^-/ -Ife" '"--^'^' "M' ""-"' ^'^\ "^ 
 
 
 

 
PYGMALION, 
 
 CHILD OF THE LAKE, 
 
 THE THREE RINGS, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 A REVEREND SISTER 
 
 OF THE ORDER OF JESUS AND MARY, AND LATE OF THE CONVENT 
 OF HOCHELAGA, 
 
 3^ 
 
 WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 EDITED BY V''^l, ^ 7 ■^~i' • 
 
 f DEC 21 
 
 CAPE VINCENT, N. Y. 
 
 O. E. HUNGERFORD, 7 & 9 ANTHONY STREET, WATERTOWN, N. Y. 
 

 Copyrighted by 
 
 MISS MAY CROSS, 
 
 1887. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Editor's Preface, . 
 
 7 
 
 Biographical Sketch, 
 
 9 
 
 Author's Introduction, 
 
 II 
 
 Author's Dedication, 
 
 19 
 
 PygmaHon, 
 
 25 
 
 The Three Rings, 
 
 37 
 
 Echoes of the Seasons. 
 
 
 New Year, . , 
 
 49 
 
 A Search for Spring, 
 
 52 
 
 A Madrigal, 
 
 . . . . . 54 
 
 Maytime, 
 
 . . . . 56 
 
 Elixir of Spring, 
 
 59 
 
 A Summer's Day, 
 
 60 
 
 Summer Calm, 
 
 . . . . 63 
 
 An Autumn Idyl, 
 
 66 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Echoes of the Seasons — Continued. 
 
 Fall, 
 
 Indian Summer, . . . , 
 Falling Leaves, . . . . 
 
 Short Days, 
 
 By the Firelight, . . . . 
 Snow, ...... 
 
 Voices of the Hearth. 
 By the Hearth, 
 Weaving, 
 Twilight, 
 Work, . 
 Old Letters, 
 Sunlight, 
 Shadow, 
 Starlight, 
 Under the Trees, 
 Under the Maple Tree, 
 Childhood, 
 My Darlings, 
 Thanksgiving, 
 
 Legendary Poetry. 
 
 The Child of the Lake, 
 The Traveler and the Tree, 
 The Lover Star, 
 The Fisherman's Watch, 
 
 Page. 
 
 68 
 70 
 
 n 
 76 
 
 78 
 81 
 
 85 
 89 
 
 91 
 92 
 
 94 
 96 
 98 
 
 lOI 
 
 103 
 105 
 
 107 
 
 109 
 
 112 
 
 117 
 129 
 
 138 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 Regeneration, 
 Light of Canada's Sages, 
 Song, . 
 
 Violets in the City, 
 A Tribute, . 
 A Hero, 
 
 Nocte Facentia Late (Virgil) 
 Drink, . 
 Poor, 
 
 Who Cares, . 
 Ada, 
 
 Only a Plank, 
 Lost, 
 Song, 
 
 To the Memory of Lady Montefiore, 
 Merchandise, 
 Esther, . 
 A Welcome, . 
 Shadows in the City, 
 False, 
 Flowers, 
 L'Envoi, 
 
 Page. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 These poems, which I now place within the reach 
 of the Literary world, are from the pen of a much beloved 
 teacher, and were a parting gift to me, her last pupil, but 
 a short month before her death. 
 
 Years ago, many of them passed under the scrutiniz- 
 ing eye of our household poet (Longfellow), who be- 
 stowed upon them warm commendations. "The New 
 Year," particularly, of the shorter poems, was a favorite 
 with him, and he paid the writer many compliments for 
 the similes with which it abounds. 
 
 Since they have been in my possession, men of learn- 
 ing and culture have looked into them, and I have re- 
 ceived such encouragement that I no longer refrain from 
 giving them the dignity of print, feeling that they are 
 worthy of public notice, and that all those into whose 
 hands they may fall, will read with pleasure. 
 
 I feel safe in saying that Catholics and non-Catholics 
 can alike enjoy them ; for while they are the thoughts of 
 one whose heart was in the Catholic Faith, there is not a 
 word to which the Protestant heart cannot respond. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It was her intention, at one time, to publish her 
 writings, and the introduction and dedication used in this 
 book she prepared for a work of her own ; but health 
 failing her, she abandoned the cherished design. 
 
 I, therefore, regard it almost a sacred duty to carry out 
 her '' dearest wish." Trusting that my effort will be at- 
 tended with success, and that her poems may find favor 
 with all lovers of verse, I fondly dedicate this little volume 
 to her memory. 
 
 MAY L. CROSS. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The reverend sister, whose poems are presented in 
 this volume, was an American by birth, and of Irish and 
 English descent. Her father was well known in the world 
 of letters, an intimate friend of Henry Wadsworth Long- 
 fellow, and a schoolmate with John G. Whittier. He be- 
 came so prominent in after years, that he was the honor- 
 ed recipient of several gold medals for eminent services 
 and valuable discoveries in the fields of science. The 
 author of these poems herself enjoyed the acquaintance 
 of the first poet, above named, and was at one time a mem- 
 ber of a Literary Society of which he was president. 
 
 What wonder then, that in the midst of such influences 
 and surroundings, her mind should have received the im- 
 pulse which began in youth to develop into a true 
 poetic path. At an early age, she had written some 
 pieces, which gave promise of future ability worthy her 
 descent, and many of her best productions were written 
 before she entered into religious life. 
 
 The following obituary notice, taken from the columns 
 
10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 of the Catholic Record, is here given as a fitting close to 
 this brief sketch : 
 
 OBITUARY. 
 
 Died, at the Mother House of Her Order in Hochelaga, Sister ^ 
 
 in the year 1879. 
 
 " Many of our readers will remember this estimable relig- 
 ious, whose field of labor for a number of years was in the 
 convents of Sarnia and Windsor. In the lives of her num- 
 erous pupils, her pure and gentle influence will always be a 
 thing of beauty and holiness. Those who had the pleasure of 
 her acquaintance, will love to remember the elevation of her 
 mind, her finely gifted nature, and the sweetness of her 
 disposition, which knew no guile. We, her intimate 
 friends, who were so privileged as to look into the sanctu- 
 ary of her soul and admire the chaste loveliness thereof, 
 can never forget the gentle, earnest and devoted laborer, 
 who would not desist from her task even when Death had 
 set his seal upon her. A touching proof of her almost 
 superhuman strength of will to exert herself to the end is, 
 that but a short month elapsed between the crowning of 
 both pupils and teacher ; with this exception, however, 
 that the laurels of the teacher, culled in the gardens of her 
 beloved, were illumined with the light and beauty of 
 God's visible presence. Peace to her soul in the radiance 
 of the Divine smile. Love and veneration to her 
 memory." 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the course of conversation with a nameless ac- 
 quaintance, who has a predilection for hard logic and 
 unvarnished facts, I had occasion to discuss my project 
 of publishing, which he viewed with cold indifference, 
 not unmingled with scorn. My stoical friend having then 
 descanted on the supreme excellence of Shakespere, I 
 asked his opinion whether minor poems possessing beauty, 
 truth, fire and melody, are not only more congenial to 
 the multitude, but have always exercised a more potent 
 influence and benefit over mankind than even great epic 
 and dramatic works. 
 
 He assented to this ; but endeavored to assure me 
 that poems of this class were seldom found. Not feeling 
 any inclination to question this statement, I dropped the 
 subject. 
 
 Now, my interview with this sternly-visaged acquaint- 
 ance has suggested to me a few thoughts regarding lyrical 
 poetry and its influence, which I shall endeavor to embody 
 in plain prose, instead of measured couplets. 
 
 It is impossible to give an exhaustive definition of 
 minor poems. They may be comprised under the name 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of ballads, legends, songs, odes, hymns and lyrics. They 
 are nearly all distinguished by brevity, and generally turn 
 on an emotion, thought, incident or event. 
 
 Mr. Giles happily characterizes them, when he remarks 
 that a simple song is like a compressed drama; and within 
 the circle of these songs, we have impulses from every 
 stage of life, from the perturbations of youth to the chills 
 of old age. All true minor poems, or shall we call them 
 lyrics — for this word pre-supposes that which contributes 
 to their perfection, namely, melody, — must be spontane- 
 ous, and therefore natural. 
 
 The writer must feel his thought before giving it ex- 
 pression. Artifice of words, pomp of metaphor, add to 
 its beauty ; but it is the vivida vis animi, thrown into it, 
 which gives it vitality and makes it enduring. Conse- 
 quently, all favorite lyrics do not, as we are apt to sup- 
 pose, owe their success to the caprice of the world, or to 
 the fame of their authors. "The Burial of Sir John 
 Moore at Corunna " is familiar to all, but I am not aware 
 that its composer, Charles Wolfe, was particularly cele- 
 brated as a poet. The certain distinctive excellencies, then, 
 which, in my opinion, have made minor poems popular, 
 are earnestness and truthfulness. They must not only 
 proceed from the intellect, but also flow from the heart. 
 The secret of Lord Byron's fame, is that his thoughts 
 glow with feeling. None of us are in love with his preach- 
 ings, his morals, philosophy, or morbid views of mankind ; 
 but the impassioned melody, and particularly the fervid 
 warmth of his words, awake our sympathies and excite 
 our emotions, until we are apt to exclaim : " O that this 
 genius had possessed the piety of Cowper and the philo- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 sophy of Montgomery, and these gentlemen the genius 
 of Byron !" 
 
 There is an anecdote related of George II, who, being 
 asked to patronize the poets, only cursed them, remark- 
 ing, that, " they were all a set of mechanics." I am afraid 
 his remarks apply to many of our modern wooers of the 
 muse. We have in our midst a deal of vague, musty 
 poetry, which requires a concentration of our faculties to 
 understand and appreciate ; fine, intellectual, mechanical 
 compositions, which might as well have been written in 
 prose. But a true poem, as I comprehend the matter, 
 ought to thrill and arrest the mind on perusing it. Aris- 
 totle, more than two thousand years ago, informed us, 
 that a poet must either possess frenzy or art. A minor 
 poem, all art, is merely '' a sad mechanical exercise." A 
 minor poem, all frenzy, with little or no art, must reach 
 and move our sensibilities, and thus fulfill the purpose for 
 which it was composed. In my opinion, mediocrity may 
 be tolerated in a poem imbued with real and not sham 
 feeling, in spite of Horace's assertion to the contrary : 
 Thus, good lyrics excite the common heart of humanity, 
 because they contain, 
 
 " The music to whose tone, 
 
 The common pulse of man keeps time, 
 , In cot or castle's mirth or moan. 
 In cold or sunny clime." 
 
 Long descriptive, dramatic, or epic poems, from their 
 very length will only find their fit and few audiences. The 
 higher poetry will prove a joy forever to cultivated minds ; 
 but lyrics that have a perfection commensurate with their 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 aim, a finish in proportion to brevity, which are either 
 simple, sensuous, or passionate, are common to all ages 
 and all times, and by awakening man's loftier impulses 
 and purer emotions, " fade not into the light of common 
 day," but like the soul from which they proceed, and the 
 imperishable forms of nature herself, are unchangeable 
 and eternal. 
 
 It is sometimes asked, whether there is not sufificient 
 lyrical poetry in the world for now, and for all time ; 
 and also, if it is not vain and presumptuous for anyone to 
 attempt to increase the store, particularly when that some- 
 one has not received the poets '' awful crown," as Gerald 
 Massey terms it. This question is easily answered. 
 Everything in nature and art, and in the mind of man, is 
 forever being reproduced. The pansies of the garden 
 were once the violets of the woods. The variegated tulip 
 was originally of an unmixed simple color; yet the dis- 
 tinctive peculiarities of these, like all flowers, are the same 
 now as when Eve in the Garden of Eden, stooped, as Mil- 
 ton tells us, 
 
 " To support 
 Each flower of slender stock, whose head, tho' gay, 
 Carnation, purple, azure, or speck'd with gold, 
 Hung drooping unsustained." 
 
 So, the lyrical impulse dies not with man's death, but 
 is perpetually taking new forms and phases, or modifica- 
 tions of old forms ; and this faculty is enlarged, with the 
 march of intellect, the progress of civilization, and the in- 
 crease of refinement. 
 
 As knowledge spreads itself, our poetry becomes fuller 
 
INTRODUCTION^. 15 
 
 and truer. " If," says Charles Kingsley, '* Pope had been 
 aHve now, he would have written his ' Dunciad ' much bet- 
 ter." Cervantes bears out my assertion when he remarks, 
 " Poetry, 'I regard as a tender virgin, young and extremely 
 beautiful, whom divers other virgins, namely all the other 
 sciences, are assiduous to enrich, to polish and adorn. She 
 is to be served by them, and they are to be ennobled 
 through her." 
 
 Tennyson's passages descriptive of English scenery in 
 *^ In Memoriam," outrival those in the '' Seasons," because 
 our modern bard, with deeper learning and finer instincts, 
 has penetrated into the very heart of the landscape, and 
 his poetry not being disfigured by false conceits arising 
 from defective knowledge, is truer and more perfect. The 
 first half of this present century is rich in lyrics, and judg- 
 ing from the numerous array of singers around us, the 
 latter half gives promise of finer songs than heretofore. 
 It is, therefore, idle to assert, that the harp and lyre of 
 Apollo can ever be silent, or the harpers lose command 
 over the strings and produce new combinations of melody 
 no more. As long as the mysterious heart of man beats 
 in joy, or is dulled with grief, as long as the eternal glory 
 and goodness of the Creator fill him with awe, and the in- 
 finite variety, grandeur and beauty of His creations inspire 
 him with love, from a necessity in his nature he will ever 
 give expressions to *' thoughts too deep for tears," which 
 will often naturally take a lyrical form. 
 
 Now, the desire and the faculty are seldom equal. 
 The instinct which bids us write our ideas, and the power 
 which gives them utterance, are rarely in the same rela- 
 tion. All who write verses are not poets, and many dream 
 
16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 beautiful thoughts, and yet can never impart them, and 
 so these silent singers, 
 
 " die with all their music in them." 
 
 Still, amid the profusion of verses scattered everywhere 
 and anywhere, how much is hidden, like violets under 
 mossy stones, which, if brought to light and in places 
 where they could be understood, would not bring fame 
 and honor to its authors. 
 
 Every writer of verse, then, does so from a pure neces- 
 sity, to satisfy a hidden craving after the beautiful. He 
 cannot help it. He spins his thoughts, like the spider 
 weaves his web, from impulse. It is, in fact, a growth of 
 his mind, like the leaves of a tree. It never occurs to the 
 writer, that he or she may only be inditing feeble com- 
 mon-place, or, in the powerful language of Mrs. Browning, 
 
 " What, make believe, 
 With so much earnest ! What effete results, 
 From virile efforts ! What cold wire-drawn odes. 
 From such white heats !" 
 
 And very often the higher the idea aimed at, the more 
 worthless its form ; and so the set of verses conceived in 
 true spirit, turns out to be spiritless. We cannot embody 
 our dream. The plan is seemly and noble, but the exe- 
 cution proves a failure. Well, supposing that such be 
 the case, what matter? Let us console ourselves with 
 the reflection that imperfection must mix itself with all 
 human effort, and say, in the philosophy of Hawthorne, 
 '' I am afraid that a sense of shortcoming must always be 
 the reward and punishment of those who try to grapple 
 with a great and beautiful idea. It only proves that we 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 have been able to imagine things, too high for mortal 
 faculties to execute." 
 
 Having thus unburdened, I hope not too presumptu- 
 ously, my beliefs regarding minor poems, I beg to pre- 
 sent my own trifles of verse. 
 
 I have no excuse to offer for their appearance ; no re- 
 marks about early efforts and kind indulgences, and all 
 those sham apologies so common to prefaces in books. 
 None of them may reach my own ideal of a true Lyric ; still, 
 the few that have been published, have already won the 
 kindly notice — I hope deserved — of many an unknown 
 friend, and not a few poetical critics. Therefore, with- 
 out fear, I have collected them from a host of others, 
 written from time to time. As a number have floated 
 about the country, leading a vagabond and precarious ex- 
 istence, in odd corners of newspapers, and in strange non- 
 descript collections of poetry, I certainly feel justified in 
 gathering within my fold ; in placing within a certain 
 compass, all those pieces that I care to acknowledge now, 
 together, with other manuscripts, which have never at- 
 tained the dignity of print. It is my dearest wish that the 
 magnates of criticism should look into them ; and if their 
 verdict, in spite of certain honied approval, should prove 
 unfavorable, I shall endeavor to sin no more in rhyme. 
 
 In the meantime, thanking fervently all those whose 
 words of encouragement have been my sweetest satisfac- 
 tion, I launch my little venture on the broad, variable sea 
 of public opinion, freighted with the usual hope attend- 
 ing all human projects ; while I patiently await the 
 issue, if there is ever to be one — or, if such is to be its 
 fate, calmly enduring the forgetfulness of a busy world, 
 engrossed with its own visions and regrets. 
 
DEDTCATTOlsr. 19 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 In trust — in love — I lay 
 My lowly oflPerings, Mother, at thy feet, 
 All that my heart for years has fancied sweet, 
 
 My songs from day to day. 
 
 Accept them, for they are 
 The hopeful thoughts of many a lonely hour, 
 When every other balm had lost its power 
 
 To still life' s fret and jar. 
 
 For every fervent line, 
 Syllabled amid dull worldly strife. 
 Whispered sweet hope and solace, till my life 
 
 Seemed tinged with hues divine. 
 
20 DEDICATION. 
 
 Broken, and few, and faint, 
 I give them to thy keeping, to thy care, 
 So that thy love around them everywhere. 
 
 May free them from earth's taint. 
 
 If thy unselfish love, 
 0, Mother ! were attuned to rhythmic song, 
 The melody would ever roll along 
 
 And reach the skies above. 
 
 So, keep these homely lays. 
 For they are all my life can give thee now ; 
 And tho' the world's neglect may bend me low, 
 
 I only wait thy praise. 
 
 Not for their doubtful worth 
 Accept them ; only glean the love that lies 
 Hidden among the feeble melodies, 
 
 Like springs within the earth. 
 
 And tho' the faults abound 
 Numerous as shells within the sea ; 
 Thy love will make the rhyme and harmony, 
 
 To fill them with sweet sound. 
 
DEDICATION. 21 
 
 I, then, no more would ask : 
 Let Fame's uproarious trumpet herald forth, 
 The poet's loftier music thro' the earth, 
 
 Be mine a sweeter task. 
 
 To sing the songs of home. 
 When dove-eyed Truth with torch of vestal light, 
 Has lit the fire upon the hearth at night, 
 
 Hallowing its sacred dome. 
 
 Or when the sunny eyes 
 Of Innocence have beamed upon my heart, 
 Till the loved children's glances seemed a part 
 
 Of looks in Paradise. 
 
 Yague fancies of my brain, 
 And visions which my heart yearned to express, 
 Which seemed o'ertinted with strange loveliness 
 
 Shining thro' mists and rain. 
 
 Yain griefs that idly flow, 
 Which memory longed in rhythmic speech to tell, 
 Thy love can fathom and interpret well. 
 
 And give them meaning now. 
 
22 DEDICATION. 
 
 These song-buds scant, of mine, 
 May ripen and may blossom into flowers, 
 When e'er thy dear approval richly dowers, 
 
 Each thought with smiles of thine. 
 
 Therefore, in joy, I lay 
 This book of verses fondly at thy feet, 
 So that thy voice may make these voices sweet, 
 
 Where'er they chance to stray. 
 
PYGMALION. 
 
 THE THREE RINGS 
 
PYGMALION. 
 
 W 
 
 ''PYGMALION." 
 
 " What fine chisel. 
 Could ever yet cut breath ?" — WinUrs Tale. 
 
 AUNTED with one idea, he had no 
 peace ; 
 At first, a cloudy speck, that paced 
 
 his mind, 
 Until it slowly grew to great dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 It close beset him in his wakefulness. 
 It entered in the vision of the night 
 Until he reeled and staggered with its weight. 
 At first, a misty shape, as undefinable 
 As racks of storm-cloud in a distant sky ; 
 Then, taking form and outline in his mind, 
 It stood revealed, a beautiful conception. 
 
 Taking a marble block to carve his dream, 
 The Sculptor — hot with eagerness — intent 
 To chisel loveliness from callous stone — 
 
26 PYGMALION. 
 
 Frigid as glaciers on the Alpine Hills — 
 
 His dark eyes flashing forth an inner light 
 
 Reflected from the visions in his soul, 
 
 Began the self-imposed and wondrous task. 
 
 The hot noon glared upon him, as he struck 
 
 The shapeless block and made deformity, 
 
 Rough, uncouth, more hideous seem 
 
 In contrast with the splendor of his thought. 
 
 The dusty splinters, like a shower of hail, 
 
 Flew madly round, until the ambient air 
 
 Trembled with reverberating shocks of sound. 
 
 Like pine wood crackling 'neath an angry flame. 
 
 The keen-edged chisel never swerved ; anon 
 
 The worker paused and stared upon his work, 
 
 Upon the clefts and Assures of the stone — 
 
 Like one aroused from blissful dream, who shakes 
 
 The slumber from nis eyes, nor yet perceives 
 
 The cold reality of wakefulness. 
 
 But soon the resolute purpose nerved his arm, 
 The arm that never flagged, except it dropped 
 In weariness ; — and when night trod the earth, 
 And with her dusky splendor folded all. 
 Her sanctity and beauty sent a hush 
 
PYGMALION. 27 
 
 Within the sculptor's soul, imbued his sleep 
 With lovely shapes, that bore a perfect semblance 
 To what he sought to carve from shapeless stone. 
 
 The busy days, made earnest with his task, 
 And sunned with light of joyous effort, 
 Glided like dimpled waves upon a sea. 
 And soon there slowly issued from the block 
 A rolling mass of locks, that curled and coiled, 
 Like to a maze of wild and hardy vines — 
 In folds of rich luxuriance ; these the sun 
 Glimmered upon, and made them golden tinted. 
 Then, wrapt in dream, the sculptor lovingly 
 Touch' t a burnished tress, and in his joy 
 The hue and gloss was real ! until the chill. 
 Piercing his heart, disturbed the phantasy. 
 Like one who in the gay and flaunting world 
 With death and awful woe stands face to face, 
 Transfixed aghast in sad and solemn awe. 
 So stood the worker stern and motionless. 
 The real did smite his sweet ideal to dust ; 
 Or else a thought was thrust upon him then, 
 That human efi'ort, earnest and severe, 
 May prove a bitter failure, or else lack 
 
28 PYGMALION. 
 
 The recompense which vigorous toil should yield. 
 He did not moaii complaint, nor fold his hands 
 In idleness, desponding listlessly, 
 But fixed his inward gaze upon the end. 
 Upon the full completion of his aim ; 
 And so his large desire stifled doubt 
 And vivifled his almost halting purpose. 
 And when along the east crept the pale dawn, 
 Dim with a wealth of glory unrevealed, 
 A perfect brow, unsullied, without fleck — 
 Spotless as virgin lilies, when they bloom 
 Alone, upon the margin of a lake, 
 Where soilure cannot mar their purity- 
 Rose from the stone ; the calm and majesty 
 Of intellect dwelt in its loftiness. 
 As if locked within its silent depths 
 Intelligence divine, or wondrous thought 
 Of that flne quality and subtle texture 
 Dowered to woman ; while the waves of hair 
 Clung to the head in graceful fold and curl, 
 And wrapt, and nearly hid the clear-cut ear 
 Impearled as undulating as a shell. 
 A delicate arch of forehead stamped a grace 
 Upon the chiseled front ; that might have been 
 
 ) 
 
PYGMALION. 29 
 
 Fit dwelling place for aspirations high, — 
 A pure, unconscious seat of lovely hopes, 
 To soar, and chasten all they touch upon. 
 Like one surprised at sudden joyful news. 
 The sculptor gazed entranced upon his work ; 
 A blissful consciousness of sure success, 
 The certain progress of a high endeavor. 
 Beautified and warmed with seeming life, 
 The cold resemblance of his marvelous dream. 
 A secret joy, quivering in his heart. 
 And throbbing in his veins, flashed in his eyes, 
 And all the thrilling tumult bursting forth, 
 With rush impetuous, found a sudden vent 
 In a wild kiss upon the marble brow. 
 
 The short-lived ecstacy in flame expired ; 
 And calmer, as he brooded o'er the end. 
 He clutched the chisel with a sense of power ; 
 And soon the eyes, blank, fixed, yet beautiful, 
 Folded in sleep, as if the perfect hush 
 Of even-tide in summer — when the flowers 
 Drowse in blissful languor — lay upon them, 
 Shadowed his dream ; again an aching sense 
 Of tortuous incompleteness in his work. 
 
30 PYOM ALTON. 
 
 Like a dim gath'ring portent which disturbs, 
 Imbued his mind with vague uneasiness. 
 The icy blankness of the eyes, like death. 
 Dulled the sweet marvel of their perfect shape, 
 And cast a baleful shade upon his thought. 
 His doubt soon broadened to a dark distrust ; 
 And so he fled his task and sought the night. 
 No fretful scowl disturbed her brow serene; 
 Her darkness veiled the light of countless worlds 
 Rolling in space, in paths illimitable ; 
 Her awful gloom revealed sublimity. 
 As if God's glory shadowed all the earth. 
 And so the solemn dark invoked a calm 
 Within his soul ; and the vague riotous doubts. 
 Like fading mists that upward roll to Heaven, 
 Were lost in reverential awe and prayer. 
 
 And soon a delicate curve of nostril arched, 
 
 Defined with subtle sensitiveness to breathe 
 
 The faintest exhalations of the flowers, 
 
 And yet, superbly moulded, curved in pride. 
 
 As if it bore patrician's lofty stamp. 
 
 Dwelt on the stone. Then slowly rose the mouth, 
 
 Whose closed lips were richly rounded off. 
 
PY(5^MALI0N. SI 
 
 And full of pouting, dimpled loveliness, 
 They seemed as if a touch of love might warm 
 Their chilly aspect with the sweets and glow 
 Of rose-buds waking to the breath of June ! 
 Or if the gushing trill of summer birds, 
 Piercing the fervid air with notes of bliss, 
 Might stir their rigidness in sympathy 
 To pour aloud a maiden's sparkling song. 
 And, as 'tis said, the truest harmony. 
 The elixir of all music — is a sound. 
 That issues from the growing forest trees, 
 The mellowed loveliness upon the face. 
 Advanced in absolute perfection. 
 And ripening in the curves upon the chin, 
 Sent to a sculptor's eager, charmed ear. 
 Faint chords of dreamful music ; so she rose. 
 And wonder-stricken, wrapt in ecstacy. 
 Met the dim Twilight braided with a woof 
 Of shadowy splendor, blending with her smile, 
 The passionate blaze of sundown in the sky 
 To a calm haze — which made the stillness sweet. 
 The gaunt and misty shadows of the woods. 
 The soft, pale outlines of the slumberous trees, 
 Took new and sweeter aspects from the dream 
 
32 PYGMALION. 
 
 Imaged upon the stone ; and tremulous sounds 
 Of lisping waterfalls were toned with joy ; 
 And the pale evening bared her gentle heart, 
 And mutely sympathized with human thought, 
 Enfolding deeper calm around his soul. 
 
 And when the jocund morning veiled the night. 
 
 And sat enthroned upon the dome of heaven, 
 
 To scatter dewy pearls and viewless sweets 
 
 Upon the awaiting earth, the rounded lines 
 
 Of blue-capped mountains in ethereal skies. 
 
 Reflecting gracefulness upon his mind, 
 
 Inspired his dream to mould upon the stone 
 
 The wavy beauty of the regal neck, 
 
 Superbly and yet delicately arched. 
 
 The rounded fullness of the ripening breast, 
 
 Half hidden ' mid a flow of drapery ; 
 
 The rich voluptuous outlines of the arms, 
 
 Which rose and fell in perfect curvatures. 
 
 Until they tapered to the dainty hands. 
 
 So finely shaped and exquisitively small 
 
 That 'twixt their grasp they might have fitly held 
 
 The unseen odor winging from a flower 
 
 Before its myriad molecules fill the air. 
 
PYaMALION. 33 
 
 i^.nd as the worker nearecl his final aim, 
 
 The dizzy rapture of accomplishment 
 
 Fired his arm to unremitting toil ; 
 
 And, like a miser clutching at his hoard. 
 
 He wrapt his gaze upon the marbled dream, 
 
 Folding the sweet assurance to his soul 
 
 Of its reality ; then plodded on 
 
 With woman's patience of minute detail. 
 
 And sacred Love, which clothes unseemly shapes 
 
 With loveliness divine, infused a charm 
 
 Unutterable upon the limbs unfolding. 
 
 Ad glorified and freed the chiseled dream 
 
 i-'iom the thick trammels of the sculptor's thought, 
 
 Enveloping with angel sanctity 
 
 And draping with a fine harmonious grace. 
 
 The image which stood forth complete. 
 
 In perfect loveliness of womanhood. 
 
 And as in olden times unlettered men, — 
 With vague and mystic faith, undimmed 
 By mazy doubts of creeds — paid reverence 
 To the great source of light, the sculptor knelt 
 With silent awe before the imaged dream, 
 And so, he worshiped ; till beneath his gaze 
 
34 PYGMALIOJN^. 
 
 It seemed to grow more pure, and lovelier. 
 
 And soon his homage merged to passionate love, 
 
 Which took a deeper root within his soul, 
 
 Asserting dominant sway, and making all 
 
 Subservient to its strange subduing power. 
 
 But when the burden of his mighty love 
 
 Made him as speechless as the pulseless stone, 
 
 And drove him to it in a phrenzied fume. 
 
 To lock the frigid hands within his own — 
 
 To seal his lips upon the cold, chaste brow. 
 
 The icy marble, like a serpent's fangs 
 
 Pierced his lone heart with a sense of crushing pain ; 
 
 And when the pallid dawn encompassed earth, 
 
 It goaded to despair his racking thought— 
 
 For the dumb, senseless block of loveliness. 
 
 Which never could impart return of love. 
 
 Seemed in its aspect to his desolate soul 
 
 Cold as a murderous thought, or white as Hate 
 
 Awaking to revenge, and blank as scorn. 
 
 If scorn's unlovely stare could ever last. 
 
 But when lone midnight's hush was audible 
 
 And beat responsive to the sculptor's heart, 
 
 A low voice murmured to his troubled soul 
 
 Like gentle winds upon a turbid sea : 
 
PYGMALION. 35 
 
 " The golden sunbeams warmed with heaven's glow, 
 
 Can never give what God can only give ; 
 
 No passionate look can make the marble breathe ; 
 
 No human ardor kindles stone to life ; 
 
 The summer rains and fervid heats, in vain 
 
 Beat on a desert, sterile waste of sand. 
 
 Which can not yield a blade of living green — 
 
 Man fashions stone, but God bestows the soul. 
 
 Art coldly smiles, the spirit warmly speaks, 
 
 And imperfection's taint which clings to man. 
 
 The mildew on his narrow heart and mind, 
 
 Mingles with all his deeds and mars their worth ; 
 
 The soul alone imparts their loveliness." 
 
 And as the murmur blended with his dream 
 
 The sculptor hungered for the heavenly soul, 
 
 To make the cold perfection dream and live; 
 
 To fill the senseless block with light divine, 
 
 So that dumb loveliness might speak and wake 
 
 To rapturous life. In vain he breathed his prayer. 
 
 No blushing warmth of life stole o'er the face, 
 
 Sweet as the tint upon an apple bloom, 
 
 Or touched the pouting lips with ruby glow. 
 
 No lustrous eyes revealed a tenderness, 
 
 Or flashed responsive radiance to his love. 
 
36 PYGMALION. 
 
 The marble image stood a monument 
 Of dead perfection, lovely loveliness, 
 Devoid of all which gives a human thought 
 An infinite beauty and a charm divine. 
 
THE THEEE EINGS. 
 
 37 
 
 THE THREE RINGS. 
 
 ffr^ N days of old, once lived a mighty king, 
 Whose power rested in pure deeds of 
 
 love, 
 Whose goodness yielded him a wealth 
 
 of fame 
 And reverence, which spread through- 
 out the earth. 
 He owned a ring, whose gems emitted light 
 As lovely as his own unsullied life ; 
 And which contained two virtues in itself, 
 Passing and resting in the one who wore it ; 
 To win the love of Heaven to man, the first ; 
 To gain the love of human kind, the other. 
 Its lustre made all earthly glory dim. 
 All pomp of grandeur fade in nothingness — 
 And like an angel's gift bestowed on man, 
 
88 THE THREE RINGS. 
 
 He prized it for its sacred, marvelous worth. 
 And when the ancient king laid by his crown, 
 And passed from men, he gave the gem to him 
 The most deserving of the sacred gift, 
 The son beloved best for truth and virtue ; 
 And through unnumbered ages, every king 
 Bequeathed it to the pure of heart, the prince 
 Whose lovely life, unstained, relumed the gift, 
 And made it, in the sight of God and man, 
 A jewel, perfect as an infant's smile. 
 
 It happened once, a blameless monarch lived 
 And loved three sons, who seemed to him alike 
 Girded in righteousness and purity ; 
 Their sturdy manhood tempered with the grace 
 Of gentle manners, and benevolent speech. 
 And all the high adornments of the mind. 
 Which give to fallen man a majesty, 
 Superber than magnificence of courts. 
 Their quiet virtues wound themselves around 
 The rugged heart of him who wore the crown, 
 Like soft-hued climbing flowers, when they fold 
 Their loveliness around a gnarled tree. 
 But when the solemn years advanced apace. 
 
THE THREE RINGS. 39 
 
 And touched the righteous king with calms of age, 
 
 There crept upon him 'wildering hesitance. 
 
 Clear-^ghted and deliberate in all 
 
 That tried his judgment, or inspired his mind, 
 
 A mighty problem blurred his lucid vision ; 
 
 He knew not who deserved the wondrous gift, 
 
 Since every child to him was all deserving. 
 
 A storm of troubled thoughts perplexed his days, 
 
 And bowed his gait and made his manhood droop. 
 
 Until the natural wisdom of his years 
 
 Unloosed the tangled woof of ' \vildering doubt. 
 
 Since his great love could never dwindle down 
 
 To narrowing scope of partiality, 
 
 He made resolve to leave each son the gift ; 
 
 And to an artificer sent the ring. 
 
 To fashion cunningly two counterparts, 
 
 Alike in dazzling gems and outward form ; 
 
 And they were wrought so true that none discerned 
 
 The subtle jewel from the counterfeits. 
 
 And soon the monarch's lingering years rolled on, 
 And died in music of remembered deeds, 
 Whose reverberations swept throughout the land, 
 Infusing breath of pure harmonious love. 
 
40 THE THREE RINGS. 
 
 But, when the princes found themselves possessed 
 Each of the marvelous ring, there rose a cry 
 Of wonder ; then a baleful shadow crossed 
 And dulled their happy days, as when a cloud 
 Loaded with thunder, blots the summer sky ; 
 And wrangling jealousy pierced every heart, 
 For each affirmed his ring contained the charm. 
 And so ignoble rivalry brought forth 
 Its bitter fruitage, till love's placid stream 
 Was darkened with the scum of discontent. 
 Their clamor jarred the peaceful atmosphere 
 And echoed o'er the land, until the strife 
 Fell as a blight upon its happiness. 
 
 In this fair kingdom dwelt a hoary sage. 
 Renowned for wisdom and for mighty lore ; 
 Time's shadowy knc>wledge was to him a book, 
 Clear, open as the sun betwixt the clouds ; 
 For he had sifted from the cobwebbed past 
 The essence of all wisdom, which is truth. 
 And when the people wrangled, and their cause 
 Engendered spleen and rancour, he adjudged 
 Their stormy rights to vindicate the truth 
 In such calm flowing might of eloquence. 
 
THE THREE RINGS. 41 
 
 That he could change their petty hates to love ; 
 And his name was reverenced throughout the land, 
 As highest counselor and judge supreme. 
 
 So, maddened with the turmoil of dispute, 
 
 The princes sought the chamber of the seer, 
 
 To ask his counsel and implore the truth. 
 
 Then in his presence thus the elder spoke : 
 
 " My father owned a ring, whose occult charm 
 
 Could win the grace of God and love of man ; 
 
 And when that strange transition state, which links 
 
 The narrow present to the boundless future, 
 
 Dropt, like a blessed calm, upon his soul. 
 
 He gave the jewel to me, but afterwards, 
 
 When Heaven contained his spirit — earth, his dust — 
 
 With foul pretense, my brothers claimed the prize, 
 
 And mocked me with their counterfeits. O, Sage ! 
 
 With thy true vision, show the perfect ring. 
 
 So may thy wisdom prove their vanity." 
 
 Then having ceased, with sudden impulse swayed, 
 
 He placed it near the presence of the sage. 
 
 And then, the prince the next in years thus spoke : 
 
 "O, Seer! a baseless dream has spanned 
 
 My brothers' vision, so that spurious gems 
 
42 THE THREE RINGS. 
 
 Upon them flash, with subtle loveliness ; 
 For I can swear the mystic gift was mine. 
 But thy clear mind which penetrates all truth, 
 Can well detect the genuine ring." 
 
 He closed. 
 Then spoke the youngest prince : 
 And near the jewel laid his own. 
 
 '' A noxious air, — 
 A pestilential vapor of the marsh, — 
 Has filled and blurred my brothers' sense 
 With bodiless imaginings — to me 
 My father gave his affluence of love. 
 The mighty largess of his boundless love. 
 Which died uot with his death, but was infused 
 Into the sacred relic — left to me, — 
 A talisman to bless and glad my life 
 With virtues like his own ; thy sure decree 
 Will prove the certain truth of my assertion." 
 And as the echo of his words died out, 
 He cast the ring beside its counterparts. 
 And then the frosted sage, all- wise, supreme, 
 Calm with the majesty of inward strength — 
 Proud in the consciousness of earnest truth — 
 Upon the gems fixed a deep, searching gaze, 
 
THE THREE RINGS. 43 
 
 As penetrating as the looks of those 
 Who sought to read a man's petty destinies, 
 In the far infinite depths of solemn stars, 
 And thus gave vent to speech : 
 
 " O marvelous ring ! 
 Imbued with strange magnetic influence, 
 To vrin the grace of God, and love of man, 
 Speak and disclose thyself to human ken. 
 Divulge the mighty secret of thy being, 
 And shame thy base, ignoble counterfeits 
 So that thy voice may reach thy true possessor.'' 
 The people gathering round in strange suspense 
 Heard the appeal; for lo ! a sudden calm 
 Infused their hotly beating hearts ; intent. 
 They gazed upon the rings, like famished men, 
 Whose eager eyes are strained upon far land. 
 Which seems to loom upon the dreary sea. 
 That moment seemed of infinite duration, — 
 And yet no voice appeased their anxiousness ; 
 The mystic ring, dumb as unlettered stone 
 Upon an unknown grave, betrayed no utterance. 
 Then spoke the truth-inspired sage once more ; 
 ''O brothers ! dear to him, whom all revered, 
 Whose large affection, boundless as the skies 
 
44 THE THREE RINGS- 
 
 Infolded ye with strength of piety, — 
 With virtues emanating from his love, 
 Reflected from the light that shone on ye, — 
 Cast forth the fretful rancours in your hearts. 
 Like Sampson, blind and bound and powerless, 
 Bereft of all which gave him wondrous might, 
 In helplessness ye grovel on the earth ; 
 Shorn of the strength of ever-enduring love, 
 Your narrow range of vision cannot grasp 
 The natural wonder of the sacred gifts. 
 Your wrangles shame your birth, your knaving hates, 
 Like loathsome worms, which pierce within the earth 
 The roots of flowers, — blight the heart of truth. 
 The secret of the rings belongs to God ; 
 In seons yet to be, — when rusts of faith 
 Are blown abroad, and tarnish nevermore 
 With shifting doubts and error, human lives, 
 And wisdom makes the intellect supreme. 
 To clear the soul from taint of prejudice ; 
 And deeper insight in the care of things 
 Ingrafts the seeds of truth within the mind. 
 When man's true nature is enlarged and free, 
 Fit to receive and know God's perfect truth, — 
 The mystery of the rings shall be revealed. 
 
THE THREE RINGS. 45 
 
 Till that far blissful era, yet to be, 
 
 O princes ! take your rings as heretofore. 
 
 And wear the sacred relics sacredly, 
 
 To purge the evil tempers from your hearts ; 
 
 Guard well your thoughts ; let never breath of wrong 
 
 Tarnish the beauty of your daily deeds. 
 
 Temper your actions with sweet accord 
 
 Of gentlest courtesy, inspiring love. 
 
 Be true to all ; despise not any man. 
 
 For none may know the great or small, since God 
 
 Has given to each a place and quality. 
 
 Open the inner chambers of your souls. 
 
 So that fair- winged hopes may enter fast. 
 
 And there infuse an everlasting hope 
 
 In manhood's goodness and the Almighty's love, 
 
 And in the transient now and endless future ; 
 
 And keep your rings as emblems of your faith. 
 
 Then, surely, each will prove an angel's gift ; 
 
 Your lives embuing them with subtle charm, 
 
 Illuming them with radiance divine, — 
 
 The strange magnetic and yet natural power, 
 
 To win the grace of God and love of man. 
 
ECHOES OF THE SEASONS 
 
 " Our minds shall drink at every 
 pore the spirit of the season." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
NEW YEAR. 
 
 49 
 
 NEW YEAR. 
 
 HEAR in the depths of fancy 
 The close of a dying sound, 
 m Like the faintest moan of a passing 
 \^^ breeze, 
 
 ;^j^ That sweeps the wintry ground. 
 
 I see in the depths of fancy 
 A glimmer of waning light, 
 Like the pallid ray of twilight 
 That fades on the brow of night. 
 
 I feel in the depths of being 
 That the voice and light are gone, 
 
 And only a fitful memory 
 From the shadowy year is born. 
 4 
 
50 T^EW YEAR. 
 
 For all its glory and meaning, 
 
 And beautiful rainbow glow, 
 Are cold as the far-off starlight. 
 
 And pale as the passionless snow. 
 
 Like foam that wastes on the sea-beach, 
 Like surf that breaks on the shore. 
 
 The changeful days of the faded year 
 Have vanished forevermore. 
 
 Consumed are their beauty and sadness, 
 And all their sweetness and grace ; 
 
 They have passed away in the void of the past, 
 Like shooting stars in space. 
 
 But the transient year as it dieth, 
 
 A new-born glory gives ; 
 We touch the hem of its shadowy skirt. 
 
 And feel that its beauty lives. 
 
 In the lovelier hope of a brighter dawn, 
 Up-springing from death and night, 
 
 The dazzling glow of another year 
 That breaks upon our sight. 
 
NEW YEAR. 51 
 
 O golden promise ! that lights the dust 
 
 Of harsh discordant days, 
 The aching void within our hearts 
 
 Is gilden with your rays. 
 
 O light ! that vivifies and warms, 
 
 Yield us a will and power 
 To wrest the utmost good we can 
 
 From every new-born hour. 
 
 Search the waste places of our souls, 
 
 And scatter to the past, 
 The cobwebbed doubts that made the days 
 
 So drear and overcast. 
 
 Pierce the lone chambers of the heart : 
 
 If truth and faith are there, 
 Their rays shall round our lives with joy, 
 
 And sanctify the air. 
 
62 A SEARCH FOR SPRING. 
 
 A SEARCH FOR SPRING. 
 
 In the dewy breath of the passionate breeze, 
 In the twitter of early melodies, 
 In the bounding pulse of fern and tree. 
 Quickened to new-born ecstacy ; 
 In the soft young grass upon the sod, 
 In the flower that oped its eyes to God, 
 • I sought the joy of Spring. 
 
 As the warm, sweet winds rushed over the earth, 
 And bloom and beauty and song had birth. 
 And leaves struggled forth in the light of morn, 
 Like a child's glad hopes in their primal dawn. 
 And the hearts of the buds throbbed with waking 
 
 bliss, 
 At the touch of the sunlight's burning kiss, 
 I felt the joy of Spring. 
 
A SEARCH FOR SPRING. 63 
 
 But the odorous gales changed to sultry air, 
 And the balm was lost in the summer glare. 
 O'er nature's expanse crept a laziness 
 And a leaden calm grew from throbbing bliss ; 
 And Autumn scattered decay and blight, 
 And in the chill of the Winter's night, 
 I lost the joy of Spring. 
 
 But far from the smiles of nature, apart 
 In the secret depths of a human heart, 
 Were bloom and beauty that have no death, 
 And change not with Time's corroding breath ; 
 In blossoms of Truth — piire buds of Heaven — 
 Tho' marred with error and weeds and leaven, 
 I see the joy of Spring. 
 
 In the grandeur that makes man divine, 
 The light of Spring seems ever to shine ; 
 In the beauty of goodness exalting our life, 
 In the perfect faith that is born of strife, 
 In hopes that are brighter than vernal flowers, 
 Whose sweetness gladdens life's common hours, 
 I know the joy of Spring. 
 
54 A MADRIGAL- 
 
 A MADRIGAL. 
 
 Open the window, darling, 
 
 And welcome the breath of Spring, 
 For the spirit of joy is abroad. 
 
 And gladdens each sentient thing ; 
 My heart is drear as the wintry earth. 
 
 Shrouded in bleakest night. 
 But thou canst banish its frosted cares, 
 
 Spirit of Love and Light ! 
 
 Open the window, darling, 
 
 I hear the gush of a song. 
 That comes from the beautiful Spring-time, 
 
 Flitting, like Hope, along : 
 My heart is sad as an Autumn morn, 
 
 Before the Winter's blight. 
 But thou canst scatter its sorrowful mists, 
 
 Spirit of Joy and Light ! 
 
A MADRIGAL. 55 
 
 Open the window, darling, 
 
 For nature's heart is glad ; 
 There is no space on this jubilant earth 
 
 For memories drear and sad ; 
 Our God may temper, with shades of woe, 
 
 The hour's silvery flight, 
 But thou canst cheer the drooping soul, 
 
 Spirit of Hope and Light ! 
 
 Open the window, darling, 
 
 The air wdiich roams abroad. 
 Life-giving, pure, and fragrant. 
 
 Is surely a breath from God : 
 Love me with all thy sweetness, 
 
 And cast forth into the night 
 The joyless thought in my soul. 
 
 Vernal Spirit of Light ! 
 
56 MAY-TIME. 
 
 MAY-TIME. 
 
 On earth was a mist and torpor. 
 
 In our hearts the winter's chill, 
 And nature expectant for May-time, 
 
 With wearisome watching was still ; 
 When odorous south winds came freighted 
 
 With messages sweet from warm skies, 
 And the beauty and flush of the May-time 
 
 Startled all with a joyous surprise ! 
 
 A lute-sounding voice in the woodland, 
 
 A whisper that swells to trill. 
 As the wandering birds pipe their joyance 
 
 In the land that is dear to them still. 
 On the boughs are the dead leaves of Autumn, 
 
 Like regrets, in the May- time of man ; 
 New tendrils may sprout, birds may carol, 
 
 But there's always a leaf sere and wan. 
 
MAY-TIME. 57 
 
 The musical shower of rain -drops, 
 
 Is laden with warmth strangely sweet, 
 That wakens the buds from their torpor, 
 
 And quickens dead grass at our feet. 
 O beauty, unfolding from darkness ! 
 
 O life, bursting forth from decay ! 
 Earth's type of the Godly immortal, 
 
 Soaring free from the dross and the clay. 
 
 The river has broken its cerements. 
 
 Its corpse-like beauty has fled, 
 With throes like the starts of a maniac, 
 
 It lashes the ice from its bed ; 
 Its breast seems upheaving its vengeance, 
 
 For shackles the winter laid on. 
 As it fearlessly breaks every barrier 
 
 With the force of a Phlegethon. 
 
 O prodigal sunshine of hay -time ! 
 
 Rejoicing, we look in thy noon, 
 And our hearts, like the wandering robins, 
 
 Shall warble a rapturous tune : 
 The sadness of Autumn has faded, 
 
 The dearth of the winter has gone, 
 
68 MAY-TIME. 
 
 And our souls, like the young birds are thrilling 
 With hopes and with joys newly-born. 
 
 Let the ice round the heart melt and vanish, 
 
 Dispel the crabbed wisdom of years, 
 And cherish the yearning that came from 
 
 Our May-time of smiles and of tears ; 
 And flowers shall bloom 'neath the snow-drifts, 
 
 And toil-stricken man hope again ; 
 So the songs and the joys of the May-time 
 
 Need not speed to this sad world in vain. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF SPRING. 59 
 
 THE ELIXIR OF SPRING. 
 
 Not in the bloom and music 
 
 That haunt the south wind's breath, 
 For the bloom may fade at midnight, 
 
 And the music be stilled in death ; 
 Not in the bursting fragrance 
 
 Of leaf, or bud, or flower. 
 For their beauty may be nipped and chilled 
 
 By the frosts of a single hour. 
 
 But in my darling's heart. 
 
 Nestled in sunlight there, 
 Spring's spirit dwells apart 
 
 From Heaven, and earth, and air ; 
 Purer than vernal fragrance, 
 
 Brighter than vernal skies, — 
 In my darling's truth and beauty, 
 
 There's Spring that never dies. 
 
60 A summee's day. 
 
 A SUMMER'S DAY. 
 
 It rose upon the shadowy earth, 
 Imbued with light and melody ; 
 
 In gorgeous pride it hovered forth 
 To touch the soul with ecstacy. 
 
 Its fervid strength, its marvelous grace, 
 The rich, full sweetness of its love 
 
 The lowly heart could dimly trace, 
 Shadowed below : mirrored above. 
 
 And in the deepening gulfs of blue, 
 Or in the knolls of grassy sod, 
 
 Beyond, beneath, he felt and knew, 
 The wonders of Eternal God, 
 
 The ceaseless whirl of jubilant life, 
 
 The wind that rustled through the grain, 
 
A summer's day. 61 
 
 Seemed lispings, in a happy strife 
 
 To worship where His love doth reign. 
 
 The fretted sunbeams smile and sleep, 
 And touch bare clefts of rock with light, 
 
 Nigh where dim shadows crouch and creep, 
 Moveless and dark, as stilly night. 
 
 And clad in wild, luxuriant charms, 
 
 In dark and solemn majesty, 
 The mountain peaks uplift their arms. 
 
 Unshaken as the eternal sky. 
 
 And a wild, vagrant, foaming stream 
 Pours its thick murmurs far and wide, 
 
 Like far-off voices, when they seem 
 So vaguely sweet at eventide. 
 
 Nigh to a lake, whose calm and grace. 
 And hush and darksome peacefulness, 
 
 Is like a tearful, happy face, 
 
 Sad with excess of speechless bliss. 
 
62 
 
 And as the summer day doth shake 
 Its light, and bloom, and sweets abroad, 
 
 Its glory nature seems to take 
 Among the summer hills of God. 
 
 '& 
 
 And as it wanes in dazzling dress, 
 
 And on the earth dim splendor throws, 
 
 The shadow of its beauteousness, 
 Doth sanctify its radiant close. 
 
SUMMER CALM. 63 
 
 SUMMER CALM. 
 
 The calm that follows, when the air 
 With gushing melody is rent, 
 
 Seems to surround me everywhere, 
 And makes the silence eloquent. 
 
 The dying cadence of a tune 
 In echoes seems to float along, 
 
 Imparting to the summer noon 
 The lulling sweetness of a song. 
 
 Above, the deepening azure bends, — 
 A firmament of endless space ; 
 
 On earth, the summer glory blends 
 Its calmed loveliness and grace. 
 
 A twitter in the silent air 
 
 Of some wild bird that finds no rest, 
 
64 SUMMER CALM. 
 
 Like a drear thought that comes to stir 
 And rack with pain the peaceful breast. 
 
 The festooned arms of shrub and tree 
 Droop in their beauty on the sod, 
 
 And waving elms in majesty 
 
 Flash in the sunshine of their God. 
 
 The firs and pines, a brotherhood, 
 
 Green with the summers that have flown, 
 
 Lend to the perfect quietude 
 
 A hallowed beauty of their own. 
 
 A lazy river glides along, 
 
 Like the pure calm that threads the life 
 Of one who cannot dream of wrong. 
 
 Nor heeds the world's surrounding strife. 
 
 A beauty sleeps within the dells ; 
 
 Along the undulating shore, 
 A drifting calm of summer dwells, 
 
 That seems to dull the river's roar. 
 
SUMMER CALM. 65 
 
 The incense of the fields goes forth 
 
 Lightly and fleetly ; like a bliss 
 That noiseless wends upon our path, 
 
 And leaves no trace of weariness. 
 
 And so the over-joyous hours, 
 
 Linked with sweet calms throughout the dny, 
 Droop like the fading summer flowers, 
 
 And float in twilight calm away. 
 
 ' Tis but a glimpse of summer skies, 
 
 A passing dream of summer days, 
 Glimmering o'er our mortal eyes 
 
 In twilight glooms and broken rays. 
 
 Until the perfect summer breaks 
 
 Upon the pure soul's happiness. 
 When the dream shifts and man awakes. 
 
 To ever-during calm and bliss. 
 
66 AN AUTUMN IDYL. 
 
 AN AUTUMN IDYL. 
 
 Like hosts of faded joys, the withered leaves 
 Are whirled aloft by the remorseless winds ; 
 And, like the fruitless plans of youth, they lie 
 Trampled beneath the iron heel of time ; 
 And yet a brightness tints their palsied forms, 
 That vivifies the cold, pale face of death. 
 And the wild rain that beats upon the earth 
 Has lost its wonted music ; for the breath 
 Of coming winter, stealing through its tones, 
 Has rent asunder all its harmony, — 
 When lo ! the sights and sounds of Autumn die, 
 And, like the silver breaking in a storm. 
 There springs a light within my inner soul, 
 A gentle presence flitting thro' its chambers ; 
 Her eyes — like deepest wells revealing stars — 
 Are darkly eloquent with lustrous thoughts. 
 That spring from the deep fountains of her soul ; 
 
AN AUTUMN IDYL. 67 
 
 I gaze upon them, and the troublous clouds 
 
 That bridge the horizon seem to fade away. 
 
 And the drear winds, enamored of her voice, 
 
 Are lulled to silence ; and the morn's pale light, 
 
 Cold as the heartless smile of frigid Scorn, 
 
 Is still a Summer sunlight when she comes ; 
 
 Her looks have meanings holier than the stars, 
 
 Upon the arid heart alight her words, 
 
 Soft as vernal air in dreary March. 
 
 In vain the clamorous winds pursue their course. 
 
 And chase the crumpled leaflets every w^here. 
 
 As purposeless as youth pursues its dreams : 
 
 In vain the rugged trees uplift their arms — 
 
 Bare as the stricken heart bereft of hope — 
 
 And seem to look to Heaven for light and strength 
 
 To brave the snows and blasts and chills of winter ; 
 
 In vain mists steal abroad, and shadows lurk 
 
 Upon the barren hills and naked fields. 
 
 I look upon this type of womanhood, 
 
 This human soul shrined in a gentle guise. 
 
 And nature's changes seem a passing dream. 
 
 And death a spectral phantom of the brain. 
 
 And all the sadness of the Autumn days 
 
 The feeling of a morbid fantasy. 
 
68 FALL. 
 
 FALL. 
 
 I hear the sobbing I'ain, 
 As if the Heavens weep at Autumn's breath ; 
 I see the leaves of Summer fall again, 
 
 Their beauty changed in death. 
 
 The idle wind is still, 
 A spectral vapor haunts the barren earth ; 
 Upon our teeming joys, there comes a chill — 
 
 The chill of Winter's dearth. 
 
 What if the tinted woods, 
 With outward loveliness, are gay and fair, 
 As if around them blushing Summer broods, 
 
 Yearning to linger there ? 
 
 What if their beauteousness 
 At Death's cold touch is strangely glorified ? 
 
FALL. 69 
 
 Their leaves will crumble soon to nothingness, 
 Or else be swept aside. 
 
 Their change is type of all ; 
 The hectic loveliness that forebodes decay, 
 Steeped with a dying glow, before they fall 
 
 To mingle with the clay. 
 
 All that we love and prize, 
 Changeth like leaves upon our toilsome way ; 
 Man's hoarded wealth but dust before his eyes, 
 
 Passing, like Life, away. 
 
 O leaves and blossoms, fall ! 
 An after-life shall rise from out the gloom ; 
 The Autumn mists are but the outward pall 
 
 That hides perennial bloom. 
 
 O children of decay I 
 Swept by the blast and trodden by the rain, 
 Thy scattered dust shall eloquently say 
 
 That naught will fall in vain. 
 
70 INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 With dying splendor on her face, 
 Her robes of beauty laid aside, 
 The hectic Summer sighs to glide. 
 
 From the flushed earth, to yield a place : 
 
 To the dry foliage, sere and gold, 
 
 And trees whose rugged arms are bare, 
 And the shrill moanings of the air. 
 
 And the dim glories of the wold. 
 
 Unnatural silence, like a pall, 
 
 Inwraps the world, and the sun streams 
 In mellow waves of glinting gleams, 
 
 A saintly splendor over all. 
 
 Hush't is the wind, — disconsolate 
 That summer glories all should die. 
 
INDIAN SUMMER. 71 
 
 While the calm azure of the sky 
 Looks down in throned, regal state. 
 
 • 
 
 And grand old maples upward gaze, 
 Like sentinels upon the road, 
 As if they mused of Nature's God, 
 
 Who crowns them with a myriad rays. 
 
 No summer sun shall pour his beams, 
 Like those that flood my path to-day, 
 Pallid and beautiful each ray, 
 
 Like shapings of our sweetest dreams. 
 
 O youthful prime ! O golden hours ! 
 
 Ephemeral glories that have flown ; 
 
 O future yearnings mellowed down, 
 Yet tinted with the hues of flowers ! 
 
 O tempered sunlight ! happy calms, 
 When nature sleeps, or wakes to see 
 The hours gliding silently, 
 
 O'er-loaded with a myriad balms. 
 
72 INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 Around our hearts the suushine waves, 
 A calmed splendor, like the morn, 
 While Summer airs anew are born, 
 
 To sigh amid the florets' graves. 
 
 O golden moments touch' t with balm ! 
 Temper Fate's hostile storms abroad, 
 Instill a tranquil hope in God, 
 
 And in our lives infuse your calm. 
 
FALLING LEAVES. '73 
 
 FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 Gleam, Autumn sun, with mellow light ! 
 
 Blow, Autumn winds, throughout the day ! 
 For everywhere are death and blight 
 
 Where'er I tread my way. 
 
 O ! gather all the falling leaves, 
 
 And spare them, for they soon must die ; 
 While solemn nature mourns, and weaves 
 
 Their funeral lullaby. 
 
 The stricken leaves are but a part 
 
 Of all the death and misery,— 
 The helpless soul— the hopeless heart. 
 
 That everywhere I see. 
 
 The Autumn flickers e're it dies, 
 Like a pale light that waxeth dim ; 
 
74 FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 And nature, with her myriad sighs, 
 Pours forth a plaintive hymn. 
 
 Better to die in the golden dress, 
 
 Bathed in the noonday's cheering light, 
 
 Than live in utter loneliness. 
 And die in gloom and night. 
 
 O leaves ! we loved you when the song 
 Of birds waked music, as ye clave, 
 
 And murmured minstrelsy among 
 The branches stout and brave. 
 
 Or when the twilight flung around, 
 Like dreams of softer meaning then, 
 
 A tender gleam upon the ground, 
 A haze throughout the glen. 
 
 But now we miss you, for ye were 
 Our music on a Summer's day ; 
 
 No sound steals through this Autumn air, 
 Like your sweet roundelay. 
 
FALLING LEAVES. 75 
 
 Beautiful as ye lie in death, 
 
 Th' Almighty's hand has sent ye forth, 
 Thejsport of every wanton breath. 
 
 To strew the paths of earth. 
 
 My idle fancies shall have flown. 
 
 Wild as the leaves along the road. 
 While every gust of wind wafts down 
 
 To me pure thoughts of God. 
 
76 SHORT DAYS. 
 
 SHORT DAYS. 
 
 Over the pale crust of the ermine snow 
 The wind is roaming, chilled with Winter's breath, 
 And the dim, waning days seem touched with woe, 
 For Autumn's lingering death. 
 
 They gather varied hours in their train, 
 And lay them in the stillness of the past, 
 And o'er the fitful visions of the brain 
 Their broken shadows cast. 
 
 The evenings lengthen as the days subside, 
 Deepening and broadening to the peaceful night, 
 Like tender shadows, tempering as they hide 
 The noon-day's 'garish light. 
 
 And dull with scowling clouds and fretful skies, 
 The little days pass onward to their bourne — 
 
SHORT DAYS. 77 
 
 Life's shadowy landmarks, to our saddened eyes, 
 But vanished haze of morn. 
 
 The hours shrivel, as we vainly try 
 To grasp their fruits within our feeble hold ; 
 Their glow and gloom and beauty seem to die 
 In Winter's piercing cold. 
 
 O lessening days that silently depart ! 
 Leave us the broader faith and larger hope; 
 So that the scarred and patient human heart 
 May love with fuller scope. 
 
 Yield us the deeper trust in human truth, 
 Show us the purer sky above the haze ; 
 So that the nobler visions of our youth 
 May light our devious ways. 
 
 Banish the frost of doubt that numbs the heart. 
 Broaden the narrowing limits of life's road; 
 So may your fleeting presence still impart 
 A lasting love for God. 
 
78 BY THE FIRELIGHT. 
 
 BY THE FIRELIGHT. 
 
 Cradled within the arms of night, 
 Th' unquiet day is lulled asleep ; 
 
 The weary hours have taken flight, 
 Leaving their shadc>ws long and deep, 
 
 That spread upon the earth below 
 
 Soft as the falling snow. 
 
 Betwixt the glimmer and the gloom, 
 The twilight beameth tenderly 
 
 In dim rays o'er the dusky room, 
 Like hope of immortality 
 
 That o'er the earth-bound spirit falls. 
 
 And shineth through life's prison walls. 
 
 Our converse is of earthly things ; 
 Our little world of joys is pure. 
 And silvery laughter peals and rings 
 
BY THE FIRELIGHT- 79 
 
 Like flute-sounds in an overture, 
 Swelling with sudden rise aloft, 
 Or toning to a cadence soft. 
 
 The firelight dances on the walls 
 In wavering streams of ruby light ; 
 
 A human ray that gladly falls, 
 
 Cheering tho mellow hours of night ; 
 
 While hurrying Time does seem 
 
 To linger by the lambent gleam. 
 
 No shadow in our dear retreat, 
 
 Nor heart glooms, like the night mists rise ; 
 Love speaketh from the laughter sweet, 
 
 Love danceth in the sparkling eyes ; 
 
 While in the radiance on the wall, 
 God's love divine seems over all. 
 
 The wrathful storm tramps wildly by 
 The desert waste of snows abroad ; 
 
 The keen winds rush with sullen cry, 
 Like shrieks of horror on the road: 
 
 Within the lustre of a light. 
 
 Like Israel's pillar- flame at night. 
 
80 BY THE FIRELIGHT. 
 
 No mystic seer looks upward now, 
 In stars to read his destiny ; 
 
 We watch the flame's pure vestal glow 
 Shine, like a beacon, steadfastly, 
 
 And read our fireside cheering lore 
 
 Imaged in light upon the floor. 
 
SNOW. 81 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 Fall, like peace, gossamer snow ! 
 While the searching winds are roaming abroad ; 
 Fall in your wealth, on this world below, 
 Like a blessed balm from God. 
 
 Fall like kisses upon the earth. 
 That is cold and cheerless and full of woe, 
 And fill its heart with a sense of mirth, 
 Silent and loving snow ! 
 
 Fall in your wonderful purity, 
 Fair as a bride's unsullied dress ; 
 Fall from the heaven's immensity, 
 On our Autumn dreariness. 
 
 Fall like a lover's phantasy. 
 
 That the heart of a maiden might yearn to know; 
 6 
 
82 SNOW. 
 
 Fall like a loving memory 
 
 On a soul o'erladen with woe. 
 
 Fall like the light of an infant's smile, 
 That sweetly beams for a mother alone ; 
 Fall like hope when it dawns awhile 
 On a doubting heart of stone. 
 
 Fall like tears that leave us resigned 
 When the soul submits to a hapless doom ; 
 Fall like light that falls on the blind, 
 On a life oVr-steeped in gloom. 
 
 Fall like the bounties God has given, 
 While the mournful winds are piping along ; 
 Fall like the hints we have of Heaven, 
 Like a blessed balm from God. 
 
VOICES OF THE HEARTH, 
 
 " True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
BY THE HEARTH. 85 
 
 w 
 
 BY THE HEARTH. 
 
 S ^neas, fires eternal, 
 To old Latiiim's shores brought home, 
 So may my thoughts of Home diurnal, 
 
 Chastened with the vestal fire. 
 
 Ever soaring upwards, higher, 
 
 Be as pure where'er they roam. 
 
 With the sacred hearth before me, 
 Kneeling down before its shrine. 
 
 And the fear of Heaven o'er me, 
 I have striven to learn the teachings, 
 All the wondrous reverent preachings 
 
 Of the love of home divine. 
 
 And this strong love, lying hidden 
 In its fullness on my heart, 
 In my lonely hours, unbidden. 
 
86 BY THE HEARTH. 
 
 Oft' has taken outward draping, 
 Till each fervid, homely shaping 
 Of this idle verse forms part. 
 
 What if this untutored singing 
 Wake no echo thro' the earth ? 
 
 'Tis a human voice upspringing — 
 And the strains though faint and broken, 
 Still shall be a living token 
 
 That they have a purer birth. 
 
 Tho' the mists of care around me, 
 Shroud my thought and cloud my rhyme ; 
 
 Tho' complaints to earth have bound me, 
 Still these simple lays have given 
 Faith in man, and hope in Heaven, 
 
 Now, and in the future time. 
 
 So my thoughts are ever yearning 
 To the hearth, lit from above ; 
 
 And the while the flame is burning, 
 I have prayed that God, the giver. 
 Watchful, might extinguish never 
 
 All the sacred fires of love. 
 
BY THE HEARTH. 87 
 
 Not in fear, nor unattended, 
 Shall this idle verse go forth ; 
 
 For affection's tones have blended 
 With these voices all their power, 
 When, in many a blissful hour. 
 
 Home and love have given them birth. 
 
 Smiles have made the hearthstone brighter, 
 Words have filled with joy the air ; 
 
 Looks have made life's burden lighter 
 When around me gathered faces. 
 Beaming with the kindly traces 
 
 Of a ministering, watchful care. 
 
 And when deeper night has hastened, 
 Soft unfolding raven wings, 
 
 All the firelights seeming chastened, 
 Purged from dross, in ashes lying. 
 Purer, brighter flames were flying 
 
 In the soul's imaginings. 
 
 Through the tide of rolling hours, 
 Through dim vistas of the years, 
 
 Through life's mead of daisy flowers, 
 
BY THE HEARTH. 
 
 Still these voices sweet are ringing, 
 To my fancy ever singing 
 
 Joys that hush my plaints and fears. 
 
 Soaring visions far above me 
 Glimmering, like God's host of stars, 
 
 Phantom shapes that yearn to love me, 
 Till on earth I seem to grasp them, 
 And in love my sonl doth clasp them 
 
 Through earth's narrow prison bars. 
 
 Though life's toil and fret have jarred them, 
 Dimmed these broken, wandering strains, 
 And earth's dust and drought have marred 
 them, 
 And they fade and die in ashes ; 
 Still the hearth-tire ever flashes, 
 And the love of Home remains. 
 
WEAVING. 89 
 
 WEAVING. 
 
 A maiden was weaving at noon day, 
 
 A maiden with gold-rippling hair, 
 Whose heart was as warm as the sun-rays 
 
 That softly encircled her there ; 
 And her eyes were like starlight in shadow, 
 
 And her thoughts were like sweet summer air. 
 
 I knew by the light of her smiling, 
 She was weaving a tissue of dreams, 
 
 A web of a million fancies 
 
 Illuming her life with their gleams ; 
 
 That she saw the far future before her 
 O'er- tinted with halcyon beams. 
 
 I did not disturb her with questions. 
 
 Nor mar those sweet thoughts with my own ; 
 For the sunlight that played with her fancies 
 
90 WEAVING. 
 
 From heavenly pathways had flown, 
 And she wound them in hues of the rainbow, 
 As she sat in the noon-day alone. 
 
 And soon when the shadows had fallen, 
 An old man, with gray-silvered hair. 
 
 Was weaving a tissue of visions 
 
 In the gloaming that fell on him there ; 
 
 And his thoughts were like hues in the evening, 
 In the chamber so ghostly and bare. 
 
 I knew by the lines on his temples. 
 
 And by the wan smiles on his face. 
 That from the dead past he was calling 
 
 A host of regrets from their place ; 
 And so he kept weaving his sorrows. 
 
 In a dream that was mournful to trace. 
 
 And thus we are weaving forever 
 Our hopes, our regrets and our fears. 
 
 And time soon dispels every vision. 
 
 Or we summon them back with our tears ; 
 
 And still we are none of us wiser. 
 
 As we glide through life's current of years. 
 
TWILIGHT. 91 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 I asked the hallowed twilight 
 What made its rays so sweet ; 
 
 '' The pulses of the day," it said, 
 ^'No longer wildly beat, 
 
 And the beauty of my smile has grown 
 From noon-day's glare and heat." 
 
 I asked a gray-pale mortal. 
 
 What sanctified his life ; 
 "Its passionate dawn," he answered. 
 
 With tumult has been rife. 
 And so its twilight calm is born 
 
 From glare and feverish strife." 
 
92 WORK. 
 
 WORK. 
 
 Arise from your dreamy slumber, 
 
 And with stalwart heart go forth, 
 And be one of the number. 
 Brave workers here on earth. 
 
 Tho' the world is wide, 
 
 There is room beside. 
 For those who are staunch and true ; 
 
 So be at your post. 
 
 'Mid the busy host. 
 For there's work for you to do. 
 
 It is no time to be dreaming, 
 
 When the workers abroad are gone, 
 So throw off your sloth and seeming, 
 And with vigorous arms ply on ; 
 For the sun is high, 
 And there comes a cry. 
 That the laborers still are few ; 
 
WORK. 
 
 93 
 
 So make the most 
 Of the time, and boast 
 That there's work for you to do. 
 
 There are forests to clear before you, 
 
 There are fields to plow and sow, 
 And the sunlight is streaming o'er you, 
 That your labors may thrive and grow ; 
 
 So murmur a song 
 
 While your voice is strong. 
 And your heart is ready and true ; 
 
 And thank God 
 
 On the fruitful sod, 
 That there's work for you to do. 
 
 Let the miser boast of his hoard of gold, 
 
 Let riches and care keep pace ; 
 In the works of your hand there is worth untold 
 And joy in the toilsome race. 
 
 There is vigorous health 
 
 In your life's true wealth 
 Not prized by an indolent few ; 
 
 So in grief or glee, 
 
 Let your watchword be, 
 That there's work for you to do. 
 
94 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Don't burn them — they preach love and wisdom, 
 
 Of life's purest joys they are a part ; 
 I read loving mem'ries within them, 
 
 Deeply traced on the scroll of the heart. 
 Don' t burn them — the past fades too swiftly, 
 
 O ! let these dim treasures remain : 
 Faint records of life's fleeting moments 
 
 That the heart yearns to scan over again. 
 
 * * ^ Well, it don't matter. 
 
 Some hearts, 'tis ordained, are to bleed, — 
 
 Such letters I'll fold uncomplaining, 
 And lock them away from the sight, 
 
 The bitterness folded forever, 
 
 Regrets locked in stillness and night. 
 
 These lines, touched with Time's shrivel' d lingers 
 Are yellow and dim, like dead leaves ; 
 
OLD LETTERS. 95 
 
 Yet the light of remembrance glows o'er them, 
 Like rays that make golden the sheaves. 
 
 The letters, though blurred, are not faded, 
 But speak like an old tender strain, 
 
 That flashes at once, when its music 
 We strive to recall, but in vain. 
 
 Don't burn them — they preach mystic wisdom 
 
 That sermons of lore cannot teach. 
 And from the vague twilight of memory. 
 
 Deep lessons of comfort they preach. 
 They cling to hard rocks of existence. 
 
 Like mosses deep- rooted fore'er, 
 Made green with the years that pass o'er thf^m. 
 
 Though sorrow and ruin be there. 
 
 These letters are links that bind closer 
 
 The heart to the dead, buried years ; 
 Why scatter in dust and in ashes 
 
 The relics that memory endears ? 
 Our hopes may not ripen like blossoms, 
 
 Regrets prove that past joys are vain, 
 But there's truth in these dumb, aged treasures 
 
 That the heart loves to scan over again. 
 
96 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 A sunbeam, once, in jovial mood. 
 
 Half loitered on its way, 
 And roamed among earth's pleasant nooks, 
 
 But knew not where to stay ; 
 It kissed the blushing, grateful flowers, 
 
 And lit my dear love's face 
 With sweetest smiles, then sped along, 
 
 And danced from place to place. 
 
 It stole within a lowly cot, 
 
 And shone upon Despair, 
 Where'er a shadow blurred the way 
 
 It seemed to linger there ; 
 It blessed the face of Poverty, 
 
 And sanctified its blight ; 
 And on the wall, some urchins strove 
 
 To grasp it with delight. 
 
SUNLIGHT. 97 
 
 It nerved despondent, age to step 
 
 Again, in youthful pride ; 
 Where'er the hopeful spirit dwelt, 
 
 It seemed to flit and glide. 
 It made the mountain path less steep, 
 
 And smoothed the rocks hard by ; 
 It stilled a mother's frenzied grief. 
 
 And hushed a lover's sigh. 
 
 When, lo ! I overtook the gleam. 
 
 This child of Hope and Youth, 
 The heaven-born angel sent to guard 
 
 The starry gates of Truth. 
 But as I strove to fix my grasp 
 
 Upon its presence there. 
 The transient ray, impalpable. 
 
 Had melted into air. 
 
 And yet the pure and aerial beam 
 
 Flitting, like time, away. 
 Doth live upon this solid globe. 
 
 To be man's guide and stay ; 
 So let us strive to firmly grasp. 
 
 And keep it near our heart, 
 So that if w^e are reft of all, 
 
 The sunbeam won't depart. 
 
98 SHADOW. 
 
 SHADOW. 
 
 His voice was hoarse and loud ; 
 And in earnest tones he beckoned and bade me turn 
 
 and see 
 A'dark and ominous shadow, that was gathering over 
 me. 
 
 I looked and saw a crowd 
 Of busy, noisy workers, who, with hand and heart 
 
 and brain, 
 Were dreaming not of shadows, but of schemes, and 
 toil and gain ; 
 
 So I said his words were vain, 
 'Twas a fancy of his brain. 
 
 He bade me look once more : 
 Then, all the throng had vanished, and the star-girt, 
 
 saintly night 
 Was spreading, o'er the skies of God, vast tracks of 
 
 endless light ; 
 
SHADOW. 
 
 The heavens were tasseled o'er 
 With solemn gleams of splendor ; so I raised my eyes 
 
 above,. 
 And said, "There were no shadows in the glory of 
 God's love;" 
 
 So I told him then again 
 'Twas a fancy of his brain. 
 
 He bade me glance again : 
 As glowing morning was peeping through the folds of 
 
 dusky night, 
 I^said — my visions teeming with a gush of new-born 
 light— 
 
 " You surely speak in vain ; 
 Upon the paths of morning, walk the angels Love and 
 
 Truth, 
 And God bestows no shadow o'er the thrilling hours 
 of youth ; 
 
 So your words are vain, 
 'Tis a fancy of your brain." 
 
 When lo ! I gazed on him, 
 And wonder rooted me to the earth ; for on the cold, 
 stark ground. 
 
100 SHADOW. 
 
 Nigh where he stood, a stealthy, boding shadow crept 
 around — 
 
 His world was dark and dim. 
 I said, "Behold the shadow of your thought which 
 
 hovers near ! 
 Through this, all things are shadowed in your mourn- 
 ful atmosphere ; 
 
 So I've proved your words are vain, 
 'Tis a fancy of your brain." 
 
 Look up, desponding one ! 
 And muse not of life's evils, nor of heart-consuming 
 
 care, 
 For these will bring a shadow, that will haunt thee 
 everywhere ; 
 
 But deem all things are done 
 For everlasting good on earth, through God's far- 
 reaching sight, 
 
 And then, from off thy heart, 
 The shadow will depart. 
 
STARLIGHT. ^ ^^ 
 
 STARLIGHT. 
 
 O myriad hosts of stars ! innumerable 
 As heavenly mercies on a sin-stained earth ; 
 Unchanging as the God who gave ye birth. 
 Your flashing splendors, indescribable 
 As the minutest wonder of His might, 
 Or snow-flakes circling in the stormy air ; 
 Vast as the Infinite One who set ye where 
 Your radiance is illimitable— 
 Ye are the jewels of eternity ! 
 Our visions cannot penetrate your rays, 
 For all your dazzling glories dim our sight ; 
 In child- like wonder we can only gaze- 
 In reverence cast our narrow glance on ye, 
 And feel our littleness, and God's immensity. 
 
 O clustered glories in the depths of Heaven- 
 Eternal beacons in a measureless way ! 
 
102 STARLIGHT. 
 
 The glittering gems upon the brow of even, 
 Crowning the night with peace and sanctity. 
 Your everlasting light is but a ray 
 That emanates from God who sent ye forth 
 Upon your fixed, illimitable path. 
 The mystery of your far-off ceaseless light, 
 Perchance has been revealed to angel's sight, 
 Who praise ye in a loud exultant strain. 
 Your great effulgence man doth dimly see ; 
 And, yet, ye do not shine on him in vain, 
 If in your endless glow he spells eternity, 
 And reads his being's immortality. 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 108 
 
 UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 Hither, O faded mortal, 
 
 Restless and ill at ease. 
 Come where the voice of Nature 
 
 Whispers love and peace ! 
 
 Where streaks of golden sunlight 
 
 Illumine a shade of leaves. 
 Like flashes of hope in the eyes 
 
 Of one who pains and grieves. 
 
 Haste in the wealth of shadow 
 
 Made by the drooping trees, 
 And your parched heart shall drink a joy 
 
 In the sweets of each passing breeze. 
 
 Look how the flecks of white- winged cloud 
 Flit and float and part, 
 
104 UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 Pure as a changing dream 
 
 In a young child's sinless heart ! 
 
 The insects whir in their innocent sport, 
 The birds exult on the wing, 
 
 It seems a world of joy and love 
 For every sentient thing. 
 
 I hear a flutter in the air, 
 
 A throb of bliss around, 
 In every stir the leaflets make, 
 
 In every buzzing sound. 
 
 And like an answering echo, 
 
 A low voice creeps along, 
 A cadence and a symphony 
 
 In the jovial brooklet's song. 
 
 Haste, O wild bird, on the wing, 
 And chant a hymn to God ! 
 
 To charm the idle dreams of men 
 Upon the summer sod. 
 
UNDER THE MAPLE TREE. 105 
 
 UNDER THE MAPLE TREE. 
 
 Under the maple tree, 
 With tuneful voice of glee, 
 The choristers near, without tremulous fear, 
 
 May echo our heart-stirring song, 
 That syllables praise, thro' the long summer days. 
 When thy leaf-crested branches strong. 
 Are waving aloft 
 To the music soft, 
 That we sing to the maple tree, 
 To the beautiful maple tree. 
 
 Under the maple tree. 
 That veils thy eyes from me, — 
 O would that their luster might fall and alight 
 
 On the heart now beating for thee ! 
 The shadowy gloom may betoken my doom, 
 And the rustling sound, mocking glee ; 
 A jest or a scotf. 
 
106 UNDER THE MAPLE TREE. 
 
 A coquettish laugh, 
 That I hear 'neath the maple tree, 
 'Neath the beautiful maple tree. 
 
 Under the maple tree, 
 That spreads its arms for me, 
 I sit in the shade of a calm, mossy glade. 
 
 And, longing for rest, lay me down ; 
 Or wandering muse, in the cool evening dews, 
 Of the buzz of the babbling town — 
 The strife and the din. 
 That steals not within 
 The folds of this dear maple tree, 
 Of this beautiful maple tree. 
 
 Under the maple tree. 
 With joyful hearts and free. 
 We'll boast in our pride, of our land, far and wide, 
 
 In glorious thanksgiving song ; 
 For our hearts are as true as the heavenly blue, 
 As our hope and our arms are strong ; 
 So let old and young, 
 With prayer on each tongue. 
 Praise their God for the maple tree. 
 For the beautiful maple tree. 
 
CHILDHOOD. 107 
 
 CHILDHOOD, 
 
 We love it and we know not why, 
 
 This image mirrored in the heart ; 
 
 The gleesome smile — the love-lit eye — 
 
 The songful tones of infancy, 
 
 And all that eyes can never see 
 And words can ne'er impart. 
 
 We clasp within our arms a form 
 
 Fashioned as perfect as a liower ; 
 Deeming that the Almighty's arm 
 Shields its young life from every harm, 
 Praying that truth may be its charm, 
 
 And love its only dower. 
 
 We gaze within the azure eyes, 
 
 And deem the soul dwells slumbering there ; 
 We hear the jjrattling words that rise, 
 
108 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Pure as the balm of early spring 
 Wondering if 'mid her blossoming 
 There grows a bud so fair. 
 
 Tender and true it sports awhile, 
 
 Chasing the butterliies in their flight ; 
 
 Basking in nature's loving smile, 
 
 Gamboling where the brooklets go, 
 
 Until it warms their limpid flow 
 Like noonday's glowing light. 
 
 For life tho' drenched with sorrowing tears, 
 Still brightens at our darlings' call ; 
 
 Hopes and visions and clouds and fears 
 
 Mellow, like sunset in the even, 
 
 When childhood, pure as any heaven. 
 Soften the shadows all. 
 
 We need not mourn the long lost days. 
 When childhood lisps upon our knee ; 
 
 Its winsome love time's lap repays, 
 
 And twining the dimpled arms with ours, 
 
 Our life is a joy of golden hours 
 Attuned with childhood's glee. 
 
MY DARLINGS. 109 
 
 MY DARLINGS. 
 
 Gather round me, happy children, 
 
 Let me share your sports awhile. 
 While the festive Summer gladdens 
 
 All your radiance with her smile ; 
 Haste, my darlings, let the sunlight 
 
 Of your natures warm my heart, 
 And the sad thoughts crowding round me 
 
 Will on noiseless wing depart. 
 
 Live within the narrow circles 
 
 Of my visions wan and dim. 
 And your looks will give a meaning 
 
 To this fervent, artless hymn ; 
 Hasten — for the sombre shadows 
 
 Even now have sped away ; 
 For the prattle of my darlings 
 
 Makes my life a holiday. 
 
1}() MY DARLINGS. 
 
 What deep meaning in your lispings — 
 
 What wisdom in your each replies ; 
 E'en the florets smile in wonder, 
 
 Pleasure in their gentle eyes ; 
 While the air around you, darlings, 
 
 Over-loaded with your love, 
 Wafts a tenderer glow to nature. 
 
 Purer tints of Heaven above. 
 
 God has placed you all, my darlings, 
 
 On this sin -pressed earth to-day, 
 That your pure and sweet out- pourings 
 
 Might be music on our way ; 
 For ye are the links that binds us 
 
 To the Heaven we cannot see. 
 Till we tind it mirrored, darlings. 
 
 In your soul's sweet purity. 
 
 Blight may come upon the harvest, 
 Taint may steal amid the air. 
 
 But a light of angel brightness 
 Gleameth where my darlings are ; 
 
 Love me ; and the world is better. 
 Brighter, purer than it seems. 
 
MY DARLINGS. Ill 
 
 Glowing as the Land of Promise, 
 Haunting Israel's fitful dreams. 
 
 May God's blessings on my darlings, 
 
 Fall where'er their footsteps press, 
 Till the summer air rejoiceth 
 
 With their glee and gladsomeness. 
 Till the waning skies of even 
 
 And morn's tenderer loveliness. 
 Shall be hallowed in revealings 
 
 Of my darlings' happiness. 
 
112 THANKSGIVI^S^G. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 O, let us, while the Almighty showers 
 His full rich store of gifts on earth, 
 
 While plenteous blessings all are ours, 
 A choral hymn of praise pour forth. 
 
 A wide, diffusing harmony, 
 The music of our heartfelt prayers 
 
 That softly may ascend to Thee, 
 
 God of our joys, and griefs and cares. 
 
 We glean the harvest we have sown, 
 
 A golden and abundant store ; 
 Hopes long since planted Thou didst crown 
 
 With joy — we never sought for more. 
 
 Grateful, we each may lowly bow. 
 While all the sweetness of the year 
 
THANKSGIVING. 113 
 
 Seems mellowing in the sunlight glow, 
 That softl}^ gushes far and near. 
 
 We have not delved nor toiled in vain, 
 For labor' s golden fruits are ours ; 
 
 And God has blessed the summer rain, 
 And sanctified the summer hours. 
 
 • For every ray that kissed the earth, 
 Divinely passed amid the corn, 
 
 And every bird that carolled forth, 
 Sang of the joys that would be born. 
 
 Glad sounds shall mingle with the air 
 Of Autumn, while the changeful hours 
 
 Shall waft abroad each fervent prayer, 
 Pure as the breath of summer flowers. 
 
 And all the hopeful-hearted throng. 
 And weary-laden hearts who grieve. 
 
 As if inspired with heavenly song, 
 A joyful hymn of thanks shall weave. 
 
LEGENDARY POETRY, 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 117 
 
 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 A Legend of St. Hilaire, Que. 
 
 HE rich and fragrant summer day, 
 Lingering as it passed away, 
 Flooded with myriad dyes 
 A glory over the skies. 
 
 And from its death the sunset rose, 
 That beautified the earth's repose, 
 And wrapt with tender grace 
 Dumb Nature's speaking face. 
 
 The shaggy hills their summits bent, 
 
 And seemed to touch the firmament ; 
 
 Solemn and dark they stood 
 
 As o'er man's fate to brood. 
 
118 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 And rosy clouds in seeming sleep, 
 Floated afar in Heaven's deep, 
 
 The day's last sweetest bloom. 
 
 Fading away in gloom. 
 
 And from the breathless hush around, 
 There issued forth a tremulous sound ; 
 
 Which, quivering thro' the air 
 
 Made dulcet music there. 
 
 Lapping the pebbles o'er and o'er, 
 
 A lake's soft wavelets kissed the shore. 
 
 Or, in the twilight ray, 
 
 In dimples sped away. 
 
 A beauty dwelt upon its face, 
 A dreamy hush, an angel grace ; 
 
 And like a child's pure prayer. 
 
 Its lispings filled the air. 
 
 And o'er its sparkling, limpid tide, 
 The spirit of love did seem to glide. 
 The sinless love that lies 
 In childhood's guileless eyes. 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 119 
 
 And mountains proud with hoariness, 
 Girdled its placid loveliness, 
 
 And seemed to guard its calm 
 
 From every earthly harm. 
 
 For once — so ran the curious tale- 
 There dwelt and roved within its pale, 
 
 A being of love and light — 
 
 A gentle water-sprite. 
 
 Whose gossamer wings would sweep the spray, 
 And meet the sunbeams in their play, 
 
 Until her path did seem 
 
 A track of golden gleam. 
 
 Or else, the incense of the morn, 
 Tossed on her yellow locks, was born 
 
 To mingle o'er her path, 
 
 With wanton winds of earth. 
 
 And oft' when shadows dimly crept. 
 Couched in a lily's leaves she slept, 
 
 Hiding in many a fold 
 
 Her gossamer wings of gold. 
 
120 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 And with their music weirdly soft, 
 The ripples wooed her oft' and oft'. 
 Till faint with song, one day 
 She wandered from their play — 
 
 And rambled to a moss-clad bower ; 
 
 Then, poising on a wilding flower, 
 In slumber, near its side, 
 The water sprite espied, — 
 
 A fair and sinless human child. 
 By light and fragrance there beguiled. 
 Lulled by the warm wind's kiss 
 To a sweet, dreamful bliss. 
 
 And as her pure breath came and went, 
 
 Upon the sleeping innocent. 
 
 The sprite, in strange surprise, 
 Fixed its astounding eyes — 
 
 And marveled at the brow so white. 
 Like purest lilies seen at night, 
 And at the dimpled face 
 Imbued with winsome grace: 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 121 
 
 Till wonder changed to love and awe ; 
 For never in those haunts before 
 
 Had fay been so beguiled 
 
 By any human child. 
 
 For every tinted, marvelous flower 
 Seemed to have centred its sweet power, 
 
 The marvel of its dress 
 
 Upon her beauteousness. 
 
 The peaceful clouds that lightly skim 
 
 In quiet joy the heaven's rim, 
 
 Seemed to have touched her face 
 With all their calm and grace. 
 
 And as she slept, a blissful dream, 
 Reflecting sweetness in a gleam, 
 
 Cast a pure sunny smile 
 
 Upon her lips awhile ; 
 
 Until the beauty of the sprite 
 Blent with the vision of delight. 
 
 And woke the child, who gazed 
 
 In bashful awe amazed. 
 
122 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 And then a brightness wrapt her face, 
 Dowered with childhood's chastened grace, 
 As from the awakened child 
 The soul dawned forth, and smiled : — 
 
 As only children's souls can smile, 
 Free from all sin, and taint and guile ; 
 
 The smile which angels love 
 
 To glance at from above ! 
 
 But the wild naiad, ever gay, 
 Saddened at what she could not say, 
 
 With mingled joy and pain 
 
 Glanced at the child again. 
 
 Like shadows o'er the summer grass, 
 She knew that all that blooms must pass. 
 And fade and change in death. 
 Fleeter than Summer's breath. 
 
 That heaven- born suns, and earth-born flowers. 
 Have all their appointed times and hours, 
 
 That in wide nature's range 
 
 Is never ending change. 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 128 
 
 But naught in nature ever smiled 
 Like the poor visage of the child, 
 For tints of sky and flower 
 Seemed to have been her dower. 
 
 And when the naiad sped the glade, 
 The pure child's lisping c^rol made 
 
 A sweeter harmony 
 
 Than the lake's melody. 
 
 And oft' the fay, in dreamy mood, 
 Wandering from the lake and wood, 
 In a deep, slumberous dell, 
 Felt the sweet mortal's spell. 
 
 The joyless flowers felt and knew 
 Wherefore and whence her footsteps flew ; 
 And in drowse of pain, 
 Her absence mourned in vain. 
 
 For all her care and love were spent 
 
 Upon the winsome innocent— 
 A silent love not shown. 
 And to the child unknown. 
 
124 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Like the warm influence of the Spring, 
 Which thrills to life each sentient thing, 
 
 So beamed the love and light 
 
 Of the glad water-sprite. 
 
 Until one peaceful Summers eve, 
 When listtiess winds faint carols weave. 
 
 Along the lakelet's side, 
 
 Ruffling its placid tide : 
 
 A sudden void imbued the air, 
 And wilding flowers scattered there. 
 As if with pain or woe, 
 Their stricken heads bent low. 
 
 And the gay sprite felt ill at ease, 
 
 As winds rushed vaguely thro' the trees. 
 
 As if they searched the place 
 
 To kiss a childish face. 
 
 And when the dull, desfjairing hours 
 Left their blank impress on the flowers, 
 And o'er the gloaming light 
 Trod the dark, lowering night — 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 125 
 
 A dim foreboding, fixed, intense, 
 A lurid void, and aching sense, 
 
 Transfixed a baneful blight 
 
 Upon the water-sprite. 
 
 Until the fearful truth was known. 
 That pitiless, ruthless change had tiown, 
 That Death had hovered forth, 
 To snatch the child from earth. 
 
 And then the naiad softly grieved, 
 And lowly in her sorrow, weaved 
 
 A ceaseless, doleful song, 
 
 Where'er she sped along. 
 
 Knowing that life from death doth spring 
 In nature — that each sentient thing 
 
 Breathes its little day — 
 
 Doth blossom and decay — 
 
 That naught on earth doth die in vain, 
 That flowers fade to bloom again. 
 
 That nature's joys appear 
 
 With each returning year. 
 
126 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 The naiad mourned the darling child, 
 Whose beauty had her hours beguiled, 
 Whose happy life did seem 
 A lovely, transient dream. 
 
 The sobbing lakelet lashed the shore, 
 And said, " the child will come no more ;" 
 
 And the wild streamlet's roar 
 
 Echoed forevermore. 
 
 And sadder shadows through the dell, 
 Upon the naiad softly fell, 
 
 Until a mazy sleep 
 
 Upon her eyes did creep. 
 
 And as she dozed, a dreamful lull. 
 Chastened and soft and beautiful, 
 
 In the pare twilight's smile. 
 
 Hovered around awhile. 
 
 And o'er the silence of the place, 
 A lovelier aspect she could trace. 
 And the pure lakelet's tide, 
 Seemed strangely glorified. 
 
THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 127 
 
 Lit with a new and wonderous charm, 
 With solemn, peaceful, infinite calm, 
 Nor guessed the sleeping sprite 
 Whence rose the Heavenly light. 
 
 And o'er the quiet sanctity. 
 
 Clad in spiritual purity, 
 An angel form of light 
 Dazzled the sleeping sprite. 
 
 And lo ! the soul on earth concealed 
 In God's pure angel stood revealed ; 
 And the bright, seraph child 
 Again looked forth and smiled. 
 
 Freed from the fetters of decay. 
 Her presence glimmered as a ray 
 
 Of immortality 
 
 And Heaven's purity. 
 
 And then the vision passed away, 
 And calmer rose the Summer's day, 
 
 Serener and more clear, 
 
 Upon the lakelet near. 
 
128 THE CHILD OF THE LAKE. 
 
 And still upon the wavelet's face, 
 There seems to dwell an angel grace, 
 And like a child's pure prayer. 
 Its lispings murmur there. 
 
 And o'er the beauty of its tide, 
 The spirit of love still seems to glide ; 
 The Heavenly love that lies 
 In childhood's angel guise. 
 
THE TRAVELER AND THE TREE. 129 
 
 THE TRAVELER AND THE TREE 
 
 From the Talmud. 
 
 A lonely man once dwelt on earth. 
 
 Who never seemed to know 
 The daily purpose of his life, 
 
 On this fair earth below ; 
 His cravings had no clear intent. 
 
 He never owned a friend, 
 And all his veering, dreamy thoughts 
 
 Had neither aim nor end. 
 
 Id changeful mood, as was his wont. 
 
 One day he roamed afar, 
 Without a guide to point his steps, 
 
 Without a beacon star — 
 
 When lo ! at noon-day's hour he spied 
 
 A tall and stately tree, 
 
 
130 THE TRAVELER AND THE TREE. 
 
 With leaf-fringed boughs, that towered high 
 To Heaven in majesty. 
 
 The perfumed breeze that fanned and lulled 
 
 Its myriad leaves asleep, 
 Breathed sweetly o'er his moody soul 
 
 A slumber calm and deep. 
 Upon the dainty grass beneath 
 
 He closed his weary eyes, 
 And the pure air did waft him dreams 
 
 Of Summer sweets and skies. 
 
 He woke refreshed, and recognized 
 
 The music of his dream, 
 In Nature's jubilant melody 
 
 That issued from a stream ; 
 He slaked his thirst and blessed the place, 
 
 Nor felt he then forlorn. 
 For his lone heart rebounded high 
 
 With gratitude new-born. 
 
 Then, calling on the tree, he said : 
 " What blessing more can Heaven 
 
THE TRAVELER AND THE TREE. 131 
 
 Lavish upon a regal tree, 
 
 To whom all joys are given % 
 Thj blissful life from grief and care 
 
 And doubt is surely free ; 
 The dower of leaves which deck thy form 
 
 Is God's fair tracery. 
 
 " For thee, a gushing, murmurous rill 
 
 Is singing low and sweet. 
 And birds are nestling in thy boughs 
 
 And warbling at thy feet ; 
 Thou shelterest many a nest of young 
 
 Among thy twigs of green, 
 While Heaven 'mid thy clustering leaves 
 
 Pours down a glorious sheen. 
 
 ** Beneath thy shade the weary sit, 
 
 To rest upon their way, 
 While the soft chorus of the leaves 
 
 Wafts fretful care away ; 
 The Summer hoards its joys for thee, 
 
 No Winter makes thee cold ; 
 Thy sturdy nature broods the storm, 
 
 Defiant, brave and bold ! 
 
182 THE TRAVELER AND THE TREE. 
 
 "And every joy that God can bring, 
 
 Is strewn on thee from Heaven, 
 And all to glad thy peaceful lot, 
 
 His bounteous hand hath given. 
 One bliss can only yet be thine, 
 
 richly dowered tree ! 
 Upon thy off-shoots may He cast 
 
 The blessings showered on thee." 
 
THE LOVER STAR. 133 
 
 THE LOVER STAR, 
 
 OR THE ORIGIN OF THE MARSH METEOR. 
 
 An Indian Legend. 
 
 Once upon a time, among the infinite stars — 
 Divine Intelligences massed in Heaven — 
 There grew a fearful contest, like our wars. 
 Until a conquered world to earth was driven, 
 And then pursuing an erratic flight, 
 Glimmered above the red men's homes at night. 
 
 But to their eyes it seemed a spectral gleam, 
 And pierced each savage heart with wild affright, 
 The children ran in horror from the beam, 
 Deeming its lustre was a baneful light ; 
 And so, this star, hurled from its sphere above, 
 Could meet no answering ray of human love. 
 
 Until it wandered o'er the head of one, 
 A djisky maiden of the Chippewas, 
 
134 THE LOVER STAR. 
 
 A wildflower blooming in the wilds alone, 
 Whose glance was purer than ethereal stars ; 
 Who, like the flowers, in a world of strife, 
 From the pure air of heaven inhaled her life. 
 
 The swarthy warriors felt her looks of love 
 Which quelled the ruder passions of each breast, 
 Where'er her lightsome presence came to rove, 
 With purer aims each redman was possessed, 
 Until the very air was sanctified, 
 When in their midst her airy steps would glide. 
 
 And so the star- world, jealous of the power 
 
 Of one who seemed a spirit of the air. 
 
 Circled the beauty of the Indian flower 
 
 With its perfected glory everywhere ; 
 
 Where'er she dwelled, or tripped, the star-beam 
 
 shone. 
 And crowned her presence like a splendid zone. 
 
 And when the worlds of Night reflected far 
 
 The solemn glory of the Inflnite, 
 
 The soft refulgence of this wondrous stni', 
 
THE LOVER STAR. 136 
 
 Paler and purer than another light, 
 
 Would gird the maiden's temples, when in prayer, 
 
 She called on Manitou to guard her there. 
 
 And when in tongues of Hame the camp-tires leapt, 
 
 And all the lurid air was dim and still, 
 
 And the dear winsome maid unconscious slept. 
 
 Its lovely light would fill her slumbers, till 
 
 It cast a radiant smile upon her face, 
 
 Or, with refulgence, glorified the place ! 
 
 And every warrior heard, that when her sire 
 
 Hunted the deer amid the breathless woods, 
 
 He cast his barbed arrows truer, higher, 
 
 Than others tracking the dim solitudes ; 
 
 And so they deemed the star had proved a charm 
 
 To fire his strength, and nerve his stalwart arm. . 
 
 It happened on a feverish Summer's day. 
 
 For blackberries in the wood the maiden roved. 
 
 And in the tangled thicket lost her way ; 
 
 She wept and shrieked for aid to him she loved, 
 
 But only made the booming bittern wake 
 
 An answering echo in the lonely brake. 
 
136 THE LOVER STAR. 
 
 Soon in her eyes a silent horror crept, 
 
 Within the dreary thicket, o'er the ground 
 
 And in her ears the wind's strange murmnrs swept 
 
 Unearthly, hollow cadences around, 
 
 Until the murky midnight, like a pall. 
 
 With noisome vapors, settled over all. 
 
 In vain she called upon the star she loved, 
 And bent a pitiful look towards the sky ; 
 Among the poisonous slime and weeds she roved, 
 With none to pity her, or see her die ; 
 And the wild rain made hissing melody. 
 And dashed with tears each fern and shrub and 
 tree. 
 
 The horrid darkness hid the longing star. 
 That vainly sought to guide her devious way, 
 And where the morning tipped the heavens afar, 
 It seemed the pallid spirit of the day, 
 For the sweet maiden's loveliness would ne'er 
 Endow it with her charm to make it fair. 
 
 And still the troublous star pursues its flight, 
 Its beams less radiant, dimmer than before, 
 
THE LOVER STAR. 137 
 
 Seeking in vain responsive human light, 
 The Indian maiden whom it loved of yore ; 
 And lingers near the world, until it seems 
 An earth-born memory of ethereal gleams. 
 
 And often to the wanderer it will show 
 A wavy and deceptive glimmering spark, 
 Forever deeming that its heavenly glow 
 Will find an answ^er in this void of dark ; 
 And so it roams, until it guides astray 
 Travelers who would seek its treacherous way. 
 
 For when it nears the the vaporous, stagnant earth, 
 Its heaven-born glory fades away in space. 
 And all the worldly mists that throng its path. 
 Infects its journeyings from place to place ; 
 And thus, its fitful and enfeebled light 
 Is just the mocking of a star of night ! 
 
138 THE fisherman's watch. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN'S WATCH. 
 
 The wild sea frets, and fumes, and foams 
 
 Along the dreary shore, 
 Beating the callous granite ledge 
 
 With restless, fitful roar ; 
 The air is filled with scudding spray 
 
 And the ocean's mournful song, 
 And a fisherman sings a careless tune 
 
 As he slowly steps along. 
 
 His hair is white as the crested foam, 
 
 His eyes, like the waves, are blue ; 
 His face is seamed with the storms of life. 
 
 But his heart is blithe and true. 
 He worships God in his honest way, 
 
 And loves the boisterous sea 
 And his two bold sons, whose sturdy hearts, 
 
 Like the tides, are bold and free. 
 
THE fisherman's WATCH. 139 
 
 In their lightsome skiff they brave the storm, 
 
 Beneath the wrathful skies, 
 Or ride the blue, deceitful calm 
 
 Before the storm-clouds rise ; 
 Or gaily stem the dimpled tide 
 
 Of the treacherous, smiling sea, 
 Till the flapping waves seem to laugh aloud 
 
 And echo the young men's glee. 
 
 Those sturdy son's are the fisher's pride. 
 
 Their love, his staff in life. 
 Rich with a sailor's wondrous lore 
 
 Of sea-born danger and strife ; 
 And often around the cheery hearth, 
 
 He spins, in the hush of night. 
 The tale, recounted a thousand times, 
 
 With a new and strange delight. 
 
 And when the sunset fuses the sea 
 
 With magic-tinted rays, 
 And the waves grow sad in the evening light, 
 
 That melts in the shadowy haze. 
 The old man sits on the butted crag 
 
 And watches the solemn sea. 
 
140 THE fisherman's WATCH. 
 
 For the dim approach of his sons' return 
 To hail their boat with glee. 
 
 And oft' he marked the changeful waves 
 
 Remorseless roll and roll, 
 Till they seemed an awful mystery 
 
 That troubled his weary soul : 
 But once he watched — till the darkness shot 
 
 The sea, like a terrible doom, 
 And his anxious eye peered forth in vain 
 
 Thro' the drenching mist and gloom. 
 
 Till the starlight dimmed his pitiful gaze, 
 
 And the morn broke sad and gray, 
 And the ominous sea bore no joyful boat 
 
 On her welcome homeward way ; 
 And with direful fear in his heart he crept 
 
 To his post on the cliff again, 
 But 1 he 'wild' ring waves did not solve his doubts 
 
 As he waited and watched in vain. 
 
 And when the awful truth was known 
 That the skiff had foundered at sea, 
 
THE FISHEKMAN'S WATCH. 141 
 
 With a vacant laugh, the fisherman said, 
 
 "They are coming back to me." 
 And still, when the sundown dimmed the earth, 
 
 He'd look from the callous steep 
 For his sons' return from the shadowy main, 
 
 From the calm, deceitful deep. 
 
 And thro' long days, and weeks, and years 
 
 That marked their course for him. 
 The old man sought the desolate crag. 
 
 And watched till his eyes were dim ; 
 And saddened waves sang their mournful song 
 
 To his heedless ears in vain, 
 That the merry boat with his stalwart sons 
 
 Would never return again. 
 
 Till once — when the sea was lit with smiles 
 
 And in tranquil spirit lay. 
 And the waves rejoiced in the summer calm, 
 
 In the peaceful summer day— 
 A placid smile shown over his lips, 
 
 As with rapturous voice he cried, 
 " I see them now— they have come at last," 
 
 Then seeming to hail them— died. 
 
142 
 
 And still the sea foams and frets, 
 
 And beats the rock-ribbed shore, 
 And sends to Heaven despairing cries, 
 
 Or moans with sullen roar ; 
 And when the dead mists clasp the earth, 
 
 'Tis said, in the gloom and the chill, 
 A vaporing figure peers from the cliff, 
 
 Who waits for his two sons still. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
KEGENERATION. 
 
 145 
 
 REGENERATION. 
 
 {Vide the Proclamation of the President of the United States in the 
 Autumn of 1862.) 
 
 " Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth, 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
 Be through my Hps to unawakened earth 
 The triumph of a prophecy ! O wind, 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?" 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 GAIN the Autumn smites the earth, 
 And dims the Summer's light, 
 And drives the dying leaflets forth, 
 Wasted with damp and blight. 
 
 They fly like cursed thing of ill. 
 Stricken and tempest-tossed, 
 
 And in the ominous gloom and chill 
 Are trodden down and lost. 
 
 Like dim forebodings in the soul, 
 
 A vague mist steals abroad ; 
 10 
 
146 EEGENERATION. 
 
 And, like a muttered anguish, roll 
 The mournful winds of God. 
 
 The sunset skies, so wan and pale. 
 Seem touched with Winter's dearth, 
 
 That creeps within the shuddering gale, 
 Roaming the callous earth. 
 
 But sadder than drear Autumn's song, 
 
 A people's groans and cries 
 Sweep their dull echoings along, 
 
 Far-reachino' to the skies. 
 
 They mourn in darkest doubt and night, 
 
 Great heroes in the dust, 
 And loyalty-stricken in the fight, 
 
 True to its flag and trust. 
 
 And whirling doubts that flit like leaves 
 
 In mazes through the brain. 
 Ask, if the land whose strong heart gi ieves, 
 
 Pours blood and tears in vain. 
 
REGENERATION. 147 
 
 The direful blast, the deadly roar, 
 
 The battle's stormy din. 
 Come from the Nation's inward core. 
 
 Warring with Slavery's sin. 
 
 God works in dread, mysterious ways 
 
 The people's lasting good ; 
 And Freedom's light breaks through the haze 
 
 Above the fields of blood ! 
 
 And o'er the battle's sulphurous cloud 
 
 Exulting hopes go forth, 
 The germs that peep above the shroud 
 
 Of the cold, blood-stained earth. 
 
 The free man's heart beats high and swells 
 
 With pulses of the Spring, 
 When Freedom in the New Year's bells 
 
 In Jubilant tones shall ring. 
 
 Rave, icy winds ! ye cannot drown 
 
 A Nation's joyful strain, 
 When Grod shall hurl Oppression down, 
 
 And sunder Slavery's chain. 
 
148 REGENERATION. 
 
 The Nation quails not ; for the strife 
 
 Shall stir her nobler blood ; 
 From death there springs forth happier life, 
 
 From partial evil, good. 
 
 Whene're she tramples Slavery's ill 
 
 As slime beneath her feet, 
 True Liberty shall nerve her will, 
 
 To make the state complete. 
 
149 
 
 LIGHT OF CANADA'S SAGES. 
 
 Written after the Toronto Judges had decided to return Anderson, the 
 Slave, who had sought the protection of Canada. 
 
 Light of Canada's sages, 
 
 Truth for the hoary wise, 
 
 Wisdom for doubting judges, 
 
 Who read with jaundiced eyes 
 
 An eternal law before them — 
 
 A statute that never can change. 
 
 That holds men free on this ample earth 
 
 Where'er they may chance to range. 
 
 Come from your dusty chambers, 
 Ye who interpret the laws. 
 Unloose the bonds that fetter the heart 
 To slavery's blood-stained cause ; 
 For a people's voice, like a tempest, 
 Shall drown your feeble speech, 
 
150 LIGHT OF Canada's sages. 
 
 The fiat uttered for freedom's sake 
 No judge can ever impeach. 
 
 The clank of the negro's fetters, 
 
 The snap of the brutal thong, 
 
 Shall waken the heart to justice 
 
 For slavery's curse and wrong. 
 
 A freeman claimed your protection ; 
 
 Will you send him back a slave ? 
 
 That a hellish crew may gloat o'er his corse 
 
 Consigned to a felon's grave ! 
 
 Are we part of the pack of bloodhounds 
 
 To track with rifle and knife ? 
 
 To read in statutes a meaning 
 
 To yield up a brother's life ? 
 
 Our life and freedom united, 
 
 Are given by God to defend, 
 
 At every cost and hazard — 
 
 To guard and preserve to the end. 
 
 There are laws in every bosom 
 That can never change or die. 
 As wide as the dome of heaven. 
 
151 
 
 As fixed as the stars on high ; 
 
 A seDse of eternal justice, 
 
 A law of eternal right, 
 
 That shall send forth free the man that is 
 
 wronged 
 By the dust, in the Sages' sight. 
 
152 SONG. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 O darling sister ! pray for me : 
 
 Thy whispered prayers I need, 
 Thy thoughts of angel purity 
 
 On angel tracks shall speed ; 
 And God thy childish voice may hear, 
 
 And from His heavenly throne 
 May scatter hope-like song to cheer 
 
 Sweet lispings like thine own. 
 
 O darling sister ! pray for me : 
 
 Thy prayerful love ascends. 
 And like a seraph's harmony. 
 
 With earth's rude music blends ; 
 The gathering host of groveling cares, 
 
 By thy pure prayers to-day, 
 Have taken passage unawares 
 
 And lied in dreams away. 
 
SONG. 153 
 
 O darling sister ! pray for me : 
 
 God hearkens to each word, 
 And angel wings shall waft to thee 
 
 A melody unheard, — 
 A whisper of the Almighty's care, 
 
 A sweet response from Heaven, 
 An answering tone to every prayer, 
 
 Sincerely, purely given. 
 
154 VIOLETS IN THE CITY. 
 
 VIOLETS IN THE CITY. 
 
 Child of the vernal year, 
 Dear harbingers of radiance and of bloom, 
 Nestling amid the forest's leafy gloom 
 
 Whence sped ye here ? 
 
 A poet's holiest thought 
 Contains no meaning like your petals show ; 
 Soft azured with the azure's tenderest glow, 
 
 With purity unwrought. 
 
 Your stainless loveliness 
 Rebukes the uneasy and tumultuous throng, 
 Who heed not, as they wildly rush along, 
 
 The love your looks express. 
 
 I marvel at your life. 
 Shining where darkest mists enshroud the ways. 
 
VIOLETS IN THE CITY. 155 
 
 Where rapid pass the busy days 
 
 'Mid trade and jarring strife. 
 
 What charms you must possess 
 To bloom near courts, where crime, the child of woe, 
 Crouches and creeps, or wandering to and fro, 
 
 Might dim your loveliness. 
 
 Whence sped your subtle power ? 
 To shine with such sky-dowered constancy, 
 Amid a crowd who lack the time to see 
 
 Perfection in a flower. 
 
 Type of that trust divine. 
 Of hope that waits— of faith that never dies- 
 Living alone amid a myriad eyes 
 
 That have no light for thine. 
 
 Like a strange memory 
 Of giddy raptures when the world was new, 
 When visions sparkled like the morning dew, 
 
 Your fragrance seems to me-: 
 
156 VIOLETS IN THE CITY. 
 
 Or, like empurpled dreams 
 Of shadowy joys that haunt the idle brain, 
 That have no shape, and only flash to wane, 
 
 Your softened beauty seems. 
 
 The valleys cast ye forth ; 
 The mossy nooks where Heaven smiled to see 
 The blue-eyed token of her purity 
 
 Mirrored so near the earth : 
 
 And placed you near our sight, 
 Charming it to reverence — as we gaze 
 On loveliness amid unlovely ways, 
 
 To edge our thoughts with light. 
 
A TRIBUTE. 157 
 
 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 " On Monday, a Queen's messenger brought from Osborne to Windsor 
 three little wreaths and a bouquet. The wreaths were simple chaplets of 
 moss and violets, wreathed by the three elder Princesses — the bouquet of vio- 
 lets, with a white camelia in the centre, was sent by the widowed Queen. 
 Between the heraldic insignia these last tributes from the widow and orphan 
 daughters were laid upon the coffin — mementos of domestic love and worth 
 above all heraldry that ever was emblazoned." — London Times. 
 
 Shine, O Heaven-eyed flowers ! 
 
 To light the darksome gloom 
 From her — the fondest token 
 
 To deck a husband's tomb ; 
 Pure and bright as Heaven, 
 
 Frail and sad as earth, 
 A sacred, loving tribute 
 
 To nobleness of worth. 
 
 Shine, pale, meek-eyed flowers ! 
 In hues like azure skies, 
 
158 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 And glad the blazoned coffin, 
 
 While England mourns and sighs- 
 
 A queen the wreath has woven, 
 In tears, in woe, in gloom, 
 
 And lasting love has twined them 
 To sanctify his tomb. 
 
 Shine, O Heaven-eyed flowers ! 
 
 Above the pomp and show, 
 That mock with garish splendor, 
 
 Trappings of death and woe. 
 Emblem of bloom eternal. 
 
 Ye lie upon the sod. 
 From mortal woe and sorrow, 
 
 To raise our souls to Grod. 
 
A HERO. 159 
 
 A HERO. 
 
 Captain Stoddart, who lost his life in saving lires on the wreck of the 
 
 Anglo Saxon. 
 
 The sea seems hungering for its prey, 
 
 The sky is stark and cold, 
 But duty shirks not danger's way, 
 
 And death can't fright the bold ; 
 The shivering planks are breaking fast, 
 
 The pitiless waves run high, 
 And fate his earthly doom has cast, 
 
 But heroes cannot die. 
 
 The helpless, tenderly he takes. 
 And yields his strength to save, 
 
 And every heart with tremor quakes, 
 But he alone is brave ; 
 
 The ocean's moan — the dead wave's stiife 
 Called him to duty then ; 
 
160 A HERO. 
 
 He only lived to shelter life, 
 A hero among men. 
 
 And woman's eyes with tears are dim, 
 
 And children sob and weep 
 Whenever memory speaks of him, 
 
 The martyr of the deep ; 
 God scatters little natures o'er 
 
 The wide, bleak face of earth, 
 And now and then, for evermore, 
 
 He sends a hero forth. 
 
NOCTE FACENTIA LATE." 1^1 
 
 NOCTE FACENTIA LATE." (Virgil) 
 
 As when upon the face of one, 
 A dying, hectic flush doth bide. 
 
 The fervid radiance of the sun 
 Mantles the heavens far and wide. 
 
 It crowns the expanse with fading glows. 
 
 Dissolving into streaks of grey, 
 It tints the ambient air with rose, 
 
 And lights the landmarks of our way. 
 
 But as the dusky shadows fall, 
 To blur the sunset's rosy bloom, 
 
 Shading the splendor over all 
 
 With gathering dark and deepening gloom, 
 
 The shimmering luster silently 
 Falling, and fading into space 
 
 11 
 
162 
 
 With solemn meaning, tenderly 
 Lighteth a wan and serious face — 
 
 Of one who sitteth in the shade, 
 
 Watching the rays and shadows die, 
 
 Until the black-browed night hath made 
 Its impress on the ashen sky. 
 
 Her life doth seem a little span 
 
 Of transient glooms and broken gleams, 
 For change has made its beauty wan. 
 
 And time has shadowed all her dreams. 
 
 The joys and sorrows of her days, 
 
 Like passing clouds have taken flight ; 
 
 The fretful cares that dimmed her ways. 
 Have melted into shades of night. 
 
 And yet she feels within the air 
 The flutter of some angel wings, 
 
 Touching her brooding thoughts of care 
 With pure and sweet imaginings. 
 
163 
 
 And as the darklier shadows come, 
 
 To blot earth's transient loveliness, 
 And the dim boundary of her home 
 
 Flitteth in gloom and nothingness- 
 She feels the narrow present time 
 
 Is merging to eternity ; 
 And so her night is made sublime 
 
 With hope of immortality. 
 
164 DRIXK. 
 
 drink: 
 
 There's a - ■"" ~ " ~ :'^ :" "le cheerless srreer 
 
 And a -_,--^ _ :_r :i::^i:^h- -r.^:. 
 For a drr^"^-^" ^-- -^ :•— ^:z^ ^:z^ 
 In zhe , - - ■". less there : 
 
 An.i I hef»r ^_^ . r .:ii:less words that 
 Fr: L - rprhs of his heart's despair ; 
 
 'Tis .- i: : i for drinks 
 ForheL lii ik 
 
 Till earth seems to rt-^l ana s^im — 
 TBI his hope in God and his trust in man 
 
 Are lost in his pitiless cries — 
 Till he loathes his life, s.^ ^. '- ' " -"'z\zz ii 
 And aU for the 5..,.- . : __^. 
 
 He crirf z:: : fnl <jr:d- 
 
 He craves : " - - t.ii. 
 
 Bnt shrieks :' 7 _ ^ - ".z is 
 
DRINK. 165 
 
 That echo his tottering tread ; 
 And his fleshless bones clasp the cold, dumb stones 
 That serve for his pillow and bed, 
 For he'll drink J^nd drink 
 Till his eyes are dim — 
 Till his senses ache with pain — 
 For his trust in God and his faith in man 
 
 He'll never on earth regain, 
 While he hates the sight of both day and night 
 For the sake of the demon, drink. 
 
 Has he sipped the cup of a direful doom ? 
 
 Has care made him grovel low ? 
 Has penury cankered his youthful hopes. 
 
 Or darkened their rainbow glow ? 
 Has Heaven deserted this homeless man, 
 Whose words seem the gaspings of woe 1 
 'Tis the poison drink 
 That maddens the brain — 
 That makes his bosom a hell, 
 While the drunkard's gloom, like a fearful doom. 
 
 In his heart and home does dwell. 
 Where fell disease and famine have sped, — 
 And all for the sake of drink. 
 
166 DRINK. 
 
 Raise him from where he crouches and creeps 
 
 On the slime and mud at his feet, — 
 Bear him where blessings shall scatter in night 
 
 The curses his lips would repeat ; 
 Raise him, — but banish the maddening cup, 
 
 The curse of the home and street, 
 And wage a war with the demon drink, 
 
 The tempter to" crime below, 
 That makes a hell of the purest dell. 
 
 Where flowers might bloom and grow,^ — 
 That surely gives birth on this beautiful earth 
 
 To the direst sin and woe. 
 
 Itf 
 
POOR. 167 
 
 POOR. 
 
 Her childish face, tanned by the summer's sun, 
 
 With waves of chestnut hair. 
 
 In circlets wreathed around her brow — 
 
 An artless, timid one. 
 
 Her eyelids drooping low, 
 Came softly to me unaware. 
 
 Her eyes were liquid orbs of light, 
 Brimming with love-rays chastely bright ; 
 
 They seemed to me 
 
 As if enchanting melody. 
 Wafted thro' realms of space 
 
 Had found a home apart 
 From callous air — where rudely toss't, 
 The harmony would surely have been lost, 
 And in their depths had found a resting-place, 
 For every look she gave was music to my heart. 
 
1^« POOR. 
 
 To her the flowers might have bequeathed 
 
 Their garb of beauty in the morn, 
 
 When with the dew-drops wreathed 
 
 And felt the happier for their boon. 
 
 The roaming breeze that stirs the cloud above 
 
 In sultry noon, 
 O surely might have sighed disconsolate for her 
 
 love. 
 
 An air of poverty 
 Clung around this artless child ; 
 Her vestments, homely spun, were coarse and 
 plain : 
 
 She seemed to me 
 A mountain flow' ret wild. 
 Whom nature had made beautiful — a debt she 
 
 owed 
 To the dense forests round the child's domain — 
 
 A cot of maple wood. 
 
 Glide past me, sweet one, with thy airy tread ! 
 
 A calm ethereal sense of happiness 
 Has fallen where thy steps have sped ; 
 The air is resonant with a sweet, sw^eet sound, 
 
POOR. 169 
 
 That, welling from thy guileless heart, 
 
 Reveals a tenderness, 
 And earnest thoughts of good abound 
 
 Within my breast, 
 That of my being are a part, 
 That breathe upon my turbid spirit — rest. 
 
170 WHO CARES ? 
 
 WHO CARES? 
 
 We plod and dream and grieve and sing, 
 And sow and reap and gather tares, 
 
 We hoard what seems a priceless thing — 
 It turns out dross — and no one cares. 
 
 The busy, restless world moves on, 
 Each centered on his own affairs ; 
 
 Men seem to have a heart of stone 
 For those who fail — for no one cares. 
 
 We love — the idol soon grows cold, 
 The dearly prized, Time never spares ; 
 
 The skies are streaked with faded gold. 
 But no one heeds — and no one cares. 
 
 Our purest dreams have something base ; 
 Men's secret motives no one bares ; 
 
WHO CARES « 
 
 171 
 
 With shams they seek preferment's place, 
 But no one heeds— and no one cares. 
 
 And every joy regret dorh pale ; 
 
 Our strong hopes change to wild despair ; 
 Unheard, each pipes his favorite wail, 
 
 But no one heeds — and no one cares. 
 
 Our griefs we hide, our gladness feign ; 
 
 The face of joy, pale sorrow wears. 
 And, like a miser, hoards his pain, 
 
 For no one heeds — and no one cares. 
 
 Beaming and frank, Dishonor stalks 
 And blights pure flowers unawares ; 
 
 Men cringe before him in their walks, 
 And none condemns — for no one cares. 
 
 Men crouch and beg and curse and scoff, 
 And once a week scan various prayers, 
 
 The serious dream, the vacant laugh — 
 But no one heeds— and no one cares. 
 
172 WHO CARES ? 
 
 And Time, relentless, hurries forth, 
 And ruthless Death unheeding bears, 
 
 And hides our memories in the earth; 
 The world wags on — and no one cares. 
 
ADA. 173 
 
 ADA. 
 
 When the purple skies of evening 
 
 Cast their shadows on the ground, 
 And the solemn air of twilight 
 
 Pregnant seems with mj^stic sound ; 
 Childlike Ada, sad and thoughtful, 
 
 With her dusky eyes bent down, 
 By the window-ledge sits dreaming 
 
 Sunny visions all her own. 
 
 Shadows flit across her chamber, 
 
 Hover lightly on the wall, 
 Till they tremble at her presence, 
 
 And then vanish one and all ; 
 While around her rose-lips playing, 
 
 Lightly w^ander with her dreams. 
 Placid smiles of souMit sweetness, 
 
 Softer than the twilight gleams. 
 
 Myriads pass her where she sitteth, 
 Murm' rings fill the dreamy air 
 
174 ADA. 
 
 But she heeds no sound nor footfall, 
 For her thoughts are otherwhere ; 
 
 And the prelude of far music, 
 Wafted from the Angels' home, 
 
 Mingles with her twilight visions, 
 Speedeth where her fancies roam. 
 
 But when the twilight sinks and dieth, 
 
 And stars throb in Heaven's deep. 
 And the shroud of night in falling 
 
 Wraps the earth in death-like sleep, 
 Ada's dreamings are unfolded, 
 
 And with God's own seraph throng, 
 Angel Ada lives the visions 
 
 That on earth she dreamt so long. 
 
 And whene'er the twilight hastens, 
 
 Lulling weariness to calm. 
 Stealing through my earth-born musings 
 
 Like a Mandragora balm, 
 Childlike Ada, thoughtful, dreamy, 
 
 With her dusky eyes bent down. 
 From her home amid the seraphs. 
 
 Tints each vision with her own. 
 
ONLY A PLANK. 
 
 175 
 
 ONLY A PLANK. 
 
 Only a plank between us, 
 
 Between the steamer and land ; 
 
 And a farewell word is spoken 
 
 In the grasp of each outstretched hand. 
 
 A din of trade around as, 
 
 And the noise of the dusty street, 
 And a buzz of numerous voices 
 
 And the rush of numerous feet. 
 
 And the river Hows beneath us. 
 And the whistle moans aloud, 
 
 And the vaporous steam that rolls along 
 Seems a passing mist or cloud. 
 
 And the plank that was between us, 
 Is silently moved away, 
 
176 ONLY A PLANK. 
 
 And the restless river bears them on, 
 While lingering near, we stay. 
 
 Our parting looks are blessings, 
 That God may guard them well ; 
 
 But when and where we shall meet again 
 None but God can tell. 
 
 The fervid glow of the sunset 
 
 Has softly faded away. 
 And shadows seem to cling and fall 
 
 Upon our earthly way. 
 
 Uncertain glimmerings on the heart, 
 
 And a sense of mystery, 
 That every path is vague and dim 
 
 Upon life's treacherous sea ; 
 
 That doubts and fears assail us. 
 
 And darkness and dismay ; 
 And the plank between the Now and Ever 
 
 May soon be moved away. 
 
ONLY A PLANK. 177 
 
 Only a plank that severs 
 Our dearest hopes and fears, 
 
 And the present passing from us, 
 And the unknown future years. 
 
 And still we linger beside it, 
 And dear friends come and go ; 
 
 And the restless river of life flows on 
 To a land no mortal may know. 
 
 12 
 
178 LOST. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 A bird warbled forth in the summer air, 
 
 And its accents floated everywhere, 
 
 Till a poet caught the wandering strain, 
 And sung it in verse to the world in vain. 
 
 A maiden carolled a human song, 
 
 And the summer zephyrs bore it along 
 
 To her lover's heart, where it died away. 
 For he would not heed the beautiful lay. 
 
 A rose had scattered its breath around, 
 A summer sweet without voice or sound ; 
 
 But a child once plucked it, in all its pride. 
 And the fainting flower withered and died. 
 
 For who can repeat the song of the bird ? 
 
 And hearts may be dead to the tuneful word ; 
 
 And the sweetest charm of a summer's day, 
 From our yearning hearts may be reft away. 
 
SONG. 179 
 
 SONG. 
 
 O we're a jolly, faithful band 
 
 Of comrades true and tried. 
 Who've cruised by many a rocky strand 
 
 And stemmed the storm and tide. 
 Our hearts are staunch, our spirits bold, 
 
 We've toiled with main and might, 
 And never bartered Faith for Gold 
 
 But clung to Truth and Right. 
 
 O'er many a sea we swept along 
 
 Within the self-same boat, 
 And in the face of tempests strong 
 
 We ever made it float ; 
 For one fixed purpose swayed our oars, 
 
 And so we cleaved our way, 
 Until we reached the welcome shores 
 
 Of proud success to-day. 
 
180 SONG. 
 
 Deceit has never bowed the head 
 
 In search of honors vain ; 
 We never fawned to earn our bread, 
 
 Nor cringed our souls for gain. 
 Ill luck has never chilled our blood 
 
 Nor quenched Hope's ruddy light, 
 But we have toiled for future good 
 
 With all our manhood's might. 
 
 And this is why we laugh at care 
 
 And live a blissful life. 
 For naught can e'er our strength impart, 
 
 Nor in our hearts sow strife. 
 Then, comrades, let us pledge once more, 
 
 Uniting heart and hand, 
 So that our fame may live in lore. 
 
 May echo through the land. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF LADY MONTEFIORE. 181 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF LADY MONTE- 
 FIORE. 
 
 " The pious in their death are called living." 
 
 Dear as a mother's earliest words of love 
 
 Blessing the chequered lapse of shaded years, 
 
 So lives thy memory in Israel's heart. 
 
 The sacredness of grief doth hush and plaint, 
 
 A mist of tears doth check love's utterance — 
 
 The reverential of all thy creed. 
 
 Thou canst not die, thy goodness lives on earth, 
 
 As thy immortal spirit dwells in Heaven : 
 
 For as God blessed thee, so thy life brought blessings. 
 
 O cherished mother of an outcast race. 
 
 Yet favored children of the Almighty's love ; 
 
 Fond helpmate of a true-born, loyal Knight, 
 
 Loyal to God and holy works of love. 
 
 And to the purest, noblest charity. 
 
 For thou wert one with him, his deeds were thine : 
 
182 TO THE MEMORY OF LADY MONTEFIORE. 
 
 The peril and the glory thoii didst share. 
 
 Truest of friends and wisest counselor, 
 
 Dearest of friends and sweetest comforter, 
 
 Cheering the knightly pilgrim, as he trod 
 
 The dusky pathway to Moriah's mount; 
 
 And Siloah's brook and Zion's sacred hill, 
 
 Where mouldering monuments can't hide the dust 
 
 The mighty hopes of Judah's destinies — 
 
 Not to erect a toppling dynasty. 
 
 Nor empire dread, reeking ways of blood, 
 
 Instead to give the outcast Jew a home. 
 
 And scatter bounty, as God scatters winds 
 
 In spring, to swell the quickened buds with life. 
 
 If aught can crown his days with greater joy. 
 
 Than highest effort blessed with rich fruition, 
 
 Or thick warm memories of grateful hearts, 
 
 Or wide-world homage of a thankful race. 
 
 Or the pure pearl of Knighthood, England's dower, 
 
 'Tis the glad thought that a twin-kindred soul. 
 
 Given by God to sanctify his life, 
 
 With woman's gentleness and purity, 
 
 Was still his fairest, sweetest gift on earth ; 
 
 So now when God with truest, infinite love. 
 
 Has taken thee from earthly eyes. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF LADY MONTEFIORE. 183 
 
 And made thy life below complete on high, 
 The memory of thy days, so rich in good, 
 Thy deeds not blazoned forth in golden words, 
 But traced in brightness by the Almighty's hand. 
 Shall calm the anguish of his widowed heart, 
 And free our human grief from dross of tears, 
 And elevate with spiritual thought, our minds, 
 And touch us with a tenderness and love, 
 Imbuing all our hearts to live like thee ; 
 So that the lesser compass of our lives, 
 And narrower scope of all our dreams and aims, 
 May borrow a faint loveliness from thine. 
 
184 MERCHANDISE. 
 
 MERCHANDISE. 
 
 She moves with a swan-like tread, elate, 
 
 A woman of beautiful mien, 
 And low at her feet, where she rules in state, 
 
 A host of lovers is seen. 
 Where they sue and kneel and patiently wait 
 
 For a smile from the peerless queen. 
 
 Her braided hair forms a diadem. 
 
 Yellow as sheaves of corn. 
 Woven with many a glimmering gem, 
 
 Whose light is as cold as her scorn ; 
 When her lovers would kiss her garment's hem 
 
 And she sends them away forlorn. 
 
 There are smiles and frowns in her beautiful eyes, 
 
 Changeful as April days ; 
 Her words are meaningless melodies. 
 
MERCHANDISE. 185 
 
 Whose sweetness never stays ; 
 And there's soft deceit in her low replies 
 To her lovers' vacuous praise. 
 
 The glittering spars of the frozen North, 
 
 Which no sun can ever warm, 
 Appear in her looks when she wanders forth 
 
 To dazzle and lure — and charm, 
 Or when she assumes a glance of wrath 
 
 In her pitiless smile, so calm. 
 
 Her father owns ships and cargoes of gold, 
 And he lives for the world and gain, 
 
 His firm, his wine and his heart are old, 
 And he's king in his narrow domain. 
 
 Where Fashion and Pride, burnished and cold 
 In formal magnificence reign. 
 
 But the richest treasure he owns of all. 
 
 As proud as an eastern queen, 
 Is the glittering Jewel the dealers call 
 
 A woman of beautiful mien ; 
 When low at her feet her lovers fall 
 
 Enslaved by her smile serene. 
 
MERCHANDISE. 
 
 And numerous lovers throng the mart 
 
 Where the sale of this beauty takes place; 
 
 The first is poor with a passionate heart, 
 Another of noble race, 
 
 A third is a fop who dressed with art, 
 With a vapid, vacuous face. 
 
 But the generous one whose bid is high, 
 
 A monstrous sum to repeat. 
 Is a padded shape with a fishy eye, 
 
 Bedecked from his head to his feet ; 
 Whose whiskers are curled with exquisite dye, 
 
 Whose lisp is foreign and sweet. 
 
 His wrinkled face and his crabbed heart, 
 
 And his slow, unsteady gait. 
 He tries to hide with his wonderful art, 
 
 When he simpers and smiles elate 
 On the queen he buys in the marriage mart, 
 
 Where she rules his soul in state. 
 
 There's a blaze of light in the festive halls, 
 A glitter of dazzling charms. 
 
MERCHANDISE. 187 
 
 A flowing of lace and a flutter of shawls 
 
 O'er a thousand dimpled arras, 
 And a whirl of mazy music that falls 
 
 O'er the flowers' exotic bloom. 
 
 And hosts of numerous satin-clad feet 
 
 To the sensuous music glide, 
 And voices low are whispering sweet 
 
 The name of the beautiful bride, 
 Which the hollow night-winds seem to repeat 
 
 In a mocking tone outside ! 
 
 
188 ESTHER. 
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Rolling through the tide of ages, 
 
 Through dark shadowy waves of years, 
 Linked with names of prophet-sages. 
 Rings a name through history's pages. 
 Sweet as music to our ears. 
 
 Clad in radiance, like her spirit, 
 Loveliest, 'mid a lovely host, 
 
 Pure as heaven she hoped to merit, 
 
 Came this maiden to inherit 
 
 Queenly power, that Yashti lost. 
 
 Loyal and true, her noble nature. 
 
 Kept the secret of her race ; 
 While her faith in God did teach her, 
 That his endless love would reach her. 
 
 Evermore, in every place. 
 
ESTHER. 
 
 189 
 
 And when thunder clouds did lower, 
 O'er the land of Perse and Mede, 
 
 So that Haman's direful power 
 
 In a dark revengeful hour, 
 
 Swore destruction to her creed : 
 
 And when doleful cries were ringing. 
 
 Through the cities far and wide, 
 Esther's love and faith were bringing 
 Hopes, that to her spirit clinging, 
 Made her turn to God, her guide. 
 
 And her pleasures from her casting, 
 
 With her maids she knelt in prayer. 
 And lor three long days, they, fasting, 
 Called on God the Everlasting 
 To protect her people there. 
 
 Trembling then, and lowly-heaited 
 Favors from the King she sought. 
 And her kindred's wrongs imparted 
 Till her supplications thwarted 
 All the evils Haman brought. 
 
190 ESTHER. 
 
 Therefore, is her sweet name dearer 
 
 As the dim years hurry by, 
 To our hearts and homes brought nearer, 
 As our future brightens clearer, 
 
 And old troubles fade and die. 
 
 Through the ages dim and hoary. 
 Through long-suffering, dreary years. 
 
 Sweeter than a poet's story. 
 
 Crowned with more than martyr's glory, 
 Esther's name a star appears. 
 
 And our trust in God shall arm us, 
 
 With a strength like hers of yore; 
 Then no Amalik's son shall harm us, 
 While her name still lives to charm us, 
 In its beauty evermore. 
 
A WELCOME. 191 
 
 A WELCOME. 
 
 (Dedicated to Her Majesty's i6th Regiment, on their arrival at Montreal, 
 when war with America seemed imminent.) 
 
 Resound, O Land ! with gladness, 
 
 And cast off care and sadness, 
 As we welcome every brave and joyful voice ; 
 
 And shout hurrah ! and meet them. 
 
 With three-times three and greet them 
 Till the frosty air with echoes shall rejoice. 
 
 They come to take their station, 
 
 Without a preparation. 
 To protect us and guard the land we love ; 
 
 To face the chills around us, 
 
 Or foes who may surround us. 
 And with hand and heart their fealty prove. 
 
 Ready for march when wanted. 
 To meet their death undaunted, 
 
192 A WELCOME. 
 
 And to shield us, or to head us in the fight ; 
 
 To bear the flag of glory, 
 
 Renowned in song and story. 
 That shall ever triumph in the cause of Right. 
 
 Thank God the shadow round us, 
 
 Did warn but not confound us. 
 Till it vanished like a thunder-cloud in heaven ; 
 
 But should the azure darken, 
 
 We' re ready then to hearken 
 And obey our country's call whene'er 'tis given. 
 
 Tho' peace and war be near us. 
 The soldier's tramp shall cheer us 
 And with strength in trial, every heart shall busy ; 
 O bless them as we greet them. 
 And with true welcome meet them, 
 Till the air of winter echoes with our joy. 
 
SHADOWS IN THE CITY. 
 
 193 
 
 SHADOWS IN THE CITY. 
 
 Numerous echoes flood the air 
 And dreamily hold their sway, 
 
 And a dim, pale radiance marks the trail, 
 The ebb of receding day. 
 
 The lull of human clamor, 
 
 Surcrease of toil and care, 
 Soften to mellow music 
 
 The din in the frosty air. 
 
 The wreaths of smoke uneasily curl 
 
 Amid the hills around, 
 White as the cloudy track of snow 
 
 Upon the wintry ground. 
 
 And earth-bound shadows floating 
 
 Sink and cross our way. 
 Like gloomy memories scattered 
 
 From the slowly fading day. 
 
 But far in the wide horizon, 
 A light of amber and gold, 
 
194 SHADOWS IN THE CITY. 
 
 A banner of heavenly splendor 
 To the vision is unrolled. 
 
 Until the ethereal radiance, 
 
 Drifting along the sky, 
 Is dimly blent with gauzy clouds. 
 
 Or faintly pales to die. 
 
 A chastened, waning light above, 
 
 A shadowy calm below ; 
 While the weary throng with silent tramp, 
 
 Like shadows, come and go. 
 
 For sun may gild and cloud may dim 
 
 Our human range of sky. 
 And yet in twilight hues they merge, 
 
 In twilight calm they die. 
 
 Until the star-robed night descends, 
 And, with a soft and mute caress. 
 
 Winds her arms o'er the sorrowing earth 
 With a mother's tenderness. 
 
 Making the evening's hush complete, 
 And the drowsy murmurs cease, 
 
 So that we thank our God for gloom 
 That brings us rest and peace. 
 
FALSE. 196 
 
 FALSE. 
 
 She stands by her lonely window 
 
 And the maze of her golden hair 
 Is streaming, like gleams in the darkness 
 
 That closely encircles her there — 
 And the stars seem upbraiding her sadly, 
 
 As they gaze on the snowy breast, 
 That heaves with an inward struggle 
 
 With a vague and wild unrest. 
 
 She plighted her troth ; she's broken it ; 
 
 Her deep vows are sundered fore'er ; 
 The darkness shall harbor her secret, 
 
 Her love that is scattered in air ; 
 She has bowed to the golden idol ; 
 
 A puppet is hers to adore, 
 A simpering creature of fashion 
 
 To cherish and love evermore. 
 
 The breeze with a rippling murmur, 
 Sends music to sweeten the night, 
 
196 FALSE, 
 
 The flowers are charmed in their slumbers, 
 And dream of the morn's golden light ; 
 
 While she hears but a gingling clamor 
 Of waltzes and polkas, — a din 
 
 That echoes the strife in her bosom, 
 And wakes the regretting within. 
 
 Again she seems whirled in the ball-room, 
 
 'Mid its gaudy glitter and light, 
 And her life looks as false as its tinsel. 
 
 And dark as the fathomless night : 
 And cold are the dread stars above her 
 
 As they gaze on that bosom of snow ! 
 And colder the night winds around her, 
 
 Made chill with dark hints of her woe. 
 
 Oh,^enter thy lonely future, 
 
 With a heart that is callous and cold. 
 And pass through a show of existence. 
 
 Surrounded with glare and with gold ; 
 The poet may gather the sunshine. 
 
 And fold to his breast fairer flowers. 
 But the falseness of life makes the shadows 
 
 That brings man his care-laden hours. 
 
FLOWERS. 197 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 When the Almighty's hand would bring 
 
 Bright hues of Heaven ni^h to earth, 
 He spoke, and lo ! the Dawn beheld 
 
 The miracle of the flowers' birth ! 
 And so His myriad tinted rays 
 
 Decked their frail forms with varied dress. 
 Until the world, like sunset skies, 
 
 Glowed with their light of loveliness. 
 
 Grateful they seemed to gaze above, 
 
 While every passing breath of air 
 Stirred them, until from out their hearts 
 
 Came fragrant incense, like a prayer ; 
 And when at night the inconstant moon. 
 
 Made every petal bright, 
 The dewdrops glistening on their leaves 
 
 Seemed like pure tearlets of delight. 
 
198 FLOWERS. 
 
 And so I've watched their opening buds 
 
 Expanding sacred tints like Heaven, 
 Or bathed with sunset's virgin gold, 
 
 Their dainty lids half-closed at even ; 
 Until I never knew a flower 
 
 That did not seem with pretty wile 
 Striving to keep me in its power, 
 
 As if to charm me with its smile. 
 
L' ENVOI. 199 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Leave me, O ye fancies, 
 And wander where ye will. 
 
 And my hopes shall make the music 
 In the lingering echoes still. 
 
 The now may hold no promise, 
 The past is dim and vain. 
 
 But every thought that haunts me 
 Will shape itself again. 
 
 In garb more fair and comely. 
 
 In colors lovelier far, 
 When all God's truths are clearer, 
 
 And my visions loftier are. 
 
 When a noble purpose guides me 
 Along life's mazy road, 
 
200 L' ENVOI. 
 
 And its lessons bring me nearer 
 To the wondrous ways of God. 
 
 When the pulses of my being 
 Throb with fires, more pure and true, 
 
 And life takes grander meanings 
 From the promised land in view. 
 
 For we all stand on Mount Pisgah, 
 And Hope is pointing there 
 
 To a world of glorious promise, 
 To an ideal, wondrous fair. 
 
 And tho' eyes weep with watching, 
 And hearts are aching still. 
 
 Our visions make life's music. 
 Let them wander where they will. 
 

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