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LIBRA OF nONGRES^ 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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SILVER LINED 
 
 POEM, 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH L. FLOWERS 
 
 ^S&SS^ 
 
 , 1879. < 
 
 R A 1 [ W A Y, N . J . : 
 W . L. M-ERSHON & CO 
 i 3 7 S . 
 
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T : 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 
 
 SARAH L. FLOW E lis, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
To my Aunt, 
 
 Mrs. G. W. HAIGHT, 
 
 I affectionately dedicate 
 This Volume. 
 
 The Authoress. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Kind readers, what I ask and trust 
 Is, that as critics, you'll be just; 
 For years, my muse hath idle been, 
 Nor ne'er, I thought she'd come again 
 
 As she was wont to do: 
 At last she came, unsought, unasked; 
 And I began the pleasant task 
 Of penning down the thoughts conveyed, 
 Until a little book they've made, 
 
 Which I present to you. 
 
 If its perusal can beguile 
 From the weary heart a smile, 
 Or if it serves to break the spell 
 That o'er the invalid doth dwell, 
 
 Or e'en amuse a child ; 
 Then, hath my muse a mission wrought, 
 In coming, as she did, unsought ; 
 And, as the volume now I send, 
 Alike to critic and to friend ; 
 
 In judgment please be mild. 
 
SILVEK LINED. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 4 midst New England's sunny hills, 
 -^- Where run the rivers and the mills, 
 With a constant noise and bustle, 
 Once, a cosy cottage nestled 
 
 Near the quiet woodland ; 
 In which a widow long did dwell 
 With her one son she loved full well, 
 The only child that was left her ; 
 For oft times had God bereft her. 
 
 With unrelenting hand. 
 
Young Orlando knew no sorrow ; 
 Little thought he of the morrow, 
 Because the widow's wealth was great, 
 In bank stock, gold, and real estate, 
 
 And ships upon the sea; 
 Of which she thought he'd no knowledge ; 
 For she sent him off to college 
 Upon a scholarship, obtained 
 From their young pastor, late ordained ; 
 
 From pride, to keep him free. 
 
 In this last, was she mistaken ; 
 For great pains, by friends, were taken 
 To inform the faithful Sophmore 
 Of the great wealth for him in store, 
 
 When he should older grow 
 At first, he b'lieved not what they told ; 
 But soon, the thoughts of shining gold 
 So absorbed his whole attention, 
 That it was useless to mention 
 
 Learning to Orlando. 
 
9 
 
 Yet, lie spoke not to his mother 
 Of/the thoughts which did him bother; 
 For his true, loving heart forbade 
 His saying aught to make her sad, 
 
 In her anticipation. 
 And well he knew, 'twould brood him ill, 
 If he should break his father's will, 
 Which said in writing, very plain, 
 "My son, Orlando, must obtain 
 
 A college education." 
 
 The Sophmore year, he ponied through, 
 With little show for what he knew, 
 Passed Junior examination, 
 And went home to spend vacation, 
 
 As he was wont to do. 
 Ere long, his mother's watchful eye 
 His listless languor, chanced to spy, 
 In vain she gave wines and tonic, 
 And lest his ills should prove chronic, 
 
 She called in doctors too. 
 
10 
 
 He sought no more his fav'rite bower, 
 The fishing-stream, or wild- wood flower 
 Nor the lads, and lasses rosy, 
 To their homes, so snug and cozy, 
 
 Could entice Orlando. 
 The doctors all seemed to agree, 
 His was a case of ennui, 
 Needing speedy application 
 Of some healthy recreation, 
 
 To sel his blood aglow. 
 
 Near the cottage, stood a mansion 
 Which he longed for with a passion; 
 But long he kept his secret well, 
 Nor to his mother did he tell 
 
 His fondly cherished plan; 
 Until she saw him, by the hour, 
 Watching the ivy-covered tower, 
 Rising above its massive walls, 
 Containing spacious, inner halls, 
 
 Deserted then by man. 
 
11 
 
 When lie, at last, his secret told, 
 He begged her use his father's gold, 
 The grand, old mansion to procure, 
 Before some stranger should secure 
 
 The prize he longed to own. 
 " My son, 11 she said, with tearful eyes, 
 "You take your mother by surprise; 
 And did I know that 'twould be well, 
 I could to you a secret tell 
 
 Which you have never known." 
 
 " Yon spacious halls and ivy-tower, 
 To me were giv'n, a marriage dower, 
 With all the lands and real-estate 
 That doth surround the mansion great, 
 
 To hold them as my own. 
 My children there were born and died; 
 Your father soon lay by their side : 
 I was so lonely and bereft, 
 With you, the only child 'twas left, 
 
 I could not live alone " 
 
12 
 
 " I could not bear that stranger's hands 
 Should till the soil or keep the lands, 
 Nor stranger's feet those halls should tread, 
 Where once had lived my cherished dead, 
 
 "Whose memory I revere : 
 I did not have one thing removed 
 Into this cottage, by the wood ; 
 The very clothing which I wore, 
 Some sixteen years ago or more, 
 
 Hangs there, in silence drear." 
 
 " The faithful Jane and Thomas Dow, 
 Lived with me then, the same as now ; 
 We dusted, cleaned, and did prepare, 
 Fit for a wedding to be there, 
 
 E'en to the silver plate ; 
 And, as I closed, with noiseless tread, 
 Those halls from whence my joys had lied, 
 I scattered rare and rich perfume, 
 To scent the silence and the gloom 
 
 That did those halls await/' 
 
13 
 
 '" Neighboring gossip was not wanted, 
 To proclaim the mansion haunted ; 
 The very children point with fear 
 To those halls, so lone and drear, 
 
 Where no mortals enter ; 
 For never, since the doors were closed, 
 Have I allowed their fastenings loosed ; 
 And since that day, the keys have been 
 Where not a mortal eye hath seen, 
 
 And none, but I, venture." 
 
 "And now, my son, for two years more, 
 Thou shalt not ope yon mansion door, 
 Nor let one word e'er be spoken, 
 Of the secret I have broken 
 
 Unto you, Orlando ; * 
 
 But should you prove a faithful son, 
 The very day your twenty-one, 
 I shall release both deed and keys 
 For you to do with as you please, 
 
 A o;ift I will bestow." 
 
14 
 
 Orlando was quite enchanted 
 With the story she related ; 
 But ne'er thought of disobeying, 
 In the least, his mother's saying, 
 
 Her word to him was law. 
 Upon the coming Sabbath day, 
 Headache from church kept him away; 
 Wishing the Bible which she kept 
 Up in the chamber, where she slept, 
 
 He entered, and he saw 
 
 What he had never seen before, 
 Just behind the closet door, 
 Was still another, so concealed, 
 That it would scarcely be revealed 
 
 To the best detector ; 
 Quickly, his keen perception saw, 
 That if this door he should withdraw, 
 7 T would open that hidden portal, 
 Where his mother said, no mortal 
 
 But herself did venture. 
 
15 
 
 He stood and gazed, like one entranced, 
 Neither retreated nor advanced, 
 Almost knowing — scarcely b'lieviiuj — 
 That the closet could reveal him 
 
 Many a concealed thing; 
 Then prompted by that strange desire, 
 By curiosity set fire, 
 He waited, but a minute more, 
 Ere lie approached the secret door, 
 And touched its hidden spring. 
 
 The only sight that met his eyes, 
 
 A camphor chest of immense size : 
 
 " All ! ha ! " said he, " His fastened well ; 
 
 No one is here the tale to tell, 
 
 I'll see what can be done." 
 Evil genius always aiding 
 Those the least bit vascillating, 
 Quickly the thought put in his head, 
 To see if he could raise the lid, 
 
 Just for a little fun. 
 
1G 
 
 To the thought he gave no credit ; 
 "But/ 1 said he, " no harm to try it, 
 I will make one desp'rate effort, 
 That will surely l>e a comfort ; 
 
 For secrets I detest. 17 
 Ere his strength lie tried upon it, 
 He espied an old silk bonnet, 
 Which he took down from oft' the wall ; 
 When, from its antique depths did fall 
 
 The key to that old chest 
 
 "The time has conic, old chest reveal 
 The secret stores thou dost conceal. 
 Thou can'st trust me, I ne'er shall tell 
 The secrets thou hast kept so well, 
 
 And which I now would know ; 
 I'm not a bit superstitious, 
 And think 'tis quite injudicious, 
 For a chest, of thy dimensions, 
 Of secrets to make pretensions 
 
 To thy friend Orlando." 
 
17 
 
 " First of all, I'll light a taper, 
 For here's reading on this paper ; 
 Tis sealed, and < To my Son,' addressed : 
 I'll break it not, to read the rest, 
 
 Until 'tis mine to break. 
 Next comes a box, they're diamonds sure, 
 And pearls and rubies, all secure, 
 I'll put them back just as they were : 
 No one will know I've e'er been here ; 
 
 A thing I would not take. 
 
 " Here're the keys to the old mansion, 
 Locked and labled Vainst transgression. 
 The very thing that I wanted ; 
 I do not b'lieve the house haunted ; 
 
 This box I'll keep awhile, 
 And when my purpose it has served, 
 I'll put it back and keep reserved 
 A little secret of my own, 
 Which, to my mother, Til atone 
 
 By my returning smile." 
 
18 
 
 All day long, lie was so cheerful, 
 That it made his mother fearful, 
 Lest some sorrow should befall him, 
 Or the angels soon should call him 
 
 To brighter worlds away. 
 At evening service, when he sang, 
 Through all the church his clear voice rang, 
 And when he touched the organ keys, 
 The music wafted on the breeze, 
 
 As in his father's day. 
 
 When from his mother he retired, 
 Her heart with love for him was fired, 
 On cheek and brow, a kiss she pressed, 
 Then wishing: him a good night's rest, 
 
 She said, "God bless my boy !" 
 " God bless my mother too ! " said he, 
 " Loving and faithful unto me : 
 Now, mother dear, one more good night, 
 Sweet dreams to thee till morning light ; 
 
 Thv rest let naught destroy." 
 
19 
 
 When tlie moon was shining brightly, 
 He stole out so soft and lightly — 
 Through the garden — o'er the meadow — 
 His dog Fido did him follow 
 
 To scenes of long ago. 
 The mansion doors unlocked with ease, 
 When he applied the well-kept keys; — 
 By the aid of lighted lantern — 
 Guiding footsteps, quite uncertain, 
 
 The library into. 
 
 He stood and gazed, with longing looks, 
 Upon those num'rous shelves of books, 
 Fido's whine, so dismal sounding 
 In the gloom and silence round him, 
 
 It made his blood run cold. 
 " Fido ! " said he, " what's the matter ? 
 Have the courage of your master ! 
 In my cheeks there is no pallor : 
 W 7 e will cross into the parlor, 
 
 As did the guests of old." 
 
20 
 
 " Now, we'll make ourselves at home, 
 Within this grandly furnished room * 
 I wish my mother anus along, 
 I'd cheer her with a lively song, 
 
 Played on this piano; 
 I've a notion now to try it, 
 "With the dust of years upon it : 
 For so much silence — so much gloom- 
 Is as depressing as the tomb 
 
 To me," said Orlando. 
 
 "Come, Fido, let us look around 
 And see what doth herein abound; 
 I think these parlors very line ; 
 Some of these days they will be mine, 
 
 And then I'll air them well: 
 Let us go and see that angel, 
 Standing 'neath the farther mantel, 
 Chiseled from marble — white as snow- 
 It really makes a ghastly show ; 
 
 Tis suited here to dwell." 
 
21 
 
 " My lady angel, fair tliou art, 
 Did'st thou possess a beating heart 
 Beneath thy alabaster breast, 
 Thy depths, for loving, I would test 
 
 With young Cupids arrow : 
 I'm pleased with thee, as thou art now, 
 I much admire thy classic brow ; 
 This fresh flower on it I place' 1 — 
 When lo ! a bat flew in the face 
 
 Of trembling Orlando. 
 
 He staggered back, fainted and fell, 
 With no one there the tale to tell ; 
 Fido, perceiving all not right, 
 Fled to the cottage in his fright, 
 
 With piteous bark and howl ; 
 Waking Thomas, he succeeded 
 In procuring help 'twas needed ; 
 Though Thomas failed to see the cause 
 Of such a doleful, whining noise, 
 
 And did not like his growl. 
 
.).) 
 
 Fido started for the mansion, 
 Thomas watching every action ; 
 Soon, lie saw the dog returning 
 With the lighted lantern burning. 
 
 Which must be Orlando's : 
 For not one like it could be found 
 In all the neigh'bring country round; 
 Taking it to be an omen, 
 Followed Fido, through the garden, 
 
 On into the meadows. 
 
 Still fast, and faster, all the while, 
 Right on across the mansion stile, 
 Right into the parlor went they, 
 Right near the spot Orlando lay 
 
 Fido set the lantern. 
 "Fido"! said Thomas " You stay here ; " 
 Then bounding homeward like a deer, 
 Underneath the cottage window, 
 Loudly called he to the widow — 
 
 Called with much concern. 
 
23 
 
 "Oh, madam " ! said he, " Wonldst thou see 
 Thy son, arise and follow me ! 
 For he is in the mansion old — 
 He's lying faint and deathly cold — 
 
 Upon the parlor floor." 
 Quick she threw a mantle 'round her, 
 Grabbed the hartshorn and the camphor, 
 Then, mounting Lightfoot with a hound, 
 Fast, fast she urged him o'er the ground, 
 
 Unto the mansion door. 
 
 " Oh, speak ! Orlando ! speak once more ! 
 It is thy mother dotli implore ! 
 
 Had'st not these halls enough of sorrow ? 
 
 > 
 
 Why cam'st thou here my heart to harrow — 
 
 Orlando art thou dead ? '' 
 "Thomas, quickly bring a doctor ! 
 Bear him home upon a stretcher ! 
 Hide Lightfoot fast — without delay — 
 For in this place he must not stay ; 
 
 (to ! do as I have said. 71 
 
24 
 
 Many a long and sultry day, 
 'Twixt life and death, Orlando lay, 
 With fever raging in liis brain ; 
 Nor all the skill they could obtain, 
 
 Said aught encouraging. 
 Life, at last, the victory claimed ; 
 Health and strength he slowly gained ; 
 And then again, with loving joy. 
 That mother clasped her darling boy, 
 
 And said, "Tis (rod's blessing." 
 
 None e'er thought of faithful Fido, 
 While so anxious 'bout Orlando ; 
 But when Jane, released from watching, 
 Took her place back in the kitchen, 
 
 She missed him right away. 
 "Thomas," said she, "Can yon tell 
 What fate poor Fido has befell I 
 Have you seen him since that night 
 Orlando gave us such a fright \ 
 
 I b'lieve the dog did stay. 
 
20 
 
 Thomas laughed, and said, " Oh, fiddle ! 
 The dog had gone to dance a diddle, 
 Now, just you wait until to-night, 
 And, 'pon my word, he'll be all right 
 
 Just the same as ever." 
 " Thomas, there's no use in talking ; 
 'Bout poor Fido, there's no joking ; 
 You men folks always are so cool ; 
 That dog is not a bit a fool : 
 
 We shall see him never." 
 
 And he came not, night nor morning, 
 Though loud and long were they calling : 
 Then did Thomas tell the widow, 
 That he did believe poor Fido 
 
 Was in the mansion dead. 
 Then said she, " Thomas, you and Jane 
 Must go this night and ascertain ; 
 And should you find his body there, 
 Go bury him with decent care, 
 
 And let naught more be said." 
 
26 
 
 They were reared in superstition ; 
 And were loth to do her bidding ; 
 But they loved the widow dearly 
 And they saw their duty clearly, 
 
 Which made them doubly bold. 
 Poor -Fido's fate they guessed aright; 
 For they saw, by the lantern's light, 
 The library door stood ajar. 
 And Fido dead within the "hair, 
 
 His master used of old. 
 
 Not a sound was heard — naught spoken. 
 And the silence was unbroken — 
 Save their own re-echoing tread, 
 As from those dismal halls they fled — 
 
 Out into the moonlight. 
 When poor Fido they had buried. 
 To the cottage, fast they hurried ; 
 But the} spoke not, nor did mention 
 Aught that happened in the mansion ; 
 
 To them, upon that night. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 An the shore of the Owasco, 
 
 Dwelt the lovely Lodoosski, 
 During: the three months of Summer, 
 Returning South, for the Winter, 
 
 To their large plantation. 
 In constant sunshine did she bask, 
 Without a thought of Avork or task : 
 No wintry blast e'er chilled her through ; 
 She drank the sunshine and the dew, 
 
 In bright animation. 
 
28 
 
 Fairest of those Southern daughters 
 Was this Lodoosski Waters ; 
 All who saw this lovely creature, 
 Fragile form and faultless feature, 
 
 Loved the beautious maiden: 
 Young; love had never touched her heart ; 
 She spoke with scorn of Cupid's dart, 
 Said money was the highest goal 
 That should procure a human soul, 
 
 With happiness laden. 
 
 Fair Lodoosski, loved full well, 
 Within their Southern home to dwell; 
 Oft in her would-be gondola, 
 She floated o'er the Altamaha, 
 
 During the twilight hour, 
 Dreaming of Venice's former glory, 
 As she'd often read the story. 
 And she thought, with trembling fear, 
 About the stories they did hear 
 
 Of slavery losing power. 
 
29 
 
 Lodoosski had one brother, 
 "Whom she loved as none other ; 
 For, when but a little maiden, 
 Her mother passed to that Aidenn, 
 
 Whither we all are bound, 
 Leaving the grief-stricken father 
 With his son and only daughter ; 
 But the care of the plantation 
 So absorbed his whole attention, 
 
 That little time he found. 
 
 And he got his only sister, 
 Who was then a comely spinster, 
 Living by the clear Owasco, 
 To take care of Lodoosski 
 
 And keep the servants right. 
 She ne'er had dwelt neath Southern skies, 
 And many troubles did arise, 
 Amidst that throng of mottled blacks, 
 Which her nerves so overtaxed, 
 
 That she was in a plight. 
 
30 
 
 The son Albertus was inclined 
 To cultivate his y< mthful mind, 
 And to obtain all the knowledge, 
 Taught within the Northern college, 
 
 O O 7 
 
 Where he preferred to go. 
 His father thought his plans were wise, 
 And cheerf'ly made the sacrifice 
 
 Of parting with his only son, 
 >llege life so soon 1 
 On the hills of .Monroe. 
 
 Whose college life so soon begun, 
 
 There Albertus met Orlando; 
 Where an attachment soon did grow, 
 Ripening into strongest friendship, 
 That mortals are allowed to sip, 
 
 And e'en angels envy : 
 Strong and stronger, grew that friendship, 
 Still deep and deeper, did they sip 
 Of that nectar God ordained, 
 By few mortals should be drained — 
 
 And by maidens, never. 
 
ol 
 
 Their's was spoken of by others, 
 As a love excelling brothers ; 
 Faithful in their every duty — 
 Noted for their wit and beauty, 
 
 And their pleasing manners. 
 Since Orlando had recovered, 
 Hard and faithful had he studied ; 
 Thinking not of costly mansions, 
 Glitt'ring gold, and foreign fashions : 
 
 But of wisdoms banners. 
 
 Albertus quite as ambitious, 
 Studied more than was judicious — 
 Tne leader of the Freshman class, 
 Through which, with honors, he would pass 
 
 In examination. 
 When Thanksgiving day came 'round, 
 Within the college they were found, 
 Planning for the coining Christmas, 
 Which they had both arranged to pass 
 
 On the old plantation. 
 
32 
 
 Bleak was the wind, and deep the snow, 
 Around the college at Monroe, 
 Upon that cold, December morn ; 
 When the two friends, all muffled warm, 
 
 Before the break of day, 
 Started for the land of cotton, 
 Bidding studies be forgotten, 
 While they spent their short vacation, 
 Roaming o'er the old plantation, 
 
 Where Winter held no sway. 
 
 A merry Christmas did they pass 
 With many'a Georgian beau and lass ; 
 But none pleased Orlando's fancy, 
 Like the lovely Lodoosski — 
 
 Fairest he e'er had seen. 
 All night long, the darky Sambo 
 Played the fiddle and the banjo, 
 For the group of merry dancers, 
 Who went through the reels and lanciers, 
 
 As in a fairy dream. 
 
The flowers and fruits that were passed 
 The Northern summer far surpassed, 
 In their rare beauty and perfume, 
 Scattering fragrance through the room, 
 
 Where'er the)' chanced to be ; 
 
 Thought Orlando, 'tis Elysium ; 
 Or, perhaps a fleeting vision, 
 As I've oft times seen in fancy, 
 When reading of tropic beauty ; 
 Which ne'er I thought to sec. 
 
 That night, lie dreamed of the mansion, 
 Rousing all his former passion, 
 Of which he'd had no conjecture, 
 Since his perilous adventure 
 
 With the marble angel ; 
 In the dream, his classic maiden 
 Was still fairer than the graven ; 
 For she possessed a beating heart, 
 Whose depths of loving did impart 
 
 O'er him a magic spell. 
 
He awoke, the vision vanished ; 
 Bnt its mem'ry was not banished ; 
 For, still his angel lingered nigh, 
 In the form of Lod< >osski 
 
 Was she personated : 
 In every feature, could lie trace 
 Resemblance to that angel face, 
 In every movement lie beheld, 
 The living maiden far excelled 
 
 One inanimated. 
 
 The father urged his guests, who could, 
 To join the chase across tlie wood, 
 Offering ponies, swift and sound, 
 Accompanied by his pack of hound, 
 
 Famous for scenting deer. 
 All joined the chase, but the spinster,, 
 She predicted some disaster, 
 Deelarinu', she should never feel 
 Such sport for ladies was genteel ; 
 
 To her it did seem queer. 
 
35 
 
 ■" Now, Aunt Agnes, do not worry, 
 We'll be home to-night quite early, 
 And, perchance we'll bring a deer, 
 As a trophy of our good cheer ; 
 
 I know, 'twould please you well : 
 I shall ride beside my father ; 
 For his chase is like none other : 
 .See, not a cloud hangs over head, 
 I see no cause for fear or dread ; 
 
 Please do not brood us ill." 
 
 " Sister, thou should'st not disparage 
 Sports that I myself encourage. 
 My daughter has wisely spoken ; 
 Let not thy day's peace be broken, 
 
 Foreboding disaster. 
 Do I not keep my pack of hound, 
 That every time Christmas comes round 
 I can join the neighboring chase, 
 In which myself and children race ?" 
 
 Spoke the gray-haired master. 
 
36 
 
 Exceeding lovely was the day, 
 Quite rivaling New England's May ; 
 Birds and bees were upon the wing, 
 "With their contented chirp and sing, 
 
 Listless of food or place ; 
 The hunters hurried o'er the ground, 
 For they had heard the bugle sound; 
 As they approached the dense, pine wood, 
 One hundred mounted horses stood, 
 
 Waiting to join the chase. 
 
 Albertus' father took the lead 
 
 Upon his swiftly-prancing steed, 
 
 With his two children by his side, 
 
 Whose every move lie watched with pride ; 
 
 So haughty was the man. 
 Close by his friend, Orlando kept, 
 As through the woods they softly crept, 
 That they might catch the faintest sound 
 Of flying deer or barking hound, 
 
 Before the chase began. 
 
37 
 
 The father looked, with loving eye, 
 As he said to Lodoosski : — 
 "-My daughter, I would have thy ami 
 Secure, this day, the first-caught game, 
 
 And would it were a deer." 
 Scarcely had these words been uttered, 
 Ere a golden pheasant fluttered, 
 And Lodoosski's well-aimed shot 
 Had killed the bird, upon the spot 
 
 She saw it first appear. 
 
 Quickly, half a score dismounted, 
 And the bird to her was handed, 
 Which she gave unto Orlando, 
 Saying, " 'tis a trophy you can show 
 
 From our Southern woodland, 
 Shot by a Georgian huntress ; 
 Old Joe is our taxidermist, 
 I'll have him mount the bird erect, 
 If you a trophy will accept, 
 
 Shot by a maiden's band." 
 
a Ah ! lady huntress, I accept 
 Thy trophy, with profound respect, 
 Proudly I bear the prize away, 
 As a memento of this day 
 
 In which I joined the chase ; 
 But list, see yon bright eyes gleaming — 
 Begging pity from their Learning — 
 I'll fire ; the fatal deed is o'er — 
 It is a deer, and nothing more — 
 
 I feared 'twas human face." 
 
 "Well done ! Orlando, how is this! 
 Unskilled sportsmen mostly miss ; " 
 Spoke up the father, in dismay, 
 Chagrined that he had lost the day 
 
 He'd won so oft before. 
 "My son, Albertus, I'll be bound, 
 Has ne'er inflicted yet a wound ; 
 Though he's been trained, since but a lad, 
 In every chase we've ever had, — 
 
 No same he e'er has bore," 
 
39 
 
 A round of pleasure every day, 
 Soon passed the short two weeks away ; 
 And duty bid their prompt return, 
 If they, high honors, wished to earn 
 
 Examination day. 
 But Orlando's heart was laden 
 With the mem'ry of the maiden, 
 Which he so perfectly concealed, 
 He not a word, or look revealed 
 
 That could his heart betray. 
 
 The father liked Albertus' friend, 
 Wishing their friendship ne'er to end.. 
 And he urged upon Orlando 
 To be their guest at Owasco, 
 
 When next they were released. 
 Orlando said, the time he'd share 
 With Albertus — home and there — 
 He claiming first, the right of host, 
 As that would please his mother most r 
 
 And she should first be pleased. 
 
40 
 
 " I see thou art a noble youth, 
 Endowed with duty, love and truth ; 
 And may God's blessing e'er attend 
 My son Albertus' chosen friend, 
 
 Where'er thy lot is cast/' 
 "Unto both, do I give warning! 
 As you go from me this morning, 
 Let peace — nor war — no dif rence make ? 
 Whichever side you're called to take, 
 
 Long may your friendship last." 
 
PART THIRD. 
 
 O even full moons their race had run, 
 ^ The eighth its course had well begun, 
 Since last Orlando bade farewell 
 To the lovely Georgian belle, 
 
 The fair Lodoosski. 
 Again he stood, with manly form, 
 The charming maiden on his arm 
 Not even dreaming of the power 
 She held o'er him, that twilight hour, 
 
 By the clear Owasco. 
 
42 
 
 A tiny boat chained to the shore, 
 Enticed Orlando to the oar, 
 Which he plied with dexterous hand, 
 As if it were a magic wand, 
 
 Guiding a fairy bark ; 
 So intent were they on pleasure, 
 Heeding not the time nor measure, 
 Saw they not the clouds arising, 
 Spreading o'er the whole horizon, 
 
 Till twilight changed to dark. 
 
 In vain they tried to reach the shore 
 Through the darkness gathering o'er; 
 For the tempest lowering nigh, 
 Soon burst in torrents from the sky, 
 
 Threat 1 ling a wat'ry grave : 
 The forked lightnings flash on flash — 
 The pealing thunder s awful crash ! 
 Together with the wind and rain, 
 Made every earthly hope seem vain; — 
 
 Where none but God could save. 
 
43 
 
 Orlando clasped her to his breast 
 And closely there lier form lie pressed : 
 u My darling," said lie, " hope is o'er — 
 Alive Ave ne'er shall reach the shore ! 
 
 Canst thou return my love ? 
 Oh, speak the word ! my loved one, speak ! 
 Ere we are plunged into the deep ! 
 So close I'll press thee to my heart, 
 The waves our bodies cannot part — 
 
 Our souls shall meet above." 
 
 Scarcely had their vows been spoken, 
 Ere their fragile bark was broken. 
 Her arms around his neck, she clasped, 
 A kiss upon her brow he pressed; 
 
 Then sunk beneath the wave. 
 Albert us watched their tiny bark 
 Until the threat'ning clouds grew dark; 
 Then called lie for the bravest men, 
 To go with him and rescue them, 
 
 If human power could save. 
 
44 
 
 They saw the tiny boat capsize, 
 They saw them sink and saw them rise, — 
 Three times they sank and rose again : — 
 Albertus calling on his men, 
 
 To firmly hold the rope 
 Which round his body he had lashed, 
 Before into the wave he dashed, 
 Saying, as he ventured there, 
 The adage old — though in despair — 
 
 "As long as there's life there's hope." 
 
 Soon as he reached the drowning pair, 
 He caught them by their flowing hair; 
 Then a firmer grasp securing, 
 All the aid, he could, procuring 
 
 To take them to the shore ; 
 Where a carriage stood in waiting — 
 With the tempest fast abating, 
 Having all its fury vented, 
 And the cruel act relented, — 
 
 The moon shone forth once more. 
 
45 
 
 Tlie grave did not the victims claim ; 
 For back to life they slowly came, 
 Restoring quiet, with her charms, 
 Had wrapt them in old Morpheus' arms 
 
 Before the morning dawned. 
 Albertus guessed their secret well, 
 And waited not to hear them tell 
 Of the vows which they had plighted^ 
 Pledging hearts to be united, — 
 
 O'er wat'ry grave that yawned. 
 
 The lovers met not, through the day, 
 Preferring by themselves to stay ; 
 But, as the evening shades drew near, 
 Albertus, with his sister dear, 
 
 Was sauntering on the green ; 
 As they approached the Summer bower. 
 Where they passed full many an hour, 
 Orlando joined them, looking pale, 
 Exhausted from the last night's sail, 
 
 And perils they had seen. 
 
46 
 
 Soon as Orlando took a chair, 
 
 Albertus led his sister there ; 
 
 Said, placing her small hand in his, 
 
 " Much pleasure your engagement gives — 
 
 'Tis what I hoped would be. v — 
 Orlando kissed the hand he clasped, 
 As it lay gently in his grasp, 
 Saying, " must I release the vows 
 Which fear and peril did arouse ? 
 
 Would'st thou, my dear, he free?" 
 
 " But, listen first to what I say : — 
 My heart was thine since Christmas day, 
 But not the slightest intention 
 Had I yet the thought to mention, 
 
 Wishing first to win thee; 
 But when death was hovering o'er, 
 My heart thy love did so implore, 
 I could not well resist the power, 
 Which bade me speak my love that hour. 
 
 Oh ! would'st thou now be free ? 17 
 
47 
 
 " Orlando, I am thy betrothed ; 
 ~No human heart I e'er have loved ; 
 For this stubborn heart of mine 
 Has never bowed to mortal shrine ; 
 
 But I esteem thee well. 
 Now, would'st thou give thy noble love 
 To heart so hard as mine has proved? 
 If so, I ask not to be free, 
 But will be faithful unto thee — ■ 
 
 Of love I cannot tell." 
 
 Albertus turned with scorn on her: 
 41 Hast thou no depths of love to stir, 
 When such a noble heart is given — 
 A boon to thee, direct from heaven, 
 
 God's choicest gift on earth \ 
 Say, can it be ; Oh, sister mine ! 
 Endowed with charms almost divine, 
 Thy heart is hard as adamant, 
 Calloused, shriveled and made scant ; 
 
 E'en from thy very birth ? " 
 
48 
 
 " Speak not so harsh, 'tis God, my friend, 
 Who hath alone the power to send 
 The thrills of love through human hearts, 
 The choicest blessings He imparts 
 
 Or withholds, at pleasure. 1 ' 
 Thus spoke Orlando as he pressed 
 His loved one to his manly breast, 
 Kissing once more the plighted hand, 
 On which he placed a tiny band — 
 
 A rare costly treasure. 
 
PART FOURTH. 
 
 A nother twelve months rolled around, 
 And over all the college ground 
 Were scattered groups, both great and small, 
 In earnest converse o'er the call 
 
 Our country made for men. 
 : Twixt North and South, there had arose 
 The war-cry of conflicting foes ; 
 Men, of every rank and station, 
 Were mustering to save the Nation 
 
 From Southern secession. 
 
50 
 
 Tlie college halls were decked with flowers, 
 Festooned in garlands, wreaths, and bowers ; 
 For that would be the day of days, 
 "When each would feel disgrace or praise — 
 
 His honor lost or won. 
 In triumph, did Orlando pass, 
 The leader of the senior class, 
 Winning honors and renown, 
 That would for years be handed down 
 
 From father unto son. 
 
 Upon that rostrum, so bedecked, 
 He stood, with manly form erect, 
 Speakiug, in accents clear and loud, 
 Unto that vast, assembled crowd, 
 
 In patriotic tones. 
 He the cause so well insisted, 
 Eighty comrades soon enlisted, 
 Ready to go and rally round 
 Their Captain on the battle-ground, 
 
 Where blood for war atones. 
 
51 
 
 The widow sat with aching heart : 
 To her, none comfort could impart ; 
 She felt so utterly bereft, 
 To have her only child tVas left — 
 
 Her hope and comfort fled. 
 Naught cared she for martial glory ; 
 It was but the sad, sad story 
 Of other mothers left alone, 
 Of wives and children, bach at home, 
 
 Lamenting o'er their dead. 
 
 Albert us was not 'midst that throng, 
 His voice no longer led their sons ; 
 When the war-cry first was sounded, 
 Ere the Country had responded, 
 
 His father called him home. 
 And where had Lodoosski gone ? 
 Orlando's loved and cherished one ; 
 Though many a message he did send, 
 To him no tidings were returned ; 
 
 For reasons yet unknown. 
 
52 
 
 His college duties being o'er 
 He thought to visit home once more, 
 Before lie led his comrades forth 
 To join the soldiers from the North, 
 
 Upon the battle-field. 
 He tried to soothe his mother's heart 
 With ever}" charm he could impart, 
 Concealing, 'neath his manly breast, 
 Thoughts that caused him much distress, 
 
 If to them he would yield. 
 
 Oft he thought of Lodoosski — 
 Those happy days when she was nigh, 
 And he watched, with thoughts of sorrow, 
 For the coming of the morrow, 
 
 Hoping 'twould tidings bring : 
 But three days more, and he must go 
 To join his soldiers at Monroe ; 
 Yet, 'twas not the thoughts of battle. 
 Nor the fear of cannon's rattle, 
 
 Which made his brave heart wriner. 
 
53 
 
 The longed-for tidings came at last — 
 Like a whirlwind's withering: blast — 
 Renouncing him in bitter tone, 
 As too unworthy for her own — 
 
 Her truly, Southern heart : 
 She told him, it should ne'er be said, 
 A Yankee soldier she had wed — 
 A Captain too — she had been told — 
 Enlisting soldiers, young and old, 
 
 With unscrupulous art. 
 
 There came a package, by express, 
 "Which caused Orlando much distress ; 
 ITor every pledge of love was there 
 He'd given, e'en the lock of hair 
 
 She cut from his own head ; 
 Then he saw the choicest token — 
 The diamond ring, she had broken — 
 The very ring his mother wore, 
 A pledge of love, long years before, 
 
 To him who'd long been dead. 
 
54 
 
 His sorrow then lie imparted 
 To his kind and tender-hearted 
 Mother, — whom he knew would share 
 In every trial he did bear, 
 
 As when he was a child. 
 She listened to his heart-felt tale, 
 And saw his quivering lip grow pale, 
 She saw the tear drop from his eye 
 As he spoke of Lodoosski, 
 
 In accents calm and mild. 
 
 Her heart, bereft of every joy, 
 Then bled with pity for her boy; 
 But no! he was a boy no more, 
 The stamp of manhood now he bore, 
 
 With heart as true as steel : 
 She told him not to mourn o'er her ; 
 That there were others sheVl prefer, 
 With loving hearts that could be Avon 
 By such a noble, loving son ; 
 
 The blow he must not feel. 
 
55 
 
 " All mother dear ! thou can'st not know 
 How deep has struck this dreadful blow, 
 Like steel, it cuts into my heart, 
 As oh my soul and life 'twould part, 
 
 What care I now for life ? 
 What care I now for higdi renown 
 Or honors won on battle-ground ? 
 Could she the honors share with me, 
 No braver soldier should there be — 
 
 The foremost in the strife." 
 
 u My son, there yet remains untold 
 The half thy father's well-kept gold ; 
 And there are ships upon the sea 
 Which I did. not reveal to thee, 
 
 When thou wast twenty-one ; 
 Because I thought, 'twould better be, 
 Could I surprise thy wife and thee, 
 And pleasanter than to have said, 
 For wealth alone thou hadst been wed ; 
 
 As it too oft is clone." 
 
56 
 
 " And all the grounds and real estate 
 
 That doth surround the mansion great, 
 
 I do bestow on thee, my son, 
 
 With them what wouldst thou now have done, 
 
 I leave it all to thee ? 
 Sometimes, when fancy lingers near, 
 A pleasing picture doth appear 
 Which makes again my heart rejoice, 
 As through those halls the merry voice 
 
 Of children reaches me. 
 
 " Ah ! mother, such a sketch as thine 
 Oft-times in fancy hath been mine ; 
 And could I now the fates control, 
 From the deep yearnings of my soul, 
 
 My loved one I'd reclaim ; 
 But let the mansion grounds be tilled, 
 Let them with flowers and shrubs be filled, 
 And all the land and real estate 
 Have men employed to cultivate, 
 
 The woodland filled with erame.' 1 
 
Oi 
 
 " But keep the mansion doors still closed, 
 Nor let their fastenings be unloosed, 
 Until the war my fate decides ; 
 For what a soldier's luck betides, 
 
 "lis not for us to know ; 
 And should I fall, as many must, 
 To save a cause so truly just ; 
 Then I request yon mansion door 
 Should be unloosed forever more, 
 
 For soldiers there to go." 
 
 " Endow it too with such a share 
 
 As thou from out my wealth can spare, 
 
 That every soldier, halt or lame, 
 
 Rest and refreshment there may claim, 
 
 In mem'ry of thy son. 
 Now, mother dear, bid me farewell ! 
 In soldier's camp, I'm called to dwell, 
 Thy prayers, I know will follow me ; 
 Faithful and just I wish to be, 
 
 To each and every one." 
 
58 
 
 At old Monroe, they had prepared 
 A grand collation, to be shared 
 By Orlando and his comrades, 
 The sturdy men and beardless lads 
 
 Whom he had enlisted : 
 The people had, for miles around, 
 Assembled on the college ground, 
 Spreading a banquet in the hall, 
 Sumptuous and plenty, there for all 
 
 To feast unrestricted. 
 
 When, from the table that was spread, 
 The multitude had all been fed, 
 There still remained a goodly store — 
 Enough to feed a thousand more — 
 
 It was a sight to see. 
 What shall be done, was then the cry, 
 With all this bounteous supply I 
 "I'll tell you, send it on to camp," 
 Quickly spoke up a little scamp, 
 
 Renowned for repartee. 
 
59 
 
 " The plan is good," an old man said, 
 " If it did come from a young head ; 
 The subject, first we'll vote upon, 
 Then box it up and send it on ; 
 
 'Twill make them goodly fare." 
 A silken flag was then unfurled, 
 To wave above the busy world, 
 Which the fair ladies did bestow, 
 En masse to Captain Orlando ; 
 
 While cheers rent up the air. 
 
 Then the farewells all were spoken, 
 Many ties forever broken ; 
 For men and boys went forth to fall, 
 Kesponsive to their Country's call, 
 
 That never would return. 
 Oh ! the woe, the tears, and heart-ache ! 
 Which cruel Avar doth ever make ; 
 Will nations never cease to gain 
 Their victories through soldiers slain, 
 
 And cities which they burn. 
 
60 
 
 All that long winter, through the camp, 
 From the exposure, cold and damp, 
 The soldiers suffered more or less, 
 Causing, at times, severe distress 
 
 Among the older men : 
 Orlando, both kind and thoughtful, 
 O'er his men, was ever watchful, 
 Ameliorating best he could, 
 As every captain always should, 
 
 The private's condition. 
 
 No luxuries he shared alone ; 
 Even the dainties, sent from home, 
 Which his mother oft provided, 
 'Mongst his soldiers he divided, 
 
 Without himself a share, 
 If he thought by them 'twas needed, 
 His own wants he never heeded, 
 Always using of his own wealth, 
 The wherewith to keep himself, 
 
 And often drew to spare. 
 
61 
 
 All his monthly pay and rations 
 Went to buy the little notions, 
 For which the soldier boy will crave ; 
 While the strong man likes well to have 
 
 His coffee and his tea. 
 With all his kindness, he was stern ; 
 From his command, none dared to turn, 
 His very look the fact conveyed 
 He meant his word to be obeyed, 
 
 Without further decree. 
 
 And when the fight was raging hot, 
 He led his men through shell and shot, 
 Nor ne'er turned back to count the slain 
 That fell like drops of falling rain, 
 
 Around him, thick and fast ; 
 Not knowing but he next might fall, 
 A victim to some well-aimed ball ; 
 And when the noble Colonel fell, 
 His own horse killed by the same shell, 
 
 So fearful was the blast, 
 
62 
 
 He mounted <juick the Colonel's steed 
 And still rode on with gallant speed, 
 Urging his men, at every breath, 
 Right on " into the jaws of death " — 
 
 They followed in despair ; 
 And when his standard-bearer fell, 
 He grasped the nag he loved so well, 
 His own right arm, a useless tiling, 
 Hung by his side without a sling, 
 
 Or thought of surgeon's care. 
 
 Thus fought he on from morn 'till night, 
 Through all the thickest of the fight ; 
 Until, exhausted from the pain 
 Of broken arm and throbbing brain, 
 
 He sank among the dead. 
 AVhen conscience was again restored, 
 He listened for the clashing sword ; 
 But hearing not the battle-sound, 
 In wonderment, he gazed around 
 
 O'er hammock, cot and bed. 
 
63 
 
 When lie, at last, could reason find, 
 
 The dreadful truth flashed through his mind, 
 
 Which he had dreaded from the first, 
 
 As 'mong the fates the very worst, 
 
 To fall in rebel hands : 
 Ere lon£ he heard the treading feet 
 Of watchmen, in their nightly beat ; 
 He watched their foot-steps drawing near, 
 And saw their gray coats did appear 
 
 Like soldiers in command. 
 
 By him the silence first was broke, 
 As he unto the foremost spoke : — 
 " Kind Sir, will you please tell me where 
 This is I've found such goodly care ? 
 
 My arm is set I see." 
 " Why, Sir ! you are a favored one ! 
 More so than many a Southern son ; 
 For yon Lieutenant, lying there, 
 Begged us treat you with tender care : 
 
 No thanks you owe to me. 
 
64 
 
 " Had it not been for his request 
 You'd been in prison with the rest : 
 His father's dead upon the field ; 
 His own life-blood becomes congealed, 
 
 As fast it ebbs away : 
 He begged us place your cots so near, 
 That you his dying words might hear, 
 His days on earth are very few ; 
 A noble soldier, brave and true; 
 
 He has not long to stay." 
 
 Orlando rose from off his cot, 
 And stood beside that solemn spot, 
 Where, wrapt in sleep, Albertus lay 
 Slumb'ring as 'twere his life away, 
 
 That life he loved so well : 
 The tears came trickling down his cheek, 
 He kissed those lips, too faint to speak, 
 Then clasped those hands, so helpless there, 
 And knelt Reside that cot in prayer, 
 
 That God would break the spell. 
 
65 
 
 The watchmen, lingering in their beat, 
 
 Lifted Orlando to his feet, 
 
 Then pointing to his narrow bed, 
 
 4i You must lie there to-night," they said ; 
 
 " For, you are sick and weak ; 
 The surgeon said, that naught could spare 
 Your arm except the best of care, 
 A good night's sleep take, if you can, 
 Then you can stay by that young man 
 
 While life to him doth eke." 
 
 "When he awoke, before him stood 
 A sister, formed and fashioned good, 
 Upon her breast, a cross she wore, 
 "Which signified the name she bore — 
 
 Her garb was very plain : 
 She gave him food, which he partook 
 With thankful heart and grateful look ; 
 She told him, that his friend desired 
 His presence ere his life expired ; 
 
 By him he might remain. 
 
66 
 
 When Albertus saw Orlando 
 
 He whispered : " Art thou friend or foe ? 
 Doth regimentals touch the heart, 
 That we in friendship cannot part, 
 
 The last farewell on earth \ 
 Thou art as Damon unto me — 
 I, thy Pythias still would he ; 
 Save thou can'st by no tribunal 
 Prolong life when wound is fatal, 
 
 With all thy noble worth." 
 
 "My friend did I possess the power, 
 I'd change with thee the dying hour; 
 Thou hast a heart unbroken left, 
 Mine own of love is so bereft, 
 
 That naught can heal the wound ; 
 But while thy ebbing life remains, 
 Thy care my whole attention claims; 
 And in my heart there e'er shall be 
 A sacred memory left of thee, 
 
 A spot of hallowed ground." 
 
67 
 
 The watchmen in their beat drew nigh, 
 Bringing with them Lodoosski ; 
 She kissed her brother's pallid face, 
 Then clasped him in one long embrace, 
 
 Her shrieks rang through the air :- 
 " Father and brother both are slain ; 
 Oh God ! why didst Thou not restrain 
 The arm that dealt the dreadful blow \ 
 That I this sorrow might not know ! 
 
 My heart sinks in despair." 
 
 The sister then who wore the cross, 
 In sympathy spoke of her loss, 
 And bade her to look to Him above, 
 To find that never-dying love 
 
 Which mortals cannot give. 
 " Thou must suppress such bitter grief, 
 And of thy Saviour seek relief ; 
 In prayer alone, the balm is found 
 With power to heal so deep a wound. 
 
 Drink, that thy soul may Jive." 
 
68 
 
 Albertus raised his dying head 
 And to his sister kindly said : — 
 " Thou see'st not my dearest friend, 
 Whom in Elis mercy God did send 
 
 To sooth my dying hour : 
 Draw closer now that thou mayst hear 
 My last request, Oh sister dear ! 
 And dearest friend, Oh tell me now ! 
 Couldst thou renew that broken vow 
 
 With all its former power ?" 
 
 Then from his heart Orlando spoke : — 
 u Those vows by me were never broke ; 
 I freely gave this heart of mine, 
 A victim to that mortal shrine, 
 
 Where it almost adored ; 
 At last, the sad day came for me, 
 My love was scorned, my hand set free ; 
 In vain my mother sought relief 
 Tor my poor heart, so bowed with grief, 
 
 When pity I implored." 
 
69 
 
 " But Lodoosski, still for thee 
 This heart of mine beats lovingly : 
 Oh ! couldst thou give me in return, 
 That love for which my soul doth yearn ! 
 
 'Twould give me joy to live : 
 Father and brother both I'd be, 
 And loving husband unto thee, 
 Canst thou not trust me as before ? 
 I even dare to ask for more : 
 
 Thy love canst thou not give ? " 
 
 '•Yes, Orlando, she will take thee, 
 A loving wife I know she'll be ; 
 Just clasp your hands above my breast ; 
 For I am sinking fast to rest, 
 
 I'll hold them in my own ; 
 And when you feel their icy grasp, 
 Let love your hearts the firmer clasp : 
 Now sister, kiss my dying brow 
 To pledge more sure the renewed vow, 
 
 I leave thee not alone." 
 
PART FIFTH. 
 
 /^vli blessed peace ! how sweet thy calm ! 
 
 Spread o'er the earth like healing balm,, 
 After a nation's been at strife ; 
 A martyred Statesman lost his life ; 
 
 How welcome is thy reign ! 
 O'er mountain, hill, and pleasant vale ; 
 Thy peaceful influence doth prevail ; 
 Where was the sound of Avar and strife,, 
 We see again the busy life 
 
 Of reapers midst the grain. 
 
71 
 
 The moon from her Olympian hight, 
 Acknowledged goddess of the night, 
 Stands confessed the noble seer 
 Of every nation's grand career, 
 
 A watchman o'er the deep: 
 For ages, her effulgent rays 
 Have monthly sent their midnight blaze, 
 Alike o'er scenes of peace and war, 
 Accompanied by the evening star 
 
 Which doth her vigil keep. 
 
 How grand she sends her rays athwart 
 The peaceful scenes, no longer fraught 
 With devastation's blighting hand, 
 Which carries ruin o'er the land, 
 
 Where war and carnage reign. 
 With songs of peace the valleys ring, 
 Re-echoing hills rejoice and sing, 
 The talents of the world increase, 
 To add new tributes to this peace, 
 
 And memorize the slain. 
 
72 
 
 New England feels the potent spell, 
 No more she makes the shot and shell, 
 Her plow-shares and her wheels resume 
 To till the soil and feed the loom ; 
 
 Her tears have ceased to flow ; 
 Her cities and her towns rebuild ; 
 Her colleges are more than filled ; 
 Her ships are sent to foreign ports, 
 Laden with numerous exports 
 
 Which she doth make and grow. 
 
 The cottage, where the widow dwelt, 
 The reign of peace hath also felt ; 
 She's thankful, in her daily prayer, 
 That God the precious life did spare 
 
 Of her beloved son ; 
 She sees the Mansion-house once more 
 Its former glory fast restore ; 
 For fully half a score of hands 
 Are busy on the house and lands ; — 
 
 Their work is nearly done. 
 
73 
 
 Those halls with every modern art 
 Which skillful workmen can impart ; 
 Are embellished and adorned 
 With tapestry, so richly formed, 
 
 Kings and Queens might envy ; 
 INo cost or labor hath been spared, 
 The richest viands are prepared ; 
 And what doth all this work betide ? 
 Orlando there will bring his bride, — 
 
 The fair Lodoosski. 
 
 The hour has come, in grand array, 
 The guests arrive to homage pay ; 
 The bride is robed in spotless white, 
 Her orange-blossoms scent the night — 
 
 No jewels doth she wear. 
 How well Orlando guards his prize, 
 For, in his mind, there will arise 
 The fear that she doth not bestow 
 That love which with the hand should go ; 
 
 This is his only care. 
 
74 
 
 She hung so fondly on his arm, 
 His fear, at last, became a charm ; 
 And when she whispered in his ear 
 So soft she spoke the words, " My dear," 
 
 Enraptured he became. 
 The music and the dance beimn. 
 Which was to be a brilliant one ; 
 In all their bridal robes adorned, 
 The bride and groom danced, till the morn 
 
 Her rights would shortly claim. 
 
 Orlando then esjned, by chance, 
 
 A friend with whom his bride must dance ; 
 
 At first she modestly declined ; 
 
 But failing an excuse to find 
 
 T'would suffice Orlando, 
 She yielded with a wish to please 
 And danced with all her Southern ease, 
 Conversing in her easy style, 
 With her sweet, fascinating smile, 
 
 And. accent — soft and low. 
 
7o 
 
 The friend was charmed, and in a joke 
 He thus unto Orlando spoke : — 
 " I think your bride doth far excel 
 In charms the most bewitching belle, 
 
 O 7 
 
 Fm half in love with her." 
 Orlando urged him to remain, 
 That as a guest, he then might claim 
 Attention from his lovely bride, 
 Of whom he spoke with so much pride, 
 
 His envy it did stir. 
 
 The days, the weeks, how swift they fled ! 
 With pleasures fraught for newly-wed. 
 The bride who ne'er a mother knew, 
 Chins: to the widow as e'en few 
 
 Own daughters ever do ; 
 The friend remained, an honored guest, 
 According to his hosts request ; — 
 A cousin, three removes away — 
 He felt at liberty to stay 
 
 Longer than welcome to. 
 
16 
 
 To him Orlando confided, 
 That his bride true love derided ; 
 Further saying, his life he'd spend, 
 Hoping to win her ere the end, 
 
 To own what true love meant : 
 She showed respect in every move 
 For her husband, which went to prove 
 Plainly to his anxious mind, 
 She the elixir soon would find, 
 
 Which made him rest content. 
 
 To flattVy first she turned deaf ear, 
 Retiring when the friend drew near, 
 Remaining only with her spouse, 
 Whose power o'er song would soon arouse 
 
 A concord twixt the three ; 
 Thus oft, when twilight hour drew near. 
 The trio sang with right good cheer, 
 Oft singing on, until the night, 
 With sable curtain, closed from sight 
 
 The words they wished to see. 
 
 
77 
 
 So, by degrees, the bride was won 
 To join their frolic, games and fun ; 
 And when Orlando's called away, 
 He would request of her to stay 
 
 And finish out the game, 
 Or entertain, while he was gone, 
 The friend whose stay did so prolong, 
 He could not still remain as host 
 Attentive as he was at first, 
 
 Ere duties had their claim. 
 
 The cottage where the widow dwelt, 
 Had, by Orlando, been rebuilt, 
 To carry out his cherished scheme 
 Which to his mother first did seem 
 
 Almost impractical. 
 There every soldier, man or boy, 
 Failing to find constant employ, 
 If he were steady and upright, 
 Could seek a shelter for the night, 
 
 And food 'twas comfort'ble. 
 
78 
 
 And all who with Orlando fought, 
 Could have a borne their lives throughout; 
 Provided, they were halt or lame, 
 Or failed employment to obtain 
 
 Suiting their condition ; 
 Where each must labor what he could, 
 To help along the public good, 
 Or till the land fc'was set apart 
 To give the home a goodly start : 
 
 Such was the injunction. 
 
 Farmer, cobbler, tinker, tailor, 
 Had their round of daily labor, 
 Interspersed with times of leisure, 
 Designed for reading or pleasure; 
 
 As best would suit the man. 
 Orlando overseeing all, 
 Made it a point each day to call, 
 Encouraging, by word and deed, 
 Economy, industry, speed, 
 
 To carry on the plan. 
 
79 
 
 The cousin showed his great esteem 
 For this ameliorating scheme, 
 Making it a grand pretext 
 For his long stays, which so much vexed 
 
 The suspecting widow : 
 For near two years, he went and came 
 Without a purpose or an aim, 
 Except to while his time away, 
 In unsolicited display 
 
 Of plans for Orlando. 
 
 He gathered flowers, and e'er hung nigh 
 Unsuspecting Lodoosski, 
 Heading classics, writing sonnets, 
 Or practicing on new duets, 
 
 Which time and skill required. 
 His tastes were cultured and refined, 
 With polished manners well-combined ; 
 He spoke the languages with ease, 
 And always had the art to please. 
 
 Whenever he desired. 
 
PART SIXTH. 
 
 nphere came again, throughout those halls, 
 
 A gloom more dread than funeral palls ; 
 For Lodoosski was not dead, 
 But from her home in secret fled — 
 
 A convent life to lead ; 
 She left behind a little note 
 Which she unto Orlando wrote 
 Explaining why she left, in brief, 
 Her heart, she said, was filled with grief — 
 
 Of pity she had need. 
 
81 
 
 She the cousin implicated 
 By the facts she plainly stated, 
 How he, by every human art ; 
 In vain had tried to win her heart 
 
 Which was Orlando's still, 
 And for her husband should beat true, 
 As long as life and breath she knew ; 
 But oh ! the basest part of all ! 
 He would have had her virtue fall — 
 
 Subject to his will. 
 
 " Enraged," she said, " I bid him flee ! 
 
 And told him I'd reveal to thee, 
 
 The utter baseness of his heart, 
 
 Which pierced my soul like poisoned dart, 
 
 Erasing faith in man ; 
 Nor can I bear to see thy face, 
 Since meeting this proffered disgrace. 
 Farewell ! farewell ! with bitter tear, 
 I blot the words which are not clear, — 
 
 Forgive me ! if you can." 
 
82 
 
 Thrice o'er, Orlando read the note ; 
 His heart anew with sorrow smote, 
 To think that friendship's sacred trust 
 Should prove so utterly unjust — 
 
 Deceitful from the first. 
 He saw, too late, the stubborn fact. 
 That from the first, in every act, 
 His friend had tried with skillful art 
 To win from li is fair bride her heart, 
 
 And that was not the worst. 
 
 His wife, so pure, she could not bear r 
 To have her loving husband share 
 This secret of proffered disgrace, 
 
 Which, had she told him — face to face — 
 In haste he would avenged : 
 
 But t'was too late, the man to seek 
 
 On whom he would his vengeance wreak; 
 
 Avensing Eros yet miirht meet 
 
 To him the cup of bitter-sweet, 
 More potent than revenge. 
 
83 
 
 He with his mother counsel kept, 
 And through the night so bitter wept, 
 That sleep closed not his weeping eyes, 
 Until the hour drew near to rise ; 
 
 Then slumber gave relief. 
 Through all that long and weary day, 
 And through the night, he slumb'ring lay; 
 But when another sun arose, 
 His eyes were swollen, firm and close, 
 
 Nor naught gave them relief. 
 
 For da) s and weeks, his sightless eyes 
 Beheld the sun sink not nor rise, 
 Thus, the mirrors of his soul 
 Were placed beyond his own control, 
 
 His life was wrapt in gloom. 
 He vowed, the world he'd travel o'er, 
 From pole to pole, from shore to shore — 
 Through every convent of renown — 
 Through every home and foreign town, 
 
 He'd seek her living tomb. 
 
84 
 
 Physicians tried of ern'nent skill 
 To loose those eyes, t'were sightless still, 
 But all their efforts proved in vain ; 
 For he no rays of light could gain — 
 
 'Twas darkness everywhere. 
 The one, more skilled than all the rest, 
 To him the truth at last confessed : — 
 " Your eyes will ever sightless be 
 Unless some one more skilled than me, 
 
 Can ope them by his care." 
 
 "An Oculist I recommend, 
 Whose skill doth wonders, they pretend ; 
 For wealthy people throughout all 
 The foreign world give him a call, 
 
 For cases of this kind : 
 lie is a Frenchman, and they say, 
 Had he but lived in Homer's day, 
 The world would lost the great surprise 
 Of Iliad, wrote with sightless eyes, 
 
 And sung by poet blind : " 
 
8Z 
 
 " In Paris now lie doth reside, 
 More skilled than all the world beside, 
 The envy of a world like ours, 
 The pride of European powers 
 
 That boast such high renown. 
 It is an adage, perhaps true, 
 That no idea — old or new — 
 Long can stand without reaction, 
 Less it pass through French perfection, 
 
 Before 'tis handed down." 
 
 The widow soon the task begun, 
 
 Assisted by her sightless son, 
 
 Of passing through, with noiseless tread, 
 
 Those rooms, from whence their loved one fled 
 
 To seek uncertain fate. 
 Each. article which she left there, 
 They handled with most tender care, 
 Scattering rich and rare perfume, 
 To scent the silence and the gloom, 
 
 That did those halls await. 
 
86 
 
 Once more, the mansion doors were closed, 
 Their fastenings not to be loosed ; 
 Unless the past could be undone, 
 And should return the cherished one 
 
 For whom they were prepared. 
 With saddened hearts, they sped away, 
 Across old ocean's dashing spray ; 
 Beneath whose ever-lashing wave 
 Hundreds had found a wat'ry grave; 
 
 Fret? from tumultuous care. 
 
 They on the deck, in silence sat, 
 While all around was social chat ; 
 Then spoke Orlando : — " Mother dear ! 
 Give me your hand, I wish you near, 
 
 My heart is sad to-day ; 
 And tell me, mother, what you see, 
 For all is darkness unto me, 
 And watch each lady passing by — 
 Always watch for Lodoosski ; 
 
 We'll find her yet, I pray." 
 
87 
 
 " My eyes, I fear, alway'll be blind,. 
 Unless my darling I can find : 
 Oh ! why has God been so severe ! 
 Why made my life so doubly drear ! 
 
 Will I no respite find ? " 
 " Have faith, my son, have faith in God I 
 Remember, 'tis His chast'ning rod, 
 Submissive bow, and bear thy cross ; 
 Though now thy soul is tempest-tossed : 
 
 Clouds oft are silverdined." 
 
 A speedy voyage old ocean o'er, 
 
 They touch their feet on Scotland's shore,, 
 
 But tarry not ; for in their haste 
 
 They feel they have no time to waste, 
 
 Nor wish to linger there, 
 Where dwelt the heroes of the past, 
 Whose names in history shall last : 
 Through epochs past, and yet to come, 
 Their ballads have and shall be sung, 
 
 By lads and lasses fair. 
 
88 
 
 But on they speed to sunny France,, 
 AVI 1 ere art and science doth advance,. 
 Where modern Venus reigns supreme, 
 The wide-world o'er a royal queen 
 
 O'er fashion's destiny. 
 Weary, in body and in mind. 
 In Paris rest, at last, they find ; 
 And hope has dawned within the breast, 
 That soon relief will follow rest — 
 
 For sightless misery. 
 
 They found the Oculist with ease, 
 A man by nature formed to please. 
 With whom the}' held consultation, 
 Prior to examination 
 
 So tedious to bear. 
 The doctor said, " I sj^eak the truth, 
 Without regard to age or youth ; 
 I find your sightless orbs are blind 
 From some derangement of the mind, 
 
 Or overburdening care." 
 
89 
 
 " But promise me to throw aside 
 Whatever trouble doth betide, 
 And be as careless as a child 
 Upon whom fortune e'er has smiled, 
 
 With her bewitching charm ; 
 And I will promise back your eyes ; 
 If no new feature doth arise, 
 Before a twelve month rolls around, 
 Without the aid of lance or wound, 
 
 And do your health no harm." 
 
 Then spoke Orlando :— " Sir, I fear 
 You have made your terms too severe ; 
 My breaking heart and throbbing brain 
 I cannot, cannot, now restrain ; 
 
 Too sad has been my life ; 
 But, try your world-wide skill on me, 
 That my poor eyes once more may see ; 
 Though speak you not to me of grief, 
 For my poor heart there's no relief — 
 
 I mourn departed wife." 
 
90 
 
 " All ! so do I," the Frenchman spoke, 
 " My heart with grief was nearly broke, 
 But when I saw it was God's will, 
 I bid my aching heart be still, 
 
 And sought relief in prayer 
 Which came ; for God is ever kind, 
 To soothe the heart and case the mind ; 
 And now I mourn her not as dead, 
 Unto that brighter world she's tied — 
 
 I hope to meet her there." 
 
 When twice twelve months had rolled around, 
 
 Those sightless orbs were still unbound. 
 
 Napoleon saw his mighty power 
 
 Was trembling, like a tottering tower : 
 
 In Paris, 'twas not safe — 
 The widow longed to be away, 
 But did not like the word to say, 
 Or e'en the slightest doubt express 
 Which would her darling son distress, 
 
 Regarding; his sad fate. 
 
91 
 
 The doctor said, " I shall not stay 
 To see the city swept away, 
 And would advise you go with me 
 And try the balmy air of sea, 
 
 Where Venice lies so fair ; 
 Perhaps the dip of splashing oar 
 Your failing health may soon restore ; 
 At least, 'twill serve to break the spell 
 O'er which your drooping spirits dwell- 
 
 Albeit your despair." 
 
 Just in time to escape the din 
 That with the conflict would begin, 
 Before the dread Commune arose, 
 Intent on slaughtering its foes — 
 
 Or fled fair Eugenia. 
 They sought the quiet of the sea, 
 Where from confusion 'twould be free, 
 Where Venice in her beauty lies — 
 The mistress of a hundred Isles — 
 The Glory of her day. 
 
92 
 
 The Oculist located there, 
 And oft had leisure time to spare ; 
 When he would take Orlando out 
 Upon the square, or sail about 
 
 The cool and placid 1 >ay, 
 Which pleased Orlando very much; 
 For well he loved the water's touch, 
 And loved to hear the dipping oar, 
 As he had oft-times read in lore, 
 
 Of the famed gondola. 
 
PART SEVENTH. 
 
 /^Vft, when the morning sun arose 
 ^^^ Or sank at evening to repose, 
 That mother to the public square 
 Would take her son, with tender care, 
 
 And linger by the hour. 
 Not many times had they been there, 
 Before they noticed, on the square 
 Came two small children, every day,, 
 To spend an hour or more in play, 
 
 Beneath the shady bower. 
 
94 
 
 They noticed also, that they spoke 
 
 The English language, plain, unbroke ; 
 
 A pair of twins, they proved to be, 
 
 Whose years might number, perhaps three, — 
 
 A little boy and girl. 
 The widow asked them each, their name, 
 And could they tell from whence they came ? 
 Bertie and Gertie, in a trice, 
 Spoke up the little ones so nice — 
 
 She stroked a shiny curl. 
 
 Though they so quickly told their name, 
 They could not tell from whence they came, 
 Except by pointing to the place 
 Removed from them a little space, 
 
 Which was, they said, their home. 
 Then, the nurse-maid of the children, 
 
 Said, " their father is not living 
 Beneath Italia's sunny skies ; 
 But far away, across the seas, 
 He doth broad acres own." 
 
95 
 
 Tims, day by day, those children twain 
 Unto Orlando, went to claim 
 A little story or bon bon, 
 Soon learning to depend upon 
 
 The blind man as their friend. 
 •" Mother," said he, " caivst thou tell me, 
 How do these children look to thee? 
 Their little curly heads I feel, 
 I hear their voices merry peal 
 
 Upon the air ascend." 
 
 41 Yes, my son, I soon can tell thee, 
 They have little brown heads curly, 
 And well the color of their eyes 
 Doth compete with heaven's own skies, 
 
 In their bright, azure blue ; 
 Little faces, bright and cheery ; 
 Little lips, red as a cherry : 
 The boy exactly looks like thee, 
 "When thou wast small and young, like he ; 
 
 Ah ! fair they are to view." 
 
" And I'll tell thee now, Orlando, 
 Of my twin children, years ago ; 
 They were like these, son and daughter, 
 Oh, how well they pleased thy father ! 
 
 For they were our first born ; 
 Their look and features were the same 
 As have these little children twain ; 
 The color of their hair and eyes, 
 So like my twins, did much surprise 
 
 Me when we came that morn. 11 
 
 Thus days and weeks soon sped away; 
 And still, Orlando every day 
 Would go unto the public square, 
 That lie might meet the children there 
 
 Whom he had learned to love : 
 One day, while playing with the girl, 
 As he stroked down a shiny curl, 
 His finger tangled in a chain, 
 That a small locket did sustain 
 
 Clasped with a golden dove : 
 
97 
 
 Pie felt the locket o'er and o'er, 
 Unclasped the chain which the child wore, 
 And to his mother slowly said : — 
 " Oh ! can it be that she is dead, 
 
 Or want has forced its sale ? 
 For ne'er was made another like 
 This one, which did her fancy strike ; 
 I know'ts the one I ordered made, 
 Of purest gold and pearl inlaid ; 
 
 My touch doth never fail." 
 
 •" Mother, look into the locket ; 
 Though mine eyes close in their socket, 
 Thou still hast left the power to see 
 And tell what pictures there may be ; 
 
 Oh ! is it her's and mine ? " 
 " No, my son, thou art mistaken ; 
 For the pictures show no token 
 Of ever being thee or her, 
 And over them is cast a blur — 
 
 They're faded grown by time." 
 
98 
 
 He clasped the trinket back again, 
 But ran liis thoughts in fancy's train, 
 And though he tried hard to forget, 
 For days and weeks thoughts lingered yet 
 
 On his Lodoosski. 
 Long had the children plead in vain, 
 To have the blind man go with them 
 Unto their home, so very near, 
 "Where lived their own mamma so dear ; 
 
 He saying, " by and by." 
 
 At last the children's patience tired, 
 And they the " by and by" required, 
 Begins* of him so hard to sro, 
 That he no longer told them no, 
 
 But went that very night. 
 " Oh ! mamma ! mamma ! " both exclaimed, 
 As they held, each, the hand they claimed, 
 " We've brought the blind man home to-day, 
 A little while with us to stay ; 
 
 You know, you said we might." 
 
99 
 
 " But, mamma, why do you not speak ? 
 And why those tears upon your cheek I 
 We think the blind man is so nice, 
 He gives us candy, cakes and ice, 
 
 And tells us stories too : 
 Sometimes he sings us pretty songs 
 Of little folks and little things ; 
 Come ! mamma dear, Ave wish you'd speak, 
 And wipe the tears from off your cheek, 
 
 He will be good to you." 
 
 " Madam, forgive if I intrude, 
 I would not for the world be rude ; 
 But when these little ones, so dear, 
 Begged me so long and hard come here. 
 
 I could not tell them nay ; 
 A heavy sorrow came to me, 
 Since which sad time I cannot see, 
 And these dear little ones of thine 
 Have caused me a little sunshine, 
 
 As we met day by day." 
 
100 
 
 u Listen ! Orlando, they are thine — 
 As truly thine — as they are mine ; 
 For scarce was I ei^ht months from thee* 
 When God these children gave to me ; 
 
 I love them, as my life ; 
 But I will share the gift with thee — 
 The boy, or girl, which shall it be ? • 
 Ah, no ! I'll not divide the twain — 
 Take both, and only let me claim, 
 
 Just one kiss, as thy wife." 
 
 " Lodoosski ! Lodoosski ! 
 Art thou the wife for whom I siirh ? 
 Oh, come ! and let me feel thy face ! 
 That I may the resemblance trace 
 
 To her I loved so well. 
 Oh ! yes, I know, thou art the same ! 
 Thank God ! thank God ! in Heaven's name,, 
 And thank Him for these children twain ! 
 Who shall henceforth a father claim — 
 
 My mother we must tell." 
 
101 
 
 " Oh, Orlando ! let me tell thee 
 Of the love which I can give thee ! 
 If thou can'st now forgive the past, 
 I'll give thee love, 'twill ever last ; 
 
 'Twas with these children born : 
 Oh ! how my heart has longed for thee I 
 Whom I supposed across the sea ; 
 Each morn and eve I've knelt in prayer, 
 That I with thee might live to share 
 
 The love I used to scorn." 
 
 u But Lodoosski ! darling one, 
 Say, can'st thou love a poor, blind man ? 
 Oh ! what would I not give to see 
 My own dear children ! yes, and thee ! 
 
 My loved and cherished wife/' 
 " What ! can I love thee, did'st thou say I 
 Ah ! language fails me, to convey 
 The depths of love which stir my heart ; 
 And e'en thy blindness doth impart 
 
 A cause for love, through life." 
 
102 
 
 " But, Oil ! the hardest part for me 
 Is, that I brought this all on thee. 
 Had I but freely told thee all, 
 How thy false friend would have me fall, 
 
 Aid sought thy protection — 
 Instead of fleeing from mankind — 
 Then, thou would'st not have now been blind. 
 Forgive ! forgive ! I meant no wrong, 
 And should have to a convent i^one 
 
 But for my condition." 
 
 " Repine not now, my darling wife, 
 O'er what's transpired in our past life; 
 Myself, far more than thee, I blame; 
 I erred, when first I bid him claim 
 
 Attention from my dove ; 
 And had'st thou told me, who may know 
 But I, enraged, might dealt the blow, 
 Far worse to bear, for me and mine, 
 Than is the woe of being blind, 
 
 With wife and children's love ;" 
 
103 
 
 " For love can solace every ill 
 And bid the aching heart be still : 
 Upon creation's natal morn, 
 Within the human heart 'twas born, 
 
 More potent e'en than death; 
 For love the heart has ever sighed — 
 E'en Kings and Queens have fought and died 
 That they its magic might enjoy ; 
 O'er Helen was the seige of Troy — 
 
 A bride of noble birth." 
 
 " The ' burning Sappho loved and sung,' 
 
 When mythic ages first begun ; 
 
 And Cleopatra bore the asp, 
 
 When she no longer love could grasp 
 
 With her bewitching charms ; 
 Elissa fell, a sacrifice 
 To the love she could not prize ; 
 Leander swam the Hellespont 
 For love of Hero — so intent — 
 
 To clasp her in his arms." 
 
PART EIGHTH. 
 
 fTMie Oculist, the facts were told ; 
 
 And to Orlando he made bold 
 To suggest an operation, 
 Which, after due consultation, 
 
 They all decided on. 
 The doctor having heretofore 
 Thought, his mind too heavy bore 
 Upon his sorrow and his grief, 
 To find from such a source relief, 
 
 Had not advised it done. 
 
105 
 
 The cause for grief being removed, 
 Surrounded by the ones he loved, 
 The doctor said, he still had hope, 
 Those sightless orbs he yet might ope, 
 
 By aid of lance and wound ; 
 A dread ordeal 'twas to pass ; 
 But brave he bore it to the last ; 
 For he felt his Lodoosski 
 Hold both his hands and stand so nigh, 
 
 To soothe him, if he swooned. 
 
 For six long weeks, he bore the gloom 
 Of being kept in darkened room ; 
 And then, the doctor did begin 
 To let the rays of light come in, 
 
 And lo ! Orlando saw ! 
 And as the days and weeks passed by, 
 Ever faithful Lodoosski 
 Let in the stronger rays of light, 
 Until he gained his perfect sight, 
 
 And darkness did withdraw. 
 
100 
 
 His wife and children he beheld, 
 
 And his dear mother grown so old, 
 
 By constant watching over him, 
 
 Through the past years of dark and gloom- 
 
 Her hair was silvered gray; 
 A faithful mother had she been 
 Through all the trouble she had seen : 
 A crown immortal shall be hers, ■ 
 Excelling amaranthine flowers — 
 
 In realms of endless day. 
 
 Ah ! who can know the joy of light ; 
 Like those who've been deprived of sight ? 
 Behold ! the infant grasps the beams 
 Of sunshine that through window streams, 
 
 In infantile delight ; 
 The flowers that blossom but to die, 
 Look for the sunshine from on high ; 
 The lambkin, skipping on the green, 
 Plant and creature, all are seen 
 Grasping for heaven's light. 
 
107 
 
 How thankful did Orlando feel, 
 When the first rays of light revealed 
 The fact, that he no more was blind ; 
 His cloud, though dark, was silver-lined ; 
 
 His sun might set in peace ; 
 For God with him had kindly dealt, 
 Though deep affliction he had felt, 
 The chast'ning rod had been removed, 
 Which had a purifier proved, 
 
 T'would happiness increase. 
 
 Orlando felt the time had come 
 For him to take his fam'ly home ; 
 No longer did he need the care 
 Of Oculist, or balmy air — 
 
 His mission there was o'er. 
 They bid the Oculist adieu, 
 A friend to them — both tried and true, — 
 Venice, so much loved in story, 
 Had for them a double glory, 
 
 More real than pictured lore. 
 
108 
 
 They did not wish to tarry long 
 In lands historic ; art or song 
 Had not the power to fascinate, 
 "With equal charms — desire innate — 
 
 To see once more their home ; 
 But all concluded, 'twas not wise 
 For them to leave Italian skies, 
 Till they had seen the Pope's domain, 
 The statues viewed, of warriors slain, 
 
 And statesmen cut in stone. 
 
 Passed they through the Roman Forum, 
 And the mighty Coliseum ; 
 Where, eighteen centuries before, 
 The gladiator in his gore 
 
 Weltered to please the crowd ; 
 Then, o'er the seven hills of Home, 
 And through Saint Peter's massive dome, 
 Beholding art so antiquate, 
 No trace was left to mark its date — 
 
 With myst'ry 'twas endowed. 
 
109 
 
 In Florence, on their homeward way, 
 They lingered but a single day 
 Midst the world renowned mosaics, 
 And old paintings, made historic 
 
 By master artists' brush ; 
 From there, directly to Paris, 
 Where Orlando, so long sightless, 
 Nothing knew of his surroundings, 
 Or his goings, or his comings — 
 
 Save knowledge, gained by touch. 
 
 But they could find no track nor trace, 
 By which to designate the place 
 Where they had spent those two sad years, 
 In constant grief and bitter tears, 
 
 So dark to Orlando. 
 "Ah, see ! " said he, " how changed the scene ; 
 For devastation here has been, 
 Touching, with its withering hand, 
 The proudest City in the land; 
 
 Thus making it bow low." 
 
\ 
 
 110 
 
 While talking thus, a crash — a groan— 
 A man from off his horse was thrown — 
 A perfect picture of despair; 
 The well-dressed rider 'twas hurled there, 
 
 Ton the curbstone dying; 
 And begging, with his dying breath, 
 For that forgiveness, after death, 
 Which he had failed on earth to find : 
 " Oh, God !" he cried, " send peace of mind, 
 
 For peace T am sighing." 
 
 They saw, at once, 'twas the false friend 
 Thus coming to a bitter end ; 
 As he had sowed so should he reap ; 
 For God His promise e'er doth keep — 
 
 The whirlwind was his end. 
 " We forgive thee," said Orlando, 
 " And beg our Father mercy show : 
 For thee yet there is a respite ; 
 If thou truly dost repent, 
 
 God will mercy send." 
 
Ill 
 
 He slowly raised his dying head : 
 " Canst thou forgive/' he faintly said, 
 " The wrongs which I to thee have done ? 
 And will that pure and lovely one, 
 
 Thy wife, forgive me too V 1 
 " Yes, she forgives,' 1 Orlando said ; 
 And slowly sank the dying head : 
 Before his Maker he must stand, 
 And seek forgiveness, at His hand, 
 
 For wrongs which lie did do. 
 
 ■* -x- -::- ->:- -::• * 
 
 Amidst New England's sunny hills, 
 Where run the rivers and the mills, 
 A stately mansion may be seen, 
 Where peace and plenty dwell within ; 
 
 For love hath entered there. 
 The lon^-closed doors are loosed at last, 
 And many happy hours are past, 
 In list'ning to the merry sound 
 That through those halls doth now resound, 
 
 As 'twere to answer prayer. 
 
112 
 
 No more the vision is ideal, 
 But the living and the real ; 
 For little feet run to and fro — 
 Little voices now re-echo, 
 
 Reaching the widow's ear ; 
 Who sees her son, in manhood's prime, 
 A happy husband, spend his time 
 In making life a happy scene 
 For mother, wife and children ; e'en 
 
 The servants call him dear. 
 
 Forgetting not, he must prepare 
 
 His fam'ly, by his daily prayer, 
 
 And a consistent Christian life, 
 
 Free from the world's tumultuous strife, 
 
 For that bright home above ; 
 Where are severed ties united, 
 Every wrong and sorrow righted, — 
 For those who gain the certainty — 
 Fruitions of Eternity — 
 
 Resplendent realms of love. 
 
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