J^OEMS AND ^TOEIES, 
 
 f-L^ ^1/1 CU-UO/ 
 
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 Stone, Huse & Co., Printers. j 
 
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 Deai^ Relatives and Friends : 
 
 tfe|(1%pEAD WITHOUT CRITICISM TUE CONTENTS OF THIS LITTLE BOOK — 
 ^ti^iP WRITTEN AT TIMES WHEN EVERY-DAY LIFE SEEMED TOO MEAGRE 
 
 ^'^ for tue wants of the mind, and with a view to near, 
 if not to reach, a higher sphere, for which the human 
 soul must ever long. 
 
 Maria IIildreth Parker. 
 
p 
 
 ONTENTS. 
 
 The Homestead, 1 
 
 Mystic Island, 4 
 
 Autumn Leaves, 17 
 
 The Parting, 19 
 
 Be Mekrt, 21 
 
 To Evelyn, 23 
 
 Sunset, 25 
 
 To Clara, 28 
 
 Chakity, 29 
 
 The Cord around toe Heart, 36 
 
 Song, 38 
 
 The Soul's Bereavement, 39 
 
 To Annie, 41 
 
 Music, ^ 43 
 
 The Sisters, 45 
 
 To G., 51 
 
 L , 52 
 
 Repinings, . . i 54 
 
 Valentine, 57 
 
 J , 58 
 
 Reflection of the Moon across the Water, .... 59 
 
 T , 60 
 
 (V.) 
 
VI. 
 
 WOLFSTADT CASTLE, 62 
 
 Love, 83 
 
 You Ask me if I could be Gay, 84 
 
 Music and Love, 86 
 
 Dream-land, 87 
 
 Sonnet, 89 
 
 The Christmas Tree, 90 
 
 Despondency, 92 
 
 Thinkinu and Dreaming, 94 
 
 Our Dead, 98 
 
 The Gold-Robin's Nest, 100 
 
 The Lost Child, 102 
 
 To Maj. Gen. Butler, 105 
 
 For an Album, 107 
 
 Boreas and the Witch, 108 
 
 My Children, Ill 
 
 To the Soul, 113 
 
 Wrestlings, 115 
 
 Epitaph, 118 
 
 Sister Sue, 119 
 
 The Old Hall, 124 
 
 A Loved One, 127 
 
 Dependence on God, 129 
 
 On Two Lovers Lost below the Falls at Niagara, . . 131 
 
 Matawa, the Indian Oracle, 133 
 
 The liioN's Mouth, 152 
 
 A Peep at Hampton, 165 
 
 The Indian's Dream of Heaven, 169 
 
 East Pascagoula, 174 
 
 To Whom it may Concern, 178 
 
 Dear Woman Suffragists, 181 
 
VII. 
 
 Canal Street, New Okleans, 184 
 
 French Town, 189 
 
 The Garden District, 193 
 
 Fashion, 197 
 
 Lost, 200 
 
 The Velocipede, 203 
 
 Mardi Gras and Mystick Krewe, 206 
 
 The Little Girl, 208 
 
 Sad News, 209 
 
 She 's Dead, {211 
 
 Affliction, 213 
 
 Epitaph, 215 
 
 May, 216 
 
 Davis' Neck, Bay- View, 218 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, 
 
 By stone, HUSE & CO., 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washingt( 
 
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The H 
 
 OMESTEAD. 
 
 Portion beloved of this f\iir earth the best, 
 
 Decked in the summer mantle of thy pride ; 
 
 Stretching thy arms exultant east and west, 
 
 Nursing the sunbeams on each sweet hill- side ; 
 
 To Thee, dear Friend, ^vould I address my song, 
 
 Wake thy great heart to echoes loud and long. 
 
 The woods (thy children) played with me when young, 
 Shook their bright heads, and rocked me in their arms, 
 
 A sweet ^olian lullaby they sung, 
 
 Which, like a fairy tale, their nursling charms. 
 
 Long may they flourish, and a cradle be 
 
 For future generations as for nie. 
 
 The stream that through the meadows tinted green 
 
 Gleams like a silver riband winding down 
 To meet the river in the distance seen — 
 
 (1) 
 
The line between the country and the town — 
 How like a strain of music soft and low- 
 It thrills my heart to see and hear it now ! 
 
 The lane, the orchard, garden and the grove — 
 
 Blest haunts in childhood's years of grief and joy — 
 
 Tho' I through places Eden -like may rove, 
 
 Their fairer impress naught can e'er destroy. 
 
 Here early fancy spread her golden net, 
 
 And mem'ry lingers where her seal is set. 
 
 But 0! the house, the elm's o'er- sheltering pride. 
 
 The large old-fashioned house, wherein have dwelt 
 
 Four generations on our father's side. 
 
 And there iheir meed of joy and pain have felt. 
 
 That room, with open fire and sunbeams wide, 
 
 'T was theirs, our parents', there they sat, there died. 
 
 Yes, dear paternal home ! I see it now 
 
 As when we children gathered in at eve. 
 
 So full of life, with gladness on each brow, 
 A mother's care and counsels to receive. 
 
 Since then, have all to men and women grown. 
 
 And nearly all made neu^ homes of their own. 
 
Adieu! I too must leave, new paths to trjice, 
 But proud and happy that behind remains 
 
 A brother worthy of the name and place, 
 
 In thy adornment who will spare no pains. 
 
 So may'st thou bloom, that on thee wondering eyes 
 
 May gaze, as on an earthly paradise. 
 
JA 
 
 YSTIC SLAND 
 
 On ;i fair island dwelt a youth. 
 Mild, dreamy, but of stainless truth ; 
 A Poet he, whom fairest Muse 
 Her dearest flxvorite well might choose ; 
 A youth who oft from Nature's spring- 
 To her would golden treasures bring. 
 With glowing cheek present the prize 
 And drink fresh ardor from her eyes. 
 Had young Apollo sought new grace, 
 lie 'd found them in his form or flice ; 
 But e'en his o?vn charms to repair, 
 He scarce woLdd rob such beauty rare. 
 
 Alone he dwelt in this bright spot : 
 That is, no Mortal shared his lot. 
 But Spirits of the air and deep 
 At this young model oft would peep. 
 
 (4) 
 
An Eden we will call his home, 
 A namesake it were proud to own ; 
 Eve had not shed the bitter tear, 
 Could she have been transported here. 
 
 Flowers dipped in dye from every idime. 
 Half- hidden by the fragrant vine, 
 In native arbors free and wild, 
 Strove to entice their worshipped child, 
 Who, often wayward, loved to seek 
 The shaded, music-breathing creek, 
 Which blended with his mystic lyre. 
 Softened, but did not quench its fire. 
 
 While fruits abundant, rich and rare, 
 Flung their soft spices to the air. 
 Trees, teeming with each tropic grace, 
 Bent gently to the wind's embrace ; 
 And birds, from staid to rainbow hue, 
 Warbled their wild songs ever new. 
 It seemed that Nature's beauteous urn 
 Had strangely met an overturn. 
 Careless, when quick its balance gained. 
 If profuse treasures yet remained ; 
 
But sent a soul, almost divine, 
 
 To worship at her rare- decked shrine. 
 
 The river, round this charming isle, 
 
 Shone like a Seraph's placid smile, 
 
 Save when it strove to overleap 
 
 And hide it with its treasures deep. 
 
 Then Woodnymphs' laugh rang loud and clear; 
 
 The wond'ring youth then oft would hear. 
 
 Borne on the breezes fresh and strong, 
 
 The Dryads' wild, exulting song. 
 
 And wdiile its echo did remain, 
 
 Would thus repeat the woodland strain : 
 
 ' River Gods, and Naiads bold. 
 Laughing, we your forms behold ; 
 Mount your waves and urge them on, 
 'Mid the darkness of the storm. 
 Think ye, our pure gem to hide 
 'Neath your fiercely rolling tide ? 
 Sleeping, smiling, safe it lies. 
 Guarded by our watchful eyes. 
 
 Then toss your foam 
 On our bright home, 
 
We love to throw it back, 
 
 Caught in the gleam 
 
 Of the shining beam 
 That marks your rapid track." 
 
 Then Naiad fair 
 
 With gold -green hair 
 Would white arms towards them fling, 
 
 In tones like swell 
 
 Of winds through shell, 
 A mournful echo sing : 
 
 " Long years have rolled by, 
 Since first with sad eye 
 
 I marked thy enchanting domain, 
 And tears to the wave 
 In myriads gave, 
 
 That I for a home it might claim. 
 The God of the deep 
 Raised a numerous fleet 
 
 And strove the fair prize to obtain ; 
 But baffled he fell 
 And caught in a shell; 
 Repose soon returned to the main. 
 
And oft in his rage 
 
 He since will engage 
 In conflict both feaifnl and Avild, 
 
 While seaweed I twine, 
 
 For ne'er can be mine 
 The home of the proud mortal child." 
 
 The w'aves around her gently close. 
 The youth a pitying glance bestows, 
 And musing on the sweet, sad tone, 
 Felt for the first time, " I 'm alone." 
 A void seemed opened in his soul, 
 Which strangely marred the blissful whole. 
 The strife had ceased, and slept the w^ave. 
 As there a ling'ring look he gave ; 
 Then turned, some fairer haunt to find, 
 To soothe the ruftlings of his mind. 
 Wond'ring, he sees a hand of snow 
 Waving before him to and fro ; 
 He follows where it slowly leads 
 O'er gentle hills and fragrant meads, 
 But smiles, amazed at fancy's power, 
 To see it now a snow-white flower. 
 He kneels to taste the l^ubbliuir stream, 
 
And finds it but a shadowy beam ; 
 
 On him a sweet voice seems to call — 
 
 'T is but the murm'ring w^aterfall ; 
 
 A lovely form is by his side, 
 
 But from his gaze behold it glide. 
 
 'T is strange," he murmurs, " life to me, 
 
 Seems all a mocking phantasy." 
 
 Then sudden with a beaming smile, 
 
 I '11 seek the Genius of the Isle." 
 
 An airy path before him shone, 
 Leading to her radiant throne. 
 With beating heart and throbbing brow, 
 He now before her bendeth low. 
 " Immortal Goddess, pray incline ; 
 In pity hear this woe of mine. 
 The cause beseech thee to impart 
 Of this young sorrow in mine heart." 
 While dews celestial quick descend. 
 On him her starry eyes now bend. 
 Her robe, in folds of shinir.g white. 
 Around her floats in silv'ry light ; 
 Her golden hair through laurel gleams, 
 And o'er her sheds refulgent beams. 
 
10 
 
 Ungrateful youth, why seek'st thou me 
 With fancied tale of misery ? 
 Thy sole domain this charming isle 
 Where Nature's rarest sweets beguile, 
 Health, gentle Peace (thy handmaids fliir), 
 For Pleasure's call thy soul prepare, 
 While Virtue, with her white-winged train, 
 Hovered around thee (not in vain), 
 Till mingling there a vulture came. 
 Screaming, and Discontent its name. 
 Bird of Evil thou didst cherish. 
 Pure contentment then must perish. 
 Go, then, thy mind at peace shall be ; 
 When the cord is loosed, the bird free." 
 
 Again he kneels, then quick retires. 
 While calmer thought his soul inspires. 
 O'er all the blooming isle he strays. 
 No beauty small escapes his gaze. 
 Its charm he owns, and seeks to find 
 In it a solace to his mind. 
 
 What voice from spirit-land now sings. 
 And with it unknown rapture brings? 
 
11 
 
 In words of soft ^olian strain, 
 
 The song floats upward from the main : 
 
 ": Farewell, happy isle, 
 
 To' me thou canst never 
 Be more than a smile, 
 
 Adieu ! then, forever. 
 I go to my home 
 
 'Neath the green winding wave, 
 111 shrouds of white foam, 
 
 I '11 there find a grave. 
 Proud mortal, from thee 
 
 Could I but claim a tear. 
 Sole gem it should he 
 
 To shine on my bier. 
 Dark, dark it must be; 
 
 The tear and the smile 
 Belong not to me ; 
 
 Farewell ! thou blessed isle." 
 
 His heart-strings groAV hushed, the voice still. 
 Whose plaintive tone had waked each thrill. 
 Himself, the island, all a grave 
 Had found beneath the Undine wave. 
 
12 
 
 Then bounding lightly to the shore, 
 Which proudly looked the waters o'er, 
 In song free, gushing from the soul, 
 His thoughts now o'er the calm deep roll : 
 
 " Return, return, thou Spirit of Dew, 
 Lift thy bright foi-m 'bove its mirror of blue ; 
 The sunbeams would pale, reflected with thee ; 
 Rise in thy beauty, thou Light of the Sea. 
 Return, return, for region more fair 
 Than palace of coral, or pearl, prepare ; 
 My soul, swiftest herald, with rose- tipped wing. 
 Is hov'ring round thee, a message to bring ; 
 One ray of thy love its plumage would gild 
 With glory inunortal, its dream fulfdled." 
 
 Behold, a silver wave doth rise. 
 In sweetest echo thus replies : 
 
 "Adieu, adieu, ye waters bright. 
 Adieu, ye realms of crystal light, 
 Ye kindred spirits, shout and sing. 
 Heard ye the voice of the Isle King ? 
 He waits for me a soul to give 
 That through eternity shall live. 
 
13 
 
 I come, 1 come, my life, my star. 
 
 Whose light I 've ever seen afar, 
 
 Soul, Isle, to me were all in vain 
 
 If without thee, I might them claim. 
 
 Hark ! 't is his voice ; your songs now swell \ 
 
 He waits for me ; farewell, farewell ! " 
 
 Like a rainbow sprung from the wreck of a storm, 
 Before him arises her beauteous form. 
 He gazes enchanted, while in deep choral strain. 
 Myriads of voices arise from the main. 
 
 Rejoice, rejoice, a child of the sea, 
 
 To a mortal united will be ; 
 
 A soul to her will then be given. 
 
 That she may know and dream of Heaven. 
 
 The fame of her kindred then will shine 
 
 Forever through her in realms divine." 
 
 Then Dryad voices quick arose. 
 
 And loud and strong the discord grows. 
 
 Cease your wild songs, ye spirits that sleep 
 Under the waves of the shining deep ; 
 
14 
 
 No daughter of thine our home shall share, 
 
 Or wed with the King of Mortals fair ; 
 
 His glory, his heart, to ns belong. 
 
 Then cease your strange, unnatural song; 
 
 Go back to thy home, thou goddess of pride. 
 
 And make thy throne the swift - rolling tide; 
 
 Thy pearls and robe of glittering sheeH 
 
 Will vanish beneath the sun's warm beam. 
 
 Go back to thy clear, cool, emerald cave. 
 
 Where from deep, dark springs the waters lave. 
 
 Thou canst not dwell with the Woodnymphs gay. 
 
 Away to thy home — away, away!" 
 
 Hark ! 't is a voice from Angel sphere, 
 That breaks upon the wondering ear. 
 Silent welcon^e the tones receive ; 
 The very leaves have ceased to breathe. 
 O'er the whole isle with charms bedight, 
 Now wave-like floats a crimson light, 
 Soon to a point it slow inclines 
 And in an orb of glory shines ; 
 Suspended, trembling to the sound. 
 Vibrating from it far around. 
 The rosy globe transparent grows, 
 
15 
 
 Within a heavenly vision glows. 
 It is the "Genius of the Isle," 
 Who with a calm, angelic smile, 
 Which o'er her face divinely plays, 
 E'en sweeter than the moon's soft rays, 
 While round her floats her shining robe 
 Tinged with the roselight of the globe, 
 Is breathing words in music's spell 
 To all who on the island dwell. 
 
 " Listen, ye spirits, and mortals fair, 
 For dreams of virtue and peace prepare. 
 Let discord fierce, with fiery eye, 
 From our blest haunt forever fly. 
 I, your good Genius, thus hail the day. 
 Peace, peace, forever; yc must obey. 
 The youth I have watched with tend'rest pride, 
 Has chosen the purest Undine bride; 
 Her dowry, a soul received from him 
 Bright as a gleam from the Seraphim. 
 Like two kindred stars their hearts unite, 
 Reflecting one beam of clearest light. 
 This isle shall bless their glorious reign. 
 Long and unbroken by sin or pain. 
 
16 
 
 Till the Spirit of All, in realms divine, 
 Shall bid them there eternally shine. 
 Ye spirits that love your Island-King, 
 In sweetest strain his happiness sing. 
 Let goodness ever your powers command- 
 A firm, unchanged, harmonious band. 
 Then, hail ! with me this glorious day, 
 I, your good Genius, command — obey." 
 
 Then quick the rosy globe dissolves 
 And in dim mist her form involves. 
 Loud choral song the isle doth shake, 
 And o'er the deep glad echoes wake. 
 Peace, joy and love forever smile 
 From that hour round the blessed isle. 
 
Autumn U-eayes 
 
 y 
 
 Chill Autumn's leaves, a motley train, 
 Fresh -colored with fantastic stain. 
 Through the air are wildly flying, 
 Or on the ground all snugly lying- 
 in little valleys in a heap. 
 While moaning comrades round them creep. 
 
 On naked branch one yet remains. 
 Which more than all your pity claims ; 
 With ragged edge and stem so dry, 
 Forlorn, in lofty grandeur high. 
 Poor Leaf! true type of human pain — 
 A lonely heart in Glory's chain. 
 
 cruel Autumn ! why abuse 
 
 Thy offspring, nursed with summer dews ? 
 
 Thy kisses, like the vampire's breath, 
 
 (17) 
 
18 
 
 Imprint upon them ling'ring death. 
 They call on thee in saddest tone ; 
 Thou heedest not their dying moan — 
 
 But, in strange, fantastic measure, 
 Bid'st them dance a round of pleasure, 
 Then dost with frosty hand prepare 
 A grave all chilly, bleak and bare. 
 Sweet Leaves ! to me ye are more dear 
 Than all the beauties of the year. 
 
 Upon my heart deep truths ye trace, 
 
 Life's changes never can erase. 
 
 To beauty ye will never spring ; 
 
 But time bright semblances will bring — 
 
 The death like hopes that cease to be 
 
 The semblance, like green memory. 
 
 In gentle tone, ye seem to say : 
 Like lis, so thou shalt pass away ; 
 But yet not all ; thy soul shall be 
 A changeless semblance still of thee. 
 Then, Autumn, with thy brilliant train, 
 A happy welcome, once again ! 
 
T 
 
 HE Parting. 
 
 I bade her adieu, when twilight was stealing 
 
 O'er forest and mountain, o'er valley and plain ; 
 
 Her face, purest mirror, her deep love revealing, 
 
 As sadly she said, " We may ne'er meet again." 
 
 I marked her pale cheek, grown paler in parting, 
 
 As I strove with full heart to soothe her in vain ; 
 
 But, ah ! the bright tear-drop already was starting. 
 
 And whispered she still, " We may ne'er meet again." 
 
 She spake of the gloom which round her seemed falling, 
 
 When I from her presence long did remain ; 
 And ever a voice in the wind seemed calling — 
 
 " Ah ! soon ye '11 be parted, to ne'er meet again." 
 
 I took her cold hand in mine, softly trembling. 
 
 And breathed the blest hour when my bride I should 
 claim ; 
 
 (19) 
 
20 
 
 I kissed her pale lips, faint rose-leaves resembling, 
 
 E'en while they were murmuring, " Ne'er meet again.' 
 
 I tore me away, my steps soon retracing, 
 
 As, drooping, she strove her deep grief to restrain, 
 And thought then with her, when fondly embracing, 
 "'7^ is true; we are parting to ne'er meet again." 
 
 Long years have since fled ; my sun is declining. 
 
 Still fresh in my heart doth that parting remain. 
 Though ever round her my heartstrings are twining. 
 
 We parted forever — we ne'er met again. 
 
JBe^VL 
 
 ERRY, 
 
 Be merry in the springtime, 
 
 The budding, bursting spring; 
 To the lightsome, leaping waters 
 
 Thy soul an echo fling. 
 To the playful, loving breeze 
 
 A kiss of rapture throw — 
 In the budding, bursting springtime 
 
 Be merry here below. 
 
 Be merry while the summer 
 
 Unfolds her roses fair, 
 And press them to thy gentle cheek 
 
 Till one doth blossom there; 
 To the gallant, nodding woodlands 
 
 With smiling grace incline ; 
 Be merry 'mong the flow'rets 
 
 Of summer's beauteous prime. 
 
 3 
 
 (21) 
 
22 
 
 Be merry in the autumn, 
 
 'Mid fruits of richest dye, 
 And read the spirit's harvest 
 
 In her golden, gorgeous sky. 
 With her leaves in painted raiment, 
 
 Thy soul a banquet make. 
 And on her wild and dancing winds, 
 
 A merry journey take. 
 
 Be merry in the winter; 
 
 In imitation rare, 
 With the brave, old, cunning Frost-King, 
 
 Build pearly castles fair. 
 While seated round the glowing fire, 
 
 And sleigh-bells jingle near, 
 ! make ye then the wise resolve. 
 
 To be merry all the year. 
 
T° 
 
 YELYN. 
 
 If thou art free from every care, 
 
 And earth no thought of thine doth share, 
 
 While light etherial plays around thee. 
 
 And with celestial beauty crowns thee ; 
 
 Then listen to a golden dream 
 
 Which to my mind e'en now doth seem 
 
 So vivid, and so deeply traced, 
 
 Its impress ne'er can be erased. 
 
 Alone I sat on a sweet hill -side. 
 While, murmuring near, the soft -flowing tide — 
 Watching the clouds as they rolled away. 
 Tinged with the hues of departing day ; 
 When methought, as I gazed on a beautiful one 
 That sailed proudly on, afar and alone. 
 It resembled a form I had seen but to love. 
 E'er fite had compelled me in strange lands to rove. 
 
 (23) 
 
24 
 
 As I gazed, the bright vision more perfect became, 
 And Love, the sure guide, whispered me, " 'T is the same.' 
 'T was ff^v form, illumined by Heaven's own light, 
 And I sighed to behold the dark veil of night 
 So silently steal o'er thy radiant flice 
 And quickly enfold thee in one dark embrace. 
 When, lo ! from the darkness a bright star arose \ — 
 'T was the Star of my Destiny, my joys or my woes ! 
 
Sunset, 
 
 I watched the sun decline — encircled wide 
 With waves of gold, tinged with changing dyes, 
 While one by one, detached, rolled far away 
 Into the blue ether, there losing its ephemeral 
 Brightness. Still ever beautiful ! So pale and 
 Vapory, curling themselves into strange, fantastic 
 Shapes, like a fiir maiden robed in white, 
 Or spectre forms of fiercest tribes, or foam -wreaths 
 Softly melting in mist away. 
 
 There unmatched with what the mind could 
 E'er conceive, or eye unshaded look upon, 
 Unnumbered rays shooting from his never- closing, 
 Ever -radiant eye, the Prince of all created Light 
 Sits throned in majesty ; 
 
 While, ever- varying, still more glorious gleams 
 His ambient architecture. 
 
 (25) 
 
26 
 
 Pillar on pillar rises, of ruby, amethyst, or pearly 
 And now a palace, quickly formed in rare 
 Magnificence, uprears its fairy structure. 
 But scarce the eye may scan its wondrous 
 Symmetry, when, lo ! its fair foundation rolls aw^ay. 
 Leaving its shining wings and parapets thrown 
 In wild confusion. No vestige of the splendid 
 Ruin now remains. All smoothly blended with 
 The crimson drapery hung o'er the entire 
 Occident. 
 
 Earth, loved Earth ! no longer art thou 
 Forgotten, while a rosy blush mantles 
 Thy fresh, but less -radiant beauty. 
 Thy flowers with sweetly upturned faces 
 Draw each its meed of heart-felt admiration. 
 Each leaf npon thy trees, and tender shrubs 
 Gently quivering, with the mul keeps 
 Due vibration. 
 
 ! Happiness Supreme. Two worlds 
 Arrayed in robes (not always worn) gloriously 
 Showing to the human mind, the all -fashioning 
 Hand of llim, the Divine Artificer. 
 
27 
 
 Poor praise were oii7'S to render Thee 
 And Thy fair works ; and yet 't will reach 
 Thine ear ; for in Thy goodness, Thou hast 
 Given us hearts that in Thy splendor must 
 Grow exalted. 
 
 Thou ! who never nearer seemed, 
 Accept my soul's deep gratitude ! 
 
T 
 
 o Llara 
 
 
 'T is the season of love, though hope may be dead, 
 And the rose -tint of life forever have fled, 
 But as flowers their pure incense yield to the sk}^, 
 Let my heart breathe its love, then perish for aye. 
 
 I 've loved thee in sunshine, I 've loved thee in storm, 
 And shall love thee ever, while this heart beateth warm | 
 I 've loved thee in secret, nor till noAV to the wind 
 E'er whispered the madness consuming my mind. 
 
 They say that the stars our fate will reveal ; 
 
 Nightly I 've watched them, but vain the appeal. 
 
 The bright one selected, in darkness doth hide. 
 
 Since the time I had marked it, my guardian, my guide. 
 
 Though no fond emotion for me may arise, 
 And my love may be deemed as worthless a prize. 
 To me 't is an Eden, to part with, never, 
 I love, I adore thee, henceforth and forever. 
 (28) 
 
p 
 
 HARITY, 
 
 It was a mansion all gloomy and grey, 
 Save where a sunbeam in pity did play. 
 Old Time in his swift and ruinous race 
 Had left upon it his footsteps' deep trace. 
 But though its hemdy no longer might charm, 
 The stranger would gaze with interest warm 
 On its moss -covered roof and ivied latch, 
 And deem it a place where ghosts kept watch. 
 
 While year after year had rapidly flown, 
 The lonely old dwelling no inmate had known. 
 Till a stranger there came and made it his home- 
 A silent recluse, living friendless and lone. 
 
 'T was a spacious room which the spider free 
 Had hung with the finest - wrought tapestry — 
 Unbroken, unshaken, the tiniest thread. 
 Frail as the woof, most cherished hopes do spread. 
 
 (29) 
 
30 
 
 And scanty the furniture seemed beside, 
 
 From luxury free, from pomp or from piide. 
 
 A lonely lamp but Avan and dimly shone, 
 
 While heard without, the night -wind's saddest raoan. 
 
 His head upon his hand, the stranger leans, 
 
 So motionless that without life he seems. 
 
 But yet he lives, although the light doth fall 
 
 Upon his ghastly features like a pall. 
 
 Wrapt in the shroud of the pale spectre thought, 
 
 His soul on his face in agony wrought. 
 
 Can years have aided in the wreck we see? 
 
 But mark the flashing eye's intensity. 
 
 Bead in those lines strong manhood's proud despair, 
 
 Firm, unsubdued, which age doth seldom wear. 
 
 He lifts his face, but from it grief had fled. 
 
 And darkest hatred gleanieth there instead. 
 
 A smothered wrath seems bursting into flame, 
 While from his gushing soul the words now came : 
 
 " I hate the ivorld, but more I hate mankind, 
 Where naught but treach'ry and deceit I find. 
 
31 
 
 'T is virtue's shadow only that we see — 
 
 Vain world ! how would she scorn to dwell with thee." 
 
 The wind around the casement still doth pla}', 
 While there a sweet, low voice doth seem to say 
 
 " Pray, let a little stranger in ! 
 The night is cold, the moon is dim. 
 Ah ! do not bid me go away, 
 I would with thee forever stay." 
 
 But the stranger heeds not the plaintive call. 
 As fast his words from burning lips do fall. 
 Hail, to thee. Sin! thou Monarch of the Earth - 
 Thy power extending ever since thy birth ; 
 All to thy might and influence now yield ; 
 ! with destroying hand thy sceptre wield. 
 On me^ poor wretch, ! swift destruction send, 
 Who counts thee now his best, his dearest friend. 
 How like a child did I once fondly deem 
 That painted masks were all that they did seem. 
 But quick removed unto the gaze they show 
 The foulest visage of the fiends below." 
 
32 
 
 Again, a wailing voice is faintly heard, 
 
 Soft as the swan's pure down, by breezes stirred : 
 
 " I pray thee listen to my cry, 
 Nor leave thy little friend to die. 
 Who, fiiint and weary, calls on thee 
 For shelter and for sympathy." 
 
 The stranger paused. " The wind, methinks," said he, 
 " Has caught the tone of 3faris hypocrisy. 
 Like hers who lured my heart with Angel tone 
 To fill the void, where should have been her omi, 
 Then left to wither in its desert home. 
 Where only deadly ivceds had ever grown. 
 0, Mem'ry ! could I lock thee in thine urn. 
 Thy fires my brain, perchance, would cease to burn. 
 Ah, no ! the wife, the friend, poisoned maze. 
 Will ye ne'er vanish frou. my blasted gaze ? 
 0, may the pains — But, no ; 1 will not speak 
 The curse which words would only render weak." 
 
 More wildly now the loosened casement shakes. 
 And into sobs the moaning wind now breaks : 
 
33 
 
 I love this crazy old dwelling," said he ; 
 Ruined, deserted — a true type of me. 
 While spirits around it do speak in the wind, 
 Like the Fiends of Despair that haunt my mind. 
 0, heart ! bereft, grown old before thy time — 
 Thy blossoms withered in their beauty's prime — 
 How could I weep for thee ? But ere they came, 
 Absorbed my tears would be in burning flame. 
 Where are the tender springs that yearned to heal 
 The sufi" rings that the poor and wretched feel ? 
 Thy gen'rous love, embracing all mankind, 
 And seeking from it sympathy to find ? 
 Were all in that one fatal passion wrought. 
 Forever wrecked, with madness all distraught ? 
 If so, 't were better that a wakeless sleep 
 Would quick around thee draw its curtain deep. 
 But, Death, thou awful mystery, I dread 
 With thee Oblivion's dark maze to tread." 
 
 No voice for mortal ear were ever given 
 Sweeter than that which now seemed breathed from 
 Heaven : 
 
 " Waits thy little friend in sorrow ; 
 Must she wait until to-morrow ? 
 
34 
 
 Then, she may be gone forever. 
 Pray, do not the List tie sever." 
 
 The stranger arose. " It cannot be I dream ! 
 Soft tones from other sphere e'en noAV do seem 
 On me to call in sorrow's gentle voice. 
 Making my darkened soul rejoice, rejoice." 
 
 Clear, radiant beams the casement illume : 
 Can they come from the deep -hidden moon? 
 
 The stranger draws near; the halo divine 
 Around him and into his soul doth shine. 
 A child -like form, with eyes though sad yet mild. 
 As if in Heaven they had that moment smiled, 
 Is looking through the casement. Angel's dream 
 Were ne'er more beautiful than she doth seem. 
 He gazes in wonder, when the low voice again 
 Speaks in its clear and deep -thrilling strain : 
 
 A poor little wanderer, lonely I roam, 
 Through the wide, wide world in search of a home. 
 The human heart the home I love the best, 
 There, were there room, would I forever rest. 
 
35 
 
 But, ah ! how oft I knock and vainly wait, 
 Hoping that soon will ope the close -barred gate 
 A corner so small some few for me will leave, 
 I try there, alas ! but vainly to breathe. 
 The poor, perchance, sometimes may give me room ; 
 But, ah ! they cannot live on Charity alone I 
 And when a sufF'rer their last meal may share, 
 I then am banished by the Fiend Despair. 
 To love me less the world seems every day, 
 And oft I weep for them when turned away ; 
 For in their hearts no happiness I see, 
 Where sin and strife have gained supremacy. 
 Yet should but one remain to bless my call. 
 How freely would I then forgive them all. 
 But I am weary grown, and faint and weak ; 
 ! do not thou refuse the rest I seek." 
 
 The stranger raised the casement, when a tear 
 Upon his sunken cheek did then appear. 
 He hears the flutt'ring of her shining wings, 
 And in his heart a new life quickly springs. 
 He feels a Form of Glory entered there, 
 And unto Heaven lifts a silent prayer. 
 
The Cord around the ji 
 
 Shining, loosely floating, 
 
 A plaything it doth seem. 
 In the sunny, golden glitter 
 
 Of childhood's early dream. 
 Subtle as the serpent, 
 
 As sly concealed the dart, 
 It coils, and winds, and tightens. 
 
 The cord around the heart. 
 
 Gilded with the starlight. 
 
 Youth's crowding visions glow. 
 And it laugheth at the molehills 
 
 It soon will overthrow. 
 On fancy's willing pinions 
 
 Preparing to depart, 
 It feels a gentle pulling 
 
 From the cord around the heart. 
 (36) 
 
 EART, 
 
37 
 
 Boldly on it struggleth, 
 
 Impatient of restraint ; 
 And thinking soon to break the bands, 
 
 It utters no complaint. 
 Darker, faster, stronger, 
 
 With wily, matchless art, 
 Still coils, and winds, and tightens 
 
 The cord around the heart. 
 
 Manhood firm, unshrinking, 
 
 With thirst for glory burns. 
 And 'mid watching, bleeding, struggling, 
 
 The crown of fame he earns. 
 Panting, soaring, weary, 
 
 Where beams of gold dispart. 
 He fain would dwell for aye, save 
 
 The cord around the heart. 
 
 Trembling 'neath the sunset 
 
 Of weak and frosted age, 
 In worldly strife or worldly joy 
 
 Still ready to engage. 
 He sees with kindling eye 
 
 Of by- gone years the chart. 
 And, shudd'ring, sigheth eer to break 
 
 The cord around the heart. 
 
 6 
 
Song, 
 
 We '11 bound away to the woodlands green, 
 
 And mock the wild-bh'd free ; 
 We '11 kiss the breeze that plays through the trees, 
 
 And shout ; for what care we ? 
 
 We '11 haste aAvay to the merry wild home 
 
 Of the dancing elves, so gay ; 
 We '11 chase them through the blue-bell's dew, 
 
 And rest on the glow-worm's ray. 
 
 Then away ! away ! to the forest glade. 
 
 And give all care to the wind ; 
 We '11 shun the gleam of the sun's bright beam, 
 
 And the red, red leaves we '11 bind. 
 
 (38) 
 
The jSouL's Bereavement, 
 
 Thy rose-leaves, soul ! where are they ? 
 First springing beneath thy young gaze ; 
 Then woven in garlands so gay, 
 
 To crown the fair brows of thy maze ? 
 Where are they, Soul ? say ! 
 Alas ! all withered away. 
 
 Where are thy dreams of pleasure, decked 
 
 In a robe of glittering hue ? 
 Dost 'mind thee when they were wrecked 
 And strewn with the branches of yew ? 
 Where, where are they fled ? 
 Alas ! they 've long been dead. 
 
 Where is the beacon of fame, 
 
 Oft flashing and luring thee on ? 
 Oh ! when didst thou last mark its flame ? 
 
 (39) 
 
40 
 
 And knowest thou where it is gone ? 
 Naught but a glow-worm's ray ! 
 That, too, has passed away. 
 
 0, where is the deep breath of love, 
 
 That found not its heaven on earth ? 
 Say ! winged it its swift flight above, 
 To dwell in the home of its birth ? 
 Yes, there to dwell for aye, 
 Its light can never die. 
 
 My Soul ! what remaineth for thee. 
 
 To lighten thy dark, endless night ? 
 'T is the Angel of Death I now see ; 
 His radiance dimmeth my sight. 
 The flutt'ring wings I hear. 
 Hail to a brighter sphere ! 
 
T°A 
 
 NNIE. 
 
 For distant climes thou 'it soon depart ; 
 
 Dark waves will dash around thee ; 
 Yet cherish ever in thy heart 
 
 The ties that here have bound thee. 
 
 Should fortune strew thy path with flowers, 
 And pleasure charm thy mind, 
 
 Remember still the gladsome hours 
 You 've spent with those behind. 
 
 When new-found friends around thee press, 
 
 And speak in kindliest tone, 
 Forget not, while their zeal you bless. 
 
 Those truer ones at home. 
 
 But if Misforhme's blight should fall 
 Where Hope's bright blossoms grow, 
 
 (41) 
 
42 
 
 On spirits of the past then call — 
 They '11 hover round thy woe. 
 
 Though fortune but smile to deceive, 
 
 Though sunbeams may brighten thy way; 
 
 This truth through all changes believe, 
 True Friendship will never decay. 
 
JA 
 
 USIC, 
 
 Music, thou Mystery ! Key to the soul, 
 
 Unlocking the deep-hidden springs 
 Of slumbering passion, to quickly unroll 
 
 A host of all -glorious things. 
 
 T' explain thy strange influence oft we essay, 
 But words may not suit the blest theme ; 
 
 For should a fair vision from Paradise stray, 
 0, could it seem aught but a dream ? 
 
 When hopes they have faded, and earth's pleasures pall, 
 How gently thou 'It steal to the heart, 
 
 There bidding the sunshine of melody fall 
 On shadows that quickly depart ! 
 
 When the spirit of night has lulled us to rest, 
 And silence unbroken doth reign, 
 
 (43) 
 
44 
 
 If wakened by thcc, thou soul -stirring Guest, 
 Can earth any thought from us claim ? 
 
 Music, Sweet Music ! ' Wilt ever remain, 
 Of joys still the truest and best ? 
 
 Then, farewell to sorrow ; thy struggle 's in vain, 
 While melody woos us to rest. 
 
T 
 
 HE Sisters, 
 
 Dim, hazy clouds obscured the sun, 
 Which past its midday course had ruu; 
 The fragrant air so gently played, 
 It scarce the sleeping leaf betrayed ; 
 No bustling sound disturbed the air, 
 But Nature's murmuring (ever dear) ; 
 When, lo ! a clear and lengthened knell 
 Came from the lofty church's deep bell. 
 What lonely spirit wand'ring there 
 Had waked that tune of calm despair ? 
 Ah, no ! its echo scarce had fled, 
 E'er another confessed the dead. 
 
 Yes; she had gone — the young and fair, 
 And lay upon the altar there. 
 Pale Lily, blighted in its bloom, 
 Why was it plucked away so soon ? 
 
 (45) 
 
46 
 
 The gathering mourners fill the aisle, 
 Whose hearts gained freshness from her smile. 
 But not for her alone the tear ; 
 A weeping sister clasps the bier. 
 
 She long had nursed the tender flower, 
 And saw it drooping hour by hour, 
 Yet whispered hope e'en while her soul 
 Crushed the deep grief it must control. 
 
 She only knew, 3^et still too late. 
 The cause that sealed the loved one's fate. 
 Who, while bright angels waited near, 
 The mournful tale breathed in her ear : 
 
 Long have I loved with changeless truth, 
 
 The gentle playmate of our youth ; 
 
 The sacrifice that love has cost 
 
 He '11 mourn but as a sister lost. 
 
 But ! an inward joy I feel 
 
 That word nor look did e'er reveal ; 
 
 The love that claimed but Pitys sigh, 
 
 Unheeded now since I must die. 
 
 Love, hope, despair — all, all thus fled, 
 
 Sweet peace must clasp the slumb'ring dcatV 
 
47 
 
 Like gentlest winds that fainter grow 
 As Autumn's sun descendeth low, 
 So hushed and sweet now seemed the tone 
 Which nearer still to Heaven had grown. 
 
 Then burst the deep and smothered woe, 
 While fast her tears like rain -drops flow: 
 ■ No, no ! thou shall not, must not, die. 
 Sweet Sister, yet for my sake try 
 To live, or grant, kind Heaven, that I 
 At once beside thee cold may lie." 
 
 Then closer still the dear embrace, 
 
 While gazing on that gentle face. 
 
 Where now the changing tints do play 
 
 Like rosy clouds at close of day. 
 
 A gleam of sunshine this doth bring, 
 
 While Hope half- spreads her drooping wdng, 
 
 The quivering lip again doth move 
 
 And whispers words of peace and love. 
 
 ' For thy sake oft I 've prayed to live. 
 Yet, dearest Sister, do not grieve ; 
 If Heaven refuse to grant our prayer, 
 Eternal rapture waits us there. 
 
48 
 
 And slionkl our earliest friend return, 
 And of the absent one wonld learn, 
 Tell him she loved, and where she lies 
 Softly the grass around her sighs." 
 
 The voice had ceased, the breath had fled, 
 The mourner still hung o'er the dead. 
 So motionless and pale she 'd grown, 
 You might have deemed both spirits flown. 
 
 Some months have fled ; the wild flowers wave 
 Over the broken -hearted's grave, 
 And never -failing there each day 
 A gentle maiden goes to pray. 
 
 Hark ! to the merry ringing peal. 
 That from the lofty church doth steal ; 
 'T is sure a bridal party gay 
 That welcomes thus the happy day. 
 
 Yes, close beside the altar there 
 A youth and maiden w^ondrous fair. 
 The holy priest now joins their hands, 
 Uniting them in Hymen's bands. 
 
49 
 
 Returning tlivougli the lengthened aisle, 
 See, happy faces round them smile. 
 But there is one where grief and care 
 Have left their impress ever there. 
 
 Joy in her heart could wake no string 
 Where Mem'ry sat with silent wing. 
 Its shadows deep'ning while her gaze 
 On the unconscious bridegroom strays. 
 
 He is the early friend for whom 
 The loved one lies in the cold tomb ; 
 And as she marks the beaming eye, 
 Can she repress the rising sigh ? 
 
 He 'd sought the home where oft in play, 
 He 'd passed with them the live -long day. 
 And found but one who showed him where 
 For him now slept the young and fair. 
 
 "Poor thing!" he murmured, "had I known- 
 But, no ! 't is passed, and she is gone." 
 Then brushed the rising tear away ; 
 To-morrow is his wedding-day. 
 
50 
 
 She sees him by his lovely bride ; 
 Forgotten all the world beside ; 
 And sees a mourning spirit near, 
 The form of her she held so dear. 
 
 No ; none with ihee thy grief may share, 
 Pale maiden, early taught despair ! 
 But woman's truth, and woman's love, 
 Its true reward must find above. 
 
Jo p.. 
 
 O'er thy brow a wreath suspended, 
 Waits to crown thee as a star ; 
 
 Twined by angels, by them tended, 
 Naught its beauty e'er can mar. 
 
 Oft in a maze of dazzling light, 
 Brilliant gems around thee strewn ; 
 
 While gazing still with new delight. 
 All are vanished, all are flown. 
 
 As the rude stone conceals the mine 
 That fain the sunlit -ray would see, 
 
 So fortune's frowns and shades combine 
 To dim thy oivn bright destiny. 
 
 But let not sorrow cloud thy brow. 
 While veiled angels hover nigh ; 
 
 If not to crown thee here below, 
 A wreath immortal waits on high. 
 
 (51) 
 
y- 
 
 Past four o'clock one summer's day, 
 As in my bower I sat reclining, 
 
 A golden ray 
 
 That chanced to stray, 
 Shone full upon my face ; 
 
 It shut my eye, 
 
 And with a sigh, 
 Dull sleep I did embrace. 
 
 Oblivion seized my vacant mind. 
 Of fancy's pinions quite bereft. 
 When lo ! a dart 
 Did pierce my heart — 
 No pain so great could be ; 
 
 'T was strange when I 
 For aid did cry. 
 Should think of none but thee. 
 (52) 
 
63 
 
 A moment more, all pain had fled, 
 And fancy spread her golden net 
 
 To catch — oh, fy ! 
 
 'T was not a fly. 
 But wait a bit, and I '11 disclose 
 
 What fairy form 
 
 My heart did warm. 
 As high above my head it rose. 
 
 I saw thee seated on a throne, 
 
 A ring of varied hues around thee. 
 
 And dazzling quite 
 
 With rays of light, 
 Thy home, methought, beyond the sky 
 
 When, ah ! confusion — 
 
 Sad illusion ! 
 'T was nothing but a butterfly ! 
 
f^ 
 
 VEPININGS, 
 
 I, a poor laborer, doomed by fate 
 To till the common soil ; wrestling 
 With Fortune's hard and cruel 
 Hand, that would smite me 
 To the dust and hold me there, 
 A victim of her changeful. 
 Crushing power. 
 
 But 't was not always thus : 
 I was not always thus a poor, lone 
 Thing ; but cast in pleasure's 
 Happiest, highest seat. 
 And they were proud to gather 
 Round my board, 
 Who noiv look down 
 In pity and in scorn. 
 (54) 
 
55 
 
 But such is human nature. 
 When crowned with glory, 
 Wealth and fame, thou 'It 
 Ne'er lack friends — most kind 
 And attentive, too. 
 Who hang around, like thin. 
 Light vapor round the tallest 
 Cliff, as changing, shadowy 
 Full are these. 
 
 Let weallli desert thee, 
 All desert thee ; 
 And she — 0, can I speak it!- 
 The bright, the beautiful. 
 Once my heart's dear idol, 
 Is frozen to an icicle. 
 And looks on me with 
 Eyes that know me not. 
 
 But eyes must change 
 When hearts do change. 
 Those eyes once beamed 
 With radiant love, can 
 They be the same? 
 
56 
 
 Yes ; the eyes beamed 
 Not with love for mc, 
 But for my glittering coin. 
 I '11 ne'er trust to eyes, to 
 Fortune, or to friends again, 
 But love the ground; the 
 Fruit it yields, is sweeter. 
 Purer far than if it had 
 A heart. 
 
J 
 
 ALENTINE. 
 
 0, Love ! thou strange, mysterious power, 
 That sways our wayward hearts at will, 
 
 Why hast thou pierced in one short hour 
 A heart that never felt thy thrill ? 
 
 Thy name, though all unknown to me, 
 Thine image on my mind is traced, 
 
 For Love reveals nor asks to see, 
 But the ideal it hath embraced. 
 
 E'en like a sweet, unconscious lute, 
 
 Whose chords untouched would ever linger. 
 The heartstrings lie forever mute. 
 
 Till swept by Cupid's rosy finger. 
 
 The silvery moonbeams 'round me lie. 
 
 In lengthened shadows, calm and bright ; 
 
 But, ah ! on her we can't rely ; 
 
 As Juliet says, then, "Sweet, good- night." 
 
 (57) 
 
/■ 
 
 race. 
 
 Thy form is one of manly gr; 
 
 Thy step is free and bold ; 
 The stamp of beauty is on thy face, 
 
 But, ! thy heart is cold. 
 
 Thou lov'st the smile on beauty's lip, 
 
 Curled by the pride of wealth ; 
 Thou lov'st its flattery to sip, 
 
 But wore thou lov'st thyself. 
 
 Thou hast an image in thy heart ; 
 
 Thy love for it is known ; 
 Extinguished only with thy breath (don't start !) 
 
 For 't is thine own. 
 
 But if, perchance, a random shaft 
 
 Should pierce the idol there, 
 Don't ^veep ; but on thy bended knee 
 
 Ofier a grateful prayer! 
 (58) 
 
Reflection of the Moon aci 
 THE Watei\. 
 
 Moonlight path on the deep blue ocean, 
 
 Calm and beautiful it lay, 
 Heeding not the angry motion, 
 
 Of those wild waves' madd'ning play. 
 
 • Light prophetic — Heaven's own tracing — 
 Emblem of the light divine, 
 Radiant ever, all-embracing, 
 
 Leading to the angelic shrine. 
 
 Angry ocean ! swell thy surges ; 
 
 Throw thy mad foam to the sky ; 
 Still through all a light emerges 
 
 Emanation from on high ! 
 
 Thus through life do tempests gather ; 
 
 Darkness shrouds the sinking soul. 
 Till the earthly cords we sever. 
 
 And Love and Hope point out the goal. 
 
 (59) 
 
T- 
 
 Art thou handsome ? Then I pray 
 Thou 'It listen to my call ; 
 
 Mark me now what I do say : 
 
 Loolis are naught, behavior s all. 
 
 Art thou vain ? So is that fowl 
 
 That spreads its plumage fine ; 
 
 But when the raging tempests howl, 
 What is there then to shine ? 
 
 Art thou proud ? 0, may the fate 
 
 Of others thee appal ; 
 For know how high soe'er thy state, 
 
 That " Pride must have a fall." 
 
 Art thou fickle? — fond of change? 
 Lured by each passing flower ? 
 E'en so the butterfly doth range, 
 And spends its little hour. 
 (60) 
 
61 
 
 Art thou learned ? 0, use it well ! 
 
 The rich and sacred prize, 
 For ancient chronicles do tell 
 
 " The learned may not be wise." 
 
 Art thou Avitty ? Sharpen well 
 Thine arrows ere they tlit, 
 
 Lest some, in seeking where they fell, 
 Pretend they did not hit. 
 
 Art thou curious ? and wouldst learn 
 Where more advice to find ? 
 
 Express thy wish, and quick return 
 An answer to this, signed 
 
OLFSTADT CaSTLE, 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 The Baron's castle gleamed afar, 
 Like an immense and distant star ; 
 Its many- colored light did play 
 O'er guests all clad in bright array, 
 In honor of the Lady Clare, 
 Peerless in beauty 'mong the fair. 
 Who weds to - night the Count Eugene, 
 Of ancient line and lofty mien — 
 On whom the Baron looks with pride, 
 But casts upon his child, the bride, 
 A sudden gaze of fear and pain ; 
 But quick his brow is smoothed again, 
 For in his heart, if sin doth dwell, 
 'T is meet that he should guard it well. 
 
 He hears the guests in murm'ring tone 
 Her rare and wondrous beauty own, 
 (62) 
 
63 
 
 Save now and then a noble dame 
 
 (Of her oivn charms, it might be, vain), 
 
 With curling lip that scorns to speak 
 
 The praises that itself would seek ; 
 
 Or some brave heart, whose smothered sigh 
 
 But tells at once what words deny. 
 
 ! all too fair for earthly mould. 
 Was she whom angels might behold, 
 And lose perchance a glorious home. 
 In dreams of one with her alone. 
 
 A floating veil, like silver dew, 
 Around her form a halo threw. 
 While orange-blossoms faintly gleam 
 Above her fiir hair's golden beam. 
 Her fice, its (iharra we may not paint : 
 The brightest picture still were faint. 
 Enough, that in it clearly shone 
 A Heaven the Count might call his oivn. 
 
 The Priest has closed the sacred rite ; 
 
 The Baron smiles with strange delight : 
 " Let feasting, dance and song," said he, 
 " Unite this goodly company." 
 
64 
 
 The guest most honored doth prepare 
 To lead the dance with Countess Clare ; 
 Then quick is formed the gay quadrille, 
 And maidens' hearts with pleasure thrill, 
 As tripping light in measure free 
 To the inspiring minstrelsy. 
 
 But Countess Clare, ! strangely gay 
 Is she, the stern -browed matrons say. 
 No rule confines her movements rare. 
 Like fairy floating on the air. 
 
 Now from her partner f;ir away, 
 Quick, dazzling as the meteor's ray. 
 But ere is fixed the wand'ring gaze. 
 Treading with him the winding maze. 
 
 Her eye's wild light and burning cheek 
 A something more than joy bespeak : 
 A smile so strange her lip doth wear. 
 Would make one wish it were not there. 
 A look, a smile we can't explain, 
 But that we pause to look again. 
 
65 
 
 A leaflet from the garland fair, 
 That decks her braided, shining hair, 
 Falls softly at her feet, which she 
 Regards with silent revery. 
 
 Then from her brow the wreath she takes, 
 The blossoms slowly from it breaks. 
 Like shower of snow-flakes round her fall 
 The white leaves, till they 're scattered all. 
 Then kneeling, gathers in her palm 
 With care, as if to guard from harm 
 The whole, a wdiite and fragrant mound, 
 Shedding a dying perfume round. 
 
 A lamp, whose light and opal shade 
 In thousand changing tints displayed. 
 Upon a pearl - wrought table burns : 
 Toward this her step the Countess turns. 
 Then in the clear and brilliant blaze 
 She drops them, with a saddened gaze ; 
 Not all at once, lest they might kill 
 The flame that serves so well her wall. 
 They crisp and blacken as they fall, 
 Till from her hand exhausted all. 
 
66 
 
 u V 
 
 Ye spirits, let me now depart; 
 Ye 've ta'en the blossoms from my heart, 
 She said, and slowly turned to meet 
 The gaze of him whose lips do greet 
 In whispered tone of love and pride 
 His newly-wed and beauteous bride. 
 
 A laugh, w^hose clear and silv'ry peal 
 A sudden thrill made each heart feel. 
 From her bright lips then wildly broke ; 
 No word beside the lady spoke. 
 
 Meanwhile the guests in converse low, 
 As wond'ring glances 'round they throw, 
 Their wisdom tax, why mood so rare 
 Has seized to-night the Countess Clare. 
 " Sir Baron, we appeal to you : 
 Is not her bearing something new ? " 
 
 Like clouds before a wintry moon, 
 Or phantoms 'round a new-made tomb, 
 Strange shadows o'er his visage fly. 
 As in these words he doth reply : 
 
67 
 
 ■ My daughter's mood quite strange may seem, 
 But even so hath ever been. 
 Her merry humor loves to play 
 On those unused to her mad way. 
 'T is but a wild and wayward freak — 
 Excitement onli/ she doth seek. 
 My noble guests, let this not quell 
 The mirth that all becometh well. 
 A good example in the bride ; 
 Let joy and feasting be our guide. 
 All to the banquet - hall repair ; 
 Wine lends us praises for the fair." 
 
 Then with a proud but eas}^ mien 
 (No cloud upon his face is seen), 
 His arm a noble dame he lends. 
 And gaily to the feast descends. 
 
 ! 't was a vast and grand array — 
 That brilliant bridal company, 
 Around a board whose costly cheer 
 To epicure were wond'rous dear. 
 The wine flows free, a goodly share 
 In honor of the new -wed pair. 
 
68 
 
 When suddenly the bride arose ; 
 A quick wild glance around she throws, 
 Then with a fixed and steady gaze 
 The goblet to her lip doth raise. 
 
 " ! may a deep, eternal sleep 
 All demons fierce in slumber keep ; 
 Their eyes of fixed and sullen flame 
 Be closed fi^r aye in endless shame ; 
 The fangs their bony fingers wear, 
 With which the bleeding heart they tear. 
 Crumble to ashes — borne away 
 By ocean's fiercest, maddest spray. 
 But list ! Again I feel them near ; 
 They '11 strive again to make me fear. 
 Leave me, ye demons ! Hence ! — away ! 
 I still your slightest wish obey." 
 
 A husband's arm prevents her fidl. 
 Who, shudd'ring, on her name doth call. 
 
 The guests are rising from their seats. 
 The Baron with a loud laugh greets 
 Their fears. His mirth attention claims, 
 
And silence for a moment reigns. 
 " Well jicted, truly," then he cried : 
 " Though somewhat tra(jic for a l^ride, 
 
 But for effect 't was quite the thmg. 
 
 Waiter ! — ho ! Some fresh wine bring. 
 
 The guests in wonder and amaze 
 Upon the bride and Baron gaze. 
 '' If 't is a farce," some few exclaim, 
 " Forbear to act it o'er again." 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 The banquet 's o'er, though midnight only 
 Bestrides the earth in grandeur lonely. 
 The castle's lights are on the wane. 
 And silence in its halls doth reign. 
 
 Are all its inmates hushed in sleep ? 
 Their watch do angels 'round them keep ? 
 Ilath Peace its wings so soft and white 
 Spread all unruffled o'er their night ? 
 But Woe as sleep may silent be. 
 And weary sin of revelry. 
 
 10 
 
70 
 
 The Baron : Is his mind serene, 
 Sailing calm o'er Lethe's stream ? 
 Tempest - driven and tempest - tossed, 
 His shattered bark in gloom is lost. 
 Behold him in his room alone. 
 The smile npon his lip is gone. 
 While deep -indented on his brow 
 A frown his ruffled mood doth show. 
 
 'T is done. With firmest, strongest band 
 They 're joined together, hand in hand. 
 The dearest wish my heart could build — 
 Its sweetest dream — is now fulhlled. 
 My sinking fortune (latest care) 
 The Count's vast income will repair. 
 But, ah ! most cherished the desire : 
 Our ancient line may not expire, 
 Though lost the name, though reason fall, 
 'T were better thus than perish all. 
 0, joy ! thou shouldst my council share ; 
 A banquet for my soul prepare. 
 Say, whither hast thou turned thy llight, 
 That not one feather charms my sight ? 
 No echo — no reply — no thrill? 
 
71 
 
 The weight of Athis on thee still ! 
 
 0, my poor child ! for thee the dart 
 
 Of endless woe is in my heart. 
 
 Though thou hast served my will full well, 
 
 The fiend Remorse thou canst not quell. 
 
 Thy luckless birth a curse did hail ; 
 
 Thou couldst no pedigree entail. 
 
 But thou alone wert left to me, 
 
 And suflf'ring made me cling to thee. 
 
 Thy deep misfortune firmer drew 
 
 The sacred tie that bound us tAvo. 
 
 But to Ambition's ceaseless cries 
 
 I 've offered thee a sacrifice. 
 
 Thou poor, unconscious one, the crime 
 
 Canst never know, or dream, was mine." 
 
 Then lo ! a voice his name doth call, 
 Which on his soul doth chilly fidl. 
 ' Sir Baron, wake ! A word with thee 
 Perchance may calm my misery." 
 
 Not soothing to his pangs or fears. 
 The Count before him now appears. 
 ! sad to see that anguished eye 
 
72 
 
 Where truth and honor deeply lie, 
 
 Upon the Baron fix its gaze, 
 
 Who shrinks beneath its scorching rays. 
 
 " Thy daughter ! Speak, relieve my woo ! 
 Is aught concealed that T should know ? 
 For, ! a thought that chills my breath 
 Has pierced my soul more dread than death. 
 Good Baron, quick my fears remove. 
 And take my deep and endless love." 
 
 ! mean the form that guilt doth wear. 
 Though hard it striveth to seem fair. 
 Oft through the false, illusive veil 
 For Truth too long, for Faith too pale. 
 Deformed, ungain, some feature peers, 
 And to the view vice's standard rears. 
 
 The Baron in his eye and cheek 
 
 Betrays the guilt that words might speak. 
 
 If still the wish remain to hide, 
 
 Remorse has torn the veil aside. 
 " Sit down. Sir Count," he faintly said, 
 " And listen to a tale most dread. 
 
73 
 
 I little thought my fute would be 
 So soou to read it o'er to thee." 
 
 Speak on ! No part, no shade conceal. 
 The truth, the ivhole to me reveal." 
 
 A moment's pause ere he began, 
 And thus the Baron's tale it ran : 
 
 You love my child ; I love her, too. 
 
 Virtue in me, but woe in you. 
 
 Fail- flower I the last of our proud line ; 
 
 Once mine alone, but now 't is thine. 
 
 I 've watched her with the anxious care 
 
 Of deepest love, and dark despair ; 
 
 Despair for hopes that on her hung. 
 
 Though linked with w^oe the soul had wrung. 
 
 Call it madness — what you will; 
 
 E'en noil) I feel the restless thrill. 
 
 I 've seen through years of joy and pain 
 
 A gilded, rare ancestral chain ; 
 
 Have felt the flame of kindred fire : 
 
 Our line, our line shall not expire!'' 
 
74 
 
 The Baron paused ; the Count cloth heed 
 And breathless bids liim quick proceed. 
 
 "The fair -haired Clare you 've sworn to love: 
 The oath is registered above. 
 If 't is but beauty you adore 
 Let her misfortunes teach thee more. 
 
 ! oft in childhood's rosy hours 
 
 1 've watched her 'r^ong the fresh, bright flowers. 
 Their rarest charm e'en they did seem 
 
 To gather from their young May Queen, 
 
 As bending o'er their grateful heads. 
 
 Or through the fragrant maze she treads ; 
 
 As pure, as innocent as they 
 
 She seemed amid the flowers at play. 
 
 Dost see hei* now, where daisies bloom ? 
 
 Transform the garden to a tondj ; 
 
 Behold each flower a Demon wild 
 
 That fierce pursue the maniac child ; 
 
 Behold her cheek, a ghastly white ; 
 
 The quivering lip, the eye's affright. 
 
 Watch o'er for weeks, and then be glad 
 
 The child, your wife 's no longer mad. 
 
 Aye, mad ! Nay : shrink not ; learn to love 
 
75 
 
 The patient suft'ring of the dove. 
 
 For when the fiends their conflicts cease, 
 
 Not milder is that Bird of Peace." 
 
 There stood the two ; but fearful seemed 
 The Count, whose eye so wildly gleamed. 
 " Mad ! mad ! " he echoed ; '' woe betide 
 The wretch who from the world did hide 
 A curse, which o'er my soul doth throw 
 The chains of everlasting woe. 
 Recall thy words. Say 't is a dream, 
 Or say of reason I've no gleam! 
 Not thou, not thou, my sweet, sweet bride, 
 Thee Angels still will shield and guide. 
 But yet to-night, 0! ne'er before 
 To me thy face such aspect wore. 
 I see thee pale, and fixed thy gaze. 
 As when the goblet thou didst raise. 
 
 ! beauteous wreck, on a frozen cloud, 
 
 1 see thee wrapt in thy pale death shroud : 
 I hear thee call, but my shrinking sight 
 
 Is veiled with the frost of endless night. 
 Wait, wait. I follow; thy voice shall guide 
 I come, I come, my own Spirit Bride ! " 
 
76 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 On the old castle so lofty and grey, 
 
 Pillars of sunlight in majesty lay ; 
 
 All proudly it rose, yet gloomy and cold ; 
 
 The sun's broadened beams no smile could unfold. 
 
 0! where is the golden -haired Clare? 
 
 Her handmaids with song and with lyre ? 
 Through the halls they noiselessly glide, 
 
 Their voices in moanings expire. 
 
 Where wanders she, so strangely fair ? 
 Where is the youthful Countess Clare ? 
 In the garden, where roses mock 
 The Elfin shades that 'round her flock, 
 Alone she roams, with tranced gaze — 
 The shadowed gleam of brighter days. 
 Now on the fresh, young flowers it falls, 
 Whose infant breath perchance recalls, 
 So faint, so sweet, some dream of joy — 
 A glimpse, a trace, Avithout alloy. 
 Scarce seen the smile, so quickly fled, 
 That plays upon her lips' deep red. 
 
77 
 
 Which pressed upon their pale, soft leaves, 
 A gentle influence receives. 
 
 But, ! the start, the gloom, the fear, 
 
 That cloth upon her face appear, 
 
 As with a quick, reluctant hand 
 
 She breaks and mars the flow'ry band, 
 
 And sings in sad and wailing tone 
 
 To spirits seen by her alone. 
 
 Ah ! madness strange, that doth compel 
 
 The hand to wound that loves so well. 
 
 That bids destroy all things most fair 
 
 And lives but on its own despair ! 
 
 Poor Clare ! what blighting sin through thee 
 
 Must be atoned in misery ? 
 
 What ancient curse, so sure distilled, 
 
 In thy sad doom is all fulfilled? 
 
 Far better that the whirlwind's blast 
 
 O'er childhood's rosy bloom had passed, 
 
 Than on its inner, golden light 
 
 So oft should close so dread a night. 
 
 Sad, sad, thy waking hours will be. 
 
 But sadder still the mystery, 
 
78 
 
 Why he who wooed thee for his bride 
 
 Thou find'st no longer by thy side. 
 
 Still list'ning for his step in v;iin, 
 
 Ah ! who shall soothe thy young heart's pain ? 
 
 And will not mem'ry paint the eve 
 
 Thou didst the wedding ring receive, 
 
 Ere o'er thee stole that haunted sleep 
 
 Where chaos doth its vigils keep ? 
 
 'T is well it seems but sleep to thee — 
 
 A vague, but frightful, revery 
 
 Which passed, thou oft in trembling tone 
 
 Wilt tell of fiendish visions flown, 
 
 And wonder dreams so dark and wild, 
 
 Should haunt a feeble, slumb'ring child. 
 
 For unto thee w^as ne'er revealed 
 
 The truth from all the world concealed, 
 
 Save from a father's watchful eye. 
 
 And hers, thy nurse from infancy. 
 
 Poor Clare ! Thou shouldst been spared the woe 
 
 That soon thy bursting heart must know; 
 
 Shouldst ne'er have felt Love's quenchless flame, 
 
 That weaves for thee its fatal chain. 
 
 And he whose fate is linked to thine, 
 
 What ray for him shall ever shine ? 
 
79 
 
 Reckless amid the cannon's roar, 
 He seeks for death on distant shore. 
 Unknown, one kiss, one wild embrace. 
 Ere danger's path he sought to trace. 
 Thy stranger gaze he could not meet, 
 His bleeding heart refused to beat. 
 But keener pangs on him shall fall 
 Who spread for both so dark a pall. 
 
 Pale Clare ! dost still 'mong roses stray, 
 O'er mangled heaps that strew thy way ? 
 Ah, no ! a power e'en fiercer still 
 Doth govern now thy changeful will. 
 
 Away ! — away ! her courser flies. 
 The hounds pursue with startling cries. 
 The Baron by his mad child's side 
 On to the chase they swiftly ride. 
 A frenzied zeal illumes her eye. 
 Her fair locks on the breezes fly ; 
 An unseen power directs her aim 
 Unfailing toward the ill-starred game. 
 Inspired she seems with strength and power 
 Unknown, except in madness' hour. 
 
80 
 
 Thus often to the forest wild 
 
 Ride forth the Baron and his child. 
 
 Deep fixed the gloom his face doth wear, 
 
 Yet her he guards with tend'iest care ; 
 
 For through his soul's dark -shadowed night, 
 
 For her still shines a holy light. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 The sound doth echo from strand to strand, 
 The wars, the wars of the Holy Land ; 
 By myriads fall the noble and brave. 
 From infidel hands God's city to save. 
 The burnished sun ere day declines. 
 All gorgeous on the conflict shines. 
 The clashing swords with new fire gleam. 
 Caught from his own refulgent beam ; 
 And fiercer yet the strife doth grow. 
 The field with deeper streams doth flow. 
 
 The Christian's banner floateth high. 
 
 But doubtful still the victory. 
 
 When, lo ! with wondrous charge the foe 
 
81 
 
 Sudden their firmest ranks o'erthrow. 
 A shout triumphant high they raise, 
 And give to Allah all the praise ! 
 And must the Pagan power prevail ? 
 The Christians, will their courage fail ? 
 Behold a form of light appears 
 To lend them hope and calm their fears ! 
 
 Swiftly she rode on her snow-white steed 
 Her long robes played in the wind, 
 Her spirit -like form so radiant shone, 
 It seemed a thing of the mind. 
 
 " Courage," she cries, " ye faithful band ! 
 God will support with His right hand. 
 Droop not, ye Christians, Zion to free. 
 On to the rescue and victory ! " 
 
 Then unto the foremost ranks she came, 
 The sinking host with a new-found flame 
 Inspired, attack the awe -stricken foe. 
 And o'er them wildest confusion throw. 
 O'erpowered, on Allah loud they cry. 
 And, swift pursued, in terror fly. 
 
82 
 
 The champion bright, and her snow-Avhite steed, 
 So soon have they vanished in air ? 
 
 Behold on the gronnd a warrior bends, 
 And weeps o'er a lady fair. 
 
 Ah ! well may he weep, for never again 
 The bride of his soul shall wake ; 
 
 A peace she hath found in the home of the blest 
 With him who will never forsake. 
 
 Wildly he pressed her cold form to his heart ; 
 
 His deep -burning tear-drops he dried; 
 He bore her away, and ne'er more was seen 
 
 Eugene or his maniac bride. 
 
 The Baron, in his castle high. 
 Still holds a nightly revelry 
 
 But fiends alone return his cry. 
 His soul is in eternity. 
 
L. 
 
 OYE. 
 
 Love is a plant of tender growth, 
 
 Though deeply we may feel its power ; 
 
 A careless eye or chilling breath 
 
 Will brush the dew from off the flower. 
 
 Its incense all is freely laid 
 
 Upon the pure and hallowed shrine, 
 But slightly cold its resting-place, 
 
 'T will freeze the warm but shrinking vine. 
 
 True love will feel its priceless worth, 
 And proudly folds its unfurled wing 
 
 If failing still to reach that height, 
 
 It deemed a Paradise would bring. 
 
 Then safely caged within the heart, 
 
 Its wildest struggles none may hear ; 
 
 Not even when it breaks the bars 
 
 And plumes it for its native sphere. 
 
 (83) 
 
You ASK yVlE IF j COULD BE pAY, 
 
 You ask me if I could be gay ? 
 
 " Be gay ? " How strange the sound ! 
 A summons unto thoughts that crowd 
 
 Like phantoms thick around. 
 My heart, to solemn measures tuned, 
 
 Swings slowly to and fro, 
 And mem'ry as a dial serves 
 
 In summing up its woe. 
 
 Give back to me the little flower 
 
 That brightly by my side 
 Grew into beauty all too pure 
 
 For earth, so drooped and died. 
 It died, and o'er my childhood's bloom 
 
 A mildew 'gan to spread ; 
 The spirit yearning for the lost 
 
 That would with hers have fled. 
 (84) 
 
The little floweret snatched away 
 
 Give back, and let me still be gay. 
 
 Give back to me the heart's first love, 
 
 Its freshness, strength and trust — 
 And let me sleep for aye ere feel 
 
 It crumble into dust ; 
 Ere life too poor a mock'ry seems 
 
 To feast the idle crowd ; 
 Ere snatch the rosy robe of earth. 
 
 And dress it in a shroud. 
 Bring back the dream of Love's young day 
 
 And let me evermore be gay. 
 
 12 
 
Music and Love. 
 
 ! touch again thy gentle harp 
 
 And chase the gloom away, 
 That like a heavy mourning -veil 
 Doth on my spirit lay. 
 
 1 know the magic of thine art, 
 
 By angels sent below 
 In sympathy to fallen man — 
 A remedy for woe. 
 
 'T is well that heaven has left us here 
 A charm ne'er swept away, 
 
 For though like love, of heavenly birth, 
 'T will like it ne'er decay. 
 
 Yes, when thy strains so pure and deep 
 
 The broken heart-strings thrill. 
 Love, moaning for its power, doth sit 
 And pearly drops distil. 
 (86) 
 
p 
 
 REAM-LAND 
 
 A native of that dreamy land 
 
 Renowned and rich in mystic lore, 
 Methought thou couldst interpret well 
 
 A dream I fain would tell thee o'er. 
 
 I fancied a new and beautiful life 
 
 Sprang up in my soul unbidden ynd free, 
 
 Earth claimed not my dwelling, its cares and its strife 
 Knew not my bright realm, they were strangers to me. 
 
 Winged visions of beauty sprang forth from young flowers, 
 And gracefully floated in song far away. 
 
 While love, with furled wing, passed from leaflet to bud, 
 As sinking in silence the sun's rosy ray. 
 
 To a mortal my soul owed its deep, thrilling joy. 
 
 Though Heaven's pure light seemed the guide of his 
 mind ; 
 
 (87) 
 
88 
 
 I knew not how costly the tribute he claimed, 
 
 Till I sought for my heart, and none could I find! 
 
 I dreamed that the gift had been fondly received. 
 
 And I wished not the wanderer then to be free ; 
 
 For I felt it had found a more beautiful home. 
 
 As it whispered its rapture and shared it with me. 
 
 But soon the bright dwelling grew lonely and drear ; 
 
 Its flowers they had faded, its light had grown dim ; 
 Forsaken, the wand'rer sought but in vain 
 
 For sympathy's chord to vibrate again. 
 
ONNET, 
 
 If thou hadst loved as once I deemed, 
 
 Perchance thou might if e'er thou found 
 A heart that owned no spell but thine — 
 
 A willing captive firmly bound ; 
 Ah ! then I ne'er had felt the pangs 
 
 Which spring from hopes that but deceive, 
 Ah ! then I ne'er had learned so soon 
 
 How frail the pleasures earth can give, 
 Had never left the fresh young flowers. 
 
 So freely laid on Love's pure shrine, 
 To wither slowly, one by one, 
 
 Since they could claim no thought of thine 
 ! then the tears that dim my sight 
 No tale had told of the soul's blight. 
 
 (89) 
 
The Christmas Tree, 
 
 Glowing in a blaze of light 
 
 Stands the dark fir-tree, 
 Whisp'ring of the woodlands bright, 
 
 Breathing fragrancy. 
 Why in richly - furnished room, 
 
 Not its native air, 
 With a deeper, richer bloom ? 
 
 The Fairies placed it there ! 
 
 Are they blossoms that we see 
 
 'Mid its glossy sheen ? 
 Ev'ry shade they seem to be. 
 
 From red to palest green. 
 See the little faces peer 
 
 With sly, half- fearful eyes I 
 Santa Claus they feel is near. 
 
 He slid down from the skies ! 
 (90) 
 
91 
 
 Whistling by them once to-day, 
 
 As he a corner turned, 
 Scratching up the chimney way. 
 
 Before the big fire burned. 
 Well they know that on his back, 
 
 With face all fun and glee. 
 Swings for them a well -filled pack, 
 
 While chuckling merrily. 
 
 Closer press the little crowd 
 
 'Round the enchanted tree ; 
 Some with faces wondrous proud 
 
 Their names upon it see ! 
 But the hahi/, where is he ? 
 
 Behold him where he lies. 
 Fairly under, eating candy, 
 
 Laughing with his eyes. 
 
 Come, ye little rosy flock, 
 
 Ye golden -haired and brown, 
 'T is Santa Claus ! — I hear his knock! 
 
 Come, take your treasures down. 
 There, behind the frosty pane, 
 
 He takes of ye his leave : 
 " Be good," he says ; " I '11 come again 
 
 The next fair Christmas eve." 
 
ID 
 
 ESPONDENCY 
 
 0, I would sometimes cast me down and die, 
 Give up my life with one full, heavenward sigh, 
 And down, far down beneath the sod, would lie 
 For ever more ! 
 
 In the dark chambers of my soul ivill stay, 
 Like mould and rust on damp walls cold and grey, 
 The thought : All fading, hast'ning to decay, 
 To be forgot. 
 
 For me no longer hope and bounding joy 
 With rosy off'rings can my mind decoy ; 
 I see the worm that doth so soon destroy 
 The fairest bud. 
 
 Days, months do pass, in one long monotone, 
 The power that once awoke the heart -chords flown, 
 (02) 
 
93 
 
 Ideal, earth - killed, leaving it so lone. 
 Ah, woe is me ! 
 
 I '11 struggle 'gainst my fate, my fate so drear : 
 I '11 do my duty nobly, without fear. 
 And grant me, Heaven, one little ray to cheer. 
 If 't is thy will. 
 
 13 
 
Thinking and Dreaming 
 
 The wind is howling, whistling, 
 
 With all its might and main, 
 The Frost King glibly tracing 
 
 Lace -work on every pane. 
 1 sit beside the open fire 
 
 That crackles clear and bright, 
 And think, and think, and dream, and dream. 
 
 This cold December night. 
 
 I tJiink upon the half- clad poor, 
 
 Who shrink at ev'ry blast 
 And sigh 'neath scanty coverlet, 
 
 " Would that the night were past ! 
 The night ! but, ah ! the morrow — 
 
 To us what can it bring, 
 Who slowly die from want and woe, 
 
 A God -forsaken ring?" 
 (94) 
 
95 
 
 I dream of white -winged seraphim 
 
 In grand, harmonious chants. 
 Who swell the triumphs of the poor — 
 
 Their rich inheritance. 
 I dream of those who watch the soul 
 
 Just parting from the clay, 
 And to those realms of bliss above 
 
 In rapture bear away. 
 
 I think how many mortals 
 
 Have sat in this same spot 
 And watched the glowing embers, 
 
 Who now, alas ! are not. 
 I think how many schemes and plans 
 
 Have here been wisely laid, 
 Some few, perhaps, been carried out, 
 
 3Iore died where they were made. 
 
 I dream of ghosts and goblins. 
 
 Of witches who do ride 
 The air, in wild curvetings, 
 
 A broomstick fast astride ; 
 
On mischief all intent, 
 
 Decoying mortals from the right, 
 
 Elate at time misspent. 
 
 I think of sins committed, 
 
 Back through the range of years ; 
 Of duties I 've omitted, 
 
 Of all my hopes and fears ; 
 Of scenes of joy and gladness, 
 
 Of Love's first magic spell, 
 The pang of disappointment 
 
 In bidding it farewell. 
 
 I dream of isles of beauty, 
 
 Of perfume -laden air. 
 Of flowers, so rare and fragrant 
 
 The houries nestle there. 
 Of laughing, leaping waters, 
 
 Of gorgeous- tinted skies, 
 A land of virgin freshness 
 
 That never fades or dies. 
 
97 
 
 I think my lot how happy 
 
 Compared to some I know ; 
 I think I should be thankful 
 
 To Him who doth bestow. 
 The embers, they are paling, 
 
 The evening far is sped. 
 My eyes are waxing heavy, 
 
 I think I '11 go to bed. 
 
PuP.p 
 
 EAD. 
 
 Father, mother, both are lying 
 
 'Neath the green turf, side by side, 
 
 And our hearts a dirge are beating 
 With the wind, at eventide. 
 
 We are lonely, sadly dreaming 
 
 Of the past, o'er which they rise, 
 
 Like two planets on us beaming, 
 
 Shining through our darkened skies. 
 
 His the glance to mark each failing. 
 His the mind to clearly guide ; 
 
 He our pilot, safely sailing 
 
 O'er each angry- swelling tide. 
 
 Through the fields of Science straying. 
 How majestic, yet with ease 
 
 Like unto a child w^hen playing 
 
 With his playthings 'mid the trees. 
 
 (08) 
 
99 
 
 0, the deep, the silent yearning 
 But to trace his spirit's flight 
 
 Upward, to its source returning, 
 
 Through the mists that veil our sight ! 
 
 And for thee, the gentle, loving, 
 
 Self, thy last, thy smallest care, 
 
 Every word and act but proving 
 Others burdens glad to bear. 
 
 Let the tear-drops, that are falling 
 To thy mem'ry fast and free, 
 
 All thy care and love recalling, 
 Be the tribute unto thee. 
 
 Earth seems crumbling ; fading, dying 
 All remaining we most prize ! 
 
 Greatness, Goodness, low are lying. 
 All is vain beneath the skies. 
 
 Rest in peace, ye loved ones, lying 
 
 'Neath the green turf, side by side ! 
 
 While our hearts a dirge are beating 
 With the wind, at eventide. 
 
The Gold-Robin's Nest, 
 
 On a long, slim Ijrancli of the elm it swings, 
 
 That cunning and curious nest. 
 And every movement the wind to it brings. 
 Brings unto my soul a sweet rest ; 
 Gazing, and thinking how pleasant a home 
 The tiny young birds will have when they come. 
 
 I've watched this rare bird of beauty each day. 
 
 With plumage of gold, black and red ; 
 As twittering loud, then soaring away 
 And back, in its bill a small shred. 
 Neat workman is he, and ne'er will he flag- 
 Till hangs from the bough a close- net ted bag. 
 
 His mate hovers round, quite willing to aid ; 
 Too gallant a fellow is he ; 
 (100) 
 
101 
 
 Declining all help, he works undismayed, 
 And warbles, " I labor for thee. 
 This is thy cradle, so snug and so warm. 
 While I must keep watch, and guard thee from harm." 
 
 Ye idle ! ye dull ! Come hither and learn 
 
 A lesson in labor and skill ; 
 Go do for thy kind, like Mm, in thy turn ; 
 Against thy two hands put his hill. 
 E'en so shall thy voice break forth into praise 
 To God, for the joy that crowneth thy days. 
 
 Ye sceptics ! this nest examine with care. 
 
 Who teaeheth this wonderful art ? 
 Watch the young fledglings, with heads high in air, 
 Receive of the food each a part. 
 Can ye, through your wisdom, naught see divine 
 In the deep instinct that on ye doth shine ? 
 
The Lost Child. 
 
 Hark ! A mother's voice is wailing — 
 
 Calling on her missing boy. 
 She had left him in the garden, 
 
 Full of life, and health, and joy. 
 Sweetest flowers for his companions. 
 
 Wherefore should he wander far ? 
 Four years old, and full of wonder, 
 
 lie has crept beneath the bar. 
 
 Friends and neighbors, do not linger ! 
 
 Every moment is a year 
 Unto her, whose brain is weaving 
 
 Webs of ill for him, so dear. 
 She has searched each nook and corner, 
 
 Where he e'er was wont to stray ; 
 Sees no blue eyes at her peeping ; 
 
 Hears no little feet at play. 
 (102) 
 
103 
 
 Quick as thought now toward the river 
 Turns her thoughtful, anxious eye. 
 
 Could her darling go that distance ? 
 Thither hasten, thither fly ! 
 
 Leaving now the grassy upland 
 For the soft and sandy shore. 
 
 There are prints of little footsteps ; 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! " she cries, " forevermore '. 
 
 Standing without word or motion, 
 
 While the boats are launched to find. 
 Pity, Heaven ! In this moment, 
 
 Save from madness — save her mind ! 
 Ah ! e'en now she sees one steering 
 
 Towards some object, vague and dim ; 
 Sees them grasp it, sees them bearing 
 
 Back the lifeless form of him. 
 
 With a right that none may gainsay, 
 In her arms she takes her child. 
 
 Tries all methods to restore it — 
 
 0, could Death once be beguiled ! 
 
 All in vain! ' The half- shut eye -lid 
 O'er the blue eye's faded light. 
 
104 
 
 Icy brow, and awful paleness, 
 Tell the sad tale all aright. 
 
 Now her strength is all exhausted ; 
 
 Hope no longer lends her aid. 
 " Dead ! " she murmurs. " 0, my darling, 
 
 Let me in thy grave be laid ! " 
 On his form now sinking, fainting. 
 
 Raise her gently in her woe ; 
 How to bear this great affliction 
 
 Teach her who alone doth know. 
 
To Maj, Gen. j3uTLEi\. 
 
 Welcome home, thou gallant hero ! 
 
 Massachusetts waits for thee — 
 Waits in eager crowds, to greet thee 
 
 With one voice exultingly. 
 Grateful for thy deep devotion 
 
 To her cause, so promptly shown ; 
 Leaving all home's dearest pleasures, 
 
 First to hasten forth alone. 
 
 'T is for thee, and for those like thee. 
 
 Our blest Union to restore ; 
 Brave, determined, never tiring. 
 
 Till ReheUion is no more. 
 Lead our soldiers (none more valiant) 
 
 Where their courage best may shine; 
 Spare the fallen ! " prayer not needed 
 
 Unto such a heart as thine. 
 
 (105) 
 
106 
 
 Onward, in thy high vocation, 
 
 Strongest faith thou dost inspire 
 In the hearts that throng around thee, 
 
 Kindled by a Patriot's fire. 
 Know, that here at home unceasing 
 
 Prayers for thy success ascend. 
 Till Secession die forever — 
 
 Till our Country's trials end. 
 
f 
 
 A 
 
 OI\^ AN TlLBUM 
 
 We love the breath of the sweet south wind, 
 
 Filled with the odor of flowers ; 
 And the bright little gems in their cups we find, 
 
 Caught from the gentle showers. 
 We seek where the violet's soft, blue eye 
 
 Timidly opes to the light, 
 And we feel a beautiful presence nigh — 
 
 Humility robed in white. 
 
 E'en as the wind be thy thoughts fresh and free; 
 
 Like the floweret's gem thy heart ; 
 The light of the violet beam in thine eye. 
 
 Thyself of all goodness a part. 
 May Heaven upon thee this blessing bestow : 
 To tread but on roses wherever you go. 
 
 (107) 
 
Boreas and the Witch. 
 
 'T was on an a\Yful winter's night, 
 
 All nature up in arms ; 
 The house it shook, the windows creaked 
 
 And startled with alarms. 
 I list'ning sat alone and still. 
 
 Filled with a strange delight, 
 If aught there is I glory in, 
 
 'T is in just such a night ! 
 
 I think I fell into a dream, 
 
 And yet it may not be. 
 As that the sun shall rise and set, 
 
 So true it seemed to me. 
 I heard and saw — I '11 tell you what : 
 
 A witch with crispy hair 
 And Boreas, engaged in fight ; 
 
 A precious, precious pair. 
 (108) 
 
109 
 
 Cease, cease ! you raving, blust'ring boor, 
 
 You spoil my pirouettes, 
 And force me from my graceful curves 
 
 To turning somersets. 
 Calm down, and for your benefit 
 
 I '11 cut a genteel wing ; 
 If not, by aid of this good broom 
 
 Another song you '11 sing." 
 
 ' You skinny, scraggy, one - eyed witch, 
 
 How^ dare you speak so bold 
 To me, your master, ruler, king ; — 
 
 Audacious, vile and old. 
 I '11 make thee dance as long as aught 
 
 Remains of thee as small 
 As is the tiniest hailstone 
 
 That from my beard doth fall." 
 
 'Pon this, his cheeks like two balloons 
 
 Distended, blew a blast 
 Would sent the witch, I know not where. 
 
 Had she not seized him fast. 
 One hand his long, white beard had grasped. 
 
 The other plied the broom. 
 
 15 
 
no 
 
 Like one transfixed old Boreas 
 In wonder met his doom. 
 
 But soon recov'ring from his trance 
 
 He howled and hissed his rage, 
 And puffed and blew, as ill became 
 
 A hoary -headed sage. 
 But gath'ring in a whirlwind breath 
 
 A perfect hurricane, 
 In a blue flame he sent her straight 
 
 To Lucifer's domain. 
 
//Ly JCh 
 
 ILDREN 
 
 They sleep ! Small griefs and joys alike are hushed to rest ; 
 
 On their young faces purity reposes 
 
 Luminous and soft, like moonlight on white roses. 
 The angels claim them now, their thoughts are blest. 
 Could we not almost wish that childhood's happy reign 
 
 Would last for aye, the present only knowing ? 
 
 No future dread, or sad experience showing 
 Our earthly strivings, vague desires so vain ? 
 
 Ah, no! "Progression — Onward!" let our watch-words be; 
 We would not check the growth of mind unfolding, 
 All new and fresh great Nature's truths beholding, 
 
 But wait, wath liope and trust fair fruit to see. 
 
 I chid the eldest, that she had not done aright. 
 Until subdued, she broke out into sobbing. 
 My soul of all but pitf/ for her robbing, 
 
 As round my neck she clasped and held me tight. 
 
 (Ill) 
 
112 
 
 My baby -boy still holds bis kite within his hand, 
 Afraid, he said, away at might Ije ilying 
 While he upon his little bed was lying. 
 
 And spoil all sport he 'd for the morrow planned. 
 
 Father ! unto thee my full heart turns in prayer 
 Of gratitude profound, these gifts possessing ; 
 Help me to guide, bestow on them thy blessing, 
 
 Take them, life ending, to a world more fair. 
 
O THE OOUL 
 
 Whither wouldst thon, restless waiid'rer — 
 
 Ever struggling 'gainst thy doom ? 
 Each complaint and thought rebellious 
 
 From thy proud wing plucks a plume. 
 Thou forgettest that thy mansion 
 
 Is of earth, with earthly coils 
 Clinging round thee, ne'er forsaking 
 
 In thy highest flights and toils. 
 
 Thou hast soared among the starlets 
 
 With a wild desire to know 
 All their movements, vast and wondrous, 
 
 And the Power that made them so. 
 Dizzy, lost in vague conjecture., 
 
 Stronger fetters there enthrall, 
 Feeling more and more thy weakness. 
 
 Back to earth again doth fall. 
 
 (113) 
 
114 
 
 In the dark -green caves of ocean, 
 
 With the mermaids thou hast dwelt ; 
 But the ever deep disquiet 
 
 Of its billows still hast felt. 
 Basking in the rosy sunlight 
 
 'Mid the fairest flowers of spring, 
 Still a ceaseless, silent yearning 
 
 That the future more might bring. 
 
 On the grand, untrodden glaciers 
 
 Of the Polar regions gazed ; 
 'Mid the desert sands of Afric, 
 
 Almost boundless, stood amazed ! 
 Like a frail bark drifting always — 
 
 Drifting o'er life's changeful sea, 
 Never canst thou find a harbor — 
 
 Ne'er on earth at rest may be. 
 
 Hasten ! — onward, ever onward ! 
 
 Death its portal opens wide. 
 Pass it without fear or flinching, 
 
 Angels wait thy course to guide. 
 There shall end thy strifes and longings ; 
 
 There thy wand'rings all shall cease, 
 There beside the throne immortal 
 
 Thou shalt find eternal peace. 
 
w 
 
 RESTLINGS, 
 
 When the heart is filled with darkness, 
 Full of thoughts so hard and drear, 
 
 Bitter, bursting, wild and reckless 
 As a demon on a bier, — 
 
 How we wrestle with our reason — 
 With our reason and despair ; 
 
 And 't is strange that little angel 
 
 Love, should do such mischief there ! 
 
 Love, that has been, and seems dying 
 In our own heart, or that other. 
 
 To whom pledges free were given 
 E'er to cherish one another. 
 
 In those days when life so joyous 
 
 Seemed with endless glory crowned, 
 
 (115) 
 
116 
 
 And no spectre, pale and mocking 
 Up the rosy vista wound. 
 
 It may be that Love grows keener, 
 
 More exacting in demands, 
 As it nears the " ancient river," 
 
 And can see the half- run sands. 
 
 Close beside it stands the Teacher, 
 
 Stern and solemn, all must know, 
 
 Heaps of wisdom, plumeless pleasures. 
 Sad experience o'er it throws. 
 
 Some neglect or glance of coldness 
 With fierce passion fills the soul. 
 
 And those goading words are spoken 
 That no longer brook control. 
 
 The reaction, like a torrent 
 
 With a crash our heart-strings sweep 
 Hopeless, hapless desolation, 
 
 That can neither sigh nor weep. 
 
117 
 
 Brings us to the verge of madness, 
 
 And 't is strange no passion known 
 
 Rends and wrecks the soul so sadly, 
 As a tempest from love grown. 
 
 Then unto the loved one groping, 
 
 " Take this burden from my soul ; 
 Peace and rest is all I ask for. 
 
 Strife no more between us roll." 
 
 Better this than leave forever 
 
 Haunts and home for distant shore ; 
 Better still to shun all passions 
 
 Causing it, forevermore ! 
 
 IG 
 
F 
 
 PITAPH. 
 
 She 's dead ; with charity for 
 
 All mankind, she smu all, felt 
 
 All, yet unexpressed ; she 
 
 Passed through life, yearning to break 
 
 The sjjell that fettered speech. 
 
 And e'en forbade the soul to 
 
 Wiite out what it would have 
 
 Shown. 
 
 Her children to thy tender care, 0, God ! 
 And let her watch with thee 
 Their future course. 
 
 (118) 
 
jSisTEi^ Sue. 
 
 A lady left her native land 
 And sailed o'er the wide, wide sea. 
 The waters danced, 
 Her blue eyes glanced. 
 As she sailed o'er the wide, wide sea. 
 
 Glanced, not with the lifi^ht of a hope devoid 
 Of aught save the rose -tint of youth, 
 
 But a strength to brave 
 
 And a power to save 
 Shone through a mirror of truth. 
 
 Dear hearts follo^\ed the lady fair 
 As she sailed o'er the wide, wide sea, 
 And their purest love 
 Was wafted above 
 For her, on the wide, wide sea. 
 
 (119) 
 
120 
 
 Iler mind, ns she sailed o'er the wide, wide sea, 
 Went back to the days of yore, 
 
 When the dearest dream 
 
 Of her heart did seem 
 To sail to a foreign shore. 
 
 The noon -day of life is sweet to her, 
 With treasures of heart and rnind ; 
 A grace most rare 
 And a face still fair, 
 In harmony all combined. 
 
 And proud is he of his beautiful wife — 
 The man who stands by her side ; 
 
 As the Mariner's star 
 
 Is watched from afar. 
 So he turns to her for his guide. 
 
 ! gaze, fond eyes, on the lady fair, 
 Who sails o'er the wide, wide sea ; 
 
 For with icy breath 
 
 The phantom Death 
 Is waitino- across the sea. 
 
121 
 
 Blow gently winds, and, tones, be soft. 
 Hushed every dissonant word. 
 
 Let her quaff from the bowl 
 Of joy the whole 
 That Earth for her can afford. 
 
 They reach the land of mystic song, 
 His calling is high in degree. 
 
 While a nameless charm 
 
 All hearts doth warm, 
 In her who has crossed the sea. 
 
 Words of cheer, with a flash of wit 
 Are ever with her at command ; 
 
 A smile would light 
 
 The dreariest night, 
 A ready and generous hand. 
 
 The wondrous works of nature and art 
 Are placed in memory's store ; 
 
 And from Music's spell 
 
 The grandest swell 
 Will rest in her soul evermore. 
 
122 
 
 But the lady drooped ; her cheek grew pale, 
 Still cheerful of mien as before ; 
 
 The grape and wine 
 
 Of the famous Rhine 
 Are sought failing health to restore. 
 
 In vain ! The fell King is waiting to claim 
 Ilis victim no effort can save ; 
 
 And from agonized prayer 
 For those in her care, 
 Her soul looks hcyond the dark grave. 
 
 0, grief ! that crushes the strong and weak, 
 No comforting ray can be given ; 
 
 0, gently descend. 
 
 Sweet Spirit, and lend 
 A faitli and a hope from High Heaven. 
 
 Again the lady too fair and pale 
 Sails over the wide, wide sea ; 
 
 And the night -wind's moan 
 
 A shudder and groan 
 Wakes for her on the wide, wide sea. 
 
123 
 
 Yes, close to that fair thing flooding along 
 Nestle thoughts most sadly entwined \ 
 0, bring to the shore 
 The lady once more, 
 To love and to sorrow consigned. 
 
 Autumn's glory over the earth, 
 Winter's sadness over the pall. 
 In the sunny earth 
 Of the loved one's birth. 
 We laid her in peace — peace to all. 
 
The Old Wall, 
 
 I sat me down in the dear old hall — 
 
 In the hall built long ago, 
 Ere a city had risen with syren power 
 
 All cowitry charms to o'erthrow ; 
 When the floor grew smooth Avith dancing feet, 
 
 That danced with a will and a way 
 Would shame the dragging, indolent step 
 
 Of our fashionable ones to-day; 
 When blooming lassies, with beating hearts, 
 
 From hornpipes and jigs Avould rest 
 On the long, low seats on every side. 
 
 To gather new strength and zest. 
 
 The fiddler warmed with a laudable zeal. 
 And catching the motive thrill 
 
 Played on and on, surpassing himself. 
 With a new and an untaught skill, 
 
 (124) 
 
125 
 
 And peopled anew, my mind would stray 
 Back o'er the throng of Grandfather 8 day. 
 
 Leaving " the good old times," so called, 
 
 Seen^ only in fancy's flight, 
 Childhood's visions, new -decked and dyed, 
 
 Pass slowly before my sight. 
 I see the floor for dancing feet 
 
 O'erspread with a carpet fine, 
 And the painted seats in cushioned pride 
 
 Enticing belles to recline. 
 Curtain - draped folds and gilded frames, 
 
 Changing that Puritan style 
 To parlor, reception or drawing-room fine. 
 
 Of modern invention the wile ; 
 Piano in place of the fiddler's strain. 
 
 While graceful figures in tulle 
 Glide noiselessly 'round on dainty feet 
 
 With artistic measure and rule. 
 To childish glance, delighted with all, 
 Naught could compare with that grand old hall. 
 
 The child is now changed to the maiden demure. 
 
 Building her castles in air — 
 Dreaming at eve in that favorite room 
 
 17 
 
126 
 
 Of all tilings wondrous and fair : 
 Caught by Aurora, borne with the hours, 
 
 Or suddenly dropped from the skies 
 As real or fancy -fed woes of the earth 
 
 In solemn array do arise. 
 Tableaux, readings, and blind -man's bufl', 
 
 Law, gospel, and ancient lore. 
 The merry and wise, to each a full share, 
 
 The warbling of songs o'er and o'er, 
 Deep consultations with dear ones 'round 
 
 On marriages, dresses and beaux, 
 Hearing the step of a favored swain near, 
 
 Noting the tell-tale rose. 
 Bridal farewells, and farewells for aye — 
 Clearly before me the pageant rolled by. 
 
 But one in that room who walks up and down 
 With noble and unstudied grace — 
 
 A host in himself to entertain all. 
 
 E'er suiting the theme to the case, 
 
 Can ne'er be forgot, so polished, refined. 
 
 Shedding light o'er the learned and vain ; 
 
 His spirit may walk the old hall even noiv, 
 " His lilie we shall ne'er see a^'ain." 
 
A Loved One 
 
 Matchless in form, faultless in face, 
 
 She stood the queen of beauty and grace. 
 
 The creamy folds of the robe she wore, 
 Heavy and pure, belonged but to her. 
 
 Sweeping the tiles of the polished floor. 
 
 A beauty ennobling, lifting the mind 
 Upward, unsullied, to Heaven inclined, 
 
 The braided circlets of pale -gold hair, 
 Fleecy and soft, (wondrous bestowal ! ) 
 
 Suiting the snowy complexion rare. 
 
 E)iough were this to classic eye. 
 But Truth and Justice hov'ring nigh. 
 
 O'er heart and brow a white wing swept 
 Ready her voice to plead for right. 
 
 Lifting the fallen while others slept. 
 
 (127) 
 
128 
 
 Dear vision flown ! hearts for thee pine, 
 But placed evermore on Memory's shrine, 
 
 Thy beauty, thy goodness, as incense given, 
 Trusting in faith to meet thee again, 
 
 Clasping the shadow of one in Heaven. 
 
p 
 
 EPENDENCE ON GoD 
 
 Time rolls on, cares roll in, 
 
 Life seems scarcely a span ; 
 The soul looks back, the soul looks on, 
 
 Hope grows dreary and wan, 
 Dreary and wan, sunk in despair. 
 
 Groping in darkness and doubt, 
 
 In depth of woe, what can one do ? 
 Call on God ! Call on God ! He is there. 
 
 Youth a craft freighted with charms. 
 By fancy cunningly wrought 
 
 In strange device, and glorious dye. 
 Desired, and wildly sought ; 
 
 Prized the lost beyond the gained. 
 The beautiful craft sails on. 
 When lost to view, what can one do ? 
 
 Call on God ! pure)' treasures regained. 
 
 (129) 
 
130 
 
 Ties most dear one by one 
 
 Are severed, draining the heart 
 
 Of life-blood warm, bereft of cheer, 
 Yet dreading with earth to part. 
 
 Dreading to tread the " distant shore," 
 Though sinking in quicksands here, 
 No matter how deep, there 's rescue yet ; 
 
 Call on God ! Call on God ever 
 
 rmore 
 
 The hour doth come, it comes to all, 
 
 When fails all human aid. 
 And the strongest will as infant breath 
 
 Is weak and powerless laid. 
 The " Great Unseen " with tend'rest care 
 
 Now lifts and breathes new strength. 
 
 And taught to feel 't is better to kneel 
 Unto Him, unto Him who is there. 
 
On Two Lovers Lost belo^w the 
 Falls at Niagara. 
 
 'T is naught, all nothing beside, dear friend, 
 
 Where the Eternal the air doth rend, 
 
 And foam and mist and rainljows blend 
 
 'Neath mountain torrents of water ; 
 Engulfing, grasping, reaching all 
 That near its borders may chance to fall — 
 
 E'en of earth the fairest daughter. 
 
 They went to bathe, you say, near the shore ? 
 
 Strange venture, hearing the cataract's roar ! 
 
 But knowing there have l^een lovers before, 
 
 Their mad freaks make us not wonder. 
 Perhaps in rare exaltation of mind 
 And hoping a changeless union to find, 
 
 They boldly, but madly, plunged under. 
 
 (131) 
 
132 
 
 You say that she dared the fierce tide. 
 And he Avith a true lover's pride, 
 Swam bravely to save his fair bride ? 
 But vain all human endeavor. 
 
 A force so terrific would sweep 
 Whole legions of braves to that sleep 
 Where body and soul do sever. 
 
 Ah ! tell not the dread tale too near. 
 
 The strange fascination I fear, 
 
 The terrible power even here 
 
 Might 'wilder the sense and destroy. 
 
 In silence we '11 view the grand Fall, 
 And unto the Father of All 
 
 Breathe anthems of praise and of joy. 
 
Matawa,theTndt AN Oracle, 
 
 Mataava was the oracle among a powerful tribe of 
 Indians inhabiting the wild tracts and forests that skirt 
 the borders of the beantiful Miami River. 
 
 Her gigantic figure towering above all the women 
 of her tribe, her deep and wonderful penetration into 
 the thoughts and designs of those around her, the 
 wisdom of her counsels, and the almost never - failing- 
 realization of her prophecies, gave her a powerful influ- 
 ence over the most stern, as well as softer^ hearts of 
 her red brethren, to which they yielded as to some 
 supernatural agency. 
 
 The wise old chiefs, though sometimes jealous of 
 one who in a great measure monopolized their power, 
 yet in the hour, of danger and moments which required 
 immediate decision, fain would hasten to her tent to 
 consult upon the best means of safety, and steps neces- 
 sary to be taken in so critical an emergency. And 
 18 (133) 
 
134 
 
 when with her tall figure erect, her deep black eyes 
 lighted up with sibylline fire, and in tones guttural yet 
 distinct, she addressed them, placing vividly before their 
 eyes as it were a living picture of the dreaded danger, 
 the only way to meet it, and the inevitable result ; 
 they listened to her as to a messenger from the land 
 of dreams, sent by the "Good Spirit" — as a kind of 
 Manito with long eyes for the future, discovering the 
 dark clouds, and scattering them by wise preparation. 
 
 She had no kindred in the tribe, but like a tall, 
 ancient oak did she shelter and protect the Ijeautiful 
 Silver - Leaf, whom she gently folded in the deepest 
 recess of her heart. The little Indian orphan had been 
 nourished with the tenderesL care, in the wigwam of 
 Matawa. She was the sunlight of her declining age, 
 the dew-drop to her withering heart. In childhood she 
 had fed her with the most delicate food, swung her 
 cradle on the firmest and most wavy boughs, that the 
 breath of the " Good Spirit " might soothe, and laid 
 her in the light of the moon -beams, that his pure eye 
 might w^atch over her. 
 
 Beautiful was this wild flower of the forest, her 
 form light and graceful, and step free as a young fawn's. 
 
135 
 
 Ilev black luiir, when unbraicled, fell over her in long, 
 silken masses, and her soft black eyes were the bright 
 crystals of her soul. 
 
 She was called Silver -Leaf from the uncommon 
 delicacy of her complexion, and a chaplet of pale, shin- 
 ing leaves she usually wore upon her brow. Her favorite 
 haunt was the '' Enchanter's Ring," a little paradise she 
 had discovered in the wdld forest through which she 
 loved to roam, and named from the inspiration of the 
 moment. 
 
 In obscure loveliness here slept a little valley sur- 
 rounded by a bright green bank, the summit crowned 
 by tall trees, the branches of which, gracefully uniting, 
 formed over it a thick canopy of leaves. And in its 
 centre, like a glistening pearl in an emerald cup, lay a 
 clear silvery lake. Flowers bloomed here in wild lux- 
 uriance, while on the margin of the lake was a small, 
 low -spreading tree, the peculiar beauty of which at once 
 charmed the beholder. 
 
 Its pale, transparent leaves, incessantly quivering 
 and shining with silvery brightness, resembled fairy 
 wings hovering in beauty's pride over that magical 
 mirror. 
 
136 
 
 But what leaf could compare with the ever -blooming 
 one that gazed with them, as she sat weaving the bright 
 garland that became her so well, her face glowing with 
 the rosy day dreams that filled her mind, happy as 
 beautiful, when tossing the finished wreath upon her 
 brow, and gazing a moment on its charming reflec- 
 tion, like a young roe she would bound away to her 
 gay companions, to join the wild dance, through Avhich 
 she whirled and floated as aerial and graceful as an Elfin 
 Queen ? 
 
 She was adored by her dark -eyed companions, who 
 as the sun descended would draw close around her, to 
 listen to the wild legends she would relate to them, that 
 had been poured into her ear from infancy by her much- 
 loved Matawa. But had she no admirers among the red 
 sons of the brave tribe ? Many were the bold warriors 
 who gazed on Silver -Leaf with admiration not unmingled 
 with a deeim- passion, but when they saw^ the calm 
 indifference with which she regarded them, and the 
 determined manner with which she rejected all their pro- 
 posals, hope died within their hearts, and they believed 
 whiit Matawa told them, that Silver- Leaf 's love -dreams 
 were of the In-ioht stars that looked forth from the 
 
137 
 
 " Spirit Land," and her smiles for the winged guardians 
 that hovered round her. 
 
 But whether Matawa's interpretation was the hme 
 one remains yet a mystery. 
 
 A treaty had been hitely formed with the whites, 
 who had begun to make vast encroachments on the red 
 man's territory, and with whom they had had many 
 severe and bloody contests. Great cruelty was practised 
 on both sides, but particularly by the wronged, revenge- 
 ful Indians, who have rarely been excelled in their 
 inventions for torturing their unfortunate captives. 
 
 Among those they had taken in a recent conflict 
 Avas a young man, wdio from his recklessness of danger 
 had made himself an especial mark of revenge to his 
 merciless captors. 
 
 A council was assembled, and the dreadful doom 
 pronounced by Matawa, who with uncommon wisdom, 
 foreseeing the degeneracy and destruction of her ill- 
 fated race, hated the intruding whites as only an Indian 
 can hate. 
 
 The youth, over Avhose head twenty summers had 
 scarcely fled, heard his doom with outward composure. 
 But where is the heart though firm to face the cannon's 
 mouth that would not shudder at the thought of endur- 
 
138 
 
 ing the protracted torture inflicted by the malignant, 
 unrelenting savage ? 
 
 And was but one more sun to rise for him ? 'T was 
 hard to die so young. The Indians, relying on the 
 strong cords that bound him for the safety of their 
 captive, betook themselves to their rude mattresses, and 
 were soon lost in sleep. The bright stars shone upon 
 him, who forgetful of danger was quietly slumbering, 
 and moonlight lent a new charm to the handsome, 
 youthful face. 
 
 But another and a brighter star had risen to guide 
 him from that perilous vicinity. Like a ray of light 
 did Silver -Leaf glide to the side of the unconscious 
 sleeper, and kneeling down, with the rapidity of thought 
 began severing the strong cords that bound him. With 
 a start the sleeper wakes, his gaze is instantly riveted 
 upon the fairy form that bends over him, which he 
 believes descended from its Angel home to charm a 
 wretched mortal. 
 
 '' Thou art free," she murmurs in a low voice, 
 "follow me." Silently and rapidly they pass the wig- 
 wams of the sleeping savages, till leaving them far 
 behind, they enter the depths of the forest. Knowing 
 well the winding paths, the Indian maiden glided swiftly 
 
139 
 
 along, when coming to an open space, the junction of 
 several paths, she suddenly stopped, till her companion, 
 who had been in vain endeavoring to overtake his mys- 
 terious guide, should come up. 
 
 " Winged spirit or whatever thou art," said he, 
 approaching her, "receive the homage of an over -flowing 
 heart," and the enthusiastic 3^outh knelt at her feet. 
 
 " Warrior of the pale faces, I have saved thee from 
 the fangs of thy enemy, and robbed my people of a 
 great revenge. The Dew -spirit rose in my heart, and 
 I could not see thee die. But when the Eagles of our 
 tribe lie bound in thy tents, thou wilt be there to loose 
 their pinions." 
 
 Moonlight shone full upon her face, and the enrap- 
 tured youth felt as he gazed upon her, that no ivliite rose 
 he had ever seen could compare with this wild one of 
 the woods. 
 
 " But you must not tarry, the Indian's eye brightens 
 as the stars grow dim, and it will gleam when it beholds 
 thee not." 
 
 Advancing to a narrow and obscure path, in a clear 
 and rapid manner she directed him what course to pur- 
 sue and when he would be beyond the reach of his 
 pursuers. 
 
140 
 
 " And may I not ask the name of my fair pre- 
 server, that I may pray for blessings from morn till 
 eve, to descend upon her beauteous head ? " " They 
 call me Silver- Leaf, and I live in the wigwams of 
 Matawa, who is thy greatest enemy." ''A sAveet name," 
 he murmured, "but we are not enemies?" raising his 
 dark eyes to her face while his voice thrilled her soul. 
 "1 am no enemy to thee," she answered hurriedly, "but 
 spare the Indian for the sake of Silver -Leaf." Waving 
 her hand in adieu she moved rapidly away and entered 
 the thick wood. The youth watched her receding form 
 till it blended with the trees. " Heaven preserve thee ! " 
 escaped his lips, lie then began his lonely flight. 
 
 Day was ushered in by the mad yells of the dis- 
 appointed savages, when they found their captive had 
 escaped. But above all rose the fierce commands of 
 Matawa. " Cease this wild tumult and track the pale 
 face through the forest. Follow the narrow paths, nor 
 let the leaves cling to your feet. Take his scalp, but 
 otherwise harm him not, that his blood may blacken in 
 the red blaze and his vile heart turn to ashes." 
 
 The fleet young warriors instantly prepared to obey 
 her commands ; but a close observer would have noticed 
 the expression of disappointment which marked her fea- 
 
141 
 
 tures. " I fear they will not find him — safe in his 
 kennel eve this." 
 
 Silver -Leaf caught the words and turned her face 
 away to hide a smile of exultation she could not con- 
 ceal. 
 
 Various were the surmises how the prisoner could 
 have escaped, though no one suspected Silver -Leaf; but 
 it was generally believed that one of his own people 
 had released him, or that the '' Evil Spirit " in his 
 anger for some offence had thus revenged himself. 
 
 The warriors returned, weary and dispirited, having 
 caught no glimpse of their captive, or even been able to 
 discover his tracks. 
 
 A short time after these events, a treaty was 
 formed between the hostile parties, and the calumet 
 smoked in apparent amity. 
 
 But there was one who, the more she smothered her 
 hatred, the more intensely it burned. Matawa, though 
 she deemed it wiser to accede to the terms of peace, 
 fierce tuar raged within. 
 
 It was the Indian Summer. Never did Nature 
 present a more beautifid face than in this wild and 
 romantic region, and never had the Enchanter's Ring 
 appeared more enchanting. So at least thought Silver- 
 
142 
 
 Leaf, who spent more of her time than ever in its 
 circling shade. 
 
 She sits upon the green bank weaving the bright 
 leaves, bnt are her thoughts woven with them ? Her 
 eyes are fixed upon them, but a dreamy listlessness 
 betrays the wanderings of her mind. There is a change 
 in Silver -Leaf, her cheek has a paler tinge, and her 
 eyelid a drooping sadness ; her companions call her, she 
 heeds them not, but still dreams on ; of whom can she 
 be dreaming ? Matawa's love - sharpened eyes have 
 marked the change, and she mournfully listens for the 
 bird -like voice of her darling, that has ever been to 
 her sweetest music. Stern as is her nature there is a 
 golden cord in her bosom which vibrates to every quiver 
 of her cherished leaf! 
 
 She sees her loved form approaching with slow and 
 lingering steps, that were once so light and bounding. 
 Suppressing a sigh she meets her with a smiling face, 
 and humorously relates her adventures in the day's chase. 
 She is a brave huntress, her aim true and fatal. Silver- 
 Leaf listens, her face brightens, and resumes its happy 
 and natural expression, for she loves Matawa and is 
 pleased from sympathy. 
 
Weeks roll away, and each day lends a paler hue 
 to the drooping Leaf. There is a charm in the En- 
 chanter's Ring, for there no curious eyes observe her, 
 her thoughts are free and uninterrupted, and strange, 
 wild flights they often take. 
 
 Like a drooping lily she reclines upon the velvet 
 bank, a bright garland rests upon her brow, and a 
 mournful expression in the dark eyes throws a softened 
 light over her lovely face. A dreamy languor steals 
 over her, the eye -lids with their jetty fringes droop 
 more and more, till quietly resting on the downy cheek. 
 
 What visions now crowd upon her restless imagi- 
 nation ! 
 
 She is lying upon the bottom of a deep lake, the 
 water transparent like air, and she can see an immense 
 distance. 
 
 All is still, not even the ripple of a wave is seen 
 or heard. 
 
 The sand on which she lies is red and glittering, 
 and she shudders as if it were stained with blood. 
 
 Suddenly a host of pale faces start forth from it, 
 all armed and blood-thirsty. 
 
 She hears the war-whoop of her tribe, and on a 
 clear, bright wave the red warriors come dashing on ; 
 
144 
 
 they hurl their arrows by thousuiids at their fmle 
 enemies, who meet them with no less destruction. The 
 red sand is dyed with a deeper hue. 
 
 Gradually the blood-stained hosts dissolve and fade 
 from her sight, wdiile in their stead appear two large, 
 fierce birds, which with fiery eyes circle round and 
 round each other, their plumage changing with their 
 movements. A red crest glows upon the head of one, 
 which rushing upon his antagonist, buries his strong 
 talons deep in the snowy neck. 
 
 She is no longer in the lake, but quietly lying by 
 her own wigwam. Black clouds obscure the bright- 
 winged wrestlers, in wdiose struggle she is wonderfully 
 interested. 
 
 A blazing fire now attracts her attention, whose 
 flames go crackling to the sky, scattering a shower of 
 diamonds over the increasing blackness. 
 
 She hears the rush of w-ings like the sweeping of 
 the tempest ; and, behold, the bird with the fiery crest 
 bears his exhausted antagonist to the devouring element, 
 and hovering for a moment over its scorching blaze, 
 drops him into the glowing abyss. There in the burn- 
 ing mirror, she beholds a youth with eyes fixed entreat- 
 ingly upon her, and Matawa with wild, exulting features, 
 
145 
 
 towering above all. A terrible light breaks in upon 
 her mind — the loved one is perisJiing. 
 
 With a wild cry she wakes, and the youth, the 
 Ideal of her dreams, is before her. Deep blushes suffuse 
 her face, as she encounters his ardent gaze, and thinks 
 that he has been watching her slumber. 
 
 " Bright maiden, forgive this intrusion, and let 
 chance plead an excuse, though naught could have 
 detained me hut the fear of incurring your displeasure, 
 for do I not behold my preserver ? " 
 
 Silver- Leaf has risen and is leaning against a tree, 
 for there is a treraulousness in her frame that fain would 
 seek support. She almost fancies she is still dreamino-, 
 but all things have a familiar look — the flowers, the 
 lake, the tree, and the youth with his golden locks and 
 fine features — have they not long been enshrined in her 
 heart ? 
 
 "And has not the White Eagle forgotten the forest- 
 leaf that turned its face from the parent tree ? " said 
 she, in a low voice. 
 
 " Can night forget its moon, flowers their dew, or 
 the soul its heaven ? All these thou hast been to me 
 since first thy angel form bent o'er me in the moonlight 
 and whispered words of freedom. Stern necessity ouIj/ 
 
146 
 
 has kept me from thy wild home so long; my heavt has 
 pined for thee." 
 
 A deep joy irradiated the face of the Indian 
 maiden. She felt not timid by his side, for was he not 
 her heart's long-w^orshipped Idol ? The moments flew 
 swiftly by, and they must part, but still to meet again. 
 
 Now was Silver -Leaf's heart made light, and her 
 song and bounding step once more gladdened the heart 
 of Matawa. She knew not what had produced the 
 change. 
 
 Often did the lovers meet in the " Enchanter's 
 Pung," and each day strengthened the pure chain that 
 bound their hearts. 
 
 Noble and good was the youth who had won the 
 love of this young wild -flower; and as the richest gift 
 did he prize it. But, alas ! they saw not the tempest 
 which was gathering over their heads. 
 
 It was near the close of a beautiful day, devoted 
 by the Indians exclusively to the chase, in which Matawa 
 joined with fire and energy, putting many a bold hunter 
 to the blush by her superior and wonderful skill with 
 the bow. 
 
 The last rays of the golden sun streamed through 
 
147 
 
 the trees of the " Enchanter's Ring," shedding a soft- 
 ened halo over two beings who were there reposing. 
 
 "And will not Silver- Leaf leave her wild home for 
 one if not more beautiful yet shared together, a ring of 
 enchantment radiant with love's own light ? " And 
 bending forward he gazes under the trembling eye -lids. 
 
 Silver- Leaf mournfully replies: "I know thy home 
 is fair, and Silver- Leaf longs to share it with thee, but 
 Matawa who loves me is thine enemy, and bitter would 
 be her heart did I seek a home with the hated Pale 
 Face." 
 
 '" Matawa, the fierce woman of thy tribe, who so 
 thirsted for my blood, and invented methods of torture ? 
 My wild bird, heed her not ; she is not Avorthy thy 
 regard." 
 
 " Hush, speak not of her thus, we love each other ; 
 she must consent ere I go with thee." 
 
 " Be it as thou wilt, I will seek her, we are on 
 terms of peace — and if I obtain her consent?" clasping 
 her trembling hand. 
 
 " You have my consent, go follow him to his home, 
 and the curse of Matawa go with thee." 
 
 Quick as a lightning gleam an arrow pierced the 
 heart of the youth, who fell back and expired, his eyes 
 
148 
 
 still resting on poor Silver -Leaf, who had fallen on his 
 bosom. 
 
 On the summit of the bank, pai'tly concealed 
 by the trees, stood the tall figure of Matawa, wilh 
 a gaudily - painted hunting - cap, from beneath which 
 gleamed her fiend -like features. A snow-white fawn 
 with which she intended to surprise Silver -Leaf was 
 fastened to her girdle. Loosing the cord he bounded 
 away to the woods. 
 
 '' Go back to thy home, the fallen leaf deserves 
 thee not," approaching, as she spoke, the pale, inanimate 
 maiden. " She shall no longer quafi' the poison of this 
 serpent, though its deadly sting hath entered her once 
 pure heart." 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the loathing 
 with which she released her from that rigid embrace, 
 and laid her on the moist bank. Life's hue soon re- 
 turned to her cheek, and with it a strong, Avild energy. 
 Starting to her feet her eye falls on that silent form, 
 and she utters a painful cry. But encountering the 
 scornful, pitiless glance of Matawa, words wrathful and 
 bitter burst from her quivering lips. 
 
 " Proud woman of a noble race, how art thou 
 fiillen from thy star - mingled home — the serpent hath 
 
149 
 
 no wings, and like it thou hast hither crawled and 
 aimed thy silent dart. The Eagle is at thy feet, but 
 his spirit dwells in yon beautiful home, and smiles on 
 his artful foe ; the blaze on thy hearth is forever extin- 
 guished, and ashes over it strewn. Silver -Leaf mourns 
 in silence, but shuns the eye of Matawa." 
 
 Strange was the picture these two so widely differ- 
 ent beings presented. Silver -Leaf, her slight figure 
 raised to its utmost height, and features eloquently 
 expressing the despair and madness of her soul. Matawa, 
 tall and unbending, regarding her with fixed, stoical in- 
 diflerence, and Avithout deigning to answer, slowly entered 
 the forest. 
 
 In solitude Silver- Leaf poured forth her heart's 
 deep ngony. Kneeling by the side of her lover, with 
 her long hair she wiped the dew from his clammy brow, 
 while her low moans fell unheeded on his ear. 
 
 The moon - beams lit up the face of her beloved ; 
 still she remained in the same position. A gentle hand 
 is laid upon her, and Avords kind and sjanpathizing fall 
 upon her ear. A dearly loved play -fellow, waiting her 
 return in anxious solicitude, sought her there. Vainly 
 did she entreat the pale sufferer to leave the cold 
 ground, and with her seek a warmer shelter. 
 
150 
 
 Almost reproachfully, she replies : " Can I leave 
 him here to be torn and mangled by his fierce enemies^, 
 and carried I know not whither ? I must know where 
 he slumbers, that I may listen to the breathing of his 
 spirit, and sing to it in my loneliness. This should be 
 his resting-place," and she laid her h:ind on the green 
 bank and commenced pulling the tender blades. 
 
 Silently, with spades procured for the purpose, the 
 two friends l^egan their mournful task, and ere the grey 
 light of dawn appeared, the youth was consigned to his 
 narrow bed, and the green sods placed carefully over 
 him. 
 
 In compassion to the broken-hearted maiden her 
 people suffered him to lie there, and even Matawa 
 opposed it not, thus leaving a tinge of verdure on the 
 perishing leaf. For it was a mournful pleasure to sit on 
 the green mound that covered him, and dream of the 
 " Spirit Land," from which she heard the voice of her 
 beloved calling her. 
 
 Time glided on, and the " Spirit Maiden " still 
 hovered over the hallowed spot — for so they had named 
 her (so shadowy and ethereal had she grown), and 
 though hope sometimes dawned on the hearts of her 
 sorrowing companions when a briglit tinge glowed on 
 
151 
 
 her transparent cheek, they knew not '^ 't was the un- 
 natural hue which autumn paints upon the perished 
 leaf." 
 
 She died : her fair head resting on the pale flowers 
 that bloomed on the grave of her beloved, the palest 
 and most devoted of them all. 
 
 In life stern Matawa forgave her not, but when the 
 cherished flower was crushed forever, her smothered 
 grief was revealed. Tenderly clasping the fragile form 
 in her strong arms, in the silent depths of the forest, 
 unseen by mortal eye, from the warm fountain of her 
 heart she poured its last bitter drops on the perished 
 Leaf. 
 
 Complying with the wishes of the loved one, with 
 her oivn hands she laid her by the side of her beloved, 
 but buried between them her bow and arrow, whether 
 as an emblem of peace or ivar remains a mystery. 
 
 The open violation of the treaty by Matawa was 
 the cause of another severe conflict Avith the whites. 
 
 Seeing the sure and rapid destruction of her race, 
 like the shattered oak, she fell beneath the shock, and 
 deeply lamented by her people, the Indian Oracle passed 
 to her long home. 
 
Jhe). 
 
 ION'S Mouth. 
 
 0, SWEETEST glen ! from whose fresh and virgin 
 heart indulgent natnre lifts the veil, that mortal eye 
 may gaze upon thy beauty and dream of immortality. 
 But pause, thou favored one, ere yet thy feet dare cross 
 its charmed confines ; for then thy bewildered sense 
 wrapped in mystic spell no longer may clearly view this 
 lovely gem. 
 
 Behold the trees that from the firm, green banks 
 in lofty grandeur rise, twining their long and graceful 
 limbs to shelter their own loved offspring. 
 
 O'ershadowed quite, it sleeps in calm repose, or as 
 some golden shadow o'er it plays, smiles to catch its 
 light embrace. 
 
 The shining poplar, elm of tender growth and 
 slender willow mingle in harmony with their giant -like 
 progenitors. 
 
 List to the soothing music of the gentle rill, that 
 (152) 
 
153 
 
 winds in slow and easy motion through its best - loved 
 haunt, lost on the river's placid bosom. 
 
 With playful emulation birds of various hues mingle 
 their liquid notes with its gurgling melody. 
 
 Naught else disturbs the alluring silence. But as 
 the sun sinks low upon the western hills, a host of 
 shadows gold and brown steal o'er its tranquil beauty, 
 dancing to the tall trees that nod and shake their heads, 
 wondering at their audacity ; while some in quiet nooks 
 and corners hide themselves and rest. 
 
 To the weary traveller the swing and rustic seats 
 present a rural comfort. And now, as twilight's veil 
 falls thick and fast, enter thou and find a sweet repose ; 
 and as the moon gleams through the willows grey, and 
 on its beams bright fairies quick descend and round thee 
 form a mystic ring, I '11 tell thee what once they did 
 for a little moital, deeply pitying his misfortunes when 
 they found him good and pure like themselves. 
 
 It chanced that on the margin of the river, in a 
 small and homely hut, there dwelt a fisherman and his 
 wife. They were not like some poor and honest people, 
 but coarse and ill-natured, often quarrelling with them- 
 selves, and abusing a beautifid little boy they had found 
 
154 
 
 lying near the shore when about a year old, quite 
 forsaken. They thought it best to rear the child, that 
 he might help them in their old age. And having 
 reached his seventh or eighth year, they tasked him ftir 
 beyond his strength. 
 
 After the many morning errands he must take his 
 hook and line and go forth to try his luck among the 
 finny tribe, which was not always numerous near the 
 margin, and beyond which he could not venture. 
 
 lie had acquired great skill in catching the little 
 animals, and always endeavored to please his hard- 
 hearted guardians by surprising them with even more 
 than they expected. 
 
 But they seldom gave him a kind word, and his 
 angel fiice had assumed an expression of meekness and 
 resignation rarely seen in one so young. 
 
 His only happiness w\as in being occasionally per- 
 mitted to visit the beautiful glen lying near, Avhere 
 throwing himself upon the green bank, he loved to 
 listen to the murmuring of the stream and dream of a 
 world of happy and good little people who were always 
 smiling and kind, and where the fishes were frolicking 
 in every direction, I'eady to be caught without hooks. 
 
155 
 
 He had never seen the fiiiries, except in his dreams 
 (for they were not quite ready to take him to tJiem- 
 sclvcs), but as he grew better and more like them every 
 day, they loved him more and more, and tried to make 
 his lot more hjippy. 
 
 But the more patiently and cheerfully he liore the 
 cruel treatment of his guardians, the more merciless they 
 became. 
 
 One day, having brought to them but half the 
 usual quantity of fish, they had upbraided and shame- 
 fully beaten him. With his large eyes swimming in 
 tears he sought his loved glen for consolation, and 
 kneeling down upon the side of the stream, bathed his 
 tiny hands and face in its clear water. His light hair 
 floated down the stream, and a holy light played over 
 his features, beautiful as a young seraph's. 
 
 While his little hands were lying listlessly in the 
 water, and he dreamily observing them, gentle music 
 stole upon his ear, resembling the Avhispering of the 
 trees, except that it seemed nearer and more delicious. 
 
 Lifting his eyes in wondering innocence he was still 
 more surprised to see on either side of the stream a row 
 of snow-white lilies, which slowly bending to and fro 
 seemed to produce the enchanting sound. 
 
156 
 
 With childlike delight he smelt of each one sepa- 
 ratel(/, and then gently plucked one. As he gazed into 
 its snowy depths, he heard a sweet voice singing : 
 
 " Child, thy i^aiiis will soon be fled, 
 On the moon -beams thou shalt tread; 
 Thou with us slialt come and dwell, 
 Sleeping in the lily bell, 
 Swinging on the slender willow. 
 Sailing on the streamlet's billow, 
 Dancing, singing, ever gay, 
 Thou, ix)or child, with us shalt stay." ' 
 
 At that moment a tiny little figure sprang from 
 the bosom of the flower, and taking both of the child's 
 hands in its own, gazed into his face with so happy and 
 kindly an expression that the tears sprang to his eyes 
 and rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 The good little fairy kissed them away, and seated 
 him beside her on the grass. 
 
 He knew that he had seen her in his dreams, but 
 she had never seemed so charming. 
 
 She ^vore a pale - green gossamer robe through 
 which her rosy figure fiiintly shone, while her amber- 
 tinted hair enveloped her like a cloud of gold. In a 
 low, musical voice she thus addressed him : 
 
157 
 
 " My sweet child, will you leave your cruel guard- 
 ians and come and live with me, and I will be youv 
 little sister, and make you happy all the day ? " 
 
 The child fixed his wondering e3^es upon her beam- 
 ing face, and replied : 
 
 '' Will you always look beautiful and kind as now ? 
 And shall I always see you when mvake as well as in 
 my dreams ? And will you always love me ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," said the fairy, smiling, " I will be always 
 near, and love you as long as you like.'' 
 
 The child's face grew radiantly joyous, and clapping 
 his little hands he exclaimed : 
 
 " 0, how happy I shall be to come and live with 
 you in this beautiful place I " 
 
 Then, suddenly, while a shade mingled with his 
 smiles, falteringly he said : 
 
 " But who will catch the fishes for my guardians, 
 and help them when I 'm away ? " 
 
 " You are too good to live with them ; and when 
 you are away, my sweet child, they will catch their own 
 fishes, and help themselves, which will be far better for 
 them. But you may go back, if you like, and tell them 
 what you have seen, and try and gain their permission 
 to leave them. But if they refuse and wickedly misuse 
 
 21 
 
158 
 
 you, then my little friend must fly hither, and never go 
 back again." 
 
 As the child gazed on the lovely little being a pale 
 mist rose around her, until he could see her form no 
 longer, and as it slowly rolled away he beheld the same 
 snow-white lily bending to and fro, and heard a soft 
 voice singing : 
 
 " Soon thou 'rt free from mortal power ; 
 Naught can harm thee from that hour; 
 Pure as drop of May-dew bright 
 Shines thy soul in crystal light, 
 All too good for mortal eye ; 
 Dearest child, then hither fly." 
 
 The boy listened till the voice died away, and then 
 rose to return home. A small bundle lying upon the 
 ground attracted his attention. As he picked it up how 
 was he surprised to see little gold fishes hopping on and 
 around him in every direction ! His basket was beside 
 him, and one by one they all hopped into it. 
 
 He knew that these were sent by the f^iiry, that 
 his guardians might not chide him. Taking the basket 
 and the bundle, which he had not opened, he proceeded 
 on his way. 
 
159 
 
 Having reached his home, with a smiling face 
 (when they began both loudly to reproach him), he laid 
 his gifts before them. 
 
 A w^hite lace cap, trimmed with gold - colored 
 ribbon, and a scarlet shaw^l first caught the eye of the 
 fisherman's wife. Hastily snatching them up she quickly 
 arrayed herself in the brilliant apparel. As the boy 
 looked up, letting his eye soar from the shawl to the 
 lofty crown of the snowy cap, a fit of laughter seized 
 him, which (notwithstanding the rage of the wearer) he 
 could not for some time control. 
 
 A gold -headed cane and spotted neckerchief were 
 quickly seized by the fisherman. 
 
 ^' Where did you get them ? " cried both at once, 
 as they eagerly searched the bundle to see what more it 
 contained. 
 
 " There is nothing more,'' said the boy, " but if 
 you will listen quietly, I will tell you all about how I 
 came by them." 
 
 Then he related to them all that the good fairy 
 had said, and asked them if they were willing he should 
 go and live with the fairies always. 
 
 " No ! " they both exclaimed, "■ but you shall go 
 every day and bring us pretty things from the glen." 
 
\m 
 
 " IVvlu^K^ 5*1^0 will \iol iii\o {\w\\\ [o nio." sjiivl iho 
 oWW»"tW tho tuim^ iK> not liko any Imi ilu>so {\\M aiv 
 
 ** Awd tm> nv not giH>d t '' s«ud thi\v, anjrvily. " tn> 
 tins \\hn\iont to binl. and \u (ho uiovuiuii viso oarly auii 
 bnug us somoihiug t\\>u\ I ho jiUnu" 
 
 Tho hoy mado no \x>pK\ hut wiookly yVu\ as ihov 
 iHUumau^KHis Tho uo\l u\oruiug ho w^so oarly and wont 
 to tho ^Knu hut atUn* ivmaiuiutf all ilay ho had sooi\ 
 nothing of tlio l^trv nor Touiui a\<y thing to oarry to his 
 oruotvnis gvuuxliatis. 
 
 ThoY siH^hKnl and ahusod hinu and thivatonod tho 
 gt\Hitost pnnishwont if ho tvtuvniHi tho no\t vla\ with 
 no Vttox* suvwss. 
 
 In tho morning* with a st^uhlonoii hi\ut» I»o om^o 
 moiv ivturnoil to tho gh^n. Twilight w-?\s tnst appiwioh- 
 ing» and ho had mot with no hot tor fortuno than on the 
 prooiHiing da\\ Thon ho thought tho t«iry had dosortoti 
 hinu and divading to rvtnrn. ho ivniaiuod undividoii 
 what ho s^Ik^uW do. 
 
 S\»ddonly ho hoavxl his guawiiaus iouvi vokvs, and 
 KH»king thixmgh tho trooss Whohi thorn v\>ming with 
 gt\\a sjHvd tow^rxls tho gknu As I hoy oauglit a glin^v<o 
 of tho ohiKK thoY oriod: 
 
101 
 
 ^y^iriM^ jr, hr;;if, yr,(J I f> (\<::d\t. VVfiy }(UV<; yoU f)Ot 
 
 l<IO(J;.'fil, UK HOffi'; of 111'; \i:ai<\:(,fii<; \,\i]fi'/: t})'; i'iiil'UiH 
 
 liHVO Klorod uwuy ? I>ut vv<; '11 find l}i<;t/i JinrJ <;;uTy 
 Ifi'jffi ;ill aw-'iy wiffi ii>:,/' ;il. tl)<; riiinr; lifn<; nj;-,})i»)^ 
 <-'i'^<:l\y \<> Ih'; rnoiif}) of tfi'; ^j';ii. 
 
 Tf)<; ffiil'j tr';t;if;)';«J wifli f'<;jr, \v}j<;H r-.li<J<i<;;)) y })<; i^,UW 
 
 ihorn hf.oj;, jui'J f-iDin;: on t }/<;!/ kiU'A^H, nmn llcrir }/;jrid» 
 in t})<; ^VhiiiHrX iiiinn. 'llictt \n; r<;)f. Horn<; tiny arj/ih 
 thrown roijfirj hini, iin'j a liltl<j i'mta ptttHHcM lovingly 
 again Ht bin »/wn. lie kn<,\v if wjih Wm ikiry, an n\tii 
 
 *' 'i"h<;y f;anfjof, I<;;i.':fi you li<;l<;. w<; hav<^ w^rit a gl'^jat 
 Jion to ffHjIilm i\i<ut, an<J ho niafuh wiih hj« rnoulh op<;ri 
 r(',ii.(iy to devour ifjotn, and th<;y a»<; Irciiihling in <;v<;iy 
 lirnl;." 
 
 '• i>o not. U-A, hin< t.ou';h th<;rn/' timidly fvn]><ftuh'A 
 tho child, clinging involunfarily to the fairy. 
 
 " No, ifjy child, h<i hhall fiot touch them if they do 
 not ap[>roai;h i^>o r/^^*/*, hut ,5<//<< munt remain with w*, and 
 they can never reach you, (or the fierce; Jion will alwayw 
 remain there to tjuard you, and to all vrkkcd peofde he 
 will «<^em jiwt a8 Urrihl/',!' 
 
 Then V.\m\u\L IIk} \foy «he led him away into a 
 
162 
 
 grotto of pearl, where all the fairies were asleep in rosy 
 shells, but they all rose as the fairy entered, singing: 
 
 "Sisters, wake; behold I bring 
 To you a little Fairy King; 
 Free from every earthly sin, 
 Sisters, kneel and worship him." 
 
 Then they all knelt round the little stranger, who 
 stood looking at them in happy wonderment. 
 
 His favorite fairy now approached and taking him 
 by the hand led him to a table laden with every 
 delicacy, and seated herself beside him. The others 
 followed their example, and now he found himself sur- 
 rounded with rosy, smiling little people, all chatting and 
 regaling themselves in the greatest glee. 
 
 He soon felt quite at home with his new friends, 
 and greW' merry and free as any of them. When the 
 repast was ended the table suddenly vanished, and he 
 beheld brilliant rooms without number opened before 
 him. Delicious music floated around him, and wdth his 
 friend he began to explore the " Fairy Kingdom." 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the wonderful things 
 he saw, but leave him with the good fliiries, with whom 
 he always lived perfectly happy. 
 
163 
 
 And now, thou charmed mortal, wake : 
 Behold, the morning light doth break. 
 The silver moon -beams fainter grow. 
 And fainter still the fire -fly's glow. 
 No longer now the fairy ring 
 Are dancing round their bright boy -king. 
 All to their coverts sly have fled 
 Ere tinged the eastern sky with red. 
 But in the floweret you may trace 
 The sweetness of their last embrace. 
 And to the dew -gems bend thy lip, 
 To catch the freshness of their sip. 
 
 There, through the willows' misty haze. 
 
 Behold, the Elf- King sad doth gaze, 
 
 Lamenting that this fair retreat 
 
 (Claimed as the fiiries' ancient seat) 
 
 By him can never be possessed, 
 
 A lone and uninvited guest ; 
 
 For well the fairies understand 
 
 The mischief of the Elfin band. 
 
 And may not share their bright domain 
 
 Lest ivickedness usurp the reign. 
 
164 
 
 Mortal, awake ; pursue thy way, 
 But if again at close of day 
 Thou wouklst behold the fairy dance, 
 And yield thee to a mystic trance. 
 Come with heart all free from guile, 
 Spurning still the tempter's smile ; 
 For shouldst thou e'er with sin engage, 
 Then tremble 'neath the Lion's rage. 
 
A Peep at Hampton 
 
 A PECULIARLY woiiclerful place is this Hampton. 
 But not more so than the crowds of people Avho congre- 
 gate here. And in no place has an observer rarer food 
 on which to feed his hungry glances. 
 
 But it frequently happens there is a point of con- 
 centration to which all the diverging rays (as it were 
 unconsciously) are brought to an interesting focus. Such 
 a point (ah, yes, in size at least) was the person who 
 with a splendid party arrived at Hampton Beach a few 
 days since and stopped at Boar's Head Hotel. 
 
 We will not dwell upon the bustle and confusion 
 occasioned by this unexpected arrival, but listen for a 
 moment to the Yankeefied twang of this small person as 
 he advises and directs to rooms best suited to the difter- 
 ent a^es and constitutions of that mixed party. Swell/ 
 this is a person of consequence. Great is the parade Avhen 
 the tea bell rings. 
 
 22 ^ (165) 
 
166 
 
 A deeper hue mantles the cheek of this ruddy 
 gentleman, as with breathless eloquence and rapid action 
 (like a newly- appointed Brigadier General) he ranges 
 them in rank and file, and in a shrill voice gives the 
 order of march, turning at the same time with swelling 
 importance to a tall and graceful lady, " We will bring 
 up the rear." 
 
 Brilliant was the coterie around that festive board, 
 e'en like a string of diamonds did they appear, con- 
 trasting beautifully with one dazzling, solitary ruby (not 
 booby) miraculously placed in that enviable position. 
 
 But supper and breakfast are of minor importance, 
 compared with the ever -welcome announcement of the 
 dinner hour. Again they are marshalled in the same pre- 
 cise order, and again the little man follows with tremen- 
 dous strides, and places himself at the head of the table. 
 His countenance being suggestive of free and sparkling 
 libations the gentlemen willingly assigned him this con- 
 spicuous place; most convenient — wine being ordered and 
 brought by such skillful agency. The egotistical har- 
 angues and glances from the delicate eyes are too much 
 for the young ladies ; their modest and dignified counte- 
 nances in danger of being thrown into most unbecoming 
 contortions. 
 
167 
 
 Wine being the climax of the dinner table, we will 
 leave with the rest and follow our hero to a more 
 extended field of action. 
 
 Were we not wonderfully observing we could not 
 recognize him in the strange apparel in which he next 
 appears. A hunting frock of dark bottle-green (very 
 apropos) ; large Turkish trousers, enhancing his original 
 chunkedness ; a cap which did not conceal his tight- 
 curling wool (?) (we must not say) vice versa ringlets. 
 And then the splendid title he assumed, King of the 
 Rancheros ! 
 
 With what firmness he grasps the heavy bronzed 
 gun ; but the gaze of those in the rear is immediately 
 attracted by a strange twitching of the elbows and a 
 straightening of the curled locks. Fie ! 't is naught but 
 excitement and inspired development of heroic valor. 
 
 With eyes slightly averted his aim is directed 
 toward an unfortunate swalloAv : but, lucky escape, 't is 
 naught but a loud click. "Ah, too heavily loaded^' quoth 
 the chivalrous man. After several more unsuccessful 
 attempts the ladies grow impatient, propose another 
 excursion, while some even dared to hint that the powder 
 had been forgotten. 
 
168 
 
 Nowhere is he so original and natural as in the 
 umtery element, for naught can be more perfect than his 
 resemblance to a beautiful turtle, at the approach of the 
 dashing waves continually thrusting its head into its 
 convenient shell. 8till ever interesting. 
 
 Sometimes he loves to assume the air of a mentor 
 — lecturing and advising the young ladies., who are 
 slyly casting arch glances at the sage wrinkles about 
 his eyes, and wondering " what manner of man he is ? " 
 
 But we will not waste more words on one object 
 (we will not say insignificant), for how could it have 
 ever been j^laced in so consjncuons a position ? 
 
 Mermaid on a Rock. 
 
TheTndian'sPream ofHeayen 
 
 In a dense forest, in one of the western States, 
 there formerly lived a wild and imcnltivated Indian. He 
 was the only son of one of the oldest and wisest coun- 
 sellors of the Pawnee tribe. 
 
 He had always been a dreamy and abstracted being, 
 although his father had endeavored to train him to join 
 the chase with a spirit to outdo all the young warriors 
 whose souls were in this exercise. 
 
 Noumo was always compelled to accompany them, 
 but often would steal away to some retired place, and 
 with his broad forehead resting upon his hand, his eyes 
 fixed upon the clouds, would sit seemingly absorbed in 
 intense thought, till roused by his companions to 
 return. 
 
 But what could be his thoughts ? He on whom 
 fair Science never shed her glorious light, but Avhose 
 mind still remained in darkness, filled with all the super-. 
 
 (169) 
 
170 
 
 stitions that his father and other wise old chiefs could 
 instil into it, and which they considered as sacred 
 truths ? 
 
 They had told him that if he loved, worshipped 
 and obeyed the " Good Spirit,'' after death he would be 
 transported to the '• Spirit Land " to reign in happiness 
 forever. Of this he seemed ever to be thinking and 
 dreaming. 
 
 He loved solitude and never seemed happy in their 
 gay circles. Yet there was not one in the whole tribe 
 w^io could speak like him, and when danger threatened 
 he was the chosen one to animate them with an electric 
 speech, which gave them strength and spirit almost 
 supernatural. And when nccessitt/ required his was the 
 arm to speed the arrow with unfailing aim. 
 
 One lovely morning all the young warriors of the 
 tribe were assembled to go on a hunting expedition, 
 from which they expected to derive much pleasure and 
 profit. All were ready but Noumo, who came not. 
 They went to his tent, and, behold, he was not there, 
 nor could he be found. That day and the next were 
 spent in searching for him, but in vain. They never 
 heard from him more, but long after prayers and 
 .presents were ollered to the " Good Spirit " that he 
 
171 
 
 might restore him to them, or take him to that happy 
 place where he had so long wished to dwell. 
 
 Meanwhile what has become of poor Noumo ? He 
 has gone to dwell in solitnde. In an almost impenetra- 
 ble forest he has chosen his retreat. On a rock that 
 reared its head high above the trees, daily might be 
 seen his tall figure, his black locks streaming in the 
 wind, arms extended and eyes upturned, ready to take 
 flight to that " upper sky," where his mind had so long 
 dwelt. 
 
 One day he ascended his f^lvorite elevation, stretched 
 himself across its summit, and soon became lost in a 
 blissful dream. 
 
 He was transported to a region more beautiful than 
 his wildest imagination had ever conceived, or fancy 
 pictured. 
 
 The first object that attracted his attention Avas a 
 being seated upon a throne of variegated clouds, a 
 crown of stars around his liead, who in a firm but sweet 
 voice bade him approach. He prostrated himself before 
 him, but commanding him to rise, the bright being thus 
 addressed him : 
 
 " I am the Good Spirit. I have long know^n thy 
 secret wish, and that thou hast loved and worshipped 
 
172 
 
 me with a pure heart. Receive now thy reward. Thou 
 art in that happy land which has so long been thy 
 desire. Cast thine eyes around and behold thy future 
 kingdom." 
 
 The delighted Indian gazed with rapture on the 
 lovely scene. Groves of strange and beautiful trees ; 
 broad, extended hunting grounds ; and on the soft, 
 green hills w'hich rose in the distance, herds of spirit 
 deer might be seen proudly bounding, followed by 
 hounds swifter than the wind, and their light-footed 
 masters, who suddenly came rushing to the place where 
 he stood, and with happy faces and extended hands 
 welcomed him to their blest abode. 
 
 In some of them he recognized warriors of the 
 tribe, who had died. 
 
 They led him in triumph to a host of venerable 
 chiefs who were engaged in a sumptuous feast, and 
 among them he beheld his father, from whom he re- 
 ceived a joyous embrace. They then led him to another 
 group who were engaged in menial offices. For having 
 worshipped the Bad Spirit they w^ere forever doomed to 
 serve those who had obeyed the Good Spirit. 
 
 Placing in his hand a golden hook they led him to 
 a l)road, lucid lake, filled with fish of every variety. 
 
173 
 
 No sooner had he touched his hook to the water than a 
 beautiful golden fish with diamond eyes sprang towards 
 it. But, fatal leap ! 't was a sure hook, and laid him 
 glittering on the green bank. 
 
 All eyes were now directed to a more glorious 
 object. On a brilliant sunset cloud the " Good Spirit " 
 came sailing proudly towards them, and placing Noumo 
 beside him told him he would carry him to a place far 
 more beautiful than any he had yet seen. 
 
 But, sad reality ! as he rose in the air his ej^es 
 opened, and behold, it was a dream. 
 
 He did not long after survive, but was buried at 
 the foot of his flivorite rock by a white man, to whom 
 he related his dream, and his last prayer was " that the 
 ' Good Spirit ' might come on his shining cloud and bear 
 him to that blissful region he had visited in his dream." 
 
East Pascagoula. 
 
 April, 1865. 
 
 Two weeks have glided rapidly away in this cool 
 and comfortable resort for all health seekers, city -weary, 
 panting mortals. 
 
 Sitting at evening on the gallery, a soft but invigor- 
 ating breeze blowing from the water, Horn Island dim in 
 the distance, now and then a schooner skirting the horizon, 
 occasionally a steamer ploughing persistently on, curving 
 in to the wharf, w^atched with eager eyes from the shore 
 (to them a little event), and best of all the gallant 
 gunboat Jackson anchored in the sound, presenting a 
 formidable but unconcerned appearance (and affording a 
 pleasing sense of security). All this makes one feel 
 a little more forward than the rest of mankind, and to 
 wonder why there is not a rush to secure the few 
 vacant cottages, to say nothing of Dodson's inviting 
 and comfortable Hotel. 
 (174) 
 
175 
 
 The Army and Navy are here well represented, 
 Gumble's Hotel being occupied as headquarters by the 
 former. Of the polite and gentlemanly attentions of 
 some of its officers we were the grateful recipients on 
 our arrival here. 
 
 The bathing is very fine — the water being of the 
 right temperature, and it is unnecessary to describe this 
 luxury to any who have ever experienced it in w^arm 
 weather. 
 
 Milk, vegetables, mulberries and blackberries in any 
 quantity, fine fresh oysters, fish of almost every descrip- 
 tion, are some of the native products ; while almost any 
 thing else can be procured by a little understanding 
 with the captains of steamers plying between New 
 Orleans and Mobile. 
 
 One of the principal amusements here is horseback 
 riding. Almost every evening a cavalcade of six or 
 eight ladies and gentlemen may be seen galloping by ; 
 and I would here remark as one of the principal attrac- 
 tions of the place, is the number of nice young ladies 
 who reside here, and with whom I have passed several 
 pleasant evenings at their musical soirees. 
 
 Pascagoula is a poetical place. It has its legendary 
 lore, and many of the old Creoles will give a long history 
 
176 
 
 of the " mysterious music " proceeding from a particular 
 point in Pascagoula River which has been heard at 
 certain times since they were children and long before. 
 
 Some will say a beautiful Indian maiden threw 
 herself in there, and her sjnrit once every year plays a 
 requiem upon a golden harp. Others that the remnant 
 of an oppressed tribe, hand in hand, marched in, chant- 
 ing their oum dirge. 
 
 We were invited a few evenings since to join a 
 party for a sail up the river in quest of this mysterious 
 music. We gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity, 
 and yfter partaking of the bountiful hospitality of the 
 captain of the gunboat, were escorted from thence into 
 a fine side boat, about dark, with six stalwart oarsmen 
 and a splendid moon in prospect. 
 
 We glide smoothly and noiselessly on toward the 
 " mysterious region." Hush ! we have reached the 
 hallowed spot, and with suspended breath wait perhaps 
 half an hour in eager expectation. Nothing is heard 
 but the song of the crickets and the croaking of frogs, 
 and faith and hope are fast dying out. 
 
 ITow to invoke the '' weird musician " is a puzzle. 
 Silence not having the desired eftbct, Ave commence to 
 sing. A few chords, and lo, not an echo, but a melody 
 
177 
 
 seemingly fixr off, but pervading the whole air steals 
 upon the ear. 
 
 Again all is quiet. We look at each other without 
 speaking, but thought says simultaneously, " We have 
 heard, we have heard." A few more snatches from the 
 " mystic depths," fainter and fainter, till all is hushed. 
 
 We wait a reasonable, or rather an nnrcasonahle 
 time, hoping to hear more. But in vain : spirits are 
 chary of their accomplishments, and ive well satisfied 
 in having been m favored. 
 
 I w^ill not attempt to describe more fullu this 
 music, but if you have any curiosity, come and hear 
 for yourself. 
 
To Whom iryviAY Concern, 
 
 Husbands, when ye rise in the morning it behooves 
 ye to be good-natured; to sit down to the breakfast 
 table with a grateful, genial countenance, the light of 
 which maketh glad the hearts of the little ones there 
 assembled, and especially hers whose happiness is so 
 dependent upon and often so proportionate to your otvn. 
 
 If ye note a shade upon her brow bethink ye if 
 the cloiid upon your otvn is not reflected there. For 
 often have I marked the tvoiild-he cheerful, fair face 
 gradually assume a sad, cold, even despairing look from 
 the cross, uncongenial mood of him who, she has long 
 hoped and prayed in vain, would conquer this uncomfort- 
 able and almost habitual spirit, pariic\darl>j observable in 
 the morning. 
 
 How effectually is all social converse checked when 
 this demon 111 -temper, this porcupine wdth bristling 
 (178) 
 
3 79 
 
 quills, reigns in him we call the head of the house. 
 Aye, he well deserves the title. 
 
 The children breathe freer when he takes his 
 abrupt departure ; no parting kiss, or kindly admoni- 
 tion to be good, or word of comfort or consolation to 
 her from whose full heart the words gush forth, '" Will 
 the good that is in him never gain the victory, and 
 shine forth with a clear and steady light on this be- 
 nighted household ? " 
 
 These few words tell all she suffers, has suffered, 
 and will continue to suffer unless ye change. 
 
 Hint of this infirmity to its ill-starred possessor 
 (if indeed there is the least admission of the fact), 
 business, multitudinous cares are reproachfully urged in 
 extenuation. An exceedingly convenient and well -ridden 
 hobby. 
 
 Common enough it is with this class of men to 
 joke, chat and laugh with their fellow -beings whom 
 they may meet in their business peregrinations, be even 
 ohsequioiishj polite if a lady they chance to encounter, 
 but as they near their own habitations the countenance 
 gradually lengthens, and by the time they have fairly 
 entered and shut out the gaze of the world, they have 
 managed to heap the weight of Atlas upon their 
 
180 
 
 shoulders, and all the labors of Sysiphus are fully 
 expressed and concentrated in the long, hard, cross- 
 grained visage. 
 
 Now what motive can they have for this manner of 
 procedure ? I know of none, except it may be a false 
 notion that it enhances their consequence, and that there 
 is no occasion, no necessity of curbing the heart's natural 
 spirit of enmity. There they are under no restraint. 
 
 Most fatal error. Certain are they (struggle against 
 it as she maf/) to lose her respect (in whose eyes it 
 should ever be their endeavor to appear most noble and 
 manly) and of their children as they advance in years. 
 
 Then as ye value your peace noiv, hereafter, or in 
 the great hereafter, banish all ill - humor, fretfulness and 
 discontent from your homes ; wage war with windmills 
 like Don Quixote, vent your spleen anywhere, but cross 
 not the sacred threshold, ere your souls are attuned to 
 harmony and you feel that your presence alone is wanting 
 to make a full and perfect chord. 
 
? 
 
 EAR Woman Suffragists 
 
 V r J 
 
 I HAVE strong sympathy and innate friendship for 
 you all, having read from the Jirst your publications, 
 and ever with renewed interest. 
 
 I confess at that time I had given the subject of 
 Woman's Rights but little iliouglit, and looked upon it 
 as one of those " abstract agitations " of society which 
 we regard with more curiosil/j than anything else. I 
 now believe Woman Suffrage, when carried out, will be 
 the greatest reforming influence of the age. 
 
 Women, generally, I think, are awakened to a truer 
 valuation of themselves, seeing in the future a freer and 
 more extended field of action, which they may occupy 
 to advantage in their oiun eyes and eventually in the 
 eyes of the opposite sex. 
 
 We all know there is a feeling in man (whether 
 from long custom or to enhance his own consequence), to 
 ignore any great capabilities, mental or practical, in the 
 so-called weaker sex. And I consider it inevitahlc under 
 
 24 (181) 
 
182 
 
 existing laws — laws which women had no hand in forming 
 or framing, and who, at that time, and for years after, 
 were not even tJioiight of as aiding in their formation. 
 
 Why should not man feel his superiority over any 
 class for whom he has been allowed to legislate for so 
 long a time in the vital interests of life, property and 
 offspring ? 
 
 Like children have women been regarded, and as 
 incapable of having a voice in the great questions which 
 most concern them. If married, to be taken care of as 
 a valuable or indifferent piece of property, according as 
 feeling or interest might dictate. 
 
 " The household," they say (if she has one), " is 
 Woman's Kingdom," never dreaming that its cares and 
 responsibilities are fully equal to those in what is called 
 Mans Sphere; and as far as "taking care of" goes, 
 men require and are taken care of more, personally, than 
 women. 
 
 To " Woman's Kingdom," or household, I have no 
 objection, and when tvell filled consider it the highest 
 position she can occupy. But looking upon her as an 
 equal co-worker, with a mind looking as flir for the 
 general happiness and interest of those around her as 
 the chosen companion of her life, should she not have 
 
183 
 
 equal rights and privileges in every thing which they 
 possess ? 
 
 But we all know she does not, either while living or 
 in outliving her companion, and never tvill have until she 
 helps to make the laws which now deprive her of her 
 just rights. 
 
c 
 
 ANAL OTREET, 
 
 New Orleans. 
 
 Iluny, sister! — we'll catch the train 
 That is passing now to the right ; 
 
 Hurry, I say ; for drops of rain 
 
 Like gems in the sun's stronger light 
 
 Fall twinkling and hide on the plain. 
 
 Quietly taking our seats inside, 
 
 With gallant and ne'er- failing haste, 
 
 A man in the box our fare doth slide, 
 Our thanks and a courteous face, 
 
 And down to Canal Street we ride. 
 
 Sunshower passed, we walk up and down 
 This street, the pride of the city ; 
 
 Kich and poor, the life of the town 
 
 Here meet with the beggar for pity, 
 
 Brushed by, with a trained velvet gown, 
 
 (184) 
 
185 
 
 Sweeping along, worn with an air 
 Would cast Semiramis in shade ; 
 
 Wondrous flice, than mortal more fair, 
 And roses so cunningly laid, 
 
 Set off with the jewels most rare. 
 
 Loved promenade, by night and by day, 
 Of dear fashion's gaily- decked crowd ; 
 
 But dearer to him who squanders away 
 His time on the corners, so proud 
 
 To think that" for him such arra}^ 
 
 Barouches, dog carts and landeaus 
 
 Filled in with wealth, beauty and pride. 
 
 O'er the street a certain dash throw, 
 As on to the shell road they ride, 
 
 Shell road gleaming Avhite like the snow\ 
 
 This w^ay and that, from levee to lake, 
 
 Roll cars through the centre of street ; 
 
 Carts, drays and the like, such din do makcj^ 
 As shakes the earth under your feet, 
 
 And ever^^thing seems " wide awake." 
 
186 
 
 Not quite : on the sidewalk asleep, 
 
 With mumblings for pence still on lip, 
 
 Hat over eyes, poor squalid heap, 
 
 From fortune's great wheel a poor chip — 
 
 For him who a vigil doth keep ? 
 
 Now a child with face old and sly, 
 Extending a small withered hand. 
 
 Lady, a nickel, some bread to buy ? " 
 
 So hungry, but well with vice crammed. 
 
 Her only instruction to lie. 
 
 Humanity ever must weep 
 
 For poor little lambs led astray ; 
 
 Dear Christ, forget not, but keep 
 
 Green pastures for all such as they, 
 
 And rocked on thy bosom to sleep. 
 
 Rich buildings upreared to the sky. 
 Vast treasures imported within ; 
 
 Christ's Church and the theatre nigh, 
 
 Amusement, then pray for your sin, 
 
 But prayers they can come hy and by. 
 
187 
 
 Grand old statue of Henry Clay, 
 About the first object in view ; 
 
 Still farther down, a wonder to-day 
 
 For size, stands the custom-house, too, 
 
 Conceived less for use than displai/. 
 
 Fine windows dressed up for a show, 
 But few the temptation withstand. 
 
 They more and more covetous grow, 
 And purses grow lighter in hand. 
 
 As off with their treasures they go. 
 
 The street it is splendidly wide, 
 
 The throng most '^ decidedl}^ mixt." 
 
 Attractive it can 't be denied. 
 
 With ladies so charmingly fixed, 
 
 And all floating on with the tide. 
 
 The violet's breath on the wind, 
 
 Like whispers of angels to men. 
 
 Steals over the heart and the mind, 
 Renewing fair blossoms again. 
 
 And also our love for mankind. 
 
188 
 
 Just here on the corner behohl 
 
 The bunches so fragrant and blue. 
 
 In baskets and aprons enrolled, 
 
 Then- bright eyes so modest and true, 
 
 And all of them looking at yoii. 
 
 The sun in fierce splendor doth gleam, 
 As nearer the zenith inclined ; 
 
 Too scorching for us his bright beam, 
 
 So homeward our way we will wind, 
 
 And wait for another da^ dream. 
 
French Town. 
 
 " Earrings zay fine, artistic and cheap, 
 
 A bargain I '11 give you, I swear ; 
 
 Try them, and if you don't like, don't keep; 
 And as I 'm a Frenchman zat 's fair ; 
 
 As I tell you, zay cheap, vay cheap. 
 
 " Madame, you may look anywhere. 
 
 More money twice over you '11 pay ; 
 Half price for so lovely a pair — 
 I really now give them away." 
 
 "Too bad; so good -day, Sir, good -day." 
 
 The buildings are mouldy and grey ; 
 
 Conservatives all who live here ; 
 Sure, all things will go to decay 
 
 Before they improve them ; that 's clear ; 
 And none are there iviser than they. 
 
 (189) 
 
190 
 
 The oUl " French Cathedral " is here, 
 So lofty and grand in its day, 
 
 Time -honored, and still held so dear, 
 Yet suffered to go to decay : 
 
 A retrograde symptom, I fear, 
 
 This part of the city, 't is true. 
 
 Its flourishing zenith hath passed ; 
 
 And loving old things more than neiv, 
 Down hill it will go pretty fiist, 
 
 All progress and change lost to view. 
 
 Once " the city proper," the mart 
 
 Of merchandise, shipping and trade. 
 
 Till enterprise, getting the start. 
 
 Cast " Old Town " quite into the shade, 
 
 And above her, metropolis made. 
 
 But " Old Town " a certain charm owns ; 
 
 Like some " foreign city " it seems ; 
 The stranger with interest roams 
 
 And over past chronicles dreams, 
 And on orders and mandates from thrones. 
 
191 
 
 And, see! — from old esplanade, 
 
 Of French Creole beauty the type, 
 
 A maiden walks forth with her guard — 
 A guard with Afric blood ripe — 
 
 To keep some from staring too hard. 
 
 The Square, " Jackson Square," so renowned 
 For its Hero of Freedom and Right, 
 
 Should make the whole spot hallowed ground. 
 As he sits there so proud in his might; 
 
 Too brave, as Sir Packingham found. 
 
 Sit down on this seat in the shade. 
 
 Look over the trees and the flowers ; 
 
 Neat workmen their plans have well laid ; 
 'T is a spot to charm the dull hours, 
 
 In freshness and beauty arrayed. 
 
 Still on toward the levee we go. 
 
 The " Market " so famous in view \ 
 
 There are all sorts of products, we know. 
 And people of every hue, 
 
 Dutch, Negro, French and Dago. 
 
192 
 
 A curious medley you '11 meet 
 
 111 mercliandise, manners and mind, 
 
 With interest still quite replete, 
 
 Though from ancient splendor declined. 
 
 Pure cafe " au lait " for a treat. 
 
 The Barracks — ah, yes ! take this car ; 
 
 Headquarters of red, white and blue. 
 Their wisdom and valor afar 
 
 Have reared Freedom's banner to view, 
 Revered as a Nation's bright star. 
 
 Quite spacious and cool their retreat, 
 Good buildings and lofty old trees ; 
 
 God bless them and render life sweet ; 
 
 0, waft their brave deeds, every breeze ! 
 
 Adieu ! We will take this next street. 
 
The Garden District, 
 
 A very appropriate name ! 
 
 We 've wandered by square after square, 
 Roses and buds at us peeping 
 
 And climbing up everywhere, 
 Vines in rich foliage creeping. 
 
 Such roses were ne'er seen before, 
 
 So perfect, so large, and so fine ; 
 
 The climate just fitted to crown 
 
 The " queen of all blossoms divine " 
 
 With new beauty and matchless renown. 
 
 0, beauteous, beauteous flowers. 
 
 So fragrant and varied in hue ! 
 
 Thy modest and regal - crowned heads 
 Compelling our worship to you, 
 
 Enthroned in your magnetic beds. 
 
 (193) 
 
194 
 
 Palaces modern in style 
 
 Adorn this garden domain, 
 
 Built up when cotton was king, 
 The fruit of slavery's chain. 
 
 Such riches do often take wing. 
 
 In many neiv owners now dwell, 
 One's loss another one's gain ; 
 
 The flowerets care not, nor heed. 
 
 But ever most gorgeously reign, 
 
 Perfected the tiniest seed. 
 
 The "Market" and "Magazine Street" 
 With bustle and business are rife ; 
 
 But the striking feature throughout 
 Is easy and affluent life. 
 
 To judge from surroundings about. 
 
 The " magnolia " I must not forget : 
 Tree stately, so dark and so tall, 
 
 Presenting those blossoms of light, 
 A heavenly emblem to all, 
 
 A marvelous chalice of white. 
 
195 
 
 The orange, the golden, the wonder, 
 
 Through vestments of green satin leaves, 
 
 Gleams forth in balls of such splendor, 
 Spontaneous homage receives; 
 
 While mingled white blossoms so tender 
 
 (The flower and the fruit on one tree), 
 
 A perfume exhale on the air. 
 So heavily laden with sweetness 
 
 We breathe and we quaft' it with care, 
 O'erpowered with delicious completeness. 
 
 Luxurious trees without number 
 
 A cooling and grateful shade lend ; 
 
 But off in the distance, behold one 
 
 Whose branches so mournfully blend, 
 
 With sadness and awe quite enfold one. 
 
 This tree all unsuited to gardens. 
 
 Wild grandeur in forests creates ; 
 
 A grove of live oaks, moss trailing. 
 
 Most weird of all weavings of " fates," 
 
 With the wind through its grey webs wailing. 
 
196 
 
 I could sing of the Gnomes and the Demons, 
 Of Griffins and mischievous Pan, 
 
 In the forests and swamps lying near, 
 Unpeopled, untrodden by man; 
 
 But the time would be misspent, I fear. 
 
Fashion. 
 
 A lady full - dressed 
 
 Is never at rest, 
 She always must pay dear for dyle ; 
 
 Her plai tings and puffs, 
 
 Fine quillings and ruffs. 
 Forbid sweet repose all the while. 
 
 Of course to sit down 
 
 Endangers the gown. 
 The panier, the flounces and bows ; 
 
 Though quite out of breath 
 
 And tired to death, 
 'T would wrinkle and crumple, she knows. 
 
 And then for her head 
 As heavy as lead. 
 Or from hairpins pulling in pain ; 
 
 26 (197) 
 
198 
 
 False braids and qiiirls, 
 Frisettes and curls 
 Annoy and perplex her poor brain. 
 
 Her long, slender waist 
 
 In whalebones encased, 
 For breathing but very small chance, 
 
 But the waltz — the divine — 
 
 In that she must shine ; 
 With breath or ivithout she must dance. 
 
 What good does it do 
 
 All this to go through 
 And make of one's self such a martyr? 
 
 0, Vanity Fair ! 
 
 Thy treat should be rare, 
 For thee health and comfort to barter. 
 
 But few can conceive 
 
 Or scarcely believe 
 How hard to be always in fashion ; 
 
 A leader of " ton " 
 
 Right steadily on 
 Must work like a slave for this passion. 
 
199 
 
 Alas ! for the pain 
 When triumphs do wane, 
 
 The one ruling passion, display 
 Charms all are fled, 
 The sad page read — 
 
 A lifetime frittered away. 
 
Lost, 
 
 0, the wild, lone moor, like a nightmare dream, 
 
 Stretches o'er memory's page. 
 And again my heart throbs fast and loud. 
 
 As in that more youthful age, 
 When we wandered forth, my cousin and I, 
 
 The early part of the day, 
 To catch the colt so young and shy 
 
 In the pasture flir awa}^. 
 And having caught, on his back he sprang 
 
 (For this I ever shall blame), 
 And said in haste, as he galloped off, 
 "^ Go back the same way you came." 
 
 Now, he was a thoughtless boy, nor dreamed 
 
 But I knew the path full well. 
 I looked around, and a sudden fear 
 
 Possessed me, like a spell. 
 
 (200) 
 
201 
 
 The terrible thought, "• You 're lost, you 're lost ! " 
 
 Kept rushing through my brain. 
 While chaos, phantoms, famine and frost, 
 
 A long and horrid train. 
 Had taken away all reason and sense 
 
 And daylight turned to night. 
 But few there are who can understand 
 
 That wild and reckless flight 
 O'er the dreary waste — no landmarks near; 
 
 But winged were the feet 
 That o'er it sped till the swampy land 
 
 Had gathered a pond — how deep 
 No matter, no heed, but rushing through 
 
 They reach the farther side. 
 And off in the distance (blessed view!) 
 
 A dwelling is descried. 
 
 Onward, onward, that haven to reach, 
 
 Is now the one desire. 
 O'er broken-down fence and rugged walls, 
 
 Through bushes dense and briar. 
 At length on the doorstep dropping down, 
 
 Like a weary, wounded bird. 
 With poor, bruised feet and bedraggled gown, 
 
202 
 
 And scarcely hearing a word 
 That the farmer said, who came along, 
 
 Wondering whence she came, 
 And soothing with kindly words of cheer. 
 Then asked of her her name. 
 " Aunt Lydia lives by the big oak tree. 
 
 And I have lost my way." 
 " 0, yes ; I know, right along with me 
 You shall ride without delay." 
 
 Now some may laugh in reading this tale, 
 
 But I this truth will tell: 
 Full many a time and oft, since then, 
 
 I 've felt the horrid spell. 
 And have learned to keep the beaten track. 
 
 But, little maidens, ne'er stray 
 With older cousins, who may gallop back 
 
 And bid you find your otvn way. 
 
The Velocipede. 
 
 An uncouth and funny machine, 
 
 I 'm sure all hands ale agreed, 
 
 At least to those who have thought 
 Of this modern velocipede. 
 
 A straddlebug whirling along, 
 
 Or scorpion fiery red ; 
 A pokerish thing it is true, 
 
 As ever was sung of, or read. 
 
 Some little experience I 've had, 
 And no small trouble indeed, 
 
 When my own little girl did entreat 
 In tears for a velocipede. 
 
 " You want a velocipede ? 
 
 My dear, they are only for boys ; 
 
 (203) 
 
204 
 
 Don't think of the ugl}^ thing more, 
 But other more suitable toys." 
 
 I can't ; I must have it, and will. 
 
 mother, I 'm sure this is fair : 
 You buy it, I '11 ask nothing more 
 
 And be the best girl anywhere." 
 
 Well, she got it ; and over the house 
 It rumljles and thunders each day ; 
 
 'T will meet you at every turn. 
 
 And always is right in the way. 
 
 Sometimes in the passage it stands. 
 So quietly waiting its prey, 
 
 And if you once over it fall, 
 
 You '11 wish it were farther aw^ay. 
 
 Or, sitting down, may be, at rest, 
 
 Enjoying a little repose, 
 It stealeth along without noise 
 
 Right over the tips of your toes. 
 
205 
 
 I only wish some one would try 
 
 To move this thing out of his path ; 
 
 To see it twist over and round 
 
 Would certainly vex or make laugh. 
 
 Refusing straight forward to go, 
 
 The wheels they will cling to the floor, 
 Till, tenderly taking it up, 
 
 You carry outside of the door. 
 
 They say that small troubles are hardest 
 For poor human nature to bear ; 
 
 So if you are tol'rably happy. 
 
 Of this new invention beware. 
 
 One recommendation it has": 
 
 'T is as independent a team 
 As Boyton's stemming the tide 
 
 Without either horses or steam. 
 
 My little girl rides through the room, 
 On seeing, perhaps you would say 
 
 Another fact plainly appears : 
 
 Incipient " woman's rights " play. 
 
 27 
 
Mardi Gras and Mystick Krewe, 
 
 " 0, mother ! now promise me, do ! 
 
 Say ' Yes ! ' my dearest mamma ; 
 I want to go see Mr. Crew, 
 
 And have a new suit Muddy Graw. 
 
 " My Muddy Graw suit shall be pink, 
 
 Bordered all 'round with pale blue. 
 
 What kind of a mask? Let me think: 
 
 A white one, of silk ; that will do. 
 
 " I shall run through the streets, mother dear, 
 And take a long stick with me, too ; 
 And if I can get pretty near, 
 
 I am going to hit Mr. Crew. 
 
 " And won't it be awfully funny, 
 
 To know folks, and thei/ not know me ? 
 And you must give me some money. 
 
 To buy some nice cakes and candy. 
 
 (206) 
 
207 
 
 " Is Muddy Graw always the same ? 
 
 And why do they dress up so queer ? 
 And who was it gave it the name ? 
 
 And why don't it come twice a year ? 
 
 " ! in the procession I '11 walk, 
 
 Close by that bullfrog in green ; 
 And then if I can't make him talk 
 
 He shall hop so as never was seen. 
 
 " And ain't the '■ big folks ' ver}^ funny ? 
 
 I 'm sure they must all like to jplay ; 
 They spend so much time and their money 
 Getting up a great Muddy Graw day. 
 
 " And then they must try to play king, 
 
 And have soldiers and dukes for a guard. 
 If children should do the same thing, 
 
 I 'm sure they would talk to them, hard. 
 
 " But we ' little folks ' will learn how. 
 So when we grow older we may 
 For nothing, get up a big row, 
 
 And have a grand Muddy Graw day." 
 
 New Orlea^sS, February 22, 1876. 
 
The Little Girl. 
 
 Little girl, just ten years old, 
 Dewy eyes and hair of gold. 
 
 Cherry lip and teeth of pearl. 
 Dimpled joy on cheek and chin, 
 Nursed by roses gathered in 
 Angelic gardens, blessed by Ilim 
 
 Who gave to earth the little girl. 
 
 Winsome sprite; thy play-house make. 
 Where no storm its structure shake ; 
 
 Peopled all by Fancy's quirl — 
 Bid thy mother to the cheer ; 
 None to thee were half so dear, 
 
 Fairy home of little girl. 
 
 Dancing elf! no cares enthrall. 
 Free in movement, blithe in call ; 
 
 Cease the years their constant whirl ; 
 Leave the dainty doll in hand, 
 Crossing ne'er the dangerous~strand ; 
 
 Forever be the little fi;irl. 
 
jSad NIews. 
 
 Flashed across the wires this warning, 
 
 "There is danger." Hold thy breath — 
 Gasping, groaning, wait till morning, 
 Whether it be Life or Death ! 
 
 Better this suspense than clicking 
 
 Of the wires tvorse news to bring ; 
 
 Clicking, clicking, dread Death -ticking — 
 News thy inmost soul shall wring. 
 
 On they come! — the w^ords that slay us. 
 
 Clicking, clicking, dread Death -ticking — 
 '.' Died this morning ! " Stun, waylay us, 
 
 Clicking, clicking, dread Death - ticking ! 
 
 Pause not ! hurry ! — pack and speed thee, 
 Fast as iron horse can bear ; 
 
 (209) 
 
210 
 
 Though the dead no longer need thee, 
 Naught can stay thy progress there. 
 
 One last look ere sunk forever 
 
 That loved form, so grand and fair ; 
 
 One sad kiss, then from her sever, 
 Till thy spirit meet hers there. 
 
 Where no clicking, dread Death -ticking, 
 Plunge the soul in dark despair! 
 
She's P 
 
 EAD 
 
 All things move on ; and yet she 's dead. 
 
 Men rushing to and fro, 
 And women to their daily works 
 
 As eagerly do go. 
 
 It seemed to me a stroke had stilled 
 Great Nature's active course, 
 
 As palsy in the human frame 
 Doth paralyze its force. 
 
 Our prop so firm thus snatched away, 
 With trembling feet we tread ; 
 
 And faint and sad, no sound we hear, 
 
 But a wailing voice, " She 's dead ! " 
 
 'T is echoed on the midnight air. 
 
 And in the glare of day ; 
 We look on things both fair and bright, 
 
 But only see decay. 
 
 (211) 
 
212 
 
 Our every thought was linked with hers 
 Through long successive years ; 
 
 Her joys and ours were ever shared, 
 And all our doubts and fears. 
 
 When sore perplexed with worldly cares, 
 
 As sibyl clear and wise. 
 At once she 'd point the brighter way. 
 
 And pleasantly advise. 
 
 Her wholesome laugh, and queenly grace ; 
 
 Her rare perceptive glance ; 
 Her rich ideas and sweet -toned voice — 
 
 Each charm did each enhance. 
 
 To think of her beneath the sod — 
 The useful, grand and good, 
 
 Doth quench the light within our hearts. 
 And saps the warm life-blood. 
 
 And filling all the murky air. 
 
 The sound so chill and dread 
 Is ringing now, will ring for aye, 
 
 For us, " She 's dead — she 's dead ! " 
 
Affliction 
 
 0, God ! Thy blows are heavy. To the dust 
 
 Thou smitest. 
 Year by year, with Death's relentless thrust 
 
 Our best and brightest 
 
 Taken ; eclipsed our sun ; 
 Though stricken, we would not rebel 
 
 Against Thy power. 
 Thou say'st, " Affliction, it is well." 
 
 Consecrate the hour : 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 Art gone — all gone, dear ones, forever, 
 
 From our gaze ? 
 No more in converse sweet to meet together 
 
 Through our days ? 
 
 Our course be quickly run ; 
 
 28 (213) 
 
214 
 
 Or grant us that great peace, kind Heaven. 
 
 'Bove despair, 
 And in Tliee perfect trust be given. 
 
 Hear our prayer : 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
^PITAPH 
 
 Grand Spirit, freed from earthly chains, 
 
 Art thou here ? 
 Lingering o'er what yet remains 
 
 • To all so dear ? 
 Pm-e-kept tenement of clay — 
 It were like thee, canst thou see 
 
 Our deep woe. 
 To strengthen with thy sympathy. 
 
 And to show 
 Our best, our brightest way. 
 We '11 believe, then, by God's favor 
 
 Gleams of light 
 Through thee bid our faith ne'er waver 
 
 In our night ; 
 And hope for many an unseen token 
 From thee to our hearts, nigh broken. 
 
 (215) 
 
JA 
 
 AY, 
 
 Earth is all clothed in fresh beauty — 
 In the fresh beauty of May, 
 
 Showing and yielding her treasures, 
 Perfected every day. 
 
 May, the last sister of spring-time, 
 Gayest and brightest of all, 
 
 Kisseth the buds into blossoms. 
 
 Waking from sleep at her call, — 
 
 Tinteth the fields and the leaflet 
 
 Luminous emerald green. 
 Glows through her showers and sunshine, 
 
 E'en brighter for shading between. 
 
 Nature renewed and rejoicing : 
 
 Should 2ve not rejoice with her, too ? 
 (216) 
 
217 
 
 Casting our cares and our sorrows 
 
 On Him who worse terrors passed through ? 
 
 With hearts renewed by God's mercy, 
 
 Await the Millennial Day, 
 And gather our woes and our sorrows 
 
 To ofier as flowers of May. 
 
pAvis' Neck, J3ay View, 
 
 From Legend. 
 
 '' 0, mother ! look down on the isknd. 
 Can you not see a strange light, 
 That streams from its heart ever upward. 
 And glows at its source so bright ? 
 Oj deep in the heart of the island, 
 
 Such treasures, dear mother, do lie, 
 Would cover the earth with a glory 
 
 As stars in the night - time the sky ! 
 They say a seaman bold 
 Buried silver and gold 
 And jewels rare untold ; 
 And, mother, they 're waiting for me, 
 Down deep in the isle of the sea." 
 
 " My child, banish all thoughts so foolish ! 
 The sunbeams only I see ; 
 (218) 
 
219 
 
 And dream not, like many another, 
 Treasures are waiting for thee. 
 I 've lived many years near the island, 
 
 And heard of its buried gold. 
 And of many enticed into searching 
 Till hope as the tide grew cold. 
 They say a pirate dread 
 With wicked hands and red 
 Robbed the defenceless dead. 
 Then buried, deep from human eyes. 
 His rich but most unhallowed prize." 
 
 " But, mother, we 've delved till I 'm weary 
 And still may delve till we die. 
 And gain of the world's great profusion 
 
 Only a scanty supply. 
 I long for the ease and the pleasure 
 Riches would bring, and can see 
 These stones to castles converted — 
 Grand homes for you and for me. 
 0, mother ! in my dream 
 I 've seen a hidden gleam 
 Of fortune's golden stream, 
 
220 
 
 Down deep in the isle of the sea, 
 And no one can find it but me." 
 
 Away ran the maiden, ne'er heeding 
 Her mother's warning and call. 
 And reaching the rough little island 
 
 Straight down on her knees did fall. 
 A stone in her small hand for spading, 
 
 She works with prophetic skill, 
 When sudden, she sees the gold shining, 
 And feels an electric thrill. 
 Little maiden, beware ! 
 It will prove but a snare. 
 Have a care ; have a care ! 
 The tempter is waiting for thee; 
 He reigns o'er this isle of the sea. 
 
 But the maiden works on until weary. 
 
 She stops and gazes around. 
 Rich coin in countless profusion 
 
 Glitters in heaps on the ground. 
 Her eye has a new gleam of triumph ; 
 
 Her cheek the carnation's red, 
 
221 
 
 And visions of forth - coming pleasures 
 
 Danced through her little dazed head. 
 
 Crimson waves flood the west ; 
 
 Sunset splendidly drest ; 
 
 Daylight sinking to rest. 
 But joy in brighter waves doth roll 
 Over the maiden's heart and soul. 
 
 She dances, she sings and her shoutings 
 
 Are echoed from shore to shore ; 
 She falls on the bright heaps before her 
 
 And kisses them o'er and o'er. 
 I '11 build a fine palace for mother ; 
 With horses and coach beside ; 
 In dresses of silk and of satin, 
 
 To town each day we will ride. 
 
 0, so happy and free ! 
 
 No more work for me ! 
 
 A great lady I '11 be ! " 
 
 So sang the maiden and frolicked away 
 
 Till the great red sun sank into the bay. 
 
 To carry the gold from the island 
 She now begins to prepare, 
 
222 
 
 And using her hat for a basket 
 
 She fills with the treasure rare. 
 Her apron so large, and of homespun, 
 The strength of her arm will test. 
 What matter ? Her heart it is buoyant 
 And glows like the crimson west. 
 Maiden, tarry awhile. 
 The tempter's dazzling smile 
 Still longer will beguile, 
 Delighted to sport with his prey. 
 Drink deep of the cup while you may. 
 
 She reaches the edge of the island, 
 
 The tide comes rolling in ; 
 But, horror ! What now meets her vision, 
 
 With eyes so stony and grim? 
 A phalanx of branching -horned oxen — 
 
 Faces all turned to her view, 
 The island completely surrounding, 
 Leaving no space to go through. 
 And high the tide doth flow, 
 And over them doth throw 
 Great flecks of foam, like snow ; 
 
223 
 
 And the maiden is white and cold 
 As if in her winding sheet rolled. 
 
 Their branching, white horns at her shaking, 
 
 A plaything of her would make ; 
 And the great firm eyes at her gazing 
 
 Cause her to tremble and shake. 
 The grasp on her treasure grows feeble. 
 
 The coin is slipping away ; 
 She heeds not, sees naught but horned cattle 
 In the fierce - rolling tide at bay. 
 A mocking laugh doth ring ; 
 The voice of demon - king ; 
 Echoing voices sing. 
 Lurid light o'er the island plays, 
 Brighter than sunset's crimson rays. 
 
 The form of the maiden is rigid ; 
 
 Her eyes have a vacant stare ; . 
 The basket has fallen beside her ; 
 
 Her apron empty and bare. 
 No longer the horns at her shaking, 
 
 And calmly floAveth the tide ; 
 
224 
 
 No longer great eyes at her gazing, 
 Rising from every side. 
 
 She wakes as from a dream, 
 And everything doth seem 
 The same as when the beam 
 Of sunlight o'er the island shed 
 A meteor charm that so misled. 
 
 3I1.77-9