LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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 IMTF.D STATFS OF AMERICA. 
 
THE 
 
 MISTRESS OF THE MANSE 
 
THE 
 
 MISTRESS OF THE MANSE 
 
 A POEM 
 
 jror HOLLAND 
 
 DlC 21 183 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 743 AND 745 Broadway 
 
 i88i 
 
T- 
 
 Copyright by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO. 
 
 1867 
 
 Copyright by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Trow's 
 
 Printing and Bookbinding Company 
 
 201-213 East Twelfth Street 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prelude i 
 
 Love's Experiments, 6 
 
 Selim and Nourmahal, 60 
 
 Love's Philosophies, 80 
 
 Love's Consummations, 124 
 
THE 
 
 MISTRESS OF THE MANSE. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 In all the crowded Universe 
 
 There is but one stupendous Word ; 
 
 And huge and rough, or trimmed and terse, 
 
 Its fragments build and undergird 
 
 The songs and stories we rehearse. 
 
 All forms that human language tries. 
 All phrases of the books and schools, 
 And all the words of great and wise 
 Are weak attempts, or clumsy tools. 
 To speak the Word that speech defies. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 That Word, ineffable to man, 
 
 Though whispered through a thousand years, 
 
 Or thundered in the fiery van 
 
 Of all the myriad-wheeling spheres. 
 
 Remains unvoiced since time began. 
 
 There is no tree that rears its crest. 
 No fern or flower that cleaves the sod. 
 Nor bird that sings above its nest. 
 But tries to speak this Word of God, 
 And dies when it has done its best. 
 
 Like marble in the mountain mine. 
 White at its heart as on its face. 
 We chip its crystals, nor divine 
 The forms of majesty and grace 
 That wait within the central shrine ! 
 
The Mistress of the JSIanse. 
 
 And this Great Word, all words above, 
 Including, yet defying all — 
 Soft as the crooning of a dove, 
 And strong as the Archangel's call — 
 Means only this — means only Love ! 
 
 It represents Creation's whole, — 
 All space, all worlds, all living things : 
 And Love endows them with a soul, — 
 The bright Shechinah, throned in wings 
 Behind the Temple's Sacred Scroll I 
 
 The love of home and native land. 
 The love that springs in son and sire, 
 And that which welds the heart and hand 
 Of man and maiden in its fire, 
 Are signs by which we understand 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 The love whose passion shook The Cross ; 
 And all those loves that, deep and broad, 
 Make princely gain of piteous loss, 
 Reveal the love that lives in God 
 As in a blood-illumined gloss. 
 
 n. 
 
 Mayhap the humble tale I tell 
 Of the great passion which absorbs 
 The gentle hearts that round me dwell, 
 And wings the world, and holds the orbs, 
 And strews the skies with asphodel. 
 
 Will yield some letters of the Word 
 Which still unspoken must remain ; 
 And bear to bosoms, swelled and stirred. 
 Some meanings of the tender pain 
 Which they have neither seen nor heard- 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 My Philip, bred in Northern dimes, 
 Preached the great Word I strive to sing; 
 And in the grand and golden times — 
 Aflame with love — he went to bring 
 His Mildred — subject of my rhymes — 
 
 From her far home on Southern plains ; 
 And what they shared of bale and bliss, 
 And what their losses, what their gains, 
 The loving eye that readeth this 
 May gather, if it take the pains. 
 
LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS. 
 
 The group of ladies at the gate 
 Dissolved, and tripped in haste away ; 
 And then, with backward tilting freight, 
 The old stage coach, in dusty gray. 
 Stopped ; and the pastor and his mate 
 
 Stepped forth, and passed the waiting door, 
 And closed it on the gazing street. 
 *'Oh, Philip!" She could say no more; 
 *' Oh, Mildred ! You're at home, my sweet,- 
 The old life closed : the new before ! " 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " Dinah, the mistress ! " And the maid, 
 
 Grown motherly with household care 
 
 And loving service, and arrayed 
 
 In homely neatness, took the pair 
 
 Of small gloved hands held out, and paid 
 
 Her low obeisance; then — "this way!" 
 And when she brought her forth at last, 
 To him who grudged the long delay. 
 He found the soil of travel cast, 
 And Mildred fresh and fair as May. 
 
 II. 
 
 '' This is our little Manse," he said ; 
 " Now look with both your curious eyes 
 Around, beneath, and overhead, 
 And, seeing all things, realize 
 That they are ours, and we are wed ! 
 
8 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 *' Walk through these freshly garnished rooms- 
 Thcse halls of oak and tinted pearl ; 
 And mark the cups of clover-blooms, 
 Cut fresh, to greet the stranger-girl. 
 By those whose courtesy illumes 
 
 ''The house beyond the grace of flowers! 
 They greet you, mantled by my name, 
 And rain their tenderness in showers ; 
 Responding to the double claim 
 Of love no longer mine, but ours. 
 
 '' This is our parlor, plain and sweet : 
 Your hands shall make it half divine. 
 That wide, old-fashioned window-seat, 
 Beneath your touch shall grow a shrine ; 
 And every nooklet and retreat, 
 
The Mistress of the Mafise. 
 
 " And every barren ledge and shelf, 
 Shall wear a charm beyond the boon 
 Of treasure-bearing drift, or delf. 
 Or dreams that flutter from the moon ; 
 For it shall blossom with yourself. 
 
 ''This is my study: here, alone, 
 Prayerful to Him whom I adore, 
 And gathering speech to make him known, 
 Your far, quick footsteps on the floor, 
 Your breezy robe, your cheerful tone, 
 
 ''As through our pretty home you speed 
 
 The busy ministries of life. 
 
 Shall stir me swifter than my creed. 
 
 And be more musical, dear wife. 
 
 Than sweep of harp, or pipe of reed. 
 I* 
 
10 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 '' Here is our fairy banquet hall! 
 
 See how it opens to the East, 
 
 And looks through elms ! The board is small, 
 
 But what it bears shall be a feast 
 
 At morn, at noon, and evenfall. 
 
 *' There will you sit in girlish grace, 
 And catch the sunrise in your hair ; 
 And looking at you, from my place, 
 I shall behold more sweet and fair. 
 The morning, in your smiling face ! 
 
 " And guests shall come, and guests shall go. 
 And break with us our daily bread ; 
 And sometime — sometime — do you know ? 
 I hope that — dearest, lift your head. 
 And let me speak it, soft and low 1 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. ii 
 
 "The grass is sweeter than the ground: 
 Can love be finer than its flowers ? 
 Oh, sometime — sometime — in the round 
 Of coming years, this board of ours 
 I hope may blossom and abound 
 
 " With shining curls, and laughing eyes, 
 And pleasant jests and merry words, 
 And questions full of life's surprise, 
 And light and music, when the birds 
 Have left us to our gloomy skies. 
 
 — " Now mount with me the old oak stair ! 
 This is your chamber — pink and blue ! 
 They asked the color of your hair, 
 And draped and fitted all for you. 
 My fine brunette, with tasteful care. 
 
12 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " The linen is as white as snow ; 
 The flowers are set on every sconce ; 
 And e'en the cushioned pin-heads show 
 Your formal " welcome " for the nonce, 
 To the sweet home their hands bestow. 
 
 " Declining to the river's marge, 
 See, from this window, how the turf 
 Runs with a thousand flowers in charge 
 To meet the silver feet of surf 
 That fly from every passing barge! 
 
 *' Along that reach of liquid light 
 Flies Commerce with her countless keels 
 There the chained Titan in his might 
 Turns slowly round the groaning wheels 
 That drag her burdens, day and night. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 13 
 
 " And now the red sun flings his kiss 
 Across its waves from finger-tips 
 That pause, and grudgingly dismiss 
 The one he loves to closer lips, 
 And Moonlight's quiet hour of bliss. 
 
 "And here comes Dinah with the steam, 
 
 Of evening cups and evening food, 
 
 And burning berries quenched with cream, 
 
 And ministry of homely good 
 
 That proves, my dear, we do not dream." 
 
 III. 
 
 He heard the long-drawn organ-peal 
 
 Within his chapel call to prayer ; 
 
 And, answering with ready zeal. 
 
 He breathed o'er Mildred's weary chair 
 
 These words, and sealed them with a seal : 
 
14 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " Only a little hour I take ; — 
 But know that I am wholly yours, 
 And that a thousand bosoms ache 
 To tell you, that while life endures, 
 You shall be cherished for my sake. 
 
 " So throw your heart's door open wide, 
 
 And take in mine as well as me ; 
 
 Let no poor creature be denied 
 
 The grace of tender courtesy 
 
 And kindness from the pastor's bride." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The moon came up the summer sky : 
 '' Oh, happy moon ! " the lady said ; 
 '-'■ Men love thee for thyself, but I 
 Am loved because my life is wed 
 To one whose message, pure and high, 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 15 
 
 " Has spread the world's evangel far, 
 
 And thrown such radiance through the dark 
 
 That men behold him as a star, 
 
 And in his gracious coming mark 
 
 How beautiful his footsteps are. 
 
 *' Oh, Moon ! dost thou take all thy light 
 From the great sun so lately gone ? 
 Are there not shapes upon thy white, 
 That mould and make his sheen thy own, 
 And charms that soften to the sight 
 
 " The ardor of his blinding blaze ? 
 Who loves thee that thou art the sun's? 
 Who does not give thee sweetest praise 
 Among the troop of shining ones 
 That sweep along the heavenly ways ? 
 
1 6 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " Yet still within the holy place 
 
 The altar sanctifies the gift ! 
 
 Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace ! 
 
 Oh, towering altar ! that doth lift 
 
 The gift so high, that, in its face, 
 
 *' It bears no beauty to the thought 
 Of those who round the altar stand ! 
 Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught 
 From willing heart and ready hand, 
 And wins no favor unbesought! 
 
 "The stars are whiter for the blue; 
 The sky is deeper for the stars ; 
 They give and take in commerce true, 
 And lend their beauty to the cars 
 Of downy dusk, that all night through 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. IJ 
 
 ** Sweep o'er the void on silver wheels ; 
 Yet neither starry sky nor cloud 
 Is loved the less that it reveals 
 A beauty all its own, endowed 
 By all the wealth its beauty steals. 
 
 " Am I a dew-drop in a rose, 
 With no significance apart ? 
 Must I but sparkle in repose 
 Close to its folded, fragrant heart, 
 Its peerless beauty to disclose ? 
 
 *^ Would I not toil to win his bread, 
 Or give him all I have to give ? 
 Would I not die in his sweet stead, 
 And die in joy ? But I must live ; 
 And, living, I must still be fed 
 
1 8 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " On love that comes in love's own right. 
 They must not pet or pamper me — 
 These who rejoice beneath his light — 
 Or pity him, that I can be 
 So precious in his princely sight." 
 
 With swiftest wings, through heart and brain, 
 
 The little hour unheeded flew ; 
 
 And when, behind the blazoned stain 
 
 Of saintly vestures, red and blue, 
 
 The lights on rose and window-pane 
 
 Within the chapel slowly died, 
 And figures muffled by the moon 
 Went shuffling home on either side — 
 One seeking her— she said : ^' How soon ! 
 And the glad pastor kissed his bride. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse, 19 
 
 The bright night brightened into dawn ; 
 The shadows down the mountain passed ; 
 And tree and shrub and sloping lawn, 
 With bending, beaded beauty glassed 
 In myriad suns the sun that shone ! 
 
 The robin fed her nested young ; 
 The swallows bickered 'neath the eaves ; 
 The hang-bird in her hammock swung. 
 And, tilting high among the leaves. 
 Her red mate sang alone, or flung 
 
 The dew-drops on her lifted head ; 
 While on the grasses, white and far, 
 The tents of fairy hosts were spread 
 That, scared before the morning star, 
 Had left their reeking camp, and fled. 
 
20 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 The pigeon preened his opal breast ; 
 And o'er the meads the boboHnk, 
 With vexed perplexity confessed 
 His tinkling gutturals in a kink, 
 Or giggled round his secret nest. 
 
 With dizzy wings and dainty craft, 
 
 In green and gold, the humming-bird 
 
 Dashed here and there, and touched and quaffed 
 
 The honey-dew, then flashed and whirred. 
 
 And vanished like the feathered shaft 
 
 That glitters from a random bow. 
 The flies were buzzing in the sun, 
 The bees were busy in the snow 
 Of lilies, and the spider spun. 
 And waited for his prey below. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 21 
 
 With sail aloft and sail adown, 
 
 And motion neither slow nor swift, 
 
 With dark-brown hull and shadow brown, 
 
 Half-way between two skies adrift, 
 
 The barque went dreaming toward the town. 
 
 'Twas Sunday in the silent street, 
 And Sunday in the silent sky. 
 The peace of God came down to meet 
 The throng that laid their labor by. 
 And rested weary hands and feet. 
 
 Ah, sweet the scene which caught the glance 
 Of eyes that with the morning woke. 
 And, from their window in the manse. 
 Looked up through sprays of elm and oak 
 Into the sky's serene expanse, 
 
22 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 And off upon the distant wood, 
 And down into the garden's close, 
 And over, where his chapel stood 
 In ivy, reaching to its rose, 
 Waiting the Sunday multitude! 
 
 VI. 
 
 A red rose in her raven hair 
 
 Whose curls were held by plait and braid, 
 
 The bride swept down the oaken stair. 
 
 And mantled like a bashful maid. 
 
 As, seated in the waiting chair, 
 
 Behind the fragrant urn, she poured 
 The nectar of the morn's repast ; 
 But fairer lady, fonder lord. 
 In happier hall ne'er broke their fast 
 With sweeter bread, at prouder board. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 23 
 
 And then they rose with common will, 
 
 And sought the parlor, cool and dim. 
 
 *'Sing, love!" he said. ^'The birds grow still, 
 
 And wait with me to hear your hymn." 
 
 She swept a low, preluding thrill — 
 
 A spray of sound — across the keys 
 That felt her lingers for the first ; 
 And then, from simplest cadences, 
 A reverent melody she nursed, 
 And gave it voice in words like these 
 
 *' From full forgetfulness of pain. 
 From joy to opening joy again. 
 With bird and flower, and hill and tree, 
 We lift our eyes and hands to thee. 
 To greet thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
24 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 ^' That thou dost bathe our souls anew 
 With bahn of light and heavenly dew, 
 And smilest in our upward eyes 
 From the far blue of smiling skies, 
 We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
 " For human love and love divine. 
 For love of ours and love of thine, 
 For heaven on earth and heaven above — 
 To thee and us twin homes of love — 
 We thank thee. Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
 *' O dove-like wings, so wide unfurled 
 In brooding calm above the world ! 
 Waft us your holy peace, and raise 
 The incense of our morning praise 
 Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 25 
 
 VII. 
 
 Full fleetly sped the morning hours ; 
 
 Then, wide upon the country round 
 
 A tumult of melodious powers 
 
 In tumult of melodious sound 
 
 Burst forth from all the village towers. 
 
 With blow on blow, and tone on tone, 
 And echoes answering everywhere — 
 Like bugles from the mountains blown — 
 Each sought to whelm the burdened air, 
 And make the silence all its own. 
 
 In broad, sonorous, silver swells 
 
 The air was billowed like the sea ; 
 
 And listening ears were listening shells 
 
 That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy, 
 
 And sang it with the singing bells. 
 2 
 
26 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The billows heaved, the billows broke, 
 The first wild burst went down amain ; 
 The music fell to slower stroke, 
 And in a rhythmic, bold refrain 
 The great bells to each other spoke. 
 
 Oh, bravely bronze gave forth his word, 
 And sharply silver made reply, 
 And every tower and turret stirred 
 With sounding breath and converse high, 
 Or paused with waiting ear and heard. 
 
 And long they talked, as friend to friend ; 
 
 Then faltered to their closing toll, 
 
 Whose long, monotonous repetend, 
 
 From every music-burdened bowl 
 
 Poured the last drop, and brought the end ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 27 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The chapel's chime fell slow and soft 
 And throngs slow-marching to its knoll 
 From village home and distant croft, 
 With careful feet and reverent soul 
 Pressed toward the open door, but oft 
 
 Turned curious and expectant eyes 
 Upon the Manse that stood apart. 
 There in her quiet, bridal guise 
 Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart ; 
 While Philip, bold and over-wise, 
 
 And knowing naught of woman's ways, 
 Smiled at her fears, and could not guess 
 How one so armored in his praise. 
 And strong in native loveliness. 
 Could dread to meet his people's gaze. 
 
28 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 He could not know her fine alarm 
 When at his manly side she stood, 
 And, leaning faintly on his arm — 
 A dainty slip of womanhood — 
 Walked forth where every girlish charm 
 
 Was scanned with prying gaze and glance. 
 Among the slowly moving crowd 
 That, greedy of the precious chance, 
 Read furtively, but half aloud, 
 The pages of their new romance. 
 
 ** A child ! " And Mildred caught the word. 
 "A plaything!" And another voice : 
 " Fine feathers, and a Southern bird ! " 
 And still one more : ''A parson's choice!" 
 And trembling Mildred overheard. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 29 
 
 These from the careless or the dull — 
 These from the gossips and the dolts — 
 And though her quickened ear might cull 
 From out their whispered thunderbolts 
 A *' lovely!" and a ''beautiful! " 
 
 And though sweet mother-faces smiled, 
 And bows were given with friendly grace, 
 And many a pleasant little child 
 Sought sympathy within her face. 
 Her aching heart was not beguiled. 
 
 She did not see — she only felt — 
 
 As up the staring aisle she walked — 
 
 The critic glances, coldly dealt 
 
 By those who looked, and bent, and talked 
 
 And, even, when at last she knelt 
 
30 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Alone within the pastor's pew, 
 And prayed for self-forgetfulness 
 With deep humility, she knew 
 She gave her figure and her dress 
 To careful eyes with closer view. 
 
 IX. 
 
 At length she raised her head, and tossed 
 A burden from her heart and brain. 
 She would have love at any cost 
 Of weary toil and patient pain, 
 Of rightful ease and pleasure lost! 
 
 They could not love her for his sake ; 
 They would not, and her heart forgave. 
 Why should a woman stoop to take 
 The poor endowment of a slave. 
 And, like a menial, choose to make 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 31 
 
 Her master's mantle half her own ? 
 
 They loved her least who loved him most ! 
 
 They envied her her little throne ! 
 
 He who was cherished by a host 
 
 Was hers by gift, and hers alone ; 
 
 And she would prove her woman's right 
 To hold the throne to which the king 
 Had called her, clothing her with white ; 
 And never would she show her ring 
 To win a loving proselyte ! 
 
 These were the thoughts and this the strife 
 
 That through her kindling spirit swept, 
 
 And wrought her purposes of life ; 
 
 While powers that waked and powers that slept 
 
 Within the sweet and girlish wife, 
 
32 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 Sprang into energy intense, 
 
 At touch of an inspiring chrism 
 
 That fell on her, she knew not whence. 
 
 And lifted her to heroism 
 
 Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense. 
 
 X. 
 
 Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space 
 
 The organ sent its angels out ; 
 
 And up and down the holy place 
 
 They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt, 
 
 And touched each worn and weary face 
 
 With beauty as their wings went by : 
 Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep, 
 And, calling heavenward every eye, 
 Evanished into silence deep — 
 The earth forgotten in the sky ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 33 
 
 Then by the sunlight warmly kissed, 
 Far up, in rainbow glory set. 
 Rayed round with gold and amethyst, 
 She saw upon the great rosette 
 The Saviour's visage, pale and trist. 
 
 "Oh, Crown of Thorns!" she softly breathed; 
 *' Oh, precious crown of love divine! 
 Oh, brow with trickling life enwreathed ! 
 Oh, piercing thorns and crimson sign! 
 I hold you mine in love bequeathed. 
 
 •'* But not for sake of these or thee ! 
 
 I must win love as thou hast won. 
 
 The thorns are mine, and all must see. 
 
 In sacrifice, and service done. 
 
 The loving Lord they love in me." 
 2* 
 
34 The Mistress of tJie ]\Ianse. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then, through a large and golden hour 
 She listened to the golden speech 
 Of one who held the priceless dower 
 Of love and eloquence, that reach 
 And move the hearts of men with power. 
 
 Ah ! poor the music of the choir 
 
 That voiced the Psalter after him ! 
 
 And strong the prayer that, touched with fire. 
 
 Flamed upward, past the seraphim. 
 
 And wrapped the throne of his desire ! 
 
 She watched and heard as in a dream, 
 When, in the old, familiar ground 
 Of sacred 'truth, he found his theme. 
 And led it forth, until it wound 
 Through meadows broad — a swollen stream 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 35 
 
 That flashed and eddied in the light, 
 And fed the grasses at its edge, 
 Or thundered in its onward might 
 O'er interposing weir and ledge, 
 And left them hidden in the white ; 
 
 Then pressing onward to the eye, 
 
 Grew broader, till its breadth became 
 
 A solemn river, sweeping by, 
 
 That, quick with ships and red with flame, 
 
 Reached far away and kissed the sky ! 
 
 Strong men were moved as trees are bowed 
 Before a swift and sounding wind ; 
 And sighs were long and sobs were loud, 
 From loving saints and those who sinned, 
 Among the deeply listening crowd. 
 
36 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And Mildred, in the whelming tide 
 Of thought and feeling, quite forgot 
 That he who thus had magnified 
 His office, held a common lot 
 With her, and owned her as his bride. 
 
 But when, at length, the thought returned 
 That she was his in plighted truth, 
 And she with humbled soul discerned 
 That, though her youth was given to youth, 
 And love by love was fairly earned, 
 
 She could not match him, wing-and-wing, 
 Through all his broad and lofty range, 
 And thought what passing years might bring- 
 No change for good, but only change 
 That would degrade her to a thing 
 
T]ie Mistress of the Manse. 37 
 
 Of homely use and household care, 
 And love by duty basely kept — 
 She bowed her head upon the bare 
 Cold rail that hid her face, and wept. 
 And poured her passion in a prayer. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 *' Oh, Father, Father!" thus she prayed: 
 *' Thou know'st the priceless boon I seek! 
 Before my life, abashed, dismayed, 
 I stand, with hopeless hands and weak. 
 Of him and of myself afraid ! 
 
 ** Teach me and lead me where to find, 
 Beyond the touch of hand and lip. 
 That vital charm of heart and mind 
 Which, in a true companionship. 
 My feebler life to his shall bind 1 
 
38 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 '' His ladder leans upon the sun ; 
 I cannot climb it : give me wings ! 
 Grant that my deeds, divinely done, 
 May be appraised divinest things, 
 Though they be little, every one. 
 
 " His stride is strong; his steps arc high 
 May not my deeds be little stairs 
 That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh. 
 Till at the summit, unawares. 
 We stand with equal foot and eye ? 
 
 '^ If further down toward Nature's heart 
 His root is struck, commanding springs 
 In whose deep life I have no part. 
 Send me, on recompensing wings, 
 The rain that gathers where thou art ! 
 
Tlie Mistress of the Manse. 39 
 
 " Oh, give mc vision to divine 
 
 What he with delving hand explores ! 
 
 Feed mc with flame that shall refme 
 
 To finest gold the rugged ores 
 
 His strong hands gather from the mine ! 
 
 *' So, dearest Father, shall no sloth, 
 Or weakness of my weaker soul. 
 Delay him in his kingly growth, 
 Or hold him meanly from the goal 
 That shines with guerdon for us both." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then all arose as if a spell 
 
 Had been dissolved for their release, 
 
 The while the benediction fell 
 
 Which breathed the gentle Master's peace 
 
 On all the souls that loved him well. 
 
40 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 And Philip, coming from his place, 
 Like Moses from the mountain pyre, 
 Bore on his brow the shining grace 
 Of one who, in the cloud and fire, 
 Had met his Maker, face to face. 
 
 And men and women, young and old, 
 Pressed up to meet him as he came, 
 And children, by their love made bold, 
 Grasped both his hands and spoke his name. 
 And in their simple language told 
 
 Their joy to see his face once more ; 
 While half in pleasure, half in pain, 
 His bride stood waiting at her door 
 The passage of the friendly train 
 That slowly swept the crowded floor. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 41 
 
 Half-bows were tendered and returned ; 
 And welcomes fell from lips and eyes ; 
 But in her heart she meekly spurned 
 The love that came in love's disguise 
 Of sympathy — the love unearned. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then out beneath the noon-day sun 
 Of the old Temple, cool and dim, 
 She walked beside her chosen one, 
 And lost her loneliness in him ; 
 But hardly was her walk begun 
 
 When, straight before her in the street, 
 With tender shock her eye descried 
 A little child, with naked feet 
 And scanty dress, that, hollow-eyed, 
 Looked up and begged for bread to eat. 
 
42 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Nor haughty pride nor dainty spleen 
 Felt with her heart the sickening shock. 
 She took the hand so soiled and lean ; 
 And silken robe and ragged frock 
 Moved side bv side across the srreen. 
 
 She looked for love, and, low and wild, 
 She found it — looking, too, for love ! 
 So in each other's eyes they smiled. 
 As, dark brown hand in snowy glove, 
 The bride led home the hungry child. 
 
 And men and women in amaze 
 
 Paused in their homeward steps to see 
 
 The bride retreating from their gaze. 
 
 Clasped hand in hand with misery; 
 
 Then brushed their eves, and went their wavs. 
 
The Mistress of the Ma use. 43 
 
 When the long p.uloy Kniuil a rlosi\ 
 And. i-K\in .uul konipl, iho liitlo oaf - 
 nislnu\lonc».l of hor wants and woos. 
 And loaded with hor whoaion loat" - 
 WctU forth to miiustor to those 
 
 Who sent hor im her hitter unest. 
 
 The bride stood snuhni; at her door, 
 
 Aiul in her happiness eonlessed 
 
 That she had fonnd a Irienil : nay, nu>ro — 
 
 Had entertained a heavenly guest. 
 
 And as she watehed her down the street. 
 Her brow grown bright with svnun- thought. 
 Her heart o'ertilled with something sweet, 
 She knew the vagrant child had brought 
 The blessing oi the raraclcto. 
 
44 ^/'^ Mistress of the u^ fa use. 
 
 She turned from out the bla/inj; noon, 
 And sought her clianil)er's quiet shade, 
 Like one who liad reeeivcd a boon 
 She might not show, but which essayed 
 l^xpression in a happy croon. 
 
 And then, outleaping from the mesh 
 Of Memory's net, hke bird or bee, 
 There tlnilled her sj)irit and lier flesh 
 This old iialf-song, lialf-rhapsody, 
 That sang, or said itself, afresh : 
 
 Poor little wafer of silver ! 
 
 More precious to me than its cost ! 
 
 It was worn of both image and legend, 
 
 But priceless because it was lost. 
 
 My chamber I carefully swept ; 
 
 I hunted, and wondered, and wept ; 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 45 
 
 And I found it at last with a cry : 
 Oh, dear httle treasure ! said I ; 
 And I washed it with tears all the day : 
 Then I kissed it, and put it away. 
 
 " Poor little lamb of the sheepfold ! 
 Unlovely and feeble it grew ; 
 But it wandered away to the mountains, 
 And was fairer the further it flew. 
 I followed with hurrying feet 
 At the call of its pitiful bleat. 
 And precious, with wonderful charms, 
 I caught it at last in my arms. 
 And bore it far back to its keep. 
 And kissed it and put it to sleep. 
 
 ''Poor little vagrant from Heaven! 
 It wandered away from the fold. 
 And its weakness and danger endowed it 
 With value more precious than gold. 
 
46 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Oh, happy the day when it came, 
 
 And my heart learned its beautiful name ! 
 
 Oh, happy the hour when I fed 
 
 This waif of the angels with bread ! 
 
 And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed 
 
 Was sheltered and nourished and kissed ! " 
 
 XVII. 
 To Phihp, Mildred was a child, 
 Or a fair angel, to be kept 
 From all things earthly undefiled, — 
 Who on his loving bosom slept, 
 And only waked to be beguiled 
 
 From loneliness and homely care 
 By love's unfailing ministry. 
 No toil of his was she to share. 
 No burden hers, that should not be 
 Left for his stronger hands to bear. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 47 
 
 His love enwrapped her as a robe, 
 Which seemed, by its supernal charm, 
 To shield from every poisoned probe 
 Of earthly pain and earthly harm 
 This one choice creature of the globe. 
 
 The love he bore her lifted him 
 Into a bright, sweet atmosphere 
 That filled with beauty to the brim 
 The world beneath him, far and near. 
 And stained the clouds that draped its rim. 
 
 Toil was not toil, except in name ; 
 
 Care was not care, but only means 
 
 To feed with holy oil the flame 
 
 That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes 
 
 Through which her figure went and came. 
 
48 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Her smile of welcome was his meed ; 
 Her presence was his great reward ; 
 He questioned sadly if, indeed, 
 He loved more loyally his Lord, 
 Or if his Lord felt greater need. 
 
 And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood. 
 Knew all his love, but might not tell 
 How in his thought, so large and good. 
 And in his heart, there did not dwell 
 The measure of her womanhood. 
 
 She knew the girlish charm would fade ; 
 She knew the rapture would abate ; 
 That years would follow when the maid, 
 Merged in the matron, and sedate 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 49 
 
 Of a great nature, would become 
 As poor and pitiful a thing 
 As an old idol, and as dumb, — 
 A clog upon an upward wing, — 
 A value stricken from the sum 
 
 Which a true woman's hand would raise 
 To mighty numbers, and endow 
 With kingly power and crowning praise. 
 vShe must be mate of his ; but how ? 
 And, dreaming of a thousand ways 
 
 Her hands would work, her feet would tread, 
 
 She thought to match him as a man ! 
 
 His books should be her daily bread ; 
 
 She would run swiftly where he ran, 
 
 And follow closely where he led. 
 3 
 
50 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Since time began, the perfect day 
 Has robbed the morrow of its wealth, 
 And squandered, in its lavish sway, 
 The balm and beauty of the stealth. 
 And left its golden throne in gray. 
 
 So when the Sunday light declined, 
 
 A cold wind sprang and shut the flowers 
 
 Then vagrant voices, undefined, 
 
 Grew louder through the evening hours. 
 
 Till the old chimney howled and whined 
 
 As if it were a frightened beast. 
 That witnessed from its dizzy post 
 The loathsome forms and grewsome feast 
 And hideous mirth of ghoul and ghost, 
 As on they crowded from the East. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 51 
 
 The willow, gathered into sheaves 
 
 Of scorpions by spectral arms, 
 
 Swung to and fro, and whipped the eaves, 
 
 And filled the house with weird alarms 
 
 That hissed from all its tortured leaves. 
 
 And in the midnight came the rain ; — 
 
 In spiteful needles at the first ; 
 
 But soon on roof and window-pane 
 
 The slowly gathered fury burst 
 
 In floods that came, and came again, 
 
 And poured their roaring burden out. 
 
 They swept along the sounding street. 
 
 Then paused, and then with shriek and shout 
 
 Hurtled as if a myriad feet 
 
 Had joined the dread and deafening rout. 
 
52 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 But ere the welcome morning broke, 
 The loud wind fell, though gray and chill 
 The drizzling rain and drifting smoke 
 Drove slowly toward the westward hill, 
 Half hidden in its phantom cloak. 
 
 i 
 And through the mist a clumsy smack, 
 Deep loaded with her clumsy freight. 
 With shifting boom and frequent tack, 
 Like a huge ghost that wandered late, 
 Reeled by upon her devious track. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 So Mildred, with prophetic ken, 
 Saw in the long and rainy day 
 The dreaded host of friendly men 
 And friendly women, kept away. 
 And time for love, and book, and pen. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 53 
 
 But while she looked, with dreaming eyes 
 And heart content, upon the scene. 
 She saw a stalwart man arise 
 Where the wild water lashed the green, 
 And pause a breath, to signalize 
 
 Some one beyond her stinted view ; 
 Then turn with hurried feet, and straight 
 The deep, rain-burdened grasses through, 
 And through the manse's open gate, 
 Pass to her door. At once she knew 
 
 That some faint soul, in sad extreme, 
 Had sent for succor to the manse. 
 And knew its master would redeem 
 To sacred use the circumstance 
 That made such havoc of her scheme. 
 
54 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 XX. 
 
 She saw the quiet men depart, 
 She saw them leave the river-side, 
 She saw them brave with sturdy art 
 The surges of the angry tide, 
 And disappear ; the while her heart 
 
 Sank down in dismal loneliness. 
 
 Then came her vexing thoughts again ; 
 
 And quick, as if she broke duress 
 
 Of heavy weariness or pain. 
 
 She sought the study's dim recess, 
 
 Where rank on rank, against the wall. 
 The mighty men of every land 
 Stood mutely waiting for the call 
 Of him who, with his single hand, 
 Had bravely met and mastered all. 
 
TJie Mistress of tJie Manse. 55 
 
 The gray old monarclis of the pen 
 
 Looked down with cahn, benignant gaze, 
 
 And Augustine and Origen 
 
 And Ansel justified the ways — 
 
 The wondrous ways — of God with men. 
 
 Among the tall hierophants 
 Angelical Aquinas stood ; 
 While Witsius held the '' Covenants," 
 And Irena^us, wise and good, 
 Couched low his silver-bearded lance 
 
 For strife with heresy and schism, 
 And Turretin with lordly nod 
 Gave system to the dogmatism 
 That analyzed the thought of God 
 As light is painted by a prism. 
 
56 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Great Luther, with his great disputes. 
 And Calvin, with his finished scheme, 
 And Charnock, with his " Attributes/* 
 And Taylor with his poet's dream 
 Of theologic flowers and flutes, 
 
 And Thomas Fuller, old and quaint. 
 And Cudworth, dry with dust of gold. 
 And South, the sharp and witty saint, 
 With Howe and Owen — broad and bold — 
 And Leighton still without the taint 
 
 Of earth upon his robe of white, 
 
 Stood side by side with Hobbes and Locke, 
 
 And — braced by many an acolyte — 
 
 With Edwards standing on his rock, 
 
 And all New England's men of might. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. S7 
 
 Whose gifts and offices divine 
 Had crowned her with a kingly crown, 
 And solemn doctors from the Rhine, 
 With Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, down 
 Through all the long and stately line! 
 
 As Mildred saw the awful host, 
 
 She felt within no motive stir 
 
 To realize her girlish boast, 
 
 And knew they held no more for her 
 
 Than if each volume were a ghost. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 She sat in Philip's vacant chair. 
 And pondered long her doubtful way 
 And, in her impotent despair, 
 Lifted her longing eyes to pray. 
 When on a shelf, far up and bare. 
 
58 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She saw an ancient volume lie ; 
 And straight her rising thought was checked. 
 What were its dubious treasures ? Why- 
 Had it been banished from respect, 
 And from its owner's hand and eye ? 
 
 The more she gazed, the stronger grew 
 The wish to hold it in her hand. 
 Strange fancies round the volume flew, 
 And changed the dust their pinions fanned 
 To atmospheres of red and blue, 
 
 That blent in purple aureole, — 
 As if a lymph of sweetest life 
 Stood warm within a golden bowl, 
 Crowned with its odor-cloud, and rife 
 With strength and solace for her soul ! 
 
The Mistress of the Mmise. 59 
 
 And there it lay beyond her arm, 
 And wrought its fine and wondrous spell, 
 With all its hoard of good or harm. 
 Till curious Mildred, struggling well, 
 Surrendered to the mighty charm : 
 
 The steps were scaled for boon or bale. 
 The book was lifted from its place, 
 And, bowing to the fragrant grail. 
 She drank with pleased and eager face 
 This draught from off an Eastern tale : 
 
SELIM AND NOURMAHAL. 
 
 Selim, the haughty Jehangir, the Conquerer of the 
 
 Earth, 
 With royal pomps and pageantries and rites of festal 
 
 mirth 
 Was set to celebrate the day — the white day — of his 
 
 birth. 
 
 His red pavilions, stretching wide, crowned all with 
 globes of gold, 
 
 And tipped with pinnacles of fir^ and streamers mani- 
 fold. 
 
 Flamed with such splendor that the sun at noon 
 looked pale and cold ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 6 1 
 
 And right and left, along the plain, far as the eye 
 
 could gaze, 
 His nobles and retainers who were tented in the 
 
 blaze, 
 Kept revel high in honor of that day of all the 
 
 days. 
 
 The earth was spread, the walls were hung, with 
 
 silken fabrics fine, 
 And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broid- 
 
 ered sign 
 Of jewels plucked from land and sea, and red gold 
 
 from the mine. 
 
 Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the 
 gems 
 
 That strewed his tapestries like stars, and tipped 
 their tawny hems, 
 
 And glittered with the glory of a hundred dia- 
 dems. 
 
62 The Mistress of tJie Manse, 
 
 He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron- 
 plumes 
 
 His nobles wore upon their brows, while, from the 
 rosy glooms 
 
 Which hid his harem, came low songs, on wings of 
 rare perfumes ! 
 
 The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his 
 
 dreaming eye. 
 Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast 
 
 and thigh, 
 And a hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had 
 
 thundered by. 
 
 He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power 
 
 and fame ; 
 But all his glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous 
 
 name — 
 Swept into air, and scattered far, by one consuming 
 
 flame ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. G^i 
 
 For on that day of all the days, and in that festal 
 hour, 
 
 He sickened with his glory and grew weary of his 
 power, 
 
 And pined to bind upon his breast his harem's choi- 
 cest flower. 
 
 '• Oh Nourmahal ! oh Nourmahal ! why sit I here," he 
 
 cried, — 
 *• The victim of these gaudy shows, and of my haughty 
 
 pride, 
 When thou art dearer to my soul than all the world 
 
 beside ! 
 
 " Thy eyes are brighter than the gems piled round 
 
 my gilded seat ; 
 Thy cheeks are softer than the silks that shimmer at 
 
 my feet, 
 And purer heart than thine in woman's breast hath 
 
 never beat ! 
 
64 The Mistress of tJie Manse. 
 
 *' My first love — and my only love — Oh babe of Can- 
 
 dahar ! 
 Torn from my boyish arms at first, and, like a silver 
 
 star 
 Shining within another heaven, and worshipped from 
 
 afar, 
 
 " Thou art my own at last, my own ! I pine to see 
 
 thy face ; 
 Come to me, Nourmahal ! Oh come, and hallow Avith 
 
 thy grace 
 The glories that. without thy love are meaningless and 
 
 base ! " 
 
 He spoke a word, and, quick as light, before him, 
 
 lying prone 
 A dark-eyed page, with gilded vest and crimson-belted 
 
 zone. 
 Looked up with waiting ear to mark the message from 
 
 the throne. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 6$ 
 
 "Go summon No urmahal, my queen; and when her 
 
 radiance comes, 
 Bear my command of silence to the vinas and the 
 
 drums, 
 And for your guerdon take your choice of all these 
 
 gilded crumbs." 
 
 He tossed a handful of the gems down where his 
 
 minion lay. 
 Who snatched a jewel from the drifts and swiftly sped 
 
 away 
 With his command to Nourmahal, who waited to 
 
 obey. 
 
 But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the 
 
 crowd, 
 For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand 
 
 heads were bowed, 
 And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one 
 
 spoke aloud. 
 
66 The Mistress of the Mci?ise. 
 
 As comes the moon from out the sea with her attend- 
 ant breeze, 
 
 As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in 
 the trees, 
 
 So Nourmahal to Selim came : then fell upon her 
 knees ! 
 
 The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric 
 
 stare, 
 The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew lustreless and 
 
 bare, 
 And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her 
 
 hair. 
 
 And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty 
 
 strange and wild. 
 And held her breast with both her palms and looked 
 
 on him and smiled. 
 She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's 
 
 child. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. 6^ 
 
 He bent to her as thus she smiled ; he kissed her 
 
 lifted cheek ; 
 " Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, *' more dear 
 
 than I can speak, 
 I'm weary of my lonely life : give me the rest I 
 
 seek." 
 
 She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad ca- 
 price, 
 
 Then paused, and from the Empress changed to im- 
 provisatrice. 
 
 And wove this song — a golden chain — that led him 
 into peace : 
 
 '* Lovely children of the light, 
 
 Draped in radiant locks and pinions, — 
 Red and purple, blue and white 
 In their beautiful dominions. 
 On the earth and in the spheres, 
 Dwell the little silendoveers. 
 
68 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 " And the red can know no change, 
 And the blue are bkie forever, 
 And the yellow wings may range 
 Toward the white or purple never. 
 But they mingle free from strife, 
 For their color is their life. 
 
 *' When their color dies, they die, — 
 Blent with earth or ether slowly — 
 Leaving where their spirits lie, 
 Not a stain, so pure and holy 
 Is the essence and the thought 
 Which their fading brings to naught ! 
 
 '' Each contented with the hue 
 Which indues his wings of beauty. 
 Red or yellow, white or blue. 
 Sings the measure of his duty 
 Through the summer clouds in peace, 
 And delights that never cease. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 6g 
 
 • Not with envy love they more 
 Locks and pinions purple-tinted, 
 Nor with jealousy adore 
 Those whose pleasures are unstinted 
 And whose purple hair and wdngs 
 Give them place with queens and kings. 
 
 When a purple glendoveer 
 Flits along the mute expanses, 
 They surround him, far and near, 
 With their glancing wings and dances. 
 And do honor to the hue 
 Loved by all and worn by few. 
 
 In the days long gone, alas ! 
 Two upon a cloud, low-seated. 
 Saw their pinions in the glass 
 Of a silver lake repeated. 
 One was blue and one was red, 
 And the lovely pair were wed. 
 
yo The Mistress of tJic JSTansc, 
 
 *' ' Purple wings arc very fine,' 
 Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently : 
 'Ay,' said Sapphire, 'they're divine I '— 
 Looking at his l)hic intently. 
 * lUit to wish foi change is vain,' 
 Ruby said : ' We'll not complain.* 
 
 *' Sapphire stretched l)is loxing arms. 
 And she nestk-d on his bosom, 
 While his heart inhaled lur cliarms 
 As the sense inhales a blossom ; — 
 Drank her wholly, tint and tone, 
 lilcnt her being with his own. 
 
 " Rapture passed, they raised their eyes, 
 J')Ut were startled into clamor 
 Of a marvellous surprise ! 
 \Vas it color ! was it glamour I 
 l'uri)le-tinted, sweet and warm, 
 Was each wing and folded form ! 
 
Tlic Mistress of I he Manse. 7^ 
 
 '■'■ Who l):i(l wrought it — how it came — 
 These were wliat the twiiin (lisi)uted. 
 How were niinKl'^'^ smoke and (lame 
 Into royal hue transmuted ? 
 Each was right, and eacli was wrong; 
 Ikit their quarrel was not long, 
 
 *' l''or the moment tliat their sjjeech 
 Differed o'er tl)eir htlle story, 
 Swiftly faded off from each 
 ]-:very trace of purple glory ; 
 Blue was bluer th;in before, 
 And the red was red once more 
 
 *' Then they knew that both were wrong, 
 And in sympathy of sorrow 
 Learned that each was only strong 
 In the power to lend and borrow,— 
 That the purple never grew 
 But by grace of red to blue. 
 
TJie Mistress of the ]\Tanse. 
 
 *' So, embracing in content, 
 
 Hearts and wings again united. 
 Red and blue in purple blent, 
 And their holy troth replighted. 
 Both, as happy as the day, 
 Kissed, and rose, and flew away ! 
 
 '■'■ And for twice a thousand years, 
 Floating through the radiant ether. 
 Lived the happy glendoveers. 
 Of the other, jealous neither, — 
 Sapphire naught without the red, 
 Ruby still by blue bested. 
 
 *' Then when weary of their life. 
 
 They came down to earth at even — 
 Purple husband, purple wife — 
 From the upper deeps of heaven. 
 And reclined upon the grass, 
 That their little lives might pass. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 73 
 
 *' Wing to wing and arms enwreathed, 
 Sinking from their life's long dreaming 
 Into earth their souls they breathed ; 
 But when morning's light was streaming, 
 All their joys and sweet regrets 
 Bloomed in banks of violets ! " 
 
 As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious 
 
 will, 
 Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a 
 
 thrill, 
 The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is 
 
 still, 
 
 So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive 
 sense ; 
 
 It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through 
 the tents, 
 
 And died at last among the flowery banks of recom- 
 pense ; 
 
74 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her 
 
 riddle well, 
 And watched her from the flushing to the fading of 
 
 the spell. 
 He sprang forgetful from his seat, and caught her as 
 
 she fell. 
 
 He raised her in his tender arms ; he bore her to his 
 
 throne ; 
 ''No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit 
 
 alone ; 
 And the future for the dreary past shall royally 
 
 atone ! " 
 
 He called to him the princes and the nobles of the 
 
 land. 
 Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on 
 
 her hand, 
 And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's 
 
 command. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 75 
 
 And on the minted silver that his largess scattered 
 
 wide, 
 And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim 
 
 died, 
 Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side 
 
 by side. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The opening of the wondrous tome 
 Was like the opening of a door 
 Into a vast and pictured dome, 
 Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, 
 With secrets of her life and home. 
 
 To be like Philip was to be 
 Another Philip — only less ! 
 To win his wit in full degree 
 Would bear to him but nothingness, 
 From one no wiser grown than he ! 
 
7<5 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 It bluo and red !n Hindostan 
 
 At homo woio .ilso rod and Muo. 
 
 Sho lo.unod that woman auvl that man 
 
 Had uo\oi worn ihc royal hue 
 
 Till bUio and rod to^rother ran 
 
 \\\ OkMuplomout ol" oach to oaoh ; 
 
 Sho mii:h( not tint his life at all 
 
 l^ loarning \visdun\ ho couUl toaoh ; 
 
 So N\h;\t she gave, though poor and small, 
 
 Should bo ot that bevond his reach. 
 
 Whoio rhilip iod, sho would not toovl : 
 Where Philip walked, she \vould not go : 
 The books he read she would not loavl. 
 But live her separate life, and, so, 
 Have sole supplies to meet his need. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. TJ 
 
 He held his mission and his range ; 
 His way and work were all his own ; 
 And she would give him in exchange 
 What she could win and she alone, 
 Of life and learning, fresh and strange. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 While thus she sat in musing mood, 
 Determining her life's emprise, 
 The sunlight flushed the distant wood. 
 Then, coming closer, fdled her eyes, 
 And glorified her solitude. 
 
 The clouds were shivered by the lance 
 Sped downward by the morning sun. 
 And from her heart, in swift advance. 
 The shadows vanished, one by one. 
 Till more than sunlight filled the manse. 
 
78 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She closed the volume with a gust 
 That sprcnt the light with powdered gold ; 
 Then placed it high to hide and rust 
 Where, curious and over bold 
 She found it. Iving in its dust. 
 
 Her soul was light, her path was plain ; 
 One shadow only drooped above, — 
 The shadow of a heart and brain 
 So charged with o\erwhehuing lo\ e 
 That it oppressed and gave her pain. 
 
 The modest comb that kept her hair ; 
 To Philip was a golden crown ; 
 And every ringlet was a snare. 
 And every hat, and every gown 
 And slipper, something more than fair. 
 
The Mistress of tJic M\xnst\ 79 
 
 His love \\.\<\ !',lori("u"d hrr i;r.u-o. 
 Ami sho w.is his, aiul \\o\ Ium own, — 
 St> Nvholh- his shi> h.iil no pl.uo 
 Hosiilo him cu\ his loncU thiono, 
 Ox sh.uo in love's iU\ ino iMnhtaic. 
 
 lUit still she saw an^l hcM her plan. 
 Anil tear made was lor sprin>;inv; hope 
 If she v\as man's, then heis was n\an : 
 rH>lh heiil tluMi' c>\\ n in e\ imi si-opc> ; 
 And then and there her lite bei;an. 
 
LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES. 
 
 A WIFE is like an unknown sea ; — 
 
 Least known to him who thinks he knows 
 
 Where all the Shores of Promise be, 
 
 Where lie the Islands of Repose, 
 
 And where the rocks that he must flee. 
 
 Capricious winds, uncertain tides, 
 Drive the young sailor on and on, 
 Till all his charts and all his guides 
 Prove false, and vain conceit is gone, 
 And only docile Love abides. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 8i 
 
 Where lay the shallows of the maid, 
 No plummet-line the wife may sound ; 
 Where round the sunny islands played 
 The pulses of the great profound, 
 Lies low the treacherous everglade. 
 
 And, as he sails, he is, perforce. 
 Discoverer of a strange new world ; 
 And finds, whate'er may be his course, 
 Green lands within white seas impearled, 
 With streams of unsuspected source 
 
 Which feed with gold delicious fruits. 
 
 Kept by unguessed Hesperides, 
 
 Or cool the lips of gentle brutes 
 
 That breed and browse among the trees 
 
 Whose wind-tossed limbs and leaves are lutes. 
 
 A* 
 
S2 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The maiden free, the maiden wed, 
 Can never, never be the same. 
 A new life springs from out the dead. 
 And, with the speaking of a name, 
 A breath upon the marriage-bed. 
 
 She finds herself a something new— 
 (Which he learns later, but no less) ; 
 And good and evil, false and true, 
 May change their features — who can guess ?- 
 Seen close, or from another view. 
 
 For maiden life, with all its fire. 
 Is hid within a grated cell. 
 Where every fancy and desire 
 And graceless passion, guarded well. 
 Sits dumb behind the woven wire. 
 
TJie Mistress of the JSIanse, 83 
 
 • 
 Marriage is freedom : only when 
 
 The husband turns the prison-key 
 
 Knows she herself ; nor even then 
 
 Knows she more wisely well than he 
 
 Who finds himself least wise of men. 
 
 New duties bring new powers to birth, 
 
 And new relations, new surprise 
 
 Of depths of weakness or of worth, 
 
 Until he doubt if her disguise 
 
 Mask more of heaven, or more of earth. 
 
 Tears spring beneath a careless touch ; 
 Endurance hardens with a word ; 
 She holds a trifle with a clutch 
 So strangely, childishly absurd. 
 That he who loves and pardons much 
 
84 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Doubts if her wayward wit be sane, 
 When straight beyond his manly power 
 She stiffens to the awful strain 
 Of some supreme or crucial hour, 
 And stands unblanched in fiercest pain ! 
 
 A jealous thought, a petty pique. 
 Enwraps in gloom, or bursts in storm ; 
 She questions all that love may speak, 
 And weighs its tone, and marks its form. 
 Or yields her frailty to a freak 
 
 That vexes him or breeds disgust; 
 
 Then rises in heroic flame. 
 
 And treads a danger into dust, 
 
 Or puts his doubting soul to shame 
 
 With love unfeigned and perfect trust. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 85 
 
 Still seas unknown the husband sails ; 
 Life-long the lovely marvel lasts ; 
 In golden calms or driving gales, 
 With silent prow or reeling masts, 
 Each hour a fresh surprise unveils. 
 
 The brooding, threatening bank of mist 
 Grows into groups of virid isles, 
 By sea embraced and sunlight kissed. 
 Or breaks into resplendent smiles 
 Of cinnabar and amethyst ! 
 
 No day so bright but scuds may fall. 
 No day so still but winds may blow ; 
 No morn so dismal with the pall 
 Of wintry storm, but stars may glow 
 When evening gathers, over all ! 
 
So The JSIistress of the Manse. 
 
 And so thought Philip, when, in haste 
 Returning- from his lengthened stay — 
 The river and the lawn retraeed — 
 He tound his Mildred blithe and gay. 
 And all his anxious eare a waste. 
 
 To be half vexed that she could thrive 
 Without him through a morning's span, 
 I'pon the honey in her hive. 
 Was but to prove himself a n\an. 
 And show that he was quite ahve ! 
 
 II. 
 
 A svmpathetie word or kiss, 
 (Mildred had insight to diseern.) 
 Though grateful quite, is quite amiss, 
 In leading to the life etern 
 The soul that has no bread in this. 
 
The Mi stress of tJw Mmisc. '$'7 
 
 The present \vat\t must aye be fed, 
 Ami tirst reliev wl the present eare : 
 '* Ciive us this <.la\' our daih' bread" 
 Must be recited in our prayer 
 Before "'foruiNC us" n\a\ be said. 
 
 Anil he who hfts a soul fron\ vice, 
 And leads the way to better lands ; 
 Must part his raiment, share his slice, 
 And ot't with weary, bleeding hands, 
 Pave the long path with sacrifice. 
 
 So on a pleasant summer morn, 
 Wrapped in her motive, sweet and safe, 
 She sought the homes of sin and scorn, 
 And found her little Sunday waif 
 Ragged, and hungry, and forlorn. 
 
88 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She called her quickly to her knee ; 
 And with her came a motley troop 
 Of children, poor and foul as she, 
 Who gathered in a curious group, 
 And ceased their play, to hear and see. 
 
 Tanned brown by all the summer suns. 
 With brutish brows and vacant eyes, 
 They drank her speech and ate her buns, 
 While she behind their sad disguise 
 Beheld her dear Lord's ''little ones." 
 
 She stood like Ruth amid the wheat. 
 With ready hand and sickle keen, 
 And looked on all with aspect sweet ; 
 For where she only thought to glean, 
 She found a harvest round her feet. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 89 
 
 Ah ! little need the tale to write 
 
 Of garments begged from door to door, 
 
 Of needles plying in the night, 
 
 And money gathered from the store 
 
 Alike of screw and Sybarite, 
 
 With which to clothe the little flock. 
 She went like one sent forth of God 
 To loose the bolts of heart and lock, 
 And with the smiting of her rod 
 To call a flood from every rock. 
 
 And little need the tale to tell 
 How, when the Sunday came again, 
 A wondrous change the group befell. 
 And how from every noisome den, 
 Responding to the chapel bell. 
 
go The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 They issued forth with shout and call, 
 And Mildred walking at their head, 
 Who, with her silken parasol, 
 Bannered the army that she led, 
 And with low words commanded all. 
 
 The little army walked through smiles 
 That hung like lamps above their march, 
 And lit their swart and straggling files, 
 While bending elm and plumy larch 
 Shaped into broad cathedral aisles 
 
 The paths that led with devious trend 
 To where the ivied chapel stood. 
 There their long passage found its end. 
 And there they gathered in a brood 
 Of gentle clamor round their friend. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 91 
 
 A score pressed in on either side 
 
 To share the burden of her care, 
 
 And hearts and house gave entrance wide 
 
 To those to whom the words of prayer 
 
 Were stranger than the curse of pride. 
 
 And Mildred who, without a thought 
 Of glory in her week's long task, 
 This marvel of the week had wrought. 
 Had earned the boon she would not ask. 
 And won more love than she had sought. 
 
 III. 
 
 As two who walk through forest aisles, 
 Lit all the way by forest flowers, 
 Divide at morn through twin defiles 
 To meet again in distant hours. 
 With plunder plucked from all the miles, 
 
92 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 So Philip and so Mildred went 
 Into their walks of daily life, — 
 Parting at morn with sweet consent, 
 And — tireless husband, busy wife — 
 Together when the day was spent. 
 
 Bringing the treasures they had won 
 From sundered tracks of enterprise, 
 To learn from each what each had done, 
 And prove each other grown more wise 
 Than when the morning was begun. 
 
 He strengthened her with manly thought 
 And learning, gathered from the great ; 
 And she, whose quicker eye had caught 
 The treasures of the broad estate 
 Of common life and learning, brought 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 93 
 
 Her gleanings from the level field, 
 And gave them gladly to his hands, 
 Who had not dreamed that they could yield 
 Such sheaves, or hold within their bands 
 Such wealth of lovely flowers concealed. 
 
 His grave discourse, his judgment sure, 
 Gave tone and temper to her soul, 
 While her swift thoughts and vision pure, 
 And mirth that would not brook control, 
 And wit that kept him insecure 
 
 Within his dignified repose, 
 Refreshed and quickened him like wine. 
 No tender word or dainty gloze 
 Could give him pleasure half so fine 
 As that which tingled to her blows. 
 
94 ^/''i' ^^fi's/;rss of tJie Mause. 
 
 He gave her food for heart and mind. 
 And raised her toward his higher }ilane ; 
 She showed him that his eyes were bhnd 
 She proved his lofty wisdom vain. 
 And held him humblv with his kind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, blessed sleep ! in whieh exempt 
 From our tired selves long hours we lie 
 Our vapid worthlessness undreamt, 
 And our poor spirits saved thereby 
 Fr^m perishing of self-eontempt ! 
 
 We weary of our petty aims ; 
 We sieken with our seltish deeds ; 
 We shiink and shri\el in the tlames 
 That low desire ignites arid feeds, 
 
The Mistress of the jMaiise. 95 
 
 Oh sweet forgetfulncss of sleep ! 
 Oh bhss, to drop the pride of dress, 
 And all the shams o'er which we weep, 
 And, toward our native nothingness, 
 To drop ten thousand fathoms deep ! 
 
 At morning only— strong, erect — 
 We face our mirrors not ashamed ; 
 For then alone we meet unflecked 
 The image we at evening blamed, 
 And find refreshed our self-respect. 
 
 Ah! little wonderment that those, 
 Who see us most and love us best, 
 Find that a true affection grows 
 More strong and sweet in tone and zest 
 Through frequent partings and repose. 
 
g6 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 Our fruit grows dead in pulp and rind 
 When seen and handled overmuch ; 
 The roses fade, our fingers bind ; 
 And with familiar kiss and touch 
 The graces wither from our kind. 
 
 Man lives on love, at love's expense, 
 And woman, so her love be sweet ; 
 Best honey palls upon the sense 
 When it is tempted to repeat 
 Too oft its fine experience. 
 
 And Mildred, with instinctive skill, 
 And loving neither most nor least, 
 Stood out from Philip's grasping will, 
 And gave, where he desired a feast. 
 The taste that left him hungry still. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 97 
 
 She hid her heart behind a mask, 
 And held him to his manly course ; 
 One hour in love she bade him bask, 
 And then she drove, with playful force, 
 The laggard to his daily task. 
 
 They went their way and kept their care, 
 
 And met again — their toil complete, — 
 
 Like angels on a heavenly stair. 
 
 Or pilgrims in a golden street, 
 
 Grown stronger one, and one more fair! 
 
 V. 
 
 As one worn down by petty pains, 
 
 With fevered head and restless limb, 
 
 Flies from the toil that stings and stains. 
 
 And all the cares that wearied him, 
 
 And some far, silent summit gains ; 
 5 
 
98 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 And in its strong, sweet atmosphere, 
 Or in the bUie, or in the green. 
 Finds his diseomtorts disappear. 
 And loses in the pure serene 
 The garnered hvnnors of a year ; 
 
 And sees not how and knows not when 
 The old vexations leave their seat, 
 So Philip, happiest of men. 
 Saw all his petty cares retreat. 
 And vanish, not to come again. 
 
 Where he had thought to shield and serve. 
 
 Himself had ministry instead ; 
 
 He heard no vexing call to swerve 
 
 From larger toil, for labors sped 
 
 By Mildred's fmer wit and nerve. 
 
llic Mistress of tJic Ma}ist\ 99 
 
 In doft and deferential ways 
 She took the house by silent sieg-e ; 
 And Pinah, warmest in her praise, 
 Giew. unaware, her loyal liege. 
 And served her truly all her days. 
 
 And many a sad and strieken maid, 
 And nu\ny a lorn and widowed lite 
 That came for counsel or for aid 
 To Philip, met the pastor's wit'e, 
 And on her heart their burden laid. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He gave her what she took — her will ; 
 And made it space for life full-orbed. 
 He learned at last that every rill 
 Loses its freshness, when absorbed 
 Bv the gi-cat stream that turns the mill. 
 
100 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 With hand ungrasping for her dower, 
 He found its royal income his ; 
 And every swiftly kindling power — 
 Self-moved in its activities — 
 Becoming brighter every hour. 
 
 The air is sweet which we inspire 
 When it is free to come and go ; 
 And sound of brook and scent of brier 
 Rise freshest where the breezes blow, 
 That feed our breath and fan our fire. 
 
 That love is weak which is too strong 
 A man may be a woman's grave ; 
 The right of love swells oft to wrong, 
 And silken bonds may bind a slave 
 As truly as a leathern thong. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. lOi 
 
 • 
 We may not dine upon the bird 
 
 That fills our home with minstrelsy ; 
 
 The living vine may never gird 
 
 Too firm and close the living tree, 
 
 Without sad sacrifice incurred. 
 
 The crystal goblet that we drain 
 
 Will be fi^rever after dry ; 
 
 But he who sips, and sips again, 
 
 And leaves it to the open sky, 
 
 Will find it filled with dew and rain. 
 
 The lilies burst, the roses blow 
 
 Into divinest balm and bloom, 
 
 When free above and free below; 
 
 And life and love must have large room, 
 
 That life and love may largest grow. 
 
102 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 So Philip learned (what Mildred saw), 
 That love is like a well profound, 
 From which two souls have right to draw, 
 And in whose waters will be drowned 
 The one who takes the other's law. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ambition was an alien word, 
 Which Mildred faintly understood; 
 Its poisoned breathing had not blurred 
 The whiteness of her womanhood. 
 Nor had its blatant trumpet stirred 
 
 To quicker pulse her heart content. 
 In social tasks and home employ. 
 She did not question what it meant ; 
 But bore her woman's lot with joy 
 And sweetness, wheresoe'er she went. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 103 
 
 If ever with unconscious thrill 
 It touched her, in some vagrant dream, 
 She only wished that God would fill 
 With larger tide the goodly stream 
 That flowed beside her, strong and still. 
 
 She knew that love was more than fame, 
 And happy conscience more than love ; — 
 Far off and wild, the wings of flame ! 
 Close by, the pinions of the dove 
 That hovered white above her name! 
 
 She honored Philip as a man, 
 And joyed in his supreme estate ; 
 But never dreamed that under ban 
 She lives who never can be great. 
 Or chieftain of a crowd or clan. 
 
I04 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The public eye was like a knife 
 
 That pierced and plagued her shrinking heart, 
 
 To be a woman, and a wife, 
 
 With privilege to dwell apart. 
 
 And hold unseen her modest life — 
 
 Alike from praise and blame aloof ; 
 And free to live and move in peace 
 Beneath Love's consecrated roof — 
 Was boon so great she could not cease 
 Her thanks for the divine behoof. 
 
 Black turns to rust and blue to blight 
 Beneath the shining of the sun ; 
 And e'en the spotless robe of white, 
 Worn overlong, grows dim and dun 
 Through the strange alchemy of light. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 105 
 
 Nor wife nor maiden, weak or brave, 
 Can stand and face the public stare. 
 And win the plaudits she may crave, 
 And stem the hisses she may dare. 
 And modest truth and beauty save. 
 
 No woman, in her soul, is she 
 Who longs to poise above the roar 
 Of motley multitudes, and be 
 The idol at whose feet they pour 
 The wine of their idolatry. 
 
 Coarse labor makes its doer coarse ; 
 
 Great burdens harden softest hands ; 
 
 A gentle voice grows harsh and hoarse 
 
 That warns and threatens and commands 
 
 Beyond the measure of its force. 
 5* 
 
I06 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 Oh sweet, beyond all speech, to feel 
 Within no answer to the drum, 
 Or echo to the bugle-peal, 
 That calls to duties which benumb 
 In service of the commonweal ! 
 
 Oh sweet to feel, beyond all speech, 
 That most and best of human kind 
 Have leave to live beyond the reach 
 Of toil that tarnishes, and find 
 No tongue but Envy's to impeach ! 
 
 Oh sweet, that most unnoticed deeds 
 
 Give play to fine, heroic blood ! — 
 
 That hid from light, and shut from weeds, 
 
 The rose is fairer in its bud 
 
 Than in the blossom that succeeds ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 107 
 
 He is the helpless slave who must ; 
 And she enfranchised who may sit 
 Unblamed above the din and dust, 
 Where stronger hands and coarser wit 
 Strive equally for crown and crust. 
 
 So ran her thought, and broader yet. 
 Who scanned her own by Philip's pace ; 
 And never did the wife forget 
 Her grateful tribute for the grace 
 That charged her with so sweet a debt. 
 
 Her wifely pride to pity grew. 
 That Philip, by his Lord's behest — 
 To duty and to nature true — 
 Must do his bravest and his best, 
 
Io8 The Mistress of the Ma7ise. 
 
 Through winter's cold and summer's heat, 
 Where all might praise and all might blame, 
 And thus be topic of the street, 
 And see his fair and honest name 
 A football, kicked by careless feet. 
 
 Sho loved her creed, and doubting not 
 She read it well from Nature's scroll. 
 She found no line or word to blot ; 
 But, from her woman's modest soul, 
 Thanked her Creator for her lot. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He who, upon an Alpine peak. 
 Stands, when the sunrise lifts the East, 
 And gilds the crown and lights the cheek 
 Of largest monarch down to least, 
 Of all the summits cold and bleak, 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. 109 
 
 Finds sadly that it brings no boon 
 For all his long and toilsome leagues, 
 And chill at once and weary soon, 
 Rests from his fevers and fatigues, 
 And waits the recompense of noon. 
 
 For then the valleys, near and far, 
 The hillsides, fretted by the vine. 
 The glacier-drift, the torrent-scar 
 Whose restless waters shoot and shine. 
 The silver tarn, that like a star 
 
 Trembles and flames with stress of light, 
 And scattered hamlet and chalet 
 That dot with brown, or paint with white, 
 The landscape quivering in the day. 
 With beauty all his toil requite. 
 
no The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Mountains, from mountain altitudes, 
 
 Are only hills, as bleak and bare ; 
 
 And he whose daring step intrudes 
 
 Upon their grandeur, and the rare 
 
 Cold light or gloom that o'er them broods, 
 
 Finds that with even brow to stand 
 Among the heights that bade him climb. 
 Is loss of all that made them grand. 
 While all of lovely and sublime 
 Looks up to him from lake and land. 
 
 Great men are few, and stand apart ; 
 And seem divinest when remote. 
 From brain to brain, and heart to heart. 
 No thoughts of genial commerce float : 
 Each holds his own exclusive mart. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 1 1 1 
 
 And when we meet them, face to face, 
 And hand to hand their greatness greet, 
 Our steps we wilHngly retrace, 
 And gather humbly at their feet, 
 With those who hve upon their grace. 
 
 And man and woman — mount and vale — 
 Have charms, each from the other seen,— 
 The robe of rose, the coat of mail : 
 The springing turf, the black ravine : 
 The tossing pines, the waving swale : 
 
 Which please the sight with constant joy 
 Thus living, each has power to call 
 The other's thoughts with sweet decoy, 
 And one can rise and one can fall 
 But to distemper or destroy. 
 
112 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The dewy meadow breeds the cloud 
 That rises on ethereal wings, 
 And wraps the mountain in a shroud 
 From which the living lightning springs 
 And torrents pour, that, lithe and loud, 
 
 Leap down in service to the plains. 
 Or feed the fountains at their source ; 
 And only thus the mountain gains 
 The vital fulness of the force 
 That fills the meadow's myriad veins. 
 
 In fair, reciprocal exchange 
 Of good which each appropriates. 
 The meadow and the mountain-range 
 Nourish their beautiful estates ; 
 And lofty wild and lowly grange 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 1 1 3 
 
 Thrive on the commerce thus ordained ; 
 And not a reek ascends the rock, 
 And not a drift of dew is rained, 
 But eyrie-brood or tended flock 
 By the sweet gift is entertained. 
 
 A meadow may be fair and broad, 
 And hold a river in its rest ; 
 Or small, and with the silver gaud 
 Of a lone lakelet on its breast, 
 Or but a patch, that, overawed, 
 
 Clings humbly to the mountain's hem : 
 It matters not : it is the charm 
 That cheers his life, and holds the stem 
 Of every flower that tempts his arm, 
 Or greets his snowy diadem. 
 
1 14 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Dolts talk of largest and of least, 
 And worse than dolts are they who prate 
 Of Beauty captive to the Beast ; 
 For man in woman finds his mate, 
 And thrones her equal at his feast. . 
 
 She matches meekness with his might. 
 And patience with his power to act, — ■ 
 His judgment with her quicker sight ; 
 And wins by subtlety and tact 
 The battles he can only fight. 
 
 And she who strives to take the van 
 In conflict, or the common way. 
 Does outrage to the heavenly plan. 
 And outrage to the finer clay 
 That makes her beautiful to man. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 1 1 5 
 
 All this, and more than this, she saw 
 Who reigned in Philip's house and heart. 
 Far off, he seemed without a flaw ; 
 Close by, her tasteless counterpart, 
 And slave to Nature's common law. 
 
 To climb with fierce, familiar stride 
 His dizzy paths of life and thought, 
 Would but degrade him from her piide, 
 And bring the majesty to naught 
 Which love and distance magnified. 
 
 If she should grow like him, she knew 
 He would admire and love her less ; 
 The eagle's image might be true, 
 But eagle of the wilderness 
 Would find no consort in the view. 
 
ii6 TJie Mistress of the Ma?tse. 
 
 A woman, in her woman's sphere, 
 A loyal wife and worshipper, 
 She only thirsted to appear 
 As fair to him as he to her, 
 And fairer still, from year to year. 
 
 And he who quickly learned to purge 
 His fancy of the tender whim 
 That she was floating at the verge 
 Of womanhood, half hid to him, 
 Saw her with gracious mien emerge, 
 
 And stand full-robed upon the shore, 
 
 With faculties and charms unguessed ; 
 
 With wondrous eyes that looked before, 
 
 And hands that helped and words that blessed- 
 
 The mistress of an alien lore 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 117 
 
 Beyond the wisdom of the schools 
 And all his manly power to win ; 
 With handicraft of tricks and tools 
 That conjured marvels with a pin, 
 And miracles with skeins and spools! 
 
 She seemed to mock his dusty dearth 
 With flowers that sprang beneath his eyes 
 Till all he was, seemed little worth, 
 And she he deemed so little wise. 
 Became the wisest of the earth. 
 
 In all the struggles of his soul, 
 And all the strifes his soul abhorred. 
 She shone before him like a goal — • 
 A shady bower of fresh reward — 
 A shallop riding in the mole. 
 
Ii8 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 That waited with obedient helm 
 To bear him over sparkling seas, 
 Into a new and fragrant realm, 
 Before the vigor of a breeze 
 That drove, but might not overwhelm. 
 
 IX. 
 
 To symmetry the oak is grown 
 Which all winds visit on the lea, 
 While that which lists the monotone 
 Of the long blast that sweeps the sea. 
 And answers to its breath alone, 
 
 Turns with aversion from the breeze, 
 And stretches all its stunted limbs 
 Landward and heavenward, toward the trees 
 That listen to a thousand hymns, 
 And grow to grander destinies. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 119 
 
 Man may not live on whitest loaves, 
 With all of coarser good dismissed ; 
 He pines and starves who never roves 
 Beyond the holy eucharist, 
 To gather of the fields and groves. 
 
 And he who seeks to fill his heart 
 With solace of a single friend. 
 Will find refreshment but in part, 
 Or, sadder still, will find the end 
 Of all his reach of thought and art. 
 
 They who love best need friendship most ; 
 Hearts only thrive on varied good ; 
 And he who gathers from a host 
 Of friendly hearts his daily food, 
 Is the best friend that we can boast. 
 
I20 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She left her husband with his friends ; 
 She called them round him at her board 
 And found their culture made amends 
 For all the time that, from her hoard, 
 She spared him for these nobler ends. 
 
 He was her lover ; that sufficed : 
 His home was in the Holy Place 
 With that of the Beloved Christ. 
 And friendship had no subtle grace 
 By which his love could be enticed. 
 
 Of all his friends, she was but one : 
 She held with them a common field. 
 Exclusive right — with love begun — 
 Ended with love, and stood repealed, 
 Leaving his friendship free to run 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. 121 
 
 Toward man or woman, all unmissed. 
 She knew she had no right to bind 
 His friendship to her single wrist, 
 So long as love was true and kind, 
 And made her its monopolist. 
 
 No time was grudged with jealous greed 
 Which either books or friendship claimed. 
 He was her friend, and she had need 
 Of all — unhindered and unblamed — 
 
 Her friend waxed great as grew the man ; 
 
 Her temple swelled as rose her priest — 
 
 With power to bless and right to ban ; — 
 
 And all who served him, most or least, — 
 
 From chorister and sacristan 
 6 
 
122 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 To those whose frankincense and myrrh 
 Perfumed the sacred courts with alms,— 
 Were gracious ministers to her, 
 Who found the largess in her palms, 
 And him the friendly almoner. 
 
 X. 
 
 The river of their life was one ; 
 The shores down which they passed were two 
 One mirrored mountains, huge and dun. 
 The other crimped the green and blue. 
 And sparkled in the kindly sun ! 
 
 Twin barks, with answering flags, they moved 
 With even canvas down the stream. 
 In smooth or ruffled waters grooved. 
 And found such islands in their dream 
 As rest and loving speech behooved. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. 123 
 
 Ah fair the goodly gardens smiled 
 On Philip at his rougher strand ! 
 And grandly loomed the summits, isled 
 In seas of cloud, to her who scanned 
 From her far shore the lofty wild. 
 
 Two lives, two loves — both self- forgot 
 In loyal homage to their oath ; 
 Two lives, two loves, but living not 
 By ministry that reached them both, 
 In service of a common lot, 
 
 They sailed the stream ; and every mile 
 Broadened with beauty as they passed ; 
 And fruitful shore and trysting-isle, 
 And all love's intercourse were glassed 
 And blessed in Heaven's benignant smile. 
 
^ 
 
 LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS. 
 
 The summer passed, the autumn came ; 
 The world swung over toward the night ; 
 The forests robed themselves in flame, 
 Then faded slowly into white ; 
 And set within a crystal frame 
 
 Of frozen streams, the shaggy boles 
 Of oak and elm, with leafless crowns, 
 Were painted stark upon the knolls ; 
 And cots and villages and towns 
 On virgin canvas glowed like coals 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 125 
 
 In tawny red, or strove in vain 
 
 To shame the white in which they stood. 
 
 The fairest tint was but a stain 
 
 Upon the snow, that quenched the wood, 
 
 And paved the street, and draped the plain ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh ! Southern cheeks are quick to feel 
 The magic finger of the frost ; 
 And Mildred heard but one long peal 
 From the fierce Arctic, which embossed 
 Her window-panes, and set the seal 
 
 Of cold on all her eye beheld. 
 
 When through her veins there swept new fire. 
 
 And, in her answering bosom, swelled 
 
 New purposes and new desire. 
 
 And force to higher deeds impelled. 
 
126 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Ah ! well for her the languor cast 
 That followed from her Southern clime ! 
 The time would come — was coming fast,- 
 Love's consummated, crowning time — 
 Of which her heart had antepast ! 
 
 A strange new life was in her breast ; 
 Her eyes were full of wondrous dreams ; 
 She sailed all whiles from crest to crest 
 Of a broad ocean, through whose gleams 
 She saw an island wrapped in rest ! 
 
 And as she drove across the sea, 
 Toward the fair port that fixed her gaze, 
 Her life was like a rosary, 
 Whose slowly counted beads were days 
 Of prayer for one that was to be I 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 127 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh roses, roses ! Who shall sing 
 
 The beauty of the flowers of God ! 
 
 Or thank the angel from whose wing 
 
 The seeds are scattered on the sod 
 
 From which such bloom and perfume spring ! 
 
 Sure they have heavenly genesis 
 Which make a heaven of every place ; 
 Which company our bale and bliss, 
 And never to our sinning race 
 Speak aught unhallowed, or amiss ! 
 
 When love is grieved, their buds atone ; 
 When love is wed, their forms are near ; 
 They blend their breathing with the moan 
 Of love when dying, and the bier 
 Is white with them in every zone. 
 
128 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 No spot is mean that they begem ; 
 No nosegay fair that holds them not ; 
 They melt the pride and stir the phlegm 
 Of lord and churl, in court and cot, 
 And weave a common diadem 
 
 For human brows where'er they grow. 
 
 They write all languages of red, 
 
 They speak all dialects of snow, 
 
 And all the words of gold are said 
 
 With fragrant meanings where they blow ! 
 
 Oh sweetest flowers ! Oh flowers divine ! 
 In which God comes so closely down, 
 We gather from his chosen sign 
 The tints that cluster in his crown — 
 The perfume of his breath benign ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 129 
 
 Oh, sweetest flowers ! Oh, flowers that hold 
 
 The fragrant Hfe of Paradise 
 
 For a brief day, shut fold in fold, 
 
 That we may drink it in a trice, 
 
 And drop the empty pink and gold! 
 
 Oh sweetest flowers, that have a breath 
 For every passion that we feel ! 
 That tell us what the Master saith 
 Of blessing, in our woe and weal, 
 And all events of life and death ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The time of roses came again ; 
 
 And one had bloomed within the manse, — 
 
 Bloomed in a burst of midnight pain, 
 
 And plumed its life in fair expanse, 
 
 Beneath love's nursing sun and rain. 
 6* 
 
130 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Such tendance ne'er had flower before ! 
 Such beauty ne'er had flower returned ! 
 Found on that distant island-shore, 
 Whose secret she at last had learned, 
 And made her own for evermore, 
 
 Mildred consigned it to her breast ; 
 And though she knew it took its hue 
 From her, it seemed the Lord's bequest, 
 Still sparkling with the heavenly dew. 
 And still with heavenly beauty dressed. 
 
 Oh, roses ! ye were wondrous fair 
 
 That summer by the river side ! 
 
 For hearts were blooming everywhere. 
 
 In sympathy of love and pride. 
 
 With that which came to Mildred's care. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse.. 131 
 
 • 
 And rose as red as rose could be 
 
 Was Philip's heart with joy abloom, 
 
 That cast its fragrance far and free, 
 
 And filled his lonely, silent room 
 
 With rapture of paternity ! 
 
 The evening fell on field and street ; 
 
 The glow-worm lit his phosphor lamp, 
 
 For fairy forms and fairy feet. 
 
 That gathered for their nightly tramp 
 
 Where grass was green and flowers were sweet. 
 
 In devious circles, round and round, 
 The night-hawk coursed the twilight sky, 
 Or shot like lightning the profound. 
 With breezy thunder in the cry 
 That marked his furious rebound ! 
 
132 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The zephyrs breathed through elm and ash, 
 From new-mown hay and heliotrope, 
 And came through Philip's open sash 
 With sheen of stars that lit the cope, 
 And twinkling of the fire-fly's flash. 
 
 He heard the baby's weary plaint ; 
 He heard the mother's soothing words ; 
 And sitting in his hushed restraint, 
 One voice was murmur of the birds, 
 And one the hymning of a saint ! 
 
 And as he sat alone, immersed 
 
 In the fond fancies of the time, 
 
 Her voice in mellow music burst, 
 
 And by a rhythmic stair of rhyme 
 
 Led down to sleep the child she nursed. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 133 
 
 *' Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover! — 
 Crooning so drowsily, crying so low — 
 Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! 
 Down into wonderland — 
 Down to the under-land — 
 Go, oh go ! 
 Down into wonderland go ! 
 
 " Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover ! 
 Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep ! 
 Rockaby, lullaby — bending it over ! 
 Down on the mother world, 
 Down on the other world ! 
 Sleep, oh sleep ! 
 Down on the mother-world sleep ! 
 
 ''Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! 
 Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn ! 
 Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover ! 
 
134 I^Jf'^^ Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Into the stilly world ! 
 Into the lily world, 
 Gone ! oh gone ! 
 Into the lily world, gone ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 They sprouted like the prophet's gourd 
 They grew within a single night ; 
 So swift his busy years were scored 
 That, ere he knew, his hope was white 
 With harvest bending round his board ! 
 
 And eyes were black and eyes were blue, 
 
 And blood of mother and of sire. 
 
 Each to its native humor true. 
 
 Blent Northern force with Southern fire 
 
 In strength and beauty, strange and new. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 135 
 
 The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow, 
 The raven locks, the flaxen curls, 
 Were so commingled in the flow 
 Of the new blood of boys and girls, 
 That Puritan and Huguenot 
 
 In love's alembic were advanced 
 
 To higher types and finer forms ; 
 
 And ardent humors thrilled and danced 
 
 Through veins that tempered all their storms, 
 
 Or held them in restraint entranced. 
 
 Oh! many times, as flew the years, 
 The dainty cradle-song was sung ; 
 And bore its balm to restless ears. 
 As one by one the nested young 
 Slept in their willows and their tears. 
 
136 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 To each within the reedy glade, 
 
 Hid from some tyrant's cruel schemes, 
 
 It was a princess, or her maid, 
 
 Who bore him to the realm of dreams, 
 
 And made him seer by accolade 
 
 Of flaming bush and parted deep, 
 Of gushing rocks and raining corn, 
 And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep 
 Of thousands toward the promised morn, 
 Across the wilderness of sleep ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 The years rolled on in grand routine 
 
 Of useful toil and chastening care, 
 
 Till Philip, grown to heights serene 
 
 Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer, 
 
 Took on the strong and stately mien 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 137 
 
 Of one on whom had been conferred 
 The doing of a knightly deed ; 
 And waited till it bade him gird 
 The harness on him and his steed, 
 For man and for his Master's word. 
 
 His name was spoken far and near, 
 And sounded sweet on every tongue ; 
 Men knew him only to revere, 
 And those who knew him nearest, flung 
 Their hearts before his grand career. 
 
 And paved his way with loyal trust. 
 He was their strongest, noblest man,- 
 Sworn foe of every selfish lust. 
 And brave to do as wise to plan, 
 And swift to judge as pure and just. 
 
138 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Against such foil the mistress stood — 
 A pearl upon a cross of gold — 
 White with consistent womanhood, 
 And fixed with unrelaxing hold 
 Upon the centre of the rood ! 
 
 Through all those years of loving thrift, 
 Nor blame nor discord marred their lot ; 
 Each to the lover-life was gift ; 
 And each was free from blur or blot 
 That called for silence or for shrift. 
 
 Both bore the burden they upheld 
 
 With patient hands along the road ; 
 
 And though, with passing years, it swelled 
 
 Until it grew a weary load. 
 
 Nor tongue complained, nor heart rebelled. 
 
The Mistress of the Majise. 139 
 
 At length the time of trial came, 
 And they were tried as gold is tried. 
 Their peace of life went up in flame, 
 And what was good was vilified, 
 And what was blameless came to blame. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Southern sky was dun with cloud ; 
 And looming lurid o'er its edge 
 The brows of awful forms were bowed. 
 That forged in flame the fateful wedge 
 
 The banner of the storm unfurled, 
 
 And all the powers of death arrayed 
 
 In black battalions, to be hurled 
 
 Down through the rack — a blazing blade — 
 
 To cleave the realm, and shake the world! 
 
I40 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The North was full of nameless dread ; 
 Wild portents flamed from out the pole 
 Old scars on Freedom's bosom bled, 
 And sick at heart and vexed of soul 
 She tossed in fever on her bed ! 
 
 Pale Commerce hid her face and whined 
 The arms of Toil w^ere paralyzed ; 
 The wise were of divided mind, 
 And they who counselled and advised 
 Were sightless leaders of the blind. 
 
 Men lost their faith in good and great ; 
 No captain sprang, or prophet-bard. 
 To win their trust, and save the state 
 From the wild storm that, like a pard, 
 On quivering haunches lay in wait ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 141 
 
 The loyal only were not brave ; 
 E'en Peace became a cringing dog; 
 The patriot paltered like a knave, 
 And partisan and demagogue 
 Quarrelled o'er Freedom's waiting grave. 
 
 X. 
 
 Amid the turmoil and disgrace, 
 
 The voice was clear, from first to last, 
 
 Of one who, in the desert place 
 
 Of barren counsels, held him fast 
 
 His shepherd's crook, and made it mace 
 
 To bear before the Great Event 
 Whose harbinger he chose to be. 
 And called on all men to repent. 
 And build a way from sea to sea, 
 For Freedom's full enfranchisement. 
 
142 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 For Philip, to his conscience leal, 
 Conceived that God had chosen him 
 With Treason's sophistries to deal, 
 And grapple with the Anakim 
 Whose menace shook the commonweal. 
 
 His pulpit smoked beneath his blows ; 
 His voice was heard in hall and street ; 
 A thousand friends became his foes, 
 And pews were empty or replete. 
 With passion's ebbs and overflows. 
 
 They trailed his good name in the mire ; 
 They spat their venom in his eyes ; 
 They taunted him with mad desire 
 For power, and gathered his replies 
 In braver words and fiercer fire. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 143 
 
 He was a wolf, disguised in wool ; 
 He was a viper in the breast ; 
 He was a villain, or the tool 
 Of greater villains ; at the best, 
 A blind enthusiast and fool ! 
 
 As swelled the tempest, rose the man ; 
 He turned to sport their brutal spleen ; 
 And none could choose be slow to span 
 The difference that lay between 
 A Prospero and a Caliban ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 She would not move him otherwise, 
 Although her heart was sad and sore. 
 That which was venal in his eyes 
 To her a lovely aspect wore. 
 And helped to weave the thousand ties 
 
144 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Which bound her to her youth, and all 
 The loves that she had left behind 
 When, from her father's stately hall, 
 She came, her Northern home to find, 
 With him who held her heart in thrall. 
 
 In the dark pictures which he drew 
 Of instituted shame and wrong. 
 She saw no figures that she knew, 
 But a confused and hateful throng 
 Of forms that in his fancy grew. 
 
 Her father's rule, benign and mild, 
 Was all of slavery she had known 
 To her, an Afric was a child — 
 A charge in other ages thrown 
 On Christian honor, from the wild 
 
The Mistress of the Majise, 145 
 
 Of savagery in which the Fates 
 
 Had given him birth and dwelling-place — 
 
 And so, descending through estates 
 
 Of gentle vassalage, his race 
 
 Had come to men of later dates. 
 
 Black hands her baby form had dressed ; 
 Black hands her blacker hair had curled ; 
 And she had found a dusky breast 
 The sweetest breast in all the world 
 When she was thirsty or at rest. 
 
 There was no touch of memory's chords- 
 No picture on her blooming wall, — 
 Of life upon the sunny swards 
 They reproduced, — but brought recall 
 
 Of happy slaves and gentle lords. 
 7 
 
146 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 And Philip charged a deadly sin 
 Upon that beautiful domain, 
 Condemning all who dwelt therein. 
 And branding with the awful stain 
 Her friends, and all her dearest kin. 
 
 Yet still she knew his conscience clear,- 
 That he believed his voice was God's ; 
 And listened with a voiceless fear 
 To the portentous periods 
 In which he preached the chosen year 
 
 Of expiation and release, 
 And prophesied that Slavery's power. 
 Grown great apace with crime's increase, 
 Before the front of Right should cower, 
 And bid God's people go in peace ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 147 
 
 XII. 
 
 The fierce invectives of his tongue 
 Frayed every day her wounds afresh, 
 And with new pain her bosom wrung, 
 For they envenomed kindred flesh, 
 To which in sympathy she clung. 
 
 Yet not a finger did she hft 
 To hold him from his fateful task. 
 Though Satan oft essayed to sift 
 Her soul as wheat, and bade her ask 
 Somewhat from conscience as a gift. 
 
 And when a serpent in his slime 
 
 Crept to her ear with phrase polite, 
 
 Prating of duty to her time 
 
 And to her people — swdft and white 
 
 She turned and cursed him for his crime ! 
 
148 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She would have naught of all the brood 
 Of temporizing, drivelling shows 
 Of men who Philip's words withstood : 
 Against them all her love uprose, 
 And all her pride of womanhood. 
 
 She loved her kindred none the less, 
 She loved her husband still the more. 
 For well she knew that with distress 
 He saw the heavy cross she bore 
 With steadfast faith and tenderness. 
 
 No strife of jarring policies, 
 No conflict of embittered states, 
 No chart, defining by degrees 
 Of latitude her country's hates, 
 Could change her friends to enemies. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, 149 
 
 The motives ranged on either hand, 
 Behind the war of word and will, 
 Were such as she could understand 
 And, with respect to all, fulfil 
 Love's broad and beautiful command. 
 
 So, with all questions hushed to sleep. 
 And all opinions put aside, 
 She gave her loved ones to the keep 
 Of God, whatever should betide. 
 To bear her joy or bid her weep ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Though Philip knew he wounded her, 
 His faith to God and faith to man 
 Bade him go forward, and incur 
 Such cost as, since the world began, 
 Has burdened Freedom's harbinger. 
 
150 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 No heart or hand was his to flinch 
 From ease or reputation lost ; 
 Nor waste of gold, nor hunger-pinch, 
 Nor e'en his home's black holocaust, 
 Could stay his arm. Though inch by inch, 
 
 The maddened hosts of scorn and scath 
 Should crowd him backward to defeat. 
 He would but strive with sterner wrath. 
 And bless the hand that, soft and sweet. 
 Withheld its hinderance from his path ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Still darker loomed the Southern cloud. 
 While o'er its black and billowed face 
 In furrowed fire the lightning ploughed, 
 And ramping from his hiding-place 
 Roared the wild Thunder, fierce and loud ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 151 
 
 And still men chattered of their trade, 
 And strove to banish their alarms ; 
 And some were puzzled, some afraid, 
 And some held up their feeble arms 
 In indignation while they prayed ! 
 
 And others weakly talked of schism 
 As boon of God in place of war, 
 And bared their foreheads for its chrism! 
 While direr than the mace of Thor, 
 In mid-air hung the cataclysm 
 
 Which waited but some chance, or act, 
 
 To shiver the electric spell, 
 
 And pour in one fierce cataract 
 
 A rain of blood and fire of hell 
 
 On Freedom's temple spoiled and sacked. 
 
152 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The politician plied his craft ; 
 
 The demagogue still schemed and lied ; 
 
 The patriot wept, the traitor laughed ; 
 
 The coward to his covert hied, 
 
 And statesmen went distract or daft. 
 
 Contention raged in Senate halls ; 
 Confusion reigned in field and town ; 
 High conclaves flattened into brawls, 
 And till and hammer, smock and gown. 
 Nor duty knew nor heard its calls 1 
 
 XV. 
 
 At last, incontinent of fire, 
 The cloud of menace belched its brand 
 And every state and every shire 
 And town and hamlet in the land, 
 Shook with the smiting of its ire ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 153 
 
 Men looked each other in the eyes, 
 
 And beat their burning breasts and cursed ! 
 
 At last the silliest were wise ; 
 
 And swift to flash and thunder-burst 
 
 Fashioned in anger their replies. 
 
 The smoke of Sumter filled the air. 
 Men breathed it in in one long breath ; 
 And straight upspringing everywhere, 
 Life burgeoned on the mounds of death. 
 And bloomed in valleys of despair. 
 
 The fire of Sumter, fierce and hot. 
 
 Welded their purpose into one ; 
 
 And discord hushed, and strife forgot. 
 
 They swore that what had thus begun 
 
 With sacrilegious cannon-shot, 
 7* 
 
154 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Should find in analogue of flame 
 
 Such answer of the nation's host, 
 
 That the old flag, washed clean from shame 
 
 In blood, should wave from coast to coast, 
 
 Over one realm in heart and name ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Pale doubters, scourged by countless whips, 
 Fled to their refuge, or obeyed 
 The motives and the masterships 
 That time and circumstance betrayed 
 Through Patriotism's apocalypse, 
 
 And, sympathetic with the spasm 
 
 Of loyal life that thrilled the clime, 
 
 Lost in the swift enthusiasm 
 
 The loose intention of their crime ; 
 
 Then leaped in swarms the awful chasm 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 155 
 
 That held them parted from the mass. 
 The North was one in heart and thought, 
 And that which could not come to pass 
 Through loyal eloquence, was wrought 
 By one hot word from lips of brass ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The cry sprang upward and sped on : 
 "To arms! for freedom and the flag!" 
 And swift, from Maine to Oregon, 
 O'er glebe and lake and mountain-crag, 
 Hurtled the fierce Euroclydon. 
 
 Men dropped their mallets on the bench, 
 Forsook their ploughs on hill and plain, 
 And tore themselves, with piteous wrench 
 Of heart and hope, from love and gain. 
 And trooped in throngs to tent and trench. 
 
156 The Mistress of the Ma^ise. 
 
 ''To arms!" and Philip heard the cry. 
 Not his the valor cheap and small 
 To bluster with brave phrase, and fly 
 When trumpet blare and rifle-ball 
 Proclaimed the time for words gone by ! 
 
 Men knew their chieftain. He had borne 
 Their insolence through struggling years, 
 And they — the dastards, the forsworn — 
 Who had ransacked the hemispheres 
 For instruments to wreak their scorn 
 
 On him and all of kindred speech, 
 Gathered around him with his friends, 
 And with stern plaudits heard him preach 
 A gospel whose stupendous ends 
 Their martyred blood could only reach. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 157 
 
 They gave him honor far and wide. 
 As one who backed his word by deed ; 
 And he whose task had been to guide, 
 Was chosen by acclaim to lead 
 The men who gathered at his side. 
 
 The crook was banished for the glave ; 
 The churchman's black for soldier blue ; 
 The man of peace became a brave ; 
 And, in the dawn of conflict, drew 
 His sword his country's life to save. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 They came from mead and mountain-top 
 They came from factory and forge ; 
 And one by one, from farm and shop — 
 Still gravel to the Northman's gorge — 
 Followed the servile Ethiop. 
 
158 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 Gaunt, grimy men, whose ways had been 
 Among the shadows and the slums, 
 With pedagogue and paladin. 
 Rushed, at the rolling of the drums, 
 To Philip, and were mustered in I 
 
 The beat of drum and scream of fife, 
 Commingling with the thundering tramp 
 Of trooping throngs, so changed the life 
 Of the calm village that the camp, 
 And what it prophesied of strife, 
 
 And hap of loss and hap of gain, 
 Became of every tongue the theme ; 
 Till burning heart and throbbing brain 
 Could waking think, and sleeping dream, 
 Of naught but battles and the slain. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 159 
 
 XX. 
 
 With eager eyes and helpful hands 
 The women met in solemn crowds, 
 And shred the linen into bands 
 That had been better saved for shrouds, 
 Or want's imperious demands. 
 
 And with them all sad Mildred walked. 
 The bearer of a heavy cross ; 
 For at her side the phantom stalked — 
 Nor left her for an hour — of loss 
 Which by no fortune might be balked. 
 
 For one or all she loved must fall ; 
 One cause must perish in defeat ; 
 Success of either would appall, 
 And victory, however sweet 
 To others, would to her be gall. 
 
i6o The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 To each, with equal heart allied, 
 Her love was like the love of God, 
 That wraps the country in its tide, 
 And o'er its hosts, benign and broad, 
 Broods with its pity and its pride ! 
 
 A thousand chances of the feud 
 
 She wove and ravelled one by one, — 
 
 Of hands in kindred blood imbrued, — 
 
 Of father, face to face with son. 
 
 And friends turned foemen fierce and rude. 
 
 And in her dreams two forms were met. 
 
 Of friends as leal as ever breathed — 
 
 Her husband and her brother — wet 
 
 With priceless blood from swords ensheathed 
 
 In hearts that loved each other yet ! 
 
The Mistress of the Manse, i6i 
 
 But itching ears her language scanned, 
 And jealous eyes were on her steps ; 
 And fancies into rumors fanned 
 By loyal shrews and demireps 
 Proclaimed her traitress to the land. 
 
 They knew her blood, but could not know 
 That mighty passion of her heart 
 Which, reaching widely in its woe, 
 Grasped all she loved on either part, 
 And could not, would not let it go ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The time of gathering came and went- 
 Of noisy zeal and hasty drill — 
 And everywhere, in field and tent, — 
 A constant presence, — Philip's will 
 Moulded the callow regiment. 
 
1 62 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 And then there fell a gala day, 
 When all the mighty, motley swarm 
 Appeared in beautiful display 
 Of burnished arms and uniform, 
 And gloried in their brave array ! — 
 
 And, later still, the hour of dread 
 To all the simple country round, 
 When forth, with Philip at their head, 
 They marched from the familiar ground, 
 And drained its life, and left it dead ; — 
 
 Dead but for those who pined with grief; 
 Dead but for fears that could not die ; 
 Dead as the world when flower and leaf 
 Are still beneath a gathering sky. 
 And ocean sleeps on reach and reef. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 163 
 
 The weary waiting time had come, 
 When only apprehension waked ; 
 And lonely wives sat chill and dumb 
 Among their broods, with hearts that ached 
 And echoed the retreating drum. 
 
 Teachers forgot to preach their creeds, 
 And trade forsook its merchandise ; 
 The fallow fields grew rank with weeds, 
 And none had interest or eyes 
 For aught but war's ensanguined deeds. 
 
 As one who lingered by a bier 
 Where all she loved lay dead and cold, 
 Sad Mildred sat without a tear, 
 Living again the days of old, 
 Or, with the vision of a seer, 
 
1 64 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 Forecasting the disastrous end. 
 Whate'er might come, she did not dare 
 BeHeve that fortune would defend 
 The noble life she could not spare, 
 And save her lover and her friend. 
 
 Her blooming girls and stalwart boys 
 Could never comprehend the woe 
 Which dropped its measure of their joys, 
 And felt but horror in the show, 
 And heard but murder in the noise, 
 
 And dreamed of death when stillness fell 
 Behind the gay and shouting corps. 
 They saw her haunted by the spell 
 Of a great sorrow, and forebore 
 To question griefs they could not quell. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 165 
 
 Small time she gave to vain regret; 
 
 Brief space to thought of that adieu 
 
 Which crushed her breast, when last they met, 
 
 And in love's baptism bathed anew 
 
 Cheeks, lips, and eyes, and left them wet! 
 
 In deeds of sympathy and grace, 
 She moved among the homes forlorn. 
 Alike to beautiful and base 
 And to the stricken and the shorn, 
 The guardian angel of the place. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Oh piteous waste of hopes and fears ! 
 Oh cruel stretch of long delay ! 
 Oh homes bereft ! Oh useless tears ! 
 Oh war! that ravened on its prey 
 Through Pain's immeasurable years! 
 
l66 TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The town was mourning for its dead ; 
 The streets were black with widowhood ; 
 While orphaned children begged for bread, 
 And Rachel, for the brave and good, 
 Mourned, and would not be comforted. 
 
 1 
 
 The regiment that, straight and crisp, 
 Shone like a wheat-field in the sun, 
 Its swift voice deafened to a lisp. 
 Fell, ere the war was well begun. 
 And waned and withered to a wisp. 
 
 And Philip, grown to higher rank, 
 Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds 
 Of the full cup of glory drank. 
 And lived, though all his reeking steeds 
 In the red front of conflict sank. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 167 
 
 The star of conquest waxed or waned, 
 Yet still the call came back for men ; 
 Still the lamenting town was drained, 
 And still again, and still again, 
 Till only impotence remained ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 There came at length an eve of gloom — 
 Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve — 
 When all the gathering clouds of doom 
 Hung low, the breathless air to cleave 
 With scream of shell and cannon-boom ! 
 
 Man knew too well, and woman felt 
 That when the next wild morn should rise, 
 A blow of battle would be dealt 
 Before whose fire ten thousand eyes — 
 As in a furnace flame — would melt. 
 
1 68 The Mistress of the Martsc. 
 
 And on this eve — her flock asleep — 
 Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed. 
 She could not pray, she did not weep. 
 But only moaned, and, moaning, said : 
 *' Oh God! he sows what 1 must reap I 
 
 He will not live : he must not die ! 
 But oh, my poor, prophetic heart! 
 It warns me that there lingers nigh 
 The hour when love and I must part ! " 
 And then she startled with a cry. 
 
 For, from beneath her lattice, came 
 A low and once repeated call ! 
 She knew the voice that spoke her name. 
 And swiftly through the midnight hall 
 She fluttered noiseless as a flame, 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 169 
 
 And on its unresisting hinge 
 Threw wide her hospitable door, 
 To one whose spirit could not cringe 
 Though he was shelterless, and bore 
 No right her freedom to infringe. 
 
 She wildly clasped his neck of bronze 
 She rained her kisses on his face, 
 Grown tawny with a thousand suns. 
 And holding him in her embrace, 
 She led him to her little ones. 
 
 Who, reckless of his coming, slept. 
 
 Then down the stair with silent feet 
 
 And through the shadowy hall she swept, 
 
 And saw, between her and the street, 
 
 A form that into darkness crept. 
 8 
 
I/O TJie Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 She closed the door with speechless dread ; 
 She fixed the bolt with trembling hand ; 
 Then led the rebel to his bed, 
 Whom love and safety had unmanned, 
 And left him less alive than dead. 
 
 Through nights and days of fear and grief, 
 She kept her faithful watch and ward, 
 But love and rest brought no relief; 
 And all he begged for of his Lord 
 Was death, with passion faint and brief. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Around the house were prying eyes. 
 And gossips hiding under trees ; 
 And Mildred heard the steps of spies 
 At midnight, when, upon her knees. 
 She sought the comfort of the skies. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 171 
 
 Strange voices rose upon the night ; 
 Strange errands entered at the gate ; 
 Her hours were months of pale afifright ; 
 Though still her prisoner of state 
 Was shielded from their eager sight. 
 
 And there were hirelings in pursuit, 
 Who thirsted for his golden price ; 
 And, swift allied with pimp and brute, 
 And quick to purchase and entice, 
 They found the tree that held their fruit. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The day of Gettysburg had set ; 
 
 The smoke had drifted from the scene, 
 
 And burnished sword and bayonet 
 
 Lay rusting where, but yestere'en, 
 
 They dropped with hfe-blood red and wet! 
 
172 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 The swift invader had retraced 
 
 His march, and left his fallen braves, 
 
 Covered at night in voiceless haste. 
 
 To sleep in memorable graves, 
 
 But knew that all his loss was waste. 
 
 The nation's legions, stretching wide. 
 Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer, 
 Gave sepulture to those who died. 
 And saw their foemen disappear 
 Without the loss of power or pride. 
 
 And then, swift-sweeping like a gale, 
 Through all the land, from end to end. 
 Grief poured its wild, untempered wail. 
 And father, mother, wife, and friend 
 Forgot their country in their bale. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 173 
 
 And Philip, with his fatal wound, 
 Was borne beyond the battle's blaze. 
 Across the torn and quaking ground, 
 His ear too dull to heed the praise, 
 That spoke him hero, robed and crowned. 
 
 They bent above his blackened face, 
 
 And questioned of his last desire ; 
 
 And with his old, familiar grace. 
 
 And smiUng mouth, and eye of fire, 
 
 He answered them: ''My wife's embrace!" 
 
 They wiped his forehead of its stain. 
 
 They bore him tenderly away, 
 
 Through teeming mart and wide champaign, 
 
 Till on a twilight, cool and gray. 
 
 And wet with weeping of the rain, 
 
1/4 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 They gave him to a silent crowd 
 
 That waited at the river's marge, 
 
 Of men with age and sorrow bowed, 
 
 Who raised and bore their precious charge, 
 
 Through groups that watched and wailed aloud. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The hounds of power were at her gate ; 
 And at their heels, a yelping pack 
 Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, 
 To mark the issue of attack, 
 With lips that slavered with their hate. 
 
 With window raised and portal barred, 
 The mistress scanned the darkening space, 
 And with a visage hot and hard — 
 At bay before the cruel chase — 
 She held them in her fierce regard. 
 
TJie Mistress of the Manse. 175 
 
 " What would ye — spies and hirelings — what ? " 
 She asked with accent:, stern and brave ; 
 
 *' Why come ye to this sacred spot, 
 Led by the counsel of a knave, 
 And flanked by slanderer and sot ? 
 
 " You have my husband : has he earned 
 No meed of courtesy for me ? 
 Is this the recompense returned. 
 That she he loved the best should be 
 Suspected, persecuted, spurned ? 
 
 " My home is wrecked : what would ye more ? 
 My life is ruined — what new boon ? 
 My children's hearts are sad and sore 
 With weeping for the wounds that soon 
 Will plead for healing at my door! 
 
1/6 The Mistress of the Maitse, 
 
 " I hold your prisoner — stand assured : 
 Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you !- 
 Safe in a sister's love immured, 
 And by a warden kept as true 
 As e'er the test of faith endured. 
 
 Why, men, he was my brother born 1 
 My hero, all my youthful years ! 
 My counsellor, to guide and warn ! 
 My shield alike from foes and fears! 
 And when he came to me, forlorn, 
 
 What could I do but hail him guest, 
 And bind his cruel wounds with balm, 
 And give him on his sister's breast 
 That which he asked, the humble aim 
 Of a safe pillow where to rest ? 
 
l( 
 
 The Mistress of the Manse. 17 7 
 
 Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate ! 
 
 Come, if you must, or if you will ! 
 
 But know that I am desperate ; 
 
 And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill 
 
 Your deed of dastardy await ! " 
 
 A murmur swept through all the mob ; 
 
 The base informer slunk afar ; 
 
 And lusty cheer and stifled sob 
 
 Rose to her at the window-bar, 
 
 While those whose hands were come to rob 
 
 . Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed; 
 For round their heads the menace flew 
 That he who dared adventure first, 
 Or first an arm of murder drew, 
 Should taste of vengeance at its worst. 
 
178 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound, 
 Low mingling with the murmuring rain,— 
 Heard in the wind and in the ground, — 
 Came up the street — a tide of pain, 
 In which the angry din was drowned. 
 
 The leaders of the tumult fled ; 
 The door flew open with a crash ; 
 And down the street wild Mildred sped, 
 Piercing the darkness like a flash, 
 And walked beside her husband's bed. 
 
 Slowly the solemn train advanced ; 
 The crowd fell back with parted ranks ; 
 And like a giant, half entranced. 
 Sailing between strange, spectral banks, 
 From side to side the soldier glanced. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 1/9 
 
 The sobbing rain, the evening dim, 
 The dusky forms that pushed and peered, 
 The swaying couch, the aching Hmb, 
 The lights and shadows, sharp and weird. 
 Were but a troubled dream to him. 
 
 He knew his love— all else unknown, 
 Or seen through reason's sad eclipse— 
 And with her hand within his own. 
 Or fondly pressed upon his lips. 
 He clung to it, as if alone 
 
 It had the power to stay his feet 
 Yet longer on the verge of life ; 
 And thus they vanished from the street- 
 The shepherd -warrior and his wife — 
 Within the manse's closed retreat. 
 
i8o The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Embraced by home, his soul grew light ; 
 And though he moaned: "My head! my head! 
 His life turned back its outward flight, 
 Like his, who, from the prophet's bed, " 
 Startled the wondering Shunammite. 
 
 He greeted all with tender speech ; 
 He told his children he should die ; 
 He gave his fond farewell to each, 
 With messages, and fond good-by 
 To all he loved beyond his reach. 
 
 And then he spoke her brother's name : 
 ''Tell him," he said, ''that, in my death, 
 I cherished his untarnished fame. 
 And, to my life's expiring breath, 
 Held his brave spirit free from blame. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. i8i 
 
 *' We strove alike for truth's behoof, 
 With honest faith and love sincere, — 
 For God and country, right and roof, 
 And issues that do not appear. 
 But wait with Heaven the awful proof." 
 
 A tottering figure reached the door ; 
 The brother fell upon the bed. 
 And, in each other's arms once more. 
 With breast to breast, and head to head,- 
 Twin barks, they drifted from the shore ; 
 
 And backward on the sobbing air 
 Came the same words from warring lips : 
 " God save my country ! " and the prayer 
 Still wailing from the drifting ships, 
 Returned in measures of despair ; 
 
1 82 The Mistress of the Manse, 
 
 Till far, at the horizon's verge 
 They passed beyond the tearful eyes 
 That could not know if in the surge 
 They sank at last, or in the skies 
 Forgot the burden of their dirge ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 In Northern blue and Southern brown, 
 Twin coffins and a single grave. 
 They laid the weary warriors down ; 
 And hands that strove to slay and save 
 Had equal rest and like renown. ^ 
 
 For in the graveyard's hallowed close 
 A woman's love made neutral soil. 
 Where it might lay the forms of those 
 Who, resting from their fateful broil, 
 Had ceased forever to be foes. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 183 
 
 To her and those who clung to her — 
 From manly eldest down to least — 
 The obsequies, the sepulchre, 
 The chanting choir, the weeping priest, 
 And all the throng and all the stir 
 
 Of sympathetic country-folk, 
 And all the signs of death and dole, 
 Were but a dream that beat and broke 
 In chilling waves on heart and soul. 
 Till in the silence they awoke. 
 
 She was a widow, and she wept ; 
 She was a mother, and she smiled ; 
 Her faith with those she loved was kept, 
 Though still the war-cry, fierce and wild, 
 Around the harried country swept. 
 
1 84 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 No more with this had she to do ; 
 God and her little ones were left ; 
 And unto these, serene and true, 
 She gave the life so soon bereft 
 Of its first gifts, and rose anew 
 
 At duty's call to make amends 
 For all her loss of loves and lands ; 
 And found, to speed her noble ends, 
 The succor of uplifting hands, 
 And solace of a thousand friends. 
 
 And o'er her precious graves she built 
 A stone whereon the yellow boss 
 Of sword on sword with naked hilt 
 Lay as the symbol of her cross, 
 In mournful meaning, carved and gilt. 
 
The Mistress of the Manse. 185 
 
 And underneath were graved the hnes : — • 
 They did the duty that they saw ; 
 Both wrought at God's supreme designs 
 And, under love's eternal law, 
 Each life with equal beauty shines." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Peace, with its large and hhed calms, 
 Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake, 
 With healing in its dewy balms, 
 For pride that pines and hearts that ache, 
 From Huron to the land of palms ! 
 
 From rock-bound Massachusetts Bay 
 To California's Golden Gate ; 
 From where Itasca's waters play, 
 To those which plunge or palpitate 
 A thousand happy leagues away. 
 
1 86 The Mistress of the Manse. 
 
 And drink, among her dunes and bars, 
 The Mississippi's boiUng tide, 
 Still floating from a million spars. 
 The nation's ensign, undefied, 
 Blazons its galaxy of stars. 
 
 No more to party strife the slave, 
 And freed from Hate's infernal spells, 
 Love pays her tribute to the brave, 
 And snows her holy immortelles 
 O'er friend and foe, where'er his grave. 
 
 On every Decoration Day 
 
 Each pilgrim to her hallowed grounds 
 
 Brings tribute of a flower or spray ; 
 
 And white-haired Mildred finds her mounds 
 
 Decked with the garnered bloom of May. 
 
The Mistress of tJie Manse. 187 
 
 And Philip's first-born, strong and sage, 
 (Through Heaven's design or happy chance) 
 Finds the old church his heritage ; 
 And still, The Mistress of the Manse, 
 Sits Mildred, in her silver age ! 
 
 END. 
 

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