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 FEBBI.EB 
 
 FBOM THE HHOHE^ 
 
 BY- 
 
 LUCIA FIDELIA WOOLLEY GILLETTE. 
 
 To gather 
 Pebbles in thf-e hidden curves, and quiet "^ 
 Nooks, along the ■ivindlng shore, strewn 
 With the treasures of the restless sea. 
 
 H. J. VAIL. PUBLISHER. 
 
 I 
 
 J^O 
 
 
 6>. 18T9. .^/J 
 
 
 NEW SHAROX, MAHASKA CO. IOWA. 
 
 1879. 
 
 T 
 
PREFACE: 
 
 Over these pages the Critic will 
 not waste his time, nor Genius its 
 precious power, but the few will 
 kindly w^elconie it from her wliose 
 only gift is a loving heart. 
 
 L. F. W. G. 
 
Pebbles from the Shore. 
 
 MAY. 
 TO OUR LITTLE FLORENCE. 
 
 Come here to my side little Floj'. 
 
 Now the gathering/ twi'igbt shade 
 Falls over the brooks and valleys, 
 
 Through the meadows and forest glades- 
 Falls over the meadows and valleys, 
 
 Where we've wandered the live-long day, 
 And gathered the flowers that hlossom 
 
 In the beautiful hours of May, 
 
 We've heard the murmurs of ripples 
 
 That flow o'er the shining sand. 
 And the singing of wren and of robin. 
 
 That sounds through the blamy spring land. 
 And your voice, my darling, hath echoed 
 
 The music of ripple and bird; 
 And in your child-heart, ihe soft eun-glnw 
 
 A light that is clearer, hath stirred. 
 
 And now the day hath departed. 
 
 And the "Sweet South" is wandering by. 
 The young stars are chanting their vespers 
 
 On the far away hills of the sky; 
 Come here to my side little daughter. 
 
 And lean o'er the arm of my ckair. 
 And while the soft shadows are falling 
 
 On the rings of your bonny biack hair. 
 
ness 
 
 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 I'll tell you. ray little wee darling 
 
 In these, your first inocent rears. 
 Ere your full brow is siiadowed with sad,. . 
 
 Or your dark eyes are flowing with tears, 
 IIow the glow of the heauiiful May -time, 
 
 And the odor of balm-breathing flowers, 
 And a light that is purer than sun-shine. 
 
 May hang round your life's flitting hours. 
 
 And when the slight arm that enfolds you, 
 
 Is weakened, and pulseless, and cold. 
 And the heart that beats for you so fondly, 
 
 Is still 'neath the heavy grave-mold; 
 When the lips that have kissed you so often, 
 
 Are damp with the death-clinging due, 
 And the fond prayer of your mother 
 
 Is breathed up in heaven for you. 
 
 Ah! then, little Floy, you'll remem be r 
 
 The words I shall tell you to-night. 
 As we sit in the shade of the porch-vines, 
 
 'Neath the glow ot mellow moon-light. 
 You'll find, little dove of my bosom. 
 
 As your win,'^s flutter out on the air. 
 Many voiced singing unto you— 
 
 "This world is a valley of care" 
 
 But never believe it my daughter, 
 
 'Tis a bright world created by God, 
 And over it's hilltops and valleys. 
 
 The feet of our Sav our have trod. 
 But only the good and pure-hearted 
 
 Ii's be:uiti*is and pleasures Tuay know. 
 For only from loving and doing. 
 
 Can the sweetest of hapi)iness flow . 
 
 Theu keep the warm heart of your childhood, 
 
 Thou one little dove of our nest- 
 Keep ever the innocent spirit. 
 That folds it's white wings in vour breast; 
 
PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 And then, though the spring-skiee may darken, 
 And summer-blooms hasten away, 
 
 Your heart will be fresh with sweet roses, 
 Your life be one beautiful May. 
 
 SIDE BY SIDE. 
 
 Side by side in the early hours. 
 
 Crowned with Love's roses, and Hopes fresh 
 
 flowers. 
 Side by side in the darkened days, 
 When the paths led up through rugged ways. 
 Side by side when life was sweet, * 
 
 Side by side with the weary feet, 
 Side by side through good and ill, 
 Loving and pure, and faithful still. 
 
 Side by side, when the silver hair 
 Than black or brown was more soft and fair; 
 Side by side when the wrinkled face 
 Was lovelier .far, than the youthful grace ; 
 Side by side, with the folded hand 
 In the evening mist of the silent land, 
 Under the mounds where the violets blow. 
 Under the drifts of the winter's snow. 
 
 Side by side on the beautiful shore, 
 
 Wh3re love Is young forevermore; 
 
 Father and mother, and husband and wife, 
 
 W^here they know no parting, nor sorrow, nor 
 
 strife. 
 Father and mother, and husband and wife. 
 Crowned with the joy of the Heavenly life. 
 
8. PEBBLES FROM THE bHORE. 
 
 LET US GO HOME TO FATHER-S. 
 
 Let us go home to fatherV; sunlight slants 
 A-through tlie rorests. and acioss the hills; 
 
 The sad day sweetly sings her parting chant, 
 A -down the valleys by the winding rills. 
 
 The birds flee homeward to their leafy nests, 
 
 The young babo slumbers on its mother's breast. 
 
 Letns go home to father's; through the barn door 
 The cattle wander from the grassy lane; 
 
 Young broods are fluttering o'er the stable floor, 
 And from the fields the colts return again ; 
 
 The white flocks lead their lambs back through 
 the gloom, 
 
 And all things every where are turning home. 
 
 Let us go home to father's; there's a sound 
 That comes not from the trembling bells of dew 
 
 Upon the air— a heavy, muttering sound, 
 That shakes the elm trees and the weepingyew ; 
 
 There'll be a storm, a fearful slorm to-night. 
 
 And seek we shelter by the old firelight. 
 
 Let us go home to father's; day is done. 
 The long, sad day, of anxious toil and care; 
 
 The twilight hastens, and the eve's begun. 
 Now let us listen to the household prayer. 
 
 For they wiU miss us where we had our birth. 
 
 They love us dearly by the old home hearth. 
 
 Let us go hon.e to father's; vain! in vain! 
 
 We cannot clasp our hands o'er land and wave. 
 We cannot know each other's joy or pain, 
 
 Or press the lips dust-covered, in the grave; 
 For we are orphans ; on the earthly shore 
 There is a father's house for us no more. 
 
 Let us go home to father's; let us go, 
 Wearied and homeless. stricken, orphan'd band ; 
 
 They're waitiug for us where there's no more woe, 
 They're waiting for us in the better Land. 
 
 And souls all white and fond, we each must bear 
 
 Up to that. Lard, for father's house is there. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 THE SPRING BREEZE, 
 
 Ah ! whither away thou bi'ceze of spring, 
 With mellow murmur and balmy wing? 
 From whence away, o'er the broad, old earth, 
 In what mountain cave had'st thou thy birth? 
 -O, what- pray what, can thy errand be? 
 Hast thou a message, sweet breeze, for me? 
 fc'ay whither away, in thy world-wide flight. 
 With thy breath of balm, and thy wing of light ? 
 
 ^-'Ah! fair young dreamer, by the clear, blue 
 
 stream. 
 Where the waves leap up to the sunlight gleam, 
 And the old oal? boughs, that long have hung 
 In the chill, bleak air, are with green buds hung. 
 And the sparkling light in thy soft, blue eye. 
 Where no pictures of doubt, or sorrow lie. 
 :Say, lair young dreamer, would'st ask of me, 
 From whence T came?whatmy message can be? 
 
 ■"O, 1 was not born, "mid your mountains free. 
 
 But far away, o'er the Southern sea. 
 
 Where the blue grapes bend the hanging vine, 
 
 And the orange ripens in tha warm sunshine, 
 
 Ah! One there is who watches me there. 
 
 And bends my way to His will and care ; 
 
 And He sent me afar froi« that Southern strand. 
 
 With a message of love, to this Northern land. 
 
 '■I have loAvered my wing on your lake's Droad 
 
 shore. 
 And the grass grows green that was brown 
 
 before ; 
 My feet have been o'er your rock-ribbed hills. 
 And I've sung my song to your ice bound rills; 
 I have opened the moss cups by woodland 
 
 spring, 
 And to the old forests, fresh life bring; 
 I have wakened the buds in garden and bower, 
 
10 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And wanned in to blooming!;, the peach-tree 
 tlower 
 
 ''I have tarried awhile at the palace door, 
 And wandered alons by the huts of the poor, 
 And they, who were chilled with the cold damp 
 
 snow. 
 And could hide from the blast in no home below; 
 Have crept froni their hovel? with laujih-Iit eye. 
 To the fresh, srreen fields, and tke clear, blue sky. 
 Ah I a welcome I hear that can never be told. 
 From those wiio have suflered with hunser and 
 
 cold. 
 
 '•This, fair dreamer— for this was my birth— 
 This blessing to bear to the frost chilled earth ; 
 To lift the curls of the school-boy's hair. 
 And lighten the heart that was dim with care. 
 To kiss lr(jm the forehead each shade of gloom. 
 And tint the cheek that hath lost its bloom ; 
 Tobrifihten the tires of human love. 
 And ripen the soul for the work above." 
 
 Away, thou beautiful breeze, away I 
 Through valleys deep let the light wing stray- 
 Go sing to the islands o'cr-hung with palm. 
 And off to the deserts, with thy breath of balm; 
 Away, wherever a soul may be 
 Upon the earth, so upon the sea. 
 Away I away, in thy world-wide flight. 
 With thv breath of balm, and thy wing of 
 light. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 ORPHANAGE. 
 
 Yon ask me why? As well ^o ask the 
 Lone rose by the way-Side, why it ope's if s 
 Fair leaves to the kisses of the sun, or 
 To the gentle music of the rain, as 
 Ask a maiden why she yields her heart's sweet 
 Incense to the wooer, who enfolds her 
 Soul with radiance, and lights the way— so 
 Rough unto her tender feet— with glory 
 From the hills of Heaven. 
 
 You ask me why 
 I knew not, that the smile-wreathed lips hid 
 
 thoughts 
 Of guile: that words so fraught with love, bore 
 
 but 
 The adder's sting; that eyes that looked such 
 
 gladness 
 Into mine, were glittering only with 
 The serpent's wiles'? 
 
 I! How could I know, v/hen 
 My dear mother's voice was singing with the 
 Angles: and even, in my babyhood. 
 My father had gone on, to meet her in 
 The home of Paradise? When in the world 
 There was not one to tell me where the lilus 
 Grew, or lead me from the path where thorns 
 
 sprung 
 Sharpened for my unbruised feet! 
 
 God sees, and 
 Sometime, it must be, that He will count the 
 Wealth I gave, dearer to Him, than all the 
 Proud world's scurn, and pardon, even (at my 
 Earnest plea) the lover who hath wrought such 
 woe. 
 
12 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 THE BROWN LATTICE GATE. 
 
 That brown lattice gate— how dear was its 
 
 sound, 
 How lightly it swung o'er the moss cover'd 
 
 ground- 
 How quickly it shut 'gainst the walk of small 
 
 stones. 
 When the school house was left, and the day's 
 
 studies done— 
 For the baby and supper, we hardly could 
 
 wait. 
 As we ran \yith all speed, througli that brown 
 
 lattice gate. 
 
 The fir trees above it, how stately and green. 
 The tallest, the proudest that ever were seen. 
 And the flowers, all along the stone walk that 
 
 grew, 
 Were brighter than coral, and fiesher than 
 
 dew— 
 And the Almond-blooms by it— O. early and 
 
 late, 
 We watched them unfold by that brown lattice 
 
 gate. 
 
 A band of wild younglings, upon it we 
 
 swung. 
 With a smile on each lip, and a jest on each 
 
 tongue; 
 And Rover, old Rover, came bouncing along, 
 To share in the play, if not in the song; 
 And "Genie""' pet "Genie'''— his one household 
 
 mate- 
 Came up with a leap, o'er that brown lattice 
 
 gate. 
 
 Ah ! the days that came to us, came never with 
 
 care. 
 For we knew not that life had a trial to bear, 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 13 
 
 'Till the hazel eyed baby grew quiei and still, 
 And our home with the sadness of mourning 
 
 was filled, 
 And they told us young children to quietly wait, 
 'Till the coffin went through that brown lattice 
 
 gate, 
 
 Ah! my life may be long, bat I cannot forget 
 What frolics we knew, when by it we met. 
 But the hand of a stranger may shut it to-day, 
 And other young children around it may play, 
 For far are the pathways, and strange is the 
 
 fate. 
 Of those who once met by that brown lattice 
 
 gate. 
 
 YOU WOULD NOT KNOW YOU'D 
 LOVED ME. 
 
 You could ne'er forget, you told me, 
 
 As we heard the solemn flow 
 Of the sea-waves on the beach-sand. 
 
 In that morn so long ago; 
 And the pine-trees heard you whisper. 
 
 As you said it, solt and low, — 
 "Time dear friend, can ever change you. 
 
 But my heart your face will know."' 
 Now, the months have gHded onward. 
 
 And the years have fled away, 
 'Till you would not know you'd loved me. 
 
 If we were to meet to-day. 
 
 For the hair you praised so often 
 
 For its clear and golden light 
 May be just as soft and silken. 
 
 But its ripples all are white; 
 And the forehead's snowy whiteness 
 
 Wears the brownest shade of care ; 
 
14 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And such wrinkles lie upon ii 
 
 As the weary only bear; 
 And the blue eye's starry luster. 
 
 That rron\ heaven you said did stray, 
 Linorersin the gloomy valleys 
 
 I have cross"d upon my way; 
 And the cheeks you kissed so fondly— 
 
 Ah! their roses could not stay; 
 So you would not know you'd loved me. 
 
 If we were to meet to-day. 
 
 Lips, to you, like parted rose-bnd, 
 
 Wreath'd with precious smiles of love, 
 They can gather back their beauty 
 
 Only in the home above; 
 There, perhaps, the olden glory 
 
 'Round both cheek and brow may glow. 
 And the hair, so soft and silken, 
 
 Ripple in its olden How ; 
 There, the roses wither never; 
 
 There, for strength they never pray; 
 There, perhaps you'll know you lov'd me. 
 
 Though you'd know it not to-day. 
 
 NELLY AND BROTHER WILL. 
 
 Wandering, wandering, all the day, 
 
 A-through the busy street, 
 While the cold white snow fell softly down 
 
 Upon their bare brown feet, 
 Went little Nelly and brother Will, 
 
 Asking for meat and bread. 
 Thankful for even the crumbs, with which 
 
 The rich man's dogs were fed. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Some one had ^Iven a woolen cap 
 
 For brother VVill to wear. 
 But onlj- the snow could weave a hood 
 
 For Nelly's flaxen hair. 
 Her little shoulders? were cold and bare. 
 
 Old rags hung round her lorm. 
 While brother Will's poor, worn out coat. 
 
 Scarce 'cept him from the storm- 
 Wandering, wandering, all the day.. 
 
 Backward, and up and down, 
 Hearing full many an unkind word, 
 
 And meeting full many a frown. 
 Till when, so heavy, the dark came do\vn- 
 
 Poor Nelly, in her fright, 
 €]iiTig closer to brother Will, and cried, 
 
 •"Where shal! we sleep to night*'"' 
 
 The morning broke in purple and gold. 
 
 On marble mansions white, 
 And a lady, in her soft, rich robes, 
 
 At dawning of the light, 
 "Unlocked, with her restless hands, the door. 
 
 For one all night away. 
 When lo! upon the broad high step. 
 
 Two small dead children lay. 
 
 Dear Nelly, folded so close and stili 
 
 To brother Will's cold breast, 
 With his old torn coat about her laid. 
 
 To shield her in her rest,— 
 While the boy. in his protecting love. 
 
 So tender and so sweet, 
 Had wrapped his soft warm woolen cap, 
 
 ^Round liltJe sister's feet. 
 
PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 
 
 THE drp:amer 
 
 They call mc a dreamer, and tliey say, that uo 
 
 more 
 Now the visions and hopes of my young life are 
 
 o'er. 
 Should I dream the sweet dreams of my girlhood 
 
 and youth. 
 The beautiful dreams of love and truth 1 
 Xhey say. ihe fair faiths of those bright years 
 
 should fade. 
 As the sunshine falls into the twilights dark 
 
 shade." 
 
 •'Stop dreaming!'" they ciy. ''Grow doubting 
 
 and cold. 
 Seethe sorrow and sin.— the blight and the 
 
 mold- 
 Look not for May blossoms where Summer- 
 heats killl 
 Look not for June roses, where the Winter 
 
 frosts chilli 
 Stop dreaming, and list to the terrible din 
 Of the earth-world without and the soul-world 
 
 within. 
 Hear the thunder of passion! See the lightning 
 
 and flame 
 Of the vices, that burn out the holiest name! 
 See the wild, scathing flood, that unwearingly 
 
 rolls 
 O'er the dearest, the truest, the bravest of souls! 
 
 "Stop dreaming, and teach your own dear ones 
 
 to doubt. 
 To see the worlds falsness— its evil find out; 
 The ideal lessons ol trust, you now give. 
 Take back, and undoubting, get ready to live." 
 
 Ah! something I've seen of the weak and the 
 
 frail- 
 How the fairest might perish, and the strougest 
 
 might fail! 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 17 
 
 Ah! something I've seen, of the tempted and 
 
 tried, 
 And my own hards have lilted, as I pleadingly 
 
 cried. 
 Oh hide me dear Father from temptation and 
 
 strife ! 
 Oh crown me wise Master, witli a holier life! 
 
 But the sunshine so often falls down from on 
 
 high 
 And the flowers in their sweetness look up to the 
 
 -Sky; 
 And the months are so many of beauty I know. 
 And so seldom a day of the wild wind and 
 
 snow, 
 And my feet are so stayed in the dangerous 
 
 way. 
 While some robin sings sweet, through the 
 
 stormiest day. 
 And so many white hearts, with their rose- 
 
 builded nests. 
 vVhere way-worn and weary, I may go in to rest. 
 
 And just where the lightning, and the wild 
 
 thunder shock 
 Has rent the poor gnu!, or the wild, barren 
 
 rock. 
 There come such sweet blossoms— such verdure 
 
 of green, 
 Such soft-singing fountains, with their clear 
 
 silver sheen 
 That 1 see, o'er the black flag, that sin has 
 
 unfurled. 
 How the Father's dear Mercy enfoldeth the 
 
 world. 
 
 If the trust be unwise; if the doubting be 
 
 true; 
 If the weak are so many, and the brave are so 
 
 few; 
 
18 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 If huraanity bears such a pressure aud stain 
 That no water of healing can cleanse it again; 
 If the worlds are so cursed from planet to sod, 
 Andvainlvwe cling to the fond heart of God. 
 Till the last throb of feeling from my bosom 
 
 hath gone. 
 Oil break not my dreaming! Still let me 
 
 dream on. 
 
 MY BABY. 
 
 Have yon seen my little Cora, 
 
 With her large and laughing eyes. 
 With her strange, odd questionings. 
 
 And her wise and quiant replies? 
 Tell me! tell me! have }ou seen her. 
 
 With her dimpled, baby face,— 
 With her look of quiet meaninji. 
 
 And her air of witching grace? 
 
 I have searched the wilds and rivers — 
 
 All the dingles and the dells— 
 I have looked into the fountains, 
 
 Peeped into the springs and wells,— 
 But I cannot hear her foot-step, 
 
 Cannot see her little form,— 
 Has the whirl-wind borne her onward. 
 
 Onward, on the wings of storm? 
 
 Have the fairies in the forest 
 
 Made a dainty, moss-lined nest — 
 Coaxed my darling to its pillows, 
 
 "Mid the blossoms there, to rest? 
 Ah ! my baby would not stay there I 
 
 She would rather lay her head 
 Where she heard her mamma's singing. 
 
 And "Old Doctor's" coming tread? 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 19 
 
 Do you tell me I shall find her 
 
 When my day of work is done? 
 When my hands arc still and folded. 
 
 And my hour ol' r«st, is won? 
 Do you tell me I shall find her 
 
 Where Ihey need not moon or star— 
 In that land of joyous brightness. 
 
 Where tbe many mansions are? 
 
 THE GIFT OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Then hast brought them far, my gentle friend. 
 From th*i Eastern land, where thv.- bright sun 
 
 lends 
 His genial glow to tiie soft south breeze. 
 That wakens the leaves of the old roof trees. 
 And kisses the dewy buds at morn, 
 By the low, white cot, where I was born. 
 
 Thou hast brought them far, from my mother's 
 
 door, 
 W^hcre she sits when her daily cares are o'er, 
 While her heart looks back with a yearning 
 
 glow. 
 To the beautiful hours of tbe "long ago;'' 
 %Vhen happy children, fair and bright, 
 Played through her home from morn till 
 
 night. 
 And she thought the dropping of their feet 
 A melody so soft and sweet — 
 And their laughter rang upon her ear, 
 With a care-free, sound, she will always hear, 
 And she taught their little hands to twine 
 The fragrant twig of the jesamine vine. 
 And to nurse the very flowers you found 
 On that dear old spot of hallowed ground. 
 
 Tiiouhast wander'd there— by the sweet. ol<l 
 home— 
 
20 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Where a happy child, I was want to roam ; 
 Thou hast wander'd there, and thou hast seen 
 The green, old hills, with the brook between,- 
 And the valley, that lay like a thread of light, 
 With its chains of dew, and its flowers of white; 
 And the meadow where we danced in play, 
 Or slept on the rows of the new mown hay. 
 And ihe heavy wood, with it's wild deep glen. 
 Where God.s fresh sunlight had never been— 
 And more than all. thou hast seen the smile 
 From hearts that never knew aught of guile : 
 From warm, true hearts that will always feel 
 The same great love, through life's woe and weal ; 
 And they who loved me— whom I adored, 
 Have bless'd thee there, at the hearth and board. 
 
 Thou hast gathered them there, with a faithlnl 
 
 hand 
 On the sunny spots of the dear old land— 
 And thoughts the sweetest and holiest, blend 
 With th} gifts of flowers, my gentle friend. 
 
 MAGGIE. 
 
 O, the days are gone, Maggie, 
 When you and I so gay, 
 
 Roam'dthe merry morning, 
 And eventide away. 
 
 When we two danced so lightly 
 Upon the village green, 
 
 The happiest young beings 
 Fond hearts had ever seen. 
 
 And when we sung togather 
 The songs we loved so well— 
 
 The very sweetest songs, Maggie, 
 That human lips could tell.— 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 When we read books so precious, 
 
 We nfe'er may read again— 
 For we do not find, Maggie, 
 
 Such book:^ as we found then- 
 Then when the heart-light darted 
 
 It's glory o'er your brow, 
 Where sorrow's drifting shadows 
 
 Have hung their sable now. 
 
 Ah! those days have gone, Maggie, 
 
 And faded, like the dew, 
 The amber hopes, my darling. 
 
 They brought to me and you. 
 
 For a heavy cloud, Maggie, 
 
 Hath parted us at last, 
 And we dwell logather only 
 
 In the memoried past. 
 
 Oh I weary is the way, dear. 
 That we must journey still; 
 
 But we will not despond, Maggie, 
 We're climbing up the hill; 
 
 And soon— it may be sooner 
 Than we have thought to day— 
 
 The shackles will fall off, dear, 
 That bind us to this clay. 
 
 Then, heart to hert, dear Maggie, 
 And love to love shall flee, 
 
 And we will dwell together, 
 3Iy Maggie, you and me. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 OUR LITTLE JACK. 
 
 Heigho. for my pen! bring it quick to me now. 
 While this shimmer of sun'i<iht plays over my 
 
 brow, 
 While this gay little play-fellow sits at my side. 
 With his bright glance of hope, and his arched 
 
 lip of pride, 
 'Ere the books or the trinkets are scattered away. 
 And he's oft' with a bound, to his dog and his 
 
 play. 
 
 Do you ask who he is, and what may be his name? 
 If 'tis Willie, oi Charley, or Clarence, or James ? 
 If we've dubbed hirn as Channing, or Byron, or 
 
 Gray ? 
 Those names that are glowing "mong immortals 
 
 to day. 
 Ah! this bright little creature that gladdens onr 
 
 track. 
 Wears the simplest cognomen— our dear little 
 Jack! 
 
 "Now. if I were a poet, perhaps I'd declare 
 The hue of his eyes, and the shade of his hair. 
 His brow might be white as the whitest of snow, 
 On his cheeks, mingled roses, together might 
 
 grow— 
 And his mouth— you may laugh--but his mouth 
 
 I can see. 
 Is the sweetest and smallest a boy's mouth can 
 
 be. 
 
 I cannot write him perfect, and so I'll not try. 
 For 'twere foolish to tell, e'en a poetical lie, 
 He's a child, and like children, sometimes he's 
 
 astray 
 From the strait, narrow path, and the bright, 
 pleasant way— 
 
PEBBLES FROM TIIK SHORE. 28 
 
 Sometimes a storm bursts in his young, throb- 
 bing breast. 
 But kind words of wisdom, soon lull it to rest. 
 
 Perchance, with poor Taddy, he catches a fall. 
 Then, away goes the cat, with a thump and a 
 
 squall. 
 Or "Rover'' is caught with his soft, chubby 
 
 hand, 
 And for him is a cap, or a wagon, or band, 
 Or father's green glasses laid over his eyes, 
 To keep them all free from the troublesome flies. 
 
 Not a fig does he care, if he read ill or well— 
 If we hire him or coax him one moment, to spell. 
 "There's his cart must be loaded, his hurse 
 
 harnessed, too!" 
 Or if Rover is gone, why I, then, must do ; 
 If the lines or the bridle, hath aught evil befell. 
 Then, the skirts of my dress, will answer as well. 
 
 And of one thing he's sure--if he tie meat last. 
 I will always stand still, 'till he bid me go fiist ; 
 A dance m^jy be started, or a play we may try, 
 How hisilashing eye glistens! how his little feet 
 
 fly! 
 Ah! a sunbeam, that brightens our flowery track. 
 Is this gladsome, young creature, this light- 
 
 hearied Jack! 
 
 But few winters have fallen upon his young 
 
 head. 
 And when a few more, with their snow-storms 
 
 have fled. 
 His heart may not leap in its gladness, to hear 
 The loving home-voices that fall on his ear, 
 Then, the song and the dance may be hushed 
 
 in his home. 
 And his father's brown hairs may lie low in the 
 
 tomb. 
 
24 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Or perchance, other hearts raay respond to his 
 
 own, 
 Other lips may send forth a more heart-vvinnine 
 
 tone. 
 And eyes that are brighter, may glisten for him. 
 When those, that now watch him, are rayless 
 
 and dim ; 
 Or if God, in his wisdom, should lengthen our 
 
 day, 
 The world, with its brightness, might win him 
 
 away. 
 
 He may leave the old hearth-stone, so dear to 
 
 him now, 
 When manhhood's young summer lies fresh on 
 
 his brow, ^ 
 
 He may wander away, over mountain and wa\e. 
 And the land of the stranger may give him a 
 
 grave. 
 Let him roam, if he will, there is one thing he'll 
 
 know. 
 That our hearts will beat for him, where e'er he 
 
 may go. 
 
 OUR OLD HOME TREES. 
 
 Say, will you. 
 What is life? What all its turmoil and it's 
 Toil? Why doth it fret, and chafe, and luie one 
 On, unto the very verge of cruel 
 Sacrifice, and then turn back to skies of 
 Blue, and flowers of balm? 
 
 Ah! there are hours 
 When the fond heart doth sicken of it all; 
 Grows weary of the why and where, and turns 
 Aside unto its own commiininns with 
 The birds and flowers— with all things beautiful 
 And sweet? 
 
PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 25 
 
 So do I come, at noontide or 
 At dawn, to these companions of my girl-hood's 
 Home; these grand old trees, o'er-arching with 
 
 their 
 Greenness, roof and tower, and holding music 
 In their leaves, lar sweeter than the poets 
 Song: for I have learned to love them as some 
 Living thing; and my yonng feet are stayed, as 
 By some loving voire, at whisper from their 
 Shades; and on the hillside slope, guarding the 
 Mountain rill. I sit within my hidden 
 Nook amid their dappled shadows, and take 
 Sweet counsel of their beauty; and we 
 Together— Brook and I— sing out our joy and rest. 
 
 O, I have come at even-tide. 
 When the great world was still, and stood alone 
 Beneath thesj heavy boughs, and pressed my lips 
 Against their glossy leaves, and listened unto 
 Words that the soul's lip could never utter 
 Unto mortal ear; while all the air se*»med 
 Pulsing with the heart of God, and life was 
 But the door to heaven. 
 
 THE PRAIRIE GRAVE. 
 
 Young May had hung her blossoms out 
 
 On vine, and shrub, and tree. 
 And sent her sunbeams hand in hand. 
 
 Across the azure sea. 
 When, undenif ath an oak tree's shade, 
 
 Far on the Western wild, 
 A mourning mother stood beside 
 
 The coffin of her child. 
 
 She heeded not the low-breath'd hymn- 
 Tbe fervent, simple prayer. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 She thought not of the stranger forms 
 That gathered round her there; 
 
 But when another footstep came, 
 She knew the heavy tread, 
 
 And saw her husband's bloated face 
 By the white face of her dead. 
 
 One earless look the father gave— 
 
 Brushed off a falling tear- 
 Then laughed a wild and drunken laugh, 
 
 And staggerd from the bier; 
 While stranger'? covered o'er the face. 
 
 So fair, and white, and cold, 
 And laid the little shrouded form 
 
 Beneath the prairie mould. 
 
 And then each stranger turned awaj'. 
 
 And left the mother there. 
 Alone in her deep wretchedness, 
 
 And in her wild despair; 
 And as she pressed her trembling hands 
 
 Upon her burning brow. 
 She murmured in her agony — 
 
 '•If God would take me now ! 
 
 "My child I my child! my darling one. 
 How can 1 leave you here? 
 
 Without one human eye to watch- 
 One weeping mourner near? 
 
 For, ere the morrow's setting sun 
 Shall gild thy prairie grave. 
 
 The filling sail will bear me on. 
 Across the shining wave. 
 
 /And there, amid the rock crown'd hills. 
 Where, in my girlliood's hours, 
 
 I heard the wild bird's gushing sons: 
 And plucked the forest flowers,— 
 
 There, I shall miss thy merry voice— 
 Thy childish, happy play. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHOTIE. 
 
 And the soft lig'ht of thy dark eye, 
 That drove my gloom away. 
 
 *^My child! my child I oh, who will come 
 
 At mellow even-tide, 
 And with a heart of yearning love. 
 
 Sit fondly by thy side? 
 Oh! who will watch the Summer flowers 
 
 In graceful oeauty wave. 
 Or hear the wild winds sing around 
 
 Thy lonely prairie grave? 
 
 •'Oh darling! could 1 take thee back 
 
 Within the old Church shade, 
 Where eight long, weary years ago. 
 
 My eldest born was laid— 
 But here— oh here, no human eje 
 
 One burning tear will shed, 
 No human heart will come to pray 
 
 Beside thy dust-strewn bed. 
 
 '■And yet, ray darling, there is One, 
 
 Who never hath forgot. 
 And His all-seeing eye will guard 
 
 This little, lonely spot: 
 And I will drive this burning pain 
 
 Back from my throbbing brow, 
 And try to thank that Changeless Friend, 
 
 That He hath cali"d thee now. 
 
 PAPA'S COME HOME, MAMMA. 
 
 'Twac a cool, clear eve in Autumn time. 
 
 The flowers had gone awa}'. 
 But I could not tell if they'd gone to sleep. 
 
 Or whether they'd gone to play. 
 The vines hung drooping around the sill. 
 And the household tones were hushed and still 
 
28 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 No ray oflight broke the brown twilight 
 That hung 'lound the s^haded room. 
 
 Save the star beams in the i)lue above, 
 Thateleam'd through the gathering gloom. 
 
 And through the air the apple boughs s\i ung. 
 
 As their rich fruit 'neath th>i windows hung. 
 
 A fair child knelt, with white crossed hands. 
 
 By her mothers large, arm chair, 
 And mellow light from the land of love. 
 
 Shone over her golden hair. 
 And her violet eyes were raised above. 
 As she thank'd "'Our Father"" for care and love. 
 
 Like gentian buds by the meadow stream, 
 Or bloom whore the wild birds sinir. 
 
 Like the voice of love, the smile of morn, 
 Or the breath of early Spring — 
 
 Like the May-buds swinging in the air, 
 
 Seera'd she in her innocent prayer. 
 
 '•Our Father" will watch and keep from h-'irm. 
 
 From the hunger and the cold, 
 And bring him safe to mamma dear. 
 
 My papa, hunting for gold. 
 And the soft, brown frineje of her beautitul eyes, 
 
 Lay up, on her snowy brow. 
 As her red lips parted with smiles, to say 
 
 "■I know who will watch us now, 
 'Till papa comes home, mamma— 
 'Till papa comes home, mamma— mamma!" 
 
 Then a hand lay on her sunny head. 
 
 And a voice was in her ear. 
 A voice the young child had not heard 
 
 For a long and dark two year. 
 And strong were the arms that folded her round. 
 And through the low chamber sung her joy-sound 
 Of "papa's come home, mammal 
 O, papa's come home, mamma! mamma!'' 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 29 
 
 HEART-NOTES, TO MOTHER. 
 
 Thp dawn has come again, mother. 
 The gray and early dawn- 
 
 The dew is trembling on our flowers, 
 And glistening o'er the lawn. 
 
 There is a ro?e-cloiid in the east, 
 
 A cloud of gold and rose, 
 And like a flood, the mellow light 
 
 Adown the valley, flows. 
 
 The flowers are on our apple trees — 
 The fresh, sweet-scented flowers— 
 
 And softly o'er the beds of moss, 
 Glide on the morning hours. 
 
 The bloom is on our myrtle vines, 
 The clear, soft, purple bloom— 
 
 And the perfume of our lilac buds 
 Floats through the cottage room. 
 
 The jasmin-s on the window-pane, 
 
 The twining pinkjasmine, 
 And peace is round our hearth and home, 
 
 As it hath ever been. 
 
 The leaves are on the current shrub. 
 The green, just-open'd leaves— 
 And buds as fre?h,bend the Cherry boughs. 
 As the dreams my spirit weaves. 
 
 The first wee flowers are by the springs. 
 
 The fairest and the first— 
 The green stems lift the snow-drop bloom 
 
 The sweetest, Spring hath nurs'd. 
 
 Oh: the earth is very fair, mother. 
 The dear, old smiling earth— 
 
30 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Not a sound is out above her breast, 
 But the silvery sound of mirth. 
 
 But thou art sad and lone, mother— 
 
 Oh : thou art sad and lone— 
 For the voice that l)reath'd thy baby songs 
 
 Has, with its sweetness flown. 
 
 And cold and still is thy mother's heart- 
 So pulseless and so cold! 
 
 And hands that smoothed thy midnight hair 
 Are damp beneath the mould. 
 
 The eyes of brown, so meek and soft— 
 
 The smiling eyes of brown. 
 Will brighten thy weary way no more. 
 
 For their lids aie folded down. 
 
 A grave has been made hy gentle hands— 
 A new and just-fillM grave- 
 Where flower-crown'd Summer sings her songs, 
 And Autumn blossoms wave. 
 
 Oh I this were a cheerless life, mother— 
 
 A dreary, sadden'd life. 
 Were there no thought of another one, 
 
 Where there comes no sin and strife. 
 
 With all our broken ties, mother— 
 
 Our dear, but broken ties. 
 How could we live, had we not a hope 
 
 or meeting in the skies! 
 
 Bat there's a better land, mother— 
 
 A fairer, hapi)ier land- 
 Where our lov'd ones, in their spotless robes 
 
 Bend over the glistening strand. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. J 
 
 And watch the sail)? of our y;licling barks, 
 
 The feeble, trembling sails 
 As they float above a smooth, fair sea. 
 
 Or bend beneath the sale. 
 
 And their care— it may be, mother. 
 Their greatest, sweetest care. 
 
 To ask of God, that they at last, 
 May clasp the wanderers there. 
 
 TEIE WANDERER. 
 
 A little girl upon the shore 
 
 Where ships sail out, but corae no more— 
 
 Upon the border of the sea. 
 
 The ocean of eternity— 
 
 A little girl with dimpled feet. 
 
 And full, red lips with kisses sweet, 
 
 With heavy locks of shining haii. 
 
 And broad, low brovv, and face so fair, 
 
 Where roses on the soft, round cheek, 
 
 M'^ith lilies played at hide and seek. 
 
 Of all God's children, only one. 
 With this life's journey just begun. 
 Across the world's wide waste to go. 
 Through glades of joy, and vales of woe. 
 By ri%ers with their hymns of peace. 
 And brooks whose tumults never cease. 
 Through forests dark v/ith gloomy shade. 
 And dells where blossoms never fade. 
 Up mountain-heights by thickets torn, 
 Down hill-sides tvithout brier or thorn. 
 Through morning's roseate, radiant light. 
 Through cloudy eve, and blackest night. 
 Where thunders roll, both long and loud. 
 And lightenings flash from murky cloud — 
 
32 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Finding, as on and on she trod. 
 This great, grand Universe ot God, 
 This broad, rich world of human life, 
 Seemed one red battle-lield of strife. 
 
 But human love in word and deed. 
 Taught the fair child her w'ondrous need. 
 And through the treid of onward years. 
 Mid storms of doubt, and grief, and fear. 
 She alwaj's found some green retreat, 
 And face to face with Christ did meet; 
 She crossed some chapel-threshold, where 
 Her heart could rest in praise and prayer. 
 Some way-side temple did she eee 
 111 which she turned, O God, to thee. 
 And now, the journey nearly o'er. 
 The white sail waiting off the shore. 
 She pleads. "O Master, at the last, 
 Now, all the wsary way is past. 
 Fill my whole heart with thy sweet grace. 
 Look on me with thy tender face. 
 Oh. reach thy firm, thy faithful hand. 
 And guide me to the ^eavenly land."' 
 
 Still on. oh Soul! 
 
 Although the way be long. 
 And friends fail from us every day; 
 
 Still on. until 
 
 O'er crime and wrong 
 We sing the victor's song, 
 
 And find the night, 
 
 The long, sad night, 
 Merged into God's eternal day. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 38 
 
 TENDER A"ND TRUE. 
 
 Mj dai'ling: May — fairest May- 
 Dear, as when life wae new 
 
 You whispered softly, you would be 
 So tender and so true. 
 
 And even then, sunny hope 
 Walked side by side with you. 
 
 And your young heart, like lillies pure, 
 Was tender and was true, 
 
 O, fairest May— sweetest May— 
 
 I called you, darling, too. 
 And said I would forever be 
 
 So tender and so true ; 
 
 No tempest should fearful wrecks 
 
 Along your pathway strew. 
 No blighting touch the merry heart 
 
 So tender and so true. 
 
 But loving care, everywhere 
 
 Should guard your whole life through. 
 And you should lean upon my breast, 
 
 So tender and so true. 
 
 Those early years laded. May, 
 
 Like drops of morning dew, 
 And hopea went out, and friends died too 
 
 All tender and all true. 
 
 And strangely false, other friends 
 
 Along our pathway grew. 
 But we are nearing home at last. 
 
 Bo th tender and both true. 
 
 And over the silvery hair. 
 
 Shall wear its golden hue. 
 And hearts grown cold, shall, as of old. 
 
 Be tender and be true. 
 
34 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 JEWELS. 
 
 There are treasures that lie on the far away hills: 
 Where the curtains of sunset nnfold; 
 
 Where the bloom of the orange the atmosphere 
 fills, 
 And the miner still delves for his gold. 
 
 There are ^rems, rare gems, that so glisten and 
 glow. 
 That the e^'C with their lustre gets dim; 
 But they sparkle and shine on a monarch's 
 proud brow, 
 And their glory is only for him. 
 
 There are pearls— precious pearls— abundant and 
 rare, 
 Where the fair and the brave are iit rest; 
 And they twine their soft buds in woman's soft 
 hair, 
 And lie upon manhood's broad breast. 
 
 But, ah! there's a gem with a mellower light, 
 
 And one that ie dearer by far. 
 For it shines with a light that's more brilliantly 
 bright 
 
 Than jewel or glittering star. 
 
 'Tis the heart— the warm heart— that forever is 
 true, 
 Though the cloud and the tempest go by ; 
 The heart, while you live, that keeps throbbing 
 for you, 
 And throbs for you still, when you die. 
 
 'Tis the heart, the strong heart, the changeless, 
 the bold. 
 Undaunted by trial or fear. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 35 
 
 That loves you a.s much, wheu you're wrinkled 
 and old, 
 As when your iVesh sprinu;-tirae is here. 
 
 ■'TIS the heart, the kind heart, that all harshness 
 outwears, 
 
 All scorn and all sorrow outlives, 
 And though for your faults it has many a tear. 
 
 It always forgets and forgives. 
 
 Tis the heart, the true heart, that whatever 
 betide, 
 Prays for you by night and by day; 
 Though the world lie between you, all weary and 
 wide. 
 And sorrow and sin stain the way, 
 
 Tnen prize it— oh! prize it, wherever you go- 
 Lose all else hut this, if you must; 
 
 For it suffers, and bleeds, and breaks in its woe , 
 But it never proves false to its trust. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF MRS. SARAH 
 BKOUGIITON. 
 
 Silent I sit beside my open door. 
 
 Encircled by the beauty of the morn, 
 And watch our young childsporting on the floor, 
 
 My heart in grief of hope and sorrow born. 
 The soft gray mist is parting from the sky. 
 
 And hangs like vail of silver round the trees, 
 Young Pheobes o'er our porch roof swiftly fly. 
 Their brown wings lifted in the morning 
 breeze: 
 And like the lustrous beauty of our vanlsh'd 
 dreams. 
 Along the vallevs glide the mellow, 
 murmuriniT streams. 
 
36 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Around me is a sighing, soft and low. 
 
 And a sad sobbing on the very air, 
 There is a grief where the young wild flowers 
 blow, 
 A sorrow and a mourning everywhere ; 
 The fresh spring beauties, with their meek 
 young heads 
 Just lifted from the dying, brown oak leaves- 
 Blue violets, that their sweet perfumes shed 
 Where the great forest its deep shadow 
 weaves ; 
 And the green moBS knolls by the Clinton's 
 azure waves 
 Miss now the tread of feet grown silent in the 
 grave. 
 
 While, on Superior's wave guarded shore 
 Bright eyef> are weeping o'er thy place of rest — 
 Hearts wildly mourning, that thon'lt come no 
 
 more 
 To children, nestled once upon thy breast; 
 And where the orange trees their rich fruit give- 
 Where Sacramento's waters clearly glide, 
 A fair young wife and happy mother lives, 
 To learn the hour her precious mother died; 
 And many are there, as the years go by 
 Will miss the luster of thy large, dark, soul-lit 
 
 eye. 
 
 Thou, of the first, in this far. western land, 
 
 To greet me with the needed words of love, 
 
 Sister and Mother! Shall 1 clasp thy hand 
 
 TSo more, until we meet in bliss above? 
 
 Ah ! it were long, that thou hadst plead for peace, 
 
 And it were better for thee thus to go 
 
 Where every murmur of unrest shall cease, 
 
 And where thy heart no more of grief should 
 
 know. 
 There, in the home of love, thy children— blest 
 
 before— 
 Were waiting for thee, by the angle-guarded door. 
 
PEBBLES PROM THE SHORE. 
 
 A CALL TO THE ABSENT. 
 
 Come back, come back ye fond ones, 
 
 Ye loved of early years; 
 Come back, come back ye dear ones 
 
 And dry these falling tears; 
 Come lhrouf<h mountain pathways, 
 
 And o'er the ocean"'s foam ; 
 Come from your stranger-dwellings. 
 
 Oh, once again come home ! 
 
 Oil, leave me not in sorrow. 
 
 Oh, leave me not my own, 
 To battle in the struggle 
 
 Weak-handed and alone: 
 What is the great world's glory. 
 
 What its renown for you. 
 To the heart unstaiued and doting, 
 
 The heart forever true? 
 
 Lifer's morning passeth swiftly. 
 
 Gone, ere it seemeth noon— 
 Oh darken not its brightness 
 
 With the shadow's, all too soon; 
 Come sit by rlie waiting hearth-stone. 
 
 Come o'er the land and sea ; 
 Come sit in the roof-tree's shadow, 
 
 Come back, come hack to me! 
 
 • And so, at 
 Last, the cabin crumbled to decay. 
 And where the old Chief brav'd the flowing stream 
 The Kail-car loapes the rippling waves; and 
 
 where 
 The Indian maiden met her lover in 
 The leafy shade, the white-browed daughter of 
 The saxon race blushes and trembles at 
 The same sweet story of the heart. 
 
PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 
 
 LET ME LIE IM THE EARTH. 
 
 Let me lie in the earth when mv forehead is cold. 
 And my cheek wears^ a litiv-like hue. 
 
 When the days of my lile are all vanished and told. 
 And to dear onee I've whisper"d adieu. 
 
 Take me not to an Abbey of marble and ^old, 
 Where the king sroes away Id his rest — 
 
 Where they gatherd the royal and knightly of o'd. 
 With the star and the cross on the breast. 
 
 There a stranger might pause, in his wojider to 
 gaze. 
 As 1 lay in my long, dreamless sleep. 
 And some thousands might envy the glitter and 
 blaze- 
 But not one, olthe thousands would weep. 
 
 Make me never a vault, nor a cotlin of lead 
 With its (asten'd and narrow glass door — 
 
 O, I cannot see why ye would hold back the dead 
 When their voices can creet you no more! 
 
 A few whom I love, might feel a relief 
 To come up to my dark, silent room, 
 
 But thei*- hearts would be touched with a heavier 
 grief 
 When they left me again in the gloom. 
 
 Ah! rd rather they'd come to some beautiful glen 
 Where bird music is but on the air— 
 
 I had rather they'd come and sit down by me then. 
 And strew violets over me there. 
 
 Let me lie in the earth. Tm a creature of dust. 
 
 As well as a child of the sky- 
 Make the prince and the princess a tomb if you 
 mast 
 
 But lay me in the Earth when I die! 
 
PEBBLES FROM TFIE SHORE. 39 
 
 FLORAT^CE PADDOCK. 
 
 "Beautiful, beautiful childhood! delicate bud 
 
 Of the immortal flower, that will unfold, 
 
 And come to its maturity in haa.ven.''^— Willis, 
 
 Fair and very fair, art thou, dear little Floy! 
 Beautiful, as the poets thought of happiness. 
 Or like a dream, that nestles in the heart till 
 Day-light, and then turns gently back again, lest 
 The light fingers of the coming dawn should 
 
 touch 
 Its loveliness too harshly; Upon the rich 
 Dark masses of thy curling hair, there lingers 
 A golden luster, as the sunligtit casts its 
 
 Glory o'er the glossy plnmaee of the raven's 
 Wing; over thy blue-vein"d temples, and within 
 Thy dark, and heart-filled eyes, and across 
 Thy low, sweet forehead there gleams a flood of 
 
 Holiness, as though a spirit from its Jar. 
 Bright home, had sought thee for companionship. 
 Thou wilt be fondly nurtured, little one, and when 
 The years come on, and time shall set his seal 
 
 Upon thy girlish brow, love will be ready 
 At thy bidding, and so, from many ministries 
 Thy form grow fawn-like in its gracefulness. 
 Thy step like breeze of May, and thy bright smile 
 Like sunshine round the buds of Spring. 
 
 Butch! 
 For thee, there will be other w(»rk than this — 
 For the high polish of the soul comes on 
 Alone, with earnest sculpture, and untiring 
 Toil— comes on, by thine own effort here, and 
 At the last is finished by the Master's 
 Hand, in the ''sweet home'" in heaven. 
 
 Perhaps. 
 When the pale hand thnt writes to-day. lies 
 Cold and pulseless in the quiet grave— and the 
 Young mind that wakes it* thoughts for thee, 
 learns of 
 
40 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 The angelp, thou'lt pause mid pleasure's gay 
 
 career, 
 And with thy dark eye on the printed page, 
 Wonder, why I so well should love thee? 
 
 And 
 Yet, before thy bark of life is stranded 
 On the immortal shore, perchance thou too. 
 Wil't learn, that ties of kin, are not the only 
 Ones, that stir the hidden fountains of the 
 Heart! 
 
 God bless thee, little one! God lead thee 
 Gently through the pathways of the world, and 
 Should the hands of human love fall back, give 
 Thee such wealth of His great tenderness, that 
 Thou Shalt never know the blessing gone, nor 
 Palter for a moment in the blessed 
 Way, that leads, alone, to sweet content and 
 Never failing joy I 
 
 THE MOTHER'S WATCH. 
 
 One night— one midnight— when her pain was 
 
 great. 
 And all her precious form was filled with one 
 Wild agony, there floated upward, through 
 The open window, from the street, a strange. 
 Half-crazed, half-sobbing sound, and then a voice 
 From which had died all notes of sweetness, and 
 Into which had gathered discords gross and chill ; 
 
 My darling hushed her cries, and lifting 
 Up her large, dark eyes to mine, she reached 
 Her trembliug hands to me in sympathy 
 For one who needed pity even mare than she. 
 
 "Oh, mother dear! Dear mother, do you here 
 that voice?" 
 
PEBBLES FROM TBE SHORE. 41 
 
 *• What voice, my child? " and then 
 I laid my cooling fingers eoothingly 
 Above her fevered palms, and tried to hush 
 From out her ear the fearful sounds; but yet 
 She answered pleadingly, "that woman's voice!" 
 "A woman's voice? My child, His midnight. ■'"' 
 
 •• Oh, mother! don't you know? Poor sister of 
 
 the 
 Street !"' and then she drew her hands up, crossed 
 Upon her breast, and turned her loving face 
 Aside, while the white pillow was all moistened 
 With her tears. 
 
 And now down upon my knees, I 
 Fell, close by her bed of pain, and all my 
 Heart went out in words of pleading on the air — 
 Oh, all my heart went out with that one loving 
 
 prayer: 
 " Dear God and Father! She is thine— thy erring 
 
 child; 
 Poor, weary wanderer! Thy yet beloved child ! 
 "Led out from beauty, o'er the desert waste. 
 Where sin-sick souls, to haunt her hourly, haste; 
 Followed by drasfons with their fiery brands. 
 And no doors opening into sunny lands ; 
 Oh! fold thy grace about her like a cloud; 
 Send thy still whispers through the murmurs 
 
 loud; 
 Dear, wandering sister of the noisy street! 
 Lead her. Oh, Father! to thy Mercy Seat!''' 
 
 This Spring-month of love— this Spring-month 
 of song — 
 Beautiful, beautiful May! 
 With it's days that are full of budding and 
 bloom. 
 And it's eves, that are fairer than dav. 
 
42 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 COME OVER THE BRIDGE, NELLY. 
 
 Ah, !Nelly I 8\voet Nelly ! you merry young 
 rogue! 
 
 Pray tell what your meanino; can he ? 
 All day, from my door, I have watch'd your mac! 
 freakg, 
 
 Aud Fm sure you're bliukingrit me; 
 But you'd better come over the bridge, Nelly, 
 
 And hush your wild, frolicksome tones. 
 For earth owns too little of love, to make mirth 
 
 Of a heart that is wholly your own. 
 
 Oh, the days that have vanished afar, Nelly, 
 
 Since for you. a young, merry child, 
 I would gather the flowers of the valleys. 
 
 And the sweet-scented buds of the wild— 
 When you smiled, as you cross'd the old bridge, 
 Nelly, 
 
 To roam through my blossoming rye ; 
 And 1 knew that you loved rae, with a little girl's 
 love. 
 
 By the beautiful light of your eye!. 
 
 Oh, the beautiful hopes of those hours, Nelly, 
 
 That built their sweet homes in my breast. 
 And would keep weaving their soft, golden 
 blooms. 
 
 Througliout all the hours of my r6'st! 
 Then, I dreamed you had crossed the old bridge, 
 Nelly, 
 
 To smile in this low home of mine- 
 That you uurs'd the young flowers of ray garden, 
 
 And sat in the shade of my vine. 
 
 But there's many a man has such dreams, Nelly, 
 In the clear. May-days of his youth, 
 
 When his heart wears the sunshine ol gladness, 
 And the world, the blossoms of truth ; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 4 3 
 
 But too often, the fresh, rosey dreams, Nelly, 
 Are touched with the mildew of blight. 
 
 And remembrance alone gilds his desolate years, 
 Like a beautiful rainbow of light, 
 
 Now your mother is goin^ away, Nelly— 
 
 Away to her last, dreamless rest- 
 Where your lather ha? lain this many a year. 
 
 With the trreen turf over his breast; 
 O, say then, you'll come o"er the bridge, Nelly, 
 
 And put your white hand in my own. 
 That no more I need call for my little-girl love. 
 
 Or wend on my journey alone! 
 
 Ah! this is a bright, happy world, Nelly, 
 
 So full of its beauty and love! 
 Litile mort? could we ask to gladden ouv hearts. 
 
 In the home we're seaking above; 
 And how blest, when you come o'er the bridge, 
 Nelly. 
 
 We'll journey down life's grassy slope. 
 Our spirits all wreathM with the ivy of love. 
 
 Our hearts with the roses of hope. 
 
 ■'Till at last, we shall stand on the bridge, Nelly, 
 
 Of death's softly murmuring stream, 
 And see the white banners afloat on the tide. 
 
 And the dipping oar's silver gleam ; 
 Then, cheer'd with each other's bright smiles, 
 Nelly, 
 
 We'll sit down, for our pleasant sail o'er, 
 While gently the Pilot shall row us along 
 
 To the grten of the heavenly shore. 
 
 He drank not as medicine, the cup the 
 Father gave, but took it as a poison 
 To bis heart, and let it canker all the 
 Sweet within hira. 
 
44 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 TO THE SILVER UNADILLA. 
 
 To thee, loved Nith — thy gladsome plains. 
 
 Where late. wV cnreless thought I rang\l. 
 Though pies.s'cl wi" care and sunk in woe, 
 
 To thee, 1 brint<a heart unchaug'd. 
 
 —Biir/ts. 
 
 Far over the lakes and the mountain-born streams, 
 Thy waves, Unadilla. gliile gently, to-day— 
 
 Thy murmur, that lulled me to girlhood's sweet 
 dreams, 
 Is heard by another, away — far away. 
 
 How lair, Unadilla. upon thy green shore, 
 The little " spriug-beauiiee "" awoke to the 
 
 light : 
 
 How the branches shadow thy low waters o'er! 
 How the blue geutians smile in the Autumn's 
 brown light! 
 
 How oft' on the banks, "neath the green willow 
 
 trees, 
 
 Have gathered a circle of youths and of maids. 
 
 While laughter and song rang wut on the breeze. 
 
 And flowers were twiu'd mid dark, shining 
 
 braids. 
 
 Ah! once, gentle river, a father's strong hand 
 Led me through tVy meads, in my sport and my 
 play. 
 And with green turf and logs, thj clear wate:s 
 spau'd, 
 That through forests beyond, ray young feet 
 might stray. 
 
 There roam'd he with me--wirh his darling first 
 born— 
 Thus seeking to guide me with beauty and 
 love, 
 
PEBBLES FROM TFIE SHORE. 45 
 
 That my feet might keep clear of the thistle and 
 thoiD. 
 When his hands should cull blooms by rivers 
 above. 
 
 But on thy »re«n banks, silver-river, there stand 
 Pleasant homes, that no more may meet my 
 fond eye — 
 Palace homes— cottage homes— in all the green 
 land 
 The fairest that ever look'k up to the sky. 
 
 And thou, Unadilla. dost sweetly sing on. 
 Through woodland and vale, to the ocean's 
 blue breast. 
 
 While I, with a yearning for those that are gone. 
 Am gliding away to the haven oi rest. 
 
 ALDEK-BROOK.* 
 
 There is a murmur in thy song to day. 
 Thou brightest.clearest of all flowing streams— 
 
 A murmur rising on thy winding way — 
 Where e're thy streamlet in the sunlight 
 gleams; 
 
 A plaintive murmur and a wail-like tone. 
 
 For worth and beauty from rhy borders flown. 
 
 The violets leaning o'er thy azure breast. 
 
 Wear look of sorrow never worn before; 
 The alder-boughs in green-leavM freshness 
 dressed, 
 
 Wfive not as lightly as they waved of yore; 
 There is a sadness o'er thy every wave, 
 A sadness borrowM of a low, fresh grave. 
 
 The meadow lark that comes at earlr morn. 
 In thy clear tide to bathe her weary wing; 
 
46 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 The brown thrush, nesting on the budding thorn. 
 Pour forth deep streams oi" wailing when they 
 
 sing; 
 And all a-through the leaf-crowned woodland. 
 
 floats 
 The sweet bird-echo, of their mournful notes. 
 
 A-long the meadows— gra.";^= and clover blooms. 
 Beneath the brightness oi the arching skies; 
 
 Fond human hearts are shadowed with deep 
 gloom. 
 And tears are flowing from dim, aching eyes. 
 
 And leet are weary with their silent tread 
 
 Around a grassfring'd dwelling of the dead. 
 
 Ah! gentle stream— along thy wave-kissed shore. 
 
 How sounds the murmur for a Christian gone.* 
 Who. when her life of joy and grief was o'er, 
 
 Her mission flnished, and her labor done, 
 Went from thy borders, and the house-hold ban d, 
 A star-crowned singer, to the l)elter land. 
 
 * "Alder Biook,'' the favorite stream (and title 
 of the published works) of "• Fanny Forester,'" — 
 Miss Emily C'hubbuck- afterwards Mrs, K. C. 
 Judson, wife oJ the celebrated Baptist Mission- 
 ary. 
 
 VIOLETS IN WINTER. 
 
 Slowly wore the night away. 
 
 And I pined for coming day; 
 
 For my rheek was pale with woe, 
 
 And I could not see the snow- 
 That lay on the crowns of the thousand hills. 
 And covered the lips of the singing rills. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 47 
 
 The thick curtain's heavy folds, 
 With their hues of rose and gold. 
 Where the violet cords were twined, 
 Shut out all the soft moonshine; 
 And weary watchers, with a gentle tread. 
 And pallid brows, came 'round my fever"d bed. 
 
 But with the morning ray. they brought 
 
 Violets to me, with a thought 
 
 That in. unto my shadowed soul. 
 
 With a tinkling footstep stole. 
 And trailing robe of gold and lilly-white. 
 Casting off gems of glorious diamond light. 
 
 Innocent violets! Where. 
 
 In the chill and frosty air. 
 
 Crept they into life and birth ? 
 
 What beautiful spot of earth — 
 What valley of light did "our Father"' give, 
 Where the precious things might bloom and live! 
 
 "No crown of light, or chain of dew 
 
 Found I, where the little things grew. 
 
 And no beams ol shining gold. 
 
 Did the opening buds enfold; 
 For I found them under the garden snov/. 
 Where ye would not think a flower could orrow." 
 
 Ah ! wandering in the path of time. 
 
 Winding to the better clime. 
 
 Spirits bear a heavier woe, 
 
 Than that garden bank of snow; 
 Yet under the weight, buds of beauty grow, 
 Where ye would not think a flower could blow. 
 
 Then help lift the burden up! 
 
 Come, help lift the burden up— 
 
 Ye of happy lieart and strong— 
 
 Ye who know no care or wrong; 
 Come, help lift the burden up— and see. 
 Brighter flowers than violets be. 
 
48 PEIBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 MISSING. 
 
 Papa conieg at even tide. 
 
 But the willow ckiiir 
 At the pleasant table-side. 
 
 H<il(ls no Ethel there. 
 
 Mamma listens— listens— 
 At the sweet bedtime. 
 
 For the gentle warble 
 Olthe childish rhyme. 
 
 Listens for the murmur 
 
 or the little prayer; 
 Waiting for the wee-lace. 
 
 With its phinine; hair. 
 
 Face so s-oft and sunny- 
 Face so lair and sweet— 
 
 Where the smiles ol childhood 
 And of angles meet ; 
 
 Brother on the play-ground. 
 
 In the busy street. 
 Yearning lor the tripping 
 
 Of the little feet. 
 
 Yearning for the laughter 
 
 Or the mellow air- 
 Ethel's gleeful lau<?hter, 
 
 Free from doubt or care. 
 
 Missing from the way-side. 
 Vanished from the door, 
 
 Sitting by the hearth-stone, 
 ?Jever, never more! 
 
 Out into the meadow lands 
 Broad and fair and green: 
 
 Out beside the brooklets 
 W'th iheir silver sheen; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Where the budclina blossoms 
 Sweetest fragrance shed- 
 Where with tender lovinys 
 The little heart is fed. 
 
 Where the Gentle Shepherd 
 Guides each little one— 
 
 Where they fear no shadow, 
 And no setting sun. 
 
 Little Ethel— darling- 
 Wanders to and fro; 
 
 Singing in her sweetness. 
 Songs of long ago. 
 
 Songs that mamma taught her. 
 
 Songs of papa's love; 
 Waiting for the household 
 
 That shall meet above. 
 
 THE FUGITIVES ANO THE PASTOR. 
 
 Twas early eve in the autum-time, 
 
 And the daily task was done. 
 And we sat around the cheerful fire 
 
 That blazed on the broad hearth-stone; 
 The birds were gone for many a day. 
 
 And the vines hung sere and bear. 
 And the roof-trees toss'd it's heavy arms 
 
 In the chill autumnal air. 
 
 The wind swept wildly a-down the hill. 
 
 And hurried across the moor. — 
 The waves of our western, inland lake 
 
 Dash'd madly against the shore; 
 Dimly the light of our prairie-cot 
 
 Shone out o'er the dreary plain. 
 And fast, and faster upon the earth. 
 
 Fell the frozen drops of rain. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 A hand threw open the wicket-gate. 
 
 And a touch was on the door; 
 Then a heavy loot the threshold piess'd. 
 
 And a dark form u;lided o'er. 
 "Twas a weary man, all travel-stain'd, 
 
 In the quest of fot)d and rest. 
 With a little child half hid away 
 
 By the damp rags of his vest. 
 
 A seat was placed by our cottasre-tire. 
 
 But he paus'd, ere drawing near. 
 And as he spoke, how his dark cheek blanch'tl 
 
 With a dim. but awfnl fear! 
 "Will you give?"— and then his cold, stiff arm? 
 
 The little babe closer press'd.— 
 "Oh ! give a shelter and food to mc, 
 
 And this young child on my breast. 
 
 "Her mother— poor thing! lies cold and slil) 
 
 Where many a slave-man weeps, 
 And, pray, sir! pray, do not send us back 
 
 To the rice-swamps where shP sleeps." 
 ••God save my soul," cried my father, then, 
 
 •'From sj dark and foul a sin! 
 Clothe ye th e naked, the Master said, 
 
 And take the weary one in. 
 
 '•Bring milk, and bring bread, bring meat and 
 drink, 
 
 Foi the father and the child, 
 Full long have they borne the drenching rain, 
 
 The blast of the trackless wild." 
 But at early morn the hunters came 
 
 To bear the wanderer back. 
 For, like hounds that snuff the blood of prey. 
 
 They followed up his track. 
 
 How proud I felt of ray father there. 
 As he stood, unshaken, then, 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 51 
 
 In simple manhood aiid Christian love. 
 And answered Those Ifarfni men! 
 
 The fre^h, wet paa,e of hi? sermon lay 
 On the Bible's opsu leaves. 
 
 His fingers the precious story press'd 
 That the Gospel-writer weaves . 
 
 The world-wide love of his great warm heart 
 
 Shone clear through his starry eye, 
 As he eaid to them, "Will I tell you 
 
 When your bondmen wander'd by? 
 Go, ask the mother to yield with joy 
 
 Her first-born's precious breath; 
 Go, ask the lover to give his bride 
 
 To sudden and feaiful death; 
 
 Go. ask the maiden to break the heart 
 
 That hersweet. young bloom hath won; 
 'J'he father, to win to life of shame 
 
 His one. brave, manlj- son— 
 For these shall yield their idols up 
 
 To sorrow, and death, and pain. 
 Ere I will give that wanderer back 
 
 To your scourging and your chain . 
 
 "Too well do I see the golden thread 
 
 That wanders the wide world through. 
 Linking the pure soul to the vile, 
 
 And the false heart to the true,— 
 The one sweet tie, that, with tender clasp, 
 
 Binds the helpless to the brave. 
 Though one be a king with a diamond crown, 
 
 Aud one but a weary slave.'"' 
 
PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 WAKD GILLETTE. 
 
 Beautilul baby I tlie threa<l of whose life 
 Is woven through one Glimmer's roses and lif^ht, 
 Through one winter"? fall of the feathery snow. 
 And touch"d with the sprin^,'-buds of purple and 
 white. 
 
 Beautiful boy! uDon thy white brow- 
 Sweet thought seems to set her imprcs.s and seal, 
 
 And the mild light of thy gentle blue eye 
 Thy heart's clustering roses to all will reveal. 
 
 No fairer can Sharon's lair blosniis be. 
 Than thy soft rounded cheek so dainty and white. 
 
 Dew-bell-^ at cvl make no music so sweet. 
 As thy paltering feet, so dimpled and light. 
 
 Like shelter from storm —like fortress of rock- 
 Stands ever before ttiett/ie great father-love; 
 
 And daily around thee the siveet mother-care 
 That finds but its emblem in the dear home 
 above. 
 
 Sweet little baby, 'twere only in vain 
 To wish thee a shadowless journey below! 
 
 Foot-sore and weary each pilgrim must be, 
 And 'round his drear pathway the wild tempest 
 blow. 
 
 'Twere better to wish thee a hope that is clear, 
 A thought that is true, and a hand that is strong, 
 
 A heart tliatis stainless, loving and bold. 
 To battle with anguish and grapple with wrong. 
 
 'Twere better to wish thee look upward and on. 
 Through the dash of the tempest, the night's 
 murky gloom, 
 To the face of the Shepherd, and the smile of 
 that God, 
 Whose love gilds the tempest, and hangs round 
 the tomb. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 LET ME DIE WITH THOSE WHO LOVE ME. 
 
 Let me die with tho!«e who love me. 
 Who have watched me. day by day, 
 
 Hand in hand with me liave wander'd 
 Upward through life's rugged way; 
 
 Be it in some wildwood cabin. 
 By some gleaniing cottage hearth— 
 
 In some old, baronial castle- 
 On some desert spot of earth. 
 
 Let me die with those who love me. 
 
 Who for years were wholy mine— 
 Those who brought l»ve"s buds and roses, 
 
 'Round my young heart to entwine; 
 Let their warm lips press my forehead. 
 
 Let them clasp my trembling hands, 
 Let me bear their loving glances 
 
 L'pward to the better land! 
 
 THE ERRING. 
 
 Oh. it must be a dreary way, 
 
 The erring alwaj'S tread! 
 A path o'er which no sunshin-e glows. 
 
 Round vvliich nojoy is shed. 
 
 No holy love can glad their hearts, 
 
 No golden hopes their breasrs. 
 No gentle thoughts m ind through their days. 
 
 No sweet dreams fill their rest. 
 
 And weeping o'er them night and day. 
 
 Sad. trembling mourners stand, 
 With tearful eyes and saddened cheeks. 
 
 And clasoing, trembling hands. 
 
 And every bird that sings its song 
 
 Before the gate of heaven. 
 And every drop of dew that fills 
 
 The little flowers at even. 
 
.4 PEBBLES FKOM THE SHOEE. 
 
 And every wiiid That floats above 
 
 The bloominfr. mossj' Fud. 
 Bears up these faithful mourner's pruyers 
 
 To the great heart of God. 
 
 Then lei us love, and loving, hope 
 That when they sin, or where, 
 
 They may not stray beyond His reach. 
 Or wander from his care. 
 
 I LOVE BECAUSE I CA-NKOT HELP. 
 
 We love not from necessity. 
 As we loved when we were young. 
 Mrs. Xorion. 
 
 What iron foot pressed down its weii'ht upon 
 thy trusting heart. 
 
 That with thy young and tender dreams, love too, 
 must need depart? 
 
 What cold, chill hand pluck'd out the ^flowers, 
 from thy life's sunny sprini,'. 
 
 That thy sweet voice in later years, so mourn- 
 fully should sing? 
 
 Oh ! weary must have been thy way, and very, 
 very long. 
 
 Must thou have borne with suft'erin?, and treach- 
 ery, and wrong, 
 
 Ere thou, in thy rich womanhood, those bitter 
 words had told— 
 
 "We love not from necessity, as we are getting 
 old.'- 
 
 But there are hearts that cannot yield their need 
 of loving up, 
 
 Although they drink the bitter draught from sor- 
 row's brimming cup; 
 
PEBBLES J^ROM THE SHORE. 55 
 
 From year to year thoy still beat on, with the 
 old loves and the new, 
 
 Richer by lar, than when they drank sweet child- 
 hood's morning dew; 
 
 Fresh with the green they gathered in, when the 
 
 years fell in solt chime, 
 Full of great hopes that will not fade beneath the 
 
 touch of time. 
 Brighter than star-glow in the night, clearer than 
 
 light of day. 
 Sweeter than April violets, or with buds of the 
 
 May. 
 
 And I believe that mine is one— yea. even one of 
 these— 
 
 A little, eimple, timid thing— wayward as sum- 
 mer breeze. 
 
 Helpless as little barks at sea, wtien the winds 
 blow wildly o'er, 
 
 And only One, strong, steady hand, can bring 
 them safe to shore. 
 
 But it has helped me to bear on my spring to 
 
 summer bloom, 
 And ■'mid my autum days 'twill make lor spring 
 
 and summer room ; 
 And so I love as I have loved, with childhood's 
 
 yearning trust— 
 I love because I cannot help, I love because I 
 
 must. 
 
 And always, when I see a soul, full of high, holy 
 
 thought: 
 Who to a life of duty here, great energies hath 
 
 brought. 
 Before I know it. 1 have gone and given out my 
 
 hand. 
 And promised to keep step with hev, on to the 
 
 heavenly land. 
 
56 PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 And when 1 find not such a? these, I cling to 
 
 weaker things. 
 To daisies by the meadow brooks, andflov/ers by 
 
 woodland-springs. 
 To rivers with their mellow hymns, to young 
 
 birds in their nests. 
 To babies with their dimpled cheeks hid on their 
 
 mother's breast; 
 
 To poor. Trail beings, who have lost themselves 
 in rearlul error's shade. 
 
 And know not how divine a thing this life is 
 sometimes made, 
 
 Whose weary faces do rot wear one single shin- 
 ing gleam. 
 
 Of the bright glow that lighted up each early, 
 cherishM dream ; 
 
 And I would fold these faces in between my 
 cool, white palms. 
 
 And watch to hear their purple lips part into 
 singine psalms. 
 
 Waiting so patiently to see. upon some pleas- 
 ant morn, 
 
 From out the withered, dead, old sin, a beaute- 
 ous angel born. 
 
 Oh yes, bleps God! bless God! Tve kept the love 
 
 I used to know. 
 When out of every nook of life, some little flower 
 
 would blow; 
 I love from great "necessity," with the child's 
 
 dear, eager trust— 
 I love because T cannot help— I love because I 
 
 must. 
 
PEBBLES FROM TlIK SHORE. 
 
 MY BIRTH-DAY, 
 
 It Cometh in the sprinor time, 
 
 In the merry, merry sprinjr. 
 When the winds are soft and balmy. 
 
 And the robins coe and sing; 
 When the goldon sunshine 
 
 Kisses all the snow away. 
 Then, the bonny April, 
 
 Bringing my birth-day. 
 
 Month of chasing shadows, 
 
 Month of smile and gloom. 
 Month of hope, and month of tears. 
 
 Month of bud and bloom- 
 Bonny, bonny April. 
 
 Child of love and son^, 
 What shall birth-days bring me 
 
 As they trip along? 
 
 Now, I'm young and happy, 
 
 Little girl to-day. 
 Life is full ol beauty. 
 
 Blossoms strew the way; 
 When the years sweep onward 
 
 With their ceasless flow, 
 Will their coming, bonny April, 
 
 Find me, find me so? 
 
 What lies hidden, month ol beauty, 
 
 —Girlhood-month, so coy and fair- 
 In your shine, and in your blossom 
 
 For my heart to wear? 
 Be it joy. or be it sorrow. 
 
 It can never take away 
 All the sweet of bonny April 
 
 Bringing my birth-day. 
 
PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 SUSAN. 
 
 I arore and dark were Susan's eyes. 
 Brown and silken was her hair. 
 
 And the Tripping of her feet. 
 Light across the floor and stair. 
 
 Briskly as the meek, white lamhs. 
 Straying over the meads and hills. 
 
 Roam'd she through the clover meads. 
 And along the grans-fringed rills. 
 
 Happy as the voting spring hirds. 
 
 Sinkiss a-- the holy dove. 
 All her heart was filled with joy. 
 
 All her life with deeds of love. 
 
 Through twelve summer's rosy light. 
 
 Played she round the home and hearth, 
 With her witching smiles of joy. 
 
 And her song of hope and mirth. 
 
 Then a clearer whiteness crept 
 Round ahoui her large, dark eyes. 
 
 And another sjiirifs singing 
 Stirred *.! e air of Paradise. 
 
 Oh, how the spring-days waken 
 
 Sweet thoughts from beds of rest. 
 And how the sunshine brings again 
 
 The old loves to my breast! 
 Ah, many a bosom carries 
 
 Grave-mounds, both white and deep, 
 'Till the early days of April 
 
 Rouse thought-buds from their sleep, 
 And then tl»e low graves open. 
 
 The coffin-lids up start, 
 And once more love-lit races glide 
 
 Through the old rooms of the heart. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 59 
 
 TO THE FKIENDS OF MY SICK BROTHER. 
 
 '■/ was sick and ye visited me.''" 
 
 He was the youngest— yet all wan he lay 
 Upon his snowy pillows, hi« fair head 
 Throbbing neath the burning glow of the red 
 Au{iU6t8UU, his weary nerves all trembling 
 At the hurried tread of passing feet, and 
 The strange hitm of human voices, mingling 
 With the various sounds that blended in 
 The crowded city street, 
 
 Lou; had he lain 
 There, with no father's face bent o'er him, and 
 No mother's hand ai)OUt.his head, for the 
 Strong heart, through which he looked in boy- 
 hood, out 
 On the world, had gathered more of joy in 
 Heaven ; and the voice that sang his childhood's 
 Lullaby, was chanting hymns in Paradise. 
 No sister's lip pressed down upon his thin. 
 White cheek, and only one of all the house- 
 Hold band, sat by him through the dim night 
 
 watch. 
 Or spoke with words of cheer, as one more 
 
 morning 
 Met him on the earth. One, only— the brother 
 Who had known bis blended joy and care— who 
 Shared his weary toil, and bore his griefs, as 
 Though they were liis own. 
 
 But other? came— the 
 Good physician, with his heal'ns" balm, and 
 Words of tenderness, and deeds of love, that 
 More than any medicin'*, distil the 
 Dew of health for blood and brain : the young 
 And gladsom-hearted— whose light feet with his 
 Had tripped tht- merry dan e. and wearied not, 
 ■"Till the small Ikhus wf morniui came— faithful 
 Through day aiKl n'ght, furgettiug all the fretted 
 
60 PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 Links that chain the man unto his toil, and 
 
 Leaving the love of gain, to minister 
 
 To him, who lay shorn ol hi? strength, and help 
 
 less. 
 There, too. was woman's gentle tread, and look 
 Of faith, and humble, earnest acts, to help 
 The sufferer buck to life. 
 
 God's richest 
 Blessings on ye, one and all ! Where'er ye 
 Wander o'er the peopled earth— be it through 
 Vallies where the lilies grow, or up the 
 Rugged heights o'er-hung with cloudy skies, 
 
 and 
 Beat with wild wind and the gathering snow- 
 Forever, be God's sweetest mercies shed. 
 Like blessed sunshine, round the way you tread! 
 
 THE RIVILET. 
 
 I had wander'd afar, one bright autumn day— 
 O'er prairie— through meadow and wild. 
 When I came where a rivulet suns f»n its way. 
 Like the clear, merry voice of a child- 
 Tall oaks pressed their roots firmly down on the 
 
 shore : 
 Green bushes bent low at the side. 
 And the autumn leaves covered the waters half 
 
 o'er. 
 And floated away on the tide. 
 
 gome times a soft sunbeam fell down on the wave 
 Like a light, merry smile of delight; 
 And then a deep shadow the forest trees gave, 
 As the cloud-darkened wing of the night. 
 
PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 
 
 But on, like a bird, flew the gay, happy stream, 
 
 And its murimir stole over the shore. 
 
 Like a voice you may think you have heard in 
 
 your dream. 
 And in dreaming, would hear it once more. 
 
 All day as it wandered. I loliowed it there. 
 
 To mark where ifs path-way was set. 
 
 With the autumn wind playing a-through my 
 
 light hair. 
 And my feet v.ith the bright waters wet. 
 
 It wound through the meadow and down in the 
 
 vale, 
 •Still singing in thicker and glade. 
 And sweet as its song in the meadow and vale. 
 It was sweeter by far in the shade. 
 
 So grant me, I asked of the Father above. 
 
 As long my earth-path I shall stray. 
 
 To cheer with my smiies and make glad with my 
 
 love, 
 Some spirit tiiat has failed by lifers way. 
 
 There are voices ''enow'' to make sunshine and 
 
 mirth, 
 Where there's no shadow of woe or unrest, 
 Be it mine to find out the weary of earth, 
 And sing to the grief-shrouded breast; 
 
 Where those who have lov'd, watched their 
 
 treasures depart. 
 And go down neuth death's billowy wave. 
 And where dust has been strewn on pure loving 
 
 hearts, 
 Colder far than the dust of the graye: 
 
 To the soul that has wearied of earth and of life 
 Where hope never deigns to look in, 
 To him who has tried every path-way of strife. 
 And shadow'd his spirit with sin. 
 
62 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Ah, here I would bring: glo.wing rain-bows of light 
 
 To hang o'er the cloud-blackend wave, 
 
 Till repentant, he looked fr.^m the gloom of his 
 
 night, 
 And went near to his Father to pray. 
 
 Then grant rae. oh God! as I journey along. 
 Recounting Thy great mercies o'er. 
 To waken some echo of pleasure and song. 
 In hearts that were silent before. 
 
 HUNGARYS SLAIN. 
 
 They lie upon her mountain tops, and on her 
 
 thousand hills, 
 In all her green and shaded vales, and by her 
 
 singing rills: 
 Where e'er the summer zephyrs wave, or winter's 
 
 wild wind sweep, 
 With batter'd helm and broken crest, Hungarie"s 
 
 heroes sleep. 
 
 Firm as the granite rock they stood, 'mid bat- 
 tle's wildest glow. 
 While rank on rank, and tile on tile, went down 
 before the foe; 
 
 And clear, o'er groan and s:il)(.'r-stroke. up to the 
 vaulted eky. 
 
 From every lip rang Kossuth's <Kith -'to conquer 
 or to die!'' 
 
 Oh! not in vain those br-ive nvu's oaths, as 
 
 stained with blood, they fell. 
 For far adown the vale of time, strou'^; shall the 
 
 echos swell ! 
 Oh! not in vain "mid cloud and smoke, their gsl- 
 
 lant spirits fled— 
 There's hope and glory for the land that holds 
 
 such valient dead I 
 
PEBELES FEOM THE SHORE. CS 
 
 For. by their blood that freely flow'd to save you 
 
 from such shame. 
 And by their fears and by their woes, and by their 
 
 future fame— 
 And by their j^raves where bov/'d with grief, fond 
 
 mourning ones have met. 
 And hy the hopes of trusting hearts, you are not 
 
 conquered yet ! 
 
 Mourn not in doubt, the bloody work unfeeling 
 tyrants wrought; 
 
 They crushed but sinew and but flesh— they touch- 
 ed not human thought! 
 
 And though exultant in their shame, soon shall 
 they come to feel 
 
 That all in vain, 'gainst truth and right, they 
 bring their burnished sttfel ! 
 
 For on— and on— the true thought sweeps, when 
 
 once it has it's l^irth, 
 Until it touches with it's power the farthest 
 
 zone of earth ; 
 Far as the winds and sunlight flee— far as the 
 
 ocean rolls. 
 There will it bear it's cheering light to darkened 
 
 human souls! 
 
 Bear proudly, then, ye mourning ones, your 
 sorrow and your pain! 
 
 Bear bravely through the coming years, your fet- 
 ter and your chain I 
 
 The spirits of your hero-dead still watch you 
 from afar. 
 
 And brightly o'er your sadden'd. land still shines 
 hope's glowing star. 
 
 The soldier's dust that moulders now, amid the 
 
 common clay. 
 Will give a voice to every flower, that gems 
 
 your daily way ; 
 
64 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And every singing rill that Minds in beauty to 
 
 the sea— 
 And every breeze that sweeps your hills, vvill 
 
 sing of Liberty. 
 
 "God reigneth !" be yonr battle-cry —your motto, 
 
 "never fear!" 
 And onward be your steady march— on through 
 
 each falling year — 
 Until from every mount and vale, o"er all the 
 
 earth and sea. 
 The deafening shout shall clearly ring— '*Brave 
 
 Hungary is free!*" 
 
 TO MY FATHER IN THE WEST. 
 
 A weary time hath passed, father, 
 
 Since from our little gate 
 We saw thee go. to brave alone, 
 
 In stranger lands, thy fate, 
 And then, there was a darkness came 
 
 Unto our cottBge door — 
 A shadow and a cloud, father, 
 
 It never knew before. 
 
 The shadow lingers yet, father. 
 
 The cloud is still the same— 
 The brightest sunbeams break it not. 
 
 Nor thy beloved name. 
 We look around the room, father. 
 
 As though thou might'st be near, 
 And listen for the kindly voice 
 
 We always used to here. 
 
 And when the day-light fades away. 
 And earth forgets her glee. 
 
 We gather round the fire-side hearth. 
 And sadly call for thee,— 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 We call for Ihy bright smile, father, 
 
 That gladen'd with it's li^ht. 
 And made it nooday to us all, 
 
 When, else, it were but niptht. 
 
 The things that were thine own father. 
 
 Were strewn around us there— 
 The Bible, with its aired look, 
 
 And e'en thine own arm-chair, 
 Bui ah! there is a gloominess 
 
 Around the chair entwined — 
 The Bible's sacred leaves are turned 
 
 By other hands than thine. 
 
 Sometimes we think it strange, father. 
 That evei-y thing should be 
 
 So faithful to its sacred trust- 
 So faithful unto thee. 
 
 But so it ever is, father. 
 And all thou'st left behind. 
 
 Still whispers to thy children's hearts, 
 Of parent good and kind. 
 
 You know, we used to mourn, faiher, 
 
 When the flow'refs cheek grew pale. 
 And the hill-side stream kept murmnring 
 
 Their plaintive, Autumn wail. 
 And we wept, when the gentle sky 
 
 Had lost its Summer hue. 
 But now, we know a deeper griel— 
 
 To mourn so long for you. 
 
 We miss you all the time, father. 
 
 When the flush of morn is light. 
 And when the noon-day wanders on— 
 
 And then the fond, '"good-night;" 
 We miss thy happy voice to-day. 
 
 So full of strength and cheer— 
 Thy voice to welcome, as of old. 
 The young and glad New-Year. 
 
66 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 We miss yon in tbedarken'd way. 
 
 Where sorrow"? foot liath trod. 
 For we've no arm to lean on now — 
 
 No arm, save that of God, 
 And do you ever think, father, 
 
 Of that far sadden'd home? 
 And do you hear the children ask, 
 ^'Oh! when will father come?'" 
 
 A PICTURE. 
 
 Lowly stood a red house. 
 
 Just beneath the hill. 
 Graceful were the wood-bines 
 
 Twining o'er the ?ill. 
 
 Thickly by the brown gate, 
 Red-ro?e bushes grew 
 
 Over them a pine tree 
 It's dark shadow threw, 
 
 And a-near the door step, 
 
 Violets and pinks, 
 Kept the sweetest nectar, 
 
 For the young bees drink. 
 
 In the hazy Summer 
 Just a-through the door, 
 
 You could see the children 
 Playing on the floor. 
 
 Or by open windows, 
 Near the flower-star d, 
 
 Fingering tea-roses 
 With a careful hand. 
 
 Happy was the mother. 
 
 In that little home- 
 Happier than queens are. 
 
 In a marble dome.— 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Danciug with her children, 
 
 Singiuy; in hev glee,— 
 *'Don't forg.it us, Robln- 
 
 Our sweet babes and me'" 
 
 Robin, at his hard toil. 
 
 Gladly met the uight, 
 Hast'ning through the shadows, 
 
 To the soft home light. 
 
 When again, his wile sang. 
 
 As she brought his tua— 
 *'0, you've come home. Robin, 
 
 To our babes and me I'' 
 
 Clearly flow'd the blue stream. 
 
 Just before the door, 
 Greenly sloped the meadows 
 
 To the stream's far shore. 
 
 Brightly wound the life-stream 
 Of those happy hearts. 
 
 To the shore where mortal 
 And immortal part. 
 
 And their steadj-^ faith saw. 
 
 As ea(>h wave went by. 
 The green sloping meadows. 
 Leading to tJie sky. 
 
 LINES, TO MRS. C. S. B. 
 
 8v/eet friend, glowing Spring-light lies to-day 
 
 Upon our cottage and its clinging vines, 
 And the young South-winds thr')Ugh the oak- 
 wood play 
 Wooing the leal-buds to the clear sunshine, 
 The robins stay, 
 Singing upon our eaves their greeting song, 
 And the old hills are bright, that have bec.i 
 dark so long. 
 
C8 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Amid the brightness and the glory here, 
 An angle bende, with soft and snowy wing. 
 
 And as I sit in doubt and solemn fears 
 With gentle Angers opes the secret spring. 
 That hides the years 
 
 In the green grottoes of my womans heart. 
 
 .\nd bids the sweet, old joys and blossoms start — 
 
 Until I hear the precious words that fell 
 A-cross our lips, when we were wild and young. 
 
 The mothers voice, that would thy goodne.ss tell, 
 And the dear song the unadilla sung: 
 And passing well, 
 
 I see the glory round thy queenly head. 
 
 And tlie green paths our feet were wont to tread 
 
 I feel again, the tender, fearlnl thought. 
 
 How we— so loving, and so weak, and frail — 
 Tlnuiigh the worlds wide wanderings could bo 
 brought 
 \\ifhout some heart to lean on, that would 
 never fail ; 
 
 Our souls had taught 
 \J», our great need of some fond, fearless hand, 
 To lead us onward to the happy land. 
 
 And I can see once more the golden hour 
 
 Thy cheek first learned it's blushing &t/tis name : 
 For trust, within tiiy heart, was first in flower. 
 And to thy pr^y'r. the answer soonest came 
 This, thy dower — 
 A love, that with thee ever would abide. 
 And thou, to walk serenely at his side. 
 
 Alas! sweet wife and mother , I can sc':; 
 
 How these foi\djoys have faded into night; 
 How thy young sons, in weeping, cling to thee. 
 
 And thou so stricken— waiting for the light; 
 Oh Gou! to be 
 Forever searching through the world in vain. 
 For the dear voice that sooth"d thy every pain. 
 
P3BBLES FROM THE SHORE. 6'.> 
 
 I fee! the speechless sorrow aud the bitter woe. 
 That fall around thee like the Autunin rain. 
 
 While thou, with his fair boys, would'st only no 
 To meet the faithf'iil and the loved again. 
 Sweet friend, I know 
 
 That now, no human love can eva-r bring 
 
 Back to tliy life, the beauty of its Spring. 
 
 Only one hope thy clinging heart can stay- 
 One trust alone, thy trembling foot-steps guide 
 
 One thougat to turn thy midnight into day- 
 He, whom thou lovest. hath not gone, or died 
 How sweet to pray 
 
 While he is leading, with his ejtrly love. 
 
 His household dariings to tt:e home above. 
 
 THE HIiRO. 
 
 Go, bury him by his brother; go. carry him to hi:^ 
 
 rest; 
 Let the snow-mounds lie above him, and the 
 
 star-flagon his breast- 
 That flag which lie watched so fondly, throiigh 
 
 many a fearful fight, 
 In the sun-glow of the morning, and the dewy 
 
 hours of night - 
 The flag he wanted near him, as he lay on his dy 
 
 ing bed,— 
 Go, carry him to the graveyard, with its briglit 
 
 folds 'round his' head I 
 
 Yes, bury him by his brother : he went just a year 
 
 before ; 
 ■Now the boys will sh<)lder knapsacks and go to 
 
 the wars no more ; 
 Two good and brave young soldier-hids. on t ho 
 
 Northern hills asleep, 
 
70 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Where the free etreains »\n^ around them, and 
 
 stars their vigils keep ; 
 How valiantly they fought and bled, 'neath a far- 
 
 otf Southern sky, 
 And then to the old home hearth-stone turned 
 
 wearily back to die! 
 
 Yes, bury him by his brother. If his mother's 
 
 heart should broak, 
 You will say in gentle accents, "You gave for 
 
 your country's sake!"' 
 His deeds will be never written on the shining 
 
 scroll of fame. 
 And no sounding words of glory will burnish his 
 
 fair, young name; 
 But up on the Northern hill-side a few, with h 
 
 gentle tread, 
 Will follow him to his brother, with the old flag 
 
 'round his head! 
 
 THE VOICES OF MY HOME. 
 
 How softly 'round mefall the shades of eventide 
 The days' clear brightness and its sunshine, 
 all are gone. 
 The mirth and laughter of the morning hours 
 have died, 
 And with her mellow shades, slow steals the 
 twilight on. 
 
 Slowly, and side by side, the bright stars take 
 their way. 
 Like shining worlds, along the blue and arch- 
 ing dome, 
 .\nd as a wing of light, the moon's clear, mel- 
 low ray 
 Rests lightly o'er the root-tree of our pleasant 
 home. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 71 
 
 Down in the wild-wood nest, the lonly whip- 
 powil «. 
 
 Gives forth his fad farewell unto departing 
 day; 
 And not lar from me, sweetly sings a silver rill. 
 To the meek violets watching where its wave- 
 lets stray. 
 
 Ah! nature hath sweet voices in her twilight 
 hours- 
 Sweet tones and dear, that will be heard when 
 time grows old. 
 And they need never fear, who love the trees 
 and flowers. 
 For these prove true, when trusted, human 
 hearts grow cold. 
 
 But there wore sweeter sounds that fall upon my 
 ear. 
 In the old hours of grief, or pleasantness, or 
 pain ; 
 Low, household voices, we shall wait to hear. 
 Yet waiting for, perchance, may never hear 
 again. 
 
 The ringing laughter of a little, merry child. 
 With large, blue eyes, and golden clustering 
 hair. 
 And dimpled feet, that roamed through the mead- 
 ow and through wild. 
 And loving heart, that mirrored all things 
 bright and fair. 
 
 And the gay tones of one, who now, with toil 
 worn feet. 
 Far from the home that knew his boyhood's 
 play. 
 Treads day by day, the city's crowded street. 
 And shares the jostle of life's dusty way. 
 
72 PEBBLES FFOM THE SHOEE. 
 
 And the low voice of her's— the young and girl- 
 ' ish bride. 
 Who vanished from the circle round our old 
 hearth-etwne. 
 iSits now at twilight by her husband's side, 
 Where gleams the fire-light on a hearth-stone 
 of her own. 
 
 And thus the beings we have loved and watched 
 depart, 
 Thus life's varying pathways will be ever trod. 
 Thus goes our fond heart's joy to gladden other 
 hearts; 
 And thus the chain is lengthened, linking al) 
 to God. 
 
 The old sweet voices of my home! when shall I 
 hear 
 Blending in well known tones that make my 
 heart rejoice. 
 The old familiar voices of my early years? 
 And faith, bright angle, whispers in her own 
 sweet voice— 
 
 'Ah! yet again— when sin. and pain, and grief 
 are o'er. 
 Beyond the sea of death— the shadow of the 
 tomb- 
 Where meet the loved and blest upon the spirit- 
 shore- 
 There Shalt thou hear the old, sweet voices of 
 thv home." 
 
PEBBLES PROM THE SHORE. 
 
 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 Written after reading ''Impressions of Vharles 
 Sumner,'" in The Commonwealth of Feb. 3, 1866. 
 
 I remenber how, in the vanished years, 
 There came unto this wild, young West, the 
 word 
 That thou wert slain; and then what anxious 
 fears. 
 Foreboding, felt upon the souls that heard! 
 And how did human heart, and heart of all things 
 
 Even of the air, and of the ice-sprays 
 Jeweling the shrubs and vines of woodland 
 springs 
 Murmuring 'mid snows; of restless nights and 
 days. 
 And of the monarchs of the woods, complain 
 That thou had'st fallen in our own fair land, 
 By one, who, with his sonl-destroying hand 
 Would forge for aye the bondman's clanking 
 chain! 
 
 And then comeback. '-Not death, but wounds, 
 and pain, 
 And stricken nerve, and helplessness, and 
 woe. 
 That, though it may spare life, will yet remain, 
 Or, fiendlike, through long years, go to and fro ; 
 And wearied, palside brain, and shattered frame, 
 And the great glory of a deathless name." 
 
 But lo ! to hand, and nerve, and brain, once more 
 
 The strength of old, and the familiar voice- 
 When the long absence and the grief was o'er— 
 
 Bidding for years thy countrymen rejoice 
 That through the nation's torture and its strife. 
 As through a fire-wreathed, blood-encircled 
 door. 
 The world should pass unto a greater life; 
 While precious benisous. through the day and 
 night 
 
74 PEBBLES FROM THE SHOKE. 
 
 On thee are asked by dark lips and by white: 
 And while thy peers to thee their tributes bring. 
 And crown thee, in their love and pride, the 
 
 Kingr 
 Ofthouj^ht. Thou kinglier in heart than mind! 
 Beloved of God, and lover of mankind. 
 
 THE GRAVE OF HARRIET >'EWEL. 
 
 O. far. faraway, from thy jjreen, native earth. 
 From the flowers thou hadst nursed into beauty 
 and bloom- 
 Far, far from the fond ones that smiled at thy 
 birth. 
 In the land of the stranger they made thee a 
 lomb. 
 
 Far far Irom thy kindred, through many a 
 day 
 Wnlched thy hearts fondly chosen, in hope and 
 in prayer, 
 As the lijrht of thy dove-eyes faded away. 
 And the death dampness lay on thy long, shining 
 hair: 
 
 When the breath of the ni<];ht wind, thy long 
 tresses stirred. 
 He bent to the pillow, to catch thy low moan. 
 But a rustle, like birds wings, was all that he 
 heard. 
 And he dwelt in his anguish alone— all, alone. 
 
 Then, weary and blighted, midst fast falling 
 tears. 
 With the mildew of death on his manly young 
 breast. 
 With none but "Our Father"' to lighten his 
 fears. 
 On that Isle of the ocean, he laid thee to rest. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Ah! would, that at last, thy low dii-ge had 
 been read 
 In the old village church, where they made thee 
 a bride ! 
 That kind hands had laid thee away with the 
 dead. 
 Where the forest trees wave, and the Merrimac 
 glides! 
 
 But sleep on, in the dust— like bird from its 
 nest. 
 Shall the fond thought of thousands, flee over 
 the wave. 
 Where thou in thy beauty, wert laid down to 
 rest, 
 With the winds and the waters to sing round tliy 
 grave. 
 
 CHA^^GELESS FRIENDS. 
 
 Ah! one there was in childhoods hours. 
 Taught me to love the birds and flowers. 
 The green trees waving o'er the hills, 
 The glittering stars and shining rills: 
 '■These friends, "" he said, "most fit for you, 
 For when hearts change, these will be true. 
 
 Hushed is the voice— the hand is cold— 
 The blue eye 'neath the heavy mould; 
 But these old friends— the woods, the hills, 
 The birds, the flow-^rs, are with me still; 
 They meet me with the smile th^y wore. 
 And love me as they loved of yore. 
 
 O, then, what if some hearts should change 
 Some feet should from my pathyway range? 
 Some hands that lingered once in mine, 
 
76 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Round other hands should warmly twine ; 
 And eyes as brij^jht a s eyes can he. 
 Wear now, no glance of love for me. 
 
 The stare will come through every night 
 With their old look of love and light, 
 And still the silver streams will glide, 
 With mirth and music at my side; 
 Oh! some things earth will always keep 
 To love me till my last long oleep. 
 
 WE'RE AWAY ON THE WATERS. 
 
 We're away on the waters this turbulent morn, 
 Our boat rides the tempest, and masters the 
 
 storm. 
 As light as a sea gull, her banner flics high, 
 'Till it's stars and it's stripes reach up to the 
 
 sky; 
 The waves sob aloud, as though breaking with 
 
 woe, 
 And breath out their wail o'er the sleepers be- 
 low. 
 
 We are leaving the city far oflF and behind. 
 With the friends that have loved us, the true 
 
 and the kind, 
 And the soil we have trod, and the spot that was 
 
 home, 
 And we're out on the waters, 'neath the sky's 
 
 frowning dome. 
 Where the clouds hang in azure, or fly gloomy 
 
 and black 
 As though chasing the whirlwind on his desolate 
 
 track. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 77 
 
 We're out on the waters— away on the wave — 
 With laughter and song, all fearless and brave, 
 And 'mid lightning and wild winds, our hearts 
 
 never fail. 
 Our lips have no tremor, our cheeks never pale, 
 For we know, if the billows should rock us to 
 
 sleep, 
 How^ calm will our rest be, on the breast of the 
 
 deep. 
 
 Oh 1 we like to be out where the blue waters rest. 
 Wrapt around by the sky like a bird in its nest. 
 And there's not in the wide world an accent so 
 
 dear. 
 As the loud dash of water that falls on our ear. 
 We're away on the waters, all fearless and free, 
 For the arm of "Our Father" encircles the seal 
 
 REV. S. R SMITH. 
 
 ''Re taught the cheerfulness that still is ours, 
 The sweetness that still lurks in human powers," 
 ******* 
 
 A servant of the liying God is dead. 
 
 * * ^ * * * * 
 
 Oh ! it is beautiful to die on the high 
 
 Walls of Zion; and like a worn and weary 
 
 Sentinel, to lay our armor oft— and 
 
 Rest in Leaven. WILLIS. 
 
 Oh! seldom are we called to see. 
 
 Such gifted ones pass home; 
 But few like him, the mandate hear, 
 
 '•Come, faithful servant, come!" 
 Old Earth can bear upon her breast 
 
 But few such God-like forms; 
 Such hero-souls, that brave so well 
 
 Life's sunshine audits storms. 
 
3 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 The great Apostle of our God 
 
 Defender of the ritjht ! 
 Unshrinking, with hie armor on, 
 
 He fouglit through error's night. 
 "Not once, 'raid wild oppression's storm, 
 
 Did his high courage fail ; 
 But gallantly his bark out-rode 
 
 The tempest and the gale. 
 
 Reformer 1 he had not to fear 
 
 The lowest haunts of shame; 
 'Twas his, to win the sinful back 
 
 iu his Redeemer's name. 
 'Twas his. to mark with prophet eye. 
 
 Sin's sable banner furled; 
 And see with joy, love's shining chain 
 
 Encircle all the world. 
 
 God-sent, he came to aching hearts, 
 
 A minister of love; 
 And bearing ever on his lips, 
 
 A message from above; 
 He strove to heal each bleeding wound. 
 
 To soothe each suflerer's pain; 
 And t.) the lips once pale with woe, 
 
 He brought back smiles again. 
 
 Ten thonsand hearts were bound to his- 
 
 The faithful and the tried— 
 For at the alter he had blessed 
 
 The bridegroom and the bride; 
 And o'er the aged one he prayed, 
 
 With the dark pall on his breast; 
 And tenderly he laid the child 
 
 Down to its dreamless rest. 
 
 And ah! of him, to human hearts. 
 
 What prcious memories cling; 
 Rich as the airs of summer time. 
 
 Sweet as the buds of Spring; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Fresh as* the airy breeze that roams 
 
 In gladness o'er the wave ; 
 Bright as the hopes that dawn upon 
 
 The life beyond the grave, — 
 
 I see him, as a chid I saw, 
 
 Beside my father's hearth, 
 With glistening eye and gladsome tones, 
 
 Join in our household mirth. 
 I hear his strong and earnest prayer, 
 
 In tones so.low and mild,' 
 Or his clear laugh ring loud and gay. 
 
 As a simple, sinless child. 
 
 And tenderly his thin hand rests 
 
 Upon my clustering hair. 
 As when he left on heart and home, 
 
 A blessing and a prayer. 
 For always as he pass'd, he left 
 
 Such words of tenderness." 
 And as his Master went, went he, 
 
 To gladden and to bless. 
 
 And where'er he. jourHey'd. bright-eyed hope 
 
 Still cast her smiles around; 
 And simple faith walk'd by his side, 
 
 Where'er his pathway wound; 
 And white-robed patience held his hand, 
 
 Along life's dusty way ; 
 And Old Philosophy had come 
 
 To be his stafl'and stay. 
 
 And on and up, his clear mind soared. 
 
 With wing spread for the skies; 
 Until in mastering thought, it reached 
 
 The gate of Paradise. 
 And early friends— the long agone— 
 
 Now freed from touch of sin. 
 Just drew the shining gate ajar. 
 
 And let the pilgrim in. 
 
80 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And we, he left on earth, may trace 
 
 His eteps through many year*; 
 Where bude of love and hope sprang up. 
 
 All wet with mercy'8 tears; 
 And round the flowers twined threads of lij^ht. 
 
 As on and on he trod, 
 'Till it become a golden way, 
 
 A shining path to Ciod. 
 
 MY SISTEKS HHIDAL. 
 
 Slowly the sunlight fmied from the broad 
 Prairies and the shining streams; and on the 
 Green leaves of the ancient woods, there lay a 
 Tinge of crinison, and fur in the West, the 
 Golden fringes of departing day, twin'd 
 'Mid the silvi-r fringes of the cloudf.. A 
 Few stray beams of gold still linger'd on the 
 Threshold of our door, and fell upon the 
 Window panes, as thoui:h in waiting to bestow 
 A parting blessing on the fair young bride. 
 The leaves of the young jasmine at the low 
 Window, breath'd their secrets lenderly; and 
 The June roses rai»"d their delicate lips 
 To kiss the south wind as it wander'd by ; 
 And the clear air was all so noiseless, it 
 Seem'd there was no discord in the world. 
 
 The 
 Birds went homeward with a lighter wing; and 
 The blue waves of the small lake, just near our 
 Home, broke with a softer cadence on the 
 Tree-crown'd shore, lest the loud music of their 
 Mellow tones shctuld jar the holy stillness 
 Of the Sabbath twilight. 
 
 It was a quiet 
 Bridal. Only the few who lovd iier. had 
 Come to see the young girl made a bride. And 
 As she stood tnere, in her flue white robe, with 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SFIORE. 
 
 The dim sunlight on her shining curls; and 
 On her heart a picture of the manly 
 Face of him whose hand had led her tenderly 
 Thus far alon^ the way of life— how fervently 
 Our prayers went up to heaven, that on 
 Her trembling heart, no shade of sin or grief 
 Might fall! 
 
 When the fond father rose to give 
 His daughter up, his thin lips quiver'd, and 
 The azure eyes of the fair girll, grew moist 
 With tears ; and then she lean'd more firmly on 
 The arm of him, whom she had chosen as 
 Her guide through all the paths of this bright 
 World; and with his arms across his breast, the 
 Father drew his tall form up —as if to gather 
 More of strength— and though his deep voice fal- 
 tered, 
 The words were spoken, and the fond vows 
 
 breath'd— 
 And save, in memory and loye, she could 
 Be ours no more. 
 
 Oh ! it is strange— tliis love 
 That draws the proud man from his business and 
 His cares ; from the warm hearts, which since 
 
 the dawu 
 Of li!e, have felt a pulse so true to him ; 
 And from the well-tried friends of later years. 
 Witli whom he sought and found companionship- 
 That talces the maiden from the home where eyes 
 Of love hath watch'd her budding charm; and 
 
 from 
 The smiles of those whose "banner over her 
 Was love-/' and links them with a tie which 
 
 lasts. 
 When they have reach'd that sunny shore 
 
 where wait 
 The white robe, and the starry crown! 
 
8-2 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Oh! God. 
 Bend near to them— the child and sister we 
 Have lov'd, and the young husband !«he tiath 
 
 chosen. 
 That they may journey ever, blest in each 
 Other's tenderness: and when life's sky is 
 Shrouded, and the tempest and the storni come 
 On, that they may tread, with step firm and 
 Unlalterin*^, the path that leadeth upward 
 Unto thee! 
 
 MY BOYS. 
 
 Ajt'edioiHitl ij dtdicated to litC. A. Ji. (,iOt>h. 
 My boys! my boys! my precious ones! 
 
 Thy tell me, dust is strewn 
 .\bove your yountr and manly heads. 
 
 My beautiful, my own ! 
 That where the Sacramento L'lides. 
 
 And great Nevada gloms, 
 Strangers have hoUow'd low, deep graves 
 
 For you, in your young bloom. 
 
 Oh, loving Father! have they gone 
 
 Who nestled on my breast. 
 And cradled in my sheltering arnis. 
 
 Sunk to their infant rest? 
 Are those white feet in silence stay'd. 
 
 That i)attered close to mine? 
 And cold the hands that clung to ours 
 
 Like tendrils to the vine? 
 
 Oh. I had thought that they would stay. 
 
 Till life with me should fail. 
 And Time's white finger pointed down 
 
 T'nto the shadowy vale; 
 TJiat tenderly their bauds would soothe 
 
 Death's chillneee from my brow. 
 That they would bless me as I pass'd 
 
 On to our home— and now— 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Oh. now! the .southern birds will sing 
 
 Bei?icle them, as they sleep 
 Where 1 may never ^o to pray. 
 
 And never turn to \v(^ep. 
 The Pines will whisper ceaselessly 
 
 Above their fair, youns; heads, 
 And winds and waters murmur -round 
 
 My precious ones— my dead! 
 
 From hidden roots, fresh flowers spring on 
 
 To bloom upon the sod. 
 And so, from those fair, mortal forms. 
 
 Bright spirits sor'd to (rod. 
 Oh. bless Thee, Father! that I may 
 
 Look with such cheerful trust. 
 To irreet my loved, my own, a^ain. 
 
 When "dust returns to dust.^' 
 
 1>0\VX BY THE ELAI TREE UNDER THE 
 HILL. 
 
 •Twas a moonlight eve in the harvest time, 
 
 And the sheep bells tinkled the twilight 
 
 chime. 
 As the white lambs skipped on the brooklefs 
 
 brink. 
 Where the cows meekly bent their heads todrink, 
 When a milk maid came, her pail to till 
 Down by the elmtree under the hill. 
 
 Siie lifted her hat from her forehead fair. 
 While she look'd around, as for some one there. 
 But she looked not long, for quickly down, 
 Came a peasant lad, in his frock of brown. 
 And he kiss'd her there with a right good will, 
 Dcwn bv the elmtree under the hill. 
 
,^ 
 
 84 PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 
 
 O, a pleasant si^lit in the clmtiee's shade. 
 Was that peasant lad and that peasant maid, 
 In the {golden >^low of the moonlight bean:. 
 As they stood in the liu'ht of -Loves yoiuiL; dream," 
 And watch"d the flow of the ripplin*,' rill 
 Down by tlie ehn trees under the hill. 
 
 He bronjrht fresh flowers from the woodland 
 
 jrlade*;, 
 Ana their tinj^ers twined tiieni in blooniinfi 
 
 l)raid8. 
 While the jjiarlands they wreath'd Tound each 
 
 yoiini; heart, 
 Were fresli with bloom that would never depart. 
 As they talked of joys no change could chill. 
 Down by the elmtree under the hill. 
 
 Still her hat lay back on lier raven hair. 
 The flower-wreath* too. were twininii: there. 
 And an arch smile lisj;hted her brii,'ht, b'ack eyi". 
 As she lifted iier paii. with a fond, * Good by."" 
 Then he kissd her there with an earnest will, 
 Down l)y the elmtree under the hill. 
 
 O, the years haveconie, and the years have ^rone. 
 
 And the peasant lad to a man hath grown; 
 
 A halo of glory brightens his name, 
 
 But he comes not now. as he gladly came 
 
 In the moonlit eves, to that murmuring rill 
 
 Down by the elmtree under the hill . 
 
 But he sits with hi.« wife and babe to-night 
 In his princoly hall, by the da/zling light. 
 And she tells how fair little Maud will be. 
 But looking at her, he can only see 
 A maid's sweet face lying cold and still 
 Down by the elmtree under the hill. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 EVENING SHADOWS 
 
 Evening shadows— how they satber'd 
 'Round about the open door, 
 
 Chasing fast the falling; sunshine 
 From the polished oaken floor. 
 
 Where a j'oung and winsome h-dhy^ 
 
 Crowing in his wild delight, 
 Sent his mimic horses bounding 
 
 From him, as in wild affright; 
 
 Sunny as a bright June morning 
 Were his large and midnight eyes. 
 
 Yet such sadness was about them. 
 As hangs 'round the Autumn skies. 
 
 At the sunset, o«f? had clad him 
 
 In a robe so new aud neat. 
 And the thin light folds of orange 
 
 Fell a-coss his dainty feet; 
 
 Other children (three) were near him. 
 
 Dancing, shouting, thus to see 
 With his playful sport aud cunning. 
 
 Baby-brother's crazy glee. 
 
 O'er the little oaken table 
 Lay the cloth, so snowy white. 
 
 With bright dishes, and ripe berries, 
 And the bread, fresh-baked and light ; 
 
 While the fair and sweet faced mother, 
 
 Rocking slowly to and fro. 
 Sung these fc^w words to her children 
 
 In a tender voice aud low— 
 
 "Hush my darlings— hush your playing. 
 
 For the hour is getting late. 
 And ye have not seen your father, 
 
 With his bright smile, at the gate. " 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 ••Lonjrth'^ sniili<j;ht has been fading — 
 What can keep him from ii!? s^till? 
 
 Run. my darhngs! can yon. set hinir 
 Is he coming up the hill :" 
 
 Gaily laughed the happy children— 
 
 Swiftly flew the little feet, 
 j\nd the hahv ciow'd the louder. 
 
 Tile leturning one to greet. 
 
 Softly stiri-"d the breeze of evening, 
 Wandering by the open door, 
 
 liearing on the holy accents— 
 ••p\uher, guard u? evermore l" 
 
 Midnight, wiih .>i\vift-rtying shuttle. 
 
 Wove her dark thread o'er the roof, 
 But there was a golden brightness 
 
 Gleanjinsr through the warp and woof. 
 
 BABY. 
 
 Lay it away gently— dear little thing,— 
 
 Lay ii away -neath the mould ; 
 Close the soft eyes— fold o'er the hands — 
 
 O'er the feet spread the white folds." 
 Come little sisters and bvothers. behold 
 Babv laid down Mieath the snow and the mould. 
 
 • rather uj). mother, the robes you have made, 
 
 Dreaming of all his sweet life; 
 His coming has woven a starry-gemm'd braid 
 
 Through all of time's sorrow and strife; 
 Take him, oh father! though the wind bloweth 
 
 cold. 
 Lav him awav 'neath the snow and the mould. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 87 
 
 One week ago ye gave to the earth 
 
 A babe that could suffer and die- 
 To-day ye have added a seraph's bright birth 
 
 To that land where no shadow can lie. 
 Lo>)k up, little sisters and brothers, to know 
 Baby lies not -neath the mould and the snow. 
 
 Lilt hira up, mother,— up with your heart- 
 Up where your sainted ones dwell— 
 
 Lift inm up gently— keep him in part— 
 With the babe '"it is well— it is well.'' 
 
 Lilt him up, father,— up to the fold 
 
 Where they know not the snow and smell not 
 the mould. 
 
 LITTLE CARRIE. 
 
 Soft and dark the mother's eyes 
 That, with silent, glad surprise, 
 l^ook'd upon her little child— 
 And the heart, so great and mild, 
 Fiil'd so fullofjoy before, 
 Now, with happiness ran o'er. 
 
 All sweet things that here have birth. 
 For her babe, she saw on earth," 
 Childhood passing into youth, 
 Holiness, and love, and truth; 
 And in her home a human soul 
 Like a Oud it's leaves unroll. 
 
 But the mother-eyes were shaded— 
 For her curls, green wreaths were braid; 
 And the mother-hand grew cold. 
 And the lullaby was told 
 Softly, sweetly by another. 
 To the babe of poel-mother. 
 
88 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 As the mother, so the child— 
 Fiird with jearnings sweet and wild; 
 Lover of the birds uud flowers, 
 Till on earth had pass'dJher hours; 
 And the "shadow chikr'' no more 
 Came by table or by door. 
 
 Little birds, that lov'd her so. 
 Sing it, wheresoe'erye go— 
 VV^al't it lar, ye wind and waves- 
 Men have made another grave, 
 Down where Bow Brook's singing stream 
 Warbles through their quiet dream. 
 
 •Bow-Brook,"' in Shirley. Mass., the favorite 
 haunt of Mrs. S. C. Edirarton Mayo, the author 
 of the "Shadow Child'"--her own "Carrie." 
 
 RETRIBUTION 
 
 All day the sun had 
 Lain, with an unusual heat, on the broad 
 Vales of Mauritania; and the green 
 Grass had wilted 'neath his scorching glow, and 
 The meek flowers folded their delicate 
 Leaves, and shut their perfume in .' and in the 
 World, there seemed no breath for any living 
 Thing. But, as the eventide came on, a 
 Light breeze crept from ofithe Mediterranean's 
 Wave: and the clouds grew darker in the sky, 
 And the quick lightning fringed them with its 
 
 gold,* 
 And the cool rain fell soothingly upon the heat- 
 ed earth . 
 
 Throughout the morn, and all 
 The sultry noon, upon the royal couch, 
 Jugurtha struirgled with the heat and pain; 
 But. when the eventide came on, he fell 
 Into a troubled sleep; while by him sat 
 His peerless wife— proud child, and beautiful. 
 Of Mauritania's King. Her heavy 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 89 
 
 Hair lay smoothly o'er her olive brow, and 
 
 On its glossy blackness, rested the gold 
 
 -And jewels ol'Numidia''8 crown. On 
 
 The slight curve of her full neck, v/ere chains ol" 
 
 Oriental rubies; and 'round one dark 
 
 Bare arm, glistened bright zones of sapphire; 
 
 and 
 In the ermine of her robe , were rarest 
 Diamonds, 'till when she moved, the flashing of 
 Her jewels was as the shining ol a 
 Thousand stars. Listless and quiet (with an 
 Air of one who mourns not o"er the woe of 
 One belovert.) she sat amid the heavy 
 Cushions of her chair, and watched the sleep of 
 Him— the mighty and the fallen. His face 
 Vrt'ssed hard upon the satin"d pillow, and 
 His thin hand grasped the silken hangings of 
 The couch, as though an awful fear had come 
 Upon him. 
 
 A fear? His very heart was 
 Full of fear! He could not rest— not in his 
 Slumber. The lulling music of the rain, 
 Was but the muflled tread of those who 
 Would betray him; and the sweet perfume from 
 Thecenser's brim, the hushed breath of traitors; 
 And the light touch of his queen's soft hand, the 
 Cutting of the murderous blade. 
 
 But soon 
 He grew mare restless, and gently the queen 
 Arose, and bathed his forehead from the gold 
 Font beside the bed, and laid the broidered 
 Spread more lightly o'er him, and with a soft 
 Tread, turned away . 
 
 The .<sky was clearer now: 
 And yet the rain kept falling still ; the spice 
 Trees gave a world of perfume; the orange 
 
fO PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Boughs drooped not so heavily with their rich 
 Burdens; and in th" yards, the fountains 
 Murmured audibly, and the winds swept fresh 
 Alone; the marble balcony, where the 
 Young queen, with her long robes, crushed 
 
 heedlessly, 
 The i)reciou.« tlowers. 
 
 She had been sold, as 
 Monarch's children still are sold; her heart was 
 Crushed in its young buoyancy— and with 
 The stillness of the night about her, and 
 O'er her soul the glory of an early 
 Love, she raised the jewels from her brow, as 
 Though their brightness was a burden and a 
 <Trief. 
 
 A trcad-iier father's tread— wag on the 
 Stairs; and soon, great Bacchus bent above his 
 Sleeping son ; thin stood beside his child, and 
 Pointing to the couch, he asked, --Hast thou 
 Love for him?" She put the crown beneath her 
 Slli)p(Td feet, and answered. -'May mighty 
 
 Jiive 
 Forbid!" And then the king went out, and she— 
 The young, the sacriflced— turned with a glance, 
 TIalf pity, and half scorn, unto the ruined 
 Monarch; for well she knew that he— who had 
 Worn smiles of truth above a traitor's soul— 
 By those he trusted, was himself betrayed. 
 
 ******* 
 The rosy fingers of the dawn, drev/ up 
 The azure curtains of the east, and let 
 The sunlight in upon a waking world; 
 The shepherd went unto his fields, the man 
 Of labor to his toil, the king unto 
 The presence-chamber, and to the senate- 
 Hall went up to the rulers ol the nations: 
 Shrouded and dull, like the gray shadow of 
 The coming eve, crept the new light of morn, 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Through the dim windows of a dmitreon in 
 Old Rome; where on the iron floor, with jijarb 
 All torn by the nide hands of the mocking 
 Crowd, with matted hair, and beard unshorn. lay 
 The proud son of monarchs 
 
 Was this the fair 
 Youngboy— the petted child of courts? This the 
 Proud youth, for whom younu; maidens prayed 
 
 and broke 
 Their hearts in vain? This the bold warrior 
 Whom great «cipio loved, and the young king. 
 Who wore the good Micipsa's crown? 
 
 There was 
 A grayness on his sunken cheek; the light 
 Was going from his eye. as goes a star 
 From the blue sky of morn ,' and the blood of 
 His own flesh was on his livid lips. Long 
 Had he lain there, begging for a crumb of 
 Food, and dying of deep thirst: and he had 
 Torn liis flesh, ami ate his wasted hands. 
 Till now, he was so feeble, he could only 
 Moan in utter helplessness 
 
 The sun kej)! 
 On his way; the south wind whispered to the 
 Forest leaves; the white sails fluttered o'er old 
 Tiber's breost; and on the hills, the cattle 
 Grazed; and in tiie vales the young lambs play- 
 ed; and 
 Violets blossomed in the meads; and the 
 Loud hum of voices rose upon the air. 
 And there was jostling in the busy street. 
 And past the dungeon went unnumbered feet; 
 And yet. Jugurtha knew it now no more— 
 His thirst, his hunger, and his pain were o"cr; 
 The black fiend wailed no longer in his haunted 
 
 rest. 
 For he had gone at last, unto a peaceful rest. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 LITANY. 
 
 BV THE SiCK-BEU OF MY El.OEST StSTEIi 
 
 Savior, wlio hath known the love 
 Born on earth, but blest above; 
 Thou, who claimed an infanfj? cart-. 
 And a mother's earnest prayer, 
 Hear o>ir call ! 
 
 Feeble i\n a stricken child 
 Lies our loved one, meek and mild. 
 Sharp pains rend her burninii bre!i>-t. 
 Thou, who pray'd our God for r«'.st, 
 Hear our call ! 
 
 Moaning from the morning li^dit. 
 Moaning thvoiigh the wild, dark night. 
 Praying that the woe may cease, 
 Bleeged Savior, give her peace! 
 Hear our call! 
 
 Savior, who upon the niount. 
 Plead -'Our Father"'' for the lount 
 Of holy balm that sweetly tiows 
 O'er the spirits heavy woes. 
 
 Hear our call ! 
 
 Savior, not for length of years 
 With their blending hopes and fears, 
 (For the better land would be 
 Fitter home for such as she) 
 Hear our call! 
 
 But for some sweet, healing spell, 
 That the fearful pain may quell. 
 And for strength to tread life's track, 
 If unto it she may .come back. 
 Hear our call ! 
 
 Gentle Savior, make her thine. 
 Round her heart thy pure love twine! 
 Changeless Savior, make her ours, 
 Here and in the Eden bowers! 
 Hear our call! 
 
PEBBLES FUOM THE SHORE. 
 
 m 
 
 HE SLEEPS WHERE THEY LAID HIM. 
 
 He sleeps where they laid him, my hero, my 
 
 brave, 
 .Sleeps sweetly to-night ii) his far, southern 
 
 grave, 
 Where the North Anna windes, with its musical 
 
 flow, 
 And above, and around him, the violets blow ; 
 The wee things, he said, were as nearly iike me 
 As maiden and violet ever could be; 
 They left him to sleep, when the battle was past, 
 The ti'^ht, that lor him was the bravest and last. 
 
 ••My darling,'' he said, as he came to our door- 
 -My darline," he whisper'd it over and o'er; 
 Oh! my lips will ne'er smile, as they smiled on 
 
 him then, 
 Nor my cheeks wake to bloom 'neath his kisses 
 
 again. 
 To his country I gave him.m} hero, my brave. 
 And his country returns me that river-washed 
 
 grave ; 
 But she will not forget, in her glory and pride, 
 That for freedom he fought and for freedom he 
 
 died. 
 
 LITTLE PAUL. 
 
 "Twas a palace-Ilk^- home, where riches com- 
 bined 
 
 With the love of the heart and the grace of the 
 mind: 
 
 Around it June-blossoms theii sweet fragrance 
 shed, 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Above it ^reen trees their soft shadows spread; 
 And the spirit exalted of mother and wife 
 Shed through it the glory of loftiest :ife. 
 But the lovliest thing, in parlor or hall. 
 Was the beautiful face ot dear little Paul. 
 
 Sweet taste had adorned it, and honor and fame 
 Hung round it with beauty and a laurel-crowned 
 
 name! 
 No shadow ol grief to its |)leasant rooms clung, 
 "No skeleton woe in its fair closets hung; 
 And uiusic and gladness, and culture and bloom. 
 Kept far from its threshold the mildew of gloom. 
 Yet the lovliest thing in that household of Joy 
 Was the mother's sweet face in tlie face of her 
 
 boy. 
 
 WILL WILD. 
 
 Will Wild sat late on an Autumn niylit. 
 
 In his lather's hall, by the hearth fire's light ; 
 
 No lamp-beam went shimmering through the 
 
 room, 
 No candle ray broke the dismal gloom, 
 But the tire-light flickered across the wall. 
 And cast dim shadows down the dim. old hull. 
 As the door went hack with a sudden bound, 
 And the wind c:ime through, with a wailing 
 
 sound. 
 Not a human being sat with him there, 
 Save a fair, sweet child, in her little chair. 
 Her cross'd-feet filling her little red shoes 
 With their gleaming buckles and clustering 
 
 bows— 
 Her small hands folded, as though in pray'r, 
 And a halo of light round her flaxen hair. 
 Will Wild saw not the gathering beam 
 'Round his little one's head, like a heavenly 
 gleam. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHOIIE. 95 
 
 For he could not tell how very fair 
 Sweet human lives in their innocence are, 
 And the whitest soul was not to him 
 So dear as a soul all sullied and dim ; 
 For he had tiot come to the lountain then. 
 That gives sweet sights to the souls of men. 
 And he leaned his arm on the back of his cliair, 
 And his lingers toy'd with his dark, red hair. 
 While a dull, dead look lay over his face, 
 That was never sotteu'd by God's sweet grace. 
 But he heard not the cricket upon the hearth. 
 Nor the wild wind wailing all over the earth, 
 For the curtains lay up across the panes. 
 And under the apple-boughs, out in the rain, 
 A something he saw, that would not stay 
 Down in the church-yard, coming that way. 
 With a long white robe, and swift, light tread. 
 Coming he thought, as would come the dead, 
 A down the valleys, and throush the wood, 
 Along the meadows, and over the road, 
 Under the api)le-boughs, through the rain. 
 Under the curtains, and through the pane,— 
 And as she came, he could plainly see 
 The small feet, plump as they use to be. 
 And ihe rounded arm, so fair and white. 
 He had linked in his. ere that fearful night, 
 And the rose buds clustering on the cheek 
 Where once, for kisses, his lips did seek, 
 And the lips that parted a coral thread. 
 When years ago, sweet words they said. 
 And a joyous light in those bright, blue eyes, 
 That came from a heart where no shadow lie's. 
 While over that face lay the merry glow. 
 He tho'ight like sunshine, in the long ago. 
 But a something was lying upon her breast, 
 A something, just folded unto its rest . 
 And the fire gleam *d up. and show'd him there, 
 A. babe's sweet face, neath the curls of her hair. 
 His blood ran cold, and then grew still 
 Mot a thought had he— not even a will 
 
!>6 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 To move, or call— to rise or stir, 
 He could only sit there, and look at her. 
 As with long white roDe, and eye undim 
 She stood in the tire-lijiht and talked to him. 
 
 "Ten years ago to-niglit. Will Wild. 
 
 Yon came a wooing tue. 
 Yon told me, that of all lair maids, 
 
 I was most fair to see ; 
 And I— I Iiau heen lov"d so much. 
 
 And knew no thought ol guile— 
 That I believed your every word. 
 
 Believed you all the while. 
 Will Wild." 
 
 -•That was the latest summer time 
 
 I saw the jasmine's bloom, 
 Or g!itliered little daisy buds 
 
 There— by my dear, oid home; 
 Those were the latest days tiiat v\e 
 
 Kept watch lor buiterHies, 
 Througii father's pleasant, meadow lands. 
 
 Sweet Kate, and Ned and I, 
 Will Wild."" 
 
 ••And when, on those Septetnber nights, 
 
 I knelt at father's side, 
 And heard him ask God's grace for me. 
 
 Whatever might betide, 
 I thought, that you and I would kneel 
 
 Together, far away. - 
 But oh! I found, when 'twas too late. 
 That you could never pray, 
 Will Wild."" 
 
 ■•And I remember now, one eve, 
 When the hours were all too fleet, 
 
 I sat upon the old door stone,— 
 Sat down at mother's feet. 
 
 Our cottage door was open wide. 
 
PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 97 
 
 Her head against the frame- 
 She laid her hand upon my hair 
 And softly called my name, 
 Will Wild/' 
 
 "She said, "if i would stay with them, 
 
 With lue, 'twere always well. 
 But what my fate with you, would be, 
 
 She could not. could not tell. 
 O, 1 was such a fooling child! 
 
 1 said you loved me then— 
 1 wander now, if that cruel love 
 
 Was like love ofother men, 
 Will Wikir' 
 
 "You took nie to yonr father's home- 
 Was it e'er a home for me? 
 
 Did you make it bright with heart siins^hine, 
 As Bridal-home should he? 
 
 In all my weariness and pain- 
 In all my fearful woe. 
 
 I only knew your cloudy looks. 
 And how you said— you'd go. 
 Will Wild." 
 
 •'And when at last, our baby died, 
 
 And you so lar away, 
 I thought you'd come to those God left— 
 
 I thought you could not stay. 
 But when I called you all the night, 
 
 And all the morning through. 
 Your mother said, In cold, hard words, 
 
 1 need not look for you. 
 Will Wild." 
 
 •My mother to her grave went down. 
 Ere she knew my weary lot. 
 And my strength wa? gone, and my feet so 
 weak, 
 I could not find the spot. 
 
PEBBLES FROM Til K SHORE. 
 
 And father oould not. come to me. 
 
 He had been dead so long. 
 But his dust in his coffin must have stirred. 
 
 Had lie known my l)itter wroui,' 
 Will Wild.'" 
 
 '•And those who loved mt- could not come 
 
 Beyond your old home-sate. 
 For them were blackened looks of scorn. 
 
 And cruel words of hate. 
 And thus, the leaden ytiars dr:i<ig;"d on, 
 
 'Till where sweet baby laid, 
 Under the trees in the old Cnnrch yard. 
 
 Another ^rrave was I'.iade. 
 Will Wild " 
 
 •Oh! weak, <!itern man, how could y«tu know 
 
 The wrong for you and I :' 
 How could tlie Beetle under.<tand 
 
 The-uold wiug'd Butterfly? 
 And I— oh, pitying God, forbid. 
 
 Th-t I should hate you n iw! 
 Though I broke my heart on your dull hard 
 soul, 
 
 I kept my Bridal vow. 
 Will Wild." 
 
 ••And I have found one fondling here. 
 
 The other, earth still keep.-, 
 I cannot kits away her pain. 
 
 Nor sing her to her sleep. 
 But guard her with ihat bless?ed care. 
 
 I, in my childhood knew 
 Oh. give her the love you denied to lue.' 
 
 And I will bless— eveu you— 
 Will Wild." 
 
 And she bent to breathe her little one's name. 
 Who smiled in her sleep.because ■mamma* came, 
 Then under the curtains, athrough the panes, 
 
PEBBF.ES FROM THE SHORE. *»fl 
 
 Under the appie-bou^hs, into the rain. 
 Her white robe gleaming through all the dark. 
 And the flash of her hair, like the fire-fly spark. 
 Her white feet nnwet by thelong damp ?ra!*s. 
 That so meekly bow'd that she might pass— 
 Adown the meadows, and over the road. 
 And ni) the valleys, and throngh the wood. 
 ■■She went away — and only the rain 
 Was seen to fall on the window pane. 
 
 Will Wild rose up and bolted the door. 
 And lifted the curtains down to the floor. 
 And looked at the fire-light orer the wall, 
 .\nd peered clear down, through the ditu dark 
 
 hall. 
 Then he quivered down by his little one's chair. 
 Where that shining gleam was around her hair. 
 And a wild-fire ran tiirough his dull, dtad brain- 
 Till he saw his soul, withils blood-red stain ; 
 And his grief burst out, in his iiew-l'elt pain, 
 Like the heavy sobs of the Autumn ram. 
 His little one moved, and then awoke. 
 And lilting her hands, she sweetly spoke — 
 -What ails you. my papa, I"d like to know? 
 Deal mama- she used to cry just so - 
 And when I asked, if she'd not get well? 
 Jr>he cried the more, and could never tell." 
 He lifted her up. and bowM his head 
 O'er her lair, white brow, and sadly said— 
 As he lock'd his arms, and folded her in— 
 *Oh, what have I do)ie! oh. what have I done! 
 May God lorgive me my every sin. 
 And help me to love you, my little one!'' 
 
100 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 
 
 Unrnrl our star-flagr to the breeze— far let its 
 
 bright stripes wave. 
 As with kind smiles, and souses, and cheer, ye 
 
 greet the Masryar Brave I 
 TK'jil may ye brin>j yonr homaj^e now— such 
 
 glory hath he won, 
 That tiitnre ..-ears will write his name beside 
 
 our Washington. 
 
 Haste, haste ye, great and noble men— our >ia- 
 
 tions boast and pride- 
 Clasp warmly now his proftered hand— press 
 
 firmly to his side— 
 And ye. our dangliters--greet the wife, wiio 
 
 wears his glorious iianu-, 
 Blesi in his manly, watchful love— proud of hi- 
 
 world-wide fame! 
 
 America's great heart, to-day. beats with :i 
 
 warmer irlow 
 Than it. through many years hath known, or 
 
 soon again may know. 
 And millions of her children t/reet the e.\ile on 
 
 her shore. 
 And ask of God, full strength for him. till his 
 
 great work is o"er. 
 
 Great Magyar, what rich blessings now. are asked 
 upon thy head 
 
 In far-oft' places, where thy feet may ne\er, nev- 
 er tread; 
 
 In Southern lands, where richest flowers in 
 Summer bloom unfold, 
 
 .And where the Western waters irlide o'er 'shin- 
 ing beds of <rold — 
 
 In lordly halls of wealth and pride, 'neath rich- 
 ly-fluted domes. 
 
 By farmers hearths, and poor man's board— in 
 pleasant, cottage-homes— 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 101 
 
 In many a cabin in the Wild, o'er vvreath'd with 
 
 hanging vines, 
 Oo up to God , warm prayers for thee— warm 
 
 prayers for thee and thine,— 
 
 ris not, that as a Monarch comes, thou comest 
 
 here to-day! 
 Not that the blood of dying men, flows red iip(»n 
 
 thy way I 
 Bait that through tyranny and wrong, thou 
 
 couldst he nobly brave. 
 Aiid would not stoop to sink the man into the 
 
 cringing slave! 
 
 "Tit^, that in prison andin gloom, the glorious 
 
 truths divine 
 Were cherished well, and warmly loved, by that 
 
 great heart of thine — 
 The truths that yet shall till the Avorld, as 
 
 waters fill the sea— 
 'i he truths that yet shall make all hearts, all 
 
 homes, all nations, tree! 
 
 G<^)d"s speed, great Magyar" in thy svork, t(t 
 
 break the cruel bands 
 That crush to-day, the aching hearts, of tliy 
 
 dear father-land! 
 ^o. that at last, thou goest there, unto thy 
 
 pleasant rest, 
 With freedom's air around thy head, and tree 
 
 dust on thy breaist. 
 
 A RESPONSE. 
 
 O, no— mine is no "Stranger Sou!"" 
 
 In this great world astray. 
 And journeying with tear dimmed eye, 
 
 Along the lower way! 
 For always, as I tread along. 
 
 Across the earth's broad breast. 
 My spirit, howsoever tried. 
 
 Ill perfect love, finds rest. 
 
]0i PEBBLES FliOM THE SIIOKE. 
 
 And many heurts?, now black with crinn 
 
 Where poiitou weeds entwine. 
 Ill iile's* younir niorninj;, years ago. 
 
 Were just as pure as mine; 
 Bin ah! one held my iitfle hand 
 
 Wlien I was hut a child. 
 And lold tne how 'Our Father"" led 
 
 Mis ' hildren fnrouirli th>? wild. 
 
 And tlioujih ahove my early way 
 
 D.nk sorrow spread Ikt win<^. 
 Yet. wheresoeviM' my feet did stray. 
 
 Some riower ol joy would sprinj:. 
 But when I saw thf rrin<;e of ni;j:ht 
 
 Wave tliroUi;h the dewy morns 
 I knew, thai I must learn to taki' 
 
 Life's nises with its tliorns. 
 
 So wlnn iipttn my poor weak heait 
 
 A lieavy foot liatli trod. 
 I take the little, tlutlirin^ ihini:. 
 
 And lilt it up to God : 
 And a» upon my way I >;i). 
 
 It IS my daily prayer. 
 To take from hearts tlie hitter rue. 
 
 And plant sweet Dlossoms there. 
 
 I)KL1VEI{ED KKO.M H\ FL. 
 
 WKITTE.S FOK .\ BEKK.VVtl) >(STKK. 
 
 Two little hands clasped fondly in my own. 
 
 V wo dimpled feet, that could not go alone. 
 
 '1 Wo rose bud lips ai:ainst my faithful breast — 
 
 A bird-like voice; within my h.uisehold nest, 
 
 A broad, deep forehead, white as drifts of snow. 
 
 Flyes like Idiie violets wherv^ wood fountain- 
 
 rtow. 
 Aiid hail- as soft and fair, as clear and lustrous 
 
 too 
 As fine-spun liold-iny tin'_'(.rs wandered tlirou;,^!). 
 
PEBBLES FUOM THE SHOKE. 10:'> 
 
 And model form— rounded, as sculptor's do-- 
 Thrcaded all o'er, with veins of purple hue; — 
 These made the outside beauty of my haby i^irl. 
 But what lond hand could tenderly unfurl 
 The folds of flesh, that shut, so sotlly in 
 Tiie dear, white soul, so free, as yet. from sin. 
 And show the bnddinii beauty and the growinj^ 
 
 grace 
 ■J'hatyet should blossom tiuo'.io;h her baby face? 
 
 A baby first, and then, a merry child - 
 A maiden next, so cheerful aud so mild. 
 While I grew daily, more her worshipper, 
 Till all my future was filled full of her. 
 She made the glory of our summer hours. 
 And filled our winters withthe breath of flowers; 
 <^iir autumn harvests brought a richer bliss 
 From the sweet beauty of her happiness. 
 
 Her gentle hands were full of tender deeds. 
 
 Her feet went swifcly to another's needs, 
 
 Her loving heart i)lea(l through the darkest 
 
 night— 
 ••Keep me, sweet Christ, until the morning 
 
 light:- 
 That was her prayer-bul always, mine was 
 
 this, 
 Folded down softly, with each tender kiss, 
 Breathed o'er her fondly, every night and day,— 
 ''Keep her from evil. Father, all the way!" 
 
 And so, at last. He answeied— and my heart grew 
 
 still 
 To hear, how strangely spoken, was His loving 
 
 will ; 
 For, thraugli it all. I saw His great loye shine, 
 Because it was His answer, and not mine, — 
 Mine would have been, that through long earth 
 
 ly years 
 Slie should have kuov/n no sorrov/ and no tears— 
 
104 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Within her path should hide no sharpened thorn 
 But round it, hang the radiance of the morn. 
 And everything in air, and fca. and sky, 
 Sliould minister to her, as tenderly as I. 
 
 But in His answer, was— a voice more sweet. 
 
 And sometimes trembling, for the Httle feet — 
 
 A briL'hter hnlo. for th»* golden hair. 
 
 Angelic beauty 'round her everywhere. 
 
 Till, when I kissed her lace, 'jrrown now. so won- 
 drous fair — 
 
 I felt the sweet fulfillment of my pleading prayer; 
 
 For he had led my darling Ironi all storm and 
 cold, 
 
 Oiit. through the shining gateway, to the happy, 
 fold. 
 
 ALICE CAREY; 
 
 In the beautiful years, when a father would say 
 
 (Sitting by the dear hearth at home) 
 ••Come darling, a moment your little feet stay. 
 For .\lic.'. sweet Alice has come.""— 
 
 I crept to his knee, and he tenderly read 
 The '-C'lovornook"" stories all through; 
 
 Ur ballad, or song, that he lovingly said 
 Were sweet as the clover-blossoms too. 
 
 And when in the sunshine I wandered next day 
 Through the clover-meads fragrant and red, 
 
 I looked in the hollows, to find on my way 
 The dear little 'babe"" that was dead. 
 
 And IthouglUin the vales, or up on the hills 
 I should find the "sweet mother" asleep. 
 
 And the brother's "lone bed,'" where their watch 
 by the rills 
 The "blue and red thistle.^"* did keep. 
 
PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 105 
 
 For mother, and brotht!i', and blossoms, and 
 child 
 
 Would niinyile toirether so fast. 
 In the sliadowless days tliat were rosy and mild, 
 
 'the shadowless days olthe past. 
 
 And we ?aid— lie and 1— we would i;o <jii some- 
 time. 
 
 This dear Lady Alice to see. 
 But his leet wandered on to a happier clime. 
 
 And OK earth he could go not with me. 
 
 So one summer day when my travel-worn feet 
 Foniid their way to her pleasant sick-room, 
 
 .\nd I heard her low voice so gentle and sweet 
 Dispellini^ all shadow and gloom, 
 
 I said, that though story and song iiiaiu and 
 a: am 
 
 Held gently my spirit in thrall. 
 Yet the soul-lighted face on thai pillow ofpain 
 
 Was sweeter and lairer than all. 
 
 The richest of blessings from sunniest h-nds 
 Each day on her dear heart she shed! 
 
 And the wine of Christ's love by tonderest 
 hands 
 Be poured on her beautiful head! 
 
 Till at last, on her ear, as she patiently waits. 
 The din of life's battle shall cease. 
 
 And the iilly-strewn path through the heavenly 
 gates 
 Lead her on to the gardens of peace. 
 
106 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 rO MY YOUNGEST SISTER. 
 
 It seems a little while, sister. 
 
 Since Vouiul the old home hearth. 
 Were gathered all our household ones. 
 
 Our dearest ones of earth ; 
 Since thou, a pale-faced, sickly babe, 
 
 Wert watched with hopes and fears, 
 Only a day or two it seems. 
 
 And yet, 'tis twenty years. 
 
 And in thusQ twenty years, sieter. 
 
 What changes we have known. 
 What griefs have fallen o'er our way, 
 
 What precious joys have flown ; 
 Now, broken is the household band, 
 
 And scattered far and wide 
 The loved, that met with tear or smile 
 
 Around the old fireside. 
 
 There are two graves, where every sprii 
 
 The grass is growing green- 
 Two graves, that on our winding way 
 
 We ihousht not to have seen, 
 One lie.s beneath the orchard trees. 
 
 And holds the apple-blooms; 
 Aod one we made on green Oak-Hill, 
 
 That pleasant world of tombs. 
 
 And in this last, our mother's form 
 
 Lies weariless and cold, 
 And in the other, inthcx'ii dust 
 
 Is mingllnswith the mould. 
 Oh! never shall we meet again 
 
 As 'round that old fireside. 
 Till gathered in the blessed home 
 
 Where never one halh died. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 FOR THE I'OOR OLD DRUNKARD, WHY 
 SHOULD YE WEEP? 
 
 Aye. hallow the earth, and thrust him in, 
 
 Pi)or old creature, so loathsome with sin I 
 
 An oak-plaukbox, or a hollow tree. 
 
 Either, for him. jjjood enough will be; 
 
 Cover him up with a rough-hewn board. 
 
 Over it all let the earth be pourVl, 
 
 Aye. hurry him down to his last, long sleep; 
 
 For the poor old drunkard why should you weep? 
 
 Yes. thrust him in! let the poor old wife 
 Remember naught but thel'earlul strife; 
 Don"l let her go back to her wedding day. 
 When she was happy, and trusting ,and gay, 
 When she stood in joy by her lov'd one's side. 
 The bonniest maid that was ever a bride. 
 Aye, bury him down, full six feet deep, 
 For the poor old drunk?rd why should you weepr 
 
 Quick; thrust him in; let the children know 
 How blighted and scorn'd through iife they go; 
 Let them wear the curse of their father's shame. 
 And the burning weight of his drunken name; 
 Let them think of the oath and the heavy blow— 
 Of the cruel taunt, and the bitter woe; 
 Aye, hurry him down, so low and deep. 
 For the poor old dviiukard why should you weepl' 
 
 Down with him I down with him! yoar feet on 
 
 his dust; 
 You know how you scoru'd him, of course you 
 
 must! 
 Were you not made of holier clay ? 
 Wrapp'd in line linen every day? 
 H<nv could you love him. poor dolt of a thing"; 
 What did his life but rank misery bring? 
 Will even the earth his oM bones keep'' 
 For the poor old drunkard why should you weep? 
 
108 PEBBLES FHOM THE SHORE. 
 
 Aye. thrust him in ! but for him whose years 
 
 Were fiird with tho^e victims" uiercinor tears. 
 
 For him who sold him day by day, 
 
 The poison that eats life and love away. 
 
 Go clasp in your lingers his dainty hand. 
 
 And say there's no better in all the land ; 
 
 Bnt l>nry the liushatHl full six feet deep, 
 
 For the poor old drunkard why should you weep' 
 
 YoY him who hath kill'd him — uever dare 
 Profane with your lips a name so fair! 
 Stand shoulder to shoulder, and side by side. 
 To buoy him up in his well-earned pridel 
 Hold him up to your sons — the type of men. 
 They never may look on his like n-^aiul 
 Bu» bury the./V/ //<«'/• low and dup. 
 For the poor old drunkard why slimild pou weep 
 
 LINE P. 
 
 UrON THK. FACK OK A SWKKT l IlII,:) I -AW AT LAN- 
 SING. 
 
 'Twas a pictured face on the parlor wall. 
 
 The face of a child so dainty and spuill 
 
 That only tiie sunshine touched her life, 
 
 And into it fell no murmur or strife; 
 
 But ihrous^h the dark eye"s tender light 
 
 There shown the nidiance, clear and bii<rlif. 
 
 That falls across the heavenly hills, 
 
 And brightens the waves of the niurinurinLr rills 
 
 That iipi)le above the aolden sands 
 
 Through the flowery glades of the Betr^-r Land. 
 
 A child's sweet face, that wilii its <:\()\\ 
 Had brightened on^ household here 'oelow. 
 And tilled fond hearts with the rosy dreim 
 That wound along, like a start y gleam. 
 Throiisih the doubts and joys, the hopes and 
 
 fears. 
 Of the onward sweep of the future years. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 A chilrVs sweet face, that many a night 
 Had pillowed a forehead lair and white 
 On the father's arm. or the mother's breast. 
 While the little heart fell into sweetest rest; 
 A child's sweet face, st) dainty and small. 
 Biit m being thai, had yet been all. 
 For it filled the earth, in its vanishing blDv^in 
 \Viti» the cold, damp darkness of the tomb. 
 
 THE FOOT, OF SI LOAM. 
 
 The slanting beams of the departing sun 
 Lay on the glitterin? spires of old 
 Jerusalem,— and the shade gi'ew deeper 
 'Neath the olive trees,— and the loud hum uf 
 Voices, and hurried tread of passing feet, 
 U ere dying on the air,— when Jesus threw 
 The foldings of his robe aside, and with 
 His sandal-shorn unlaced, and the soft lighi 
 •Of his dark eyednnin'd with the weariness 
 Of toil, passed quickly from the Temple door. 
 And all unseen by those who sought his life, 
 Trod silently the narrow path that led 
 Away to mountain-quietness; when a 
 Light touch was on his robe; and by his side 
 He saw a youth of noble mieu, and sweet 
 Fair lace; but o'er his eyes a shade thui shut 
 Out all the glory of the world: And then 
 The Master laid upon the weak, dark orbs. 
 The moistened clay, and said, "Go now, and \v;i 
 In Siloam's water," — and as he came once 
 More upon the pebbly shore, and shook th<' 
 Crystal drops from out his curling hair, tiie 
 Dappled shadows of the eve, and the clear 
 Light of stars, and the .'ight waving of the 
 Sheaves, broke clear upon the eyes so dark 
 Ikiforc, 
 
no PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 TO MY YOUNGEST BROTHER. 
 
 ON RKCElVINli PROM HIM A BEAlTinL GOLD I'EN- 
 CIL-PEN. 
 
 It came— this little gift of love, 
 
 Thi8 jiift of finest gold, 
 And looking on its shining bands, 
 
 How quick the past unrolTd. 
 Far o'er tlie years ofsuminfr time, 
 
 And o'er the wintry days. 
 Far o'er the spring-day's balm and bifeze. 
 
 The Indian summer s haze, 
 
 I saw a little c<)ttage-hi)me, 
 
 A river singing by, 
 And 'round it slender balsam-l)oughs 
 
 Were pointing to the sky; 
 And 'gainst the window-panes in Jun( 
 
 Red roses leau'd in bloom, 
 And jasmines twining "round the door. 
 
 Yielded a rich perfume. 
 
 The old red school-houee "neath the hili. 
 
 The while church further down, 
 And in the village, roads along. 
 
 The houses white and brown ; 
 And hands that in the busy street, 
 
 Reach'd to ns as we came; 
 And red lips we had learn'd to love, 
 
 Smil'd at each household name. 
 
 Brother, around our open palms. 
 
 Those hands twine not as then. 
 And lips that call'd unto us there. 
 
 Will call us not again. 
 For leagues of land and water too. 
 
 Lie out between us now. 
 The tombstone stands by many a head, 
 
 Dust liciS on many a brow. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. Ill 
 
 Strange forms are in the cottage-rooms, 
 
 Strange hands now nnree the tlowers. 
 Spring gives her melody and bloom 
 
 For other hearts than oars. 
 Father and mother of that home 
 
 Call not at e\e, "To prayer!"''' 
 i^nd then, the youngest of us all, 
 
 Hast grown inured to care. 
 
 Brother, while on the way we go. 
 
 We'll hold the shining threads 
 With clasping hands, that link us to 
 
 The living and the dead; 
 And by and Ijy the yery grief 
 
 That gave us so much pain. 
 Shall ring like sweet chimes in our hearts 
 
 Bringing back joy again . 
 
 REGULUS, 
 
 The autumn sunbeams fell a-slant on rivt-r, mead, 
 
 and hill. 
 And crept in yellow, shining braids, across each 
 
 silver rill. 
 And lay in thousand glittering beams upon old 
 
 Tiber's wave. 
 That keeps its ever-murmuring flow above the 
 
 sleeping brave. 
 
 And in among the faded flowers, and o'er 
 
 fountain's spray, 
 And through the brown leaves of the vines the 
 
 sunbeams found their way; 
 They linger'd by the cottage-home, and 'round 
 
 the rich man's door, 
 And soft and bright their lustre lay, on the 
 
 hearth-stone of the poor. 
 
lie PEBHLES FKOM THK 8IIORE. 
 
 Ah! was if this?— their golden glow, on hearth, 
 
 and hall, and bower, 
 Tliat bronjiht such liijht to human cyrs' in that 
 
 hir niornin;? hour. 
 VNlu-n sont''.* of mirth and music rang in high 
 
 and lowly homes. 
 Aiul shouts or cheer were loud and clear throuuh 
 
 all the streets ol Home:- 
 
 Ali ! WHS it this? tliat made fair babes look to 
 
 their mothers' eyes, 
 And smile, as tliouirh Ihey had caught there 
 
 some sweet and jrlad surprise? 
 Tliat gave to ^tern and broad-brow'd men. such 
 
 words of life and joy? 
 .\n,l lM(Might such shouts of mirth and glee, 
 
 from young and merry bovf? 
 
 Was it for this? that cannons ri)ar*d. and ban- 
 ners flutter'd there? 
 
 And innrtial music, bold and shrill, rang out up- 
 on the air? 
 
 Ahd llirougii the morn, and all ihe day, in all 
 the crowded streets, 
 
 \\'as iieard tiu- light and hurried tread, ot pass- 
 in ■_' human feet ? 
 
 All! no— for as thr sunbeams pubd from valley 
 
 and from hill. 
 And lay no more o)i azure wave of riv.r or of rill : 
 Yet louder on tin- im-llow air the inursiiall music 
 
 rung. 
 And songs ot mirth, and siiouts of joy, still 
 
 tnmbled on tli<- tongue! 
 
 Ah: little rick"d the human heart^ that beat in 
 
 Home that day. 
 Ol all the glow of light or shade, 'that hnng 
 
 around their way; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 113 
 
 Small thou;i;ht had they, for breeze or flower, for 
 
 tinted sky or stream- 
 Ail these were left for other days— for life's 
 
 bright, idle dreams! 
 
 *ror Regulns, the proud, the brave— hero of 
 
 many wars, 
 ^^■ith cheek all wrinkled, pale and thin— innrked 
 
 by deep battle-scars; 
 Came from his dull, dark prison-house, once 
 
 more to ancient Rome,- 
 And from the people's heart went up the shout 
 
 to greet him home! 
 
 Noras he came in other years, came the old 
 hero back I 
 
 To tread, as he had trod before, lil'e's i^reen, fa- 
 miliar track; 
 
 Then mirth sat smilins: in his eye, and Lilory 
 crowned his brow. 
 
 And thousands gathered at his side— where were 
 the thousands now y 
 
 Alas, laro'er the shining seas, on Afric's desert 
 
 plain. 
 Lay many a proud, heroic face, he ne'er might 
 
 see again ! 
 And in green groves of Sicily rich voices had 
 
 died. 
 From off" pale lips, that once had laugh"d or 
 
 warbled at his side; 
 
 0"er some, the marble had been raised— for some 
 
 proud tombs were made. 
 And others in their native dust, by tender hands 
 
 were laid; 
 
 * '-Regulus, the illustrious Proconsul, and 
 commander of the Roman forces in Africa. He 
 was taken prisoner by the Carthaginiane, in the 
 lirst Punic war."' 
 
114 PEBP.LES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 While o'er low graves in many lands, the prass 
 
 waii growinj; <:reen. 
 But flowing; streams and shaded vales lay far 
 
 and wide between. 
 
 And slowly to the boldier's heart his soldiers, 
 
 facee crept. 
 Until, old Roman as lie was, he tnrn'd aside and 
 
 wept ; 
 Wept lor the light oC brilliant eyes that dimin'd 
 
 not in the tight. 
 That watcird with him through dewy morn, or 
 
 by the camp-tire's light ; 
 
 But soon his eagle eye 'grew bright, as 'round 
 
 about him theii. 
 With shouts of cheer to welcome him. press'd 
 
 crowds of brilliant men; 
 And as fair woman with lier smiles and children 
 
 as he pass'd. 
 Took up the shout of •'Regulus! we welcome 
 
 iiim at last!" 
 
 His thin cheek lost its pailid hue. his step grew 
 
 lirm and light. 
 Life seem'd all morning to him then--it had no 
 
 misty night— 
 His grief, his exile, and his shame, were one 
 
 and all now o'er, 
 ♦And as a Drave man free from chains, he trod 
 
 his native shore. 
 
 With smiles his children i)ress"d around— his 
 meek wife held his hand. 
 
 Speaking his welcome through their tears, back 
 from a foreign laud; 
 
 * "After beiny; kept some years in prison, he 
 was sent back to Kome to propose an exchange 
 of prisoners," 
 
PEBBLES FROM TEIE SHORE. 115 
 
 tOne word from him, and all the joys that clus- 
 tered 'round ni'ii now. 
 
 Were his. till de"th's bright signet seal was set- 
 tled on his brow; 
 
 One word -and yet he spoke it not— he would 
 
 not speak it then. 
 E"en though his country and his home it would 
 
 give back ;igain I 
 E'en though his children should be his in all 
 
 their sta'nleso truth. 
 And he might fold unto his heart the lov'd bride 
 
 of his youth ! 
 
 • ^io, no," he cried— f'these brave young men, 
 
 you"ve liept within your walls, 
 Fed from the tables of proud Rome, and taught 
 
 in Roman lialls, 
 They have strong arms and stronger lif-arts- 
 
 they'll fight your battles well — 
 Belore them, ere they knew your power, full 
 
 mtiny a Roman fell ; 
 
 Watch well ye Romans— guard them all. as misers 
 
 guard their gold. 
 They are more precious to you far— more precious 
 
 thousand fold— 
 
 t ''He had been compelled to take an oath 
 that he would return, if he prcn-ed unsuccessful. 
 He needed to have spoken but one word, and it 
 wouid have restored him To his estate, hi? digni- 
 ty, his wife, his cliildren. his ct)untry. But that 
 word appeared to him contrary to the welfare of 
 the state." 
 
 :;; '-The Romans had in their iutnds several 
 Carthajziniaii seneral*, in the flower of youth 
 find strength." 
 
116 PEBBLES FROM THE SIIOI.'E. 
 
 Send them not back for §traitor men, just ready 
 now to die. 
 
 E"en thou^rh those men have trod the soil cover- 
 ed hv Roman skies! 
 
 /, who liave heard for many a year the clanking 
 
 of my chain. 
 With not a si^ht of wood or .sky. doop red or 
 
 •,M-assy plain: 
 /, whose dark cheek hath thinn'd and paled,— 
 
 whose eye hath dimm'd with care— 
 The wrinkles cluster on my brow — the silver on 
 
 my hair: 
 
 See you how weak this once full voice? how frail 
 
 thie trembling arm? 
 Gods! shall I give the life I have, to do my 
 
 country harm ? 
 (Jive me my prison and mv chajjis. tar Irom the 
 
 shore ul home- 
 Guard ye the dear ones I have left within the 
 
 walls of Rome I" 
 
 *Ni.:ht hunj:; o'er Carthage, dim and dark, and 
 wi'd the wind swept by, 
 
 Loud howl'd the thunder thioujih the air. chain- 
 lightning cross'd the sky: 
 
 And wind and storm beat harshly "round a pant- 
 ing, human breast. 
 
 Struggling and striving with its woes— praying 
 the Gods for rest 
 
 § "That men, who had basely surrendered 
 their arms to the enemy, could not serve their 
 country." 
 
 * "He returned to Carthage though he knew 
 the sufferings tliat awaited him." 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 117 
 
 He who had led his armies on o'er land, and 
 
 stream, and sea. 
 Had heard their war-cry in the charge— their 
 
 song ot victory,— 
 He who amid the battle's smoke dealt death at 
 
 every blow. 
 And laughed, as on the air he snuft'd the red 
 
 blood of his (oe; 
 
 lireat chieftain who had never fcar'd proud king 
 
 or tyranfs rage, 
 As fearless In his iron cell as a lion in liis cage, 
 tHc wh« had borne for many years his shackles 
 
 and his chains, 
 :5;And stretch'd upon the torturing rack for weary 
 
 weeks had lain; 
 
 And borne, as with a God's firm will, upon his 
 
 lidles5^ eyes.§ 
 The scorching glare of noontide heat, that falls 
 
 from southern skies- 
 Old hero in his loneliness, where wind and 
 
 storm went by. 
 Hung pierc'd and bleeding on the *oross, to die 
 
 as villians die. 
 
 Only the thunder hovv!"d about, where household 
 
 ones should speak. 
 And for the breath of mourning love, the wild 
 
 wind fann'd his cheek; 
 
 t"He was imprisoned in a dismal dungeon, 
 with heavy chains upon his Inubs.'' 
 
 * "Then he was put into a chest stuck full of 
 sharp pointed nails." 
 
 § ''His eye-lids were cut oil', and he was carri- 
 ed into the burning sun ." 
 
 * "At last he was nailed to a cross, and left to 
 expire on it." History of Carliiairinians. pp. 80 
 81, 8-<J, m. 
 
118 PEBBLES FROM TPIE SHORE. 
 
 And where suit hands had gentlj lain upon his 
 
 silver hair, ^ 
 Cold rain-drops glistened bright, beneath ihn 
 
 liirhtning's vivid glare. 
 
 Th«'ydid it well, those monster men— they nail'd 
 
 Mm firm and last. 
 Though chord and sinew drove each nail, and 
 
 left him with the last; 
 Then came the swelling of the flesh, the Icnot- 
 
 titig of the veing , 
 The witlicr'd lingers drawing up and turning 
 
 l)aek agHJn ; 
 
 Ami s;). the falling of the lip. the quiver and 
 
 the start. 
 And slowly crept the red blood back, and cnrdied 
 
 round the heart; 
 The lidless eye's dim. steady glare— the gasp, 
 
 and fluttering breath. 
 And ai the last came man's firm friend- -fond, 
 
 never failing death I 
 
 Cold hung the hero's bloddy form bt.neath the 
 
 midnight dome. 
 But colder were the living hearts within his 
 
 native home. 
 For joy, and taitli. and cherish'd trust, at last 
 
 had given o'er. 
 And only where the dead may meet, could they 
 
 hope to see him morel 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 SUPPLICATION. 
 
 Oh God! thou, who dost hear the fj^iiitest sigh 
 Breathed from the snowy lily-hell ; and to 
 The little ravens givelh ear. Thou, to 
 Whose throne the incense of the lowliest 
 Flowret rises up, finding sweet welcome 
 Though it were hidden far in loneliest 
 Forest depths, help me, I pray Tbee, guide all 
 Lovingly,— all wisely, and all faithfully. 
 My own sweet household lamb, my happy child— 
 With head upon my breast, and dark eyes look- 
 ing 
 Tenderly to mine— my little wanderer 
 On the way to paradise. 
 
 Take not Thy 
 
 Hand away; for did I feel it gone, what 
 
 Could I do for her f How would my strength 
 
 prove 
 Weakness, and the little feet I strove to 
 Fasten in the better way, fall back, because 
 I could not see the light! 
 
 Oh God! Forever 
 Loving, and forever good ! We never 
 Know the priceless boon of Thy great tender- 
 ness. 
 Until we haye some treasure we would gather 
 From the blight, and in our helplessness, can 
 Only lift it up for Thee to save and 
 Sanctify. 
 
 And so I pray Thee for my 
 Own; that her young heart be fllTd with holi- 
 ness, 
 As flower-cups are with fragrance; that joy 
 May crown her with a gentle radiance. 
 And if the blossoms of her hopes lie dead. 
 Beat down by chillier than an autumn 
 flain, from the sweet comfort of a mother's 
 Love, she may turn trustingly to Thine. 
 
120 PEBBLES FKOM THE SHORE. 
 
 And 
 So at last,, when from ns both, the dust hath 
 Fallen off, let U8 go on together— 
 My little girl and 1— lovinj^ and loved. 
 Through the green pathways of the spirit-land. 
 
 THE COT ON THE HILL SIDE. 
 
 The out cry strong. 
 From the long absent and returning heart. 
 Is for the thing least changed. A tree, casting 
 Its shadows as of yore, a stone unturned, 
 Will make the heart stir sometimes, when 
 
 the words 
 From a long looked-for lip, fall icy cold I 
 
 Willis. 
 
 Far away o'er the hills, o'er the billow's white 
 
 foam. 
 In a cot on the hill-side, was my early home.— 
 Where the blue river sang, and the riyulet 
 
 stray'd. 
 Where the tir-trees were green. I laughingly 
 
 play'd. 
 
 How fair In its lovliness, t'-c village close by. 
 
 Where the silver church-.'.iires pointed up to 
 the sky; 
 
 And behind the white chaix;!. where tree- 
 branches wave, 
 
 Fond mortals had builded a village of graves; 
 
 There the low. mossy couch they had tenderly 
 spread, 
 
 There they galher'd their sleeping, and laid 
 down their dead: 
 
 There many a father forgets the fond prayer, 
 
 He breathed upon earth o'er the child of his 
 care; 
 
 There many a mother contentedly rests. 
 
 With her young babe close folded upon her cold 
 breast. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 121 
 
 There many a brother, at the fadint; of day. 
 Mourns o'er the young blossom that withered 
 
 away ; 
 And there the pale sister bedews with her tears, 
 Thii t;reen grave of him, who in life's early years 
 Ft-'ll asleep upon earth 'mid a sorrowful band. 
 But awoke in the realms of the shadowless land, 
 Where the lip and tie lorehead may never grow 
 
 cold, 
 And love becomes not, as a tale that is told. 
 
 Oh! that cot on the hill-side— not high were its 
 walls. 
 
 Not airy and broad, its low pleasant halls, 
 
 liu: the snow-drop, meek creature, grew up at 
 the door. 
 
 And the green hanging vines crept the low win- 
 dows o'er; 
 
 And the young robins perch'd on the brown, 
 sloping eaves, 
 
 And the South wind made music among the 
 green leaves ; 
 
 And loved ones came in and rejoiced with us 
 there. 
 
 Or knelt 'round the altar in worship and prayer; 
 
 Or breathed their low songs of sadness or mirth, 
 
 As the moonbeams lay out over ocean and earth. 
 
 But a change, a sad change hath come over the 
 place. 
 
 It hath lost the old look of beauty and grace; 
 
 The-door step hath fallen— the roof is moss- 
 grown. 
 
 And the poor little birdlings make music alone. 
 
 But lone as the place is, oh! lonelier far. 
 
 More sa'.dened and dreary, some spirits now are 
 
 Of those who once cheerfully roamed at their 
 will. 
 
 Through the low% pleasant rooms of that cot on 
 the hill. 
 
V^2 PEBBLES FROM THE SHOEE. 
 
 O'er hearts then unshaclcd. hath crept a coUl 
 
 blijrht, 
 Blacker far than the cloud-wines that darken 
 
 the night; 
 And eyes that were Instrons. and sparkling with 
 
 mirth. 
 Are dim with the sorrow that saddens the earth, 
 Their faces have lost the sweet look of repose, 
 And cheeks that were blooming now^ wear the 
 
 white rose. 
 And lips wreathed with smiles have lost laugh- 
 ter and song. 
 And hands are now feeble, then manly and 
 
 strong; 
 And feet that sprang lightly through thicket and 
 
 glade. 
 Are in pebble-strewn paths, or by weariness 
 
 stay'd; 
 The fpther who watched us so tenderlv there, 
 (xuards us not as he did with unceasing care, 
 Our pleasures to share, and our sorrows to brave. 
 For his broad brow is cold 'ueath the dust of 
 
 the grave. 
 
 Ah! scattered and broken, are the links of that 
 
 chain. 
 That always in parting, bring anguish and pain ; 
 But wherever we roam, oh ! God. in thy love. 
 Wilt thou bring us all round the hearth-stone 
 
 above? 
 Though never, ah never, may we gather again. 
 Round one hearth-stone on earth, as we all 
 
 gathered then. 
 Oh! that cot on the hill-side— 1 think of it now. 
 With a tear in my eye, and a shade on my brow. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 1-23 
 
 GEORGIE. 
 
 One eve in the golden Autumn 
 
 Of the beautiful long-ago, 
 Wtieu the brown leaves of the linden. 
 
 Had a murmur, sad and low; 
 
 When the corn stood bound and yellow. 
 
 On the tops of the russet-crown'd hills, 
 And there came a low sound of music, 
 
 From the lips of meandering rills— 
 
 A bal)e, with his hair like the sunlight, 
 
 And eyes of the deepest of blue. 
 And cheeks of the hue of the rose-leaf, 
 
 When the aelicate veins are seen through.— 
 
 In a cot that was shaded with maples, 
 lay still on his young mothers breast. 
 
 And as the brown eve sung her vespers. 
 She lulled him to sleep on her breast. 
 
 And he grew, as we might see an angel. 
 
 Could we look tiirough the pearl-gates above- 
 in a home, where he saw only beauty. 
 And heard only accents of love. 
 
 But after the light of two summers. 
 Two winters, when fell the white snow— 
 
 His little, white feet had grown weary. 
 His svveet voice, wailing and low. 
 
 And they miss'd the sound of his footstep 
 
 On the softly-carpeted lioor. 
 And in yain his father was looking 
 
 For his bright, little face in the door. 
 
 And one night, in the latest of spring-time. 
 When the clouds were all heavy and deep. 
 
 In the lap of his l)eautiful mother. 
 He quietly went to his sleep. 
 
124 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 A SPRING-MORNING RAMBLE. 
 
 TO G. C. D. 
 
 I am out. without bonnet or shawl. Genie. 
 
 This beautiful uiornin? in spring. 
 Hunting the flowers in their old hidden nosts, 
 
 And heariniT the little birds sin;,'. 
 The old oaks a-weary of dull robes of brown. 
 
 Are droppiUiT them down to the <rround. 
 And to see if i hey dare try their y«»ung leaves in ;.ir 
 
 The green buds are peeping around. 
 
 1 am out in the old Western-woods, Genie, 
 
 Where the newly-dressed, heavy elm-trees— 
 As though a warm love was a-glow in their hearts 
 
 run; thjir ariu-', to caress rjie wild breeze,— 
 LiKe sparkles of diamonds, the clear, rosy light. 
 
 Dances in through the sreon, open glade. 
 But like sunbeams of joy. life's sorrows destroy. 
 
 It is scattered by gath-iriui; shades. 
 
 I am out by the ixreat, he.nvy-rocks, Genie, 
 
 Strewn around by the thick-matted moes. 
 That in the bright Summer that last went away, 
 
 Was soft as the finest ot floss. — 
 But now >t is faded, and ^tirte^ed. and old. 
 
 And just where I lift it away. 
 A blue violets eye looks up to the sky. 
 
 And laughts at the light of the day. 
 
 I am out in the meadows and vales, Genie, 
 
 Where the bird-songs are merry and sweet, 
 Where the Rouge waters ripple in brightness 
 away. 
 
 And Iheir spray dashes over my feet. 
 And I'm thinking this beautiful morning, how we 
 
 Sat once— 'neath a far, foreign sky- 
 On a low, sloping-shore, where the green grass 
 crept o"er. 
 
 And a river went murmuring by. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 125 
 
 And I'm thinking of all we then loved. Genii.!.— 
 
 or the dear ones who could not forget. 
 Who would not, and did not. grow doubting and 
 cold. 
 
 Through whatever of sorrow we met. 
 I am thinkging of one, with starry, blue eyes. 
 
 And voicf' of a musical tone. 
 Who. though he loved dear, those his heart kept 
 most near. 
 
 Loved vou as a child of his own. 
 
 And I wonder, this beautiful morn. Genie. 
 
 If the light of those eyes, you can see? 
 If al ways that voice steals down to your ear. 
 
 As it comes from the blue sky to me? 
 If ever you hear the light tread ol those feet. 
 
 Dropping silently down at your door"? 
 If you see his white hand, leading us to the land, 
 
 Where the loved will be parted no more'? 
 
 I am out "neath the clear, sunny sky. Genie, 
 
 An<l eyes that are darker than mine. 
 Are looking to see. where the early buds blow. 
 
 And where green leaves are dressinsi the vine. 
 For my little girl laughs, as I talk to you. here— 
 
 At your name, will her young pu'ses start. 
 And the love, that f«)r you. in her mother's breast 
 grew, 
 
 ^'ow lives in her innocent heart. 
 
 I am out this fair morning, in spring. Genie. 
 
 Mid the murmur of breeze and of bee. 
 But a voice, that as yet. you never have heard. 
 
 Is sweeter and d'jarer to me. 
 For my little girl hums her lullaby tunes, 
 
 And nestles her face on my oreast. 
 While I send you along, with this morning wove 
 song. 
 
 — ••O, come to our tree-shaded nest I" 
 
121) PEEBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 SONNETS TO MY BROTHER S CHILDREN. 
 
 KUWARD WILLIAMS WOOLLEY. 
 
 How have we look'fl iii»o)i thee, precious boy. 
 
 With thy broad, oi)cn brow, and Pininy hair. 
 Thy mien of sadness, teniper'd with snch joy! 
 
 Ah! sacredly, and with the teuderest care. 
 Hast tht.n been o:uaided— as a cliernb-cliild. 
 
 Fretil; from llie Eden land— so sweetly lair. 
 
 Thy ways as j/entlc as the breath of prayer! 
 Love will keep watch Tor thee, thou of the mild 
 
 And faithful lieari; and as thy life wears on. 
 
 May cum ill".' years tind no sweet beauty gone 
 From thy Irisii spirit, beautiful and free 
 
 Be all thy deeds, as in life's sunny spriiiL', 
 Around thee, Eddie, may kind aiiirels be. 
 
 To shield ihee ever, with their snowy wings! 
 
 ST.MIU C:HANNIN«. WOOLLEV. 
 
 Precious and lovin^:. yet of .■^lerner mould. 
 Art thou, sweet Channiut: with thy deep dark 
 eyes ; 
 With trusting spirit, but of daring bold. 
 While God keeps watch o'er earth, or in the 
 skies: 
 Ilonord in baby-hood, with undying.' name. 
 Dim not liie glory falling Irom above, 
 But with thy father's will, thy mother's love. 
 So wield thy strength, tliat thou niay'st feed the 
 name 
 Of sacred trutli, and gather, day l)y day. 
 The christian's hope, that labors, iriits and 
 prays; 
 Clear, bending rainbows, with a lustre mild. 
 
 Will fang not always, o'er thy earthly way — 
 But in life's battle, wax it cool or wild. 
 Thy father's God be with thee, gentle child I 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHOKE. 127 
 
 HEARTY. 
 
 "You will come, you will come, when I stand by 
 
 his? side. 
 And he calls me his darlin<4, his heautirul bride? 
 Where the hills of New England rise grandly 
 
 and ereen, 
 With river and brooklets sweet singing between. 
 You will come to the home we so tondly call 
 
 ours, 
 And weMl wreathe it with garlands and deck it 
 
 with flowers?'' 
 
 ••And the haunts of my childhood (how they 
 
 gladdened my view!) 
 With what fondness and yride I shall show them 
 
 to you ; 
 And the dear hearts, whose kindness no lan- 
 guage can tell- 
 As much as they love ine, rhey shall love yoii as 
 
 well!— 
 You will come, with your heart full of innocent 
 
 mirth. 
 And your blessin-r to hallow our pleasant home- 
 hearth^'" 
 
 Oh Lover! how wildly thou art pleading, to know 
 Why Thy Idol should perish? thy Beautiful go? 
 With no hearth-light to beacon thy coming at 
 
 night,— 
 The earth grown so weary— all faded its light,— 
 And the glory all gone from irs valleys and 
 
 streams, 
 Like the music once heard in long-vanished 
 
 dreams. 
 
 But afar o'er the valley, and over the sea. 
 And far from the shade of thy heavy roof-tree; 
 Away from the home thou hast builded with care 
 With the freshest of blooms in her soft, chestnut 
 hair, 
 
1-^ PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 -And herj-ounor face as fair as an angels can be 
 In the "Land of the LeaL*' wait? thy chosen loi 
 thee. 
 
 Oh Friend! look away to that beautiful Land- 
 No mad billows brwik on its clear, sunny strand; 
 "No wild cry rin^s out, on its clear, balmy air; 
 No harsh word of passion, no shriek of dispair; 
 No accent ol parting on the fond heart shall tall. 
 For the smile of the Father ilhuuiues it all. 
 
 OH. CARKY ME B.\(;K WITH YOU, FATHER. 
 
 "She tiling herself upon hui breast, and cried. 
 
 Oh/afher, 'take me home."' W. G. S. 
 
 Oh, carry me back with yon. father, 
 
 To that home upon the hill. 
 Where the wood-bines touch the mossy eaves 
 
 And twine 'ronnd the window-sill; 
 Oh, take uie back to that homestead olrl. 
 
 To the dear and blfssed spot. 
 Where once. I gathered my violets. 
 
 And nursed my forget-me-nots. 
 
 For many a weary day I've known. 
 
 And many a night of pain; 
 And my sun of hope has set so low 
 
 It never can rise again 
 With what light, swift leet, I wandered out 
 
 From that door-way rude and low! 
 Bnt over my path the frosts have lain, 
 
 And heaviest drifts of snow; 
 
 W^hen the robins sung their morning hymn, 
 
 And the world \^as all so fair. 
 He said, yon know, he would give hia bride 
 
 The fondest of earthly care ; 
 Bnt soon he turned to a younger face, 
 
 With its dark and sin-full eye, 
 And sent me out. in my feebleness, 
 
 To hunger, and thirst, and die. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 129 
 
 Theliu'ht Irom my eyes went oui, father, 
 
 The lustre from oft' my curls, 
 And you see. you've lost forever here. 
 
 Your favorite, little girl. 
 And yet. on the world's broad, wintry waste 
 
 There remains one isle of rest; 
 'Tis a tender mother's doting love 
 
 And a father's faithful breast. 
 
 •ABIDE WITH US. 
 
 "Abide with us''— the wintry blast at length 
 hath died away. 
 
 And o'er the hills, in robes oflight, conies flow- 
 ery-footed May; 
 
 There is a brightness in the sky, a softness in 
 the air. 
 
 And light, and joy, and new-born life, are "round 
 us eyery where. 
 
 '•Abide with us''— the little knolls, soft, sloping 
 
 to the streams. 
 Are green with moss, and fresh with buds, and 
 
 bright with sunny gleams, 
 And winged bird?;, and silver brooks, go singing 
 
 o'er the earth, 
 And life is full of happiness— is full of pleasant 
 
 mirth. 
 
 "Abide with us'"— oh father! why, when such 
 bright blessings stay. 
 
 When earth is all so beautiful— why wilt thou go 
 away ? 
 
 When we can find young violets, where dead 
 leaves long have lain. 
 
 Why shall we strive to keep thee, too, and striv- 
 ing, dnd it vain? 
 
l:W PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 -Abide with us"'— the dimpled hands that clung 
 
 to thine eo long, 
 May liave outgrown the feeble clasp— are larger 
 
 now. and strong — 
 And childitfh leet, on your return, that down 
 
 the old road Hew, 
 Are treading now in otiier uaths, in ways untried 
 
 and new. 
 
 '•Abide with us"— the litlie hearts, that beat .>?o 
 
 close to thine, 
 >>ow, other's joy and sorrow share— to olbev 
 
 hearts entwine- 
 But where— oh where I on earth's green breast, 
 
 can we everlind again, 
 Such changeless care and tenderness— such love 
 
 as blessed us then? 
 
 "Abide with us"— the sunny heads thou'st pii- 
 
 iow'd on thy breast. 
 Thiaijjh crowii'd witli wreaths of happiness, 
 
 know no such place of rest.-- 
 Mo trust is like that early trust, when by thy 
 
 side we trod— 
 Ah! it was like 'too much, I fear' the trust we 
 
 give our God! 
 
 "Abide with us"— where shall we go, when 
 
 clouds our spirits shade? 
 When grief, too heavy on our hearts, a burning 
 
 weight is laid'r 
 Once, we had strength and hope in thee— thou 
 
 wert our staff and stay — 
 And we would give the wealth ol worlds, if it 
 
 were ours to-day. 
 
 '•Abide withus"--oh! yes, thou wilt— though 
 
 lip aud brow grow pale- 
 Though voice, and step, and tender speech — 
 
 though each and all should tail— 
 
PEBBLES FROM TH-E SHORE. 131 
 
 Thou wilt he with us wiieu we mourn, and witli 
 
 us when we pray — 
 Though all beside of earth should fail, thou wilt 
 
 not go away. 
 
 •"Abide with us"'— the holiness which thou at 
 last may know— 
 
 The tender words of the early lov'd, who went so 
 long ago— 
 
 The glorious spirits waiting now, for thy celes- 
 tial birth— 
 
 These cannot win thee from the love that thou 
 wilt leave on earth. 
 
 "•Abide with us"'- as Jesus stood in the clear, 
 
 blue wave with John, 
 Or sat at Emmau's silent board, when eventide 
 
 came on — 
 As Jesus walks with gentle steps, beside thee, 
 
 even now, 
 A golden gleam upon his hair- a love-light on 
 his brow; — 
 
 ^- Abide with us""— as Jesus sits by thee with 
 
 fondest care, 
 Watching thy dull and dimmin*- eye--hearing 
 
 tiiy dying prayer- 
 Drawing thy poor head gently down, against 
 
 his laithful breast. 
 And leading thee so tenderly unto thy blissful 
 
 rest! 
 
 -*Writteii during the last illness of my father. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 MY CHILD. 
 
 I have a child, as fair a child as human eyes 
 
 need see- 
 So. in her fresh, young innoceHce. she always* 
 
 seemed to me. — 
 A little wild and wayward iiirl. so full of life and 
 
 glee, 
 That where the youn? lambs sport and play. 
 
 there she would ever be. 
 
 And all day long, in shade or shine, in South 
 
 wind or in storm. 
 We see her little, slender liands, and bending, 
 
 willowy lorm 
 Amid the bloom* and flo>veriug wt-eds. "till her 
 
 apron holds no more,— 
 When she brings them with a ringing.' laugh. 
 
 unto our cottage door. 
 
 And all day long she dances 'round, so merrj 
 and so fleet. 
 
 It seems a very sin and shame, to stay her small. 
 white feet ; 
 
 Talking the while, her own rude rhymes, sing- 
 ing her own wild strains, 
 
 As though the germs of flowering thought, were 
 rooting in her brain. 
 
 Her hair hath not the hue\ of mine— the bi"own 
 
 and golden «hade — 
 But wears a deeper, darker glow, like midnight 
 
 in the glade; 
 Her face is like her father's face— she has the 
 
 same dark eyes 
 Brown as the haz*-l-nuts that fall "neath sweet 
 
 October i>kies. 
 
 Her face is like her lather's face— so people ev- 
 er speak— 
 
 And fringes of a midnight hue, He on her ruddy 
 cheek ; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 133 
 
 But o"er that brown and dimpled face, the moth- 
 er's sunshine ijlow.*. 
 
 And the heart i.< like the mother's heart, ere it 
 held the fulling snow "? 
 
 She is the only singing bird that sits beside our 
 
 hearth. 
 The onl} little household one to love us on the 
 
 earth: 
 The only fresh, young. human soul, that kneels 
 
 beside my chair. 
 And at the twilight offers np a loving, grateful 
 
 prayer. ^ 
 
 And it must be, that she was given, that we 
 
 might thus atone 
 For deeds that in some way, we've miss'd in the 
 
 years that now are fiown : 
 For only by this tenderness, that through our 
 
 beings flow, 
 Have we learned the power of that sreat love 
 
 that blessed us years ago. 
 
 Oh! dark and fearful were the hour, tliat she 
 
 were called away; 
 The night would wear no robe of stars— the 
 
 morning brin2 no day. — 
 And yet, I'd rather see her go. and the sweet 
 
 Christ take her in. 
 Than linger in this strange, wide world, a child 
 
 of woe and sin. 
 
 But my little one. my little one. I can safely 
 
 trust with Him . 
 Whose loving heart will never fail — whose eye 
 
 will never dim. — 
 For He will save her from all wrong, and help 
 
 her in all woe. 
 And lead her to the fresh, green fields, where 
 
 life's white lilies blow. 
 
134 PEBBLES FliOM THE SHORE. 
 
 They tell me. I am j^rown so trail, that 1 can only 
 
 wait 
 A few short montlis or years at most, to pass 
 
 the heavenly gate; 
 But well I know, that in that land, where they 
 
 learn j^rief no more, 
 I shall watch my lair child's mortal bark >,'l'tlt to 
 
 I In- immortal siiore. 
 
 ALL IS WELL. 
 
 Don't yon hoar the hrij^ht flowers murmur 
 
 On the river's slopiui,' border; 
 
 And the pure and meek white lilies, 
 
 In the broad and windinj^ valleys; 
 
 And the rocK-flowers on the mountains 
 
 Tell it to the brii^ht-lipped fountains- 
 All is well? 
 All is well* 
 
 Doift you hear the <;;reen leaves whisper 
 With their cheek?* laid close together; 
 And theyouni: trrass freshly arowini,' 
 Where the clover-buds arc blowinsi;; 
 And the ripen'd wheat-heads swaying 
 In the clear air. sweetly saying- 
 All IS well? 
 All is well? 
 
 Don't you hear rhe robins breathing 
 Where dark leaves their nests are wreathing; 
 And young Phebes softly singing, 
 Through the air their bright way wi)iging; 
 And the little brown-winged plover 
 By the river piping over— 
 
 All is well? 
 
 A'.l is well? 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Can't yon hear the clear brooks singing 
 
 Down the rocks with bright feet springing; 
 
 And the rich voice of old ocean, 
 
 In his wild or gentle motion; 
 
 And the broad and silver river. 
 
 Singing once, and singing ever- 
 All is well? 
 All is well? 
 
 Don't you hear the bright stars telling 
 In their far and cloudy dwellings; 
 And the moon-light, soft and golden, 
 Tell it to the valleys olden ; 
 AJid the sunsefs fading glory, 
 Saying o'er the same sweet story- 
 All is well? X 
 All is well? 
 
 Don't you hear the songs of sages. 
 Floating down the mount of ages; 
 And the holy shepherd's tidings. 
 Flora Galilean meadows rising. 
 All along the broad earth flowing. 
 Clear adown Time's valley going- 
 All is well? 
 Allia well? 
 
 RAIN. 
 
 1 hear it on the sloping roof. 
 Falling through the heavy woo! 
 Of elm branches, brown and sere. 
 In the winter of the year ; 
 Falling where red leaves are shed. 
 Through the elm twigs overhead. 
 
 I hear it on the window pane— 
 Softly-falling, pattering rain; 
 
18fi PEPBLFS FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Rappint: thronsli tlie chill miclni<rht, 
 With a sound as low and lisiht.. 
 As would hands I once did know- 
 Hands now 'neath the "church-yard snow. 
 
 I hear it on the yellow floor. 
 Just outside the cottage door; 
 Softly, quickly trippinjr on. 
 Like a toostep heard and gone. 
 Sounds it on the yellow floor. 
 Just out side the cottage door. 
 
 I hear it on the frozen ground. 
 With a gentle, mellow sound; 
 As a love no change can chill 
 Will keep tapping, tapping still. 
 On some heart-crust, cold and white 
 As the snow in winter's night. 
 
 All around the house it falls. 
 Like a spirit's gentle calls. 
 In a tender, solemn tone. 
 For some duty yet undone. 
 God be blessed for gentle rain. 
 It so soothes the heart of pain ! 
 
 LITTLE EFFIE. 
 
 There is a green valley away in the West, 
 
 Where I lingered in boyhood to play: 
 
 Where the oak-branches bend on the river's blue 
 
 breast. 
 As it sings on its flower- gemmed way; 
 I roamed through that valley in innocent years, 
 When a mother watched o'er me with care, 
 Ere my heart wore the mildew of fast-gathered 
 
 tears, 
 And my dear little Eflie was there. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 13T 
 
 My own little Effle, with her smilings so sweet 
 And her e)"es like the mild, timid dove?, 
 And the rose on her cheek, and her white dim- 
 pled feet. 
 And her heart brimming over with loye; 
 I may have been wrong, but how fondly I thought 
 That dear little Effie and I, 
 
 To journey together some day would be brought 
 Like two stars that move on in the sky. 
 
 But I came from afar, and the cabin was gone, 
 
 And her father sat not in the door, 
 
 And the vine leaves so green, that the dew glis- 
 tened on, 
 
 Were twining and green nevermore; 
 
 But a rose tree grew down by one narrow spot, 
 
 Where we laughed in our earlier play, 
 
 And the grass was as green, as though frost 
 it knew not,' 
 
 And the river still sung on it? way. 
 
 Now I go to that vale, when the moss hath grown 
 
 green, 
 And the birds built their nests in the trees. 
 And the stars that shine up in the blue sky are 
 
 seen. 
 Like the stars that shine out in the sea, 
 And I bare my grey hair to the soft. Summer 
 
 breeze, \ 
 
 Or my cheek to the Winter night gale; 
 And I weep by the river that sings through the 
 
 trees. 
 For my Effie lies still in the vale. 
 
l:i8 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 HOPE THOU IN GOD. 
 
 The doors, oi the old church were wide apart, 
 And through the open windows, the eyes of 
 Gathered worshippers, could catch a sight of 
 Green leaves waving in the wind, and low-roofd 
 Cottages, wreath"dwith the jasmine-vines,— and 
 Gentl}', as though in very tenderness— 
 VViiispered they, one to another, there; till 
 A new sound was heard and up the aisle, with 
 3teasur'd steps, aiid slow, he came— the man of 
 God— followed by bearers with the wept-for 
 Dead. And silently, with pallid brows and 
 Quivering lips, the mourners came, and then 
 Each sound was hushed: the whispers all grew 
 
 still, 
 As. with his hands cross'd o'er the Holy Book, 
 The pastor stood— his blue eyes brightning with 
 The hope thai tilled his soul, and his broad brow 
 Radiant \> ith the joy he taught. 
 
 He spake— 
 Softly his words fell o"er the multitude, 
 And— "Hope Thou in God!" fell from his thin red 
 Lips. A smile uf peace o'er saddened faces crept, 
 And a new light to weeping eyes, and to 
 Mourning hearts, a joy no grief could take away ; 
 And tenderly the pall was spread, and then, 
 As prayerfully, the loving laid the 
 Aged to his sleep, a-through their spirits, 
 Like the soft chiming of the Sabbath hells, 
 bounded the prophets trust— "floPK Thou in 
 Got)!'' 
 
 And thou, pale traveler to the holy 
 Land— thou, who hast trod the press of grief ;\nd 
 Wrestled with a burning pain, that from the 
 Heart drew blood-drops— who "mid all change, 
 
 and hate. 
 And scorn, hast striven for the "narrow path ;"" 
 And trembled as the hand thou'dst clasp'd, was 
 
 clasping. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 139 
 
 Other hands, and the ciear eyes that lookM upoii 
 Thee lovingly, forgot thee wholly, and turned 
 To other eyes, to read what once was read 
 In thine,— thou, who h-ast paled, as voices that 
 Have blessed thee changed to cursing; and 
 
 striven 
 With the wrong of word and deed, 'till heart hath 
 Failed, and faith itself 2:ave o'er,— Oh! well 
 
 may'st 
 Thou— frail child, and mourning— take i/ns, thy 
 
 sours gift. 
 To thee : '-Hope Thou in God !'■" and yet bear 
 On. It may he long— how long. He only 
 Knows — before the grief-cloud breaks away! But 
 Put. thou on the pleasant smile and quiet 
 Air — this woe of thine must go— for His great 
 Love overshadows it, and underneath is 
 His Almighty arm. And if, perchance. 
 The- mountain-way is trod, then comes the 
 Joy to which it led, and thou at last, art 
 Nearer Heaven. ''Hope Thou in God!'' 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 Do you remember, dear Helen, 
 
 The hours of the lar-longago. 
 When we fear'd the bright woof we were weaving 
 
 The fingers of time would undo? 
 Do you remember it all, Helen — 
 
 How we sat in the soft, sunny gleam, 
 That play'd o'er the moss-covered mill 
 
 On the bank of the willow-fring'd stream '? 
 
 How we roam'd o'er the rocky-ribb'd hills, 
 And stray'd through the deep-wooded glades* 
 
 And how at the young buds and blossoms, 
 Our wandering footsteps were stay'd? 
 
140 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And then the loud jingjle of bells- 
 How it minified with sons,' and with shout, 
 
 As sve ran on the hif^h bank of snow. 
 And the sleigh spilTd us' all fairly out. 
 
 And then the bright home of your fafher's 
 
 Arranged with such neatness and care: 
 Where we watch'd the soft glow of the star-shiue, 
 
 That lay on the parlor and stair: 
 How oft up that stair-way we've tripp'd, 
 
 And entered the neat chamber door, 
 And sat in the glow of the moonlight, 
 
 Where together we'll sit never more. 
 
 And oiyfi hath pass'd out from the dwelling, 
 
 And liODe up a far brighter way ; 
 And enter'd a i)leasanter chamber. 
 
 Where the angels will keep him always: 
 And many will go now more gladly, 
 
 Since they go not so fearful and lone, 
 Up the stair-way that ever is gilded. 
 
 By th«soft light that plays round the throne. 
 
 Do you remember the school. Helen— 
 
 The angel that taught us all there, — 
 The light of her eyes of soft hazel, 
 
 And the bright glow that lay on her hair? 
 And the young girls, so merry hearted — 
 
 So crowned with hope's blossoms then; 
 And where their green pathways parted. 
 
 Winding never together again ? 
 
 Ah! the voice that answered to ours, Helen— 
 
 Where murmur their gay ringing tones'* 
 Ahl the hands that have wasted and chill'd. 
 
 That laid their soft palms on our own! 
 To- night the dark hair we have braided, 
 
 Lies damp on your young cousin's head. 
 In a little low mound in the church-yard. 
 
 Where the snow that's new-falJen is spread. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 141 
 
 And the beautirul young wile and mother. 
 
 Lies still where her little George slept; 
 Where the flowers have blossomed and faded, 
 
 x^nd the green grass lovingly crept. 
 And one that I lov'd in my girlhood, n 
 
 Treading tar in the valley of years, 
 Went out from her home to that church-yard. 
 
 Her pale brow bodew'd with warm tears. 
 
 And many we've lov'd, it may be, 
 
 Lie cold in that church-yard to-night; 
 For the change that falls on all earthly, 
 
 O'er our way hath cast its brown blight: 
 Ah! once in that white village church. 
 
 We bow'd to my own lather's pray'r; 
 But now the rich voice of another, 
 
 Falls clear on the lisfners there. 
 
 HE COMES NO MORE. 
 
 He comes no more at the fall of night. 
 To sit with us by the hearth-fire's light; 
 To kneel with us in our evening prayer, 
 VVliere now is only the vacant chair; 
 To plead in a voice that was his alone. 
 For loved ones "round the old hearthstone. 
 
 He comes no more in the light of morn, 
 
 When the breath of flowers ou the air is borne, 
 
 When the dew-drops shining on leaf and spray, 
 
 Are kissed by the iips of the wind away ; 
 
 When the clear morning light round our home 
 
 is shed. 
 Ah! we hear not then, his well-known tread. 
 
 He comes no more, when the hedge-row flowers 
 Ave waked to life in the fresh spring hours ; 
 When blue waves dance on the rocky shore. 
 
142 PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 Then ripple back to their rest once more: 
 When the green woods are filled with the sonars 
 
 of birds. 
 And to soft whispers each leaf is stirred. 
 
 He comes no more in the hour of mirth, 
 
 When the yule-log burns on the^broad old hearth ; 
 
 When wreaths are twined round the brows of the 
 
 fair, 
 And hi^ old songs ring round his vacant chair: 
 For smiles that met ours, may we look in vain. 
 They will come not back to this world again. 
 
 He comes no move, with his patient trust. 
 Where the. joys v>f years are scattered in dust; 
 When wild Miih anguish, the breaking heart, 
 With all it holds dear on earth must part. 
 Oh ! the dear old iiopes that now are o'er, 
 Since he comes not back— since he comes no 
 more. 
 
 He comes no more, but the old love-light 
 Gleams clear tiirough his starry eyes tonight. 
 By the bluest ofstreams his white feet tread. 
 And round him the swestest of odyrs are shed; 
 AndheMl greet us there, on that flowery shore, 
 Though he comes not back— the' he comes no 
 more! 
 
 COTTAGE HILL. 
 
 'Twas a morn in December, the air was as clear 
 As though it never bore storm or gathered a tear. 
 When I came from the old liome to open the 
 
 new — 
 To the love yet untried, from the love that was 
 
 true - 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 143 
 
 To the little stone cottage— the dear little home 
 Whence the angel of love I said, never should 
 
 roam, 
 In my girl hood's fresh bloom, with my heart all 
 
 a flame 
 As my father, who up to the christening came, 
 Left us two together, to work out at our will 
 The strange problem oflife at dear Cottage Hill. 
 
 And here ray December passed onward to May, 
 My Junes and Octobers went flitiing away: 
 Here the knowledge that joys, and the knowledge 
 
 that grieves. 
 Hath opened its blossoms and scattered its 
 
 leaves,— 
 Here Baby's dark eyes first looked into mine 
 With their pleadings for love— with their shade 
 
 and their shine; 
 So here, through the brightness, through storms 
 
 that were wild; 
 Through sickness and health, loyed the mother 
 
 and child; 
 And olt as the twilight so softly fell down 
 With fringes of grey, and witli dark mists of 
 
 brown. 
 In the low open door-way, with cheek kissing 
 
 cheek. 
 And watching and waiting v.-ith sweet words to 
 
 speak, 
 Did we look for the shades of the heavy oak-wood 
 For the dear face ofone-whom Babycalled *dood;' 
 While timid and lone, would we laugh, or we'd 
 
 cry— 
 For strangest of things did Baby and I: 
 Ah, many a year ol good and of ill 
 Hath come to me here, at dear Cottage-Hill! 
 
 Every inch of its ground is sacred to me; 
 Its hill-sides more preciohs than gold-dust can 
 be; 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Its Autumn-tonrhed v/oodlands to my heart are 
 
 most dear- 
 Yet never again on earth may I hear 
 The low, plaintive song of little, brown 'Will 
 At the vine-shaded windows of dear Cottaee- 
 Hili. 
 
 For to-day we are going ; by the low, wicket gate 
 
 I longingly stand and lovingly wait. 
 
 And look back o'er the path the fringe trees 
 
 between. 
 The fragrant May-pinks, and the grasses of green 
 'Till it stops at tho porch where the roof-tree 
 
 doth still 
 Cast Its shadowy bloom over dear Cottage-Hill. 
 
 We came in the morning: 'Tis morning-time 
 
 now. 
 But the shadows have fallen over my brow : 
 The roses are gone that my cheeks use to wear, 
 And the silver lies thick on his raven black 
 
 hair,- 
 Good bye to the orchard-trees blooming to-day. 
 Good bye to the barn with its sweet-scented hay ; 
 Good bye to the Cottage, to parlor and hall, 
 Totiie roses that blossom against the stone 
 
 wall : 
 Oh, little, brown Pheoby's that came to my 
 
 door! 
 Oh red-breasted Robins! my fingers no more 
 Shall pet you. and soothe yon, and coax you to 
 
 sing 
 On the broad, open porch in the fresh, bonny 
 
 spring: 
 Good bye! Oh good bye to the dear little spot 
 Forever beloved— to be never forgot— 
 For the foot of the stranger now touches the sill 
 Of the home of my bride-hood at dear Cottage- 
 Hill. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 145 
 
 HENRY I). THOREN. 
 
 Not "til] tlis ver}' June's sweet roses bloomecl, 
 And all the woods were lull of thy dear frieuds- 
 Thc flowers— and clown before my door the 
 r'hnton sung its Sninmer-^ong, did I look 
 In upon thy life, to find that thon had\st 
 Dwelt so near the pure, perennial spring 
 whose waters are with bending rainbows arched 
 Forever: How. in thy heart, was sweet of 
 Bud. and bloom of flower, and song of birds. 
 And ripple of the brooks, and murmurs of 
 The summer breeze, and sounds of wintry winds, 
 And green of meadow and oJ lawn, and strength 
 Otrock, and gentleness of vine, and glow 
 or moonshine and of sun, until thou wert 
 As much greet Nature's child, as thou wert e'er 
 Thy mothers : 
 
 But all these Summer days, I've 
 Gnzed upon thy pictured face, and have been 
 Learning thee: And when, from hours of toil and 
 P«in, I have come back, and lingered at thy 
 Side, I've felt my weariness all gone, 
 And thrills of joy for heavy throbs of pain. 
 
 And 
 I have sat at -^Walden" by thy glowing 
 Hearth, and trod with thee deep lorest gloom, 
 
 and 
 Wandered up the mountain-side still clinging 
 To thy hand, and sailed adown the "Concord,"' 
 In thy floating bark, 'till 1 have learned to 
 Love thee as we love all pure things, and all 
 Good: And I have said, "We never knqw how 
 Good our God hath been, until we see, how 
 He hath fashioned for this world, such lives as 
 Thine! And I have thought that I perchance— to 
 Thee unknown— might walU my way with firmer 
 Tread, and do my work less hurried, and more 
 That now, I have so loved to bear thee 
 Company? 
 
146 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And they thatlo\ed thee? Was there 
 One lond thing— of bud or leal', or human tie 
 That felt thee gone, because thine "out -grown 
 Shell" was folded closer to dear Nature's 
 Breast'r and thou, with stronger and with eager 
 Soul, had just begun thy journey in that 
 Land, where truth, and thought, and beauty 
 
 waited 
 But thine out-strelched hand? Aye, not to love 
 
 thee 
 Much, was not to know thee well. And all thy 
 Heart had grown too, or had grown to thee, wiJl 
 Feel thy presence still--tender, and wise, and 
 Beautiful forever. 
 
 O, happy thou! 
 Where'er beside some singing stream thy tent 
 Is set ; or w hither wandering o'er the sun-gilt 
 Slopes, or up the mountain-sides, or th nigh the 
 Woodland-paths, still gathering -s/a/'-rf'/s/ 
 On thy joyous way: And it may be, that 
 In thy raml)les there, thy "Hound" unto thy 
 Feet once more hath crept; and thy proud "Bay" 
 Bent once again his head unto thy tender touch ; 
 
 and 
 "Turtle-dove" hath turned to thee, and on thy 
 Bosom leaned her gentle head. 
 
 Dear, holy 
 Heart, we wreathe no funeral blooms for thee, 
 Tender and joyous all our words shall be 
 Ol one, who. while he loved the earthly way, 
 Had yet grown ready lor the brighter day. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 147 
 
 MILLBROOK. 
 
 Thy waters, Millbrook, free from icy chain. 
 
 Flow bright and sparkling in the April sun. 
 And with the beanty and the balm again. 
 
 Thy ripples have the dear old sonss begun; 
 The lip of Spring hath touched thy sloping shore. 
 
 And kissM to melody thy waves once more. 
 
 Along thy banks, the sweet Spring-beauties blow 
 And lily-leaves look upward to the sky, 
 
 Holding the white buds as they use to grow, 
 And meadow daisies on thy borders lie: 
 
 Upon thy strand, the oUl Mill, high and white, 
 Keeps on its rumbling, through the day aud 
 nisht. 
 
 But there are feet, that trod thy valley ways. 
 That may not wander by thy waves again ; 
 And eyes, that watched thee through the soft 
 spriiig-days. 
 That soon may dim on Southern battle plains; 
 And there are hearth-stones on thy peaceful 
 shore. 
 With war's black banner sadly shadow'd o'er. 
 
 Anrl sometimes, oVr thy murnnirs. sad and low 
 Will break the widow's moan -the orphan's 
 cry. 
 And often, with thy ripple's softest flow 
 
 Shall sadly blend the lone heart's mournful 
 sigh ; 
 Oh Thou! who hearelh every cry of pain, 
 Let not OUR sacrifice be wholly vain. 
 
 if they who went with such proud words of hope. 
 And left such heart-ache through the night 
 and day, 
 Tliat now no sunshine gilds life's downward 
 slope, 
 But shadows darken all the weary way— 
 I'iihcij no more, may tread the homeward track, 
 Oh! give/"^?' them, our precious country back. 
 
14S PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 DIED AT YORKTOWN: MAY. ISIVZ. 
 
 To the memo }ij ot Cousii' Kvedand [of Co. 1. 
 SLrty- First. New York Volv.nfeers) and' dedicat- 
 ed to his mother. 
 
 "Died at Yorktown." That is all 
 
 They tell me, when I ask; 
 '•Died at Yorktown."' ere half through 
 
 His fearlul. bloody task; 
 "Died at Yorktown;"' yet they know 
 
 Not when, nor how he slept — 
 If his eyes were full of hope, 
 
 Or if he sadly wept. 
 
 "Died at Yorktown." If they w. aid 
 
 But tell niu where he lies! 
 Is the dust above his breast, 
 
 And on his soft, 3'oung eyes? 
 Did the rivrr-waves enwrap 
 
 Him, with their gentle flow? 
 Did he And an ocean-bed. 
 
 Where leaves of coral grow? 
 
 "Died at Yorktown ." Did my l)Oy 
 
 Call lor his mother then? 
 With tne death-dew on those lips 
 
 I ne'er can kiss again? 
 My boy! to die so lonely 
 
 In this sad, cruel strife! 
 Oh God! ii'Aa' answereth for 
 
 His beautiful, youns^ life? 
 
 "Died at Yorktown.'"' Ahl he said 
 
 "His country needed hira.'" 
 Xoiv. what counts that unknown syave 
 
 Those bright eyes, sealed and dim? 
 "Died at Yorktown. Oh, our God! 
 
 Thine eye his grave can see. 
 And thou in heaven, wilt surely find 
 
 My precious boy for me. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 149 
 
 G.ITHERING VIOLETS. 
 
 Gatheriugr violetg— violets- 
 Down by by the old road-side, 
 
 Where, the day before, brave Hancock's men 
 Had fought, and bled, and died; 
 
 Down by the old plauk-road, where it wound 
 On. and on, out of sight, 
 
 With the dead across its dusty boards. 
 And dead on left and right. 
 
 GfUhering violets— violets— 
 
 On little tufts of green. 
 Where the buds smiled up, all wet with blood, 
 
 The solflier-dead between— 
 Where the dew lay bright, and the moon-beams 
 played 
 
 Through the starry hours of nisht, 
 As though the road knew but tufts of green. 
 
 And buds, and braids of light. 
 
 Gathering violets— violets— 
 
 With blood-red, failing hand-- 
 Kissing the buds, and looking about, 
 
 Upon his fallen band; 
 Creeping around cold, sabre-cut heads, 
 
 Forms, shell shattered apart— 
 Tenderly touching a stout frame, where 
 
 The ball went through the hetxti. 
 
 Gatherino- violets— violets- 
 Brave boy— a man. half grown— 
 
 His friends had gone together, he thought. 
 He— was going alone— 
 
 And so he straightened his fair, young form 
 For its untroubled rest. 
 
 And gathered the violets lovingly 
 In clusters to his breast. 
 
1,50 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Gatherini? violets— violets — 
 
 Up. in the paths of green. 
 Where never the blossoms bud and blow 
 
 The soldier dead between,— 
 There, maid of the wounded, broken heart. 
 
 Wan oheek, and brow ot pain, 
 He'll gather you, like his violets, 
 
 Back, to his arms atfain. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 March, march, march, in the Southern vale- 
 Sail, sail, sail, on tlie Southern stream — 
 Marching home through the evening gale. 
 
 Sailing home Mi rough the morning's beam; 
 Home, to liie lather's lonely life- 
 Home, to mother, loving and mild- 
 Home, to the kisses of the wife. 
 And twining arms of little child; 
 
 Home, to the roof-trees fresh, free shade- 
 Home, to the meadow's singing brooks; 
 
 Home, to the hearth when sunbeams fade. 
 To tender smiles and loving looks; 
 
 Home, to all that is sweet and lair. 
 That earth can give, or life hath won— 
 
 To morning hymn and evening pray'r, 
 And precious dreams when day is done ; 
 
 Home, from the four years bloody fight. 
 
 Bringing the dear old --Stripe* ai;d Stars!" 
 Home, in triumph ot the Right 
 
 With shattered limbs and battle-scars! 
 Sing loud— sing loud, their -•• Welcome Home! 
 
 Dear Boys! Brave Boys, on land or sea! 
 Oh. hear them answer, a* they conn-, 
 
 ••We bring oiir Country saved and free!"' 
 
PEBSLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 THE FLAG OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 Dear banner of my native land ! ye gleaming, sil- 
 ver stars, 
 Broad, spotless ground of purity, crossed with 
 
 your azure bars- 
 Clasped by the liero-latlier's hand— watched over 
 
 in his might. 
 Through oattle-honr. and day of fear, bright 
 
 morn and moonless night. 
 Because, within your christening folds, he knew 
 
 you surely bore 
 Dear Freedom's hope for human souls, to every 
 
 sea and shore! 
 O precious Flag! beneath whose folds such noble 
 
 deeds are done-- 
 The dear old Flag! the starry Flag! the Flag of 
 
 Washingtoii ! 
 
 Unfurl, bright stripes- shine forth clear stars- 
 swing outward to the breeze— 
 
 (to bear your message to the wilds— go tell it ou 
 the seas. 
 
 That poor men sit within your shade, and rich 
 
 men in their pride- 
 That beggar-boys and statesmen's sons walk 
 
 'neath you, side by side ; 
 You guard the school-house on the green, the 
 church upon the hill. 
 
 And fold your Stars and Stripes arou id the cab- 
 in by the rill; 
 
 While wear}' hearts from every land beneath the 
 shining sun, 
 
 Find rest, and work, and home, beneath the 
 Flag of Washington. 
 
 And never, never, on the earth, however braye 
 
 they be. 
 Shall friends or foes tear down, this great, proud 
 
 standard of the Free, 
 
15-2 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Though they, around iis staff, may pour red 
 • blood, in rushinp waves, 
 
 And build beneath its starry folds, great pyra- 
 mids of graves ; 
 
 For God looks out, wllh sleepless eye, upon his 
 children's deeds; 
 
 And sees through all their good and ill, tht-ir 
 sufferings and their neods; 
 
 And He will watch, and He will keep, 'till hu- 
 man right hath won, 
 
 The dear, old Flag! the starry Flag! the Flag 
 of Washington ! 
 
 PAPA'S ARM. 
 
 "Why papa, Where's your other arm?" 
 
 Asked little Nelly While, 
 Sitting upon her papa's knee. 
 
 One bright, cold, winter night. 
 
 'Twas such a pleasant, little home, 
 
 'Way ie the Western wild. 
 Where the clear fire-light brightly gleam'd 
 
 O'er papa and bis child. 
 
 Pet Kitty slept upon her mat. 
 
 Close by dear papa's chair, 
 Her white head softly pillow'd on 
 
 Black Tiger's shaggy hair. 
 
 While Nellie's dimpled fingers crept 
 A-through the blue sleeve-band, 
 
 And all along its empty length, 
 To find that true, right hand; 
 
 "Whypapa.it js certain gone!" 
 
 She cried, in great affright.— 
 While papa said— so tenderly— 
 
 "In Chickamango's fight" 
 
PEBBLES FEOM THE SHORE. 15:i 
 
 ''I gave that arm and hand, dear child, 
 
 To make our country Iree,— 
 But many men, whose little girls 
 
 Love them, as you love me,'' 
 
 "Lay down upon that bloody field, 
 And died, with wounds and pain, 
 
 Whose white lips said-'Onr dear ones home. 
 We shall not see again."' 
 
 Then "Nelly hugg'd her papa tight, 
 
 And kiss'd him o'er and o'er, 
 A.nd cried, "Oh! what can children do. 
 
 Whose papa's come no more?" 
 
 WHAT THE MILLER SAW. 
 
 One morning when the roses hung 
 Among the fresh, green leaves, 
 
 And little Phoebe's came to sing 
 Upon the cottage eaves,— 
 
 One sol't. June morning, when the air 
 
 Was all so still and sweet. 
 That you could almost hear ihe tread 
 
 Of little fairie's feet. 
 
 The Miller, from his pleasant home, 
 Came o'er the winding hill, 
 
 Taking his wiw— so happily- 
 Down to th^old, blown mill ; 
 
 Just as his feet had touch'd the board 
 That cross'dthe Clinton's stream. 
 
 He saw a little face beneath 
 The water's silver gleam— 
 
154 PEBF.LES FEOM THE SHORE. 
 
 The sweet face of a l)aby-girl, 
 All dimpled, fresh, and fair. 
 
 With ETolden lashes on the cheeks- 
 Shaded by golden hair; 
 
 Two little hands were holding fast 
 
 Her ;\pron's gathered hem. 
 To shield the flowers her fingers pluck'd 
 
 From off each tiny stem ; 
 
 For yesterday— dear Sabbath day- 
 Sweet Daisy wanderM out 
 To see whatbrooks, and birds, and flowers. 
 
 And lambs, were all about- 
 
 And when the night came, and the dark. 
 
 And it was getting late, 
 No one went out to bring her back 
 
 A-through the garden gate.— 
 
 ;No one went out, to look and wait, 
 
 Through all the starry hours. 
 For Daisy, by the meadow-brooks. 
 
 And 'mong the pasture flowers, — 
 
 For Daisy's mama was in heaven, 
 
 Where the kind angels are. 
 And Daisy's papa too, had gone 
 
 To find her mama there,— 
 
 And so all night, sweet Daisy lay 
 
 Upon the river's bed, 
 And the bright waters suug around 
 
 Her little, curly head. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 155 
 
 LILA.. 
 
 She sits beside me in her little chair. 
 The lump-light glimmers o'er her sunny hnir, 
 Her large blue eyes are full of strange surprise. 
 And hurriedly witjiin her heart do questionings 
 
 arise, 
 As iookinsr o'er the pictures on the wall. 
 And at the books that line the Cottage-hall, 
 She turns her dimpled, rounded face to me— 
 A lace so happy it gives happiness to see— 
 And whispers, ''Have you read so much? Read 
 
 all of these? 
 Oh. can I learn to read them ? may I, ever, please ? 
 Each pretty picture! too beautiful to touch! 
 O, how' I wish that I could do and know so 
 
 much!'' 
 
 These are all mysteries, sweet mysteries, to her; 
 And the divine beauty in her heart doth stir 
 In answer to their grace: her little lite 
 Just gathered from the jostle and the strife 
 Of the great, cruel world, by my weak hand. 
 Sits now in household peace, or ^afely stands 
 Amid bewildering ways, all lolded in 
 Bv Love's sweet care, from haunt of want and 
 
 Why did she come? Why would I have it so? 
 
 T cannot tell: I do not even know. 
 
 Only my heart went out in pitying love 
 
 To the dear Father"* little helpless dove. 
 
 And when her mother, on that rainy morn 
 
 Amid whose darkness sacriUcial grace was born. 
 
 Led her in sadness to our Cottage door 
 
 And asked ihat she might enter and go out no 
 
 more, 
 I did, in answer, fling it open wide, - 
 And so she sits here, happy, at my side. 
 
15() PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Ah Lila. daughter ^iven to my care. 
 
 Gift that I clierish with most constant prayer. 
 
 What shall the future do for you and me? 
 
 In its far-fitidin2;s shall there ever be 
 
 A i^olden chain that binds our hopes, our lovee 
 
 in one, 
 'Till earth hath vanished and our work is done? 
 Will you remember in the onward years 
 That briniiyou roses, sometimes wtt with tears. 
 The woman's face that smiled your <;rief away? 
 The woman's heart that watched you day by day? 
 The woman's hand that led you year by year? 
 Will you remember, remember fondly, Dear? 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Mother was poor. God tried her in the cruci- 
 ble of affliction until He saw his ov/n face re- 
 flected in the fine gold of her character, and then 
 lie took \\t-r home. She was buried in the "Put- 
 ters Field," and I know not now, where upon the 
 earth, I could find her bores. 
 
 J. B. Goucjh's Lkcture. 
 Mother, mother, I remember 
 
 All those dark and cruel years- 
 All your toil and all your sorrow- 
 All your smiles and all j'our tears ; 
 . How the hearth was dark and lonely 
 How the board was scanty spread- 
 How we sometimes wished together 
 We were lying with the dead. 
 
 Two friends cling unto the poor boy, 
 
 One. his toiling, sad mother- 
 Holding worlds at His wise bidding, 
 
 God, the Father, is the other; 
 Tfies^. you told rae, would not fail me, 
 
 In the world's wild shock aad din, 
 'Till the crystal gate-way opened, 
 
 And I saw the Christ within. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHOKE. 
 
 Mother, mother, all ojf?" sorrow, 
 Was a rainbow-tiuted morn. 
 
 To the anguish and tne terror 
 Your poor boy, since then has borne! 
 
 Hungered, thirsdng, cold, and lonely- 
 Lost in doubt, and lost in sin, 
 
 //■ the crystal gate-icay ojien^d 
 Could he ever entpr in 't 
 
 Mother, mother, that is over — 
 
 All the wandering since then. 
 And I've gr )wii to be the Lover, 
 
 Helper of my fellow men . 
 Mother, darling, with the angels. 
 
 Loving-hearted, gentle, sweet, 
 I have led some to the Master-- 
 
 Lead me, mother, to his feet. 
 
 COME BACK TO ME DARLING. 
 
 Come back to me. darling, the day is so long, 
 
 And the night wears so wearily on ; 
 
 My life is so dark and the world is so wrong. 
 
 Since the light of your fair face has gone. 
 
 I wait lor your smile, and I lonir for your kiss, 
 
 And I yearn for the touch of your hand. 
 
 And the sound of your voice, that awaktins such 
 
 bliss. 
 As they know in the Paradise Land. 
 
 Come back to me, darling, your girlhood was 
 
 blest 
 With fv love you called precions and sweet. 
 But you've fluttered away from the broad, man- 
 ly breast. 
 And the path may grow rough to your feet; 
 Oh! My empty arms wait, abour you to fold. 
 With a clasp that is tender and true, 
 For my heart, while it beats, will beat as of old, 
 With a love that is faithful to you. 
 
158 PEBBLES FROM TFTE SH<^RE. 
 
 FLORENCE PADDACK. 
 
 Geutl\%so i?enrly, go take her away, 
 
 So young and t>o fair, why could she not stay? 
 
 With I'eet I hat are noiseless, puss through the 
 
 home door, 
 Where sound of her siui^iu;^ will cheer us no 
 
 more. 
 With hanils that are tender, bear her out of the 
 
 gate. 
 Where with smilings to greet us. she never will 
 
 wait: 
 Gently, oh gently, go bear her to rest. 
 The crown on her forehead, the cross on her 
 
 breast. 
 
 Like lambs in the meadow.s. her life fled along, 
 In sparkle of sunshine and ripples of song; 
 Through the summers on earrh, no sorr().v she 
 
 had. 
 Through rhe ^Summers in Heaven, her heart 
 
 shall be glad. 
 
 A love that was faithful, cherished her here. 
 The love she has gone to, will hold her as dear. 
 Then gently, oh gently, go lay her to rest. 
 The crown on her forehead, the cross on her 
 breast. 
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 One day in the early autumn 
 
 Of a i)right and happy jear, 
 I wandered away to the homestead, 
 
 To the homestead old and dear ; 
 A ruin it stood before me— 
 
 A ruin, with moss o'ergrown, 
 With the door on broken hinges, 
 
 And falling chimney stone. 
 
PEBBLES FI^OM THE SHORE. 
 
 -As I wanderM around and around it. 
 
 And in. throngh each dusty room, 
 With only the lonely echoes 
 
 Of my feet a-through the gloom, 
 I thought how they sometimes told me 
 
 That away from the ehinins shore, 
 The dead come back in the silence 
 
 To the homes they have loved before. 
 
 And I said, does he— the master. 
 
 The father, who loved so well 
 The homestead amid the meadows. 
 
 The brook in the winding dell- 
 Does he ever come. In the silence 
 
 Of the night's clear, starry hours. 
 With his voice of silvery laughter, 
 
 Through the tangled weeds and fiowers 
 
 Does he come, I asked, in the twilight- 
 Does he come to the open door. 
 
 And sit in the peach-tree's shadow 
 As he sat in the days of yore? 
 
 And over the toot-worn pathway 
 Does he go to the wicket gate. 
 
 And stand and wait for the children. 
 As he used to stand and wait? 
 
 Does he look a-down the roadside. 
 
 And under the shadowy oaks. 
 And hear the lake-waves murmur. 
 
 And the oarsman's gentle strokes, 
 'Till he sees the children's laces 
 
 So bright, and young, and fair, 
 With the moonlight's golden brightness 
 
 On the black and the auburn hair. 
 
 And when, with their gleeful sinking, 
 rhey follow him through the gate. 
 
 To the hearthstone, where the mother 
 Doth patiently watch and wall — 
 
160 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Does he saj-— a? he u?e to say it— 
 With a face so cheery and bright, 
 
 "Bless God, oh mother, onr darlinc;?, 
 Our children are safe to-ni.2ht I"' 
 
 Is it thus that he sees the homestead, 
 
 In the beauty of early years ' 
 Or it's mildew, and blicrht, and ruin. 
 
 And the children's strujr'jjles and tears ^ 
 Does he come in the purple gloaming. 
 
 And wander through chamber and hall, 
 And yearn for the dear old faces. 
 
 And the love that brightened all? 
 
 WITH OUR FATHER TO PILOT THE BARK, 
 LOV'E. 
 
 O'er the wide waste of water alone, love, 
 O'er the wide waste of water alone, 
 
 With our Fathe.i to pilot the bark, love, 
 O'er the wide waste of waters alone. 
 
 The billowy waters of life, love, 
 
 The billowy waters of life. 
 With breakers around and before, loye, 
 
 To engulf or go down in the strife. 
 
 Past rocks that are rugged and grev, love. 
 And isles where the balmy winds blow,— 
 
 With the summer's soft breath on our brows, 
 love,— 
 O'er the wild winter winds and the snow. 
 
 With the doubts, and the hopes, and the fears, 
 love, 
 
 The doubts, and the hopes, and the fears, 
 That assail every heart by the way. love. 
 
 With sorrow, and sighing, and tears. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. Kll 
 
 With our Father to pilot the bark, love, 
 O'er the waters uncertain and dim, 
 
 While safely we sail to the shore, love, 
 Because we are sailing with Him. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Out of the dear old Bible, 
 
 After a day like this — 
 A day with no tender voices. 
 
 An eve, with no lips to kiss. 
 
 A day of such lonely anguish 
 
 As only my God can know,— 
 And no voice in the evening whispers 
 
 "My darling, why grieve you so?" 
 
 No home in the heart I yearn for. 
 
 No refuge, no place of rest- 
 Only the world's cold, dashing billows 
 
 To surge o"ermy troubled breast! 
 
 One of the dear old stories 
 
 Which His sweet love blossoms through 
 As He cared for the birds and lilies, 
 
 And the hearts that were dearer, too. 
 
 One of the sweet, old stories, 
 
 After a day like this. 
 Till out of the precious pages 
 
 Smiles the gentle face I miss; 
 
 And I fall asleep in the fire-light, 
 While lips like the ruby wine. 
 
 Are pressed, with their richest nectar, 
 In the silence, close to mine. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 TRIBUTE. 
 
 DR. E. H. DRAKE. 
 
 The good sometimes die straugely; when wo 
 witii gentle will. 
 Would till the very air for them, with songs of 
 peace. 
 And bid the surging passions of the world be 
 still. 
 And all life's sorrows and its discords cease; 
 When we— with our great love, so tender and so 
 true.— 
 On flesh or spirit, let no burden fall, 
 Oh strangely does the Father smite them through 
 and through. 
 While our poor hearts cry out, to see the death- 
 blows fall. 
 
 Tints, was he called— our wise and precious 
 friend— 
 With life so pure, that good and bad could in 
 him safely trust. 
 While you might tell to him life's story to its bit- 
 ter end, 
 And yet, his love and hope would lift you from 
 the duBt.— 
 So child-like iu his tender lieart. that children 
 cried— 
 When, suddenly uiito our homes the fearful 
 tidinirs came— 
 '"Oh papa! I do so wish we had been very sick, 
 then he would not have died; 
 He would have stayed when we -in pain— had 
 •called upon his name."" 
 
 Oh friend, the tendere«t mortal ever had! 
 
 Oh fathe.r, fonder than all other children know! 
 Oh lover— husband — with a heart so sweet and 
 glad 
 It made the home a garden, where life's lilies 
 blow I 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Oh Christian, so serene, thar. could we hear him 
 
 speak to-day, 
 With his old, smiling: trust, his loving voice 
 would sweetly say, 
 "It was my Savior's will ! It was my own. dear 
 * Father's hand 
 
 That led me out to die; and 1 go willingly at His 
 command/' 
 
 Oh! it is all in vain, you say, we should not 
 weep. In vain. 
 You say. our very souls must faint not at this 
 heavy blow! 
 It is through just such grief as this— through 
 just such fearful pain, 
 God makes in human hearts green valleys 
 where sweet waters flow! 
 And ye. who were his dearest on the earth — ye, 
 who loved him so— 
 Ye. who, alone, a-through this dark, red, bil- 
 lowy sea must go, 
 0",er-arched with radiant rainbows, shall the 
 waters yet divide— 
 And you once more shall see the face of him 
 you thought had died. 
 
 IN MEMORIUM. 
 
 OLD TRINKET. 
 
 (1 remember one morning, twelve winters ago, ; 
 When the earth lay so white, "neath her mantle 
 
 of snow, 
 Andthesun — glinting down, o'er the er.iiine 
 
 clad hills- 
 Flashed away, o'er the ice-coverod rivei- and 
 
 rills, 
 A dear little girl, with bright, happy face. 
 
164 PEBBLES FROM THE SHOEE. 
 
 And speaking brown eyes, and brisrht. airy 
 
 grace, 
 Sprang into my room, with a cry of wild sflee— 
 '•See, mama, dear mama, what she gave to 
 
 me!'" 
 
 » 
 
 '•Why darling,'' I said— a> I bent with my kiss 
 To the .sweet, precious lips— "who has given you 
 
 this?'' 
 '•Why mama.*' she cried, as slie danced 'round 
 
 the room. 
 With a light on her face, that would banish all 
 
 gloom. 
 "Aunty Frank. Aunty Frank, she gave it to me, 
 My dear, precious kitten forever to be!" 
 And folding it down, so close in her arms, 
 "Dear Mama, he"s worth a svholc dozen of 
 
 farms !" 
 
 Tlien the great Maltese head turned slowly 
 
 about. 
 And the feet from the work-pocket swiftly 
 
 sprang out. 
 And down, on the floor, with leap and with 
 
 bound. 
 O'er sofa and chair— around and around— 
 Up and down— here and there— in frolic so wild, 
 Half mad with delight, went the kitten and 
 
 child. 
 
 Twelve winters ago. The years nave gone by 
 With blending of laughter, and sorrow, and 
 
 siirh. 
 And the dear little pet. had grown homely and 
 
 >ld: 
 But no tinkle ot silver, no soucding of gfold 
 From that loving girl-heart, could win him 
 
 away ; 
 '•How is Trinket?"' she wrote— "my old Trinket, 
 
 to-day ?" 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And her brown eyes will dim when she soi'tly 
 
 has said. 
 "Why Trinket, my precious Old Trinket, is 
 
 dead.'" 
 
 The dear little jrirl, of that bright morning hour, 
 
 Is learning, that life haih its sunshine and 
 shower: 
 
 That the tenderest love, nor the holiest prayer. 
 
 Can lift fron^ the life, its labor and care. 
 
 Oh Tliou, who dost watch, e'en the young spar- 
 rows flight. 
 
 Crown her life with thy love, with thy wisdom, 
 and light ; 
 
 With strength and with pccice. till the last, fall- 
 ing days. 
 
 And guide her young i'eet in all innocent ways. 
 
 UP THE STAIRS. 
 
 '•Hnlp me papa! Papa, help:"' 
 
 Baby Roger sadly said 
 Tugging at his heavy load, — 
 
 Kingly papa bowed his head. 
 Looking at the baby's wares— 
 
 '•Help you darling! Help you how 
 '•Papa, help me up dese stairs." 
 
 '■•Load so hebby! Don't 'oosee' 
 
 I taut make it do a tall! 
 Cart and liorses. boxes too. 
 
 Stop de more, de more I call! 
 Awful dlad 'oo turn papa I 
 
 'Go tan help me Mght along." 
 
 Kingly papa, bending down. 
 With his sweet and cheerful song, 
 
 Kissed the wee one's troubled face- 
 Banished little Roger's cares, 
 
 Baby's self, and baby's burdens 
 Carrying safely up the stairs. 
 
UH PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 "Ah, my boy! "twill ever be so — 
 
 Once yo?./?' babyhood out-grown 
 Some one fhen will cry to Ro^er— 
 
 One who ctinnot go alone. 
 Ever may they find you darling, 
 
 Be you boy, orbej-ou man. 
 Other's burdens bearing onward 
 
 Sweetly, bravely as you can ; 
 Ever Roger— Roger darling. 
 
 Where the heart breaks as it bears 
 With your true and loving spirit 
 
 Helping up life's winding stairs " 
 
 Waiting. 
 
 The day was all so fair and still, 
 No breeze to ruffle sea or rill ; 
 No j.iring sound in earth or air, 
 But brooding quiet everywhere — 
 Till sunset's golden clusters lay 
 On rocky shore and gleaming bay. 
 
 And down upon the silv'ry s;inds 
 I kissed my lover's clasping hands. 
 •'God keep thee, dear I'" I heard him say. 
 And then the good ship sailed away. 
 And yet he called again to me-- 
 "My darling, I'll come back to thee. " 
 
 One year— one year, and one month more. 
 His proud ship sailed from off the shore ; 
 And now the June's sweet roses die. 
 The passion-blossoms of July 
 .\re opening at ray garden gate. 
 And on the waye-washed beach I wait. 
 For somewhere on the shining sea, 
 My love is sailing back to me. 
 
PEBBLES FROM TfTE .SHORE. 167 
 
 YEARNING. 
 
 The twilight Fteals along the vale and up the 
 hill- 
 
 The somber twilight, dark, and bleak and chill — 
 
 The day has been so wild, and dark, and drear! 
 
 As though the world was chilled with blighting 
 fear ; 
 
 And now I watch the coming of the cheerless 
 night, 
 
 Yearning— oh! yearning lor your dear eves' ten- 
 der light. 
 
 Oh ! do you know— yon, who are far away- 
 Far as the morning from the fade of day— 
 Of all my weary loneliness and pain? 
 Of my wild wish to see you once again? 
 Oh ! can you feel the aching, aching of the heart 
 Forever held from all sweet dreams of love 
 apart? 
 
 Oh! can you hear— you from all sorrow free— 
 The cry I send across the flowing sea 
 For just one word! So very sweet 'twould be 
 From you, who loved— so tenderly loved me! 
 Oh ! does my desolation cross the wave to you ? 
 To you, whose life was like the sun-kissed morn- 
 ing dew? 
 
 But hush! You hear the waters ripple o'er 
 The golden pebbles on that shining shore; 
 Oh. hush ! You hear the mellow breezes kiss 
 The budding blossoms into sweeter bliss ; 
 You keep the dearly loved of early years. 
 Whose faces dim not with the cloud of tears! 
 And somewhere there, sweet love, I yet may 
 
 speak to yon- 
 There, where they all are beautiful and true. 
 
168 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 LITTLE FINGERS. 
 
 Ah! I should have wandered far 
 
 Down sin's wild and lonely track, 
 Onlj'clmgring firm and fast. 
 
 Little fingers held me back. 
 Little fingers, soft and fair. 
 
 Little fingers, clinging tight, 
 Led me from the evil way. 
 
 Held me to the true and right. 
 
 When a heavy midnight gloom 
 
 Hung above my whole of life; 
 And the battle and the storm 
 
 Made each hour a fearful strife; 
 When, in beauty ol the May, 
 
 I had neither love nor part. 
 And the roses of the June 
 
 Brought no fragrance to my heart ; 
 
 When the love I doted on 
 
 Fell, like ashes in the dust, 
 And the leprosy ol sin 
 
 Touched the anchor of my trust ; 
 When so full of selfishness, 
 
 Every lip filled every word, 
 And all souls seemed icy founts 
 
 Where sweet waters never stirred: 
 
 All the world a weary way. 
 
 Weary, weary, and so long I 
 With no justice but in might. 
 
 And no hope but for the strong,— 
 Oh: I should have faltered then, 
 
 Wandered down sin's blood-rod track, 
 Only, clasping soft and close. 
 
 Little fingers held me back. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 169 
 
 WAITING AND WATCHING, 
 
 Waiting, waiting, tremblingly waiting 
 To hear how the battle turned: 
 
 Waiting, waiting, tearfully waiting 
 To learn where the camp-lires burned. 
 
 Waiting to hear oj the dusty march 
 In the summer's scorching heat; 
 
 Waiting to hear of the weary march 
 Through the winter's blinding sleet; 
 
 Keading the records day by^day 
 
 Of the wounded and the slain ; 
 Reading the blood-red battle-lines 
 
 Of the mountain and the plain; 
 
 iieading the records, her fingers wove 
 
 The bandage, long and white, 
 ^nd wrought out piles of fleecy lint 
 
 Through morning, noon, and night. 
 
 Waiting— till wounded, (evered and wan. 
 
 Prom Anderson's prison- len. 
 They brought him back to her gentle care 
 
 To find manhood and strength again- 
 Then hour by hour, and daj by day 
 
 No weariness she linew; 
 And her wealth of life and her wealth of love 
 
 Soon thrilled his pulses through. 
 
 And lo! he walked— a man once more— 
 
 Up from the sea of death 
 To mounts whose paths the winds of life 
 
 Touched with their subtle breath: 
 
 And so— an hour where Millbrook's bank 
 With roses blossom.ed red— 
 And tender kisses on white lips 
 That words far tenderer said: 
 
170 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 And then she watched the tiny bark 
 
 Glide swiftly down the stream, 
 And through the shadows saw his face 
 
 Like softened sunlight pi earn. 
 
 "Watching for nie! — for me!" he said; 
 
 " Watching with trust and prayer— 
 Watchin? until I come again 
 
 To the dear old love and care/'' 
 
 But the days went by with their brighteness. 
 The eves with the star-beams came; 
 
 And the midnights heard her mnrmur 
 His well-beloved name. 
 
 She looked at his soldier armor, 
 
 His star-gemmed coat of blue. 
 And she asked, "Could her brave young hero 
 
 Be aught but a lover true?" 
 
 She held the sword in it's scabbard 
 With her wasted, trembling hands; 
 
 She pressed the cap to her boeom 
 And kissed its shining bands. 
 
 These were the keeps he gave her. 
 
 Proud tokens of his love: 
 \N ould he ever come back to claim her? 
 
 Could she find him, even above? 
 
 Still the summer wandered on-.vard. 
 
 Its roses faded away ; 
 And Millbrook took up the murmur 
 
 It sings on an autumn day; 
 
 Till one raorn her hands were folded 
 
 In silence across her breast, 
 And she fell, with loving whispers. 
 Into calm, untroubled rest. 
 
 And they pillowed amid soft laces 
 
 Her face, so dear and sweet; 
 And they laid her soldier's armor 
 
 In the coffin at her feet. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE STORE. 171 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 In a little, low, brown cottdu;e. lookins; outward 
 
 to the pea. 
 In a vine-wreathed, moss-grown cottage, close 
 
 beside the sounding sea— 
 
 With the orchard-blooms behind it, and the soft, 
 
 green grass before, 
 Sloping, sloping, gently eloping downward to 
 
 the rocky shore. 
 
 On ii bright and fresh June morning, when the 
 
 blossom-scented air 
 Floated sjft'y r<j'iad about you, like the gentle 
 
 breath of prayer. 
 
 Was a youn^ and happy maiden, sunny-haired 
 
 and azure-eyed. 
 In her sott. white, rustling garments, standing 
 
 at her lover's side. 
 
 Handsome as a pr )ad Adonis was this lover said 
 
 to be. 
 But far older than the maiden— older, many 
 
 years, wa? he. 
 
 Yet he v.on her by his fondness— by the gentle 
 
 words that fell 
 From his lich, red lips of Iteauty- words that 
 
 maidens lovt' so well; 
 
 What had sh^;, this gentle maiden, with this man 
 
 of iron will? 
 In the years so surely com! rig ^ould she love and 
 
 trust him still ? 
 
 Not a doubt, and nut a sliadow fluttered o'er her 
 
 fair young face. 
 As her aged pastor-father sought the heavenly 
 
 love and grace, 
 
ir-3 PEBBLES FROM THE SHOEE. 
 
 As thoge hand!! he clasped together, and the final 
 
 words were spoken, 
 Forging links of gold or iron— links that must 
 
 remain unbroKen. 
 
 'Till the maiden or her lover slept within the 
 
 silent land. 
 Where the daisies bud and blossom over tjuiet 
 
 heart and hand. 
 
 Never did his black eyes soften, and his face 
 
 looked stern with gloom; 
 Cold, and dark, and silent seemed he— she was 
 
 like the lilly bloom- 
 Sweet of blossoms, bursts of sunshine, songs of 
 
 wild-birds in her met; 
 All her life to hope and gladness, all her heart 
 
 to love was set. 
 II. 
 Still the cottage looking downward, downward 
 
 to the oper. sea; 
 Still the waves gave out their anthem— anthem 
 
 of the wild and free; 
 
 While the mellow sunlight glinted back from 
 
 every tinkling rill , 
 And t he autumn-glory lingered over rock and 
 
 over hill ; 
 
 And the orciiard was all laden witlr its fruit of 
 
 gold and red. 
 And the purple grape's ripe clusters o'er the 
 
 porch their richness shed: 
 
 In the porch-shade sat a lady, looking out upon 
 
 the sea. 
 Was it her, our fair-haired maiden? happy once 
 
 as maid could be? 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 173 
 
 Wbure was all the buoyant o:livduess of those 
 
 early, beauteous years? 
 Now. her lips were pale and trembling, her 
 
 large eyes were wells of tears. 
 
 All her cheek's sweet, fiesh, red roses faded to 
 a deathly white ; 
 
 Ah! had the heart the rose-roots nourished, per- 
 ished 'neath some chilling blight? 
 
 At her side there sat her lather, looking like a 
 
 white-haired saint, 
 Lovelier in his soul-like beauty than the angels 
 
 artists paint. 
 
 And rhe lady on her linger turned a gold ring 
 
 round and round, 
 Speaking through the autumn-silence, with a 
 
 speech of softened sound— 
 
 ■•Father:''' Well he knew the weighty meaning 
 
 she had put into that word- 
 Sounding, sounding through his being, all his 
 tenderness it stirred. 
 
 But above it, he could see wisdom that he always 
 
 saw- 
 Love and beauty ever flowing from God'e great 
 
 eternal law. - 
 
 And ne spoke her name so fondly— just so fond- 
 ly o'er and o'er. 
 
 That a-through his tones of sweetness, she could 
 hear forevermore, 
 
 How he lelt the wondrous beauty of that dear 
 Life, crucified ; 
 
 But she clasped her hands together, and so help- 
 lessly she cried. 
 
174 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 '•Oil! the raaivelons old story! how sweet love 
 such sorrow can bestow. 
 
 Father! father! even //o/*? could build no great- 
 er deeps of woe!" 
 
 Then he laid his hand so gently on her young 
 and golden head, 
 
 While so full of hope, and tender, were the lov- 
 ing words he said. 
 
 No strange lore of wondrous knowledge did he 
 
 to her reason tell, 
 Just the short and simple story, how the little 
 
 sparrows fell! 
 
 How our very hairs He numbers; how He hears 
 
 us when we cry ; 
 H (W no loving wish shall perish, and no faithful 
 
 effort die; 
 
 How we are not left unguarded; how we never 
 
 go alone: 
 How He sees all hidden places; how He always 
 
 finds his own. 
 
 "For," he said, ''our deeds he counteth,— count- 
 eth them both great and small. 
 
 And our Fatherloveth well, and our Father lov- 
 eth all." 
 
 Then her nervous fingers rested, and the ring 
 
 fell to its place. 
 While a sweet, angelic patieiice smiled upon her 
 
 lovely face. 
 
 III. 
 Still the cottage looking downward, downward 
 
 to the storm-tossed sea. 
 Where the white, cold, dashing billows beat 
 
 against the drifted lea; 
 
PEBBLES FROM TITE >iHORE. 
 
 And the light from out the winclow, gleaming 
 as a steady star. 
 
 For the shippwrecked, wildly drifting, out be- 
 yond the frozen bar; 
 
 Round the cottage, wind of winter, wailing in 
 
 his angry might— 
 "Fall, O snow! and beat, O tempest! Grief and 
 
 storm hold rule to-night." 
 
 Jn the soft and glimmering firelight sits the 
 
 master (handsome still- 
 Handsome as the proud Adonis) with a face of 
 
 stubborn will ; 
 
 Round about him flits a woman, fair of form and 
 
 fair of face. 
 With a woman's wistful meaning, and a woman's 
 
 tender grace. 
 
 Boon and blessing hath she wrought him; all 
 her years have sweetly given 
 
 To his life, without his knowing, foretaste of the 
 joys ol heaven; 
 
 Dew of wisdom she hath sprinkled on his hot 
 
 and fiery wrath. 
 And white blossoms of discretion she hath scat- 
 tered on his path- 
 She hath guarded well his children from temp- 
 tation's poisoned dart. 
 Shielded them with tender smiling in her dear 
 Madonna heart; 
 
 Truest woman, failing never, silver-haired and 
 
 solemn eyed— 
 Well she knows the trusting maiden long ago 
 
 had drooped and died! 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 SOUL TO SOUL. 
 
 DEDICATED TO ANNA C. KENNAUD. 
 
 Thou dost not love me 
 As thou lovest those whose days have passed 
 
 with 
 Thine, whose years have woven round thy heart 
 
 the 
 Jeweled chains, the diamond links of which, the 
 Hand of Death cannot unforge: and I— aye 
 I have those to whom my soul doth turn with 
 Greater tenderness than unto thee and 
 There are secrets— sweet and beautiful— I 
 Have not learned to whisper in thine ear; and 
 Faces too, there are, o'er which the tears would 
 Fall in heavier rain (were the grave's dust 
 Upon them) than o'er that fair, sweet face of 
 Thina: 
 
 I 
 
 But thou hast come so near to me, and 
 I have entered in, so far, the sacred 
 Temple of thy woman's soul, that I Lave 
 Found that holy Love, the innocence, like 
 Fragrance in thy heart of wood-tlowers bell. 
 The Charity that foldeth over deed 
 Out coming from the undiscovered source; 
 The holiness— far better even than 
 Innocence— that cometh from the strife v/ith 
 Pain, and saddened circumstances, and bringeth 
 In the victory that giveth one the 
 Power, In sweet submission to God's will 
 To serve as one who only stands and waits. 
 
 A.nd. 
 So I feel— and so I know— my soul hath 
 Pledged itself to thine; and that we two shall 
 Never go entirely apart,- that in 
 The labors for "'rod's little ones ;"" in tender 
 Sympathies for all who need; in Love's fair 
 I-and of promise and of hope, in rev^-ie, 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 177 
 And in prayer, shall we two meet again. 
 
 And 
 
 More than this, and dearer far— so do 
 I feel— so do I know— that in the w'orld 
 Where all the air is lilie the breath of peace, 
 Where Earth's wild tumult and its passions 
 
 cease. 
 Where all the sorrows welhave known below 
 Shall into pleasure-blossoms bud and blow- 
 Where Christ'is dear face smiles with its olden 
 
 light, 
 As out of darkness he doth call us from the 
 
 night. 
 Where bonds are broken, and^ where barriers 
 
 fall. 
 Where heart hears heart, and soul to soul doth 
 
 call, 
 Where speech is true— where all tilings beauti- 
 ful do blend, 
 On some fair morning shall I tind thee, gentle 
 
 friend. 
 
 THE VALLEY CITY. A 
 
 JA 
 
 There lies a fair city, a-far in the West, ^^ 
 
 Where a river with wild, dashing flow , 
 Leaps away from the Mills with a song in her 
 breast 
 
 ihiW 
 
 ,<>ff siiT 
 And sun-light, and star-light, so 4^2^en, and 
 slill 
 Pall down upon church-spire and hearth,. 
 While the green hills keep guardli'^^^Bt^'^ their 
 bright, singing rills, _''' ^" ^'";^* 
 O'er this beautiful City oi E&riW."''^ ^'^'^ 
 
178 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Here the friends that I lov"d in youth's radiant 
 morn 
 
 Have gathered their idols in peace, 
 To wear as they must, life's rose and its thorn, 
 
 'Till the storms of this cold world shall cease. 
 
 Oh, beautiful City, away in the West, 
 Great and bright may your tar future be! 
 
 And over you even a fairer light rest 
 Than shineth on Earth or on Sea. 
 
 THE HUNTER'S RETURN. 
 
 The day goes sloping to the West — 
 All Nature nears the hour of rest— 
 The silence of the midnight dream 
 Will soon fall over hill and stream. 
 
 A shout rings through the solitude; 
 The hounds are baying iu the wood, 
 As o'er the morning's dewy track 
 The hunters at the eve come back. 
 
 Adown the rugged mount and hill. 
 Across the mead, and o'er the rill 
 With bold, free step, they lightly spring, 
 And to the boats their trophies bring. 
 
 Then o'er "St. Mary's" swiftly glide 
 With dipping oar and rushing tide; 
 The boats they anchor in the stream, 
 A round their prows the waters gleam, 
 
 The game across their shoulders fling 
 And up the rugged steep they spring. 
 The hounds haye crossed the waters o'er 
 And leaping to the wooded shore 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 179 
 
 With bark and bound to camp they run, 
 For now, the day'* wild chase is done, 
 And standing in the happy band — 
 Each one caress'd by '-master's hand, 
 
 Do Jack and Maud, and Kate and Jim 
 Look up to hear the hunter's hymn. 
 As, pounding thiou<5;h tlie starry night, 
 Around the Camp-fires dying light. 
 It bears across the field and wave 
 The "Good night"' of the joyous brave. 
 
 MY LADY LEONORE. 
 
 I. 
 Fair was my Lady Leonore; ay, very fair to see! 
 Fairer than all fairy ones, my Lady Leonore, to 
 me. 
 
 She reigned a queen within her home, her castle 
 
 on the Dee, 
 I ruled a king u-through my halls, my palace by 
 
 the sea; 
 
 Gold fell in showers around her way and gather- 
 ed at her feet. 
 
 With love's sweet blessings all he life was round- 
 ed and complete; 
 
 I knew no hour of toil or care, no 7uust of thought 
 
 or deed ; 
 I saw not how fny hands could touch the world's 
 
 great human heed. 
 
 My life was lull of unwrought strength, of unde- 
 veloped good; 
 
 But, like a rock in paradise, barren of grace it 
 stood; 
 
180 PEBBLES FROM THE SHOEE. 
 
 And yet my Lady Leonore had laid her head up- 
 on my heart. 
 
 And ehe had said thai '-nevermore could we 
 two go apart." 
 
 II. 
 
 Love has fond ways— has many tricks of giving 
 
 and of grace— 
 And so we two, where we might meet, had made 
 
 a trysting-place; 
 
 Sometimes I watched and waited there, but of- 
 ten, often, too. 
 
 She met me at the leafy door and gently led me 
 through; 
 
 And on one twilight, as I walked down by the 
 
 silvery sea 
 To reach the little sylvan nook where she might 
 
 waiting be, 
 
 I saw, just round the wooded curve, a bark so 
 
 gently glide 
 With rocking motion, soft and still, swayed by 
 
 the rippling tide; 
 
 .\nd as 1", looked across the waves, from off the 
 
 sloping shore, 
 I saw, within the little boat, my Lady Leonore; 
 
 ¥Keof(l^p\\-^ctgioryVeiraroun her in 
 
 ,, ,_ . ^ it, tliere, ' .^ ,. . 
 
 T^e sunset filied'with rings of ggld' the meshes 
 of her liiifr; "' ' ^ 
 
 MlH ^er wa§ John,— ho ^pataoe'lbrdi'studeiit-bT 
 
 ., man and 'To'd ! 
 'ie^who held'tHohsamrs with- hi? "wora, svvayed 
 thousands by nis ndd! 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHOKE. 181 
 
 She held white lilies in her hands, he held the 
 hands in his, 
 
 And fingers fairer than the lily-blooms his beard- 
 ed lips did kiss. 
 
 I smiled a smile that simply said, "My love can 
 
 do no wrong; 
 This man is king of hearts. I know, he governs 
 
 weak and strong." 
 
 And still, a-throngh the summer eve, I wander- 
 ed by the sea. 
 
 Until across my garden lawns my friends were 
 calling me; 
 
 And, as along the pebbly beach so hurriedly 
 
 they came, 
 1 heard them speaking, each to each, my gentle 
 
 lady's name. 
 
 '•Ah, yes!" T said, "my love has come ; my lady 
 
 fair and true; 
 I thanlc her for thus calling me so hurriedly by 
 
 you." 
 
 And then they stood so silently, with such sad, 
 pitying eyes, 
 
 I turned my lace from each to each, with wonder- 
 ing surprise: 
 
 Until they whisj)ered s^e was dead! And they 
 
 would bring a bier. 
 And 1 should see— ay! I should see—while sadly 
 
 kneeling near. 
 
 How ther would spread the pall above that face 
 
 so dear and sweet. 
 And stretch it o'er the tender hands, down to the 
 
 precious feetl 
 
182 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 *^^Is dead.'"' I cried. -'Jfy love is dtad'. OGod! 
 
 love kuows no death ! 
 No change of season, frost of time, can chill or 
 
 blight her breath! 
 III. 
 And fairest yet of fairy ones my lady is to see; 
 Ay! fairest of all eartlily things my Lady Leonore 
 
 to me." 
 
 Ah! many years have gone since then. Her 
 
 cheek has nestled close 
 Ai,aiinst another's bearded face irs leaves of 
 
 dewy rose; 
 
 And she could whisper low and *woet— (/»/ whis- 
 per sweet and low— 
 
 '•Oh, take me darling! I am thine wherever thou 
 dost fro."' 
 
 But never soul ot man hath throbbed with ten- 
 derness for her 
 
 Like that which thrilled my heart when I be- 
 came her worshipi>er! 
 
 And it shall hold her in its grasp, though eartU 
 
 and sea divide! 
 Though want and woe. or joy and peace, shall 
 
 part us far and wide ; 
 
 For it can wait till over there— in sunniest of 
 eunny climes 
 
 Above the starry hills shall ring the silvery wed- 
 ding chimes 
 
 For soul of man and soul of woman, bringing 
 
 ther sacred love 
 To light the altar-fires of heaven and build the 
 
 home above. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 188 
 
 LOVE'S MIRACLE. 
 
 '•I kuow no God. I worship you. I bring 
 My all and lay it at your feet . I give 
 My heart, my life, my hope of coming years, 
 Into your keeping. Your hand may hold my 
 Offering as sacred gift; and round my 
 Own your fingers wind with saving clasp, to 
 Lead me to the hidden secrecy of 
 All- things beauteous and divine. If there 
 Be God, so shall I find him ; so, in your 
 Smile, shall I behold his all-abiding 
 Love; so. through your kisses, shall I feel the 
 Breath of his Almighty tenderness upon 
 My brow; so shall your presence and your 
 Language teach me words for Paradise ; so 
 shall I tutored be to hold your precious 
 'Company through all His endless ages; 
 For you, il God there be, are God's most 
 Holy angel." 
 
 She looked upon him. as 
 He stood before her in his manhood pride. 
 Hie broad, deep forehead touched by heavy 
 
 waves 
 Of ebon hair, his midnight eyes, beneath 
 Black, arching brows, flashing a-through her 
 
 heart 
 In starry scintillations, the golden 
 Richness of his love; and doubter that he 
 Was— touched, too, by hii^an failure and by 
 lieed of human help— she drew unto his 
 Side, and laid her royal woman'.s head (all 
 Haloed by the luster of her radiant 
 Soul) against his troubled heart, and lulled it 
 
 Into rest. 
 
 Like chimes of silver bell, the 
 Years went on ; and he forgot the sin of 
 ■ Olden days; and all his life kept time to 
 Love's up-lifting melody; and he had 
 
184 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 Found with her sweet sympathies for beast and 
 Bird, and bud, and blossom; all tender deeds 
 And charities for common want and common 
 Woe: divine relations, even, of dwarfed 
 And sin-stained souls: till all the dear, old 
 Prophecy was fulfilled; and she had led 
 Him up, on to the Mount of Holiness, 
 From whence he saw the smile of God. 
 
 THE PRINCESS ALICE. 
 
 MOTHER AND CHILD. 
 
 The moonliget shines a-lhrough the unshuttered 
 Window of my room, and o'er my study 
 Table falls in ojleaming braids woven of 
 Golden strands: Out on the prairies, broad and 
 Grand, the unstain'd snow in drifts and hollows 
 Lies, like hills and vales of Eider-down, gilt 
 With the star-dust of the skies. 
 
 I sit and 
 Watch,— I see not chamber, prairie, or the 
 Snow,' my vision reacheth over water. 
 And o'er land, to where an ancient castle 
 In its old-time-splendor stands; and in its 
 Halls, a husband-Prince is king; and through its 
 Courts the Princess-wife, the reigning queen ; 
 
 and 
 Children with light, dimpled feet, and cheeks 
 
 a-blossom 
 'Neath the breath of love, flit here and thero, like 
 Song-birds in the summer-air," and court, and 
 Castle brighten with a fairer glow than 
 Falls from princely slate, or empire's pomp and 
 Show. 
 
 But now, a shadow falls ; there is a 
 Room in which a sick child lies; a chamber 
 Soften'd and shaded by the tender touch 
 Of one, who know whsat Baby's Nursery 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 185 
 
 Means; who knows what all the full, deep love of 
 
 Woman's heart can tell, as child, as sister, 
 
 Sweet-heart, wife, and mother of dear, human 
 
 Souls ; I see how gentle are her ways ; how 
 
 Restful is her touch, as tenderly she 
 
 Lifts her darling in her a)ms, and lays 
 
 The precious head upon her breast, and croons 
 
 above 
 ft songs of peace, that mothers in all worlds 
 Must know. 
 
 The brave, sweet Princess mother I she 
 .Sees as other mothers see, that Death bends 
 Every moment to her brow, and puts his 
 Fingers to her throbbing heart; but she defies 
 His threat; She will go even out with him, 
 Can she but save this little one! 
 
 The hours 
 Pass by; the watch wears on: the mother smiles 
 To know, that far away, another heart— 
 The dear Queen-mothers— prays for her; the 
 
 Baby 
 Turns her head, and listens to the cherub-songs; 
 And then, the Princess wearies, and her face 
 Grows white beneath the kiss of him, who held 
 Beside her. his unfaltering watch; and 
 Like her Savior on the cn^ss of strife. 
 For this dear one she gives her precious life. 
 
186 PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 LILLY VAIL. 
 
 In the happy days, 
 
 When a little child, 
 I went gypfving 
 
 Through the vale and wild— 
 Gather'd all the blossoms 
 
 Dimpled hands could hold, 
 Violets and buttercups, 
 
 Blue, and white, and gold: 
 
 But oJ' budding blossoms 
 
 By the mossy springs. 
 Or the richest roses 
 
 Sunny Summer brings, 
 Purple roses, rich and deep, 
 
 Roses red and roses pale. 
 None were half so fair and sweet 
 
 As happy Lilly Vail : 
 
 Such a tender brightness 
 
 Dt) her blue eyes shed; 
 Such a golden glory 
 
 Crowns her baby head; 
 Little bunch ol sweetness. 
 
 Little bunch of love. 
 Little bunch of comfort 
 
 From the home above; 
 
 Lilly-bud of beauty, 
 
 Lilly heart of peace; 
 Lilly-soul whose throbbings 
 
 Never more shall cease: 
 Love forever guard her. 
 
 Love that shall not fail. 
 Tender Lilly, gentle Lilly, 
 
 Loving Lilly Vail. 
 
PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 187 
 
 OUR BABY. 
 
 One eve in a golden October 
 
 Of a year that hath gone away, 
 When over the brown, stone Cottage 
 
 So soft and so still there lay 
 The light from the open gate-way 
 
 Of the land of the heavenly rest, 
 I folded a dainty, wee-baby 
 
 Close down to my throbbing breast; 
 
 Our Baby! Our beautiful darling! 
 
 With the deep, dark, tender eyes.— 
 With the face of infinite longing. 
 
 Of questioning and surprize: 
 How she learned in the years, to love us! 
 
 How she fiird all my night and day! 
 How, like children we played together! 
 
 How, at eve, we knelt to pray"! 
 
 Our Baby! Our beautiful darling! 
 
 Swept away on the tide of the years 
 She knows not our lonely heart's yearning, 
 
 She knows not our tenderest fears; 
 Dut she knows where the Clinton is singing 
 Where the South-winds the June-roses stir. 
 In a little brown cot in the valley 
 
 We arc- waiting and praying for her. 
 
 We sit and look out of the window. 
 
 We watch at the open door. 
 To see if our darling is coming. 
 
 Is coming to tis once more,- 
 And a-th rough the apple orchard. 
 
 And along the winding street 
 We listen with eager yearning 
 
 For the sound of her precious feet : 
 
 Out there, through the shadowy branches. 
 Just down where the old road bends, 
 
 E"en now, in the gathering twilight 
 Her beauty its sweetness lends 
 
18S PEBBLES FROM THE SHORE. 
 
 To the glow of air and of evening 
 That brightened whenever she came. 
 
 And I met her with kisses and kisses. 
 Calling her sweetest of names : 
 
 Our Baby! Do you ^ee? Is she coming? 
 
 Do the lights from the other side 
 Gleam over the winding river. 
 
 Gleam over the silvery tide. 
 And shine 'round her hurrying footsteps. 
 
 Ah they shone in th<^ eve's of yore? 
 Does she sec how her father is watching? 
 
 And her mother's face at the door? 
 
 O no, our beautiful darling 
 
 Comes not with her tripping feel 
 Down the village-hill, to the pathway 
 
 That turns from the broad, old street; 
 The baby I held to my bosom 
 
 The balm for life's sorrow and pain,— 
 Our Baby I Our beautiful darling! 
 
 Will she ever come back again? 
 
 Oh Christ I thou child of a mother- 
 Be near my precious one's life! 
 
 Oh God! thou Father of souls, 
 Smooth out of her pathway the strife 
 
 That embitters, and burdens, and wears! 
 Oh Master, and Father, to-night 
 
 Hear mo plead— Fii) her way, all her way 
 With blossoms of beautv and light! 
 
'^.—COXTENTS- 
 
 May, 
 
 5 
 
 Side By Side, 
 
 7 
 
 Let U5 Go Home To Father. 
 
 8 
 
 The bprino: Breeze, 
 
 9 
 
 Orphanage, 
 
 11 
 
 The Brown Lattice Gate, 
 
 12 
 
 You Would Not Know You'd Loved Me, 
 
 13 
 
 Nelly And Brother Will, 
 
 14 
 
 The Dreamer, 
 
 16 
 
 My Baby, 
 
 18 
 
 The Gift 01 Flowers. 
 
 19 
 
 Maggie, 
 
 20 
 
 Our Little Jack, 
 
 22 
 
 Our Old Home Trees, 
 
 24 
 
 The Prairie Grave, 
 
 25 
 
 Papa's Come Home. Mother, 
 
 27 
 
 Heart-Notes To Mother, 
 
 29 
 
 The Wanderer, 
 
 31 
 
 Still On, Oh Soul, 
 
 32 
 
 Tender And True, 
 
 33 
 
 Jewels, 
 
 :i4 
 
 Stanzas ou the Death of Mrs. Sarah Uruuhgton 
 
 35 
 
 A Call To The Absent. 
 
 3? 
 
 And so at Last the Cabin Crumbled to Decay, 
 
 3T 
 
 Let Me Lie In The Earth, 
 
 38 
 
 Florence Paddock, 
 
 39 
 
 The Mother's Watch, 
 
 40 
 
 This Spring-Month of Love, 
 
 41 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 4:; 
 
 Come Over ihe Bndij;e Nelly, 
 
 He Drank Not as a Medicine. 43 
 
 To The Silver Uiiadilla, 44 
 
 Alder-Brook, 45 
 
 Violets In Winter, 46 
 
 Miseing. 48 
 
 The Fas<itives And The Pittor, 49 
 
 Ward Uiliette, 5-2 
 
 Let Me Die Witii Tht.se Who Love Me. 53 
 
 The Errinj:, 53 
 
 I Love Because I Cannut IIc-lp, 54 
 
 My Birth-Day, 5T 
 
 Snsaii, 58 
 
 Oh, How The I5iniu«i-Da\> Waken— 58 
 
 To The Friends ol My Sick Brollier. 59 
 
 The Kivulwt, 60 
 
 Flungary's Slain. 62 
 
 To My Father In The Wett, 64 
 
 A Pic tun-, 66 
 
 Lines, To Mrs. C. S. 13.. 67 
 
 The Hero. 69 
 
 The Voices Of My Ikanc. 70 
 
 Charles Sumnc-r 73 
 
 The *^;rave Of Harriet Newel, 74 
 
 Chanjieless Friends. 75 
 
 We're Away On the Waters, 76 
 
 Kev. S. K. Smith, 77 
 
 My Sister" Bridal, 80 
 
 My Boys, 82 
 
 Down By tlie E!m-Tree, 83 
 
 Evening Shadows, 85 
 
 Baby, 86 
 
 Little Carrie, 87 
 
 Retribution, 88 
 
 Lilanv, 9a 
 
 He Sfeeps W here Thev Laid Him. 93 
 
 Little Paul, ' 93 
 
 Will Wild, 94 
 
 Welcome To Kossuth, 100 
 
 A Response, 101 
 
 Delivered From Evil, 102 
 
 Alice Carey, 104 
 
 To My Youngest Sister, 106 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 For The Poor Old Drunkard Why Should 
 
 You Weep? 107 
 
 Lines Ui)Oii The Face— lOS 
 
 The Pool Of Siloam, 109 
 
 To My Youngest Brother, 110 
 
 Ilegulus, 111 
 
 Supplication, 119 
 
 The Cot on the Ilill-Side, 120 
 
 Georjrie, 12^ 
 
 A Sprinpr-Mornlng Kanible 124 
 
 Sonnets To My Brolher'8 Children, 126 
 
 Hearty, 12V 
 
 Oh, Cany Me Back— 128 
 
 Abide With Us, 129 
 
 My Child, 132 
 
 All Is Well, 134 
 
 Kain, 135 
 
 Little Ettie, 130 
 
 Hope Thou In God, 138 
 
 Memories, 139 
 
 He Comes No More, 141 
 
 Cottage Hill. 142 
 
 Henry D. Thoreau, 145 
 
 Miilbrook, 147 
 
 Died At Yorktovvn. 148 
 
 Gathering Violets, 1J9 
 
 Coming Home, 1.50 
 
 The Flag Of Washington. 1.51 
 
 Papa's Arm, 1.52 
 
 What The Miller Saw, 15;i 
 
 Lila, 155 
 
 Mother, 1.56 
 
 Come Back to Me, Darling, 157 
 
 Florence Paddock. 158 
 
 The Old Homestead, 158 
 
 With our Father to Pilot the Bark. Love. 160 
 
 Peace. 161 
 
 Tribute. 162 
 
 InMemorium, 163 
 
 Up The Stairs, 165 
 
 Waiting, 166 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Yeaniins:, Kir 
 
 Little Fingci-!*. Ui8 
 
 Waitino; And Watching, 1B9 
 
 Mystery, 171 
 
 Soul To Soul, 176 
 
 The Valley (Mty. 177 
 
 The Hinitcr's lietiun, 178 
 
 My Lady Leon ore, 179 
 
 Love's Miracle, IBS 
 
 Princess Alice, ' 184 
 
 Lilly Vail, 186 
 
 Our Baby, 187 
 
 ^l 
 
 08 
 
'5. 
 
 PBBBI^llH 
 
 FBOMC THE SHOBE 
 
 ■BY- 
 
 LUCIA FIDELIA WOOLLEY GILLETIE. 
 
 To ilSLt\lV.T 
 
 Pebblekj in the hidden curve?, aud quiet, 
 Nooks, along the windini;; shore, strewn 
 With the treasures of the restless sea. 
 
 H. J. VAIL, rriiLISlIElJ, 
 NEW SHARON, MAHASKA CO. IOWA. 
 
 1879. 
 
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