THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER AND OTHER POEMS. BY SARAH WARNER BROOKS. PROVIDENCE: GEORGE H. WHITNEY. 1859. Entered according to Act of Congress,-in the year 1859,'by I. A. BROOKS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Rhode Island. ERRATA. —On p. 64, fourth line from top, read bays for bags; p 65, fourth line from bottom, read ear for air; p. 84, eighth line from top, read thee for the. +-3* -/tl CONTENTS. THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, 8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SKYWARD, -. 39 IN MEMOMIAM, - 42 THE LIFE RIVER, - - - 43 Too WELL - 45 No MORE, - 48 THE WITH-HOLDEN, - - - - 51 IMMORTALITY, - - -6 THE ORPHAN CHILD, - - - 57 BURY THY DEAD, - - 60 CORRINE'S UNCROWNING, - - - 64 THE AWAKENING, - - - - 68 PILGRIMAGE, - -. - - - 71 GOD'S EVANGEL, - 75 MY BABY, - 78 iv CONTEXTS. THE SACRED FIRE,. 80 LIFE, - - 86 RETURN, - 88 FORGETFULNESS, 89 4 IT IS WELL," - - - 90 LOVE, - - - - - - 92 WIDOWHOOD, - 94 TIME AND ETERNITY, - - - 96 THE MOTH AND THE HEART, - 104 SENDING FOR GOD, - - - - 106 As IS THY DAY, - - - 110 THE CHAMBER OF THE DEAD, - - 112 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD, - - 115 AN HOUR AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE, - 119 LEONORA, - 122 LOVE'S PRESENTIMENT, - - - 127 SWEET SUMMER NIGHT WIND, - - 130 THE APPEAL, - - - - - 132 LOVE UNSPOKEN, - - - 135 THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER, - - 136 MY SUMMER CHILD, - 146 BUTTERCUPS, - - 149 STANZAS, - 152 POETIC APHORISMS, - 154 CONTENTS. v SONNETS. JUNE, - 159 BEFORE THE CROSS, - - - 160 CONSOLATION, - - 161 To E. ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, - 162 GOD GIVETH WITHOUT MEASURE, - 16a To, - - 164. REMEMBERED LIGHT, - - 165 BERTHA'S LOVE, - - - 166 To, - - 167 WHERE ART THOU,. - 168 II. - - - - 1- 69 III. - - - -l - 170 IV. - - - - 171 CONCLUSION, - - - - - 172 TO MY FRIEND, Agre. P. S. (torliss, NOW AMONG THE ": SWEET MINSTRELSY " OF HEAVEN, As a tribute to her memory, THESE POEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, BY THE AUTHOR. THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. "BUI THE GREATEST OF THESE IS CHARrIY.-1 - Cor. 13: 1& I.. Wide open flew the palace gatesThe wardens stood aghastWhile proud and bold, tall Christopher Beneath the portal passed! The belted knights amazed were, With faces scared and whiteThe menials marked his aspect dire, And quailed with affright. 4 POEMS. The King, astoniMd on his throne, Did roundly stare, I ween; For, since the giant, famed of Gath, His like had ne'er been seen! His huge feet thundered on the floor, His brawny arm was bareAnd strong as cordage on the mast, The muscles tightened there. Since soul within such ponderous shell Ne'er lay unhatched beforeThat Hercules to court had come, In sooth, the monarch swore., Then spake stout Christopher this wise" From land to land I stride, To find the mightiest king on earth, For none I serve beside. LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 5 Since thou, oh King! in power and wealth, Exceedest all the rest; Belike it suits thee-here I stay, Henceforth to do thy hest." Out spake the King-right glad was he To honor guest so bold: "Stay thou, and I will guerdon thee Full well, with thanks and gold." 1I 7 ILI Upon his throne the monarch sat, In gorgeous arrayThe golden glitter of his crown Did scare the full blown day. In slumberous waves, upon the floor His mantle trailed, I weenBesprinkled o'er with seed-pearls rare, All thick as frosty sheen. 8 POEMS. And Christopher, in blithe attire, Did stand before the King; And there, a wandering minstrel came, His goodly lays to sing. Then quoth the King, " for lady's bower Keep thou thy love-tales sweet; For stouter hearts, and bolder ears, A ruder strain is meet." He touched the harp-a prelude low Trilled silvery at first; And then, the thunder of his soul, Along the arches burst! And e'er as in his story weird He Satan named, I trow, The listening King, with holy cross, Made sure to sign his brow. LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 9 Then spake the wondering Christopher, " What means this gesture, King?" The artful monarch answered not, Intent to hide the thingUntil, constrained by Christopher, Who still did press him soreSaying, " and if thou tell'st me not, Then serve I thee no more." " I fear that evil spirit bold," He said, " and make this sign, Lest he o'ercome me by his power, And ruin me and mine." "Thou hast deceived me, King," quoth he" If fear upon thy brow Sits white, at mention of his name, He mightier is than thou. 10 POEMS. I tarry here no longer, then; Nor serve thee as before;'To seek a mightier King than thou, I journey forth once more." III. He traveled far-he traveled wideTill on a desert plain, Where Summer sat with fevered brow, Athirst for cooling rainA mighty host of armed men In grand array did ride; And at their head, a being dire, Of conquering mien he spied. 12 POEMS. " Halt, mortal mall! where goest thou?" The kingly leader said: Then thus to him bold ChristopherNo whit was he afraid"I seek for Satan, far and wideSince mightiest prince is heUpon this earth, him would I serve, Right well and loyally." Then answered Lucifer-full glad To find such ready slave"' No further seek, for I am he; Bow down before me, knave!" Then straight upon his knees dropped he, And oath of fealty swore; And filing with the armed men, He traveled on once more. LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 13 And now, when they had journeyed long, Four tangled roads they met; And by the wayside there, behold! A holy cross was set. Whereat the Evil-one did quail, With mighty fear aghastAs kingly forests bow their heads Before the thunder blastAnd turning back, a circuit made, The blessed cross to shunSaid Christopher, amazed sore, "1 Satan-why thus has't done?" The wily devil spake him not; And thus he pressed him bold — " In sooth, I serve thee not, if thou Dost leave this thing untold!" 2 14 POEMS. Constrained thus —" Upon that cross," The trembling fiend replied-' Jesus, the Christ, uplifted hung; And there He bled and died. And evermore it is my meed To tremble at the sight; And flee before the holy sign In horror and affright.' Then Christopher, astonied sore, The devil spake, this wise"- How then! this Jesus whom thou dreads't Is mightiest'neath the skies? This King, more potent is than thou! Henceforth from thee I swerve; And go to seek Him, day and night, For none but Him I serve." LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPIYER. i5 Then far and wide he traveled on, His toil he counted naught; And ever for the blessed Christ With patient quest he sought, 17 IV. The pious hermit in his cell His missal laid away; And in the holy sunset calm, Went forth to muse and pray. All golden-ly the sleeping day Lay pillowed in the west; And twilight, with a winking star, Buttoned her crimson vest. 2* 18 POEMS. His thoughts o'ertopped the sunset isles And sailing far beyond, Weighed anchor nigh the blissful shores JBy God's full glory sunned. So ripe had grown his lusty soul Within its mortal bars, It scarcely needed silver wings, To float it o'er the stars. And now he calleth from the skies, The thoughts that love to strayFor tall and strong, dame Christopher, And met him in the way. " Grey beard," quoth he, in hottest haste, " From land to land I stride, To find one Christ, a mighty KingMayhap thou be'est my guide?" LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 19 Right joyfully the hermit heard The name he loved wellThe giant took he by the hand, And led him to his cell. And there, to teach him of the Lord, With diligence began; — For sorely grieved he was, to see The darkness of the man. "' The Christ thou seekest, is indeed A mighty King,"' he said; i And heaven above, and earth beneath, Have coronaled His head. But know, if thou would'st serve with hinm, He will not task thee lightStern duties grasp with iron hand, The soul that serves Him right." 2D) POEMS. (With that he oped his doublet grey, And showed the fretted skinChafed, by the teasing shirt of hair, IHe wore to heal his sin.) " Full forty years, my son, have I His yoke in meekness borne; And in His blessed service, thus This mortal frame have worn.'Till scarce it holds the struggling soul, (With fasting, faint alway,) And, cheating sleep of half her dues, Long nights I kneel and pray. If thou would'st serve Him,-first of allOft-times keep thou thy fastSince when the body feedeth ill, The soul hath best repast." LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 21 Then outspake sturdy Christopher, — And loud and long he laughed"Who bids me serve with hungry maw, I'faith, is clearly daft! This good right arm, is lithe to do His hest, by night, or day; Yet by my troth, the hunger pangs Would scare its strength away! I prithee, man, some other way To find me service cast; Since plain it is, I were a dolt, To waste my might in fast." " Then, since thou scornest fast," he said, " It well befitteth thee, Unto the blessed Christ, alway To pray on bended knee." 22 POEMS. "In sooth, thou hast not hit me there; Of prayers, I nothing know; Naught else hath He that I may do? I cannot serve Him so." Then spake the patient hermit thus" Dost thou a river know, Both wide and deep, whose swollen tides The rains do overflow? On slimy stones its bed is madeWho takes not wisest care Doth lose his footing in that stream, And many perish there." Then answered he, c" I know it well." And thus the hermit mild" Then since thou wilt not fast, or pray, Go to that stream, my child. LEGEND OrF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 23 And when men struggle in its waves, All sinking and dismayed, Use thou thy ponderous strength to save, Thy brawny arm to aid. It may be, this good work, shall find Acceptance of the LordSince none who serveth faithfully, His' well done' hath not heard. And if thy heart nor faint, nor fail; But serve Him —liege and fastPerchance, He yet will manifest Himself to thee, at last." Then spake the giant joyfully" This will I gladly do; The service pleaseth me right well, I swear him fealty true." 25 V. So went he, as the hermit bid, And by that river dwelt(A palm uprooted, was the staff Wherewith his way he felt.) And strong, and tall, stood evermore Upon the river's brink, Ready to aid the struggling ones,Who else were sure to sink. 3 26 POEMS. The weak, he lifted in his arms, And on his shoulders bore Across the dark and swollen stream In safety to the shore. And day, and night, he ready was, Ever, in calm or gale; And none who needed of his help, Had ever known him fail. Then, down the sapphire slopes, our Lord Looked on this giant bold; And marked how faithfully he wrought, For love, (and not for gold.) And thus within himself He said, " Behold this mighty man! As yet, he knoweth naught of praise; Nor worship me he can. LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 27 Yet never once, by night or day, His good stout arm doth swerveMy guerdon, sure he shall not lack, Who finds the way to serve." 29 VI. And now when Christopher had spent His strength full many a day, It chanced within his hut of boughs, One stormy night he lay: And clearly on the sobbing lullsj (The adagio of the gale,) Heard he upon the pitchy shore A sweetly plaintive wail-: 3* 30 PoEMs. " Oh Christopher!" a child implored, " Come forth and bear me o'er! Behold, to cross the stream, I wait, Upon this inky shore!" Then forth he looked in the dark, But nothing saw he then; Yet scarce was laid upon his bed, Ere called the voice again. Still nothing saw he, —tho' he rose, Intent to do his best; Then once again he laid him down, And turned him to his rest. A third time came the silvery call; His lantern then he took, And on the banks he searched about, In every bend and nook. LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 31 At last, upon the shore alone, A little child he spied; And " bear me o'er the stream, to night, Good Christopher!" it cried. Then on his shoulder, broad and strong, He gently laid the wean; And with his palm-staff in his hand, Stepped boldly in the stream. And higher yet the waters rose! And louder blew the wind! And heavy grew the little one, He thought so light to findAnd heavier grew the wondrous child! A weightier burden still! Until he quailed beneath his load, This man of mighty will. 32'POEMS. But courage taking-with his staff His tottering steps he staid; And gained, at last, the friendly bank, Perplexed and dismayed. His burden safe upon the shore, And laid in sheltered place, With large astonishment looked he Into the infant's face. " Who art thou, wondrous child," he said, " By whom in peril sore, This night I have been placed, who ne'er Have feared for life before? Had I upon my shoulders borne This huge round world, I ween; The burden, mighty as it is, No heavier had been!" LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 83 " Wonder no more," the child repliedSo soft and low he spake, As if all wind harps silvery, Did sweetest music make! — " Not only hast thou borne to night, Oh Christopher," he said, " The world, upon thy shoulders bro6ad, But Him the world who made! Me would'st thou serve, oh noble bheart! Unpaid, unbought, and freeI.n testimony that thy work Acceptance finds with mePlant now within the ground thy staff, And straightway shall it shoot From out its dry and withered bark Its goodly leaf and fruit." 34 POEMS. The dry staff in the ground he set, And lo! a stately tree Flourished, a palm with clustering dates, Most beautiful to see! Then noiselessly a silver wing Did cleave the purple night, And homeward soared the glorious child, And vanished from his sight! With joyful heart, upon his face Then fell this giant strong, And worshipped, and confessed the Christ Whom he had served long. 35 Whoe'er thou art that seekest Him On holy rood once slainBe comforted! since none hath sought The Lord of life in vain. And know, right well, he surest doth Alway the Master's hest, Who, for His well-beloved sake, Doth serve his kind the best. 36 POEMS. For all who need, and wait thee, stand Broad shouldered at the trystBear tenderly His little ones! For so, thou bearest Christ.* *Matthew, 25: 40. MISCELLANEOUS. 4 39 SKYWARD. "WITH HIS NEST DOWN IN THE GORSES, AND HIS SONG IN THE STAIR-COURSES."-Mrs. Browning. The mist on the meadow lies heavy and cold; With its veil on his forehead, the daygod hath risenFair dawn hath forgotten her girdle of gold, And the sunbeams laugh not through the walls of their prison. From his dream in the clover, up-springeth the lark! He shaketh the cool tears of night from his wing, 40 POEMS. One faint little chirrup he gives in the dark, Then away to the welkin he soareth to sing! Skyward-still skyward! Like an arrow he shoots through the shimmering blue,. Skyward, still skyward! —his pinions are strongAnd silvery clear as the dropping of dewOn moon lighted roses, down raineth his song. At the fair 1" walls of Jasper " he beateth his wings, Where the gold harps are hymning, serenely and clear — The high hallelujah hath swooned on their stringsWhile the wondering minstrels axe bending to hear! Skyward-still skyward! SKYWARD. 41 Oh poet! stay not in the meadow of dreams, In the valley below where the mist is unfurled, And the God-light breaks not with its soulkindling beams! Oh stay not! to twitter and chirp to the world. But soar-like the lark from night's chrism of dewSkyward, still skyward!-thy pinions are strongAnd singing, serene in the summery blue, Drop low in the valleys the rain of thy song. Skyward!-still skyward! "IN MEMORIAM." When glorious summer flushed our bowers With all her gorgeous wreath of blqom, Death, kissed the fairest of our flowersAnd laid it smiling in the tomb. Love won an angel from the skies! And held with clasping arms,-in vain! She saw the palms of Paradise, And spread her shining wings again.! Oh rarest flower of all thy kind; To thee, nor blight, nor chill, was givenLeaving the autumn far behindTo summer in the vales of heaven! 43 THE LIFE RIVER. To J. R. H., WITH A " HAPPY NEW YEAR." A mountain gave a streamlet birthA grand old mountain! calm and high! Whose base was rooted deep in earth; Whose top, leaned loving on the sky. And evermore, a shining thread, It traveled on in silver sheen; And wheresoe'er its waters sped, The banks on either side were green. 44 POEMS. Still onward to the main it flowed; Nor rested,-tho' the way was long — And on the roughest, stoniest road, It ever sang the sweetest song. With burning lip, the summer sun In vain might seek to kiss it dry; Still cool and clear, it murmured on, Fed from that mountain calm and high. Thus, ever crystal-clear and fair, Thy life goes singing on its way; And flinging verdure, wheresoe'er Its blessing laden waters stray! A life, pure as the green of spring — Sweet, as the rose steeped air of June; A God-made harp, whose every string An angoel, keeps in perfect tune! -43 TOO WELL. Come braid with pearls thy nut-brown hair, And don thy robe of summery blue; Dear lady, thou art young and fair, And other hearts are fond and true: And.braver knights will bend the knee Before thy beauty's matchless spellHe is not worth a tear from thee! She only said, " I loved him well." Forgive! dear lady, if I chide; I pray you, give him scorn, for scorn;. 46 POEMS. The recreant calls another bride; And they were wed but yester-morn. She bought him with her shining gold; ('" Is love a thing to buy and sell?") Dear lady, you are pale, and cold" May God forgive, I love too well!" Oh lady! do but rouse your pride! The churl hath boasted of your truthHe vaunts his conquest far and wide; He cares not for your blighted youth: And men have coupled with your name A word my lips would scorn to tell-'Tis well, your forehead burns with shame!'Twas but for him, " I love too well!" He parts the light leaves of her bowerHe springs to fold her to his breast" I did but try your truth, my flower; And love hath borne the cruel test." TOO WELL. 47 She drank the red wine of her blissAs fainting in his arms she fellHer sweet lips murmured only this: " God pity all who love too well!" 48 4'NO MORE." IN MEMORY OF F. M. T. Tread softly-softly! low she lies! With death's calm moonlight on her brow; The soft lids veil her radiant eyesYet dreamless is her slumber now. Away with tears! this calm repose Tells how the fever strife is o'erThe heavy surging of ]ife's woes Shall break upon her heart " no more." When the soft southwind wanders free, Rejoicing in the summer's birth " NO MORE." 49 Wooing the wild rose on the lea, And flinging fragrance o'er the earth; Then, will we wreathe with flowers her tomb, And think, that on the summer shore She dwells, who loved this world of bloomThat smiles for her, " no more-no more!" And when, around the winter hearth We strengthen Friendship's holy chain, The mem'ry of her gentle worth Shall brighten in our hearts again; But who shall fill the vacant placeWhere, in the pleasant days of yore, The soul hath kindled in that face That beams for us, "' no more —no mnore! Oh earth, take thou our precious dead! And cradled softly, may she rest — The tall pines singing o'er her head, The green turf smiling on her breast. 5 50. POEMS. Our souls shall summer in the bowers That skirt the " crystal river's" shore, And pluck with her immortal flowersAnd breathe farewell, " no more-no more!" 51 THE WITH-HOLDEN. Some sweet desires, dear God, to my fond askingSome priceless boons, thy wisdom-tempered love hath given: And in the sunshine of large bounties baskingDaily, my heart swings grateful incense to high heaven. But oftener-when my fevered heart's hot pleading, Hath worn thy footstool, and thy tireless patience tried 52 POEMS. Thy love, (perfect in knowledge of my needing) Hath turned away and still the longing suit denied. Forgive my faint amens to the with-holden! The way is dark, I scan thy meaning blindly, Help me at last to climb the stairway golden, And read it, where the God-light shineth clear and kindly. 53 IMMORTALITY. "BUT THE SPRING SHALL GIVE US VIOLETS BACK, AND EVERY FLOWER BUT THEE! "-Hemans. The love-sick lilac faints upon the still blue air; Blithe daffodils in sunny garden patches blowAnd hyacinths fill their sweet cups with odors rare; While maiden jonquils, blossom, chaste as virgin snow. 5* -54 POEMS. Gay groups of children to the scented forest goWhere the shy oriole her dainty cradle weavesSinging light songs, and bending low To hunt the sweet arbutus, thro' the crispy leaves. Thou bringest dreamy violets-sweet as airs that blow For the immortals, through the vales of paradise! And dusky pansies, breathing tendernesses low; And fair houstonias, bright and pure, as angel's eyes! Oh sweet magician! gentle spring! —that everywhere Dost work thy miracle of life again IMMORTALITY. 55 Was not my flower among the flowers most fair? Breathe on her grave! and bid her bloom with life again! Then did the Spring make answer, soft and low"Alas! my power is bounded by this mortal sphere: I can but woo for thee, such meaner flowers to blow, As have their end, with their beginning, here. Be comforted! under the still green palms of Heaven Walketh my sister, with immortal vigor fair 56 POEMS. God to her loving arms thy faded rose hath given; She hath renewed it in eternal beauty there!" 57 THE ORPHAN CHILD. Her lot was poverty and tears; And on her gentle face, Sorrow and toil, in childhood's years, Had left their mournful trace; Yet like a lily in the storm, So gentle and so mild, Appeared the pale and drooping form Of that lone orphan child. Father and mother, side by side, Slept in the church-yard green; And often there at even-tide Her wasted form was seen: 58 POEMS. The light had faded from her brow, Her lip no longer smiled; For there were none to cherish now The strangers' orphan child. Yet, oft-times in the hush of night, When slumber sealed her eyes, Sweet angels from the world of light Would beckon to the skies; And music, from a heavenly band.. So sweet and strangely wildCame floating from that far-off land, To sooth the orphan child. While day by day, she faded fastAs snow-wreaths melt away, Or blossoms in the autumn blast,-..Or stars at break of dayAnd brightly on her fevered cheek The summer rose tint smiled! THE ORPHAN CHILD. 59 Till death, like slumber soft and meek, Came to the orphan child. One sunny morn, in gladsome spring, When earth was bright with bloom, And songful birds were on the wing, They laid her in the tomb. No weeping mourner linger'd nigh; But two glad angels smiled, And welcomed to the blessed sky, Their white robed orphan child. 60 BURY THY DEAD. The midsummer sun rideth high in the sky; The blue lilies close at his passionate kissThe rose-wooing zephyrs, in ecstacy die! And nature lies faint in a still swoon of bliss. Pale mourner! thy dead lieth cold on his bier: The noon kisses melt not the ice on his browWhy murmer love-tones in that death-frozen ear? BURY THY DEAD. 61 The living are warm! let them comfort thee now. Bury thy dead! Oh loving and hoping heart-fanning a flame Whose crimson-light flickereth feebly and dimWhy thrill to the melody born of a name? It is over! thy name hath no music to him! Love came, with the shimmer of heaven on his wingsThe harp of thy life thrilled with ecstacy then! The last throb hath died on the quivering strings; "' It is over!" God wills it-say softly " amen." Bury thy dead! 6 62 POEMS. Sad heart! in the banqueting-hall of delight, Why linger alone, when the minstrels have fledWhen the arches are swept by the purplewing'd night, And the festival roses lie scattered and dead? Thy past, is a desolate valley of tears; Why tarry there, weeping thy life-drops awayThe rose-light, aslant on its beautiful years, Hath faded, as fades the last red gleam of day! Bury thy dead! Strong heart! fling thy sackcloth and ashes away! And make for thy sorrows a coffin of lead; BURY THY DEAD. 63 And under the dark lid, with reverence lay All joys that have perished, all hopes that are dead. God sunneth the future, He only can tell What green lanes of beauty may lie in thy wayIf thy dead joys still haunt thee, say meekly "'tis well;" And patience shall conjure the phantoms away. Bury thy dead! 64 CO RRINE'S UNCROWNING..' TELL ME NO MORE, NO MORE OF MY SOUL'S LOFTY GIFTS." —Hemans. " The senator took the crown of bags and myrtle he was to place on the brow of Corrine. * * * * * * She was no longer the shrinking maid, but the inspired vestal who exultingly devoted herself to the worship of Genius. * * * * * * Said Corrine, Genius which formerly entranced my spirit, is now nothing but love, and unshared by thee, must perish.l" — Corrine. Love me! love me! I am wearyFame is but a mocking show — Still I hunger for caresses, Only loving lips bestow. CORRINE S UNCROWNING. 65 Cheerly up the dazzling spaces, WVhen the sunrise joy was bornSprinkling the still air with singingSoared the lark, to hail the morn. When the hooded twilight, softlyFlushed with sunset's roseate hueLike a grey nun chanting vespers, Steals across the beaded dewLeaning o'er the'" walls of jasper," Wistful angels wait in vain; Songless, to the thymy meadows Drops the faithful lark again. All night long, his fine air jarring At the hoarse frog's tiresome croon — Watches he a woven cradle, In the clover-beds of June. 6* 66 POEMS. Cares he for the star-eyed seraphs, Leaning o'er the golden gate?Never chimney-swallow twitteredSofter, tenderer, to his mate! Dearest, (born to follow lark-tracks) Blame not, if I soared to sing, Vainly beckons Genius skyward, While for Love I fold my wing. Chide not! to the yearning poet, Priceless, is the twisted bayIt is worthless to the woman;Thus I fling the gaud away! Were each glossy leaf an emeraldWorth the ransom of a kingI would change it for a king cup, Or a daisy, thou should'st bring! 'CORRINE'S UNCROVWNING. 67 Care I for Apollo's favors? Prouder sitting at thy feet.! Crowned most, by this uncrowning — Happiest in my lowness-sweet. Lay cool kisses on my forehead, (Where the feverous leaves have lain;) Love me! love me! only love me! See! I am uncrowned again. 68 TIlE AWAKENING. Night came Nw\,ith a golden wing'd dream to my pillow; It swept o'er my spirit like breezes of balm That come to the mariner tossed on the billow, And whisper of islands that slumber in calm: But the morning awoke me-all glaring and red!And the fair daylight smote me with desolate pain; Outstretching my hands, as the sweet vision fled, THE AWAKENING. 69 J prayed, " Oh my God, let me slumber again!"But if one star hath set, there are others to shine, And thou may'st go thy way, and I will go mine. On the broad field of life I will battle with pain; There is steel in my sword that must conquer at lastAnd the future shall bathe me in sunshine again, And " Lethe," shall heal me the wounds of the past. Spring shall bring me its violets tender and blueAnd summer, shall sooth me with odorous sighs; And still, I may strive for the good and the true, 70 POEMS. While God raineth mercy like dew from the skies: And if one star hath set, there are others to shineGod send thee the light, tho' the darkness be mine! 71 PILGRIMAGE. It is far to the golden city! And what if we lose the wayOr the mists come down upon it, And blind us as we stray? God help us! There are scores of lettered guide posts(As all the world may see) But some say this road, and some say thatWhen mile-stones disagree. God help us! 72 POEMS. When we come to the fragrant meadows, To pull the flowers we stay; And we dream in the shady places, And loiter by the way. God help us! We are scared at the tangled hedges, And despairing, waste the time; Or we cry aloud to the "' Helper," And praying, forget to climb. God help us! We walk on the slippery glaciers(The Guide within our call,) And flinging His "staff" behind us, We lean on our own, and fall. God help us! PILGRIMAGE. 73 We shoulder the heavy burdens With a faithless, faint despair, And moan when the road-side crosses Are given us to bear. God help us! The graves are thick by the way-side(We linger there to weep) Where our hopes, our loves, and our friendshipsUnder the daisies sleep. God help us! And some, (who were staffs we had leant on) Have left us to our fate; And others, who journeyed beside us, Have entered the pearly gate. God help us! 7 74 POEMS. It is far to the golden city! But still, at the gate of day The star of the magi is shining, We follow that, and prayGod help us! 75 GOD'S EVANGEL. Hope came, in spangled azure gayly dres't; A gorgeous rainbow spanned her burnished hairFlowers culled in Eden, lay upon her breast, Whose dizzy perfume ravished all the air. Love swep't the silences with radiant wings; Then, all creation into chorus broke! Softly he breathed upon my heart's Eolian strings And sweet, bewildering harmonies awoke. 76 POEMS. Joy followed love-her apron piled with flowersShe pelted time with roses white and red; With her light wand she touched the laggard hours, And bade them speed with merry, dancing tread. Then grey-clad sorrow came, and dirges low She played me ever on life's tuneful strings;' Begone! " I said, (for blind with tears of wvoe, I had not marked the angel's folded wings.) Hope passed-in vain her fluttering robe I caught! She flung me back dead roses, faint and sweet, GOD'S EVANGEL. 77 Love passed —my wild imploring prayers were naught!He left a heap of ashes at my feet. Then swiftly, joy rang out her farewell chime; Cold memories, were the keepsakes she had given, But sorrow left me stairs, whereon I climb Henceforth, to calmer blisses-high as heaven. 78 MY BABY. The frost pearls of autumn lie thick on the flowersThey wither the fairest that summer hath given; The angel of death is abroad ill our bowersWhite rose! thou art safe in the garden of heaven! No bird of the summer hath lingered to singThere is snow in the pastures, the winter is cold; MY BABY. 79 Night sweeps the blue sky with her desolate wingMy lamb, thou art warm in the sheltering fold! Loud ringeth life's harp when the joyous breeze sings! In the dead calm of sorrow that music must dieRude fingers may tangle the delicate stringsSweet harp! thou art stwept and attuned in the sky! 80 THE "SACRED FIRE." " STILL DID THE MIGHTY FLAME IURN ON."-Moore. " Yezd, the chief residence of those ancient natives who worship the sun and the fire, which latter they have kept lighted, without being once extinguished for a moment, above 3000 years, on a mountain near Yezd called Quedah, signifying the house or mansion of fire." —Stephens' Persia. O'er garden, dome, and minaret Still midnight broods with tender wings, Only the bulbul to the rose Beneath the dreamy star-light sings. The peasant, in his mud-built hut, Forgets the weary day-time cares; (For sleep is that most royal gift The meanest child of nature shares!) THE' SACRED FIRE.~ 81 Within the gorgeous palace walls The silken hangings scarce are stirred; The fountain babbles in the court, Its silver-talking all unheard. The eunuch shuts his argus eyesNo need to watch his bolts and bars; Sleep-soft as scattered rose-leaves, lies On all the harem's clustering stars. The monarch, on his rose-stuffed couch —* Dreams, fanned by odorous summer airs; And softly censed from cassolets —t Fragrant as silent midnight prayers. And mattresses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to *':Andl mattresses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to recline upon." —Jackson. i, Fresh wood of aloes-was lit to burn in the cassolets." —-1Ioors. 82 POEMS. The king, may end his empire watch, The slave who guardeth slaves may tire; But never may the magi dare To dream beside the " sacred fire! "' All night, beneath yon temple's dome With endless mystic rites he stands, Intent to feed the hungry flame With costly wood from all the lands. Across the galleries of time The years have marched with stately tread; Now, ringing merry christ'ning chimes — Now, chanting dirges for the dead.':"Zoroaster first introduced the use of temples, wherein sacred fire, pretended to be derived from heaven, was kept perpetually alive through the guardianship of priests who maintained a watch over it day and night."-Irvings Miahomet. THE " SACRED FIRE.", 83 Millions, who peopled that fair clime — Have filed them slowly to the tomb, And all the fires they lit on earthExtinguished, share their mournful doom! Mocking the hunger of decay, The heaven-lent fire still glows, sublime! As if eternity, had lit A torch, upon the hills of time. Oh priests! in temples of our God* We too, have "' sacred fire" to keep, With mystic rites that never ceaseAnd watching eyes that never sleep! Shut from the soul earth's noonday glare;t Nor passion, lust, nor mean desire * " For ye are the temple of the living God."-2d Cor. 6: 16. t Those houses are so constructed that the rays of thesun never fall on the sacred fire. 84 POERMS. Must dini the heaven-lit altar there, Thou guardian of the " sacred fire! " When smoothly flows life's treach'rous sea, And, (sped by Heaven with breezes fair) With streaming flag, and signal-gun, Come gaily in, thy ventures there. When love, its wildest dream fulfils! When wealth shall rain the golden showersWhen airiest hopes are prophets true! And joys are thick as meadow-flowers, Oh leave not then the altar cold! But deck the shrine with garlands fair, And tire the " nostrils of high heaven," With grateful incense burning there! TIHE; SACRED FIRE.' 8 5 If one, by one, those barks go downv, With all the priceless wealth they bore; And leave thee, lonely, and bereftTo gather drift-wnood on the shore; Of withered hopes, and dry, dead lovesBuild not for Faith a funeral pyre; r'lhese, are God's fuel for tlhe flanmeThe spice-wood, for the; sacred fire.g" ": " Of every woodl of odorous breanth.' —Fir,- 1V'orsh',ipvrs. 86 LI F E, W VHUY SEEK YE THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD.'-Luke 24: 5. " Read me this riddle of life," I said; 1" My brain is weary and sickWho are the living? and who are the dead? Answer me! answer me quick! " — Tlhe dead, are the ghosts who walk the streetsAll glaring at each otherBut wrapped so tight in their windingsheets, No man may know his brother'! LIFE. 87 At each gnawed heart is a keen worm curledClose under the cerements hidAnd their coffin is the tight round world; With the blue sky for its lid. Some, pant there for life —and shrieking Wildly, they beat at their barsUp! for the golden daylight reachingThat is sifting through the stars! The living? go ask of the angels! For never hath mortal trodThe hills where they gather asphodels, Alld smile, in the smile of God." 88 It E T' U R N. Oh come belov'd! the gentle hours Are robbed of all their winged grace; And Sumlner —half unerown'd of flowersCraves the sweet sunshine of thy face. The skies are waiting for their blueThe tender, melting skies of June; The roses lack their scent and zite, And twilight leans upon the noon. My life is shorn of all its beams! And in the dark, with wistful eyesI wait the dawn, whose golden gleams Shall kindle morning in my skies.. 89 FORGETFULNESS.' LET US SWEAR AN OATH, AND KEEP IT WITH AN EQUAL MIND, IN THE HOLLOW LOTUS LAND TO LIVE AND LIE RECLINED." —Tennyson. I stand alone by the grave of the hours; Bearing my burden of sorrow and pain, The Past, is a garland of withered flowers, Never to blossom in beauty again! Young Love lies low with the buried years, With never a daisy to blow on the sodFriendships, are memories wet with tearsFor some have forgotten, and some are with God! Ah me! for the Past, mine eyes are wet, I will eat of the lotus-and dream and forget. 8* )90'IT' IS W ELLL." Dance thy green dance, light-footed Spring! Trail heaven-blue violets through the dell: Flute-throated robin, louder sing! Sleep! sleep my darling, "it is well." Musk-roses in the white hands pres't, Mock the faint darkness with sweet smnellBreathing lone incense o'er her rest! Sleep! sleep my darling, "' it is well." * 2 Kings, 4: 26. "IT IS WELL." 91 How life had wrung thy quivering heart God knoweth, Sweet, I cannot tell; From death-sealed lids no tear may startSleep! sleep my darling, " it is well." White lamb, gone from these meadows fair, To pasture in some heaven-green dell; The Shepherd leads thee gently there! Sleep! sleep my darling, " it is well." God-beckoned to thy native sphereWe knew the yearning homesick spell; And sent thee back, with scarce a tear, Sleep! sleep my darling, " it is well." 92 L 0 V E. " THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH."-Shakspeare. Oh Love is not a roguish child! With mischief ambush'd in his eyeWhose arrows, shot at random wild, Through quivering hearts must fly. The gentle boy, alone and blind, To Earth had strayed from Paradise; And Fate-remorseless and unkind!Claimed the lost darling of the skies. LOVE. 93 She marked the quiver at his side; And ere one shaft on earth had flown, The wretched hag each point had tried, And dipped in poison all her own. The "winged boy," throughout the lands, Since then, has worked her cruel will; Yet fashioned by celestial hands His arrows quickca, ere they kill. An alien still-ilnnimortal bornHce wanders oii, with tear-stained eyes; Forever hoe-nesick and forlorn For the sweet vales of Paradise! 94 WIDOWHOOOD. God sunneth all the singing spheres That wheel to harmonies divine; Among them-all these weary yearsA patient soul awaiteth mine! When tender violets spot the grass, And whisp'ring south-winds kiss the lea Like fondest lovers, as they pass, My thrilled soul hears him calling me. Through summer midnights-Eden-calmWhen moon-beams woo the dreamy flowers, Serene and clear, as minster psalm, That music floods the haunted hours. WIDOWHOOD. 95 When Autumn stands in sunny sheen, With crimson blossoms in her hairThrough twilights golden and serene It floats upon the misty air. When moon-beams brood the drifted snows, Like wings of angels, silver-whiteThe voice my yearning spirit knows, Rings, clarion-clear, upon the night! Oh never may this round earth know The rapture of our meeting kiss! Yet life's blue river, gliding slow, Must empty in that sea of bliss. And kneeling, pray I evermoreDear God, my spirit purify! And raise it level to the floorThe golden floor he treads on high! 96 TIME A NI) E rERNI'r Y. December lay upon his bier; Across the hills a sweet voiced chime Sang silvery to the baby-yearBefore me stood the grey-beard Tinie! " Frail scion of a race accurst," He said —" On thee I work my wTill: Each tender flower my Spring hath nursed My frosty Winter yet shall kill. As the swift sands of life grow less, I mark thy brow, and smooth thy hairRaveling the gold from every tress, To weave my darling silver there. TIME AND ETERNITY. 97 I take the lithe grace from each limbSteal from thy cheek the summer rose; And leave the soul's clear window dim, And pile thee with my wintry snows. 4 I yield thee these —oh Time," I said(" Frail flowers, that have their root in dust;) But know, when all their bloom is dead, Life holds me costlier wealth in trust; My birthright is a realm of dreamsWhere Fancy leads the charmid hours;And all that is not, kindly seems;A region of perpetual flowers. There, piled upon the summery blue, Imagination's castles stand; 9 98 POEMS. Forever beautiful and new, And fresh from the enchanter's hand. There, all the days are lifted highBeyond the shadowy reign of Night — And nothing loved can change or die, In that serene ethereal height. For, (nourished by ambrosial dew) The young, forever young remain; And all the trusted must be trueAnd all the loved, must love again. There, when the rude world mocks and cheats; And eyes belov'd are turned awayBee-like, among the endless sweets My restless soul delights to stray. TIME AND ETERNITY. 99 Born-queen of that enchanted clime; Thou cans't not rob me of mine own, Swing thy sharp scythe, insatiate Time! I sit defiant on my throne." Marking the hour-glass in his handSlowly the ancient Reaper spake: "Lower and lower, runs the sandMortal! all this, and more I take. The soul-o'ershadowed by decaySits moaning in the sluggish brainLet airy Fancy have her day! At last, the beldame Age, must reign. Thy heart hath hoarded-wealth untold — Deep in Love's golden casket hid, Miser! the key is mine to holdMy hand is on the jeweled lid. 100 POEMS. I touch thy heart's best, and the sun Beholds them cold as coldest clod! Or kinder-lay them one by one On the safe bosom of thy God." Then-with a bitter cry of painI sprinkled ashes on my head! Wailing, "oh life, thou art in vain! Why do the living mock the dead?" Night's scornful Queen walked coldly by! The proud stars reeked not that I wept;; But Night —with patient lullaby — Kissed my hot forehead, and I slept. TIME AND ETERNITY. 101 Then silently, a silv'ry wing Cleft the soft purple of the night; And, (radiant with immortal spring,) I saw Eternity alight. The dew drops in the lily's bellA pleasant sound it is to hear; Yet softlier on the silence fell Her tender words of hope and cheer. ~' Poor earth child! comfort thee! " she said, " Ages I told, ere Time was born! And when his numbered years have sped, My youth shall wear the blush of morn. Night glitters with a million spheres; All wheeling God-ward, calm and high! Among them, through the ripening years I pile my treasures mn the sky. 102 POeMS. The reaper, Time, hath served me well — He mows in silence everywhere i! Yet every blade his scythe may fell, I gather to my granaries there. There, Beauty blooms-a fadeless roseThere, Youth is laughing at decay There, yearning Love fruition knows, And Fancy holds her queenliest sway. There, the dissolving land of dreams Shall mock thy panting soul no more Thy fevered lip shall taste its streamsThy feet shall press its emerald floor! Bewail not then the scythe of TimeTake the kind Reaper by the handDecay, is but a silver chime That rings thee to a deathless land!" TIME AND ETERNITY. 103 I woke! Night's trembling orbs had fledScared at the chariot wheels of Morn, And, radiant with celestial red, Blossomed the glorious rose of dawn. The dead Year lay upon his bier Flower-strewn, (but stiff, and stark, and cold,) The New Year-laughing loud and clearStood by me, lusty, strong and bold I stroked the silver locks of Titne; And comforted, I ceased to rave; -White amaranths for the deathless climeI sowed upon the dead Year's grave.. 104 THE MOTH AND THE HEART. Fair moth, why singe thy silver wings, Enamored of a candle's glare? The cricket in the starlight sings, Go, silly one! and flutter there.;' Alas! the stars are diamonds bright; They glitter, distant, cold and fairI cannot warm me by their light, And chilly is the autumn air." Fond, foolish, fluttering heart! oh say! Why art thou lured by Love's red glow? Go bathe in Friendship's silver rayAnd grow serene as moon-lit snow. THE MOTH AND THE HEART. 105' Alas! the great, wide world is cold; I freeze in Friendship's silver light, Sweet Love hath lit his lamp of goldIts ruby glow is warm and bright. Red glares the flame! the silver wings Spin madly through the charmed light, The cricket in the starlight sings, The moth will spin no more to-night. Poor heart! poor heart!-forewarned toolate!The rose-light breaking on thy gloom Was but the Will-o'-wisp of Fate, Whose red dance lured thee to thy doom. 106 SENDING FOR GOD. Three summers fair, have sprinkled lightly Thy golden clusters, baby Bertie; (And mine have paled, and grown unsightly, In frosty winters-more than thirty)Though scant the wisdom Time hath brought thee, Oft-times I choose thee for my teacher; Such pretty lore have angels taught theeMy dimpled, sunny-haired lay-preacher! SENDING FOR GOD. 107 But yesterday, thy large eyes glistening, And rounded with unearthly wonderI marked thee (with a child's faith) listening To story, dire as midnight thunder! A weird tale of a wood enchanted, Where green-eyed snakes coiled'neath the grasses, And never ray of sunlight, slanted The awful dragon-guarded passes! -Behind-a Geni tall as steeple; Before-a Geni, fiercer-taller, And sidewise peered uncanny people, As fierce as they, (tho' somewhat smaller.) And thou, (thus naughty brother told thee) Alone, must let these shades embower thee; 108 POEMS. Where lions, (mighty-pawed to hold thee) Waited, expressly to devour thee. Ah, horrors that had staggered Nero! I saw thy pretty red lip quiver, As hopelessly, the baby-hero Succumbed, in one great sobbing shiver! And then (transfigured quick before me) Thou stood'st as martyrs stand, undaunted, In minsters niched, (with golden glory From crimson sunsets softly slanted.) And spake this wise —(scared babe no longer!) With small feet pressing firm the sod, And calmed eyes lifted to the stronger" Then brudder, I shall send for Dod." SENDING FOR GOD. 109 Ah darling! in my life-road weary, Lies many a lonely wood-enchanted; Where I must walk, dismayed and dreary, By fierce uncanniest creatures haunted! When thick they crowd the path behind me, And thicker crowd the path untrod; Of thy sweet baby-faith I'll mind me, And firmly leaning skyward, "send for God." 10 110 AS IS THY DAY. " The path is rough, and hedged with thorns; My feet will bleed along the wayPity, all merciful!" I said: " Hear my soul's cry, and let me stay." Then spake "the preacher "words of cheer — " Go on! the end thou cans't not see: Fear not! the mighty One hath said-' As is thy day, thy strength shall be!'" Arise! and gird thy loins with prayer; And, shod with sandals of the skyAlong the " pathway hedged with thorns," Climb to thy " Father's house" on high. AS IS THY DAY. 1li Cold grew the dying afternoon; The sun drop't shivering in the seaBut softly to my soul I sung — " As is thy day, thy strength shall be." Then, swiftly from the lowering sky The purple clouds were backlward rolled! And gazing, with a clearer eye, I saw the City, paved with gold: And, from the " great white throne" afar, A voice rang o'er the " crystal sea "s" O'ercome! and win the morning star,* As is thy day, thy strength shall be." * Revelation 2: 28. 112 THE CHAMBER OF THE DEAD. Enamored Death, hath kissed the lids Whose raven fringes trailed her cheek; And, pure as new-blown daffodils, She folds her hands in slumber meek. Bring violets brimming with perfume, Bring scented lilies of the vale, Bring pansies, dusk with purple bloom! And sweet-breathed jonquils, cold and pale. Bring trembling wind-flowers, frail and fair, And fainting lilacs white and sweet: And some shall nestle in her hair, And some shall wither at her feet. THE CHAMBER OF THE DEAD. 113 The mocking sunbeams laugh and play, And hunt the shadows from the floorAnd still, the blue melodious sea Is singing to the pebbled shore. All day the window's gauzy cloud Hath fluttered like a frightened bird: And, rippled by the wanton breeze, The midnight of her hair has stirred. A love-sick oriole haunts an elm Whose branches kiss her window pane — And hour, by hour, the quivering air Hath caught his heart's melodious rain. Worn love glides tip-toed to the room; And here its sobbing rain is shedAnd white lips leave upon her brow Such kisses as we give the dead. 10* 114 POFMS. Soon, sliding down yon western slope, The sun will drop beneath the wave; And star-crowned Night will mount her throne, And scatter moon-beams on his grave. His grave? ah no! a waiting dawn Hath don'd its belt of burning gold; And day will bloom in other skies, When ours are left forlorn and cold. And in some circling world afar, Whose waiting skies were bathed in bliss, She kindles like the morning star! Who shineth nevermore in this. 115 TIlE LIVING AND THE DEAD. Four years ago, together, Dwelt our twin babies fairAnd one had eyes of azure, And shining golden hair. A dove-like brow had the other, Where rings of chestnut layAnd her eyes were meek and tenderOf a dreamy twilight grey. Now, in our fairy garden The odorous jasmins blow; 110 POEMS. And the sunny paths are bordered With lilies white as snow. We sit in the wood-bine arbor, At the dreamy close of dayAnd watch on the lawn before us, The blue-eyed boy at play. The west-wind lifts his ringlets: His cheek is round and fairNo rose in all the garden, Can match the red-rose there. His brow is broad and smiling; And his limbs are lithe and free: And we whisper to each other" What a goodly child is he!" e # # * * ~~ C J1! t +~~~~~ THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 117 For four long years, the other, (We were loth to let her go) Hath played in the heavenly meadows, Where the white immortelles blow. She weareth the snowy vesture Befitting the undefiled; And never a sin or a sorrow, Hath come to the blessed child! As a snow-white lamb, that feedeth On herbage green and fairThe little one, is nourished In the sheltered pastures there. We cannot see the life-road Where the blue-eyed boy must go: (Whether in light, or darkness; It is not for us to know.) 118 POEMS. But when our souls are weary, Of the woe, and sin and strife, That stride like ghastly phantoms Through the beautiful halls of lifeWe think of the white immortelles In those meadows green and fair: And say, "this is our dead child: And our living one, dwells there! 119 AN HOUR AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. The autumn wind sweeps o'er thee now, and sighs are in its tone! The flowers, have faded, one by one, and left thee here alone; Long years have passed since thou wert laid beneath the turf to rest, And oft-times have the daisies bloomed and withered on thy breast; And mine hath been a weary lot-yet only God can know, How Time hath dimmed the life within, and veiled the light with woe! There is no furrow on my brow! no frost is on my hair! The storm hath beat upon my heart, and left its traces there! 120 POEMS. And by affections empty well, with feverthirst I pine, And yearn in vain for one sweet draughtone draught of love like thine! Cold sleeper! hath not grief a tone to reach thee in thy gloom? I call thee, mother! mother dear! oh answer from the tomb! Speak to me! for my aching heart, hears not one blessed tone Of joy, in all this laughing world! and cans't thou leave me lone? In vain! in vain! the voice of woe falls not upon thine ear; It is but dust that lies beneath-why should I seek thee here? Yet, ere the dew of death had quenched the lustre of thine eye, Thou too, did'st see thy heart's own flowers fade, one by one, and die; AN HOUR AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 121 And sorrow's cup to thy meek lip full many a time was pressedAnd thorns were strewn along the path that led thee to thy rest. The God of mercy was thy trust, the Rock of strength was thine! And shall my spirit faint? ah no! thy God, thy hope, is mine! Sweet mother! we shall meet again, where all is calm and fair, Till then, thy presence in the skies, shall bind me closer there. 1845. 122 LE ONORA. Annabel came glad and fairFlinging daylight everywhere; On her cheek bloomed roses rare, And the sunlight, in her hair Braided glory. As a pictured saint, alway Looking God-ward, seems to pray; Thus uplifted, day by dayWent she on her weary wayLeonora. c; Annabel will marry young;" (Thus the village gossip rung,) LEONORA. 123 "Far and wide, her praise is sungMany a suitor, rich, and young, Kneels before her." " But her sister may not wed; (Blessings on her gentle head!)She is crippled so," (they said)' It were better were she deadLeonora." Life, is like a charmed spell, To the love-lit AnnabelErnest loveth her right well, (Every glance the tale may tellFond adorer!) When he comes a glad surpriseSweet as daylight in the skies 124 POEMS. Blossoms in her tender eyes: Dreamily she sits and sighs: Leonora. Now in sooth, the bride is fairWith her golden gleaming hairTwined with blossoms white and rare; And her veil, like gauzy airFloating o'er her. " Little sister, (cold and white) — Do but take this parting light! I must have you glad and bright, On my joyous wedding nightLeonora!" Silver chime, in belfry high, Jingle as the bride goes by! LEONORA. 125 In her pathway roses lie; Not a cloud may fleck the skyBending o'er her. In the silent festal rooms Sits she, wrapped in twilight glooms: (Dead flowers scatter sick perfumes;) Withered, as the withered bloomsLeonora! Looking to the " great white throne," Went she on her way alone; Never mortal heard her moanBut her heart grew cold as stone! And they bore her. As the day died in the westWith her palms crossed on her breast11* 126 POEMS. Like a weary child to rest; Saying softly-"- it is best Leonora! " Saintly bearer of the rood Scanted of our nature's foodMartyred in her maidenhood! Was the holy one and goodWatching o'er her! This life was like some dark text: For its meaning thou wert vexedNow thou art no more perplexedGod expounds it in the next, Leonora! 127 LOVE'S PRESENTIMENT. "IF HE COMETH, WHO TOLD THEE?"-Mrs. Browning, The pansy hath whispered it not to the rose; The lily hath hid the sweet joy in het breastThe blue-bells have rung, and they silently close; And the poppy says drowsily, " pray let me rest." The bee is no idler to prattle me tales — (Tho' he came with the golden wing'd morn to my bower,) 128 POEMS. And the humming-bird (guiltless of gossiping) sails, Coquetting and faithless, from flower to flower. The zephyr that lifted the night of thine hair For a kiss on thy forehead, might tell what he knows; But, weary of winnowing odors in airHe sleeps by the way, on the lap of a rose. When Night, bathed in tears, waits the God of the morn, She heareth no rumbling of wheels in the skyBut when the fair daylight is silently born, She knows by its glory his chariot is nigh. LOVE'S PRESENTIMENT. 129 And I know by the red wine of joy in my heart, That the light of thy being, is breaking on mineAnd, when this lone dew-dropping night shall departThe rose-colored morning will braid it with thine! 130 SWEET SUMMER NIGHT-WIND. Sweet summer night-wind, breathing low, With fainting odors ladenThrough yonder rose-draped lattice goAnd kiss a sleeping maiden. Pure as the flowers in ParadiseThat angel-tended grow! (Trailing the garments of the skies) She walks unsoiled below. tIer sweet soul kindles, in a face Whose tender beauty seems Like some divinest type of grace That haunts our yearning dreams. SWEET SUMMER NIGHT-WIND. 131 She speaks-and clearest silver bells Seem ringing on the airHer footsteps haunt the April dells, Nor crush one violet there! On lonely heights, asunder wideO'er dizzy depths we lean:'Twere vain! —though all the Fates had triedTo bridge the gulf between. Yet go, bold wind! be thine the bliss, These lips must never seek: I send by thee, one reverent kissToo pure to stain her cheek! 132 THE APPEAL. Oh mother, cease to break my heart! I vow it now —I vowed it thenThe kiss he left upon my lipsHis lips shall one day take again! Ah well I mind the summer eve! A low scud swept the \vaning moon; And o'er the ripened clover-lea Floated the balmy breath of June. Among the dreamy woodland glooms, Alone, we breathed our parting sighs; Only the silent watching stars Looked on us, with their holy eyes. THE APPEAL. 133 No golden circlet bound our loveNo vow at sacred altar given; Yet, in that hour, our married souls Were registered as one, in Heaven. I will not live a guilty thingPillowed upon another's breastWhile every thought I send to him, Shall scare God's angels from my rest! Perjured-before a new born soul! (If such in holy trust were given,) Mother! I need a clean white hand* To lead a little child to Heaven! Oh turn away your cruel eyes! The gold you sell me for, is dim: * Psalms 24: 4. 12 134 POEMS. Why need I bargain for the world? I have my full round world in him! Then mother, cease to break my heart; I vow it now-I vowed it thenThe kiss he left upon my lipsHis lips shall one day take again! 135 LOVE UNSPOKEN. Oh love may breathe in tuneful words,. Light vows, as lightly broken! The music of all singing birds, Is caged in love unspoken! A pearl serene, a diamond fair, May be love's costly tokenHe giveth gems more rich and rarer Who giveth love unspoken. Words are but breath —of little worth — Light vows are lightly broken; And love that hath the starriest birth, Is born to die unspoken! 136 THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER, SAID " VEMIJLY AND THUS IT CHANCES TOO WITH US POETS, SINGING SWEETEST SNATCHES WHILE THAT DEAF MEN KEEP THE WATCHES."' -Mrs. Browning. On the staid ear of quiet, steals A pocket Babel's noisy hum; With forty urchins at his heels, " That lazy organ-man " has come. I know all " proper people," vote The organ-man a nuisance sore; And ere he grinds a single note Will scowl him fiercely from the door. THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER. 137 Allowing, Yankee folks are best — I grant himl still, a right " to be," And catch his penny with the rest; Though nought of Yankee thrift has he. The dreamy languor in his eyes, The lazy slouching in his gait, (Nurs't by Italia's sunny skies,) Were never fathered in this state. A grand and noble thing is toil, In this proud country of the free; But born on that degraded soil, Never an honest trade has he. A foreign barber dons the countWith lengthened vest and snowy glove; And straightway " Seraphina Blount" Will vote him, " such a perfect love! " 12* 138 POEMS. And staid mamma, (behind her fan Awe stricken by his hairy charms) Resigns her " darling Mary Anne" Serenely, to his noble arms. And " dear papa," with floods of cash Will inundate his titled! sonWherewith the rogue can " cut a dash," Or wiser-he can " cut and run." This foreigner lacks thrift and sense, To grind on " half-pay" at your door; Yet, is he guiltless of pretense, An " organ-man," and nothing more. His thankless grinding wears the dayAt night, on mouldy cellar floors He sleeps the stifled hours away, Among some friendly artist's stores. THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER. 139 Where endless " fish-boys " musing stand. And grim Dianas in whole rows: (Shame on this art-despising land!) Watch chastely, his " full dress " repose. Ah me! within my gate he comesThe stupid, undiscerning boreTo pass a dozen wealthy homes, And stand expectant at this doorWhen e'en the neighbor's dogs, do growl At my clean bones, and all agree" Job's turkey " was an affluent fowl, And " church-mice " wealthy are, to me. But hark! his wide-mouthed followers shout, Astonish'd at the wondrous skill That grinds the prison'd music outAs Kate grinds coffee from the mill. 140 POEMS. Escaping, on the summer air It floats away in silvery trills; While many a rogue, with bristling hair, Stands tip-toed in ecstatic thrills. And I (I own it to my shame) Have drop't the hand-craft of the day; And leaning on the window-frame, Float idly on the tune away. Away-away! to that fair landThe sunny country of his birthWhere nature sowed with lavish hand The loveliest garden of the earth! Tho' parted from these longing eyes By many a weary mile of spaceBold Fancy stands beneath thy skies, Unwearied by the airy race. THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER. 141 She roams beneath the loaded vinesFrom whose fair clusters, ripe and sweet, Lithe maidens press the generous wines, And spice them with their fair white feet. Or with some glorious night-haired maid Straying through gorgeous garden glooms, Rests in the cool delicious shadeFaint with voluptuous orange blooms. Oh sunny clime of art and song! Where prosy life is set to tuneAnd glides melodiously along,Sweet as the singing rills of June. Where matchless Raphael, (climbing heaven To paint Madonna in the skies!) Hath to the world's fond worship givenHer tender brow and saintly eyes. A42 POEMS. Where Tasso's lute's enchanting lay Might stay an " errant angel's" wing('Till mournful Frenzy came to play, And tangled every gentle string.) Where Petrarch, at fair Laura's feet Sat wistful and adoring long; And lavished in profusion sweet, The graceful blossoms of his song. And grieving Dante, (ever true,) Melted the cold relentless skies To rain him inspiration's dew From Beatrice's angel eyes. Ah. truant Fancy! mocking jade! Full well thine elfish pranks I knowReturn! my homelier lot is laid Where cabbages and pumpkins grow, THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER. 143 Yet do I hug thy colder soilProud, happy country of my birth! Where hand in hand, go wealth and toil — The kindliest on the broad green earth! The simple Maiden, lithe and free — Fleet as the wild deer on her plainsIs dearer, lovelier-far, to me, Than yon proud Beauty in her chains! "' Like follows like"'twas truly said;I too, good man, for many a year, Have ground an organ in my head, For all the gentle-folks to hear. XI do confess it, long agoA silly, childish scheme I laid, To play some simple airs I know, And " turn a penny " at the trade.) 144 POEMS. Fear not a rival, worthy friendI gave the shiftless business o'er, With me,'tis but a game of " spend," Good man, " I play for cash " no more. Yet often, (asking but a thank) When no fierce critic is aboutAt open doors I turn the crank, And let the aching music out. But play 1 sad, or play I cheer, Of listeners, I have few or none, Some folks too busy are to hear, And some, will stop their ears and run! Perchance, when my low bed I make Where aching hearts have rest from pain, Some friendly hand for my poor sake Will play the wasted tunes again. THE POET AND ORGAN GRINDER. 145 My eyes with foolish tears are blind, Go-go! I fling thee half a dimeAnd (woe is mc!)-still prone to grindPiece thy scant wages with a rhyme. 13 146'niY SIJA tEII' Ct1 ILD."* In tearful beauty, o'er the hills Coquetting April tripped again; And blue-eyed May, beside the rills On dreamy violet-banks had lain: When June, in floating azure dres't, TI-cr lap with dewy rose-buds piled, With dancing feet tile green earth pres'tGod gave me e hen, 1 n" y sun mner child." The tipsy birds, at dusky dawn, Tangled the air with jargon sweet; I saw the crimson-girdled Morn Trail through the dew with bare white feet. M liss Bremner, in " The IIome." THE SUMMER CHILD. 147 Rose-odors through the casement stole, The day in sea-blue beauty smiled; As-singing softly in my soulI held thee first," my summer child." A critic, might have called thee plain; Thy mouth, despised all " lines of grace:" And every cruel twinge of pain Destroyed the contour of thy face. But even then, a mrother's heart Traced on thy forehead broad and mild A prophecy of what thou artAnd may be yet, " my summer child." Now, in the twilight calm and fair, A blue-eyed boy beside me standsWith sunset tangled in his hairAnd lisps a prayer, with folded hands; 148 POEMS.. And (if to mortal eyes are given Faint glimpses of the undefiled) Surely, the " little ones" of Heaven Are like to thee, " my summer child.'" The great man sits in places high, And men " do homage " to his name: Ambition (climbing to the sky,) May win the shining wreath of Fame: The wise man hath his " wealth of lore;" The rich man hath his coffers piled, And plenty crowds his "' barn and store" — But I have thee, " my summer child! " 149 B UTTERCUPS.S Golden'broidery of the sod, Wrought by nature o'er and o'er-; Little cheery smiles of God On His footstool's emerald floor; Blossom thick on baby's grave! Near that sun-besprinkled spot No dark cypress planted beWeeping willow, shade it not!Blithest blossoms of the lea, Buttercups, for baby's grave! *" Yellow was a symbol of the goodness of God." —l1Irs. Jrnaeson's Sacred and Legendary Art. 13* 150 POEMS. Snow-drops perish with the Spring — Sweetest lilies shut at noon, Blue-bells in the morning ringRose-leaves strew the bier of June. Buttercups, for baby's grave. O'er his dreamy sea-blue eyeViolet-sealed-the lid is pres't;All the living wake to sigh; And the dead alone may rest. Buttercups, for baby's grave Nature's coverlet is warm, Fold it green earth o'er his breastNever cometh aught to harm, Where our darling takes his rest. Buttercups, for baby's grave. If he warms not in the sunThen he chills not in the rain: BUTTERCUPS. b1i Weary we, and " life-undone "He hath bid farewell to pain. Buttercups, for baby's grave. While he being's ladder clombWith his small white feet unshodLeaning from yon sapphire domeAngels drew him up to God. Buttercups, for baby's grave. 152 S r'TA N Z A S. The rose he gave me, fadedAs roses ever may, While nature feeds with beauty The hunger of decayThe love he gave me, perishedIt scarce outlived the flowerTho' fondly, wildly cherished! And nursed by slun and shower. Deep in my jeweled casket I laid that flower in death; And garnered there forever The rose's dying breath. STANZAS. 153 So mem'ry-faithful miser! — Hath clutched the golden past: And safe, within her casket, She holds my treasure fast. I cull no meaner blossom From Love's immortal bowerRich in undying odor, From one sweet perished flower! 154 POETICAL AP HORISMS. COMFORT. God giveth most of that we need; And least of that we most desire: Robs us, to make us rich indeedAnd brings us low, to raise us higher. THE POET. The all bountiful on high, from His coffers full and grand To the poet's soul, had given, largess, with a kingly hand: POETICAL APHORISMS. 155 Meted in a worldly measure, little was the value given; But the poet knew his treasure-knew the golden coin of Heaven. FAITH. Would'st count Night's golden blossoms o'er? Go borrow Faith's far reaching lensesAnd find more "loop-holes" in " God's floor "More sparklets in His blue immenses. LIFE'S CLOUDS. On them, God flingeth golden sheenWeaving a bridge of colors seven, Whereon thy soul may climb serene To pluck the asphodels of Heaven. 156 POEMS. AMARANTHS. -Though bright alway are summerbowersThey gather sweeter pinks and roses, Who cull Heaven's white immortal flowers And weave them in their posies. GOD-LIGHT. Great souls, that touch the leaning sky, Are like to mountains grand and hoaryThough at their base, the mist may lie, Their summits, catch undying glory! SONNETS. 14 SONNETS 159 JUNE. Dear God! thy perfect world seems fairest now!When golden sunshine sprinkles the fresh leavesWherewith young Summer binds her joylit brow; And roses clamber to the cottage eaves: When south-winds wanton through the clover-lea, And winnow on the air its honey-bloom — Or toying with the feathery locust tree, Scatter sweet, fainting, Orient perfume. When starry daisies blossom, thick and white,'Till the broad fields are smiling up to GodAnd soul and sense, are bathed in pure delight-'Till man forgets his kinship to the sod: Feels the swift growing of immortal wingsWhile death, and dull decay, are unremembered things 160 SONNETS. BEFORE THE CROSS. Oh look on me with thy divinest eyes!Love-pleading from beneath thy thorn crowned browLook on me! fair white " Lamb of sacrifice! " As low before thy cruel cross I bow-'Till the deep tenderness that in them lies, (Immortal love struggling with mortal pain) Shall break my heart, and overflow mine eyes With a swift torrent of remorseful rain! Was ever mortal sorrow like to thine? And shall I fling my unborne cross away; (Forgetting the exceeding weight of thine) Fainting beneath the burden of my day? Mleek, sinless sufferer, with one glance of thine, Melt me! and lose me in the will Divine! SONNETS. 161 CONSOL ATION. When Death, taking a babe from thy clasped armsShall lay it —flower-strewn-in eternal rest; And thy heart hungers for its winsome charms, And aches for its sweet mouthing at thy breast: Perchance some meagre-witted comforter may comeWith phrases stereotyped before the flood: And (striking thee with wordy consolation dumb) Tell thee, thy broken idol angered God. Believe it not! a babe is largess given By the dear God, to purify and bless! -And dropped into thy lap, all fresh from HeavenThou could'st have loved it more, and Him, no less! But think, it craved the soil of Paradise, And therefore hath been rooted in the skies. 14* 162 SONNETS. TO E. ON NEWW YEAIR'S DAY. Veiled slaves of Time, are we, and driven fast Along the life-road-where we leave behind All rose-crowned moments, for the hungry pastYet, God (in pity for a lot so blind) Hath built the soul an inner chamber; where Sweet Mem'ry hangeth in eternal calm Immortal pictures-fadeless-rich and rareAll ours forever! safe from mortal harm! Some, passion-colored, in the sunlight glow; And some are cold, as death-smiles shaded by a pall: And some, so dark and drear, and wild with woe! God lets us turn their faces to the wall! Heaven guard for thee, that chamber fair, And Memory, hang her sunniest landscapes there! SONNETS. 163 "GOD GIVETEi-i WITHOUT N:IEASURE."9 Heaven fills with violets the lap of Spring; And strews-thick as night's stars-upon her sod Their censers blue-wherein the south-winds, swing Meek incense up to the eternal God!H1eaven weaveth roses thick in Summer' s crown; And maketh June so sweet with odorous sighsThat Eden-banished man, sits calmly down, Forgetting the lost blooms of Paradise! Heaven pileth Autumn, heaps of mellowed gold; And makes her purple wine like rivers flowHeaven pities Winter-shivering in the cold — And wraps him —angel-white-in spotless snow. Shall generous Heaven grow niggardly to me, Who kneel-alway-asking sweet alms for thee? 164 SONNETS. TO When death shuts on a face belov'd the coffin lid, It were the sting of anguish to forget! Therefore, we keep sorme dear belongings hidAnd look on them to freshen our regretEven thus belov'd, tho' daisies grow O'er thy dead love (untimely cold!) And (heedless of the sweet corse laid so low) New loves, dance on the green grave of the old. With a fond foolishness (I needs must blame) I have laid by a few kind words, and looks; And in my large bereavement, have no shame To keep them (like dead roses shut in books) Feeding a sweet, wild, passionate regret! On the dear perfume ling'ring'round them yet. SONNETS. 165 REMEMBERED LIGHT. Once, (in the long ago) thy glorious eyes Looked into mine; through all the cobwebbed past — Clear as the throned-noon in cloudless skiesThat look hath lit my soul: and oh at last! When end all heart-aches that have found no balm; And Azrael, (way-side wearinesses o'er) Waiteth, to brood me with divinest calm: That light-aslant upon the farewell shoreShall sweep with golden glory death's cold mist; And lie upon my pillow, while 1 drop to restAs infants-rocked-and comforted, and kissed, Smile back to angels, from the mother's breast!And wake to see it blossom in a starWhose beams, shall light me to serened heights afar. 166 SONNETS. "BERTHA'S LOVE.' "OH! MANY A HOPELESS LOVE LIKE THIS, MAY BEFOR LOVE WILL LIVE THAT NEVER LOOKS TO WIN." —Mrs. Norton.Beloved, I can wait-'till calm and clearThe God-light —slanting down heaven's golden floorShall sweep the mists that darken round us here, And bathe us in its glory evermore! For then, thy soul shall fathom mine; and thereBehold (with vision to immortals given) The love I only breathe to God; in prayer That scales for thee the Jasper walls of Heaven! The still, meek love, that-cradled by despairAnd christened early at the font of tearsHath never dream't of marriage bells upon the airBut hears-slow-tolling down the weary yearsHope's dying knell-striking with leaden pain, Forever, on my quivering heart —" in vain! " SONNETS. 167 TO >My soul's beloved, in that hapless hour(The last of mortal agony and strife) When Azrael-stooping for a perfect flower — Gathered'that glorious rose, thy precious life!Whose gentle ministry my lack supplied? God knoweth! —answers from the unknown shore, Come not! —had I kept vigil at thy side, Thou hadst been watched, as none were watched before. Dying, as gently, as June's royal flowersThat wither, tended by soft summer airsBathed tenderly in love's fond silv'ry showers. When kisses cooled upon thy lips, my prayersLike mournful passing-bells for souls unshriven, Had smote the azure heights, and knolled thee into Heaven! 16f8 SONNETS.'WHERE ART THOU."'' LONG AMONG THEM WAS SEEN A MAIDEN WHO WAITED AND WANDERED.,SOMETIMES SHE LINGERED IN TOWNS, TILL, URGED BY THE FEVER WITHIN HER, EURGED BY A RESTLESS LONGING, THE HUNGER AND THIRST OF THE SPIRIT, SHE WOULD COMMENCE AGAIN HER ENDLESS SEARCII AND ENDEAVOR."-Evangeline. " MY FRIEND, MY FRIEND! WHERE ART THOU? DAY BY DAY, GLIDING LIKE SOME DARE MOURNFUL STREAM, AWAY, [IY SILENT YOUTH FLOWS FRO1M ME."'-Hemans. I. Belov'd, I have kept vigil, pale and cold;'Till the long ling'ring night hath crept away, And turning slowly on its hinge of goldMorn's radiant gate lets in the red, rejoicing day! The mournful night hath sprinkled silent tears On the soft petals of the dreamy flowers, And now, the day-god's chariot wheel she hears, And knows his lip shall kiss the pearly showers: I, only I, uncomforted do weepFilling Night's voiceless chambers with my sighs SONNETS. 169 And all the silver silences of SleepHaunting forever, with imploring cries! Broad sea of light-oh break not, wave, on wave, To dash thy rosy spray upon his grave! II. Where art thou? Morn hath flung Night's pearls away; And Noon, sun-diadem'd, sits throned in state, Flashing proud splendor down the halls of day, An Orient queen, large-eyed-gorgeous, and great! Oh long ago! in summer noons serene, We sat, hand-linked, in Dryad-woven bowers, Whose light leaves trembled in day's golden sheenBraiding sweet thoughts-like children braiding flowers, Heart-flooded by the still waves of content, I sunned me in the summer of thine eyes; And deemed that God's dear love, indeed had sent My soul, the ripe, red fruit of Paradise: Have pity Noon! and veil thy radiant brow; My misery loathes thy mocking splendor now! 115 170 SONNETS. III. Where art thou? slowly dies the golden day; Twilight,-enamored of June's tender skyLoves, lingering in the sunset halls to stay, And trail her garments in its crimson dye. Ah! once belov'd, when twilight's holy hush Hung like a blessed dream o'er land and sea, Above the dying day's last roseate flush, I knew one radiant star would rise for me: One glorious presence,-lighting all the gloomWould glory-kindle evening's purple air; Flushing my flowerless life with gorgeous bloom. Where are thou? star of my fond worship! where!? Oh tender twilight, rain thy pearly tears — In gentle pity, o'er my blighted years! SONNETS. 171 IV. Where art thou? oh my soul's beloved! where? My heart aches for thee, with a leaden pain; The dove (swift-winged) may seek its mate in air, But I, must ever long for thee, in vain; And life,-that might be like a harp in tune, With music born of every gentle stringIs like a day, whose sun hath set at noon A meagre half! an uncompleted tiling! Where art thou? Yearning, to the midnight sky I gaze, and ask the stars, but calm and bright, Remote and pitiless! they beam on high, And mock mine anguish with serenest light. Mock on, proud stars! when this poor dream is past, I shall outstrip your beams, and find mine own at last! 172 SONNETS. C O N C L U S I O N. " IN HOPE-TIIAT APPREHENDS AN END BEYOND THESE ENDS, AND GREAT USES RENDERED DULY BY THIE MEANEST SONG SUNG TRULY."-MIrs. Browning. Speak Thou! with " still small voice "-that evermore In the sweet silences my soul may hear, When meek and dutiful she doth implore, Bending to Thy blue heavens her patient ear(Tho' of mail's praise not heedless quite;) Thy benediction is my dearest dole: For Thee, have I interpreted aright The silv'ry song Thou singest through my soul? I will not tire Thee with my vain complaintSince all my meagreness to Thee is knownThou see'st how my heart doth fail, and faint While hunger, (not desert,) craves Thy " well done" So stay me,'till Thou bid'st me-lyre in handSerened, among thy clear-voiced minstrels stand.