Poems
'*■ ^N ^ * i' ■>" & S sS- <$ "<% °s. •^ ■ \x ^ ■ ■?■■ .\x ^ V „ ^ s ■■a i : .: . . : i i i atoll tlio oa - , : . ra.hi-d.ro md '■ ■■■ l f av 'TirasboTtiii i m< i ill t.q ■ hi id '■ iai-0 n the POEMS. BY AMELIA. *A SIXTH EDITION, ENLARGED. NEW YOR D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY PHILADELPHIA: G. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT STREET. M DCCC XLIX. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, By GEORGE WELBY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Kentucky TO MY BELOVED FATHER THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED, AS A SLIGHT TRIBUTE OF LOVE, BY HIS AFFECTIONATE DAUGHTER AMELIA. CONTENTS. PAGE The Rainbow, . .... 9 Melodia, . • 12 The Freed Bird, ..... ... 16 The Sea-Shell, . 20 On seeing an Infant sleeping on its Mother's Bosom, . 24 The Green Mossy Bank, . . 26 Musings, 28 To the Sky-Lark, 33 To a Lovely Girl, 38 Lines to a Lady, 40 i weep not, .... . .... 44 Lines written on a Miniature, 48 I know that thy spirit, 51 When shines the Star, 54 My Sisters, 58 The First Death of the Household, . . 62 The Maiden's First Love, . 66 The Stars, . . . 69 Stanzas, 74 Time, .. ••• •••••79 The Summer Birds, 82 6 CONTENTS. PAGE The Captive Sailor-Boy, 86 The Golden Ringlet, 90 The Cottage Band, ......... 94 The Little Step-Son, 97 To A HuMMING-BlRD, 99 The Broken-hearted, . .... 102 The Young Lovers, . . 105 The Blind Girl's Lament, . 108 To , 112 He came too late, 115 The American Sword, 119 Viola, . 122 To the Evening Star, 124 Breathe not a sigh, . 127 The Dying Girl, , 130 The Neglected Harp, 136 The Stars, 139 The. Dew-Drop, 142 The Sleeping Maiden, 144 My own Native Land, 147 To Mrs. S. J. P , 149 The Dying Mother, 151 Sweet be thy dreams, 156 The Violet's Song to the Lost Fairy, 158 I have a fair and gentle friend, 161 To Mrs. L , 165 Lines on seeing a beautiful little Girl gathering Flowers, 167 The Dreamers, 171 May, 175 Pulpit Eloquence, 179 CONTENTS. PAGE The Last Interview, 185 When soft stars, ....... .189 o ! had we only met, . 191 To Amanda, . 194 Music, ... ........ 196 The Bride, 199 The Mournful Heart, 203 The Parted Year, 206 i never have loved thee, ........ 212 o ! dark is the gloom, 215 The Presence of God, .... ... 217 i know thee not, 222 Thou canst not forget me, ....... 225 Hopeless Love, 228 The Bereaved, 232 To Lucy during her Absence, ...... 235 On entering the Mammoth Cave, 237 Sudden Death, 245 i saw thee but a moment, 249 The Evening Skies, . 252 The Old Maid, . 255 POEMS. THE RAINBOW. I sometimes have thoughts, in my loneliest hours, That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers, Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon When my heart was as light as a blossom in June ; The green earth was moist with the late fallen showers. The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers, While a single white cloud, to its haven of rest On the white wing of peace, floated off in the west. As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze, That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas, Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 10 . THE RAINBOW. 'Twas born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth, It had stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth, And, fair as an angel, it floated as free, With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea. How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell ! Like a woman's soft bosom it rose and it fell ; While its light sparkling waves, stealing laughingly o'er, When they saw the fair rainbow, knelt down on the shore. No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of prayer, Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was there, And bent my young head, in devotion and love, 'Neath the form of the angel, that floated above. How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings ! How boundless its circle ! how radiant its rings ! If I looked on the sky, 'twas suspended in air ; If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there ; Thus forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole As the thoughts of the rainbow, that circled my soul. Like the wing of the Deity, calmly unfurled, It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. THERAINBOW. 11 There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves, When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose. And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky, The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by ; It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove, All fluttering with pleasure, and fluttering with love. I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain ; I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, Must pass from the earth, and lie cold in the grave ; Yet O ! when death's shadows my bosom encloud, When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold [n her beautiful pinions of purple and gold. MELODIA. I met, once in my girlish hours, A creature, soft and warm ; Her cottage bonnet, filled with flowers, Hung swinging on her arm ; Her voice was sweet as the voice of Love, And her teeth were pure as pearls, While her forehead lay, like a snow-white dove, In a nest of nut-brown curls ; She was a thing unknown to fame — Melodia was her strange sweet name. I never saw an eye so bright And yet so soft as hers ; It sometimes swam in liquid light, And sometimes swam in tears ; MELODIA. 13 It seemed a beauty, set apart For softness and for sighs ; But O ! Melodia's melting heart Was softer than her eyes — For they were only formed to spread The softness, from her spirit shed. I've gazed on many a brighter face, But ne'er on one for years, Where beauty left so soft a trace As it had left on hers. But who can paint the spell, that wove A brightness round the whole ? 'Twould take an angel from above To paint the immortal soul — To trace the light, the inborn grace, The spirit, sparkling o'er her face. Her bosom was a soft retreat For love, and love alone, And vet her heart had never beat To Love's delicious tone. 14 MELODIA. It dwelt within its circle free From tender thoughts like these, Waiting the little deity, As the blossom waits the breeze Before it throws the leaves apart And trembles, like the love-touched heart. She was a creature, strange as fair, First mournful and then wild — Now laughing on the clear bright air As merry as a child, Then, melting down, as soft as even Beneath some new control, She'd throw her hazel eyes to heaven And sing with all her soul, In tones, as rich as some young bird's, Warbling her own delightful words. Melodia ! O how soft thy darts, How tender and how sweet ! Thy song enchained a thousand hearts And drew them to thy feet ; MELODIA. 15 And, as thy bright lips sang, they caught So beautiful a ray, That, as I gazed, I almost thought The spirit of thy lay Had left, while melting on the air, Its sweet expression painted there. Sweet vision of that starry even ! Thy virgin beauty yet, Next to the blessed hope of heaven, Is in my spirit set. It is a something, shrined apart, A light from memory, shed, To live until this tender heart, On which it lives, is dead — Reminding me of brighter hours, Of summer eves and summer flowers. THE FREED BIRD. Thy cage is opened, bird ! too well I love thee To bar the sunny things of earth from thee ; A whole broad heaven of blue lies calm above thee, The green- wood waves beneath, and thou art free ; These slender wires shall prison thee no more — Up, bird ! and 'mid the clouds thy thrilling music pour. Away ! away ! the laughing waters, playing, Break on the fragrant shore in ripples blue, And the green leaves unto the breeze are laying Their shining edges, fringed with drops of dew ; And, here and there, a wild flower lifts its head Refreshed with sudden life from many a sunbeam shed. THE FREED BIRD. 17 How sweet thy voice will sound ! for o'er yon rivei The wing of silence, like a dream, is laid, And naught is heard save where the wood-boughs quiver, Making rich spots of trembling light and shade. And a new rapture thy wild spirit fills, For joy is on the breeze, and morn upon the hills. Now, like the aspen, plays each quivering feather Of thy swift pinion, bearing thee along, Up, where the morning stars once sang together, To pour the fulness of thine own rich song ; And now thou'rt mirrored to my dazzled view, A little dusky speck amid a world of blue. Yet I will shade mine eye and still pursue thee, As thou dost melt in soft ethereal air, Till angel-ones, sweet bird, will bend to view thee, And cease their hymns awhile thine own to share ; And there thou art, with light clouds round thee furled, J ust poised beneath yon vault, that arches o'er the world. 2* 18 THE FREED BIRD. A free wild spirit unto thee is given, Bright minstrel of the blue celestial dome ! For thou wilt wander to yon upper heaven, And bathe thy plumage in the sunbeam's home ; And, soaring upward from thy dizzy height On free and fearless wing, be lost to human sight Lute of the summer clouds ! whilst thou art singing Unto thy Maker thy soft matin hymn, My own mild spirit, from its temple springing, Would freely join thee in the distance dim ; But I can only gaze on thee and sigh With heart upon my lip, bright minstrel of the sky ! And yet, sweet bird ! bright thoughts to me are given As many as the clustering leaves of June ; And my young heart is like a harp of heaven, Forever strung unto some pleasant tune ; And my soul burns with wild poetic fire, Though simple are my strains, and simpler still my lyre. THE FREED BIRD. 19 And now, farewell ! the wild wind of the mountain And the blue streams alone my strains have heard ; And it is well, for from my heart's deep fountain They flow, uncultured, as thine own, sweet bird ! For my free thoughts have ever spurned control, Since this heart held a wish, and this frail form a soul ! TO A SEA-SHELL. Shell of the bright sea- waves ! What is it, that we hear in thy sad moan? Is this unceasing music all thine own ? Lute of the ocean-caves ! Or does some spirit dwell In the deep windings of thy chambers dim, Breathing forever, in its mournful hymn, Of ocean's anthem swell ? Wert thou a murmurer long In crystal palaces beneath the seas, Ere from the blue sky thou hadst heard the breeze Pour its full tide of song ? TOASEA-SHELL. 21 Another thing with thee — Are there not gorgeous cities in the deep, Buried with flashing gems that brightly sleep. Hid by the mighty sea ? And say, O lone sea-shell ! Are there not costly things and sweet perfumes Scattered in waste o'er that sea-gulf of tombs ? Hush thy low moan and tell. But yet, and more than all — Has not each foaming wave in fury tossed O'er earth's most beautiful, the brave, the lost, Like a dark funeral pall ? 'Tis vain — thou answerest not ! Thou hast no voice to whisper of the dead ; 'Tis ours alone, with sighs like odors shed, To hold them unforgot ! 22 TO A SEA-SHELL. Thine is as sad a strain As if the spirit in thy hidden cell Pined to be with the many things, that dwell In the wild restless main. And yet there is no sound Upon the waters, whispered by the waves, But seemeth like a wail from many graves, Thrilling the air around. The earth, O moaning shell ! The earth hath melodies more sweet than these- The music gush of rills, the hum of bees Heard in each blossom's bell. Are not these tones of earth, The rustling forest, with its shivering leaves, Sweeter than sounds that e'en in moonlit eves Upon the seas have birth ? TO A SEA-SHELL 23 Alas ! thou still wilt moan — Thou'rt like the heart that wastes itself in sighs E'en when amid bewildering melodies. If parted from its own. LINES WRITTEN ON SEEING AN INFANT SLEEPING ON ITS MOTHER'S BOSOM. It lay upon its mother's breast, a thing Bright as a dew-drop when it first descends, Or as the plumage of an angel's wing, Where every tint of rainbow beauty blends ; It had soft violet eyes, that, 'neath each lid Half-closed upon them, like bright waters shone ; Wiaile its small dimpled hands were slily hid In the warm bosom that it nestled on. There was a beam in that young mother's eye. Lit by the feelings that she could not speak, As from her lips a plaintive lullaby Stirred the bright tresses on her infant's cheek ; ON AN INFANT SLEEPING, ETC. 25 While now and then, with melting heart, she pressed Soft kisses on its red and smiling lips, Lips, sweet as rose-buds in fresh beauty dressed Ere the young murmuring bee their honey sips. It was a fragrant eve, the sky was full Of burning stars, that, tremulously clear, Shone on those lovely ones, while the low lull Of falling waters fell upon the ear ; And the new moon, like a pure shell of pearl Encircled by the blue waves of the deep, Lay 'mid the fleecy clouds, that love to cur) Around the stars when they their vigils keep. My heart grew softer, as I gazed upon That youthful mother as she soothed to rest, With a low song, her loved and cherished one, The bud of promise, on her gentle breast ; For 'tis a sight, that angel-ones above May stoop to gaze on from their bowers of bliss, When Innocence upon the breast of love Is cradled, in a sinful world like this. THE GREEN MOSSY BANK WHERE THE BUTTER- CUPS GREW. O my thoughts are away where my infancy flew, Near the green mossy bank where the buttercups grew, Where the bright silver fountain eternally played, First laughing in sunshine, then singing in shade ; There oft in my childhood I've wandered in play, Flinging up the cool drops of the light falling spray, Till my small naked feet were all bathed in bright dew, As I played on the bank where the buttercups grew. How softly that green bank sloped down from the hill To the spot where the fountain grew suddenly still ! How cool was the shadow the long branches gave, As they hung from the willow and dipped in the wave ! THE GREEN MOSSY BANK, ETC. 27 And then, each pale lily, that slept on the stream, Rose and fell with the wave, as if stirred by a dream ! While my home 'mid the vine-leaves rose soft on my view, As I played on the bank where the buttercups grew. The beautiful things ! how I watched them unfold, Till they lifted their delicate vases of gold ! O, never a spot, since those days have I seen With leaves of such freshness and flowers of such sheen ! How glad was my spirit ! for then there was naught To burden its wing, save some beautiful thought Breaking up from its depths with each wild wind that blew O'er the green mossy bank where the buttercups grew. The paths I have trod 1 would quickly retrace, Could I win back the gladness, that looked from my face As I cooled my warm lip in that fountain, I love With a spirit as pure as the wing of a dove — Could I wander again where my forehead was starred With the beauty that dwelt in my bosom unmarred, And, calm as a child in the starlight and dew, Fall asleep on the bank where the buttercups grew. MUSINGS. I wandered out one summer-night, 'Twas when my years were few The wind was singing in the light And I was singing too ; The sunshine lay upon the hill, The shadow in the vale, And here and there a leaping rift Was laughing on the gale. One fleecy cloud upon the air Was all that met my eyes ; It floated like an angel there Between me and the skies ; MUSINGS. 29 I clapped my hands and warbled wild, As here and there I flew, For I was but a careless child And did as children do. The waves came dancing o'er the sea In bright and glittering bands ; Like little children, wild with glee, They linked their dimpled hands — They linked their hands, but, ere I caught Their sprinkled drops of dew, They kissed my feet, and, quick as thought, Away the ripples flew. The twilight hours, like birds, flew by, As lightly and as free ; Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand on the sea ; For every wave with dimpled face, That leaped upon the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there. 3* 30 MUSINGS. The young moon too with upturned sides Her mirrored beauty gave, And, as a bark at anchor rides, She rode upon the wave ; The sea was like the heaven above, As perfect and as whole, Save that it seemed to thrill with love As thrills the immortal soul. The leaves, by spirit-voices stirred, Made murmurs on the air, Low murmurs, that my spirit heard And answered with a prayer ; For 'twas upon that dewy sod, Beside the moaning seas, I learned at first to worship God And sing such strains as these. The flowers, all folded to their dreams, Were bowed in slumber free By breezy hills and murmuring streams, Where'er they chanced to be ; MUSINGS. 3i No guilty tears had they to weep, No sins to be forgiven ; They closed their leaves and went to sleep 'Neath the blue eye of heaven. No costly robes upon them shone, No jewels from the seas, Yet Solomon, upon his throne, Was ne'er arrayed like these ; And just as free from guilt and art Were lovely human flowers, Ere sorrow set her bleeding heart On this fair world of ours. I heard the laughing wind behind A-playing with my hair ; The breezy fingers of the wind — How cool and moist tney were ! I heard the night-bird warbling o'er Its soft enchanting strain ; I never heard such sounds before, And never shall again. 32 MUSINGS. Then wherefore weave such strains as these And sing them day by day, When every bird upon the breeze Can sing a sweeter lay ! I'd give the world for their sweet art, The simple, the divine — I'd give the world to melt one heart As they have melted mine. TO THE SKY-LAM. Thou little bird, thou lov'st to dwell Beneath the summer leaves ! The sunlight round thy mossy cell A golden halo weaves ; And the sweet dews, where'er we pass, Like living diamonds gem the grass, And round the mossy eaves The twittering swallow circling flies, As happy as the laughing skies. Soft as a bride, the rosy dawn From dewy sleep doth rise, And, bathed in blushes, hath withdrawn The mantle from her eyes ; 34 TO THE SKY-LARK. And, with her orbs dissolved in dew, Bends like an angel softly through The blue-pavilioned skies. Then up, and pour thy mellow lay, To greet the young and radiant day ! Hark ! now with low and fluttering start, The sky-lark soars above, And from her full melodious heart She pours her strains of love ; And now her quivering wings fling back The golden light that floods her track, Now scarcely seems to move, But floats awhile on waveless wings, Then soars away, and, soaring, sings. Bird of the pure and dewy morn ! How soft thy heavenward lay Floats up, where light and life are born Around the rosy day ! TO THE SKY- LARK. 35 And, as the balm that fills the hour Lies soft upon each waving flower, The happy wind at play Tells, as its voice goes laughing by, The lark is singing in the sky. When shall thy fearless wing find rest. Bird of the dewy hours ? When wilt thou seek thy little nest, Close hid among the flowers ? Not till the bright clouds, one by one, Are marshalled round the setting sun, In heaven's celestial bowers, Shall the old forest round thee fling Its mournful shades, O lonely thing ! Lonely ! and did I call thee lone ? 'Twas but a careless word : The round blue heaven is all thine own, O free and happy bird ! 36 TO THE SKY-LARK. Wherever laughs a singing rill, Or points to heaven a verdant hill, Thy waving wing hath stirred ; For all sweet things, where'er they be, Are like familiar friends to thee. Could I, O living lute of heaven 1 But learn to act thy part, And use the gift so freely given, That floods my inmost heart ; Each morn, my melting strains of love Should rise like thine to Him above, Who made thee what thou art, And spread abroad each waving tree, For thee, O little bird ! for thee. And shall the poet envy thee, Bird of the quivering wing, Whose soul immortal, swift, and free, Should ever soar and sing ? TO THE SKY-LARK 37 Predestined for a loftier flight, The spirit, filled with heavenly light, From this cold earth shall spring, And soar where thou canst never roam, Bird of the blue and breezy dome ! O ! if our hearts were never stirred, By harsher sounds than these — The low sweet singing of a bird, The murmur of the breeze, — How soft would glide our fleeting hours, Blessed as the sunshine and the flowers, And calm as summer seas ! Linked hand in hand with Love and Hope We'd wander down life's flowery slope. TO A LOVELY GIRL. Thou art not beautiful, yet thy young face Makes up in sweetness, what it lacks in grace ; Thou art not beautiful, yet thy blue eyes Steal o'er the heart like sunshine o'er the skies ; Theirs is the mild and intellectual ray, That to the inmost spirit wins its way ; Theirs are the beams, that full upon you roll, Surprising all the senses and the soul ; For O, when, pure as heaven's serenest skies, Thy timid soul sits pleading in thine eyes, The humid beams that 'neath thine eyelids steal Can softly teach the coldest heart to feel ; For Heaven, that gives to thee each mental grace, Hath stamped the angel on thy sweet young face. O ! while the pearl of peace securely dwells Deep in thy tender heart's ambrosial cells, TO A LOVELY GIRL. 39 While virtue sheds around thy virgin name A light more lovely than the light of fame, Thy sweet simplicity, thy graceful ease, Shall please even more than beauty e'er can please ; Thy heart of softness and thy soul refined Shall charm and win the most fastidious mind : And, as for me, where'er my footsteps wend, My heart brim full of thee, my happy friend ! Shall pine, when musing on thy sweet young face, Thine airy footstep, and thy breezy grace, To lay a soft hand 'mid thy trembling curls And bless thee as the loveliest of girls. LINES-TO A LADY. Lady ! my mountain-pathway wends Where thou wilt never dwell , And now to thee, and all my friends, I wave a last farewell ! Far in the dim and distant West On fair Kentucky's shore, Still dwell the friends who love me best, And one, whom I adore ; And there, where fairy footsteps rove, Entombed among the flowers Still sleeps the friend I used to love In my young happy hours. LINES TO A LADY. 41 Ask you if she was young and fair ? Her charms can ne'er be told ; The trembling lustre of her hair Was radiant, radiant gold. Her mouth was like a rose-bud, wet In summer's softest showers ; Her eyes among the stars seemed set, Her feet among the flowers ; Her voice was like the softest flow Of some melodious breeze ; Yes, she was young and fair, but O ! Her charms were more than these. O, how I loved her ! yet, methmks, Should friendship's glittering chain Unite in bliss its broken links, Around my heart again, Those soft and melting orbs of thine, That sparkle as they burn, From this too tender heart of mine Would meet a soft return ; 4# 42 LINES TO A LADY. For, lady ! till that first sweet even, You stole within my view, My melting heart to her had given The softest throbs it drew. 0, could thy glowing fancy trace The form, my fancy sees — The ringlets lifted from her face By every passing breeze ; The clearness of her ample brow, Her orbs of hazel hue Soft melting on thee — even thou Wouldst love and mourn her too ! She lived as lives a peaceful dove ; She died as blossoms die ; And now her spirit floats above, A seraph in the sky. Farewell ! I ask no vow of thine, I feel no foolish fears ; For if thy heart be formed, like mine, For softness and for tears. LINES TO A LADY. 43 Each whisper of the twilight breeze, Each murmur of the sea, Will fill thy heart with thoughts like these — Will fill it full of me ; Each floating cloud, each trembling star, Will tell a tale of one, Who dwells from thee and thine afar, Beneath ihe setting sun. "I WEEP NOT." I weep not as I wept When first they laid thee low; My sorrow all too deep is kept To melt like common wo ; Nor do my lips e'er part With whispers of thy name, But thou art shrined in this hushed heart, And that is all the same. I could be happy now, Had memory flown with thee, But I still hear a whisper low, And memory will not flee ; "I WEEP NOT." 45 A whisper that doth tell Of thee, and thee alone, A memory, like the ocean-shell, Forever making moan. For how can I forget Thine eye of softest brown, With its pale lid, just touched with jet, And always drooping down ; And thy sweet form of grace, That went to rest too soon, And the turning up of thy young face Beneath the placid moon ! I sometimes think thy hand Is on my forehead pressed, And almost feel thy tresses, fanned Across my beating breast, And catch the sunny flow Of thy mantle on the air, And turn to see if it is so — Alas ! thou art not there ! 46 "I WEEP NOT." i And I wander out alone Beside the singing rills, When nothing but the wind's low tone Comes stealing down the hills ; And while along the deep The moonbeams softly shine, My silent soul goes forth to keep Its blessed tryste with thine. I weep not though thou'rt laid In such a lone dark place, Thou, who didst live without a shade, To cloud thy sweet young face ; For now thy spirit sings Where angel-ones have trod, Veiling their faces 'neath their wings Around the throne of God. Thy faults were slight and few As human faults could be, And thy virtues were as many too As gems beneath the sea ; "I WEEP NOT." 47 And thy thoughts did heavenward roam Until, like links of gold, They drew thee up to thy blue home Within the Saviour's fold. LINES WRITTEN ON A MINIATURE. This is the pictured likeness of my love ! How true to life ! it seems to breathe and move ! Fire, love, and sweetness o'er each feature melt, The face expressing all the spirit felt ! Here, while I gaze within those large dark eyes, I almost see the living spirit rise ; While lights and shadows, all harmonious, glow, And heavenly radiance settles on the brow. And then, that mouth ! how tranquil its repose ! Sleeping in fragrance like a slumbering rose, It seems the ruby gate of love and bliss, Just formed to murmur sighs, to smile, and kiss. To what a lofty height can art arrive ! This glorious face, though lifeless, seems alive ; ON A MINIATURE. 49 t The lifted lash, the shining chestnut hair, Like nature, trembling on the ambient air. When o'er his task the painter sat apart, On this loved face exhausting all his art, What were his thoughts, when, in the magic strife, He saw each feature struggling into life, When every kindling glance, and manly grace, Caught from the moving form, and breathing face, Beneath his touch, like soft enchantment stole, And on the ivory smiled the living soul ! Flushed with delight, in that triumphant hour, His heart expanded like an opening flower ; His hopes on airy wings were lightly raised, And all his soul exulted as he gazed. But ah ! such thrilling joys are known to few, They are the painter's meed, the poet's due. And O ! how sweet the bliss such joys impart, Although their very raptures break the heart ! What, though the poet, bending o'er his lyre, Like his own songs, in sweetness may expire ! Who would not, swan-like, waste his sweetest breath, To taste such rapture — die so sweet a death? i 50 ON A MINIATURE. Flushed, faint, and trembling at his own success, Such joys as these, the lonely painter bless. As some fair face his silent toil repays, And bursts in beauty on his raptured gaze, His thoughts, too sweet for mortal hearts to share, Float up to heaven, and find an echo there, While on his heart descends immortal fire, And his own soul becomes his funeral pyre. "I KNOW THAT THY SPIRIT." I know that thy spirit looks radiantly down, From yon beautiful orb of the blessed, For a sound and a sign have been set in my own, That tell of the place of thy rest ; For I gaze on the star that we talked of so oft, As our glances would heavenward rove, When thy step was on earth, and thy bosom was soft With a sense of delight and of love. The dreams, that were laid on thy shadowless brow, Were pure as a feeling unborn, And the tone of thy voice was as pleasant and low As a bird's in a pleasant spring morn ; 52 "I KNOW THAI THY SPIRIT." Such a heaven of purity dwelt in thy breast, Such a world of bright thoughts in thy soul, That naught could have made thee more lovely or blessed, So bright was the beautiful whole. But now o'er thy breast in the hush of the tomb Are folded thy pale graceful arms, While the midnight of death, like a garment of gloom, Hangs over that bosom's young charms ! And pale, pale, alas ! is thy rosy lip now, Its melody broken and gone, And cold is the young heart, whose sweet dreams below Were of summer, of summer alone. Yet the rise and the fall of thine eyelids of snow O'er their blue orbs so mournfully meek, And the delicate blush that would vanish and glow Through the light of thy transparent cheek, And thy tresses all put from thy forehead away — These, these on my memory rise, As I gaze on yon bright orb, whose beautiful ray Hath so often been blessed by thine eyes. "I KNOW THAT THY SPIRIT." 53 The blue-girdled stars and the soft dreamy air, Divide thy fair spirit and mine, Yet I look in my heart, and a something is there, That links it in feeling to thine : The glow of the sunset, the voice of the breeze, As it cradles itself on the sea, Are dear to my bosom, for moments like these Are sacred to memory and thee. 5* "WHEN SHINES THE STAR." When shines the star by thee loved best, Upon those soft delicious eves, Lighting the ring-dove to her nest Where tremblings stir the darkling leaves ; When flings the wave its crest of foam Above the shadowy-mantled seas, A softness o'er my heart doth come, Linking thy memory with these ; For if, amid those orbs, that roll, Thou hast at times a thought of me, For every one, that stirs thy soul, A thousand stir my own of thee. "when shines the star." 55 Even now thy dear remembered eyes, Filled up with floods of radiant light, Seem bending from the twilight skies, Outshining all the stars of night ; And thy young face, divinely fair, Like a bright cloud seems melting through, While low sweet whispers fill the air, Making my own lips whisper too ; For never does the soft south wind Steal o'er the hushed and lonely sea, But it awakens in my mind A thousand memories of thee. O ! could I, — while these hours of dreams Are gathering o'er the silent hills, While every breeze a minstrel seems, And every leaf a harp, that thrills — Steal all unseen to some hushed place, And kneeling 'neath those burning orbs, Forever gaze on thy sweet face Till seeing every sense absorbs, 56 "when shines the star." And, singling out each blessed even The star that earliest lights- the sea, Forget another shines in heaven While shines the one beloved by thee ! Lost one ! companion of the blessed ! Thou who in purer air dost dwell, Ere froze the life-drops in thy breast, Or fled thy soul its mystic cell, We passed on earth such hours of bliss As none but kindred hearts can know, And, happy in a world like this, But dreamed of that to which we go, Till thou wert called in thy young years To wander o'er that shoreless sea, Where, like a mist, Time disappears, Melting into Eternity. l'm thinking of some sunny hours, That shone out goldeniy in June, When birds were singing ?mong the flowers With wild sweet voices all in tune ; "WHEN SHINES THE STAR." 57 When o'er thy locks of paly gold Flowed thy transparent veil away, Till 'neath each snow-white trembling fold The Eden of thy bosom lay ; And sheltered 'neath its dark-fringed lid, Till raised from thence in girlish glee, How modestly thy glance lay hid From the fond glances bent on thee. There are some hours, that pass so soon, Our spell-touched hearts scarce know they end ; And so it was with that sweet June, Ere thou wert lost, my gentle friend ! O ! how I'll watch each flower that closes Through autumn's soft and breezy reign, Till summer-blooms restore the roses, And merry June shall come again ! But, ah ! while float its sunny hours O'er fragrant shore and trembling sea, Missing thy face among the flowers, How my full heart will mourn for thee ! MY SISTERS. Like flowers that softly bloom together Upon one fair and fragile stem, Mingling their sweets in sunny weather Ere strange rude hands have parted them, So were we linked unto each other, Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours, For then one fond and gentle mother To us was like the stem to flowers ; She was the golden thread, that bound us In one bright chain together here, Till Death unloosed the cord around us, And we were severed far and near. MY SISTERS. 59 The floweret's stem, when broke or shattered, Must cast its blossoms to the wind, Yet, round the buds, though widely scattered, The same soft perfume still we find ; And thus, although the tie is broken, That linked us round our mother's knee, The memory of words we've spoken, When we were children light and free, Will, like the perfume of each blossom, Live in our hearts where'er we roam, As when we slept on one fond bosom, And dwelt within one happy home. I know that changes have come o'er us; Sweet Sisters ! we are not the same, For different paths now lie before us, And all three have a different name ; And yet, if sorrow's dimming fingers Have shadowed o'er each youthful brow, So much of light around them lingers I cannot trace those shadows now. 60 MY SISTERS. Ye both have those, who love ye only, Whose dearest hopes are round you thrown, While, like a stream that wanders lonely, Am I, the youngest, wildest one. My heart is like the wind, that beareth Sweet scents upon its unseen wing — The wind ! that for no creature careth, Yet stealeth sweets from every thing : It hath rich thoughts forever leaping Up, like the waves of flashing seas, That with their music still are keeping Soft time with every fitful breeze ; Each leaf that in the bright air quivers, The sounds from hidden solitudes, And the deep flow of far-off rivers, And the loud rush of many floods ; All these, and more, stir in my bosom Feelings that make my spirit glad, Like dew-drops shaken in a blossom ; And, yet there is a something sad MY SISTERS. 61 Mixed with those thoughts, like clouds, that hover Above us in the quiet air, Veiling the moon's pale beauty over, Like a dark spirit brooding there. But, Sisters ! those wild thoughts were never Yours ! ye would not love, like me, To gaze upon the stars forever, To hear the wind's wild melody. Ye'd rather look on smiling faces, And linger round a cheerful hearth, Than mark the stars' bright hiding-places As they peep out upon the earth. But, Sisters ! as the stars of even Shrink from day's golden flashing eye, And, melting in the depths of heaven, Veil their soft beams within the sky ; So shall we pass, the joyous-hearted, The fond, the young, like stars that wane, Till every link of earth be parted, To form in heaven one mystic chain, 6 THE FIRST DEATH OF THE HOUSEHOLD. O ! many a mournful year hath flown Since first amid our family-band Death came and stole our loveliest one, And bore her to the spirit-land ; Yet shrined with many a sweet sad thought, That loved one's memory lingers still, For O ! she left a void, that naught But mournful thoughts could fill. Years have passed by, I said, and yet It only seems the other day, Since round her dying bed we met With breaking hearts to weep and pray. FIRST DEATH OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 63 Her gentle soul we strove to think Would linger yet 'mid earthly flowers, Even when 'twas trembling on the brink Of lovelier worlds than ours. Yes ! there e'en when all hope had flown, We wept away each lingering hour, Until the shades of death came down And closed at last the shutting flower ; And yet it seemed like sin to grieve For one so patient and resigned ; For, if she mourned, 'twas but to leave Such breaking hearts behind. She died — yet death could scarcely chill Her smiling beauties, though she lay With cold extended limbs, for still Her face looked fairer than the day. Those eyes, once eloquent with bliss, Were closed as soft as shutting flowers. O ! few could bear a sight like this, Yet such a sight was ours. 64 FIRST DEATH OF THE HOUSEHOLD. r How slowly wore that long, long day ! Like spirits in some haunted place We'd sit and sigh, then steal away To look once more on that pale face ; We could not think her soul had passed The awful bounds of mortal strife, That the warm heart was cold at last, That loved us more than life. And when the funeral rite was said, They bore her from our happy home, And left her with the silent dead, A pale-faced tenant of the tomb ; They reared no marble 'mid the flowers Above her grave to mark the spot, Yet many a heart as fond as ours Still holds her unforgot. Months passed, yet still our sorrow gushed, The free glad laugh no more was heard, And many a little voice was hushed, That used to warble like a bird. FIRST DEATH OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 65 And though at times we strove to smile Serenely for each other's sake, We wept in secret all the while As if our hearts would break. Yet why should death be linked with fear ? A single breath, a low-drawn sigh, Can break the ties that bind us here, And waft the spirit to the sky. Such was her end, a calm release, No clingings to this mortal clod ; She closed her eyes, and stood in peace Before a smiling God. 6* THE MAIDEN'S FIRST LOVE. Her dove-like spirit through her mournful eyes Looks softly upward to its native heaven ; For a love-spell upon her being lies, Whose many mystic links may not be riven. Love breathed into her girlish heart, perchance, On some sweet eve, beside a pleasant stream, Poured from the lightning of a radiant glance, Till love's wild passion kindled passion's dream. For love at first is but a dreamy thing, That slyly nestles in the human heart, A morning lark, that never plumes its wing Till hopes and fears, like lights and shadows, part THE MAIDEN'S FIRST LOVE. 67 And thus unconscious as she looks above She breathes his blessed name in murmurs low, Yet never for a moment thinks of love, And almost wonders why she murmurs so. Ah ! mournful one ! the thoughts thou wilt not speak, Their trembling music at thy heart-strings play, Till the bright blood, that mantles to thy cheek, In faint and fainter blushes melts away. Thine is the mournful joy, that in the dawn Of early love upon the spirit broods, Till the young heart, grown timid as a fawn, Seeks the still starlight and the shadowy woods. Yes, by the chastened light of those soft eyes, That never swam in sorrowing tears before, By the low breathing of those mournful sighs, That, like a mist-wreath, cloud thy spirit o'er, And by the color that doth come and go, Making more lovely thy bewildering charms — Maiden ! 'tis love that fills thy breast of snow, Heaving with tender fears and soft alarms. 68 the maiden's first love. My bosom trembles at the love intense, Breathed eloquently from thine earnest eyes, The love that is to thee a new-born sense, Waking sweet thoughts and gentle sympathies ; O ! for the sake of all thou wert, and art, May Love's soft Eden-winds, that seem to kiss The very foldings of thy love-toned heart, Be but the prelude to some deeper bliss. THE STARS. Ye snow-white clouds, whose fleecy wings enfold The stars, that light yon boundless breadth of blue, Roll back your edges, tinged with deepest gold, And softly let the peaceful wanderers through, Till, one by one, they burst upon my eyes, O'ertaking my young heart with sudden sweet surprise. Celestial lights, lit by the power divine, That bids you roll through yonder azure plain, Ye startle thoughts within this heart of mine, That I must breathe, or it will break in twain ! Companions of the twilight and the dew, Smile on the Minstrel-girl, who strings her harp anew. 70 THE STARS. I am not one whose eagle-eye can reach The mystic things, within your golden spheres, Yet better thoughts than science e'er can teach Are softly brimming my young eyes with tears ; i For e'en the simplest heart at times may scan What years can scarce unfold, or wisdom teach to man. How oft, when but a child, in wildest glee, I've climbed the summit of some breezy hill, Whose mossy sides went sloping to the sea Where slept another heaven serenely still, While, from the mighty stronghold of the seas, The dead sent up their dirge upon the twilight breeze. And there beneath a fringe of dewy leaves, That drooped away from many a bended bough, I used to lie on summer's golden eves, And gaze above as I am gazing now, Thinking each lustrous star a heavenly shrine For an immortal soul, and wondered which was mine. 