I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I ^ — |U.\ITED STATES OF AMERICA 3iU,' \ \ MAY-FLOWERS. A SELECTION POEMS, BY AMANDA WES'i.'ON. PUBLISHED BY L. C. MATLACK. WEW TORK : 3 SPRUCE STREET. "-• 1850. M T6 3(5C ^ Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1850, BY LUCIUS C. MATLACK, In the Clerk's Oflce of the District Court, for the Southern District of New York. S. Lee, Printer, 7 Spruce Street. m^ INTRODUCTION. May flowers are too often fragile and short lived ; shrink- ing before the chill blast of early Spring, they fade away and their beauty and fragrance soon disappear. Not so the liter- ary boquet now in the hand of the reader. Its beauty is not merely that of form or color. Its fragrance is something more than a grateful incense wasting its sweetness on the desert air. It is beautiful in the variety and fitness of the truths expressed — it is fragrant with pure affection and elevating sentiment. Such beauty and such fragrance are ever dur- ing. The author's preface indicates a degree of modesty in the statement of the origin and the aim of these poems, which is itself fragrant and attractive. Few know what emphasis should be placed on the expression " the active duties of life,'' to which she refers. The " fragments of time redeemed" therefrom, consisted frequently of the hurrying minutes that lay between the slow weary hours of consant toil. Unless the publisher has much mistaken the merit of these poems, they will surely meet a hearty welcome to the hearthstone of many a family, and furnish happy hours of pure and intelligent enjoyment. New-York, May 1850. L. C. Matlack. PREFACE. In- offering this little volume to the public, the authoress considers it due to herself to state that the poems which it contains were written, merely for her own amusement, in hours of leisure. The composition of several of their number has served to beguile the weary hours spent in the seclusion of the chamber of sickness ; and the time devoted to the re- mainder has consisted only of fragments redeemed from the active duties of life. Under such circumstances, it is hardly to be expected that they should approach very near perfec- Vion ; andj indeed, had her own estimate of their merit been the standard by which they were to be judged, it is by no means probable that they would ever have appeared in their present form. But, encouraged by the commendation bes- towed on such as have already appeared in the publications of the day ; and gladdened by the knowledge that some of them, in their simplicity, have found a home in the hearts of the bereaved and sorrowing; she sends them forth, calmly and hopefully ; trusting that they will receive a kindly greeting from all who meet them on their way ; and that their words may prove to some, as they have proved to her, pleasant com- panions in hours of weariness and despondency. The poems, with the exception of the first, are arranged nearly in the order in which they were originally written. A few slight changes only have been made, for the purpose of giving greater variety to the volume. A. Weston. Duxbury, Mass., 1850. INDBXc A Mother's Love, 57 \ A Portrait, 186 A Song for the days of old, . , . . . 115 A spell is on my spirit, 86 j Autumnal Musings , 166 Autumn, 61 \ Beauty, Talent, Virtue, 162 Castles in the air, ..,,•.. 32 Childhood, • ... 123 Consolations in sorrow, . . • • • • .58 Death in the Spring time, 107 Death of a Child, ; . . 84 Flowers, . . . .;.,.. 113 Forgiveness, . . '. . . • • • . 135 Friends are all around us, 36 Joan of Arc, at Rouen, ..•••.. 13 Love and Fame* ..»••••. 102 Mementos, ...•••«.. 47 Music, 199 My cottage home, . . . • • • . . 169 My pencil, 29 Neither do I condemn thee, 130 <^ On a Picture presented by a child, , . . . 44 • Parting words, . . . . ^ . . . 35 : Patience brethren, patience, 67 Peace and Rest, . . . • '^ . . • . 64 : I Prayer for the dying one, . • ... 182 Kemembered music, 50 Rest for the weary, 31 School days, 91 Sonnet to my sister, 96 of the past, 101 a long farewell 128 to my sister, at parting, .... 129 written during illness, 145 on recovering, . . . . . . . 146 buds of the early Spring, 152 j Stanzas; wealth of mind, 97 " to a mother, 138 ; " on Christian confidence, .... 150 | " sunbeam, bird, and flower, .... 156 | " love's breaking chain, 159 \ The Age of chivalry, 1S9 | " Chic-a-dee 183 I " Dead, 161 I " Early dead, 190 | " Djing poet, 184 1 " Forest Flower, 136 " Frost king, 71 j '' Hand of the laborer, 125^1 " House of Prayer, 80 | ■% 11 I " Home of the heart, c ..... 82 " Hour of loneliness, 153 =' Life of dreams, 147 '■' Miniature, 88 " Missionary burial, .....; 64 •' Orphan's God, . 171 ^ ' Poor man's child, . . • S . . 176 I ' Robin, 99 ^ ' Rosebud 194 | ' Sea, 120 I ' Slave's Reverie, . ; . . . • . 142 i « Sunlight, 136 ^ ' Snowbird, . . • . . . . . . 179 | " Spirit of the storm, 94 ^ " Student, 39 j { " Summer Shower, 63 | " Swallows, 196 j i; " Whippoorwill, 118 | I " White Rose, 28 ^^ ] To a pet kitten, 110 1 \ To my Mother, 200 Winter, ... 173 Woodland Wanderings, ...... 78 | Woodland Worship, 192 MAT-FLO IV ERS JOAN OP ARC IN ROUEN. I. Long, weary hours within a prison cell ! A fearful power is theirs, a boundless might, The young, free spirit's pride and strength to quell ; E'en as the blast that sweeps the mountain height Scatters the trembling leaves. The heart may beat With quicker throbs, rousing itself to meet Approaching danger ; but a withering blight Broods heavily on the damp dungeon air ; Deep strength is in the soul that hopes and triumphs there. II . Had thine that strength, heroic maid of France ? Thou, who had'st fearlessly and firmly led The hosts to battle ? — S^j^ear, and shield, and lance Had fallen in the dust beneath thy tread. Laid low with those who bore them. To the sky, Thy hand the snow-white flag uplifted high ; And 'neath its fair folds, many a stately head Bowed low in reverence to thee ; for thou Didst wear a holy seal upon thy bright young brow. 2 Jl 14 MAT-FLOWER Therefore, friends listened to thy words, as those An oracle had spoken, silently, In awe and wonder ; while, amid thy foes, A halo of pure light encircled thee, "Whose every ray was victory. Brightly on To conquest thou had'st passed ; *and battles won, And a fair land restored to liberty, Were thy high trophies. It was hard, indeed, That suffering and death should be thine only meed. A fearful doom was thine ; yet thy high soul Sank not beneath its shadows. If despair, Over thy heart in its still musings stole, It dwelt not on thy brow. Calm trust was there. And holy hope, and gladness : as of one Long exiled, but at last returning home, To breathe once more, in joy, his native air, And read, in more than one famihar face, A heartfelt welcome back to his own dweUing-place. Was there not strife, stern, agonizing strife, Ere that deep calmness mantled thee ? Aye, long And stern the conflict was ; for, unto life. The heart clings in its grief — when ties, once strong, Are broken — lightly, as the floating thread Of gossamer beneath tiie hejedless tread ; . — '•~-^ MAT-FLOWERS, 15 And thou — thy life had been a scene of song, Of thoughtless happines.s, till the deep tide Of buried feeling, rose, and spread its waters wide. VI . A scene of triumph followed. Banners fair, And waving plumes, and warriors' stately mien, Rich strains of music, melting on the air, And soft light, failing, with still solemn gleam Upon a kingly head Jjowed low, — and then Raised proudly, circled with the diadem, - The crown thy hand had ransomed ! 'Twas a dream, Gorgeous, but brief. Its dazzling hues might well Blend with the shadowy gloom of thy lone prison cell. VII. 'Twas night, deep, voiceless night. — Silence profound Reigned in the gloomy structure — save the chain Of some poor prisoner, with its clanking sound Rousing him from his sleep, to pine in vain For liberty and light ; or, the low moan Of those from whose dim eyes slumber had flown ; They might not fly, like her, from care and pain. Night brings deep shadows to the silent tomb, But deeper, darker far to the damp dungeon room. Faintly, at midnight, through the gratings old Of one high window, the fair moonbeans shone, 16 MAY-FLOWERS, Gleaming, with pale light, tremulous and cold, On the gray waEs and floor of solid stone, nium'ing half, and lea-vdng half in gloom, The narrow precincts of that guarded room ; But brightly resting on its tenant lone ; And lighting up a brow, as marble fair, Bowed, even to the dust in silent anguish there. IX. Where the brave leader's dauntless courage now ? Where the exulting conqueror's lofty raein ? The spirit-halo, circling that pale brow With Ught from heaven, all cloudless and serene ? Alas, for human weakness ! The dark tide Of destiny rolls on, and power and pride Sink 'neath the whelming wave. Yet, might it seem Nobler, to brave the torrent's wildest sweep In calm despair, than o'er its scathing course to weep. Aye, nobler for the lowliest ; but for one Whose name had been, like hers, the charging cry, When, with swords glancing brightly to the sun. And gay crests, waving as the breeze swept by, The foe drew near, — she, trembling at s. breath, Shrinking, in terror, from the name of death. And, with proud head bowed low, and tearful eye Watching the m'ght-hours wane ! High soul and free, Thu3, should the trial-hour be met by one like thee ? %. ?^- AT-FLOWERS, XI. Oh ! say not so. Think of the many ties That tmned, in childhood's years, her heart around ,* The well-remembered hght of loving eyes, — The voice that lulled to cradle-slumber sound,— The hand that rested lightly on her head. When her first simple prayer was sweetly said, — The heart in which her own its true home found : Ere ye condemn her for those bitter tears, Think of her sire's gray hairs, her mother's lonely years. XII . She thinks of them, and of the youthful band Smiling around them. The dark, eagle eye. And brow on wliich the sun of a bright land Has left its impress, — the free bearing high, That speaks a spirit yet untamed by aught Of care or sorrow, a brief life has brought, — A spirit like her own, — all these are nigh, — And more than these — a low and gentle tone, Breathing her name, as lip ne'er breathed it save his own ! XIII . Her brother : and two gentle sisters fair Stand with their young hands linked with his, and smile As the light breeze lifts their free-waving hair ; Or the brown woodbird's notes their thoughts beguile. The leafy branches of the beechen tree And the proud oak's broad boughs are spreading free %, 18 MAT-FLOWERS. Above them ; and on the green turf, the while, Sports a glad child, the one on Avhose young head, The purest, warmest love of her warm heart was shed. XIV. For she had reared him. — Silently there fell, — Ere yet his lips had learned to breathe her name,— Upon liis mother's heart a shadowy spell ; Awhile she struggled with its gloom in vain ; Then yielded, sank, and long months wore away. While fond and faithful watchers, day by day, Bent o'er her couch of agonizing pain ; Amply rewarded for their constant care, [in prayer. When her sweet voice once more might blend with theirs X V. But the fair boy, — though at his mother's knee Wont oft to sit contentedly for hours, AViling her sadness with his infant glee, Bringing her treasures from the forest bowers. Looking up, lovingly, into her eyes, As if he deemed the sunlight of the skies Had found a home there, — leaving toys and flowers. Would bound, in joy, to meet one well-known face ; — Had she not filled, for him, a mother's holy place ? Had she not taken him unto her heart, And kept him there, safe from the thought of fear, FLOWERS. 19 Biddiug earth's shadows from that shrine depart, And making life's blue sky serene and clear ? Had she not loved him well ? Was it not meet That his first childish love, — a token sweet Of duties well performed, and ties made dear,— Should be her own ? Its memory was bliss ; But now — keen agony must blend with even this. XVII. Memories of childhood's joy, of childhood's grief, — Of her light-hearted girlhood's hopes and fears, — Of smiles that came like sunbeams, bright and brief, To gild the April shower of transient tears ; — Thoughts of lone wanderings in the woody glades, — Of pleasant nooks in the deep forest shades, Loved for the sinless bliss of early years ; All these are -with her ;— can ye marvel, now, That shadows darkly rest upon that sunny brow ? XVIII. Or have ye never known that bitter wo. From the true-hearted and beloved to part ? To yearn for words, sweet voices whispered low. And hear but their faint echo in the heart ? To watch, with evening's shades, the sad, still gleam Of stars, and listen to the woodland stream, And at the leafs light murmur, trembling, start, As at a spirit's call ? Then for her sake [break. I plead in va;in, whose heart could bear, but might not m- [20 MAY-FLO WEI XIX. Tears, bitter tears, like the free Summer rain Upwelling from the heart's, deep, troubled spring ; — Deem not the unchecked flow of feeling vain, — Seek not reproach on silent grief to fling. Melts not the threatening tempest-cloud away, AVhen the pure rain-drops ghsten on the spray ? May not the heart-shower, hope's fair rainbow, bring To its blue sky again ? So will we trust : Nor number tears, with gems strewn idly on the dust. XX. And fast and free, awhile, the warm tears fell From those dark eyes, but soon the strife was o'er ; And the deep anguish of a long farewell Had power to robe her soul in gloom no more. The shade passed from her brow, and her dark eyes Were hfted, clear and tearless, to the skies, As the sweet stars a silent mission bore Of love and mercy. "Was the struggle past ? It was ; — a long farewell, and sad, but not the last. XXI. For faith had triumphed. Doubt and fear had fled, As fly eve's mist-leaves, from morn's bright array ; And gracefully, once more, that youthful head Rose in its stately beauty. Love's deep sway Is strong within the soul ; but human pride Has oft its silent influence defied ; MAY-FLOWERS. 21^ Cold, sordid pride. And who shall dare to say There is no stronger barrier in the soul O'er which its sweUing tide might vainly seek to roll ? XXII. Love has deep might ; but faith has deeper far ; And faith, unfaltering faith, was hers. A light, Shed not from waning moon or fading star. Beamed in her ceU. A scene of splendor bright, Too bright for her full gaze to rest on long. Arose before her. Echos of a song Too sweet for mortal lips to breathe, that night Woke, in strange music, in her dungeon lone ; — Did not a seraph lyre respond to each low tone ? XXI II . The hours flew swiftly. In the eastern sky, The stars grew pale, as the first light of dawn Greeted the lonely watcher's thoughtful eye ; — And had it come so soon, the dreaded morn ? Fainter, and fainter grew the fading light Of the pure gems ,that wreathed the brow of night,- And now, the last of the bright band was gone ; — The floating clouds woke from their calm repose To golden light ; — the sun, the glorious sun arose. XXIV . He rose in undimmed splendor. Roof and spire Gleamed in his radiance, welcoming the day ; — M A Y - K L O W E R 8 . i Proud castle-turrets glittered, as if fire [gay, Crowned their high summits ; — cottage-homes looked Lit by the smile of morning ; and the yomig " And happy, lightly from their slumbers sprung, AVakening to hope and gladness. Morn's first ray Brought joy to many ; but its rich light fell Sadly and silently in the dim prison cell. XXV. Sadly and silently ; nor look nor tone AYelcomed its coming. In strange beauty, there, Its hues of light and loveliness were thrown, On the pale placid brow, and gleaming hair, Of the young captive. O'er her simple vest, Her hands were meekly folded, on her breast ; And her slight, graceful form was bowed in prayer. Father ! not vainly, do thy children crave Grace for the trial-hour, to strengthen and to save. I XXVI. j She rose ; for sullenly, a massy gate ) Swung on its hinges. Armor's heavy clang, I And hurrying footsteps, and low tones of hate I Fell on her ear. The court's smooth pavement rang I Beneath the measured fall of mail-clad feet ; I The hour had come. With a sad smile, yet sweet, I She turned to meet her foes. The woodbh'd sang I His own wild song, beneath morn's cloudless sky, Beside her childhood's home, when she went forth to die. M AY-FLO WERB, 23 XXVII. She thought not of his lay, nor of the flowers Blooming in beauty there ; nor of the light Beaming from loved eyes on them. Fair home bowers And gentle faces rose not to her sight ; The bonds of earth were broken. Calmly o'er The threshhold of the narrow prison door She passed ; more like a conqueror, in the might And pride of his full sway, than one whose tread Moved firmly in the path, to death's dark door that led. XXVIII. Slowly and silently through the dense crowd That waited her approach^she moved. Her mien Was calm and lofty. Shouts of triumph loud, And fierce words muttered loV, and glances keen From foeman's kindling eyes, around her way Were all, alike, unheeded. ^Vho shall say That the sweet peace, on her still features seen, Was but the triumph of all-conquering pride Over stern agony ? Was there no stay beside ? X XIX. There were deep murmurs in that gathered throng, Where pride was striving still with scarce-owned fear ; And thirst for vengeance rose, uncurbed and strong, Like the wave foaming on its wild career. Did white-robed Mercy plead in vain, ere fell The bolt on the defenceless? The wild swell 24 MAY-FLOWERS. Of strangely-mingling sounds rose on the ear From the dark scene of sacrifice, — a tone Of triumph and revenge, — but not a captive's moan ! She shrank not back in fear. It was no hour For weakness then. Her brow was calm, and firm And free her onward course. Her spirit's power Was roused. They stood, with lips compressed, and Dark brows, around her ; but her eye was bright, [stern As if reflecting heaven's own cloudless light, [learn. Dimmed by earth's shades no longer. They might Who gazed upon her features, still and pale, [frail. How strong the spirit was, whose slight shrine seemed so KXXI. The chosen spot was gained. She stood, alone, One fearful moment ; while, like the deep sea, That answers, with its sad, unceasing moan To the wild tempest's wing, tumultuously The crowd swayed to and fro. A sudden, brief, And breathless silence. E 'en a quivering leaf. Had wakened echo's dreamy harmony ; — And then, the chains were wreathed, the faggots piled, The lighted torch drew near, the victim saw, and smiled XXXII. With faint and fitful glare, the liu-id light | Of the fast-kindhng pyre arose ; but there, | MAT-FLOWERS %. As if sustained by more than mortal might, With shght hands clasped in silent, fervent prayer, — With clear, uplifted eye, and brow, and cheek. And lip of such deep calmness, — pale and meek, But in their earnest trust unearthly fair, She stood. Oh, strong must be the faith, whose sway Could take, from death like this, the fearful dread away. XXXIII. Voices were hushed, and hearts beat quick and load ; And swarthy cheeks were blanched with sudden dread. What power had fettered that fierce, reckless crowd, That, gazing on the lurid radiance shed By the red flames, they stood, awe-struck and still, As by one thought subdued 1 Did their hearts thrill To a deep voice, that hour ? With noiseless tread, Light, viewless forms, from the far realms of air, [there ? Move beside earth's frail sons ; and might not such be> XXXIV. Higher and higher, rose the wreathing flamei Uproaring, proudly, to the very sky ; But no wild shriek, no stifled moan of pain, Rose oh the hushed air. — She had come to die ; And to die calmly, nobly , — not as one Who shudders at the voice that calls him home, And kneels to plead for mercy, wliile the eye Of scorn is on him. No ; her doom was sealed By her own fearless wordsj — to die, but not to yield. 3 26 MAT-FL0WER8. And thusj she perished.— Strangely varying scenes Marked her brief life. A simple Shepherdess, Through the green vales and by the mountain streams Guiding her floek in tranquil happiness ; — A fearless leader in the battle-strife, As one who bore a spell-encu*cled life, Unharmed, amid the conflict's minghng press With calm brow moving, or, with kindling eye, Listening; while rang the shout of victory through the sky, XXXVI. A conqueror, with mien of triumph, where Fell the still shadows of the sacred fane Upon the kneeling throng, while on the air Rose a full, sweetly-solemn music-strain, — A lay of gladness and of hope, — the voice Of lofty victory, bidding man rejoice. But with thanksgiving ; — then, a captive's chain, — Glad notes of freedom on a dungeons breath, — The strife of hope with fear, — an agonizing death ! XXXVII. All these were hers. In vain, with yearning heart When her first mission was fulfilled, she knelt. Breathing the name of home. Could she depart Ere the whole land was ransomed ; while there dwelt In the full hearts of those who round her pressed, So much of reverence and love ? The rest MAY-FLOWERS. 27 1 -^-^^ \ For which she sighed was not for her. She felt \ A sad foreboding of her future doom ; — Dim o'er earth's sunlight stole the shadows of the tomb. X X XTI I I . That doom was nobly met, nor met in vain ; For the deep memory of her wrongs was nursed In many a manly heart, and words of flame From many a fearless lip in thunder burst. The foe had triumphed ; but the sword and lane© Found many a strong right arm in sunny France, Nerved by the wrongs of her who roused them first; To wield them long and bravely. Joy for thee, Land of the vine ! Thy sons arose, and thou art free I -•■4^ M A r - F L Vr E B 8 . THE WHITE ROSE. Mr favorite flower ! Its stainless leaves No brilliant hues may wear ; But fair are they, when morn's fresh dew Is brightly resting there ; And sweet the perfume that they breathe, When the soft zephyr's sigh At even, stirs their slumbering folds, Floating in music by. In garden bowers, in forest wilds Are blossoms fairer far ; But they claim not my love like this, Beautiful as they are. Thoughts all too deep for words to breath©, Wake from their calm repose ; For holy memories of the past Wreathe round the pure white ros©. MAT-FLO WXR8 . MY PENCIL. It is a faithful servant, And it has been so long ; Why not reward its services With a brief, artless song ? We should be duly grateful For each favor we receive ; — That my pencil merits gratitude I really believe. My pencil ! It was purchased A long, long time ago ; 'Twas in Winter, I remember, For the ground was white with snow ; And Winter soon will greet us, In his snowy robes again ; 'Twas not an idle purchase. For it was not made in vain. More than one simple billet. Sent to some well-known friend, My hand has lightly penciled, Instead of hghtly penned ; And more than one translation. When the lamp was beaming bright, J »„ MAY-FLOWERS. Has hastily been wi'itten In pencil, by its light. It has been very useful, Tracing, from time to time, Still patient and unwearied, Some lengthened tale in rhyme. It seems to love my fingers. And yields it to their sway, As if its only duty Were to follow and obey. It is a faithful servant ; And I trust it will be so, When the Autumn has passed over, And the winds of Winter blow ; My lonely hours beguiling, Bidding cares shadows fly ; And calling past scenes brightly back To memory's thoughtful eye. , % - ....m MAY-FL0WER8. 31 1 REST FOR THE WEARY. Rest for the weary ! Calm, unbroken rest ; "Where the green sod lightly Mantles o'er each breast ; Where, in the soft zephyr, The fair wildflowers wave ;— Rest for the weary, In the peaceful grave. Rest for the weary ! Long and dreamless sleep, Where dark boughs wave freely, As the light winds sweep Through among the green leaves Which the dew-drops lave ; — Rest for the weary. In the peaceful grave. Rest for the weary ! Hushed and deep repose. Where the sunbeam glitters, Where the streamlet flows. This is the last blessing, The crushed heart may crave ;— Rest for the weary, In the peaceful grave. ^zr ^ ~ ^ (62 MAT-FLOWERS. CASTLES IN THE AIR. Often, in a wayward moment, Wearied with the cares of hfe. Sinking 'neath its heavy burdens, Shrinking from its ceaseless strife, — Sheltered in my quiet corner, I've thrown off the weight of care ; And amused myself, by building Lofty castles in the air. Storied arch and massive column, Swelling dome and spacious hall, As erected by enchantment, Rose, obedient to my caU. Not Uke earthly edifices, But more stately far, and fair ; ^ Framed from Fancy's rare designing. Were my castles in the air. Hues far brighter than the sunset 1 Traces on the western sky. ' Wreathed around each graceful column, Hovered o'er each turret high ; — Tones far sweeter, than the zephyr, O'er earth's hills and dales may bear, St. -. -^ MA.r*FLOWERS . ^?K Stole, in never-failing music, Through my castles in the air. Gladness, unalloyed by sorrow, — Sunbeams, by no cloud o'er cast, — Hope for the yet untried future, — Pleasant memory of the past, — Present, past, and future blended, Each of bhss bestowed its share. While I was securely dwelling In my castles in the air. I have seen, on Summer evenings, Light clouds softly pass away, Leaving not a trace to tell us Where their gorgeous mantle lay. Even as, full oft, have faded The rich hues of light they wear ; Even so, full oft, have vanished My frail castles in the air. I was seated, yester even, Calmly in my castle high, When, with brow by care o'er-shadowed, Stern Reality passed by. Turrets, dome, and columns trembled, At the glance which met them there ; And I own, I trembled also, For my castle in the air. FLOWERS. Trembled I Who would not have trembled ? For, when the brief glance was o'er, The fair structure lay in ruins ; Fancy's fitting home no more. I to earth at once descended, And now earnestly declare My resolve to build, henceforward, No more castles in the air. ; MAY-FLOWERS. 35 PARTING WORDS. We may meet no more. As erst we have met ; — Is it strange that our eyes With tears should be wet ? Our last earthly greeting May now have been given ; Our last farewell uttered ; — ; " Meet me in heaven." \ I I In life's darker houra ; A musical tone ; Oft comes to my heart : When weary and lone. ■ When vainly with sorroAv ; My spirit has striven, ; That sweet voice oft whispers "Meet me in heaven." Those words have brought peace And comfort to me ; And now, as we part, I breathe them to thee ; — Earth's sorrows all past, Earth's sins all forgiven, — Earth's fi-iendships renewed, — '' Meet me iri heaven.'' »I AY-FLOWERS. FRIENDS ARE ALL AROUND US Friends are all around us ; — E'en the little child Loves the stranger whom he met, Who looked on him and smiled. Friends are all around us, If as friends we greet Those whom in our journeying On life's worn way we meet- Friends are all around us ; — By a kindly word, By a look of sympathy The heart's depths are stirred, Do not all our footsteps To the same home tend ? Why should not each one of us Be to each a friend ? Does the pure dew, glistening On the fair wild rose, Shun the dark, unlovely weed That beside it grows 1 Does the sunbeam, shining On the stately dome. p MAY-FLOWERS. 87 Lose its lustre when it rests On the peasant's home ? If one heart grows hghter, By our words made glad, — If one drooping spirit, Weary, faint, and sad, Half forgets its anguish For a little while. Is it vain for us to speak ? Vain for us to smile ? One word, kindly spoken, Simple though it be, Is often sweetest music In the hour of agony. One look, kindly given, When the lips move not. May be treasured in the heart, Ne'er to be forgot. There's an « open, sesame" To each human heart ; At whose magic sound, at once, Freely thrown apart. Are the close-barred portals Of its deepest cell. Bidding us in friendship's name, Enter in and dwell. H^ 4 , ™™.^ MAY-FLOWERS. } Friends are all around us ; — There's a gentle tone, Whereso'er we wander, Answering to our own. Do not all our footsteps To the same home tend ? Why should not each one of us, Be to each a friend. FLOWERS. 89 THE STUDENT. Lightly, the graceful foliage of the elm, Whose spreading boughs o'erhung the moss-grown roof Of the low, rustic cot, waved to and fro In the soft breath of morning ; and the light, The first fair beams of the just-rising sun, Stole through among the trembling leaves, and shed On the gray roof and verdant turf beneath, An ever-varying brightness.- Wearily The youthful student leaned beside the lattice, Gazing, as if unconscious that he gazed, On the fair scene before him. The dark hair Clustering o'er his high brow, was gently lifted As the light breeze swept by, as if it loved To sport with its rich curls. That brow was caJm, But very pale ; and his dark eye was bright, Too bright for health ; and, as its earnest glance Rested on the blue sky and verdant plain, And far-off hill-tops, with their mist-robes vrreathed Gracefully round them, it gleamed still more brightly. Till it seemed almost wild in its strange light ; And then, as if a gentler mood stole o'er His mind, it filled vnth. sudden tears. His cheek K) MAY-FLOWERS. AVas deadly pale, save when the hectic flush — That speaks at once, to the observant eye, Of early parting, from the beautiful, And loved, and prized of earth, — stole over it ; And his lips vs^ere compressed, as if the strife Of a proud heart might be controlled and hushed By the calm semblance of repose. lie leaned, In silence there, till the sweet hush of morn "Was broken by the sounds of bustling life, That told of man's poor, daily toil ; and then. As if the spell that held him there were broken, Turned silently away. The Summer day Was past. The sun had set ; and the low hum Of life had ceassd. The laborer had left, Gladly, his weary toil, and sought his home, To rest. And the young student leaned again Beside the open lattice, and looked forth Upon the fair hill-tops and the tranquil sky, As at the early morning. The soft veil Of eve was drawn around him ; and the stars, With their sad, gentle eyes looked brightly down, As if they pitied him, who, gazing on them, In their unfading beauty, was, so soon, To rest where their soft glance might greet in lore His upward gaze no longer. Mournfully He turned from his still converse with the sky ; c^' FLOWERS And, bowing down his head on his clasped hands, Wept long and bitterly. The eve was gone, And the deep, silent hush of midnight reigned Unbroken, o'er the earth. The moon had risen. And her pure light was beaming peacefully On the fair scenes around that cottage home ; And, gazing on those scenes, as one who looked On a remembered play-place of his youth For the last time, lingered the student still, In the deep shadow of the foliage That overhung the casement. Once he turned From his lone vigil, and glanced hastily Around his quiet room. There, all unopened, Lay the companions of his lonely hours, — The volume rich in lore of other lands, That oft had won him from his couch, at mom. Ere the first light of dawn was on the hills ; And kept his taper burning, till the hours Of eve were waning into sombre night. What were they now to him ? They could not bring One lost pulse to his heart, or stay one moment The life tide in its rapid ebb. They could not Recall the color to his cheek, or give Ilis step its wonted lightness, or impart One hope, one single hope for his faint spirit To cling to in its weakness. AVhat were they ? What had they ever been ? — He had aimed high ; M A Y - F L O VV E R S He had dreamed fondly of a lofty place, A deathless name on earth ; and he had toiled To reahze the dream his heart had woven ; And now, just as the first few steps were taken; Just as his name had been hut faintly breathed Among the multitude, — while eager eyes Were watching him, and loved hearts hoping with him, : Now, he must die, — and, in a few brief years, His name, and toil, and very life itself Would be forgotten. Oh I 'tis agony, To a f)roud, haughty heart to think of this ! Death, in itself, is nothing. It were easy To die, could we but know our memory Would live to speak of us to human hearts. When we were gone, — could we but know our names Yv^ould be upon the lips of those we loved In blessing, and on stranger lips in praise ; But it is hard to think of lying down, And being mantled o'er with the green sod, And, when a few short days have flitted by, No more remembered than the very turf 'Neath which they made our narrow home. 'Tis this That makes the thought of death so fearful. Young, And gifted — talented, and noble-hearted — [should be And loved, and doomed. — Strange that these words So often linked together. M A Y - F L O \V E R S , 43 Morn's glad light Found the young student watching still ; but noon Saw him upon his couch, with his pale hands Folded upon his bosom, and his eyes Closed in a quiet slumber. One more eve, With its dim shadows, and its silvery stars, — One more calm midnight hour, with its pure moonlight : And holy stillness, — and the next bright morn Dawned in his silent chamber, just as life Seemed for the last time, struggling in despair With its ail-conquering foe. His eyes were closed, And the death-dew was on his brow, but still Beside him, on his pillow, lay a volume That he had loved, and read, and laid aside, Gendy, when from his failing eyes the light Departed. — Still upon its silver clasp His hand was resting, and a sister's tears Were falling freely on it. Earthly wisdom Had been but folly then ; but a sure guide And faithful, was beside him. Noon's bright sun Looked down upon the mansion of the living, And of the dead. The weary was at rest. His brilliant dreams of a high place on earth Had been but dreams ; — a lowly place in heaven — Was it not better far ? m. — ^ ; 44 MAY-FLOWERS. ON A PICTURE, PRESENTED BY A CHILD. The gift of a child ; — I prize it, Not for its coloring rare, — Not for its graceful outlines, Or its faithful copying fair. The pencil that portrayed it Was not in an artist's hand. And its lights and shades an artist Would hardly understand. Yet I love to look upon it, Eor each rude outline tells, Of the love that in the happy heart Of guileless childhood dwells : I love to look upon it, For it sweetly speaks to me, In a language, silent, yet eloquent In its mute simplicity. Children ! blessings upon them I I love their very name ; It brings the long-lost freshness Back to the worn heart again. Their love is a bright link in the chain That binds our wayward will ; % — sr MAT-FLOWEnS. 45 1 Making us, while we cling to earth, Look up to heaven still. I can see those tiny fingers, Guiding the pencil through Its varied evolutions, Till fair before the view, Lies the completed " picture," Such as childhood loves to trace, And a glow of exultation Steals o'er the laughing face. Here, where the outline wavers The pencil turned aside ; And there the small hand trembled, As the circle smooth it tried ; Here, a leaf is disproportioned, And there a stem is broken ; Yet, notwithstanding all, my love For the picture shall be spoken. I love it for the giver's sake ; And not for her's alone ; For the sake of all whose hearts reply Warmly, as does my own, To the sweet smile of childhood. To the freely-proffered love. Pure as aught can be that has dwelt 1 Away from its home above. %,^ __^ I love it for the memory Of my own childish glee, When a simple sketch like this was more Than the wealth of the East to me. Blessings attend the giver ! May her heart be pure as now, When the traces of revolving years Are written on her brow. MAT-FLOWERS. 47 MEMENTOES. A simple memento, A soft_^braid of hair, That has smoothly been folded O'er a friends forehead fair, — A flower that has blossomed, And faded again, — Still: hoarded, still precious, Though no bright hues remain, — A frail, withered leaflet. Laid fondly apart, — 'Tis strange how such tokens Will speak to the heart. I have cherished such often, — Such still do I cherish ;- Of the love they are emblems That never can perish. I value them highly, For sweetly, from far, Steals the heart-music o'er them, Frail things that they are ! I love them ; — they whisper Of friends far away ; And their whispers awaken Sweet Memory's lay. r 48 MAY-FLOWERS. I have many such tokens Of the absent to tell ; And while they are with me My friends seem to dwell AU around me, all near me, For their faces I see, And their low, pleasant voices Are as music to me. Though far distant from them, I am not alone, While so many mementoes Of their love are my own. I have many such tokens ; — I have some that were given By friends who have left earth, And gone home to heaven. And these are most sacred ; — I love all the rest ; But these are the dear ones, The treasured, the blest. They bring high hopes , and holy, My sad heart to cheer ; — They bring sweet thoughts of heaven, When earth seems most drear. These simple mementoes ! 'Mid the fair flowers of Spring, MAY-KLOWERS. 4S Round the sere leaves of Autumn The fond heart will cling. The past is remembered Though the present is bright ; And the friends who walked with uS; Through its shades to the light Will not be forgotten, While their pure love and deep To our full hearts is mirrored In the treasures we keep. Hit i n # » I K i M % I ...., ^ 60 MAY-FLOVr£Ra. REMEMBERED MUSIC. Slowly it steals along, that low, sad strain, Heard at the evening hour, o'er the low hier Of the beloved and early lost. Its notes Seemed then scarce like earth's melodies, and now They are far sweeter, far more eloquent, Than earthly music can be. — Softly, now. It floats, as if the heart, in its deep grief. Made the sweet voice come tremulous and low : And now it rises, as its thrilling notes Spoke of a spirit throwing off the weight Of sorrow, and rejoicing in the hope Of immortality. Music ! would I could tell How much I owe to thee ! Words are but weak, Imperfect repetitions of the thoughts They strive to express. Like the young artist's coj v Of some great master's grand design, they give The outlines of our thoughts, and here and there. Some stronger light or deeper shade, or contrast, That strikes the mind most forcibly ; but all The finer and more delicate pencilings That give to the whole picture its rare beauty, Are wanting. Would this was not so, that I n Might niiiTor forth to the beholder's gaze The unearthly melody of the sweet straiu That memory calls back from the shado^vy past, To sadden, while it soothes, my spirit. Miisio ! It makes the light step in the joyous dance Move still more Hghtly, acd the sparkling eye Beam with an added lustre — it imparts Hope to the buoyant heart ; — it has a power All, all its own, to mingle in our joy, Making it still more joyful ; but it comes Never to the full heai t with such a thrill, As when its slow and solemn notes are borne On the still air of eve, in the low dirge, Or mournful reqniem. It soothes the anguish Of the crushed heart, when uttered words would be A bitter mockery. It has a power Untold, unbounded. Well may we hnk with it Thoughts of the mansions of the sinless. Well May we speak of it as we speak of heaven, And blend, in each dim vision of the blest. The harmonious with the beautiful. 'Tis strange How after the long lapse of years, the tones Of a remembered lay will sweetly steal Through the dim, haunted chambers of the soul, 62 MAY-FLOWERS. Bringing bright memories of scenes that else Had long since been forgotten. And 'tis strange How the fond heart clings to such melodies ; As mine, e'en now, is clinging to the strain, That woke in early years, the sympathies That since have slept so long. Remembered music ! It is not like aught else thy heart hoards up Among its choicest treasures. 'Mid its gems, — The gathered wealth of many a foreign clime, Won in long-vanished years, — ^it rests alone, In a soft beauty of its own, the beauty Of the pure spiritual, as it lies Beside the duU material. Sweet strain Of other years ! Oft may the softened notes Hover around me, awakening thoughts of one Whose song was sweet on earth, and now must be Far sweeter, rising 'mid the angel choir. •^^^^*' 'Wi«v v vvvvvi^^ AY-FLOWERB. 53 THE SUMMER SHOWER. The Summer shower ! The Summer shower ! It is lightly falling on grass and flower ; On the misty hill-tops, far away, — In the meadows, on the new-mown hay, — On the lofty boughs of the orchard tree, Where the robin is warbling in his glee, As if he felt the refreshing power Of the cooling drops of the Summer shower. It is falling on the shining leaves The woodbine twines round the cottage eaves ; — It is falUng on the roof-tree gray, Where the moss has clung for many a day ; — It is failing on the flowers that spring 'Neath the vines that o'er them then* shadow fling And roof-tree, and vine, and timid flower Seem to welcome, alike, the Summer shower. And I welcome it also. It bears to me A whisper of mournful melody ; A murmur, as of the farewell tone Of a voice long since from earth's music gone; Yet I love it ; I love it because it brings Beauty and joy to all living things ;— Song to the robin, green leaves to the bower, And light to the blue sky — the Sunmoier shower. THE MISSIONARY'S BURIAL. Sunset in the far East ! The cooUng breeze Of eve swept through the branches of the palm, And played with the tail cocoa's feathering crest, And stole sweet perfume from the cinnamon And nutmeg groves, and from the countless flowers That in their beauty, bowed their bright young heads, Beneath its passing wing. The gorgeous hues Of parting day were on the floating clouds, That, in the clear blue vault, high over head, Spread their fantastic canopy, in forms That might have mocked the painter's magic art To copy, or the poet's imagery To shadow forth in dim comparison. Mountain, and vale, and chif, and forest tree, And castle-turret high, and cottage roof. And graceful wanderer o'er the wave, with wing Spread wide to waft her on her ocean way, — All these the eye of fancy might have traced. Moving or motionless, in the blue sky. The brilhant hues of the calm sunset hour AYere yet in all their splendor, as along The winding streets, through the dense multitude That silently made way at its approach. A funeral train moved on, with heavy hearts Bearing the young, and gentle, and beloved, Peacefully folded in deep, dreamless slumber, To her last place of rest. She had gone forth In the glad morn of life, from home and friends, To seek in a far land, a home v?ith those Who knew not the Redeemer, at whose name Iler warm heart thrilled with gratitude, — to speak To them of Hiin, — to tell them of his love, And the great sacrifice that love had offered For them as well as her, — to strive to win Their hearts for Him who had so freely given His life to save them from eternal death. For this she left her native land, — for this, AVith a loved mother s kiss on her fair brow, — AVitli a fond fat her" s blessing, — with the clasp Of a kind brother's hand, and the warm tears Of a young, gentle sister on her cheek, She breathed her last farewell to home and friends ; And, smiling through her tears, and blessing them In flattering accents, sought, in humble trust, A place of toil and watching in the land Of strangers. She had reached that land, and found A welcome. She had labored faithfully, And not in vain ; for those for whom she toiled Ilaii learned to love her, and, far more, to love '50 .M A Y - F L O W K R 3 . The God of whom she told them. She had seen An answer to her prayers, a recompense For all her toils. And now, her work was done ; And thej were bearing her away, to rest. They gathered around her grave, and strewed fresh Upon her coffin ; and the voice of prayer [flowers Eose in its deep solemnity, more deep In such a scene and hour ; and, ere the sky Had lost the last of the rich hues that gave Such beauty to its graceful drapery, Feeling that one of their small band had found The home that all were seeking, from her grave They turned away, to think of her in heaven. Heaven, the Christian's home ! We should not weep When our beloved ones leaves us, could we see The welcome that awaits them there. And she, Meek, patient laborer in the sacred fields Of the great Master, — though her grave lies far From her own home, severed by the wide sea From the green churchyard where her friends will rest. May meet them all rejoicing, there, once more, And with them meet those whom her faithful toil, Crowned with a blessing from on high, first led From the dark paths of error, to the light That, beaming from the lamps of truth, points out To the bewildered wanderer, faint and weary With his long Journeying, "a better way."' MAY-FLOWEnS. A MOTHER'S LOVE I A mother's love ! A mother's love I It came, at first, from heaven ; I And the purity of its home above i To its sojourn here is given. I Earth's cares may crush, earth's sorrows blight, ^ But still, on our lonely way That one sweet star sheds its changeless light, And we bless its holy ray. \ A mother's love ! We know its worth }^ When the hand of death has riven The ties that bound to our home on earth An inhabitant of heaven. When we print the last kiss on the pallid cheek, When we kneel the low grave above. Then we feel our lips have no words to speak, The worth of a mother's love. 58 M A Y - K L O W E K S . > CONSOLATION IN SORROW. My heart was sad, and my home seemed dark and lonely ; Therefore I went forth to look upon the fading flowers, To hear the sighing of the wind among the branches of the And to muse upon the strange, sad destiny of man, [trees, And tltere came a still voice to me in my Avanderings, Speaking of peace to my troubled spirit. [waving ; It whispered from the bough-.s where the sere leaves were ^ It rose from the earth, where the Autumn flowers were clinging ; [clambered ; \ It came from the rugged roelc, over which the wild vines It stole through the shado^^y aisles of the old, moss-grown ruin ; It mingled with the murmur of the mountain streamlet ; I It was blended with the wild-bird's joyous carol ; I And my sadness departed as I listened to it ; I For it seemed a sweet tone from the land of spirits, t Sent to me in love from the unseen world. And this was its message, spoken not, but understood ; <^ All around thee is glad, wherefore art thou mourning ? Wherefore is thy brow shadowed, even in the joyous sun- shine '? I Why answers not thy heart to the music of nature ? < Why joins not thy voice in the universal anthem ?" M A Y - K L O W K R 3 . 50 And sadly I answered, " I am mourning for the lost. Can sunlight bring gladness to the lone, aching heart ? Can it shed its own brightness on the darkened spirit ? I hear the glad music ; but loved voices are wanting, How can I sing when they are silent?" [responded ; " Thou art mourning for the lost !" that sweet voice " Whom callest thou so ? It was but yester even That thou wert bearing, with smiles and tones of gladness, To a sunny nook by thy quiet chamber window, The chrysalis, in its slumbers, upfolded In the soft web-woven for its shelter. There was no beauty in it, no token Of the life that was to give to its inmate Power to burst asunder its enfolding shroud, And soar upward, in the clear light of heaven, Yet couldst thou leave it resting in the sunshine, I And believe that it would assume a form of beauty, i And gladden thy heart by the rich coloring of its wings, I And the graceful ease of its wayvi^ard motions. [mournest ; And canst thou not believe that those for whom thou AVill awaken again from the slumbers of the tomb ? Cannot the same voice that calls the bright insect Forth to its sports in the Summer sunshine, Call from the still dust the dreamless sleeper, Unclose the dark portals of the dark sepulchre, | And restore to thee once more the loved and loving, I Clad in the robes of heavenly purity, I Circled with the halo of hcavonly light ? } ^^ 60 MAT-FLOWERS '< Doubt not that they will come to thee ; but see thou do this; Keep thy spirit pure, that it may be meet to receive them, Lest they pause by thy side but to look with pity upon thee. Ere they spread the white wings that dazzle thee with their brightness, And pass to their own home, leaving thee alone forever." Then the sweet voice was hushed, and my heart was And I looked with dehght on the golden sunshine, [comforted And listened with joy to the melody of nature ; And forgetting my sorrow in gratitude and praise, I returned from my wanderings to the shelter of my home. ^ i o wni mifr m m >t *< v ' »^*m m i< mj '. MAY-rL0WER8 61 AUTUMN. The flowers of Summer, — where are they ? They have blossomed; and silently passed away ; And the quiet Autumn-time is here, Wreathed with a garland of leaflets sere. Many a mournful music strain Breathes of the faded monarch's reign ; The beauty and bloom of the Summer have flown ; And light hearts are saddened, and pleasant paths lone. Yet Autumn, to me, is a welcome guest ; — I love its calm hours of peace and rest. Green leaves may wither, fair flowers may fade, And bright birds fly far from the forest shade ; But though hope and gladness with them depart, Love lingers still in the lonely heart ; And the memories that around Autumn cling, Are but the o'er shadowed hopes of Spring, I have wandered, pensively, alone, In the woodland walks around my home. The verdure has left the wreathing vine, And the blushing wildflowers no longer twine, A garland of beauty, frail as fair, Such as a fairy might love to wear ; And I missed green leaves from the forest tree, And the song of the bird, and the hum of the bee. 6 n- FLO W E K S . Where the flowers of Autumn -were clustering I -watched in vain for the butterfly's wing ; Those fragile blossoms were wan and pale, And the breeze swept by with a mournful wail, As if chanting, amid the forest bowers, A requiem for the dying flowers ; And withered leaves in each pathway he, Like mournful memories of days gone b}'. But the moss is green by the woodland rill. And the merry little streamlet, still, Murmuring sweetly its own wild song, Beneath the dark branches glides swiftly along ; Bearing the withered leaves away, In its rippling current's ceaseless play, As lightly as Time's broad stream bears on Earth's voyagers towards their peaceful home. And the stately pine rears its lofty crest, Clad in its own dark, verdant vest ; Like a faithful friend, whom no fortunes changed ; Or honors lost, have as yet estranged ; And though sere leaves are round me, and bright dreams are o'er, I but love these lone wood-walks of mine the more. As the true heart more closely will twine round a friend Whom misfortunes, and trials, and sorrows attend. I M A y - F L O W E K 3 . 63 Autumn ! pale Autumn ! a welcome to thee ! Thy shadows have radiance and beauty for me. Like the frail, faded flowers, and the sere leaves within Thy lone, silent bowers, have my own glad hopes been ; As bright, as unshadowed,— and where are they now? Gone, like the leaf when it falls from the bough : Gone, like the flower that bends to the blast, [passed. And is sought for in vain, when the storm-wind has Aye gone, and forever, — and sadly I tread A path with the wrecks of past happiness spread ; Where treasures are buried and sought for in vain, — Whence bright ones have flown, to return not again, — Where each step some lost vision of beauty recalls, Like the echo that rings through the desolate halls, When the wanderer returns to his own home once more, And finds it a dream of the days that are o'er. Hush ! hush ! my sad heart ; — let thy murmuring If joy has departed, abide thou with peace ; — [cease ; If pleasure has ceased her frail garlands to twine. Resignation's pale chaplet, at least, may be thine. Then wear it in meekness, and think of the home Where the faithful, released from earth's trials, shall come, Where changing, and sorrow, and sin have no part. And no Autumn may shadow the mind or the heart. PEACE AND REST. Peace and rest : — art thou weary ? Is life's journey long ? Are thy heart chambers dreary In the midst of the throng ? Where sunbeams are glancing Seest thou but a shade 1 Where green leaves are dancing, Are withered flowers laid ? Where wild-birds are singing, Hear'st thou but the tone From far echoes ringing, Sad, sad as thy own ? Where bright waves are gleaming Beneath the blue skies, Dost thou pause in thy dreaming With sorrow-dimmed eyes ? Where music is waking Its wild gladsome strain, Is thy lonely heart aching, With memories vain . Of the tones that were blended With that simple song. Ere thy dear ones ascended To join the bright throng ? ^ M A Y- - F L O W E R S 65 ) i " \ Have thy fond hopes been blighted ? \ Has grief wrung thy heart ? \ Has love's chain been united > But to be rent apart ? I Are thy still musing only Of sorrow and care ? I I also am lonely ; Thy griefs let me share. I, too, have been weeping O'er hopes long since fled ; My best friends are sleeping Where damp dews are shed ; — Dark clouds gather o'er me ; "Wild winds round me sweep ; And the pathway before me Is rugged and steep. Yet onward ! still onward ! With firm step and free ; — Wilt thou journey homeward. Worn pilgrim, with me ? The shades may fall deeper As onward we go, Our path become steeper. Our footsteps more slow. What then ? Our home lieth Beyond, calm and fair ;— 66 M A Y - F L O \Y E R 8 Thy full heart replieth « Oh ! would I were there !" Life's bright dreams have vanished; And sadly we come, Like exiles long banished, > Once more to our home. I \ Our home ! Who will greet us \ First, 'mid the bright host 1 l Will they be first to meet us .^ Whom here we loved most ? i Will kind words once spoken \ Be sweetly told o'er, And ties, long since broken, | Linked closely once more ? We know not ; but slowly And steadily on, Unwavering, though lowly, We pass to our home. Our path may be dreary, Our spirits oppressed, But home to the weary, Will give peace and rest. J .MAY-FLOWERS PATIENCE ! BRETHREN, PATIENCE I Patience, brethren, patience 1 Look upon the lofty tower ; — Deem ye that it rose From the dast in one short hour ? Or that more than mortal power Reared it where it throws Its deep shadow, far and wide,. At the morn and eventide ? Slowly, firmly, one by one, Every timber, every stone In its own good place was laid, Till the workman's toil was done, And on the last turret played Brightly, evening's setting sun. Patience, brethren, patience ! Look upon the stately tree ; Saw ye when it threw In its weakness, tremblingly. Its first frail shoot forth, to be Nursed by evening's dew ? The light breeze that swept the len, / In its wayward wanderings free. Bent the slight and flexile stem Even to the green earth, then. ^.> J if~ ..---..-....-.-^..^ — . ^ 68 MAY-FLOWERS. 1 Look upon it now ; — it stands In the lonely forest glen, Like the owner of the lands, i 'Mid his humble vassal men. Patience, brethren, patience I i Look upon the scroll of fame, i And with thoughtful care. Trace, in character's of flame. Once, again — the proudest name Ever written there. Where was cast his early lot ? In some lonely peasant's cot. Built upon the ocean's shore, Or the mountain's summit hoar. There his young hands, hard with toil. And his young heart shadowed o'er, First he learned to till the soil. Or to tempt the ocean's roar. Patience, brethren, patience ! Slowly from the hidden spring The bright current steals, Life, and light, and joy to bring Unto every living thing That its presence feels ;— Silently the gentle dew Smiles 'neath evening's sky of blue ; — % in MAY-FLOWERS ^ 69 Silently the sunlight beams On the meadows and the streams ; — Yet how many love and bless, In their brilliant waking dreams, In their tranquil happiness, Fount, and dews, and sunshine gleams ! Patience, brethren, patience ! In the ways of pleasantness. In the paths of peace, Slowly, firmly onward press, Till the glorious morn ye bless. When all strife shall cease ; — Till, afar, o'er shore and sea. Sounds the shout of jubilee, Till the flag of freedom waves O'er our free-born father's graves ; — Till the whole wide world shall be Free as the vnld wing that braves The rude storm-blast fearlessly ; — Sweeps it o'er a land of slaves ? Patience, brethren, patience ! Then the day of rest shall come ; — Then the timid dove May, in the wide woodland lone. With the vulture find a home, Trusting in his love. i ^ ^.......v.^^ ^^ MAY-FLOWERS. Then the lion, in his pride, And the lamb may, side by side, Quietly lie down to rest, With the hand of childhood pressed Fearlessly on both; and then Faith may come a welcome guest, To the still abodes of men, Hand in hand with Peace, the blest. Patience, brethren, patience ! Distant far that time may seem ; Yet it may not be Half so distant as ye deem ; — — Men may waken from their drean. Waken, and be free. Still pursue the onward way, — Watch, and toil, believe, and pray ; — Soon, night's shades may be withdrawn ;- Soon a brighter day may dawn ; — Onward still, through toil and care. Till the shades of life are gone ; Till the day of rest ye share ; — Brethren, God will speed ye on. %. THE PROST-KING. The frost-king has come from his northern home, And has waved his sceptre high, O'er the hills and vales and wood-paths lone, That slept 'neath the cloudless sky. He shrouded his flight in the mantle of night, But his swift pinions wide were unfurled ; And his seal was impressed, in distruction and blight, On our blooming and beautiful world. In the garden bed the damp dews were shed, 'Neath the shade of his hovering wing, And the queen-like dahlia bowed low its bright head, That graceful and ])eautifu! thing. It had bowed to the blast when the sky was o'er cast, And arisen in beauty again ; But its petals grew pale as the frost-king swept past. And we watched for their brightening in vain. The fairy flowers in the woodland bowers, That within the forest shade Bloomed after those of brighter hours • Had low in the dust been laid, Sank 'neath the stern hand that wide o'er the land Extended its conquering sway : — It left not one of the dearly loved band ; All, all were swept away. .^ 72 MAY-FLOWERS The leaves that shone in the sunbeams thrown On the branches bendmg low, As they answered to the wind's soft tone, Or brightened with morning's glow, — Withered and pale, were strewn by the gale On the cold earth's silent breast ; And the breeze, with a low and murmuring wail, Seemed lulling them to their rest. Yet many a gem from his diadem The frost-king's hand had thrown On the earth, as if he had offered them For the beauty he claimed as his own, We saw not their fall ; but they lay like a pall Of brightness over the tomb Where his ruthless hands had buried all That made our hearts glad with its bloom. He shrouded his flight in the mantle of night, But his swift pinions wide were unfurled, And his seal was impressed, in destruction and bUght, On our blooming and beautiful world. Long, long ere the day wakened earth with its ray. He pausQ,d, with upfolded wing ; But wide realms had acknowledged his conquering sway, And obeyed the low voice of their king. m m FLOWERS WOODLAND WANDERINGS. I love the dark old forest. I have passed Many a happy hour beneath the boughs Of the tall trees that to my childish fancy Seemed like still sentinels, keeping their -watch Unwearied, o'er the dim and winding ways, Year after year. The sweet flowers bloom and fade ; The singing-birds come with the early Spring, And pass away with the late Autumn-lime ; But the proud, stately trees stand silently Through Spring and Summer, Autumn-time an4 Winter, Each in its own good place. I love to see Their green leaves changing, when the frost-king waves His sceptre over them. It is as if They robed themselves anew to greet his coming, And dv^'i^ed their gorgeous mantle as a welcome To his approach. And when their bright-hued leaves Grow sere, and fall before the blast, I love To wander through the lono paths where they he, And musing, liken them to the fan vbopes That with them fall and withered. When stern Winter Comes with his stainless robe, I love to stand Beneath the branches bending with the weight Of the pure spotless snow-wreath, or enshrined In the clear, sparkling crystal, throwing back The sunlight's radiance with a dazzling glow Of briUiant rainbow hues, as if each branch 74 MAy-FLOWERa. Even to the slightest twig, had decked itself With diamonds for a monarch's festival. — Spring, joyous Spring may read her welcome back In the bright verdure on the waving boughs, And Summer in the broad green leaves that glance In morn's first golden sunbeam. Wanderings ! Am I not wandering now ? It was not this Of which I meant to speak, but the still paths Through which I love to rove. There was one path That often won me from my homeward way, When, school-tasks over, I returned, at eve To our low, lonely cottage. That one path Diverged from the main road, and wound along Under the branches of the aged oaks That had o'er-shadowed it for centuries. I loved to wander there, for all was still And peaceful ; and the light of sunset seemed To fall with a peculiar, softened radiance On the smooth turf, and sere leaves, and dark boughs That waved above them. The clear Summer sky Seemed of a softer, deeper blue, when seen Through the light graceful curtain of green leaves That hung above me, trembling in the breath Of evening. And when deeper shadows came, And the bright stars looked down upon me there, | ^' LOWERS. 75 It seemed as if a low voice greeted me From every darkened bougli, breathing of peace ; And bidding me forget earth and earth's pleasures, And think of heaven. And, when I looked up At those bright orbs, it seemed as if each star Spake, in its own sweet language, to my heart ; And, for tne moment, I could almost deem Earth's cares and sorrows would no more have power To cast a shadow on my spirit. — Dreams — Would that such dreams as these might last. that path Is not now as it used to be. The axe Has laid the monarchs of the forest low ; And my heart saddens as I gaze upon The scene of desolation. I love not To tread that wood-path now ; for it is hke Re-visiting a scene of former years. And findm^ there the silent graves ot those Whose welcome we had hoped for. Joyously The wood-bird oft has carolled his wild song , On the dark branches of the pines, above A path that oft has welcomed me, as if It knew I loved it dearly. The dark pines ! They change not like the other forest trees, AVith every changing season. Their green robe Is of a deeper hue, and many say 76 MAY-FLOWERS. That they are gloomy ; but they always smile On me. It may he I am gloomy too, And therefore they are meet companions for me ; But be that as it may, I love them. Wherefore ? Because they seem to me Hke faithful friends, Whose features may seem grave when pleasure's sunshine Is beaming on us, but whose ready smile Is sure to cheer us, when dark sorrow comes To circle us with shadows. Many times, When I have wandeted through that lonely walk, A shade has fallen on my heart. It seemed, Sometimes as if strange voices whispered low Amid the deepening shadows, breathing words Whose meaning was unknown to me ; and then My childish heart was filled with awe, until The next bright gleam of sunshine, or glad note Of woodland warbler woke me from my dream. To smile at my own fancies. Silently On the bright moss at the tall pine-tree's root Oft I reclined, well pleased to lose myself In the wild mazes of a waking dream ; And often, up the steep and slippery rock At which the brief path ended, fearlessly I clambered ; aided by the slender twigs And twisted roots of the o'erhanging tree, %. MAY-FLOWERS. 77' To rest upon the summit. There, the breeze Had room to play more freely, and I loved To sit and feel its light wings fan my brow. And there, too, the low sound that rose, as stole The light wind through the branches of the trees, Was like the far off moan of the deep sea ; And, as I listened to it, though itself Seemed hushed to slumber. Pleasant memories, — Can we grow weary of them ? One more path, Only one more, will I, with fancy's aid. This eve retrace again. The birch and pine, The graceful maple and the stately oak O'er-shadowed it ; and the sweet forest flowers In all their beauty, blossomed in the shade Made by the mingling of their waveing boughs. I loved that path ; for over hill and dale, llirough shade and sunshine, still, it led me on Mile after mile ; and there were pleasant places To rest when weary, and new paths to try When old ones grew familiar ; and the whole Was like a fairy tale, told o'er and o'er. But each time fraught with some new wonder, so That the ear wearied not with hearing it ; Or like a gorgeous painting, many times Exhibited, each time with some new light 78 WAY-FLOWERS. Or shade upon it thrown, so that it seemed Upon each view, even to the very last, More beautiful than it before had been. In that wild, lonely walk I alAvays found Some shrub before unnoticed, or some flower That spoke of a new class, and challenged me To find its name and place in Nature's kingom ; | Or some rare specimen to deck the shelf .• Of the learned mineralogist ; or else | Some new and curious moss ; or some slight cell | In which the skilful insect architect | Had found a safe abode ; or there would be | A bird building its nest on the high bough | Of one of the tall trees, or carolling Its sweetest song to cheer its mate, or bearing Food to its unfledged little ones. And sometimes The nimble squirrel would bound o'er my path, Looking, for all the world, as if he laughed As he fled from me. How I longed to tame him, And love him as a playful pet ! And then The brilliant butterfly would flit along Before me, as if seeking for the flowers That wooed him with their fragrance ; and the bee, That never-wearied laborer, was there, Singing his own low song to cheer his toil. Oh, there was much to make that lonely walk Lovely and dear to me, and even now 1 think of it with joy. MAY-FL0WER8. 79 Lone wildwood wanderings ! They have been more, to me, than most would deem them. I have gone forth when lonely, and returned Feeling that faithful friends were all around me. I have gone forth in sadness, and returned With my heart comforted, and filled with joy. I have gone forth when I felt almost weary Of life ; — when this poor, changing world of ours. With all its jars, its discord, and its strife, Had wakened bitter thoughts of those who dwell Within its circle ; and I have returned, Feeling that while I had so much to love me I could forgive and love an erring brother. And ask him to forgive me also. And, When I have gone forth with a cheerful spirit, I have returned again with gratitude Filling my heart, and praise upon the lips That fain would give it utterance, in notes Of sweetest melody. My woodland wanderings Have seldom been without an aim, and never Without a recompense. And is it strange That I should often think of them with pleasure, Or that I should attempt to give to others Some faint idea of the happiness That they have given me ? This simple sketch; Imperfect as it is, may serve, perchance, Dhnly to shadow forth the thoughts that made Those woodland wanderings so dear to me. ;si — THE HOUSE OF PRA7ER. Thk Sabbath, — it is here again, And joyously we greet Its light, and the old church-beU's chime Is music, sad and sweet. It rose, at morn, with solemn tone On the soft slumbering air, To call the faithful worshippers Forth to the house of prayer. And they obeyed the summons ; — forth From many a quiet home, Embosomed in the forest dell, Or on the hill-side lone, — Beneath the shade of the dark pines, Or o'er the meadows fair, They passed in cheerful, social groups, Towards the loved house of prayer. Manhood, in its stern, haughty strength. With step and mien of pride. And youth with bright, unshadowed face. Moved onward, side by side ; And bending age. with furrowed brow, And thin and hoary hair, — And childhood, in its thoughtless joy, — All sought the house of prayer. They stood within the sacred fane, And childhood's sunny smile Passed from the rosy lip away, In the dim, shadowy aisle. Old age forgot its weariness, Manhood its pride and care, — And youth bent low its ringlets bright. In the still house of prayer. Father, thy children come to thee. For counsel, and for aid ; — Thoii art their shepherd and their guide. Their hope — their sun — their shade, Look down on all who on this day Thy sacred service share. And make each heart within thy house. Itself a house of prayer. m AY-FLO WER8 THE HOME OP THE HEART. | We speak of home, — what mean we < By that dear word ? The cot j That shqjtered us in childhood, \ First loved and last forgot ? J Or the happy dweliing-place | That was ours in after years, That heard our children's laughter, \ And saw our children's tears ? ' Nay, nay ; — the lowly cottage ; Where our loved parents dwelt, j Where each even, round the hearth-fire \ At the same still hour we knelt, — % AVhere we learned our first sweet Sabbath song, v Our first few words of prayer, — ^ Its memory is holy — \ But our home, — it is not there. \ Xor yet in the loved dwelling ^ We spoke of as our own, i When deeper cares their shadow | Over our hearts had thrown. j We were happy, oh I how happy ! ; Earth seemed all bright and fair, ) While we dwelt 'neath that dear roof-tree, — i But our home, — it is not there. ■%_ FLOWERS. 83 i Where the dear ones who passed from u: With words of sad farewell Now, robed in stainless vestments, With the holy angels dwell, — Where love is not half anguish, — Where friends meet not to part, — There is the spirit's dwelling, The calm home of the heart. How many of our dear ones Have reached that happy home I Are they not watching for us ? Waiting, till we shall come 1 Deep, deep within our bosoms Pure love for them we bear ; — They remember us in heaven, — Our home,— it is with them there. ,_ 30 84 MAY-FLOWERS. DEATH OP A CHILD. Gone to thy home. Our gentle one, Like Spring's first fragile flower,— As bright thy bloom, As swift thy doom, — The dirge at thy burial hour, — What should it be ? A strain as free As the bird's glancing wing — Sad as the tone Of sorrow's moan, — Sweet as the song of Spring. Our loved and blest ! Calm be thy rest In the still forest shade ; The hand of love Thy grave above Has strewn fresh flowers, to fade, Like thee — ^like thee ! Oh ! home will be To us, a darkened place ; — Its dearest light Was the sunshine bright That beamed from thy young face MAY-FLOWERS. 85 That light has fled ;— Tears have been shed Above thy early bier ; — Yet, thou art blest ; To thy still rest, Loved one, we leave thee here. A floral gem, Rent from its stem, — A treasure — ^lent — not given, — A star, whose light Through sorrow's night, Beams on us now from heaven. %. MAY FLOW K R S L_, A SPELL IS ON MY SPIRIT. A spell is on my spirit ; — Vainly it strives to soar ; — Earth's shadows gather round me, — Earth's many cords have bound me, — When will this dream be o'er ? A spell is on my spirit, A shade is on my brow, — Oh, for one ray of gladness To gild the cloud of sadness That hovers o'er me now. A spell is on my spirit ; — The weight of earthly care, — The dim hopes from us fading, — The fears life's pathway shading, — All these are hard to bear. A spell is on my spirit, The spell of silent wo : My heart is vainly yearning For steps, whose glad returning My home no more may know. A spell is on my sph'it, A spell of fearful power ;— MAY-FLOWERS. 87 Sweet words, by pale lips spoken, Ere yet love's ties were broken, Haunt me, at eve's hushed hour. A spell is on my spirit, A spell I may not break ; — Departed ones are near me, — I speak, — do they not hear me ? When will my heart awake ? I A spell is on my spirit, — I Warm gushing tears are shed ; — j Loved arms are round me twining- i Bright eyes are on me shining, — 1 And have I waked the dead 1 \ A spell is on my spirits . A deep, a solemn spell, I A music-tone is breathing I Through the shades around me wreathing, i A sad, yet sweet farewell. \ The spirit-spell is broken, — i Those shadowy forms have fled ; — Oh, 'tis a precious treasure, The power to call, at pleasure, Those holy ones — the dead. MAY-FLOWERS. THE MINIATURE. To Beautiful, is it not } Ah, well, Tm glad you think it so ; — Just look vipon those glossy curls, And that calm brow of snow ; See. the glad, joyous light that beams From those deep eyes of blue, And the smile upon those rosy lips, — "Will they not speak to you ? AS^hat is the lady thinking of ? Tell me, if you can guess ; Of the graceful folds, so smoothly laid, In her white satin ^ress ? Of the book she is holding in her hand ? Or the single rose-bud fair, Half hidden 'mid the ringlets bright Of her shining auburn hair ? No, no, — far deeper thoughts than these Those sparkling blue eyes tell ; I've looked on them before, my friend. And can read their meaning well. ^'I'.w..w^ . __.. .»_ ......^^ O W E R S , I can give unto their radiant glance Interpretation true ; And indeed, I really believe, She is thinking now of you. What ? blushing, are you ? Really ! 'Tis well enough for girls To hide their glowing cheeks amid Their softly-clustering curls ; But truly, I love not to see On a high, manly brow, The mantling crimson flush, that rests Deeply on yours just now Ah ! have I vexed you ? — That is fine ; What would that lady say, If those dark eyes should flash at her. As they do at me, 1 pray ? Would her blue eyes flash back again ? Or would they fill with tears ? Indeed, I must confess, for her I have many many fears. And none for you ? Oh no, not one ; — Ah ! it is aU in vain For you to call that winning smile Back to your lip again. MAY-FLOWERS. You frowned on me just now ; therefore I say, and mean so, too, I shall love your lady just three times As well as I do you. But, seriously, now, those eyes, And that fair, youthful face Might well, in a warm heart like yours, Secure a lasting place. Most happy, in your cottage home, I doubt not you will be ; You surely will, if happiness Depends on love from me. FLOWER 91 SCHOOL DAYS. ADDRESSED TO A FORMER SCHOOLMATE. Have you forgotten, my gentle friend, The happy days we spent In the old school-house, when the hours Like swift-winged minutes went ? The problems we solved, the tasks we conned. The teachers we perplexed ? The petty joys that delighted us, And the petty cares that vexed ? Have you forgotten them, my friend ? Or do you remember, now, The sun shine and the shadows That flitted o'er each brow ? The reading and the spelling, Aye, and the writing, too ? Oh, you cannot have forgotten The notes I wrote to you ! Our kind, but watchful teacher ? Little indeed he thought Of the missions he was learning, Or the mischief that he wrought, When he passed the school-books over. Kindly, from you to me ; — We could not learn without them, He knew as well as we. j ' 92 M A Y - F L O W E R 3 . '; But he did not know, I fancy, Although we surely did, How many folded papers Among the leaves lay hid, Each bearing kindly messages, Or laughing words of glee From me to you, my gentle one, Or back from you to me. His calm brow would have darkened, And his bright lip lost its smile, Had he the ruse suspected, — But we managed well, awhile, Till school was done, and then goodbye To long walks through the snow, — To play, and feooks, and mischief, And tales of long ago. Goodbye to all the scholars. The merry laughing elves. Whom we loved, dear little urchins, But second to ourselves ; — Goodbye to the kind teacher, Whom we oft had disobeyed : But whose kindness, notwithstanding all ; AYith genuine love we paid. And, harder than the parting From all the rest, goodbye To a certain gentle friend of mine, With her mischief-making eye,— J MAY-FLOWERS 'fm With her wreathing lip, and sunny brow, And brightly-glowing cheek ; — That last goodbye, my gentle one, Was a hard word to speak. Our meetings, since that, have been few. And they have been brief and sad ; But these lines must not breathe of sorrow, For I wish them to make you glad ; — I wish them to whisper softly Of bygone hours of glee, To awaken, in your warm heart Sweet memory of me. Friend, friend, always remember Those happy, happy days ; — Their sunny scenes are often Pictured to my still gaze. Oh, you will not forget them. For your heart is warm and true ; But, when school-days are with you, think Of one who thinks of you. M S 94 M A y - r L O \V K R S . THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM. The free, -wild spirit of the storm ! His voice is on the air to-night ; And wild are the echoes backward borne From wooded glen and height, My heart leaps up with a strange joy, As o'er the earth rings out, Like the pealing cry of victory, That thrilling spirit-shout. The free, wild spirit of the storm ! His voice sounds o'er the heaving main ;— Wo to the sailor who hears that shout ! He will not come home again. Wo to the barque that meets the blast ! The moan of the ocean-surge. And the song of the storm-spirit in his glee Will be its burial dirge. The free, wild spirit of the storm ! He shouts through the mountain-path ;— Wo to the hapless traveller Who meets him in his wrath ! The snowy robe that o'er the earth His hand has freely spread, Will lightly wreathe its mantling folds Around his last low bed. 5 FLOWERS. 95 The free, wild spirit of the storm ! His banner ^Yas darkly thrown Forth to the breeze, at early morn, AVith a blast like a trumpet tone, — Like the charging cry of a mighty host, Sweeping on o'er the battle-plain ; — The shades of eve find it waving still ; — When will it be furled again ? The free, wild spirit of the storm ! His sceptre is one of might, — His shout is the voice of triumph high, — What spoils has he won to-night ? He has passed o'er the hill-side, bleak and lone. And through the dark woodland dell ; — What deep tone heralded his approach ? What words of his works shall tell ? The free, wild spirit of the storm I The forest sentinels bowed, As he passed on, in bis fearless strength, Like a king through the kneeling crowd ; And sternly he smiled, in his haughty scorn, To see how the mighty bent, In homage at his very look, As he proudly onward went. The free, wild spirit of the storm ! There is majesty in his mien ; * MAY-FLOWERS. There is music in his changeful tone, And light in his eye's wild gleam. Let others shrink from his piercing glance. And fly from his shadowy form, — I welcome the melody of the shout Of the spirit of the storm. SONNET. TO MY SISTER. Sister ! sweet sister ! silently I trace. With earnest eye, thy pictured features fair ; — A blessing rest upon the sunny face That haunts my dreams and smiles upon my prayer. A young and hopeful heart's calm gladness lies Mirrored in the clear depths of those dark eyes, A stranger well might deem the shade of wo Had never fallen on thy path of light ; But I, sweet sister, know it is not so. And prize the gentle spirit, in the might Of pure affection strong to meet the blow That crushed me to the earth. May God requite The noble heart that in its inmost shrine Hid its own grief, and shed the light of love o'er mine. MAY-FLOWERS. 97 STANZAS. A gem from the casket, — A rose from the tree,-— On desert sands fading, Or whelmed 'neath the sea,— A tone from a harp-string, Floating mournfully by, Awakening no echo To breathe a reply, — Too often — too often Meet emblems may be, Of wealth of mind offered The gem from the ocean The diver may bring, — The rose o'er the desert Rich fragrance may fling — The sad notes, whose sweetness Seems wasted on air, A thought may awaken Of praise or of prayer ; — We know not, — we dream not AVhat deep spells are shrined In the limitless empire Of mind over mind. F L O W E iSfS , Give gems from the casket, — ■ Give flowers from the tree, — Pour forth the heart s music, In notes wild and free. List not for the echo, — The fragrance seek not ; — Let the worth and the beauty Of thy gifts be forgot ; — This will be remembered, — They freely vrere given ; Give treasures to earth, — Seek treasures in heaven. FLOWER THE ROBIK. The little robin red-breast ! I hear his gushing song, On the clear air of morning Borne joyously along ; And gladly breathe my welcome To the wild music-strain That echoes winter's parting steps. And welcomes spring again. Tis early in the spring-time ; — The flowers have not yet come ; And the soft-whispering zephyrs Sleep in their sunny home ; — Lightly, o'er hill and valley, Mantle the snow-wreaths fair ; But sunbeams rest on their bright folds,- They will not long be there. The little robin red-breast Comes singing o'er the snow ; Remembers he the homestead He left so long ago 1 Alas for thee, sweet songster ! There's not a blossom, now, There's not a single leaf of green On that gray, moss-grown bough. -If 100 MAY-FLOWERS. Yet cheer thee, light-winged warbler ! Build tlij old home anew, And wait the coming blossoms, With faith as firm as true. The bright hours will not linger j — The dark hours cannot stay, — Spring's smile beams from the blue sky now,- Springs voice breathes in thy lay. Build on the moss-grown branches, Free minstrel of the air ! Thy home will soon be nestling 'Mid flowers and foliage fair. Kecall the sad heart's spring-time^ With thy Avild, artless strain ; — Most gladly, to thine own old home I welcome thee again* ■fi SONNET. A dream ot former days— a wayward dream, — Why should it haunt me now ?— Oh, oftentimes It comes to me, as comes a sunshine gleam Breaking through parted clouds — The heart enshrines Oft, 'mid its treasures, memories of hours That passed, as pass the dew-drops from the flowers, Brightly and silently, to come na more ; — And this was one of these, — an hour of light, Of hope, of gladness,— but its hliss is o'er. Past, never to return ; yet sweetly bright, Kobed in the same soft-blended hues it wore, Floats the fair scene before my mental sight. By memory's spell detained. The past ! the past ! Who would forget the hours that were too blest to last ? ^w^ MAYFLOWERS LOVEANDFAME. Within a restless human heart Two spirits were at strife, Each seeking to hold sway, apart, O'er the brief scene of life ; Each striving, now successfully, And now all, all in vain, Over a gentle mind, yet high, To cast its own bright chain. I listened to the words they breathed As each, in turn, held sway ; I saw the blooming flowers that wreathed, Round each dim-opening way ; I heard the glad, exulting tone, And the low-whispered prayer ; — Oh, which was meet to rule, alone, Over that empire fair ? " A name, a high, a deathless name ! Through earth's fair bowers of song To sound, when lips that breathed the strain First, have been silent long ; — A name, in characters of light Traced on fame's dazzling scroll, To fade — when death's dark, dreamless night Shrouds the immortal soul. MAY-FLOWERS. 103'^ " A name, to wake from peaceful sleep The human heart at will, — To bid its wildest pulses leap, Its deepest caverns thrill, — To echo, like a spirit tone, A wild, mysterious breath, Winning an answer all its own, — Breathing of life — and death. " Oh ! such a name may yet bo thine ! High spirit, onward press ! What though, in this dim, stranger clime, Thy lot is lonehness ? Onward ! in strength, in fearless might, — Thou art iiot of the throng, — Onward ! to the far distant height Of the famed mount of song ! " And said I that the way was lone ? Thy feet the path have tried, — Sv\^eet voices breathed thy lyre's low tone Back from the green hill-side, — Fair flowers uplifted their bright eyes To thine with looks of love. And seraph voices, from the skies Breathed words of realms above. '' Onward ! "tis not for one like theo To this dim world to cling, — Like the proud eagle, wild and free. Spread thy uufettored Aving, — 104 '% Onward ! and win a name on earth, — A name that cannot die ! Is this the country of thy birth ? Soar to thy native sky I" Such was the clear, unfaltering strain That rose to the blue sky, Like music on a battle-plain, Breathing of victory ; And when it ceased, a murmur low. And sadly sweet, replied, Like the soft zephyr's dreamy flow Through flowers at eventide. " A name, in the deep treasure-cells Of kindred hearts enshrined, Where richer wealth in safety dwells Than all the wealth of mind, — A name that loved lips often breathe, And never but to bless, — What deeper spell wish we to wreathe The heart with happiness 1 " A name — not proudly traced on high, For stranger-glances cold To rest on, — but indelibly Written upon the soul. Coming like distant melody At even ftiintly heard, To those who dwelt in love with thee, — A gentle ' hou'^ehold word.' 105 ^, " A word to waken pleasant dreams And memories sadly sweet, As when, in sudden rainbow-gleams Sunshine and raindrops meet ; To weave full many a silken tie, Around-tlie heart to twine, — To waken love that ne'er can die, — Let such a name be thine. « What though thy hand has waked the lyre, Thy lip poured forth the lay ? Know'st thou not that the spirit-fire Consumes the shrine of clay ? Faintness comes o'er thee, when the hour Of inspiration strong Is past ; — it is a feai'ful power To pour out life in song. « And art thou not, song's empire o'er, One of the changing crowd ? By the same ties forbid to soar, By the same sorrows bowed ? Does not hope mingle with thy fear, And sadness with thy mirth ? Joy claim a smile and grief a tear ? Alas ! poor child of earth ! << Alas for thee ! lost in the dream Of an undying name, In hues of dazzhng light to gleam Forth from the scroll of fame. '" 106 MAY-FLOWERS. Oh, rather in thy lowliness, Affection's wreath entwine Around thy home, and fondly bless Each gem thou callest thine. " The graceful vine's slight tendrils train O'er the low cottage eaves, And watch the singing bird, again Building among the leaves ; Shield, from the storm-blast's fitful power The graceful white rose tree ; And teach each bud in thy home-bower To look in love on thee. " Win the glad glance of heart-light sweet From childhood's laughing eyes. And gather round thy lone retreat AVarm human sympathies, — Love that will wreathe around thy name Tendrils that ne'er can part ; This, this is the true path of fame For thee, frail human heart.' To the sweet whisper, sad and low, I saw that lone heart thrill ; But echoes of the proud song s flow Lingered in music still. O'er the sweet lay of happiness Rose the glad hymn of pride. And in that lone heart's still recess The spirit whisper died. FLOWERS DEATH IN THE SPRING-TIME. " DriNG ! oh no, — it cannot, cannot be, — Sickness has shadowed o"er my palUd brow, But my heart bounds as ever, wild and free, — Earth never seemed so beautiful as now. The snows have melted in the sun's warm beam, The bird's glad song is borne on spring's soft breath,— And I— oh ! is this all a fearful dream 1 Or am I sinking 'neath the hand of death ? " Dying, — while life is all around my way, Glad, glorious life, beaming from the blue sky, Echoing in the wildwood warblers lay, — Who speaks of death ? This is no time to die. Walt till the summer roses' bloom has fled, Till the rich, gorgeous robe of autumn fades, — Wait till stern winter comes, with noiseless tread, Stealing, alone, through the deep forest shades. " Then may ye speak of death — when all earth's bloom Seems wrapped, for ever, in its icy grave, — Cut oh, not now, — not while above the tomb The green leaves of the drooping willow wave : — 108 MAV-FLOWERS. Not while the early violefs eye of blue Looks lovingly up from the grassy sod. As if for the bright sunlight and pure dew That nurtured it, it offered thanks to God. " To die, in the bright spring-time, when the earth AYakes, with a sunny smile, from her long rest, And footsteps light as air, and tones of mirth. And eyes lit up with joy from East and West Greet her awakening, — who, with a proud heart, Filled, like my own, with aspirations high, Could bid each dream of future years depart, And, yielding all, lie calmly down to die ? " I cannot ; — Oh ! 'tis agony to stand Alone, upon the open grave's dark brink. Circled with shadows from the spirit land. Trembling, yet feeling it all vain to shrink Back from the dread abyss. This fearful strife, — This chnging to a frail. and fleeting breath, — Oh, who but loves the mystery of life. And shudders at the mystery of death ?" Then stole a whisper through that trembling heart. Sweet as if breathed from springs soft, smiling sky ;- " Thy father calls thee, frail one as thou art. And sayest thou, ' [ cannot, cannot die ?' Hast thou not seen thy hopes, like sere leaves, fall ? Have not thy friends passed from thee, one by one ? ^m 109 And wouldst thou linger here, the last of all Alone in this dim world, far from th}^ home ? " Are the glad light and melody of spring Dearer than smiles and tones departed ?— Nay, Lightly earth's circling fetters from thee fling ; — Fear not the shadows of the lonely way. — Thy Father calls, — thy friends await thee, — come !" And peacefully the weary spirit passed ; " They wait for me, — my Father calls me home ;" — The words that on those pale lips lingered last. M A V - F (. O W L- R TO A PET KITTEN. 1SI\' little playful kitten ; 'Tis a long time, very long, Since watching thy wild gambols, I promised thee a song. I've not redeemed my promise. My merry little pet,— But it is not forgotten, — I will redeem it yet. And why not now ? Thy free sports Have often served to wile Away an hour of weariness, And make a sad lip smile Thy very mischief, even Though causing toil and care. Has freely been forgiven. For no thought of wrong was there. Not even when the worsted, With many a merry bound. Was followed in a circle, The chair-post round and round. ^' MAV-FLOWERS Till the sword of the famed conqueror Had scarce the knot untied, — Not even then did the owner Find words or will to chide. No ; nor when on the corner Of the favorite book she saw The marks of many a keen-edged tooth, And many a sharpened claw ; Although the precious volume Was carefully laid by, Thy witchery soon brought the light Of mirth back to her eye. And, w^orst of all, when over The smoothly-written sheet A single tap from thy white paw Made rills of blackness meet ; Till like the fabled river Of Styx flowed the dark wave, Obliterating lines her hand All vainly strove to save. — Even foi*the wilful wickedness, As it seemed, of such a deed, A playful reprimand was all The punishment decreed. Not e'en a transient exile Removed thee from thy place, Or forbade thy bright eyes, lovingly, To peer into her face. LOWERS, My little playful kitten ! I've written now for thee, A record of thy mischief, A memorial of thy glee ; And as a slight memento Of a pet loved well and long, Among my pictures of the past, I'll treasure up this song. FLOWERS. lloj FLOWERS. Flowers, flowers, beautiful flowers ! Sweet is your smile in this dim world of ours. Many a sad heart has blessed its beam, As it shone out beside the woodland stream. ^ Or glanced, hke a ray of rosy light, >. Up from among the green leaves bright. Or 'mid the brown moss on the hill-side lone, Told that beauty and gladness had found a home. Flowers, flowers, beautiful flowers ! Sweet is your smile in this dim world of ours. The bright eyes of childhood grow brighter still, As your fragile blossoms fair, young hands fill ; The light step of youth has a quicker bound, Where your soft eyes beam from the grassy ground And manhood's brow loses thought's deep shade, For ye bring glad memories of fount and glade, Of sports in the leafy forest halls, Of the murmur of tiny waterfalls, Of the music of the bird and bee, Of the butterfly's wing, and the squirrels glee, — Of all that boyhood, delighted, met, And that manhood welcomes with pleasure yet. Flowers, flowers, beautiful flowers ! Sweet is your smile in this dim world of ours. i 114 MAY-FLOWERS. The aged gaze on that smile's soft Hght "With quiet gladness ; and brief and bright, To the pale cheek of sickness comes a glow, Like the sunset flush on a wreath of snow, AVhen gentle hands to the couch of pain Bear love's fi'ail ofiTering, made not in vain. Flowers, flowers, beautiful flowers ! Sweet is your smile in this dim world of ours. A blessing rest on each fragile gem With which Nature enwreathes her diadem ; And a blessing too, on each gentle heart, That, casting aside the toys of art, Turns from the path by the vain world trod. And loves the beautiful works of God. Flowers, flowers, beautiful flowers ! Sweet is your smile in this dim world of ours. J M A V - F I. o \v j; u s . A SOXG FOR THE DAYS OP OLD. A song for the days of old ! The days, when the wilds gave back The shout of the hunter speeding fast On the flying quarry's track ; AVhen the moccasin left its print impressed Deep in the yielding snow, And the light foot that wore it vied in speed With the arrow from the bow. A song for the days of old ! The days when the waters blue Parted before the graceful prow Of the bright-hued canoe ; When no sound awoke the slumbering wave, Save the light dip of the oar, Or the echo of the bird's wild lay From the forest-circled shore. A song for the days of old I The days when with bead and shell The maiden wreathed her raven hair, In the deep forest dell : 116 MAY-FLOWERS. When the infant, in its slumbers sweet, Was cradled in the wild. And the mother's song, 'neath the broad ol Was carolled to her child. A song for the days of old I The days when the cabin-smoke Curled gracefully up to the clear blue sky. From the groves of pine and oak ; When around the gleaming council-fire Thronged the dark warrior band, And the calumet passed silently Around from hand to hand. A song for the days of old ! The days when the warrior's plume Went down, in its glory, all undimmed, AVith its wearer to the tomb ; When the chieftain's bow and arrows lay Ready to meet his hand, And his good steed flew to bear him on, O'er the plains of the spirit-land. A song for the days of old ^ The days when the wild and brave. With lofty mien and fearless soul, Ruled o'er the land and wave ; When the stately forest tree that stood ; — On the rugged mountain s brow Was an emblem of the red man's strength AVhere is the red man now ? %, MAY-FLOWERS A song for the days of old ! The days when our land was free, Ere the foot of the white man stained the soil Sacred to liberty. A wail for the conquests won O'er a rude, but noble race ; — Alas ! that our j^leasant homes should be Reared on their burial-place. • -*^.-^.,*s.- 118 MAY-FLOWERS, THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. I love the notes of the birds ; — they come AVifch the earliest light of the rising sun, Borne on the morn's clear, fragrant air, Like the song of thanksgiving after praj-er. 1 love their mingling voices well. Rising from woodland hill and dell. When the crystal dew drops brightly gleam On the flowers beside the rippling stream, And not e'en a fairy foot may pass So lightly over the verdant grass, As to leave for the gazer's eye no trace To tell of its transient resting-place. But there's one that comes at the quiet eve. Ere the fairy band begin to weave Their garlands bright for the moonlit ring, — There's one that comes, with a shadowy wing, "With a shadowy wing, and a voice that seems More like the music heard in dream*. Mournful, yet sweet, than like aught beside ; And I love the lone minstrel of even tide. Better than those whose wild music awakes So joyously, when the morning breaks, That lone bird's song to my heart bears a thrill ; — 'Tis a simple strain, — "whip-poor-will ! whip-poor-will !" M A Y - F L O Why do I love it ? I scarcely know ; But it sounds from the distance, soft and low ; And I pause and listen, until my eye Is dim with tears at the melody That floats, in its dreamy sweetness lone, Like a spirit's sad, yet thrilling tone. Through the dim shadows ;— what can it be. That makes that music so dear to me ? It may be the sadness that blends with the strain, Recalling hopes tenderly cherished in Tain ; Or the spell of the hour that gives to the lay A power unknown to the songs of the day. It may be the memory of friends who have heard "With me the lay of that lonely bird ; — It matters not why I love it ; — the hour Of the drooping leaf and upfolded flower Has much that I love ; and this is a part ; — A link of the bright chain enwreathed round my heart,- One of the memories treasured up, Sweet as the dew in the rose's cup, And pure as sweet. It is well to keep These simple treasures still and deep Within the heart. They have a shrine Safe in the inmost cell of mine ; And among them I love to number, still, The artless song of the whip-poor-will. 120 MAY-FLOWERS. THE SEA. The sea ! the deep, the boundless sea ! I love the mighty roar Of billows bounding in their glee To the bleak, rock-bound shore. There's music in the measured tread Of the dark ocean waves ; — They march above the noble dead, But not o'er living slaves. Over earth's burning desert sands, Over earth's smiling plains, The conqueror has led his bands, The slave has dragged his chains ;— Gray, moss-grown ruins rise to tell Of the destroyer's STvay, And beauty, bloom, and gladness dwell Circled by dark decay. But the blue deep retains no trace Of the proud victors tread ; — It folds in one long, cold embrace, The undistinguished dead. No monument is reared above The ever-rolling wave, The tribute of unchanging love, Or hoiior to the brave. M A y - F L O W E R 3 . 121 Man, the proud monarch of the shore May bid his navies ride Lightly, the slumbering billows o'er, Rocked by the placid tide. One moment, and the mighty deep Rushes in fury on, A giant wakening from his sleep, — Where are those frail barks ? — Gono. Gone, — and the blue waves bound as free, The sunlight smiles as fair, As if no cry of agony, No vainly uttered prayer Had mingled with the ocean's moan And the wild tempest's breath, Telling that 'mid the dark waves form Man sternly strove with death. The sea ! the deep, the dark blue sea ! No mortal hand may bind Its waves, are restless and as free As the immortal mind, The " still, small voice'' of one alone Their onward course can stay ; — They listen to its gentlest tone, — They listen — and obey. Thou, who wouldst learn how frail thy hand. How powerless thy will, <122 MAy-FL0W£R8 Go to the mighty oeean strand, And bid the waves be still ; — Then, gazing on the boundless deep, Think how the Savior trod The billows hushed to peaceful sleep. And own the power of God,. MA.V-FLO WERS. 123 CHILDHOOD. A blessing on the beaming eyes And smiling lips of childhood ! They bear me back to the blue skies And lone walks in the wildwood That well I loved in early years, That memory still must treasure, With childish hopes and childish fears. And childish pain and pleasure. A blessing on the bounding feet, And the clear-ringing laughter. That oft my coming spring to meet. Or sound my slow steps after, — The tiny hands that clasp my own, Or wreathe in warm caressing. Around my neck, — sweet be the tone That breathes on each a blessing And most of all, on the true heart That dreams not of deceiving, That learns, from Nature's self the art Of loving and believing ; That asks not wealth, or place of pride, But, wise without reflection. Sets every other gift aside For that of pure affection. 124 MA Y-FLOW E ES . Oh; darkened as this world has been, Yet rays of light undying Beam forth amid the shadows dim, All, all around us lying. The little ones whom Jesus blessed, The simple, meek, and lowly, Bear yet, on their fair brows impressed, His benediction holy. And we whom Time's swift rolling stream Is bearing onward lightly, May weU, to the lone islet green Where sunbeams rest so brightly. Look back in love, though never more Our hands may cull its blos'soms. And clasp, in parting from that shore, Its dwellers to our bosoms. MAY-FLOWERS. 125 THE HAND OP THE LABORER. The toil-hardened hand of the laborer "Where is not its impress seen ^ Where the orchard buds put forth in spring, And the grain is waving green, — Where the vines are trained o'er the cottage roof, And the roses cluster fair *Neath the shade of the rustic portico, — The laborer's hand is there. Where the lofty home of wealth and pride Rises 'mid sylvan bowers. Lifting far up to the blue heavens Its ancient battle-towers, — Where the lighter modern fabric springs Up in its beauty rare; On the busy city's crowded street, — The laborer's hand is there. Where taste creates, with magic wand Beauty where aU seemed rude, — Where stern utility bears life To the forest solitude, — Where commerce spreads the snow-white sail, Sped on by many a prayer, — Where wealth counts o'er his shining hoards, — The laborer's hand is there. JI AY-FLOWERS Where Art and gifted Genius spread Their treasures to the eye,-T- AVhere thought communes with the high hearts Of ages long gone by, — Where wisdom lights the taper dim, Or Fancy's step of air Glides through the gorgeous world of dreads, — The laborer's hand is there. Where the poet wakes the slumbering lyre, Breathing, in one wild lay. The thoughts, that, haply, gleam and fall, Like the flashing ocean spray, — Where the restless sea of life heaves dark To the tempest-breath of care, — Where death's silent tread has stilled its waves,- The laborer's hand is there. The toil-hardened hand of the laborer ! . AU honor to that hand ! And shame to those who shrink from its grasp, As from guilt's deep, darkening brand ; Who, while its honest toil provides The luxuries they share, Forget, or remember but with scorn. That the laborer's hand is there. The toil-hardened hand of the loborer ! All honor to that hand ! H. MAY-FLOWERa. ^ 127 > Whether it strives with the stormy sea, Or tills the peaceful land. The wreath of glory, the palm of pride, Let far-distant countries be^r, — Be this the boast of my native land, The laborer's hand is there. 4fS sj^- " • ■'- ' -^ -""-" "'"' "^ 128 :.r A V - K L O W E R I \ S ^' N E T . A long farewell to this green, shaded isle 'Mid the world's desert waste. A calm farewell, Yet mournful. The sweet Summer's radiant smile Is passing from the verdant woodland dell ; And, as flowers fade, and oft-trod paths grow lone, My heart responds to Nature's saddened tone. A long farewell to the glad rippling brook [showers, That danced so lightly on ; 'neath Springs soft And to the silent, lone, leaf-shadowed nook, Vv'here oft, my sole companions bees and flowers, With ready pencil or well-chosen book, I sat, forgetful of the fleeting hours. A sad farewell to these familiar scenes ; — Oh ! life is dark indeed to a young heart's vain dreams. TO MY SISTER A^fD we have parted, sister, never more 'Neath the same roof, in love and trust, to dwell ; But the svy^eet memories of days of yore, These will not fade. The dreaded word farewell Was sadly spoken ; but hope's golden ray Beams yet, unshadowed, on my lonely way ; — May it still beam on thine. Peaceful and blest Be thy brief sojourn here, my gentle one ; — Sweet as the bird-song from the leaf-hung nest Poured trembhngly, at the still set of sun, Be the deep echoes wakened in thy breast By hfe's glad voices ; and when death shall come, Light be the touch that looses love's bright chain, And sweet the voice that breathes thy welcome home [again. 130 MAY-FLOWERS. "NEITHER DO I CONDEMN THEE; GO, AND SIN NO MORE." She stood before the Savior, with her hands Folded upon her bosom, and her eyes Veiled by the down cast lids whose lashes swept A cheek from which the hue of life had fled, "Waiting to hear her doom. A fearful thing It is for one in the first bloom of youth To stand, as stood that erring one, and wait The breathing of the single simple word, AVhose utterance must seal her fate. And yet She stood there calmly, though a watchful eye Might have seen tokens, on the paUid brow And compressed lip, of the deep agony. Controlled, but not less keenly felt. One moment Of solemn silence, seeming, in its flight, A long, long age of dread, and the first words Of the calm voice of Ilim whom they had made Her judge, rose on the stillness, wakening hope. For they were filled with pity. A faint flush Stole o'er her cheek, as tremblingly she breathed A low response ; but her eyes were not raised, ' To meet the gaze that rested on her. But, When the calm words of pardon met her ear, ? With a brief half-bewildered gaze she scanned ^ MAY-FLOWERS. 131 His placid features, as if seeking there To read the confirmation of his words, And not in vain. Quickly, oer cheek and brow The warm tide rushed, and fled as quick, and Her pale lips quivered with unuttered words Of gratitude, as silently she knelt. And lifted her clasped hands and earnest eyes. Moistened with tears. Deep fervent gratitude, And humble penitence, and silent prayer, Were blended in that look. A moment more, And closely gathering the graceful folds Of her light veil around her form, she rose And glided from his presence. Would the world But heten to the words of Him whose lips Pronounced a blessing on the merciful. And seek, in pitying love, to lead again The wildered wanderers from the downward way, How many of the hearts now flinging back Hatred for hatred, scorn for bitter scorn, Might give back love for love, warm gratitude For pity and deep genuine penitence For free forgiveness. Gentle hands may raise The drooping flower, and train the shattered vine To clasp its tendrils round their wonted prop, Whence the rude storm-blast sent them ; and kind words 132 MAY-FLOWERS. May heal the wounded heart, and bear new strength To the faint, failing spirit. Kindly, then. Look on the erring. Thou hast never known The trials that have maddened them. The snares Spread for their feet, have never circled thee. Thou may'st not read the many burning thoughts Seared on the tablet of their heart, or know How many times that heart has vainly yearned For sympathy and pity, or how oft The wish to tread again the narrow path Has been repelled and changed to bitterness By the cold words or scornful glance of those Who, calling Christ their master, turn away From guilt as if its very breath might stain Their self-made robes of righteousness. A word, A look may bear a blight into the soul That sin has shadowed, making deeper still Its depths of untold vn-etchedness. A word, A look may fall like dew on the parched earth, Awakening it to life and gladness. Who Would blight instead of healing ? Who shall dare Refuse the mercy all must seek, ere long, As their sole refuge from impending vnrath ? ■ -^ M A T - F L O W E R S . 133 > THE FOREST FLOWER. I sought a little flower, That oft, in by-gone years, had gladdened me, From the deep shadows of its woodland bower Looking up lovingly. I sought it where the shade Of the old oaks, darkly, in silence fell, And where the sunlight on the green turf played, In the lone, mossy dell. I sought it, but in vain ; — Fair flowers were there, bending to the soft breeze, And green leaves, murmuring a low plaintive strain, 'Neath the old forest trees. But the one fairy gem That oft had wakened sweetly pensive thought, With its star-blossom, and slight, graceful stem, Mid them in vain I sought. That flower, had bloomed, alone. In the calm shelter of its native dell ; And faded silently, with no sweet tone Of welcome or farewell. 134 M A Y - F L O W E U b Its perfume had been shed Freely at morn, through the dim woodland wide, Eve came ; — meekly it bowed its graceful head To the still earth, and died. Thus many a gentle one, Far from the thronged paths trodden by the crowd, In the seclusion of a quiet home, 'Neath death's cold hand has bowed. Leaving no vacant place Amid the busy and the bustling throng ; But in a few fond hearts a deep, deep trace, Hidden but guarded long And oh ! are they not blest, Who, sheltered here in the warm heart of love, For the first time that peaceful place of rest Leave for a home above. '1^ -,1^ M MAY-FLOWERS. 135 FORGIVENESS. And canst thou not forgive him 1 He has done thee cruel wrong ; But the sway of Christian love In thy bosom should be strong, — Stronger than the power of evil, With which thou long hast striven, Then cast each shade of anger by ; — Forgive, and be forgiven. And canst thou not forgive him ? Thou, who from the narrow way, In thy heedlessness or pride, Has so often gone astray ! Thou prayest for forgiveness ; — Be the dark fetter riven, And, kneeling at the Savior's feet, - Forgive, and be forgiven. % ^ Y-FLOWKRS THE SUNLIGHT. Welcome ye the sunlight i Pleasant is its smile, Resting on the turrets Of the Gothic pile ; Kindly is its greeting, As it brightly peeps Through the cottage window, Where the woodbine creeps. Welcome ye the sunlight ! Pensively its ray Lingers, at the even, Round the ruin gray ; — On the mountain summit Last its footsteps stray, As if brightly wending Thence to heaven their way. Welcome ye the sunhght ! On life's pathway shed, — I Gentle voices' music — I Well-known footsteps' tread, — i Loved lips' earnest greeting; — Loved eyes' changeless light, — I All that makes the dwelling Of the spirit bright. m- MAY-FLOWERS. 137 Welcome ye the sunlight ! Let its golden ray Beam on all who journey With thee on thy way ; And with softened radiance Let its light be thrown On the sad and weary, On the low and lone. Welcome ye the sunlight I Beaming from the heart ; — Bid earth's gathering shadows From that shrine depart ; Or, if they must linger Yet a httle while, Be their dark folds brightened By a sunny smile. M 138 MAY-^FLOWERS, STANZAS. Mother, with thy warm hps pressmg Thy fair infant's dimpled cheek, Winning smiles, by soft caressing, From lips yet untaught to speak, — Lone may be thy home," and lowly. Small of earthly wealth thy share ; But a precious trust, and holy, Is committed to thy care. Guard it well, oh, gentle mother, Looking still, with steadfast eye, From this dim world to another, Where no darkening shadows lie. Thou mayest rear that fragile blossom, In celestial bowers to dwell ; Clasp the treasure to thy bosom, — Gentle mother, guard it well. MAY-FLO WERS. 139 I THE AGE OP CHIVALRY. Freely the Moorish banners waved O'er the wide battle-plain, — Darkly the Moorish host closed round A castle-tower in Spain ; — A lofty tower, that proudly flung Its stern defiance out, In answer to the summons loud Of their wild battle shout. Moving on those beleagured walls, Dark, warrior forms were seen, With waving plumes, and gleaming mail, And free, and fearless mien. High, manly hearts had gathered there To meet the rising swell Of the wild tide of war, and hurl Death on the infidel And 'mid that martial throng there moved One whose fair, youthful face Had seemed more meet the vine-wreathed bower, Or festive hall to grace. The light of the warm sun of Spain Shed not its radiance o'er A flower more sweetly beautiful Than the young Isadore. ^___ d 140 ■m But the high spirit of her sire Beamed from her dark eye now, And dwelt, enthroned in majesty, On her calm, lofty broAv. Firm was her stately step, and stern Her bright lip's haughty curl. And mail-clad men bent low before The gentle, timid girl. From the high walls a trumpet's voice Bade the dark foe advance ; — " The Spanish sword is not yet sheathed. Nor lost the Spanish lance. Our flag is waving proudly yet, And they may learn, ere long. Who deem a woman's hand so weak. That her high soul is strong." The Moorish chieftain's swarthy brow With sudden shame was dyed ; — " And rules a gentle lady here '" In wonder he replied. " The hunter's feathered shaft may pierce The soaring eagle's breast ; But lightly treads he where green leaves Droop o'er the dove's low nest." Freely the Moorish banners waved O'er the wide battle plain, — MAY-FLOWERS. 141 Darkly the Moorish host retired From that strong tower again ; — Not moved by fear, but keeping well Their oath of fealty, In the true spirit of their age, — The age of Chivalry. ) 142 may-floweks. THE SLAVE'S REVERY. He stood where the broad river gave Its tribute to the sea, And watched the glow each sunbright way© Threw back, as ceaselessly The stream swept on ; till thus, at last, The thoughts that filled his breast, As the swift current gUded past, His Hps in words expressed. " Flow on, proud river ! I have seen On many a former day. As now, thy glancing waters gleam In the bright sun's glad ray ; And as I marked the golden glow That lit each crested wave, My sorrowing heart has murmured low — ' Thou'rt free, — I am a slave.' " I've watched the white sails on thy breast, And longed with them to fly To some far land of peace and rest, — Some home of liberty. 'On ! on ! brave barques !' my soul has said ; ' Your bows the surges lave ; Your wings for their free flight are spread ; And I — I am a slave.' | MAY-FLOWERS. 143 "Where the dark cliffs their shadow throw O'er the calm waters bright, I've marked the sea-bird, circhng low, In his unwearied flight. Fearless aUke, when sunbeams shine, Or storm-winds wildly rave ; — ' Thy lot,' I've said ' is not like mine ; Thou 'rt free— I am a slave.' « I've gazed upon each silvery star That decks Night's shadowed brow ;— There's one that beckons from afar, — It beams upon me now. And I will follow where it leads ; Liberty, or the grave Is mine ;— God bless the friend who speeds Onward the flying slave. " On ! on ! to the far North ! and on O'er the wild, stormy sea ; — The land of freedom is no home For those who would be free. On! to some swift sail, speeding o'er The restless ocean wave ; And on! still on! till England's shore Receives the trembling slave." That slave has passed the waters o'er, Passed from our free, fair land ; 144 MAY-FLOWERS, And found, on Britain's sea-girt shore; Welcoming heart and hand. Aye, found, 'neath a proud monarch's reign, Permission to be free ; To live, and toil, and pray, oh shame, America, to thee ! Aye, shame upon thee ! The free tide. The chainless winds of heaven. O'er which thy ocean-Bethels glide, By which thy fleets are driven ; In th'^^" unceasing, earnest flow, — In their wi^^ -ight and free, — Shout in then* strength, or murmur low And sadly, shame on thee ! My covmtry ! lave this one dark stain From thy calm, lofty brow ; And 'mid earth's proudest empires claim Meet place for such as thou. Let not the fair "land of the free" The calm " home of the brave'' Be named, in lands beyond the sea « The country of the slave." MAY-FLOWERS. liO SONrsET. WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. My mother ! While the pale and wasted hand Of sickness rests upon my burning brow, I miss thy gentle presence. Who will stand Beside my couch of weary suffering now, Reading each wish ere spoken 1 — Who will press, A¥ith the warm kiss of anxious tenderness, My fevered cheek ? — Y>liose voice, in whispers low, Will breathe of hope and comfort ?— Yet, for thee. My sorrow blends with joy, — Earth's wasting wo, — Life's hours of deep, unfathomed agony, — These are not with thee. — When my tears will flow, This thought shall waken gladness. — Thou art free. Nor even for the joy of thy deep love Would 1 recall thee from thy home above. -^ M A V - K I. O W f R S . SONNET RECOVERY. Nerve thyself for the conjQict once again. Poor, trembling heart ! The strife is not yet o'er ; — Triumphant over weakness, care, and pain, Arise, and try life's rugged path once more. Pause not, for time is precious. — Ask not rest, — Dream not of that fair island of the blest While the wild waves roar round thee.— On ! still on ! Are the clouds dark above thee ? It is well. There's joy iu the wild tempest. — Tipped with foam, See the proud billows, in their fitful swell, Bright with the lightning's play. The thunder's tone Sends the deep miisic of its solemn knell O'er the dark sea. Shrink' st thou from the wild strife ? Nay ; for the soul has strength to brave the storms of life. M A y - F L O W E R S . 147 THE LIFE OP DREAMS. They come to me in peaceful dreams, Those whom I loved of yore, Those who walk with me, hand in hand, In life's thronged path no more. When o'er me, Sleep, with gentle hand Her shadowy veil has spread, They bend above my lowly couch, The loved — the early dead. The tones of voices long since hushed Amid the haunts of men, With all their dear old melodies. Come to my spirit then : The light of eyes long closed in death Upon me brightly l^eams ; — Oh ! precious are the mysteries of The spirit life of dreams. The long-departed and the dear ! My gentle mother's face Smiles sweetly on me as of old, From its accustomed place ; And bounding footsteps'' lightsome fall, And warm hands' pressure true, And tones of love recall again | The sunny past to view. ! ,11 ■ 148 MAY-FLOWERS, Calm Memory, with her mild, sad glance, To pensive thought alHed, With light from heaven on her fair brow, Stands ever at my side ; And Fancy comes, w^ith smiling hope, An ever welcome guest ; — An angel-hand surrounds me stiU, At the hushed hour of rest- Sweet are the visions that they bring ; — What though I wake from sleep, Bright with such pure, unshadowed bliss. In loneliness to weep ? For all the wealth that in the depths Of ocean's caverns gleams, I would not yield my wanderings in The fairy land of dreams. They speak the soaring spirit free From its frail earthly shrine, — They witness that its heritage Is of a holier clime ; — And sometimes, tones from that far land Come in our dreaming hours, — The music of its golden lyres, The fragrance of its flowers. And more than this ; — they give new strength To the fond hope that we MAY-FLOWERS. 149 Are still remembered by the dead, Remembered lovingly. This, this it ia that makes the gift Precious to one who deems Spirits may hold communion sweet. In peaceful, happy dreams. J^ 150 31 A y - F L O W E R s . STANZAS. Christian, trust thou in God, And life's dark hours illumed with light shall be ; — The path the lowly Savior meekly trod, Is it too rugged or too lone for thee ? The dark sea's swelling tide May roll between thee and the promised land ; — Believe, and lo ! the placid waves divide, — Pass on, in safety, to the wished-for strand. Is suffering thy lot ? Bow 'neath thy Father's chastening hand, and bless The kind, parental care that left thee not To wander fiiv, in thoaghtless waywardness. Have friends, the near and dear, From thy warm heart by death's cold hand, been riven ? Look up, in joy ; — thy treasures are not here ; — [heaven. Give thanks to Cod that thou hast friends in Shadows may throng thy way ; But banish from thy heart the phantom, Fear, And the glad dawning of a brighter day, A day of sunshine and sweet hope, is near. il. IM A Y - F L O W E R S . 151 The traveller, homeward bound, Sees the steep mountain rising, dark and wild, With circling wreaths of forest foliage crowned. With winter's brightly-gleaming snows up-piled, But sinks he, worn and spent, Despairing the tar summit to attain ? No ! — lightly bounds he up the steep ascent, — Soon will he rest *neath home's dear roof again. Like him press onward. He Who gives the dew and sunshine to the flowers. In wisdom and in love, alike to thee [showers. Sends joy and grief, — life's sunshine and life's The one, thy heart to cheer,—- The other, from earth's stains to purify, — This, to lend light to thy brief sojourn here, — That, to prepare thee for a home on high. Bless thou his name for all ; Trust in his boundless love, his ceaseless care, Nor fear in the rough path to faint and fall, [prayer. While from thy heart faith breaths the fervent Christian, trust thou in God, And life's dark hours illumed with light shall be ; — The path the lowly Savior meekly trod, Is it too rugged or too lone for thee ? 152 MAY-FLOWERS. SONNET. Buds of the early Spring-time ! welcome guests Are ye in my dim chamber. The fresh dew Of morn no longer on your petals rests, But heauty blushes in their rosy hue, And love breathes in their fragrance. Timidly Ye nestled, in your stainless purity, 'Neath the sere leaves and woodland moss-tufts green, As fearing e'en the gazer's eye to meet ; And strangers might pass heedless by, nor dream Of beauty liidden in that lone retreat. I might not pass you thus ; for as a gleam Of rainbow light, awakening memories sweet Of early years, ye come. My childhood's hours [flowers. Return when round me wreathe Spring's earliest, fairest MAY-FLOWERS, THE HOUR OP LONELINESS TvE -watched the sunset glow Fade from the clouded West,— The flowers are bending low, The bird is in his nest ; — The evening breeze sweeps by, With low and plaintive moan, Answering my spirit's sigh,— I am alone — alone. Alone ! and where are those AVhose smile made earth so fair ? Not where the summer rose Breathes fragrance on the air, — Not where the drooping bough Its early fruit has strewn, — Earth has no sunlight now, — I am alone — alone. I strive to cast aside The dreams of early years, — My lyre breathes strains of pride. While my eyes fill with tears, A mournful echo, still, Succeeds joy's triumph tone. My heart's hushed chords to thrill ;— I am alone — alone. I mingle with the cro-wd, One of the smiUng throng, — I hear the laughter loud, And the glad voice of song ; — Sweet voices on me call, And warm hands press my own ; — But shadows round me fall ; — I am alone — alone. And yet, at times, it seems As if a purer ray Than earth's brief sunshine gleams, Were resting on my way, — As if a holy star Its stainless light had thrown Around me from afar ;— Then, I am not alone. And when my weary eyes Are closed in peaceful sleep, With smiles before me rise The friends for whom I weep, Then, not a vacant place Beside the hearth is known, — Joy beams from every face,— I wake — but not alone. For memory treasures up The bliss those brief hours knew, V — 1^ LOWERS. 155 As, in its leaf-made eup, The flowret hoards the dew ; And when, by care or pain Earth's shades are round me thrown, I turn to them again, And am no mgre alone. 1 156 MAY-FLOWERS. STANZAS. ^V'ITH half-oped petals bright Peeped from the sere leaves rustling round my way A tiny bud, to greet the welcome light Of a glad morn in May. I blesssd its sunny smile ; And, though my heart was filled with weary care, I could but pause, to look a httle while. Upon a thing so fair. Then on my way I passed, And to my heart the shadow eame again, Of youth's gay dreams, too beautiful to last, And sweet hopes, nursed in vain. Pictures of by-gone years. With memory's softening light on every hue, Before me passed, till the fast-falling tears Concealed them from my view. But suddenly there stirred, Rusthng, a leafy bough above my head, As the free wing of a brown woodland bird I On the light breeze was spread. ^' And a clear, joyous lay, A BOng that breathed the very soul of Spring, Made me forget the shadows of life's way, And long with him to sing. And in my heart I blessed The strain, that, in its wild, unbounded mirth, Spake of a spirit far too light to rest Amid the shades of earth. Once more those darkening shades Encompassed me, and pensively I stood, Gazing far down the dim and misty glades Of the lone, leafy wood. The breeze swept by, and lo ! On the green moss beside the woodland spring, A sunbeam rested, with a golden glow, A moment's light to fling. On the blue violet's cup, Sparkling with eve's sweet gift of balmy dew, And vnth my drooping spirit lifted up To hope and trust anew. I turned from the still scene, The path of duty fearlessly to tread. Rejoicing, that earth's clouds of care between Bright rays from heaven were shed. F L O W K II That sunbeam, bird, and Hower Were gifted with a holy ministry, Reminding us of the unbounded power That rules infinity. * Nor of the power alone. But the deep love that 'mid all lovely things Has taught the restless soul to seek a home, Folding its weary wings. After brief rest to rise, And lightly from its pinions shake the dust, Soaring, with strength renewed, towards the fair skies, In hope and fearless trust. ^- FLOWERS. STANZAS. LiAiv after liuk, 'neath death's cold hand, Falls from love's sparkling chain ; — AVho shall unite, in one bright band Its scattered gems again ? Strangers may fill the vacant place, By loved ones filled of yore ; But oh ! how many a sunlit face Hmiles on our path no more. The father's tone — the mother's eye, — The brother's bounding tread, — The sister's smile — the babe's glad cry,— Are all our treasures fled ? Not all ; yet oft the aching heart Turns from earth's light and bloom, And longs to dwell, aAvhiie, apart, Beside the shadowed tomb. The shadowed tomb ! Those who have laid A loved one calmly there, I Have learned how deep its fearful shade, I How much the heart can bear : I The anguish of the parting hour, — I The gloom o'er nature thrown, — \ Love's utter weakness, and love's power, I They know, and they alone. % ,^ ,,. ,>.-^.-.,^^^., __.^ ^ ....^-..^ ^i , ' 163 MAY-FLOWERS, Love's utter weakness, when, in vain, Around the spirit's wing, It strives earth's almost severed chain In fragile wreaths to fling ; — Love's boundless power, when to the tomb The hallowed dust is given, And dimmed eyes, through the gathering gloom Discern the light of heaven. The hght of heaven ! Without its ray, What were om* sojourn here '? A journey through a wildering way, Circled with forms of fear. Thanks be to God for the sweet hope That the eyes closed in love, With purer, dearer light shall ope To beam on us above. fL .^ •** MAY-FLOWERS. 161 I THE DEAD. Fold the hands o'er the still breast ; Close the weary eyes ; — Weep not ; for the loved and blest Now, a gladly-welcomed guest, Dwells in Paradise. Softly part the silken hair O'er the placid brow ; — Grief has darkly rested there, Earnest thought and wasting care ;— Peace abides there now. Gently pillow the dear head For its last long sleep ; — Said I, weep not ? O'er the dead Love's last tribute should be shed ;— Freely, freely weep. Aye, give tears, warm gushing tears From the heart's full urn, For the scenes of long-gone years, Joys, and griefs, and hopes, and fears, Never to return. One who in your griefs, of yore. Ever bore a part, If' MAY-FLOWERS, Lies with pale brow shadowed o'er, Lips that breathe love's tones no more, And untroubled heart. For the light of the veiled eye, For the pleasant voice, For the hushed Hp's smile and sigh, For the warm heart, beating high, Weep — and yet — rejoice. For the spirit, fearless, free, From earth's snares has fled ; And the clouds that circle thee Never more a veil shall be Round the blessed dead. V - K L O V^ E R S . 163 BEAUTY, TALENT, AND VIRTUE The beautiful ! The beautiful ! Blessings upon the head Of those rouud whom the halo Of beauty's smile is shed. The light from bright eyes glancing, The stainless brow of snow, — The laughing lip of coral, The cheek of rosy glow. — The form of airy lightness. The step of queenly grace, — The smile, that, like the sunshine, Lights up the joyous face, — . The tones that like glad music Upon the hushed heart fall, — Who has not felt their magic ? Who does not love them all ? The talented ! The talented ! Those who e"en by a word, The slumbering stream of passion In the human heart have stirred ; Bidding the foaming torrent Rush headlong on its course, And by a word recaUing Its waters to their source. M A Y - F L O VV ] Winning the glance of gladness, Stirring the fount of tears, — The heart with high hopes thrilhng Or crushing it with fears. Oh ! many a fragrant blossom, And many a precious gem O'er earth's wide wastes they scatter ;• A blessing rest on them. Fair be the blooming garland Enwreathing beauty's brow. And low, before the gifted, Let mind in homage bow ;— Bright be the fadeless halo Around their presence thrown ; — But shall we call down blessings On them, and them alone ? Full oft, where coldly glances The stranger's careless eye, A more enduring beauty Hid in the heart may lie ; And where the keen observer The mind with scorn might scan. The smile of heaven resteth ; — God seeth not as man. To talent and to beauty Be all due honor paid ; MAY-FLOWERS. 165 But the pure wreath of virtue Blooms when their garlands fade ; And beautiful and gifted Alike have blushing stood, Withm the humble presence Of the plain, simple good. %. AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. AuTCAix is here once more. The faded leaves That waved so lightly o'er our paths ere while, Have felt the touch of the magicians wand, And wear the hues that please him. The strong oak Is robed in crimson ; and the pliant birch Wears gracefully its golden drapery. The maple, ash, and walnut, all are changed, There's scarce a shrub that has escaped the sway Of the stern frost-king's sceptre ; though, e'en yet, Amid the orange, russet, and deep red^ Linger a few green shoots, waiting their turn To change, and droop, and wither. It is sad To watch the noiseless footsteps of decay, And see the lovely and the beautiful Sinking beneath his blighting hand, e'en though He comes, as now, arrayed in regal pomp, And crowned and mantled gorgeously. Alas ! For the fair flowers ! Their graceful heads are laid Low on the silent earth ; and the light wing Of the gay insect hovering o'er their bloom. And sipping nectar from their bright-hued cups, — ^--'— — ^-.------^^-^.^.. ^..■--..-^-. ...,.-. — ._.^ J .^1 .1 V - K I. W E R S . 167 < i AVhere finds it slielter now ? The bird-song sweet I Breatiies not, at morning, from the orchard bough J Its welcome to the sunhght, nor, at eve \ Gives kindly farewell to the parting day. Light pinions have been spread for distant flight, To welcome bright spring in a fairer clime. They cannot bide wild winter's stormy blast ; But we shall greet them gladl}^, when his reign Is o'er ; nor love them less that they have been But summer friends, sharing the sunshine with us, And leaving us their portion of the storm. The blue jay, with liis shining plumt^e, comes To the brown cornfield, proftering his aid In harvesting the ripened gram. His scream Sounds in the distance, and the crow's hoarse note From the far woodland, tells of hours of gloom Swiftly approaching. AVith quick motion, now, The nimble squii-rel climbs the chestnut tree ; And, provident, lays in his ample store Of food for coming winter. Burrows deep In the dry earth the velvet-coated mole, His small eyes guarded by their cushioned lid, Building his subterranean winter-house, Where he may dwell, untroubled by the snows. The hard hand of the honest husbandman Has gathered the rich fruits, Pomona's gift. Received with grateful joy ; and the smooth ears Of the ripe maize will soon, unwillingly Put oflf their russet wrapper, and be stored In shining heaps, in the full garner. Thoughts, Pleasant, yet mournful, with the quiet hours Of the still Autumn-time come ever. Some Of those who smiled, with us, on the Spring-flowers, Share not our wanderings in the well-known ways Where sere leaves rustle, now, beneath our tread. The restless tide of Ufe has borne them on, Far from us. — Will its swift ebb bear them back Unchanged ? Or will they come with cheek and brow Wearing the heart's glad Spring-bloom when we parted, Dim with pale Autumn's shadows ? Many, too, Of those whose hearts beat lightly as our own, Have calmly laid them down in the deep sleep That knows no earthly wakening. The sweet smile Of sinless infancy, — the joyous shout Of laughter-loving childhood, — the light step And beaming eye of youth, — the lofty mein Of fearless manhood,— the white locks of age, — The tomb has welcomed all. — And yet we gaze Upon the beauty of the changing leaf, Unmindful of the thought that it may fall. Withered and sere, to rustle o'er our grave. MAY-FLOWERS. MY COTTAGE HOME. A quiet dwelling, circled round By dark old forest trees, From whose dim shade there comes a sound Like the far moan of seas, — Like the far moan of seas, when white Are the wild waves with foam, — Such is the melody by night Heard round my cottage home. That home is lowly, but the flowers Bloom brightly 'neath the eaves ; And beautiful, in Spring's sweet hours, Are the unfolding leaves. All fearlessly the woodbird sings, Beside the threshold lone ; And joyously bright insect wings Flit round my cottage home. Sunshine and shadow are at play 'Xeath the green orchard trees. Where lightly, on its wandering way, Fhes the unfettered breeze ; And lights and shadoAvs o'er my heart As changefully are thrown. For glad smiles beam, and warm tears start For thee, my cottage home. LOWERS. Smiles, for the shelterino; love that still O'er life's wild way is spread, — Tears, for the tones my heart that thrill, The accents of the dead. Sweet memories enwreathe thee round Of hours for ever flown ; — By many ties my heart is bound To thee, my cottage home. H' M A. Y - F L O W E R S . 171 THE ORPHAN'S GOD. " How can I leave my child ?'' the mother said ; And tenderly the smiling babe she drew To her full heart, while her fast-falhng tears Glittered, like diamoads, on its silken hair. There stole o'er her hushed soul a voice from heaven, " Leave it with me ;" and silently she pressed The last fond kiss upon its stainless brow, And passed from earth, leaving her child with God. Years came and went, and the fair infant grew In grace and beauty, like a flexile shoot, Upspringing when the parent tree lay low. Led by an unseen hand, he trod life's path, Secure, though dangers frowned above, and snares Lay thickly spread below. — Childhood passed by, — Glad, joyous childhood, sheltered o'er by love. And bright with clear heart-sunshine ; and when o'er The open brow of youth first stole the shade Of manhood's earnest thoughi^with a strong heart From home and friends he parted, to proclaim The tidings of the Gospel unto those AVho sat in moral darkness. For long years He toiled among them ; and his labors ceased Only when from his Lord and Master came The summons from his toil to his reward. ■IS Mother, whose fond heart, trembles at the thought That death may snatch thee from thy treasured ones. And leave them, uuprotected, to the storms Of a cold, wintry world, when e'er thy soul The cloud of gloom broods heavily, lift up Thy heart to heaven in prayer. Doubt not that He Who sees, with pitying eye, the sparrow fall. Will read the anguish written on thy brow, And hear thy feeble cry. The gems He gave, — Canst thou not trust them to his hand to keep ? Ihe tender buds He planted, — fearest thou He will forget to watch their growth ? Fear not, He leads his flock in the green pastures, by The untroubled waters, and He bears the lambs Tenderly, in his bosom. Never, yet, Y^as a babe by a dying parent's heart Committed to the care of God, that failed To find a home in heaven. Mother, pray. M A V - F L O W K R S . 173 WINTER. Old winter is here at last ; There is no mistake ahout it ;— Jast Kst to the stormy blast, And tell me if you can doubt it, Just hear how the wild wind swells, And see the light snow-flakes flying ; — Goodbye, goodbye to the lily bells, And the zephyr's dreamy sigliing. And a welcome, wild and free, To the stormy winter season, — To the social circle's glee. And the sage's " feast of reason," — To the fast-descending snow. And the sleigh-bells' merry ringing, — To the storm-king's work of wrath and wo, And the tiny sparrow's singing. A welcome to the chill blast, On its wild wings onward rushing, — To the power that bindeth fast The blue streamlet's waters gushing, — To the golden sunset glow, And the clear stars' cloudless shining, — To the moonlight on the stainless snow. And the ftiiry frost- wreath's twining. 174 M A Y - F I. O W E R S A welcome to the bright spars From ihe moss-grown roof depending, Where no shade their beauty mars, Till their sudden, swift descending, — To the frail twig's crystal shrine, ^Vith a rainbow radiance beaming. Like the light of the thousand stars that shine O'er the poefs hours of dreaming. A welcome to the quick light From the eyes of childliood glancing ; For the ground with snow is white. And young hearts with joy are dancing. To the swift coast down the hiU, And the smooth skate o'er the river. And the snow-forts reared beside the rill, AVhere the leafless branches quiver. A welcome to the fire-side. To the simple, earnest greeting, — I'd the friends, the true and tried, Once again in gladness meeting. We fear not change or heart-chill, Though the storm-sprites moan around us. While our spirit's deepest echoes thrill To the early ties that bound us. The memories of past hours AYill surround us with their beauty. M And fresli-Lloomino;, fragrant flowers AVill spring in the path of duty. We will store the gems of thought,— We will try the strength of reason ; And the Spring shall beam witn sunshine, brought From the stormy winter season. IS' MAY-FLOWERS. THE POOR MAN'S CHILD. There is sunlight on thy rosy face, And thy dark eyes beam with joy ; For earth's weary cares have left no trace On thy loving heart, fair hoy. What kuowest thoa of the toil for bread 1 Of want's constant, eager call ? Thou art freely sheltered, clothed, and fed, And with love thou payest all. Dark shadows are all around thy way. But they rest not yet on thee ; There is nought to check thy joyous play, At thy gentle mother's knee. There is nought to chain thy bounding feet From the grey old woodland wide, Where the wintergreen's pale blossoms sweet, And the meek blue violets hide. Thou knowest well, where their first buds peer Forth from out the wasting snow, — Where the tiny brook's bright waters clear Make sweet music, as they flow, — Where the dark boughs spread their deepest shade On the verdant turf beneath, And where Flora's snowy fingers braid Their most luxuriant wreath. m 1^ FLOWERS, 177 Thou knoAvest well where the robin weaves, On the blooming orchard tree, His light nest amid the budding leaves, And where hives the woodland bee ; — Thou hast seen the squirrel's low-roofed cot. Where the rich brown nuts were piled, — A snug little dwelling, was it not. For the merry forest-child ? The clear sunlight on thy path has beamed The slow-waving branches through, AYhere the dew-drops on the moss-tufts glean Like rich gems of rainbow hue ; And a dearer hght thy way above In thy humble home is shed. Where the soft eye of maternal love Watches o'er thy golden head. Why picture the coming years to thee. With their sorrow and their strife ? Thy smile is bright, and thy step bounds free,- Wi!l it not be thus through life ? Thou hast not dreamed of the weary hours That must darken heart and brow ; — Why steal the bloom from the fairy flowers That cluster around thee now ? We will not. Let childhood's morn be bright With hope's fleeting rainbow still ; — FLOWERS. i It shall not be ours to dim its light With the clouds of future ill. Be thou content with thy humble lot Keep thy spirit undefiled ; And heaven, e'en from the lowly cot, May receive the poor man's child. ^ .^ FLOWERS, 179" THE SNOW-RIRD. The merry little snow-bird ! You have surely heard his name ; But I'll tell you of the one I mean, And we'll see if 'tis the same. 1 know not where his home is "When the vernal grass grows green, Or when the leaves, in summer Spread wide their welcome screen. I see him not in Autumn, When they gather in the grain ; When bright-winged Summer songsters Take their far flight o'er the main ; But when by the first snow-flake The chill Winter air is stirred, I hear a note of gladness, ' The wild carol of a bird- His tiny form is graceful. And his wing is hght and free ; — He dances 'mid the snow-flakes, Welcoming the storm with glee. I've seen him, with a quick hop, From the bending twig come down. And shake the snow, with a merry chirp, From his quaker coat of brown. J 180 MAY FLOWERS The pressure of his small feet On the snow scarce leaves a trace ; And 'twould puzzle any one to tell Where was last his resting place. Here, and there, and all about, Are those tiny foot-marks found, In the path, and on the drift. And the cottage-door around. The merry little snow-bird ! Welcome is his artless song, When the days are cold and stormy, And the hours seem dull and long. The Spring has sweeter voices, And the Summer songs more gay ; But there is deeper meaning In the Winter warbler's lay. It tells us of the courage That fails not when hfes dim path Is shadowed o'er by storm-clouds. Frowning with the tempest's wrath ; It tells us of the calm faith. That uplifts a trusting eye To the bright arch of Promise, Smiling from the darkened sky. It tells us of the glad hope That goes sweetly singing on, k. '•-^^ Through pathways lone and rugged, Thinking ever of its home. Sweet are the many voices In the Spring and Summer heard, But they are not hke tJhe carol Of the tiny Winter-bird. s^ 18: PRAYER FOR THE DYING ONE. 1 Prayer for the dying one ! \ O'er that pale brow 5 Hovers the death-angel's I Dark pinion now. | Feebly the white lips part, \ Gasping for breath, — | Shadows the dim eyes veil, — ^ Shadows of death. \ Prayer for the dying one ! ^ Vainly around Gather light footsteps fast, Loved voices sound. Falling tears from that breast Call not a sigh, — Lips to that cold cheek pressed Win no reply. Prayer for the dying one ! Silent and fast, Deeper and deeper still Death's shades are cast. Voice from the lip is gone, — Light from the eye, — Love from the heart fled last, — That could not die. %^. If^ Prayer for the dying one ! To a far home, Through the dark, silent vale, Passing alone. Breasting, in trembling fear, Now the deep -wave, — Sinking, with fainting heart, To the cold grave. Prayer for the dying one ! Death's seal is set On that calm forehead pale ; Linger's life yet ? Nay,— from the lowly couch Move wirh hushed tread ; — Prayer for the dying one, — Peace with the dead. TEE DYING POET. The last lay, by a dying poet's hand Called from a lyre too well beloved. It breathed A mournful sweetness. The pale hand that woke The chords was soon at rest. This w^as the strain. Slowly but surely dying. Day by day I see the silent shadow stealing on ; I feel more feebly life's warm pulses play ; — My weary pilgrimage will soon be done. Father in heaven ! now, while from me flee Earth's fading hopes, — oh ! let me trust in Thee. Aid me to cast aside these yearnings vain For a high place, a name renowned in, song ; — Quench in my heart this burning thirst for fame, — Ftoll back the tide of wild ambition, strong, And deep, and restless ever. For a name, An honored name on earth, my soul too long, Too earnestly has striven. Power and pride, — They are not for the heart by sorrow sanctified. Father, I bless thee, that earth's close-bound ties So early from that heart were severed. Oh ! I could not die with a fond mother's eyes Gazing, through tears, npon me. — Now, I go ^^, To meet her smile of welcome in a land Where death comes not, from the dear household band To lead the best beloved. Father, alone. Let me not tread the shadowed vale. Around Mj trembling spirit be thy presence thrown, In mercy and in love. Be the sweet sound Of thy rich promises, by some loved tone Breathed to my heart. Thy love my hfe has crowned With many blessings. Let its last hour be [Thee. Filled with the peace of heaven, and spent in praising Not vainly was that fervent prayer upbreathed From a full heart. The last hour of a life. Brief, as the verdure of a Summer leaf. And shadowed oft by clouds, and wild with storms. Was perfect peace.— May not the poet's hand Awaken now, in heaven, a golden lyre ? F L O W K R S , A PORTRAIT. A vision of beauty, a vision of grace ; A light, fairy form, and a sweet smiling face , — A brow where calm thought rests in peaceful repose, — A cheek that out-blushes the bright damask rose, — A lip breathing music, — a dark eye, that beams With the light of the spirit-land seen in our dreams, — Now soft, earnest, tender ; now radiant with bliss, — A purer world's love-light reflected in this. A heart that has thrilled to glad Uiusic alone ; That brightens this dim world with joy of its own ; That greets, with the gladness of childhood's free hours. The robins first s Oft-times, like them, Ly the warm heart's quick prompt- Instead of the cold words of wordly wisdom MAY-FLOWERS MUSIC. Music ! sweet, sweet music ! Like an unseen chain, With whose links, though viewless We mio^ht strive in vain, — All around us wreathing, Pure, and deep, and strong, Is the influence breathing From the voice of song. Music, sweet, sweet music Floats upon the air, Soothing us in sorrow. Cheering us in care. Yv hat can breathe our gladness Like its thrilling tone ? What dispel our sadness Like its plaintive moan ? ISIusic, sweet, sweet music ! There's a land of love, Where no discord rises Its glad notes above. If such tones are given In a Avorld like this, j When we sing in heaven > What must be our bliss ! TO MY MOTHER. I see tliee in my dreams, mother, With thy soft, dark, earnest eye, And thy brow and check ilhimined By the love that cannot die ; Bur, something still and solemn Rests upon thy pale, meek face ; And the soft light circling thee around Has on earth" s dim shores no place. I listen for thy voice, mother. When the stars are in the sky ; And a low, sad music-echo Softly on the breeze floats by. I may not catch the meaning Of that mournful murmur deep ; Yet I hear it in my waking dreams, And it haunts me in my sleep. I miss thy pure, deep love, mother ; — Fond and faithful friends are mine ; But my heart was all unfolded To no human eye save thine. Its suffering and its sorrow Must be borne in silence now ; And who will share its transient joy With such deep delight as thou ? I know that thou art blest, mother, And I would not summon thee From thy happy home in heaven ^±0 tread earth's dark paths with me. My spirit may be shadowed, Oft-times, by a cloud of care ; And the burning tears may dim my eyes, At my hour of evening prayer. But this will soon be past, mother, A few swiftly-gliding years. And the heart now throbbing wildly With earth's weary hopes and fears. Within the peaceful mansions Of the better land shall dwell, — Where they mourn not over broken ties,- Where they breathe no sad farewell. Sweet will thy welcome be, mother. To the worn and wearied one. From life's long day of labor Turning with the setting sun ; And deep wiU be the rapture. Far beyond the parting pain. That will thrill our spirits in the hour When we meet, in heaven, again. Oh ! till that hour sliall come, mother, AVatch thou o'er thy wayward child ;— ^^ FLO W E R Let not the tsweet spirit leave her, Wiiich on all her dreams has smiled. AVitb thy presence still around her, — With thy soft hand on her brow, Let her pass from earth's shadows to the light That beams ever on thee now. THE END. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 072 2