5 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. * 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 
 
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 A MOSAIC FROM ITALY, 
 
 ^nd ^i}}er Voems. 
 
 MALCOLM MACEUEN. 
 
 of Con, 
 
 1867 
 
 ^ THILADELPHIA: 
 
 MASON & CO. 
 
 No. 907 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 1867. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 MALCOLM MACEUEN, 
 
 in the Clerk's OflBce of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 CAXTOX PRESS OF 
 IHEEMAN & CO., PHILADELPHIA. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Invocation 5 
 
 A Mosaic from Italy 9 
 
 Reminiscence 18 
 
 A Birthday Waif 22 
 
 In Memoriam ......... 25 
 
 CHRISTMAS POEMS : 
 
 Christmas Eve 29 
 
 31 
 
 33 
 
 The Christmas Drum 34 
 
 The Flower of Chillon 35 
 
 Valentine 39 
 
 SONNETS : 
 
 To E. M. F 43 
 
 To M. L. M. P 44 
 
 The Past and Present 46 
 
 3 
 
4 CONTENTS. 
 
 VAQE 
 
 Epigeam . 48 
 
 My Peison by Moonlight 47 
 
 An ^olian Seeenade 50 
 
 The Retaeded Veeses 52 
 
 Commencement 54 
 
 TRANSLATIONS: 
 
 Spanish Epigeam 59 
 
 Th:e; Song of the Rhine . . . . . 61 
 
 LOEELEI 63 
 
 Italy 65 
 
 The Powee of Song . . . . . . 67 
 
THESE POEMS 
 
 ARE DEDICATED TO THOSE WHOSE 
 
 AFFECTION 
 
 SUGGESTED AND ENCOURAGED 
 THEM. 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 A TRAIL of robes ! A flash of plumes ! 
 A fragrance shed from rich perfumes! 
 
 The Goddess sweeps along ! 
 On her brow a star of fire; 
 In her hand a golden lyre : 
 The vaulting cadence flashes higher, 
 
 And quivers into song ! 
 
 Welcome, Goddess ! Come and sing ! 
 Make the heavenly changes ring! 
 
 I have need to-night 
 Rest a while in this poor room : 
 I would fain forget my doom. 
 Oh, dissipate the deadening gloom 
 
 With thy celestial light! 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Round thy head is glory rolled; 
 The sandals on thy feet are gold: 
 
 Oh, thou art fair to see ! 
 Inmate of a holier sphere, 
 I marvel much to find thee here, 
 Translating thus to mortal ear 
 
 Immortal harmony! 
 
A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 
 
 DOWN through the snowy passes of the Alps, 
 Two lovers came upon the plains of Lombardy 
 Leaving behind monastic St. Bernard, 
 High up the pass beside the gloomy lake: 
 — Stern outpost of heroic charity 
 Alone among the charging avalanches. — 
 Far fairer scenes awaited their approach 
 Where genial Italy unlocked her arms. 
 And spread her treasures to their dazzled sight. 
 A. wondrous land! Where glory often clings 
 Brighter around some capitalless shaft, 
 Than flashes in crown diamonds. On they rode ; 
 It seemed to them the very beggar boy 
 With tawny skin and laughing eye, that ran 
 
10 A MOSAIC FEOM ITALY. 
 
 Half clad beside the carriage, as they passed, 
 
 And hailed la signorina, while she dropped 
 
 A few haiocche in his outstretched palm, 
 
 Appeared less servile in his mendicancy, 
 
 Than beggars they had seen in other lands. 
 
 That contddina with her nursing child, 
 
 Sitting beside the fountain, 'neath the vines, 
 
 Might have been sketched by Raphael ; for the past 
 
 Seemed to have sprung up round them in a moment. 
 
 The recollection of such golden days 
 
 Was sweetly treasured in their hearts; but when, 
 
 After long years had passed, one of the twain 
 
 Returned — alas ! alone — to see these scenes, 
 
 His manhood could not curb the starting tear 
 
 Forced ever by remembrance, so he turned 
 
 His mournful steps to visit other lands 
 
 Which she had not made sacred by her presence. 
 
 They saw the great cathedral at Milan, 
 
 — Petrified poetry, rising into air, 
 
 For even the unlettered to peruse : — 
 
 And Pisa's tower inclined its arched rings 
 
 As if to nod approval of their loves. 
 
 Lorenzo's Florence welcomed their approach. 
 
A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 11 
 
 When the moon rested on Fiesole, 
 With the eternal galleries where Art 
 Wrestles with Nature and half conquers her. 
 They thought they could have dwelt forever there 
 If they but dwelt together. By the Arno, 
 In the Cascini, and through princely halls 
 Stored with majestic relics of the past, 
 They wandered ; hand in hand at night, 
 But always heart to heart. Then on to Rome 
 Southward they sped. Ere long the lofty dome, 
 — "To which Diana's marvel was a cell," — 
 Eose on their sight, and seemed to bar the way 
 With vast magnificence. Th' Eternal City 
 Surrounded them again with splendid awe. 
 More splendid 'mid her ruins. They heard enchanted 
 That Roman accent of the Tuscan tongue, 
 Of which the poets boast. Then were they glad 
 They did not stay at Florence. At the portal 
 Of great St. Peter's church they paused awhile. 
 Between the circling colonnades there, by the foun- 
 tains, 
 And the tall obelisk, ashamed to enter ; 
 The structure seemed so vast, and they so small. 
 
12 A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 
 
 At last tliey crept like bees into a hive, 
 
 And held their breath and speech; they could but see, 
 
 And hardly see enough. The heaving forms 
 
 That Michael Angelo has left behind, 
 
 Were there to startle them with all their grandeur, 
 
 And Raphael's living pictures bade them worship : 
 
 On every side dead centuries, to this. 
 
 Bequeathed their claims to immortality. 
 
 It was beyond description. In the Vatican, 
 
 Bewildered through the galleries they went, 
 
 And saw the wounded Dacian die for them 
 
 As he has died for millions. Endless death ! 
 
 Then from a common page, with mutual eyes. 
 
 They read, intoning deftly worded lines. 
 
 About that other gladiator niched 
 
 By Byron in the Vatican of Fame. 
 
 Laocoon reared for them his struggling form 
 
 Between the wreathing serpents ; his two sons 
 
 Strangled beside him. Thus are apt to slay 
 
 Hereditary evils sire and child alike. 
 
 They stood enraptured by Medici's Venus 
 
 —Embodiment of every line of grace. — 
 
 peerless Aphrodite ! In all lands 
 
A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 13 
 
 Thy charms are known, and still thy daughters live; 
 
 Mortals are made to feel their power too, 
 
 And bow the knee before resistless beauty. 
 
 But who can tell of Rome? Where every Art, 
 
 After maturing for a thousand years. 
 
 Bursts full upon the world with luscious ripeness. 
 
 Southward the lovers travelled. Soon they saw 
 
 A lovely bay — felucca-speckled azure — 
 
 "With Naples basking on the curved shore 
 
 That bends to old Vesuvius in full view. 
 
 The mountain sloped up to a point, where puffed 
 
 A jet of smoke, shaped like a water-spout. 
 
 That broad'ning rose up to a turquoise sky 
 
 And disappeared at last in the still air. 
 
 The pleasant sea extended leagues around 
 
 To mirror-gleaming islands. On the hills, 
 
 Green vines came down to mingle with white houses, 
 
 While every thing breathed peaceful loveliness. 
 
 With the approach of evening all this changed. 
 
 The dying sun fell like a gladiator 
 
 Upon his golden shield, all gules, and left 
 
 Earth, sky, and water, purple with his gore, 
 
 Vede Napoli e poi viori, seemed 
 2 
 
14 A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 
 
 Emblazed and flashing everywhere, until 
 
 The eye grew tired of admiration. All that night 
 
 They dreamed of burning mountains and bright seas; 
 
 And lingered long in Naples. Then they turned 
 
 Northward again, to visit peerless Venice. 
 
 They found the sea-queen, sitting in her glory 
 
 Among the islands, while a crescent moon 
 
 Dipped on her brow as though she were Diana 
 
 Eesting" beside the ocean. Here they tarried 
 
 Until the crescent swelled to a full orb. 
 
 That flooded the piazza and canals 
 
 With trembling light. Sometimes they shot along, 
 
 Cutting the gloomy shadows of the. bridges 
 
 With their swift gondola; and once they took 
 
 A larger bark, to greet the classic islands 
 
 Far down the gulf. Eeturning from this trip, 
 
 They landed at a village of the coast, 
 
 And climbed the rocks to see a little chapel 
 
 Perched on the heights above. A simple building 
 
 It proved to be ; devoid of ornament. 
 
 Save votive oflerings grouped round the altar ; 
 
 And a large crucifix rudely carved in wood; 
 
 Such as are often seen in Italy 
 
A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 15 
 
 Erected by the roadside. They observed 
 That in the pale Christ's side a crimson stain 
 Appeared, and this was covered by a glass, 
 So as to guard it from all injury. 
 Wondering what this could mean, they looked around 
 For some one to explain it. A peasant woman. 
 Just risen from her knees beside the altar. 
 Was passing out : she stopped surprised when ques- 
 tioned. 
 "You must be strangers here indeed," she said, 
 "Not to have heard about the miracle 
 That makes our chapel known through all the 
 
 country ; 
 And many pilgrims come from other lands 
 To worship at this shrine. That cross you see 
 Stood once uncovered by the road ; the little church 
 Has been built over it. This is the story : — 
 Hundreds of years ago, when this whole region 
 Was full of robbers, and bloodthirsty pirates 
 That came up from the sea, a brace of cut-throats 
 Sat down one afternoon beneath the cross 
 To play at dice, and pass the time away. 
 One of the villains lost each time he threw. 
 
16 A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 
 
 Until at last he rose in wrath, and cursed 
 
 The Christ upon the cross. He swore that if 
 
 He lost another round, he'd take a stone 
 
 And hurl it at the crucifix. They sat, 
 
 And played again, and still again he lost. 
 
 Then, with a great oath, springing up, he picked 
 
 A stone from off the road, and struck the Christ 
 
 Just in the side there, where you see that stain. 
 
 But do not think the crime was unavenged. 
 
 A stream of blood poured from the wounded side 
 
 — As when the Roman soldier fixed his spear — 
 
 And reddened all the ground. The opening earth 
 
 Swallowed up quick the sacrilegious pair, 
 
 "With shrieks and flame of fire. You must believe 
 
 This miracle, for there you see the blood. 
 
 And here we stand upon the very spot 
 
 "Where this was done. So has our chapel honor, 
 
 And many wondrous cures are still performed 
 
 On those who seek this shrine." With these words 
 
 She went her way, and left them pondering 
 
 On the strange legend, till advancing night 
 
 Stole on them unawares. The lady seemed 
 
 Silent and sad ; her husband asked the cause, 
 
A MOSAIC FROM ITALY. 17 
 
 Looking his question in her eyes. "Alas!" 
 She said, "how many of us now, 
 With more advantages than these poor men. 
 Do daily stone Christ in our hearts ; and yet 
 "We still live on, unpunished for our sin !" 
 He made no answer, but in silence took 
 Her little hand in his; and slowly thus 
 They wandered shoreward, lighted by the stars. 
 
EEMINISOENOE. 
 
 IT is a pleasant fancy, that invests 
 Inanimate things with life, attributing 
 The power to feel such sentiments as we 
 Ourselves have felt while gazing upon them : 
 For thus they seem to share our joy and pain. 
 Who ever wandered thro' an antique house, 
 Time-worn and shattered, like a broken heart, 
 Where only echoes live of loves that were, 
 But felt the strange, mysterious beckoning 
 Of shadowy hands stretched from a shadowy past. 
 That called him from the active, busy Now, 
 Into the bosom of some bygone Then? 
 Why does it wound our sensibilities 
 To see old mansions rudely tumbled down, 
 
 18 
 
REMINISCENCE. 19 
 
 And grand old chambers, that have long been silent, 
 
 Thrown open to the uproar of the street, 
 
 And clownish criticism of the mob ; 
 
 But that we deem them proudly reticent, 
 
 Tapestried with the thoughts of other days, 
 
 And umbraged at these rough indignities? 
 
 Why do we hang upon a faded flower, 
 
 And treasure it, but that there seems to cling 
 
 Still to its withered petals power to bring 
 
 Some perfume from a still more faded past? 
 
 Lost loves and buried friendships! Ye are gone. 
 
 But still I fancy, in the vacant cells 
 
 Ye left within my heart, I hear again 
 
 Some echo of your former minstrelsy ! 
 
 So let me hold you sacred for the joys 
 
 With which ye once have gilded parted hours. 
 
 (For love, though lost, is like a precious jewel : 
 
 We light a candle, and sweep diligently 
 
 To try if we can find it; for we know 
 
 That the lost jewel still must glitter somewhere. 
 
 And friendship may be buried quick, and stir 
 
 Uneasily within its sepulchre. 
 
 Though it may fail to burst the marble tomb.) 
 
20 REMINISCENCE. 
 
 Still are there certain seasons consecrate 
 To hallowed mem'ries, such as make a calm 
 Amid the storm and bustle of our lives; 
 Like silent chapels in a busy street, 
 Forgotten in the turmoil of the day, 
 But sought with rev 'rent, contemplative steps 
 When vesper hymns arise to meet the stars. 
 
 Thus~~I sit here alone. The midnight bell 
 Bids yesterday good-by, and summons up 
 — As in past years at such memorial time — 
 A phantom-like procession of pale thoughts. 
 On which I gaze and ponder, till they grow 
 So life-like I could almost rise and grasp them. 
 I see again the lustre of an eye 
 That once I thought were always bright for me 
 And hear again the music of a voice 
 That once I thought for me were never silent ; 
 And feel again the pressure of a hand 
 That once I thought would always welcome me. 
 So the still hours glide on the stream of night, 
 How fast or slow I reck not, for I sit, 
 Bewildered by these visions of the heart, 
 
REMINISCENCE. 21 
 
 Holding old relics in my drooping hands, 
 Until the banners of ghost-scaring morn 
 Advance their oriental gold and purple. 
 Then slowly, — slowly, — as my eyelids fall. 
 The pinion-spreading phantoms soar away. 
 Shaking from out their wings some plumes of song, 
 That flutter down and lull to dreamy sleep. 
 
 Again ! again ! We clasp our hands together, 
 
 days of long ago ! 
 And hail the gleaming of a sunset river 
 
 Where happy waters flow ! 
 
 The day-god stoops among the murmuring rushes, 
 
 With glory multifold ; 
 Kissing the earth, like Danae, all blushes, 
 
 Beneath a shower of gold ! 
 
 Again 1 again ! How could ye leave me ever ? 
 
 To be remembered so ! 
 We drained no Lethean goblet from that river, 
 
 days of long ago ! 
 
A BIRTHDAY WAIF. 
 
 TTIHE well-poised axle of the car of Time 
 
 -*- Rolls down the length'ning avenue of years, 
 
 Scythe-armed and silent. Juggernaut sublime ! 
 
 Crushing an empire now ; now drying wonian's tears. 
 
 Human Art with Nature strives 
 
 To chronicle our changing lives: — 
 
 Reveillee from fortress wall, — 
 
 Sunset gun and bugle call, — 
 
 Pond'rous stroke in minster spire, — 
 
 Tinkle o'er the parlor fire, — 
 
 Faithful shadow creeping round 
 
 The gnomon in yon pleasure-ground, — 
 
 Attest how man exerts his skill 
 
 To track the foe he cannot kill. 
 22 
 
A BIETHDAY WAIF. 23 
 
 Nature on a mightier scale 
 
 Keiterates her oft-told tale : — 
 
 Kising hlast and falling leaf, — 
 
 Empty field and garnered sheaf, — 
 
 Flight of birds to balmier homes, — 
 
 Who runs could read that Autumn comes. 
 
 When the Winter King appears, 
 
 With all his glittering spears, 
 And a thousand snowy banners in his train, 
 
 He finds the giant oaks, 
 
 Having doffed their leafy cloaks, 
 Stand prepared to dispute his right to reign. 
 
 They toss their arms on high, 
 
 Athwart the murky sky. 
 And howl grim defiance from afar ; 
 
 Then he charges o'er the plain, 
 
 And we seem to see again 
 The Titans and the Gods waging war. 
 
 But I do not need the sight 
 Of this elemental fight 
 
24 A BIRTHDAY WAIF. 
 
 To remind me that Winter comes at last; 
 
 For pleasant thoughts arise, 
 
 Unsubdued by leaden skies, 
 Encouraged by the moaning of the blast. 
 
 Be my carrier-pigeon, gale ! 
 
 Fly over hill and dale, 
 Till you come to stately Alverthorpe's fair seat ; 
 
 Take these leaves upon your wings, 
 
 Among other worthless things, 
 And drop them at my cousin's little feet ! 
 
 Haste, haste ! You must not stay ! 
 
 Bear my love to her to-day. 
 And whisper gentle greetings in her ear; 
 
 May old Tempus, in his flight. 
 
 Prove powerless to blight 
 The happiness in store for many a year! 
 
MAJOE CHAELIE, 
 
 Killed in battle, March, 1865. 
 
 fTlHY golden leaflet withers and dies 
 -■- While yet it is sparkling with dew ; 
 May thy star be won in the glorious skies, 
 . Soldier-brother so gallant and true! 
 
 Though each falling leaf will recall to my sight 
 
 Thy fate in these horrible wars, 
 I'll dry my eyes when each darksome night 
 
 Becomes lighted with glittering stars. 
 
 In the land of the blest, where all spirits are free 
 From distinction of gray or of blue, 
 
 Christ grant we may meet at the great reveillee, 
 Soldier-brother so gallant and true ! 
 
 3 25 
 
26 MAJOR CHARLIE. 
 
 It may not be mine to lay wreaths on thy hearse, 
 As thou goest embalmed in thy fame. 
 
 Let me gather at least my poor chaplet of verse 
 And consecrate it to thy name. 
 
CHKISTMAS POEMS, 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 ri 1HE church-bells, swung in olden times, 
 -■- Peal out again in splendid chimes; 
 Spreading, like surges, sound on sound, 
 Till every hamlet steeple round 
 
 Acknowledges the call. 
 With midnight mass cathedrals glow ; 
 The stars salute the earth below ; 
 On distant moor. 
 The maiden poor 
 
 Hangs holly on the wall. 
 
 'Tis Christmas Eve! Who could be sad? 
 All earth, at such a time, is glad ! 
 Where is the heart, cuirassed in steel. 
 On Christmas Eve that cannot feel 
 
 3* 29 
 
30 CHEISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Some nobler pulse within? 
 If piercing blow the winter wind, 
 Let it but waft our guilt behind; 
 We feel more clear 
 From care and fear, 
 And further from each sin. 
 
 Cousin ! I frankly say to you 
 There is one thing I cannot do : 
 I cannot thank, as it deserves, 
 Kindness like yours, that never swerves, 
 
 Although abused and tried. 
 But I, at least, can wish you here 
 Many and many and many a year 
 
 Of every joy, 
 
 Without alloy, 
 And "Merry Christmas-tide." 
 
CHEISTMA8 EVE. 
 
 TO-NIGHT, above the silent rill, 
 And frosty trees, and distant hill, 
 There glimmers in the sky a star 
 That shone, oh, long ago ! afar, 
 And taught some shepherds where to seek, 
 The while they heard the angels speak 
 Celestial words that echo still: — 
 "Peace upon earth; to men good will." 
 
 What though the woods, invoked to share 
 Our joy, no richer tribute bear 
 Than holly -leaves and evergreen? 
 Ovir-hearts have nobler gifts, I ween, 
 lor mortals now returning see 
 The Eve of Christ's Nativity. 
 
 31 
 
32 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Though voiceless be the ice-bound rill, • 
 
 The waves of thought have music still. 
 
 Oh that my tiny pebble, thrown 
 
 Into the stream of Song alone, 
 
 May make the widening circles glance . 
 
 Till at thy feet the wavelets dance ! 
 
 Let every undulation be 
 
 A Christmas carol sung to thee. 
 
 What though the trees with branches bare 
 Trellis the frosty Christmas air ? 
 Still Recollection flaunts on high 
 Her gorgeous banner 'gainst the sky ; 
 And still, above the gathering storm, 
 Affection's heart throbs loud and warm. 
 Dear cousin ! Once again, receive 
 My thanks and love, on Christmas Eve. 
 
GASPS the dying poet: "Grive me a great 
 thought, 
 To cheer me ere my drooping spirit part." 
 Ories the pallid lover : " Give me a great hope, 
 
 To fill the gloomy void within my heart." 
 Sobs the blushing maiden: "Give me a great love, 
 
 Such as the angels waft from heaven to earbh." 
 Pants the falling soldier: "Give me a great fame, 
 
 To blaze the story of my martial worth." 
 Ye human aspirations, soaring high 1 
 How many of you but shall fall and die 
 Like shaft-struck eagles? Therefore let. my task, 
 If pleasure can be task, lady, be to ask 
 Something that may be granted. For I know your 
 
 heart 
 Pours out a stream of bounty unto all. Now, do 
 
 not start. 
 I crave this Christmas Eve a gift. Oh, may there be 
 
 A little place kept in your heart for even me ! 
 C 33 
 
THE OHKISTMAS DKUM. 
 
 I HAVE read an odd legend of other climes, 
 How invisible bells ring the Christmas chimes, 
 How a ghostly bugle at midnight calls 
 Through the tapestried reaches of echoing halls, 
 And phantom armies at midnight come 
 Prompt at the tap of a phantom drum. 
 
 If this mute little drum had but power to resound, 
 And give form to the wishes now thronging around, 
 An army of blessings should spring into ranks. 
 Whole legions of love, and a squadron of thanks, 
 "While aloft in the banner this motto should shine : — 
 "Merry Christmas, fair Lady, to thee and to thine." 
 
 34 
 
THE FLOWER OP CHILLON. 
 
 A DOWN a dismal winding stair, 
 That led to depths below, 
 A lady, blooming, young, and fair, 
 From distant lands a pilgrim there, 
 "With pensive brow and stately air, 
 Swept mournfully and slow. 
 
 No sunbeam on that castle wall 
 Was brighter than her smile ; 
 She lighted up the echoing hall. 
 That scarce repeated her footfall, 
 And Chillon's far-famed castle tall 
 Might well be glad the while. 
 
 35 
 
36 THE FLOWER OF CHILLON. 
 
 miglity Chillon, in thy pride 
 Bedecked with legends gray ! 
 
 lovely Leman, by whoiife side 
 The castle rises like a bride, 
 Mirror-reflected in thy tide ! — 
 
 I envy thee th^t day ! 
 
 1 envy thee the mem'ries hoar 
 That cling around each stone ; • 
 
 And when the hand shall be no more 
 That pens these lines, there still shall pour 
 A stream of pilgrims through thy door, 
 To worship at thy throne. 
 
 Thy fame is deathless, castle gray ! 
 
 Embalmed by Albion's bard, — 
 For sure immortal is his lay : 
 Can Byron's verses e'er decay? 
 Or can those fetters rust away 
 
 That clanked on Bonnivard? 
 
 No! deathless are those notes of wrong, 
 Struck by the master hand : 
 
THE FLOWER OF CHILLON. 37 
 
 And while we listen to his song, 
 Forms that from buried ages throng, 
 Roused by his incantation strong. 
 Living before us stand. 
 
 ' Onward the graceful lady swept, 
 
 Filled with these thoughts sublime: 
 Through frowning arch, and sullen crypt, 
 By "loophole barred, where captives wept," 
 And men at arms stern vigil kept. 
 Back in the far old time. 
 
 But who can measure woman's heart. 
 
 Or gauge its wondrous power? 
 Through her sweet spirit came a dart 
 Of vivid memory. Far apart 
 From her, and all these stores of art, • 
 
 She thought of one that hour. 
 
 And gathered from the pavement old 
 
 A flower. Strange sight to see! 
 
 It grew from out a crevice cold, 
 
 As shivering lamb on wintry wold, 
 4 
 
38 THE FLOWER OF CHILLON. 
 
 Shut out perchance from dam and fold, 
 Stands bleating piteously. 
 
 The sun that rises on Chillon 
 
 Rolls westward for to set. 
 That treasured flower now gladdens one 
 Immured within a fortress lone, 
 Within whose frowning tiers of stone 
 
 Its fragrance lingers yet. 
 
 And oft, when midnight surges swell, 
 
 Or midnight cannon booms, 
 The prisoner, waking in his cell. 
 Smiles as he frames fit words to^ tell 
 How still, renewed by fairy spell, 
 The Flower of Chillon blooms. 
 
VALENTINE. 
 
 WHEN Summer decks the woods with green 
 And sets the fields a smiling, 
 My Mary cheers the glowing scene, 
 
 Unhappiness beguiling. 
 When boist'rous Winter plays his part, 
 
 Still comes my precious fairy 
 And kindles summer in my heart, — 
 My darling little Mary ! 
 
 Oh that I had the magic power 
 
 To warble like a poet! 
 I could not love my Mary more, 
 
 But I could better show it : 
 
 39 
 
40 VALENTINE. 
 
 I'd soar exultant all day long, 
 Like eagle from her eyrie, 
 
 At night I'd bring my sweetest song 
 And sing it to my Mary. 
 
 I'd pluck the gleaming fruit that hung 
 
 All in Hesperian gardens, 
 And fairest flowers that odors flung, 
 
 In spite of dragon wardens; 
 And many a tale grotesque I'd tell, 
 
 Of gnome, or elf, or peri, — 
 A tribute to my little belle, 
 
 A Valentine for Mary. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 TFIIS pleasant sometimes, down the oubliette 
 
 -L Oblivion kindly opens in our past, 
 To drop our sorrows; hardships to forget, 
 
 And exorcise the spectres that would cast 
 Their blight upon our future. Turn we still 
 
 From passing darkness to the coming day ; 
 
 From the dense murk of midnight, to the ray 
 Of hope that soon must light the eastern hill. 
 
 But, while we quaff nepenthe for the woes 
 That else, accumulating with our years. 
 Had overborne our manhood, there are tears 
 
 Of joy we would not dry, — that flow for those 
 Whose constant kindness never ceased to shine, 
 A storm-wrapped beacon ; kindness such as thine ! 
 
 43 
 
SONNET. 
 
 II TAD AM, dear madam! Surely I might claim 
 -^-^ Relationship with you, I call to mind 
 Such acts of kindness; and one of your name. 
 
 If little less than kin, was more than kind ; 
 (So let me travesty an ancient phrase 
 
 To suit my grateful purpose.) Thus I try 
 To thank you, in these insufficient lays, 
 
 For many an act of gentlest sympathy. 
 A year ago to-day, the gates that pent 
 
 My freedom, held in ward by armed men, 
 Flared open, and the beck'ning landscape sent 
 
 A throb of gladness through my pulses then. 
 But all my fetters dropped not. Tighter grew 
 Affection's chain, that stretched 'twixt me and you ! 
 
 44 
 
rpHE Past and Present! How the pictures glow! 
 -'- Like the old Danish portraits i' the play. 
 But as stars vanish at the break of day, 
 So fades the Present as the Past gains sway. 
 A name, a date, a face, the winds that blow 
 Odors of well-known flowers from well-known fields, — 
 Are all sufficient. Then the Present yields 
 Her precedence : the active power she wields 
 Drops on the shoulders of the rising Past, 
 Till last becomes the first, the first the last. 
 To-day comes fraught with feeling ; like a tune 
 One learned in childhood, heard perchance again, 
 After much tossing on a stormy main. 
 No wonder that it does : it is the Fourth of June ! 
 
 45 
 
EPIGRAM. 
 
 THE RELEASED PRISONER TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 rriHOUGH loosed from aU prison, I still am 
 -*- not free. 
 
 Come solve me this riddle, and tell me, what art 
 Thou hast used, my enslaver : I owe it to thee 
 
 That the chains from my hands are transferred 
 to my heart ! 
 
 46 
 
MY PRISON BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 MY captive companions lie sleeping around, 
 Forgetful a while of their sorrow and care ; 
 The vault of our dungeon re-echoes no sound, 
 Save the sentinel's tramp on the esplanade there. 
 
 The night is resplendent with moon and with stars, 
 No cloud dims their lustre, no tempest is near ; 
 
 As I creep to the casemate and gaze through the bars 
 In wonder to witness such loveliness here. 
 
 The moon like a herald emblazons the sea, 
 
 Bend argent traversing a 'scutcheon of blue ; 
 
 And I know the same light that is shining on me 
 
 Falls soft on the tower of fair Alverthorpe too. 
 
 47 
 
48 MY PRISON BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The star-girdled empress, enthroned in the air, 
 Touches fortress and tower with her bright-flashing 
 blade, 
 And the earth seems to rise from the contact more 
 fair, 
 Like a warrior touched by a queen's accolade. 
 
 Such glory without, and such darkness within, 
 What wonder the prisoner's heart turns away 
 
 From the sorrow that is, to the joy that has been, 
 And still tinges with silver the cloud of to-day? 
 
 Though the bright sun of happiness hasten to set, 
 — As a three-decker founders with banner and 
 mast, — 
 The moonlight of memory lingers here yet, 
 
 Blending hope for the future with love for the 
 past; 
 
 Griving promise that morning will come once again, 
 Bursting open the ponderous portals of night, 
 
 And reminding the captive that, loosed from his chain. 
 He may bask in the sunshine of freedom and light. 
 
MY PRISON BY MOONLIGHT, 49 
 
 That fair faces will greet his return with a smile, 
 As he halts for repose on his wearisome track ; 
 
 And kind voices will mingle in chorus the while, 
 To welcome the prison-worn wanderer back. 
 
AN ^OLIAN SERENADE. 
 
 OH, whence comes that music that, stealing so 
 gently, 
 Brings echoes of melodies long past away, 
 Like a choir chanting orisons grandiloquently. 
 Or vesper- nuns sighing for moribund day? 
 
 Now low breathe the accents, as if pleasure-laden 
 From gardens where young Love lies cradled in 
 flowers. 
 
 Now high and prolonged, like the wail of a maiden 
 Whose lover is dead in her desolate bowers, 
 
 A guitar at a scarce-opened window is lying, 
 
 And the cool breeze of evening my serenade sings, 
 
 50 
 
AN ^OLIAN SEEENADE. 51 
 
 Weird aeolian echoes througli dream-land are flying, 
 As the wing of the air-spirit brushes the strings. 
 
 Sure nowhere but in mediaeval romance ye 
 Could hope such fantastic conception to find ; 
 
 Some wandering ghost of a troubadour's* fancy 
 This phantom-like roundelay taught to the wind. 
 
 Perchance cavaliers as a madrigal rang it 
 
 Through balconied streets by the light of the stars, 
 
 Till palace-shrined beauty awoke, as they sang it 
 To felicitous cadences on their guitars. 
 
 Knights, ladies, and troubadours sleep their last 
 slumbers, 
 
 For all souvenir leaving this quaint melody ; 
 Yet my fancy delights to imagine the numbers 
 
 They loved, to be those the wind whispers to me. 
 
THE RETARDED VERSES. 
 
 A PAIR of glittering slippers from the East, 
 From Nilus' bank, — wliere once the swarthy 
 belle, 
 Whose beauty made the Roman laurel bow 
 And do her homage, lived, — I bring to thee; 
 Not all uncertain — like that doubtful prince 
 Who followed Cinderella from the ball — 
 Whose foot may fit the bauble. Well I know 
 The graceful instep that will arch above 
 And decorate each decorated shoe. 
 Thy beauty needs no further garniture 
 To set it off, 'tis true ; but, then, reflect 
 That these poor slippers, though they flash with gold, 
 Need still thy touch to ornament them more. 
 
 52 
 
THE RETARDED VERSES. 53 
 
 For their sake, then, if not for mine, accept them. 
 But sometimes, prythee, in thy happier mood. 
 When they are resting on thy little feet. 
 Think that thou seest th'unworthy donor there. 
 
COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 ONCE a year, in the old town of Cambridge, 
 There's a day when the Governor comes, 
 With aides-de-camp, sheriffs, and lancers, 
 And clangor of trumpets and drums ; 
 
 When the damsel who dwells in the city 
 
 Comes out to embellish the scene ; 
 And the maiden who lives in the cottage 
 
 Trips college-ward over the green ; 
 
 When students, from every direction, 
 
 And white-headed men from afar, 
 Throng a building with wide-open portals, 
 
 Like the temple of Janus in war. 
 
 54 
 
COMMENCEMENT. 55 
 
 And, begirt with a staff of professors, 
 
 The President comes on that day, 
 Like an old academic iield-marshal, 
 
 To review the scholastic array. 
 
 Alma Mater, majestic and graceful. 
 
 Enthroned 'mid her colleges gray. 
 Bestows a last kiss on her children, 
 
 And sends them exultant away. 
 
 Though they tread the dim shores of the Ganges, 
 
 Or explore the mysterious Nile ; 
 Though the forests of "dark-rolling Danube" 
 
 Their meandering footsteps beguile ; 
 
 Though they fly on the wings of the morning 
 
 To the uttermost isle of the sea; 
 Even there shall they bless Alma Mater, 
 
 For there shall her influence be. 
 
 Ofttimes, when oppressed with affliction. 
 Or disgusted with pleasure that palls. 
 
 They shall think with regret on the tranquil delights 
 They resigned in those elm-shaded halls. 
 
56 COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 Two lustres have lapsed since we parted, 
 
 Our mother, my classmates, and I : 
 Alas ! Here I sit in the gloaming alone, 
 
 And conjecture their fate with a sigh. 
 
 How many, I wonder, have "dreed their doom"? 
 
 How many may still be alive? 
 Waes hael ! Here I pledge ye, old comrades, 
 
 Thou class of the year Fifty-five. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 
 
SPANISH EPIGRAM. 
 
 A UNQUE en espejo se miran 
 -^^-*- Las mujeres con frequencia ; 
 En mismo tiempo nunca ven 
 Que es de vidrio su belleza. 
 
 Ladies gaze in their mirrors as oft, I suspect, 
 
 As though they considered it part of their duty ; 
 
 But the darlings themselves never seem to reflect 
 To what attribute glass owes its exquisite beauty. 
 
 59 
 
THE SONG OF THE EHINE. 
 
 COME fill the goblet! Eound it ivy twine, 
 And joyous drain it here ! 
 Europe's broad empire boasts no other wine, 
 Sirs-Eevellers, its peer ! 
 
 Not in the fields of laughter-loving France, 
 
 Poland or Hungary : 
 St. Vitus may prefer those drinks, perchance ; 
 
 No wine grows there for me. 
 
 Our native country yields it from her treasure: 
 How were it else so good? 
 
 60 
 
THE SONG OF THE EHINE. 61 
 
 Or how so calm and noble beyond measure 
 With potent hardihood? 
 
 Even amid Germania's classic features 
 
 Stand many mountains, still, 
 Just like their native reptiles, dirty creatures, 
 
 Not worth the space they fill. 
 
 Thuringia's mountains, for example, offer 
 
 A sort of stuff folks brew; 
 But that's not wine! On that no singing scoffer 
 
 Eollicks till all is blue. 
 
 You'll search the ore-producing mountains vainly, 
 
 If wine you would behold : 
 Cobalt and silver are their products mainly. 
 
 Mixed with some spurious gold. 
 
 The Blocksberg's but a long-legged cit, with speeches 
 
 Inflated and bombastic: 
 There Satan and his kindred crew of witches 
 
 Cut up their shines fantastic. 
 
62 THE SONG OF THE RHINE. 
 
 But on tlie Rhine ! The Rhine ! Our vineyards 
 cluster. 
 
 All hail, transcendent Rhine ! 
 Look, to the brink the leafy squadrons muster, 
 
 And reel with glorious wine. 
 
 Then drain the beaker ! Fill and drink again, 
 
 Flushed with melodious glee ! 
 We'll rouse the sick man from his couch of pain, 
 
 To join our revelry. 
 
LORELEI. 
 Jrom f^t (Herman. 
 
 I CANNOT tell what it presages 
 That I so sad should be; 
 Bat a legend of distant ages 
 
 Still haunts my memory. 
 Cool breezes herald the coming night, 
 
 The tranquil Ehine flows by, 
 The sparkling mountain-crest glows bright 
 Where evening sunbeams die. 
 
 Enthroned in surpassing loveliness, 
 
 A maiden is sitting there ; 
 Golden ornaments flash in her dress, 
 
 She is combing her golden hair, — 
 
 63 
 
64 LORELEI. 
 
 Combing her hair with a comb of gold, 
 And singing a song, the while, 
 
 Whose mystic melody wondrous and bold 
 Can mortal heart beguile. 
 
 The sailor is thrilled by her magical notes. 
 
 And gazes bewildered on high, 
 Unheeding his shallop, that rapidly floats 
 
 On the sunken rocks near by. 
 Sailor and shallop must perish amain 
 
 Where the breakers are surging nigh; 
 For death and destruction lurk in the strain 
 
 That is caroled by Lorelei. 
 
ITALY. 
 
 ^xom t^£ §txmmx of ^od^z. 
 
 KNOWST thou the hind whel^e the citron-trees 
 grow, 
 In whose dark leafy groves golden oranges glow? 
 Where a soft air from heaven sweeps over the seas, 
 And the laurel and myrtle are fanned by the breeze? 
 Know'st thou it well? 'Tis there, oh! there, 
 That with thee, my darling, I fain would repair! 
 
 Know'st thou the palace with colonnade tall? 
 
 The rich trappings gleam through the glittering hall ; 
 
 There statues of marble look kindly on me, 
 
 As if asking, " Poor child, what has happened to 
 
 thee?" 
 
 65 
 
66 ITALY. 
 
 Know'st thou it well? 'Tis there, oh! there, 
 That with thee, heart's treasure, my lot I would 
 share ! 
 
 Know'st thou the cloud-crested mountain so gray, 
 Where the sure-footed mule through the mist gropes 
 
 its way? 
 The brood of the dragon lies hid in its caves. 
 And down the rent rock the wild cataract raves. 
 Know'st thou it well? Thereby, thereby. 
 Our road leads, father : away let us hie ! 
 
THE POWEE OF SO^G. 
 
 "FN those blest realms where Song her power re- 
 -■- veals, — 
 
 It matters not for creed, — there fearless dwell : 
 Where song prevails, no lurking robber steals, 
 
 For bad men's bosoms with no music swell. 
 
 Each mother consecrates with music mild 
 To happy life her darling's earliest hours ; 
 
 Through groves in May she leads the smiling child. 
 And cradles him to sleep with songs of flowers. 
 
 In song the young man's passion bursts its bonds, 
 
 And carols his unspeakable delight : 
 
 6* 67 
 
68 THE POWER OF SONG. 
 
 How quick the loved one's conscious heart responds ! — 
 Music reveals what poet cannot write. 
 
 Old men sit at their doors with hoary head, 
 
 And chant the wise men's songs in joyous tones; 
 
 No despot's minion fills their soul with dread, 
 For song makes tyrants tremble on their thrones. 
 
 When round the grape-blood-brimming beaker flies, 
 Shortening the hours amid the roses there, 
 
 If wisdom, comes and tinctures all our joys, 
 
 Then song completes a banquet gods might share. 
 
 The stripling leaves the master's hand and rings 
 Loud song when rushing into spring-time fair ; 
 
 While at the meadow-side the sister sings, 
 
 Twining a wreath to deck her charmer's hair. 
 
 Men hang on beauty's smile-light sweet, and need 
 No other charms to keej) them at her feet; 
 
 But should the siren's soul- felt strain succeed. 
 Oh, then indeed th'enchantment is complete. 
 
THE POWER OF SONG. 69 
 
 With war-song fierce the hero grasps the brand 
 When freedom's clarion high resounds for right ; 
 
 Fenced in the steel-proof mail of duty's band, 
 He dares to death the iron-hurtling fight. 
 
 Sweet Song ! Thy soft, soul-guiding power soon 
 brings 
 
 To end each evil that to toil belongs; 
 Under thy influence virtue's germ upsprings : — 
 
 Oh, wretched, wretched land that has no songs! 
 
 THE END.