l3yffit;"-i;U!H«W~'3!>i8K?j:Kt':rj;t'.ir;;h;!;',55:!.-: iPi^f!ii'=SHP. wm M^M-M PS 1123 .B51S7 1888 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDDDETt.51flS ' ^^ .. ^ *'«*' -sT *=?«• *^^' A? )* .•••»*< ^°-nf o> ... 'v. *..o» .^^ ,. ° .^''•'t. ".^^/ K^^"- O^-yTT*' .A. ^_ o;h 5^ •^' ♦: 'oK V o ^^ 9^ '" V.^^"/J *rr*\A ^^'\ ^ ■» .■«■ « ^^'^^^ / A csun Story of the Sands OTHER POEMS BY Dr. E. L. MACOMB BRISTOL ■THE FLOWER POET" NEW YORK BRENTANO'S, PUBLISHERS 5 Union Square A Story of the Sands AND OTHER POEMS - - / Dr. E, L. MACOMB BRISTOL "THE FLOWER POET" <:^y^9/ZJ' NEW YORK BRENTANO'S, PUBLISHERS 5 Union Square ^5 M2 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, by Brentano's, In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. Press of J. J. Little & Co. Astor Place, New York. f f^EFACE. Like seaweed floats upon the brine, The prismatic hues of the sun doth shine. Will this little volume float or sink ? Will you uphold it ? What do you think? Faithfully, THE AUTHOR. New York, February 15, 1888. INDEX OF CONTENTS. PART I. PAGES A vStory of the Sands 9-55 PART II. miscellaneous poems. April 59 If I Only Knew 60 Estranged 61 In the Gloaming 62, 63 A Picture 64 Thro' the Wheat 65, 66 Slander 67 If He Came Wooing 68, 69 Four-Leafed Clover 70 Looking Back 71 Mon Amour 72, 73 The Pretty Quakeress 74 The Dying Leaves 75, 76 The Old Church-yard 77, 78 The Test 79, 80 INDEX OF CONTENTS. PAGES Marguerite 8i 1 Still Believe 82 He and She 83 Down by the River 84 The French Lesson 85, 86 You 87 Dandelions 88 Violets 89 You and 1 90 The Crows Fly Low 91 The Old, Old Story 92-94 What Does it Bring to Me ? . . 95 Resurrected 96 The Daisy and the Violet 97-99 What ? 100 Lines in an Album loi Only a Flower 102 Clover Blossoms 103 To-morrow 104 f ART I A STORY OF THE SANDS. " Come unto these yellow sands." Shakespeare . PART I. Soft and still and white the gleaming sands Lay stretched far and wide on shore and sea — A level waste of drifted gleaming snow, Marked here and there with varied burnished hues And darker streaks of coloring en- gulfed by foam, Which had flung carelessly its creamy flakes Athwart the shore, so full of shells and pebbles rare — Beneficent in princely treasures, and gifts from the sea's Vast bed, as some cast-off necklace of an Undine Or Niobe, that dwelt in ceaseless splen- dor in Neptune's court, 2 lo A STORY OF THE SANDS. And who in some amorous delight had bared herself, And naked lay, to wait for Passion's kiss — a kiss so swift. So hot, so full of fire, that the dews of life are quenched, And as the lily in the noonday's sun, droops and dies. The ever-playing waves made music sad and sweet As the tide went out — the south wind lent its whisper, Like the voice of some loved one speaks of the dead ; Or as fancy takes you, say as the voice of some Sefiorita mingles with the castanets, or some old song Of love and home comes back, and visions come again Of a life now dead — of a memory only, a dream Of youth and hope. The scent of brine was in the air, And tangled brier roses on the banks shut not their eyes. A STORY OF THE SANDS. II But gaped open-mouthed sensually at the moon ; yet cold Chaste bodies do not wake with looks, but need a touch Ofttime repeated, and when slow to wake, alas ! They never sleep — but dream and brood till the Ice and snow are gone leaving the bar- ren earth. The roses gaped and lured the bees, who, benumbed And beguiled by blossoms rich in scent, slept and Waked not, but died in suffocation, in a lethargy That intoxicants bring, and in dying gladly went to rest. The east wind bringing shrouds in the falling rose Leaves that softly fluttered and covered intrigues Done in the moon's soft, chaste light. The golden sickle hung low, some hours high. 12 A STORY OF THE SANDS. And yet so calm and gracious in her serenity. A water fowl ran giddily 'long the sands And piped discordantly, fretful that a tryst Had not been kept, and yet timorously afraid Her mate might find her wooing in the shadowy Light, for no young fledglings slept then at home, and Woman like, when maternity has not been blest, Are fretful of life's duties, and seek de- lusions That never come — the wind and birds and roses Slept, and on the sands came the meas- ured tread Of human feet, slow, lingering loth and light weighted. The stars, oh ! those silent sentinels, smiled serene ; The wind awoke, and kissed the roses, who, jealously A STORY OF THE SANDS. 1 3 Affronted, waited the breath and touch of mortal lips To sleep again. In every rose's heart a maiden's Love Does lie ; methinks they give their life to them And then bleed to death on bosoms white as snow. Does love come to the flowers, and thro' them to us, You think? Perhaps 'tis true, when the thorn Is left, for to all things beautiful a sting is given. The roses die and leave a thorn so sharp and strong We wonder why the beauty of its heart is marred. For foolish mortals do not see that roses' thorns And a woman's tongue are but a simile. Ah, yes ! The Hps that blow like the soft young rose hide A thorn as sharp as steel. Two freighted hearts beat fast that night, two hearts 14 A STORY OF THE SANDS. To feel and know that all the world was naught. Ah ! Love, when com'st thou ? Why rob the peace of man ? And fill his being with expectant fears, that feed on Desire, longing, hope, and in prayer ask what not else ? And when 'tis done, like a guilty para- mour play Hide and seek, and lavish favors to every heart, That falls like the rose leaf when its death has come. And when 'tis done to hie away and laugh — We see the follies mortals do, and yet thy coming Is not known, not until the summons, not until the knock Do we know you — alas I we let you in, and lie awake Of nights, to let you out — Ah ! Love, if thou hast a conscience Then thou hast much to blame thyself. But conscience A STORY OF THE SANDS. 15 Comes to few in the game of life, and chance conscience Becomes dulled, and " life's fitful fever " thinks of it as a dream, lf\h.Q thought comes at all — the weaker fall and die, But the strong rise triumphantly ; the sparrow kills The fly, the hawk is master of the bird, and so With human strife — some lives are weak as insects, While others are as lions in jungles deep and wild. Will Conscience dwell in mortal hearts ? Perhaps. Will Conscience dwell in minds given up to gain And hoard? No! Will man forget his mother's love, The being who gave him life, and heed not her Prayers ? — for mothers always pray, and children are Like prayers, that come as incense, and steal away l6 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Our cares, and drug us with delusive hope and faith. Will man forget all this ? Aye, yea, he does forget — In the volumes forgotten, now unread, he never forgot But kept her as a memory, placed her on a pedestal. And worshiped as Mohammedans do their God. When Age with his knife does strike us down. And Worry lets her children loose, we would seek Patience, that blind sister, and plead and pray. The filial love born in the cradle should become A mountain in its vastness when life is almost done — But Love plays and keeps no tally of his shots ; He never looks to see if the shaft has struck The center-board — but contentedly knows, if not straight. A STORY OF THE SANDS. IJ The crooked line or stick can bend or break at will, And rests content when he hears the sigh, for that Comes when Love gives to us his po- tion, but he lets Us drink until delirium is master — not like a physician, Who counts the pulse and stays the heart, And watches faithfully the fevered skin — Love gives His potion, we drink and live, thro' passion's phase, And wake perhaps to life once more — or we drink And live in summer's bloom, and know no frosts or ice — And yet the winter follows summer, and the spring does Melt the snow — as repentant tears, when sorrow comes. Spring, as a half-clothed maiden, with naked bust And limbs, v/ho weeps with gentle April rains, and 1 8 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Washes all her sins away, and sees the promise In May's daffodils, and rests content in the communion Of June's rich wine. The sands gave back the echo of coming feet, and souls Dwelt on the border land of duty — two souls, two hearts Commingling — Sympathy touched them, Pity gave her hand, And Love came swiftly, for 'twas his work, And lo ! A maiden, tho' a wife, keeps a tryst Upon the sands — and he, tho' wedded, plays A part, and tho' unsuspected, and neither knew That the other was bound by bonds in- dissoluble. Comedies are played, and no mischief brews from the drink ; Tragedies are swift as lightning strokes, and the draught is death. So Love laughs, and tallies one in the game of chance. A STORY OF THE SANDS. 1 9 'Twas thus they met, these two whose hearts Gave up their keeping, and opened doors of locked And bolted chambers — and Love came in so still And swift, — 'twas as a current of strong fresh air In some disused room, where discord- ant strife had been. Love came in and dwelt there, leaving sunshine and splendor, And writ words that never die. "Ask of me my honor, all I give to thee," he said ; "Take my life, my soul, but give me one respite, One quick kiss when, soul to soul and life to life, In the sweet communion of our lips a vow is told." And she had answer'd, " When Love had come and said, ' Must I away and leave thee free ? ' had said, ^Nay! Fight not shy, but stay awhile as you w///do.'» 20 A STORY OF THE SANDS. I know not what my heart does mean, because It talks to me as it never did — but Love, I called Him so, Oh ! Love. Oh ! Love, stay ! Stay! Stay!—" They met when the shadow of the day lay upon the hills And spake to night in whispers, — the sun lay asleep, His couch in tinted gauze was veiled with rosy tints. Day waned but slow, while night, abashed, was loth To meet the amorous sun, that went to bed and forgot The sleep that twilight brought— and so staid av\^ake. With passion's longings, and tarried slow and slept not Till Luna bade the curtains down, and called her children. The many stars, and bade them watch the world asleep. Once she had said to some word of his : A STORY OF THE SANDS. 21 *' A man's voice is but wind 'pon sand ! — a thousand Words of his is but a breath of a pas- sion-flower in the sun. He distills them, as the vintage does the wine, but unlike It, he separates not the good, but gives freely to all to drink Haphazard as they will — to some as water, to others as life.'' And again when he had caught her hand. And as quickly dropped it, looking 'cross the silent sea, That never tells its anguish or sorrows only in cries And songs, weird and sad, and in joy- ful moods But echoes its lamentations. Across the far wide sea he looked with troubled Sorrow in his eyes — a look she dared not meet or heed For pathos dwelt therein, and pleading cried aloud Of a soul on fire, a heart that knew no rest — 22 A STORY OF THE SANDS. And once when all the sky and sea and trees Were liquid gold — and the flowers had changed Their hues, and like burning topaz lay 'pon emerald Plates, and rivers ran as streams of fire, while The birds told of a day born again, and the grasses Looked quickly up, for day was life, and the bees Had dressed themselves and were astir and awake — Night was done — ^olus came from 'cross the sea *With sword of flame and cried, " Be- hold ! the Sun is King ! " And while the heather laughed in si- lence, the corn Shook its tassels, as a pretty maid does lift her foot In merry, airy dance to show her in- step to amorous swains Dizzy in the excess of youth, when blood runs hot, A STORY OF THE SANDS, 2$ And impulse carries virtue in his arms and steals The virgin kiss that mars or makes a life. The cowslips nodded to the marguerites so wan and white, And then to prayers bent low their yel- low heads. The lovers smiled ; to them all this was given and they saw With but half-awakened sense, ac- cepted blindly, as children do The sweets their parents give. No warning does the man See who eats and sleeps and reads of poverty — The thirsty traveler looks for streams — the sated man Sees not the kine, or herd or lowland flocks That feed upon the emerald hills in sweet content. The day was young, and they had watched the sun Come naked from his bath, while, half lifted, 24 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Night held her draperies, then turned her head and was Seen no more. With tender pleading words my hero said so low And sweet, as ^olus pleads to kiss the mermaids with His gentle touch, and lift their tresses from off their Bosoms, that veil them like Aurora's harem in the east. Soft and low, to a heart untaught, as a lyre Wakes to a touch of a master's hand, and then lies mute Forever more — to a heart untutored, and then to know And blindly struggle, and lose itself in life's labyrinth Of tangled thorns — Oh ! Life, how mighty thou art ! And Oh ! Life, how frail at best !. To her the words came with a strong and blinding sense Of joy unknown — a prescience of heaven, a legend A STORY OF THE SANDS. 2$ Of childhood — a fairy land of bliss — an illusion Of intoxication — a glad rush of all her noblest aims — Like some half- fraught stolen lines that touched the strings Of her inner life and laid bare the truth, her love for him. 'Twas this he said — ''Valerie, dear heart ! if I were free (Dead, I mean)" — and he clasped her waist when he felt the tremble Of her hands, and saw her white, sweet face — " Valerie, oh, my love ! if I were free, would'st thou Pray with the Holy Spirit for a release to join me There ? Coidd^st thou love as I do, dear, dear, dear Heart — one kiss to answer, one kiss to tell me That " ' Excuse me. Sir ! A message from your wife ! '' The boy came 3 26 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Quickly, and as quickly went — what were tragedies to him ? His wife ! she said, Oh, hear ! Oh, God ! The boy Had said it — and spoke it loud — who came for him ; and he ? He had turned with face like death, and touched her Hand with lips so dead and passionless, that the imprint left • Was as slime from some dead thing. Her hero gone, and she, Valerie, Waked to life ! Ah, life !— how differ- ent I Had she known, ah ! Yes, had she known 1 No excuse for him, and yet had she Told that she was a wife ? Ah ! per- turbed heart ! O guilty Breast ! what anguish now ? She sat as cold as stone. The guilty wishes of his heart as dam- aged jewels upon Her breast — in no way had she sinned in loving him. Her heart made cry — " Pity me, pity me ! " came as a song A STORY OF THE SANDS. 2^ From the sea. Do the recording angels look down, and Plead a pardon for poor deluded mor- tals, who cry Aloud with bruised hearts and find no relief? No! No answer comes as we listen, but the message is delayed. We read it in the after-years, where we lose it in the Debris of to-day's and to-night's tur- moil. With sharp-drawn lips and gasping sobs, she cries aloud, " Oh ! God, cleanse me — look ye down justfully And dry my heart forever more ! " If the *'Amen" could have been re- corded then 1 Sobbing, she fell on her knees with moan and cry As when a soul is lost in gloom and cannot find the way. A leaf has fluttered down, waves in the air, circled And fell upon her bust, above her hands so tightly clasped 2S A STORY OF THE SANDS. In woe. A crimson leaf with veins of gold that, dying, hid Itself 'mid the wealth of her warm white breastp it lay And shone like a wound of blood ; a dying leaf ! In midsummer's glory, and yet it died. Was she to die ? Half starting up, as if the brand of Cain was on Her brow, she snatching it quickly, and holding fast, She fled away with frightened pace. Alas ! the dawn is but the day. and all days Must end in night ! the night brings sleep And sleep is'death — for all do not wake. Death Waves us back, and further we cannot go through Space to the infinite Christ, the im- maculate mystery of the world And ages, that puzzle men, and who fight its creeds, Its reason and its truth — who believe or blaspheme — who A STORY OF THE SANDS. 29 Adore, or accept not the waters of ever- lasting life. Atheist, infidel, slave, pauper, beggar, and thief — sinner Saint and Christian, shall we find it ? To the living, Dead and dying ? None come back. We al] shall go ! Go where ? Who can tell ? So we ponder and breathless wait For an answer that never comes. The wind goes by in mocking Scorn, or woos us by a breath as sweet as a syren's smile, And yet the end cometh ; but we know not, you or I, When we shall close our eyes, and sleep, and dream the dream That takes us to that green shore by the river called death. PART II. Three winter snows had fallen and gone since Valerie Had given troth and wed — Love had not been kind. 30 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Is he ever so? To you and me, per- haps ? You smile. Ah ! 'Twas but mine own. The secret heart tells not its woes. But lives with smiling face, and yet a grave is ne'er exposed. To Judge St. John she gave her hand and at God's Altar said Yea for life — an old and moneyed man With two wives dead. ' Until death do ye part ' — brought no Terrors to her young heart. She gave respect where All else should have been. He led his bride away, one most Fair and beautiful in satin sheen — her golden hair The sun had kissed, and flowers sought to die and rest In such a coronet. 'Round her throat he twined strands Of milky pearls, and bound her arms with flashing gems, While on her bosom, like wreath of snow, he placed a fortune, A STORY OF THE SANDS. 3^ So rich was he. When the veil is raised, the mist That brings to man his wife, and he to pledge the vows Of holy writ by the first warm kiss, he found her lips Of icy frost, with no answering pulsa- tion there ; But his veins were clogged, and though his heart was warm, Youth's bravado was all but dead. So the years had come And gone and counted three— num- bered three in The quiet past. Why do flowers burst in a single night? Why do buds break and blow, and in their breath lurks death ? I cannot tell you why, nor why we live nor why we die. When on the sands they met, Valerie was cold. Indifferent, for Love had not taken time to see her heart Nor question aught. Yet on the gleam- ing sands he followed 32 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Close and slew her there. Cecyl Cecil met his doom when first he saw Valerie Smile. Have you looked into a flower's heart and seen its beauty? Felt the touch and saw the smile of heaven in its face ? To him she came as a vision — his life was sheol, % She comes, as with lighted taper to show the way thro' darkness To elysian fields. He bowed down and worshiped beauty, Gave up his heart — his life, his love, his strength And purpose. Memory mocked him and he knew 'Twere but dishonor to shut his eyes and claim a happiness Incomparable. And yet life is sweet and a crying voice Bade him live and live for one, and that one his wife. The day Cecyl Cecil gave his hand To Agnes Wareing, in m.arriage pomp and state, for they were wed A STORY OF THE SANDS. ZZ In vast cathedral aisle, with crush and fashion in their wake — She an only child, an heiress petted and cajoled by Fashion's Whims and caprice, and when illness came to one who had Never been strong, or robust, nature tired, and patience went, and Discontent came freely, with forgetful- ness, complaint had wed mo- notony, Care and attention, caress and kiss. were lost in the satiety that Ennui brings when born of unmated souls, who defy natural laws And expect to tight an adversary so powerful, that they awake In amazement as to his prowess and fall overwhelmed with Wounds incurable. Hymen hung with shackles golden is but a Freedom in a courtyard, and like a prisoner on patrol — Valerie Vashton, one of seven girls aL like buttercups in a Meadow brown — was sought to wed by Judge St. John 34 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Of high repute and rich and princely. Homer Vashton died and left his flock of lambs Unattended, save by a devoted moth- er's love — with care And stinted income, and constant watchfulness as to how And when the winter's store would come. To and fro from the town Valerie went, and on her Way would meet the Judge, who twice had mourned For wives, but to some men, women are as horses, They would purchase and bid for mare's flesh And possess an animal of metal, no matter what the cost. An aged man Takes pride in a beautiful wife, and Love Is not chary, and is as infectious to hearts past Three score and ten, as to tender, bleeding ones that A STORY OF THE SANDS. 35 Thrill in rapture when the summons come, and gladly go. Judge St. John had neither kith or kin as people said, And would perhaps leave his wife his vast estate. He, under pretence of purchase, viewed '•Rose Farm," and came again, And when in the fading of the summer he chose The brightest rose, none made demur, and Valerie, glad to go, For all their sakes made assent, and the world said wisely ; Judged her as an envied one; for would not she be the richest lass In all the country wide ? A beggarly girl would as a princess Ride. She, Valerie, would be as of the blood royal. And in the village church she was led away a bride, A wife. Her sisters all in gowns of purest white Were as the virgins of the holy script, with their lamps S^ A STORY OF THE SANDS. Lighted — beautiful, strangely so, and never forgotten. As some picture is viewed, and stands out in our memory Long, long in after years. So this was as a tablet Never perishable. In the dark days that came after When Love was master. Alas ! alas ! for the end ! One in the East and one in the West, they said their vows Both at the hour, and yet unknown they plighted troth And sold their lives, and hearts broke in the time to come. Oh ! Fate thy crudest stab was when you blinded Destiny and stayed her hand. Three winter snows In dell and dale, and the story of the sands came after. When the fruits were golden and Nature full to repleteness. And earth's carpet was topaz and emer- ald studded, A STORY OF THE SANDS. 37 Heaven touched the sea and land with its hidden Glories outlined. Love sang to the flowers, and the birds, And bees, and grass, and thistledown were weighted With Love's sweet gift, bliss ; and but- terflies hovered o'er The daffodils and marguerites, and rested on some wild bud Half afraid to blow — the air and sea and land and sky- Were full, full, full of love- Four moons had set, four days and nights Had died, and they too, whose hearts were lost in each Other's keeping, had not met. With every step and sound He listened, with every breath she strained her ears And eyes, and sighed and waked to life unendurable To rest one hour upon his breast and die ; to see Those eyes of pleading, yearning ten- derness, and to S^ A STORY OF THE SANDS. Read a story in their depths of midnight splendor. The story old as the world, old as the ages, and yet How new to you and me ! He, Cecyl, held his heart with hard constraint, And cursed the thrall that bound him. To give up All now, was nothing to one hour's re- spite in Valerie's arms. Passion struggled for mastery, he panted In his sleep and dreamed, and woke to an anguish Terrible — like a pris'ner in far Siberia, with chains Of iron, and yet there was no escape. Would an happiness so near Always hover o'er a sinful union, sinful in the eyes of Man and the world, and alas ! the Al- mighty God's — And yet his love was pure. He felt he would give his Life for Valerie's smile. His mind con- ured schemes of freedom A STORY OF THE SANDS. Z9 All too chimerical, all too fleeting, with- out foundation unless he Lent the hand of cunning or of crime or stealth of which he had No part. Alas ! the thought of the lines he had read in the Early days, and they had laughed when he had said, " See this, a poem 'pon * Love,' would'st thou hear and read? " And she smiled Yea as when the moon- light smiles upon a rose. And he began : Love. Drink ? And I passed the cup And happiness was mine, But the one who drank and tasted Was mad with love and wine. Drink ! And I quaffed the cup And lo ! the God of Eros said, '* 'Tis death to those who drink," And content and happiness had fled. Her laughter rang out as music, for then she was free 40 A STORY OF THE SANDS. And she made answer sweet, — " Here, Mr. Cecil, let us Read ' Temptation.' How short and sweet! and yet To those whom love is given methinks their life does end," And so he bade her read, and in a voice of silvery cadence Spake the words : Temptation. Come ! and a vision bright and fair Led me willingly with bandaged eyes, 'til 1 swooned in the ecstacy of pain And, Passion denominated Soul and Will- Pain and Sorrow led me back The two wan maids who come to all, Who never speak, but come and go And raise you where you fall. '' Tears, Mrs. St. John ! Why so ! " but for answer She looked out, out on the sea, and silence A STORY OF THE SANDS. 41 Came between them, the silence of the inevitable, The birth of death had come, and grew, and Vaguely, indistinct and intuitively she felt it and Knew it not. Again he said, '' You believe it not? " ■ And she quickly turned the leaves and read For answer : Intuition. Her smiles were as silvery As when the moon sails high, Her laughter sweet contagion And yet a hidden lie. Her eyes so full of splendor, Dark as Egypt's night. And yet behind their glamour A vision holds a light. A vision — 'twas Intuition The monitor of the heart, And yet methought suspicion Was loyal to her part. 4 42 A STORY OF THE SANDS. Cunning lent her fingers, Wisdom gave his power, And yet Intuition's subtle voice Was pleading by the hour. He snatched the book quickly, and they laughed as children do In the sun. "You changed the pro- noun," he said. And smiled. " And so 'twas meant for me, Valerie." He let her name drop unawares, as some rich note Does strike us, and lingers sweetly in the air. She in Mute surprise had looked but once, for he unconsciously Turned the leaves and read again, with all lines of his Noble face deeply set : The Awakening. A flower waked when the sun had set. And wonder'd, if the world was all so dark. And her heart was sad and her lips were wet — A STORY OF THE SANDS. 43 Wet with the kisses of the sleeping lark. The flower slept, the sun was high — High in the heavens in his daily round, But some are born who never laugh but sigh, And never know the world's mad sound. Awake ! Awake ! 'Twas Love's com- mand. The flower smiled and all was light, * And he pointed with his wand and hand To beauties of the woodland night — Awake ! awake ! but the flower sleeps. Love had killed her, in his play; Better she lived if e'en she weeps, Nay ! better her death if Love's away. Again he paused and said: ".'Twas better To have died, as the flower did, than to have lived Forever without a heart's sweet love." And then He read again, while she watched his face, . 44 A STORY OF THE SANDS. And saw the manly beauty there, and her heart Stirred as does the pulse of a damask rose When its life unfolds to the sun's warm kiss. "Listen," he said; " I feel depressed, and melancholy Seems to seek me as her child," and she could Have thrown her arms about him then and there, And chased away that struggling smile that seemed The birth of wild despair. "See, I choose one That the author calls 'Remorse,' 'tis true, Let's hear it," and his laugh was but an echo of the lines. Remorse. Pain kissed Sorrow, and Grief was born — Born in tears of despair and woe, So like children with a mark of shame, An heritage, their parents sow. A STORY OF THE SANDS. 45 Grief in agony lived alone Until to grim Despair she wed And an offspring, " Remorse," was born Without a place to lay his head. Scarce had he stopped when the wind began its moan, And the sea was flecked by white and crested caps. Seaward went his gaze, and he idly turned the leaves Of the book he held — and without a word began : Death. Thro' space a shadow went Hurrying thro' the air, Death 'twas said by one, Another, an answer to a prayer. Souls make no shadows In their heavenward flight; The morning has its sorrow In the death of Night. Thro' space a shadow came And lingered in the air, A semblance from another world, A thing half clothed and bare. 46 A STORY OF THE SANDS. It stopped by one who rested And smiled when she saw it there For hunger, want, and poverty- Were her sisters in this world of care. *' Pray ! pray stop. Why such a doleful strain, my dear friend ? " " Why ? " He raised his head, and o'er his face a troubled question Lay. ' ' Valerie, is the world bright to you ? Does no longing Fill your heart ? Is life complete ? Oh ! pardon me, pray do. I intrude, where I cannot go — Mrs. St. John ! The days are Full of sunshine. Will you pardon me, if I go now ? At the hotel I have left my — my friend who waits me, there. Adieu ! " She called him back, but if he heard, he paid no heed, nor tarried, But strode away in haste as if she had offended him. Valerie Vashton was numb with fear and into her heart A STORY OF THE SANDS. 47 Crept guilty fears, and desires all new and strange. He had left the book, and she turned the leaves, and marked In pencil, here and there, were poems beautiful. And lines all telling of a love. With burning cheeks She spied her name — and held her breath and Read: Kiss me once, my darling Kiss me full upon my mouth ; The honey dews which fall from them Will be as perfume from the South, Let me place my hand within thy breast Let me put my lips upon thy heart, And count the beatings of thy life, Give me ! give but a part — Kiss me The volume fell upon the sand, and the blood surged To her face and neck, and slowly she wandered home 48 ^ STORY OF THE SANDS. To dress for Judge St. John. She chose a gown of purest white, With sprays of jasmine in her skirts, and round her Neck she clasped her pearls, and in her eyes came the light Of fever, and in her cheeks a carmine, as rich as India's coral. And so the days came and went in ** Love's Young Dream." Four moons had set, and these two had not met. Each had learned the other's history now, and Duty struggled To keep apart two hearts that would give up all to lie awake Or sleep together. The sea was flecked with silver bars and night Had come. A summer's night ! Was the god of Eros born In such a time ? Methinks so : he comes nude and naked Without vesture ; the south wind and zephyrs are about And around him. Do we know him, you and I ? A STORY OF THE SANDS. 49 ** At last, Valerie ! " 'Twas a voice so full of love, it fell On the air and vibrated in its intensity — a voice that Thrilled her heart and made her dumb; one swift rush Of blood to face and neck, and thro' her veins Her life's current stopped, and left her cold and ice-like. She staggered and caught the friendly boughs that Hung as a canopy overhead — but for a moment only; Then with a low, glad cry, like bird to bird, whose Loving mate cries mournfully, and hears in the woodland An answering note, flies with winged speed at once and gladly Calls her mate. Hot, passionate kisses poured like rain Upon her upturned face, that lay upon his breast as the Dead might lie, so still and weak was she. Her brow 50 ^ STORY OF THE SANDS. And neck were smother'd o'er, and eye- lids smoothed down By bearded lips that held the breath of pomegranates, his Favorite scent, and cheeks held close to those ot bronze Which the sun had kissed the summer long in bath and play — " No word from you, Valerie — love ! Life ! Idol of my soul ! " Her bosom rose and fell, and for one supreme moment He gazed and saw her beauties, like foamy crests, make Effort her heart refused to do — and then at last A whisper falls from out her perfumed lips, a word Only, and yet the man nearly drops his burden and Clasps her close and lays his lips upon her naked bust. "Sweetheart!" he cries, "say again that magic word." And again the silence breaks by one sweet word — hark ! A STORY OF THE SANDS. 5^ " Darling ! " — and Valerie shakes as an aspen shakes, and Her fingers seek his neck, and linger there. She gave up all for one supreme mo- ment of love's delight, Forgot the world and all therein, for- got her vows and Husband old, and lay numb and palsied in his arms. For Love was king ! and he, Cecyl lived for ^^alerie. His wife was naught, no tie held them, love was master, Love was king. Supreme the hour, su- preme the night ! The stars smiled in the vast dome of blue Eternal in its depths— the unfathom- able, far-stretching space. The moon veiled her face by hurrying, fleeting clouds, The bird-note and wind hung still, while the flowers Slept unwaked by love's wooing and voices from out the sea. 52 A STORY OF THE SANDS. *' Oh ! Love," she sighed, ''my Hfe has come," And he did greet her speech with kisses swift And sweet, and stopped her breath with impassioned words, Made bold by warm embrace ; and thus they spent their strength. The soHtude was broken by sighs and laughter, as a Ripple breaks, and washes to the shore. "My love, dear heart!" he said, and fingers wandered idly O'er nature's bust so full, so rich in its lily bloom. Bosom to bosom, and breath to breath they lived, and The magic current of his being passed to her, and Heart to heart and soul to soul they knew no wrong, but what Love had done. Passion's poison marred her soul, And life to her was just begun. Ah ! when a flower breaks, and hum- ming birds hover A STORY OF THE SANDS. S3 O'er its sweets to quaff, the flower gives and dies not. Alas ! for human hearts who know love's sting but to Die, and waste as does the grass in torrid zones. "Happy, dear?" and for answer an- other warm embrace. "Did'st hear the sound of waters?" "'Tisbut the tide." She said. '' See ! the north star hangs afar, and Luna sleeps, And night is almost gone." *' My love! Myall! My wife ! " he said, ** 'tis more than tide Of sea. We are lost ! the reservoir does burst ! " Days brought no tidings, no breath of slander Touched their names, for they were dead — Cecyl and Valerie ! The reservoir on Graystone Hill had sprung a leak. And, with help of tide, swept out to sea the wedded hearts 54 A STORY OF THE SANDS. That marriage could not give. None save Him who Sees all things, knew aught of the tryst upon the sands — One hour of life and they had died. Heart to heart In life, breast to breast in death. Guilty ? Aye, To man's creed and God's. At the bar of the great, white Throne, were they judged severely? Let the sinner tell. Will the saints forgive ? The years had numbered ten since then, and Many slept, and many oped their eyes to light and sun. With day's breath and night's sleep, many come and many go. Agnes Wareing Cecil, sleeps her long last sleep, but Judge St. John still lives and mourns his loved Valerie. In among the pines he placed his trib- ute, and thus A STORY OF THE SANDS. 55 We read: Valerie, aged twenty-two; and 'neath The base, on a marble broken pile, is raised the Letters, " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." So does comedy and tragedy play in our lives. 'Tis true, the world's a stage, and we but actors. So life's history runs, and to the end we all Shall turn and read the word, FINIS. i/lRT II APRIL. Tap ! tap ! comes the patter of rain, April, with her tears and laughter sweet. The violets peeped out, and felt the touch Of her lips, and saw her rain-washed feet. April smiled, and bade them come — Come out in the world once more; They stood by the roadside shy and sweet, Their hoods of purple tied before. IF I ONLY KNEW. He kissed me softly. Said it was true, That he loved me — only me. My eyes grew moist and dim, My pulses swiftly beat, If I only knew — only knew ! I heard his heart beat with mine, I saw his eyes look fondly down, A telltale in their depths of blue. He whispered, Have you heard me, love? And waited — one, two, three, four ! And then / kiss'd him too ! 60 ESTRANGED. We met and parted by the stile, Down in the meadows with grasses brown, I watched her go to the hamlet town, That lay 'mid the hills a backward mile. We met and parted by the stile, At first a kiss of the warm sunlight, And a clasp of hands like lilies white, While love was caught by her smile. We parted when the grass lay wet and brown, Down by the river, down by the stile. In answering word or a fleeting smile, Her fair hands hid in her pretty gown. The sound of bells came o'er the hills. Came like an echo from out the past. Oh ! if the sound would only last With the faint, far-away hum of the mills. 6i IN THE GLOAMING. In the hush of the eventide, In the gloaming of the day, The pale stars break ; In space beyond the reach of men, And swift along the line of sky A multitude awake. In the hush of the eventide, In the gloaming of my life, I speak with God. The winds are still, the blossoms breathe Incense to the sleeping, dreaming world, A path untrod. When in the hush of the eventide Day and night kiss in mute farewell, I sit apart. And bow my head in reverent awe, To see the nightly celestial universe Unfold its heart. 62 IN THE GLOAMING. 63 In the eventide I sit and dream, In the gloaming of the day, And the future lies Within myself. I see the end and know The way to Him. So sweet to see With open eyes. A PICTURE. A PICTURE on my easel, A face that is regal and fair; In all the world not a picture With the selfsame style and air. 1 love my face on the easel, The original I cannot obtain, So I make court to my picture, And smother my heartfelt pain. 64 THRO' THE WHEAT. The poppies are red in the fields of wheat, The sun shines yellow on the marguer- ite, With its wreath of snow. Will she come down by the river's brink, Will she ponder, perhaps, to think ? Dp you know.'* The poppies are blowi g in the fields of wheat, Red as the roses and in beauty replete, Mimic suns of flame. Will she come by the meadow, thro' the grass, Or thro' the lane where kine shall pass, This rustic dame ? The poppies are red in the fields of wheat. She is coming, she comes, how sweet, how sweet. Oh ! happy day ! 65 66 THRO' THE WHEAT, She stops, and falters, and a flower steals And hides in her belt the scarlet wheels That the mischief play. The fields of wheat are red in the sun That dies in a flood of amber and dun In its yellow tide. Two go back by the river's sandy strand. Two are laughing, and hand in hand, Go side by side. SLANDER. Just a breath on the morning air, A whisper to the flower blooming there. The breath and whisper became a word, And at noon all the woodland heard. At night the flower lay a wither'd thing, The wind was swift in its deadly sting. 67 IF HE CAME WOOING. If he came wooing in the soft May-time, Would ye have him, bonny lass? With scythe and whetstone all ashine, Like a flash of lightning in the grass; If he came wooing, Would ye take him, lass ? If he came wooing in June's rich time, Would ye have him, bonny lass ? With the vesper bells a-ringing chime, Beyond the hills and meadow grass — If he came wooing. Would ye take him, lass ? If he came wooing in the corn's rich time, Would ye marry him, bonny lass, With sickle in hand and song in rhyme. And cocks of hay of rich brown grass ? If he came wooing. Would ye take him, lass ? 68 IF HE CAME WOOING. 69 If he came wooing in the corn's rich time, I would take my bonny lad, With vesper bells in a merry chime, And my heart so full and glad. If he came wooing A happy, bonny lass. FOUR-LEAFED CLOVER. M-A-T mat, r-i matri, m-o-n-y, Matrimony, Said a maiden, counting clover Thro' the meadows, dell, and grass, And lea. Once, twice, thrice and over, A four-leaf! Pshaw! Til never marry I Another ! only three ! Dear me ! thought I had it ! Disappointed be. The sun went down behind the hills, Hopeless little maiden, Shy and sweet with sorrow's grief, Pretty eyes tear-laden. Without a clover four-leaf ! *'Dear heart!" he cried, ''I found it first. One, and one only. With it, darling, I'll come, too. For I am very lonely." 70 LOOKING BACK. We met on the stairs of the grand Salon, Ah ! that night, that night ! — 'Mid music and whirl and crush of the ball, And tropical perfumes and light. Just a pressure of a soft, white hand, While dark eyes smiled with mad de- sire, And I was left alone with bursting heart, With brain and soul on fire. Once in the dance, I held her flowers, The sweet, sweet mignonette. The night waned slow. I hid them away, Alas ! I have them yet. Oh ! that night ! It will never come back. Why was I made of clay ? Why did I not break the game of chance. And make a to-morrow of to-day ? 71 MON AMOUR. My love is a white, white rose, Wrapped in sweet attire, Withal a grace of heaven's own, Her love a burning fire. My love is of high degree, A lass of the manor born, Her skin as soft as soft could be, And white as the fleece that's shorn. Her voice, like birds at eve. Cooing their young to sleep. Her breath is like the vi'let buds That dwell 'mid the Alpine steep; My love is a white, pale rose. That bends in the summer's air, While all around her court is held, A maiden royally fair. I would sing to my love an old love song, Filled with pathos and joy, 72 MON AMOUR. 1Z While she would answer in sweeter strain That our love was without alloy. The winds would be an accompaniment, The stars our watch on high, Beating hearts would keep the time, The moments in ecstasy fly. 6 THE PRETTY QUAKERESS. Gray and somber were the skies, Grayest of gray were her eyes, Quaintly gray was the dress Of the pretty Quakeress. Her hands were as the snow, Her breath as if the blow Of winds soft and sweetly flown, Had made a rose their home. Her voice was like a bird In a copse or woodland heard. Tender with the notes of love, Softly spoken as a dove. This was said in deep distress. To the pretty Quakeress : " Would'st thou, would'st, would's thou, Tallest me, tellest me how " To woo, wed, and love thee. Wilt thou love and marry me. Teach me the thy, thee, and thou ? " She answer'd, "Thou knowest how." 74 THE DYING LEAVES. A LEAF all gold fell down 'Mid the russet and the brown, And lay quivering, trembling, A poor unheeded thing, Like a life that passeth away. Forgotten in a day. Oh ! what is the use to sigh ? We all are destined to die. A leaf all crimson red Fluttered to earth : 'twas dead. It fell 'mong the marble stones, So gray and white, which covered bones Of ancestors dead ! like a reflected light It lay, red as blood, 'gainst the white. Naught but the wind had heard its moan, Naught had cared ; it died alone. The rustling leaves are falling, As if the dead were calling : 75 76 THE DYING LEAVES. " Reflect and pause and think, Of the dread, uncertain brink." If like them we leave behind Some good done to some sorrowing mind, A ray of light like theirs is blessed In the glorious peace and heavenly rest. THE OLD CHURCH-YARD. *' Old as the hills," the people said, The final rest of the village dead, The old church-yard at the foot of the hill, Weird and solemn and awfully still. Whip-poorwills sing in the silent shade, The wild flowers blossom and slowly fade, The day dies sadly o'er meadow and dell, While the old church tolls its vesper bell. The tombstones gleam with spectral light. That for ages have stood in passing sight, Old and worn and moss grown green, And the ivy trails o'er a shielding screen. The winds sigh mournfully thro' the trees, And the foliage falls in flowery leaves, 7^ THE OLD CHURCH-YARD. Purple and brown and yellow and red, J Trembling, fluttering o'er the dead. 1707, says the corner-stone, A creeper climbs with its scarlet cone, The elms, gnarled and stately and tall, Throw their shadows o'er the crum- bling wall. Dim are the aisles of St. Bernard, Seen from the windows, the old church- yard; In it the generations sleep their long, last sleep. While the aged bend in prayer and weep. THE TEST. The violets pale 'mid the waving grass, The summer blossoms sweet and gay, The winds were soft to the rustic lass, As they blew o'er her cheek that day. Bright warm eyes, sweet eyes of blue, Her pale face pensive, sad and sweet, She picked the blossom of color true. While the winds their music did repeat. " This violet pale of heavenly hue, Must surely tell the truth to me. If my absent lover is constant, true. And will he faithful be ? " She plucked the leaves and named them all. The east, the west, the north, and south. She held her hand and the wind would call The brave and true or false and fickle out. 79 8o THE TEST. They stirred, and the maiden held her heart, The east went gracefully in the air. And the west goes, too, and formed the part Of the brave and true, to this maiden fair. Singing softly 'long the wooded pass. And murmuring sweetly what she knew, He caught the hands of this rustic lass, And whisper d, fondly, "I love but you ! " MARGUERITE. In a meadow bare and brown, A flower lay with a topaz crown, With soft and creamy leaves of white, A gleaming marguerite, pure and bright. I have likened you to this flower fair, This lovely queen of Autumn rare. Pure and holy your life will be, A perfect peace in eternity. Innocence is the other name Of this blossom sweet, with heart of flame. Thy memory will pro e forever sweet. Pure and fair, pale Marguerite. 8i I STILL BELIEVE. No need of sun or stars to shine, I still believe. No need of moon to path, entwine Of silver flecks on emerald hues, I still believe. No need of wind to kiss the dew, I still believe. No need of flowers of snowy hue. To give me fragrance, and let me know, I still believe. Thou alone shall make me glad, I still believe. Thou alone shall make me gay or sad. And fill my heart with what it asks, I still beheve. 82 HE AND SHE. In the meadow stream the cows stand, Drinking, In the grass and meadow land, Thinking, He and she stand hand in hand. The cows are wandering far away; Tinkling Bells sound like a vesper day. Stars peep out from the misty gray. He and she, where are they? Thinking Still of the duty and part to play? Drinking Love's bitterness, and the penalty pay ! 83 DOWN BY THE RIVER. Down by the river, at the close of the day, Down by the river, down by the river. "I ponder, and wonder if this is the way." Down by the river, down by the river. Down by the river in the moon's pale light, Down by the river, down by the river, '*I wonder if it's wrong, I wonder if it's right," Down by the river, down by the river. Down by the river, down by the stile, Down by the river, down by the river, " Why did I tell him, after a while ? " Down by the river, down by the river. In the old stone church, at the foot of the hill, Down by the river, down by the river, I answered '' Yea," and I answer'd, "I will," Down by the river, down by the river. 84 THE FRENCH LESSON. The low laughing brook. With its bend and crook, Sang in merry tune ; And the day was bright, And the clouds were white, That summer's day in June. A maiden sat alone. By the silver stream, and prone At her feet lay her dog. She pondered her Francais La chien est moi Joi : Hark ! Answers come from the bog ; " Toujours, toyjours,^^ said a frog, Within the marshy bog. The maiden sweetly sighed, While a bird replied, Quite near her side, In tones of joyous pride : " Petite, petite" said the wren. She turned and looked, and then 85 86 THE FRENCH LESSON, The bird had flown. " Vien ici mon a'mour, Oest na pas un detour i"*"^ A voice in loving tone Replied, " The bird has its mate, My bonny, regal Kate, Teach me the lesson of love, In French or English care not I. Oh ! Ma Belle Kate, you sigh ''— Registered was the kiss above. The summer day ended, Gray shadows blended, Sweetest of days in June, The secret of love has been said, The lesson in Francais read, J^aime, J^aime, in the tune. YOU. If I were a flower I would bloom for you, For you, for you. A forget-me-not, with eye of blue, For you, for you. If I were the wind, I would come at eve, To you, to you. I would sigh and kiss and laugh or grieve. For you, for you. If I were a brook, I would ripple on, And sing to you. My heart and soul would be my song. And tell it you. If — , but I cannot tell all I'd do. For you, for you. But this I know I regret and rue. My meeting you. 87 DANDELIONS. I LOVE the flower with the name Dandelion. Round quaint faces, suns of flame, That with age do veil their face, Covering head and bust with lace," Mignon. In the meadow grass two lovers stand, Hearts a-flutter. Holding dandelions in her hand, ^ " Let me paint your chin," she said. He answered, " If yellow, we shall wed." " No ! no ! you love butter ! " VIOLETS. Shy and sweet and full of grace, Dainty, winsome, pretty face, Is a violet. Pleading, dreaming, yearning eyes, A breath of heaven hidden lies. In their eyes of jet. YOU AND I. By the millstream, near the mill, In that summer long ago, In the shadows of the hill, Where the golden-rod did grow. In that summer past and dead, I loved you and you loved me, How we watched the millwheel red ! How we pondered what was to be ! Oh ! that summer, oh ! that day ! Where are you, and what am I ? The millwheel silent in decay, And the millstream ebbing dry. In my dreaming, you and I Go wandering by the stream ; Shadows linger; heaven is nigh ; And millwheels turning in my dream. THE CROWS FLY LOW. The heather is wet and the crows fly- low, Heigh-ho, heart! heigh-ho ! Stand still, bonny Bess! stand still, so, so. Ah me ! ah me ! heigh-ho ! The twilight is stealing o'er moor and fen, Oh dear me ! oh dear me I The cattle stand idle, and sheep in the pen, Oh dear me ! oh dear me ! The skies are blue with a rift of white, Oh ! my heart ! oh ! my heart ! Hark ! the dogs are barking with mad delight. Be still, my heart, my heart ! He is coming in the shadowy light, What says the sound of the kettle ? Does it whisper, and kiss, and say "good-night,'* The singing, cooing kettle? 91 THE OLD, OLD STORY. Why do you write of the olden story, One so young and one so fair? Has thy young heart seen aught of glory, That love has brought? and the end despair ? Did'st thou not know that no eyes were true? That all were faithless, even the gray. And brown and black, the hazel and blue, Were never constant and will wander away. Let me tell you a story of a flower fair, That grew in the woodland quite alone, A lily, tall and fragrant and rare, A tropical beauty in a frigid zone. 'Neath its stalk and under the leaves, A vine grew up in slender tendrils fine. And between the vine and lily breath. The story so olden and yet divine. THE OLD, OLD STORY. 93 At first they were shy, and looked askance, And the lily was pale in her haughty pride, While the vine was firm as knight with lance Who cared for women only to deride. They struggled with fate as many do, Only to enhance with brighter smile. And at last with twining arms they kissed, these two, And saw not, pondered not all the while. The lily, so grand and regally tall, Gave up her heart, gave up her life, And in the end this was not all, A vow was given to be a wife. Time went on, the vine rapidly out- grew The stately lily, who had begun to fade, Forgotten was she, and only the dew Was distilled from the eyes that God had made. 94 THE OLD, OLD STORY. Brave, generous vine had begun to stray, And a pretty cobea was reached at last, While in a fortnight he was far away, His love was done; 'twas dead and past. The lily was queenly in her power, Dismayed at the course of the errant vine, Threw smiles to Timothy, in an hour And they were wed. Is this love divine ? MORAL. If two hearts stray, and one is true, Look for brown eyes and not for blue ; If brown eyes falter and betray. Seek consolation in those of gray. WHAT DOES IT BRING TO ME? White wings of the morn unfolding, The sun comes out from the sea, But what does it bring to me ? The sun is high, the stars are hid, The waves embrace and kiss in glee. But what does it bring to me ? The sun dyes red the western sky, ^olus sings from his couch in ecstasy, But what does it bring to me ? Night trails her garments o'er the world, I sit and dream, my love is free. Death does bring it nearer me. 95 RESURRECTED. Reverently I look and touch the leaves, Touch the shroud of my dead red rose: And mem'ry takes me back 'mid the sheaves Of wheat, to that summer long ago. The reapers paused and sate them down, While she picked the rose and gave it me; Oh ! that summer's day with its drift of clouds. In the far-off space of the sapphire sea. My dead, dead rose, with a perfume sweet, Alive in that summer, alas ! dead to- day, But a mem'ry left of that dear sweet face, Dead in the rose leaves now ashen gray. 96 THE DAISY AND VIOLET. A DAISY white and a violet blue Grew side by side in a meadow new ; They were beautiful and fairy small, And won the admiration and love of all. The daisy springs up with its soft pale face, Standing erect in its lovely gi'ace. And side by side a rivalry grew 'Tween the daisy white and the violet blue. Each so lovely on their small estate, Blooming early till the summer late, And breathing fragrance on the even- ing air. While they glowed with beauty in the sunset glare. *' See," the daisy said, "I am pure as snow. And all with praises and blessings 'pon me bestow, 97 98 THE DAISY AND VIOLET. While you," and the sweet daisy's laugh, " Only wither and die with autumn's chaff." The violet sighed low with drooping head, And sadly tho't of what the daisy had said. And it grew bold as the sighing winds blew, And murmured softly, *' I am of heav- en's own hue, I am treasured fondly and gently prest. By the hands of a maiden while sweet at rest, And she speaks of my beauty and lan- guage dear, While in books I repose by the fireside's cheer." The night came on and the flowers slept. While the moon shone brightly thro' cloudy cleft, THE DAISY AND VIOLET, 99 The daisy and violet were hid from sight, By the swaying grass that reflected the light, Divided were they in a single night, Hidden forever from one another's sight. A terrible obstacle had risen between, A loathsome toadstool of a golden green. Their many sighs were all in vain, While they grew sick and giddy with pain. The autumn waned and the autumn sped And the daisy and violet slept with the dead. WHAT? A PAUSE in life, a stop, What then? A weary flight of time, our lot, What then ? A farewell to the love that is dead, What then ? A dirge to the words that are said. What then ? What ! and the echoes far down The hill-sides reply Death ! and all the hills resound In an answering sigh — "What then !" a brook repeating low, " What Cometh then ? " I caught my breath. A whisper like the blow Of an idle wind said, *' Heaven ! " LINES IN AN ALBUM What shall I write In this album to-night ? I would wish thee many things, All that deep happiness brings, Joy, " Friendship," 'tis a lovely theme, A pure, golden, sunlit dream, Yes ? then Friendship it shall be. Friendship holy, friendship true, Is what I wish and hope for you, A sincere friend with unselfish heart. Safe and sure when far apart. Could I wish thee more or better Than love's, friendship's fetter ? No, I think not; a perfect life Is blessed friendship free from strife ONLY A FLOWER. Only a flower, yet, O, how sweet ! Alone, alive, abashed mid the wheat Where it grew, With a dainty, shy, white face, With its perfumed lips, and stately grace, And eye of blue. Only a flower that grew in the wheat. Where the dew and rain and wind does meet And talk of it ; When the night shadows cover all, The wheat does bend, and kiss, and call To its face moonlit. CLOVER BLOSSOMS. The white and scented clover, The pink and tufted clover, All around and over ; And you, love, leave it on your breast With its perfume, with its zest. The pink and white sweet clover. The bees are flitting o'er In their hunt for honeyed store, In and out, in and out ; My love, too, sips the sweets. And the perfume comes and greets Her 'mid the clover scattered 'bout. 103 TO-MORROW. To-morrow will bring you back to me Sweet, sweet to-morrow ! The night in sleep, how long 'twill be ! And then to-morrow. To-morrow ! like to the dead of yester- day Was the morrow. 'Twas heaven once, and sweet to pray Of bright to-morrow. To-morrow? how quick the curtains lift of night, And bring to-morrow ; If death would come, what rare delight, And drown to-morrow ! FINIS. 104 C 32 89 -^ '^<^- V^^ ^^^,<.« /«si^'- -^^^ ^^^ - v^' *j.:^'^ ^<^ * aV ^ aV*>». uS^^™^.* .C>^^ 1 ^o^:*T^'' j^ 4^ " -^i-o^ «ij ^K ''^^-., iV- . t • o^