>w ^H I ■■ 1 ■■ ■ m H ■ MX' ■ EHTCrc ^M ■ UKM mm m ■l tA~£: m «•*■ ■ r -*- POEMS BY LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1871. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. hx§ fjolnme IS DEDICATED TO MRS. HENRY D. GILPIN, AS A SLIGHT MARK OF ESTEEM AND ADMIRATION, BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE The Fifth Act of " The Huguenots" 9 The Duel 12 Autumnal Lyrics ........ 14 Revelry . . . . . . . . . .18 My Baby 20 The Mask of Plaster 22 Imploro Pacem . . . . • . . . . 25 Re-United . . . . . . . . . .26 Without and Within 28 In Vain .......... 30 To. R. M. H. . 32 Ich Habe Geliebet ........ 35 In Memory of H. A. C. . . . . . . . 38 Too Late .......... 41 Leonora d'Este . . . . . . . . . 43 On an Old Portrait 47 Jealousy . . . . . . . . .48 The Last Kiss . .51 The Voyage of Life ........ 53 (v) vi CONTENTS. r PAGE A Winter Tale 55 Faust to Marguerite 57 The Giving of the Goblet 60 On a Portrait of Heine 62 The King's Ride 63 An Old Story 65 At the Bal Mabille 67 Garden and Balcony ........ 69 Gretchen . . . . . . . . . .71 Elsinore .......... 73 Wasted Love ......... 76 Genesis, Chapter V. . . . . . . . . 79 My Destiny 81 Adam Lux .......... 84 After the War 87 After the Ball 89 Ophelia . . . . . . . . . .92 Nemesis .......... 95 The Protestant Wind 97 To Longfellow ......... 99 Madame La Duchesse . . . . . . .102 Job, Chap. X VI., Verse 2 106 The Neglected Grave 108 Princess and Page . . . . . . . .111 Lemira . . . . . . . . . .114 CONTENTS. VII PAGE A Presentiment . . . . . . . . .116 Miserrimus . . . . . . . . . .118 The Singer 121 The Triumph of Death 123 A Vision of the Hour . . . . . . . .126 The Modern Belshazzar 129 TRANSLATIONS. The Minstrel's Song The Stars . Touch Not . Yearning The Two Angels Autumnal Musings Too Old . Seest Thou the Sea? Farewell The Water-Lily . Pergolese . The Two Kings . My Songs . Frederick the Great at Bothwell . Julin . Sans Souci Geibel. 133 a I36 tt *37 a 139 a 142 it 144 a 146 n 148 a 149 a 151 a 152 a 155 a 156 a 157 a 160 a 162 viii CONTENTS. PAGE Dante ........ Geibel. 164 I and Thou "166 The Castle of Eger ...... Fontane. 168 The. Fisher Goethe. 172 The Singers ...... Scherenberg. 174 The King of Thule Goethe. 175 Thekla — A Spirit Voice ..... Schiller. 177 "Fair Hedwig" Hebbel 179 In the Graveyard ...... Vogl. 182 Lines Written in a Copy of the Divina Corn- media Victor Hugo. 184 To a Traveler " 185 Gastibelza " 189 A Legend of the Centuries ....." 193 THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUE- NOTS." VALENTINE TO RAOUL. Thou hast spurned the life I proffer, and I go to death with thee ; Thou my faith hast long forsaken — to thy God I bend my knee. I will show thee in this moment how a woman's heart can love ; And the faith this night hath given, I this night in heav'n will prove. For a little space j:he crimson tide of slaughter ebbs away; Thine in love, and thine in faith, by thy side I kneel to pray ; Faithful friend and noble soldier, bless thy children ere they die — Ere we tread the gory pathway spread before us to the sky. 2 (9) IO THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUENOTS." Clasp me closer, beloved ! Fold my throbbing heart to thine ; See along the lurid city how our wedding torches shine ; And the anthems of our bridal cleave the midnight's shuddering breath : Lo, the priest waits to unite us — that pale priest whose name is Death ! Ay, behold my second bridal- — it is fairer than the first; Then my soul with bitter mem'ries and with yearnings wild was curst. Sweeter far the murderous midnight and the martyr's couch of pain Than the barges' silken glories gliding down the smiling Seine. Better far the martyr's glory and the grave's triumphant rest, Better thus to pass to heaven with my head upon thy breast, Than to tread Life's thorny mazes with toil-worn and weary feet, Than to mask my life-long loneliness in glittering deceit. THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUENOTS." n See the torches shine advancing, flashing down the narrow street ; Nearer shout the murderous voices, nearer come the hurrying feet. Closer, closer clasp me, Raoul ; lay my head upon thy breast ; Never more on earth we'll sever — Death is with us — Death and rest ! THE DUEL. You need not turn so pale, love ; I'm unhurt. We quarreled at the opera last night About some trifle. Nay, I scarce know what. We men will quarrel for the merest slight. We settled time, place, weapon on the spot ; Bois de Boulogne, this morning, pistols — well, — I fear that you are cold, you shudder so, — At the first shot my adversary fell, Shot through the heart stone-dead. Nay, now don't faint ! I hate a fainting woman. Here's your fan ; A little water? So you're better now. Pray, hear my story out, love, if you can. I think he uttered something as he fell : A woman's name — I scarcely caught the sound : It passed so quickly that I am not sure, For he was dead before he reached the ground. Ah, poor de Courcy ! Handsome, was he not ? A favorite with the ladies, I believe. (12) THE DUEL. They'll miss him sadly. More than one fair dame Will o'er his sudden fate in secret grieve. How well he looked this morning, as he stood Waiting my fire with such a careless grace, The breezes playing with his raven curls, The sunshine lighting up his gay bright face ! Suppose my hand had trembled ? If it had, I would have fallen instead of him. You're white At the bare thought. Nay, here I am, quite well, And ready for the opera to-night. Ronconi plays, and I would like to see " Marie de Rohan" once or twice again. His acting as De Chevreuse is sublime ; How he portrays the jealous husband's pain ! All husbands have not such a wife as you ; Fair as the sun, and chaste as winter's moon ! How very pale you still are, dearest wife ! There is no danger of another swoon ? How wrong I was to tell you I had fought ; I think you've scarce recovered from the shock. One kiss upon your brow, and then I'll go ; And pray be ready, love, at eight o'clock ! 13 AUTUMNAL LYRICS. SEPTEMBER, O fairest of the seasons, thou art here ! We crown thee queen, and joy to greet thy sway ! Tkou lay'st thy cool hand on the brow of Earth And the fierce summer fever dies away. O linger with us, Autumn ! Sighing Spring Goes like a weeping phantom through the land ; And Summer comes enrobed in Tropic flame \ And chill the clasp of Winter's frozen hand. But thou, O thou of sunsets cold and clear ! And veiled skies, soft as a mother's smile, Dost loving bend o'er this thy favored land, Leave us not yet. O linger still awhile ! The forest caught the colors of the clouds ' When the last summer sunsets died away ; And now as bright a couch is spread to greet The dying year as waits the dying day. (14) AUTUMNAL LYRICS. is Leave us not yet. Still for a little space Pause o'er the land that gladdens 'neath thy reign. But vain our prayer. E'en now the herald winds Sound the approach of Winter's icy train. Spring into Summer ripens ; Summer dies In thy embrace, O golden-glowing Fall ! But Nature pauses with her last best gift : O'er Autumn's bosom Winter folds the pall. OCTOBER. The sunset of the seasons glows around us, And Autumn wanders musing through the bowers, Dropping o'er mount and forest hues resplendent, Once worn in pride by Summer's vanished flowers. The Summer, slow retreating from the heavens, Returns a space, earth's beauty to behold, And through the mist of parting tears she sendeth One last fond smile to haunts beloved of old. Like the Egyptian queen in ancient story, That garbed herself all royally to die, The year around her folds her robes of beauty And stands a queen beneath the pallid sky; j6 autumnal lyrics., And round her regal form, like hushed attendants, The forests stand in anguished moanings tost, For 'neath her splendor heaves to death her bosom, Smote by the aspic of th' untimely frost. Like Caesar, soon will come the chill December, To gaze upon her form whence life is fled ; And the wild winds that wail around her dying Will shriek in anguish o'er the bright Year dead. NOVEMBER. The day, new Niobe, has wept to death — Gray stonelike clouds are piled above her tomb ; Like some wild weeper rushing forth distraught, The east wind hurries, sobbing, through the gloom, The old trees raise their skeleton arms to heaven, Praying for sunshine, and the sky has none ; The sea is mourning for the Summer's death ; Far in the distance sounds his sullen moan. But yester-e'en the woods in beauty stood ; The sun looked down on earth with veiled rays ; Bright vestured Autumn walked amid the bowers, And the shy maple blushed beneath his gaze. AUTUMNAL LYRICS. I? Gone now the glory. Through the naked boughs The storm -wind rushes with a sobbing moan ; Stripped of his gold and crimson, Autumn stands, A chained captive, before Winter's throne. A little longer, and the year shall lay A snowy slab above her bright son's head, And Winter write, with frozen hand and slow, " Here, slain by me, lies Autumn with the dead !" REVELRY. Fill the cup till o'er the brim Flows the bright champagne. Here's forgetfulness of grief, Balm for every pain. Drink ! we watch the dying hours Of the dying year. She I loved is dead and gone. Dead — and I am here ! Change the flask, and fill the glass With the red Lafitte. If there's Lethe upon earth, This — O this is it ! Drink ! till o'er the purple skies Morning flushes clear. You are dead, O love of mine ! Dead — and I am here ! Pass the dusky Cognac here, Fill a stronger draught, (18) REVELRY. jg Richer with the vine's hot life Than the last we quaffed. Drink ! till Mem'ry's phantoms pale Fade and disappear. Drink ! till I forget she's dead ! Dead — and I am here ! MY BABY. Asleep my little baby lies — My bud new fallen from the skies, My pearl just brought from ocean's shell. Fond similes, — they crowd apace As close I press the tiny face And little form we love so well. She is our first-born, this fair girl, This little paly human pearl ; This best of all gifts Heaven e'er brought. O Life was all unfinished Ere in its woof this golden thread By kindly angel hands was wrought. God sent her in autumnal hours, When heavily the fading flowers Drooped 'neath the chilling touch of frost. 'Mid wailing wind and leafless bower Awoke to life our little flower : A sweeter bud than earth had lost. (20) MY BABY. 21 Now Summer's breath her soft hair stirs : Not yet a twelvemonth's life is hers ; O baby, ours so short a space ! What wond'rous gift of magic power, What royal crown, what golden dower, Could ever fill thy vacant place ? God, pluck not back thy little flower ! O Monarch Death, thou hast a dower Of many a rare and radiant gem ! Spare, spare to us our little pearl, Our dearest treasure, this fair girl ; This one sweet blossom on Life's stem ! THE MASK OF PLASTER. Travelers at Dresden are shown a plaster cast taken from Napoleon's face immediately after death. Thus looked the dead. Thus did Napoleon lie. O cold imperial face ! E'en death could not erase The majesty from that uncrowned brow, Nor from that cold lip chase the winning smile That lit thy features proud, as sunset's glow Flushes with beauty some pale peak of snow, Throned in the Alpine sky. What visions passed before those fading eyes Ere closed in death's eclipse? When "Tete d'armee — Josephine — Ma Mere" Dropped from the paling lips. Thy wife's dark eyes, thy noble mother's smile, And with those tender memories the while Came the red battle, and th' exulting cry, " Napoleon — Victory !" And the bright past swept, glory-laden, by. (22) THE MASK OF PLASTER. 2 $ Thou didst behold o'er many a field Thy soaring eagle wave his plume, Until the sun of Austerlitz Went down in endless gloom — Went down o'er Waterloo, to rise Never again on earthly skies. To thee there never came a dawn, For thee there never beamed a star, Save when thine eye prophetic pierced The darkness, and beheld afar The day-star of thy race arise, As radiant as when of yore The shadow of thy purple spread Its mighty wings from shore to shore. Behold ! thy race upon the throne ! Thy tomb a nation's hallowed shrine ! Thy name the battle-shout of France ! Thy memory a dream divine ! But thou art sleeping, and no voice again Will wake thee from thy slumber by the Seine ; And this pale visage only to our eyes Reveals thy mortal guise. No battle thunder swept thee to thy rest ; No hostile bullet stilled thy mighty heart. The slow shafts of the tropic air Played the assassin's part. 24 THE MASK OF PLASTER. Thou, conqueror of the world, didst pass away 'Mid enemies alone ! (Thy prison a rock, thy jailer the wild sea !) A trailing willow and a nameless stone Were all their churlish hands could grant thy clay. Yet not unhonored went thou to thy sleep : The tempest shrieked thy death-knell o'er the deep, Heaven sent its thunder for a requiem, And thine avenger is Eternity ! IMPLORO PACEM. With fait' ring step and weary heart I come, O mother Earth ! one boon from thee to crave : The aching brain and troubled soul would rest. Give me a grave. On thy kind bosom I would lay my head, Never to ope my heavy eyes again Upon this world, whose boons to me have been Sorrow and pain. Life's noontide burns above me, and I shrink From the long^ thorny path I still must tread ; Room for me, mother, 'mid thy best-loved sons — The happy dead ! Ope thy green mantle ! hush thy weary child Into thy slumber, dewy, dreamless, deep, O thou ! who, like the Psalmist's God, doth give Thy loved one sleep ! 3* ( 25 ) RE-UNITED. You are dead, and I am dying ; We shall meet before the morrow ; All our lonely years are ended ; We have done with pain and sorrow. I shall see you ere the setting Of yon slowly rising moon. Ay, we knew not when we parted That we'd meet again so soon. All the long years we were severed, All their bitter sorrows seem Like the pale and fading phantoms Of a scarce-remembered dream. And my heart forgets its aching In the joy that thrills it now ; There are none to come between us In the land to which I go. Do you know that I am coming ? Do you watch for me to-night ? (26) RE- UNI TED. Do you wait above the stars, love, As I wait beneath their light ? Ah, I know that you are waiting In your fair and distant home ! We've a tryst now, O beloved ! Where no enemies can come. You are dead, and I am dying, Very slowly, but at last. And I trust the death-veiled Future To redeem the mournful Past. Ne'er was pillow pressed so gladly As the one whereon I'm lying ; For I know you'll greet my waking. You are dead, and I am dying ! 27 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. The day lies dead beneath a cloudy pall ; The wind beside her moans in mournful strain ; From the dusk fingers of the drowsy clouds Drop slowly, one by one, the pearls of rain. There is no living thing abroad on earth ; There are no stars ; the clouds have quenched their light. There is no sound except the wailing wind ; Thou, world without, art dark and drear to-night ! Yet not so dreary as mine inner world. Beside my hearth, where bright forms sat of yore, Sits a pale shadow, mutt 'ring with white lips : " My name is Sorrow — we shall part no more ! n Who are the blest ones in this world of ours ? The silent dead in very truth are blest. The marble portal, closed by Death's cold hand, Shuts out all sorrow, and doth shut in rest. (28) WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 2 g Blest the distraught ! To them come phantoms bright, Lighting with alien torch the darkened brain. Alas ! alas ! the melancholy thoughts ! That follow ceaseless as the drops of rain. IN VAIN. Clasp closer arms, press closer lips, In last and vain caressing ! For nevermore that pallid cheek Will crimson 'neath your pressing. For these vain words and vainer tears She waited yester-even ; She waits you now — but in the far Resplendent halls of heaven. With patient eyes fixed on the door, She waited, hoping ever, Till Death's dark wall rose cold between Her gaze and you forever. She heard your footsteps in the breeze, And in the wild bee's humming : The last breath that she shaped to words Said softly, " Is he coming?" Now silenced lies the gentlest heart That ever sod did cover; (3o) IN VAIN Safe — never to be wrung again By you, O fickle lover ! Your wrongs to her knew never end Till earth's last bonds were riven ; Your memory rose cold between Her parting soul and heaven. Now vain your false and tardy grief; Vain your remorseful weeping ; For she, whom only you deceived, Lies hushed in dreamless sleeping. Go — not beside that peaceful form Should lying words be spoken ! Go, pray to God, "Be merciful As she whose heart I've broken 1" 3 1 TO R. M. H. I enter sadly in That best-lov'd spot Where thou wert wont to be, Where thou art not. Thy step upon the floor Has scarcely died ; The echo of thy voice Has just replied. Yet all around looks sad, Deserted, drear, And plainer says than words, Thou art not here ! From yonder wall looks down Thy pictured face, With something of thy smile And of thy grace. Yet though there shine thine eyes, There bends thy brow, I cannot cheat my heart ; It is not thou ! (32) TO R. M. H. For when have eyes of thine Their calm watch kept, Nor ever lost their smile The while I wept ? Come back, O love of mine ! Come back again ! Chase from my heart this wild And yearning pain. Bring back Love's golden light To Life's drear skies; Banish the bitter tears From these sad eyes. Here in one prayer I pour — Alas, in vain ! — My heart's wild thirst for thee; Come back again ! * * * * think of me, darling, As I think of you, All the long day, love, And all the night through. 1 slumber to dream of thee ; Wake but to weep. I never forget thee, Not even in sleep. 4 33 34 TO R. M. H. God keep thee, my darling ! God guard thee, mine own ! As now thou dost wander Afar and alone. If loving could shield thee, Or prayers could avail, No grief should come near thee, No peril assail. 'Tis a week since the moment That saw thee depart; A week by my counting, A year by my heart. That heart holds one sorrow ; With one hope doth burn : That grief is thine absence ; That hope — thy return. ICH HABE GELIEBET. Yes, I have loved thee, and how well and madly, Thou, cold of heart, shall never, never know ! I will not feed thy vanity by telling How bitterly the tears of manhood flow ! Yes, I have loved thee with the deep devotion A woman wins but once, and nevermore ; Let once Love's bark be wrecked upon Life's waters, There comes no second to the self-same shore. I have wasted Love's celestial incense Before thy shrine, thou idol wrought of clay ! Have poured my heart's whole wealth upon thine altar, And now I turn in loathing scorn away. Yes, I have wakened from my charmed dreaming To yield me to thy witchery no more. 1 would not sorrow could I but respect thee ; But I despise where late I did adore. I gather up my heart's poor shattered fragments (That heart thou'st broken, but mayst not retain), (35) 2$ ICH HA BE GE LIE BET. And forth into the world I bend my footsteps, Never, I trust, to see thy face again. I ask no vengeance from the avenging Future. Cold heart and shallow brain, go free, go free ! I do not ask thee, in thy joyous hours, To blight thy gayety with thoughts of me ! Unbidden comes the day of retribution; Surely, though late, its sun shall o'er thee shine, When thou, with" worn-out grace and faded beauty, Would sell thy very soul for love like mine. And if the spirits of the ancient Sibyl My lip and soul to prophecy had mov'd, I could for thee foretell a doom no darker Than that which shall be thine — to live unloved. And when the rose hue from thy cheek has faded, The gloss departed from thy golden hair ; When e'en thy fondest flatterer — thy mirror, Bids thee confess thou art no longer fair; When the bright dreams of youth have left thee wholly, And thou, to muse upon the Past, art free ; When friend and flatterer alike desert thee, Then is mine hour. Yes, then remember me ! Remember me ! for I have loved thee truly, And would have loved thee to life's latest hour; ICH HA BE GE LIE BET, 37 I would have strewn thy earthly path with roses (Mine all the thorns, so thou hadst but the flower). Yes, I have loved thee — take this last confession From one whose heart from aught save scorn is free, Who deems thee now too pitiful for hatred : I shall forget ! but thou — remember me ! 4* IN MEMORY OF H. A. C. O autumn days of solemn light, And sunsets soft and tender ! A shadow on your glory rests, A darkness on your splendor J For, 'neath your golden gleaming skies He lies in dreamless sleeping, Whose praise we fain would speak to-day, Yet cannot speak for weeping. Alas ! the poet's skill is vain ! Our feeble voices falter As we approach with mournful hearts Death's consecrated altar. There's better praise than rhymed dirge, In mournful measure vying — The tears that rain above the turf 'Neath which our lost is lying. O deeply loved and early doomed ! O young, unconscious teacher ! (38) IN MEMOR Y OF H. A. C. By thy pure life and hero death How eloquent a preacher ! Vain were your countless gifts, O Earth ! To teach his heart repining When on his fading life he saw The dawn of Heaven shining. Unstained, he rendered up to God His life's unopened blossom ; Temptation's many-pointed darts Fell pointless from his bosom. All gifts this world of ours hath To his young life were given, Till God on that pure heart bestowed His last, best blessing — Heaven. Take him, O Earth ! No nobler heart Lies cold within thy grasping. Take him, O Heaven ! Never soul More stainless sought thy clasping Than his, who, when life's light grew dim And death's dark shades were falling, Had messages for countless friends, No enemies recalling. O Mother ! bowed beneath this grief, The first your boy e'er gave you, 39 40 IN MEMORY OF H. A. C. Vain is your tearful sympathy From one wild pang to save you ! Look up to God. His hand one day That loved one shall restore you, Whose dying words were, "It is best That I should die before you. ' ' TOO LATE. Two hours a mother, one year a wife, She lies in the trance of departing life. Her husband, beside her dying-bed, In bitterest anguish bows his head. "Accurs'd," he mutters, "the fate that sold A lordly name for a woman's gold ; "That gave her hand where her heart was not, And darkened forever her wedded lot ! "Yet, though you have loved me not, my wife, I loved you ever, and more than life." The dying heard, and the fleeting breath Returned ; for Love was as strong as Death. Over her cheek stole a tinge of red ; Straight she arose in her dying-bed ! (4i) 42 TOO LATE. " Husband !" she cries, "let us bless the fate That tells us the truth, though late, so late ! "I thought that I was an unlov'd bride, Wedded for wealth and sold to pride. "Yet (closer, O husband, bend your brow !) I lov'd you long, and I love you now I" She hides on his heart her paling face ; He folds her close in a long embrace. Slowly he lays her from off his breast Back to her long and her dreamless rest. He bends and kisses the placid brow, Whiter than marble and cold as snow. He whispers low, ' ' The kiss now given Return to me when we meet in heaven ! ' ' Alas ! the secret of many a fate These two words tell, "Too late, too late I" LEONORA D'ESTE. I have stolen from the revel, forth to silence and the night, From the palace of Ferrara and its hall of festal light. I must . smile beneath the lustres \ I can weep beneath the stars — Stars which haply thou art watching through thy dun- geon's iron bars. Dost thou think of me, O Tasso, pent within those stifling walls, As thy mem'ry haunts me ever in these gay and gilded halls ? I can summon but one phantom from the chambers of my brain : 1 Mid the festal music ever sounds the clanking of thy chain. As the dancers weave their measures, lo, the palace fades away, And I see a narrow dungeon shut from e'en the light of day; (43) 44 LEONORA D'ESTg. And beside the lowly pallet, pale, with silver-sprinkled hair, Bends the form I knew so noble, bends the brow I thought so fair. Gone the mien erect and princely; gone the glance so high and brave ! Tasso, Tasso, do not curse me; I was powerless to save ! Alfonso ! cruel brother, deaf to every human prayer, Wouldst thou grant but one petition, hear me once in my despair ! Wouldst thou promise but to free him when this life of mine were done, He should walk this earth in freedom ere arose to- morrow's sun. 1 must trust thee to the Future. Time, who still avenges all, Very surely shall avenge thee, and on me his wrath will fall. Future generations, bending o'er thy grand majestic song, Shall amid their praise find curses for the workers of thy wrong. They will curse the fatal beauty that has wrought thee so much woe ; And my life-long love and sorrow none will ever heed or know. LEONORA D'ESTE. 45 Ay, the steps of future ages shall thy cell seek as a shrine ! Generations will lament thee. Who will reck these tears of mine ? Not e'en thou, O lov'd so vainly ! thou wilt deem thy- self forgot ! Thou wilt think my love has withered in the sunshine of my lot. Would that thou couldst but behold me when my tears fall down like rain ! When I cry aloud to Heaven in mine agony in vain. Or, couldst see me at the altar, when I bend my knee in prayer — " Save him, God !*' the voiceless accents of my anguish and despair. God is deaf, and man is cruel ; there are none to hear or save. Thou wilt only leave thy prison through the portals of the grave ; And perchance in yonder heaven we will meet, and I shall tell How I loved thee, Unforgotten, loved thee ever, and how well ! And they say that I am dying ! Death comes not to such as I : Life is strong in wretched bosoms; 'tis the blest alone that die. 5 46 LEONORA D'ESTE. Roses fade and fall forever in the summer's sunny air; Withered leaves defy the tempest as they cling to branches bare. Hark ! the music rings exultant, pealing forth a gayer strain ! I must back into the revel ; I must wear the mask again. Smile, O lips, and hide the anguish ye may never dare to speak. Shine, O eyes, and, like my jewels, flash the while my heart doth break. Flush, O cheek, to deeper roses ; let me bravely act the lie; Let me smile, and jest, and revel, till God hears me, and I die. ON AN OLD PORTRAIT. Eyes that outsmiled the morn, Behind your golden lashes, What are your fires now ? Ashes ! Cheeks that outblushed the rose, White arms and snowy bust, What is your beauty now ? Dust! (47) JEALOUSY. I stand beside the silent couch Whence Hope, and Life, and Love have fled ; The wild voice of the wintry wind Alone doth break the silence dread. It will not wake you, O my wife ! Never on earth you'll wake again. Those close-shut lids are done with tears ; That frozen brow is done with pain. Never again my jealous fears Will wake your cold and scornful smile ; Never again I'll wring your heart, Breaking my own the bitter while. Yet, even now, the while I gaze Upon your silent, frozen rest, The olden fears, the olden doubts, Return anew to wring my breast. You loved me not, O bitter truth ! Though known too late, yet learned too well. And did you love another ? Lo ! The dead the long-hid secret tell ! (48) JEALOUSY. 49 Your desk before me shattered lies, And now I hold with frenzied clasp Those hidden letters, treasured long ; Your secret is within my grasp. Now I shall know if you were pure As yonder snow before it fell ; Or fouler than the pitchy smoke That reeks from out the depths of hell ! My hand is on the folded page Wherein your life-long secret lies ; And yet I pause before I slay The Past and all its memories ! O loved one ! loved so long and well ! It may be in an instant more That I shall loathe thee with a hate Surpassing e'en my love of yore. And I, perchance, to-morrow morn Will stand beside the churchyard sod, With shame and curses in my heart : — Never, never — so help me God ! The embers glow upon the hearth ; I give into their red embrace Your treasured letters folded still, Pale ashes now their only trace ; 5* 5 o JEALOUSY. And may this act atone, O love ! For all my jealous doubts and fears, That darkened so with misery Our wedded life these long sad years. I trust you now, alas ! too late ! Rest, with this last kiss on your brow ; If you have sinn'd, God knows, not I ! To me for aye you're spotless now. THE LAST KISS. Kiss me, darling — I am weary ; Life was long and earth was dreary. I am sick of care and pain ; Kiss me once, and not again. Life, thou'rt fading from my heart ! Love, wilt thou, too, so depart ? Perish Life if Love remain ! Kiss me once, and not again. Other lips outside the door Wait thee warm as mine of yore ; Mine are cold with death and pain ; Kiss me once, and not again. False the love, and false the kiss ; False e'en in an hour like this ! False, but all too late to pain ; Kiss me once, and not again. (50 52 THE LAST KISS. So — now go and close the door; I shall never see thee more ; When I'm done with life and pain Come and kiss me once again. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. Dawn is shining o'er the waters Where a gilded galley lies ; And a baby's sinless laughter Floats like incense to the skies. And the perfumed breeze is laden With the sounds of childish glee : We are drifting, we are drifting Ever downward to the sea. It is morning on the waters, And the skies shine bright above ; And our lips are tuned to gladness, And we sing of life and love. ' ' Every wave on life's dark waters Holds an image, love, of thee ! ' ' So we sing the while we're drifting Ever downward to the sea. It is noon upon the waters, And we stand erect and strong, (53) 54 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. And the rocky banks re-echo To the burden of our song : "Life's a struggle, life's a battle, And its warriors are we." So we sing the while we're drifting Ever downward to the sea. It is evening on the waters, And our song has died away. We are weary of the sunlight ; We are weary of the day. " Give us rest, and give us mem'ry ! Life, we crave no more from thee ! ' ' We are drifting, we are drifting Ever downward to'the sea. It is night upon the waters, And the gilded bark is gone ; And the moonlight's veil of silver Lies upon the waves alone. Round the river's mouth the ocean Moans in mournful melody ; We have drifted, we have drifted Downward, downward to the sea. A WINTER TALE. Under the stars' pale light, Upon a winter's night, Two women sat beneath an ancient yew. Both marvelously fair ; One with dark eyes and hair, The other golden-tress' d, with eyes of blue. Each told a bitter tale, Sad as a dying wail, Of woman's faith and of man's faithlessness. Each thrill' d the winter air With words of wild despair, And with the accents of heart-wrung distress. One to the other said : " Now Love and Hope are dead ; The ashes of the Past our Future smother ; Yet let us once again Back to the haunts of men : Let us return — let us avenge each other !" (55) 5 6 A WINTER TALE. One year has pass'd and two : Again beneath the yew The silent stars behold those women fair. Each with cold lips and pale Again repeats her tale. Triumphant words, not sad, now thrill the air. One told of what she'd done, Of love spurn' d soon as won ; Of death self-dealt while manhood's pulse beat high. The other, with a smile That never changed the while, Said, " He who wronged you lives and longs to die !" Such laughter then arose As Hell, not Heaven, knows, Wild exultation with fierce hatred blended. Into the darkness then They passed from human ken, Whither I know not. Lo, my tale is ended ! FAUST TO MARGUERITE. Wild visions, born of mem'ry and remorse, Recall thy ruined beauty, Marguerite ! And I behold thee still before me glide Pale as the vision of Walpurgis night ! And once again I see the wild sad eyes Whose last gaze turned from me to seek the skies, Marguerite ! And then the vision changes. I behold Thee pure and fair as when I saw thee first, Ere yet the fiend and I had stay'd thy steps, And thrilled thy heart with words and looks accursed, Alas ! the sweet mouth I shall kiss no more, The golden hair that swept the prison floor, Marguerite ! Again the dream doth change. I see again The wondrous vision of the witches' cave ; When fiendish art called up thy gentle form And to my dazzled eyes thy beauty gave, 6 (57) s 8 FAUST TO MARGUERITE. And then I wake to know thou art no more ; That peace and hope and love for me are o'er, Marguerite ! And thou didst love me — yes, the last on earth, For mortal love shall nevermore be mine. What have I left me now ? Remorse, despair — The fiend's companionship instead of thine. My past all sin ; my present — misery ; Hell for my future. Woe, ah, woe is me ! Marguerite ! There's blood upon my hands; it does not weigh So heavy upon my soul as thine undoing. His sword met mine — his rage aroused my wrath ! What hadst thou done that I should work thy ruin? No compact 'twixt us did the demon need; My soul was lost by that one unblest deed, Marguerite ! And even Death will re-unite us not. That last hope sad hearts cherish is not mine. The awful gulf that never may be cross' d Will separate for aye my soul from thine. Yet one blest thought amid despair doth live : If Heav'n will not, thou wilt, I know, forgive, Marguerite ! FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 59 One other ray of light illumes my lot, One dream of mercy on my heart is graved — The mem'ry of that strange mysterious voice, Heard in the last dread moment, i ' She is saved ! ' ' Yes, I can bear my fate, whate'er it be; Let hell be mine, if heav'n has place for thee, Marguerite ! Pray for me, Marguerite ! I am so lost And so accurs'd my lips are locked from prayer. Canst thou not give me back to hope and Heav'n, Me, who but gave thee ruin and despair ? In yonder sky, where thou dost wander free, Ask God if there be mercy still for me, Marguerite ! THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET " There was a king in Thule, Faithful e'en to the grave ; To whom his lov'd one dying A golden goblet gave !** — Goethe. Yes, I am dying, O my king, my husband ! The life thou'st blest is fading from my heart ; And one last gift my dying hand would proffer Ere I from happiness and thee depart ! No saintly relic that thou mayst, when kneeling At holy shrine, unto thy reft heart press ; No fond love-token to thy sad gaze sacred Amid thine hours of mournful loneliness. Nor yet a sword, to flash protecting lightning Above thee when thy war-shout rends the air. When death and danger, O belov'd, are near thee Dost thou not think that I too will be there ? And when thou'rt kneeling at some holy altar, My memory, I know, will with thee dwell ; (60) THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET. 61 And, 'mid the silence of thy lonely chamber, Thou wilt remember me, alas ! too well. But when the revel reigneth in the palace, When flames the torch and flows the wine-cup free, Thou mayst forget me ! E'en amid thy feasting, O love ! I still would have thee think of me ! Behold my gift — this golden-jewel'd goblet ! Let it be sacred to thy lips alone ! Drain it at every feast; and while thou'rt drinking, Remember me ! thy loved, thy lost, thine own ! When comes the moment of our re-uniting, When on th' unknown shore I wait for thee, And when in dying one last draught thou cravest, Drink from this goblet then, and drink to me ! 6* ON A PORTRAIT OF HEINE. Behold ! the limner's magic art In few yet wondrous lines doth tell How beautiful, how sad, how sweet The face of him who sang so well ! The Poet, not the Infidel, Looks from those features calm and fair ! No skeptic sneer their beauty mars, For Death is near and Thought is there. Thus thou didst look — thus hadst thou sung, What immortality were thine ! We ne'er had prayed then, "God forgive, And World forget, each mocking line ! ' ' Forgive, O God — forget, O World, What blasphemy he could create ! Let but that sweet sad face recall How sweet his song, how sad his fate ! (62) THE KING'S RIDE. Above the city of Berlin Shines soft the summer day, And near the royal palace shout The schoolboys at their play. Sudden the mighty palace gates Unclasp their portals wide, And forth into the sunshine see A single horseman ride. A bent old man in plain attire ; No glitt'ring courtiers wait, No armed guard attends the steps Of Frederick the Great ! The boys have spied him, and with shouts The summer breezes ring. The merry urchins haste to greet Their well-beloved king. (63) 64 THE KING'S RIDE. Impeding e'en his horse's tread, Presses the joyous train ; And Prussia's despot frowns his best, And shakes his stick in vain. The frowning look, the angry tone, Are feigned, full well they know. They do not fear his stick — that hand Ne'er struck a coward blow. "Be off to school, you boys!" he cries. " Ho ! ho ! " the laughers say, "A pretty king you not to know We've holiday to-day!" And so upon that summer day, Those children at his side, The symbol of his nation's love, Did royal Frederick ride. O Kings! your thrones are tott'ring now! Dark frowns the brow of Fate ! When did you ride as rode that day King Frederick the Great ? AN OLD STORY. I held her on her wedding-day Close folded to my breast, And kisses such as mothers give, Upon her brow I pressed. Fond were the words I whispered low, Love lent the tears I shed ; I loosed her from that loving clasp, Nor knew my friend was dead. Dead — dead to me ! She comes no more To lay her cheek to mine, And whisper softly, " Friend beloved, Let half my joys be thine." No more above my yearning heart Shall all her tears be shed ; Well have I loved and sadly lost — The friend I loved is dead ! One seeks me now who wears her form — The acquaintance of a day ; (65) 66 AN OLD STORY. In idle speech and careless mirth Her visits pass away. We talk of operas and balls, And what the world has said — Back to my heart I press the cry, "My friend — my friend is dead !" Lo, I shall greet mine other dead In the eternal skies, But this lost love I shall regain Not e'en in Paradise. From the bright gates an echo comes Of words my soul hath said, "E'en here, where Death dwells not, to thee The friend thou lov'dst is dead." So in the haunts of Memory A sacred grave I keep ; I only know what moulders there, I only o'er it weep. O'er it my eyes have shed sad tears, O'er it my heart has bled: O worse than death is death in life — The friend I loved is dead ! AT THE BAL MABILLE. I waited near the Bal Mabille, Beside the open door, I fain would see the face that I Shall living see no more. Outside, the silent night and I ; Inside, the joyous din : Alas ! that Love should weep without, And Sin should laugh within. You passed me in the lamp-lit street, With flowers in your hair, And diamonds upon your breast, So beautiful — so bare. Your dress of rosy moire silk Swept round me as you passed : You'll find a stain upon its folds — It was a tear — my last. (67) 68 AT THE BAL MABILLE. I scarcely knew the face I loved A few brief months ago, For there was paint upon your cheek, A brand upon your brow. Now I shall never seek you more, Whate'er your fate may be. I go to wait, where soon or late You'll surely come to me. Though months and years may pass away Before we meet again, You will not fail to keep this tryst Beside the river Seine. Dim then will be those shameless eyes, Those mocking lips be dumb ; For I am keeper of La Morgue : I wait there till you come. You will not come with painted cheeks, In flowers, gems, and moire. Good-night, O woman that I loved ; Good-night, and au revoir. GARDEN AND BALCONY. LOVER. I have scaled the outer wall, I have passed the secret gate, Yonder shines the signal lamp, There my love waits HUSBAND. No, my hate ! LOVER. Stars, my dim and kindly guides, Through the darkness of the night, Veil your tell-tale brightness now HUSBAND. Look your last upon their light ! 7 (69) 7° GARDEN AND BALCONY. LOVER. Roses round her lattice twined Wooing me with scented breath, Hid behind your perfumed shade, Love awaits me HUSBAND. No, 'tis Death ! GRETCHEN. I sat beside the river, My baby on my knee ; The waters rushed, the waters roared, Woe is me ! I looked upon my baby, And shame looked up at me. The night was dark, the stream was deep, Woe is me ! I sat beside the river, No baby on my knee ; The waters rushed, the waters roared, Woe is me ! A cry came from the river, There were no stars to see. I turned and fled and ne'er looked back, Woe is me ! (70 72 GRETCHEN. And now my fame is spotless, Men call me fair to see. I would the river were my grave, Woe is me ! ELSINORE A REMINISCENCE OF BOOTH'S HAMLET. We sit in breathless silence, A spell-bound throng around, Art's magic seals our senses From meaner sight and sound ; And though we sit, unmoving, The mimic scene before, Our souls o'erleap the footlights And dwell in Elsinore. O wondrous this enchantment, That gives th' Ideal life, That wins us from the Real, Its cares, its toils, its strife ! Time's ocean, slowly ebbing, Leaves jewel-strewn the shore, Gives back to light the glories Of Shakspeare's Elsinore. 7* (73) 74 ELSINORE. And, lo ! the Prince of Denmark Now meets our gaze the while, With eyes whose saddest glances Are gladder than their smile, — Sublime in mournful beauty, As when he trod of yore, In majesty and mourning, The halls of Elsinore. O rare and royal vision, That bids our eyes rejoice ! The soul of Shakspeare's shaping Hath found a form and voice. And we, beholding, murmur, ' ' Such was the guise he wore, Who deathless lives in Shakspeare, Who died at Elsinore." O manhood worn and wasted By anguish and despair ! O words whose mournful music Make sweet the haunted air ! We seem the painted phantoms, This th' unreal shore, And there, beyond the footlights, The true world, — Elsinore. ELSINORE. The rest, " the rest is silence." The curtain's downward fall, A fair Art-vision given To Mem'ry, — that is all. And we, uprising, whisper, "Dull Life, to thee once more We come, from charmed dwelling In Shakspeare's Elsinore." 75 WASTED LOVE. The woman that I loved goes by With glowing cheek and gleaming eye ; Her brow by grief or care uncross' d, She knew not love, nor knows remorse ; The while I watch beside a corse, The love that I have lost. Not e'en by Friendship's fondest word May this cold dust be ever stirred. Away ! my path must not be crossed. Where now with weary step I tread, Keeping my watch beside my dead, The love that I have lost. And could ye, friends, a moment peer Beneath the pall that hides this bier, What would ye see who loved me most ? Naught save my trust in womanhood, My faith in all that's pure and good — The love that I have lost. (76) WASTED LOVE. 77 And here some letters, — half a score, — A portrait, mine once, mine no more ; For deeper lines my brow have crossed ; A lock of hair, — but mine to-day To match its jet is all too gray — O love that I have lost ! And here, from out a letter's fold, There drops a ring of rayless gold, By quaintly graven letters cross' d : " Pensez a moi" the legend shines. You could not guard, O mocking lines ! The love that I have lost. serpent soul and heart of stone ! Think not for thee I make my moan, Thou, cold and blighting as the frost : 1 mourn the faith, I mourn the trust, That 'neath thy false breath shrank to dust — The love that I have lost. In losing thee I have been blest : What were my lot had I possessed The wealth to pay thy soul's full cost? The mask had fallen soon or late ; Nay, better far than such a fate, To lose as I have lost. 78 WASTED LOVE. But come not here, O friends, to raise, With kindly words and well-meant phrase, The mocking Past's triumphant ghost ! Nay, deeper than the soundless sea I would the sepulcher might be Of the love that I have lost. GENESIS, CHAPTER V. I had a vision in the midnight hour : The long departed ones of Earth stood at my side. And from their pallid lips sad accents came, "We died— we died!" First spoke a regal shape, whose dim pale brow Still wore majestic its imperial pride : " I gathered crowns as children gather flow'rs, And lo— I died!" And then another spoke : "A poet I, I sang — the Future's echoing halls replied. I dreamed of Immortality, and lo, I waked and died ! ' ' Then spoke another : " Golden was my dream. Wealth poured around me in resplendent tide ; I wooed and won the world with glittering gifts, And then I died." (79) 80 GENESIS, CHAPTER V. And still another : " I was loved, I loved. I launched Life's bark on Love's enchanted tide; Heav'n smiled upon me from a woman's eyes, — Alas! I died." And then another : " Round my mould 'ring brow Still cling the roses withered in their pride ; I grasped bright Pleasure's cup, but ere 'twas drained I died— I died!" And then the vision vanished. Through the night The passing wind like one bereaved sighed, And distant voices, far and fading, moaned, "We died— we died!" MY DESTINY. With yearning heart I wait Without the golden gate That leads into the realms of Poesy ; Wide lie the lands and fair • Beneath th' enchanted air : Alas ! there is no entrance there for me. Not at my touch unfold The mystic gates of gold, Yet through their jeweled bars strange splendors glow Without are care and strife ; Within, the fairer life, And bay-crowned forms pass singing as they go. Some sing, and Joy appears More glad for what she hears ; From others' song Grief learns a sadder moan. Some go in strange rapt guise With gaze that seeks the skies ; Some seek the crowd, and others sit alone. 8 (81) 82 MY DESTINY. wondrous realm and Jair ! There Dante dwells, and there Goethe and Schiller wander hand in hand ; There Milton's sightless eyes Unsealed behold the skies — There Shakspeare reign the monarch of the land. There exiled Hugo's heart Forgets in song its smart, And shapes new glories from its endless pain ; There Tongfellow's pure line Learns cadences divine, And fair dead Browning lives and sings again. But I — in vain I knock, 1 cannot ope the lock ; Hopeless I stand and hopelessly I wait : Yet many ne'er behold That mystic gate of gold ; How blest am I to stand without the gate ! Although I ne'er may win The right to enter in To thy bright kingdom, Immortality ! Yet to my raptured eyes Are giv'n its shining skies, The light, the loveliness of Poesy. MY DESTINY. To me, to me belong The singers and the song, The wondrous visions from the fair Past sent ; And though I ne'er may stand Within th' enchanted land, Mine eyes behold it, and I am content. 83 ADAM LUX. I saw the tumbril slowly pass ; You stood there, beautiful, unmoved, Calm in the presence of your doom. I looked upon you and I loved. The waiting guillotine rose dark Against the lurid morning sky ; I saw the axe fall — yet I lived, I lived, O love ! for you to die. I saw the headsman's dastard stroke Flush into red your pallid cheek ; That cheek my lips have longed to press With a wild thirst they ne'er could speak. I fled to ask your hand of Death ; "Greater than Brutus !" was my cry; And now I sit here calmly blest, For you are dead and I shall die. (84) ADAM LUX. 85 To-morrow I shall cross the dark, Mysterious gulf that 'twixt us lies, And I shall greet you with the light Of love undying in my eyes. Yes we shall meet. Though men have said There is no world beyond the skies, — That angels, heaven, God himself, Are but the birth of priestly lies. There is a heaven. I have seen Its radiance upon your brow, And somewhere, o'er its sapphire floors, Your spirit treads in glory now. eyes, whose glance ne'er fell on me ! O lips, whose kiss I never knew ! Shall glance and kiss at last be mine In yon far world beyond the blue? 1 trust in God. This hour supreme Brings back the olden faith and trust In Him, the God my childhood knew, The loving, merciful, and just. 8* S6 ADAM LUX. Pass quickly, night, and bring the morn That comes to set my spirit free ; Somewhere the other side of Death Charlotte Corday now waits for me ! AFTER THE WAR. Fear thou not reproach or blame, All our love is at an end ; Yes, your lover died to-day, When I saw you shrink away : Here remaineth but a friend. I have only one arm left, Not enough to hold you fast ; Deeply, too, my brow is scarred, And my cheek was sadly marred By the shot that through it passed. I would shame your parlor, dear, With this marred and mournful brow, And this coat, with empty sleeve. I could scarcely, I believe, Dance with grace the " German' ' now. I am but a useless wreck. Once a hope before me beamed (*7) 88 AFTER THE WAR. Of a meeting — not like this — the clasp and O the kiss That I dreamed of — only dreamed ! Take my hand, but speak no word, Let the silence round us flow. We shall never meet again, In the sunshine or the rain, All is over — let us go. AFTER THE BALL. I sit beside the midnight fire, The ball-room roses in my hair ; Without, the snow is falling fast, And strange storm-voices fill the air. My feet are weary of the dance ; The revel whirls within my brain ; And something deep within my breast Throbs with a ceaseless pulse of pain. Yes, I have plucked the Dead Sea fruit, And savored long its rind of gold ; Its ashy core now frets my lip, Its dust is falling from my hold. And though I struggle to forget, And though my heart be triply steeled, I cannot banish from my brain A vision of a battle-field. A vision of the solemn hour When won and ended is the fight, (89) 9° AFTER THE BALL. And when upon the awful scene Look down the tender eyes of night ; While, pillowed on his prostrate horse, And pale beneath his raven hair, The old smile new upon his lip, The man I loved lies lifeless there. He loved me as such men can love, The brave, the noble, and the true ; He wooed me as a gallant heart And poet soul alone could woo. He told in burning words his love, — I listened with a startled smile, — And spoke of "friendship" and "regret," And yet I loved him all the while. I loved him, but I loved still more Gay balls, flirtations, stylish dress. To hold these fast I spurned away That true heart's wealth of tenderness. He left me with a calm farewell, — Too fond to frown- — too proud to sigh. I danced and flirted as of old, And he went forth to fight and die. And still I tread the self-same round Of balls and operas and dress ; AFTER THE BALL. But o'er my life is creeping slow A mistlike pall of weariness. The gayest galop fails to stir To bounding life my languid feet ; I listless drop my rich bouquet, My senses sickened by its sweet. Cold lie the embers on the hearth, The dark without is growing gray, And I must woo reluctant sleep Before the dawning of the day. Back, ghostly Past, into your tomb ! Close, eyes, upon th' unwelcome light ! I am engaged for every dance At the grand ball to-morrow night. 9 1 OPHELIA. AFTER THE PLAY. She sits within her palace chamber lone, With tear-dimmed eyes and heavy-drooping head. The wasting torches in the night blast flare, The dying embers burn with lurid red, The wind-swept arras waves upon the wall, Without, the world lies 'neath a snowy pall, And the cold moon shines on the frozen stream. Her sad gaze seeks the snow-crowned battlements, But sees no light from spectral armor gleam ; Not unto her pure sight Is giv'n that awful vision of the night. Her rosary has fallen from her hand And lies a heap of pearls upon the floor ; She sees as in a dream Prince Hamlet stand Before her, and her pale lips murmur o'er Those blighting words, " I never loved you. Go ! Get thee into a nunnery. M (92) OPHELIA. 93 She whispers low, "Alas ! yet I believed He loved me once. I was the more deceived.' ' But, lo ! strange sounds burst on the silent night. With sudden cries the startled echoes ring The clang of steel upon a stony wall, A shriek, a heavy fall, A frenzied cry of "Is 't the king?" Then all is silence, and the solemn moon Shines on, nor veils her light. But pale Ophelia, in vague affright, Creeps startled to her couch, nor ends her prayers ; And kindly slumber kisses off her tears, And for a season ends her woes and cares. Sleep on ! for thou shalt never know A slumber sweet as this again ; For thou shalt wake to-morrow morn To weep Polonius slain. Thy father dead, thy lover mad, What hope is left thee on the earth? Lo ! thou shalt never smile again Till Madness lend thee fearful mirth. Thou gentle child ! thus doomed to know A woman's loving and despair, 9 94 OPHELIA. Alas ! that others' sin should work The woe of one so pure and fair. A tender violet that blooms Where Alpine avalanches sweep, A pearly shell on rocky shore When tempests smite the frenzied deep, The fledgling of a Tropic nest When wild tornadoes desolate : Such are the symbols of thy doom, And such the emblems of thy fate. Sleep on ! nor dream of that cold wave Whose kiss shall soothe thy frenzied brain ; Dream not of princely Hamlet's doom, Nor of thy loved Laertes slain. Sleep on, till morning flush with red The cold gray of the eastern sky, Then wake — to weep above thy dead — To madden — and to die ! NEMESIS. Come and let me look upon your face, Azure eyes, bright hair, and brow of snow ; For your beauty I have sold my soul. Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. I had friends once, faithful, tried, and true, Friends who loved me in the long ago ; Now unrecognized I pass them by. Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. Once Ambition lured me, and I saw Fame's bright guerdons in the future glow ; 'Neath your smile the bays ungathered died. Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. Then my country claimed me, and my heart Answered to the battle-call, " I go !" 'Twas your snowy arms that held me back. Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. (95) 9 6 NEMESIS. Once I had a vision of a home And a fond wife spotless as the snow ; I have you now, and the scorn of men. Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. Ne'er for me shall Honor weave her wreath, Ne'er for me a happy hearth shall glow; Mine are sin and shame, and you, dear, you. Were you worth it, love ? Alas> I know ! THE PROTESTANT WIND. 1688. Come hither, hither, daughter mine ! And close the casement fast, With thankful hearts and joyful hopes We listen to the blast. The days of watching and of woe Are past, and Fear has ceased ; The vanes on all the steeples veer, The wind is in the east ! The Liberator's prows to-day Cleave swift the foaming sea, His sails are swelling with the wind Heav'n sent to set us free. The Smithfleld fires shall never blaze Again, for prince or priest, For God and Freedom walk the wave, The wind is in the east ! In Whitehall sits our tyrant king And marks the clouds flit past, 9* ( 97 ) 98 THE PROTESTANT WIND. He trembles at the veering vanes, And cowers 'neath the blast. Pray, bigot, to your graven gods, Kneel to each shaven priest. Have they no power o'er the winds? The wind is in the east I My father fell on Naseby field, 'Neath Cromwell's smile he died, His Bible folded to his breast, His good sword at his side. I would that he had lived to learn This day's bright hope at least, To cry, "God save the King who comes!" The wind is in the east ! Nay, put aside the flagon, child, I'll drain no cup to-day, But bring my father's Bible here, And let us kneel and pray For him who comes to rid our land Of tyrant and of priest. God's breath is on the stormy deep, — The wind is in the east ! TO LONGFELLOW. The seal of Earth was on our lips, Our silence was unbroken, The words our hearts could never find, Thy poet voice hath spoken. No summer breeze, no sudden blast, From Winter's clarion ringing, But bears some perfume of thy soul, Some echo of thy singing. A starless twilight wraps the earth, The autumn winds are sighing, A mistlike veil of mournful thought On heart and lip is lying. It is not sorrow that we feel, This mood so far from gladness, From thee we learned the words that tell The secret of our sadness. Above us glows the ruby light Of wintry day's declining, (99) ioo TO LONGFELLOW, On snow-crowned hill and snow-wreathed spire We mark its splendors shining. Like coral reefs, in that Red Sea, The trees stand stark and hoary, And thou, Magician, hast revealed The secret of the glory. We sit beside the dreary hearth With hearts bereft and lonely, Our yearning gaze seeks evermore One chair, the vacant, only. "Let us be patient," sighs thy voice, Heard even 'mid despair. "There is no fireside on this earth But hath one vacant chair." We stand beneath the stars and watch The river in its going, The music of thy song divine Is blended with its flowing. The moon looks brightly from the sky, And broken from the river, The symbol of God's love and Earth's, Forever and forever*. And when our ardent souls aspire To deeds of high endeavor, TO LONGFELLOW. 101 And we would climb the rocky heights Of Fame's sublime Forever, No scoff or sneer, or syren wile, Come, spell or hindrance flinging ; While from the skies serene and far Excelsior ! is ringing. O poet of our hearts and homes, Of song sublime, yet tender ! Long may the sunbeams on thy brow Seek for their kindred splendor. Fame lingered not to spell thy name From tombstones worn and olden, She learned it well, while yet thy locks With boyhood's gloss were golden. MADAME LA DUCHESSE. Through the merry streets of Paris I behold the tum- bril roll ; While I follow it exulting, loud I chant the Carma- gnole. You are standing there, proud woman, though your gaze sinks not beneath, Where I follow, follow singing, as you journey to your death. On your cheek there are no patches, there's no powder on your curls, For your white neck waits a necklace colder far than chain of pearls ; But your calm face keeps its beauty, and your form its haughty mien : You will look, methinks, less stately when you see the guillotine. You were once a noble duchess, and your humble lackey I — Now I think it will amuse me just to see how you will die : (I02) MADAME LA DUCHESSE. IO $ Once I stood behind your carriage as it rolled in state along — Now again your coach I follow, but I come with dance and song. And I loved you, loved you, madam — you, the haughty and the fair : I have knelt to kiss the traces of your foot upon the stair : I have stood beneath your casement in the watches of the night, Praying just to see your shadow pass between me and the light. Once I caught a knot of ribbon that fell loosened from your hair : To the madness of my loving 'twas a treasure past com- pare i For the powder from your tresses marred its splendor and its hue, And I kissed it oft and wildly, for its perfume spoke of you. But one day I brought a letter from some hero of the State— You were jesting with a princess, but you bade me come and wait : io4 MADAME LA DUCHESSE. In your bath you sat reclining, and my dull gaze could behold Swanlike throat and snowy shoulder, and your arms of perfect mould. And the princess bent toward you, saying softly, "Friend, beware! You forget, while you are reading, that yon man still lingers there.' ' Never once you looked toward me : you disdained my face to scan, While your words came slow and scornful, "Do you call that thing a man f ' I was once a man to love you — I am now a fiend to hate: Mine the eyes that watched your hiding — mine the words that sealed your fate ; And you know that your betrayer was your liv'ried slave of yore : I have won your hate and horror — you'll despise me nevermore. Lips that once disdained the breezes that were giv'n for common breath ! Will you lose your scornful smiling 'neath the frozen kiss of Death? MADAME LA DUCHESSE. io5 From the red heights of the scaffold, as my face and form you scan, Think you then, Madame la Duchesse, you may call this Thing a Man ? 10 JOB, CHAP. XVL, VERSE 2. I saw two angels sitting by my dead, One at the feet, the other at the head. One spake : "Lo, I am Resignation : see — Comfort and Peace shall enter in with me. " Drive thou rebellious sorrow from thy breast, And let me enter there a welcome guest. ' ' Then spake the other: "I am Faith, I hold The shining keys of heaven's gate of gold. "Thy loved one liveth still. Weep not so sore, He waits thee where farewells are heard no more." "Hence ! ye vain visitants !" I wildly cried, "Mock not my grief, yon hallowed dust beside ! "Give me again the manly shelt'ring breast, The warm, fond lips on mine so often pressed ; (106) JOB, CHAP. XVI., VERSE 2. 1Q j "Give me the strong, true arm on which I leant, The loving eyes on mine in fondness bent; "Then speak of consolation; but not here, While yon dear clay lies cold upon the bier. "Though we may meet again (ah ! where and how?) Long years of anguish lie 'twixt then and now. "I shall behold him. O thou mocking Fate ! There is a lifetime of despair to wait. "Can grief like mine be slain by empty breath? Give to my dead love life, or give me death ! "No consolation have ye brought to me. Hence ! miserable comforters are ye." A rush of white wings stirred the startled air, And I was left alone with my despair. THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. The storm of grief has long since died away, Hearts ceased to ache, and fruitless tears to flow; Behold the grave, unvisited, undecked, Forgotten ! 'Twas so many years ago. The rank grass waves in unmolested pride, Untrodden now by loving pilgrim feet : The vagrant rosebush, only, on the mound Lays funeral tribute of its blossoms sweet. Over the headstone creeps the hiding moss, Blotting the graven words with fingers slow : The wand' ring vine there hangs unchecked its veil — None seek to read the mournful record now. Who slumbers there ? No answer from the stone : No mourners near give tender sad reply ; The echoes knew the name once ; but the breeze Bears no response upon its passing sigh. (108) THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. I09 This grave once darkened earth for many hearts : Life lost its lustre and the sun its gold ; And woeful weepers wailed, "Console us, Death! Earth holds no consolation." Now, behold! Forgotten ! By the death-bed stands Despair : Then comes a space of agony and weeping; And then the world goes on, the mourners smile, And Joy awakes, although the loved lie sleeping. Ah, loving God! that bring'st Time's healing balm To bruised hearts that else would break with sorrow- That grants soft slumbers to the night of Grief, And sends the splendors of a new to-morrow, — Thou didst not will it so, that we should weep Over dear graves forever and forever : 'Tis Thou that whisperest tenderly, "Some day," When we in anguish cry, "Ah, never! never!" Nor do we all forget, when kindly Time Has bidden us to cease despair and weeping : Sorrow may perish, but within our hearts Love dwells forever — Love, not dead but sleeping. 10* no THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. And the dear dead ! they blame us not to-day For eyes that weep not, lips that learn new smiling ; Yet they forget us not — the perfect love Of heaven knows no changing or beguiling. Beyond the dread gate dwell the loved and lost, Waiting till we, the living, pass the portal, Leaving behind the world's bewilderments, And bearing with us only love immortal. Fair forms shall greet us then, whose eyes will lend New light to quicken Memory's smould'ring ember, And voices long unheard shall cry aloud, "Remember us!" and we shall straight remember. So better thus : the lonely mound, where come The vagrant vines to deck the fading sod, The tear-drops of the rain, the wind's soft sigh, And over all the unforgetting God ! PRINCESS AND PAGE. Spring in France is sunny and fair, Spring's sweet odors enchant the air. Into the Louvre's casement wide Poureth the sunshine's golden tide. Princess Marguerite standeth there, Jeweled daisies amid her hair. She glances down and whispers low, "Who is the page that waits below? "Yon handsome youth with joyous air, With broad white brow and shining hair. ' ' The page looks up — his eager glance Rests on the fairest face in France. Glance answers glance with meaning sweet, Fair page — fair Princess Marguerite. I in) 112 PRINCESS AND PAGE. II. The summer's scented zephyrs glide Into the Louvre's casement wide. Summer's sunshine in golden sheen Glimmers around Queen Catharine. ."What handsome page," she mutters low, "Is he that waiteth now below? "The velvet cap that crowns his curls Is clasped with a daisy wrought of pearls. "Last night he sang an old song sweet, 'Si douce, si douce, est la Marguerite.' "I hear and heed; so have a care, My handsome page — my daughter fair ! ' ' in. The autumn winds chant wild refrain Above the dark and sullen Seine. A pallid moon with spectral light Changes to ghostly day the night. PRINCESS AND PAGE. IT3 Over the river's bosom spread, Widens a stain of fearful red : Out of the depths there rises now A pale dead face with cloven brow, And tangled 'mid the blood-stained curls There gleams a daisy wrought of pearls. LEMIRA. Mine eyes are burning, my heart is aching, With bitter burden of unshed tears, The shadow of Death has sudden fallen Across bright mem'ries of sunny years. Nightly my thanks unto God I uttered For one true friendship that I had won, Now in my anguish I cry, despairing, Who will love me as you have done ? Fourteen years we have loved each other, And never a cloud came over their sun, Never a look, and never a whisper, Never an action I'd have undone. Oh, gentle heart that I loved so dearly ! How bitter to-day were the tears I shed, Could I remember I e'er had spoken One word to you, dear, that I'd wish unsaid, No, I have wounded or wronged you never, Like to your own was the love I gave. (ii4) LEMIRA. U S Now on our long and unclouded friendship Falls the first shadow — 'tis from your grave. Death our affection hath consecrated, Come what chances and change what may, Nothing can change the olden loving, Nothing can steal your heart away. Somewhere, somewhere, I know you love me, Out of hearing and out of sight. Once, by the chances of War divided, We loved and trusted in Fate's despite. And still I trust you. No change has touched you, For you were so near to angelhood, You had but to drop your soul's clay vesture, And there the perfected angel stood. Oh, darling ! darling ! my tears are streaming, They are the first you e'er caused me shed ; Oh for the touch of your loving kisses ! Oh for the sound of fond words you've said ! Still in my anguish, I thank God ever For that dear life that has passed away ; I'd rather have you, O my dead darling! Than a thousand of living friends to day. A PRESENTIMENT. Heart, take thy fill of pleasure ! Hereafter cometh pain. Take now this gift of gladness, 'Twill ne'er be thine again. The springtime and the summer Shall brighten o'er the sea, This vision of their beauty Shall be unseen by thee. The sun in golden splendor Shall flush the waves with light, The moonlight soft and tender Shall glorify the night. The waves with loving murmur Shall kiss the sleeping shore, Where thou shalt stand hereafter Ah, never — never more ! The tender kiss of summer Shall wake the buds to bloom, (116) A PRESENTIMENT. The gentle breath of summer Shall lend the breeze perfume ; But sight, and sound, and sweetness, Upon this fairest shore, Are thine but for a season, And shall be thine no more. I know not whence the mandate, Whose accents strange and deep, In solemn words of warning, Now o'er my spirit sweep. I know not whose the voices, Whose fiat soundeth stern, * ' t Soon cometh thy departure, And never thy return.' ' Look out upon the landscape, And whisper, "It is fair;" Let parted lips and smiling Draw fragrance from the air : Heart, take thy fill of pleasure While summer sunsets burn ; Soon cometh the departing, And never the return. ii ii7 MISERRIMUS. I shaped a fair and stately sepulchre From pallid marble of Pentelicus, And on the door I graved a single word, " Miserrimus. " And then I cried, "Whom shall I bid to rest In this fair tomb, that I have shapen thus? What dead man claims the crown of wretchedness, — Miserrimus ?" I wandered forth amid the midnight graves, I called upon the sleepers to arise, And the long-buried dead came forth, and gazed With dim, unseeing eyes. I asked a youth, upon whose ashen lips The wine-cup stain yet lingered, "Is it thus That those have died who name themselves in death Miserrimus ? M (118) MISERRIMUS. n 9 A sudden tremor shook the shrouded form, And something like to life-breath heaved the breast : "Blest was the death that said, 'Go, sin no more. God loveth us. We rest.' " I passed to where a youthful lover lay, By death divided from his love. "And thus," I cried, " he slumbers who in death is named Miserrimus." And lo ! a voice from out the stony lips Replied, " O mortal, wherefore judge of Fate ? We are but parted for a fleeting space. God loveth us. We wait. ' ' And then I lingered where a hero lay, One of the world's predestined rulers. " He, Who might have won a crown, yet lieth low, Must taste death's misery." Again an answer from the realms of death : "Who plucks the Dead Sea fruit shall never keep. What though the ashes all untasted fell, God loveth me. I sleep." 120 MISERRIMUS. And then I moaned, " Shall I no tenant find For this fair tomb that I have shapen thus ? God giveth His beloved sleep. Where lies Miserrimus? ,, And lo ! an aged man, upon whose brow The life yet lingered, slowly came to me, And said, in broken accents, " Yonder word Befits my misery. " Mine are the days that bring no joy or hope, The grass is green above the lips I pressed ; I have outlived all love and all delight, And have not yet found rest. "Yes, I, the living, well may claim to dwell Behind yon pale slab from Pentelicus. Who hopeth not, nor resteth, thou may'st name Miserrimus. ' ' THE SINGER. " What porridge had John Keats?" — Browning. The revel reigned in kingly halls, The mirth was fast and free ; They called the bard to lend the feast The charm of minstrelsy. He came, and sang of knightly deeds, Of battles lost and won, Of hero deaths and laurel crowns — And still the feast went on. He sang of beauty and of love, Of poet-dreams divine. Some boasted of their steeds and swords, Some praised the purple wine. t The melody unheeded rose, Where jest and laughter rang. Who recked the minstrel or his lay ? Who heard the song he sang ? II* ( 121 ) I2 2 THE SINGER. Ah ! there was one, who sat apart Silent amid the throng, Whose changing cheek and moistened eye Confessed the power of song. And as the music died away In cadence low and sweet, The richest gem that young knight wore Fell at the minstrel's feet. So sings the poet in the mart Where jest and scoff are ringing, Nor knows what sympathizing heart Respondeth to his singing. If one amid the careless crowd Pauses to hear his strain, And better, nobler, turns away, He has not sung in vain. And, though unheeded he may sing And win but sneer and blame, Hereafter at his feet may fall Earth's fairest jewel — Fame. THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. When Time and Sin first trod the virgin world With them I came, a conqueror and king. Abel first did me homage. Since that day Earth is a temple for my worshiping. Each breeze that passes, on its wings doth bear To me the accents of unheeded prayer. Lo ! Christ hath conquered me for those who die ; But who shall conquer me for those who live ? What, to the mourners o'er the dear and dead, Shall hope and peace and sweet contentment give ? When o'er Joy's noontide rolls my rayless night, What voice shall cry aloud, Let there be light ? Thus to the mourner's breaking heart I speak, Mine are the treasures thou didst deem so fair, Pray for my coming an thou wilt ; I heed Never the accents of a human prayer. Do thou implore me, Hear and heed and save ! And I will answer — with an open grave. ( 123) I2 4 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH And I will take the sweetness from thy life, Hereafter savorless because of me ; And I will blot the brightness from the skies, The living lustre from the laughing sea, And on the morning's gold, the sunset's red, Will grave one word to darken heaven — dead ! And thou shalt rise at morn, and only loathe The glowing footsteps of the golden day ; Thou shalt lie down at night, and sleep no more Shall come to kiss thy heavy griefs away ; Or mocking dreams shall haunt thee — dreams so fair That in awakening will lie despair. All other ills of life thou mayst repair : Thou mayst win back lost gold, find cures for pain, And hearts estranged thou mayst lure back to love ; The vanished dreams of youth thou mayst regain, And e'en the stain of Slander's poison-breath Thou mayst efface ! Not so the seal of Death ! No prayer from loving lips can stay my stroke ; I heed no summons from Despair or Hate : I am the one dread certainty of earth, The awful and inexorable fate. I trample every joy of Heaven's giving, And Life itself I make not worth the living. THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. 125 " O Grave, where is thy victory?" Behold ! Wide lies my battle-field and thickly strown. " O Death, where is thy sting?" O breaking hearts ! O pallid lips, that make unceasing moan ! Give ye mine answer till I steal your breath ; For Death alone can heal the wounds of Death. Where are the homes where I have entered not ? Where is the heart that never felt my sting ? The whole wide world is full of graves and tears ; Life is a weeping slave, and Death is king. Till in my grasp melt earth and sky and sea, Mine is the scepter — mine the victory ! A VISION OF THE HOUR. Upon a lofty steep, against whose shores The billows of Eternity were hurled, Two mighty shapes of Empire I beheld, Who claimed to rule the world. One was a splendid, half-barbaric queen, Whose glance majestic sought the Eastern skies : The other, beauteous sovereign, made earth bright With her benignant eyes. And she, the goddess, — grand and seraph-fair, — Spake thus in tones that rang o'er land and sea: "I shape, afar beneath the Western stars, The Empire of the Free. "For love of me, who am so wondrous fair, The nations of the world forsake their lands, And come to claim God's noblest gift since Christ — Liberty — from my hands. (126) A VISION OF THE HOUR. 127 "I break the captive's galling chain : I give The tyrant-trodden and the weary rest : Mine is the realm where guards the Evening Star The sunset-purpled West." Then spake the other proud, imperial shape : "The Crescent yet shall wane beneath my tread: My gaze is fixed where in far Orient skies Flameth the morning's red. "Upon my banner burns the blazoned Cross: The Pagan plagues that curse the Land of Day Beneath the sweep of my imperial robe Shall pass like mists away. "We are the great co-heiresses of Time To that grand heritage, the world to be: Tried friends, fond sisters — what shall part us twain ? Columbia — Muscovy ! "We look not backward to a shadowy Past, Where pallid specters wander and make moan : O sister ! sovereign of the Sunset Land ! The Future is our own ! ' ' 128 A VISION OF THE HOUR. Unto these twain a third queen sudden came, With flashing eyes and wild locks flowing free, Who cried aloud, in clarion-sounding tones, " Room ! — room for Germany ! 66 Place for me, sisters, on the world's wide throne: The stains of War are red upon my hands, Won, like the dust that dims my garment's hem, In my assailer's lands. "The Spoiler's steel flashed bright before my breast, Earth held her breath to hear my dying groans : I hurled him back to gasp his life away 'Mid wreck of shattered thrones. "Give place and greeting, sister of the Dawn! For mine are empire now, and victory : Smile on me, sister of the Sunset Land ! I too shall yet be free !" THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. PARIS, JULY, 1870. Fair rose Belshazzar's palace 'neath the sun; Those who once entered there, with dazzled eyes Cried, " Having seen this marvel, naught remains To see save Paradise. "For all enchantments human sense hath known Here in one dream of loveliness combine, We turn from all the other haunts of earth To hail this spot divine." And in that regal hall a feast was set And garlands wreathed, and 'neath the golden flame Of countless torches rose exulting songs That hymned Belshazzar's fame. Pleasure was there, and Luxury and Sin, Unhallowed aspirations, lust of pow'r; These were the guests Belshazzar smiled to greet In that triumphal hour. 12 ( 129 ) 130 THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. But lo ! the wine his minions poured was red, Not with the healthful ruby of the vine ; Dread was the dull opaque that dimmed the cup Beneath the torches' shine. And at Belshazzar's side there sat a shape Shadowy, shrouded, terrible to see, To whom the monarch: " Brother king, this feast Is spread to honor thee. " Behold, I turn from all my other guests, Though fair of face and sweet with scented breath, To bid my slaves pour forth thy fav'rite wine, Thou mighty sovereign, Death ! ' ' E'en as he speaks, the lights in sudden flare Leap up and vanish in a rayless gloom, And that which was the banquet hall of kings Seems but a mighty tomb. And o'er the wall, lit by supernal light, There stray the fingers of a spectral hand, Tracing in flaming characters the doom That waits the fated land. THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. I3I And pale Belshazzar totters from his throne, An abject, terrified, discrowned thing; Scepter and crown fall clashing to the floor, And Death alone is King ! The songs are hushed, all guests, save one, are fled, The spilled wine steals in red streams through the hall; O'er withered wreath and shattered flagon flames The writing on the wall I TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. THE MINSTREL'S SONG. Und legt ihr zwischen mich und sie Auch Strom und Thai und Hiigel. Though now there lie, 'twixt thee and me, The vale, the hill, the river, They part us not, those mighty ones, For song hath pinions ever. I am a minstrel, widely known, While on my way I'm wending, Through every land and every clime One song to Heav'n I'm sending : I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, Through joy and pain untold ; I've loved thee well, and greet thee A thousand, thousandfold. When through the leafy wood I go Where finch and thrush are singing, 12* (133) 134 THE MINSTREL'S SONG. My song the winged people learn ; Soon from their throats 'tis ringing. The wind doth joyful spread his wings When from the heath he heareth, And swift my song, o'er mount and stream, And farther still, he beareth : I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, Through joy and pain untold ; I've loved thee well, and greet thee A thousand, thousandfold. Through town and village still I play, And over field and mountain, Till, with her pitcher, sings the maid My song beside the fountain ; The hunter hums it to himself While through the beech-wood going; The fisher, to his rudder's creak, Sings, while his net he 's throwing : I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, Through joy and pain untold ; I've loved thee well, and greet thee A thousand, thousandfold. And coolest wind and forest bird, And fisher, hunter, maiden, They all my messengers must be With word to thee, love, laden. THE MINSTREL'S SONG. i3S And so in earnest or in jest At last thine ear it greeteth ; Thou know'st the sender as thou hear'st, Thy heart so wildly beateth : I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, Through joy and pain untold ; I've loved thee well, and greet thee A thousand, thousandfold. Geibel, THE STARS. Sind die Sterne fromme Lammer. Are the stars the lambs of heaven That, when fades the day on high, Night, the shepherdess, doth lead To the blue fields of the sky ? Are they lilies, silver lilies, That, from out their cups of light, Pour the fragrant waves of slumber On the weary earth all night ? Are they lighted tapers, shining On the holy altar high, When the deep and solemn darkness Fills the wide dome of the sky ? No ! they are the silver letters In which loving angels write, On the azure page of heaven, Countless songs in lines of light. Geibel. (136) TOUCH NOT. Wo still ein Herz von Liebe gliiht. Where glows a heart with silent love Lay not thy reckless hand thereon ; Extinguish not the heavenly spark ; Indeed, indeed, 'twere not well done ! If e'er a spot all unprofaned Is found upon this world of ours, It is a youthful human heart When first it yields to pure Love's pow'rs. Oh, grant thou still the dream that comes 'Mid rosy blossoms of the May ! Thou know' st not what a paradise Doth with that vision pass away. There broke full many a valiant heart When love was reft away by fate, And many, surf' ring, wander forth, Filled with all bitterness and hate. (i37) i 3 8 TOUCH NOT. And many bleeding, wounded sore, Shriek loud for hopes forever fled, And mid the world's dust fling them down, For godlike Love to them was dead. And weep, complain, e'en as thou wilt, Not all thy penitence and pain Can cause a faded rose to bloom, Or bid a dead heart live again. Geibel YEARNING. Nun wandelt von den Bergen sacht. Down from the mount, with footstep light, Glides to the lake the summer night ; Throughout its deepest shades I go The while with dreams my soul doth glow ; The blossomed vine, with fragrance rare, Intoxicates the passing air \ The glow-worm weaves its path of light Unto the tower walls afar, And overhead with deepest fire Looks down on me each mystic star. This is the hour when yearning strong Fashions the scented air to song; Yearning that, deep in rock, wood, dell, In every creature's heart doth dwell; Yearning that with resistless might Forces through rocks the spring to light. It bids the forest stretch to heav'n Its thousand verdant arms in vain ; (i39) 140 YEARNING. It rings as echoes from the cliff; It wanders in the wind's wild strain : We hear it in the music-wails Of silver-throated nightingales ; And from the mild eyes of the flow'rs Its silent soul looks up to ours. Yearning ! thou who, like a child, Though lulled with sweetest songs asleep, Dost ever waken and arise Only anew to wail and weep, How dost thou heart and soul to-day With thy complaining bear away ! Oh would that I might pinions wear And disembodied cleave the air ! 1 must bestow with willing mind All that my being holds enshrined ; My overflowing heart's whole treasure, Love, reverence, and pain, and pleasure; All that my inmost heart holds stored — All, must I, in a single word, As in one golden cup fling free, Then pour all spendthrift forth to thee. In vain ! No word, however great, Can free us from the force of fate ; YEARNING. To quench the soul's thirst we may bring The waters of no earthly spring. Ah ! once I dreamed in golden hours — The sunny May-time of the heart- That I the mystic secret knew, That Love could bid all pangs depart ; What then I prized, what held so dear, Is mine — the yearning still is here. Then rest, O troubled heart ! and know Not every bloom to fruit doth grow; Thou bear'st in thee, Earth's silent guest, What seeketh heaven with wild unrest, What drives thee ever on thy way Of darkness and of weariness; It is the first thrill of the wings Inclosed within the chrysalis ; Thyself scarce know'st thy pang to be Homesickness for Eternity. 141 Geibel. 13 THE TWO ANGELS. O kennst du, Herz, die beiden Schwesterengel. Know' st thou, O heart, the two fair sister angels That unto us descend from realms above ? One with the lily branch, benignant Friendship, The other, crowned with roses, witching Love. Dark locked is Love, and radiantly glowing, Fair as the Spring when blossoms burst to light ; Friendship, blonde tressed in softest colors blooming, And mild and tranquil as a summer's night. Love is a restless sea, amid whose tumult Wave upon wave rolls ever to the shore ; Friendship, a mountain lake whose deep, clear waters Give back the face of heaven evermore. Love breaks upon us like a flash of lightning ; Like moonlight Friendship stealeth gently in : Love ever craveth conquest and possession ; Friendship doth give, nor seeks return to win. (142) THE TWO ANGELS. I43 Thrice happy and thrice fortunate the bosom Where in a friendly union both abide, And where in bright and mystic beauty mingled The rose and lily blossom side by side. Geibel. AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. O war 'es bios der Wange Pracht Die mit den Jahren flieht. Would it were but the bloom of youth That doth with years depart ! Alas, too fades, oh, mournful thought ! The freshness of the heart. How dies the voice of Youth away ! The glance grows dim, unmoved, And the warm heart, that once so throbbed, Forgets e'en that it loved. Though freely from our daring lips May wit and jesting flow, 'Tis only like the mocking green That over graves doth grow. The night comes — with the night comes grief; The mockery is o'er : Tears, tears alone can bless our hearts, And tears we find no more. (*44) AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 145 We are so poor, we are so sad, And why we scarce can deem ; We only know our hearts are dead, And joy is but a dream. Geibel. 13* TOO OLD. O sieh mich nicht so lachelnd an. O human rosebud, maiden fair, Look not so smilingly on me ! Thy glance, that well might bless a world, But thrills my soul with agony. My heart to deeper sadness Thy friendliness doth move ; Forever past, forever The days of love. Were I but young and glad as thou, Were I from woe and sin as free, How would my heart now beat for thine, How blest together we might be ! Unto what magic power Did I that sweet dream owe ? Alas ! what doth with blossoms The withered bough ? My life has reached its sunset hour ; Thine enters on its sunny day ; (146) 147 TOO OLD. My heart is cold, my heart is dead, Thine throbs as ever light and gay. Thy happiness thou seest Far 'mid the Future's glow ; My sad gaze seeks returning The long ago. Then, human rosebud, maiden fair, Look not with friendliness on me ! Thy glance, that well might bless a world, But thrills my soul with agony. No, let me forth to wander Far o'er land and wave ; Thou' It find another lover, And I — a grave. Geibel. SEEST THOU THE SEA? Siehst du das Meer? Es glanzt auf seiner Fluth. Seest thou the sea ? How glitters on its breast The morning light ! Yet in the depths wherein the pearls do rest Is darkest night. That sea am I. How in proud waves has roll'd My mind's unrest ! My songs have sparkled like the sunlight gold Upon its breast. How joyous oft has rung th' enchanted strain With love and jest, While bled my heart amid its silent pain Hid in my breast ! Geibel. (i 4 8) FAREWELL. Den letzten Becher bring' ich dir. In one last cup I drink to thee, Thou fair and foreign strand ! Ah, bitter 'tis to part from thee As from my fatherland ! Farewell, farewell ! The wind doth press The sail with sportive zeal ; And on the green and rushing wave Doth heave the vessel's keel. The sun sinks in the island sea, The light glows rosy red ; Still gleams before me yonder house Where our farewells were said. How gladly would I, fairest child, Have lingered with thee there ! In vain ! the dream has faded now — The dream that was so fair. Ay, such is life — to come, to go, By wind and wave thus driven ; (*49) *5° FAREWELL. Sent forth, to nevermore return, When scarce we've found a haven. To be belov'd, to be forgot, To love — the sunset light Methinks must surely dazzle me, So dim has grown my sight ! 'Tis past, 'tis past. The tears are shed, Ended are joy and pain ; Forth rushes to the busy world This untamed heart again. So let it be. The moon's first ray Doth deck the wave with light. The shore recedes. — My maiden fair, For the last time, good-night ! Geibel. THE WATER-LILY. Die stille Wasserrose. The beauteous water-lily Floats on the azure stream ; Around her snow-white calyx Glisten the leaves and gleam. The moon pours down from heaven A flood of golden light ; Pours down its fairest moonbeams Into her bosom white. Circling around the flower A fair white swan doth go ; He looks upon the lily, And singeth soft and low. So soft and sweet he singeth, The while he glides along, O lily, snow-white lily, Canst understand his song ? Geibel. (i'sO PERGOLESE. Endlich ist das Werk vollendet, Und der fromme Meister sendet. Now at last his work he endeth, And the pious Master sendeth Up his thanks to Heaven's throne : Through the arched cathedral swelling, In majestic billows welling, Flow now song and organ tone : Stabat mater dolorosa Juxta crucem lachrymosa, Dum pendebat films, Cujus animam gementem Contristatem ac dolentem Pertransivit gladius. And the Virgin's sorrows holy Fill each heart with* melancholy, While the* organ deeper swells; (152) PERGOLESE. Yet the melodies of heaven Make the very pang forgiven That in tears of sorrow wells. Quis est homo, qui non fleret Christi matrem si videret In tanto supplicio? Quis non posso contristari Piam matrem contemplari Dolentem cum filio ? Pious awe and holy rapture Hold the Master's soul in capture, Death foreboding, earnest, mild ; Trustfully his eyes he raiseth, And upon the altar gazeth, On the Virgin and the Child. Virgo virginum prseclara, Mihi jam non sis amara, Fac me tecum plangere, Fac ut portem Christi mortem Passionis ego sortem Et plagas recolere. Hark ! The Seraph voices ringing, In the choir of heaven singing, Fill the ear with awed delight ; 14 153 154 PERGOLESE. Holy spirits, earth-descending, Heavenward bear the Master, wending, Upward, upward to the light. Fac me cruce custodiri, Morte Christi prsemuniri, Confoveri gratia ; Quando corpus morietur, Fac ut animae donetur Paradisi gloria. Geibel. THE TWO KINGS. Zwei Konige sassen auf Orkadal. Two kings sat stately at Orcadal ; Bright flamed the torch in the pillared hall. The harpers sang. Bright sparkled the wine ; The kings looked darkly into its shine. Then spoke one : " Give thou to me the girl With azure eyes and with brow of pearl.* ' The other answer'd, with angry scorn, "She's mine, and I'll keep her; so I've sworn!" The kings spoke never another word ; Each one arose, and each took his sword. And forth from the lighted hall they go ; Deep by the castle wall lies the snow. Out flash their swords, and the lights die all ; Two kings have fallen at Orcadal. Geibel. (155) MY SONGS. Gold'ne Briicken seien Alle Lieder mir. Bridges, golden bridges, Are these songs of mine. O'er them Love doth travel From my heart to thine. And the wings of dreaming Shall, in joy and smart, Every night still bear me To thy faithful heart. Geibel. (156) FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SOUCI. Dies ist der Konigspark. This is the royal park. See, trees — turf — flowers — See, from their shells stone Tritons blow bright showers \ And in the fountain's breast the white nymph shines. See Flora's statue where the rose-trees stand, And see the shady walks as primly plann'd, And smooth as Boileau's lines. Passing the house where strange bird-voices blend, Let us the terrace's high slope ascend Where, crown 'd with fallow green, the orange grows ; There tow'rs o'er all, where fir and beech entwine, The castle whose broad casements in long line With evening's fire glow. And there, with sunken head, a man reclines ; His blue eye muses, and oft sudden shines As through the thunder-cloud the lightning flits. 14* ( 157 ) i58 FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SO UCI. A cocked hat shades his brow ; and in his hand He holds a cane, and scribbles in the sand. Thou'rt right ; it is King Fritz ! He sits, and thinks, and writes. Canst tell his thought ? With bygone battles are his musings fraught ? Thinks he of Hochkirch night with flaming air? How flashed the cannon redly to the sky, How broke the squadrons of the cavalry His grenadiers' firm square ? Frames he a law to teach how mild and wise His war-strong nation may to beauty rise ? Peace greetings where the war-drum rent the air ? Seeks he a rhyme for some defective verse ? Or does he now an epigram rehearse To overcome Voltaire ? Comes now the vanished past before his sight When he, in dressing-gown, 'neath pale moonlight, Grasped his soft flute and braved his father's scorn? Or does he summon, from his last long rest, The faithful friend, alas ! whose youthful breast By sevenfold balls was torn ? Dreams he of future days ? Before his sight Passes the Prussian eagle's daring flight ? The double-headed eagle checked he sees? FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SOUCI. 159 Thinks he, hereafter, how the German land Shall, hoping, fearing, 'neath the black wing stand? He thinks of none of these. He sighs : " O grief, to be the hero given Unto a people shut from Art's fair heaven ! To be Augustus where no Horace sings ! What good from foreign swans white plumes to borrow ? Yet what remains us else ? Appear, O morrow ! That unto us the God beloved brings. ' ' He speaks, and dreams not that the morning's glow Kisses the horizon ; that even now The wreath is grasped by youthful Goethe's hand ; That he doth lead the timid, blushing child, The German Muse, from far-off Taxus wild, To the free Minstrel Land. Geibel. BOTHWELL. Wie zittert Konigin Marie. How trembled Mary, Scotland's Queen, When through the secret door at night, With unbowed head and unbent knee, Earl Bothwell strode before her sight ! Pallid as death her fair face grew ; She, trembling, looked with asking gaze; He dashed the drops from off his brow, " The deed is done !" he darkly says. " 'Tis done ! thy beauty shall no more Upon that boy be cast away ; This evening, at eight o'clock, Kept Darnley his Ascension Day." She wildly shrieked, " May God forbid ! Take all my gold, take all and flee !" Then loud he laughed, in grim disdain, "Thou giv'st me gold for blood, Marie." (160) BOTHWELL. ^i "I love thee, and, should Hell itself Claim me for what this night befell, It was for thee, alone for thee ; Thou art the fairest fiend of Hell!" "The hand that robbed a King of life Can seize a Queen ! ' ' he loudly calls ; With terror on each feature traced, She, like a waxen image, falls. He raised her up; she felt not how His coat of mail her soft flesh rent ; The rippled tresses of her hair Flowed o'er his shoulder as he went. He swung her on his horse, he forced His ring upon her frozen hand, Then toward the castle of Dunbar Fled o'er the tempest-threatened land. Dark was the night, above, around, Extinguished seemed each kindly star ; A glitter, like a falling axe, Flashed sometimes o'er the clouds afar. Geibel JULIN. Es rauscht der Wind, es rinnt die Welle. Soft sighs the breeze, soft flows the wave, Swift flies the vessel on her way, To yonder ledge of chalky rock. " There/ ' says the captain, " Julin lay." Julin, the city by the sea, Swept by the silent flood away. How comes the old tradition back To my foreboding heart to-day ! I think how in my childhood days, My soul rejoiced in fabled lore ; My sister many a wondrous tale Told me at eve beside the door. Clearly my mind recalls the scene : We sat upon a bench of stone ; In the next garden lindens bloomed ; The moon in heaven brightly shone. (162) JUL IN. l63 The slender Gothic gables rose Solemnly where the shadows fell, And now and then rang out o'erhead The chimes of sweet St. Mary's bell. Then in we went to evening prayers ; Then slumber soothed my childish brain, And I the buried cities built In splendor in my dreams again. O boyish dreams, so bright, so pure, O youthful joys, where did ye flee ? Soft sighs the breeze, soft flows the wave : Julin — Vineta — where are ye ? Geibel. DANTE. Einsam durch Verona's Gassen wandelt einst der grosse Dante. Through the streets of fair Verona once alone great Dante went, When the bard of Florence wandered from his land in banishment ; And it chanced a little maiden, as he passed, the poet spied ; And she spake thus to her sister, who was sitting by her side : "Sister, look, there goes that Dante who descended into hell ; On his dusky brow are written gloom and horror — mark him well. "In that city of the torments he has seen such anguish sore That an inward terror holds him, and he smileth nevermore." (164 DANTE. 165 Dante heard, and turned toward her — from his lips these accents fell : "To forget the trick of smiling I need no descent to hell. "All the suffering I depicted — every torment, every wound — Here upon this earth already, ay, in Florence, I have found." Geibel. 15 I AND THOU. Ich bin die Rose auf der Au\ I am a rose, that in the field Breathes to the breeze perfume ; love, thou art the cooling dew That wakes me unto bloom ! 1 am the jewel darkly hid In gloomy mines below ; Thou art the sunbeam in whose light My varied colors glow. I am the crystal goblet whence A monarch drinks his wine ; Thou art the sweet empurpled wave Whose splendors through me shine. I am the gloomy thunder-cloud That sweeps across the skies; Thou art the shining rainbow, love, That on my bosom lies. (166) / AND THOU. i6j I am the Memnon, dumb and dead, The desert sands among; Thou art the crimson light of day That wakes my breast to song. I am an erring man that gropes Amid bewildering night ; Thou art an angel sent from God To lead me to the light. Geibel. THE CASTLE OF EGER. Larmend, im Schloss zu Eger. With noisy mirth, in Eger's halls, Sit drinking ruby wine The three most loved and trusted friends Of princely Wallenstein. Illo, Tertsky, and Kinsky there Above their wine-cups jest : The camp has been their only home, And war their only rest. The torches glow with festive light, But Tertsky darkly says, " Is 't night within my breast alone, Or is 't before my gaze? The dim lights gleam with pallid rays, As in a vault they shone, And the dark walls, methinks, exhale Death-vapors from each stone/ ' The wine is glowing ruby red, But Kinsky mutters low, (168) THE CASTLE OF EGER. "Nor cold nor hunger e'er had power To make me shudder so. I would I stood where raged the fight Of Lutzen's fatal day! May God protect us in this hour, Or else the devil may ! ' ' Illo alone with laugh and jest Lifts high the flowing bowl, For stab and thrust alike are vain To pierce his callous soul. His mirth is madder than of yore, And wilder every jest ; His heart must wear a coat of mail Like that which guards his breast. With drunken laughter now he shouts, (The very rafters shake) : " Far greater than a Kaiser, he Who can a Kaiser make ! A broken oath, a trust betrayed, Daunt coward souls, not mine, So drink — drink to Bohemia's king, To princely Wallenstein ! ' ' Lo ! as he speaks, the clang of steel Re-echoes from the wall, 15* 169 170 THE CASTLE OF EGER. The armed dragoons of Butler stride Into the banquet-hall. And Butler, through his visor, speaks In solemn tones and slow : "Are you the Kaiser's loyal knight? Are you his traitor foe ?' ' Out spring the good swords from their sheaths, As of themselves they leap; The lights upon the table fall Before their frenzied sweep. Still in the dark the strife goes on, Nor in the dark they fight : The flashing of their frenzied eyes Lends them a fearful light. First Tertsky falls, then Kinsky yields, With oaths and hate, his life, And Illo, seeking only death, Alone maintains the strife. Helmet and flask alike are crushed Beneath his frenzied blows ; He, as a boar still grinds in death His tusks, confronts his foes. Again the lighted torches glare With strange and dusky shine THE CASTLE OF EGER. Upon the floor, that glistens red With mingled blood and wine. Over the fearful banquet-hall The red streams blended steal, While at the table, silently, Death sitteth at his meal. And Butler speaks in thunder tones : "Nay, leave them where they fell ! We've gathered first the leaves, and now We'll strike the root as well." In yon far castle soon shall sound Wild shrieks and weeping sore ! Save, save thyself, Duke Wallenstein, Trust to the stars no more ! Fontane. 171 THE FISHER. Das Wasser rauscht, das Wasser schwoll. The water rushed, the water rose, A fisher sat thereby, And saw his float upon the wave Calm as his own heart lie. And as he sat, and as he mused, He saw the wave unclose, And from the troubled waters, slow A dripping maiden rose. She spake to him, she sang to him : " My brood why lure away, With human skill and human guile, To die in glow of day? Ah ! couldst behold our ocean home, So joyous and so fair, Thou'dst plunge at once beneath the wave, To dwell forever there.' ' "Do not the sun and moon descend Their burning brows to lave ? (172) 173 THE FISHER. Then doubly fair arise they not From out the cooling wave ? Art thou not lured by yonder sky, Its liquid depths of blue ? Does thine own image tempt thee not, Upsmiling from the dew?" The water rushed, the water rose, It laved his naked feet ; Then full of longing waxed his heart — A longing strange and sweet. She spake to him, she sang to him; Ah, fatal was the strain ! Half drew she him, half sank he in, And ne'er was seen again. Goethe. THE SINGERS. O heilige Nacht, ich singe dir ! O Holy Night, my song now be ! Proudly I ope my heart to thee. A nightingale, dark boughs among, Poured forth her dreaming soul in song — I sang not. O Morning Light, to thee I sing ! — Upsprang the lark on joyous wing. And, soaring ever near the sky, Sang praises to the Lord on High — I sang not. SCHERENBERG. (174) THE KING OF THULE. Es war ein Konig in Thule. There was a king in Thule, True even to the grave, To whom his loved one, dying, A golden goblet gave. He held naught else so precious, Naught else so safely kept ; At every feast he drained it, And as he drank he wept. And, dying, all his cities And wealth he counted up ; His realms he gave up freely; Not so the treasured cup. He called his knights around him ; A kingly feast he gave In yon ancestral palace, High up above the wave. (175) 176 THE KING OF THULE. Up rose the old carouser, One last long draught drank he ; Then flung the hallowed goblet Far down into the sea. He saw it falling, filling, And sinking in the main ; Then closed his eyes forever ; He never drank again. Goethe. THEKLA— A SPIRIT VOICE. Wo ich sei, und wo mich hingewendet. Where I am, and whither I have wended Since my fleeting shade before thee moved ? Have I not life's story closed and ended? Have I not, O seeker, lived and loved ? Wouldst thou question thus the nightingale Who, with soulful song in Spring's bright day, Rapt thee with melodious enchantment ? Ask no more ; but while they loved, were they. Have I found the lost one ? Oh, believe me ! We are united as in days of yore, Where the ties that bind us none can sever, Where our bitter tears we weep no more. Thou wouldst find us there again and quickly, If thy love but only equaled ours ; There too, free from sin, doth dwell my father, Snatched for aye from bloody murder's powers; 16 (177) 178 THEKLA—A SPIRIT VOICE. And he feels no mocking dream betrayed him When he sought to read the starry sky ; When all men are judged, he has found judgment ; To believers is the Holy nigh. Word is kept with each fair trusting feeling In yon starry spaces far away ; Wander' st thou through erring and through dreaming, Highest thought lies oft in childish play. Schiller. "FAIR HEDWIG." Im Kreise der Vasallen sitzt. Surrounded by his vassels, sits The young and valiant knight, With glowing cheek and dark bright eye, That gleams with fiery thoughts and high, As if he sought the fight. Forth steps a gentle maid to him, And fills his cup with wine ; Then modestly she glides away ; Upon her brow the fairest ray Of morning seems to shine. But quickly doth the young knight seize Her hand so snowy white ; Her azure eye, so pure and clear, She bends on earth, as if in fear, Then lifts with changeless light. " Fair Hedwig, who before me stand'st, Three things now tell me free : (*79) 180 "FAIR HEDWIG." Whence dost thou come ? where dost thou go ? Why follow'st thou my footsteps so ? These are my questions three." ■ "Whence do I come? I come from God, They told me in past years, When, once pursued by mocking scorn, For father, mother, still unknown, I asked with bitter tears. " Where do I go ? Naught drives me forth, The world is far too wide ; Why should I wander here and there ? The world, the world is everywhere ; Joy dwells on every side. "Why do I follow at thy sign ? Say, could I rest me ? Never ! I pour the w T ine thou drink' st for thee ; I asked the task on bended knee ; Would it were mine forever !" " And now I ask, thou fairest child, A fourth last thing of thee ) Then will my questioning be o'er. Quick ! answer me j I ask no more. Say, maiden, lov'st thou me?" "FAIR HEDWIGr 181 At first she stands amazed and mute, Then casts around her gaze Upon each circling knightly guest ; Then folds her hands upon her breast — " I love thee," soft she says. " But now I know that far away I must from hence be gone ; In truth, 'tis clear within my breast, The veil, since I have this confessed, Befits me now alone." " And when thou say'st thou com'st from God, I feel thou speak' st aright; His dearest child, I lead thee forth, In spite of scorn and hate, my troth At altar foot to plight. " Unto the chapel, noble guests, I pray you follow me. Brave knights and proud, ye, at my call, Come hither to a festival ; My fairest it shall be." Hebbel. i 6* IN THE GRAVEYARD. FROM THE GERMAN OF VOGL, Beim Todtengraber pocht es an. " Gray gravedigger, come out, come out !" Thus at the door came knock and shout. "Take now thy staff and come," one cries ; " Must show me where a dear grave lies." A bearded stranger speaketh there, Embrowned and rough with warlike air. " How name you the beloved dead That I within the grave have laid?" "It is my mother ; thou hast not The face of Martha's son forgot?" " God help us ; thou'rt so tall and brown, Thy face I never would have known." ( 182) IN THE GRAVEYARD. ^3