i^..^^_'^:^j7rji^ti^i.'^m^i»'. 
 
,* .,v ^''^ 
 
 Stratford & Green 
 640 S. Main Street, 
 Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE McCLURE GRIFFIN. 
 
 CINCINNATI : 
 RICK-EY AND CARROLL, 
 
 73 WEST FOURTH STREET, 
 
 (OPEEA HOUSE BUILDING.) 
 1864. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, 
 
 By Rickey and Cakroll, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern 
 District of Ohio. 
 
 %^2 4^ 
 
 EIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Dedication . . . . 
 
 . vli 
 
 Preface . . . . . 
 
 ix 
 
 Voice of the Streamlet 
 
 . 17 
 
 Spirit Landscapes . . . . 
 
 19 
 
 The Caged Bird 
 
 . 21 
 
 A Eequiem .... 
 
 23 
 
 Little Envy .... 
 
 . 25 
 
 Impromptu Lines ... 
 
 27 
 
 Lillawalla, an Indian Legend 
 
 . 29 
 
 The Spring Queen of the Vale 
 
 33 
 
 A Fragmentary Sonnet 
 
 , 35 
 
 The Captive of Babylon . 
 
 36 
 
 The Floor of the Deep . 
 
 . 37 
 
 The Radiance op Eternity 
 
 39 
 
 Genial Spirits .... 
 
 . 43 
 
 Oh, Greet Me with a Smile 
 
 44 
 
 A Song . . . . . 
 
 . 45 
 
 To My Father . . 
 
 47 
 
 Childhood Hours . 
 
 . 49 
 
 The Merry Breeze . 
 
 51 
 
 May-Day Song .... 
 
 . 52 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Acrostic ..... 53. 
 
 Sunrise . . . . . .54 
 
 The Sounding Sea .... 55 
 
 School Ode . . . . .56 
 
 Wandering Stars .... 58 
 
 Our Lily-Bed . . . . .59 
 
 The Lost Star . ... . 60 
 
 Give Me thy Blessing, Father . .61 
 Thinkest Thou of Thy Little Friend ? 63 
 
 On Eeception of a Bouquet . . .64 
 
 On the Receipt of a Present . . 65 
 
 King Time . . . . .66 
 
 Will Memory bridge the Gulf between 
 
 the two Worlds ? . . .68 
 
 Lines to a Friend . . . . 72 
 
 Lines to . . . • .73 
 
 On the Announcement of the Death of 
 
 the Rev. P. B. Wilber. . .75. 
 
 A Trill 78 
 
 The Two Pleiads (A Figure) . . 80 
 
 The Broken Bower ... 82 
 
 Dost Thou Dream I can Forget Thee ? . 84 
 The Tear-Drop on the Heart . . 85 
 
 The All-Seeing Eye . . . .87 
 
 Crushed Roses . . . . 89 
 
 Lines to a Friend . . . .90 
 
 Our Aspirations Prophetic of a Higher 
 
 Life . . . . .92 
 
 A Southern Tour .... 96 
 
 Melancholy . . . . . 101 
 
 To My Husband . • . .103 
 
 Almost There ..... 104 
 
 The Dead 106 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Sensitive Heart . 
 
 . 
 
 107 
 
 Ah, Let Me Sing 
 
 , 
 
 108 
 
 To A Departed Schoolmate . 
 
 , , 
 
 110 
 
 Smile of Friendship 
 
 , 
 
 111 
 
 Aspiration 
 
 , , 
 
 112 
 
 Sylvania . . . . 
 
 , 
 
 113 
 
 Josephine to Napoleon 
 
 , , 
 
 115 
 
 A Fragment . 
 
 , 
 
 117 
 
 Impromptu on seeing Cincinnati 
 
 Opera 
 
 
 House .... 
 
 , 
 
 118 
 
 A Parody .... 
 
 . . 
 
 120 
 
 Live and Laugh 
 
 . 
 
 122 
 
 A Good Name 
 
 • a 
 
 124 
 
 The Flight of the Muses 
 
 ^ 
 
 125 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 '0 my beloved parents I dedicate this lit- 
 tle volume ; not that I wish the world to 
 see this display of a daughter's affection, 
 but with the feeling that I could not more appro- 
 priately inscribe it. Father, it was your lessons 
 that taught me to love that which was useful and 
 instructive, — to shun error and wrong ; and to 
 you will I always be indebted for whatever is 
 practical and truthful in my writings. Mother, it 
 was your love for the beautiful that led me to 
 gather the prettiest flowers of the field and the 
 brightest pebbles on the shore, — - your approving 
 smile that gave me courage to speak of them ; and 
 to you I will ever owe grateful acknowledgments 
 for what images of fancy my little book contains. 
 
Vlll 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Since it was from you, dear father and mother, 
 that I first received encouragement to write, then 
 
 accept 
 
 This simple token of my love ; 
 
 .'Tis all I have to bring; 
 But the wealth of a devoted heart 
 
 Goes with the offering. 
 
 ALICE McCLUEE GEIFFIN. 
 
 Louisville, Ky., Oct. 1, 1863. 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 ^^B^T the request of friends, the author of 
 ^^^w this little book has collected together 
 quite a number of her poems, which now form 
 a very neat volume. Although it was mainly to 
 please her immediate acquaintances that she con- 
 sented to its publication, it is hoped that it will 
 please the public, as the poems have pleased the 
 numerous personal friends of the author. Should 
 these poems, however, fall into the hands of some 
 snarling critic, let him spare awhile his criticism, 
 until he has had time to read them carefully ; then, 
 perhaps, he will be made aware of the modest and 
 unpretending spirit of the writer, ■— unless, indeed, 
 he belongs to that class of persons who can see 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 nothing even in that to admire. Some, too, may 
 sneer at this little work, who never wrote an orig- 
 inal line or expressed an original thought in their 
 lives. Then there are others who will be dis- 
 pleased, because they do not approve of book-writ- 
 ing by women, — believing that a woman's sphere 
 is the home-circle, and that there her thoughts 
 should be confined, or else wdthin the limits of her 
 own imagination ; and that a transmission of her 
 ideas or fancies to the public, is not only disagree- 
 able, but an absolute infringement on the " rights 
 of men." For the benefit of this class of think- 
 ers I will simply say, that the world has already 
 derived too much pleasure and instruction from 
 their perusal to be influenced now by any such 
 theories. 
 
 Many of these poems are familiar to the general 
 reader, as they have appeared, from time to time, 
 in the columns of literary papers, periodicals, mag- 
 azines, etc., over the signatures of "Muni Tell," 
 and " Addie Glenmore," — nearly all of them re- 
 ceiving compHmentary notices from the pubHshers. 
 
 There is something so beautiful in poetry of this 
 kind, and its influence on the hearts of the good 
 
PREFA CE. xi 
 
 is so great, that, if spoken of by them, they must 
 needs speak in terms of praise. If the reader will 
 pause a moment and contemplate the pure inten- 
 tions and lofty aspirations of the poet, he will find 
 much to admire, even in the humblest. As a gift, 
 poetry is infinitely superior to either art or science ; 
 yet, in a certain sense, poetry is an art. It may 
 be defined as the art of expressing the loveliest 
 ideas in the most terse and eloquent language, ■ — 
 bearing, all the while, a striking resemblance to 
 painting and sculpture. It would not be difficult 
 to point out the differences, and to show wdierein 
 consists the superiority of poetry. For instance, 
 it is the province of the painter's art to transfer his 
 thoughts to canvas, and often he is so successful in 
 his representations, that even the connoisseur fancies 
 that he has given to his flowers not alone their 
 proper tints, but fragrance ; his birds, a voice ; his 
 trees, the power of being moved hj the gentle 
 winds. Though we may stand before the lovely 
 picture spell-bound, yet when we are reminded of 
 the greater beauty and magnificence of Nature, if 
 we do not think less of the painter's art, his pic- 
 ture, at least, does not impress us with the perma- 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 nent beauty of poetry. The impressions which we 
 receive from the beautiful word-paintings of the 
 poet are much more lasting. It would be difficult 
 indeed to find a representation of the Alps on 
 canvas, which would equal in beauty the descrip- 
 tion of the same in Byron's " Childe Harold." 
 
 List you : — 
 
 " Above me are the Alps, 
 
 The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps. 
 
 And throned eternity in icy halls 
 
 Of cold subHmity, where forms and falls 
 
 The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! 
 
 All that expands the spirit, yet appals, 
 
 Gather around these summits, as to show 
 
 How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man 
 
 below." 
 
 No, not all the colors of the glorious rainbow, 
 blended together by the magic genius of a Claude, 
 could form a picture of half the magnificent gran- 
 deur that is contained within these few lines. Even 
 the sculptor, when he places before us the marble 
 form, just lifted out of chaos, with nothing lacking 
 save the breath of life to make it seem God's own 
 handiwork, fails to fill the soul with such hallowed 
 beauty as that which we receive from the inspira- 
 tion of poetry. Look at " The Dying Gladiator," 
 
PREFACE. xiii 
 
 that sublime work of the Greek chisel ; see the 
 warm blood oozing from the gaping wounds ; see 
 that saddened face, that sunken frame : how elo- 
 quently they all speak. But how much more touch- 
 ing, how much more complete, the picture drawn 
 by the poet : — ■ 
 
 " I see before me the gladiator lie ; 
 He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
 who won." 
 
 Here are all the glowing graces of the sculptor's 
 art enshrouded in words worthy of the treasure ; 
 but the poet reaches a nook in the heart beyond the 
 sculptor's utmost art. His representation calls be- 
 fore us the Dacian wife and the young barbarian 
 children of the dying gladiator : — 
 
 " There were his young barbarians all at play ; 
 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
 Butcher 'd to make a Eoman holiday — 
 All this rush'd with his blood. Shall he expire, 
 And unavenged ? Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! " 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 Science, too, must bow her head in meek sub- 
 mission to the sway of poetry. For instance, the 
 astronomer, while gazing upon the starry heavens 
 in all their loveliness, and trying to penetrate the 
 planetary spheres, acknowledges that light and heat 
 are all he can discern, trusting future discoveries 
 to the imagination of the poet, while he is content 
 to lie down upon the quiet earth, and, like the Chal- 
 dean shepherd, gaze upward in childish simplicity. 
 The writings of Job, the royal Hebrew bard, — of 
 Isaiah and Ezekiel, bring them before us, in the 
 subliraest of poetry, in all their glory, grandeur, 
 majesty and life. 
 
 I do not purpose to dwell at length on the beau- 
 ties of poetry, or to offer an apology for the publi- 
 cation of this little work. My design is merely to 
 call attention to, and point out, some of the beau- 
 ties of the poems herein contained. This purpose 
 is not one of difficulty, for they are filled with the 
 purest gems gathered from the deep recesses of a 
 heart of innocence and love. They contain noth- 
 ing of the grotesque or the horrible, but are replete 
 with the sunbeams of gladness, or the more tender 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 and refined rays of sympathy and affection, — the 
 warm outgushings of a truly poetic soul. 
 
 Who will not feel happier after listening to the 
 merry little poem, " Live and Laugh " ; or who can 
 read the plaintive sighings of " The Tear-Drop on 
 the Heart," without some awakening love for the 
 poet. We envy not the person who can read, un- 
 moved, the beautiful lines entitled " The Voice of 
 the Streamlet." They partake of the beauties of 
 the scene, and seem to be an integral part of it. 
 
 " Gayly through the forest flashing, 
 With a bounding tide I go ; 
 Over rocks and rocklets dashing 
 In a wild and gladsome flow." 
 
 There are few who, after following it along 
 through wood and forest, where tall trees and 
 graceful undergrowth bend to do it homage, as it 
 murmurs along on its joyous course to its home in 
 its native deep, without regretting that the poet did 
 not carry them along to that magnificent home. 
 
 Finally, in presenting to you, patient reader, this 
 tiny casket of delicate gems, I would merely add, 
 that should you discover anything in your transit 
 through this volume which may- appear to you too 
 
XVI PREFACE. 
 
 youthful, bear in mind that the entire book was 
 written when the author was between fourteen and 
 twenty years of age. I mention this as an evidence 
 of the genius of the writer. The poems need no 
 apology ; they speak their own praise. The book 
 itself constitutes an honest claim to the love and 
 admiration of the pure in heart. With the earnest 
 hope that it may meet with the approbation it de- 
 serves, I herewith consign it to the public. 
 
 G. W. G. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 VOICE OF THE STEEAMLET. 
 
 pAYLY through the forest flashing, 
 With a bounding tide I go ; 
 Over rocks and rocklets dashing 
 In a wild and gladsome flow. 
 
 Mosses fringe my bed of pebbles, 
 And the bending bluebells lave, 
 
 Lovingly, their silvery petals 
 In the nectar of my wave. 
 
 And the violet and the lily. 
 Peeping from the wavy grass, 
 
 With their modest eyelets shyly 
 Nod me welcome as I pass. 
 
 Peeping vines and climbing roses 
 Twine triumphal arches o'er 
 
 My wild path, and swaying osiers 
 Sigh sweet greetings from the shore. 
 
18 VOICE OF THE STREAMLET, 
 
 Tall trees bend to do me homage, 
 Holding o'er me feathery boughs. 
 
 And the shadows of their foliage 
 Lightly on my bosom glows. 
 
 Now I catch them, and reflect them 
 On my glancing wavelets bright, 
 
 And embrace them and caress them 
 Till the coming of the night. 
 
 Then the sweet stars send their beamlets 
 Trembling down, to gem my breast ; 
 
 And I sing each tiny gleamlet 
 With a liillaby to rest. 
 
 And I fold them and I hold them 
 In a fond and sweet embrace, 
 
 Till the coming beams of morning 
 From my arms the treasures chase. 
 
 Then I kiss them and release them ^ 
 With a murmur and a sigh. 
 
 And upon the breezes send them 
 To their azure homes on high. 
 
 Thus, 'mid scenes of beauty flowing, 
 Dancing, glancing, on I sweep. 
 
 With a bounding spirit going 
 To my home, my native deep. 
 
SPIRIT LANDSCAPES. 
 
 " VTOT those bright scenes that charm the human eye 
 ^^ "With rich material beauty, glowing forth 
 In bold relief of landscape, — beauty drawn 
 Of earthly hills and towering mountains high, 
 Or tangled vales, or native murmuring streams. 
 Whose rippling music echoes from the cliffs 
 And high ascents that hedge their waters in : 
 Nor yet the flowery fields, nor meadows rare. 
 Where, 'mid the perfumed shades and grassy slopes. 
 The ruminating herds seek sweet repose. 
 Or gambol sportively in frolic free ! 
 
 Not those, ah, no ! though e'er so fair and bright, 
 Can fill the spirit's ken with full delight; 
 No earthly scenes, though e'er so finely wrought. 
 Can charm the vision of exalted thought. 
 
 Imagination dreams of realms refined. 
 Of scenes of beauty charted on the mind, 
 Where, in unrivalled loveliness, appears 
 The spirit landscape of the inner spheres ; — 
 
20 SPIEIT LANDSCAPES. 
 
 Where poesy sheds upon the fields of sense 
 Sweet ideal flowers of wit and eloquence ; 
 And mountain thought looks up to genius, high 
 Enthroned upon the clouds of virtue's sky ; — 
 
 Where, softly as a summer rainbow, seems 
 The blending colors of affection's beams ; 
 And, bright as stars that gem the brow of night, 
 Resplendent aspiration sheds her light ; — 
 
 And love, and truth, and holy, high resolve. 
 Within their orbits gracefully revolve ; 
 And through the system of religion roll 
 Around their centre the inspired soul. 
 
 These are the scenes that charm the spirit's eye 
 More than terrestrial views of richest dye ; 
 And lovelier far than earth and sea combined, 
 Is the bright spirit landscape of the mind ! 
 
 rGf<; 
 
fo, 
 
 s^^^m^^ 
 
 
 THE CAGED BIRD. 
 
 T ISTEN ! listen ! listen ! 
 
 From the woodlands near me, 
 Where the bright leaves glisten, 
 Sweet notes come to cheer me. 
 
 Brother warblers sindng 
 
 In the scented bowers, 
 Where are dew-drops clinging 
 
 Sweetly to the flowers. 
 
 From their soft nests, lightly, 
 Friendly birds have risen; 
 
 And on pinions, brightly. 
 Wheel above my prison. 
 
 See ! one has alighted ! 
 
 Oh, how sweetly singing 
 To the soft, green spriglet, 
 
 In the free winds swinging ! 
 
 Singing songs I loved so. 
 When, amid my kindred. 
 
22 THE CAGED BIRD. 
 
 I on light wings roved through 
 Wood and grove' unhindered. 
 
 How my bird-heart flutters ! 
 
 Oh, how wildly beating 
 'Gainst the gilded shutters, 
 
 For one friendly greeting. 
 
 Grant me but one blessing, — 
 I will ask no other; 
 
 I would send a message 
 To my sweet bird-mother. 
 
 Tell her that I never, 
 
 Never more shall meet her ! 
 
 Nor at morning's early dawn 
 Rise with songs to greet her. 
 
 And, for her sweet comfort, 
 Tell her that a maiden. 
 
 Gentle as the morning breeze 
 With dewy fragrance laden, 
 
 Is the tender keeper 
 
 Of my captive hours, — 
 
 In whose love I half forget 
 My native woodland bowers. 
 
A REQUIEM. 
 
 T IKE the shades of heavy darkness, 
 ^^ Clouds are gathering o'er my soul, 
 And a heavy weight of anguish, 
 
 Over which I've no control, 
 Bears my drooping spirit downward. 
 
 Till I seem to hear the flow 
 Of that turbid river, sounding 
 
 From its unseen depths below ; 
 
 Till I see its waters flashing 
 
 Through the dim and shadowy vale, 
 And its darksome billows dashing 
 
 O'er a struggling victim pale ; 
 And I hear a voice familiar 
 
 Breathe my name amid the roar 
 Of the dark and fearful waters 
 
 That is heard on earth no more. 
 
 Oh, I see him sinking, sinking 
 Deeply, deeply 'neath the wave ; 
 
 And I strive, with heartstrings breaking. 
 The departing form to save. 
 
24 A REQUIEM, 
 
 But wildly and more madly 
 Sweeps the hurtling current by, 
 
 And plaintive and more sadly 
 Cometh up that pleading cry. 
 
 All the day 'tis wildly ringing 
 
 In my ear ; and when I sleep, 
 In my dreams I still behold him 
 
 Sinking in the waters deep. 
 And I cannot, though I struggle, 
 
 Reach that dim and shadowy shore ; 
 And despair is all that's left me. 
 
 He is gone for evermore ! 
 
 Never more, in living beauty. 
 
 Will his presence bless my sight ; 
 He has passed the gloomy waters ; 
 
 He hath entered into Light ! 
 But, ere long, when I have wrestled 
 
 With those unseen shades below, 
 I shall meet him in the heavens, 
 
 Free from earth and all its woe. 
 
LITTLE ENVY. 
 
 T ITTLE Envy ! — you may know her 
 -^^ By the little frowns that lower 
 O'er her brow, when, 'mong the lassies, 
 Little smiling Beauty passes ; 
 
 By the sneer that marks her features. 
 When the beaux — ungallant creatures — 
 Gaze, as 'twere their bounden duty, 
 On the form of little Beauty ; 
 
 And, in little Envy's hearing, 
 Whisper lovely, sweet, endearing, 
 And such other foolish comment. 
 Little Envy's heart to torment. 
 
 Little Beauty, all inviting, 
 
 When by little Envy flitting. 
 
 Smiles, and seems well pleased to meet her. 
 
 But no smiles returning greet her. 
 
 Little Beauty's heart is clever ; 
 Little Envy owns it never ; 
 
26 LITTLE ENVY. 
 
 But is often heard asserting 
 
 That she's false, and fond of flirting. 
 
 And, if jealously enraged, 
 
 Vows that Beauty is engaged. 
 
 Thus is little Envy ever 
 
 Torturing herself, and never 
 
 Gained a single lover by it. 
 
 Ye who doubt, yourselves may try it. 
 
IMPROMPTU LINES. 
 
 T HAVE a friend whose dignity refuses 
 
 -*- To smile upon a girl who courts the Muses. 
 
 He deems the female mind too meanly wrought 
 
 To bear the tension of exalted thought ; 
 
 And views each effort of a woman's pen 
 
 As an infrino-ement on the riojhts of men. 
 
 And though her lyre be tuned to sweetest chords, 
 
 Contempt is all his answering soul awards. 
 
 He says that women, in the good old times. 
 
 Spun wool and flax, instead of spinning rhymes; 
 
 And, for example, prates of ancient dames 
 
 Who gloried only in their husband's names, — 
 
 In presence of their lordly dignity 
 
 Veiled their heads in meek benignity ; 
 
 That literature, in those Pierian ages. 
 
 Was cultivated only by the sages ; 
 
 And sighs to think how things have changed since 
 
 then, 
 When women knew their spheres and men were 
 
 men. 
 
 What think you, sisters, of my gifted friend. 
 
28 
 
 IMPROMPTU LINES. 
 
 Whose self-respect refuses to descend 
 From tlie high standard of the rights of men, 
 To ever read an essay from your pen ? 
 Think you 'twere better we should all resign 
 Our humble efforts, and our works consign, 
 ^n masse, to the devouring flame, — that we 
 May, perad venture, win Ms sympathy ? 
 Or shall we, at the risk of his disdain, 
 Dare tune our playful lyres to song again ? 
 I wait your answer in profound suspense^ 
 And tremble lest e'en this should give offence. 
 
LILLAWALLA, AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 BY ADDIE GLENMORE. 
 
 |H, liglit were her footsteps, 
 And free as the air 
 That fanned her bris-ht tresses 
 
 Of long, jettj hair. 
 And sweeter than bird-notes 
 
 The gay, rippling song 
 That gushed from her young heart 
 The happy day long. 
 
 And bright as the star-beams 
 
 That mantle the sky, 
 The love-lio;ht that shone in 
 
 Her dark, flashing eye. 
 And warmer than sunshine 
 
 Of India's isle. 
 The flush of her brown cheek. 
 
 The light of her smile. 
 
 And dear to Ocalla, 
 The chief of the wild, 
 
30 LILLAWALLA, AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 Was sweet Lillawalla, 
 
 His favorite child, — 
 The light of his wigwam, 
 
 The joy of his life, 
 The offspring of Lela, 
 
 His late buried wife. 
 
 But stern was the chieftain, 
 
 And proudly he stood 
 Upon the high virtue 
 
 Of pure Mingo blood. 
 And dark was his rage 
 
 When the maiden, in truth. 
 Acknowledged her love 
 
 For a Cherokee youth. 
 
 Compressed were his thin lips, 
 
 And stately his stride, 
 And deadly the arrows 
 
 That swung by his side. 
 As, frowning, he hurried 
 
 From his heart-stricken child, 
 To seek him she loved 
 
 In the deep forest wild. 
 
 A shriek from her cold lips 
 Was all that was heard ; 
 
 Then, fleet as a gazelle 
 Or young, startled bird, 
 
 She flew on the wings 
 
LILLAWALLA, AN INDIAN LEGEND. 31 
 
 Of affection to save 
 From clanger her Logan, 
 Her Cherokee brave. 
 
 The tempest was gathering, 
 
 The storm-cloud was near, 
 The path through the forest 
 
 Intricate and drear ; 
 Yet, fearlessly onward, 
 
 Unwearied, she bent 
 Her steps t'ward the door 
 
 Of her Cherokee's tent. 
 
 But woe was her heart 
 
 When she entered the door ! — 
 Ah, woe ! double woe ! — 
 
 Death had hastened before ; 
 And there, through his body, , 
 
 "Was quivering a dart ! — 
 Her father's, — she knew it, — 
 
 Deep piercing his heart ! 
 
 She fell on his bosom, 
 
 Oh, was it a dream ? 
 Oh, no, no ! she rose 
 
 Wit.h a maniac's scream ; 
 And, dragging the body, — 
 
 Poor heart-maddened child, — 
 She sought the deep stream 
 
 Where the surges ran wild. 
 
32 LILLAWALLA, AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 A moment lier feet 
 
 On the precipice stood ; 
 Then, clasping her lover, 
 
 She plunged in the flood, 
 To rise never more ; — 
 
 And the old Mingo chief 
 Fled his tribe ! and died lonely, 
 
 Of wild, savage grief. 
 
THE SPRING QUEEN OF THE VALE. 
 
 BT ADDIE GLENMORE. 
 
 npHERE is mist upon the mountain, 
 -*- There are shadows on the hill, 
 And the frost-imprisoned fountain 
 Sighs in murmurs low and chill. 
 
 The maple boughs are bending 
 'Neath the weight of drifted snow, 
 
 While from every spray depending 
 Prisomed icy stickles glow. 
 
 The moonlight's chilly glimmer 
 
 On the glassy river plays, 
 And the wav£s' reflected shimmer 
 
 Faintly answers to its rays. 
 
 The plaintive winds are sighing 
 Sadly round the bending eaves. 
 
 Like a suffering mortal dying 
 For the charity none gives. 
 
 Thus the outer world is clouded 
 With the heaviness of gloom ; 
 
84 THE SPPdNG QUEEN OF THE VALE. 
 
 And the cold earth lies enshrouded 
 As apparelled for the tomb. 
 
 But the Winter King, whose minions 
 Are the frosty wind and hail, 
 
 Soon shall yield his wide dominions 
 To the Spring Queen of the Vale. 
 
 On her fairy pinions fleetly 
 She is coming to the bowers. 
 
 With her sunny tresses sweetly 
 
 Wreathed in dewy wild-wood flowers. 
 
 Ah ! her loving smiles of gladness 
 Will erase from every heart 
 
 Every trace of gloomy sadness, 
 And blissful joys impart. 
 
A FRAGMENTARY SONNET. 
 
 SHIMMERING o'er the fleecy heavens 
 ^ Evening's shadows dimly fly, 
 Rushing now like armies driven, — ■ • 
 
 Vanishing as quickly by. 
 Even so the hopes once cherished 
 
 Thus like shadows now are flown ; 
 Undeservedly they perished, — 
 
 Shall they never more return? 
 Lo ! the clouds are darkly bending 
 
 O'er the gloomy winter sky ; 
 Never more shall light, descending. 
 
 Gleam above their sable dye. • 
 List ! methinks I hear a murmur 
 
 Stealing softly to my heart ; 
 Yes, 'tis whispering of the summer 
 
 That shall bid those clouds depart. 
 
^m-^. 
 
 
 ^iM 
 \^^ii 
 
 'immimm 
 
 g 
 
 THE CAPTIVE OF BABYLON. 
 
 NAY, ask it not ! The captive's trembling hand 
 May never sweep the chords of Judea's lyre 
 Within this dreary, desecrated land, 
 
 Where to the true God burns no altar's fire. 
 
 No ! let the harp of David still be hung 
 Upon the willows of those Chaldean plains ; 
 
 And be its silvery chords for aye unstrung, 
 While suffering Israel groans in servile chains. 
 
 jt:^ 
 
 ^.^)/ 
 
 MT'i^ 
 
 V 
 

 THE FLOOR OF THE DEEP. 
 
 '^IS said that the ocean's unseen floor 
 
 -*- With beautiful verdure is covered o'er ; 
 That forests, with waving branches, grow 
 In unpruned beauty, the depths below; 
 And curious grottoes, and caverns deep. 
 Through which the dark waters eternally sweep. 
 
 And shadowy vistas, and mystic dells, 
 Empaved with the loveliest tinted shells; 
 In the circling depths of whose roseate cells 
 The tenderest breathings of music swells. 
 Which sound through the waters that over them 
 
 piay. 
 Like the echo of lute tones far away. 
 
 And there, too, are valleys and groves and bovvers. 
 And sloping hillocks o'erspread with flowers; 
 And hanging mosses, and creeping vines, 
 That sweetly o'er pearl-drifted leaflets twine, — 
 Where pendant grasses, extended, lave 
 Their swaying tresses beneath the wave ; 
 
38 THE FLOOR OF THE DEEP. 
 
 And castles marine, with arabesque walls, 
 And spacious chambers, and sounding falls. 
 Enamelled with glittering diamonds bright. 
 And rubies, and precious stones, whose light 
 Sheds a halo of gorgeous reflections o'er 
 The treasures that spangle the unseen floor. 
 
 Here the nymphs of the sea and the mermaids keep 
 
 Their ocean festals within the deep, 
 
 Secure from the monstrous creatures that move 
 
 In the middle regions, — those realms above. 
 
 For only those beautiful sprites, 'tis said. 
 
 Are suffered those mystical spheres to tread. 
 
THE EADIANCE OF ETERNITY. 
 
 FAR, far beyond the circuit of this world, 
 On which we so mysteriously exist, 
 And high above those planetary spheres 
 Which science strives in vain to penetrate. 
 We learn, by words pertaining to have come 
 From God-inspired men, there lies a realm, 
 The bright effulgence of whose radiant shores 
 No mortal eye could look upon and live. 
 This wondrous world, 'tis said, revolves in light, 
 Around its centre of eternal love, 
 Wherein is fixed the everlasting throne 
 Of the omniscient, self-existing God ; 
 And, veiled in glory with the Father sits 
 The Son beloved, — our present reigning King; 
 While bright cherubic legions hover round 
 On starry pinions, bearing glorious palms 
 Of victory, and harps attuned to love. 
 With golden strains of never-ending joy. 
 There, glowing, too, in sweet refulgent light, 
 The gems of all the Christian graces shine 
 Resplendent in the crowns of angels bright, 
 And sparkling in the wreaths their brows entwine. 
 
40 THE RADIANCE OF ETERNITY. 
 
 No suns are needed there, with orient beams, 
 
 To h'ght that world of never-ending day ; 
 
 The glory of the Father's presence sheds 
 
 Illuminating splendor everywhere, 
 
 And forms the radiance of Eternity. 
 
 No human eye has e'er beheld that w^orld ! 
 
 The weak capacity of human sight 
 
 Could not endure the deep intensity 
 
 Of glory that pervades those radiant spheres ; 
 
 Not even those upon whose holy minds 
 
 The power of inspiration was bestowed, 
 
 Could look upon the light of love revealed, 
 
 Though sheltered by the consecrated cloud 
 
 That even veiled their excellence divine. 
 
 When God held converse with the sons of men. 
 
 And yet we are assured by Holy Writ 
 
 That these were purposely prepared 
 
 For the reception of the souls of men, 
 
 Ere yet the word had been pronounced that called 
 
 Those atoms from the wild chaotic deep. 
 
 Of which was formed this vast material world. 
 
 Or man of dust was made a living soul. 
 
 Yes, this stupendous heaven, frail man, was made. 
 
 With all its radiant light, for thine abode. 
 
 And though thy weakened senses now may shrink, 
 
 Awed by the purity and splendor bright 
 
 Of these transcendent scenes, the very name 
 
 Of which seems word too holy for thy lips ; 
 
 And though with trembling heart tliou standest far, — 
 
 Oppressed with fears of thy unworthiness, 
 
THE RADIANCE OF ETERNITY. 41 
 
 And scarcely able e'en to lift thine eyes 
 
 To that pure place where never sin was known ; 
 
 And, with the lowly publican of old, 
 
 Can only whisper, — " Lord, be merciful ! " 
 
 Yet thou shalt taste the pleasures of that world, 
 
 With all the kindred families of earth, 
 
 When weakness has been overcome by strength. 
 
 And this corruptible and sinful clay. 
 
 That holds the struggling spirit in its coils, 
 
 Shall, by the power of God, have been renewed, 
 
 And mortal changed to immortality. 
 
 When all the prophecies of Gospel truth 
 
 Shall be, on earth, to the last mite fulfilled, * 
 
 And Heaven's high purposes completed all, 
 
 Then every eye shall see that burnished throne, 
 
 And Him who sits thereon in glory now ; 
 
 And every ear shall* hear those strains of joy 
 
 That now are hymned in that celestial choir ; 
 
 And, with the angels, happified and blest, 
 
 Join in ascriptions of exalted praise 
 
 To Him who once left his imperial seat. 
 
 And condescended to assume the garb 
 
 Of fleshly nature, that he might redeem 
 
 And bring to heaven the fallen race of man. 
 
 Oh, happy thought ! how fills the grateful soul 
 
 With glad rejoicing, as the hope expands 
 
 Within the heart, and Faith's low murmuring voice 
 
 Comes stealing through the chambers of the ear. 
 
 In sweet support of all this promised bliss, 
 
 She whispers : " God hath promised to set free 
 
42 THE RADIANCE OF ETERNITY. 
 
 The whole creation, and deliver all 
 From the bondage of corruption, and to be 
 The plague and overthrow of Death's dark thrall." 
 But the great temple being now upreared 
 Within the holy presence of the Lamb, 
 Whose founder and foundation is the great I Am — 
 The mighty Architect above — must be 
 Completed ere this glorious hour arrives. 
 When He receives the kingdom to himself, 
 From those dear hands that hold the sceptre now, 
 This living temple, formed of lively stones, 
 With not one missing in the structure high, 
 Shall stand forever on the Mount of God, 
 A monument of grace and love divine ; 
 And, radiant 'mid the precious gems that glow 
 And sparkle in imperial lustre there. 
 Shall blaze those living stare of martyred love, 
 The brightest jewels in the fabric fair ; 
 And, blazoned on the pearly gates of truth, 
 Their names shall be inscribed along with His 
 Whose precious blood so graciously once flowed 
 From Calvary's cross in sweet atoning streams 
 That washed away earth's sins, and brought to life 
 The knowledge of the resurrective power, 
 Through which the whole creation, e'en though dead, 
 Shall live and see the glory that shall be 
 Revealed from Him, and on the nations shed 
 In all the Radiance of Eternity. 
 
GENIAL SPIRITS. 
 
 WE are genial spirits. All ! I know 
 The thoughts that in thy bosom glow, 
 Warm, too, my own ; for I have felt 
 Thy unbreathed prayer, as we have knelt 
 Together in those peaceful hours 
 When soul-commingling joys were ours. 
 
'mmmmmmm 
 
 ^3 
 
 OH, GREET ME WITH A SMILE 
 
 /^H, greet me with a smile ! My heart 
 ^-^ Leaps up, and yields in happy transport 
 To a smile, as dewdrop to the sun. 
 The quivering, self-approving conjQdence 
 To please, glows in my soul, and 
 Happy effort, swells, new strung and nerved, 
 To try the pleasing task for which all 
 Virtue was to mortals given, — the task of 
 Making others blest ; while to our hearts 
 The duty doubly pays a double interest 
 In the heavenly act, and we are rendered 
 Thus more truly blest than those for 
 Whom the effort has been made. 
 
A SONG. 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE BURNS CLUB OF 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
 WHAT'S a' the steer, Kimmer? 
 What's a' the steer? 
 Auld Scotia's sons hae met again ; 
 
 Let's gie a heartie cheer ! 
 We'll let the tho'ghts come back again, — 
 
 Sweet tho'ghts of olden time ; 
 We'll sing to Burns and Motherwell 
 In Scotia's happiest rhyme. 
 
 To-night we will be happy. 
 
 And gie our spirits rein ; 
 And fancy's wing shall bear us back 
 
 To the Highland hills again. 
 We'll roam once more the pleasant fields 
 
 AVhere memory roams, and wimples braw 
 Lights up the vales and sparkling rills 
 
 Wi' gladness gude to a'. 
 
 With sweetest love of " Bonnie Doon," 
 And gently flowing Dee, 
 
46 A SOJ^G. 
 
 Whose sloping braes of bonny broom 
 
 Sweet inspirations gie. 
 Then let the tho'ghts come back again, - 
 
 Sweet tho'ghts of olden time ; 
 We'll sing to Burns and Motherwell 
 
 In Scotia's happiest rhyme. 
 
 And as we wander up and doon, 
 
 We'll nae forget the dell 
 Where Burns his Highland Mary met, 
 
 And spake his last farewell. 
 We'll lave our hands within the stream 
 
 So softly rippling clear, 
 And as we of sweet Mary dream. 
 
 We'll shed for her a tear. 
 
 And then w^e'U pledge to bonnie Jean, 
 
 Whose melting e'en so blue 
 Beamed ever with affection keen 
 
 On him she loved sae true. 
 Then let the tho'ghts come back again, - 
 
 Sweet tho'ghts o' the aulden time ; 
 We'll sing of Burns and Motherwell, 
 
 And the days of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
TO MY FATHER. 
 
 "J7ATHER, take me to thy bosom ; 
 -^ Let my weary head find rest 
 Where in infancy it slumbered, 
 Softly cradled on thy breast. 
 
 Hold me there once more, dear father, 
 As thou didst thy baby child; 
 
 Breathe again those fond caresses 
 That my infant hours beguiled. 
 
 Love me now, as then, my father, 
 Though my form has taller grown,— 
 
 Though I am a child no longer, 
 Still I am as much thine own. 
 
 And as much I love you, father. 
 As when lisping on thy knee ; 
 
 And my heart leaped up as gladly 
 At a look or smile from thee. 
 
 Father, though I've disobeyed thee, 
 'Twas for one so pure and good 
 
48 TO MY FATHER. 
 
 That I know thou wouldst forgive me, 
 Were his virtues understood. 
 
 Then, dear father, bid me welcome 
 To my home and thee once more. 
 
 And thy former love and favor 
 To thy only child restore. 
 
 Q^ 
 
L9(?> 
 
 CD QM^ 
 
 5M 
 
 CHILDHOOD HOURS. 
 
 O WEET, liappy, cherished childhood hours ! 
 ^ How bright and beautiful thy golden 
 Moments are ! How glorious seems the sunlight 
 Of thy sky ! Each morning's silvery dawn 
 Is brief with love, and guileless innocence 
 Adorns each day. Thine is an era of 
 Brief purity ; and sinless hearts upon 
 Thy altar place their offerings of delight 
 And present joy. 
 
 No pangs of doubt, or pride, or hatred rise 
 To crush the trusting heart of innocence. 
 No dark remorse a spiteful entrance finds 
 Within the placid bosom of a child, 
 Where confidence and love and truth repose 
 As naturally as perfume in the rose. 
 But, oh, how brief the stay ! how transient all 
 The bliss ! Like a fair meteor in an eastern 
 Sky, that shines along a lovely garden way. 
 Revealing, by its brilliant, shimmering light, 
 The glorious beauty of the opening scene, 
 Where fairy music melts upon the ear. 
 And flowers and birds and fields and limpid 
 Streams in paradisic beauty richly glow. 
 
50 CHILDHOOD HOURS. 
 
 Thus comest thoUj sweet, happy childhood hours. 
 With only one bright season in a life, — 
 One little nebula upon the sky of time, 
 On which the eye may turn in after years, 
 And, by the aid of memory, trace the stars 
 Of uncorroded pleasure clustering there. 
 Ah, could the youthful heart be taught the worth 
 Of those sweet hours so idly ofttimes run, 
 How much of disappointment, woes, and cares. 
 The heart, experience taught, might learn to shun ! 
 Could they but learn to garner up the gems 
 Of kind monitions lavished on their minds 
 By those who, by experience, know too well 
 The value of each moment God has given. 
 Those hours might then have more than joys to 
 
 tell, 
 And more than pleasure's pastimes to recount, — 
 A catalogue of useful deeds instead 
 Be on record, as landmarks of the past, — 
 The fame of which might safely guide the feet 
 Of others, toiling up the steep of time. 
 And smooth the path, and save the wayward foot 
 From thorns that ofttimes hedge the devious way. 
 Ah, these are lessons we should bear in mind ; 
 For God requires this tribute at our hands, — 
 The task of aiding others of our kind, 
 With willinpf hearts, across life's desert sands. 
 
THE MERRY BREEZE. 
 
 SWEEPING down the hill-side, 
 Stealing through the leaves, 
 Dancing on the rill-tide, 
 
 Sporting with its waves, 
 Trippling by the fountain, 
 
 Singing through the trees, 
 And along the mountain, 
 Comes the merry breeze. 
 
 Merry in the spring time, 
 
 Joyous in the summer, 
 When its zephyr wings «hime 
 
 With the brooklet's murmur. 
 In rain and sunshine sporting, 
 
 'Mong flowery groves and trees, 
 In every clime resorting. 
 
 Is found the merry breeze. 
 
 i^^ 
 
o? 
 
 MAY-DAY SONG. 
 
 T ET us go, let us go 
 
 -^ Where the flowers sweet are blowing. 
 To the meadows where they grow, 
 In the sunlight brightly glowing ; 
 
 Where the dove, for its love, 
 With a tender plaint is pining, 
 
 In the shadows of the grove, 
 
 Where the morning dew is shining. 
 
 In the glade, 'neath the shade, 
 Where the breezes softly hurtle, 
 
 Our bower shall be made, 
 
 Twined with hyacinth and myrtle. 
 
 Here we'll crown our May-Day queen, 
 And we'll sing our May-Day chorus, 
 
 And w^e'll dance upon the green. 
 Till the twilight deepens o'er us. 
 
 Let us go, let us go 
 
 Where the flowers sweet are blowing, 
 To the meadows where they grow, 
 
 In the sunlight brightly glowing. 
 
ACROSTIC. 
 
 A S the little streamlet purletli 
 -^-^ Lightly in obtrusive play, 
 In its restless haste oft hurletli 
 Costly treasures far away, — 
 E'en so the heart, when unadvised. 
 May lose an object dearly prized. 
 
SUNRISE. 
 
 T ! from the silent bosom of the night 
 
 -^ The fair young Morning lifts her beauteous 
 
 head, 
 And, shaking back her golden tresses, steps 
 Upon the rampart of the sleeping world, — 
 The circling dew-enamelled horizon, — 
 And there, with smiles of sweet expectancy, 
 Amid the soft receding shadows, waits 
 The coming of the glorious King of Day, 
 The orient beams of whose effusive light 
 Already tinge, with sweetly tinted rays. 
 The cloud-capped summits of the eastern hills. 
 The Earth, new wakened from her calm repose, 
 Unfolds her treasures to the opening light, 
 Rejoicing in the sweet prospective beams 
 That shall unseal her casket of bright flowers. 
 And from their cups exhale the sweet perfume, 
 As tributes of her wealth returned above. 
 All nature seems expanding with the sense 
 Of thankful joy, — as upward proudly roll 
 The flaming chariot wheels of glittering light, 
 Whose beams, in silent eloquence, proclaims, 
 Behold ! the Sun's imperial throne ajDpears. 
 
&4 
 
 
 f0^W 
 
 IW>^ 
 
 THE SOUNDING SEA. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 LONG to look on the sounding sea, 
 Where the flashing waves, in their sportive glee, 
 Dash high the spray to the passing wind, 
 That roams o'er the waters nnconfined. 
 And gather the mists in their ample shrouds, 
 As offerings sweet to the summer clouds. 
 I long to gaze on the waters bright. 
 As they leap in their liquid garbs of light, 
 To snatch a kiss from the sweet sunbeams. 
 Ere the evening lulls them to nautic dreams. 
 

 SCHOOL ODE. 
 
 /^H, hail we, hail we, sisters dear, 
 ^-^ This blest reunion sweet ! 
 The hours of absence perished are, 
 
 As sister spirits meet. 
 The bridal wreaths adorn the brows 
 
 Of some with bright hopes flushed, 
 While others come in weeds of woe, 
 
 With young hearts deeply crushed. 
 
 How short it seems since last we met, 
 
 With bowed hearts, 'round the bier 
 Of one we never can forget. 
 
 Though now no longer near. 
 But though dark clouds have dimmed the past 
 
 In tearful heaviness, 
 We look beyond the shadows cast, — 
 
 The chastening hand still bless. 
 
 As morning beams dispel the shades 
 
 Of gloom that veiled the night. 
 So hope a radiant gleam now spreads 
 
 Of sweet efFulgent 
 
 light. 
 
SCHOOL ODE. 
 
 67 
 
 The future brightens as we gaze, 
 And Faith, with trustful eye, 
 
 Sees far above the heavenly rays 
 Of Love's star from on high. 
 
WANDERING STARS. 
 
 k LAS ! how many gems of human worth, 
 
 Bright stars of nature, gifted souls of earth, 
 Have left the orbit of their glorious spheres, 
 Lured by the glowing of some meteor bright, 
 On glitt'ring transit's blaze, to thread the path 
 Where Pleasure's voice was heard, in siren notes 
 Of sweet enchanting strains, that wooed them on 
 To feasts of joy and sparkling banqueting, — 
 Where glowed the wine and whirled the giddy 
 
 dance, 
 And music soft, entrancing, thrilled the heart ; — 
 Where praises soft, delusive, sought the ear 
 Of untaught innocence, in whispers low, 
 And ofttimes led, by flattery's witching spell, 
 The unsuspecting to the snares of sin. 
 Oh, look abroad ! behold the tott'ring forms 
 And haggard countenances that meet the eye 
 At every turn of these your city's streets ; 
 And while your sympathies inquire why and 
 Wherefore all these sufferings, list the tale 
 Which hundreds of these sorrowino; hearts mio;ht 
 
 tell, 
 Formed upright in the image of our God ! 
 
OUR LILY-BED. 
 
 THEKE'S a bed of snowy lilies 
 Growing in our pretty yard, 
 Like a band of trooping fairies 
 
 Dancing on the fresh green sward. 
 
 See with what exquisite leisure 
 And delightful grace and ease, — 
 
 How they sway in perfect measure 
 To the music of the breeze. 
 
 Oh, I love the pretty lilies. 
 
 With their brows of creamy white. 
 And my heart goes out to kiss them. 
 
 Dancing in the soft moonlight. 
 
hi 
 
 
 r^. 
 
 r^. 
 
 THE LOST STAR. 
 
 f\^j where art thou roaming, thou beautiful 
 
 ^-^ planet, 
 
 That gladdened our earth with thy soft, trembling 
 
 light ? 
 We seek through the heavens thy wandering 
 
 spirit, 
 And nightly, in vain, search the course of thy 
 
 flight. 
 
GIVE ME THY BLESSING, FATHER. 
 
 GIVE me thy blessii;ig, father, ere I go 
 From thy dear presence, and from those I 
 love, 
 And from this sheUering roof, beneath which 
 I have spent so many happy days ; 
 V^here I have been caressed, and blest, and taught, 
 By sweet parental care and tender love, 
 The course of duty to the All-wise Source 
 From whence my being came, and unto whom 
 The heart must turn — when bruised and mangled 
 Here — for balm, for succor, and a sure retreat. 
 Wherein to rest its aching, throbbing pulse, 
 "When sorrow's pangs shall lacei;ate its strings. 
 Oh, there are memories of this sacred home. 
 Sweet, holy memories which can ne'er depart, 
 While yet a sand remains within the glass 
 Of life. Then, ere I go, dear father, bless thy 
 Child, and ask of Him who heareth all, a gift 
 Of meek humility, to guide my steps. 
 And faith to keep alive the lamp of hope, 
 And sympathy for other sorrowing hearts. 
 
62 GIVE ME THY BLESSING, FATHER. 
 
 And charity, the sweetest boon of all, 
 And brightest gem within the Christian sphere. 
 Ask God to give me these, and I will go 
 Resignedly and calmly from thy side, 
 Relying on thy fervent, holy prayer. 
 And in the strength which answerins: 
 Heaven shall give. 
 
s&d^o^&dmQ^^Bs&'ms 
 
 THINKEST THOU OF THY LITTLE FRIEND? 
 
 "TTTHEN the bright wmgs of the morning 
 
 * " Chase the shades of night away, 
 And the sunlight, all adorning, 
 Ushers in the perfect day ; 
 
 While the pearly dew-drops brightly 
 From the glistening leaves depend, 
 
 And thy heart is beating lightly, 
 Think'st thou of thy little friend ? 
 
ON RECEPTION OF A BOUQUET. 
 
 rilHANKS, many thanks for the beautiful flowers; 
 -*- They come like sweet s.unshine, to gladden 
 
 the hours ; 
 They bring to my spirit sweet memories of thee, 
 And say, by their coming, thou'rt thinking of me. 
 
 Their smiles seem reflections of others that wreathe 
 The sweet lips of love, when they tenderly breathe 
 In eloquent numbers the feelings that start, 
 Warm gushing and pure, from the depths of the 
 heart. 
 
 The light of their beauty is weaving a spell 
 O'er my spirit, and down in the heart's hidden 
 
 cell 
 New visions are forming, all lovely and bright. 
 Enthusing my soul with sweet dreams of delight. 
 
 <^^ 
 
ON THE RECEIPT OF A PRESENT. 
 
 RECEIVED a beautiful gift, to-day; 
 From an unknown source it came ; 
 And return my thanks, in this simple lay, 
 To the donor for the same. 
 
 The beautiful tribute I fondly prize ; 
 
 And the mystery round it thrown 
 I hopefully trust will not long disguise 
 
 The name of the kind unknown. 
 
 ^-"mi, 
 
mmmmmfm 
 
 KING TIME. 
 
 "VTONE ever could fathom the depth of my 
 
 -^^ power, 
 
 Or idea form of the day or the hour 
 
 On which I was born-, and yet all believe 
 
 That I lived ere the old serpent whispered to Eve ; 
 
 And that is sufficient, my subjects all say, 
 
 To warrant my being old, ugly, and gray. 
 
 They hate me, and call me a crusty old king, 
 
 And say, every manner of evil I bring. 
 
 They call me a tyrant, and say that I come 
 
 And crush out the lights and endearments of 
 
 home, — 
 Enfeebling their comforts, and bearing away 
 From their bosoms their loved ones, and changing 
 
 each ray 
 Of hope's cheerful sunshine to sorrow and gloom, 
 Consigning all beautiful things to the tomb ; 
 That I bring bloody wars between nations and 
 
 kings. 
 And pestilence shake from my poisonous wings ; 
 That love flies abashed, when my chariot appears, 
 And the light of young beauty dissolves into tears ; 
 
KING TIME. 6T 
 
 The rose fades away from the soft, damask cheek, 
 And blushes in furrows oblivion seek ; 
 The step, once elastic, grows heavy and dull, 
 And the touch of my hand all the heart's pulses 
 
 lull. 
 I am looked on by all as a merciless king, 
 Whose hand is against every beautiful thing. 
 When the forest trees scatter their leaves on the 
 
 ground, 
 And wild flowers no more on the hill-sides are 
 
 found, 
 No notice is taken of season or clime, 
 But the verdict goes forth, — 'tis the work of old 
 
 Time. 
 And thus am I taunted, as, year after year, 
 I toil on, unwearied. Earth's children to cheer. 
 When youth holds its levee of gay revelling, 
 They give me no thanks for the pleasures I bring ; 
 They say not, 'tis Time gives to manhood its 
 
 strength, 
 And tapers the form with proportion and length; 
 No thought of the tyrant king crosses their mind. 
 Till Nature with furrows their temples have lined. 
 E'en then, how th-ey shrink from the touch of 
 
 my hand. 
 Alarmed at my shadow, and tremblingly stand 
 Aghast! when with them I my mission would close, 
 And leave them to rest in their final repose. 
 
'% 
 
 iW 
 
 
 L^^^ a^^ l^^^^ ^^ ^v^^ ^^^ L^nJ^ 
 
 
 '■O 
 
 WILL MEMORY BRIDGE THE GULF BE- 
 TWEEN THE TWO WORLDS? 
 
 TF we believe that in the future life 
 
 -^ Two worlds exist, — 
 
 The one inhabited with souls redeemed, 
 
 The other filled with wretched spirits lost, — 
 
 And that those souls are thither sent and kept, 
 
 For deeds of virtue or for sinful acts. 
 
 We must believe that memory, too, will live. 
 
 For how else then should virtue claim reward, 
 
 Or vice be made to own its doom but just ? 
 
 'Tis said by Pollock,— 
 
 I know not where the evidence he finds, — 
 
 That sinners, when condemned before the bar 
 
 Of God, — when sinking 'neath their sentence 
 
 down, 
 Will cry, " 'Tis well. I merit all the woe 
 Of this dark world to which I justly go. 
 My sins have all this weight of anguish wrought. 
 I knew my duty, but I did it not." 
 If this be so, — if sinners thus receive 
 Their condemnation as their rightful dues, — 
 Must memory not be living in their souls, 
 To bring their former trespasses to view? 
 
MEMORY. 69 
 
 What else but memory could those deeds present, 
 Of which then- souls despairing thus repent? 
 Yes, memory surely must immortal be, '• 
 
 Or how should faith in Christ sustain the soul 
 Even through the dark and billowy waves of 
 
 death, 
 To the last whisperings of this ebbing life. 
 Who that has seen a trusting mortal die, 
 Remembers not, how, when all strength had failed, 
 And every pulse material paralyzed, 
 And but at intervals a flickering spark 
 Of flashing, fading, wasting life was left, — 
 When all was darkened save the heavenly spark 
 Of mind, immortal, struggling with the foe, 
 The clog that bound it to this lower world, — 
 I ask again, who does not recollect, 
 On such occasions, how the hope of Heaven 
 Sustained and strengthened such departing souls ? 
 The anchor of their trust, their faith, was strong ; 
 And what but memory could have made it so ? 
 Kemembrance of the Saviour clothed in flesh, 
 His mission to the world, his suffering here. 
 His cruel death, the resurrection scene, 
 And — last and dearest to the fainting soul — 
 The blessed promises he left to all, 
 •That if his body should be lifted up. 
 He would draw all men finally to Him. 
 Those heavenly hopes, preserved through memory's 
 
 power. 
 Sustained them in the dark and dying hour. 
 
70 MEMORY. 
 
 The faithful John, in Revelations, rears 
 A bridge of memory 'twixt this world and heaven. 
 To chapter sixth I would refer your search, — 
 To verses ninth and tenth, where you may read 
 How souls of martyred saints cried out to God, 
 And asked how long the day should be deferred, 
 Ere vengeance should o'ertake the wicked hands 
 That had conjoined on earth to shed their blood. 
 See you not here how memory still survived 
 The sword and fagot which had slain those saints. 
 And like a live coal glowed still in the minds 
 Of disembodied souls beyond the grave, — 
 And on the beams of gleaming thought went back 
 To earth where they had suffered, wept, and died ? 
 Yes, from the shores of that empyreal world, 
 Where they were sheltered safely from the fears 
 Of persecution, or the pangs of death. 
 Their pure, immortal souls still dreamed of earth, 
 And of the glorious work still incomplete, — 
 For which they here were hunted down and slain. 
 And thus their cry goes up : " How long, O Lord, 
 Ere thou shalt give the consummating stroke. 
 And spread the Gospel Banner o'er the world ? " 
 This illustration shows that souls in heaven 
 Remember, and look back on scenes of earth, 
 As, in a vision, John, though living, saw 
 And recognized his martyred brethren there; 
 And thus, like Jacob's ladder, reaching down. 
 One end on earth, the other in the skies. 
 On which, ascending and descending, came 
 
MEMORY. . 71 
 
 Sweet angel thoughts to listening mortals here ; 
 So shall bright memory bridge the two great 
 
 worlds, 
 And thus unite the souls of earth with those 
 Of heaven above, till all earth's scenes are past. 
 Ah, even then, when all earth's scenes are o'er, 
 Memory shall live when time shall be no more. 
 
LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 BT MUNI TELL. 
 
 OHE sat amid the crowd, a timid child, 
 ^^ Unseen bj one to whom all eyes were turned, 
 While through her heart emotions strangely wild 
 In struggling agony for utterance burned. 
 
 She knew him not; she ne'er had seen before 
 The noble form of that proud, manly youth, 
 
 Nor heard, till then, his voice ; yet, evermore, 
 She felt to him belonged her spirit's truth. 
 
 And she, though unappreciated there. 
 
 An unpretending school-girl, caught those signs 
 
 Of moral greatness, gems of worth, that were 
 To her aspiring nature wealth divine. 
 
 And though, since then, devoted hearts have bowed, 
 And wealth and love been offered at her shrine. 
 
 No other image e'er hath been allowed 
 
 A place within her young heart's pure 'Confine. 
 
LINES TO 
 
 rilHERE'S a voice that soundetb sweetly, 
 ■^ When its low tones softly greet me ; 
 And the heart-pulse boundeth fleetly, 
 
 When I hear, 
 
 Soft and clear, 
 Its low music in my ear. 
 
 There's an eye that beameth brightly, 
 And my spirit dreameth nightly 
 Of its twinkling deep and sprightly ; 
 
 And it seems, 
 
 In my dreams, 
 Shedding on me all its beams. 
 
 There's a smile, whose tender beaming. 
 Like the morning sunlight gleaming, 
 Fills my soul with happy dreaming ; 
 And its charm. 
 Soft and warm, 
 Gives delicious visions form. 
 
74 
 
 LINES TO 
 
 There's a heart, could I but find it, 
 Formed of truth, as heaven designed it, 
 And no other love hath twined it, 
 
 Then my own, 
 
 Like a zone. 
 Should be forever round it thrown. 
 
Gti^4 V^)^ ^^. ^/^'^^A K§^^ ^fep^rti ^ 
 
 ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE DEATH 
 OF THE REV. P. B. WILBER. 
 
 THE golden bowl was broken, 
 And the silver chords unstrung, 
 Ere our hearts received a token 
 Of the grief that o'er us hung. 
 
 As the lightning's flash that startles, 
 O'er the heavens when tempest-bowed, 
 
 Or the thunder tones that hurtle 
 Through the darkly bending cloud. 
 
 Sped the tidings through our bosoms, 
 
 With a heavy peal of woe. 
 Bearing down the young heart-blossoms 
 
 'Neath the anguish-freighted blow. 
 
 Oh, were there none to save him. 
 In that dark and fearful hour? 
 
 Had the virtues heaven gave him. 
 No strong life-redeeming power ? 
 
76 ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 Ah, no ! the tender angels 
 Had prepared for him above 
 
 A seat with the evangels, 
 In the Father's court of love. 
 
 And the Father's voice was calling, 
 And the shadowy angel stood, 
 
 With loving arms, to bear him 
 
 Through the dark, mysterious flood. 
 
 How my soul goes out in sympathy 
 To her whose heart is crushed, 
 
 The fondest pulse of which now lies 
 Within his coffin hushed. 
 
 Dear partner of his bosom, 
 
 Sweet soother of his cares, 
 Let me calm thy soul's emotion, 
 
 Let me dry those falling tears. 
 
 He is not dead ! The earthy 
 Only sleepeth with the earth ; 
 
 The precious spirit lives in all 
 Its pure undying worth. 
 
 Thy children will solace thee, — 
 
 Those sweet daughters, young and fair; 
 
 And thy son, whose filial love will yet 
 Reward his mother's care. 
 
THE REV, P. B. WILDER. 
 
 11 
 
 His young arms will support thee ; 
 
 On his bosom lean thy head ; 
 Ah ! I know his love will guard thee, 
 
 In his honored father's stead. 
 

 f^*^®f^®^. 
 
 ^w 
 
 
 ^i©l 
 
 A TRILL. 
 
 TTTHEN the breeze is sighing, 
 
 ^ ' And the day is dying, 
 Light with darkness vieing, 
 
 Then I pray. 
 
 And the soft, low murmur 
 Of the coming summer, 
 In its gentlest humor. 
 
 Seems to say ; 
 
 Let the young spring hours. 
 With their glowing showers, 
 And their buds and flowers. 
 
 Time beguile. 
 
 Soon the seasons fleetly 
 Shall be moving, sweetly, 
 When love comes to greet thee 
 With a smile. 
 
 Then no more shall sadness 
 Mar thy spirit's gladness, 
 
A TRILL, 
 
 Or might vex to madness 
 
 Thy heart's pride ; 
 
 But each daylight beaming, 
 Shall with joy be gleaming, 
 And the heart-tears streaming. 
 Shall be dried. 
 
 79 
 
THE TWO PLEIADS, (A Figuee.) 
 
 npwO beauteous pleiads once were seen to rise 
 -^ Above the horizon of earthly spheres, 
 And as if wrought upon by the same spell, 
 Moved in one orbit of delicious light ; 
 And as they passed upon their shining way, 
 Admiring eyes were turned to mark their course, 
 And elevated thoughts filled every heart. 
 At sight of two such lovely, pleasing orbs, 
 "Whose tender and commingling glory seemed 
 Created only to uplift the soul, 
 And keep it free from earthly things. 
 Appreciative minds expressed the joy 
 Their light afforded, in sweet words of praise ; 
 And smiles, and kind, approving glances, told 
 How much of living beauty dwells in love. 
 But, ah ! the scene too lovely was to last, — 
 Too glorious for the test of sordid earth ; 
 And ere they reached the zenith of their course, 
 The bright meridian beams that wrapt their forms 
 In roseate folds of love's effusive light 
 Were riven by a power unseen, yet felt 
 
THE TWO PLEIADS. 81 
 
 In the convulsive elements that shook 
 And trembled 'neatli the weight of gathering gloom 
 Which shrouded in oblivion's night each ray 
 Of those sweet glory-beams of living sight, 
 That erst had shone so tenderly and bright, 
 And hurled between them dark and angry cloudsj 
 Whose black-wreathed drapery now their beauty 
 
 shrouds, 
 And hides from earthly gaze the buried ilame, 
 Disparted, yet in glowing warmth the same. 
 One eye alone beholds the hidden spark 
 That lives and glows beneath the covering dark ; 
 And though the veil of deep surrounding night 
 May keep, for aye, concealed from mortal sight 
 The soft effulgence of those parted stars, — 
 And though obtrusive gloom their beauty mars, 
 Yet He who formed and gave their kindred light, 
 WiU yet, in one, their destinies unite. 
 
THE BROKEN BOWER. 
 
 ""VrOT in city nor in country 
 
 -^ ^ Roamed they at the twilight hour, 
 
 But within a village door-yard 
 
 Stood they by a broken bower, — ■ 
 
 Broken bower, among whose leaflets 
 
 Softly stole the silvery feet 
 Of the young moon's gentle beamlets, 
 
 Starlight shimmering rays to greet. 
 
 Twilight deepened, still they, lingered, — 
 Lingered 'neath the maple-tree ; 
 
 One was speaking, softly speaking, 
 One was listening silently. 
 
 And the vows which there were spoken, 
 Are too sacred here to tell, — 
 
 Vows which never may be broken, 
 From love's lips impassioned fell. 
 
 And the low-toned whispering breezes, 
 As they gently rustled by. 
 
THE BROKEN BOWER. 83 
 
 Wafted, on their dewy pinions, 
 Each fond accent to the sky. 
 
 Upward, on their wings, they bore them 
 
 To the pearly gates above ; 
 And by angels were recorded 
 
 In their registers of love. 
 
DOST THOU DREAM I CAN FORGET THEE ? 
 
 TAG ST thou dream I can forget thee ? 
 -*-^ Thinkest thou this heart of mine 
 E'er can lose the sweet impressions 
 Made by those dear eyes of thine ? 
 
 Ah ! as soon the sun might languish 
 
 In his midday course above, 
 As that I should e'er grow careless, 
 
 Or this heart forget to love. 
 
 Nay ; the thrilHng tones that won me, 
 And my youthful soul enthralled, 
 
 By each whispering breeze of heaven 
 To my memory are recalled, — 
 
 To my memory, to my spirit, 
 To my heart, my life, my all ; 
 
 Every fibre of my being 
 
 Thrills when I thy love recall. 
 
 Then, no more be doubtful, dearest ; 
 
 Never dream that change may come 
 To this heart, wherein no imasre 
 
 Save thine own can find a home. 
 

 THE TEAR-DROP ON THE HEART. 
 
 QHE moves amid the dancers, 
 
 ^ The gayest of the throng, 
 
 And her smiles seem breathing answers 
 
 To a soul of love and song. 
 Her laugh, like music's numbers, 
 
 •Seem from joyous depths to start; 
 But the Eye that never slumbers. 
 Sees a tear-drop on the heart. 
 
 She sings the gayest ballads. 
 
 And plays the happiest airs, 
 And her light and sportive sallies 
 
 Drive from every heart its cares. 
 No sigh or murmur e'er was known 
 
 Her smiling lips to part, 
 Nor ever through her blue eyes shone 
 
 The tear-drop on the heart. 
 
 But ever with an airy song. 
 Or light and playful word, 
 
 She mingles in the joyous throng. 
 Gay as a summer's bird. 
 
86 THE TEAR-DROP ON THE HEART. 
 
 The light of joy and beaming love 
 
 Seem of her being part ; 
 Still, angel eyes see, from above. 
 
 The tear-drop on the heart. 
 
 For, deep v^dthin the hidden cell, 
 
 Where fancy's fingers weave. 
 From memory's sweets, the mystic spell 
 
 That magic dreamings give, 
 Is an idol shrine forever. 
 
 Which no power can bid depart ; 
 And close beside it, ever 
 
 Lies the tear-drop on the heart. 
 
^^^<^. 
 ^^^ 
 
 WGX 
 
 THE ALL-SEEING EYE. 
 
 S through a glass, but dimly, 
 We are seen by mortal ken^ 
 And exteriors, soft and seemly, 
 Oft deceive the eyes of men ; 
 The heart oft closes on the cares 
 
 That in its deep ceils lie, 
 That none may gaze upon its tears 
 But the All-Seeing Eye. 
 
 In cheerful songs of mirth and glee. 
 
 The playful voice is heard 
 In strains as glad and wild and free 
 
 As songs of forest bird; 
 But the Eye that never slumbers. 
 
 Ever watchful, sees the art 
 By which the gladsome numbers 
 
 Steal so lightly from the heart. 
 
 The tripping feet dance lightly 
 To the pealing sounds of joy. 
 
 And the laughing eye beams brightly, 
 While gay wit the lips employ. 
 
88 
 
 THE ALL-SEEING EYE, 
 
 Till earthly observations fail 
 The heart's gloom to descry ; 
 
 Yet angel fingers lift the veil 
 To the All- Seeing Eye. 
 
CEUSHED ROSES. 
 
 T LOVE the pleasant odors 
 -^ Wafted on the breeze of morn, 
 From the dewy cells of violets sweet, 
 Or the fragrant, bloommg thorn. 
 
 'Tis sweet to catch the passing breath 
 
 Of hyacinths in bloom. 
 When gentle M^nds disseminate 
 
 Their delicate perfume. 
 
 There's inspiration in the scent 
 Of thyme and wild-wood flowers ; 
 
 And prophesying dreams are lent 
 To slumber 'neath their bowers. 
 
 But sweeter than the violet. 
 Or thyme, or blooming thorn, 
 
 Is the perfume of crushed roses. 
 On the evening breezes borne. 
 
LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 'HEN the sunlight decks thy brow, 
 And thy cheeks with roses glow ; 
 When thy laugh is light and free, 
 And thy voice breathes songs of glee; 
 When thy mirth runs to excess, 
 Art thou happy ? Tell me, " Yes ? " 
 
 When thy light feet thread the dance. 
 
 And sweet music-tones entrance 
 
 All thy senses, till they seem 
 
 Wrapped in a delicious dream ; 
 
 'Mid those scenes of joyousness, 
 
 Find'st thou pleasure ? Tell me, " Yes ? " 
 
 When the evening hour draws near. 
 And the moonlight, soft and clear. 
 Fills thy soul with memories sweet. 
 At the sound of coming feet. 
 Does no wish thy heart oppress 
 That its answer might be "Yes?" 
 
LINES TO A FRIEND. 91 
 
 When thou seest a pale brow, clad 
 In deep shadows darkly sad, 
 In whose glances, howe'er brief, 
 Thou canst read the signs of grief; 
 Then, couldst thou relieve and bless, 
 Wouldst thou do so ? Tell me, " Yes ? ' 
 
 ^:5^,c^c-^\^25^ 
 
OUR ASPIRATIONS PROPHETIC OF 
 HIGHER LIFE. 
 
 TF from the cloud that circled Sinai's brow 
 
 No thunder-tones had e'er proclaimed a God, 
 Nor heaven's descending dove o'er Jordan's wave 
 Had hovered o'er the spotless Nazarene ; 
 Or if, upon the Pentecostal morn, 
 No rushing, mighty wind had filled the house, 
 Nor fier}'-, cloven tongues had rested there 
 Upon the chosen followers of the Lamb ; 
 If, from the tomb in fair Gethsemane, 
 Those men in shining garments had not spoke 
 To weeping Mary of her risen Lord, 
 (By which the resurrection of the dead was shown) ; 
 If naught of revelation had been given 
 To mortals, of the purposes of Lleaven, 
 Save but the gentle whispering breath of life, 
 Which God in Eden breathed into the man, — 
 That heavenly spark, efficient in itself, 
 To mortals still encouragement had given. 
 The fragile form, like as a summer flower. 
 Bows down its head to earth, and fades and dies ; 
 And soon the place that owned its presence here 
 
A HIGHER LIFE. 93 
 
 Shall have forgotten that it e'er had been. 
 
 And shall the soul thus, too, go down to earth, 
 
 And all its aspirations hide in dust ; 
 
 And, with its crumbling casket, lie entombed 
 
 Within the silent grave for evermore ? 
 
 Ah, no! 
 
 Listen to the small, still voice 
 That whispers in the bosom better things. 
 The outer man God formed of silent dust ; 
 But that which made that man a living; soul 
 Was not of earth, but pure, essential life. 
 From God's own Spirit breathed into the mind ; 
 Which atom of undying essence still, 
 Though fettered in its prison-house of clay. 
 Was, with the members, struggling to be free, 
 In ceaseless yearnings for its native spheres. 
 Not all the treasures of the earth can stay 
 The fervent cravings of its fond desire, 
 Nor wealth nor temporal pleasures satisfy 
 Its aspirations for still higher things. 
 The teeming earth, with all its flowery fields. 
 Its mountains, hills, and plains, and purling streams, 
 Is offered as a heritage, and yet 
 The spirit's moanings speak the spirit's deep unrest. 
 'Twas so of old. Long, long ere God had given 
 A shadow of a coming future life. 
 This struggling, inner essence, whispering, breathed 
 Into the heathen worshippers of blocks. 
 And stones, and streams, and sacred groves, 
 Insatiate yearnings for a higher life ; 
 
94 A HIGHER LIFE. 
 
 And Fancy, with her flowery fingers, drew 
 From them a sketch of bright Elysian fields 
 Of richest verdure, where perennial, trees 
 Forever bend 'neath stores of nectral fruit ; 
 And waters, purer than the earth had purled. 
 They hoped to quafi" in that bright, unseen world. 
 
 So are the souls of men now looking forth, 
 With restive eye and penetrating ken. 
 To something better than they here have known. 
 And, with the strength of cultivated faith, 
 Those aspirations have become more strong, 
 More restive, more inflammably acute, 
 And more at variance with the things of earth. 
 They look abroad upon the wide expanse 
 Of Nature, glowing in her beauteous robes, 
 And on the starry orbs revolving high. 
 Refulgent in their own effusive hght, 
 Till, awed by the effulgence of the scene, 
 And trembling 'neath the power and majesty 
 Of Him whose will the wond'rous whole sustains. 
 They shrink within their insignificance, 
 And own the nothingness of earthly power. 
 And long to break the bars tliat hold them here, 
 And soar, untrammelled, to those higher spheres. 
 
 And will those yearnings ne'er be satisfied, — 
 Those aspirations never realized ? 
 "Will He who placed within this wasting clay 
 Those holy sympathies, those high desires, 
 Suffer the blaze of Hope's bright star to fail, 
 And, 'neath the shadow of despair, be lost? 
 
A HIGHER LIFE. 95 
 
 " No, no ! " is still the spirit's fair reply : 
 
 " Those asj^irations speak a higher life. 
 
 Not here, not here, where pale disease assails 
 
 The trembling form of frail humanity, — 
 
 Where sin and suffering haunt the souls of men. 
 
 And lean Adversity the spirit bends; — 
 
 Not here, not here, amid earth's woes, — ah, no ! 
 
 But yonder, where the bow of promise bends, 
 
 Fixed in the heaven of never-ending love, 
 
 The soul shall fly when life its warfare ends." 
 
y 
 
 Jh 
 
 fe* 
 
 mmmmmmmmm 
 
 w 
 
 A SOUTHEEN TOUR. 
 
 'UROM stories rare, of which I've read and heard, 
 
 -^ Descriptive of the far-famed southern chrae, 
 
 I was induced to make a flying tour 
 
 To the metropoUs of the sunny South. 
 
 I left my village home ere yet the buds 
 
 Of spring had come to deck the woodland hills, 
 
 Or balmy fragrance of the sweet wild flowers 
 
 Had from their tiny cups been offered up. 
 
 A splendid steamer bore me proudly on 
 
 Upon our own Ohio's flashing waves, 
 
 Whose sparkling waters, pure, meandering flow 
 
 Between their lofty shores, and sweetly lave 
 
 The sloping bases of romantic hills. 
 
 That, towering, seem in majesty upreared. 
 
 As if to guard them from intrusive harm ; 
 
 While sweetly gliding waves and wavelets chase 
 
 Each other till their kindred waves embrace, 
 
 Where Mississippi's turbid waters sweep 
 
 In solemn grandeur to the mighty deep. 
 
 Nought of importance meets the traveller's eye, 
 
 Till many miles are numbered down this stream ; 
 
 The scene on either shore is lowly laid. 
 
A SOUTHERN TOUR. 97 
 
 Of forests dense, monotonous and drear. 
 
 But gay young hearts, when nought is found 
 
 without 
 To cheer the spirit, turn their thoughts within, — 
 (I mean in-doors) ; for here sweet music pealed, 
 And gay forms " tripped the light fantastic toe " 
 In graceful measure through the merry dance ; 
 While wit and mirth and joyous songs of glee 
 Gave fleet wings to the hours of revelry. 
 
 Ere long, as if by magic, all was changed ; 
 And as Mohammed, in one night, was borne 
 From earth to the Elysian fields above. 
 So our transition seemed from dreary scenes 
 Of low, wild lands, to those delightful vales 
 Where Sylvia reigned in glorious majesty, 
 And blooming plants, and flowers of royal tint, 
 In clustering beauty hovered round her throne, 
 And, with bewitching fealty, obeyed 
 The orders of her maiden. Zephyr's voice. 
 And bowed their gentle heads, and clapped their 
 
 hands. 
 In fond expression of their gratitude, 
 For the sweet glances of her sunlit eye, 
 And tender music from the feathery choir — 
 Sweet heralds — that were chanting to her praise^ 
 One lovely morn, while yet the dew-drops clung 
 In fondness to the rosebud's coral lip. 
 And sparkling shone from out the lily's cup, — 
 When all within the sweep of vision seemed 
 
 Arrayed in beauty for some festive scene, — • 
 
 7 
 
98 A SOUTHERN TOUR. 
 
 Our proud " Montgomery," like an aquatic bird, 
 That seemed o'erwearied with the long night's 
 
 toil, 
 Now gracefully retired to the shore. 
 And gave brief respite to her dripping wheels. 
 A few short moments passed, and from her decks 
 And crowded cabins streamed a living file 
 Of joyous beings, eager to attain 
 A first foothold upon the levee's brow, 
 From which the prospect seemed an Eden fair 
 Of rich plantation scenery, nowhere found 
 Replete with so much loveliness as here, 
 In this reputed land of wealth and fame. 
 
 In towering grandeur, on a gentle swell 
 Of those delightful premises, repose 
 The planter's mansion, winged on every side 
 "With light verandahs, and o'erhung with trees 
 Whose boughs were bending with the weight of 
 
 leaves 
 And fragrant flowers from creeping vines, that 
 Twined in fond embrace around each spreading 
 
 branch. 
 Or waved in graceful festoons on the breeze. 
 Our joyous party strolled with lightsome steps 
 Around the outskirts of those pleasant grounds, 
 Kespectfully refraining near approach ; 
 When, leaning, half concealed amid the flowers, 
 A fair young girl was seen. 
 " A Floral Queen ! " a dozen lips exclaimed. 
 With grace peculiar to her own sweet clime, 
 
A SOUTHERN TOUR. 99 
 
 And in a low, soft voice, like music-tones, 
 
 She gave us kind admittance to her realm, 
 
 And, with her own fair fingers, culled for us 
 
 The brightest of her lovely floral gems. 
 
 The moments flew unheeded while we strayed 
 
 Among those fairy scenes, — as in a dream, — 
 
 Intoxicated with the mingled breath 
 
 Of various perfumes wafted on the breeze, 
 
 And charmed with each new beauty that surprised 
 
 Our buoyant fancy, till the magic spell 
 
 Of poesy, that was stealing o'er the mind, 
 
 Was broken by the boat's sonorous bell, 
 
 Which warned us that one hasty glance was all 
 
 Now left for our infatuated eyes. 
 
 Bright scenes, as lovely as the one described, 
 Dot, at short intervals, the smooth, green shores 
 Of this great river, interspersed with towns 
 And busy cities, redolent with life ; 
 While here and there a marshy strip of land 
 Uncultivated lies, — luxuriantly 
 O'erspread with broad palmetto fans, that wave 
 Their green wings with the slender-shafted cane, 
 O'ershadowed by the sombre cypress trees. 
 From whose strong arms depending mosses hang 
 In silvery valance to the water's edge. 
 The prospect grows more animate and bright 
 As we approach the haven of our hopes ; 
 And as we near this city of renown, 
 A thousand wild, fantastic visions rise, — 
 Imaginary fancies, — highly wrought, 
 
100 A SOUTHERN TOUR. 
 
 Of fond romance and daring tragedy, 
 As gathered from the legends of the past, 
 When New Orleans was in the early blush 
 Of her primeval life, — 
 Ere yet the war-cry through the forest wild 
 Had ceased its dread creations, or the scream 
 Of savage beasts from their entangled lairs 
 Was silenced by the steady, onward tread 
 Of Christian footsteps, in the march of time. 
 But fancy here may dream no longer now 
 In measured numbers of what might have been, 
 Or what the future may have yet in store. 
 For, as we near and nearer still approach. 
 And steeples tall, and spires and domes appear, 
 Tier after tier, in glittering sunlight seen. 
 The mind becomes confused amid the hum 
 Of human voices, floating on the breeze. 
 That come like ocean surges from afar, 
 Or the dull sounds of distant tornado. 
 The past and future are alike dismissed ; 
 And every thought and impulse of the soul 
 Seems centered in the one eternal now. 
 
MELANCHOLY. 
 
 |H, ask me not, dear mother, 
 "Why oft upon this brow 
 A shade of melancholy sits. 
 And shrouds it even now. 
 
 .It is not grief, my mother ; 
 
 Then think no more of this ; 
 'Tis but a soothing pensiveness. 
 
 That yields me purest bliss. 
 
 There's oft a dream delicious 
 Steals o'er me with a spell, — 
 
 A kind of pleasing rhapsody 
 My spirit would not quell. 
 
 Then seek no more to vanquish 
 
 This rapture of the mind, 
 Where thought with thought participate 
 
 In feelings pure, refined. 
 
102 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 I would not spare its solace, 
 But woo it when alone ; 
 
 For I am happy when its spell 
 Is closely round me thrown. 
 
TO MY HUSBAND. 
 
 Q WEETLY shine 
 
 ^ Two eyes oil mine, 
 Like glorious stars of heaven ; 
 
 They're filled with love 
 
 Sent from above. 
 From whence all things are given. 
 
 There is a voice 
 
 So soft and low, 
 JSo ear can list but mine ; 
 
 Speaks love to me, 
 
 Speaks hope to me 
 Of a brighter, happier time. 
 
 There is a step 
 
 Within the hall. 
 Like music on my ear doth fall ; 
 
 It brings that voice, 
 
 Those eyes so sweet ; — 
 Lo ! 'tis the coming of my husband's feet. 
 
ALMOST THERE. 
 
 l/TOTHEE;, I've been almost to where 
 -^^-^ Earth's sorrowing children are freed from 
 
 care ; 
 I've seen the light of that burnished throne, 
 As its beams through the golden portals shone ; 
 And heard the songs which the redeemed sing, 
 And the plaudits of angels' rustling wings. 
 My arms were permitted to bear above 
 A tender cherub of earthly love ; 
 And these mortal eyes were allowed to see, 
 One moment, the Court of Felicity^ — 
 In the City of God, — where is known no sin. 
 But my soul was too earthly to enter in ; 
 And my sorrowing spirit but paused awhile 
 To gaze on the light of that silvery isle. 
 Where no sun is needed to illumine its shades. 
 For the glory of God over all pervades. 
 I raised my arms, with their burden fair, 
 And an angel of light, with bright, shining hair, 
 Descended and took back again to heaven 
 What the Lord but an hour before had given. 
 
ALMOST THERE. 105 
 
 I watched the vision dissolve away, 
 Like the last sweet gleam of a sunset ray, 
 And my yearning soul in a prayer uprose, 
 As I saw the gates slowly before me close, — 
 A prayer that my spirit might yet find rest 
 In that beautiful vale, with the pure and blest, 
 Where no earthly sorrow can ever come 
 To mar the joys of that peaceful home. 
 
THE DEAD. 
 
 nnHE dead ! ah, the dead ! how falls their 
 
 -*- Memory in mournful cadence on the soul, 
 
 Touching with more tender plaint the heart's 
 
 Deep chords, than any other word found 
 
 In our tongue. The dead ! the cherished 
 
 Dead ! Who has not felt the tj^embling touch 
 
 And lacerating pang thrill every sense, 
 
 At the mere mention of the long lost dead ! 
 
 Their very names are sacred to our hearts, 
 
 And all their virtues, by their loss more dear, 
 
 Come floating back on memory's silvery beams. 
 
 And cluster round us in a hallowed zone, 
 
 Converting all our feelings into love, 
 
 And holy sympathy and ardent prayer. 
 
 Oh, I have thought those visions of the dead, — 
 
 Those shrouded images of buried love, — 
 
 By a strange power mysterious work hath wrought. 
 
 In the conversion of our sinful minds. 
 
 God works in many ways upon our hearts ; 
 
 And may we not suppose that this is one. 
 
 Nor least of all the hidden plans of grace, 
 
 Vouchsafed to win our souls, long prodigal, 
 
 Back to the smiling presence of his love ? 
 

 THE SENSITIVE HEART. 
 
 WHY art thou sad? Why sittest pale mel- 
 ancholy ever brooding on thy brow ? Look 
 around thyself. Behold the clustering blessings 
 with which thou art surrounded. E'en joy, rich 
 joys, are hovering to greet thee, while the sunny 
 smile of love and approbation make luminous the 
 sphere of thy association. Still thou art sorrow- 
 ful ; still the mantle of gloom encircles thee like 
 a shroud, and the bending shadows of the dark- 
 ened tomb are girt about thee. Alas ! thine is 
 the fate of the too sensitive. Bowed down by the 
 sorrows of many, e'en when thine own star is 
 brightest, — melting, with its rich effulgence, the 
 heart to thankfulness, — then does thine eye wan- 
 der to the cloud which is shadowing the less glo- 
 rious planet of thy friends or neighbors. And 
 thus art thou drooping ever beneath sorrows not 
 thine own, — turning listlessly from the bright flow- 
 ers which adorn thy path, because others may not 
 bask in the sunshine of their beauty, or taste the 
 rich breath of their sweet perfume. 
 
A 
 
 AH, LET ME SING. 
 
 H, let me sing, or all the chords, ere long, 
 That hold the heart-reef round the tide of 
 song, 
 
 Will break with the insurgent waves that roll 
 So wildly 'gainst it, — and the strugghng soul 
 Be swept by surging, unsung music down, 
 And left in its own element to drown. 
 
 Ah, let me sing, though dark and heavy clouds 
 Of sorrow now our beauteous country shroud; 
 Though war devastates, and on every breath 
 Of heaven's breeze is borne a wail of death ; 
 Though widows' sighs and orphans' cries are heard. 
 Till every pulse within the soul is stirred, 
 And swelling tides of kindred sorrows start 
 Within the throbbing cells of every heart. 
 
 Still let me sing ! Those saddening themes inspire 
 My pensive soul, and from my trembling lyre 
 Shall fall the stricken notes in sorrowing strains, 
 Like those from David's harp on Chaldea's plains, — 
 
AH, LET ME SING. 109 
 
 Where, by a tyrant's power, was led the band 
 
 Of weeping captives out of Judea's land. 
 
 Yes, let me sing ! 'twill calm the heart's deep 
 
 throes, 
 And lull the spirit into sweet repose. 
 
TO A DEPARTED SCHOOL-MATE. 
 
 OWEET angel! dear, departed shade of love ! 
 '^ Where is thy home in those bright spheres 
 
 above ? 
 Soar'st thou on pinions timidly unfurled, 
 In new-fledged glory through the unseen world, — 
 Where new-born spirits, freed from earth's alloy, 
 Bask ever in the beams of perfect joy, — 
 In bright Elysian fields, 'mong perfumed bowers, 
 Where fadeth never love's perennial flowers ? 
 
 Or dost thou stand amid the glittering throng 
 Of highest cherubim ! Dost join the song 
 Of praises chanted in the heavenly choir. 
 Where spirit-fingers sweep the golden lyre ? 
 Ah, yes, sweet voices whisper to my heart, — 
 Soft, angel voices, — telling me thou art 
 Amid the purest, highest of the blest, 
 Whose souls have entered into perfect rest. 
 
SMILE OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A S the light on the quivering sea, 
 -^-^ When stars look from above, 
 As a strain of minstrelsy, 
 
 Breathed from the lute of love, — 
 
 So falls upon the sorrowing heart 
 The smiles of friendship true ; 
 
 And genial feelings quickly start, 
 And hope revives anew. 
 
aspiratio:n. 
 
 MY spirit seeks a wider, higher sphere 
 Than the small limit given to action here. 
 Not e'en the star-crowned heaven's ethereal arch 
 Gives space sufficient to the onward march 
 Of my aspiring soul ! but high above, 
 It soars and revels in the realms of love ; 
 Bathing its plumage in the ambient flood 
 Of glory, beaming from the Eternal Good. 
 More fleet than time, bright fancy's pinions are 
 Attracted onward by ambition's star ; 
 And barriers that would sober reason fright. 
 Seem but slight hindrances to her wild flight. 
 
SYLVANIA. 
 
 TN the deep and quiet wildwood, 
 -*- Haunt of ever-blessed childhood, 
 Where the grand old trees are throwing 
 Shadows o'er the streamlet's flowing, — 
 Where no plaint of toil or sorrow 
 Comes the tender soul to harrow, 
 Reigns the queen of summer flowers, 
 Throned within the woodland bowers. 
 
 Angel blossoms nod her pleasure. 
 And the low wdnds, tuned to measure, 
 Chant sweet strains of music round her. 
 Where the rosy gods have crowned her ; 
 Whispering breezes round her hover, 
 Rainlets stir the leaves above her. 
 And the bending rainbow measures 
 In her lap its dewy treasures. 
 
 She's a winsome, fairy creature, 
 With sweet smiles on every feature. 
 And all worship and adore her 
 As the beautiful restorer 
 8 
 
■^■^^ SYLVANIA. 
 
 Of the glorious wildwood flowers, 
 In the vales and forest bowers, 
 Where their cups are sweetly teeming 
 With incense of Poet dreaming. 
 
JOSEPHmE TO NAPOLEON, AFTER THE 
 DIVORCE. 
 
 0, wed another ! bear her to the home 
 That once was mine, and let her there become 
 Sole empress, and the monitor of all 
 Thy regal throng, that shall attend her call. 
 Make her mere wish a sceptre that shall wield 
 A rule complete, till all thy household yield 
 Submissive reverence where her voice is heard, 
 And bow obedient to her slightest word ; 
 Gaze on her bright and richly-jewelled form, — ■ 
 Her youthful face, suffused with blushes warm ; 
 And, with a lover's admiration, trace 
 Each budding beauty, each attractive grace ; 
 Then fold her to thy heart, and let the kiss, 
 Impassioned, fervent, speak thy soul's deep bliss. 
 •Let her young head be pillowed on thy breast, 
 (Where mine hath lain,) and her soft hand be 
 
 pressed 
 "Within thine own, so lovingly, while sleep, 
 With opiate wings, abov^e thy pillows sweep. 
 But let not her, — thy nymph of slumber, — steal 
 Beside thy couch, lest she should there unseal 
 
116 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 
 
 The dreamy casket, and from thence disclose 
 A vision that would mar thy sweet repose : 
 A pale, sad face, with downcast, weeping eyes, 
 Alone, neglected, while her tears and sighs 
 Tell, by their silence, what her lips ne'er spoke, - 
 Of a fond heart that loved on till it broke! 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 /^H, sadly the storm-cloud traverses the heavens, 
 ^-^ Like some stricken vessel 'mid tempests at sea, 
 In dark, misty shadows, and seemingly driven 
 
 Vast labyrinths over, by some wild decree. 
 Even thus with the star of fond love in the bosom, 
 
 Revolving in clouds of oppression and fear. 
 Receding in doubt, then approaching the beacon 
 
 Of hope, once so brilliant, so blessed, and clear. 
 Oh, breathe on my soul through some spirit of 
 
 Heaven, — 
 Tell, tell if our loves, like this cloud, must be riven. 
 

 IMPEOMPTU, ON FIRST BEHOLDING THE 
 CINCINNATI OPERA-HOUSE. 
 
 /^EASE, flutt'ring heart, thy wild, tumultuous 
 
 ^-^ beat, 
 
 And calmly bid imagination trace 
 
 The gorgeous beauty of this lovely scene. 
 
 Ah, let me shade awhile these awe-struck eyes. 
 
 Till consciousness shall whisper 'tis no dream, — 
 
 No magic fancy, but a literal truth ; 
 
 And call the senses forth to testify 
 
 That this bright sphere is all terrestrial, 
 
 And this grand structure, which, to fancy, seems 
 
 A fairy castle, reared by magic power, — 
 
 "Whose rare magnificence and splendor bright 
 
 Lures thought to dream of pleasant Como's Lake, 
 
 Where lovely Pauline's pictured palace stood, 
 
 Embathed in floods of alabaster light, — 
 
 Is not of mystic origin, but planned 
 
 And nobly perfected by human skill. 
 
 Ah, Claude, thou must have slept as those of old. 
 
 And, in prophetic visions, saw the scheme, 
 
 Embryo-laid, within the giant mind 
 
 Of him who planned this noble work of art, — 
 
IMPROMPTU. 119 
 
 This grand phenomenon of human power, 
 Which is, and shall be through long-coming years, 
 The pride and glory of the Western world. 
 Behold these lofty terraced galleries, 
 Enwreathed in folds of radiating light, 
 Adorned with noble statuary grace. 
 And filled with proud appreciative souls, 
 Who gaze enraptured on the scenes below, 
 Where crystal lights with crystal fountains meet. 
 And, mingling, flash 'mong perfumed flow'rets sweet ; 
 And list to tones that, soul-entrancing, flow 
 From Terpsichorian instruments, and thrill 
 Each trembling heart-chord by their silvery touch. 
 Till mind and soul, unconsciously enthused 
 By wild enchantment, seek the dance, 
 And yield, instinctive, to the common joy. 
 
A PAEODY ON " THE LONG, LONG, WEARY 
 
 DAY." 
 
 rriHE jolly, jolly day is passed in wine away > 
 -^ The jolly, jolly day is passed in wine away, 
 And still at evening I am drinking, 
 And with old chums at night, 
 Where champagne sparkles bright, 
 I still am drinking, the glasses clinking ; 
 And with old chums at niojht, 
 Where champagne sparkles bright, 
 I still am drinking, the glasses clinking. 
 
 Last night, when with my love, 
 
 My sacred truth to prove ; 
 
 Last night, when with my love, 
 
 My sacred truth to prove, 
 I said, for her I'd stop this drinking; 
 
 And with old friends at night, 
 
 Where champagne sparkles bright. 
 No more be drinking, the glasses clinking; 
 
 And with old friends at night. 
 
 Where champagne sparkles bright, 
 No more be drinking, the glasses clinking. 
 
A PARODY. 121 
 
 Alas ! how vain and weak 
 
 Are all the vows we make ; 
 
 Alas ! how vain and weak 
 
 Are all the vows we make. 
 For, though I promised, I am drinking ; 
 
 And with the club once more 
 
 I mingle, as of yore, 
 And still am drinking, the glasses clinking ; 
 
 And with the club once more 
 
 I mingle, as of yore, 
 And still am drinking, the glasses clinking. 
 
 But when this night is gone, 
 
 ril seek my love alone ; 
 
 But when this night is gone, 
 
 ril seek my love alone, 
 And swear to her I'll stop this drinking. 
 
 I know she will forgive. 
 
 And bid her lover live. 
 When I cease drinking, the glasses clinking; 
 
 I know she will forgive. 
 
 And bid her lover live. 
 When I cease drinking, the glasses clinking. 
 
LIVE AND LAUGH. 
 
 T IVE and laugh a little while ; 
 
 Live and laugh. 
 When in childhood's happy hours, 
 Like the young Spring's opening flowers, 
 Perfumed joys we lightly quaff, 
 A little while we live and laugh. 
 
 Live and sing a little while ; 
 
 Live and sing. 
 While life's cup with pleasure flows, 
 Then the heart no sorrow knows ; 
 While our life is in its spring, 
 A little while we live and sing. 
 
 Live and dream a little while ; 
 
 Live and dream. 
 While fond aspiration's star 
 Glows with promises afar. 
 And ambition makes its beam, 
 A little while we live and dream. 
 
 Live and love a little while ; 
 Live and love. 
 
LIVE AND LAUGH. 
 
 While young beauty tints the brow, 
 And the heart's warm pulses flow ; 
 Ere old Time youth's charm remove, 
 A little while we live and love. 
 
 Live and weep a little while ; 
 
 Live and weep. 
 For our pleasures long since fled, 
 For sweet friendships lost and dead, 
 Tears of grief the fond heart steep; 
 A little while we live and weep. 
 
 Passing by a little while ; 
 
 Passing by. 
 Go our brief and sadful hours. 
 With their burden of heart-flowers 
 Faded, withered, crushed, and dry : 
 A little while we live, — then die. 
 
 123 
 
m^mmmmmmmmmm 
 
 A GOOD NAME. 
 
 " Good name, in man, or woman, dear my lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
 
 Who steals ray purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; 
 But he that filches from me my good name, 
 Kobs me of that which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed." — Othello, Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 ril AKE, take from me those paltry things, — 
 -^ The vanities of earth, 
 And break the ties affection flinsrs 
 
 Around the social hearth ; 
 Bask in the joys of earthly wealth, 
 
 And triumph in the fame 
 The world can give ; but do not filch 
 
 From me my spotless name. 
 
 Let fortune fly, and with it those 
 
 Who worship at its shrine ; 
 The transient bliss of gaudy show 
 
 I care not to resign. 
 I envy not the proudhng's wealth, 
 
 With all its pomp and fame ; 
 But I would venture life to save 
 
 A pure, untarnished name. 
 
!^S^5^^^^^ 
 
 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE MUSES. 
 
 rr^O the glittering palaces built by the gods, 
 -*- In the caverns of Delphi, the Muses have fled ; 
 They have hidden away in their ancient abodes. 
 From the ominous clouds o'er our country now 
 spread. 
 
 No longer, at twilight, when sweet stars appear, 
 And the soft azure heavens are wrapped in the 
 beams 
 
 Of the moon's gentle rays, are they hovering near, 
 To fill the calm soul with celestial dreams. 
 
 I know they are gone, — by the spirit's unrest, 
 And the ennui shrouding the soul's altar now ; 
 
 No longer are sweet spirit-kisses impressed, 
 By their soft, miseen lips, on my sad, aching 
 brow. 
 
 The discordant lute at my feet lies unstrung. 
 Its once-thrilling tones wrapped in slumber's low 
 hush ; 
 
126 THE FLIGHT OF THE MUSES. 
 
 And melody sleeps in the bosom, unsung, 
 
 Where music was wont in rich numbers to gush. 
 
 Yes, the Muses are gone ! When the wreath that 
 entwined 
 
 The fair brow of Liberty faded and fell, 
 And the beautiful pleiad of Freedom declined, 
 
 They bade to our country a tearful farewell. 
 

 
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