I LIBRARY OF COWGRESSj 
 
 S — <^ — * 
 
 Ih-^^^-im'-mp li 
 
 JDNITED STATES OF AMERICA.?! 
 
THE 
 
 Cloud of Witnesses. 
 
 "Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of 
 witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin wliich doth so easily besot 
 us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looliing unto 
 Jesus.'' Heb. 12: 1-2.- 
 
 BY OPAL, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "empty SHELLS.' 
 
 sT' mMyi'^^' 
 
 NEW YORK : ^ 
 
 JAMES MILLEE, PUBLISHEE, 
 
 647 Broadway. 
 
 1874. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S73, by 
 
 JAMES MILLER, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Lange, Little & Co., 
 
 PRINTERS, ELECTBOTYPERS AND STERE0TYPEE3, 
 
 108 TO 114 WoosTEK Street, N. Y. 
 
In arranging these Dramas I do not pretend to be a 
 Dramatist ; but I divide the centuries dramatically. 
 
 Wliat is given as a fact I believe true unless I note it as 
 a fancy. All in quotation marks is quoted, and whatever 
 is not is original, no matter in whose mouth it is. 
 
 Pronounce ev-er-y syllable. 
 
OOIsTTEJ^TS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Jacob's Ladder 7 
 
 Clouds of Tears 9 
 
 Tlie Creation 10 
 
 Abel's Widow 50 
 
 The Benedicite 56 
 
 St. Paul iu Athens.,. 63 
 
 Rome 7 
 
 Mappalicus and Bona 125 
 
 The Snow-Flake 147 
 
 Chosroes the Second 154 
 
 John the Almoner 159 
 
 The Venerable Bede 161 
 
 Alphage, Archbishop of Canterbury 163 
 
 The True Cross 171 
 
 The Bruce 181 
 
 Joan of Arc 184 
 
 Bishop Hooper 335 
 
 Bucer 343 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Captain John Smitli 256 
 
 Madame Gruyon 384 
 
 Leonora de Castro 301 
 
 The Death of Novalis 330 
 
 Herder 384 
 
 The Widower's Vision 518 
 
 A Child's Prayer 514 
 
 Translations : 
 
 From the Latin 516 
 
 From the German 518 
 
 From the French 520 
 
THE 
 
 Oloijd of Witis^esses 
 
 JACOB'S LADDER. 
 
 Gen. xxviii. 10-13. 
 
 Angels ascending, 
 Their beauty blending 
 With those descending! 
 Some floating hither, 
 Some wafted thither ; 
 
 Fervently, 
 
 With great glee. 
 
 Buoyantly, 
 
 Fair to see — 
 The beautiful theme 
 Of sad Jacob's dream. 
 I should dare to dwell 
 In a lonely cell, 
 Bereft of all hope 
 Of gathering flowers. 
 And daring to grope 
 In murkiest hours, 
 To windows that let 
 The faint starlight in, 
 
THE CLOTID OF WITNESSES. 
 
 To illumine the dearth 
 Of nights of regret — 
 Which pursue days of sin 
 As grim lord his serf- — 
 If there I could see 
 The spirits with me. 
 Then I know I should fret 
 No more, with regret 
 For long-buried joys, 
 That would seem but toys 
 Of childhood's fond years 
 If with them I'd dwell. 
 So morning doth quell 
 Night's griefs and its fears, 
 "While dreams of sadness 
 Will shrink from its frown. 
 Thus my Ood will bless 
 The heart that lies down 
 In His arms for rest. 
 With dreams of the blest. 
 Who long since have died. 
 But still seek our side — 
 Their wont in past years — 
 To kiss away tears 
 And soothe us to rest. 
 'Tis thus I am blest. 
 
 Decembeu 6, 1858. 
 
CLOUDS OF TEAE8. 9 
 
 CLOUDS OF TEARS A JACOB'S LADDEE. 
 
 I've wept until my tears have formed the clouds 
 That shut out from the widow's sight the glare 
 Of a too garish day, that hurts the eyes. 
 These clouds of tears a Jacob's Ladder are, 
 Whereon the soft-winged angels come and go 
 From heaven to me, from me to heaven; their 
 
 forms 
 As sunlight bright, as freshest flowers are fair. 
 No more death shrouds from my weak, tear-dimmed 
 
 eyes 
 Fond smiles that play on sweet lips that I love ; 
 I dry my tears again that I may see 
 More clearly visions Grod hath sent to cheer 
 My banishment; I hush my weary sighs 
 That I may list to angels chanting hymns. 
 A dearer form I see the clouds above ; — 
 The Saviour comforts me, and tells me how 
 He loves the mourner's humbled soul ; that all 
 Heart-darkness is but sent to let me see 
 On earth spirits of light who e'er about 
 My pathway throng. 
 
 Then cease, sad heart, thy fears ; 
 I know full well the Saviour loveth thee ; 
 Therefore He proveth thee. Oh, disappoint 
 Him not ! with faith and resignation bear 
 Thy part in life's sad strife of sins and griefs. 
 Always in happiness and misery 
 God and the loving angels are with thee. 
 
 NOVEMBEK 18, 1857. 
 
10 THE OLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Dkama I. 
 THE CREATION. 
 
 METAMOEPHIC PERIOD. 
 Act I. : Mr St Day. — Gen. i. 1-5. 
 Zehna.—^o^ silence doth oppress the ears at- 
 tuned 
 To constant harmonies of Heaven ! Where are 
 We now ? 
 
 Calla. That I know not. But look below. 
 Z. What can it be that seems so black and vast ? 
 C. Eecallest thou what Zarad said of Hell? 
 Z. This is not Hell, for his description it 
 Suits not. Why ! There is nothing here; no Hell, 
 Nor other habitation, sound nor light. 
 
 G. Thou'st heard Thidelle of darkness speak. 
 Think'st thou 
 This can be it ? 'Tis strange enough for that. 
 
 Z. Aye, surely it is darkness grim : there's naught 
 Else it can be. 
 
 '■ G. Let's nearer go. How strange ! 
 Z. What dost thoa see ? 
 
 G. Not anything but thee ; 
 Before I never thought h-ow bright thou art ; 
 Near God thou didst not seem so very fair ; 
 But here by this queer blackness thou'rt so bright, 
 So wondrous fair, I love thee more. Thinkest 
 That we could closer go ? — that darkness touch ? 
 Z. God bade us wander where we would in 
 Heaven. 
 
THE CREATION. \\ 
 
 But deemest thou that darkness Heaven ? We 
 
 might 
 Be lost. 
 
 C. Lost! lost! I know not what thou mean'st. 
 Z. As those who wished to see where Satan 
 dwelt 
 And wandered forth ; but they came back no more. 
 
 G. Zelma, I fear not being lost. Oh no ! 
 Out of Grod's universe we cannot stray. 
 Z. And if we go Avithin the limits of 
 This blackness weird, judgest that we could see 
 Each other there ? 
 
 C. Ah ! That I cannot say. 
 We'll go ask God if we may find out what 
 This substance is. 
 
 Z. Hark ! Hear'st thou not the sound 
 Of many wings ? Is it not coming of 
 Seraphic guard ? 
 
 C. Yea ; our great God himself, 
 Attended by His court, with music new. 
 His Majesty has never seemed so grand 
 As now He doth, looking from darkness to 
 His face sublime. Bow thy head lower, sweet; 
 For " His great glory give Him thanks." How fair 
 And wonderful He is ! Bow lower yet. 
 
 Z. The oldest angels say He ever looks 
 Most beautiful when going forth to make 
 A fair, fresh world. 
 
 G. He speaks. 
 
 God.—" Let there be light ! " 
 Z. Calla! 
 
 ■G. Zelma! 
 
12 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Z. Where, Calla, are we uow ? 
 
 C. We have not moved, only our wings were 
 stirred 
 By His divinest breath. 
 
 Z. What hath become 
 Of the black void of gloom we had not learned 
 To comprehend? 
 
 0. The wondrous curling of 
 G-ray waves, weaving themselves into a bright 
 And graceful sphere, is what we darkness called : 
 Of former blackness and reflection faint 
 Of God's bright Face it seems a mingling strange. 
 Zelma, we are near Hell. This is the smoke 
 Which rises from the "pit that's fathomless." 
 
 Z. It must be smoke, but not the smoke of Hell ; 
 For God is here, and all is beautiful. 
 
 C. So not of Hell ; it is as graceful as 
 The curling hair that plays around the brows 
 Of cherubim. 
 
 Z. Seest that now and then 
 The gray waves float aside, and the red mass. 
 More brilliant than the jasper gate of Heaven, 
 Eolls itself fiercely on, proudly and fast ? 
 
 C. I fancy God hath hidden with a veil 
 A new world, and a difierent from those 
 Which we have seen. Zelma, hath not God Jet 
 The youngest cherubs pluck the crystals from 
 The floors of Heaven, who, playing, scatter them 
 In the gray smoke ? 
 
 Z. Yes; they, are here. I caught 
 A glimpse of some blue eyes playing bo-peep 
 With vapor veils. 
 
THE CBEATION. 13 
 
 G. Cease, darling, pray! one comes 
 From God. 
 
 Z. Mazzah, are not those cherubs in 
 The quaint and beauteous waving of that dim 
 And unknowft substance ? 
 
 Mazzali. No. 
 
 0. We thought there were. 
 Then, what can be as softly, brightly blue. 
 As changing in its mellow light as their 
 Sweet eyes ? 
 
 M. Sapphires those azure lights. 
 
 Z. And what 
 Are those pellucid points that sportively 
 From one to other toss faint gleams of light ? 
 M. Crystals of quartz. 
 
 Z. And that red, rolling mass 
 Which we can seldom see, that is somewhat 
 Like the red gate that hangs behind God's Throne ? 
 M. 'Tis fire. 
 
 Z. That rolls in liquid mass from caves 
 In Hell ? 
 
 M. Oh no! Our God will ere long make 
 Some creatures not like cherubim, angel. 
 Or seraphim ; and this world is for them. 
 
 Act II. : Second Bay. — Qen. i. 6-8. 
 
 Zelma.— Ah, Calla, here again ! 
 
 Calla. —I could not go away, 
 And long have lain upon my wings, 
 Folded in blissful rest, gazing on yon 
 Bright ball. 
 
14 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Z. Thou hast not touched it yet ? 
 
 C. Not with 
 The shadow of my wings : I dare not go 
 Till I ask God. But we will to Him now. 
 Z. I His permission have for thee and me. 
 G. I thank thee, angel. Let us quickly fly. 
 Z. Faster than my desires thou canst not go. 
 G. How like my friend to ask a favor both 
 For him and me, while I lay thinking here. 
 
 Z. If thou wilt tell thy dreams — sweeter by far 
 Than mine— all errands I will do for thee. 
 
 G. Give me thy hand, dear friend, and thus may 
 we 
 More swiftly fly. How sweet to be urged on 
 By one we love ! 
 
 Z. I'm glad thou thinkest so ; 
 Because I much delight to urge thee on. 
 And bear thy weight, almost too light to please. 
 
 G. How rapidly we've flown! How dost thou call 
 This place ? 
 
 Z. God named it Earth. 
 G. A soft, sweet name. See ! other angels come. 
 Z. None I behold. 
 
 G. Dost not? Look on the broad, 
 Blue canopy which overhangs the Earth, 
 Made visible by light below. 
 Z. A pretty fancy, sweet. 
 
 G. Fancy, say'st thou ? 
 Thou can'st see something white ; 'tis shadow of 
 The feet of cherubim, and the bright red 
 And golden lines of light are shadows of 
 The wings of seraphim. 
 
TEE CREATION. 15 
 
 Z. Our God told me 
 He would make clouds to-day. 
 
 C. Make clouds ? And what 
 Are they ? Are fcliey like us ? And have they life ? 
 
 Z. No ; but I could not understand all that 
 He said, and so fle bade me come and look 
 At the new worlds that He would cause to float 
 Before our sight. 
 
 C. So clouds are what I thought 
 Eeflections of bright wings. How exquisite 
 Is all God makes! And well He likes to have 
 Us pleased. 
 
 Z. Ah, passing wonderful is He ! 
 
 Scene 3. ■ 
 
 Karrdlee.~^2d\, Principality of Earth! 
 
 P. Hail! Hail! 
 K. How marvellous the change since I was here ! 
 Thy comet, as I saw, had lost its tail 
 Of fiery vapor. 
 
 P. Consolidated 
 Into a sphere of gloomy smoke ; slowly 
 Metallic scum has formed on rolling waves 
 Of hissing fire. Then I expected I 
 Should ere long see firm rocks, and then before 
 Great while green sward and flowers ; thus it had 
 
 been 
 In other world that floats around this sun. 
 But farther off than Earth. 
 
 K. How different 
 Has been progression in the planet next 
 This sun ! It hath not vet advanced as far 
 
16 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 As e'en thy sphere. Pray tell me what occurred 
 After the rock-ribs of thy Earth began 
 To form, and thou deemedst the time was near 
 When thou couldst sow thy seeds. 
 
 P. Oh ! suddenly 
 A crash, almost as terrible as God's 
 Curse when He droye out Satan, burst upon 
 My startled ears. Up rushed quick billows of 
 An angry fire, split the new crust as if 
 'Twere rind of fruit, and spread themselves where I 
 Expected grass and trees. This struggle of 
 The fire to regain old dominion was 
 Of long duration ; but at last a firm. 
 Unyielding frame of rock was formed ; and as 
 The earth grew cooler vapors that were once 
 So brilliant, fell in seething torrents on 
 The hissing sphere. I would thou hadst been 
 
 here, 
 As thou didst not exist when Hell's 
 Kevolt was overpowered; for, since, I never had 
 Such vivid lightning seen, nor heard such roar 
 Of thunder as when all-surrounding clouds 
 Dashed themselves on the red-hot Earth, and tried 
 To smother everlasting flames. This they 
 Could not; for God will them reserve for use 
 In future age. Oh, long and terrible 
 The contest was of fire and water ! But 
 The last prevail ecl< and the flames smoldered to 
 Dull heat, and then retreated inwards. Yet 
 It was not long ere they burst out again. 
 Now it will be great »ons ere fire Avill 
 Again o'er earth hold universal sway. 
 
THE CREATION. 17 
 
 K. Although God doth prolong the stages of 
 Development of forming worlds for such 
 Long aeons, yet there are some myriads 
 Of angels who can't see how any of 
 This group of worlds is, or will be, evolved. 
 
 CARBOlSriFEROTJS PERIOD. 
 Act III. : Third Day.—Oen. i. 9-13. 
 Zelma. — Calla, dost thou forsake the courts of 
 God? 
 Eor I must hither hie whene'er I wish 
 To talk with tliee. Thou lovest Earth too well, 
 I think. 
 
 Calla. — Not so : but Mazzah lately said 
 That God hath never done a thing so great 
 Or wonderful, but He will on this sphere 
 Do greater and more marvellous ; therefore, 
 I cannot stay away, nor do I aught 
 But tease my restless fancy with surmise 
 How God can do a greater act than He 
 Hath done. 
 
 Z. I find there is a change upon 
 The Earth, but, coming hither from the light 
 "Which emanates from " the White Throne," I can 
 Not yet examine this dim orb ; I see 
 Not well. 
 
 C. Yea, there hath been a change; the clouds 
 Flew upward, and arranged themselves in lines 
 Or graceful curves : scarcely I realize 
 They have not eyes, and have not watched at play 
 The cherubs fair ; so much this dancing seems 
 To mimic theirs. 
 
18 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Z. When here before I saw 
 Some clouds. 
 
 C. But they were heavier, and not 
 So fair, and I perceive that where we saw 
 At first dark void, then light, 'tis water now. 
 ~Z. In other world I saw such change. There's 
 land, 
 And here are trees ; such grow on spheres where I 
 Have been. 
 
 C. Thou hast seen much ; but I have been 
 A shorter while than thou, and so to me these 
 
 trees 
 Are grand and beautiful. 
 
 Z. ISTot more 
 So than to me, and I discover here 
 Some I ne'er saw before. 
 
 C. Ah, well ! I thought 
 There never had been such. Why smilest 
 
 thou ? 
 Lo ! here are trees whose height gigantic strives 
 To pierce the clouds ; but more I like the ferns, 
 Equisetacise, and canes that make 
 A forest none can penetrate. What kind 
 Of life can flourish in so dense a wood. 
 Or in so warm a world ? 
 
 Z. How dost thou know 
 'Tis warm ? 
 
 C. Although I.have not travelled as 
 Some have, yet mauy things I've seen, and learned 
 To know the climates of the forming worlds 
 By what grows thereupon. This Mandel taught : 
 These columns high and grand, fluted and carved 
 
THE CREATION. 19 
 
 So richly with fair markings and strange holes 
 He called stigmariae. 
 
 Z. But canst thou tell 
 The use of all these trees and other growth ? 
 
 C. The use ! The use ! Why, to be beautiful, 
 To please their Maker by amusing us. 
 
 Z. But they have other office on the Earth. 
 
 a And that ? 
 
 Z. I have been told, in years to come 
 This sphere will be quite cold, and' beings who 
 "Will live on it will have much need to warm 
 The air. 
 
 C. How strange ! God's love doth keep 
 Us warm. 
 
 Z. 'Twill not be thus with man, and therefore He, 
 Who can't neglect to lavish all that one 
 May need, will lay these splendid forests by 
 Within the bowels of the world, to serve 
 The needs of man. 
 
 C. Pray ! who is he ? 
 
 Z. I can 
 Not tell thee well ; but ere long we shall see ; 
 So said one of the Principalities. 
 
 G. God august ! I cannot bow me low 
 Enough at sound of His great name. Ah ! once 
 I dared to dread that in seons which knew 
 No end we might see all that God could make, 
 Do all that He wished done, and weary tlien 
 Of all ; but now 1 feel we never shall 
 Know all ; and me this thought doth glorify. 
 
 Z. Lo ! There a purplish tint drops over sea 
 And land. 
 
20 THE GLOUD OF WITNE88ES. 
 
 0. Perhaps another night comes on. 
 Z. How didst thou learn that name ? 
 
 0. Melah taught it 
 To me, and said he heard God speak it once; 
 'Twas when He banished Satan and his host. 
 It was explained that the word meant no light. 
 Z. Ah ! Ere the darkness comes hack let us 
 
 %• 
 G. Ply now ? Oh no ! Naught black can touch 
 our wings. 
 When thou hadst gone away and left me here 
 I lay a long while close to it ; to feel 
 Or smell so strange a thing I often tried, 
 But never would it lie beneath my wings ; 
 Where'er I went there brightness was, so I 
 Could only see what I desired to touch. 
 Now the black veil is falling on the Earth. 
 
 Act IV. : Fourth Day.— Gen. i. 14-19. 
 
 Zelma. Again the day doth break. 
 
 OaUa. But I have seen 
 No night ; the while that the last night did stay 
 I visited a far-off world. How weird 
 Doth look the air which hangeth round the sphere. 
 Z. Hark! Hark! There 'comes a host. 
 Meliz ( One of the Sost). — Oh Calla, come ! 
 Haste, Zelma, haste ! 
 
 Z. Whither go we with ye ? 
 M. God hath sent us to see a new thing He 
 Will do. We are to go upon. the land. 
 
 Neva. Oh joy, to bathe my wings in those snow- 
 banks ! 
 
THE CREATION. 21 
 
 C. Suow-banks, dear JSTera ? No ; those are but 
 
 clouds. 
 N. I never have seen such, and I have been 
 Into a world so far from this, that nanghfc 
 I know of what God hath made here since I 
 In passing heard Him say, " Let there be light. " 
 But while I journeyed far I saw a sphere, 
 Quite white in beauteous mountain-chains, and I 
 Was told that what I looked at was cold snow ; 
 I longed to touch it then, but God had sent 
 Me otherwhere, 
 
 Z. Oh ! where are all the clouds ? 
 C. They vanished as we passed thera through. 
 
 M. Let us 
 Alight upon this leaf-strewn bank and wait 
 
 Until 
 
 G. See ! How intensely, darkly blue 
 Is the soft air ! It seems to shut us in, 
 As glory shuts in God. 
 
 N. We could not see 
 If it were not for the bright radiance 
 Which shivers from the footstool of the LOED. 
 Now droop your Avings and raise your heads. 
 
 0. The suns 
 And worlds which glimmered through the azure air 
 Have faded. Lo ! our God doth smile. 
 
 N. Oh, what 
 Soft splendor fills the atmosphere ! 
 
 Z. But one 
 Quite different from that of Heaven. 
 
 a This is 
 But a reflection of God's smile. 
 
22 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Many of the Host. — It is 
 For even that not glorious enough. 
 
 N. No. Ye have seen the satellite that moves 
 Always around the earth as she doth race 
 Around the sun, that's coming now to view. 
 
 {As the moon appears the Host exclaim), 
 "All glory be to Thee, God!" 
 
 0. How fair! 
 While sailing through the air it seems to know 
 It ministers to Deity, and bears 
 Our thoughts to Him ; by its light we shall Earth 
 Explore. 
 
 Host. —And seek fresh cause of newer praise. 
 
 TKIASSIO PEEIOD. 
 
 Scene S.—Gen. i. 14-19. 
 
 GrOD.— "Let there be lights in the firmament of 
 The heaven, to divide the day from the night, 
 And let them be for signs, and for seasons. 
 And for days, and for years, and let them be 
 For lights in the firmament of the heaven. 
 To give light on the earth." 
 
 Host.— " All glory be 
 To Thee, God!"- 
 
 Calla. — Behold ! JSTow all around 
 The softer splendor waveth to the ground, 
 While Eartli grows grandly bright beneath the 
 
 smile 
 Of goodness and of love thdt God hath cast 
 Upon the sun, and which it hath let down 
 In gratitude and joy upon the Earth. 
 
THE CREATION. 23 
 
 8avalle.—l^o^ I shall like to come to this new 
 "world ; 
 But until now better by far I liked 
 Some other orbs. I care for only what 
 Is brightly beautiful. 
 
 G. 1 fancy that 
 This Earth will be almost as lovely as 
 The Heaven. 
 
 iVer«. — N"o ! No ! For there is the White Throne. 
 
 C. Another spirit comes. Hearken to him. 
 
 S. The sun ! The sun ! 
 
 C — Oh ! I have never seen 
 This world as bright before, and I had thought 
 That it would never very brilliant be. 
 I loved its softened contrast to Grod's Heaven. 
 I could see very well the dim forms and 
 Griganfcic of Earth's dull and sluggish life. 
 I liked their contrast to light-bearing wings ; ' 
 But I had never hoped to see a san 
 By day, or moon and stars by night from this 
 Cloud-swathed world ; and now how splendid is 
 The change ! Brilliant or slightly-tinted forms, 
 As delicate as toys of cherubs fair. 
 Swim over the transparent seas, and plunge 
 Into the lucid depths. 
 
 Gonora. — Oh, see those sails ! 
 
 G. That's a new word. 
 
 G. Once I went where were those 
 Who could not fly as we across the seas, 
 So they had barks to float upon the waves, 
 And snowy sails to court the air, and then 
 They went their way just as these tiny fish. 
 
24 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 'Tis true those sails were large and these minute ; 
 These maybe proofs of cherubs' mimicry. 
 
 N. Know these are living things, are ammonites, 
 And belemnites, and nautiluses ; I 
 Can tell thee many other names. Wilt go 
 To hover o'er the depths, and watch 
 The life and light and joy therein ? 
 
 G. But first 
 Let's watch these huge and winged forms; can they 
 Be like us ? 
 
 W. 'So ; those forms are birds ; but not 
 At all like us. 
 
 G. Eather I thought them from 
 The world whose name we neA^er like to call. 
 
 JUEASSIC PEEIOD. 
 • . Act V. : Fifth Day.— Gen. i. 20-33. 
 
 Fulga. Calla, I felt that I a while should like 
 To talk with thee, and so surmised that I 
 Should find thee only here. Art here alway? 
 
 Galla. This is the first world G-od hath made since 
 He 
 Created me. Thou knowest very young 
 Am I compared to thee : and having heard 
 So many angels talk of orbs they had 
 Seen made, perfected from the words, " Let there 
 Be light," I said that now I should see all 
 God doeth when He maketh a new world. 
 
 F. Oh, young indeed art"thou if thou canst think 
 That when thou hast seen Him make one thou wilt 
 Know how He hath made other spheres ! Not yet 
 
THE CREATION. 25 
 
 Have two been made alike. Thou ne'er canst learn 
 What He can do. 
 
 C. Yes, that I have been taught ; 
 But there is one thing which I cannot learn. 
 F. And that ? 
 
 G. Is what He cannot, will not do. 
 F. Why ! He can never be less than Himself, 
 Can never be like one of us. 
 
 Q. Great God ! 
 F. Now, darling, wilt thou wander forth with 
 
 me ? 
 C. Not from my world. 
 
 F. No ; but on it I fain 
 Would learn all thou wilt teach of thy delight. 
 
 a Gladly Fll tell the little I've acquired. 
 See there are great pine-trees ; how slenderly 
 They now aspire unto the light, anxious 
 Their upper boughs may feel the warmth and joy 
 Their roots may never share. - 
 
 F. Didst ever hear 
 The tale of Huxca and of Lardalie ? 
 
 C. Nay ; but shall now if so it pleaseth thee. 
 F. Huxca fell with the mighty prince whose 
 pride 
 Dragged him so low ; and as he was about 
 To leave celestial home, sweet Lardalie, 
 Who since the time that God created her 
 Had been his own especial love, his charge. 
 Entwined her little trembling wings about 
 His neck, and said, " Now I shall be like God, 
 Shall tliink more of the joy of other lives 
 Than of mine own. Although I have not sinned. 
 
26 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 iN'or thotiglit of it — for I do not know how, 
 
 Nor wonld I learn it if I could be made 
 
 By one sin — only one — as great as He 
 
 I venerate and worship with my all 
 
 Of life — therefore, although I have not Him 
 
 Offended, or from His light been banished, 
 
 I'll go to the dark world's confines with thee. 
 
 I will not let the tip of my fair wing 
 
 Be dipped in its hot breath, for tlien I could 
 
 Not come again to God, the only One 
 
 Whom I love more than thee — yet Him how much 
 
 More than I can e'er think of loving thee ! — 
 
 But I will hover o'er that dread abyss, 
 
 And thou wilt stay upon its utmost verge ; 
 
 Thus I shall ever sing and joy for thee. 
 
 Wilt not thou sometimes slightly smile for me? 
 
 Would not that be a little taste of Heaven ?" 
 
 Then Huxca groaned and cried, "Not so, my sweet. 
 
 My cherub fair ! Thee I love more than bliss. 
 
 I will not let thee even know where I 
 
 Shall dwell. Gro and be blest as ever at 
 
 The feet of One whose name I ne'er again 
 
 Can take upon my lips. Yet even in 
 
 The world of unknown anguish I shall have 
 
 A joy no curse can shut without my life, 
 
 A bliss no darkness e'er can shadow o'er. 
 
 Nor even fire of Hell can burn it out — 
 
 The memory of Lardalie ; yes, that 
 
 Shall be my Heaven and Deity. Farewell !" 
 
 Once Huxca pressed his lips upon her wing. 
 
 And then he seemed almost to rend in.twain 
 
 His life. He threw her from him with this cry 
 
THE CREATION. 27 
 
 Of bitter agony, " Gfod, I curse Thee ! " 
 This said, he, howhng fled. 
 
 " My Lardalie ! " 
 Was heard to fall in love and pity from 
 The Inner Place, and in a minute she, 
 Her harp new-tuned, knelt down before Grod's seat, 
 And sang in clearest tones this gentle song : — 
 
 I loved him but as he loved Thee ; 
 
 Now I mourn not. 
 He dared to speak blasphemously ; 
 And now his lot 
 I would not share. 
 He once was fair 
 
 Because he was somewhat like Thee. 
 
 Now I can't mourn : 
 I cannot love impiety. 
 I would on bourn 
 Of his sad world. 
 With wings unfurled 
 
 Above the darkness that clothed him 
 
 Grive him my bliss, 
 And light his home, so drear and dim. 
 With light of this. 
 While I could think 
 He would not sink 
 
 Into the greatest of all sin. 
 
 I thought him lured 
 By angels who much worse had been, 
 
28 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And so endured 
 Their penalty 
 Of misery. 
 
 But when he cursed the God I loYe 
 
 I mourned no more ; 
 Him whom he hates I must above 
 All else adore. 
 
 Thou'rt all to me ; 
 Grlory to thee ! 
 
 G. A very gentle song. Henceforth when I 
 See pine-trees grim, whose roots are buried in 
 Deep gloom, that so the boughs may rise into 
 The light of life, I shall remember him. 
 Who, buried evermore in darkest woe, 
 Eejoiced to think that a fair bough of his 
 Lost state of love might ever see Grod's light. 
 
 F. Majestically grand this river is. 
 I knew not that this world had ever been 
 Inhabited by aught. 
 
 G. By much. The last 
 ^on by lesser forms of light and glee. 
 And for short space— since Grod gave the command, 
 "Waters have brought forth most abundantly." 
 I deemed the swarms of life on land enough. 
 But our wise God did not bid land bring forth 
 Abundantly ; this said he to the seas 
 And rivers, so there is no spirit who 
 Can count their myriads. 
 
 F. And was there then 
 No life in all this grand expanse of sea 
 Until so recently ? 
 
THE CREATION. 99 
 
 C. A very few 
 Fishes and living forms ; for God had not 
 Then said, "Bring forth abundantly." 
 
 F. How strange 
 That He should thus create fish twice. 
 
 C. I have 
 Heard why he did, but cannot make myself 
 Yet understand. There are to be upon 
 The Earth queer beings who will able be 
 To think, and yet will have capacity 
 So small as not to comprehend there is 
 A Grod ; but will say they have grown out of 
 These forms that have lived here for geons long. 
 
 F. What say'st ? G-rown how ? Like trees ? 
 
 0. I told thee that 
 I could not understand how they would think ; 
 But they will say that first there was atom 
 Of life minute ; that, larger grew, became 
 Fish, reptile next, then bird, next quadruped— 
 With stout tail and long ears, and then them- 
 selves. 
 
 F. Most marvellous ! I must absent myself 
 From worlds greater than this, until I see 
 These animals so strange. And they will think? 
 
 C. So I have heard ; how I can't comprehend ; 
 But God, who is so kind to all, made some 
 Fish long ago, and buried them beneath 
 Eemains of lower species ; this will prove 
 That fishes did not grow from meaner things. 
 
 F. Ah ! thou forgot'st to tell what they would 
 say 
 Preceded the first form of life minute. 
 
30 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 G. Perhaps those who can reason as they will, 
 May never get so far as that. * Behold ! 
 
 F. Oh, splendid are these birds ! I wonder if 
 The creatures that we were just speaking of 
 Will be tall as these trees! 
 
 C. I never saw 
 So large one who could think. 
 
 F. TSTor I, in all 
 My wanderings ; but else how could they live 
 Upon this globe, where plants and animals 
 Are so immense ? 
 
 C. That I know not ; but Grod 
 May make them very large. Now it grows dark. 
 
 CEETAOEOTJS PERIOD. 
 Act VI. : Scene 1. — Gen. i. 
 VeluraJi.—ILiiil, beauteous Oalla, hail ! What 
 hath Grod done 
 Since I was here ? 
 
 CaZ^a.— Destroyed all of the life 
 That He had made, aye, and the very trees. 
 V. And once before He hath done thus. 
 
 G. Once in 
 The time that we call night, speaking of this 
 Quaint place, all that He had created in 
 The aeon past was buried in soft soil. 
 And He told me that He had laid them by 
 For the strange men for whom this world was made, 
 Grand waifs of Grod's Eternity, that they 
 Would pick up on the shores of time, and thus 
 In great rock-books would learn what He had done 
 
 * I had never heard of Mr. Darwin when I wrote this. 
 
THE CREATION. 31 
 
 Before they were. When the next day appeared 
 O'er all was beauty greater than before, 
 But not as vivid ; therefore, I wait here 
 Till bright dawn, to find what Grod will do. 
 
 V. I wait with thee. See'st, Calla? there come 
 troops 
 Of angels fair. 
 
 C. Ever they come and pass ; 
 I only cannot go away, unless 
 It be to render homage at God's Throne ; 
 Then swiftly I fly back. 
 
 V. Oalla, can'st tell 
 Why here God hath such myriads of trees ? 
 For since creation I have never seen 
 Them dense as here. 
 
 C. In after ages Earth 
 Will have an atmosphere colder than now ; 
 Its habitants will need these trees to burn. 
 
 V. I thought, cycles agone, that trees had been 
 Interred for this. 
 
 C. They were ; but more will be 
 Thus buried soon, and many of them will 
 Eetain their tracery of gracefulness 
 And beauty, for the admiration of 
 The last-made creatures, who will yet dwell here. 
 
 V. It doth appear that many things which we 
 See now would well befit the realm of Hell. 
 
 G. Naught like these figures crude have we near 
 God. 
 What need for Him who is omnipotent 
 E'er to repeat his works? Oh, much I like 
 Fantastic beauty and the markings quaint 
 
32 THE OLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 That moYe about the land and waters warm 
 With most peculiar ways. 
 
 V. How lovely are 
 Those specks of life that bloom and propagate 
 Like none that I have seen ! 
 
 G. These corals take 
 Up a great portion of the sea, and I 
 Have heard that in an after age they will 
 All die and leave their bleached skeletons 
 For trees and flowers to grow upon, and men 
 Will walk thereon. For a long time I thought 
 Them flowers that God would not let fade and die 
 Because they were so pleasant to His eye. 
 Now 1 shall show you smaller forms than theirs ; 
 Yet these slight frames, after the life has gone, 
 Will form embankments of soft stone, white cliffs 
 For a bine sea to dash itself against. 
 V. This ocean is quite white. 
 
 C. Because it swarms 
 With those shells so minute that I just told 
 Thee of ISTow fly with me and I shall show 
 That land as well as water teems with life — 
 As marvellous for magnitude as this 
 For size diminutive ; and there the air 
 Brings forth strange birds that for an element 
 So light appear too heavy and too drear. 
 
 MIOCEKE PERIOD. 
 Seene II. 
 Zelma. — Calla, hast been heue all the while since I 
 Bade thee good-bye ? 
 
 Calla.— ^o; I have not. I knew 
 
THE CREATION. 33 
 
 The night which fell so heavily would last. 
 
 A long while, and the sea would overspread 
 
 Much land till all things would be changed, and so 
 
 I went to the White Throne to give to God 
 
 Especial thanks that He created me 
 
 Before He made the Earth, and ask Him if 
 
 I might from Heaven stay the aeon long 
 
 Of the Sixth Day, wherein I hear that there . 
 
 Will be a constant change. He answered, Yes ; 
 
 But gave short mission first. 
 
 Z. When thou return'dst ? 
 
 C. There was no light, nor sound save of the sea, 
 Which high did elevate itself to learn 
 What it had wrought in the long night ; indeed 
 There was a change on land and sea and sky ; 
 And I had oft to look to reassure 
 Myself it was my Earth ; but when the day 
 Appeared there was a better life, a joy 
 Much greater than before. So I had felt 
 That it would be, knowing God never doth 
 Do less than He hath done. 
 
 Z. How fragrant is 
 The atmosphere ! The odor is most like 
 Soft gales that float adown from the White Throne. 
 
 G. It is the life of these trees oozing out 
 To permeate the air, and our fine sense 
 Of perfume please. 
 
 Z. But see the insects there, 
 Seeming entranced as though they could not leave 
 The fragrant power. 
 
 C. Nor can they iiow ; their wings 
 Are heavy with the amber sweet, and they 
 
34 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Will be imbedded thus, that so the men — 
 Of whom we speak so oft — in ages yet 
 To be, may find them quite as beautiful 
 As now. Behold how graceful and how fair 
 Are all the myriads, alike in wings, 
 But variant in color, size, and shape, 
 Which float around our wings ! But I had deemed 
 The age of trees and ferns had passed ; and these, 
 Though not so large, frailer perhaps, are yet 
 Far prettier. What thinkest thou, my friend ? 
 Z. For me the fairest time hath floated past, 
 Perchance while thou wert gone. 
 
 G. I fancy that 
 1 have missed nothing since observer of 
 The Earth I've been. 
 
 Z. Wert here when Sixth Day dawned ? 
 0. Soon afterwards; it cannot have been long. 
 Z. Darrelle was here with me. How long was it 
 That we the Sixth Day watched ere I left thee 
 Calla to find? 
 
 Darrelle. — An aeon, as I judge 
 By what I saw. 
 
 C. Can that be so ? It seemed 
 To me but as a happy breath. 
 
 D. I judge 
 By what I have observed, and thou by what 
 Thou feltest. 
 
 C. Ah! Then have I lost aught in 
 The making of this world ? 
 
 D. If thou didst go 
 Away, of course thou didst ; for never doth 
 The great God cease to work. 
 
THE OBEATION. 35 
 
 C. Pray quickly tell 
 Me what I missed. 
 
 D. Water for a long time 
 Was all that I perceived, and then uprose, 
 Brightly and gradually, islands here 
 And there. E'en though I cannot feel the heat 
 Or cold, I knew from looking at the flowers 
 That they were chilled : then snow and ice closed in 
 My view. For dense and slimmer forms of pine 
 Moss, yellow as Zeluca's brilliant hair, 
 And lichens chill and gray, for change, were here. 
 Elvers of ice there were, which stood straight up, 
 And with slow majesty pursued their course 
 Unto the ocean fathomless, and these 
 Were what I tliought most grand, for as the sun 
 Threw on them radiant rays they glittered like 
 The crown of God— I should say almost like 
 The shadow of it that we see ; and, had 
 It not been treason, I should have surmised 
 That He had hurled the crystal pavement down 
 In flakes magnificent ; and that the curves 
 And pinnacles of ice were the twelve gates, 
 Shattered but ever glorious. 
 
 C. To think 
 That I have lost such spectacle ! I hope 
 No other angels were away save those 
 Who went with me afar from Grod's right hand. 
 And those who fled with Fal towards the sphere 
 His left hand pointed at. 
 
 D. Oh! Myriads 
 Were far, and I doubt not in other worlds 
 Saw thino-s as beautiful and new. Also 
 
36 THE (JLOTJB OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I viewed strange animals, with long, red hair 
 And heavy limbs, while herds of reindeer gray, 
 Moss-cropping leisurely, were revelling 
 In the great cold. Ere long the sea submerged 
 A portion of the globe ; then were upheaved 
 Icebergs, and I beheld fantastic shapes. 
 An angel of the First Intelligence 
 Told me they were but fancy sketches of 
 The things I yet should see upon the Earth, 
 And then bespoke queer words that sounded like 
 Spires, towers, and towns. Knowest what these 
 may be? 
 Z. Not I. 
 
 G. There flies anew Dominion.* Call! 
 Z. Hail! Eerrula! 
 
 i^errwZa.— Friends, Hail! 
 
 Z>. Hast ever heard 
 In the new sphere appointed thee to rule. 
 Such words as spires and towns ? 
 
 F. Nay. Where hast thou 
 Heard such ? 
 
 D. Xenotloma spoke them when he 
 Talked of the grand icebergs, and what they were 
 Most like; perchance they were prophetic words. 
 
 F. Likely enough they shadowed forth new things 
 That there will be upon the Eartli. 
 
 C. Tell us 
 Of more, Darrelle, most blest ! 
 
 D. Once darted forth 
 Flashes of red-hot lightning playing round — 
 Such as were hurled after Satanic host — 
 * Col. i. 16. 
 
THE GBEATION. 37 
 
 And a great sound that clashed like demons' 
 
 tongues ; 
 The raging winds howled as they dare not do 
 In Heayen, and oceanic waves, in height 
 Gigantic, boldly leaped, as if to shout 
 Defiance to the clouds that had belched forth 
 Such arrows of inimitable light. 
 Bat I feared not, as Satan had, for I 
 Knew well the Great God's hand held back their 
 
 power. 
 F. Hast heard that in the days to come He will 
 Send for some souls He will m.uch love these bright 
 And winged chariots of Majesty, 
 Kosy with beams Divine? And they will waft 
 To Him the essences ethereal 
 Of life that He will have breathed into forms 
 Of a gross, mortal mould. 
 
 C. That I cannot 
 Now comprehend. 
 
 D. Nor I. 
 
 F. 'Tis passing strange ; 
 But I have caught a whispered mystery 
 From the Thrones nearest God; now patiently 
 I wait until it pleaseth Him to make 
 It comprehensible to me. 
 
 D. And thus 
 We too must wait. One day, before the sun 
 Went down, this scene I saw. The clouds around 
 Had gathered in their beryl-colored and 
 Their saffron robes to have a pretty dance, 
 While here and there rosy and azure wreaths 
 Were fastened on to help their beauty out. 
 
38 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The monarch of the day made sport for them, 
 And let them throw their scarfs about his face 
 While he glared ruddily, as though he were 
 With anger filled ; and the musicians of 
 The dance, the clouds just o'er our wings, poured 
 
 out 
 In play their liquid notes of melody. 
 'Twas fine to see how the rain-clouds would leap 
 About in terror of hot rays. The sun 
 Shone out in brilliant majesty the while 
 The lightning flashed and thunder rolled its base 
 Eeprovingly at so much levity. 
 Ah ! if Earth's children frequently will be 
 Favored with such a pretty sight, I shall 
 Be oft their evening company; so I 
 Said to Dunnar ; but while I spoke a fog 
 Settled around ; then I flew oflFwith troops 
 Of angels passing by. When I looked back 
 Was naught but water to be seen. Sometime 
 I stayed away, and when I hither came 
 Beheld what now ye may see here. 
 
 F. Who comes? 
 G. A great Dominion, I surmise. 
 Dominion. — Angels, all hail ! Our Monarch 
 
 bade me fly. 
 And say to all I met they now would see 
 Sight of deep interest. Will follow me ? 
 
 ( On the wing.) 
 
 F. Behold those animals that calmly graze. 
 And happily, beside the clumsy ones 
 Who heave their massiveness along. 
 
THE CREATION. 39 
 
 Dom. — Eden 
 Below ! 
 
 C. How beautiful ! 
 
 Z. Most fair ! 
 
 Scene III. : Gen. i. 36-31. 
 
 (7aZZa.— Zelma, what deemest thou God next will 
 do? 
 
 Zelma.—^^ch movement is so overladen with 
 A present bliss that I can never think 
 Of joys to come. 
 
 C. Earth is another Heaven. 
 
 Z. That cannot be: there can be but one God ; 
 Therefore, an only Heaven, where He is throned. 
 
 G. At least, of it this world mementoes hath. 
 See'st thou the flowers and lovelier birds ? 
 
 Z. Handsome indeed. What callest thou that 
 bloom ? 
 
 C. Zelluca hath named it the rose. Hast not 
 Thou seen the little cherub known as Eose ? 
 One day he lay down, his bright cheek upon 
 A verdant bunch of leaves, which hung low from 
 A fragile stem drooped to the grassy floor ; 
 It is his wont, when happiest in play. 
 To rest a while upon his joy, as yon 
 Glistening insect rests its breast upon 
 That bud. Ere a long time had passed he soared, 
 And looking back upon the trembling leaves,' 
 In wonderment he saw a pretty flower 
 Where his soft cheek had pressed, then glided on. 
 Zelluca passed, and said to Kalzama, 
 Eose hides beneath this bush : whom plays he with ? 
 
40 THE CLOUD OF WTTNE88E8. 
 
 Then answered Kalzama, I find him not, 
 Nor notice cherubs playing hide and seek. 
 His friend replied, I do not know Avho seeks, 
 But there Eose lies, his glowing cheek not hid 
 By the green leaves. She called, Sweet Kose, come 
 
 forth : 
 Thou canst not hide from me ; I recognize 
 Thy downy cheek. Next time thou playest thus 
 Conceal thy cheek as well as eyes and wings. 
 She paused, and gently thrust her arm within 
 The thicket of soft leaves, and laid her hand 
 Upon a flower. Then sought she Rose, 
 And heard him tell his pretty tale, and named. 
 It after him. 
 
 Z. And that strange purple flower. 
 The edges delicately fringed as eyes 
 Of angels are, that bears upon its breast 
 A badge shaped like the golden sceptre of 
 Our Sovereign great ?* 
 
 C. Edla told me there was 
 In Heaven no name for it. I asked him why ; 
 He shook his head, saying. It is a myth ; 
 Sets forth faint type of wondrous mystery, 
 That God will yet explain in new-coined words 
 To wondering, assembled universe. 
 
 Z. There are dear Lily's little bells, fragrant 
 With her sweet breath. Hearest the laughing peals 
 Of scented melody, that bring the smile 
 Responsive when she lays her hand upon 
 
 * I hope tMs fancy about the sceptre and passion-flower 
 is not profane. 
 
THE CREATION. 41 
 
 The fragile stem, and rings the floral hells ? 
 They are well suited to the mossy dales.* 
 
 Z. The fair Camelia asked a boon of God. 
 
 C. What could He add unto her heritage • 
 Of beauty, bliss, and love ? 
 
 Z. She asked His leave 
 To give a present to the Earth. When He 
 Smiled His consent hither she quickly sped. 
 And, kneeling lovingly, took from her brow 
 A cherished flower, and laid it on the ground—. 
 Prophetic offering of angels' love 
 For the inhabitants of this new sphere. 
 Then looked she up to God to know if He 
 Sanctioned the deed. He smiled down on the 
 
 gift; 
 Then prayed she Him to bid it take firm root 
 Where she had planted it to gladden Earth, 
 Eeminding future friends who would dwell in 
 Eair Eden's bowers of angels' brows. 
 
 G. This is 
 The heliotrope ; the glowing Angel of 
 The sun presented it to Earth ! Mark how 
 With wistful smile it turns to gaze upon 
 Its own liege lord. 
 
 Z. I like it much. What dost 
 Thou, love ? 
 
 C. I shower kisses on the flower 
 I prize the most. 
 
 Z. I needed not to ask; 
 'Tis fragrant with thy breath. 
 
 * The Lily-of-the-Valley. 
 
42 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 G. Oh, liappy I ! 
 This bloom in times to be will hearts of Earth 
 Perfume with incense sweet of angels' breath, 
 For as I kissed it did I breathe a prayer. 
 Z. What fragile plant is this ? 
 
 0. Anemon^ ; 
 Named after her who loved a spirit cast 
 From Heaven : sweetly hath she transferred her love 
 To G-od, thinking no more of banished Zar, 
 Seeming forgetful that he was so long 
 Her very star and friend. 
 
 Z. May earthly maids, 
 Grazing on this, like Anemone, 
 And worship only Grod! May they, if swayed 
 By winds that sometimes crush the blooms of 
 
 Earth, 
 Bow gently to the storm ! Submission sweet 
 Will conquer all its wrath until the Lord 
 Cries, Peace, and smiles upon the patient heart 
 That ever lifts an open eye to Him. 
 
 0. Will there be maidens here, and sorrow will 
 They feel, think'st thou ? 
 
 Z. Why not ? Hath not sin been 
 In Heaven ? Is it not now in Hell ? 
 
 C. Too true. 
 Why do we see so m.any flowers of ours ? 
 
 Z. Some angels brought them here and made a 
 home 
 For them in this rich soil. Why hast not thou 
 Learned all their names and histories ? 
 
 G. 'Tis strange ; but I have scarcely thought of 
 them : 
 
TEE CREATION. 43 
 
 I have not yet ideas had to spare 
 Eor such. Since the good GrOD created me 
 Each moment I have had fresh glory to 
 Admire, or favor new for which to praise. 
 "When next HE speaks to me I shall ask God 
 To let me give a name-sake to the Earth. 
 
 Scene IV.— Gen. ii. 6, 7. 
 
 ^em?^.— Silence ! OEE AT OR comes! Angels, 
 prepare 
 To pay your homage to the Monarch — GrOD ! 
 All. — Hail, Sovereign, hail ! And many thanks 
 for what 
 Thou here hast done ! Glory be unto Thee ! 
 God. — " In Image of Ourselves let Us make Man !" 
 Calla. I cannot see. 
 
 Z. Nor I. 
 
 D. And I am blind. 
 Fulga. — Even my eyes are blinded now. What can 
 This mean ? 
 
 H. A heavy mist ariseth from 
 The ground, and so GOD shuts out from our eyes 
 The work that His Hands do. 
 
 D. What meanest thou ? 
 H. Thing wonderful. He, who created us 
 But by a word, doth with His Own Hand make 
 A man ! 
 
 F. How doth a Spirit — as GOD is — 
 Do this ? 
 
 H, It is a mystery that is 
 -To be unfolded unto us ; but not 
 
44 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 For ages yet. Many of you were in 
 Existence when HE lifted from His grand 
 And incommunicable state the veil 
 Of glory, and revealed unto ns 
 Manifestation of Himself, and said, 
 " Let all the angels of Grod worship Him." 
 And never was there in the depths above 
 Worship so nnderstandingly poured forth: 
 Then was GOD visible. Straightway we fell 
 Upon our knees, covered our eyes with wings. 
 And worshipped, worshipped, worshipped 
 Three — In — One. 
 
 a Three! 
 H. Aye. Thou art a spirit new ; but know 
 A Light that played about us visibly 
 Was the Third Power, and HE taught us new bliss. 
 ^^^.-Glory be to the GODS Avho is but ONE !* 
 H. And ere this mist arose, HE said, " Let Us 
 Make man ! " This grand manifestation of 
 The Great Unseen will with His Own Hands make 
 A man. But lest this favorite should be 
 Too proud he will of mere dust be composed. 
 This mist will make a clay, and out of that 
 Will He mould man, and then the Essence of 
 All Life "will breathe into him breath of life," 
 And the Great Third will him with mind endow. 
 ( The mist vanishes. Man a^^pears.) 
 ■ Michael. — Great GOD, in awe I bow my knees 
 to Thee! 
 
 * Gen. i. 1. — In the original tlie noun is plural, and the 
 verb singular. 
 
TEE GBEATION. 45 
 
 God.— Speak, Michael, speak! 
 
 M. The angels fain would pay 
 To Thee a special homage now, Great GOD. 
 
 God.— My glory I will gather np to yon 
 High mountain peak, their homage to receive. 
 
 C. {Aside.) Poor man ! Zelma, didst see that he 
 did try 
 To raise himself up from the Earth to come 
 With us ? But he could not, and now he will 
 Haye to stay there alone. 
 
 Z. Why pity him ? 
 It is not well for him to fly, or he 
 Would have the power. Behold, how radiant 
 He is with his transcendent joy ! Blest man ! 
 What if he has a body heavier 
 Than ours, — God breathed into him a soul. 
 
 Scene V.—Qen. ii. 18-20. 
 
 Hulmah.—^2iW, Oalla, hail! 
 
 GaUa.—M.j friend ! 
 
 H. What wonder new 
 Is to be seen ? All insects, beasts, and birds. 
 In one procession grand ! 
 
 C. Adam hath named 
 Them all ; each beast steps ofP, contented, with 
 His happy mate ; the birds fly ofi' in pairs, 
 Eenewing scarce-suspended joy ; now side 
 3y side the insects glow with bliss, and e'en 
 The reptiles, mated, are in pleasant mood. 
 
 H. Now all have have gone to lairs or nests ; 
 alone 
 
46 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Poor Adam ! He is not as full of joy 
 As those dumb things. 
 
 G. He ought to be ; for he 
 May talk with G-od. 
 
 H. Aye ; but he cannot touch 
 His Hand. 
 
 C. I shall go sit by him ; he will 
 Like that. 
 
 H. Thou wilt not stay; for thou hast wings. 
 Believest thou that eagle soaring to 
 Yon height, would long remain in company 
 "With the tame deer that cannot fly ? 
 
 G. 'Tis strange 
 That GOD should leave but one alone, and he 
 The best that HE hath made on Earth. 
 
 H. Didst note 
 His words ? Male and female HE said when HE 
 Stooped to lay lips sublime upon the cold 
 And beautiful clay form. HE said, " Let them 
 Dominion have." The Three Great GODS is ONE ; 
 But how is Adam two ? 
 
 G. Hist ! GOD will speak. 
 G-OD.— "It is not good for man to be alone ; 
 A help like unto him I now will make." * 
 
 Soene . VI: Gen. ii. 19-25, and i. 36-31. 
 
 Galla. — Zelma, my sweet, why didst thou stray 
 
 so long? 
 Zelma. —I went on mission fer. 
 
 * The Vulgate's rendering of Gen. ii. 18. 
 
TEE CREATION. 47 
 
 G. And hast not seen 
 How Eve was made ? 
 
 Z. Didst thou ? 
 
 C. I shall tell all 
 I can repeat. Our worship finished, God 
 First smiled — we knew it by the sudden gleam 
 Of golden light that crossed the crystal air — 
 Then said, Now on light wings hover low o'er 
 The garden where doth sleep Our youngest-made. 
 We lightly moved our wings, and Michael said 
 That Adam slept, and must not be disturbed. 
 Z. Disturbed? And slept? I do not understand. 
 C. Why ! He looked like a flower and did not 
 
 stir. 
 Z. Dost mean he lay still as the lambs that tire 
 Of play ? 
 
 G. Aye ; slept as do the animals 
 Of this queer world. 
 
 Z. We have not journeyed far. 
 G. Here I can learn enough, if GOD will let 
 Me stay. 
 
 Z. Enough ! Canst learn enough ? 
 
 G. I mean 
 I need not go away to learn ; for here 
 I see new wonders evermore. 
 
 Z. Well. When 
 Man slept? 
 
 G. GOD said, Veil your eyes with your wings. 
 A while we were as still as Adam lay ; 
 Then a Voice said, " Our GOD hath taken one 
 Of Adam's ribs, closed up the flesh thereof. 
 And of the rib which the Lord God from man 
 
48 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Has taken, woman has HE made." Open 
 Your eyes. Behold the two. Then we looked up 
 And saw GOD bring her to the man. Adam 
 Embraced her lovingly. Both smiled, and I 
 Thought that the flowers around greAV visibly ; 
 I'm sure such joyous, thrilling notes the birds 
 Sang ne'er before. All of us sang; how could 
 We joy restrain ? So sweet a sight my eyes 
 Had never seen ; we seldom sing as well 
 As we did when we broke forth in GOD'S praise ; 
 But not one note, I think, did Adam hear ; 
 Perchance, the fair one did ; I thought she turned 
 Slightly away to catch a sound. He said, 
 " This is now bone of my bone, and flesh of 
 My flesh; she shall be woman called, for she 
 Is taken out of man. I name her Eve." 
 The while he spoke she smiled, as the clear sti-eam, 
 Sparkling, returns the pressure of the sun's 
 Warm rays: and when he ceased, there rippled 
 
 from 
 Her dewy lips music thou wouldst call words, 
 And they were these : Let me first kneel to GOD ; 
 Then I shall thee embrace. Adam replied. 
 Aye; twine thine arm about me thus, and we 
 Shall both kneel down, and give Him joyous 
 
 thanks— 
 I for thy life and thou for mine, and both 
 For His great love. When they had risen from 
 Their knees they looked like flowers at early dawn, 
 Although the sun just then the brightest shone — 
 Yet seemed less bright than they. An angel spake, 
 Thus GOD hath in His Image grand made man ; 
 
THE GBEATION. 49 
 
 Male and female has HE created them. 
 
 Now HE will bless them ; hear and say Amen. 
 
 We heard GOD say to Adam and to Eve : — 
 
 '•' I bless you ; fruitful be and multiply ; 
 
 The Earth replenish and subdue, and have 
 
 Dominion over all fish of the sea, 
 
 Eovi^ls of the air, the cattle and all things 
 
 Which live and move upon the Earth, Behold, 
 
 To you I have for food given each herb 
 
 Seed-bearing, which is on the face of all 
 
 The Earth, and all the trees in the which there 
 
 Is the fruit of a tree yielding its seed ; 
 
 To you it is for meat ; to all the beasts, 
 
 Eowls of the air, everything that creeps 
 
 Upon the Earth wherein is life, I have 
 
 Ev'ry green herb given for meat, and it 
 
 Is so. Then God saw ev'rything that HE 
 
 Had made, and it was very good.'' Thus did 
 
 The Sixth Day end. 
 
 H. Wilt go with me to talk 
 With Adam and with Eve ? I long to share 
 Their bliss, thus multiplying it for them. 
 Why was not Eve made of the clay of which 
 GOD Adam made ? 
 
 G. She is formed out of him, 
 Because, although the twain are one, yet she 
 Is made of fairer stuff than he to teach 
 That he must over her have tender care. 
 Less strength she needs ; for all of his is hers ; 
 She must be weak that Adam may have use 
 For strength. Were she as strong and large as he 
 He would not care so tenderly for wants 
 
50 THE CLOJJl) OF WITNESSES. 
 
 He will create that* lie may satisfy, 
 
 Knitting her life with his into a web 
 
 Of common thought. And his own rib made fair 
 
 And lovable — will never seem to be 
 
 So naturally placed as next his heart. 
 
 Note. — I wrote a large part of " The Creation " in 1857 
 while reading " The Testimony of the Rocks," and so 
 adopted Miller's views to a certain extent. 
 
 Drama II. 
 
 ABEL'S WIDOW. 
 
 Act I. : Scene 1 
 
 [AleVs Widow, alone.) 
 Zilpali. — 'Twas Adam said, Let the poor widow 
 weep; 
 And then all went away and left me here 
 To weep and mourn alone. Abel is dead ! 
 I never grieved before but he seemed to- 
 Divine that I was sad, and hastened home, 
 And then, of course, my grief was quickly past. 
 When the sun shines, how soon is the dew gone ! 
 Ah ! shall I never see behind the clouds 
 That shut me from my love ? Are they of lead ? 
 His motlier says he's dead ; 'tis strange if she 
 Doth know. And can she then ? No, verily; 
 I think that Eve hath turned into a stone. 
 She is as cold and — but her h^art doth beat — 
 As dead as he. As he ? my love ! my joy ! 
 Can he be dead ? I've had bad dreams before ; 
 
ABED 8 WIDOW. 51 
 
 But in his deepest sleep my lightest moan 
 
 He heard, and woke me Avith his gentlest kiss. 
 
 Oh God, but say tliis is a dream! — like dreams 
 
 Of night ! I'll go again and lay mine ear 
 
 Upon his heart — it may heat now. He oft 
 
 Hath feigned sleep to make me kiss him more. 
 
 Dear Abe], I will gladly spend my breath 
 
 In kissing thee if thou wilt waken then. 
 
 How strange that God should let him be betrayed 
 
 By his own gentleness !— like a lamb laid 
 
 Bleeding and bound upon the altar of 
 
 His love, and of his brother's hate. May I 
 
 Be worthy now of one who hath been mine ! 
 
 I pitied once the lamb which he would slay ; 
 
 He quickly turned, with look more like reproach 
 
 Than any I had ever had from him, and said, 
 
 Most highly favored is the lamb which God 
 
 Hath made spotless enough to be the type 
 
 Of His Own Son. Ah ! A thought thrills me now. 
 
 He added, Gladly would he lay his life 
 
 Upon the altar where the lamb must die. 
 
 If God would deign to honor him as type 
 
 Of One Who Yet Would Come. A shudder then 
 
 Passed o'er his frame ; I asked him why ? He said, 
 
 Thoughtlessly, I have uttered blasphemy ! 
 
 I knew him pure as any lamb could be; 
 
 God favored him more than the rest of men. 
 
 Shall I complain that I, who was his wife, 
 
 Must be his mourning widow now? Better 
 
 His widow than the wife of living man. 
 
 I'm glad I would not marry Cain. Poor Cain ! 
 
 Poor Eachel ! I must so and comfort her. 
 
52 TEE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 She stays away as though she were afraid 
 
 To look at me. My Grod, I thank Thee that 
 
 I am not she. I glory in my lore ; 
 
 E'en in stern death he is so beautiful. 
 
 I wonder if an angel-maiden in 
 
 The fields above loves him and woos him now — 
 
 Oh, useless effort! He is mine, and mine 
 
 For aye ; he cannot be another's now. 
 
 Poor Rachel! I, in thinking of my loss. 
 
 Forgot her tortured heart. The wife of Cain ! 
 
 Comfort her, my Cod ! What can I say 
 
 To one whose head must henceforth pillowed be 
 
 On murderer's breast ? Down, heart ! 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Zilpah.—'Ra.chel, weep not so violently, dear. 
 JRacheL — Go I Co! I cannot bear the sight of 
 thee. 
 My heart is sick; my head is whirling round— 
 I know not what I do. 
 
 Z. I'll pray with thee. 
 B. I will not hear thee mutter curses on 
 Cain's head. He is mine own— ah! doubly mine 
 Own now ; for none but me will look at him. 
 Z. I shall. 
 
 H. To blast him with a fiery eye. 
 Z. Nay, Rachel, look at me. My eyes are full 
 Of tears ; and now these tears are for thy woe. 
 
 a. For mine ! No ! No ! That is not so, I think ; 
 For I can scarcely weep for thee. 
 
 Z. Nor need'st ; 
 My husband is with God— the One whom best 
 
ABEL' 8 WIDOW. 53 
 
 He loved. I never had the heart to let 
 Him know how wretched I was when he went 
 Alone to worship Grod on the high top 
 Of mountain which I could not climb. He said 
 He knew it was not so, but still he felt 
 Nearer to G-od when he could see naught but 
 The things He made. I was quite wretched till 
 He came back home, and could not sleep or eat. 
 But thinkest that I could have let him know 
 Of this ? He never would have gone again 
 Where my poor strength must fail to carry me ; 
 And so when he came back to me, his face 
 Aglow with light that never fell upon the plain, 
 I talked of how the flowers had bloomed, and birds 
 Had carolled while he was away. 
 
 R. I can 
 Not understand such chilly love as that. 
 
 Z. Thou never hadst such teacher as I had. 
 
 R. But Cain hath often said I must not be 
 So selfish in my love. 
 
 Z. Has he ? Then it 
 Is not so strange thou art ; but Abel taught 
 Me lesson that I learned imperfectly, 
 By always thinking of my happiness. 
 I was shamed into being worthy of 
 The man who knew no self. 
 
 R. I'm sleepy now. 
 
 Z. Pardon that I have talked so much of what 
 Concerns thee not; but I thought thou wouldst 
 
 like, 
 To know that as I'd not let Abel see 
 How much I missed him when he was away, 
 
54 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Because I would not rob him of the bliss 
 Of a few days ; so now I cannot prove 
 So totally unworthy of his love 
 As e'er to wish him back. 
 
 R. Thou art so queer 
 And cold. 
 
 Z. Not unto thee, I hope. I came 
 To comfort thee. 
 
 R. Why ? This is strange. Eve is 
 So lost in agony of her sole woe 
 She cannot see me yet. 
 
 Z. So I should think. 
 Poor Eve ! 
 
 R. Poor Eve! Yes; but her husband lives. 
 
 Z. I do not like to Avhisper what I think. 
 Is not greater than thine her grief? Blame for 
 This deed of sin and woe thou canst not have. 
 
 R. Believest that ? This comforts me. My mind 
 I've tortured much by thinking that I might 
 
 Have softened Cain's unkind I Avas too harsh ; 
 
 Talk to me more ; I'll listen to thee now. 
 Thy happiness no more can cast reproach 
 Upon my married life. Speak of 1dm, too : 
 For he is dead— my husband is alive. 
 
 Z. I would thou couldst have heard how Abel 
 used 
 To teach us ev'ry day, when he the lamb 
 Did offer up, how Ave, if Ave Avould be 
 Forgiven, must forgive. But Avhen I came 
 As a bride to his tent, I used to feel 
 Much anger when Cain Avronged my husband kind. 
 Then he taught me of One Who Is To Come, 
 
ABEL'S WIDOW.. 55 
 
 Of whom our lambs of daily sacrifice 
 Are but the types. Oli, how his face would glow, 
 More brightly thau the stars in midnight hour ! 
 And oft I could not comprehend all that 
 He felt; but this I knew : he said that I 
 Must gentle be, and unresisting as 
 The lambs he slew ; must soothe the angry hearts 
 That injured me, as the lambs licked his hand 
 The while he bound them to the altar of 
 Their death. I loved his lessons once, for they 
 Were always taught with kisses fond ; and now, 
 " Though he is dead, he speaketh unto me." 
 Come, let me pray with thee ; then we will go 
 And comfort Cain — if he is still alive. 
 
 R. If he is still alive ? Who dares to harm 
 My Caiu ? 
 
 Z. No man. But it was probable 
 He'd die of grief : I thought that I must die. 
 When first I saw mine only one struck to 
 
 The Earth and weltering in Grod ! 
 
 R. Let's kill 
 Ourselves. 
 
 Z. Oh, horrible! Kneel quickly down 
 For fear some fiend hath heard those words, 
 And so will dare to come into our hearts. 
 I long for Abel ; but I shall not go 
 To him until he calls ; well I know that 
 Will be as soon as God permits. He wants 
 Me there as I him here. 
 
56 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Drama III. 
 THE BENEDICITE. 
 
 Act I. : Scene I. 
 
 Godary. — Wilt go with me to D Lira's plain to see 
 If those three noble Hebrew youths will bow 
 Before the tyrant's breath as straw before 
 The hot monsoon ? Nebuchadnezzar hath 
 Set up a golden image of his god ; 
 And at the call of music all must fall 
 Upon their knees and bow their heads in awe, 
 At the gigantic shadow of a thought 
 That man's brain hath conceived and named a 
 
 god. 
 Meshach, Shadrach, Abednego are three 
 Young Jews of the Captivity, and in 
 Great Babylon as standard-bearers of 
 The truth of the I AM they Avalk. Shadrach 
 Is mine own charge : I think he will not kneel 
 To greatest idol that the world hath seen. 
 Oft I in dreams have given hints of one 
 Whose grandeur no man comprehends. His is 
 A poet's soul, thirsty as famished babe 
 Eor glory of our world. Pull many hours 
 He spends in the Observatory of 
 The wise Ohaldees, in study of sun, moon. 
 And stars. I saw him pluck a little blade 
 Of grass ; sighing he said. E'en thee I can 
 Not comprehend. How do the sun and rains 
 Nourish thy verdancy ? How growest thou ? 
 
THE BENEDIOITE. 57 
 
 Abednego will smile at questions of 
 
 This sort, and glibly tell of influence 
 
 Of heat and shower ; but Shadrach knows replies 
 
 That he and wise men make do not explain 
 
 The how when they mere facts affirm. 
 
 Scene II. — Babylon. 
 
 " Certain Chaldeans." * — king, forever live ! 
 Thou a decree 
 Hast made that all who hear the music of 
 Flute, cornet, harp, sackbut, and psaltery, 
 Shall worship image that thou hast set up ;_ 
 And whoso will not worship shall be cast 
 In fiery furnace. Three Jews whom thou 
 Hast put over our Babylon regard 
 Not thee, nor serve thy gods." 
 
 Nehucliadnezzar. — ( Wrathfully. ) Bid them come 
 here. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Netucliadnezzar. — Can it be true, Shadrach, 
 Abednego, 
 Meshach, ye do not serve my gods, nor will 
 Adore the image I have made ? Is this 
 The gratitude ye show to me, who raised 
 You high above the nobles of the land ? 
 " If now ye worship not ye shall be thrown 
 Into the midst of furnace doubly hot. 
 And who is he who can deliver you 
 Out of my hands ? " 
 
 * Dan. chap. iii. 
 
58 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 8. king! we don't presume 
 To argue with tliy majesty ; " but our 
 God whom we serve can save us from thy hand." 
 
 M. Or, if He will not, we can die ; but will 
 Not serve thy gods, nor will adore the gold, 
 Howe'er niaguificent, thou hast designed. 
 
 Scene IV. — In the Fm'tiace. 
 
 Ahednego. — Strange that we do not feel the fire 
 that is 
 Like a great shrine to shut out wrath of man ! 
 
 Mesliecli. — Around us is the cooling breath of 
 God. 
 The men who cast us in were quite consumed, 
 And we — we feel no harm. Glory to God! 
 
 A. Glory to God! Shadrach, what seest thou ? 
 Thy face is radiant. 
 
 Shadrach. — Spirit beloved 
 And beautiful, so often visible 
 In dreams, reveal thy loveliness to them ! 
 
 Angel. — God hath sent me to keep you company 
 Until HE comes. 
 
 A. Blessed be Thou for aye, 
 Our fathers' God! Thy name is worthy to 
 Be praised. Righteous art Thou in all that Thou 
 To us hast do«ie. Thy ways are right. In all 
 That Thou hast brought upon Jerusalem 
 Thou hast true judgment executed, for 
 Our sins deserved it all. But, for the sake 
 Of Thy beloved Abraham, and for 
 The sake of Isaac and of Jacob, let 
 Not Thy great mercy long depart from us. 
 
TEE BENEBIGITE. 59 
 
 Less than a nation are we now : no prince 
 
 ]^or leader can we boast ; no place where we 
 
 May sacrifice ; nevertheless, we seek 
 
 Thy Face : "Let ns not be confounded, Lord." 
 
 Accoi'ding to Thy works most marvellous 
 
 Deliver us, and let our foes perceive 
 
 Thou art the Lord, One God. 
 
 An. And, Shadrach, while 
 We walk in midst of flames I shall reply 
 To questions thou hast asked when I had not 
 Power to reply to thee. Only in hot, 
 Consuming trials can man see his guard, 
 Whom in his happiness he ne'er forgot. 
 In all the works of Grod is cause for praise. 
 
 8. " Oh, all ye works of the Lord, bless the Lord ! * 
 M. and A. Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 M. Ye angels, who behold what God hath done 
 For man, and who know marvels compassed not 
 By David's songs sublime, " Bless ye the Lord ! " 
 S. and A. "Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 An. Ye see the blue expanse above our heads. 
 It is an ocean fathomless to all 
 But ONE, and in it float sun, moon, and stars. 
 All in their ranks ; in mystic circles wheel 
 They round God's Throne. 
 
 8. " Ye heavens, bless 
 ye the Lord." 
 M. and A. " Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 * Song of the Tliree Children in Apocrypha. 
 
60 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 An. Water, that in man's hands is formless and 
 Quite colorless, in God's, assumes all shapes 
 And hues ; and there is nothing in this world 
 As beautiful as clouds that float above. 
 They are but water drawn up from the earth 
 By the sun's rays, to fall in blessings on 
 The land ; e'en so men's spirits rise, by power 
 Of God, above the world, and thence descend 
 To bless mankind and fertilize dry souls. 
 
 8. "Ye waters in the firmament, bless God !" 
 
 M. and A. " Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 An. In Heaven's hierarchy there are grades. 
 
 M. Because both there and here doth order 
 reign. 
 
 An. How different those grades from ranks that 
 man 
 Creates ! Formed for no cause, they are of no 
 Account but to amuse vain children of 
 A day. The highest Throne, * next God, is yet 
 The lowliest ; and all who boasted of 
 Their pride were sent to foll(5w Satan, who 
 Is Pride self-deified. The highest Powers 
 Are swiftest servants of God's will. 
 
 8. " Oh, all 
 Ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord ! " 
 
 M. and A. " Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 All. The sun is emblematic of God's Eye ; 
 Biit as man's vision cannot pierce the space 
 
 * Col. i. 16. 
 
THE BENEDIGITE. . 61 
 
 That spreads millions of mites 'twixt it and Him, 
 He thinks it near and small; his minister, 
 The moon, shines but because it does, and is 
 Unconscious that in hours of darkness it 
 Is messenger from God. Such, children of 
 The Lord, have ye been in this Babylon. 
 
 8. " Oh ye (great) Sun and Moon, bless ye the 
 
 Lord ! " 
 M. and A. " Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 An. The Stars may now be landing-places for • 
 Imagination to rest on when it 
 Attempts to measure majesty of God ; 
 But when ye are as I, ye'll visit them. 
 And find them centres of revolving worlds. 
 
 S. "Oh (all) ye Stars of heaven, bless ye the 
 
 Lord ! " 
 M. and A. " Praise Him and magnify Him for- 
 ever ! " 
 An. " Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, 
 Bless ye the Lord ! Exalt Him above all."- 
 Jf., A., and 8. " He hath delivered us from hell, 
 and saved 
 Us from the hand of death, and rescued us 
 Out of the midst of burning flames. Give thanks 
 Unto the Lord, because gracious is HE." 
 
 An. " Let all who worship Him, bless Him, the 
 God 
 Of Gods ! Praise Him and give Him thanks, for 
 His mercy endureth forever ! " 
 
 8., M., and A. Amen. 
 
62 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 f 
 
 Deama IV. 
 
 ST. PAUL IN^ ATHENS. 
 
 Acts xvii. 18-34. 
 
 {Euryades, an Epicurean, and Ormenus, a Sioic.) 
 
 Ormenus. — What news to-day ? 
 
 Euryades.— Is owe, friend. 
 
 0. Now, that is news 
 Indeed. To say in Athens there is naught 
 That's new in science, art, philosophy, 
 Or game to- day ! 
 
 E. Well, yes. Some gossip I 
 Eenieniber to have heard, but fear that thou 
 Wilt scorn as insult to pliilosopher. 
 Such trash. There is a little Jew whom men 
 Call Saul, or Paul, or some such name, who sets 
 Up a new god. 
 
 0. Tut ! tut ! That is no news. 
 This olive put forth a fresh bloom this morn; 
 But information such as that I'd not 
 Term novelty. Athenian fools will have 
 Gods quite as numerous as are their whims 
 Or a.ppetites. Let children have new toys. 
 
 Ye Epicureans are wiser set of fools 
 
 E. Than Stoics who boast so much of 
 Their sense. But they are right. How could we 
 
 find 
 It out did not they prate of it so oft ? 
 Thou say'st, I am an Epicurean, 
 But not of the new-fashioned sort of whom 
 
ST. PAUL IN ATHENS. P,;3 
 
 Our foinider now would be ashamed, could lie 
 Eeturn and learn whose name they bear. 
 
 0. Thy life 
 Is nobler far than thy philosophy, 
 Better than that of the vain butterflies 
 Who wear men's robes ; thy dialectics, though, 
 As puerile. Gods are of atoms made, 
 Thou say'st ; for my part I'll not worship what 
 Is less than I. 
 
 E. More atoms fall to them 
 Than to thy frail humanity. 
 
 0. How then 
 Can they go where I cannot pass ? Both thou 
 Main tain's t. The dozen gods and goddesses 
 Of highest rank, and those of lower caste, 
 With their earth -progeny, have sat oil Mount 
 Olympus, where but half as many men 
 Could not stand at one time. 
 
 E. But thou forget'st 
 
 0. That reason's not to be expected in 
 Mythologies. 
 
 E. Thou shouldst consider that 
 The elder poets, who saw such fine sight. 
 Perceived — as we see other objects — but 
 The images of the immortal ones. 
 
 0. As we see, say'st? I am no image, friend. 
 
 E. Yea. I perceive but image of thyself, 
 Or rather of the atoms men call thee. 
 Stoic, thou sneerest. 
 
 0. No : not I. Why should 
 I care how big a fool thou art ? I'm used 
 To children's lying legends. Faugh ! Naught I 
 
64 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Eegard but to preserve myself in an 
 Unbroken calm. I am on mountain-peak 
 Of grand philosophy, amused by sheep 
 Called Epicureans, who gambol at 
 My feet. 
 
 E. By Jove! 
 
 0. By a faint shadow of 
 Some atoms blown together, called a god ! 
 
 E. Well, I'll be true to my gay creed, and 
 laugh ; 
 Thou, being quite as surly as a bear. 
 Must even growl at will : Stoics are like 
 Their prototype, the bear, half of the year 
 
 Asleep, snarling the other half, like 
 
 0. Thee. 
 So I will laugh for both. Give me more news. 
 
 E. Which Stoics never care to learn. How oft 
 I wonder much why they e'er eat or sleep. 
 Not caring so to do. 
 
 0. Canst thou not tell 
 Me who is Paul ? 
 
 E. A sheep as young as I 
 Likes play. Oh ! this vile Jew is "setter forth 
 Of some strange god " — preposterous ! I'm sure 
 Of gods we have enough. 
 
 0. But atoms will 
 Togetlier blow, and sometimes they must chance 
 To form a deity. Perhaps, this man 
 Has seen a shadow of a new one in 
 The clouds. 
 
 E. Perverter of a theory 
 Too fine for thee to grasp, I'll 
 
ST. PAVL IN ATHENS. 65 
 
 0. Bottle np 
 111 cobwebs an old truth. Can Paul do that ? 
 B. And more. He says that those who have 
 lain in 
 The Ceramicus for long years will rise 
 Again. 
 
 0. Why not ? Why should not atoms rise ? 
 They're light. 
 
 E. But how, sage! can images 
 Of men e'er rise ? I'd like to hear thee or 
 The Hebrew answer that. 
 
 0. What he'd affirm 
 I cannot guess. But, for myself, I've seen 
 The shadow of some smoke arise. As we 
 Have naught to do to-day, suppose we hear 
 Paul for hims,elf ? Knowest thou where he dwells? 
 
 E. I know where lives low-born barbarian ! 
 In Areopagus he will declaim 
 This noon. Canst heai* him if thou will'st : for me 
 It is too warm ; I'll to Ilissus go 
 To bathe with nymphs and nereids. 
 
 0. With shades 
 Of water-atoms, meanest thou ? Farewell, 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 {Ormenus, walhing foivards the Areopagus, meets 
 Pausanias.) 
 
 Pausanias. — Hail, Ormenus ! Where goest thou ? 
 Ormenus. — To Hill 
 Of Mars to hear a .lew. 
 
 P. Make his defence ? 
 
QQ THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 0. No ; he will there proclaim a god he has 
 Discovered in the clouds or in his brain. 
 
 P. It's scandalous that any man nnknown 
 Should be allowed to desecrate the spot 
 That was to Solon venerable as 
 His laws to us. There god younger than he 
 Is now to be announced to pack of fools. 
 
 0. There is a crowd. 
 
 P. In Athens that is naught. 
 
 0. No ; but I'll call to an acquaintance if 
 One I perceive ; I'd like to know more of 
 This Panl. Time oft hangs heavily. I like 
 To be amused. 
 
 P. There's Dionysius wise. 
 
 0. Hail Dionysius ! Wait ! What is the cause 
 Of this great throng ? 
 
 Dionysius. — Going to hear a ^qw, 
 A Pharisee, a scholar of the famed 
 Gamaliel; and "no mean fellow," this; 
 A free-born Eoman he. 
 
 P. Then I'll not sneer 
 That Dionysius, Areopagite 
 Of fame, runs after Hebrev/ mean. 
 
 D. I hold 
 Myself too proud to let a Jew know more 
 Than I, if he Avill share with me his lore. 
 In many schools hath Paul disputed with 
 Philosophers, and none have silenced him; 
 And so we have invited him to speak 
 To us where all can criticise, in hope 
 To find a clue to spoil his argument. 
 
8T. PAVL IN ATHENS. 6T 
 
 Scene III. In Areopagus. 
 {The remarhs in 'parentlmses made, ly the 
 three philosophers in undertones^ 
 St. Paul. — " Ye men of Athens, I perceive in all 
 Things ye too superstitious are." 
 
 {0. I would that I 
 Had made Eur jades come here.) 
 
 " As I passed by 
 I saw an altar dedicated to 
 The Unknown God. Him whom in ignorance 
 Ye now adore declare I unto you. 
 He made the Avorld and all things else of heaven 
 And eartli." 
 
 {D. That's easier to believe than that 
 They made themselves.) 
 
 " He's Lord of all." 
 
 (P. Why, Paul 
 Means Jove. 
 
 0. ISTo ; for we know him. well enough. 
 D. Too well to worship him. We know his crimes 
 And follies all. Thou art not, nor am I, 
 As weak as he — -if he exists at all. 
 0. Hear Paul.) 
 
 '' Grod dwell eth not in temples made 
 With hands." 
 
 (P. Paul is an atheist.) 
 
 " Nor is 
 He worshipped by your offerings." 
 
 ( 0. Here is 
 A man of sense, one worthy to be taught 
 All our philosophy.) 
 
68 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 " And He needs naught." 
 (0. I'll make that Jew my friend; he's bold as 
 wise. 
 We would not dare to tell the people this.) 
 
 " He gave to us life, breath, all things ; and He 
 Hath made of one blood all the nations of 
 The earth." 
 
 (P. He's like the rest of the most learned 
 Philosophers — fooled by his theories.) 
 
 " The bounds of all men's habitations Grod 
 Hath fixed. Seek ye the Lord, your Unknown Grod ; 
 Feel after Him and find." 
 
 {D. Hath the Jew come 
 Across the sea to tell us this ? That is 
 What we for ages have done fruitlessly. 
 I hoped he'd found what we have vainly sought. 
 (P. I doubt if God is anywhere to find.) 
 " He is not far from ev'ry one of us." 
 (P. ISTor is the sky ; and yet we cannot pierce 
 Its mystery.) 
 
 " In Him we live and move ; 
 Our being hold in Him. His offspring we." 
 [0. Aratus hath said that.) 
 
 " As one of your 
 Own poets said." 
 
 {D. He's honest, too.) 
 
 "If we 
 Of Grod the offspring are, we should not think 
 That He is like to silver, gold, or stone," 
 
 (P. For we are not of so much worth as they.) 
 " Graven by man's device." 
 
 ( 0. How can fools know 
 
8T. PA TIL IN ATHENS. 69 
 
 How they should carve the images of forms 
 They never saw ?) 
 
 " God winked in pity at 
 The times of ignorance, but now commands 
 Each one of you, repent. A day He hath 
 Appointed in which He Avill judge the world 
 In righteousness by one Man He ordained." 
 {0. One man to judge us all ! That's good.) 
 
 " Of what 
 I say He hath assurance given men 
 By raising Him up from the dead." 
 
 (0. More tales 
 And fables of the gods. Oh Paul, how thou 
 Hast disappointed me ! 
 
 P. What else didst thou 
 Expect from HebreAv base ? 
 
 D. I'll follow him. 
 He's greater than philosopher I've heard 
 Or read of yet. In earnest lie ; he doth 
 Not play the oracle to make men stare. 
 No ! what in public this Paul says he will 
 Not sneer at in a private school.) 
 
 Note. — I have dared to introduce the Dionysius referred to 
 in Acts xvii 34, whom Dionysius, Bishop of Corinth, and 
 Eusebius say was the first Bishop of Athens. 
 January 24, 1865. 
 
70 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Deama V. 
 ROME. 
 
 Act I. — The Catacombs. 
 
 Mazza.— Come, Calla, I shall show thee a strange 
 
 sight. 
 Calla.— Whithev &j we? 
 
 M. To thy pet world, the Earth. 
 C. Aye ; gladly I shall go. 
 
 M. How soft the air ! 
 G. How blue the sky ! Another Paradise? 
 M. ISTo ; this is Italy, land of bright skies, 
 Blue lakes, and pretty views. 
 
 C. And, Mazza, Avill 
 We find another Adam here ? 
 
 31. Those Avho 
 Have come in a long line from him. The men 
 Etruscans are.* Now, darling, enter here. 
 
 C. Ah ! I perceive why we have hither come. 
 When Lanthus talked with me in the pearl-bower, 
 Thou sawest how I longed to see the homes 
 That men, unconscious quite of what they did, 
 Were hewing out of earth for those who Avill 
 Adore and love, and follow joyfnlly 
 Our God, when lovingly below He will 
 Descend. But Oh! these caves, that must be dark 
 To mortal eyes, can never be the homes 
 Allotted to the followers of Cfirist. 
 
 * Muller. 
 
ROME. 71 
 
 M. Yes ; knowest thou not that they will be born 
 In sin, and will bear suffering and death ? 
 
 C. And glory, Mazza! WheneA^er that word 
 Death falls on my ears, they tingle with 
 The sound until my lips cry "glory," and 
 I think that God, who but created us. 
 Will die for men, and make them one with Him. 
 Happy am I, and satisfied; yet, not 
 An angel, I should wish to be a man. 
 But, dearest, why will those who Christians will 
 Be called have to dwell here ? 
 
 M. To hide from their 
 Pursuers. 
 
 C. Pursuers ! I thought that they 
 Who love our Grod are safe. 
 
 M. And so they are ; 
 For death is glory given them. But all 
 Men will not love the Christ. 
 
 C. Wliat sayest thou ? 
 The air is earthy, and I heard not well. 
 I deemed thou saidst a thing so very strange 
 That I must tell thee so as thou may'st laugh 
 As mortals do. I thought thou saidst that some 
 Their Saviour would not love. Now laugh, as men, 
 When they hear strangest things. 
 
 M. Thou heardest well. 
 Satan and all his hordes are laughing at 
 Thy w^ords ; but if an angel's eyes had tears, 
 I should shed bitterer than poor Eve did. 
 
 C. Ah, Mazza! thou art trifling with me now. 
 Thou wall'st to see if tears are possible 
 For angels when thev dwell tis much on Earth 
 
72 TEE OLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 As I delight to do. Thou hast seen those 
 
 Who teased the ones they loved : but was that well ? 
 
 How canst thou try to be like silly men ? 
 
 M. T would that it were but a jest ! But it 
 Is truth ! 
 
 a Truth! 
 
 M. Aye. Thou ken's t that Jesus must 
 To cruel Cross be nailed, and these who nail 
 Him there must hate Him first. 
 
 C. Kill Him for hate ! 
 No, never ! Never, no ! 
 
 M. Thou sawest what 
 Isaiah and some other Prophets wrote, 
 And one of the Dominions told thee this. 
 
 O. Oh, no ! Not what thou say'st. I knew that 
 He 
 For men would die; but, I supposed that they 
 Would, wailing, bind Him to the trembling Cross 
 While He encouraged them to do His will, 
 And forced them to obey, while promising 
 The seats nearest to Him if they would nerve 
 Their palsied hands to offer Him as their 
 Great Sacrifice — then die of broken hearts, 
 Hast'ning to follow Him. What was the woe 
 Of Abraham, when called upon to kill 
 His son, compared with theirs, who will be forced 
 To hang their Maker on the Cross ? 
 
 M. Some men 
 Will clamor for his death, accusing him 
 Of crimes. 
 
 C. Of crimes! Dare to accuse the God 
 Of crimes ! Satan hath never thus presumed. 
 
BOME. 73 
 
 M. Bud men bolder than Satan are, for they 
 Know less of Heaven and Hell, of misery 
 And bliss. A judge unjust will fear to set 
 Christ free : the ones who truly love will flee 
 From Him, and those who hate will bind Him to 
 The Cross. When He has died, risen, and gone 
 To Heaven again, then they will hate tliose who 
 Eevere His memory, and worship Him ; 
 And them too they will persecute into 
 Eternal life. Some will escape from rack 
 And tortures worse than death, and hiding in 
 These dark and winding crypts, will have a church 
 Where more securely they may worship God. 
 Is it not sweet to think that some will love 
 Him thus ? 
 
 0. Some love Him thus ! Some love Him thus ? 
 Mazza, I never more can hither come ; 
 I do not like to carry thoughts like mine 
 Before God's Throne. Let us go hence. Satan 
 I shunned; now Satan seems an angel bright 
 Compared to Adam's progeny. Satan 
 Or man for company, I'd choose the least 
 Ingrate. The Devil knows God will not die 
 For him. Nonsense we talk. God die in vain ! 
 
 M. Let us fly now, and see the buildings grand 
 And beautiful, that these Etruscans raise 
 With what they quarry here. Unconsciously 
 They work for those unborn. But always men 
 Do thus. Unthinking ones ! 
 
 a stay here! Ko; I 
 Shall go to see if God is all I tliink 
 He is, and if I find that he is still 
 
74 THE CLOUD OF WITIfUSSBS. 
 
 Omnipotence and Love unfathomed, I 
 Shall know that foolish words, like men's mistakes, 
 Have blown from earth to us, and that I now 
 Have hearkened to the strangest of them all. 
 
 Act II. : Scene I . 
 
 Mazza. — Wilt go with me again to "visit Earth ? 
 Calla. — Oh no ! 
 
 M. It cannot be that thou hast been 
 O'er there so oft that thou hast learned the weak 
 Impulses of its silly men. 
 
 C. It is 
 Divine to shrink from wickedness. 
 
 M. Eather 
 To pity it. 
 
 C. With all my heart I do ; 
 And if my wings could waffc from ingrates' souls 
 Their vile ingratitude, there would I go. • 
 But, Mazza, Heaven is brighter now. Better 
 I love its azure bowers than those that wear 
 The earthly green: no serpents here to hiss 
 Their scorn at those who fell by wile; to mock 
 The tendrils of our vines, whose fragile stems 
 Ne'er break beneath the cherubs' airy weight. 
 But bend obedient in answering 
 Each sweet caprice of mirth cherubic as 
 Though they loved graceful play; but if these 
 
 vines 
 Could crawl about our star-paved floor to work 
 The darlings woe, how could they know which 
 
 stems » 
 
 Were nocuous, and which could safely be 
 
ROME. 75 
 
 Braided iu their soft ourls, or wreathe their 
 
 l)rows? 
 Is it not strange that things quite senseless here 
 Should there become so very venomous ? 
 M. Hast not thou heard the cause ? 
 
 C\ And is there one ? 
 M. When Satan and his hosts were driven hence, 
 They passed the Earth in their swift flight to Hell ; 
 Some had bound pretty vines of many hues 
 •About their heads, and as they flew did cast 
 Them sullenly into metallic fires, 
 Which to their hate seemed their doom to presage. 
 Them did the fires belch forth, and straightway 
 
 they 
 Did crawl about, retaining traces few 
 Of pristine beauty, but quite venomous. 
 For they had drunk the sweat from brows of 
 
 fiends. 
 Wilt go to Earth ? 
 
 G. I cannot, sweet. Fly thou. 
 If so thou will'st. If there thou findest all 
 Is fair, but bring me word, and I shall much 
 Eejoice. Now I shall go to God, and gaze 
 Upon His Face. Ah! would that man could know 
 How glorious He is ! How beautiful ! 
 
 Act II. : Scene II. — Earth. 
 
 Mazza. — Kennah, what means this gathering ? 
 
 Kennah. — Th ese men. 
 Forgetting the true God, believe in chance. 
 M. In chance! That's marvellous! 
 
 K. They here have come 
 
Y6 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 To watch the flight of birds, and learn who is 
 To be tlieir king. 
 
 M. Oh, boys at play ! I did 
 Not understand. 
 
 K. But full-grown boys, who strive 
 To read the sentence of their fate. 
 
 M. Suppose 
 They birds know more than men '? 
 
 K. Perhaps ! Who comes ? 
 Great woe ! It is Cocaxlit, who hies here 
 To work some sin. So I shall haste to God 
 And ask permission to o'ercome him yet. 
 
 M. {Alone.) Swiftly he flies. His wings appear 
 to lure 
 The varied tints from all Earth's brightest flowers.* 
 
 Act III. — Brutus. 
 Brutus. — My soul is strongly stirred within me 
 now. 
 Must I, before my spirit's vanquished, bow, 
 Like captive-slave, my free head to the man 
 Whom I have helped in his ascent to power ? 
 Am I so low that he may set his foot 
 Upon my neck ? He hath already on 
 The heart, once his, trampled most cruelly. 
 I cannot be the slave of him whose friend 
 I was. I am not low enough for that. 
 Liberty, bid the gods make me strong 
 To fell the tyi-ant to the earth ! Shall I 
 
 * I had intended to write a drama about Romulus ; but 
 being interrupted got out of the humor, and I never force 
 my muse. 
 
BOMB. 77 
 
 Fear death when Liberty is dead ? I was 
 JSTot made to crawl at despot's feet : upright 
 The gods made me, that I might hold my head 
 Ever above my heart. Down, friendship ! Cease 
 The torturing of nerves unstrung. I ne'er 
 Have cared for hate : shall I turn coward now 
 For love ? And love of whom ? A man who when 
 Content to be my equal, was beyond 
 Me far ; but when he raised himself above 
 The laws, he fell so far beneath me that 
 I cannot now stand by him face to face. 
 Is he too low ? . Or I too high ? We'll see 
 When comes the time to strike. I may fall then ; 
 But verily, my monument will stand 
 On Despotism's grave, and I shall hear 
 Through all the ages hence the pgeans of 
 Disenthralled Liberty. I dare to risk 
 A cruel death; but am not strong enough 
 To wear a tyrant's yoke. I'll sleep the sleep 
 That Freedom does, or waken her to life ; 
 For while I live she shall not rot. 
 
 Clitus. — Brutus, 
 'Tis useless to contend with Cassar's might. 
 
 B. Useless to show men Cato's spirit lives. 
 Though he dwells with the gods ! At least I can 
 Die to be free, and so be worthy of 
 Companionship of those who ne'er were slaves. 
 The servile Senate, pack of hounds, that fears 
 The whippers-in, decreed his statue should 
 Be carried in procession with the gods : 
 But Csesar made not me, so him I will 
 Not worship ; some of the base populace 
 
78 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 He has made men — as riches often do — 
 
 Thej are his pompous slaves. Let them bow down 
 
 At altars dedicated to a knave ! 
 
 My knees are rather stiff for worship such 
 
 As that. Not I a priest to celebrate 
 
 Crushed Freedom's obsequies, or marriage of 
 
 Grod Caesar to fierce Tyranny. Why should 
 
 I care for his proud life when he cares not 
 
 For that of Tribes ? Let broken hearts write his 
 
 Late history, and let pale shades in sad 
 
 And pining Hades write my Life. 
 
 1865. 
 
 Note. — Had Ilield the opinion of Brutus that I now hold, 
 I could not have written this in his name. Did not he strike 
 for the freedom of the aristocracy only ? In other words, 
 if he and his peers were free, the people need not be. 
 
 Act IV. : Scene I. — The Catacombs. 
 
 Oalla.— Dost thou remember, Mazza, the fair land 
 On Earth thou calledst Etruria, where thou 
 Didst tell to me how men would crucify 
 Their Christ ? 
 
 Mazza.— Yesb; very well do I recall 
 The spot. Far have we wandered since. Wilt wing 
 With me thy way to see those caves hollowed 
 By the Etrurians for men unborn ! 
 
 0. Yes. AVords that I supposed were of the 
 Earth's 
 Mistakes, I shice have seen fulfilled. But I 
 Remember gladly that thou saidst that some 
 Would worship the Lord Christ within those crypts. 
 Let us go now to fair Etruria. 
 
M. Italia now is what Etruria was, j 
 
 ROME. 'TO 
 
 latEl 
 And Eomans rule the land. 
 
 G. What kind of men 
 Are t]] ey ? 
 
 M. Pagans and rude, but very learned ; 
 The rulers of the world that's known to them : 
 Bnt with fierce hate and scorn they persecute 
 The followers of Christ who hide within 
 The caves. 
 
 O. Let us now visit them. I long 
 Again to see the world that erst I loved 
 So well. 
 
 M. And why this change, since men have done 
 Unto our Grod Made Manifest in Flesh 
 All that of which the prophecy turned thee 
 From Earth ? 
 
 0. Because I have seen many men. 
 Women, and children, who have glorified 
 His name more than we angels can : because 
 He did not die for us, we cannot die 
 For Him. We praise Him in our bliss ; they in 
 The anguish of pain-lacerated lives. 
 
 Act IV. : Scene II. —In the Catacombs of St. CaKxtus. 
 
 Mazza.— Wilt enter. Sweet ? 
 
 Calla. — It is not very dark — 
 ISFot as it was before. Though lamps give light 
 As sullenly as if the nether world 
 Were breathing forth her spite in noxious air; 
 Yet other wings of angels, like ourselves, 
 E'er dissipate the atmosphere that chill 
 And heavv rises to our feet. Oh ! look 
 
80 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 At those dark eyes that gleam with lambent light 
 Of love ; brighter are they than stars as seen 
 From Earth. List to the chant that woman pale 
 And sad sings to her babe, who sleeps upon 
 Her breast as gracefully as golden curl 
 On cherub's brow — more tremblingly. 
 
 M. Hark! Hark! 
 {A mother chants slowly and heavily :) 
 
 Snatch, baby mine. 
 
 Ere sun doth shine, 
 
 A little rest 
 
 On mother's breast. 
 
 By dawn of day 
 
 I must away: 
 
 Sleep while I pray. 
 
 Enjoy thy rest 
 
 On mangled breast, 
 
 My precious one ! 
 
 When shines the sun 
 
 We two must part : 
 
 Thy mother's heart 
 
 Will be like ice. 
 
 The sacrifice 
 
 Is now complete. 
 
 Sleep on, my sweet! 
 
 I must not mourn ; 
 
 My body torn 
 
 Upon the rack, 
 
 I shall give back 
 
 To native dust;' 
 
 And strangers must 
 
 Now guard my child. 
 
ROME. 81 
 
 {More cheerfidly.) 
 But the Undefiled 
 Will ever be near ; 
 Wherefore need I fear? 
 He'll purge thee from sin, 
 Dwell thy heart within, 
 Eestore thee to me 
 In His purity. 
 Sleep on, baby sweet! 
 Come, angels, to meet 
 My blood-ransomed soul! 
 I'm nearing death's goal; 
 I feel their sweet breath — 
 Do men call it death 
 To breathe angels' breath ? 
 When they embrace me 
 I'll send them to thee — 
 If such be Grod's will — 
 To guard thee from ill. 
 I know Christ will be 
 A mother to thee ; 
 He'll hush thee to rest 
 Thou wilt feel caressed 
 When thou art alone. 
 Though none heed thy moan. 
 Wait one moment. Death ! 
 I ask but one breath ; 
 I'm ready for bliss. 
 A kiss, child, a kiss ! 
 Gently, Death, gently ! 
 Lest groans come from me. 
 No tears will I weep — 
 Let my baby sleep. 
 
82 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 0. Mazza, I shall fly now in haste to God, 
 And beg that he will let me guard this child, 
 Whose mother dies, martyr for Him. Sleep, babe ! 
 
 M. I shall watch here until thou com'st again. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Prudentius and Varus. 
 
 F«r^<5.— Euua is dead. 
 
 Prudentius. — Alive! Alive to God! 
 
 V. Go call her friends, if any she has here. 
 That they may clothe her body in its sweet 
 White sleeping-robes, and I will make the bed 
 To lay her tortured body in. Thank God 
 Her sufferings are done ! Alas, her babe ! 
 
 P. The mother's God will not forsake the child. 
 
 V. What motto shall I cut to mark her bed? 
 
 P. Her precious Saviour's anagram, as on 
 A wedding-ring we carve the lover's crest. 
 
 V. And under that I'll mark, " A sweet soul in 
 A place of refreshment." * Ah ! well I know 
 Her mangled limbs had need to be refreshed 
 Ere Resurrection-morn, and her worn heart 
 Was ready for death's calm. 
 
 P. And now it rests ; 
 No anguish and no torture where she is. 
 
 y. Her little babe shall be to me as mine. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Varus in the Catacombs, with Leda in Ms arms. 
 
 V. O'er wiser thoughts, but crude, I lay a veil 
 That trembles 'neath the dying breath of hope 
 
 * Bishop Kip gives tliis inscription in " Visit to the Cata- 
 combs." 
 
ROME. 83 
 
 Of worldly fortune : Fancy's flow'rets pale 
 That might have graced my bridal with a rich 
 Patrician's daughter, breathe through this soft 
 
 yeil 
 Of resignation, and their odors bid 
 Me wait a longer while until the King 
 Eeturns to wed the Church and take her to 
 His Home. But in my father's mansion there 
 Was never picture charming as is this 
 I hold within my arms— reminder of 
 Christ's Babyhood. The free curls of brown hair 
 Creep into golden light, but cannot reach 
 The forehead, full of empty nests, where Love 
 And Faith and Fancy yet will lay rare eggs, 
 And rear their tunefal broods to gladden age 
 Of an old bachelor. And, like two stars 
 Kesting in fleecy clouds, under their lids 
 Of snow, are the sweet eyes that oft are full 
 Of light Divine, such as I once supposed 
 Only Saint John had had. Glorious eyes, 
 That promise to be sad and harmonize 
 With sighs, learn to look into mine with trust ! 
 Babej prayers shall overshadow all thy days 
 And, like the noiseless wings of angels, keep 
 Thee pure. Thy lips, that smiled but now, sink to 
 Eepose like a rose-tinted butterfly 
 On a white floAver. ISTow thou dost gently reach 
 Thy fingers small after the angels, thus 
 Beseeching tliem to come into thy arms. 
 This half-worn smile is not of earth, but ftill 
 Of gladness caught in Heaven where thoti wert 
 When I said, Baby sleeps. Now, dimples come 
 
84 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And go in joyful freaks. Goddaughter, where 
 
 Thou art there joy abides — e'en in these crypts ; 
 
 As there is life and music even in 
 
 A desert if a stream flows by. Thou liv'st 
 
 In childhood's land of peace, and bringest to 
 
 Me olive leaves, but to suggest that when 
 
 The persecutions of this life are o'er 
 
 I shall be happy as a little child. 
 
 ISTow thou must romp ? Well, am not I a good 
 
 Automaton thy wilfulness may guide ? 
 
 Alive with agile grace is ev'ry limb. 
 
 Thy dark eyes softly dance in tender glee, 
 
 And answer my proud gaze with revelry 
 
 As full of joy as song of nightingale 
 
 Is full of melody. Thy hand, proud of 
 
 Its tiny threat, on my rough cheek will fall, 
 
 And teach new lesson of a glad, new life. 
 
 Act V. : Scene 1. 
 
 ( Twenty years have elapsed.) 
 Leda. — -Where wert thou all the long hours of 
 this sad 
 And dreary month ? 
 
 Varus. — Linus sent tne away 
 To fan the feeble flame of smould'ring flax. 
 And hast thou missed me much ? Thank 
 God for that ! 
 
 Fathee, I THANK Thee that I live to bear 
 
 The din and brunt of life ; ' 
 Eor now I hear a chant like angels' air 
 
 Resounding through the strife. 
 
ROME. 85 
 
 I've made a barren life seem happier 
 
 And, by a loving smile, 
 Have dried a tear and calmed a rising fear, 
 
 Uncousoious all the while 
 That Thon wert answering my oft-told prayer — ■ 
 
 Wert blessing me beyond 
 What even fancy bold as mine would dare 
 
 To draw Avithin the bound 
 Of reveries that likely were to be 
 
 Eor me a verity. 
 
 God bless the darling child ! — 
 
 The one who blesses me day after day ! 
 My thoughts she has beguiled 
 
 From dreams of old tliat wear all joy away. 
 To think that I can cheer 
 
 Heart which has known pangs that few girls 
 have felt. 
 Whose youth has been a bier 
 
 To carry dead- hopes to the grave, where knelt 
 In resignation dumb, 
 The days that are to come. 
 And who am I that Thou shouldst let me bless — 
 While oft from Thee I roam — 
 One fitting for Thy HOME ? 
 How SAveet in Thee to let her fond caress 
 
 Heat my long-chilled heart ! 
 To send such love to make my sorrows less 
 Oh Grod, how kind Thou art ! 
 
 L. If love of mine can make thee happy, thou, 
 Godfather, shonld'st be in an ecstasv. 
 
86 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 V. But thou art thin, I think. Thou dost 
 
 look ill. 
 L. I have a hidden trouble, and it gnaws. 
 V. Thou wilt tell it to me. 
 
 L. Would that I could ! 
 V. Thou canst. . 
 
 L. I am too proud to tell thee of 
 A love I give to one thou wilt not like. 
 Why dost thou look so startled ? 
 
 V. Do not cry, 
 
 Ojst my heakt lay thy proud heart 
 
 And I will give no sign 
 To let thee know that thou art 
 
 By love's bond kin of mine. 
 
 I long to save thee, dearie, 
 
 From much I have endured ; 
 For, it would greatly pain me 
 
 To see thee as inured 
 
 To bear life's hapless burden 
 
 With smile as calm. as mine : 
 Grod save thee from the guerdon 
 
 Of pride, that will not pine. 
 
 But makes the spirit stronger 
 
 To love and to endure ! 
 I know those suffer longer 
 
 Whom pride seems first to cure. 
 
 On my heart lay thy sad heart ; 
 I'll scarcely hear it beat, 
 
ROME. ^fj 
 
 For alas, my own is fraught 
 
 With love as sad aud fleet, 
 
 L. And so, godfather, in thy youth thou didst 
 Love as I do — I mean, quite hopelessly. 
 I would I had goddaughter who, when I 
 Am an old maid, will love me as I thee. 
 
 V. Dear Leda, thou art now to me what once 
 The sparkling sea-foam was to wild hoyhood ; 
 And my love for thee is blue ocean's depth. 
 
 L. Thanks ! I am frothy ; thou art very deep. 
 But I pray thee, remember that the foam 
 Is drawn from out the blue sea's deepest depths: 
 Were there no ocean, where the foam thou lik'st ? 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Calla. — Ah, Mazza, must my darling pet grow 
 like 
 The maids of earth ? I loved her as man loves 
 A flower that blooms in desert sands, because 
 She was of thiugs around no part ; but seemed 
 Alone 'mid men in sweet simplicity. 
 And now a spell is on her ev'ry act : 
 False part she plays, is false unto herself. 
 I know that she loves Marcus ; why should she, 
 Avoiding him, by acts express a lie ? 
 Thou know'st Avhen angels or sweet children love 
 They show the fairest part ot" their true selves ; 
 And Leda I would keep a child until 
 She may an angel be. Then, Marcus has 
 Lnmortal soul for which the Saviour died ; 
 And yet, although a noble man, he loves 
 
88 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Him not ; it was the beauty of my child 
 
 That drew him to the Christians' haunts, and 
 
 love 
 Still keeps him here. If she is cold to him 
 He will go off before he learns the truth 
 Of her grand faith, and thus will lose his soul. 
 And is a man's great soul thus to be cast 
 Buck to the gods of wood and stone by one 
 Whose mother gave her life for Christ? 
 
 Mazzu. — Perch ance 
 The maiden knows more of his spirit than 
 Thou dost, and sees her soul not safe if bound 
 To his. Knowest thou aught of his past life ? 
 
 C. But little ; only that he has adored 
 Ever, as now, the beautiful and pure; 
 Escliewed abominable, wicked rites 
 Of Dionasa, and all mysteries 
 Where Satan entertains his votaries. 
 
 J/. From what thou hast told of thy Leda's truth 
 And purity, I shall her impulse trust. 
 Dost know the shell-fish small that covers with 
 Eude pebbles and rough grains of sand his frail 
 And delicately-tinted house, that foes 
 May pass the home wherein he dwells, nor know 
 That 'ueath the common grains of sand there hides 
 The treasure that they fain would seize upon ? 
 
 C. Yes ; I have seen this trochus on the shores 
 That earthly oceans lave ; but what has it 
 To do with Leda's mood ?, 
 
 M. She buries 'neath 
 The words of worn humanity the thoughts 
 That Marcus cannot comprehend, or if 
 
ROME. 89 
 
 He CO aid, would greet with words profane and 
 
 coarse 
 To ears as delicate as hers; they shall 
 Xot be the prey of want of sympathy. 
 C. ^o feeling for him shows she now. 
 
 J/". Hast seen 
 The spider called diadem ? 
 
 a ]^ot like 
 Thee, do I watch the wonders of small life. 
 Tell me of it. 
 
 M. It weaves its cunning web 
 Of threads so strong that though weight of child's 
 
 foot 
 May make them crack,, yet when the boy doth look 
 To see what his foot fell upon, finds naught 
 Biit bright sunhght that he hath trodden on ; 
 So rapidly the spider whirls around 
 In silken net that he cannot be seen. 
 Thus sometime may the words of Marcus have 
 Fallen too harshly on the fibres of 
 A life that love had deftly woven in 
 A silver web that harbored her pure dreams. 
 But " glances oft in rapid whirl,'' the heart 
 Too sensitive, hiding itself in web 
 Of its own thoughts: man looks and sees no love. 
 Sees only what he deems false brilliancy. 
 Behold her now. The tears she shed have dried 
 Upon her cheeks ; like rose-hued marble * are 
 They, freshly washed. Will she come in this 
 
 crypt ? 
 
 * A friend of mine spoke of a lady's cheeks as rose-colored, 
 marble. 
 
90 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 {Leda singing:) 
 Oh, my mother is so happy, 
 
 Joying, joying evermore ! 
 Do you think that I would call her 
 
 Back to woes she knew of yore ? 
 Here the air is damp and chilly. 
 
 And I shiver this grim night; 
 But I know that she is singing, 
 
 Her dear face illumed with light. 
 Here she bore all griefs so gently ; 
 
 There she joys triumphantly. 
 Can I bear her cross as meekly 
 
 Till God comes — next time for me ? 
 No ; I cannot ; but, my Angel, 
 
 Grive her good-night kiss for me 
 Tell her at heart I'm still a child, 
 
 And my mother long to see. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Calla and Mazza. 
 Galla. — There sits the poet of the Catacombs. 
 Wilt hear his verse ? 
 
 Varus. —Ob., weaey, weaey cross! 
 Christ, was it not enough to bear the loss 
 
 Of the fair light of youth, 
 And give myself up, heart and soul, to truth 
 And its spread through the world ? 
 Ah ! this was easy while Thy Hand unfurled 
 Itself above me as a banner where 
 Was written " Love " in characters as fair 
 As is the smile of Grod. 
 But now I feel the rod, 
 
ROME. 91 
 
 The while, Father, all is dark around 
 And I by many counter-chains am bound 
 
 While skies above are black 
 I lie in grief, like culprit ou the rack, 
 And know not which part of my inner life 
 Will be wrenched from me by this torture-strife ; 
 " My God ! my God, hast thou forsaken me ? " 
 I the first time have said in agony. 
 
 Like Job, I cannot see 
 
 Tliy Hand stretched out to me. 
 Could I but feel the rod was in Thy Hand 
 
 I think that I could stand, 
 Like humbled child, the hardest of Thy strokes; 
 
 For, while the child invokes 
 Thy pity, he is sure that it is right 
 That he should sufier thus, that the sad sight 
 
 Of Thy fond eyes may melt 
 His erring heart, and he feels Thou hast dealt 
 
 As loving Parent should ; 
 
 So, even now I would 
 See Thy kind Hand in ev'ry chastisement 
 Until the agony that's in me j^ent 
 Breaks forth in soft'ning tears. 
 Lord, as I look back on my youthful years, 
 I see but one cross bitter as this is ; 
 For others' faults I suffered then ; but this 
 Grief may come from some negligence of mine. 
 Some overweening love of peace; not Thine 
 The Hand that I can see in what is wrong. 
 Father, I boasted that my faith Avas strong ; 
 Hast Thou let this grief fall that I may see 
 That it was weak, and came from only Thee?. 
 
93 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Saviour, give this faith l)ack unto uie 
 That I may lose what's past in what's to be ! 
 
 ( Varus hneels in evening prayer and re- 
 tires. In the morning soliloquizes.) 
 
 Oetek a hope illumes my heaet 
 
 III the dark hours of night ; 
 I will not sleep for fear I'll lose 
 
 Some rays of the strange light. 
 But, in the morning, when I seek 
 
 For fire that made nigiit bright, 
 I find none : then I understand 
 
 Will-o'-the-wisp its flight 
 Took, while soft-footed slumber stole 
 
 O'er my enchanted brain ; 
 And I find I am in a marsh 
 
 Where hope stagnates in pain. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Varus. — Ik such a fair aistd rosy face 
 The large, sad eyes seem out of place — 
 Mute tokens of an inward grace. 
 
 And yet her very smile, I thought, 
 
 A dream of some hushed sorrow brought. 
 
 That Piety bade pass for naught. 
 
 Clouds flitted o'er the moon's bright brow 
 A moment since, jtt smiles she now 
 As though she would not grief allow 
 
 To find a place so near God's Throne 
 If He will keep her for His Own 
 Better tliat she should be alone 
 
ROME. 93 
 
 Than to shine with the sun by day ; 
 'Tis better not to be too gay, 
 For sorrow teaches how to pray. 
 
 Farewell, imaginary Muse ! Give place 
 To her who cloth in truth inspire my song. 
 
 Leda.—l am sad, Varus. Please noAV improvise 
 Some comfort. Tell me of our daily friends. 
 
 V. Angel forms mat hover o'er me 
 When through life's mist I can't see 
 E'en the Father's Eye above me. 
 Could I trust them as they love me ! 
 Drooping head would fain repose 
 On the breast whence my life rose. 
 My thoughts, like a nest of birds. 
 Hungry are for music words 
 That would tell me Mother waits — 
 Though closed on her are life's gates — 
 To give me food that she has brought, 
 With celestial fragrance fraught. 
 
 L. Thanks, truest friend, when I feel desolate, 
 Thou knowest how to make me realize 
 My Mother's presence. Oh, I long for her! 
 
 V. My Lecla won't be angry if again 
 I improvise ? 
 
 L. Angry with my best friend! 
 
 V. Well, child, I do deserve a recompense ; 
 For, truly, it is hard to be thy friend. 
 Don't look so shocked, my sweet. I can't explain. 
 Don't cry : rather attend to what I say. 
 
94 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Oh no ! I CAJfifOT LOVE HIM NOW, 
 
 There is a stain upon his brow— 
 
 The mark of sinful passion's breath : 
 
 I cannot kiss it— 'twould be death. 
 
 The man whose brow my lips will press 
 
 Must never by a blush confess 
 
 That his life is less pure than mine. 
 
 Love, like a spirit, leaves no sign 
 
 On blushing cheek and burning brow ; 
 
 B-ut with deep calmness doth endoAV 
 
 The being whom its lips have prest. 
 
 In holy presage of the rest 
 
 AVe shall find when flesh is riven. 
 
 And to spirits pure 'tis given, 
 
 To mingle as the breath of flowers. 
 
 Which consecrates the evening hours 
 
 To dreams of love and purity, 
 
 Which There, if not here, we may see. 
 
 Merged in the bright reality 
 
 Of Grod's august Eternity. 
 
 I cannot enter a dark cave 
 
 Whose poison-breath prepares a grave 
 
 For those who brave false passion's might; 
 
 I cannot live without Grod's light. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Leda.—l fear I wounded thee by leaving so 
 Abruptly; but I went— I went to ask 
 My frightened heart what , thou couldst n 
 
 Don't speak 
 Again as thou didst then. 
 
 Varus. — The sponsor must 
 
BOME. 95 
 
 Be silent while a heathen whispers to 
 riiee at all hours. 
 
 L. I thought I had one friend 
 Whose heart was calm as is the bluest sky — 
 My refuge when I, tossed on shallow lake 
 Of woman's destiny, wished to escape 
 From narrow regions wliere storms oft prevail. 
 The lake reflects the sky, but not the sky 
 The lake. Varus, be worthy of thyself — 
 
 V. And of thy love, sweet child. Pardon, if 
 I forget that I grow old. 
 
 L. But thou art not 
 So very old : thou art not gray. 
 
 F. Nor blind. 
 
 Scene VI- 
 Varus. — Leda, Apostle Linus* bids me go 
 On mission to Achaia, and before — 
 
 Leda. — How can I bear my secret cross without 
 My only confidant ? 
 
 V. Thy only one? 
 * L. Of course, I don't forget the Christ. But 
 
 then — 
 V. Weep sot, deakest, at oue paetizstg ; 
 
 May we meet where Christ doth reign ! 
 Till then thou safe beneath God's wing 
 
 Wilt not bear a needless pain. 
 I am weak and might neglect thee ; 
 
 God is. God forevermore ! 
 Best it is to take thee from me — ■ 
 All He does we will adore. 
 
 * Linus, Bisliop of Rome. 
 
96 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Think not miles our hearts can sever ; 
 
 Love is like the air we breathe 
 In set courses running ever 
 
 And its bounds it may not leave. 
 When thy lone life seems the darkest 
 
 Know the sun approacheth thee ; 
 Then look above the mountain crest, 
 
 Day will soon break radiantly. 
 
 e'er the raging waves it beameth. 
 
 Tinted by bright rainbow-wings; 
 Day must be heralded by Death ; 
 
 E'en now Life night's changes rings. 
 Once landed on the steadfast shore 
 
 Trite will seem the woes of Time; 
 Then will our souls tog-ether soar 
 
 Grlorying in angels' chime. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 Leda alone. 
 
 I AM TIRED — LET ME SLEEP 
 
 Let the silence be deep! 
 Fresh earth over me heap ! 
 
 I am tired of pain, 
 
 And of smiles that but feign, 
 
 And of clouds in my brain. 
 
 I shall dream when I sleep ; 
 
 So let none for me weep 
 
 That damp worms o'er me creep ; 
 
ROME. 97 
 
 Them I shall never feel. 
 While the angels' chants peal 
 Their great joy o'er my weal. 
 
 I always love to dream; 
 
 Then thoughts with beauty teem, 
 
 And I'm better than I seem. 
 
 Calla. — Like simple child, she oft talks to herself ; 
 ISTo other confidant has she. I'll hark. 
 
 Lecla. — I ALONE awake to weep ! 
 Winter winds are hushed to sleep. 
 Earth's blest ones in slumber deep, 
 I alone awake to weep ! 
 
 The heated pillow cainiot cool my fevered cheek. 
 I find no sympathy but from yon moon 
 That goes so trustingly her Lord to seek. 
 This life is a hard school ; 
 But its probation will be over soon. 
 Oh, for the day when passions will grow cool 
 Beneath Christ's undisputed rule ! 
 For, then shall we the bliss of Eden share ; 
 The brightest jewels in our crowns the ills 
 That now, unmurmuring, we bear. 
 Because our Saviour wills. 
 
 My weary heart cannot anticipate ; 
 
 Her strength serves only to look back 
 
 Upon the ravages of Fate, 
 
 Or to watch present joy that dies. 
 
 Now I gaze on the moon with tear-dimmed eyes; 
 
 The clouds that look so black 
 
98 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Cannot impede her course to Heaven's high Gate. 
 
 Her glory oft can penetrate 
 
 The slirouding mist in wliich she lies. 
 
 Up ! up ! She mounts the skies ; 
 
 The zenith almost gained, 
 
 Her many sighs, that once her brightness stained, 
 
 Now but assist 
 
 To blow away the mist. 
 
 Before the footstool of her mighty Lord 
 
 Soon she will humbly bend; 
 
 My soul, her path attend ; 
 
 Like her, thou may'st win a reward. 
 
 Oh blessed, blessed sight ! 
 
 An image rises from the solemn night. 
 
 Is it the song of seraphs that I hear ? 
 
 No : but sweet voice is sounding in rny ear, 
 
 So like the music of another world, I know 
 
 That long' it cannot last. 
 
 Ah, Saviour, with the vision let me go 
 
 To thee ! Oh, leave me not to perisli in my woe ! 
 
 Eemembrance of the Past, 
 
 And fancies for the days to come, in embryo. 
 
 Are wrestling in my heart most painfully, 
 
 Now, Faith and Resignation, clasp your hands 
 
 More firmly round my breast ! Oh ! where are 
 
 ye? 
 Stop its pulsations with strong iron bands. 
 Or it will burst ! My God, give Thy commands. 
 Pray, still its painful throbbings ! I am weak. 
 Is there no place to hide from misery ? 
 Could I but hear the voice of Jesus speak. 
 
ROME. 99 
 
 Saying to my vexed soul, " Let there be peace ! " 
 
 Hark ! Hark ! Who speaks ? Oh, surely it is He— 
 
 Because the agony doth cease. 
 
 Saviour, my earliest and dearest Friend art Thou, 
 
 I cannot live without Thee now. 
 
 And he I love does Thee deny ; 
 
 Him I can live without ; without Thee I should 
 
 die. 
 The Cross impressed upon my brow 
 Is brighter than the fancied ring 
 Upon my eager hand. 
 I would not have him now 
 Lest he a curse should bring. 
 In the blest Spirit-Land 
 I shall be his, he mine ; 
 Both Thine, entirely Thine — 
 Because I think if I resign 
 Him unto Thee Thou'lt make him Thine. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Leda {sings). — Fathee, I am v^eaet. 
 
 Why must I linger here ? 
 In these caves so dreary 
 
 Is nothing bright to cheer. 
 Oh, how I long to lay 
 
 My head on mother's breast? 
 Dear Father, grant, I pray, 
 To me my mother's rest. 
 Calla.—Voor child! She mourns her mother 
 much. I'll give 
 A thought to gentle Marcus ; he shall hear 
 The next verse that shall fall most tremblingly, 
 
100 THE CLOUD OF WITJS'ESSES. 
 
 As if her voice and teai's were struggling hard 
 For mastery. Now, Leda, sadly sing. 
 
 ( While Leda sings, Marcus enters unperceived.) 
 
 L. FaTHEE, I AM LO]SrELT ; 
 
 A sister ne'er had I. 
 Had I brotlier only 
 
 I think I'd seldom sigh. 
 Father, send thy angels 
 
 Quickly from the sky ! 
 I would leave dreary cells 
 
 And with my mother fly. 
 Joy ! my heart is breaking, 
 
 So I shall soon be free, 
 And a brother seeking 
 
 My home will come to Thee. 
 Marcus. — Brother ? Leda, I will be 
 More than brother unto thee — 
 Brother, sister, mother, all ! 
 May I not thee sister call ? 
 L. Dost thou love the Grod I love ? 
 Never from these crypts wilt rove 
 To seek Eonian's paltry gold ? 
 Canst abide with Jesu's fold ? 
 These Catacombs thy life will cramp, 
 Their sunlight a smoky lamp. 
 Wilt thou follow to the death 
 Him who gavest thee thy breath? 
 M. Aye ; I will abide with thee 
 In life and Eternity ; 
 And no place to me is dai'k. 
 While to thy sweet tones I hark. 
 
ROME. 101 
 
 L. Not for love of me thou wilt; 
 
 JesLi's blood for tliee was spilt; 
 
 Canst thou turn thee from His grace, 
 
 But to win a pretty face ? 
 
 Thou hast heard my mother's tale ; 
 
 Little did the. rack avail ; 
 
 She lay beauteous body down 
 
 On a Cross and won a Crown.* 
 M. As shadows through the sunlight flit, 
 
 Grazing on thee, I've thought of it. 
 
 Wondered if thou could'st ever be 
 
 Martyred. Tut! who could martyr thee? 
 L. Such as crucified my Lord, 
 
 Such as mother bound with cord 
 
 To the rack, 'mid vile abuse. 
 
 Not forever is this truce 
 
 Though one tyrant lies in dust ; 
 
 In no emperor we trust. 
 
 And if Satan seems to sleep, 
 
 'Tis that dreams o'er us may creep. 
 M. If there is a God above 
 
 He'll reward thee for thy love : 
 
 Never will He let man slay 
 
 Beauty brighter than the day. 
 L. Thee I'll brother call no more; 
 
 Such words heard I ne'er before. 
 
 Go away, and let me pray. 
 
 Sinful thoughts have I to-day. 
 M. Art thou kind to bid me hence ? 
 
 Nay, I won't bear this suspense ! 
 
 Leave this quarry ; come with me. 
 
 * I believe William Penn first wrote, " No Cross no Crown." 
 
102 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Now from presbyters be free ; 
 Bishop shall outwitted be, 
 Never more his prey shall see. 
 Hold ! Thou shalt not run away ; 
 Yes, sweet Christian ! Thou may'st pray ; 
 Eyes like thine, turned upward, seem 
 Like sweet visions in a dream. 
 • Scream not, or I'll kiss thee more. 
 Venus, help! Ha! The air-door! 
 ****** 
 Now, my fair one, breathe the air ; 
 How it revels in thy hair! 
 But, look up, my pretty flower ! 
 Not for shame shall thy head cower. 
 Look up, Sweet, I am thy slave. 
 As thou wishest I'll behave j 
 Will not kiss thee, till I sue 
 And obtain indulgence due ; 
 Thou'lt be mistress of my home, 
 Greatest tyrant in all Eome. 
 Oh ! thy cheek is very cold ; 
 Has my fierce love seemed too bold ! 
 Jupiter, all blessings shed 
 On this lovely, drooping head! 
 Look up. Sweet ; we're nearly home. 
 Fainted ? No soft breath doth come 
 From those lips, like faded rose. 
 Venus, thanks ! Her eyes unclose. 
 
 Scene IX. — In a Roman palace. 
 
 Leda {alo7ie). — It may be strange that I, a woman 
 weak. 
 
BOME. 103 
 
 Should thus be in his power^ yet feel no fear ; 
 
 Bat a sweet Voice, as indistinct as dreams, 
 
 But powerful as light that drives away 
 
 The hordes of fears that congregate at night, 
 
 Speaks to my heart, and these the words it breathes, 
 
 " Fear not ; for Grod ' doth give an angel charge 
 
 Concerning thee,' and thou shalt be preserved 
 
 From strength of man by superhuman arm." 
 
 Thus I know G-od is near, and feel no fear. 
 
 How shall I be released ? I cannot tell ; 
 
 But what must be my fate full well I know. 
 
 And I shall die, as did the one who gave 
 
 Me birth. I know that persecution hath 
 
 Begun again ; from portico I saw 
 
 Some tortured victims going to be crowned 
 
 With martyrdom ; theirs was to be a death 
 
 That I should like ; no ravenous wild beasts 
 
 To terrify the nerves, no raging fires 
 
 To scorch the ling'ring life, but cooling waves 
 
 To soothe the mangled limbs and fevered brow. 
 
 Would I might go thus to an easy death ! 
 
 JSTo ! no ! oh, Grod, hear not that thoughtless prayer ! 
 
 Thou only know'st what martyrdom is apt 
 
 To waken Marcus from his foolish dream. 
 
 And break the spell my untouched beauty holds 
 
 Upon his life; let lions trample it 
 
 In the vile dust, and panthers scorn its grace, 
 
 And maddened men who'll come to see me die. 
 
 Insensible to its crushed power, hoot at 
 
 My agonies if this will break the spell 
 
 That makes his fallen heart like unto grim 
 
 And frightful demon's haunt! Oh. Father! could 
 
104 TRE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 My beauty, rising from the blazing fire, 
 Ascending to thy Heayen, lure his heart there, 
 Then should I bless the face that now I loathe. 
 Too willingly, did I believe that he 
 Had been "new-born." Alas! how could a child 
 Un stung know that the bee, which kindly made 
 'Delicious honey for her daily food, 
 Would sting the hand that pressed the flower be- 
 cause 
 That bloomed for both ? Oh, I loved him too well ! 
 No ; not too well, for I loved God still more. 
 And having given all my heart to Christ 
 It mattered not how much I gave to liim. 
 I can not love him as his Saviour loves ; 
 But I will die upon the rack as my 
 Blest mother had so nearly done, ere I 
 Shall be the cause of farther sin in him. 
 Christ died for him, and so will I. Blest boon ! 
 Sweet privilege! Jesus gave up a home 
 Of glory for a tent of clay ; but how 
 Am I to make a sacrifice ? for 1 
 Shall give a barred-up cage for liberty 
 Secure, and joy as boundless as my fresh 
 And buoyant life will be. Father, how soon ? 
 
 Scene X. — A Boman soldier enters. 
 
 Dives. — Art thou a Christian maid ? I prithee 
 tell 
 Me nay ; for my lord now is raging as 
 A lion when at bay. 
 
 Leda. — He ? Where is he ? 
 D. Safe, lady, and thy word can set him free. 
 
ROME. 105 
 
 L. Free! Free! They would not put a Eoman 
 lord 
 In durance for the sake of Christian maid ? 
 
 D. They would not care had he imprisoned thee 
 If thou hadst been a worshipper of Jove; 
 But it is said he harbors thee not as 
 A mistress fair — 
 
 L. How dai-'st? 
 
 D. Pardon, I pray ! 
 I'd rather see a sword flash o'er my head 
 Than such a glance. Art thou a sorceress. 
 As 'tis said Christians are? 
 
 L. ISTo, no ; may I 
 Just tell thee what I am ? 
 
 D. I would that I 
 Could linger through the day; but orders must, 
 My lady fair, now be obeyed. If thou 
 Wilt speak, speak quickly, and forgive my haste. 
 
 L. I am a Christian maid and worship Christ. 
 I'll tell thee Avho He is. Some years agone. 
 The "very God of God" pitied our race, 
 And wishing to redeem us from the death 
 Of souls in Hell, became a little child. 
 He thirty years and three dwelt on the earth ; 
 Then wicked men Him crucified, and thus 
 He died a sacrifice for sin. Soldier, 
 What need of holocaust such as thou mak'st 
 When God has oflFered thus one sacrifice 
 To save us from all sin, and win for us 
 Swifc entrance to the skies, where He hath gone ? 
 D. None, lady, none. But liow could a god die? 
 L. The Nature that He "took upon. " Himself 
 
106 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Conld not destroy the Grodhead shrined within 
 More than a bear's skin would make thee a beast. 
 Nor conld the sacrificing of the form 
 Of man profane the Grod; if they should tear 
 Thy garments off and burn them, would it harm 
 Thy life? 
 
 D. Oh, no ! But how could Grod love man 
 So very much ? 
 
 L. Our Grod infinite is, 
 D. Greater than Jupiter or Ares is ? 
 L. Can your gods talk to you? Your idols walk? 
 Our Grod did both before the eyes of man ; 
 Nor was that all ; after He died He came 
 To life again, and in a cloud went up 
 To his great Throne ; there shall I follow Him, 
 As I desire, after the Judgment-Day. 
 
 D. And so would I if I believed all this, 
 And knew that he had loved and died for me. 
 None ever loved me more than I could serve 
 To please some whim. 
 
 L. He loved thee well enough 
 To leave His Home in Heaven and die for thee. 
 
 D. Perhaps this is a pretty fable of 
 Thy priests. How shall I know its truth ? 
 
 L. Think'st thou 
 I'd die for such a God unless I knew 
 All that I thee have told? 
 
 D. Then thon wilt die ? 
 L. Of course. Could I deny the Lord who died 
 For me ? Here kneel and I shall pray that He 
 May manifest His truth unto thy heart. 
 
 {Both hneel) 
 
BO ME. 107 
 
 L. Father, a weary sinner asks for light. 
 Eeveal to him Thy love. Oh ! make him see 
 That martyrs would not die so willingly, 
 Unless they knew for what they die, and knew 
 The life beyond, a fit reward for all 
 The woes of this. Saviour, Thou promised'st 
 To grant the prayer made in Thy ISTame— I ask 
 In that great Kame this soldier's soul. I know 
 In Thine own time l^hou'lt draw him unto Thee. 
 
 D. Christ! God! God crucified! Man gone to 
 Heaven, 
 Hear me ! (Can'st Thou ?) Hear what she asks. 
 
 L. He will. 
 He always answers prayer ; He said he would. 
 
 {Three soldiers rush in and seize both 
 while on their knees.) 
 
 Scene XL — A Roman prison. 
 
 {Marciis TcneeUng to Leda.) 
 
 Marcus. — There is but oue hour more of grace. 
 
 'Leda. A whole 
 Eternity. Dear Marcus, rise. Be not 
 So mad. I will not save my life. Would' st thou 
 Respect and love me more, were I to prove 
 A traitor to my vows ? 
 
 M. 'Tis thus thou lov'st. 
 L. If emperor would seize my person, say 
 Unless I would renounce thy love and curse 
 Thy name he would put me to death, should I 
 Be nobler then if I should yield me to 
 His love and give up thee ? 
 
 M. Hush! Hush! I can't 
 
108 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 L. And shall I treat a God as it would be 
 Disgrace to treat a man ? No, not to saye 
 Thy life — much less mine own. 
 
 3L Darling ! Dost love 
 My life more than thine own! Speak. Speak again. 
 
 L. I love thee more than anght except ray God. 
 One kiss, my love ! The torturer now comes. 
 One is enough. No more. Henceforth my prayers 
 Sliall all be for thyself; God will take care 
 Of me. I do not fear. Ah, yes ! I fear — 
 But I love more. When I have gone up to 
 My Home thou'lt learn to love my Lord. 
 
 {One of the executioners seize her.) 
 
 M. Hold ! Hold, bold slave ! Darest to touch a 
 lord ? 
 
 L. Darling, be still. Thou know'st he has the 
 right 
 To wrench me from thy arms. Stranger, I'll go 
 With thee. Let him but kiss me once, and he 
 More calm will be. God bless thee, love ! I know 
 He will, and knowing this I'll die with joy. 
 My new friend, I am glad to see that tear — 
 Not for my sake, but thine. Now promise me 
 If when I suflfer I make no loud groan, 
 Thou'lt seek to learn about the Lord for whom 
 I die. Marcus, thou'lt teach this man for me. 
 
 Executioner. — ^iropagQ how these Christians die, 
 and little seem 
 To think of their own agonies if they 
 Can thereby save a soul from death and Hell, 
 As they oft say ! Lady, I'll think of this. 
 
 {He gently leads Leda away.) 
 
BOME. 109 
 
 Scene XII. 
 
 {Marcus, alone; faints and sees a vision 
 of souls in Tartarus * and of Leda 
 in Paradise, * hechoning to Mm to 
 folloio her. A crystal gate 02)ens and 
 he heholds for a minute ravishing 
 glories, hut suddenly is shut out from 
 her. He is aroused hy a man, toho 
 brings the dying Leda in his arms.) 
 Executioner. — She will not suffer long ; the last 
 wrench of 
 The instrument has done our work too soon. 
 Leda. — Poor man! May God forgive thee as 
 
 I do. 
 Ex. Of me thou w^ould'st make convert now. 
 Thou shalt do no such thing. The man who led 
 Thee hence asked mercy for thy pangs, and got 
 For his reward a scotirgiug. I'll no more 
 Of thy sweet words. 
 
 {Marcus strikes him.) 
 L. Dearest, be calm. I shall 
 Soon be at rest. Oh, pity him, my God ! 
 He suffers more than I. Darling, say thou 
 Believ'st in God ! 
 
 Marcus. — I'd curse Him if I did. 
 Ex. It is all over now, and thou wert right 
 To kill her soon. She is too beautiful 
 And delicate to be torn limb from limb, 
 By savage beasts that have not fed to-day. 
 Like frozen orange-flower she droops upon 
 
 * See note A. 
 
110 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Thy breast. Best lay her down, or she will freeze 
 Thy heart out ere her body can be burned. 
 To see her in the great arena would 
 Have been a spectacle for gods and lords. 
 She's more like goddess now than Venus is. 
 But when I bore her here I knew that she 
 "Would never grace the Coliseum's sands. 
 
 Scene- XIII. In Paradise. 
 
 Calla. — Glory ! Glory ! Glory be to the Lord ! 
 
 A chorus of angels. — Glory to God ! 
 
 Leda. — Glory! Where is my God ? 
 
 C. There ! There ! I lay thee in Christ's arms. 
 
 L. Saviour! 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 
 Marcus {Alone). — Go, Memory ! I weary of thy 
 power ; 
 Thou hast cast pall o'er many a hapless hour. 
 Avaunt! Thou tyrant of my heart, avaunt! 
 'Tis cruel thus my midnight hours to haunt. 
 Oft', Memory ! I will not be thy slave. 
 Alas ! a heart that can forget I crave. 
 I never hear a voice as sweet and low 
 As distant waters' gently-sighing flow, 
 But my pulse bounds her long-lost tones to hear; 
 Then, shivering, draws back in dreamy fear. 
 Of thy dread hiss, thou hateful Memory ! 
 Thy throne my brain, thy sceptre agony. 
 Thou hast sworn to avenge the wrongs of Love, 
 And often, plaintively as the wood-dove, 
 Thou flap'stthy horrid wings my eyes athwart 
 
ROME. Ill 
 
 And tortur'^st Avitli all thy well-learned art. 
 Woe unto him whose breast is thy pet cage ! 
 There is no Lethe can his grief assuage. 
 Sometimes I think that snrely thou hast flown, 
 And rashly laugh — the echo is a moan ; 
 Sometimes I try to sing, and drown thy tone ; 
 Alas ! I hear then only sadder moan ; 
 Or gay, or sad, in crowds, o]' quite alone, 
 Each word, each thought is echoed by a moan. 
 
 Scene XV. 
 
 ( Varus singing in the Catacortibs : Mar- 
 cus unpei'ceived.) 
 Varus. — Sleeping with the lilies. 
 Thou art free from pain, 
 I care not for my loss. 
 Thinking of thy gain. 
 
 Thy hands were too dainty 
 
 To win daily bread. 
 Jesus knew that, sweet one ! 
 
 Therefore, thou art dead. 
 
 Thy feet were too timid 
 For rough walks of men ; 
 
 Therefore, thou art resting 
 In a quiet glen. 
 
 Thy heart was too tender 
 For cross frowns and words, 
 
 So o'er thee is floating 
 Music of the birds. 
 
112 THE CLOUD OF WITNESS SS. 
 
 Now I scarcely miss thee, 
 
 For my heart is dead : 
 In so deep a sorrow 
 
 Minor griefs have fled. 
 
 But I should like to hear, 
 Through my prison-bars, 
 
 Loving words, like thine, 
 Floating from the stars. 
 
 ( Varus ceases his song as he hears a 
 stealthy footstep. In a feio moments 
 he sees Marcus.) 
 
 V. As thou hast taken the best half of life, 
 I willingly shall give the other half 
 
 Marcus. — Oh, man, by all the love that thou hast 
 felt 
 For her, I pray thee pity my despair! 
 Look at my haggard face, and then fear if 
 Thou canst. Remorse consumes my nights, and love 
 My days. She told me how thou comfortest. 
 Now improvise for me, that I may sleep 
 Ere the day dawns, or else I shall go mad. 
 
 V. Sad weeper, what's hid 
 Beneath this close lid ? 
 
 One of the fairest, 
 Death, that thou wearest. 
 
 But pray tell me who. 
 And what did she do ? 
 
BO ME. 113 
 
 Wlio ? One who hath cried, 
 Laughed, languished, and died. 
 
 But wilt not tell me 
 Who your friend may be ? 
 
 A woman — no more ! — 
 Who two crosses bore. 
 
 Two crosses — that's sad. 
 Why two hath she had ? 
 
 Her God gave her one 
 When life was begun. 
 
 Then He gave her strength 
 To bear it life's length. 
 
 The other Love gave : 
 What from it could save ? 
 
 Ah ! tell me no more ; 
 I seal the last door. 
 
 But she is too fair 
 To shut from the air. 
 
 I'll keep her in peace 
 Where Love's torments cease. 
 
 Thou'lt keep her ? Ah ! where ? 
 Remember, she's fair. 
 
114 THE CLOUD OF WITNE8SE8. 
 
 That doth her God know, 
 And He saw her woe. 
 
 But what will she do 
 Where all things are new ? 
 
 Is Love ever new 
 
 To earth's faithful few? 
 
 Thou mean'st all is Love 
 In God's world above. 
 
 Hearts loving find strange 
 Naught where she will range. 
 
 She, timid, will cower 
 
 Like chilled hot-house flower — 
 
 That's carried back where 
 It breathes native air. 
 
 Then seal up the lid; 
 Awhile she is hid, 
 
 But to come again — 
 Our God will say when. 
 
 M. {groans.) I cannot bear this long. I shall 
 die soon. 
 
 Y. NON"E AKE so UlSTBLEST As I. 
 
 Oft a worn-out heart cloth sigh, 
 Thinking not of angels by. 
 
ROME. 115 
 
 Ah ! if it could only see 
 What a brilliant company 
 Hangs over path so dreary ! 
 
 It might then feel less regret 
 At the little ills that fret, 
 And the greater ones forget. 
 
 Was it only for awhile 
 
 'Twould be swee't to let the smile 
 
 Of an angel grief beguile. 
 
 Scene XV I. 
 
 Ttoo years have elapsed since the last scene. 
 
 Marcus {alone). — Ah ! It is ik vaik ! 
 So I strive no more. 
 I feel I cannot rend the clanking chain 
 That binds to a " body of death "' my heart ; 
 I strove to think that Love's vision was o'er, 
 And my darling and I at' last could part, 
 And I could awake to some other themes — 
 How foolish the feverish effort seems ! 
 
 IsTot pleasure nor health 
 
 Not learning nor wealth, 
 
 Not love nor beauty 
 
 Bring Lethe to me. 
 Each pulse of my heart the same dirge doth sing, 
 While earth, with its all, is a buried thing, 
 And she I love the only one alive. 
 Yes, my true Friend liveth for evermore ; 
 Forgive me, God, that on earth I can strive 
 For love of life never — ah, nevermore ! 
 
116 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 LAST LINES TO MY LOVS. 
 
 I feel thy spiritual presence like 
 A weight, that lies too heavy on my mind, 
 And desperate Resolve rises in Work's 
 Defence, thy phantom-presence far to fright. 
 In looking back upon these years, I find 
 Too many happy days were given up 
 To dreams of thee ; so Conscience says the hours 
 I have thus wasted are forever lost 
 To the dear Crucified. Is incense of 
 My heart, that should perfume worshippiugly 
 The golden air of Heaven, to be by 
 Memory tossed before a dear Saint's * shrine ? 
 By follower of Christ an earthly love 
 Thus Deified ? She was too dearly loved 
 And, therefore, early lost. It is not well 
 For Memory, like an idolater, 
 Before a mortal's spirit thus to bow 
 The idle knee- as though a woman were 
 Being Divine. Alas ! my heart, too long 
 Thou roved'st 'mid the trackless, brilliant stars 
 Til at silver thy youth's firmament, hoping 
 To find the wanderer. Knowest thou not 
 Bars immaterial cannot be rent 
 By an idolater ? Bid Memory 
 Her censer break at Jesus's feet; then, like 
 Leper defiled, show thyself to thy great 
 High Priest ; He'll cleanse thee, and thou wilt be 
 clean, 
 
 * Worship of canonized saints had not begun. All 
 early Christians were called saints. 
 
ROME. 117 
 
 So, like a little child, thou wilt forget 
 
 The days that thou hast seen, and calmly wait 
 
 For those that are to be — to be for aye. 
 
 * * * ^; * ^ 
 
 My pair Saint, this kight fold thy wiisrG. 
 Oh, Darling, I am weary; sing ! 
 Am I to hear thee nevermore ? 
 As loving as it Avas of yore 
 Let me hear thy voice's music. 
 Ah ! my poor heart beats loud and quick 
 But at the very hope I name. 
 Darling, come now, and be the same 
 In my soft slumbers of to-night 
 As thou appeared'st when first my sight 
 Gladdened with the glow responsive. 
 Showing that our two hearts would live 
 Henceforth each one for other's sake, 
 Bound by such ties as griefs would make. 
 Come thou in a chastened glory;- 
 Tell me thy celestial story: 
 I shall listen and believe thee, — 
 No more shall my teasing grieve thee. 
 Let me see thee! see thee! see thee! 
 Come to me in this night's vision ; 
 Far and long thou hast strayed from me. 
 Fold now o'er me thy soft pinion ; 
 Nearly six years have I hid thee 
 Deep down within my secret heart — 
 Darling, it has almost killed me ; 
 And yet I cannot from thee part. 
 I should like to-night to see thee 
 Wheresoever thou dost wander. 
 
118 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I must leave my earth-home, weary 
 Of the youth I may not ponder 
 "With hopefulness and joy of old; 
 AVeary, dear one, yes, of all things, 
 And seemiug stern, far-off and cold ; 
 For my parched soul still to thee clings 
 Witl) strength not even death can chill— 
 Tlie good God cannot have the will. 
 Led a, come to-night to see me; 
 If I could I should haste to thee. 
 Now ask the Christ to let me dream 
 Of thee, and see thine eyes' fond gleam. 
 
 Dear Saviour, let thy Leda roam 
 Just this one night to my lone home. 
 That to despair I mayn't succumb ! 
 
 {After kneeling long Marcus rises and sings :) 
 
 Father, " Thy kingdom come ! " No moke I'll 
 
 ROAM, 
 
 Weary of all without, I look within 
 And find my soul as deeply stained by sin ; 
 Dear Father, take me to a sinless Home. 
 
 Father, " Thy kingdom come ! " No more I'll 
 roam ! 
 To be blest without is to be pure within : 
 Eden means a place where dwelleth no sin. 
 
 Dear Father, take me to a siuIqss Home ! 
 
 How dare I pray eor rest ere I have Bwm 
 Arrested, tortured, put to death as she 
 
ROME. 119 
 
 Whose martyrdom I caused? Ob, could I die! 
 Because she did, I know that God forgives. 
 
 Now TO ME EXISTENCE, 
 
 Fallen from its high state. 
 Is a deadening weight; 
 Crushing every sense 
 Into listless pain, 
 That weighs upon my brain. 
 
 Alas ! my heart is sore ; 
 
 And e'en the bright sunlight 
 
 Wearies my eyes ; the night 
 Now pleases me much more. 
 
 For, ever in my heart cloth reign 
 The memory of joys now o'er ; 
 
 It turns each pleasant thing to pain. 
 The \ ery world to me seems hoar. 
 
 Eemorse on my heart lies 
 
 Like winter on the earth ; 
 
 The birds have hushed their mirth; 
 Each flow'ret droops and dies; 
 Ice streamlets sun delies ; 
 
 Every tree is bare ; 
 
 Snow is everywhere. 
 
 The little children cease to play 
 Where they can find no flowers of May. 
 Sweet pleasures flee afar from me 
 And leave me, tortured corpse, with thee. 
 
120 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene XVII.—In Gatacomis ; Midnight. 
 
 Varus. — How happy is she now! How deso- 
 late 
 Am I ! The dove that nestled in my heart 
 Was lamed by wanton boy : Death rescued her — 
 But her earth-songs, like the last Summer's birds, 
 Will cheer these Autumn days and nights. 
 
 {Marcus enters). — May I dare come again to talk 
 with thee ? 
 For I must talk of her, and long to hear 
 Thee speak of her, although I'm jealous of 
 The love thou feel'st for her. But she loved both. 
 
 V. She to my heart belongs by Memory's 
 Sole sovereign right to all the blissful dreams 
 That star the gath'ring night of bachelor's 
 Abyss of hoarded reveries. 
 
 M. I used 
 To think thy thoughts ne'er wandered far from 
 
 Christ's 
 Safe company. 
 
 V. Oonjecturest that He 
 Is e'er alone ? If a bird warbles in 
 A tree, and I sit quietly to hear, do I 
 Forsake the tree because I close my eyes 
 A moment ? Oh ! Her sweet eye was most like 
 A distant-passing star, seeming to move 
 Nearer to God as it insensibly 
 Leaves our poor earth. That by despair and 
 
 spleen 
 I might not be defiled, our Father laid 
 Her when a tiny babe deep in the depths 
 
ROME. 121 
 
 Of youthful, wounded heart. I vowed that by 
 
 His grace I of the Church would make her part : 
 
 And she is fair enough to bloom e'en on 
 
 Christ's Breast. God never breaks the web of love 
 
 Begun by pure hands in this world to shield 
 
 Them from the littleness of daily life ; 
 
 And Death but lifts it high above earth-damps 
 
 And hangs it close to heaven, the tapestry 
 
 Where lie immortal all best memories 
 
 In steadfast tints of softest imagery. 
 
 Her almost viewless wings us strive to reach ; 
 
 They to remembrance bring the rosy snow : 
 
 Her hand, like flower about to fall, reflects 
 
 Soft light of a rose-hue on our wet cheeks; 
 
 She drops celestial bloom down at our feet. 
 
 M. She oft has told me that thy love for her 
 Was the first sunrise that her heart recalled. 
 
 V. She never knew how feelings changed when 
 she 
 Had quickly grown to woman's vantage-ground. 
 I taught her girlhood all that I could teach 
 From memory and from the books I could 
 Not lose — the earth aud sky. When next we meet 
 She will teach me far more than I taught her. 
 Did her sweet body bear in death the marks 
 Of torture ? 
 
 M. When I first could think of how 
 She looked, I was reminded of the shells 
 She treasured as her gems — too frail, but fair. 
 Though cruel Life had drowned the spirit, it 
 Had left the lovely shell a waif upon 
 My shipwrecked heart, to murmur of the past. 
 
122 THE CLOUD OF WimESSES. 
 
 V. Not of the past, but of the future think. 
 Caust thou see the triumphal hosts of souls 
 That pass unceasingly upon the bridge 
 Where makes the enemy his last attack ? 
 And as each Christian conqueror, be he 
 Adult or child, sets trembling feet upon 
 The farther marge, the blare of trumpets of 
 Celestial host, led by his guardian, 
 Ascends to God, and blows apart the gates 
 That shut in Eden ; angels' wings form grand 
 Triumphal arch, beneath which pass the Saved. 
 
 M. Angels have met with sweetest smiles my love. 
 She smiles with them, and waves the palm ; but she 
 Forgets the Cross she leaves to us. 
 
 V. To us ! 
 Thank God ! Thou wilt take up the Cross that she 
 Let fall? 
 
 M. Perhaps I long to emulate 
 Her faith and truth. God, if I could make 
 Atonement to her manes ! I dare not 
 Offer such insult to a Christian maid. 
 I sometimes think of tortures that she bore 
 Until my brain is mad. 
 
 F. But at the end 
 The fragrant dews of death dropped on her limbs, 
 Mangled and hot, like dew on flowers that some 
 Unwitting child has crushed, but could not kill. 
 
 M. My pure, white jessamine, that I broke from 
 Its sheltered stem, and hoped, to graft upon 
 An ancient root ! My frozen jessamine — 
 
 V. The Saviour lifted to His Breast, and thence 
 Receiving a new life, fresh fragrance she 
 
ROME. 123 
 
 Showers on our hearts. 
 
 M. If but in fancy I 
 Could see her as thou dost ! I must see her. 
 
 V. If thou dost wish again to be with her, 
 But learn to love her Home, and thrust aside 
 The mortal screen now interposed between 
 Ye. Ever she now j.oys in fresh delight, 
 Free of all pain and inclination to 
 One sin. We can not realize all these 
 Words mean. Let essence of her life pervade 
 Thy heart, as lasts the perfume of dead flower. 
 
 M. I can not think of her as mouldered clay. 
 
 V. I never do. She is not in the tomb. 
 
 M. Talk on. Oh, I long to believe as thou! 
 
 V. As music of a stream that falls down hill 
 Mingles with birds' notes, so her voice will flow 
 From the eternal height of blessedness 
 And mingle with thy life. The thoughts of her 
 Will be thy daily bread till thou art strong 
 Enough to feel that there are none so blest 
 As those who keep good Spirits company. 
 
 Scene XVIII. 
 Mazza and Calla. 
 Mazza. — Calla, where goest thou ? 
 
 Calla. — To take some news 
 To Leda of her love. 
 
 M. It must be good — ■ 
 Thy face is glorious. 
 
 G. The Nazarene 
 Has conquered by a woman's beauty and 
 Her bravery. Marcus I knew might be 
 
124 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Eedeemed; a spirit strong as liis would be 
 An honor to Christ's Church, I said, and so 
 It proves. He has gone forth to preach, the Death 
 Of Jesus to a land distant from his: 
 And he, who was so delicattdy reared, now wears 
 The simple dress of Jesus's priests; and he, 
 Who his own sandals once Avonld not untie, 
 Now bears the weight of a rougli cross and is 
 Without a home ; his palace is possessed 
 By those who Led a did betray; and he 
 Spends his life, night and day, in serving God. 
 With him two deacons are, one his old slave 
 With whom my Leda knelt, the other man 
 An executioner, once scourged because 
 He begged for mercy when they wrenched her 
 limbs. 
 
 M. How glad will Leda be that tortured was 
 She on the earth ! Satan, feeble is 
 Thy policy ! Short-sighted is thy hate ! 
 Did Marcus not reproach himself that he 
 Bore Leda from the Catacombs wherein 
 She was concealed ? 
 
 C. Remorse Avould make to him 
 A future retribution light, but that he says, 
 " Thus Grod doth make mad passions of a man 
 Praise Him." When I went in room where he sat, 
 He was repeating verses that I learned 
 To say to Leda. Would'st thou like to hear ? 
 
 M. Aye, verily. 
 
 The ckoss is ojst my brow impebssed; 
 It cannot be erased, 
 
MAPPALIGUS AND BONA. 125 
 
 Though it may blighter grow, or else 
 
 Sorely may be defaced. , 
 If mortals' eyes the sign see not, 
 
 Grod and His angels do ; 
 And whether it is dim. or clear 
 
 Know Satan and his crew. 
 If on the earth I keep it bright, 
 
 'Twill be my crown for aye. 
 But if I let sin blacken it, 
 
 'Twill add to my dismay ; 
 For I should have to carry it 
 
 Through endless days of Hell, 
 Branded in black of grimy hue. 
 
 That it to friends may tell 
 That I was worse than were the Jews 
 
 Who nailed Christ to the cross; 
 They "knew not what they did;" but I 
 
 Their cruelty endorse. 
 Thought horrible ! Saviour mine, 
 
 Keep my Cross bright, whate'er 
 Chastisement necessary is. 
 
 My King, keep Thy mark clear. 
 
 Drama VI. 
 MAPPALIGUS AND BONA. 
 
 MAETTES, A. D. 250 (OIE). 
 
 Act I.: Scene I. 
 {Persecution at Cartilage under Decius.) 
 Haniel. — Oh ! even on the sin-dyed earth are m.eii 
 Dearer to nie than angels are in Heaven. 
 
126 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Falleen. — 'Tis strange thou feelest so. 
 
 H. I love to watch 
 The power of godliness contending with 
 The power of Hell. I'll tell thee what I heard 
 A short time since : the air of Carthage then 
 Was softened bj the waving of the wings 
 Of rosy-footed visitants, who like 
 To throng where persecutions rage that they 
 May see how great the grace of God, whose strength 
 They have no chance to prove. 
 
 F. What did'st thou see ? 
 
 H. Tortured was Mappalicus for his faith ; 
 Men pitied, but we, angels, gloried more. 
 
 F. I have oft thought 'twas well we never knew 
 What anguish is. How else could we stand by 
 To wait the mortal end of agony ? 
 
 H. For shame ! The men of earth who bear the 
 most 
 Are strongest to observe the woes of men, 
 Because they know of recompense that will 
 Be theirs. I think we went together once 
 To Greece to watch athletes preparing for 
 Olympic games ; fathers and mothers urged 
 Their sons to bear, not only patiently 
 sBut joyfully, the preparations for 
 The coming struggle for a fading crown. 
 
 F. And the crown that we wait to give to those 
 Who conquer in the strife with Satan's slaves 
 Can never wilt ; 'twill freshen ev'ry time 
 That any one who looks on it will think 
 Of the great hour when it was won. 
 
 H. Hea,r what 
 
MAPPALIGU8 AND BONA. 127 
 
 My liero said, "To-morrow ye shall see 
 A contest for a prize." 
 
 F. A man to win ! 
 
 H. He gained bis life in conflict tlie next day. 
 
 F. Did any others walk to glory o'er 
 That sea of blood ? 
 
 H. Aye, many did ; but more 
 Were left to keep alive the faith. Bona, 
 By Pagan husband dragged to sacrifice. 
 Had her hands held and guided as though she 
 I'^alse gods adored ; her words they could not force. 
 Undaunted by the fear of torture and 
 Of death, aloud she cried, " I did it not ; 
 That ye have done ! " The tyrant banished her: 
 Then I rejoiced and thought of little birds 
 Which carry seeds of precious plants to drop 
 In foreign soil, and gladden weeping eyes. 
 
 F. Why, thinkest thou, doth Grod permit such 
 woes 
 To be inflicted on His struggling Church ? 
 
 H. Hast ever been to earth when He has let 
 A heathen emperor send many souls 
 To Him at once ? The air is then sublime. 
 In time of peace the Church is like the lake 
 Whose waters, calm and beautiful, reflect 
 The glow of heaven ; angels look down and say, 
 This pleaseth us ; for it is very fair. 
 And as tlie lake that doth reflect the skies 
 Is like the Church, I fancy that the land 
 Around is like the world outside tlie Fold; 
 The scum about the shores, although it is 
 l5;i,thed by the lucid waves, still savors of 
 
128 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The land ; also are some witliia the Church 
 
 '■ Of earth earthy " and base ; 'tis fit such should 
 
 Be cast from holy Mother's bosom pure. 
 
 H. 'Tis true, and I could almost deem thou hast 
 Foreseen the parallel I am about 
 To draw. 
 
 F. Not so. 
 
 H. The rank earth, envious 
 Of placid lake, whose purity rebukes 
 Her pestilential breath, withdraws her firm 
 Support, that unexpectedly the lake 
 May have its calmness dashed in seething deeps. 
 'Tis so the great Niagara doth plunge 
 Down the abyss; its quiet life is o'er ; 
 But chainless and ethereal the spray 
 Leaps up to be received into the clouds — 
 The chariots of G-od. 
 
 F. In doing this 
 It purifies the air : I see what thou 
 Dost mean ; when the base earth would fain withdraw 
 Her grudged support, she thinks to plunge the 
 
 Church 
 Into abyss of nothingness ; but souls 
 Eedeemed to our embraces fly, and them 
 We bear to God. 
 
 H. After Niagara 
 Hath been cast down from almost regal state 
 Of quietude, where is earth's colored scum 
 That once defiled her skirts ? 
 
 F. Seething in dark 
 And terrible despair in whirlpool grim. 
 February 14, 1863. 
 
MAPPALICU8 AND BONA. 129 
 
 Act II. 
 
 THE BOY CYHIL OF ALEXANDRIA, A.D. 250. 
 
 Parralie. — Hail, gentle oaes ! I'll lie upon my 
 wings 
 Awhile with ye. 
 
 Haniel-^-'We greet thee lovingly. 
 
 Falleeji. — Where hast thou been ? 
 
 P. In Alexandria, 
 To welcome mortals to immortal life. 
 
 H. Tell us what thou hast seen. I never can 
 Grow weary while I listen to the tales 
 Of the great love and courage of the Saints. 
 Are many more to be tormented there ? 
 
 P. The art of man in Alexandria 
 Too often hath been baffled by a child 
 Or woman weak, wliom they can't make deny 
 The Lord. The end of all their tortures is 
 To demonstrate how very strong and firm 
 Is Christian faith, e'en when contested by 
 The artifice that Satan lends. The rest 
 Of the poor victims will be put to death 
 Without a chance to throw contempt on fire 
 And sword and diabolic instrument. 
 
 H. And so hath the Lord triumphed in His 
 Saints. 
 
 P. Winging my glad return to Heaven I passed 
 Caesarea, and there I saw a siglit 
 That would enrapture thee, who lovest well 
 Christ's little ones. 
 
 //. Oh, tell me, then ! There are 
 No histories I like so well as those 
 
130 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Which prove how weak is man's or demon's power 
 In presence of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 P. I think, 
 angel Haniel ! that this was shown 
 Most heantifully in a little child. 
 Csesarea, in Oappadocia, claims 
 The honor of this hero's birth. " He called 
 Continually on the Name of Christ ; " 
 Nor could harsh threats, or cruel blows, 
 Prevent him from avowing openly 
 Jesus is Godji. His father drove him from 
 His home. 
 
 F. Alas ! Ere long that man will sigh 
 In vain to claim him for his son. 
 
 P. Children 
 Abused the little, homeless boy. To Court 
 The judge then bade him to be brought, and 
 
 said, 
 " Your faults I'll pardon, child ; your father shall 
 Again receive his son, and you shall have 
 His wealth, provided you are wise, and take 
 Care of your interest." 
 
 "I joy to bear 
 Reproaches," Cyril said, " and God will me 
 Receive. I am not sorry that from my 
 Old home I am expelled. A better one 
 I'll have. I fear not death, because it will 
 But introduce me to a better life." 
 They bound the little boy, and led him off, 
 As though to suifer death, hoping that sight 
 Of fire might overcome resolve. '"'Cyril 
 Remained inflexible." The judge still tried 
 
MAPPALICOS AND BONA. 131 
 
 To fright the child, who said, " Your fire and 
 
 sword 
 Are insignificant ; to better house 
 I go ; to riches far more excellent ; 
 Dispatch me presently that them I may- 
 Enjoy." Then the spectators wept. " Eather 
 Ye should rejoice," he said, " conducting me 
 To death ; ye know not Ivhat a city I 
 Shall go to dwell in now, nor what my hope." 
 Thus bravely went he to his death. 
 
 H. Oh, child 
 Beloved of angel-hearts ! I shall now haste 
 With joy to find the hero-boy, and press 
 Him in my arms. Is not a child like this 
 Greater than we ? 
 
 F. And did not he obey 
 Judge's command to " take care of his own 
 Best interests ? " 
 
 H. Yes ; wealth untold is his. 
 
 ACT III. : Scene I. 
 
 ST. LAWRENCE, A.D., 258, UNDER VALERIAN. 
 
 Pai'ralie. — How beautiful the richness thousand- 
 fold 
 Of golden light that sheds itself in wake 
 Of Haniel's dainty wings ! 
 
 Falleen. — Swift is his flight : 
 He doth love children much. 
 
 P. Is it not strange 
 So many tyrants try to banish^ ISTame 
 Of Christ from their domains ? Oh, senseless 
 man ! 
 
132 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 F. It is as though a thunder-cloud had tried 
 To quite annihilate the sun : but fools 
 And clouds alike exhaust themselves in vain ; 
 God and the sun will shine regardless of 
 Such petty spite. 
 
 Scene 11. 
 
 Haniel. — What dreadful sight is that ? A man 
 dragged by 
 A maddened horse. Oh, Larralie ! I joy 
 To find thee here. But is not thy face sad ? 
 
 Larralie. — Aye. What is horrible to thee as 
 death 
 By what men call an accident, fills me 
 With deeper gloom. By order of the one 
 Who Romans rules, has that man been bound to 
 That beast. 
 
 H. What his offence ?~ 
 
 L. Sixtus, Bishop 
 Of Eome, who glorified Christ in his death. 
 Unto good Lawrence, his chief deacon, said 
 He would be Avith liim in three days. This was 
 In answer to his pitiful, " Whither 
 Groest thou, father mine, without thy son ?" 
 The Bishop bade him give the wealtli of Church 
 Of Rome to poor and sick, foreseeing that 
 It would be confiscated by the State. 
 Lawrence, in doing this from house to house, 
 Excited mucli suspicion, and was seized : 
 Refused to give account of what he had 
 Distributed. He was in dungeon thrown ; 
 There he made converts of his keeper and 
 
MAPPALICUS ANB BONA. I33 
 
 His family. To new demands for gold 
 
 And jewels of the Church, the Saint replied : 
 
 " Give me 
 But time to set in order my aflFairs 
 And record make of each particular." 
 Three days were granted. Then he called the poor 
 Who were supported by alms of the Church ; 
 To prefect went and said, "Come and behold 
 The riches of our God. You will see court 
 Of golden vessels full." 
 
 The prefect went, 
 And finding naught but poor, afl&icted ones, 
 Great wrath he showed. So Lawrence asked, 
 
 " "Why are 
 You angry? Gold, which you desire, is but 
 A metal vile taken from dirty soil. 
 That serves as an incitement to all crimes ; 
 The true Gold is that Light of whom these poor 
 And sick disciples are ; and misery 
 Of body is advantage to the soul ; 
 The chief disease of all mankind is sin ; 
 The great ones of the earth are truly poor — 
 Contemptible. These are the treasures that 
 I promised you; now I shall add to them 
 Some precious stones; widows and virgins see! 
 They are the Church's crown; make use of this 
 True wealth for the advantage of all Rome, 
 Of emperor and of yourself." " Dare you 
 Mock me ? " the prefect cried in rage. " I know 
 Ye prize yourselves, contemning death; therefore 
 You shall not die at once." 
 
 Lawrence was stripped. 
 
134 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And to gridiron bound, that he might thus 
 Be broiled to death by a slow fire. After 
 A time he said, " Let me be turned ; on one 
 KSide I am broiled sufficiently." 
 
 He spoke 
 This, as I think, to let them see liow calm 
 He was, superior to fire. When he 
 AVas turned, lie looked to Heaven, and prayed that 
 
 God 
 To Pagan Rome knowledge of Truth Divine' 
 Would send. This done, his noble spirit soared, 
 Unsinged by passion or by cruelty. 
 The gaoler, whom he had converted, washed 
 His body for last sleep and buried it. 
 The prefect, hearing this, commanded that 
 He should be tied to horse's tail, and dragged 
 To death. 
 
 Scene UI. 
 A.D. 370. 
 H. Oh, Larralie! I have in Hades been, 
 And talked with Lawrence and Hippolitns; 
 Have told them of God's judgment on those who 
 Their deaths devised. When Macrianus in 
 The amphitheatre was seized by death 
 He gave assembled crowd a spectacle 
 Of terror, and called on these martyred Saints. 
 Valerian, after long years of vile 
 And cruel persecution, Avas o'ercome 
 By Sapor and was treated as a slave ; 
 Made footstool for satrap to mount his horse. 
 For seven years a prisoner he was: 
 When eighty-three, blinded and flayed alive. 
 
MAPPALICU8 AND BONA. 135 
 
 His skin was stuffed with straw; in finest of i 
 
 Persia's great temples was this kept for show. ' 
 
 How must his tortured spirit boil with rage j 
 
 When he sees how his demon-gods reply \ 
 
 To prayers for fame ! ' 
 
 L. Does not his punishment j 
 And that of Macrianus, balefully 
 
 Eeflect a lurid light on what they had ^ 
 
 Devised as punishments for Lawrence and \ 
 
 For Hippolite ? ■ 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 JTILIAN THE APOSTATE. — A.D. 361. 
 
 Florelle. — Julian is dead. Now may the Church ] 
 have peace ! 
 
 Horl. — Long time have I in Western darkness 
 
 fanned J 
 With my light-shedding wings some consciences 
 
 That are "a law unto themselves." Julian? j 
 
 F. Was subtlest foe Christians have had. Nephew 1 
 
 Of Constantiue, brouglit up as child of God, \ 
 
 A foundling of the Church, he yet despised j 
 
 The foster-mother from whose breast he drew ; 
 
 All that was philosophic in his life.* 1 
 
 An unsuspecting sheep hath reared the young ' 
 Of a fierce wolf; hath let it gambol with 
 
 Her lambs; nourished it to devour her own. \ 
 
 H. This doth remind me of a tale I heard ] 
 
 Told by a statesman to a heathen court.f 
 
 i j 
 
 * I mucli doubt whether Constantius's jealousy allowed i 
 
 Julian any advantages ; and his chief instructor was fuller ] 
 
 of classical lore than of scriptural truth. . i 
 
 f A fancy. ■^ 
 
136 TEE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A lion sat as king upon a throne; 
 Some royal nurslings in their lair were killed. 
 The king convened his court to iind the one 
 Who had dared slay his young. A learned wolf 
 Quite clearly proved a certain sheep had done 
 The deed; and her white neck was stained with 
 
 blood. 
 She said she could not do such wrong; for God 
 Forbade her. e'er to fatten on the blood 
 Of suflfering. The owl said that the act 
 Was foreign to her race: he was the judge; 
 And so the poor sheep was released because 
 'Twas thought impossible for one made as 
 She was to eat raw flesh. Then was the wolf 
 Accused as being guilty of the crime 
 He fain would fasten on the blameless sheep. 
 He paid a large sura to the snake, who had this 
 Sentence passed: This time next year a court 
 We shall hold on this case, and if within 
 That time sheep can be found that live on flesh, 
 This one shall suffer for the crime of which 
 She is accused. The crafty wolf, bidden 
 By the wise snake, put one of his own young 
 In place of a poor lamb he had devoured. 
 The simple mother thought it must be hers, 
 For she had borne two soiis, but one was changed 
 So sadly that he almost broke her heart. 
 When a twelvemonth had p?issed, to trial new 
 She and her family Avere called in haste. 
 Tlie mother did not like to take one child, 
 In festal robe of white, the other in 
 A dingy gown of red, and so procured 
 
MAPPALICU8 AND BONA. 137 
 
 A skin like her fair child's, and covered o'er 
 
 The wolf with a lamb's fleece ; he was well pleased. 
 
 Then, while the yonng ones played about the 
 
 throne, 
 A weekling of a lioness was put 
 Between the two. The timid lamb drew back. 
 But the young wolf pounced on the little one. 
 And would have it devoured had it not been 
 Released. Then did the owl admit that sheep 
 Could eat the lion's young — base hypocrites 
 Of gentleness ! The poor sheep suffered for 
 The wolfs rapacity. 
 
 Constantius and 
 The zeal of Arians may bear some blame 
 Of Julian's sin : those whom his father loved 
 He hated most ; true-hearted Christians and 
 Fierce heathen men, by Arianism's rage, 
 Suffered alike. Julian 'mong Christian men. 
 Saw vices which in pagan lands run wild, 
 And thought not that who persecuted those 
 Who called Christ God had not the Spirit of 
 The Lord : for never yet have Christians who 
 Are Trinitarians put one to death 
 For holding adverse views, and it is those 
 Who dare deny that Jesns we adore 
 Is God, who have begun to persecute. 
 Hast thou met Theodorus yet ? Julian 
 Tormented him most frightfully ; but he 
 Was then dismissed unconquered. Since I asked 
 How he could bear such pangs, nor fiiint, nor yet 
 Apostatize. He said at first it was 
 Grievous and most hard to endure, but soon 
 
138 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Stood by him a young mau in purest white, 
 
 Who wiped the heavy sweat from his wrenched 
 
 limbs 
 And aching head ; bade him be of good cheer. 
 Then Theodorus said that when he was 
 Lifted from off the rack that the release 
 Was more a punishment than a relief; 
 For then the angel disappeared. 
 
 F. Strange that 
 He did not think of and prefer the sweet 
 And comfortable Presence of the Lord, 
 Though him he might not see ! 
 
 H. Of course, he thought 
 Of Him. Imagine that thou ne'er had'st seen 
 A spiritual form ; would not such sight 
 Thee nerve for suffering ? 
 
 Act V. : Scene I. 
 
 DOKOTHEA. 
 WhEK SATANIC HOSTS ASSAIL ME, 
 
 I, nervous worm, 
 
 Frail and infirm, 
 Trembling, wish far from them to flee ! 
 Ah ! no strength have I to conquer ; 
 
 They mock my woe : 
 
 " She conquer ! ISTo ! 
 Like strong waves our. breaths o'erwhelm her." 
 " Oh, fools, to mock simplicity ! 
 
 A pure mind's light 
 
 Will fiends affright ; 
 I, worm, o'ercome like polyp bright. 
 
MAPPALICU8 AND BONA. 139 
 
 Whose brilliant light 
 
 Illumes the night, 
 Dazzles, confounds the enemy 
 
 That it mayn't see/' 
 
 Then laughed aloud 
 
 Demoniac crowd: 
 
 " Dim light doth shine 
 
 From heart like thine." 
 " Most true, Fiends ! but ye will learn 
 A light within my heart doth burn 
 
 That is not mine ; 
 
 But is Divine. " 
 
 Xmitlee {Guardian angel). — E'en as her vivid 
 fancy represents 
 Satanic emissaries, it shall see 
 A brighter vision ere sleep falls on her. 
 
 {Dorothea walking up and down the room repeats ;) 
 Z). Oh, Christ, iisr thy beauty upok thy high 
 
 THRONE, 
 
 My thoughts and my longings now upward have 
 
 flown : 
 My life-thirst for beauty cannot be appeased — 
 When I lie at Thy Feet each sense will be pleased: 
 My hands will dare touch the dear holes in Thy 
 
 Feet ; 
 The fragrance of myrrh will then be to me sweet ; 
 My eyes on Thy beauty may gaze as they will ; 
 And my ears will drink in, " Poor trembler, lie 
 
 still." 
 
 X. E'ow sleep, ray precious ward, and dream of 
 Christ. 
 
140 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene 11. 
 Dorothea. — I had a deeam — pleasant it was 
 
 TO M2: 
 
 It came when I was sad, and mournfully 
 
 Had passed the night's first hours. Then I had 
 
 dream 
 Of even brighter things than a sunbeam. 
 I thought I loved a Prince, and he loved me ; 
 'Twas joy to let him know that I would be 
 His own, and only his, for evermore. 
 He would have pressed me to his heart ; before 
 Me stretched a veil invisible, yet firm — 
 On that side a King's son, on this a worm. 
 I do not often sorrow in my sleep. 
 So then, as I remember, did not weep ; 
 But still my heart was very full of fears. 
 My brain was misty with restrained tears: 
 Then came a voice, mighty, but very low; 
 Before I understood it calmed my woe. 
 For children do not fret, when one is by 
 Who will give what they want if they won't cry. 
 It was the King who spake, and this He said, 
 " Cheer up, poor child, there's nothing now to 
 
 dread. j 
 
 When thou wearest robe of emerald green, i 
 
 Embroidered o'er with gold, that may be seen j 
 
 With pleasure in the Court Avhere thou wouldst \ 
 
 be, ' \ 
 
 My Son shall come, and He will marry thee." ] 
 
 \ 
 When I awoke, I said unto myself, j 
 
 Let me now consecrate to God my wealth, 
 
MAPPALI0U8 AND BONA. 141 
 
 That when I lie beneath th' emerald sod, 
 My deeds of charity may seem to Grod 
 Like broideries of gold on vesture green ; 
 Then will He let me have His Son, I ween. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Xantlee. — Wilt go with me to earth ? For the 
 last time 
 I come to the celestial court without 
 My Dorothea, beauteous ward ! Oh, how 
 M.J eyes will proudly glow when I present 
 Her to our King ! Her robes are ready now. 
 My friend, hast seen men cleanse asbestos gown ? 
 A soiled, stained robe is thrown into the fire; 
 Awhile it burns, and then it is brought forth 
 As pure as is thy brow. 
 
 Calla. — A martyr, then, 
 We go to see ; but thei'e are many kinds ; 
 Some purge their soiled baptismal robes in fires 
 That rage of man has kindled, some in flames, 
 That are not seen by any eye, save God's. 
 
 X. An angel's heart may treasure up the tale 
 Of secret woe that's nobly borne. 
 
 G. How will 
 Thy martyr's robes be purged ? 
 
 X. Come now, and see. 
 
 Scene IV. — Court- of Justice in Cmsarea. 
 
 Sapritius {Magistrate). — Bring me the woman 
 fair, whose beauty makes 
 Fools of tlie men slie has sense to disdain; 
 My eyes ;ind pahite like rich food. 
 
142 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Xantlee [aside.) — She comes. 
 S. Fair maid, thy name ! 
 
 Dorothea. — "I Dorothea am ; 
 A virgin and a servant of the Church." 
 
 S. Now " serve our gods or die." Submit : 
 Tliou art too young, too fair, to give to worms 
 What I and lesser men must crave. 
 
 I). Oh, let 
 Me die ! Be quick. The sooner I shall stand 
 In presence of the One whom I long much 
 To see. 
 
 S. Whom meanest thou ? 
 
 D. " I mean the Son 
 Of Grod, Christ, mine Espoused ; His dwelling is 
 In Paradise, and joys eternal are 
 'E'er blooming by His side ; celestial fruits 
 And roses that can't die grow in the fair 
 And beauteous garden of my Lord." 
 
 S. Thou art 
 Too beautiful; I cannot give thee to 
 The flames or worms ; I take thee for my own. 
 Back to her prison bear the maid. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Calista. — Christeta, dost thou not feel now as if 
 Satan's handmaid thou art ? Sapritius knew 
 None are so vile as those who once recant 
 The faith. 
 
 Christeta. — The faith! What is it? I know not. 
 My only creed is fear of pain and death. 
 
 C. And mine now is to win the great reward 
 He promises, if we will make this girl — 
 
MAPPALICUS AND BONA. 143 
 
 Whose fairness pleases him — do as we did. 
 Come in. Not such a prison did we have. 
 
 Ch. Is that the beauty on yon gilded couch ? 
 
 Dorothea. — I am a Christian maid, my friend, 
 and fear 
 From thy unsympathetic tone that fchou 
 Art not. 
 
 Ch. No I I am not mad now, but I 
 Was once like thee. G-ive me thy hand ; it is 
 Soft as a babe's, and yields as readily. 
 Why dost thou shrink from a slight pinch ? Surely 
 Thou wilt not dare the rack. 
 
 C. For shame! Christian, 
 We are sent here by Governor, whom thou 
 Hast fascinated with thy eyes, to lure 
 Thee to recant. Thou hast a gentle heart 
 If voice and eye we e'er can trust. I am 
 Now almost starved ; at home a wailing babe 
 Waits for dry breasts, and thou canst give us food. 
 
 D. Here is my veil ; all I have now that is 
 Not needed for defence of modesty. 
 
 C. That will not feed us long. 
 
 D. I have no more. 
 
 C. Sapritius promises much gold if we 
 Persuade thee to renounce the faith. 
 
 D. Oh, sad 
 That woman should try to exchange her soul — 
 That must forever live — for food, that can 
 Not feed the flame of life, when God says. Die ! 
 Listen, poor heart. I am to wed a Prince ; 
 Give me thy babe, and lie shall be His page ; 
 Want he shall never know. Don't kiss my robe. 
 
144 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 a Christeta, hear ! She yields. Sapritiiis she 
 "V^ill wed— is he the Prince?— and my child will 
 Be a great man some day. 
 
 D. But he must lie 
 Upon my breast when I lie on the rack, 
 And when I've ceased to breathe, hungry and cold 
 He'll die, and I will carry him to G-od 
 And he will be with the first martyrs * classed. 
 C. While his poor mother goeth on her own 
 Vile way to Hell. Thou meanest Christ is Prince. 
 
 I will 
 Not sell my soul to give my baby milk 
 Lest he damnation drink in greedily ; 
 And all through terrible Eternity 
 Should curse me that I had prolonged his days 
 On earth, to cheat him of his father's faith 
 And heritage. Maiden, I'll die with thee 
 And leave my child to God. 
 
 CJt. The more fool thou! 
 Fair woman, thou art rarely beautiful. 
 But thou wilt see thyself matched brilliantly 
 In gilded halls by chisel and by brush 
 Of artists famed. Handmaidens will attend 
 Thy least desire ; and know, thy handsome slave, 
 Sapritius called, will like thee better for 
 Extravagance and luxury. I pray 
 Thee let me then walk after thee. 
 
 D. To Hell ? 
 Poor creature of base appetites, what has 
 Sapritius done for thee that thou should'st wish 
 
 * The Holy Innocents form the first class of Martyrs. 
 
MAPPALICU8 AND BONA. 145 
 
 To cast thy soul and mine in flames that aye 
 Increase, to please his lust ? 
 
 Ch. The only thing- 
 He ever did for me was to sit by 
 And laugh while I was scourged. 
 
 D. Small service this. 
 
 Ch. But he will make me a fine lady if 
 I can persuade thee to receive his vows. 
 
 D. Look here ! This is the Cross on which thy 
 Lord 
 And mine has died, that we might love and long 
 For Him. He was stretched on the Cross to teach 
 Thee how to bear the rack for Him. 
 
 Ch. Then we 
 Are even — are we not ? 
 
 D. If thou wert queen 
 And did'st from undimmed splendor step down to 
 A servant's low estate; for poverty 
 Did'st give up wealth — which thou, as it appears, 
 Esteemest earth's chief good; if thou didst leave 
 A body that could feel no pain for one 
 Most sensitive to ev'ry mortal pang ; 
 And then for three and thirty years didst bear 
 Quite patiently the stinted portion of 
 A poor man's child ; if thou did'st give thy cheeks 
 To blows, thy brow to crown of thorns, thy feet 
 And hands to nails, thy heart to bloody spear. 
 And all for one who spurned and spit on thee, 
 And tried to make thy friends tliy enemies — 
 Then Christ and thou are even. Thou dost 
 weep. 
 
 Ch. Put up that Cross. My dying mother's eyes 
 
146 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Have haunted all my nights since I denied 
 
 The faith : last night she brought a Cross and said, 
 
 My daughter, thou hast nailed thy Maker and 
 
 Thy Saviour thereupon. I shrieked and woke. 
 
 Went out, and soon I saw a messenger 
 
 From base Sapritius. I forgot the dream 
 
 When he threw golden bait. I, too, will go 
 
 With thee before the Governor to bear 
 
 My witness that the Cross outweighs his gold.* 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Calla. — Xantlee, hath Dorothea suffered yet ? 
 
 Xantlee.—A.jQ; she hath been beheaded by the 
 man 
 Who tempted her in vain ; revenge he wreaked 
 Upon the fair, soft limbs that cheated vile 
 Desire : but Christ will raise her up ere long 
 In beauty that will please in Heaven more 
 Than it hath done in Cappadocia's court. 
 
 G. And what became of women who were sent 
 By the bad Grovernor her to beguile ? 
 
 X. He had them burned. 
 
 * Sapritius sent to lier two sisters, Calista and Christeta, 
 who, from terror of the torments . . . renounced their faitli 
 in Christ. To these women he promised large rewards if 
 they would induce Dorothea to follow their example . . . 
 Dorothea reproved them . . . When they left the dungeon 
 they proclaimed they were the servants of Christ. — Sacred 
 and Legendary Acts. 
 
THE SNOW-FLAKE. 14Y 
 
 Deama VII. 
 THE SNOW-FLAKE. 
 
 SECOND CENTURY, 
 
 Act II. : , Scene I. 
 
 Zelah. — Come, Admar, let us listen to the talk 
 Of this most picturesque old man, whose beard 
 Is white enough to tell us that his life's 
 Experience is rich with buried gems 
 Of thought. 
 
 Admar. — Not always thus speaks a white.beardj 
 Sometimes it hangs between the present and 
 The past to hide but hideousness, while awe 
 Prevents the young from seeking to know more. 
 
 Z. There is a youth by him, and neither seems 
 To fear to lift the curtain that conceals 
 The past. Trust me, this old man's beard falls 
 
 not 
 Unworthily o'er heart debased, as sheet 
 Doth cover o'er the loathsomeness of death. 
 
 A. I better like the young, who have not strayed 
 As far as most old persons from our home. 
 But, as thou wishest, let us hear his words. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 i2e??i?<s.— And when her pure and balmy love fell 
 o'er 
 The shaggy roughness of my barren life, 
 E'en in the eyes of angels it was fair. 
 The early Spring-tide of my days Lad been 
 
148 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 As cheerful and as verdant as the trees 
 
 In their fresh robes of green. Flowers bloomed 
 
 for me, 
 And birds sang joy to me. Then the hot rays 
 Of passion's fervid sun stole o'er my soul, 
 And all my freshness died. Yea, though men 
 
 praised, 
 My parched and thirsty heart longed for the hours 
 Of Autumn, sere and gloomy though they are. 
 . But when life's dull Fall came, and honors fell 
 From off me to enrich the place where stood 
 My enemies, waiting to seize my crutch, 
 I cursed the barrenness of my bright days. 
 Then came the Winter of a solitude 
 Icy and drear ; but I wpuld own no life 
 Better than mine, or worthier of man. 
 I breathed some years, but did not truly live ; 
 And so was judged fit jailor for the warm 
 And overflowing hearts of Christian maids. 
 I doubt if e'er I looked at them, or heard 
 Them speak ; I never cared for women's chat. 
 The numbness whicli liad long oppressed my heart, 
 Began to penetrate the springs of life : 
 'Twas said that I must die, thougli why no man 
 Could reasonably tell ; nor did I care 
 To know. 
 
 Some of the captives hearing of 
 My state, remarked that on^ of them was skilled 
 In use of medicines and, doubtless, would 
 Be glad to render good for ill. My own 
 Attendants mocked; but one physician asked. 
 Is the maid fair? and he was told she was. 
 
THE SNOW-FLAKE. 149 
 
 Let her come here, he said. She came. A white 
 And fleecy veil enveloped her whole form ; 
 She had been brought captive to Rome from some 
 Far distant tribe, and for her mother's sake 
 Wore veil like hers. 
 
 The doctor stood by me, 
 Called me aloud; I woke, 'opened my eyes. 
 She had just raised her arms and thrown aside 
 The veil. I did not move, nor speak, but let 
 Her presence fall upon- my blighted heart. 
 I let the soft beams of her holy eyes 
 My nnmb brain permeate; I felt the sun. 
 She moved her lipa ; I did not understand, 
 But my heart scarcely beat for fear some tone 
 Would pass it by. She laid her cold, thin hand 
 Upon my temples, and they thrilled with life. 
 She to the doctor signed and passed away. 
 I did not speak, lest when I should be wide 
 Awake, I might forget my dream. A dream 
 Is prized by a man who has had bat one. 
 
 {Ajjause.) 
 
 Lucius. — Can'st not thou tell me more ? For I, 
 too, love 
 Fair vision thou hast seen. 
 
 R. Alas, then, that 
 I should have told thee this! What if she should 
 Prefer thee in the Eden ? Then God's word would 
 Be broken even there ; there would be death. 
 I live without her now only because 
 I know that she is mine. I feel her still 
 As blind man feels the noondav sun. 
 
150 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 L. My friend, 
 Thou didst not understand; my heart is lost 
 On earth, as thine is found in Heaven. 
 
 R. Then I 
 Shall tell thee more ; the man who speaks but once 
 Must tell all then. It was not very long 
 Before she came again ; counted some drops 
 And put a spoon — the handle was a cross — 
 Unto my lips. Had I known that it was 
 Draught poisonous, yet I would still have drunk, 
 Quite satisfied to part with life if it 
 Left me my dream ; I was a Pagan, then. 
 And thought to bear to the Elysian Fields 
 Last dream I had. A day or two passed by, 
 And I sat up, and took new interest 
 In everything near, for she was part 
 Of all. Thou hast seen forest bare and dead, 
 Where nothing lived but torpid snakes, and then 
 Came noiseless fall of snow and all seemed pure 
 And beautiful : no harsh deformity 
 Could then be seen. Such change came over me. 
 I thought that I was pure and gentle as 
 The life I breathed ; nor knew that it was hers. 
 
 L. It was not hers ; she breathed it from above 
 And but transmitted it to thee. 
 
 R. It may 
 Be so. I cared not then to think of aught 
 But her. 
 
 L. Had'st never loved before? 
 
 R. Sported 
 With flowers I had ; the sweet ones were too plain, 
 The beautiful were not quite sweet enough. 
 
THE SNOW-FLAKE. 151 
 
 xind so I wanted none — not in the Spring, 
 Summer, or Autumn of my years. 
 
 L. Strange that 
 A Snow-Flake falling on thy heart should wake 
 Its life. She must have been most beautiful. 
 R. Of course. 
 
 L. Her features faultless, and her skin 
 Like marble statue under rosy veil. 
 R. Ah ! Was it so ? 
 
 L. I did but guess ; tell me, 
 Then, how she looked. 
 
 R. Like fall of snow, I said. 
 L. I cannot comprehend just what thou mean'st. 
 R. Not unless thou hadst felt her presence as 
 I have — and loved. But what her features and 
 Complexion were I cannot say. Am I 
 A boy to be caught by such trash ? It was 
 Her presence that I loved — Ah, my Snow-Flake, 
 That melted in my arms ! Dost think that she 
 Was racked! I gave her stupefying draught, 
 And watched her presence floating from my grasp. 
 L. Thou hast not told me why she was con- 
 demned 
 To die. 
 
 R. Too rapidly she braced me up ; fools said 
 She used enchantments; so she did, but not 
 The ones they meant. A Christian sorceress 
 Was racked, that heathen ones might learn her 
 
 arts. 
 Let them ice to warm water add and bring 
 Forth a Snow-Flake ! Snow comes from heaven. 
 Whence came all the enchantments that she used. 
 
152 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 When they dared tell me that she was condemned, 
 I raved like madman in his chain. Oli, Grod! 
 I felt before I spoke I could not save 
 The maid, yet was impelled to try. I urged 
 Her to become ray wife, my queen. The while 
 I prayed and wept, she smiled and gently said. 
 Wife of a heathen! — Ko. I knew it would 
 Be so. How could I hold a Snow-Flake in 
 My- arms ? It may seem very strange, but I 
 In presence pure as hers dared not appear 
 Other than what I was. 
 
 L. Didst not then learn 
 How sinners feel when they before God stand ? 
 Thou gav'st a stupefying draught, thou saidst. 
 
 R. Yes. I knew she would never stain her rare 
 And tender purity with blood profane 
 Of heathen sacrifice. I could not save 
 Her life, nor shield her from the rack, but I 
 Could numb her brain that she would suffer less. 
 The torturers said that she must soon yield. 
 Being half dead with fright ere they began. 
 
 L. Oh ! Thou didst wrong the One she served 
 when thou 
 Mad'st it appear He could not give her strength 
 To bear all Satan's rage could do — ^so she 
 Would say. 
 
 R. Then I have done her a great wrong — 
 I would have gladly died ere wronged her faith. 
 
 L. If she had been thy wife wouldst thou 
 have liked 
 To have it said she was afraid to bear 
 Torture and death for thee ? 
 
TEE SNOW-FLAKE. 153 
 
 R. I would have thanked 
 The man who strove to bhmt her agonies. 
 Would it not be a greater proof of grace 
 That she would rather die than do a crime 
 E'en when she suffered so from fear of pain ? 
 
 L. How did it end ? 
 
 R.. Art thou a Christian and 
 Canst speak thus of a death ? Long ages hence 
 Maidens on earth and spirits in Grod's World 
 Will view her sacrifice, and praise her Lord. 
 Before I gave her to the demons' arms 
 I watched her presence fading like the light 
 Of a strange star that beamed when all was dark. 
 Her veil they dropped as they uplifted her; 
 I wrapped it round myself, and felt that it 
 Was just as much a part of her as was 
 The almost lifeless form they bore away. 
 Like distant star, whose beams illume the rough 
 And unknown way of baffled traveller, 
 Years after it has been destroyed, so she 
 Her presence left with me, and it fills all. 
 The air. Here is her veil ; I wear it in 
 My robe when I breathe air of common men. 
 See ! Now it covers me like fall of snow. 
 I wrap it over me when I would sleep ; 
 I slip my hand in it when sin is near. 
 
 L. 'Tis strange to see such an old man so young. 
 
 R. My hair is gray, and yet I am not old, 
 Eor my Snow-Flake hath made me young for aye. 
 
 Note. — Only imaginary characters : the poem was sug- 
 gested by a snow-storm. 
 
154: THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Drama. VIIL 
 OHOSROES THE SECOND. 
 
 A. D. 591. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Jarrelle.— In Persia's glory and decay I haye 
 Been interested much, and yet to see 
 A wondrous sight in other sphere I long 
 Have stayed ; and Persia I should think is now 
 But a remembrance on the earth — so great 
 Her sin. Canst tell me ought of her ? 
 
 Olee. — Chosroes, 
 Her haughty king — 
 
 /. Chosroes ? I never heard 
 The name. How long a time between the king 
 Darius and this one ? 
 
 0. Oh ! centuries, 
 As man counts time ; more than six hundred years 
 Have been since Christ was born. 
 
 J. How passing strange 
 This thing that men call time ! What did Chos- 
 roes ? 
 0. He conquered Egypt and took Chalcedon — 
 Thou know'st that town from tales of martyrs true. 
 J. And for its Council, where some braves 
 stood up 
 For Truth. 
 
 0. A war there was between Eome's king 
 And Persia's despot lord. Heraclitus,, 
 Who was a murderer, had been well scourged 
 
CM08B0E8 THE SECOND. 155 
 
 By God's decree, enforced by Satan's skill ; 
 Humble and penitent, lie sued for peace : 
 Chosroes replied, " To that I'll not consent 
 Till you renounce Him Who was crucified, 
 Whom you call God, and then with me adore 
 The suu." 
 
 J. Satan had gone too far. God now 
 For honor of His holy Majesty 
 Must interfere. There is no sin he seems 
 To hate more than the pride which rebels dare 
 To flaunt before His great Omnipotence. 
 Sennacherib rememb'rest thou ? 
 
 0. Chosroes 
 A second was to him, and so as such 
 God treated him. " Heraclitus He raised 
 From his abatement of humility, 
 And gave him great success." The Persian king 
 Was vanquished : still he sinned. Unlike his foes, 
 His pride refused to bow itself to God : 
 By his son he was slain, as the good Lord 
 Had chastened him in vain. 
 
 J. In vain ! God do 
 A thing in vain! He showed His power, and 
 
 made 
 Of this man's pride and blasphemy, as of 
 The disobedience of Lot's Wife, pillar 
 Of salt* — memorial to last for aye. 
 Has Persia's pride still heritage of power? 
 
 0. Almost forgotten thing is she ; she left 
 No monuments of her benevolence 
 
 * A pillar of salt means a lasting monument. 
 
156 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 To bless tlie world, and why should it think of 
 Her uselessness ? 
 
 J. To read a lesson of 
 Humility and fear. The Gospel once 
 Was offered her ; mercy of God she scorned. 
 
 0. He gave her to fanaticism then, 
 The scourge that cuts the deepest gashes in 
 Pierce, man-exalting, God-o'erveiling pride — 
 The laughing-stock of all posterity. 
 Mahomet's followers were welcome guests 
 Of those who Christ's Apostles scorned. 
 
 J. But some 
 The Word of Life received; surely the seeds 
 That God once planted have not yet died out ? 
 
 0. They bloom in loveliness, and Earth one day 
 Will be an unexpectant witness to 
 Effects of acts that an Apostle wrought. 
 
 J. Heraclitus, thou saidst, was saved from rod 
 Which God thrust from presumptuous hand ; but 
 
 when 
 His sorest need was o'er, did he prove true ? 
 
 0. No. So another power tore from him what 
 He last had gained — "the fairest provinces 
 Of Eastern lands"— and reaped the triumphs of 
 His arms in Persian fields. 
 
 J. Thus God contemns 
 In presence of the world, those who pi'esume 
 To dally with His favors and His grace. 
 
CBOSMOES THE SECOND. 157 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCHISM. 
 
 Olee. — Dost thou remember brilliant light that 
 glowed 
 In Africa, after Apostle Mark 
 Raised the thick veil of murkiness that hung 
 O'er altars which smoked Avith fierce pagan rites, 
 And let the rays of Star of Bethlehem 
 Illuminate the ransomed land ? 
 
 Jarrelle. — Clemens, 
 And Origen, great Athanasius there 
 Long lived and taught. 
 
 0. And Cyprian, also 
 Augustine learned. 'Tis strauge how human 
 
 minds 
 Seem to recoil from an excess of light 
 To hide in wilful darkness deep. 
 
 /. There is in man such constant tendency 
 To sin that a quagmire the Church would be 
 If the strong winds of wrath Divine did not 
 The turbid waters move. 
 
 0. Afflictions are 
 The signs of Grod's true love, not of His wrath. 
 J. Of both : as the same wind, that plants the 
 seeds 
 Of death in one whose constitution is 
 Battered and broken down by appetites 
 And rage, invigorates the man whose life 
 Is pure and strong. Carthage has been the seat 
 Of mucli that was abhorrent to the great 
 And holy God, and so a breath Divine 
 
158 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Went forth to purge the air that the Church 
 
 breathes. 
 0. She must have been inoculated with 
 The dreadful pestilence ; for even now 
 Base schisms are not healed. How can man rend 
 Christ's Body thus apart ? As cruel such 
 As those who nailed Him unknown to the Cross. 
 J. His burning, bleeding wounds were cooled 
 
 and healed 
 By air of the damp, dismal sepulchre : 
 So will the Church, pent up by tyrants' rage, 
 Be healed of "wounds and putrefying sores" — 
 The world shut out that Christ may enter in. 
 
 0. The Saviour's body bore the marks of nails 
 When he returned to life and light and love ; 
 And thus, I fear His spouse, the Church, will show. 
 E'en in her resurrected purity 
 The gaping rents schismatics there have made. 
 And worse than schism is foul heresy ; 
 'Twas typified by the cursed lance which pierced 
 His heart upon the Cross. Ah ! His life-blood 
 Was poured from that deep wound, water and 
 
 blood ; 
 And as this showed He was a real Man, 
 The Church's power to live after such wounds 
 Proves she is half divine. 
 
JOHN THE ALMONEB. 159 
 
 Dkama IX. 
 
 JOHN THE ALMONEE. 
 
 7th centuky. 
 Act I. : Scene 1. 
 
 Jarvine.—^ome uews of Man's world I should 
 
 like to hear. 
 Oleen. — Strange that I was then pondering of 
 
 John 
 Surnamed the Almoner, a Bishop of 
 Rich Alexandria. Persia had laid 
 Her treasures waste, and carried into base 
 Captivity her sons ; then daily he 
 Administered to the necessitous, 
 By Persia scourged, who fled before despot's 
 Eapacity e'en to Jerusalem. 
 John sent relief, captives of war redeemed ; 
 Wounded and sick placed in the hospitals 
 And tended them himself. 
 
 J. Do heathens for 
 Their destitute provide ? 
 
 0. Not oft. Christians, 
 Or those who imitate their deeds to win 
 Their name, have made a science of kind deeds, 
 Made it a part of life. Some say John is 
 Too generous, but such forget Grod's gifts 
 To him. He said, " If the whole world should 
 
 come 
 To Alexandria yet could it not 
 Exhaust the treasures of my Lord." His faith 
 
160 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Was not the oflFspring of his lips, he showed 
 He trusted in God's boundless largesses ; 
 For, seven thousand and five hundred poor 
 He fed out of God's Hands, and never feared 
 That they would eat his share. One had for all 
 Enough. His ear was always ready for 
 Complaints. He said, " That God His House will 
 
 let 
 Us enter at all times ; and if we wish 
 To be heard speedily, how pught we to 
 Conduct ourselves with brethren of our race?" 
 There was one thing he could not tolerate ; 
 Slander was most abhorrent unto him ; 
 If any so offended him — offered 
 Such insult to his charity, " he would 
 Give the discourse a gentle turn ; " but if 
 The slanderer persisted, then he told 
 His servant to let that man in no more. 
 Backbiters were the only ones his house 
 Was never opened to. 
 
 J. Why should it be 
 Defiled ? Thou kuowest we would not admit 
 Such men in our abodes. 
 
 0. Hither they would 
 Not wish to come ; pleased audience they like. 
 Alas ! There is a world where slanderers 
 Are welcomed as fit guests; some men are like 
 Tormented oul^s, and some are more like us. 
 
THE VENERABLE BEDE. 161 
 
 Drama X. 
 
 "THE VENERABLE BEDE." 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 {Bede sitting up in his ted writes:) 
 
 Oh, to die, 
 That I may live ! 
 
 Never more to sigh, 
 Nor all night long to grieve ! 
 Oh, to be blest, be blest 
 In an unbroken rest ! 
 
 Oh, to die, 
 That I may live ! 
 
 Never more to vie 
 With demons, while they grin 
 With great delight, delight. 
 Thinking I'll share their night. 
 
 Oh, to die. 
 That I may live 
 
 With my Lord on high ! 
 Nor longer have to strive 
 With great care, with great care, 
 Daily to live my prayer ! 
 
 Scene IT. — In Heaven. 
 
 Damah. — There enters one who will enjoy the 
 
 Christ. 
 Quarlee. — And who is he ? 
 
162 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 D. The " Venerable Beds/' 
 Is name oft given him. I saw him die. 
 
 Q. Born into light and love thou mean'st ! 
 
 D. Thou say'st, 
 " Grlory be to the Father, and the Son, 
 And to the Holy Grhost ; as it was in 
 The beginning, is now, and ever shall 
 Be so. Amen."— these his last words on earth. 
 
 Q. The fittest words for entrance-song to Heaven. 
 Of such a man I should like to hear more. 
 
 D. I cannot tell thee mucii. Only a short 
 While ere he slept to wake to bliss, Zaneen 
 Called me to go and see how little men 
 Feel pain when suffering for those they love. 
 His love was Christ, and so the pains He sent 
 Were welcome guests, albeit something rough 
 In their kind haste to waft him home. 
 
 One day 
 Bede said, " If so my Maker please, from my 
 Flesh I will go to Him Who when I was 
 Not, formed me out of naught. My soul desires 
 To see in beauty Christ, my King." Again 
 He said, " To see the Face of Grod would me 
 Suffice ; there shall be nothing more; nor is 
 There call for more when he is seen — He who 
 Is all above." 
 
 J. Bede is another link 
 Of the great chain of saints within the Church ; 
 Although she totters she wifl never fall ; 
 For Christ is Truth — He is with her for aye. 
 
 D. Yet I have heard that what thou call'st the 
 Church 
 
ALPHA GE, AUGHB'P OF GANTEBBUBT. 163 
 
 Aspires too liigli, will fall by her own weight. 
 Q. But not until the chain of sainted souls 
 Will be transferred to other base, 
 
 D. Meantime 
 We'll seek and find them in this gorgeous Fold. 
 
 Deama XI. 
 
 ALPHAGE, 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF CANTBEBURY. 
 
 A.D. 1013. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Kar Telle. — Lar, I should like to hear somewhat 
 of new 
 And peaceful conquests made by Christian lives 
 'Mid savage hordes. 
 
 Lar. — K'obly the English priests 
 Have borne the Gospel seed to Denmark wild, 
 Sweden and Norway, too. The Danes embraced 
 Salvation with much zeal ! 
 
 K. And yet how cold 
 All seem to us who better understand 
 What they escaped and what they have attained. 
 Cry Heaven and Hell, and men will only stare ; 
 Cry loss and gain, they comprehend. Oh, " fools 
 And blind." 
 
 L. The Swedes, most obstinate in their 
 Idolatry, " murdered the good Eschelle 
 While he was preaching Christ." But England 
 
 dared 
 To persevere in efforts to reclaim 
 
164 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 From Hell these northern lands, requiting good 
 For ill. Much she had suffered from men of 
 The North. Unconsciously, in doing good 
 Without a selfish thought she reaped reward ; 
 In course of time the savages became 
 Christian and civilized and stayed at home 
 To cultivate the arts of peace, and so 
 Had England rest. 
 
 K. Much I should like to search 
 For good Eschelle : wilt go ? 
 
 L. And as we fly 
 I'll tell thee of another Saint who has 
 Afforded me true joy— the brave Al phage. 
 Archbishop of fair Canterbury once. 
 Oft did the Danes invade poor England in 
 Their restlessness. His city they besieged ; 
 Kind friends entreated him to save his life. 
 Then answered Alphage: "God forbid that I 
 Should tarnish my fair character 
 By deed inglorious, or fear to go 
 To Heaven because a death from violence 
 Across the passage lies. Some great men of 
 The Danes I have converted to the faith. 
 And if this be a fault happy am I 
 In suffering for it. Captives have I 
 Eedeemed, supported some in bonds. If Danes 
 Be angry that I have reproved their sins, 
 I must remember Who has said, If thou 
 Warn not the wicked then his blood will I 
 Eequire at thine own hand. Hireling is he 
 Who leaves the sliorn sheep when the fierce wolf 
 comes. 
 
ALPHAGE, ABGHB'P OF GANTEBBUBY. 165 
 
 Therefore I'll stand the shock ; submit to Grod. " 
 
 He did submit as loving child, and Grod 
 
 Decreed the humble should exalted and 
 
 Kemenibered be. Fair Canterbury will 
 
 Preserve his name; she calls a church for him. 
 
 The Danes great cruelties committed in 
 
 Good Canterbury ; Alphage rebuked those 
 
 Who had the power to smite him low. He said, 
 
 "To soldiers brave the cradle can't triumphs 
 
 Afford. Better 'twould be vengeance to take 
 
 On me, whose death celebrity may. give." 
 
 And more he said till the Danes seized and bound 
 
 The old Archbishop fast, and kept him months 
 
 A prisoner ; then offered liberty 
 
 For payment from King Ethelred and him. 
 
 The sum was too large to be raised, he said ; 
 
 Firmly refused to drain the treasures of 
 
 The Church to save his life. He thought it wrong 
 
 To give to pagans what was gathered for 
 
 Grod and the poor. So the Danes, merciless, 
 
 Stoned him to death the while he prayed for them. 
 
 K. Him thou wouldst call a martyr, I suppose. 
 
 L. A real one, who much preferred to die 
 To doing thing unjust. 
 
 K. First martyr he 
 For honesty I've heard of on the earth. 
 
 L. The church, of which he the Archbishop was. 
 Keeps fast of forty days in memory 
 Of Jesus's Fast, and to prepare itself 
 To celebrate Palm Sunday that will know 
 ISTo end, because the palms that the Redeemed 
 Will cast at the God's Feet, will grow from hearts • 
 
166 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Of grateful memories. The first time that 
 I Alphage saw I went with Eure, who was 
 His Angel, and I saw him write a song 
 That I laid by in my remembrance, as 
 Oft pilgrims of the earth from Palestine 
 Take shells called for St. James and lay them up 
 In distant homes, reminders of a new 
 Experience.. My relic wouldst thou see ? 
 K. Aye, verily. 
 
 L. This was the hymn he breathed, 
 
 IN LENT.* 
 
 Why should I care for the festivals of earth ? 
 A grand Paschal Feast is preparing for me. 
 How hollow earth's revelry ! Torpid its mirth. 
 
 But at the great Feast true joy there will be. 
 Women who prepare for holidays of sin 
 
 Have a weary time; their pleasure costs them 
 dear. 
 So, if Lent seems too long I will patience 
 win ; 
 Happier I'll be when bright Easter is here. 
 The Bridegroom of sonls will pay a visit then ; 
 On my Paschal garment I should spend much 
 time 
 For alas! it hath caught many stains fi'om men, 
 Though in Blood I washed it once free of earth's 
 grime. 
 Lent is the time to rewash it and prepare 
 For angels whom at Easter I'll entertain. 
 
 * I hope the good Saint won't be scandalized at a modern 
 calling him a versifier and attributing such rhymes to him. 
 
ALPHAGE, ABCHB'P OF GANTERBUBT. 167 
 
 The Last Supper-time may come ere I'm aware ; 
 I'll wash now and be cleansed from the year's 
 stain. 
 
 K. Strange to my ears such songs. The sphere 
 in which 
 I have been sentinel, differs from Earth. 
 L. Wouldst like to see another scallop-shell ? 
 K. Much it would please. 
 
 L. These verses too are his.* 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 Dim and disjointed though my life may be 
 
 I know, Father! that it leads to Thee. 
 
 Though I have longed for all that earth can give, 
 
 I've learned now simply in content to live. 
 
 The treasures that I grasped at proved beyond 
 
 My reach ; I fold my hands now in the bond 
 
 Of cold necessity, nor care to weep 
 
 For the dead past; but calmly onward creep; 
 
 If also upward, that is quite enough. 
 
 Nor do I care, although the way is rough. 
 
 I know I'll surely find what I have lost, 
 
 When earthly woof with heavenly warp is crossed. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 PAOLO OF VENICE. 
 
 Adelle. — Strange, as we talk of this, here cometh 
 one 
 Who can add interest to our discourse. 
 Paolo, f wilt thou tell us of thy work 
 
 * See note on preceding page. 
 
 f T don't know anything of the origin of the Mosaics of 
 St. Mark's : Paolo is only a figment of my brain. 
 
168 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In the true Venus sprung from the sea-foam, 
 Queen of the civic beauty of the earth? 
 
 Paolo. — Mine it cannot be called: to me God 
 gave 
 But one great thought; other than mine the hands 
 To which he gave the skill to execute. 
 
 VeiTcir. — As I know naught of thy design, nor of 
 What Adelle speaks, enlighten me. 
 
 P. I was 
 A citizen of Venice, and in youth 
 Was sent to fair Byzantium to learn 
 How to make pictures of bright cubes of glass, 
 Impervious to damp or time. This was 
 In the eleventh century;* before 
 Men could have Bibles in their homes; but my 
 Compatriots, noble, sea-faring men 
 And merchants, who felt that they owed to God 
 Their wealth, were anxious to make offering 
 Of part of it to Him. I knew that they 
 Would not grudge the expense. To me He gave 
 Taste, industry, love of the beautiful 
 And a desire to preach to men long as 
 My native place was moored to Italy. ' 
 
 I thought to put chief poems of God's Word 
 In pictures that could never fade. A church 
 Had been erected on the spot where once 
 St. Mark had lain, before the edifice 
 Had been consumed, and with it (as was well) 
 The ashes of the good Evangelist, 
 That men adored. Poor men, who are so prone 
 
 * Kuffler. 
 
ALPHAGE,ABCHB'P OFCANTEBBUBY. 169 
 
 To worship liA-ing dust, or aslies dead ! 
 But to my great dismay, I found I was 
 Slow scholar; though my brain could dream, in- 
 
 yent. 
 My hands were stiff and awkward, and my work 
 Would not adliere. My master gave me up ; 
 But my Creator saw my tears — they came 
 I^ot from offended pride, but flowed because 
 I could not carry out my plans for Him — 
 At least, so I thought in my first despair. 
 For weeks I haunted St. Sophia and 
 The other buildings of Byzantium 
 Until my disappointment softened to 
 Sweet resignation to God's will. I went 
 To an old monastery, and I was 
 Allowed to read for months the manuscripts 
 God gave to man. To Venice I returned 
 And sketched designs,* to cover new St. Marks 
 With revelations God had made to us. 
 In portico Creation's work, the Fall, 
 The Deluge, and some episodes in lives 
 Of Patriarchs and of the Jews I gave. 
 Having passed in the church, a solemn light 
 Softens the alabaster gold and gems ; 
 The windows in the nave — as they should be f — 
 Are in the roof, so as men look not on 
 IMie haunts of wealth, but at the floor of Heaven. 
 
 * When I was in St. Mark's, T saw naught of this design ; 
 but reading Dr. Guthrie's Article on Venice, in Sunday 
 Magazine, for December, 1870, it seemed to me absurd to 
 liold with Kugler that there was none. 
 
 f Only Gothic churches should have windows in walls . 
 
lYO TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Oyer the central door is Christ upon 
 
 His Throne (not in a mortal's arms). He holds 
 
 A book, on which one reads, "I am the Door; 
 
 By Me, if any enter in he shall 
 
 Be saved." Lower the Virgin stands, and in 
 
 The mai'ble cornice is inscribed, "Who He 
 
 Was, and from whence He came, and at what 
 
 price 
 He thee redeemed, and why He made thee, and 
 To thee gave all, consider thou." Beyond, 
 Beneath first cupola, the Holy G-host 
 Appears as He o'er Jordan hovered once: 
 Around, the twelve Apostles to receive 
 The typifying fire. Three angels bear 
 On tablets the word " Holy," and a fourth 
 Shows the word "Lord." This the commence- 
 ment of 
 The hymn ; around the border of the dome 
 Is written fair, " Lord Grod of Sabaoth, 
 Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory. 
 Hosannah in the highest. Blessed He 
 Who comes in the Name of the Lord." On both 
 Sides acts of Virgin and Apostles and 
 Christ on Mount Olivet, while under Him 
 Is read, " Ye men of Gralilee, why stand 
 Ye gazing into Heaven ? " This question might 
 Be well put to earth's many dreamers, who 
 With folded hands do naught but gaze upon 
 High mysteries. Let such here answer find : 
 " This Christ, as He is taken from you, shall 
 So come the Arbiter of Earth, trusted 
 To do judgment and justice." So, forward! 
 
THE TRUE GB088. lYl 
 
 Work, ye idle dreamers, lest He come 
 
 And find but empty hands, wherein He should 
 
 Have found flowers for His crown ! 
 
 Two sermons I 
 Have left for all the after-time : " Christ is risen ; " 
 And " Christ shall come." 
 
 Q. But will men heed thy words 
 When they read those that their Eedeemer spoke, 
 And turn aside to sleep ? However, we 
 Shall hope they may. Proceed. 
 
 P. Not to detail 
 Too much, I shall but say one may read here 
 Most of the chief events in Jesu's Life, 
 That consummated is by His Last Hours 
 Upon the Cross, and ends with His Ascent 
 To Heaven; the gates of Hades shattered at 
 His feet ; and in one pierced Hand Banner 
 Of Victory; and He "the One in Whom 
 We live" — draws after Him to Paradise 
 The one in whom we died. 
 
 Drama XIL 
 THE TRUE CEOSS. 
 
 A.D. 1187. 
 In Hades. 
 
 Cania. — I hither come to ask thee for the tale 
 Which I have heard thou tell'st — how thou didst 
 
 find 
 The relic sad that men the True Cross call. 
 
172 THE OLGUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Helena.— Then float thee by my side while I 
 relate 
 What some conceive the grand achievement of 
 My life. I had thought of Christ's sacrifice, 
 Until a mad desire to kneel down by 
 His blessed Cross and print my lips upon 
 The place to which His feet were nailed, urged me 
 To journey into Palestine ; perchance, 
 E'en I might find the holy wood. 
 
 C. It does 
 Not seem to me that I should so have longed 
 For what, though blended with His Death, was yet 
 No part of Him. 
 
 H. Heaven-born, thou canst not know 
 What 'tis to live a life-long banishment 
 From Him whom thou dost with thy ej^es adore. 
 Oh ! if a child of earth thought that he might 
 By watching all the niglit, behold ere morn 
 Arose the faintest shadow of His feet, 
 He ne'er would will to sleep. How canst thou 
 
 know 
 What 'tis to pine like a parched flower in dry 
 And sterile plain for but an echo of 
 A far-off" whispering of rain ? 
 
 C. It must 
 Be sad to live on earth. Unhappy men ! 
 Who have to dwell for many years where God 
 They cannot see. 
 
 H. Unhappy ? No : not while 
 He seeth them and they can talk to Him. 
 
 G. Well, tell me, Pilgrim for a fancy sweet, 
 How thou didst find the Cross ! 
 
THE TRUE GB08S. ■ 1^3 
 
 H. I heard there was 
 Tradition old, that in neglected spot 
 Near to Jerusalem it had been cast 
 On night that our redemption was complete. 
 From Bible-history I knew that where 
 Mount Calvary crouched low 'neath curse there 
 
 were 
 A garden and a sepulchre. That pit 
 I caused to be examined, and within 
 Three crosses lay; on one, inscription that 
 Weak Pilate wrote. Two of the blessed nails 
 I had wrought into iron crown unique 
 For my son Constantine. "Rome's Royalty, 
 By wearing crown made of the iron that 
 All men believed to be the instrument " 
 Of Jesu's agony, acknowledges 
 Supremacy of Him whom Roman lord 
 Had crucified, because He said that He 
 Of Jews was King. Ah ! very many men, 
 Grazing on fragments of that Avood, have lain 
 Down to their rest as quietly and full 
 Of faith as were tlie Jews of olden times 
 Who gazed on brazen serpent in the wilds. 
 Moreover, Pagans had defiled the spot ; 
 For Hadrian, boast of the Infidel 
 Philosophers, his magnanimity 
 Proclaimed by striving to efface from minds 
 Of men the memory of Calvary ; 
 And where the Cross had been a monument 
 To death — that there was vanquished by the Lord 
 Of Life — did Hadrian erect fine fanes 
 To Jupiter and Venus vile. At this 
 
174 • THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Time none of Jacob's seed permitted lie 
 
 In Elia Oapitolina but 
 
 To set a foot, and possibly men miglit 
 
 Have then forgotten where Golgotha was. 
 
 But when the pride of philosophic schools 
 
 Returned to dust (sooner than toga that 
 
 He wore) the Christian Jews went back, and knew 
 
 The place that spite and hate had marked. 
 
 C. Perha^js, 
 'Twas well for them that rites profane repelled 
 Their feet from spot idolatrously loved. 
 
 H. When my son Constantine was seated on 
 The Roman throne he ordered to be razed 
 Temple of Venus, and that the soil near 
 To its foiindation should be carried off. 
 Then was the Holy Sepulchre revealed, 
 And temple was replaced by church. " The nave 
 Inlaid with precious marbles, and the roof 
 O'erlaid with gold; the dome supported by 
 Twelve pillafs — one for each Apostle — with 
 Vases of silver for bright capitals."* 
 Such was the church, unworthy of its name, 
 Anastasis, but best that he could build. 
 
 G. There is one human feeling that I can 
 Not comprehend — the way the senses cling 
 To things inanimate. 
 
 H. Herein have we 
 Advantage over spirits pure ; ye can 
 JSTot know how thrilled ray heart to touch that 
 
 Cross— 
 He had hung tliereupon — tortured for me. 
 
 * The East. — Spencer. 
 
THE TRUE GROSS. 175 
 
 Darelle. — Cania, I have just come from where 
 
 they keep 
 Commemoration of their Saviour's Birth. 
 My ward since the last Christmas lost her love. 
 But felt she should not therefore slight the 
 
 Christ ; 
 And while she decorated her old home, 
 And tears fell on the evergreens, she sang : 
 
 Mt Beloved seeth me, 
 
 And sweetly he smileth. 
 
 Looking most tenderly. 
 
 Fondly he beguileth 
 
 My stagnant thoughts, that pine 
 
 For his bright home afar. 
 
 As my sore fingers twine 
 
 The cedar cross and star. 
 
 Thus he bids me adorn . 
 
 The tent that I dwell in, 
 
 Though it may be forlorn. 
 
 With meet types of my Home, 
 
 To help to banish sin 
 
 And lead my mind to roam, 
 
 Culling immortal flowers 
 
 Even in week-day hours. 
 
 He tells me by the Cross, 
 
 That minds me of my sin. 
 
 Of sorrow and of loss. 
 
 I must hang the green star 
 
 Which pointeth to the Inn, 
 
 That is not very far, 
 
 The antei'oom of God 
 
176 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Beneath the verdant sod. 
 Lighted by that star's ray 
 Over the desert-way, 
 I sooji may hxy me down 
 In shadow of Christ's Crown. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 I CAKKOT SWEETER OFFERINGS BRIISTG 
 
 Than Christmas songs the children sing. 
 When on the cedar-cross they gaze 
 And think of him who died to save 
 Their souls from an eternal grave; 
 No brighter offerings will blaze 
 Upon the altar of my love 
 Consecrate to one above— 
 Than grateful incense of their thoughts. 
 As the green star new life imparts 
 Swiftly to their young, grateful hearts. 
 To think of Jesus who was born 
 Fot them one bright Christmas morn. 
 
 C Once I saw gentle girl with wooden cross 
 Worn underneath her robes, touching her heart. 
 I asked her angel-guardian if that 
 Was badge of superstition's foolish sin. 
 Larl smiled, and answered, No ; I can't explain 
 The girlish feeling of that human breast; 
 But I can tell her tale. She lover had 
 Whose coming was like rising" of the sun. 
 Her presence was to him as balmy cloud, 
 That chastened the effulgence of his love. 
 And yet they could not be made one, Larl said. 
 Why not ? I asked. He answered. Both were poor. 
 
THE TRUE GROSS. 177 
 
 The lover kissed her little hand, and thought. 
 
 That must not work too hard for me or for 
 
 The children God may send. Kind fi-ieuds have 
 
 made 
 Her lot an easy one ; I love too well 
 To make her life a sacrifice to mine; 
 And so to sea he went, to gain the means 
 For making her his wife. Ah ! he came back 
 ISTo more, but the kind winds blew to the shore 
 The wreck of the death-consecrated ship. 
 Her cross is made of piece of Alfred's berth ; 
 She knew 'twas his, because her name was on 
 The board. That small love-dedicated cross 
 Once saved her from sale of herself to wealth. 
 After four years had thrust lost happiness 
 Before her weeping eyes, tired slie became 
 Of her dependence on an uncle proud. 
 A wealthy suitor wished to take her for 
 His bride, albeit her poor heart was cold; 
 She told him this, but promised to be his. 
 He pressed her to his breast as though he had 
 A right to guerdon won by only love: 
 While thus he clasped, the wooden cross gave her 
 A thrill of pain. She grew so pale and stiff 
 He loosed his hold and asked the cause. She said, 
 I saw him there ; he tnrned from me with scorn ; 
 I have profaned the covenant of love; 
 But life-long widowhood shall expiate 
 My crime. 
 
 JI. Man, by gross senses led, may fall 
 In sin ; for this God's compensation is, 
 That senses purified and touched by ]i)ve, 
 
178 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Whether it be or human or Divine, 
 
 Are tendrils that his life puts forth to draw 
 
 III spiritual-nourishment from things 
 
 Around. 
 
 Chosroes, the Impious, once bore 
 The Cross away, but when Heraclius 
 Had vanquished him he to Jerusalem 
 Eeturned barefoot, in sackcloth, carrying 
 The holy Rood. In Calendar is still 
 The anniversary of this glad day, 
 Memorial that kings the God-Man serve. 
 Jerusalem's last monarch bore the Cross 
 To Hattin's battle-field. Salah-e-deen 
 Had sworn Jerusalem should fall. Then wore 
 The crown "proud and weak Guy of Lusignan." 
 I do not like to tell of the great fight 
 Near Tabor; but De Maille is a theme 
 For worldly poet's verse. AVhen nearly all 
 His brave companions lay upon the field 
 He rushed upon the foe, calling aloud, 
 " That for the Cross! That for Jerusalem! 
 And that for the dead lady of my love, 
 Eor Marguerite ! " I'll not tell of his death. 
 Another battle followed soon. The Cross 
 Was borne in thickest of the fight. 'Twas by 
 A bishop of fair Ptolemais held 
 On a slight eminence, "bravest of knights 
 Around. Templars of great jenown and bold 
 Knights of St. John vied with each other in 
 Great bravery." Like storm of hail came down 
 The winged messengers of death, but still 
 The bishop sang the De Profundis till 
 
THE TRUE GB0S8. 179 
 
 He fell. Another seized the Cross with his 
 Left arm and with prodigious strength he threw 
 Himself upon the foe. Then sought the eye 
 Of Salah-e-deen for the Cross, and he 
 Smiled bitterly ; but Lydda's bishop, with 
 His left arm held the precious type of Sin 
 Forgiven quite close to his heart, and with 
 His right fought well ; a great crime had he once 
 Been guilty of; his punishment had been 
 Long priestly years of solitude and grief. 
 Now murmured he her name, grasped closer still 
 The Cross, and clasped still nearer to his breast 
 A heavenly maid; and so he died. The Cross 
 Was lost on Hattin Hill, in G-alilee. 
 C. Hast not heard of it since ? 
 
 H. Salah-e-deeu, 
 When truce was made by Eichard, Lion of 
 Old England's throne, refused to yield it to 
 Those who would worship it : a follower 
 Of false Mahomet thus rebuked the Church.* 
 In venerable city f where I first 
 Saw Paul, and heard his story of the Cross, 
 I afterwards Salah-e-deen observed. 
 The day before he left the earth (that he 
 Thought but a chess-board where the men were 
 
 pawns), 
 Through all the streets he caused his shroud to be 
 Borne by an emir, who proclaimed, " Behold 
 All Salah-e-deen, who is conqueror 
 Of Eastern lands,> taketh away with him ! " 
 
 * Some liistorians say that tlie surrender of tlae Cross was 
 oae of the terms at the Capitulation of Acre, A.D. 1191. 
 ■(■ Damascus. 
 
180 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 C. Was not the rage of warrior and priest, 
 Monarch and peasant for crusades, a thing 
 Most wonderful ? As if God had not been 
 In Europe as in Asia ! To suppose 
 He would be pleased to have His earthly haunts M 
 
 Profaned by murder, superstition, hate ! 
 
 H. Yet incidents toaehingly beautiful 
 Often occurred : poets expressed themselves 
 In deeds ; swords carved originals which men 
 Of later days transcribe as poetry. 
 
 C. Give me some reminiscences of such. 
 
 H. At Antioch, defended by a host 
 Of turbaned Infidels, great valor won 
 Little success. Peter the Hermit ran 
 Away quite secretly in great despair ; 
 But Tancred brought him back, lest his 
 Defection would dishearten more the troops ; 
 Tancred's fine courage never quailed. Once, while 
 A battle raged he made his squire vow that 
 He never would reveal exploit of his ; 
 He wished to garner all his fame for Heaven. 
 He, when Jerusalem was captured, tried 
 Much to restrain the soldiers fierce and sent 
 Mohammedans under his pennon to 
 A mosque ; some Christians murdered thera and 
 
 great 
 Was Tancred's ire, his honor compromised. 
 Godfrey de Bouillon also was a knight 
 Wiiose fame is like pure flame in sooty smoke. 
 When Holy City by unholy strife 
 Was won, helmet and gauntlets laid aside, 
 Feet bared, he went up Calvary. He wept 
 
THE BBUGE. 181 
 
 For joy, and knelt down where his Lord had lain. 
 
 Next day the English monarch's son 
 
 Was chosen king, bnt he declined the crown ; 
 
 Then, quite unanimously Tancred was 
 
 Elected. He accepted office, but 
 
 He would not wear a golden crown where his 
 
 Redeemer wore one made of thorns ; nor would 
 
 Be called King of Jerusalem where Christ 
 
 Was taunted with like name ; his title was 
 
 The Baron of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 
 He reigned a year and kept a spotless fame ; 
 
 Then hither came and cast all his renown 
 
 At feet of Him to Whom it doth belong. 
 
 Near where Christ slept two days, he sleeps ; his 
 
 sword 
 Is there preserved,* and was for a long time 
 Used to dub knights of Holy Sepulchre, f 
 
 Drama XIII. 
 
 THE BETJCE. 
 
 Act I. — In Hades. 
 
 Bruce. — How strange a thing was I a few short 
 years 
 Ago ! Can it be possible ? Is that 
 My heart ? Was that disgusting thing the well 
 From whence once flowed my life ? Alas ! I must 
 
 * Miss Yonge. 
 
 f Irenaeus Prime, in his Travels, gave me most of these 
 facts. 
 
182 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Have been an idiot, even in death 
 
 Quite mad to toncii the Holy Land, that I 
 
 My heart might tomb where it had longest lived ! 
 
 Wallace, my noble friend, tliou best-beloved 
 
 On earth, dearer to me than angels of 
 
 The skies! Ah, if thou couldst but hear me 
 
 now ! 
 Then I would bid thee — faithful one! — carry 
 My heart back to the tenement that God 
 Designed for it, and let it rest in peace 
 Until the Eesurrection-Morn. 
 
 Calla. — What is 
 It that the man thou lookest at hath thrown J 
 
 Amid the Saracens, crying aloud — 1 
 
 And yet I think in somewhat trembling tones — j 
 
 " Onward, as thou wast wont, thou fearless heart ! " 
 
 B. My heart. 
 
 C. I've seen the springs of life that beat 
 In infant's breast when I have rested there ; 
 But that thing is — 
 
 B. My heart. Wilt hear 
 My tale ? 
 
 0. Most willingly. But dost thou like 
 To think of foolish days that passed on earth ? 
 
 B. I would not wipe away the much-prized 
 Past; 
 Deep in my memory are pictures grand 
 Of tempests wild, when oft all hope had iied, 
 And only fears, thinking that night had come, 
 Flew moaning mockingly around the bark 
 That scarcely served to save me from the waves. 
 But suddenly the tempest grew quite bright 
 
THE BRUCE. 183 
 
 With the glad flash that said my God had come 
 
 To guide my fragile skiff where He would have 
 
 It moored. Aud that light in my memory 
 
 Is quite as bright as are the halos that 
 
 Now play around our brows. Who cometh here ? 
 
 C. A spirit I know not. [To stranger.) Dear 
 friend, a kiss, 
 And after that thy name. 
 
 Donald Gray. — Two kisses give 
 I thee ; one in return for thine, and one 
 To please myself. I am called Donald Gray. 
 
 B. That name doth sound familiar to my ear. 
 
 G. Aye, Sovereign King — 
 
 B. Silence ! Oh, hush ! Why wilt 
 Thou mock me here ? I am ashamed of what 
 Once seemed regality. How couldst thou call 
 Me king when thou hast seen the only King ? 
 
 G. I shall not mock thee more. A while I did 
 Forget that we are now like men who have 
 Outgrown the children's make believe ; but 'twas 
 To talk with thee that I have sought thee now. 
 
 B. How willingly do I lend ear to hear 
 Of aught that minds me of my still-loved home. 
 
 G. When I was but a child, my granddame 
 told 
 Me many tales of thee, speaking of thee 
 As Eobert " the good king," and early I 
 Was taught to bless thy name. 
 
 {To Calla) Now wherefore falls 
 He on his face ? 
 
 G. Speak reverently, friend. 
 He now gives thanks to God that He by His 
 
184 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Grood Spirit guided him, so as when he 
 Has passed into Eternity' his name 
 Is blessed. 
 
 Note. — I certainly sliould not liave written this if I had 
 then known the particulars of Bruce's history. — '69. 
 
 Drama XIV. 
 JOAN OP ARC. 
 
 A.D. 1431. 
 
 Act I. : Scene I. — Bheims. 
 [Aidann and Zelreen flying ly, see a 
 croiod around a stake to which men 
 are bmding Joan.) 
 Zelreen. — They will not let her die ! Quickly, 
 Aidann, 
 Tell me men are not fiends. Tlie torches burn — 
 Thinkest we've lost our way and are in Hell ? 
 Aidann. — In Hell ? A creature such as that in 
 Hell? 
 I've seen this maid before, and heard her tale 
 From angels who havs watched her from her birth. 
 I did not know she was. to die to-day. 
 
 Z. I have not learned her story, only see 
 A being beautiful, whose looks proclaim 
 Her innocence and bravery of soul — 
 Her eyes inspired by faith. Would she could wear 
 That smile in Paradise. Must it lie in 
 The dust ere made immortal, glorified ? 
 
 A. Ah, cruel torturers! They bid her wait 
 Until some great lord comes to see her burn. 
 
 i 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 185 
 
 Z. What an absurdity to us are the great lords, 
 Who are not worthy of the name of men I 
 
 A. She turns aside to hide a coming fear; 
 I'll not look at her now. 
 
 Z. Kest on this cloud 
 And tell her history. 
 
 A. In Domremy 
 A gentle shepherdess caressed white lambs 
 And nourished sickly ones by day and night. 
 She had no company but her sweet thoughts 
 And rippling stream near where she kept her flock. 
 Though guardian angels often talked to her 
 Not in words audible to lamb or ewe, 
 But to her heart. She never knew them face 
 To face, but sometimes saw their shadows on 
 The clouds as they ascended far above 
 The trees, when they forgot her gaze in their 
 Swift flight to heaven. 
 
 Z. How could they leave her side ? 
 
 A. It is not long since tliou hast been, and so 
 Hast never stayed away great while from God. 
 
 Z. I thought we could not go away from Him. 
 Do mortal maidens love as angels do ? 
 
 A. In their capacity: first comes the bud, 
 And afterwards bloom full and glorious. 
 But Joan hath not loved a mortal man. 
 
 Z. Oh, I am thankful that God kept her for 
 An angel's heart! I'll kiss away her breath. 
 
 A. Thou hast no right; God has not bidden 
 thee ; 
 By her both of her guardian angels are. 
 
 Z. Why hath she two ? 
 
186 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. Carola watches when 
 Marruna goes away. 
 
 Z. Art sure that she 
 Hath never loved? 
 
 A. In her calm, lonely woods 
 Passion's hot breath could never heat her cheeks, 
 Whose glow is too ethereal for love 
 Such as man dotes upon. I'll go where I 
 Can better see. 
 
 Z. I will not go. That stake! 
 A. Is naught to me; she doth not think of that. 
 The sparkling dew on the rose-leaf comes in 
 The dark, though visible at morn, and so 
 Her tears are not for what we see, but what 
 Has been. She thinks of her old home and 
 
 friends 
 Of youth. 
 
 Z. Oh, tell me more of them! of her! 
 A. No ; not of them. She knew no selfishness. 
 And therefore was prepared for sacrifice: 
 She heard a grievous tale, and pity robed 
 Her for her fate, for martyrdom. The king 
 To her is God's vicegerent on the earth. 
 And those who injure him the enemies 
 Of Grod. His crown at England's feet, his robe 
 Of royal purple trailing in the dust. 
 Always insidious foes about his path, 
 Moved her to tears and prayej.'s, and these brought 
 
 dreams 
 In which she thoiTght that God appointed her 
 To go forth in his name, armed champion 
 Of loyalty. She was like child who heeds 
 
JOAN OF ABC. 18Y 
 
 What she thinks father's will, without a word 
 Of questioning. She bathed in tears her crook 
 And laid it on the grave of her pet lamb, 
 Hung her straw hat upon her tree beloved, 
 Kissed all the little lambs, petted the sheep. 
 Donned armor of a man, and went forth geand. 
 
 Z. And God— was He well pleased? 
 
 A. That I know not. 
 
 Z. Perhaps a demon tempted her in dreams. 
 But had she had no warning ? 
 
 A. None, and God 
 Doth not judge one by others' conscience, friend. 
 Her parents and her priest may have to stand 
 Before God's bar and answer make for her — 
 I say may; there are none I dare condemn. 
 
 Z. I'll try to catch some words from her firm 
 lips. 
 Oh ! I know God is pleased with her ; she dies 
 For what she thinks His will ; to live now would 
 To her seem treason unto Him ; nor hath 
 She wilfully her conscience shut in from 
 The light of offered truth. Her enemies 
 Did well to build the funeral pyre so high — 
 Grand queens should have quite elevated thrones. 
 
 A. Enthroned above the heads and hearts of 
 men 
 Who dare to look upon her death. 
 
 Z. But who 
 Is he who kneels beside her now ? 
 
 A. A priest 
 Of her own faith. And how they light the wood. 
 
 Z. She's glorious. She does not tremble yet — 
 
188 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 But warns her friend to haste from the swift 
 
 flames, 
 Even in death trampling on thoughts of self, 
 Firmh' she closes those grand eyes ; her hands 
 Upon her burning breast are crossed in peace ; 
 Renunciation was the doctrine of 
 Her life, and her last whisper is, " God's will 
 Be done." 
 
 A. Even in death a blessing ! See 
 Those men, who scarce have wept since they were 
 
 grown, 
 Imagined that they were half brutes, now weep. 
 Many in death will thank God for to-day 
 That dawned on fiendish hearts, to set on eyes 
 Grown dim with weeping, voices hoarse with prayer. 
 A. Behold! There is her dove, her carrier- 
 dove; 
 It came too late to rest upon her breast. 
 
 Z. It follows her winged soul : now it is lost 
 In murky clouds. 
 
 A. An eagle pounces on 
 Its prey — poor dove ! In life and death like her. 
 Z. By whom was she condemned ? By English 
 
 lords ? 
 A. Aye; but Burgundians first gave her up; 
 French king no effort to release her made ; 
 And the Parisian University 
 Demanded that as sorceress sjie should 
 Be tried, and asked for letters patent from 
 The king of England, which "reluctantly" 
 He granted it. Many of English in 
 Authority unwilling were to see 
 
JOAN OF ABC. 189 
 
 Her die: at last, the UniYersity 
 Prevailed— it was unanimous— by priests 
 And bishops ruled— that all her acts begot 
 By diabolic inspiration were : 
 She must be burned. The Bishop of Beauvais 
 On scaftbld read the sentence to this girl 
 Of twenty years ; bade her submit unto 
 The church or burn. She, greatly terrified, 
 A recantation signed. 
 
 Z. Eecanted what? 
 
 A. Her dreams. She was to prison sent ; she 
 found 
 A suit of man's apparel there, tried to 
 Escape. The Bishop of Beauvais thought that 
 More reason she should be condemned, made haste 
 That the first sentence should be carried out.* 
 By soldiers, priests and monks surrounded, she 
 Was to the market-place of Rouen led. 
 The rest thou sawest, friend. 
 
 Z. And so it is 
 The Church of France that has condemned her as 
 A sorceress, Envy the advocate. 
 
 A. She died not by the sword, traitor to king 
 To whom she no allegiance owned ; but as 
 A witch, by sentence of the church that calls . 
 Itself infallible. Yet not the less 
 There will be stain on English fame whene'er 
 Joan of Arc is named. Slaves to a vile, 
 Abhorrent superstition, they are now 
 Unworthy of the swords they wear, and e'en 
 In deatli has the maid proved that she above 
 
 * New American Cydopcedia. 
 
190 THE CLOUD OF WITJS' ESSES. 
 
 French treachery aud English fear, false friends, 
 And superstition, soared afar. If she 
 Misunderstood her dreams, the church has now 
 Her error well confirmed. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 RAPHAEL. — A.D. 1483. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Adalla. — God! I see the star of Italy- 
 Hath almost sunk 'ueath Time's horizon ; yet 
 Before it is quite down, let us shed on 
 The brains and hearts and hands of men some 
 
 rays 
 (Eeflected from a distance that is well 
 Nigh infinite) of beauty and of high 
 Sublimity, that Thou hast lavished on 
 Our blessed forms; but even such can cheer 
 Men in their weary banishment from us. 
 Often in sympathy quite pitiful 
 Have I watched while they tried to lay small cubes 
 Of colors to fill up crude outlines that 
 They angels call. How mortals pant for us 1 
 And one of them, who is called by our name,* 
 Oft had a glimpse of us, but through such fogs 
 Of earthiness, he could not well discern 
 Our gleeful grace and ever-active love ; 
 Only our purity and peacefulness. 
 Now, great God ! let us go to Italy 
 And visit Raphael in his sleep,' and let 
 Him read — of course, at a great distance, Lord — 
 Some of the poetry of Heaven, and some 
 
 * Fra Angelico. 
 
RAPHAEL. 191 
 
 Few scenes that were upon our minds impressed 
 In Palestine. Of all the pictures that 
 I have receiyed the holiest and by 
 Ear the most wonderful is of Thyself 
 When Thou becamest Babe and on the breast 
 Of mortal Virgin lay. Let me one night 
 But touch his eyes in sleep, -and stand before 
 Him while He gazes on this picture stamped 
 Upon my heart. It is so beautiful. 
 Scene II. 
 
 Verrar. — Why Italy didst thou select 
 To be the birthplace of a genius rare ? 
 Of all earth's governments Rome vilest * is ; 
 Pollution in God's Sanctuary sits 
 And blood cries from beneath the altars, "Where 
 Hath Justice hid?" The people, ignorant— 
 
 Adalla. — But not by their free will ; they are 
 the slaves 
 Of brutal power and superstition's might; 
 Still they have hearts like children's, full of life 
 And merriment; and since the martyrs have 
 Been taken, they are left to lose their way 
 To Heaven, while they strive their entrance there 
 To purchase. Though God hides His Face in wrath, 
 
 * If any one doubts tMs let Mm read only tlie Roman 
 Catholic writers of the 15th and 16tli centuries. For in- 
 stance, "Cellini's Autobiography" for hints about the 
 characters of Pius 111. and Clement VII., whom Romans 
 called the Devil. Machiavelli says. The apostles if they re- 
 turned to earth would suffer martyrdom under the vicars 
 of Christ, who have destroyed all the morality left by the 
 heathen. Letter to Buondelmontius. See Guiccardini. 
 
192 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Let them some reminiscences of us 
 
 Still have. Though they are not allowed to read 
 
 The books writ by their countrymen, and may 
 
 JSTot have much profit by the telescope 
 
 Or press, their rulers will be glad to let 
 
 Them have grand pictures, as in the cold North 
 
 A mother hangs on walls of nursery 
 
 Kough, simple prints to cultivate the hearts 
 
 Of children small. 
 
 Scene III. 
 A.D. 1530. 
 
 Verrar. — I have been told Eaphael, thy boasted 
 charge, 
 After short life has gone back to his G-od. 
 What sort of man was he ? What work did he ? 
 
 Adalla. — His mission was to show what woman is. 
 If he can elevate the mothers he 
 Will elevate the race : man is what she 
 Who bore him and who weds him are. jSTot Jove, 
 But Aphrodite, typifies the soft 
 And pleasure-loving tribes of G-reece, and in, 
 Minerva are the wise men symbolized. 
 
 V. Woman to ancient art was not revealed : 
 Venus is silly, fit for but boys' love; 
 Diana and Minerva without heart : 
 Trite must have been the minds that such adored. 
 The sculptured gods were not superior 
 In love and intellect ; the bodies were 
 Quite perfect ; but if there was mind there was 
 Small sensibility ; if feeling, small 
 Was the intelligence portrayed : and was 
 
RAPHAEL. 193 
 
 This strange when canning was of Deity 
 
 Oft a chief attribute, and filthy lust 
 
 Was on Olympus throned ? Quite easy is 
 
 It to account for this. The sculptors do 
 
 Not oft originate : what poets sing 
 
 That they define in stone. Scopas* but shows 
 
 The terror Homer drew ; Praxiteles 
 
 And Phidias what he revealed, or what 
 
 He handed down from common talk, transformed 
 
 By his rich fancy and his eloquence 
 
 To poetry. But Eaphael is our theme. 
 
 He paints not a false deity with fair 
 
 And swelling breasts and supple, fragile limbs, 
 
 With eyes and lips that have no language but 
 
 Of flattery and soft frivolity. 
 
 No ! Kaphael's Mary is not wife to yield 
 
 Her conscience to another's keeping that 
 
 She may luxiirionsly languish ; nor 
 
 Is she a mother who cannot say no 
 
 To crying pet ; she is not one to lead 
 
 Her child to Hell because the path to Heaven 
 
 Is steep and troublesome. Vfondrously fair 
 
 Is she, because- she's pure and true and wise. 
 
 Men linger lovingly before her ; for 
 
 Their own ideal of what they desire 
 
 In wife and daughter is made^ visible 
 
 By Eaphaers glowing brush. He painted not 
 
 Cook, sempstress,f tiller of the ground, still less 
 
 * The sculptor of the Niobe group. 
 
 f I do not refer to women who earn their bread and with 
 it my respect ; but to fine ladies, whose days are spent in 
 making finery and cooking big dinners. 
 
194 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A votary of foolish fashion, or 
 One who could flaunt her charms of body or 
 Of mind to Avin the superficial praise 
 Of brainless men ; her childlike grace 
 Is based on her unconsciousness of power; 
 For modesty is crown of womanhood. 
 Her purity, her love all conquering, 
 Her steadfast will that even vision of 
 The Cross can't shake, her intellect, that grasps 
 The problem of the ages but to bear 
 The overwhelming thought fco foot of God, 
 Are what he has portrayed and men adore. 
 V. But that is foul idolatry, 
 
 A. Alas! 
 There are men who will worship anything 
 But God ; better for such to bow before 
 Pure Mary, who holds in her arms the Christ, 
 Than to a Venus or a mistress vile. 
 Before my ward was born men worshipped her. 
 And the Franciscans teach she is divine ; 
 They say that she was not conceived in sin. 
 If not, one parent must have been a God, 
 For all of Adam's race are born in sin, 
 Except the ONE Who was begotten by 
 The Shadow of the Holy Ghost. * 
 Do not they pray to her in all lands now ? 
 If she hears all she Omnipresence has ; 
 If she can grant petitions then she must 
 Possess Omnipotence, and all of this 
 My charge was taught ; but he has given her 
 No attribute not warranted by Word 
 
 * Luke i. 35. 
 
RAPHAEL. 195 
 
 Of God.* If she can tread the air, it is 
 No more than angels do. If she is full 
 Of pity and would fain help man, why, so 
 Are we ; and she who bore the Saviour is 
 Above us all who Avould not dare embrace 
 The Deity. But she sits at Christ's feet 
 And dares to touch His hands : so do not we. 
 He never wore our angelhood ; but He 
 Vouchsafed to dwell in woman's womb, and lie 
 Upon her breast and to draw thence the life 
 That He bestowed. He did not choose a man 
 To cradle Him: Virgin, not sage, His choice. 
 .Raphael taught other lesson by his brush : 
 Perhaps the most incurable of Earth's 
 Many-hued forms of selfishness is that 
 Of mother for her child. What matter if 
 Another one be wronged, if it is hers 
 Who profits by the base deception or 
 The covert injury? She won't confess 
 This to be selfishness. ISFot for herself, 
 But for her offspring dear, she willing is 
 To scheme and sycophantly flatter if 
 Its happiness or wealth is thus increased. 
 Observe, in Eaphael's Holy Families 
 The Virgin gen'erally pays as much 
 Or more attention to St. John than to 
 Her Boy : if but one is caressed 'tis he. 
 Although the Babe Divine sits on her lap 
 The eye and outstretched hand are for the 
 sweet 
 
 * Perhaps this assertion is too bold. 
 
196 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And modest child, who while he waits to play 
 
 Adores.* Another lesson, too, I find 
 
 Is taught most charmingly by Sanzio — 
 
 Love for the beautiful about the paths 
 
 Of work-day life ; the common shrubs and flovvers 
 
 Are pictured with caressing touch, and with 
 
 A fondling care are finished, for he thought 
 
 That what God found worthy of His Great Hand, 
 
 Is not too mean or trite for man's. 
 
 V. Why hath 
 God brought him home so young ? 
 
 A. Thou hast discerned 
 The passion of some minds for what is old. 
 In Eome are buried grandest monuments 
 Of ages that have passed like meteors 
 And of their glory left no vestiges 
 But stones deep \\\ the soil. When men find these 
 Imagination is exalted— for 
 They know but little of what has been done 
 Upon their tiny globe. Although defaced 
 By age or conqueror, who had no time 
 Them to admire, these scattered marbles are 
 The letters out of which they will invent 
 A history or tale. But luxury 
 Of Papal Court, and of few nobles is 
 More prized than trade and business ; so the land 
 Around the city, once so populous 
 In men, fertile in fields, is- now a waste 
 Where Eetribution sits upon the throne 
 Of Idleness, that celibac}^ breeds, 
 
 * In my photographs of Kaphael'a Holy Families I find 
 this true in two-thirds of them. 
 
RAPHAEL. 197 
 
 Breathing malaria o'er Papal realm. 
 
 Raphael's imaginative mind was so 
 
 Aroused by relics of the Golden Age 
 
 Of Art that he his strength outworked, and thus 
 
 Was easy victim to the poisoned air. 
 
 V. I fancy that cause of -his leaving Earth 
 Is quite suggestive to poetic mind. 
 Canst tell me anything of him as man ? 
 
 A. His whole life was a strain of harmony. 
 The artists, else like instruments that are 
 Too easily unstrung, when they lived with 
 My Avard, subdued their jealousy and kept 
 Base passions down,* as at a concert men 
 Unconsciously agree that they will merge 
 All the peculiarities that give 
 Offence in silent sympathy. Knowest 
 Why Mother Mary in his pictures looks 
 So full of tenderness and willing help ? f 
 It is because dear Eaphael's soul was full 
 Of kindness : oft he left a picture that 
 Will last for aye to help a friend draw some 
 Poor thing — no picture but for his free aid. 
 And when he went to Papal Court he was 
 Accompanied by fifty men, perhaps: 
 His friends took a delio-ht in honoring 
 Who honored all of them. 
 
 V. Pictures of his 
 Thon saidst would ever last : how can that be ? 
 
 * Vasari. 
 
 f I gave liere only my own impressions ; since writing 
 it my reading lias almost convinced me lie owed miore to 
 Perugino and Da Vinci than I had perceived. 
 
198 TRE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. They are imjDressed upon immortal minds. 
 In camera obscura men can keep 
 An image that hath passed; so after Earth 
 And all the perishable it contains 
 Have turned to naught, on some minds thou wilt 
 
 find 
 His pictures are preserved; thus mothers keep 
 Portraits of babies that grandchildren may 
 See the first buds that have produced such 
 fruits. 
 V. Will scholars left behind now carry to 
 Perfection principles he taught ? 
 
 A. Ah no! 
 Not one is lovely as was he. . 
 
 Act III. : Scene I. — Me of IscMa. 
 
 MICHAEL AUTGELO AND VITTOBIA COLOJiTNA. 
 
 Zamar. — Hath G-od* made scenes like this to 
 reconcile 
 Man to his banishment? Or doth he give 
 Slices of Paradise to Adam's sons 
 To stimulate imaginations that 
 They may oft strive to crawl up to our height, 
 As boys will scramble up high cliffs to see 
 An eagle's nest when she a feather has 
 Let fall down at their feet ? 
 
 Mazza. — As boys may find 
 Instead of life and strength a wounded bird 
 Beside her dead, so will you in this Isle. 
 A Avidow mourns for a slain husband here. 
 Wilt hear some of her cries of agony? 
 If so, we'll fly into her room and read. 
 
MIGHAEL ANGELO. 199 
 
 Scene II. — Boom of the Ma/rehesa of PescMera. 
 
 His home that oxce my home had been 
 
 When his bright spirit dwelt within, 
 
 Has now become a grave to me: 
 
 As dead as he I seem to be. 
 
 While loud shrieks through the whole house rang 
 
 I was not conscious of a pang. 
 
 Why I was calm I do not know : 
 
 It was a mystery of woe 
 
 That I, who felt the need of crutch, 
 
 Should madly at his coffin clutch. 
 
 They looked, and '*' Natural," they, said 
 
 He was to them ; but to me — dead. 
 
 I saw no love in his closed eye; 
 
 He gave no sign that I was by ; 
 
 And yet I held on to the form 
 
 When last seen with a fond heart warm. 
 
 But I don't think I realized 
 
 The truth; I was too agonized 
 
 Because I knew that he must go 
 
 So soon and leave me in my woe. 
 
 On his dumb form I lavished love, 
 
 Nor had much time to look above. 
 
 I only thought to honor him, 
 
 Cared not much then that life was dim 
 
 As death, and cold as churchyard-clay. 
 
 I put the flowers upon his breast ; 
 
 For a few hours I watched his rest, 
 
 And thought — he sleepeth sweetly — ah ! 
 
 If rav bed-time was not so far 
 
200 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Off, over dreary wastes of life, 
 
 Whose Marali-wuters flow through strife! 
 
 Little I cared what should befall 
 
 The future, since I had lost all. 
 
 Oh, if I could but feel to-night 
 
 His presence make my dark room bright! 
 
 But God won't let him come to me, 
 
 Because I yield to agony. 
 
 [Mazza.—'^iM read another groan prolonged in 
 rhyme ?) 
 
 I WANT THEE, OH MT DARLIISTG 1 WaNT THEE 
 
 NOW, 
 
 I long to lay my hand upon thy brow, 
 
 And feel thy touch with life my heart endow, 
 
 For it seems dead within me ; it is cold. 
 No wonder, for a corpse it doth enfold ; 
 I smile, and friends think I have been consoled. 
 
 Consoled? mockery of blessed word ! 
 No greater mockery hath my ear heard. 
 The one who could console me is interred 
 
 Beneath the sod on which I kisses press. 
 
 And smooth with hands that once he did caress : 
 
 Having known love like his 'I can't take less. 
 
 Tears tremble 'neatli the lids that keep them back ; 
 And nearly all the time my brain's on rack 
 Of faithful memory, throbbing for lack 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 201 
 
 Of tenderness that once was ever mine. 
 It cannot be replaced ; not Love Divine 
 Is like it, for all human, dear, was thine. 
 
 Thou lovedst with an upward glance, like child, 
 
 As though to thee 1 were quite undefiled ; 
 
 And Grod looks down and sees my heart is wild : 
 
 A cruel doubt dotli gnaw my spirit through — 
 Is he with thee, God ? If I but knew 
 He is, I'd smile at all that fate can do. 
 
 : I had a mother once; to Thee she went ; 
 Sweet certainty, with resignation blent 
 But now a Cross without Crown Thou hast sent. 
 
 The Crown may be here, but I cannot see; 
 
 And only certainty can rescue me 
 
 From my blind grief. Say, God, is he with Thee ? 
 
 If not, he is alone ; for iiever he 
 
 Had with the wicked any sympathy. 
 
 God, if Thou wouldst let him come to me 
 
 In dreaming vision of a wakeful night, 
 
 With open wings * and eyes like angels bright. 
 
 But smiling on me with their old love-light ! 
 
 Then I could bear to be unloved, and worse, 
 Could bear to feel within my heart the curse 
 Of loveless quiet, as though it were hearse 
 
 * See note B. 
 
202 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 To cany each hour as it comes to me 
 To keep the dead Past silent company. 
 
 Zatnar. — Read me some more ; for human life 
 to me 
 Is what Renaissance is to ancient art. 
 
 Mazza {reads:) — I sit aloite i]sr my cedak- 
 
 BOWER, 
 
 And this the blessing that I crave : 
 
 I wish the graveyard flower 
 
 That gives a bud to lie on my Love's grave 
 
 Soon to lay one on mine. 
 
 In rosy morn when the glad siin doth shine, 
 
 I wish the emeralds upon his tomb 
 
 To smile on rabies glistening on mine. 
 
 And when the black clouds lower o'er his dear 
 
 grave 
 I wish mine wrapped in gloom. 
 There was no human power could save 
 His beauty from an early grave ; 
 Then why may I not die, with him to be ? 
 So heavily the long days pass, 
 So gloomily ! 
 
 I often look upon my glass 
 To see if I'm not growing old. 
 My youth and bloom have passed away ; 
 I feel my heart has grown as pold 
 As though my hair was gray ; 
 My eyes have shed as many tears 
 As those that sink deep in the head 
 f feeble age : 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 203 
 
 The dragging hours are endless years. 
 
 I oft turn to the page 
 
 That we together read 
 
 In life's bright May. 
 
 The letters dazzle me; 
 
 I cannot see, 
 
 But turn ray eyes away 
 
 And hear his voice 
 
 Eeading the book that aye was our first choice — 
 
 That once I smiled to hear ; 
 
 But now my lips are pressed where his head lay. 
 
 (Francesco dear, 
 
 Surely love can't decay ! 
 
 Wilt thou not come for me soon, very soon, 
 
 To bear me to the Land of Day ?) 
 
 I take up the guitar he kept in tune ; 
 
 But since his hand grew stiff alway 
 
 There is discordant note 
 
 That cannot be attuned to harmony — 
 
 In hours gone by it was the first in glee. 
 
 I often look at the bright star he wrote 
 
 About in poetry ; 
 
 He bade me know whene'er I sought its light 
 
 It was because he thought of me. 
 
 Among the stars it seems to float 
 
 With memories laden, a golden boat. 
 
 It only bright, 
 
 Illuminated with his name : 
 
 And as through clouds appears the prow, 
 
 I wonder if the one whom he loves now 
 
 Can be the same 
 
 As slie with whom he walked in earthly bowers. 
 
204 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I weep because I may not surely know — 
 
 This agony of doubt the greatest woe! 
 
 The dried-up flowers 
 
 That I have kept for years, 
 
 Which always lie upon my breast, 
 
 Oft need the watering of tears ', 
 
 And so I bathe them late at night 
 
 And when the early morning-light 
 
 Disturbs my broken rest : 
 
 They were the last he culled. 
 
 Last night I had sweet dreams ; my griefs were 
 
 lulled 
 By angel-harmonies to sleep. 
 His voice I could not hear; I turned away to 
 
 weep : 
 I would not list to angels' serenade 
 If his sweet tones no music made. 
 Then felt I on my brow his kiss. 
 He gently chided my false fears ; 
 He stood by me in cloud-like robes arrayed, 
 Within his eyes supernal bliss 
 That dried up all my tears. 
 My trembling steps he led with tender care 
 To his bright home, where all is fair. 
 Then he left me alone ; 
 I woke up with a moan — 
 'Twas week-day morn, 
 Francesco gone! 
 
MICHAEL ANQELO. 205 
 
 Bcene II. 
 ( Vittoria alone ; she takes up her guitar.) 
 
 There's ko home like Eden, the lai^d of de- 
 light ! 
 There's no home like Eden, where faith's changed 
 to sight ! 
 Where severed hearts union gain, 
 Forgotten earth's sad pain 
 And the flowers there bound round the brow of 
 
 the bride 
 Were nurtured and cherished by Love Crucified. 
 
 Or sleeping or waking, where'er I may be 
 
 My thoughts aye are turning, sweet Eden, to thee ! 
 
 Where bitter tears all are dried 
 
 At the loved one's dear side; 
 Where the one whom I love will claim me as bride 
 While we kneel to be blessed by Love Crucified. 
 
 {Throws doion the guitar.) 
 
 V. It is in vain. I cannot sing off grief. 
 
 (After toalking about, takes up her pen..) 
 
 Gone! Gone! and I shall never see thee 
 
 MORE 
 
 On this earth, once so beautiful to us. 
 Yet it does seem even the dead might hear 
 The startling groan that often doth escape 
 From my fast-breaking heart ; even the dead 
 Might feel the crushing pain that will wear out 
 My storm-tossed life. Oh, wonld that it were done! 
 The earth is drear, for in the grave thou art; 
 
20G THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In horrid grief, love and despair beneath 
 
 Their feet have trampled happy hours, fright'nlng 
 
 The dreams I prized the most to calmer home: 
 
 And yet each day doth bring its thought of thee. 
 
 I see thee standing on the ship that bore 
 
 Thee from my sight. Darted thy loving smile 
 
 Its rays of light about my less'ning form, 
 
 As thine eyes fixed on me and mine on thee, 
 
 The sighing watei'S dashed loud waves between 
 
 Our aching hearts, chanting their farewell hymn 
 
 To setting sun, and trembling in alarm 
 
 At coming night. Like the prophetic sun 
 
 Our hopes were sinking in their graves, and death's 
 
 "Night-thoughts" were slowly rising from black 
 
 depths 
 And shadowy; like veils of cloistered nuns 
 Were shutting out youth's beauty from our sight. 
 The twilight lasted long; thy manhood strong 
 It did not terrify, and little thought 
 I of the coming night of grief and death ; 
 My life had been too bright for me to fear 
 It could be aught but beautiful and fair. 
 Ah ! while earth's twilight shadows closed around 
 My careless heart an angel came for thee, 
 And thv grand form was laid in the cold ground 
 When I had pressed a farewell kiss on lips 
 That ever smiled on me. Thy dying look 
 AVas full of brightness of foretasted bliss; 
 The trusting smile that said, God is my friend, 
 Taught us that Eden's life began ere thou 
 Wert numbered with the dead. Thou numbered 
 
 with 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 207 
 
 The dead, and she who loves thee numbered with 
 
 The living! My every earthly joy 
 
 Hath fled, and «iemory doth naught but sing 
 
 The cherished happiness of .Vanished years. 
 
 But, looking up, I see waving above 
 
 My brow wreaths of celestial flowers, and in 
 
 The lingering of thy fond smile they glow 
 
 With radiance that is not of this sphere ; 
 
 And on the night-air flow sweet voices of 
 
 Angelic mirth : this is the chant I hear: 
 
 Lo! thy bridegroom doth come to woo thee home; 
 
 And flowers we bear to his longed-for bride 
 
 Were culled from earth's woes by a Father's Hand. 
 
 Scene III. — Rome. 
 A.D. 1536. 
 Aidee. — Come. I shall show thee sight magnifi- 
 cent. 
 There is no statue of the palmy days 
 Of Greece that will in future ages make 
 Impression more sublime than will the man 
 Whom now we fly to see. 
 
 Farrelle. — We are in Eome. 
 A. In artist's studio. Does not he look 
 Like rough gnarled oak that has fought with the 
 
 storms 
 Of years and conquered — not their might, but self. 
 Michael Atigelo (soliloquizing) — "I have no 
 friends, need none, and wish for none." 
 In my whole life I have not had one day 
 Of perfect joy.* 
 
 * I have somewhere read of his saying this. 
 
20S THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. How little does lie know 
 Himself! I ne'er saw youth who struggled more 
 For love and sympathy; the contest was 
 Shut close within his breast, and so he was 
 Defeated by himself. Sixty is he, 
 And now he has made up his mind to win no love. 
 Mount Blanc ought not to blame the little men 
 Who live about his feet because they do 
 Not strive to penetrate the chilling fog 
 That separates him from the world. Those who 
 Are eminent in mind and character 
 Must reconcile themselves to solitude 
 Of mountain-peaks. 
 
 F. Alas, that even they 
 Are separated by chasms of thought ! 
 Those who are nearer Grod, and whom we oft 
 May visit, should be satisfied, 
 
 A. A joy 
 Surpassing that of our invisible 
 And silent love awaits my Michael now. 
 F. Michael his name ? 
 
 A. After Commander of 
 Our hosts : the Church of Rome hath pretty 
 
 whims 
 About her patron saints. The doctrine is 
 Eooted in truth : but on its later boughs 
 They tie dead, artificial flowers. 
 ^. He goes forth ; shall "we go ? 
 
 A. Aye; for it was 
 To see his parched-up soul refreshed that we 
 Have hither come : his thirst not less because 
 He long has ceased to search for springs of love 
 
 i 
 
MICHAEL ANQELO. 209 
 
 To cool the working fever of his brain. 
 ISTow in Vittoria he soon will find 
 A never-failing fount of intellect 
 And sympathy. 
 
 F. And love ? 
 
 A: That I know not ; 
 But do not think he will; she has loved once. 
 Her husband rests on Hades' shore of peace ; 
 JSTever a spirit there has filled her jdace. 
 When he was killed she went to Eome to take 
 The veil, but Clement wise forbade the nuns 
 To dress her for the rite. Her angel will 
 Recite to thee some poetry she wrote 
 To ease her agony. Her family 
 Had injured Roman property, and all 
 Of hers she offered to repair the ill 
 That they had done. A crown was proffered once 
 To her brave husband, but Vittoria 
 Counselled against acceptance ; for he had 
 Need of no diadem to be the king 
 Of her free soul in chosen vassalage. 
 She argued thus : " Virtue may raise you high 
 Above kings' glory. Honor that goes down 
 To children is derived from qualities 
 And deeds. I would be wife to general, 
 Who is by duty done higher than king."* 
 
 * Woman's Record. 
 
210 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Michael Angela, alone : 
 
 1e the stillness of the iflGHT . 
 
 Fell a string upon my heart, 
 From a shattered harp it fell; 
 Bnt the broken chord was bright 
 And it fell with magic art, 
 Sounding mystery's sweet spell. 
 
 Swiftly darkness fled away, 
 
 For the string was twined of light 
 That from cherub's wing was shed; 
 
 And I knew the mystic ray, 
 That in darkest hour of night 
 Glorified the cross-crowned head. 
 
 When my life wore flowers of May, 
 
 Carelessly I swept the strings 
 
 Of the harx^ I treasured not; 
 Soon the master-chord gave way: 
 
 But its echo ever rings 
 
 Eound about my lonely lot. 
 
 When thy broken harp-string fell, 
 
 Angel-led, it touched that chord, 
 
 And brought forth a melody 
 That in my stilled heart doth dwell. 
 
 Keeping ever watch ^nd ward 
 
 O'er a blessed memory. 
 
 {Throzus down his pen.) 
 What an old fool I am ? 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 211 
 
 (Picks iqj liis pen, and smiling at his own 
 iveakness, writes :) 
 
 In^ my sleep I SAW A VISION" — 
 
 One I did not dare to grasp : 
 But I hovered on Love's pinion 
 O'er the form I would not clasp. 
 
 When a boy 1 played with bubbles, 
 Found their beauty was but air ; 
 
 Now a man, weighed down by troubles, 
 I'm afraid of what seems fair. 
 
 I desire to dream forever 
 
 That an angel waiteth near ; 
 Did I grasp her I might sever 
 
 Into truths the vision dear. 
 
 I shall go back to work. A gnarled oak's not 
 The stuflF to whittle Cupids out of. Bah ! 
 
 Scene V. * 
 , Domenico and Vittoria Colonna. 
 Domenico. — Pray, who is thy new friend, this 
 
 Angelo ? 
 Vittoria. A man. 
 
 D. That does not tell me much. 
 
 V. But more 
 Than I can say of many in this Rome. 
 
 D. Presumes he to aspii'e to hand of one 
 "Who is Oolonna's daughter ? 
 
 V. No. That man 
 
 * Altogether imaginary. 
 
212 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Would not presume did he sue for a hand 
 
 That sceptre sways. Ye, Roman nobles, boast 
 
 Of pride of birth : most of your houses are, 
 
 As the world knows, founded by those on whom 
 
 Easts stain of illegitimacy. Bah ! 
 
 He miglit be rich if he desired, and found 
 
 A house ; for all nobility is based 
 
 On wealth; all our progenitors were first 
 
 Rich parvenues, wherher they gained their gold 
 
 By heritage, or kingly gift, or Avar, 
 
 Or trade ; whate'er the honors they obtained 
 
 By war or statesmen's craft, or guile, or love, 
 
 They were but parvenues until on wealth 
 
 They laid foundation for a family. 
 
 '' Founded a family ! " But, pray, Avho was 
 
 The father of the founder ? No one knows. 
 
 D. This is true of all lands alike. I wish 
 !Not such a hot defense of Angelo. 
 
 V. Dost not? What prizest thou most in the 
 world ? 
 
 D. Dear Liberty ; and to see my Rome free 
 From Papal yoke how gladly would I die ! 
 
 V. And canst not recognize a kindred soul ? 
 
 D. I do in thee and honor thee e'en as — 
 
 V. Thou shouldst Buonarotti have. Surely 
 Thou knowest of the help he Florence gave 
 When she strove to cast off the Medici. 
 
 D. Is he the Florentine who fortified 
 The city, and Avhose talents were to her 
 More than a regiment ? The same who scorned 
 To purchase Alessandro's favor by 
 The plan of citadel for tyrants' lair ? 
 
 i 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 213 
 
 V. Yea. Is not he a man ? 
 
 D. And worthy to 
 Wed a Marchesa if she be not called 
 Vittoria. 
 
 V. My sacred widowhood 
 Should save me from impertinence. Farewell. 
 
 {Alone.) 
 
 STILL HEAVIER GROWS EARTH'S AIR, 
 
 And flowers seem less fair 
 When eyes with tears are brimming 
 Every glory dimming. 
 Father, must I longer roam, 
 Straying farther still from Home? 
 
 He I seek long hid with Thee, 
 I with death and misery ! 
 Earth it is not hard to leave; 
 Harder far it is to breathe, 
 When disease and languor make 
 All my nerves with sore pain quake. 
 
 Father ! Father, let me soar 
 
 Where weak men can't tease me more ! 
 
 Send Thy angels after me ; 
 
 Then will all life-shadows flee, 
 
 Swept afar by rainbow-wings, 
 
 Vibrating to song one sings: — 
 
 " Long-expected Wife of earth, 
 Come and share celestial mirth ! 
 Wipe the sweat from clammy brow; 
 Friends, kiss ; quick ! I must kiss now. 
 When my lips her lips have prest 
 She will have eternal rest." 
 
214 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 After long loeeping Vittoria writes : 
 
 My God, why wilt Thou not withdraw 
 The iron bands of earfchliness ? 
 My heart to agony they press. 
 
 With feehngs near allied to awe 
 
 I go amid the gay and young, 
 Fearing that heavy step like mine 
 Is discord where love-songs are sung — 
 
 G-rim Fate beside " the tuneful Nine." 
 
 The young girls' mirth the hours recall — 
 Forgetfulness Time hath not taught — 
 When my life too with bliss was fraught, 
 
 And earth to me was brightness all. 
 Such splendor I no more can see 
 Since husband dear hath gone from me, 
 
 ]S[ow always pineth my sad heart 
 
 For joys divine where, God, Thou art. 
 They cannot die like those of earth : 
 
 The sweetness of life's daily flowers 
 Sickens with threat of coming dearth ; 
 
 It minds me of the happy hours — 
 As musical as song-birds' breath — 
 Ere I knew Grief and sterner Death. 
 
 Then, God, withdraw life's iron bands 
 
 That I may rise to fairer lands ! 
 
 Oh God, my weary work is doke! 
 
 I feel that it is nearly o'er, 
 And that another Summer's sun 
 
 May shine upon my quiet grave. 
 And the next Winter's rains may pour 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 215 
 
 Down on my calm, unbroken rest — 
 The sleep my wearied spirits crave. 
 
 I seem to see a presence blest ; 
 
 And opened wings low hover now 
 Most watchfully, though silently 
 
 About the room and over me. 
 I feel their presence on my brow 
 
 As it grows cool and free of pain ; 
 
 ISTot so great pressure of life's chain. 
 I did not finish that last sigh 
 For then One to my side drew nigh : 
 
 He — that blest One — kissed it away 
 
 And whispered words men could not say. 
 I see Jiis gentle smile again 
 Such I ne'er had from other men. 
 
 As loving as it was of old ; 
 
 Dearest, thy spirit's bride enfold 
 Within thy tender, fond embrace 
 And take me to the blissful place 
 
 That Jesus hath prepared for me — 
 
 The one that He hath given thee. 
 
 Scene FI— 1564. 
 
 Miehael Angela. --" The fables of the world have 
 robbed my soul 
 Of moments given for the things of God. " 
 "Now standing on the brink of life's dark sea, 
 Too late I learn, Earth ! thou promised'st 
 Peace that can never be, and the repose 
 That dies in being born. A retrospect 
 Of life brings only errors to my view. 
 
21(3 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The greatest bliss on high belongs to Him 
 Who early dies." My head has done its work 
 And it is satisfied ; bnt empty heart 
 Is craving as in youth for what it can 
 In ot have. Oh, Love ! My hair is white and thou 
 Return'st again. My will thou oft has thrown, 
 Then let it have the reins. Now thou hast spurred 
 Me as a horse to fleetness wild, and then 
 Hast let me cool* Like animal that long- 
 Has been left to himself, I have grown shy. 
 But I must bolder be, or else can't win 
 The blessing I much crave. I tire of self. 
 
 Scene YIl. 
 
 Michael Angela and Vittoria. 
 
 Vittoria. — "Far higher than your works we rank 
 yourself : 
 And those who know them only value that 
 In you less perfect than yourself. Much I 
 Admire the way that you seclude yourself 
 From the vain conversation of the world 
 And princes' offers, that you may dispose 
 The labor of your life as one great work." f 
 
 M. Angelo. — This praise is undeserved; but here 
 I shall 
 
 * The idea of the horse is expressed by Michael Angelo. 
 
 f All in quotation-marks is quoted from Grimm's " Life 
 of Michael Angelo," translated by Fanny E. Bennett. In 
 the conversation of Michael Angelo and Vittoria Colonna, 
 I use you instead of thou ; for Grimm says there never was 
 any mention of love between them. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 217 
 
 Complain of the reproaches brought against 
 The men of genius. Some say they are strange 
 And not to be approached : the opposite 
 Is true ; none are so natural, so full 
 Of sympathy. But should an artist, quite 
 Absorbed in his own work, take from it time 
 And thought to drive off other men's ennui f 
 FeAV do their work with conscientiousness." 
 
 V. The starving minds, ne'er fed by books or 
 thoughts, 
 Wish to be kept alive on the rare crumbs 
 That from rich tables fall, forgetting that 
 Those who can such afford have delved for 
 
 food 
 More eagerly than ploughmen cultivate 
 Their soil. 
 
 M. " How seldom do we meet with minds 
 Tliat understand ideas! Oft the Pope 
 Upbraids me that I do not show myself; 
 But I reply, I work for him in my own way. 
 Instead of making false parade like those 
 Who nothing do. Sometimes I put my hat 
 Upon my head, forgetful quite that he 
 Is by; and he lets me alone, instead 
 Of cutting off my head." 
 
 V. His Holiness 
 Is well aware, though he can open gates 
 Of Heaven and Purgatory, that he can't 
 Call thence another Michael Angelo. 
 
 M. But Angelo would answer to the call 
 Of the Marchesa, could she ever find 
 Fit place in Purgatory and were he 
 10 
 
218 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In Heaven; and it would be but jnst, because 
 
 She often raises him from depths of foul 
 
 Despair (and that is Satan's kingdom — is 
 
 It not ?) to sit by her in Paradise. 
 
 " He blockhead is who likes to live alone 
 
 And calls it happiness." But artists can't 
 
 Be always with Vittorias, and so, 
 
 " Why be unjust to one who naught demands 
 
 From any one, because he is not false ? 
 
 Why wish by force to make him take (fool's*) part 
 
 In killing time," when he has not enough 
 
 Wherein to shape his ends ? " He quiet needs ; 
 
 There is a mental work which the whole man 
 
 Eequires, and he can't give to any one 
 
 Tlie smallest part of his free soul. Those who 
 
 Great artists are with no man would exchange ; 
 
 They envy not the rich, thinking that they 
 
 Are wealthier. A mind schooled in high art 
 
 Perceives how empty is the life of those 
 
 Who think themselves the mighty of the earth, 
 
 Whose glory " will be but their winding-sheet. 
 
 " Prouder is artist of his work than is 
 
 A prince of vanquisiied lands." 
 
 V. " May I presume 
 To ask enlightenment upon your art ? " 
 
 M. " Your Excellency but commands and I 
 Obey." 
 
 V. " To me the German painting seems 
 In character much more devout than ours." 
 
 M. " It best suits the majority who call 
 
 * Word inserted, for rhythm. 
 
 i 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 219 
 
 Themselves religious, for it moves to tears 
 Whom ours leaves cold. It suits the very old 
 And young, ecclesiastics, nuns. It does 
 Attract the eye with pleasant themes, 
 Is pretty, but is not true art, for it 
 Has not the inward sympathy, and it 
 Possesses not meaning or power; only 
 In Italy is painting genuine. Fine art 
 Is made religious by the mind that it 
 Originates. JSTaught makes the soul so pure 
 And good as to endeavor to create 
 A perfect work. Grod is perfection, and 
 Who strives for it strives for a thing divine." 
 
 V. As we may say a taper is a light 
 And the sun is a light. 
 
 3L True painting is 
 Faint shadow of the pencil Grod paints with, 
 A striving after harmony. 
 
 V. And He 
 The music is. 
 
 M. And the most perfect sheet 
 Of melody that He kindly allowed 
 To float to earth is she whose presence is 
 A song, and I, who cannot sing, am in 
 Despair. Can't I be taught ? I have been told 
 How you have raised D'Avalos* from a wild 
 Boar's youth to man of intellect and art. 
 Improve me now. " For the first time have I 
 Experienced what happiness it is 
 To yield to woman." f I am blessed now. 
 
 * Husband's nephew. 
 
 f Grimm. 
 
220 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Not Pole, nor Contariiii, Occhino, 
 
 Nor Tolomei find in you what I jBnd — 
 
 A second self. 
 
 V. The "New Opinions"* I 
 Share with these friends. 
 
 if. And I share them with you. 
 "Now on one foot and then on other I 
 Am balancing, virtue and vice the weights. 
 Anxious and wearied I salvation seek, 
 Like one who errs because the stars are hid 
 In clouds. I know not where to turn. Oh, take 
 My heart's unwritten page and write on it 
 What most it needs! All that I crave in prayer 
 Disclose to me."f 
 
 V. I see as one who wakes 
 In dazzling light, nor yet perceive the lines 
 That I must draw around the Truth. 
 
 M. I leave 
 With you this trash I wrote. I see some friends 
 Draw near. Farewell. 
 
 V. Take them with you. I care 
 Not for their chat while my soul hearkens to 
 The surging thoughts you have aroused. 
 V. {alone) reads: 
 
 •' That thy beauty may kot die 
 Nature now asks back each charm ; 
 One by one takes them away, 
 Grives them to a woman warm ; 
 
 * In religion, Michael Angelo was a disciple of Savona- 
 rola, and Vittoria favored tlie " new opinions ; " yet neither 
 were "heretics." 
 
 f From Michael Angelo's sonnets. 
 
MICHAEL ANOELO. 221 
 
 With thy countenance adorns 
 
 Lovely form in the bright sky j 
 Ev'ry grace of thine she has. 
 
 Her the God of Love doth try 
 To give heart compassionate. 
 
 Kindly He my sighs receives, 
 Gathers up my bitter tears, 
 
 Gives them to one who much grieves 
 For her love^ as I for thine. 
 
 Happier than I he'll be; 
 Touched by my pangs, she will give 
 
 What thou hast denied to me."* 
 
 I HAVE TOLD HIM I SOEROWED FOR LOST TOLTTH.f 
 
 How beautifully would he me console 
 
 For my fast-fading charms ! God takes them all 
 
 Up to my future home to keep for me 
 
 In everduring life. My Angelo, 
 
 Thy comfort I accept ; but will not fill 
 
 The outline of thyself. My husband and 
 
 Myself shall have thee for our guest for aye. 
 
 Scene VIII. — In garden of S. Sihestro. 
 
 M. Angelo. — ^^ As I was still in Eome you should 
 not have 
 Placed Tommaso between yourself and me. 
 More for your ladyship I would have done 
 Than for another in the world, and he 
 Who loves sleeps not ; 'a loving heart needs not 
 
 * F. A. B.'s English, translation I turn into rhyme, 
 f When they first met Michael Angelo was 59, and Vit- 
 toria 45 years old. 
 
222 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Be urged.' I wished to give surprise by what 
 I bring. Of this svv^eet boon T am deprived."* 
 
 Vittoria. — I am ashamed of having feared I was 
 Forgotten in the deep abstraction that 
 Your work demands. I shall oifend no more. 
 Yet, would it be so very strange if rose, 
 Whose bloom has fled, should fancy that the bird 
 That sang to her in the night-hours, forgets 
 Her when the day shines, and his brood requires 
 His care ? 
 
 M. False illustration, Lady mine ! 
 Hath your bloom fled ? Were brighter in your 
 
 youth ? 
 You may have been for others, not for me. 
 Beauty of face and form my hands create ; 
 But intellect and sympathy G-od lends 
 To me in thee. I need not now explain 
 My ordinary thoughts, and so fear not 
 To be myself, that is, alone with you. 
 I am like one who has been dumb till late, 
 Because now I am heard by equal mind. 
 I shall not ofier you this crucifix, 
 For all I do is yours ; all flowers belong 
 To Spring. Tears, fair Marchesa '? Why ? 
 
 V. I have 
 No other words for gift like this, my friend. 
 
 M. " A thousand works from mortals such as I 
 Cannot repay what God has granted you." 
 I love my work. Do you love yours ? 
 
 V. I do 
 
 * From a letter. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 223 
 
 Not comprehend. I cannot say that I 
 Feel very tenderly to tapestry 
 Or cake. 
 
 M. Mock me! That's well: perhaps it is 
 Time I should learn you are a woman, too. 
 
 V. I do not laugh at yo.n, but jest, as do 
 The children when they would he wise 
 As those who question them, and know not what 
 To say : I do not understand. 
 
 M. It is 
 First time that you are deaf to me, and will 
 Not comprehend. 
 
 V. ForgiA^e me now. Be good. 
 
 M. "When a man's art has into heing brought 
 A form so graceful none can fear for it 
 The rudest shock of time, does he love it ? 
 In humble mould I lay, to be by you 
 Eenewed, and to a work more perfect brought. 
 You gave me what I lacked, and filed away 
 All roughness. Yet what tortures have I to 
 Expect if you begin to curb and tame ! " * 
 You do not seem to hear. 
 
 V. I am absorbed 
 In wondrous beauty of this crucifix. 
 
 M. It is but rough design. I brought it but 
 To shoAV I needed not a Tomrnaso 
 To make me think of you. 
 
 V. I do beseech 
 You spare me more reproach. It could not have 
 Been a good file I used your roughness to 
 
 * From Michael Ana'elo's sonnets. 
 
224 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Smooth down. But what your haughty modesty 
 Is pleased to call rude draught is yours no more ; 
 Among my dearest treasures is it now, 
 And I will trust it to no man : he who 
 Designed this can another draw. I can 
 J^ot speak my thanks for this and all you do 
 And are to me. 
 
 M. " Too great is the reward, 
 Sweet as it is, that chains the soul ; and now 
 My liberty complains that you are kind. 
 You injure me more than a thief could do ; 
 Too little often grows out of what is 
 Too much.' I cannot suffer this." * 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 Aidee. — Our Angelo of earth dreams now before 
 A portrait he hath painted of his Love. 
 Wilt hear his thought ? 
 
 Farrelle. — Aye; yery readily. 
 
 M. Angelo. — One portrait have I painted — only 
 one.f 
 Vittoria;, the lovely, on my brain 
 Shone in her splendor and reflection true 
 My canvas gave me back — so shines the sun 
 On ocean tempest-tossed, and it doth still 
 Its turbid rage, and makes itself a glass 
 But to transmit its brightness in a mass 
 Of shivered rainbows, gathei»ed at his will. 
 No teasing child, or girl in giddy teens 
 
 *From Micliael Angelo's sonnets. 
 
 f Grimm says lie paiuted one other portrait ; but it was 
 after Vittoria's death. 
 
MTGHAEL ANGELO. 225 
 
 Is empress of my sonl — a woman old 
 
 In years, bnt young as Homer's tales, though. 
 
 told 
 Were they to buried race. For he who gleans 
 Where woman like Vittoria sows seeds. 
 Asks not for youth ; she answers all his needs. 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 Vittoria. — Is not our Virgin Lady in your 
 great 
 Pieta young to have a son Whose years 
 Were thirty-three ? 
 
 M. Angela. — " Know you not, women chaste 
 Fresher remain than those who are not so ? 
 How much more one who never has been led 
 Astray by sinful wish ! And to her aid 
 Came Power Divine so that the purity 
 Of maidenhood appeared to all the world. 
 The Son, like us in all save sin, must show 
 His age." 
 
 F. There is a work of yours I have 
 Not seen — bronze statue of Pope Julius. 
 
 M. More than my other tasks that tired me; 
 for 
 A patron, not my genius, did command 
 The work ; it was " my father's prayers that kept 
 Me well," until I finished it. Have I, 
 Marchesa, your permission to sliow you 
 A work of mine you have not seen ? 
 
 V. Indeed, 
 How gladly I shall go ! 
 
 M. Not far. But let 
 
22 B THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sweet pity guide your steps, and hear not me, 
 
 Who cannot softly speak, but my desire. 
 
 Ah no ! I cannot read it to you ; I 
 
 Must go away and leave the paper here. 
 
 Have pity on me, as you had on poor, 
 
 Dumb boy to whom you gave an alms. Farewell. 
 
 [He goes, and Vittoria reads.) 
 
 AST ANSV^^EK TO MY BKOTHEK. 
 
 Thou canst not see how I love her, facts being as 
 
 they are ; 
 Thou sayest thou couldst never love, though beau- 
 tiful, a star. 
 Imagine now that hearing music sad and sweet 
 
 and low. 
 Thou should st walk up a dark church -aisle with 
 
 footstep calm and slow, 
 And gaze with others on a face seen through a 
 
 casket's glass,* 
 Let Love be born, and backward then with tlie 
 
 crowd slowly pass. 
 And from that hour the sculptor Death hath bound 
 
 thee to a bride ; 
 She is so beautiful that thou henceforth wilt dwell 
 
 beside 
 A grave-stone angel that doth hold to thee a 
 
 marble Cross ; 
 Beneath its shadows thou wilt sit to brood upon 
 
 thy loss ; 
 
 * I dare say this is an anaclironism ; but I can't alter it. 
 I don't believe lie would have answered such a question 
 had his brother put it. 
 
 i 
 
MIOHAEL ANGELO. 22 Y ' 
 
 And never eyes of romping girl, or grace of 
 
 maid deniare 
 Can banish from thy death-chilled heart the 
 
 beauty of the pure 
 And silent maiden lying calm beneath the grass 
 
 and flowers : 
 Better to thee than midnight-dance the church- 
 yard's lonely hours. 
 'Tis so I love, without a hope that I her breast can 
 
 warm : 
 When first I saw her I knew well that spiritual 
 
 form 
 Smiled to her in the evening calm, and in fresh 
 
 morning's thrill; 
 Spirit she lo\es; yet I love her, and have no 
 
 power of will. 
 V. A poet's love ? Can" IT be teue ? 
 
 Since I read this how very new 
 
 The risen splendor earth puts on ! 
 
 New beauties JSTafcure now adorn. 
 
 This pretty song to me hath proved 
 
 More than his spoken words could do — 
 
 That even yet I can be moved ; 
 
 Not that to dead Friend I'm untrue, 
 
 But that 'tis right to still the pain 
 
 That tortureth too much the brain ; 
 
 Which lately made my heart a nun 
 
 That saw no glory ia the sun 
 
 Because day hath not any stars; 
 
 That saw no joy which graced the earth 
 
 Except through death's cold, steadfast bars, 
 
 Through which my lieart, a, faithful serf, 
 
228 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Gazed at the lot she longed to share 
 With one who was enthroned where 
 My Saviour liyes— oh, to be there ! 
 My liege lord, shut behind the stars, 
 Hath hid from me his talents bright, 
 Safe where no dimming stain e'er mars: 
 He left me shrouded in the night 
 Of grim and lonely cloisters; 
 Counting my beads of happy hours 
 As a pale, veiled nun counts hers ; 
 While, shivering, she cowers 
 Beneath mandate of higher powers : 
 So trembled I 'neath stern decree 
 That barred my liege and priest from me. 
 But sweetly now a poet sings. 
 And slyly to my cloistered heart, 
 He enters by poetic art. 
 Then startled Fancy, trembling, flings 
 Aside the worn-out mourning-veil 
 That hid all beauty from mine eyes ; 
 To list his songs I hush my sighs 
 Joys, wdiich have grown in darkness pale — 
 Their sun concealed in clouds above — 
 Now stretch their feeble tendrils forth. 
 To be snnned in the vivid light 
 Of fascinating love. 
 Ea23id their unsuspected growth 
 Under true sympathy's *fond might 
 Since they have felt another sun ! 
 I cannot love, as I have proved. 
 For I with wedded love have done ; 
 Bnt ne'er had praise my spirit moved 
 
 i 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 229 
 
 As thus to see he can imbue 
 All things with beauty ; he has won 
 The poet's right to talk to me 
 Of all that's beautiful and true, 
 And I shall listen willingly. 
 
 Scene XL 
 
 Vittoria (alone). 
 
 My weaet heart again— ah, foolish thing! 
 
 That it to earthly happiness may cling 
 
 Once more its drooping claspers forth will stretch 
 
 After the pictures that a man doth sketch. 
 
 Tendrils of fallen vine will interlace 
 
 A branch of the same tree, whose fond embrace 
 
 A bough decayed forgot when it did fling 
 
 It on the earth, and little birds will sing 
 
 Again for it. Now, half-unwillingly, 
 
 And half-afraid of what again may be, 
 
 Must I confess that I am like the vine. 
 
 Is it not far better again to twine 
 
 Its tendrils round a bough that's not decayed, 
 
 Blessing the wearied traveller with shade, 
 
 While children gather beech-nuts at its roots 
 
 And the tired pilgrim blesses its cool fruit, 
 
 Than to live in a dusty tomb of dearth 
 
 As reproach and dark blot on God's fair earth ? 
 
 Dead lips have stamped their signet on my brow : 
 And to one friend my heart will ever bow: 
 Fancy immortalized hath not decayed — 
 Beauty that's eternized can never fade. 
 
230 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 But may I lie in gloom 
 
 Dreaming of a dead Friend 
 
 Through night that knows no end 
 
 Save in the silent tomb ? 
 
 I'll make another heart 
 
 Upholder of my grief, 
 
 And when one sings relief 
 
 With sympathetic art, 
 
 I'll rise answeringly 
 
 From the abyss of woe. 
 
 He blessedness will know 
 
 Of Spirit's company; 
 
 I'll chant for him 
 
 Songs Spirit sings, 
 
 While echo rings 
 
 In twilight dim 
 
 From pain to sudden bliss ; 
 
 And when witii woe vibrating 
 
 Quickly reverberating 
 
 From cavernous abyss 
 
 Will mingle with his bliss. 
 
 Our pure hearts joined in such harmonious strains 
 
 Will drink in peace as thirsty plants soft rains: 
 
 By triple cord of love together bound 
 
 We two on earth will be by Spirit crowned, 
 
 Until we join the triple harmony 
 
 That floats around God's thr<3ne eternally. 
 
 ( Vittoria worhs at her tapestry fo7' a time, 
 and tlien again 'writes.) 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 231 
 
 A woman's reason. 
 
 Ah! "Why should I love him?" 
 
 Because when he is near 
 
 My heart grows quite childlike. 
 
 And I feel not a fear 
 
 Of the changes time brings. 
 
 He can draw out the stings 
 
 That other souls will shoot 
 
 At my exposed heart. 
 
 His spirits can recruit 
 
 My life, so often wounded by Death's dart. 
 
 Not by superiority to men 
 
 Who've loved or courted me time and again 
 
 Has he an influence 
 
 Upon my daily life. 
 
 His life is pure, and thence 
 
 I should not shrink if he would call me Wife. 
 
 He gentle is to me; I should not fear 
 
 To let my timid heart 
 
 Lay out ray thoughts on his as on a bier — 
 
 Thoughts from Avhich I can't part: 
 
 But he can help me bear 
 
 Their stupefying weight to my own tomb; 
 
 And meanwhile he will scatter flow'rets fair 
 
 About my path of death and lonely gloom. 
 
 {After Vittoria has spent nearly a day 
 dreaming over Michael Angela' s poem, 
 at sunset she sits at her windoiv.) 
 
 Eve's dkeamt breezes o'er me flew; 
 Eosy clouds flitted throu£-h Heaven's blue 
 And dyed my thoughts in their bright hue. 
 
232 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I yielded to the influence 
 
 Which steeped in languor every sense 
 
 While spirit grew the more intense, 
 
 Illimitable as the view 
 
 Which seemed to stretch through endless blue ; 
 
 And yet pursued I where love flew. 
 
 At times I felt that it was weak 
 Earth's happiness again to seek 
 Only to be wrecked on the bleak 
 
 And cheerless shores of common life; 
 Long have I rested from its strife, 
 Heedless of stirring drum and fife, 
 
 Which summon to the joyous fray 
 Those who desire to be the prey 
 Of hopes that bloom but to decay. 
 
 I sat aloof and smiled upon 
 
 Those who love's brittle armor don ; 
 
 It was regret they took for scorn. 
 
 Useless my will ; I can't resist 
 
 Love's spirit pleading from fame's mist, 
 
 Where pride and trust each other kissed. 
 
 Scene XII. 
 Vittoria alone, holding the miniature of the 
 Marqids. 
 
 To-]SriGHT IT SEEMS TO ME 
 
 His face looks cold and stern, 
 As if he knew my heart 
 Is now an empty urn. 
 
 i 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO. 233 
 
 I cast his ashes out 
 
 And have tried hard to plant 
 
 A living root of love 
 
 In his place — but I can't. 
 
 Look, sweet, at rival flower. 
 
 And feel no jealousy ; 
 It never had a root; 
 
 I did but try to see 
 
 If I might not have blooms 
 
 About my widowed life. 
 I throw the dead weed out 
 
 Of thy urn : I'm true wife. 
 
 {After a pause, she sings to her guitar :) 
 Ah, my heart binds 
 
 Whatever it finds 
 In grim Time's domain — 
 
 Regardless of pain — 
 With a clanking chain 
 To the present hour 
 As Memory's dower. 
 * * * * * 
 
 Thou Who hast known anguish of grief. 
 Give earth-bound memories relief! 
 Thou'st promised rest to those who know 
 That life is but a pilgrimage 
 To worlds of joy, through one of woe. 
 My body is an iron cage. 
 Wherein my spirit oft sings snatches 
 Of celestial songs to the airs of earth. 
 
234 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 As a glory sometimes lightly flashes 
 
 From the far land of angel-mirth. 
 
 When gleams of such brightness draw nearer, 
 
 Rises the song clearer and clearer. 
 
 * * * * « 
 
 I SEE OiiT HEAVEKLT SHORE THE KADIAN"CE CAST 
 
 By the bright beacons of my earthly past. 
 Though where I watched the flames is now but 
 
 smoke 
 The brilliancy they caused Fate can't revoke: 
 So when the West grows dim in sober gray, 
 Gorgeous reflections in the East oft play. 
 But I need now no beacon-fires to guard 
 Youth's realm, o'er which a skeleton keeps ward ; 
 Yet it canuot appal a heart still young — 
 I've naught to lose, for all to Death I flung. 
 
 Scene XIII. 
 A.D. 1547. 
 
 Aides. — Let us go now to Earth, to visit whom 
 Vittoria hath left disconsolate. 
 No man would dare console him : who so bold 
 As to press finger curiously on 
 A giant's wound that he thinks is concealed. 
 
 M. Angela. — " There's naught I so regret as that 
 I kissed 
 Only her hands, and not-herbrow and cheeks" 
 When her proud eyes were closed in death. 
 '•' When she, 
 
 The aim of every hope and prayer, was called 
 To Hades, Nature, that ne'er made a form 
 
BISHOP HOOPER. 235 
 
 So fair, stood there ashamed " to see her best 
 Mould broken and no cast remain to show 
 What she could do — how far surpass the Greek. - 
 " We — all of us — shed tears," and molten lead 
 Were mine. " Oh, cruel Fate, that quenched my 
 
 dreams 
 Of love ! Oh, Spirit blest ! Where art thou now ? 
 Thy limbs most fair are on the earth, but thy 
 Thoughts have found home above. Yet not e'en 
 
 Death 
 Could hush the sound of all thy virtue, and 
 Not Lethe could wash out thy record. No ! 
 Even Death brings back thy powers divine, 
 And thy immortal thought." * 
 
 Deama XV. 
 BISHOP HOOPEK. 
 
 BURNED A.D. 1555. 
 
 Act I. : Scene I. 
 Feldah, {Hooper's guardian :) 
 
 The straighter staistds the rock 
 
 The higher dash the waves ; 
 The nobler is a character 
 
 More fierce the storm he braves. 
 I love to hear him sing his morning-hymn. 
 
 {Hooper sings.) 
 " Father, my times are lif Thy Hands," 
 I lie down at Thy feet, 
 
 * From Michael Angelo's sonnets. 
 
236 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Bind my strong will with stronger bands 
 
 Till I can prove them sweet ; 
 Cast down all thoughts of bettering self 
 
 Before Thou biddest me ; 
 Nor let me plunge in mental delf 
 
 Of infidelity. 
 Let no false wish of serving Thee 
 
 My restless heart allure 
 To sigh for what's not given me ; 
 
 At least, I can endure. 
 
 Father, "my times are in Thy hands;" 
 
 I fear my path to choose ; 
 Bind me to Thee with tight'ning bands 
 
 Lest 1 Thy gifts abuse. 
 JSTe'er let me ask too many joys — 
 
 Thou knowest what's enough ; 
 Nor let me fear what most annoys 
 
 While treading pathway rough, 
 That leads me to a star-lit-road 
 
 Where angels safeguards are, 
 Where I shall drop fatiguing load, 
 
 And nothing more can mar 
 The perfect bliss that will be mine 
 
 Where all is sympathy — 
 In unison with the divine : 
 
 Father, my path mark out for me. 
 * * * , * * 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet! 
 I weary of hoping 
 And of groping ; 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet, 
 
BISHOP HOOPER. 237 
 
 Immediately ! 
 
 I long to meet 
 With thee, yes, with thee. 
 
 I weary of pining 
 Where no hopes sing ; 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet! 
 Grant me release, 
 
 I long to meet 
 With thy calm, cool peace. 
 
 I weary of lying 
 All night sighing ; 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet ! 
 Bring me the rest 
 
 That I shall meet 
 On ray Savionr's breast. 
 
 I weary of turning 
 
 Pillow burning ; * 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet, 
 With the cool air 
 
 That I shall meet 
 On thy bosom fair! 
 
 I weary of loving 
 Hearts which oft sting, 
 
 Come, Death, my Sweet ; 
 With angels bright 
 
 Whom I shall meet 
 In the land of light f 
 
 '^ Not probable be. in prison, bad a pillow ; but I had. 
 
238 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I weary of sinning 
 For fiends grinning; 
 
 Come, Deatli, my Sweet, 
 Bringing the grace 
 
 That I shall meet 
 In my God's embrace ! 
 
 {The Bisliop rises and ivalhs across the room.) 
 
 EBADIliTG THE PRESENT BY THE FUTURE'S LIGHT 
 
 All death-bound griefs seem short and slight ; 
 When I have learned the triteness of an earthly woe 
 Where my great Lord hath gone before, I too, may 
 go. 
 
 Scene 11. 
 
 Feldah. — Oh, Murah, here ! and I shall tell 
 thee of 
 A late ascended saint. 
 
 }Iurah. — Glory to God ! 
 
 F. Hooper of Gloncester is the saint I mean. 
 
 M. The noble man who for the love of truth 
 But a few years ago broke all the bonds 
 Of home and friendships dear, and crossed the sea 
 To keep his conscience clear ? 
 
 F. Him God hath since 
 Ke warded with the care of the small flock 
 Of saints at Gloucester. jSToble Bishop! Friend 
 Worthy of thee ! He would not yield one jot 
 Of all the truth God liad revealed to him 
 In His pure Word, and so he was cast in 
 A prison vile, whose stench T never could 
 Have borne had I not worn upon my heart 
 
BISHOP HOOPER. 2o9 
 
 Sweet flowers plucked in Heaven, that put to flight 
 All noxious fumes. 
 
 Ah ! How he panted for 
 The air of our pure world ! But never let his 
 Senses move his mind from view of Grod. 
 And when his jailer said he soon must die 
 Where he had taught, greatly did he rejoice 
 That God would favor him, and seal his words 
 With martyrdom within the sight of those 
 Who would grow steadfast to keep the great truths 
 Which he had taught to them, seeing his faith. 
 For never did he doubt the Lord's great power 
 To hold him constant to the end. Gladly 
 And like a conqueror he mounted horse, 
 His head by enemies masked in a hood 
 That none might see the beaming of his face. 
 They little thought how many angels saw 
 E'en through the hood, and to all ages would 
 Make their report. Then when he came to his 
 Own bishopric soldiers with weapons had 
 To force his loving flock back to their homes. 
 The night before his death he calmly slept 
 A little while, pillowed on breast of Him 
 Who passed a night in sad Gethsemane. 
 Biit soon the prelate rose and prayed till day. 
 
 M. And did his friends sleep as his Saviour's did ? 
 
 F. Hath Jesus ever given cup like his 
 To follower ? 
 
 M. But a drop now and then. 
 
 F. Much did good Hooper's IViends both weep 
 and pray. 
 And all that night the angels joyed and sang. 
 
240 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 M. But, tell me. Said he aught that we should 
 like 
 To cherish in bouquets of our sweet thoughts? 
 
 F. He said a little while before he came 
 To us, "I know that death is bitter j life is sweet; 
 But death to come is bitterer and life 
 To come more sweet ; for love of this and fear 
 Of that, firm in G-od's strength I shall pass through 
 The torments of the fire now waiting me, 
 Rather than to deny the truths of God." 
 Then some one pitied him, to whom he said, 
 " Be sorry for thy wickedness, man ! 
 For I am well, thank God ! and death to me 
 Is welcome for Christ's sake." To one he said, 
 "I am not hither come enforced to die; 
 I might have had my life with worldly gain. 
 I, willing, come to offer for the truth 
 My life." In going to the stake not once 
 Was he allowed to speak unto the throng 
 That mourned most bitterly for him ; " he looked 
 Upon such as he knew quite cheerfully." 
 Never before, when favored bishop in 
 Their midst, had he been seen as joyful and 
 As bright as now. When he beheld the stake 
 He smiled : then he kneeled down, praying upon 
 Each portion of the Ci'eed for a half-hour. 
 They then brought him a proffered pardon from 
 The queen. " If you love jne away with it," 
 He cried. Again he prayed to Christ, " Thou art 
 Ascended into Heaven ; receive rae as 
 Partaker of Thy joys ! Well see'st Thou, Lord, 
 What cruel pains are here prepared for Thy 
 
BISHOP HOOPER. 241 
 
 Weak creature, such as without strength of Thine 
 
 None patieutl}^ may bear ; therefore, of Thy 
 
 Great goodness strengthen me." He asked that all 
 
 Might be allowed to say with him Christ's prayer. 
 
 When the time came to bind him to the stake, 
 
 With calm superiority he said, 
 
 " Ye have no need to trouble yourselves thus ; 
 
 For I doubt not but God will give me strength 
 
 Sufficient to abide the fire; but do 
 
 As ye think good: the flesh is weak." 
 
 The man who was to light the wood implored him 
 
 to 
 Forgive. " Me thou dost not offend, may God 
 Forgive thy sins." This said, the sticks were 
 
 brought 
 That were to start the flames. " Have m_ercy. 
 
 Lord," 
 He often prayed while the slow-burning fire 
 Cruelly tortured him ; nearly an hour 
 Thus passed and then he prayed, "Jesus, receive 
 My spirit," and straightway the Saviour sent 
 Us to bear Hooper brave in triumph home, 
 And now he rests beneath the Altar.* His 
 " How long. Lord ! " is a daily prayer for his 
 Deserted flock. 
 
 M. Thanks for thy tale. I shall 
 Haste now his brave soul to congratulate. 
 
 1859. 
 
 * Rev. vi. 9. 
 
242 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Drama XVI. 
 BUCER. 
 
 BURlifED A.D. 1551. 
 Act I. 
 
 Culdafi. — How nameth man this convent dark 
 and gi'im ? 
 
 Zelleen. — The Augustine of Heidelberg. Go in. 
 
 C. Who sitteth by the Luther that we love ? 
 
 Z. He of the pensive eye and glowing cheek ? 
 I know not. Let us hear what Luther says. 
 
 Luther. — Bucer, brave seeker after truth, write not 
 My words so carefully, for Grod hath more 
 In store for thee ; He'll write them on thy heart. 
 My soul is sad ; so, dear friend, sing to me. 
 
 B. PATIEIiTCE, HEAET! GrOD IS NOT DUMB. 
 
 Courage ! Do not now succumb : 
 When in Heaven thou wilt see 
 Through woe's wondrous mystery. 
 
 Thou so much hast bravely borne, 
 Falter not though thou art torn 
 Into quivering and sighs ; 
 God on thee hath set His eyes. 
 
 Faith to try He seems to sleep — 
 Just to see if thou wilt keep 
 In the trying hours of night 
 All the Christian's armor bright. 
 
 Patience, heart ! Keep on the race 
 Whose bright goal is Jesu's face ; 
 
BUCER. 243 
 
 And ere long He will remove 
 Clouds that now thy courage prove. 
 
 L. If it were only I who suffer. But 
 Bethink thee of these fearful wars that are 
 Religious called. How many more must go 
 To join the armies of the dead before 
 We can be free to worship G-od in peace ! 
 
 Bucer. — With your leave, friend, I'll sing to you 
 again : 
 
 Blessed are the sleepers 
 Whose weary work is done ; 
 
 Not so blest the weepers 
 
 Whose strife hath but begun. 
 
 Peaceful are the sleepers 
 
 Who for their country fought ; 
 
 Feverish the weepers 
 
 Who in vain rest sought. 
 
 Mourn not for the sleepers : 
 They themselves are dumb ; 
 
 But pray for the weepers 
 To whom Death hath come. 
 
 Scene II. — Smithfield, England. 
 A. D. 1557. 
 
 CwMa/i.— Whom doth the Bloody Woman burn 
 
 to-day ? 
 Zelleen. — Let's closer fly. The men bound to 
 the stake 
 Seem void of life. 
 
244 THE CLOUD OF WITJVESSJES. 
 
 Darrelle. — Cerula conies from there. 
 Oerula, hail ! What " soldiers of the Cross " 
 March through those dreadful flames to victory 
 And life? 
 
 Cerula. — The bodies that ye see are of 
 Bucer, the theologian wise, of whom 
 Great Cambridge boasted but six years agone, 
 And of Fagius the learned, who came with him 
 To seek a refuge here when Edward reigned. 
 D. Are the men crazed who corpses burn ? 
 
 A Demon. — Crazed ? No. 
 They're wise as we of Hell. 
 
 G. But some whom there 
 Thou seest in the crowd, Cod will yet win 
 Prom demon-guard. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 BRADFORD THE MARTYR. — A.D. 1555. 
 
 Cotlielle. — Angel, as I was passing through the 
 
 air 
 Thickened with fog— that from the Thames doth 
 
 rise — 
 As with much superstitious chaff are hearts 
 Of the inhabitants, who here in proud 
 And busy Loudon dwell, I glanced aside 
 At the soft, lambent liglit which through the 
 
 bars 
 Of this poor Poultry Compter rayed, and so 
 I hither come to ask of thee why this 
 One spot is brighter far than elsewhere in 
 All London grim. But now T see the rays 
 
BBABFOBD THE MARTYR. 245 
 
 Of angels' wings within the cell where sleeps 
 A wasted man. Pray, who is he ? 
 
 DaJla. — Bradford, 
 Of Manchester. In Bloody Mary's days, 
 Before the fagots eloquent and swords 
 Persuasive reconverted men who had 
 Been taught the truth in EdAvard's time, a priest 
 Preaclied at Paul's Cross too openly of things 
 Distasteful to the populace ; moreo'er, 
 Late king of blessed memory, did he 
 Eevile. A tumult rose, and Bourne, the priest, 
 Had not escaped with life but for the one 
 Who lies here bound. When the Lord Mayor and 
 Brute Bonner both had tried in vain to still 
 The boisterous waves of indignation just, 
 This man stood forth ; and then the people cried, 
 " Bradford ! Bradford ! Bradford ! G-od save thy 
 
 life!" 
 And at his gentle words, anger was hushed ; 
 Then he walked with his gown outstretched be- 
 hind 
 The priest whom Rogers went before. One in 
 The ci"owd called out, " Bradford, thou savest him 
 Who'll help to burn thee yet, and were it not 
 For thee I'd thrust him through." 
 
 C. Bourne has not brought 
 The martyr to his chains? 
 
 I). A gentler man 
 And better is he since that day. But for 
 Sedition — 
 
 {Demon. — Ha! ha! ha!) 
 
 Bradford's arraigned. 
 
246 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 C. Sedition! 
 
 D. Aye. For a mere fellow of 
 Old Pembroke Hall to do what Bonner and 
 The Mayor could not do is said to be 
 Seditions. 
 
 {Demon. — Good !) 
 
 D. When tried the other day 
 Bradford was asked, " Mercy wilt thou ? " He said, 
 " Mercy with mercy of my God do I 
 Desire; but mercy with God's wrath God keep 
 Me from ! " The prayer was heard and he will die: 
 To-morrow to the Newgate he will go. 
 
 0. Attended by such officers of state 
 That Bloody Mary would die but of rage 
 And jealousy if she could know. 
 
 {Demon.— T\xi\ tut! 
 My master sees that all the time she is 
 Attended well; she wants not company.) 
 
 D. Cothelle, on Monday next thou must go to 
 The place where men are canonized by God. 
 
 C. To Smithfield then I'll go. 
 
 D. See, Bradford stirs. 
 
 C. He heard our words and he will tell a dream 
 And some will wonder at its truthfulness. 
 Ah ! but it will be grand to watch how he 
 Will die. The English needs must travel miles 
 Of weariness to view the grandeur of 
 The Alps, Avith glaciers mo^t sublime; * but to 
 Old Smithfield is a worthier pilgrimage. 
 
 * Perhaps this is an anachronism. 
 
BRADFORD THE MARTYR. 247 
 
 Scene 11. 
 Bradford wakes and sings, 
 
 Oh! what will it be to be There? 
 
 To be free from sin, 
 
 Far from the world's din ; 
 To gather flowers fi-esb and fair, 
 
 At Christ's feet lying, 
 
 Fragrant, undying; 
 Oh ! who does not long to be There ? 
 
 Oh ! what will it be to be There ? 
 
 To be free from pain 
 
 Of spirit or brain, 
 And never more to know a care ! 
 
 Our hearts laid to rest 
 
 On our Saviour's Breast; 
 Oh! who does not long to be There ? 
 
 Oh ! what will it be to be There ? 
 
 To dwell with my Lord, 
 
 My heart in accord 
 With angels — with whom I'm co-heir; 
 
 To praise Him ever, 
 
 To leave Him never; 
 Oh ! who does not long to be There? 
 
 {After sileuGe and prayer, he says:) 
 
 Only of clay, though gilded o'er 
 
 I am a vessel* warped awry ; 
 And I get crooked more and more ; 
 
 I can't grow straight although I try. 
 
 * Rom. ix. 21-33. 
 
248 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Therefore, great Potter, break and crush 
 
 Me until I am ductile quite. 
 My lips are shut each groan to hush ; 
 
 No pity take on my sad plight 
 Till I can be poured in a mould 
 
 That pleaseth and will honor Thee : 
 I cannot — as can vase of gold, 
 
 Because there's naught but clay in me, 
 Yet I may seem good in Thine eyes 
 
 If I celestial form assume, 
 The potter simplest vase may prize, 
 
 Because it holds a rare perfume 
 Which he has made to put in it. 
 
 A favor sweet he may accord — 
 It may stand near where he doth sit. 
 
 Only one prayer grant me, dear Lord, 
 To recompense me for the pain ! 
 
 Let me but bear the Potter's name 
 Stamped on my life ! I've proven vain 
 
 The gilded vase of earthly fame. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 FKA ANGELICO. — A. D. 1406. 
 
 Scene I. — Fiesole. 
 
 Karene. — Nam u da, whence? 
 
 Namuda. — To watch a nebula 
 Evolve new suns and wcrlds. "Wilt not thou 
 come ? 
 K. I shall rejoice to keep thee company 
 As far as Earth. Shall I show thee my ward? 
 In boyhood and in youth Giovanni has 
 
FBA ANGELICO. 249 
 
 Been devotee to beauty of the bright 
 
 Young girls, who liked to have him fix their 
 
 glow 
 Of happy thoughtlessness, or tender thought 
 On canvas, that when they are old and worn, 
 Or haply 'neath the sod, grandchildren may 
 Beg for the story of their fair granddames. 
 A kiss was often only pay he claimed 
 And had from those Avho liked to kiss a flower 
 Or bird, but called Tosini " man without 
 A heart." He with an only brother lived, 
 And worked, and dreamed, almost unconscious — as 
 Is wont of youth — that he had souk Why sigh 
 For higher beauty than of dark-eyed girls 
 Who petted bim, but did not spoil, because 
 Not yet enshrined the fair ideal, Avho 
 With her soft praise alone could satisfy ? 
 One day his brother from a trip returned. 
 Told him of her who soon would be his bride, 
 And bade him put their house in readiness. 
 Added, "All things can women do, Giovanni ; I 
 Was free as any bird, and now am bound. 
 Hand, foot," and heart. He told much of the 
 
 maid, 
 And as he ended said : " The ring put on 
 My hand by the dear little one hurts me. 
 Wilt Wear it " on thy slender finger ? So ! 
 G-iovanni said : " It fits as though I had 
 Been measured for it. T shall keep it safe 
 For thee." 
 
 The elder brother went away. 
 And left the younger to prepare the bed 
 
250 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Wherein he should transplant his virgin flower; 
 And all the while Griovanni could not help 
 But feel that she who came would come for him. 
 Next to his studio was her boudoir, 
 And the carved chair, wherein he meant that she 
 Should daily sit, was placed where he could watch 
 Her when she sewed. But when his hands had 
 
 done 
 Their office, then his heart began to dream. 
 He made himself an idol that he loved. 
 His brother and his bride long lingered while 
 Giovanni dreamed the more; and he was so 
 In love with a presentiment that he 
 Eefused all orders for new work, but liked 
 To paint in missals, where he could depict 
 The one ideal head at hide and seek 
 With fancy in the brilliant leaves : always 
 The eyes were downcast, for their light he could 
 Not catch. But he was happy for a year 
 With his sweet thought. His prayer was, " Grant 
 
 that no 
 One me molest." He dreaded much the time 
 When the new wife would come and take the chair 
 Whereon his Dream-love sat. But he resolved 
 To hide his selfishness, and welcome her. 
 The day she was to come he went for flowers 
 To deck her chair. When he returned the Dream 
 Had waked to life. This tinje he saw the light 
 Of the dark eyes that hitherto had e'er 
 Eluded him : he gave a cry and let 
 The flowers fall at her feet. 
 
 " Gindetta, give 
 
 
FBA ANGELI€0. 251 
 
 Tliy hand." the husband said. It was he who 
 
 Had given young Giovanni his troth-ring. 
 
 Husband and wife lived ordinary life; 
 
 But still Giovanni dreamed, and as he watched 
 
 The graceful mother's golden head bent o'er 
 
 Her babe, perhaps he thought of Virgin and 
 
 The Holy Child. He could not paint her now — 
 
 She was another's wife— but his brush made 
 
 Quite visible in martyrs' faces pangs 
 
 That gnawed his brain. This little town is fair 
 
 Fiesole. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Guilio. — Giovanni, thou hast dropped the ring. 
 
 Giovanni. — It has 
 Eolled to thy feet. There, brother, let it lie. 
 
 {Giovanni springs up, and throios him- 
 self on Guilio's breast.) 
 
 Gio. The saints give me a sign. I see my 
 way. 
 Let me depart, and then both shall find peace: 
 As to a priest, I shall confess to thee; 
 Bless me and shrive ; for I fear I have sinned. 
 Give me one kiss; soon I shall be a monk. 
 
 Gtii. 'No ! My fine jewel, no ! Not thou, but I. 
 Thou art too young for cloistered cell ; thou shalt 
 Be happy. Let me go again upon 
 My wanderings. I've seen thy love. Take her 
 Whose ring, too tight for me, fit thee. I love 
 Thee more than wife or child. Ere long thou 
 wilt 
 
252 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Be happy, dear. Now go to Eome. As soon 
 As baby can his mother spare she may 
 Join thee. The Holy Father will feel for 
 Our woe, and dispensation grant. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A. D. 1600. 
 
 Namuda. — Karen e, as soon as at God's words, 
 
 " Let there 
 Be light," I saw the evolution of 
 A system unlike any thou hast seen, I turned 
 My wings to find thee and thy ward. Greatei 
 Is soul of man than any system in 
 The universe, and one man suffering 
 On the sin-swathed Earth doth interest 
 More than development of worlds where man 
 Is not. Has thy Giovanni been received 
 At Court ? 
 
 Karene. — Aye ; and the fancied angel's Painter 
 
 has 
 Now passed a century in gazing at 
 The King : His beauty fills the human soul ; 
 And few could take in half as much of it as Fra 
 Angelico. 
 
 jV". Tosini was the ward 
 Of whom I spake. 
 
 K. The same. What was the last 
 Thou saw'st of him ? 
 
 N. When we flew in the room, 
 Giovanni held upon his knee the boy 
 Whose father he was not, although the one 
 Who bare him was his spiritual wife. 
 
FBA ANGELIGO. 253 
 
 Pure us a dove, albeit there was spot 
 
 Of blood on broken wing; but the dove made 
 
 No moan ; nor did heart-broken lover stoop 
 
 To lift her up, because his brother was 
 
 The sportsman who unknowingly had wronged 
 
 An innocent. Griovanni pressed the babe 
 
 In farewell earnestness, and gave him to 
 
 His mother to take off to bed: then he 
 
 Eevealed to husband and to father 
 
 His racked heart. I think I never heard a tale 
 
 By any chronicler of earthly lives 
 
 That showed- such brothers' love; none of the 
 
 grand, 
 Eare tragedies of love touched me as did 
 The drama Fate played on three hearts, because 
 They all were innocent and helpless, too, 
 Until the husband yielded right he had 
 No power to cast away ; but reared in Church 
 Of Kome, he fancied that the fiat of 
 The Pope could marriage-bonds annul. Did it? 
 
 K. No. For Giovanni's silent rectitude 
 Had eaten all strength of the inner man ; 
 x\nd when a few days' travel wearied him 
 He sank on the road-side to die. Some monks 
 Found him and bore him to their cloistered home. 
 After. long months of illness, Avhen all thought 
 The hour of his perfecting had arrived, 
 They sang o'er liim last mass, as they supposed. 
 Giovanni roused himself and asked to paint ; 
 They brouglit his palette, colors, brush, and he 
 Fixed on the canvas fiice of the fair boy 
 On whom three lavished love one dared not tell. 
 
254 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I knew his nephew had jnst flown to Grod, 
 
 And told Giovanni in a dream; so he 
 
 Would paint the cherub for the parents who 
 
 Wept for their beautiful, yearning to call 
 
 Him back to grow up as a common man. 
 
 By night-time portrait true was made : the old 
 
 And silly Abbot bade them close the doors 
 
 Lest the enchanting cherub should fly oflf. 
 
 All day while he was painting the pure babe 
 
 Lay in his heart, and cleansed it from the woe 
 
 Of earthly love, as Holy Child had by 
 
 His Presence cleansed Bethlehem's manger; when 
 
 All the fevered blood of love was drained 
 
 Out of his heart Giovanni slept. Next day 
 
 He convalescent was. As soon as he 
 
 Was well he was received in order of 
 
 St. Dominic, 
 
 N. What of the parents thus 
 Bereaved ? 
 
 K. They had refused to let men bear 
 To burial th-eir death-chilled flower, and sought 
 To warm it by their clasp, when entered to 
 Them friai', bearing poor Giovanni's gift. 
 Gindetta, like a frantic woman, had 
 Been calling for tlie sonl of her one joy; 
 But when she saw his picture, she exclaimed, 
 "I've found his soul: now may his body sleep 
 In the cool earth." When he had been interred 
 The mother dried her eyes to pluck a flower 
 From tree that grew above his grave, and said 
 To friar who had the picture brought, "Take this 
 To Fra Angelico : it is as greeting and 
 
 i 
 
FRA ANGELICO. 255 
 
 K sign of gratitude of sister" true. 
 
 The husband said, "We shall henceforth call our 
 
 Beloved one II Beato ; for Heaven 
 
 Has blessed him as an angel who can give 
 
 Sweet consolation to the sorrowing. 
 
 Tell him, my wife and I pray that we may 
 
 Be reunited with him " after death. 
 
 Few monks could equal Fra Angelico 
 
 In purity, in penitence and prayer, 
 
 In charity or sweet humility. 
 
 Nicholas Fifth soon summoned him to Eome 
 
 To paint, and offered him a bishopric. 
 
 Which he refused. Once, as he passed out of 
 
 The Vatican down-stairs, where people stooped 
 
 To kiss hem of his robe, on the last step 
 
 He saw a veiled form that stretched to him 
 
 Appealing hands. He had no breath to use 
 
 In blessing her: but while he trembled she 
 
 Threw back her veil and said, " My husband dead, 
 
 I am with thee. What wilt tliou have me do?" 
 
 He summoned tones enough to his pale lips 
 
 To say, "A sister be. In praying for 
 
 The dead, remember me until we tind 
 
 Each other iu the Heaven. For we shall meet 
 
 And part no more." Upon her forehead he 
 
 Made sign of Cross, and hastened to the bed 
 
 That gave no rest. But I watched him all night ; 
 
 When morning came he smiled and went to work. 
 
 Gindetta's face will be remembered till 
 
 The Angel of the Judgment lights last fires 
 
 That will consume all works of art; for he 
 
 Has painted her as Mother of tlie Lord. 
 
256 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In one of his fine pictures, he in dress 
 Of pilgrim kneels, his brother by, and over both 
 Gindetta as an angel bends.* When God 
 Bade me fly for his soul, I found him at 
 His sweet work in tlie Vatican. I touched 
 His hands, and weary, they were glad to rest ; 
 And now he has no need fresh beauty to 
 Create, f 
 
 February, 1873. 
 
 Deama XVII. 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 
 
 Act I. : Scene I. 
 
 Zarma. — Lartan, whom watchest thou so wist- 
 fully ? 
 
 Lartan. — A man whose nobleness of heart doth 
 put 
 To shame the lower instincts of his life. 
 A strange, strange boy was he, and yet so bold 
 And true, my task of gniirdiau was to 
 Me pleasant thing, ah hough at times a grief. 
 Eememberest thou Spirit who when first 
 In Eden, said, '• There is no languor here ? '" 
 
 Z. Aye, very well ; and Wharton is his name. 
 A learned scholar and a pure divine ; 
 A herald who proclaimed th& true against 
 
 * The Meeting of the Blessed. 
 
 f To M. A. P. Humphrey I owe the emotion that produced 
 this poem ; yet I doubt whether this is more poetif-al than 
 her sketch. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 25Y 
 
 The false ; opponent of Eome's mysteries. 
 But he wore out his life in studies that 
 Were too oft multiplied. 
 
 L. Perhaps. Yet now 
 How he enjoys the love laid up on earth ? 
 
 Z. But more pure Spirit's power to learn for 
 aye, 
 And neyer to wear out. 
 
 L. There are few of 
 Earth's authors who are saved, whom when 
 He meets he knows not something of. One he 
 Will thank for solacing sad hours, and one 
 Will stop for discourse on a theme that both 
 Have loved. And of another he will swell 
 The fame in angels' ears. Some whom I knev/ 
 But as the gentlest saints, he told me were 
 The boldest warriors for liberty 
 And truth. Compare the satisfaction of 
 His present life with yonder soul who spent 
 His manhood in a whirl of wine and cards, 
 And then at the eleventh hour sought and 
 Obtained remission of his sins. They both 
 Are happy perfectly; but Wharton is 
 Most blest. 
 
 Z. 'Tis true. But tell me of thy charge. 
 L. This Wharton wrote his life. 
 
 Z. I know now whom 
 Thou meau'st, the bold and noble Smith, who 
 
 went 
 With good intent to civilize the World 
 Which men call New. 
 
 L. How littla those men know. 
 
258 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 America's an older land tlian is 
 The continent that they call Old. 
 
 Z. Finished 
 In earlier geologic age. But of 
 Thy hero, Lartan, tell me now. 
 
 L. I loathe 
 To call him a bad boy, and yet he was 
 Not good ; his father's death saved him from life 
 At sea. Thus the GOD ordereth men's ways. 
 His courage and his instincts true led him 
 At first to fight for Prince Maurice against 
 The bigots of the Spanish realm, and next 
 I followed him to Scotland's shores, and there 
 He built a " lodge of boughs," and by a clear 
 And purling stream he settled down to think. 
 Only a servant linked him to the world 
 Of living men, as I to angel-life; 
 He through his books held converse with the 
 
 dead. 
 And laid up in his mind good lessons for 
 An active day, the while in solitude 
 His heart could better learn his prayers ; and here ; 
 He furbished well the shield of faith that was k 
 
 To serve him yet in many battles with i 
 
 The Devil's liegemen on the earth. Of great 'j 
 
 Men dreaming, longed he for great deeds, and so 
 He went to help Eodolph the Second of 
 That name, sovereign of Geijmany, against 
 The Turks, whose devastating sword made war 
 Against the followers of Christ. 
 
 Z. T know 
 Enough of Turks : tell me of calmer theme. 
 
 J 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 259 
 
 L. Eobbed, friendless, poor, oae day he lay him 
 down 
 To die. 
 
 Z. Friendless ? Ah, no ! The child of 
 God 
 Can never want a friend. 
 
 L. Most true ; therefore, 
 There came to Smith a messenger from God, 
 And like the good Samaritan furthered 
 Him on his way. Embarked for Italy, 
 'Mid crowds of Eomanists from many lands, 
 A storm arose, and soon he was pronounced 
 The Jonah of the ship, who must be cast 
 Into the sea to hush the rage thereof. 
 The men who threw him in were going on 
 A pilgrimage to Eome, and so they had 
 No wish to find one disobedient 
 Among themselves. " Cast out the heretic. 
 The God-forsaken one ! " 
 
 Z. Often doth God take in 
 Whom man casts out, and those whom men es- 
 chew 
 Often with angels walk. 
 
 L. And so it was 
 With Smith. A Father's Hand threw him upon 
 St. Mary's Isle, and thither next day for 
 Him sent a ship. As of the Turkish wars 
 I must not speak — nor do I wish to tell 
 How Three Turks' Heads became his crest — 
 Let this snflBce thee now: the God who cared 
 For David shielded Smith from death. 
 Once when he fouffht with warrior he was 
 
260 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In simple coat of mail, a type of Truth 
 
 That can withstand vain Error's fiery darts ; 
 
 But his opponent, decked in gold and gems, 
 
 And bearing on his shoulders garnished wings, 
 
 Was type of Error bristling for a figlit. 
 
 And trusting to the subtle aid of Hell 
 
 To triumph o'er her bold antagonist. 
 
 But " there were more with " Smith than with the 
 
 Turk, 
 Named Turbashaw ; for Heaven hath always two 
 Where Hell hath one. In battle wounded, once 
 My charge was left for dead. 
 
 Z. And here I can 
 But think how often Truth is left for dead 
 While enemies exult, thinking that she 
 Is smothered 'neath the reeking corpses they 
 On her have heaped; and for a niglit she, stunned, 
 May lie in helpless agony until 
 Some friend — who loves her better even when 
 She seemeth dead than Error rampant in 
 Her silly vanity and great display — 
 Goes in the morning dawn to weep o'er her 
 He raourneth for, and thinks to serve no more. 
 And then, oh, joy ! He tindeth she doth live, 
 And only waited for her servitor 
 To help her rise. Pardon my many words. 
 What more of Smith ? 
 
 L. His fortunes various, 
 At last he found himself a slave, but his 
 A mistress fair, and young, and pitiful, 
 'Quick to discern his worth, and ready to 
 Applaud his tales of travel and of war. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 261 
 
 She pitied first, then loved ; and hers a heart 
 
 An angel only can appreciate ; 
 
 Because unconscious of her glory is 
 
 Tlie one who entertains such lofty theme. 
 
 Such woman thinks no more about her love 
 
 And self-negating nobleness than doth 
 
 A spirit of celestial air — it is 
 
 But natural. And those who love and reap 
 
 The rich rewards of love can never sink 
 
 Their plummet of success into the depths 
 
 Of heart that doth ignore itself. Angels, 
 
 Whose spirit-mates are yet on earth, only 
 
 Can understand in their quick sympathy 
 
 The Christ-like nature of such women's hearts. 
 
 Z. But what of Smith ? 
 
 L. I constantly forget 
 That thou dost not know, as I do, his tale. 
 Tragabigzanda, fearing lest her love 
 Should work him woe, forgetting she could feel, 
 Sent him away to one she thought would care 
 For him and treat him as became a man. 
 
 Z. And she ? I think I see her fading like 
 A flower Avhich a too-early frost hath nipped ; 
 JSTone may suspect her woe, for she will weep 
 Only in hush of night; therefore, their care 
 And nauseous medicines can nought avail. 
 When she will close her eyes for the last time 
 No doubt they'll weep that one for whom the earth 
 Is fair surpassingly, the one for whom 
 Life has no thorns, should have to die so soon. 
 
 L. Whether your fancy be or true or false 
 I cannot say; but we will seek out in 
 
£62 27/&' CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A lower atmosphere some guardian 
 
 Of heath eu who are counted worthy to 
 
 Attain our rest. I love her well, and fain 
 
 Would press her dainty hand in gratitude. 
 
 Ere I left her Christ granted her a boon — 
 
 Answer to prayer : then there fell over her 
 
 A holy calm, that, like a bridal veil, 
 
 Would shield her from the love of heathenesse; 
 
 Men seldom wish for cold japonica, 
 
 And say it hath no odorous grace ; but we 
 
 Perceive the subtle aroma that tries 
 
 To drown itself. But Tragabigzanda 
 
 Had much misjudged her kith ; the Tartar chief 
 
 Was cold and cruel as a rapier's point, 
 
 And one day Smith became a murderer. 
 
 Z. Oh, woe ! Great woe ! And still thou lovest 
 him? 
 
 L. And so does Christ, who pardoned his sad 
 crime ; 
 But angels cannot always pity when 
 The God forgives ; nor canst thou now forget 
 This violation of His laws, therefore 
 I shall not dwell on it ; only I would 
 Have thee remember that his master was 
 More harsh and cruel than is Lucifer 
 To those who wait on him. Mounted upon 
 The Turk's swift horse, robed finely in his clothes, 
 He flees across the plain, a sandy wild. 
 And finds himself a gnest in Kussian fort. 
 But we shall no more follow him in his 
 Adventures in the Olden World. Now I 
 Shall tell thee of a fresher theme. Wilt hear? 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 263 
 
 Z. With all my heart. 
 
 L. ISTations have dreams as well 
 As men, and madder ones; and so the thirst 
 For gold and silver and for jewels rare 
 Forced Eeason's self to sleep, while it beguiled 
 The waking fancy to a revelry 
 That wise and pious men could not withstand. 
 The air of far America was blue 
 With hope, irradiated by a tinge 
 Of golden light, so deemed the worldly-wise. 
 The poets sang of birds whose plumage bright 
 Best harmonized with rich and fragrant flowers 
 Of that fair land ; Europe had never such. 
 They said ; the sensuous would faint in air 
 So laden with perfume it took the breath 
 Away.* ' 
 
 Z. Oh ! can it be that Christian men 
 Thus selfishly could dream of joys the while 
 The Indians perished in their sins ? 
 
 L. Does this 
 Astonish thee ? Look at the earth. Is not 
 The same done ev'ry day ? What thought have 
 
 men 
 Or women — e'en the Christian ones — for those 
 Who minister to them their luxuries ? 
 Pray, is it not enough if they are but 
 Well-fed, well-dressed, well-housed ? And what 
 
 care they 
 For the immortal souls of those who serve 
 To pander to their selfishness ? Oh Earth ! 
 
 * I have no authority for such exaggerations. 
 
2G4 THE CLOUD OF WITNEB8E8. 
 
 Oh earth ! Great GOD, how long ere Thou as king 
 Wilt rule that world ? But all were not like these 
 Or those; for there were hearts that panted to 
 Eedeem the Red men from their heatheuuess, 
 And thither went with that intent ; and some, 
 Who went there not for this alone, were good 
 And true and kind, and thought where'er they were 
 To serve the Lord and, as He taught, hless men. 
 Noblest of those who came only for deeds 
 Of love Avas Eobert Hunt, the first hut one 
 Who north of the Great Gulf told Indians 
 Of God. 
 
 Z. Who was the first? 
 
 L. Chaplain Seymour, 
 Who came with the first colony that Sir 
 James Popham planted on the Kennebec, 
 First consecrated spot in the New World. 
 Hunt was the next who under Western sky 
 Blessed Eucharistic Elements, and on 
 This hemisphere offered the prayer 
 For the Church Militant. Honor to him I 
 Z. Gladly I'll honor him — -one of the few 
 Who came solely for others' good, not for 
 Himself or his. In winter of sixteen 
 Hundred and six adventurers set forth 
 To found a colony in the New World. Five 
 
 months 
 Were they tossed on the sea. Great discontent 
 Prevailed ; Smith was the only man who had 
 The innate power half-mutiny to quell. 
 Then Envy did her work ; for thirteen weeks 
 In irons he was kept, yet murmured not. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 265 
 
 For Isle of Roanoke they steered, but God 
 Had set apart another home for them, 
 And drifted them in Chesapeake's grand bay. 
 Nor did they settle till on Powhatan. * 
 They found a lovely spot fit for a home. 
 Though very wild. 
 
 L. It doth appear God hid 
 This new-found land for noble ends, and frowned 
 Upon La Roche, who with French prisoners 
 Would fain have peopled it. King James — a man 
 Of peace — sat now upon the English throne, 
 And so the quickest way for men to gain 
 Distinction was to go to a fresh field. 
 Smith, crowned with laurels of the old regime 
 Of fame, sought from a virgin soil to pluck 
 A fadeless flower; though not to be displayed 
 To gaping crowds, but rather to be nourished in 
 The lieart that he had consecrated to 
 His God ; therefore he landed in the wilds, 
 A pious knight, who feared naught but the Lord.f 
 AVliere they found comforta.ble anchorage. 
 Comfort they named the Point. 'Tvvas here 
 Beneath the live-oak trees — stunted somewliat — 
 That Smith, lulled into holy quietude 
 By faint and gentle hymns sung by the sea. 
 Composed his restless mind for commune with 
 His God. I fancy even savages. 
 Who had familiar grown with spirit of 
 The ocean's depths, were gentler and more full 
 Of nobleness than those who inland dwelt. 
 
 * The ancient name of the James river, 
 f See note on page 267. 
 12 
 
266 THE CLGUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Z. Ah, true ! I always like to have the maid 
 Whom I watch o'er, make yearl}^ pilgrimage 
 To ocean : for it makes her nobler for 
 A whole twelvemonth : the fittest emblem of 
 Eternity is the grand sea, mighty 
 And fathomless, all-powerful, and yet 
 As docile at command of GOD as child 
 To father's word. 
 
 L. The Indians met with 
 A welcome true the strangers pale and few, 
 And feasted them right royally. Then to 
 Another Point — called New Point Comfort now — 
 The English went, and there they saw a chief 
 Savage in nature as in taste ; therefore 
 The GOD of Smith softened his heart, and he 
 Eeceived them well. 
 
 Z. An Indian chief I 
 Have never seen. Describe him, please. 
 
 X. He came. 
 Playing a flute of reed ; upon his head 
 Was crown of red deer's hair, twisted in shajDe 
 Of rose, and fastened to a knot of hair : 
 There was large plate of copper on one side; 
 Two feathers long, in fashion of a pair 
 Of horns, were in the centre of his crown. 
 His body painted a bright crimson hue. 
 With brilliant blue his face was tinted deep, 
 Sprinkled with what appeared like silver ore; 
 From his ears hung birds' claws thick set 
 With gold, and over these were placed gold rings. 
 He as a prince the English entertained ; 
 Modest and proud was he. His mat outspread 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 267 
 
 Upon the ground, he sat down thereupon 
 To smoke a calumet. 
 
 Z. The English must 
 Haye laughed at his grotesque appearance then, 
 All unaware that their own king was quite 
 As ludicrous in angels' eyes. 
 
 L. And those 
 On earth, who laugh at pomp and pageantry 
 Of crowned kings, in their turn make themselves 
 Absurd to angels' minds by bowing with 
 Subserviency vile to all the whims 
 That fashion, squandered time, or useless wealth 
 Can undertake, provided that they be 
 The last in vogue. 
 
 Z. Oh, blind absurdity! 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Zarnia. — Hail, Lartan, friend! Glad am I that 
 we meet ; 
 Por since we parted I've oft thought of thy 
 Bold pioneer who was in irons put 
 Because he was too great for company 
 Of little men. Wilt tell me more of him ? 
 
 Lartan. — The colonists explored the forests, then 
 In fair magnificence of vernal leaves ; 
 May's flowers and fruits perfumed the healthy air; 
 But Smith in ship was kept* until they felt 
 The need of his strong, skillful hands; above 
 Eevenge, he took his share of toil — moi-e than 
 
 * Tlie apparent discrepancy between the two passages is 
 to be accounted for by a similar one between Ms biog- 
 raphers. 
 
268 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Another's work. He asked for trial and 
 
 The men, who were suborned him to accuse, 
 
 Their base employers now betrayed. One of 
 
 The latter was the President, and he 
 
 Was fined and had to pay to the wronged man 
 
 Two hundred pounds, which Smith presented to 
 
 The settlement. Good Pastor Hunt prevailed 
 
 To have him in the Council put, and on 
 
 Next day all took the Eucharist, type of 
 
 Love reconciled. Soon Smith and Newport went 
 
 Up farther to explore and treaties make : 
 
 At falls of Powhatan they lauded first; 
 
 A chief for whom the river then was named, 
 
 Eeceived them with much dignity; his was 
 
 A figure quite majestical, stern face : 
 
 Two thousand warriors waited his nod; 
 
 For sixty miles tlie land was his ; he had 
 
 A guard of fifty savages, tall and 
 
 Well-knit. The crafty chieftain made them gifts 
 
 And they returned well pleased. It was not long 
 
 Before the colonists, inactive and 
 
 Therefore inclined to envy and to sj)leeii. 
 
 Upbraided Smith with inactivity : 
 
 Such men as he hardly injustice brook 
 
 And rather would be eaten up by wolves 
 
 Than stung to death by bees; better bold foes 
 
 Than peevish friends. 
 
 Z. Better the greater sin ? 
 L. I mean not in itself; but men bear it 
 More easily, and so our hero felt, 
 But also proved patience had been for him 
 The wiser course. River called by Eed Men 
 
CAPTAIN' JOHN SMITH. 269 
 
 The Chickahominy he next explored ; 
 
 The natives there surprised his men and took 
 
 Some prisoners ; Smith they assailed, but he 
 
 His red guide for a shield strapped to his arm, 
 
 Then killed and wounded some of his fierce foes. 
 
 But seeking his canoe he sank into 
 
 A marsh, from which they drew him forth and 
 
 chafed 
 His limbs benumbed with cold and weariness. 
 That he might have capacity to feel 
 The vengeance they would wreak. 
 
 Z. They murdered him ? 
 
 L. He had not finished his work yet, nor lost 
 His faith in Him who only has the power 
 To save. An audience requested he 
 Of chief, and showed his compass to the tribe. 
 The needle, that they saw beneath a thing 
 So next to nothing as the glass appeared. 
 That yet they could not touch nor understand, 
 Seemed to them passing strange, and he tried to 
 Explain to them its nature wonderful. 
 
 Z. Savage with civilized! How like to men 
 With God! A something unperceived, obtrudes 
 Between the object of their scrutiny 
 And them; much time they pass in marvelling 
 Why they cannot lay hold of mystery, 
 That's shielded by a glass or film. Pleasant 
 Would be the contrast if the savages 
 Would boAV down to the man who holds in hand 
 What to them seems a miracle; although 
 'Twould be idohitry 'twere better than 
 Contemptuousness proud that fools bestow 
 
270 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Upon the Holder of all mysteries. 
 How little are the men who think themselves 
 Too wise e'er to acknowledge what they can 
 Not understand ! 
 
 L. If angels could despise 
 It would be them. But in this case of Smith 
 Humanity's reproach was not redeemed. 
 He was tied to a tree while painted, fierce 
 Barbarians stood near, well-pleased but stern. 
 Intent to pierce with arrows this true heart; 
 Another type of what the Worthiest 
 Hath oft received: Smith would have paved the 
 
 way 
 To lead these heathen intd Heaven, and they 
 Could find no answer but of harbed darts. 
 
 Z. I thought thou saidst he was not yet to die. 
 
 L. The nobler chief the compass held aloof 
 And then the Indians shamed brethren white, 
 Threw down their arms, in triumph led him to 
 A little village by name Orapax ; 
 These children of the woods now showed their craft, 
 Sparing his life that he might help them to 
 Attack Jamestown as they had planned. And one 
 Macassater, brought him some furs to save 
 Him from the cold. 
 
 Z. He suffered then as well 
 In body as in mind. 
 
 L. What if he did ? 
 Thou know'st when the good suffer Grod is by 
 And waits but the right time that so he may 
 Turn evil machinations into good 
 Results. The wild Red Men had planned to take 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITE. 2Y1 
 
 The feeble settlement; Grod sent a spy 
 
 Into their camp. Smith urged them not to risk 
 
 Their lives before guns and the cannon's mouth ; 
 
 The Avarlike engine he described and then 
 
 Proposed to them to send braves to the fort. 
 
 Asseut was gained, and he a letter wrote 
 
 Warning the settlers of the danger near, 
 
 And bidding them send to him certain things. 
 
 The messengers were frightened when they saw 
 
 Men come to meet them as Smith had foretold. 
 
 They left the paper so mysterious 
 
 And fled. After a while they came again, 
 
 And in its place the things Smith had desired 
 
 Awaited them. From this they all believed 
 
 That he a prophet was, or else the note 
 
 Surely a thing "possessed." They dared not war 
 
 Against a superhuman power, therefore, 
 
 Jamestown was saved, and the great oracle 
 
 Was carried through the laud, exhibited. 
 
 Finally, at AVerowocomoco, 
 
 Seat of King Powhatan, they came to end 
 
 Of their triumphal march, and gave him up. 
 
 The Eed King sat upon a throne * in robe 
 
 Of raccoons' skins: the tails made fringe around 
 
 * This description is taken almost verbatim from Hil- 
 liard. Lewis H. Morgan and Judgre R. A. Wilson maintain 
 tlie Indians never had kings. I presume t\\^j did not ; 
 Ijut a poet need only regard popular and historical ideas on 
 subjects in which no great principle is involved. Though 
 I believe this is the only instance in " The Cloud " where I 
 liave written against even a literary or archteological con- 
 siction. 
 
272 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The border ; chains of pearls formed contrast 
 
 strange. 
 Two hundred warriors about him stood ; 
 Next him were graceful maidens of his house, 
 Modest, and free, and proud. Hundreds of men 
 Passed to and fro, staring at the Pale Face. 
 One maid of royal blood brought water for 
 His hands; another, tuft of feathers to 
 Wipe with. Then quite a feast was placed 
 Before the captive, but none with him ate. 
 Soon was a council held and he was doomed: 
 A lovely girl of but a dozen years 
 Implored his life ; her father, stern to all 
 But her, gently refused. Huge stone was brought ; 
 Smith's head laid thereupon. Strong men, with 
 
 clubs 
 Uplifted, waited beck of Powhatan ; 
 Instead, as swiftly as an angel's flight. 
 Young Pocahontas threw herself between 
 Death and the captive doomed. E'en savages 
 Then held their breath in great amaze. How 
 
 did 
 She dare her father's ire ? Yet she prevailed. 
 And Smith was given her for slave : bnfc God 
 Had not preserved his life so many times 
 For such a fate. Ere long he was sent back 
 To Jamestown where he Avas received as one 
 Returned from death. New. regions to explore 
 He often went, and. frequently for corn 
 To save the colonists from famine grim. 
 The Susquehannocks, clad in skins of bears 
 And wolves, witnessed God's public worship in 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 273 
 
 Their woods and wished to offer reverence 
 To Smith, beseeching him to be tlieir king. 
 
 Z. I sliould have thouglit that Satan would have 
 
 been 
 Too subtle in his jealons hatred of 
 The human race to let the Christians take 
 Possession of a land once given up 
 To worship of his crew, while Indians 
 Were saved from him by a credulity 
 Like that which had caused their delusion first. 
 He superstition should have kindled to 
 Hostility. 
 
 L. At Keoghtan he did 
 Too soon. Where Hampton's Christian church 
 
 now stands* 
 The friendly words and ways of Smith and of 
 His men were answered by insulting scorn. 
 He had been ordered by the Company 
 At home not to make war upon the tribes 
 That roamed o'er Westerji wilds, and for a time 
 They lived as brothers should ; but when their 
 
 stores 
 Exhausted were, they went for more and were 
 Kefused. Must they now starve ? Smith fired into 
 A crowd, the muskets levelled so as none 
 Were killed, but the affrighted Indians 
 Rushed in the woods. Smith passed into their 
 
 town ; 
 But would not let his eager men despoil 
 
 * This was written before the church was burned by the 
 U. S. troops during the war of 1861. 
 
 12* 
 
274: THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The wild man's home, nor touch one grain of corn. 
 
 In a short time the warriors returned, 
 
 Some painted black, some red, some pied, some 
 
 white, 
 Singing and dancing, bearing their Okee 
 As talisman. 
 
 Z. And what was the Okee? 
 L. An idol made of skins, stuffed, painted, 
 
 chained ; 
 The men had arrows, bows and shields, and felt 
 Quite confident that they should win the fight, 
 The while their god was borne triumphant in 
 The van ; for they feared not to match Okee 
 Against a God invisible. But 
 Soon a volley of loud musketry dispersed 
 Their band. Okee was thus disgraced, and so 
 The cruel demon, who suggested it 
 And named it for himself, incensed, was most 
 Ke vengeful made. But he bided his time. 
 They came to sue for peace, and to get back 
 Their idol, left in fright upon the fi^eld. 
 All that they asked for they received 
 And more as price for corn, until the boats 
 Were filled. Without Smith Jamestown would 
 
 have starved. 
 Three thousand miles he travelled in canoe 
 And on foot safely through the heat and cold, 
 Tempests and winds as razors k^en. He was 
 Elected President. There was not one 
 Of them who worked as hard; he shrank from no 
 Exposure, fast, fatigue ; inspirhig all 
 With faith in enterprise and constancy. 
 
 i 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 275 
 
 To break the men from using words profane, 
 
 Vulgar to man, abominable to 
 
 The GOD, he introduced new plan. ; each one 
 
 Daily of others' oaths kept strict account; 
 
 At night all the offenders had a pail 
 
 Of water cold poured down the sleeve as oft 
 
 As they had sworn or cursed. Malice he could 
 
 Not bear, though base ingratitude was coin 
 
 With which they paid his salary. Others 
 
 To serve was his chief thought ; the church he 
 
 built 
 Anew, another fort put up; equal to all 
 Demands of daily life. The savages 
 From enemies to friends he turned ; they felt 
 His power and honored that they feared. Newport 
 Eeturued from England with fresh men, 
 Anne Burras and a Mrs. Forest brave, — 
 First women who had dared to cross the sea. 
 The captain brought a good supply of food 
 Most needed in the woods. Newport urged Smith 
 To go with him to visit Powhatan. 
 Though he was not at home his lovely cliild. 
 Bright Pocahontas, gave them welcome true 
 And entertained them for two days until 
 The chief returned, when Newport put on cloak 
 Of scarlet o'er liis shoulders proud and set 
 Upon his head an English crown of gold — 
 For which he would not kneel. He in return 
 Gave Newport his old moccasins and robe. 
 Hair-breadth escapes were common life to Smith ; 
 Once Avounded by explosion, very weak, 
 He lay asleep when hired assassin ca,me 
 
276 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Up to his bed and cocked his pistol at 
 
 His head ; but GOD was there ; a tremor seized 
 
 The ruffian base, and he walked quickly off. 
 
 Smith never punished him, nor those who had 
 
 Hired him to do theirs and the Devil's best. 
 
 His wounds got dangerous ; he felt be must 
 
 Surgical aid soon have, or lose his life. 
 
 The London Company had him removed 
 
 From Presidency, so he felt that he 
 
 Could leave the Colony of which he'd been 
 
 The nerve more than two years. In England he 
 
 Lived quite retired, his life almost despaired 
 
 Of by his friends, yet busy all the while. 
 
 When he no more could fight, or hunt, explore, 
 
 Build, govern, he took up his pen and wrote 
 
 Some books. In sixteen hundred and fourteen 
 
 With two small ships he sailed again to seek 
 
 New lands ; Virginia he passed by, and named 
 
 The country north of it l^ew England, and 
 
 Of it made a good chart. On his return 
 
 To London he gave that to young Prince Charles, 
 
 Who thought to honor him with title of 
 
 An admiral — child's play ! Ere long he weighed 
 
 Anchor for a third cruise; then went Northwest; 
 
 His ship was captured by French man-of-wai 
 
 And for a summer he was prisoner ; 
 
 So to beguile the time he w]-ote account 
 
 Of his two journeys to America. 
 
 When the ship ancliored at Rochelle he found 
 
 That he was not to be released, therefore, 
 
 Escaped one night in a terrific storm 
 
 And in a crazy boat twelve hours was tossed 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN 8MITH. 277 
 
 Upon the sea. Then God threw the frail craft. 
 Laden with precious freight, upon an isle, 
 Whence he was rescued by some fowlers kind. 
 The night he freed himself the captain of 
 The man-of-war with half his crew was drowned. 
 Smith heard men speak of his bad luck and said, 
 " Some fortune-tellers say unfortunate 
 Am I. But had they spent their time as I 
 Have done tliey rather would believe in GOD 
 Than in their calculations" false. 
 
 Z. No man 
 Has had ill-luck who has done work that was 
 Appointed him. What is man's record of 
 Success to God's " Well-done ? " 
 
 L. For nineteen years 
 He labored steadily to benefit 
 The settlements on Western Hemisphere, 
 And did not own one foot of ground, nor e'en 
 Eeceive for recompense a pound ; died poor, 
 The hero of disinterestedness. 
 Z. Of Pocahontas tell me more. 
 
 L. When Smith 
 Was back to Jamestown sent, she with some maids 
 Used to go to the fort ev'ry few days 
 With corn and other food. Besides the time 
 I told you of, she saved Smith's valued life. 
 Once when he was her father's guest it was 
 Decreed he and the friends with him must die; 
 Stealthily crept she to the sleeper's side 
 And lightly touched his arm, bidding him rise 
 And make a quick escape. Were I man I 
 Should blush to tell of her reward. Her acts 
 
278 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Of friendship to the Whites estranged the mind 
 Of Powhatan, and to escape his wrath 
 She hid herself in lint belonging to 
 An ancient conple of the Potomacs. 
 One Argall, trading captain of a ship, 
 Thought to secure good terms with Powhatan 
 If Pocahontas were but in his power; 
 For copper kettle bought her of her host, 
 Enticed her on the ship and she was made 
 A prisoner. 
 
 Z. A fact to brand with shame 
 All who heard this and did not rescue her. 
 
 L. At first she wept, but soon remembering 
 The services she rendered, grew composed 
 And felt she would be safe at Jamestown, where 
 She was conveyed. Soon to her father word 
 Was sent that she would be released when he 
 Gave up his captives, guns, and swords. Three 
 
 months 
 She was held prisoner at large, the while 
 ISTegotiations were kept up until 
 John Eolfe redeemed his people's name, and with 
 Heart beating with respect and love, offered 
 To take her to his noble breast and shield 
 Her from all ills that man's arm can ward oflf. 
 Consent of Powhatan asked and obtained, 
 She wedded whom she loved in Jamestown church ; 
 Lady Eebecca her baptismal name. 
 And Dale, the Governor, wrote thus: '• Were it 
 But gaining of one such I think ray time 
 And toil and stay well spent." 
 Long as her father lived there was between 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN SMITE. 279 
 
 English and Cliickahominies no feud. 
 
 In England she was treated as a queen ; 
 
 Smith wrote to Anne of Denmark, James's wife, 
 
 ')lO ask the only favor he e'er craved 
 
 Of royalty — for Pocahontas true. 
 
 At court she was received, and Bolfe reproved 
 
 For daring to wed one of royal blood. 
 
 Z. Can anything be more absurd than kings' 
 Great notions of their own prerogatives ? 
 
 L. But twenty-two was Pocahontas when 
 She died at Gravesend on her way to her 
 Old forest-home. The gentle firmness, and 
 The resignation brave with which she met 
 Her only enemy proved that she saw 
 Through Death's disguise that her baptismal 
 
 VOAVS 
 
 Won blessings great. 
 
 Scene II. * 
 
 Lartan. — There is Tragabigzanda's guard. Let 
 us 
 Fly to Nulee, and hear her history. 
 
 Zarma. — Wait, Nulee, wait. We wish to ask 
 thee of 
 One whom my Lartan tells me is thy ward. 
 
 L. Tragabigzanda's fate we want to learn. 
 
 Nulee. — No longer is she ward of mine. I am 
 Her friend in Paradise. Before Smith left 
 He gave her little book of prayer and this 
 She read, as Avould a lonely mariner 
 
 * The whole scene is a fancy. 
 
280 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In storm-tossed barque make study of the charts 
 Left him by his last friend. She learned to pray. 
 
 L. Impatient are my wings to seek one like 
 Sea-bird, that driven from her nest by bird 
 Of prey flew forth not knowing where, nor knew 
 She how, when nearly dead, exhausted with 
 Rude tempests, buffetings, she was picked up 
 By kind commander of a passing ship. 
 
 N. She paled kot da.t by day ; 
 
 But bore up to the end; 
 God was her steadfast stay. 
 
 Her everlasting Friend. 
 And as she died she smiled; 
 Angels their pet had wiled 
 Up to their Home at length. 
 
 They kissed away her breath. 
 She soared up in God's strength 
 
 From her sweet bed of death. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 THE YOUNG ASTKONOMER. 
 JEBEMIAH HOBROX (OK HORROCKS). — NOV. 24, 1639. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Pieran. — Wilt go with me, ISTulee, to see m;5 
 ward ? 
 A boy of wondrous mind was he ; while in 
 His teens solved for himself the problem that 
 Great Kepler demonstrated, of the time 
 When planet, that Earth's dwellers Venus call, 
 Should pass before the sun and shadow throw 
 Upon its disc: error he first perceived. 
 
TEE YOUNG A8TB0N0MEE. 281 
 
 Corrected^ and now waits to see if he 
 
 Is right. This is the day that will gi^e him 
 
 A name among the great astronomers. 
 
 For years the boy kept well the secret of 
 
 His mistress, Science; now the day has dawned 
 
 That she will him espouse. Alas ! that it 
 
 Is Sunday; will he keep it holy, as 
 
 God hade ? We'll go and see. 
 
 Scene 11. 
 (Sorrox alone in a darkened room.) 
 
 Horrox. — The church bells ring. Oh! I can't 
 go ; * perhaps 
 E'en while the Blessing falls upon my ear 
 Venus will creep across the sun, and no 
 One will discover secrets she would else 
 Eeveal to me. From sunrise I have kept 
 My eyes upon the sky, beyond which sits 
 The God who made sun, Venus, me. Then He 
 Is greater than His Laws, however great 
 And beautiful they are. I'd better fail 
 To read one of those Laws than dare offend 
 The first Lawgiver by contempt of one 
 That He hath written. Ah ! I'll go to church. 
 
 Nulee. — Oh, noble youth ! When boy of twenty- 
 two 
 Can thus control his passion for new truth 
 He'll make a man kingly as well as learned. 
 
 Pieran. — His bourne is almost passed, though he 
 suspects 
 
 * I have no reason to suppose that Horrox for a moment 
 intended to miss the services. 
 
282 THE GLOUB OF WITNESSES. 
 
 It not. The houl* is close at hand when he 
 Shall meet Copernicus, Kepler, Brahe. 
 N. I do not recognize those names. 
 
 P. The first 
 Was an astronomer before the telescope 
 Enabled men to read the great Laws of 
 The Universe. A man once said to him, 
 " Were the world constituted as you say 
 Venus would have her phases like the moon; 
 But she has none. What can you say to that?" 
 His answer was most eloquent, and showed 
 That faith exalts a scientist. He said, 
 " I can make no reply ; but God will be 
 Yet good enough as that an answer to 
 This difficulty will be found." God was 
 So good as to let Galileo make 
 A telescope ; then the reply was made. 
 I was with Kepler's Angel when he had 
 Completed calculations most profound. 
 He in a prayer he then composed exclaimed, 
 " I give thee thanks. Lord and Creator, for 
 All pleasure that I have enjoyed, and for 
 The ecstasy which I experience 
 In contemplation of thy works. ... I here 
 Proclaim before all men the greatness of 
 Thy works. I have explained (them) as far as 
 It was permitted me to comprehend 
 Their infinite extent ; devoted all 
 My energies to raise myself' to height 
 Of truth through the paths of philosophy. 
 If it lias chanced that I, a wretched worm, . . . 
 Nourished in sin, have said a thing that is 
 
THE YOUNG ASTRONOMER. 283 
 
 Unworthy Thee, show it to me that I 
 May it efface. If I have let myself 
 Be carried off by the seductions of 
 Presumption when I was in presence of 
 The admirable beauty of thy works, 
 If I thought too much of my own renown 
 In raising monument* which ought to be 
 Entirely to Tliy praise, receive me in 
 Thy clemency, and grant the work that I 
 Have just concluded may be powerless 
 For harm and may exalt Thy glory and 
 Contribute to salvation of men's souls." 
 Brahe said, " he could wait a century 
 For readers when the great Creator had 
 For ages waited for observer." So 
 Thou seest Horrox will have company 
 Of kindred minds. 
 
 N. Though he lose fame 
 On earth. 
 
 P. But he "will not. Venus can't cast 
 A shadow on the sun ere church will be 
 Dismissed and he will win renown of men, 
 As he has by his noble piety 
 Gained fame in angels' memories. 
 
 * The Tables. 
 
284 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Drama XVIII. 
 
 MADAME aUYON. 
 A.D. 1648. 
 
 Act I. : Scene I. — A party. 
 Jeanne de la Motte [sings :) 
 
 He glowed IK woman's heaven" 
 
 A pure and radiant star; 
 She watched and worshipped him, 
 
 Wept that he was so far. 
 
 He fell — below her height, 
 
 She stooped to him with groan ; 
 
 But he was black and cold 
 As meteoric stone.* 
 
 Scene II. 
 A.D. 1664. 
 Madame Guyon [writes:) 
 
 A MOMENTARY BENDHsTG OF THE KNEE 
 
 When none but God's and angels' eyes can see 
 Is a child's worship very sweet to me. 
 
 A momentary glance up .at the sky 
 
 When none but God and angels hear me sigh, 
 
 Is a child's fancy I have not laid by. 
 
 * I wonder if Madame Guyon knew what a meteor is. 
 
MADAME G UYON. 285 
 
 A momentary thought, yet scarce a thought, 
 
 When suddenly to new grief I am brought 
 
 Is childlike worship that man hath not taught. 
 
 {She folds Jier Jiands in prayer, then tvrites :) 
 Fathek, I COME TO Thee ! Let Thy loyiistg 
 
 VOICE CHIDE 
 
 The wearisome meanings of Thy child sorrow- 
 tried. 
 
 Take my hand in Thine Own ; place my heart on 
 
 Thy Breast : 
 Comfort, oh comfort me, for I long so for rest ! 
 
 Tell me my woes are of my heritage a part : 
 The Saviour Who loves me doth ask a Cross- 
 crowned heart; 
 
 So HE would not take all flowers for His Own 
 
 croAvn ; 
 Therefore my dower, like His, a wreath of thorn. 
 
 I'll bear grief in Thy strength, and soon shall 
 
 enter in 
 The Land where entereth never pain or sin. 
 
 {S'lie toeeps hitterly, and then writes again :) 
 Full well I know Chkist feels my agoky ; 
 HE leaves me in the wilderness to see 
 If I can read my Bible-chart aright; 
 Now I turn to the history of those 
 Who knew, as I know, many human woes. 
 
286 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The atmosphere of earth, that seemed of night, 
 
 Is now illuminated by the light 
 
 That hovers o'er the graves of buried saints; 
 
 Celestial, golden air life's desert paints 
 
 With emanations of Eternal Mind. 
 
 I wonder I in it have ever pined ; 
 
 And so I smile, counting the world but dross - 
 
 And gladly, lovingly, embrace the Cross. 
 
 ^ ijC ^ ^ T» 
 
 Oh GrOD, MY TORTURED HEART MUST BREAK 
 
 Or cry aloud to Thee ! 
 Now, pity for Thy dear Son's sake, 
 
 My frail humanity. 
 I have kept back my weakling tears 
 
 Till "scalded is my brain. 
 I still am child, though many years 
 
 I've crept through in hushed pain : 
 Soon as I learn one stroke to bear. 
 
 Another kind I feel ; 
 Has life another ill more rare, 
 
 As soon as this doth heal ? 
 It may be so, but Grod doth know 
 New remedy for each new woe. 
 
 Scene HI. 
 1670. 
 Madame Guy on (ivrites :) 
 
 GLEE TURNED TO PEACE. 
 
 Ah! Little didst thou ken 
 
 In our wild days of glee, 
 How sad I should be when 
 
 Joy sighed for sympathy. 
 
MADAME GUYOK 287 
 
 All! Little coulclst thou know, 
 
 Seeing but glee and scorn,* 
 How blackest, sharpest woe 
 
 Wonld pierce me as a thorn 
 That tears the rose's leaf, 
 
 And scatters all its sweets. 
 Oh, Jacques,* thou art my grief! 
 
 When a cloud a cloud meets, 
 Grolden though both may be 
 
 There's oft a blinding rain ; 
 So when I met with thee 
 
 Bright pleasures boded pain. 
 The joys came and went, 
 
 I wist not how or when ; 
 With our lives they seemed blent — • 
 
 Sunbeams our mottoes then. 
 Sunning in thy sweet smile 
 Life knew not for a while 
 That tears come from great care; 
 I thought them rainbow fair 
 To deck the Summer's bier — 
 Bright leaves grow soonest sere. 
 And when darkness covers 
 
 The ruddiest of trees, 
 Eyes of no night-rovers 
 
 A rosy tint can seize. 
 So one chill November 
 
 I wakened in the night, 
 
 * It may be impertinent for me to put my rhymes into 
 Madame Guyon's mouth. Jacques was her husband's name ; 
 he was unsympathetic and unkind to her ; but I don't know 
 that she ever felt scorn. 
 
288 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Only to remember 
 
 How bright had been the light. 
 Scattered I most mf^ekly 
 
 Memory's brightest leaves — 
 Best when I could not see; 
 
 Liglit dazzles and deceives. 
 Ah, well-a-day ! I'm used 
 
 To darkened, lonely days ; 
 My heart long since was loosed 
 
 From Fancy's earthly maze. 
 But night has many stars 
 
 That ever bright'ning shine ; 
 Fairest when seen through bars 
 
 That shut G-od's home from mine. 
 Often the moonlight beams 
 
 In such soft, pleasant rays, 
 Cheering as day it seems. 
 
 And Fancy, soaring, plays 
 Around the Throne of God, 
 
 Kneeling beside saints there; 
 And then "I kiss the rod," 
 
 Blessing the Cross I bear. 
 Darker the hour, shorter the way 
 That I must traverse ere the day. 
 
 Scene IV. — In a prison.* 
 A. D. 1688. 
 Madame Guyon (sings:) 
 As mothers' lijllabt's to babies' cries, 
 As lover's whispers to a maiden's sighs, 
 
 * She was twice confined (once in the Bastille) for her 
 religious opinions and her great influence. 
 
MADAME GUTON. 289 
 
 Eest to the weary, 
 Joy to the dreary, 
 Are words of prayer 
 To grief and care. 
 
 As reprieve of death to captive condemned, 
 As hope of relief to spirit o'erwhelmed, 
 
 Poor man's call for love 
 
 To a Father above. 
 
 Are words of prayer 
 
 Eead in despair. 
 
 As the brightest lantern in darkest night, 
 As gift to the aged of second-sight. 
 As summer shower 
 In noontide hour. 
 Are words of prayer 
 That make grief fair. 
 {WJ.oi Madame Guy on ends her song she 
 says :) 
 Strange to be in a prison, yet to be 
 Accused of naught that's criminal. But it 
 Is well. Tlie Great Physician knows the kind 
 Of treatment needed by my sin-sick soul. 
 
 {She writes :) 
 
 As OIS^R WITH WEAKENED EYES DOTH LOVE THE 
 STARS, 
 
 Whose sweetly-beaming light falls softly down 
 And of their weakness forms a shadowy crown ; 
 But the day's splendor all her beauty mars 
 By scorching with her light the painful eyes. 
 Thus, often human heart for sorrow sighs, 
 Feels this world's splendor is but garish show 
 
290 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 That hurts the spirit's eyes and dims the sight 
 Of radiance not seen except by night. 
 The stars of the bright world to which we go, 
 In times of great heart-darkness softly shine 
 With light that's shivered down from God's grand 
 
 Throne 
 Upon our thoughts until they seem divine. 
 
 {She throws down her paper and walks 
 impatiently alotit.) 
 
 If he bids me sigh iit soreow 
 I'll expect a bright To-morrow ; 
 
 Well I know on whom I lean, 
 Though earth -veil His sweet smile cover, 
 Maiden-like, I know my LOVER ; 
 
 Often I that smile have seen. 
 
 Scene V. 
 Madame Guyon {sings :) 
 
 EeSTLESS, weary, AISTD WEAK, 
 
 A higher strength I seek, 
 I listen : Father, speak ! 
 
 Like child left in the dark, 
 I search for shining mark 
 To show me where to walk. 
 
 My lonely heart is numb 
 Waiting for hope to come, 
 God, where can it come from ? 
 
 I pray so oft in vain, 
 I think of mortal pain 
 Whether of heart or brain. 
 
 i 
 
MADAME QUTON. 29] 
 
 Grod takes but little note ; 
 The body's but the boat 
 Whereon to Heaven I float. 
 
 So, wherefore should God care 
 
 If tempests it must dare 
 
 Ere it reach stiller air ? 
 
 {Madame Guyon kneels long in prayer, 
 and rising, goes to the loindoio and 
 gazes at the night until tears degin to 
 fall) 
 
 Sadly and slowly dowk 
 
 Falls the reluctant tear, 
 
 Fearing my reason's frown ; 
 
 My heart is carried 
 
 Upon a slow, slow bier 
 
 Towards a distant crown. 
 
 At night above my head 
 
 Its wav'ring shadow gleams ; 
 
 And its soft-falling beams 
 
 Enter my soul by day — 
 
 But stealthily; they cannot stay; 
 
 For life has much for me to do 
 
 And ofttimes more for me to bear. 
 
 I have to sufler for the True, 
 
 And for the good have oft to dare — 
 
 The martyr's hidden path to tread; 
 
 Therefore, have I no leisure-time 
 
 To brood above the buried Dead. 
 
 I find earth is so chill a clime, 
 
 If I should tarry by the way 
 
 I should feel torpor of despair, 
 
292 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And soon a mass of lifeless clay 
 Would prove that mortals may not dare 
 To linger long upon the way 
 During our life's dark wintry day. 
 Oh, God, but give me work to do! 
 Keep me to my vocation true; 
 Teach me to suffer and be still 
 The while Thou dost Thy holy will. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 LarailU. — Why hang'st thou poised in the mid 
 air so long ? 
 
 Carelle. — I have what men of earth call artist's 
 eye; 
 A pretty picture pleaseth me. Look just 
 Below the tip of my right wing upon 
 The bosom of the Seine. Is not that fair ? 
 
 L. I see a boat. I know what charmeth thee — 
 That pretty child at play with pretty flowers. 
 She throws too many on the current of 
 The stream ; but even so the woman will 
 Cast thoughtlessly upon Time's tide the sweet 
 And golden hours which if they were but prized 
 Would fill her after life with fragrance pure. 
 
 C. Beside the child there sits the mother. See. 
 
 L. I do, and she is beautiful; a look 
 Fitter for Heaven than eaTth is on her face. 
 
 C. Because she generally dwells in Heaven ; 
 She, like the angels, has no will but God's. 
 
 L. What does the little one ? 
 
 C. Fastens bright flowers 
 
MADAME GUTON. 293 
 
 With paler ones in form of crosses on 
 Her mother's dress — symbolic act ! 
 
 L. How so ? 
 
 G. The woman fair whom thou regard'st is rich, 
 Kefined, intelligent, a widow of few years. 
 In marriage sought. Long time ago G-od saw 
 In hei' a wish to be entirely His, 
 And he rewarded such desire, decreed 
 That as we angels are, she should be His. 
 Dost thou remember one who lay in dark 
 And stone-iioored cell of convent dank whom oft 
 We went to see ? 
 
 L. Thou meanest Albert,* who 
 Was crowned with light and joy ineflKible 
 After deep gloom ? One day, when Time's kind hand 
 Had finished tiny hole through the thick wall — 
 
 C. Often the captive has no friend but Time. 
 
 L. Albert asleep had dreamed of us. 
 
 G. Saw us— 
 He thought he dreamed. 
 
 L. 'Tis trne ; and when he oped 
 His eyes he smiled although alone, and said, 
 I saw the angels, for there lingers yet 
 A ray of glory shed from their grand wings; 
 And long he lay rejoicing in sunbeam. 
 The while the sun shone in his dismal cell 
 He felt not cold, nor thirst, hunger, nor grief. 
 But when left in old gloom he groped around, 
 Feeling the slimy wall to find the bread- 
 Frozen and stale — that day before liis teeth 
 
 * A fancy. 
 
294 TEE CLOUD OF WITJS' ESSES. 
 
 Chattering, full of pain, refused to gnaw. 
 Alas ! his finger slipped into a hole ; 
 He knew then that from sun and not from wings 
 Had come the ray he had so dearly prized. 
 
 C. That Lorrimer * recalls. He, having lived 
 In darkness for a year, had a lamp sent 
 To him, and was so happy but to look 
 At light that he repined no more. He warmed 
 His hands and feet thereat: warmth thus acquired 
 He seemed to prize more than most men the sun. 
 
 L. But we forget the woman on the Seine. 
 
 C Nay, I do not. My mind was making then 
 Comparison with her fair childhood's hours. 
 My Jeanne, this girl imprisoned in herself, 
 Guarded by constant joy, aspired to climb 
 To heaven; but she was clogged by wealth and 
 
 bliss 
 And beauty rare. Oiae day she found a ray 
 Of light. 
 
 L. I thought she dwelt in light. 
 
 a Of earth. 
 But then she found a ray from Heaven ; the Book 
 Wherein God proves His love for man was left 
 In her lone room ; she felt that she must find 
 A better life than hers of stagnant joy. 
 Years flitted past like larks; though seemingly 
 They rose to Heaven, they died upon the earth. 
 She married, but the bridaJ veil concealed 
 A thorn. 
 
 L. Alas ! What grief. An old maid's life 
 
 * A fane 7. 
 
MADAME GUTON. 295 
 
 Of loneliness and want of tender care 
 Is blest compared to wife in lavish home. 
 To whom her husband is a judge or bore, 
 Or imbecile. 
 
 N. Her consort's want 
 Of trust and sympathy was fate most hard. 
 Each month his mother lay another thorn 
 Upon the young wife's paling brow. But Christ 
 Was fashiouiug of them a crown, not such 
 As His — the thought were very blasphemous — 
 But hard for gay youth to bear cheerfully. 
 Jesus was smitten, so was she ; disease 
 Destroyed the beauty that is of the earth, 
 And liable to death. 
 
 L. Not so. She still 
 Is beautiful. 
 
 N. Yes ; but what beauty wears 
 She now ? 
 
 L. A holy calm, a loving smile ; truly 
 They come from the bright skies. 
 
 N. Her parents, friends, 
 And children were removed from her fond heart 
 To make more room for God. She bowed in peace, 
 And meekly said, 'Tis well. But she, like Christ, 
 Was left alone to cry, " My God, why hast 
 Thou me forsaken ? " 
 
 L. Will weak man e'er learn 
 That never doth our God desert one who 
 Has not forsaken Him ? 
 
 N. This she learned not 
 Until six years had shrouded her in gloom 
 To make her fair ; the longer woman is 
 
296 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Shut in from light the fairer she becomes, 
 And so — 
 
 L. The pretty child has changed her play. 
 She crowns her mother now. 
 
 N. Symbolic act 
 Again. 
 
 L. Where wingest thou ? 
 
 N. To the dear girl, 
 To whisper in her ear these words, " After 
 The Cross thou shalt be crowned : " this she'll 
 
 repeat. 
 Watch, and thou'lt see the cross-gemmed woman 
 smile. 
 
 * * :.'•• * * 
 
 Child. — Art pleased with me, Mamma, thi^t thou 
 
 dost smile ? 
 Mother. — Yes, darling. 
 
 Ch. Then tell me a story of 
 Thy father's home. Tell me of Uncle Paul. * 
 
 M. "When" but a child I loved the glad, 
 
 THE TETJE, 
 
 The beautiful ; longing for them as things 
 Of the sweet Home wherein the Baby smiled. 
 And when the stars shone through the parting 
 
 clouds 
 All childish joys were to me very dull 
 And lifeless things, as is a diadem 
 Of earth to angels crowned in the blue skies. 
 I every pleasure would have given 
 For but a long-craved glimpse beyond the clouds 
 
 * Don't know whether she had a brother. 
 
MADAME GUTON. 29Y 
 
 That shrouded home of baby-brother from 
 
 My wistful eyes ; and thus ere I had learned 
 
 To care for toys of earth, I felt the love 
 
 Of Heaven and of God that quells desire 
 
 For giddy mirth. Oft when I lay awake 
 
 At night, I talked to bim who sometimes in 
 
 His earthly babyhood had lain upon 
 
 My girlish breast, and wbo, I doubted not, 
 
 Was then the willing watcher of my rest. 
 
 Often in joy, always in childish grief, 
 
 I softly whispered to cherubic boy 
 
 Who hovered o'er my path, the story of 
 
 Whatever befell his sister left on this 
 
 Dimmed world to mourn for him until her young 
 
 Bright eyes with bitter tears were filled. I saw 
 
 The angel Death kiss baby-lips into 
 
 A cherub's smile ; but could not weep when I 
 
 Mine softly pressed on the brown eyes closed in 
 
 The happy sleep of early death. I had 
 
 No heart for noisy play, or romping game, 
 
 But fled, like startled fawn, in true alarm 
 
 From childish trespasses, in trembling fear 
 
 That Jesus would not let me dwell with Him 
 
 And baby-brother in the skies. The wiles 
 
 Of playmates' mirth could ne'er beguile from 
 
 dreams 
 Of Paradise's sports. The sister's heart, 
 With memories of a lost brother filled, 
 Was easily consigned to fancies of 
 Sweet baby-beauty and of earthly love 
 And purity immortalized in bliss. 
 Cli. Thanks for the story ; but— 
 13* 
 
298 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 M. Poor child ! I quite 
 Forgot to whom I talked. Dear, now sing me 
 The song I taught to thee last night. 
 
 OJiild [sinys :) 
 Love ferven-tly, ye happy ones oe G-od! 
 Heaven's brightest wreaths are twined on our sad 
 
 ear til . 
 Bury dead hopes ; but pluck from the green sod 
 To grace your hearth blooms of immortal birth : 
 
 Love fervently! 
 Love fervently ! The one you love may die, 
 Leave you your weighty Cross alone to bear ; 
 By the bright stars and the gay smiling sky 
 God kindly whispers, soon you will be there: 
 
 Love fervently. 
 Love fervently! and although man should change, 
 The grief will strengthen and prepare your heart 
 To live Up There where nothing can estrange, 
 For angels' loves are but of God's a part: 
 
 Love fervently. 
 Love fervently. St. John hath truly said 
 Our " God is Love," and you would be like Him; 
 Therefore, love man and Him, Who though once 
 
 dead, 
 Now wears a crown that never can grow dim : 
 
 Love fervently.* 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 PASCAL tN EDEN.— A. D. 1662. 
 
 Ravile. — Of what art musing now, Pascal, mv 
 friend ? 
 
 * Sang to air " Love Not." 
 
PASCAL m EDEN. 299 
 
 Pascal.— Vm. thinking of the flowers I cast away 
 By the rude brush of philosophic hand : 
 Ahis ! I cannot touch them any more. 
 
 H. Thou must be speaking of some joys of 
 earth ; 
 For there is nothing here thou may'st not touch 
 With reverential hand. 
 
 P. It is of joys 
 Of earth. I, a philosopher ! How so ? 
 Doth botanist because he's a savant 
 Throw from his eager grasp the flowers that charm 
 llim most ? 
 
 H. If he doth so, he is a child ; 
 Clod made the flowers for men to know and love — 
 They are for all ; some men He made to look 
 With eyes inquisitive at wonders hid 
 From common gaze, to watch the sap as it 
 \\\ an obedient stream flows on, to view 
 By aid of art the wondrous fabric of 
 Blossom or leaf, to feel that royal robes 
 In their coarse dyes are vulgar things compared 
 With dainty textures that His hand hath wrought. 
 Pascal, I had supposed that thou wert such 
 A man — on humble knees to ask to see 
 All God hath made. 
 
 P. Though reverent in thought, 
 My acts profaned the beauties and the joys 
 Of God's fair earths aye, what He gave me to " 
 Fxpand my heart, contemptuously I 
 Smiled on : I scorned the handiwork of God's 
 Great love. 
 
 H. No, Pascal, no ! For I have heard 
 
300 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Man's science owetli mnch unto thy mind; 
 And when in philosophic haunts of earth, 
 I've known thy name classed with discoverers 
 Of Nature's laws.* 
 
 P. Aye ; when no heauty that 
 I — modern oracle, forsooth ! — dared to 
 Call sensuous was there. My actions taught 
 The God of all things beautiful and fair, 
 Had erred in making man to deeply feel 
 And love the same. 
 
 H. Thou canst liave heauty here — 
 Enougli to satisfy all thy desires. 
 
 P. And far more glorious than aught below. 
 But not the same. The boy who had been shut 
 In dungeon dark and cold, and never known 
 The joys and privilege of childhood's hours, 
 When man, e'en if a king, would always feel 
 That something had been taken from his life 
 Which could not be restored, and that to him 
 A great wrong had been done ; the sphere of 
 
 life. 
 That should be rounded in completeness full. 
 Would on its morning-side show sad abyss, 
 Peopled with gloomy, e'en if harmless, forms. 
 
 H. Didst thou thus thrust from thee a part of 
 life ? 
 
 P. I did, in proud selfism and from want 
 Of trust ; though I most mysteries of Heaven 
 Appreciate, in all earth's myriads 
 Of happy lives there's something that I can 
 
 * Pascal first demonstrated the weis'ht of tlie air. 
 
LEONORA DE CASTRO. 301 
 
 Not comprehend; * rather, the shadow of 
 A viewless cloud, and this is sad to one 
 Who fain would enter in all he perceives. 
 
 H. But I have heard a maiden oft repeat 
 In her sweet love's defence one thing thou saidst. 
 Thou smilest : wouldst know what it is ? As well 
 The heart hath as the understanding hath 
 Its aphorisms true. 
 
 Drama XIX. 
 LEONORA DE OASTEO. 
 
 Act 1 : Scene I. 
 
 1755. 
 
 Leonora.— 1 wonder if I cannot sing, mamma? 
 Those birds last night made me feel musical. 
 I think that I can warble as they sang. 
 
 My life was dim and gray 
 
 Like the sea; 
 On it the sun arose, 
 
 Love on me. 
 
 My heart had sluggish beat; 
 
 Moaned the sea 
 Till fresh winds waked it up; 
 
 Love waked me. 
 
 * He rebuked a mother for letting her children kiss her. 
 See LitteU's Limng Age, May 19. 
 
302 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 My brain cast forth its thoughts. 
 
 Shells the sea; 
 I gather shells; my thoughts 
 
 Love's will be. 
 
 My days left .dry, dead weeds 
 
 Like the sea; 
 I gathered its; Love mine — 
 
 Silly he! 
 
 Graily dance richest ships 
 
 On the sea; 
 So dance Love's dizzy hours 
 
 Over me. 
 
 A fire at sea — 
 
 Mother. — Why stop so suddenly, my child ? 
 What cloud 
 Is forming in thy heart soon to be spent 
 In tears ? Why dost thou pause ? 
 
 L. I may not tell. 
 M. It is thy mother asks. 
 
 L. My mother! Mine! 
 Oh, hold me tightly to thy breast ! Oh, woe ! 
 How long may I lie in thine arms ? 
 
 M. Long as 
 Thou wilt, sweet one. How strange thou art to- 
 day. 
 My darling shall lie here long as she wills. 
 
 L. No ! no ! That cannot be. Oh, God, have 
 * mer — 
 
LEONORA BE G ASTRO. 303 
 
 M. What is it, precious one? Anita — quick! 
 
 J[?^^^;a. — Spasm has she. 
 
 M. Run for the doctor. Haste ! 
 
 Scene II. — Mother, alone. 
 
 I would that I could know what caused such 
 
 change 
 In my blithe darling's mood. 'Twas very strange. 
 She said it was the last part of her dream 
 That pained her so, and that she had not thought 
 Of it since she awoke until a line 
 Eecalled it; then with giant's power it grasped 
 Her heart and suddenly it seemed to bring 
 Her to the verge of death. I dare not ask 
 Again of what she dreamed ; the very thought 
 Is like a spectre to the trembling thing. 
 Yet wliat foreboding phantasy could fright 
 So fair a flower as mine ? The dew of love 
 Will e'er suffice to water heart so pure 
 And tractable. I cannot think that such 
 An one will ever need to breast the storm, 
 Or, woe is me ! suffer day after day, 
 As I have done, the constant dripping of 
 Envenomed tongue. Eatlier, I pray, God ! 
 Let her die by the lightning's flash than by 
 The cruel burning of fierce jealousy. 
 Ah ! Avhen I lay a baby in the arms 
 Of parent fond as I, she never thought 
 That I could suffer as I do — and live. 
 Would that I knew that Leonora's life 
 Is weak as mine is strong, that she will die 
 Whenever grief o'erwhelms her guileless youth. 
 
304 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 In house of Lord Effingham, British Minister to Portugal. 
 
 Chaplain. — Where has my Leonora been so 
 
 long ? 
 Leonora. — At home : quite ill from the sad fright 
 a dream 
 Hath given me. Don't shake thy head and look 
 Reproachfully, as though thy lessons were 
 All lost, and she whom thou liast rescued from 
 Old Superstition's chain, had quite forgot 
 The calm of an implicit faith in God. 
 
 C. We " must give milk to babes : " thou hast the 
 heart 
 Of one, although thy intellect mine oft 
 Outwits. 
 
 L. Thou shamest me. 
 
 C. Tell me thy dream. 
 L. I fancied we were looking for eclipse 
 While the sky was most glorious in stars. 
 I left the family, and quite alone 
 Roamed in the garden I so love, and as 
 I gazed into blue depths above — 
 
 G. To man 
 More fathomless than deepest sea, although 
 He strives to sink his leaden brain and cast 
 His learning's anchor on the mysteries 
 Of God's grand Universe, throwing away 
 Faith's compass Avlien he thinks that he has made 
 Discovery of a fonndatiou for 
 
 i 
 
LEONOBA BE CASTRO. 305 
 
 ISTew theory, and is philosopher, 
 
 Yet is shipwrecked upon the shoals of vain 
 
 Hypothesis. But thou didst not dream thus. 
 
 L. No. While I gazed above I saw bright star 
 After stars brighter shoot, and once I saw 
 Two rush together and then whirl around, 
 Delighting me until they disappeared. 
 I said that was a world on its last day. 
 Embracing in strong, glowing arms its moon 
 That both together might extinguished be. 
 
 C. Doubtless a shooting star may be a sun. 
 But all that I have seen were meteors. 
 
 L. One can't be an astronomer in sleep. 
 And then I saw fire-flies like humming-birds 
 In size, their bodies colorless, and yet 
 From them proceeded rays of light quite like 
 Bright rubies and clear emeralds dissolved : 
 The red one hovered o'er the green till they 
 In floating rainbow mingled charmingly, 
 I said — but that I won't tell thee. 
 
 C. No need. 
 Thou dreamedst the young marquis was 
 The ruby and thou wert the— 
 
 L. Green. Well, let 
 Me laugh I cannot bear even to thee, 
 Best friend ! to whisper what came next. — The 
 
 priest 
 Whom I refused for a confessor came 
 And caught the two fire-flies and threw 
 Both in a burning star; the ruby one 
 Flew ofi", but the green one was burned. I felt 
 The flames. Thinkest thou I can stand — 
 
306 THE OLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 a Hush, child! 
 
 Fever hadst thou. Sometimes I, too, believe 
 In dreams ; I do in this. A burning brain 
 Begot thy fantasies and well foretold 
 Thy illness, caused not by a dream, which was 
 Its sign. 
 
 L. How sensible thou always art ! 
 Better mamma had sent for thee than for 
 That dried-up specimen labelled M.D. 
 
 C. Nice way to talk to me of countryman ! 
 
 L. After I rose and read the Bible that 
 Thou gavest me, and prayed and breakfasted, 
 I had forgotten ending of the dream ; 
 But the fire-flies floated before my brain, 
 Emblems of Alvas and of me. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 {Leonora, alone, sings ivith accompaniment 
 of the guitar. The Marquis of Al- 
 vas enters unperceived and listens.) 
 
 I've a THORN" in mt heaet. 
 And oft its piercings dart 
 Through my most cheerful mood : 
 Then I seek solitude. 
 
 Perhaps each woman knows 
 One in whom her blood flows, 
 Who is as a sharp thorn 
 In her heart, night and morn. 
 
 And yet all of her pain _ • 
 
 She hides in heart or brain ; 
 
LEONORA BE GA8TB0. 307 
 
 Perchance hears what some say 
 Against her ev'ry day. 
 
 But she must giye no sign 
 That she has cause to pine, 
 Lest she may imphcate 
 Those to whom cruel Fate 
 
 Hath bouud her by a tie 
 That she cannot lay by; 
 Yet she is not bereft 
 Of all hope, this is left — 
 
 That the thorn which she knows 
 Is shadow of Chris b's woes, 
 That on her life fell down 
 From thorn in cruel crown 
 
 That on the Cross he wore. 
 He feels her heart is sore. 
 And He will cure the smart 
 When He has lesson taught. 
 
 Marquis. — A doleful song for such a merry 
 heart. 
 
 Leonora. — But mine is not. Wilt thou Maria wed ? 
 
 M. {laughing.) Surely my fair betrothed must be 
 Distraught — and of all women to suggest 
 Maria in thy place ! A sorry jest. 
 
 L. Not one at all. She loves thee more than I. 
 Oh, don't reproach me with that burning glance! 
 I love thee as a child loves flowers, because 
 Thou pleasest me ; but well I know that I 
 Could not be jealous. Thou hast said that none 
 
308 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Who feel true passion's power are guiltless there. 
 J^or could I stoop to do a dirty thing 
 To win thy favor, should I lose it now. 
 Maria says true love will crawl as low 
 As it soars high. 
 
 M. Maria ! Do not speak 
 Of her again. Hereafter will her name, 
 If on thy lips, provoke my wrath ; and know 
 I never liked her, for she likes not thee. 
 
 L. Is it not strange a sister should be turned 
 From me because my hand is sought ere hers ? 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Maria and her Confessor. 
 
 Maria, — Oh, holy father, a great secret I 
 Shall tell thee now ! Know, Leonora is 
 A heretic. 
 
 Father. — Impossible ! 
 
 M. Alas, 
 Too true! And I fulfil the duty that 
 I owe to parents, brothers, sisters and 
 Myself. Until to-day I had not known 
 The Synod of Toulouse had passed decree 
 That if in any house is found concealed 
 A heretic, that house shall be destroyed. 
 Thou knowest it is weeks since Le confessed 
 Or went to church unless compelled. This morn 
 The noble Marquis, her betrothed, and she 
 Had a long conversation, when mamma, 
 Being unwell, sent me to sit with them. 
 I had my hand upon the cord to raise 
 The curtain that alone divided me 
 
LEONORA BE CASTRO. 309 
 
 From them, when hearing my name called I 
 
 stayed 
 My hand, and 'mid much foolish stuff heard her 
 Tell him that he had better far release 
 Her and take me, because I was a true, 
 Good Eomau Catholic and she was not. 
 Then he upbraided her because she had 
 More faith in English chaplain than in him. 
 
 C. Aye, there was the offence : the Marquis is 
 An infidel, like most of our brave youths 
 "Who far have travelled and learned more than 
 prayers. 
 
 M. Besides, some say he weds my sister for 
 Her property : he is — 
 
 C. A handsome man. 
 If Leonora is out of the way 
 Her heritage is thine. 
 
 M. Thou canst not do 
 More than consign her to a convent's cell 
 To lead a blessed life of peace and prayer ? 
 
 C. The girl I know ; she never will recant. 
 Thy question comes too late to save her life. 
 
 M. Will Pompal that allow ? He has curtailed 
 Power of the Church, the Inquisition has 
 Eebuked, and — daring man ! — he has expelled 
 From Paraguay the Jesuits. 
 
 a Yet still 
 The law is, if a judge acquit one who 
 Has heresy embraced, his office, land, 
 And property are confiscated : thus 
 Three hundred years ago a Synod did 
 Secure to the accused a just decree. 
 
310 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene VI. — In the wilds of the Sierra. 
 
 Ferdinand. — Marquis, thou art low-spirited. The 
 
 cause — 
 Marquis. Away ! Of serf I made a freeman, not 
 A friend. 
 
 F. Yet I am one would die for thee. 
 M. Forgive my hastiness, but leave me now 
 Alone. 
 
 F. Not until I have added to 
 Thy grief. But I know thou wouldst curse me 
 
 did 
 I keep from thee e'en the worst news of her. 
 
 M. {springing up.) The worst! They dare not 
 do more than immure 
 Her in the Old Maids' jail. 
 
 F. They tortured her. . . . 
 I was too hasty — he has fainted, like ^ 
 
 My wife when our — 
 
 M. Knowesfc thou this? 
 
 F. Last night 
 When I to convent carried wood, I lieard 
 Such shrieks ! — What have I done again ? Rouse up 
 And be a man, and rescue tliy betrothed. 
 
 M. Yes ! If I could with my own life ! But I 
 Have seen strongest and highest in the land 
 Broken like withes by Roman Church. God's 
 curse — 
 F. Manuel comes, and like a fury rides. 
 iHfawwe/.— Haste, Marquis! Haste to Lisbon, if 
 thou wilt 
 See yet thy bride who ought to be. 
 
LEONORA BE CASTRO. 311 
 
 M. The curse into thanksgiving I shall change 
 If God will take her from inquisitors. 
 
 Man. A heroine and angel she has proved 
 In presence of their general, who held 
 The Ante-court of Hell in prison when 
 Thej took her from the convent as they saw 
 That her example might defile the nuns, 
 And teach them that obedience to God 
 Is higher than that owed to Abbess proud. 
 Tortured was she by Torquemada then ; 
 And when he found she was superior 
 To him and all his fiends, her they condemned 
 To die with others in few days. 
 
 Scene VII.— In Ambassador's house. 
 {Chaplain and Lord Effingham.) 
 
 Chaplain. — Ah, if I had been well enough to- 
 day 
 To crawl to see her on her way to God ! 
 
 Effingham. — Weaker art thou than she. A 
 gaily-dressed 
 And giddy crowd rose with the sun to feast 
 Their eyes on the girl's sufferings. Bishop 
 With mitre on his senseless head, a suite 
 Of brutes in dress ecclesiastical. 
 Workmen and gentlemen, rushed fast to see 
 That lovely maiden in the flames. Will she 
 From Hades look on them in Tartarus ? 
 
 C. Not she. 
 
 E. Streets, balconies and windows are 
 Filled with fair ladies and their innocents. 
 
312 ' TEE CLOUI) OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The Marquis, with a face like an old man's 
 
 And hands that sliook as if he palsy had, 
 
 Strove hard to penetrate the crowd ; although 
 
 Few recognized the gay youth of but two 
 
 Weeks since — such was the anguish of his mien — 
 
 It opened with a silent awe as he 
 
 Thrust right and left his trembling hands. 
 
 Scene VIII- — Plaza of Lisbon. 
 NOV. 1, 1755. 
 
 Bishop. — "'Now, Leonora 'De Castro, will you 
 Eetrace your erring steps ? Will you discard 
 The thoughts heretical implanted in 
 Your youthful mind by son of Belial ? 
 Our holy Church is ever lenient 
 To erring children, and in mercy deals 
 With the repentant wlio will humbly come 
 To her. Will you confess your sin and live? 
 
 Leonora. — I can't acknowledge the authority 
 Of Church you represent. The faith I now 
 Profess is true. Tbere is but ONE who can 
 Forgive, and in His mercy do I trust. 
 If I am called to die for His dear sake 
 I cheerfully will try to bear all pain, 
 Knowing the 'light affliction which is but 
 For moment here worketh for us a more 
 Exceeding and eternal glovy there.' 
 
 Bp. ( To executioner') Quick ! Light the fires and 
 bind the prisoners. 
 {To Leonora) Obdurate wretch! This day shall 
 your soul writhe 
 
 i 
 
LEONORA BE CASTRO. 313 
 
 In torments of the damned; but first you shall 
 A foretaste of your doom enjoy." Prepare. 
 
 {Leonora staggers; the Marquis rushes 
 forward and catches her.) 
 
 Marquis. — Inhuman monster! She is fitter for 
 God's Heaven than such as you. If there are in 
 His presence any angels she will soon 
 Be one. 
 
 B'p. Ha! My Lord Marquis, ha ! These are 
 Bold words, and they have sealed your doom. 
 ( To soldiers) Arrest the Marquis of — 
 
 {A n earthquahe shakes the ground, and in 
 the confusion the Marquis hears Leo- 
 nora off in his arms.) 
 
 Act II.— In the air. 
 
 Khrysilla. — Oalla, why are we summoned now 
 by tones 
 Of the great One who sits upon the Throne 
 Sublime? 
 
 Calla. — Knowest thou not ? Have not Ave drunk 
 Of twice ten million joys since that Voice rang 
 Its music, pityingly soft, yet loud, 
 Like to the sound of Earth's grand waterfall — 
 
 K. Earth's waterfall ? 
 
 C. Aye; thou hast not forgot 
 The thing on that sad sphere that more than all 
 The beauty that it hath reminded me 
 Of our own Heaven ? 
 
 K. Never have I been there, 
 ISTor heard of it. 
 
314 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 0. Oh, verily! Thou wast 
 In the remotest boundary of our 
 GOD'S Universe when he created this 
 New World. I am rejoiced that I may tell 
 Thee of the Human Nature that He took 
 Upon Himself. Oh, deed more wonderful 
 Than all He else hath done ! descending from 
 
 His Throne 
 
 K. Why flyest thou so rapidly ? 
 G. I answer now the call that doth alway 
 Assemble those who on the day that men 
 The Lord's Day name (for they count hours, and 
 
 days. 
 And weeks in that strange world), desire to go 
 In serried ranks to worship in a House 
 Of Prayer. 
 
 K. And what is that ? 
 
 C. Come ! I shall teach 
 Thee much of greater mysteries than those 
 Thou wander^d'st far to see. But silence now; 
 For angels do not go to church without 
 A thought. 
 
 K. Calla, one question more, I pray ! 
 What strange robe hath the GOD put on ? 
 
 C. Nature 
 Of man. 
 
 K. Of man ! Oh ! who is man ? What hath 
 He done for GOD that we 'forgot to do, 
 That He should thus pass by our radiance 
 To stoop to Form which seems unworthy of 
 The Majesty Divine ? What hath man done ? 
 Oh ! Who is he ? 
 
LEONORA BE CASTRO. 315 
 
 C. A creature that the GOD 
 Did make of dust of earth, and then He breathed 
 His Own divinest Life within the form 
 That His Own Hands had shaped. ('Twas but 
 
 His Word 
 That fashioned us.) Male and female did He 
 Create, and placed them in a Garden of 
 Delights, named Paradise. But Satan went 
 Into their bowei" ; and ere long they were cast 
 Out of the Eden that is like to ours 
 As ring of yonder world* to halo round 
 GOD'S Feet. 
 
 K. Oh beautiful! Goldenly bright! 
 I had not noticed that fair sphere, around 
 Whose beauty there doth hang embracingly 
 A circle of strange light that is like faint 
 Reflection of the rainbow round the Throne. 
 But more of man. I cannot hear enough. 
 
 C. He would haye followed the lost Prince, the 
 
 poor 
 Abandoned one ! had not the GOD gone down 
 To earth, assumed humanity, taking 
 A body of a helpless Babe, lived on 
 This world till it had gone around the sun 
 Three times and thirty, when His body died 
 A sacrifice to save mankind ; for then 
 Numbered posterity of the first pair 
 More souls than there are crystal streams in 
 
 Heaven. 
 'Twas thus that the GOD lived and died on Earth. 
 
 There is a ring around the Earth. 
 
316 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 K. Died ? As the flow'rets die in a new sphere 
 We visited of late ? Calla, I do 
 Not understand. 
 
 G. No more. We are before 
 The King. 
 
 K. Oh see ! How kind He is ! He knows 
 How much I long to hear the rest. Dear LORD, 
 He beckons thee to tell me more. 
 
 C. Then we 
 Shall fall behind and as we fly thou wilt 
 Hear words that will inflame thy love for Him 
 Till it will seem to thee that angels are 
 Almost omnipotent— so great, so far 
 Beyond the bounds of all thou yet hast felt, 
 Will be thy love and reverence for Him ; — 
 Thine indignation first, but soon thy grief 
 And pity for poor man. 
 
 K. Quiver my wings. 
 Sharing the expectation of my thoughts 
 To hear the wondrous tale. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Krysillo,. — Oi\Q comes to fly by us. Knowest 
 thou him ? 
 
 Calla. — Yes ; I have talked with Wiclifoft ; he is 
 One of the saints who proved Christ's presence with 
 His Church e'en when idolatry, that wore 
 New names, insidious, be^^an to lift 
 Itself again. I noticed that the stars 
 As seen from earth, are brighter when the air 
 Is cold and pure in wintry dearth than when 
 It's redolent of the rich life and scent 
 
LEONORA BE CASTRO. 31Y 
 
 Of Summer's soft and fragrant breath. E'en so, 
 Wliile age of persecution tried the Church 
 Quite radiant was she in purity; 
 But when it passed away and kings became 
 Her servants, bowing low, some worshipped her, 
 Or favor that kings gave, new trials came. 
 Satan began to drown man's intellect 
 In dream-inspiring exhalations of 
 The poetry of truth. 
 
 K. Of truth? Well, that 
 Is just as it should be — ^just as it is 
 With us. 
 
 G. Ah yes ! Because we never can 
 Forget we stand in the great presence of 
 The GrOD ; but here they do forget, and think, 
 Because good music's heavenly — comes from 
 Above, that it is piety. E'en so 
 The petrifactions grand and beautiful 
 Of spirits that adored oft satisfy 
 The worshipper; and the cathedral, though 
 'Tis just what angels fancy that the House 
 Wherein Grod dwells on earth should be, is oft 
 The resting-place of prayer and praise. 
 
 K. How sad! 
 G. 'Tis so with pictures worthy of the gaze 
 Of Seraphim — a few of which might serve 
 To fan their ever-burning flame of love 
 And happiness, they oft are stumbling-blocks 
 O'er which Devotion falls to rise no more. 
 But this is not true of all lands; for some 
 Have had a Eeformation, and the one 
 To which we go has left idolatry 
 
318 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Of images and its congenial rites 
 For a faith simpler and more primitive. 
 When in the church I shall point out a pair 
 Who fled from native land and heritage 
 Of wealth, glad to escape with life. On ship 
 Like that thou seest on the sea below 
 Us now, they were made man and wife under 
 The flag of a free land. In England they 
 Have sought and found a very happy home.* 
 Sept. 20, 1870. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 LOUIS XVII. OF FRANCE. — A.D. 1795. 
 
 Victim of ungodly men, 
 Lay a little boy of ten 
 In a dungeon cold and damp, 
 And his gaoler was a scamp. 
 But three days before his death 
 He was borne out, half by stealth, 
 Into room where some fresh air 
 And bright light made day seem fair. 
 But when night fell he was left 
 Lonely, e'en of nurse bereft: 
 How he passed the nights of woe 
 None bnt Grod and angels know. 
 When his last day brightly shone. 
 His one friendf repressed a moan, 
 
 * All I know of the Marquis and Leonora I read in 
 " Harper's Magazine " for August,'1870. The conversations, 
 except that between Leonora and the Bishop, are imaginary, 
 and I have no ground for supposing she had such a sister as 
 Maria. The ecclesiastical references are facts. 
 
 f See Beauchesne's Life of Louis XVII. 
 
LOUIS XVII. OF FEANCE. 319 j 
 
 Hoped the child was not in pain. \ 
 
 "Yes; but easier my brain; -] 
 
 Beautiful the music is." ; 
 
 (Music no ear heard but his ; \ 
 
 He was now to get a crown.) j 
 
 " I've heard it e'er since you knelt down," j 
 
 Said the child to Gomin kind. \ 
 
 "Listen!" Gomin could not find \ 
 
 Any proofs of angels there j 
 
 Unless they were in the fair j 
 Patient eyes of martyr-child, . ; 
 
 Like his Master, meek and mild. j 
 
 "Hark! My mother's voice I hear." ! 
 
 Then his pain-dimmed eyes grew clear, ' 
 
 And his lips could almost smile. \ 
 He'd be with her in short while. 
 
 Soon the little face grew sad : ^; 
 "Do you think my sister had 
 
 Chance to hear the music sweet "^ 
 That my blissful ears did greet ? 
 It would have done her much good." 
 
 Angels heard and understood j 
 
 That the time had surely come i 
 
 When they no more would be dumb, ] 
 
 As they had been, to the boy | 
 
 In his nights of sad annoy : < 
 
 Now he heard their words of joy. \ 
 
 His keeper came and took his hand ; :■ 
 He had left for ftiirer land, 
 Where no children suffer for 
 Crimes that their few years abhor — 
 
 Done ere they had seen the light. ■ 
 
320 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Two years before a child as bright 
 
 As the boy my knee beside, 
 
 Was left (when his father died 
 
 To atone for worse men's sin) : 
 
 Captive sad, he was to win 
 
 By his patient gentleness, 
 
 l^ever answered by caress, 
 
 Eight to be a martyr called. 
 
 History my taste has palled 
 
 With horrors, till I think in Hell 
 
 There is little that can well 
 
 IN'ew be called. God, let me dwell 
 
 Where demons can no more bear sway ! 
 
 Heaven from earth seems far away — 
 
 'Twill farther be unless I pray. 
 
 Drama XX. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 THE DEATH OF NOVALIS. 
 
 A. D. 1801. 
 I. 
 
 GrENTLT, gently enter here : 
 
 Sweetly JSTovalis sleeps 
 
 Bathing his spirit in heavenly deeps. 
 Four years ago with many a tear 
 
 He often prayed for rest. 
 
 For awhile he is blQst; 
 Wake him not now — 
 
 Let him hear the angels sing! - 
 May God's Spirit endow 
 With life everlastiiisr 
 
THE DEA TH OF NO VALiS. 321 
 
 Him e'en while he sleeps ! 
 
 Though no longer he weeps, 
 
 He secretly sighs for his Lore, 
 
 Sophie, lost to him in blue fields above. 
 
 May he sleep long ! Wake him not now. 
 
 He would wake to press on fair Julie's brow 
 
 The kiss that he fain would press upon hers. 
 
 Let him forget — too oft he remembers. 
 His deceit God forgive ! 
 He thinks he must live; 
 So to be happy we'll try 
 As the gates of the sky 
 Ope not for his prayers, nor as he thinks, for hers ; 
 Though ever his soul his first-love remembers; 
 As a man he will seek for happiness here. 
 Since he is shut out from the woman most dear 
 
 He will try to make up a home upon earth, 
 
 Julie's smile an oasis in life's dreary dearth : 
 Then sometimes at least he may languidly rest, 
 Nor think more of her who dwells mid the Blest. 
 
 II. 
 
 But she who first loved him ! 
 Oh, where is she now ? 
 Forgotten her vow ? 
 Hath she not noted how very dim 
 Earth's amusements are for him ? 
 Hath she not seen that grief and despair 
 
 Have since she died made their marks on his 
 brow ? 
 That he has wearied of hopeless prayer 
 That God would let Deatli seal their vow? 
 
323 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Yes ; for she often doth round him. hover, 
 Sometimes she brings to her weary lover 
 From Heaven ideas beautiful and fair, 
 Which parry pain and gloom and ward off care, 
 That he may write them as poetic thoughts ; 
 The thoughts that men and children, too, will wish 
 To lay up in their earth-worn or fresh hearts 
 Among the treasures Age and Youth like best, 
 Their inner life to kindle or to nourish. 
 Knowing not they came from realms of the Blest. 
 And ofttimes to his heart she sings 
 
 Such musical airs a sigh hitshes he 
 To list the lovely songs she brings ; 
 And then unconsciously 
 He writes tliem down 
 To mark earth's hours, 
 Not knowing they are flowers 
 From spirit's crown. 
 
 III. 
 
 She hath heard him speak of love 
 
 To another maiden 
 And, like a carrier-dove, 
 
 To earth she swiftly flies 
 With God's message laden 
 
 To bring him to the skies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Gently, gently enter here ! 
 Here lies one to angels dear ; 
 Sweetly l^ovalis sleeps 
 While a well-known spirit peeps 
 
THE DEATH OF NO VALI8. 323 
 
 From the shroud that Death cloth wear. 
 There is echo in the air 
 While plays his brother on harpsichord 
 And groweth the vision long and broad, 
 As floating beings rare 
 
 Mingle with the notes 
 That fall on his dreaming ear, 
 As float bright golden motes 
 In beam of sunshine clear. 
 And this song they begin 
 While others enter in : 
 " Dream thy last dream, 
 
 We come to bring thee rest ; 
 Already o'er thy brow doth gleam 
 
 The golden wings of her thou lovest best. 
 Free from sin thou soon wilt be. 
 From pain and anguish free. 
 Soon Eden thou wilt enter. 
 Knowest thou art the centre 
 Where meet several Saints' bliss ? 
 
 On thy lips and on thy brow 
 Thou hast felt a Spirit's kiss ; 
 
 'Tis no dream thou lovest now. 
 Waken, poet I With us roam 
 Far above the star-flushed dome. 
 By that kiss thou wert set free 
 From the bars of clay that held thee. 
 'Tis no dream ; Sophie is here ; 
 Fly with her to the Father dear." 
 
 V. 
 Gently, gently enter here, 
 Gladly, without a tear 
 
324 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sweetly ISToyalis sleeps ; 
 
 Angel-guard a vigil keeps 
 
 O'er the sleeper's bed. 
 
 All! Softly tread; 
 
 Spirits fill the room ; 
 
 It hath not air of gloom. 
 
 Novalis waketh happily ; 
 
 What thou hop'st for he doth see. 
 
 Note. — Written after reading some of Carlyle's Essay 
 on Novalis. I could not keep back my tears, half by a 
 sense of joy and half by a sense of beauty overcome. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 THE CONSUMPTIVE. — MAY, 1830. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 {Amy in her room, sitting at lier ivindoio : 
 early moryiing.) 
 
 Zulee (Jier Guardian). — She listens to stage- 
 coach that takes away 
 Whom she esteems as friend ; a lover he. 
 She will have grief enough to bear ere long. 
 Come, red-birds, sing aud cheer the girJ, and let 
 Her write; for writing is the Lethe Grod 
 Provides for those wlio can't weep much nor talk. 
 
 Amy {writes). 
 
 Dispersed is the mist ; 
 To birds I will Hst. 
 They speak merl'ily; 
 "At your call, you see, 
 We come out, Sun ! 
 We're ready for fun ; 
 
THE CONSmiPTIVE. 325 
 
 We come fortli to cheer 
 All hearts that know fear ; 
 Silly flowers weep 
 A while in their sleep. 
 For, they think darkness 
 Is henceforth their dress. 
 Dead, they say, is the sun 
 And they are undone. 
 If they'll ope their eyes 
 There'll be truce to sighs. 
 We'll sing merrily ; 
 They'll wake cheerily." 
 
 I blushed as I heard 
 Eeproof of a bird. 
 Ashamed to think I 
 Should thus weep and sigh, 
 Eefusing to see 
 Light beaming on me. 
 I dried ev'ry tear 
 Determined to cheer. 
 And found that the cloud 
 That life doth enshroud 
 Was in my own eye. 
 No longer I sigh : 
 No more shall I feai 
 For Edgar so dear. 
 See ! Brightly above 
 Shines sun that I love — 
 The sun of our faith. 
 'Tis Father who saith. 
 
326 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 " Cast all care on me," 
 For I care for thee. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Edgar in a room at Trinity College, Hartford^ Sept., 1830. 
 E. As FLOWER WITHOUT PERFUME 
 
 So is life without hope 
 Of coming blessedness 
 When with pain it must cope, 
 As prairie-fires consume 
 With exultant success 
 And a most cruel mirth 
 The flowers of the earth, 
 So hath grief had full scope 
 To turn to dead ashes 
 The bright blossoms of hope 
 Whose most brilliant flashes 
 Once illumined my path 
 Ere I thought of Death's wrath. 
 Soon fires of sufiering 
 Built high mounds of ashes 
 Where Fate his teeth gnashes 
 And Despair thus doth sing, 
 Of the flowers of thy May 
 But the dust now remains ; 
 And Autumn winds and rains 
 Funeral dirges play. 
 
 Funeral dirges - aye ! Well I have faced 
 The truth. I know that I must die, and so 
 I shall now write to Mr. Warrington. 
 God, Father of my " Eldei Bi'other," make 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 32Y 
 
 Him write and bid me come to his sweet home 
 To die! Theii Amy will be near me, and 
 I wish to fit myself for angels' love 
 And company by keeping hers. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Amy. — Oh God ! I dare not sat 'tis fate. 
 But I again am just too late 
 To yield my spirit to a mate. 
 
 My Father, if such was Thy will. 
 Teach me to suffer ; and soon still 
 My restless heart: I pray Thee drill 
 
 My pulses till they beat in time 
 
 With Thy degrees, and when they chime 
 
 In unison to better clime. 
 
 Remove me, Lord, for here I'm tried 
 By grief and loneliness. Oh, guide 
 Me home, or else, my Father, hide 
 
 Me from life's waves in Thy safe Palm, 
 That so I may be strong and calm 
 And patient to be as I am. 
 
 {Amy goes to sleep weeping-, and at mid- 
 night wakens.) 
 
 A. Now WITH A start I WAKEN" FROM MY SLEEP, 
 
 A lone tear in my eye, but on my lip 
 
 The smile of scornful pride. Not e'en in dreams 
 
 Must my thoughts dwell on one who never bowed 
 
 His will to all the whims of mine. I am 
 
 A girl, the weaker of the two, therefore, 
 
328 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I must be wooed ere won. But liave I not 
 
 Been wooed ? 'Tis true I would not let him talk 
 
 Of loving me: perchance he did not love 
 
 As I require, madly, devotedly. 
 
 But what of that ? Must I wait for his vows ? 
 
 The rose-bud opens to the bee's warm kiss 
 
 Ere he has hummed a madrigal, and thus 
 
 My heart, made by my Grod to dearly love 
 
 The good, the glad, the beautiful, the true, 
 
 First slightly trembled at a Voice that stirred 
 
 The depths of my lone soul, that waited for 
 
 The master-chord to bid it gently dance 
 
 In harmony. The tones were not too weak, 
 
 For often borne aloft on thought's swift wings, 
 
 They bade my soul awake and mount with them. 
 
 They were not harsh, or I had never learned 
 
 Their tune; but gentle as a cherub's hymn. 
 
 A calm soul, full of aspirations high 
 
 That often floated round the Throne of Grod; 
 
 A heart, that from the dear St. John had learned 
 
 Its sweet key-note, were wedded in his tones. 
 
 And my young heart, always awake to lays 
 
 Of love and Heaven, leaped up most joyously, 
 
 Not knowing what she did, listened and learned 
 
 The Melody, printed it on her leaves 
 
 And laid it by. Glad hours had come and gone 
 
 And then a dark'ning mist of sorrow rose 
 
 And settled on my life, chilling its flowers; 
 
 The nightingales sing though the fog be dense. 
 
 The Voice 1 had thought lost in happy days 
 
 Began to murmur as ^olian harp 
 
 In Autumn night after a Summer's rest. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 329 
 
 "With trembling haste I summoned Memory. 
 Bade her re-ope the pages of my heart 
 And play the floating music long shut up 
 In dark and dusty corner of my brain. 
 True to the beautiful within my soul 
 She played the very tunes that he had taught 
 In by-gone days. 
 
 I know not why I wept: 
 But a girl's feelings are most curious 
 And never can be trained to shrivel up 
 To common sense and dull propriety. 
 I iell to sleep, lulled by a tender strain 
 Of olden times, and dreamed that he was by : 
 He sang to me a song of love and joy. 
 The tears were in my eyes, I could not see 
 That he had clasped my hands and then had drawn 
 His arm around my waist, and gently pressed 
 The kiss of union on ray trembling lips 
 That fluttered so I knew not what he did. 
 I saw no, human form, nor did I feel 
 A mortal's kiss. 
 
 The God whom I adore 
 Had made of two lives one ; for a soft voice 
 Had bade me kneel at my dear Saviour's Feet, 
 And as we knelt, two children of the Earth, 
 Our Father answered us, and in a cloud 
 Of music floated we to .home above. 
 Why is it that as soon as our sweet dreams 
 Bear us from Earth some voice must drag us back 
 And change our happiness to time-born woes? 
 A short time since my spirit was in bliss, 
 But rudely waked from guileless dreams of him 
 
330 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Who led me tliere, I smile iu scorn and say, 
 I never loved a man ! 'Tis but a Voice 
 That haunts me thus, a vague embodiment 
 Of all I love, truth, purity, and beauty. 
 
 Saene IV. 
 Amy {alone) : 
 
 Papa says Edgar's coming here to stay 
 A long, long while. Who is so glad as I ? 
 I shall practice at once the songs lie likes. 
 
 {Smgs to her guitar :) 
 
 Love is like a poet's song 
 As it smoothly trips along : 
 I love a song. 
 
 Loye is like a fervent kiss, 
 What is taken we don't miss: 
 I love a kiss. 
 
 Loye is like a pleasant breeze 
 Rocking birds' nests in the trees : 
 I love a breeze. 
 
 Loye is like a gay parterre, 
 
 Full of all things sweet and fair : 
 
 I love sweet flowers. 
 
 Love is like the song of wren. 
 Welcome to domestic men : 
 
 I love a wren. 
 
 Love is like the pure blue sky 
 That low storm-clouds doth defy : 
 I love the sky. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 331 
 
 Love is like my Angel's wings 
 Unseen, while joys on me he flings : 
 I love his wings. 
 
 As Love is like all of these 
 AVhy mayn't it still better please ? 
 I love sweet Love. 
 
 Oh! truly my heart is too light to-day 
 And like a feather flies off at each breath 
 Of song. I heard mamma say to papa, 
 Her heart is soft as sponge, and he replied, 
 God grant it never may be turned to flint. 
 Well, if it does 'twill only be to strike 
 A kindred spark out of dear Edgar's brain. 
 
 Erst my heart was lying 
 Li girlhood's soft slumber. 
 
 While o'er it came flying- 
 Sweet thoughts without number. 
 
 Like clouds on still waters, 
 Calm they lay on my heart : 
 
 But, like the Fate-Daughters, 
 They were weaving my part. 
 
 COMIN"G ? IS HE COMHsTG ? 
 
 But do I wish him here ? 
 
 I think not. Him I fear. 
 Long-hushed thoughts are humming 
 
 Conscious of their power— 
 
 " Having sipped each flower, 
 We're with honey coming." 
 
332 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And I should like to take 
 
 Some fragrant honey-drops ; 
 
 But soon stiff Prudence stops 
 My hand ; for the Past's sake 
 
 You'll let the Future sting ? 
 
 Tut ! Tut ! What a fine thing 
 Honey and sting to take ! 
 
 Scene Y. — Edgar and Amy. 
 
 Amy [sings :) 
 
 Father, to Thee mt eyes I lift 
 To thank Thee for Thy precious gift — 
 The power to warble forth Thy praise . 
 In heartfelt, though but childlike lays. 
 I'll praise Thee with the little bird 
 Whose joyous song at morn is heard. 
 
 And as I sing the notes that seem 
 
 Like angels' whispers in a dream 
 
 I draw from Heaven the tones so rare 
 
 That quiet grief and j)alsy care — 
 
 Sweet echo of the angels' song 
 
 As round Thy brilliant Throne they throng. 
 
 And when the beauteous flow'rets wave 
 Their gentle heads above my grave 
 My silent bar,) in dust will rest 
 Whilst I lie on my Saviour's Breast : 
 But when life to my flesh is given, 
 Unite the chords that Death hath riven! 
 
TEE CONSUMPTIVE 333 
 
 Edgar. — Thanks for the pretty song, my gentle 
 friend ; 
 Now, Improvisatrice, talk to me. 
 Hast an idea what Heaven will be ? 
 
 A. A world of evergreens draped with warm 
 snow 
 That will not melt, and there moonlight will stay. 
 Thou smils't. I wish that I was wise like thee. 
 E. Thou canst say very foolish things sometimes. 
 A. Alas, too oft! 
 
 E. Should angels ever wish 
 To be as wise as men ? 
 
 A. What meanest thou? 
 E. There's nothing that man ought to know 
 and feel 
 That woman may not learn — but God forbid 
 She ever should know all man does ! 
 
 A. Jealous ! 
 Oh, shame ! Is God, or art thou, fittest Judge 
 Of what her powers should be ? 
 
 E. With Him do I 
 Agree, and call presumptuous who dare 
 To say she should not use the talents for 
 Which she will give account. She has no right 
 To "bury in a napkin" any gem 
 For fear of fame and scorn and suflfering. 
 Ah ! when she stands by God's Throne it will be 
 A poor excuse for talents that were crushed 
 Into her silent, timid life, to plead, 
 I feared man's dictum, God, more than I hoped 
 For Thy '- Well done." And so, I pray, keep on 
 Thy bright and upward path. I would that I 
 
334 ^'SE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Could stay to smooth away life's rnggedness 
 
 For thee. Thou needest so much tenderness, 
 
 Such watchful love. What could'st thoa do alone ? 
 
 Poor little thing ! I'm glad to leave thee in 
 
 A downy-covered nest. I think no wind 
 
 "Will jostle thee out of thy sheltered nook 
 
 Into the world. Amy, I soon must die : before 
 
 I go I want to tell thee how I love. 
 
 (Alofie) Why! she has gone! To hide some tears, I 
 
 ween. 
 Perhaps she never heard that I must die ; 
 But then she never favored me with sign 
 Of love more than she shows to anything 
 She passes by. She doth amuse herself 
 With all around, with me among the rest. 
 Perhaps she ran away to hide a blush. 
 I never spoke before of loving her; 
 And yet she must have known my heart; but all 
 Love her, wherefore, perchance, she thought I was 
 But one of all. If I could hope that she 
 Would love me ere I go! Hhe is so shy; 
 I dare not press the weakling's little hand. 
 I know that I shall never see her lips 
 Drop on my fevered ones like snow which falls 
 Noiseless and pure. Oh, I can feel them now ! 
 I fancy I am dead, and she stands by 
 And quietly reviews my silent love ; 
 Then her soft tears of pity fall upon 
 The clammy sheet that binds me strongly as 
 An iron band; she knows I cannot move 
 My lips to answer hers, and so she stoops — 
 I feel her breath ! My own comes swiftly back, 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 335 
 
 And though she knows it not, it rises up 
 
 To meet her kiss — pi-esses into her life, 
 
 And she is mine ! I did not dare to fold 
 
 Her to my living soul ; she seemed to be 
 
 Afraid of hearts that beat for her, shrank from 
 
 Their m3^sterj. I could not fright the child 
 
 Out of her unsuspecting trust in me. 
 
 But I am spirit now and she is not 
 
 Afraid of those who cannot make her hear 
 
 Their tales of love ; my lips are silent too ; 
 
 They cannot her annoy with questionings 
 
 Of love and mystery, so she will let 
 
 Me be her confidant and tell me all 
 
 Her girlish fears and sori-owings ; she knows 
 
 My lips will never more tremble to kiss 
 
 Her liquid voice. Perhaps she will show some 
 
 Love when I cannot pour my soul through her 
 
 Most tantalizing eyes, that say, " I love " : 
 
 For when mine answer, " And I more," she turns 
 
 In sudden tremor and disgust, and looks 
 
 Quite as much love into the air . . . Oh, heart, 
 
 Lie still ! she is but passing by — When will 
 
 She come ? I wish I had not startled her. 
 
 How sweet it is to fancy I am dead 
 
 And feel her kiss a harbinger of love ! 
 
 It is strange faith that tells me she will want 
 
 Me when she thinks I can come back no more. 
 
 I'm confident I shall ; for, I believe 
 
 That God will let my spiritual Avings 
 
 Oft purify the air that she doth breathe. 
 
 Ah ! when the blight dawn of her life is o'er, 
 
 Clouds may arise, and she may be oppressed 
 
336 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 By the electric sympathy that drew 
 
 Our hearts into our eyes when first we met. 
 
 And I shall feel her heaviness, and haste 
 
 With Grod's permission to stir the thick air, 
 
 And rarify with incense from above 
 
 The breath of Earth, reeking with loathsomeness. 
 
 Perhaps when she must suffer 'twill be best 
 
 That near Christ I should stand. Alas! how could 
 
 I bear to see that little form quiver 
 
 With agonies I had no power to ease ? 
 
 She is so frail — oh, God, forbid that I 
 
 Should think about the poor child's fragileness! 
 
 Thou wilt be gentle with thine own pet lamb 
 
 Who'll bow her head so meekly for Thy rod, 
 
 Thou wilt not strike too hard. Dear Christ, who 
 
 hast 
 Felt all tlie tortures of humanity, 
 Feel for her vroe and for my sympathy. 
 How strange for her to think that Heaven will be 
 Like winter of the year ! To me its air 
 Seems always blue and redolent of Spring, 
 Not sweet, too pure for sense ; but, like her breath,J 
 Sweet if it could be apprehended by 
 Ethereal sense. I thiuk I know why slie 
 Imagined that it would be like warm snow; 
 She knows that nothing cold could dwell with Grod;| 
 Snow is quite passionless and yet as bright 
 And cheering as a maiden's life. Henceforth, 
 Her presence will be like a fall of snow, 
 Entombing earthly bloom and gorgeousness, 
 And in its seeming cold preserving warmth 
 And life and happiness for Spring in Heaven. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 33Y 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Amy. — Edgar, last night I dreamed that on a 
 bsd 
 Of roses freshly blown and very sweet 
 I lay : pink leaves had fallen on my cheeks 
 And lips, and left their beauty soft ere they 
 Were blown away. Birds from the trees came 
 
 down 
 And sang such pleasant ditties in my ear. 
 My hair was just the color of gold-cloud 
 That wrapped itself into a turban of 
 Soft, fleecy folds about my pretty head. 
 Oh, I was fair as in my waking hours 
 I long to be. Don't look astonished at 
 My vanity: are not the angels fair ? 
 And I would be as beautiful as they. 
 
 E. Their beauty is within, and penetrates 
 The countenance as fragrance doth a flower. 
 Beauty like theirs may Amy gain ; bu fc I 
 Hope e'en in Paradise she will not be 
 Much changed. No cloud of gold about the brow 
 Of cherub could be beautiful to me 
 As are her soft black locks that to her face 
 Are what the shadows are in picture bright 
 Now sing me a low song that I may sleep 
 If it is -possible. I had no rest 
 Last night ; my cough and visions of a shy 
 Earth- angel drove off sleep. Take your guitar. 
 
 Amy {sings :) 
 
 Mark how o'er ocean's breast 
 Rolls the hoar billow's crest! 
 Such is his heart's unrest ! 
 
338 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Who of love tastefch : 
 His nights he wasteth 
 To Death he hasteth. 
 E. I don't Hke that. Here are some words I 
 wish 
 That you would try to sing to the old air 
 I am fond of. Perhaps then I might sleep. 
 
 {He takes a paper from Ins pocket and 
 liands it to her.) 
 Amy {sings :) 
 
 Eest, spieit, best ! 
 
 For all sins confest, 
 
 Thou soon wilt enter in 
 
 The home where dwells no sin. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest ! 
 In Jesu's raiment drest. 
 Thou hast a right to reign 
 Where glories never wane. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest ! 
 Hie thee to Jesu's breast : 
 Happy beneath His wing. 
 Thy gayest carol sing. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest ! 
 In Eden thou'lt be blest ; 
 Mind no griefs of the way. 
 But often calmly pray. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest! 
 No loss should thee molest ; 
 No woe can thee betide, 
 Thy Brother is thy guide. 
 
THE G0N8UMPTIVE. 339 
 
 Eesfc, spirit, rest ! 
 Brother knows what is best ; 
 List not to griefs of Time, 
 But hearken to Faith's chime. 
 
 Rest, spirit, rest! 
 In Jesu fully blest ; 
 Angels around thee soar, 
 ! canst thou ask for more? 
 
 Best, spirit, rest! 
 Mourn no more for the Blest; 
 With them thou soon wilt rest, 
 Wake with them on Christ's breast. 
 
 Scene VH. 
 {Edgar, ivriting :) 
 
 I AM GLAD THAT I HAVE LOVED THEE,* 
 
 Though my bride thou maj'st not be ; 
 For I am more like angels pure. 
 
 Love, since I have been with thee. 
 E'en in Eden 'twould be lonely 
 
 If I had no spirit- wife; 
 And my star thou'lt be hereafter. 
 
 As thou long hast been in life. 
 
 . And thine eye will beam the brighter 
 When thou standest by Grod's Throne, 
 To think thou hast soothed weary heart 
 With thy love's peace-giving tone ; 
 
 * Song to air of " Had I never, never known thee." 
 
340 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 With thy holy faith hast lighted. 
 Heavy feet that sought the tomb ; 
 
 In a heart of earth hast planted 
 Flowers of immortal bloom. 
 
 I am glad I made thee love me, 
 
 In the spring-time of thy life, 
 And before another wooed thee. 
 
 Won thee for my spirit wife. 
 They will tell thee I have left thee, 
 
 But thy sweet faith will reply, 
 I see fair forms ye cannot see. 
 
 And around me now they fly. 
 
 Amy. — I have been waiting long to let thee end 
 Thy note, and as reward for silence so 
 Unusual, request to read what thou 
 Hast written. 
 
 Edgar. — So thou shalt ; but not quite yet. 
 
 A. When then ? 
 
 E. My darling, I must go out on 
 A long, long voyage ; but be sure I shall 
 Come back to take thee to a home that will 
 Be granted me by my Best Friend, and which 
 I shall delight to deck with all that most 
 Pleaseth thine eyes. And if thou hast with thee 
 Another friend, he for thy sake shall have 
 The "mausion" Christ will Jet me deck for thee. 
 
 A. Now thou wilt preach. I don't like that. 
 Grood-bye. 
 
 E. Wait but a moment. Thou knowest I wrote 
 To Trinity for books and box that I 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 341 
 
 Left with my chum. To-day a letter came 
 Announcing he had gone on a long trip. 
 I wrote to Sam Eulee, when he came that 
 Back he must send them all to thee. Letters, 
 And lock of hair tied with white ribbon thou 
 Wilt burn. Cuff-buttons and such trinkets as 
 A man may have, thou'lt keep. They will, at 
 
 least, 
 Be bright as the dried flowers thou spendest so 
 Much time upon. 
 
 A. I wish thou couldst go ride 
 With me ; then thou wouldst not be quite so blue. 
 
 E. Pity me that I can't ; and when thou dost 
 Eein in thy horse to rest, write me thy thoughts. 
 
 Edgar (alone). Oh, it is hard to loye as I and 
 have 
 To play the brother and mere friend ! Selfish 
 I dare not be ; nor would I try to win 
 Her vows. No ! It is hard to love and give 
 No sign ; but harder yet 'twould be to see 
 Her suffer for my sake. Besides, a ward 
 Would but meanly repay a guardian 
 For all his kindness to an invalid 
 By wrecking his child's happiness. Instead, 
 I'll write for her each bright and cheering thought 
 I have of the Hereafter. What if she 
 Should miss and long for me too much ? My God, 
 In my calm hours I am not selfish to 
 Desire she should : but sometimes jealousy 
 Consumes my heart, as doth disease my lungs. 
 I shall collect my songs, and tie them up 
 For her to read and sing when I am deaf. 
 
34:2 TEE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I. 
 
 MAIDEN ON EARTH, LOVE IN" HEAVEN. 
 
 "Weary, weary, weary, 
 And tremblingly alone, 
 
 Sighing for sympathy, 
 Moan answering a moan," 
 Crieth the one that on earth may not be blest, 
 As she thinketh of her dead mate and his unbroken 
 rest. 
 
 "Happy, happy, happy, 
 Aye chanting a sweet song, 
 
 Christ's voice the symphony, 
 While throng answereth throng," 
 Shouteth the one who hath first obtained his rest, 
 The while he thinketh joyously he lives but to be 
 blest. 
 
 " Forgotten, forgotten, 
 Quite alone, quite alone. 
 
 And loathing living men 
 Since Death hath claimed mine own," 
 Shrieketh the one who hath buried her dead Dove, 
 As she thinketh envyingly of rest he hath above. 
 
 "Thinking, thinking, thinking, 
 Of the home of mv birth ; 
 For, therein is sinking 
 In grief the loved of earth," 
 Singe th the true one that hath come from the sky. 
 That he may cheer away the tear from mortal maid- 
 en's eye. 
 
TEE CONSUMPTIVE. 343 
 
 " Blessed, blessed, blessed ! 
 
 We are now together ; 
 Both, living and both dead, 
 Joying in each other," 
 Chant oft the hearts there lies no veil between ; 
 Happier, far happier than some loves of earth, I 
 ween. 
 
 II, 
 
 COERUPTIBLE AND INCORRUPTIBLE. 
 
 Ye who feed on things of earth, 
 Tremblingly await the dearth 
 That must come to all who feed 
 On meats which corruption breed. 
 
 Woman, see your idol now 
 At another's footstool bow ! 
 Turn away hot tears to shed 
 O'er a passion scorned and dead. 
 
 I? My lover cannot die, 
 
 Nor can his change cause a sigh ; 
 
 No ! the eyes that beamed for him 
 Ne'er for his change tears will dim. 
 
 On immortal fruits he feeds ; 
 Angel-hands supply his needs ; 
 Drinks he of the crystal streams 
 And lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 He who eats " the bread of Life " 
 Claims me for his spirit- wife ; 
 My heart in reality 
 Shares his immortalitv. 
 
344 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES 
 
 III. 
 I AM WITH THEE, DEAREST, 
 
 Am ever by thy side ; 
 Weep not, sweetest maiden, 
 
 Thinking I have died. 
 Each breeze that fans thy cheek, 
 
 Doth wave my rainbow wings ; 
 Songs in dreams thou hearest, 
 
 Are tliose my freed soul sings. 
 
 The though ts, that often hush 
 
 Thy sad sighs of unrest, 
 Are whispered in thy ear 
 
 By him thou lovest best. 
 God's life to it given, 
 
 My love can never die; 
 It was not touched by Death — 
 
 Translated to the sky. 
 
 IV. 
 
 EVEKT DEEAM OF BLISS THAT BKIGHTESTS 
 
 Grioomy girlhood's wild romance, 
 
 "Will eternal joys enhance 
 When kind death our bodies lightens 
 Of this heavy load of clay. 
 
 All pure visions Time hath wrecked. 
 
 All our spirits now project, 
 Make pictures in the realpis of Day. 
 Like the mirage of the sea 
 
 Steadfast on horizon clear, 
 
 Though I'm tossed and shipwreck fear. 
 All my dreams Death keeps for me. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 345 
 
 TELL ME WHERE.* 
 
 WhEEE, TELL ME WHERE IS MY LOST LOVER 
 ROVIISTG ? 
 
 Where dwells the heart that so long was iny home ? 
 ! doth he now to an angel-maiden sing ? 
 How can he will so far from me to roam? 
 
 Where, where is he, 
 
 Who once loved me ? 
 
 Dreams of the past, can ye so quickly vanish ? 
 
 Fadeth hope so soon into nothingness ? 
 Can lover in Eden from his heart banish 
 The maiden who on earth his life did bless ? 
 Where, where is he, 
 Who hath left me? 
 
 Often below is he my footsteps tending, 
 
 Guarding my path wherever I may roam ; 
 Often over me an old Friend is bending; 
 Favored my heart, God's and a Spirit home ! 
 Here, here is he. 
 Who tendetn me. 
 
 Buds of the earth have blossomed Eden's flowers ; 
 
 Human love above beameth as the sun ; 
 Pure souls who wander in the sapphire bowers, 
 Have changed pale hope for bright fruition. 
 Here, here is he, 
 Who n^'er left me. 
 
 * Air. — " Where, where is h.e? " 
 
346 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I LOVED THEE, DEAR FRIE]S"D OF MT HEART 
 
 Aye, sweet, I loved thee dearly ! 
 "We did not meet — only to part 
 On earth so very early ; 
 
 Nor life, nor death can sever 
 The hearts then bound together. 
 
 Our days together were but few — 
 
 A foretaste of the future — 
 When we in heaven shall renew 
 Thoughts that now my heart allure 
 To sigh for thee — thee only ; 
 When I am sad and lonely. 
 
 Edgar, ray first, my angel love, 
 
 Our hearts are bound together ; 
 Though I'm on earth and thou above, 
 Our souls are one forever. 
 
 My heart doth teach me truly 
 Thou never can'st forget me. 
 
 They think that thou hast gone away 
 
 And left me very lonely : 
 But they know not that night and day 
 Thou art forever with me ; 
 
 And death will only let me see 
 
 The form of him who dwells with me. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 347 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now ETERNAL DAY IS BREAKING * 
 
 Through the clouds that float above, 
 Angels from their bosoms shaking 
 
 Blossoms of unfathomed love. 
 And the dewy tears of sorrow 
 
 Shrink before the coming sun 
 Gf the ever-bright'ning morrow 
 
 That hath joyously begun. 
 Bright hopes awaking from their sleep, 
 
 Merrily begin to sing; 
 The hearts, whose wont it is to weep 
 Tributes of thankfulness now bring. 
 
 And no more our soul will shrink 
 From dark evening's shade ; 
 Grief's dim night is but the link 
 Gf Earth and Heaven God made. 
 In the darkness we will learn 
 The songs the angels sing; 
 While the stars of evening burn, 
 Gur hearts will offerings bring— 
 The sacrifice of love, 
 To Him who reigns above ! 
 
 Grief's night waits a bright to-morrow, 
 When the love of Christ will shine ; 
 Darkened minds ere long will borrow 
 Jesu's righteousness divine. 
 
 * Air : " Day again is gently breaking." 
 
348 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Binding the Cross upon each breast, 
 
 Fear we not the night of grief; 
 
 Already glimmers in the East 
 
 Prophet-ray of our release. 
 
 One by one our friends have left us, 
 
 Sighing in the darkness drear; 
 
 Hark! now celestial matins gush 
 
 Through thickest gloom our hearts to cheer. 
 
 No more we fear the phantoms 
 
 That in the darkness glide ; 
 
 For we know each grief that comes 
 
 A dear Saint walks beside ; 
 
 Hark ! on the night air's stillness 
 
 Breaks music from above. 
 
 While the Paraclete doth bless 
 
 The hearts that ever love 
 
 On earth to walk beside 
 The Saints* and Crucified. 
 {Amy enters.) 
 
 E. What ! Hast returned so soon ? 
 
 A. I thought that I 
 Had left thee long alone. 
 
 E. But thou didst not 
 Leave me at all. The spirit has tv/o pairs 
 Of eyes. Where is my poem ? Thanks. 
 
 A. Thou canst 
 Not read it ; Edgar, Jr., restive was. 
 {8116 reads ;) 
 
 I REINED MY HOESE IN ON" A GREEN HILLSIDE ; 
 
 Two halves of brook, divided by the road, 
 * See note on p. 
 
THE C0N8UMPTTVE. 349 
 
 Each to the other love songs did confide; 
 In the o'erhanging trees sweet birds abode ; 
 The waving fields of barley and of wheat 
 Danced merrily — their grace the music beat. 
 The setting sun by fate had been constrained 
 To introduce his love — the Day — to Night : 
 With jealous pangs his dying heart was pained, 
 And he resolved to look so very bright 
 That with his rival she would scorn to wed, 
 Perchance she might prefer death with the dead. 
 Had my Love wooed me with such jealous fire, 
 Like Hindoo widow I had shared his pyre. 
 
 E. Thanks, Amy, for the pretty sonnet. But 
 I do not like the closing reference. 
 vVhat fiends of selfishness were Hindoos, who 
 Could calmly die knowing their wives must burn 
 Upon their pyre ! 
 
 A. "Wouldst thou not like a wife 
 To show such love for thee ? 
 
 E. A thousand no's ! 
 Besides, suttee originated* in 
 Device of cruel husbands to secure 
 Themselves from poison-drinks made by their 
 
 wives ; 
 But it became a fashion, and was thought 
 Commendable. Far from a noble man 
 Be the desire — though natural — to have 
 A woman's life consumed by vain desire 
 To follow him through death. But I should like 
 One who loved me to follow me in Christ 
 
 * Scholars say Suttee originated in the mistake of a 
 letter. 
 
350 THE GLOUB OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And let imagination soar where'er 
 
 The Spirits roam on blest Hadean shore. 
 
 They aee There! All There so happy, so 
 
 blest! 
 My parents, brothers, and Jesus are there; 
 The friends whom I' love are not lost in space, 
 Not lost in the boundless realms of my God ; 
 Not mingling with strangers from spheres afar, 
 Like butterflies lost in a garden of 
 Flowers, where none could find the ones whom 
 
 they sought. 
 Oh no ! Like those who on Thanksgiving Day 
 Assemble at home, together they dwell. 
 Living to rival each other in love. 
 Companions who went are waiting for me, 
 Wishing to teach me the lore they have gained, 
 I have hastened my studies, learning each day 
 Something of interest to keep for them. 
 
 A. This is thy faith? Joy inexpressible 
 Thus teaching, thus taught ! Impatient art thou 
 To throw off the flesh that hides them from thee ? 
 Why dost thou sigh ? Tell- me some more of this. 
 
 E. Abraham, Ruth, Ezekiel I'll know ; 
 Job and Elijah will be friends, of mine ; 
 David will sing me the songs I love most; 
 Isaiah will thrill the celestial hosts; 
 Saints Peter and John often will talk of 
 The scenes in Christ's life I knew not before. 
 
 A. Adam and Eve of Eden will tell me. 
 And I shall confess I am glad they ate 
 Of the fruit forbidden that I might be 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 351 
 
 Spared a temptation so pressing. I shall 
 
 Tell them I should rather be one of their seed 
 
 Than an angel created without sin 
 
 By Grod ; for none but sinners repentant 
 
 Call Jehoyah their Brother and Saviour. 
 
 A crucified Lord's worth ages of bliss, 
 
 More than high honors the archangels' know; 
 
 Althougii the fair crowns they wear we can't win. 
 
 Pure are they ? I am cleaner by far. 
 
 Bathed in the Blood of Omnipotent Love. 
 
 E. Herschel and Newton kindly will show me 
 New laws of Nature pre\ ailing above. 
 Lyell* and Hitchcock, Bacon and Miller 
 Will lecture on studies that I love best 
 On earth. 
 
 A. Dear Keble, Milton, and Herbert, 
 The Brownings, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Coleridge 
 E'en there our dearest companions will be. 
 Oh, to be one of that glorious band— 
 'J'lie blest Spirits of Poets departed! 
 
 E. Yes. Some hymn now to millions awaiting 
 Full bliss when from Paradise fair they may 
 Pass up to the Sphere around which revolve 
 All suns with their grand, obedient worlds. 
 
 A. Cranmer, Bede, Taylor, and Wilson will bear 
 Their palms in glad hands. Ah ! if but from each 
 I may pluck a small leaf I'll prize it more 
 Than worldling her jewels ! Edgar, how long 
 
 * I know nothing of Prof. Lyell's claims to saintship ; but 
 presume they are as good as Bacon's. The persons whose 
 names are given, were those who gave me most pleasure 
 when the foregoing were written. 
 
352 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In Infants' Department on earth must I 
 Wait ere my longed-for promotion will come, 
 And I may enter the High School of Grod ? 
 E. Already most of my chosen are there ; 
 Formed are classes of which I would be one ; 
 And yet am I too content here to wait 
 Because — 
 
 ( Voice stifled.) 
 A. Oh ! is it strange that I should wish 
 To go hence ere long when thou wilt be with 
 My teachers and classmates, the last conrse to 
 Begin ? 
 
 Scene VIII. — Six months later. 
 
 {Amy luith Edgar's desh and box, reads the 
 S07igs he left and this note :) 
 
 Darling, thy father promised me I should 
 Be buried in thy bed of roses, but 
 ^o mound is to deface it. Only 
 A simple cross will mark the spot, and vine 
 Can climb and half-hide that. As long as thou 
 Eememberest, my resting-place will not 
 Neglected be: and if thou shouldst forget 
 Me God will take care of my dust. But if 
 Thou shouldst live, die unwed, it is my wish 
 My ashes may be scattered in thy grave 
 That out of my remains may grov/ the flowers 
 I should have tended for thee had I lived. 
 
 Thy Lover. 
 {After long weeping and silejice she ex-' 
 claims :) 
 Why did I not before dare open this ? 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 353 
 
 His sudden death gave me no chance to tell 
 Him how I loyed and love ; for true love hath 
 No past. Now I can write again ; for I 
 Must only wait until my lover comes 
 For me, and writing will help pass the time, 
 
 I PUT MT WEDDI^^TG-RIKG 
 
 Upon my trembling hand — 
 Token my heart doth cling 
 
 To thee confidingly. 
 In the blest Spirit Land 
 Our love-bound souls will be 
 
 As one immortally. 
 
 Ah ! with brain-scorching pain 
 
 I saw thy manhood lain 
 
 In the cold, clammy ground ; 
 
 I heard the crushing sound 
 
 Of " ashes to ashes, dust to dust." 
 
 I should have died had not God been my trust, 
 
 I knew that He ne'er giveth stroke in vain, 
 
 And would reward me doubly for my pain ; 
 
 He having hidden thee awhile from me. 
 
 Would give thee back to me eternally. 
 
 But this calm peace I could not always keep ; 
 
 Over a phantom-fear I oft would weep. 
 
 I heard thee speak of one thou deemedst fair. 
 
 And oft she stared at me with triumph's glare. 
 
 For a long time I could not courage gain 
 
 To meet this dark, weird spectre of my brain ; 
 
 And thus it gathered strength and daily grew 
 
 To vampire's size, and round me nightly flew 
 
354 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Whene'er 1 would from the world steal away 
 
 To talk awhile with my dear Oue, and pray. 
 
 When more suspense I felt I could not bear. 
 
 It was perhaps my zeal, perhaps despair. 
 
 Which made my aching heart dare burst its gyve, 
 
 And with my base fears like a woman strive. 
 
 And then I dared thy shroud away to tear 
 
 To see whose image was deep-graven there — 
 
 It was mine own ! Oh Love, we need not part ! 
 
 I can live now ; for I can talk with thee, 
 
 And not be banned by spectre I may see — 
 
 Before I had been dumb in jealousy. 
 
 My pulses then did joy tumultuously 
 
 To find enshrined my homely semblance there — 
 
 Dearer than hers — if it is not as fair. 
 
 I lay down then — my heart and thine together; 
 
 Hearts are not true that any fear can sever — 
 
 And olden memories did swiftly throng 
 
 To the first evening that I heard thy song. 
 
 Once I thought I had wooed thee back to life 
 
 And was the strong man's happy little wife; 
 
 I quite forgot thy bride's veil was thy shroud. 
 
 Alas ! My mortal pulses beat so loud 
 
 In new-found bliss with which my soul was 
 
 fraught — 
 Such joy as in my wild teens thou hadst taught— 
 They wakened me to the full sense of one 
 Who feels she is immured; like, perjured nun 
 Who shrieks in convent- wall, I quail 
 To hear the beat of my excited heart, 
 That I in lone despair had thought 
 Another spirit's melancholy wail. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 355 
 
 Too long I did not dare to stay with thee 
 
 For fear my wretchedness would madden me j 
 
 But soothingly my Saviour His Hand laid 
 
 Upon my woe : " ' 'Tis I ; be not afraid j ' 
 
 In Paradise thou'lt see 
 
 A blessing great in this black agony ; 
 
 For, know I work but for Eternity." 
 
 That what God said was very true I feel. 
 
 And I am sure He will more kindly deal 
 
 With me than I did with myself; for when 
 
 I had a chance of happiness — ah, then ! 
 
 I cast thy love aside 
 
 Ere I my heart descried. 
 
 And men can seldom know 
 
 What subtle love lies low, 
 
 Concealed with matchless art 
 
 In woman's haughty heart. 
 
 Thou in the Spirit-Land 
 
 My heart wilt understand ; 
 
 And let it now — it is quite worn out — rest 
 
 On hope of meeting thee on Jesu's breast. 
 
 I put the wedding-ring on my cold hand, 
 
 So thou wilt know me when the Risen stand 
 
 Around Christ, a rejoicing band. 
 
 Thou seest me now ! Thy holy eyes are bright 
 
 With their dear, old love-light 
 
 To think that I have given myself to thee 
 
 Thy bride for aye to be. 
 
 Unseen, but ever near. 
 
 Thou art my guardian here ; 
 
 Whether reality or fantasy, 
 
 It matters not ; apart we cannot be. 
 
356 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I CARE IsTOT FOR THE SMILES OF EARTH 
 
 A Spirit smiles on me, 
 I care not for the pride of birth ; 
 A Spirit serveth me, 
 And serveth loyally. 
 
 I would not mingle with the gay, 
 Nor share the joys of youth : 
 
 I would not live again life's May, 
 Thank Grod that it is o'er ! 
 I have but few years more. 
 
 I would not be the ball-room belle 
 Man's homage to receive ; 
 
 A Spirit in my heart doth dwell 
 That's bliss enough for me : 
 What greater could there be ? 
 
 I care not for false praise like man's ; 
 
 A Spirit loveth me. 
 I do not prize Earth's bridal banns : 
 
 A Spirit weddeth me, 
 
 Weds for Eternity. 
 
 I would not have the flowers of Earth 
 In a chaplet woven ; 
 
 For they speak of the scenes of mirth 
 I have long forsaken— 
 I wait till the dead waken. 
 
 I do not want the sparkling gems 
 That happy maidens wear ; 
 
 I care not for Earth's diadems ; 
 I wait the ransomed's crown, 
 A crown that hides no thorn. 
 
TEE CONSUMPTIVE. 357 
 
 Scene IX. 
 {Amy is loohing at a miniature of Edgar^ 
 
 Oh ! MT HEAD IS BUKIflllirG 
 
 And throbbing fast with pain, 
 For my eyes are turning 
 
 To picture that has lain 
 Before me — but not gazed upon 
 For fear my tears should fall thereon. 
 Eyes of ocean's blue, 
 Soft hair of dark brown hue 
 E^o longer in this frame 
 
 Shall mock me tauntingly. 
 This painted one is not the same 
 
 That in the clouds I see. 
 Unlike the pictures seem ; 
 
 These eyes with grief shaded, 
 Those beam with joyful theme. 
 Golden tint hath faded 
 That hovered o'er the real hair — 
 But still I see a halo there ; 
 In my dreams brighter now 
 It floats round spirit-brow 
 And casts a beam on me 
 That I hail gratefully. 
 Look up ! My love is still most fair — 
 But truest portrait floats in air. 
 
 {Amy lays aside tke id i mature and sits 
 doivn hy her musir-bnx.) 
 
 I DRAW MT CHAIR CLOSE TO THEE, GENTLE FRIEN'D, 
 
 That thou may'st play and soothe the troubled 
 
 waves 
 
358 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 "Which dash so heavily against my heart, 
 
 That ere long they must cease, or the frail bark 
 
 Will be wrecked on the shore of agony, 
 
 Nor ever sail again on life's rough sea. 
 
 Or dance with playful glee upon the waves 
 
 When they give back the bright sun's glowing kiss 
 
 In answering smiles. 
 
 Friend, play my favorite. 
 And long-hushed echoes will resound within 
 The darkest cavei-ns of my heavy heart. 
 Hung with the stalactites of joys which were 
 Too beautiful .to fade as flowers of Earth, 
 And so Death touched them not ; but scornfully 
 Time smiled at his unwonted tenderness. 
 And laid on them his icy hand and went 
 Away. His work was done ; he cannot touch 
 Them more, and thus they hang as beautiful 
 As brightest flowers of earth, immortal as 
 The girlish heart which time has petrified, 
 Immortalized. 
 
 The pride of womanhood 
 Yields to the memory of girlhood's hours. 
 And some weak tears begin to fall, although 
 The dread of woman's scorn will let them come 
 But stealthily and at long intervals : 
 Yet still they fall. 
 
 Again I am a girl, 
 A happy one, and dreams of olden times 
 Mingle with thy sweet tones as breath of flowers 
 With the glad songs of birds that build their nests 
 Beneath the flow'rets' smile. 
 
 What ! so soon hiished ! 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE 35U 
 
 Nay, gentle friend, thou art not kind to soothe 
 Me into drciinis, and then abruptly cease 
 Thy lullaby. 
 
 Alas ! my trifling skill 
 Cannot arrange the springs that harmonize 
 With air of Earth, and so I leave thy side, 
 Thou faithless one ! And leave without a sigh ; 
 Long have I known that thou art all of Earth. 
 Deluded Fancy, now go back where thou 
 Art wont to dwell : each moment helps to form 
 The stalactites that will adorn the halls 
 Of immortality. 
 
 Gruide well the hours, 
 That no unseemly ornaments deface 
 The heart where angels are expected guests. 
 ****** 
 
 How OFTEN" DO I LONG TO LIE 
 
 By Edgar's side 
 
 In the cold ground ! 
 
 The wintry winds that round him fly 
 
 My laughter chide : 
 
 His winding-sheet wraps me around. 
 
 Now my life-blood hath lost its heat ; 
 
 A clay- cold hand is on my heart ; 
 
 It cannot beat. 
 
 I died on that bright Summer day 
 
 That Edgar felt Death's poisoned dart. 
 
 Ah ! he and I together in the coffin lay ; 
 
 Together joined the phantom-band. 
 
 And all my life I'll bear Death's brand. 
 
 Edgar and I rode side by side in the black hearse ; 
 
 I did not live to realize the primal curse 
 
360 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Till earth fell ou bis coffin-lid — on his alone ; 
 
 Then I knew all, but did not mourn. 
 
 But I arose, to learn the woe 
 
 That the dead-living know. 
 
 For many days I did as those who walk in 
 
 sleep, 
 Who have most horrid dreams, but have no power 
 
 to weep, 
 And cannot ope their lips to shriek or mourn. 
 And know not whether they have passed life's 
 
 bourne ; 
 Whether they live on earth, or dream below : 
 Such for a while my silent woe. 
 On happy nights I dreamed that my heart broke, 
 I finding unexpected rest from cruel yoke 
 Of fierce despair. 
 
 One day I wandered forth, not caring where; 
 I stumbled o'er his grave, and then awoke. . 
 Oh, that I could again have slept, 
 Or into Edgar's coffin crept ! 
 For any horrid dreams are bliss 
 If they are but compared to this. 
 Long time I lay with burning head 
 O'er his heart now so cold and dead. 
 Prom my bosom I drew a lock of hair, 
 And thoughl; of that I had not kept. 
 Must worms sport where 
 My fingers had played 
 Ere death over him crept ? 
 Had his beauty decayed ? 
 Was there no power on earth. to save 
 From a loathsome, hideous grave ? 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 361 
 
 Dead lips I kissed the prey of a worm ! 
 
 I shuddered till my limp nerves grew firm 
 
 Then I got up and went away 
 
 To laugh and talk with other men ; 
 
 But I knew ne'er to live again. 
 
 All real things unreal seem ; 
 
 And I live but when I can dream. 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars are buried in a tomb. 
 
 And midnight-darkness wraps the earth in gloom. 
 
 But I will laugh, and dance, and sing, and play 
 
 As well as any madman may. 
 
 SOOI^ Ilf GLAD PEOCESSIOIJ- WE 
 
 Shall climb the celestial heights 
 Our great Father's face to see. 
 
 How many glorious sights 
 Hath Heaven reserved for me ! 
 
 Soon I am coming. Darling, 
 And I hope that I may bring 
 The sad memories of earth 
 That will lasting joys en girth. 
 Safe then in our home above, 
 List'ning to thy words of love. 
 Thee I shall remind of times 
 "When on earth thou calledst me cold. 
 Our hearts will play blissful chimes 
 Of remembrances of old. 
 
 The WAT IS vert long ; 
 The road is rough and dark. 
 
362 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And him, whose arm was strong 
 To hold my weakness up 
 My God hath shut within the ark, 
 And I am left alone 
 To drain life's bitter cup. 
 No, not alone ; there is no moan 
 To which Christ's ear is deaf: 
 His arm is ne'er " too short to save." 
 He never would have sent this grief 
 But for the strange " need be " 
 That Love must bend above a grave 
 To learn its immortality. 
 
 Yes; Love and Death my path must cross 
 That I may learn by earthly loss 
 To value joys of the safe Land ; 
 And when is given sweet command 
 To him I ever love, 
 " Go, bring her spirit now above," 
 I'll feel how sweet 
 A thing it is to lie 
 Quietly down to die — 
 
 How joyous 'tis to greet 
 Through all Eternity 
 Love that no more may flee 
 Away from me ! 
 
 Bitter tlie tears this night I shed 
 Thinking my lover with the dead — 
 Oh, vain absurdity ! For, I . 
 Know Christians do not die ; 
 Their bodies wait 'neath coffin-lid; 
 But I am sure their life is hid 
 Only from our flesh -shrouded eyes 
 Away, away all selfish woe ! 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 363 
 
 I would not draw liim from the skies 
 
 To share my life below. 
 No : rather let him draw me hence 
 From foolish pleasures, joys of sense, 
 To share with him bejond the sky 
 The life and love that cannot die. 
 
 (Amy after in vain tryi7ig to look at a 
 hook of engravings^ lays it down and 
 writes :) 
 
 Like watee a hard eock, sad regeet 
 Wears away heart that all glee doth fret. 
 Beauty and joy and love are but one ; 
 Alas! alas! I Avith all have done. 
 All joy but remindeth me of him 
 So even my joy is blurred and dim. 
 With his eyes chiefly I saw earth bright 
 And his eyes now are fast-closed in night. 
 Closed ? His eyes closed ! Never ! No, never ! 
 Brighter than stars are they forevei:, 
 God grant me the faith to know that they 
 Who worship Him are happy alvvay! 
 Earthly bliss I will think of no more; 
 Only will strive to love and adore 
 The Lord of all Who died on the Cross 
 And blest in Him no more feel my loss. 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 {Amy's soliloquy in early mmming.) 
 
 My room ! Ah! these are pleasant words to me. 
 In Summer it is cool and dainty place — 
 
 1 
 
364 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sweet flowers and matting that reflects the light 
 
 And shadows dim artistically quite ; 
 
 Curtains like snow-drifts, making me feel cool. 
 
 (The Winter ones more comfortable are ; 
 
 They have lost tint, ashes of roses once : 
 
 Now, like my life, they're richest when the light 
 
 Comes from within and tells a fireside tale.) 
 
 When I have been a long time sufieriug, 
 
 And the pain passes languidly away, 
 
 I ope my eyes that they may fall upon 
 
 Some pleasant thought. I turn them now first to 
 
 The dark-brown cross whose base by lichens hid 
 
 Upon a fungus-bracket stands ; lichens 
 
 And fungi draw their being from decay ; 
 
 'Tis well the cross should seem to grow from them. 
 
 Upon it hangs a crov/n of thorns, torn from 
 
 A wild sweetbrier ; the cross within my heart 
 
 Bears a like crown^ — better that thorns should stay 
 
 Than roses never bloom. 
 
 Beneath this sad 
 And fitting symbol hangs a wreath of green ; 
 Within it sits a girl fresh as a breeze 
 Just blowing from the woods; pictures like this 
 I love as some their children love. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Between 
 The two is scene at sea; if I could sketch • 
 I should paint fiends in the black waves that bear 
 Their human freight into the hungry depths ; 
 And where the dark cloud breaks in light I'd 
 paint 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 365 
 
 Angels who willingly would hurry out 
 And in with rescued souls : the ship I should 
 Engulf — all save two spars, and they should form. 
 A cross. 
 
 And next upon my washstand is 
 Bohemian glass, like my life, dark or bright 
 According to the light. 
 
 One temple throbs 
 So painfully I turn to let it rest ; 
 The other must throb some while I feed on 
 More types of inner life. And now I see 
 The snowy angel that aye looks at me. 
 Ah, if I could but see the form that it 
 Prefigures here ! 'Tis a slim wire that holds 
 It back from spreading its white wings upon 
 My breast ; a slighter thread of life may hold 
 Me from its archetype. 
 
 My liead aches more ;. 
 I turn and gaze upon a painted cross. 
 From which strange hands tear rudely down the 
 
 Lord 
 Of Life: the Master did not rest upon 
 Nor glory in his Cross : shall I in mine ? 
 When His became a bed for sleep then He 
 Was taken down and laid away in dark 
 And chilling solitude. Did He rest there? 
 Oh no ! But, self-forgetful, went to give 
 Comfort and certain hope to shadowed souls. 
 Would I could do in my low sphere as He 
 In higher one ! Both skies and lake are blue. 
 
366 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A moulded head of the meek Virgin in 
 A gilded case is commentary on 
 A phase of man's depravity. 
 
 Casket 
 Of papier mache, in brilliant flowers, 
 Not fragrant like the ones that fade — ah me ! 
 No more holds ornament for neck or wrist; 
 My jewels now are other things than these. 
 A corn-husk basket filled with amber smoke * 
 And flowers holds red grosbeak; but for such 
 
 things 
 I care not much in days like these. Upon 
 My dressing-table stand some fragile toys 
 Dainty in blue and gilt ; the bottles now 
 Are redolent of memories. A friend 
 Crotcheted white cover of a cushion blue. 
 Pair Innocence, a dead joy folded to 
 Her breast, keeps ward o'er all. 
 
 A dying plant 
 'Mid living mistletoe droops from a shell 
 Of nacre, o'er a cross of Autumn leaves. 
 Yet sunbeams fall on immortelles as well. 
 But o'er my mantlepiece are my best things. 
 ***** 
 
 A St. John with his cross is on the right, 
 And on the left the face that I love best. 
 Ah ! meaningly below this I have placed 
 (Dearest of all my pretty things) a Head 
 Of Christ cut clear in marble cold and calm. 
 Oft have I kissed the lips and brow ! How oft 
 Have held it in the moonlight till I dared 
 
 * From the smoke-tree. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 36Y 
 
 To scorn the eighteen hundred years that held 
 Me from His sepulchre. I know that He, 
 Who made the clouds and stars to whisper of 
 His love, smiles on a fancy that can make 
 Of weary woman child well pleased. 
 
 One cares 
 Not if I love a face that looks like him, 
 Nor does deride to see my trembling lip 
 Held to a brow like his ; nor does my Lord 
 Count as idolatry a love for bust 
 Which is as pure as a babe's dream. 
 
 Scene XL 
 
 Barrar. — Recallest thou the night that we flew 
 round 
 The earth after we had seen Amy at 
 Her lover's grave ? And how at certain spot 
 We saw the brilliant stars that form a cross ? 
 Zulee. — Aye ; and thou left'st me with the wise 
 intent 
 To visit constellation so superb. 
 
 B. But thy heart was too full of sympathy 
 For Amy to permit thee to leave her; 
 And I have sought thee now to hear about 
 Thy ward. 
 
 Z. Wouldst like to visit her ? 
 
 B. At once. 
 {Amy^s room.) 
 She is not here ; but there is something thou 
 Canst see. In her affliction she has read 
 Naught but her Bible, Prayer Book, Christian Year, 
 Siicra Privata and Harbauirli's three hooks 
 
368 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 About our world. Whilst reading in tlie last, 
 Thoughts sometimes come in a poetic guise, 
 And then she writes them down and quaintly calls 
 Them Harbaugh's children, for she says, she knows 
 Not which ideas are her own, which his. 
 Here are the scraps still lying in her books. 
 
 harbaugh's children. 
 I. 
 
 I THOUGHT MT LoVE'S LIEE THE SWEETEST 
 
 That I had ever known ; 
 There is no music left on earth 
 Sweet as his who hath flown. 
 
 His heart was but the instrument 
 
 On which Grod's Spirit played ; 
 I should the glory give to Him 
 
 Who its sweet music made. 
 
 n. 
 
 If I MAT AWAKE WITH ThEE 
 
 I shall go to sleep in pain. 
 Knowing that there is for me 
 In the skies immortal gain. 
 
 " Not a straw " care I for all 
 
 Griefs and troubles that may be ; 
 
 Faster, thicker let them fall — 
 Sooner of them I'll be free. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah ! " 2>J"0 MAIf CAN" SEE GOD AlffD LIVE ; " 
 
 No : surely I should try to die. 
 
THE OONSUMPTIVE. 369 
 
 Could I but clasp Him by the knees 
 I'd pray Him not to mount the sky 
 Until my spirit He would ease 
 Of its sad weight of sinful clay, 
 And bear me to an endless day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'TiS IsTOT A CKOWN^ OP EARTH 
 
 For which 1 often sigh ; 
 'Tis not in search of mirth 
 I strain my longing eye. 
 
 The honor that I crave 
 
 Is more than golden crown — ■ 
 
 A passage through the grave 
 At Christ's feet to sit down. 
 
 Gladly, heart, thou wilt beat 
 
 If but permission's mine 
 To sit at Jesu's feet', 
 
 Mary of Home Divine. 
 
 V. 
 
 Fair " castles ie the air " I am always build- 
 ing; 
 
 And ever since I was a very little child 
 
 'Twas my wont to build them, then to watch them 
 falling — 
 
 What a foolish, foolish child thus to be beguiled ! 
 
 Yet now I build them more beautiful than ever, 
 Though founded on the earth unto Heaven reaching. 
 Now they can fall to the. sad earth never, never ! 
 For hopes that they are built on hath God been 
 teaching. 
 
3Y0 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I SHALL GEOW LIKE WHAT I LOVE J 
 
 Eatlier, set my heart above 
 Sloth and crime and low desire ; 
 Yearly raise my standard higher. 
 Let me daily think of Thee 
 Till with Thee I " one " may be. 
 Highest love and purity 
 Perfect is, God, but in Thee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I PEATED TO G-OD THAT He WOULD BLESS 
 
 The one I think of most, 
 Believed that he would grant my prayer — 
 
 Faith was my girlish boast. 
 My Bible then I oped to see 
 
 Whom God considers blest ; 
 With qiiiv'ring eyelids I perceived 
 
 That they are those at rest. 
 Now I know Christ heard my request 
 
 Since He has blest my Love ; 
 No more on earth He needs my prayer 
 
 Answered in full above. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I WOULD THAT I COULD ADD •' THE WIDOW's MITE " 
 
 TJnto the bliss of God ! 
 How gladly would I battle for the Eight 
 
 Could I but know my Lord 
 Is looking on, is waiting at the goal 
 
 To crown me with Truth's crown. 
 And He is looking on ; rouse thee, my soul ! 
 
 Tliy Maker hath come down 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 37] 
 
 From His high Throne to watch thy war with sin ; 
 
 Angels on Him attend, 
 Eegarding thee to see if thou canst win 
 
 The title of " God's friend." 
 
 Scene XII. 
 
 {Amy alone.) 
 
 When life seems dark and only death is what 
 I crave, Why can't I die? Death, are you deaf? 
 
 {She writes :) 
 Why Death takes the fairest. 
 
 Hasten to come for me, Darling ! 
 
 I want to hear the angels sing, 
 
 Jesus knows that I am lonely ; 
 
 He knows T have loved thee only ; 
 
 Tell Him I }nne and sigh for home ; 
 
 Tell Him that joy to me is foam 
 
 Of fathomless and bitter sea 
 
 Of never-ceasing misery. 
 
 How can we part ? We who are one ? 
 
 Joys and loves of life abandon 
 
 The worn-out life that waits for thee, 
 
 Why com'st thou so lingeringly ? 
 
 Canst forget that I am waiting ? 
 
 Why eternal bliss belating, 
 
 Doth slow Death tarry on the way? 
 
 Ah! Is my heart too weak a prey 
 
 To excite his love of conquest ? 
 
 Bright are the flowers upon his breast; 
 
 Will he never a sere one cull ? 
 
 Alas I my eyes are fir too dull ; 
 
372 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 My set smile is too sad for him, 
 Or too much like his visage grim. 
 He will have eyes that are brightest, 
 And the hearts that are the lightest ; 
 He will happiest lives make dim ; 
 Ah ! Too much have I courted him. 
 Life's burdens I will learn to bear, 
 Again will dance like maidens fair ; 
 While my dumb heart breaks I will smile, 
 And strive with zest youths to beguile. 
 Then to the soul that shrinks in dread 
 At his light, rapid, sudden tread 
 He will come and lay his hand, 
 Adding another to the band 
 Of shrinking and reluctant dead, 
 !N'or mind those who would go instead. 
 
 Cease, poor heart, such vain repinings ; 
 For grief and death the Saviour brings. 
 He dims eyes that are the brightest. 
 And stills hearts that are the lightest, 
 Hushes the gayest laughs of earth 
 Not because HE's foe to mirth : 
 Spirits that know least repining. 
 Hearts that need the least refining 
 From desolating pangs to save 
 Buries He in an early grave : 
 Because they are by far too fair 
 For proud, vain wealth's corroding care ; 
 Too pure for earth to pain and blight 
 With spectre-griefs of sorrow's night, 
 With tears I'estrained, that burn the brain, 
 With hidden sins that leave a stain 
 
THE OONSUMP.TIVE. 373 
 
 Which would soon soil their beauty bright, 
 And so impede their upward flight. 
 
 Saviour, now my heart can thank Thee. 
 Well I know, above awaits me 
 Sunshine of my love's to-morrow; 
 Faith shall now its brightness borrow. 
 The sins of earth can never touch 
 One whom I love, perhaps, too much. 
 I first liked him for the beauty 
 Of his noble life of duty : 
 I know he is awaiting me 
 In his immortal purity. 
 
 Scene XIII. 
 
 "Merry, merry Christmas," the children cry 
 
 As the young madcaps -rush merrily by ; 
 
 And as we echo all their kind wishes 
 
 We're almost smothered with gifts and kisses. 
 
 Awhile I share in the general joy, 
 
 Expressing delight at book and at toy. 
 
 The bright eyes dazzle my sight for a while 
 
 And faded away is Ms phantom-smile; 
 
 Merry childhood's sweet laugh so stuns my ear 
 
 For a time his low voice I do not hear. 
 
 A sad face, Christmas is very treason ; 
 
 An aching heart by no means a reason 
 
 Why I should be like an envious cloud 
 
 Any one's pittance of light to enshroud. 
 
 So I steal ;iway to my quiet room 
 
 That quite alone T may think of the gloom 
 
3Y4 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 With which the last Christmas hovered o'er him : 
 And — shall I confess it ? — my eyes are dim. 
 * ^ ^ * ^ 
 
 Foe thy soothing peesence 
 
 I, wearied, am longing, 
 As though 'twere defense 
 
 From worldly thoughts, thronging 
 My busy woman's brain 
 
 To shut out woman's pain. 
 
 ^ ^i ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Will not thy earth-freed spirit tend 
 The lonely vigils of the one 
 
 Who never had another friend 
 
 To undo what the world had done? 
 
 Why I LOisTG foe Death. 
 
 Thou, Grod, hast given all that I could ask, 
 
 As happy flowers in the bright saushine bask, 
 
 So have I in Tliy /goodness manifold; 
 
 In looking back upon my life I find 
 
 The glow of health, the privilege of wealth, 
 
 The educated mind all granted me 
 
 By Thy kind care : few blessings earth can give 
 
 Of which I say, I know tliem not ; and all 
 
 Thy benisous to Thee doth bind. But like 
 
 The Californian gold, these gifts were found 
 
 In mud or dust which ever to them clings, 
 
 For in my heart the sad plague-spot of sin 
 
 Is base alloy to whate'er may be near. 
 
 How often in my childhood have I ground 
 
 My teeth in agony, tormented by 
 
 The Devil's power that scathed my wilful heart 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 375 
 
 Ere I had Jearned Whose grace can conquer guilt. 
 
 And even now so much my spirit hates 
 
 All that is hideous, I writhe beneath 
 
 The pressure of inwoven sin until 
 
 I long to lay my wearied head down on 
 
 The clay-cold pillow of the sinless grave. 
 
 Ah! "Earth to earth" is the glad, welcome sound 
 
 Proclaiming earth's sins are no more. Dead! 
 
 Dead! 
 The falling of the clods oft sings the sufferer 
 Now rests forevermore ; the warrior 
 Lays down his arms triumphantly and wears 
 Wreath of the conqueror, while unstained flowers 
 Of purity now grace the Eansomed's sleep. 
 Tears are without the coffin-lid, a smile 
 Within that God and angels see. Alas! 
 Great troubles must befall novitiates 
 Of Heaven. Tiiere's one whose purest pleasure 
 
 dates 
 From the black hour when in the agony 
 Of severing heart-strings, first was given 
 A glimpse beyond the clouds of earth into 
 The purer blue where the loved spirit's eyes 
 Were lingeringly watching the frail girl, 
 Who to his cold corpse clung as if she thought 
 A lover's heart could ever stay beneath 
 The hands that answered not her trembling touch. 
 Ah, foolish girl! Love's immortality 
 Is thine : thou gavest heart of sin and care 
 For one of purity and peace, a form 
 Of clay for one of seraph-beauty. Guard 
 Most jealously for him thou lov'st thy fresh, 
 
3Y6 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sweet purity. Thy weary sighs but hush 
 And thou wilt hear the voice so dear 
 Minghng with song of cherubim and seraphim. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ah, mt heakt is dkeary, dreary! 
 And I — I am so weary, weary ! 
 All without is gloomy and chill ; 
 My chamber is cold although I am ill. 
 Filled with cold air and furniture dumb; 
 There's no living thing to me will come. 
 Even my dear canary hath fled. 
 And my gay little kitten is dead. 
 These immortelles but mock the frail flowers 
 That brightened the Summer's fleeting hours. 
 This Ma-eath of fast-fading Autumn leaves 
 Throws shadows over the heart that grieves, 
 Like it, for joys all crumpled and torn. 
 Leaving it its longer life to mourn. 
 This cross bids me remember that all 
 The griefs that my darkened life befall 
 Are needful to purge my heart of dross — 
 Sad comfort this, oh, my mournful cross ! 
 For more than all, I weary of sin, 
 Of evil that lurks my heart within. 
 My God, 'tis a bitter cross to bear 
 The weight of life till its "wear and tear" 
 Will close the scene of trouble and sin. 
 And none be better that I have been. 
 II. 
 
 Oh Father, ope Heaven to take me in ! 
 
 Pray, leave me here no longer to sin ! 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 37Y 
 
 I shall never do anything for Thee 
 But praise Thee in Eternity. 
 Father, Thou seest the tears that flow 
 Swiftly, yet cannot wash out my woe. 
 Dost Thou not pity Thy desolate child ? 
 Take me before I be more defiled 
 To the land of rest where I " would be." 
 Father, I want Paradise to see ; 
 I wish to exchange cold hearts of earth 
 For friendships of angelical birth ; 
 I want to go where I cannot sin — 
 To dwell where my Friend so long hath been. 
 Father, may not I soon suffer all 
 The troubles and sins that must befall 
 My lonely heart in its guilt-stained life ? 
 Swifter the arrows shorter the strife ; 
 The sensitive hearts the soonest break ; 
 The heads that with pain oftenest ache 
 Will soonest on Jesu's breast awake. 
 Feb. 13. 
 
 Now, Father, I am ashamed of this 
 Impatience to taste of heavenly bliss. 
 Why should I mourn for joys Angel hath 
 When my life may have an aftermath? 
 
 Ofttimes a tone of melody 
 
 Falls on my ear ; 
 
 He is not here. 
 So discord strangles harmony. 
 The sounding of the churchyard spade 
 
 Is symphony 
 
 Of misery 
 
378 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 That my poor heart hath ever made j 
 In vain earth's sweetest melody 
 
 Since my love died, 
 "Went where I may not yet abide. 
 ***** 
 
 I SEE A SIGHT YOU CA]Sr]srOT SEE : 
 
 O'er the dark vale there streams for me 
 
 The light of trailing garments left 
 
 By those of whom I am bereft. 
 
 Death's River I fear not to cross ; 
 
 O'er its rough stones there grows a moss 
 
 Which joys decayed have spread for me. 
 
 That my worn feet may not be torn 
 
 "When I shall leave woes life has borne. 
 
 I see upon the other shore 
 
 Those I love best and many more; 
 
 They beckon me to cross to them 
 
 And in his hand one holds a gem. 
 
 I know it, 'tis the love I scorned 
 
 When to cold pride my heart I pawned : 
 
 He has redeemed what I thought lost 
 
 To give to me when I liave crossed. 
 
 His well-known tones cry, " Darling, haste ! 
 
 Our future home with flowers I've graced; 
 
 The Saviour here will turn to wine 
 
 The cup of gall which now is thine ; 
 
 I am at Grod's high court thy friend 
 
 And often plead with Him to send 
 
 Some blessing to my favored one. 
 
 I know that when thy work is done 
 
 I may pluck flowers that Christ will give 
 
 To crown thee when he bids thee, ' Live.' 
 
I 
 
 THE CONSUMPTIVE. 879 
 
 Take heart aud work fast while thou raay'st; 
 More gems wilt win if long thon stay'st. 
 Didst thou e'er think tears thou hast shed 
 Will gleam like gems when thou art dead ? 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 
 {Several years have passed since Edgar's 
 death, and A7ny has left home and 
 tried to banish her life-long sorrow hy 
 change of scene, and subsequently by 
 writing ; the folloioing shows with 
 what success a luoman cultivates for- 
 getfulness :) 
 
 Amy. — Still again ! These teaes again ! 
 I had thought they all were dried ; 
 That I, like other women 
 Could soon banish when I tried 
 The strange, phantom-like power 
 Of my past life's sweetest hour. 
 Darling ! my darling one ! 
 Doth a memory of me 
 Like a spectral, veiled nun 
 Flutter in Eternity 
 E'er across thy pathway bright ? 
 Or, lurks there in pictured bowers 
 A remembrance of earth's night 
 And of its sad, cloistered hours ? 
 Oft 1 deem my thoughts have lost 
 The dark shades thy dying crost 
 O'er their erst unblemished joy, 
 That henceforth naught can annoy. 
 
380 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Oft I tire of being slave 
 To a memory and grave; 
 Weary of my spirit's lot, 
 Haanting, ghost-like, but one spot. 
 Tortured by the waving light 
 Of ignis fatuus too bright 
 That my fancy still misleads 
 Over flowery-seeming meads. 
 But to sink it in despair — 
 Finding that thou art not there. 
 Then I sit and try to weep 
 Where thy cast-off garments sleep. 
 I, who have grown stoical. 
 
 Feeling so indifferent, 
 Suddenly my tears let fall 
 
 When thinking of enjoyment 
 To which my first years were prone 
 
 When we loved so buoyantly. 
 Now, alas ! I am alone 
 
 Ever reft of sympathy : 
 Thus I bear a double Cross, 
 Memory of thee and loss. 
 Dearest, dost thou loathe my pen ? 
 I should have been thine again, 
 Of my death-dimmed thoughts been quit 
 If it had not been for it. 
 For I cannot groan and sigh; 
 But when I must speak or die 
 Straightway to my pen I flee — 
 With it talk so long to thee 
 That I feel thou art with me. 
 Sitting by my side again. 
 Often dost tliou guide my pen: 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 381 
 
 Then I rise with spirits calm ; 
 
 O'er the Cross there waves the palm. 
 
 {Amy throws, down Jiei' pencil, and reads 
 Byron's ''Manfred ; " then sorites on 
 the fiy-leaf, " Manfred's Spirit yields 
 to mine after 1 had sung three stan- 
 zas vjith himP) 
 
 Eyee a magic voice shall bless 
 Thy heart in joy, in grief no lessj 
 For ransomed spirit in the air 
 Hovers around thee bright and fair. 
 And in the wind there is a voice 
 Calling upon thee to rejoice. 
 Oh ! oft to thee shall night bring down 
 The softest rays from my bright crown, 
 While darkest day shall have a sun 
 As dear to thee as love to nun. 
 
 From thy bright smile I did distill 
 An essence which my heart doth fill ; 
 From thiue own heart I made to flow 
 A joy and peace thou didst not know; 
 From thine own smile I snatched the bird 
 Whose song in darkness oft was heard; 
 From thine own lip I drew the charm 
 That on earth shielded me from harm ; 
 In proving all the blessings known, 
 Save Grod's, the greatest was thine own. 
 
 But all thy shriuking, timid love 
 I learned not till I soared above ; 
 
382 THE CLOUD OB' WITJS'EtitiES. 
 
 For, when on earth, thy mocking smile 
 
 Was oft a too successful wile; 
 
 I could not read eyes turned from me, 
 
 Thine innocent hypocrisy. 
 
 Ah, would that I had known it when 
 
 I sought thee 'mid the haunts of men ! 
 
 For happiness as known on earth 
 
 DiflFers from that of heavenly birth. 
 
 A Father 'twas who poured the " vial " 
 
 That doth devote thee to this trial. 
 
 A heedless slumber shall not be 
 
 Ever a true love's destiny. 
 
 When thy death-angel hovers near 
 
 Close by his side shall I appear. 
 
 Lo ! my spell now works around thee 
 
 And my deathless love hath bound thee. 
 
 I throw my spell o'er heart and brain ; 
 
 In hope of bliss forget earth's pain. 
 
 % ^ ^ ^ ^ 4: 
 
 The joys that feom thy peeseitce fell 
 
 Like music dripping from green leaves. 
 In maiden-land yet hold a spell 
 
 Which hushes sighs my bosom heaves. 
 I did not need to see the bird 
 
 Which lured my eyes from grosser forms; 
 It is enough that I have heard 
 
 Echo of songs which memory warms. 
 What though the nest be cold and still, 
 
 The young forever flown away ? 
 Its sight can yet the bosom thrill 
 
 With tenderness which is of May. 
 
THE CONSUMPTIVE. 383 
 
 And so my hours, that once were filled 
 
 With progeny of love and hope, 
 Are musical, though time hath stilled 
 
 The true heart after which I grope. 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ % ^ 
 
 Shall I see him, my Father ! 
 
 Oh, see him so very soon ! 
 Not in the " dark valley " lying, 
 But throned in a cloudless noon ? 
 Shall I mount up to him straightway, 
 And not have to enter tomb ? 
 Oh, my Saviour, if this be true 
 Short will seem these days of gloom. 
 Long the time I've waited for him. 
 
 Thinking he'll come when I die : 
 Now it seems soon as I see him 
 
 With him to Thee I must fly. 
 What shall I care for the Body, 
 
 Stiff and cold, deserted, pale? 
 I shall be above the " Valley" 
 
 Where no evil can assail. 
 
 :): H: ^ H< ^ Hi 
 
 A GOLDEN SUNSET OFT BRINGS RAIN ; 
 
 A golden youth brings woman pain ; 
 But when the raiu is o'er there'll be 
 A softer light on land and sea. 
 Thus, when hot tears I cease to shed 
 A halo will enwreathe the bed 
 O'er which Avill hover angels fair 
 As brilliant as the sunlit air : 
 And in that light I'll float above 
 The cold sleep and the tears of love. 
 
384 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Deama XXL 
 
 HERDER.* 
 
 A.D. 1803. 
 Act L 
 
 Lohula. — Ah, how my heart in all its depths 
 pities 
 Poor man ! And much I wonder God doth not 
 Without delay bring all the grand minds home. 
 
 Clarice. — Oh, no ! I love to watch the struggles 
 which 
 The true soul hath with flesh. I think we are 
 More thankful for our Essence when we see 
 How grand it is in man. It is so much 
 Like David, battling with and conquering 
 Goliath by a higher Power. But what, 
 Sweet messenger, hast lately seen on earth — 
 Where I hear thou hast been — to stir up such 
 A wish ? 
 
 L. Thou know'st the Herder whom I love 
 And told thee of Alas ! He pines through day 
 And night quite listlessly ; and like a blind, 
 Old man, he stretches out the worn powers of 
 His mind, striving to grasp a giant-thought. 
 
 C. I well remember what thou saidst of him. 
 His nerves, impoverished by constant strain 
 To fill the orders of his active brain, 
 Have failed in contest with the sinews of 
 His soul, disdainful of the body's needs. 
 
 * Written while reading De Quincey's Essay, Phil. Wri., 
 Vol. ii. 
 
HERDER. 385 
 
 L. How can a man — however silly he — 
 Suppose the body and the soul but one ? 
 Such lives as Herder's ought to prove to him 
 Dissimilar in nature are the two. 
 His nerves are like the shattered strings of harp 
 Which twang in dissonance ; his spirit like 
 The air that doth the music make, whose power 
 Naught can impair. The shivered chords will 
 
 soon 
 Be laid away for a long rest, and when 
 Again the Maker of the instrument 
 Will bring it forth to give fresh joy, 
 The strings will be attuned to air that can 
 Not snap the tensest ones in twain. 
 
 Q. Thinkest 
 The spirit is the "cause of what the nerves 
 Of intellectual and high-strung men, 
 Like Herder, have to bear ? 
 
 L. Aye ; verily. 
 It keeps the body, as a cruel lord 
 His vassal — to obey, not caring how 
 Slave pants and suffers, so his will be done. 
 Spirit, imperious, oft terrifies, 
 Or else cajoles the body to bear more 
 Than common men think possible. Poets 
 Especially do this; the slaves who sing 
 Ofttimes forget the lash. Herder once went 
 To Dresden for a change ; his worn 
 Nerves rallied there, obedient to fresh 
 Delight of spirit young, in library 
 Well-stored with grand, old tomes of ages past, 
 Vhich roused their weariness, as dream of war 
 
386 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Will stir to restlessness a wounded brave. 
 How Herder panted to be well again 
 That lie might master the great minds that live 
 For centuries in much-prized books ! 
 
 C. He thought 
 Not then he soon with strength which could not be 
 Impaired, would read the very men who left 
 These volumes floating on the sea of time 
 As waifs for those who strand on a like voyage. 
 
 L. The worthy souls, thou mean'st. Alas, not 
 all 
 Who have earth's short-lived immortality 
 Achieved, will he and kindred minds meet here! 
 
 G. Of thoughts known to our bliss the saddest 
 this ; 
 Too many brilliant men, Faith's compass lost, 
 Have been wrecked on the shoals that wilfully 
 They ran against, to show how skilfully 
 They could steer craft where others had gone doAvn 
 Like fools, like fate. But as wrecked voyager 
 Commits to keeping of the buoyant waves 
 His Journal and accounts of what to him 
 Seemed the most wonderful in the new lands 
 He has explored, so men of intellect, 
 Wrecked by their passions or their faithlessness, 
 Have left in treasured manuscripts their views 
 Of changeful life, and what they found its best 
 And Avorst. 
 
 L. But one man in earth's lifetime can 
 Not learn all that lost minds have left, nor e'en 
 The half of those most worthy to be conned. 
 
 C. Nay, verily. But thou forgettest that 
 
HEBDEB. 387 
 
 To store away such thoughts are many heads 
 Who'll happy be to iuterchange all through 
 Eternity. 
 
 L. How Herder will enjoy 
 Communion with great souls. And he will flash 
 Upon them brilliantly, unconscious all 
 The while of light he gives, yearning to grasp 
 And to incorporate into himself 
 Each new and beautiful idea. Ah ! 
 'Twas but a short while since he said in tones 
 That Earth should not forget, "Oh, if some 
 
 grand, 
 Original and spiritual thought 
 Would but come unto me — no matter whence — 
 I in a moment should be well ! " And yet, 
 So weak the outer man, he cannot bear 
 The food that he desires. 
 
 G. But may he soon 
 Be well as we ! 
 
 L. He will : God strengthen him 
 To fight with Death for the last victory ! 
 A grand idea doth come to him now, 
 Wafting itself slowly but steadily 
 From God's white, bow-spanued Throne. 
 
 C. And when it flashes on his soul he will 
 Be strong forevermore. 
 
 L. But that is not 
 What now he wants. He would get well to do 
 On earth his work. '•' Ah, that I had but time ! 
 Time! Time! " So saith he frequently: while he 
 
 LLies helpless quite and feels that all his grand, 
 Glorious thoughts will to the world be lost. 
 
388 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 C. A needless fear. A grand thought lost ! And 
 tell 
 Me where could it be lost ? Oh ! where in all 
 The universe could it pass out and not 
 Flow into other spirit-life ? Doth not 
 God know better than he of what Earth hath 
 Most need ? And what conceptions fittest are 
 To be revealed first in Eternity ? 
 
 L. Yet none the less with the delusion he 
 Torments himself. Works to which he gave birth 
 Belong to those who his companionship 
 Most prize, angels and men who know him best. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Malaii. — A noble spirit will come home ere 
 
 night 
 Hath spread the canopy of sleep o'er earth, 
 Her beauty, joy, her suffering and sin. 
 Lobula hath just come from Germany, 
 And says that Herder rests as calmly now 
 As when he first was lulled to sleep on breast 
 Of mothej- fond. 
 
 Clarice. — Oh, I am glad! Dost thou 
 Remember, Sweet, the eve he calmly sat 
 Thinking his holy thoughts, like twilight, half 
 Of light from Heaven and half of shades of earth? 
 The sound of church-bell fell upon his ear — 
 He gently drew a sigh as a grand strain 
 To his heart came — winged with the vigor of 
 A golden Past — 
 
 M. The days when God was praised 
 
HERDER 389 
 
 In the soft liglit which fell from tinted glass. 
 Praised by the murmured trills of music glad 
 That man had learned from rippling of the sea, 
 Praised by the white-robed choristers who seemed 
 To float as easily in perfumed air 
 As if their, chanting swayed their gracefulness. 
 
 0. I recollect that Herder sighed to know 
 That those sweet joys could come no more.* 
 
 M. Not that 
 He wished old Superstition to be throned 
 Again, but that he fain would haye the truth 
 As beautifully served as falsity. 
 By which gate will he enter Paradise ? 
 
 C. Poets and prophets by the sapphire gate as- 
 cend. 
 
 M. Let us haste there. I wish to see 
 A poet's looks when he finds grandest dreams 
 Fade into mistiness before the glow 
 Of gorgeousness and great sublimity 
 That bathes the soul that has escaped from death. 
 He'll prize this softened brilliancy much more 
 Til an most men do. Deeper his thrill of bliss 
 When strains of songs, lovingly rapturous. 
 Fill all the perfumed, brightly-tinted air, 
 While angel choristers welcome a mate. 
 
 C. Often has Herder longed to speak with us. 
 I asked Jehovah once if I might pour 
 A thought into his brain. He said I must 
 
 * When I wrote this I knew naught of ritualistic ques- 
 tions : in many English churches I realized this dream of 
 early days. Rome has no chorister boys that I know of 
 who chant as do the Anglican. 
 
390 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Not carry Heaven to liim ; for ere long he 
 Should come to Paradise ; but to please me 
 He let me guide his pen once, and thus trace 
 A sentiment that would be prized by him. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Mazza. — Dost thou not often pity pettiness 
 Of a man's mind— like bird which hops upon 
 The beach and comprehends the sea ? 
 What if a wiser whisper in his ear, 
 Thou silly one ! Air is thy element. 
 Presum'st because thou skimmest o'er the sea 
 And sometimes dip'st thy wings in the clear wave, 
 Thou knowest of its mysteries, its depths. 
 Its caverns, coral reefs, its priceless pearls, 
 And other precious things ? Fanciest thou 
 That thou canst comprehend cause of its wrecks ? 
 Lo ! suddenly have gone down many forms 
 Of manly strength and virgin loveliness. 
 Suppose the bird replies, I understand 
 All mysteries that be, and what I may 
 Not well explain is naught. Corpses are in 
 The sea, thou say'st : I can believe it not. 
 Why should a body drown when it can fly ? 
 Thou laughest ? Ha ! Then drown me if thou 
 
 canst ; 
 But if — philosophy is built on ifs — 
 Corpses there are beneath the waves. 
 Then thy G-od is a despot grim, nor will 
 I worship Him. And if there be a God 
 
SHELLEY. 391 
 
 How wretched He will be when I withhold 
 My meed of needed praise. If such should be 
 The silly bird's reply, how like 'twould be 
 To reasoning of those whose souls live in 
 Their petty brains and in their narrow world 
 Of common sense and earthliness, yet dare 
 With impious wing to brush the mysteries 
 Of Providence. Imposing grandeur of 
 A man, fit heritor of all the worst 
 Philosophies of Heathendom and lust ! 
 He cannot count the sand by the sea-side, 
 Nor make a handful of the same, yet he 
 Expects to sound unfathomable depths. 
 
 Hulali. — Where we would pause in silence and in 
 awe 
 The infidel dives in and perishes 
 Imagine little bird thou spakest of 
 Tries to explore sea-caverns' mysteries ; 
 Then would it be like man who dares to prate 
 About the dispensations of the LOED. 
 Both man and bird must perish for their pride, 
 And add their fates to earth's sad mysteries, 
 Warnings for all who seek to follow them 
 To pause, or share the insignificance 
 Of burial unhonored and unknown 
 Except to demons hideous, who'll shriek 
 Above their graves. 
 
 M. The bird would scorn the man 
 Who warned it not to leave its element, 
 Bnt trust to faith, nor dare to scoff at old. 
 Dim records which proclaim the nature of 
 Tlie sea and of the secrets GOD hath hid. 
 
392 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 H. Art thinking now of any one man, Love ? 
 
 M. Of Shelley, whom the Lord endowed with 
 more 
 Than common gift of genius true. Alas, 
 That feeling what he was he could not learn 
 That he was nothing more ! I watched a girl 
 Who seized a volume of his poetry 
 With wild youth's eagerness for brilliant things. 
 'Twas evident imagination trod the air 
 On the light rhythm of his splendid verse ; 
 Her fancy was as wild and childish, too. 
 Gems she found here and there, bound them 
 Around her heart, then challenged admiration of 
 The world. But I perceived that on each spot 
 The jewels touched there was a speck of dust ; 
 And if she gathers many more, ere long 
 The dust she will have got from Shelley's words 
 Will cover o'er the purity of Faith 
 And leave her grovelling after— herself. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 
 
 Kalleta. — A hero will come home quite soon. 
 Let us 
 Eejoice. 
 
 Larla. — And hallelujahs sing. But who 
 Is he? 
 
 K. Charles Lamb. 
 
 L. The one I weakling thought ? 
 Then tell me how he has a hero grown. 
 He seemed as pure, although I feared as soft 
 As a snow-flake; and so I judged that he 
 
CEABLE8 LAMB. 393 
 
 Would as unnoticed be — a child among 
 The pure, unnoticed in the throng. 
 
 K. Alas! 
 Such throng is not so large that he would have 
 Been lost e'en to the eye of man. Bat I 
 Accept similitude thou gav'st : snow-flake 
 Was he in truth. He shrank from vulgar touch ;* 
 But those who have a microscopic eye 
 Perceived the sparkling crystals of a weird 
 Phenomenon, ahiiost fantastic in 
 Its liumorous dance. And as the snow-flake can 
 Not touch the earth without imbibing some 
 Impurity, so was it with poor Lamb. 
 
 L. What heroism boasteth he ? 
 
 K. He ? None. 
 
 L. Thou said'st he hero was. 
 
 K. And so he is — 
 His heroism is to know no self — 
 The heroism most like that of Christ. 
 Not in blight armor are such souls as his 
 Incased ; he wore a comic mask to hide 
 The tears that would have pained his friends. 
 
 There were 
 No trumpets to screech " Here he comes ! " but 
 
 smiles 
 And merry jesting greeted him. Hope raised 
 Her head and Hatred shrunk away: his power 
 Was tliis— he hid no selfishness within. 
 " Of human helps and leaning-places I 
 Am jealous now ; religion I want much," 
 
 * I don't mean that Lamb felt anything human to be vul- 
 gar ; but he was reserved. 
 
394 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I heard him say. Oh, there is naught he wrote 
 
 As beautiful as was his daily life ! 
 
 Once he exclaimed, " I am afraid there is 
 
 Dishonesty in any pleasure I 
 
 Take without her." He spoke of Sister who 
 
 Was ever "' on the brink of lunacy." 
 
 It seemed to me it was his love and faith 
 
 That would not let her rave in frenzy oft. 
 
 Fiends felt and shrank from interference with 
 
 A love so beautiful. 
 
 L. Worthy was she 
 Of his devotion ? 
 
 K. Yes. Poor, aching heart ! 
 L. Why dost thou pity her ? 
 
 K. Some demons thought 
 To mark liis family with brand of Hell : 
 One entered in the citadel of thought 
 Of Mary Lamb, and in her frenzy she 
 Her mother slew, her father wounded too. 
 But Chi'ist, who had from Mary Magdalene 
 Cast seven devils out, had given her 
 A brother, who, as far as mortal can, 
 Would be to her what He had been to one 
 Of Jewish lineage. My hero snatched 
 The fatal kiiife from maniac's brave hand : 
 Its shadow ever after fell upon 
 His brow ; and as he let the murderer see 
 It not, it was his badge of martyrdom. 
 He dedicated life to sacrifice 
 Of cheerfulness. 
 
 L. Is cheerfulness, think'st thou, 
 A sacrifice ? 
 
i 
 
 GEABLES LAMB. 395 
 
 K. To those who suffer, yes. 
 Easy is it to be resigned and sad; 
 But God's peculiar grace is given to 
 The one who suffers and is glad. There was 
 A little thing that touched me deeply once. 
 I glory in the victory when man 
 The struggle cannot see. But a few days 
 After the maniac's knife had severed him 
 From boyhood and spontaneous glee, he sat 
 Down to a cheerless meal. Something recalled 
 His sister forcibly ; he thought he could 
 ISTot eat : natures like his enjoy some kinds 
 Of grief if they can nurse it their own way, 
 But shrink from wear and tear of common things. 
 "Such weakness I must rise above," he said, 
 And choked down self 
 
 L. I should almost dare call 
 A sacrament the meal (that nauseates 
 The heart crammed full of woe) which unobserved 
 Is swallowed painfully, because it will 
 Bring strength for use of others, and will help 
 The unsuspected victim to take care 
 Of self 
 
 K. About this time he wrote, '•' And I 
 Have something more to do than feel." 
 
 L. 'Tis well that a kind Father often gives 
 Some blessed work to combat with great grief. 
 And knit together rashly-sundered life. 
 
 K. He had a pittance of a hundred pounds, 
 And he was two-and-twenty when he brought 
 To hopeless home a mad companion for 
 His dailvlife; he seated her beside 
 
396 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 His fire, and golden hopes of youth flew out 
 The door : he would not ask a wife to keep 
 Asylum for the crazed ; of course, he could 
 Do anything — 
 
 L. But make a woman sad. 
 
 K. He had thought, if a wife he ever won, her feet 
 Must fall on roses' leaves. Unselfish men 
 Think only they are made for pain and toil. 
 
 L. Then had he loA^ed a maid and hoped to have 
 A wife? 
 
 K. As such men love and hope. 
 Among the pleasant fields she lived, and to 
 The heat and dust of town he turned, and none 
 Knew that he left his heart behind. 
 
 L. God knew ; 
 Therefore no need of other sympathy. 
 To sister, then, he sacrificed his life. 
 
 K. How could she have borne life but for her 
 prop ? 
 If they set out for pleasure-trip, she put 
 "Straight waistcoat in their trunk." 'Twas she 
 
 who felt 
 The coming woe, prepared her brother for 
 His duty hard. Weeping they went along 
 The quiet path that led to hospital ; 
 And when the door was shut, he was the one 
 Who needed pity most. But demons have 
 Fled far from Lamb's calm home ; and Mary is, 
 When mad, not frantic as at first, but still 
 Her weakened brain gives way at intervals. 
 
 Then at 
 The Court a lady fine she deems herself; 
 
THE HAPPY OLD MAID. 397 
 
 And, like revolving stereoscope,* lier mind 
 Portrays things most diverse, but pictures all. 
 Poor thing ! She'll need imagination now 
 To make her life endurable, when he. 
 Who made his heart a holocaust for her, 
 Ascends in the sad fragrance of his life 
 To God. 
 
 L. Imagination she needs not. 
 If she has strength of will to face the truth. 
 She'll make her present background to her past. 
 And blest perspective of Eternity. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 THE HAPPY OLD MAID. 
 
 AMAT.rp. srEVEKING. 
 
 Scene L 
 
 Zelma. — Lorice, wilt go with me to visit Kal ? 
 
 Lorice. — Not now, beloved ; I a mission have. 
 I have seen little child, ugly, diseased, 
 And left to grow up like a weed, at will. 
 Too often is she disagreeable, 
 Too seldom calls forth love of those around — 
 Her face not fair enough. Within there is 
 The splendid nature that I see. I go 
 To ask the GOD if I may be as friend 
 And mother to the motherless. 
 
 Z. I wish 
 Ihee joy of mission so beneficent. 
 
 * Had Dary invented the stereoscope in Lamb's lifetime? 
 
398 THE CLOTID OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene II. — Several years have ela/psed. 
 
 {As the Angel enters Atnalie's room, she 
 exclaims :) 
 
 Cold without, cold withik, 
 
 Everything cold in this world of sin! 
 
 Oh, how my lieart shivers! 
 
 Every nerve quivers 
 
 As the wind shrieks imitations of airs 
 
 Snug by birds it hath killed. 
 
 To desolate lives no wonder it bears 
 
 Shrill echoes that sound like groans of the 
 
 dead; 
 Or, that well it is skilled 
 To taunt with remorse souls whence hope hath 
 
 fled. 
 
 {Lorice whispers thoughts to her, and after 
 a while Amalie says :) 
 Hush, heart ! I laid tou dowk to sleep, 
 And laughed to think earth-worms would creep 
 Among the faded flowers of yore, 
 Mock immortelles I dared adore. 
 I do not choose you shall wake now, 
 And wreathe fresh roses for my brow; 
 I've passed my teens, am an old maid: 
 Better lie still where you are laid. 
 The heart that's stillest sufl'ers least; 
 Stagnation cometh after feast. 
 
 Tut! I am not a poet, as Burns was. 
 
 But as he drowned his sensibility 
 
 In loathsome drinks, mine I shall drown in my 
 
 Own way. I sliall write poetry on hearts. 
 
TEE HAPPY OLD MAW. 399 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Lorice. — Zelma;, rememberest that I told thee 
 Of Amalie ? 
 
 Zelma. — The lonely child whose friend 
 Thou sought'st to be ? 
 
 L. And Sieveking the name 
 She bears. Jesus hath touched the heart of one 
 Of her own kind, and to the childless now 
 My Amalie is child ; is good, and true 
 To all the instincts of a daughter's heart. 
 In my wild-flower thou wouldst not recognize 
 The weed of old ; by guiding younger hearts 
 She is in training now for noble life. 
 She carveth her pure thoughts upon the soul. 
 And mouldeth well the plastic mind of youth. 
 A "happy old maid" is the name assumed 
 By my once slighted and unlovely child. 
 How much I like to read the thoughts she pens 
 In the friend-journal of her inner life. 
 I shall give a sweet specimen of them: 
 '■'I must take care in all the ardor of 
 My occupation" (teaching she means here), 
 " That I do not forget the lovingness 
 With which it should be carried on; for love 
 Than knowledge is more necessary to 
 Cliildhood's soft heart." I wish thou could'st have 
 
 seen 
 How, Christ-like, she lay down the longed-for crown 
 Of womanhood — the wife's and mother's right 
 To be the first in others' hearts; instead 
 The GrOl) decrees hundreds shall call her blessed 
 And own her more to them than mother or 
 
400 TEE CLOUD OF WITI^ESSES. 
 
 Than children of their own. She found the clue 
 To happiness, and in renouncing joy 
 For a brief time, has made it ecstasy 
 That will begin with death and last for aye. 
 She wrote, "I used to dream that one day in 
 The eye of all the world I should do some 
 Great thing; but now I know that is not in 
 My power ; with double faithfulness Til try 
 To do the duties of a common life." 
 
 Z. Common ! Ah, would from her example that 
 It might be so ! 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 {Amalie, in the house she has opened as an 
 asylum, comforts an orphan loho has 
 tahen refuge with her.) 
 
 Lay thy head ok my beeast. 
 
 Child, to whom naught's denied! 
 On my affection rest. 
 
 And let thy fancies glide 
 As guileless and as free 
 
 As fairy shells that float 
 Upon a tranquil sea; 
 
 I, in a steadier boat 
 Shall gently glide along 
 
 Enjoying all the mirth 
 That makes the weary strong. 
 
 My Father at my birth 
 Prepared me for my fate ; 
 
 He made me coldly calm 
 To linger at joy's gate 
 
 And hearken to the psalm 
 
TEE HAPPY OLD MAID. 401 
 
 That loved ones sing within 
 
 The walls I may not climb. 
 _ Weary of tears and sin, 
 
 I calmly pass the time 
 Enjoying as I may 
 
 Blessings God giveth me — 
 Treasuring all things gay, 
 
 Nor least, my darling, thee. 
 While' thy path lies along 
 
 The road that I must tread, 
 I scarcely wish thee strong; 
 
 I like to give thee bread, 
 I like to pour the wine 
 
 That God hath given me 
 Into a heart like thine. 
 
 But, know I owe to thee 
 More than I can repay ; 
 
 The blossoms thy dear hand 
 Have scattered on my way 
 
 Perfume the barren land 
 That stretches low and long 
 
 Far as my eyes can reach. 
 Then cheer me with thy song 
 
 Until I tread the beach 
 My Angel's footprints mark — 
 
 That bordereth Death's sea — 
 And launch my ransomed bark 
 
 On God's Eternity. 
 
 Lorice. — A special mission Amalie early 
 
 Selected for herself; that is, to bring 
 Old maids into esteem — not that they are 
 
402 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Contemned by those whose good opinion is 
 Worth seeking for, but that a woman should 
 Do what she can to make all of her sex 
 Respected as they ought to be. 'Tis God's 
 Decree that many shall be wedded to 
 Only His Son : some have too much respect 
 For a pure woman's life to wed, as does 
 Majority, for fashion, wealth, or home, 
 Or not to be old maids. 
 
 Zelma. — All those who live 
 As self-forge tfully as she, honored 
 Will be in that world — and in this much more. 
 
 L. Something she published, too, but what she 
 writes 
 On angels' memories is better far. 
 
 Z. Tell moi'c ; for I would add my mite unto 
 Her fame. 
 
 L. A pestilence once visited 
 The city where she dwelt, and she there laid 
 Her life down at its feet, to be, if God 
 Saw fit, a willing sacrifice ; but He 
 Did not ; He has more work for her to do. 
 She called upon the women for their help ; 
 Not one obeyed the summons dread, nor that 
 Of Jesii's dying representatives. 
 
 Z. Shame ! Shame upon their heartlessness, and 
 praise 
 To her, the noble old maid Amalie ! 
 
 L. Yes. Hundreds of us angels welcomed' 
 her 
 lu dreary hospitals with music sweet. 
 Unheard bv sufi'erers. 
 
THE HAPPY OLD MAID. 403 
 
 Z. But when the plague 
 Was stayed, her life monotonous, did not 
 She weary of the old maid's cross ? 
 
 L. She says, j 
 
 " I always feel so strong and fresh now I j 
 
 Have got into my proper element ; j 
 
 My joy is great as any little child's." ] 
 
 Z. Because she has a child's simplicity. I 
 
 L. Can that be true of one who has such great \ 
 
 And varied experience? • 1 
 
 Z. A child's \ 
 
 Simplicity of heart and aim to do • 
 
 Each moment task her Father sets. \ 
 
 L. She said, \ 
 
 "It is indeed a blessing thus to have \ 
 
 One's daily work a daily joy." \ 
 
 Z. And so I 
 To make fresh pleasure for the angels day 
 By day. Oh, Christ must love her very much. 
 
 L. I go to fan her with my wing now while J 
 
 With fever parched she lies on her plain couch '■ 
 Of lowly state. 
 
 Z. She lies in queenly state, j 
 
 Angels her chamberlains. ; 
 
 L. And soon the Lord I 
 
 Of Life on her will wait to set her free \ 
 
 From earthly coils. And even after death • 5 
 
 Her sympathy for her poor friends extends. 1 
 
 She has a fancy to be buried as \ 
 
 A pauper, thus to make the mourning poor j 
 
 Content with their friends' obsequies, Bnt yet ^ 
 Best lesson that she leaves is this: whoso 
 
404: THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Will happy be has but to work for good 
 
 Of others' lives, forgetful of her own. 
 
 Few women are less scantily endowed 
 
 Thau Amalie ; no charms of person ; but 
 
 Moderate share of mind; no tendency 
 
 To universal love uplifted her 
 
 Above tlie world. A common woman she 
 
 Began an old maid's life ; crowned saint 
 
 She Cometh now to wed eternal joy; 
 
 Greeted she will be by the children she 
 
 Hath sent to Paradise. Compare this Maid 
 
 With mothers who will send their children's souls 
 
 To hell. 
 
 Z. I think her one who long will wait 
 Beside the jasper gate to welcome those 
 Who follow where she led, and treading in 
 Her steps will gain her home to grace her bliss. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 A.D. 1859. 
 
 {Amalie's Jwusehold watch around her 
 corpse and sing :) 
 
 We shall see her again! 
 Not long will she roam 
 The blue fields of Hades untended by us : 
 We shall soon be at Home. 
 
 We shall see her again 
 More fresh and more fair 
 Than she was when she cast off raiment of clay, 
 Leaving us to despair. 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 405 
 
 We shall see her again 
 In garments of light ! 
 Her grave-clothes transformed into vesture of air, 
 Chaste, but goldenly bright. 
 
 We shall see her again, 
 Once more press her hand, 
 Her noble heart beating our own close beside 
 In angelical band. 
 
 We shall see her again, 
 Stay with her alway ; 
 Oh, joy t-oo transporting for mortals to bear! 
 Father, hasten the day ! 
 
 Act V. 
 
 THE PANTHEIST. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 {Mervila in Clara's room — reads her 
 Journal open on a taile, and says ;) 
 
 Do human beings know the favor that 
 They often do us spiritual ones 
 By writing inner life out in a book. 
 Which we peruse with interest, as they 
 Would read the diary of darling child ? 
 
 {M. reads from Clara'' s Journal:) 
 
 Passt, France, February 3, 1867. 
 
 GrOD GIVES US EYES, 
 
 And gives us light enough for us to see; 
 And then to gaze upon, He daily gives 
 Us things that our eyes prize. 
 
406 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 He gave me heart that loves most fervently 
 
 Each beauteous thing that lives ; 
 
 A mind that likes to wander through G-enius's 
 
 maze 
 ■And sympathize with its erratic ways. 
 Surely there is on earth some blessed spot 
 Where the world's buzzing din can enter not, 
 And in that home Genius and Piety together live. 
 
 ! Is there not a Christ-like man my heart to 
 
 move ? 
 One who would worthy prove 
 Of all the love and reverence that I could give ? 
 But such an one for me would never care ; 
 
 1 have no beauty rare 
 That might confine 
 
 To my dim self his fancy's roving wing. 
 
 No ; on this earth I am content to droop and pine 
 
 A little while ; then Death will come for me. 
 
 But cheer up, heart, and gladly sing: 
 
 Beauty, love, genius, sympathy, 
 
 In Heaven thine will be. 
 
 ijC ^ ^ ^ w 
 
 Apkil 8. 
 I AM ALONE, AND HOME-SICK IN MY HEART J 
 
 The sweet birds sing upon the green-clad boughs ; 
 But now my soul doth not — as is its wont — 
 Mingle its praises with their cheerful songs, 
 And rising through the air enter the courts 
 Of God. Alas ! within my longing mind 
 Their glee no echo finds ; but hidden dove 
 Enters the silent chambers of my soul ; 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 407 
 
 And I can mourn with him, not for a friend 
 Whom I have loved and miss, but for a heart 
 That would be like my own. I wish for one 
 Whose pulse will ever throb to mine. Whene'er 
 A cloud of beauty in the sky doth fill 
 My soul with dreams of love and bliss, may he 
 Not be a leaden weight upon my thoughts 
 To pull them down to earth ; but rather may 
 Both souls, as one, commingle in the cloud 
 Till they are lost in Heaven. 
 
 And whensoe'er 
 With childish joy I fondly kneel to kiss 
 A gentle flower that woos my eager love, 
 May he stoop down to pluck the blossom, not' 
 For my sake, but its own. 
 
 And when God speaks 
 In thunder-tones, may we hear Him with love 
 And reverence, and kneeling low, commune 
 With Him. 
 
 And I would have my husband sigh 
 With me when pity claims the tribute of 
 My tears. And when aught wrong may fill my 
 
 soul 
 With indignation high, thus calling forth 
 The feelings I cannot control, may he 
 Not sneer and call me " foolish child," but feel 
 With me ; or, if that cannot be, may he 
 Take my hand gently in his own and in 
 Persuasive accent of a loving heart 
 Convince me I am wrong. Oh, how I long 
 For sympathy of one true, noble life ! 
 A man that God doth love ! With such an one 
 
408 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And with Our Father's smile, I could bear all 
 The ills that He appoints to purify. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Alfred Glarh. — May I ask what book you were 
 reading when 
 I interrupted you ? 
 
 C. " Charles Anchester." 
 A. A charming work ; but not quite so much to 
 My taste as " Counterparts." 
 
 0. I've read to where 
 Cerinthia dies, and leaves poor Anastase. 
 He loved her, but not as Seraphiel did, 
 Therefore he will not mourn for her as long. 
 I like old bachelors — 
 
 A. Thank you. 
 
 a Is it 
 
 True that I see a man who dares proclaim 
 Himself old bachelor? I was about 
 To say Seraphiel is my favorite. 
 And I am glad he will not marry. But 
 Why do you smile ? 
 
 A. Are you sure he will be 
 More faithful than poor Anastase ? 
 
 C. Of course : 
 However sweet and red a rose may be. 
 White lilies sweeter are ; most fragrant flower 
 Has e'er the deepest heart. At noon you see 
 Stars in a well, not in a rivulet ; 
 Therefore Seraphiel's love deeper than that 
 Of Anastase. 
 
 A. Odor of flowers is but 
 
 i 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 409 
 
 The wailing breath that sighs in answer to 
 The sweet breeze wooing. Oh! That me reminds — 
 A friend of mine wishes advice that you 
 Can better give than I. What stone is best 
 For a betrothal-ring? An amethyst ? 
 
 C. No ; for it fades ; therefore, it would not be 
 A pleasant prophecy. 
 
 A. I think that pearls, 
 Shut up and unobserved in their dark shells, 
 Are emblems of domestic love — 
 
 G. Device 
 To hide as prettily as may be what 
 Offends. And in troth-ring they tarnish soon. 
 
 A. When woman grows accustomed to new toy 
 She does not care to keep it clean and fresh. 
 
 C. Because the one who gave it with long kiss. 
 Ceases caresses of whom he is sure 
 Is his possession. 
 
 A. And so loses her. 
 Strange when he knoAvs of his progenitors' 
 Experience, he should feel so secure ! 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 {As Mervila flies out of Clara's room Jie 
 meets another angel.) 
 
 Mervila. — Golora, hail ! Art thou a guardian ? 
 
 Golora. — I have to watch a man whose earth 
 career 
 Would make me anxious had not I attained 
 By Word Divine a view from height of Thought, 
 Whence overlooking all that lies between — 
 Mire, sand, floods, deserts, death — I saw him on 
 
410 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 i 
 
 A height as grand as uiiue, though not like mine. 
 Flown instantaneously upon; but up 
 Which he had crawled, leaped, floundered, panted to. 
 The home, which should have been cradle for 
 
 Heaven, 
 Was rocked by rude dissensions of those who 
 Watched over it. His nurse was wilfulness; 
 His tutor wealth at his command, and he 
 Was trained for life's hard fight by sweetmeats of 
 Taste, touch, smell, sight, and ears. 
 
 M. Ah ! How was such 
 Lad to be disciplined for Christian race ? 
 
 G. By lawlessness that wearied of itself; 
 By crude desire for what he could not say. 
 
 M. Where is he now ? 
 
 G. In Paris, draining life's 
 Hot cup of pleasure to the dregs, making 
 Wry mouths at sediments that his clear eyes 
 Perceive, wishing some one would make it worth 
 His while to dash it to the ground. Fastidious 
 In act and principle, no overt deed 
 Of sin liath roused contempt of self. He smiles 
 In loathing scorn on G-od's lost sheep, who strive 
 To make his passions pages to uplift 
 Their draggled skirts to wealth and style. Not he 
 The man to soil his dainty hands by smirch 
 Of lust. His tender feet, that pick their way 
 Through vulgar show and coarse luxuriance, 
 By instinct turn from Jardius Mabilles and 
 Sudi viaducts o'er poverty and crime 
 To Hell. The smell of strong drinks and of coarse 
 Perfumes would quickly nauseate ; his taste 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 411 
 
 Would sicken at satiet}'. His ears 
 Refuse to be made scavengers for words 
 Obscene. His senses all are Sybarites. 
 
 M. Less then the injury he will sustain 
 In Paris, syren-city of the world — 
 The fairest show the Devil yet hath made 
 Of flowers on muck. Sewer of Fashion is 
 The Pompeii of present age. But there 
 Are trespasses as delicate as vase 
 Of crystal, breathing perfume rare that will 
 Inebriate man's brain, his senses steep 
 In opiate of poetry; and some 
 Induce hasheesh-like dreams of picture-world. 
 And has the man — what shall I call thy ward? 
 G. Alfred. 
 
 M. Has he no faith ? Knows he no church ? 
 
 G. Faith is activity of heart and brain. 
 Can man who never handled oar, control 
 His bark if tossed on angry waves, or guide 
 It up stream though tliere is no wind? 
 And of the Church he knows enough to sneer, 
 But not enough to comprehend : he is 
 A Pantheist. 
 
 M. A new name to my ears. 
 
 G. It signifies creature poetical, who seeks 
 For roots of seaweeds (that have none) * but 
 
 don't 
 Concern himself about the roots of oaks 
 He stumbles o'er ; and when he falls, instead 
 
 * The roots of many, if not all, seaweeds serve only as 
 objects of attachment, and are not the sources of nourish- 
 ment. 
 
412 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Of getting up and asking why he conld 
 
 Not stand, he turns upon his back, looks at 
 
 The clouds, discourses of the stars, of laws 
 
 That guide them in their transcendental dance; 
 
 He apes philosopher's humility 
 
 By saying with Egyptian tone, What is 
 
 Beyond my hands I shall not touch, rather 
 
 Shall turn upon my side and gather flowers 
 
 That hold the Deity in scraps; and so 
 
 He makes patchwork of charming phrases, which 
 
 He calls a system of divinity.* 
 
 M. Then Satan will not send his preaching friars 
 Of lies to offer him indulgences. 
 
 G. No need. There is refreshing poetry 
 In Pantheism many minds cannot 
 Eesist, and so some Christians have baptized 
 It, taking for their text, " Whom ye adore 
 In ignorance declare we unto you." f 
 
 M. Where then its harm ? 
 
 G. It is irrational. 
 If Grod is all then evil un create 
 Is He. If He is in Niagara, 
 In the same sense is He in cess-pool vile. 
 Spinoza says, " Beside God thsre is naught, 
 And we no other substance can conceive." 
 Hegel affirms that " in man Grod comes to 
 Self-consciousness." 
 
 M. Oh, blasphemy absurd ! 
 Then Judas was a conscious god, and so 
 
 * I never heard of a Pantheist having such a system, 
 f Acts xvii. 23. My application has no foundation 
 among writers that I know of. 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 413 
 
 Caligula was right to be his own 
 
 High priest and offer incense to himself: 
 
 Caligula was Hegel's antitype. 
 
 G. The German says that the development 
 Of the great Universe is God Himself 
 Developing — 
 
 M. In stones, in mire, in sand, 
 In fierce wolf, slimy snail, in poison-plants. 
 
 G. He farther says, " The Spirit Absolute 
 (First*) knows itself in man." 
 
 M. And man who makes 
 A crying-doll thus learns to know himself 
 In his rare work ! 
 
 G. "■ Man knows the absolute." 
 
 M. Absolute foolishness. Philosophers 
 Of present age try to convince the world 
 It can't know more than it can see and touch, 
 And therefore should let God alone. I have 
 In India met Pantheism — have I not ? 
 
 G. Aye, and in China. It came from 
 Man's teeming brain when it produced twin-births. 
 Rare singing-birds and snakes, nightshade and 
 
 grapes. 
 In slime of river Nile, where rice grew best, 
 Floated the crocodile; and man — wise man! 
 Adored the reptile as a god, and ate 
 The rice without a thought. Why exercise 
 His brain on what the fellahs sowed and used?f 
 God is in all. 
 
 * Word inserted or altered to suit the rhythm, 
 f As the Egyptians worshipped onions, p&rhaps they 
 did rice. 
 
414 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 M. Divine then are the fleas 
 That bite, and stinging-nettles on the ground. 
 Is doctrine of the Trinity more hard 
 To nnderstand? 'Tis easier to think 
 Of God-man as Atonement on the Cross, 
 Than that the vermin in a dirty head 
 Is one with God. Had not neglected dirt, 
 Kef use of learning, been by self-conceit 
 And idleness left to accumulate 
 Within the mind, such vermin-thoughts had not 
 Been generated there. Poor man! Out of 
 His brain he spins idea that he makes 
 Tight rope for metaphysics to dance on, 
 And when humility (his balance-pole) 
 He drops, he falls and raises dust that makes 
 Men shut their eyes till he can mount again. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 {Clara in Pans.) 
 
 Like ikfakt tossed upo^st the wave, 
 Or little child in vast dark cave, 
 
 Lord, am I ! 
 Christ, I am helpless : hear my prayer, 
 I^or let me sink into despair ; 
 
 Wilt hear my cry? 
 
 What do I want ? I cannot say, 
 But feel I need it ev'ry day ; 
 
 Lord, Thou dost know. 
 Pity my lifeless misery 
 Pity my hearfs stupidity — 
 
 Its fires are low. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 415 
 
 I feel my life is not complete ; 
 There's too much calm, too little heat. 
 
 I want to be 
 Drawn out of books and out of self 
 What good is it to give my wealth 
 
 To charity ? 
 
 I need a heart woe cannot daunt. 
 That's tolerant of crime and cant 
 
 And selfishness : 
 Too prone am I these to despise, 
 I cannot look with angels' eyes, 
 
 Pity and bless. 
 
 If aught is beautiful or grand 
 
 I homage pay with soul and hand: 
 
 But Thou hast served 
 The loathsome victims of foul sin ; 
 Oh, for the purity within 
 
 That Thy heart nerved ! 
 
 Saviour, would what I cannot ask 
 From my false life now tear the mask 
 
 Of dreary mome ? 
 But I fear I must suffer when 
 I ope my sealed-up heart again 
 
 To be love's home. 
 
 I guard the past so jealously 
 The present brings small good to me. 
 Rest liardlv won 
 
41 f) THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Is very sweet ; I fear to feel ; 
 I have no pi'ayer for woe or weal — 
 "Thy will be done!" 
 
 Mervila. — Poor maid of earth! She loves and 
 knows not why 
 She is so restless ; but it is because 
 The one she loves treats her faith with feigned scorn. 
 Ah ! Will the holy age of martyrdom 
 Never be o'er ? 
 
 Oleen. — It cannot be while earth 
 Is subject to the curse of sin and woe. 
 The martyrs die now, not as they did first, 
 Only for love of God; Satan has changed 
 His tactics now, and laughs at truth ; smiles more 
 Than arrows wound. 
 
 M. But they are not so hard 
 To bear, nor do they try the spirit quite so much. 
 Physical ages, tough in nerve and strong 
 Of bone, physical tortures have endured; 
 But ages intellectnal, weakened 
 In nerve, of slighter frame, are mentally 
 More strong, and so are called upon to brave 
 The laugh of empty pates, the pity feigned 
 Of minds well filled with only earthly lore. 
 
 0. And does the man whom Clara loves treat her 
 With scorn ? 
 
 M. Eather adores her as a god. 
 But still he ridicules her faith because 
 His instinct teaches him it is a wall 
 Of adamant between their hearts. Wonld'st like, 
 Oleen, to see lier lover? Come with me. 
 
THB PANTHEIST. 41Y 
 
 Scene V. 
 Alfred {writes : ) 
 
 April pancies come kisd go ; 
 True love lasts through weal and woe ; 
 Blooming hidden under snow 
 Fair as when Spring breezes blow. 
 
 Yes, we labor but in vain 
 To escape from silent pain, 
 Though a mortal eye mayn't see 
 Any sign of mystery. 
 
 Flowers may bloom on Alpine crest ; 
 Smiles gleam over time-chilled breast. 
 And no stranger e'er may know 
 Of volcanic fires below. 
 
 So, to the false world I seem 
 
 Cold and thoughtless of the dream 
 
 That now fills my secret hours 
 
 With love's fair celestial flowers. 
 
 ***** 
 And when she whispered my plain name, her 
 
 voice 
 Was like a tinted melody, most like 
 The azure music of the flute, I was 
 New-named, was rebaptized in love's fresh dew — 
 And this time by my patron-saint. 
 
 Scene V.f. 
 Clara (alone :) 
 It is not so to be. " Thy will be dofe ! " 
 Again I sit down by Hope's setting sun 
 
4:18 TSE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And watch the clouds of eve come slowly np, 
 And nerve my hand to stretch for bitter cup. 
 I could have been so blest, if Thou hadst willed, — 
 I ask not why Thou hast refused. Faith stilled 
 My wailing heart to listen for the chime 
 Of angels' wings in the now near night-time; 
 Soon I shall watch the stars shine in Thy sky 
 And not be lonely when I feel Thee nigh. 
 
 [An Clara is toritmg, a servant enters 
 with a bouquet and hook sent hy 
 Alfred.) 
 
 And so he has forgiven my rebuff. 
 'Twas but a moment since I thought G-od willed 
 Me to estrange him from the heart that is 
 Now consecrate to a life-work. Alas! 
 I thought that sorrow had so frozen o'er 
 My heart that e'en the most impulsive love 
 Would but amuse my eye as skaters cut 
 Kare figures on the ice. Seated in calm 
 And recollected mood I let one draw 
 Me where he would, till unexpectedly 
 We came to a weak place and both fell in. 
 I laughed at first, but soon was fain to stand 
 Before hot fire of conscience, and now I 
 Must smart for childish self-forgetfulness. 
 Father, for days my heart has been o'er full 
 Of prayer. Is it a Christian, or is it 
 More selfish interest that keeps me near 
 Thy footstool ? For true conversation I 
 Have had — rare treat indeed ! Therefore have I 
 Been led to let my soul expose itself; 
 
THE PANTHEI8T. 419 
 
 And he lias seized on it and wound me in 
 
 Cords woven by self-revelations ; and 
 
 I, weary of long self-restraint, have let 
 
 Him turn me as his humor was. Would not 
 
 I be well ridiculed if men could see 
 
 Yearnings unsatisfied of this old maid's 
 
 Young heart ? But how can it be helped ? 
 
 The heart 
 
 Cannot grow old to order. I am young 
 
 As when nineteen. Is that my fault? lam 
 
 Incessantly telling myself how old 
 
 I am. People shall not discover that 
 
 I am ridiculous. But, truly I 
 
 Am not ; for the absurdity is theirs, 
 
 Attributing to the immortal soul 
 
 The years and burden of the flesh, which in 
 
 My case is but apparent burden, for 
 
 I'm physically strong and well, as are 
 
 Few girls Avho wait at midnight on pallid 
 
 Terpsichore. Father, give me but 
 
 One human heart that can discover for 
 
 Itself the fresh impressionable youth 
 
 Of mine! Father, I hunger ; when thy child 
 
 " Asks bread, wilt give a stone ? " 
 
 This is his hour 
 For rising. Holy Spirit, make him pray! 
 Still Thou his longings, that have ne'er been 
 
 stilled. 
 Oh, " Man of Sorrows ! " satisfy the thirst 
 Til at he so vainly tries to quench by draught 
 From '-cup of water" I hold to his lips. 
 In this metropolis of civilized 
 
420 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 But dirty heathendom, is a lost sheep ; 
 
 And I believe Thou liast sent me to seek 
 
 His soul. I've found it, Saviour; but it will 
 
 Not follow me. " Thou Who takest away 
 
 Sins of the world, grant him Thy peace!" But do 
 
 Not let me be like silly sheep that go 
 
 Wherever other leads. 
 
 {After a pause Clara writes :) 
 
 I AM AS LONELY AS A BABE 
 
 Just come into this world ; 
 
 The angels are about me ; but 
 
 Their wings are not unfurled 
 
 Within my sight. 
 
 Too bright a light 
 
 Shuts unaccustomed eyes, so I 
 
 See naught but narrow wall ; 
 And when my spirit longs for food 
 On stranger it must call : 
 No mother nigh 
 Knows babe or I. 
 And yet it is maternal lover 
 That over us doth hover. 
 Why with a Spirit should I be 
 As shy as with a lover ? 
 My Mother dear, 
 Kiss me \ Come near ! 
 
 Scene VIL 
 ( Wien Alfred enters Glara is singing :) 
 
 Foe him whose Love is dead 
 
 Only the past remains 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 421 
 
 Unless the present adds 
 For him its load of pains. 
 
 A If red. — Pray, pardon me ! I am too blue to-day 
 To hear the other verse. Will you sing this ? 
 
 Clara {sings :) 
 
 As THE SEA-WAVES 
 
 Hollow sea-caves, 
 So Love hath rounded 
 The heart where resounded 
 True passion's soft voice. 
 With thoughts most choice 
 Now adorn your retreat 
 Till for you it is meet. 
 As the sea- waves 
 In the sea-caves 
 Hang pretty sea-weeds 
 Where anemone breeds 
 Her beautiful brood 
 In midst of its food. 
 
 G. Are not anemones fit types of love ? 
 They look so soft and delicate that one 
 Is quite afraid to touch lest he should harm 
 Tiie fragile beauty. But let him then ask 
 Its victims what they think of its soft arms. 
 
 A. Please sing a lullaby for restless heart. 
 
 C. {sings :) 
 Sleeping, I deeamed, Love, deeamed. Love, oe 
 
 THEE, 
 
 As thou wert bright. Love, when glad with me; 
 
422 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 On me was beaming joy of thine eyes, 
 Sweet smiles coquetting with sweeter sighs ; 
 And as thy voice, Love, fell on mine ear 
 Dreamed I that angels and Heaven were near. 
 
 Waking, I thought, Love, of thee in the grave. 
 Would I had died. Love, thy life to save ! 
 Sightless thy dry eyes locked in deep sleep; 
 O'er ]i]3 and brow. Love, earth-worms now creep; 
 Hashed is the voice once low, sweet, and clear: 
 Now I may weep, Love,* thou art not near. 
 
 Dreaming, again. Love, I am with thee, 
 JSTight and Death ever banished from me; 
 Bluer eyes beaming joy more intense — 
 JSTo more remembered my old offence. 
 My God said, Love, with thee I might dwell 
 My tear-washed pillow a glad farewell ! * 
 
 A. Thanks! many thanks! I am myself again. 
 You sang a fiend to sleep and he will dream 
 He is an angel, at least, while you sing. 
 Who wrote that song ? A man, I know. There is 
 One thing that woman cannot do. She can't 
 Write love-songs. 
 
 C. She would rather feel than sing. 
 But what I sang was only simple rhyme 
 That any, girl might write. I think that you 
 Were dreaming, too. 
 
 A. I must confess I did 
 
 * Words set to the old air " Sleeping, I dreamed, Love." 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 423 
 
 Not hear all of the words ; but my heart heard 
 Every note you sang, and it sang too. 
 
 G. I am surprised to hear one who has read 
 As much as you, say women cannot write 
 Love-songs. I heard you say few men could write 
 Such songs as lugelow's. 
 
 A. Quite true. But when 
 A woman writes of love I think of stars — 
 Brilliant, but can't be touched: or of the moon — 
 ]S"ever two nights the same in the same place: 
 Or of lamp-light, domestic, pleasant, but 
 JSTot inspiring : or of gas-light. 
 
 C. Spare me. 
 You would prefer the blaze that Byron kindled with 
 The stuff that he called love. 
 
 A. Bah! No. I could 
 Not read Don Juan, for my palate was 
 Not made to relish antimonial wine ; 
 And the Corsair and Giaour — I should as soon 
 Call Eoman candles comets, as to class 
 Tliem with love-poems. 
 
 G. Greatest poem of 
 The Age, we both think, is "Aurora Leigh." 
 
 A. Yet is there not more of the heat of love 
 In sweet " Lucile," or in "The Princess," than 
 In it ? 
 
 C. But 'Mrs. Hemans? 
 
 A. Woman whom 
 I loved more than another of her sex. 
 
 G. Why speak in the past tense ? Has glorious 
 Christine Eossetti, or my favorite, 
 Jean Ingelow, now proved her rival? 
 
424 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. No. 
 C. Then why do you love Hemans less ? 
 
 A. I don't. 
 But I have a new volume found, and on 
 My knees open fresh page each day. 
 
 0. Will not 
 You show me book that has such marvellous 
 Effect upon your knees ? 
 
 A. JSTot unless you 
 Will enter in my " closet " and let me 
 Shut fast the door, bar out the world. But to 
 Eeturn to charge I made against your sex. 
 Did ever poetess make you spring to 
 Your feet and press your tingling liands upon 
 Your heart lest it should burst its bonds of 
 
 flesh ? 
 Or, did you ever shut your eyes lest you 
 Should faint at pictures women drew? 
 
 C. No : but 
 With tlieir love poems in my hand I have 
 Fallen on humble knees and laid my head 
 Upon Christ's Feet; or have wiped off the tears 
 That dimmed the earth, and with a firmer heart 
 Ee-lifted burden of a common life. ' 
 
 A. That they can preach I do not doubt; 
 Women are famous preachers, as I know. 
 
 a Why can't 
 They write of love ? 
 
 A. Well-worded is that phrase. 
 Write of — yes, that is it! — they write of love 
 As they would write of Pleiades or Mars. 
 Men— if they write true love-songs — do not talk 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 425 
 
 Of it; they photograph, unconsciously 
 Perhaps, the very flames that burn their brains. 
 
 C. And oft the cinders that are left. 
 
 A. Yes; but 
 I do not soil my hands with them. 'Tis well 
 Enough to be burned in the fire which they 
 Haye kindled in my heart, that is a glass 
 To draw down hottest rays ; but when I used 
 To tire of playing with hot coals I turned 
 To cooler pastime; now, alas! it is 
 No use to turn from poem or from song 
 Another wrote. I can't escape from what 
 Fate writes upon my heart. When women learn 
 To feel loYC they may then love poems write. 
 
 C. And do you mean to say that women can 
 Not feel love as men can ? 
 
 A. Let the birds hear 
 And answer you. Only the males can sing. 
 
 C. Because they need accomjDlishments to win 
 The females' hearts ; but the male birds can love — 
 
 A. Without being sung or talked into it. 
 The females twitter prettily about 
 Their nests, and women can write cradle-songs. 
 
 C. I understand ; men are as far above 
 Women as both outrank dumb beasts; for love 
 Is highest faculty of noblest mind. 
 I am amazed at, disappointed in you. 
 
 A. Why? 
 
 C. I tliought that you were more than half 
 A man in intellect, and so above 
 Tlie petty judgments feebler men would pass 
 Upon my sex. 
 
426 THE CLOUI) OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. Not I, but God — as you 
 Would say — has made you, women, what yon 
 
 are. 
 But I don't mean it as reproach to stars 
 When I say that the fire in this black stove 
 Warms sooner ; and, in fact, I used to think 
 It was advantage to your sex to be 
 Icy to us. To study women with 
 A telescopic eye was pastime I 
 Was fond of — once. I never could have so 
 Amused myself if then my studies had 
 Blazed up in passionate response to what 
 In me was idle curiosity. 
 I dare say Herschel liked a stove as well 
 As I ; but I presume that he was not 
 Very desirous to have Venus heat 
 His lenses when he studied her. 
 
 G. Never 
 Again shall I feel quite at ease with yon. 
 You need not look surprised or hurt. It is 
 A pity when dissecting-knife is held 
 Above an unsuspecting heart, that it 
 Should suddenly start up to conscious life. 
 Oh, what a fool I was ! Never to man. 
 Or woman either, have I e'er allowed 
 Myself to be so natural. Often, 
 When you have gone I've wondered how yon 
 
 had 
 The power to draw me out ; indeed, I have 
 Peered into some recesses of my life 
 For the first time, when you held foolish me 
 In leadinff-strinffs. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 427 
 
 {Wliile Clara loas speaking, Alfred, much 
 agitated, walked to a wiiidow ; now he 
 titrns.) 
 
 A. Miss More, would you believe 
 My oath ? 
 
 C. It is insultiug to a man 
 To ask an oath, and yours would me offend. 
 
 A. Then, as a gentleman — Miss More, look in 
 My eyes ! I solemnly affirm that I 
 Could no more heartlessly dissect your heart 
 And mind than you could actually use 
 Dissecting-knife upon your father's corpse. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Clara. — Would you seek immortality of fame ? 
 "What boots fame to a man who doth surmise 
 That all minds may become extinct? If on 
 The stream of time your name should float, 'twould 
 
 be 
 To leap from brain to brain, like twig on brook 
 From stone to stone, and lea\e no trace. But you 
 Believe there is a Grod ; be wise and seek 
 True immortality with Him. Serve Him, 
 And He your service never will forget. 
 Perhaps you think that pardon I should beg 
 For such plain speech. 
 
 Alfred. — Apology from you 
 To me ! I thought that it was understood 
 That you and I spoke soul to soul. At least, 
 These last four days that you would not admit 
 Me to your presence, I felt like polyp 
 
428 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Which a fell knife had cut in two ; one half 
 
 Thrust out its tentacles for wonted food ; 
 
 The other died. May my anxiety 
 
 Procure for me right of remonstrance ? For, 
 
 As it appears to me, the righteous law 
 
 Of wise self-preservation justifies 
 
 My interference. Great my fear that you 
 
 Study and think too much. Why do you so? 
 
 (J. I'm trying to prepare myself for some 
 Society superior to augh t 
 I yet have known — of which I hope ere long 
 I may he part. 
 
 A. You won't leave Paris soon ? 
 
 C. I can't say when. 
 
 A. You will be kind enough 
 To let me know when you will start; for I 
 Shall ask permission soon to follow you. 
 Don't be disturbed : not as a lover I 
 Shall you pursue ; but you have given me 
 Distaste for company where you are not; 
 And even when I my own company — • 
 
 C. To me it matters little when papa 
 Is ready to leave here. I have no home, 
 No country now ; but, as you know, I am 
 Quite happy, ever finding something to 
 Enjoy and, learn — 
 
 A. And new chance to do good. 
 Then the society of which you spoke 
 Is here ? 
 
 0. In Eden, and none can hide there. 
 Here, when I feel too ignorant for those 
 Who would converse with me, I sometimes seek 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 429 
 
 Refuge in silence, and so cover up 
 My ignorance. 
 
 A. Do you ? I've wondered at 
 Questions you asked on any subject whicli 
 Was new to you. I have conjectured you 
 Paraded ignorance (as others would 
 Their learning) as a penance self-enforced, 
 For your superiority to those 
 You would instruct in some important theme 
 Of higher lore. I know you are so learned 
 In things most people know, but little of, 
 That you can dare to show the world there are 
 Some topics that you have not touched. 
 
 C. You throw 
 Snow-balls at me and they look soft; but oft 
 Conceal hard stones which hurt me very much. 
 I beg you won't make me again your butt ; 
 I cannot see the fun of it. As for 
 Not making a pretence to know all things, 
 I should be sorry to be taken for 
 A fool. I liave a great distaste for those 
 Who say, " Oh yes ! " with a most knowing air, 
 To some remark they had not known, nor thought 
 Of till that hour. 
 
 A. How you do hate all sham! 
 I read this morning an idea of 
 Goethe that made me think of you. At least, 
 Admit that I am generous to give 
 You weapons. 
 
 C. Great is your desire to do 
 Me good, and make me worthier of your 
 Companionship. 
 
430 TEE CLOUD OF WITIf ESSES. 
 
 A. Thanks. {Ironically.) 
 
 C. What did Goethe say ? 
 
 A. " I hope that I may be permitted to 
 Worship Him Who was great enough, after 
 Creation of a thousand Icinds of life, 
 To make one more — Man — who comprises all." 
 
 0. You said that next to Shakespeare Goethe is 
 Your favorite. 
 
 A. He was; but now I think 
 His women are not models; I was like 
 A crudely educated artist, who 
 Takes fashion-plates with their small waists and 
 
 their 
 Insipid faces for his models till 
 He loves a real woman, or until 
 He sees a Grecian statue. Nor can I 
 Regard the German's heroes as the true 
 Ideals of a man. JSTeither can I 
 At present quite appreciate the views 
 Of love he held. When a man learns to play 
 On organ, he less taste for fiddle has. 
 
 a The violin— 
 
 A. I beg your pardon. I 
 Did not speak of the violin. Goethe 
 Is a great writer ; but can he be found 
 In "light that never was on sea or land?" 
 His shadow always is distinct enough ; 
 But I have passed from world of shadows to 
 One of realities. 
 
 C. So, then, you put 
 Imagination high above the world 
 Of sense ? 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 431 
 
 A. And over other fanctious of 
 The intellect. A dog can recollect ; 
 A chimney-swallow reason ; only man 
 Imagine what he cannot see or hear. 
 
 C. Thank you for that idea. I have hope 
 That you will be consistent, and award 
 To Faith her proper sphere. You smile. 
 
 A. Do I? 
 Did not Kovalis fly where Groethe could 
 Not crawl ? 
 
 G. Heine — 
 
 A. Oh, bah ! The tangible 
 Was to him a snail's-house, and where he passed 
 He left a slimy trail ; he had the taste 
 To walk among the flowers, although he could 
 Not tell fnngus from rose. He Dervish was ; 
 Goethe was seer. He said, " Men will become 
 More clever and acute ; not better. I 
 Foresee the time when God in them will have 
 No joy, but will break up all things" (to make 
 All new.*) He was quite sure all is planned to 
 This end. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 {Clara at the window.) 
 
 How VERT GLORIOUS THE MIDISTIGHT SKY ! 
 
 The angels sweep it with their star-gemmed robes 
 Most gracefully. I know clouds cannot stay 
 Where spirits smile their joy triumphantly; 
 The genial splendor of their I'ainbow wings 
 
 * Words inserted to suit tlie rhythm 
 
432 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Disperses ere they meet all vapoTs that 
 
 Would blur the floor of Heaven. Hasten, bright 
 
 oues ! 
 My spirit now will try to mount to you. 
 Together we shall seek "the King of kings." 
 
 Oh, I am almost home ! Soou I shall gain 
 The goal of my beclouded pilgrimage. 
 Hark ! Hark ! I hear celestial music, feel 
 The breath of cherubs on my cooling brow. 
 Why should my poor soul quail ? The Saviour's 
 
 hand 
 My hand has tightly clasped to guide me through . 
 The Valley men call dark — as if the Vale 
 Througii which a glad soul, clad in Jesu's robe, 
 Passes each hour, could lose radiance left 
 
 By trailing garments there ! 
 
 Again, my thoughts 
 Are harshly grasped by memory's stern power. 
 And my soul of its peace again bereft— 
 An eagle pinioned in an iron cage ! 
 My weakling heart, that lives within a breast 
 Of mortal birth, folding its wounded wings, 
 Falls back to the sad earth, victim to one 
 Who aims unerringly. I strive to pierce 
 The darkness that now bides the distant spot 
 Where first he took ray hand and said, Grood-bye. 
 Since then, the magnetism of his tone 
 And mind have forced my spirit lovingly 
 To seek him in the busy haunts of men; 
 But ofteuer when he is quite alone, 
 The starry sky his canopy ; no walls 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 433 
 
 But brilliant clouds to bound tlie gaze that well 
 I know must seek the things I love,, mountain 
 And stream, deep woods and flowery glen. But 
 
 now 
 Through midnight-raaze of thought — I see him 
 
 kneel, 
 Praying that Grod will His deep truths reveal. 
 Then comes the pride of intellect, the scorn 
 That proud minds feel when told that they must 
 
 lay 
 Their learning down at the Christ's feet, become 
 As docile as a child and learn of Him. 
 And dares be to deny the truths that Grod 
 Has not yet to his satisfaction proved ? 
 Ah ! now in agony too great for tears, 
 I leave him to his madness, haste to Grod 
 And ask for the proud man a boon that He 
 Hath said he never would refuse — the grace 
 That makes the foolish man who has gazed on 
 The brilliancy of Keason until it 
 Has dazzled and then blinded him, see 'tis 
 Gri-oss darkness that enshrouds his mind. It seems 
 To him so bright because he is so far 
 From God: as the night glows when day has shut 
 His eye — when there's no sun men worship stars. 
 God, show Thyself! Then will he learn what none 
 But He who made all things can ever tell 
 To a slioi-t-sighted man, who cannot pierce 
 The clouds that hide God's Throne from earth, to 
 
 rob 
 Heaven of its mysteries. 
 
 Then, like the man 
 
434 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Blind from his gloomy birth, he will in faith 
 
 Perceive what is revealed of things he can 
 
 Not see, and will believe the truths that he 
 
 Cannot explain, and call Thee, "Mighty God," 
 
 And "Prince of Peace," Man crucified for him! 
 
 My newly- wakened eye pierces tlie walls 
 
 Of that blest house where first I spoke to him, 
 
 And learned too surely Memory and he 
 
 Would never part. My spirit for his calls ; 
 
 But there is only darkness where he was. 
 
 And yet to me that darkness is most dear ; 
 
 It fills the corner where I sat with him 
 
 Last time : he is not there. I shall love it. 
 
 Oh joy ! It takes his form. How grandly speaks 
 
 The soul in that calm eye, with earthly love 
 
 Living and warm, chastened by intellect! 
 
 Darkness is not where his bright spirit is. 
 
 I am oppressed by the vibrations of 
 
 The trembling air, that strives to emulate 
 
 His noble tones, but fails and answers in 
 
 Low, saddened sighs. catch his tones, fond heart ! i 
 
 And they will echo in thy darkened cells ' 
 
 In after years, speaking most tenderly 
 
 Of visions of the past. 
 
 God, hold my soul 
 Within the hollow of Thy Hand and keep 
 Me true to Thee. I dare not give myself ,j 
 
 To one who steadfastly denies a God, j 
 
 Except as ftir as the caricatures 
 Drawn by man's hand reveal Him to the world. 
 God, send an angel to pour balmy sleep 
 On my hot, swollen eyes ! 
 
 i 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 435 
 
 Scene X. 
 
 Alfred. — I shall believe nanglit I can't compre- 
 hend. 
 
 Clara. — Then you do not believe that I can move 
 My finger, for the how you cannot know. 
 
 A. Will electric raedinm and muscle make — 
 
 C. A metaphysical hodge-podge ; but can 
 You tell what in ray brain is carried to 
 The arm ? and how it — the unknown — moves on ? 
 
 A. Like words on telegraphic wires. 
 
 C. But you 
 Can't say how they are sent. Why would not rope 
 Answer as well as wire ? Most wonderful 
 Is electricity; and no man can 
 Explain how the magnetic needle works. 
 
 A. A scientific man differs from one 
 Who is an ignoramus, in his power 
 To hide his ignorance by knowing phrase. 
 He treats the facts he is familiar with 
 As does a girl the rags she Avorks into 
 Fine dolls, and sets them up and grandly talks 
 By rules that she has learned, and then exclaims, 
 What clever children these of mine! 
 
 G. Quite true ; 
 I understand the inner life as well 
 As you the brain and heart. You touch a nerve 
 Perhaps (How do you touch it?) in my brain — 
 Electric mechanism, as I think — 
 And striiight the imperceptible sends to 
 The heart hot blood and quick. Then rushes it 
 liack to the liead ; I blush. 
 
436 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. To me a blush 
 Is song perceptible to list'ning heart. 
 But it is true no one knows how we blush. 
 
 0. You cannot comprehend my spirit at 
 Your side; then is it reasonable to 
 Expect to fathom GrOD ? You plant a seed 
 Of wheat ; out of that tiny grain comes tens 
 Of thousands — how ? 
 
 A. Sun, rain, and metals in 
 The soil — 
 
 0. Are words. You understand the growth 
 Of wheat: "evolve it out of consciousness," 
 And when you feed me on yourwheaten bread, 
 I shall let you evolve for me a god 
 Out of your consciousness. 
 
 A. Imagination is 
 The highest faculty. That can conceive 
 The growth of plants and the connection which 
 Exists between body and mind, much as 
 Musician when his hands are folded hears 
 The harmony that he imagines and 
 Will write for you to play. So writers in 
 The grandest of all books of poetry 
 Conceived the psalms and hymns to which men 
 
 preach. 
 Beethoven was inspired and so was John. 
 
 0. St. John and all of the Apostles were 
 Men ignorant of what our school-boys know. 
 Of millions of the latter never one 
 (Nor man) has written aught to be compared 
 With the New Testament. 
 
 A. Perhaps Burns is 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 437 
 
 The nearest parallel. Eead " Man was made 
 To mourn." 
 
 C. Aye, read it, and then Gro.spel of 
 St. John, chapters fourteenth to seventeenth. 
 A. John was a mystic ; for he taught that 
 Three 
 Persons are One and One Person is Three. 
 
 C. Indeed he never wrote nonsense like that. 
 He taught the Trinity — that there are three 
 Persons in God and God is One. Are not 
 You also three in one ? 
 
 A. Not I, indeed! 
 C. Body, spirit, and mind distinct, and yet 
 The three form but one man. 
 
 Scene XL 
 Alfred [alone.) 
 
 Heart, wilt thou fall in love ? I fear 
 
 I ask the question rather late. Thou art 
 
 Like child in Puritanic household reared, 
 
 Who, when he bursts from motbei-'s apron-strings, 
 
 Runs riot. I have ke]ot, thee, heart, too close. 
 
 Thou art like the balloon I saw last week ; 
 
 Monsieur Flammarion apostrophized 
 
 It ere he gave himself to its mad care. 
 
 He said, "Inert and formless thing that I 
 
 Can trample under foot, my perfect slave, 
 
 I am about to give thee life that thou 
 
 My sovereign mayst become. Thee I shall make 
 
 Yet greater than myself, and shall give up 
 
 Myself to thy (most gracious*) majesty; 
 
 * Words inserted to suit tlie rliytlim. 
 
438 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And to thy element, my kingdom, shalt 
 Thou bear. Thou shalt fly to the regions of 
 Tempests and storms, and I shall be obliged 
 To follow thee ; thy plaything I shall be ; 
 Thou shalt do what thou wilt with me." He 
 
 knew 
 All, yet, transported by his ardent zeal, 
 Inflated his balloon and soared aloft. 
 Thus do I now. The world turns round; the 
 
 clouds 
 Shoot downwards aimlessly; valleys are filled; 
 High hills are levelled to the ground. Is it 
 Not so, my heart ? And only thou and I 
 Are steadfast and intent upon one aim. 
 Man of the world I was ; now it recedes 
 And leaves me childlike at a woman's feet. 
 She visits clondland, and straightway the clouds, 
 Eosy and golden, breathing youthful breeze 
 Upon my glowing cheek, wrap me in dreams 
 And waft me to my " castles in the air." 
 The low desires of fashionable life 
 Are filled by avalanche that passion tears 
 From icy birthjjlace to o'erwhelm whate'er 
 Obstructs its path. No wonder, heart, that thou 
 Dost laugh and mock at question I asked but 
 A minute since — if thou wouldst fall in love'? 
 But are we not invigorated here 
 As no wine ever strengthened us below ? 
 I can almost believe that angels are. 
 Why not ? This time last year I had been as 
 Incredulous about a Clara as 
 I am just now of angels that she knows. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 439 
 
 Why should there not be spirits if they were 
 
 Created but to wait on such as she ? 
 
 M. Flanimarion when he was high 
 
 Enough floated between the azure dome 
 
 Of heaven and green concave of earth, and I 
 
 Thus seem to float between the heaven of 
 
 Her purity and earthliness of my 
 
 Own love. I am not giddy — no ! I leave 
 
 Sick dizziness to men who stand on height 
 
 Of earthly passion and gaze in Hell's depths. 
 
 My nature is sublimed: would Clara but 
 
 Consent to enter my domain and take 
 
 Me — king of all that I have met and passed — • 
 
 To be her slave. I would give ether to 
 
 Her until she participated in 
 
 My love sublime ; then my strong arms would 
 
 crush 
 Her being into mine and we should fall 
 Asleep and wake up nevermore. Tut! Tut! 
 My o'erwrought dream has wakened me. How 
 
 know 
 I that there is eternal sleep ? 
 
 Scene XII. 
 
 Clara {writes :) 
 
 Softly, Spirits ! very softly 
 Fold your gentle arms about me ! 
 Hovering o'er sea of Death 
 Draw I bliss-pervaded breath. 
 Cooling zephyrs flow around me 
 Mingling with mist from the sea 
 
440 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Where I know sleep all my treasures; 
 
 Yet my spirit's wiugs beat measures 
 
 Of a holy ecstasy 
 
 That she is no longer free: 
 
 For magnetic eyes have charmed me. 
 
 Lifted me before I knew it 
 
 Where the loved and loving flit 
 
 In a perfumed sea of mist — 
 
 Where love's sunbeams roses kissed. 
 
 ISTo will had I to resist, 
 
 For there was no warning made 
 
 Of aught I should be afraid. 
 
 So I let him hold my eyes ; 
 
 But I had not a surmise 
 
 That my spirit, which grief made 
 
 Crouch upon the earth, down-weighed 
 
 By the pressure of despair, 
 
 E'er could rise to what is fair. 
 
 Does the iron in the earth 
 
 Know a magnet can give birth 
 
 To a world of flowers and birds, 
 
 Meadows green and lowing herds ? 
 
 Let a strong hand throw away 
 
 Overloading earth and clay. 
 
 And a magnet hold above ! 
 
 Eyes magnetic, strong in love. 
 
 Firm in hope, now hang above 
 
 Troubled depths of Death's deep sea 
 
 And I rise obediently. 
 
 Softly, Spirits! very softly 
 
 Fold your gentle arms about me ! 
 
THE PANTREiaT. Ml 
 
 For I tremble o'er Death's sea 
 Underneatli my love and me. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ( Clara writes on a sheet of note paper :) 
 
 COME IN". 
 
 'Tis Jesus Who bids thee come in : 
 Leave outside thy woe and thy sin; 
 Seek refuge where mine long has been. 
 The Saviour took me in the ark 
 Long ere sorrow's night fell chill and dark. 
 Dear Friend, come with me and embark 
 For Eden, that no serpent's trail 
 Can mark, and where Love may avail 
 To create a home that can't fail 
 E'en when last fires devour the earth; 
 We shall safely walk in the New Birth; 
 Nor shall regret earth's perished mirth. 
 
 {Site tears up the foregoing and begins to weep.) 
 ***** 
 
 I must come back to thee, my Journal, now ; 
 For writing calms my brain as a fresh breeze 
 A clouded sky. Thank G-od that I can write ! 
 
 Oh, my soul is thkilling 
 
 With hope that will not die ; 
 And my eyes are filling 
 
 From fountains that low lie 
 The hidden life within — 
 
 As rivers come from springs 
 That in eai'th's dejitlis begin, 
 
 Or shadows from briglit wings. 
 
442 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 I know not when began 
 
 Emotions that I feel ; 
 But since'I love a man 
 
 I know I need to kneel. 
 So, peasant passing o'er 
 
 Snow-buried Alpine peak 
 
 E'en when he dares not speak, 
 Stops sometimes to adore 
 At the Madonna's shrine. 
 
 God, I cannot tell 
 Into man's ear — but Thine ! 
 
 1 love — alas ! not well. 
 I dare not speak, for fear 
 
 Truth's avalanche may fall 
 Upon my soul : a near 
 To love's sweet is its gall. 
 
 Scene XIII 
 
 ( Clara in her room. ) 
 
 Christ, " Out of mouths of babes and sucklings 
 
 hast 
 Thou praise perfected." Why not out of mine ? 
 My heart is babe, content to lie upon 
 Thy breast, my mind is suckling, nourished by 
 Thy Word. If martyr's faith for many could 
 Avail, Lord, why not mine for one ? Because 
 'Tis not so strong? Father, 'tis as strong 
 As it may be; but Thou canst strengthen it. 
 Up to my present knowledge I believe. 
 Increase my love, and make faith realize 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 443 
 
 No sparrow* falls unseen by Thee, dear Lord. 
 
 Who was It, then, avIio threw me in the path 
 
 Of first man who has roused my intellect 
 
 By casting sunlight on my heart. But he 
 
 Is Pantheist. " Lord, open thou my lips." 
 
 Sermons he scorns; but most devoutly scans 
 
 My words and looks. Alfred, for whom I pray. 
 
 Is scientific man, and I am but 
 
 A fislier in the waters where he dives 
 
 And brings up from their deptlis lore new to me. 
 
 Quite wonderful, aye, and most beautiful, 
 
 When I have washed off slime, and sand, and parts 
 
 Of rotten bodies that adhere to it. 
 
 But he is infidel, Father! that 
 
 It is Avhich hurts me so, and I believe 
 
 It hurts Thy Lovingness, dear Crucified. 
 
 Satan suggests that many prayers sent up 
 
 In faith to Thee unanswered are, and some 
 
 Were for the dead or the dead Past, that can't 
 
 Be answered now. Yet how know I but when 
 
 I get to Heaven I may perceive they were ? 
 
 And that it was only because I looked 
 
 On the wrong side I did not see how God 
 
 Had carried out my own designs — my prayers 
 
 Perfected far more beautifully than 
 
 I had dared hope ? The little child, who has 
 
 Been promised birthday party six months hence, 
 
 Oft says the time will never come, and can't 
 
 Be made to understand why he should wait. 
 
 I long for "faith that mountains can remove." 
 
 * St, Mattliew x. 29. 
 
4:4:4: THE GLOUD OF WITJVISSSES. 
 
 Yes, but mine is " like mustard-seed," says Doubt. 
 
 True; but the mustard-seed produces vine,* 
 
 In which faith's birds may sing and build their 
 
 nests. 
 If with me, who have sinned in stronger light, 
 Thou hast not patience lost, why should I fear 
 Thou hast with one against whom all perverse 
 Infliiencea have blown like desert sand 
 That heaps itself upon a temple which 
 Is uninhabited ? Fallacious phrase! 
 His soul was always temple of true God 
 Although he worshipped one whom he knew not. 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 
 Clara. — I know you are a classic scholar. Did 
 You e'er contrast the pure morality 
 And sentiments refined of St. Paul with 
 Those of vile Juvenal, or Horace, or 
 Any of the first writers of that age ? 
 And then compare the God and Saviour of 
 St. Paul with classic deities, and say 
 Whence comes the difference if it lies not 
 In nature of God manifest in Flesh 
 Contrasted Avith the gods and goddesses. 
 Offspring of minds impnre and hearts that loved 
 To see their worst faults magnified in those 
 To whom they therefore willing homage paid. 
 
 Alfred. — The Bible is a fine mythology. 
 Well merits study given classics rare. 
 
 C. You hurt me so. 
 
 * St. Mark iv. 32. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 445 
 
 A. Then I shall not speak in 
 This strain again. We'll talk of what we can 
 Agree upon. Forget what I have said. 
 G. That I cannot. 
 
 A. Alas ! Nor can I, now ; 
 I've gone too far to stop. 
 
 {Absently, as if looTcing in his heart : then 
 to her :) 
 
 Miss More, you'll read 
 Some books of mine ? 
 
 G. If you will read those that 
 I'll lend to you. 
 
 A. I will. 'Twill be a bore; 
 But as I challenged, you have right to set 
 The terms. Bah ! But your books will be a bore. 
 And are you not afraid some seeds from mine 
 May spring up in your brain and crowd out Faith ? 
 C. No. For the ground of my mind is o'ersown 
 With violets — scentless and wild — but quite 
 Tenacious of birth -rights ; while your mind was 
 Too barren of humility, and so 
 There was enough space for all kinds of seeds ; 
 And some were innocent and very fine, 
 And some grew to be beautiful, but they 
 Were adders' tongues. Your intellect is still 
 Eich ground, unsown with spiritual seeds 
 And therefore free and open to all new 
 Ideas, whether they will germinate 
 In life or death. 
 
 A. But death to me is naught. 
 
446 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Q. Blindness is naught to babe at mother's 
 breast. 
 Oh, inconsistency! Yon vaunt the power 
 Of Eeason over Faith, yet are content 
 To hold that yours will die like a poor dog's. 
 Highest philosophies (like that of Kant) 
 Such skepticism as yours would destroy, 
 For Kant proclaims Reason is powerless 
 To guide the soul beyond the paths that sense 
 Can designate. 
 
 A. Is that his theory ? 
 
 C. Profoundest mind is like a well-trained child; 
 What is the former but a child well trained 
 By studies and by discipline of life ? 
 Kant says that Reason must annihilate 
 A shallow unbelief as well in Grod 
 As in itself, and will restore Faith to 
 Its throne. 
 
 A. What are chief objects of that Faith ? 
 
 0. First Grod, then immortality. 
 
 A. But did 
 Not he confess he could not demonstrate 
 Being of God. 
 
 C. He did, and with the same 
 Cool subtlety of intellect asserts 
 That you His non-existence cannot prove. 
 
 A. That clinches pride of argument and me 
 Confounds. For sooth I said that I would not 
 Believe what never could be proved, and yet 
 I can't disprove there is a God, Who was 
 Jehovah to the Jews, to Christians is 
 Emmanuel. Whv raise you thankful eyes? 
 
 i. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. ^447 
 
 Do yoii forget that when you pass blue sky 
 You enter a black Toid ? 
 
 C. But shall not stay 
 Therein. I shall pass on to regions of 
 The stars. 
 
 A. You are poetical. 
 
 C. Am not 
 I true to what astronomy doth teach ? 
 Tyndall * may climb on earthly mountain-top 
 Beyond fair fleecy clouds and azure air, 
 And there may stay in search of science till 
 She freezes him to death. Newton at his 
 Good pleasure quietly sits down to learn 
 What science can reveal when he assists 
 Her utterance with eye and ear of faith ; 
 He penetrates beyond the indigo 
 And death-compelling atmosphere of earth, 
 Into an empyrean where gold suns 
 And worlds dance in sublimest rhythm to 
 K simple law of Grod. 
 
 A. My priestess, don't 
 Get lost star-gazing, and forget that Kant 
 Is present theme. 
 
 C. He says, the fact that he 
 Is conscious of the moral law is thing 
 Against which infidels have nothing to 
 Do battle with. And Pantheism finds 
 ^No more respect at Schlegel's hands. He says, 
 (Eemember, I do not) that it is quite 
 
 * I hope this reference to Mr. Tyndall is not impertinent ; 
 he is only a representative man to my mind, and a favorite 
 writer. 
 
4:4:8 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Destructiye of the moral sense, and is 
 Productive of indifference to right 
 And wrong. 
 
 A. Whew! Think of Christian going to 
 Such German infidels for weapons to 
 Fight the " good fight " of Truth ! 
 
 C. Because you can't 
 Say they were prejudiced in favor of 
 Eevealed truths, and that they feared to use 
 Their reason in the war 'twixt God and man. 
 A. Your faith is so secure. 
 
 G. Firm now, because 
 It has been battered like a bird in storm 
 At sea until it took safe refuge in 
 Christ's Ark. 
 
 A. I, with great Sophocles, exclaim, 
 " Oh, that my lot might lead me to the path. . . 
 Which august laws ordain, which had their birth 
 In highest Heaven ! " 
 
 C. And that a heathen said? 
 Can quote more of his writings ? for I know 
 Him not at all. 
 
 A. I shall, although I give 
 You a new stone to fling at me. He adds, 
 " Neither did race of mortal man beget 
 Those laws, nor shall oblivion lay them down 
 To sleep. In them the power of God is great, 
 And grows not old." * 
 
 * As quoted Mr. M. Arnold, in a number of the Living 
 Age. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 449 
 
 Scene XV. 
 
 Alfred (alone:) 
 
 This woman to me represents the dawn. 
 
 After mj youth had passed in one glad day. 
 
 Like Adam's first in Paradise, I fell 
 
 Asleep, weary of glare importunate 
 
 That hurt my spirit's eyes. I was a man, 
 
 Was tired of ball and balls, of marbles and 
 
 Of feast, and lay down listlessly, spoiled child 
 
 Of luxury and self-indulgence — bah I 
 
 Better than worldling's emptiness of mind, 
 
 His flightiness of heart was reticent 
 
 And learned skepticism. While the long 
 
 Night lasted I had most hideous dreams of 
 
 Chaos wherein my soul was lost ; this gave 
 
 'No more concern than if a pebble fell 
 
 From my limp hand. Sometimes I wearied of 
 
 The darkness, roused and trimmed a lamp left to 
 
 Me by long-buried ancestors, and sought 
 
 In old philosophies for a new truth. 
 
 Ofttimes my dreams were frightful, but again 
 
 Chained fancy burse her metaphysic bonds 
 
 And looked for former life ; but in new guise. 
 
 Knowing the old could not replace the new 
 
 Unless I could become a boy again — 
 
 The last thing that I consciously would do. 
 
 With toys and flirts, with fables and with dance 
 
 I'd done. Like sculptor of past times, I made 
 
 A woman for myself — no Venus, nor 
 
 Minerva, Marv Ann, nor Blanche. I called 
 
450 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 For Eve, wise and immaculate. Then smiled 
 In queer self-pity at last whim, and trimmed 
 Old Learning's lamp ; pressed fancy down 
 In new Pandora-box, and turned to things 
 Of sight and touch ; became a scientist. 
 Still, the night lasted ; though I could not sleep, 
 I ceased to feel impatience with the world ; 
 Was satisfied with heaps of facts by which 
 I demonstrated changeless laws. I was 
 Content to be a man, because I learned. 
 But gradually counter-light dawned on 
 My soul. I knew not clearly whether lamp 
 More brightly burned, or whether a new beam 
 Fell on worn page of old humanity. 
 I turned and knew my Eve. Another day 
 Had dawned. I felt like Adam when he saw 
 The first sunrise. My soul awoke ; my heart 
 Began to carol like the early birds. 
 My Eve, unconscious that she was the dawn, 
 Healed my sick mind with healthy beam. We 
 lived. 
 
 Scene XVI. 
 
 Glara {alone:) 
 
 LOED, MY GrOD ! I AM SO WEAK AN"D WEE ; 
 
 Life's winds blow o'er me, and reluctantly 
 
 1 am swept here and there, but have no power 
 To stand or walk on ; I bend like a flower. 
 Help me to stand, Lord ! Thou will'st alone — 
 For those who cherish me to Thee have flown. 
 Then patient be with me, nor heed my falls ; 
 
 I am so feeble that e'eu Love appals ; 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 451 
 
 I fear to grasp it lest I should mistake 
 
 A figment of my brain for its namesake. 
 
 Too many women wed not what they see, 
 
 But a delusive, baseless fantasy. 
 
 Besides, my life is consecrate to Thee; 
 
 I will not wed unless Thou givest me 
 
 Away as fathers do. I'm in Thy Hands ; 
 
 And waiting for Thy Word, my spirit stands, 
 
 Eeady to take a " Sister's " heavy load 
 
 And walk alone and burdened on life's road. 
 
 But glancing furtively at easy lot, 
 
 Where gentle hands would cool my forehead 
 
 hot 
 With piercing pain begot by memory. 
 And one has shown how sweet his sympathy; 
 Percliance, he'd lure me by love's wistful tale 
 To shut my wakeful eyes to spectres pale. 
 That ever clasp their hands my heart around. 
 Until it sometimes feels it must rebound 
 Into life's joyous ways, or else lie down 
 To its last sleep, forgotten woman's crown. 
 I shrink from either wife's or "sister's" lot: 
 Could I remain as now ? Father ! not 
 Eebellious am I to the fate I see ; 
 But ere an orphan, Jesus strengthen me. 
 
 Is it a sad necessity to give 
 
 Him up ? It may not be. I shall write Christ 
 
 Another prayer : she who knocked oft and 
 
 did 
 Not tire was heard at last. May not I be ? 
 
462 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 ( Writes again :) 
 
 Of my suffering hea.rt 
 
 The " holy of holies," my God, is Thine ; 
 
 But I think earthly love should have its part — 
 
 The second place in my lone temple-heart. 
 
 Yea, love should abide in the holy place 
 
 Until it drives thence all feelings more base. 
 
 {Tliroios down paper and pencil^ 
 
 I cannot write. I'll go in the next room 
 
 And see if my piano cannot bring 
 
 Me a sweet dream while I lie on the breast 
 
 Of music, as I used to lie upon 
 
 The bosom of mamma when I was sad. 
 
 {Glara turns over her music and sings 
 " The Rose-bush.") 
 
 Although that is so very beautiful, 
 
 It does not satisfy. It should end thus : 
 
 COLD-DEAPED IN" SNOW STANDS "THE ROSE-BUSH 
 
 FAIR ; " 
 But ruby wings melt the clear blue air. 
 While bows in anguish a widowed form : 
 The one she loved had wrought her harm. 
 And the years glide by. 
 
 Another grave by the "rose-bush fair," 
 Another spirit in blue mid-air! 
 Two wing their way to their Father's Breast, 
 With true love's eternal rapture blest. 
 
 And the years stand still. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 453 
 
 {Alfred has prevented the servant's an- 
 nouncing him ; she noiv opens the 
 door. ) 
 A. Your tones are like the dew that falls upon 
 A wilted flower, and it revives although 
 The hour be dark. 
 
 C. Good evening. Had I known 
 That you were nea.r I had not chosen song 
 So sad. 
 A. You've covered Death's gaunt form with 
 flowers, 
 And in Death's-head have put a scroll on which 
 Is written poetry. How strange this is ! 
 
 61 Death is but a continuation of 
 This life. Disease or accident throws wide 
 The gate, and we pass to the other side 
 To realize all we have questioned here. 
 The islander longs for wide continent; 
 Death sends life- boat to bear him o'er rough waves 
 To haven of delight, and he shrinks back 
 Enamored of the company of toads 
 And water-snakes, and shuts his stupid ears 
 To dulcet warblings on the far-off shore. 
 
 Scene XVIL 
 Clara {reading a letter from Alfred:) 
 Miss More, by bearer of this note please send 
 Me back those books of Infidelity 
 I lent to you last week. I feel as if 
 I had spread arsenic on cake to make 
 A child eat it and die. 
 
 Well, that was not 
 
454 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 The word I meant to write — but let it be ! 
 
 You wish to know what has come over me ? 
 
 Last night I came back from Marseilles, and in 
 
 The carriage with me was a being of 
 
 Your sex (you cannot help her sex), and she 
 
 Had two sweet children, boy and girl, who talked 
 
 About good fairies, and the mother smiled. 
 
 Then the boy to his sister said, "Maurice 
 
 Told me some stories prettier than these; " 
 
 And he gave childish version of what Church 
 
 Of Rome tells of Cecilia ; then I thought, 
 
 Prettier are the Church's fairy-tales 
 
 Than are the world's. The mother turned with 
 
 sneer 
 And ridiculed her son, and said she was 
 Ashamed that he should try to teach a girl 
 Such stuff. The little dear lifted her eyes 
 (Were they your color, that I thought of you ?) 
 And said, " My good mamma, it is unkind 
 To tell me that Jean's story is not true; 
 I had made up my mind that I should sing- 
 To angels when I am afraid at night." 
 Another lady begged the mother not 
 To try to take the light out of the world 
 In which her children lived, and added, with 
 A sigh, " I know a man who did the same. 
 And when his son committed suicide 
 He left a note in which he said, As there 
 Is no God in the Heaven to help a man 
 Who is disgusted with the world, I shall 
 Lie down and sleep for aye." But then began 
 The horrid creature who a mother is, 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 455 
 
 To argue infidelity, and she, 
 
 Knowing I am an unbeliever, called 
 
 On me to help her argument ; but not 
 
 Until she had disgusted me with Paine, 
 
 And Eousseau, and Voltaire. My answer was 
 
 To take the little girl upon my knee 
 
 (I should have liked to kiss her eyes, but felt 
 
 Unworthy). I said, "Dear child, I know 
 
 That there are angels, for I have seen one." 
 
 She clapped her hands and cried, " Show him to 
 
 me." 
 " She will not let me see her wings because 
 When I was little I was naughty, and 
 Said that there were no angels ; but if you 
 Will but believe there are, some day when you 
 Are in Bois du Boulogne, I shall take there 
 A lady who has seen their wings and talked 
 With them, and she will tell you what they said." 
 Were my eyes angry that the mother blushed 
 When I put her child in her lap, and said, 
 " Madam, I do not know whether God wrote 
 The Bible; but surely He the children made" ? 
 Miss More, there never was iconoclast 
 So despicable as the man who strives to hurl 
 A woman from tlie pedestal of faith 
 And piety into the dust about 
 His feet, that he may lift her np and hold 
 Her on a level with his heart. I wish 
 I could believe that I might elevate 
 My spirit to your height; but as I can't, 
 Oh, shine on me as the sun shines upon 
 The blind, who feels, although he cannot see! 
 
456 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 What, if yon are mistaken ? So, of old 
 Were the astrologers, who spent their nights 
 Communing with the stars. Surely they were 
 Superior to men who revelled through 
 The hours of darkness. I'm no reveller; 
 But scientific books seem gas-lights now. 
 Eespectfully, 
 
 Alfred Clark. 
 
 Scene XYIII. 
 Alfred {alone.) 
 
 I must be cautious with her for a while, or else 
 
 The tender plant of woman's confidence 
 
 Will wither to the root, and, I fear, die. 
 
 Thus woolly snow covers but to protect 
 
 The flowers that otherwise harsh winds would kill. 
 
 If both survive until the afternoon 
 
 Of life, perhaps, love's sun may suddenly 
 
 Flash forth and melt the snow, and overflow 
 
 Her being Avith an avalanclie of hot, 
 
 Eemorseless passion that she can't resist. 
 
 Enough of snch palavering, fool-heart ! 
 
 I'll look a hero in the face, and try 
 
 To catch his spirit. Where is Corneille's Cid ? 
 
 {After reading a short while, he writes on 
 a fly-leaf:) 
 "My sweetest hope is to lose hope:' 
 
 Guizot condemns this thought. 
 I think he would not, had he known 
 The mischief hope hath wrought. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 45 Y 
 
 Oft one, till he exhausts his strength, 
 High mountain seeks to climb ; 
 
 Loses, perchance, a limb, as he 
 Has lost his hope and time. 
 
 'Twould have been better had he hud 
 
 No hope of scaling height ; 
 'Tis better to give up a deed 
 
 For which we have not might. 
 
 So, since I love, hope tortures me, 
 
 Inciting to rash deed ; 
 My greatest wish is to lose hope 
 
 That love no more may bleed 
 
 On pilgrimages where hope leads. 
 And mind's powers have no scope 
 
 I'd rest now, if I had no guide ; 
 " My hope is to lose hope." 
 
 Bah ! That is poetry. I do not wish 
 To lose the one hope — for old age — that is 
 To cheat the intervening years. To cheat ? 
 I fear that will be all. At any rate, 
 I should not like to see the sun put out 
 Because I know that I can never reach 
 To it. Not for the pleasures of a man 
 Of fashion would I give up secret that 
 "Will be an altar in my heart when to 
 Man's eye it will seem but a ruined fane. 
 
458 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene XIX. 
 
 Alfred. — God answers prayer, you say. What a 
 great Grod 
 To change His high decrees to please — 
 
 Glara. — His child, 
 A spoiled one, too ; much has He favored rae. 
 
 A. I scarcely should presume to try to change 
 Your sentiments; for fickle you are not. 
 
 C. Are my ears deaf to argument ? Or, would 
 You hint that obstinacy more befits 
 A God than condescension ? 
 
 A. I believe 
 That all things are predestinated and 
 Governed by changeless Laws. 
 
 C. Your Deity 
 Is slave caught in inextricable coils 
 That he unwittingly hath spun. Ifj such 
 Was my idea of the God I could 
 Not worship Him. Indeed I should myself 
 Be far more powerful than he, because 
 I can transgress eternal Laws ; and you 
 Say He cannot. A paralytic G-;>d 
 Could not inspire me with much love; but Kant 
 Was willing to concede that there is no 
 Sufficient reason to deny that there 
 Have been true miracles. Miraculous 
 To me are many metaphysic books, 
 For they oft set aside natural laws 
 Of reason and experience. Some men 
 When led by argument nearly to God, 
 Will crab-fish sidewise, backwards, any way 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 459 
 
 But forwards honestly, if they may plunge 
 Into a hole in which His glory can 
 Not penetrate. 
 
 A. 'Tis not dishonesty, 
 But their humility which keeps men back 
 From God. 
 
 C. Are skeptics, then, less proud than 
 those 
 Men who believe? Read Fichte and St. Paul, 
 And, by-the-by, compare the doctrine of 
 The Trinity with " Science of Knowledge/' 
 And see which asks the most credulity. 
 And which is the most hard to comprehend. 
 I can believe when a God speaks although 
 I cannot understand; but when man speaks ] 
 
 I can't believe till I can comprehend i 
 
 That his incomprehensibility j 
 
 Is not inherent in his argument. - \ 
 
 A. In the last statement you are right ; ! 
 
 But in the first I question if you are. \ 
 
 C. If I Avere blind should I be wise to say ! 
 
 There are not seven coloi'S in the bow \ 
 
 Because I could see none ? Where I am blind. 
 Being quite dazzled by excess of light, I 
 
 St. Paul hath gazed with open eyes. j 
 
 A. So has I 
 
 Spinoza, whom I spent the last night with. j 
 
 His mind is a great light and is divine, [ 
 
 Being, as he has taught, a part of God. j 
 
 C. You are unjust. You know Spinoza would i 
 
 Not, as you have just done, confound the part i 
 
 As a part, with the whole as the whole. For \ 
 
460 TEE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 None can more clearly mark the boundary 
 Between the Deity and man. 
 
 A. And do 
 You really suppose you can change God 
 By prayer ? 
 
 0. Not quite this. But did you believe 
 that you 
 Could change the mind of your wise governor, 
 When you petitioned him to save a man 
 Condemned to die ? 
 
 A. The voice of mercy might 
 Be heard, though justice had decreed his fate. 
 
 C. Am I too credulous to think G-od is 
 As tender-hearted as your Seymour is ? 
 If I offended you I should pray you 
 To pardon me. The nature of your mind 
 I should not change; my altered attitude 
 To you would bring about the answer of 
 My prayer. That God should be inferior 
 To you I can't admit. How strange that you. 
 Who have such admiration for great minds 
 And noble lives, should shut your heart to Christ ! 
 
 A. Not Socrates, nor other worthy of 
 The past or present can compare with Him. 
 The Jews had made Him King had He not felt 
 Great Osesar His inferior. Had He 
 But used the power — let it be what it might — ^ 
 That acted on imagination of 
 The sick, and cured their ills— 
 
 C. And acted quite 
 As powerfully on the dead — 
 
 A. Whatever was 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 461 
 
 Tlie power, noue who accepts the facts 
 
 Of history can doubt, that had He used 
 
 His influence to put a diadem 
 
 Upon His Head He had not later worn 
 
 A crown of thorns. With Rousseau I exclaim, 
 
 " He was a god" — fit god for Pantheist. 
 
 C. Was not His constant " interference with 
 The Laws of Nature " when He cured the blind 
 And maimed, below the dignity of God ? 
 
 A. You cannot think it was. 
 
 0. I have heard you 
 And other Pantheists assert as much, 
 When One Unseen thiuks He may exercise 
 The right, that any man may have, to change 
 An instrument He made. 
 
 A. No : we deny 
 That the Invisible descends to earth, for we 
 Profess to deal with only facts. 
 
 C. With facts 
 That you can see, hear, smell, or taste ; but what 
 Of other faots — as real, though they are 
 ISTot tangible — of thought and heart ? Can your 
 Poor Positive Philosophy give me 
 A positive reply to questions such 
 As, Why do I love poetry ? Why do 
 You hate a toad, that to my mind suggests 
 A pleasant thought of shaded lane at home? 
 Why is blue soothing to my eye, while yours 
 Craves red ? All these are facts, and what you call 
 Philosophy takes no note of them and 
 Their like. Wise men! fit to dress dolls and set 
 Them up to suit your taste ; but not to guide 
 
462 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sweet children, whose most positive demands 
 
 Are for imagination, trnst, and love. 
 
 You deal with facts; then' take a frightened 
 
 child 
 And tell him there is nothing in the dark ; 
 He will not heed; but deal with him as God 
 Hath done with me — let angels fill the blank. 
 And he will go to sleep, not fret nor fear. 
 
 Scene XX. 
 Clara's Vigil. 
 
 Stern duty bids me close my eyes 
 
 And rest, for I need sleep to night ; 
 Therefore, afar from me it flies. 
 
 True despot, wanton in its flight. 
 I'm punished that my tears rebel — 
 
 For very much I long to weep ; 
 And yet I try my woe to quell 
 
 Till I can meekly go to sleep. 
 Upon my brain hot torpor lies. 
 
 And my heart hears footsteps of Fate. 
 Ah, how the salt tears pain my eyes, 
 
 Slowly falling with mystic weight, 
 Fearing to touch my cold, cold hand 
 
 That in the darkness is stretched out 
 Vainly towards the Better Laud 
 
 From this fog-realm of sin and doubt! 
 Oh, for the winsome visions bright 
 
 I have had of heavenly things ! 
 Could they but come to me this night 
 
 Uprising like rejoicing wings 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 463 
 
 Of my Gruardian most holy, 
 
 Joying in their own reflection 
 And fraught with celestial glory ; 
 
 Filling me with warm affection 
 For all beings pure and holy, 
 My soul, with aspirations grand, 
 
 Would rise to mingle with the throng 
 That Cometh from the Spirits' land 
 
 Crowding out sin and pain and wrong. 
 And my sore heart, with stilled longing. 
 
 Hushed by pleasing expectation 
 Of an endless, cloudless morning, 
 
 Might find some alleviation 
 For its unexpressed sighing 
 
 That very soon it may go hence 
 To a sphere above us lying. 
 
 That it may come in glory thence, 
 
 Furnished with subtle influence. 
 To act upon my dear one's thoughts — 
 
 Draw them to the celestial shore 
 Where sensitive and gentle hearts 
 
 For friend's sin will weep nevermore ; 
 Suspicion, pride and auger dead. 
 Their cherished secrets may be read 
 
 And understood for evermore. 
 ****** 
 
 I LOOKED UPON HIS TRANQUIL FACE, 
 
 Thought-shaded, as by veil of lac- 
 Which could not hide his heart from me, 
 Although he deemed I could not see. 
 My spirits fell, presaging dim 
 Enchantment, as tliough cloister-hymn — 
 
464 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Meant only for the singer's ear 
 
 And the deaf heart upon the bier — 
 
 Wafted to me by wings of night 
 
 Had raised my soul to mystic height. 
 
 It was as if dim candles burned 
 
 Round my heart, that in cold trance yearned 
 
 To comfort him who mourned for me — 
 
 Love feels much others cannot see. 
 
 But I dared not to let him know 
 
 The life which burned with smouldered glow. 
 
 So, my heart simulated death 
 
 Although it heard his heaving breath ; 
 
 Alas ! so dead it seemed to be 
 
 He groaned and went away from me. 
 
 Scene XXL. 
 
 Clara. — I wonder now how many angels are 
 In this small room. 
 
 Alfred. — Just one: no more. 
 C. I feel 
 Quite sure that more are here. Do you suppose 
 That yon have none ? 
 
 A. I have one, and I want 
 No more. 
 
 O. Do not you wish that they would make 
 Themselves now visible ? 
 
 A. Mine is ; but knows 
 Not that she is an angel well revealed. 
 
 C. Oh pshaw ! I was not joking. Truly I spoke 
 Of what I often think. We are quite sure 
 The holy angels have in keeping all 
 Who are dear to the Lord. 
 
 I 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 465 
 
 A . Why did He wait 
 So long ere He sent mine to me ? Believe 
 Me that I should have been far different 
 From what I am if I had known you long. 
 Did you e'er fancy yourself priestess to 
 A heathen goddess when the world was full 
 Of poetry, and credulous as youth 
 In love for the first time ? 
 
 C. JSTo. I have said 
 I should have soorned such drunken brutes as 
 
 Mars 
 And Bacchus ; J.upiter was monster vile, 
 Who had his birth in dirty brains, was shaped 
 By vengeful hands ; but I conjecture that 
 I should have worshipped sun, moon, stars. Do 
 
 you 
 Presume the world had ever more of faith 
 And poetry than it has now ? To me 
 There is no false religion half as full 
 Of poetry and beauty as the true ; 
 Compare our common poets with the great 
 Bards of the classic age, and you will see 
 A truer love for nature now than then. 
 Of the most superstitious heathen take 
 Those fullest of credulity, and see 
 If they have faith like saints of modern age. 
 A. I should have ridiculed opinions sucli 
 As those a year ago ; but I have found 
 A mystic and a saint. Valerian 
 Am I; Cecilia you; and I believe. 
 
 C. Why will you always mock mo when I an: 
 In earnest ? 
 
4,Q(i THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A. Mock! Mock you! 
 
 0. You treat me as 
 A little girl who tells about her dolls ; 
 You would not hurt my feelings for the world. 
 
 A. Did yon e'er estimate the reverence 
 That man feels for a child ? I could adore 
 The Babe of Bethlehem ; and, as I am 
 True man, there is naught like contempt for 
 
 one 
 Who stands on pinnacle from whence I fell. 
 Now may I answer question that you asked ? — 
 Whether the old religions had more faith 
 And poetry than has the new ? I must 
 Confess, its beauty I suspected not 
 Until I found it well daguerreotyped 
 In you ; now dare I hope its poetry 
 I yet may leai'u : translations of no kind 
 Do I appreciate ; originals 
 Or none for me ! 
 
 C. I do not catch your thought. 
 
 A. The epic Jesus traced on hearts of men 
 The modern priests translate according to 
 The fashions that prevail where they abide ; 
 But the original they cannot read. 
 You can — 
 
 C. Forbear ! Do not add blasphemy 
 To slander of the men I reverence 
 Next to my God. 
 
 A. At present I am in 
 The state of priest of Dian, who can well 
 Believe her mysteries, because I learned 
 Them in the moonlight of her presence fair: 
 
THE PANTREI8T. 467 
 
 Wli ether there is a Jove who may be proved 
 To boast of fatherhood, concerns me not. 
 Diana is my goddess, and rewards 
 By making herself visible in you. 
 
 .C. Extravagance like yours I never heard. 
 Is such your temperament ? 
 
 A. You may decide. 
 I wish I was as strong and self-contained 
 As you. 
 
 C. If I seem strong, it is not that 
 I am; but I am upborne on the Heart 
 Of One Who is in Himself strength. You call 
 My nature self-contained. As is the sea 
 That dashes o'er its bounds to be thrown back, 
 Loud murmuring, leaving quite desolate 
 And dry the sandy shore. But One then says 
 To restless waves of passion, that scorn leash 
 Held by man's hand — " Peace ! Peace ! Be still ! " 
 
 No more 
 The billows rage, my passions cease to fume. 
 
 A. 'Tis strange that one as old in years and 
 
 thought 
 Should talk so childishly. Do you believe 
 That Jove concerns himself about your tears? 
 
 (7. No. I believe, nay, I will say, I know 
 That God the Crucified loves me, and sees 
 My tears and feels each human echo of 
 The sighs He breathed in sad Gethsemane. 
 I shall be in my dotage when I am 
 Too old to kneel at Father's Feet, and hope 
 To lie on mother's breast. 
 
 A. And do you then 
 
468 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Expect to see her when you lie close-sealed 
 In casket strong, and she in hers is dust ? 
 
 C. T lie in grave ? ]^ot I ! JSTor lies she there. 
 To-night I shall throw off this dress, and ere 
 Again I put it on it will be cleansed 
 And fresh. So when my body lies down in 
 The ground for earth's last sleep I shall await 
 A body purified and strong and fresh. 
 
 A. But when it has decayed — oh, hateful thought ! 
 I cannot tolerate it, my beloved ! 
 If I had power like (rod's, or if He loved 
 You as I love, your tender form would be 
 Embalmed by nature's hand, nor know decay. 
 
 C. Then, when my breath had flown, my body 
 would 
 Be raree-show for children to point at 
 With an inquiring gaze. The forethought of 
 My Father pleaseth more — better be dust 
 And soil for flowers than mummy, though I were 
 Then fair. And if I was preserved in flesh. 
 So all would be — the maimed and the deformed ; 
 And earth would be only foul nightmare's quest. 
 
 A. If I were God, you should not die at all. 
 
 C. Thank God you are not God to keep me here 
 When I shall be decrepit, tired of life ; 
 And you as old and gray, and bent and cross ! 
 
 A. But we would not grow old. 
 
 C. We are not young 
 At present ; yet I should not grateful be 
 To you for youth restored. 
 
 A. 1 would not have 
 You younger thjui you are. I am not boy 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 469 
 
 To want a doll, nor e'en pet bird ; nor youth 
 To sigh for a Euphrosyue, about 
 Whose witless path I'd scatter flowers. We would 
 Be ever as we are. 
 
 C. Think yet again ; 
 And if yon are of the same mind at end 
 Of these five months, write that wish out 
 And lay it up and read it five years hence. 
 
 A. What wish, then, shall I make for you ? 
 
 a That God 
 Will keep my womanhood as happy as 
 My girlhood and my babyhood, and that 
 My old age may be quite as short as to 
 Him seemeth good. I cannot understand 
 Why some prefer age and decrepitude 
 To immortality and fadeless health ; 
 Bleared eyes and full of rlieum, to eagle-gaze; 
 A limping gait and crutch, to buoyant wings; 
 Dull ears, that scarcely recognize 
 The dearest voice, to sounds of harmony 
 And love. 
 
 A. Enthusiast, you make me sad. 
 A childish heart like yours should never feel 
 The many woes that you have had to bear ; 
 If your God were the God of your enthused 
 Imagination, would He have let you 
 Know such agonies as rend strong hearts in twain ? 
 
 C. They necessary were to training for 
 The seat I crave, low at His feet. 
 
 A. I would 
 I had been trained for life as you have been ! 
 •A charactfr like vours to mv mind is 
 
4Y0 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Sublime as strange. My parents nurtured me 
 
 To pamper self; and till I knew you I 
 
 Had scarcely thought save what was worthy of 
 
 My manhood, and how best I could exalt 
 
 My character and elevate my mind. 
 
 Unto mysL4f I was my god ; I was 
 
 To high self-culture devotee; adored 
 
 With Goethe and more modern men of same 
 
 Unselfish school, only ideal that 
 
 I — and they too, perhaps — had set before 
 
 My eyes as splendid goal ; but when 
 
 You 0:1 me my character seemed mire by your 
 
 Sweet purity, my philosophic calm 
 
 A stoicism foolish as inert. 
 
 In short, all the hard-bought results 
 
 Of manhood's discipline became as naught 
 
 Weighed in cool balance with your — 
 
 a Piety. 
 If I have made impression such as you 
 Portray, it is only because you see 
 In me reflection turbid, very faint 
 Of what the Saviour hath made me long for. 
 I am like little maid who went to serve 
 In house of Naaman ; a noble lord, 
 Mighty in battle; but a leper was 
 He none the less, and he was heathen, too. 
 The girl was Jew, and to her mistress said, 
 " Would God my lord were with our Prophet in 
 Samaria ! He would recover liim 
 Of his (vile)* leprosy." Naaman heard 
 
 * Word inserted or altered to suit the rhvtlini. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 471 
 
 Her words, and to her owed his cure. Know jou 
 The remedy? 
 
 A. I don't. 
 
 C. Elishabade 
 Him bathe in Jordan and he should be cleansed. 
 
 A. He mocked the mighty lord. 
 
 G. So he said; but 
 His servants argued well, "If the wise man 
 Had bid thee do some mighty thing, would'st thou 
 Not have complied ? Much rather, therefore, when 
 He saith to thee. Wash and be clean." Then he 
 Obeyed, and " his flesh came again like flesh 
 Of little child." Do not you see what I, 
 A simple maid of Christ, would do for you ? 
 
 A. What? 
 
 G. I would have you bathe in Jesu's Blood 
 The heart for which He longs, and bow your head 
 To sacramental wave of righteousness. 
 
 A. You did not let me finish what I had 
 Begun — confession of my selfish life. 
 I shall now ; for your absolution I 
 Desire if you will set me penance true. 
 My aspirations noble once appeared ; 
 But now I realize that they are wings 
 Of ostrich, competent to help me on 
 A worldly path of sense, but impotent 
 To raise my spirit to companionship 
 Of your aspiring flight o'er joys of sense. 
 To me you are not so much woman as 
 An influence. I do not ask your hand ; 
 I only crave to breathe your words, and sun 
 Mv heart. Ion 2; frozen to the core, in vour 
 
472 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Most spiritual presence. Do not spurn 
 Me, Lazarus, who ask not once to gain 
 A foothold in your heart. I only beg- 
 To lie low at your feet and eat the crumbs 
 That from your lips may fall. My beautiful ! — 
 Why do you smile so scornfully ? 
 
 C. Sadly and in self-pity ; for I had 
 Supposed that I had found a real friend : 
 Tut ! You are but a beau. And so, do not 
 Expect me to pick up the pretty words 
 You let fall at my feet ; at you I will 
 Not sneer. 
 
 A. Why not ? 
 
 C. Because I pray for you, 
 Rashly I spoke, for I offence had given. 
 
 A. Offence. Oh, woman! At the foolstool 
 of 
 Your God, do you ne'er turn your eyes away 
 From vision that you have called up ? Thus I 
 Have done. Can pain offended seem ? 
 
 C. You were not made for visionary, so 
 You play that part ungracefully. Let us 
 Return to theme more suitable. 
 
 A. Not till 
 I make you understand that I am quite 
 Incapable of flattering, at least. 
 The women of your class. I say that you 
 Are beautiful — not to the artist's eye, 
 But to the poet's sense; and though I can 
 Not write grand rhymes, I can read poetry ; 
 And you are my iVurora Leigh, although 
 I am not Romney, nor desire to be. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 473 
 
 To me yoa are a poem yisible. 
 A tear! 
 
 C. You've seen it, then ? So, now I dare 
 To speak. 
 
 A. Do not; becanse your voice is choked. 
 Do not while that bright spark is in your eye. 
 C. You are — 
 
 A. Don't go ! Don't be afraid of me. 
 I shan't presume to play the lover, so 
 Sit down again, 
 
 G. Not to be ridiculed. 
 Good-bye. I'm going to the Louvre. Excuse 
 My leaving you. 
 
 A. May I not walk with you ? 
 C. I beg your pardon. Not to-day. 
 
 Scene XXII. 
 
 {Alfred's soliloquy, as he leaves the Hotel.) 
 
 I promised not to play the lover. 'Tis 
 
 Not likely that a man with broken back 
 
 Will ask for partner in a dance. But what 
 
 A fool to startle her from the most sweet 
 
 Simplicity of mutual confidence ! 
 
 While I talked to her as man would to man — 
 
 If he could find one pure as womanhood — 
 
 She talked to me as she to woman would, 
 
 If she could find one like her and unlike. 
 
 Oh, foolish heart, my secret to betray ! That tear ! 
 
 It puzzles me. Did jny words move her so ? 
 
 And if they did, then why ? At least, one tiling 
 
 Is clear. She would not listen patiently 
 
4:74: THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 If I should woo ; but that I dare not do. 
 
 Did not I make a vow, when I stood by 
 
 The grave of my last brother's child, I would 
 
 Not do what father did — beget a lot 
 
 Of children to drag painfully through few 
 
 But weighty years, and prematurely die, 
 
 Worn out with curse bequeathed by one who can 
 
 Call foul corruption his twin-sister? Bah! 
 
 My brothers' seed died in weak infancy ; 
 
 With me shall die the penalty of sin. 
 
 No child shall curse me for the legacy 
 
 That I should likely leave. Let my accursed 
 
 Grandfather's bestiality and its 
 
 Attendant woes, be buried with my bones. _ 
 
 But that pure child, with her grand intellect, • 
 
 Grod! — so I have been with her till I 
 
 Have caught her words. I would there was a 
 
 God 
 Who would concern Himself with our affairs ! 
 For if there was. He might find out a way 
 To strengthen me for sacrifice of all 
 That short life gives to mortal man, for sake 
 Of dreaded progeny. 
 
 Scene XXIII. 
 
 ( Clara's soliloquy as sJip- lies awake.) 
 
 If I should listen to my hungry heart 
 And let it take the bread love oflers it, 
 (Should I a better Christian be as well 
 As I might be a liappier woman. Lord ? 
 Am I more self-sustained than Adam was? 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 475 
 
 I'm lonely in my Paradise ; for wealth 
 
 Hath shnt me in from work and penury. 
 
 But the heart droops because life's glowing sun 
 
 Hath dried the dew of earthly years ; the mind 
 
 Invigorated can refresh itself: 
 
 But oh, the heart, my God ! Well, it is Thine; 
 
 Do with it as Thou wilt. I murmur not. 
 
 And his heart ? When we each can give just what 
 
 The other wants, shall I be niggardly 
 
 Because I'm shy ? If he was thirsty and 
 
 Should beg a cup of water, I should haste 
 
 To bear it to his eager lip ; only 
 
 The spirit's thirst will I ignore. Why so ? 
 
 Only the body perishes, forgets 
 
 Its thirst : the heart that's shrivelled here may not 
 
 Eevive until the Resurrection-morn. 
 
 Then, Saviour, call us both to Thee, and lay 
 
 Our hands together in Thy Hand, and smile 
 
 And say. Poor things ! I well remember that 
 
 Ye are of dust and so I sprinkle you 
 
 With dew of heavenly love. 
 
 Softly breathes the zephyr of the dawjs-iis-g 
 
 DAY 
 
 O'er my dream-flushed temples, and I wake to pray. 
 Bless me, my Father! as Thou wouldst a child 
 Who would ask for nothing that can be defiled. 
 Yet a silent longing hides low in my heart ; 
 Like the early birds in love I'd have a part. 
 Like the dewy flowers that wait the coming sun 
 And will sleep contentedly, when his day is done, 
 
476 
 
 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 80, my spirit, freshened by the dews of sleep, 
 Waitetli sun that dries up tears in eyes that weep. 
 Give me love, Father ! Wilt Thou not let me 
 Be a silent thought to lead one unto Thee ? 
 Through blind science-mazes, through historic 
 
 doubt. 
 Let the sweet Within guard from the Without. 
 Then, like birds and flowers, when our day is done, 
 We shall sleep in peace till Thou art our Sun. 
 
 Scene XXIV. 
 
 Clara. — Did you not get a note, informing you 
 That I could not go to the Luxembourg- 
 To-day? 
 
 Alfred. — No. But I wonder if there is 
 Mistake. I have been puzzled to guess why 
 Two poems have been sent to me ; for they 
 Are on a subject that the writer and 
 I feel quite differently on. I have 
 Them in my pocket, and with your good leave 
 Shall read them now. I fancy that you may 
 Feel sympathy with them. 
 
 C. Religious, then ? 
 For I remember that you claimed we felt 
 Alike on other themes. 
 
 A. Except one ; that 
 I feel is sacred to you as dead love. 
 And so have never dared to touch upon — 
 As we have been victorious I can't. 
 
 C. My country! Read the poems then, or let 
 Me take them to my room. 
 
 A. Pardon, if I 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 4Y7 
 
 Decline to give them up until I have 
 Now satisfied suspicion that has been 
 Aroused. Do you write poetry as well 
 As live- it ? 
 
 C. Bead, if you will not let me. 
 
 Alfred {reads :) 
 
 The EisTD. 
 
 {As soon as Alfred reads the title, Glara 
 flushes, tut sets her lips firmly, re- 
 solved not to betray herself) 
 
 G-reat God! I, who have borne most 
 
 Pangs that shiver mortal hearts, 
 Mourned to think mine could not burst. 
 
 But was strengthened by pain's darts, 
 I, at last, have fouud despair: 
 God ! God ! Where art Thou ? Where ? 
 
 Dost Thou only seem to sleep 
 
 While we bear our slavery ? 
 Carest not although men weep 
 
 In despair of being free ? 
 Sleepest Thou, God ! Dost sleep 
 While Hate's serpents o'er us creep ? 
 
 I've no country, North or South; 
 
 Shackled e'en in thought am I ; 
 Great despair hath shut my mouth ; 
 
 Scarcely now to Thee I cry. 
 I'm not countryman of slaves ; 
 My confreres are in their graves. 
 
478 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Yes; my country's 'neath the sod; 
 
 Broken-hearted I still live. 
 Lost are some friends, some with God; 
 
 Yet I still have life to give : 
 But I wear a clanking chain 
 On my heart and on my brain. 
 
 Ah ! I gave my dearest one — 
 
 Better far if I had died — 
 Sinful heart ! God's will was done : 
 
 Think what HE hath spared his pride. 
 Could he have borne what I bear ? 
 Could he, like me, life-chains wear ? 
 
 Cause he loved deserters banned ; 
 
 Treachery its heart ate out ; 
 Ship of state with heroes manned 
 
 Is wrecked now, without a doubt, 
 That few to the end were true — 
 Pity, God, those noble few ! 
 
 May they have more strength than I ! 
 
 May they learu to live like men ! 
 As for me, henceforth I lie 
 
 But to dream ; no war again 
 Shall awake hope to be free— 
 Men are made for slavery. 
 
 Hundred years cannot produce 
 Armies like those we have lost. 
 
 For what good? That foul abuse 
 By unworthy men is tossed, 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 479 
 
 As bonfires by conquered slaves, 
 Drinking, dancing o'er their graves ! 
 
 Noblest one in dungeon lies, 
 
 But his ransomed soul is free : 
 Davis, as a man,* defies 
 
 Lincoln to equality. 
 History them both will draw 
 While men read in silent awe 
 
 Of Grod's ways that seem so strange. 
 
 Tut ! I am ashamed to blame 
 God, because men's spirits change ; 
 
 Better thank Him for the fame . 
 Of each who died to be free ! 
 God, I pray Thee, pity me. 
 
 Tuscaloosa, Aug. 3, 1865. 
 
 0. The poet is unjust ; but I shall not 
 Discuss a friend's words, with an enemy, 
 
 A. An enemy. Miss More ! I once bore arms 
 In face of day; but never weapon wore 
 Concealed, and I have sheathed my sword. Tliere is 
 No man whom I revere more than I do 
 Your General Lee. Li proof whereof I shall 
 Send you a poem written on his death. 
 And which I cut from paper and have kept. 
 In truth it lies now in my pistol-box : 
 I put it the]"e with feeling somewhat like 
 That which prompts men to hang a conquered flag 
 In a cathedral, not to boast of, but 
 As being noblest trophy they have won. 
 I have another poem here to read. 
 
480 THE CLOVD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 C. I do not care to hear another in 
 That strain ; and it offends my heart to hear 
 An officer — 
 
 A. Pray do not wound me by 
 A hasty s]3eech. If you could realize 
 How long your words reverberate in me, 
 You would be generous. Please, only hear 
 The other poem that I hold ; it is 
 Not of the dreadful War, that I loathe quite 
 As much as you can hate. 
 
 C. Read if you will. 
 
 Alfred {reads :) 
 
 The vert name oe sea 
 Is pleasant unto me ! 
 Speak of the Sea, I feel 
 As one to whom repeal 
 From care and horror comes. 
 Awhile the sullen drums 
 Are like hideous dream 
 From which a jewelled gleam 
 Has waked me to rejoice. 
 As Norse maid wed Morris 
 To see him melt away 
 In glaring heat of day. 
 Mocking her weary feet, 
 My spirit bounds to meet 
 The spirit of the Sea 
 As though I still were free. 
 The shackles seem to fall 
 From the heart they appal; 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 481 
 
 And I dream like a youth 
 Who scorns the woe of truth ; 
 But suddenly I wake, 
 For my thoughts answer make 
 To beating of the drum 
 As from dim caverns come 
 The echoes of the shout 
 It hoped was well shut out. 
 Ah, to die by the Sea, 
 Dreaming that I am free ! 
 
 {As he reads the last line, Clara hastily 
 rises, and escapes through the door ~by 
 which she is sitting.) 
 
 Alf. Yes, my surmise is true, and she wrote both. 
 But bow they have been sent to me I can 
 IS! ot guess. I watched her narrowly, while I 
 The last one read, and she has gone because 
 She fears she can't prevaricate, and will 
 Not let me know she is a poetess. 
 Poor thing I How she has suffered — and I thought 
 She was so calm she could not be disturbed. 
 It seems I read her well! If she thus loves 
 Her country, and can suffer from despair. 
 Dare I try farther to secure her love? 
 But ah ! who is her " dearest one ? " Have I 
 A clue to her sweet resignation to 
 An eai'ly death if, as she says, God should 
 Thus favor her? Is she so deaf to men 
 Of earth and their loud vows, because a Voice 
 Much louder still reverberates within ? 
 Yes; I am jealous of the dead ! I can 
 
482 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Not bear to have her call a rotten corpse 
 
 Her dearest one. Such woman may be quite 
 
 As much a slave to a sweet memory 
 
 As others to a present fancy. Ah ! 
 
 If men's hearts are immortal there must be 
 
 Not one Hell, but some myriads of hells. 
 
 For, even now hot jealousy burns in 
 
 My soul; yet it is not consumed; nor can 
 
 The flames of jealousy lick up 
 
 Her name — the one name that on this black earth 
 
 Doth correspond to that of God in Heaven. 
 
 Is there a Heaven ? There surely is if she 
 
 Will live after this life has passed. God ! 
 
 Such woman as she is sprang never from 
 
 The clods. 'Tis likely that her dreams are quite 
 
 As wise as my blind tentacles of sense. 
 
 Scene XXY. 
 
 Clara (opening her ^Jortf olio.) 
 
 Yes ; when I was in such haste to go out 
 
 With dear papa, I asked Pauline just to 
 
 Direct the letter, and to mail it ; but 
 
 I had forgotten that the poems I 
 
 Had folded to send home were here. But he 
 
 Shall never talk to me of this again. 
 
 (She hastily writes off :) 
 
 I BUKY MY HEART, THAT SUFFEEED AND DIED 
 
 For the sake of dear Freedom, 
 Like Alaric's corpse, far under the tide 
 
 Of this ev'ry-day life, and henceforth none shall 
 come 
 
THE PANTHEI8T. 483 
 
 With curious eye to inquire of me 
 How I suflered, and faiu would have bled to be free. 
 And my stern self-.control Busentiuus will be 
 To hide my dead heart from those who forget : 
 Of those who remember are few to be met. 
 In this pride-guarded sepulchre treasures are piled — 
 The joys and sorrows of girlhood too wild 
 And the noblest emotions a woman can know — 
 True love for her land, but no hate for its foe. 
 Ah! Dearest of treasures, in my buried heart 
 Is a pang and a pride — oh ! it is the thought 
 Of the Brother I love, who died to be free: 
 But that death has so changed me he would not 
 know me. 
 
 {Folding the paper, says :) 
 
 This I shall send to Mr. Clark to let 
 Him see the subject he has broached mnst be 
 Forever closed. Strange I should write to him 
 In rhyme. Oh, heart, this does a secret tell ! 
 
 Scene XXVI. 
 
 Clara {reading a letter :) 
 
 Miss More, I pray you pardon ; for I fear 
 I have made myself disagreeable 
 To you : I am so in the habit of 
 Regarding your clear intellect but as 
 A mirror wherein I may look to see 
 Wliat in me doth offend you — and therefore 
 Me too — in order that I may, as far 
 As in me lies, strive to amend, that I 
 Conceive of you but as a second self; 
 
484 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 And fain would have no more reserve with you 
 
 Than a man with his mirror has. Therefore, 
 
 I oft forget you will not condescend 
 
 To look upon me as a second self 
 
 From whom you naught would hide. When I 
 
 Insisted on reading those poems out, 
 
 It was no vulgar curiosity 
 
 To know if you are poetess, but great 
 
 Desire to ope a new door of your life 
 
 That you kept closed to me. Better I know 
 
 You now, and more revere — not that you can 
 
 Write poetry; but now I know that you 
 
 Can sutler and endure and make no sign. 
 
 I had thought you talked pretty theories 
 
 When you were eloquent about yielding 
 
 The finite will to God's infinite love ; 
 
 And when you glowed with praise of martyrs who 
 
 Had harder cross to bear than those who died 
 
 At stake, I little knew that I then sat 
 
 Beside a martyr who concealed with smile 
 
 Of patience serpent coiled about her heart. 
 
 I can't say whether the sweet |)oem that 
 
 I just received from you gives me more joy 
 
 Or pain ; joy first, because you longer will 
 
 Not hide from me that you are poetess ; 
 
 I had suspected more than once you are. 
 
 But you remember how you treated me 
 
 With cold and proud reserve when I would try 
 
 To find your secret out. G-reat thanks that you 
 
 Will talk to me in poetry, while to 
 
 All other men you talk in prose. I feel 
 
 A king who has a poet laureate 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 485 
 
 Who makes the jewels sparkle in liis crown. 
 
 As for the South, I love her and revere 
 
 As does the man who has fought for his wife 
 
 And won her by drops of his blood : aud with 
 
 " My body I shall worship her," * if she 
 
 Will tell me by your mouth how best 
 
 I her may serve. Alas ! your poem made 
 
 Tlie tears start to my eyes — they did not when 
 
 A Southern bullet had to be probed for. 
 
 Oh, my beloved ! have you suffered so 
 
 While I rejoiced ? though not in boasting and 
 
 Eeviling. ISTo ! I would not hoist a flag 
 
 When Lee laid down his sword, though had I been 
 
 A Christian I had sung To Deum. But 
 
 Enough about myself, and only this 
 
 To let you see how you have wronged me by 
 
 Eefusing sympathy. Your pity now 
 
 I beg. Do not treat this poor letter with 
 
 Disdain when you read what I dare not say 
 
 Because I could not without tears ; but I 
 
 Shall write it quickly, for I'm tearing out 
 
 My heart to throw it at your feet, although 
 
 I cannot let you pick it up and heal 
 
 The wound. I love you, worship you, and yet 
 
 I cannot ask you now to be my wife. 
 
 The reason I shall tell if you command ; 
 
 But otherwise I might offend. Do you 
 
 Exclaim, How dares he mock me with his vows 
 
 Of love, and fears to marry me ? Pity, 
 
 Miss More, was what I begged of you ! Now I 
 
 * English. Marriage-service. 
 
4:86 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Ask more — I pray for this as earnestly 
 
 As you would ask your God for life if you 
 
 Were shipwrecked and lashed to a plank that was 
 
 At mercy of mad waves. Marry no man! 
 
 If you watch over my one angel, God, 
 
 Close up her heart to vows of love! Miss More, 
 
 I am not mad, but miserable. Love 
 
 And pity me. I dare not ask reply 
 
 To letter wild as this ; but don't refuse 
 
 To see me when I come again ; and be yourself! 
 
 P. 8. I wrote all the above last night, Miss 
 More, 
 And did not lay my head on pillow till 
 The gray light dawned. I asked God — if He heard 
 My groans — to hear my prayer and keep you as 
 Love's vestal until time had done with you. 
 I prayed — I think I prayed, Miss More, although 
 I knew not Him to Whom I spoke, save as 
 A blind man half believes because he hopes 
 A friend is by, when he feels he is on 
 The brink of precipice — I prayed God that 
 No man's hot lips should ever press your lips : 
 And more I dare not picture, even in 
 My frenzy. But all that was in the night; 
 Now it is day and I am calm, and fear 
 To send this; but perhaps it may be best. 
 I could not bear to think the time might come 
 When you could me reproach with trifling — oh, 
 That is ridiculous ! Trifles a man 
 Because he jokes while surgeon aiuputates 
 Arm next his heart ? 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 487 
 
 This is the poem that 
 I promised you on the great Greneral. 
 
 A DIEGE FOR GElifERAL LEE. 
 
 Toll the bells mournfully — 
 
 Our chief is laid low. 
 Toll all the bells slowly 
 
 For our country's woe ! 
 " The Lost Cause " was buried 
 
 Five sad years ago : 
 Lee's grave is its monument. 
 
 Even the foe 
 Is magnanimous now 
 
 And mourns for oiir chief; 
 But on his pale brow 
 
 Is the seal of relief 
 Who knows what he suffered 
 
 Though smiling the while? 
 Like martyr at death-stake, 
 
 His halo's a smile. 
 Oh ! who can imagine 
 
 The great Jackson's bliss 
 When he welcomed to that world 
 
 His Hero of this? 
 
 And you, my dead Hero ! 
 
 Whose death made a grave 
 For my heart, though I breathe. 
 
 What a welcome you gave ! 
 You can understand now 
 
 What is dark to us here — 
 Why the great cause of Freedom 
 
 Should lie on its bier 
 
488 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 In every land known under the sun. 
 
 In some the dead body has risen again ; 
 In some it is putrid. 
 But glory to men 
 Who suffered and warred and bled to be free ! • 
 
 Under St. Michael's banner 
 They may muster again 
 
 In invisible cohorts, 
 Lee a hero e'en then ! 
 
 I beg permission to subscribe myself 
 Yours only and for ever, 
 
 Alfeed Claek. 
 Nov. 8tli, 1870. 
 
 Scene XXVII. 
 Golora and Mervila meeting in the air. 
 
 Mervila. — Golora, why so fleet, and whither? 
 Whence ? 
 
 Golora. — Oh, I rejoice at the good work 
 Thy ward has wrought! I spent last night pouring 
 In Alfred's wounded heart — smitten by love 
 And fate — the precious oil of faithful words 
 That Clara had first said to him. I, as 
 God's minister, recalled them to his mind 
 Until he, worn out with his agony 
 And long hours' pacing up and down, called on 
 Her God ; he had no more true faith than had 
 The Indian when first he prayed to white 
 Man's God to soften white men's hearts ; but well 
 Thou knov/est earthly mother, when she holds 
 Her breast exposed to infant, who in first 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 489 
 
 Assays to walk has tottered to the verge 
 
 Of precipice, don't criticise his slow 
 
 And doubting turning to the lure ; * and when 
 
 He comes so close that she. may stretch outarms 
 
 Of yearning love to clasp him to her breast, 
 
 She don't reproach him that he stumbles o'er 
 
 Her foot. So God my Alfred lured last night. 
 
 M. Grlory to Him that Clara's life has been 
 So sweet and pure that the desire for her 
 Has made a sinner — very dear to One 
 Who died for him — turn from the sloping walk 
 Of infidelity ere it had led 
 With its insidious descent to black 
 And hellish pit. 
 
 G. Thou seest that he had 
 No help — unless he could win God's — to keep 
 His Clara from the arms of other men. 
 And as a man who says lie has no faith 
 In a physician, sends for him when he 
 Feels he must die without his help, and knows 
 He can do him no harm ; so Alfred called 
 On God to steel the heart — that she had laid 
 Upon His altar — to all vows of love 
 That other men could make, and open it 
 To his.- 
 
 M. God heard his prayer because He "will 
 Not quench the smoking flax " although it is 
 Too newly cut to give out heat. His '' Name is 
 Love." 
 
 * This idea is beautifully expressed in a little print after 
 Brockdon. 
 
490 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 G. And now I go to see how Clara has 
 Eeceived, and if she will not answer, crushed 
 And tear-stained letter that he wrote to her. 
 
 Scene XXVIII. — Clara's room. 
 
 (She writes:) 
 
 My friend, I am so glad yon wrote to me 
 
 Quite candidly. Now I feel safe with you, 
 
 For long I have intended when papa 
 
 Should be again united to mamma 
 
 By Death, that broke their marriage bonds, I would 
 
 Become a Sister and a teacher of 
 
 Young girls. Thus in intention I my wealth 
 
 Have consecrated to Ciirist's service ; and 
 
 Since I knew you I have feared that if I 
 
 Allowed you lo be much with me I might, 
 
 Like Vestal of old days, be yet obliged 
 
 My poor heart to inter alive. Now I 
 
 Accept your friendship, and feel safe with you 
 
 As with my winged Guardian, and lay 
 
 Aside disguise. I do not think I love 
 
 You, but shall send you poem that fell from 
 
 My pencil in the night. Perhaps you have 
 
 Mesmeric power o'er my night-thoughts ; if so. 
 
 Be careful how you use it; as for all 
 
 Ideas you impress me with you must 
 
 Give an account to God and me. As for 
 
 The feeling which I have for you, I know 
 
 Not what it is. Often I can't decide 
 
 Self-questionings except by lookiiig in 
 
 My Journal and my books of rhymes: but I 
 
THE PANTHEIST. ' 491 
 
 Shall let you take a peep, dow that I am 
 
 Assured you cannot take adyantage of 
 
 The liberty. I'm brave enough to put 
 
 A sword in chain-locked hands of which Fate holds 
 
 The key. 
 
 There is liee iisr glaciers hidden 
 Says the knowing microscope ; 
 
 Who can tell when by love bidden 
 But in my heart blooms a hope ? 
 
 True ; the air is very chilly ; 
 
 No encouragement gives it ; 
 It would kill a rose or lily, 
 
 But this one flower seems to fit 
 
 In its little icy birth-spot, 
 
 Quite content with freezing blast, 
 
 And dreading only Summers hot : 
 If lie keeps cool my hope may last. 
 
 But if he begins to woo me 
 
 As have others, fervently, 
 Then a shudder will pass through me 
 
 And the hope will die as gently 
 
 As have some others heretofore. 
 
 Ah ! my heart is clear and cold, 
 For Death hath chilled it to the core, 
 
 And it wilts when men grow bold. 
 
 So I wish that he may never 
 
 Whisper of what I ignore; 
 Else Hope's fragile stem I'll sever — 
 
 My last flower sluill bloom no more. 
 
492 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 But I prize the chilly flower 
 Hidden in my maiden heart; 
 
 And it can beautify the hour 
 Given up to lonely thought. • 
 
 This is confession first ; now I shall make 
 Another. I am sometimes tempted to 
 Historic infidelity. I do 
 Not doubt "G-od holds me in the hollow of 
 His Hand;" but the fate of the South has made 
 Me question whether He has given up 
 The nations to the power of the Prince of 
 The air.* And long before the war I asked 
 The same hard question, reading history. 
 
 When the wiokedjsess of men 
 In life and in history 
 Has caused infidelic doubt, 
 Birds and beasts, I turn to ye ! 
 And it seems irrational 
 Then to doubt a Maker's Hand; 
 In polyp and in monad 
 Evident as in the grand 
 Shapes of life^md activeness 
 That I read of or may see, 
 Though God's mark is oft erased 
 On forms of human infamy. 
 
 Traveller the story tells 
 How he on an Alpine height 
 
 * St. John xiv. 30. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 493 
 
 When his dizzy brain reeled fast, 
 Was made firm by simple sight 
 Of the gentian growing near. 
 Thus Thought, dazed by History, 
 For a moment dares to doubt : 
 But Faith comes by what I see. 
 Ev'rywhere is mystery 
 That poetic eye may trace ; 
 What it can't interpret now 
 'Twill lay by its faith to brace. 
 
 Your friend, because she now can be no more. 
 
 Mervila. — Poor child ! She suffers, but she grows ; 
 
 she is 
 Like a boy forced to wear unyielding coat. 
 She cannot cast it off, but "it she will 
 Out-grow and burst it suddenly, and then will 
 
 be 
 Surprised to find angelic robe lies at 
 Her feet. Poor child! She suffers now. I'll 
 
 make 
 Her take her pencil and write what I shall 
 Dictate to comfort her. Her minister 
 I am, because she is Salvation's heir.* 
 Wilt thou wait till I comfort her ? For I 
 Wish much to go with thee and see thy ward 
 When he will read what she has written him. 
 G. Yes; I shall fan her burning brain while 
 
 thou 
 Layest controlling hand on throbbing heart. 
 
 * Heb. i. 7. 
 
494: THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Clara {torites:) 
 
 Oh, HEARKElSr TO THE AifGELS' BVENIKG CHIME ! 
 
 For, at i-oseate close of a dark day 
 Loveliest spirits a sweet tune oft play, 
 Their soft wings beating on the air the time. 
 
 And often those we love, who have gone hence. 
 Mingle their well-known tones with soothing 
 
 power, 
 Closing a painful day with happy hour, 
 
 Bringing down Heaven by their sweet influence. 
 
 Kindly they gather np the broken strings 
 
 Of the crushed hearts we oped to take them in ; 
 Tune our life-harps, shattered by pain and sin, 
 
 Anew to the fresh rhythm of their wings. 
 
 On our brows press they fond kiss after kiss ; 
 When they have soothed us into calm delight, 
 Waving with perfumed wings a soft Good-night 
 
 They vanish, leaving in our hearts their bliss. 
 
 Weaet, sikking. Lord, am I ! 
 Canst not, wilt not hear my cry! 
 Peter, grasping Thy strong Hand 
 Walked the billows as dry land. 
 Lord, I perish ! — yet am Thine ; 
 On my brow the Cross doth shine. 
 Now vouchsafe me this reply, 
 Fear not, child, for I am nigii ; 
 Though thy faith should swoon and die. 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 495 
 
 I will never let thee go 
 
 While thou cliugest to Me so. 
 
 * * * * % 
 
 My God, I dedicate myself to Thee : 
 
 ISTo earthly pleasure do I come to ask. 
 
 But for life spent in sweet humility, 
 
 A piety that cannot wear a mask, 
 
 A meekness that as yet I have not known, 
 
 A long (?) life given up to charity ; 
 
 Bearing the "Banner of the Cross" alone, 
 
 Loving no praise that might not come from Thee. 
 
 Scorning the virtue, little more than dross, 
 
 That prizeth more its honor than Thy Name, 
 
 To guilty women let me bear Thy Cross, 
 
 Unfearing base malignity or shame; 
 
 Their children, heirs of unwoii infamy, 
 
 I wish to place within my mother's arms. 
 
 Till she clothes them in blood-bought purity, 
 
 Eobing them in the Infant Jesu's charms ; 
 
 Let noblewomen sponsors stand for them 
 
 And for their mothers, for whom thou hast died. 
 
 That they may weave another diadem 
 
 To cast before Thee, Throned Crucified ! 
 
 >f. ^ yf. ^ ^ 
 
 \_Mervila. — ISTow I am ready to fly off with thee. 
 Golora. — Wait till we see what she will write down 
 now.] 
 
 Clara (writes:) 
 
 My Father did not choose to peove 
 
 My love for Him. I am the spouse of Christ. 
 
 Then- could I love the man who owns him not 
 
 As God, Eternal King, Emmanuel ? 
 
496 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 No, Saviour mine ! Thy sign is on my brow, 
 
 And in the Name of Him who bids me call 
 
 Him Abba, God, raising the Cross above 
 
 My bleeding heart, I pray that he will lend 
 
 His mighty Arrii to bear His fainting child 
 
 To his calm bosom of eternal resi. 
 
 Eest! Eest! I long for rest. Rest in the Christ! 
 
 So weary of my thorny road, panting 
 
 For peace of Heaven, weeping for sympathy 
 
 In all my childish joys and griefs, knowing 
 
 He will not scorn to list to woman's woes. 
 
 Oh ! how I long to go to my Lord Christ, 
 
 That I may lie forever at His Feet, 
 
 Head pillowed on His knees, His ear inclined 
 
 To hear the whispered story of my life. 
 
 Could I lie ever thus,* I should ask naught — 
 
 If all were mine, what would there be to ask? 
 
 But through the ages of Eternity 
 
 .Would He let me forever stay near Him 
 
 Like helpless babe — whom, lost, his mother finds ? 
 
 Who sobs because he wept so long for her 
 
 He cannot smile as soon as she sings lullaby; 
 
 Because the memory of what hath passed 
 
 So vivid is, the happiness now known 
 
 Seems but a dream from which he fears to wake. 
 
 Like babe upon His mother's breast would He 
 
 Let me forever lie? Or, would He send 
 
 Me forth to walk the azure fields of bliss? 
 
 To visit sister-worlds ? to minister 
 
 To men on other spheres? to gather up 
 
 Fruits that once grew in Paradise? to quaff 
 
 The crvstal stream encirclinff His brioht Tlirone ? 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 497 
 
 To tend the lectures, hearlven to the hymns 
 
 Of spirits blest ^ — all that they learned on 
 
 earth 
 Illnminated by unfailing light, 
 Doubling each step as they advance to God, 
 Where boundless knowledge dwells ? humbly to 
 
 sit 
 At feet of those who gave up life for truth 
 That they might waken in His arms of love? 
 Oh ! when he bids me go must I leave Him 
 To wander forth alone, alone in Heaven ? 
 Each spirit intimately one with each, 
 But I alone, or in a crowd — 
 And is not that alone ? 
 
 Oh, Father, hear my prayer ! 
 Life is so short— I'll travel it alone; 
 If such be Thy high Will I say, " Amen ! " 
 But let me have him for a friend in Heaven. 
 
 Worn" out, dispieited, a^std tossed, 
 From death to death my whole life crossed 
 And oft re- crossed by adverse fate, 
 I've grown a woman, calm, sedate. 
 I and my soul have grown together 
 In stormy and in brilliant weather; 
 But youthful heart will not be brought 
 To learn the lessons we are taught. 
 How can I ever get things straight? 
 For my young heart I cannot wait; 
 So T shall just iuiprison it: 
 It shall not be a theme for wit. 
 
498 THE GLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Alfred asked me to write a sermon for 
 
 Him, and I shall. I'll take my text from Job.* 
 
 Aet thou weaet, heaet-soee, tempted ? 
 From ills of fancy not exempted. 
 And, like Job, inclined to murmur 
 That life's blessings are not firmer ? 
 Then hear the Divine monition, 
 Which in Job brought forth fruition, 
 Look at His works on ev'ry hand; 
 Search for the little, scan the grand ; 
 Listen to choir of morning-stars 
 Whose melody no false note mars, 
 And hear the Sons of God who shout 
 Their love of nature grandly out. 
 When sick of some grim fantasy. 
 Seek giver of good health — the sea; 
 Learn by the bounds God set to it 
 What He thinks of thy wilful fit. 
 But if thou canst not go so far, 
 Sublimer waves the great clouds are. 
 Study the snow and hail and rain; 
 From each refreshment thou may'st gain. 
 AVatch the bright sun at early morn ; 
 On fickle humors he flings scorn ; 
 He's always cheerful, for his race 
 Will cast no rival out of place. 
 Whene'er thy soul is dark as night 
 Open it to the grand starlight. 
 
 * Job xxxviii., xxxix. This Sermon was suggested by 
 p. 388 of " The True and Beautiful," by Mr. Ruskin. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 499 
 
 For thriftless ravens Who provides, 
 
 He, Who all beasts to their food guides, 
 
 He, Who gave to the song-birds wings, 
 
 Listens for praise when poet sings. 
 
 The Maker of the goodly horse 
 
 Will soon cnre thee of thy remorse, 
 
 If thou wilt but to Him submit, 
 
 As racer fine obeys the bit. 
 
 The eagle on the highest peak, 
 
 Brooding upon her nest, is meek 
 
 As little wren about thy feet : 
 
 Out of the strong comes forth the sweet.* 
 
 So learn from her that self-restraint 
 
 Is the best curb for worst complaint. 
 
 Scene XXIX. 
 
 Clara. — How pale and haggard you do look, to- 
 day! 
 Alfred, — That is not strange; I passed last night 
 in Hell. 
 Yes ! Shut your eyes — whether in pity, or 
 Eeproof, or prayer. Would it be possible 
 For glacier, even if it lay upon 
 Vesuvius, e'er to be taught that fire 
 Eolls fiercely 'neath its chilly calm ? 
 
 a I do 
 
 Not understand. 
 
 A. [Angrily) Of course you don't. I did 
 Not hope you would. Fate is a niggard ; though 
 She gives an angel or a Clara to 
 
 * Judges xiv. 14. 
 
500 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 A clod of earth, she shows her grudge ; for first 
 She takes the woman's heart, and bathes it in 
 The clouds, baptizes it in Avorlds he can 
 Not enter, and then tears his heart — which is 
 A bale of rolling flames — out of his breast and — 
 
 G. Have you read the morning paper? It — 
 
 A. You are a quack in medicine: prescribe 
 For me liomoeopathically. Try 
 And see if fever can't be cured by warmth. 
 
 G. By aconite. I'll go and send you some. 
 {81ie rises. He seizes her hands.) 
 
 A. Oh, these cool, tranquil hands ! If I but dared 
 To lay them on this flaming heart! 
 
 G. I will 
 Not stand such nonsense. 
 
 \ A. Go. Why should 
 
 The Angel, who kept Adam out of his 
 Birthright of Paradise, e'er condescend 
 To pity whom she scourged ? I know it was 
 A female angel only who could look 
 On Adam's pangs and not descend, at least, 
 To weep with him. Oh, Clara, pity me ! 
 
 G. I do, or rather should, if you would not 
 So terrify — 
 
 A. I love and I despair. 
 
 G. Despair of what ? 
 
 A. Of what ? Of what ? You can 
 Not even comprehend that when a man 
 Loves he must long to take the one beloved 
 Close to his heart. The years that must divide 
 Us ai-e to you as naught. But will you treat 
 Me as you begged that I should treat your God ? 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 501 
 
 You cannot love. Don't look so wounded. Sweet ! 
 
 If I am mad enough to lie at feet 
 
 Of angel painted by Angelico, 
 
 I shall, at least, have sense enough not to 
 
 Reproach her that slae does not spread her wings 
 
 And flutter down to me. G-rauted (I but 
 
 Repeat your soft persuasion) that you can 
 
 J^ot love, it is your duty to obey. 
 
 The sacrifice of one who loves you more 
 
 Than life, justly demands obedience. 
 
 Will you obey ? To you I sacrifice 
 
 The peace bought by long years of restless strife. 
 
 What if it was a sham ? At any rate, 
 
 It was a mask that Fate had not found out. 
 
 I shall know no more happiness until 
 
 I may dare say to you, Now be my wife. 
 
 Then, though you'll say you do not love, will you 
 
 Obey ? 
 
 C. Do you forget I soon shall wear 
 A Sister's cap and serge? 
 
 A. Only till I 
 Dare claim you as my wife. You told me long 
 Ago that the Church Sisters took no vows. 
 And that if you had been a Sister for 
 Ten years and then should love that you would 
 wed. 
 C. I told you that before I had surmised 
 That I should e'er be tried. But I shall not 
 Recall — 
 
 A. Angel! Thank G-odl 
 
 G. Sit down. Be calm 
 And hear me to the end. What would you think 
 
502 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 If I should marry you, e'en while I let 
 Another understand that at some day 
 Your widow would wed him ? I cannot treat 
 My Grod as I should scorn to treat a man. 
 
 A. You do not love me then — not even in 
 Your cold, tormenting way. Until this hour 
 I never felt how impotent is man. 
 
 G. Papa is coming in. How glad — 
 
 A. Good-bye. 
 
 {Alfred soliloquizing as he walks down 
 Champs Elysees.) 
 
 Absinthe ? No ! No ! Not even these waves of 
 Despair can start my soul from moorings where 
 Her love hath anchored it. Though passions boil 
 And threaten wreck, I am secure ; for her 
 Pure nature is the undertow that flows 
 Straight on, and will not let me know shipwreck. 
 
 Scene XXX. — Pere la Chaise. 
 ALL- saints' day, 1871. 
 
 Lartan. — Mervila, over whose grave watchest 
 thou ? 
 
 Mervila. — This is the last bed where reposes 
 dust 
 I love, and she whose guardian I was 
 Hath sent me here to see if there are flowei's 
 Upon the stranger's tomb on this sweet day. 
 
 L. What day is it in mortals' calendar ? 
 
 M. All-Saints' ; and her devoted lover has 
 Quite covered her cold bed — but only with 
 The flowers she liked the most. To-morrow, all 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 503 
 
 The cemetery will be like a plot 
 
 Of gardeu-flowers ; but Alfred cannot corae 
 
 Here then. He dressed this grave before the world 
 
 In which he lives was up. I think no one 
 
 Who knows him well, will ever, mention name 
 
 Of Clara where- he is ; although his mind 
 
 Is generally seeking her in sweet 
 
 Ee treats of Paradise, let other speak 
 
 Her name and he grows whiter than yon cloud ; 
 
 So terribly came death to her. 
 
 L. How, friend ? 
 M. He had persuaded her to drive with him 
 In the Bois du Boulogne ; his hprse took fright, 
 And both were thrown from buggy overturned. 
 Although his leg was broken, then he felt 
 No pain ; but reached his arms out to embrace 
 His idol; with her dress he wiped off blood 
 From her cold brow, and tried to breathe his 
 
 breath — 
 That scarcely came — through her white lips. She 
 
 oped 
 Her eyes and smiled. Eavished with joy, he 
 
 snatched 
 An eager kiss that stifled her. Again 
 He breathed his life into her soul. This time 
 She had not power to look at him or smile, 
 But vv^hispered in his close-held ear, " Believe." 
 ''I can't," he uttered with an agonize 1 
 And feeble groan. A heavy pall then seemed 
 To fall upon her countenance. He saw 
 Her anguish and exclaimed, '*' All man can do, 
 I will." " Obey," she scarcely had the breath 
 
504 THE CLOUB OF WITNESSES. 
 
 To gasp. " I will," he answered ; and a smile 
 Of triumph and of bliss ineflFable 
 O'erspread her features, as G-od bade me bring 
 Her soul to Him. 
 
 L. Her I shall seek ere long; 
 But tell me more of the forsaken • man. 
 • M. As soon as I had done the oflBces 
 That new-born soul requires, I did as she 
 Desired ', came down to earth to hear of whom 
 Her sweet soul loveth. He was stretched on bed 
 Of pain, and it was long ere he could walk on 
 
 crutch. 
 But hardly felt he pain of body, so 
 Mucli more sufi'ered his heart for loss of her, 
 And his sonl struggling with the Holy Grhost. 
 The Holy Spirit conquered, and he, who 
 A year ago made promise that he would 
 Obey, h;is learned both to believe and love. 
 Now I must fly in search of him; for I 
 Go never from the earth without a look 
 Of love, or word of sweet remembrance for 
 My Clara's waiting heart. 
 
 Scene XXXl.—In Paradise. 
 
 Clara's Spirit. — Mervila, sweet ! Oh, quickly tell 
 me what 
 Hast learned of my beloved. 
 
 M. I found him 
 Quietly sitting in a grassy vale, 
 And on this wise his thoughts — they were of 
 thee. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 505 
 
 " Her spiritual presence was the sun 
 
 That broke through chaos which enveloped 
 
 heart 
 And soul. My consciousness of fate was like 
 Relentless frost, tliat breaks up the hard clod ; 
 But her terrific death was the ploughshare 
 Which crumbled up my soul; and memories 
 Of her, and how she smiled, and what she said. 
 Are the soft-falling rains that urge Faith's 
 
 flowers. 
 Of backward growth, to show themselves. 
 True, they have little root, but I, shut in 
 Love's hermitage for life, shall nourish them 
 Witli careful and desiring heart. Perhaps, 
 The Gardener, Who is my Father, too. 
 Will no more scorn the tender plants than 
 
 would 
 His daughter, whom He sent to lure me from 
 TJie swine and swineherds 
 
 ;{; ^ >|; ^ ^ 
 
 {Mervile continues : after short walk o?i this wise 
 ran his thoughts :) 
 She slew the old life, 
 
 And a new man was born. 
 No more witli my race do I wage hidden strife, . 
 
 But I look down in scorn, — 
 As I know she would do — 
 
 On my past life with its ignoble load 
 Of misanthropy's doom, 
 
 Sprung from what false men sowed. 
 Her sweet faith did imbue 
 
 With a gold tint tlie gloom 
 
506 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 That loosed from my heart 
 And high oyer me soared 
 When her God I adored. 
 Though there still is a cloud ; 
 Now, by Love's wistful art, 
 It her form doth enshroud. 
 Like Fiesole's* angels on golden background, 
 Emotions she hath not, she to me did imparc — 
 Though ray Love brought me death, life in her 
 I have found. 
 C. G-od, how good Thou art ! 
 
 M. Eememberest 
 Old song, thou sangest once to Alfred, called 
 "The Only Bairn?" 
 
 C. Yes ; for it moved him much. 
 M. I heard him sing these words to that old air. 
 
 Oh, SVfEETLY EEST, MY OKLY LoVE ! 
 
 Hushed is thy former care ; 
 The woes that rack my bosom now 
 
 'Tis well thou canst not share. 
 The bird which sings in Southern clime 
 
 To brighter Southern flowers, 
 Thinks not of faded Northern rose 
 
 That cheered last Summer's hours. 
 Thus thou forgettest me 
 While I think of thee. 
 Oh, calmly rest, my only Love ! 
 
 Too fondly I love thee 
 To call thee back to checkered life 
 
 Even to be with me. 
 
 * Fra Angelico da Fiesole. 
 
TEE PANTHEIST. 507 
 
 I should not sigh so loud the sighs 
 
 That rend my aching heart, 
 Did I not think that far from me 
 Is Hades, where thou art: 
 
 There is peace in ray breast 
 To know thee at rest. 
 
 C. Did he say that ? Hear what I sing to him, 
 And carry my Avords down, Mervila dear. 
 
 I ca]S"'t eoeget ; so hush, mt Love, 
 
 Nor longer doubt my faith. 
 The angels are God's ministers 
 
 To man, the Scripture saitli. 
 Oan'st thou think hearts in Paradise 
 
 Less true than those of earth ; 
 That thou shouldst mourn for me while I 
 
 Forget thee in my mirth ? 
 
 Thus thou hast doubted me ; 
 I have trusted thee. 
 
 Soon as on death-chilled brow thy lips 
 
 Had pressed the parting-kiss. 
 My spirit-lips were on thy cheek, 
 
 Earnest of future bliss. 
 Thy woes cannot true Spirit grieve ; 
 
 She knows why they must be, 
 ISTor sighs to see thee bear the Cross 
 
 Of Him who saveth thee. 
 
 JSTever doubt Christ or me 
 When thou canst not see. 
 
508 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Scene XXXII. 
 Alfred {writes:) 
 
 ALOIfE, ON A PEBEUARY NIGHT. 
 
 Sick and languid, weary and weak, 
 And quite alone ! 
 
 Winds whistle and my heart-strings creak 
 In discords set to their harsh tone. 
 
 Dull pain flits o'er my brow ; 
 
 My vannted books are useless now; 
 
 They cannot reach the inmost part 
 
 Of my lone heart. 
 
 Sad memories enclose 
 
 My thoughts in dull repose ; 
 
 I bid them wake, 
 
 Nor longer joy forsake ; 
 But they can hear no voice 
 
 That comes not from the Past ; 
 Slaves of necessity, not choice, 
 
 They roam through Fancy's realms so vast 
 In search of her whom they have lost. 
 Lost! Lost! Can she be lost? Oh, no! 
 While she submission taught 
 So sweetly to my heart, 
 Hushing each woe, 
 
 Stilling discordant notes, I oft have thought 
 That she and I of Heaven's harmony were part. 
 Floating, like spirits of the air, 
 Faultless and very fair, 
 With cherubs of celestial birth ; 
 I learning from her lips their melodies to chant. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 609 
 
 All ! Has she left me now alone 
 
 Weeping to bear the woes of earth, 
 
 And, almost stifled, pant 
 
 For her sweet smile ? and moan 
 
 That I no more her gentle tones may hear 
 
 My fainting heart to cheer ? 
 
 SPIKIT WITH SPIRIT. 
 
 Ah! little think the hearts 
 
 That prize but earthly things, 
 How indestructibly 
 
 , Spirit to spirit clings ! 
 They cannot know that aye 
 
 Thy tones are in my ears ; 
 The airs that spirits sing 
 
 The spirit only hears. 
 
 We are not parted, Sweet, 
 
 For the soul death can't know 
 Bevelling in free space — 
 
 Our bodies left below. 
 Thy dear form in the tomb. 
 
 Mine weeping over thine — 
 Our souls together. Love, 
 
 Joined by a bond Divine. 
 
 ***** 
 
 GOISTE AWAY ! GON-E AWAY ! 
 
 Like far-distant music 
 That is dying in play 
 
 While my heart's beat is quick 
 In its great agony 
 To go hence after thee. 
 
510 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Oh, thrice blessed mission ! 
 As master-musician 
 Tuneth his instrument, 
 
 Dear, thou tnnest my heart; 
 Ah ! the sadness death lent — 
 
 Else 'tis just as thou art. 
 Night-winds of memory 
 
 Wailing over its keys 
 Are still faithful to thee — 
 
 They play not as I please. 
 I call for a gay air — 
 They grow only sadder ; 
 And no more will I bear 
 Their unceasing murmur. 
 But if my heart will ache — 
 Ah, poor thing ! let it break. 
 
 Scene XXXIII. 
 
 Alfred {alone :) 
 
 However beautiful and lively were 
 My passions once, now may their debris o'er 
 My dead Past fast accumulate, and may 
 My new affections upward tend, and send 
 Forth blossoms still more beautiful ! For, if 
 The Past is dead, the Present lives, and now 
 My softened heart draws nourishment, not from 
 Its briny depths, but from the element 
 In which Love rears a monument lasting 
 As coral-reef, that neither time nor storm 
 Of life can wash away. 
 
THE PANTHEIST. 511 
 
 Alfred {sings:) 
 
 MT EVER-LIVIISTG BIRD. 
 
 Thou art mine ! Thou art mine 
 
 In the beautiful sky ! 
 In the dark thy wings shine 
 
 As thou hurriest by. 
 
 Now canst not thou tarry, 
 
 Ever-hving dear Bird ? 
 Songs thou hast sung to me 
 
 I have scarcely yet heard. 
 
 Like flowers on swift waters 
 
 They straight onwards will flow : 
 
 Wait ! "While thy friend falters 
 The soft music doth go. 
 
 I think that I see thee 
 
 Borne away on the breeze. 
 Alone thou dost leave me 
 
 Like a tree without leaves. 
 
 For all that I have had 
 
 I have flung after thee. 
 Wilt thou not make me glad 
 
 When Spring visits the tree ? 
 ***** 
 Alfred {holding the Divine Coniedij). 
 
 I come to you, Italian king, who o'er 
 All lauds still reign magnificent in light 
 Eeflected from your Beatrice pure : 
 No poet I ; yet sit I on your throne 
 
512 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 Worthy of this preeminence, because I too am 
 Capable of love like yours. 
 There is somewhat of likeness in our fates. 
 You walked with her, but talked not of the flame 
 That burned your life, smouldering "neath a smile : 
 Honor was your restraint, poet proud ! 
 Eestraint my honor was. When laws of Death 
 From husband set her free, descended she 
 From Paradise that you might visit Heaven. 
 And after Eeasou had conducted you 
 To Purgatory's verge, she came in guise 
 Of Faith, or Faith came in love's vestments, 
 
 which, 
 It matters not ; for Love and Faith are one. 
 My Beatrice now has gone from me ; 
 Her arguments read in light of her life 
 Drove me to Hell; Eemorse has scourged me 
 
 through 
 Its red-hot paths ; but to me Reason was 
 Less kind than Yirgil was to you, so Christ, 
 Besieged by Clara's prayers, from Heaven leaned 
 
 down 
 And held to me His Cross. I grasped it, and 
 The gates of Hell behind me slammed, and 
 
 fiends 
 Carsed Love. In Purgatory wander I, 
 Waiting till Christ will send me Faith to guide 
 Me nearer to His Throne; Eeason I have 
 Oiitstripped, having received a hint that Faith 
 Might bring me to the God Whose name is Love. 
 As a pearl introduced into the eye 
 That mote offends, will bring it out, thus she 
 
THE WIDOWER'S VISION. 513 
 
 Softly but faithfully has iutroduced 
 
 Into my heart the priceless pearl that swiue 
 
 Can't recognize ; and it has brought thence mote 
 
 Of a despair that blinded me to loye 
 
 Of Ood. 
 
 THE WIDOWEE'S VISION. 
 
 ThiisTKIISTG of a late-buried wife, 
 How bitter was his widowed life, 
 Till sleep a soothing dream did bring 
 To banish lonely suffering. 
 
 Hovering o'er the bed, 
 Whence comfort far had fled — 
 A Spirit- wife he saw, 
 Glimmering like a star 
 Upon the life that Fate 
 Had made so desolate. 
 Then on the bed she sate 
 And soothed his fevered brow 
 As only one knew how; 
 And with familiar tones 
 Silenced his dreary moans. 
 She kissed away the tears, 
 Promised ere many years 
 Her way to God to wing, 
 And ask His leave to bring 
 Her husband to her rest, 
 Where Death can't more molest 
 So, Avhen a sudden ray 
 Of sunshine glad doth play 
 
514 THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES. 
 
 About the caged bird, 
 He thinks that he hatli heard 
 The note of his sweet mate 
 That wounded was of late. 
 He trills his carols gay, 
 Doth in the sunbeam play ; 
 As though captive no more, 
 Wild wood-notes forth doth pour. 
 
 The widower was like the bird ; 
 
 For when his long-lost wife he heard 
 
 Cheering his checkered pilgrimage. 
 
 He thought not of his fleshly cage; 
 
 The desolateness of his lot 
 
 Was gladly, speedily forgot. 
 
 He thought not of the gnawing pain 
 
 That slowly wears the heart in twain. 
 
 Then his joy burst forth in singing, ^ 
 
 For his new-found wife was bringing | 
 
 On her flutteriug, gentle wings ^ 
 
 Heaven-born radiance that clings > 
 
 To forms of bright-eyed phantoms blest '5 
 
 To allure weeping friends to rest. ' 
 
 Sunshine of Heaven lights the gloom 
 
 Of the widower's darkened room. 
 
 A CHILD'S PRAYEE. 
 
 .The much-flushed child. 
 
 With a strange look. 
 Prayerful, yet wild. 
 Let fall her book 
 (That wooed her to thoughts of the " Better Land,") 
 From her tremblino' Inind, 
 
A CHILD'S PBA YEB. 515 
 
 Whose feverish ness dried every tear 
 
 That slowly fell from eyes as soft 
 As those with which babe-angels oft 
 
 Smile on forms dear, 
 When the celestial choir they swell. 
 Then sank she on her knees to tell 
 
 A secret of love 
 
 That none must hear 
 
 Bat her Friend above, 
 
 Who makes children His care. 
 
 So she threw up her arm 
 
 To clasp tlie air 
 That she fancied must be her Father's form ; 
 
 She felt she held Him very near. 
 
 And put up her lips where she fancied His ear 
 Must catch each word that she would pour ^ 
 From her little heart 
 With a new love fraught: 
 *•' I'm so glad Martyn was taken away 
 
 With sweet angels to soar 
 In cloudless, blue air 
 
 Ere Jie had loved a maiden fair. 
 Listen, Father ! Pray listen to me ! 
 
 For the dear Saviour's sake, 
 
 Send Thy angels to take 
 My spirit to Thee, 
 
 To be dear Martyu's little wife 
 
 For a longer time than a mortal's life." 
 
 August, 1855. 
 
 Note. — The above is strictly true, except the child did 
 not rhyme her prayer. 
 
516 TBANSLATIONS. 
 
 TEAI^SLATIO]^S. 
 
 FROM THE LATIN. 
 
 SIXTH ODE OF HOEACE. 
 
 {To Pyrrlia, a faitliless siceetheart, who deserted Mm for 
 another.) 
 
 What slender youth, anointed with sweet ointment 
 
 *pure, 
 On couch of roses courts thee, in thy love secure? 
 
 Pyrrha, for whom in grotto rare 
 
 Combest thou thy golden hair, 
 
 Most neat in thy simplicity ? Alas for him 
 When he'll complain the gods have changed and 
 faith is dim ! 
 
 The insolent amazed will be 
 
 That false winds have made rough the sea. 
 
 He, credulous, now thinketh thou art all pure gold ; 
 Hopes that thy tender heart no other love Avill hold ; 
 
 Of thy deceptive moods knows naught. 
 
 Oh, the unfortunate, who's caught 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 517 
 
 By brightness of new things ! My votiye tablets 
 deck 
 
 Neptunian temple-walls, telling of my shipwreck; 
 And there I hang my garments moist, 
 Which I as warnings for him hoist. 
 
 Januaky 2, 1868. 
 
 Note. — It was customary to hang in the Temple of Nep- 
 tune clothes in which one had been wrecked. 
 
 THE THIETT-FOUETH ODE OF HOKACE. 
 
 Op the great gods a worshipper infrequent 
 And niggardly, long time astray I went, 
 Wise in the wisdom of insanity : 
 JS[ow I retract, finding but vanity. 
 
 My old philosophy: forced to retrace 
 
 My course, a' life of faith I must embrace. 
 
 Diespiter quite frequently divides 
 
 The clouds from sparkling fires, and then he rides 
 
 In flying chariot ; his horses run ; 
 Quite soon it thunders, though briglit is the sun. 
 And this is to the end that the firm earth, 
 The winding streams, and Styx, where lies no 
 mirth, 
 
 The rough foundation of the hateful cave 
 That leads to Hell, and bounds against which rave 
 The waves, are shaken like leaves dry and dead : 
 Upon the plain trembles the mountain-head; 
 
518 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 The higliesfc with the lowest changes place ; 
 God brings down pride and the obscure doth grace t 
 Eapacions fortune sweeps with rustling wings 
 The crown from one she to another brings. 
 
 Note.— In neither of tliese poems liave I attempted to 
 adhere to the rhythm : I would as soon catch wild birds and 
 put them in cages as to again learn to scan. I have read 
 that Horace was an infidel until startled by thunder on a 
 clear day ; he in this Ode declared his conversion to a 
 belief in a Divine Providence. 
 
 PROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 THE FISHER-GIEL. 
 {From Heine's Beiseiilder.) 
 
 Thou beautiful Fisher-Girl, 
 
 Now bring thy boat to the land ; 
 
 Come to me ; seat thyself near, 
 And let ns chat hand in hand. 
 
 Lay thy small head on my heart, 
 And don't be afraid of me ; 
 
 But in me freely confide 
 •As e'er thou dost to the sea. 
 
 My heart is quite like Ocean, 
 Has its storms and ebbs and flow, 
 
 And many beautiful pearls 
 In its quiet depths lie low. 
 
 I 
 J 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 519 
 
 {From Heine's Reisebilder. ) 
 
 O'ee mt whole gloom-tinted life 
 Once a fair picture rayed forth light ; 
 
 The vision sweet hath vanished now 
 And I am wholly wrapped in night. 
 
 When children are left in the dark, 
 Beginning to feel a strange fear, 
 
 Often gloom they strive to banish 
 By all their songs of loudest cheer. 
 
 And like a foolish child I sing 
 Even now in the thick darkness; 
 
 If my song to you is not pleasing 
 It has, at least, made my grief less. 
 
 Jan. 1863. 
 
 {From the Same) 
 
 The moon's image teembles 
 
 On wild waves of the sea, 
 While her still and safe 
 
 In the heavens we see. 
 
 So walkest thou, beloved. 
 
 Safely and quietly. 
 But trembles thy image ; 
 
 For my heart is at sea.* 
 
 * Weil mein eigenes Herz erschtittert. 
 
520 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 {From Les Ghants du Grepuscule.—Y . HuGO.) 
 
 X. 
 
 I^APOLEON". 
 
 No ! the Future belongs to none. 
 
 God's is the Future, JSTapoleon ! 
 
 Every time that strikes the hour 
 
 Bids us adieu each earthly power. 
 
 Future! The Future! Mystery! 
 
 Glory and deeds for history. 
 
 Everything upon the earth — 
 
 The sparkling crowns of regal worth, 
 
 Victory, with fiery wings. 
 
 Ambition which a conquest sings. 
 
 Upon our path may only light 
 
 As birds stop on our roofs in flight. 
 ****** 
 
 God keeps duration ; but He gives you space. 
 
 And on the earth you may have any place. 
 
 As grand as man may be under the sky. 
 
 Sire, at your pleasure take what you pass by ; 
 
 To Charlemagne Europe, and Asia to Mahomet : 
 
 But from the Eternal To-Morrow you can't get. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 never insult a woman who falls! 
 
 Who knows under what load the poor soul 
 
 crawls ? — 
 How many years with hunger she has fought 
 Ere virtue was shaken by what woe taught ? 
 Ah ! who has not seen these stricken women ? 
 Though they cling long with worn-out hands — 
 
 what then ? 
 
 I 
 
TRAN8LA TIONS. 521 
 
 As you see at end of a branch gleaming 
 
 A drop of rain on which the sky 's beaming, 
 
 It shakes with the tree till its struggles tire — 
 
 Pearl before falling, after its fall, mire. 
 
 The fault is ours * — yours, rich man, with your 
 
 gold. 
 Yet, has this mud pure water as of old ; 
 For, when the drop ascends from the base earth. 
 It becomes a pearl splendid as at birth. 
 Enough ! Thus one day all * will reascend. 
 When with ray of sun or of love we'll blend. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The poor flower to the celestial butterfly doth say. 
 
 Do not fly! 
 See how different our destinies. Here I must stay: 
 
 You pass by. 
 
 However, we love each other ; from men afar 
 
 Pass our hours. 
 Yet, we resemble each other; they say we are 
 
 Both flowers. 
 
 Alas ! The air carries you off, and me the earth 
 holds tight — 
 
 Fate too hard ! 
 And I would wish to embalm with my breath your 
 flight 
 
 In sweet nard. 
 
 * Though neither of these sentiments is strictly true, 
 the poem is too good to be passed over. 
 
522 TBANSLA TIONS. 
 
 You fly far among flowers whose fate none knows: 
 
 You are fleet. 
 And I, I must watch alone while turn the shadows 
 
 Round my feet. 
 
 You fly off; then you return, and then go away. 
 
 E'er shining. 
 You always find rae in tears at dawn of each day, 
 
 E'er pining. 
 
 that our love through faithful days may run ! 
 
 A boon, 
 
 my king! 
 
 1 pray thee to take root like me, or else wings 
 
 soon 
 
 To me bring. 
 1868. 
 
 BEEANGEE TO LISETTE. 
 
 When under wrinkles eyes will seek to find 
 Your charming features that inspired my mind, 
 Young people, eager for a new love-tale. 
 Will say. Who was this friend for whom you wail 
 And weep ? Then, if it's possible, pray, paint 
 The hot intoxication and the faint 
 Suspicions even of my love ; old friend, 
 Seated in quiet corner by your fire, 
 Eepeat your lover's songs you now admire. 
 
 They'll say to you : Amiable, then, he proved ? 
 And, without blushing, you will say, I loved. 
 But capable of naughty deeds was he ? 
 With pride, you'll say, Never; he could not be. 
 Sept., 1869. 
 
-T I Br" T'*^^^^" ''^'^"'w 
 
ICiiiiiiiiiii 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 lllllllllll" 
 
 015 775 215 7 
 
 /