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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
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 f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^. 
 
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 y 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 7 
 
 5^ 
 
 BY 
 
 AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL, 
 
 ,,K. , 
 
 -.J 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY ADAMS & CO., 
 
 No 25 Broi\:!-iei.d Street. 
 
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 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 Adams and Company, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 .r^'"^ 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY 
 F. BROWN AND CO., BOSTON. 
 
^0 P^v) :^ationt8> 
 
 WHOSE 
 
 LiVBS OF Independent Thought and Practical Faith 
 Have been my Inspiration, 
 
 ^his "Volume 
 
 IS 
 
 Affectionately Inscribed, 
 
 A. C. BRISTOL. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 CHE following volume of poems, is an offering from one of 
 the daughters of America. The author is successful in 
 J translating into her verse some of the finer tone? and expe- 
 riences of the womanly heart. By a word or epithet she some- 
 times unlocks a new avenue of thought. Her pure spiritual 
 genius and native beauties of fancy and imagination, will not 
 escape the reader. We seem to see a life of struggle and self- 
 education, of earnest aspiration and deep Christian trust suf- 
 fusing the page. So poetry rises to prophecy, and the singer of 
 the fair and beautiful, becomes the teacher of everlasting truth. 
 We commend these modest pages to the lovers of the gentle 
 Art, assured that they will be touched anew with a sense of the 
 loveliness of nature, and the grandeur of life, as they follow the 
 clue of a thoughtful, humble worshipper of God. While, then, 
 the great organs thunder forth in Dantean or Miltonic strains 
 the sublime ccstacies that shake the soul, we will not disdain 
 to listen to the gentle lute, which wi'h heavenly melody, 
 changes the common air to music, and tells us of that love of 
 God which is in all things, least and greatest. The voice of 
 the Sisterhood as well as tiat of the Brotherhood, is needed to 
 complete the gammet. This, too, is of God, and happy is it in 
 our free day that nothing less than Humanity in its wide sweep 
 of experience, capacity and aspiration is to be the prophet- 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 poet, and sing its higher and wider strains than the epic, or 
 lyric of the Past. In that august choir, ^iz claim a seat for our 
 gentle singer, and a part in the majestic melodies of life's sub- 
 lime oratorio for her vox humana. 
 
 A. A. LiVERMORE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PACK. 
 
 The Birth of the Lily ii 
 
 Art-Science 15 
 
 Spirit Hunger 17 
 
 When this old Earth is Righted ... 19 
 
 Past and Present 21 
 
 The Soul's Psalm of To-Day .... 26 
 
 Garrison 28 
 
 The Great Creator — God 32 
 
 Our Lina 36 
 
 Reflection and Prophecy 39 
 
 A Summer Morning Hour with Nature . . 45 
 
 My Head and Heart 47 
 
 The Old Song and the New 5o 
 
 Heart Azaleas 54 
 
 The First Marriage 56 
 
 Entities 61 
 
 Our Cherub Boys 64 
 
 Massachusetts and her Convict .... 66 
 
 Another Love .69 
 
 The Bird Song 73 
 
 Ruins 75 
 
 Love Worship 76 
 
 Upward 78 
 
 Angeline 79 
 
 Night . . . . • 82 
 
 Summer Morning 84 
 
 Truth's Apostle Sj 
 
 Loss and Gain 89 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Passed On 62 
 
 Before the Rain 94 
 
 After the Rain 96 
 
 Lincoln — 1865 98 
 
 Lina's Grave 100 
 
 Lines 103 
 
 Our Country 105 
 
 Spirit Love 107 
 
 Lines no 
 
 Death in the House . . . . . . 113 
 
 My Spring Gift 116 
 
 What does the Sea Say? 119 
 
 Thy Heart 120 
 
 Shadows 121 
 
 Grandparents 122 
 
 Soul Charges 124 
 
 The Advent of the Seasons. 
 
 Spring 125 
 
 Summer i29 
 
 Autumn . 133 
 
 Winter 137 
 
 POEMS OF THE IVAR. 
 
 The Crime of the Ages 143 
 
 The Union Soldier 145 
 
 New England's Advance .••... 146 
 
 Our Amazon Sister, — The West .... 149 
 
 Right Triumphs 152 
 
 To THE Nations over the Sea .... 154 
 
 Shout 160 
 
 Arabel's Choice 163 
 
 Parting 170 
 
 Widowed 172 
 
 My King 175 
 
 Another Year 178 
 
 Term of Service Ended 181 
 
 The Soldier's Wife at Evening .... 187 
 
 God Reigns in the Earth 189 
 
POEMS 
 
 |hc |uitl| of ih 1% 
 
 J]' HE Rose had bloomed in Eden. Odors new 
 II Entranced the groves, and iridescent birds 
 
 J At this new birth of beauty, sudden rose 
 In richest chorus, bearing up the balm 
 Upon their beating wings. The bee had learned 
 The place of golden sweets ; the butterfly 
 Loved well to dream within those crimson folds, 
 And Eve had made a garland delicate, 
 Of feathery sprays, and leaves, and drooping bells, 
 And placed the Rose, the queen of bloom, above 
 The centre of her brow. Thus she bound up 
 The golden ripples that fell down and broke 
 O'er her white breast, hiding the bosom buds, 
 That never yet had yielded up their sweets 
 To the warm pressure of an infant's lip. 
 And Eve had bent above the glassy lake, 
 Smiling upon her picture, pressing close 
 The soft cheek of the Rose upon her own, 
 And for the gift of beauty, praising God. 
 
12 POEMS, 
 
 But now a morn had come, more strangely dear 
 Than Eden yet had known. The sleeping wind 
 Woke not to stir the fringes of the lake, 
 Nor shook the odors from the scented plant. 
 A silver, misty wreath closed fondly down 
 Above the waveless tide. The insect world 
 Lay waiting in the leaves, as though a spell 
 Had hushed Creation ; yet expectant thrills 
 Ran through the silence, for the loaded air 
 Grew lighter, purer, and the recent Rose 
 Drooped her proud head in meekness, and the face 
 Of heaven flushed with a hectic briUiancy, 
 Above some coming wonder. 
 
 One by one, 
 The beasts and birds of Paradise came down 
 With noiseless movement to the water's edge, 
 And waited on the margin. Creatures huge, 
 With honest liquid eyes, and those that stepped 
 With cushioned feet, and feathered footsteps, stole 
 About the brink, with all the tribe that gave 
 The forest life. The serpent reared its crest, 
 Not yet polluted with the valley's dust. 
 And stood like one with royal gems encrowned ; 
 While beast, and bird, and serpent turned to gaze 
 Upon each other, with inquiring eyes 
 And half bewildered glance. 
 
 Then, last of all. 
 Came Eve with Adam to the circling rim, 
 Her fingers, grasping roses, and her lip 
 
POEMS. 13 
 
 All beautiful with love's own witchery. 
 
 She stood and noted, with admiring look, 
 
 The strength of Adam's form, the expansive chest, 
 
 The sloping muscle, and the sinew knit, 
 
 The firm athletic limb, and every grace 
 
 Combined and joined in that first, perfect man. 
 
 Then Eve, grown humble in her wondrous love 
 
 Of Adam's beauty, knelt upon the turf, 
 
 While her long hair fell down in shining waves, 
 
 And pressed her lip upon his dew-washed feet. 
 
 Then with her agitated fingers broke 
 
 The fox-glove pitcher from the stem, and stooped 
 
 To fill it up for him ; but quickly drew 
 
 Her pearl-white hand away from the still lake, 
 
 And held it o'er her heart, with such a look 
 
 Of awe and mystery, as if a spell 
 
 Was on the water, that she dared not break. 
 
 So all was hushed and waiting : when behold ! 
 A flash of gold shot from the silver East, 
 A gush of new perfume spread through the grove ; 
 The Rose drooped lower, and the impatient birds, 
 Loosed from restraint, sang in a strain refined, 
 Of dulcet clearness, such as those young bowers 
 Had never heard before. The beast crouched down 
 Upon the velvet turf, the Serpent's crown 
 Flashed richer splendor, and the angel band 
 Whose glancing wings gleamed by the tree of Life, 
 Their very plumes were tremulous with joy. 
 
 Then Eve looked o'er the swelling wave, and lo I 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 The lake was overspread with blooming stars, 
 Or snowy, golden centred cups, that rocked 
 And spilled the choicest incense. Adam cried, 
 " The Lily ! " but the sweet voice at his side, 
 Grown tremulous and faint with over joy, 
 Could only whisper, " Purity ! " Then quick 
 With restless hands she culled the floral star — 
 Queen of the wave — emblem of innocence, — 
 And hung it in the lion's matted mane, 
 Or twined it round the Serpent's glittering neck, 
 Thus humoring her fancy in the play. 
 Till half the morning hours had slipt and gone. 
 Then, startled by the voice she loved so well, 
 She left the sport, the creatures, and the flowers, 
 And hastened back with Adam to the trees, 
 Where God was walking in the solemn shade. 
 
 O woman frail, thou hast not known a tear I 
 Thy spirit clothed in simple innocence, 
 Weareth a garb of bliss ! Not yet thy hour 
 Of sorrow and departure, nor the pangs 
 And mystery of motherhood are thine ! 
 Yet, sinless one, some day, because of thee, 
 God's love shall give a Saviour to the world I 
 
POEMS. 
 
 15 
 
 \ 
 
 xi"M\\Xit\, 
 
 WANDERED with an earnest heart, 
 Among the quarried depths of Thought 
 And kindled by the poet's art, 
 I deftly wrought. 
 
 I wrought for Beauty ; and the world 
 Grew very green and smooth for me, 
 
 And blossom banners hung unfurled 
 On every tree. 
 
 Upon my heated forehead lay 
 The cooling laurel, and my feet 
 
 Crushed honied fragrance out, the way 
 Had grown so sweet. 
 
 And Praise was servant of the ear, 
 And Love dropt kisses on the cheek. 
 
 And smiled a passion-thought too dear 
 For tongue to speak. 
 
 But one day the ideal Good 
 
 Baptised me with immortal youth, 
 
 And in sublimity of mood 
 I wrought for Truth. 
 
i6 POEMS. 
 
 Oh then, instead of laurel crown, 
 The world entwined a thorny band, 
 
 And on my forehead pressed it down 
 With heavy hand. 
 
 And looks that used to warm me, froze ; 
 
 I lost the cheer, the odor sweet. 
 The path of velvet; — glaciers rose 
 
 Before my feet. 
 
 Yet Truth the more divinely shone, 
 As onward still I sought to press, 
 
 And gloriously proved her own 
 Almightiness. 
 
 For girded in her armor strong, 
 And lifted by her matchless arm 
 
 Above the frozen peak of Wrong, 
 In warmth and calm, 
 
 I sit, and white thoughts, lily pure, 
 Like angels close my heart around, 
 
 And fold me gently in, secure 
 From cold or wound. 
 
 O kindred poet-soul, whose lays 
 
 Of sweet word-music, set in line. 
 Are fashioned for the World's poor praise, 
 
 And Beauty's shrine, — 
 
 The martyr's spirit-wing is strong ! 
 Choose thou a pinion that can rise 
 
POEMS. 17 
 
 With Trutli*s full freight of clarion song 
 And sweep the skies ! 
 
 Then shall the thoughts that in thee burn, 
 Flame-reaching, touch the thought Divine y 
 
 And Man may scoff, — a World may spurn, 
 But Heaven is thine. 
 
 ungeii. 
 
 /i'OME to me, angels ! The room of my spirit 
 Jl Is garnished and swept for a season by prayer ; 
 J I have cast out, just to win you anear it, 
 All the earth vanities brooding in there : 
 
 Come to me angels ! 
 Lift for a moment my curtain of care 1 
 
 I am so weary of earthly supineness — 
 Life that is levelled to labor and pay ! 
 I am so hungry for Nature's divineness ! 
 Hungry to talk with her only a day : 
 
 Come to me angels ! 
 Write in my heart the sweet words she would say ! 
 
 I will not ask that your presence may bring me 
 Glimpses of Heaven ; — my soul-reaches are low ; 
 
iS POEMS. 
 
 I am not worthy your white lips should sing rae 
 One of the songs that the seraphim know : 
 
 Come to me angels ! 
 Teach me God's precious reveal ments below. 
 
 Bear on your wings, in your coming and going, 
 Wafts of His breathing o'er prairie and lea ! 
 Bring me sweet hints, from the May roses blowing, 
 Of Deity's thought sprung to bloom on a tree ! 
 
 Come to me angels ! 
 Tell what the roses are keeping for me ! 
 
 Open to me by a sacred impressment, 
 
 Mysteries hid in a gurgle of song ! 
 
 Secrets enfolded in purple caressment, 
 
 Close in the tubes where the honey-bees throng ! 
 
 Come to me angels ! 
 Bearing that bird and bee message along ! 
 
 Often I think by the scintillant gesture 
 
 Of sunbeam and cloud, that the theme of the sky, 
 
 Is only pale splendor of Deity's vesture, 
 
 With glory reduced to Mortality's eye : 
 
 Come to me angels, 
 So I may know if my thought is a lie ! 
 
 Always I fancy the spirit's ideal — 
 The beauty and light we forever pursue, 
 Is witness within us of One who is real ; — 
 God faintly miraged to Humanity's view. 
 Come to me angels ! < 
 
 Float in and whisper my fancy is true 1 
 
POEMS. 
 
 19 
 
 IJfen ll|i.^ old |artl| i| lijgWqi 
 
 |f SEARCHED the volume of my heart, 
 I spread its purple lids apart, 
 Its leaves with inspiration's art, 
 And prophecy indited ; 
 Entranced with trope and mystic rhyme, 
 I caught the symphony sublime, 
 The prelude of the coming time ; — 
 I sa»v the old Earth ri-^^htcid. 
 
 o 
 
 Thou shalt lay cross and burden down, 
 Himinity ! and take thy cro'>va, 
 A bride of Heaven in lily gown, 
 
 With every wrong requited \ 
 Eithronei iy: th/ achie/emjat vast, 
 With each ideal of the past 
 One grand reality at last, 
 
 When this old Earth is righted. 
 
 And nations shall not then, as now, 
 The cause of righteousness avow, 
 With "ego" written on the brow; 
 But each to each united, 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 Shall wear the badge of sacrifice, 
 And drop the hypocrite's disguise, 
 And face high Heaven with honest eyes 
 When this old Earth is righted. 
 
 No more before Redemption's gate, 
 Stumbling at prejudice and hate, 
 America shall hesitate, 
 
 To Liberty half-plighted ; 
 For truths that loosely lie apart. 
 Shall be inwrought into the heart, 
 By Reason's skill, and Wisdom's art, 
 
 When this old P^arth is righted. 
 
 And Freedom's march no more shall pause 
 At God Almighty's broken laws ; 
 The full requirements of her cause 
 
 Shall nevermore be slighted : 
 Nor civic strategy elude 
 Equality and brotherhood • 
 And Justice shall pronounce it good, 
 
 When this old Earth is rio^hted. 
 
 'fc)' 
 
 And woman's hfe no more shall be 
 The play-ground of hypocrisy. 
 But earnest, natural, and free ; 
 
 And Love shall stay unfrighted, 
 And reign in sacred, sweet content, 
 And offer service reverent ; 
 For marriage shall be sacrament, 
 
 When this old Earth is righted. 
 
POEMS, 21 
 
 And rolling forward to the Day, 
 The world shall bravely make essay, 
 To draw heaven's glory round its way, 
 
 That seemed so long benighted ; 
 And every whispering wind that blows, 
 The rock, the fountain, and the rose. 
 And trembling leaf, shall God disclose, 
 
 When this old Earth is righted. 
 
 Then urge thy tardy courser, Time ! 
 We watch to hail the blessed prime ! 
 We listen for the morning chime 
 
 That heralds the long-plighted ! 
 Humanity and the Divine 
 Shall wed at Niture's sacred shrine, 
 Completing Infinite djsign, 
 
 AVhen this old Earth is riorhted. 
 
 IJiTBt ami fjnjsijnf. 
 
 IfN the month of June, four years ago. 
 When the E irt!i hor early roses wore, 
 I walked tliough yonder green arcade, 
 A path I had n-jver trod before ; 
 On the poplars tall, 
 The leaflets all 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 Hung down, and quivered with secret j 
 
 And the squirrel brisk, 
 
 With chatter and frisk. 
 Peeped slily at Russell Lee and me. 
 
 The cony crept from her burrowed cell, 
 And winked with a wonder to see us pass, 
 And the preening bird that perched o'er head. 
 Never flew as we rustled the clover grass, 
 
 But with softer trill, 
 
 He turned his bill 
 To his mate, that brooded above the nest, 
 
 And even the mole, 
 
 From his subterrene hole, 
 Came out to see what had jarred his rest. 
 
 The wind, that had been with the leaves all day, 
 Its puffing and panting suddenly ceased ; 
 And the sun reached up his scintillant hand, 
 To fling a kiss to the distant east ; 
 
 The wilding rose 
 
 In her scented clothes, 
 Wooed into her bosom the amorous bee, 
 
 And a low, weird tongue 
 
 In the tall pine sung, 
 And whispered of Russell Lee and me. 
 
 The hurrying day hung crimson fringe 
 On cloudy counterpanes over the sky. 
 And spread her patch-work of blue and gold, 
 And heaped the embroidered pillows high : 
 
POEMS, 23 
 
 The lakelet's face, 
 
 In the mead's embrace, 
 Came smiling up to a sandy shore. 
 
 And laughed and played 
 
 By the green arcade, 
 Down which I had never walked before. 
 
 Side by side on the sandy shore 
 That the water loved to lap and lave. 
 We stood and watched two shadows thrown 
 On the mirror-face of the glassy wave ; 
 
 The lily frail, 
 
 So cold and pale, 
 Had gathered her cloak of glaucous hue. 
 
 But left her eye 
 
 A place to spy. 
 The movements strange of the shadows two. 
 
 We saw the blossoming flower enfold 
 The sleeping butterfly into its breast. 
 And the humble willows bending down, 
 The cool blue lip of the lakelet prest : 
 
 Who '11 dare to say. 
 
 In that hour of the day, 
 When the hills received the kiss of the sun, 
 
 It was strange or queer 
 
 In that day of the year, 
 If the shadows two became but one. 
 
 The sentinel lily, serene and chaste, 
 Her pure eye veiled with impulsive start, 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 As though some secret was luckily caught, 
 And locked down close to her golden heart j 
 
 Frail blossoming, 
 
 Self-blinded thing ! 
 Had she only looked her white dress through, 
 
 She 'd have wished to smile. 
 
 For all of the while, 
 She was hugging and kissing a drop of dew. 
 
 'T was the month of June, four years ago, 
 When the Earth her beautiful blossoms wore, 
 That I walked through yonder green arcade — 
 A path I had never trod before ; 
 
 Was it strange or queer, 
 
 In that day of the year 
 That Russell should whisper of love to me? 
 
 Was it out of the way, 
 
 In that hour of the day, 
 If I loved to be loved by Russell Lee ? 
 
 I wandered the self-same path to-day. 
 
 And the boughs that arched and shadowed it o'er, 
 
 All shook with a madder, merrier glee, 
 
 Than they ever had done four years before ; 
 
 On the poplars tall, 
 
 The leaflets all 
 Hung quivering now with intenser glee, 
 
 For instead of two, 
 
 Their curious view. 
 Surprisingly counted a group of three. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Above and around was the olden glow, 
 For Russell and I were there again, 
 While half exultant, we proudly drew 
 A miniature carriage — a hooded wain j 
 
 And we turned to bless. 
 
 With a mute caress, 
 The baby-boy in his winsome glee, 
 
 For the eyes that look 
 
 From that pillowy nook, 
 Are much like the eyes of Russell Lee. 
 
 And that was the reason the cony jumped, 
 And the squirrel gamboled and played about, 
 And the preening bird, he guessed full well 
 The cause of the saucy, frisky rout : 
 
 And the lily frail. 
 
 So cold and pale, 
 No longer her serious cloak closed up, 
 
 But humbler grown. 
 
 On her sentinel throne. 
 She yielded the sweets of her odorous cup. 
 
 We stood again on the sandy shore, 
 Where the waters come up to lap and lave ; 
 Two shadows were there, and a tinier shade 
 Between them, darkened the crystal wave ; 
 
 And just as the dew 
 
 Distilled from the blue. 
 And Nature received the kiss of the sun, 
 
 When the panting breeze 
 
 Was embracing the trees, 
 I saw three shadows become but one. 
 
 25 
 
26 POEMS. 
 
 |ltt |ouI's psalm of |o-|a2. 
 
 LINGER not to parley or decry ; 
 I raise no question of my work or wages ; 
 But ravished with divinest forces, ply 
 The task of ages. 
 
 I may not to the future give my heed ; 
 I cannot turn to pour the old libation ; 
 I wed my energies to present need 
 And inspiration. 
 
 Yet am I cognizant of linkings vast ; 
 My feet essay to run these shining courses, 
 With the full impetus of all the past 
 Eternal forces. 
 
 The Rose will turn her bosom to the skies, 
 And blossoms shape in amber light their fruitage, 
 Though the lymph currents of their natures rise 
 Through cold, dark rootage. 
 
 For me the holy davvnings of To-Day, — 
 The sacred glory of a present morning ; 
 Yet do I hold the old and out-grown way, 
 In love, not scorning. 
 
POEMS. 27 
 
 For a faint sweetness from the ancient time, 
 Floats 'round me, and an aroma discloses, 
 Wedded m essence to this blessed prime, 
 And Truth's fresh roses. 
 
 The solemn, sacred stars are not displaced 
 By the effulgence of the Dawn's adorning, 
 And pale orbs of the past are but embraced 
 In all this morning. 
 
 I feed upon a harmony sublime — 
 God's music stereotyped on instant pages ; 
 Yet hear a silver and concordant chime 
 Steal down the ages. 
 
 I hold a sacred commerce with the skies ; 
 I link the centuries ; I close the suture 
 Of an eternal arch that unifies 
 The Past and Future. 
 
 Infinity behind me, and before ! 
 Infinity above me and beneath me I 
 Creative Energy can neither more 
 Nor less bequeath me. 
 
 Around, within, the authoritative call 
 Commanding and revealing instant duty : 
 And the obedience and pursuit is all 
 Celestial beauty. 
 
 And thus I languish for no future store 
 Of being raptured by Divine accession. 
 But hold such transport, now and evermore, 
 In full possession. 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 arrtsott< 
 
 J^HE little nation grew apace, 
 
 1| And towering, took its lofty stand, 
 
 J Like perfect things that cannot fall ; 
 Yet, though the land was rich in grace, 
 And church spires rose on every hand, 
 One high heart over-topped them all. 
 
 One high heart nearest pressed to God I 
 One arm in all that people throng, 
 A giant sin could boldly smite ! 
 One stood on Massachusetts' sod. 
 And faced the nation's demon Wrong, 
 With unadulterated Right ! 
 
 His great soul saddened. He had plead 
 With those whose wealth blocked up the street, 
 Or lost upon the ample sea, 
 To turn upon the shadow dread, 
 Fearless the monster's strength to meet, 
 And deal it death at Freedom's knee. 
 
 He thought men's hearts were all equipped, 
 And only waited for a tongue 
 To waken, to arouse, to lead. 
 
POEMS, 29 
 
 Here his pure estimate was tripped. 
 
 The word on which great names were strung, 
 
 Was but a substitute for greed. 
 
 *T was hard, — this unexpected freeze ! 
 
 With charities all torrid warm, 
 
 To slip so sudden to the poles ! 
 
 To learn that great men at their ease, 
 
 With air complaisant, rotund form. 
 
 Thought ledgers more than human souls ! 
 
 Then to his inward strength he spoke, — 
 Spoke to the grandeur of his will. 
 And said, " We '11 turn for aid elsewhere. 
 One came to break the bondman's yoke ; 
 Men worship him ; our ranks will fill, 
 Enlisting from the altar stair." 
 
 They thought (who took the bread and wine), 
 Such suppers should be ate in peace ; 
 A worldly breeze should not sweep up 
 The aisle, to bring in cry and whine 
 Of woes petitioning surcrease, 
 And soil the dear communion cup. 
 
 Not knowing this, he hopeful turned 
 From counters to white neck-cloths, sure 
 Of strength all marshalled for his need \ 
 But, — hateful lesson to be learned — 
 His understanding seemed obscure — 
 Men's love of God, meant love of creed. 
 
3d POEMS. 
 
 And so his great soul saddened. Yet 
 
 Resolve abated not, but grew, 
 
 Now that he stood to fight alone. 
 
 A few heroic natures met, 
 
 A few hearts gathered, grand and true, 
 
 Round the rejected corner stone. 
 
 No easy chairs of Church or State, 
 No names that poets love to wreathe, 
 No places at the Capitol, 
 No levels with the affluent great. 
 No sounding titles to bequeathe 
 To some immortal procotol, 
 
 These men and women asked of God. 
 They asked Him for the sword of Truth 5 
 They prayed him for a lightning word 
 To smite the Oppressor's heavy rod, 
 And melt the stony heart to ruth ; 
 For tongues of flame that would be heard. 
 
 That matchless sword laid bare the Wrong, 
 
 However subtily arrayed. 
 
 Though senate chambers shut it in ! 
 
 Struck out at Boston, yet so long, 
 
 At Washington the dreaded blade 
 
 Stabbed like a sabre > — not a pin ! 
 
 And men grew sore, and hissed with hate^ 
 That leader with the sword and flame, — ^ 
 That power to Freedom's service lent i 
 
POEMS, 
 
 And gnashing on her advocate, 
 They felt the heart-throbs of the same, 
 Pulse underneath the government 
 
 Then other men, a gathered host, 
 Arrayed in more attractive garb. 
 Essayed to check the growing Wrong : 
 The word Oppression hated most, 
 They spoke not : whittled down the barb, 
 Concealed the sabre and the prong. 
 
 'T was nothing but a wicked hoax, — 
 
 Accoutred with a straw or hair. 
 
 To tickle 'round a sin so foul ! 
 
 As if the tongue must praise and coax, 
 
 Before a lifted hand should dare 
 
 To let the light in on an owl ! 
 
 Thank God, those foolish days are past I 
 
 Caught in a strait, the civic hand 
 
 Must rout the Wrong, or write " Undone ! ^' 
 
 And Freedom's temple, strong and vast, 
 
 Goes grandly up to fill the land. 
 
 With purer brightness than the Sun I 
 
 And on that dome, a million hands, 
 Trembling with ardor over-much. 
 Carve at the word " Emancipate ; " 
 And crowds drawn in from all the lands^ 
 Go pressing up but just to touch 
 The hand that wrote the Proclamate ! 
 
 31 
 
32 POEMS, 
 
 And though I walk with burning gaze 
 Within that temple ; though I cast 
 My full voice with the current tone 
 That over-flows with love and praise, 
 Yet do I tarry, first and last, 
 To worship at the corner stone. 
 
 |b |rrat |itatmi,--|oH. 
 
 |r WALKED with Nature alone one day, 
 
 II And sought to discern the sound, 
 
 J That murmured up from the growing shrub 
 
 And leafy tongues around, 
 
 The field-bell opened her yellow hood, 
 
 To let me look in her eye. 
 
 And the king-cups lifted their heads to bow, 
 
 Whenever I sauntered by ; 
 
 The faintest noise of a sighing breath 
 
 From the heart of the rose came up. 
 
 And I bent my ear to the musical hum 
 
 In the blue-bells tiny cup \ 
 
 And clustered violets, faint and dim, 
 
 Were stooping so near the sod, 
 
 That I knew by the daisy's tearful eye, 
 
 They whispered together of God, 
 
POEMS. 33 
 
 I walked in the woodland's solemn shade, 
 
 Where gums and dew-drops drip ; 
 
 Where mosses embrace the dead old trees, 
 
 And kiss with a clinging lip ; 
 
 The brave old oak, — the monarch oak, 
 
 Swung forward his giant arm, 
 
 And the infant trees at his gesture wide. 
 
 Waved shivering with alarm ; 
 
 They knew, perhaps, that a mighty theme 
 
 Their forest king had stirred ; 
 
 And stiff and solemn the hemlocks stood, 
 
 As if they too had heard ; 
 
 The tasselled pine, with a trembling moan, 
 
 Reeled forward and back in the air, 
 
 And threw her quivering fingers up 
 
 To the sky, as if in prayer ; 
 
 Then my quick ear oped to the strange refrain 
 
 Around the path I trod, 
 
 And I caught a note ere it closed again ; 
 
 And the word I heard was, " God." 
 
 I tarried for rest in a valley cool. 
 
 Where fluttered the wayward gale ; 
 
 And out from the dark green thicket's shade, 
 
 Came down the wind-god's wail ; 
 
 The breeze died sobbing upon my brow, 
 
 Then started to life again. 
 
 And hurried away to the shrieking hills, 
 
 To groan with a secret pain ; 
 
 It shouted hoarse to the mountains old, 
 
 And the mountains answered back ; 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 But the song grew sweetly low and mild, 
 
 As it neared the valley's track ; 
 
 Then it came like an angel's breath to me, 
 
 And fainting down to the sod, 
 
 It sighed a hymn on the clover's neck, 
 
 But all that I heard was " God." 
 
 I walked by the sea, — the tinted sea, 
 
 Where the ships go sailing by : 
 
 The calm old ocean lay on his back, 
 
 To smile in the face of the sky : 
 
 But a sound came up from the caves low down, 
 
 And he trembled all over with joy, 
 
 And shook and danced, that old gray sea. 
 
 As though he were only a boy ; 
 
 He hurried past the beautiful isles, 
 
 And tost like a bubble the ships, 
 
 In his haste to kiss the virgin beach 
 
 With his blue and foaming lips ; 
 
 Then the storm arose, and with blackened wings, 
 
 Hung brooding over the main, 
 
 Till the wakened sea — the monster sea, 
 
 I could hear him wild complain : 
 
 Then they joined in one — the dark-winged storm, 
 
 And the sea with terrible roar ; 
 
 And the white-haired waves, grown gray in an hour, 
 
 Fell swooning back to the shore ; 
 
 But the cloudy monarch was blanched with dread. 
 
 And quailed at the ocean's frown, 
 
 So slowly lifting his wide wings up. 
 
 With tear-drops glittering down. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 He floated away, with a sweet sad voice, 
 To the orange sun in the west, 
 While ocean lay with a murmur down. 
 On his jewelled floor to rest ; 
 Then a still small voice, from the coral hall, 
 Where the sea-nymph's feet had trod, 
 Trembled up through the dimpling violet wave, 
 And chanted to me of God. 
 
 I watched the Night, in her dark gray barge, 
 
 When the world was fast asleep, 
 
 Sail proudly up from the lonely East, 
 
 Across heaven's glittering deep ; 
 
 The moon was pushing the clouds aside, 
 
 From her beautiful brilliant way, 
 
 And the stars were blinking and shining out. 
 
 As though for a mere display ; 
 
 But the queenly Night, — the saintly Night, 
 
 With her gracious, majestic brow ! 
 
 The stars were forming a magical word, 
 
 On the front of her gloomy prow. 
 
 But distant and far as that gray barge was, 
 
 From my seat on the mossy sod, 
 
 I could dimly trace the characters there, 
 
 And the word that I spelled was " God." 
 
 The pass-word of all created things. 
 
 Was this I had heard and read, 
 
 From the tiniest blossom on Earth's green vest, 
 
 To the throbbing stars o'erhead. 
 
 Then I closed my eyes to the outer world. 
 
 35 
 
36 POEMS. 
 
 And silently gazed within, 
 
 To the heart's dim cells, where the lamp of lov ; 
 
 Burned low in a fog of sin j 
 
 Then I bent me down in a loved surprise, 
 
 Till my forehead touched the sod ; 
 
 For the harpers of Truth in the human he? 
 
 Were chanting to me of God. 
 
 ur i^xw^. 
 
 lines respectfully inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. Xenophon 
 Phillips and family, Berlin Heights, Ohio. 
 
 fHE came with the advent of beautiful things ; — 
 Of roses, bird-music, and butterfly wings ; 
 There was June on her brow, and the generous 
 skies 
 Had dropped their pure stars in her amethyst eyes, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 Each birth-day that came, we could measure and trace 
 The growth of her soul, through her beautiful face ; 
 Caught its sparkle and flash ; and we set her apar* 
 In our treasures of love, as a gem of God's Art — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
POEMS, 37 
 
 Sixteen times had the June with its tremulous arm. 
 From the breast of the Rose, shook the odor and balm, 
 Till it drooped its pale leaves and hung faint in the 
 
 sun, 
 And had crowned her at last, child and woman in 
 
 one, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 Earth claimed her. The songs in the meadows and 
 
 bowers, 
 All held in the chorus of each " She is ours ; " 
 But the angels knew better ; for they, looking down. 
 Thought her soul out of place in its chrysalis gown — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 Then out from the pearl and the jasper above. 
 The messenger came. With as tender a love 
 As a mother's who bears her white bosom and sings, 
 He folded her soul, and she took on her wings, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 Heaven opens to Nature. The world was so gay, 
 That the birds and the blossoms all kept holiday. 
 We only were blind. Earth endeavored to teach 
 The bliss of the angel, too high for our reach, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 The clover and phlox the intelligence told. 
 And all the rich butter-cups scattered their gold ; 
 The purple bells spilt their sweet wine on the ground, 
 In an impulse of joy just to see her encrowned, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
38 POEMS, 
 
 What a gush of rich sound to the thicket was given ! 
 For the jubilant Earth caught the anthem of Heaven ; 
 And iris-hued birds winging out o'er ihe lake, 
 In dieir glorious songs all her rapture bespake, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 If the beauty that lies on the wave and the plain, 
 Is a reflex of Heaven, we can guess at her gain ; 
 But our hearts draw together, we feel so alone ; 
 And dark is the nest since the white dove has flown, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
 Brood over us, Christ ! What can lessen our cold 
 But the warmth of thy pity ? Oh strengthen and hold 
 Our weak human hands ! Turn our crimson to white, 
 And lead on the way to our life and our light, — 
 
 Our Lina. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 39 
 
 |[e|I([ciion mul gr^apliecij. 
 
 I. Past. 
 
 |r STAND in the halo of morning, — the dawn that 
 
 31 follows the twilight ; 
 
 J Fixed on the mount of the Present — the monu- 
 ment of the Ages : 
 
 A product and imaged resultant of centuries lying 
 behind me, 
 
 From pedestal high and central I glance at my ante- 
 cedents. 
 
 Life was the gift that was real, back in Humanity's 
 twilight : 
 
 Mind, unknown to itself, had formed no law for its 
 passions : 
 
 Kindness was born of an impulse ; revenge w^as an 
 untamed justice ; 
 
 Sentiments acted spontaneous, checked by no limi- 
 tation 
 
 Of statute, and lacking all guidance or modification 
 of culture. 
 
 * This poem was composed af;er reading *•' Thornd:Jc ; '* and 
 it is likely that many cf the ideas herein expressed oii,:;inatcd 
 with the author of that volmne, but were so ingrained into my 
 thought, that they came to seem as my own. 'I'hey must at 
 kasi have been suggested by a perusal of the work referred to. 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Man, the observant of Nature, gazed at the forest 
 
 majestic, 
 Lifting its foliage daily higher into the sunlight. 
 Gazed at the growth and the rootage of herbage and 
 
 all vegetation, 
 Reading their insinuations of mystery lying beneath 
 
 them. 
 Raising his eye at midnight, and watching the solemn 
 
 pageant 
 And glory of stars, that never had halted yet in their 
 
 marching, — 
 Moving in mystic rhythm and strange harmonious 
 
 measure — 
 •The measure in which Night always her star-written 
 
 poem advances — 
 He pondered the intimations of mystery lying above 
 
 them. 
 Standing alone with Nature, when sunrise lay on the 
 
 water, 
 Over the cup of the lotus, he bent to study and listen, 
 Peradventure to catch a hint of the origin of its 
 
 beauty. 
 Missing ambiguous words of laws and primitive 
 
 forces, 
 Gliding by all their occultness, he passed to a God 
 
 that 's behind them. 
 Thus there were inward revealings of one who is 
 
 more than creation, 
 Yet he was throned in the gloom of the cloud that 
 
 belches in thunder. 
 With passions that flashed in the lightning, for God 
 
 was a being: of terror. 
 
POEMS. 4E 
 
 Biit l^it stole into the twilight : Humanity's vision 
 was clearer ; 
 
 Oat of spontaneous passion there grew a law for the 
 people ; 
 
 Out of revenge that vv'as thoughtless, came forth retri- 
 bution vindictive : 
 
 An eye for an eye the rule that checked the aggres- 
 sion of evil. 
 
 Imagination's conceptions were carried up to the 
 Reason, 
 
 And studied under the ray of the little light she had 
 gathered. 
 
 The lightning garments of God, were changed for the 
 robe of Justice, 
 
 And threadino: the thou'rhts of men there lurked a 
 prophecy latent, 
 
 That surely a time was coming, to join the divine 
 and human. 
 
 II. Present^ 
 First \vas the gift of existence. Reflection on life 
 
 followed after ; 
 And now while I stand in the dawn-light, a growth 
 
 of the by g3ne ages, 
 I turn to cxapnine surroundings — the forces and 
 
 powers of the Present, 
 Ilamanity works in the harness, and Law is director 
 
 and driver ; 
 But man, growing noble, forgets the penalty fixed to 
 
 the statute, 
 And moves in obedience cheerful, to win the esteem 
 
 of his fellows ; 
 
41 POEMS. 
 
 At once discharging a duty, and shunning the state 
 
 of demerit. 
 A branch of the stout tree of Justice, that centuries 
 
 nourished and tended, 
 Has put forth a single white flower, and the name of 
 
 the blossom is " Mercy." 
 The lamp of Reason has brightened to light no 
 
 longer uncertain, 
 With flame that steadily waxes, suggestive of glorious 
 
 promise. 
 White is the throne of Jehovah ; His judgments stern 
 
 and relentless, 
 Changed with the spirit of man, seen tempered with 
 
 love and kindness. 
 Material science opposes the inward science of spirit. 
 Acts are more than a thought, as fruitage is higher 
 
 than rootage. 
 Deeds are the culmination of roots grown into the 
 
 spirit, 
 The secret of whose sweet trouble, breaks out at last 
 
 into roses, 
 Which overrun sects and dogmas : — -those bristling 
 
 and troublesome hedges, 
 That change God's one grand meadow to cramped, 
 
 insignificant pastures. 
 But Christ, who worked in the inner, is now subduing 
 
 the outer : 
 The laborer never supposing he serves with sinew 
 
 and muscle 
 The self-sa.me kingdom and Master that's served by 
 
 the thouglit of the preacher. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 43 
 
 III. Future. 
 
 Now as I stand on the hill-top, bathing in early re- 
 fulgence, 
 
 Poet and prophet at once, I point to the glory that 's 
 coming, 
 
 Point to the kingdom complete, the tuistical age of 
 the future. 
 
 Up from the epoch of impulse, up from the era of 
 statute, 
 
 Man shall arise at last to the plane of a God-like 
 freedom — 
 
 Humanity grown to a height that touches the hand 
 of Jehovah. 
 
 As God is a law to himself, the soul shall be self- 
 legislator, 
 
 In harmony always with Christ, the normal condition 
 of freedom. 
 
 Man shall be brought to perceive the harmonious 
 whole of Creation : 
 
 Conscious of God's idea, shall pattern his own there- 
 after. 
 
 The good of the whole, the law he passes in self- 
 legislation, 
 
 The good of the whole, the rule that lines and levels 
 his action. 
 
 Outward science no longer shall scoff at the science 
 of spirit, 
 
 But reaching the hand of love, shall recognize their 
 relation. 
 
44 POEMS. 
 
 Philosophy and Religion, moving in measure together. 
 Sisters in aim, co-working and serving the self-same 
 
 Master. 
 All shall commune with Christ, his kingdom of love 
 
 extending 
 O'er all intelligent life, and embracing inanimate 
 
 nature. 
 Man shall see inward existence, in atom, rain-drop, 
 
 and leaflet. 
 Man shall see God in the granite, and smell his 
 
 breath in the lily. 
 The columns of Heaven, and pillars supporting the 
 
 throne of Jehovah, 
 Shall sink in the heart of Humanity, linking the 
 
 earthly and heavenly : 
 So there shall be one glory embracing Creator and 
 
 Creature. 
 A word large with nobleness, — " grace " — shall be 
 
 chosen for God by the Reason, 
 Suggestive of pardon, and life created anew in the 
 
 spirit. 
 Such is the brightness for man and for earth in the 
 
 far-off cycles ! 
 Such is the rainbow-promise that hangs in the sky of 
 
 the Present 1 
 
POEMS, 
 
 45 
 
 \ Summer |[orning liour luitli I'aturi?. 
 
 I 
 
 HE Night has gathered up her moonlit fringes 
 And curtains gray, 
 And orient gates, that turn on silver hinges. 
 Let in the Day. 
 
 The morning sun his golden eye-lash raises 
 
 O'er eastern hills ; 
 The happy summer bird, with matin praises 
 
 The thicket fills. 
 
 And Nature's dress, with softly tinted roses 
 
 And lilies wrought. 
 Through all its varied unity discloses 
 
 God's perfect thought. 
 
 Sweet Nature ! hand in hand with her I travel 
 
 Adown the mead, 
 And half her precious mysteries unravel, 
 
 Her scripture read. 
 
 And while the soft wind lifts her tinted pages, 
 
 And turns them o'er, 
 My heart goes back to one in by-gone ages 
 
 Who loved her lore, 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 And symbols used, of harvest field, and fountain, 
 
 And breezy air ; 
 Who sought the sacred silence of the mountain 
 For secret prayer. 
 
 Oh drop, my soul, the burden that oppresses, 
 
 The cares that rule. 
 That I may prove the whispering wildernesses, 
 
 Heaven's vestibule ! 
 
 For I can hear, despite material warden 
 
 And earthly locks, 
 A still, small voice, — and know that through his 
 garden 
 
 The Father walks. 
 
 The fragrant lips of dewy flowers that glisten 
 
 Along the sward. 
 Are whispering to my spirit as I listen, 
 
 " It is the Lord ! " 
 
 And forest monarchs tell by reverent gesture 
 
 And solemn sigh. 
 That the veiled splendor of his av/ful vesture 
 
 Is pasi^ing by. 
 
 The billovv^s vvitness Him. No more they darkle, 
 
 But hap to lave 
 The silent marching feet that leave a sparkle 
 
 Along the w^ave. 
 
POEMS, 47 
 
 And sweet aromas, fresher and intenser, 
 
 The gales refine ; 
 The odor floating from the lily's censer, 
 
 Is breath divine. 
 
 Nature — Heaven's priestess — yieldeth precious wit- 
 ness 
 
 And large reply, 
 To him who comes to her with inward fitness 
 
 Of harmony. 
 
 Who seeks her door with calm interrogation. 
 
 And reverent knock, 
 With motive pure, and chaste communication, — 
 
 She will not mock. 
 
 But open wide her penetralia portal, 
 
 And bid her guest 
 Drink from the precious streams of truth immortal 
 
 That vein her breast. 
 
 [|b 1]^^^^ ^ittl luart 
 
 'M weary of the strife between 
 My head and heart ; 
 Each struggles for the sovereign sway, 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 Yet only one can I obey, 
 For, serve and follow which I may, 
 They lead apart. 
 
 " Heed me," cries heart, " nor once from my 
 
 Instructions swerve ! 
 'T is not as precious to be free 
 And homeless, as to stay by me. 
 And braid love's blessed garland I Be 
 
 Content to serve ! " 
 
 But head, all regal, pleads her right 
 
 Legitimate : 
 " Soul, follow me ! Take on thy wings, 
 And thou shalt learn divinest things 
 From all that Nature says and sings 1 
 
 Live to create ! " 
 
 Then heart puts in again her sweet 
 
 Persuasive tone : 
 " I, only I, to life can add. 
 Touches that thrill and tones that glad ; — 
 Love's warmth ! — A woman's soul is sad 
 
 To be alone." 
 
 But head with voice of calm command 
 
 Still argues fair, 
 That wisdom's glance illuminate, 
 And spirit quickenings inspirate, 
 For human love shall compensate, 
 
 And make repair. 
 
POEMS. 49 
 
 Thus, listening to each in turn, 
 
 My life wears on ; 
 Oh could I only once arise. 
 Yet hold love's sweetness in my eyes, 
 The while I soar and sweep the skies, 
 
 And join the dawn ! 
 
 Oh for a friend exceptional 
 
 And heavenly great ! 
 That, worshipping creative mind, — 
 The immortal thought, illumed, refined, — 
 Will keep the heart's dear gifts enshrined, 
 
 Inviolate ! 
 
 Oh for a king with power to hold 
 
 Miraculous reign ! 
 To let my fond heart have her way. 
 And reverence her passion play, 
 Yet not one single fetter lay 
 
 Upon the brain ! 
 
 Come Death, and harmonize the powers 
 
 That draw apart ! 
 From God's almightiness obtain 
 A compromise between the twain, 
 And satisfy my hungry brain 
 
 And yearning heart ! 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 lb Ijtd ^onfl mul ffe f^cur* 
 
 THE OLD. 
 
 jl'LOSE are the shadows and dim is the day; 
 
 J God is away from the world ! 
 
 Y Twihght encloseth the finite for aye ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Outward humanity leaneth in vain, 
 
 Straining her vision a witness to gain 
 
 Of the background of being — the infinite plain ;- 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 He hath no part in the voices of earth ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Man hath appraised them and noted their worth; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Gather the sounds of the sea and the air, 
 
 Harmonies subtle, and symphonies rare, — 
 
 Still not a whisper from Deity there : 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Vainly we seek with the eye and the ear ; 
 God is away from the world ! 
 His vesture and footprints no longer appear ; 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
POEMS. 51 
 
 He cometh no more with a daily accost 
 To the finite ; the garden is cold with the frost, 
 And the echoes of Eden forever are lost ; 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Heaven hath no actual commerce with man ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 He hath perfected His purpose and plan ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Creation is finished ; He sitteth apart 
 
 In a glory too dread for the scene of His art ; 
 
 Too piercingly pure for Humanity's heart ; 
 
 God is av/ay from the world ! 
 
 Truth is not ours in its absolute ray ; — 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 Only poor gleams of the actual day ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 We reach not the substance ; we touch but the screen ; 
 
 Our hope is the victim that 's lifted between 
 
 The real and seeming ; the Christ — Nazarine ; 
 
 God is away from the world ! 
 
 THE NEW. 
 
 Heirs of the IMorning, we walk in the light j 
 God is forever with man ! 
 A day that hath never a noon or a night ; 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 A day without limit whose glories unfold 
 The statutes that time and eternity hold ; 
 An endless becoming its measure and mold \ 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 He sitteth a guest in Humanity's soul ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Life leadeth on to an infinite goal ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Inward, not outward, is Deity's shrine, 
 
 The Presence Eternal — the Spirit Divine, 
 
 And being becomes immortality's sign ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Truth is not veiled to mortality's eye j 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 We have a witness on v/hich to rely ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 The word is eternal, and cometh to each, 
 
 And the inward rebuke with its yearning beseech 
 
 Is the sweet modulation of Deity's speech j 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Of all that is real the human hath part ; 
 
 God is forever with man 1 
 
 Our roots are the veins of the Infinite Heart \ 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 The Christ liveth ever in creature disguise ; 
 
 The Logos by which every soul shall arise 
 
 To the gospel and glory of self-sacrifice ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
POEMS, 53 
 
 Sing, little blue-bird, the message ye bring, 
 God is forever with man ! 
 Cleave the soft air with a rapturous wing j 
 God is forever with man ! 
 Warble the story to forest and rill, 
 Sweep up the valley and bear to the hill 
 The sacred refrain of your passionate trill ; 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Open, bright roses, and blossom the thought ; 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Precious the meaning your beauty hath wrought ; 
 
 God is forever wdth man ! 
 
 Spread out the sweet revelation of bloom, 
 
 Lift and release from an odorous tomb, 
 
 The secret embalmed in a honied perfume j 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Dance happy billow, and say to the shorCj 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Echo, sea-caverns, the truth evermore, 
 
 God is forever with man ! 
 
 Bear on, Creation, the symbol and sign. 
 
 That being unfolds in an aura divine, 
 
 And soul moveth on in an infinite line 
 
 God is forever with man. 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 prl |,2ali|a^. 
 
 fOFTLY I slept in the green of my garden ; 
 Sweetly I dreamed of the coming of dawn ] 
 Innocence waited as watcher and warden j 
 Keeping the curtain of mystery drawn ; 
 But miracles came, with the pulse of the morning, 
 Into my being ; — I woke with a start ; 
 For the young tree of Love without budding or warn- 
 ing, 
 Had suddenly sprung into bloom in the heart. 
 Love's own azalea ! Crimson azalea ! 
 Wonderful bloom in the green of the heart ! 
 
 Such an aurora of halo resplendent, 
 Seemed to the world and the universe given i 
 Earth was enwrapt in a glory transcendent, 
 Close in the tender embraces of Heaven. 
 Oh I was brave in an ecstatic passion ! 
 Ruler of Fate, and creator of Art ! 
 For Love is the empress of law and of fashion, 
 When her red blossom unfolds in the heart. 
 Love's own azalea ! Crimson azalea ! 
 Wonderful bloom in the green of the heart ! 
 
 Yet while I exulted and laughed in the morning, 
 The beautiful blossom was touched with decay : 
 
POEMS. 
 
 5S 
 
 Its death like its advent had come without warning, 
 And stolen the charm of existence away : 
 Oh there was loneliness, darkness, and sorrow ! 
 Faith lifted quickly her wing to depart ! 
 Hope had no promise or lease of to-morrow, 
 When the red bloom had dropt out of my heart. 
 Love's own azalea, — Crimson azalea — 
 Blossoms but once in the green of the heart. 
 
 Then to the desolate places of spirit. 
 Toilers and helpers came in at my need ; 
 Over the furrows of scorn and demerit. 
 Angels were stooping to scatter the seed. 
 Oh it was joy, after waiting and praying, 
 To feel the faint pulse of the buried seed start 1 
 And it was bliss worth the pain and delaying, 
 When a white bud opened out in my heart. 
 Love's white azalea ! Perfect azalea ! 
 Slowly it grows into bloom in my heart. 
 
 Meanings that lurked in a subtle concealment, 
 Now to my purified vision are given ; 
 Life is an earnest and sacred revealment ; 
 Earth is the twilight that brightens to Heaven : 
 Duty is Beauty in saintlier whiteness ; 
 Truth is sublimer than Genius or Art ; 
 And the spectre of sorrow is crowned with a bright- 
 ness 
 As pure as the blossom that grows in my heart — 
 Love's white azalea ! Perfect azalea ! 
 Slowly it grows into bloom in my heart. 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 Such an Eternity opens before me — 
 
 Vision o'er-matching the pain and tlie cost ! 
 
 While Hope ever whispers that Heaven will restore 
 
 me, 
 The essence and soul of the blossom I lost ; — 
 Time cannot lessen, and doubt cannot smother 
 The hope that my blossoms will each form a part 
 Of the Heaven that is coming ; — the one and the 
 
 other, 
 To open for aye in the angelic heart. 
 Crimson azalea ! Snowy azalea ! 
 Love has no loss in the angelic heart. 
 
 |l|c |ii-|i |}:irriage 
 
 rfHE Morning hours were shpping one by one, 
 4] Like loosened gems from Day's revolving crown, 
 
 J Still Adam slept. A thousand starlike eyes 
 Had opened in the grass on Eden's lawns, 
 And like a trimming hung in the deep green 
 Of grove and thicket. And a thousand tongues 
 Poured their cantatas from luxuriant shades, 
 And the quick rustling of unnumbered wings 
 Troubled the sleepy breeze, until it sprang 
 To a bold wakefulness, and sallied out 
 
POEMS. 
 
 To lift with daring finger the dark hair 
 
 That lay on Adam's brow. Yet he stirred not. 
 
 The slowly moving foot and heavy tread 
 
 Of giant animals that came to drink 
 
 From Eden's mimic lakes, jarring the ground 
 
 At every motion of thsir mammoth lirnbs, 
 
 Failed to arouse him from his long, deep trance. 
 
 Lithe tiny reptiles, of a glittering green 
 
 Freckled with fiery spots, with lightening feet 
 
 Darted across him like a phosphor flash, 
 
 Or like a gleaming crowd of twinkling fish, 
 
 That glancing, slips across a bar of sand. 
 
 But when the sun one third his journey done, 
 With countless golden fingers touched the crown 
 Of the forbidden tree whose glossy fruit 
 Rounded in shade through all the earlier hours. 
 The eyes of Adam opened, and he rose, 
 Wondering to find no dew-drops in the grass, 
 Nor gemming the thick cluster of his hair, 
 Nor scarcely moistening the blossom's heart. 
 But soon he ceased to wonder at the sun's 
 Drinking the dew away ere he awoke. 
 For a great feeling rose within his soul. 
 Of mingled presciency and reverence, 
 Such as he oft had felt on other days, — 
 Only in smaller measure — just before 
 Fie found in the dear haunts of Paradise, 
 Some new work of Creation. But to-day, 
 The dim uncertain feeling swelled and grew 
 To something far more sure than wavering hope, 
 More positive than mere expectancy. 
 
 57 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 So with a careful step and searching glance, 
 
 He passed through dell and over sloping lawn, 
 
 Peered into shady covert and dun glade, 
 
 And parted v/ith a cautious hand the vines 
 
 Of the cool bowers. But suddenly he paused, 
 
 And drew his breath back with a stifled cry 
 
 Of joy and wonder, and with strong hands clasped 
 
 Stood gazing, till his loudly beating heart 
 
 Shook the stout building of his naked chest. 
 
 And sent an agitated current up, 
 
 Flushing o'er cheek and brow. Then he drew back 
 
 Into a leafy covert, and between 
 
 The verdant boughs and lightly stirring leaves. 
 
 Watched breathlessly ; for just before him there, 
 
 Upon a couch of softest emerald moss, 
 
 O'er-shadowed by the swaying foliage, 
 
 Lay Eve, the late perfected work of God. 
 
 How white and still ! — a marble work embossed 
 Upon a ground of green. Sv/eet vermeil flowers 
 Were nestled all about her, and the birds, 
 Their iris colors glancing in and out 
 From sun to shade, would poise or flutter down 
 So near they fanned her with uneasy wing. 
 And one strange creature from the forest came, 
 With meekest face and solemn looking eyes. 
 And gently stooping, licked the little feet 
 So gleaming white, and bedded in the moss. 
 While ever round her, with impatient air 
 The lordly serpent moved, his glistening head 
 High lifted as if crowned with kingly power. 
 And fiery sparkles flashing from his eye. 
 
POEMS. 59 
 
 Then Adam noted that a warmer tint 
 AVas softening all her whiteness, like the first 
 Faint shade of color on an ocean shell, 
 Deapening to pink at each pearl finger-tip, 
 And at the centre of each snowy breast ; 
 Leaving a full carnation on the cheek, 
 And richer carmine on the ripened lip. 
 
 Slowly her eyelids opened ; narrowly 
 
 At first, as half asleep ; but wide at last. 
 
 Until the long brown curling lashes touched 
 
 Her wonder lifted eye-brow. What a world 
 
 Of mystery, and innocence, and love, 
 
 Lived in the depths of her heaven-colored eyes! 
 
 What gleams of purity ! What lights of stars ! 
 
 Then Eve arose, and all her clustered hair 
 
 Of golden brown, fell rolling wave-like down 
 
 Over her shining bosom, turning out 
 
 On either side their burnished rippling streams, 
 
 And left her smooth white shoulders glancing 
 
 through. 
 And while her eye grew moistened, drinking in 
 The beauty and the glory of the place, 
 She stood in silent self-forgetfulness. 
 Nor dreamed that she herself was Beauty's queen. 
 But soon her active fingers 'gan to pull 
 The little starry flowers, and smiling at 
 Their sweetened breath, in fancy strange she tried 
 To stick them in the dark and shaggy brow 
 Of a great animal, whose crimson tongue 
 Reached for her hand, when now and then she turned 
 
6o POEMS. 
 
 To gently touch, and smooth with tender palms, 
 The crested serpent's arched and glittering neck. 
 
 And Adam noted the light graceful play 
 
 And easy movement of her lithsome limbs, 
 
 The dimpled elbow and the rounded form, 
 
 Nor lost one charm from golden threaded curl 
 
 To tiny feet that wavered in the green. 
 
 And while he watched her, moving here and there, 
 
 Her beauty wrought upon him, — made him bold : 
 
 And parting from the thicket Adam stood 
 
 In manhood glorious, confronting Eve. 
 
 How strong and grand he seemed ! All motionless 
 
 She gazed upon that other master-piece 
 
 Of God ; observed the stout limb sinew-strung. 
 
 The heaped-up muscle, and the shoulder broad : 
 
 But when her eye met his, a rosy cloud 
 
 Moved glowing in her cheek, taking its fire 
 
 From the new sun of love just dawning in 
 
 Her guileless soul. The vein-traced eyelids drooped 
 
 Lower and lower still, until they cast 
 
 Their fringy shade on burning cheek below. 
 
 Then Adam reached his hand, at which she sprang, 
 
 And with a cry of gladness faltered down, 
 
 Pressing his instep with her flushing brow, 
 
 In an excess of reverence and love. 
 
 But Adam lifted her, and held her out 
 
 To let his eyes shine on her, and then drew 
 
 Her closer, closer still, until her head 
 
 His shoulder touched, and under her white breast, 
 
 He felt the hurried beating of her heart. 
 
POEMS, 6i 
 
 That moment, through the walks of Paradise, 
 There came a still small voice. Came with command, 
 And blessing, and with words that made them one. 
 
 O Love, thou child of Eden ! Whosoe'er 
 Has ever once received thee for a guest, 
 Has walked in Paradise. And evermore 
 When thou dost come with angel Innocence, 
 We hear the sanction of the still small voice, 
 And feel the primal blessing is our own. 
 
 niitip. 
 
 fHE poet's spirit pours no more the olden time 
 libation ; 
 J The ancient wine no longer fires the sweetness 
 of his strain ; 
 The perfume cup and censer, with the mystical obla- 
 tion, 
 Were shivered by the agony that rent the veil in twain. 
 
 Last night, at sunset hour I stood, and smiled upon 
 
 the daring 
 Of a bird that sprinkled music into golden silences : 
 
62 POEMS. 
 
 And through the royal splendor that the universe was 
 
 wearing, 
 My spirit-vision caught a glimpse of sacred entities. 
 
 There was no flaming chariot for laurel-crowned 
 
 Apollo, 
 Where amber plumes of sunset spread serenely in the 
 
 West ; 
 But cherub wings were floating over cloud-ravine and 
 
 hollow, 
 Beyond the purple fringes upon Nature's glory-vest. 
 
 And ill the eastern sky, no gods upon their ether pil- 
 lows, 
 
 Received the fragrant nectar from the Hebe of their 
 court , 
 
 But earthward bound, and undulating over cloudy 
 billows. 
 
 The angels in their pearly boats came rocking into 
 port. 
 
 I turned toward the forest where the glossy oak 
 
 leaves shimmered, 
 And regal tops were glowing in the farewell of the 
 
 sun ; 
 Yet down the woodland path no foot of gleaming 
 
 Dryad glimmered, 
 With white embossed upon the gloom where early 
 
 shadows run. 
 
POEMS. 63 
 
 brooding in the presence of an all-surpassing 
 Beauty, 
 
 The infant boughs were whispering a sacred epi- 
 logue ; 
 
 And sweet and holy subtilties of love, and faith, and 
 duty, 
 
 Thrilled into gurgling silver through a blue-bird mys- 
 
 I sought the ocean cliff, and heard the little tide- 
 waves kissing 
 
 The rough and rocky shoulder Earth had leaned 
 against the Sea ; 
 
 But Neptune, and the coursers with the golden 
 manes were missing. 
 
 And the triple pointed sceptre of the water deity. 
 
 No nereids were grouping in the soft rose-tinted 
 
 water, 
 In silent wonder smiling o'er the secrets of their 
 
 home ; 
 No breathing zephyr wafted the old Sea's divinest 
 
 daughter, 
 For Aphrodite rose not in her drapery of foam. 
 
 But suddenly the wide expanse seemed gloriously 
 
 clearer ; 
 A gleam of light celestial with the crimson shadows 
 
 played ; 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 And precious feet upon the deep came nearer and 
 
 yet nearer, 
 And soft the caverns echoed, " It is I, be not afraid." 
 
 O purple drops of Calvary, that cleansed the spirit 
 
 vision J 
 O love-revealing link between the human and divine! 
 Through thee the poet evermore walks in a world 
 
 elysian, 
 And life becomes a sanctity, and earth a sacred 
 
 shrine. 
 
 I" |f( 
 
 era 
 
 I 
 
 Inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. L. W. Barton. 
 
 little feet to meet us at the door ; 
 No greeting shout, no eager welcome word ; 
 Where prattling ones our music made before, 
 No sound is heard. 
 
 No little chair beside the table stands ; 
 We see no curl-encircled head and brow ; 
 There are three pairs of precious dimpled hands 
 We clasp not now. 
 
P OE.\fS. 
 
 No voice to lisp the simple prayer at night ; 
 No childish fears to soothe from false alarms ; 
 We only find, when comes the morning light, 
 Oar empty arms. 
 
 No litde perfect forms on which to dote j 
 
 No use for pretty caps and neat array ; 
 
 The fine embroidered clothes and graceful coat 
 
 Are put away. 
 
 Our one boy moves alone, with serious light 
 In his blue eye. How strange the lessened noise ! 
 Had they staid here, 't would been a glorious sight, - 
 Our row of boys. 
 
 Sometimes we half forget, and in our walk, 
 Upon the gravel hear their tripping feet. 
 And gather up sweet fragments of their talk. 
 Along the street. 
 
 6s 
 
 ■& 
 
 It is too sacred, — our deep tender grief — 
 To form a daily theme for common ears : 
 'T is solitude that yields us the relief 
 Of unchecked tears. 
 
 We have no music now. The silent room, 
 No longer with the sweet recital rings ; 
 But yet we love to think, that through the gloom 
 Stir cherub wings. 
 
 This thought, sometimes, half makes the heart re- 
 joice ; 
 They 're safely put away — our heaven-made boys 1 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 Earth would have soiled them so ! The Lord was 
 choice 
 Of our dear boys. 
 
 And He who took them, some day will restore 
 The precious gifts, unblemished by a stain ; 
 And our short loss be changed foreverraore 
 To heavenly gain. 
 
 They have passed on. Our stricken spirits yearn 
 With love and pain ; — so humbling is the thought, 
 They are above, beyond us. We must turn 
 There, and be taught. 
 
 We walk our earthly ways. Their angel feet 
 Tread paths so clean, that not a sin alloys. 
 Dear Christ, forgive and guide ! Through thee we 
 meet 
 Our cherub boys. 
 
 fcsacto.^cti^ and kr f onmct»* 
 
 |f SIT in the lap of New Hampshire, 
 J And clasped in her rugged embracej 
 J I turn to a State's larger glory, 
 As a iiower to the Sun turns a face \ 
 
 * Edwai-d Green, 
 
POEATS. 6t 
 
 To a State that all others surpassing, 
 Has climbed to the uppermost place. 
 
 Massachusetts ! God made her a diamond, 
 
 The largest in Liberty's crown: 
 
 And her beam like a lance of the lightning, 
 
 Strikes error and tyranny down. 
 
 And stabs at the life of Injustice, 
 
 Though folded in Royalty's gown. 
 
 Massachusetts, -^ the farthest in working 
 
 The Heaven-given problem of man ! 
 
 In her light, how the nations creep after, 
 
 And follow the train of her plan ! 
 
 AH the peoples to God pressing slowly,-^ 
 
 Massachusetts the fu'st in the van. 
 
 She waves in the world's mighty banner, 
 A portion of crystalline white : 
 Her garments, blanched out to the lilyj 
 Are bleached on a glorious height, 
 And poets may walk out to meet her^ 
 Nor stoop from the ether and light. 
 
 She stands Heaven's acolothist, lighting 
 Where else men w^ould painfully grope, 
 And urges her fee: in the pathway 
 That fails not of God in its scope, 
 And we call her Humanity's promise 
 Its guide and millennial hope. 
 
68 POEMS. 
 
 Bui now from my nest in the granite, 
 I send up the prayer of entreat 
 To Heaven, for our grand Massachusetts, 
 And the convict that's down at her feet) 
 God give her the strength and the spirit, 
 Her glory and grace to complete ! 
 
 The arm that in duty and labor, 
 Brings nothing to tyrants but loss. 
 That dares in the face of usurpers, 
 Defiant the challenge to toss, 
 God nerve it, high over all others. 
 To lift up the sign of the Cross ! 
 
 State foremost in Justice and Progress — - 
 Utopia growing in bud ! 
 O feet that have ever pressed forward, 
 In spite of the mountain and flood. 
 Shall we find thee still worthy of worship, 
 Slipped back in a criminal's blood ! 
 
 O breast of the Parian whiteness, — 
 Where all things heroic and free 
 Nurse and cluster, — be grand in thy pity, 
 As the heart of God's chosen should be ! 
 Touch Christ ! Grow sublime in remission, 
 To him who now waits at thy knee ! 
 
 O State that is strongest in grasping 
 From hands of Oppression the rod, 
 Use ma^ic in this as in fetters ! 
 
POEMS, 69 
 
 Sweep scaffolds away from the sod ! 
 
 Time the heart of the world in its throbbing, 
 
 To the merciful pulses of God 1 
 
 |notIur I 
 
 ou^* 
 
 I am 
 
 %N love with Death. Let Life with bounding pulse, 
 
 31 And cheek all glorious with Beauty's tint, 
 
 J And starry eyes with Heaven^s own shade of blue, 
 
 And lips red-ripe with Passion's ardent kiss, 
 
 Woo me no longer. Vain are all these charms 1 
 
 Not long may they prevail against the spell. 
 
 That draws rae to that sober rival, -^ Death, 
 
 I see his pale hand reaching for my own, 
 
 And see the bridal wreath of amaranth, 
 
 Prepared to crown me, and my soul inclines 
 
 To listen to the mystery of his words. 
 
 Lo, what a peaceful music in his voice! 
 
 The one sweet note of silver that can make, 
 
 The discord of existence bearable. 
 
 Not long ago, I pledged myself to Life; 
 
 Put on the robes of gaiety and joy, 
 
 Quaffed the rich wine of Love, aye, to the dregs, 
 
 And learned to join in Pleasure's witching waltz. 
 
^o 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 A change came ; and I woke from foolish dreams, 
 
 To find my robes were only galling chains : 
 
 The ruby wine was drugged with bitterness, 
 
 And I was sickened with the giddy waltz. 
 
 God ! hov/ my soul longed for one cooling draught. 
 
 From some dear spring, where eager Selfishness 
 
 Would not preside as ruler at the fount ! 
 
 How earnestly I sought v/ith blinding tears, 
 
 Through every green place in Affection's vale, 
 
 To find that sacred spot. And once I thought, 
 
 In my wild wanderings I had found the place, 
 
 And reckless I sprang forward ; but I shrank 
 
 To see thQ fearful gleaming of a sword, 
 
 That turned each way to ward me from the spot, 
 
 While stubborn Fate in icy whispers said. 
 
 Close in my ear, " 'T will never be for t/iee.''' 
 
 I searched no more. Dissimulation came, 
 
 And clothed my lip with happy smile and song, 
 
 And schooled my tongue to utter merry words. 
 
 And taught my eyes to sparkle quick with joy ; 
 
 While som(^ lips whispered carelessly around. 
 
 Such gaiety was born oi hearikssncss. 
 
 Christ cure the blind ! The riddle of my life. 
 
 Is folded up, and fastened with a seal, 
 
 The world can never break. The curious 
 
 Will peck with sharpened guessings, but will tire, 
 
 And leave it as I left it, — unrevealed. 
 
 But Vv'ho will chide me for my lover, — Death ? 
 Why, he will give me all I long for most ! — 
 To this frail piece of clay, a lasting home. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 In the still city, v/ith its marble towers, 
 And for my fettered soul, the boundless range 
 Of freedom. Freedom mysteries to solve ; 
 To drink the choice elixir Wisdom gives 
 To Knowledge thirsting souls ; to seek again 
 The spirits we have loved the best on earth, 
 And hover near to brighten every cloud, 
 And soften every pang. Oh, this alone, 
 Were heaven to me ! An angel's love is pure. 
 I should not need to stop and analyze 
 My motives then for impulse, but could lay 
 My spirit-hand upon the dear one's cheek. 
 And thread his dreams with tracings of delight, 
 And calm his soul to prayer, and catch the words 
 That dropt pearl-perfect from his grateful lip. 
 And should the precious tear of penitence 
 Fall meekly, I would bear the diamond up, 
 The choicest offering to the gates of Fleaven. 
 
 I am ambitious to be wed to Death ; 
 
 To be presented to that higher court, 
 
 And witness all the crownings. What a host 
 
 Of princes running down the Christian line ! 
 
 Those numbers that we designate " the Poor," 
 
 Will there, grown sudden rich, appear in robes 
 
 Encrusted with the diamonds of Truth, 
 
 And fastened with the brooch of Purity ; 
 
 And round their gentle brows Humility 
 
 Will weave her mild aureola, while gems 
 
 Of purest water that the Christ-crowned wear, 
 
 Shall be the work of Love. Death whispered this. 
 
 71 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 Or sent his spirit agents out one night, 
 To tell me so. They found me faint and weak, 
 Upon a restless pillow ; but they laid 
 A soothing calm upon me, and I felt 
 The electric nature of the spirit's touch. 
 Thrill all my being through. I knew they bent 
 To kiss my wasting cheek, and whispered words 
 Of condolence, because Life's harvest field, 
 Which I had watched and fondly doted on, 
 Was proving such a failure. " Thou shalt reap. 
 When Death has claimed thee, harvests rich in Truth, 
 And drink the waters of a generous Love." 
 
 That promise won me over. Day by day 
 I watch the gathering light within my eye, 
 And note the hectic flicker on the cheek. 
 That seems the bridegroom's herald. But I fear 
 How it will be. For roguish, wanton Life, 
 Will slyly come and peep me in the face. 
 And fan me with invigorating breath, 
 And spite of all my wishes, hold me fast 
 Within those health-restoring arms. But Death 
 Will some day satisfy my spirit needs. 
 And resting in that thought, I patient wait 
 
POEMS. 73 
 
 t 
 
 \t lirit ^ong, 
 
 PON the Southern porch I sit, 
 And smile to see tlie Summer come % 
 I cannot count the wings that flit, 
 Or bees that hum. 
 
 I watch the July blossom turn 
 Its sweet heart-centre to the light, 
 The sun-wrought secret in its um 
 Revealed to sight. 
 
 I hear the drip of woodland springs, 
 Where the wild roses lean across, 
 To mingle fragrant whisperings 
 Above the moss. 
 
 I feel the fingers of the breeze, 
 Caressingly my hair entwine, 
 And think that touches such as these 
 Are half divine. 
 
 But most I marvel at a bird, 
 That trills a wild and wondrous note ;• 
 The sweetest sound that ever stirred 
 A warbler's throat. 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 He perches not in leafy nooks, 
 But seeks a tree-top, gaunt and bare, 
 That all the woodland overlooks, 
 And warbles there. 
 
 Incarnate melody ! Serene 
 He 'bides upon the summit high, 
 Where not a leaf can intervene 
 'Twixt song and sky. 
 
 , Perchance some angel, loving me, 
 
 Hides in the plumage of the bird, 
 And wins me with the sweetest plea 
 That e'er was heard. 
 
 And bids my human heart forego 
 Earth's easy coverts, cool and green, 
 The long drawn aisles of pomp and show, 
 Wealth's flower screen. 
 
 And the poor words of worldly praise, 
 So cheaply bought, yet held so dear, 
 That I one song for Truth may raise, 
 Divinely clear. 
 
 With not a laurel leaf between 
 The sunlight and my lifted eye, 
 Or earthly shade to intervene 
 'Twixt soul and sky. 
 
POEMS, 1^ 
 
 I 
 
 VLxn§, 
 
 fOME one has said, a ruined character 
 Is picturesque, as castle ruins are. 
 I have known such, and wondered oft to find 
 The ivy vine of love had fastened on 
 So vile a trellis, clinging tenderly, 
 And hiding with its beauty, fresh and sweet, 
 Half the infected walls. I 've searched beneatli 
 That outward blossoming, and shook to see 
 Sin's gangrene there, with weeds of wickedness 
 Grown rankly thick in pestilential air. 
 And evil thoughts went flitting through that dome 
 Of darkness, like ill-omened birds, that beat 
 Their ebon wings in dim and dusty haunts : 
 While low Deceit and Falsehood lurked about 
 The cankered walls, and crept like slimy things. 
 
 If human love can wreathe a sin-sick soul, 
 And hide its hidcousness-, cannot a love 
 Divine, repair, redeem it, and restore? 
 
 I 've seen a wreck of ruined hopes. No vine 
 Of cooling shade clothed o'er the sombre walls. 
 Gaunt, dreary, desolate, it stood alone, 
 
f6 POEMS. 
 
 An unattractive ruin. Yet within, 
 
 I found an atmosphere of purity, 
 
 Where some meek flowers were blooming, — modest 
 
 bells 
 That rang with plaintive chimes, and charmed the 
 
 place 
 With sweetness. Memories old and strangely dear 
 Glanced in and out the sombre vestibule, 
 Like snowy doves, with voice of tender moan. 
 And pitying eyes. Yet in the holiest place 
 Of all that shattered temple, Faith still stood 
 With lifted finger, changing all the gloom 
 To a mysterious brightness, while her voice 
 Broke up the silver silence, till the air, 
 Stirred with one song of rest, and peace, and Heaven. 
 
 |,ocii- ||orsI|tp 
 
 |r HAVE seen a brow, as purely bright, 
 II As the snow just tinted with rosy light; 
 J Set round with locks of the softest brown. 
 And gay with the splendor of Beauty's crown. 
 But more than .this, I discovered there, 
 Close in the shade of that beautiful hair. 
 That Genius, with touch unseen and light. 
 
PV^MS. 
 
 n 
 
 Had shaped and modelled the forehead white ; 
 
 And my soul knelt down, when that brow passed by^ 
 
 In a service of -love, I knew not why. 
 
 Who 'II dare to blame me for worshipping so, 
 
 Or chide my spirit ? Not God, I know. 
 
 I have seen a pair of beautiful eyes, 
 With a tender change like April skies ; 
 Mildly radiant, deeply blue, 
 Vv^ith the star of Love, just shining through : 
 And I saw a glimpse of the soul divine 
 Start out of those depths of shade and shine, 
 And my unchecked spirit reached to grasp 
 That new found soul, with oonhding clasp. 
 Oh, in all the world there were no such eyes^ 
 To reveal the heaven where parity lies ! 
 Who'll dare to blame me for thinking so, 
 Or chide my spirit I Not God, I know* 
 
 I have seen a strangely bewitching mouth, 
 
 With the glowing warmth of the tropic South : — 
 
 A gleam of pearl in a fold of rose, 
 
 Where the breath in balmy fragrance flows j 
 
 Where dimples hurry from lip to cheek, 
 
 In a roguish game of hide and seek. 
 
 Sometimes, I have almost dared to think, 
 
 Sweet thoughts would thicken about Love's brink 
 
 And slip those lips, in the dearest word 
 
 That my waiting soul has ever heard. :• 
 
 V/ho "ll dare to blame me for hoping so, 
 
 Or chide my spirit } Not God, I know. 
 
fS POEMS, 
 
 llpurar^. 
 
 IfMMORTAL Force, — servant of Deity — 
 
 11 Works onward, never backward. From the plane 
 
 y- Of Nature's pyramidal base it moves 
 
 Upward in transmutations glorious, 
 
 Tracing the thought of God. No turning back, 
 
 No loss upon the march. The final links 
 
 In past completions, are its primal points 
 
 For loftier beginnings. Inward fires 
 
 That flame at Nature's heart, the strength and power 
 
 Of all material method, the ascent, 
 
 The terrible abyss, the tempest wrath, 
 
 The beauty of the blossom and the leaf, 
 
 The glory of the rainbow and the cloud, 
 
 The Music of the bird, and bee, and stream, 
 
 The harmony of things, the restless toss 
 
 And mystery of the changing opal sea, 
 
 All are refined, transmuted, and conserved, 
 
 And wrought into the foetal angel, — Man, 
 
 The human organism perishes, 
 
 To aid the wondrous alchemy of Life ; 
 
 And Force, sublimed to phosphorescent mind. 
 
 Mounts upon pinions of celestial flame, 
 
 Sphering the germ spark of a seraph's fire, 
 
 And burning onward to the Infinite, 
 
POEMS. 7^ 
 
 l^ngeline. 
 
 ^(^EAUTIFUL eyes ! Their living depths 
 3li Held stars, and around their centres of night, 
 ^ Were circles so clear you thought of dawn, 
 As they drew you into their pure gray light. 
 Some one said that their light went out 
 One summer morning, as all stars must : 
 And only the thread-like roots can press, 
 Where the faded orbs are covered with dust 
 So much brightness gone to the ground ! 
 
 Look for blossoms with fairer hues, 
 
 When Earth shall smile into bloom once more ; 
 
 Search in the bright-eyed pansy's face, 
 
 For a richer tint than ever before. 
 
 Stars shall bud in the sober moss : 
 
 For Nature will stretch her floral laws, 
 
 And add new links to the primitive chain 
 
 Of producing forces, only because 
 
 Of all this brightness gone to the ground. 
 
 Beautiful lips ! Their crimson curves 
 Were blown apart by a breath of balm. 
 And the changing lines into dimples ran, 
 
86- POEMS, 
 
 When a shower of smiles broke up their calm. 
 
 Richly laden with- Love's own sweet, 
 
 Full to wasting with honied bliss ; 
 
 Such a mouth, it never was sin 
 
 For any body to wish to kiss ! 
 
 So much sweetness gone to the ground ! 
 
 Look, when the blood of the June rose starts, 
 For a deeper hue in the crimson tide 
 Dripping into its leaves ! In the purple tube 
 Of the garden bell, new drops will hide ! 
 Rarer odors will float from urns 
 Of censers, swung on a leafy stem ; 
 There 's a richer pulse in the maple bole, 
 And the daisy will hug a honey gem, 
 For ail this sweetness gone to the ground. 
 
 Beautiful hair! Its silken wealth, 
 
 From a brow too smooth was backward drawn, 
 
 And the face shone out ; — as the brightning mist 
 
 Is parted away from the forehead of Dawn. 
 
 Or, just to humor a lock sometimes 
 
 It fell to the cheek of opal 'glow. 
 
 As a little bronze leaf drops to rest, 
 
 On a spot of rose-leaves heaped below. 
 
 So much beauty gone to the ground ! 
 
 Look for a charm in the face of the sky. 
 And airy splendors, never before. 
 To crown the beads of the sentinel hills, 
 With glory, such as they never wore I 
 
POEMS, Si 
 
 \vise ones say, that nothing is lost; 
 
 Can the Universe cheapen in God's care? 
 
 The beauty that faded into a blank, 
 
 Must burst into Nature again somewhere, — 
 
 All this beauty gone to the ground. 
 
 Beautiful soul ! Its measure of love. 
 For all Earth's children was running o'er, 
 And brimming up with its generous deeds, 
 When the cry of Want was at the door. 
 Never mistrusting its spirit depths 
 Held treasures, such as the chosen wear ; — 
 That clear in the calm of its inward sea, 
 The image of Jesus was shining there ! 
 So much goodness added to Heaven ! 
 
 Beautiful soul, whose natural thought 
 
 Could n't sadden an angel ! Forgiving the wrong, 
 
 Though resented a moment ! Childlike traits 1 
 
 Such to the large in Christ belong. 
 
 If it tript an instant, what efforts pure. 
 
 That soul made over the little sin ; 
 
 So near the kingdom, we might have known 
 
 The gates would open to let it in ! 
 
 All this goodness added to Heaven ! 
 
 Beautiful soul, that is not lost 
 To its old place here ! — as we always find 
 Where the flower of the heliotrope has been, 
 By the sweet perfume that is left behind. 
 Nothing is lost ! Our days glide on. 
 
S2 POEMS. 
 
 Calm and quiet as never before ; 
 For an angel helper is clearing the way, 
 And our hearts but yearn to God the more, 
 For the goodness and glory added to Heaven. 
 
 i 3 h t» 
 
 STOOD and watched the still, mysterious Night, 
 Steal from her shadowy caverns in the East, 
 To work her deep enchantments on the world. 
 Her black veil floated down the silent glens, 
 While her dark sandalled feet, with noiseless tread, 
 Moved to a secret harmony. Along 
 The brows of the majestic hills, she strung 
 Her glorious diamonds so stealthily, 
 It never marred their dreams ; and in the deep. 
 Cool thickets of the wood, where scarce the Day 
 Could reach the dim retreat, her dusky hand 
 Pinned on the breast of the exhaling flower, 
 A glittering gem ; while all the tangled ferns 
 And forest lace-work, as she moved alon^:, 
 Grew moist and shinins:. 
 
 Who would e'er have guessed, 
 The queenly Night would deign to stoop and love 
 A litde flower ! And yet, with all her stealth, 
 
POEMS. 83 
 
 I saw her press her damp and cooling lip 
 Upon the feverish bosom of a Rose ; 
 At which a watchful bird poured sudden forth 
 A love-sick song, of sweet and saddest strain. 
 
 Upon the ivied rocks, and rugged crags 
 On which the ocean billows break, she hung 
 Her sombre mantle ; and the gray old sea 
 That had been high in tumult all the day, 
 Became so mesmerized beneath her wiles, 
 He seemed a mere reflection of herself. 
 The billows sank into a dimpled sleep ; 
 Only the little tide-waves glided up 
 To kiss the blackness of the airy robe 
 That floated o'er them. 
 
 Long I stood and watched 
 The mystic, spell-like influence of Night ; 
 Till o'er the eastern hills, came up the first 
 Faint glories of the crown that Phoebus wears. 
 And soon, the Earth, surprised to see the work 
 That Night had wrought, began to glow and blush, 
 Like maidens, conscious of the glance of Love. 
 While she, — the dark Enchantress, — like to one 
 Who decorates her bower with all things fair, 
 Wherewith to please her lover, but yet flees 
 At his approaching step, — at the first gleam 
 That lit the zenith from the Day-god's eye. 
 Fled timid o'er the distant western hills. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 ummer jiornjnjg 
 
 cspHE sweet, blushing face of the Morning, 
 j| Looks over Mount Cardigan's height, 
 7 His stern granite forehead adorning, 
 
 With wreathings of roseate light ; 
 She covers, with fleecy-like curling, 
 
 His bald and majestic old head, 
 The folds of her mantle unfurling. 
 
 She throws 'round the stout monarch's bed. 
 
 She sails through an ocean of amber, 
 
 Down into the village below, 
 And urges the woodbine to clamber, 
 
 Or teases the roses to blow ; 
 She softly creeps up from the basement, 
 
 And gazes, with impudent peep. 
 Through the chinks of the blind at the casement, 
 
 Where beauty half smiles in her sleep. 
 
 She steals through the partly closed shutter, 
 And breathes a mild fragrance around, 
 
 While her wings, in the hurry and flutter, 
 Give out a soft echo of sound ; 
 
POEMS. 85 
 
 She smooths the brown hair of the maiden, 
 And kisses, to rouse her from sleep, 
 
 While her lip, with a crimson paint laden, 
 
 Has streaked the young dreamer's round cheek. 
 
 But away ! for there 's tinting and tracing. 
 
 To fill up with labor the hour, 
 And her brush, in the flying and chasing, 
 
 Has colored each leaflet and flower ; 
 The Night had thrown down a black shading, 
 
 That chilled every vessel and vein. 
 And Morning, who finds the leaves fading, 
 
 Must paint them all over again. 
 
 And always, while sailing and turning, 
 
 In rivers of light round the globe, 
 Her blue eye is faintly discerning 
 
 The trail of Night's dark, distant robe 5 
 So a kind invitation repeating. 
 
 She asks her a moment to stay ; 
 But the Ethiop mother, retreating, 
 
 Still sulkily holds on her way. 
 
 Tears float in the eye of the Morning, 
 
 Her heart is so tender and true, 
 And they drop as a paint, in adorning 
 
 The meek litde blossoms of blue ; 
 Then lightly her yellow locks shaking, 
 
 Her purple wings quickly unfold. 
 And the field lilies, sudden awaking, 
 
 Catch hues from her tresses of gold. 
 
86 POEMS. 
 
 At the thicket of willows she lingers, 
 
 Close down by the cool river's side, 
 To bathe the pink tips of her fingers, 
 
 And lave her red lip in the tide ; 
 I knov\r every shrub she caresses, 
 
 For fragrance drips out of her hand ; 
 I know where her dainty foot presses, 
 
 By silver and gold in the sand. 
 
 I used to bound forward to greet her, 
 
 With childhood's swift step, and a song; 
 I skipped to the hill top, to meet her. 
 
 And poured out a melody long ; 
 But often I thought she was treading 
 
 A path, through the newly-mown hay. 
 For I breathed a fresh air, that was spreading 
 
 An odor, around the green way. 
 
 So I knew 't was a pure distillation. 
 
 That fell from her robe as she passed, 
 Or the scent of a mild respiration, 
 
 She breathed through the ripe, seedy grass \ 
 The husbandman whistled his gladness. 
 
 Or sang with a stout, hearty cheer ; 
 No bosom could find room for sadness, 
 
 When bright Summer Morning was here. 
 
 And now, though my heart has grown older, 
 And care has found place in my breast. 
 
 Though childhood's fresh warmth is now colder, 
 And life often seems like a jest, 
 
POEMS. 87 
 
 Yet, when a blush falls on the wildwood, 
 
 And hues all the landscape adorn, 
 I feel the glad trust of my childhood, 
 
 And sing to the glorious Morn. 
 
 Irutlt;^ ipostle. 
 
 I met 
 
 fITH such an one, — God's angel. In his heart 
 I found the tomb of buried passions, and 
 My soul stepped lightly upon Error's grave. 
 Pride, Lust, and selfish Love was buried there. 
 And spirits pure sat by Sin's sepulchre, 
 From which his resurrected soul rose up. 
 Crowned with the glory of immortal life. 
 He walked the earth. He was a mortal man. 
 He had no angel pinions, yet I knew 
 On Aspiration's strong and restless wing, 
 His spirit rose to bathe in Heaven's own light. 
 He lived and labored, not like other men. 
 For gain, and power, and popularity. 
 The wealthy worldling would have marked with scorn 
 His humble dress, his cheap and simple food. 
 And yet he had such diamonds hid within ! 
 Close by the Master's feet he gathered them : 
 Could the blind world have seen them, all the kings 
 Would called their wealth and treasure, poverty. 
 
88 POEMS, 
 
 He sought forever for the seed of Truth. 
 And fast as gathered, patient in his work, 
 He scattered it among the souls of men. 
 And some received it ; others shook it off, 
 And gave him back Derision's scornful laugh. 
 No tie withheld him from the chosen work 
 To which all self was sacrificed. The bond 
 That bound him to the sacred cause of Truth, 
 Was stronger than the triple braided chord, — 
 Position, Fame, Society's applause. 
 
 Think you he loved not t Aye, his soul was lit, 
 A heaven all cloudless with Affection's sun. 
 On its broad radiant disc no darkening spots 
 Of lustful passion were, but love was free, 
 Nobly unselfish, as an angel's, pure. 
 Yet in his wanderings, wheresoe'er he met 
 The soul of a true woman, beautiful 
 In innocence, and heart devoted to 
 Humanity's high interests, and withal, 
 Upon her breast Humility's pure pearl. 
 He worshipped at that shrine, as true men must 
 Who meet with such a spirit. And his soul 
 Joined hands with hers, and both were wedded in 
 The righteous cause of Good. The love of God, 
 In him was the unceasing fountain head. 
 From which all other loves rilled out. 
 
 His road 
 I thought seemed perilous. The cruel shafts 
 Of malice and suspicion thickly fell 
 
POEMS. 89 
 
 About his lonely path, and men whose hearts 
 He pricked with the clean sword of saCred Right, 
 Turned out their hounds, — Envy and Jealousy, — 
 To fasten fangs upon hun, But his feet 
 Fled not. His armor was impregnable. 
 Men saw the clouds about him, but his eye, 
 Clear in its larger light, could trace the hues 
 Of circling rainbows ; and his path that seemed 
 Companionless, was visited by bands 
 Of ministering ones, who lend their strength 
 And peace to such as he, who dare to stand 
 And live out Heaven's pure law, upon the verge 
 Of the abyss of Scorn, nor fear to fall. 
 
 ¥os^^ und ||ain» 
 
 AH, Nature is gracious and kind to me! 
 4|j I cannot inhale her life divine, 
 
 J Or take her spirit into mine. 
 Because of the babe upon my knee. 
 
 I cannot behold her breast a-flush 
 And gay with the red bud's blossom crown. 
 The while she donneth her April gown, 
 In a budding silence, — blush by blush. 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 And later, I shall not stand and see 
 Her beauty evolve on the sunny slope, 
 Where the honied mouths of the roses ope 
 To the butterfly and humble-bee. 
 
 And when the Summer, with softest air, 
 Shall woo the lilies to rock and ride 
 In the arms of the strong and wonderful tide, 
 And wavelets dance, I shall not be there. 
 
 Though my heart for the balmy woodland yearns, 
 I cannot list, with enchanted ear. 
 The wild dove's moan, or smile to hear 
 The brooklet talk to the fairy ferns. 
 
 The orange waves of the sunset sea, 
 And morning lifting a brow of gold 
 From airy coverlets, — fold on fold 
 Of rose and silver, — are lost to me. 
 
 Yet Nature and I are faithful friends, 
 Wedded forever. She wreathes my cross 
 With leaf and bud, and for all my loss 
 And hindrance, she maketh full amends. 
 
 For lo, the beauty of air and sea. 
 The music-gurgle of woodland springs, 
 The grace of brilliant and airy things, 
 Wrought into the babe upon my knee I 
 
POEMS, 
 
 I mark the light of the lily's snow, 
 On dimpled shoulder and glossy arm, 
 And on his cheek the varying charm 
 Of flowery tintings come and go. 
 
 And sunset bathes with palest gold 
 His shining hair, and the solemn skies, 
 Have wrought in his violet-shaded eyes, 
 Their starry settings manifold. 
 
 The delicate hues of the ocean shell 
 Flow into his fairy finger-tips, 
 And behind the fold of his blossom lips. 
 The pearls are coming, I know full well. 
 
 And in his cooings, there mingles so 
 The music of bird and brook refrain, 
 All fashioned into a mystic strain. 
 And words which only the angels know. 
 
 And thus I have not been dispossest 
 By Nature. I hold in a better way 
 Her rich bequeathings ; for night and day 
 I nurse her glory upon my breast. 
 
 But this my wealth : — I have more of Thee, 
 God and Father ! for half divine 
 Is the little life entwined with mine, — 
 The baby that sits upon my knee. 
 
 91 
 
9a POEMS. 
 
 assail flJtt* 
 
 Lines inscribed to Huntington W. Freeman, Newark, N. J. 
 
 H more than love she brought to me ! 
 The weahh of earth, and sky, and sea, 
 Were gathered in her being fair, 
 For she was Nature's roj^al heir — 
 My Clara. 
 
 I touched her cheek and knew the rose: 
 I stirred her budded lips' repose, 
 And life was music : — and her eyes 
 Held the star-splendor of the skies — 
 My Clara. 
 
 The blossom's birth, and sunlight's flame, 
 As heralds of her being came ; 
 The harmony of Nature's dress 
 Transmuted into consciousness, — 
 My Clara. 
 
 But life with law moves onward. Naught 
 Goes backward in Deific thought ; 
 And all things hasted to engage 
 For her, celestial heritage, — 
 
 My Clara. 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 I walk alone : the Earth is gay, 
 With glossy leaf and blooming spray ; 
 To me not less, but more is given : 
 She holds for me the lease of Heaven — 
 My Clara. 
 
 God mocks us not. His gifts are cheap, 
 If but in Time we hope to keep 
 Their preciousness. Oh, evermore 
 My love shall prove eternal store, — 
 My Clara. 
 
 Encircled by seraphic wings, 
 I commerce with immortal things : 
 And angel guarded, feel my soul 
 Drawn gently to its light and goal, - 
 My Clara. 
 
 No power defrauds us of our own : 
 And while I seem to walk alone, 
 I know by the celestial sea, 
 A raptured spirit waits for me, — 
 My Clara. 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 tU\\ 
 
 \\t |aitt 
 
 JjpHE martyr mountains, faint and dim 
 3|l Above granitic ridge and rim, 
 
 J With bleacliing forelieads bald and bare, 
 Like wearied guards appear to dream, 
 Or if indeed awake, they seem 
 To meditate Elijah's prayer. 
 
 The grass is swooning in the mead, 
 
 And prematurely sowing seed, 
 
 The dandelions totter weak : 
 
 And buttercups, with feeble hold. 
 
 Let slip their wealth, and drop their gold 
 
 Upon the clover's heated cheek. 
 
 No sound of water down the rocks, 
 No noisy glee of pasture flocks ; 
 The mint sprouts in the brooklet's bed j 
 The river creeps with narrowed bound, 
 And eager for the vantage ground. 
 The sweet-flag and the rushes spread. 
 
 No song of birds, except the strain, 
 Of red-breast pleading for the rain, 
 And one persistent crow beside. 
 
POEMS, 95 
 
 Who taxes his untiring throat, 
 With his own pheesy, cawing note, 
 As fain his discontent to hide. 
 
 In the balm breathing soUtudes, 
 The fir-tree's fragrant gum exudes, 
 Drawn by the Sun's o'er-ardent kiss ; 
 And star-flowers scarcely hold their grace, 
 Although they have the coolest place, 
 In the o'er-shadowed creek's abyss. 
 
 All faintly breathes the drooping rose, 
 And through her tinted tissue clothes, 
 The worm, a labyrinth begins ; 
 Her leaves no honey drops conceal ; 
 Only her golden pollen meal 
 The bumble-bee's attention wins. 
 
 And dust and haze are everywhere 
 In all the over-heated air ; 
 Earth waits with an endurance dumb : 
 And Nature, in her quiet trust. 
 Bears witness. Providence is just — 
 Disproves it e'er as troublesome. 
 
 O, tired and fainting heart of mine, 
 
 Dust lies on thy forsaken shrine, 
 
 Hope birds withhold their cheering lore ; 
 
 And 'mong Love-roses wings about. 
 
 The melancholy bird of Doubt, 
 
 To haunt thee with his " nevermore ! " 
 
96 POEMS. 
 
 Yet let thy future strength attest, 
 That thou hast counsel found, and rest, 
 At mother Nature's ample knee ; 
 That evermore her rhythmic strain 
 Is chorused with this sweet refrain, 
 " God knoweth what is best for thee I " 
 
 |ftjt[ iU |attt. 
 
 A LONG the deep, June flooded sky, 
 
 11 The golden crested cloud-bergs lie, 
 
 sl And round the mountain's jagged height, 
 
 Ethereal vapors, silver tipped, 
 
 Float like celestial mantles, slipped 
 
 From angels in a sudden flight. 
 
 Upon the rock fresh greenness clings, 
 And on the knotted forest kings, 
 The lichens, quaint designs emboss ; 
 And where the ribbon brooklet slips. 
 The wild-flowers ope their honied lips, 
 And lean with whisperings across. 
 
 The light winds dance, and breezes fret 
 The clear pond-pictures, lily set ; 
 The floral star-queen rocks at ease, 
 
POEMS. 97 
 
 Reclining on her mystic bed, 
 
 While round her sapphire-pillowed head, 
 
 Disport the water sylphides. 
 
 The wind-god only lifts his hand, 
 And sweeping down the meadow land, 
 The emerald herbage-billows pass, 
 With infant buttercups agleam, 
 Whose cups of golden globules, seem 
 Like sunshine spattered in the grass. 
 
 Oh, the love language of the birds ! 
 
 Those witching, instinct-fashioned words I 
 
 The bobolink unwinds its voice 
 
 In one inimitable song, 
 
 And hum-birds poise and flutter long 
 
 Among the blue-bells, making choice. 
 
 The sunlight's faintest blushes close 
 About the bosom of the rose. 
 Where clings the wanton butterfly ; 
 And pansies ope their hoods to see 
 The blossom-serving bumble-bee 
 Heap flower amalgam on his thigh. 
 
 And rustling leaf, and whirring wing, 
 Light gale and laughing water-spring. 
 Reveal a lesson inspirate ; 
 For Nature's languages sublime, 
 Through which her life flows into rhyme, 
 God's perfect method indicate. 
 
98 POEMS. 
 
 Full oft in heat and blinding dust, 
 She waits, believing God is just, 
 With no discrepance in his art : 
 And now she lifts her rain-bathed face, 
 Bidding thee trust His loving grace, 
 And bide thy time, o'er-anxious heart 1 
 
 intoln,--J665. 
 
 f IMPLY a common man, you might have thought, 
 At the first glance you gave him. Look again ! 
 You find a strange, magnetic beauty wrought 
 Into the features plain. 
 
 And there was one look you would know him by. 
 From every other man upon the sod ; — 
 
 A majesty around the shadowed eye, 
 That gave a hint of God. 
 
 His soul, whose vision, place nor power could dim, 
 Moved slow and reverently, that he might scan. 
 
 And not mistake the part assigned to him 
 In the Creator's plan. 
 
 A soul that built upon the enduring Rock 
 The waves of passion move not, nor disarm ; 
 
POEMS. 99 
 
 Whose height, above the tempest and the shock, 
 Reaches eternal cahn. 
 
 And when again we hailed him as our head, — 
 Our country's guide — we marked the trusting grace 
 
 And solemn light of faith serenely shed 
 Upon his care-worn face. 
 
 And when he spoke, we noted he had grown ; 
 
 We caught his sentences with bated breath ; 
 And by their simple grandeur might have known 
 
 That he was ripe for death. 
 
 Have known it by his spirit's wondrous thrift ; 
 
 And by the gracious majesty he wore, 
 Have guessed his dear feet hastened, sure and swift, 
 
 To touch the Eternal Shore. 
 
 Drawn upward to his place ! The nation shook 
 With love's deep grief, but Freedom's brow of calm 
 
 Kindled to splendor, when her tribune took 
 Ascension robe and palm. 
 
 For harps at first indifferently strung 
 
 To swell the praise of her immortal name, 
 
 Are clothed with harmony, and every tongue 
 With Pentecostal flame. 
 
 Smile down, our saint ! Humanity's true heart, 
 Remains for aye, a monument to thee : — 
 
loo POEMS, 
 
 Thy sacred name engraved in every part, 
 
 High priest of Liberty ! 
 
 For sires shall tell thy story to their sons, 
 
 And mothers love to braid thy wreath of fame, 
 
 And all the prattle of our little ones 
 Be hallowed by thy name. 
 
 Thus shall we hold thee with us till we stand 
 Beyond Time's power of suffering and thrall, 
 
 And reach to touch thy royal spirit hand, 
 In Heaven's reception hall. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 in:i B {hrrtr^ 
 
 S there a single human heart, 
 
 Is there a household that has not, 
 From other places held apart, 
 
 Some sacred spot, 
 
 Where, rising o'er material law, 
 To commerce with superior things, 
 
 The soul receives with raptured awe, 
 Strange visitings. 
 
POEMS. loi 
 
 And oftenest, this hallowed place, 
 
 Where we partake celestial food, 
 Where Mystery unveils her face. 
 
 And pale wings brood, — 
 
 Through Sorrow's vestibule obtains, 
 Where Love, bereaved and desolate, 
 
 Sits wrestling with her anguish pains 
 Before the gate. 
 
 Oh, well we know thou art divine. 
 Thou Providence in gloomy guise ! 
 
 For gracious quickenings of thine 
 Have oped our eyes. 
 
 A single knoll, a narrow mound, 
 
 A little cell in Nature's breast. 
 Where death-in-life has heaved the ground 
 
 And built a nest, 
 
 There is our charmed and hallowed place, 
 
 Wliere opens to our spirit eyes 
 The labyrinth through which we trace 
 
 Celestial skies. 
 
 Oh, soft about the lowly bed. 
 
 The feather-footed summer comes, 
 
 The glad bird circles overhead, 
 The wild bee hums. 
 
 And stealthily, from distant lake, 
 
 The lightest, wave-cooled zephyr creeps, 
 
go2 POEMS. 
 
 And blossoms swing, and grasses shake, 
 Where beauty sleeps. 
 
 There, standing by the mound, when Night 
 Her halo wonderful has brought, 
 
 And mystic vapors, moving light, 
 Moonbeam enwrought, 
 
 Float by me in transparent mass, — 
 I seem to see, through eager eyes, 
 
 Her feet on spectre rainbows pass 
 Along the skies. 
 
 O vision beyond thought ! How poor 
 The earthly portrait left to me, 
 
 How dim the gauze-enwrapped contour, 
 Compared with thee, 
 
 Whose drapery lights the airy plains, 
 And waves along the ether voids, 
 
 And trails among the golden grains 
 Of asteroids. 
 
 We may not touch, etherial one, 
 The glory of thy vesture hem ! 
 
 We may not live and gaze upon 
 Thy diadem 1 
 
 Yet standing by that humble mound, 
 We break with thee im:nortal leaven, 
 
 And all the place is hallowed ground, 
 Aud breathes of Heaven. 
 
POEMS, to^ 
 
 Gone ! yet foreverraore retained, 
 By links no forces can out-brave : 
 
 We lose not all that Heaven has gained 
 Through Lina's grave. 
 
 |inc^ 
 
 Inscribed to Dr. William F. Cooper. 
 
 FRIEND unraet ] My soul is stirred, 
 Because a voice I never heard, 
 Has fashioned me a gracious word. 
 
 Because a heart I never knew. 
 Has sent a n^essage kind and true, 
 Which gladdens me beyond my due. 
 
 I cannot clasp thy kindly hand, 
 For many weary leagues of land, 
 Stretch out from thee to where I stand-. 
 
 But Mind is limitless and free ■; 
 An I diitance cannot hold from thee 
 The meed of grateful sympadiy. 
 
 The friends that serve ihce, being nigli, 
 Thy noble virtues may descry, 
 Yet know thee not as well as h 
 
I04 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 For I have chanced to sit and sup 
 With secret trial ; — lifted up 
 And tasted of that bitter cup. 
 
 The thorns that rob thee of repose, 
 And leave no Eden dream, are those 
 That never evidence the rose. 
 
 And where Love's glory might have shone. 
 Medusa sits upon the throne, 
 And thou hast towered up alone, 
 
 friend, it is not meet that I 
 Should mock a spirit sitting high 
 And calm in its sublimity, 
 
 With voice of counsel ! He is strong. 
 Whose heart has patiently and long, 
 Received the barb of subtle wrong. 
 
 1 think of thee, and only say, 
 Heaven has its own peculiar way 
 Of molding angels out of clay. 
 
 Deep are the chisellings of God, 
 And heavy the Almighty rod, 
 That works a seraph from a clod. 
 
 Be mine the part to emulate 
 
 The action kind and purpose great, 
 
 Which make thee rich in soul estate. 
 
POEMS, xos 
 
 That I may now and then beguile 
 The I'ps of Poverty to smile, 
 And weary hands to rest awhile. 
 
 And thus attaining to thy grace, 
 
 I 'II meet thee, some day, face to face, 
 
 In an eternal dwelling place. 
 
 |ur |ountrg. 
 
 ^hRAVEST of Nations, she moved through the 
 3[1 shadow: 
 
 *i*' Tempest and darkness encompassed her way ; 
 Gleaming she threaded the black thunder billow, 
 And wreathed with the lightning she rose into da}'; 
 
 Bravest of Nations \ 
 Victory's palm on her white forehead lay. 
 
 Grandest of Nations ! She stood in a halo, — • 
 A glory that Justice and Liberty wrought ; 
 Spirit wings dipping from arches above her, 
 Auras of purified radiance brought ; 
 
 Grandest of Nations ! 
 Crowned with the light of her luminous thought 
 
 Fairest of Nations ! Love's beautiful lily, 
 Oped on her bosom with honey to drip ; 
 
io6 POEMS. 
 
 Weary ones yearned to her fragrance and whiteness. 
 Thronging the nectar of mercy to sip ; 
 
 Fairest of Nations ! 
 Deity's kiss upon foreliead and lip! 
 
 Strongest of Nations I witli wliite hands she lifted 
 Into the light, the oppressed and the low ; 
 Smote with her lightning the tyrant and traitor ; 
 Witnessing God to the world in the blow ; 
 
 Strongest of Nations ! 
 Angel avenging Humanity's woe. 
 
 Swiftest of Nations ! pursuing with ilcetness. 
 Sacred ideals thrown up from the soul ; 
 On and yet onward with true poet-passion. 
 Up where the mystical symphonies roll ; 
 
 Swiftest of Nations ! 
 Low are the stars from the infinite goal. 
 
 Dearest of Nations ! O, pause not uncertain 
 Of truest completeness ! We tremble for thee \ 
 Phantoms of terror brood over our gladness I 
 All the world pants thy fruition to see ! 
 
 Dearest of Nations ! 
 Earth leans to Heaven with a passionate plea. 
 
 Light of the Nations ! bear onward the standard^ 
 Justice emblazoned, and Mercy empearled I 
 Not till the whole of the old Wrong is righted. 
 Let the wide folds of thy banner be furled 1 
 
 Light of the Nations ! 
 Star of Humanity — Hope of the world I 
 
POEMS. 107 
 
 giilit 
 
 otie 
 
 'Jjf WAS a secret to all that I loved him; 
 ijl I folded it close in my heart — 
 Sj In the leaves of my blossoming heart — 
 And it seemed to those blood-beating petals 
 The nourishing, life-giving part ; 
 And I said '' There is nobody knows 
 What is hid in the cup of my rose — 
 What a drop of sweet dew 
 Is concealed from the view 
 Of all eyes, in my pulse-throbbing rose." 
 
 But I never had thought of the angels — 
 
 That they could look into my soul. 
 
 And read every page of my soul : 
 
 Their clear eyes discovered the treasure ; 
 
 The life-giving secret they stole ; 
 
 Then they envied me what was so dear ; 
 
 And they charmed him away who was dear ; 
 
 So the crimson heart-rose 
 
 That began to unclose 
 
 Its beauty, is blighted and sere. 
 
 But the spirit of him that I worshipped 
 Is stronger and kinder than they ; 
 
I08 POEMS, 
 
 The angels that charmed him away — 
 
 For he comes through the star-lighted darkness, 
 
 About my lone pillow to stay : 
 
 And the moon, peering into my room, 
 
 Lighting up the mysterious gloom, 
 
 Looks frighted and pale 
 
 Through her thin silver vail, 
 
 As though she shone into a tomb. 
 
 I know not if, waking or sleeping, 
 
 My soul is enwrapt in a dream — 
 
 In a mystical vision or dream — 
 
 When the Night watches me like a mother, 
 
 And the wan stars fitfully gleam ; 
 
 For there rises a shadowy host — 
 
 A wavering, shadowy host — 
 
 And they sway to and fro 
 
 Near a river's deep flow, 
 
 On the shores of a shade-haunted coast. 
 
 There is one I can tell from all others, 
 By the clear, tender glance of his eyes — 
 Tne mild, melting blue of his eyes — 
 There is no earthly tint lii<e the color ; 
 It only is matched by. the skies ; 
 And he wanders apart from the rest, 
 And he folds me so close to his breast ! 
 Can an angel attain 
 The place that I gain ^- 
 That coveted pillow — his breast ? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Then he puts his lip down to my forehead, 
 
 Yet never can leave me a kiss ; 
 
 Oh could he once leave me a kiss, 
 
 The saints in the gold-streeted city 
 
 Ne'er claimed such a moment of bliss! 
 
 But he lifts up a radiant wing — 
 
 An eagerly quivering wing — ] 
 
 And he floats from my gaze 
 
 In a circle of rays, 
 
 Like a crystal gem set in a ring. 
 
 And I joy that the soul-reading angels 
 Cannot always lure him from me, 
 Nor hold him from coming to me.; 
 For when the Night sits like a mother, 
 And hushes the wail of the sea. 
 And quiets the land with her power, 
 Ah, that is the time and the hour, 
 When he comes to unclose 
 My withered heart-rose, 
 And it opens a beautiful flower. 
 
 »09 
 
HO POEMS. 
 
 |i"«^. 
 
 Inscribed to Gen. John A. Logan, 1866. 
 
 qf MONG the evergreens of Thought, 
 \ My soul has wandered all the day : 
 si Yet vainly for thy forehead wrought 
 A crown of bay. 
 
 My earnest spirit quite forgot 
 The measure of its poet grace ; 
 Such tiny laurels as I knot, 
 Are out of place. 
 
 The garden of a single soul 
 Gives weak supply. Thy crown leaves start, 
 And ope to greenness In a whole 
 Great nation's heart. 
 
 As action overtops Its theme, 
 So thou did 'st rise at Freedom's need, 
 And change the poet's noblest dream 
 To crystal deed. 
 
 And over-leaped In quick disdain, 
 The olden limit, — Faction's wall — 
 
POEMS. Ill 
 
 And severed the ignoble chain 
 Of party thrall. 
 
 Thus thy inherent royalty, 
 Flashed strong and sudden into light; — 
 The champion of Liberty 
 And human right. 
 
 No smaller task for thee, the while 
 Thy country sat in sad eclipse, 
 Than to bring back again the smile 
 Unto her lips. 
 
 And sphere her in serener air, 
 And purer glory than of yore. 
 And crown her more divinely fair 
 Than ere before. 
 
 It was thy being's chosen part, 
 To know a loyal people's will. 
 To learn and serve a nation's heart, 
 Its hope fulfil. 
 
 So may a nation's soul alone, 
 Reach the clear level of thy brow : — 
 Her grateful heart, the fitting throne 
 For such as thou. 
 
 And vdiile all noble voices swell 
 The praises which to thee belong, 
 I only ring this lily-bell 
 Of simple song. 
 
Ha POEMS, 
 
 And fold its faintness in a prayer. 
 And gird its weakness with a ple% 
 That proves how earnestly I dare 
 Petition tliee. 
 
 1 ask that the imprisoned thought, 
 Held in abeyance in thine eyes, 
 And waiting for the people's "' ought ' 
 May swift arise, 
 
 And leap to freedom on thy tongue^ 
 And fashion there as grand a word 
 As Hope or Faith have ever sung, 
 Or Justice heard. 
 
 Oh loose to us this ultimate 
 That glorifies thy glance ! Set free 
 The kingly purpose that doth wait 
 Thy will's decree. 
 
 And with thy brave abandon, charge 
 As leader in the moral fight, 
 Till Victory's meaning shall enlarge 
 To perfect Right. 
 
POEMS. 113 
 
 |eaff| in ill? | 
 
 ouse. 
 
 %N the curtained gloom 
 
 II Of my sitting-roora, 
 
 J I wait and watcli with my dead Past. 
 
 Cold and calm, 
 
 In spice and balm, 
 
 Beautiful, though of life bereft; 
 
 She lies in state ; and every trac^ 
 
 Of warmth and light in her pure sweet face 
 
 Is gone, — but the look of love is left-. 
 
 And just for the sake of that dear look 
 
 That even the hand of Death forbore 
 
 To steal, I sit in this curtained nook, 
 
 And guard and watch her evermore. 
 
 Very gently I touch the veil, 
 
 And turn it back from the features pale, 
 
 Gently I touch her hand of pearl, 
 
 And the silken thread of fading curl, 
 
 LighJy I brush the fragrant nest 
 
 Of roses and lilijs on her breast, — 
 
 The flowers my deai Past loved the best: 
 
 Sottly I move in die sh.idowy gloom, 
 
 Carelully step in this sacred tomb 
 
 That others entitle my •' sitting-room." 
 
n4 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 She had so frank ctnd simple a grace, -^ 
 My Past — that I cannot remember a trace 
 Of pride that darkened her innocent face. 
 And now that the light and life are gone 
 From her clear gay eyes, and brow of dawn, 
 I watch, as a miser does his gains, 
 The look of love that still remains. 
 And I hide her here where none may see. 
 For nobody cares for her but me. 
 
 She died on a glorious July day r 
 
 The meadows were ripe and sweet with hay. 
 
 And the purple mountains, erect and bold, 
 
 Propped pyramid clouds of ruffled gold. 
 
 On elms the oriole families swung. 
 
 And under the willows rivulets sung ; 
 
 The pocket-blossom hung out a risk 
 
 Its golden bags, and the yellow disc 
 
 Of the radiate fever-few, was spurred 
 
 By the bill of the burnished humming-bird ; 
 
 Rutland Beauties hung over the eaves, 
 
 Joyful twitters were up in the leaves ; 
 
 Happy-eyed children ran in and out. 
 
 With song, and laughter, and raid, and rout > 
 
 Boys in the wood were hunting for grouse : 
 
 No one dreamed there was death in the house. 
 
 For I hid my pain, and my eyes were calm. 
 
 While I brought the spices, the myrrh, and balm, 
 
 And laid her out in the curtained gloom. 
 
 And watched by her in my sitting- roonk 
 
POEMS, n5 
 
 I heard no sound of funeral knells j 
 
 Yet all that day, across my ear, 
 
 The western breeze brought faint but clear, 
 
 The far off peal of happy bells ; — 
 
 A joyful ring, like marriage bells ; 
 
 Nor wall nor door could shut away 
 
 That wedding chime ; but all the day, 
 
 It told me two fond hearts were gay. 
 
 Two hearts had loved, while mine had bled. 
 
 And I — I watched beside my dead. 
 
 Sometimes the world, all wantonly drest, 
 Peeps in at my door in its holiday best, 
 And stabs my heart with a bantering jest. 
 And I fling back laughter as best I may, 
 And it never mistrusts from my answers gay, 
 That I watch with my dead here, night and day. 
 
 Outside my window the Present stands, 
 With orange flowers in her graceful hands. 
 A crown for a bride ! My soul starts back I 
 My heart lies quivering on the rack ! 
 Braid their bloom for another head ! 
 Give me an amaranth instead ! 
 Lovers and husbands seek for eyes, 
 Where merriment lurks in twinkling guise ; 
 For polished foreheads without a line. 
 Not marked with thought and pain like mine. 
 Lovers and husbands choose to sip 
 The honey of love from a laughing lip ; 
 Not one that moves with a prayer or chant % 
 
it6 POEMS. 
 
 The pearl-cleft mouth, with a kiss to grant, 
 With men all soberer lips supplant. 
 
 I know outside the pigeon coos 
 
 To his mottled mate upon her nest ; 
 
 His russet wife the sparrow woos, 
 
 In the briary hedge, as they sit abreast ; 
 
 Wedded butterflies swing and rock 
 
 On the goring skirted Hollyhock, 
 
 Or the Blue-weed's red and slender bole ; 
 
 And close in the tube of the Gladiole, 
 
 Insects, sheltered from wind and weather, 
 
 Lead a conjugal life together. 
 
 But nestless, mateless, I watch and wait, 
 
 'Till an angel warden opens the gate, 
 
 And the spirit of my dead Past shall rise, 
 
 Changeless in her immortal guise. 
 
 And make my Heaven beyond the skie& 
 
 Mrntfl 
 
 fft, 
 
 f HE pearly gray banner of morning, 
 Rolled up on the soft, early gale, 
 And left the bright timings of sunlight, 
 To flush over mountain and vale ; 
 
POEMS, 117 
 
 When I heard a sweet musical echo, 
 Borne on in the voice of a rill, 
 And I knew it was Spring that was singing, 
 And tripping down over the hill. 
 
 Her fragrant and light respiration 
 
 Was scenting the fluttering breeze, 
 
 And a balm, from her buff colored garment. 
 
 Blew up through the tall willow trees : 
 
 So I ran to the valley to meet her ; 
 
 She came like a garlanded queen ; 
 
 With violets set as a trimming, 
 
 All over her mantle of green. 
 
 In the gathered up folds of her raiment, 
 
 She 'd gifts for the youthful and old, 
 
 AVith purple leaved flowers for the children. 
 
 And half opened blossoms of gold ; 
 
 But fairest of all her gay treasures, 
 
 And dearer by far than the rest, 
 
 Was the beautiful-eyed " La belle Flora," 
 
 She smilingly laid on my breast. 
 
 An angel flew earthward, she told me, 
 And laid the young bud in her hand. 
 And I, — I alone, — had been chosen, 
 To teach its sweet bloom to expand ; 
 With such a dear charge on my bosom. 
 My Fancy folds up her bright wing, 
 W^hile I cloister myself with my treasure, 
 Forgetting the blue-birds and Spring. 
 
ii8 POEMS. 
 
 I tenderly watch its unfolding, 
 This angel-lent, opening flower \ 
 My soul's purest fount of affection, 
 Is stirred with a magical power; 
 Oh never around my gay pathway, 
 Has such a love fragrance been shed, 
 And Life that seemed mocking and fickle, 
 Is earnest and holy instead. 
 
 Friend or foe may not claim the exotic, 
 Whose root has grown into my heart ; 
 Yet I know that some day a pale Reaper 
 Is coming to take us apart: 
 'T is likely he '11 cut down the fairest, 
 And bear *• La belle Flora " away. 
 Far over a sad-singing river. 
 Once more with the angels to stay. 
 
 Good Father, bestower of blessings. 
 Thou knowest how earnest my prayer ! 
 Give grace, from thy spirit to cherish, 
 This blossom, with tenderest care ! 
 And when the pale Reaper shall enter, 
 To take back my beautiful one. 
 Oh help me to say with submission, 
 " Thy will, righteous Father, be done 1 " 
 
POEMS. 
 
 1x9 
 
 kt te ik 
 
 CHE Sea, to me, is a mystery 
 That wraps me in its spell ; 
 J And what the wild old Ocean says, 
 Who shall divine, or tell ? 
 
 I met a bright-haired boy to-day, 
 
 While strolling on the strand, — « 
 A sweet-faced child, who gently led 
 
 An old man by the hand. 
 
 And I said within, " I '11 question these, 
 
 Of the mystery of the wave : 
 For one so fresh from the hand of God, 
 
 And one so near the grave. 
 
 Perchance may catch some spirit word 
 From the notes of Earth's alloy ; — 
 
 The word that the soul of Nature speaks." 
 So I turned me to the boy. 
 
 The happiest smile broke o'er his face; 
 
 '•' Do you see the waves at play ? 
 Don't you know what the gay, blue billow does ? 
 It laughs forever and aye." 
 
I20 POEMS, 
 
 Then I turned to the tottering man, " Pray tell 
 
 What the restless waters say ? " 
 " Can't you hear ? " he asked, in a wondering tone, 
 
 " It murmurs and moans for aye." 
 
 \\% |p>it. 
 
 QrHY heart is like a damask rose, 
 1| Whose outer leaves are sere ; 
 J And on the velvet petals, soft, 
 Some withering stains appear : 
 Yet, in its golden centre close, 
 A gem is hid from view. 
 For I have turned the leaflets back, 
 And seen that drop of dew. 
 
 Thy heart is like the peerless moon, 
 
 Hung in a heaven of cloud ; 
 
 It holds its strange and lonely way, 
 
 Mysterious and proud : 
 
 And though its earth-side only shows 
 
 One single line of light, 
 
 I know the part that turns to heaven, 
 
 Is gloriously bright. 
 
 Thy heart is like an ocean shell, 
 That underneath the tide, 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 With many a strange, unseemly thing, 
 
 Reposes side by side : 
 
 Some day the earnest diver lifts 
 
 The ocean-toy to air ; 
 
 The close-locked cell is oped, and lol 
 
 A pearl is chambered there. 
 
 Thy heart is like yon floating cloud, 
 
 That sails the tinted skies ; 
 
 Yet, to that snow-white argosy, 
 
 Earth's exhalations rise : 
 
 But He who formed that spotless thing. 
 
 An hour has surely given, 
 
 In which 't will shower its burdens down, 
 
 And lose itself in heaven. 
 
 Mattottrf 
 
 'Cjp IS well that each life has its shadow I 
 J I The flower long exposed to the ray 
 7^ Of the radiant sun of the summer, 
 Will languish and wither away; 
 But when the dim gloom of the evening 
 Embraces each tendril and stem. 
 There falls, on the breast of the blossom, 
 A cooling and life-giving gem. 
 
122 POEMS, 
 
 Thus, when we have lived in the brightness 
 
 And sun of Prosperity's hour, 
 
 The soul is too weak to inherit, 
 
 One half of its God-given dower. 
 
 But when the dark shades of Misfortune 
 
 Are gathering thick overhead. 
 
 Upon the faint spirit, the dew-drops 
 
 Of trust and religion are shed. 
 
 All thanks be to Thee, loving Father, 
 
 For darkness, as well as for cheer; 
 
 *T is only a form of Thy mercy, 
 
 The shades that envelop us here. 
 
 No ! not from Adversity's trial, 
 
 From tempest nor pall would we flee ; 
 
 For the pathway, encompassed with shadows, 
 
 Will lead us the soonest to Thee. 
 
 £ran£prpl^. 
 
 An balmy days, an aged couple came ; 
 I)J Oldest of all that bore our ancient name ; 
 
 J Grandparents ! how we ran their steps to meet ; 
 How many voices rang a welcome greet ; 
 With haste we brought the easy rocking-chair. 
 Arranged the cushions with a kindly care. 
 And oped the casement, that the fragrant breeze, 
 
POEMS. 123 
 
 Might, stealing in, their weary senses please. 
 
 Grandmother sat in cap of linen fine, 
 
 Her shining forehead seamed with many a line, 
 
 Her muslin kerchief, free from stain or speck, 
 
 Laid in neat folds was pinned about the neck, 
 
 And her thin fingers kept a ceaseless play 
 
 With knitting-needles, all the summer day. 
 
 There was a kind of dignity she wore, 
 
 That won my love and reverence the more ; 
 
 It was so mixed with gentleness and cheer. 
 
 That all my awe had not a shade of fear ; 
 
 I Ve learned, since then, 't was Christian grace that 
 
 shed, 
 It 's halo mild about her silvered head, 
 That lent a softened influence to her face, 
 And gave her language such peculiar grace. 
 Grandfather, with his staff across his knee. 
 Cracked his rare jokes in real hearty glee : 
 So old his dim blue eyes could hardly trace 
 The separate features of each childish face ; 
 Yet still, with every other pleasure past, 
 He held to mirth and laughter to the last : 
 *T was then we spread, and heaped the ample board, 
 AVith choicest food our bounty could afford, 
 And over all he raised his withered hand, 
 And bowed his head, a blessing to command 
 On all before him, body, soul, and food. 
 Of Him who is the fountain-head of Good. 
 
 Those dear old people ! shade and sunshine keep 
 A checkered play, above their silent sleep ; 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 The church-yard grass, with solemn movement waves 
 A rustling dirge, about their humble graves ; 
 Upon the world they held no lasting claim, 
 Of famous deed, of power, of titled name \ 
 No monumental urn has marked the sod, 
 Yet this is more than all, they served their God. 
 
 |ouI-|l|arfle^. 
 
 ^E still, my woman's soul, nor seek to gain 
 
 JR The glorious heights that stronger ones attain, 
 
 ^ But in the vale do thou content remain ! 
 
 While mental suns rise towering o'er the hill, 
 In thy retreat, still work with cheerful will, 
 And for thy rush-light offer praises still ! 
 
 Calm thy ambitious pulse ! Turn back thy feet, 
 And walk with quiet step ! For it is mete 
 That thou should 'st occupy the lowest seat. 
 
 Lose not the Now ! The future may enfold 
 No radiant gems within its secret hold, 
 Then gather up thy Httle grains of gold I 
 
"5 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 When Vanity allures with sweet caress, 
 And breathes her subtle whisper of success, 
 Turn thou and wander in the wilderness I 
 
 There wrestle, O my tempted woman's soul I 
 There nurse resolve, and strengthen self-control, 
 For present duty I Not for future goal. 
 
 Stifle Self's worrying persistent call ! 
 
 Thy corner in God's vineyard, being small, 
 
 Thou must fill up with beauty ! 'T is thy all. 
 
 Thus do, and this true glory shalt thou wear; 
 The Lord will come, and say that choicest care 
 Was given to that little corner there. 
 
 Ife M^tXii of t!n{ %rmx&. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 ALD theme 1 dear theme ! I take it np again. 
 IjJ With all this blue and white spread overhead, 
 
 J With all this balmy incense in the air, 
 With all this sweet disturbance in the ground. 
 What can we do, but talk and write of Spring ? 
 I saw her when she first came into view. 
 One morning, as the day was waking up j 
 
126 POEMS, 
 
 I saw a glimmering halo in the east, 
 Reflected from the glory of her hair ; 
 And the pink beauty glowing on her cheek, 
 The mirror sky caught up, and vainly thought 
 Such coloring its own. 
 
 The Earth was dead, 
 For ice was in its veins, and spotless robes. 
 Such as the old year wraps in at his death. 
 Made a pure drapery for so grand a corpse : 
 But she — young Spring — fair Resurrectionist, 
 Laid her warm hands on Nature's frozen tongue. 
 And with her light electric finger touched 
 The arching mountain brows. I saw the Earth, 
 Trembling with tingling life, cast off her shroud, 
 The blue-veined brooklets pulsed along her face. 
 And purest lymph went slowly trickling through 
 Her warming breast, and the stiff vocal chords, 
 A long time silent in her throat of snow, 
 Began to sound a varied harmony. 
 Then Spring, the bright awakener, girded up 
 The living Earth with belts of rarest green, 
 So the whole landscape smiled until it showed 
 The dimples in its face ; — those valley dents. 
 Marked with a deeper hue, at which the sun 
 Steals ardent glances, but with softer gaze 
 Than his hot eye is wont to cast upon 
 The bold and brazen hills. 
 
 "The virgin Spring;" 
 We hear them call the laughing season thus : 
 Yet her shy maiden coyness she has lost; 
 For now she prices the-softened flesh of jgarth 
 
POEMS. 
 
 With slender shoots, and tickles round her sides 
 With primrose twigs, or turns her out-spread lap 
 Into a mammoth vase, for leaves and flowers. 
 She has a generous sauclness I love ! 
 And when I feel her softly blowing breath, 
 Lifting the mass of auburn from my brow, 
 My foolish heart grows weak to childishness ; 
 And childhood years, I live them o'er again. 
 
 Just here I '11 paint a picture that comes back. 
 
 My mother, with an energetic tread, 
 
 And eyes like stars set in a heaven of blue. 
 
 Walks out among the bursting garden beds. 
 
 Seeking for crimson, bulbous headed plants, 
 
 And praises their precocity when found ; 
 
 And sister Lillie, with her handsome head 
 
 Drooping to one side, bent by such a weight 
 
 Of cloudy, shining hair, sits down and sings 
 
 A carol to the morn, where fragrant gums 
 
 Drop from an agitated, trembling tree ; 
 
 We always call it "Balm of Gilead." 
 
 My father, with a music in his soul 
 
 Which makes no discord with the world without, 
 
 Stands on the hill, and counts the growing flocks; 
 
 And I — a lambkin — sporting with the lambs, 
 
 He smiles upon, and counts the most of all. 
 
 It cannot be that years have passed away 
 
 Since that dear scene was real ! Were I there 
 
 To-day, should I not see the tiny prints 
 
 Of my bare feet upon the yielding moss, 
 
 That clustered on tlie pasture rocks } 
 
 127 
 
128 POEMS, 
 
 Thus Spring, 
 My own loved limner, brushes up anew, 
 Each year, these pictures of my early days. 
 Oh there are memories come surging o'er 
 The ocean of my thoughts, which move alone 
 The billows of my soul, when first appears 
 Young verdure under foot, and April skies 
 Above. Remembrances of Life's gay spring 
 Are with me, when a quickened germ I waved, 
 All glittering with morning dews, upon 
 The breezy, shining mountain-tops of Hope ; 
 Not knowing what my leaves might prove to be, 
 I fancied they would some day surely tower 
 High in the sunlight. Now Life's summer 's come, 
 How has it proved ? A drooping vine I cling 
 Upon the arm of love, with one white flower 
 Upon the parent stock, to brighten all 
 My shade. God bring it to a perfect fruit 1 
 Fast in Affection's vale I 'm rooted now, 
 Far from the airy heights on which I thought 
 To stand ; and yet I know 't is dearer far 
 To be a vine, and live in love's cool green, 
 Than grow a towering palm-tree in the sands. 
 So twine thy wreath of verdant memories, 
 First daughter of the Year, about my heart, 
 And thou wilt love me none the less, because 
 My feet are in the valleys. 
 
POEMS, 129 
 
 SUMMER. 
 ajPHE Year was grieved because his first-born 
 
 t -hiid- 
 
 J His daughter with the violet-colored eyes 
 Whose soul of gladness made him name her 
 
 "Spring" — 
 Had fled he knew not whither. In his locks 
 That scarcely yet had lost the gloss of youth, 
 This first great sorrow left its silver threads. 
 But time, the king of all consoling powers, 
 Gave him another child, and his sad heart 
 Leaped up with gladness at the startling sight 
 Of her voluptuous beauty. So he named 
 Her " Summer." She was neither babe nor child, 
 But wore the full ripe bloom of womanhood. 
 When Time first brought her to the mourning Year. 
 
 My heart, by sympathy made prescient, 
 Knew well her hour of coming. I could read 
 The crimson herald banners in the sky. 
 And my ear, cognizant, could understand 
 The telagraphic breezes. Opened buds 
 Smiled through their tears, and the delicious wind 
 Lifted with gentle touch the moistened hair 
 Above my forehead. 
 
 Bird and insect told 
 The day of Summer's advent, so I went 
 To seek and give her greeting. In a vale 
 Of greenest grass, a form of lovliness, 
 
I30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Luxuriant in beauty beyond need, 
 
 My search rewarded. Her wide floating robe 
 
 Of lightest gossamar, but half concealed 
 
 The gracefulness and faultless symmetry 
 
 Of her proportions. Of a pattern strange, 
 
 The figures were of her etherial skirt, 
 
 That fell in pliant folds, or circled large, 
 
 Changing the style and aspect of her charms. 
 
 A pictured landscape, mountain, vale, and wood — 
 
 With winding silver lines and oval spots 
 
 Of watered blue, for lake and stream — made up 
 
 The curious design. Yet through it all, 
 
 The polished brightness of her beauty shone. 
 
 In mild and mellowed lustre. Knots of flowers — 
 
 The lily, and the small cream-tinted rose, — 
 
 Figured her brilliant cestus. Blooming wreaths, 
 
 Of all varities of richest hues 
 
 And softly blended tints, hung careless o'er 
 
 The slopings of her Parian marble neck, 
 
 And falling down, with rarest petals hid, 
 
 The sweet alluring beauty of her breast. 
 
 The golden torrent of her unbound hair. 
 
 In sunny wave and shining ripple strayed 
 
 Through her white bosom's valley ; and her lips, 
 
 Like scarlet buds that burst apart with bloom, 
 
 Showed in their rosy cleft, a line of pearl. 
 
 The color of her cheek was like the glow 
 
 That mantles on a cloud that sunset loves, — 
 
 Fading and deepening with a measured beat 
 
 And then her blue unfathomable eyes. 
 
 Deep, dark, and velvety ! 'T was luxury 
 
POEMS. 131 
 
 To look into them. All the breezy air 
 Was spiced and balmy with her fragrant breath, 
 While glossy winged and ruffled-throated birds, 
 With large and tiny warblers gathered near, 
 To join in one ecstatic welcome song. 
 Her small feet glimmered in the dewy green, 
 With feathery lightness, crushing not a flower 
 In their soft pressure, and above each shrub 
 And tiny blade she bent to gaze and smile. 
 Or tarried to embrace the rugged trees, 
 Twining her white and gleaming arms about 
 Their boles in wanton loveliness. The Months, 
 Eager and hot with haste were hurrying up 
 To pay her proud allegiance, and the Hours, 
 Like gold-winged fire-flies circled 'round her head. 
 And flew along her path. 
 
 Full well she knew 
 I was her own and Nature's votary, 
 And reaching out her fingers sweet with myrrh. 
 Close to her throbbing breast she folded me. 
 I nestled down among the roses then. 
 Half wild with love, and frantic with delight. 
 My lips clung close with kisses, till I lay 
 Intoxicated deep on Passion's wine. 
 I even wept a tear of ecstasy. 
 That fell and rolled upon a glittering line, — 
 A single thread of her disordered hair. 
 But I aroused from that enthralling trance, 
 For there was one at home — the dearest charge — 
 That seasons past had brought me. So I culled 
 A flower from out her wreath, — a souvenir — 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 And hurrying back, held out the blushing gift 
 To dimpled fingers, while I said, " I plucked 
 It from the Summer's budding breast." 
 
 To-day I went to seek her yet again. 
 
 I found her in the fresh-mown meadow land, 
 
 Through which a stream was purling, and she lay 
 
 In deep repose, reclining on a mound 
 
 Of fragrant hay. Her lips were berry stained, 
 
 A butterfly upon her bosom rocked, 
 
 While bees were in her honey-flowers, and birds 
 
 Pecked ripened seeds from out her half shut hand. 
 
 A checkered adder lay in seeming sleep 
 
 Across her slender ankle, but he left 
 
 His alabaster throne at my approach, 
 
 And glided sinuously among the brakes. 
 
 I did not wake the slumbering one, I sighed 
 
 To see that only one of all the months 
 
 Still waited on her presence ; and the wreaths 
 
 Across her shoulders wore a faded hue. 
 
 And o'er her breast with agitation shook, 
 
 As if the breath was troubled underneath. 
 
 My lip would tremble, as I bent to leave 
 
 A kiss at my departure, for I saw 
 
 Upon the ivory surface of her brow, 
 
 A few faint lines. Was it the work of Care ? 
 
 Or had decay and blight touched her who seemed 
 
 Immortal in her beauty and her bloom ? 
 
 Ah ! much I fear the Year will grieve again. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 133 
 
 fUMMER was dead : and now it Was the day 
 Of Autumn's grand reception. 'T was the time, 
 When all, who sought her bounty, should receive 
 Full recompense for labor. I had seen 
 The loaded wains go creaking past the door. 
 And Poverty's pale children, clad in rags. 
 Walked smiling by, with pails of luscious fruit : 
 And then I knew the generous queen had come, 
 Summer's successor. 
 
 I was e'er a true 
 And loyal subject to the reigning power. 
 And strange excitement moved me as I went 
 To hail her Majesty. An open space 
 Of undulating upland, girt with wood. 
 An island in a lake of foliage, 
 She chose for her reception-hall. A crowd 
 Of proud attendants, dressed in livery gay. 
 Came in her train ; and Ceres, goddess kind, 
 Brought all her yellow sheaves and golden corn, 
 Like a true maid of honor ; while behind, 
 Pomona followed, scattering her fruit, 
 Half dancing to the tune that piping Pan 
 Was playing on his reed. 
 
 But Autumn sure 
 Was glorious and queenly ! O'er her brow 
 A crown of glittering grains was placed, set here 
 And there with dark and shining cones. 
 Like the jet-beaded blackberry. Her hair 
 
134 POEMS, 
 
 Of richest brown, a clustered grape-vine wreathed, 
 
 Twining and looping up the large, soft curls, 
 
 With its own purple beauty ; and her cheek. 
 
 Brunette and bright with color, throbbed with veins 
 
 Like those which streak the peach's downy face. 
 
 Her deeper-tinted lips were like some fruit. 
 
 Opened from over-ripeness ; and a smile, 
 
 A melancholy smile, played round their curves \ 
 
 And her large eye, with purple blackness soft, 
 
 Was colored like the dahlia's velvet heart 
 
 That bloomed upon her breast. Their dreamy gaze 
 
 Seemed far-off fixed, as though they tried to read 
 
 Some volume of the Future. Now and then 
 
 A troubled light flashed through their mellow depths, 
 
 And cast a swift and flickering gleam across 
 
 Her olive-tinted brow, while her proud frame 
 
 Would shiver as with fear, and her fine mouth 
 
 Tremble, and work with smiles so sweetly sad, 
 
 It thrilled me, for they seemed so out of place. 
 
 Her gorgeous robe fell from her faultless throat 
 
 Down to her silver-sandalled feet, and trailed 
 
 In heavy folds upon the carpet gay. 
 
 That Zephyrus was spreading ; while he sighed. 
 
 With every leaf his balmy fingers placed, 
 
 Her name in softest breath, and she would yield 
 
 Her sad and painful smile with such a grace, 
 
 So passively, it made him sigh the more. 
 
 I gazed in admiration as she came : 
 Breathless with awe and reverence I stood, 
 And worshipped silently. Yet when I heard 
 
POEMS, 135 
 
 The rustling that her trailing garments made 
 Still nearer come, I knelt and pressed my brow 
 Upon the damp leaves at her shining feet, 
 In humble adoration. Then she laid 
 Her fingers on me, and my being thrilled 
 Till every nerve became electric wire 
 At her light touch ; so that I wondered not 
 The fragile leaves should tremble, blush, and shake, 
 As she brushed by them. Slow she raised me up, 
 And with those changing, deep, magnetic eyes, 
 Looked through my heart. Then quickly she un- 
 clasped 
 The robe that hid her beauty, and I saw 
 The pearl-like lustre of her virgin breast : 
 A heaving wave of trerabUng loveliness 
 It rose and fell. 
 
 " Here is a gift," she said : 
 " I 've worn it next my heart ; a little plant 
 That I have named * Reflection.' Life with thee 
 Has hardly put its summer brightness on, 
 And thou wilt find it is not yet too late 
 To cultivate this germ. Tend it with care. 
 So when thy autumn comes, the choicest fruit 
 Will all the past repay : " Her quiet tones 
 Were ended with a sigh, and something like 
 A kiss fell melting on my cheek, and left 
 A sense of painful pleasure. Then she placed 
 The tender, rare exotic on my heart, 
 And with a sudden wildness in her mien 
 She hurried on. 
 
136 POEMS, 
 
 An hour ago, I thought 
 I heard unusual meanings in the wind, 
 And the tall pines, smitten and bent with grief, 
 Were sobbing loud : so from the casement panes 
 I watched, with anxious, scrutinizing glance. 
 For this new cause of mourning. And behold ! 
 This strange and queenly Autumn that I saw, 
 Went shrieking past, her fine hair blown about 
 Her wasted face, her dark eyes fierce and bright 
 With maniac vvildness, and her meagre form 
 Half-clad in tattered remnants of her robe. 
 Her naked feet struck on the flinty road. 
 Yet still she fled, with thin, consumptive form, 
 Raising her withered fingers now and then, 
 Cassandra-like, and pointing far away. 
 Shrieked insane prophecies. No soul was left 
 Of all her court and gay-apparelled train: 
 Not even sighing Zephyrus was there 
 To calm her insane vagaries. I wept 
 A tear upon the treasured germ she gave. 
 The while my eye pursued her flying form ; 
 And just as distance took her from my gaze, 
 I saw that Aquilo was close behind, 
 With icy fetters, manacles, and chains. 
 Poor, crazy, dying Autumn ! let us make 
 A dirge for her. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 137 
 
 fE will be merry ! for the ice-king smiles, 
 Upon his glittering crystal throne to-day ; 
 His features grim, their angry frown relax, 
 And o'er his face, grown radiantly bright, 
 Tears of convulsive laughter 'gin to flow. 
 The rosy children, muffled to the eyes, 
 Mittened and clothed in garments close and warm. 
 Grown heated in their play, doff hats and caps, 
 And dauntless of the tearful monarch's crown, 
 Toss round the feathery trimming of his robe, 
 And in his ermine roll. The prancing steed, 
 With the sweet mingling music of the bells 
 Around his arching neck, shoots gaily past 
 The door, while from the frozen lake comes up 
 The shout of youths, and the quick rippling laugh 
 Of maidens, joining in the skater's chase ; 
 Diana's fleeing from their dreaded Pan ; 
 For when the nymph is gained, I only hear 
 The reed-like music of her merriment. 
 
 We were not thus demonstrative in joy. 
 When from his ice-pearled chamber in the North, 
 Stern Winter came to rule. With milk-white steeds, 
 Whose breath was fierce and cold as Death's own 
 
 hand, 
 With snowy chariot and fleecy robes, 
 ^e bore straight down upon us. 
 
138 POEMS, 
 
 The gaunt trees 
 Flung down their last sere leaflets to appease 
 The sovereign, except the evergreens, 
 Fearless and proud, they would not yield a twig; 
 And he their haughtiness so much admired, 
 He dropped them each a crown, spotless and pure 
 One tiny bird, that lingered long and last 
 About its native grove, fell sudden down, 
 And perished both of sorrow and of fear. 
 
 Why, he was fierce about his sisters three^ 
 
 So evanescent, beautiful, and frail ! 
 
 Why should a bird sing on a garden spray, 
 
 A stream still babble to the whispering wind, 
 
 Or e'en a leaf dance on the fickle breeze, 
 
 Since Autumn passed so fearfully away : 
 
 And so he sternly reached his arm, and touch 
 
 The winding arteries that carried life 
 
 Through Nature's form, and lo ! beneath his hand 
 
 They turned to ice j then calmly he arrayed 
 
 The dead earth in her shroud, without a shade 
 
 Of feeling on his wild and haggard brow. 
 
 No fawning courtier waited at his side, 
 Earnest to learn his pleasure and desire ; 
 And only Boreas with iron wing, 
 And roaring voice, as armor bearer came, 
 And sole ccmpanicn. If we ventured cut, 
 To meet with quiet v.r obtrusive gaze. 
 Our tyrant lord, his hoarse attendant pierce 
 And stabbed us with his dagger, till we fled 
 
POEMS, 
 
 n^ 
 
 In chilly terror to our hearths again ; 
 
 And even then, he fl.ipped his ratthng wing 
 
 Against the panes, and at the loose door shrieked 
 
 With maniac fury. Ah! the vvriitched poor; 
 
 Weary and weak, they could not ilee away 
 
 From their pursuer ; so with patient face, 
 
 While Winter shook them with unflinching grasp, 
 
 They raised their pleading eyes, and prayed for life. 
 
 Ere long, we iearned the eccentricities 
 Of him, our seemingly relendess king ; 
 For soon, arrayed m furs and ample robes 
 As safe-guard from the thrusts of Boreas, 
 We laughed at all his threatening menaces, 
 And shouted back defiance. Now beside 
 The glowing fire, when early eve comes on, 
 W^e smile to hear the rattling at the pane, 
 The shrieking at the crevices and doors. 
 And quite unmindful of the roar without. 
 Pass round the loaded bowl of ruddy fruit, 
 The glass acceptable of orchard wine, 
 And drink to Winter's health. 
 
 The Old Year's death. 
 That left him of his generation last. 
 Or the mild influence of the infant Year, 
 Perchance has soothed has rigor j for of late. 
 When the blue sky Ijoks down with genial smilCg 
 I 've seen the tear of feeling trickle down 
 His bristly beard. 1 really do believe 
 That Winter has a heart, yet I mistrust 
 
I40 POEMS. 
 
 T is broken : and his humor, smiles and tears, 
 His changeful rule, first frigid, and then mild, 
 Convinces me beyond a shade of doubt, 
 He 's in his second childhood. 
 
Ijocms of ih^ 
 
 ait 
 
POEMS. 143 
 
 |liit |rime of i\t Jgus. 
 
 I 86 I. 
 
 Poet, write ! 
 nJVOT of a purpose dark and dire, 
 j\ That souls of evil fashion, 
 N Nor the power that nerves the assassin's hand, 
 In the white heat of his passion : 
 
 But let thy rhyme, 
 
 Through every clime, 
 A burthen bear of this one crime : 
 Let the world draw in a shuddering breath, 
 Or the crime that aims at a nation's death 1 
 
 Minstrel, sing ! 
 Not in affection's dulcet tone, 
 Or with sound of a soft recorder : 
 Strike not thy harp to a strain arranged 
 In measured, harmonic order : 
 
 But loud and strong 
 
 The notes prolong, 
 That thunder of a Nation's wrong ; 
 Let a sound of war in thy notes appear, 
 Till the world opes wide a startled ear I 
 
Hi 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Soldier, fight ! 
 Thou hast a patriot's throbbing pulse, 
 And future history's pages, 
 Shall tell of the blood so freely shed 
 To redeem " the crime of the ages." 
 Well may'st thou fight 
 For Truth and Right, 
 And teach a rebel foe thy might ! 
 Let a loyal heart, and undaunted will, 
 Show the world we are a Nation still ! 
 
 Prophet, speak ! 
 Speak for the children of martyred sires, 
 An offspring the most ungrateful ! 
 Warn them of Justice hurrying on, 
 To punish a deed so hateful I 
 
 O read with thy 
 
 Prophetic eye, 
 The omens of our troubled sky ! 
 What is the picture beyond the gloom ? 
 New life, new birth, or a- Nation's tomb? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 145 
 
 llu inion %^\im, 
 
 1861. 
 
 f''0 that man I '11 give homage. Kingly brows, 
 Heavy with gem and pearl of royalty, 
 J I might not bow before. Only to this 
 Broad forehead, — battle scarred, — my soul goes down 
 In reverence. I have sat and breathed the air 
 Of these high hills, and loved the lily sweets 
 That made the vale and meadow breezes rich, 
 While he grew weary in the sultry march, 
 Or faint and dizzy in the crimson heat 
 Of battle ; yet so proud of suffering, 
 So generous of blood wherewith to gain 
 A Nation's peace, a Union, and a home. 
 So will I pay the honor that is due 
 To champions of loyalty. 
 
 The hand 
 Gemmed with the ruby and the diamond star. 
 With gracefulness and beauty that attests 
 Nobility, I never longed to clasp : 
 But let me reach and warmly grasp the hand 
 That bears the musket \ fingers hard and strong 
 In warrior service, pressing bayonets 
 Against a rebel foe ! In such our strength. 
 In such our surest hope. 
 
146 POEMS, 
 
 The voice that joins 
 In dulcet melody, or learns to speak 
 In courtly tones, can never be so dear 
 As that whose proud command, in danger's hour, 
 Has gained us victory ; a voice attuned 
 To the retorting guns ; a sound of strength 
 To friends, and dread to foes. So do I prize 
 An accent or a word from patriot tongues. 
 
 I would not deign to touch the jewelled shoe 
 That men fall down before, and daily kiss 
 In seeming reverence ; but I 'd joy to wash 
 The valley dust from off those aching feet 
 That follow where our starry pennon leads ; 
 And if I had a kiss all men would prize, 
 The choicest, the sincerest, and as pure 
 As that I give the babe upon my arm, 
 It should be thine, O soldier true and brave! — 
 That kiss of soul-felt gratefulness. 
 
 1862. 
 
 'jlpURRAII for our New England ! 
 jjj When she rose up firm and grand, 
 ^ In her calm, terrific beauty, 
 With the stout sword in her hand ! 
 
POEMS. 147 
 
 When she raised her arm undaunted. 
 In the sacred cause of Right, 
 Like a crowned queen of Valor, 
 Strong in her faith and might ! 
 
 Hurrah for our New England 1 
 When the war-cry shook the breeze, 
 She wore the garb of glory, 
 And quaffed the cup of ease : 
 Bat I saw a daring look on her 
 Heroic features rise, 
 And the fire of will was flashing, 
 Through the calm light of her eyes. 
 
 From her brow serene, majestic, 
 The sweet wreath of Peace she took, 
 And War's Red Rose sprang blooming, 
 And its bloody petals shook. 
 On her heaving, beating bosom. 
 And with forehead crowned with light, 
 Transfigured, she presented, 
 Her proud form for the fight. 
 
 Hurrah for our New England ! 
 
 What a lightning courage ran, 
 
 Through her brave heart, as she bounded 
 
 To the battle's fc-arful van ! 
 
 O'er her head the starry banner, 
 
 While her loud, inspiring cry, 
 
 " Death or Freedom to our Nation " 
 
 Rang against the cloudy sky. 
 
148 POEMS. 
 
 I saw our own New England, 
 Dealing blows for Truth and Right, 
 And the grandeur of her purpose, 
 Gave her eye a sacred light : 
 Oh, name her the " Invincible," 
 Through rebel rank and host 1 
 For Justice evermore is done. 
 And Right comes uppermost. 
 
 Hurrah for our New England ! 
 Through the battle's fearful brunt. 
 Through the Red Sea of the carnage. 
 Still she struggles in the front : 
 And Victory's war eagle, 
 Hovering o'er the fiery blast, 
 On her floating, starry standard, 
 Will settle down at last. 
 
 There is glory for New England, 
 When Oppression's strife is done, 
 When the friends of Wrong are vanquished, 
 And the cause of Freedom won : 
 She shall sit in garments spotless. 
 And shall breathe the odorous balm. 
 Of the cool green of Contentment, 
 ti the bowers of Peace and Calm. 
 
POEMS, 149 
 
 1863. 
 
 jSAISE a shout, O firm-hearted New En;^land, 
 3] While strnj^hng at Freedom's behest I 
 J Lift a clirion ciy for her triumph, — 
 Our Amazon si .ter, — the West I 
 For the world of Humanity 's clapping 
 It> hands, at the glorious sight 
 Of the giantess marchirg to conquest, 
 An -I lending her strength for the Right, 
 
 Wj had noted her beauty majestic, 
 
 Believing her born to command ; 
 
 There was guerdon and crown in the future, 
 
 Awaiting the strength of her hand ! 
 
 'T was grand when she rose up colossal I 
 
 Eut nobler and grander than all, 
 
 V/as the sight of her soul, keen and ready, 
 
 Out-flashing at Liberty's call. 
 
 Not in vain the rude life of the prairies! 
 Such roughness gave po.ver to her arm, 
 And nourished her strength for a struggle. 
 To vanquish the demons of harm* 
 
^So 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 How her great beating heart shook her bosom, 
 When battle-cries rang on the air ! 
 And she held back her breath like a creature, 
 That crouches and bounds from its lair ! 
 
 Then glancing at lake, and soft verdure, 
 And streams rolling down to the seas, 
 Her brow's blooming wreath of Contentment, 
 She flung with disdain to the breeze : 
 And shouted, " God spread my wide prairies. 
 For Liberty's home — not her grave ; 
 And I '11 gather a harvest of slaughter, 
 Ere I feed on the toil of a slave ! " 
 
 Then her eye caught the fire and the glory 
 
 That burned in the spirits of old : 
 
 And changed were her light native ballads, 
 
 To measures heroic and bold : 
 
 And we knew the true blood of her fathers 
 
 Warmed all her young veins in its flow, 
 
 As she lifted her head for the conflict, 
 
 And steadily marched on the foe. 
 
 And when near the stronghold of traitors, 
 
 She sprang, with her fingers to clasp 
 
 The old wrinkled throat of Oppression, 
 
 With pioneer strength in the grasp, 
 
 How she held her strong grip till he faltered, 
 
 And gasping, fell down on the plain ! 
 
 While the locks on his brow; thin and grizzly. 
 
 Were wet in the red carnage rain. 
 
POEMS. 151 
 
 And we saw her proud form standing dauntless : 
 
 Her own purple blood dripping down, 
 
 As she clutched through the mist of the battle, 
 
 At Tyranny's iron- wrought crown ; 
 
 And lo! as she stands yet unflinching, 
 
 Still giving her young life and power. 
 
 Her brow sprouts a green springing laurel, 
 
 The future shall bring into flower. 
 
 Then shout for her triumph, New England I 
 
 Our Amazon sister, — the West ; 
 
 Lift up the clear voice like a trumpet, 
 
 In praise of her valor and zest ! 
 
 Let a song of thanksgiving go upward, 
 
 And ring on the throne overhead ! 
 
 For she stands with her banner uplifted^ 
 
 Her heel upon Tyranny's head. 
 
153 POEMS, 
 
 |ifltjt |rium{Tl|^. 
 
 1864. 
 
 " A rebel ball crashed through a large house, entering the 
 corner of the roof, and through the aperture was run up the 
 Union Flag." 
 
 f''HE man who fired that traitorous charge, 
 Purposed to feed a grave ; 
 . But only made destructive rent, 
 Where Freedom's pennon, star besprent, 
 More gloriously should wave* 
 
 Oppression clutched at Liberty, 
 And thought to stop her breath ; 
 He fixed his fingers in her throat : 
 It was a thought o'er which to gloat 
 A Nation choked to death I 
 
 But lo ! God works a miracle ! 
 Oppression yields the ghost ! 
 Our Country brightens from her night ! 
 The blood wrung out, shall wash her white, 
 As Heaven's immortal host. 
 
POEMS. 153 
 
 O rebels ! in our noble dead, 
 
 Ye give us precious dower ! 
 
 Their graves undying life shall breed : 
 
 Sprouted in blood, the buried seed 
 
 Shall yield the richest flower. 
 
 We will not call these valleys where 
 
 Our dead boys lie concealed, — 
 
 The battle-hill, and river shore — 
 
 " Our graveyards ! " They are something more ! 
 
 They 're one grand harvest field ! 
 
 For every one of Freedom's sons. 
 Who sleep with death-closed eyes. 
 For every mound that hides a face 
 Scarred for our Country, — in its place, 
 Ten patriot men shall rise ! 
 
 For every arm now stark and stiff, 
 That fell in final pause, 
 Stabbing for Justice and for Truth, 
 And battling with the zeal of youth, — 
 Ten more shall aid the cause. 
 
 And over every hideous rent, 
 Where cannon balls crashed through, 
 Shall float the white and crimson bars, 
 The pennon with its undimmed stars, 
 In their loved field of blue. 
 
:54 POEMS, 
 
 O matchless priests of Liberty, 
 Ordained her fires to keep ! 
 Let not the lights burn faint nor low 
 Within her fane : but tower, and glow, 
 And flash with lightning leap ! 
 
 O Countrymen with royal souls ! 
 
 Let heart and nerve be strong ! 
 
 Till right shall reign from North to South, 
 
 And lay her hand upon the mouth 
 
 Of every gun of Wrong. 
 
 lo ^\\ ||a!ion^5 oucr the \tz. 
 1864. 
 
 I^^^HAT is the cause of the strife?" thought the 
 nations over the sea ; 
 ' The North and the South are children, that 
 quarrel over their tea ; 
 The South with her fiery spirit, is only getting the 
 
 crosser, 
 At hearing the North protest that the cup belongs 
 with the saucer." 
 
 " What is the cause of the strife ? " thought the na- 
 tions over the sea ; 
 " They war in a lack of wisdom, not agreeing to dis- 
 
POEMS, 155 
 
 Always at antipodes, after years of picking and hunt- 
 
 They go to battle at last, over a simple piece of 
 bunting. 
 
 *' Or some other trivial thing 's at the bottom of this 
 parade, 
 
 This glitter and glance of steel, and the roaring of 
 cannonade ; 
 
 Perhaps 'tis a Southern pen, that across the one 
 word '■ Union ' 
 
 Indites a political creed abrogating close commun- 
 ion. 
 
 " Or rather, a feud arising from vaunts of the civic 
 mouth ; 
 
 The ' shovelry ' of the North 'gainst the * chivalry * 
 of the South : 
 
 Or a schism that starts its line from municipal insti- 
 tution ; 
 
 Or different interpretations of the letter of Constitu- 
 tion." 
 
 " If these are the points of strife," said the nations 
 
 over the sea, 
 " We have a lot in the matter — for elder children are 
 
 we : 
 The duty becomes incumbent, to shorten the long 
 
 contention : 
 Our part assigned in the drama is the business of 
 
 intervention." 
 
156 POEMS, 
 
 Have you guessed the cause of the strife, sister na- 
 tions over the sea ? 
 
 Have you caught a glimpse of Jehovah, and His 
 lightning written decree 
 
 Glaring clear in the cloudy dun, — from the battle- 
 smoke out-flashing? 
 
 Have you heard the voice of the Judge over all the 
 cannon's crashing ? 
 
 We 're fighting to make them real — mock-excellen- 
 cies of the past : 
 
 Heart-sick of hypocrisy's badge, we are goaded to 
 battle at last : 
 
 Here 's one of our virtuous tokens — our starred tri- 
 color ; we take it, 
 
 And rather than live as it was, we will die for what 
 we can make it. 
 
 In the easy days and the peaceful, could we wave 
 that flag in the face 
 
 Of a single nation on earth, without feeling a pang 
 of disgrace ? 
 
 Oh give us the pain and the loss, and the carnage 
 that convulses, 
 
 With sincerity at the core, throbbing deep in North- 
 ern pulses ! 
 
 Whatever the monarchies write, of the strife's incipi- 
 ent stage, 
 
 Of the tinder that struck the fire of our soul's sub- 
 limest rage ; 
 
POEMS. 157 
 
 Whatever the cavilings are of our elders or our 
 
 betters, 
 The arm of the North was nerved by the clanking of 
 
 Southern fetters. 
 
 Our bickerings for a trifle, the world may over- 
 state j 
 
 Our patriot love at the centre, may suffer under- 
 rate : 
 
 Not patriotism cheap, that stops with one's own na- 
 tion, 
 
 But patriotism grand, that sphere's a world's salva- 
 tion. 
 
 Is it the peoples' doubt, — an idea too grand for the 
 hour, 
 
 That our Northern sons are heroes for principle, not 
 for power ? 
 
 Was the thought too large for a man, or even too 
 great for a nation. 
 
 To flash out sabre and gun in the cause of emanci- 
 pation ? 
 
 Fremont the truest and quickest, sprang out on 
 
 Liberty's track : 
 And Lincoln, slow but firmly, and never faltering 
 
 back; 
 And his tardy hand reached forward, — dear hand, 
 
 — to relieve the lowly, 
 And we love his lips for the words, that seemed to 
 
 come too slowly. 
 
158 POEMS, 
 
 Could you see our sable brother take his place in 
 
 the battle's van, 
 Not willing to live as a chattel, but ready to die as a 
 
 man ; 
 Could you see our Africa bare her scarred breast to 
 
 the sword and rifle, 
 Wouldn't you say, at the root of the matter there 
 
 was something more than a trifle ? 
 
 Wouldn't you say that the federal blood mirrored 
 Jesus in every drop, 
 
 When it rose in a throb of passion, that the bond- 
 man's woe might stop ? 
 
 Would n't you say that the federal hand touched the 
 nail-pierced hand of another, 
 
 When it dripped its generous crimson to redeem an 
 outraged brother ? 
 
 The histories coming after, will not reckon the price 
 too dear. 
 
 When this crushed and weakened sister in develop- 
 ment shall appear : 
 
 When Africa — Prima Donna — moves along politi- 
 cal stages, 
 
 A single queen, whose glory is the promise of future 
 
 In the noon of the dawning cycles, when the sword 
 
 shall leave the sheath 
 To be changed to a pruning hook, — when God 
 
 shall braid His national wreath, — 
 
POEMS, 159 
 
 America, Europe, Asia, all as leaves and twigs, must 
 
 enter : 
 But Africa as the glorious flower whose rich bloom 
 
 crowns the centre. 
 
 Or she shall sit as a star, with a light that is all her 
 
 own, 
 With beam magnetic attracting the compass of State 
 
 and Throne : 
 While every kin, descendant, and tribe of the power 
 
 that bound her, 
 Each at a limit respectful, in awe shall circle 'round 
 
 her. 
 
 And she, the bruised and the smitten, borne down 
 
 with fetter and thong, 
 She shall be the Corypheus leading on the world's 
 
 grand song : 
 And the nations shall wait dumbly, their separate 
 
 voices hushing, 
 To hear Earth's new soprano in a river of music 
 
 gushing. 
 
 Have we nothing noble to die for, ye nations over 
 
 the sea ? 
 Will 3^e call it inglorious venture when Africa shall 
 
 be free ? 
 Ah, no! ye will give us place evergreen in heroic 
 
 story, 
 And strain to attain the summit of a like unselfish 
 
 glory. 
 
i6o POEMS, 
 
 1854. 
 
 AHOUT for a nation renewed, 
 
 ^ That moults the old garment that bound her, 
 
 "7 That rises with evil eschewed, 
 
 With the gold of God's morning around her 1 
 
 Shout that she caught enough light 
 
 Through the chinks in political cells, 
 
 To vitalize will into might ! 
 
 That she heard the Eternity bells 
 
 Freedom-tongued ! that she leaped with a shiver 
 
 Of joy, for this gift of the Giver, — 
 
 A chance for a nobler existence ! 
 
 That her passiveness turned to resistance I 
 
 That bursting all dwarfish dimension. 
 
 She moves in untrammelled extension, 
 
 With purpose of Justice imbued 1 
 
 Shout for a nation renewed ! 
 
 Shout that a creature of God, 
 Long known as our national ban, 
 And reckoned a thing or a beast, 
 Is counted and titled a man ! 
 That he fronts with unfaltering step, 
 The enemy's brass-throated guns, 
 With a courage as high and serene, 
 
POEMS. i6i 
 
 As any of Liberty's sons ! 
 
 That he moves not at Tyranny's nod, 
 
 A subject of fetter and rod, 
 
 Shout for this creature of God I 
 
 Shout for the States coming back ! 
 Grasp the warm hand of communion I 
 Draw them so near it will seem, 
 One heart only throbs in the Union ! 
 Let not our faces be altered. 
 Because for a time they have faltered 1 
 Or let us but brighten the more. 
 That feet turning from us before, — 
 Dear feet — sound again at the door 1 
 For we must be one ! E'en the winds, 
 With icicle dagger and snows. 
 Throw them off with a smile to slip down, 
 And play with the sweet Southern rose ; 
 Our summer clouds, darkened with tears, 
 O'er gray crag and mountain-top clamber, 
 And flash with joy's impulse at sight 
 Of the beautiful Southern sky-amber ; 
 New stars are in Liberty's track ! 
 Shout for the States coming back I 
 
 Shout for a banner symbolic 
 Of all that is great in Humanity I 
 Vestment no longer for draping. 
 The lie of our past Christianity ! 
 Red for the hearts of our braves ; 
 White for the soul of a nation, 
 
i62 POEMS. 
 
 Cleansed into fitness at last, 
 For holiest deed and oblation j 
 Blue for the people's new heaven, 
 Into which purity frees us, 
 Lighted with Bethlehem stars, 
 As guides evermore unto Jesus ; 
 Emblem of truth apostolic ! 
 Shout for this banner symboUc ! 
 
 Shout ! or dumb Nature will speak. 
 And mountains be seized with a spasm 
 Shout ! or a thunder of joy, 
 Will belch from the cavern and chasm 1 
 Shout ! or the old sea will rise. 
 Heaven-high in an ecstatic madness, 
 And bones of the patriots stir 
 To give an expression to gladness 1 
 Or portraits that hang in the hall, 
 Will start in procession and file. 
 And pictured saints fixed on the wall, 
 Will move their pure lips into smile I 
 Shout ! for the Earth looks alive. 
 Like a joy-flush that burns on a cheek, 
 When Love's swooning pulses revive I 
 Through its etherial prism. 
 Glory drops down as a chrism. 
 On baldness of boulder and peak ! 
 Shout, or dumb Nature will speak I 
 
POEMS, 163 
 
 Ira^rs llioic^ 
 
 A HE sat at the feet of her mother, 
 ^ Sat with a dreamy air, 
 "7 And her delicate hand played listlessly 
 With a lock of her glossy hair. 
 
 Her cheek's sweet pink was slumbering 
 
 Under a veil of snows ; 
 But up through the wonderful whiteness, 
 
 Came suddenly out a rose. 
 
 And a burning ray shot into 
 
 The depths of either eye, 
 As a sunbeam vexed with cloud 
 
 Leaps at last into open sky. 
 
 And her budded red mouth trembled, 
 
 Till the dimples came to see 
 What honey thoughts in the central cell 
 
 Of her spirit there could be. 
 
 And the beautiful still disturbance 
 The mother's glance had caught : 
 
 " Arabel-daughter — give me 
 
 The words of your present thought 1 
 
164 POEMS. 
 
 " But the thought has mirrored itself, 
 And your voice I hardly need : 
 
 For I know the interpretations ; 
 They are easy signs to read. 
 
 " In the restless tint of the cheek, 
 
 In the glowing eyes above, 
 In the red lip's nervous tremble, 
 
 I can trace the work of Love. 
 
 " Far back as I can remember, 
 
 The god betrayed his will 
 In the self-same way ; and red and white 
 
 Are Cupid's colors still. 
 
 " But an anxious thought creeps blindly 
 In my heart, and cannot rest ; 
 
 For the soul of a mother longs to know 
 Who her daughter loves the best. 
 
 " Is it he with the hurried footstep. 
 Who at twilight comes to call. 
 
 And drops his high imperiousness 
 Like a cloak in the outer hall ? 
 
 *' The glossy badge of his manhood's prime 
 Waves darkly adown his breast ; 
 
 And he kisses your hand in a reverent way, 
 More tender than all the rest. 
 
POEMS, 165 
 
 "With a knowledge judicial, wide, profound, 
 
 He sits ill a judges' chair ; 
 And the world has ever a garment of praise 
 
 For such wise men to wear. 
 
 " Or perhaps 't is the merchant who sent a gift 
 On your birth-day ; a pearl-set ring ; 
 
 And he takes back the cost every Saturday eve 
 In the ballads you play and sing. 
 
 " And his tongue, like a v/ord-threaded shuttle, 
 Weaves nothing but praise to please : 
 
 And he looks in your face, till your fingers miss 
 And tremble along the keys. 
 
 " His wares and his heaped-up merchandise 
 
 Shut out the light of the sun ; 
 He can buy the smile of the people, — 
 
 Is it Love's smile he has won 1 
 
 '* It may be the man just over the way 
 You have chosen ; the millionaire j 
 
 When you think of his gold you can surely forget 
 The silver that 's in his hair. 
 
 "Wliat is it that draws and knits your brow 
 
 Whenever you hear the creak 
 Of his shining boots in the passage ? 
 
 What is it that fires your cheek ? " 
 
i66 POEMS. 
 
 Then Arabel cleared her forehead 
 From the faintest shade of a frown: 
 
 On a crimson rose in the carpet, 
 The light of her eyes fell down. 
 
 And the smile swooned off about her lips, 
 As she answered with timid voice ; 
 
 " My mother will wonder ; condemn perhaps ; 
 And never approve my choice. 
 
 " The royal one that my soul enthrones, 
 
 A king by Love's own crown, 
 No title of honor has stretched his name. 
 
 He wears no ermined gown. 
 
 " The badge oihis promising manhood. 
 
 Is neither on lip nor chin ; 
 But it flashes out at his glorious eyes 
 
 From its sacred place within. 
 
 " He has no wealth heaped up in the square, 
 
 Or waiting at wharf or strand : 
 The coin in his slender purse is earned 
 
 By a hard and sunburnt hand. 
 
 " With thai man's purse just over the way. 
 
 His own is a mean compare ; 
 But counting his virtues in lieu of gold, 
 
 He, too, is a millionaire. 
 
POEMS. 167 
 
 " Had he lingered in these still valleys, 
 
 He would not have given a kiss, 
 Or, ever have ventured a word of love 
 
 From last year's spring till this. 
 
 " But walking, a year ago to-day, 
 
 In the country, under the shade. 
 Where the locust trees as sentinels stood 
 
 Along the cool arcade, 
 
 " I heard the hoofs of his goodly steed, 
 
 Come galloping down the lane. 
 And suddenly pause beside me. 
 
 As the rider drew the rein. 
 
 " And he leaped to the ground and raised his cap 
 From his brow, and his white lips broke 
 
 Apart with a word of tenderness. 
 He never before had spoke. 
 
 " * Sweet, I am going ! Tyranny's cloud 
 
 Is darkening Liberty's sun ; 
 And only by arms as stout as mine, 
 
 Is Freedom's victory won. 
 
 " * Your country is perilled. I could face 
 
 The enemy's sun and spear, 
 Better than your pure looks beloved. 
 
 With the shame of idling here. 
 
i68 POEMS, 
 
 " ' For you there are hands brimfull of gold, 
 
 And hearts of affection too : 
 But my hand is not worthy enough 
 
 To touch your dainty shoe. 
 
 " * Yet it 's just the hand, with its roughened palm, 
 
 The bond of the slave to break ; 
 And I know it is strong to battle for Right, 
 
 Through God and your sweet sake. 
 
 " * New England reared, 't is Liberty's cause 
 
 I hold all claims above ; 
 Humanity's weal ranks uppermost. 
 
 And duty is more than love.^ 
 
 " I looked in his eyes ; and their luminous depths 
 
 The fire of the hero caught. 
 And I looked till 1 saw that his soul was clear 
 
 From the trace of a selfish thought. 
 
 " My mother ! I shook with reverence 
 
 In the light of that eye and brow, 
 For the soul that I thought I loved before, 
 
 I knew that I worshipped now. 
 
 "Then his white lips stole the purple of mine 
 
 In a long and clinging kiss ; 
 And mine have moved with a sweeter smile 
 
 From that day's hour till this. 
 
POEMS. 169 
 
 " Then he sprang to his steed, and I heard the sound 
 
 Of its galloping hoofs again, 
 And he waved his hand as he passed from sight 
 
 At the end of the locust lane. 
 
 " I stood in a dream, and felt how grand 
 
 The heart of a youth could be, 
 Whose love of country and human weal 
 
 O'er-topped his love for me. 
 
 " My whole soul's love, my mother, 
 
 Forever is wed to the brave, 
 Who would purchase a slave-freed country, 
 
 Though bought with blood and a grave." 
 
 Then Arabel ceased, and her mother laid 
 
 A hand on her daughter's hair, 
 And a tide of thought rose up within 
 
 Till it bubbled over in prayer. 
 
 " Heaven give American mothers, 
 
 A treasure as great as mine ! 
 For the soul of a patriot daughter, 
 
 I bless thee. Father divine 1 " 
 
170 POEMS, 
 
 ? 
 
 arting 
 
 5U AS it love for you, my brave, — 
 |;| When the Autumn's fire and gold 
 J Wrought a shroud for Summer's grave,- 
 Love that made me shy and cold, 
 Fearinjr to be overbold ? 
 
 '& 
 
 Was it love that made me weak, 
 When the glory of your eyes 
 
 Brought the secret to my cheek ? — 
 Dumb with faintness and surprise, 
 That so poor was my disguise. 
 
 Was it love that made the sound 
 Of your step a joy and pain. 
 
 Made your path a holy ground, 
 
 Made your voice the sweetest strain 
 Of music, short of Heaven's refrain ? 
 
 Was it love that made my song, 
 Tremble, till it seemed not mine, 
 
 When the day had faded long, 
 And I saw your white brow shine 
 Through shadows like a thing divine ? 
 
POEMS, 171 
 
 Was it love ? A man can tell, 
 
 Though we falter, or deny, 
 When a woman loves him well ; 
 
 Feels a warm light glorify 
 
 All his soul when she is nigh. 
 
 Take the gift, then, that you ask ; 
 
 Patriot heroes may displace 
 Timid Love's sly, shifting mask : 
 
 Wearing it v/ere a disgrace 
 
 Looking in your soldier face. 
 
 And I dare to call you " mine," 
 
 Since you tell me that this word 
 Hidden long in Love's sweet wine, 
 
 Adds new valor to the sword 
 
 That must meet a rebel horde. 
 
 Now I tremble not, but strong 
 
 For my country, tell you plain 
 I love the arm that battles wrong. 
 
 The soul that faces death and pain, 
 
 To cleanse America from stain. 
 
 Flash a doctrine absolute 
 
 From your Federal sword and gun ; 
 Truth a world cannot refute ; — 
 
 That Justice, Love, and God are one, 
 
 Rolling forward Freedom's sun. 
 
172 POEMS. 
 
 In this labor we will share ; 
 
 Take my love, nor longer pause ; 
 
 I shall wreathe your name in prayer, 
 By Affections holy laws, 
 Round the dear Republic's cause. 
 
 idouicd 
 
 Lines affectionately inscribed to jNIary Cooper, widow of COL. 
 Alexander Gardiner, of the 14th N. H. Vols. 
 
 t^HEY said 'twas a triumph. The northern breeze 
 waved 
 J A burden of banners at Early's defeat : 
 'T was a conquest for Liberty : I too had saved 
 One glad cry to lend to the shouts in the street, 
 For a victory complete. 
 
 While the iron tongues up in the steeple will hold 
 No longer their peace, but chime on with the rest 
 In each federal display, 't is my portion to fold 
 This garment of widowhood over ray breast, 
 In which I am drest. 
 
 O, happy-eyed women, with hearts yet unriven. 
 Sing, while you can say, " He 's alive yet — my own! " 
 
POEMS. 173 
 
 But my eyes gaze straight over all into Heaven ; 
 To an angel's full stature my hero has grown, 
 And I stand here alone. 
 
 O heavenly promotion that wrings my heart so \ 
 Resplendent equipments that angels provide! 
 Give him glory ! while I wander yet here below, 
 With my two little ones to lead on by my side, 
 To cherish and guide. 
 
 And toward him, — our saint — we will struggle and 
 
 climb, 
 O frail little daughter, and brave little son ! 
 The cloud o'er my path has a shadow sublime. 
 For the hope that I lost when my life was undone, 
 
 To Freedom is won. 
 
 And so for America I 'm not afraid. 
 Such blood go for nothing ? Unholy the thought ! 
 Too precious the price that 's already been paid 
 In the bargain of Justice, to falter to naught 
 With Freedom unbought. 
 
 I sit in my dark ; for the sparkle and glow 
 
 Of my star, went to purchase a land's jubilee ; 
 
 Give strength for my cross, God and Christ ! while 
 
 I know 
 That the country made sacred by one tomb to me, 
 
 Shall not fail to be free. 
 
3174 POEMS. 
 
 Kind friends, with your voices of tenderest love, 
 And eyes full of pity, now tell me, I pray, 
 If I were not accounted of worth above, 
 VVould the hammer of God smite my soul in this way; 
 Heaven loves me, I say j 
 
 And takes the soft roses from under my feet, 
 And bristles my way with the brier and thorn : 
 Is it not through such pain that a soul grows com- 
 plete — 
 Its conception perfects — and through travail forlorn 
 That an angel is born ? 
 
 When our bird of the Sun shall invincible sit, 
 In a triumph sublime over Tyranny's hounds, 
 When America stands a great wrong to acquit. 
 And pours oil and wine into Africa's wounds. 
 When gladness abounds, 
 
 When the eyes of wife, maiden, and mother shall flash 
 A lightning of joy, their brave soldiers to see, 
 When the sword is put off, and unknotted the sash, 
 And children can climb to the patriot's knee, 
 Is there nothing for me ? 
 
 O grand spirit pinions, through bravery below 
 Took on up above, downward dip to my side ! 
 Love draws wiih a strength that 's divine ; and I know 
 When God makes a marriage. His word must abide j — 
 Even Death can't divide. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 17S 
 
 So I walk on the marge of the life that 's unseen, 
 Joining hands with two worlds. Friends need not 
 
 forbe.ir 
 Through pity their smiles. Why, the eardi is more 
 
 green 
 For one grave in 't to me! and my treasure's up 
 there, 
 Beyond all impair. 
 
 O nail-printed hands, gather into thy strength 
 My feeble earth fmgers ! and forehead divine, 
 Thorn-pierced, light before me the way, till at length 
 On my eyes, weak and weary with watching, shall 
 shine 
 His glory and thine-. 
 
 %l |«"3- 
 
 {f F my soul has a king, it knows well where to find 
 
 I him, 
 
 J Though Fate guards the secret with vigilant 
 
 care ; 
 And I patently wait with the crown Love has twined 
 him J 
 God telU me the place, and I know he is there : 
 
176 POEMS. 
 
 Where Liberty's eagle, 
 From Tyranny's beagle, 
 Has torn out the heart, I shall find him — my king. 
 
 He wears not a badge upon bosom or shoulder. 
 
 As sign of distinction ; but angels can see, 
 Throughout army and host not an arm can strike 
 bolder 
 For Country, and Justice, and Freedom than he. 
 Not choosing his mission. 
 For gain or position, 
 He counts with our saviors — that private — my 
 king. 
 
 And he thinks every foot is the foot of a brother, 
 
 That follows the light of the Federal stars : 
 Though darker the brow, or the race is another, 
 The manhood 's proved under the red and white 
 bars 
 
 " Who bears well a rifle. 
 Rebellion to stifle. 
 Is brother and man," — says the voice of my king. 
 
 His strong, tawny hand, labor-hardened, is royal ! 
 Lip, touch with thy honey and velvet his palm ! 
 The pulse 'neath his blue coat is steadily loyal ; 
 O Love in my breast, save thy odor and balm ! 
 W^ith thy wealth clothe and cover 
 My grand hero-lover ! 
 Bring out thy hid treasures ! Anoint him my king I 
 
POEMS, 177 
 
 His feet will not halt on the wearisome marches, 
 
 Nor falter from duty, nor loiter for rest ; 
 But forward, till Liberty's bow overarches 
 Columbia's soil from the east to the west. 
 O soldier feet speeding, 
 Though shoeless and bleeding ! 
 I bow to thy footprints ! I kneel to my king 1 
 
 Forget not, my soul, in thy pure adoration. 
 
 That brave ones will perish, and heroes must fall ! 
 T is true blood alone that can ransom the nation, 
 And tranquilize Justice for Africa's thrall: 
 For the crimson that 's given, 
 Is demanded by Heaven, 
 Oh, send thy Samaritans, God, to my king. 
 
 Seek, heavenly Commission, the wounded and dying, 
 Where Liberty's vanguard stands firm as a rock ; 
 Where the old banner waves, red Rebellion defying. 
 And our eagle soars calm o'er the fierce battle 
 shock ! 
 
 Oh seek and recover 
 My own hero- lover ! 
 Thou blessed Evangel, restore me my king 1 
 
tya POEMS. 
 
 |notItBii l^ar. 
 
 1864. 
 
 A PEED, waiting days of thought and care^ 
 ?^ Nor linger here ! 
 
 *Tr O heart, with every throb a prayer, 
 The weary night is nearly through I 
 There comes a flush of dawn for you, 
 Another year. 
 
 Sing, little snow-bird, perched upon 
 
 The briar near ! 
 You twitter to the winter sun, 
 Yet cannot tell, with chirp and cheep> 
 One half the joy that I shall reap, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 Worm, tenant of the chrysalis 1 
 
 Through your close sphere, 
 
 Draw splendor out of Nature's kiss I 
 
 Suck beauty for unquickened wing ! 
 
 Come out in rainbow covering, 
 Another year. 
 
 And thorny bush, with here and there 
 
 A leaflet sere. 
 Your penetralia set with care I 
 
POEMS, 
 
 From light and breezes, rain and snows, 
 Evolve for me a bridal rose, 
 Another year ! 
 
 The runlet, with an icy marge. 
 
 Falls low and clear ; 
 But April warmed, 't will swell and charge 
 Adown the meadow in such glee. 
 It will not seem to sob with me. 
 
 Another year. 
 
 From out the hemlock-feathered hill, 
 
 Purple and clear, 
 The purest vapor will distil : 
 Intenser glories shall arise. 
 To drape and fringe the lucid skies, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 The undeveloped flower-cup 
 
 Will persevere, 
 And rear its scented chalice up : — 
 Embalming all its heart-cells through 
 With sweetness, just as I shall do, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 Shall do for him who stands erect 
 
 With fire and spear. 
 To baffle Tyranny's elect ; 
 Who comes with our victorious stars, -— 
 My hero of a dozen scars — 
 
 Another year. 
 
 179 
 
i8o POEMS, 
 
 Where the gray mountain's granite crest 
 
 And brow appear, 
 Our monarch bird shall preen his breast, 
 And all true people glorify 
 His conquering wing, and heaven-raised ey^ 
 
 Another year. 
 
 And Freedom's story winds shall bear 
 
 Across the mere : 
 Reaching a lion-people's lair ; 
 And they shall wake, and rouse, and strain, 
 Testing the full length of their chain, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 And Old World strangers at the gate, 
 
 Shall lose their sneer. 
 And muffle with respect their hate : • 
 Knowing, Earth-thrones howe'er so high, 
 Are still below our Eagle's eye, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 And where our own symbolic stars. 
 
 Blood-washed appear, 
 With the suggestive crimson bars. 
 Men shall not say we boast a lie, 
 And flaunt it under God's blue sky. 
 
 Another year. 
 
 America, cleansed out to snow, 
 
 Cannot adhere 
 To polities that smeer her so : 
 
POEMS. i8i 
 
 She '11 give her children such a creed. 
 As men are martyrs for at need 
 Another year. 
 
 A creed to prove, to sense and sight, 
 
 The one Idea, 
 For which the Federal heroes fight : 
 'Twill shine a never setting sun, 
 When Freedom shall be twenty-one, 
 
 Another year. 
 
 A creed that leaves no captive eye 
 
 To shed a tear : 
 Then Freedom will not live to sigh, 
 But wreathed from her own olive tree. 
 Will sit in \vhite and smile with me. 
 
 Another year. 
 
 
 jAH, the weariness attending a suspense that is un- 
 it J broken ! 
 y Oh, the feeble ray of courage every morning when 
 
 we wake! 
 Oh, the dreariness of watching for a letter or a token. 
 And the loneliness of silence that we cannot pierce 
 
 or break ! 
 
I»2 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To wait, and look, and listen for the soldier home 
 returning, 
 Till the head is tired and dizzy, and the pulse is 
 throbbing sore, 
 And the heavy-hearted bosom with a single wish is 
 burning, 
 And prayer is but the one loved name repeated 
 o'er and o'er. 
 
 The Autumn had returned again. I looked out for 
 his coming. 
 The lace-work of the candy-tuft, the fuchsia's pink 
 and snow, 
 No longer wooed the butterfly, nor brought the wild 
 bee humming. 
 And 'tween its banks of withered sedge the brook 
 was falling low. 
 
 The death-moth fluttered languidly, the larva spun 
 its fetter, 
 And ghostly shadows flitted on the hills of indigo ; 
 Oh, blind and foolish one to hope, when Nature told 
 me better ! 
 If he was near, what poet-eye would find her look- 
 ing so ? 
 
 And yet my heart, unteachable, arrayed in contradic- 
 tion. 
 In tone of sweet expectancy kept up a cheerful 
 hum ; 
 
POEMS. 183 
 
 And undismayed in face and front of Nature's clear 
 eviction, 
 Kept singing and repeating, " He will come, he 
 will come ! " 
 
 And round my lip the dimples met to welcome back 
 the comer ; 
 And in my eyes were set the stars anticipation 
 raised ; 
 And in my hair I twined the last late blossoms of 
 the summer, 
 And daily o'er my bosom clasped the garment he 
 had praised. 
 
 But morning flushed, and mid-day shone, and star- 
 light came and ended. 
 Week after week, until my soul no longer hushed 
 its moan : 
 Yet clinging to a slender thread of hope it hung sus 
 pended. 
 And would not say " He has passed on, and I am 
 left alone." 
 
 But when the icicles hung down, and winter winds 
 were beating, 
 And feathery stars and crystals sharp were heaped 
 about the door. 
 The firm foot of my courage 'gan a slow but sure 
 retreating, 
 Though all my being called to it to rally yet once 
 more. 
 
t^4 poems: 
 
 Oh, who could tell me surely if with angals he trod 
 lightly 
 The milky-way mosaic, and the star-grains of the 
 skies ! 
 Or was his soul heroic in a skeleton held tightly, 
 That from a rebel prison gazed with large and 
 hungry eyes. 
 
 A fellow-comrade had av^erred, that when a shout 
 was ringing, 
 Of triumph o'er the foe, he saw my brave fall sud- 
 den down ; 
 A shattered head and face he found, and 'round the 
 temples clinging. 
 Were locks that wore the same rich shade of gold 
 wrought into brown. 
 
 But yet I said that other forms my hero's might re- 
 semble, 
 And majesty akin might other sons of Freedom 
 wear ; 
 And 'round the brows of other youths a sunbeam love 
 to tremble. 
 And glance about and nestle in the meshes of their 
 hair. 
 
 But when the bees adventurous, among the willows 
 yellow. 
 Began to suck the buds, and Spring had cleared 
 her throat of snow, 
 
POEMS, 185 
 
 And every blue-bird twittered in love lyrics to its 
 fellow, 
 Then heaven and earth in pity, both essayed to 
 let me know. 
 
 And raised their mystic symbols, and sent tapping 
 to my casement, 
 A little bird with scarlet crest, and wings of blue 
 and white ; 
 Again, and yet again he pierced the woodbine inter- 
 lacement. 
 Then sped away towards the South^ with swift and 
 sudden flight. 
 
 And then I saw the Universe was holding out its 
 pledges 
 Of truth to me, from azure arch to violet-trimmed 
 sward ; 
 The sky was clear for angel wings, and 'round the 
 tinted edges. 
 Hung gold and purple fringes of the garment of 
 the Lord. 
 
 And insect wings enwrought with stars, about the 
 garden hovered ; 
 And honey-suckles opened into red, and white, 
 and blue : 
 The green earth loved the patriot her crowded bosom 
 covered, 
 And this the sign she raised for me, to prove that 
 she was true. 
 
iB6 POEMS. 
 
 And over all the landscape came a flushing soft and 
 tender ; 
 A baptism of crimson fell along the mountains 
 grand ; 
 For Nature aimed to typify by this outpouring splen- 
 dor, 
 The martyr- blood that flowed for the redemption 
 of the land. 
 
 And while the red sun folded me in his unusual 
 glory, 
 I gathered up the secret, heaven and earth essayed 
 to tell j 
 And resting on the sure interpretation of the story, 
 i bent myself to Nature's ear, and whispered " It 
 is well." 
 
 Now when for Freedom's victory, triumphant bells 
 are ringing, 
 And joy-booms from the cannon break the silence 
 and the calm, . 
 I think my hero's angel-plumes are close about me 
 winging, 
 And clear though all the chiming, catch the echo 
 of his psalm. 
 
 And always when the mountains stand transfigured 
 with such brightness, 
 Although I cannot see his wings, nor feel them 
 flutter near, 
 
POEMS. 187 
 
 Yet back the dimples come again, I feel the old-time 
 lightness, 
 And soft my heart goes singing, " He is here, he is 
 here." 
 
 Ilie ^olttto'^ Ipife at jum% 
 
 fHERE art thou, O my heart, upon this night 
 Of music and festivity — this eve 
 All silver with the moonlight, and encrowned 
 With glorious stars that throb in measure with 
 The light feet of the dancers ? Oh, not there 
 Where Youth and Beauty with sweet witcheries 
 Enchant the night, and waltz the morning in. 
 But in the quiet of my humble room 
 I sit, and thou, fond heart, on double wings 
 Of love and prayer, dost take a distant flight, 
 Seeking for precious feet, unfaltering feet, 
 That follow at the martial trumpet's call, 
 And move unto the battle's dissonance ! 
 Searching for one heroic brow whose white 
 May tempt the shaft of Death : for light brown locks 
 Just dipped in sunshine ; for courageous eyes 
 Whose clear deeps testify of heaven and God : 
 For a great loyal heart, that, loving thee, 
 Still dares to die for country ! 
 
i88 POEMS. 
 
 O my God ! 
 Ifear to ask, that, 'mong the countless lights 
 Still sinking in the crimson stream of war, — 
 Those myriad stars, each dear to some true heart, 
 My own may be unnumbered. 'Twixt Thy will 
 And mine, let not that glorious vision rise, 
 Which all the majesty of valor wears. 
 Whose soul is truth's detective, whose firm lips 
 Hold in abeyance radiant smiles that hint 
 Of paradise and spring-time ! Human love, 
 My Father, let not stand 'tween me and Thee ! 
 But this I ask for my beloved one : 
 A strength and grace from Thee to drink his cup 
 Of suffering and peril, aye of death 
 If need be, and that earnest he may seek 
 The precious fountain of Eternal Life, 
 Turning forever Christ-ward while he walks 
 Bravely his road of danger. There 's no gift, 
 No higher boon or blessing I can ask 
 For my heart's idol, in this prayer of mine. 
 And for myself, my Father, give to me 
 A fortitude to drain the bitterest draught 
 Thy hand may hold, a cheerful willingness 
 To wear these lines which anxious love and thought 
 Are carving on my brow, a readiness 
 To walk in shadow that my Country's way 
 May lie in light, and, just for Freedom's sake, 
 A resignation to put on my black 
 That she may reign in white ! 
 
POEMS. 189 
 
 |o(l |cifln^^ in tl|c |itrtt|. 
 
 1865. 
 
 fHE faith that burned on in the darkness of night, 
 Through trial and test, is rewarded with sight : 
 . The hosts of oppression are scattered and strewn, 
 The lowly exalted, the tyrant o'erthrown ; — 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 With heel on the captive, and pride in his eye, 
 The head of the traitor was haughty and high ; 
 But the arm of Jehovah made ready his bow. 
 And swift were his arrows ; the proud are brought low 3 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 The treasure amassed by the toil of the slave. 
 Is swept and engulphed in the battle's red wave j 
 The wealth of the master the fire-demon rends. 
 And dreadful the smoke of his torment ascends : — 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 And justice is grafted on tyranny's rod, 
 And evil is forced into witness for God ; 
 The lackeys of wrong are made servants of right. 
 And Freedom and Truth walk together in white ; — 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
igo POEMS. 
 
 Wave, banner, thy glorious symbols to-day ! 
 Float, pennon, triumphant forever and aye ! 
 Beneath thee unfolds the millennial plan. 
 The chattel is changed to a brother and man ! — 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 Sing, sweet April blue-bird, oh, sing it with me, 
 A pean of joy for a land's jubilee ! 
 And odorous winds, on your volatile cars. 
 Bear the freight of our rapturous song to the stars 1 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 Leap, stream of the woodland ! charge down to the sea, 
 And babble the story through forest and lea ; 
 And gray ocean-billow, break, break on the shore, 
 With a grand intonation that tells evermore — 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 Bend nearer, blue sky, that your clear arch may ring, 
 And echo the jubilant anthem we sing ! 
 Float low, angels, low ! for the purified air 
 Of the world will not tarnish the crowns that ye wear j 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
 O, conquering Spring that we prayed to behold, 
 How royal thy mantle of azure and gold ! 
 We hail thee as herald of rest and release, 
 For thy beautiful hand hath the seed-bud of Peace ; 
 God reigns in the earth. 
 
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JOAN OF ARC. 
 
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 Of the first volume, pubUshed last spring, 5000 were sold the month of publica- 
 tion, and the work has been regularly in demand ever since. It has been noticed 
 with great favor by the press in all parts of the country, from Maine to Minnesota. 
 
 Ti'i€ Cambridge CJironicle says, — "The clearness of the style Ls particularly no- 
 ticeable. All the prominent events of the war are here recorded ; and the materials 
 being obtained from reliable sources, make it a most valuable abridgment of the more 
 voluminous histories of the rebellion now extant ; whUe its moderate price brings it 
 within the pecuniary reach of all." 
 
 The Western Episcopalian (Ohio) remarks, — " This is an excellent publication, 
 well and attractively gotten up. ... As fitted especially to interest and inform our 
 boys and girls with respect to whaiever concerns this vast national struggle ; as gener- 
 ally adapted, by its cheapness and condensation, for general circulation, — it is well 
 worthy of pubUc patronage." 
 
 " This History, so far as this volume carries it, is admirably narrated, in a con- 
 versational form, and will be read with almost as much interest by parents as by 
 children. It has been handsomely pubUshed with illustrations." — Buffalo Morning 
 Express. 
 
 " Mr. Thayer has published many most commendable volumes for the young ; 
 but we esteem the above, one of his most instructive and useful. This work contains 
 the substance of the more voluminous histories, and, in its entirety, has the merit 
 of being thoroughly authentic. This, in addition to the stirring recital of facts and 
 incidents of personal experience, makes the narrative a desirable addition to our 
 literature." — Home Journal. 
 
 We could fill pages with similar commendatory notices from the best sources. 
 
 MAILED POST-PAID. 
 
 ADAJM« <5c- OO., Publisliers, 
 
 25 BROMFI£IiD STRSKT, Boston. 
 
'mm$ 
 
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