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QUEEN SYLVIA 
 
 Ain) 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 John Preston Campbell, 
 li 
 
 Author of "The Peri's Pardon/' and Other Poems. 
 
 •0^0«' 
 
 If 
 
 CINCINlSrATI: 
 
 KOBEET CLARKE & 00. 
 
 1886. 
 
 <<3 
 
 ]^ 
 
A^^ 
 
 Q2 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, 
 
 By JOHN PRESTON CAMPBELL, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The generous welcome, by kind friends and the 
 poetry loving public, which has heretofore been be- 
 stowed upon the author's literary efforts, has induced 
 the publication of this second volume of his poetical 
 works. In trusting it to the frail bark "Venture," 
 upon the dangerous waves of public opinion, without 
 the hand of an experienced pilot at the helm to guide 
 to the landing of fame, seems little less than reck- 
 less ; yet there is a destiny which urges on to action 
 lovers of the muse, not at all times bounded by the 
 landmarks of judicious judgment. The author consoles 
 himself with the thought that perfection never appears 
 in any work of man ; and the picture of an imperfect 
 critic criticising an imperfect poem produces imper- 
 fection, indeed — such as might cause a smile in the 
 charmed circle of the celestials. A writer endeavors 
 to please his readers — a critic would read his pleasers. 
 The world presents a large list of bad authors; but 
 by far, methiuks, a larger one of bad critics ; for many 
 of the immortal productions of men were assailed at 
 their birth by the flying darts of sarcasm and scorn, 
 to go down to posterity emitting the brightest beams 
 which light up the golden gallery of art. An author is 
 
 (iii) 
 
iv PRE FA CE. 
 
 supposed to be tlie personification of sense — the critic, 
 a combination of withering witticisms; and yet there 
 are forty men of wit to every four of wisdom in the 
 world, and when tested by this rule it would seem that 
 the writers have the advantage, for forty can afford to 
 be wanting, while the other four attend to the wants 
 of the wits. I have not written for fame, or to blur 
 the beautiful pages of the ledger of life. I have 
 written because I could not be inactive among so many 
 masters marching to the music of the spheres, blending 
 with that of the invisible choir which stands singing 
 on the shore of the Sun Lands beyond. 
 
 I make no plea for the favor of the public, be- 
 lieving that that tribunal is the best judge of merit; 
 and should a line be found in these pages worthy of 
 living, perchance some seraph soul attuned to the 
 muse's melody will write it on the scroll of American 
 fame, long after this mortal form hath bowed to 
 Fate's farewell, and the dawning breaks with beauty 
 farther on. 
 
 J. P. c. 
 
 Abilene, Kansas, September, 1886. 
 
TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 A few of tlie poems contained in tMs collection 
 have, heretofore, been published under the iwm-de-plume 
 of Ai'thur E. Silverthorn. 
 
 All rights are reserved. 
 
 John Pkestox Ca^ipbell. 
 
 (V) 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 MY DEAE MOTHER, 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME OF THESE POEMS 
 
 Is very tenderly Dedicated. 
 
 C. 
 (vi) 
 
NOTE. 
 
 None of these poems are contained in my former 
 edition of Poetical Works. C. 
 
 (Yii) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Proem xiii 
 
 Queeu Sylvia 1 
 
 The Exile 43 
 
 The Maiden of the Glen 45 
 
 Sir Beverly's Bride 48 
 
 The Priest and the Peasant 51 
 
 Eternity's Strand 54 
 
 Caroldine 57 
 
 Lines to My Mother 59 
 
 Beyond the Crj-stal Sea 62 
 
 Ode to the Goddess of Liberty 64 
 
 Twenty Years 68 
 
 Tlie Parting Kiss. 71 
 
 Courting.. 72 
 
 St. Peter's Task 73 
 
 A Maiden of Delphi 76 
 
 Ingersollia 78 
 
 The Cuttle Crew 81 
 
 Twenty Ladies on a Lark 85 
 
 The Frigate Bird 88 
 
 A Peri of the Pearly Strand 91 
 
 The Field of Fancy 103 
 
 A Tribute to the Poets 107 
 
 Lines to Marianna 114 
 
 Little Maud 116 
 
 The Indian's Doom 118 
 
 The Golden Age 120 
 
 Time's Task 124 
 
 A Madrigal 126 
 
 The Folios of the Fathers 128 
 
 The Lost Angel 131 
 
 Pass not that Grave 135 
 
 Dorothy Dobbins 138 
 
 Left Behind to Die 141 
 
 The Kingdom of Souls 144 
 
 On Picket Guard 146 
 
 Our Old Commander's Last Battle 149 
 
 Hobbies 151 
 
 "Liberty Enlightening the World,". .. ., 169 
 
 Lady Leoline 172 
 
 Babyland 175 
 
 (ix) 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 An Angel's Touch 178 
 
 " Please, Papa, Slay at Home To-night " 181 
 
 The Crimson Scroll 183 
 
 Begging 186 
 
 The Fisherman's Daughter 191 
 
 Sold for Gold. 194 
 
 The Fates and the Fairies 197 
 
 The Pvhyme of the Rambler 200 
 
 Goody Gibbs 208 
 
 Words of Wisdom , 210 
 
 The Drayman 213 
 
 A Soldier of 1S12 215 
 
 On the Ocean Strand 218 
 
 Woman's Sphere. 220 
 
 Memories of Other Days 222 
 
 Love without a Kiss '■■■ 225 
 
 "With Heartbeat and Drumbeat" 226 
 
 The Raptures and Roses of Vice 228 
 
 Friar Gomole 230 
 
 A Child at Play ; 233 
 
 Abe N orval 234 
 
 The Lay of the Lovers 239 
 
 Sliipper Jacli and Balla Whack 241 
 
 The Convict 244 
 
 Peter Pansy (a Song) 248 
 
 The Harbor Lights 250 
 
 Cora Lisle 252 
 
 Four Sonnets — 
 
 That Other Land 255 
 
 By the Rappahannock 255 
 
 The Sphinx 256 
 
 The Rainbow 256 
 
 The River Nile 258 
 
 The Pilgrim of Love 260 
 
 A Monarch Born 2G3 
 
 Waiting for the May 264 
 
 On the Shores of the Potomac 266 
 
 The Lilies and Languors of Love 268 
 
 Endalu ■. 271 
 
 The Sportsmen and the Pigeons 274 
 
 A Dirge 277 
 
 Lines to Lottie 279 
 
 The Harp of Gold 281 
 
 As the Kight is Sinking 284 
 
 The Poet 285 
 
 A Walk at Eventide 287 
 
 One by One 290 
 
 Lines to Emma 291 
 
 The Parting is Over 292 
 
 The Falling of the Leaves 294 
 
CONTENTS. xi 
 
 A Castle by the Sea 296 
 
 The Fate of Five Hundred 298 
 
 Sunshine and Shade SOO 
 
 "The Apple Man" 302 
 
 Judicial Murder 305 
 
 Musing by aLalielet's Side 307 
 
 To Carrie 309 
 
 Stanzas 311 
 
 The Pirate's Prayer 312 
 
 Miss Polly Pipkins 318 
 
 The Blue and the Gray 822 
 
 Musing amid tlie Pines 325 
 
 The Wind Harp's Wail 328 
 
 Leneda's Lamb 330 
 
 King Canute.. 335 
 
 Remember while You May 338 
 
 Maggie 's Drowned 340 
 
 The Pauper's Ride 343 
 
 Longing for the Sunset of Life 345 
 
 1' m a Writer and a Rhymer 348 
 
 " Put the Uaby in the Cradle, Maud," 350 
 
 Miget of Northumbermoun 352 
 
 De Land ob Glory (a Negro Melody) 353 
 
 Love's Banquet 355 
 
 Cheating the Preacher 358 
 
 What 1 Saw and Heard 361 
 
 "Honest Tim," 363 
 
 The Stormy Petrel 366 
 
 Nulena 368 
 
 Three Angels of the Dawn 370 
 
 Those Kickers 373 
 
 The Tramp 377 
 
 The Drunkard 379 
 
 ADownyDell 383 
 
 Harry Haydon 385 
 
 The Witch of Hildon Hill 388 
 
 Little Ida Freezing Alone 390 
 
 Memorial Day 394 
 
 Nanny Real (a Song) 396 
 
 The Celestial Discord 398 
 
 Seeking Death in the Wood 401 
 
 Pocaliontas. 404 
 
 A Sukey and a Sukeyist - 408 
 
 Death is Coming 410 
 
 Down to the River of Woe 412 
 
 Billy O'Bane (a Song) 415 
 
 What Are the Angels Doing ? 417 
 
 Ancient Time 419 
 
 The Braes O Braxted (a Song) 422 
 
 ^V'ithin those Rebel Prison Pens 424 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 AKiss 426 
 
 Elina 428 
 
 Broodingover Fallen Greatness 431 
 
 A Mystic Man 434 
 
 Widow V/ildamer's Wedding (a Song) 437 
 
 A Pennyworth of Paradise 439 
 
 Celestial Mirage 441. 
 
 Lines to F. on her Eighteenth Birthday 443 
 
 The Babe by the Brook 443 
 
 Father Jarrtine 448 
 
 A Merry Mortal ■ 451 
 
 A Scul in Peril 450 
 
 Menada Wice (a Song) 459 
 
 Lady Auling 451 
 
 The Aristocrat 402 
 
 A Tribute to the Ladies' Temperance Union (of Bridgeport, Kan.), 405 
 
 Threads of Gold 407 
 
 The Disappointed Seraphim 409 
 
 Hymn to Light 471 
 
 Cupid 473 
 
 Under these Dreamy Skies (an Italian Air). 470 
 
 The Isles of the Acralies 478 
 
 Dark the Billows. 480 
 
 "Kisslng-Bridge," 4S2 
 
 There is a God •. 484 
 
 The Rocky Mountain Songstress 487 
 
 The Secrets of the Sands 4S9 
 
 Opinions of the Press 493 
 
PROEM. 
 
 In these lines I sing 
 
 Of Eden chimes and endless Spring ; 
 
 Of fays and fairies frail ; 
 
 Of boats that gliding sail 
 
 From shore to shoals and shade, 
 
 In the round of life's parade ; 
 
 Of kings that sit in state ; 
 
 Of beggars waiting at the gate ; 
 
 Of lovers with liquid eyes, 
 
 And peris of the skies ; 
 
 As well as now and then 
 
 Some bright, pearly gem 
 
 Beyond the gates of Paradise. 
 
 I sing of battles and of peace ; 
 Of a lovely lamb, " Leneda's," 
 With blood-stained fleece ; 
 Of birds that never 'light ; 
 Of men with clouded sight ; 
 And of ladies just as fair 
 As God's angels of the air ; 
 But may be not as true. 
 To determine, I leave the same to you 
 Of murder, mirth, and madness ; 
 Of pirates and their badness ; 
 Of parliaments and lobbies ; 
 Of mankind and their ' ' hobbies ; " 
 Of males without a mate ; 
 Of lovely brides on fair hillsides 
 
 (xiiij 
 
siv PRQEM. 
 
 Clasped to ugly Fate ; 
 Of suicide and crime ; 
 Of priests men thought divine ; 
 Of witches, wolds, and ways, 
 Where waif and wanderer strays ; 
 Of the high and of the low, 
 The proud, the poor, the rich, 
 Mingling in life's onward flow 
 On the throne and in the ditch. 
 
 In short I 've run the round 
 
 Throughout the range of sound, 
 
 From " Sylvia" to " The Secrets of the Sands," 
 
 In this and other lands ; 
 
 And oft I 've thought the song 
 
 Or music must be wrong ; 
 
 For the cadence and the rhyme 
 
 With the measure would n't chime ; 
 
 But a note of seeming gold 
 
 My ear would sometimes reach, 
 
 As it earthward rolled 
 
 From the celestial beach ; 
 
 And so I 'd write at morn and night 
 
 Till weary was my aching sight ; 
 
 For the pleasure it brought divine, 
 
 Mingling with the muses nine. 
 
 But you hardly care to know 
 
 What prompted this irregular flow 
 
 From a heart touched with the muse's wand 
 
 That never will be still, till under broken land. 
 
 So with these words I send adrift 
 
 This second feeble gift 
 
 Upon the wave of public thought, 
 
 To receive the award it ouo-ht. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 [Queen Sylvia, having dcciderl to hold a grand festival, the naiads 
 repair to a fairy grotto on tlie banks of the river Rhine. Jubilant in 
 spirits, they spend the day making preparations for the coming fete; 
 while their queen employs the golden moments in quest of worthy 
 mortals. Calling to her aid Angelica and Celcstine (Goddess of Love 
 and Justice), she resorts to various expedients, seeking thereby to 
 discover the truly deserving, who alone arc rewarded with an invita- 
 tion. The queen assumes the garb of a beggar for the purpose of 
 teaching a lesson of love to the heartless Miss Gaiety, and thro\ys 
 open the portals of her kingdom to the generous Eileen, who would 
 care for and comfort the hungry. Like a guardian angel she enters a 
 lonely glen, during a terrible thunder-storm, to protect an orphan 
 girl. Fairies, imps, and angels are drawn aronnd her by the gentle 
 mildness of her nature. As the last farewells are spoken, Luna 
 (Queen of Night) floats through the air and reigns supremo.— C] 
 
 (XY) 
 
QUEEN SYLVIA. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 This poem opens with the appearance of Aurora (Goddess of 
 Morning) winging over the hill-tops, ushering in the world's new 
 day. Nymphs and Naiads greet her with songs of cheer. Starlight 
 (Que.en of Fairies) descends from the clouds, sings a celestial lay, and 
 hides her face beneath the shadow of her wing; when suddenly ap- 
 pear fays and fairies to hail the smiling morn. Leopert (King of 
 Dryads) is attracted by the singing, and bends his footsteps thither- 
 ward; he is entertained by Lenaline (Sylvia's maid of honor), and 
 conducted to a fairy grotto near the Rhine, while the naiads sing their 
 welcome.— C. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Lovely Aurora, hail, 
 
 Hail, sweet goddess of morning : 
 
 We send greeting on the gale 
 
 Whilst thou art the hill-tops adorning ; 
 
 And Night's dismal bolts, 
 
 Like winged Pegasus'i^ colts, 
 
 Instant fly from out the sky. 
 
 As thy light illumined garments sweepeth by. 
 
 And taper fingers red 
 
 Ope the gates of day 
 
 Instant to thy noiseless tread 
 
 Walking down the Milky-way. 
 
 * Pegasus: a winged steed, belonging to Apollo and the Muses; 
 supposed to have sprung from the blood of Medusa, when she was 
 slain.— C. 
 
CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 n. 
 
 Hail, thou queen of light, 
 
 Bedecked with amber pearls 
 
 All shining bright, 
 
 And mirrored in mists of liquid gold 
 
 Scarce visible to the mortal sight ; 
 
 Of whom Tradition's nymphs have told, 
 
 With pencil on the green. 
 
 With sea foam on the sheen, 
 
 With i-ainbow hues 
 
 That melt in mildest dews ; 
 
 And sparkling water-falls. 
 
 And ancient dryads, 
 
 Draped like dolls ; 
 
 With silvery sounding sails 
 
 That tacked and veered 
 
 To meet the changing gales, 
 
 Which somehow blow 
 
 And noiseless go 
 
 Across Life's shining sands. 
 
 To the regions and the tediums 
 
 Of the dreamless lands. 
 
 ni. 
 
 The nymphs have gathered on the lawn, 
 
 Making merry with dance and song ; 
 
 Up from slumber sweet 
 
 The smiling morn to greet. 
 
 Tripping wary, trij)ping airy. 
 
 Goes each little fairy, 
 
 Singing songs of sweetest praise. 
 
 To the Daylight's breaking rays. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The water-falls are sparkling. 
 
qUEE^' SFLVIA. 
 
 While the lakes and dells lie darkling ; 
 Throwing from off their silvered tides 
 The brightest and the fau-est gems 
 That in the land abides ; 
 Moistening the valley hems, 
 And lofty mountain sides ; 
 While round about is stealing 
 Music from the morning bells; 
 Sweetly, softly pealing 
 To the zephyr's swells. 
 Which go floating by, 
 As we greet, with music sweet, 
 Aurora's coming in the sky. 
 
 V. 
 
 Over the bed of ocean far 
 
 Ride sea nymphs in a car, 
 
 Who take up the strain 
 
 And waft it back to heaven again. 
 
 Startling the mermaid from her lair. 
 
 And the water spirit from his prayer ; 
 
 Robed in gauzy garments, light 
 
 As the Eden angels used to wear, 
 
 Before the Serpent's blight 
 
 Drove them wandering into night- 
 
 Away from Paradise so fair. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hail, smiling Morn, 
 
 The sunlight is throwing 
 
 A sort of golden glowing 
 
 The hill-tops among ; 
 
 Like reaper sowing 
 
 Grain upon the ground. 
 
 Amid the sUent hush of sound : 
 
CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 In fairest flakes it falls 
 
 Over mouutaiu-tops 
 
 Aud water-falls ; 
 
 Like those liquid drops* 
 
 Wliieli from heaven stops, 
 
 Amid the aii'S of June, 
 
 Death's terrible ravages 
 
 In the cheek of bloom. 
 
 Hail, thou Queen of IMoruing, 
 
 Earth's new day adorning, 
 
 We bid thee hail. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Aurora came floating then 
 
 Over mountain, meadow, glen, 
 
 While at her golden girdle's hem, 
 
 Hung a bugle bright 
 
 Which she upraised ■with gesture light 
 
 And blew a single note, 
 
 That made the wood nymphs fly and float 
 
 Quickly out of view ; 
 
 Like mists of morning dew, 
 
 '^^^len the god of day 
 
 Beams on his endless way 
 
 Which round and round doth run, 
 
 As when this orb of clay 
 
 Into space swung. 
 
 vin. 
 Starlight, queen of faii'ies. 
 Just descending then 
 From out the clouds, 
 
 *The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypt precisely 
 on St. Johu's Day, in June, and is supposed to liave the effect of stop- 
 ping the plague.— MoOKE. 
 
QUEEN SYLVIA. 
 
 Sung this solo when 
 The angel of day 
 Dofft her celestial shrouds 
 And hid her face away 
 For a little minute ; 
 As if the thrill of heaven 
 Still was in it : 
 Which she softly sung 
 To the listening linnet : 
 "A bright little fairy am I, 
 Casting light thro' the sky ; 
 Swift as the wind I roam, 
 Fetterless, free as the ocean's foam, 
 I go glinting along, 
 Cheering the traveler's tread 
 With the light that I shed, 
 Over the lily bells 
 And mossy dells, 
 I flit away. 
 Singing merrily, Tra, la, la. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " In the fathomless folds of air, 
 Out of light, out of sight, 
 I climb a glittering stair ; 
 When the morning light is breaking. 
 Up and on my journey taking, 
 Whose pathless winding 
 Is past your finding ; 
 For to mortal eyes 
 My native skies 
 Are so blinding, 
 That you 'd never find 
 Me in the clouds enshrined, 
 They are so winding. 
 
CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! now I must haste away, 
 
 And hide my face from the smiling day, 
 
 While I sing, Tra, la, la." 
 
 Then Starlight hid her face, 
 
 Then paused and said her grace, 
 
 And flitted from the place ; 
 
 When suddenly appearing 
 
 Came fays and fairies veering, 
 
 Lightly tripping on 
 
 With laughter and with song 
 
 To hail the smiling morn. 
 
 This instant come 
 
 To gild the glorious portals 
 
 Of Sylvia's kingdom. 
 
 Within were voices singing, 
 
 And without Avere echoes ringing. 
 
 For Naiads numberless you see 
 
 All gathered were 
 
 To pay royal fealty 
 
 To their queen so fair ; 
 
 While thus in laughter's train 
 
 They poured the sweet refrain : 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Merrily sing we on the green 
 Joyous greeting to our queen : 
 With hearts so light and free 
 Let joy and sorrow banished be. 
 And every voice the strain prolong ; 
 While angels echo back the song. 
 Echo back the song. 
 From the golden door 
 Of a deathless dawn." 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Whereat Sylvia's maid of honor, 
 Lovely and graceful Lenaline, 
 With a bright gilt badge upon her, 
 Accompanied by gentle Nectarine, 
 Her trusty attendant, 
 Mingling their voices, sent 
 The happy chorus round : 
 " Hark to the musical sound 
 The shining spheres are making, 
 While thro' the depths of space profound 
 
 Their journey they are taking, 
 
 The morning sun to see, 
 
 As he shines on meadow and on lea ; 
 
 As sweet music afar 
 
 From a celestial car 
 
 Kings over land and sea. 
 
 With never a discord's jar 
 
 In the merry minstrelsy. 
 
 Prithee, Lord, if there be 
 
 Grace for fairies free, 
 
 O ! won't thou give it we ? " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Cometh Leopert, King of Dryads, 
 Listening as he wends. 
 Saying in softest silvery speech 
 "This way the voice descends 
 Upon my enraptured ears. 
 Like music from the spheres ; 
 Caroled loudly, caroled lowly, 
 As if the heavenly choristers holy 
 Had blended all their voices in 
 The raptures of the hymn. 
 Which in this sylvan glade 
 
CAMPBELL- S POEMS. 
 
 Such tumult in my breast hath made ; 
 
 For never falls a note 
 
 From any warbling throat 
 
 That enraptures me 
 
 Like this seraphic psalmody, 
 
 Which so sweetly fell 
 
 Upon my listening ear 
 
 As I entered the dell, 
 
 Some roods from here." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Thus answered Lenaline, 
 In charming speech divine : 
 "Whence cometh thou, stranger, 
 Along this way of danger ? 
 And who art thou 
 Entering the sylvan shadow now? 
 What adventure dost thou seek, 
 By this shaded inland creek ? 
 Where in the peaceful eventide 
 Fishes sport upon its silvery tide, 
 And the tuneful bii-ds about the dell 
 Sing their lovely carol 
 To the shining stars 
 And golden bars. 
 Interlaced in a silvery braid 
 Beyond the green arcade, 
 Spreading above our heads 
 Like amber tipped curtains 
 Round Naiad's beds." 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Hast thou not somewhere read 
 In running brooks or clover bed 
 Of the immortal Drvads free ? 
 
qVEEN SYLVIA. 
 
 I 'm their king, come here to sing 
 
 Of love and joy, life's alloy, 
 
 Like a merry hearted boy : 
 
 When other kings torment 
 
 The subject 's discontent, 
 
 Till mutual hate or frowning fate 
 
 A tumult doth create, 
 
 And is broken the guarded gate." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "But why dost wander away 
 So far from your land 
 At break of day. 
 With no page at hand ? 
 Over this enchanted way, 
 This fairy ground. 
 Where every mound 
 Is a Naiad's throne, 
 Eeared to immortals alone ? " 
 
 xvn. 
 "Angel fair, I have heard. 
 Upon my word. 
 That jewels rare 
 Are hid in caves 
 Below the water's waves ; 
 So I have come 
 To gather some 
 For the adorning of my kingdom." 
 
 xvra. 
 "Then follow me 
 With footsteps free. 
 While spirits of the mighty Rhine 
 Turn back the key, 
 
10 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 That my kingdom's shine 
 
 May fall on the king and his company." 
 
 Whereat she strikes 
 
 A row of golden spikes, 
 
 Which like magic change 
 
 The stalactite sights ; 
 
 And in they range 
 
 'Neath grottoes green 
 
 And coral work so bright, 
 
 'Mid the shimmer and the sheen 
 
 Of effulgent light. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Whereat the Naiads sing, 
 " Welcome to the Dryad king, 
 And good Lenaline, 
 Welcome 'neath the portals shine. 
 Hope's bright angel now 
 Lays her turban on thy brow, 
 Glittering o'er with gems, 
 Plucked from golden stems, 
 Which here and there doth grow 
 'Round about the hidden portals 
 In an endless row. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "Hail, to our hall. 
 Where no selfish life 
 Doth appall, doth appall, 
 In the endless strife, 
 Where mortals rise and fall. 
 Hail, to the silent shade 
 Of our greenwood colonade ! 
 Hail, to our garden's sweetest spells ! 
 Which bud and bloom 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. H 
 
 Within moss grown dells. 
 
 Moss grown dells ; 
 
 Let fancy all thy soul embower 
 
 In this heaven of bloom and flower." 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Sylvia and attendants appear, whom the Naiads hail with songs 
 of greeting. Leopert pledges faith and constancy to the queen. She 
 trusts and assures him of her fidelity. Enter gypsies, with their 
 king, Leadulous, merrily singing. Gypsy Jane sings a song, followed 
 by Estralelda, who tells of the changeful fate of bachelor and belle, 
 and invites mortals from the monotonous splendors of palatial halls 
 to her beautiful greenwood retreats. — C. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Enter Sylvia with her retinue, 
 Arrayed in gorgeous garments, 
 Sparkling like the dew. 
 With wreath, and bead, and blossom fair, 
 Strung on golden threads about them there 
 When instant they begin the lay : 
 "Hail, hail, we say. 
 Hail, to our beautiful queen. 
 Now coming this way. 
 Like the cheering sunbeam, 
 To gladden the day. 
 
 n. 
 
 * ' Joy in each bosom is swelling 
 With pleasure and bliss beyond telling 
 At the approach of our beautiful queen 
 
12 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To arbors and gi-ottoes of givou ; 
 To our sweet shaded dells 
 xVud the spirit of spells. 
 Which no mortal may kuo^Y ; 
 While startUnl >Yith knells 
 Fivm the t'unenil show 
 Along the lone Avay, 
 Wheiv the last clay 
 Of mortals doth g\>." 
 
 in. 
 
 Leopert, King of Dryads, speaks, 
 With blushes on his cheeks : 
 "Thou lovely queen, 
 This saber's silver sheen 
 And stivng right arm, 
 Tho' friends forstvke 
 Or foes alarm, 
 And this souVs devotion 
 Ever shall W thine. 
 Ever shall be thine. 
 To shield thee from all harm, 
 Thiv' earth's mad emotion. 
 And the ciivle of our charm, 
 Eound about the silver Khine. 
 And this gayly tasseled badge shall be 
 An emblem of love's true loyalty : 
 By this token bright and free, 
 In the verge of the northern light, 
 I swear eternal laith to thee." 
 
 " Most noble king. 
 To thee I bring 
 This heai't of artless sriiile. 
 
qUEEN STL VIA. 13 
 
 Blest be the day 
 
 You came this way 
 
 In search of woman's smile. 
 
 Tho' encompassed round with danger, 
 
 Tho' friends forsake or foes alarm, 
 
 I'll trust thee, noble stranger, 
 
 To shield me from all harm, 
 
 To shield me from all harm." 
 
 ' Then trust in me, 
 My queen so free, 
 And the loyal fealty 
 Of all my subjects now. 
 Which to thee doth bow. 
 Dryads from every grove 
 And ocean cove, 
 Kneel to thy queen. 
 Kneel to thy queen." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then Dryads, Nymphs, and Naiads sing : 
 ' Hail, hail, to our beautiful queen. 
 Let the chorus fill the sky 
 And the western wind 
 As it passeth by ; 
 Bear to heaven's golden street 
 Our happy shout and cry. 
 Hail, hail, to our beautiful queen." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Near the grotto's shade. 
 On a sylvan glade. 
 Enter a band of gypsies. 
 With their king, Leadulous, 
 
14 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Who sweetly sing, sweetly sing, 
 Of the wood, the wold, the sky, 
 The pebbly brook, running by ; 
 Caring not for fame 
 Or any such a name 
 Among the Avealthy grand, 
 Who go lording thro' the land, 
 Thro' the laud. 
 
 vm. 
 
 ' ' Tho' humble be our fare, 
 We glean it anywhere. 
 With hearts so light and free, 
 So light and free ; 
 Singing merrily, merrily. 
 Till the day is over 
 And the new mown clover 
 Wafts its fragrance round 
 Amid the humming sound 
 Of birds and bats and bees. 
 While at night we gather 
 'Neath the forest trees. 
 In all sorts of weather. 
 To join the jubilee. 
 With hearts so light and free, 
 So light and free. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " When the evening bells are ringing 
 With the gypsies we are singing, 
 'ISTeath the bright moonlight. 
 Falling over brook and over lea. 
 Rippling, rhyming to our minstrelsy. 
 And when the stars do glisten 
 Folks will sit and listen 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 15 
 
 To our woodland lays, 
 Echoed over the braes 
 Upward to the king of heaven, 
 Till the clocks strike six or seven. 
 
 X. 
 
 "Was there ever a fairer land 
 Or a happier band 
 Gathered in the shade. 
 Gathered on the glade. 
 To sweetly sing 
 And meekly fling 
 Care and sorrow to the wind? 
 Not for jewels or for gold, 
 Not for halls of wealth untold, 
 Would we change our liberty, 
 So light and free. 
 So light and free. 
 For all the gilded glimmer 
 Of your fairest city. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " We 're a merry gypsy band. 
 Roaming from land to land ; 
 Tireless as the skylark's wing 
 Our songs we sing : 
 Never fearing hate, 
 Never courting love. 
 All heedless of a bed. 
 Spread by angel hands above. 
 The fattest deer of lord or peer, 
 From park or fell. 
 Supplies us well. 
 Supplies us well. 
 Our drink is light, 
 
IG CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 S|):irkrmu' \v:itvr bright; 
 Our walks :iro iVoo 
 As wulo inlinily. 
 TluMi lot us siuL!,-, uayly sing-, 
 'l\) llio talkiiiii' tiinbivl's sti'iug, 
 For wo 'ro a luorry band, 
 Making luuslo dm)' (ho laud, 
 Thro' tlio land." 
 
 XII. 
 
 Instant from the orowd 
 Outsto[>[)od (iypsy <Iano and bowed, 
 S\vt>olly sinjiinu', swootly siny-iuLi,', 
 Whilo Iho oohoos still woro rinsriuff: 
 "I'm a niorry, morry maid; 
 My woodland iionio is in tlio glade, 
 The groon, groon glado. 
 Fortunes I somotimos toll 
 Ovor onp and ovor pan. 
 And my ballads 1 sell 
 To AvUomsoo'or I can. 
 For love's rich grooms 
 I 'vo sweet perfumes, 
 And maidens who ooniplain 
 Of any sort of pain. 
 Have but to toueh the hand 
 Of little Gy}isy Jane, 
 Of little Cypsy Jane. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ** Allien the dew is on the corn. 
 Like a merry, merry lark. 
 My singing greets the morn. 
 Thro' tiie ilay-light and the dark : 
 I go spreailing smiles 
 
(.IVEE:^ SYLVIA. 17 
 
 And artlfeSH guiles 
 Arourifl tho dairy rnaif], 
 Daily f]oorn(;fi to want 
 Within the shade ; 
 But every laas within the land, 
 May win a hashand and a name, 
 If she '11 only toueh the hand 
 Of little Gypsy Jane, 
 Of little GypBy Jane. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 'Then Hin^f the chorus 'iv<-s: ; 
 Come sing it now with me, 
 Like a light-hearted chickadee 
 That flits from tree to tree ; 
 The world may journey on 
 All heedless of my song, 
 Thro' its care and strife ; 
 Out of death into life, 
 And never name my name ; 
 For it matters not at all 
 Whether winds rise or fall 
 To little Gypsy Jane, 
 To little Gypsy Jane." 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then Estralelda, graceful, tall, 
 Queen of Gypsias, one and all. 
 With light stfjp on the grass, 
 Tliat woke no echo's sound, 
 And reed-haq; in her liand 
 She t^x)k up the lay 
 And joined tlie singing hand. 
 And with lightest touch did pky 
 This rich, rare roundelay. 
 
 (2; 
 
18 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XVI. 
 "I'm a merry minstrel, 
 From the shades of gleeful land ; 
 With my tuneful distrel 
 I walk the golden sand 
 The golden sand. 
 
 xvn. 
 * ' Where'er I chance to be, 
 In town or tower. 
 
 The world pays its homage unto me 
 At the midnight hour, 
 The midnight hour. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "I sing of love at the garden gate, 
 And of changeful fortune tell ; 
 I read in the moon's soft beams 
 The fate of bachelor and belle, 
 Of bachelor and belle. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "I've a kindly smile for all. 
 My couch is sj^read in a shady bower, 
 On the top of this floating ball. 
 Guarded by seraphs at the midnight hour, 
 At the midnight hour. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "And at dawning of the day 
 I often peep thro' the curtain's sweep 
 When late lovers homeward stray, 
 To see how true hearts will adore, 
 Will adore. 
 
qUEEN SFLVIA. 19 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Would you this riddle read? 
 Then come with the gypsy queen 
 And lead the life we lead 
 When the light is on the green, 
 Is on the green. 
 
 xxn. 
 "Then come with the gypsy queen, 
 Change dull life in palatial halls 
 For the moonlight's gleam, 
 Near sparkling water-falls, 
 Sparkling water-falls." 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Miss Gayety (a fashionable belle) appears before the Naiads, com- 
 menting on her fix-ups, etc. Enter Sylvia, in the garb of a beggar, 
 asking a,lms. Whereat Miss Gayety, with a waft of her jeweled hand, 
 scornfully bids her begone; when Eileen (a sympathetic girl), who is 
 passing, offers to comfort and provide for her. Thereupon Sylvia 
 throws off her disguise, rebukes the belle, and rewards the generous 
 Eileen with an introduction to her kingdom. Sylvia sends her herald, 
 Evander, to Circe (Queen of Wonderland), that she may dispatch her 
 warrior imps in haste to capture and subdue a strange tribe of mor- 
 tals who infest the forests nearby. Circe complies with the request, 
 and hastens thitherward under the leadership of Pilacus. Merry 
 children enter, singing, with Lillian (the lily girl) selling lilies. The 
 lilies sold, the children sit down to feast on the green, when they are 
 startled by the imps and driven away, but soon return to seek Perilla, 
 who had remained under a charm, when the imps, waving their 
 wands, put them all to sleep. Sylvia floats over the scene at mid- 
 night, and promises to awaken them in a brighter dawn. — C. 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 I. 
 
 At this there came 
 A fashionable belle, 
 Miss Gayety by name, 
 Swinging down the dell, 
 
20 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 With her fix-ups on, 
 Right from Bon-Ton. 
 And when she saw 
 The lack of etiquette's law, 
 Thus she spoke to them, 
 Staring back again : 
 
 II. 
 
 "Doubtless, you think me gay? 
 But then 't is nothing but my way. 
 I like those fix-ups fine. 
 Which make the butterfly to shine. 
 I like to laugh and flirt, 
 But then I never hurt 
 Any one who knows 
 The difference between fine 
 And shoddy clothes. 
 
 m. 
 
 ' ' Look at that, look at this. 
 O ! aint I quite a miss ? 
 And what would n't you give 
 For one harmless little kiss ? 
 Just look here, just look there, 
 At my laces and ringlets rare. 
 O ! I like to see you stare. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " My cheeks are fresh and fair, 
 Golden is my golden hair. 
 O ! I 'm the parish queen 
 In the light of fashion's gleam ; 
 Startling all the town 
 With my bonnet and my gown. 
 And the people look and cry 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 21 
 
 ' Who is she ? who is she ? ' 
 As I pass them by. 
 
 V. 
 
 "Now, don't you envy me, 
 
 The pampered pet of frivolity ? 
 
 Dressed so very fine 
 
 In flounce and crinoline ? 
 ' Who is she ? who is she ? ' 
 
 AU the people cry : 
 ' Just look, I hope to die ! ' 
 
 And they heave a sigh 
 
 As I pass them by." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then Sylvia, dressed as beggars be, 
 
 Saith : ' ' For the love of charity 
 
 Some pity show to me ; 
 
 I 've wandered late and lorn, 
 
 I've wandered all forlorn. 
 
 Begging from door to door, 
 
 Across the marsh, across the moor. 
 
 The wind blows cold. 
 
 The night is coming on. 
 
 And I may sleep on the frozen wold, 
 
 Stark and dead, ere the daylight dawn. 
 
 ! give me some bread and let me be gone. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "My lady grand, with your purse and gold, 
 Please shelter this form from the storm 
 And the night wind cold ; 
 For the angels will bless 
 If you comfort distress, 
 Tho' the object be crippled and old. 
 
22 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Lady, my lady, so fine, 
 A penny^ one penny, I crave in charity 
 From that jeweled hand of thine ; 
 Then give, O give it me." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But Miss Gayety, the belle, 
 
 Turned with a disdainful swell 
 
 Away from the beggar so poor, 
 
 Houseless, alone on the bleak moor, 
 
 While her ribbons and lace 
 
 Flaunted scorn in her face. 
 
 Not a penny she gave. 
 
 But with gesture and wave 
 
 Of her godless hand 
 
 She pointed the beggar away from her stand, 
 
 As if like some fiend of the air 
 
 She 'd entered without bidding there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Eileen, passing the glade. 
 
 With generous joart 
 
 Came to her aid. 
 
 Saying : " I '11 comfort thy heart 
 
 And fill thee with cheer ; 
 
 Then follow my steps 
 
 And sip of some wine bright and clear." 
 
 X. 
 
 Then Sylvia took Eileen's hand, 
 Saying, with gushing heart 
 And a voice of command : 
 "Eileen, thy kind, loving soul 
 Hath earned a rich reward. 
 Over yonder bright stream 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 23 
 
 My kingdom's portals doth gleam : 
 
 Within my fairy boat 
 
 We '11 sail and float 
 
 Where thy enraptured eyes 
 
 May see ^dsions of beauty 
 
 Beaming in love's sides ; 
 
 But this heartless thing, 
 
 With amber tipped wing, 
 
 Never shall know 
 
 The bliss of the world where we go." 
 
 XI. 
 
 They enter Sylvia's gondola, 
 
 And sailing glide away 
 
 Over the rippling tide, 
 
 Like swan upon its way. 
 
 Sao. on, sail on, into the dawn, 
 
 Sail on, I say. 
 
 For not an ear on earth may hear 
 
 Thy shallop on the spray ; 
 
 And soft sUvery bells 
 
 Are ringing in the swells 
 
 Which blow through blooms of May 
 
 From Sylvia's shaded deUs. 
 
 xn. 
 They land upon the green, 
 Eileen and the Naiad queen, 
 While their golden boat 
 With silvery chain doth float, 
 Anchored on the waters clear, 
 Reflecting shades and shapes 
 Of that bright shore, 
 Gleaming with golden ore 
 In the mystic sphere. 
 
24 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Where mirthful Naiads 
 Hold their cheer. 
 
 xin. 
 To Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 
 
 Hies Sylvia's herald, 
 Evander, so free, 
 Who executes her command 
 With the speed of a chickadee, 
 . And doth meek obeisance make 
 For her royal sake, 
 Saying : ' ' The Naiad queen 
 Waits yonder on the green. 
 And has sent me here to say 
 A strange tribe of mortals 
 In yonder forest doth stray, 
 And begs that your warriors bold 
 May haste across the wold 
 With magic wands 
 In all their hands, 
 To charm them into sleep, 
 That she may gain 
 And thus retain 
 An army in her keep." 
 The message said, 
 A courtesy he made, 
 And sj)eeding back to Sylvia, 
 Before her the answer laid. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then Circe rallies up her imps, 
 Who, led by Pilacus, 
 At her bidding, flies and limps. 
 Saying: "Attention! warriors brave, 
 Come from the woodlands. 
 
qVEEN SYLVIA. 25 
 
 Come from the cave, 
 
 Come in hasty bands, 
 
 With weapons in your hands ; 
 
 For in yonder forest see, 
 
 'Neath each shady tree, 
 
 A strange tribe of mortals be, 
 
 Which the Queen of Naiads fain 
 
 Would transport back 
 
 To her kingdom again. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "When the bilberry bells 
 Chime out their swells 
 Twelve times ten, 
 Haste to the forest glen. 
 And with magic wands 
 Charm those sleeping bands. 
 Warriors, hearken unto me. 
 Should the night owl be 
 Nodding on his tree, 
 And ope his beak. 
 With horrid shriek, 
 To frighten you away ; 
 Or come the worst that may betide 
 Your trusty swords untried 
 May scatter death's stream wide 
 Along its way. 
 March fearless forward then 
 To meet these herds of men. 
 Peacefully sleeping now 
 In yonder glen." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The imps are gone 
 (3) 
 
CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And Circe siugs, 
 
 Wending among 
 
 Beantiful things 
 
 In the temple of God, 
 
 Out of doors, 
 
 Where nature here lavishments pours 
 
 To the peasant that plods 
 
 And the lordling that soars, 
 
 While the notes of her tune 
 
 Mingled with the soft showering silver 
 
 That flows from the moon. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " I long lightly to fly 
 Where the roses are shining 
 Under the azure blue sky. 
 And love is reclining, 
 With never a word of repining, 
 And there sip the pleasures of joy 
 From bright golden urns, 
 That no mixture of earth's alloy 
 Their brilliancy turns. 
 And list to the sighs 
 That instant doth rise 
 From love's bosom swelling, 
 And hear the strange things 
 The cupids are telling. 
 Yes, dear Sylvia, 
 With thee would I fly 
 To learn something more of thy kingdom 
 And the way that leads thereby." 
 
 xvm. 
 Circe is flown. 
 
 Come merry children, singing. 
 
QUEEN SYLVIA. 27 
 
 In childhood's sweet tone : 
 " Over the meadows and mountains 
 Sparlde the clear crystal fountains 
 That ever doth shine 
 Like crown of the angels divine, 
 Thro' the flowery perfume, 
 Filling the freshness of earth 
 With their dewy sweet bloom. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Let every heart rejoice ; 
 Sound the chorus every voice, 
 Up the glen and down the glen. 
 For we have no cares like men. 
 With us joy soothes every pain, 
 We sing and laugh and sing again." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Upon a bank not far away, 
 
 Where the children laughing lay, 
 
 Resting from their play. 
 
 Came tripping light 
 
 Lillian, the lily girl, 
 
 Selling ' ' Lilies pure and white, 
 
 Lilies pure and bright. 
 
 Who '11 buy lilies of me ? 
 
 The sweetest lilies that ever you see : 
 
 Grown at the water's edge. 
 
 Amid greenest foliage. 
 
 Who '11 buy a lily now 
 
 For her true lover's brow ? 
 
 Charmada is waiting for me. 
 
 And mamma wants help for the tea : 
 
 Who '11 buy a lUy of me?" 
 
28 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Her lilies all sold, 
 They sit clown on the wold 
 For luncheon and love, 
 Envied by the angels above ; 
 Their baskets well filled. 
 With contents hastily spilled 
 And scattered neatly around 
 On the carpeted ground. 
 Enter from the shoals, 
 Within the shades, 
 A band of merry imps 
 From the greenwood glades. 
 Who frighten the children away 
 With their noisy play : 
 When Perilla, one of the girls 
 From the village quite near, 
 Said : ' ' Who art thou come here 
 Thus rudely unasked ? 
 Would you drive us in fear 
 Prom our picnic's repast ? " 
 Whereat the merry imj)s dance 
 In a circle around, 
 And hastily quit the ground. 
 But ere they went, 
 By some strange intent, 
 They wove a charm 
 Round about Perilla, 
 For she sang this simple lay : 
 "I see the world go shining 
 Adown the grooves of day ; 
 To sleep I 'm inclining 
 And silently floating away." 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 29 
 
 xxn. 
 
 The children quick return, 
 
 Something of Perilla to learn, 
 
 And the imps gather there, 
 
 Waving wands in air. 
 
 In a kind of pantomime 
 
 And trance divine 
 
 Which charms them all to sleep ; 
 
 While the fairies watch 
 
 Over the sleepers keep. 
 
 And Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 
 
 With her magic wand, 
 
 Sings the charm complete. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ' They are sleeping at my feet, 
 While o'er each drowsy sense I reign 
 Queen of Wonderland's domain. 
 So shall they sleeping lie 
 Till moonlight drapes the earth and sky, 
 And all the stars peep out, 
 Shedding their softened rays about : 
 Then I'll wake them, and they 
 SliaU go scampering away." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 'T is the middle of the night. 
 
 And Sylvia floating light. 
 
 Above the sleeper's sight, 
 
 Says : "In my kingdom they shall land 
 
 With the fairest of my band ; 
 
 Beautiful vistas there to see. 
 
 Filled with shining light 
 
 As bright as golden apples 
 
 On a golden tree. 
 
30 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And fountains ever flowing, 
 Wonderful past mortal knowing ; 
 And tapestry so fine, 
 Fashioned by fairy fingers 
 Of the ether line. 
 Sleep, gentle dreamers, 
 Sleep on in this desolate grove. 
 For shall break a brighter dawn 
 In the sun-lauds of Jove." 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Tis night, A thunder-storm sweeps over a lonely glen. Myra (an 
 orphan girl) wanders forth, desolate and alone, bemoaning her con- 
 dition. Tired and o'ercome, she sinlcs down to rest on a damp mossy 
 bank, trusting in God. Some holy impulse leads Sylvia to the place. 
 Slie soliloquizes over her, promising comfort and rest, and calls Angel- 
 ica and Celestine (Goddesses of Love and Justice) to her aid, whom she 
 dispatclics to the celestial sphere for food and raiment. They shortly 
 return, provided with both. The scene changes revealing the fairy 
 grotto, and an angel floats through the air amid a shower of gold. 
 Circe waves her magic wand and awakens the sleepers, who join the 
 happy company, and are welcomed by Sylvia. Leopert repledges his 
 love, while tlie Naiads applaud and speak of departing, because of the 
 nearness of the morn. Dewdrop (Queen of Fays) is attracted with 
 Amber and Emerald (two fairies), who sing a song. Diamond also 
 comes from Fairyland to pay the queen his dues. A band of angels 
 greet the company from above. Leopert and Sylvia sing a duet, 
 assisted by the whole company on the chorus, when farewells are ex- 
 changed and the grand fete ends. Luna (Goddess of Night) floats 
 over the scene and bids silence reign.— C. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 'Tis a lonely glen. 
 Unfrequented by foot of men ; 
 The thunder rumbles through 
 The seamed and torn blue 
 Of the angry sky. 
 
QUEEN SYLVIA. 31 
 
 Myra, an orphan girl, 
 
 Wanders forth with a heavy heart, 
 
 Sick enough to die, 
 
 As the mantel of night falls 
 
 With somber shado^\ on the soul, 
 
 And chills and appalls 
 
 So many friendless ones, 
 
 Waiting at the door of destiny's goal. •-- 
 
 The orphan goes wandering along. 
 
 Desolate, drenched with the rain, 
 
 And this is the plaint of her song 
 
 Wrung from a heart full of pain : 
 
 n. 
 
 "Lost in the woods, 
 Out in the storm, 
 I've wandered for roods 
 Just to keep myself warm. 
 All friendless I wend 
 And lonely I roam. 
 Caring not whither I tend, 
 For no way leads to my home ; 
 And no one answers my cry. 
 So dark is the desolate night, 
 The wild storm rages high ; 
 E'en the ghosts hide from my sight 
 As I pass them by. 
 
 m. 
 
 "Thro' all the weary day 
 I wandered in the street ; 
 The sport of the wind's play 
 With tender bleeding feet. 
 But, alas ! no one pitied me, 
 No one gave a crumb to "eat : 
 
32 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 My parents died in penury, 
 
 Toiling to dress these weary feet. 
 
 But now there 's no one to love, 
 
 And the night cometh on : 
 
 O ! if there 's a star world above, 
 
 Throw this way thy dawn. 
 
 Tired and outdone 
 
 My limbs are growing numb, 
 
 Cold grows my breast ; 
 
 I '11 lay me down on this mossy bank 
 
 Where the verdure grows dank, 
 
 And ask my Father in heaven for rest." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Queen Sylvia strays abroad 
 
 By the light of the lightning's blaze, 
 
 Led by the good hand of God 
 
 To where Myra lies sleeping ; 
 
 While the spirits of the storm are keeping 
 
 Their wet watch alone. 
 
 Cheered by the thunder's deep tone ; 
 
 And thus, with tenderest speech, 
 
 A lesson to selfish mortals doth teach : 
 
 V. 
 
 " Poor wanderer, thou 
 Hast strayed from the paths of comfort somehow. 
 But no danger shall here molest. 
 Sleep on, in visions of slumber rest : 
 I '11 spread this rain-proof robe of mine 
 About thy angel form. 
 While the light of heaven doth shine 
 Down through the darkness and storm : 
 Then rest and roam with the blest 
 Thro' varying vistas of mind. 
 
q UEKN S FL VIA. 33 
 
 When nature's wild unrest 
 Is passed o'er 
 Thou shalt forever find 
 Best on the golden shore." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sylvia summons Angelica away 
 
 From realms where love's cupids stray ; 
 
 She, their loyal queen, 
 
 To the deep wood green : 
 
 And Celestine, goddess of justice true, 
 
 Down the dome of heaven flew 
 
 At Sylvia's command, 
 
 Alighting one on either hand ; 
 
 While thus in softest accents she did say 
 
 To fair Celestine and mild Angelica : 
 
 vn. 
 " Behold this shelterless form. 
 An angel 's out in the storm : 
 Bring her rich robes to wear 
 From the celestial weavers up there, 
 That are soft, fail', and fine 
 As these laced robes of thine. 
 O ! haste to the gates ajar, 
 For above the clouds 
 Beams brightly the northern star ; 
 And if thou speed'st away 
 Thou ma/st return 
 Ere the breaking day. 
 
 vrn. 
 
 " Out of the fold. 
 Out in the cold. 
 But a mother's face smiles 
 
34 CAMPBELLS POEMS, 
 
 Over the Avorld and its wiles, 
 To guide thee above 
 To reahus of peace aud love, 
 Where angels will fold 
 Earth's weary wanderers 
 In robes that are warm, 
 From the sleet and the storm, 
 Under roofs of bright gold." 
 
 IX. 
 
 She ceases, the scene changes. 
 Revealing the Naiad's grotto fair, 
 While an angel floats thro' the air; 
 As from far distant ranges 
 A golden shower falls round 
 On the bright-lighted ground : 
 And the Naiads are singing : 
 " Come where the hair-bells are ringing 
 Along Fairy Isles ; 
 And the Cupids are flinging 
 Their love-witching smiles. 
 Come to the wooded dell, 
 'Neath the fount and the fell : 
 Come where the sky is light, 
 Hasten, ye Fairies, O hasten to-night." 
 
 X. 
 
 Angelica and Celestine 
 
 Returning from mission divine, 
 
 Brought rich robes, fair and fine, 
 
 For Myra lost in the storm, 
 
 But never thereafter 
 
 Went wandering forlorn ; 
 
 Who aided the chorus along, 
 
 And sang while they joined in the song ; 
 
QUEEN SYLVIA, 35 
 
 XI. 
 "Mortal may never stray- 
 By streamlet or lake, 
 Where Ave laughing take 
 Our cheerful way ; 
 With look askance 
 At the merry dance 
 Of the green-wood Fairy Fay. 
 
 xn. 
 "Thus we merrily sing 
 Where the cow-bells ring, 
 Their kling-go-ling ; 
 And the silvery spray, 
 On a starlight ray, 
 Falls slantwise from the fount of day." 
 
 xm. 
 
 Then Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 
 
 Waves her magic wand, 
 
 Saying : " The dreamers are advancing, 
 
 With merry eyes aglancing ; 
 
 Wonderous things to see. 
 
 Which have ceased 
 
 Thek wonderments to me : 
 
 We'll hasten on till breaking dawn, 
 
 And ope each door with a golden key ; 
 
 And let each lamp of night 
 
 Set in the heavenly canopy, 
 
 Burning fair and bright 
 
 A blazing diamond be." 
 
 xrVo 
 Tripping gaily O, 
 Came the picnic children in a row, 
 
36 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Led by Circe, queen 
 Over the fair and fragrant green ; 
 While attendants lingering near 
 Bids them hail with hearty cheer. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Hail, heavenly heralds, hail; 
 'Tis a day of joy and gladness; 
 Hope sheds her light around thee now, 
 Where never cloud of sadness 
 Shall settle on thy brow. 
 Tho' darkness may be near. 
 And light go back to the celestial sphere ; 
 Hope shall reassert her power 
 In the space of one short hour." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then Sylvia approaching, speaks. 
 With the radiance of bloom upon her cheeks ; 
 " Welcome, Eileen, meet welcome now, 
 And all this happy band, 
 To my silvery strand : 
 Ye immortal dreamers 
 Of my kingdom, bow ; 
 For it is our pleasure 
 To reward, without measure, 
 Virtue wherever found 
 In our lithsome frolics round : 
 Hence we 've brought you here 
 From the earthly sphere, 
 To behold this kingdom so fine 
 And these subjects of mine ; 
 Come, King Leopert, 
 Pledge me one cup of wine." 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 
 
 xvn. 
 " Sunshine of life 
 Amid darkness and strife, 
 Queen of the queenly heart, 
 1 11 pledge thee and quaff 
 With a merry, round laugh ; 
 For at thy radiant sweet smile 
 Shadows depart. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 " Not a gem shines more bright 
 In the galaxy of light, 
 Than the hope which you bring to my heart ; 
 Out of thy ancestral line, 
 I hail thee, fair one, as divine ; 
 O bid me never depart." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Naiads, in chorus, sing. 
 While the hills resounding ring: 
 " Come quickly away, 
 The smiling morn 
 Chides our delay ; 
 Silk tassels the corn ; 
 We must obey ; 
 Come, speed we away. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "Merrily free 
 Cometh the green 
 Sea-witch of the sea ; 
 To behold our queen : 
 Hark to the silk sounding sear, 
 The angel of light walketh near. 
 
38 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ' ' Come quickly away, 
 To our amber beds ; 
 Pearly as May, 
 Where the genii of ocean 
 Covers our heads 
 With the swirl of the spray. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 ' ' Then away, away. 
 Haste we away. 
 To the silvery couch 
 Of sweet, rosy sleep, 
 Where cherubs keep 
 The fates and furies away." 
 
 xxrii. 
 
 The grand company march 
 Under the floral arch 
 Of green-wood boughs ; 
 Interchanging vows 
 Of eternal friendship ; 
 While from the asphodels 
 Life's elixir they sip. 
 Under nomadic sjdcUs. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Then Dewdrop, Queen of Fays, 
 Attracted by the marching, 
 Thitherward strays 
 With Amber and Emerald, 
 Who laughing sing, 
 " Two fairies are we, 
 And one fay. 
 Did you think that we 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 39 
 
 Could u't find you, O say? 
 
 When the lily bells ring, 
 
 We dance with delight. 
 
 Wearing green spotted with white, 
 
 And hail with greeting true, 
 
 How do you do ? 
 
 How do you do ? 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "Away in the forest we dwell; 
 Where our path wends 
 No mortal may tell ; 
 The wood-pecker lends 
 His rat-a-tap-tap 
 To the dell. 
 In a palace of gold, 
 AVhere the wavelets are rolled 
 Over a moss-grown cell. 
 Hark ! ye one and all ! 
 List to the Elfin call 
 Of that merry born weight ; 
 Dear Naiads and nymphs, 
 Good night, good night." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then Diamond,-'^ with dust brown shoes, 
 Came to pay the Naiad queen his dues ; 
 Gently saying, round and round her straying : 
 "Hail, dear Sylvia, queen; 
 I've come from Fairy Land so green 
 To greet the idol of this band, 
 The Naiad queen : 
 
 *Dianiond, King of Elves.— C. 
 
40 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Accept the flowers I bring 
 
 As love's best offering ; 
 
 While amid this festive scene 
 
 We greet thee as our royal queen." 
 
 XX vn. 
 Sylvia's reply 
 
 Was answered with cheers in the sky, 
 From a troop of angels 
 That went winging thereby, 
 As she did repeat with music sweet : 
 "Thy floral token of friendship I greet; 
 Bright be the hours 
 
 That brought thee to the Naiad's retreat : 
 May never dark sadness 
 Mar the mirth of thy gladness 
 In this kingdom of ours." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Then Leopert and the queen, 
 
 In the closing drama 
 
 Of the scene, 
 
 Sang a duet. 
 
 With chorus in quartet : 
 * ' Let Nymphs of our festivity 
 
 Lightly circle round ; 
 
 And joy unbounded be 
 
 In mirthfulness and sound ; 
 
 Long may loved memory dwell 
 
 Over this beautiful scene ; 
 
 We bid you farewell." 
 
 And an echo softly whispered : 
 "WeU, farewell." 
 
qUEEN SYLVIA. 41 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At the last murmuring swell, 
 
 As the winds rose and fell, 
 
 Luna, Goddess of Night, 
 
 Winging her flight, 
 
 Like an angel heavenly born, 
 
 At that late hour 
 
 When deepest darkness e'er morn 
 
 Comes floating o'er the scene, 
 
 Crown'd like a queen 
 
 With a girdle of stars. 
 
 And crystal bars 
 
 On her breast, 
 
 Said: "Rest, rest, 
 
 Haste away to thy rest." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And the dark folds of night 
 
 Hid the portals of Sylvia's kingdom 
 
 Away from my sight : 
 
 While the silence round 
 
 Seemed the sleep of eternity. 
 
 Deep and profound ; 
 
 In that trance and expanse 
 
 Where the tides of duration 
 
 Neither recede nor advance 
 
 In the roll and the goal of creation, 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 While the chill of the night. 
 And the blight of the dews. 
 Caused my Pegasus to take flight, 
 As well as my muse, 
 Up the empyreal height : 
 (4) 
 
42 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Shod in silver slippers 
 
 And golden-tipped shoes, 
 
 Up among the dippers ; 
 
 Winging from sight, 
 
 Out of the night, 
 
 Away from the damps and the dews. 
 
TEE EXILE. 43 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 Away on the water's rim 
 
 Moving cloudlets 
 
 Kound me swim, 
 
 While sea gulls perch and scream 
 
 On the rocking masts 
 
 Above the water's gleam. 
 
 Distant lights along the shore 
 
 Glimmer and gleam 
 
 Forever more 
 
 Out of the deep, ethereal blue 
 
 With a bright 
 
 And glorious hue. 
 
 As I stand and gaze 
 
 Up through the Milky Wa/s 
 
 Soft fleecy haze, 
 
 In deep abstraction, there 
 
 I see the tender eyes 
 
 Of an angel good and fair. 
 
 One who left me when 
 
 My boyhood's sun 
 
 Rose brightly o'er the glen ; 
 
 In the morning fair of life 
 
 Ere I set sail 
 
 On the sea of strife. 
 
 She left me in the twilight's gold, 
 When angel hands 
 
44 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Night's shadowy curtains fold 
 Around our mother-earth, 
 As bright harbingers 
 Heralded in the second birth. 
 
 And I know that now 
 
 With eye intent, 
 
 She watcheth my vessel's prow 
 
 As it sjDeedeth through the foam, 
 
 Bearing all I have 
 
 From friends and home. 
 
THE MAIDED OF THE GLEN. 45 
 
 THE MAIDEN OF THE GLEN. 
 
 She was rare, she was fair, 
 
 She was fond. 
 
 As the angels of the air, 
 
 Or the lilies of a pond : 
 
 And I ofttimes used to sit, 
 
 When the swallows homeward flit, 
 
 And discourse to them 
 
 Of this maiden of the glen. 
 
 Her cruel father banished me 
 _ From the garden gate 
 And linden tree ; 
 But oft I lingered late 
 This maiden fair to see ; 
 Listening for the faintest sound 
 Of her foot upon the ground, 
 To move to life the world around. 
 
 This maiden of the glen 
 Was gentle, kind, and true, 
 And loved the sons of men 
 As only few can do. 
 
 She oft would meet 
 
 Me in the sunshine sweet, 
 
 Or in the night's retreat, 
 
 To recount and tell 
 
 The charm of Cupid's spell ; 
 
 Which round about her fell 
 
 In that secluded dell. 
 
46 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And in her dreamy eyes, 
 Like tiie ether blue, 
 Shone the light of paradise 
 With soft celestial hue. 
 And never fairy stepped 
 Where rill or rivulet swept 
 Across the shinning sands. 
 With lighter foot or fairer hands. 
 
 Her echoing tread 
 
 Woke softest music round. 
 
 Like the silvery sound 
 
 Of heavenly bells profound. 
 
 Borne on the ambrosial breeze 
 
 From over eternity's seas. 
 
 This maiden rare, 
 
 This child of earth and air. 
 
 Cast sunshine every-where. • 
 
 Along the laughing brooks. 
 
 And in the shaded nooks, 
 
 As amid the sparlding sjDray, 
 
 She'd skip and play. 
 
 With a halo of silver 
 
 Round her every day. 
 
 The tuneful bu^ds 
 And lowing herds 
 Joyed to see her pass 
 So light upon the grass ; 
 And the mooping owl, 
 Brooding where destiny's pets 
 Nightly love to prowl. 
 Cast a twinkling shine. 
 From his gray old eyes, 
 On this being all divine, 
 Related to the skies. 
 
THE MAIDEN OF THE GLEN. 47 
 
 She was like the rose, 
 Or bed of amber bright, 
 O'er which the zejahyr blows 
 From the fields of liquid light. 
 
 JSTo flower of fairest stem. 
 Grown on mountain side 
 Or by the water's hem, 
 Shown more radiant then 
 This winsome little bride 
 Of that secluded glen. 
 
 She was rare, she was fair, 
 
 She was fond. 
 
 As the angels of the air, 
 
 Or the lilies of a pond : 
 
 And I ofttimes used to sit. 
 
 When the swallows homeward flit, 
 
 And discourse to them 
 
 Of this maiden of the glen. 
 
48 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 8IK BEVERLY'S BRIDE. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The following lines are based upon an incident which came under 
 the personal observation of tlie author. 'I'he lovers lived to quarrel 
 and be very unhappy after their nuptials. U seems strange that such 
 devotion should thus end.— C. 
 
 Geim and gray the morning lay, 
 As I wended o'er a lonely way ; 
 While loitering there, I met a lady fair. 
 With gold and auburn hair. 
 
 With low-cut shoe she brushed the early dew, 
 Wending the meads and meadows through ; 
 Half unaware, I said, ' ' My gentle fair. 
 What may be the cause of this thy care ? " 
 
 She replied, "Kind sir, I am a worshiper 
 
 Of a gay and graceful lover ; 
 
 He lives in yonder town ; this is my wedding gown, 
 
 Oh ! I've left behind a father's frown." 
 
 Said I, " Through the river's flow no foot may go. 
 And there 's no boatman here to row ; 
 'T is plain, you see, heaven's decree 
 Lies between your lover and thee." 
 
 "Then lend me thy steed, in this my need, 
 For I must away with speed ; 
 Ere the morning sun its journey hath begun 
 They'll rally at the sounding drum. 
 
SIR BEVERLY'S BRIDE. 49 
 
 " Once I 've cross'd the ford, his angry horde 
 Must go miles to the bridge restored ; 
 And long ere then o'er mount and glen, 
 We '11 foil my father's heartless men." 
 
 My steed so true, I led the lady to. 
 They instant sank in the waters blue. 
 Her startled cry rang in the sky, 
 For the river ran wild and high. 
 
 But through good cheer, and angels near. 
 They reached the landing clear ; 
 With scarf of blue she waved adieu, 
 And went cantering from my view. 
 
 Over in the town, on a mead of brown, 
 My steed fed free in clover down 
 While at the saddle-bow floating to and fro, 
 Something golden seemed to glow. 
 
 In a silken veil, on paper pale, 
 My eyes these words did haU, 
 " My thanks anew, kind su-, to you, 
 Who brought me to my lover true. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! now I ride Su- Beverly's bride 
 On the mountains wild and wide : 
 And ere this day hath sped away, 
 I '11 be queen of a castle gay, 
 
 " Where a father's decree shall never be 
 Held between my lover and me ; 
 For well a-day we will away 
 To bowers of bliss where love's breezes play. 
 (5) 
 
50 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 "Farewell, kind friend, wherever you wend 
 May heaven's blessing attend ; 
 When life is done, at the rising sun, 
 Meet me where golden ages run." 
 
 From the flowery mead I led my steed. 
 And the message o'er and o'er did read ; 
 While angels rare, from the fields of air, 
 Seemed walking by me there. 
 
 What a vision of bliss in a wilderness, 
 To meet such loveliness ; 
 And how we long to hear some song, 
 Still wafted back when they are gone. 
 
 To catch a gleam of the radiant sheen 
 From over oblivion's stream ; 
 Where much the same we may meet again 
 And whisper love's endearing name. 
 
 Whether on land or sea, this Bride of Beverly 
 In dreams bewitcheth me ; 
 And on my soul I long to stroll 
 Beside her in eternity's goal. 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 51 
 
 THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 
 
 Once upon a time, 
 
 In the golden Orient's delightful clime, 
 
 As the sun in the evening twilight set, 
 
 A priest and peasant met, 
 
 On the borders of a limpid stream. 
 
 Made beautiful by the parting gleam 
 
 Reflected from the orb of day 
 
 Over the glowing hilltops, 
 
 Which in the distance lay 
 
 Illumined like the paths of Paradise 
 
 Leading from earth away. 
 
 The man of God, 
 In silken sandals shod, 
 And countenance divine, 
 Thus spoke in measured line : 
 " Whither away. 
 Frail mortal of a day ? 
 Dost thou journey near 
 The land of light and cheer? 
 Hast thou tasted bliss ? 
 Art thou robed in righteousness ? 
 Come, wilt thou journey free 
 To the heavenly land with me ? " 
 
 " With thee ! " the peasant said, 
 
 Halting on the grassy glade ; 
 "What human span 
 
 May bridge the river that ran 
 
52 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Crimson with Christian gore 
 In those darkened days of yore, 
 For a passport through 
 The land you journey to?" 
 
 Then replied the priest : 
 "Good, brother, at least 
 You should understand, 
 True faith is in demand : 
 If thou would'st gain the sky, 
 Ask not the reason why ; 
 Nor seek to fathom God's decree, 
 If you would the land of promise see." 
 
 Then the peasant spoke again. 
 In a milder strain : 
 ' ' Did not a Christian sect. 
 Proud of their intellect. 
 Defame the Saviour's name, 
 And crucify with cruel shame 
 This friend of man who came 
 His heavenly birthright to reclaim ? 
 Say thou, sage divine, 
 What years of penitence supine 
 May wash away that awful crime ? " 
 
 The priest, with reverend look, 
 A reproving finger shook, 
 Saying: " Vain mortal of a day, 
 Seek not thou to stray, 
 Where God eternal stands, 
 Sovereign, supreme, of all the lands." 
 
 The peasant, in reply. 
 Looking upward at the sky. 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 53 
 
 Says: " Prithee, wliy 
 Dou't some angel good 
 Visit earth's multitude, 
 Bearing from yon world of light, 
 The open scroll of eternity bright, 
 That man may pierce the gloom 
 Beyond the portals of the tomb. 
 And catch some feeble view 
 Of the sphere he journeys to ? " 
 
 The priest, with solemn voice. 
 Said : " Mortals make their choice. 
 Pursuing paths that go 
 To where the tide of Time's eternal flow 
 Empties into the gulf of duration. 
 Beyond the out-posts of creation, 
 Where lies life's deathless goal 
 Prepared for the immortal soul." 
 
 While thus they spoke 
 
 A gleam of glory broke 
 
 Through the illumined sky, 
 
 And a viewless form went sweeping by. 
 
 With the keys of Charon's mart 
 
 Hung at a girdle round her heart, 
 
 And a darksome river ran 
 
 Which no bridge may span : 
 
 And a boat, all painted white. 
 
 Shooting through a gleam of light, 
 
 Went sailing away, 
 
 With the priest and peasant. 
 
 Through mountains of foam-crested spray, 
 
 To a shore where beginneth and endeth never, 
 
 The nightless day. 
 
54 - CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 ETERNITY'S STRAND. 
 
 There 's a strand that we tread 
 Between the living and dead, 
 Where sunken reefs lie 
 Strewn hither and thither 
 By the winds of the sky ; 
 Where wrecks lie at random, 
 Cast round by the fates ; 
 And the soul doth abandon 
 Its illusions and mates 
 Beyond the dark, rolling sea 
 Where begins eternity. 
 
 That strand hath been trod 
 
 By apostles and prophets unshod, 
 
 By beggars that seem 
 
 Tattered, dejected, and lean, 
 
 Blown hither and thither 
 
 Like a waif on the stream : 
 
 By peasants well fed. 
 
 By lords and ladies bred, 
 
 Out of the royal line, 
 
 Akin to seraphs celestial, divine. 
 
 Along the cold shore 
 Commotion and tumult doth roar, 
 As the tempests and waves 
 Lash their white foam upon graves 
 Lonely as ocean caves : 
 Deserted and drear, 
 Where no pardon is said, 
 
ETERNITY'S STRAND. 55 
 
 And the gleams of eternity play 
 Round the cold head, 
 Held there by a spell, 
 Waiting the swell * 
 
 Of Gabriel's trumpet, 
 Bidding to heaven or hell. 
 Those missing legions 
 Too many for mortal to tell. 
 
 Along the cold strand. 
 
 Glimmers and gleams on every hand, 
 
 From over the stream, 
 
 In the bright water's gleam. 
 
 Eternity's lights, 
 
 Froni tall mountain heights ; 
 
 Like a silvery sheen. 
 
 From minarets fair 
 
 And roofs glowing golden every-where. 
 
 Between the dim strand 
 Where wandering angels meet, 
 And the mystic wand 
 Moves over life's retreat 
 And the river's scowl, 
 Fiends incarnate prowl 
 In the silence all profound. 
 Mute and motionless around 
 
 Near that dreaded strand 
 Fleshless phantoms stand, 
 Waiting for a passage hence, 
 From whence to thence, 
 In dread suspense ; 
 While the flapping sail 
 And angry gale 
 
56 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Chime with Charon's oar, 
 In making the voyage 
 From shore to shore. 
 
 Reader, one day we 
 
 That strand shall see. 
 
 Hid in the realm of mystery, 
 
 Away in the yonder day ; 
 
 Beyond the river's spray, 
 
 Where immortal souls 
 
 Take shipping 
 
 For the eternal land. 
 
CABOLDINE. 57 
 
 CAROLDINE. 
 
 I KNOW a little cot 
 By a shady mountain spot, 
 Which holds a winsome lass, 
 That always greets me as I pass. 
 
 In that secluded glen 
 Never wanders foot of men : 
 There, by some legend, it is said, 
 Lingers Time's receding tread. 
 
 And angels, radiant, rare, 
 Dally in the summer air ; 
 While the hush of nature round 
 Moves the soul with the profound. 
 
 I oft beside her sit 
 When the evening shadows flit, 
 In a sort of dream like reverie, 
 For she's -all the wOrld to me. 
 
 Her eyes are hazel brown, 
 
 And her cheeks like softest down, 
 
 And her auburn hair 
 
 Falls like a glory round her there. 
 
 From her ruby lips 
 
 And taper finger tips, 
 
 I've often sipped the nectar balm, 
 
 Which a troubled life doth calm. 
 
58 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And when bidding adieu at eleven, 
 A light like the tender hue of heaven 
 'Bound my path would break 
 Like silvery moon-beams on the lake. 
 
 By some mystery divine 
 
 This maiden's soul with mine 
 
 Is linked in love's embrace 
 
 As I wend the world from place to place. 
 
 And never sun doth rise 
 But I think of those bright eyes ; 
 And never star doth shine 
 But I dream of Caroldine, 
 
 Once when over the sea 
 She sent a missive of love to me, 
 Inlaid in a clasp of gold, 
 And leaflets of silver rolled. 
 
 She spoke of her cozy home, 
 And of the ocean's foam, 
 And of returning spring, 
 When mated robins sing. 
 
 O, I'll hie me hence in haste, 
 
 Lest she droop in the wooded waste ; 
 
 I'll quit the dangerous tide 
 
 And make her my own true bride. 
 
 And through life's morning ray, 
 And the noontide's sultry day, 
 And the evening's deep decline, 
 I'll worship my Caroldine. 
 
LINES TO MY MOTHER. 59 
 
 LINES TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Once upon a time, 
 
 When the celestial bells were ringing 
 
 Out their heavenly chime, 
 
 And the holy angels singing 
 
 Some lov'd melody divine, 
 
 The gates of gold, unbarr'd around, 
 
 Swung noiseless back without a sound : 
 
 A stray babe, with eyes of blue, 
 
 Came wandering earthward into view. 
 
 From out the fields of Paradise. 
 
 When first she came. 
 Some rays of that blest sphere 
 Linger'd 'round her here : 
 Which more earthly grew 
 As she walk'd its ways 
 And windings through. 
 
 She met a lover bold, 
 
 The heir of lands and gold ; 
 
 And in the early spring, 
 
 Wlien the mavis and the martins sing, 
 
 They held their nuptial day. 
 
 With many to wish them happiness 
 
 Along the matrimonial way. 
 
 The days and years went : 
 
 Their home was filled with plenty 
 
 And prosper'd with content 
 
60 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Till stealthily there came 
 That dark intruder bold, 
 Whom men call Death by name, 
 And scatter'd the loving fold. 
 
 The morn my mother died 
 I was fritting by her side, 
 Silently watching the flow 
 Of life's deep unrest, 
 Which heav'd her bosom so : 
 When suddenly a light divine 
 Broke 'round her features. 
 Lighting up their dying shine. 
 Then she murmured softly, 
 "I see the Saviour coming 
 To guide me o'er the tide — 
 My son be faithful, 
 And meet me on the other side." 
 
 The last word was but a whisper. 
 I could catch no further sound, 
 Nor breath nor motion's stir, 
 In the silence so profound. 
 
 Since then I 've often seen 
 Her chang'd and radiant image 
 Thro' the mirage of a dream : 
 And there seems to be 
 A golden glory grand 
 Shinning 'round her immortality 
 From the fair appointed land. 
 And her angel face I see. 
 Like an illumin'd star, 
 Turn'd earthward unto me 
 From the depths of Eden far. 
 
LINES TO MY MOTHER. 61 
 
 'Tis a joy to know 
 That sometime I may meet 
 The mother who lov'd me so 
 Safe on the golden street, 
 Amid those wonders bright 
 Which noAV are hid from sight, 
 By a dark curtain hung 
 Between this earthly sphere 
 And the land of always sun. 
 
Q2 CAMPBELL'S FOE MS. 
 
 BEYOND THE CRYSTAL SEA. 
 
 Beyond the crystal sea 
 There stands, waiting for me, 
 One with crown of gold, 
 Sheltered in the shepherd's fold. 
 
 Chorus. — She'U take me by the hand 
 On the golden strand. 
 And lead me through 
 Emmanuel's land. 
 
 Those glowing towers on high, 
 Casting radiance through the sky. 
 Over yon city of sacredness, 
 For worlds I would not miss. — Chorus. 
 
 Those lovely groves of silver'd trees. 
 Swaying in heaven's ambrosial breeze, 
 Must blissful, shady, be 
 In yon vale of purity. — Chorus. 
 
 And the holy angels, too. 
 
 With heavenly natures new. 
 
 Glow, radiant and sublime. 
 
 In yonder beauteous clime. — Chorus. 
 
 'Neath rays of softest light 
 
 And golden halos bright. 
 
 Amid airs of azure shine, 
 
 We'U roam that land divine. — Chorus. 
 
BEYOND THE CRYSTAL SEA. 63 
 
 Through ages of celestial hue 
 
 And a grandly beautiful view, 
 
 By silvered rills of bliss, 
 
 We'll sing songs of sacredness. — Choeus. 
 
 Forever and eternally, 
 
 As the ages all supernally 
 
 Float their lengthened span along 
 
 In the land of heavenly song. — Chorus. 
 
64 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Thou beauteous angel form, 
 Standing on the national dome 
 Through sunshine and storm : 
 Princess, ideal, America's own. 
 
 Long hast thou stood there 
 Through sunshine and shade — 
 A beautiful emblem in air, 
 Thou divinely gifted maid. 
 
 In liberty's cradle rocked. 
 In freemen's hearts enshrined, 
 When British tyrants shocked 
 The minds of all mankind. 
 
 Angel, lovely, thou hast seen 
 The growth of liberty's land. 
 By a bright and heavenly gleam 
 Wafted from the future strand. 
 
 Thou hast looked on carnage red. 
 On war's dreadful flow, 
 And on the ghastly dead, 
 As to eternity we go. 
 
 Angel, heavenly, thou didst behold, 
 
 With ladened grief and sorrow. 
 
 Those rebel leaders bold. 
 
 When ffloom's cloud broke on the morrow. 
 
ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 65 
 
 Thou hast in triumph seen 
 The Star Spangled Banner, 
 Victorious over all gleam 
 In love's harmonious manner. 
 
 And gifted statesmen, too, 
 Making liberty's laws, 
 Hath sat beneath thy view, 
 Proud in the nation's applause. 
 
 Thou hast seen passion's waves 
 Sweeping at a fearful rate 
 Over the foam-crested raves 
 Of the grand old Ship of State. 
 
 Thou hast seen, with dread. 
 In terrible frowning form. 
 Breakers dark ahead 
 Through the gathering storm. 
 
 And the reflected gleam 
 
 Of the course we make. 
 
 On Liberty's rippling stream, 
 
 Hath shown thee many a mistake. 
 
 Look over destiny's sea 
 And tell us if hidden shoals 
 Shall swamp the Ship of Liberty, 
 As the ages onward rolls ? 
 
 ! must she go down 
 Amid the gathering gloom, 
 And all on board drown 
 In a watery tomb ? 
 
66 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Or will she safely sail 
 Triumphant and grandly on, 
 With a favoring gale, 
 Into the beams of eternity's morn? 
 
 Guard well our destiny. 
 Thou immortal image fair ! 
 While sailing the hidden sea 
 To a harbor we know not where. 
 
 At the helm of the Ship of State, 
 With minds of manly mold, 
 Place the tried, the true, the great, 
 To protect this mortal fold. 
 
 Let them scan the breakers o'er 
 And boiling billows stranger. 
 Which sound along the shore 
 Like mutterings of distant danger. 
 
 Cruard well this land divine. 
 Liberty's loved and loyal home, 
 I or wanderers from every clime, 
 No matter whence they roam. 
 
 ! thou ideal image fair. 
 With Liberty's emblem 'round thee, 
 Thou silent sentinel of the an-, 
 Art adored on land and sea. 
 
 And as we go sailing near 
 The verge of the heavenly strand, 
 To the harbor eternal, clear, 
 Where stand a waiting band. 
 
ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 67 
 
 Methinks the golden gleam 
 Of eternity's rising sun, 
 Will round thee brightly beam 
 When thy latest watch is done. 
 
68 CAMPBELLS POEMS 
 
 TWENTY YEARS. 
 
 Twenty years fled, 
 
 Twenty years sped, 
 
 I stray'd amid the scenes 
 
 Of my boyhood's early dreams. 
 
 Where all the brooks and streams 
 
 Glow'd with golden gleams ; 
 
 In the May-day's prime. 
 
 When the charms of life 
 
 Fill'd this soul of mine. 
 
 Twenty years flown 
 
 Like a beggar's groan, 
 
 I walk'd and talk'd in an undertone, 
 
 With voice that scarcely seem'd my own 
 
 For whispers there. 
 
 From phantoms flow 
 
 Out of the haunts of men. 
 
 Came taunting with their jeer — 
 
 Fondest friendships sever'd here. 
 
 Twenty years gone : 
 
 I saw children playing on 
 
 My favorite lawn. 
 
 Who knew not me. 
 
 Once the soul of revelry. 
 
 When the elves and fairies tripp'd 
 
 So deft and merrily, 
 
 'Neath the moonlit ray, 
 
 Softly falling from the gates of day. 
 
TWENTY YEARS. QQ 
 
 Twently years buried, 
 
 Twenty years carried 
 
 Into the gloom, 
 
 Beyond the silence of the tomb. 
 
 With only a lingering sound 
 
 Of their dead echo wafted round. 
 
 Which seems but feeble cheer 
 
 To the starving soul 
 
 Pining for friendships here. 
 
 Twenty years of bitter tears, 
 
 Of joy and fears ; 
 
 What a pyramid uprears 
 
 To the wizard Time, 
 
 Tolling duration's chime, 
 
 In measured rhyme, 
 
 With furrow'd face. 
 
 And bended form. 
 
 Muttering moodily out each mime. 
 
 Twenty years o'er. 
 
 Twenty years more. 
 
 Ere Time rings another score ; 
 
 The soul shall wing away 
 
 From many bodies made of clay, 
 
 Enduring but a night and day. 
 
 To a realm, to a strand. 
 
 Mysterious and grand, 
 
 Which mortal doth not understand 
 
 Twenty years flown — 
 What hath their varied tone 
 Brought to us, 
 Children changing thus? 
 
70 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 In manhood's morn, 
 
 Like the sear leaf of the corn, 
 
 When the frosts of time 
 
 Chills the germ divine, 
 
 In the mirthful May-day's prime ? 
 
THE FABTINQ KISS. 71 
 
 THE PARTESTG KISS. 
 
 Still I see you standing there, 
 With the moonlight on your face, 
 And the starlight in your hair ; 
 Like an angel full of grace, 
 With features radiant, rare. 
 
 And the thrill of love 
 At the parting kiss 
 Like an Eden dove 
 In a world of wretchedness, 
 Conies from God above, 
 
 Bringing the past to me, 
 
 So tender, sweet. 
 
 That again I long to see. 
 
 And those lips to greet, 
 
 For the bliss they bring to me. 
 
72 - CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 COURTIINTG. 
 
 Some parts of courting must be done in prose, 
 Especially when the north wind blows ; 
 But when the flowers bloom on the lea, 
 Courting is sometimes aided by poetry. 
 
 For then we love to sport and run 
 With fair maidens in the sun ; 
 Chasing the golden butterfly 
 In eddying circles through the sky, 
 
 Till all our songs and dreams, 
 Like wavelets, float a-down the streams, 
 As the evening's solemn chill 
 Brings back the boding of some ill. 
 
 Which the grim old raven there 
 
 Chants like an anthem of despair : 
 
 When the Summer's bloom is gone, 
 
 And we stand between the darkness and the dawn. 
 
ST. PETER'S TASK. 73 
 
 ST. PETER'S TASK. 
 
 O ! WHAT is sweeter 
 
 To a Saint like Peter, 
 
 Than heavenly repose ; 
 
 When o'er wearied 
 
 With mortal woes, 
 
 Knocking at the gate, 
 
 Knocking early. 
 
 Knocking late, 
 
 'Round about the portals there, 
 
 Seeking entrance 
 
 To a realm so very fair. 
 
 St. Peter nods and sleeps. 
 
 While thro' the golden portal sweeps 
 
 A soul unbidden there. 
 
 But 'round his holy head 
 
 He quick descries 
 
 A sinful tread, 
 
 Walking thro' the skies. 
 
 Disturbing his sweet dream 
 
 Of the shining fair. 
 
 Or some maiden rare. 
 
 In the land of Nod, I ween. 
 
 Quick upstarting then. 
 He sweeps his hurried ken 
 Thro' the isles of holy bliss 
 And groups of saintliness. 
 (7) 
 
74 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But dai'kucss 'round him fell, 
 
 As tju'o' the celestial light 
 
 Of Paradise, once bright. 
 
 There ran an imp of' hell 
 
 Before his 'wildorod sight ; 
 
 While down St. Peter s beard of snow 
 
 Went trickling tears of woe. 
 
 But hark ! a shout, a cry. 
 There 's conflict iu the sky ; 
 Tlie corridors of glory 'round 
 Reverberate with sound : 
 And celestial warriors, too. 
 Arrayed iu bright panoply. 
 Are wounded through, 
 With the wicked glance 
 And look askance — 
 This wight of hell 
 Cast on heaven's citadel. 
 
 Oue hour past, 
 
 And the clarion blast 
 
 Of Gabriel's trump proclaims 
 
 Peace on the heavenly plains. 
 
 For this foreign foe 
 
 Had been hurled to regions dark below ; 
 
 And St. Peter, with double guard. 
 
 Hath the gates of glory barred ; 
 
 And all is tranquil, still, 
 
 After the tumult 
 
 Ou heaven's holy hill. 
 
 St. Peter may nod again ; 
 But one thing is plain : 
 No imp of the perverse, 
 
^7'. PETERS TASK. 75 
 
 With golden guineas in a purse, 
 
 May hold the heavenly domain : 
 
 Should he chance. 
 
 With wicked look askance, 
 
 To pass St. Peter in a trance. 
 
 And scale the celestial gate 
 
 With unholy effort great, 
 
 He 'd surely meet the outcast angel's fate. 
 
76 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A MAIDEN OF DELPHI. 
 
 A MAIDEN of Delphi, 
 With softest cheek and lustrous eye, 
 At the tomb of her Rolbert, 
 Was heard to mourn and cry, 
 Amid the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
 "Lost, lost to me! forever more." 
 
 The vesper died with the day, 
 The parting sun shot its level ray 
 Over all that scenery wild. 
 As the maiden knelt down to pray. 
 Amid the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
 " ! give my Rolbert back once more ! 
 
 "Is thine a doom divine. 
 To kill this soul of mine ? 
 And turn to darkness 
 All this Delphic shine. 
 Along the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
 With thee gone forever more ? 
 
 * ' Or wilt thou rise 
 With diviner eyes. 
 From the vale of dark suspense. 
 Immortal, shining in the skies, 
 From the rocks on Crissa's shore. 
 To sing with the angels forever more ? " 
 
A MAIDEN OF DELPHI. 77 
 
 Her words were uttered slow. 
 Her face, celestial and aglow, 
 Held a melanclioly gleam, 
 As if her Rolbert's soul 
 Was entombed on Crissa's shore, 
 Amid the rocks forever more. 
 
78 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 INGEESOLLIA. 
 
 Who will be the mate 
 
 Of this philosopher of fate, 
 
 Lately grown so great, 
 
 To mortal view : 
 
 When fetterless and free, 
 
 His soul puts off to sea. 
 
 On the tide of wild wide mystery, 
 
 In Charon's white canoe ? 
 
 Who shall be his guide 
 Through illimitable existence wide ; 
 Where worlds are multiplied 
 By the unfolding of nature's law ; 
 When traversing the mystic line, 
 Along the shores of eternal time, 
 To the death-knell's chime 
 Which fills the soul with awe ? 
 
 Who will take him by the hand 
 
 At the landing of Death's cold strand. 
 
 All creedless there to stand : 
 
 Filled with wonderment to see 
 
 The realm of glory fair. 
 
 With Christians gathered there. 
 
 Worshiping every-where 
 
 'Round the throne of Deity ? 
 
 When the night sets in, 
 And the light grows dim. 
 And his senses swim. 
 
INGERSOLLIA. 79 
 
 And a whisper in his ear 
 Bids him, " Quickly come, 
 And be dumb," 
 As his limbs grow numb 
 With the ghosts of fear — 
 
 ! who will then 
 
 Lead this infidel god of men 
 
 From the world's hem, 
 
 Over the Stygian Avave, 
 
 When the lightning's gleam, 
 
 And the eternal sheen, 
 
 Flashes between 
 
 The clods of his grave ? 
 
 For no hope hath he, 
 
 No Christ or Deity 
 
 To guide him over the darksome sea, 
 
 Safely away 
 
 From the wreck of time, 
 
 To the portals sublime 
 
 Of that heavenly clime, 
 
 Where breaks eternal day. 
 
 Forsake thy sleep 
 In the cold earth deep, 
 . Where worms their vigil keep 
 To all eternity : 
 Senseless, soulless, dead, 
 As a lump of lead, 
 With atoms sped 
 Back to nonentity. 
 
 Avoid such doom, 
 While there is room 
 
80 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 To burst the fetters of the tomb, 
 With light diviue 
 From the Savior's face, 
 Beaming bright with grace 
 For souls more base 
 Than thine, 
 
 That the seraphs crowned 
 
 May hear the sound. 
 
 Through the courts of glory 'round, 
 
 Of thy repentant cry ; 
 
 And haste to greet. 
 
 On the golden street, 
 
 AVith music sweet. 
 
 An erring spirit to the sky. 
 
TEE CUTTLE CREW. 81 
 
 THE CUTTLE CREW. 
 
 I. 
 Algereo was the leader brave 
 Of a j)irate band 
 On the boundless wave ; 
 Captain of " The Cuttle Crew," 
 A lot of desperate dare-devils, 
 When there was bloody work to do. 
 
 n. 
 
 He had sailed the main 
 These eighteen years ; 
 And many spoke his name, 
 Filled with fears — 
 For he paid no homage 
 To priest or maid. 
 
 m. 
 
 He was tall of form, 
 
 Of bearing brave, 
 
 King of the storm, 
 
 When death and devastation lay 
 
 Scattered round, 
 
 On board "The prize and pay ; " 
 
 rv. 
 
 Which fortune or the devil's wand 
 Had thrown or blown 
 Within his hand. 
 
82 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 For no victim's prayer, 
 Uttered in the frenzy of soul, 
 Moved Algereo there — 
 
 V. 
 
 Amid the work of hell, 
 
 Which this fiend 
 
 Performed so well. 
 
 On every strand 
 
 His stolen millions were buried 
 
 By trusty hand. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Not even the eagle's wing 
 
 On his pathway 
 
 Cast a shadowing : 
 
 At the dead hour of night 
 
 His treasure was hid, 
 
 By the " Jack-o-devil's light." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then away they would speed 
 To their "Cuttle" again, 
 With the stride of a steed. 
 Whose mettle untried. 
 Goes bounding away 
 Over the wild mountain side. 
 
 vni. 
 
 The hand of the law, 
 With its mandate supreme, 
 Its trappings and awe, 
 Never reached those bad men 
 Careering to the gales. 
 On the far water's hem. 
 
THE CUTTLE CREW. 83 
 
 IX. 
 Wreck and ruiu lay 
 Where e'er they chanced 
 To bend then- way ; 
 Led by Algereo, 
 They would strike 
 Both friend and foe. 
 
 Their 's was terrible work, 
 And terribly done 
 In the daylight and murk : 
 Sending immortal souls 
 Into the endless duration, 
 As onward it rolls. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For what? 
 
 For gold, 
 
 And nothing but that : 
 
 Glittering dross, 
 
 Which dwindles away 
 
 As the river we cross. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Pirates may sail 
 
 Over the liquid lake, 
 
 With the whirl of the gale, 
 
 Whose burning is fed, 
 
 In the realm afar, 
 
 By the damn'd of the dead. 
 
 xin. 
 Where the darkness of doom 
 Settles dim 
 
84 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Through the smoke and the gloom ; 
 
 But they '11 find no prize 
 
 On which to gloat 
 
 With their dark, hellish eyes. 
 
 A leader will there 
 
 Take charge 
 
 Of his mart and his lair ; 
 
 And wreak vengeance on them, 
 
 Who went pirating onward 
 
 Beyond this world's hem. 
 
TWENTY LADIES ON A LARK 85 
 
 TWENTY LADIES ON A LAKK. 
 
 NOTE. 
 [The author was the victim of the following described lark; but 
 he consoles himself with the thought that one woman got ahead of 
 Adam, and why shouldn't twenty get ahead of him? However, it 
 was a very pleasant episode, not to be forgotten soon. The ladies are 
 earth's angels, who light with life the eye, and thrill with hope the 
 heart.— C] 
 
 A WIDOW dressed in weeds, 
 
 With a heart that breaks and bleeds, 
 
 Because of domestic wrong, 
 
 Went to the lawyer with her song, 
 
 Enrobed in a veil so fine. 
 
 With a voice that captivated mine. 
 
 Her mother kindly came, 
 
 Mature of age, a stately dame. 
 
 To aid the daughter to untie 
 
 The knot which married folks are guided by ; 
 
 But her face was painful then, 
 
 And she too hid it from men. 
 
 Chairs were given them. 
 
 While I listened to the faithlessness of men ; 
 
 Kecounted by the widow fair. 
 
 Judging from her accents there, 
 
 Although her face I could n't see. 
 
 Which was a source of worryment to me. 
 
CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Russell was her mother's name ; 
 
 Her father should have borne the same ; 
 
 But he loved the mountain dells, 
 
 And was known from far and near as Wells ; 
 
 Sh'd had an only son, 
 
 But the Lord called home Johnny Morrison. 
 
 At this stage of the play. 
 
 In came tripping eighteen damsels gay, 
 
 With a laugh and a bound. 
 
 Whose echoes still linger round ; 
 
 Their bright bewitching eyes. 
 
 Told me 1 was duped by these mysterious wives, 
 
 Whose veils were thrown aside, 
 
 Whereat I laughed until I cried, 
 
 To see the rosy lips 
 
 And pretty finger tips. 
 
 Of Mrs. Morrison and her ma. 
 
 Who never loved a man but pa. 
 
 The oysters served in style, 
 
 I was the butt of many a jest and smile ; 
 
 Marching in the serenade 
 
 With the winsome little maid. 
 
 Throughout the startl'd town. 
 
 Till all the clocks run down. 
 
 Twenty ladies in a line 
 
 Played the mischief with this heart of mine ; 
 
 For ofttimes since then 
 
 I 've lived that night again ; 
 
 Dreaming of the widow'd queen 
 
 And her mother scarce past sixteen. 
 
TWENTr LADIES ON A LARK. 87 
 
 So that here and now 
 
 In public I Will vow, 
 
 If there's pleasure on this sphere, 
 
 The ladies bring it here ; 
 
 E'en though our Mother Eve 
 
 Did the first man deceive. 
 
 Twenty ladies on a lark 
 
 Went searching for a spark, 
 
 In the mild and opening Spring ; 
 
 When the buds and blossoms bring 
 
 Cupid's little fairies round, 
 
 Tripping full of mirth and sound. 
 
 Now gentle ladies dear, 
 
 I hold this tribute here ; 
 
 He who never knew a woman's love 
 
 Is illy fitted for the world above ; 
 
 For throughout an endless spring, 
 
 'T will be a heavenly offering. 
 
CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE FRIGATE-BIRD. 
 
 From mariners, I have heard 
 
 Of a strange and mystic bird, 
 
 Which, tu-eless, flies 
 
 Thro' all the skies, 
 
 And never stoops to earth 
 
 At its death or at its birth. 
 
 Within the range of human eyes. 
 
 Its wmgs are large and long ; 
 
 And it swoops and sweeps along 
 
 In one unerring line, 
 
 As if an instinct sublime 
 
 Held it on its way 
 
 Thro' darkness and thro' day, 
 
 For a purpose we can 't divine. 
 
 It has been seen 
 
 Above the lightning's gleam, 
 
 Above the northern sea 
 
 Where the Auroras be, 
 
 Tireless, tameless, far. 
 
 Moving like a guiding star, 
 
 With a restless sweep, in the deep, of infinity. 
 
 Where the southern ocean spreads 
 O'er coral groves and amber beds : 
 Beyond the tropics, too, 
 Lost in the ether blue ; 
 
THE FRIGATE-BIRD. 89 
 
 It has been seen to sail, 
 Outriding tempest, outriding gale, 
 Lost to tlie telescopic view. 
 
 Never lighting on the sea, 
 Never lighting on the land, 
 What canst thou be, 
 The pangs of hunger to withstand ; 
 For what purpose to fulfill 
 Did the great eternal Deity 
 Give thee thy will ? 
 
 Where does thy weary wing 
 Rest in Winter or in Spring ? 
 What perch of peaceful sweep 
 May rest thy weary feet, 
 In the ether fields remote, 
 Where like a speck 
 Thou seem'st to float ? 
 
 Thine is a mission grand, 
 
 Which the Ruler of the universe 
 
 Doth understand. 
 
 And to immortal minds. 
 
 Those angles and those lines 
 
 Which thou cleaveth thro' the sky. 
 
 May be the stepping stones which souls gain heaven by. 
 
 When freed from cumbrous clay, 
 
 When ushered out of darkness into day. 
 
 Winging above the spheres 
 
 Into the eternal years. 
 
 Thou may'st guide 
 
 The soul on its sweep so wide. 
 
 Over the timeless tide. 
 
 (8) 
 
90 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Shoreless, strandless, soundless, still; 
 Up, up, and up the steep ascent, 
 Uj) to the heavenly hill ; 
 Where winged wanderers wait 
 To ope the golden gate, 
 For the soul's admission in, 
 As a priceless offering. 
 
 What e'er thou art, 
 
 Whether earthly or ethereal. 
 
 Of the realm above this mortal mart, 
 
 There is a purpose, plan, and power, 
 
 Which sustains thee every hour, 
 
 In those cloud-capped azure fields 
 
 To which all mortality yields. 
 
 Fly on, thou mystic bird, 
 Out of darkness, into dawn, 
 The dawn of which we've heard. 
 Celestial, heavenly, and aglow ; 
 Above the rain-drops and the snow : 
 Where what thy mission is 
 We shall one day know. 
 
A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 91 
 
 A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 
 
 Once when the heavenly council met, 
 
 And in the courts of glory sat, 
 
 A peri of the pearly strand 
 
 Went earthward wandering 
 
 At God's command : 
 
 To see if wickedness and sin, 
 
 Should deluge all the world within ; 
 
 Unstayed, unchecked, 
 
 By one bright ray 
 
 Of heavenly intellect 
 
 Thrown from the gates of day, 
 
 On earthly mortals here ; 
 
 Suspended in the atmosphere 
 
 By a slender thread 
 
 From the mystic web, 
 
 Woven in the loom of fate 
 
 Between the living and the dead : 
 
 Bearing immortal souls 
 
 To regions untrod, 
 
 Where timeless eternity rolls 
 
 ' Round the throne of our God. 
 
 n. 
 
 As the peri earthward flew, 
 Scenery grand and new 
 From the dying land 
 Fell on her view. 
 For on the ocean strand, 
 
92 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 'Mid the lull of the wind, 
 
 She beheld one whose red right hand 
 
 The human blood had spilled, 
 
 And the prototype of God had killed, 
 
 Dressed in priestly guise 
 
 Saintlike, with a devil's eyes 
 
 Muttering incantations in disiguse. 
 
 m. 
 
 'Twas a maid betrayed, 
 And he laid her in the shade ; 
 Deep within a hidden cave 
 And an ' ' Ave Maria " gave 
 After the murderous blow, 
 Had sent her soul 
 To perdition and to woe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As the peri flew 
 
 Full into view. 
 
 He crossed himself in fear. 
 
 Muttering ' ' God, be near ; 
 
 I did the deed to save 
 
 Her from a sinful grave : 
 
 For she was too young 
 
 To be undone 
 
 By some soulless son of man ; 
 
 Without a creed. 
 
 Or holy bead. 
 
 On which to tell 
 
 The pangs of misery 
 
 That the Lord befell, 
 
 That lonely night, 
 
 Shut from heaven's sight 
 
 In dark Gethsemane, 
 
A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAAD. 9$ 
 
 WitliOLit one watcher 
 To bear him company. " 
 
 V. 
 
 The peri made reply 
 
 With counsel high ; 
 
 "Thou miscreant, prepare 
 
 To meet thy God, 
 
 For hiding the body there. 
 
 Such mocking wiles 
 
 And priestly smiles, 
 
 Will never stand 
 
 The glance of God 
 
 In the other land. 
 
 Her blood is on thy soul ; 
 
 And from the ground 
 
 Her murdered moan doth roll, 
 
 Troubling e ' en now 
 
 The majestic grandeur 
 
 Of the God of heaven's brow. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Years, eternal years, 
 In the mystic spheres 
 Must pass away, 
 Ere thou may'st regain 
 What thou hast lost to-day : 
 In taking the maiden's life ; 
 In wronging another's wife, 
 Under the guise 
 Of thy priestly robe. 
 And counsel wise. 
 Mortal, there is little room 
 To add another crime. 
 
94 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To the epitaph thou 'rt writing 
 For thy tomb. " 
 
 vn. 
 
 No more she said, 
 But the priest, afraid, 
 An ' ' Ave Maria " made : 
 And back to his parish dear, 
 In haste he went ; 
 To right those wrongs 
 With prayer and supplement, 
 Thro' the coming year 
 
 vin. 
 The peri, in raising her wing, 
 A hasty glance 
 At the priest did fling : 
 Uttering a sorrowful sigh. 
 As she went winging 
 Thro' the sky, 
 Over a battle-field wild. 
 Where war's terrible reign 
 Had strewn and jiiled 
 The ground with slain, 
 With the dying and the dead. 
 Who for their country bled. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The peri beheld a leader there. 
 
 Searching with anxious care : 
 
 In hopes to find 
 
 The stay and staflT 
 
 Of a widow'd mother's mind. 
 
A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND 95 
 
 He sought as if his soul 
 Heard its death-kuell toll ; 
 For leading an army where 
 None might escape 
 The hidden snare. 
 Cautiously planned 
 By bold brigand, 
 To sweep a legion 
 From the land. 
 
 Elate with glory he 
 
 Led the charge of death and victory ; 
 
 Leaving many a widow's son 
 
 In the ranks of the dead, 
 
 By the flashing gun 
 
 When the w^ork of death was done. 
 
 xn. 
 
 ' T was a ghastly scene. 
 
 Under the pale moon-beam ; 
 
 To see a living form 
 
 Walking 'round, 
 
 Where lately swept the storm 
 
 Of shot and shell, 
 
 Amid the high carnival. 
 
 Belching from the mouth of heU : 
 
 As if the fiends kept holiday. 
 
 Between contending armies 
 
 In the terrible affray. 
 
 For fame or some such name, 
 
 When mortals made of God 
 
 Fall like worthless weeds 
 
 On the hoof-beaten sod. 
 
96 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 xin. 
 It made the peri sigh 
 Such sights to see 
 Under the sky, 
 Performed by humanity. 
 There heaps of dead, 
 And the ground so red, 
 With the heart blood's flow ; 
 Thrilled this etherial wanderer 
 With thoughts of human wo, 
 That from her station in the sky 
 She never might descry. 
 
 xiv. 
 
 NoSisters of Mercey there. 
 
 Closed the eyelid's dying stare. 
 
 A ghastly sentinel seemed to stand 
 
 Guard over the fallen band : 
 
 While gleams of the judgment day. 
 
 Broke like a dull imprisoned ray 
 
 ' Round where those ghastly warriors lay, 
 
 Locked in that deep sleep ; 
 
 Which grim sentinels of eternity keep, 
 
 On the world's outward rim ; 
 
 Floating vague, floating dim 
 
 Into the mystic bay ; 
 
 Bearing its murdered dead away 
 
 In cofiinless shrouds, 
 
 To a viewless city under the clouds. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The peri spoke, 
 
 And the warrior's cloak 
 
 Fell from his hand : 
 
 As she of the heavenly strand, 
 
A PER! OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 97 
 
 Summoned him hence, 
 
 To receive his soul's recompense. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Desecrator of the land; 
 Leader of outlaw'd band, 
 Thy search is vain ; 
 For a crimson stain 
 Has blotted from the book of life, 
 Thy race and name. ^ 
 
 And no act of thine, 
 Mortal or divine, 
 Can reinstate 
 The widow's child 
 Or lover's mate : 
 This dire decree 
 Is written in the book of fate, 
 And shaE stand to all eternity. " 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Then the peri flew 
 Out of his view. 
 Out of his glance, 
 Over the broad expanse, 
 To a ship's drowning crew. 
 For the tempest's strife. 
 Had wrecked their hopes and life : 
 And the angry tide 
 Soon would their bodies hide 
 From earth and day 
 And all but that eternal ray 
 Of intelligence, which shines 
 Down from heaven's center 
 Into earth's deepest mines. 
 (9) 
 
98 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 There again the peri saw 
 
 In that strife for life, 
 
 The selfishness of nature's law : 
 
 As the captain and seamen strong, 
 
 Sought theu' lives to j)rolong ; 
 
 By securing the boat 
 
 And each loosened plank that might float, 
 
 From the drowning passengers there 
 
 Full in Jche glare 
 
 Of the eternal sheen, 
 
 Lighting up the air 
 
 'Kound that dying scene. 
 
 X.IX. 
 
 The captain and the seamen are, 
 
 By the guidance of a star 
 
 Floating away 
 
 From where the doomed ship lay : 
 
 Ere oblivion's wave 
 
 Swept to yon dread shore 
 
 Five hundred souls that are no more. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The peri watched the boat, 
 
 As over the waters it did float, 
 
 Many days and nights. 
 
 Thro' weary leagues and lights ; 
 
 Like some living thing 
 
 Beai'ing westward on the wing^ 
 
 Till starvation came, 
 
 Gnawing at each mortal frame. 
 
 One and then another 
 
 Met the knife 
 
 That the few survivors 
 
A PERI OF THE PEARL F STRAND. 99 
 
 Might have life, 
 
 Till the last strong man 
 
 Gave up the ghost, 
 
 And floated a wrecked soul 
 
 Along the eternal coast. 
 
 xxr. 
 
 But the peri marked thro' all, 
 
 That the weakest first 
 
 Was doom'd to fall, 
 
 Whether blest or curst 
 
 It matter'd not at all. 
 
 And she shuddered as she saw 
 
 The workings of nature's law ; 
 
 Making immortal men 
 
 Seem like lions in a den, 
 
 Grown so since those Eden beams 
 
 Fell shining on our way, 
 
 When the race was usher'd into day. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The peri sought a city grand ; 
 
 The metropolis 
 
 Of a fair and favor'd land : 
 
 There perchance to find 
 
 Some charity for human kind. 
 
 But she scarce had seen 
 
 Its first faint twinkling gleam. 
 
 When Poverty stalk'd along, 
 
 Begging amid the wealthy throng, 
 
 With haggard face 
 
 And dishevel'd hair. 
 
 She saw in every place 
 
 Some evidence there 
 
 Of man's fallen race, 
 
100 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Begging in the street, 
 Begging for bread to eat, 
 With a " God save your soul; " 
 As a penny from the purse 
 Of the proud did roll. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The same mark'd selfishness 
 Brought from the peri this : 
 "Alas! the race of man, 
 Joui'ney where'er you can, 
 Are filled with cruelty 
 On land or sea : 
 Not like brothers kind, 
 As in the halls of celestial light 
 The sisterhood of bliss inclined. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " I find not any where 
 Upon earth, friend or foes, 
 Who have a kinder care 
 For humanity's woes 
 Than their own selfish birth, 
 Rated at extremist worth. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " 'Tis enough to bring a groan 
 From the heart of any stone. 
 To see how selfish man has grown, 
 Since walking in the dawn of day ; 
 When God drove him 
 From the garden of Eden away, 
 Into the world's cold shrine 
 Under the curse divine. 
 
A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 101 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ** I'll wing my flight 
 Back to the gates of light, 
 Nor look again on such a sight. 
 For pitty may not be 
 Bestow'd on those 
 Who worship in mockery; 
 Or leader in the strife, 
 Who values his own 
 More than his neighbor's life ; 
 Or a ship wreck'd crew, 
 Drowning in the view 
 Of the distant strand. 
 Where thro' the vistas of eternity 
 They enter the silent land ; 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 •' Or the poverty-stricken poor. 
 Who beg their bread 
 From door to door ; 
 Seeking a crumb to gain, 
 From the hand of the grand 
 And the vain ; 
 Who sally down the lane 
 With flounces fine, 
 To take shipping 
 Along eternity's line. 
 
 xxviri. 
 "Poor race of mortals, adieu. " 
 Thus saying, the peri flev/ ' 
 Up thro' the empyreal heights, 
 Into the celestial lights. 
 Which divinely shine 
 On souls in love 
 
102 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 With all the habitation fair 
 
 Of Heaven above : 
 
 To recount and tell 
 
 What on her sight celestial fell 
 
 In the world below ; 
 
 Before the gods who linger'd there 
 
 To hear the sad tale 
 
 Of the peri fair ; 
 
 That ' ' no spot of earth 
 
 Could be found 
 
 In winging the world around, 
 
 Where seed from the sky 
 
 Broad cast from an angej's hand, 
 
 Might not droop and die 
 
 On this sin-curst land." 
 
TSE FIELD OF FANCY . 103 
 
 THE FIELD OF FANCY. 
 
 Far and deep, 
 
 Wide as creation's sweep, 
 
 Thro' angles 
 
 And thro' lines. 
 
 The field of fancy winds. 
 
 Fathomless, fatal, 
 
 Fruitless, rare, 
 
 Sown with the seeds 
 
 Of devilish deeds. 
 
 Is the field of fancy fair. 
 
 The mortal mind 
 
 May roam and wind 
 
 Thro' all its acres unconfined : 
 
 Building costly castles there, 
 
 Glorious, golden, every-where. 
 
 Just to see the frost 
 Of Time, grown ghostly. 
 When Death's darts are toss'd, 
 Mar their heavenly shine. 
 So grand and costly. 
 
 There the dangerous dame 
 
 Seeks her game, 
 
 With barb'd and poison'd darts ; 
 
 Whose shining targe 
 
 Is the fairest human hearts. 
 
104 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And the wither'd crone 
 With a saintly moan, 
 Oft goes winging 
 Heavenward, thence alone 
 To a golden throne. 
 
 The millionaire 
 Holds dominion there, 
 In this field of fancy ; 
 For future times 
 Wherein to hoard his dimes. 
 
 The dudes and dandies, too, 
 
 Make a great-ado, 
 
 About the possessions they 're coming to, 
 
 In this realm of air, 
 
 Located nowhere. 
 
 There crystal springs 
 And fountain flings. 
 Sparkling spray about ; 
 Where with bended pins 
 Young fondlings fish for trout. 
 
 Men and maids 
 Put by their spades, 
 Their pots and pans, 
 To go turning 
 Thro' its lands. 
 
 In short 
 
 'T is a great resort, 
 
 For the crippled and the lams, 
 
 The wise and the insane. 
 
 Is this rare and fair domain. 
 
THE FIELD OF FANCY. 105 
 
 We journey thence, 
 
 Cheaply, without expense, 
 
 Till counting the recompense ; 
 
 And then we see 
 
 No fruit or fee, in the field of fancy. 
 
 But all our lives 
 
 Like deserted hives. 
 
 Or useless widow'd wives ; 
 
 Waste and run to naught 
 
 In fancy's fair and fragrant grot. 
 
 And when we're old 
 The title deeds we hold, 
 Won't bring any gold. 
 But rest as a void bequest 
 On the tired breast. 
 
 O! Fancy, fair, 
 
 Thou angel rare. 
 
 Why set the hidden snare, 
 
 With such delicious bait. 
 
 So tasteful to the human palate? 
 
 Why doth the mind 
 Thro' those vistas wind, 
 At last to find 
 A torment worse, 
 Than Satan's curse ? 
 
 Avoid this field 
 
 Which naught doth yield, 
 
 But wasted days 
 
 In oblivion's maze. 
 
 As the sun of eternity downward strays, 
 
106 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 
 
 To set in the sea 
 
 Away from you and me, 
 
 Before our work is done ; 
 
 And the parting blue 
 
 Folds the soul forever from view. 
 
A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 107 
 
 A TKIBUTE TO THE POETS. 
 
 Of all the poets 
 
 Of every name and kind, 
 
 Byron had the maddest mind : 
 
 The deepest plung'd in gloom, 
 
 And the brightest far in bloom ; 
 
 And could scan the stars of nearest sight, 
 
 Or the heavens of transparent light. 
 
 The mountain tops and winding streams 
 Rose to grandeur in his dreams ; 
 And the flash of his eagle eye, 
 Like some divinity from the sky, 
 Toying with earthly things, 
 But wanting angel wings 
 With which to rise and soar 
 Thro' worlds of light forever more. 
 
 Shelley's was a weaker mind, 
 To infidelity inclined ; 
 But with all a poet of the school, 
 Who touches things sublime 
 By pen and rule : 
 
 Reveling in a world of thought 
 
 Beyond the common lot, 
 
 He won undying fame 
 
 From the highest of his race and name : 
 
 And tho' Death unseen, 
 
 But surely known, 
 
1 08 CA MPBEL U S POEMS. 
 
 Linger'd near his home, 
 
 To take in youth away 
 
 That soul of boundless sway, 
 
 He wrote his name 
 
 On the gateway of fame. 
 
 High overhead 
 
 By future ages to be read. 
 
 The poet, Thomas Moore, 
 Could earthward plod 
 Or skyward soar ; 
 And weave the worded line 
 With imagery divine. 
 Gifted was his mind 
 And genial was his smile 
 As any of mankind 
 From the Emerald Isle. 
 
 But for a melancholy mood 
 
 We turn to witty Hood ; 
 
 His dream of Aram and the Elm, 
 
 Doth the sense o'erwhelm : 
 
 For thrilling thoughts, 
 
 Horrid shades and shapes 
 
 That daily apes 
 
 Our sojourn here, 
 
 Mortals of some sphere, 
 
 Mad and mirthful still. 
 
 As we clamber up 
 
 And down life's hill ; 
 
 To the rustling shroud 
 
 And coffin tree, 
 
 Which murmurs under ground 
 
 So solemn and profound, 
 
 Its mystic mockery ; 
 
A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 109 
 
 As WO go plodding away 
 To the silent city 
 Where Death holds SAvay. 
 
 Shakespeare, intricate, profound, 
 World renown'd. 
 Wrote with the pen of a god ; 
 Saw with a seraphic eye. 
 And cxplor'd with unweari'd wing 
 The boundless deep of the sky ; 
 As well as every earthly thing, 
 . Gathering data for his pen 
 From large and little men. 
 Till his became the master mind 
 Of all mankind. 
 
 Blind Milton's name 
 Wakes a different train 
 Of thought sublime ; 
 Around his Paradise 
 In the heavenly clime. 
 
 Whate'er there is 
 
 Of holiness, 
 
 Centers 'round 
 
 This son of thought profound : 
 
 And sometimes we 
 
 Seem to see 
 
 Him cnthron'd 
 
 With theDeity : 
 
 With blind eyes bright, 
 
 Full in the effulgence 
 
 Of the paradise light. 
 
 The poet Dante, 
 
110 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Who wrote ' ' The Divine Comedy, " 
 
 Of the flaming country 
 
 Of purgatorial pain, 
 
 And tlie celestial plain, 
 
 Thrills the imagination. 
 
 With the startling width 
 
 Of limitless creation. 
 
 Boundless, vast, sublime. 
 
 Endless, eternal, divine. 
 
 With cities builded on no ground, 
 
 And kingdoms without sound ; 
 
 And fires that light 
 
 Grim Pluto's bound. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning, she, 
 The queen of English poesy. 
 Of pure and gentle mind, 
 'Rang'd unconfin'd 
 Thro' every fair and fragrant grot, 
 CuUmg divinest thought. 
 For the weary and the dull 
 And lovers of the beautiful. 
 
 Thou gentle spirit fair, 
 Heavenly as the sisterhood of air, 
 In our admiration 
 We worship thee. 
 
 And thy friendless " Aurora Leigh, " 
 As down the steep descent she ran. 
 From that heartless woman 
 And ungodly man. 
 In her wild and frenzi'd fright. 
 Out into the night, 
 "As far as God" from their sight. 
 
A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. m 
 
 Mrs. Hemans, too, 
 Born with the art divine, 
 Sings above the azure hue 
 In the paradisal clime, 
 With features all benign. 
 
 When the evening shadows flit 
 
 And grow longer on the ground ; 
 
 I love in peace to sit 
 
 And read thy running line ; 
 
 Cadentic and sublime ; 
 
 For a heavenly light 
 
 Fair and bright. 
 
 Plays upon thy page 
 
 Fraught with knowledge. 
 
 And as I scan 
 
 The rythm and the rhyme, 
 
 Seraphs rare with golden hair. 
 
 Come softly flitting, round 
 
 With gentle rustling sound, 
 
 To pull aside the veil 
 
 Which hides the world 
 
 So fair and pale 
 
 From mortal eyes 
 
 Beneath these clouded skies. 
 
 Campbell, in his time. 
 
 Wrote a deathless rhyme 
 
 Inscrib'd to the angel Hope, 
 
 Cheering immortal man 
 
 'Gainst the fiends and fates to cope ; 
 
 Bidding him stand 
 
 With this herald emblematic in his hand. 
 
 Whether amid the frozen Alps 
 
112 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Or at the " panting line," 
 
 This angel cheers him with her song 
 
 As he journeys to the judgment dawn. 
 
 Look at Homer 
 
 Ere we go, 
 
 Who sprang from parentage 
 
 Doubtful, low. 
 
 And rose with the force 
 
 Of mighty genius 
 
 Along the immortal course, 
 
 Till his guiding star 
 
 Shines in the constellation far 
 
 Where all the hosts of heaven are, 
 
 Deathless as before the fall ; 
 
 When in celestial airs 
 
 Hung golden stairs. 
 
 And angelic eyes 
 
 Shone out of the skies, 
 
 On scenery fair 
 
 As those heavenly visitants were, 
 
 Who met with mortals here below 
 
 in the ages long ago. 
 
 These are some of the names 
 Which our admiration claims ; 
 For the immortal strains 
 They left behind, 
 To cheer the mind 
 With thoughts of bliss 
 Beyond this world's wilderness. 
 
 May singers ever sing 
 Of those disembodi'd ones, 
 Gone, fetterless and free, 
 
A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 113 
 
 Away from this mortality, 
 
 Into the paradise light 
 
 From all that dimmed 
 
 Their seraph sight ; 
 
 As they wended here below, 
 
 Sometimes in poverty, 
 
 Sometimes in woe. 
 
 Too dire for you or mc to know. 
 
 ! ye bards sublime, 
 
 Tenants of that ethereal clime, 
 
 Where heavenly wanderers play 
 
 On golden lutes. 
 
 Love's divinest lay. 
 
 Amid those airs 
 
 Where earthly cares 
 
 Never intrudes 
 
 On your moments or your moods ; 
 
 O ! cease not to sing 
 
 Some heartfelt offering, 
 
 In yon fair clime. 
 
 To cheer the flow 
 
 Of eternal time. 
 
 As its unending ages go 
 
 Fleeting on 
 
 Beyond where tempests blow. 
 
 CIO) 
 
114 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 LINES TO MARIANNA. 
 
 Friend of my youth, 
 
 From whom in other years 
 
 I turn'd like Ruth, 
 
 With eyes suffus'd in tears, 
 
 To wander away 
 
 Thro' the world and its throng. 
 
 With nothing to cheer my way 
 
 Save the lingering notes of your song. 
 
 Long years have past by, 
 
 I've wandered some distance since then ; 
 
 But nowhere have I 
 
 Met daughter more fair among men. 
 
 And since Father Time 
 
 Has plac'd on your brow, 
 
 His signet divine 
 
 Making you more womanly now ; 
 
 I long to turn back 
 And greet thee again ; 
 From the far winding track 
 I've trac'd o'er the plain : 
 With that ardor and love, 
 That affection for you. 
 Which came from above 
 When life was budding to view. 
 
 I see thee, as then. 
 
 Thro' the mists of twenty years, 
 
 (Which so checker'd hath been, 
 
LINES TO MART ANN A. 115 
 
 With mirth, music, and tears), 
 True, noble, and grand. 
 With affection and love, 
 Leading three babes by the hand 
 To the fair world above. 
 
 And a halo of light 
 Falls gently around. 
 While amber pearls bright. 
 Sparkle with sound. 
 As the lingering notes of the lay 
 Break again On my ear, 
 Which you sang on that day 
 " To the faithful, good cheer. " 
 
 Friend of my youth, 
 The sentiment told. 
 Precious as truth 
 More lasting than gold ; 
 (In the lines I have penn'd), 
 Shall never grow less 
 Where'er I may wend, 
 Thro' cheer or distress. 
 
 And in the evening of life, 
 Amid its sunset glow. 
 When the dark angel of strife 
 Ruffles my pUlow, 
 The last thought of earth 
 Shall be of my friend, 
 (Nearer than sister by birth). 
 As to the shores eternal I tend. 
 
116 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 LITTLE MAUD. 
 
 The night was wild without, 
 The monntain spirit roam'd about, 
 The last flickering lamp gone out. 
 Two little bare feet 
 Went wandering thro' the street. 
 Shelterless and lone, 
 To nobody's home, 
 Praying thus in monotone. 
 
 " O ! thou God of earth and sky. 
 Let me find a nook in which to die, 
 With the wicked angels standing by ; 
 For the good of earth forsake 
 And make me the devil's pathway take, 
 Without a word of cheer 
 Or listening ear 
 As I wander thro' the raindrops here. 
 
 " The rich and great 
 Sit enthron'd in state. 
 Before a cheerful fire grate. 
 While my bare feet on these stones 
 Cause anguish soul groans : 
 Making me hate the earth 
 And the race that gave me birth, 
 For I'm of little worth." 
 
 She came to the river Thames, 
 Full of aches and pains, 
 With addl'd brains, 
 
LITTLE MAUD. 117 
 
 And from a promontory high 
 
 She look'd into the angry sky, 
 
 Bidding the "fiends appear 
 
 And take her from this wretched sphere 
 
 While there's nobody near." 
 
 The water spirit heard a fall, 
 
 A gurgling, gasping splash, that was all ; 
 
 And little Maud so small 
 
 Found still repose 
 
 As the river flows. 
 
 From the life of an outcast, 
 
 Shelter'd in peace at last 
 
 Beyond the ringing blast. 
 
 Some fishermen found 
 
 The forsaken and the drown'd 
 
 On their wonted round ; 
 
 And they bore her from the wave 
 
 To a new made grave. 
 
 In a lonely nook on shore 
 
 The body and nothing more, 
 
 For the soul had gone before. 
 
 And as those harden'd men 
 
 Perform'd the office of friendship then, 
 
 A light all fair and bright fell on their ken ; 
 
 And a chorus soft and low, 
 
 From whence they did not know. 
 
 Was wafted round them there. 
 
 By unseen messengers of the air 
 
 Sorrowing for the soul of Maud so fair. 
 
118 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE INDIAN'S DOOM. 
 
 What decree of humanity 
 Hatli doom'd the Indian to perish 
 In the western sea ? 
 For wasn't this land, 
 A birthright inheritance 
 From the Almighty's hand ? 
 
 Else why was he found on freedom's ground 
 
 Before the white man's tread 
 
 Woke an echo round, 
 
 Holding dominion here, 
 
 Over the western wilds, 
 
 The bison and the deer ? 
 
 What ages ere we found this land so fair, 
 
 Did the Indian unrestraiu'd 
 
 Roam here and there, 
 
 Worshiping the great Manitou, 
 
 Who rules ' ' The happy hunting ground, " 
 
 Fill'd with game and foliage too ? 
 
 From Indian bands we've reft these lands, 
 
 Ruthlessly and forever, 
 
 With stronger hands, 
 
 All but a portion small. 
 
 And soon, too soon, 
 
 They will have none at all. 
 
THE INDIAN'S DOOM. 119 
 
 And when tlie last shall have forever past 
 
 Into the boundless universe 
 
 So vague and vast. 
 
 How shall we answer then 
 
 For obliterating from the records of time, 
 
 The name and the race of the red men ? 
 
120 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 'T WAS in that age when earth was young 
 And " Time his first birth-day told by the sun," 
 That angels and gods together stray'd 
 Thro' the Orient's tranquil shade ; 
 Spell bound with the speech, 
 Those heavenly heralds held 
 While talking each to each 
 In that wondrous age of eld. 
 
 'T Avas long ere sin 
 
 Had let her midnight darkness in 
 
 Upon that sunny glade, 
 
 Where our first parents stray'd. 
 
 And the artful enemy exchang'd for blis3 
 
 Those thoughts of wickedness, 
 
 Turning that paradise rare 
 
 Into a garden of despair. 
 
 Whole happy days went by 
 
 Conversing with visitants of the sky, 
 
 Whose glorious light did seem 
 
 Stainless as the stream, 
 
 Which, meandering wide 
 
 With glorious gleam, 
 
 Bears its mercy 
 
 Throughout the land of the glorified. 
 
 Celestial wanderer's from the sky 
 Earthward ofttimes cast an eye, 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 121 
 
 And would frequent wait 
 
 And linger late, 
 
 Held by the loving sound 
 
 Of earthly accents round, 
 
 Till their former heights they couldn't reach, 
 
 Eesistless held by human speech. 
 
 'T was no uncommon thing. 
 
 At the sunset hour, 
 
 To see a heavenly wing 
 
 And mortal maid in love's bower ; 
 
 Or straying on the glade, 
 
 Under the silvery moon, 
 
 Pouring to the timbrel all in tune, 
 
 Sweeter songs than mortals sing. 
 
 And gods, that else might be 
 
 Heavenly patterns of divinity, 
 
 Would slake their thirst, 
 
 Using holy exultations, 
 
 That ofttimes burst 
 
 In such rapturous lore, 
 
 As to startle favor'd mortals 
 
 "Whom they visited on earth's shore. 
 
 What heaven could brighter seem 
 
 Than the infinitesimal gleam, 
 
 Shed over those Eden groves 
 
 From the light that flows 
 
 Pei-petual and resplendent on, 
 
 As when earth was usher'd into dawn 
 
 Not for you and me 
 
 But bright angels of divinity. 
 
 (11) 
 
122 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 
 
 The golden age is gone, 
 
 And the raptures of its song 
 
 Have died from out the sky : 
 
 And instead thereof many a sinful sigh 
 
 Goes upward from the race, 
 
 To heaven's highest place ; 
 
 As the toiling millions strive 
 
 For food to keep the soul alive. 
 
 The mischief that was done. 
 
 When our Mother Eve 
 
 Listened to the artful serpent's tongue 
 
 You'd scarce believe ; 
 
 For, instead of fairest fruit. 
 
 Weeds, bitter at the root, 
 
 Choke and sap the soil. 
 
 Whereon mankind is doom'd to toil, 
 
 For bread to eat, 
 
 With more of bitterness than sweet. 
 
 That garden, once so fau', ^ 
 
 Can scarce be found 
 
 With greatest skill and care. 
 
 There desolation stalks around 
 
 Those perfum'd paths so neat. 
 
 Where gods and maidens used to meet. 
 
 And those fragrant groves, 
 
 Where angels told the story of their loves 
 
 To enraptur'd ears. 
 
 Waking that heavenly thrill 
 
 Which moves to madness the human will, 
 
 Neglected stand without a hand. 
 
 To clear their wild entanglements 
 
 From the deserted land. 
 
TFIE GOLDEN AGE. 123 
 
 Yes, that golden age is dead, 
 The heavenly minstrelsy hath fled, 
 Who tun'd their lyres divine 
 In that olden time ; 
 And went walking with our race, 
 Lovingly together through 
 Those lands of light 
 When our earth was new. 
 
 Shall we not again. 
 
 In some shining sphere. 
 
 Far remote from pain. 
 
 Meet those who came here 
 
 From the heavenly plain, 
 
 Our primitive race to cheer, 
 
 And always would have staid 
 
 But for the mischief the serpent made ? 
 
124 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 TIME'S TASK. 
 
 Working, working, 
 
 Never shirking, 
 
 Time is busy now, 
 
 Carving wrinkles 
 
 On each brow. 
 
 While all around doth glow, 
 
 The frosty sprinkles 
 
 Of his snow. 
 
 He never sleeps 
 Or sorrowing weeps, 
 As his human prey 
 Goes gliding away 
 Down creation's steeps, 
 Into the tomb 
 And night of gloom. 
 Were duration's vigil keeps. 
 
 In the noiseless night, 
 
 While the star gems twinkle 
 
 Adown the crystalline height. 
 
 He plies his dole 
 
 With ceaseless roll, 
 
 'Round the green earth. 
 
 From pole to pole, 
 
 On every shape of human birth. 
 
 In the brightest day 
 Earth's rarest and fairest 
 
TIME'S TASK. 125 
 
 He spirits away, 
 
 Thro' the breakers and the spray ; 
 
 While the liquid hue 
 
 Of love's eyes of blue, 
 
 Instant turn to lead 
 
 At the approach of his tread. 
 
 Why doth he take to the skies 
 Those we love dearest 
 Away from our eyes. 
 Leaving friends nearest 
 To pine with the sighs, 
 Which daily doth fall, 
 'Round the white rustling shroud 
 And dark coffin'd pall ? 
 
 But you must rest, 
 And so must I, 
 And it may be best, 
 Tho' we don't know why,- 
 That Time should sing 
 His ceaseless lullaby. 
 And ply his task 
 Till every life is past. 
 
 Above the thunder's sound 
 
 Or under ground. 
 
 He still doth tramp and tread. 
 
 Past the living and the dead : 
 
 Without a stay or stand. 
 
 Turning all things gray 
 
 On every hand. 
 
 By the magic mystery of his wand. 
 
126 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A MADKIGAL. 
 
 The roses bloom in the garden, 
 The ivy vine creeps over the wall — 
 The writer asks your pardon, 
 Craves it from one and all, 
 For penning this simple madrigal. 
 
 This madrigal so frail and small 
 While afloat on the ocean round. 
 Fetterless, free as heaven's portals be, 
 To the pardon'd one and all, 
 Who journey thence from under ground. 
 
 It may bear no blooms 
 Amid the scorching sun, 
 As time doth onward run ; 
 Or 'neath the softest moons 
 For the variation of its tunes. 
 
 Like an unheard bell, 
 
 Or a hidden way -side flower, 
 
 Or a blushing asphodel 
 
 In an angel's bower. 
 
 Thy fate, ah ! who may teU ? 
 
 Life's best lay 
 May perish in a day, 
 Emblematic of the fate of man, 
 On this earthly sj^an. 
 Where all things turn to clay. 
 
A MADRIGAL. 127 
 
 Madrigal and man 
 Shall find the mold. 
 Shut from gleams of gold, 
 At the end of life's short span, 
 Beneath the silent wold. 
 
 But a deathless bloom 
 
 Shall break beyond the tomb, 
 
 Where peris wait 
 
 With loving lips elate, 
 
 To welcome from the gloom. 
 
 Out of the cold 
 
 Into the fold, 
 
 Where heavenly songs are told, 
 
 As the eternal changelessness 
 
 Is forever onward rolled. 
 
 Then my lovely queen, 
 While the grass is green, 
 Share thy charms with me ; 
 Ere the night of death 
 Sets us free ; 
 
 For a woman's smile, 
 Will cheer the while. 
 The soul of man, 
 For its distant flight. 
 As naught else can. 
 
12H CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE FOLIOS OF THE FATHERS. 
 
 Blessed tomes 
 
 That fill our homes, 
 
 Are the folios of the fathers ; 
 
 Wells of wisdom vast, 
 
 Records of the silent past, 
 
 Penn'd by hands divine 
 
 For your reading and for mine. 
 
 Counselors and sages 
 
 Of all times and all ages, 
 
 Have left undying lines 
 
 On their leaflets and their pages, 
 
 Enduring as eternal time, 
 
 While a mortal shall remain 
 
 Imaged like the God divine. 
 
 Your's are the voices 
 
 At which the soul rejoices 
 
 In a wider range and sway, 
 
 Mindful of the knowledge ye convey ; 
 
 More precious than golden ore, 
 
 Or diamonds from Labrador, 
 
 To those who con your pages o'er. 
 
 From out the volumes bound 
 There comes a solemn sound, 
 Of those who wrote and read, 
 From the regions of dim fancy 
 And the by-ways of the dead. 
 
THE FOLIOS OF THE FATHERS. 129 
 
 As in silence tliey relate 
 The decrees of mortal fate. 
 
 It matters not how poor thou art, 
 
 They will impart 
 
 Knowledge to friend or foe 
 
 In this endless round below 
 
 Of recurring years, 
 
 As onward through the gloom 
 
 We go plodding to the tomb. 
 
 Milton still sings of Paradise, 
 
 Tho' millions live with hearts of ice ; 
 
 Some there are who hear the lay 
 
 His heavenly harp is sounding 
 
 From over the way. 
 
 And Shakespeare tells us still 
 
 Something of the human wiU. 
 
 Our Franklin's soul, 
 
 From out the destin'd goal, 
 
 Views the progress of a work 
 
 On earth begun ; 
 
 And his manly words of cheer 
 
 Help many a weary one. 
 
 Stumbling o' er life's highway here. 
 
 Lord Bacon and his name 
 
 Thrills the student's frame. 
 
 With the mighty gifts of mind 
 
 Possessed by one of human kind. 
 
 And Plato in his place 
 
 Out strips the lightning's pace. 
 
 Thro' the realm of matter and of mind. 
 
130 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I love those folios divine 
 
 As dniukavds love their wiue ; 
 
 Aud at each perusal my soul runs o' er 
 
 With draughts still sweeter than before. 
 
 Books make friends where'er I be, 
 
 In the social circle 
 
 Or ou the stormy sea. 
 
 They are companions dear, 
 Creating friendships most sincere. 
 The wise of ages gone 
 Speak to us lingering here. 
 With voice that seems our own. 
 Love, joy, and sorrow we find 
 In this sweet communion of mind. 
 
 My books I prize 
 
 More than all else beneath the skies. 
 
 They cheer my lonely hours, 
 
 Revive my languid powers, 
 
 And make this earth 
 
 A heaven seem 
 
 By the brightness of its beam. 
 
 Ye folios divine. 
 
 Treasures heavenly mine, 
 
 I love each word and line ; 
 
 Aud over your covers, 
 
 When the midnight hovers. 
 
 At times will fall a golden ray 
 
 From pen of the writer gone away. 
 
THE LOST ANQEL. 131 
 
 THE LOST ANGEL. 
 
 Once an angel lost her way 
 In straying from the fount of day, 
 Too near the sinful world, 
 With pinions partly furled 
 And rapturous eye intent, 
 Viewing earth's scenery 
 Along the way she went. 
 
 n. 
 
 A halo of celestial light 
 
 Shone round this heavenly sprite, 
 
 While the very air 
 
 As she went winging there, 
 
 Turn'd golden with the glow 
 
 Of bright particles, 
 
 Which from Alla's throne doth go. 
 
 m. 
 
 But lingering in listless mood. 
 
 Too long away from the heavenly sisterhood, 
 
 And mingling with earth's grosser element, 
 
 She a strange sensation felt, 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain, 
 
 Disturbing the equipoise 
 
 Of her immortal frame. 
 
 rv. 
 
 She beheld a garden fair, 
 
132 campbujLL's poems. 
 
 In whicli assembled were 
 A group of laughing belles, 
 A troop of fashion's swells, 
 Making merry with dance and song, 
 Where weary she alighted 
 And ling-ered long. 
 
 Lovers wreathed in flowers. 
 
 Fairest from this world of ours, 
 
 Sported thro' the maze 
 
 Of that delightful haze, 
 
 Which hung around the grove, 
 
 Bright and beautiful, 
 
 As aught this side the land of Jove. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The angel felt a thrill intense, 
 
 A seeming strange suspense. 
 
 To join the merry-making there. 
 
 And taste the joys of earth so rare ; 
 
 But as she faltered in her stay. 
 
 She heard a gentle voice 
 
 Bidding " back to the gates of day " ; 
 
 VII. 
 
 Whereat her wings she instant raised 
 
 And into the ethereal depths of heaven gazed ; 
 
 But thrice repeated ere her wings would do 
 
 Her former will, she did renew 
 
 The effort to rise and soar. 
 
 Away from that delightful grove 
 
 To the far-off heavenly shore. 
 
THE LOST ANGEL. I33 
 
 vni. 
 A bright celestial beam 
 Broke round the parting scene, 
 As the angel upward flew 
 Out of that earthly company's view ; 
 While long there lingering stood 
 Some wondering ones 
 Of the earthly sisterhood. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The angel on her way 
 
 Upward winging, sought the realm of day, 
 
 But something held her back ; 
 
 The former impulse she seemed to lack, 
 
 For her wings unwonted bore 
 
 Her circling round and round, 
 
 In a way unsought before. 
 
 X. 
 
 At times the gates seemed opening to 
 Her former view ; 
 But then a darkness closed around 
 In the depths of space profound ; 
 Where ceaseless flying ever 
 She still kept sighing, 
 " Shall I get there never?" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Alas ! that glimpse of earth 
 
 Robbed her of the heavenly birth ; 
 
 For in an outward circle doomed to stray. 
 
 She wings the time away. 
 
 Lost amid the mystic spheres 
 
 To the shining ones 
 
 And the eternal years. 
 
134 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Lost to heaven and hope, 
 
 Away on the outward slope 
 
 Of dark duration far, 
 
 Beyond earth, moon, or star, 
 
 She onward ever flies. 
 
 Round and round 
 
 Thro' the vast and viewless skies. 
 
PASS NOT THAT GRAVE. 135 
 
 PASS NOT THAT GEAVE. 
 
 Pass not that grave 
 
 Without placing a flower there ; 
 
 What matter to you or me, 
 
 Who fought for equal liberty, 
 
 That the body lying there 
 
 Once marched away 
 
 Uniformed in gray, 
 
 Striking at the flag 
 
 Which was our father's care, 
 
 When British sons 
 
 And murderous guns, 
 
 Laid waste the land so fair ? 
 
 Place a flower on that mound 
 
 While decking round 
 
 Union graves on holy ground ; 
 
 For it is but just 
 
 As Death levels all 
 
 To the darkness of the pall. 
 
 And tho' misguided, they 
 
 Harm us not to-day. 
 
 As 'neath the silent ground 
 
 They sleep in solemn state profound, 
 
 Where you and I must wait 
 
 Time's mysterious round. 
 
 A flower for the dead, 
 From the living overhead. 
 Is but a tribute just 
 
136 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To the molderiug dust, 
 
 From those who stay 
 
 To those away 
 
 On that mystic pilgrimage, 
 
 Which may last alway : 
 
 Where never arms 
 
 Or human harms 
 
 Shall touch disembodied ones, 
 
 Marching thro' other dawns. 
 
 'T would seem as tho' 
 
 When past a rebel's grave we go, 
 
 Decking with bloom 
 
 The union tomb, 
 
 That hatred lingered still 
 
 In living breasts 
 
 Which the iron will 
 
 Of the grim messenger can not Tcill, 
 
 For long years have past. 
 
 Since the last 
 
 Rebel gun 
 
 Broke on the blast. 
 
 Oh ! is it just 
 
 To the sacred dust 
 
 Of departed man, that mortal can 
 
 Withhold a flower from 
 
 The dead and dumb. 
 
 While there is pldnty for every fallen son ■ 
 
 No matter tho' we hate the living foe, 
 
 Who sought destruction, death, and woe 
 
 This side yon bier. 
 
 Where the common tear 
 
 Falls between the living 
 
 And the lifeless here ? 
 
PASS NOT THAT GRAVE. 137 
 
 A flower for the blue, 
 
 A flower for the gray, 
 
 Can not harm you, 
 
 While it may 
 
 Drive dull grief away 
 
 From some who gather round 
 
 The sHent mound, 
 
 Thro' kindship's tie 
 
 And affection's sigh, 
 
 For those who sleep 
 
 In the cold earth deep, 
 
 As we pass them by. 
 
 Shall we do less 
 Than the Gods of forgiveness ; 
 Who bring from the worlds of Paradise 
 Their floral offering's fair and nice ? 
 The first that blooms 
 For union and rebel tombs ? 
 Without distinction now 
 That Death's cold hand 
 Hath touched each brow ; 
 And the soul imaculate. 
 Is no longer moved 
 By human hate ? 
 (12) 
 
138 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 DOKOTHY DOBBINS. 
 
 "A WEDDING ring is a pretty thing, 
 A priaked up bride is fair, 
 With roses and with posies 
 And bright filigrees in her hair ; 
 But then there is no trusting of the men, 
 And if I were young again 
 I would of them all beware. 
 
 ' ' Sweet as the breath of May they'll court you to day 
 But to morrow take care ; 
 They'll all stray away 
 The Lord only knows where, 
 And he never will say ; 
 For their head swims with varying whims 
 At each girl who trips past them with jaunty air." 
 
 And Dorothy Dobbins weaving with bobbins 
 Shook her gray head, 
 As if quite afraid of what she had said, 
 Tho' lovers were the last thing she might dread , 
 But you can't always tell who's been a belle 
 When Time's Avrinkled fingers on the forehead is laid 
 " Lovers, I've had them, I know them," she said. 
 
 "This I will own wherever you roam 
 While your company's new. 
 There's no one that's equal to you ; 
 You may make choice of the men, 
 For nine out of ten 
 
DOROTHY DOBBINS. . I39 
 
 Will make an ado 
 Until pliglited-and then ? 
 
 ' ' Should they chance to meet in a trance 
 Another by mountain or lake, 
 When your w6dding gown's made, 
 They'll leave you in the shade 
 With your eight kinds of cake, 
 To mould on the shelf where its laid, 
 Just for her dear little sake. 
 
 " Once my wedding gown was the talk of the town; 
 But it never went on ; 
 For my Dumpling, my Don, 
 With another was gone. 
 And never the cake on the table was set, 
 But there is no use to pine or regret — 
 Tho' I'm Dorothy Dobbins as yet. 
 
 " Let it all go, I'm glad it was so ; 
 It was a lesson well learned. 
 For oft had I spurned 
 Some suitor, brave, manly and true, 
 Because his kerchief was black 
 Or his eyes wasn't blue, 
 I gave him the slip or the sack. 
 
 " But now I'm old and turned to a scold, 
 There's one thing I know. 
 Had I the face with my ribbons and lace 
 Of thirty summers ago, 
 I'd pay off the men 
 As a part of the debt that I owe. 
 Especially Don, Dedrich, and Ben. 
 
140 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 " For, on my word fair, 't is little they care 
 Spite the fine things that they say, 
 How a woman's heart aches, 
 Or what cordial she takes. 
 If they have their own way ; 
 Promises seldom keep men under awe, 
 They're about as lasting as snow in a thaw. 
 
 "-Quite easy to make and easy to break, 
 While your wedding morn 
 Dawns dim and forlorn ; 
 Like the rustle and tussle 
 Of swine in the coi-n ; 
 As you stand once again 
 Betrayed by the men. 
 
 " To sit quietly down the talk of the town, 
 All mateless, dateless. 
 Full of pains and distress, 
 While your lover's away, 
 The bride-groom gay 
 Of some powdered prude ; 
 A bundle of falsehood and foible quite rude. 
 
 " Don't mention the men, I'm like a lost hen. 
 
 Without chick, pullet, or mate, 
 
 Resigned to my fate. 
 
 Let your love stories be when you're talking to me." 
 
 And she shook her gray head, 
 " Children once burnt in the fire have a dread. 
 
 Lovers, I know them, I 've seen them," she said. 
 
LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 141 
 
 LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, along 
 
 Thro' all the weary day, 
 Went our army in a throng. 
 
 Marching to meet the gray ; 
 
 From the Wilderness away, 
 Day in, day out, 
 Over a weary, dreary route. 
 
 Marching, ever marching on, 
 
 With the flag of freedom borne ahead, 
 
 Thro' darkness and thro' dawn 
 Went our dauntless army's tread. 
 Away from the wounded and the dead, 
 
 Away from the weary and the lame 
 
 Who couldn't follow in the train. 
 
 A youth, with curls of gold 
 
 And breast to danger steel'd, 
 Favorite of some loving fold. 
 
 To exhausted nature was forced to yield ; 
 
 Not like hero on the field, 
 But falling from the ranks that day 
 By the roadside, to breathe his life away. 
 
 A sickening sense came o'er his frame, 
 
 And a whisper in his ear 
 Spoke the youthful hero's name. 
 
 Saying, ' ' What dost thou near 
 
 My realm so drear ? 
 
142 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 For this thy suit of blue, 
 
 Don Death's robes, I give them you. " 
 
 Gone was our army then ; 
 
 The soften'd moonlight fell 
 On his death struck ken, 
 
 By the roadside in the dell. 
 
 He mourned a little spell 
 Knowing that his strength was gone, 
 And couldn't follow the flag of freedom on. 
 
 His fairy dream of fame. 
 So beautiful and bright, 
 
 Was but an empty name 
 Wreathed in jems of light. 
 Glimmering in the distant moonlight, 
 
 Falling on those southern hills. 
 
 And blood stained rills. 
 
 The aged mother waiting ■ 
 And watching at the door, 
 
 His Anna's heart breaking 
 In that cottage home of yore. 
 For a step's returning never more : 
 
 Troubled his weary soul 
 
 With the dying life stream's roll. 
 
 No friends are watching there 
 By the roadside in the grass, 
 
 But angels of the air 
 
 Point him heavenward as thy pass, 
 To an immortal company, one mass, 
 
 Tenting on a pleasant plain. 
 
 Where never enters weariness or pain. 
 
LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 143 
 
 Backward falls tlie fainting head, 
 
 The soul on pilgrimage eternal 
 To bright mansions hath sped, 
 
 And odorous airs supernal, 
 
 Where duration's long diurnal 
 Keeps its vigil round 
 Yon heavenly camping-ground. 
 
 Nobly did he stand 
 
 And nobly did he fall. 
 In this favored land 
 
 Freedom's home for all. 
 
 And it matters not at all 
 The lack of burial or of rite, 
 For his soul pass'd heaven's gate that night. 
 
144 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF SOULS. 
 
 There's a kingdom of souls 
 
 Just over the way, 
 Where celestial bell-tolls 
 
 Ring all thro' the day; 
 And music floats 
 In softest notes, 
 Thro' vistas and thro' grots, 
 
 Bright as blooms of May. 
 
 There shining ones 
 
 With crowns of fairest sheen ; 
 Greet on celestial lawns 
 
 Heaven's royal Prince supreme : 
 Who holds dominion far 
 Past crystal bar 
 And outmost star, 
 
 Shedding light unseen. 
 
 Just past its glowing portals 
 And gates of shining hue. 
 
 Gathered are those bright immortals 
 That faded from our view, 
 
 In those early days 
 
 Of childhood's changeful maze, 
 
 When Death's dark angel strays 
 Some dreadful deeds to do. 
 
 This kingdom golden seems 
 
 With rippling rivers flowing, 
 Which to immortal dreams 
 
THE KINGDOM OF SOULS. 145 
 
 Is beautiful past our knowing : 
 With groves of shining light 
 And birds of plumage bright, 
 Where never falls a ray of night 
 
 On seraphs round and round agoing. 
 
 Souls are ever passing thence, 
 
 All guideless and alone. 
 From out the dread suspense 
 
 Which in sepulchers is known, 
 By the universal reign 
 Of no motion, mind, or brain 
 That doth there attain, 
 
 'Neath the cold head-stone. 
 
 This land of spirits bright 
 
 Is the solace and the stay 
 Of blest hopes, delight. 
 
 Which dawns upon our way, 
 Leading from the gloom, 
 Leading from the tomb, 
 And that narrow room 
 
 Builded out of clay. 
 
 One day, freed from fetters here, 
 The soul shall rise on seraph's wing, 
 
 Away thro' the ether clear. 
 Into realms where ever sing 
 
 The praises of our God ; 
 
 Those sandled prophets shod, 
 
 Whose endless hallelujahs applaud 
 Its welcome entering. 
 
 (13) 
 
146 CAMPBELL.^ POEMS. 
 
 ON PICKET GUAED. 
 
 The sentinel jDacing his beat 
 
 While the army is sleeping around, 
 Ofttimes in his visions will greet 
 
 Some loved whisper or sound, 
 From his far away home ; 
 
 Where the moonbeam and stars 
 More bright to his vision hath shown 
 
 Since he entered the wars. 
 
 Soft and musical now 
 
 It breaks on his dreamy ear. 
 While round the stern brow 
 
 Falls a light bright and clear ; 
 But quick from the blissful vision he wakes 
 
 Recalling the thoughts that roam, 
 For the gray coated rifleman breaks 
 
 The dream he is dreaming of home. 
 
 Along the skirmish lines 
 
 Dreadful death flashes are seen, 
 Lighting the forest of pines 
 
 With their glimmer and gleam : 
 While the cannon's boomings of dread 
 
 Break loud on the^ ear. 
 And the tramping and tread 
 
 Tells that the battle is here. 
 
 With sash on his shoulder 
 And sword in liis hand, 
 
Oy PICKET GUARD. 147 
 
 To the foeman grown bolder 
 
 He cheers his brave little band ; 
 On thro' the belching of hail 
 
 Into the chasm of death, 
 Amid music and wail 
 
 And groaning and moaning for breath. 
 
 Wounded in the arm ! 
 
 'T is nothing, a scratch, and no more : 
 He waves the old flag for a charm 
 
 To cheer the charge once more ; 
 Where the walls of the slain 
 
 And the heaps of the dead, 
 Cover mountain and plain, 
 
 Felled by grape-shot and lead. 
 
 The leader bids on to the strife, 
 
 Saying, ' ' Rally, boys, rally, 
 For home, freedom, and life. " 
 
 Again and again they sally 
 On the verge of the desperate line, 
 
 Where the flag of fame gleams 
 And the flickering death lights shine, 
 
 Along the brooldets and streams. 
 
 He wavers, he falls. 
 
 With his face to the foe. 
 While with the last breath of courage he calls, 
 " God aid you, General, I go. " 
 And Death with his mantle of gloom 
 
 Wraps the mangled remains 
 In that strange sleeping swoon 
 
 Where the soul its liberty gains. 
 
148 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Far away in the East 
 
 waits a wife and children fail' ; 
 To greet the one released 
 
 Whom they worship there, 
 Returning on the green 
 
 Home from the war 
 In the peaceful Autumn's gleam, 
 
 Where the loved and loving are. 
 
 Alas ! they wait in vain ; 
 
 Those anxious eyes will tire 
 Ere returning home again 
 
 Children greet their sire : 
 Faithful before the picket's view, 
 
 Faithful in the battle's broil, 
 He changed his suit of blue 
 
 For one that will never soil. 
 
 Once on picket guard, 
 
 But now at another post. 
 Stand many vet'rans marred 
 
 With the celestial host : 
 Beyond the Jordan far 
 
 AVhere the sun's meridian line 
 Shows never a scar 
 
 Eeceiv'd in defending Liberty's shrine. 
 
OUR OLD COMMANDER'S LAST BATTLE. I49 
 
 OUR OLD COMMANDER'S LAST BATTLE. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 These lines were written July 13Lh, 1885, and puMished on the 21st 
 of the same mouth in the " Newcark Mo ruing Register," under the 
 name or title, of " Corporal Campbell, Battery H, First Rhode Island 
 Light Artillery; " the death of General Grant occurring on the morn- 
 ing of the 23rd, at 8:08 o'clock A. M. On two occasions the writer 
 acted as Orderly, in carrying messages, for the distinguished Hero 
 during the heat of battle.— C. 
 
 On Mt. MacGregor's brow 
 Grant is fighting now 
 
 A more deadly foe 
 Than the foe of Mission Ridge, 
 Led by Bragg and Breckinridge 
 
 Against us long ago, 
 
 Thro' scenes of desolating woe. 
 
 Death commands the field 
 
 With breast-plate and shield 
 Of darksome hue ; 
 
 All bent and battered 
 
 With human blood bespattered, 
 Shed from victims not a few 
 When life was budding into view. 
 
 Dauntless doth he stand 
 Fighting single hand 
 
 With iron will : 
 Uncomplaining in the fray, 
 
150 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Tho' wounds wear life away, 
 He bravely battles still 
 With this foe of more than mortal skill. 
 
 Writing undying lines 
 
 Between Death's saber shines, 
 Circling round him there ; 
 
 On the verge of doom 
 
 At the doorway of the tomb, 
 Where less manly mortals stand 
 Speechless, pale, before the eternal strand. 
 
 Thou peerless man, 
 
 In the foremost van 
 
 Of all the earth to-day ; 
 
 Old boys in blue, 
 
 Faithful, brave, and true, 
 Would rally once again 
 To save their chief from pain ; 
 
 Could it be 
 
 That loyalty 
 
 Might that shade repel : 
 
 Mustering bands 
 . From all the lands 
 You may depend, 
 Would our dying chief defend. 
 
 Softly speak, a hero dies 
 Before our eyes, 
 
 While manhood's bloom 
 Rests on the brow. 
 Wreathed in fame's garland now : 
 
 Death struck for the tomb. 
 
 So soon, too soon. 
 
HOBBIES. 151 
 
 HOBBIES. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The term hobbiea is not a very euphonious word; yet it seems quite 
 suggestive. An army miglit be recruited out of the vast number of 
 equestrians who are riding hobby-horses to-day, formidable cnougli 
 to put to flight even the moslems with their battle cry of "Allah 
 Achbar, " and a sufficient number still remain to run the affairs of 
 life.— C. 
 
 I. 
 
 The world is full of parliaments 
 
 Of malcontents and lobbies, 
 
 Of dainty nice things 
 
 And of dandy nobbies ; 
 
 Of birds with speckel'd wings, 
 
 Of large and little things. 
 
 Of liberty, love, and law, 
 
 Of talking saints 
 
 And prodigies of awe : 
 
 Of gold and ghosts. 
 
 Of prosy tangled toasts, 
 
 Of flowers fair 
 
 And angels rare. 
 
 Waiting to be worship'd 
 
 On the share : 
 
 Which might fill a page 
 
 With useful knowledge, 
 
 For the student 
 
 Of school or college : 
 
152 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But less pretentious, I 
 
 To pen a line or thought divine 
 
 On hobbies will try. 
 
 n. 
 
 "Ho! there, 
 Do n't you dare 
 To nome a straw 
 Or look a stare, 
 My word is law, 
 And I '11 freeze you unaware 
 Into awe ; 
 
 For I 'm the great ruler 
 Mogul, mighty, king Bergaw. 
 
 in. 
 "I'll send you to the pen 
 If you wink again. 
 Or rob a hen. 
 For 'tis me 
 And the Deity 
 That's running the world, 
 Do n't you see ? 
 And with my hand 
 I command 
 The legion law band. 
 Take off your hat, 
 You dirty brat. 
 
 For you killed dame Marlow's cat, 
 And void of pride 
 You wear the hide 
 Tanned for a cravat. 
 The law must stand ; 
 'T is my command. 
 
HOBBIES. 153 
 
 That you wear shackles on your hand, 
 Until you 're dead and tanned : 
 For I 'm the end of law, 
 Mogul, mighty, king Bergaw. " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Some ladies there are 
 "Who talk like a star, 
 To men not behind them far ; 
 With hysterics and sighs, 
 Something in this wise : 
 " It has long been my hobby 
 To do something shoddy. 
 Something brilliant and strange, 
 And make a great change 
 In the face of the times ; 
 Had I only the dollars and dimes 
 With which to ring up the chimes, 
 Of all that 's absurd : 
 For much have I heard 
 In country and city. 
 How some people pity 
 A waif on the Avave 
 Wading down to her grave ; 
 Thro' trouble and woe 
 To the sands and the strands 
 Where Death's fleet coursers go ; 
 Speeding and careering onward below : 
 With drunken Bill Brown 
 Or papa's new coachman 
 I'd skip out of town. 
 Right into the coal-yard of hell, 
 Burning up, burning down, 
 Burning far fathoms around, 
 
154 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 There forever to dwell 
 Long ages and stages, 
 Ah ! who may tell," 
 
 The fisherman, he 
 Has a great hobby, 
 
 Which he rides by the braes and the tides, 
 And sings all the day 
 While they nibble away : 
 " I^d sooner than own a big schooner 
 Right from the Orient ; 
 Much sooner sit fishing 
 Than rule president, 
 
 VI, 
 
 " Ever wishing to be fishing 
 'Tis much more delight. 
 Than to go kissing 
 The girls on a moonlight night. 
 O yes ! it is a pleasure 
 Beyond any measure, 
 Although I never get a bite. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " You surely can not blame 
 A man of my peculiar frame, 
 Who prefers the lily pools 
 To the giddy gaudy fools. 
 Whose snare of meshes twine 
 'Round simple souls divine : 
 With coquetry and care ; 
 Till the heart stands still 
 Made captive by their will, 
 
HOBBIES. 155 
 
 At much smaller pay 
 Than the wages of a day ; 
 Or to fish all night 
 And never get a bite ? " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 An other hobby hereabout 
 After the show is out, 
 A dozen duffoons will step up 
 With a bow and a hickup, 
 Saying, " Ladies, dear, may we steer 
 You home to night ? " 
 Whereat the answer comes most polite, 
 " No, gentle sirs, 
 'T would not be right, 
 You did n't bring us here ; 
 Besides, is n't it queer 
 At this late hour to come about 
 And rather thin? 
 You did n't take us out 
 So you can not take us in. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Although we're half dead forbeaus, 
 And would resort to any scheme 
 To capture with his clothes. 
 Be he fat or be he lean, 
 An escort fair with wig or hair, 
 Yet we would n't dare 
 This moonlight night, 
 To pass in sight 
 Of all the people's stare 
 Going from this place of prayer : 
 For 't would be misunderstood 
 
156 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Among the married sisterhood ; 
 So we '11 say, please go away, 
 But call some pleasant day 
 When the folks are making hay." 
 
 Ben Butler's hobby 
 Was the white-house lobby. 
 Up the capital hill 
 He 'd determined to go 
 In spite of the devil's will ; 
 And thus to himself would say : 
 " I '11 get to it yet, and that you '11 see, 
 If not in this, in the next country." 
 
 XI. 
 
 St. John had a hobby, 
 
 'Twas cold water drinks 
 
 Without any toddy ; 
 
 But in the shake of two winks 
 
 He betray'd us by G-dy, 
 
 Declaiming so fine 
 
 Against sea foam 
 
 Turn'd into wine : 
 
 To be used nowhere 
 
 Save in the cellar at home ; 
 
 Thus baiting the snare 
 
 With a democratic bone, 
 
 Which the war dogs had spurn'd 
 
 From the foot of the throne. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The sage and the saint, 
 The sinless attaint, 
 
HOBBIES. 157 
 
 Dr. Bircliard's alliteration 
 And high peroration, 
 " Rum, romanism, and rebellion;" 
 Injured the nation 
 More than the rascallion 
 Who sought in the sky. 
 The just judgment of God to defy. 
 He made with his hobby 
 More mischief than Bobby, 
 Who shoots off his tongue 
 For nothing but fun ; 
 About the big fish 
 And the measureless dish 
 Of manna that fell 
 In the far away dell : 
 (When Canaan rose on the view) 
 For the fortunate few ! 
 AYho kept their pots and pans, 
 While crossing the Jordan, 
 Pursued by Pharaoh's bands. 
 
 xin. 
 What is your hobby, lady fair? 
 Pray tell me if you dare ; 
 "My hobby is, sir, if you please, 
 And always has been. 
 Just to take my ease. 
 My little jDOodle dog, Ben, 
 I love to tease ; 
 For he wiggles his tail 
 Like a cute little snail 
 And kisses me so kind. 
 That, in truth, sir, I find 
 More pleasure in this 
 Than being- called 
 
158 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Duck, darling, or Miss : 
 By a romp that can n't read, 
 But will gorge in liis greed. 
 Ginger bread, julep, and jowl. 
 Tobacco, sweet turnips, and fowl, 
 Buttermilk, bacon, and beans, 
 And will fly into smithereens. 
 Should you want a calico gown. 
 To take in the town. 
 With waist, skirt, and sleeves 
 For wearing and airing 
 On sweet Sabbath eves." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And there 's the circus, you see, 
 
 Has become a great hobby ; 
 
 With its elephants, crocodiles. 
 
 Cannibals, condors, and coons ; 
 
 Its camels, and leopards, hyenas, and all ; 
 
 Ring riders, race chasers, 
 
 Both little and tall ; 
 
 While a man at the door 
 
 With a voice of lustical lore 
 
 Cries : ' ' The grandest on earth ! 
 
 Walk right into the show ; 
 
 But do n't forget your half dollar — 
 
 And dime for the concert you know ; 
 
 For we must have something to swallow, 
 
 And that's what makes it go." 
 
 And the dames and the dads 
 
 Will pinch without tea. 
 
 Just to take the small tads 
 
 To the circus, do n't you see ? 
 
HOBBIES. 159 
 
 XV. 
 
 It was the hobby of his life, 
 
 To win sweet Maggie for a >vife, 
 
 And little children half a score. 
 
 But now they 're his to feed and bless 
 
 Since he found his happiness. 
 
 He skips and leaves his wife, 
 
 Right in the center of a mess 
 
 With some darling Bess, 
 
 And its safe to bet your life 
 
 That nine times out of ten 
 
 He dives right into more distress. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 As two lovers neat 
 
 Went walking down the street, 
 
 A glowing sign they chanced to meet : 
 " I scream, I scream, " said she ; 
 " Do n't, " said he, " do n't be afraid, 
 
 I'U protect thee, little maid." 
 " I scream, I scream," said she, 
 " Can't you see Joe Wayth?" 
 "Naught shall harm," he saith, 
 " Thou'lt raise the people 
 
 And ring the bells within the steeple 
 
 As sure as death." 
 "I scream, I'm going mad, 
 
 I want I scream so bad." 
 
 As this she said 
 
 He shook with fear 
 
 While on a sign quite near, 
 
 These words he read : 
 " Ice cream can here be had ! " 
 
160 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When bracing up he said ? 
 " My darling little maid, 
 
 I accidentally laid 
 
 My pocket book 
 
 On the piano shelf." 
 ' ' Get out, you lazy lout ! 
 
 Do you think I 've just come out 
 
 From nnder my papa's surtout ? 
 
 If no money you have 
 
 Find another elf 
 
 Some better than yourself, 
 
 Who has a little wealth ; 
 
 For ginger bread and jams 
 
 Can't be bought with empty alms ; 
 
 Besides I dote on I scream, 
 
 As much as on a nightly walk 
 
 For a friendly talk 
 
 'Neath the soft moon beam." 
 
 xvni. 
 
 So saying she left him there 
 
 With his mind quite full of care, 
 
 And driven to extremes ; 
 
 For gold that gleams 
 
 He took a life 
 
 With the assassin's knife ; 
 
 And at one dangling bound 
 
 From the hangman's rope 
 
 The other country found : 
 
 Just because her ' ' scream " 
 
 Sounded in the silence of his dream, 
 
 As a sort of sulphate 
 
 In that stage 
 
HOBBIES. 161 
 
 Where disappointed lovers wait 
 To nurse their rage. 
 
 XIX, 
 
 "Thanks, stranger, I will not ride, 
 I 'd sooner hoof it by your side. 
 No hobby horse for me ; 
 I have my millions, do n 't you see ? 
 I'll trudge along in time 
 To save another dime. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " O no ! my legs won't fail, 
 I 'm hearty, stout, and hale ; 
 Something over fifty, it is true, 
 But then I feel as young as you. 
 Whose rising sun breaks into view. 
 And sparkles brightly on the dew : 
 Over the hill tops of life 
 Where care and strife 
 Goes rangling the busy world around ; 
 For the dime and dollar and pound, 
 Whose jingling and tingling 
 Ever tease the business nerve 
 From pleasure's paths to swerve." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Thus, like mill horses, we 
 
 More than like the Deity, 
 
 Work in the harness well, 
 
 Raking up the shining dust ; 
 
 Toiling on because we must 
 . To guard the gathered pile. 
 
 From thieves and wretches vile 
 (U) 
 
162 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Who linger around full near 
 To scatter our earnings here, 
 With unholy hands 
 And riotous living 
 In other lands. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 The mud throwing hobby 
 
 Is practiced by the bad boy, Bobby, 
 
 Who does quite a job 
 
 At each wink and nod 
 
 As he smears his victim 
 
 With another gob , 
 
 From the bottom of the pond ; 
 
 Nailing some sister fond 
 
 Forever to the cross 
 
 With Beecher, Jones, or Morse : 
 
 Dear parsons in their line 
 
 Mailed round about 
 
 In celestial pauojjly divine, 
 
 Glowing and flashing out 
 
 Like the radiance of a golden shrine 
 
 Till the bad boy dims its shine, 
 
 With the mud he flings 
 
 And the slang he slings 
 
 Merely for pastime. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The doctor gives his pills 
 
 To all patients. 
 
 For all ailments and all ills ; 
 
 Some he cures, 
 
 And some he kills ; 
 
 And some who die 
 
HOBBIES. 163 
 
 Of fever and of chills, 
 
 He attributes to the perversity 
 
 Of human wills. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And those whose constitution 
 
 Outlives all ailments, 
 
 And all ills, 
 
 He attributes to the virtue 
 
 Of his pills ; 
 
 For he 'd bet his life 
 
 And his chance of Paradise 
 
 On the properties of his pills. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And when the patient 's nearly well, 
 
 He gives a dose of calomel. 
 
 As a tonic to restore 
 
 The normal condition once more. 
 
 But when aught is matter of himself 
 
 He never takes it from the shelf; 
 
 Because good old claret wine 
 
 Is much the best. 
 
 For the stomach and the spine 
 
 Should he feel distressed. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Some people dote on music. 
 
 As did St. Busick, 
 
 When the enraptured soiil 
 
 In a reverie divine, 
 
 Doth thro' heavenly vistas stroll 
 
 With Kitty, Kate, or Caroline ; 
 
164 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Warbling strains sublime 
 
 In a celestial sort of pantomime. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 They sing by twos and twos, 
 
 They sing in the pews ; 
 
 And sing when peoj^le ought to snooze ; 
 
 Of birds, and dells, and dews : 
 
 Of celestial bells 
 
 And the gifted muse : 
 
 Of golden streets 
 
 Skirting silvery sand. 
 
 Where the tide of duration meets 
 
 From every land. 
 
 Of fogs and croaking frogs ; 
 
 Of drowsy demagogues. 
 
 And of barefooted clod hoppers 
 
 Just in from the bogs. 
 
 xxvin. 
 The dandy dude 
 Just out of the bandbox, 
 In his night hood 
 Lisping, laughingly tells 
 Of banks, bonds, and stocks ; 
 Twirling his cane 
 With a look of disdain, 
 As he waltzes along 
 Down the side of the street 
 With spindle legs, poodle dog. 
 Eye-glass atid all ; 
 Slim, slender, and tall. 
 Quite exquisite. 
 
HOBBIES. XQ5 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The boys have theu' hobby, 
 No matter whether 
 It be Bill, Ben, or Bobby, 
 Or whatfc'er the weather : 
 They would be men of ease 
 With stomachs lined with steel ; 
 With time to eat all they please 
 And no inconvenience feel. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 They'd "eat up, eat up, eat up, 
 
 Ev'ry thing they see. 
 
 Eat up, eat up, eat up. 
 
 The world if it could be ;" 
 
 With all the fragments that were saved 
 
 From the great festivity. 
 
 When somebody gave his daughter in nuptiality 
 
 Keceived with the Saviour's sanction 
 
 Of solemnity. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The girls have their hobby 
 Outside of wearing curls, 
 And attachments shoddy, 
 " that we 
 Some two or three 
 Nice sticks of candy had, 
 If twenty miles long 
 They chanced to be 
 We 'd not feel bad. 
 We'd eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, 
 Throughout the blessed day. 
 We 'd eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em 
 
1G6 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Till all would melt away ; 
 And then we 'd long for more 
 Until our very hearts were sore, 
 As well as some 
 Nice bits of gum, 
 And chewing, chewing, chewing, 
 We'd be mum, mum, mum, 
 Until our fellows they would come. 
 And then, and then, and then, 
 For lots of fun, fun, fun." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The sentimental poet strays 
 
 Wandering here and there. 
 
 Thro' nature's mystic maze ; 
 
 With a sort of fantastical. 
 
 Lackadaisical air. 
 
 Prating of birds and blossoms rare, 
 
 Of sparkling eyes 
 
 And golden hair, 
 
 Of soulfelt sighs 
 
 Afloating in the skies 
 
 Up to the gates of Paradise, 
 
 Imploring St. Peter, 
 
 With a rap and a repeater, 
 
 To ope the golden gate 
 
 When 't is decreed by fate ; 
 
 That no form of sin 
 
 Shall ever enter in 
 
 With bluster or with din. 
 
 Past the immortal barrier. 
 
 Into the realms of Eden fair 
 
 Where Gods and angels are. 
 
HOBBIES. - 167 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The weaver has his loom, 
 
 The undertaker 
 
 And coffin maker 
 
 Have their tomb : 
 
 The chimney sweep his broom : 
 
 The barber has his soap, 
 
 The hangman has his rope ; 
 
 While amid the city's din 
 
 The peddler peddles out his tin. 
 
 The priest gets us out of trouble 
 
 While the lawyer gets us in : 
 
 The rummy drinks his slop, 
 
 The saloon keeper his gin ; 
 
 But I must stop 
 
 For these lines are getting thin. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Thus in one continual round 
 There 's no end to the sound 
 Our hobby horses make, 
 Whether sleeping or awake; 
 Racing and chasing o'er the ground 
 Till Death puts on the brake, 
 And we're laid beneath the ground. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Yes, at last 
 
 We stand aghast. 
 
 When Death bars the way 
 
 On the hobby horse 
 
 He has ridden 
 
 Ever since Adam's day. 
 
 Then a chill 
 
168 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Settles round us still, 
 As we feel the mists of eternity's rill 
 Rolling on, rolling on. 
 Out of darkness into dawn ; 
 Beyond the never ending- 
 Morrow morn 
 Where new hopes and aims are born- 
 
'^ LIBERTY EI:^ LIGHTENING THE WORLD." 169 
 
 "LIBERTY EI^LIGHTENma THE WORLD." 
 
 I. 
 Thou pedestal of grandeur, 
 
 Thou monument of fame ; 
 We hail thy coming to Liberty's laud 
 
 In the King Eternal's name. 
 We would greet thy sculptor too 
 
 With gracious heart and beaming eye, 
 Born to live forever — 
 
 The great M. Bartholdi. 
 
 n. 
 
 With the torch of freedom in thy hand, 
 
 Cheering beams break over the world 
 With Liberty's beautiful emblem 
 
 To the breeze of heaven unfurled. 
 Free as the morning light 
 
 Thou dost stand, majestic, and sublime. 
 With thy wonderful image engraven 
 
 On the scroll of historic time ; 
 
 in. 
 
 Spreading intelligence wide, 
 
 Over movmtain, valley, plain. 
 Like herald heavenly born 
 
 In the God of freedom's name. 
 Thy feet are moist with the flow 
 
 Of crystal mists that rise : 
 
 Thy head is bathed in an atmosphere 
 
 Of fair and ambient skies. 
 (15) 
 
170 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 rv. 
 
 On Bedloe's Island 
 
 As an emblem divine, 
 Thou art placed to stand 
 
 Thro' all coming time, 
 As Liberty personified : 
 
 Kesplendent amid the glow 
 Of bright and holy light 
 
 Shed on favor'd mortals below. 
 
 V. 
 
 In France and Grermany too 
 
 Thy soul reviving beams. 
 Gild the hills and mountains 
 
 With enlightening gleams. 
 And the fair horizon of hope 
 
 Puts on a grander hue, 
 From the cold and sterile north 
 
 To the torrid plains of Peru. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hail, thou image, hail, » 
 
 Conception sublime. 
 Conceived by a God-like mind ; 
 
 Whose artistic touch divine 
 And more than mortal eye, 
 
 Hath from earthly metals called 
 A seeming, breathing, wondrous, 
 
 Holy, heavenly mold. 
 
 vn. 
 
 We bid thee, hail, 
 
 For in what fitter land 
 Upon this sphere, could thou 
 
■ LIBER TV ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD.' 171 
 
 Be placed to stand; 
 With thy torch of light 
 
 Above the cradle of Liberty, 
 First rocked by Puritan hands 
 
 Whose parentage was over the sea? 
 
 VIIT. 
 
 Ye enslaved sons of earth, 
 
 Cast your eyes 
 To the breaking light 
 
 Of Liberty's skies ; 
 •Destined soon 
 
 To fill the world 
 With superstition and bondage 
 
 Over the bounds of creation hurled. 
 
 IX, 
 
 Hail, thou image in repose, 
 
 Hail," thou angel of light, 
 Sixty million freemen 
 
 With heart and voice unite 
 To send their cheer 
 
 Over the billow's foam, 
 To thy peerless sculptor. 
 
 And his palatial home. 
 
 X. 
 
 A more enduring work, 
 
 A more lasting line 
 History at her task 
 
 Hath never writ with pen divine : 
 While beyond the crystal bars, 
 
 The recording angel of the sky, 
 Hath made meet entry of thy mission, 
 
 And thy master sculptor, M. Bartholdi. 
 
172 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 
 
 LADY LEOLINE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet lady, Leoliue, 
 
 Play me from thy guitar 
 Some strain divine, 
 
 Some soul soothing sentiment, 
 While I look into your dreamy eyes, 
 Beholding the light of Paradise, 
 
 In love's listless contentment. 
 
 n. 
 Fair lady, Leoline, 
 
 What is the wild passion 
 Moving this heart of mine — 
 
 Moving my being all 
 With a deep yearning 
 And a quenchless burning, 
 
 Which I fathom not at all? 
 
 in. 
 
 Lovely lady, Leoline, 
 
 With softest touch, 
 Sound the cord sublime, 
 
 Which you played 
 In the Italian land, 
 When Cupid's band 
 
 Love's meshes round me laid. 
 
LADY LEO LINE. 
 
 IV. 
 Gentle lady, LeoHue, 
 
 This spreading larch is shady, 
 The maple and the pine ; 
 
 And beyond the distant blue 
 Glimmers bright 
 AVith holy light 
 
 Those garlands which love's angels strew. 
 
 V. 
 
 My lady, Leoline, 
 
 What heaven can be 
 More god-like or divine, 
 
 Than the flowery beds of earth, 
 Where love's roses 
 And its posies 
 
 Bloom with endless bu'th ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dear lady, Leoline, 
 
 Sing the words you sang 
 
 By the river Rhine, 
 
 When we sat upon the beach, 
 
 And the timbrel's tune 
 
 Went shimmering with the moon. 
 In a kind of celestial speech. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Kind lady, Leoline, 
 
 Pledge me now, 
 'Neath this jDurj^le vine, 
 
 Our promise to renew 
 
 173 
 
174 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Just one holy kiss 
 Of heavenly bliss, 
 
 As the angels stand in view. 
 
 vm. 
 
 For lady, Leoline, 
 
 The love's of earth 
 Are but the birth divine, 
 
 And gateway leading through 
 The angel lands, 
 Where celestial bands 
 
 Pledge their love anew. 
 
BABl'LAND. 175 
 
 BABYLAND. 
 
 Just over the golden strand 
 
 Lies baby land, 
 
 Within the realm of day, 
 
 And angels wandering 
 
 Hand in hand, 
 
 Sometimes lead those babes away. 
 
 Thro' the by-ways of babyland 
 
 Flow shining wavelets on every hand ; 
 
 Too many to number, 
 
 Soothing to slumber, 
 
 They go rippling and trickling 
 
 Over the silvery sand. 
 
 While angels are keeping 
 
 Watch over the sleeping 
 
 Babies of babyland. 
 
 Who tired of play have run away, 
 
 And hid 'neath the roses, 
 
 And nods, and naps, and dozes. 
 
 Do they fly over mountains 
 Or wade thro' fountains. 
 Or how do they come and go ? 
 Angels must guide them away, 
 Or some Fairy with magic wand 
 From the borders of babyland. 
 
176 GAMP BEL us POEMS. 
 
 Beneath mosses and ferns 
 
 They find the nnfledged starlings 
 
 And dear little darlings, 
 
 For whom a mother yearns ; 
 
 And they lead them with softest hand 
 
 From the shores of babyland. 
 
 They crawl and they creep, 
 
 They laugh and they weep. 
 
 As they touch this earthly strand ; 
 
 While the mother she blesses 
 
 And fondly caresses 
 
 The babies from babyland. 
 
 In a curious way 
 We may not understand 
 That bright little band; 
 Walks away waddling 
 And talks away toddling 
 From the shores of babyland. 
 
 From the borders of babyland 
 Led by an angel's hand, 
 Thro' mazy windings 
 And pathless findings 
 Wend the little fondlings 
 Earthward to our strand. 
 
 Here to bud and bloom, 
 
 Like faii'est flower of June, 
 
 With golden hau- 
 
 And features rare. 
 
 Under a loving mother's care 
 
 At midnight and at noon. 
 
BAB VL AND. 177 
 
 Hither tliey come 
 
 With their prattle and fun. 
 
 Thither they go 
 
 Leaving our homes full of woe, 
 
 Winging away in December and May 
 
 Into the sun-land's celestial glow. 
 
 Just over the golden strand 
 
 Lies babyland 
 
 Within the realm of day ; . 
 
 And angels wandering 
 
 Hand in hand, 
 
 Sometimes lead those babes away. 
 
178 CAMPBELL'S FOEMS. 
 
 AN ANGEL'S TOUCH. 
 
 Amid New Hampshire's liills, 
 
 One evening long ago, 
 Facing the wind that chills, 
 
 Went a maiden in the snow. 
 On a mission of mercy bent 
 
 To buy three pennies' worth of tea. 
 Into a saloon's grocery she went 
 
 For her mother, sick, and in misery. 
 
 "How is your ma, my little Miss?" 
 
 Kindly said the clerk to her. 
 " she's full of wretchedness. 
 
 From her bed she can not stir ; 
 Nothing has she eaten all day long, 
 
 Dear mamma is suffering so, 
 I tried to cheer her with my song. 
 But life is ebbing low." 
 
 With her back against a barrel, 
 
 Down she sat and tried to pray ; 
 She could hear the men curse and quarrel 
 
 Till in slumber she drifted away. 
 And dream'd such a happy dream ; 
 
 She saw beautiful angels 
 By the light of a brilliant gleam 
 
 Go tripping thro' flowery dells. 
 
 When staggering there came to the bar 
 One who asked her name, saying, " Ho, ye 
 
AN ANGEL'S TOUCH. 179 
 
 Drunkards, we 've been draining the whisky jar, 
 
 Wiiile her mother is dying for tea 
 Here's five, says I've some feeling left." 
 " Here s three," said another, " and two," 
 Said one with looks bereft : 
 "Her father died wearing the blue." 
 
 A ten dollar purse was quickly made 
 
 By that rough drunken band, 
 And some tender words said 
 
 As round they gathered with gentlest hand 
 And laid the money between her fingers, 
 
 Saying, " Softly, she's dreaming, 
 While a tear on her cheek lingers, 
 
 And a smile covers her face beaming." 
 
 The clerk gently wakened her then 
 
 She said, with face flushing o'er, 
 'I've had such a beautiful dream. 
 
 Dear mamma is n't sick any more, 
 And we 've plenty to eat and wear — 
 
 O ! I feel so happy somehow ; 
 My finger burns right there 
 
 Where the angel touched it just now." 
 
 A dollar filled her basket with meat, 
 
 And she said, " Mamma wont believe 
 Angels come to your store from the golden street, 
 
 But my finger burns, it 's no deceive." 
 She tripped gayly away, 
 
 The men looked kindly after her. 
 As the wind with her tresses did play, 
 
 Their eyes with tears did blur. 
 
 Kind reader, we may not see 
 All the angels that come 
 
180 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 From the, depths of infinity, 
 
 Moving the soul cursed with rum 
 
 To tenderest acts of kindness, 
 On this shaded shoal of time, 
 
 As we go marching in our blindness 
 To God's bright golden clime. 
 
^'PLEASE, PAPA, STAY AT HOME TO-NIGHT^ 181 
 
 "PLEASE, PAPA, STAY AT HOME TO-NIGHT." 
 
 "Please, papa, stay at home to-night. 
 
 The rain beats on the window pane, 
 The road 's in such a j)light ; 
 
 And when mamma died, you know 
 You promised in a prayer. 
 
 With accents soft and low, 
 That henceforth you would beware, 
 
 And never to the rum shop go. 
 
 ** Come, dear papa, stay with me, 
 
 'T is all I ask, a simple task, 
 O! can't it be? 
 
 The wine may sparkle red, 
 Your friends may wait for you, 
 
 But remember what you said 
 When mamma bid a last adieu 
 
 And the preacher from the Bible read. 
 
 "About the room blest forms of light 
 
 I seem to see, arrayed most beauteously, 
 With crowns all fair and bright, 
 
 Beckoning unto me ; 
 And if you go, papa. 
 
 When you come home 
 I may be gone. 
 
 For thro' the storm I see the breaking dawn. 
 
 *'And I hear sweet voices singing, 
 
 Beside the open door, of joy forever more ; 
 
182 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Songs of a heavenly land, 
 
 Where papas shall go out no more 
 
 To join the drunkard's band. 
 
 A dreadful pain goes flashing thro' my brain, 
 
 Like the rattling rain on the window pane — 
 Come, dear papa, close the door. 
 
 " My papa's left me here alone. 
 
 Gone out of sight into the night, 
 Thro' the wind's wild moan. 
 
 But hark ! let my spirit listen 
 To that sweet undertone ; 
 
 Wafted through the sky. 
 From harp strings that glisten 
 
 So lightly sweeping by. 
 
 "Thro' the wicked wine cup, 
 
 I must be right, papa 's lost his reason quite, 
 Or he would n't have gone to sup 
 
 And left me alone to-night. 
 There was something good in him 
 
 Before he met those men 
 And drank their gin. 
 
 But, alas! he's heartless now as them." 
 
 The drunkard staggered home next day 
 To see his child as last ; she smiled 
 
 In death's shroud where she lay, 
 With her spirit flown away ; 
 
 While round her head. 
 In letters of living light, 
 
 These words he read : 
 " Please, papa, stay at home to-night." 
 
THE CRIMSON SCROLL. 183 
 
 THE CKIMSON SCROLL. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The incident herein related is but the recounting of one of the 
 thrilling scenes of the late war. Many a "Nellie " waited for a step's 
 returning that never came; to droop and fade like a flower at the door 
 of the tomb, when some remembered trophy of the battle-field was 
 presented, stained in the cruel strife.— C] 
 
 Soon after the Shiloli fight 
 
 Went two officers of the line 
 Among the dying and dead at night, 
 
 Beneath the soft moonshine. 
 
 They wended on with heavy, hearts, 
 
 Those ghastly forms to see ; 
 Where death and life forever parts 
 
 Their strange, mysterious company. 
 
 Beneath the peach tree's reddening leaves, 
 Where Death's rich harvest lay, 
 
 Past those fair and ripening sheaves, 
 They mournful took their way 
 
 When a face of beauty met their eyes, 
 
 Rigid in death's repose. 
 Whose freed spirit in the skies 
 
 Earth's anguish no longer knows. 
 
 Within his lifeless hand 
 A scroll of white was seen, 
 
184 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Which quite unmanned 
 
 Those men of warlike mien. 
 
 Crimsoned with the tide 
 
 From his heart's blood flowing, 
 He read the missive from his bride, 
 
 Which was anguish past our knowing. 
 
 And in his dying hold 
 
 He retained the crimson scroll, 
 Tho' his bosom had grown cold, 
 
 And gone was the immortal soul. 
 
 The last words, fair and clear, 
 Of that blood-stained letter, 
 Still linger in my ear : 
 "Charlie, when you come home, I will be better." 
 
 Alas ! for the drooping maiden ; 
 
 Alas ! for fondest hope — 
 Thereafter young Charlie Hayden 
 
 To his Nellie never spoke. 
 
 They buried him with kindly care 
 
 As best they could, 
 Uttering a broken prayer. 
 
 Their bosoms were subdued. 
 
 The crimson scroll they took away, 
 With heavy hearts and weary feet ; 
 
 For 't was past the breaking day 
 
 Ere from Shiloh's slain they did retreat. 
 
 The missive came to his Nelly's hand ; 
 Ah ! better had it never come ; 
 
THE CRIMSON SCROLL. 185 
 
 The shock she could not withstand, 
 Its crimson struck her dumb. 
 
 But somewhere amid the ether bright, 
 
 In reahns beyond our knowing, 
 Their freed spirits may unite, 
 
 As eternity is onward going. 
 (16) 
 
186 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 
 
 BEGGETG". 
 
 PAET FIEST. 
 
 Away in the busy city, 
 
 Amid the dust and the din of its streets, 
 Wanders an object of pity, 
 
 Begging for the bread that she eats. 
 
 n. 
 
 'T is a woman, feeble and old. 
 
 Whose tottering step and trembling hand, 
 Is known to the teamsters on the wold, 
 
 And the fishermen on the strand. 
 
 in. 
 
 Clad in poverty's robes, 
 
 Her shadow casts a shade, 
 Along the dusty roads, 
 
 And by the wayside glade. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A penny is all she asks : 
 " For the love of God, give it me ; " 
 But hypocrites, in sacred masks, 
 Pass her by in mockery. 
 
 V. 
 
 They sit in gilded pews 
 The word of God to hear, 
 
BEGGING. 187 
 
 With silken laced shoes, 
 And fix-ups, grand and queer ; 
 
 VI. 
 
 While barefoot the beggar goes 
 
 Over the hard and flinty street, 
 Thro' blinding frost and snows, 
 
 Begging for bread to eat. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Religion in the church of God, 
 
 And religion out of doors, 
 Has a different lord 
 
 Whom humanity adores. 
 
 vin. 
 
 God help the begging poor, 
 
 As they pass amid the heartless throng, 
 Begging from door to door. 
 
 In the night-time and the dawn. 
 
 Many a cold rebuff 
 
 And harshly cruel word, 
 From some priuked-up puff, 
 
 Their ears hath often heard. 
 
 But in every restless wave 
 
 Of humanity sweeping on 
 To the dark, cold grave, 
 
 Some heart heeds the beggar's song, 
 
 XI. 
 
 And gives of its scant supply 
 With a kind and cheery word, 
 
188 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Which bright celestials of the sky 
 For ao-es lono- hath heard. 
 
 xn. 
 Ye poor unfortunate ones, 
 
 Have courage yet a little while ; 
 For the light of Eden dawns 
 
 Beyond this selfish isle. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Where never weary feet, 
 
 Neglected and unshod. 
 Shall go begging on the street 
 
 From the mansion-house of God. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Begging on the street. 
 Begging for bread to eat ; 
 
 Ever begging on 
 
 Daily gathering from the throng, 
 More bitterness than sweet. 
 
 n. 
 
 Begging out of doors, 
 
 Begging when the tempest pours ; 
 Jostled by the throng. 
 Urged to "move along," 
 
 By pompous pleasure goers. 
 
BEGGING. 189 
 
 nr. 
 
 Begging by the wayside, 
 Where the lordly rich doth ride 
 
 In splendid equipage ; 
 
 Attended by troop and page. 
 In all the pomp of pride. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Begging where no word 
 From the beggar's lip is heard, 
 By hearts encased in steel, 
 Which no sensations feel 
 That pity ever stirred. 
 
 Begging thro' the day, 
 Begging thro' the night away, 
 
 Where ever their windings 
 
 And pathless findings 
 Chance to stray. 
 
 VI 
 
 Begging, staff in hand, 
 Laughed at through the land 
 By those whom fortune gave 
 More of the rascal and the knave, 
 Than brains to understand. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Begging from door to door, 
 'T is but a scanty store 
 
 The beggar reaps. 
 
 From those glittering heaps 
 That Charon never ferries o'er 
 
190 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 VIII. 
 The dismal river, 
 Where hearts doth shiver. 
 
 Whether shiuuiug gold 
 
 Or rags doth fold 
 The beggar or the giver. 
 
 IX. 
 
 'T is best that we give away 
 Part of the hoardings of to-day | 
 
 And thus fill with cheer 
 
 Homes more near 
 Than we dream of on our way. 
 
 X. 
 
 For over in the light, 
 If we do what is right, 
 We '11 greet beggars there, 
 Robed like the shining fair, 
 With crowns as bright 
 
 XI. 
 
 As any that 's borne, 
 
 Or heavenly worn, 
 In the land of bliss, 
 Where naught amiss 
 
 For poverty doth mourn. 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 191 
 
 THE nSHEEMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 I. 
 Down by the winding river, 
 Where the reeds and rushes shiver. 
 Stands a fisherman's hut, 
 Begrimed with smoke and soot ; 
 Lonely and dismal to see. 
 Dreary as dreary can be ; 
 More like a hermitage den 
 Than the abode of civilized men. 
 
 n. 
 In that lone cabin small 
 Dwells a maiden tall, 
 As fair and free 
 As any you 'd see 
 In a day's journey round 
 Long Island Sound ; 
 And she keepeth good cheer 
 For the fisherman. 
 When the night draweth near. 
 
 III. 
 
 The father and child 
 Are used to storm, 
 To the wind and the rain, 
 And the weather so warm : 
 Her slender hand may guide 
 The rocking boat 
 On the billoAvy tide. 
 More safely through 
 
192 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 The angry foam, 
 
 When the moon 's in view, 
 
 To that island home, 
 
 Than many a stronger hand, 
 
 Or leader of outlaw'd band, 
 
 Who bringeth no good cheer 
 
 To the hearthstone 
 
 When the night draweth near. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This maiden might 
 
 Be a water sprite, 
 
 Or ray of the northern light j 
 
 Her form so fair, 
 
 You 'd surely say 
 
 Some angel had been there 
 
 At her bringing into day. 
 
 V. 
 
 For miles around 
 
 The country far. 
 
 From Long Island Sound, 
 
 Shines this risen star ; 
 
 Lighting up the darkest den, 
 
 Where shadows flit, 
 
 Or goblins skip, 
 
 Thro' the haunts of men. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Once I saw 
 
 This child of beauty 
 
 And of law ; 
 
 When the wild unrest of nature 
 
 Filled my soul with awe. 
 
 Like genii of the storm 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S DA UGHTER. ig( 
 
 Guiding a fragUe bark, 
 Where whii'lpools form, 
 Amid the hungry dark 
 And lightning's vivid gleam, 
 Safely to the strand, 
 Like iVaiad Queen 
 Of the fairy land. 
 
 vn. 
 Her dark brown eye, 
 
 And ringlets flow 
 Over a breast of snow, 
 Made her seem 
 Some heavenly queen 
 Or angel of the sky. 
 
 viir. 
 Down by the river, there 
 Dwells this maiden rare. 
 Thro' the Summer's noon 
 And leafy June ; 
 When the hUls of God, 
 Tipped with amber rod. 
 Are with birds attune ; 
 Cheering with her smile 
 That rude hut 
 Of brick and tile, 
 While her blest spirit's shine, 
 Scarce less than divine. 
 On pilgrimage doth roam, 
 Lingering near 
 Those golden gates ajar, 
 In the bright atmosphere, 
 To be welcom'd in 
 Where the holy angels are, 
 Safe from death and sin. 
 
 (17; 
 
194 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 SOLD FOK GOLD. 
 
 A WIGHT of old, 
 
 As I 've been told, 
 
 Sold his wife for gold ; 
 
 Gold to clink, 
 
 And gold to chink ; 
 
 For he would have drink 
 
 To allay the pain 
 
 Within his brain. 
 
 Caused by thirst's fell scorpion train. 
 
 The money paid, 
 
 And in his pocket laid, 
 
 He cross'd himself and prayed, 
 
 Prayed in fear. 
 
 For a statue standing near 
 
 Grinned with malicious leer, 
 
 While a ready hand. 
 
 With lifted brand, 
 
 Seemed raised to strike him from the land. 
 
 But companions came 
 
 And spoke his name ; 
 
 While tongues of flame, 
 
 Flame not of earth 
 
 Or mortal birth, 
 
 Quite small of girth, 
 
 Gleamed cold. 
 
 As if he 'd sold 
 
 His soul to the devil's fold. 
 
SOLD FOR GOLD. 195 
 
 His money gone, 
 
 One day at dawn, 
 
 He wandered on, 
 
 On over the clieerless hill, 
 
 Sick with a dying chill, 
 
 The sport of the wind's will ; 
 
 While amid the elemental strife, 
 
 He heard the injured cry of his wife 
 
 Ringing through his life — 
 
 Ringing through his soul, 
 Like the death-knell's toll, 
 Pealed out of eternity's goal — 
 Goal of gloom 
 'Round each mortal tomb, 
 This side the never-ending noon. 
 So dismal, dark, and dread 
 To a soul with poison dead, 
 Drunk out of a wife's blood red. 
 
 Amid the cutting air 
 
 He saw a shadow there. 
 
 With cloven foot and forehead bare — 
 
 Bare as his pockets then. 
 
 With hearse and horses ten, 
 
 Prancing adown the glen, 
 
 While the crippled sprite 
 
 Flashed in his face a light, 
 
 Saying, " You are the devil's, quite. 
 
 ' Come to our mart, 
 For you have n't any heart, 
 A wife so rudely to part : 
 Part without a tear. 
 While the rum rowdies near 
 
196 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Urged you on with drunken cheer : 
 We '11 feed you fire instead of rum, 
 For we still have some." 
 
 The frost and sleet 
 Was his winding sheet, 
 While the coursers fleet, 
 Fleet as ever sped 
 With the coffin'd dead, 
 Heard never a word he said ; 
 But bore him away 
 As he went gasping out of day 
 Into the realm of Pluto's sway. 
 
THE FATES AND THE FAIRIES. I97 
 
 THE FATES AND THE FAHIIES. 
 
 In the early dawn 
 
 A little fairy, 
 
 Light and airy, 
 Came tripping o'er the lawn. 
 
 Upon her garb of green 
 And robes of shining gold, 
 Embroidered in beauty's mold, 
 
 I read, " The May-day Queen." 
 
 Her face was very sweet. 
 Her form was very fair. 
 In wavy ringlets hung her hair, 
 
 And thus she did me greet : 
 
 "Haste, ! haste thee now, 
 Pluck life's roses 
 ' And its posies. 
 Ere Time shades thy brow." 
 
 Quick I looked around. 
 When vanishing fast 
 As a breath that's past, 
 
 I heard her fleeting sound. 
 
 And amid the mid-day's prime 
 I saw the gathering fates. 
 Where Life, laughing, waits 
 
 To unriddle the universal rhyme. 
 
198 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 All the air was still, 
 
 No soundiug drum, 
 
 Or insect's hum. 
 Floated 'round the hill, 
 
 Till one more bold 
 Than all the band, 
 With uplifted hand. 
 
 Thus began to scold : 
 
 " Immortal forms divine, 
 
 Why stand ye waiting here ? 
 Escape yon horrid monster near 
 While yet there may be time." 
 
 And when the evening fell 
 
 There came, agape 
 
 A shade, a shape, 
 A form of hell, 
 
 Whose hideous stride 
 And awkward gait, 
 A commotion did create 
 
 Of universal terror wide. . 
 
 O ! list, ye little men : 
 The very grass did die ; 
 The sunbeam in the sky 
 
 Turned to darkness then, 
 
 As this shade of grizzly shape, 
 With voice that sounded null, 
 Like the lifeless human skull. 
 
 In deep, mysterious tones spake : 
 
IHE FATES ASD THE DAIRIES. 199 
 
 " Ye mortals, come, 'tis my command; 
 Come, your time hath fled ; 
 Come, dauce with the merry dead, 
 A mystic waltz 'round creation's strand." 
 
200 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 
 
 I 'vE been to Cairo and Cape Cod, 
 
 To the Devil's Rock, 
 And the " Garden of God," 
 
 About which the people talk. 
 
 I 've sailed upon the waves 
 
 When the tempest howled, 
 And looked into dead men's graves 
 
 When the face of heaven scowled. 
 
 I left the folks at home, 
 
 While yet in my teens, 
 And went to ancient Rome 
 
 To see the sights and scenes. 
 
 I've sailed upon the Nile 
 
 In fancy's fairy boat. 
 Bewitched with cupid's smile 
 
 And the bulbul's softest note. 
 
 I 've heard the sailor's ' ' ahoy " 
 
 When leaving port. 
 And felt the balm of grief's alloy 
 
 In a regal Spanish court. 
 
 I've stood upon the deck 
 
 Amid nature's awful wail, 
 When the vessel went a wreck, 
 
 Before the angry gale. 
 
THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 201 
 
 I 've swam to land, 
 
 When wreck'd far off coast 
 Many leagues from Hindoostan, 
 
 But of this I do not boast. 
 
 For it was swim or die ; 
 
 No packet line was near, 
 And the angels of the sky 
 
 Were busy in the upper sphere. 
 
 So there I swam alone 
 
 Among the sharks and fishes, 
 With the dismal ocean's moan 
 
 Disturbing all my wishes. 
 
 I 've seen angelic eyes 
 
 In the deep of the ether clear, 
 And heard the devil's cries 
 
 Sounding very near. 
 
 This you may deny. 
 
 But on the word of man. 
 So help me God, I die. 
 
 If I have n't from the devil ran. 
 
 I've stood upon the peak 
 
 Of ancient Pike, 
 And heard the wizard shriek — 
 
 They called " Old Crazy Ike." 
 
 Offctimes I 've hailed 
 
 The City of the Lake, 
 Where old Brigham sailed 
 
 With nineteen in his wake. 
 
202 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I Ve seen Old England's queen, 
 And heard the princess sing 
 
 To a fellow rather green, 
 
 Sheltered 'neath the royal wing. 
 
 The earl of Prussia too, 
 And have spent some time 
 
 With the Governor of Peru, 
 Sipping purple wine. 
 
 I 've climbed the Andes high, 
 Whose snow-clad summits gleam, 
 
 Where mighty condors fly 
 In the light of heaven's beam. 
 
 I've seen the land of Tell, 
 Where many manly sons 
 
 For truth and liberty fell 
 
 'Neath the tyrant Gessler's guns. 
 
 I've seen the Sultan of Turkey, 
 
 With his badges and banners bright, 
 
 And the heir apparent of Sheba 
 
 Accout'red like a brave, true knight. 
 
 I've seen the Cuban isle, 
 
 With its bloom and fragrance fine, 
 
 And Corsica and Carlisle 
 
 Have greeted these ears of mine. 
 
 I've sailed the Caribbean sea, 
 And scaled the Himalayas high. 
 
 Tracing the foot-prints of the Deity 
 Over their summits, into the sky. 
 
THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 203 
 
 I 've rounded Cape Horn 
 
 On the South Atlantic wave, 
 Feeling quite forlorn 
 
 Where many found a grave. 
 
 I've touched Brazil, 
 
 Contrary to aunt Lena, 
 And father and mother's will, 
 
 Thence to St. Helena ; 
 
 The isle where Napoleon trod, 
 
 An abandoned exile 
 By all save God, 
 
 Thro' perfidy and guile. 
 
 I 've been to Bengal Bay, 
 
 Beyond the Indian Ocean; 
 And stopped at Madagascar on the way 
 
 To ofier up devotion. 
 
 I 've sailed fair and free, 
 
 Near Beloochistan, 
 On the Arabian Sea, 
 
 Under Evlington's command. 
 
 I 've been to the Red Sea 
 
 In the month of June, 
 And on the Dead Sea, 
 
 Where no lilies bloom. 
 
 I've seen Tripoli, Morocco, and Algiers, 
 Where slaughter's red right hand 
 
 Bathed the land in tears. 
 Under some magic wand. 
 
204 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I 've seen the Isles of Cape Verde 
 When the skies were calm and mild ; 
 
 There singing maidens I have heard 
 Who looked on me and smiled. 
 
 And to the Canaries too, 
 Near the Tropic of Cancer, 
 
 With a jovial crew, 
 Sailing, I went, sir. 
 
 I Ve been to the Land's End, 
 
 Buried deep in fog. 
 Where seldom ever wend 
 
 The thoughtful pedagogue. 
 
 Greenland, Iceland, and Baffin's Bay, 
 Crested with crystal mists, 
 
 I've met upon the way. 
 
 Where comets twirls and twists. 
 
 I've explored the Artie isles, 
 
 Where huge fields of ice 
 Arose in mountain piles, 
 
 In my lifetime twice. 
 
 I've been to Alaska, 
 
 And the Lakhov isles ; 
 Likewise to Kamtchatka, 
 
 And the Sandwich tiles. 
 
 I 've been to Liberia, 
 
 And Cape Colony ; 
 Thro' Africa's interior. 
 
 Where man-eaters stray. 
 
THE RRFME OF THE RAMBLER. 20c 
 
 I Ve been to the end of the rainbow, 
 Australia and the Friendly Isles ; 
 
 To iS'ew Guinea and Borneo, 
 Where witches wend the wilds. 
 
 I've been to the Yellow Sea, 
 
 Many miles from home, 
 And to the Tappan Zee, 
 
 Roaming round alone. 
 
 Thro' China and Japan, 
 
 In quest of ancient lore ; 
 And aint I quite a man 
 
 From Bengal's distant shore? 
 
 If I 'd teU you all I 've seen, 
 
 Rambling up and down. 
 You 'd say it was a dream, 
 
 Or something in my crown. 
 
 I 've seen the sun, 
 
 And been to tea 
 Where comets run, 
 
 Beyond the wide, white sea. 
 
 I 've laughed at danger, 
 
 And had belles wait on me ; 
 And quaffed with many a stranger 
 
 In Dablin and Dundee. 
 
 I've seen some sights 
 
 Under the meredian sun, 
 As well as goblins and sprites. 
 
 When my life was young. - 
 
206 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And many a lady fair 
 
 I've parted with, 
 She still lingering in despair, 
 
 Waving her 'kerchief. 
 
 I 've seen some heaven, 
 And some I have n't seen, 
 
 Dancing at eleven 
 
 In the soft moonbeam ; 
 
 With maid or matron fair, 
 In love's delightful thrill, 
 
 Where winds many a deceptive snare, 
 Woven by the human will. 
 
 Gentle reader, the world is wide, 
 And this you may discern, 
 
 By sailing on the tide 
 Westward with the sun ; 
 
 Or eastward along the line 
 Of the sacred river Nile, 
 
 Where monks, in manhood's prime, 
 Are hid in some cathedral pile, 
 
 Chanting solemnly their orisons 
 
 Both night and morn ; 
 With manners like the Morrisons, 
 
 Who are so wondrous born. 
 
 And as you journey round 
 The sights will never end : 
 
 This much I have found. 
 My dear and gentle friend. 
 
THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 207 
 
 So I'll bring this rhyme 
 
 To a stop and stand ; 
 And leave each word and line 
 
 Till I 've seen another land. 
 
208 CAMPBELL'S POEMS: 
 
 GOODY GIBBS. 
 
 Dreary blows the wind to-night 
 
 Across the lonely lea ; 
 But Goody Gibbs wanders in sight 
 
 Thro' mists and misery. 
 
 This witch, as I've been told, 
 
 With a wizard's wand 
 Gathers ghosts upon the wold 
 
 When the storm 's abroad in the land. 
 
 And from house to house 
 
 They march, a fleshless cavalcade. 
 Frightening the jDeople and ev'ry mouse 
 
 With their wild and weird parade. 
 
 Riding the horses till morn. 
 
 In dire and desperate haste. 
 Trampling down fields of corn. 
 
 As if 't was theirs'^ to waste. 
 
 Playing strange pranks, 
 
 And wonderful feats. 
 Along the sunny banks 
 
 Where creek and river meets. 
 
 Changing the foamy wave 
 
 Into mist and spray. 
 Or the shadow of a grave, 
 
 Where murdered martyrs lay. 
 
GOODY GIBBS. 209 
 
 Thus all night long, 
 
 Thro' storm and drift, 
 They go speeding on, 
 
 Like poverty and thrift. 
 
 Goody Gibbs, to all is known, 
 
 With shriveled face and bony fingers, 
 
 As the " haggard old crone," 
 
 Always out when daylight lingers. 
 
 I pray you let her be, 
 
 And speak her fair ; 
 For 't is said thro' some mystery 
 
 She holds converse with shapes of air. 
 (18) 
 
210 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 WORDS OF WISDOM. 
 
 Lips of wisdom 
 May utter words of folly, 
 But 't is counted wisdom still : 
 One may accomplish wonders 
 By the force of human will. 
 
 Men may bankrupt be, 
 Tho' their ledger of life 
 We may not see ; 
 
 And dauntless stand amid the strife . 
 When they ought to flee. 
 V 
 While others, wedded to want and woe, 
 Stumbling onward 
 Thro' life go, 
 Under darkling clouds. 
 Amid rain, and hail, and snow. 
 
 Some toil their lives away. 
 With never a penny saved 
 For a dull or rainy day, 
 Tho' the wolf of hunger gaunt 
 Stands snarling at the doorway. 
 
 Life's philosophers can 
 
 Prescribe a rule of conduct 
 
 To mortal man, 
 
 Tho' they ^themselves 
 
 May not follow the chattered plan. 
 
WORDS OF WISDOM. 211 
 
 Milton, in his time, 
 Wrote, with the pen of an angel, 
 Thoughts seraphic and sublime ; 
 Tho' 't is said that even he 
 Sometimes practiced infidelity. 
 
 Byron worshij^ed at the door 
 
 Of a convent maid. 
 
 On a foreign shore, 
 
 Tho' he left a loving wife, 
 
 To think of her no more. 
 
 Many a song that may be sung, 
 
 Which joyful seems, 
 
 Is ofttimes wrung 
 
 From the wounded heart, 
 
 Busy witli its dreams. 
 
 Many an humble maid. 
 By some brutish man 
 Doomed to the pick and spade. 
 With patience may be training 
 Hope's tendrils on the everglade. 
 
 While many a lady gay. 
 Dressed in embroidery fine. 
 Is hasting along the way 
 Of the devil's pleasure-line. 
 To miss the gates of day. 
 
 Some ministers of God, 
 With their unholy feet 
 In silken sandals shod, 
 Profane the mercy seat 
 Under the Eternal's nod. 
 
212 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 'T is not the loudest praise 
 That most contents the soul, 
 In these wicked latter days,; 
 For many boasting pharisees 
 Miss the heavenly ways ; 
 
 While poor publicans 
 But meekly stand 
 And simply say, 
 " God, be merciful to me," 
 Gain the gates of day. 
 
 By the simple word of truth 
 
 Let us be guided then, ♦ 
 
 That when past the port of youth 
 
 We may look back, 
 
 Without regret or ruth. 
 
 The night is closing round 
 This sheltered spot of mine, 
 And a silence all profound 
 Comes down the ether line 
 Like a silver shower of sound. 
 
 So I '11 haste away 
 To waiting kindred dear. 
 And finish, some other day, 
 What I Ve omitted here 
 Of this simple lay. 
 
THE DRAYMAN. ^13 
 
 THE DRAYMAN. 
 
 The prattle of little children, 
 
 The sound of many feet, 
 Come bounding out of the school-room 
 
 Into the busy street ; 
 
 Where penury and labor toil 
 Like the mill horse at his task ; 
 
 Half clad, half fed, 
 
 Like famine's fearful mask. 
 
 Thro' summer's sultry heat. 
 Thro' winter's freezing snows, 
 
 The drayman to his labor 
 In the early morning goes. 
 
 Day in, day out. 
 
 Toiling as the seasons come, 
 For home and children. 
 
 To earn an honest crumb. 
 
 Little cheer, little comfort. 
 
 No farm, no home, 
 No foot of land, 
 
 Doth the drayman own. 
 
 In the humble walks of life, 
 
 Down belows its cheer, 
 The drayman faithful labors, 
 
 Toiling thro' the year. 
 
214 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But see the children cheer him, 
 As they skip and play about 
 
 In rings and giddy circles, 
 For the prince of fun is out. 
 
 He thinks of the distant days 
 In the morning tide of life, 
 
 Before care and trouble came, 
 When he loved the lute and fife. 
 
 When earth and heaven seemed 
 Tinged with a light divine ; 
 
 And the rills and rivulets 
 Sparkled like a mine. 
 
 When fancy's witching wand 
 
 Beckoned on so free, 
 Along the alluring lines of life, 
 
 Where all should happy be. 
 
 But those sunny days have gone, 
 And the laughing children too : 
 
 Necessity bids him work ; 
 What else can he do ? 
 
 Toil on, thou humble slave. 
 For beyond your daily line, 
 
 The land of promise lies. 
 
 Sparkling with fountains all divine. 
 
 And perchance, in the by and by, 
 The humblest drayman may 
 On the celestial play-ground, 
 Again with the children play. 
 
A SOLDIER OF 1812. 215 
 
 A SOLDIER OF 1812. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [JosiAH Cook.— In reply to an inquiry, the pension officer at Wash- 
 ington sent the following facts to the Abilene Post, G. A. R., concern- 
 ing the life and services of Josiah Cook, a soldier of the war of 1812: 
 
 "In compliance with this request, you are informed that, in his ap- 
 plication for a pension, he states, in March , 1S71, that he was seventy- 
 three years of age, and then residing in Randolph, Cattaraugus 
 County, N. Y., and that lie enlisted at the mouth of the Genesee river, 
 near Brighton, in Ontario County, N. Y., ilay 1, 1S14, and served with 
 Capt. Hope Davis, in Col. Dobbin's N. Y. Volunteer Regiment, in Gen. 
 Porter's command, until June 30th, then in Capt. Harding's company, 
 until honorably discharged Nov. 8. 1814, at Batavia, Genesee County, 
 N. Y. 
 
 "He was married February 11, 1822, at Rochester, N. Y'.jto Roselinda 
 Newton. 
 
 "There is no mention of his being in any battle, or other incidents of 
 his service; nor was it required that he should do so to obtain his 
 pension. 
 
 "It maybe useful to you to learn that in Gardner's dictionary of the 
 army, a semi-official publication, it is stated that ' Micayah Harding, 
 of New York, Captain in Dobbin's regiment of N. Y. volunteers, under 
 Gen. Porter, distinguished himself in Gen. Gaines' victory at Fort 
 Erie, Aug. 13 to 15, 1S14. 
 
 " ' Henry W. Dobbins, of New York, a Lieutenant-Colonel command- 
 ing a regiment of New York volunteers, under Gen. Porter, was 
 wounded in the battle of Niagara Falls, July 25, 1814; was appointed 
 Colonel of a regiment.' 
 
 " Under the name of Niagara Falls is included the conflict where 
 Gen. Scott was so conspicuous in Lundy's Lane, in the town of Bridge- 
 water. 
 
 " It will be noted that the dates above are included in the period 
 covered by service of Josiah Cook; but whether he was present in 
 those battles is unknown. 
 
 " The preamble and resolutions are filed with the pension papers of 
 Mr. Cook. Very respectfully, 
 
 JOHN C. BLACK, 
 
 Commissioner." 
 
 Josiah Cook died at the Poor Farm of Dickinson County, Kansas, 
 in his eighty-eighth year, on the morning of the Grant memorial serv- 
 
216 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 ices, Augusts, 18S5, and was buried in "The Potter's Field," in the 
 Abilene Cemetery, on the same day by three persons. 
 
 His remains were taken up and reburied in the " Soldiers' Burial 
 Ground," by the G. A. R. Post No. C3, in the same cemetery, on the 
 evening of the 9th of August, just as the sun was setting, with appro- 
 priate services, witnessed by a large concourse of people. It was or- 
 dered by the Post, that " a magnificent monument be erected to his 
 memory." Much was published in the papers of this occurrence.— C] 
 
 A PAUPER dies in the poor house ! 
 
 'T is nothing : many a pauper dies 
 Under the world's bright skies, 
 
 And sleeps without a coffin. 
 
 Buried in " the Potter's field ! " 
 
 'T is nothing : many a poor man 
 To death must yield, 
 
 And sleep in a rough wood coffin. 
 
 A soldier of Eighteen Twelve ! 
 
 'T is nothing worth the mention : 
 One can 't expect an honored grave 
 
 While overseers control the poor-house pension. 
 
 Josiah Cook by name ! 
 
 'T is nothing to us now, 
 That Greneral Harrison of Fort Meigs fame 
 
 Gave a laurel to his brow. 
 
 This veteran fought with a noble band 
 On Freedom's death contested fields ; 
 
 Striking with true and steady hand, 
 'Gainst British breast-plates and shields. 
 
 And shall the dust of his mouldering bones 
 Mingle with that of the knaves' 
 
A SOLDIER OF 1812. .217 
 
 And desecrater of thrones ! 
 
 Kather than mix with manlier graves ? 
 
 Nay, nay. immortal warrior, nay, 
 
 Thou shalt not thus slec p 
 The dreamless sleep alway, 
 
 While the G. A. R.'s a post of honor keep. 
 
 Buried without their knowledge 
 
 On Saturday, August Eight ; 
 When the world paid its homage 
 
 To Grant lying in state. 
 
 'T was some one's terrible oversight 
 
 That our post commander true, 
 Was n't informed of the last sad rite, 
 
 'Till the secret work was through. 
 
 Yes, thou shalt have a burial 
 
 Conducted with kindly care ; 
 Clad in a shroud imperial, 
 
 And coffined in richest ware. 
 
 And a monument of spotless white 
 
 Shall be erected to thy name. 
 With wreathed inscriptions bright, 
 
 Which shall perpetuate the soldier's fame. 
 (19) 
 
218 CAMPBELL'S POEM 
 
 ON THE OCEAN STRAND. 
 
 I STOOD on the ocean strand, 
 The last of an exiled band, 
 Who had wandered far 
 From the golden Orient, 
 Pursuing ambition's star; 
 Thinking thereby to see 
 What each new mystery meant 
 Under heaven's broad canopy. 
 
 The sun rode high at noon, 
 
 The lilies were in bloom, 
 
 The restless ocean's spray, 
 
 With its dismal moan, 
 
 Made me think of those wTio lay 
 
 Buried, without clod or screen, 
 
 Many miles from kindred and from home. 
 
 Beneath the salt sea green. 
 
 The anger of the rising squall. 
 The startled curlew's call, 
 Mingling with nature's voice there, 
 So musical and grand, 
 Amid the sheet lightning's glare, 
 Seemed the scroll of time unfurled. 
 About me on the strand, 
 Of the fore-appointed world. 
 
 While thus I stood and gazed 
 In mute bewilderment's amaze, 
 
ON THE OCEAN STRAND. 219 
 
 I fancied that I saw, 
 
 In the deep of the liquid blue, 
 
 The hand of order and of law, 
 
 Obedient to the Eternal will. 
 
 Pass before my view, 
 
 All this tumult to still. 
 
 Lingering amid the darkness then, 
 I thought of the moments when 
 Ship-wrecked on the coast off Toona, 
 The God of boundless love 
 Saved me, amid the ocean's moan, 
 From the hand of frightful death, 
 The one survivor alone 
 Of all who yielded up their breath. 
 
 O ! who can stand 
 On the ocean's strand, 
 Nor trace the spirits line 
 From this vale of death, 
 Up to the ethereal clime above, 
 Where the holy angels liveth, 
 And the harbor lights doth shine 
 Along the celestial lands of love ? 
 
220 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 WOMAN'S SPHERE. 
 
 Some men pretend 
 
 That woman's sphere. 
 Created for an end, 
 
 Is the kitchen here. 
 
 That man was meant to be 
 
 Master of creation — 
 A kind of earthly deity 
 
 Made for woman's admu'ation. 
 
 She, the weaker, gentler kiad, 
 Was simply made to bow, 
 
 Obedient to his mind 
 
 As an ox would work a plow. 
 
 Not so, in woman's making : 
 There is revealed a plan, 
 
 Of more careful painstaking 
 Than is attributed by man. 
 
 Embracing a higher sphere. 
 From the ills of life defended, 
 
 Of all that 's ennobling here ; 
 For this she was intended. 
 
 Hail to thee, thou angel divine, 
 By the hand of heaven blest, 
 
 Of all this earthly line, 
 The brio-htest and the best. 
 
WOMAN'S SPHERE. 221 
 
 Thy sphere is the boundless universe, 
 
 Thy reahn creation's meed, 
 With a heart that may in rapture gush. 
 
 Or at the claims of pity bleed 
 
 Work on, thou faithful one, 
 
 Tho' but few appreciate thy worth : 
 
 There will come a golden dawn, 
 Where reward awaits thy birth. 
 
222 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 My boyhood home is vacant now, 
 Where first I saw the light ; 
 
 No familiar footstep falls 
 Where I used to fly my kite. 
 
 The lake where swam the geese, 
 Holds still its silvery sheen 
 
 Of alternate light and shade, 
 From the leaves that intervene. 
 
 But the feathered fowls are gone, 
 That used to drink and lave. 
 
 In such friendly seeming mood. 
 Upon its clear and crystal wave. 
 
 The barnyard wall has crumbled some, 
 There is no living thing within ; 
 
 All is peace and quiet now, 
 Where once was such a din. 
 
 The old oak tree is dead. 
 
 Whose branches lodged the birds, 
 And cooling shelter gave 
 
 To the lazy, lowing herds. 
 
 My Summer shaded green-house 
 Has long been wasted by the wind, 
 
 Where oft I used to play. 
 
 And playing, sometimes sinned. 
 
MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS. 223 
 
 The rose leaf has faded now ; 
 
 The dear old garden's bloom, 
 Once so fair and fragrant, 
 
 Seems like a neglected tomb. 
 
 In truth, I hardly knew 
 
 The dear old place to-day, 
 Which seemed to me a heaven 
 
 Ere I 'd been twenty years away. 
 
 I sat me down amid the grove 
 
 In pensive thought a while ; 
 The wind came softly sighing 
 
 Adown each leafy isle, 
 
 Like the requiem of a funeral train, 
 Moving with solemn pomp along. 
 
 For my missing kindred kind. 
 Who filled the grove with song, 
 
 A distant sounding echo 
 
 Seemed breaking on my ear. 
 From falling clods upon each coffin, 
 
 Who were to me so dear. 
 
 Father and mother gone. 
 
 And sister laid within the dust ; 
 The old homestead left to me, 
 
 By a title deed in trust. 
 
 But, alas ! that I should till 
 
 That burial ground again ! 
 No, no, I can not do it, 
 
 'T would break my heart with pain. 
 
224 ^ CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Thro' all the weary days, 
 Each sod that I might turn 
 
 "Would make me mourn for loved ones, 
 As memory back would run. 
 
 The old homestead I will rent 
 To some good, trusty hand ; 
 
 And on pilgrimage go hence 
 
 Journeying through a foreign land, 
 
 Where never sight or scene 
 
 Shall daily call to mind, 
 Thoughts of the last long separation 
 
 From loved ones good and kind. 
 
 Waiting for the billows of life's ocean 
 To speed my bark forever and for aye, 
 
 To a realm beyond the harbor bar, 
 Where meet again we must and may. 
 
LOV£^ WITHOUT. A KISS. 225 
 
 LOVE WITHOUT A KISS. 
 
 Love without a kiss, 
 
 Is like the shadow of a bliss 
 
 Floating round thro' nothingness. 
 
 Love without a kiss, 
 
 Is like a heaven compared to this, 
 
 Without its blessedness. 
 
 Love without a kiss, 
 
 Is like a mother-in-law amiss 
 
 In a home of wretchedness. 
 
 Love without a kiss, 
 
 Is like a jealous little Miss 
 
 Full of fretful peevishness. 
 
 Love without a kiss. 
 
 So very sort of simple is, 
 
 That it is n't biz — 
 
 Then remember always this, 
 When you love without a kiss, 
 The most of love you miss. 
 
226. CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 WITH HEART-BEAT AND DRUM-BEAT." 
 
 " With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
 A soldier passe th by," 
 Borne to his rest, 
 In the nation of the blest, 
 Under the blue of freedom's sky. 
 
 "With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
 A soldier passeth by," 
 Toll the burial bell, 
 Let sorrow on the breezes swell, 
 While we chant his requiem with a sigh. 
 
 " With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
 A soldier passeth by : " 
 Grant, the peerless head 
 Of mighty men, is dead ; 
 His funeral train draweth nigh. 
 
 " With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
 A soldier passeth by ; " 
 The great, the good. 
 The matchless fortitude, 
 Doth in yon coffin lie. 
 
 *' With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
 A soldier passeth by ; " 
 The leader of the age, 
 The manly martial sage. 
 Gone from you and I. 
 
WITH HEART-BE A T AND DR UMBEA T. 221 
 
 ' With heart-beat and drum-beat," 
 While this "soldier passeth by," 
 Out of the world's bloom 
 Into the dismal tomb, 
 Weep with soul and eye. 
 
 "With heart-beat and drum-beat," 
 The soldier hath gone by, 
 Never again to pass 
 The people en masse. 
 Till assembled in the sky, 
 
 Where, with trumpet-beat and music-sweet, 
 In the coming by and by, 
 We '11 greet our leader, Grant, 
 With a celestial chant, 
 As the eternal ages fly. 
 
228 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 
 
 THE RAPTURES AND ROSES OF VICE. 
 
 There's preaching and teaching, 
 There 's crying and screeching 
 From pulpet and forum, 
 About morality and decorum ; 
 But they must have hearts of ice, 
 Who never have tasted 
 The raptures and roses of vice. 
 
 The laymen look wise out of their eyes, 
 
 Under a Sunday diguise ; 
 
 And the deacons in line 
 
 You 'd think were divine ; 
 
 But they must have hearts of ice. 
 
 Who never have tasted 
 
 The raptures and roses of vice. 
 
 The mothers and brothers, 
 
 The sisters and lovers. 
 
 To meeting regular go, 
 
 And sing in a rapturous flow ; 
 
 But they must have hearts of ice, 
 
 Who never have tasted 
 
 The raptures and roses of vice. 
 
 The miser in fear hugs his treasure dear, 
 With forebodings queer ; 
 While the monk in his cell 
 Beads at midnight will tell ; 
 
THE RAPTURES AKD ROSES OF VICE. 229 
 
 But they must have hearts of ice, 
 
 Who never have tasted 
 
 The raptures and roses of vice. 
 
 The mild-minded moralist, with virtue's list, 
 
 Upon his tenets doth insist ; 
 
 Never once glancing away 
 
 To where the passions stray ; 
 
 But they must have hearts of ice. 
 
 Who never have tasted 
 
 The raptures and roses of vice. 
 
230 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 FKIAR GOMOLK 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The author has frequently passed the church herein mentioned, 
 amid the darkest and -he brightest night, without seeing shade or 
 shape; though he confesses not to have loitered long on Xht'. way. As 
 the superstition accredited the Friar with having visited the seeup of 
 his hopes and sorrows almost nightly, it is more than fortunate that 
 we never met after he "went over the river ;" for methiiik-i one 
 meeting would have both satisfled my curiosity and tested my 
 courage.— C.j 
 
 In my wanderings round, 
 Somewhere I have "found, 
 A church that stands 
 On holy ground : 
 Haunted by a sprite 
 Of no mortal mold, 
 That nightly wafts 
 A glimmering death-light 
 From its moss-grown steeple. 
 Some centuries old. 
 
 Once the friar Goraole 
 
 (God rest his troubled soul), 
 
 There broke the bread of life 
 
 With holy hands, 
 
 To rude, uncultured bands 
 
 Who professed the heavenly creed. 
 
 But on the fat of earth did feed. 
 
FRIAR GOMOLE. 231 
 
 It troubled the friar sore, 
 
 To see his followers 
 
 So bent on gathering earthly store ; 
 
 Mere dross that glides away 
 
 When the sun goes down the bay. 
 
 So he prayed and preached, 
 
 He groaned and screeched. 
 
 About the fires of hell, 
 
 And how the angel fell ; 
 
 But it scarce did any good, 
 
 For they were a worldly brotherhood ; 
 
 And 'twas plain to see 
 
 This edifice of divinity, 
 
 Tho' built on holy ground. 
 
 Was being polluted 
 
 With sins which did there abound. 
 
 So one gloomy day 
 The friar passed away, 
 Transformed from clay 
 To a spiritual thing, 
 With spotless crest 
 And swan-like wing. 
 
 So within the church basement 
 They buried him ; 
 For his life was free from sin. 
 And they wished to atone 
 For the grief and groan 
 Wrung from his saintly soul, 
 While pointing his flocks 
 To the spiritual goal. 
 
 And now his ghost. 
 Sore oppressed with grief, 
 
232 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Round that churcli doth post, 
 
 Because of their unbelief: 
 
 And 't is ofttimes averred, 
 
 On the most authentic word. 
 
 That he hath been seen, 
 
 In grave clothes clean, 
 
 Flitting about 'neath the moon-beam ; 
 
 That his specter face 
 
 Wears a sad expression of grace ; 
 
 That he makes moan 
 
 In a sort of undertone. 
 
 As if the woes of eternity's goal 
 
 Lay heavy on his soul. 
 
 For that offending race 
 
 Who professed. 
 
 But never experienced, grace. 
 
 Sometimes, like a knight of the line. 
 
 He rides a milk-white steed, 
 
 In livery all divine. 
 
 At furious break-neck speed ; 
 
 As if chasing the imps away 
 
 From that worldly flock, 
 
 Who doth downward ever stray, 
 
 At each tick of Death's clock. 
 
 Alas ! thou holy soul. 
 Fret not thyself 
 In eternit/s goal ; 
 • For the Lord of earth and sky 
 Heareth not a dead man's cry. 
 
A CHILD AT PLAY. 233 
 
 A CHILD AT PLAY. 
 
 In the roseate hue of a golden day, 
 
 I saw a fair-haired child at play, 
 
 On a bank of flowers bright, 
 
 Spotless, pure as a ray of the Northern Hght. 
 
 Again, I looked at noou, 
 
 "When madhood's frown had changed the cheek of bloom, 
 
 And the settled traces of vice 
 
 Had frozen the current of the soul to ice. 
 
 Once more, at the day's decline, 
 I saw that form, first made God-like, divine, 
 Lie down on the darksome earth to die. 
 With no loved ones standing by. 
 
 And later on, when the mists of night 
 Hid the lifeless clay from my sight. 
 Then I fancied I could hear 
 Strange voices whispering in my ear, 
 
 As, with haste and hurr}^ they bore 
 The lifeless thing to the other shore. 
 " This way, lend a helping hand ; 
 Quick, spirit him away to Pluto's strand." 
 
 And Cometh those echoes still, 
 
 From out of the darkness behind the hill. 
 
 Like a mournful chant from the spirit world. 
 
 When an immortal soul to the dismal tarn is hurled. 
 C20) 
 
234 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 ABE NORVAL. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The scenes of this poem are laid on the banks of the " Smoky Hill 
 River," near Abilene, Kansas. The poem is founded on fact. The un- 
 fortunate Drake was tried by a jury, convicted of his crime, and sen- 
 tenced by the court to "be hanged," but remains confined in the State 
 Penitentiary, at Leavenworth. The body of Abe Norval sleeps where 
 the dark deed was done, and is known as "The grave by the river 
 brink." Though cruelly murdered, and forsaken in death, his coming 
 forth may be as auspicious as anyone's on the resurrection morn.— C.J 
 
 When the sun its course had run, 
 
 Throughout one weary day, 
 There might be seen, by its parting gleam, 
 
 Amid the glimmering gray, 
 Two men that friends had been, 
 
 Down by the river stray. 
 
 'Neath a leafy tree, on beach and lea. 
 
 They sat them down to wile 
 Away the hours, amid blooming flowers, 
 
 Far from sin and guile, 
 In a shady grove where love might rove, 
 
 Bewitched by Cupid's smile. 
 
 With kindred claims, but different names. 
 
 They lay down to repose : 
 Norval as if in prayer, Drake with vacant stare. 
 
 Shut in from human foes ; 
 
ABE NORVAL. 235 
 
 But an hour or less of sleepiness 
 Past, when the dark-eyed one arose. 
 
 With observant eye you might descry, 
 
 There was bloody work on hand ; 
 As with cat-like step he silently crept 
 
 i^way to the wagon stand, 
 And the hammer took with a devil's look, 
 
 Condemned by God's command. 
 
 Thenback he came, like an imp of flame; 
 
 And with a hasty stroke. 
 In the darksome gloom, by the shaded moon, 
 
 The sleeper's skull broke ; 
 Who never stirred, or uttered a word, 
 
 As the crash thro' the night spoke. 
 
 While gazing there, with desperate glare, 
 
 On his victim growing cold, 
 Dreadful drear throbs of fear 
 
 Thro' his being rolled. 
 Strangely thrilling, with a tempest filling, 
 
 As if to the devil sold. 
 
 With hasty grasp and clammy clasp, 
 
 Quicker than the words I 've said ; 
 With strength of immortal hand or wizard's wand. 
 
 He gathered up the dead, 
 And, like a very knave, he threw it in the wave, 
 
 While down the body sped. 
 
 A plunging sound broke the stillness round, 
 
 And the night-hawk's scream 
 Startled there the deejD hushed air, 
 
 As the body sunk beneath the stream ; 
 
236 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 While a voice did cry, from out the sky, 
 In awful majesty supreme : 
 
 " Thou guilty kuave, yon wateiy grave 
 May not the mortal body hide : 
 Ere nine suns their journey runs 
 
 Full in view it shall ride, 
 A witness free, in dreadful mockery, 
 
 Of thy dark homicide. 
 
 y 
 
 "Away, begone, hide in the jungles among. 
 
 For blood is on thy hand ; 
 The mark of Cain thy face doth stain ; 
 
 And throughout the land. 
 Where'er thou flee or chance to be, 
 
 Compunctious pangs thou shalt withstand." 
 
 The voice ceased, as light in the East 
 
 Streaked the morning gray ; 
 Thro' its glimmering gleam there might be seen 
 
 The murderer hastening away ; 
 Tho' the nightwind's sigh and voice in the skj 
 
 Bestrode the dismal W'ay. 
 
 And every tree, on beach or lea, 
 
 Seemed an officer grim. 
 As he shivered and quivered 
 
 Thro' the morning twilight dim. 
 He thought all eyes of earth and skies 
 
 Were gazing then on him. 
 
 He went to bed in a lonely shed. 
 
 Lighted by the gloom ; 
 But not to sleep, for his heart did leap 
 
 At shadows in the room ; 
 
ABE NORVAL. 237 
 
 And every sigh, as the wind went by, 
 Seemed a death-note from the tomb. 
 
 In terrible pain he called on God's name, 
 
 To forgive his sin ; 
 But devils there, with malicious glare, 
 
 Only mocked at him ; 
 And no messenger fair, from worlds of air, 
 
 Stilled the strife within. 
 
 Thro' the vesper's rhyme and weary chime, 
 
 Drearily dragged the night ; 
 As imps of hell, with sulphurous smell. 
 
 Held round his bed their wild delight : 
 With eye aflame, in God's name, 
 
 He hailed the morning light. 
 
 Thro' broad drylight and darksome night, 
 
 The time wearily went ; 
 Till word passed round, " the body is found," 
 
 Ah ! then he did lament ; 
 As officers came and read his name, 
 
 So off to jail he went. 
 
 On the river's lea, by the self-same tree, 
 
 They buried Norval away, 
 'Neath brake and bush, in nature's hush. 
 
 To await the judgment day ; 
 Where may be seen his grave so green. 
 
 Moistened by the river's spray. 
 
 The tempest's moan, nor murderer's groan, 
 
 Reach not his ears. 
 Beyond the hush of life and worldly strife, 
 
 He may be walking golden spheres, 
 
238 CAMPBELL'S POEMS/ 
 
 Where the cruel wound that felled him to the ground 
 Shall be healed as eternity nears. 
 
 Ah ! let him sleep beside the deep, 
 
 In yon neglected grave, 
 For seraph bands, with loving hands, 
 
 Garlands of flowers wave. 
 About his brow, grown angelic now, 
 
 Tho' marred by the hand of a knave. 
 
TRE LAV OF THE LO VERS. 239 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LOVERS. 
 
 " O ! LIST to me, lady, 
 For hither I 've come, 
 To this greenwood shady, 
 Ere setting of sun, 
 
 "To make thee my own, 
 My angel of light ; 
 More bright than e'er shown 
 Stars in the Northern night. 
 
 " Then, say, wilt thou be 
 My seraph, to guide 
 Down to the sea. 
 
 And its deep waters wide? 
 
 " Wilt thou place on my brow 
 A wreath of bright gold, 
 When the pulse that beats now 
 
 Its throbbing no longer doth hold?" 
 
 "O! yes, I'll list to thee, sir- 
 Quite ready to yield, 
 Without a demur. 
 
 In this laurel green field. 
 
 "Yes, I 'U be thy bride; 
 And all that I bring 
 Shall be offered with pride, 
 At the shrine of my king. 
 
,240 CAMPBELL- S rOE^IS. 
 
 "Ever ready I '11 be 
 
 To lead thee away, * 
 
 With seraph songs free, 
 To the dawning of day. 
 
 "And when this life is past, 
 I '11 place on thy brow 
 Wreath'd leaves of gold at the last, 
 In sorrow and mourniua; somehow." 
 
SKIPPER JACK AND BALL A WHACK. 241 
 
 SKIPPEK JACK AND BALLA WHACK. 
 
 Skippee Jack 
 
 And Balk Whack, 
 
 Went thro' the woods together ; 
 
 Alas, alack ! " 
 
 Said Skipper Jack„ 
 
 I do n't know whether 
 
 My Amelia Mac 
 
 Roams these wooded wilds, 
 
 Or thro' clover smiles. 
 
 Along the flowery heather.". 
 
 Said BaUa Whack 
 To Skipper Jack : 
 " It matters not at all, 
 For a hoe, a hack, 
 Will make a brawl. 
 In the sunny, sunshine weather. 
 Where two and two, 
 Tie up anew. 
 
 With mortal made from rib of you, 
 To roam the world together." 
 
 Said Skipper Jack 
 
 To BaUa Whack, 
 
 As round and round they run : 
 
 " O ! tie me in your sack, 
 
 My head will crack ; 
 
 For my life is done, 
 (21) ^ 
 
242 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 If I can not find 
 
 My Amelia kind, 
 
 With fingers blithe, to bind 
 
 A bandage on my thumb." 
 
 Said Balla Whack 
 To Skipper Jack, 
 With frightened accents mum : 
 "Poor, simple fool, 
 To be the gru'l 
 Of any woman's tongue," 
 As he tied him tight, 
 From the goblin's sight, 
 Within his bag, 
 With a birch-bark tag. 
 
 Then Balla Whack 
 
 Took Skipper Jack 
 
 By the finger and the thumb, 
 
 And homeward run ; 
 
 For he thought that death had come. 
 
 Which petrified his Amelia dumb. 
 
 As she stood sunning herself 
 
 In the sun. 
 
 With that luxurious wealth 
 
 Of curls which round her hung. 
 
 "Hurrah, hurrack!" 
 
 Said Skipper Jack, 
 "'Tis timely done ; 
 
 Quick, untie the sack, 
 
 I smell my Amelia's gum ; 
 
 I'm well again. 
 
 And have no pain. 
 
 ! what have you done ? 
 
SKIPPER JACK AND BALL A WHACK. 243 
 
 Sent lier soul to the devil whole. 
 Or into the sun ? " 
 
 Out of the sack 
 
 Skipper Jack 
 
 That instant sprung, 
 
 To find his Amelia mum, 
 
 As round and round he run. 
 
 Tearing the hair 
 
 From his bald head there ; 
 
 While Balla Whack sung 
 
 A dismal dirge, 
 
 That she died so young. 
 
 They laid her away, 
 
 In the wildwood clay, 
 
 From heaven's sight that day ; 
 
 And journeyed the world around, 
 
 With merriment and sound. 
 
 But never since then 
 
 Has Skipper Jack 
 
 Or Balla Whack, 
 
 Let come betAveen them 
 
 The semblance fair of men. 
 
244 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE CONVICT. 
 
 In the barred and banded pen, 
 
 Shut from the gaze of men, 
 
 The convict crouches now, 
 
 With a shade of melancholy on his brow ; 
 
 Brooding o'er his fate 
 
 With savage, sullen hate ; 
 
 For his race and kin 
 
 Have thus condemned him, 
 
 To die ten thousand times, 
 
 In expiation of his crimes. 
 
 The phantom of despair 
 
 Grloats on him 
 
 With a ghastly glare, 
 
 Out of the barred and banded air ; 
 
 While from the walls of his dungeon cold 
 
 A troop of shadows fold 
 
 Their shriveled wings. 
 
 Like scorpion stings. 
 
 About his heart ; 
 
 Within that hell-recruiting mart, 
 
 Where hope is flown. 
 
 And every groan 
 
 Sounds like the undertone 
 
 Of some ghostly moan. 
 
 Lonely there he waits 
 Time's changeless fates. 
 To bear his troubled soul 
 
THE CONVICT 24:b 
 
 Out of the gloom 
 
 Into the tomb 
 
 Of oblivion's goal : 
 
 Or away out of death 
 
 Into day, where cheering beams 
 
 And golden gleams 
 
 On freed prisoners play. 
 
 The keeper grim 
 Shuts on him 
 The massive iron door ; 
 And as the grating bars 
 Rattles and jars 
 Thro' the heart's core, 
 Off he trips in cheer 
 To meet companions dear, 
 Never once thinking 
 Of the fettered soul 
 In the dungeon's goal 
 Pining and sinking. 
 
 The roses bloom without. 
 Casting perfumes sweet about ; 
 The bees go wooing the flowers 
 Thro' sunny dells and bowers ; 
 The song-bird free 
 Pipes to his mate in glee, 
 Thro' all the golden hours ; 
 The lambs skip and play 
 Throughout the gladsome day ; 
 But liberty 's gone, 
 And hope 's a song 
 Never to be sung again. 
 
 There is no light within his den ; 
 So he goes to bed. 
 
246 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 With shivering fears 
 And falling tears, 
 Which have been shed 
 By captives many years. 
 
 The birds may rock 
 
 In the tree-top, 
 
 With never a thought of care ; 
 
 Warbling their song 
 
 All. the day long, 
 
 Free as the Summer air ; 
 
 But his voice is dumb ; 
 
 He sees not the rising sun, 
 
 Nor notes its downward run ; 
 
 No angels beckon him ; 
 
 The gloomy wall. 
 
 Like a funeral pall, 
 
 Falls on his vision dim. 
 
 In the evening twilight, 
 
 As golden gleams 
 
 Flash athwart the northern night, 
 
 He sees the stars 
 
 Through prison bars ; 
 
 But what is it all to him ? 
 
 Hope is fled, and joy is dead ; 
 
 The world is growing dim 
 
 To his_failing vision bounded in. 
 
 The buds have lost their bloom, 
 The flowers their rich perfume ; 
 The Summer breeze is chill. 
 And harsh the song-bird's thrill 
 From the linden's limb : 
 No cheer for the convict's ear 
 
THE CONVICT. 247 
 
 Comes through the grates to him, 
 
 Covered with shame 
 
 And a felon's name ; 
 
 For men have penned him in 
 
 That den of gloom and living tomb, 
 
 To wait the severing stroke of fate 
 
 And the eternal doom. 
 
248 GAMPBELnS POEMS. 
 
 PETER PANSY. 
 
 [a song.] 
 
 Little Peter Pansy 
 Ate a lot of tansy, 
 To cure his big, big toe, 
 Which worked him woe; 
 Since the mountain oak 
 Eell with lightning stroke 
 And hurt it so, so, so. 
 
 Little Peter Pansy, 
 From this overdose of tansy, 
 Went to bed, bed, bed, 
 And covered up his head ; 
 Filled with mortal fear 
 That Death v/as very near, 
 From his tread, tread, tread. 
 
 But 't was Miss Jerusha Jansey, 
 With love instead of tansy. 
 To drive away his woe, woe, woe, 
 From out his head and toe ; 
 And she whispered in his ear : 
 "Peter, your Jerusha 's near, 
 With her face aglow, glow, glow." 
 
 Then little Peter Pansy 
 Kissed his Jerusha Jansey, 
 
PETER PANSY. 249 
 
 Murmuring low, low, low : 
 "My toe is well. 
 Sweet lily of the dell : 
 Get the priest to stick us good and handy, 
 With his matrimonial candy, 
 For ever and for ever, O, O, 0." 
 
250 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE HARBOR LIGHTS. 
 
 The harbor lights are shining 
 
 Beyond the darkness and the gloom : 
 
 Mariner, why art thou repining, 
 So near the land of bloom? 
 
 Tempestuous tho' thy voyage hath been, 
 
 Over sunken shoals and reefs, 
 Struggling 'gainst the wiles of wicked men 
 
 And cruel unbeliefs ; 
 
 Take heart, the harbor bar 
 
 Riseth now to view, 
 Where assembled, waiting are 
 
 Immortal ones to welcome you. 
 
 Then, brother, bear bravely on, 
 
 Thou art not many leagues from shore ; 
 
 Where, sheltered in the heavenly dawn. 
 Thou 'It sail life's venturous wave no more; 
 
 But stand upon the heavenly landing, 
 
 Arrayed in texture fine ; 
 Where a'olden crowns ane,-els bright are handine: 
 
 To voyagers from every clime. 
 
 Mariner, dost hear the welcome hymn 
 
 They send upon the breeze 
 To guide you safely in. 
 
 From life's darksome seas ? 
 
THE HARBOR LIGHTS. 251 
 
 Canst see tlie many lights, 
 
 Which angel hands have lit, 
 Burning round the harbor heights, 
 
 Where the gods in grandeur sit ? 
 
 Then take heart, and cheer. 
 
 Have courage yet a while ; 
 The harl)or bar is very near, 
 
 Ma/st see the celestial stile. 
 
252 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 CORA LISLE. 
 
 [a song.] 
 
 I GO where clearer streams glide 
 
 In mute meanderings down the mountain side, 
 
 Flowing far and wide, 
 
 Onward to the ocean tide ; 
 
 Where the tuneful bird 
 
 In every dell is heard, 
 
 Caroling a joyous word 
 
 To the breeze with beauty stirred. 
 
 Choeus. — 'Tis there I go 
 
 To meet my beau. 
 In love's own dell, 
 Where fays and fairies dwell. 
 
 I go where no frost or snow 
 
 Falls on the world below. 
 
 To chill the spring of pleasure's flow, 
 
 'Neath the brilliant rainbow : 
 
 Where gems, all rich and rare, 
 
 Sparkle in the balmy air ; 
 
 And blest peris fair 
 
 Meet with men and maidens there. 
 
 Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 
 
 To meet my beau, 
 In love's own dell. 
 Where fays and fairies dwell. 
 
COBA LISLE. 253 
 
 I go where mix and mingle maids 
 On bright, moonlight raids, 
 In mii'thful cavalcades, 
 And beauty never fades ; 
 Where Cupid's shining lance 
 Never cuts askance, 
 The pleasures that entrance 
 Love's languid countenance. 
 
 Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 
 
 To meet my beau, 
 In love's own dell. 
 Where fays and fairies dwell. 
 
 I go where, all the day. 
 Some birdling gay. 
 With witching art, doth play 
 In the light of Cupid's ray, 
 With her lover's tasseled horn, 
 A heavenly shepherd born. 
 Who wakes the laughing morn 
 With music 'mid the waving corn. 
 
 Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 
 
 To meet my beau, 
 In love's own dell. 
 Where fays and fairies dwell. 
 
 I go to bask in love's own smile, 
 
 Embowered in beauty's isle. 
 
 Where never wanders guile 
 
 About the trysting-stile ; 
 
 To sip the cream 
 
 Of love's sweet dream, 
 
254 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Where shade and shadows sheen 
 Floats 'round my island green. 
 
 Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 
 
 To meet ray beau, 
 In love's own dell, 
 Where fays and fairies dwell. 
 
SONNETS. 255 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 • THAT OTHER LAND. 
 
 Upon the beetling crag of an Alpean crest, 
 
 Where the blue skies silently bend above, 
 
 I sat thinking, one night, of God and love. 
 
 After the sun had gone down in the West, 
 
 And the angel of sleep had spoken her rest. 
 
 I looked on the heavens for a wonderous sign 
 
 Concerning the land of beauty benign ; 
 
 Or some sinless messenger from the land of the blest, 
 
 Earthward flying to answer my soul. 
 
 Some thoughts of the realm so divine. 
 
 Lying beyond the black bourn and the goal 
 
 Of the mysterious miracle land ; 
 
 Where the chimes of the death-bell's toll 
 
 Breaks on the shores of the fore-appointed strand. 
 
 BY THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 
 
 Lonesome it is to lie at my cabin door. 
 
 Listening to the woodcock and the partridge drumming. 
 
 Waiting, watching, for a footstep's coming, 
 
 So familiar in the days of yore. 
 
 Which went elastic bounding by the Rappahannock's 
 
 shore, 
 Ere the shr'apnel and the shell 
 Went shrieking the moans of the dying where they fell ; 
 
256 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To come home bravely marching never more, 
 
 To enjoy the frugal cabin meal, 
 
 The love of mother, wife, or child 
 
 Who, of all the world alone, can feel 
 
 The true intensity of love's passion wild. 
 
 Most merciful God, mantle the dead where they lie ; 
 
 Shut the rude ghost of the war forever from ray eye. 
 
 THE SPHINX. 
 
 Thou immortal bust of ancient fame. 
 
 Standing mute and dreamless in the Egypt land, 
 
 Sinking from our sight into shaded sand, 
 
 Say, what was thy mighty sculptor's name ? 
 
 What moved his moveless master hand 
 
 Thy rigid features to carve like gloomy cowl — 
 
 Gloomy as the goblin ghost of a gowl ; 
 
 Dark as midnight, and like death the same ; 
 
 With sightless orbs and solemn stare ; 
 
 Mute and moveless as aught in earth or air ? 
 
 Thou stand'st, a mysterious sentinel of time, 
 
 Like a rock-ribbed riddle unread. 
 
 Or measureless monster sublime, 
 
 Between the millions living and the millions dead. 
 
 THE EAINBOW. 
 
 Beautiful, golden glow on the evening sky, 
 Tinted fair with many a lovely ray ; 
 Softly passing like an angel's sigh 
 From the shores of earth to heaven away: 
 
soyyETs. 257 
 
 What holy hands doth blend thy hues 
 Above the mountain mists, above the dews, 
 Which deepen dark and fall in rain ? 
 Oh ! pleasant it is to stand and see 
 Thy varied tints of wonderous imagery, 
 And think no storms shall come a,2:ain 
 Beneath thy wide extended band, 
 In a brighter and a better world, 
 Held in the hollow of the Eternal's hand, 
 Where the sun-lands, of Eden are unfurled. 
 (22) 
 
258 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE RIVER NILE. 
 
 If you would pass life away 
 In the light of woman's smile, 
 
 And escape earth's toil and play, 
 Then journey to the river Nile. 
 
 There you may sail all night 
 
 On the water's brightening gleam, 
 
 Where softest flakes of light 
 
 Change life to love's young dream. 
 
 With some fairy in the boat, 
 Seated snugly by your side, 
 
 You may, in pleasure, float 
 On that love-creating tide. 
 
 There the rippling water bars 
 
 And Cupid full in view, 
 Under the light of silver stars, 
 
 May glide down the stream with you. 
 
 The song of a pelican or dove. 
 Wafted on the freshening gale, 
 
 Will cheer your lady-love, 
 As down the stream you sail. 
 
 And merry reapers on the land, 
 Gathering in the ripened grain, 
 
 Will hail you from the strand, 
 
 In sweet friendship's welcome strain. 
 
THE RIVER MLE. 259 
 
 Thus, on the opening morn of life, 
 Accompanied by your darling bride, 
 
 You may sail beyond earth's strife, 
 Over love's bewitching tide. 
 
260 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 
 
 Under tlie rays of a tropical sun, 
 Through many a distant clime, 
 Went wandering a pilgrim of love, 
 In that dreamy sort of existence 
 Which maidens and matrons feel 
 When the shades of the departed return 
 To mix and mingle with men, 
 
 n. 
 
 Under the silvery stars, 
 
 On an evening bright in June, 
 
 When St. Peter oped the gates of gold, 
 
 Letting celestial wanderers out and in. 
 
 To rove without restraint 
 
 Through all the glory of the upper sphere. 
 
 III. 
 
 On such an evening beautiful, 
 In such a hallowed realm. 
 This pilgrim went wandering : 
 When, lo ! he met a merry group 
 Of the merry daughters of Eve, 
 Bedecked with golden beads, 
 Seeking some form of mans' 
 To soothe their ardent souls. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 261 
 
 IV. 
 
 But no sooner had they met 
 
 Than strife arose as to who should 
 
 Carry away captive our pilgrim of love : 
 
 Who, captivated, bowed and becked 
 
 In the most courteous manner ; 
 
 For indeed he was dazzled 
 
 By the particles of splendid light 
 
 Falling in fairest seeming 
 
 From eye-lashes of love. 
 
 Their ruby lips and rose-tinted cheeks, 
 
 With teeth like alabaster, 
 
 Shown radiant 'neath the languid luster 
 
 Of soft, celestial eyes. 
 
 Alike entranced with all, 
 
 A tumultuous strife arose 
 
 In his breast as to how many 
 
 Of these fair daughters of Eve 
 
 He could secure to himself 
 
 As matrons of a fairy isle. 
 
 Where the magnolia and the orange blossom 
 
 Fill the air with odorous perfumes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the more he strove to decide, 
 The more enraptured he became, 
 Until aware that strife and jealousy 
 Was destroying hia peace and theirs. 
 As this fair group of heavenly beings 
 Contended for the Pilgrim of Love. 
 
262 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Dispirited and sick 
 
 Of the wiles of Cupid, 
 
 The fair vision faded 
 
 Into disappointment and distrust, 
 
 Like mists before the morn ; 
 
 While thick as hail flew 
 
 The lightning shafts of Cupid, 
 
 Making sad havoc with the hearts of all. 
 
 vni. 
 
 And before three suns 
 Had rolled their golden gleams 
 Athwart a clouded sky, 
 The Pilgrim of Love, 
 Journeying, came to a land 
 Where love never enters its gloomy portals 
 To light the soul past the doorway of doom. 
 Hung on the outposts of creation, 
 Whence mists of misery float 
 • And Fate writes a furlough to love. 
 
A MONARCH BORN. 263 
 
 A MONAECH BORN. 
 
 Once a monarcli born 
 
 Went wandering, 
 Poor and forlorn, 
 
 On his condition pondering. 
 
 Once a ruler grand 
 
 Swayed the scepter free, 
 Over a mighty land, 
 
 Like some deity. 
 
 But now his throne. 
 
 And all his regal state, 
 He yields with a groan. 
 
 Submissive to his fate. 
 
 It seems to you and me. 
 
 Who never held sway, 
 A terrible thing to see, 
 
 A monarch driven to necessity. 
 
 But from God on high 
 
 The tear of pity falls. 
 At the humble beggar's cry 
 
 The same as when a monarch calls. 
 
264 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 
 
 WATTING FOK THE MAY. 
 
 I'm waiting for the May, 
 
 Watching for that angel's coming 
 
 Along the flowery way, 
 
 Where nymphs and naiads running, 
 
 Sing their sweet roundelay. 
 
 I 'm waiting for the May, 
 
 Watching for this floral queen of beauty, 
 To make glad the laughing day, 
 
 With the filching fairy's booty, 
 Plucked from bud and blossom's spray. 
 
 I 'm waiting for the May, 
 
 Watching for some angel holy 
 From the gates of heaven to stray. 
 
 To the manger, rude and lowly. 
 Where the babe of Bethlehem lay. 
 
 To wake the sleeping May 
 
 With a celestial song, 
 Whose sweet echoes forever, aye, 
 
 Earth's mortals may prolong. 
 As into the dream-lands they stray. 
 
 From the blossoms and the May 
 
 Down to the river's sighing, 
 Along the dai'ksome way ; 
 
 Where the blooms of life are dying 
 In the sun's meridian ray. 
 
WAITING FOR THE MAY. 265 
 
 I 'm waiting for the May ; 
 
 Sometimes almost discerning, 
 Through the misty morning gray, 
 
 Those loved ones returning, 
 Gone through seraph lands to stray. 
 
 I'm waiting for the May, 
 
 To beam with a celestial light 
 Brighter than any Northern ray, 
 
 Beyond the sable folds of night, 
 Over inlet, haven, bay. 
 
 I'm waiting for the May, 
 
 Becalmed in a kind of trice. 
 Where the tides of time noiseless stray 
 
 Under the walls of Paradise, 
 This side the landing's quay. 
 (23) 
 
266 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 ON THE SHORES OF THE POTOMAC. 
 
 On the shores of the Potomac, 
 Where the waves of freedom rol, 
 
 Watch-fires once were lighted, 
 
 Which thrilled the depths of Liberty's soul. 
 
 'T was there the soldier bivouacked ; 
 
 'T was there he fought and died 
 Under the glorious stars and strijies, 
 
 Blest emblem of a nation's j)ride. 
 
 In the brightness of the morning, 
 
 In the darkness of the night, 
 Amid the clash of angry steel, 
 
 Many a spirit took its flight. 
 
 From the battle's bloody bed. 
 
 From the hard and trampled sod, 
 
 Up the bright and shining pathway, 
 To the judgment throne of God : 
 
 That America might united stand ; 
 
 That manhood might be free 
 In the world's grandest nation, 
 
 From the center to the sea. 
 
 In the council of the skies 
 
 High Heaven did ordain 
 That this land should united be. 
 
 When our fathers broke the British chain. 
 
ON 1HE SHORES OF THE POTOMAC. 267 
 
 And when the curst treason plot 
 
 Stained our hands with kindred blood, 
 
 Along the banks of old Potomac, 
 Where our fathers manly stood, 
 
 From the door of another world, 
 From the realm of a grander sway, 
 
 The soul of our good Washington 
 Hovered round the rugged w ay ; 
 
 And, though unseen to mortal ken, 
 
 All the bright celestials gone 
 Who nutured freedom's budding germ, 
 
 Bade us to victory hasten on. 
 
 On the shores of the Potomac 
 
 No camp-fire now is seen ; 
 The ghost of the cruel war has glided, 
 
 Like ripples, down the stream. 
 
268 CAMPBELL'S FO-BMS. 
 
 THE LILIES AND LANGUORS OF LOVE. 
 
 Men become wise 
 
 Under far Northern skies ; 
 
 And ladies so fine 
 
 Seem something divine, 
 
 'Neath the glimmering moonshine ; 
 
 But in that far Northern clime, 
 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 
 Knows nothing of 
 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
 Where the cold, chilly breeze 
 
 Moans moodily through the trees, 
 
 Love's nymphs seldom stray, 
 
 And Cupid throws his darts away, 
 
 Impatient of delay ; 
 
 For in that far Northern clime, 
 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 
 Knows nothing of 
 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
 On the cold, barren shore, 
 
 Where fools for an ocean explore, 
 
 There seldom a ray 
 
 From the bright orb of day 
 
 Goes glimmering that way : 
 
 Through that far Northern clime, 
 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 
 Knows nothing of 
 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
THE LILIES AND LANGUORS OF LOVE. 269 
 
 Under Boreas'* cold reign 
 Title-deeds hold not the domain ; 
 And never a rill, 
 With fetterless will, 
 Breaks from eternity's chill : 
 In that far Northern clime, 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 Knows nothing of 
 The lUies and languors of love. 
 
 Vague, distant, and dim, 
 Shadows of mystery swim 
 'Round the cold glaciers that glow 
 In the light of eternity's sheen. 
 From the door\vay of God sujDreme; 
 But in that far Northern clime, 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 Knows nothing of 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
 There the wolf and the bear 
 
 At each other stare, 
 
 And the will of the Esquimaux 
 
 Is to man a law, 
 
 Without a silt or saw ; 
 
 But in that far Northern clime, 
 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 
 Knows nothing of 
 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
 There, cold as the snow. 
 Love's passion doth flow ; 
 
 *Boreas: Pertaining to the North, or the North-wind.— C 
 
270 CAMPBELLS POEMS. . 
 
 Not so at the line 
 
 Where women and wine 
 
 Mar the form divine ; 
 
 But in that far Northern clime, 
 
 Many a fair Eden dove 
 
 Knows nothing of 
 
 The lilies and languors of love. 
 
END ALU. 271 
 
 ENDALU. 
 
 I. 
 Fairest maiden, Endalu, 
 
 Blooming like a flower, 
 Mid the daisies and the dew, 
 
 I sing to thee this hour, 
 At the twilight's fading hue. 
 
 In a green-leafed bower, 
 Some tender lines of love 
 Earthward borne from lands above. 
 
 n. 
 'T is the holy hour of night 
 
 When the chirping crickets sing. 
 And some soft celestial light 
 
 Angels round about us fling, 
 Too bright for mortal sight: 
 
 Slowly plodding, without wing. 
 Through the daily cares of life. 
 Amid its battles and its strife. 
 
 m. 
 
 Bright angel, Endalu, 
 
 Still lingering at the fountain, 
 I wait and watch for you ; 
 
 But the path upon the mountain 
 Revealeth not thy view 
 
 Passing near the widow's inn, 
 Or thy fairy form Avhich used to play 
 'Round our trysting place each day. 
 
272 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 Ofttimes, at eve, I hear 
 
 The echoing of thy sweet words 
 Warbled forth in cheer 
 
 By the merry-tuueful bu-ds, 
 While winging the ether clear, 
 
 Like those fair, celestial herds 
 Which wander through fields above, 
 Where rivers shine and God is love. 
 
 v. 
 
 My boat rides idle in the bay ; 
 
 My dog 's grown old and blind 
 Since thou hast gone away ; 
 
 Earth's pleasures I seldom find, . 
 Foi love's bright ray 
 
 Goes darkling through my mind, 
 Which did the hours beguile 
 Under thy serai^hic smile. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But as the distant ages go 
 SweejDing silently along, 
 
 I hope again to know 
 
 You amid the happy throng. 
 
 Who sail the tide of eternal flow, 
 And be cheered by your song, 
 
 Beyond the stormy sea 
 
 Of wild, wide mystery. 
 
 VII. 
 
 My dearest angel, Endalu, 
 
 When the daisies bloom again. 
 
 And the earth is decked anew, 
 
 I'll twine a garland round thv name 
 
END ALU. 273 
 
 Of fairest flower and hue, 
 
 Without one dying stain, 
 Like thy seraphic soul to be 
 Fit emblem of its purity. 
 
274 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE SPORTSMEN AND THE PIGEONS. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The cruel sport of pigeon-shootinar so frequently practiced iu sorae 
 of our cities of the West, suijgested these lines: 
 
 I should never deem it much glory to be 
 Called "t!ie best shoot,'' ^Yhere scores of 
 God's feathered warblers must die to make me great. — C] 
 
 Ye immortal gods, attend, 
 
 Come witness a fete of arms ; 
 
 For listening to the music of the spheres 
 
 Is naught compared with the sportsman's charms : 
 
 With death-destroying weapon, 
 
 And murder in his eye, 
 
 He shoots down the harmless pigeon, 
 
 And exults to see it die. 
 
 Come, leave your crowns behind. 
 
 Forsake the angel throng ; 
 
 For at the morrow's pigeon shoot, 
 
 We '11 roam the sports among : 
 
 And glory to the man 
 
 Whose steady hand and aim 
 
 Excels all others there 
 
 In strewing pigeons on the plain. 
 
 What if the ritual and the rite 
 Of heaven remain undone ? 
 
THE SPORTSMEN AND THE PIGEONS. £75 
 
 'T is nothing to the crowning work 
 
 Of to-morrow's fun. 
 
 The pigeons are at hand, 
 
 A keeper, skilled and true, 
 
 I^ in waiting to " slip them oflf," 
 
 By one, by two 
 
 Then get your golden slippers on. 
 
 Walk down the crystal bai's ; 
 
 Do n't delay a moment, 
 
 E'en now the welkin jars, 
 
 With the music of the revel, 
 
 With the rattle of the shot. 
 
 Which spouts the blood from the pigeons 
 
 In many a sickening clot. 
 
 Bring Gabriel with his bugle, 
 And St. Peter from the gate. 
 To entertain the celestials 
 Who round about will wait ; 
 For our sportsmen are the best; 
 A lady's game-bag is the prize ; 
 And the work of death begins 
 As sure as to-morrow's sun doth rise. 
 
 And while 't is scarce agreed, 
 It might be well to bring along 
 The outcast, Pluto, 
 With a number of his throng, 
 To swell the audience-line 
 Around these gunners brave ; 
 As for mirthful pastime 
 They "fill the pigeon's grave." 
 
276 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 
 
 Great Jove, didst Thou 
 
 Create this thirst for blood? 
 
 Or has maukind degenerated 
 
 From where our father, Adam, stood? 
 
 For pigeons in the garden. 
 
 And without upon the tree, 
 
 Was n't molested by Eve or Adam, 
 
 Or by the serpent's fiendish glee. 
 
A DIliG-E. 
 
 A DIKGE. 
 
 Eest upon the bosom of thy God, 
 In the mystery of a moveless calm ; 
 
 For he the rough world trod, 
 
 Through its sorrows and its balm. 
 
 With dust returned to dust, 
 
 And the soul to mansions up on high, 
 The light of celestial splendors burst 
 
 Around those spots where mortals die. 
 
 And all the heavenly choir 
 
 Pause in their songs ss. rene. 
 To strike a dirge from the golden lyre, 
 
 At the dissolution scene. 
 
 When the teunant house returns to clay, 
 And the spu-it back to Allah, kind, 
 
 There is a mystery enacted, ay 
 Too great for the human mind. 
 
 Lonely they who linger here, 
 
 Sad the bowers you played within ; 
 
 But a brighter world, and clear, 
 Welcomes thy freed spirit in. 
 
 Our tears may in sorrow fall, 
 Eiven hearts in anguish moan, 
 
 'Round about thy darksome pall. 
 For the missing form at home; 
 
278 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But angels on the other shore, 
 Enraptured with delight, 
 
 Lead on to joys before, 
 Up the heavenly height. 
 
 Then no dirge will we upraise, 
 No shade of sorrow's gloom ; 
 
 For bright, celestial rays 
 
 Break in beauty round thy tomb. 
 
LINES TO LOTTIE. 279 
 
 LINES TO LOTTIE. 
 
 One beautiful eventide, 
 
 Amid the starlight's shine, 
 
 I walked and wandered wide 
 
 From life's straight onward line ; 
 
 'T was there I met a fairy creature 
 
 With graceful form and feature, 
 
 Flowii earthward from the gates of light, 
 
 To guide men's souls aright. 
 
 Some softly-hallowed spell 
 
 Of light and loveliness 
 
 'Round about me fell, 
 
 Like the shadow of a bliss, 
 
 Whose deep witchery stole, 
 
 Like a thrill of life divine, 
 
 Into my very soul ; 
 
 Shed from wings of heavenly shine 
 
 Right out of eternity's goal. 
 
 I gazed my throbbing heart away, 
 
 Not knowing what to do or say ; 
 
 For in those dreamy eyes 
 
 I saw the light of Paradise 
 
 Shedding round its mildest ray 
 
 In soft, celestial particles 
 
 Like those which fall from the gates of day. 
 
 Swift as the fleeting stride of Time 
 The moments sped away, 
 
280 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Under the bright moonshine, 
 When first I met this angel rare, 
 Flashing on the glorious eventide 
 So bright and fair. 
 
 Loosen'd to the balmy breeze, 
 Like foam ripples on silvery seas, 
 Floated out her auburn Lair 
 About rich, rounded shoulders rare, 
 Whose supernal gleam 
 Made her seem 
 Some apparition of a dream, 
 Scattering sunny smiles 
 Around love's fairy isles. 
 
 'T is so seldom we 
 
 Such sights do see. 
 
 My gentle Lottie, 
 
 That the soul delights 
 
 To revel and run, 
 
 With the brightening sun. 
 
 Upon those shores of gold, 
 
 Where fancy never grows old, 
 
 And love keeps stride 
 
 Through all the ranges 
 
 And pleasant changes 
 
 Of imagination wide. 
 
THE HARP OF GOLD. 281 
 
 THE HARP OF GOLD. 
 
 From a harp of gold 
 
 Celestial music rolled, 
 
 Under the touch of a haud divine, 
 
 An earthly angel's of the olden time. 
 
 Who often sought Bucharia's groves, 
 
 Where the love-god roves, 
 
 By downy dell, and stream so clear. 
 
 In the beautiful vale of Cashmere. 
 
 The hand that smote its strings 
 Strays now with angel wings 
 Through the land of never a shade, 
 With brilliant brightness laid 
 Playing on a lute of love 
 To celestial myriads above, 
 Who wait in groves of balmy spice, 
 Along the borders of Paradise. 
 
 This queen of symphony 
 
 Could all the arts of minstrelsy employ, 
 
 To fill the soul with joy ; 
 
 Touching each hidden spring 
 
 Of the harp's celestial ring. 
 
 Near the harp of gold 
 A shadow lingers yet ; 
 But the hand that thrilled it 
 Has in death grown cold . 
 Amid its mirthful strings 
 No sylvan symphony rings ; 
 (24J 
 
282 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Sweeping o'er its golden keys, 
 Like a mid summer's breeze, 
 Wafting in and out tlie trees 
 Memories of other years, 
 Which move the soul to tears. 
 
 Over its ivory board, 
 Where song in rapture poured 
 Its most seraphic lays. 
 The hand of Time strays ; 
 Effacing the golden shine 
 Of the architecture all divine. 
 
 From each moldering string, 
 Like a moth-eaten thing, 
 Touched by Time's corroding wing, 
 Come sounds of sorrow drear, 
 Mournful, grating on the ear, 
 When some careless hand. 
 Or rustic of the land, 
 Unthinking breaks the spell 
 Which round about it fell. 
 
 When Death's dark angel grim 
 Led away with him 
 Over the distant glade, 
 The hand that on it played 
 Those loved minstrel notes. 
 Sweeter far than floats 
 From bulbuls' ^'^ dying throats. 
 
 The richest lay 
 My lady fair did play, 
 Went floating in the air 
 Just at break of day. 
 
 *Bulbul: The Nightingale.— C. 
 
THE HARP OF GOLD. 283 
 
 Like enchantment seeming, 
 When all the world lay dreaming, 
 As if an angel's diviner art 
 Moved to melody the golden harp. 
 
 O ! let that harp of gold 
 Within its bridgment hold 
 Those melodies so divine, 
 So ethereal and so fine, 
 Which came warbling sweet 
 In the May-day's budding time, 
 Ere she went to the golden street 
 
 Touch not its accordant glee 
 
 With thy ruder minstrelsy ; 
 
 For perchance each molderiug string 
 
 Some other morn may ring 
 
 Beneath her touch again. 
 
 With a still sweeter strain, 
 
 Where never a discord's jar 
 
 On the golden floor of heaven falls, 
 
 To make or mar those coronals 
 
 Of wreathed flowers rare, 
 
 Which grace the brows of angels fair 
 
 In the paradisal halls. 
 
 Beyond the darksome river's flow. 
 
 Where the redeemed the fullest deep 
 
 Of music's modulated sweep 
 
 Shall one day know. 
 
284 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 AS THE NIGHT IS SINKING. 
 
 As the night is sinking, 
 
 And the stars are blinking 
 
 Up in the blue of heaven there, 
 
 'T is of Liberty's Goddess now I 'm thinking, 
 
 With her golden crown so fair 
 
 Set round about with jewels rare. 
 
 When friends do meet 
 
 In lane or street 
 
 To fill our souls with cheer, 
 
 With patriotic music sweet, 
 
 Comes breaking round us clear 
 
 A brighter light in the atmosphere. 
 
 Upon fame's high path Ave wend, 
 The stranger and the friend, 
 Over Liberty's lawns, 
 To where all earth's mortals tend, 
 Into the shades and dawns, 
 Singing dirges, singing songs. 
 
THE POET. 285 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 Whose life so light and free 
 As that of the poet's faiiy fancy, 
 Painting bush, and bovver, and dell 
 With hues more fine than Raphael ? 
 Where'er he wandering goes 
 Music round about him flows ; 
 And laughing children flock to hear 
 Something of his speech and cheer, 
 As elves and fairies dance around 
 The enchanted circle of his bound. 
 
 What were beauty's brightest smile. 
 
 Without some lover lingering at the stile ? 
 
 Or life's gravest, grandest theme 
 
 To move it with the fancy of a dream? 
 
 Or the golden guinea's chink. 
 
 Without the alluring shade of the poet's ink ? 
 
 Or a maid's declining days, 
 
 Without the light of love's young rays. 
 
 Kept blooming in the sky 
 
 By poetic thoughts that never die ? 
 
 The bard is welcome in our homes. 
 Under brightest palaces and domes. 
 Upon the thronging public way, 
 Where rags and riches roam each day. 
 'T is he who lights the earth 
 With the shadow of a brighter birth : 
 
286 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 For no matter how much truth is said 
 By the parson in the priest's parade ; 
 'Tis plain, I think, you'll all agree 
 That the poet touches springs of minstrelsy, 
 
 With his fancy's finer thought 
 
 Beyond the range of the common lot. 
 
 Whose visions bounded in 
 
 Never stray through realms elysian ; 
 
 Or catch from the unseen choir 
 
 Notes which set the soul on fire, 
 
 With a deep yearning of intensity 
 
 To pass the bounded mystery 
 
 At one step from off" this earthly sod, 
 
 And stand in the mansion house of God. 
 
A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 287 
 
 A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 
 
 At the close of a clay 
 I went wauclering away 
 To where the river lay, 
 From strife and toil, 
 From care and Iroil, 
 To muse and pray. 
 
 In thoughtful mood, 
 Through the solitude 
 I rambled many a rood ; 
 When heavenly sight, 
 A band of angels bright 
 Before me stood. 
 
 They sped along, 
 With psalms and song, 
 'Mid a glorious dawn, 
 Brighter than fell 
 'Round Jacob's well, 
 On that Egyptian lawn, 
 
 I hastened then. 
 Over mount and glen, 
 After these shining men, 
 . Much moved to see 
 A glimpse of divinity 
 With my mortal ken. 
 
288 CAMPBELL'S PGEMS. 
 
 Then my Annalee, 
 With bright angels three, 
 Came beckoning unto me, 
 To meet her there, 
 Beyond the golden stair, 
 Near the throne of Deity. 
 
 For Death's cold hand, 
 
 With Charon's band. 
 
 Had ferried her from the strand, 
 'Mid the May-day's morn, 
 When our love was born 
 
 Under fate's fell wand. 
 
 Her look benign, 
 
 And features fine. 
 
 Engraven on this soul of mine, 
 May molder and fade 
 'Neath the church-yard glade, 
 
 But not their heavenly shine. 
 
 I bade her stray 
 From the shining way 
 Down to earth's cold day : 
 Half tempted, she 
 Cast one glance at me. 
 Then pointed to the gates of day. 
 
 Then winging away 
 
 Through mist and spray. 
 
 They bore my leveling gay ; 
 While I strove to find 
 Some speech of heavenly kind 
 
 With which to bid her stay. 
 
A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 289 
 
 'T was a glorious sight 
 
 To see those forms of light 
 
 Moving athwart the uight, 
 
 With crowns all new 
 
 Of heavenly hue, 
 And radiant with delight. - 
 
 I followed till the way 
 
 Was barred by rocks of gray, 
 
 Which quite underlay 
 
 The robber's redoubt, 
 
 Who had his heralds out 
 And bade me stay. 
 
 The vision sped. 
 
 Like the sounding lead 
 
 On the bones of the dead ; 
 
 While darkness fell, 
 
 From heaven to hell, 
 'Round my throbbing head. 
 
 I wandered back 
 Over the lonely track, 
 FUled with grief alack ; 
 
 Deep pondering why 
 
 That company of the sky 
 Left me with the robber pack. 
 
 O ! what may be 
 
 This revelation unto me, 
 
 In the vistas of eternity ? 
 
 And shall I, 
 
 Amid the boundless sky, 
 Find my Annalee ? 
 (25) 
 
290 CAMFBELUS POEMS. 
 
 ONE BY ONE. 
 
 One by one the roses bloom, 
 Cometh Winter, cometh June : 
 One by one these hearts of ice 
 Meet and part, stray babes of paradise. 
 
 One by one the moments fall. 
 
 Golden, glorious, numbered not at all: 
 
 One by one the sinking sands of time 
 
 Run through the hour-glass with a dying chime. 
 
 One by one the gray hairs come, 
 While we 're idly waiting in the sun : 
 One by one life's chances go, 
 Swept away by an uuder-current's flow. 
 
 One by one these lamps of life go out, 
 Quenched in darkness and in doubt : 
 One by one we miss the prize 
 Of eternal life beneath the skies. 
 
 One by one the brightest fade 
 And falter, in the life parade : 
 One by one we miss the gate 
 Opening on God's land immaculate. 
 
 One by one the days flow on. 
 
 Out of life to the morrow-morn : 
 
 One by one the boatman ferrys o'er 
 
 These wrecks of righteousness to the other shore. 
 
LINES TO EMMA. 291 
 
 LIKES TO EMMA. 
 
 I SOJUETEMES dream of bliss, 
 And long for one fond kiss 
 From the lips of such a miss ; 
 
 But do n't tell her that I love her yet, 
 Or that we ever met, 
 For it would cause regret. 
 
 The book of love is closed to us, you see, 
 
 And Cupid laughs in glee, 
 
 For his tinseled shafts hath wounded me. 
 
 And since then I roam 
 Through the world alone. 
 Loveless, without any home. 
 
 Many miles to-night 
 ■ Lie between me and her window-light, 
 Which ofttimes fell upon my sight. 
 
 Now stranger hands doth twine 
 Garlands round that brow of thine. 
 Bedecked with the rose and columbine. 
 
 Fare-thee-well, Emma, dear; 
 
 We are parted forever here, 
 
 But mayhap not in the other sphere. 
 
 And if it should chance 
 
 In the heavenly expanse, 
 
 I '11 greet thee with one loving glance. 
 
292 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PARTING IS OVER. 
 
 The parting is over, 
 
 The last words are spoken ; 
 But see through the clover, 
 
 He waves back a farewell token, 
 Through the folds of his 'kerchief so white. 
 
 It might be a spirit, 
 It might be a light, 
 
 Or a tear that dimmed on my sight. 
 
 I saw him waft back. 
 
 On the wings of the breeze, 
 A sweet parting smack, 
 
 That none but Love sees : 
 So quick it was done, 
 
 With a thrill of regret, 
 Like a flash of the sun, 
 
 It warms my heart yet. 
 
 Long years must pass by 
 
 Ere I hail thee again, 
 With a laugh or a sigh, 
 
 Or a feeling of pain ; 
 For away on the wide, rolling sea, 
 
 Where the plovers and pelicans sail, 
 Weary with watching, I '11 be, 
 
 Ere thou return's t with the gale. 
 
 Then, farewell, my dear grenadier. 
 
 Tho' the fates and the furies may sever, 
 
THE PARTING IS OVER. 293 
 
 Love's light pinions will bear me to thee, 
 There let me bask in thy smiles forever; 
 
 For thou hast lodged in my heart 
 A gold-tinseled arrow, 
 
 And none but thee can impart 
 A joy for this sorrow. 
 
294 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES. 
 
 Within the wooded dell, 
 
 Whose haunts I love so well, 
 
 Ofttimes I stray along. 
 
 Listening to the feathered songster's song, 
 
 Poured out in music's mirthful mood 
 
 Upon the quiet solitude. 
 
 'T is a dreamy kind of place, 
 
 Where the slanting sunbeams chase 
 
 Like shadows o'er the soul ; 
 
 In the hush of nature's onward' roll 
 
 The sands of life through the dial's flow, 
 
 Ceaseless amid the Summer's and Winter's glow. 
 
 In the Autumn's golden prime, 
 
 When the wind-harps of the universe rhyme 
 
 Out their requiem and their dole 
 
 For the decay of nature's soul, 
 
 'T is then my sympathetic spirit grieves. 
 
 When I listen to the falling of the leaves. 
 
 The rustling of whose shaded rim 
 
 Rattles to the fiber's thrill within, 
 
 As it falls upon the mufiled ground 
 
 With the subdued murmur of a dying sound, 
 
 Which the sylvan nymphs have heard 
 
 Since God to Adam spoke the parting word. 
 
THE FALLING OF THE LEA VES 295 
 
 In the forest aud the shade, 
 
 'Neath the greeuwood colonade, 
 
 When joyous Spring is on the wing, 
 
 'T is there I love to sit and sing 
 
 Some old familiar tune, 
 
 To the elves and fairies dancing 'neath the moon. 
 
 But when King Frost returns again, 
 
 And a darksome shade fits in the wane, 
 
 Rustling through the dying leaves, 
 
 Like reapers binding golden sheaves. 
 
 Ah ! then the touch of Time, on his diurnal round, 
 
 My inner self doth wound. 
 
 The music of the falling leaves. 
 
 Like the woof of the web Death weaves, 
 
 Wafts through the loom of time 
 
 A sort of mournful chime ; 
 
 For in their earthward fall 
 
 Is shadowed forth the doom of all. 
 
29C CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A CASTLE BY THE SEA. 
 
 " In a castle by the sea, 
 
 Bound down with crud chains, 
 My lover lies, thinking of me ; 
 
 Heartsick with aches and pains : 
 Taken in the fight 
 
 Which made us slaves ; 
 Battling for the right, 
 
 For home, and kindred graves. 
 
 "All day the water's foam 
 
 Lashos tlie turrets round. 
 Making a hollow sort of moan 
 
 Like the rumbling thunder's sound ; 
 While the sentry's tread 
 
 Marks the clanking chain, 
 Like memories of the dead 
 
 Running thi'ough the bi'ain. 
 
 ** My lover was a soldier true, 
 
 A captain of the band. 
 Who never failed, when comrades were few, 
 
 To bear the ready brand. 
 He fought like a leader free. 
 
 Far from home and lands ; 
 But a captive, he 
 
 Now pines in cruel hands. 
 
 "A curse on the treacherous knave 
 Who drew his cutlass keen 
 
A CASTLE BY THE SEA. 297 
 
 On the back of my lover brave 
 
 When the foe did intervene, 
 As alone he stood, 
 
 Overpowered and outdone, 
 In the shadow of the wood 
 
 And the sinking sun. 
 
 "Moan out your requiem low, 
 
 For that free-born spirit there 
 Is surrounded by the glow 
 
 Of a light so very fair ; 
 And a band of shining ones 
 
 Are waiting now to guide. 
 From those torturous bands, 
 
 His spirit o'er the eternal tide." 
 
298 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE FATE OF FIVE HUNDRED. 
 
 Amid the wind's low wailing, 
 
 A ship went sailing, 
 
 Over the foamy sea, 
 
 Out from the harbor-bar, 
 
 As the silvery moon shown clear, 
 
 And twinkled each glowing star 
 
 In the deep of the atmosphere. 
 
 n. 
 
 On board, a joyous company 
 Talked and laughed in glee : 
 Five hundred human souls, 
 In search of pleasure bound ; 
 They see not the gathering fates, 
 Nor hear the sea-gull's sound, 
 Till the storm in fury breaks. 
 
 III. 
 
 A hurricane is sweeping by ; 
 Anger blackens all the sky, 
 In midnight's darkest gloom ; 
 While the fiends of misery seem 
 To gibe and grin, 
 At the lightning's gleam. 
 And the angry ocean's din. 
 
THE FATE OF FIVE HUNDRED. 299 
 
 IV. 
 
 In fury the tempest breaks 
 Ou the reefs and ocean shoals : 
 Amid the elemental gleam 
 The ship like a fragment drifts ; 
 Mastless, helmless, all, 
 Between the raging waves, 
 Rising like a mountain wall. 
 
 Amid prayers and moans, 
 
 Curses, shouts, and groans, 
 
 All mingling there, 
 
 The ocean's foamy waves 
 
 Rolled restless on ; 
 
 While ship and crew found a grave 
 
 In the beams of eternity's dawn. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Many a ship's crew, 
 
 Freighted and fair to see, 
 
 Hath gone sailing out of port, 
 
 Down into the sea, 
 
 From friendships all. 
 
 Never more to be 
 
 Seen upon the ocean's wall. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And many a moon. 
 
 In the darkest gloom. 
 
 Hath shed her light 
 
 Where the missing are ; 
 
 Shaded by the beams 
 
 Of heaven's brightest star. 
 
 Breaking on their ended dreams. 
 
300 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 
 
 Let the sunshine of life 
 
 Steal into your soul, 
 Amid the world's strife, 
 
 As onward you stroll ; 
 
 For one golden gleam 
 
 Sped into the mind. 
 Will make earth seem 
 
 A paradise to mankind. 
 
 O what a pity we, 
 
 When clouds hang low, 
 
 Can 't look and see 
 
 The soft, effulgent glow ; 
 
 Beyond the dark gloom, 
 
 Brilliant and bright 
 As the paradise bloom, 
 
 To the enraptured sight. 
 
 Over Death's river. 
 
 So far and away, 
 Golden leaves shiver 
 
 In the light of the spray. 
 
 There fair fountains gleam 
 Through realms of sacredness, 
 
 By earthly mortals unseen, 
 This side the shores of bliss. 
 
SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 301 
 
 Darkness and gloom 
 
 May settle about us here, 
 But beyond the tomb 
 
 Heralds of hope appear, 
 
 And shadowy beings fair, 
 
 Somewhat akin to man, 
 Hold concerts in the air 
 
 Under the singer Tan-sein.* 
 
 Forever, as the days may pass, 
 Forever, as the nights may come, 
 
 Like Time's bright hour-glass, 
 The sands of eternity run. 
 
 The sunlight of heaven 
 
 Will cast a bright gleam 
 'Round about those who have striven 
 
 For the crown of life supreme. 
 
 And in the yonder land. 
 
 Beyond the river's swell, 
 Where wait earth's vanished band 
 
 And all the angels dwell, 
 
 There never shall come a cloud 
 
 To obscure the brightness of the sun ; 
 
 Or the rustle of a coffin shroud, 
 As the ages of eternity run. 
 
 *Tan-seiii. — "At Guailor is a small tomb to the memory of Tan-sein, 
 a musician of incomparable skill, who flourished at the court of Ak- 
 bar. The tomb is over-shadowed by a tree, concerning which a 
 superstitious notion prevails, that the chewing of its leaves will give 
 an extraordinary melody to the voice.— W. Hunter, Esq. 
 
302 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 «'THE APPLE MAN." 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [Frank Doman was charged with having murdered John Fogel, of 
 Franklin county, Kansas (known as "The Apple Man"), on August 
 25, 1S83, with a revolver, in Dickinson county, Kansas, at or near 
 Turkey Creek, in the southern part of the county, and was arraigned 
 before a jury at the October Term, 1885, of the District Court, held at 
 Abilene, Kansas, and discharged by the court, on a motion of the 
 prisoner's counsel (after the prosecution had rested), " to discbarge 
 the defendant, for the reason that the evidence introduced on behalf 
 of tlie state is not sufficient to put the defendant upon his defense." 
 There was no pains spared by the people of the county and vicinity 
 to apprehend the homicide and avenge the atrocious deed. The body 
 was found more than half a mile from any house, and some distance 
 from the roadside, in a badly decomposed state, and was supposed by 
 the coroner's jury to have lain there about three weeks. It was a 
 shock to the entire community, as the people of that locality were 
 law-abiding citizens. The wife and son of the deceased, who were 
 summoned, were deeply affected at the loss of a kind husband and 
 father. It was thought by many, that "the right man had been appre- 
 hended; " but there was a lack of proof to fasten the crime upon him. 
 What may yet be developed is, of course, unknown.— C] 
 
 Cruelly murdered iu the prairie land 
 By some imkuowu assassin's hand ; 
 When the leaves were tipped with gold, 
 And the Autumnal winds blew cold ; 
 Intending to sell his load of apples small, 
 To provide for a famishing family's call. 
 
 Whether under the light of the stars, 
 Or when the sun ran down the crystal bars, 
 Or in the morning's mellow time, 
 None may tell the moment of the crime, 
 
"THE APPLE man:' 393 
 
 Which sped his soul from earth away, 
 Over the borders of Hfe's darksome bay. 
 
 The body found, some weeks had fled . 
 Since grim Azrail, angel of the dead, 
 Had witnessed that inhuman stroke, 
 Which his half-clad bosom broke, 
 And felled his body in the shade 
 Of that deserted prairie everglade. 
 
 Only a short distance farther on, 
 Partly shut from daylight and from dawn, 
 Beneath a silent, somber-shaded grove, 
 Where a ri2:)pling stream doth onward rove, 
 A wagon with some unsold apples there, 
 A dead horse and mate that once were pair. 
 
 With a coat, some blankets, and a whip. 
 
 Blood-clots that from the wagon still did drip. 
 
 Was all the coroner and his jury saw 
 
 As a clew to apprehend the outlaw, 
 
 Who had sought refuge in retreat 
 
 From the search of a thousand hurrying feet. 
 
 Underneath the silent prairie sod 
 
 They laid the body, with soul gone home to God, 
 
 And shipped the blood-stained wagon then 
 
 By railway back to the sorrowing family's ken ; 
 
 For he was a husband and a father true, 
 
 In a sphere where was honest Avork to do. 
 
 Then Suspicion faltered at a stand. 
 Till she closed on one her clammy hand ; 
 And with iron shackles strongly bound, 
 He in the "prisoner's dock" was found: 
 
304 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 But at the end of the prosecution based, 
 
 The judge did say, " the pi'isouer is misplaced." 
 
 So again he went walking forth at large, • 
 Quite free from the implicating charge ; 
 AVhether rightly so or not none may know. 
 Till earth's prisoners doth to judgment go, 
 And the murderer of " The Apple Man" is seen, 
 Being sentenced in the light of eternity's gleam. 
 
JUDICIAL MURDER. 305 
 
 JUDICIAL MURDER. 
 
 Look on yon angry mob, 
 
 That spectral ladder tall, 
 And platform's secret spring. 
 
 Through which the doomed must fall. 
 
 The minions of the law 
 
 Have tied their victim's hands ; 
 Placed the ' ' black cap " on, 
 
 And now adjust the noose's strand. 
 
 A priest of God is there. 
 
 Speaking in the culprit's ear, 
 
 From the book of life divine. 
 Blest words of hope and cheer. 
 
 Tremulously the victim waits 
 
 Death's approaching footfalls near ; 
 
 Above his head the opening heavens, 
 Below his feet the bier. 
 
 Hist ! hark ! to the heavy sound, 
 
 The fatal drop ! ah ! well 
 Was that a murmur of the crowd, 
 
 Or a laugh from the fiends of hell ! 
 
 Mortal men have sent 
 
 A soul back to its God ; 
 
 And this judicial murder 
 
 Mankind doth applaud. 
 (26) 
 
306 CAMPBELVS POEMS. 
 
 The victim may have sinned, 
 But is your's less than crime. 
 
 To indulge with the crazy mob 
 In killing a soul divine? 
 
 It matters DOt how many 
 
 A part of the burden bore ; 
 No excuse for maming a spirit 
 
 Will pass current on the other shore. 
 
 The Creator of us all 
 
 Gave each a lease to live ; 
 But he never gave to man 
 
 A right to take what he can not give. 
 
 'Tis barbarous, in an age 
 
 When progress moves upon the wing 
 Thus to send immortal souls 
 
 Maimed into the presence of the King, 
 
 Eather secure within guarded walls, 
 
 Those who from the paths of honor stray, 
 
 For the remainder of a wrecked life. 
 Than murder in this cruel way. 
 
 For the God who gave to man 
 
 The mysterious life-princij)le within, 
 
 Mayhap would secure it back 
 
 Without the hangman's mark of sin. 
 
 Let us then, in this enlightened age, 
 Pull down the gibbet and the tree, 
 
 And lead criminals to repent, 
 
 Ere we launch them into eternity. 
 
MUSING BY A LAKELET S SIDE. 307 
 
 MUSING BY A LAKELET'S SIDE. 
 
 'T IS the center of the night, 
 
 I stand near a mountain's height, 
 Whose shadow faUs on a lake of liquid light : 
 
 At my very feet 
 
 Roll the waters sweet, 
 Which murmur to my heart's low beat. 
 
 Some spu-it of the lake, 
 
 Who lingers yet awake. 
 Or lone water-fowl its bosom now doth break ; 
 
 While a distant ray 
 
 Of the dying day, 
 Glides- swiftly down the sky and fades away. 
 
 I look again, 
 
 And the angel train 
 Seem assembled on the heavenly plain ; 
 
 While pulsations slow 
 
 Through my soul doth go, 
 As I listen to that chorus sweet and low. 
 
 One glimmering star 
 
 Above the waters far. 
 Shoots down to kiss the harbor bar ; 
 
 The wind's soft swell 
 
 Adown. the dell, 
 Comes like an angel-whisper I remember well. 
 
308 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 A bright light gleams, 
 Like that which teems, 
 In softest falling along those Eden streams ; 
 Where cherubs gaze. 
 And angels strays, 
 Upon you streets of duplicated golden haze. 
 
 The moonlight's shaded rim 
 
 Is hid in the azure dim ; 
 But a celestial splendor falls on the lakelet's brim : 
 
 And there again 
 
 I hear the angel strain, 
 So gently sounded from the heavenly plain. 
 
 Blest night of June, 
 
 Tho' missing be the moon, 
 Comes bright memories of a well-rememberGd tune ; 
 
 Sung in other days 
 
 By one who sleeping lays 
 'Neath the willows where the stream in silver strays. 
 
 In the sacred ground, 
 
 Where silence reigns profound, 
 And the buried dead are laid around. 
 
 Naught breaks the speU 
 
 Which holds so well, 
 Over man's last, lone, earthly citadel. 
 
 From the waters clear, 
 
 Up through the atmosphere, 
 
 We may sometime gain that other sphere, 
 Above the deserted world. 
 When the eternal morn unfurled, 
 
 Topples mountains into deepest chaos hurled. 
 
TO CARRIE. 309 
 
 TO CARRIE. 
 
 Thou bewitching little lass, 
 
 Who first awoke my Muse, 
 And tripped so light upon the grass 
 
 With thy bright and gilded shoes ! 
 
 Many times since then. 
 
 While ranging the world alone, 
 I've longed to meet again 
 
 And claim thee for my own. 
 
 I 've sat in many a lady's bower 
 And kissed the queenly brow ; 
 
 But never since that hour 
 Have I loved as I loved thou. 
 
 You were an angel bright 
 To my soul's serenest bliss ; 
 
 And I loved to linger in the light 
 Of thy chaste sacredness. 
 
 Some moments smce that time 
 The world has frowned on me ; 
 
 But thy saint-like form divine 
 
 Like a herald of hope I always see, 
 
 Forever beckoning on 
 
 To the highland hills serene, 
 
 Where the daylight's dawn 
 
 In splendor breaks o'er all the scene. 
 
3J0 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Oh believe me, lady fair, 
 Thou art to me the same ; 
 
 As when on that willow there 
 I cut and carved your name : 
 
 When thy slender penknife broke, 
 As you did finish mine, 
 
 A cruel doom to me it sjooke 
 Amid that dying day's decline. 
 
 'T is strange that there should be 
 A shade or shadow'd art, 
 
 A fate or fate's decree. 
 Could keep us two apart. 
 
 Some other hand than mine 
 Will roughly cull and prune 
 
 The tender budding vine 
 Till it shall lose its bloom ; 
 
 And then perchance 
 
 Love not so heavenly born 
 
 Will wound the heart askance 
 With a neglectful thorn. 
 
 While I 'm doomed to sit and sing 
 Beyond the watery waste, 
 
 I pen this simple offering 
 To thee in careless haste. 
 
 Dear Carrie, let me send 
 A kind good-night to thee ; 
 
 For thou art the Muse's friend. 
 And mother of my minstrelsy. 
 
STANZAS. 311 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Golden ,are the dreams of light, 
 
 The fancy of our youthful morn; 
 When Romance begins her flight 
 
 On painted pinions borne ; 
 When Imagination plumes her wing, 
 
 Sweeping through a higher sphere ; 
 And hopes unchecked, exulting, spring 
 
 Away to glean new pleasures dear. 
 
 When Eden, like our mother earth, 
 
 Came forth from chaos into life, 
 Fair celestials of a brighter birth 
 
 Quick laid the elemental strife ; 
 And Beauty shed her mantle round 
 
 The azure heights of heaven. 
 As before the dying thunder's sound 
 
 The confusions forth were driven. 
 
 Mementos of a guileless day. 
 
 By our first earthly pair. 
 Were treasured as some holy ray. 
 
 Ere men's hearts were false or fair ; 
 Which the doomed and doubting mind 
 
 Sees falling from the gate of gold. 
 When that gate is left behind, 
 
 For the pleasures of the downward wold. 
 
312 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 
 
 Once from a shadowy land 
 There sailed a pirate band, 
 In the fleet vessel "Afledine," 
 Equipped for deeds of crime, 
 Under the pirate, Vanse, 
 Of stern and gloomy countenance. 
 Who never knew a pause in sin 
 When the work of hell did once begin. 
 
 His picked and trusty men 
 Caught that spirit when 
 The shrieks of death were heard, 
 And the angry soul was stirred 
 To dreadful deeds that seem 
 The lingering frenzy of a dream, 
 Which appalls the human eye. 
 As those white sjDecter forms 
 Go swiftly floating by, 
 From the murdered dead 
 Up to some cove ret in the sky. 
 
 Many a defenseless crew 
 
 This dauntless pirate knew. 
 
 Upon the boundless deep ; 
 
 And many a helpless woman's shriek 
 
 Startled the sea-gull in the air, 
 
 Falling 'neath the ruthless hand 
 
 Of this bold brigand. 
 
THE PIRA TE 'S PRA FEE. 313 
 
 Who murdered men and women too, 
 And into the angry ocean threw ; 
 For he hated with the hate of hell 
 All that round his pathway fell. 
 
 He had strode upon the deck, 
 Amid the battle's wreck, 
 Where splintered skull and bone, 
 Where the dying mortal groan, 
 Where carnage bloody red, 
 Lay round the vessel's head, 
 Besmeared with human gore. 
 That in torrents did pour 
 Amid the wild delight 
 That prompts a devil in the fight 
 To deeds of darkest hue, 
 As hell's flickering lights 
 Break dimly on the view. 
 
 There was no word or line 
 In all the catalogue of crime, 
 No station in its depths, 
 But he 'd read and reached 
 With firm and steady steps. 
 
 He never knew remorse, 
 Its throbs he could not feel ; 
 For his heart was incased 
 In breastplate of triple steel : 
 The very devil's foreman he 
 Seemed, in his reckless butchery, 
 While capturing a prize at sea. 
 
 But at last vengeance overtook 
 This pirate proud of haughty look, 
 (27) 
 
314 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 And the minions of the law 
 Upon him placed their paw, 
 And led him from the sea 
 To answer for his deviltry. 
 
 And now he stands, in stern 
 And silent, angry mood, 
 Upon the gibbet dark, 
 Rudely built of stone and wood, 
 With pinioned hands, 
 And a holy priest of God, 
 Like some angel good, 
 Exhorts him in his sullen mood, 
 To ' ' look away to Him 
 Who can forgive the direst sin ; 
 And in meek contrition pray 
 To the great King Eternal, 
 On this thy dying day." 
 
 Oh ! then the pirate prayed 
 To some dim, nameless shade, 
 To some fiend of hell, 
 Startling the curious crowd 
 As his wicked murmurs fell : 
 
 " Oh! thou curst King of Sin 
 Meet me at the gate of hell, 
 To herald my coming in ; 
 For faithful have I been 
 To my league with you in crime, 
 And with all your wicked imps, 
 We '11 sing some soul-tormenting line, 
 And hold in hell a jubilee. 
 Nor human nor divine 
 Will greet us there ; 
 
THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 2,1b 
 
 'T will disturb Jehovah Kiuo'. 
 For taking away life of mine 
 On this morning fair in Spring. 
 
 " Oh ! let me lead a pirate band 
 'Gainst the Eternal's command, 
 On the tide of endless flow, 
 Through all the ages wide. 
 As they gliding onward go ; 
 That I may wreak this wrong 
 On his angel hosts of song ; 
 Who blend their tuneful chimes, 
 With sweet music's murmurings, 
 From ten thousand mingled rhymes ; 
 Taunting those that wait 
 The decrees of bitter fate. 
 Burning in agony's beam. 
 Because he is supreme. 
 
 " Oh ! that the living God, ' 
 Who placed a sinner upon earth's sod, 
 And led him on to do 
 Deeds of foulest hue. 
 Might feel the fires he made, 
 Just for the gratification 
 Of the celestial cavalcade ; 
 Ah ! methinks he 'd then 
 Quench this thirst of wickedness 
 In the breasts of little men. 
 
 " Would that I might now, 
 With this red right hand, 
 Tear ruthless from his brow 
 That ensign of command, 
 
316 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And give him a little spell, 
 Just for an experiment, 
 In all the woes of hell ; 
 Then methinks he 'd know " — 
 
 The drop went down 
 
 In the midst of his prayer, 
 
 And a weird sound 
 
 Broke through the air ; 
 
 As if the angels dark 
 
 Were chanting their moan, 
 
 At the launching of his bark 
 
 Upon the tide unknown ; 
 
 Where all the pirate's spoil 
 
 Deserts the soul 
 
 Amid the turmoil 
 
 Of winds that roll 
 
 'Round that speck of immortality 
 
 Winging to its eternal goal 
 
 Thus passed from earth, 
 Without a groan, 
 A man of monsterous birth. 
 Mocking God upon his throne. 
 
 E'en now I shudder to think 
 Of souls on the outward brink 
 Of vast creation's strand ; 
 Poised between two eternities, 
 Where men should trembling stand, 
 As the hangman counts the time, 
 When the death-knell mu;-t send. 
 In expiation of their crime, 
 Injured souls to God supreme ; 
 
THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 317 
 
 Where bright reflected then 
 Shall flash across the sight 
 Of those dying men, 
 Mocking God and right. 
 Who go from the scaffold's gloom 
 To suffer untold agonies, 
 Within a deathless tomb, 
 Where the ruler, Pluto, is — 
 Ah ! fearful doom. 
 
318 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 MISS POLLY PIPKINS. 
 
 Come, ye romantic lovers gay, 
 
 While I sing to you a song, 
 Of a bride that, on her wedding day, 
 As yankee chronicles say, 
 
 Found she had married wrong. 
 
 'T was in Connecticut's shade. 
 
 In the days of long ago. 
 There dwelt a bucksome maid, 
 That two simple lovers paid 
 
 There attentions to, as you may know. 
 
 One's name was Jacques Jinkens, 
 
 A happy sort of wight ; 
 The other's was Pliilip Pilkins, 
 Whose sort of simple grins 
 
 Caught the courted maiden's sight. 
 
 There was a kind of sympathy, 
 Which none could understand. 
 
 Linked round these lovers three ; 
 
 For Miss Polly Pipkins she 
 Gave to each of them a hand. 
 
 But her heart would not divide 
 
 When each his rightful portion claimed ; 
 She'd resolved to be a bride, 
 And startle all the country side. 
 
 By wedding the first one named. 
 
MISS POLLY PIPKINS. 319 
 
 So the liappy clay was set, 
 
 The wedding cake was done, 
 The priest and peasants met, 
 The twain were one, and yet 
 
 'T was only setting of the sun. 
 
 The evening passed in cheer. 
 
 The back-log smoldered in the fire , 
 The hour of parting 's here 
 Of the friends and neighbors dear, 
 So they at once retire. 
 
 At the hour when brides are comforted 
 
 Polly was left alone ; 
 So she went to bed 
 And covered up her head, 
 
 Just to sob and groan. 
 
 Her Jacques had gone away, 
 
 Unseen, from out her sight. 
 To find and comfort Pilkins ! ay, 
 Before the morning ray 
 
 Had rounded into light ; 
 
 For he felt that should. 
 
 Without his sanction, he 
 Appropriate his Polly good, 
 A severed brotherhood 
 
 Must and would inevitable be. 
 
 So he hastened off" to find 
 
 Philip Pilkins sorrowing there ; 
 
 As if his half-crazed mind, 
 
 Severed from his Polly kind. 
 Had gone daft with despair. 
 
320 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 So Jacques and Philip then, 
 
 Joiu-neying hand in hand, 
 Like tried and trusted men, 
 Made haste to meet Polly's ken, 
 
 Over the rough and stony land ; 
 
 When lo ! upon their road, 
 
 While crossing a foot-bridge o'er 
 
 A stream that angry flowed, 
 
 Jacques, with his living load, 
 Fell in and was seen no more. 
 
 The spirits of the place around 
 
 Noted the wind's low moan, 
 A splash, a gurgling sound, 
 And they, to each other bound, 
 
 To the land of souls had flown. 
 
 Polly sobbed the night away, 
 Listening for the least approach 
 
 Of her bridegroom gay. 
 
 Out of the morning gray, . . 
 
 That she might reprove and reproach. 
 
 At last a step's returning came 
 
 With the death-message complete ; 
 
 But it moved not Polly's heart to pain, 
 
 Or a lamentation's refrain, 
 
 For she said " he was a cheat." 
 
 Once the funeral past and gone, 
 And the curious ones at home, 
 Polly put her fix-ups on, 
 And thereafter married Bobby Bon 
 Before three moons had flown. 
 
MISS POLL r PIPKINS. 321 
 
 She clidu't waste a breath, 
 
 She did n't wet an eye, 
 At this double death, 
 Where the river wandcreth, 
 
 Running in silver ripples by ; 
 
 For she thought ' ' a beau 
 
 Who would rather jump into 
 The chilly river's flow 
 Than to a new-bride's bed to go, 
 
 Was of precious small ado. 
 
 "And as for the rest, 
 
 She would n't give a fig, 
 Whether Avith the curst or blest, 
 Or any other sort of test. 
 
 Slept or slumbered such a pig." 
 
 Polly's life Avas joyous, 
 
 As married lives may be ; 
 Sometimes in a fuss. 
 Sometimes in a bus, 
 
 With Bobby on a jamboree. 
 
 But 't is Kttle use to say 
 
 A word to woman on this theme ; 
 They will always have their way, 
 Whether a thing is marble or is clay, 
 
 If the shape of man is seen. 
 
322 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE BLUE AKD THE GRAY. 
 
 Come, bring in the opening Spring. 
 Bright blooms of paradise, 
 The tulip and the asphodel, 
 To strew with kindly care 
 On the graves of those who fell, 
 Trampled here and there, 
 Beneath the charge's yell 
 And the cannon's fearful glare 
 No matter now where or how 
 They gave up their breath ; 
 Whether in the blue or gray 
 They marched from home away. 
 Place on each mound of death 
 A violet to-day. 
 
 They died in their manhood's pride, 
 Wreathed in glory's robe ; 
 Beneath the cypress and the bay. 
 And on the rugged mountain side. 
 Holders now the blue and gray. 
 Where they fell and died, 
 And their souls went over the way : 
 No matter now where or how 
 They gave up their breath ; 
 Whether in the blue or gray 
 They marched from home away, 
 Place on each mound of death 
 A violet to-day. 
 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 323 
 
 The wind's sighing and the echo's dpng 
 
 Sweep over each lonely grave, 
 
 Where peacefully they lie at rest, 
 
 Awaiting the judgment day ; 
 
 Each died for the cause he deemed the best, 
 
 The blue as well as the gray, 
 
 Ah ! most fearful test : 
 
 No matter now where or how 
 
 They gave up their breath ; 
 
 Whether in the blue or gray 
 
 They marched from home away, 
 
 Place on each mound of death 
 
 A violet to-day. 
 
 Over the meadow grass and the clover 
 
 With lightest footstep tread ; 
 
 For we can not know, 
 
 At this far-off time, 
 
 Grave of friend or foe 
 
 Made along the battle-line 
 
 Two and twenty years ago : 
 
 No matter now where or how 
 
 They gave up their breath ; 
 
 Whether in the blue or gray 
 
 They marched from home away, 
 
 Place on each mound of death 
 
 A violet to-day. 
 
 'Neath the ground where silence reigns profound 
 
 No distinction of friend or foe is there ; 
 
 Then let none be made 
 
 Either great or small. 
 
 In our memorial parade 
 
 'Round the burial pall, 
 
 For each are on one level laid : 
 
324 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 No matter now where or how 
 They gave up their breath ; 
 Whether in the blue or gray 
 They marched from home away, 
 Place on each mound of death 
 A violet to-day. 
 
'MUSING AMID THE PINES." 325 
 
 "MUSING AMID THE PINES." 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The speetaole of Jefferson Davis, at the ago of nearly eighty years, 
 "musing amid the pines," in Southern Mississippi, over a wasted life, 
 is impressive, indeed, when it is remembered with what brilliant 
 prospects he stepped upon the stage of human action, with our 
 bravest and best statesmen, more than half a century ago. Ah ! well 
 may he muse over a worse than wasted career; over those terrible 
 results which he can not rectify; over those stains of innocent blood 
 which he must carry on his soul, ere long, to the judgment bar of God, 
 
 Alas! poormortal! thou hast missed the manhood with which thy 
 Creator so lavishly endowed thee, when thy heart thrilled with hope, 
 and thy hands held no stain imbrued in the blood of thy fellows. 
 
 'Tis thus ofttimes the brightest lights of life are quenched, and the 
 most gifted die, condemned of God and man. — C.l 
 
 In lands where southern sunshine 
 Lights up the orange and the pine, 
 Like harper, scorned and poor. 
 Sad, sorrowful, and demure, 
 Strays now your leader slow, 
 Murmuring, mournful low. 
 Of the nation and its laws. 
 Of the long-lost cause 
 Still haunting that guilty soul 
 As nearer to his pathway 
 Death's shadow doth stroll. 
 
 Mark his unsteady tread, 
 Mark the sheen upon his head. 
 
326 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Mark him ever looking round, 
 As if the lingering sound 
 Of that terrible civil strife 
 Echoed through his life : 
 As if the shriek of battle, 
 And the dreadful death-rattle, 
 Like ghosts of the olden time, 
 Haunted him and taunted him 
 With treason's terrible crime. 
 
 You men who wore the gray, 
 And out-lived the affray, 
 Why desert your leader now, 
 When Time hath touched his brow? 
 And his step is weak and slow, 
 And life's tide is ebbing low ? 
 Once he was your leader bold. 
 And urged your broken fold 
 Against our Northern hosts ; 
 Battling for a land united 
 On Columbia's rugged coasts. 
 
 Will you let him muse alone, 
 
 Waiting till the echoes of his groan. 
 
 And his purgatorial moan, 
 
 Shall disturb your dreams, 
 
 As the death-light flickering gleams 
 
 Back over the lonely way. 
 
 His soul must go with short delay ? 
 
 Rather speak a word of cheer 
 
 While your leader lingers here ; 
 
 For, perchance, it might be 
 
 The redeeming of that soul's depravity. 
 
 When all those murdered men 
 Shall pass before his spirit's ken, 
 
i'MVSING AMID THE PINES." 327 
 
 And the light of time shall gleam 
 
 Over that dark and bloody stream, 
 
 Which was shed, because he led 
 
 The army clad in gray, 
 
 'Gainst the light of Liberty's holy ray, 
 
 Then, methinks, will be 
 
 Remorse's deepest misery, 
 
 As the Judge doth close the gate 
 
 On the doomed, abandoned to his fate. 
 
328 CAMPBELL'S FOEMS. 
 
 . THE WIND HARP'S WAIL. 
 
 List to the wiud harp's wail, 
 
 Some weird musician's wand 
 Sweeps through the neather vale, 
 
 Held in the Storm King's hand. 
 
 Its mystic, mournful strain. 
 
 And prolonged note of woe, 
 Sound like the wailings of pain, 
 
 From regions of misery below. 
 
 Some Elfin nymph of horrid shape, 
 "^ With heart all black and bad. 
 Must these dismal wailings wake. 
 Which sound so drear and sad : 
 
 Like fancied murmurings of the dead 
 From out some silent city cold, 
 
 Disturbing the night wanderer's tread. 
 As he journeys o'er the barren wold. 
 
 How dismal it doth howl, 
 
 With what a moaning shriek ; 
 Like a crazed tiger's growl, 
 
 When the death-shot hath made him weak. 
 
 It blows and frisks about 
 
 In a sort of frantic glee ; 
 Inside the house and out. 
 
 Like the shadow of eternity ; 
 
THE WIND HARP'S WAIL. 329 
 
 Making music to the ghastly crew 
 Of nymphs and goblins damned, 
 
 Who flit forever in full view, 
 
 On the borders of mystery's land. 
 
 And a festive time they hold 
 With strange, unearthly sports ; 
 
 When the Storm King bold 
 Sinks shipping in the ports. 
 
 Wail forth, ye harp of woe, 
 
 Your saddest, solemn strain, 
 As to eternity we onward go. 
 
 Sailing life's treacherous main. 
 (28) 
 
530 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 LENEDA'S LAMB. 
 
 Leneda lives in the hollow, 
 
 Just uuder the hill ; 
 Where the joyous spriug swallow 
 
 Warbles at will. 
 
 She dwells with her mother alone, 
 
 Casting sunshine around ; 
 When the fading day westward hath flown, 
 
 With a vanishing sound. 
 
 They till a small garden 
 
 With tenderest care ; 
 Where the bright, flowing Yardon 
 
 Gleams past them there. 
 
 Once with my gun and my hound, 
 
 Thrilled with delight, 
 I entered this fair-shaded bound. 
 
 And beheld a heavenly sight. 
 
 With a gay, silken scarf in her hand. 
 
 And a lamb by her side, 
 Leneda walked on the strand 
 
 Of the foam-crested tide. 
 
 Where the downy white swans, in their play, 
 
 Moving the ripples along, 
 Timed by the tune of her lay. 
 
 Beached inlet and haven among. 
 
LENEDA'S LAMB. 331 
 
 The laml) had a fleece of white hue, 
 
 Carefully combed and kept : 
 When this scene fell first on my view 
 
 Oh ! how my heart lept. 
 
 For the swans, all sinless, did seem 
 
 Floating on the bright tide ; 
 While a kind of soft, celestial gleam 
 
 Shone round the maiden's side. 
 
 'T was like the first view of paradise 
 
 To wanderers of the air ; 
 But in the space of the shortest trice 
 
 Consternation moved me there ; 
 
 For my hound, with speed, had fled 
 
 Upon the lamb so meek ; 
 He heeded not a word I said, 
 
 But tore with fangs and feet. 
 
 In an instant I shot him down ; 
 
 He yelped his life away ; 
 The startled echoes broke around, 
 
 And frightened the swans away. 
 
 Leneda, swooning, fell beside her lamb, 
 Like one that death had touched ; 
 
 While in that brief interval and span 
 My hair I clutched ; 
 
 For wild with wildering frenzy I 
 
 Could n't rightly tell 
 Which of the three must die, 
 
 I took my aim so well. 
 
332 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 In au instant I was at her side, 
 
 And raised her head nj)on my knee ; 
 
 The lamb lay panting there and died — 
 We were alone, she and me. 
 
 For the honnd's cruel fangs had torn 
 The flesh from its neck away ; 
 
 And the maiden mourned forlorn 
 As came life's returning ray. 
 
 Then I raised her tremblingly upright ; 
 
 The look she gave 
 Will haunt me till my dying sprite 
 
 Drops into the grave. 
 
 She touched the lifeless lamb, 
 
 And looked on me. 
 With that gaze of speechless calm 
 
 From the dying one may see. 
 
 Leneda was the first to speak, 
 
 With accents strange and wild ; 
 
 For the blood had vanished from my cheek, 
 She looked and ghastly smiled : , 
 
 "Ah ! woe is me, that day should bring 
 Such disaster here. 
 As the death of my soul's sweet fondling, 
 Given to me last year 
 
 " By my Charlie drowned at sea, 
 When the waves ran high, 
 As a dear, sweet token of his memory— 
 Oh! that I might die." 
 
LENEDAS LAMB. 333 
 
 " Cease your plaint, my gentle one ; 
 Another lamb shall be 
 Ere the morrow morn may dawn, 
 
 By these hands replaced to thee." 
 
 She answered, with heart-riven talk : 
 
 " l!^o lamb there is, 
 In any shepherd's flock. 
 
 May take the place of this." 
 
 I sought to lead her then 
 
 AAvay from the sickening light ; 
 
 Away from the water's reddening hem ; 
 For blood dimmed all my sight. 
 
 But ere she went, she stooped and kiss'd 
 The dead lamb on the mouth ; 
 
 While a sort of clouded mist 
 Came rising from the south. 
 
 We gained at last her mother's door, 
 
 The bloody story told ; 
 While waiting there I silently swore 
 "Never again a gun to hold, 
 
 " Or ever a dog to pet as mine ; " 
 For I felt within 
 As my soul was answerable for that crime, 
 Which appeared like sin. 
 
 Some laborers buried the lamb 
 
 Under a willow tree ; 
 And sunk the hound with bark of tan 
 
 In the middle of the sea. 
 
334 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I caused a stone of costly hue, 
 With carvings fair and nice, 
 
 To stand at the head of the little ewe, 
 As a memorial device. 
 
 I thought her soul would die, 
 As I pressed her hand ; 
 
 And spoke the words, ' ' good bye ; 
 Thy pardon I command." 
 
 She gave it free to me. 
 
 As I closed the garden gate, 
 
 And wended over the flowery lea, 
 Alone without a mate. 
 
 I threw my gun within a brook, 
 
 As I was crossing it ; 
 And all my hunting days forsook 
 
 In fair Connecticut. 
 
 I never saw Leneda more. 
 
 Or that willow grave ; 
 I'm sitting on a distant shore, 
 
 Now rhyming by its wave. 
 
 But oft my mind runs back 
 
 To the swans upon the sea ; 
 
 To the lamb and the maiden's track, 
 And my dog's fell treachery • 
 
 When I behold some shape of sin 
 
 Lurking round about. 
 To mar the paradise within 
 
 And put God's angels out. 
 
KING CANUTE. 335 
 
 KI^^G CANUTE. 
 
 In ancient times there reigned a king, 
 
 Who bade the waters stand ; 
 Arrayed in gorgeous trapping, 
 
 He ruled a fair, bright laud, 
 And bethought the wavelet's wing 
 
 Must obey his high command. 
 
 So he sat him down upon the beach, 
 
 Wrapped in robes of gold. 
 Beyond the water's reach. 
 
 In the far-ofi" days of old, 
 And thus in mystic si^eech 
 
 To the tides that shoreward rolled : 
 
 "Proud waves, be ye stayed, 
 
 Nor dare to hither come , 
 I 'm ruler of a mighty cavalcade. 
 
 Whose birth-right is the sun ; 
 And can destroy all planets made 
 
 As through the depths of space they run. 
 
 "I'm a lordly potentate, 
 
 And mine 's an undisj)uted reign : 
 I rule the mariner's fate, 
 
 And landsman's course the same ; 
 In short, I'm King Canute, the Great, 
 
 Take notice to my name," 
 
336 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 The ocean's distant swell 
 Unheeding heard the boast 
 
 Which from his lips there fell 
 And beat upon the coast 
 
 Of that rock-bound citadel, 
 To the feet of the king almost. 
 
 In deepest consternation then 
 
 This regal heir of royalty 
 Saw the moving water's hem 
 
 Rise like a frowning deity ; 
 And walking down the glen 
 
 He heard the Prince of Land and Sea. 
 
 And a mighty, rushing sound 
 Went sweeping past him fair, 
 
 Like the voice of God profound, 
 It spoke from out the air : 
 "Quick, to higher ground. 
 
 For the ocean cometh there." 
 
 Oh ! then the king did run, 
 Nor lingering longer stand. 
 
 Defying wave and sun, 
 Before that awful hand. 
 
 With voice and features dumb, 
 Who ruleth all the land. 
 
 The waves in anger beat the shore. 
 The sea-gulls floated up on high ; 
 
 He heard the gathering tempests roar 
 Along the frowning sky ; 
 
 King Canute was troubled sore. 
 He knew not whence to flv. 
 
KING CANUTE. 337 
 
 He sought some desert cave 
 
 Beneath a darksome ledge of rocks, 
 
 Crouching like a slave, 
 Or criminal in the stocks, 
 
 Till the sun returning gave 
 
 Its cheer to the shepherd's flocks. 
 
 Forth he went a wiser man. 
 
 Taught that a God supreme, 
 With his omniscience, can 
 
 Make a king seem little and mean, 
 When he 'd heaven's decree withstand 
 
 With egotistical mien. 
 (29) 
 
338 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 REMEMBER WHILE YOU MAY. 
 
 Be careful what you write, 
 
 Be careful what you say, 
 
 For your words and your writings 
 
 Will be read on the judgment day, 
 
 In the light of eternity's ray. 
 
 There is no cloud of gloom 
 
 But hath its hidden bloom ; 
 
 There is no flowery May 
 
 But will swiftly pass away, 
 
 As we wander onward to the tomb. 
 
 A penny to poverty given 
 By the hand of honest toil, 
 Will move the saints of heaven 
 To seek and find the giver. 
 Amid life's turmoil. 
 
 A word in kindness said 
 From the lips of man or maid. 
 May lead some angel good, 
 From guilt's dark, damning shrine 
 Up to the blessed sisterhood. 
 
 A lover's broken vow 
 May leave a pang behind. 
 Till the bright angel of hope, 
 Again returning somehow, 
 Repossess the mind. 
 
REMEMBER WHILE YOU MAY. 339 
 
 Smiling fortune ready stands, 
 Waiting for him who hath the nerve 
 To win with willing hands, 
 And from duty never swerve, 
 Obeying God's commands. 
 
 Life's shining piizes gleam 
 Like geld beneath the stream • 
 But he who wades therein, 
 Without the proper chart. 
 Will feel the hungry fish s fin; 
 
 While the rightly-furnished may, 
 With the lead and sounding-line, 
 Cast anchor in the sunny bay, 
 Ladened with rich rubies fine. 
 Because he led the way. 
 
 Be up and doing then. 
 While the brilliant sun of life 
 Gilds mountain, hill, and glen 
 With fragrance fair and rife, 
 For courage conquers strife. 
 
340 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 
 
 MAGGIE'S DROWNED. 
 
 What lies yonder floatiug there. 
 
 With form so frail and fair, 
 
 In the middle of the river, 
 
 Where the weeping willows shiver. 
 
 And you stand with a sorrow-ladeued stare ? 
 
 'T is a soulless body sped, 
 
 Through the walkways of the dead, 
 
 Back to its omniscient Giver. 
 
 See the eddies bubble round 
 
 The slender body found, 
 
 Just there among the edges 
 
 Of the lily-lipped sedges, 
 
 Where Maggie was drowned ; 
 
 The sunshine, timid, frightened, 
 
 Scarce touches now the spot it brightened 
 
 'Neath the shadow of the ledges. 
 
 What is that so silken, slender. 
 Aglow with liquid light so tender, 
 Floating on the water's sheen, 
 About the rigid face's beam? 
 'T is her loosened tresse's splendor, 
 Which floated from the comb, 
 When her spirit had gone home 
 From that faded flower I ween. 
 
 What is that so white and fair. 
 Uprisen like a spirit there ? 
 
MA G GTE'S DRO WNED. 341 
 
 'Tis a hand outstretclied to heaven, 
 As if asking dumbly to be forgiven, 
 In the blest attitude of prayer ; 
 While round her faded lips 
 A kind of sorrowing-soul eclipse 
 Shows she has with death striven. 
 
 Flow on and on forever, 
 Thou silent, soulless river ; 
 Bear your burden and your woe 
 To the nether wold below. 
 Away from its mighty Giver ; 
 For the crimson stain 
 Which hangs on jMaggie's name, 
 Ah ! Avell, too well, we know. 
 
 Judge her not in the river there. 
 
 But bury her body with kindly care, 
 
 All her dreadful past forgetting, 
 
 For the angel of time is setting, 
 
 With golden pen, her life-record fair ; 
 
 And the bright hereafter may 
 
 Show her soul forgiven on that day, 
 
 Where self-sanctified ones shall stand regretting. 
 
 Ah ! me, that in the world, we see 
 
 Such cruel hate and mockery 
 
 Among the gentle sex, 
 
 'Gainst those whose sad neglects 
 
 Has driven from the paths of chastity; 
 
 For no pitpng word 
 
 By the wayward ever heard, 
 
 Calls them back to the Deity. 
 
342 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Thus from a ledge of rocks, 
 When riug the steeple clocks, 
 In the wildness of the night, 
 Their drowned souls take flight 
 From many lonely docks, 
 Away from the wise, discreet, 
 Away from the wicked street, 
 Ever dying in such plight. 
 
THE PA UPER'S BIDE. 343 
 
 THE PAUPERS RIDE. 
 
 YoxDER the pauper goes, 
 
 Arrayed in rags, instead of clothes, 
 
 Stark and dead to-day, 
 
 Over the rough and stony way, 
 
 In a wagon without springs ; 
 
 While the driver cracks his whip and sings. 
 
 As the rattling wagon rings 
 
 Over the rolling stones. 
 
 Jostling the poor old pauper s bones. 
 
 Oh ! what a rattling din. 
 How the whirling felloes spin. 
 How the choking dust is hurled. 
 While he is hurried out of the world, 
 As if it was a deadly crime 
 To waste a minute's time 
 In burying a soul divine, 
 Whom nobody owns. 
 With tears or with groans. 
 
 Not one heart-throb is given 
 
 While to the grave he is driven ; 
 
 Not a mourner stands by. 
 
 Not a tear from any eye 
 
 Falls on the face of the dead, 
 
 As into the earth his body is sped. 
 
 With the dull thud of the sounding lead ; 
 
 For " none but the worthless drones 
 
 Die in the poor-house," as every one owns. 
 
344 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But the pauper has made 
 
 Some stir and parade 
 
 In the woiid, at the last, 
 
 Ratthng to his grave so fast ; 
 
 E'en though it should be 
 
 In a disgraced part of the cemetery, 
 
 Where never a headstone you may see, 
 
 Or a preacher speaking iu tearful tones 
 
 Over the dead pauper's bones. 
 
 But away with this strain, 
 
 For my sovd is in pain, 
 
 To think that the heart of humanity clad 
 
 Should act so frenzied and bad 
 
 As to forget that there lies 
 
 A spirit in the shade of his eyes, 
 
 Fitted for a home in the skies, 
 
 No matter though the pauper's bones 
 
 Be jolted to death over the stones. 
 
LONGI^iG FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 345 
 
 LONGING FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 
 
 Ois^E golden eventide 
 
 I strayed in thoughtful mood, 
 
 Along a fair hillside, 
 
 Through the quiet solitude 
 
 Of Nature's deepest hush, 
 
 Broken only by the jay and thrush. 
 
 'T was there I chanced to see 
 An ancient looking form, 
 That somewhat startled me. 
 Sitting on a stone ; 
 While he spoke in half a sigh 
 And half a moan : 
 
 "I'm weary of these years. 
 Running an endless round 
 Through toil and tears : 
 The world is full of strife. 
 Of harsh and grating sound ; 
 I 'm longing for the sunset of life, 
 
 " My years have reached a goodly span ; 
 I was born in distant Hindoostan 
 Of parents rich and grand ; 
 But misfortune's rudest blast 
 Doomed me to a lonely lot, 
 In a way you scarce might wot. 
 
346 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 
 
 **I've wanderea from my home 
 A pilgrim through the world alone 
 I'm used to strangers' cheer, 
 And dismal by-ways bleak and drear 
 I've seen my share of strife, 
 "- ' And now I'm longing for the sunset of life." 
 
 He spoke in accents strange, 
 
 While restless then did range 
 
 His furtive glance from me away 
 
 To where the sun shot down the bay ; 
 
 Emblematic of his doom. 
 
 As he sighed and sorrowed ff)r his tomb. 
 
 Just then a group of school-boys 
 
 Went by with merry noise ; 
 
 Impulsive off I ran, 
 
 All heedless of the aged man, 
 
 Until the sport was o'er ; 
 
 Then I retraced my steps once more, 
 
 Back to that single stone. 
 Where I left him sitting all alone ; 
 Oh, God ! that ghastly sight ; 
 Stark dead, in the fading light, 
 Beside the stone he lay, 
 With his spirit flown away. 
 
 Help at my command 
 
 Gave a ready hand ; 
 
 So to my mother's mansion grand 
 
 They bore the very clay, 
 
 Which lately sat sighing for the close of day 
 
 In that despondent lay. 
 
LONGING FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 347 
 
 Although a stranger there, 
 
 Never did kindred claim more care ; 
 
 Never was funeral costlier made, 
 
 When the last sad rite was paid. 
 
 As they placed him within our mother earth, 
 
 That way-worn wanderer of foreign birth. 
 
348 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I'M A WRITER AND A RHYMER. 
 
 I 'm a writer and a rhymer, 
 
 give me audience now ; 
 I'll glad with song thy smile, 
 At the step or at the stile, 
 And light with life thy brow ; 
 For I 'm the kind of a fellow 
 That 's up to the fashion now. 
 
 1 take with the girls and village churls, 
 Although I 'm not a dude ; 
 
 O, I can cut a swell 
 That works the women well ; 
 For I can beck and bow, 
 And am the kind of a fellow 
 That 's up to the fashion now. 
 
 The ladies wink and the husbands think, 
 
 As I pass them with a sigh, 
 
 Sporting a gold-headed cane, 
 
 Humming a tender love refrain ; 
 
 For I can beck and bow, 
 
 And am the kind of a fellow 
 
 That 's up to the fashion now. 
 
 I 'd have you know I am a beau, 
 A judge of silks and satins fine ; 
 O I think I ought to be, 
 Oft they 've fiUed these arms of mine ; 
 
FM A WRITER AND A RHYMER. 349 
 
 For I can beck and bow, 
 And am the kind of a fellow 
 That 's up to the fashion now. 
 
 I 'm a writer and a rhymer, 
 O give me audience now ; 
 While love's garland I entwine, 
 Of rose-leaves and eglantine, 
 About some painted beauty's brow ; 
 For I 'm the kind of a fellow 
 That 's up to the fashion now. 
 
350 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 " PUT THE BABY IN THE CRADLE, MAUD." 
 
 " Put the baby in the cradle, Maud, 
 For its mother has gone home to God, 
 And we mast bury her away 
 Ere the sun glides down the bay ; 
 For the savages behind the hill 
 Have come to slay and kill, 
 And we must into the forest farther go, 
 To escape the wiles of this dreadful foe." 
 
 These words were uttered by 
 
 A trapper with bearded face and weeping eye, 
 
 To his little daughter scarce past seven, 
 
 With a radiance like the smile of heaven ; 
 
 For the fever's terrible strife, 
 
 Had taken away his worshiped wife, 
 
 And the warriors of King Philip were 
 
 Armed for vengeance and astir. 
 
 On the warpath's bloody trail, 
 
 Along the fragrant Mississippi vale. 
 
 Ere agriculture's creating hand 
 
 Had made a paradise of that blooming land, 
 
 And given to fugitives of our race 
 
 Freedom from cruel fetters base, 
 
 That tyrants long have forged 
 
 From poverty's toil on which they gorged. 
 
 From the roots of a fallen tree, 
 Ag secretly as it might be. 
 
'^PUT THE BABY IN THE CRADLE, MAUD:' 351 
 
 They scooped the darksome mold, 
 
 And in it laid the body cold. 
 
 There was no time to read a line 
 
 From the book of God divine ; 
 
 So with the grieving spirit's flow 
 
 He covered his wife with earth and snow ; 
 
 Then taking his gun and babe along, 
 
 He and Maud, they marched till another dawn, 
 
 Away from the savage pack 
 
 That followed on their track. 
 
 Over the rough and stony land 
 
 To the head-quarters of the trapping band, 
 
 Who were some fifty miles away 
 
 From where the body of his Julia lay. 
 
 It was through many years 
 The trapper, with forebodings, fears, 
 Fought for Maud and baby there. 
 With courage, skill, and care. 
 Against the red man's waning power, 
 Till victory crowned the hour ; 
 Then he returned one evening cold 
 And gathering up that sacred mold, 
 
 Transported it in an urn of ebon hue 
 To a ready grave beneath the shady yew, 
 Which graced a church-yard's lawn, 
 Where Christians put their kindred gone ; 
 And baby grown to be a man, 
 With Maud and children in the van, 
 Oft repair with the trapper, feeble, slow, 
 To deck that grave when the sun is low. 
 
352 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 MIGET OF NORTHUMBERMOUN. 
 
 O ! THE prettiest girl in town, 
 To speak the truth 1 11 be bound, 
 Is Miget, with her scarf of down . 
 With teeth like pearls, 
 And sunny, silken curls, 
 And eyes of hazel brown. 
 
 O ! the prettiest girl in town 
 Wears a Yorkshire shilling gown. 
 And turban like a circus clown ; 
 She has tiny little feet. 
 And anldes fine and neat, 
 And cheeks like softest down. 
 
 O ! the prettiest girl in town, 
 
 'Tis known for many miles around, 
 
 Is Miget of Northumbermoun ; 
 
 Her voice so clear 
 
 Breaks on the ear 
 Like the shrilly thunder sound. 
 
 O ! the prettiest girl in town 
 
 Takes all the fellows down 
 
 With her gay turban crown. 
 When she comes near me 
 My heart beats fearfully, 
 
 As if I'd heaven found. 
 
DE LAND OB GLORY. 353 
 
 DE LAND OB GLORY. 
 
 A NEGRO MELODY. 
 
 Get'n up to glory sho, 
 Rid'u on de rainbow ; 
 Come long, niggers, come, 
 To de land ob hebenly sun. 
 
 Chorus. — get long dare, 
 You child ob air, 
 Climb dat gold'n stair 
 Lead'n to de liebenly land, 
 On Canaan's silber strand. 
 
 O come long, niggers, come. 
 See the glory ob de ris'n sun 
 Sparkle on de trone ob gold, 
 In de center ob de angel fold. 
 
 Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 
 
 Li de hebenly land we '11 see 
 De glories ob de crystal sea, 
 Eber flow'n glorious on. 
 Thro' de lobly land ob song. 
 
 Cho. — get long dare, etc. 
 
 We'll see Moses dare, 
 Rid'n in a charowit ob air ; 
 Uncle Tom and Eva too, 
 Fly'n thro' de ether blue. 
 
 Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 
 (30) 
 
354 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And all dem angels bright, 
 Crowu'd with hebenly light, 
 Whirl'n round de trone 
 Ob dat celestial home. 
 
 Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 
 
 And all de spirits white, 
 Gone from de world ob night 
 On pilgrimage supreme, 
 Will be in dat hebenly beam. 
 
 Cho. — O get long dare, etc- 
 
 O den dis nigger '11 sing, 
 
 And make de hills ob glory ring, 
 
 Eber and foreber more, 
 
 On dat hebenly, shin'n shore. 
 
 Cho. — get long dare, etc. 
 
LOVE'S BANqVET. 
 
 LOVE'S BAXQUET. 
 
 CoiiE, hasten to my banquet, love, 
 I '11 give thee precious wine, 
 
 From the bowers of blLss above, 
 Distilled by a Bacchus divine, 
 
 And nightly brought by a Genii,* 
 Adown the star-lit ether line, 
 
 In a bright, golden urn from the sky, 
 To Love's bower upon the Rhine. 
 
 'Twill light thy soul with gladness, 
 And thrill thy bosom with delight. 
 
 And di'ive aw^ay all shades of sadness 
 Eorever from thy laughing sight. 
 
 Then come, my love, haste and go. 
 Speeding thither fleet with me ; 
 
 For the sun of life is getting low. 
 Soon 't will set beneath the sea ; 
 
 And then the falling frosts of night 
 Will chill, with a freezing will. 
 
 Thy beating bosom soft and white, 
 In Death's cold sleep so very still. 
 
 Haste thee, love, and let us then 
 Go tripping gaily o'er the lea, 
 
 *A tutelary deity, supposed by the ancients to preside over a person's 
 destiny.— C. 
 
356 CAMPBELL'S ^PGEMS.- 
 
 To Love's iDower ia a golden glen, 
 Beneath the shady Tan-sein tree.* 
 
 Life is wafted in every breeze ; 
 
 And murmuring music in the air 
 Floats through the moon-lit trees — 
 
 Come, 't is time that we were there. 
 
 The ready banquet now is spread, 
 And the royal feast has just begun ; 
 
 The god, Eros,t stands at the table head, 
 And the guests will soon be done. 
 
 For there stalks a grizzled shade 
 Close round the sparkling wine, 
 
 As though the feast for him was made — 
 Ah ! 'tis the step of ancient Time. 
 
 And see he whets his sickle keen 
 Like some lusty mower on the lea ; 
 
 In his eye there beams a ghastly sheen — 
 Oh ! horiid shape that is to me. 
 
 Bowed and bent by the weight of years. 
 Which hang on his lengthened life ; 
 
 But still he reaps 'mongst lover's tears, 
 As if a curse impelled his strife. 
 
 Oh ! slack thy speed and let us rest, 
 For Love's bright banquet now is o'er ; 
 
 Life's dim sun is setting in the west — 
 We can scarcely see it shining more. 
 
 * A kind of enchanted tree, which grows over the tomb of the mu- 
 sician Tan-sein. — Moore. 
 i-Eros; tlie love-god.— C. 
 
LOVE'S BANqUET. Zb'i 
 
 And thus it is in continual round, 
 Some bright and charming songstress 
 
 Is calling us -svith heavenly sound, 
 To Love's fan bower of happiness, 
 
 Ere the ruby wine be gone, 
 
 Wasted by the weight of years ; 
 
 And the charming singer's song- 
 Be hushed in the grief of tears. 
 
358 GAMFBLLLS FOEMS. 
 
 CHEATING THE PREACHER. 
 
 Some people blame their teacher, 
 Some people act like Beecher, 
 Some people beat their way 
 From earth to the gates of day ; 
 But he who cheats the preacher 
 Out of a single dime, 
 Will never get to Eden 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Some people close their eyes, 
 Startling earth and skies. 
 With their pious prayers, 
 Holding on to what is theirs ; 
 But he who cheats the preacher, 
 Out of a single dime, 
 Will never get to Eden 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Some people hymn their songs, 
 Mingled with ' ' amen " longs, 
 And quite a flurry make 
 When they the communion take ; 
 But he who cheats the preacher 
 Out of a single dime, 
 Will never get to Eden 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Some ask our Lord to bless the food 
 Which is wholesome, fair, and good. 
 
CHEATING THE PREACHER. 359 
 
 And their sins to wash away, 
 While in church they never pray ; 
 But he who cheats the preacher 
 Out of a single dime, 
 Will never get to Eden 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Many there are who say 
 
 A penny to poverty given 's thrown away ; 
 
 That we 'd better stand alool' 
 
 Till the church shows better proof; 
 
 But he who cheats the j)reacher 
 
 Out of a single dime, 
 
 Will never get to Eden 
 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Many there are who dine 
 
 In silks and satins fine, 
 
 While the Shepherd stands in need 
 
 Of the crumbs his hungry flock to feed ; 
 
 But he who cheats the preacher 
 
 Out of a single dime, 
 
 Will never get to Eden 
 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
 Many there are who be 
 Self-righteous as the Pharisee, 
 Standing amid light divine. 
 Quite near the devil's boundary line ; 
 But he who cheats the preacher 
 Out of a single dime, 
 Will never get to Eden 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
360 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I think 't is best that we 
 
 Give to the preacher an honest fee, 
 
 For breaking to us the bread of life, 
 
 Amid this mortal strife ; 
 
 For he who cheats the preacher 
 
 Out of a single dime, 
 
 Will never get to Eden 
 
 Where the immortals shine. 
 
WHAT I SAW AND HEARD. 361 
 
 WHAT I SAW AND HEARD. 
 
 Once I saw a wayside flower 
 
 Broken in the wind ; 
 Once I heard at the vesper hour 
 
 The prayer of a child that sinned. 
 
 Once I saw a widow's only son, 
 
 Blushing with flaxen hair, 
 Struck down by a rebel's gun, 
 
 On Laural Hill so fair. 
 
 Once I heard a lover's holy sigh 
 
 Go floating on the breeze ; 
 Once I saw a maiden die 
 
 By drowning at "The Keys." 
 
 Once I saw a priest of God, 
 
 Profane, with guilty hands. 
 The golden-sceptered rod 
 
 Which round the "Ark of the Covenant " stands. 
 
 Once I saw a witch upon the wold, 
 
 All weird and woe-begone, 
 Sitting at the side of a tonabstone cold, 
 
 Writing her epitaph thereon. 
 
 Once I heard, at the midnight chime. 
 
 The bright, celestial choir, 
 Singing a sainted symphony divine, 
 
 To the melody of Israfel's ^ lyre. 
 
 *Israfel: the ang-el Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who 
 has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.— Koran. 
 
 (31) 
 
362 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Once I saw two brothers dead, 
 With hands clasped in sleep, 
 
 Which were to the battle led, 
 Where foe and foeman meet. 
 
 Once I saw a fallen waif, 
 Who had no place to go. 
 
 Taken dead, but yet quite safe. 
 From the river's darksome flow. 
 
 Once I saw a man of crime. 
 With hands upraised to heaven. 
 
 Kneeling by St. Peter's shrine. 
 Begging to be forgiven. 
 
 Once I saw from the gibbet high 
 A soul the Lord hud made. 
 
 Three times swept off' to die, 
 When the light began to fade. 
 
 Once nine days in the darksome wood, 
 
 Lost I went astray ; 
 Wending alone through the solitude. 
 
 Where wolves and tigers play. 
 
 Once — but then, why should I repeat 
 Further this rhyme to you ; 
 
 For now you 're sound asleep, 
 And 't is time that I was too. 
 
■'HQNEST TIM." 363 
 
 "HONEST TIM." 
 
 Pounding with a sledge, 
 In the making of a wedge, 
 " Honest Tim" at the anvil stands 
 With broad and sinewy hands, 
 Hard as iron bands ; 
 Ever faithful working there, 
 In the forge-fire's glare, 
 
 Toiling for his kind, 
 With hand as well as mind ; 
 At the post of duty's call. 
 Working there for one and all. 
 From the Spring-time to the Eall, 
 He spills his honest sweat 
 Without a grumble or regret. 
 
 His ringing bloAvs 
 
 With the roll of labor goes 
 
 Floating on the air, 
 
 'Round about him there, 
 
 In the noontide's glare ; 
 
 And in the evening's twilight dim 
 
 Works and labors " Honest Tim." 
 
 Dark and glossy is his hair, 
 And his face is very fair ; 
 And something in his eye 
 Seems akin to spirits in the sky. 
 Which sometimes earthward fly ; 
 
364 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 But lie toils aud works away 
 From morn till close of day. 
 
 The smith's name is " Honest Tim"- 
 
 Who does not remember him, 
 
 With his word of cheer 
 
 For the faint and feeble here, 
 
 Who stand around full near, 
 
 Waiting for fortune's gale 
 
 To fill their drooping sail? 
 
 And many a penny he 
 
 Gives to worthy charity ; 
 
 When the mighty million heir. 
 
 With high and haughty stare, 
 
 No farthing can he spare 
 
 From his glittering pile, 
 
 The moving curse of human guile. 
 
 And often as I stray 
 O'er some lone, untrodden way, 
 The thought will come to me : 
 " I would that I could see 
 Some justice and equality. 
 In the different lot of men. 
 With my blinded human ken. 
 
 *' One must ever toil 
 For the product of the soil ; 
 And the other with a fate 
 Is born to lands and state, 
 Aud honored as being great : 
 'Tis unexplainable to me, 
 This code of justice and. equality. 
 
"HONEST TIM." 365 
 
 " The wortliiest God e'er made 
 Labor a lifetime iu the shade, 
 And no gilded fortune's beam 
 Over their pathway gleam ; 
 While some rich and I'oyal queen 
 May waste her substance away 
 On the meanest that ever saw day." 
 
 Thus hath it ever been 
 
 Among earth's big and little men ; 
 
 'T is passing strange we must agree ; 
 
 But then 't is fate's decree 
 
 Between the beggar and royalty ; 
 
 And one with blinded eye 
 
 Into the secret must not pry ; 
 
 For there is a God, we say, 
 Who rules the night-time and the day ; 
 And he doeth all things well 
 Wherever there 's a voice to tell, 
 From the heaven down to hell ; 
 And censure from me perchance 
 Might seem the height of arrogance. 
 
366 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE STOKMY PETREL. 
 
 Ye winds of heaven blow, 
 
 Moan out your madness and your woe ; 
 
 Along the ocean's foamy crest, 
 
 Many leagues from land. 
 
 Upborne by genii or magician's wand, 
 
 Walking or flying, as suits it best. 
 
 The stormy petrel finds its rest. 
 
 Out yonder, there where flash, 
 
 With such vivid crash. 
 
 The lightning's feai-ful gleam. 
 
 And wild 'i\ aves roll mountain high 
 
 Their whitened spray athwart the sky, 
 
 Thou dost fearless seem, 
 
 Calm, unruffled, and serene. 
 
 Like a spirit fetterless and free 
 
 From cumberous mortality, 
 
 Along the perpendicular wall 
 
 Of tempestuous waves, 
 
 Which roll over ghastly graves. 
 
 Thou dost rise and fall 
 
 Where earth's bravest doth apj^all. 
 
 Like a spirit given 
 
 Boundless faith in heaven- 
 
 Not like doubting Peter when he fell. 
 
 Faltering on the foam, 
 
 As though he walked aloue — 
 
THE STORMY PETREL. 361 
 
 Dost thou escape the verge of hell, 
 Thou little stormy petrel. 
 
 Most wonderful bird, 
 
 Thoa hast deeply stu-red 
 
 Admiration in my soul ; 
 
 For the King of all 
 
 Marketh the sparrow's fall, 
 
 And also the ocean's roll 
 
 Beating on the doorway of destin/s goal. 
 
 Thou hast taught to me 
 
 A lesson from the Deity — 
 
 From the God that reigns afar. 
 
 Above the angry deep, 
 
 And each high mountain peak. 
 
 Where the bright immortals are, 
 
 Crowned each with a golden star. 
 
368 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 ISTULENA. 
 
 Once I met a maiden fair — 
 But it little matters 
 When it was or where : 
 Since then I've wandered on, 
 And she has gone 
 To a mansion in the air. 
 
 She was the fairest flower 
 
 That ever bloomed in lady's bower, 
 
 Upon the mount or fell, 
 
 In .the grass-grown glen, 
 
 Or distant hazel dell. 
 
 Oh ! had you seen her face 
 Lighting up the darkest place, 
 Like some brilliant ray 
 Shed from an immortal wanderer 
 Thro' the sun-beam's play, 
 You'd have said she strayed 
 From the golden gates away. 
 
 Oh ! very many times 
 
 I 've sung to her my rhymes. 
 
 Walking on some island strand , 
 
 While this maiden spread around me 
 
 Bright beams of happiness 
 
 From over the untried sea. 
 
 Radiant she was, and rare, 
 With a golden glory breaking 
 
NULENA. 359 
 
 'Round her every-where. 
 The gentle breeze's sighing, 
 And the day to darkness dying, 
 Was lighted by a halo fair. 
 Which broke around her there. 
 
 Now, she 's some transparent thing, 
 Viewless, fair, and fine, 
 Which cleaves with shining wing 
 The distant ether line. 
 
 Long years have flown 
 
 Since Nulena and me 
 
 Walked that island strand alone, 
 
 'Neath the leafy beech wood tree ; 
 
 But the vision fair 
 
 Goes with me every-where 
 
 Moving this soul of mine 
 
 With those memories divine. 
 
370 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THREE ANGELS OF THE DAWN. 
 
 Three angels of the dawn 
 
 Went winging in the light away — 
 Love with her golden slippers on, 
 
 And Joy with a celestial ray 
 Beaming round her radiant face, 
 
 Greeted Hope with a merry bow. 
 Who wore a turban in its place, 
 
 With stars of jasper on her brow. 
 
 In the flush of early morning, 
 
 When the night had flown, 
 As Aurora* finished her adorning, 
 
 I wended on alone ; 
 When these shining angels. 
 
 Alighting near my path. 
 Bathed their plumes in the rippling rills, 
 
 And beckoned me with a laugh. 
 
 Love threw a talisman on the ground, 
 
 Inlaid with gems of Paradise : 
 I picked it up and felt a wound, 
 
 Which chilled my heart like ice. 
 Then up the blue firmament she rose 
 
 Wafting back a farewell sigh, 
 To where the stream of Eden flows 
 
 The throne of God close by. 
 
 * Aurora: the Goddess of Morning.— W. 
 
THREE ANGELS OF THE DAWN. 371 
 
 Joy spread a banner to the breeze, 
 
 Which, in my fancy's fairy thought, 
 Wafted me over silvery seas 
 
 To a golden palace from a cot ; 
 But when she raised her wings 
 
 In seeming attitude to go, 
 All my fond imaginings 
 
 Vanished like the July snow. 
 
 Then Hope my willing hand 
 
 There did gently press, 
 With a curious crystal wand, 
 
 Which shadowed forth distress ; 
 But an impulse at the time 
 
 Thrilled me like a spell. 
 Which seemed to be divine 
 
 Or devilish, I couldn't teU; 
 
 For the angels they were gone, 
 
 And I lingered there alone, 
 Through many a night and dawn, 
 
 Carving my own gravestone, 
 And trying to write some simple line 
 
 Picturing forth the sight I saw. 
 When these cherubs all divine 
 
 ThriUed me with hope and awe. 
 
 Since those fleeting years to me 
 
 One or two would returning come ; 
 But never again came the three 
 
 At the morn or setting sun ; 
 And short the stay they made ; 
 
 For try as try I would 
 That vision on the glade 
 
 Did disturb my mood. 
 
372 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 So that I could n't entertain 
 
 These visitors long below ; 
 They'd raise their wings again, 
 
 One and then another would speeding go, 
 Till oft I almost deemed, 
 
 These angels bright to me, 
 Sometimes trifling seemed 
 
 With my soul's deep mystery. 
 
THOSE KICKERS. 373 
 
 THOSE KICKERS. 
 
 Some people are kicking 
 At this thing and that, 
 
 With a vigorous vim 
 
 Fit to burst a Sunday cravat. 
 
 They seldom do right, 
 
 And are never true ; 
 They kick at their mother-in-law 
 
 For entering the family pew. 
 
 They kick if you laugh, 
 
 They kick if you cry, 
 And for looking at Susan 
 
 With a sheepish eye. 
 
 They kick when at home, 
 And kick when abroad, 
 
 If you love them less 
 Than you do your God 
 
 They kick when Ned 
 
 Goes riding with the girls, 
 
 Because their hair 's in a bob, 
 Instead of shining curls. 
 
 They kick when sick, 
 They kick when about, 
 
 They kick when dying, 
 
 As the life-lamp flickers out. 
 
374 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 They kick if it 's too dry, 
 
 They kick for the lack of rain, 
 
 And kick when it rains too much. 
 For 't will spoil their grain. 
 
 They kick when it 's too hot 
 They kick when it 's too cold ; 
 
 And they 'd kick if enshrined 
 In the heavenly Shepherd's fold. 
 
 They kick when it 's clear, 
 They kick when it snows. 
 
 They kick when it's still, 
 
 And just the same when it blows. 
 
 They kick in December, 
 And they kick in May ; 
 
 They kick when it 's fine. 
 
 Or when 't is cloudy and gray. 
 
 They kick when they 're old, 
 They kick when they 're young ; 
 
 There are such chronic kickers 
 They 'd kick at being hung. 
 
 They kick through the day, 
 And kick in the night, 
 
 If the dear baby cries 
 For a bit of bread to bite 
 
 They kick if a button is off, 
 And when too many is on ; 
 
 In fact I may say kicking 
 Is the burden of their song. 
 
THOSE KICKERS. 375 
 
 They kick if a wife would vote, 
 
 And give her ribs a chug ; 
 Reminding her that " woman's sphere 
 
 Is bounded by the washtub." 
 
 That all her accomplishments, 
 
 As well as her gifted plans, 
 Was kindly bestowed that she 
 
 Might " rattle the pots and pans." 
 
 They'd have her an angel. 
 
 And a household queen. 
 And know how to dig in the garden, 
 
 And "weed the parsnips clean." 
 
 They want her to be feminine, 
 
 Gentle, kind, and good ; 
 They want her to feed the hens. 
 
 And "chop the cooking wood." 
 
 They want her to be a saint. 
 
 They want her to be a slave. 
 They want her to work herself to death, 
 
 So they can " worship her in the grave." 
 
 Oh ! mothers and maidens. 
 
 With your celestial eyes. 
 And saint-like, seraph souls. 
 
 Fill your sphere beneath the skies. 
 
 Shed sunshine in your homes. 
 
 And do n't be chained down 
 To the level of a brute 
 
 By any clod-hopping clown. 
 
376 CAMIBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 You are divinely-gifted, 
 
 Far above any man, 
 To cast light upon the earth. 
 
 According to God's eternal plan. 
 
 And no son of woman born. 
 
 Be he less than man, 
 Should seek to interfere 
 
 With Heaven's stupendous plan. 
 
TEE TRAMP. 377 
 
 THE TRAMP. 
 
 Day by day begging for bread, 
 
 Goes the tramp with tattered clothes, 
 
 Without a place to lay his head, 
 Xo matter how the wind blows. 
 
 Tramping and trudging along, 
 Softly humming now and then 
 
 The fragment of a tender love-song, 
 
 He wends his way among men. » 
 
 Hungry, soul-sick, and sore, 
 
 Friendless, pitiless, and lone, 
 He begs from door to door 
 
 With a voice that 's half a groan. 
 
 Thro' Summer's scorching heat. 
 
 And Winter s freezing cold, 
 You may meet him in the street, 
 
 Or on the hillside's wold. 
 
 The star of hope he never hails. 
 All earth seems di'ear to him, 
 
 Whether loitering along sequestered vales. 
 Or amid the city's busy din. 
 
 At some grand mansion high. 
 
 While meekly asking for bread, 
 
 He meets the flash of an angry eye, 
 
 Or the threatening footstep's tread. 
 (32) 
 
378 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 The tramp forsaken, has no home, 
 No kindly voice to bid him cheer ; 
 
 It matters not where he may roam, 
 No welcome message greets his ear. 
 
 Speak kindly to the wandering tramp, 
 And give him a morsel to eat ; 
 
 For no love-lighted lamp 
 Illumines his cold retreat. 
 
 A mother's kind and loving voice 
 Lingers yet gently on his ear ; 
 
 Angel messengers bid him rejoice, 
 While nearing the celestial sphere, 
 
 Telling of a mansion grandly made. 
 
 Where all the tramping hungry will be 
 
 With crowns of gold arrayed. 
 
 If they hold firm faith in the Deity. 
 
 May not his soul from earth away 
 
 Be cheered with as glorious a greeting 
 
 As the lords who grandly bear sway 
 From the angel the gate keeping? 
 
 May not arise as happy a chorus 
 From the redeemed tramps forever, 
 
 While ages eternal roll o'er us, 
 All gathered beyond the river ? 
 
 Where no tramping will be done 
 Along the city's golden ways. 
 
 Beneath eternity's gleaming sun 
 Falling in most resplendent rays ? 
 
THE DR UNKAED. 379 
 
 THE DKUNKAED. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 FThe facts narrated below occurred near North Adams, Mass., about 
 the year 1S60, as I am credibly informed. But then this is only one 
 blighted home— one heaven turned to hell— because of the use of in- 
 toxicants— out of the maay which yearly become pandemoniums on 
 the face of the earth's fair sphere.— C] 
 
 One dismal night, in the silent past, 
 
 When frozen sleet was falling fast, 
 
 Out of a rum-shop staggered and rolled 
 
 A husband and father into the night so cold ; 
 
 Fearfully reeling beneath his load 
 
 He wandered away from the road, 
 
 While the fumes floAved. 
 
 The outline of that man's shivering form 
 Was unseen in the cold, pitiless storm, 
 Save by the angels and the Eternal eye, 
 Gazing down on him from the sky. 
 Fashioned once in the image of God, 
 But now below the brute that roams the sod. 
 Downward going with a dying plod. 
 
 The howlmg -winds of that Winter night 
 Were bitter for a man to face and fight ; 
 Piercing through his rags so thin 
 They quickly chilled the heart within : 
 
380 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. • 
 
 Freezing to death, out all alone. 
 No one heard his dying moan. 
 Save those around the throne. 
 
 Where are they of the midnight revel, 
 The boon companions of his level? 
 Methinks they might have led him home. 
 Or sheltered him till the sun shone : 
 But no ! when his money was spent. 
 He could n't pay the saloon's sleeping rent, 
 So out into the night he went. 
 
 Freezing to death with no friend to cheer, 
 None to drive away the phantom of fear; 
 Onward, still onward, he staggering goes, 
 Little caring, and but little knows, 
 The soul anguish other hearts will pour 
 From a lonely, lone cabin door, 
 Fatherless forever more. 
 
 The storm grows worse, the night grows colder. 
 
 The drunkard strives to struggle bolder ; 
 
 'T is vain, life's fitful, flowing tide 
 
 Ebbing to the eternal land, courage ill supplied ; 
 
 Exhausted he fell into the drifting snow. 
 
 From thence never again to staggering go, 
 
 Cheered by the demons below. 
 
 Oh ! look on him shelterless there. 
 The wreck of a man, in youth so fair; 
 Led from honor's paths by the flowing bowl, 
 Hath missed life's bright-ending goal 
 He sleeps the sleep of Death's last 
 In a grim and icy clasp. 
 Frozen to the ground fast. 
 
THE DRUNKARD. 381 
 
 The last feeble, faltering, dying sigh 
 Went floating upward to the sky ; 
 And a saddened strain came gently back, 
 As if angels sorrowed for that human wreck . 
 Methinks they watched long the silent face, 
 Wondering why mortal of man's j^roud race 
 Should die in such disgrace. 
 
 In yonder cabin, awaiting his return. 
 Patiently sits a mother, a daughter, and son; 
 Folded deep within the darkening gloom, 
 Watching for his coming, ah ! bitter doom. 
 Say, what must their thoughts be, 
 Shivering there, those half-clad three. 
 Longing the drunkard to see? 
 
 Tick, tick, the time drags wearily by, 
 Broken only by the faithful mother's sigh. 
 Opening the door she peers into the night, 
 Some strange dread makes her shiver with afright. 
 She closes the door wishing she might her heart 
 From the fears which cause her ever to start. 
 Paining like a deadly-poisoned dart. 
 
 Putting the children to bed on a tuft of straw, 
 
 She wo'iders that miiu and liberty's law 
 
 Permits the liquid messenger of death 
 
 To mingle its fumes with the zephyr's breath ; 
 
 Dealing desolation, causing woman's moans 
 
 To flow in stifled, heart-broken groans, 
 
 Till only death atones. 
 
 Look at the children sleeping there, 
 
 And the mother freezing in her chair ; 
 
 True to him whom she loves with a love supreme. 
 
 Waiting, watching, alone and unseen, 
 
382 GAMPBELVS POEMS. 
 
 She falls asleep, never more to waken, 
 Till the last trump the earth hath shaken, 
 And the last dram 's been taken. 
 
 Think of the father frozen out all alone, 
 
 And the mother wrapped in death's shroud at home. 
 
 Leaving the children to the care of the stranger. 
 
 Surrounded by whirlpools of deadly danger ; 
 
 Life's shoreless ocean alone to sail, 
 
 Driven by its ever-changing gale 
 
 Through sunshine and through hail. 
 
 Go, rich man, with thy golden dower. 
 And stay the demon. Rum, with its power; 
 Turn aside the fiend which nightly stalks 
 Through the city's most secluded walks — 
 Oh ! stop his revel, if you can, 
 • And thus give to fallen man 
 The best boon since the world began. 
 
A nOWNF DELL. 383 
 
 A DOWNY DELL. 
 
 I KNOW a downy dell — 
 
 Yes, I know it well — 
 
 Where bright angels meet, 
 From the shining street, 
 
 The blue-eyed belle. 
 
 'T is in the Old Bay State, 
 Where oft of late 
 
 I did repair 
 
 To ponder there 
 Of love and fate. 
 
 It has a silvered spring, 
 
 Which goes bubbling 
 'N^eath the linden's limb, 
 Where swans and plovers swim, 
 
 And pewits sit and sing. 
 
 And there 's a grassy bank 
 Whereon the verdure daulr 
 
 Much greener grows. 
 
 And the rosebud blows 
 With a fairer rank. 
 
 Than on any lawn 
 
 That graces the dawn 
 From Dover town 
 To the sun's going down, 
 
 This broad earth upon. 
 
384 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Once there fell 
 
 Some heavenly spell 
 
 Upon my enraptured soul, 
 When for a noontide stroll 
 
 I entered this dell ; 
 
 For an angel stood 
 
 In earthly mood, 
 
 With a lily in her hand, 
 Like naiad of the strand, 
 
 Beside the path and wood, 
 
 Whose fair perfume. 
 And cheek of bloom. 
 
 Thrilled my heart 
 
 With a sudden start 
 That wont be still in the tomb. 
 
 Light as the fawn 
 Was her step upon 
 
 The bursting rosebuds there ; 
 
 And the sweets of her lip I declare 
 Out-rivals my song. 
 
 But away with the spring, 
 Like shadows that fling, 
 
 Flown was our wooing ; 
 
 For ' ' what are you doing ? " 
 Into our ears did ring. 
 
 And a fake,* with a spade. 
 Dug a grave on the glade : 
 
 And never with joy or with pain 
 
 Did I see her again, 
 Beneath the linden's shade. 
 
 * Fake-fold— stratum of stone, space, contents, partition, division, 
 row, etc.— W. 
 
HARRY HAYDON. 385 
 
 HARRY HAYDON. 
 
 On yester night, when the moon shone bright, 
 And the stars gave forth a twinkling sheen, 
 
 I strayed by the wayside willow, 
 Near a rippling, running stream, 
 
 Resplendent with a golden glow. 
 
 The air was still, naught save the little rill 
 Made any sort of murmur, mirth, or glee 
 
 To disturb the silent reign, 
 Which spread its wings so solemnly 
 
 Over the wide-extended plain. 
 
 Near my path, beside, half open wide, 
 Beneath a beech tree's leafy shade, 
 
 In rude and hurried haste. 
 There I saw a grave new made 
 
 Upon the lonely-looking waste. 
 
 Some woodland ghoul, or assassin foul. 
 Had dealt a horrid, hasty blow, 
 
 With murderous motive there, 
 Which laid young Harry Hay don low, 
 
 Beneath the moonbeam's glare. 
 
 Some bushes bent show'd bad intent, 
 A club, a hasty knife, a stone 
 Had done the fearful deed ; 
 
 (83) 
 
386 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Methought I heard the dead man groan 
 When neighed his bridled steed, 
 
 Which waiting stood tied in the wood, 
 Impatient for his master's return : 
 
 A seeming sort of loneliness 
 Was all he could discern, 
 
 When young Harry he did miss. 
 
 "Cease thy brutish woe, dost thou not know 
 Thy rider never more will wake, 
 
 Till the muffled roll of Charon's bark 
 Breaks on the celestial lake. 
 
 Beyond the Stygian * river dark ? " 
 
 There settled round, all sokmn and profound, 
 A dreary sense of death so near, 
 
 Amid the zephyrs softly breathiiig, 
 Which seemed so sad and queer. 
 
 As I lingered, silent grieving. 
 
 Wakened from my trance, I skimmed the expanse 
 Of moon-lit prairie stretching wide ; 
 
 Mounted on murdered Harry's steed. 
 To alarm the country side 
 
 With tidings of the horrid deed. 
 
 But the murderous news brought no clews 
 Of the fiendish homicide : 
 
 Long years they searched and sought. 
 Through all the countiy wide. 
 
 In every nook and spot ; 
 
 * Stygian— fabled by the ancients to be a riyer of hell, over which 
 the shades of the dead passed, on their journey thitherward.— C. 
 
HARR Y HA YD ON. 337 
 
 But they never found the fiend or hound 
 Who did that heUish thing : 
 
 It seemed as if the heaven had 
 Used its mighty wing 
 
 To sweep him to the world of spirits bad. 
 
388 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE WITCH OF HILDON HILL. 
 
 Hist ! hark ! is that the thunder's sound 
 So weirdly winging the hilltop round ? 
 Or is it some wild mountain sprite 
 Moling and doling this dismal night, 
 Along some lonely, misshapen path 
 Leading from Droxeldeen to Bath ? 
 
 Nay ! nay ! 't is the Witch of Hildon Hill, 
 Prompted by some infernal will 
 To mutter her incantations there, 
 From yon shelving crag of air 
 To the spirits of the night and fell, 
 More hideous than the fiends of hell. 
 
 This weird and withered old crone 
 Dwells in tlie mountain pass alone ; 
 And never a night will she be still, 
 This mysterious Witch of Hildon Hill ; 
 But summons from the earth and air 
 Unseen spirits to meet her there. 
 
 And floating Rumor tells the tale. 
 
 That sightless specters, sad and pale, 
 
 Sit and sing through all the night, 
 
 Round rows of candles burning blue and bright; 
 
 Each said to be an expiring saint 
 
 Condemned by the witch's foul attaint. 
 
THE WITCH OF HILDON HILL 389 
 
 For a league she holds with the devil there, 
 To esca]3e the death-angel's snare, 
 A year for every saint that dies, 
 Allured by her witchery from the skies; 
 And to her aid he nightly brings 
 The myriad hosts of wicked things. 
 
 All travelers for their lives keep still 
 As they pass the peak of Hildon Hill ; 
 And no man of courage may be found 
 Who will nearer go to her bound 
 Than a hundred rods away. 
 For love, for honor, or for pay. 
 
 'T is asserted, that for two hundred years 
 
 Three generations, filled with fears. 
 
 Have heard this weird old witch's wail. 
 
 And the saddened chorus borne upon the gale, 
 
 When the sounding bells of heaven 
 
 In the night-time strike eleven. 
 
 What e'er the Witch of Hildon Hill 
 May move the saints of God to kill, 
 Sucn a worthless life to prolong. 
 Haste not thou to judge her wrong; 
 For Superstition, may have told 
 This legend stronger than 't will hold 
 
 And there is mysterious walkways 
 Along which 't is said the spirit strays ; 
 Where our reasoning will not move 
 The solution of problems we disapprove ; * 
 And 't would seem the better purpose still 
 - To let God judge the Witch of Hildon Hill. 
 
590 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [The following lines are based upon a true incident which occurred 
 in a mountainous region of Acadia, about the year 1855. The author 
 was very young then, but old enough to remember distinctly the sad 
 fate of the beautiful child. — C] 
 
 A LITTLE girl, with ringlets of golden ligM, 
 
 Wandered from home one freezing night ; 
 
 The twinkling stars in serenest splendor shone ; 
 
 Hushed and still was the wind's shrill moan. 
 
 She followed a Avinding river strangely wild ; 
 
 "I'll run to its end," lisped the laughing child, 
 
 " And gather for my mamma pearls of brightest hue, 
 
 With an icicle cup of sparlding rainbow dew." 
 
 And she, with silken scarf of softest, spotted down, 
 Tripped lightly o'er the cold and frozen ground. 
 Storm-clouds in the dim east began to rise. 
 Strangely then looked the cold, wintry skies. 
 Away from the river she ran to the wooded dell. 
 Step by step, from the parents who loved her well, 
 Far into the depths of that wild, wilderness glen, 
 With no human hand to guide her then. 
 
 The night grew darker, and the wind blew drearer ; 
 She folded her little hands to her beating bosom nearer, 
 
LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 391 
 
 And shivered there as the saowflakes floated down ; 
 Thinking of bright fires far off in the distant town, 
 She came to a dark, damp house ; no ray of light or 
 
 blaze 
 From its gloomy walls fell on her bewildered gaze ; 
 As her tiny hand clutched the cold, ivory knob 
 In death's seeming stillness, she began to sob : 
 
 " Please may I come in?" she whispered, in a faltering 
 
 tone ; 
 " Open the door, or I'll die to-night, out all alone." 
 But no sound could she hear save the driving sleet, 
 As it rattled and fell at hei frozen feet. 
 With her bare hands she shook the heavy door, 
 Moaning, " Let me lie down to die on your floor." 
 But no stir within to still her startled fears 
 While on the door-stone fell the falling tears. 
 
 Ida left that heartless home and climbed the mountain 
 
 way; 
 She thought the hooting night-owl seemed to say : 
 ' ' Whither goest thou ? and why tread'st the wild alone ?" 
 It seemed to her some company, e'en that startling tone. 
 She found a tiny place where the wind had worn away 
 
 the snow ; 
 "Here I 'U sleep," murmured she, "and then I'll rise 
 
 and go." 
 She dreamed of fires so wondrous large and bright 
 That they seemed to fill the sky with sudden light. 
 
 Far away over the hills, before the break of day. 
 Sorrowing ones were confused, and all astray ; 
 Four score brave, athletic, mountain men 
 Awoke the echoes of the strangely silent glen. 
 
392 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A faithful search in every place was made ; 
 
 But the snow had filled the tracks where Ida strayed ; 
 
 No lingering star or faintly, feeble light 
 
 Shone o'er her path to guide them right. 
 
 Two days of ceaseless searching in every place 
 Told not her doom, nor showed the slightest trace. 
 Ida's mother, half frantic with mournful woe, 
 Stumbled through the midnight mountain snow. 
 She clasped her hands in awful frenzy wild, 
 Praying God to " take her life, and spare her chUd." 
 Methinks such soul-sorrow never ascended before, 
 Wafted on seraph's wjngs thro' heaven's open door. 
 
 Thou cruel man who heard her cry, and would not let 
 
 her in, 
 May God reward or punish you, according to your sin : 
 You listened while she shook the heavy door, 
 And heard her ask a place upon your floor. 
 How you shuddered to think of the driving sleet, 
 As her wailing cry rocked you to slumbers sweet. 
 Her little breast was braving the pitiless storm. 
 While you might have sheltered her freezing form. 
 
 But listen to yon weather-beaten hunter's cry ; 
 Its echoing tones have pierced the clear, cold sky. 
 A little pink ribbon has been found by him, 
 His hard face is changed as if it never knew sin. 
 A score of others have heard that shrill scream ; 
 Quickly, Ida's mother sprang upon the scene, 
 Clutching strangely that faded memento of strife, 
 That bit of ribbon as if it was a thing of life. 
 
 With noiseless steps they formed around the place, 
 Their mournful eyes beheld the still, cold face. 
 
LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 393 
 
 The angel of death had flapped his wings around her 
 
 heart, 
 Wafting thi'o' the storm-cloud that tiny life-spark. 
 There, amid the dismal, December dawn, 
 Still and dead, lay the household swan ; 
 A lingering halo of softest-floating light 
 Played round her lips so cold and white. 
 
 Methinks it was a ray from the angel's face, 
 
 Who hovered o'er that last resting place ; 
 
 Or, perchance, a gleam of the golden pen 
 
 As it recorded her soul in heaven then. 
 
 Sad, silent, and still, they stood with a softened look ; 
 
 While the weeping mother the sleet from her yellow hau- 
 
 shook. 
 A low, sweet chorus on the sad winds fell, 
 Wafting to the stricken mother, " God saith, it is well." 
 
594 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 Come, ye comrades, one and all, 
 Who escaped the leaden ball 
 When death's carnage raged around, 
 And the winds were laid with sound, 
 Decorate the graves of the dead to-day 
 With brightest blooms of May. 
 
 Let the fragrance, rich and rare, 
 Go wafting heavenward on the air, 
 And the balmiest odors, mild and sweet, 
 Greet angels on the golden street. 
 As they bind Love's helmet now 
 About the shriven warrior's brow. 
 
 Bring the brightest buds of Spring, 
 That bloom where nymphs and naiads sing, 
 And sport on this terrestrial line. 
 Where rays from the world eternal shine, 
 With a soft, refulgent, glorious glow, 
 Down on the soldiers' graves below. 
 
 There, from the fairest mead. 
 Bring now the brightest seed. 
 Nurtured by the heart's best tide. 
 When four hundred thousand died, 
 For liberty, love, and God, 
 On Columbia's consecrated sod. 
 
MEMORIAL DAT. 395 
 
 J. 
 
 Let tenderest maiden hands, 
 In circling groups and bands, 
 With face and features fair 
 As seraphim of the air, 
 Cast earth's brightest blooms 
 Round the soldiers' honored tombs, 
 
 Who raised the ready hand 
 
 When Treason trod the land ; 
 
 And lost their noble life 
 
 In death's deadly strife, 
 
 Which killed so many men 
 
 In opening the slave's degrading pen. 
 
 Who of earth may truly say, 
 
 They hold not Memorial Day, 
 
 Beyond the river's swell 
 
 Where missing comrades dwell? 
 
 For may not lilies fair 
 
 Bloom in the fields of light up there, 
 
 On love's luxuriant lawn ? 
 And beneath the heavenly dawn 
 May ther3 not be some recording pen 
 Which tells them of the acts of men, 
 As we scatter bud and bloom 
 About each loved and honored tomb ? 
 
396 CAMPBELUS, POEMS. 
 
 IVfANNY REAL. 
 
 [A SONG.] 
 
 Once upon the moon-lit moor, 
 By Etrick's winding shore, 
 Led by a gentle turtle-dove, 
 I wandered in quest of love. 
 
 Chorus. — 'Twas there I met my Nanny Real, 
 My fancy's fair ideal. 
 The touch of whose loving lips 
 Tingled to my finger tips, 
 And made my bosom strangely feel. 
 
 Her soft, angelic hand 
 My slender waist had spanned, 
 Before the movements of my own 
 Were about her bosom thrown. 
 
 Cho. — ^'Twas there I met, etc. 
 
 No one was standing near ; 
 No father's angry foot to hear, 
 Sounded in the heavenly spell. 
 Which that instant o'er us fell. 
 
 Cho. — 'T was there I met, etc. 
 
 What care you to know 
 The record of each moment's flow? 
 Things are sometimes done at night 
 That won't bear candle-light. 
 
 Cho. — 'T was there I met, etc. 
 
NANNY REAL. 397 
 
 'T is enough, no hap or harm 
 
 Gave tidings of alarm, 
 
 Till the fount of love all quiet lay, 
 
 Without a ripple, in the moonbeam's ray. 
 
 Cho. — 'T was there I met my Nanny Real, 
 My fancy's fair ideal, 
 The touch of whose loving lips 
 Tingled to my finger-tips, 
 And made my bosom strangely feel. 
 
398 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE CELESTIAL DISCORD. 
 
 Once the celestial choir, 
 
 Led by Israfel's * lyre, 
 
 Were singing some tune out of time, 
 
 Some short-meter rhyme, 
 
 That jarred on the breeze ; 
 
 Blown from the amaranth bowers 
 
 And asphodel flowers, 
 Which affected the golden keys. 
 
 'T was but a moment or two 
 This discord rose on the view. 
 Caused by some sinners that past 
 The gate of St. Peter too fast, 
 When a dozen or more. 
 All in a great haste 
 The joys of heaven to taste, 
 Eushed in at the door. 
 
 Quick the heralds of heaven, 
 
 A hundred and seven, 
 
 Winged with the speed of the wind, 
 
 Turned out every sinner that sinned, 
 
 And made the gateway secure. 
 
 So that no one ever 
 
 By fraud or endeavor. 
 Thereafter went in but the pure. 
 
 *Israfel— the sweetest-voiced angel of all God's singers.— C. 
 
THE CELESTIAL DISCORD. 399 
 
 But the devils without 
 
 Raised a big shout, 
 
 When they heard the wrong note 
 
 Over the gateway float ; 
 
 And rallied their men 
 
 From the marsh and the maze, 
 
 And the brimstone blaze, 
 To take possession of heaven again. 
 
 So up in a body they went 
 
 To the side of the high battlement; 
 
 And thundered away at the wall 
 
 Till the warriors celestial did fall 
 
 Kight onto them there, 
 
 And, without waiting to see 
 What their alighting might be. 
 
 Hurled them headlong from the golden stair. 
 
 Around and around, without sound, 
 Down they went whirling around, 
 All mixed in a pile. 
 Hate, Envy, and Guile — 
 Down again to the lake, 
 
 Where the brimstone on fire 
 
 Only maddened their ire 
 Their fists at heaven to shake. 
 
 *r is said by a wight 
 A mixture of man and of sprite — 
 That never again to meet the Lord 
 Did they listen for another discord ; 
 For that one little bout. 
 
 So sudden and strange. 
 
 Headlong from the highest heaven to range, 
 Subdued their wish to be fighting, no doubt. 
 
400 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 But they watch from afar 
 
 The fields where the glorified are, 
 
 With an envious eye, 
 
 A howl, a curse, and a sigh. 
 
 Venting their rage, their wrath, and their frowns 
 On the unfortunate hosts 
 Who visit those comfortless coasts 
 
 From these earthly grounds. 
 
 I think if the celestial switch 
 
 Makes no slip or hitch, 
 
 I '11 secure a ticket straight through 
 
 For the fields of heavenly hue. 
 
 And miss this warm mart, 
 Although it's quite plain 
 The translators have taken the flame 
 
 Out of the lake on eternity's chart. 
 
SEEKING DEATH IN THE WOOD. 401 
 
 SEEKING DEATH T^ THE WOOD. 
 
 Weary, worn, discouraged, 
 Battling with the ills of life, 
 
 Goes forth a strong man, 
 Whetting the suicidal knife. 
 
 Mone, all alone in the gloom, 
 
 The cricket and kraal * 
 Sound to him like 
 
 The devil's greeting hail. 
 
 His mind is soi'e opj)ressed. 
 And his bosom ill at ease ; 
 
 Frightful specters dim 
 
 From the eternal world he sees. 
 
 Fearful fancies flit 
 
 Across his bewildered brain. 
 Horrid furies mock 
 
 And fill his soul with pain. 
 
 Many missteps he makes 
 
 In the darkness all profound, 
 
 Oft falling to the earth 
 
 With a heavy, jarring sound. 
 
 From thence uprising 
 Again he ouAvard goes, 
 
 * Kraal.— From the language of the Hottentots— a village, a collec- 
 tion of huts, sometimes a single hut. — W. 
 
 (3i) 
 
402 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 To a spot secluded 
 From friend and foes. 
 
 Knowing that soon, very soon, 
 
 One sweep of the blade 
 Will make an escape for his soul 
 
 From its frame on the glade. 
 
 Agony breaks from his broAV, 
 
 His eyes grow dizzy and dim ; 
 Specter shades go flitting past, 
 
 And glare with devilish eyes at him. 
 
 In the darkness he can hardly see ; 
 
 But 't is the place at last. 
 Where one well-directed blow 
 
 Will his soul to the devil cast. 
 
 His bosom is bared to the knife, 
 His hand is upraised to strike ; 
 
 But see the moon bursts forth, 
 Gilding valley and dike. 
 
 With beauty and splendor so fine, 
 So brilliant, so clear and supreme. 
 
 Like the flash of eternity's light. 
 
 It startles the suicide from his dream. 
 
 'T is not the place which he sought. 
 But a churchyard silent and still ; 
 
 With a ghost at the foot of each grave. 
 
 His hand drops the knife in spite of his will. 
 
 His bloodless lips move in prayer. 
 
 Fright drives the imps of destruction away ; 
 
SEEKING DEATH IN THE WOOD. 4O-: 
 
 He seeks refuge behind a new mound, 
 To wait for the dawning of day. 
 
 But fancies most frightful and vivid 
 
 Flit swift through his braiu ; 
 He feels his heart bursting 
 
 With the thrill of each vein. 
 
 So out of the churchyard he goes, 
 
 Down through the meadow and brakes ; 
 
 The way to anyone's home 
 In haste, quick, he takes. 
 
 Long, long years after that, 
 
 He lived to do good ; 
 And never went on a night ramble 
 
 Again, Seeking Death in the Wood. 
 
404 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. 
 
 Thou beauteous Indian Queen 
 
 Of hunting lands unseen, 
 
 Come, let thy departed shade 
 
 Trip with me upon the glade, 
 
 Where once thy living form 
 
 Cast sunshine in the storm ; 
 
 Where silvered rills of feliss 
 
 Shadowed forth thy sprightliuess ; 
 
 Where songsters of the wood 
 
 Fluttered round, about for food, 
 
 Scattered from thy ready hand 
 
 Thou nymph and naiad of the strand. 
 
 Come, cheer my Muse's lay 
 
 With glory's gleaming ray ; 
 
 Come, aid my simple rhyme. 
 
 Thou heir of a " happy hunting clime." 
 
 Come, and let us, hand in hand. 
 Wander through the white man's land ; 
 Where once thy fathers kept the chase 
 Thro' gilded bower and Summer-place ; 
 Where their unbridled steeds 
 Cantered free o'er braes and meads, 
 Snuffing the fragrant-ladened gale, 
 From Susquehanna's flowery vale 
 To the Pacific's rock-bound shore, 
 Affleam with golden ore. 
 
POCAHONTAS. 405 
 
 Come, and trip with me again 
 Along that fairy island plain, 
 Where thy early Spring-time day 
 Was passed in mimic play. 
 Till a maiden thou had'st grown, 
 Within thy simple Indian home ; 
 Acting then a living part 
 In this nation's throbbing heart, 
 Which ever shall remain, 
 Entwined in our historic name. 
 The brightest jewel in our crown, 
 By thy dark hand of brown 
 Placed there, when a feeble band 
 Pre-empted Libert/s land, 
 In the mists of that early morn 
 When our own Columbia was born. 
 
 Captain Smith, in days of old, 
 As the storj^ has been told. 
 Thou did'st rescue from the hate 
 Of thy fathers, bold and great, 
 When their war-like council read : 
 " From his body a severed head 
 Shall on earth a witness be 
 For all the white man's deviltry." 
 
 Round the great chief's throne 
 They gathered, to hear him groan 
 Out that sick and dismal moan, 
 When soul and body part 
 For the unknown hunting mart. 
 
 The headstone was ready laid 
 On the green and bloodless glade, 
 
406 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 The horrid club upraised, 
 
 While all in breathless silence gazed, 
 
 To see it descending dash away 
 
 From that courageous clay, 
 
 The life-stream's ebbing flow, 
 
 In those days of long ago. 
 
 Then there rose a yell, 
 On the startled ear it fell, 
 In that moment critical, 
 Throughout the Indian citadel : 
 Thy slender, flitting form. 
 Like Genii * of the storm. 
 Passed like an angel's gleam, 
 Rushing wildly between 
 The victim lying low 
 And the dread descending blow. 
 
 Prostrate, kneeling there. 
 With disheveled hair, 
 And loving eyes aflame, 
 Thou didst call on the chief's name, 
 With all the ardor of thy soul. 
 Pouring pity's passionate dole. 
 Which moved those warriors brave. 
 Like kindred weeping at the grave. 
 
 Powhatan, turning then. 
 Gazed on his war-like men, 
 In speechless silence, to see 
 Their wish in that extremity ; 
 With grief-stricken pride 
 They rushed to thy heroic side, 
 
 *Genii — the animating spirit of a period. —C. 
 
POCAHONTAS. 407 
 
 Moved by pity's ebbing flow. 
 To release and let him go. 
 
 For life preserved he faltered thanks, 
 Kneeling on the river's wooded banks; 
 Meanwhile, Oh ! gentle maid ! 
 Thou wert queen of the parade, 
 And worshiped as a fairy form, 
 Born of sunshine and storm 
 To drive the thunder's sound 
 From "the happy hunting ground" — 
 And thus in sport and play 
 They passed the remaining day. 
 
408 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A SUKEY AND A SUKEYIST. 
 
 Once a Sukey and a Sukeyist, 
 
 Two children of the mist, 
 
 Fell a-talking what to do ; 
 
 So the Sukey said, "I'll marry you." 
 
 The Sukeyist made reply, "If I could, 
 
 I really know I would ; 
 
 But there is my dear mamma 
 
 And my awful, frowning pa. 
 
 "Oh! dear Sukey, could n't we 
 Eevel in love's delightful witchery ? 
 If it was n't for the folks at home. 
 We 'd eat ice cream and drink sea-foam ; 
 
 . "And I know that we could be 
 
 Like two turtle doves in a locust tree ; 
 
 Sweet as the gentle zephyr's bi-eath. 
 
 Blown over the land where love wandereth." 
 
 ' The old folks be hanged ; 
 Go get your hair banged ; 
 I'll buy a ball and gun, 
 And they'll be mum, mum, mum. 
 
 We '11 find a holy priest, 
 
 And stick to each other like yeast. 
 
 Oh ! my dear Sukeyist, 
 
 How much of life we 've miss'd, 
 
A SUKE7 AND A SUKEFIST. 499 
 
 "That we didn't ten yeai's ago, 
 'Neath the end of the rainbow, 
 Build us a ciystal shi-ine, 
 And sip naught else but Love's delicious wine." 
 
 Just then the voice of an ancient crone, ' 
 And a grumbled, growled-out groan 
 From those who held command there, 
 FeU on the ears of this loving pair. 
 
 One tender word the Sukey said. 
 And shook as if his grave was made ; 
 WhUe the Sukeyist fainting, fair, 
 Carried him to her Grod in prayer. 
 
 But the bull-dog and the nines 
 Made music in the pines, 
 As the Sukey and the father flew 
 In that waltz so strange and new. 
 
 His Sunday coat was gone. 
 As he ran the shrubs and bushes among ; 
 The dog had pulled the pants aside. 
 While the nines were tanning the hide. 
 
 This tender, loving word. 
 Borne on the gale he heard : 
 "Oh ! my dear Sukey, my dear Sukey, 
 When papa's done, come Lack to me." 
 
 "Never a come, come, come, 
 For I 'm quite undone, done, done ; 
 O, O, O, this is an ending test, 
 So good-bye, my long, lost Sukeyist." 
 (^5) 
 
410 
 
 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 DEATH IS COMING. 
 
 Death is coining, coming ; 
 
 Do n't you hear him yonder there, 
 
 Stealing softly through the air. 
 
 Just to catch you unaware, 
 
 While the sands of life are running ? 
 
 Death is marching now along 
 To wailings deep, and song. 
 Wrung from victims felled in May : 
 E'en the fluttermg heart may not say 
 When he '11 come or on what day. 
 
 Death is coming, coming ; 
 
 Can 't you hear him now, 
 
 In the distance humming? 
 
 Soon to him you '11 bow. 
 
 With the death-damp on your brow. 
 
 This robber-thief you may detest, 
 For he can chill the warmest breast, 
 And freeze it long for rest : 
 None ever did escape his view ; 
 Then how may'st you ? 
 
 Do you ever stop to think 
 Of the pain and sorrow 
 You will taste and drink 
 On some to-morrow, 
 No matter how you shrink ? 
 
DEATH IS COMING. 
 
 411 
 
 In that soul eclipse, 
 
 With eyes grown blinder, 
 
 You 'U wish your freezing lips 
 
 Had to others sjjoken kinder, 
 
 When life's current leaves }'our finger-tips. 
 
 Ah ! then 't will be too late ; 
 
 You must, submissive, bow to Fate, 
 
 As the clasp of Death forever more 
 
 Binds your bosom's core, 
 
 And you touch the unknown shore. 
 
 Can 't you see Death yonder there ? 
 
 He is stealthy coming, 
 
 And will clutch you unaware 
 
 And throw you in the tarn of dark despair, 
 
 As he goes running every-where. 
 
 Then mortal have a caution, 
 Have a care ; 
 Sin's dark windings shun 
 For a mansion in the air. 
 Lest he clutch you unaware. 
 
412 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 DOWN TO THE RIVEE OF WOE. 
 
 And so, ho, ho, 
 
 Down to the river of woe 
 
 We go, you know, 
 
 Marching in a row ; 
 
 Ever hasting on. 
 
 Through darkness and through dawn, 
 
 To the never-ending morrow morn, 
 
 Which breaks upon the sea. 
 
 Where wider grows the range 
 
 And circles strange 
 
 Of dim futurity. 
 
 Where the measured chime 
 
 Of the stroke of time 
 
 Will ring through your life and mine, 
 
 In the lake of death, 
 
 Or the land sublime, 
 
 Where wandereth peris all divine, 
 
 .Or devils doomed for crime. 
 
 Through the weary chime. 
 
 And unending rhyme, 
 
 Of eternal time. 
 
 The river of woe. 
 Glows golden below. 
 Where treasure hath lain, 
 Gained from the slain. 
 For these ages O, 
 Down under its flow. 
 
DOWN TO THE RIVER OF WOE. 413 
 
 Far fathoms below — 
 The line where divers go, 
 Or boatmen row, 
 And never come back 
 On its watery track ; 
 For alas ! alack ! 
 The devil, you know, 
 Commands all the region below- 
 Then say me a say. 
 Will ever a day 
 Come silent or mum. 
 When we won't run. 
 Round ^\ith the sun. 
 All in a row. 
 Marching, you know, 
 Thus and so, 
 Down to the river of woe ? 
 
 "Will the river run dry, 
 When up in the sky 
 All creation will sing : 
 " Glory to God in the highest, 
 Hallelujah, our King ? " 
 And the death-reaping sickle of time 
 Finds no more grain in its prime, 
 To dim the fair shine 
 With the blood-red wine 
 Earth's demons of crime 
 Brew out of your life and mine, 
 That the mills of creation may run 
 Round with the sun, 
 Till the last of the brewing is done? 
 
414 ' CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 No, no, do n't speak too low, 
 
 For Pluto,* our foe, 
 
 May think that we know 
 
 How to hinder the flow 
 
 Of the river of woe, 
 
 Which bears to his strand 
 
 The worst of our land, 
 
 And let loose his shades 
 
 On our lawns and our glades, 
 
 On the face of our day. 
 
 To mar and to char 
 
 With a river that burns, 
 
 And eternally runs 
 
 Into the wondrous mists away. 
 
 ^ 
 
 * Pluto— the god of the lower world.— C. 
 
BILLY 0. BANE. 415 
 
 BILLY 0. BANE. 
 
 [a song.] 
 
 Oh ! Billy 0. Bane ! Billy 0. Bane ! ' 
 
 Will ye leave me now, 
 To sail the salt sea main, 
 
 After the marriage vow 
 Has been spoken by us twain ? 
 
 Chorus. — Would you go a reckless rover, 
 From out the roads * of Dover, 
 To sail the wide world over, 
 And leave me here in pain ? 
 
 Oh ! Billy 0. Bane ! Billy O. Bane 
 Stay away from the angry wave, 
 
 Stay here with your darling Jane ; 
 For many a lover's grave 
 
 Is thereunder deeply lain. 
 
 Cho. — Would you go a reckless rover, etc. 
 
 Oh ! Billy O. Bane ! Billy O. Bane ! 
 
 You 've gone and left me. 
 Standing here insane ; 
 
 For through the mirror of the sea 
 Flashes back your funeral train. 
 
 Cho. — Because you went a reckless rover, etc. 
 
 * Roads— PI aoes where ships may ride, safely at anchorage, some 
 distance from the shore.— C. 
 
416 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Oh! Billy O. Bane ! BUly O. Bane! 
 
 Send me your spirit back 
 From the heavenly plain, 
 
 Before I die alack 
 Our meeting joys to gain 
 
 Cho. — For there no reckless rover, 
 
 From out the roads of Dover, 
 Will go rambling that region over, 
 Throughout the ages again. 
 
WHAT ARE THE ANGELS DOING? 417 
 
 WHAT AKE THE ANGELS DOING? 
 
 What are the angels doing 
 
 In the courts of heaven to-night? 
 Are any of them napj)ing or wooing 
 
 Under the haze of a half-lit light ? 
 Why should I such a question ask ? 
 
 For the reason it 's Sunday, you know, 
 And the whole of this day's task 
 
 Has been spent in pleasing a beau. 
 The air is so sinless and mild, 
 
 So very translucent and more, 
 It seems as if lovers celestial had smiled 
 
 All day on my head from the door. 
 
 But why talk of night. 
 
 In that land where the beautiful be ? 
 There is n't a shade or a fright 
 
 That ever hath entered that fair country, 
 And the angels are always in love, 
 
 Always a wooing and never know ruing, 
 In yon bright world above ; 
 
 So that is enough to be doing 
 In those shady, amaranth boAvers, 
 
 Where the gods of the kingdom are free. 
 There to linger foi hours 
 
 Without knowing love's satiety. 
 
 What better could the angels be doing. 
 After the heavenly anthem 's sung ? 
 
 For in that land is no stewing. 
 Or lashings of an endless tongue ; 
 
418 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And the leaves on the trees, 
 
 And the laughing ripples so fair, 
 Perfume the light, waving breeze 
 
 With odors aromatic there ; 
 So that love is a law, 
 
 Which all there obey, 
 Without fear or awe 
 
 Of Cupid's coming that way, 
 
 To wound with a dart, 
 
 A glance or a lance. 
 The enraptured heart. 
 
 Under the broad dome's expanse ; 
 And loves in that land 
 
 May always run on. 
 Without a dark-plotting band 
 
 Bringing disappointments along ; 
 Or a devil that takes 
 
 Much delight in his skill, 
 Counting the hearts that he breaks 
 
 By artfully crossing the will. 
 
 If in heaven there 's no wooing, 
 
 No meeting of lovers again. 
 The endless rhyme's undoing 
 
 Will bring a wearisome jDain ; 
 For the best of this. 
 
 And the nearest like Eden, 
 Is the true lover's bliss. 
 
 When he has love to feed on. 
 So I think you cau see, 
 
 By the wink of an eye, 
 That some angels there be. 
 
 Who are loving on high. 
 
ANCIENT TIME. 419 
 
 AIs^CIElST TBIE. 
 
 I GAZED into the ocean deeps, 
 
 As I thought of Ancient Time 
 And the harvests that he reaps, 
 
 With haggard look benign 
 And sadly silvered brow, 
 
 Gilt with the gold of ages, 
 Which departing spirits disavow, 
 
 When death's tempest rages. 
 
 I looked into the grave, 
 
 So dismal, dark, and cold, 
 Where worms riot and lave 
 
 In the last of the human mold ; 
 And a sense of awful awe 
 
 Went thrilling through me sti*ange, 
 As I witnessed Nature's law 
 
 Slowly going through its change. 
 
 I looked into the moon. 
 
 Glimmering so silent and so still, 
 Thereby hoping to find a boon 
 
 For the boding of some HI ; 
 But its mountains torn away 
 
 Silent gleamed as sentinels grand, 
 And brought me no allay 
 
 From the shores of the spirit land. 
 
 I looked into the night 
 Far as man may look, 
 
420 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 And there I saw a fearful sight 
 Which all my being shook • 
 
 Grim Death was leading there 
 A gentle child and man ; 
 
 With chary step and care, 
 He peered on every hand, 
 
 As if some horrid work 
 
 Was quickly to be done. 
 I saw his bloody dirk 
 
 Stream darkling in the sun ; 
 While Ancient Time 
 
 Mysteriously did stand, 
 With voice and gesture benign, 
 
 Giving high command : 
 
 ' ' Lay this child away, 
 
 Deep within the mold ; 
 Haste thee, find another fay, 
 
 Ere the judgment bell be tolled : 
 For I would gather them in 
 
 When the morn is bright and clear, 
 Away from byways and sin, 
 
 Into the heavenly atmosj)here. 
 
 "I've looked on many a form, . 
 Struck down by hand of you. 
 Amid the battle's storm 
 
 And sorrowing kindred too ; 
 My locks are gray with age. 
 
 My step is feeble, slow. 
 I 've journeyed long on pilgrimage, 
 ^Through mirth and woe. 
 
ANCIENT TIME. 421 
 
 " Sometimes, on my silent rounds, 
 
 Unfurled, my wings of light 
 Sweep through those Eden grounds, 
 
 So heavenly, pure, and bright. 
 Where I behold the many men, 
 
 I've gathered, gone to God, 
 From each nook and glen, 
 
 As round the earth I 've trod, 
 
 " Singing childhood's prattle toa 
 
 Cheers the distant scene, 
 Where bower and grotto's hue, 
 
 With seraphic splendors gleam, 
 Radiant as some Northern light, 
 
 Where heavenly heralds stand, 
 On their earthward flight, 
 
 To execute God's command. 
 
 "I'm longing for my task to end. 
 
 In trudging here below. 
 That the golden stair I may ascend, 
 
 Were earth's best mortals go : 
 That I may fill with cheer 
 
 Those I took in pain, 
 From kindred weeping here, 
 
 'Round the world's domain." 
 
422 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE BEAES O' BRAXTED. 
 
 [A SONG.] 
 
 On the Braes O' Braxted, 
 The morning after she was wed, 
 Stood the fair-faced Maiy Moore, 
 With sorrow at her bosom's core. 
 
 Chorus. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Braes 0' Braxted. 
 
 For her absent lover, dead 
 Since seven long years sped. 
 Had come home once more, 
 To Scotland's sunny shore. 
 
 Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Bi'aes O' Braxted. 
 
 He, the worshiped idol, fed 
 
 Her soul's love as the years fled ; 
 
 But when Jimmy Jansing came no more, 
 
 She had taken Tommy Grower. 
 
 Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Braes O' Braxted. 
 
 Scarce the bridal wreath upon her head, 
 And the words of marriage said. 
 When Jimmy burst within the door 
 And claimed her his forever more. 
 
 Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Braes 0' Braxted. 
 
THE BRAES 0' BRAXTED. 423 
 
 And now she goes the way that led 
 To the beetling cleff where many dead 
 Had given up the ghost before 
 For blighted love in the days of yore. 
 
 Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Braes 0' Braxted. 
 
 Upon her bones the wolves had fed, 
 
 Weeks before her lovers knew that she was dead ; 
 
 And now they mourn, with bosoms sore. 
 
 For the lips they shall press never more. 
 
 Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 
 
 On the Braes O' Braxted. 
 
424 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 WITHIN THOSE REBEL PRISON-PEKS. 
 
 WiTHm those rebel prison-pens, 
 Through the day-time and the night, 
 In darksome tarns and wooded glens, 
 Stalk phantoms of affright — 
 Ghosts of the heartless crew 
 Who literally starved to death — 
 Brave Northern boys in blue. 
 
 In those fated days gone by, 
 
 When War waived her wing. 
 
 Many comrades fell to die, 
 
 Wounded more fatal than the bullet's sting, 
 
 When the heralds of dismay 
 
 Led our loyal, Union men 
 
 Into the camps of the gray, 
 
 And to the loathsome prison-pen, 
 
 In December and in May. 
 
 Grim goblins of despair 
 Stood round-about them there, 
 With hearts like adamant. 
 On wicked purpose bent ; 
 As if it brought delight 
 To torture the immortal soul 
 With visions of affright, 
 All dreadful to be seen, 
 Flitting through the coming goal 
 By the light eternal's gleam. 
 
WITHIN THOSE REBEL PRISON-PENS. 425 
 
 Their pale and fleshless hands, 
 
 In ghostly rows and bands, 
 
 Still remain, poiniing now 
 
 To where manhood was made to bow 
 
 Beneath the heavy heel 
 
 Of those misguided men. 
 
 Who had no hearts to feel. 
 
 Their dreadful suffering past. 
 
 Their silent requiem sung, 
 
 Yet somehow on the blast, 
 
 Their moans continual run 
 
 Round our ears with each receding sun. 
 
 Mournful widows stand, 
 Pointing from every land, 
 With trembling hand. 
 At those fated hells 
 In southern dells, 
 Where sad memory dwells. 
 
 Disgrace is written on the ground, 
 Is echoed by the thunder's sound, 
 And whispered in the blast 
 Of crimes and carnage past ; 
 But soon is coming on 
 The breaking judgment dawn, 
 Where those leaders three 
 Are sure to be 
 Labeled for the sulphur sea, 
 Forever and eternally. 
 (36) 
 
426 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A KISS. 
 
 "A KISS from lips like this 
 Is the supremest bliss 
 Man meets with here below, 
 In Jul/s prime or December's snow. 
 
 " 'T is sweeter than the dew 
 Which the honey-bees chew, 
 Culled from the floweret's hem . 
 In all the walks of men. 
 
 "And if a taste of heaven 
 Is to mortals given, 
 'T is when loving lips 
 This bewitching nectar sips. 
 
 "Then, lovely lady, may 
 I take another kiss to-day. 
 In forgiveness of the one I stole, 
 As a peace-offering to my soul ? " 
 
 "Yes, my dearest, yes. 
 If stolen kisses bless ; 
 Make free to take your share, 
 While love is lingering there. 
 
 "But are you very sure, 
 After contemplation, demure, 
 That kisses given away 
 Are as sweet as those that stay ? 
 
A KISS. 427 
 
 " That from unguarded lips, 
 As sweet a something slips, 
 As when, by wanton accident, 
 You filch with foul intent ? 
 
 " If you are my dear, 
 A thousand kisses linger here, 
 Which many never get, 
 Because of two much etiquette." 
 
428 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 ELINA. 
 
 In a shady grove, by the river side, 
 In the soft twilight of eventide, 
 In the hush of Love's divinest hour, 
 Sat fair Elina in a bower, 
 Waiting for her Walter then, 
 A leader in the ranks of men. 
 
 The myrtle and the eglantine 
 Their fragile folds entwine 
 With mutual interlace. 
 Beautifying all the rustic place, 
 Like some garden famed of old, 
 Tipped with amber shine 
 And ribbed with roofs of gold. 
 
 In such a place did Elina sit. 
 Where the varied shade and sheen 
 Of the floating shadows seemed to flit 
 With a sort of somber gleam, 
 Briffht as auv Northern lijht, 
 Or falling meteor's beam, 
 Tinting: tree on knoll or lea 
 With the glinting glow of witchery, 
 
 Walter 's at her side, 
 The rapturous greeting 
 Floated far and wide. 
 Like two exiles meeting 
 Where all their kindred died. 
 
ELINA. 429 
 
 They talked of hate and joy, 
 They talked of peace and bliss, 
 They talked of love Avithout alloy, 
 Cemented by a seraph kiss. 
 
 Long they sat and sipped 
 
 From Love's golden chalice, 
 
 That had been deeply dipped 
 
 In the fount of gladness. 
 
 Which hath driven many souls to madness. 
 
 But gone is Walter now : 
 
 There pines a lonely maid, 
 
 With disheveled hau' upon her brow, 
 
 Lingering round the wooded glade. 
 
 The grove is dark as shadows are, 
 
 The moon hath veiled her light. 
 
 There is no single star 
 
 To cast one glimmering ray 
 
 On the place of Love's delight. 
 
 Some brooding gloom, 
 
 Or shadow of the tomb, 
 
 Hath spread a sable wing 
 
 Over the dim dominions of its king, 
 
 Where Love's bright minions 
 
 Wafted their glittering pinions 
 
 In ecstasy supreme. 
 
 'Tis enough, Walter died 
 While on the stormy sea. 
 And was buried beneath the tide 
 From off the starboard lee ; 
 But still his angel waits him 
 Around that forest dim, 
 
430 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Thinking that his belated sprite 
 
 Will in raptures meet her 
 
 On heaven's eternal height, 
 
 If she guards their trysting place at night. 
 
BROODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 431 
 
 BEOODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [On November 12, 1885, Tyler Post No. 50, G. A. R., of Hartford, Con- 
 necticut, invited ex-Senator Conkling to deliver an address on Gen- 
 eral Grant. No reply was received to tlie invitation, and on December 
 21, a reminder was sent to Mr. Conkling, which brought the reply from 
 him by letter the next day, that the delay was due to his numerous 
 business engagements, and was not caused by want of appreciation 
 and respect. He continues: "On the contrary, ( make it an excep- 
 tion to all others received for a long time, since retiring wholly from 
 political and public life, all invitations and proposal.^ to deliver ad- 
 dresses or lectures have been alike promptly declined, even those 
 suggesting an address in regard to General Grant, much as I esteem 
 him and cherish his memory. When your letter came, I hesitated, to 
 see whether I might not manage to say yes. Despite my strong incli- 
 nation, I find that it is not possible to find leisure for the preparation, 
 without which it would be respectful neither to the people of Hart- 
 ford, nor to the great memory concerned, to attempt any discourse or 
 statement on such an occasion 
 
 "Cordially, your obedient servant, 
 
 "ROSCOE CONKLING." 
 
 P. S.— The above was published in the Kansas City Journal, Decem- 
 ber 28, 1885— C] 
 
 Conkling, once the star, 
 
 Shown from the constellation where 
 All the bright immortals are. 
 So radiant and so fair ; 
 
 But now, like fallen greatness, 
 Death-doomed and elateless, 
 He broods in his despair. 
 
 Sad it is to see 
 
 A soul thus finely made, 
 
432 CAMPBELL'S POEMS, 
 
 Like a fallen deity, 
 
 Grow weary in life's parade, 
 
 And brood over fallen greatness. 
 Death-doomed and elateless, 
 Till the hues of heaven fade. 
 
 Ah ! vain, vain excuse — 
 
 For the want of time 
 He can make of words no use, 
 
 By the side of Grant's bright shrine ; 
 But will brood in fallen greatness, 
 Death-doomed and elateless. 
 Till life's last chime ^ 
 
 Holding with his soul 
 
 A blasting colloquy, 
 Ever as the seasons roll, 
 
 For the mere mistake of a day , 
 Brooding over fallen greatness, 
 Death-doomed and elateless, 
 As life's sands go running away. 
 
 No, no, rather stand 
 
 Thou immortal Master, 
 In this favored laud, 
 
 The firmer and the faster, 
 
 And subdue this brooding greatness. 
 Death-doomed and elateless. 
 With the word of thy command. 
 
 For 'tis criminal to hide 
 
 Such a shining light 
 Beneath the measure of wounded pride, 
 
 In thy manhood's might, 
 
BROODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 433 
 
 And brood over fallen greatness, 
 Death-doomed and elateless, 
 Till Charon* ferries thee from our sight. 
 
 Then show to the hounds, 
 
 Who would control thy treasure 
 Within such meager bounds, 
 
 The height" of thy manhood's measure; 
 And cease to brood over fallen greatness, 
 Death-doomed and elateless. 
 While yet there is " leisure." 
 
 For 't will light thy bark. 
 
 Into the vast beyond. 
 With a brighter spark. 
 
 If thou art thus forewarned ; 
 
 And cease to brood over fallen greatnesSj 
 Death-doomed and elateless, 
 When thou steppest into' the dark. 
 
 And upon thy passage-way 
 
 Shining ones will be, 
 Casting a celestial ray 
 
 To guide thee to the Deity, 
 
 Into the courts of heavenly greatness, 
 Where no one grows elateless, 
 It matters not what his ffifts mav be. 
 
 * Charon— the son of Erebus and Nox, who ferried the souls of th^ 
 dead over the rivers Acheron and Styx to Hades.— (?reefc and Roman 
 mythology. 
 
 (37) 
 
434 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 
 
 A MYSTIC MAN. 
 
 Upon the margin of a lal^e, 
 
 In a far-off distant land, 
 An evening walk I oft would take, 
 
 Counting the pebbles on the strand. 
 Simply for my fancy's sake, 
 
 With a pencil in my hand. 
 
 One moonlight evening fine, 
 Whilst whiling the time awa}- 
 . With this accustomed walk of mine^ 
 A bright, illumined ray 
 
 Revealed a shape, else than divine, 
 Walking beside my way. 
 
 " Stranger," said the shade, 
 ' ' Linger where you are, 
 And be ye not afraid ; 
 
 For by the light of yonder star 
 Earth's kings are made, 
 
 And mortality's movements mar." 
 
 He pointed to the lake, 
 
 Whose wavelets tranquil stay ; 
 
 But the mirage made me quake. 
 For I saw the gates of day ; 
 
 And Hades, with its agony great, 
 Before my vision lay. 
 
A MYSTIC MAN. 435 
 
 The lake reflected there 
 
 Heaven's bright boundery, 
 With domes aud minarets fair ; 
 
 And beautiful angels free 
 Sped thro' the boundless air, 
 
 Into the deep of eternity. 
 
 By some magic strange, 
 
 And mystery I may not tell, 
 The scene did instant change, 
 
 From heaven to hell, 
 Like the grooves of eternity's range. 
 
 Beyond where maids or matrons dwell. 
 
 Misery's haggard face 
 
 Shone on my view ; 
 While the devils round did chase 
 
 Some fallen victim new, 
 About that dreadfvd place, 
 
 Where brimstone burneth blue. 
 
 Again he spake to me : 
 " Oh ! see that thou 
 Escape this region free ; 
 
 For the devil holds it now 
 Under a conditioned fee. 
 
 By consent of God somehow. 
 
 "And all who there, 
 Neath yonder pyre. 
 Fall victims unaware, 
 
 Burn with endless fire, 
 In the tarn of dark despair, 
 Under the devil's u-e. 
 
43G CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 " Then let your wayward feet 
 Pursue the uarrow liue, 
 
 Upward to the goldeu street, 
 
 Where the saiuts of God sublime 
 
 In joy and pleasure meet, 
 On the hill of life divine." 
 
 He vanished as he came, 
 Amid the lightniug's shine. 
 
 Without one word or name 
 To aid me in my rhyme ; 
 
 And I away the same. 
 Thro' the soft moonshine. 
 
 I never saw that scene again, 
 Or the shade of mystic hue ; 
 
 I know not his name, 
 So I can not give it you ; 
 
 But he thrilled my very frame, 
 As he passed beyond my view. 
 
WIDO]V WILDAMEARS WEDDING. 437 
 
 WIDOW WILDAMEAR'S WEDDING. 
 
 [A SONG.J 
 
 She was fat, she was forty, 
 
 She was proud, she was haughty ; 
 
 He was rare, he was racy, 
 
 Was this Benjamin Tracy : 
 
 So they fell in love. 
 
 Regardless of the journey above, 
 
 And were married by the priest. 
 
 Chorus. — Oh! this wedding feast. 
 Was the rarest ever held, 
 Where any people dwelled, 
 In the way down east 
 
 The wine it was red, 
 
 And went to the head ; 
 
 The flounces they were fine, 
 
 Of softest crinoline ; 
 
 And allured the sparkling eyes, 
 
 To throw oif the soul's disguise 
 
 For this one night at least. 
 
 Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 
 
 The highest crowns of all 
 Took a step in the ball : 
 There husbands and wives. 
 For the most of their lives. 
 
438 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Who hadn't kissed, 
 
 Saw what they had missed, 
 
 And stuck to each other like yeast. 
 
 Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 
 
 It was half-past eleven 
 
 Before the wedded found their heaven, 
 
 Behind curtains soft, 
 
 In the bridal bed aloft ; 
 
 But I was n't there, 
 
 Nearer than the foot of the stair, 
 
 So from telling I'm releast. 
 
 Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 
 
 But they lived to be 
 
 The happiest cou2:)le on the lea ; 
 
 With children half a score. 
 
 And several born before. 
 
 Made a sort of heaven there, 
 
 'Round a palace grand and fair. 
 
 Which was a home for man and beast. 
 
 Cho. — -Oh ! this wedding feast, 
 Was the rarest ever held. 
 Where any people dwelled, 
 In the way down east. 
 
A PENNYWORTH OF PARADISE. 439 
 
 A PENNYWORTH OF PAKADISE. 
 
 Foe a sort of show, 
 Some folks to meeting go, 
 All prinked with fixups rare ; 
 They bow the head in prayer. 
 They sing the psalms of praise, 
 And see around the preacher's chair 
 A kind of miraculous haze, 
 Which, in these latter days. 
 The worldly-minded never see, 
 For the lack of holy purity. 
 
 And when the box is past around 
 
 Their money rattles with a sound ; 
 
 But never more than a dime, 
 
 Or a penny at a time, 
 
 Will they throw into the box. 
 
 No matter about the object benign. 
 
 Or how glib the preacher talks, 
 
 The old keeper, Conscience, locks 
 
 The lids of their pocket-book tight. 
 
 Standing in the rays of the celestial light. 
 
 They hold a heavenly inheritance 
 Beyond the wide expanse 
 Of Nature's nnfoldings free. 
 Which in their imagination they see ; 
 Where golden walkways lie. 
 Shining all brilliant and supernally, 
 Inviting them to the sky. 
 But when they come to die 
 
440 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 They '11 be astonished twice, 
 
 For all they hold is a pennyworth of paradise. 
 
 A pennyworth of heaven 
 
 Is all that 's ever given 
 
 To a penurious heart ; 
 
 It little matters who thou art, 
 
 Or in what robes of gold 
 
 You perform a Sunday part. 
 
 In the book above your giving 's told, 
 
 Every nickle is therein scrolled ; 
 
 And to your credit fair and nice 
 
 Stands a pennyworth of paradise. 
 
 What wUl you do with it ? 
 
 Yon domain was never split 
 
 Into so small a piece, 
 
 Or writ in any lease, 
 
 To accommodate the worldly wise 
 
 Who purchase golden geese. 
 
 To miss at last the skies. 
 
 With heaven's chart before their eyes. 
 
 All this dross will slip their hold — 
 
 Then throw into the box your gold. 
 
 And while you 're giving there, 
 
 Remember others claim your care ; 
 
 For beggars on the street 
 
 Have but little bread to eat ; 
 
 And some comforts given them. 
 
 Will be sure to meet 
 
 The reward of a diadem. 
 
 Beyond the river's hem. 
 
 When we 've changed thc'e hearts of ice 
 
 For blest souls of paradise. 
 
CELESTIAL MIRAGE. 441 
 
 CELESTIAL MIKAGE. 
 
 There 's bloom upon the birchen spray, 
 The hills of God are gilt with gray ; 
 There 's sounds of celestial feet 
 Marching on the heavenly street ; 
 Keeping time, keeping tune, 
 To the minstrels of the moou. 
 Who hymn their Eden lays 
 Where mortal never strays. 
 
 There 's music in the air. 
 Heavenly, floating every-where, 
 From little barefoot's whistled tunes, 
 From the planets and their moons. 
 So majestic rolling on 
 To the daylight and the dawn. 
 Where the gilded gates of gold 
 Shall open to all earth's fold. 
 
 The rivers meandering run. 
 
 In the brightness of the sun ; 
 
 While a celestial gleam 
 
 From the world unseen, 
 
 Throws round its mystic spells, 
 
 On mountains, hills, and dells. 
 
 From adown the bars of light 
 
 Which sometimes flash on mortal sight. 
 
 The hills of God below 
 Gleam and glisten with a glow, 
 
442 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Shed from the heavenly artist divine, 
 Surpassing pearl or ruby's shine. 
 The air all calmly sleepeth, 
 With no zephyr from the land of death- 
 Surely the reign of heaven is here, 
 For celestial seems the atmosphere. 
 
 And myriads of angels fly, 
 
 With robes of glory, through the' sky, 
 
 Waving beautiful palms 
 
 In their glowing hands, 
 
 With crowns all bright and new, 
 
 Tinted with the heav.enly hue. 
 
 Falling in resplendent sheen 
 
 On mountain, valley, stream. 
 
 Some mystic presence now 
 Walks down the mountain brow, 
 Where righteous Moses stood 
 Between the wicked and the good ; 
 Bearing back to mankind 
 Those holy hopes resigned, 
 Which fled away from earth 
 When Adam lost his heavenly birth. 
 
LINES TO F. 443 
 
 LINES TO F. 
 
 (on her eighteenth birthday.) 
 
 Gentle friend, to me you seem 
 
 To have grown, from a little girl at home, 
 To a fair and stately queen, 
 
 Whom a sovereign might delight to own. 
 
 Upon this mild, December day. 
 
 When life's fairies round you stand, 
 
 As you walk from minority away, 
 
 Eemember those who first held your hand, 
 
 And, with a mother's kindly care, 
 
 Tucked around your cozy bed 
 The folded robes of comfort there. 
 
 While your little prayer you said. 
 
 Mark what the fleeting years have done. 
 Bringing change and charm along. 
 
 Since amidst that Summer's sun 
 
 I first beheld you in the golden dawn. 
 
 And how the glow of beauty now 
 Sparkles round those liquid eyes, 
 
 Shading thy mild, angelic brow 
 With the light of paradise. 
 
 Tho' you leave the home-sphere, 
 Where friendships true are found, 
 
444 CMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Forget not that the parting tear 
 
 Will move those who linger with grief profound. 
 
 For many a plaything's token 
 
 Will lie in the garret scattered, 
 After the famUy circle's broken, 
 
 Where your little feet have pattered. 
 
 Tender hearts would stay your going 
 
 To a royal mansion grander ; 
 But then there is no knowing 
 
 What is best when we speak with candor. 
 
 Dear lady, one favor grant the writer — 
 Pray do n't forget ten years of friendship ; 
 
 'T will make his hesart the lighter. 
 Should you kindly remember it. 
 
 Tho' many a jest has been told 
 
 In the heedless hour of fun, 
 Sweet friendships form'd I 'd hold 
 
 Until this life is done. 
 
 And over on the crystal bar, 
 
 When crowns the angels round are handing, 
 'T will delight me to know you are 
 
 Safe in the celestial circle standing. 
 
 Then lady, take these simple lines. 
 
 Please keep them for my sake ; 
 Tho' rijde the meter and the rhymes. 
 
 Thoughts of other days they may awake. 
 
THE BABE BY THE BROOK. 445 
 
 THE BABE BY THE BROOK. 
 
 One Summer morn, 
 
 In the Xew England clime, 
 
 I \?andered forlorn, 
 
 Pondering on things divine. 
 
 When down by a brooklet's side, 
 There in the trampled grass, 
 
 A little babe I spied, 
 With no one near, alas. 
 
 It was wrapped in a folding robe. 
 
 Tied by a silken band ; 
 Its little features glowed 
 
 Like naiad of the strand. 
 
 Its locks were wet with dew ; 
 
 Its dimpled hands upraised 
 Seemed imploring me to 
 
 Help it, from where I gazed. 
 
 It was a boy baby bright, 
 
 Maybe three months old. 
 Left by a sining mother's flight, 
 
 For some one's finding on the wold. 
 
 I took it to relatives kind of mine, 
 Where it became the household pet, 
 
 And no ruby's richest wine, 
 Or diamond's fairest jet, 
 
446 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Could purchase it away 
 
 From the inmates of that home, 
 
 Who loved it more each day, 
 As it had older grown. 
 
 Tho' a waif upon the wold, 
 
 Deserted and alone, 
 It found a loving fold. 
 
 Who made it all their own. 
 
 God knows who its mother is, 
 And what its father's name. 
 
 To gratify cousin Liz, 
 We call it Willie Wane. 
 
 Its hair is flaxen gold, 
 
 Its eyes are liquid blue ; 
 It seems not of the earthly fold, 
 
 So angel-like to view. 
 
 It prattles in its play, 
 
 As other children will ; 
 But this I 'm free to say, 
 
 It seems diviner still. 
 
 Preserved thro' the dews of night, 
 Kept by the hand of God 
 
 Under the rays of the Northern light. 
 In the way I chanced to plod. 
 
 Was it chance or charm 
 
 That saved the little fondling ? 
 
 Or was it God's almighty arm 
 
 That kept it from the wavelet's wing ? 
 
THE BABE BY IHE BROOK. 447 
 
 For the mother could, you know, 
 
 When no eye did see, 
 Have thrown it in the brooklet's flow, 
 
 As well as left it on the lea. 
 
 The power that rules the spheres 
 
 Stayed that hand of sin, 
 Agaiiist the eternal years, 
 
 From turning the soul more dim. 
 
 For tho' her life b^ hard, 
 
 And her path the path of sin. 
 To have drowned the babe would marr'd 
 
 The soul more black within. 
 
 And God, in his goodness, may 
 
 Eeclaim that mother yet, 
 For the world where endless day 
 
 Gilds mount and parapet. 
 
448 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 FATHER JARDINE. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [Rev. Henry D. Jardine was for some time rector of St. Mary's 
 Church, of Kansas City, Mo., and about forty-one years of age at his 
 decease. It seems that a foundationless scandal had been circulated 
 against " Father Jardine," as he was commonly called, being of the 
 Episcopalian faith, by some designing and malicious persons; and 
 that an ecclesiastical synod, after a hasty and imperfect hearing, held 
 the accused "guilty." He appealed to the bishop presiding for "a 
 new trial," which was refused. After talking with his attorney and 
 one or two other friends, until a late hour on Sy turday night, January 
 the 9th, 1886, he bade them "good night; " went to a drug-store and 
 purchased a vial of chloroform; returned to the vestry of the church, 
 where he had been in the habit of sleeping since his troubles, and 
 saturating his handkerchief with the drug, laid down to the sleep of 
 death, from which he never awoke. Before noon of the next day 
 it was discovered that he had taken a "last appeal" to the bar of 
 his God.— C] 
 
 Ye may gather round him now, 
 And brush the death-damp from his brow ; 
 Ye may ask the gods to forgive his sin, 
 As the angels hand his last libation in : 
 But this will not erase from your soul. 
 When the judgment bell doth toll, 
 Your insatiate sin's dark stain, 
 For driving him to this act insane. 
 
 Human fortitude was never meant 
 To survive the world's discontent ; 
 When all the hell-hounds of our race 
 One soul to death doth chase, 
 
FATHER JARDINE. 449 
 
 Be it human or divine, 
 
 Pure or stained with crime, 
 
 The thread of nature must give way, 
 
 When mad malice rules the day. 
 
 If his priestly robes be stained, 
 
 And he the shrine of God profaned, 
 
 Are you less censurable, 
 
 For sending a soul from earth to hell, 
 
 By goading it on to doom 
 
 Thro' the doorway of an earthly tomb. 
 
 When God might have given further time 
 
 To atone for his follies and his crime ? 
 
 It matters but little to Father Jardine 
 The venting of your spite or spleen ; 
 For now beyond your maligning talk 
 His soul doth supernal pathways walk, 
 Where the sheen of celestial things 
 Is reflected back from angel wings ; 
 And the Eternal Judge of right 
 Passes on the hue of the soul's blight. 
 
 It may be some comfort to know 
 
 That you chased him from the world below. 
 
 As hounds pursue a fleeting deer 
 
 Over byways bleak and drear, 
 
 Wounding with malicious darts 
 
 Till the soul and body parts : 
 
 But is it such a record as you 'd wish to meet 
 
 At the judgment bar on the golden street? 
 
 And what if he should stand, 
 Acquitted by the Lord Jehovah's command, 
 (38) 
 
450 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Before his accusers there, 
 
 When the last judgment's given nice and fair? 
 
 Ah ! then some consternation might 
 
 Fall on your self-righteous sight, 
 
 Which would burn into your bosom's core 
 
 As painful as did the load of scorn he bore. 
 
 Each mortal of this sphere 
 
 Was placed by the sanction of High Heaven here 
 
 For a purpose and an end ; 
 
 And not that mischief-making malice might rend 
 
 The tender tissues of the soul divine, 
 
 Before the ripened harvest time, 
 
 When the sickle of Death doth sever 
 
 This dual mystery forever. 
 
A MERRY MORTAL. 45I 
 
 A MERRY MORTAL. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [Some of the author's numerous acquaintances will, doubtless, re- 
 member the character herein described. He was a merry wight 
 while he lived "down here below," but what of his future? Who 
 knows ?— C] 
 
 One Jarco Jaquish 
 
 Was a merry sort of wight ; 
 He lived alone for bliss, 
 
 And what he could get out of delight. 
 
 He ofttimes ran 
 
 The course of pleasure round, 
 Till he came where he began, 
 
 When his mirth was drown'd. 
 
 He was an ancient chip, 
 
 Knotted and knarled somewhat, 
 
 He could the best of the brewing sip, 
 And outdo woman in a chat. 
 
 He 'd laugh till he could n't see, 
 
 If a girl got soft on him ; ' 
 Rhpning some love-melody 
 
 'Neath the moonlight dim. 
 
452 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 His legs were stumpy -like, 
 His body large and round ; 
 
 In the deep well of delight 
 He every care had drown'd. 
 
 His face was ruddy red, 
 
 His lips like ruby pearls ; 
 He somehow got it in his head 
 
 This came from kissing the girls. 
 
 When others to a funeral went, 
 Weeping along in solemn flow, 
 
 His wildest merriment 
 Was always sure to flow. 
 
 And in Winter, when the ice 
 Was broken for baptismal work, 
 
 Like a fiend in paradise 
 Jarco got in his work. 
 
 For he 'd stand on the bank and laugh, 
 
 Shivering like a fool, 
 When the preacher with his staff" 
 
 Led in some urchin of the school. 
 
 And when the courts convened, 
 He dressed up like a judge. 
 
 And laughed and fairly screamed 
 
 When "a hung jury" would n't budge. 
 
 Was a wedding grand to be. 
 He came out like a groom, 
 
 And with hi^ stock of frivolity. 
 He was foremost in the room. 
 
A MERRY MORTAL. 453 
 
 Sometimes he interposed objection 
 
 Just as the priest arose, 
 Flying to the maid's protection, 
 
 Before the clasps did close, 
 
 Which was sure to set 
 
 The bridemaids a scolding, 
 The bridegroom in a fret, 
 
 And the mints of gossip molding. 
 
 At a revival meeting. 
 
 Where some sinners fall. 
 Just as the preacher was repeating . 
 
 His exhortation call, 
 
 He 'd waddle to the front, 
 
 With his grinning face. 
 And with a sort of grunt. 
 
 He'd ask for " a bit of grace." 
 
 At a picnic in the woods. 
 
 When the j^riest was talking over hash. 
 He often raised the fudes, 
 
 Bj upsetting the table with a crash. 
 
 Ajid in July's prime. 
 
 When the cannons were a popping. 
 With cutter and horses nine, 
 
 He went to Boston trotting. 
 
 And at the hour of night, 
 
 Near a graveyard lone. 
 He 'd dress himself in white 
 
 To frighten the folks affoinsc home. 
 
454 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 There wasn't a country dance 
 
 Where he did n"t win some fellow's girl, 
 
 By his eyelid's twinkling glance, 
 Which set their heads atwirl. 
 
 Wrapped in a cloak of fire red, 
 When mourners stood around, 
 
 He 'd waltz into the chamber of the dead 
 With mimic mirth and sound. 
 
 When the crown'd heads did meet 
 
 In capitol or hall, 
 He 'd jump upon his feet 
 
 And bellow at the wall. 
 
 In short, let me say, 
 
 None could resist his mirth, 
 
 In coming or going away, 
 At death or at birth. 
 
 ISTo kith or kin had he, 
 
 No trade or trick to do, 
 Mirth and Frivolity, 
 
 These twin sisters he did woo. 
 
 Never was seen upon his face 
 
 A shade or sorrowful hue, 
 Of slightest, glimmermg trace. 
 
 For near a century through. 
 
 And when at last he fell, 
 
 As all of us must go. 
 On the night-air's swell 
 
 His soul pois'd with mirthful flow. 
 
A MERRY MORTAL. 455 
 
 But where this wight may stop 
 In the other world, I can not tell ; 
 
 If with the devils he must hop, 
 There 'U be some fun in hell. 
 
 For he wont stand there, 
 
 Where the brimstone's shoveling 
 
 In the firelight's fitful glare, 
 
 Without some word of grumbling. 
 
 And should he get above 
 
 With the stock he carried hence, 
 
 He may fill that land of love 
 With mirth's frank-incense. 
 
 For souls like his, 
 
 Within that happy sphere, 
 It seems most likely is 
 
 AUowed to laugh throughout the year 
 
456 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 A SOUL IN PERIL. 
 
 A HUNDRED years ago to-night, 
 
 When the lamps of heaven were lit, 
 Three holy angels, with crowns of light. 
 
 Were seen from Eden's gates to earthward flit, 
 To save a soul that was downward going. 
 
 When the flush of youth was fair, 
 And his wavy ringlets round him flowing 
 
 Broke in glorious splendor there. 
 
 The devil, arrayed in mock majesty, 
 
 With imps and heralds in line, 
 Accosted those angels of purity. 
 
 Saying, "Away, this soul is mine," 
 And formed his heralds there 
 
 Into a sort of circle round. 
 That those messengers of air 
 
 Might not enter the charmed bound. 
 
 This youth of goodly mien 
 
 Seemed more elated with the devil's art 
 Than with the angels pure of heavenly sheen. 
 
 Whose first appearing gave him a little start. 
 But ever and anon they beckoned him, 
 
 With loving looks and smiles. 
 To leave the pathway of sin 
 
 And the devil's horrid wiles. 
 
 The angels followed on afar 
 
 Along the broad and widening way, 
 
A SOUL jy PERIL. 457 
 
 Till they lost sight of every star, 
 
 And heaven's faintest ray, 
 Ever soft and fondly calling 
 
 With voices of tenderest love : 
 "Forsake the way you're falling 
 
 For the path that leads above." 
 
 But, no, stay or halt in sin 
 
 Till the very door of hell was opening, 
 And the imps had pushed him well nigh in, 
 
 When the angels burst within the ring : 
 Then followed a battle dire ; 
 
 On one side truth and right, 
 Upon the other a million imps of fire ; 
 
 But the angels held the battle's site. 
 
 For the glory of the sheen. 
 
 Which brightly broke from their crowns. 
 Frightened the devils large and lean 
 
 Away with scores of conscience wounds. 
 Meantime the youth fled in haste 
 
 From that gate of dread below. 
 Resolving, without a moment's waste. 
 
 That to Mount Zion he would go. 
 
 The angels gave the heavenly chart 
 
 Into his eager hands. 
 And, for a little space apart. 
 
 Urged him to join the celestial bands ; 
 But before they left 
 
 They gave him a coat of mail, 
 That no devil's dart e'er cleft 
 
 Since Emmanuel did prevail. 
 (39) 
 
458 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Long years after this, 
 
 When the bells of heaven were ringing, 
 A soul came to the gate of bliss, 
 
 Heaven's psalmody singing, 
 And presented the shining chart 
 
 Which the angels gave away. 
 Near the devil's mart. 
 
 Where they conquered in the affray. 
 
 And St. Peter, with a smile. 
 
 Turned back the golden gate, 
 Bidding him welcome the while. 
 
 Saying, " It never is too late." 
 A shout within was heard, 
 
 And songs of bliss arose ; 
 But what further there occurred 
 
 Pray ask some one who knows. 
 
MEXADA WICE. 459 
 
 MENADA WICE. 
 
 [a song.] 
 
 There lives in a lovely vale 
 A maiden fair and frail. 
 Where the ]Miami winds a'svay, 
 Sparkling bright thro' all the day ; 
 And more than tAvice 
 I 've kissed those ruby lips, 
 Which seem like delicious sips 
 From the river of paradise. 
 
 This maiden loves to rest 
 
 Her head upon my breast, 
 
 As the sun glides do-svn the day 
 
 Into the beyond world away. 
 
 I 'd rather meet my ]Menada Wice 
 
 On the fair Miami's strand. 
 
 Than to receive out of an angel's hand 
 
 A bunch of flowers from paradise. 
 
 Heaven is in the kisses she gives. 
 Her every sigh in my bosom lives ; 
 For a band of golden seeming, 
 With every link agleaming, 
 Doth encircle our waists twice, 
 With fetters forged above. 
 Out of God's own love, 
 In the land of paradise. 
 
460 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 1 11 pray to the love-god Eros, 
 
 As o'er this sea my bark doth toss, 
 
 While a thrill of life remains, 
 
 Pulsating in these human veins. 
 
 To be allowed a long and lengthened trice 
 
 In which to worship evermore 
 
 This maid of the Miami shore. 
 
 When we 're transported to paradise. 
 
LADY AV LING. 461 
 
 LADY AULING. 
 
 'TwAS on a May morning, 
 
 The finest morn of all, 
 When lovely Lady Auling 
 
 Invited me to her hall — 
 
 Hall of silver'd tissues, 
 
 So golden and so grand, 
 Where bright, amber dishes 
 
 Sparkl'd on every hand. 
 
 On a velvet sofa there, 
 
 Quaintly carv'd and fine, 
 I kissed the lovely lady fair — 
 
 She gave me kisses back for mine. 
 
 There was an angel's glance 
 In the depths of her liquid eye. 
 
 Which pierced my bosom like a lance. 
 When the parting came anigh. 
 
 O ! cruel it was to leave 
 
 This lady for another. 
 Pining there alone to grieve — 
 
 But so it is the world over. 
 
 Man wearies with the rose 
 And with the thistle down ; 
 
 And no living mortal knows 
 
 What puts the mischief in his crown. 
 
462 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THE ARISTOCRAT. 
 
 It chills me, it kills me, 
 
 It freezes'my soul, 
 To see the aristocrat 
 
 Out for a noontide stroll, 
 
 So haughty and lordly. 
 
 On the grand avenue ; 
 Not deigning to greet us common folk ; 
 
 That is, me and you. 
 
 Majestic and mighty. 
 
 Onward he swings ; 
 Or a look of disdain 
 
 Back she flings, 
 
 As a proper rebuke, 
 
 At the small fry, 
 Who happen to fall 
 
 Under the glance of her eye. 
 
 Cold, gloomy, and grand, 
 Wrapped in his own conceit. 
 
 Is the aristocrat proud. 
 
 Whether on byway or street. 
 
 And the breeze that sweeps past 
 
 Falls on to us cold, 
 Like a glacier of the North 
 
 Into the Southern zone rolled. 
 
THE ARISTOCRAT. 463 
 
 The air seems crisj) to the sense, 
 
 The ground sounds hollow and dead, 
 
 When the aristocrat unasked, 
 Comes round to be wed. 
 
 He thinks a maiden must know 
 
 How to w^orship a man of his buUd, 
 
 When his comfortless talk 
 Hath the heart in her killed. 
 
 And when he goes out to ride 
 
 With the barouche and the grays. 
 
 The peoj)le for miles all around 
 Speak never a word in his praise. 
 
 Alone, all alone, alone, 
 
 In his grandeur lives he. 
 Without a friend to come near, 
 
 Save some two or three. 
 
 No one misses him gone, 
 
 No one wishes him here. 
 Save the priest in his chapel, 
 
 Seeking grace once a year. 
 
 He turns up his nose 
 
 At the food on the table, 
 Try to please him you may. 
 
 As much as you 're able. 
 
 The world running round 
 Is too small for his keeping. 
 
464 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 He thinks the gods from the spheres 
 On his head now are peeping. 
 
 Oh! aristocrat, aristocrat, 
 Let me tell you this truth : 
 
 For all the pride in the world 
 
 I would n't give a day of my youth. 
 
A TRIBUTE. 465 
 
 A TKIBUTE TO THE LADIES' TEMPERANCE 
 
 UNION, 
 
 (of BRIDGEPORT, KANSAS.) 
 
 Young ladies of the land, 
 To your guiding hand 
 
 The future destiny of our race 
 
 May owe its place ; 
 For the traffic at our doors 
 In devastation pours, 
 
 Much to man's disgrace. 
 
 The sparkling cup allures away 
 From paths of honor day by day, 
 Step by step downward going, 
 While the beverage is flowing 
 From decanters of shining hue, 
 With its poison hid from view, 
 The seeds of sorrow sowing. 
 
 Many an immortal soul 
 
 Hath been ruined by the bowl. 
 Many a home heaven blest 
 Hath been blighted and distress'd, 
 
 By those specters of ill-fate, 
 
 Which round about us wait, 
 That God's angels do detest. 
 
 But more respectable now, 
 By a mistaken policy somehow, 
 
466 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 Under the guise of a " jDermit " 
 
 Druggists sell and barter it, 
 For the chimes of the gold it brings, 
 In spite of the hearts it stings, 
 
 And in their pews on Sunday sit. 
 
 Ladies of the temperance union 
 
 You confer on man a boon, 
 
 When you point him to a better life 
 Than this wasting, wretched strife — 
 
 This ruin of the soul. 
 
 This missing the eternal goal, 
 This suicide of child and wife. 
 
 Never hath the serpent's blight 
 Given to man as dark a night 
 As Bacchus ^'^ earthward bore 
 When he brewed wine upon our shore, 
 And filled life's sparkling urns 
 With drops that soul and body burns, 
 Thrilling with deadly anguish evermore. 
 
 Ladies of the temperance league 
 A friend to you these lines may read. 
 Contributed by a feeble han<l, 
 Too feeble to drive this evil from the land ; 
 But as against your love and skill, 
 Man can 't resist a woman's will ; 
 Then be firm, united stand. 
 
 *Bacchus-the god of Wine,— Greet and Roman mythology. 
 
THREADS OF GOLD. 467 
 
 THEEADS OF GOLD. 
 
 Amid the web of life 
 
 We weave each day, 
 In the glooms of poverty and strife 
 
 Or in the sun's meridian ray 
 Some threads of gold are seen, 
 
 Some gleams of brightness break 
 From the world of light between 
 
 This and the dreadful lake. 
 
 The shuttles ever fly 
 
 With a hollow sort of sound. 
 Under the Eternal's eye 
 
 And the millions that stand around ; 
 And if more threads of gold 
 
 Are seen to run along 
 The wondrous fabric's fold. 
 
 Against the celestial dawn, 
 
 Than the woof which sin presents. 
 
 Holy angels with their greeting. 
 Will re-echo the judgment accents 
 
 Thro' the ages onward fleeting : 
 "Enter thou blessed in 
 
 To the joys of life prepared ; 
 The Savior forgave your sin, 
 
 When for my hungry ones ye cared." 
 
 No day so dim but brings the sun 
 With joy and bliss untold : 
 
468 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 No web so dark but thro' it run 
 Some bright threads of gold. 
 
 To no cot of pain however sore 
 But comes a last release, 
 
 And sweet rest forever more, 
 If with God we make o\ir peace. 
 
 The harbor lights still burn 
 
 Amid the gathering gloom ; 
 By the eye of faith we may discern 
 
 A- realm of bliss beyond the tomb. 
 Beyond the narrow cells. 
 
 Beyond the dreamless state, 
 Soft ambrosia! breezes swell 
 
 Thro' the land of God immaculate. 
 
 Oh ! wondrous Providence Divine, 
 
 What self-adjusting springs 
 Of never-ending life is Thine, 
 
 In the sphere of eternal things? 
 'T is enough ; we need no further test. 
 
 Thou hast ordered all things well ; 
 Let the threads of gold we weave attest 
 
 Our right in heaven to dwell. 
 
THE DISAPPOINTED SERAPHIM. 469 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTED SERAPHIM. 
 
 Adown the golden bars of even 
 Two seraphim winging came ; 
 
 They alighted in ancient Eden, 
 That garden fair of fame. 
 
 One's name was Emphameldon, 
 The other's Celestilane. 
 
 They left the gate of heaven behind 
 To join the Adamic pair, 
 
 Who were of happy mind. 
 And almost like angels rare ; 
 
 But sadder sighed the wind 
 
 Than they 'd ever known it there ; 
 
 For oft they 'd come before 
 To roam the garden through, 
 
 From that far-off heavenly shore, 
 When they 'd nothing else to do ; 
 
 But now, alas, forevermore, 
 They the gai den hardly knew. 
 
 Deserted was its walks, 
 
 The dews of death were there ; 
 And thro' its border stalks 
 
 Shades of frightful stare ; 
 Every faded flower mocks 
 
 The fragrance once so rare. 
 
470 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 The tread of a horrid form 
 
 Frightened the seraphim away ; 
 
 While the whirlwind's storm 
 Broke wrathful on the way, 
 
 Making the atmosphere glow warm 
 With livid lightning's play. 
 
 Uprising on the winds of the wind, 
 A glance back they flung, 
 
 To see the pair who had sinned 
 And the foul mischief done ; 
 
 Then the fig-leaves were pinned 
 And over their bodies hung. 
 
 Back to heaven the seraphim went, 
 
 Winging sorrowful sad ; 
 And in the realm of light gave vent 
 
 To griefs that were driving them mad. 
 Then was chanted a lament. 
 
 For the celestials felt bad. 
 
 Thus blight upon the earth. 
 
 And deep sorrow above. 
 Gave place to death and dearth, 
 
 And mournful lays of love, 
 Because Satan's foul birth 
 
 Deformed the first dove. 
 
 These seraphim were the last 
 That out of heaven come. 
 
 When the full truth had pass'd, 
 Which took the life of its Son, 
 
 To bear away the vast. 
 Mischief Satan had done. 
 
HYMN TO LIGHT. 471 
 
 HYMN TO LIGHT. 
 
 God said, ' ' Let there be light." 
 
 The darkness sped away ; 
 Instant on the rapturous sight 
 
 Open swung the gates of day. 
 
 The glory of the world's new morning 
 Broke forth from heaven's shrine, 
 
 All the mountain-tops adorning 
 With blest light divine. 
 
 Angels spotless from the fold, 
 Strayed from empyreal heights, 
 
 Out from the gates of gold, 
 To see the Avorld's new sights. 
 
 The lilies smiled like love ; 
 
 The rose's crimson breast 
 Made contrast with the spotless dove. 
 
 The sight was heavenly, blest. 
 
 The skylark of the morn 
 
 Poured forth her pensive lays 
 
 To the world's new dawn, 
 In God's supremest jDraise. 
 
 Time, space, the boundless deep, 
 Broke from then* former trice : 
 
 The world and all creation's sweep 
 Put on the hues of Paradise. 
 
472 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 Then shall we, the sons of God, 
 
 Stray thro' all this light and bloom ? 
 
 And, like dumb, driven cattle, j^lod, 
 Christless, creedless, to the tomb ? 
 
 Hark ! the notes of the sounding lyre 
 
 Struck by angel hands, 
 ^/ome floating from the heavenly choir, 
 
 Singing in the sun-lit lands. 
 
 The music moves the soul within 
 With a firmer, freer power, 
 
 To conquer Death and sin 
 In the last dread hour. 
 
 Then praise ye lands and sing, 
 The night of doubt is gone ; 
 
 Praise our heavenly King 
 For the bright eternal dawn. 
 
CUPID. 473 
 
 CUPID. 
 
 Once a lonely-looking urchin, 
 
 Lost in a deep morass, 
 With crippled foot and wing, 
 
 Pleaded for a ride as I did pass. 
 My steeds were dapple-gray, 
 
 The harness it was sHver-trininied ; 
 The sun's meridian ray 
 
 Bound my equipage it swimmed. 
 With kindly care I helped him up 
 
 On to a cushioned seat of gold. 
 He gave a sort of " cluck" 
 
 As o'er the road we rolled. 
 
 I had some liniment, you see, 
 
 With which I bathed his foot and wing. 
 He had a bow and quiver free. 
 
 But disordered was the string. 
 Not far upon the road 
 
 This urchin he grew talkative ; 
 And his merriest laughter flowed 
 
 Like water thro' a sieve, 
 Till all at once he ceased to speak, 
 
 And moody grew of mind ; 
 A tear went trickling down his cheek, 
 
 The cause it puzzled me to find. 
 
 Said I: "My little man 
 
 What trouble now doth flow ? " 
 (40) 
 
474 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 "Pray help me if you can, 
 
 For useless is my bow ; 
 You see, kind sir, 
 
 The string it is misplaced ; 
 There are some birds astir, 
 
 With it I could fill thy bag in haste." 
 Mine was a hunting rig 
 
 As fine as fine could be ; 
 I did n't care a fig 
 
 For any rival's archery. 
 
 I put upon his bow a string, 
 
 And keyed it up with care ; 
 He took an arrow from his sling 
 
 And shot me with it fair. 
 The painful point within my heart 
 
 Found lodgment true. 
 He vaulted from my cart 
 
 And went laughing out of view. 
 My horses frighteu'd they became, 
 
 The lines fell flapping in the wind ; 
 The wound was driving me insane, 
 
 I howled, and cursed, and sinned. 
 
 For many a rood my horses ran, 
 
 Free where'er they chose ; 
 Till sudden they did stand 
 
 Where a river darkling flows ; 
 Here a water-witch was seen 
 
 To sweep like a vision by. 
 She was ugly, lank, and lean, 
 
 With a vicious looking eye. 
 But she took the shaft away 
 
 Out of my heart so wounded, ! 
 
CUPID. 475 
 
 And this simple line did say, 
 " Never fix a broken bow." 
 
 iSoon I journeyed safer on 
 
 And gained my bermitage in time 
 To see the sun rise o'er the lawn, 
 
 Veiled in mists sublime. 
 Once or twice since then 
 
 This urchin I have seen ; 
 But never aided him again, 
 
 Por I feared his foolish spleen. 
 There 's something in his eye 
 
 That 's pleasant after all ; 
 But on my word you may rely, 
 
 You can tru^t him not at all. 
 
 For when you most would pity him, 
 
 And comfort all his woes. 
 If you but let him in 
 
 The mischief no one knows 
 That this urchin he will make, 
 
 Shooting shining arrows keen 
 The moment love 's awake, 
 
 To gratify his sjsleen. 
 But what will a body do ? 
 
 Die at this archer's hand. 
 Or wither up and float from view. 
 
 Without a mate in all the land ? 
 
476 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 
 
 UNDER THESE DREAMY SKIES. 
 
 (an ITALIAN AIR.) 
 
 Under these dreamy skies 
 
 In this earthly paradise, 
 
 Maidens love with diviner sighs 
 Than in our Northern homes, 
 Where the cold wind moans 
 
 Over miles of floating ice. 
 
 Oh ! thou beloved Italy, 
 Land of the Adriatic sea, 
 Favored of the Deity, 
 
 No fairer heaven 
 
 To man is given 
 'Round earth's inequality. 
 
 I float upon the Tiber, 
 
 With every finer fiber 
 
 Of my mind grown wider. 
 Under the genial airs, 
 Which steal about me unawares 
 
 From the good Provider. 
 
 The lovely hues of Eden 
 
 Which artists feed on, 
 
 Break thro' the early dawn, 
 The same at noon 
 And 'neath the moon, ' 
 
 When the day is gone. 
 
UNDER 1HESE DREAMY SKIES. 4^1 
 
 If from the celestial sphere 
 Friends I hold dear 
 Could be admitted here, 
 
 Never heaven were sweeter 
 
 To saint or seeker, 
 Than Italy thro' all the year. 
 
478 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE AERALIES. 
 
 Away in the wastes 
 
 Of the waters so far, 
 Where Time nevei' hastes, 
 
 The Isles of the Aeralies are ; 
 Where the Southern Ocean doth spread 
 
 Its warm wavelets around. 
 There the swan kingdom, 't is said, 
 
 May be found. 
 
 'T is governed by Tankeelan, 
 
 A white, beautiful bird ; 
 Just how I do n't understand, 
 
 Nor yet have I heard. 
 There love moves the flocks, 
 
 'Tis said, with obedient will, 
 To list while he talks 
 
 Thro' his red downy bill. 
 
 There are twenty islets or more 
 
 Which float with the breeze. 
 Hither and thither, away from the shore, 
 
 Which I 've named the Aeralies ; 
 For once on a vessel well manned. 
 
 While sailing for the Australian coast, 
 This swan-peopled kingdom at hand 
 
 Seem'd fair as the Paradise host. 
 
 The swans and the swallows are there. 
 The goldfinch and wren, 
 
THE ISLES OF THE A ERA LIES. 479 
 
 lu the Isles of the Aeralies fair, 
 And are never molested by men. 
 
 'Tis a kingdom of happiness, 
 Bright to be seen, 
 
 Whei-e love's sweet shadow of bliss 
 Keigns ever supreme. 
 
480 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 
 
 DARK THE BILLOWS. 
 
 (Written during a storm at sea.) 
 
 Dark the billows, black the sky, 
 
 Angry rolls the sea ; 
 If in this tempest I should die, 
 
 What will become of me ? 
 
 Chorus. — O there ! O there ! 
 
 See the lightning's glare 
 Along the verge of infinity. 
 
 Would the soul from its prison break 
 
 Up blithesome, cheerily ! 
 Or the downward pathway take, 
 
 Wearily, drearily? 
 
 Cho. — O there ! there ! etc. 
 
 Would the lifeless body waste away 
 
 Under the deej), green sea, 
 With the soul in lands of day. 
 
 If death should come to me ? 
 
 Cho. — O there! O there! etc. 
 
 My bounding bark reels on apace. 
 
 O dismal is the sea ; 
 The storm-king's angry face 
 
 Is looking now at me. 
 
 Cho. — there ! there ! etc. 
 
DARK THE BILLOWS. 481 
 
 Dismal is the elemental crash, 
 
 Crashing so dreadfully ; 
 Fearful is the ocean's lash. 
 
 Lashing so mournfully. 
 
 Cho.— O there ! O there ! 
 
 See the lightning's glare 
 Along the verge of infinity. 
 
 (41) 
 
482 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 ''KISSING BRIDGE." 
 
 Kissing in Pindar's time 
 
 Was counted a bliss divine : 
 
 New York City has its ' ' Kissing Bridge/^ 
 
 Near Fifth street, on the little ridge, 
 
 And the only toll exacted at the gate, 
 
 Whether passing early, passing late. 
 
 Is a kiss from loving lips. 
 
 As the vehicle undei* the archway tips. 
 
 Once, I mind me now 
 
 (It came about, no matter how), 
 
 At the further end of " Baker's Bridge," 
 
 I stole a kiss from Katie Midge, 
 
 While riding out one pleasant eve, 
 
 From care and biz I 'd taken leave, 
 
 Not so much as a matter of toll 
 
 As a sort of soother to my soul. 
 
 Next eve she invited me 
 
 To take a ride down by the Smoky : 
 
 And as we went apast the bridge. 
 
 What do you think? Miss Katie Midge 
 
 Said, " The toll you have forgot." 
 
 I kiss'd her on the spot, 
 
 And oft returned in the evening time 
 
 To press those lips divine. 
 
 Miss Katie Midge and me 
 
 Have named it ' ' Kissing Bridge," you see, 
 
"KISSING BRIDGE." 483. 
 
 As an aid to bashful boys and girls, 
 
 To prink'd-up prudes and powder'd cburls, 
 
 Who take a pleasure drive that way, 
 
 For a kiss is all the toll 's to pay ; 
 
 And counting one at either end, 
 
 Two you get as out and back you wend. 
 
 It must be a terrible strain 
 
 On the timbers, terraces, and chain ; 
 
 For the travel which passes night and day 
 
 Has worn the j)lanks away ; 
 
 But don't be alarmed, ye gallants true, 
 
 The bridge has just been plank'd anew. 
 
 And 't is a shady road to go. 
 
 Beyond the line of Lady Gossip O. 
 
 The livery men are glad. 
 
 Only the married men are sad 
 
 That their wives do n't send them out that way 
 
 To fill the beds with hay ; 
 
 For it is the most popular bridge 
 
 On this side the Smoky Ridge. 
 
 Oh ! 't is pleasant, I declare, 
 
 A kiss is the only toll exacted there. 
 
484 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 THERE IS A GOD. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every mortal on this earth, 
 Every animal of the sod 
 
 That has life or birth, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every drop of dew, 
 Every amber-lighted rod, 
 
 Every sunbeam too, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every star in heaven, 
 Every beggar's plod. 
 
 Every sinner shriven, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every breath of wind, 
 Every wink and nod, 
 
 Every tree's unfolding rind. 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every minstrel of the wood, 
 Every workman with his hod. 
 
 Every member of the sainthood. 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
THERE IS A GOD. 485 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every pulse of life, 
 Every heart's applaud 
 
 Thro' the daily round of strife. 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every act and thought 
 Which our lives record. 
 
 In high or lowly lot, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every thunder-sound, 
 Every foot and rod 
 
 This world around, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every finer sense, 
 Every heart-throb, 
 
 Every soul's suspense. 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every truth that's told 
 By priest in sandals shod. 
 
 Whether poor or trimmed in gold, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every breath and sigh. 
 Every painful prod, 
 
 Eveiy angel of the sky. 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
486 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every flower that blooms, 
 Every bursting pod 
 
 In sunshine or in glooms, 
 Proclaims there is a God. 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every death and birth, 
 Every blood-stained sod. 
 
 Every flood and dearth, 
 Proclaims there is a God, 
 
 There is a God ; 
 
 Every soul that dies 
 Passes under the rod 
 
 To judgment in the skies, 
 Proclaiming there is a God. 
 
THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SONGSTRESS. 487 
 
 THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SONGSTRESS. 
 
 Lost on the mountains, 
 
 I rambl'd late, 
 Past nature's fountains, 
 
 Where few mortals wait, 
 Wasting life for gold ; 
 
 While oh my ear, 
 
 Thro' the twilight clear, 
 This song was told : 
 
 "Stranger, would'st thou see 
 
 My kingdom's portals fair? 
 Then follow me 
 
 Up this winding stair. 
 Over these steps of gold. 
 
 O, never fear, 
 
 I 'm mistress here. 
 And have been this century old. 
 
 "In my castle thou 
 
 May'st play with love ; 
 For on my brow _ 
 
 A light shines from above, 
 Down from the angel fold. 
 
 O, never fear, 
 
 I'm mistress here. 
 And have been this century old. 
 
 " Geniis bring me wine. 
 Peris flit around ; 
 
488 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 I'll cheer that soul of thine 
 With psalmody profound 
 
 As ever mortal told. 
 O, never fear, 
 I'm mistress here, 
 
 And have been this century old 
 
 "I'll feed thee on golden fishes 
 
 With bright silver fins, 
 Out of Love's own dishes, 
 
 Till the day begins, 
 Sheltered from the cold. 
 
 O, never fear, 
 
 I 'm miirftress here. 
 And have been this century old." 
 
 As the last accents fell. 
 Uprising from the snows, 
 
 I wandered out of the dell, 
 Sorrowing o'er my woes. 
 
 Away from that lone wold ; 
 While on my ear. 
 Thro' the dawning clear. 
 
 This song was told. 
 
THE SECRETS OF THE SANDS. 489 
 
 THE SECEETS OF THE SAKDS. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 [Margaret Eberling's peculiar death has excited the people of Bay- 
 onue City, N. J. She was an exceptionally heauliful girl, twenty-two 
 years old, and liad only been in this country about a year. When she 
 was induced to leave her native land, it was with the expectation of 
 having a happy and pleasant home with her uncle, William Farr, 
 President of the Bayonno Common Council and a wealthy man. 
 
 Instead of meeting with the reception she anticipated, she was, it 
 appears, soon made to understand that the proper thing for young 
 women to do was to be independent and support themselves. The 
 girl felt sad at this reception, but made no complaint and sought a 
 position as servant in the family of Dr. Hugelsber. She remained 
 there until about a month ago, when she accepted a situation with 
 Mrs. Meyer, the proprietress of a bakery. 
 
 Soon al'tcr she commenced work there she met Charles Jackie, a 
 barber, whose place of business was adjoining. The two became 
 well acquainted, and on several occasions took walks together. 
 
 On Septembe:: 6th (1885), she was taken sick, but was not seriously 
 affected until the next Saturday. She was unable alter that to do any 
 housework. Dr. Sage was consulted, and he said she was suffering from 
 malaria and a liver trouble. Next Wednesday morning the pale but 
 beautiful girl arose and said to Mrs. Meyer that she would like to go 
 out in the fresh air. This was the last time that lady saw her alive. 
 
 Next Thursday morning she was found by August Gnnder, a four- 
 teen-year old boy, lying on the shore, twelve feet away from the edge 
 of the water. She was dead. 
 
 The lad ran to the beat patrolled by Policeman Russell and told him 
 of the discovery he had made. The officer hastened to the place and 
 saw at once that the woman had been for several hours in the water. 
 When found she was lying on her face, which was partially buried in 
 the sand. The white, worsted shawl that she had worn was over her 
 head, and looked as if the tide had left it in that position. Some of 
 her other garments were much disarranged. Her hat was gone, and 
 had probably been carried away with the tide. The body was taken 
 to the house of Charles Farr, another uncle, and was viewed there by 
 the county physician. — P. G.] 
 
490 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 
 
 What is that so frail and fair 
 
 In the sands half buried there ? 
 
 It is the body of Margaret Eberling, 
 
 Fair as a lily of the Spring, 
 
 Left by the receding tide, 
 
 Where she gasped, and chocked, and died — 
 
 Died because the world was cold, 
 
 And hearts as hard as hoarded gold ; 
 
 Died of the wound she felt in her soul, 
 
 Died at night in a watery goal, 
 
 Where naught but the wave of the lonely beach 
 
 Heard her last gurgled speech. 
 
 Her face half buried in the sand ; 
 
 On her head a scarf-like turban band ; 
 
 With garments sadly disarranged, 
 
 When the tide from shore to seaward ranged ; 
 
 But then her soul was freed 
 
 By the waves in their hungry greed. 
 
 And only the sands can tell 
 The secrets of the dying spell, 
 Which never will be fully known 
 Till the ages all hath flown. 
 And the recording angel reads 
 The record of her earthly deeds. 
 
 Far over the water she came 
 
 To greet a kindred's name ; 
 
 But under the water she lay 
 
 When that kindred turned from her away ; 
 
 And only the sands may know 
 
 The full anguish of her woe. 
 
THE SECRETS OF THE SANDS. 491 
 
 The sauds kissed her face, 
 
 Wooing her to their embrace ; 
 
 Their pebbly Avhiteness close 
 
 Round the burden of her woes ; 
 
 But the harsh petals of the sand 
 
 May have been smoothed by an angel's hand ; 
 
 For her last earthly pillow, 
 
 As the hungry billow 
 
 Bore her soul on its bosom far 
 
 From where her kinship's j)ossessions are, 
 
 Perchance beyond the gate away, 
 
 Where sinless vistas lead to day. 
 
 The sands of many an ocean's head 
 
 Could, if they were rightly read, 
 
 Tell a million tales of woe. 
 
 Which would change the bosom's flow 
 
 Into a current of frozen ice. 
 
 Barring many selfish ones from paradise. 
 
 Keep your secrets, sands. 
 Locked secure within a million strands, 
 Until the day of reappearing comes, 
 And the soul of purity shuns 
 Contact with the misers of our race, 
 And Jehovah assigns to each their place. 
 
OPINIONS OF TEE PRESS. 493 
 
 "THE POETICAL WOEKS 
 
 OP 
 
 JOHN PRESTON CAMPBELL." 
 
 TOPEKA, KANSAS: 
 
 Geo. W. Ckank & Co., Printers and Binders. 
 
 1885. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 Only a few days ago a new Kansas book was noticed in these col- 
 umns, and now comes another applicant for public favor in the shape 
 of a handsome book of poems of 244 pages, by John Preston Camp- 
 bell, a practicing attorney mi Abilene. We have had many works by 
 Kansas men who live in the eastern and older portions of the state, 
 but Mr. Campbell is the first aspirant for literary fame who hails from 
 central Kansas. The principal part, "The Valley of Visions," is a 
 choice bit of fancy, though it would be difficult to select any one of 
 tlie many poems comprising this book and say it is the best. There 
 is an absence of shallow sentimentality, and the presence of deep 
 thought, that at once relieves and pleases the reader. 
 
 Mr. Campbell may well be proud of this child of his, so richly 
 dressed by George W. Crane & Co., of this city, Topeka. Collectors of 
 Kansas books will secure this, not only to place on their shelves, but 
 to read and re-read. It will be a favorite with all lovers of poetry.— 
 The Kansas City Journal of June 14, 1SS5. 
 
 The following appeared in Morning Register, Newark, New Jersey, 
 June 20, 1885: 
 
 A BOOK OF POETRY. 
 
 We have received from Mr. J. P. Campbell, at present located at 
 Abilene, Kansas, a volume of poetical works written by him and 
 nicely published by Geo. W. Crane & Co., of Topeka, Kansas. Mr. 
 
494 CAMPBELL'S POEMS, 
 
 Campbell says in his preface that " whether they reach the harbor of 
 fame in safety or sink into oblivion and forgetfnlness," that no criti- 
 icism nor sarcasm can deprive him of the pleasant hours spent in the 
 production of the lines offered to the public in the volume. It must 
 be confessed that Mr. Campbell's efforts are better than usually at- 
 tends his who finds enough reward for his verses in the pleasure of 
 writing them. Poets are born, not made, it is true; but the best of 
 them have considered the question of pleasing those who are to con- 
 stitute their audience, as well as themselves, in the work of produc- 
 tion. We should infer, from a perusal of the work, that Mr. Camp- 
 bell has been a careful reader of Emerson's poems. They contain 
 the same irregularities of meter. Nor does the similitude end there, 
 since some of the verses contain an indisputable beauty of imagery. 
 We think that Mr. Campbell has done wisely in printing his verses; 
 there are plenty of gold nuggets in them, which we trust will be 
 digged out by numerous readers. 
 
 The following was published in the Abilene Chronicle of June 4, 1885. 
 
 THE SWEET SINGER OF ABILENE. 
 
 We received, with the compliments of the author, John Preston 
 Campbell, a handsome volume of poems. It is elegantly bound in 
 morocco, well printed, and is an ornament to any drawing-room table. 
 It was received too late for a critical review at this time, but a hurried 
 glance tlirough its pages is enough to prove that it contains much of 
 real merit. 
 
 Poetry is the language of the soul, and while it has often been the 
 lot of poets to be appreciated only after death, we fondly hope that 
 Mr. Campbell's book may receive that consideration which its merits 
 demand. 
 
 The religious element is the strongest attribute of the soul, and ° 
 religious poems m this volume show tliat, while he may not have the 
 sublime faith of Watts or Charles Wesley, his .soul has been stirred to 
 its utmost depths. Of this class of poems, we think "There is no Un- 
 belief " stands at the head. 
 
 Mr. Campbell is essentially a worker. To do well and with zeal and 
 earnestness what he has to do, is the cause of his success in life, and 
 we find th3 lesson well taught in " Life's Battles." 
 
 One would take Mr. Campbell to be the most constant of men, but 
 his poems show as great fickleness as do those of Moore, Byron, or 
 Burns. Even before 
 
 " Twenty ladies in a line 
 Played the mischief with this heart of mine," 
 
 He must have had many experiences. In one place he declares: 
 
 " I linger at the stile, Mary, 
 
 Because of the hope you bore, 
 
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 495 
 
 When fancy's fairy argos 
 
 Landed at Love's shore, 
 In the May-day of our Spring, 
 
 As we iDuilded castles fair 
 By the light of soft, celestial tapers 
 
 Burning brightly in the air." 
 
 In another place he tells of standing on the strand with a little Ger- 
 man girl: 
 
 "And in that soul eclipse. 
 Love's mysterious thrill 
 Mingled at the touching lips, 
 As night settled on wood and hill." 
 
 In writing of Annalee he says: 
 
 " One lovely night in June, 
 When nature's harp was all atune, 
 I wandered o'er a distant glade, 
 Arm in arm with a beauteous maid ; 
 Methought so sinless and so fair, 
 Naught on earth with her could compare. 
 She seemed a seraph sent 
 From heaven's high battlement, 
 To be my earthly guide 
 O'er this waste so wild and wide." 
 
 Space will not permit us to even refer to all the ladies who have won 
 a tribute from his pen; nor have we room at this time to do justice to 
 his longer poems and patriotic poems. 
 
 "THE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN PRESTON" CAMPBELL," 
 May be had by forwarding $2.00 to the printers, 
 
 GEO. W. CRANE & CO., 
 
 ToPEKA, Kansas. 
 
« 20 89 ,4 
 
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