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T H E^ S T R Y 
 
 OP 
 
 RAYMOND HILL, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN DENNISON BALDWIN. 
 
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 BOSTON: 
 
 WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY. 
 
 MDCCCXLVH. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by 
 
 John Dennison Baldwin, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 boston: 
 
 printed by thurston, torry and co. 
 
 31 Devonshire Street. 
 
THE STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 RAYMOND HILL 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS, MARY HOWITT, 
 
 Of England, 
 
 IN TOKEN OP ADMIRATION 
 
 FOR HER CHARACTER, 
 
 AND 
 
 GRATITUDE FOR THE PLEASURE 
 
 DERIVED 
 
 FROM HER VOLUMES. 
 
P RE r AC E. 
 
 These poems are firstlings. They are published, not be- 
 cause I suppose they have any very extraordinary merit, nor 
 because I have no hope of writing something better ; but 
 because I think they will find friendly readers, and, imperfect 
 as they are, do something to encourage others to love Truth 
 and Beauty, — and love them, not as abstractions merely, 
 but as realities to be felt and manifested all along the ways 
 of human life. 
 
 Excepting one of the shorter pieces, the first and second 
 parts of the Story of Raymond Hill, were chiefly written 
 sometime earlier than the rest of the volume. This may be 
 a reason why I regard them as the most imperfect portions of 
 it. The other parts were written, partly to finish what was 
 begun, and partly because I saw no reason to distrust the 
 thoughts and feelings with which I began the story. 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 I think there are loving ones, in the world around me, 
 who will sympathize with the thoughts and feelings I en- 
 deavor to express ; and who, if they find my expression quite 
 imperfect, will nevertheless treat me kindly, believing that 
 my thoughts and feelings are not altogether affected. 
 
 J. D. B. 
 
 KiLLiNGLY, Conn. 
 Ffbruary 5, 184 7. 
 
PART FIRST 
 PART SECOND 
 PART THIRD 
 PART FOURTH 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 PAGE 
 11 
 
 29 
 47 
 67 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 red jacket, at the old hunting ground . . 89 
 
 god's light bringer . . . .93 
 
 thoughts at a bridal . . . .99 
 
 an hour of sadness .... 103 
 
VllI CONTENTS. 
 
 THE DARK ROOM • . . . ,107 
 
 LITTLE MARY — A SKETCH . . . Ill 
 
 THE child's grave . . • . ,118 
 
 HOLY LAND ..... 121 
 
STORY OF RAYMOND HILL. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 'T IS spring, the time when skies are flushing 
 With richer smiles and warmer hues, — 
 When rainbow-color' d life is gushing. 
 Where balmy winds their breath difiuse. 
 The meadows feel the blossoms springing 
 To drink the light of vernal skies, 
 And all the happy birds are singing 
 As if they lived in Paradise. 
 The all-pervading Life, eflacing 
 The touch of winter's drear annoy, 
 
12 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 On forest, field, and sky, is tracing 
 The anthem-airs of summer joy. 
 How Nature, with a smile divine, 
 Dispels the very thought of sadness, 
 Forbids the loving heart to pine. 
 And fills it with a rapturous gladness ! 
 
 The sunset, beautiful as ever, 
 Is goldening valley, hill, and stream, — 
 And all things fair, with glad endeavor, 
 Return the kiss of every gleam. 
 
 With quivering light 
 
 The air is bright ; 
 Waves of lingering sunset shimmer, 
 Through the murmuring forest glimmer. 
 And seem, the trees and leaves among, 
 A visible, shining spread of song. 
 The lake in azure stillness lies. 
 Communing with the clouds and skies. 
 The spire-like mountain's broken crest. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 13 
 
 And rocky sides, are gaily dress' d, 
 
 With foliage green 
 
 And glittering sheen, 
 And hang beyond the valley forth, 
 Picture-like against the north. 
 Those fleecy cloudlets seem to shun. 
 In dread, the coming dark of even, 
 And stand around the setting sun. 
 Like souls before the gate of heaven. 
 
 In Weston dale, one creature only 
 Beholds the sunset, sad and lonely. 
 Beside the brook so gay and hale. 
 That wanders singing through the vale. 
 Beneath the shade of clustering vines, 
 A solitary youth reclines. 
 His cheek is resting on his hand ; 
 His eye, that turns without command, 
 Has not a gleam that shows delight. 
 Though every thing around is bright. 
 
14 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Too busy with itself, his soul, 
 Of eye and ear, has no control ; 
 His working features, well revealing 
 The inward stir of mighty feeling, 
 Of some great anguish tell too plainly. 
 With which his spirit struggles vainly ; 
 And when, a moment, thought is given 
 To aught beneath the smiling heaven, 
 His darken' d soul repels the light, 
 And broods as in the gloom of night. 
 
 The light and loveliness of Nature, 
 With sweet enticement, charm and grace 
 The life of every loving creature. 
 That feels and breathes in her embrace. 
 And yet, the all-o'erflowing splendor, 
 Through every sight and every tone 
 Forever melting, warm and tender, 
 Flows not from outward shows alone. 
 The landscape shineth, in its glory, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 15 
 
 To such as inwardly rejoice ; 
 The blossom tells an angel's story, 
 To such as know the angel's voice. 
 
 Poor Raymond Hill ! he does not glow, 
 With Nature's loveliness enchanted ; 
 He sees his soul in every show. 
 And that, he feels, is spectre-haunted. 
 And why has he this look of wo, 
 When life should have a sparkling flow ? 
 And why has pain this stern dominion 1 
 When thought should sail on careless pinion, 
 
 Soaring, gleaming, 
 
 Seeking, dreammg, 
 Through Fancy's strange delicious sky, 
 Entranc'd, yet hardly knowing why. 
 Though later years may wear the token 
 Of many a hope forever broken, 
 Our twentieth birthday seldom brings 
 Much more than light upon its wings. 
 
16 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Not SO with Raymond ; on the page 
 Of his young Ufe, the last two years 
 Have left the traces of an age, 
 And steep' d his very soul in tears. 
 His eye is alter' d, yet how well 
 Remembers all before its gaze ! 
 For every rock and tree can tell 
 Full many a tale of other days. 
 Those heavenly days of boyhood's life, 
 With such exquisite raptures rife. 
 When dreaming boyhood's graceful ways 
 Made being seem a hymn of praise, 
 Disturb' d by no inwoven sorrow, 
 By no foreboding of to-morrow. 
 
 Not always, as an evening star, 
 Does Memory shine serenely, far 
 Along the past, on days of gladness ; 
 Too oftj she wakes the rage of madness. 
 As busy memory brings anew, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 17 
 
 To Raymond's thought, all warm and true, 
 
 His former self, as then, in dreams 
 
 Of golden exhalations wove 
 
 From hoy hood's heart, along the streams 
 
 And through the fields, he loved to rove, 
 
 The sense of what he must be now. 
 
 Works fury-like along his brow. 
 
 Near where the spire looks through the trees, 
 His widow' d mother's roof he sees ; 
 Longs to be there ; but, cannot frame 
 A resolution strong as shame. 
 State-prison ! quivering with the word. 
 The chords of agony are stirr'd, 
 Till madness through his soul is stealing 
 With every thought and every feeling. 
 No glaring lineaments of sin, 
 Englow'd by teeming hell within, 
 So fiercely rouse the swift demand 
 Of scorn, as this terrific brand, 
 
18 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 By which we deem the sinner awful, 
 And doubt if charity be lawful. 
 
 The sweet enchantment hovering round. 
 The gentle grace of sight and sound, 
 Along his brooding spirit flow. 
 And thrills of tender warmth bestow. 
 Some soothing touches gently win 
 Their way along the dark within. 
 Ah ! how he yearns for hearts to love him, 
 As, in the branches there above him, 
 Her evening hymn the robin sings, 
 And wakes a dream of holy things : — 
 "Bosom'd in a glow of beauty, 
 Being's happy pulses move. 
 Sweet as music, feeling duty 
 Means the radiant ways of love. 
 Oh ! we robins, fleeing sadness, 
 Study music every day. 
 Drink at every fount of gladness, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 19 
 
 Hear what smiling spirits say : — 
 And we sing our heavenly Father, 
 Full of bliss among the flowers. 
 Seeking round our nests to gather 
 All the light of sunny hours." 
 
 The robin glistening through his mood, 
 
 A flow of tearful longing brought ; 
 
 A keener sense of solitude 
 
 Gush'd in, to edge his painful thought. 
 
 How he would strive to merit love, 
 
 Redeem his tainted life, and be 
 
 Unstain'd ! but tears cannot remove 
 
 The blighting curse of infamy. 
 
 In early childhood, Raymond grew, 
 To every kindly impulse true ; 
 His mother's love his only guide ; 
 And she had little else beside. 
 Of father, dead ere he could frame 
 Sufficient speech to say his name, 
 
20 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 He nothing felt or cherish' d, save 
 The lessons gather' d at his grave. 
 It may be, that, in motherhood, 
 A feehng dwells, not understood 
 By him who could not have the part, 
 To bear his child so near the heart ; 
 Yet, true and holy from above, 
 Was sent the father's different love. 
 And childhood's guidance best is done, 
 Where both unite and act as one. 
 
 As Raymond grew beside his mother. 
 Her yearning love, that had no other. 
 Did much to keep his childhood sweet, 
 And free from many a noxious heat, 
 Tho', oft, indulgent tenderness 
 Prevailed to make its wisdom less. 
 Within the boy, as soon he show'd, 
 A high, impetuous nature glow'd ; 
 A nature, over which should rule 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 21 
 
 A wiser hand and truer school. 
 To see him bounding to his plays. 
 One's eye grew loving with the gaze, 
 Such beauty on his face was blushing, 
 Such warmth in every glance was gushing. 
 Yet, blood so swift, on poisonous food, 
 Too soon becomes a fiery flood. 
 Burns every tie of right control. 
 And works perdition through the soul. 
 The mother's tireless care of love, 
 Entirely fruitless, could not prove ; 
 The boy drew in, from each caress, 
 Some virtue from its holiness ; 
 But on his life, too much neglected, 
 By reinless impulse oft directed. 
 Some lines began to show their trace. 
 That marr'd its fair enchanting grace. 
 A dusky mist began to blight 
 His early childhood's lustrous light, 
 That dimly gather'd into haze, 
 
22 EAYMOND HILL. 
 
 All o'er his sweet and winning ways ; 
 For, springing there, the good to kill, 
 Were intermingled germs of ill. 
 
 But 'twas not merely absent care 
 That gave to wrong its growing sway ; 
 Grim vice had busy teachers there, 
 With subtle skill to lead astray, 
 Whose wizard, thought-bewildering lips. 
 That breath'd around the listening youth, 
 Within his fancy, worked eclipse 
 All o'er the dawning glow of truth. 
 And made the paths of evil seem 
 The garden ways of joy extreme, 
 With every sweet enchantment glowing. 
 With rosy radiance overflowing. 
 Whose murmurs through the senses sing, 
 And every warmest rapture bring. 
 
 Among these teachers, there was one, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 23 
 
 Who chiefly shap'd in Raymond's heart, 
 An evil mood, that, when begun. 
 Went on to play an evil part. 
 For many a year, old Jacob Green, 
 Afar by sea and land, had roved : 
 All poisonous forms of vice had seen, — 
 All poisonous forms of vice had loved. 
 And he had roved in many a clime. 
 Where men had made the very air 
 Ablaze with every lurid crime. 
 And every desperate passion's glare. 
 His heart, that early went astray. 
 There flung the last restraint away. 
 With evil form'd the strictest union. 
 And liv'd with fiends in close communion. 
 In every sin, he stood the first ; 
 Was never led, but led the worst. 
 With desperate will, whose dreadful trace 
 Was graven deeply on his face. 
 In every feature, was discern' d 
 
24 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 What fires of guilt had inly burn'd. 
 
 He came a stranger ; none could tell 
 
 The history of his league with hell. 
 
 But some, around whose shuddering thought, 
 
 His look a sense of evil wrought, 
 
 Belie v'd that Green, for many years, 
 
 Had sail'd with lawless buccaneers j 
 
 And many whisper' d their belief. 
 
 That he had been a pirate chief. 
 
 He wished the meed to honor paid ; 
 With surly courtship sought to win 
 But every voice a tone betray' d. 
 That had not honor's reverence in it. 
 He dwelt among them, quite apart. 
 By many fear'd, and lov'd by none; 
 He never met an open heart ; 
 In every crowd he seem'd alone. 
 His sullen eye and daring gait 
 Oft woke a shudder where he went, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 25 
 
 And yet, that eye could fascinate, 
 When guilefully on Raymond bent. 
 Perhaps it was not serpent guile, 
 That lit his features with a smile, 
 Lurked in his voice, and charm' d his lip, 
 To win the boy's companionship. 
 Perchance it was a better feeling, 
 His sense of loneliness revealing, 
 A yearning wish, that would intrude. 
 And brood amid his solitude, 
 A trusting fellowship to find 
 In one at least of human kind. 
 
 Nor all in vain, did he employ 
 
 His wiles, to win the guideless boy, — 
 
 Who ceased to fear, began to love, 
 
 And, with confiding spirit, strove. 
 
 Ere long, to emulate the mood. 
 
 That flushes crime with hues of good. 
 
 Long hours, the pair, in sunny weather, 
 
 3 
 
26 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Wander' d or sat alone together. 
 Within the woods that skirt the vale, 
 While Jacob told some thrilling tale 
 Of dire adventure, crime, and blood, 
 In which he made it understood, 
 That lofty manliness requires 
 The soul to burn with lurid fires. 
 Perhaps he did not mean to wake 
 The demons there ; but, while he spake, 
 His words, like slimy vipers, stole, 
 Unhinder'd, through the listener's soul, 
 Diffusing venom, where they went, 
 To nurse the germs of dark intent. 
 
 The stains of evil grew apace, 
 While men beheld, with boding face. 
 From Raymond's soul, to which were given 
 Such glowing lineaments of heaven, 
 • The health and beauty disappear. 
 In Jacob's festering atmosphere. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 27 
 
 The poison work'd ; at length, the flood 
 
 Of Hvid passion's angry blood, 
 
 Arous'd by such incessant art, 
 
 Rose, steaming, sweltering, round his heart. 
 
 His fancies grew degenerate ; 
 
 He caught the vengeful tone of Hate ; 
 
 His teeming blood, as evil grew, 
 
 The livid mood began to brew, 
 
 That fiercely glares vindictive strife. 
 
 Nor cares if red with human life. 
 
 It was not, that his soul within. 
 Disown' d the grace of Love and Duty ; 
 Nor, that a seated love of sin, 
 Expelled all inward Light and Beauty. 
 The fascinating spell, that bound him 
 And made his evil passions start. 
 Was nursed by noxious things around him, 
 And not by fiends within his heart ; 
 From Jacob's tongue the poison filtered, 
 
28 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 m 
 
 In which his thought and fancy sweltered. 
 But, through a baleful air refracted, „. 
 The holy light was very strange ; 
 And, what he felt, alas ! he acted ; 
 He gave his troubled passions range, 
 And, ere his eighteenth summer came, 
 Was doom'd to wear a branded name. 
 
EAYMOND HILL. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Along the churches' holy places, 
 A golden glow of living graces, 
 The light of thoughts and lives divine. 
 Should, evermore, serenely shine. 
 But Form its chilling shadow flings, 
 To quench the light of holy things, 
 That mourn, amid the darkness lying, 
 Like voices in a desert crying. 
 How many virtue's honor claim. 
 Because they loudly cry her name, 
 
30 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 With show of utterance very holy, 
 Enton'd with pious melancholy ! 
 How many bid us reverence them, 
 Because along a mantle-hem. 
 Quite free from sullying touch or stain, 
 Some holy words are written plain ; — 
 Or bid us stand, rebuked, to see. 
 In them, the holiest men that be, 
 Because they always find, with ease. 
 The wardrobe of the Pharisees, 
 And, every week, their foreheads garnish 
 With glossy Pharisaic varnish ; 
 While earnest hearts are throbbing sadly 
 To see these fashions greeted gladly. 
 Within whose many-tinted murk 
 The busy fiends are all at work. 
 
 In Weston lived a man, whose name 
 Was snugly shelter' d in the fame 
 Of forward zeal, to make religion 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 31 
 
 Respectable through all the region ; 
 
 And yet, his ever-yearning greed 
 
 Could filch the blood of pallid need, 
 
 And wring the sickest heart for spoil, 
 
 His tongue, the while, as smooth as oil. 
 
 His golden greatness was respected ; 
 
 His dire rapacity protected, 
 
 By many a cunning art to draw 
 
 An endless sanction from the law. 
 
 With guile, no conscience rose to smother, 
 
 This man had injur'd Raymond's mother. 
 
 In form of law, he made the deed 
 
 Of cruel robbery SLicceed, 
 
 While yet, the first hot hours of mourning 
 
 Around the widow's heart were bLirning. 
 
 The boy had often heard the tale, 
 From lips whose language could not fail 
 To wake and nurse a swift pulsation, 
 Alive with keenest indignation. 
 
32 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 At length, as Jacob shap'd his thought, 
 With darker glow, this feeling wrought, 
 Until the smooth oppressor's name 
 Would stir his blood's intensest flame. 
 His poison' d feelings, swift and strong, 
 Flow'd in around the sense of wrong, 
 And, settling there, a purpose lent, 
 That every thought and feeling bent 
 To schemes, whose violent execution 
 Would force an ample restitution. 
 In phrase of Jacob learn'd, he swore, 
 The saintly villain should restore 
 The gains of greed so merciless, 
 And make his mother full redress. 
 
 Many a fiery word he mutter' d ; 
 Many a wild menace he utter' d ; 
 He said, it were a deed to bless. 
 To punish pirate-wantonness ; 
 And glowed the oft-repeated threat, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 33 
 
 That he would scourge the robber yet. 
 
 As once they met, a word or look 
 
 His morbid spirit would not brook, 
 
 Was answer'd with a curse and blow, 
 
 And hatred's fiery overflow. 
 
 And now, his eyes and features play, 
 
 Alive with glaring fury's sway ; 
 
 The passions sweltering in his soul, 
 
 Burst lava-like from all control. 
 
 To hot rebuke he gives reply, 
 
 Convuls'd to passion's hoarsest cry, 
 
 And swiftly deals the frantic blows. 
 
 And fiercely struggles, when they close 
 
 In furious fray, but falls, at length, 
 
 As fails his wild unequal strength. 
 
 Rage boils his brain ; — " the painted knave ! 
 
 The sanctimonious devil's slave ! 
 
 The steaming stench of rotten life ! " 
 
 He screams, and swiftly draws a knife. 
 
 Which, Jacob said, with hot delight. 
 
34 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Had gleam' d in many a fatal fight. 
 His quivering hand is phrenzy driven ; 
 He strikes — a ghastly gash is given. 
 
 Oh mystery ! then in Raymond's soul, 
 Come heavenly things to win control ! 
 Rage goes, as goes a sudden storm, 
 To which succeed the gushes warm 
 Of mildening winds, that gather there 
 To soothe and clear the troubled air, 
 And flow, the blackened sky-arch under, 
 To charm away the breath of thunder. 
 A shivering throb, a shuddering start. 
 Stirs deeply through his slumbering heart. 
 Oh, that it were a dreadful dream ! 
 He feels his fingers redly stream ; — 
 With hurrying look surveys the wound ; — 
 And then, from faces gathering round 
 A fearful blaze of human eyes, 
 Away, as fiend-pursu'd, he flies. 
 
 i 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 35 
 
 Appall' d, in every pulse to feel 
 Self-horror's first experience steal. 
 
 The bleeding man, to people nigh, 
 
 Who swiftly question, makes reply : — 
 
 " I was not any way in fault ; 
 
 The creature made a foul assault ; 
 
 He us' d a knife, and had the will, 
 
 I think, to rob as well as kill. 
 
 You know the fellow's recent mood ; 
 
 But, hasten, let him be pursued ; 
 
 The wound is large, but not severe ; 
 
 There need not many tarry here." 
 
 In furious mood the crowd recruit, 
 
 And madly urge the hot pursuit. 
 
 Vindictive rage alone has sway, 
 
 And Raymond, seiz'd and dragg'd away. 
 
 Is left in misery's tearless spell, 
 
 Within a felon's bolted cell, 
 
 And feels the stir of horrors, creeping 
 
36 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Where bolts the iron ward are keeping. 
 
 Ah ! then no thrill compassionate 
 
 Melts through the glaring eye of Hate, 
 
 That comes the criminal to scan, 
 
 As if a monster, not a man ; 
 
 And he is painted black with evil, 
 
 As early leagued to serve the devil ; 
 
 And Jacob's scholar, all agree, 
 
 Belongs to crime and infamy ; 
 
 While Raymond, shuddering in his cell, 
 
 With feelings language cannot tell, 
 
 And fast emotions, that forsake 
 
 And loathe his tempter, longs to wake 
 
 And shed the dream, again to be 
 
 All bright with childhood's purity. 
 
 If now a god-like faith in man 
 
 Spoke out from eyes and hearts around him ; 
 
 Ah ! would they spurn the cruel ban. 
 
 With which unpitying scorn has bound him ; 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 37 
 
 If stern-faced law would deign to borrow 
 The blessed tones and tears of sorrow, 
 His swelling heart would quickly melt 
 With every pure and good emotion. 
 And holy thoughts, before unfelt. 
 Would have henceforth his life's devotion. 
 But every tongue rings out the strain, — 
 '' The bloody fiend must wear a chain ! " 
 Some shake their heads and whisper, sighing, 
 " How good and great he might have been ! " 
 But feel no stir of faith replying, — 
 '' Go, love and save his soul from sin !" 
 
 While curious horror's thirst they slake, 
 None dream his better heart can wake. 
 They peer in silence, all intent 
 To work a murderer's punishment ; 
 Or speak with such self-righteous tone. 
 As mercy's angels never own. 
 And, staring round his deed of ill, 
 
38 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Those kinder eyes are dark and chill, 
 That, else, all warm and dewy bright 
 With gushing love, would send their light, 
 Like genial sun-gleams, through the gloom, 
 That girds him in his ironed room. 
 His mother's voice is low and broken, 
 While others look with chilling eye ; 
 Her love, with sobs of anguish spoken, 
 He feels, and groaning, longs to die. 
 
 With frown terrific speaks the law. 
 And love is sternly hush'd in awe : — 
 " The desperate fiend to check and tame, 
 We brand 'State-Prison' on his name; " 
 But oh ! 'twas not a fiend, whose tears 
 Of shame and sorrow, through the years 
 Of punishment, so wildly fell, 
 Unnotic'd in his lonely cell ; — 
 Unnotic'd, save of Him, whose eye 
 Beholds all secret misery. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 39 
 
 His days of punishment are ended : — 
 
 And who can tell, with what despair 
 
 He feelsj around him is extended 
 
 A scorn, that darkens earth and air, 
 
 As forth he comes, with footstep fearful, 
 
 Once more to tread the ways of men ; 
 
 The very sunlight is not cheerfiil ; 
 
 He scarcely knows the world again. 
 
 Men shrink away, or whispering meet him, 
 
 Or gaze with eyes of holy wrath ; 
 
 Or loud with stinging mockery greet him. 
 
 And hiss contempt along his path. 
 
 Away from scowling human faces, 
 
 He turns, with madness in his mood, 
 
 To seek a forest's lonest places. 
 
 And find a lighter solitude. 
 
 He gains the shelter ; there reclin'd, 
 He sits with undirected mind. 
 Ah ! how escape the cruel ban. 
 
40 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 And stillj in any haunt of man, 
 Encounter loving eyes and hearts, 
 And fellowship that love imparts ! 
 Again in Weston, once so dear. 
 Can he, the branded wretch appear ? 
 Alas ! the world of golden light. 
 In which his former days were bright, — 
 The sky, that shone with radiant gleams 
 Of early hopes and early dreams. 
 Their glad array no longer wear ; 
 For him, 'tis starless midnight there. 
 No, no, away beyond the sea. 
 To far off regions, must he flee ; 
 A strange and distant race among, 
 Must dwell, and learn another tongue. 
 Or why not, outcast as he is. 
 Make reckless crime and riot his ; 
 Seek out a crew of buccaneers. 
 Whose fortune desperate daring steers, 
 With them at home, a vengeance study. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 41 
 
 Accept the war and make it bloody, 
 Glare back on men a scorn as great, 
 And fearless give them hate for hate ! 
 
 His blood awakes, and through his soul, 
 A fiery flood begins to roll ; 
 Along his brow, the stir and flush 
 Of fierce emotions, wake and rush ; 
 Swift fires dilate his drooping eyes ; 
 ''Yes ! hate for hate ! " he fiercely cries. 
 And, madly rushing onward, speeds, 
 As if to write the vow in deeds. 
 But soon a softer mood ensues. 
 And better yearnings fast diffuse 
 Their soothing sway, as gently come 
 The changeless memories of home j 
 And, turn'd by this increasing spell, 
 Whose power his heart cannot repel, 
 His steps no longer aimless stray. 
 But on, to Weston, take their way. 
 
 3 
 
4S RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The vale is reach' d : — and now, he sees 
 His mother's roof, among the trees. 
 Beyond the spire, that rises bright 
 And gUmmering with the sunset Hght : 
 His soul to passion's war delivering, 
 With pain in every fibre quivering. 
 Looks home awhile, so dark his eye, 
 That all is dark beneath the sky ; 
 And then, beneath the bower of vines. 
 In lonely misery reclines. 
 
 But ah ! one teemins thousht is his, 
 That works with clustering memories. 
 To stir and soothe, and yet oppress 
 With overwhelming tenderness. 
 He feels delicious, starry light. 
 All o'er his spirit's cheerless night. 
 All o'er the gloom around him, trace 
 His suffering mother's pleading face. 
 By this prevailing force within, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 43 
 
 At length, the sweeter passions win. 
 
 The days come back, when, Hke a spring 
 Whose brimming waters sweetly sing, 
 With crystal life, as on they run, 
 Glittering, gleaming with the sun, 
 Her brimming love, too bright with gladness 
 To keep one hour a shade of sadness, 
 Was gushing o'er his boyhood's life. 
 That grew with fairest promise rife ; 
 The days, when radiant with the joy 
 That grew with him, her darling boy, 
 His mother's heart went clear and strong 
 In music, like an angel's song. 
 From earliest morn to latest even, 
 And made her humble home a heaven ; 
 Those blessed days, alas ! that never 
 On them may shine again forever ; 
 Her paradise whose glory vanished, 
 When he to infamy was banished, 
 
41 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 In whose dark ruins, sad, and broken 
 With grief that cannot all be spoken, 
 Her steeping eyes with anguish dim, 
 She kneels alone and prays for him. 
 
 Not always does the soul betoken, 
 By quivering lip and brimming eye, 
 True chords that tremble yet unbroken, 
 Or holy founts that are not dry. 
 With every holy chord unstrung, 
 With the blackening blight of crimeful years, 
 The heart, by desperate madness wrung, 
 May shed its oozing grime for tears. 
 Hot streams from demon eyes that ache, 
 Fast down the livid cheeks may roll. 
 When baffled passions, raging, break 
 In lurid tempest, through the soul. 
 
 Not thus is Raymond's tearful glow, 
 As now the quick emotions flow 
 
KAYMOND HILL. 45 
 
 Within, like sweetest winds that bring 
 The earth-renewing Hfe of spring. 
 He feels the disenchanting call 
 To strength and clearness, break his thrall ; 
 His fancies warm and warmer came, 
 Like angels from their love-bright home, 
 And stir the blessed founts of feeling 
 Whose waters down his face are stealing ; 
 Despair gives way ; a holier aim, 
 Than wild and lonely flight from shame, 
 Begins his brightening soul to employ, 
 And wakes a beaming thrill of joy; 
 New, gladdening fancies round him crowd ; 
 Smiles dawn ; and thus he thinks aloud : — 
 
 "Dear mother, yes ! I still can be 
 Light, life, and gladness — all, to thee ! 
 Though shame my life has darkly cross' d, 
 Thy love remains ; I am not lost. 
 Thy face, so dark and wet with pain, 
 
46 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The smile of joy shall light again. 
 Far in the west, I '11 seek a home, 
 And make old pleasures round it come ; 
 And there, with wiser heart, for thee 
 I '11 toil ; and there, for thee and me, 
 Shall life be beautiful once more, 
 Aye, truer, better than before. 
 One night beneath thy roof I '11 sleep ; 
 I'll go and bid thee cease to weep, 
 Feel thy love in thy embrace, 
 See, all o'er thy grief-worn face, 
 Coming smiles begin to play, 
 Take thy blessing, — and away ! 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 It was a tranquil summer eve, 
 Whose smile forbade the sad to grieve ; 
 The bustUng winds were all at rest ; 
 The glow of day had left the west ; 
 The bushes grey and grasses green 
 All swam in whitest evening sheen ; 
 The trees, with outline grand and fair, 
 Stood listening in the living air. 
 To hear the wandering spirits' hymn 
 Flow through the silence, far and dim. 
 
48 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 It seem'd, the skies, for perfect bliss, 
 Were gently bending down to kiss 
 The dreaming brow of glorious June ; 
 A magic from the stars was stealing, 
 To charm the fancy, like a tune 
 Or tale, that wakes a bright forefeeling 
 Of ecstasy, beneath the skies 
 That charm the vales of Paradise. 
 
 The Cuyahoga's waters bright 
 Were whispering music to the night. 
 That told their yearning dream of rest, 
 In Erie's great maternal breast. 
 And there, along the forest valley. 
 His fancies moving musically, 
 Went Raymond, glad as any gleam 
 That danc'd on blossom, leaf, or stream. 
 
 Before the day began to fail. 
 
 He went to meet the lagging mail, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 49 
 
 And, singing, dreaming through the vale, 
 With radiant heart he now returns ; 
 In every pulse, serenely burns 
 A joy, that nothing comes to smother, — 
 The joy of tidings from his mother. 
 His glad demeanor seems to say, 
 ^' Ah ! better things on earth have sway, 
 Than gloaring hate and killing scorn ! 
 We need not walk the earth forlorn. 
 The ways of human life are bright 
 With loving hearts, whose gentle light 
 Can chase away the blackest sadness, 
 And fill the darkest heart with gladness. 
 As now the starry spell beguiles 
 And makes the world alive with smiles. 
 I '11 toil and wait another year ; 
 And, mother, then shalt thou be here ! 
 Our home will be a place of joy. 
 That sin shall not again destroy ; 
 And oh ! if Jane will see me then, 
 
50 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 With smiles, and soft consenting eyes, 
 Nor let me urge my suit in vain, 
 'Twill seem a bower of Paradise." 
 
 With shining hope communing now, 
 He feels her radiance round his brow ; 
 And light whose quickening beams impart 
 A heavenly verdure, fills his heart. 
 By timid trust in strangers drawn, 
 He came, two years and more agone, 
 To hide from howling infamy, 
 To seek for human sympathy. 
 To find a home and earn esteem 
 Where Cuyahoga's waters gleam, 
 Below the forest-cover' d hill, 
 Whose circle shelters Allanville. 
 
 Our God-related human heart, 
 Whose beat the demons seek to fetter. 
 Though oft it plays a mournful part, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 51 
 
 Forever yearns for something better. 
 Its league with holy things may seem, 
 By crimes and lies entirely broken ; 
 Or, like a dim remember'd dream 
 Of pretty words in childhood spoken, 
 May come, with songs of golden ages. 
 And sing to fancy, weirdly toned, 
 May gild our talk of holy sages. 
 And seem in every deed disowned. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bandages of lies 
 
 Cannot entirely still its beating ; 
 
 And, sometimes, scar'd to see it rise 
 
 The demons round it fly retreating. 
 
 And, though a holy wall around it. 
 
 Would fence it out from earth and sky ; 
 
 Though bigots in their fens have drown'd it, 
 
 Its godlike craving will not die. 
 
 How oft divine emotion graces 
 
 This poor old heart, when grief is seen, 
 
52 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Till Pharisees, with gloaring faces 
 And great philacteries, get between ! 
 
 Oh ! scorn is mighty ; when its flame 
 Has burn'd and blackened through a name, 
 How oft the heart of manhood dies, 
 In him who suffers ; through the eyes, 
 Where looked a soul whose kingly might 
 Of self-respect enforced its right. 
 There looks an abject creature, peering, 
 Beseeching, hating, crouching, fearing; 
 " My royal birthright," this its whine, 
 "Is canceled, if 'twere ever mine." 
 
 Oh, scorn is mighty ! Pharisee, 
 Thy devil-triumph oft we see ; 
 And yet, thy brethren's trampled souls, 
 O'er which thy carriage proudly rolls, 
 On holy journeys through the town. 
 To show the world thy saintly crown. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 53 
 
 Though crouch'd in ashes, smear'd with sin. 
 And black as bUnd despair within, 
 Compar'd with thine, are clean and white, - - 
 Aye, lustrous with a radiant light. 
 
 If Raymond's shrinking spirit quailed, 
 When scorn with furious bolts assailed, 
 'T was not that goodness, justly proud, 
 His soul beneath a thunderous cloud 
 Of scorn, had plac'd, to curse his sin. 
 Till all his manhood died within ; 
 'T was not that conscience bade him take 
 An outcast's robe, for human sake ; 
 For, gilded sin, whose bosom wears 
 Our smiling favors, ever dares 
 To talk of honor, ride at ease. 
 Assume the proudest robe it sees, 
 Proclaim the grandest soul its mate, 
 And sit with lords of church and state. 
 No, Raymond's suffering contrite spirit 
 
54 RAYBIOND HILL. 
 
 Requir'd a loving voice to cheer it, 
 Like HiSj whose love-transfigured tone. 
 Through sinful bosoms sweetly shone, 
 And, where its sternest utterance went. 
 A lingering, clinging music lent, 
 That gave rebuke a power to win, — 
 A charm to change the mood of sin. 
 
 To AUanville he came alone, 
 
 A youthful stranger, quite unknown, 
 
 Whose humble aspect, earnest eye, 
 
 And voice that won they knew not why, 
 
 To every heart, unhinder'd, plead. 
 
 Till kindly welcome round him spread. 
 
 Meanwhile, he thinks, with timorous mind, 
 
 All hearts are far too greatly kind. 
 
 He pines for love ; but, if they knew him, 
 
 Their scowls and curses would pursue him. 
 
 And shall he thus, in silence, take 
 
 The love whose warm embraces wake, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 55 
 
 Within his breast, a hope so thriUing, 
 
 Its mournful deeps with music filUng ; 
 
 And aim, this cheering love to merit. 
 
 To live forever with the spirit, 
 
 That wins to every smallest duty. 
 
 The heavenly grace of Truth and Beaut}^ ] 
 
 And thus, by years of merit, build 
 
 A name, like honor's palace, filled 
 
 With sumptuous light, that, purely glowing, 
 
 Like sweetest rhyme is ever flowing. 
 
 Alas ! how soon a fatal word. 
 That hunts him always, demon-stirr'd. 
 May scent his steps and hurry here, 
 To shake his rising hope with fear, 
 Cave in the hollow earth below it. 
 And, deep in darkness, overthrow it ! 
 
 How many a time, the flashing pain 
 Of these misgivings, through his brain 
 
56 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 And heart, their sudden lightning shed, 
 To strike his trembhng purpose dead ! 
 Ah, ye, whose souls, with inward power, 
 Go shining on, though darkness lour, 
 And move, the ways of truth along. 
 In heavenly self-reliance strong ; 
 Who, heart-entranc'd, for goodness' sake. 
 The loneliest ways of conscience take ; 
 Ye will not angrily despise 
 His weaker spirit ; no, your eyes 
 Become alive with Christian meekness. 
 To see a trembling brother's weakness. 
 
 'T is thus arrang'd ; — an aged pair, 
 With faces mild as summer weather. 
 Have room and little weight of care, 
 So he and they will dwell together. 
 And now he glows with happy mood, 
 To feel again the little pleasures. 
 So sweet, of home and neighborhood ; 
 
RAYMOND HILL. hi 
 
 And, having duly taken measures 
 To own a little tract of land, 
 That lies not far above the village, 
 Begins, with strenuous heart and hand, 
 To clear and fit the soil for tillage. 
 Meanwhile, to make his purpose thrive, 
 He toils among his busy neighbors, 
 With axe or plow, no arm alive. 
 With more unwearying gladness labors. 
 The life within his bosom clears, 
 By joy's inspiring music aided. 
 Whose deepening tones dispel the fears. 
 By which his downcast soul was shaded. 
 The welcome warms ; fancies cease 
 To see his human claims so meanly ; 
 He feels a gathering glow of peace. 
 And days begin to flow serenely. 
 
 Oh ! men, my brothers, 't is not well, 
 To be so much in league with hell ; — 
 
58 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 It is not good, when human eyes 
 Give out no Hght of Paradise, 
 To charm away the darkness, where 
 The death of hope has gloom' d the air. 
 How good is kindness, when its breath 
 Awakes a shrouded hope from death. 
 To smile and sing, without a fear. 
 Within a love-bright atmosphere ! 
 
 When thus withdrew the cloud of pain, 
 
 His heart in brightness mov'd again. 
 
 With all its former fervor glowing. 
 
 With youthful gladness overflowing ; 
 
 Though earnest now, with graver thought 
 
 Than former sunny hours had brought, 
 
 A shining air his spirit lent, 
 
 To charm all places where he went ; 
 
 At toil or pastime, none could be 
 
 So full of beaming life as he ; 
 
 And none more wakeful, stern, and strong, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 59 
 
 To shun the tempting ways of wrong ; 
 None shrunk with keener dread of blame 
 From every thought that led to shame, 
 Or tried so many graceful ways, 
 To win and keep the crown of praise. 
 
 And praise he won ; its music came 
 
 From every tongue that spoke his name ; 
 
 Its flowers around him sprung and grew, 
 
 With dyes of every fairest hue ; 
 
 For, human life, in Allanville, 
 
 Unlearn' d in rank^ was simple still. 
 
 No gilded pride had won dominion, 
 
 And they were prais'd, who charm' d opinion, 
 
 By greatly honoring all its law. 
 
 With decorous mien and sleepless awe. 
 
 At every hearth a welcome guest, — 
 
 By every neighboring eye caress' d, — 
 
 His gleaming mirth, and gentle face, 
 
 And mien so full of modest grace. 
 
60 EA.YMOND HILL. 
 
 Became to many a bosom dear, 
 
 And part of many a homestead cheer. 
 
 Sometimes, his secret would intrude 
 On joyous hours, so drear a mood. 
 That shuddering peace forsook her throne ; 
 And many a time, the startled tone 
 That gave his dread of wrong expression. 
 Showed not serenest self-possession ; 
 But, like the sound of coming feet. 
 That gaily move to music sweet 
 Of lutes and viols, through a grove. 
 Where birds enraptur'd sing of love, 
 AVithin his bosom worked the dream. 
 That made the approaching future seem 
 A world of rising suns, a heaven, 
 From whose enchanting bowers are given 
 All joys and lovely things, that come 
 To bless a happy mortal's home. 
 The shadows ceased and went away, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 61 
 
 Before the growing power of day ; 
 And all the dreams his spirit knew, 
 To fast-embodying visions grew. 
 Whose gleamy glow along the air, 
 Declar'd them almost present there ; 
 And all his thoughts and all his fancies 
 Were steeped in dear delicious trances. 
 
 For now appear' d, within his soul, 
 A thought that work'd with bright control, 
 And grew to passion's deepest glow. 
 The dearest, sweetest mortals know ; 
 A thought, whose lustrous flow of light 
 Made heaven and earth divinely bright ; 
 A growing thought, that seem'd to be 
 A universe of melody ; 
 Whose sweetness, keen as sharpest pain. 
 Trembling and sparkling through his brain, 
 Through all his being seem'd to melt, 
 In every smallest fibre felt. 
 
62 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Oh love ! how many souls entomb 
 Thy bounteous glory, in the gloom 
 Of self; or, in its greedy mire, 
 Soon trample out thine altar-fire ! 
 Oh love ! how many blush to name thee. 
 And, seeming wise, attempt to shame thee, 
 Whose souls in thine embraces quiver, 
 And know thee life of life forever ! 
 
 Near Raymond's home, a neighbor dwelt. 
 
 Whose only daughter, Jane, he felt. 
 
 Had the sweetest smiles and brightest eyes, 
 
 That ever shone below the skies. 
 
 And fair as rosy June was she ; 
 
 As fair as maidenhood can be. 
 
 When purely blooming, clear and white. 
 
 In graceful nature's thrilling light. 
 
 Away from fashion's hothouse air, 
 
 And far from dainty folly's care. 
 
 Her comely form and modest face 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 6c 
 
 Were rich in every winning grace, 
 
 And spoke of streams, and wild- wood bowers, 
 
 And dalliance with the summer flowers. 
 
 Her smile, alive with spirit-gleams, 
 
 Would fill your heart with azure dreams 
 
 Of June in Paradise, and make 
 
 Your voice a music-murmur take. 
 
 Her motion, free from fettering art. 
 
 Was born within her radiant heart ; 
 
 And, keeping still its changeful beauty, 
 
 In gleeful dance, or household duty. 
 
 It seem'd a visible melody. 
 
 And yet, it was not, could not be. 
 
 That every grace to her had flown, 
 
 To make her beautiful alone : 
 
 With rarest charms of beauty laden, 
 
 Is every pure, true-hearted maiden. 
 
 But Raymond's growing worship knew 
 No other maid so fair to view. 
 
64 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 No Other's step, no other's touch, 
 Could thrill his heart and brain so much ; 
 No other eyes gave out such glances, 
 To wake delight's ethereal dances, 
 Or so beseem'd a vernal morn. 
 When flowers in sweetest dews are bom ; 
 No tones such impulse could impart. 
 To stir his pulses, trance his heart, 
 Or charm away the world's eclipse, 
 As those that glow'd around her lips. 
 He thought, one holy place on earth, 
 Was close beside her father's hearth : 
 And how, for him, her presence dear 
 Enhalo'd all the atmosphere ! 
 In any place, if she were nigh, 
 The hours as still as stars went by. 
 And feelings moved as musically, 
 As dreams in some enchanted valley. 
 
 And soon, with trembling hope, he felt 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 65 
 
 Love's promise through her glances melt ; 
 A gush of light would overbrim 
 Her eye and smile, to welcome him. 
 And now the cares of timid love, 
 Within his bosom sweetly strove ; 
 Dawn-music murmur' d everywhere ; 
 His spirit swam in purple air, 
 And gave embrace and greeting truer, 
 To all that came to make it pure ; 
 It grew to forest ways, and flowers, 
 To rosy clouds, and glittering showers, 
 To every happy bird's refrain. 
 To every thing that spoke of Jane. 
 
 Two years, that grew at length so bright, 
 Enthrill'd with love's delicious light, 
 Till hopes, as stars, before him swum. 
 He toil'd to shape his future home. 
 And now, it seem'd, a sure success 
 Was near, his earnest toil to bless. 
 
66 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 How dear, to his caressing view, 
 His modest little farmstead grew, 
 Emerging, like the brow of peace, 
 Among the glorious forest trees ! 
 The swarming days to come, with noises 
 Of bliss that sung with million voices, 
 A throng of glories, hovering round it, 
 In spells of joy and beauty bound it. 
 Ere summer's bright and dreamy songs 
 Again awake the million tongues 
 Of forest, mountain, stream, and plain, 
 That yearly celebrate her reign. 
 His mother's eyes will see the place ; 
 Her voice will lend completing grace ; 
 And then, along the forest vale, 
 Some moonlit hour, becoming bolder. 
 His tongue will tell to Jane the tale 
 His eyes so many times have told her. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 Oh ! land of streams, and forests hoary, 
 Where through the darkness still and vast, 
 Unvoic'd by any song or story. 
 From earliest time, the ages pass'd, 
 Thine awful solitude, of dreams 
 To yearning Memory never spoken. 
 No more with dusky silence teems ; 
 The spell that held thee dumb, is broken. 
 Oh ! when the life, that, westward flowing. 
 Moves on with swift, resistless sway, 
 
68 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The reign of silence overthrowing, 
 Has swept thy forests all away, 
 With every savage tribe and herd, 
 By which their endless shade is haunted, 
 How weirdly, then, will hearts be stirr'd 
 By Memory's talk of thee enchanted ! 
 
 And then, the charm of fix'd abode, 
 May win the wandering homes to rest, 
 That now, forever on the road, 
 Are all exploring through the west ; 
 With every tale he left behind. 
 Pursuing surely, every where. 
 The wretch, by sin or pain inclin'd 
 To hide in any corner there. 
 
 The autumn winds were gentle still. 
 With lingering summer ; Allan ville, 
 By forest hemm'd, within its niche, 
 Was smiling goldenly, and rich 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 69 
 
 In sounds as sweet as perfect rhyme. 
 And hearts that glowed to feel the prime 
 Of busy bounteous harvest time ; 
 When came a stranger, whose (untold 
 But rumored) quantities of gold, 
 And high demeanor, swiftly drew 
 All eyes, as wonder round him grew. 
 
 He stayed and talked of rising towns ; 
 
 Of great success, that surely crowns 
 
 The fearless aim of him, who tries 
 
 The world with boldest enterprize. 
 
 He came to Allanville, he said, 
 
 By well-consider' d purpose led ; 
 
 His wealth was boundless ; if he could 
 
 Employ it there in doing good, 
 
 (For ah ! he lov'd religion well !) 
 
 'T would please him much with them to dwell. 
 
 His wealth and enterprize should render 
 
 Some place a seat of trade and splendor. 
 
70 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Around their village, every spot 
 
 Might soon become a city lot : 
 
 And, as it grew, the golden spoil 
 
 Would quite emancipate from toil 
 
 All those, whose happy fortune found them, 
 
 With such a city rising round them, — 
 
 And brought them wealth, perhaps too much, 
 
 So charmed by his Aladdin-touch. 
 
 To plan the town he will not venture : — 
 But then, suppose we make the center 
 A splendid park, completely planned ; 
 Around it must the churches stand, 
 A bordering row, and greet the eye 
 With steeples, very, very high ; — 
 Broadway shall bound it on the north. 
 And, like a palace, shining forth 
 To front the fountain, there may swell 
 On high, the city's chief chief hotel; — 
 The railroad's double track will go 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 71 
 
 Along the river bank below ; 
 
 The marble-walled Exchange must be 
 
 Far from the University ; 
 
 The bank, the jail, the printing press 
 
 Will grace the city's sumptuousness. 
 
 When rapid skill the plan completes. 
 
 The villas, avenues, and streets. 
 
 Will flourish, all the vale embracing. 
 
 Its vulgar show of farms effacing. 
 
 He'd stay awhile and look around ; — 
 Their modest village might be found, 
 Perhaps, unworthy quite, that he 
 Should give it such a destiny. 
 The stores of wealth he will prepare. 
 Must none but Christian people share, 
 Who can get rich with spirit lowly. 
 And make their grandeur very holy. 
 He must, with self-denying aim. 
 Preserve an honor' d Christian fame. 
 
7'2 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 His soul on doing good is bent ; 
 His future city, Rome outvying, 
 Must rise as Zion's battlement. 
 The pope, and hell itself, defying. 
 
 The stranger's stay appeared the dawn 
 Of Eldorado hastening on ; 
 For, Eldorado-bringing schemes. 
 That swim in wild, fantastic dreams, 
 Far shrewder hearts bewitch and fill. 
 Than ever beat in Allanville. 
 
 The stranger, while he tarried there. 
 
 The impressive semblance sought to wear, 
 
 Of one, whose mighty powers can make 
 
 Creation any fashion take ; 
 
 And bade them see, with awe extreme, 
 
 A mighty soul with cities teem. 
 
 He met the morning's earliest beams, 
 
 Among the hills, along the streams. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 73 
 
 Or down the vale, and twilight found him. 
 Somewhere, with busy schemes around him. 
 What burning words he spoke of rest 
 In drowsy bowers of ease, caressed 
 By velvet-strokes of dreamy fingers, 
 Till sleep in every fibre lingers ! 
 His body, restless, grim, and gaunt, 
 The thrills of lightning-motion haunt. 
 That swarm and glow, as now he tries 
 To seem ablaze with enterprise. 
 
 His face appeared to Raymond's view, 
 Famihar, like a face he knew. 
 And when the stranger's glances, set 
 On him, at length, he fully met, 
 A throb awoke within his heart. 
 That gave his blood a shivering start. 
 That face a full assurance bore, 
 That he had seen the man before. 
 He shrunk, to feel, in every sense, 
 
 5 
 
74 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The stranger stare intelligence, 
 And see, around his working eyes, 
 A spreading scowl of scorn arise, 
 That swift a thunderous darkness took, 
 And blackly hung on every look. 
 
 To those who stood observant near, 
 The stranger cried, "This fellow here ! 
 I thought the creature went to Texas, 
 Where villainy a slough commixes, 
 Whose mire with reeking vermin stirs, 
 A stench of rotten characters ! " 
 
 "What ! Raymond Hill ! " at once exclaim'd 
 Together, those who heard him blam'd ; 
 " You err ! there is, in Allanville, 
 No better man than Raymond Hill.'' 
 
 Their guest replied, — "Ye blindly foster 
 In Allanville a base impostor ; 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 75 
 
 Or, is it felt as no disgrace, 
 To be a felon's hiding-place? 
 No better man your people know I 
 I saw him, — not three years ago, — - 
 And saw him, not with honest men ; 
 State-prison had the fellow then. 
 If doubt completer proof require. 
 Your reverend pastor may inquire." 
 
 As when, within a shining valley. 
 
 With many a heart unfolding sally 
 
 Of sparkling song and brimming glee, 
 
 A bright and various company, 
 
 Amid the purest summer weather. 
 
 Are keeping holiday together, 
 
 (A kind of Avild flower festival. 
 
 Whose perfumes sweetly trance them all,) 
 
 Where winds, with murmurs sweet and low, 
 
 And thrilling touches, gently flow 
 
 Along the valley's breast, caressing 
 
76 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The flowers, and all the verdure blessing ; 
 If sudden cries of ^^ serpents ^''^ there, 
 '^ Crawling and hissing ^""^ shock the air, 
 The sudden shivers swiftly run 
 Through heart and brain of every one, 
 Awakening doubt, dismay, and dread. 
 Till every gleam of joy is dead ; 
 So now, a wild and devilish thrill 
 Went through the life of Allanville. 
 
 At once, with zeal that made them dizzy, 
 Were Rumor's swiftest tongue-pads busy. 
 Hither and thither hurrying fast. 
 With mouths aglow and eyes aghast ; 
 In strife, the freshest listeners seeking ; 
 On every tongue to utterance reeking, 
 " Well, who would think it ! can it be ! 
 Was ever villain smooth as he ! " 
 
 The shifting passions fiercely work. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 77 
 
 Like whirlwinds wrestling through a wood ; 
 
 Although in many a bosom, lurk 
 
 Some throbs of human brotherhood, 
 
 That faintly stir, and strive to bring 
 
 The feelings, that will closely cling 
 
 Around the friendless victim, now, 
 
 And Hatred's curses disavow. 
 
 But ah ! quite through the brother-heart, 
 
 The fatal throes of palsy dart. 
 
 As garnish' d scorn, with angry mien 
 
 And furious gesture, cries " Unclean ! " 
 
 And busily works the fiendish thirst 
 Of souls that love to think the worst, 
 Whose feelings breed in carrion-slime. 
 And greedily feed on basest grime. 
 How sad, that stirs of quick delight 
 Should blind the heavenly sense of Right, 
 In any soul, and put the sway 
 Of loving kindness, quite away, 
 
78 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 When scandal blows her trumpet loud, 
 Till answering furies round her crowd ; 
 Or bids her gibbering demons dim 
 A shining name, or make it swim 
 In slander's spilth, or plunge it down, 
 In loathsome infamy to drown. 
 How many tremble thro' and thro', 
 Lest scandal's story prove untrue ! 
 They love to feed the fattening lie, 
 And, if it fail, their pleasures die. 
 Oh ! Slander's crew, for victims raving, 
 And Honor's sweetest life-blood craving, 
 Fear every tale their whispers try, 
 And every hint, will prove a lie. 
 When Truth her shield defiant hangs. 
 Like shriveling demons how they pine, 
 To see a name escape their fangs. 
 And far above their malice shine ! 
 
 Two years and more, had Raymond shown, 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 79 
 
 In Allanville, a character, 
 Whose purity had daily grown 
 In all that truthful aims confer ; 
 A character, whose growing charm 
 Had kept the general welcome warm, 
 And gently round opinion twin'd 
 Until 'twas felt in every mind, 
 That none more truly sought to he 
 En rich' d with social grace, than he. 
 But this was nothing ; Hate could mould 
 All feelings, when the stranger told. 
 With scornful eye and fierce expression, 
 The mournful tale of one transgression. 
 Yet 't was not, now, against the sin. 
 The angry flood of scorn rolled in. 
 Oh no ! unpitying law had lent 
 The blackest brand of punishment ; 
 And, thirst for highest moral merit. 
 Enjoin' d them all, with ardent spirit. 
 To reverence well the holy mark, 
 
80 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 And keep its awful traces dark. 
 
 His worth, which all so clearly knew, 
 In swathing shadows, left the view, 
 As darkness work'd in every eye, 
 And " Vile impostor ! " was the cry. 
 Some hearts with faint relentings yearn' d j 
 Some rays of pity faintly burn'd; 
 But every sound of pity's tone. 
 So very chill and hoarse had grown, 
 So dull, beneath the smothering dress 
 Of lofty-brow' d self-righteousness, 
 So edg'd with pious horror's glare. 
 That gloom' d and heated all the air. 
 That pity made him more forlorn. 
 Than e'en the loudest curse of scorn. 
 
 Oh ye, whose goodness is serene 
 
 As moonlight slumbering over snow, — 
 
 Whose glistering graces, always seen. 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 81 
 
 Along your mantle's surface glow: 
 And ye, whose dark intensity, 
 And hissing virtues, make us see 
 How easily the curses start, 
 When pious hatreds stir the heart ; 
 Ye too have human hearts, beneath 
 The heavily swathing folds of death, 
 Whose disentangled, mighty beat, 
 Aglow with spirit-cleansing heat. 
 Would lighten thro', and disenchant 
 The soul-bewildering gloom of Cant. 
 
 Oh set them free ! and hear them tell, 
 
 What silent agony befel 
 
 Poor Raymond, when the rising day. 
 
 Around his spirit, sunk away. 
 
 The soul-warm gush of human feeling, 
 
 Through brain and bosom softly stealing, 
 
 Instead of Pharisaic leaven, 
 
 Will bring the sweetest air of heaven. 
 
 Oh ! let the Holy Spirit's grace 
 
82 
 
 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 The Pharisaic scowl efface. 
 
 And win your souls to follow Him, 
 
 Whose pity-tones were never dim. 
 
 Around his finished cottage, where 
 Bliss-bringing promise grew so fair, 
 And made the future show a vision 
 Of homestead loves and cares elysian, 
 The evening hovers, starry -mild, 
 With love-sweet hum of insect-vespers, 
 And toneless flow of spirit-whispers ; 
 But homeless there, and unbeguiled 
 From crowding thoughts of hope o'er thrown 
 In darkness, Raymond sits alone. 
 His little clearing seems a place, 
 Where dreary shapes of madness pace 
 The ground, with endless sighs of sorrow, 
 And seek a never-found to-morrow. 
 The evening voices come around 
 His senses, with the saddest sound, — 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 83 
 
 In every feeling sharply stay 
 And die in keenest thrills away ; 
 His aching eyes a darkness bring. 
 To shadow every beamy thing ; 
 And all the light is drunk with gloom, 
 Like funeral vapors round a tomb. 
 
 Oh God ! 't is not a dreamy trance, 
 Whose dreadful shadows round him dance ! 
 For days, in agony, his thought 
 Against this dark eclipse has fought. 
 Which still, a heavier shadow shows. 
 And, every moment, blacker grows. 
 His homestead world, whose verdure greened 
 And grew, by million dreams o'ersheened. 
 Lies there, by human scorn benighted, 
 Its gushing bloom forever blighted ; 
 And, all the sounds, the breezes wake, 
 The sobbing murmurs seem to take, . 
 In which the struggling farewells languish, 
 
84 EAYMOND HILL. 
 
 Whose tones betray a swooning anguish. 
 '' Farewell ! " his feelings swell to say. 
 He cannot longer bear to stay ; 
 For, hope will never more appear, 
 With sun-lit eyes, to greet him here. 
 
 She must be told ; he must impart 
 The tale to break his mother's heart. 
 He has essayed, but has not power ; 
 He '11 wait, and write some other hour. 
 He would, but cannot, now, fulfil 
 This duty, here in AUanville. 
 He must escape this burning glare, 
 This deathly dark, so hard to bear. 
 
 He went, his neighbors knew not where ; 
 But, when his face they saw no more, 
 Before his mournful cottage door 
 They paused, and, moralizing, said, 
 With long, grave faces, '* He has fled ! 
 
RAYMOND HILL. 85 
 
 Ah well ! behold the fruit of crime ! 
 Let every youth be warned, in time. 
 That Providence is round about 
 The sinner's path, to find him out, 
 And ever keeping holy ward, 
 To show transgressors' ways are hard." 
 
 Three years went by ; the stranger schemed, 
 With speech persuasive, till, it seemed. 
 Swift glories round them would unfold, 
 And turn their very soil to gold. 
 Then came the issue ; fiercest curses 
 Proclaimed their bankrupt hopes and purses. 
 The stranger won the spoil, and went, 
 (On "doing good" with ardor bent,) 
 To find some other simple men, 
 And btiild his cities o'er again. 
 
 And where is Raymond? Runiors came. 
 That, farther west, he changed his name, 
 
86 RAYMOND HILL. 
 
 And sought to find a home, once more, 
 
 With toil as useless as before. 
 
 And some whose thought with fancy mixes. 
 
 Believe he lives retired in Texas, 
 
 Unrecognized ; but others say, 
 
 He died unknown at Monterey. 
 
 The gravestone tells us where the grief. 
 
 That crushed his mother, found relief 
 
 With love- warm voices, full and sweet. 
 
 And gladdest words, we might complete 
 
 His tale, and that of many others, 
 
 If all would learn that men are brothers. 
 
 And let the power, of Jesus born. 
 
 Expel the demon-glare of scorn 
 
 From human souls and human ways, 
 
 And make its hallowing radiance blaze 
 
 Around our being, till we knew, 
 
 That Truth, if stern, is loving too. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 RED JACKET, 
 
 AT THE OLD HUNTING GROUND. 
 
 The beautiful vale of the Genesee, 
 
 Where the deep old woods were high and dim, 
 Ere the white men's axes spoiled a tree, 
 
 Was memory's holiest ground to him. 
 It seemed a wondrous realm of joy, 
 When he hunted there, with the braves, a boy. 
 
 On its shadowy paths he chased the deer, 
 
 When his heart was young and his fancy warm, 
 
 6 
 
90 RED JACKET. 
 
 And heard, in its deeps, with a charmed ear. 
 
 The trees sing awful songs to the storm. 
 His youth went to school, in its haunted shade, 
 Where the voice of the long gone ages strayed. 
 
 With a teeming heart, he came again, 
 A white-haired chief, to chase the deer. 
 
 And, from each time-hallowed tree and glen, 
 The tales of his father's time to hear. 
 
 What tales of the olden time abound. 
 
 In the whispering shade of the hunting ground ! 
 
 He came ; and he gazed with burning eyes ; 
 
 In blazing piles were the sacred trees ; 
 The white men were there to civilize ; 
 
 The noises of builders filled the breeze ; 
 Plows were at work on the treeless hills ; 
 The wildwood rivers were turning mills. 
 
RED JACKET. 91 
 
 This fearful race ! could he feel they wrought 
 That ground to a field with ruins rife, 
 
 In the mastering power of a higher thought, 
 Than ever worked in the red man's life? 
 
 He wept for his archive trees and streams, — 
 
 For his world so changed to spectral dreams. 
 
 Oh ! never again, by the forest streams, 
 
 When the stars are tranced by the breath of 
 June, 
 
 When the vale is still in impassioned dreams, 
 And the breeze is weird as a dreaming tune, 
 
 Will he walk in the sheen of enchanted air, 
 
 And talk with the souls of his fathers there. 
 
 On the hills no more, while autumn weaves 
 Her gorgeous bowers, will he sit, and hear 
 
 The plaintive song of the dying leaves, 
 
 Till his soul goes forth, through eye and ear, 
 
92 RED JACKET. 
 
 To the radiant Islands, down the west, 
 Where the buried braves are all at rest. 
 
 He weeps, for his holy things have flown. 
 
 From afar on the hills, a departing voice. 
 Comes low to his heart, with the saddest tone, 
 
 Like a soul's that will never more rejoice, — 
 '' The hunting ground by the happy river, 
 Is gone to be found no more forever ! " 
 
93 
 
 GOD'S LIGHT BRINGER. 
 
 I. 
 
 When his morn of life had risen. 
 
 With its bands of singing hours, 
 As amid the sheen he shouted, 
 
 As he roved among the flowers. 
 Flowing dimly through his bosom, 
 
 Then there came as sweet a voice, 
 As ever told a seraph's longing, 
 
 Or as ever said ''Rejoice." 
 
 II. 
 
 'TwaSj at first, so very dreamlike, 
 'Twas so very sweet and dim, 
 
 That it seemed the wandering phantom 
 Of a holy spirit's hymn. 
 
94 god's light bringer. 
 
 But the ever-haunting music, 
 Soon, to clear expression grew, 
 
 Till, through every pulse within him, 
 Its melodious touches flew. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh ! it sang of Truth and Beauty ! 
 
 And its singing made him feel 
 Every evil thing dissolving. 
 
 That could trouble human weal ; — 
 And, an earth-embracing city, 
 
 Built by human brotherhood. 
 Seemed to rise, a glorious wonder, 
 
 Where the thrones of darkness stood. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ! it sang its music through him, 
 
 Like a flame of holy fire. 
 Till it woke and lit within him, 
 
 All the heaven of great desire. 
 
god's light bringer. 95 
 
 How the beauty, like a passion, 
 Creeping swiftly through his veins, 
 
 Stirred his soul to tell the vision. 
 And repeat the trancing strains ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Then the earthen voices, near him. 
 
 Swift to sharpest utterance broke ; 
 Speaking low, or muttering fiercely, 
 
 Each its maniac anger spoke. 
 '' Ho ! " they cried, " behold a dreamer ! " 
 
 Fancy-drunk and finely mad ! 
 See ! his eyes are quite romantic, 
 
 When he calls the world so bad ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Deeply stirred by love and pity, 
 How his yearning bosom, then, 
 
 What the Holy Spirit told it. 
 Strove to tell misdeeming men ! 
 
 I 
 
96 god's light bringer. 
 
 How he strove to make them hsten 
 
 Till the voice their spirits filled, 
 And their being gave responses, 
 Heart and senses beauty-thrilled ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 But against him rose an army, 
 
 From To-Day's o'erflowing marts ; 
 There were men with empty foreheads ; 
 
 There were men with empty hearts ; 
 There was every serf of Custom ; 
 
 There was every priest of Ease ; 
 There were all the cunning Lawyers ; 
 
 There were all the Pharisees. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 They declared the shining vision, 
 Which his soul, enchanted, saw. 
 
 All a shadow-play of demons, 
 And a crime against the Law. 
 
god's light bringer. 97 
 
 And, they said, an evil spirit 
 
 Had within his bosom crept, 
 Else, he would not make disturbance, 
 
 When the holy Rabbis slept. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In their laws, they said, was treasured 
 
 Every syllable of Right, 
 And, within their garnished temples, 
 
 Every beam of holy Light. 
 Then, they gathered round to brand him, — 
 
 Called him infidel and liar ; 
 Then their hatred thundered at him, 
 
 Like a roaring storm of fire, 
 
 X. 
 
 Oh ! he felt his heart was human. 
 
 When the crown of praise withdrew, — 
 
 When the honored many left him 
 With the much dishonored few ; 
 
98 god's light eringer. 
 
 But, 't was only for a moment, 
 That a starting throb of pain 
 
 Quivered through, along his forehead ; 
 All was quickly bright again. 
 
 XI. 
 
 With the sacred Yoice communing, 
 
 Now he learned its deepest song. 
 And assailed, with heart heroic, 
 
 Every consecrated wrong : — 
 And, the age that followed after, 
 
 Called him beautiful and brave ; 
 How it loved and did him honor. 
 
 Shone in marble on his grave. 
 
99 
 
 THOUGHTS AT A BRIDAL. 
 
 Fair Bride, the light, that through thine eyes 
 
 We feel to-night out-shining, 
 Has not a dream of clouded skies, — 
 
 Shows not a bramble twining 
 Among the wreaths of smiling flowers, 
 That hang so thickly round thy bowers. 
 
 And he, whose eyes so fondly meet 
 Thy lustrous love-look, holds thee 
 
 The soul and crown of bliss complete, 
 As thus his heart enfolds thee. 
 
 May this embrace, unwearied never, 
 
 Unite and thrill you both forever. 
 
100 THOUGHTS AT A BRIDAL. 
 
 A fairy singing bird, a dawn 
 
 As fair as angels see, 
 A light from lustrous Beauty drawn, 
 
 Thou art to him, and he 
 To thee, a bright, infolding heaven, 
 From which all evil things are driven. 
 
 But ye are human ; would ye be 
 
 Conformed to love's ideal. 
 And in experience daily see 
 
 Its holy dream made real ? 
 When aught to chill or part you tries, 
 Look deeply down each other's eyes. 
 
 The years, whose coming footsteps, now, 
 Your bridal rapture drowns. 
 
 Will try the love, whose shadeless brow 
 This bridal radiance crowns ; 
 
 And floods of earthly dark will pour, 
 
 To quench your hearts forevermore. 
 
THOUGHTS AT A BRIDAL. 101 
 
 Love on, through all the sternest years ; 
 
 Preserve, in changeless beauty, 
 Each look and tone that now endears ; 
 
 And, finding bliss in duty. 
 Meet any touch of blight or shade. 
 With hearts whose brightness will not fade. 
 
 Love on, but not with heart or mind 
 
 In selfish trances dumb ; 
 Be true to God and human kind. 
 
 And make your love a home. 
 Whence deeds, like angels, to and fro 
 On mercy's holy errands go. 
 
 Love on, all earthly mark above, 
 
 The fulness comprehending 
 Of that transfiguring life of love, 
 
 With which, are ever blending 
 All feelings beautiful and good. 
 That glow within the realm of God. 
 
102 THOUGHTS AT A BRIDAL 
 
 Love on, in every sweetest way 
 
 The spirit-wed may know, 
 With hearts that wear eternal May, 
 
 With ever-deepening glow ; 
 And, one forever, pass the portals. 
 Where death reveals the bright Immortals. 
 
 Our hearts, more clearly, deeply bright, 
 Shine out with hues Elysian, 
 
 The bridal altar glows, to-night, 
 So like a heavenly vision. 
 
 The soberest pulse of wedded bliss. 
 
 Runs almost wild, at scenes like this. 
 
103 
 
 AN HOUR OF SADNESS. 
 
 The winds against my windows sweeping, 
 
 Like dreary spirits moan, 
 (Their tones along my blood are creeping, 
 My very soul in sadness steeping,) 
 
 " Alone ! alone ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 Another weary year is dying 
 
 Amid the wintry gloom. 
 And all the pallid hours are sighing, 
 And all the stormy air replying, 
 
 ''Behold his tomb!" 
 
104 AN HOUR OF SADNESS. 
 
 III. 
 
 His tomb ! how many withered roses 
 
 Of hope, are gathered there ! 
 There, many a form of joy reposes, — 
 There, many a dream the dark encloses. 
 That tranced the air. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, hopes, whose bloom, so late, was filling 
 
 The world with light ! 
 Oh, joys, whose trances were so thrilling ! 
 Your frozen brows, so pale and chilling. 
 
 My soul affright. 
 
 Your drear dead eyes, no longer wearing 
 
 The dream of endless May, 
 From out the ghastly dark are glaring, 
 And, through my very soul declaring, 
 "All things decay ! " 
 
AN HOUR OF SADNESS. 105 
 
 VI. 
 
 HoWj year by year, becometh weary 
 
 Each shining way we go ! 
 Hard circumstance makes life uncheery, 
 So heavily comes her shadow dreary 
 
 On all we know. 
 
 VII. 
 
 My soul, for Light Undying, pineth, 
 
 Its clouded sphere to fill. 
 And evermore such light divineth ; 
 For Love, amid the darkness, shineth 
 
 In beauty still. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I sit beside the pallid corses, 
 
 And tears my vision drown ; 
 And yet, from all their radiant courses. 
 The holy stars, with sweetest forces, 
 
 Are shining down : — 
 
106 AN HOUR OF SADNESS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And Truthj the lutanist, is calling 
 
 From skies serene and clear ; 
 Her tones, like seraph glances, falling 
 Through cloud and murk, are quite enthralling 
 
 The souls that hear. 
 
 X. 
 
 How blind to feel thus darkly fated ! 
 
 The gloom my spirit sees, 
 Was all within itself created ; 
 My soul in aims too low has waited 
 
 For holy peace. 
 
 December, 1S46. 
 
107 
 
 THE DARK ROOM. 
 
 At dead of night, he reads, aghast, 
 The book his soul would spurn, 
 
 While blackest memories, crowding fast. 
 The crimeful pages turn. 
 
 Like spirits dire, in deathless fire. 
 The letters burn. 
 
 His life began, a dawn of glory, 
 Whose faded trace of smiles. 
 
 Appears a dream of some old story 
 Of far-off blessed Isles, 
 
 Where angels sing, and virtues bring 
 The Houris' wiles. 
 
108 THE DARK ROOM. 
 
 His God-beholding heart he sold ; 
 
 He gave his glorious dower, 
 At Satan's price, for lying gold. 
 
 And witching dreams of power. 
 Ah, Beauty's throne, he could disown, 
 And leave her bower ! 
 
 He let his soul to Pride and Scorn ; 
 
 He loved the tenants well ; 
 And there beneath its roof, was born 
 
 A brood of hell. 
 All passions evil, that please the devil. 
 
 The godless man befel. 
 
 With weary blood and weary breath, 
 He reads, and, through his brow. 
 
 Glares out the pallid smile of death. 
 It shudders through him now. 
 
 How the hellish grime of lies and crime, 
 A soul endow. 
 
THE DARK ROOM. 109 
 
 Oh drearily there, at dead of night, 
 The gathering spirits throng : — 
 
 From out the yawning future, dight 
 With horrors black and strong, 
 
 And gathering fast from out the past. 
 They float along. 
 
 He feels the silent air is stirred, 
 
 Within his lonely room, 
 By drearful things, like breathings heard 
 
 At midnight in a tomb. 
 No grave can be so dark as he, 
 
 With his ghastly dower of gloom. 
 
 And oh, it seems, all things without. 
 
 With hideous laughter thrill ; 
 And gloaring eyes, all round about. 
 
 The sky and valley fill ; 
 And the moon, a great red eye of Hate, 
 
 Sits glaring on the hill. 
 
10 THE DARK ROOM. 
 
 His fancies shape his grave, and see 
 
 The coffin rotting slow, — 
 The crawUng Utten- worms, in glee, 
 
 About the body go, 
 And the moaning soul, without a goal. 
 
 In darkness walk below. 
 
 Oh Sin ! how soon they lose the vision 
 Of rainbows round the gate. 
 
 The souls who leave the light elysian, 
 To dwell with thee in state ! 
 
 Thy rainbows bright are witchfire light. 
 Where furies wait. 
 
Ill 
 
 LITTLE MARY— A SKETCH. 
 
 Within a vale, a cottage white, 
 
 From out its nest of vines and trees, 
 
 Stole, picturelike, upon the sight, 
 And spoke of simple life and peace. 
 
 And there, each morn, the dewy air, 
 With many-scented fragrance fraught, 
 
 To hearts that lightly heat with care, 
 
 A fresher life of joyance brought. 
 
 There dwelt a pair, whose daily strife 
 Of mutual love and careful duty, 
 
112 LITTLE MARY. 
 
 Kept always fresh, around their life, 
 
 The rarest charms of homestead beauty. 
 
 Their life, that, far from panting noon. 
 In morning freshness round them lay, 
 
 First felt complete its richest boon. 
 When little Mary came with May : 
 
 Then all their being glowed and gushed. 
 With music that had slept before. 
 
 And light, whose radiance all things flushed. 
 Till earth andlSky their gladness wore. 
 
 In every sweet, delicious claim. 
 That round the parent spirit coils. 
 
 The baby brought a gladder aim. 
 And firmer strength for daily toils. 
 
LITTLE MARY. 113 
 
 In blisSj they watched its waking gaze 
 Of curious wonder, vague and dim, 
 
 And smiles, the spirit's dawning rays. 
 Till oft their eyes would overbrim. 
 
 And when, at length, in utterance broken, 
 They heard the little creature's voice, 
 
 No angel's song could so have spoken 
 To wake the answering choir of joys. 
 
 She grew, a beauteous sibyl flower, 
 
 From whose unfolding breast, it seemed. 
 
 The singing spirits, every hour, 
 With fuller, brighter beauty gleamed. 
 
 Five years she grew, and ever made 
 Their home with bosom-fragrance rife ; 
 
114 LITTLE MARY. 
 
 It seemed J with them an angel stayed, 
 To move the sweetest founts of life. 
 
 Joys grew ; with daily deepening glow, 
 Around them spread the morning light ; 
 
 Days went with more melodious flow, 
 And wearying toil was rich delight. 
 
 Their life appeared a wondrous song, 
 That spoke response to all things fair. 
 
 Whose mystic tones, the air along, 
 Came gushing soft from everywhere. 
 
 But flowers of loveliness and grace, 
 That wear so bright and sweet a bloom. 
 
 Seem yearning for their native place, 
 And always earliest vanish home. 
 
LITTLE MARY. 115 
 
 And Oh ! how oft we fail to see 
 The holiest things, until appears. 
 
 When joy's delicious raptures flee, 
 The sacred ministry of tears. 
 
 The glad, away from others, steal, 
 Too oft, and higher claims dismiss. 
 
 In close-shut bowers of self to feel 
 The ecstatic trance of earthly bliss. 
 
 Ah, yes, we mortals seek to spend, 
 Entranced in bliss, our force divine ; 
 
 We leave our awful task, to bend 
 Our souls before an idol's shrine. 
 
 Therefore the aching heart is sent, 
 To give the light of wisdom birth, 
 
116 LITTLE MARY. 
 
 And waken truth, in souls intent 
 To build a paradise on earth. 
 
 They felt a darkness in the sky ; 
 
 The summer winds all sang of sorrow; 
 The flowers for something seemed to sigh. 
 
 That would not come again to-morrow; 
 
 For every sight and every sound 
 
 Had caught a swooning sense of gloom, 
 
 Thrilled through with air that flowed around 
 The mournful place of Mary's tomb. 
 
 How still in waxen beauty lay, 
 With faded rose buds on its breast, 
 
 The little form, when borne away 
 To lie alone in cofiined rest. 
 
LITTLE MARY. 117 
 
 At length they saw, around them, melt 
 All through the gloom that hung so drear, 
 
 A lovelier light, by which, they felt 
 Her radiance in a brighter sphere. 
 
 But Mary's name, a holy thing, 
 Kept warm by many a long caress, 
 
 Has undiminished power to bring 
 The pangs of hallowed tenderness. 
 
 Her little garments, books, and toys, 
 Preserved like things a saint reveres, 
 
 Remembrance often, still, employs 
 To wake the tenderest flow of tears. 
 
118 
 
 THE CHILD'S GRAVE. 
 
 Sleep, little one ! the summer winds are breathing 
 
 A gentle hymn, to lull thy quiet rest ; 
 Around thy tomb, with mournful beauty wreath- 
 
 ing, 
 
 The ivy creeps, in freshening verdure drest. 
 
 Sleep on, my love, the summer flowers are spring- 
 ing. 
 
 In holy peace, above thy mouldering head, 
 To guard thy dust, and from their bosoms flinging 
 
 A mingled sweetness o'er thy silent bed. 
 
 We miss thee, love ! thy joyous face, once blushing 
 With rosy light, death-shades have overcast ; 
 
THE child's grave. 119 
 
 And ah ! how oft these heart-felt tears are gushing, 
 To think our eyes on thee have looked their last. 
 
 We miss those hours, when thro' our hearts was 
 stealing 
 The merry music of thy fairy feet ; 
 We miss those hours, when every pulse of feeling 
 Thrilled quick and warm, thy trusting eyes to 
 greet. 
 
 We miss our babe, when evening gathers round us; 
 
 Thy place is vacant on thy mother's breast ! 
 We wake no more to feel the spell that bound us, 
 
 When, once, to ours thine infant lips were 
 pressed ! 
 
 Sleep, blessed one ! no more for us awaking 1 
 The worm feeds sweetly on our faded flower ; 
 
 We laid thee here ; but, oh, our hearts were break- 
 ing- 
 Breaking to feel Death's unrelaxing power. 
 
120 THE child's grave. 
 
 Where art thou now? the soul, that once was 
 pouring. 
 Through this still dust, a quick, mysterious 
 glow, 
 Lives somewhere yet ; it vanished, heavenward 
 soaring. 
 Far from all pain and blight, all earthly wo. 
 
 Where dost thou dwell ? It must be thou art 
 wearing 
 
 A radiant light, on thy enfranchised soul. 
 In some bright world, thy part with angels bearing, 
 
 Where hymns of holy joy forever roll. 
 
 To that deep life, God's love hath surely borne thee, 
 Our cherished one ! -.— nor seek we to reclaim ; 
 
 How much we loved, how much we miss and 
 mourn thee. 
 He knows alone — and blessed be his name ! 
 
121 
 
 HOLY LAND. 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a valley, where abides 
 
 A dream of all the richest Junes ; 
 A valley, where a river glides, 
 
 Whose waters swim in fairy tmies ; — 
 And there the flowers, in summer hours. 
 In a world of sweetest music born, 
 Have deeper eyes, and holier dyes, 
 
 And more ethereal dews, at morn. 
 O vale ! I would forever be 
 Enhalo'd with a dream of thee I 
 
 II. 
 
 This vale had always seemed to me 
 The haunt of blissful loneliness ; 
 
122 HOLY LAND. 
 
 But ah ! how darkly did I see, — 
 How poorly feel its bright caress ! 
 
 No thing could grieve, the summer eve 
 I went with Jane, along the stream ; 
 
 Around her form, was floating warm, 
 A radiance, born of glee, and dream, 
 
 And witching tone, and magic motion. 
 
 And radiant thought in tranced devotion. 
 
 III. 
 
 Her lightest cadence seemed to swim 
 
 In tearful dreams of Holy Land ; 
 Her eyes looked music, like a hymn 
 
 Of angels, on the far-ofi" strand : — 
 How strangely new the valley grew ! 
 
 Ah ! then my charmed ears and eyes, 
 Away from night, on azure light, 
 
 Seemed going into Paradise ! 
 Baptized in purest beauty, then 
 Were all my senses born again. 
 
HOLY LAND. 123 
 
 IV. 
 
 At length, within our vale divine. 
 
 The song of every bird was tearful , 
 The very sunlight seemed to pine ; 
 
 The very flowers were sad and drearful, — 
 And quivered thro' their beads of dew, 
 
 Like a skeleton's shivering kiss, 
 A ghostly glare, as wandered there 
 
 The pale remembrances of bliss. 
 Oh ! drearily moaned the gloomy river. 
 For she would come no more forever ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Like clouds around a seraph's brow, 
 The ghastly gloom transfigured grew ; 
 
 A glorious temple music now 
 Are winds that all so sadly blew ; — 
 
 She meets me there, she charms the air ; 
 And earth becomes a far-off shore 
 
 Of misty dreams, as round us gleams 
 
124 HOLY LAND. 
 
 The world that shines forevermore. 
 No form but hers, must ever stand 
 With me, in this our holy land. 
 
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