satisfied. 
 
LEGEND OF LURLEI. 
 
 Written while seated within the " Witch's Circle" at the sum- 
 mit of the celebrated " Lurlei Rock," on the Rhine, July 11, 1878. 
 The ruined castle of Rhinefels lies about half a mile down the 
 stream. 
 
 On the rock is Lurlei lying 
 
 All alone ; 
 For a faithless lover sighing, 
 
 Making moan ; 
 Watching still the Sun-God roaming 
 
 To the West ; 
 Watching him at evening-gloaming 
 
 Sink to rest ; 
 Marking now, from Dian's quiver 
 
 Flying fleet, 
 Silvery arrows pierce the river 
 
 At her feet. 
 
 (24) 
 
LEGEND OF LURLEI. 95 
 
 Lurlei's heart is filled with sadness, 
 
 Waiting long ; 
 Lurlei's brain is thrilled with madnes 
 
 For her wroiisr. 
 
 Rhinefels' castle frowneth grimly 
 
 On the steep ; 
 Rhinefels' turrets reflect dimly 
 
 In the deep ; 
 Rhinefels' cannon are the loudest 
 
 In the war ; 
 Rhinefels' name, it is the proudest 
 
 Near and far ; 
 Rhinefels' lord his faith hath plighted 
 
 To the maid ; 
 Rhinefels' lord that faith hath slighted 
 
 And betrayed. 
 Lurlei's heart is filled with sadness, 
 
 Waiting long ; 
 Lurlei's brain is thrilled with madness 
 
 For her wrong. 
 
26 SONG-CAPTIVE S. 
 
 Strains of music sweetly ringing 
 
 Down the tide — 
 'Tis the lord of Rhinefels bringing 
 
 Home his bride. 
 See they not the stern avenger 
 
 Standing: lone ? 
 Hear they not the threatened danger 
 
 Toppling down ? 
 'Neath the wave is Rhinefels sleeping 
 
 With his bride ; 
 Still her watch is Lurlci keeping 
 
 O'er the tide. 
 Lurlei's heart is filled with sadness, 
 
 "Waiting long ; 
 Lurlei's brain is thrilled with madness 
 
 For her wronsr. 
 
IN THE WILD ARKANSAS WOOD. 
 
 In the wild Arkansas wood, 
 
 'Neath the pine-trees lying, 
 Naught to break my solitude, 
 
 Save the zephj T rs sighing ; 
 Save the robin's interlude, 
 
 And his mate's replying. 
 
 Far away the city's hum, 
 
 And I lonely ponder 
 Where the brown bear makes his home, 
 
 Where the wild deer wander ; 
 Leaping squirrels slyly come, 
 
 Gaze on me with wonder. 
 
 (27) 
 
28 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Slant the sunbeams, line on line, 
 
 Shadows interlacing ; 
 Moans the melancholy pine, 
 
 Branch with branch embracing ; 
 Faintly low the distant kine, 
 
 Homeward slowly pacing. 
 
 Mocking-birds with varied notes 
 Keep the wild woods ringing ; 
 
 Thrushes swell their speckled throats 
 In rivalry of singing ; 
 
 Blue-jays flaunt their azure coats, 
 Defiance at me flinging 
 
 Modest violets, group'd around, 
 Look up with mild surprise ; 
 
 Bearded pansies, velvet-crown'd, 
 Keep watch with eager eyes ; 
 
 Thus every creature on the ground, — 
 Thus every bird that flies. 
 
7.Y THE WILD ABKANSAS WOOD. 29 
 
 Now the shadows creep apace, 
 
 Shadows without number ; 
 Now the red sun hides his face 
 
 In the mountains yonder ; 
 Now the stillness of the place 
 
 Steeps my soul in slumber. 
 
SHELLEY'S GRAVE. 
 
 Shelley's grave lies by the city wall, in the " Strangers' Ceme- 
 tery " at Rome. Three stately cypress trees keep guard around 
 the foot. Only the poet's heart is here buried, the remainder of 
 hi6 body having been burned by his friend Byron on the shore of 
 tbe Gulf of Spezia, where he was drowned July 8, 1822, aged 
 thirty years. A plain marble slab, flat upon tbe ground, is all 
 that marks the spot. The inscription is from Shakespeare's " Tem- 
 pest";— 
 
 " Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 
 Into something rich and strange." 
 
 Where springing flowers 
 
 Greet falling showers, 
 And cypress branches wave, 
 
 In a southern clime, 
 
 At vesper chime, 
 I stood by Shelley's grave. 
 
 (30) 
 
SHELLEY'S GRAVE. 31 
 
 A pilgrim I, 
 
 From a northern sky, 
 A cold and distant clime ; 
 
 Two gifts I bore — 
 
 An offering poor, 
 And an offering sublime ! 
 
 A faded flower ; 
 
 A spell of power — 
 Tender and strong and true ; 
 
 From a woman's heart 
 
 To the poet-heart — 
 I wonder if he knew ? 
 
 " O heart ! " I said, 
 
 " Of the poet-clead, 
 Reclining here at rest ; 
 
 O soul ! " said I, 
 
 " Of melody, 
 In the mansions of the blest ! " 
 
32 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 " O soul ! " I said, 
 " Of the poet-dead, 
 
 In the blissful realms above, 
 Around thy clay, 
 With this simple spray, 
 
 I weave the spell of love " — 
 
 A wind swept by 
 Through the cypress nigh, 
 
 And stirred the withered flower ; 
 " From a Avoman's heart 
 To the jooet-heart — 
 
 And may the spell have power ! " 
 
 A wind swept by 
 Through the cypress nigh, 
 
 And stirred the withered spray ; 
 It came at length, 
 With a gathered strength, 
 
 And bore it far away. 
 
SHELLETS GBAYE. 33 
 
 All ! then I knew 
 
 The charm was true, 
 And not in vain the flower ; 
 
 From a woman's heart 
 
 To the poet-heart 
 The spell of love had power ! 
 
 Borne, August 22, 187S. 
 
HATH ANY ONE SEEN MY LOVE? 
 
 Her forehead is white as the drifted snow ; 
 Her eyes are black as the ripened sloe ; 
 Her cheeks are touched with the sunset glow ; 
 Hath any one seen my love ? 
 
 Her hair is a river of gleaming gold ; 
 Her blood is a torrent, — well controll'd ; 
 Her form is the cast of a perfect mould ; 
 Hath any one seen my love ? 
 
 Her step is the step of the bounding roe ; 
 Her glance is the glance of the wounded doe ; 
 Her voice is musical, soft and low ; 
 
 Hath any one seen my love ? 
 
 (34) 
 
II A TH ANY ONE SEEN MY L VE ? 35 
 
 With a purpose single, steadfast, true, 
 We seek each other the wide world through : 
 And she asks of all, — as I ask of you, — 
 Hath any one seen my love ? 
 
 Lake of Como, July 27, 1S7S. 
 
THE DIVERS. 
 
 "Who will seek the pearl of Truth, 
 Hid beneath the waves of life ? " 
 
 " I ! " " And I ! " cry Age, and Youth, 
 And Manly Prime. The air is rife 
 All are eager for the strife. 
 
 Down into the seething wave 
 
 Sprang the Youth, without a care ; 
 
 Singing in a coral cave 
 
 Sat a maiden, passing fair — 
 Bound him with her yellow hair. 
 
 Next, with bosom all aflame, 
 
 Manly Prime, of bearing bold ; 
 
 But the weeds of Wealth and Fame 
 Seized him with relentless hold — 
 Held him, till his heart was cold. 
 
 (3G) 
 
THE DIVERS. 37 
 
 Last of all, the hoary Sage 
 
 Plunged, — an aneient volume found ; 
 
 Sophistries of musty age 
 
 Quickly his attention bound, — 
 And the pearl remained unfound. 
 
 Dieppe, June 10, 1878. 
 
THE IDEAL. 
 
 There was never a picture painted, 
 
 There was never a poem sung, 
 But the heart of the artist fainted 
 
 And the poet's soul was wrung ; 
 There was never a grand conception 
 
 In the veined marble wrought, 
 But the hour of its inception 
 
 With bitterness was fraught ; 
 For each knew that his fond endeavor 
 
 Though he strove with utmost might, 
 Must fail of its meaning ever, 
 
 As darkness fails from li^ht. 
 
 (38) 
 
THE IDEAL. 39 
 
 There are wondrous colors blending, 
 
 Which the world may never know ; 
 There are angel-faces bending, 
 
 But for me alone they glow ; 
 There are rapturous voices singing, 
 
 There are symphonies that roll — 
 In dreams I hear them ringing 
 
 Through the cloisters of my soul. 
 But my waking fond endeavor 
 
 Still these fleeting visions mock — 
 Like Prometheus, find I ever 
 
 But the vulture and the rock. 
 
 The Vatican, Borne, August 20, IS 78. 
 
THE GREENWOOD FAIRY. 
 A SONG OF THE BLACK FOREST. 
 
 Merrily, merrily wakes the day, 
 
 Merrily lifts the dawn ; 
 
 The birds are singing, 
 
 The flowers are springing, 
 
 And merrily winds the horn. 
 
 The huntsman's horn is winding far 
 
 O'er grassy dell and wooded hill ; 
 
 He calls his hounds to the antlered war, 
 
 The king of the herd to kill. 
 
 But a fairy I 
 
 Of the merry greenwood, 
 
 And I mock the huntsman's skill ! 
 
 (40) 
 
THE GBEENWOOD FAIBY. 41 
 
 The huntsman comes in his pride of skill, 
 
 He rideth a gallant steed ; 
 
 In raiment bright 
 
 Is he all bedight, 
 
 And girt for daring deed. 
 
 Merrily, merrily winds the horn 
 
 O'er wooded hill and grassy dell ; 
 
 And the gentle fay 
 
 Of the morning ray 
 
 Is chained by its echoing spell. N 
 
 Gayly the huntsman rides away, 
 
 And boasts of his deadly skill. 
 
 Triberg {Black Forest), July 20, 1878.' 
 
THE MESSAGE. 
 
 Lily, white lily, and red, red rose, 
 
 Hither, come hither, and hie away ; 
 Go to my lady, this truth disclose 
 
 To my lady fair, and say, — 
 Nestle deep down in her shining hair, 
 
 Bend and whisper into her ear, — 
 Tell her I love her beyond compare, 
 
 That she is to me than life more dear ; 
 Tell her I love her, tell her I love her, 
 
 I love her, I love her beyond compare ! 
 
 Lily, white lily, and red, red rose, 
 Hither, come hither, and hie away ; 
 
 Go to my lady, this truth disclose 
 To my lady fair, and say, — 
 
THE MESSAGE. 43 
 
 That a red, red rosebud, blushing fair, 
 
 Shall her answer bring that I long to hear ; 
 
 Tell her I love her beyond compare, 
 That she is to me than life more dear ; 
 
 Tell her I love her, tell her I love her, 
 I love her, I love her beyond compare ! 
 
AFLOAT. 
 
 Within a mighty circle bound, 
 Whose central point am I ; 
 
 A waste of waters all around, 
 Above — a world of sky. 
 
 I mark the angry sun arise 
 Each morning from the main ; 
 
 I see him daily cross the skies 
 To meet the waves again. 
 
 Anon, like Aphrodite, born 
 Amid the sounding surge, 
 
 I watch the placid moon sail on, 
 And sink beneath the verge. 
 
 (44) 
 
AFLOAT. 45 
 
 The glistfning stars reflect in turn 
 
 Their glories in the deep ; 
 For me alone they seem to bum, 
 
 And watchful vigils keep. 
 
 The misty clouds above me lie, 
 
 And shade the watery plain ; 
 For me they spread their canopy, 
 
 Or melt in gentle rain. 
 
 The sighing zephyrs come and go, 
 
 To fill my flowing sail ; 
 For me they whisper soft and low, 
 
 Or swell the rising gale. 
 
 Swift flying-fish with sudden bound 
 
 Escape some danger nigh ; 
 The watchful sea-gulls circle round — 
 
 The nautilus sails by. 
 
46 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Around me unknown forms arise, 
 And spouting monsters sweep ; 
 
 All hail me with their wondering eyes,- 
 A welcome to the deep. 
 
 'Tis well — I'll track the stormy sea 
 With every sail unfurled ; 
 
 These all shall my companions be, 
 And this, my only world. 
 
 Gulf of Mexico, April 20, IS 77. 
 
SUNRISE ON THE PACIFIC. 
 
 On the mountains, like battle-smoke, fold upon 
 fold, 
 Hover low the mists of morning ; 
 As pearls, hang the dew-drops on forest and 
 wold, 
 The flowers and trees adorning. 
 
 In the East, the dove-light of promise, in 
 gleams, 
 Is blushing warm and waking ; 
 In the AYest, phantom shadows of darkness 
 and dreams 
 Are fleeing fast and breaking. 
 
 (47) 
 
48 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 On their hinges of amber, the gateways of 
 pear 
 Are high and wide unclosing ; 
 Glowing standards of crimson their wonders 
 unfurl, 
 Heaven's glories all disclosing. 
 
 Swift, arrowy lightnings encircle the earth, 
 
 The seas are flushed and gory ; 
 And from out the throes of that marvellous 
 birth 
 
 The god ascends in glory ! 
 
 At the Golden Gate, Cal., Nov. 1, 1879. 
 
ONLY. 
 
 Only a shell from the eddy and swirl 
 
 Of a pitiless sea ; 
 But hid in its bosom a precious pearl 
 
 Lay fair and free ! 
 
 Only the song of a passing bird 
 
 Sped swiftly by ; 
 But a poet that fleeting music heard — 
 
 It sang for aye ! 
 
 Only a waif on Life's shingle bare, 
 
 Cast up by sin ; 
 But the pearl and the music may both be there. 
 
 Hid deep within ! 
 
 Firth of Clyde, May 22, 1S78. 
 
 (49) 
 
THE MINSTREL. 
 
 On viewing an old painting (artist unknown) , in the Vatican col- 
 lection, representing Christ in the garb of a minstrel, playing on a 
 harp, and singing to the people. 
 
 Lightly lie touched his lyre of gold 
 To a melody sad, and sweet, and true ; 
 
 But who, or whence was the minstrel bold, 
 Or the name of that melody, no one knew. 
 
 He sang a weird and mystical rhyme 
 
 (While ever more softly the music played) ; 
 
 "I sing the anthem of Fleeting Time, 
 To the measure of Human Life," he said. 
 
 They tore the harp from his practised hand, 
 They staid the flow of that marvellous song ; 
 
 And, with discord ever on sea and land, 
 The lyre of Life repays the wrong ! 
 
 Borne, August 21, IS 78. 
 
 (50) 
 
THE FISHERS' RETURN. 
 
 On the Gulf of Genoa, at evening twilight, the women gather on 
 the shore, and by their songs direct the fishermen's return. As 
 the boats approach, the men and women sing alternate parts, all 
 joining in the chorus. 
 
 Mellow and sweet 
 
 Are the songs that greet 
 The fishers' return in their bounding fleet ; 
 
 Than life more dear 
 
 To each listening ear 
 Comes the merry sound of their answering cheer 
 
 But ever I roam 
 
 O'er the salt sea-foam — 
 There is none to welcome or woo me home. 
 
 Col) 
 
52 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Cheerly and bright 
 
 To the fisherman's sight 
 Is the flickering gleam of his window-light ; 
 
 By a hearth well-swept, 
 
 In a room well-kept, 
 Now his prattling babes to his knees have crept ; 
 
 But never a ray 
 
 Illumes my way, 
 No home have I where children play. 
 
 Genoa, August 29, 1S78. 
 
TWO LIVES. 
 
 Lovers were many, and vows were rife, 
 But never the knight of her fancy came ; 
 
 And the fluttering hope of a maiden's life 
 Lay hidden and hushed as a thing of shame. 
 
 For the answering love of a bosom true, 
 And the prattle of children about his knee, 
 
 O God ! how he hungered, no one knew, 
 For a wanderer over the earth was he. 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 Where the moss-covered marbles coldly gleam, 
 
 And the storm- wind chanteth a sad refrain, 
 Low lieth the knight of the lady's dream 
 
 By the side of her whom he sought in vain. 
 
 Heidelberg Castle, July 17, 1S7S. 
 
MY LOST LOVE. 
 
 " Souls are created in pairs." — Plato. 
 
 Love, my lost love ! say, whither art thou 
 
 roaming ? 
 O Love, my lost love ! prithee hearken to 
 my cry ; 
 
 1 have sought thee since the dawning ; soon 
 
 the gray and misty gloaming 
 Will come sweeping coldly o'er us, and then 
 love will fade and die. 
 
 O Love, my lost love ! doth never vision tell 
 thee, 
 O Love, my lost love ! that thou art mine 
 alone? 
 
 (54) 
 
MY LOST LOVE. 55 
 
 Doth no song-bird woo thy waking, with this 
 magic strain to spell thee, 
 Or whispering wind at eventide my yearning 
 cry make known ? 
 
 Love, my lost love ! I seek thee, and thee 
 
 only ; 
 O Love, my lost love ! on the land and on 
 the sea, 
 
 1 still seek thee far and near, I still seek thee 
 
 sad and lonely ; 
 Sweet love ! where'er thou lingerest, oh, I 
 prithee come to me ! 
 
 Lucerne, July 31, 1878. 
 
COMMUNION WITH GOD. 
 
 Whex the morning wakes in glory, 
 
 And the sunbeams thrill the air ; 
 When the birds rehearse their story 
 
 Of His love and kindly care ; 
 When the trees in stately beauty 
 
 Greet the flowerets on the sod, — 
 As a child beside its father, 
 
 So I wander forth with God. 
 
 When the purple shadows hover, 
 
 And the shining planets roll, 
 He comes — as comes a lover — 
 
 To the casement of my soul. 
 I hear His whispered greeting, 
 
 I feel His kiss divine ; 
 And the heart of the great Creator 
 
 Beats responsive unto mine. 
 
LIFE. 
 
 Lite is a symphony, life is a song ! 
 
 Strike the chords cheerily, sing it in time ; 
 Spite of its misery, spite of its wrong, 
 
 There is melody still in the grand oid rune. 
 
 Faint-hearted mariners, toss'd on the tide, 
 Lo! the dawn brightens, the clouds dis- 
 appear ; 
 Soon in the haven at rest shall ye ride, 
 
 And the sunlight of heaven shall banish 
 your fear. 
 
 Grief-stricken mourner, thy sorrow give o'er ; 
 Freed from earth's smf 'ring, temptation, and 
 sin, 
 
 (57) 
 
58 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Where the curtains of death drape the ever 
 green shore, 
 Thy loved one is waiting to welcome thee in. 
 
 Life is a symphony, life is a song ! 
 
 Strike the chords cheerily, sing it in tune ; 
 Spite of its misery, spite of its wrong, 
 
 There is melody still in the grand old rune. 
 
 Naples, August 26, 187S. 
 
THE FRUITS OF SORROW. 
 
 The pearl in beauty's tresses set, 
 To secret anguish owes its birth ; 
 
 The gems which grace the coronet, 
 Were born amid the throes of earth. 
 
 The attar which the rose distils 
 Proclaims the flower's sure decay ; 
 
 The forest songster ever trills 
 Most sweetly on his dying day. 
 
 The cruel axe must gash the wood 
 Before the healing gums may flow ; 
 
 And all of wise, or fair, or good, 
 Is sequent to some hidden woe. 
 
 (50) 
 
WHEN WHISFRING ZEPHYRS WOO THE 
 PINE. 
 
 When whisp'ring zephyrs woo the pine, 
 And wake to life the blushing Spring ; 
 
 When droops the trailing eglantine, 
 And plovers pipe, and linnets sing; 
 
 When cloy'd with sweets the drowsy bee 
 
 Forgets the roses in his way ; 
 When robins build in ev'ry tree, 
 
 And swallows weave their web of play ; 
 
 When glow the fruit trees wrapt in bloom, 
 
 And daisies lift their timid eyes ; 
 When violets yield their sweet perfume 
 
 As incense to the bending skies ; 
 
 (CO) 
 
WHEN WHISP'BING ZEPHYRS. 61 
 
 When shining glow-worms haste to light 
 
 Their lanterns, in the dewy eve ; 
 When artful spiders, through the night, 
 
 With care their spangled meshes weave ; 
 
 When crickets chirp on ev'ry hearth, 
 And sparrows twitter in the eaves ; 
 
 When wanton squirrels, in their mirth, 
 Play hide-and-seek amid the leaves ; 
 
 All nature, thrill'd with happy life, 
 
 Proclaims aloud, through field and flood — 
 
 With tongues diverse, in friendly strife, 
 A God theee is, and He is good ! 
 
FLORAL COURTSHIP. 
 
 I picked my love a posy bright 
 Of roses red, and lilies white, 
 Of mistletoe, and kingly yew : — 
 But she returned me only rue. 
 
 I picked my love a posy bright 
 Of Gilead's balm, and shade of night ; 
 She sent me ivy, eglantine, 
 Forget-me-not, and columbine. 
 
 Saratoga, August 10, 1877. 
 
 (62) 
 
LOVE LONGEST LIVES IN FREEDOM. 
 
 A lover I bad who said to me — 
 «We will love for aye, but for aye be free — 
 True love, in bondage, may never agree - 
 Love longest lives in freedom! " 
 
 A bird be brought me of matchless song, 
 Which strove for its liberty all day long, 
 And carolled forever this paean strong — 
 "Love longest lives in freedom!" 
 
 I loosed the bird — upon wings of gold 
 It sped far away o'er the distant wold, 
 And its parting message merrily roll'd — 
 "Love longest lives in freedom!" 
 
64 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 My lover stayed while my youth was bright 
 Like the bird, he fled with its waning light ; 
 Now sadly I sigh through the weary night — 
 "Love longest lives in freedom!" 
 
 Leadville, Col., May 15, 1879. 
 
THE ESCAPE. 
 
 As the mantle of night hides the slumbering 
 earth, 
 
 Till withdrawn by the sunlight of Heaven, 
 So in life I lay hid ; so in jubilant mirth 
 I at last was unveiled to that marvellous birth 
 
 Called Death, — which in mercy is given ! 
 
 Oh ! I merrily laughed when I found I was free 
 
 From the net which Mortality weaves ; 
 It lay where it fell, 'neath a wide-spreading 
 
 tree, 
 And I staid scarce a moment, in tremulous 
 glee, 
 To cover it lightly with leaves. 
 
 (65) 
 
QQ SOyG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Then I fashioned a boat from the folds of a rose ; 
 
 A pine-needle served for a mast ; 
 The sails were of gossamer ; cordage of those 
 Light threads which the pods of the milk-weed 
 disclose, 
 
 When their seeds to the zephyrs are cast. 
 
 And I sailed far away on the wings of the 
 wind, 
 Far out toward the beautiful West ; 
 But the shard that I left, 'neath the oak tree 
 
 reclined, 
 Slept on — yet I cared not, nor looked I behind, 
 For I scorned what I lately caress'd. 
 
 Oakland, Cal., December 20, 1S79. 
 
LIVE IT DOWN. 
 
 Should envy seek to mar thy fame, 
 
 Live it down ; 
 Should malice blacken thy good name, 
 
 Live it down ; 
 Should all the hosts of Hell unite 
 To whelm thee 'neath their vengeful spite, 
 And paint thee with the hues of night, 
 
 Live it down, live it down. 
 
 Though lost to thee be ev'ry friend, 
 
 Live it down ; 
 The truth will conquer in the end, 
 
 Live it down ; 
 
 (67) 
 
6$ SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 As morning comes, though night bo long, 
 As calm succeeds the tempest strong, 
 So right shall triumph over wrong, 
 Live it down, live it down. 
 
 San Francisco, September 20, 1880. 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 I mingle with the trivial crowd, 
 
 The gayest of the gay ; 
 With those who laugh I laugh aloud 
 
 I play with those who play. 
 
 But when at night I lonely lie, 
 And commune with my heart, 
 
 I feel 'tis all a mockery — 
 I only play a part. 
 
 My boon companions may not know 
 The secret of my breast ; 
 
 Enough for them the idle flow 
 Of merriment and jest. 
 
 (69) 
 
70 • SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 But deep within rny hidden soul 
 
 There lies a holy place, 
 Where wanton footstep fears to stroll, 
 
 And Folly veils her face. 
 
OUR FATHER. 
 
 " Our Father who in Heaven art, 
 Forever hallowed be Thy name ! 
 
 Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done 
 In Heaven, and on earth the same ! 
 
 " Give me my bread from day to day ; 
 
 Forgive the evil I have wrought ; 
 Teach me with love my foes to pa}', 
 
 And cleanse from sin my inmost thought ! 
 
 " Protect me through the gloomy night ; 
 
 Enfold me in Thine arms of love ; 
 Oh, guide my tott'ring steps aright, 
 
 And lead me to Thy home above ! " 
 
 (71) 
 
> SOXG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 Fond Memory backward wings her flight, 
 And turns the page ot time, to see 
 
 A little child repeat at night 
 
 His prayer, before a mother's knee. 
 
PLATONIC PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Plato advocated the theory that each soul, male or female, is 
 but the half of a perfect whole, doomed to wander in solitude and 
 isolation through an infinity of successive existences, until it shall 
 finally meet and unite with its own proper, divinely-appointed 
 companion. 
 
 By the system Platonic 
 
 (Tho' it seems rather comic) 
 Each soul is a half cut asunder by fate ; 
 
 Condemned to go sighing, 
 
 And crying, and prying, 
 Until, by some chance, it shall meet with its 
 mate. 
 
 If you halve a tomato, 
 A pear, or potato, 
 The halves will match neatly again when they're 
 joined ; 
 
 (73) 
 
74 SONG-CAPTIVES. 
 
 But if you should grapple 
 Either one to an apple, 
 The point of connection were surely defined. 
 
 Apart from me riven 
 
 By cruel fate driven, 
 My other half wanders alone o'er the earth ; 
 
 If any should meet her 
 
 I wish they would greet her 
 And say that I've sought her in vain from my 
 birth. 
 
BILLIARDS INTENSIFIED. 
 
 Could I from Nature take the cue 
 
 That sets the spheres in play, 
 I'd send those ivories spinning through 
 Each other, on their table blue, 
 In a promiscuous way. 
 
 And when, at last, I left my place 
 
 Amid the gaping crowd, 
 By power unseen shot into space, 
 I'd strike the pale moon in the face, 
 
 And carom on a cloud ! 
 
 Chicago, December 10, 18 SO. 
 
 (75) 
 
FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 They are falling, falling, falling, 
 
 In an undulating flow ; 
 They are rippling, rippling, rippling 
 
 Waves of color as they go ; 
 They are sailing, sailing, sailing, 
 
 And the fairy sunlight weaves 
 A web of magic beauty 
 
 Round the falling of the leaves ! 
 
 They are falling, falling, falling, 
 
 In a chorus soft and low ; 
 They are floating, floating, floating, 
 
 On its rhythm to and fro ; 
 
 (76) 
 
FALLING LEAVES. 77 
 
 They are circling, circling, circling, 
 Each a mystic measure weaves, 
 
 Oh ! my soul is filled with music 
 From the falling of the leaves. 
 
 Nevada City, Cal., Nov. 20, 1879. 
 
BUBBLES. 
 
 At the door of a farm-house, on the field of Waterloo, an old 
 and battered soldier sat blowing soap-bubbles from a clay pipe. I 
 found he was demented, and that this was his constant amuse- 
 ment. " My friend," said I, " surely yours is but a frivolous em- 
 ployment on the scene of such great deeds." " Pardon, mon- 
 sieur" he answered, " cest la mime chose." 
 
 " Hour by hour, and da}- by day, 
 
 Bubbles I blow from a pipe of clay ; 
 
 And ever I watch them glimmer and glow, 
 Gleam and glisten, expand and grow, 
 As I slowly, softly, steadily blow — 
 
 Till they vanish in air, or float away !" 
 
 "Prithee, my friend, from day to day, 
 Why spend your life in such frivolous way ? 
 While every other pursues some aim — 
 Or wealth, or power, or joy, or fame, — " 
 "Just so," quoth he, "and I do the same ; — 
 Bubbles I blow from a pipe of clay ! " 
 Brussels, July 4, 1878. 
 
 (78) 
 
THE SUMMONS. 
 
 Came there a maiden at morning-ray, 
 Lithe and ruddy, and fair to see ; 
 
 "Maiden, I come." — She answered, "Nay, 
 I seek for another, and not for thee." 
 
 Came there a spectre at close of day, 
 Lean and ghastly and grim to see ; 
 
 " The man thou seekest hath gone away." — 
 "Get ready, friend — I am come for thee! 
 
 Lucerne, July 31, 1878. 
 
 (79) 
 
RETROSPECTION. 
 
 A sacred trust to me was given — 
 An angel-cherub, wondrous fair, 
 
 With clustering gems of hope and heaven 
 Entangled in its shining hair. 
 
 It came to me at morning-ray : 
 
 I named that lovely babe — To-day ! 
 
 I loved the child ; yet wilfully, 
 By some unholy power possessed, 
 
 Still wrought it wrong. I watched it die 
 When died the sunlight in the West. 
 
 Too late, with passionate remorse 
 
 I sorrow o'er its pallid corse ! 
 
 Borne, August 27, 1878 
 
 (SO) 
 
THE SCHOOL OF WISDOM. 
 
 The rosary hung on Wisdom's hands, 
 With ready tongue Youth glibly tells ; 
 But faltering Manhood slowly spells, 
 
 And A^e — abashed — in silence stands. 
 
 Cologne, July 5, 1878. 
 
 (SI) 
 
SOON OR LATE. , 
 
 Soon or late the time will come, 
 Borne upon the flying years, 
 When, above my silent tomb, 
 Birds will sing and bees will hum, 
 Grasses wave and flowers bloom, 
 Dews distil in pearly tears. 
 
 Soon or late, in cold review, 
 
 Men will scan my resting place, 
 
 Canvass every fault anew, — 
 
 " Follies many, virtues few ; " 
 
 Care I little, false or true, 
 
 So they add — "He loved his race. 5 
 
 Pompeii, August 25, 1S7S 
 
 (82) 
 
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