LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, iijmp inptjngfft If a. - '..... Shelf :„.'73 /6@*t UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. r y£*v ' - - ? *<* i *^| s ■ *w c?^n^z^~e y>4^^^^1^^^^< WORKS OF LOUISE THOMPSON POETRY AND PROSE EDITED BY HER MOTHER ■ With Introductory Notice by J. Dow Houston , CINCINNATI STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 1889 75 3 4 -at" Copyright, 1889, by M. A. Thompson. *'!» o^ i DEDICATORY PAGE. Note. — It was the purpose of the authoress, had she lived to see her book finished, to have dedicated it to her mother, M. A. Thompson, but as she did not write a dedicatory notice, a formal dedication must be omitted. CONTENTS. The Tulip Gazette I Dr. Dartlark's Second Wife 2 Letter from Dr. Dartlark to his Two Children at Home in America 19 Dr. Dartlark Writes from Vienna to an Old College Friend at Home 22 The Pitcher Under the Door-step 26 The Christian Armor 33 Queen Vashti 35 Letter to My Most Worthy Friend, Ella Trimble 37 To a Lady Friend and School-mate Anticipating a Trip to New York 41 To Bella 43 To a Dear Friend 47 Dedicated to My Mother 49 Forgetfulness 51 Dead Hope 53 When I Am Gone 55 Lost and Found in a Crowded Depot ^. 59 A Dream of Death 63 King David at the Gate . 68 A Seraph Serenade 71 The Perfume of Lilacs : 77 To Bella 80 v. VL CONTENTS. March Snow-storm 88 Life in Death 91 First Love., 93 Lines on the Centennial Anniversary of Alexander Camp- bell's Birth 96 Lines Written on the Death of My Little Angel Cousin, Elsie Thompson :___ 99 Spring's Teachings; or God in Nature 101 Easter Memories 103 Rest 107 Social Inequality 109 My Little Lover 113 Fragments of Time 116 Gamaliel 117 Separation 120 To a Child Rarely Beautiful 124 Your Loss and Mine 128 Rash Judgment 131 Regrets 139 The Unsought Blessing 141 Tired 143 Hope and Despair 147 My Angel 150 Lord Byron 153 Allene 156 The Poet's Delay 167 Among the Water Lilies 171 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. " Poeta nasciiur nonfit" expresses a truth that is abundantly verified in the case of the author of this book. These poems are purely the production of an inborn, poetic talent. It has been said of poetry, that it has in it the least of objective purpose, the most of spon- taneity, of all literature. This spontaneity is characteristic of all these pieces. They seem to have sprung as wild-flowers, in unstudied but beautiful carelessness, from the virgin-pure, unbroken and fertile soil of the young author's mind. They are beautiful for the reason that " nature unadorned is adorned the most." To the lover of true poetry, there will be Vlll. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. the same pleasure in reading these pages as is experienced in finding a cluster of violets^ daisies or forget-me-nots, while walking abroad in the meadows or in the upland woods ; or in finding a cool spring in the crevice of a rock without the usual conveniences of cup or pump. When the reader is apprised of the fact that on account of the extreme delicacy of health the author was unable to attend even the home school, he will be surprised at the wide range of thought and the deep knowledge of human nature that is displayed. Yet she was a great reader, and the works of the standard poets were her particular delight. Many cf the finer poems she committed to memory. I have heard her repeat " Hiawatha' ■ without a break. She was passionately fond of the beautiful. She would go into ecstasies of delight at the sight of a rare sunset, or a fine bit of landscape. The religious emotions and feelings of rever- ential awe that were awakened within her at a beautiful sight or sound, and the accompany- INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. IX. ing desire for perfect joy and peace, was her standing argument for God and immortality. She was of a philanthropic bent, and it was her great desire, particularly toward the close of her life, to do some good for her kind. Being of a highly refined and sensitive nature, much of the means by which Christian work must be done, was such as she could not employ. For the same reason she looked upon the lower forms of life and the poorer ways of living with a very ill-concealed repug- nance, but these both combined to give her a keen desire to elevate and bless. It was a great desire of hers to write a book, and had she been spared, the literature of the world would likely have been much and valuably augmented. As it is, this little book is sent forth by her loving mother with the earnest prayer to Him who giveth and taketh away, that its mission may not be vain. It is deeply regretted that some of the pieces are left unfinished, but they are in- X. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. eluded, with the hope that the reader's im- agination will complete the plot that was so well begun. J. Dow Houston. Minerva, O., June 18, 1889. LOUISE THOMPSON'S WORKS. THE TULIP GAZETTE * A paper was written upon the high seas The home-hungry voyager's heart to appease. The paper was read all from manuscript page, For no publisher there might they hope to en- gage. The contributors all were selected by vote Each day, and strange were the verses they wrote. Some were descriptive of scenes far remote, Others were copied from songs learned by rote. Satire sometimes took the form of bold wit That cared not for sensitive natures a whit. * Unfinished. 2 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Some sang of the feelings that melt the stout heart, Such sorrows as love unreturned will impart. The prose contributions I will not rehearse, But will herein insert some thin fragments of verse, That appeared in the transient-lived Tulip Ga- zette Whose life 'neath the spray of the sea-foam is set. DR. DARTLARK'S SECOND WIFE. INTRODUCTION. A portrait, not handsome but strongly defining Firm features whose cut was somewhat in- clining Toward beauty of face, where beauty of mind Transcendently beamed in outlines refined THE TULIP GAZETTE. 3 And mobile it may be, for while they looked cold And long worn, I doubt not that they could unfold A secret possession as charming and mild As artist e'er sketched on the face of a child. Large eyes of wide azure, half-shaded by brows Under which there flashed glances of fire to arouse Respect from the scholar, affection from all — Such was the portrait that hung on the wall In the house of my friend who gave me the thread Of this little romance to which I shall wed A fancy or two to the facts I have learned-^— Facts that have long on my frail fancy burned. A man in the prime of his full manly powers On whose future horizon no threatening lowers, Whose face is a study, whose figure is slight, Whose intellect widens with each morning's light, Whose purse is not filled with dishonorable gold, Whose honor can never be bought, nor be sold, 4 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Whose opinion expressed can establish a fact, Whose charity never for subjects has lacked ; His fame is so pure and untarnished and bright That his presence is pleasure, his words fall with might, Dispersing the darkness of many a night Of affliction or ignorance, doubt or despair, That weighed down some soul with the pressure of care. Such is the fair hero I now will present — A healer to troubled humanity lent. 'Tis not his achievements nor services done But affections, of which I have herein begun To weave me a story, I trust will amuse Some reader, whose mind it will strongly infuse With love of the beautiful, honest and grand With which we 're environed in this happy land. THE TULIP GAZETTE. Part First. We will first meet our hero on European soil, Whence he has fled from murderous toil — Professional duties, with effort begun, Which it now requires a hard struggle to shun. His countenance tinges with rest and relief, Although recreation with him has been brief. He has finished the passage across the brave sea, From New York, our metropolis, where Liberty Waves a farewell to ocean-bound ships, And presses a kiss on the ocean's cold lips. He has landed in London, but not for the first Time in life does that city's confusion now burst In intricate uproar, now distant, now near, Upon his tired senses and over-tasked ear. Through streets half-familiar, like thoughts of the past By dreamy surroundings upon the mind cast, 6 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. All shapeless and voiceless, the dream of a dream, The substance of shadow, the ghost of a stream. Along the thronged thoroughfares, to the hotel Our hero was driven, while memories spell Was deepening down on his half-haunted mind Making him heedless, and making him blind To the flash and the glitter of London's bold sights Illumed by the blazes of thousands of lights. When apart from the glitter and glare of the street The Doctor began to mentally greet Old scenes now remembered that night veiled from view With the mist and the fog and the darkness she threw In challenge against the devices of art At whose bold appearance the dark gave a start, Withdrawing to some more indistinct place Where light would not seek her secrets to trace. Alone in quiet, seclusion and peace THE TULIP GAZETTE. 7 Of rented apartments enjoying release From fear of annoyance, or unceasing work A picture of memory boldly would lurk In all his reflections and softly impart The gentlest of sorrows unto his heart. Sadly, yet painlessly, entered the thought Of when but a few years ago he had brought A companion whose presence was so full of light That London had never before worn the night To the Doctor's sad eyes, to him it now seemed That " seeing he saw not," but drearily dreamed That the darkness within cast the shadow of night Without on a landscape that else had been bright. He remembered the beautiful girl that had hung With joy on his kisses, and how she had sung The songs unforgotten thro' many a year — Those ballads so sweet to love's gratified ear. Exhausted from travel and saddened with grief That was softened by time he sought the relief 8 louise Thompson's works. Of slumber, that brought him a wonderful dream, Or wafted it in on the strong narrow beam Of light that streamed thro* the transom and fell Undimmed on his face revealing the spell That memory wrought on the dream-fastened sleep That had fallen upon him so sound and so deep. He dreamed of a scene that was misty with years — Years that had covered its pleasures with tears : On the deck of a steamer he sat with his bride, The fair lovely creature, his heart's dearest pride ; The beauteous being, the contested prize He had sought and had won ; whose dark soul- ful eyes Were answering questions in voiceless replies, When from the seat of their refuge they rise. He holds for a moment her velvety hand While gazing afar on the heavens they stand In thoughtless embrace unconscious of love. THE TULIP GAZETTE. 9 He sees the threatening storm-cloud above Spread hurriedly over the dark upper deep That soon with commotion will groan and weep. Then memory fails his fancy to guide ; Over the fierce ocean battle they ride. The sky and the sea in fury have met, Their sternest powers in command are set Against each other in fullest array ; They strike, they reel, and trembling they sway To the force of an angry, powerful gale That lashes the waves and makes them wail. The dreamer, anxious, but self-possessed, Earnestly tries to comfort the rest, Whose terror and fast increasing fear Wring from them shouts the deaf might hear. But she, his beautiful, trembling bride Silently clings to her lover's side. The ship is foundered and thro' the sea The passengers sink to eternity. No, not all of that fated crowd He dreams will wear the watery shroud, For quick he jumps from the sinking ship, IO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Within his tightening death-strong grip Holding the forms of two young girls — One whose beautiful pale gold curls Had never caressed his cheek before But the other's had swept it o'er and o'er. The light of a life-boat he could mark Gliding along in the billowy dark ; The light that flashed from the angry sky Revealed him, he thought as the boat passed by, Then riding back on a baffled wave It sought the perishing ones to save, They were rescued then, the three, he thought But when by the lightning flash he sought To catch a glimpse of his bride's pale face He saw it not in the fatal place Where seemingly he had felt it beam In anxious hope in that midnight dream. But the face that was crowned with golden hair Shone like a guardian angel there. In fear the troubled dreamer awoke, Day had crept in and softly broke The dream that could not endure the light But only haunted the hateful night, THE TULIP GAZETTE. II The Home. On a broad, shady street walled with houses of stone There stands one of marble all gleaming alone In the afternoon sun, that falls broad and strong On its glass-studded front and the flowers that throng The bay-window shading the pavement below, A window where choicest of flowers that grow Stand like pictures of beauty behind the thick glass To those that glance upward in haste as they pass. The high second story projects o'er the street, Then slopes to the third where the plan is com- plete. There are windows and gables and statues all o'er The front, from the roof to the huge bronze front door. 12 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. The west side with bay windows lavishly hung But mirrors the east where statues are swung Above each projection of window and door Until the skilled architect could do no more With the still, dream-like beauty that sleeps in the stone Till the sculptor unveils it a marvel full-grown. Taste had carved out of a mountain of wealth A grotto where flitted two pictures of health, Like bright, restless fairies they went and they came Behind the white glass where the sun's latest flame, Revealed them, a girl and a jubilant boy Irrepressible with the wildness of joy. The taller one's face was pale, and her hair Was blacker than I shall attempt to compare ; Her eyes, dark and lustrous and soft, never smiled, But often her sweet rose-red lips were defiled With a bright smile that scattered the charming repose Of a mouth that suggested a red, half-blown rose. THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 3 The boy was blue eyed and fair-haired and gay, Always pursuing his own thoughtless way. In despite of the caution from auntie and nurse, He seemed every day to be still growing worse. Mischievous, restless, and active and strong, He cared not if his way was right or was wrong, But he was more noisy and restless and bright Than careless of some other play-fellow's right. There was an affection that seldom was seen That grew and was rapidly strengthened be- tween These opposite children, one pensive and mild, The other a boisterous, frolicsome child. Alice was constant devotion to Ray, And he in return adored her sweet way Of covering up the forth-coming fun He had in confidence gayly begun. Aunt Margaret loved and petted and kissed Them and often talked of how sadly they missed The mother whose sad and premature death Gave to the last-born her vanishing breath. Then they spoke of the absent far over the sea, 14 louise Thompson's works, Ray wishing that soon he might mount on his •knee^ And challenge him for a wrestle and fight In which he could prove muscular might. But Alice longed for the love and the praise Of her beauty and grace and exquisite ways. She loved to be petted and kissed and caressed, 'T was affection, not vanity, that she pos- sessed In such a wonderful, intense degree That nothing, however amusing, could free Her heart from the sadness his absence had brought Who held her tenderest, happiest thought. Now let us venture to partly explore The interior mansion on the first floor. We first find a spacious, marble-floored hall So high that it echoes the foot-steps that fall So softly that were they not sounded again They would fall like the gentlest mid-summer rain. At the foot of each sofa, in front of each door, Rugs of rich coloring brightened the floor. THE TULIP GAZETTE I 5 A huge Gothic window inset with stained glass Thro' which tinted sunshine with effort could pass, Was set like a gem in the high western wall Of that shadowy, frescoed, vestibuled hall. The stairway stood pointing a dim muffed hand In earnest entreaty or gentle command To the home life of frolic and pleasure and love That dwelt on the next splendid story above, The first where the dining room, office and hall And kitchen pressed 'gainst the four-sided wall. The second floor opens an exquisite plan More homelike and beautiful than There can Explain under all the restrictions of verse, But I shall attempt it, for better or worse. In the parlor, that faces the broad, shady street, We find everything unique and complete ; The chairs are of plush, pale blue, broad and low, Just suited incomparable ease to bestow On the occupant shrouded within their soft arms Restfully drinking in ambient charms. 1 6 louise Thompson's works. The high walls are gorgeous with paper and paint And wood-carving both suggestive and quaint. The broad mantel spreads its white open wings As if to hear if the cricket still sings On the hearth that is warmed by a far truer flame Than ever in warm fitful radiance came From under the bronze and chased silver and gold That stands in pleasing relief strong and bold On the wide marble shelf that shadows the hearth On wjiich resounds the wild voices of mirth. Nursery, drawing-room, library, all Answer necessity's loud, stirring call From this one apartment, this grand, airy room, So full of loveliness, sunshine and bloom. From here we enter thro* huge folding-doors A sleeping-room where the morning sun pours Its first sloping beams upon the broad panes Of windows whose glaring reflection constrains The sleepers to rise with the wide-awake sun THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 7 That flings them a hint of the lessons and fun That awaits the wakening of sun-lighted skies, And opening of sky-blue and midnight-black eyes Again the smooth floor is of marble so white That it dazzles the eyes in the fair morning light; The furniture, too, is the same spotless hue Just brightened with gold, and the ceiling is blue As the concave of heaven, o'er whose bound- less arch The nocturnal hosts in silence still march. Two cots with gilt frames and draperies like snow (In which two small sleepers to fairy land go Each night in the soft fluffy garments that wrap Two little dreamers in one night-long nap,) Modestly nestle obscurely behind Long flowing curtains with gold rings confined To let in the sweet, life-bearing air Freely to circulate health everywhere. Here a museum of relics find space To add to the beauty and free careless grace 1 8 loui.se Thompson's works. Of a house where nothing is set up for show But everything used some service to know. A door in the side of the massive west wall Leads to the bath at the head of the hall. The walls of the bath room are padded so well That all the confusion within they can quell. Beyond these apartments we find but two more, Both with rich painted walls and carpeted floor. Now let us not here attempt to explore The rooms that divide the airy third floor. We have hastily pictured the inner design Of this happy home along each limping line. Remembering all we have seen at a glance, We will pass on and come again sometime, per- chance. THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 9 Letter from Dr. Dartlark to his two Children at Home in America. My little treasures, I have crossed the sea, And soon on the continent hope to be ; London has made me so deeply depressed That I long as much as ever for rest. To Germany next I intend to go Where nothing familiar, I trust, can throw A blight o'er my spirits and make me sad, For I was a light-hearted, reckless lad When Vienna became my transient home Long ago, ere I ceased the world to roam With spirits as gay as the singing bird That perched in the branch above me I heard. Some youth still lives in my heart, I think, Although I feel it in sadness sink So low sometimes that it leaves no trace Of its presence upon my care-worn face. I think of you always, my little pets, . 1 20 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Your absence causes my saddest regrets ; J need you with me to warm and to cheer My life that without you will soon grow sere. Yes, I need you worse than my pets need me, In truth, I believe, I would rather be This minute a slave to duties that wait For my coming beside my mansion gate, Than be from home, love and pleasures free A rover, far over the grand old sea. But just remember, my little dears, That papa will not stay away for years ; But before I come home I must go to France, To get my darling a doll that can dance. My little man, I shall not forget you, But will bring you something so fine and new That your bright blue eyes will darken and smile Till all my cares they will quickly beguile. Good-bye, dear children, be good and kind, And always, cheerfully, "Auntie" mind. She will read you all I have hurriedly said, And kiss you for me when she tucks you to bed. THE TULIP GAZETTE. 21 Don't fail to remember your evening prayer, Nor forget in the morning to thank Him for care That kept you unharmed thro' the darkness of night And brought you again the sweet morning light. When tempted to do whatever is wrong, Remember the words of your cradle song, The song with such loving memories fraught That I to my birdies in tears have taught. And when you feel tired and lonely and sad, Look on the portrait whose face is so glad ; The smile of your mother's soft dark eyes Will remind you of warm October skies. And gazing upon her pure, bright face You may borrow a touch of its gentle grace. Forget not the wreath of flowers to renew Each day, and keep forever in view The pictured face so much like your own, Except that it is some older grown. The dinner hour is now drawing nigh, Compelling me here to say Good-bye. 22 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Dr. Dartlark Writes from Vienna to an Old College Friend at Home. My dear fellow, you doubtless will startle to learn That I have decided to quickly return From this grand old city where once I would cling Unmindful of loss that such leisure would bring. I met an American the other day Whose acquaintance is cause of my limited stay ; *T was but a coincidence that led me near To the place where the change in my plans does appear. I met at the opera one that I knew When a boy, and our friendship we soon did renew. Thro' him, in a few days his party I met, And one of them made me deeply regret That I could not join them and travel thro' France, THE TULIP GAZETTE. 23 And make the home voyage with them, too, perchance. June Reynolds, a ravishing, golden-haired girl, Is the being that set my plans all a-whirl. She was finished in music last year at Stuttgart ; All nice technicalities there they impart. Her name but suggests what I find her to be — A June crowned with roses and sunshine for me ; A bird that can soar in her songs to the skies, Whose every note is a new, sweet surprise. No nightingale she, but a brave singing lark ; A Dartlark. I 'd have her to banish the dark That I 've worn in my heart thro' a long, ray- less night On which is now dawning the morning twilight. One month from to-day I hope to embark On the "Tulip," from Havre, with this singing, lark. The party to which she at present belongs Are all unfamiliar with her native songs ; At Paris a chaperon cousin will claim Full power to govern — it may be to blame This butterfly beauty at last out of school, 24 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Whom I call an exception, instead of the rule. Time had dragged lazily onward with me Since I last crossed o'er the blue, belching sea. Until here the winter I felt, changed to June And life has since been one soul-stirring tune. The full-orbed and silver-faced, soft-shining moon, Yields to the florid-faced morning too soon ; The morn sinks too rapidly into the noon To one who may bask in the sunshine of June. The bright violin and the plaintive guitar Are stirred to performance by this little star. The violin wails like a soul in distress ; Then softens and ripples like laughter, no less. Her soul thro' her fingertips touches the strings And out of their mysteries voices it brings, That speak of the tender, impassioned and mild, Then wail like a turbulent, heart-broken child. She plays with closed eyes ; like a statue she stands, Motionless all but her magical hands ; Except that sometimes she sways to the sounds That govern her mood as the cadence resounds THE TULIP GAZETTE. 25 In the quivering string that thrill to the touch That strikes some full melodies almost too much For the listening ear to catch and endure — So wide is the range of that music, so pure. Her low-voiced guitar keeps time to the airs That have drowned the whimpering voices of cares. We drift down the Danube at sunset in time, To music that blends with musical rhyme. Her beautiful hair hangs in loose golden braids Gleaming and paling in lights and in shades. Her eyes are the stars that I see in the wave, Her presence the sunshine I constantly crave. All this I have told you to her is unknown, Stealthily, noiselessly, love's seed was sown. Out of the fullness of love that I feel I will not to her one impulse reveal ; For she 's airy and haughty, tho' charming and sweet, And should I proclaim my love I might meet A shower of refusals and be laughed to scorn And sent from her presence heart-empty, for- lorn. 26 louise Thompson's works. I thought when I took up my pen I would write To you of the changes that here meet my sight, But the change in my plans is as far as I We gone In that line of thought, and I can not go on ; For a binding engagement approaches the hour That calls me to visit my friends at the Tower. Good-bye, dear old fellow; remember to call As soon as I 'm home, and I promise you all The annals I Ve gathered on ocean and land, And a warm, welcome clasp of an old partner's hand. Remember the day we intend to embark, And watch for your faithful friend, Hiram Dartlark. THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTER Out in the dusk of a winter's evening A boy was sent to the old town well That had quenched the thirst of town and traveler More often than anyone could tell. THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. 2>] But it did not greet the empty pitcher That was given in trust for him to fill Who hid it beneath the clumsy platform Of steps that led from the old doorsill. He came not back with the ice-cold water For which they longed as they all sat down To the evening meal at which was missing, The jolliest boy in all the town. They knew his thoughtless, careless nature, And never dreamed they of loss nor harm, Until the evening far advancing Began to waken a faint alarm. In every heart within that crescent That shaped itself around the fire Could not dismiss the anxious question That of the absent one would inquire. Long ere the midnight crept upon them His brothers had sought him every place Where he was wont to spend the evening, But found not the one familiar face 28 louise Thompson's works. For which they kept on blindly searching Until, disheartened, they let despair Replace their hope of finding the brother That had been their constant, hopeful care. His mother ever praying, watching With saddened eyes for her child's return, Felt a comfortless, hopeless sorrow Down deep within her bosom burn. Years kept covering up his absence With deeper shadows as time went on, Until at last she ceased her praying And counted him one forever gone. Faithful and true the waiting pitcher Kept its secret thro' many years, Catching as tho' it were the water That fell from longing eyes in tears. What warm hand is it that now closes Around its handles ? It is the hand That placed it there and now is seeking To quietly obey the light command THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. 2g He left unheeded, when adventure Urged him to leave the pitcher there ; And now he has come in prime of manhood To answer his mother's silent prayer. Up to the well in the dusky twilight The rover goes unknown, unseen, And fills the empty china vessel With all the promise that grew between That hour and when he wandered from them, The dear ones where he now would meet If there remained one anxious watcher That he with old-time love could greet. He did not enter like a stranger By tapping at the firm-closed door, But opened it and crossed the threshold Just as he oft had done before. " I Ve filled the pitcher and have brought it All dripping from the well at last, And now let 's drink unto the present Forgetful of the painful past." 30 louise Thompson's works. So said the prodigal, and seizing A goblet from the well-spread board Where sat the little group in wonder, He carelessly and gayly poured The shining goblet to o'erflowing Before their wonder-stricken eyes, That saw as from the grave the absent Before them suddenly arise. They put no ring upon his finger, Nor did they kill the fatted calf, But only offered him a supper Of which there now remained not half. The viands that had deen provided For that informal evening meal Whose unexpected, startling sequel Had such a secret to reveal. They all regarded him with wonder More than with love and warm esteem ; 'T was all so sudden and romantic They still believed it half a dream. THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. JI If he had come before they buried The spark of hope so long gone out, He would have met a warmer welcome, And one more loving I Ve no doubt. But while they sought him he had idled Away the timeliest of all times In which to come and seek their pardon ; But still he clung to other climes, Enjoying gain in silent pleasure And hoarding all his secrets up To pour them out some distant evening Into that flashing, crystal cup. He felt a want of perfect welcome Unto his long-abandoned home: He had expected love and pardon, And never more again to roam. But they who labored late and early In search of him they could not find, Found not among his thoughtless actions A golden link their hearts to bind 32 louise Thompson's works. To him, and soon again he wandered Away as he had done before, And all his dreams of home had faded Just as their longings all were o'er. But when he died he left them riches That he from other hands had wrung, As a memento of remembrance The relics of his labors hung Before cold eyes that coldly viewed them As wages for some service done, For some misguided and unthankful, Unfeeling and unpardoned one. Oh, you who have an active duty Before you, do not thus delay To execute the well-known service In the prescribed and proper way. Some scheme may seize upon your fancy And paint a most entrancing scene, But it will fade if you let distance Of years of waiting intervene THE CHRISTIAN ARMOR. 33 Between the coming of your knowledge Of duty that you justly owe And the performance of that duty That with the speed of time must grow. THE CHRISTIAN ARMOR. " Put on the whole armor of God" (Eph. vi. 11). How strong and safe the warrior In armor firm and whole ! The perfect, shining armor Of God about the soul, Withstanding in the evil day, The host of sin in mad array. Then stand erect, undaunted ; Supported by the truth, And having on the breastplate, Of righteousness and truth, The enemies sin-poisoned dart, Can never pierce your shielded heart. 34 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Bind on the preparation Of gospel peace so sweet ; Unto the tired and wayworn Disciples' bleeding feet. When with such soft-soled sandals shod, The roughest way is smooth toward God But enter not the conflict Upon the foeman's field Without the precious metal . Of faith's defiant shield It quick can quench the darts of wrong That hiss through air the field along. Then take the given helmet, Salvation sweet and sure, And then the sword of Spirit, The word which shall endure When heaven and earth have passed away In heat of that great unknown day. QUEEN VASHTI. . 35 QUEEN VASHTI. [Written upon reading the fifth of Dr. Talmage's " Series of Sermons to the Women of America, with Important Hints to Men."] Hail Vashti ! in thy gem-bedewed attire Of Persia's richest fabrics richly wrought, With studied art and strong aesthetic thought, That struggling to excel could mount no longer Toward the fair perfection of design, But in thy royal garments reached the height Of peerless beauty in each graceful line Of gorgeous coloring and blended light. Fair happy queen of envied rank and state, Thou wert the fairest and the first to fade Of all the tender blossoms that were made The victim of an early blasting fate ; For still the palace gardens bright with bloom Rejoice in royal sunshine and sweet shade, But on thy cheek the rose is dead with gloom ; Thy life, a spray torn from the parent blade 36 louise Thompson's works. Lies withering under heat of burning scorn, And weight of loss, undreaded ere that hour That robbed thee of thy throne and of thy dower, And made of thee an outcast, homeless and forlorn. Methinks I hear thee in thy fullest grief Speak comfort unto thy poor outraged heart, And with reflection some new hope impart; Some peaceful hope born of thy stout belief In justice and in virtue's untold might, For that thou hast been blameless and done right Throws all about thy darkened life a light More pure and penetrating and more bright Than light of silver dripping over ivory stairs On shields of gold ; there is a native throne Of more than oriental treasure where is known To thee, thy monarch mind, where time prepares A banquet for thy loneliness, a feast For thy heart-hunger, and sweet, plaintive songs For thy brave silence, voiceless of thy wrongs Of that stern law, that binds the unreleased. LETTERS. $J LETTER TO MY MOST WORTHY FRIEND, ELLA TRIMBLE. [Written December 10, 1887.] When thinking how to answer your kind letter, My heart advised me to command and fetter My scattered thoughts in verse, however plain, Prosaic, dull may sound the random strain. I hope hereby to state in modern verse, The plans I Ve made for better or for worse. My opportunities are quite hedged in, It seems that all my hopes can ever win Is disappointment ; still I strive to feel That in the balance scales of woe and weal The latter shows a ponderous per cent. Of happiness and blessings kindly lent. My latest resolution forms this plan : I now will do whatever best I can, Nor think of the proverbial " Might have been. " I hope so much that you will soon begin 38 louise Thompson's works. To grow quite well, and find such pleasure Within Time's gala groves of hazy leisure, As will refresh your mind, regale your weary members, So that you '11 find no more such dull Decembers. You know that we are both distinguished talkers, And had I found you in at Dr. Walker's — The effect of such a meeting is uncertain ; We surely would have raised the transient cur- tain On phantom hopes and happiness ethereal, And quite forgotten matters more material. I find you much in favor of the land That hugs with warm embrace the tropic band ; You love its warmth and spicy flowers. There may be many haunted bowers That breathe in whispers to the birds That nestle in them of the words That fell like sweetest echo softly carried Upon your heart and that there has tarried. LETTERS. 39 I fear the South land holds a captive heart; At least it claims a mighty part Of your affections ; for your mind Seems almost hopelessly entwined About a hope that points a patient finger To where the pleasant South winds sigh to linger. I wish you well, where'er your fancies lead you, Although I always feel how much I need you Near to my heart, before my adoring eyes, For in your very presence sweetest influence lies. You have many loving hearts to gladden, Some loving ones you needs must sadden; What is my loss counts for another's gain, But this can ne'er my longings quite restrain. And now I shall not see you ere the dawn Of the approaching birthday morn Of our once dead, now risen Friend, And so I herein wish to send 4-0 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. My Christmas wish for the present year : I wish you every blessing and good cheer. If there be any happiness adrift With powers so potent it can rift The gloom that hangs about affliction's seat, I trust that it may make your joys complete. May Friendship's gifts be strewn with lavish splendor About your heart, and all that 's gay and tender Within you be aroused to live in tune With Xmas bells or singing birds in June ; I know your cup of pleasure will run over If from each point where you may claim a lover The silent yearnings of a mute devotion Finds heart's ease in the happy notion Of speaking love through voiceless things — Such pretty things as Xmas brings. I hope to soon receive a letter From you, and promise to do better LETTERS. 41 The next time I attempt to write. I now will have to say, good night ; Trust me your most devoted friend, And one whose love can never end. Write just as often as you please To your admiring friend, Louise. Mailed December 20, 1887. TO A LADY FRIEND AND SCHOOL- MATE ANTICIPATING A TRIP TO NEW YORK. [Farewell Greeting, Summer of 1888.] Fair friend, we greet thy coming absence ; Although we '11 miss your happy face, We would not rob you of the pleasure Of travel, though we mourn each trace That hints of when you were among us In budding womanhood that grew 42 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. In breath of praise and shower of favor That on your life rare promise threw. You have done well ; we grant you respite From active usefulness awhile ; Go, breathe the sweet Atlantic breezes, And charm New Yorkers with your smile. No one, we 're sure, could do more credit To those you there will represent ; And so we 're glad your leisure season Will be so gladly, gayly spent. You are alive to sense of beauty — They say that what we bring we find; Hence all that's grand in art and nature Will meet reflection in your mind. We know your life to be so fearless And daring in your mind's firm might ; Yours is a spirit all undaunted That strives for intellectual light, And will not waver, though mean barriers Arise to hide you from success ; LETTERS. 43 We know you will not stop at failure By looking on the shapeless strife. A little trip, a few months' visit What sequel holds it? Who can tell? The happiest, gayest, best and brightest, We wish for thee, sweet friend, farewell. We bid farewell. TO BELLA. [Dedicatory.] 'T is sweetest joy for me to know That on your own home hearth will glow The fire your love has lit, That in the love-sick eventide You '11 undisturbed sit side by side And watch the shadows flit Across the shadow-painted floor, Nor fear some stranger at the door Will catch the secret sweets 44 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Of treasured nothings, softly said In boldest confidence, instead Of fluttering heart-beats, Lest some chance lover's whispered word By alien ears might be o'erheard And lost on breath of scorn ; — Tis true that dread of such alarm Does Hymen's lovers untold harm And murders joys unborn. Yes, little woman, girlish wife, I think 't is best your wedded life Be thus alone begun, Your sweet, resplendent, love-bright home ! What captive man could wish to roam From such a happy one? Not he, I ? m sure, who placed you there, A queen upon a throne so fair And one so absolute ; Your lives their empire and their throne Have both to one in union grown From clasped and blended root — TO BELLA. 45 Affection's root by some frail chance Of fate, or natural circumstance, From germ to blossom grown. The fragrance of its opening flower Will sweeter grow from hour to hour, Until it stands full-blown, A perfect plant of changeless hue, That waves its broad leaves over you, And casts its petals free About your feet in playful haste ; Not one shall suffer loss or waste, Nor rob the parent tree Of loveliness nor lavish grace. Perpetual summer will replace The present for the past, And when in future you look back Upon the blossom-scattered track Of pleasures Time has cast, You '11 wonder that so small a seed Should grow and tower above the weed Of coarser worldly things. 46 louise Thompson's works. And if its shadow floats upon The earth beneath, it is the dawn Of memory it brings. Yes, I am glad that love's warm power Shall coax the bud into the flower Beneath home's happy skies ; No foreign breeze shall waft its blooms Beyond your own familiar rooms, Where sway the silken ties — The twisted cord of blended lives That circumstance still lifts and drives, But can not e'er divide The threads, whose union make their strength, All down the interwoven length That spans life's restless tide. TO A DEAR FRIEND. 47 TO A DEAR FRIEND. One day when my books grew tiresome And life wore a dull-grey hue, And my thoughts were sometimes gloomy, And sometimes rested on you, You came and sat by my window, Nor seemed you in haste to go, But quietly sat and rested While we watched the wavelets throw Their transient but true caresses Upon the out-reaching shore, That a sheen of evening sunlight Quietly, smilingly wore. Peace hovered above the landscape, And soothed the breast of the lake, And silently thro' my nature I felt a new peace awake, 48 Louise Thompson's works. A peace that was sweet tho' saddened, For at times your words were sad, But I felt my heart drawn nearer To you by the grief you had. There was that in your quiet presence That silently filled my soul With a joy that was new and mighty As the tides that leeward roll. Life, earth, air, waves and sunlight All glowed with a new-caught ray, And night in starless darkness Seemed only a softer day. For the light within was steadfast, Over all it glanced and shone, And nowhere howe'er lonely Did I feel myself alone. The life that I oft had valued An indigent gift at best, Grew marvelous then and cherished — I felt that it had been blessed. TO A DEAR FRIEND. 49 Now I know why I had not cherished The life that has grown so sweet ; *T was because Time had not chosen Its perfectness to complete. But now I have felt its fullness — Such rapture as love can give, And I crave no other portion Than always to love and live. September 25, 1888. DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER. Of mother love what is there yet untold More than the coming cycles can unfold Of sacrifice and service so divine, So true and so unselfishly sublime That tongue nor pen may answer the demand For utterance of gratitude, nor say How great the service done, how smooth the way O'er which we go when guided by her hand, 50 louise Thompson's works. Who smoothed the earliest wrinkles from our cot And never our great baby griefs forgot. My mother's faithful service for her child Has left me of life's sorest ills beguiled; And hers has been a never-ceasing care So often heightened by the dark despair Of separation which she thought she could not bear. She said, if He would in his mercy spare Her from that grief, the burden of her prayer — The prayer that's been my constant unseen guide When tempted far away by foolish pride, Away from home and precious mother's side Into the world so cruel, cpld and wide. It must be in answer to her earnest prayer This growing tenderness I feel, Which I have often tried to half conceal Thinking to tell her all sometime, somewhere, But ever timid yielded to delay, TO MY MOTHER. 5 I Until I chanced to light upon this way Of easy utterance to crowded thought, So long confined and rich with comfort fraught For her whose searching love has sought That boon, more precious far than aught Of priceless treasure freely brought Unto her feet and heaped above her high As soaring eagle could attempt to fly. FORGETFULNESS. i. Great and fair are the unsought treasures, Rich the forgotten beauties that rest, And many the unremembered pleasures That slumber within oblivion's breast. ii. Few are the pangs that seek to slumber, Pleasures like dew on the wild flowers melt, And sorrows so far exceed in number The happiness that our hearts have felt. 52 louise Thompson's works. hi. Then sweet are the things that Time has hidden Beneath oblivion's cold, dark waves, And bitter the things that come forbidden From memory's half-made, open graves. IV. Why bury the dearest and the sweetest Of life's best gifts in forgetfulness? For pain is slowest and pleasure fleetest Of all emotions that curse or bless. v. I '11 snatch swift pleasures from hidden places, And bury grief 'neath the magic stream That covers forever and effaces The treasures that lie 'neath its sullen gleam. VI. I '11 wear on my heart a wreath of roses, And cast to the waves the thorns they wear ; There where beauty and joy reposes, I '11 fling the evil and keep the fair. DEAD HOPE. 53 DEAD HOPE. The storm has passed o'er lake and land And left the lifeless chill of death Along its course where wailing stand The wood, stirred by its fitful breath. The clouds have swept in haste away ; They could not rest upon the lake In peace reflected where they play The winds that over its bosom break. Winds wail and waves moan on the shore, And all is chill and saddening ; The earth has lost the smile she wore, The air is laden with a sting. My soul is chilled, too, and grief-tossed The storm has burst and passed it o'er And now it waits for hopes love lost Upon Time's far-stretched, treacherous shore. f 54 louise Thompson's works. Some hearts grow hand in hand with pain ; While suffering they still enjoy A pleasure they alone attain, And one no future can destroy. The shadows float upon the lawn, Creations of the sun and shade, So joy and sadness rest upon My heart with shadows overlaid. Sweet eyes have looked beyond my own And left their sunshine in my heart, Whose cold, swift glances now disown The love they once did well impart. A loving clasp from soft, warm hands, Still unforgotten now is all That thrills the chords it still commands, And wakens thoughts beyond recall. My heart is heavy, sad and sore, But will not, can not hate nor blame The one it loved, loves ever more In tenderness and truth the same, DEAD HOPE. 55 Ache on, poor, unloved, clinging heart, But keep thy secret well secured ; Estrangement has no keener dart, Than that which now has been endured. Lakewood y N. F., August 22, 1888. WHEN I AM GONE. [Dedicated to my Mother.] When I have shed the worn-out husk In which my mortal life did dwell, And in the evening sombre dusk You sit and yield unto the spell Of mournful memories that speak Of when you kissed my death-cold cheek And wailed your saddest, last farewell, Remember then that my desire Is not that you should nurture grief, But following rosy hope mount higher, On trusting love and strong belief; And, knowing that the state of death 56 louise Thompson's works. Is but suspension of our breath, Accept the truth that yields relief From hopeless sorrow ; for we know That separation will not last Thro' vast eternity, and though It does a fleeting shadow cast On hearts bereft of much-loved friends, They '11 be the happier when it ends, And glow the brighter when 'tis past. If day should ne'er fade into night But hang forever in the sky, Our eyes would ache from constant light; For restful darkness soon we 'd sigh. We soon would be at bitter strife Against the safeguard of our life, And, overcome with sunshine, die. And so 'twould be if we were free From death's cold darkened sleep ; The light of God's eternity Will fall on those who weep The shadows of their hearts away, With purer and more steadfast ray ; And joy, more rich and deep, WHEN I AM GONE. 57 Than can be known to those whose eyes Were dazzled by the blinding rays Of happiness from pleasure's skies, That were with joy ablaze, So constantly they could not see A shadow of the agony Of Christ before their gaze. When I am gone I know your heart Will sadden with a silent woe, And oft your willful teardrops start To ease the pain that burns below. Then when your thoughts are dark and sad Let hope steal in and make them glad With light of truth in heaven's glow ; With charity's employment sweet Beguile the tediousness of years ; 'Twill make your grief with joy replete And change the bitter salt of tears To sweetest sadness, while you live For duty, and ungrudging give Your service to the faith that rears A monument of noble deeds Of adamantine firmness set 58 louise Thompson's works. Upon the pedestal of needs, Hoe-shaped and rough and dripping wet With tears of sympathy from heaven, From out of sorrow's storm-clouds driven By blast of loss with patience met Yield not to sombre, selfish grief, But rather labor and aspire To lend some failing soul relief, And start again the dying fire Of love within some frozen breast ; For after labor cometh rest And service that can never tire. Mourn not for me as one whose soul Is past the mercy of His grace; The silver cord and golden bowl Of life I trust He will replace, Where naught can loose the cord, nor break The golden bowl, when I awake To see the beauties of His face. LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 59 LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. One winter evening about dusk, a little boy stood apart from the jostling crowd, sobbing violently ; no one seemed to notice the child, nor be stirred to pity by his distress. Every one was intent on going or coming; policemen were busy at the gates and entrances, for it was the evening hour of out-going and in-com- ing trains, and the passing travelers in their in- discriminate movements formed a veritable human vortex. Presently there emerged from this conglomerate mass of humanity a very stately lady dressed in deep mourning and hav- ing about her an air of ease and deliberation. No sooner had she entered the department in which the sobbing child stood than she ap- proached him and commenced questioning him ; his answers, however, were very unsatisfactory at first. He could neither tell his name nor that 60 louise Thompson's works. of the place in which he had liv- d. But he said he had come a long way on a big buzzing train and that his papa had started with him, and once, when the train stopped for just a little while, his papa said he would go out and get him something to eat, but he never came back, and then, looking imploringly through his tears at his lately found friend, the famished child said: M I never got anything to eat for he didn't come back, and I'm hungry yet." "Come with me and we will find plenty for hungry little boys to eat," she said, taking his hand in hers and leading him to the eating room. After having satisfied his hunger, the name- less child fell asleep almost before his bene- factress could conduct him to the ladies' waiting room. It was a complete relaxation of his tired nerves and famished system, and he slept a heavy sleep that was hard to break. Mrs. Mason, the child's new protectress, was glad that he slept, for she wished to study his face before LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 6 1 deciding upon any future course in regard to him. As he lay with his head resting on her lap and his little limbs stretched upon the sofa upon which she sat, she gazed at his sleeping face and thought it very pretty. His long, brown lashes shadowed smooth, rounded cheeks that were pale only from the fatigue he had endured. His nose was slightly aquiline and his chin firm. His mouth had all the tender curves and rosy sweetness that make girls lips so sweet to kiss, and Mrs Mason noticed this,thinking how indicative it was of affection, the love of pleasure and cheerfulness, and how the man- lier qualities were wanting in the child's phy- siognomy. Mrs. Mason had to wait at the depot several hours in order to make the desired connection, and she let the little sleeper have a long un- disturbed nap. When he awoke at last she commenced trying artfully to get his name and his story. "Well, Georgie, did you have a nice nap?" she said, as the little fellow drew himself up and tried to rub the sleep from his 62 louise Thompson's works. eyes. He looked at her wonderingly for a moment and then said with lofty emphasis : ■J Georgie isn't my name ! my name is Hugh." " Oh, certainly, I just made a little mistake, that is all. I shall always call you Hugh here- after, but what else shall I call you ? You have two names, haven't you?" inquired Mrs. Mason. "Yes, I have three: Hugh Eastley Whitney is my name ; that 's my name and mamma's and papa's name all put together," exclaimed Hugh. "Well, now let me see, where did you say you lived?" "We live in the city, " returned Hugh, with the conscious- ness that his answer had given complete satis- faction. " But what is the name of the city," asked Mrs. M. "It's ' the city,' that 's what papa and mamma always said, " answered Hugh conclusively, and it was many years before Mrs. Mason learned the name of that city. "Are you going to take me home? " inquired Hugh, as he was lifted up to the platform on Mrs. Mason's home-bound train. "Yes, dear," she said, "we are going home." " Oh, I don't LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 63 want to go back there any more, he beats us so; please don't take me home!" "Hush, child," whispered Mrs. Mason, M I '11 take you to my home, and he wont find you there." Hugh fell to wondering about his new home and, in the silence of his reveries, he fell asleep, nor did he again waken, until the train stopped in the city of his new home. UNFINISHED. [Written about six weeks before the death of the writer, this being her last production. Her health failed so rapidly that she was not able to complete it. It was a story for boys, intended for the Youths' Companion. A DREAM OF DEATH. I, wandering down life's taper lane 'Mong thorns and flowers it doth contain, Grew weary in each trembling limb And looking on the distant, dim, Uncertain way, I grew so faint I paused and uttered this complaint: 64 Louise Thompson's works. * ' Oh, life, thou art so long and drear ; Along thy path such ills appear; My heart is sick, I'm dizzy grown, The way is dark and I alone, My hope and energy are gone — I can not — care not to go on. I sat down on a shady mound And gazed, half blindly, all around ; The lane of life was closed and barred, And death approached with kind regard. He wore a splendid restful dress ; His countenance was comeliness, His brow was pale, but sweet, serene, And gentle were his voice and mien. He paused a little off from me Beneath the umbrage of a tree, And from that point he fixed his gaze On me, thro' the thick stiffling haze, I felt its mighty, quiet charm, But felt no fear, pain or alarm- A DREAM OF DEATH. 6$ I thought that should death deign to keep His eyes on me I soon could sleep, Nor wake again to tread the sod I oft so wearily had trod. I wished that death would come more near, His presence filled my heart with cheer ; But soon he rose and soon withdrew. I had no heart to then renew My journey down life's narrow lane, But could no longer there remain, So I arose and journeyed on Tho' weak and frail, and sad and wan. The skies began to smile and beam — (I thought perhaps I'd had a dream) My weariness I felt no more All wayside rest I did ignore. The robin carolled out his song As by his perch I passed along, The blossoms that my eager feet Trod down, sent out a fragrance sweet. 66 louise Thompson's works. The air once stiff with that thick haze, Was warm with love and stirred with praise. My heart grew stout and glad and gay As I pursued life's pleasant way. Some like myself had grown so tired That without rest they had expired. I saw them resting in the shade And unto them, at length I made A sign for them to follow me, I craved their helpful company. Then leisurely in groups we went, And each one did in turns invent Some pastime for the restless crowd Whose mirth grew freer and more loud ; And others came up from the rear And joined us in our mirth and cheer. I almost wished the wicket gate Might not be reached, or not till late; I wished life's lane had been a ring, Or some eternal, endless thing. A DREAM OF DEATH. 6*J A thousand years were not too much Nay not enough of pleasure such As filled my heart and charmed my eyes, Earth seemed to me a Paradise Embedded in a mass of bloom That flung the rich breath of perfume Upon the sweet, carressing air ; I saw the shadow of a snare. Before me then I saw arise A face that had familiar eyes, But then a different countenance wore. Where had I seen that face before? Ah, I remembered, it had shone On me, when sad and all alone, I rested by the green roadside, When noon to me was eventide ; But still I thought how very strange That there should be so great a change In death, I thought so very fair, Who now looked like black browed despair. 68 louise Thompson's works. His eyes were keen, and small and cold, His garments black, and thin and old. He seemed a monster to be feared, So lowering his brow appeared ; I shrank in chilling horror back And longingly I viewed the track Of life that seemed to me so sweet, Since I had been destined to meet With death, when life had filled my heart With all the sweets it could impart. KING DAVID AT THE GATE. ["Then the king arose, and sat in the gate " II. Sam. xix. 8]. I. Then the king arose and sat in the gate, But his heart still ached for Absolorn's fate; However depressed tho' he there must wait For the coming of Israel, proud elate, Of the battle won. KING DAVID AT THE GATE. 69 They came in masses, each one from his tent, Their presence unto the king to present; The gathering splendor of servants sent Thro' the heart of David a pain half spent For his murdered son. 11. The shouts of triumph to him was a dirge, The flags of victory flapped o'er the verge Of death's dark chasm from which will emerge The ghost of a grief that will smite and scourge The heart of the king. How he had loved that curly-haired boy Whose beauty to all was a soul-stirring joy, How could the stone-hearted Joab destroy Beauty so wondrous and free from alloy, So perfect a thing, in. A mist would gather before the king's eyes, And out of its dimness a form would arise With radiant face and soft, pleading eyes Such as can make thro' their glances replies, To flatter and charm. Deaf was the king to the praise of his name, yO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Blind to the glittering warriors that came ; The voices of triumph were hollow with blame, But he welcomed his followers all the same While he mourned the harm IV. That had come to his fair, but treacherous son, At the close of the fight in Ephraim begun. He whose fairness was rivaled by none Lay scarred and disfigured — his wild race was run — Under heaps of stones. He slept, nor dreamed again of the power He had hoped to grasp in that fatal hour When his heart was pierced by a poison shower Of arrows — he fell like a broken flower 'Neath the weight of thrones. A SERAPH SERENADE. J I A SERAPH SERENADE. An invalid girl lay dying — She was fading away with day The swift life moments were flying From her pain-fettered life away. She craved the music of singing And quickly a few singers came, But list! they hear the faint winging Of singers, but see not the same. The music grew sweeter, clearer, As downward it floats on the wings Of night that is drawing nearer To where the celestial choir sings. Earthward the singers are sweeping, Their serenade floats on the air, It hovers about the weeping Ones, and blends with their wailing prayer. 72 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Not long the seraph choir hovers Above the pure soul they release, Their coming and flight soon covers The bereaved ones with comfort and peace. To them those guests were a token Of favor bestowed from the sky ; It healed the hearts that were broken And brightened the mourners' sad eye. A life of patience was ended ; The lips that had never complained Of pain, but ever defended The Christ whose favor she gained, Had uttered their last petition, A prayer for music and song — She had no need of contrition Who had blushed to speak of a wrong. The discords of pain and waiting Dispersed on the song-laden air That whispered of joys awaiting The pure and redeemed " over there/' A SERAPH SERENADE. 73 EXPLANATION. These lines were written on hearing of the death of an in- valid girl, (disease rheumatism of the heart). The story was told to the writer in her own room, whether true or false, as it may be. The sick and dying girl desired a few select singers to sing to her, while passing away. The singers were sent for immediately, but, before they could get there, she exclaimed : " I hear them singing ! " 'Twas said that others heard the same, while no one could be seen in the distance ; she was gone ere her friends reached her home. LINES TO A FLIRT. Is life so long, Time so far-reaching That man may spend long years, beseeching A woman for her heart's affection With promises of his protection, Love and support, and true devotion, Only to laugh at her emotion ? How very small must be the pleasure Afforded by the long-sought treasure, Won by disgraceful, mean endeavor, Which, having bound, you quickly sever ! 74 lOUise Thompson's works. I doubt not if the smaller gain Be yours, and stilt the greater pain May linger in the wounded heart You tortured with your evil art. Oh foolish trifler, count the cost Of precious moments you have lost, In adding to your tarnished name A deeper tinge of sinful shame : Then add to that the silent woe That over other lives you throw, So that the value of the prize You cast away before her eyes Who knew how eagerly you sought The treasure that cannot be bought ; And then subtract the mighty sum From opportunities that come To you, unheeded, unembraced, With treasures that might be replaced For those you've wasted just for fun, After they have been so dearly won, LINES TO A FLIRT. 75 And you will have a balance left, Of nearly naught, and be bereft Of anything of which to boast ; For the remainder is almost As large a nothing as could be For human life a living plea. Oh shameful, vain, and idle toil ! Whose only aim is to despoil The profits of some earnest life, And pierce as with a sharpened knife Some trusting, unsuspicious heart, Unguarded 'gainst the hidden dart. You dig the ditch in which you fall, And mock the hours you can 't recall, Fast fleeting hours, whose onward chase You cannot turn, nor make retrace The ground o'er which you went amiss : — You can't give back that perjured kiss That sealed the lie upon your lips, Nor warm to life the finger tips j6 louise Thompson's works. That used to blush within your grasp ; For frozen is the firmer clasp Whose strong and unrelentless hold Will not release the ring of gold You placed upon her dimpled finger, That oft caressingly would linger Within your own responsive hand, Wearing that false engagement band, O, shame again, disfigured man! Made after God's divinest plan, That crowns this treasure-house, our globe; That you should boldly here unrobe Your life of all that is divine, Or even manly and benign, Is greater shame than I can paint ; I cannot frame enough complaint To tinge my words with what I feel For him who will unjustly deal With what is sacred and above Deserving pain from his false love. April 7, 1888. THE PERFUME OF LILACS. JJ THE PERFUME OF LILACS. Written April 30, 1888. DEDICATED TO MY VERY DEAR FRIEND GERTRUDE. "In the spring a joung man's fancy Lightly turns to thoughts of love.— Tennyson. My heart sits still the whole year 'round Until the purple lilacs bloom : Their fragrance makes it swiftly bound — A soft voice breathes in their perfume. For memory on their fragrance soars Far back unto another Spring ; And with her magic art restores Some pleasures Time can never bring. I see the cotton-festooned trees Above the shady, quiet street ; And drink the lilac-scented breeze That made the twilight air so sweet. 78 louise Thompson's works. And mingled with the purple dress Of lilacs is the pink and white Of apple bloom — its loveliness Against a starlit summer night. And when the scenes of that brief hour Grow clear again as those I see, My heart is stirred with love's first power, I love again in memory. Two pleading eyes melt into mine, The pressure of a soft, warm hand Around my own I feel him twine, And then I hear myself command My love to loose that gentle hold — I know not why — I cannot tell — My heart was not yet over bold, But still I loved my love too well. And most of all I now recall Our parting — for it was the first That left my life devoid of all The sweets that quench the young heart's thirst. THE PERFUME OF LILACS. 79 I felt as though a star had risen, Arid by its light had led me on, Until it left me in a prison, From which its precious light had gone. But then that sadness was more sweet Than pleasure e' er had been, the pain Of parting told that we should meet With fuller, warmer hearts again. That was the first time that our eyes Bespoke the love words could not tell ; To both it was a sweet surprise To find that both were loved so well. And love grew in our hearts for years, Against the blows of hate took root ; And mine was purified by tears And rules a monarch, absolute. But his frail heart was shaped by change, I saw the hateful work go on ; But never knew what did estrange His love, that soon was spent and gone. 8o louise Thompson's works. And when his love grew cold, it chilled My own that died the death of grief; The void it left has not been filled ; For death of love there's no relief. But when in Spring the lilac bloom Enriches the sweet-scented breeze, My heart grows young in its perfume, In dreams of happier days than these. Long as their breath is fresh and sweet I drink it in from off my breast ; And dream — although my dream is fleet- Of hours that were more brief and blest. TO BELLA. Feb. 14. 1888. My dearest love, I've not been dead, but sleep- ing, And while the skies above me droop with weeping TO BELLA. 8 1 For Spring's return, I catch the lonely feeling And dream of you, while memory 's softly stealing Unto the spot of tenderest recollection. I have forgot the legendary story That sheds such wide halo of fadeless glory About this cold, short month, and closely hovers About this day so sacred to all lovers. I know your love is given to another, But cannot with that knowledge smother The faithful fondness of my lost affection, Which lives in its destined connection ; Nor mourns for great return of warm devotion Of its supremest, most intense emotion. Since it is best to turn from past relations And not indulge in vain procrastinations, I will not dwell on any warmth of feeling That stirs my heart for you, its fountains sealing To check the flow in channels love forbidden, Wherein lie mysteries forever hidden. But I will strike the chord that echoes clearer, A cadence sweeter, richer, fuller, dearer 82 louise Thompson's works. Than single chimes of girlish fascinations, (If I may touch upon such fond relation) Of human hearts as entered the primeval Paradise, and, pure itself, wrought evil To that first man, who, frenzied with affection Tasted its fruits, much to his dire dejection They say that Eve was Adam's preference To Heaven ; without her, — but in reference To that, I have my own philosophy, And think it may have been from curiosity That Adam yielded to the sweet temptation, Urged with such power of presentation. Can evil come of good, or good of evil ? The answer must explain this old romance pri- meval, For if man's love of woman brought the sorrow Of sin upon us, we can surely borrow From that strong evidence that evil entered The world through love ; and this has plainly centered The blame so heavy, it outweighs the ages, TO BELLA. 83 And sin, so dire that death is all its wages, Upon the one love that we deem the strongest — Although it does n't always last the longest. I clear love of the blame : the man was tempted No doubt by vanity, all love exempted ; For don't you know he yet was in the blind- ness (?) Of ignorance, dispelled by her prompt kindness. It may have been desire to be her equal, (I reason only from the sinful sequel), Or, since they say the road that leads the nearest To man's stout heart and all he holds as dearest, Lies through his mighty organs of digestion, I may be safe in making this suggestion : — That for his stomach's sake our father tasted The sweets for which his heaven he rashly wasted. Of course there's much of speculation In all that I may say in approbation Of wedded bliss, its round of pleasures, Responsibilities of added treasures: To all such wild delights I am a stranger; 84 louise Thompson's works. From which sad fact accrues the awful danger Of failure on my part to render perfect duty Of poesy to the transcendant beauty Of any theme so foreign to my feelings : — I'm not familiar with its sweet revealings. My Valentine is for your other lover, Hoping you will with helpful kindness cover Its many wants and brightly shining errors, Its limping rhymes and rhetorical terrors. THE VALENTINE. Dear heart so true and kind, sweet eyes by love made blind To faults of mine, I love you more to-day, than verse, or song, or lay Can e'er define. My love is more secure, 'tis stronger and more pure Than when apart We bridged the space with dreams, of pleas- ure's wild extremes, And heart met heart, TO BELLA. THE VALENTINE. 85 Across the cruel space, that hid your dear, sweet face From my sad eyes For vain, prolonged delay, I have regrets to pay To wifely ties. To you I justly owe, more than you can e'er know Of recompense : More than can be repaid, for years when I, afraid Of every sense Love-fraught and strange and new that drew me nearer you Did hesitate To recognize the need of being yours indeed, But chose to wait : And, waiting, wanted peace, but could not find surcease Of anxious fears, Until your loving arms shut out the dread alarms Of coming years. One heart's enough for me, it will faithful be, And I am sure 86 LOUISE THOMPSON^ WORKS. That yours will be to me a shield of constancy That will endure Against the blasts of fate, that may in secret wait A hateful hour, When heaven and earth unite, in secret to invite Dull sorrow's power. I know not that if life,howe'er with pleasures rife And gladly gay, Were worth the painful cost, if love's sweet joy were lost Or cast away. Sweetheart, this joy I claim, and cherish just the same As I do life, That I shall by thy side, drift down life's sea- ward tide Your loving wife. Above the surge's roar, the stroke of helpful oar Shall sweetly fall In time to merry tune, beneath our honeymoon, Whate'er befall. And when we reach the shore, if one has gone before TO BELLA. THE VALENTINE. 87 To smooth the way, We'll meet upon the strand, of Beulah's glori- ous land, And bless the day When first in nuptial mirth, and joy on living earth We joined our hands, And pledged our marriage vows, crowning our youthful brows With love's bright bands. In every erring line of this my Valentine I fail to find Expression full and strong, the muse is surely wrong Or else unkind. Perhaps my weary brain, cannot in full explain The ebb and flow Of my poor, o'erfraught heart, but only catches part Of its bright glow. 88 louise Thompson's works. MARCH SNOW STORM. 1888. The feathery snow fairies Are weaving Winter s shroud, As they ride on the March wind That whistles shrill and loud The funeral dirge of Winter That soon must yield to Spring, When the robin that is snow-bound No more, will dart and sing Of the coming joys of Summer Asleep in the budding earth, Awaiting yellow harvest To give her treasures birth. The tender Easter lilies Rise green above the snow; The pretty, emerald carpet Of grass has ceased to grow ; MARCH SNOW STORM. 89 While Winter flings his farewell Caress upon the ground, And sheds his frozen teardrops In crystal beauty 'round. Fair Spring, in disappointment Has hid her smiling face Beneath the frozen splendor And cold, majestic grace Of Winter's crystal garments That soon will melt away, In warmth of April showers And soft sunshine of May. Farewell, then, dying season, We take thy parting hand ; Although it makes us shiver We loyally will stand By thee until the green sod Of warmer days has spread A happy floral tribute Of blossoms o'er thy bed. gO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. We hear thy lamentations, — We hear thy deep-drawn sighs, And see thy heavy mourning Draped darkly o'er the skies That mock thy grief in secret, And cunningly disguise Their smiles, at thy sad mourning While planning a surprise That will with sunny welcome Bid sleeping Spring arise, And, crowned the Queen of Seasons, Reign mildly from her throne, With bright and growing beauty, To dull decay unknown. LIFE IN DEATH. 9 1 LIFE IN DEATH. Sweet smiles and mirth, and joys of earth No longer brighten My shadowed life, with death at strife, My soul to lighten From weight of pain, and error's stain, That long has hidden From my frail sight, the fuller light By doubts forbidden. Affliction's pace has left my face No trace of beauty ; But should I care more to be fair Than to love duty ? There is a grace, not in the face, Where beauty reigneth, The love of right, that seeks the light That peace containeth. My steps are slow, but gladly go Down to the river, That must be crossed, by saved and lost, Where waits the Giver 92 louise Thompson's works. Of every gift, with power to rift The gloom of sorrow. I cannot fear, the way is clear To that bright morrow, Where pain shall cease, and joy increase Thro' heavenly ages. Of that sweet goal, my struggling soul In hope engages. Fm growing pale, as near the vale My steps are tending, But where there blows from Sharon's rose A heath-breeze blending, In every breath that conquered death, My face will brighten ; No chilling fear, shall there appear My soul to frighten. I could not bear, the hard despair That I should cherish — If while I fade, I were afraid My life would perish. I know my hands shall break the bands Of pulseless slumber, And catch the crown, for one sent down LIFE IN DEATH. 93 Among the number He shall bestow, on saints below-^- The quick and sleeping, Who cast the seeds of noble deeds For time of reaping. April 18, 1888. FIRST LOVE. " There's no love like the first love," I once heard some one say, It comes in virgin newness Like the tender bloom of May. It stirs the heart's fresh fountains By a touch unfelt before, A touch that thrills with rapture To the young heart's inmost core. Love's bitter draughts untasted Lie deep within its cup, When we've quaffed the nectar off, The gall comes welling up. 94 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Of this the heart knows nothing When the first love wakes to life; The second love is wiser, and Prepared for coming strife. But the first love is the sweetest, And the swiftest in its course, All agree to that conclusion Who have felt its novel force. It shapes the heart it conquers In a mould cast out by fate, And they grow to love's completeness In this mould-encircled state. While the heart is young and tender, It will keep the form it takes, Tho* 'tis prisoned in by sorrow And from anguish almost breaks. Then the young love is the strongest, For it never yields its sway ; Tho' another love comes later, There is none so wild and gay. FIRST LOVE. 95 There are warm affections rising, All along life's winding course, Some so strong, and true, and happy That we tremble from their force, There are times when all our feeling Drift toward one we hold most dear, But along the tide of feeling Floats a sorrow-shaken tear. Other loves are checked by wisdom, Guided by experience, But the first love fills us fully, Magnifies our every sense. 'Long its pathway wreathed in pleasures Stalk no ghosts of happier days. Free from doubt and full of promise Are the hopes its raptures raise. Tho' the young love is the freest, It is fleetest too ofttimes, Withering like the thirsty buds That open in the tropic climes Sweetest, strongest, and the freest, 'Tis not happiest, nor best, g/6 louise Thompson's works. But the fullest, wildest impulse That e'er stirs the human breast. Radiant, and full of beauty, Still it brings no gift of peace To the restless heart it conquers, — Hearts that scorn to crave release. Let it pass with all its wonders, Let another rise above The grave, where lies buried This all-powerful First Love. Oct. 20, 1888. LINES on the centennial anniversary of alexander Campbell's birth.* One hundred years ago, to-day, A new interpreter was given To guide us in the perfect way That leads thro' Christ to joy and heaven. * Read at the Centennial Celebration of that event, at Georgetown. O., by J. D. Houston. ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. 97 Thro' childhood's sunrise gates he passed, Ferhaps to pleasure's tuneful measure; Unmindful of the mission vast That lay beyond the groves of pleasure. For years he kept the foot-smooth road; Went hand in hand with others, Until the weight of error's load, Still undiscovered by his brothers Impressed him with the sense of wrong, And turned his feet from paths forbidden, And led him to the truth, so long From human knowledge meanly hidden. His perfect faith and patient trust Held him above the creed-paved level, O'er which the erring trail in dust Christ's vestments sullied by the devil. The simple truth, so sweet and old, To him was no new revelation. He prayed and labored to unfold The hidden truths of inspiration. 98 louise Thompson's works. His life and work within the past Shine out a beacon-light to guide us, Until we make our anchor fast, Where rocks and shoals cannot betide us. The glory of a hundred years Of seed-time and of joyful reaping, Around our hero's life appears To crown his labor in Time's keeping. For this we give our Lord the praise : Our faith is free from doubt or trammel; On centuries to come let blaze The name of Alexander Campbell. [Written by request of a friend, J. D. Houston, Pastor of the Christian Church, at Georgetown, Ohio, to be read at a Centennial Anniversary held at that place, on our hero's birth- day, September the 12th, 1888.] THE DEATH OF ELSIE THOMPSON. 99 LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE ANGEL COUSIN, ELSIE THOMPSON. [April, 1881.] She has passed from among us, in childhood's bloom ; They have laid her down hi the silent tomb ; No more the zephyrs shall pause and play In her shining ringlets, for they lay All peacefully resting in earth's embrace In clustering masses around her face. In her laughing eyes of azure light Lay no faint shadow of death's dark blight ; In her rippling laughter there was no sound Of dull decay, or the green grave mound ; The sunlight that lit up her brow and eye Spoke not of this world, where flowers all die. No more our darling shall cheer us here, No more her form in the doorway appear, — IOO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. To the regions of Light and the realms of Love The angels have wafted our darling above. And there on the strand of the crystal sea Our darling shall live through eternity. On her sunny brow rests a crown of gold ; In her snowy hands a harp she doth hold ; Of the fruit of the Tree of Life may eat; By the Saviour's side may be found her seat ; The land of Beulah her feet have pressed, And now in heaven she findeth rest — Rest which she might not ever have found, Had she in this world, where evils abound, Been spared; and thus we know 'tis best That our darling has left us at His behest ; And we know that among the ransomed there, Our loved one dwelleth, an angel fair. SPRING S TEACHINGS. 101 SPRING'S TEACHINGS; OR GOD IN NATURE. The resurrection of the flower Opening in the April shower, Does it not lift a living tower To the divine, life-giving power, Unseen, but felt? The little germ that sheds its sheath When buried in the earth beneath, Will grow and sway above the heath, Or help to form the coral wreath, Just as we melt To dust away within the earth, Before the soul's immortal birth, That banished all of death's dark dearth From that new life. The same unerring, viewless hand, That into life the flowers has fanned, And scattered fragrance o'er the land, And warmed the waves upon the strand, And quelled the strife 102 louisk Thompson's works. Of Winter's deadly, frozen sway, So full of death and cold decay, That this bright, budding April day Begins to stir with thoughts of May, — That hand doth raise To life divine, the deathless germ, The soul, that for an unknown term Shall leave the body to the worm And death's dark maze. Tho' high above the forms of life With which this present world is rife — Life that shall perish in the strife And fall when the pale reaper's knife, In Nature's grasp, In time shall deal the last death-blow On all that beauty can bestow Of loveliness on things that grow To elevate the life below, And loose the clasp Of the outspread and boundless book, The universe, on which we look For lessons in each shadowed nook, So dark and deep we cannot brook spring's teachings. 103 To enter there. Although the great created man Stands highest in the perfect plan That out chaos God began, To stretch across the yawning span He made so fair, Both forms are under his wise sway, And both in unison obey The laws which, broken, we must pay, In some divinely ordained way, For trespass made. EASTER MEMORIES. [March 24, 1888.] In memory of the sacred dead They laid in Joseph's new-made tomb, A few sad mourners came to spread The breath of fragrance on the gloom That hung above the cold stone grave In which his spirit's temple lay 104 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. Destroyed, they thought ; for what could save From blight of death, that soulless clay ? And so the favored faithful came With rising of morning sun, And lo! before them rose like flame The lightning countenance of one Whose raiment was of shining white; And who had rolled the stone away, Before the secrets of the night Had yielded to the search of day. The women's hearts were chilled with fear, Until the angel watcher said: " Your Lord is risen ! he is not here; Why seek the living 'mong the dead?" "The living?" was his soul restored To dwell again within that frame, From which his precious blood has poured To wash away the world's dark blame ? 9 T was even so, and they believed All that they wonderingly heard ; And hurried to the sad and grieved Disciples with the glorious word. EASTER MEMORIES. 105 To faith was quickly added sight; The Lord appeared, and at his feet They fell and worshiped the true Light, Whose re-appearance was so sweet. Then onward, with rekindled might, By faith, and love, and joy supreme, They hastened in the morning light, With Resurrection for their theme. But Peter, filled with hard despair And disappointment, and with grief, Would not believe He was not there, Until his wavering unbelief Was lost in wonder, when he saw The open and deserted tomb, A monument unto the law That robs this life of half its gloom. 'Tis no great wonder that their hearts Refused, at first, to open wide And drink in all that truth imparts Of sacrifice of Him who died Upon the cruel Roman cross, And then arose, a ransom given, 106 louise Thompson's works. To spare our souls from sinful loss, And intercede for us in heaven. How might they hope for such a friend ? They hoped He had been Israel's king, A ruler that their God would send, With conquering sword and signet ring. But when they saw His spirit's strife, The agony that set it free, They mourned for Him as one whose life Was yielded on the cursed tree. They being spiritually blind Unto the light of promise given, Could not unfold with finite mind The meaning of the Temple riven. But when the risen Lord returned Unto the eleven, as they walked With slow, sad steps, their high hearts burned Within them when the Saviour talked. And when he passed from them, and left Their hearts aflame with words he said, They were no longer hope-bereft, Since Christ had risen from the dead. REST. I07 REST. [April, 1888.] I crave not the rest of indolent leisure, But rather count it a grander pleasure To work in a restful way. There is to my soul a tireless beauty In work that answers the claims of duty — The duty of every day. Who can sit with hands folded idly And gaze in repose on the work so widely Around us in challenge spread? Not they who have no contempt for labor, Who love, as themselves, their fellow-neighbor, And weave on the silken thread Of opportunity, cloth of such brightness That the thoughtless in all their frivolous light- ness Stop, as they pass, to admire 108 louise Thompson's works. The faultless designs, and close, smooth texture Of the cloth of lives, where is stamped a lecture To awaken and inspire Some sluggish soul with the sweet emotion Of active love and a deep devotion To labor, that seeks to share With the needy of different climes and ages, The shining treasure of golden wages That mitigate dull despair. There is rest in the work of love and kindness ; The labor that substitutes light for blindness Is service that is but rest; Rest from gloomy and turbulent feelings ; Rest that is rich in the sweetest revealings That pleasure could request; Rest from vain and regretful sorrow, From fears that cloud the skies of to-morrow, From ignorance and sin : Such is the rest for which I am yearning — Service that angels are happy in learning — The work that we shall begin SOCIAL INEQUALITY. IO9 When, saved and redeemed from deaths past danger, We worship Christ who was found in the manger By wise men from the East; That will be rest that can never weary, For then shall we be from all that is dreary Forever through Him released. SOCIAL INEQUALITY. 1888. I know a bright-faced, cheerful girl, Whose father is the veriest churl I ever knew, or care to know, While thro' this mortal march I go. She toils for him from morn till night, In wretched and uncomely plight ; I know not how she thus can live, Her miser father ne'er does give 1 10 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. To her a coin, or paper bill, To gratify her girlish will. Mysterious economy Responds to bold necessity — Else she would own no change of dress But move in garb of wretchedness. O'er fields of corn and golden wheat Her father saunters with bare feet, Like just so many shapeless flags Sail forth his soiled, dishonored rags. He owns a handsome range of land, But opens not his clenched hand To share a cent of what he owns, To soothe hard poverty's deep groans. This girl knows not that life may be From misery and hardship free ; She scarcely craves a better fate Than thus to carry life's worst freight Of sorrow to the waiting grave That will contain a miser's slave. SOCIAL INEQUALITY. Ill Her lot seems worse than death to me — Life, without slightest liberty. I feel that such things should not be But cannot plan their remedy. I know another sweet-faced girl, Who shines and beams in fashion's whirl. The diamonds, whose changeful light Beams from neck and wrists so white, Are wealth enough for one to own Who gathers that by others sown. But she has riches vast beside — Enough to gratify her pride. Her heaviest and deepest care Is what to buy and what to wear. She knows naught of life's want and toil ; From thoughts of it she would recoil ; She dreams not that the shining stuff She wastes, is riches quite enough To mitigate more poverty Than she has seen, or yet may see. 112 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. She lives in her own loveliness — The bane of strong men's happiness. She sees few signs of grief and want ; Dark scenes of trouble never haunt Her day-dreams, or her peaceful sleep ; She smiles, nor dreams that others weep. Wealth, beauty and devoted friends, With constancy her life attends ; She has whate'er her fancies crave, And o'er her beauty lovers rave ; Indulgences have made her blind To the condition of mankind. From her exclusive, sheltered place, She can not view the present ; Nor know how pressing are its needs, How loud they call for noble deeds. Both girls I have known long and well ; But should I e'er attempt to tell Them of the difference in their lot, I'm sure they would believe me not. SOCIAL INEQUALITY. II3 I stand where both are full in view, And meditate on what to do To crush the inequality That ruins our society. Summer, 1888. MY LITTLE LOVER. TO IZZAR. [Spring, 1888.] I have a little lover, the sweetest in the world, With hair of brown all burnished ; he wore it always curled, Until the cruel scissors cut off a load of gold, Thus robbing him of beauty, and making him look old. He will not doff his dresses, for clumsy, boyish clothes, Until his minute stature, a little taller grows. 114 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. And so he's still my baby, although he says he 's not, And chides me, when I tease him, I seem to have forgot That when I call him baby, he never will ad- mit That he is such a tiny, ambitious, wee, wee bit. His eyes are blue and tender, and cheeks are always bright, And when he sees me coming, they deepen with delight. He never makes me jealous — I know he loves but me, And he has often promised, that I his bride shall be. He says that we '11 be married, and go off on a tour As soon as he grows larger, and I am not so sure MY LITTLE LOVER. 115 That should he break his promise, forgetful of his vow, That I should be as happy, and gay as I am now. He gladdens me with kisses, and always wears a smile To sweeten my existence, and brighten, for a while, The sombre shades of trouble that darken on the mind, Unless some such a sunbeam, its secret way can find Into the shadowed recess, where lurks the ach- ing pain That, though some joy remove it, will soon come back again. u6 louise Thompson's works. FRAGMENTS OF TIME. Fragments of Time scattered off the years, Welded together by smiles and by tears ; Moulded by gladness, or shaped by the strain Of profitless effort, half-prisoned by pain. Moments of rapture, too deep to express, Bound to some others, of grief and distress ; Hours of ambition, that led to despair, Then melted away, on the breath of a prayer. Such are the fragments Time sheds in his flight, Some made of darkness, and others of light ; Though they are exiled awhile from their place, All will fly homeward, some time in the race. Thoughts, quite forgotten, and words that have died On these fragments of Time, in their silence abide, Where eternity gathers these waifs of the years, And each in its rightful position appears : FRAGMENTS OF TIME. II J They will add to our record, for good or for ill, While worlds roll together, like waves at his will. Then let us improve them, with speed, while we may, For, tho' loiterers they be, we their flight can not stay. They are leaving us ever, to blend with the past, And gladden or sadden our future at last. Pleasant Ridge, O., September 28, 1888. GAMALIEL. [Acts v. 34.] The prison doors had failed to bar Their inmates from the world without ; Imprisonment had failed to mar The purpose of those hearts so stout. And now the brave disciples stood Again within the temple's shade, u8 louise Thompson's works. And preached with earnestness that would Have made more fearful hearts afraid. The irate council soon agreed To crush them, lest they did convert The people who had taken heed Of all the things they did assert. And then the wise Gamaliel Stood up and warmly, wisely spoke — Perhaps he felt the mighty spell Of truth, and to its cry awoke. Said he : "If this thing be of man In course of time 't will come to naught ; But if it be of God, none can Destroy that which in truth is wrought. His words fell with a potent weight Upon the hearts of men less wise, And thus was stayed the work of hate — Such as from envy does arise. Gamaliel, thy patient trust Was then thy truest, safest guide ; GAMALIEL. I 1 9 No human dart, with vengeance thrust, Can from its course the truth divide. A valued lesson here I learn, From thee, whose trust sought out the right : Thou, who didst not in rashness spurn The truths that were not bared to sight. I will not strive against the might Of Providence, nor that which I Can not at first with ease prove right, But can not in my heart deny. Time solves the problem of all things — Completes the worlds and moulds the man ; In its untiring march it brings The measured growth of God's great plan. My faith is large — my hope is small — I seek for knowledge oft in vain ; But Time will soon explain it all, And grant the knowledge I would gain. May 3, 1888. 120 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. SEPARATION. 1888. I strive with power full half restrained, To soothe the dull, hard ache, That parting brought, absence retained Within my heart for thy dear sake. I know I can not e'er forget The whispered words you said ; That hour when first your blue eyes met My own, and there I read Their half-grown secret, half expressed In silent language strong and sweet. Your eyes bespoke all fond requests, Desires too sacred to repeat. Our love was such a tender flower, Its life in darkness grew ; It never knew of sun nor shower, Nor happy skies of blue. SEPARATION. 121 'Twas nourished by the dew of tears, And warmth of loving heart ; 'T was rudely blown by stormy fears, Cut down by jealous dart. And still the germ would grow again, Fanned by the breath of sighs ; I knew it was immortal, then, The love that never dies. Sometimes I doubt, if what I feel, Is scarcely known to you ; My heart forbade me to reveal Its sweetness full and new. And evermore I strive to hide That happiness supreme ; I only know, when by your side, And in love's fondest dream, A sentinel of warning fear Stood guarding my free speech ; I could not trust a thought so dear Within that guard's dread reach. 122 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. If I had urged one anxious thought Forth on the breath of sound, Methinks it would have comfort brought That can not now be found. For, when you seem a trifle cold, I wonder if I am to blame ; I grieve and wish my heart more bold, To learn why you are not the same. I may not know, but do believe, That heart responds to heart again ; I, waiting, hope for some reprieve, To turn to joy the growing pain Of separation, and to raise The dark, close-fitting, heavy mask Of duty, under which there plays The promise of a lighter task — A task that love would count as naught, And pleasure claim her guiding star ; A living joy with rapture fraught, That nothing in this world could mar. SEPARATION. 1 23 Sweetheart of mine (fojr you have said You thought you were my sweetheart), I '11 love you still, though hope lie dead And duty lead us far apart. For memory's pleasures they will live To rift the darkness of despair, To whisper comfort and to give Me glimpses of a face more fair To me, than e're F ve seen in dreams Of goodly men with princely air ; A face where mind transcendant beams, In beauty's power and sweetness there. O ! lovely face, and dear, kind hands So full of comfort for their race ; Thy generous heart and mind demands Much human praise and God's free grace. My blessing on thy noble life, So grand, sincere and just, And on the mind, where hateful strife, Is quelled by quiet trust. 124 louise Thompson's works. I count it pleasure, wondrous dear, To love so brave a heart ; Although it cost a frozen tear To live, and love, apart. TO A CHILD RARELY BEAUTIFUL. DEDICATED TO SUSIE. Thou little lump of compound loveliness, How soon thy charms will leave thee, who can guess? I trust that they may cling a long time yet Unto thy face and form, like jewels set In purest gold, such as thy rosy health That adds a perfect treasure to thy beauty's wealth. Thou little folded bud, whose opening charms Will cease to shield the flower when time's alarms Shall shake the dews of heaven from off thy breast, TO A CHILD. 125 And rob thee of the fearless pleasures of thy rest, That sits upon thy long-fringed eyelids all so gay And sweet and light, that night is but a restful day. To thee, fair innocence, whose breathing is so sweet That zephyrs softly sigh its echoes to repeat, Or sigh to blend their lives with that sweet air That does in loving service gently dare To steal within thy frame, and tinge with red The faithful currents that have faintly spread The blush upon thy sea-shell tinted cheek. Thy airy toddle would alone bespeak :