LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ^SS.|, 
 
 [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 J UNITED S 
 
SILYER PICTUEES 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIA EUSSELL McMASTERS. 
 
 ^rrr/A^ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 H, COWPERTHWAIT & CO. 
 ^ 1856. 
 
75 Z 3S^ 
 
 Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 H. COWPERTHWAIT & CO., 
 
 In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States in and 
 for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 CEISSY & MARKLET, PRINTERS, 
 
 GOLDSMITHS HALL, LIBRARY 8TEBET, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 WHITE LILY. 
 
 ENCAMPING ANGEL. 
 
 WREATH AND HARP. 
 
 IN PRIMO. 
 
 CRADLE SONG. 
 
 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 REQUIEM. 
 
 "I HEARD A VOICE FROM HEAVEN." 
 
 GLORY ON THE GRAVE. 
 
 RESURGAM. 
 
 STELLA. 
 
 DEUS MISEREATUR. 
 
 THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 
 
 CYNTHIA. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This brief book is made Sacred to a most Sweet Memory, 
 from which it has chiefly drawn its breath of life. 
 
 For while other memories have come forth to me pure- 
 Parianed from the past and taken shape in song, each with its 
 separate smile and attitude of bliss and blessing, this Sculpture 
 stands the truest type of the love that illumes them all. And 
 so long as that love shines stedfast on that fixed, fair Form, 
 so long will that form give out its memnon-music from my 
 soul. 
 
SILYER PICTURES. 
 
 WHITE LILY. 
 
 Imperial Flower ! from out thy silver chalice, 
 Blending their sweetness with thy soft perfume, 
 
 Come thronging memories of a columned palace 
 Decked for a festal train one night in June. 
 
 Pale, pure and perfect, thou didst mock the ceiling 
 With thy rich breath and white regality; 
 
 Thy curling lip and dazzling depth revealing 
 Serene disdain that aught should rival thee. 
 
 Yet bright in rivalry beamed lovely faces. 
 And slender shapes as stately as thine own, 
 
 And lustrous eyes, whose manifold mute graces 
 Entranced the worshippers they shone upon. 
 
 And there was one whose neck did rise as whitely 
 From its thin screen as thine among its leaves ; 
 
 Her silken ringlets kissed its arch as lightly 
 As round thy brow the wind its wooing weaves. 
 
8 WHITE LILY. 
 
 Flowers of all hues around were breathing, blushing, 
 All gracious odors filled the floating air, 
 
 But naught could rival the tumultuous flushing 
 That lit her cheek impearled beneath her hair. 
 
 Because that high-born and pure-hearted maiden 
 Thenceforth would grace her maiden home no more ; 
 
 So drooped the silken fringes, heavy laden, 
 Of her blue eyes, like sapphires bright before. 
 
 She was my father's first and fairest daughter. 
 Whose gentle hand bestowed as true a heart. 
 
 With what sweet pride his kindling glances sought her, 
 Thus with her lover standing there apart. 
 
 The priest said " Ye are one,'^ and with a blessing 
 Warm on his heart and lips, the father pressed 
 
 Through the close throng, but might not stay caressing 
 The dear form folded to his throbbing breast. 
 
 For up came then each little timid sister. 
 
 Doing shy homage to her bridal grace ; 
 And as they stood on tip of toe and kissed her, 
 
 They thought she had a wondrous lovely face. 
 
WHITE LILT. 
 
 Whether it was the veil's voluptuous trailing, 
 Or the soft pearls bewildering their young eyes, 
 
 Or that the tint upon her cheek was paling 
 Like the last roseate vespering in the skies, 
 
 I know not — but they turned away as mutely 
 From her white form as it had been a shrine. 
 
 And as her voice fell fairy-like and flutely, . 
 Full many thought her beauty half divine. 
 
 I see it all as through a lengthened vista, 
 The cloud-like drapery, the gem-like eyes. 
 
 The bridal group around my peerless sister 
 Graceful uprising as white lilies rise. 
 
 But years have flown since that auspicious wedding, 
 Since those triumphant robes were laid aside, 
 
 And Time from his swift pinions has been shedding 
 His blight and blessing on the fair young bride. 
 
 They tell me she hath lost the starry beaming 
 That, in her girlhood kindled in her eyes, 
 
 But that she looketh like a spirit dreaming, 
 A-weary from her heaven-wrought ecstasies. 
 
10 WHITE LILY. 
 
 They say sbe is a calm and chastened creature . 
 
 As ever knelt in prayer at dewy even, 
 A Christ-like patience touching every feature 
 
 Into a soft similitude of heaven. 
 
 Then by these signs I fear she may be taken 
 
 Before I see her gentle face again, 
 That we shall never meet till both awaken 
 
 Where souls are purified from sin and pain. 
 
 He from whose lips first fell the bridal blessing 
 Has gone before her to their native skies, 
 
 In the Redeemer's love sweet rest possessing, 
 Sunned in the calm effulgence of His eyes. 
 
 Who next shall go, I often muse and ponder. 
 Whose head lie low beneath the willow tree. 
 
 Whose ransomed spirit wake to bliss and wonder 
 By the green margent of the crystal sea. 
 
 There our full vestures, Lily ! shall be whiter 
 Than gleams the silver of thy burnished cup. 
 
 Our radient brows with God's impress be brighter, 
 And with a loftier grace be lifted up. 
 
THE ENCAMPING ANGEL. 11 
 
 Till then, White Lily ! be to me an earnest 
 Of those resplendent robes to angels given, 
 
 And ever, as thou fadest and returnest, 
 Remind me of my holy home in heaven. 
 
 6^ 
 
 THE ENCAMPING ANGEL. 
 
 My Guardian Angel ! while the night is weeping 
 And while alone, defenceless, I am sleeping, 
 ,Art thou thy vigil by my pillow keeping? 
 
 Hast thou, with self-forgetfulness, forsaken 
 Thy place beside the Throne, and kindly taken 
 Thy post by my lone couch till I awaken ? 
 
 Is it thy presence holy that dispenses 
 These pure aspirings, these calm influences ? 
 Are they of thy descension evidences? 
 
 While thus communion I with thee am holding, 
 I almost see thy brow's celestial molding, 
 And the white wings thy lineaments enfolding. 
 
12 THE ENCAMPING ANGEL. 
 
 What are thy thoughts while I am stilly dreaming ? 
 What radiant visions on thy soul are streaming, 
 Brighter by far than Day's meridian beaming ? 
 
 Within thy ken are kindred angels winging 
 
 Their earthward flight, bland benedictions bringing ? 
 
 Or by young children's cradles are they singing? 
 
 Do they o'ercome all sorrowful, rude noises, 
 With the majestic mildness of their voices. 
 Till Earth refrains from weeping, and rejoices ? 
 
 Above the sufferer's pillow are they bending. 
 Rich consolation with his anguish blending, 
 Till Christ shall give the signal for ascending ? 
 
 Will some remain to soothe the broken-hearted, 
 (As He, when human, with divinest art, did,) 
 And guard the sacred dust of the departed ? 
 
 Where contrite souls are God's just anger dreading, 
 Are they compassionately, kindly treading, 
 O'er crimson sins the Savior's pardon shedding? 
 
 Are they unfolding to enfranchised mortals 
 The blissful gates, the fair and pearly portals, 
 Responsive to the hymns of the Immortals ? 
 
THE ENCAMPING ANGEL. 13 
 
 Benignest Angel ! move the moments slowly ? 
 Dost thou not thrill to join their worship holy 
 Rather than watch beside my slumber lowly ? 
 
 No, Bright One ! purified from self-denial, 
 It is to thee no banishment nor trial 
 Thus, o'er my sleep, to hold serene espial. 
 
 Christ Jesus charge concerning me hath given 
 
 To keep me in my rest, this summer even. 
 
 Where Christ commands thy post, there is thy heaven. 
 
 0, when the morn shall see thee swift returning 
 To those fair realms where seraphim are burning, 
 New esctacies of love forever learning. 
 
 Beseech Him in each unforeseen mutation 
 That thou may'st come with gentle ministration 
 To me, who am an heir of His salvation. 
 
 And oh ! when I shall feel that I am dying, 
 When to loved lips my own refuse replying, 
 Through the dim darkness let me see thee flying, 
 
 Mild, mighty Angel ! from the surging river. 
 From mustering foes my fainting soul deliver, 
 Then bear it saved and safe to God the Griver. 
 
14 WREATH AND HARP. 
 
 WREATH AND HARP. 
 
 Being the device of a book-mark a fair young sister sent me. 
 
 I oped the welcome missive, 
 
 And there fell upon the ground 
 
 A Wreath without a fragrance 
 And a Harp without a sound. 
 
 Mute emblems full of meaning, 
 What did ye teach to me ? 
 
 What lesson did I gather 
 
 From your voiceless harmony? 
 
 Dreamed I of festal chambers 
 
 Decked with fairy flowers and light, 
 
 And troops of dancing maidens 
 In their robes of lily white ? 
 
 I dreamed of divers chambers. 
 
 But they were not large nor light. 
 
 Nor were the dwellers merry, 
 
 Though all arrayed in white. 
 
WREATH AND HARP. 15 
 
 Pale were their quiet faces, 
 
 Cold was the marble brow, 
 Ye might not find the traces 
 
 Of laughter on them now. 
 
 Thus memory brought them to me 
 
 In sad and solemn guise, 
 But soon the sadness altered 
 
 To a soft and glad surprise. 
 
 Faith drew aside the curtain 
 
 That veiled their souls from sight, 
 
 And lo ! they walked in heaven, 
 Kobed in celestial white. 
 
 Each head, divinely molded. 
 
 Wore an amaranthine crown ; 
 Their hair, in shivered splendor 
 
 Low to their feet fell down. 
 
 To golden harps they warbled 
 
 Round a ^^ glorious high Throne," 
 
 Discoursing wondrous music. 
 Such as angels love to own. 
 
16 WREATH AND HARP. 
 
 It was a lovely grouping, 
 
 It was a holy band ; 
 There were little fair-haired children 
 
 With their mothers by the hand. 
 
 There were youths of lofty stature, 
 With angelic port and brow, 
 
 Looking less on sainted maidens 
 Than on the Savior, now. 
 
 There were heads which once were hoary 
 In their pilgrimage below. 
 
 But now the crowns of glory 
 Shed gold upon the snow. 
 
 One face smiled often on me 
 
 As I watched it in the skies, 
 
 I thought it was my father. 
 
 But the tears stood in my eyes. 
 
 (^n starry plain and mountain / 
 
 AValked the shining, happy throng, 
 
 And from each crystal fountain 
 
 Swept the sound of harp and song. 
 
IN PRIMO. 17 
 
 And Chief among ten thousand, 
 
 Fairer than all beside, 
 Broke on my soul the vision 
 
 Of Jesus glorified. 
 
 Thus I lost myself in musing, 
 
 With the token in my hand, 
 Thus came sweet revelations 
 
 Of the bright and better land. 
 
 Harp ! Garland verdant ! 
 
 By a sister were ye given ; 
 But let our Christ invest me 
 
 With the harp and crown in heaven ! 
 
 IN PRIMO. 
 
 Close to my shielding side 
 Nestle thee down and hide, 
 Safe from the bleak, cold world so pitiless. 
 3 
 
18 IN PRIMO. 
 
 Soft, silent, harmless thing ! 
 
 Shrewd nature cannot bring 
 A surer type of next to nothingness. 
 
 Thou canst not choose but breathe. 
 Thou canst not choose but wink, 
 
 But hast not wit to sheathe 
 Thy spreading palms of pink, 
 And minim fingers from the biting cold, 
 Nor round thy form thy fleecy robes to fold. 
 
 Thou canst not sit nor walk. 
 
 Thou canst not think nor talk. 
 
 Thou canst not bend a fern. 
 
 Thou canst not even turn 
 When thou art tired, to ease thy tender sides, 
 Such scanty force or will in thee abides. 
 
 Thou art so weak and wee. 
 
 So helpless utterly, 
 That, did I wish to put thee from my way. 
 
 There were no need to kill. 
 
 Merely to leave thee still, 
 And thy fine pulses soon would stint their play. 
 Thy tiny-ticking heart would cease to go. 
 Thy whisper-breath of life would cease to blow, 
 Its little rosy tide forget to flow. 
 
IN PRIMO. 19 
 
 Yet, though so void of strength, 
 
 So scant of breadth and length, 
 So microscopic in thy motive powers, 
 
 I read thy formless face 
 
 Like some sweet page of grace. 
 Unfolding heaven as do the stainless flowers. 
 
 For thou dost still condense, 
 
 thou fair Impotence ! 
 More wealth and worth than all the world contains. 
 In thy fine fibres and soft coursing veins. 
 
 Thou art a Golden Bowl 
 
 Shrining a human Soul 
 Capacious of delight no tongue can tell. 
 Capacious of unfathomed wo as well. 
 
 Thou art a Silver String, 
 
 Whose future vibrating 
 Shall thrill its paeans to the listening spheres 
 Or moan its minors through unending years. 
 
 Thou art a Pitcher, full 
 
 Of water wonderful. 
 Whose lucid depths shall glass an angel's face. 
 Or flow in briny floods through wailing space. 
 
20 IN PRIMO. 
 
 Thou art a Cistern Wheel, 
 
 Whose swift revolve shall feel 
 The impulse of the creant Hand divine 
 When other orbs shall cease to roll and shine. 
 
 How shall I liken thee, 
 
 Thou small Humanity, 
 Significant beyond thy visible marge ? 
 
 Thou art most like a star. 
 
 So present, yet so far. 
 So seeming small, yet sphering life so large. 
 
 Spark of Divinity ! 
 
 Heir of Eternity ! 
 
 Great things were done for thee 
 
 Back in Antiquity. 
 
 Things which the angels try 
 
 To pierce into and pry, 
 While some flew singing from the jasper wall 
 ^' Glory to One, good will and peace to all I" 
 
 That Just One was, for thee, 
 
 Emptied of Deity, 
 And born a naked child in fleshly thrall. 
 
 He walked through sorrow's flood. 
 
 He oozed great drops of blood 
 From that divine, dear brow, with Godhead crowned. 
 
IN PRIMO. 21 
 
 All night, for thee and me, 
 
 His spirit's agony 
 Distilled its crimson on the grieving ground. 
 
 There came an angel bright, 
 
 From the far spheres of light. 
 To lend Him strength in that mysterious hour. 
 
 O measureless, awful wo. 
 
 That made Him stoop so low 
 Created strength to need, Lord of all might and power ! 
 
 He suffered shame and loss. 
 
 And on the cruel cross 
 Broke His great heart of love in twain, and died. 
 
 Then, at the spear's rude throw. 
 
 In rosy-lucent flow. 
 Forth sluiced the mingled flood from His warm side. 
 
 Breathe soft, my little child ! 
 
 They laid the Undefiled 
 In a dark tomb, where lie the lowly dead. 
 
 And angels watched alone. 
 
 Calm shrined in that cold stone. 
 Fast at His sacred feet and by His holy head. 
 
 Breathe free, my trembling dove ! 
 
 The Lord of life and love 
 Not long was prisoned in those granite bars. 
 
22 IN PRIMO. 
 
 He "burst the rigid tomb, 
 
 He rose in dewy bloom 
 Fresher than youth, more splendid than the stars. 
 
 One brief, sweet instant, then. 
 
 He gave to Earth again, 
 Then soared above the slope of straining eyes. 
 
 And now, for thee and me. 
 
 And others, verily. 
 He decketh many mansions in the skies. 
 
 Who, then, dare look in scorn 
 
 On thy frail form forlorn. 
 On the dumb pleading of thy innocent face. 
 
 When this ascended Lord, 
 
 By seraphim adored. 
 Once held and blessed a child in His embrace ? 
 
 Save thy sweet helplessness ! 
 
 I fly to ease the stress 
 Of my heart's throbs, at sound of thy low wail. 
 
 I clasp thee in caress. 
 
 Thou holy Harmlessness ! 
 And watch beside thee till the night grows pale. 
 
CRADLE SONG. 23 
 
 CRADLE SONG. 
 
 " Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
 
 Wind of the western sea, 
 Low, low, breathe and blow, 
 
 Wind of the western sea ! 
 Over the rolling waters go. 
 Come from the dying moon, and blow. 
 
 Blow him again to me. 
 While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 
 
 " Sleep and rest, sleep and rest. 
 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon; 
 Father will come to his babe in the nest, 
 Silver sails all out of the west 
 
 Under the silver moon ; 
 Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep/^ 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
24 CRADLE SONG. 
 
 Soft and bright^ soft and bright, 
 
 Droop on her golden head, 
 Bright, bright, pale moonlight ! 
 
 Droop on her golden head. 
 Grlide with a tender glory down, 
 And crown her with a lily crown, 
 
 Soft silvering the bed 
 Where my little one, where my pretty one, sleeps. 
 
 Violets blue, violets blue, 
 
 Pant your precious perfume out. 
 Blue, blue, bathed in dew. 
 
 Pant your precious perfume out. 
 Breathe a blessing on the breeze 
 Scented sweet as linden trees, 
 
 Or her lip's sweeter pout; 
 While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 
 
 Bonnie bird, bonnie bird. 
 
 Warbling all the live-long night, 
 
 Bird, bird, ever heard 
 
 Warbling all the live-long night ! 
 
 Come and carol, glad and free, 
 
 A soft enchanting melody. 
 
 And charm my baby bright, 
 
 While the little one, while the happy one, sleeps. 
 
SILVER PICTUEES. 25 
 
 All things fair, all things fair, 
 
 Lend your lovely influence. 
 Fair, fair, rich and rare. 
 
 Lend your lovely influence ! 
 Odor, song, and mild moonbeam. 
 Blend in a blissful, baby-dream. 
 
 And soothe each baby sense, 
 While my bonnie one, while my blessed one, sleeps ! 
 
 SILVER PICTURES. 
 " Apples of gold in Pictures of silver." 
 
 I. 
 
 Wave of my life, soft heaving on my breast ! 
 A mere mimosa, shrinking into rest. 
 
 My blossomed Hope ; — a downy, dimpled grace. 
 With speechless smiles slow circling o'er her face. 
 And faint sweet breathing, such as violets lay 
 On the wide worship of a morn in May. 
 4 
 
26 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 Vague, airy grasps 
 
 Of little, aimless hands, 
 
 With dainty, tendril-clasps. 
 
 Binding my heart like hands. 
 
 Hair, pluming down 
 
 Like a hird's breasted brown. 
 Sheened to the satin stroking of a mother's palm ;— 
 Eyes slowly orbing in an innocent calm. 
 Or winking and blinking like two little stars. 
 Wee, wistful mouth, with marvelous Ohs and Ahs, 
 
 A rosy Bliss 
 Swift opening to the ^sesame' of a kiss. 
 Nose without form, but most complete 
 In comeliness; — -moist, muffled feet 
 With curling tips of toes. 
 Touchy as balsams, pinker than a rose, 
 From which, round nails are born, 
 Sleek as the sheathing of a grain of corn. 
 
 My Self's Epitome, 
 
 Fashioned most cunningly, 
 
 Contented but to be ! 
 
 Plunged, downy-deep. 
 
 In silken-smothered sleep, 
 'Neath hushing hands and very velvet tones ; 
 Or loosed, mid murmurous moans 
 
SILVER PICTURES. 27 
 
 t 
 
 From flaxen trammels and from fleecy folds, 
 
 To gradual nudeness dotted with little colds ; 
 
 Quivering with vague alarms, 
 
 Shown in branched fingers and wide-shuddering arms ; 
 
 Drenched, like a rain-shut flower 
 
 In the warm, shimmering shower 
 
 Of Love's sweet, daily baptism, — 
 That outward, visible sign of baby grace 
 Unfolding in the freshened form and face, 
 
 And eyes, whose dewy deeps 
 
 Subsiding in slow sleeps, 
 
 Blend colors like a prism. 
 
 II. 
 
 My Golden Apple, set in silver fair, 
 
 Six months have shed their lustre on her hair ! 
 
 What see I now ? A lovely, lucent tooth. 
 Pearled in the coral bed of her sweet mouth, 
 Richer than all the treasures of the South ! 
 
 Then I see such pretty things ! 
 
 I see fluttering arms, like wings. 
 
 Keeping time to airy springs. 
 
 Crystal crowings treble after. 
 
 In a pearly-pebbled laughter, 
 
28 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 Breaking all the air around 
 Into tinkled rills of sound. 
 I see eyes, whose spirit-flashes 
 ^ Soften out from silken lashes, 
 
 Cheek whose polish answers well 
 
 To the sheen upon a shell, 
 
 Sliding back to where an ear. 
 
 Curled in a smile, looks pleased to hear ; 
 
 And my humming kisses dip 
 
 In the roseate of a lip. 
 
 that burnished, only tooth ! 
 
 that pouting, pretty mouth. 
 
 Dropping dews, by which I know 
 
 Other pearls lie hid below ! 
 
 (There's a ring around the wrist,— = 
 
 'Tis a fairy boon I wist.) 
 
 Sometimes are her features wrought^ 
 
 As if a fledgeling of a thought 
 
 Slowly skimmed across her soul, 
 
 Holding it in brief control. 
 
 Last, I see her winsome face 
 
 Through a veil of ancient lace 
 
 Thrown, in merry masquerade, 
 
 O'er my bonny, baby maid. 
 
SILVER PICTURES. 29 
 
 III. 
 
 Apple of Gold, set fair in silver sheen ! 
 More liberal on me does thine aspect lean. 
 
 Browner are the sloping eyes 
 Where the light in shadow lies ; 
 Farther down her shoulders fair, 
 Strays the sunshine of her hair, 
 And her smiles are set in pearls 
 Barely brighter than her curls. 
 Now, her little orh of life, 
 With a lovely promise rife, 
 Doth a golden era reach 
 In her first essays at speech, 
 In her fii'st essays to walk; — 
 Baby totterings ! baby talk ! 
 Stirring in a mother's breast. 
 Deeps no poet hath expressed. 
 
30 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My Crolden Fruit, in peerless argent set ! 
 The picture deepens, and I see tliee yet. 
 
 See I now a waxen baby folded to her blissful breast, 
 And her gracious, velvet palmings soothe its ever-waxen 
 
 rest. 
 
 And she rocketh, and she warbleth many a dulcet baby- 
 round, 
 Winding me and all the zephyrs in a sorcery of sound. 
 
 See I then a dimpled Paphia, bright emerging from her 
 
 bath, 
 And her shoulder, pearled with water, still a purer polish 
 
 hath. 
 
 Hair, wave-darkened, clings like sea-weed to her neck 
 
 and perfect head, 
 Carving clear a Grecian outline, where a glory was 
 
 instead. 
 
 See I next, a little figure lily-vestured for the night. 
 Standing for a thoughtful instant sculptured in the lunar 
 light. 
 
SILVER PICTURES. 31 
 
 Then she cometh, slowly smiling, my outstretching hand 
 
 to meet, 
 While I watch the drifted flaking of her white and naked 
 
 feet. 
 
 Then the dimpled hands are folded, and the shining head 
 
 is bowed. 
 And the baby prayer she utters soars aloft the silver 
 
 cloud. 
 
 Then an angel brings a blessing, sheds it softly on her 
 
 head, 
 And the dewy sleep of childhood drops its balm upon 
 
 her bed. 
 
 My Golden Apple sheened in silver thrall ! 
 My Fruit ambrosial loosening to the fall ! 
 
 Tell I of the blessed Savior whom the shining angels 
 
 praise ; 
 And she saith, " I want to see Him,^^ and I ponder what 
 
 she says. 
 
32 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 And one night to be remembered, when I laid her down 
 
 to rest, 
 With her leafy hands reposing on her sinless, baby breast, 
 
 Said I, softly, " Bless you, darling I" — and she answered, 
 
 very mild, 
 " Jesus Christ loves little children ; Jesus blessed a baby 
 
 child/^ 
 
 the silver chord was loosening, which made music in 
 my soul I 
 
 the pitcher thrilled to breaking, and the vibrant golden 
 
 bowl! 
 
 After then, she altered star-like, pale and saintly like a 
 
 star 
 When it pallors to the dawning of the brighter Day afar. 
 
 And a glory sat pavilioned in the darkness of her eyes, — 
 
 1 knew not she stood in shadow of the gates of Paradise. 
 Knew I not the angels called her from my shielding side 
 
 away, 
 Dreamed I not her sunny morning broadened to a brighter 
 day. 
 
SILVER PICTURES. 33 
 
 But the high decree in heaven true and tenderly was 
 
 readj 
 And the shaft, death-sped from Azrael, smote that fair 
 
 and shining head. 
 
 Smote my golden-gleaming Apple, softly sphered in 
 
 silver thrall, 
 Smote it till it shook and trembled to a fatal, final fall ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 My Golden Apple ! Apple of mine eye ! 
 Through blinding tears I cannot see thee nigh. 
 
 how heavy hangs the silence, heavy glooming like a 
 
 pall! 
 Lifted never by the echo of her song or silver call. 
 
 All the day is very dreary, — weary, dreary is the day 
 Since that little loving spirit floated up the shining way. 
 
 Passing fair it is and lovely, where she dwelleth all the 
 while, 
 
 I saw the heavenly orient dawning in that holy smile ! 
 5 
 
34 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 And I strive to still this aching with a vision of the place; 
 But my heart is breaking, breaking, for the vision of her 
 face. 
 
 Though I printed countless kisses passionate on cheek 
 
 and brow, 
 Seem they very stinted blisses when I think upon them 
 
 now. 
 
 If I had again before me that unconscious marble form, 
 Oh ! methinks my close caresses should to life the 
 sculpture warm. 
 
 Hush, and hearken, troubled spirit ! for thy words are 
 
 wide and wild ; 
 Let a gentler grief keep vigil by the slumber of my child. 
 
 Let thy vision pierce prophetic to the dawning life divine. 
 Which shall crown with larger lustre all her beauty 
 infantine. 
 
 Penetrate the Holy City with all precious jewels dight, 
 Gates of pearl and walls of jasper, amethyst and chrysolite. 
 
 Touch thy fancy with the tender tintings of the pastures 
 
 green, 
 Let the stilly waters simrkle to thee with an opal sheen; — 
 
SILVER nCTURES. 35 
 
 All in vain ! — my stricken spirit, witli her shadow 
 
 backward cast, 
 Dwelleth on the heavenly Future less than on the buried 
 
 Past. 
 
 Dwelleth less on gemmy splendors than on that sweet 
 
 time of grace 
 When my blessed one was folded softly in my first 
 
 embrace. 
 
 When more rich than gold of Ophir, I esteemed one 
 
 sheeny curl, 
 When no gem shone half so precious as that peerless, 
 
 primal pearl. 
 
 When no rare Italian warbling on my ear so sweetly fell, 
 As rang out her baby carol, chiming like a silver bell. 
 
 When my vision swept triumphant down the purple 
 
 deeps of time. 
 And discerned this silver promise orbing to a golden 
 
 prime. 
 
 Dowered with a richer lustre than was ever sphered in 
 
 me. 
 Nobler in a large fulfillment than I ever hope to be. 
 
36 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 my Jewel ! my Flower ! my Bird, my Beam, 
 
 my Star ! 
 How shall I express your being, — what you were, or 
 
 what you are ! 
 
 Now I sit alone and ponder on her form, her smile, her 
 
 glance, 
 Pining to take wings and wander to her fair inheritance. 
 
 Musing on the evanescence of my bliss too bright to last, 
 Till I think my life is ebbing in the tears that fall so fast. 
 
 Sometimes, through the mist, the sunlight mocks the 
 
 magic of her hair, 
 Or my swift ear feels the snow-fall of her foot upon the 
 
 stair.. 
 
 Sometimes on my work the shadow of her dark eye slides 
 
 along. 
 Or the rushing of the zephyr wakes the warble of her 
 
 Or the leafy touches haunt me of her small and dainty 
 
 palm. 
 Or ideal_, pearl-lit kisses, thrill me with a sense of balm. 
 
SILVER PICTURES. 37 
 
 When the dim uncertain twilight dies away in dewy 
 
 gloom, 
 Shadowy garments seem to flutter in the corners of my 
 
 room. 
 
 And when lucid flakes of moonlight through the darkness 
 
 drift adown, 
 To my eye they take the fashion and the glory of a crown. 
 
 Thus my love compels my senses, — striving tenderly to 
 
 cast 
 O'er the sharpness of my Sorrow, the soft mantle of the 
 
 Past. 
 
 Or she turns the pallid Presence slowly from the past, 
 
 away, 
 Till it meets the broad effulgence of the distant, heavenly 
 
 day; 
 
 Till, by gazing on the glory of the golden Evermore, 
 Waxeth to a wan reflection what was comfortless before. 
 
 Yet, for all the sweet revealings of the heaven above me 
 
 bent. 
 Seem I still to walk in sorrow as my fitting element. 
 
38 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 And it never grows familiar — as at first^ I thrill and wait 
 For that voice and form to brighten all this blankness 
 desolate. 
 
 As at first, in hall and nursery, in each void, accustomed 
 
 place, 
 Doth my fancy form the features of that little, spirit face. 
 
 Were it always conscious daylight, I might learn to bear 
 
 my cross ; 
 But deluding dreams at midnight win me from a sense 
 
 of loss, — 
 
 Drown this dull and dreary aching in a Lethe of relief, 
 Till the gradual, bitter waking, brings the memory and 
 the grief. 
 
 And I think the deepest darkness palls adown the early 
 
 dawn. 
 In my sleep to see her near me, then to wake and find 
 
 her gone ! 
 
 she was a summer sunshine, touching all my life to 
 
 light I 
 When God breathed her into being, He impressed her 
 
 veri/ bright. 
 
BILVER PICTURES. 39 
 
 she was a summer sunshine, crowning even Care with 
 
 light ! 
 In my soul she made the noontide which her absence 
 
 maketh night. 
 
 Secmeth mine a slender sorrow to the careless eyes of 
 
 men; 
 Only God who gave her, knoweth what He hath resumed 
 
 again. 
 
 True, she was a childish creature, scarcely larger than 
 
 He gave. 
 Yet the long, long life before me lies in shadow of her 
 
 And this slow, relentless scripture tolls its cadence 
 
 constantly : — 
 ' Thou sJialt go to lier^ hut never, never shall she come to 
 
 thee.^ 
 
 how heavy glooms the silence ! gloometh heavy like a 
 
 pall. 
 While the dying zephyrs answer, ^' vale, vale,^ to my 
 
 call! 
 
40 SILVER PICTURES. 
 
 VTI. 
 
 Hesperian Apple, pictured argentine I 
 
 From heaven thine aspect leaneth more divine. 
 
 Yes ! she has left me for those restful regions 
 Where the eternal gales of rapture blow ; 
 
 And her companions are the shining legions 
 
 "Walking in bliss we lack the power to know. 
 
 There, not in guerdon for her baby merit, 
 Nor through desert of lily innocence. 
 
 But through our Lord's dear love, she doth inherit 
 Things wide beyond the ken of mortal sense. 
 
 And still to earth her gentle eyes are turning, 
 And still on me her sainted smiles are bent, 
 
 For her First Love in faithful fondness yearning, 
 And watching if I tread the way she went. 
 
 And I, though still I wear my crown of sorrow, 
 And feel my way by faith and not by sight. 
 
 Walk not oblivious of that clear To-morrow 
 
 Which shall overcome this long-impending night. 
 
REQUIEM. 41 
 
 With thoughts of Christ and my ascended angel, 
 
 He, the " First-fruits," and she. His little child, 
 
 I humbly hearken to the soft Evangel, 
 
 Down floating from the heights where stars are piled. 
 
 It poiseth o'er me like a seraph's pinion, 
 
 Wafting a transient heaven through my breast ; 
 
 For whence it cometh. Grief hath no dominion. 
 And aching Love is raptured into rest. 
 
 And still it whispereth the old, sweet story 
 
 That nerved the saints and martyrs where they trod. 
 
 Eye hath not seen, nor heart conceived, the glory 
 Sphering the blissful souls beloved of God. 
 
 REQUIEM. 
 
 Lowly, shining head. 
 
 Where we lay thee down 
 With the lowly dead, 
 
 Droop thy golden crown I 
 
 Meekly, marble palms, 
 
 Fold across the breast, 
 6 
 
42 REQUIEM. 
 
 Sculptured in white calms 
 Of unbreaking rest ! 
 
 Softly, starry eyes, 
 
 Veil your darkened spheres, 
 Nevermore to rise 
 
 In summershine or tears 1 
 
 Calmly, crescent lips, 
 
 Yield your dewy rose 
 
 To the wan eclipse 
 
 Of this pale repose ! 
 
 Slumber, aural shells ! 
 
 No more dying Even 
 Through your spiral* cells 
 
 Weaveth gales of heaven. 
 
 Stilly, slender feet. 
 
 Rest from rosy rhyme. 
 
 With the ringing sweet 
 Of her silver chime ! 
 
 Holy smile of God, 
 
 Spread thy glory mild 
 
 Underneath the sod 
 
 On this little child ! 
 
I HEARD A VOICE FROM HEAVEN. 13 
 
 '* I HEARD A VOICE FROM HEAVEN." 
 
 Hark I from the margin of the crystal sea, 
 
 A shining seraph clearly calleth me 
 
 With most eflPectual calling. From the verge 
 
 She spieth me slow wading through the surge 
 
 Of my deep sorrow ; and she sendeth down 
 
 Such gracious glimpses of a golden crown, 
 
 Such smiling gleams of bliss prepared for us, 
 
 As make my life's deep midnight luminous. 
 
 And these sweet gleams and smiles like stars are set, 
 
 To soothe the darkness where I wander yet ; — 
 
 They let heaven through upon me, and I go 
 
 In their clear radiance, praying as I go, 
 
 And nothing doubting that, when I shall close 
 
 My willing eyes in their serene repose. 
 
 That seraph shape will guide me to the bliss 
 
 Wrought, in those regions, from the woes of this. 
 
44 GLORY ON THE GRAVE. 
 
 GLORY ON THE GRAVE. 
 
 Soft streametli down the moonlight 
 
 On cliif, and glen, and wave, 
 Descending ever softest 
 
 On a little grassy grave. 
 With tenderest effulgence a tide of pallid gold 
 Down issues, brightly bathing the marble and the mould, 
 
 Where my darling lieth lowly, 
 
 In a rest serene and holy, 
 Brow and baby-bosom pulseless, and her innocent white 
 hands 
 
 Making no more gentle gesture, 
 
 Fair folded in her vesture. 
 As pale and pure a presence as any statue stands. 
 
 ! where she lowly lieth, 
 
 My stricken spirit trieth 
 To await the sweet unfolding of this bitter providence 3 
 
 And now the moon-beam hoary. 
 
 With expressive grace and glory. 
 Mutely pausing on her marble, to my soul appealeth 
 thence. 
 
GLORY ON THE GRAVE. 45 
 
 It restetli ou the sculptured stone 
 
 A messenger from the Great White Throne : 
 
 It keepeth watch by her gentle side 
 
 As the angels watched when our Lord had died: 
 
 It sitteth still on her little feet 
 
 Like a brooding memory, pale and sweet : 
 
 It lieth along with a pearly light, 
 
 Like her spirit's mantle, dropped in flight : 
 
 It falleth with silver splendor down, 
 
 Like a halo shed from her saintly crown : 
 
 It beameth benignly all over the sod, 
 
 A smile and a blessing straight from God. 
 
 ! streameth soft the moonlight, 
 Where my blessed one low lies, 
 
 Like a glorified white angel, 
 
 Far leaning from the skies. 
 
 Only the moonlight paleth, 
 
 Waxeth feebler and then faileth, 
 And, to cumbered mortal vision, leaveth dark the grave, 
 and lone, 
 
 While the angel watcheth ever, 
 
 His vigil faileth never. 
 
46 RESURGAM. 
 
 For a charge to him is giveHj concerning that white stone; 
 And with Faith's uncumbered vision, 
 I may see his shape elysian 
 By that consecrated stone, 
 Watching ever, 
 Failing never, 
 By that lowly, holy stone. 
 
 RESURGAiVI. 
 
 " Thy dead men skall live ; 
 Together with my dead body shall they arise. 
 Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust!" 
 
 Isaiah, xxvi. 19. 
 
 When the world's weary cares and collisions 
 
 Are sunk in the river of rest, 
 Then come, in bewildering visions. 
 
 The beautiful forms of the blest. 
 Their foreheads have lost all the traces 
 
 That told of the passions of earth, 
 And the light that illumines their faces, 
 
 Is fresh from their heavenly birth. 
 
RESURGAM. 47 
 
 Their smiles tell of perfect exemption 
 
 From sorroWj from sin, and from pain ; 
 They sing the New Song of Redemption, — 
 
 '^ All worthy the Lamb that was slain !" 
 And oh ! when I see them returning 
 
 So graced, to their home in the sky, 
 It seems to my purified yearning, 
 
 An excellent blessing to die. 
 
 To die and be laid with the number 
 
 Whose voices arc nevermore heard ; — 
 No tumult invades their deep slumber, 
 
 Nor the breeze nor the song of the bird. 
 It seems to me dark, but not dreary. 
 
 That mansion beneath the green sod, 
 I shall fold my pale hands, and world-weary, 
 
 Commend my calm spirit to God. 
 
 Oh ! who can explain the returning.^ 
 
 Of hope to the desolate heart, 
 The pinings and passionate yearnings 
 
 As the loved and the lovely depart, 
 The desires for a nobler existence 
 
 Than earth ever promised or gave. 
 The dread of the shadowy distance 
 
 That stretches beyond, from the grave, — 
 
48 REStJRGAM. 
 
 The vague and unsatisfied craving 
 
 For bliss unimagined before, 
 The thirst for renown, and the slaving 
 
 To clamber one pinnacle more, — 
 The genius forever in motion, 
 
 Kepelling and scorning control. 
 The slumberless waves of emotion. 
 
 Refreshing or blighting the soul, — 
 
 If a life more divine and enduring 
 
 Shall not the freed spirit surprise, 
 And a paradise worthy securing, 
 
 Allure to repose in the skies ? 
 Alas, if the marble detaineth 
 
 The soul in its silent abode. 
 And a rest no more welcome, remaineth 
 
 To comfort the people of God I 
 
 For the world with its pomps and its pleasures^ 
 
 Shall pass, like a pageant, away ; 
 The moth is consuming our treasures. 
 
 Our heart-blossoms droop and decay. 
 Our joy comes in fitful, brief flashes. 
 
 Our grief-shadows lengthen life-long, 
 Our fruit turns to wormwood and ashes, 
 
 And sinks into wailing, our song. 
 
RESURGAM. 49 
 
 We gaze on a face fixed and solemn, 
 
 All helpless to soothe or to save, 
 Then we cling to a passionless column 
 
 And wish that it sentried our grave. 
 For oh ! in that utter prostration, 
 
 When Faith folds her faltering wing, 
 The crushed heart repels consolation. 
 
 As if there were no such sweet thing. 
 
 But — the parting from earth is the union 
 
 With all that makes heaven above ; 
 To die is to hold rich coinmuuion 
 
 With God and the angels of love. 
 From the world, that pale form and undreaming, 
 
 Has vanished forever and aye. 
 But its spirit is with his Redeemer, 
 
 Calm sunned in His radiant eye. 
 
 He sees, in the broad light of heaven. 
 
 All explained that was mystic before ; 
 
 How that not a pang less could be given, 
 Nor even one ecstasy more. 
 
 7 
 
50 RESURGAM. 
 
 That the sharp-piercing thorns which were braiding 
 On earth, for his temples of care, 
 
 Are changed into garlands unfading, 
 Beseeming a seraph to wear. 
 
 He sees where the hand of his Savior 
 
 Has graciously guided him through. 
 And how often his sinful behavior 
 
 Has wounded and grieved Him anew. 
 He gazes — and, trembling, adoring. 
 
 He casts himself down by the Throne, 
 And in melody high and outpouring. 
 
 Tells ever what Jesus has done. 
 
 ^Tis a boon then, oh I His not a blighting, 
 
 This Death which attends on our race ; 
 'Tis a bright but veiled angel, inviting 
 
 The soul to the Savior's embrace. 
 'Tis all that we mean when we languish 
 
 From sin's servitude to be free, 
 'Tis what we implore, when our anguish 
 
 Bends the spirit alike and the knee. 
 
RESUROAM. 51 
 
 'Tis to joiu the beloved Immortals 
 
 Who passed from our sight long ago, 
 Through the pearly, bliss-opening portals, 
 
 Which, to us, were the flood-gates of woe. 
 'Tis to fold in our thrilling embraces, 
 
 The forms we have mused on for years, 
 And to gaze with rapt smiles, on the faces 
 
 Our grief once embalmed with our tears. 
 
 'Tis to glow with a beauty resplendent. 
 
 Divinity starred in our eyes, — 
 'Tis to reign, with Dominions attendant. 
 
 High throned in the bliss of the skies ; 
 'Tis to burn with a love past expression 
 
 On heights the winged seraph ne'er trod, 
 'Tis to rise in eternal progression. 
 
 Expanding in likeness to God. 
 
 Then praise to Thee, Spirit indwelling ! 
 
 High praise for our earliest breath ! 
 And praise for Thy gift all excelling, — 
 
 The Life that is found hut in Death. 
 
STELLA. 
 
 ! we ask not for length of existence 
 
 In this world which is not our home ; 
 
 We spring to that Life in the distance, 
 We thrill for Thy Kingdom to come ! 
 
 STELLA. 
 
 My head, the other night, my pillow prest, 
 In a clear quietude of waking rest. 
 And I might see, my open casement through. 
 White flakes of moonlight drifting from the blue. 
 
 They slid with silver slope adown a roof 
 Whose angle cut the sky a space aloof, — 
 A homely tenement of wood and paint, 
 But crowned with glory now, like any saint. 
 
 And as I marked the shade and shimmer lie 
 In pitying pauses on its poverty, 
 A little star peeped up above the edge. 
 As might a blossom from an alpine ledge. 
 
STELLA. 53 
 
 I watched it as it smiled and stepped apace, 
 Up through the orient with serenest grace ; 
 And when it went behind my curtain's shield, 
 I knew it traversed still, the azure field. 
 
 Then thought I of my sinless seraph-child, 
 "Whose little life dawned on me undefiled. 
 Making my earth irradiant with heaven, 
 What stinted space to me its light was given. 
 
 And when her guileless spirit from me went 
 Behind Life's curtain, up the firmament. 
 Did I not know it shined as fiiir a sphere 
 As when it held my bliss and being here ? 
 
 And from the orbit where she moves and sings. 
 Streams there not light, with healing in its wings, 
 Attracting me, as sunbeams draw the dew. 
 To follow her with steadfast step and true r' 
 
 Then shall I weep and wail, because I miss 
 From my sweet Pleiades, the twinkling bliss ? 
 No — through my tears, I smile on what you are. 
 High fixed in heaven, my pure and peerless Star ! 
 
54 DEUS MISEREATUR. 
 
 DEUS MISEREATUR. 
 
 When my Pleiad paled and vanished 
 
 Up the firmament afar, 
 Seemed it to my blinded gazing 
 
 Heaven contained no other star. 
 Seemed it that the tiny twinkle 
 
 Of my feeble Lesser Light, 
 Had no skill to sheen the darkness 
 
 Of the drooping, utter night. 
 I felt desolate in sorrow, 
 
 In my sorrow drear and wild ; 
 To myself I seemed the only 
 
 Mother who had lost a child. 
 
 Saw I not the heaving Rama 
 
 Stretching round me everywhere ; 
 Heard I not the grieving Rachels 
 
 Pour their wailing on the air^ 
 Till a wilder miserere 
 
 "With a sharper-thrilling wail 
 Stabbed the air with such an anguish 
 
 That a listening world grew pale. 
 
DEUS MISEREATUR. 55 
 
 Then I stripped away the sack-cloth 
 
 And the ashes from my head, 
 Haply to discern this woe 
 
 Kef using to be comforted. 
 And behold ! the ruthless Archer 
 
 Bent four times his fatal bow, 
 And with each unblenching arrow, 
 
 Was a ' shining mark' laid low. 
 
 the undreamt, awful power 
 
 Of the human heart for grief ! 
 the strength that bows to breaking, 
 
 Yet no breaking brings relief ! 
 
 Proudly used that fond Cornelia 
 
 To array her treasured pearls ; 
 Three she counted for her Gracchi 
 
 Flashing by five gentle girls. 
 
 Kang their mirth in grove and garden. 
 
 Flew their feet through bower and hall, 
 
 Their bright presence made the homestead 
 One long scene of festival. 
 
56 DEUS MISEREATUR. 
 
 When they walked the crowded city 
 
 They made sunshine everywhere, 
 From the palace, from the hovel, 
 
 Blessings followed them like air. 
 Some were small and some were stately, 
 
 Each was fair and all were good. 
 One — she seemed the guardian angel 
 
 Of the shining sisterhood. 
 
 Loved and lovely, glad and gracious. 
 Four unsullied, happy pairs. 
 
 Clothed upon- with youth and beauty 
 Walked they ^ angels unawares.' 
 
 , Even as saith the holy Scripture 
 Of the women in the field,-— 
 Four were left, and four were taken, 
 With the mystic symbol sealed.* 
 
 How they went, I may not utter. 
 
 What sharp way their footsteps trod. 
 
 How the fiery chariot bore them 
 Smiling martyrs back to God. 
 
 ^- Revelations, iii. 12. 
 
DEUS MISEREATUR, 67 
 
 But I know what weight of anguish 
 
 Bowed that mother's heart and knee; 
 
 Needed she a ^ strengthening angel/ 
 In her grief's G-ethsemane ! 
 
 Well I know the de jjrofundis 
 
 Of her smitten spirit's moan 
 When she cast her crown of sorrow 
 
 Down before the veiled Throne. 
 Veiled in clouds, thick-robed in thunder, 
 
 Seemingly for judgment set; 
 Might she not discern the mercy 
 
 Throbbing past the curtain yet. 
 But it floated through the darkness 
 
 With sustaining, sweet control. 
 Till a mild, majestic patience 
 
 Shed its moonlight in her soul. 
 
 Now she walketh calm and saintly 
 On the heights by martyrs trod 
 
 When they see, through heaven opened, 
 Jesus by the throne of God. 
 8 
 
58 THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 
 
 thou Love, white-crowned and queenly, 
 
 Eising regnant over Death ! 
 Dawns for thee a bright Hereafter, 
 
 Where no sorrow shadoweth ; — 
 Where the heavenly jubilates 
 
 Thrilling down with golden fall. 
 Shall o'ercome the vain venites 
 
 Of thy vibrant human call. 
 
 THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 
 
 " In thoughts from the visions of the night, 
 When deep sleep falleth on men;—" 
 
 Job, iv. 13. 
 
 Thou boldest mine eyes waking, solemn night ! 
 With all thy soft, sidereal fires a-light ; — 
 Let bird and zephyr sleep, and folded flower, 
 I will keep watch with thee, this gracious hour. 
 
THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 69 
 
 I will keep watch with thee, and loose my soul 
 From earth's fast fetterings and close control, 
 And soar aloft, and dip my wing in heaven, 
 And bare my eyes to gleams of glory given. 
 
 How calm thou lookest, how serenely, down ! 
 'Twas thus thy primal purple and thy crown 
 Upheld the wakeful, wonder-lidded eyes 
 Of them who first walked fair in Paradise. 
 
 The argent arrows from the bended moon 
 Dart, winged with sleep, athwart thy dewy gloouj ; 
 But my swift soul darts back resistant rays, 
 Winged with desire to penetrate the blaze. 
 
 I will demand of thee, and answer me. 
 Thou calm Suggester of the Crystal Sea ! 
 Let Day's meridian shrink in wan eclipse. 
 Before the light of thine apocalypse. 
 
 What starry altitude of life and love 
 Awaits me in those radiant realms above ? 
 What golden calms of purity and bliss 
 Shall follow, in that world, the storms of this ? 
 
60 THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 
 
 What wondrous beauty sliall my form put on, 
 To match the shining shapes around the Throne ? 
 What regal impress stamp my brow the while, 
 A child of Grod, and walking in His smile ? 
 
 W hat glorious garniture of crown and palm, 
 What angel-minstrelsy of harp and psalm, 
 What sphered inheritance of fair domain. 
 Shall make me peer in that resplendent train ? 
 
 By what bright symbol shall I know that face 
 First lost, first thrilling to my swift embrace ? 
 By what sustaining strength, what mastering power 
 Shall I endure the rapture of that hour ? 
 
 In what large language shall I clothe the throng 
 Of trembling ecstasies too fine for song ? 
 What lyric utterance, silver as the spheres, 
 Shall voice the impassioned eloquence of tears ? 
 
 In this hushed hour of rapture and repose. 
 Such full, free effluence my spirit knows ! 
 And shadows of great thoughts sweep slow along. 
 Dim yearning to be sculptured into song. 
 
THOUGHTS FROM VISIONS. 61 
 
 All dumbly striving, and with throes intense, 
 To carve in living words their vehemence, 
 And stand calm statues with a glory on, 
 Immortal in the Poet-Pantheon. 
 
 Then, with her robe of grief around her cast. 
 My soul goes back, a pilgrim to the Past, 
 With prayerful pauses at each silent shrine. 
 Where rest the hopes that made those days divine. 
 
 The rainbow visions of my sunny youth 
 Hang sorrowshaded in the halls of Truth, 
 Like antique portraitures of heads sublime. 
 Touched tender with the tawny tint of time. 
 
 And the great Grief of my maturer years 
 Stands draped majestical, too rapt for tears. 
 How lies its shadow lengthened on the road 
 That leads me to the light of heaven and God ! 
 
 And, grandly orbing on my silent soul, 
 Looms the consummate hour of earth's control. 
 Then slow subsides in that enduring day. 
 Which lifts all darkness from my soul away. 
 
62 CYNTHIA. 
 
 Death, Death, divinest Death ! thou meanest Life. 
 Thou art the avenue to peace from strife. 
 And oh, Dominions, Virtues, seraph-Fires I 
 What is the Life to which my Soul aspires ? 
 
 Night dies in day ; — from height on height afar, 
 Voice throbs through space, soft falling like a star, 
 Kesponsive from the golden thrones above, 
 Love, Love, Love, — Love is Life and Life is Love. 
 
 CYNTHIA. 
 
 thou serene similitude of one departed. 
 
 Graceful of presence and with stainless brow. 
 
 The lovely, the beloved, the happy-hearted, 
 
 With what mute meaning dost thou meet me now ! 
 
 Thy half-veiled eyes reveal a dewy brightness, 
 Thy rose-lips barely breathe a balmy smile, 
 
 Thy sculptured arms and hands of Parian whiteness, 
 Soft dimple down thy flowing robe the while. 
 
CYNTHIA. 63 
 
 Thy tranquil aspect leanetli to me laden 
 
 With memories pleasant as the smells of flowers. 
 
 I seem to see thee still, a mirthful maiden, 
 Rosy as morn and radiant as the Hours. 
 
 Like pictures graven in a lovely story, — 
 Once by the wayside doth thy shadow fall, 
 
 Once, musing in the moonlight's silver glory, 
 Then garlanded for some bright festival. 
 
 Another time the golden sun was slanting 
 
 Warm through the windows of the House of Prayer, 
 
 The organ swelled, the choristers were chanting. 
 And praise, like incense, floated up the air. 
 
 And as a due devotion held thee kneeling 
 For a brief moment ere the morning psalm, 
 
 The heavenly radiance athwart thee stealing, 
 Subdued thy features to a tender calm. 
 
 And after then, a bride before the altar, 
 
 Then with a mother's crown set on thy head. 
 
 And then, — alas ! well may my fancy falter 
 To picture thee reposing with the dead. 
 
64 CYNTHIA. 
 
 'Tis well I did not see thee lying stilly, 
 
 Thy marble hands cold crossing on thy breast^ 
 
 Thy silent presence, pallid as a lily, 
 
 And shrouded for the long, undreaming rest. 
 
 For thy remembrance dwelleth with me brightly. 
 As when in days far flown I pressed thy hand, 
 
 And yet thou walkest with the angels whitely. 
 In the green gardens of the Better Land. 
 
 END 
 
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