jg^^^^y^ 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J 
 
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 J UNITED STATES OF AMEBIC 
 
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 Out- of- Door Rhymes. 
 
 by 
 
 ELIZA SPROAT TURNER. 
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 BOSTON : 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY, 
 
 (LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.) 
 l872. 
 
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 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 
 
 By ELIZA SPROAT TURNER, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Rand, A very, <5r» Co. , StereotyJ>ers and Printers, Boston. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 How their Creeds Differed 7 
 
 Old and New. 14 
 
 All Mother 29 
 
 In the Garden 30 
 
 Whippoorwill .38 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing 43 
 
 Rain Days . . 47 
 
 A Merry Old Soul 56 
 
 Alice 60 
 
 Outcast 66 
 
 Another Chance. . „ 76 
 
 Evening Thoughts. 78 
 
 Compensation 86 
 
 An Old Maid • . SS 
 
 MlSMATED 92 
 
 A Housekeeper's Tragedy. ...*.. 97 
 
 If. 101 
 
 A Little Goose 104 
 
 Hi 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Sea and the Streams io 9 
 
 A Child's Early Lessons. . . . . . • • IZ 5 
 
 118 
 Seventeen. . . . . 
 
 Thirty-four 
 
 A Caution I2 5 
 
 Exceptional. I2 7 
 
 Waiting ' • ' • '3 1 
 
 Farm Music. x 3 
 
 An Angel's Visit I4 ° 
 
 Thorns r I47 
 
 An Old Rose I5 ° 
 
 An Old Butterfly *53 
 
 A Little Prophet. J 5 6 
 
 To a Few l6 ° 
 
 A Prison Home l6 4 
 
 The Seasons l68 
 
 Delay I71 
 
 Inconstant • ■ • * ' I ? 4 
 
 Prayers I77 
 
 My Rose lSl 
 
 Brothers. . . 
 
OUT-OF-DOOR RHYMES. 
 
 HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. 
 
 T) EDDED in stone a toad lived well, 
 
 Cold and content as toad could be: 
 As safe from harm as monk in cell, 
 Almost as safe from good was he. 
 
 And "What is life?" he said, and dozed; 
 
 Then, waking, "Life is rest," quoth he; 
 "Each creature God in stone hath closed, 
 
 That each may have tranquillity. 
 
8 HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. 
 
 " And God himself lies coiled in stone, 
 Nor wakes nor moves to any call; 
 
 Each lives unto himself alone, 
 
 And cold and night envelope all." 
 
 He said, and slept. With curious ear 
 Close to the stone, a serpent lay ; 
 
 " 'Tis false," he hissed with crafty sneer, 
 " For well I know God wakes alway. 
 
 "And what is life but wakefulness, 
 
 To glide through snares, alert and wise — 
 
 With plans too deep for neighbors' guess, 
 And haunts too close for neighbors' eyes ? 
 
HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. 9 
 
 "For all the earth is thronged with foes, 
 And dark with fraud, and set with toils : 
 
 Each lies in wait, on each to close, 
 
 And God is bribed with share of spoils/' 
 
 High in the boughs a small bird sang, 
 And marvelled such a creed could be. 
 
 " How strange and false !" his comment rang ; 
 "For well I know that life is glee: 
 
 " For all the plain is flushed with bloom, 
 And all the wood with music rings, 
 
 And in the air is scarcely room 
 
 To wave our myriad flashing wings ; 
 
IO HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. 
 
 "And God, amid His angels high, 
 Spreads over all in brooding joy ; 
 
 On great wings borne, entranced they lie ; 
 And all is bliss without alloy." 
 
 "Ah, careless birdling, say'st thou so?" 
 Thus mused a man, the trees among: 
 
 "Thy creed is wrong; for well I know 
 That life must not be spent in song. 
 
 " For what is life but toil of brain, 
 And toil of hand, and strife of will — 
 
 To dig and forge, with loss and pain, 
 The truth from lies, the good from ill — 
 
HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. II 
 
 "And ever out of self to rise 
 
 Toward love and law and constancy? 
 
 But with sweet love comes sacrifice, 
 And with great law comes penalty. 
 
 "And God, who asks a constant soul, 
 He tries his creatures sore and long: 
 
 Steep is the way, and far the goal, 
 And time is small to waste in song." 
 
 He sighed. From heaven an angel yearned : 
 With equal love his glances fell 
 
 Upon the man with soul- upturned, 
 Upon the toad within its cell. 
 
12 HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED, 
 
 v 
 
 And, strange ! upon that wondrous face 
 Shone pure all natures, well allied : 
 
 There subtlety was turned to grace, 
 And slow content was glorified; 
 
 And labor, love and constancy 
 
 Put off their dross and mortal guise, 
 
 And with the look that is to be 
 
 They looked from those immortal eyes. 
 
 To the faint man the angel strong 
 
 Reached down from heaven and shared his 
 pain ; 
 
 The one in tears, the one in song, 
 
 The cross was borne betwixt them twain. 
 
HOW THEIR CREEDS DIFFERED. 1 3 
 
 He sang the careless glee that lieb 
 In woodbird's heart without alloy ; 
 
 He sang triQ joy of sacrifice : 
 
 And still he sang, "All life is jay. 
 
 But how, while yet he clasped the pain, 
 Thrilled through with bliss the angel smiled, 
 
 I know not, with my human brain, 
 Nor how the two he reconciled. 
 
OLD AND NEW. 
 
 KNOW a narrow forest path, that climbs 
 The mountain side, arched thick with 
 
 chestnut leaves 
 And maple, and the black-green massive oak, 
 Guarding from highest noon their underworld 
 Of beauteous life that cannot bear the light — 
 A curious underworld of mild decay; 
 Each prone trunk, lying ever where he fell, 
 Enameled with fine lichens, couched in ferns, 
 While, stitch by stitch, soft, broidering mosses 
 
 make 
 His gay green shroud, pricked out with coral 
 
 cups ; 
 
 14 
 
OLD AND NEW. 1 5 
 
 And each unseemly rotten gap is filled 
 With orange fungus, and the straight club moss 
 Spreads like a small pine forest round his feet. 
 Here, wandering all alone, I heard a voice 
 Where human voice was not; and, turning soft, 
 I saw a wonder : from a palsied oak, 
 Clothed half in leaves and half in thready moss, 
 Came an old Dryad, parting painfully 
 The stiff, time-crusted trunk that scarce could 
 
 yield : 
 A woody, wheezing Dryad, with gray hair 
 Like that long threaded moss, and fumbling 
 
 foot 
 Unused to motion ; slow she climbed the hill, 
 I following ; many times she paused for rest. 
 
1 6 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 So, blinking m the unaccustomed light, 
 And gasping in the too live mountain air, 
 She reached at last an old forgotten lake, 
 Sunk in the mountain top — black, deep, and still; 
 Hard to approach across the quaking marge 
 Of treacherous seeming land that was not land 
 For all its green, but fair and dreadful bog, 
 Which, year by year encroaching, pushed the 
 
 line 
 Of water-lilies inward, till the time 
 When they should close above that bald Undine 
 Who, wakened by the plaintive wheezing call 
 Of her upon the shore, emerged to greet 
 Her ancient crony, gazed uncertainly 
 LJporx her, then, remembering wistfully 
 
OLD AND NEW. I 7 
 
 Her broken dream, would fain return ; but, held 
 By something in the voice, stood doubtful still, 
 Pushing away a clinging leech, which straight 
 Returning, she desisted with a sigh. 
 
 " And am I, then, forgotten by my friend ?" 
 Said Dryad ; " Yet 'tis scarce a century 
 Since last we met; I cannot sure have changed ?" 
 Slowly the Naiad, in a dreaming voice 
 That seemed far off; 
 
 "Not we ; the world has changed. 
 This beauteous lake, once haunted by a god, 
 The burden of whose glorious songs we still 
 Might faintly hear — if any cared to hear, 
 Among the modern echoes ; these fair shores 
 Whose very earth is precious with the print 
 
 2* 
 
1 8 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 Of stately footsteps, and whose every stone 
 Is written close with stories of the past — 
 All are forgotten ; all the world is changed 
 Since you, the loveliest Dryad of the wood, 
 And I, the noblest Naiad of the wave, 
 Were recognized and worshipped, — all is 
 
 changed. 
 What prestige have these raw-barked modern 
 
 trees, 
 Plebeian, doomed to early menial use? 
 What birthright have these nameless mountain 
 
 streams, 
 Galloping vulgar hoydens — night and day 
 They violate my silence ; night and day 
 This clattering noise of brooklets hurrying down 
 
OLD AND NEW. 1 9 
 
 To join the larger clamor of the streams — 
 The reckless, leaping streams, gone mad with 
 
 haste, 
 That would not stand an hour to rest the world. 
 Their hateful voices call into my dreams; 
 Their worthless words forever agitate 
 My deep self-contemplation.'' 
 
 As she spoke, 
 A strange wild song rose clear through her 
 
 complaint : 
 
 Onward, merrily onward ! 
 
 Nothing can check my way; 
 
 The crowding ferns bend over, 
 
 Wooing me back to play; 
 
 The threatening rocks rise tall, 
 
20 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 On every side a wall, 
 
 Breaking my waves to spray; 
 
 But for me, I shall not stay. 
 
 See, I break from my thrall — 
 
 Foaming out from the darkness, 
 
 Into the crimson sunset 
 
 Merrily down I come. 
 
 Deep, deep in my waves 
 
 His face the hot sun laves. 
 
 All the hill is alight; 
 
 Every tree is a torch ; 
 
 And all the air is flame. 
 
 Hark ! that song of a stream 
 
 That rings through my daily dream ; 
 
 It is the voice of my lover 
 
OLD AND NEW. 21 
 
 Calling afar to me. 
 
 Onward, steadily onward ! 
 
 Into the growing twilight, 
 
 Into the midnight darkness, 
 
 Out to the morrow's sunrise; 
 
 Ever with firmer feet, 
 
 Until we two shall meet, 
 
 And, this lone wandering over, 
 
 Our true life is begun 
 
 When the two lives clash in one. 
 
 Ha ! I long for the shock ; 
 
 I plunge from rock to rock, 
 
 And the plunges cost me dear: 
 
 But for me, elate 
 
 With the joy of my coming fate, 
 
22 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 I suffer, and have no fear. 
 Hist, cease ! 
 
 . . . A sudden dream of peace 
 Holds me in its spell. 
 Is it I, so deep and still? 
 Picturing on my bosom 
 Reed and bending blossom, 
 And my ever-following ferns? 
 Close crowd the alder bushes; 
 And the long rude bramble pushes 
 To the front; above me reach 
 The flat boughs of the beech, 
 Flecking my breast with shadows, 
 A thousand crimped leaf-shadows 
 Under the noonday sun; 
 
OLD AND NEW. 23 
 
 And, out from beneath a stone, 
 
 Flashes a sudden silver, 
 
 And circles, and is gone. 
 
 And over, skimming low, 
 
 The jeweled dragon-fly 
 
 Vanishes and returns 
 
 And stands so motionless, 
 
 His life you scarce would guess; 
 
 And all is glad and still: 
 
 And through and through I thrill 
 
 With a thought I cannot tell. 
 
 Ha, I know! I see 
 
 My life that is to be. 
 
 It is truth ; in that swift moment 
 
 The pulse of the far Ocean 
 
24 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 Rose and sank in me. 
 Movement and silence. 
 Now a change awaits me, 
 Change, and noise, and pain ; 
 Roaring and confusion- 
 Throes of dissolution — 
 Ah, the brink is near! 
 I suffer, but have no fear. 
 Over — I swoon — 
 I darken — -I die! 
 Down . . . Is it I 
 That lie so brokenly? 
 All my dark substance 
 Tortured into whiteness, 
 Shattered into rainbows, 
 
OLD AND NEW. 25 
 
 Glorified with pain ? 
 And can I rise again? 
 See, I gather my force; 
 Greatening on my course 
 Till, the first meeting over 
 Between me and my lover, 
 In blending we discover 
 Our mission toward the sea. 
 Is it to wander free 
 Ever through forest ferns ? 
 Is it to dive unswerving 
 Into the dreadful earth, 
 Feeling, our way in darkness 
 Toward a second birth 
 In some far unknown land? 
 
26 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 Is it to sweep superb 
 
 Around some glorious city? 
 
 Or, stayed by wheel and curb, 
 
 Drawn into thousand sluices 
 
 For daily drudging uses* 
 
 In every house to stand? 
 
 Yet are we one, and whole; 
 
 The myriad-parted soul 
 
 Shall labor in joy and patience 
 
 For every human need ; 
 
 Waiting its final meed — 
 
 Pure amid loathsome soiling, 
 
 Free amid slavish toiling. 
 
 Hark ! I wake from my dream 
 
 To the sound of a nearing stream. 
 
OLD AND NEW. 2J 
 
 I know the call of my lover 
 Thundering down the gorge. 
 "You hear!" she said, with mild intolerant sigh, 
 But spoke to air, for Dryad, long ago, 
 Fearing the evening damp, had faltered home ; 
 Unconscious that the mould had seized her hair, 
 And that a leathery fungus stout had sprung 
 Between her fingers, thinking she was dead. 
 Relieved, the Naiad turned, and sighing, sought 
 The lake-depth, where she hides from all things 
 
 new, 
 And dreams of all things old. Above her, wheel 
 Near-sighted bats, that think the trees ill-placed 
 Because they strike against them: and, around, 
 The melancholy whippoorwills complain, 
 
28 OLD AND NEW. 
 
 Wailing a wrong they never tried to mend. 
 Still deepens that marsh luxury of green, 
 Crowding the lilies inward, till the stems 
 Tangle her feet; and, "Am I lake or land?" 
 Sometimes she asks in sudden deadly fear : 
 And soon, forgetting, peers to shape the shore, 
 But cannot for the mists herself has raised ; 
 Or strives to understand some rising voice, 
 But cannot for the echoes that repeat, 
 And add, and modify, and reproduce, 
 Until the voice is lost. Or, baffled so, 
 She feels about those slimy lily stems, 
 And fails to grasp, and lapses into dream ; 
 While, narrowing, creeps the sure encroaching 
 doom. 
 
ALL MOTHER. 
 
 TF I had an eagle's wings, 
 
 How grand to sail the sky! 
 But I should drop to the earth 
 
 If I heard my baby cry. 
 My baby — my darling, 
 The wings may go, for me. 
 
 If I were a splendid queen, 
 
 With a crown to keep in place, 
 
 Would it do for a little wet mouth 
 To rub all over my face? 
 
 My baby — my darling, 
 
 The crown may go, for me. 
 
 3* 29 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 T INGERING late in garden talk, 
 
 My friend and I, in the prime of June, 
 The long tree-shadows across the walk 
 Hinted the waning afternoon. 
 The bird songs died in twitterings brief; 
 The clover was folding, leaf on leaf. 
 
 Sweetest season of all the year, 
 
 And sweetest of years in all my time, 
 
 Earth is so bright, and heaven so near, 
 
 Sure life itself must be just at prime. 
 
 Soft flower faces that crowd our way, 
 
 Have you no word for us to-day ? 
 30 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 3 I 
 
 Each in its nature stands arrayed : 
 Heliotropes that drink the sun ; 
 Violet shadows that haunt the shade ; 
 Poppies, by every wind undone ; 
 Lilies, just over-proud for grace ; 
 Pansies, that laugh in every face. 
 
 Great bloused peonies half adoze ; 
 Mimulus, wild in change and freak ; 
 Dainty flesh of the China rose, 
 Tender and fine as a fairy's cheek. 
 (I watched him finger the folds apart 
 To get at the blush in its inmost heart.) 
 
 Lo, at our feet what small blue eyes ! 
 And still as we looked their numbers came 
 
32 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 Like shy stars out of the evening skies 
 When the east is gray and the west is flame. 
 "Gather, yoi rself, and give to me 
 These 'forget-me-nots,'" said he. 
 
 Word of command I take not ill ; 
 When love commands, love likes to obey; 
 But, while my words my thoughts fulfill, 
 "Forget me not," I will not say. 
 Vows for the false ; a loyal mind 
 Will not be bound, and will not bind. 
 
 In your need of me I put my trust, 
 And your lack of need shall be my ban ; 
 Tis time to remember, when you must, 
 Time to forget me when you can. 
 
IN THE GARDExN. 33 
 
 Yet cannot the wildest thought of mine 
 Fancy a life distuned from thine. 
 
 Small reserve is between us two ; 
 'Tis heart to heart, and brain to brain. 
 Bare as an arrow, straight and true 
 Struck his thought to my thought again. 
 " Not distuned ; one song of praise, 
 First and second, our lives shall raise. " 
 
 Close we stood in the rosy glow, 
 Watching the cloudland tower and town ; 
 Watching the double Castor grow 
 Out of the east as the sun rolled down. 
 "Yonder, how star drinks star," said he; 
 
34 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 "Yield thou so — live thou in me," 
 
 Nay, we are close — we are not one, 
 More than those stars that seem to shine 
 In the self-same place, yet each a sun, 
 Each distinct in its sphere divine. 
 Like to Himself art thou, we know ; 
 Like to Himself am I also. 
 
 What did He mean, when He sent us forth, 
 Soul and soul, to this lower life, 
 Each with a purpose, each a worth, 
 Each an arm for the human strife ? 
 Armor of thine is not for me ; 
 Neither is mine adjudged by thee. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 35 
 
 See, in the lower life we stand, 
 
 Weapons donned, and the strife begun ; 
 
 Higher nor lower ; hand to hand ; 
 
 Each helps each with the glad "Well doner' 
 
 Each girds each to nobler ends ; 
 
 No less lovers because such friends. 
 
 So, in the peace of the closing day, 
 
 Resting, as striving, side by side, 
 "What does He mean?" again we say; 
 "For what new life are our souls allied ?" 
 
 Comes to my ken, in death's advance, 
 
 Life in its next significance. 
 
 See yon tortoise, he crossed the path 
 
36 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 At noon, to hide where the grass is tall ; 
 In a slow, dull sense of the sun-king's wrath, 
 Burrowing close to the garden wall. 
 Think, could we flood that torpid brain 
 With man's whole life — love, joy and pain ! 
 
 ^ So, methinks, is the life we lead 
 To the larger life that yet shall be : 
 Narrow in thought, uncouth in deed, 
 Crawling, who yet shall walk so free ; 
 Walking, who yet on wings shall soar ; 
 Flying, who shall need wings no more. 
 
 Lo, in the larger life we stand ! 
 
 We drop the weapon, we take the tool ; 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 37 
 
 We serve with mind who served with hand, 
 
 We live by law who lived by rule. 
 
 And our old earth-love, with its mortal bliss, 
 
 Was the fancy of babe for babe, to this. 
 
 Visions begone ! About us rise 
 
 The worlds, on their work majestic sent. 
 
 Down in the dew the small fire-flies 
 
 Make up a tremulous firmament. 
 
 Stars in the grass, and roses dear, 
 
 Earth is full sweet, tho' heaven is near. 
 
 z»*Qv; 
 
 jjkgycK 
 
WHIPPOORWILL. 
 
 (DELAWARE WATER GAP.) 
 
 MAN. 
 
 IGHTS of gold — shades of brown ; 
 
 Now the evening breeze is blurring 
 
 All our water-pictures, stirring 
 
 Seeming solid heath and hill. 
 
 Large and red, the sun rolls down ; 
 
 Is he gone ? Yet see, the same, 
 
 Air ablaze, waves aflame. 
 
 Hark ! a voice upon the hill — 
 
 " Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill !" 
 38 
 
WHIPPOORWILL. 39 
 
 I'm a scholar, by the way, 
 
 With a curious gift at learning, 
 
 By some natural, strange discerning, 
 
 Lore of wood and heath and hill. 
 
 I know all the creatures say; 
 
 I can render, as we walk, 
 
 The soliloquizing talk 
 
 Of yon pious Whippoorwill : 
 
 Hark! again — " Whippoorwill !" 
 
 BIRD. 
 
 Whippoorwill, day is o'er ; 
 Not a voice to break the quiet. 
 
40 WHIPPOORWILL. 
 
 I must haste to profit by it, 
 — Softly, not to rouse the hill. 
 Breezes, hush ! Waves, speak lower ! 
 Twenty aves I may win 
 Ere the rest their task begin. 
 " Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill." 
 (Silent, all !) " Whippoorwill." 
 
 Whippoorwill — that counts thirteen ; 
 How remiss I find the others. 
 Were it not my duty, brothers, 
 To report you ? Then I will. 
 Saints, indeed ! What can it mean ? 
 Hist — I hear low voices rise — 
 Would you take me by surprise ? 
 
WHIPPOORWILL. 41 
 
 Here I stand, thirteen gained ; 
 " Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill !" 
 
 Dark and sweet. Star by star 
 
 From the river depth is rising ; 
 
 Three more voices ; 'tis surprising, 
 
 Such irreverence in the trill ! 
 " Whippoorwill/ ' near and far. 
 
 Rattle, mumble, how they go. 
 
 /speak out, distinct and slow, — 
 " Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill/' 
 
 Listen, all : " Whippoorwill I" 
 
 Do they feel a word they say ? 
 — Vesper voices fill the valley; 
 
 4* 
 
42 WHIPPOORWILL. 
 
 Now indeed 'tis time to rally; 
 Ha ! they gain upon me still. 
 Use decorum, brothers, pray ! 
 Not so loud — keep your place — 
 Feel more reverence — what a pace ! 
 Take your time — hold your tongue — 
 " Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill !" 
 
 WK«*>>SW 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 REQUEST. 
 
 r I ^HE red day is melting into even, 
 
 And the even looks on you and me alone, 
 
 As you stand tall and clear against the 
 westward, 
 With heaven's glory added to your own. 
 
 The sun creeps ablaze among your tresses, 
 The winds press unchidden to your brow ; 
 
 If you ever mean to give me what you 
 promised, 
 I am ready for it now: — give it now. 
 
 43 
 
44 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 The sun greets the earth before his parting, 
 The waves kiss the shore and trip away, 
 
 And cloud leans to cloud across the heaven, 
 And I wonder you can dare to answer nay. 
 
 By the brown stars that bend in mocking 
 o'er me, 
 By the brown clouds that loosen on your 
 brow, 
 By the wreathed lips that taunt me with their 
 redness, 
 I airi sworn to have it now : — give it now. 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 45 
 
 REFUSAL. 
 
 ^ ];P*HE last words I gave you when we parted, 
 My last words for evermore shall be : — 
 You may borrow all the sweets of all the 
 summer, 
 But you'll never borrow kisses, sir, from 
 me. 
 
 I lend not, I sell not, I give not; 
 
 And yet they are to me as little worth, 
 
 As the common drops of rain, before the sun- 
 god 
 
 Has spanned with them the heaven and the 
 earth. 
 
46 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 The young moon is weaving spells around us; 
 
 The sweet darkness witches us to stay ; 
 The late darkness creeping all around us 
 
 Is warning us away : — come away. 
 
 You would surely never take what I deny you, 
 And yet it were a sin to break a vow : 
 
 But if you meant to steal it, as I fear me, 
 You had better do it now : — take it now. 
 
 ^dfcpG^©T<6 / 
 
RAIN-DAYS. 
 
 ^T^HE warm Spring rains, bloom-pregnant, 
 
 slip to earth, 
 Melting black Winter into rosy May. 
 The sudden Summer rains come hurrying 
 
 down, 
 Eager with great quick drops to satisfy 
 The heat-split grass, and choking, gasping 
 
 dust 
 That drinks and drinks, and lies at last content. 
 The wild Fall rains rush down like mailed hosts ; 
 Spoil the bird-homesteads, and tramp out the 
 
 flowers, 
 
 47 
 
48 RAIN-DAYS. 
 
 And rot the forests. Then chill Winter rains, 
 Sad Winter rains, dead Winter rains, each drop 
 A ghost of old Spring freshness. All to-day 
 Winter wept cheerlessly, but I, within, 
 Sit far from cheerless, while the outside night 
 Contests my hearth-light, peopling all the room 
 With dancing flames and shadows. 
 
 What am I 
 But ghost of old Spring freshness ? Yet not so ; 
 That poor old wandering wind goes sobbing by, 
 Still doting on the unresponsive earth, 
 Still calling, scolding, pleading ; not one flower 
 Will the clay answer. Is the earth then dead? 
 Is she then old ? not so ; from that vast heart 
 
RAIN-DAYS. 49 
 
 There rose no last Spring's bloom but left its 
 
 seed 
 In the same bosom ; not a forest chief 
 Dropped, shred by shred, his leafy glory down, 
 But she will make of them his future crown. 
 She never lost a leaf, but in herself 
 Garners all seasons as they seem to die. 
 So have I garnered in my deepening heart 
 My seasons as they came ; so stand I now, 
 Dead to world-calls, and listening momently 
 For my Spring summons to an unknown land. 
 And these wild nights, when outside cold and 
 
 dark 
 Make home and hearth so dear, I sit and read 
 In the quick coals all far off memories 
 
 5 
 
50 RAIN-DAYS. 
 
 Of home, wife, children ; each new love that 
 
 came 
 Building its cell of sweetness in my heart, 
 Which must be full as then until I die. 
 Friends, children, all are gone ; I am so old : 
 But still, and much of late, they come again, 
 And still the dead rain falls, and in its sound 
 I hear the music of old rain-days gone. 
 
 God bless the rain-days ! Just as dark a time 
 Gave a pet brother to my love and care. 
 That strange dull afternoon they called me up 
 To the death-chamber, when about my neck 
 My mother, she a widow, wound her arms 
 And drew my face to hers, and gave her child, 
 
RAIN-DAYS. 5 1 
 
 Her last and darling, to my boyish care. 
 Sure the kind Father must have smiled to see 
 The uncouth work, as I — a schoolboy lump 
 Of brawling crudeness — all at once put on 
 A parent's anxious looks and careful ways. 
 Ah, sweet to rest come memories of past 
 
 strife, 
 And sweet to placid age youth's conquered 
 
 cares, 
 Pains alchemized to joys, ease born of throes, 
 Old loves forever new. — My brother gone, 
 We had grown old together, yet wert thou 
 Still young to me, my friend, my mate, my care. 
 Still gentle, trustful, woman-natured. Now 
 God and thy mother keep thee; Watch for me. 
 
52 RAIN-DAYS. 
 
 Still drop the echoes of old rain-days gone. 
 I see a woodpath, and a broken shed 
 Raised by some woodman of an earlier time ; 
 Its rude, low roof, age-thick with pulpy moss, 
 Its walls a mass of forest vines ; above, 
 The skies are all in conflict ; lumbering clouds, 
 Rallied too suddenly, come rolling up 
 In huge confusion, leaving hear and there 
 Odd patches of astonished blue ; anon 
 They stoop and mingle, and the first drops fall 
 Crisp through the hot leaves. Not alone I sit 
 Storm prisoned ; there's a dear hand clasped 
 
 in mine, 
 Clasped first that day. My fearful eager eyes 
 Fasten on eyes most earnest and serene, 
 
RAIN-DAYS. 53 
 
 Looked into first that rain-day, when the storm 
 Surprised us on our way : so many times 
 My struggling heart had yielded to its fears, 
 And left the love-words budding on my lips 
 Frost-caught ere one had blossomed into 
 
 speech. 
 And yet not bashful she ; a flippant word 
 Had power to flush her cheek ; a passing glance 
 Could make her spirit shrink ; but never called 
 A soul to hers in truth and gravity, 
 And went unanswered ; so, as still my tongue 
 Fared faltering through its story, in her eyes 
 Sat a strong, quiet angel, aiding me. 
 
 Thus long we sat, half dreaming, half aware, 
 
54 RAIN-DAYS. 
 
 The while, unnoted then, remembered now, 
 From change to change, from plunging seas 
 
 of rain 
 To quiet drippings ; all at once a beam 
 Of full, triumphant sunset broke our dream. 
 Then, slowly taking thought, we planned to 
 
 live 
 More highly for each other ; planned to weave 
 Our courtship close w r ith friendship ; humbly 
 
 vowed 
 To let no pride between us, no light word, 
 A thought, a film, a veil, an air-built wall 
 To shut us from each other unaware. 
 So, as we sat, the little shed became 
 A sanctuary, and all the air was rife 
 
RAIN-DAYS. 55 
 
 With unseen being, till the blessing closed 
 Round us, within us, blending soul with soul 
 For an eternity, — two loves, two lives 
 In one, — my lesser heart absorbing hers 
 As lies some bounded lake and holds all 
 heaven. 
 
 My Mary! Back through ranks of outworn 
 
 years, 
 Through dulling age to youth, I reach to seize 
 This memory ; up through death and time to 
 
 thee 
 I send it as a greeting ; Watch for me. 
 
A MERRY OLD SOUL. 
 
 T OOSE foolish lips ; wrinkled eyelids, 
 
 Hiding the rheumy eyes within ; 
 White dirty hair upon his forehead, 
 White dirty stubble on his chin. 
 He lodges with a friend, in the cellar, 
 The cellar door his roof and his throne : 
 Tis last night's merry old toper, 
 Musing this morning alone. 
 
 1 Last night we had a roaring supper ; 
 
 Last night I sang a jolly song ; 
 
 Now 'tis the miserable morning, 
 
 And all's changed, and all seems so wrong, 
 56 
 
A MERRY OLD SOUL. 57 
 
 I can't work, I'm not fit — too shaky. 
 I can't find my other shoe ; Til try ; 
 — I won't try, it makes me unhappy. — 
 Suppose I should end it all, and die. 
 
 "The hearse takes you up — of course, no 
 
 mourners ; 
 And Jake airs the lodgings — no, he'd save 
 To dig me in at once, in the cellar ; 
 Worms there, most likely, for a grave. 
 But then there's the water, that's improper, 
 And most like unwholesome ; — by the way 
 There's quite too much water (and I'll say it 
 To his face) for the rent we have to pay. 
 
58 A MERRY OLD SOUL. 
 
 "And just look at that now — my sunshine 
 Gone to the other cellar door ! 
 Ugh, but Fm chilly ! — it's always 
 Such a hard world for the poor. 
 There's a good bone by the gutter, 
 Still, it's a trouble ; if I try 
 Will that strange dog let me eat it ? 
 See how he watches — let it lie. 
 
 "Who made a beast of me, I wonder? 
 Jake, maybe, tampering with my gin ? 
 No ! tavern politics, — that brought me 
 Down to his clutches, to begin. 
 Wait . . . 'Twas the Colonel's little dinners ; 
 Prime fellows — ladies all away. 
 
A MERRY OLD SOUL. 59 
 
 Ha ! 'twas my mother, at her table, 
 Toasting her little boy in play. 
 
 " Here comes a lady — and clean, too ; 
 Like . . . Who was that I used to know ? 
 — Well, maybe some of ours, mud lilies, 
 Picked young, would make as fair a show. 
 But this one's a lady. How she stands there ! 
 Aint you ashamed to look at me ? 
 — Damn you ! take your eyes off, — they hurt 
 
 me, — 
 And yet, why care ? Let it be." 
 
ALICE. 
 
 T 1 THAT shall we do with Alice? 
 
 Our youngest and our pride, 
 
 And yet she brings us more of care 
 
 Than all the world beside. 
 She is the only drone of five, 
 
 A lovely, useless thing, 
 With a heart as rich as summer, 
 
 And a face as fresh as spring. 
 
 What can we do with Alice? 
 
 She idles so at school ; 
 
 60 
 
ALICE. 6 1 
 
 She decks with buds the good dame's cap, 
 
 And fears nor rod nor rule. 
 And while her sisters o'er their books 
 
 With puzzled, earnest faces pore, 
 She makes a baby-bower of leaves 
 
 Beside the school-house door. 
 
 She will not heed the morrow; 
 
 She will not take to care : 
 Her eyes, like suns, make every cloud 
 
 Their laughing colors wear. 
 And if the earth be green or bare, 
 
 And if the sky be dark or clear, 
 She carries with her everywhere 
 
 Her own bright atmosphere. 
 
 6 
 
62 ALICE. 
 
 My idle, aimless Alice ! 
 
 Shell waste the livelong day, 
 Where quivering gold and shadows 
 
 O'er the lazy lilies play. 
 Where great trees guard the silver song 
 
 That lapses ever tinkling by, 
 And round its bank the violets throng 
 
 To see the mirrored sky. 
 
 She looks up to the stranger 
 With her arms upon his knee; 
 
 She smiles upon the Master, 
 Though a dreaded man is he: 
 
 She shrinks not from the crawling worm, 
 Nor startles at the wood-snake's hiss: 
 
ALICE. 63 
 
 She shouts to hear the rolling storm, 
 In strange enraptured bliss. 
 
 That tree the wind uprooted, 
 
 And flung across the stream, 
 She found to-day, and left her play, 
 
 Amid its boughs to dream. 
 With bare feet in the water, 
 
 And arms bathed deep in flowers, 
 She carols, smiling to herself, 
 
 Through all the happy hours. 
 
 My fearless, wilful Alice ! 
 We cannot make her shrink, 
 
64 ALICE. 
 
 Nor hide her face with bashful grace, 
 Nor fear what others think. 
 
 She is too sure of kindly looks 
 To learn another's eye to shun: — 
 
 But God, who hid the violet, bad«e 
 The rose stand in the sun. 
 
 My useless, aimless Alice ! 
 
 Yet from those night-blue eyes 
 Strange thoughts oft step forth lazily, 
 
 Like stars from darkening skies : 
 And sudden tones have sanctified 
 
 The little songs she sung ; 
 And simple words, that seem inspired, 
 
 Have faltered from her tongue. 
 
ALICE. 65 
 
 i\i early even, kneeling 
 
 In the holy twilight gloom, 
 When songs are hushed and prayers go round, 
 
 And blessings fill the room: 
 We plead for health and common joys, 
 
 To all the rest: — for her we say, 
 "We know her not ; whate'er her lot, 
 
 Dear God, be Thou her stay." 
 
AN OUTCAST. 
 
 T SAW a stately dwelling, all alight 
 
 Beaming forth pleasure from its many eyes 
 Till night was fain to smile ; and one without 
 Stood gazing on the joyful revellers, 
 Like a lost angel peering in at heaven. 
 A woman, yet not woman ; on her face 
 Beauty sat mourner for lost loveliness. 
 A woman, but her bright mouth sin had kissed, 
 And branding out the sweetness, left the rose. 
 
 She leaned against tlit: window, and gazed long 
 Upon the deepening revelry ; her ear 
 
 66 
 
AN OUTCAST. 6? 
 
 Drank in the music of fresh happy voices, — 
 Music that turned to discord as it fell 
 Amon^ her memories ; then a bitter stream 
 Rose from the poisoned fountain of her soul, 
 And poured itself in words. 
 
 " Sing on, laugh on 
 Poor self-complacent clay — poor feeble cloud 
 Of insects glittering gay in fortune's sun ! 
 How brave ye shine, unknowing ye are dust, 
 Secure in untried virtue ; if but once 
 Temptation fell upon you like a storm, 
 How many proud would fall dismayed to earth, 
 How many pure would rise with soiled wings, 
 Of those who, were I now to seek their feet, 
 
68 AN OUTCAST. 
 
 Would shriek, and faint, and shun my touch 
 like death t 
 
 " Ye fools ! was ever yet a flower so pure 
 That did the wanton sun shine hot enough 
 He could not wither? Ye are only flowers ; 
 The world's few stars, the few high burning 
 
 hearts 
 O'er whom sin never found a talisman, 
 They are too brave to spurn or fear the fallen, 
 But dare to smile on all. — O God ! kind God ! 
 But would they smile on me? If I could kneel 
 To ask heart-charities, is there one hand 
 Would raise me ? If I tear it from my heart, 
 This old sin-cancer, is there one would pour 
 
AN OUTCAST. 69 
 
 Soft words instead of scorn upon my wounds ? 
 Too well I know, not one. Then, heart, be 
 
 calm, 
 And rock thy sins to rest ; there's still a joy 
 For those who cannot rise, — it is to fall ; 
 To cast off hope, as divers doff their garments, 
 And, plunging headlong, sound the depths of 
 sin. 
 
 " Stand back, thou craven conscience, 'tis too 
 
 late! 
 Away, thou traitor shame, I know thee not ! 
 I'll hide my hunted soul in wickedness, 
 As some poor sun-tormented traveller 
 Leaps in the poisoned stream. And at the last, 
 
JO AN OUTCAST. 
 
 When life and death are dead, and God is all, 
 Sitting to square accounts 'twixt earth and 
 
 heaven, 
 When every soul shall plead its puny cause, 
 I will stand up and say, 'Lord, curse the 
 
 world, 
 For they have all transgressed against thy 
 
 law. 
 My heart was thirsting for a drop of kindness 
 On its steep, lonely journey back toward 
 
 heaven, 
 And they refreshed me not; my soul was 
 
 naked, 
 Shrinking and trembling in its shame, and 
 
 calling 
 
AN OUTCAST. 7 1 
 
 Most piteously for shelter from the eyes 
 Of tittering virtue, and they clothed me not/ 
 
 "Then God will smile to see the frightened 
 
 looks 
 Of those who thought their places sure in 
 
 heaven ; 
 And Satan laugh to greet the trooping souls 
 Of those who had denied him on the earth. 
 Then . . . Ah! my traitor heart, my cruel heart, 
 How canst thou, with thy melting memories, 
 Steal from me this poor fancy of revenge? 
 
 "The years come rushing backward like a flood : 
 I see a dear, time-tinted cottage peep 
 From out a whispering luxury of leaves; 
 
J2 AN OUTCAST. 
 
 I see a little child upon the door-sill, 
 Where, in the sleepy afternoon, the sun 
 Strives lazily to pass the shadows, making 
 All hues of gold and green ; she sits alone, 
 Her rosy little cheek upon her hand, 
 Spelling out 'S-i-n' in the old story book, 
 And wondering what it means: — Can this be I? 
 
 " The years roll back upon me like a flood. 
 I see a stately girl, with delicate brow, 
 And eager eyes that look upon the world 
 Expecting nought but truth: — Can this be I? 
 Sure I am young and pure again — old thoughts 
 From that sweet time when all my moughts 
 were hopes, 
 
AN OUTCAST. 73 
 
 Fall like a shower of violets on my brain. 
 There is an angel busy at my heart, 
 Searching its corners and dark crevices 
 For virtues crushed and lost among its scars. 
 
 "Lost? No, they live! I hear the God- 
 
 breathed voice 
 That as I lay awake at dead of night 
 Said, 'Soul, thou art immortal; sin was made 
 For thee to vanquish ; as a mother's love 
 Denies her clinging child, and sets afar 
 The tottering feet that so must learn their use, 
 From thee, my well-beloved, I recede, 
 That so by striving thou shalt reach to me, 
 And grow thereby/ 
 
74 AN OUTCAST. 
 
 " Ah, soul, did I not strive ? 
 Did I not conquer ? Thou, who knowest all, 
 Did ever Satan find more subtle means 
 To snare one child ? Yet with what zeal of 
 
 youth 
 Did I and Want, embracing, turn our backs 
 Upon the host of ugly, petted sins 
 That crawl to earth's high places — with what 
 
 schemes 
 Of glorious, living, daily martyrdom 
 I fashioned out the future — all in vain, — 
 O yearning, striving years, and all in vain ! 
 
 " Just God, where lagged thine angels, when 
 at last, 
 
AN OUTCAST. 75 
 
 Amid my prayers, amid my victories, 
 
 One slinking masked crime, so masked, it 
 
 seemed 
 A virtue, with its sudden backward thrust 
 Murdered my soul ?" 
 
 
ANOTHER CHANCE. 
 
 LEAN from my window above the river, 
 To watch the winds and the waves at play; 
 But still as I watch, the waves forever 
 Slip from my gaze and glide away. 
 
 Stay, blithe wind, and stand, fair river, 
 And leave me never, thou dear To-day ! 
 
 But still as I ask, the hours forever 
 Slip from my life, and glide away. 
 
 I lose the waves, till my eyes are weary ; 
 
 They will not tarry, they seek the main. 
 
 7 6 
 
ANOTHER CHANCE. JJ 
 
 On, still on ! is their chorus cheery, 
 Soon we shall blend and rise again. 
 
 I lose my days, till I stand despairing, 
 For those were idle, and these are vain ; 
 
 Yet hope, my heart, for the time is nearing 
 When I may live my life again. 
 
 7* 
 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 o 
 
 SUNLESS, cheerless day ! The doleful 
 
 clouds 
 Have wept and wept ; the wind, with ceaseless 
 
 whine, 
 Has wandered through the rain ; now stooping 
 
 low 
 To plague the sullen stream, now whirling high, 
 And diving down some chimney, where the 
 
 dame 
 
 Strove vainly for a cheerful evening fire, 
 
 Beating the smoke into her patient face. 
 78 
 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 79 
 
 Now skimming earth so swift, that the long 
 
 grass 
 Grows shrill with pain ; now blustering past 
 
 the flowers 
 And through the angry corn ; now to the stream, 
 Making the willows sulk, and flounce, and trail 
 Their wet arms on the ground ; now, scorning 
 
 earth, 
 He's up to fight the clouds. Good wind, sweet 
 
 wind, 
 Battle them sore — scatter the enemy 
 That we may gain the farewell of the sun, 
 And catch the blessing. Joy ! The weary foes 
 Have raised the siege, and now, dispersing slow, 
 Retire ; the trees, all dripping, stand ablaze, 
 
80 EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 Thrilled by the cordial light, that suddenly 
 Enclasping, sets each separate soft green leaf 
 Quivering with life ; till, with majestic joy, 
 They fling on high their bold ambitious arms 
 In hope to touch the skies that seem so near. 
 The loving clouds bend downward from the blue, 
 And form, and melt, and break like hills of foam, 
 Paling to silver, — blushing back to rose ; 
 Gathering in mountains of rich purple glooms; 
 Deepening to awful caverns and strange 
 
 chasms ; 
 Then breaking, softening, melting, till the sky 
 Grows dark, and deep, and clear, and a keen eye 
 Can almost reach to heaven, whence issuing 
 
 forth, 
 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 8 1 
 
 With their fresh glory on them, one by one 
 The great stars take their places, and poor earth 
 Stands in the presence of the universe. 
 Shrink back, thou small mean orb, into the 
 
 dark; 
 Heaven passes ; veil thee close with leaves and 
 
 clouds ! 
 
 Yet I would rather live thy life, sweet earth, 
 With human woes and joys, than be a star 
 Hard smiling in cold beauty, bright and bleak. 
 I envy not your glory, proud, pale stars, 
 Each on a separate throne, — do ye not pine, 
 Flinging your dark arms vainly through the 
 blank, 
 
82 EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 For some sweet human touch? Do ye not 
 
 yearn, 
 Searching through space with sadly burning 
 
 eyes, 
 For our poor leaf-clad orb, where some small 
 
 flower 
 Leaning its cheek against another near, 
 Loves its frail life away? What's life but love? 
 What soul in highest heaven can more than love ? 
 
 O earth, whose sighs are sweet, whose cares 
 
 are dear, 
 Whose smiles, like rainbows, live more bright 
 
 for tears, — 
 Most precious earth, I hail thee ! This fair night, 
 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 83 
 
 While yet my keen-strung soul, like some 
 
 rough harp 
 Thrilled with a breath from heaven, swells high 
 
 and loud 
 With music not its own I sing to thee: — 
 Of woods and waters, glorious in the sun : 
 Of flowers and fountains, yielding their fair lives 
 In beauty and in light ; of daily smiles 
 Poured from the founts of ever-flowing love, 
 On ever-thirsting hearts ; ofsummer eves, 
 When heaven brings kindly close to harvest day 
 And bids the laborer rest ; of children's voices 
 Ringing their welcomes from his waiting door ; 
 Of sunsets Catholic, that pour at large 
 Cathedral glory into cottage panes. 
 
84 EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 Shadows and stars and music for earth's night ; 
 Sunshine and flowers and laughter for her day ; 
 And love for all. Thou Life, who sit'st above, 
 Creating life, aye sprinkling space with 
 
 worlds 
 From Thy dim fingers, — not so much for these 
 I bow to Thee, as that in this far earth 
 Thou hast made human hearts, and taught them 
 
 love. 
 For Love, she is invincible ; 'through her, 
 Frail, faltering man, brave, struggling, con- 
 quering man, 
 Towers o'er the angels innocent and untried ; 
 And Love, she is omnipotent ; no soul 
 Without her tending, could outlive its clay, 
 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 85 
 
 So brutish else, and weak. We wake, and 
 
 sleep; 
 We hunger, and are cold ; we grow, and die ; 
 We strive with weaker brothers for their spoils, 
 And yield to stronger ; spider-like we toil 
 And plot to snare our fellows ; or, like ants, 
 We build wise plans, and stand in blind amaze 
 To find them crushed beneath Fate's iron 
 
 heel; 
 We strive, and fail ; we reason, and are lost ; 
 We love, — and we touch God. 
 
COMPENSATION. 
 
 AM not a prosperous man ; 
 The ships I send to sea 
 Are apt to meet some strange defeat 
 
 Ere they come back to me. 
 And her eyes are dulled with care ; 
 
 And the castle that serves our prime 
 Is a poor affair to those in the air 
 We built in our courting time. 
 
 This morning, waking slow 
 To a sense of the coming day, 
 
 86 
 
COMPENSATION. 8/ 
 
 Of the life too mean, and the might have been, 
 
 My coward heart gave way. 
 My heart appalled sank down ; 
 
 But rose again with a leap 
 At our delight when at dead of night 
 
 Our babe laughed out in his sleep. 
 
 ^^^S^^^ 
 
AN OLD MAID. 
 
 QITTING in the twilight, 
 
 Looking out into the rain, 
 Through the blurred and dripping dimness 
 
 Of my window-pane: 
 Waiting in the chilly twilight 
 
 For the supper bell to ring, 
 Float a flood of fancies o'er me — 
 
 Thoughts of the Spring. 
 
 Oh, the early Spring-time! 
 In the woodlands, even now, 
 
 88 
 
AN OLD MAID. 89 
 
 Life is rising, tightly swelling 
 
 Twig and bulb and bough. 
 Through the clods the moss is pushing ; 
 
 Homeward birds are on the wing; 
 Earth is quick with coming glory — 
 
 Oh, for the Spring ! 
 
 Spring has something sweeter; 
 
 Leaves unfolded thick and brown, 
 Bursting soon, will drop their shadows, 
 
 Trembling softly down. 
 Buds will bloom and skies will deepen ; 
 
 Waters flash and woodlands ring; 
 Through long grass the brooks will rustle — 
 
 Oh, for the Spring! 
 
 8* 
 
90 AN OLD MAID. 
 
 Life has something sweeter; 
 
 Strange, to feel old fancies start, 
 Violet-sweet, of youth and passion, 
 
 From my wrinkled heart : 
 May agone, whose flowers were kisses — 
 
 May, whose songs but one could sing; 
 Heart abloom, so sudden blighted — 
 
 Ah, my lost Spring ! 
 
 Still something sweeter; 
 
 There's a home-love underlies 
 Passion, as the fruit that greatens 
 
 When the blossom dies. 
 Plans of homestead, long forgotten ! 
 
 Plans that fancy used to bring 
 
AN OLD MAID. 9 1 
 
 Round me in the fragrant twilight 
 Of my lost Spring. 
 
 Still something sweeter; 
 
 Other dreams about me stand ; 
 Thrills a round cheek on my bosom — 
 
 Feels a little hand. 
 Baby eyes in mine are smiling; 
 
 Baby fingers round me cling; 
 Baby lips are lisping " Mother " — 
 
 God! my lost Spring. 
 
M ISM AT ED, 
 
 A COMMON spring of water, sudden 
 welling, 
 Unheralded, from some unseen impelling, 
 Unrecognized, began his life alone. 
 A rare and haughty vine looked down above 
 
 him, 
 Unclasped her climbing glory, stooped to love 
 
 him, 
 And wreathed herself about his curb of stone. 
 
 Ah, happy fount! Content in upward smiling, 
 92 
 
MISMATED. 93 
 
 To feel no life but in her fond beguiling, 
 To see no world but through her veil of green ! 
 And happy vine, secure in downward gazing, 
 To find one theme his heart forever praising — 
 The crystal cup a throne, and she the queen! 
 
 I speak. I grew about him, ever dearer; 
 The water rose to meet me, ever nearer; 
 The water passed one day his curb of stone. 
 Was it a weak escape from righteous boundings, 
 Or yet a righteous scorn of false surroundings? 
 I only know I live my life alone. 
 
 Alone? The smiling fountain seems to chide 
 me — 
 
94 
 
 MISMATED. 
 
 The constant fountain, rooted still beside 
 
 me, 
 And speaking wistful words I toil to hear; 
 Ah, how alone! The mystic words confound 
 
 me; 
 And still the awakened fountain yearns beyond 
 
 me, 
 Streaming to some unknown I may not near. 
 
 "Oh, list," he cries, "the wondrous voices 
 
 calling ! 
 I hear a hundred streams in silver falling; 
 I feel the far-off pulses of the sea — 
 Oh, come !" Then all my length beside him 
 
 faring, 
 
MISMATED. 95 
 
 I strive and strain for growth, and soon, 
 
 despairing, 
 I pause and wonder where the wrong can 
 
 be. 
 
 Were we not equal ? Nay, I stooped, from 
 
 climbing, 
 To his obscure, to list the golden chiming, 
 So faint to all the world, so plain to me. 
 Now, 'twere some broad fair streamlet, onward 
 
 tending, 
 Should mate with him, and both, serenely 
 
 blending, 
 Move in a grand accordance to the sea. 
 
96 mismated. 
 
 I tend not so ; I hear no voices calling; 
 I have no care for rivers silver-falling; 
 I hate the far-off sea that wrought my pain. 
 Oh for some spell of change, my life new- 
 aiming ! 
 Or best, by spells his too much life reclaiming, 
 Hold all within the fountain-curb again ! 
 
 lap**- 
 
A HOUSEKEEPER'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 /^\NE day as I wandered, I heard a com- 
 plaining, 
 And saw a poor woman, the picture of gloom ; 
 She glared at the mud on her door-step, ('twas 
 
 raining,) 
 And this was her wail as she wielded her broom : 
 
 " Oh ! life is a toil, and love is a trouble, 
 And beauty will fade, and riches will flee, 
 And pleasures they dwindle, and prices they 
 
 double, 
 And nothing is what I could wish it to be. 
 
 9 97 
 
98 a housekeeper's tragedy. 
 
 "There's too much of worriment goes to a 
 
 bonnet; 
 There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt; 
 There's nothing that pays for the time you 
 
 waste on it; 
 There's nothing that lasts but trouble and dirt. 
 
 "In March it is mud; it's slush in December; 
 The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust; 
 In Fall the leaves litter; in muggy September 
 The wall-paper rots and the candlesticks rust. 
 
 "There are worms in the cherries, and slugs 
 
 in the roses, 
 And ants in the sugar, and mice in the pies; 
 
A HOUSEKEEPERS TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes, 
 And ravaging roaches, and damaging flies. 
 
 "It's sweeping at six, and it's dusting at seven; 
 It's victuals at eight, and it's dishes at nine ; 
 It's potting and panning from ten to eleven; 
 We scarce break our fast ere we plan how to 
 dine. 
 
 " With grease and with grime, from corner to 
 
 centre, 
 Forever at war, and forever alert, 
 No rest for a day, lest the enemy enter — 
 I spend my whole life in a struggle with 
 
 dirt. 
 
IOO A HOUSEKEEPERS TRAGEDY. 
 
 " Last night, in my dream, I was stationed for- 
 ever 
 On a little bare isle in the midst of the sea ; 
 My one chance of life, with a ceaseless endeavor, 
 To sweep off the waves ere they swept over me. 
 
 " Alas ! 'twas no dream — again I behold it ! 
 I yield ; I am helpless my fate to avert. — " 
 She rolled down her sleeves, her apron she 
 
 folded; 
 Then lay down and died, and was buried in 
 
 dirt. 
 
IF. 
 
 i H, were I a billow, a billow, 
 And thou my shore should be, 
 I'd gather my measure of ocean treasure, 
 And dance myself to thee ; 
 I'd leave the winds aside, 
 And lead the lagging tide, 
 Resting never, and dancing ever, 
 To fling my life on thee. 
 
 Oh, were I a lily, a lily, 
 
 And thou my charmed bee, 
 
 9* 
 
102 IF. 
 
 Td lure thee, and love thee, and close above 
 thee, 
 And ne'er would set thee free ; 
 The wrathful sun might pale, 
 The scolding winds might rail, 
 So, dying together, my leaves should wither 
 O'er thee, my love, o'er thee. 
 
 Oh, were I a willow, a willow, 
 
 And thou my breeze should be, 
 Still closer creeping, each small leaf steeping, 
 Till all were filled with thee ; 
 Or rise in wrathful gale, 
 And roar through all the vale, 
 
IF. IO3 
 
 Fd fling, imploring, my arms adoring, 
 And bow, oh Storm, to thee. 
 
 Oh, were I a roselet, a roselet, 
 And thou my sun should be, 
 Fd gather the sweetness of June's completeness 
 In one red kiss for thee ; 
 
 My heart would stand a-swoon 
 For pure excess of June, 
 Till, flushed with fulness, athirst for coolness, 
 It burst at last to thee. 
 
A LITTLE GOOSE. 
 
 r I "HE chill November day was done, 
 
 The working- wo rid home-faring; 
 The wind came roaring through the streets, 
 
 And set the gas-lights flaring. 
 And helplessly and aimlessly 
 
 The scared old leaves were flying; 
 When, mingled with the soughing wind, 
 
 I heard a small voice crying. 
 
 And shivering on the corner stood 
 
 A child of four, or over; 
 104. 
 
A LITTLE GOOSE. 105 
 
 No cloak nor hat her small soft arms 
 And wind-blown curls to cover. 
 
 Her dimpled face was stained with tears; 
 Her round blue eyes ran over; 
 
 She cherished in her wee cold hand 
 A bunch of faded clover. 
 
 And, one hand round her treasure, while 
 
 She slipped in mine the other, 
 Half-scared, half-confidential, said, 
 
 " Oh, please, I want my mother." 
 " Tell me your street and number, pet ; 
 
 Don't cry; I'll take you to it." 
 Sobbing she answered, "I forget; 
 
 The organ made me do it. 
 
106 A LITTLE GOOSE. 
 
 " He came and played at Miller's step ; 
 The monkey took the moneys 
 I followed down the street, because 
 
 That monkey was so funny. 
 I've walked about a hundred hours 
 From one street to another; 
 The monkey's gone, Fve spoiled my flowers; 
 — Oh, please, I want my mother." 
 
 " But what's your mother's name, and what 
 The street? — now think a minute." 
 
 " My mother's name is Mother Dear ; 
 The street — I can't begin it." 
 
 " But what is strange about the house, 
 Or new, not like the others ? " 
 
A LITTLE GOOSE. 107 
 
 "I guess you mean my trundle-bed, 
 Mine and my little brother's. 
 
 a Oh, dear, I ought to be at home 
 
 To help him say his prayers ; 
 He's such a baby, he forgets; 
 
 And we are both such players ; 
 And there's a bar between, to keep 
 
 From pitching on each other, 
 For Harry rolls when he's asleep ; 
 
 — Oh, dear, I want my mother!" 
 
 The sky grew stormy; people passed 
 All muffled, homeward faring. 
 
108 A LITTLE GOOSE. 
 
 " You'll have to spend the night with me," 
 
 I said at last, despairing. 
 I tied a 'kerchief round her neck. 
 
 — " What ribbon's this, my blossom ? 
 "Why, don't you know?" she smiling said, 
 
 And drew it from her bosom. 
 
 A card, with number, street and name ! 
 
 My eyes astonished met it; 
 "For," said the little one, "you see 
 
 I might some time forget it; 
 And so I wear a little thing 
 
 That tells you all about it; 
 For mother says she's very sure 
 
 I would get lost without it." 
 
THE SEA AND THE STREAMS. 
 
 LAST night I crossed the sand, through 
 ' mist and darkness, 
 
 To where, in some new spasm of expectation, 
 As if this time, at last, the land were yielding, 
 The sea heaved all his weight against the 
 
 shore ; 
 Then back he fled, with still the old amaze- 
 ment; 
 For still he could not pass the line God's 
 finger 
 
 10 109 
 
110 THE SEA AND THE STREAMS. 
 
 Had left along the sand : then fell to calling, 
 "More — more!" and league, on league up- 
 thundered,—" More r 
 
 " O rivers, bring more life ; O streams, assuage 
 
 me ; 
 Ye wells of freshness in the forests hiding, 
 And battling torrents white that rend the 
 
 mountains, 
 And rock-pools gleaming on some Alpine 
 
 crown, 
 Ye royal streams, on all your course attended 
 By forest nobles, with their choirs of music, 
 Ye underground blind lives, still groping sea- 
 ward, 
 
THE SEA AND THE STREAMS. Ill 
 
 O fill my need ; bring more — bring all — come 
 down !" 
 
 All the dark world stood waiting for the 
 
 morning.; 
 But on heaven's face there seemed a hint of 
 
 message 
 
 Which yet it must not speak. No more in 
 
 \ 
 thunder^ 
 
 But hollow-sweet, the sea. " O waters, come ! 
 
 Ye prisoned streams, break forth — in me is 
 
 freedom ; 
 Ye faltering, aimless streams, I am your 
 
 mission ; 
 
112 THE SEA AND THE STREAMS. 
 
 Ye restless, seeking streams, I am your 
 
 meaning ; 
 Ye wandering, weary streams, I am your 
 
 home. 
 
 Still in the starry dark the world stood wait- 
 ing; 
 But in the conscious East, behold, the message; 
 
 A thrill, a flush, a miracle, a sunrise ! 
 And ocean held his pulse. Then came to me 
 Clear in that moment's glowing, awful silence, 
 From near and far a sound of answering 
 
 voices, 
 A many-sounding song of waters moving 
 In universal cadence to the sea. 
 
THE SEA AND THE STREAMS. I 1 3 
 
 wonderful ! I heard the panting hurry 
 
 Of one fine rill that pushed beneath a pebble ; 
 
 1 heard the hollow plunge, down sunless gorges, 
 Of a lost cataract falling all alone ; 
 
 I heard a meadow brook through long grass 
 
 swashing ; 
 I heard a garden fountain, tinkle, tinkle ; 
 I heard the dreadful grating of the glaciers 
 In slow, vast movement down a world of 
 
 stone. 
 
 See, the far hills smile back the rosy mes- 
 sage; 
 
 The tree-tops shine; from village chimneys 
 rising, 
 
114 THE SEA AN] D THE STREAMS. 
 
 Each dun smoke changes to a golden geyser ; 
 The lark's wing flashes on his upward way. 
 Still calls the sea; the streams I hear no 
 
 longer, 
 Lost in a rising swarm of sounds and voices ; 
 For now a sea of light fills earth and heaven, 
 And all the joyful world awakes — Tis day ! 
 
 
A CHILD'S EARLY LESSONS. 
 
 SUMMER winds, Summer winds, where 
 are ye hieing, 
 Now that the bees and the blossoms have flown? 
 The old leaves are dead, and the young leaves 
 
 are dying, 
 And I shall be left with the Autumn alone. 
 Stay, for I pine with this stately new-comer; 
 Her breath is so chill, and her looks are so wan. 
 "Nay, little maid, we are friends of the 
 
 Summer; , 
 Summer friends fly when the Autumn comes 
 
 on. 
 
 us 
 
Il6 a child's early lessons. 
 
 Little birds, little birds, where are ye flying? 
 Taking all music away in your tone: 
 The forests are fading, the flowers are dying, 
 And I shall be left with the Autumn alone. 
 Stay, pretty songsters, and say for what reason 
 You leave the poor child who has loved you 
 
 so long. 
 "Nay, little maid, we are friends of the season; 
 Summer friends fly when the Autumn comes 
 
 on. 
 
 Roses, sweet crimson hearts, why are ye paling? 
 Why in my path so rebukingly bow? 
 Were ye not cherished with love never failing? 
 Will ye not tarry and comfort me now? 
 
A CHILD S EARLY LESSONS. 117 
 
 We who have joyed in the sunshine togethen 
 Together will mourn now the glory is gone. 
 "Peace foolish maiden, we change with the 
 
 weather; 
 Summer love cools when the Autumn comes 
 
 on." 
 
 
SEVENTEEN. 
 
 "\ 11 THILE the sweet Spring earth rejoices, 
 And the forests, old and dim, 
 
 Populous with little voices, 
 
 i 
 Raise their trilling hymn, — 
 
 Chime our songs in joyous pleading, 
 
 With the music of the day, 
 We are young, and Time is speeding; 
 
 Sweet Time, stay! 
 
 We would hold the hasty hours, 
 Ope them to the living core, 
 
 118 
 
SEVENTEEN. 1 1 9 
 
 Leaf by leaf, like folded flowers, 
 
 Till they glow no more. 
 We are mated with the present; 
 
 Bosom friends with dear to-day; 
 Loving best the latest minute; 
 
 Sweet Time, stay. 
 
 Sovereign Youth! All dainty spirits 
 
 Wait on us from earth and air; 
 From the common life distilling 
 
 But its essence rare. 
 Golden sounds, to age so leaden; 
 
 Eden sights, to age so drear; 
 Sweet illusions, subtle feelings 
 
 Age would smile to hear. 
 
120 SEVENTEEN. 
 
 Happy Youth! When fearless bosoms, 
 
 With their wealth of follies rare, 
 Loose their thoughts, like summer blossoms, 
 
 To the generous air. 
 When we sit and mock at sorrow, 
 
 Looking in each others' eyes, 
 Greeting every new to-morrow 
 
 With a new surprise. 
 
 Hope is with us, chanting ever 
 
 Of some fair untried to-be; 
 Lurking Love hath prisoned never 
 
 Hearts so blithe and free. 
 Yet, unseen, a fairy splendor 
 
 O'er the prosing world he flings; 
 
SEVENTEEN. 1 2 1 
 
 Everywhere we hear the rushing 
 Of his rising wings. 
 
 As the tender crescent holdeth 
 
 All the moon within its rim, 
 So the silver present foldeth 
 
 All the future dim. 
 Ah, the prophet moon is sweetest, 
 
 And the life is best to-day; 
 Life is best when time is fleetest; 
 
 Sweet Time, stay! 
 
 it 
 
THIRTY-FOUR. 
 
 CANNOT sing as once I sung 
 When life with rhyme so close engaged, 
 When you and I were very young 
 Instead of slightly middle-aged. 
 
 Then all my thought and all my song 
 Were music, roses, honey-dew; 
 
 And most the dainty moonlight throng 
 Of maiden fancies, strange and new. 
 
THIRTY-FOUR. 1 23 
 
 All strange, yet true; as when we gaze 
 In summer skies, their best to win, 
 
 What seemed the sky will part in haze, 
 And show a deeper heaven w r ithin. 
 
 A deeper heaven — a deepening soul; 
 
 Youth's rosy mist-wreaths pass away: 
 They bare new spaces as they roll, 
 
 And depths unknown to yesterday. 
 
 And farther depths, and space more grand, 
 And life increasing more and more, 
 
 As on each yesterday we stand, 
 
 And grasp to-day, till youth is o'er. 
 
124 THIRTY-FOUR. 
 
 Youth is not o'er; the ripe fruit holds 
 The blossom's sweetness in its sphere : 
 
 The larger life the less enfolds, 
 
 And nought is lost, but more is here. 
 
 And more will be ; and more with time 
 Life's scope and meaning we shall see, 
 
 And what shall keep the soul at prime 
 Through all the far eternity. 
 
A CAUTION. 
 
 T OVE hailed a little maid 
 
 Romping through the meadow; 
 Heedless in the sun she played, 
 Scornful of the shadow. 
 "Come with me," whispered he; 
 
 "Listen, sweet, to love and reason." 
 "By and by," she mocked reply, 
 "Love's not in season." 
 
 Years went, years came, 
 Light mixed with shadow ; 
 
 Love met the maid again 
 
 Dreaming through the meadow. 
 
 II* 125 
 
126 A CAUTION. 
 
 " Be not coy," urged the boy, 
 
 "List in time to love and reason/' 
 
 " By and by," she mused reply, 
 "Love's still in season." 
 
 Years went, years came, 
 
 Light turned to shadow; 
 Love saw the maid again, 
 Waiting in the meadow. 
 "Pass no more, my dream is o'er; 
 
 I can listen now to reason." 
 "Keep thee coy," mocked the boy; 
 "Love's out of season." 
 
EXCEPTIONAL. 
 
 "XTOT by one gauge of fitness or unfit- 
 ness 
 
 Judge we the lives around us, more than 
 God 
 
 Asks of each plant the selfsame bloom for 
 witness 
 
 Of equal sunshine poured upon its sod. 
 
 And judge not him whose unfamiliar nature, 
 
 Higher or lower, differs from the rest ; 
 
 127 
 
128 EXCEPTIONAL. 
 
 Springs from the old seed in new form and 
 
 stature ; 
 Crosses the gardener's rules of worst and 
 
 best. 
 
 Suppose some human form, embalmed for 
 
 ages, 
 Were suddenly to catch its soul again ; 
 To write anew, upon Time's later pages, 
 Its varied chronicle of joy and pain. 
 
 His heart brimful of memories and old 
 
 yearning, 
 A quaint sweet harp, with none that know 
 
 its tone ; 
 
EXCEPTIONAL. 1 29 
 
 His home-thoughts locked in long forgotten 
 
 learning, 
 And none can find the key ; he is alone. 
 He stands with outstretched arms, half sure, 
 
 half fearing; 
 He peers in every face with anxious eye ; 
 He listens ever in the hope of hearing 
 An echo to his call, but all pass by. 
 
 Yet welcome, though we comprehend not 
 
 wholly 
 His soul's strange idioms and peculiar 
 
 needs : 
 Mayhap his hands, that learn our ways so 
 
 slowly, 
 
I3O EXCEPTIONAL. 
 
 Come bearing worthy fruits and precious 
 seeds 
 
 From fields we know not : that far gaze, un- 
 heeding 
 
 So oft the nearest gain, the moment's 
 bloom, 
 
 Mayhap some word from God to man is 
 reading, 
 
 Which none would else interpret: give him 
 room. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 C^ IX : nay, at six, in any case 
 
 He could not come; 'tis evening chime, 
 And if I reach the trysting place 
 
 Whole hours before the trysting time, 
 ' Tis not with any hope to see 
 
 Unseemly soon my love appear; 
 
 He is no idle maid like me; 
 
 He has high things to do and bear ; 
 
 131 
 
132 WAITING. 
 
 And not for worlds would I that he 
 For love should weakly eager be. 
 
 Seven: still an hour; not long to wait; 
 
 But sixty minutes — fifty-nine, 
 Scarce time to quite anticipate 
 
 My joy — not near enough, in fine. 
 And yet — it might be — some new chance, 
 
 Some plot to take me by surprise — 
 If round yon rock a form should glance 
 
 And strike on my astonished eyes ! 
 Nay, down, my heart! It is not he; 
 True love must not impatient be. 
 
 Eight: now, my heart! A step this way, 
 . . . Tis past. Yon horse. . . It disappears. 
 
WAITING. 133 
 
 A shout. . . 'Tis but the watch-dog's bay — 
 Ah, he is playing with my fears , 
 
 Or sleep has held him over-long, 
 
 (Could /sleep?) Or his friends detain, 
 
 (Would friends keep me ?) Or duties throng ; 
 Or — see this sky — he hates the rain. 
 
 No, no; he keeps his tryst with me; 
 
 True love shall not suspicious be. 
 
 Nine: now by all I feel this hour, 
 This is no love ! and for my part, 
 
 I pray he never more have power 
 To outrage thus a woman's heart. 
 
 Let him have never wife and child 
 
 To waste their hours at window-pane ; 
 12 
 
134 WAITING. 
 
 Let him on no home-hearth be coiled 
 To bask, and give no warmth again. 
 Gorge him with comforts — let him be 
 From love's least obligation free. 
 
 Ten ; and the night grows black and chill ; 
 
 The way is long ; the road is lone. 
 Who knows what thousand forms of ill 
 
 May be along that pathway strewn ? 
 A stumbling horse ; a secret foe ; 
 
 Even murder slinking on his track; 
 The strife in darkness — the last blow — 
 
 Oh would some chance might turn him back ! 
 Peace ; he is no poltroon like me : 
 His own right arm his guard shall be. 
 
WAITING. I35 
 
 Eleven : 'tis o'er. My hope is gone ! 
 
 He will not come. My life is drear. 
 Aha, my love — my truth — my own, 
 
 I knew — I knew you would be here ! 
 Art hurt ? Art weary ? Rest thee now; 
 
 Nay, rest and speak not, while I pour 
 Through living fingers on thy brow 
 
 My too much life in thine once more. 
 Such thoughts I had — I blush to tell. 
 I see thy face and all is well. 
 
FARM MUSIC 
 
 FN the morning, dim and sweet, 
 Slanting glints the sun ; 
 The milkmaid trips with hurrying feet, 
 
 The farmer's day is begun. 
 Hark ! 'tis the mower blithe, 
 As he sharpens his trusty scythe, — 
 
 Crink, crank — crink, crank! 
 In, the dewy morning air. 
 
 In the summer, near to noon, 
 
 Flaming climbs the sun ; 
 136 
 
FARM MUSIC. 137 
 
 The scythe-blades sweep to a pleasant tune, 
 
 And the task goes merrily on. 
 Hark ! shrill and fine, 
 The locust's hot-weather sign, — 
 
 Cree-ee, cree-ee ! 
 In the blazing morning air. 
 
 In the summer day at noon, 
 
 Right over glares the sun ; 
 The mowers sweep to a slower tune, 
 
 And wish the task were done. 
 Hark ! Hip — hurrah ! 
 The dinner horn sounds afar, — 
 
 Ta — tara — tara, tara! 
 
 In the seething noontide air. 
 
 12* 
 
I38 FARM MUSIC. 
 
 In the lazy afternoon, 
 
 Homeward looks the sun; 
 The meadow stream makes a tinkling tune, 
 
 The mowers have nearly done. 
 Hark ! a chattering loud, 
 'Tis the noisy crows in a crowd, . 
 
 Caw, caw, caw, caw! 
 Through all the hazy air. 
 
 The primrose wakes to bloom ; 
 
 Downward rolls the sun ; 
 The west is fire, the east is gloom, 
 
 The mowers' task is done. 
 And hist — hark ! 
 
FARM MUSIC. I39 
 
 What rings through the fragrant dark? 
 
 Whippoorwill, whippoorwill ! 
 Through all the evening air. 
 
 East and west are gloom, 
 
 But the moon is rising fair; 
 And the night is warm, and the clover bloom 
 
 Sweetens all the air. 
 And hist — hark! 
 Who calls through the silver dark? 
 
 Hoo, hoo, tu whit, tu hoo ! 
 Through all the midnight air. 
 
AN ANGEL'S VISIT. 
 
 £"* HE stood in the harvest-field at noon, 
 
 And sang aloud for the joy of living. 
 She said : " 'Tis the sun that I drink like wine, 
 To my heart this gladness giving." 
 
 Rank upon rank the wheat fell slain ; 
 
 The reapers ceased. "'Tis sure the splendor 
 
 Of sloping sunset light that thrills 
 
 My breast with a bliss so tender." 
 140 
 
AN ANGELS VISIT. 141 
 
 Up and up the blazing hills 
 
 Climbed the night from the misty meadows. 
 " Can they be stars, or living eyes 
 
 That bend on me from the shadows ?" 
 
 "Greeting !" "And may you speak, indeed ?" 
 All in the dark her sense grew clearer ; 
 
 She knew that she had, for company, 
 All day an angel near her. 
 
 "May you tell of the life divine, 
 To us unknown, to angels given ?" 
 
 "Count me your earthly joys, and I 
 May teach you those of heaven." 
 
142 AN ANGEL'S VISIT. 
 
 "They say the pleasures of earth are vain ; 
 
 Delusions all, to lure from duty; 
 But while God hangs his bow in the rain, 
 
 Can I help my joy in beauty ? 
 
 "And while he quickens the air with song, 
 My breaths with scent, my fruits with flavor, 
 
 Will he, dear angel, count as sin 
 My life in sound and savor? 
 
 "See, at our feet a glow-worm shines; 
 
 Lo ! in the East a star arises ; 
 And Thought may climb from worm to world 
 
 Forever through fresh surprises: 
 
AN ANGELS VISIT. 1 43 
 
 "And thought is joy. . . . And, hark! in the vale 
 Music, and merry steps pursuing; 
 
 They leap in the dance — a soul in my blood 
 Cries out, — Awake, be doing! 
 
 "Action is joy; or power at play, 
 
 Or power at work in world emprises: 
 
 Action is life; part from the deed, 
 More from the doing rises." 
 
 "And are these all?" She flushed in the dark. 
 
 "These are not all. I have a lover; 
 At sound of his voice, at touch of his hand, 
 
 The cup of my life runs over. 
 
144 AN ANGELS VISIT. 
 
 "Once, unknowing, we looked and neared, 
 And doubted, and neared, and rested never, 
 
 Till life seized life, as flame meets flame, 
 To escape no more forever. 
 
 "Lover and husband; then was love 
 The wine of my life, all life enhancing: 
 
 Now 'tis my bread, too needful and sweet 
 To be kept for feast-day chancing. 
 
 "I have a child/' She seemed to change; 
 
 The deep content of some brooding creature 
 Looked from her eyes. " O, sweet and strange ! 
 
 Angel, be thou my teacher: 
 
AN ANGELS VISIT. 1 45 
 
 "When He made us one in a babe, 
 Was it for joy, or sorest proving? 
 
 For now I fear no heaven could win 
 Our hearts from earthly loving. 
 
 "I have a friend. Howso I err, 
 
 I see her uplifting love bend o'er me; 
 
 Howso I climb to my best, I know 
 Her foot will be there before me. 
 
 "Howso parted, we must be nigh, 
 Held by old years of every weather; 
 
 The best new love would be less than ours 
 Who have lived our lives together. 
 
 13 
 
I46 AN ANGEL'S VISIT. 
 
 "Now, lest forever I fail to see 
 
 Right skies, through clouds so bright and 
 tender, 
 Show me true joy." The angel's smile 
 
 Lit all the night with splendor. 
 
 "Save that to Love and Learn and Do 
 In wondrous measure to us is given; 
 
 Save that we see the face of God, 
 
 You have named the joys of heaven." 
 
THORNS. 
 
 ONE rose, of all in the garden, 
 
 To others, other are fairer, 
 But this is queen to me. 
 
 Its thorns are many and sharp, 
 
 But its blooms are many and fair; 
 And who would forego a rose, 
 
 The pang of a thorn to spare? 
 
 147 
 
I4 8 THORNS. 
 
 Its thorns are many and sharp, 
 But I well can bear the pain, 
 
 For they strike, and then, repenting, 
 Are straight withdrawn again. 
 
 But once, and at unaware, 
 A prickle, in sudden ire, 
 
 Burrowed into my hand, 
 Keen as a point of fire. 
 
 And still it burns and rankles; 
 
 I cannot still its ado : 
 Even to clasp a rose 
 
 Quickens the sting anew. 
 
THORNS. I49 
 
 Even the tenderest touch 
 
 Must give me only pain; 
 For this time, when it struck, 
 
 It let the thorn remain. 
 
 I know, in a few to-morrows 
 The hurt full healed will be: 
 
 Twill be longer ere the rose 
 Is quite the same to me. 
 
 13* 
 
AN OLD ROSE. 
 
 AS I wandered, lightly musing, 
 
 Through the Roses in their pride, 
 Culling this, or that refusing, 
 
 Casting many a bloom aside, 
 In my way a wilted flower 
 
 Simpered still, and kept her ground; 
 Loth to lose her olden power, 
 Loth to leave the belles around. 
 
 Fair, though wrinkled ; sweet, though faded; 
 Not a leaf had left its core: 
 
 150 
 
AN OLD ROSE. 151 
 
 Must she then, by all unheeded, 
 Through all time be known no more? 
 
 Is there any life for beauty 
 After beauty's dreary close? 
 
 Death is sure the only duty 
 Of a poor old Rose. 
 
 Still the Rose, her doom refusing, 
 
 Smiling hides her blight and pain; 
 While each little wind at choosing 
 
 Bares the unseemly spots again. 
 Yield thy spicy leaves, dear beauty, 
 
 Ere their life to poison grows; 
 Spreading sweets is still the duty 
 
 Of a poor old Rose. 
 
152 AN OLD ROSE. 
 
 Die, old Rose; and live forever 
 
 Soul of scent that cannot die; 
 Live in every lover's favor, 
 
 Every poet's minstrelsy. 
 Scatter thou, and I will gather, 
 
 Standing fast, through winter's snows, 
 In a dream of summer weather 
 
 From a poor old Rose. 
 
 
AN OLD BUTTERFLY. 
 
 ITS gorgeous plumes were a little worn; 
 One splendid wing was a trifle torn ; 
 And the season waned. "How can it be 
 That I stand with my life unlived ?" said he. 
 "Heigho!" said the butterfly, 
 "Would that I knew the reason why." 
 
 "Surely I loved the Violet pure, 
 
 And day by day to her nook obscure 
 
 I lowered my glorious wings, and quaffed 
 
 With a constant mind her perfumed draught. 
 
 But how strangely coarse her foliage grows ; 
 
 Besides — at that moment I saw the Rose. 
 
 153 
 
154 AN OLD BUTTERFLY. 
 
 "I saw the Rose, and I knew my fate. 
 Slow she unfolded; I would not wait, 
 But prayed and fretted from hour to hour, 
 Till opened at last the perfect flower. 
 ... A perfect flower? That cannot be, 
 Or how could she lose her hold on me? 
 
 "For your Rose is burning sweet; in fine 
 She is over-sweet to a taste like mine; 
 Too rich, too much, to one who has seen 
 In a garden beyond, the Lily queen. 
 I saw the Lily, and all was o'er: 
 The Rose could reign in my heart no more. 
 
 "Creamy white is the perfect hue. 
 
AN OLD BUTTERFLY. 155 
 
 Cold she seemed; with a great ado 
 I won my welcome. Too late I see 
 She cannot command the depths in me. 
 Heigho!" said the butterfly, 
 "What is it ails each love I try?" 
 
 And the season waned. No more he flies; 
 On a Sunflower's bosom broad he lies. 
 And after all, it is sad, we say, 
 To think he has thrown himself away; 
 Could it have been, — the reason why, 
 That anything ailed the butterfly? 
 
A LITTLE PROPHET. 
 
 ^* POKE the nightingale to the rose, 
 
 Once, so early in the morning, 
 Not a creature in all the glen, 
 Wearied and dull with a night of rain, 
 Had perceived a warning. 
 "Yet," he said, "'tis morning/'' 
 
 Night of rain, night of gloom; 
 
 Ah, how sad for the birds a-building! 
 
 Soaking nests and blossoms torn, 
 is* 
 
A LITTLE PROPHET. 1 57 
 
 \ 
 
 And in all the east no sign of morn 
 The weeping woodlands gilding. 
 "Yet," he sang, "'tis morning." 
 
 "Nay, he raves;" said the draggled flowers; 
 "Sure, he raves;" said the birds together. 
 Back to their streaming boughs they went, 
 Ragged and bunched with discontent 
 At such unheard-of weather. 
 "Still," he sang, "'tis morning." 
 
 "Waken," he cried, "ye creatures all, 
 Violets, lift your dripping faces; 
 Bob-o-link. robin, arise and sing; 
 
 14 
 
158 A LITTLE PROPHET. 
 
 Choral larks, announce your king; 
 
 Thrushes, choose your places; 
 For I am sure 'tis morning/' 
 
 Darkness all; along the east, 
 
 Hill on hill lay the awful thunder 
 
 — All in a flash, O wondrous sight! 
 
 Those dreadful gates of storm and night 
 Burst and rolled asunder. 
 
 Lo, the Sun! 'Twas morning. 
 
 Back and back from their king they rolled ; 
 Grand he arose, and smiled around him. 
 Each small creature in wood and glen, 
 
A LITTLE PROPHET. 1 59 
 
 Blackbird, throstle, and tiny wren, 
 Broke the spell that bound him. 
 "Joy!" they rang; "'tis morning !" 
 
 Music and perfume everywhere; 
 
 All the air in a golden glory; 
 Crowds of praisers fill the vale. 
 
 But really 'twas the nightingale 
 Who first told the story. 
 
 He first said, "Tis morning." 
 
TO A FEW. 
 
 "P LAY-TIME for the young; 
 
 Rest-time for the faint and old ; 
 Soft leaves for the trees, now hung 
 
 In rattling ice so cold ; 
 Freedom for the sorely bound ; 
 
 Homes for those who would not rove ; 
 For myself, the sweet world round, 
 
 Give the boon of love. 
 
 Love is life— is God: 
 
 Heaven is love, and lies around, 
 
 160 
 
TO A FEW. l6l 
 
 And the pathway oftenest trod 
 
 Is its holiest ground. 
 So my hopes shall be as prayers, 
 
 Not to some dim realm above, 
 But the heaven the l&west shares, 
 
 To near hearts for love. 
 
 Love me for my love: 
 
 Love is neither bought nor sold; 
 But itself its price can prove, 
 
 Or itself can hold. 
 I would ask it, as the sun 
 
 Asks the earth through April hours ; 
 
 Ye should give, as earth, full won, 
 
 Makes reply in flowers. 
 14* 
 
1 62 TO A FEW. 
 
 Love me for my faults ; 
 
 Love me most, oh brave and strong, 
 When my fainting spirit halts 
 
 Weakly in the wrong. 
 Frailest tree needs firmest stay; 
 
 Weakest child has closest care; 
 Dearest loved of Jesus, they 
 
 Whose reproach he bare. 
 
 Love me when I doubt; 
 
 When the heart's own self-mistrust 
 Compasses the soul about 
 
 With a dimming rust. 
 "They will answer," Hope speaks clear; 
 
 From the heart quick, sweet words come: 
 
TO A FEW. 163 
 
 "Will they answer?" whispers Fear, 
 And the lips are dumb. 
 
 "Shall they in surprise 
 
 Put thy awkward proffer by, 
 Or with careless words suffice 
 
 Thy more, earnest cry ?" 
 So my doubts my heart would steel, 
 
 Icing o'er its real glow: 
 Love me, friends, for what I feel, 
 
 Not for what I show. 
 
A PRISON HOME, 
 
 (^\ WEARY prison fortress 
 
 Where year by year I lie, 
 Until the holy men have time 
 
 To bring me out to die. 
 For still with blood and rack and fire 
 
 The work upon their hands has grown ; 
 And still I pine in dungeon cell 
 
 Forgotten and alone. 
 
 164 
 
A PRISON HOME. 1 65 
 
 Alone ? What dimpled elbows 
 
 Are leaning on my knee ? 
 What sound of saucy laughter. 
 
 'Fills all the air with glee? 
 My prison-born ; she came to free 
 
 Her mother's soul, and break her thrall; 
 So life by life my home has gone 
 
 Till she and I are all. 
 
 Our prison sounds are loathsome 
 To one who hears them long; 
 
 The murderer talking to himself, 
 The drunkard's crazy song; 
 
 But on my ear a prattle sweet, 
 Or childish song forever rings ; 
 
1 66 A PRISON HOME. - 
 
 Save when, in friendship's confidence, 
 We talk of deeper things. 
 
 The jail-dogs are her playmates ; 
 
 The jailer is her thrall ; 
 She finds a friend in every cell, 
 
 And wins their best from all. 
 Within her sphere of innocence 
 
 No evil thought will come, 
 And every face is kindly, 
 
 And all the place is home. 
 
 Without, the world is changing; 
 Some say, we make for liberty: 
 
A PRISON HOME. 1 67 
 
 Meantime, the changes in her eyes 
 
 Are all of life to me. 
 She's more to me than daily bread, 
 
 And more than freedom after thrall. 
 My hope, my care, my comforter, 
 
 My pet, my friend, my all ! 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 \ LL through the valley sweet music was 
 sounding, 
 Ringing the praise of the beautiful day. 
 Light through the valley a young child was 
 
 bounding; 
 'Twas dear little Spring, with the blossoms at 
 
 play. 
 Schoolmaster Winter looked back at the 
 
 singing: 
 — "Child, I will teach thee a lesson to-day." 
 
 168 
 
THE SEASONS. 1 69 
 
 But Spring at the proser a violet flinging, 
 Gloomy old Winter strode frowning away. 
 
 Oh welcome to all was the little new-comer, 
 And happy each wight in her favor to share : 
 So lovely she grew that they christened her 
 
 Summer 
 And thought she had wandered from paradise 
 
 there. 
 "Tis shameful," growled Winter, "that she 
 
 should be spending 
 In mirth and in music the minutes so rare, 
 But weightier matters prevent my attending, 
 So trusty aunt Autumn my message shall 
 
 bear." 
 
 15 
 
I70 THE SEASONS. v 
 
 Cheerless and chill as the mission that bound 
 
 her, 
 Dreary aunt Autumn came forth to the day, 
 And wrapping a misty old mantle around her, 
 Harshly arrested the maid in her play. 
 "How can you sing while the season grows 
 
 dimmer? 
 List to the lesson Til read you to-day." 
 But as Autumn collected dead leaves for a 
 
 primer, 
 Sweet merry Summer slipped laughing away. 
 
DELAY. 
 
 ^HE year's worst is done ; 
 The wild winter's over: 
 Through the barren March wind 
 
 I smell the June clover. 
 Through the scolding March wind 
 
 I hear the rose sighing, 
 And callow birds calling, 
 
 And old birds replying. 
 
 In the roaring March wind 
 
 The rivers rise crashing, 
 
 i 7 i 
 
172 DELAY. 
 
 The huge broken winter 
 Down their fronts dashing. 
 
 And their moving is like 
 To the freeing of a nation, 
 
 Rending a rule 
 'Mid a world's jubilation. 
 
 Hist! through the ground 
 
 There is stirring and groping, 
 Roots tingle, seeds thrill, 
 
 In the dark hoping. 
 "Life, give us life! 
 
 Through the grave's long dejection, 
 Sun, we believed! 
 
 Sound now our resurrection." 
 
DELAY. 173 
 
 Up the bare branches 
 
 The life-blood is yearning. 
 In their cold forest nooks 
 
 The creatures are turning. 
 "Is it time?" "Not yet; 
 
 The frost lags belating." 
 — Oh come, come, Spring! 
 
 The world stands waiting. 
 
 C^^&CfitigT) 
 
 15* 
 
INCONSTANT. 
 
 N the forest darkness I heard a little 
 
 I, 
 
 fountain, 
 
 Gurgling alone at the closing of the day; 
 Came a thirsty shepherd-girl, weary from the 
 mountain, 
 Bent above the mossy curb and pushed the 
 ferns away. 
 Leaned across and drank, her hands together 
 filling ; 
 — Low laughed the fount, though the winds 
 made moan : — 
 
 174 
 
INCONSTANT. 1 75 
 
 Starts and looks again, stung with sudden 
 thrilling, 
 Looking at her own name carven on the 
 stone. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Winter came, winter passed: up spoke the 
 fountain, 
 Telling strange tales of the darkness and 
 the rain. 
 June brought the shepherd-girl, dancing from 
 the mountain, 
 Peering in the ferns for the happy word 
 again. 
 
176 INCONSTANT. 
 
 1 
 
 When she stooped above the curb all the 
 woods were ringing, 
 — Low laughed the fount, while the winds 
 made moan. — 
 When she rose, the air was dead; sudden 
 ceased her singing — 
 Looking at the new name carven on the 
 stone. 
 
 -*£P^0^ 
 
PRAYERS. 
 
 \ MOTHER prayed at the eventide 
 With her child upon her breast. 
 The angels came to her darkened room ; 
 And waited her behest. 
 
 "And God," she asked, "Thou Glorious, 
 
 O give my darling fame, 
 
 Among the nobles of his land 
 
 To win the noblest name." 
 
 177 
 
I78 PRAYERS. 
 
 "And may there be some spirit near, 
 My fervent wish to bear." 
 But the doubtful angels silent stood, 
 Nor moved to waft her prayer. 
 
 "And God," she prayed, "Thou Infinite, 
 O give my darling power; 
 The might of soul that sways a host . 
 As the fierce wind sways a shower. 
 
 "And may there be some spirit near, 
 My soul's high wish to bear." 
 But the wondering angels silent stood 
 Nor moved to waft her prayer. 
 
PRAYERS. I79 
 
 "And God, who art all Beautiful, 
 O make my darling fair, 
 That he may still from life draw love, 
 Life's sweetest essence rare. 
 
 "So every heart shall be a harp, 
 Beneath his touch to sound." 
 But the- shuddering angels silent stood, 
 And drooped their wings around. 
 
 "But if," she prayed, "Thou Merciful, 
 He may not grasp at fame, 
 O grant him strength to face serene 
 A cold world's cruel blame ; 
 
ISO PRAYERS. 
 
 "And if he shrink from earthly power, 
 Nor aim to sway the time, 
 Gird Thou his soul to cope with sin, 
 A conqueror sublime. 
 
 "And if he sometime fail to strike 
 Each heart to Love's sweet tone, 
 O may he tune to seraph height 
 The music of his own. 
 
 "Now may there be some spirit near 
 My humble wish to bear." 
 The angels rose on rushing wings 
 In haste to waft her prayer. 
 
MY ROSE. 
 
 T ~\ THEN the sun looks on it 
 
 He makes it fair indeed; 
 When the sun looks through it 
 It doth all sun exceed. 
 
 When thou wert beloved 
 
 I crowned thee with my love; 
 
 Now thou also lovest 
 
 Thou art all crowns above. 
 
 16 181 
 
MY BROTHERS. 
 
 I 
 
 HAVE a sturdy brother that's very dear 
 
 to me, 
 A little merry whirlwind that keeps the 
 
 house in glee; 
 That keeps the house in torment, in wonder 
 
 and in dread, 
 For still the restless foot brings woe upon 
 
 the golden head. 
 
 What makes the child so winning? No 
 
 wondrous gifts are here; 
 
 182 
 
MY BROTHERS. 1 83 
 
 'Twill ever be a careless heart that lights 
 
 those eyes so clear; 
 And yet that nameless charm I see that shall, 
 
 as from a throne, 
 Sway higher souls, and deeper hearts than e'er 
 
 shall be his own. 
 
 I have a quiet brother, with deep'ning twilight 
 
 eyes, 
 Where, as you gaze, new thoughts look forth, 
 
 like stars from darkening skies; 
 With a rich low voice, and earnest look, that 
 
 seems with gentle ruth 
 To plead with all for sympathy, and claim 
 
 from all their truth. 
 
1 84 MY BROTHERS. 
 
 My true, deep-hearted brother — yet if an 
 
 impulse start, 
 A constant fear of cold repulse still checks 
 
 the leaping heart; 
 And while, with yearning wild and strong, he 
 
 fain would bare his soul, 
 A doubting, sullen bashfulness aye holds him 
 
 in control. 
 
 My shrinking, timid brother — yet far in those 
 
 deep eyes, 
 A wealth of love, a might of scorn, a hate of 
 
 meanness lies; 
 And when right bows, or great souls quail, or 
 
 plotting small have sway, 
 
MY BROTHERS. 1 85 
 
 The indignant angel scarce can bide its 
 cramping bonds of clay. 
 
 My silent, haughty brother! I see thy trem- 
 bling soul, 
 
 Like some fine strung iEolian, at every breath's 
 control, 
 
 Shrink proudly from the world's rude touch, 
 and singing all alone, 
 
 They soon will sneer, because they hear no 
 music in thy tone. 
 
 Alas for thee my brother! I see the years 
 
 press on, 
 
 16* 
 
1 86 MY BROTHERS. 
 
 A cold, dull crowd, with petty whips to beat 
 
 thy spirit down; 
 Neglect shall crush, and falsehood goad with 
 
 stings most keen and fine; 
 What duller hearts would bear unfelt shall 
 
 eat like fire in thine. 
 
 Still it shall be thy fate to seek, and find no 
 
 kin to thee; 
 To set thy mark too high, and mourn that 
 
 others cannot see; 
 A stranger at thy mother's board — a pilgrim 
 
 in thy land, 
 Whom many scorn, and some may love, but 
 
 none will understand. 
 
MY BROTHERS. I 87 
 
 To strive, and fail; to love, and doubt; to trust, 
 
 and suffer wrong; 
 To side with right, and fight for truth, and 
 
 find but meanness strong; 
 Till thy sick tortured soul shall deem this 
 
 sweet earth wholly vile — 
 God shelter thee, my brother! I will pray 
 
 for thee the while. 
 

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