title: Poems ...
text: V ■■■ 1 f ^5 A y o * fc * A * 4* j ^ys^ <x 0 ^ * » " ° ' v. ^ t o N r. ■ , **- f CONTENTS. The Golden Gate 14a Phantoms 143 Thankfulness 145 Home-Sickness 146 Wishes 148 The Peace of God  162 Hush! 164 Hours 165 The Two Interpreters 167 Comfort 169 1 Home at Last 171 ' Unexpressed .172 Because 17 3 Rest at Evening 175 A Retrospect 176 Legends and Lyrics : a Book of Verses. Second Series 179 A Legend of Provence 181 Envy 19a Over the Mountain  Late 202 The Requital 205 Returned — " Missing " 207 In the Wood 209 Two Worlds 210 / CONTENTS. H \ ft 4 3 | A New Mother . * • • . . • 212 Give Place • ••••••• 221 My Will ........ 222 King and Slave 224 A Chant 225 Dream-Life . . • 227 Rest 228 The Tyrant and the  244 Borrowed Thoughts. I. From "Lavater" . .. • . . 256 EE. From " Phantastes " .... 257 m. From " Lost Alice " .... 258 IV. From * * * 259 Light and Shade 260 A Changeling 263 Discouraged 264 If Thou couldst know 267 The Warrior to his Dead Bride .... 268 A Letter 269 4. Comforter 271 Unseen 275 A Remembrance of Autumn 276 Three Evenings in a Life 277 The Wind . .292 Expectation . 293 An Ideal . . 294 Our Dead 296 A Woman's Answer 297 The Story of the Faithful Soul .... 299 I! CONTENTS. vii A Contrast 303 The Bride's Dream 305 The Angel's Bidding 307 Spring 309 Evening Hymn 311 The Inner Chamber 31Z Hearts 314 Two Loves 316 A Woman's Last Word 318 Past and Present 319 For the Future 320 k Chaplet of Verses. The Army of the Lord . .... 331 The Star Of the Sea • 336 The Sacred Heart 337 The Names of Our Lady 340 A Chaplet of Flowers . . ... . 343 Kyrie Eleison .346 The Annunciation 348 An Appeal 350 The Jubilee of 1850 353 Christmas Flowers 355 A Desire 357 Our Daily Bread 359 Threefold '360 Confido et Conquiesco 36a Ora pro Me 363 The Church in 1849 364 Fishers of Men 365 The Old Year's Blessing 366 Evening Chant , 368 A Christmas Carol 370 Our Titles 372 Ministering Angels 373 The Shrines of Mary • • . . , . 374 The Homeless Poor 381 1 viii CONTENTS. Milly's Expiation 388 A Castle in the Air 402  41 3 Homeless «•••...„. 414 1 1 LEGENDS AND LYRICS, A BOOK OF VERSES. FIRST SERIES. DEDICATED TO MATILDA M. HAYS. "Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous, old and lifeless, because they do not represent our life, he only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore let the armer give his corn ; the miner, a gem ; the sailor, coral nd shells ; the painter, his picture ; and the poet, his po= W " — Emersoris Essays. A. A. P. May, 1858. I I r THE ANGEL'S STORY. HROUGH the blue and frosty heavens Christmas stars were shining bright ; Glistening lamps throughout the City Almost matched their gleaming light ; While the winter snow was lying, And the winter winds were sighing, Long ago, one Christmas night While, from every tower and steeple, Pealing bells were sounding clear, (Never with such tones of gladness, Save when Christmas time is near,) Many a one that night was merry Who had toiled through all the year. That night saw old wrongs forgiven, Friends, long parted, reconciled ; Voices all unused to laughter, Mournful eyes that rarely smiled, Trembling hearts that feared the morrow, From their anxious thoughts beguiled. THE ANGEL'S STORY. Rich and poor felt love and blessing From the gracious season fall ; Joy and plenty in the cottage, Peace and feasting in the hall ; And the voices of the children Ringing clear above it all ! Yet one house was dim and darkened Gloom, and sickness, and despair, Dwelling in the gilded chambers, Creeping up the marble stair, Even stilled the voice of mourning,— For a child lay dying there. Silken curtains fell around him, Velvet carpets hushed the tread, Many costly toys were lying, All unheeded, by his bed ; And his tangled golden ringlets Were on downy pillows spread. The skill of that mighty City To save one little life was vain, — One little thread from being broken, One fatal word from being spoken ; Nay, his very mother's pain, And the mighty love within her, Could not give him health again. So she knelt there still beside him, She alone with strength to smile, Promising that he should suffer No more in a little while, Murmuring tender song and story Weary hours to beguile. THE ANGEL'S STORY. Suddenly an unseen Presence Checked those constant moaning cries, Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, Kaised those blue and wondering eyes, Fixed on some mysterious vision, With a startled sweet surprise. For a radiant angel hovered, Smiling, o'er the little bed ; White his raiment, from his shoulders Snowy dove-like pinions spread, And a starlike light was shining In a Glory round his head. While, with tender love, the angel, Leaning o'er the little nest, In his arms the sick child folding, Laid him gently on his breast, Sobs and wailings told the mother That her darling was at rest. So the angel, slowly rising, Spread his wings, and through the air Bore the child, and, while he held him To his heart with loving care, Placed a branch of crimson roses Tenderly beside him there. While the child, thus clinging, floated Towards the mansions of the Blest, Gazing from his shining guardian To the flowers upon his breast, Thus the angel spake, still smiling On the little heavenly guest : THE ANGEL'S STOUT. " Know, dear little one, that Heaven Does no earthly thing disdain, Man's poor joys find there an echo Just as surely as his pain ; Love, on earth so feebly striving, Lives divine in Heaven again! " Once in that great town below us, In a poor and narrow street, Dwelt a little sickly orphan ; Gentle aid, or pity sweet, Never in life's rugged pathway Guided his poor tottering feet. " All the striving anxious forethought That should only come with age "Weighed upon his baby spirit, Showed him soon life's sternest page ; Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow Was his only heritage. " All too weak for childish pastimes, Drearily the hours sped ; On his hands so small and trembling Leaning his poor aching head, Or, through dark and painful hours, Lying sleepless on his bed. " Dreaming strange and longing fancies Of cool forests far away ; And of rosy, happy children, Laughing merrily at play, Coming home through green lanes, bearing Trailing boughs of blooming May. THE ANGEL'S STORY. 9 tt\ " Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven Gleamed above that narrow street, t j And the sultry air of summer (That you call so warm and sweet) Y Fevered the poor orphan, dwelling In the crowded alley's heat. < " One bright day, with feeble footsteps Slowly forth he tried to crawl, ; Through the crowded city's pathways, Till he reached a garden-wall, Where 'mid princely halls and mansions Stood the lordliest of all. " There were trees with giant branches, Velvet glades where shadows hide ; There were sparkling fountains glancing, Flowers, which in luxuriant pride Even wafted breaths of perfume To the child who stood outside. " He against the gate of iron Pressed his wan and wistful face, Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure At the glories of the place ; Never had his brightest day-dream Shone with half such wondrous grace. " You were playing in that garden, Throwing blossoms in the air, Laughing when the petals floated Downwards on your golden hair; And the fond eyes watching o'er you, And the splendor spread before you, Told a House's Hope was there. zo THE ANGEL'S STORY. " When your servants, tired of seeing Such a face of want and woe, Turning to the ragged orphan, Gave him coin, and bade him go, Down his cheeks so thin and wasted Bitter tears began to flow. "But that look of childish sorrow On your tender child-heart fell, And you plucked the reddest roses From the tree you loved so well, Passed them through the stern cold grating Gently bidding him ' Farewell ! ' " Dazzled by the fragrant treasure And the gentle voice he heard, In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred; In his hand he took the flowers, In his heart the loving word. " So he crept to his poor garret ; Poor no more, but rich and bright, For the holy dreams of childhood — Love, and Eest, and Hope, and Light - Floated round the orphan's pillow Through the starry summer night. " Day dawned, yet the visions lasted ; All too weak to rise he lay ; Did he dream that none spake harshly, — All were strangely kind that day 1 Surely then his treasured roses Must have charmed all ills away. THE ANGEL'S STORY, J " And he smiled, though they were fading ; One by one their leaves were shed ; j * Such bright things could never perish, They would bloom again/ he said. "When the next day's sun had risen Child and flowers both were dead. i" Know, dear little one ! our Father Will no gentle deed disdain : Love on the cold earth beginning Lives divine in Heaven again, While the angel hearts that beat there j Still all tender thoughts retain." So the angel ceased, and gently O'er his little burthen leant; While the child gazed from the shining, Loving eyes that o'er him bent, To the blooming roses by him, Wondering what that mystery meant. Thus the radiant angel answered, And with tender meaning smiled : " Ere your childlike, loving spirit, Sin and the hard world defiled, God has given me leave to seek you, — I was once that little child ! " 3|f ^ ¥fc In the church-yard of that city Rose a tomb of marble rare, Decked, as soon as Spring awakened, With her buds and blossoms fair, — And a humble grave beside it, — No one knew who rested there. ECHOES. ECHOES. TILL the angel stars are shining, Still the rippling waters flow, But the angel-voice is silent That I heard so long ago. Hark ! the echoes murmur low, Long ago ! Still the wood is dim and lonely, Still the plashing fountains play, But the past and all its beauty, Whither has it fled away ? Hark ! the mournful echoes say, Fled away ! Still the bird of night complaineth, (Now, indeed, her song is pain,) Visions of my happy hours, Do I call and call in vain % Hark ! the echoes cry again, All in vain I Cease, O echoes, mournful echoes ! Once I loved your voices well ; Now my heart is sick and weary. — Days of old, a long farewell ! Hark ! the echoes sad and dreary Cry farewell, farewell ! J A FALSE GENIUS. A FALSE GENIUS. See a Spirit by thy side, Purple-winged and eagle-eyed, Looking like a heavenly guide. 1 Though he seem so bright and fair, Ere thou trust his proffered care, Pause a little, and beware ! If he bid thee dwell apart, Tending some ideal smart , In a sick and coward heart ; In self-worship wrapped alone, Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown More than other men have known ; Dwelling in some cloudy sphere, Though God's work is waiting here, And God deigneth to be near ; If his torch's crimson glare Show thee evil everywhere, Tainting all the wholesome air ; While with strange distorted choice, Still disdaining to rejoice, Thou wilt hear a wailing voice ; MY PICTURE. If a simple, humble heart Seem to thee a meaner part Than thy noblest aim and art ; If he bid thee bow before Crowned Mind and nothing more, The great idol men adore ; And with starry veil enfold Sin, the trailing serpent old, Till his scales shine out like gold ; Though his words seem true and wise, Soul, I say to thee, Arise, He is a Demon in disguise ! MY PICTUKE. TAND this way — more near the dow — By my desk — you see the light Falling on my picture better — Thus I see it while I write ! Who the head may be I know not, But it has a student air ; With a look half sad, half stately, Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair. MY PICTURE. Little care I who the painter, How obscure a name he bore ; Nor, when some have named Velasquez^ Did I value it the more. As it is, I would not give it For the rarest piece of art ; It has dwelt with me, and listened To the secrets of my heart. Many a time, when to my garret, Weary, I returned at night, It has seemed to look a welcome That has made my poor room brigM Many a time, when ill and sleepless, I have watched the quivering gleam Of my lamp upon that picture, Till it faded in my dream. When dark days have come, and friendship Worthless seemed, and life in vain, That bright friendly smile has sent me Boldly to my task again. Sometimes when hard need has pressed ma To bow down where I despise, I have read stern words of counsel In those sad, reproachful eyes. Nothing that my brain imagined, Or my weary hand has wrought, But it watched the dim Idea Spring forth into armed Thought r6 JUDGE NOT. It has smiled on my successes, Raised me when my hopes were low, And by turns has looked upon me With all the loving eyes I know. Do you wonder that my picture Has become so like a friend ? — It has seen my life's beginnings, It shall stay and cheer the end ! JUDGE NOT. ]TJDGE not ; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, In God's pure light may only be A scar, brought from some well-won field, Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight, May be a token, that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face ! The fall thou darest to despise — May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand ; Or, trusting less to earthly things, ^ May henceforth learn to use his wings. \ \ I \ FRIEND SORROW *7 And judge none lost ; but wait and see, With hopeful pity, not disdain ; The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days I FRIEND SORROW. 0 not cheat thy Heart and tell her, " Grief will pass away, Hope for fairer times in future, And forget to-day." — Tell her, if you wili, that sorrow Need not come in vain ; Tell her that the lesson taught her Far outweighs the pain. Cheat her not with the old comfort, " Soon she will forget," — Bitter truth, alas ! but matter Rather for regret ; Bid her not " Seek other pleasures, Turn to other thingj " : — Rather nurse her caged sorrow Till the captive siogs. Rather bid her go forth bravely, And the stranger greet ; Not as foe, with spear and buckler, But as dear friends meet ; 2 s ONE BY ONE. Bid her with a strong clasp hold her. By her dusky wings, Listening for the murmured blessing Sorrow always brings. ONE BY ONE. NE by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall ; Some are coming, some are going ', Do not strive to grasp th^-m all. One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole ?.'.rength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach. One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) Joys are sent thee here below ; Take them readily when given, Ready too to let them go. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band ; One will fade as others greet thee ; Shadows passing through the land. Do not look at life's long sorrow ; See how small each moment's pain , God will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begii* again, j i TRUE HONORS. i Every hour that fleets so slowly Has its task to do or bear ; Luminous the crown, and holy, When each gem is set with care» Dp not linger with regretting, Or for passing hours despond ; Nor, the daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond. Hours are golden links, God's token, \ Beaching heaven ; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done. TRUE HONORS. S my darling tired already, Tired of her day of play ? Draw your little stool beside me, Smooth this tangled hair away. Can she put the logs together, Till they make a cheerful blaze ? Shall her blind old Uncle tell her Something of his youthfal days ? Hark ! The wind among the cedars Waves their white arms to and fro ; I remember how I watched them Sixty Christmas Days ago : Then I dreamt a glorious vision Of great deeds to crown each year* TRUE HONORS. Sixty Christmas Days have found me Useless, helpless, blind — and here ! Yes, I feel my darling stealing Warm soft fingers into mine : Shall I tell her what I fancied In that strange old dream of mine ? I was kneeling by the window, Reading how a noble band, With the red cross on their breastplates, Went to gain the Holy Land. WTiile with eager eyes of wonder Over the dark page I bent, Slowly twilight shadows gathered Till the letters came and went ; Slowly, till the night was round me ; Then my heart beat loud and fast, For I felt before I saw it That a spirit near me passed. Then I raised my eyes, and, shining Where the moon's first ray was bright, Stood a winged Angel-warrior Clothed and panoplied in light : So, with Heaven's love upon him, Stern in calm and resolute will, Looked St. Michael, — does the picture Hang in the old cloister still ? Threefold were the dreams of honor That absorbed my heart and brain ; Threefold crowns the Angel promised, Each one to be bought by pain : TRUE HONORS. 21 While he spoke, a threefold blessing Fell upon my soul like rain. Helper of the poor and suffering ; Victor in a glorious strife ; Singer of a noble poem : Such the honors of my life. Ah, that dream ! Long years that gave me Joy and grief as real things Never touched the tender memory Sweet and solemn that it brings, — Never quite effaced the feeling Of those white and shadowing wings. Do those blue eyes open wider ? Does my faith too foolish seem ? Yes, my darling, years have taught me It was nothing but a dream. Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge Of a fearful trial rose, Rose to crush my heart, and sternly Bade my young ambition close. More and more my eyes were clouded, Till at last God's glorious light Passed away from me forever, And I lived and live in night. Dear, I will not dim your pleasure, Christmas should be only gay : — In my night the stars have risen, And I wait the dawn of day. Spite of all I could be happy ; For my brothers' tender care TRUE HONORS. In their boyish pastimes ever Made me take, or feel a share. Philip, even then so thoughtful, Max so noble, brave, and tall, And your father, little Godfrey, The most loving of them all. Philip reasoned down my sorrow, Max would laugh my gloom away, Godfrey's little arms put round me Helped me through my dreariest day ; While the promise of my Angel, Like a star, now bright, now pale, Hung in blackest night above me, And I felt it could not fail. Years passed on, my brothers left me, Each went out to take his share In the struggle of life ; my portion Was a humble one — to bear. Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander Through the woods and fields alone, Every cottage in the village Had a corner called my own. Old and young, all brought their troubles, Great or small, for me to hear ; I have often blessed my sorrow That drew others' grief so near. Ah, the people needed helping — Needed love — (for Love and Heaven Are the only gifts not bartered, They alone are freely given) — TRUE HONORS. And I gave it. Philip's bounty (We were orphans, dear) made toil Prosper, and want never fastened On the tenants of the soil. Philip's name (0, how I gloried, He so young, to see it rise !) Soon grew noted among statesmen As a patriot true and wise. And his people all felt honored To be ruled by such a name ; I was proud too that they loved me ; Through their pride in him it came. He had gained what I had longed for, I meanwhile grew glad and gay, 'Mid his people, to be serving Him and them, in some poor way. How his noble earnest speeches With untiring fervor came ! Helper of the poor and suffering ; Truly he deserved the name ! Had my Angel's promise failed me ? Had that word of hope grown dim ? Why, my Philip had fulfilled it, And I loved it best in him ! Ma?: meanwhile — ■ ah, you, my darling, Can his loving words recall — - 'Mid the bravest and the noblest, Braver, nobler, than them all. How I loved him ! how my heart thrilled When his sword clanked by his side, When I touched his gold embroidery, Almost saw him in his pride 5 24 TRUE HONORS. So we parted ; he all eager To uphold the name he bore, Leaving in my charge — he loved me — Some one whom he loved still more : I must tend this gentle flower, I must speak to her of him, [For he feared — Love still is fearful — That his memory might grow dim. I must guard her from all sorrow, I must play a brother's part, Shield all grief and trial from her, If it need be, with my heart. Years passed, and his name grew famous ; We were proud, both she and I; And we lived upon his letters, While the slow days fleeted by. Then at last — you know the story, How a fearful rumor spread, Till all hope had slowly faded, And we heard that he was dead. Dead ! O, those were bitter hours ; Yet within my soul there dwelt A warning, and while others mourned him, Something like a hope I felt. His was no weak life as mine was, But a life, so full and strong — No, I could not think he perished Nameless, 'mid a conquered throng. How she drooped ! Years passed ; no tidings Came, and yet that little flame Of strange hope within my spirit Still burnt on, and lived the same. TRUE HONORS. Ah ! my child, our hearts will fail us, When to us they strongest seem : I can look back on those hours As a fearful, evil dream. She had long desj>aired ; what wonder That her heart had turned to mine ? Earthly loves are deep and tender, Not eternal and divine ! Can I say how bright a future Rose before my soul that day? O, so strange, so sweet, so tender ! And I had to turn away. Hard and terrible the struggle, For the pain not mine alone ; I called back my Brother's spirit, And I bade him claim his own. Told her — now I dared to do it — That I felt the day would rise When he would return to gladden My weak heart and her bright eyes. And I pleaded — pleaded sternly — In his name, and for his sake : Now, I can speak calmly of it, Then, I thought my heart would break. Soon — ah, Love had not deceived me, (Love's true instincts never err,) Wounded, weak, escaped from prison, He returned to me, — to her. I could thank God that bright morning, When I felt my Brother's gaze, That my heart was true and loyal, As in our old boyish days. 26 TRUE HONORS, Bought by wounds and deeds of daring, Honors he had brought away ; Glory crowned his name — my Brother's ; Mine too ! — we were one that day. Since the crown on him had fallen, " Victor in a noble strife," I could live and die contented With my poor ignoble life. Well, my darling, almost weary Of my story ? Wait awhile ; For the rest is only joyful ; I can tell it with a smile. One bright promise still was left me, Wound so close about my soul, That, as one by one had failed me, This dream now absorbed the whole. " Singer of a noble Poem," — Ah, my darling, few and rare Bum the glorious names of Poets, Like stars in the purple air. That too, and I glory in it, That great gift my Godfrey won ) I have my dear share of honor, Gained by that beloved one. One day shall my darling read it ; Now she cannot understand All the noble thoughts that lighten Through the genius of the land. I am proud to be his brother, Proud to think that hope was true ; Though I longed and strove so vainly, What I failed in, he could do. TRUE HONORS, 27 I was long before I knew it, Longer ere I felt it so ; Then I Strang my rhymes together Only for the poor and low. And, it pleases me to know it, (For I love them well indeed,) They care for my humble verses, Fitted for their humble need. And, it cheers my heart to hear it, Where the far-off settlers roam, My poor words are sung and cherished, Just because they speak of Home. And the little children sing them, (That, I think, has pleased me best,) Often, too, the dying love them, For they tell of Heaven and rest. So my last vain dream has faded ; (Such as I to think of fame !) Yet I will not say it failed me, For it crowned my Godfrey's name. No ; my Angel did not cheat me, For my long life has been blest; He did give me Love and Sorrow, He will bring me Light and Rest. - 28 A WOMAN' S QUESTION. A WOMAN'S QUESTION. EFOKE I trust my Fate to thee, Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy Future give Color and form to mine, Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to- night for me. I break all slighter bonds, nor feel A shadow of regret : Is there one link within the Past That holds thy spirit yet ? Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee ? Does there within thy dimmest dreams A possible future shine, Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, Untouched, unshared by mine ? If so, at any pain or cost, 0, tell me before all ,is lost. Look deeper still. If thou canst feel Within thy inmost soul, That thou hast kept a portion back, While I have staked the whole ; Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so. Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil ? A STUDENT. A STUDENT. VER an ancient scroll I bent, Steeping my soul in wise content, Nor paused a moment, save to chide A low voice whispering at my side. I wove beneath the stars' pale shine A dream, half human, half divine ; And shook off (not to break the charm) A little hand laid on my arm. I read ; until my heart would glow With the great deeds of long ago ; Nor heard, while with those mighty dead, Pass to and fro a faltering tread. On the old theme I pondered long, — The struggle between right and wrong ; I could not check such visions high, To soothe a little quivering sigh. I tried to solve the problem — Life ; Dreaming of that mysterious strife, How could I leave such reasonings wise, To answer two blue pleading eyes ? I strove how best to give, and when, My blood to save my fellow-men, — How could I turn aside, to look At snowdrops laid upon my book ? 3 34 A KNIGHT ERRANT. Now Time has fled — the world is strange, Something there is of pain and change ; My books lie closed upon the shelf ; I miss the old heart in myself. I miss the sunbeams in my room — It was not always wrapped in gloom i I miss my dreams — they fade so fast, Or flit into some trivial past. The great stream of the world goes by ; None care, or heed, or question, why I, the lone student, cannot raise My voice or hand as in old days. No echo seems to wake again My heart to anything but pain, Save when a dream of twilight brings The fluttering of an angel's wings ! A KNIGHT ERKANT. HOUGH he lived and died among ua, Yet his name may be enrolled With the knights whose deeds of daring Ancient chronicles have told. Still a stripling, he encountered Poverty, and struggled long, Gathering force from every effort, Till he knew his arm was strong. A KNIGHT ERRANT. Then his heart and life he offered To his radiant mistress — Truth ; Never thought, or dream, or faltering, Marred the promise of his youth. So he rode forth to defend her, And her peerless worth proclaim ; Challenging each recreant doubter Who aspersed her spotless name. First upon his path stood Ignorance, Hideous in his brutal might ; Hard the blows and long the battle Ere the monster took to flight. Then, with light and fearless spirit, Prejudice he dared to brave ; Hunting back the lying craven To her black sulphureous cave. Followed by his servile minions, Custom, the old Giant, rose; Yet he, too, at last was conquered By the good Knight's weighty blows. Then he turned, and, flushed with victory, Struck upon the brazen shield Of the world's great king, Opinion, And defied him to the field. Once again he rose a conqueror, And, though wounded in the fight, With a dying smile of triumph Saw that Truth had gained her right. J 36 LINGER, 0 GENTLE TIME. On his failing ear re-echoing Came the shouting round her throne ^ Little cared he that no future With her name would link his own. Spent with many a hard-fought battle, Slowly ebbed his life away, And the crowd that nocked to greet her Trampled on him where he lay. Gathering all his strength, he saw her Crowned and reigning in her pride ; Looked his last upon her beauty, Raised his eyes to God, and died. LINGER, O GENTLE TIME. TNGER, O gentle Time, Linger, O radiant grace of bright To day ! Let not the hours' chime Call thee away, But linger near me still with fond delay. Linger, for thou art mine ! What dearer treasures can the future hold ? What sweeter flowers than thine Can she unfold % What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told ? { HOMEWARD BOUND. 3 0 linger in thy flight ! For shadows gather round, and should we part, A dreary, starless night May fill my heart, — Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart. Linger, I ask no more, — Thou art enough forever — thou alone ; What future can restore, When thou art flown, All that I hold from thee and call my own ? HOMEWARD BOUND. HAVE seen a fiercer tempest, Known a louder whirlwind blow; I was wrecked off red Algiers, Six-and-thirty years ago. Young I was, and yet old seamen Were not strong or calm as I ; Wliile life held such treasures for me, I felt sure I could not die. Life I struggled for — and saved it ; Life alone — and nothing more ; Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless I was cast upon the shore. I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean ; So the great sea rose — and then Cast me from her friendly bosom, On the pitiless hearts of men. HOMEWARD BOUND. Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains, With black gorges, up the land ; Up to where the lonely Desert Spreads her burning, dreary sand : In the gorges of the mountains, On the plain beside the sea, Dwelt my stern and cruel masters, The black Moors of Barbary. Ten long years I toiled among them, Hopeless — as I used to say ; Now I know Hope burnt within me Fiercer, stronger, day by day : Those dim years of toil and sorrow Like one long, dark dream appear ; One long day of weary waiting, — Then each day was like a year. How I cursed the land, my prison ; How I cursed the serpent sea, And the Demon Fate that showered All her curses upon me , I was mad, I think — God pardon Words so terrible and wild — This voyage would have been my last one, For I left a wife and child. Never did one tender vision Fade away before my sight, Never once through all my slavery, Burning day or dreary night ; In my soul it lived, and kept me, Now I feel, from black despair, And my heart was not quite broken, While they lived and blest me there. HOMEWARD BOUND. When at night my task was over, I would hasten to the shore ; (All was strange and foreign inland, Nothing I had known before ;) Strange looked the bleak mountain passes, Strange the red glare and black shade, And the Oleanders, waving To the sound the fountains made. Then I gazed at the great Ocean, Till she grew a friend again ; And because she knew old England, I forgave her all my pain : So the blue still sky above me, With its white clouds' fleecy fold, And the glimmering stars (though brighter), Looked like home and days of old. And a calm would fall upon me, Worn perhaps with work and pain, The wild hungry longing left me, And I was myself again : Looking at the silver waters, Looking up at the far sky, Dreams of home and all I left there Floated sorrowfully by. A fair face, but pale with sorrow, With blue eyes, brimful of tears, And the little red mouth, quivering With a smile, to hide its fears ; Holding out her baby towards me, From the sky she looked on me ; So it was that last I saw her, As the ship put out to sea. HOMEWARD BOUND. Sometimes (and a pang would seize me That the years were floating on) I would strive to paint her, altered, And the little baby gone : She no longer young and girlish, The child standing by her knee, And her face more pale and saddened With the weariness for me. Then I saw, as night grew darker, How she taught my child to pray, Holding its small hands together, For its father, far away; And I felt her sorrow, weighing Heavier on me than my own, Pitying her blighted spring-time, And her joy so early flown. Till upon my hands (now hardened With the rough, harsh toil of years) Bitter drops of anguish falling, Woke me from my dream, to tears ; Woke me as a slave, an outcast, Leagues from home, across the deep ; So — though you may call it childish — So I sobbed myself to sleep. Well, the years sped on — my Sorrow, Calmer, and yet stronger grown, Was my shield against all suffering Poorer, meaner than her own. Thus my cruel master's harshness Pell upon me all in vain, Yet the tale of what we suffered Echoed back from main to main. HOMEWARD BOUND. You have heard in a far country Of a self-devoted band, Vowed to rescue Christian captives Pining in a foreign land. And these gentle-hearted strangers Year by year go forth from Rome, In their hands the hard-earned ransom, To restore some exiles home. I was freed : they broke the tidings Gently to me : but indeed Hour by hour sped on, I knew not What the words meant — I was freed ! Better so, perhaps ; while sorrow (More akin to earthly things) Only strains the sad heart's fibres, Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings. Yet at last it rushed upon me, And my heart beat full and fast ; What were now my years of waiting, What was all the dreary past "? Nothing — to the impatient throbbing I must bear across the sea : Nothing — to the eternal hours Still between my home and me ! How the voyage passed I know not ; Strange it was once more to stand With my countrymen around me, And to clasp an English hand. But, through all, my heart was dreaming Of the first words I should hear, In the gentle voice that echoed, Fresh as ever, on my ear. HOMEWARD BOUND. Should I see her start of wonder, And the sudden truth arise, Flushing all her face and lightening The dimmed splendor of her eyes ? Oh ! to watch the fear and doubting Stir the silent depths of pain, And the rush of joy — then melting Into perfect peace again. And the child ! — but why remember Foolish fancies that I thought ? Every tree and every hedge-row From the well-known past I brought ; I would picture my dear cottage, See the crackling wood-fire burn, And the two beside it seated, Watching, waiting, my return,, So at last we reached the harbor. I remember nothing more Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing, With my hand upon the door. There I paused — I heard her speaking ; Low, soft, murmuring words she said Then I first knew the dumb terror I had had lest she were dead. It was evening in late autumn, And the gusty wind blew chill ; Autumn leaves were falling round me, And the red sun lit the hill. Six-and-twenty years are vanished Since then, — I am old and gray, — But I never told to mortal What I saw, until this day. HOMEWARD BOUND. She was seated by the fire, In her arms she held a child, Whispering baby-words caressing, And then, looking up, she smiled ; Smiled on him who stood beside her — Oh ! the bitter truth was told, In her look of trusting fondness — I had seen the look of old ! But she rose and turned towards me (Cold and dumb I waited there) With a shriek of fear and terror, And a white face of despair. He had been an ancient comrade — Not a single word we said, While we gazed upon each other, He the living : I the dead ! I drew nearer, nearer to her, And I took her trembling hand, Looking on her white face, looking That her heart might understand All the love and all the pity That my lips refused to say. I thank God no thought save sorrow Rose in our crushed hearts that day. Bitter tears that desolate moment, Bitter, bitter tears we wept, We three broken hearts together, While the baby smiled and slept. Tears alone — no words were spoken, Till he — till her husband said That my boy, (I had forgotten The poor child,) that he was dead. 44 LIFE AND DEATH. Then at last I rose, and, turning, Wrung his hand, but made no sign ; And I stooped and kissed her forehead Once more, as if she were mine. Nothing of farewell I uttered, Save in broken words to pray That God would ever guard and bless her, — - Then in silence passed away. Over the great restless ocean Six-and-twenty years I roam ; All my comrades, old and weary, Have gone back to die at home. Home ! yes, I shall reach a haven, I, too, shall reach home and rest ; I shall find her waiting for me With our baby on her breast. LIFE AND DEATH. HAT is Life, father 1 " " A battle, my child, Where the strongest lance may fail, Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled And the stoutest heart may quail. Where the foes are gathered on every hand, And rest not day or night, And the feeble little ones must stand In the thickest of the fight/' NOW. 45 « What is Death, father ? " " The rest, my child, When the strife and the toil are o'er ; The angel of God, who, calm and mild, Says we need fight no more; Who, driving away the demon band, Bids the din of the battle cease ; Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, And proclaims an eternal peace." " Let me die, father ! I tremble, and fear To yield in that terrible strife ! " " The crown must be won for heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life : My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small ; The angels of heaven are on thy side, And God is over all ! " NOW. ISE ! for the day is passing, And you lie dreaming on ; The others have buckled their armor, And forth to the fight are gone : A place in the ranks awaits you, Each man has some part to play ; The Past and the Future are nothing, In the face of the stern To-day. NOW.. Rise from your dreams of the Future, — Of gaining some hard-fought field ; Of storming some airy fortress, Or bidding some giant yield ; Your Future has deeds of glory, Of honor (God grant it may !) But your arm will never be stronger, Or the need so great as To-day. Rise ! if the Past detains you, Her sunshine and storms forget; No chains so unworthy to hold you As those of a vain regret ; Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever ; Cast her phantom arms away, Nor look back, save to learn the lesson Of a nobler strife To-day. Rise ! for the day is passing ; The sound that you scarcely hear Is the enemy marching to battle : Arise ! for the foe is here ! Stay not to sharpen your weapons, Or the horn will strike at last, When, from dreams of a coming battle^ You may wake to find it past I THE VOICE OF THE WIND. It has been on the desolate ocean When the lightning struck the mast ; It has heard the cry of the drowning Who sank as it hurried past ; The words of despair and anguish That were heard by no living ear, The gun that no signal answered, It brings them all to us here. Hark to the voice of the wind ! It has been on the lonely moorland, Where the treacherous snow-drift lies, Where the traveller, spent and weary, Gasped fainter and fainter cries ; It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds On the track of the hunted slave, The lash and the curse of the master, And the groan that the captive gave. Hark to the voice of the wind ! It has swept through the gloomy forest, Where the sledge was urged to its speed, Where the howling wolves were rushing On the track of the panting steed. Where the pool was black and lonely, It caught up a splash and a cry, — Only the bleak sky heard it, And the wind as it hurried by. Hark to the voice of the wind ! Then throw more logs on the fire, Since the air is bleak and cold, And the children are drawing nigher, For the tales that the wind has told. 4 TREASURES. So closer and closer gather Round the red and crackling light ; And rejoice (while the wind is blowing) We are safe and warm to-night. Hark to the voice of the wind ! TREASURES. ET me count my treasures, All my soul holds dear, Given me by dark spirits Whom I used to fear. Through long days of anguish, And sad nights, did Pain Eorge my shield, Endurance, Bright and free from stain S Doubt, in misty caverns, 'Mid dark horrors sought, Till my peerless jewel, Faith, to me she brought. Sorrow, that I wearied Should remain so long, Wreathed my starry glory, The bright Crown of Song. Strife, that racked my spirit Without hope or rest, Left the blooming flower, Patience > on my breast. SHINING STARS. Suffering, that I dreaded, Ignorant of her charms, Laid the fair child, Pity, Smiling, in my arms. So I count my treasures, Stored in days long past, — And I thank the givers, Whom I know at last ! SHINING STARS. HINE, ye stars of heaven, On a world of pain ! See old Time destroying All our hoarded gain ; All our sweetest flowers, Every stately shrine, All our hard-earned glory, Every dream divine ! Shine, ye stars of heaven, On the rolling years ! See how Time, consoling, Dries the saddest tears, Bids the darkest storm-clouds Pass in gentle rain, While upspring in glory Flowers and dreams again! WAITING. Shine, ye stars of heaven, On a world of fear ! See how Time, avenging, Bringeth judgment here : Weaving ill-won honors To a fiery crown ; Bidding hard hearts perish ; Casting proud hearts down. Shine, ye stars of heaven, On the hours' slow flight ! See how Time, rewarding, Gilds good deeds with light ; Pays with kingly measure ; Brings earth's dearest prize ; Or, crowned with rays diviner, Bids the end arise ! WAITING. HEREFORE dwell so sad and lonely By the desolate sea-shore, With the melancholy surges Beating at your cottage door ? " You shall dwell beside the castle Shadowed by our ancient trees ; And your life shall pass on gently, Cared for, and in rest and ease/' WAITING. " Lady, one who loved me dearly- Sailed for distant lands away ; And I wait here his returning Hopefully from day to day. " To my door I bring my spinning, Watching every ship I see ; Waiting, hoping, till the sunset Fades into the western sea. " After sunset, at my casement, Still I place a signal light ; He will see its well-known sinning Should his ship return at night. " Lady, see your infant smiling, With its flaxen curling hair, — ^ I remember when your mother Was a baby just as fair. " I was watching then, and hoping : Years have brought great change to all ; To my neighbors in their cottage, To you nobles at the hall. " Not to me, — for I am waiting, And the years have fled so fast, I must look at you to tell me That a weary time has past ! " When I hear a footstep coming On the shingle — years have fled — Yet amid a thousand others, I shall know his quick, light tread. 54 THE CRADLE-SONG OF THE POOR. 