Legend of the Cherokee rose, and other poems

LEGEND
OF THE
CHEROKEE ROSE,
AND OTHER POEMS.
BY
LOLLIE BELLE WYLIE.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA: JAS. V. HURISOX & Co., PRWTIES.
1887.

DEDICATION.
10 THE MEMORY OF WW.UAM DRYSDADE ELLIS,
ior B*A* -iVop*.Taes(, is WBOV i aevSB FJ.ILSO TO ?i>
1 draw the iiupirfttion Which the sky not oft awards, And ?o join th coBst5)tion Of th death-defying buds; Might I bttiW sosn Jofty morI, Reschins heven-Krd like & bill. On whom top hwld tftat the Jnrel, 0*niifK toward me at its will.
I would gather all the hottoft Not to bind around my brow ;
Bat to you grateful donor I iro)<3 come s I <Jo now,
And feline trophies, where the Ages Should behold our mingled names t
Are the most my labor claims-" T. BCCSJ,NAS RBAD.

LEGEND
or
THE CHEROKEE ROSE.
1 Evenings calm reposeful face Smiles oer the earth, and through space Luminous stars from vaulted sky Flash oer the water; glittering lie The dews from Vespers golden urn Flung down on leaflet, flowr and fern . With lavish hand; the fire-flies glint In sportive play; the wild flowrs tint Is neutralized by mellow light, And birds have sung a last good night. Tis that loved hour when stars illume The arched dome, when rare perfume Is wafted up as incense sweet From chaliced cups to Evenings feet.

6

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

A brooding stillness, calm, serene, Hath gently fallen oer the scene. No ripple mars the slumbering lake Where myriad shafts of silver break Through latticed trees and softly stray Oer its placid bosom; Lilies sway Their graceful whorls, whose inner glow Is bathed in night-dew: to and fro The grass and reeds are gently blown By some soft breeze; in whispered tone The leaves converse, and in soft strain Sing oer the isles; like ancient fame The trees form lovely, long arcades Where dim, the moon casts fitful shades
Between its arches.

Fair the scene
As Daphenes grove or poets dream, But not more beauteous than yon maid, With wondrous, womanly charms displayd, In that seductive light which throws Its softest tint on earths repose. Beauty hath cast her perfect face In her own mould, and every grace Of Venus, in her form doth dwell From tapering limbs to bosom swell. Passion flowers wreath her hair And cluster on her bosom, where Rockd to and fro they calmly rest ; A world of language unexpressd Dwells in her eyes whose laches shade

LEGEND OF THE CHEBOKEE BOSK.

7

Their waking fire, beauteous maid,

Dream on thy sweet impassioned dream 1

Float peacefully down Loves changful stream I

And may its ripples never know

A storm clouds shade 1

"Z

Where roses grow

In wild luxuriance, Kullah stoops

Within their shadow, there in groups,

The bark thatched tents of the Cherokees

Gleam dimly through the moon-lit trees.

She looks with tearful eye and sighs,

For captive there her lover lies,

A chieftain of the Seminoles

Brave Ismanola. She beholds

The sentinel warrior cease his tread,

And drowsily rest his sleepy head

Beneath a giant oak trees shade.

A moment more, and swift the maid

Hath sped with heart and mind intent,

On him she loves within yon tent,

Where Ismanola restless sleeps

On couch of pain. The cold moon steeps

The scene with silver luster bright

And bathes the sleeper in soft light.

With pensive eye fair Kullah bends

Above the captive, passion lends

To her pure face a look of Heaven

That only with first love is given.

On his dark face, wan, calm, and stern,

With loves warm fire her dark eyes burn,

"Till from his sleep he starts, and wild

8

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE BOSE.

Gazes round the tent. As Nature smiled

At Springs approach, so his dark face

To rapture changed, as with swift grace

The maiden stoops and gives one kiss

To Ismanola. Ah, what bliss 1

Like some wild torrent uncontrolled

As this act rushes oer his soul;

Then proudly smiling, Kullah stood

In all her glowing womanhood,

Nor deemed she guilt was in the deed

Of bidding Ismanola "speed,

And God be with you."

She had bent

Oer his sick couch when hope was spent,

And oer the wreck of youthful years, Mourned sadly, freely, heart-wrung tears

At Pitys touch had in her breast Welled like a fountain; then the unrest

Of budding love so strange and sweet

Took Pitys place, but incomplete

Is her sweet dream, her wrathful sire

Hath doomed that on the funeral pyre

Shall Ismanola breathe his last.

As shadows in the light is cast,

By objects dark so Salonee,

Has dimmed loves light by this decree.

The maiden pauses: "Rise," she cries,

"Rise, haste, mine Ismanola, see,

I break thy shackles! Thou art free!

Free as the deer in yon dark glen,

As bird, or breeze, thourt free as when

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

9

Neath the sunny skies of thy southland

Thou ledst to battle thy chosen band."

And with radaint face aglow with pride

Her shy eyes droop.

5

"What ere betide,

Ill brook my fate, on yon dark pile

When waking Natures sunny smile,

Unconcious of my pain, steals down

Like calm on troubled waves, around

My tortured limbs fierce flames will leap

And I shall die; nay, do not weep!

Thinkst thou for me life weaves a charm

In her great loom ? Oh 1 heart so warm

Where oft my head hath pillowd lain

When racked by fevers maddening pain,

I could not live and severed be

From thy sweet love, twere death to me.

Perhaps in moments weak Ive dreamed

Of liberty, but fitful gleamed

Such transient thoughts. No, loved one, no,

Twere better far to die, to know,

That calmly resting thou wouldst bend

Above my grave and tearful, blend

Thy fondest thoughts and tears for me

Than live, severed from thee hopelessly.

(y There are moments hushed by solemn dread Too deep for words when hope seems dead, And life by storm-clouds overcast Seems dark as night. Thoughts of the past So full of tender, sweet unrest

10

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE BOSS.

Now well up in the maidens breast. She lives again the anxious days Spent by his couch; the tender lays She sang to him in mellow strain, The songs he loved she bears again. Again she feels hie soulful kiss Burn on her lips, the thought of this Een now brings to her pallid cheek A crimson dye: she is not weak, But as memory cycles by In changeful train, her gentle eye Fast fills with tears, her mad brain reels, The deep emotion that she feels Sweeps oer her soul, and her fair form, Like some young tree bent in a storm, Sways to and fro.
"Oh, must we part I Oh, must I weep away my heart For Ismanola ? Life would be A wreck; a dark eternity Would seem each hour, each dreary day, If thou wert dead, unless I lay Asleep besiJe thee " Softly play jEolian strains by wind-touched leaves Around the twain; the pale moon weaves From their fond breasts a silver thread, That binds them close; a nameless dread Sinks in each heart that fluttering lies Close pressed together; vainly tries Each one to speak, but their fond souls

LEGEND OF THS CHEROKEE ROSE.

11

In sacred silence sadly holds A sweet communion.
Once again The chieftain speaks, "The swift tours wane, And Kullah loved one bend thine ear To catch my whispered words, dost fear To leave thy tribe my foes and bind Thy life with mine? Quick, fast the night Glides by, een now a misty light Is in the east, and soon the din Of waking foes will usher in, With fierce, wild cry, my hour of death."
The maiden stands with bated breath And trembling limbs. How can she leave The bark-thatched tent, where clinging wreath In clusters white, the virgin rose! The little brook that onward flows! The forest in whose silent shade Since babyhood her feet hath strayed! The summer flowers; the birds that oft Have wood her soul to slumbfrs soft I How can she bid them all good-bye I Again the tears start to her eye. But love at last with artless wile Conquers .the Indian forest child; And pale and mute she wipes away The tears she will not, cannot stay. Then in the chiefs brown palm she slips With confidence her finger tips, "Thy will is mine, but eer we go, One moment grant," she whispers low,

12

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

And then with dreamful, tearful eyes The maiden turns and gently sighs. For in her pure, young pulsing breast, There comes a yearn ing, wild unrest To seek again the vine-wreathed door, And on her loved home gaze once more Ere she departs. Loves radiant fire, Enkindled by a sweet desire, Burns in her eyes with wondrous glow,
Unquenched by the tears that flow, Nor dims a moment for the grief That in this farewell seeks relief, Some souvenir, some fond, sweet token, Ere every kindred tie is broken, She longs to take, a tie to bind Her future with the life behind. Then turning to the door she creeps, Where full, the rose-vine downward sweeps Its virgin clusters, from the bower She plucks a fair dew-laded flower, And with a softly murmured prayer, Sent floating up the midnight air, To God, to shield her fathers band, She seeks a home in a strangers land.

The eastern gate hath opened now, And on the mornings holy brow A chaplet lies of jewels bright, Wrought by deft fingers in the night. While on the hills new lusters shine, That grow more bright along the line

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

13


Of water that reflects each hue,
Caught from the deepening sky of blue.

10 Far up the mountains dizzy side, The chieftain and his trusting bride, With foot-steps sure as forest deer, Speed swiftly now, with anxious fear, They turn to look with glances keen, Behind them, on the lovely scene. Far down the glittering grasses seem A sea, all motionless, of green, And on a little murmurous rill, That winds in wild ungoverned will, The warm sun falls like golden rain, When angels break the flood-gates chain.

11 But hark! whence come those voices shrill, That echo from each purple hill ? What means that sound of hurrying tread, That makes the lovers blanch with dread ? And why that train of dusky men Quick winding through the tangled glen ? And see, upon each warrior brave, The nodding war-plumes grandly wave 1 As on they rush, with frenzied mein. To where the fugitives unseen Stand coweiing neath a friendly shade, With quickened pulse and hearts dismayed.

HThen starting up with flashing eye, And face paled with heart agony

14

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

The maiden proudly lifts her head, "They come," she cries, "all hope hath fled, But oh, the joy to die like this, With you my love, is purest bliss! I thought to dream my life away In lands of golden sun-lit day! To dwell for aye in sweet repose
Unconscious of earths bitter woes! To feel that strong, divinest tie Of life unite us ere we die! But oh, just heaven wills it not That such should be our happy lot. And tho tis anguish to forego, These treasured dreams, I know, I know, As well becomes a Cherokee, I can relinquish all with thee." A gentle breeze sweeps lightly through The leaves and brushes off the dew, But its sweet dulcet tone is lost Amid the noise of surging host, That moves with speed along the side Of mountain, cliff, and chasm wide.
But with a proud undaunted mein, The Seminole stands calm, serene And measures with his glittering eyes The distance that before them lies. An abyss wide, a wood of pines Through which the water brightly shines, And moored upon the rivers breast, He sees a little boat at rest.

LEGEND OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE.

15

One hurried word away they fly, Pursued by wild and war-like cry The boat is gained, at last, at last, All fear and danger now are past, Nor pause they till the twilight throws Its deepening shades oer earths repose.

13 Where Floridas palmettoes grow, A nd cast their pleasant shades below, On jeweled tuft, a lake serene Lies dimpling in its fringe of green, And on its face reflected lie The changeful hues of jonquil sky, Here jessamine buds like day-stars shire Through wind swept leaves, and here entwine, The graceful rose the Cherokee, Stirred by the breeze in wanton glee. And orange blooms, and olives white, All gleam and shihe in the mellow light. Tis here in the shade of the forest lone The Seminole hath made a home For the gentle maid, whose lovelit eyes Are the stars that light his paradise.

GRANDFATHER.
Upon the withering grasses lie Leaves reddened by a hectic glow;
While autumn sings a requiem sad In measured tones both soft and slow;
And on the yellow cornstalks, bare Of blades, hang golden, ripened grain.
And bees on nodding clover blooms Sing drowsily a sweet refrain.
And as I gaze on Natures face, All flushed by summers fevered breath,
I seem to see another face Now sleeping in the arms of death:
A pair of tender, kindly eyes That faded with lifes autumn glow;
A pair of loving lips that gave The sweetest counsels I shall know.
I hear again the feeble step That tott red oer the gravel sand,
And in my palm I feel once more The prt ssure of a trembling hand.
T was just one little year ago We bared to each an aching heart,
And even then we vaguely felt The drifting of our souls apart.

GRANDMOTHERS QUILT.
t
Could patchwork quilts but write The secrets that they hold,
How many endless chapters Would the volume lid unfold.
Dear grandma sits and pieces In the fast declining years,
Scraps of dark and gaudy colors, Emblems of her hopes and fears.
Heres a tiny scrap of lilac That was once the dress she wore,
When shy Bennie whispered to her That he loved her, oer and oer.
Ah, a glad and joyous beating Of her heart brings back again
Olden times when proudly loving, She had whispered "yes" to Ben.
Then a bit of creamy satin, Saved from her bridal robe;
Next she stitches on unmindful Of the wound, the needles probe.

18

GBANDMOTHEBS QUILT.

For scarce a year had vanished, On the wings of swiftest flight,
Ere the sable robes of mourning
Take the place of creamy white.

And through blinding tears she sees A face in death so still,
And herself above the coffin, Faintly murmuring, "Lord Thy Will/

But brushing back the tear-drops That well up in her eyes,
Next a scrap of baby blue,
Her faint dim eye espies.

And a smile of happiest meaning Radiates her aged face,
As beside the scrap of mourning She gives this one a place.

Then her thoughts go wandering over The vanished past, to where
The little baby stranger came, Her anguished heart to cheer.

And so on she trims and pieces, Each square a book complete,
Of chapters sad and thoughtful,
Tender, bright and sweet.

SO LIKE A ROSE.
TO SAM.IB HUNHICDTT.
Thou art so like a lovely rose That opens on the summer air,
And lets its wonderous sweets disclose Its modest worth and beauty rare,
That as I gaze on thy fair face, Diffused with girlhoods vague, sweet dreams,
And mark the free and careless grace With which thine every movement teems,
It seems that earth must purer grow, While holding you in her great arms,
And all her bitter woes forego To exercise for you her charms.

ST. VALENTINES DAY.
Twas St. Valentines day, and the artless boygod
Arose from the couch where in darkness he slept,
And gleefully clapping his chubby fat hands, From the side of his Psyche noiselessly crept.
Then borne on his gossamer wings, he straight way
To the heart of a great city merrily flew. "Ill bide here a while," said he softly and
stopped, As out of his quiver an arrow he drew.
"Ah, there is a chance!" and from his strong bow An arrow all honey-dipped hastily sped,
To the heart of a dainty miss tripping along, With fair girlish grace and blithe, careless tread.
A moment she paused to wonderingly turn Her eyes on the world so suddenly grown,

ST. VALENTINES DAY.

21

All rosy with light she trembled and smiled, Then whispered, "My heart, all your peace now has flown."

Then next a grim bachelor, unscathed he spied, Whose heart had neer thawd at a fond wo mans smile.
"Ill teach him to love," and young Cupid sent To his breast a sharp wound, laughing sweetly the while.

Then widowers, widows, and young men he smote,
With his wicked small hands, nor deemed he twas wrong,
To wound them full deep, twas pastime and sport,
So he laughed as his victims came trooping along.

Twas now growing late; one arrow remained, AH spotless and white in the quiver it lay;
And he said half-repentant, "One good deed Ill do
Ere I put up my play-things and leave off my play."
Then he flew all around through the great noisy town,
Till he came to a dreary house unlit and lone, Where a woman was kneeling in passionate prayer,
Beseeching the love that she never had known.

22

ST. VALENTINES DAY.

Her hair had grown white in the long weary years,
And never one time had Love knocked at her heart;
Its doors were still closed, its halls were quite cold,
For lack of the warmth Loves fires impart.

Then carefully lifting his arrow, the boy Saw its tremulous quiver down deep in her breast,
While she murmured in rapture, "At last, Love, at last,"
And he murmured quite meekly, "This late love is best."

Twas night, and he gravely now folded his wings
And wearily flew from the town far away, While he dreamily mused, "Im happy, for I
Have awakened sweet music in one heart to
day."

LIFE.
Life ia a flower That opens in the warm sunlight, That glows with colors rich and bright, That withers under winters blight,
And dies within an hour.
Life is a bird That lifts its downy wings and flies Far upward to the azure skies, Then weak and trembling falls and dies,
Its song unheard.
Life is a cloud That floats about through distant spheres That on its bosom ofttime wears The changeful hue of hopes and fears,
Then comes its shroud.
Life is a star That trembling hangs high in the sky In bright, uncertain brilliancy, Then shuts its twinkling eyes to die
In purple seas afar.

24

LIFE.

Life is a boat That drifts one on a pleasant sea, Or beats about tempestuously. The voyage has been sad to me,
Sweet joy remote.

THE HARVESTER.
Old Farmer Lee leaned on his plow, And wiped the. sweat from his sun-buraed brow, While slowly his eyes to the westering sun Turned and he sighed, "The day is done, Finished, alack, and whats the gain ? Work I have done in shine and rain, Worked when ray limbs were stiff and eore, Worked when my hands oould work no more, And now that the end of my long life nears, What have I garnered but grief and tears?"
"Where is the golden grain and sheaves? Nothing I find but withered leaves Leaves and tares, rot and rust, With the blossoms all hid under the dust; But God knows best; when life is done Perhaps I shall garner beyond the sun The harvest Ive sown with toil and care," And he sadly brushed from his eye a tear As he turned to his plow with a patient sigh And worked till the sun dropped out of the sky.

THE SNOW KING.
But yester-een chrysanthemums Held high aloft their banners,
And in the cedars sparrows sang Aloud their shrill hosannas.
i
The laurels like a phalanx stood Bereft of all their honors,
And purple-hooded violets knelt Like pale, inert madonnas.
As meekly lifting up their heads From chaliced cups, they offered
Their sweetest incense to the One To whom their prayers were proffered.
But all the leaves are buried now In chilly grave-robes white,
And bushes, trees, and bursting buds Were wrapt in shrouds last night,

THE SNOW KING.

27

As silently the Snow King rode Forth from his icy palace
To battle with the Autumn Wind Gainst whom he harbored malice.

O, world so changed, so pure, so still,
Transformed to scenes of splendor, Fain would I by thy beauty touched
To you my homage render.

FRAGMENT.
Tis evenings calm, reposeful hour That brings my fondest thoughts to thee; Tis then thy face, oh, best beloved, With all its calm tranquillity, Like sunshine, lights the barren way, I tread with such uncertainty, And lends me faith and trustfulness To meet the dim futurity. .

MY FAITH LOOKS UP TO THEE.
"My faith looks up to Thee," Oh, God, most good and great,
For thou wilt love me tho I be But lowly in estate.
I care not for the world With all its pomp and pride,
When I but feel that Thou Art walking by my side.
Then let me consecrate To Thee my life, oh, God,
And let my faith keep firm As I kiss the chastening rod.

MEMORIES.
A sense of dreaming gladne ss Steals oer me as I hear
The waters low sweet music Falling softly on mine ear,
For it brings back sweetest memories Of a loved cot by the sea,
Where I dreamed unconscious of the world, Lulled by loves melody.
And the idle breezes playing Coquetry with the leaves,
The sweet-voiced robin singing From out the hidden eaves
The velvet grasses blooming, All gemmed with diamond drops,
The air all rich with fragrance Of the sweet forget-me-nota
Bring back sweetest memories, To this heart so wrought with grief,
A sense of dreaming gladness, A tender, sweet relief.

THE LITTLE BIRDS THAT DIED.
[Subject selected by Judge Richard H. CZari.]
Frisky sat upon her nest, Listening to her lover sing
Of a hope whose bud would blossom With the waning of the spring.
For a secret fondly cherished, Deep in her young heart lay,
Breathing of maternal joys, When the spring would pass away.
And one morn a golden sun-beam Danced and smiled in happy glee,
As peeping in the gilded cage, It heard a low sweet lullaby.
For within the downy nest, . Her hope fulfilled, there calmly slept
Three little ties of wedded love That into Friskys life had crept.

32

THE LITTLE BIRDS THAT DIED.

And little Frisky every day Would sit and watch her baby brood,
Singing blithe and merry songs Songs they only understood.

But alas! how swift our joys Fade, the fond ones all the fleetest,
And poor Frisky found that hers Ended when she deemed them sweetest.

And the sun-beam heard instead, Her gladsome song a plaintive moan,
As one morn it swiftly stole A glance at Frisky, all alone ,

Standing by the little nest , That held her loved and cherished dead,
And its warmest, softest glow Round her grief-swayed form it shed.

But it failed to comfort her, . For sad Frisky sat and cried For days, beside the vacant nest
That held the little birds that died.

IN MEMORIAM.
MRS. DR. R. B. RIDLEY, FORMERLY EMSIA LEILA HILL.
By Lifes dark river a blossom grew, A wonderful, beautiful bloom,
And many a voyager, heart-sick and tried, Drifting along on the swift troubled tide,
Felt the power of its perfume.
Twas a fragrant flower, modest and fair, And the sunshine lay on its breast,
And over its petals the soft wind blew, And in its pure heart the fresh-scented dew
Fell, and that blossom was blest.
And when the dark wrack would sweep over head, And the river would swell and moan,
The waters that into a fury were lashed, Only in spray at its feet were dashed,
As it grew secure on its throne. 3

34

IN MEMORIAM.

Secure from all save relentless Death, Who, whetting his scythe, stood near,
With his hair as white as the drifted snow, But eyes keen to see the meek flower blow
On the golden summer air.

So his blade, that never has rusted grown, Flashed through the grass at her feet,
And the tender blossom, all unawares, Was cut from the stem, and the angels tears
Embalmed it with waters sweet.

Oh 1 exquisite blossom, lovely and rare,
I ofttimes rebelliously cry, That Death should wither thy sun-crested leavesAnd hide you among his manifold sheaves,
Harvested beyond the sky.

VERSES.
We wandered through the tangled copse, Where sang a blitheyoung thrush;
Our hands were clasped the while we trod The grasses green and lush.
Anon a dronish butterfly, Full drowsy with lifes play,
Posed on a nodding golden rod In blissful ecstasy.
But what cared we for summers charms, For mavis, drone, or flower,
Did not Love tell with golden sands The flight of every hour ?

EYES.
The poets may sing and laud to the skies The tender, bewitching, bewildering black eyes, Or tell of the deep, entrancing delight They drink from the blue perhaps they are right, But the eye that best suits me, I frankly confess, Is the shadowy eye full of loves tenderness;
That reflect the emotions that pass in the heart; That are dreamful and tender, yet withal have
the art To light with deep passion, with hope or with
fear, To beam with sweet joy, or melt with a tear; An eye full of soulful expression and love; An eye in affection most faithful to prove.
Ill admit that the black and the brown have their share
Of beauty, yet mischief and coquetry there Hold a sway that no power can rout from their
den;

EVES.

37

They are handsome, Ill vow, but beware of them when
Bent on conquest they turn their dark gleaming fire
On you! your calamity then will be dire.

And the blue that the poets call innocent eyes, Ah, what in their depths do I read but soft sighs, And pleadings and sorrow, and plaintive, soft
gleams Of heaven and angela, and fancys bright dreams? Too ethereal are they for earths "earthy" sway; Give me the eye that is changeful and gray.

AMOUR.
I waited for his comiag, And I plead with him in vain
To kindle loves sweet fires In my heart and atill \ta pain.
But hia rosy lips with smiling Said: "Im tao small to lift the latch,
Else my tiny dimpled fingers Straightway would apply the match."
Then he turned and left me, sorely Sighing for his roguish face,
Till calm reason came and whispered, "Let him enter not the place."
Then I barred the door securely, Saying, when he came once more,
"Go, you tantalizing elf-hild, I have firmly locked the door,

AMOUB.

39

And I will not let you enter." Ah! his breast heaved gentle sighs,
And he looked at me demurely With his bewitching eyes,

Till relenting did I swiftly Pull the latch-string on the door,
Whilst he entered in quite meekly Oh, abide for aye, Amour!

THE SUN-BEAMS MISSION. ,
Adown a grand old mountain A golden sun-beam fell; In shadowd nooks, On silvery brooks, It cast its magic spell.
And it chanced to fall in its downward flight On a lonely grass-grown grave In a shadowy glen, Near a dismal fen, Where rested a fallen brave.
No marble tomb marked where he lay, No flowers, sweet and rare, Bloomed above In proof that love Kept watch and vigil there.
But somebodys son, ortce buoyant with life, Starting out on lifes billowy wave, Like many another Shipwrecked brother, Bested there in an unknown grave.

THE SUN-BEAMS MISSION.

41

And every eve adown the mount The golden sun-beam wings its flight And lingering, seems With its golden beams, To bid the lonely grave good-night.

SLEEP.
When in thine arms, 0 restful Sleep, Oblivions hand doth gently sweep Across my tired eye-lids, dim With weeping oft, I lightly skim Oer Dreamlands sea, while Fancy guides My little hark, as swift it rides Across the main to Memorys isle, Where young Love all the hours beguile With tender kisses, soft and light, That make my life seem heavenly bright. Upon thy breast my tired head, Sinks oh, so gladly, hearts have bled, And ached full sore with living woes, That have been soothed to sweet repose, With thrilling touches soft and bland The mesmerism of thy hand I And then, oh, then without control, Can each soul sweet communion hold With one it loves a converse sweet, That makes sad life seem full complete. Then, sleep, come bear me far away

SLEEP.

43

To realms where grim thought holds no sway. Come, ease in dreamful bliss the j Of tired eyes and aching brain, And let Lifes incompleteness be Forgotten oer thy magic sea!

THE STOLEN CHARM.
When flexile willows bend and dip Their slender fingers in the lake,
And night dews fall with noiseless drip Prom shelving rocks on ferny brake,
Where rockd on lakelets dimpled breast The urn. like lilies trembling lie,
And softly kissed by wanton breeze, The nodding tules look down and sigh,
We oft together sought to find The first bloom of the violet blue,
Whose charm enfolded in its breast Assured a love forever true
We found the bloom, but long ago. Some tantalizing, elfin sprite,
Beat on mischief, stole the charm And bore it with him in his flight.

"BY AND BY."
In the quiet hush of evening, When their lamp each angel brings
To light the paths of Heaven, Gussies sweet voice softly sings
Just three tender yejrs have crowned her, With their perfect buds and flowers,
Since she came a sun-beam, laughing, Through the golden April showers.
And her baby voice, uncultured, Floats far upward to the sky,
As she sings, "It may be far, But well meet there by and by."
And I ask her why she chooses To sing thus every even.
Answer comes, "Betause fete monie, Danfardo has done to Heaven,
And he wants to hear his baby Sing dis pitty ittle song."
Did one ear bend down and listen From Gods beauteous angel throng ?

GUSSIE.
Lightly moving in the shade Swings my merry little maid;
And her hair in ringlets bright Changes with the shifting light;
Soft her eyes as young gazelles, Sweet her laugh as silver bells j
And her tiny mouth moused up Looks just like a rose-bud cup.
Happy child whose riant face Deeply on my heart I trace,
May your life be free from guile, As it now is, bonnie child!

A MINIATURE LADY SHALOTT.
Ah, sweetheart, petit Hart, I wonder if you Are conscious of half the grave mischief you do? Now frightened you stand like the lady Shalott, When turning she greeted the gay Lancelot.
And the magical net entangled her feet, And held her entrapt in its meshes complete; For round and around you a fine silken thread Youve wound till a captive with every hope fled.
You seem as you ask me with great solemn eyes, To which tears unbidden now swiftly arise, To free you again. Ah! Bijou Petit! Cords heavier than these oft hinder ones feet,
But may the Creator, who chooseth the way Our path is to lie, be with you for aye, And lead you through valleys where sweet flow
ers blow, And Faiths pleasant waters in crystal streams
flow.

THE FLIGHT OF A SOUL.
MRS. WALTER B. PORTER.
They came to me and gently said, "Alas 1 thy fair young friend is dead!" Then led me into the quiet room, Where the light was mellowd to twilight gloom,
And showd me the still cold form whose soul Had wingd its flight to the city of gold. So calm she slept, I could almost feel The hot breath over her dumb lips steal, And see the dear familiar smile Leap into the veiled eyes the while Her tender eyes neath their fringe of brown, That over the snow-white cheek swept down.

THE FLIGHT OF A SOUL.

49

And the wind that fondly her hair caressed, Was stirring the lace that mantled her breast,

And tenderly kissing the hands whose grasp Had let lifes blossoms Ml from their clasp.

But tho .she lay so chill and dead, The deep repose of her sweet face said

"Tho this poor clay is dead on earth, In a purer sphere my souls found birth I"
4

CUPID AND PSYCHE.
TO A FRIEND.
Little Love lay in a cradle of blooms, Rockd by a zephyr both gentle and light,
Floated about him the rarest perfumes From sweet laughing lips offlower-buds bright-
Psyche, his mistress, a maiden renownd For rivaling Venus in beauty and grace,
Concluded to lift the magical veil That hung twixt her gaze and his fair sleepingface.
For be it confessed, tho loving and loved, She never one time bad lookd in Loves eyes-
So she held up her lamp, when lo! Little Love Flashed into her face a look of surprise,
And anger and scorn then flew far away, And never again did he gladden her sight.
Alas! pretty maid, if you look in Loves eyes He will leave your heart chilld by a premature* blight.

UNDER THE OLIVE.
Blow soft, gentle winds, blow soft, oh! sing low As you pass oer the mead where buttercups
grow; Nor ruffle one petal of pale yellow gloss, That gleams like the starlight through green
clinging moss. Oh, touch not the daisies that tremble and weep, Neath the olives sweet shade my hopes are
asleep .Out there in the gloaming; disturb not their rest, They are sleeping so sweetly. Be still, heart, tis
Sing a requiem as low as the sound of the strings Of a harp, swept with down from an angels white
wings. Or as echoes of dream-music, faint tho complete : With perfect distinctness that oft comes to greet Our senses awakened. Oh, winds, as you pass Through the sweet blooming meadow and dew-
laded grass,

52

UNDER THE OLIVE.

Sing soft at the grave where I buried them low! Sing soft as you pass where the buttercups grow I
They lived but a day, and then came the night, Made black by the sudden transmission from
light, And with head whirling madly and heart beating
loud, I tearfully hid them in coffin and shroud; And where we last parted, my lost love and I, I laid them to rest forever and aye, And, winds, I would ask you, blow soft and sing
low, As you pass by their grave where the buttercups
grow.

THE LITTLE WHITE COFFIN.
DEDICATED TO MB3. CLARKE HOWELL IS MEMOBY
OF LITTLE LOUISE.
There are griefs that are deep and strong, That time will gently soften,
But the grief that God alone can heal, Is one made by a little coffin. A painful awaking, A heart sadly breaking,
We find when our little one slumbereth sweet
Tis a sorrowful dream 1 O, God! let me waken, And fold the little one close to my breast;
Let my anguished heart break on, break on, But waken babys peaceful rest. Let her dreamful eyes, Once more from the skies,
Look down and gladden this shadow1d life.

54

THE LITTLE WHITE COFFIN.

How I loved her, none but a mother knows, Who has lavished her wealth of tender love,
On her little innocent trusting babe, Her treasured gift from heaven above. But He gives and He takes, Een tho our heart breaks,
As breaketh mine own at her sweet lifes close.

Tis hard when I gaze on the little white coffin That holds the fair sleeper, to say, "Thy will,"
But.out of the depths of my sorrowful soul, Oh, Father, I cry,"Let my hearts storm be still." Tho Thy chastening rod Falls heavy, 0, God,
Let it bring me but nearer Thy wonderous throne.

TO MRS. LIVINGSTON MIMS.
Fairest of women 1 wot I well, 2Xo daintier dame was ere conceived By poets fancy. As you stood Clad in your regal velvet gown Of crimson hue your bosom white," With undulating motion, rose And fell, from an excess of sweet, Half-concious knowledge of your own Bare charms, whilst to your cheek there stole A blush a maid might envy, and As your, clear voice melodious fell "With softest cadence on mine ear And your sweet eyes (whose spirit-light "Would put to shame Heavens brightest stars) Met mine, I knew I needs must own You fairer than all others are.

LEGEND OP THE HAWTHORN.
Long, long ago, if we may place Belief in legendary lore,
Joseph of Arimathea stood Upon fair Englands sun-bright shore.
Twas on a glorious Christmas tide, When hearts beat high with joy and mirth,.
In memory of the Christ-child, who Upon that day was given birth,
That he and twelve companions, led By inspiratron most divine,
In Glastonbury sought to build, A sacred temples holy shrine.
But finding unbelief prevailed In every heart, he knelt in prayer,
And prayed that God would bend to him His ever-ready, willing ear,
And send some token to confirm The truth of all the words he spake,
And let the wonderous flower of Faith, In every soul with life awake.

LEGEND OF THE HAWTHORN.

57

Then rising, in the ground he stuck The staff he held within his hand,
When lo! from out the naked rod,
Green Hawthorn leaves did slow expand.

Green leaves and snowy fragile blooms,
Until a beauteous tree stood there; Then every doubting heart confessed
A power divine in humble prayer.

And ever has the Hawthorn tree Been emblematic of sweet hope,
Since first it shed its rare perfume On Glastonbury Abbys slope.

SONG TO EVA.
Dear face engraven on my heart By Fancys matchless trick of art,
In tints that never fade; I view with rapturous hush the dawn Of roses, that are swiftly born Upon thy cheek, like blushing morn,
In bridal robes arrayd.
Thine eyes soft glances through me still, With trembling rapture gently thrill,
As I recall the day, When in their magic depths I read, The sentence that a captive led
My willing heart away.
Ah, face that naught can beautify! Ah, blush and soulful meaning eye,
I often dream of thee! And of that memorable day, When first you taught my heart the lay
Of Loves sweet melody.

LINES.
In the far west a beautiful cloud, With a golden lining lay,
And it sailed with its opal-tinted wings From my wondering gaze away,
And soon was lost in the deepning shade, That hung twixt its light and me,
And I watched in vain for my little cloud To come from the purple sea.
O, dream that brightened my life one day, In the golden long ago,
Like the beautiful cloud, I saw you sink In lifes great sea of woe!

THE HIDING-PLACE.
With dashing eye and stately mien, She looks a very "queenly queen," As in the Emperors presence, she Stands all undaunted, fearless, free; Nor quails before his piercing eye When told, "All royal Poles must die Whose voices have been lifted in This insurrections turbid din."
And should she fear because forsooth, Her lips have spoken words of truth, And said, "My husband hidden lies Secure from Russias tyrant eyes?" Her womans heart now stands the test, Which proves that woman loveth best; And when the Emperors edict came, "Unless the hiding-place you name, Youll surely die." With softened face, And hands outstretched in pleading grace, She kneels and cries, "O, sire, I Have hid him safe from mortal eye,

THE HIDING-PLACE.

61

And if to you the place I name, Oh, will you free me once again, Een though my love you cannot find?" "I swear by all the powers that bind." "Then know," she cried with witching grace, "My hearts my husbands hiding-place."

RECOMPENSE.
Like a mist falling over a landscape, With spirit-like softness it steals,
That love strong and steadfast that sometimes One heart to another reveals.
It chanced that a sweet, fragile flower, Once grew in a damp, lonely place,
And never a warm, loving sun-beam, Stole there to gaze on her fair face.
And the years cycled by, and the blossom, Unconscious, more beautiful grew,
As the gentle winds whitened her petals, And she drank of the crystalline dew.
But her patient heart never grew weary, While waiting the suns warm caress,
And at last, through a rift in the branches, He wood her with fond tenderness.
And thus, like the mist oer the landscape, Love comes to the heart that is sad,
And thus, like the kiss of the sun-beam, Love maketh the patient heart glad.

ONLY A WAIF.
Only a little bare-foot girl, With dreamful eyes and sun-burned hair;
Only a little nameless waif, Gazing into the water with wild despair.
Only a girl, but a womans heart, Brimming with anguish, hidden lies
Neath the folds of her poor worn, faded frock, And wistfully peeps from her dreamy eyes.
Only a word and the tender heart So cruelly seared by the worlds rough blast,
Would gladly have buried in Lethes sweet waves
Her griefs and forgiven the sins of the past.
Had only an act of kindness been shown This poor little sufferer, one kindly token,
Neer had the dark waves shrouded her form, Or the cruel chains of her young life been
broken.

64

ONLY A WAIF.

But she was only a little nameless waif, With tear-wrung heart and wistful face,
Asking God to forgive, then seeking in The dark cold waters a resting-place.

AMOR.
Mischievous boy-god, Brimming with fun,
Born of dark chaos, Ere order begun,
An equal for merriment, Child you have none!
Artless young miscreant, Heedless your darts,
Fly with unerring aim, Swift to the hearts
Of young and of old Well practiced your arts!
Alas! for the maiden Whose breast feels the smite,
Of the arrow thats aimed By you thoughtless wight!
For oft the hearts beauty Withers under the blight.
5

66

AMOR.

Beware of young cupid 1 With Hymen he plays,
And sportively tricks him,
In numberless ways, Then smiles at his victim,
With an innocent gaze.

THE FLOWER OP MEMORY.
The pallid white flower of memory hangs, Where Ive only to reach out my hand for its
bloom, I grasp it full fain it can do me no harm, Since only sweets lurk in its cup of perfume.
I drink from it deeply the chalice I drain, The magical draught stira strangely my soul,
Till it swoons with delight, then softly there steals
Oer my senses, the tender sweet love-dream of old.
Twas brief, but its radiance shines through the gloom
Of all the past years, like a steady white star, Oh! Memory I pray thee, withhold not from me
The pale cups wherein thy sweet philters are.

SUNRISE.
The hills seem to slumber in deep purple hazer That wraps them about like a pall,
And over tall parapets, mountain misl drops Her curtain with soft noisless fall.
The dark green of mountain pine melts intobrown,
Of newly-plowed fields; the pale gold Of full-freighted grain with harmony seeks
To merge in the gray of the wold.
A silence as deep as cold death holds the spot, Broken only by murmurous stream,
Which sobs as it catches and tremblingly holds On its breast the dawns rosiet gleam.
Afar in the meadow-land lazy kine stand Knee-deep in the blossoming clover,
And the Sun, sweetly penitent, kisses Days lips* While she calls him a negligent lover.

CHRISTMAS ROSES.
Softly breaks a frag rant luster Over all the mountain side,
As the golden chariot slowly Bears the Sun to meet his bride,
Who with eager, jeweled fingers, Draws the mist-veil from her face,
As she lingeres on Days portals, Waiting for his fond embrace.
And on theRhaetian Alps side, Where lies the drifted snow,
Grows a cluster of pale roses Where no other flowr will grow.
"Oh, that my buds would open," The flower softly sighs,
""When the summer winds are blowing, And the golden sunshine lies
Over all the hills and valleys, But alas, it may not be;
.Here in solitude Im wasting All my charms where none can see."

70

CHRISTMAS ROSES.

"Ho. my bonnie little blossom," Calls the tall and rugged pine,
"Do not grumble, I will love you, For your dainty petals shine,

Like the deeds ofOne youre named for, So be wise and happy, dear,
And let your leaves expanding Distil perfume on the air "
"You are right; if He has made me For some use Hell not forget,,
And hence forth,Ill bloom in beauty And you shall not hear me fret."

Just then, trudging through the snow-drifts, Comes a traveler faint and weak,
And his pale face tells a joy That his poor lips cannot speak,
As he sees the Christmas roses, In their green and fragrant bed,
And he stoops to pluck the flowers: In the evening he is dead.

Then with tenderness the roses Sweetly veil his death-cold face,
Whilst the pine sighs, "Little blossoms, You were made the bier to grace."

BAYOU CODEN.
At Bayou Coden, where the wild waves roar, Where soft winds sigh and fierce winds blow,
Where the rarest of flowers, Twine themselves in sweet bowers, Stands a beautiful cot by the wave-beaten shore.
For years it has stood in a sweet orange glade, Wood by the zephyrs that wantonly strayed
In mirthful glee From over the sea, Coyly kissing the flowers that sleep in its shade.
Tis a beautiful cot just built for a dream, With its fragrant shade, and shimmering gleam
Of the moon on the leaves Of the dark orange trees, The sweet bower-roses and murmuring stream.
And there in the happy days of old, I wove a dream all wrought with gold,
And dreamed of a future wonderous bright,

72

BAYOU CODBN.

Weaving no dark threads in with the light, To dim the gloss of its sheeny fold.

For I was young; and the future seemed So bright and fair I I idly, dreamed,
For a cruel blast In the bitter past
Swept the love from my heart that so proudly gleamed.

And oft when memory searches oer The varied dreams of long ago,
Tho shadowed deepest I find the sweetest That broken dream by the wave-beaten shore.

TO PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.
Fashioned by Gods most loving hand, His soul is made both strong and grand.
And he is given the gift to feel, Anothers woe, anothers weal.
A poet whose immortal lays, Reflect the light of Reasons rays ;
Whose softest note but sounded, floats From soul to aoul, with thrilling notes.
His is a life exemplified Of every good a nations pride,
And not alone the Southern ear Is bent his harps soft notes to hear,
For the seraphs pause on a deathless shore To echo and echo his sweet songs oer.

CHEERFULNESS.
In the lingering shades of evening, As the day-god sank to rest,
Flushing all the scene with splendor From the mountains azure crest,
Sat a maid with busy fingers, Spinning glossy silken skeins
Into heaps of yellow bobbins, Like the golden ripened grains.
Spinning hanks of flax untiring, Whilst her sweet voice, loud and clear,
Floated through the shadowd wood-land, On the springs sweet-scented air
Floated on until its echo, Touched an old hearts rusted strings,
Waking just such happy song-notes, As the glad, free wood-bird sings.
Touched a heart seared oer with sorrow, Touched a sad heart, crushed by grief,
Till its music re-awakened Tender thoughts, and lost belief.
Thus, unconscious of her power, Sits the maiden still and sings,
Whilst sad hearts catch up the echo, And each life with music rings.

KITTIES LOVE TEST.
The soft breeze was sighing, The day-god fast dying, When Kittle aped down to loves trysting place, With eyes fondly beaming, And curly hair streaming In ripples of gold oer her fair, dimpled face.
She stops and she blushes, For where the brook rushes With melodious song through the sweet-scented dell, A daisy white grows, And in this, Kittle knows, Lies the magic power for testing loves spelL
The nightingales trilling, The still air is filling With gladsome song, as she stoops by the stream, And tenderly raises The snow-white daisies, Nestling modestly down in the dewy grass green. f

76

KITTIES LOVE TEST.

" He loves not 1" she cries, And the tears in her eyes Tremble on her brown lashes as the white petals falL " He loves not, then, heaven Oh, why was he given, The love of my- heart, if he loves not at all ?"

" Little tender, sweet flower, 0, surely your power Is lost, if you say that he loves me no more," And fiercely she threw Them back where they grew, And sped on her way more swift than before.

" He loves me I" she cried, As returning she spied The daisies white petals, withered, lifeless, and dead. " He loves me, I know, . For he whispered it low, So know then, sweet flowrets, your power has fled."

HOPE.
Hopes star-blue eyes are now grown dim, With watching over a restless sea,
That swells and moans with a sullen boom, As it beats the white sands fearfully.
What seeketh the sad eyes, wistfully Turned from the fields fragrant and sweet,
That lie Inland, to the distant rim Where sky and sea in mystery meet?
Ah! faded watcher, whose tired eyes Are seaward turned, through shine and mist,
Thy silver star no more shall rise, Where the lips of sky and waves have kissed.

MISEBE.
SONG OF LITTLE EMILY.
I stand on the bridge of a darksome river, And gaze on the stars reflected there,
On the eddying waves. I tremble and shiver, And the wind sobbing faintly moans through my hair.
0 God, through the tear mist I see far below, A bed of white lilies with hearts of pale gold,
That quiver and bend as the dark waters flow Beneath their snow-cups. Ah, me! I am cold.
But why should I shiver and tremble and shake ? I have done nothing wrong, I am faithful and true
It is he that is false. Oh, my heart, let-it break, Since it findeth no hope for the love it once knew.
Far above us the moon, like a white-winged ship, Unmoored, ploughed the vast and limitless sea)
And the stars seemed below in the water to dip Their five golden points ; I was happy, ah, me!

MISERE.

79

So happy, for then all the restless desire, The unsatisfied longing for something un
known, Was quelled in my heart. I saw it expire
When it gave birth to Love; in passionate tone He hade me be true; all the lily-buds heard
And whispered " be true" as they rustled their
* leaves, And the river 1 0, waters, you heard every word,
Tho you only sobbed low like a spirit that
grieves.

For, prophetic dark waters, you knew as I stood In the pride of my love, with his hand clasping
mine, That soon would a terrible, soul-scourging flood,
Break over my heart with its waters of brine. You knew, and you sobbed for the pitiless woe
That shadowd me then! 0, would I could die,
As I stand in the dank grasses whispering low, Too sorrowful, desolate, heart-sick to cry.

A WEARY LITTLE PILGRIM.
TO MBS. HARRY SCOTT ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE EDITH.
Dead I Ah, no; your babe but sleepeth; Sleeps a long, unbroken rest,
With her waxen fingers clasped Oer her little pulseless breast.
Tired grew her tiny pink feet, All unused to journeys long;
Tired grew her tender white hands, Pressing through lifes busy throng.
So an angel came and whispered, " Come, Ill guide you to a place
Where there are no stones to trip you, And youll see Gods loving face."
And the white wings swift were folded Round the little wearied soul

A WEARY LITTLE PILGRIM.

81

As they entered, through the pearl gates, Heavens streets of saining gold.

He, the Master, knew your heart-aches, Knew your striving day by day
With a meek and Christian spirit To be strong and keep the way

That would lead you to your baby; And He kindly took your hand,
And whispered words of comfort, That your soul could understand.

Oh, a time will surely come when In your arms youll clasp again
Little Edith, with her sweet face Freed from all its earthly pain.

LILY.
Theres a dainty little maiden, With eyes of softest brown,
For whose coming oft Im watching, As she journeys into town.
All her gowns are smartly fashioned After pictures quaint and old,
Even to the silken bonnets, That half hide her curls of gold;
And so artless is this lassie, That she does not know that I
Have quite lost my heart with seeing Her sweet face as she goes by.

BETRAYED.
Where Coquedens waters restless sweep The shining sands of gold,
And lulls the wearied sense to sleep With melody untold,
A narrow grave, but half concealed I By quivering blossoms, lies
To sun and rain-alike revealed, Beneath the changeful skies.
And as I push the vines apart, That riot in the shade
With languid grace, I bend, and start To read the word, BETRAYED.

LILY.
Theres a dainty little maiden, With eyes of softest brown,
For whose coming oft Im watching, As she journeys into town.
All her gowns are smartly fashioned After pictures quaint and old,
Even to the silken bonnets, That half hide her curls of gold;
And so artless is this lassie, That she does not know that I
Have quite lost my heart with seeing Her sweet face as she goes by.

BETRAYED.
Where Coquedens waters restless sweep The shining sands of gold,
And lulls the wearied sense to sleep With melody untold,
A narrow grave, but half concealed ] By quivering blossoms, lies
To sun and rain-alike revealed, Beneath the changeful skies.
And as I push the vines apart, That riot in the shade
With languid grace, I bend, and start To read the word, BETRAYED.

NIGHT.
The day is gone, and Night lets trail Her jeweled skirts across the sky, While soft her feet are gently pressed Upon the crisp, dead leaves, that lie In whispering crowds upon the wold, And oer the vast unbounded deep, Her silver ship is riding high, Oer cloudlet valley, hill and steep.
And I alone with yearning heart, So full of sadness, care oppressed, Look out upon the slumbering world, And sigh for something like its rest; And then my heart rebellious, seeks To question Gods mysterious ways The justice, mercy, meted out In our allotted span of days.
Why need we live ? The way lies dark Oer which our bruised feet must treaJ, And guideless through its mazes dim, Our bleeding hearts must ceaseless thread. "Why need you live ?" And Natures voiceReplies in tender, soothing tone:

NIGHT.

85

"" Look out upon the slumbering world Prom which the light of day has flown,

And mark the gently falling dew,
That on each grateful leaflet lies Each fragile flowret bending low,
Its tired head with closed eyes, And think you, Night, with her long train Of glinting stars, brings nought but grief, And shade, and darkness ? Ah, poor heart 1 Fair morn will change your sad belief.

""For when her sheaves of sun-beams fall "Through portals pink, and pierce the mist, That veils the tender eyes of dawn,
Byes deep as violet amethyst, Youll see the wonderous changes wrought .By her cool fingers, star-gemmed bright, And then your heart will feel the sweet Influence of her golden light."

Tis so: A laughing face peeps through The eastern gate; my heart no more Questions the wherefore of His will, It is content to have it so.
And thus it is, whenever we Are burdened with a mighty grief, The darkness makes more bright the light,
The sorrow sweeter our belief.

WEARY.
Weary of life and its ceaseless din, Its endless sighs of " might have been," Its fallen castles, its broken dreams, Its vain endeavor to catch some gleams Of sunshine in the endless night, Longing, O God! for a beacon light.
Weary of struggling; tossed on the wave Of lifes rough sea I no hand to save. Alone, distressed, and sore of heart, Im weary, so weary of acting a part. Bereft of hope, I grope my way, Almost too tired and weary to pray.

MAY.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF MY LITTLE GIRI, PBIESD, MAY AVEBY.
The sparkling dew, the perfumed flower, That blushing meets the suns warm rays,
Are but faint symbols of the charms, That each year your young life portrays.
And the glances soft and dreamful, Beaming from your Southern eyes,
Are but voiceless words expressing All your pure soul typifies.
Simple is my offering here, But dull words can neer portray
Half the beauty, half the sweet charms Of the lovely maiden May I

MYSTERIOUS MUSIC.*
Sad, mysterious music, Laded with deep woe,
What hath caused thy sorrow Will we ever know ?
Is thy voice the spirit Of departed chief,
From the misty shades Wailing out its grief?
* This peculiar music is heard very distinctly in Bayou Coden, a Barrow, picturesque stream in the southern part of Alabama. "It has not, a cheering tendency, but pro duces great sadness. Harmonious chords and hanno. nious discords, reminding one of an -3Eolian harp. At times it is so delicate that you think every tone will be the last, and then it seems to take more energy, produc ing heavenly sounds." It has never been accounted for, unless some recent theory has been advanced that has failed to come under my observation. The superstitious around Portersville and Bayou Coden have declared it to be the restless spirits of the Pascagonlian Indians, who once inhabited the gulf coast, but as it is not con fined alone to this locality, that is hardly probable.

MYSTERIOUS MUSIC.

89

Or some open passage, Where the waters flow,
Down to where the sea-weeds In tangled masses grow ?

Art thou fish or mussel, Coral, grove or shell,
Or banks of golden sand, Washed hy waters swell ?

Tell me, sad-voiced music, Wailing out thy woe,
What is thy hidden secret Will we ever know ?

TO ELLIE PECK WYLY,
ON RECEIVING HER PICTOBE.
Dear Ellie, but half of thy beauty I trace On this card, which defines thy quaint, winsome
face. The work is an art most lovely and rare, But the artist has failed to paint your soul there. That soul which shines out from your tender gray
eyes, The art of an artist most surely defies.
The dimpling of chin, and the lips curve and smile.
I trow are but made our hearts to beguile I Whilst in the bright eyes a witchery lurks, More potent than any of Circes strange works, That has power to turn with its dazzling shine, The gloom of this earth to an Eden divine.

MY HYACINTH.
Ah, snowy bells, ye nestled once In my darlings golden hair ;
Like wind-blown snow-flakes, full of glee, In the waves you frolicked there.
I remember so well, little flower, Twas only a brief year ago,
That we found you, trying to hide Your tiny sweet bells of snow;
And with hands all atremble I tried To fasten you gracefully in
The skeins of soft yellow hair, Scarce knowing how to begin;
And have you forgotten, sweet bells, How awkward and long was my task?
And how falteringly I spoke The question I wanted to ask ?
And now Ill tell you, dear flower, The reason I hold you so dear,
Your bells like my heart were held In the skeins of her sunny hair.

THE WEDDING IN THE DELL.
I went to a wedding last night; Twas down in a sweet mossy dell,
Where the daisies and butter-cups nod; In the light of sweet Cynthias spell.
The bride was a beautiful fay, And blushed as she stood all arrayed
In purest of white, her one gem, A dew-drop on her breast Eve had laid.
Her veil, the filmiest web That Minervas deft fingers could weave,
Was caught oer her brow with a pin Of gold, from a pale yellow sheave.
Her slippers were petals of rose leaves, Their tint just as faint as a shell,
And the girdle she wore at her waist, Was cut from a lilys white bell.
The groom, an artless young miscreant, Was clad in a butterflys down,

THE WEDDING IN THE DELL.

93

And as happy as Hymen could make him, Capered about on the moss-covered ground.

The viands, spread on" a leaf From a magnolias chalice of snow,
Were the sweetest, daintiest morsels Ever seen by a mortal before.

I was charmed with the beautiful wedding That I saw in the silvery gleam
Of the moons pale light, and with grief, Remember twas only a dream.

THE HERDSMAN AT JERSEY-LAND.
Dimly oer the meadows, sweet With dewy grass, and leafy dome,
The twilight shadows grow more deep, And the cows come slowly home.
" Ho 1 there, Springwood, Hebe Signella, To the front, now, Lettie Lee;
Ruby, Lelia, Imp and Rosebar Not so fast there, Minnie D ."
Thus the drover breaks the stillness, With a voice sonorous, clear,
As he drives his herd of Jerseys, Following slowly in the rear.
And oer hills, through ferny brake, Down beside the murmurous spring,
Just at twilight every evening, You can hear his loud voice ring.

LOVES GIFT.
He gave her a rose-bud of exquisite hue, Rich crimson, and fragrant with crystalline dew,
And said, soft and low: " Many lovely buds blow, But never one fairer, my darling, than you."
She blushed, and her happy heart thrilld with delight,
And in her grave eyes stole loves mystic light, As she made him reply, With & fond, foolish sigh,
" I will keep it in memory of you and this night."
Like fond, faithful woman, the rose-bud she keeps In memory of him who now calmly sleeps
In his mantle of gray, And the years roll away, While sadly its petals in heart-tears she steeps.

EASTER DAY.
Daffodils and daisies, Are pranking all the woods,
And modest little violets, Are donning purple hoods ;
And banners gay are flaunted Upon the golden air,
For lo! the Christ is risen And Easter day is here!

HYMN.
"The burden of life is heavy, And I fain would lay it down,
And rest In calm and tranquil slumber,
On my dear Masters breast. I wearily toil and tread a path, Where few sweet .flowers bloom
To cheer; Oh! if temptation lures me on,
My Saviour, be thon near! -I long to break the bondage, That binds my soul to earth,
And flee .In glad and joyous freedom,
Swiftly, 0 God, to thee.
When I beyond the jasper wall 1 Of that beautiful, golden -world
Shall be, Humbly at thy feet Ill sing
My endless praise to Thee.
ROBERT BURNS.
No sweeter harp ere tuned its strings, To sing in passions holiest strain;
No linnet, thrush or nightingale Ere sang so true its joy or pain.
The flowers at the shrine of Day, Neer offered from their chaliced anas
Such rare perfume, nor meteor flashed So brjght And transient as did QBurns.

COME, I WILL GIVE YOU REST.
There are souls that are made to grieve, There are eyes that are made to weep,
There are hands that are made to sow, But never to garner or reap.
There are heads that are made to ache, There are hearts that are made to moan,.
There are lives that only feel Lifes weary monotone.
Some only see the shadow, And never the sun of life ;
Some only feel the bitterness Of never-ending strife;
Some only feel the sorrow Of blighted love and hope;
Some wearily through the worldl In darkness ever grope ;
Some only tread on thorns Where no sweet flowers bloom;:
Some only sing a sad refrain, Till they reach the silent tomb.
Ah? traveler, faint and tired, With burden sore oppressed,
Sweet are the words he sends you,, "Com*,. IwiHgivc you rest I"

TO ------

A bunch of golden daffodils



And fragrant blue-eyed violets

You brought me from their mossy beds,-

Curtained with tangled ierny nets.

And said within the fluted urns Wherein a subtle perfume lie-j,
And in the starry buds of blue, Id read a story of surprise.

I did, and found it very sweet, Both tale and Sowers rare perfume,.
And make reply by sending you, A tiny spray of hawthorn bloom.

AUTUMN AT JERSEY-LAND.. The autumn leaves were turning red, And here and there a squirrel sped From limb to limb, with noiseless tread,_
As tarough the woods I strolled, And here and there a snowy bloom, With urn-like cup and faint permme,. Sprang up to meet the cruel doom
Of winters snow and cold. A blue-bird in an empty nest Peeped wistfully, for in her breast A yearning lived for summer rest,
And sweet maternal cares. For bird-wives pour their little souls Into their loves; each nesting holds (For their fond hearts in human molds-
Were cast) its joys and fears.

100

A DEAR LITTLE HOBIN.

The scarlet dogwood berries grew In brown star-cups, and beauty drew .From glowing sun and glittering dew,
A fresh supply each hour j And gushing from a sloping hill, With cadence soft, and rippling trill, A tiny spring, a crystal rift,
Rushed on to life and power; And musing on these simple things * The changing season ever brings The wonderous shades, the bright light flings,
Across the grassy sod; I could not doubt a Master hand, Had fashioned this strange wonder-land, Andprayed the gift to understand
The workmanship of God.

A DEAR LITTLE ROBIN.
A dear little robin, with soft downy wings Unfledged and still folded, now lies in the nest;
His eyes still are closed to the wonderful things Of earth as he sleeps in his infantine rest.
His eyes are as blue as the bright summer skies, And pink is his face as the sun-tinted shells;
And bis voice is as soft as the whispering winds, Or sweet as the ringing of fairy-land bells.
Oh, meiry, blithe robin! Oh, bonny sweet bird, Secure from all harm may your life ever be,
And may the sweet tones of your voice still be heard
When we shall have joined Gods grand min.strelsy.

HIS BOOK.
"Bather rejoice that your names are recorded in heaven."
Alas, what profit shall it be If all the world you gain,
Unless your name in Gods book stands In letters clear and plain.
Men live for vain show in this world, And strive for glittering gold,
But it shall be as naught to them, If they their souls have sold.
Time wears from off the ledges, names Carved on the living stone,
And from the hearts of men efface The deeds heroic done ;
But if within His book your name Is placed, it will remain;
Then live to find it when you die, Recorded without stain.
IN MEMORIAM.
MAGGIE CHAPMAN, THE UNFORTUNATE YOUNG LADY WHO WAS BORNED TO DEATH IN THE T8AGEDY AT DRIVES OPEEA HOUSE IN 1880.
Poor Peril How little we dreamed when yon sought
Admission within where the life-fountain flowed,

H02 - .

IN MEMORIAM.

Where the beautiful cheruba chanted seraph-like music,
Beyond the gold portals, guarded by the red sword ;

Where angels sat wistfully watching for you To bring to St. Peter, that gift dear to heaven,
- So soon would you find it and joyously wing .Your flight back from earth to where life is given.

-You carried your gifts, a pure, spotless soul, A heart beating warm, and true for us all,
. A beautiful face, and a spirit not loth .To seek sweetest rest, at the Great Masters call;

".-You carried your gifts and the angel who, keeping The jasper gates, smiled and opened them wide
-Accepting them, pleased that your sins were forgiven,
.And you entered, all robed in puritys pride;

I Now standing, you wait on that tide-swept shore, Among cherubims, singing with melody sweet,
"Cleansed from all sin, a downy-winged angel, Sing endless praise at Jehovahs feet;

"You wait all radiant with glorified love, Resplendent, as chaste, as the beautiful snow,
-An angel waking the strings of your lute, As you beckon us over where the sweet waters .flow.

SAILING OER COQUEDEN. On the waters of Coden,
Beneath an azure sky, Skimming lightly osr the waves,
Sailed my love and I; And we neared a shadoVd nook,
Where the violets grow. And the liliespetals white,
Whorl round a golden glow. Then looking in her tender eye?,
(Shady wells of deep, dark blue, Out-rivaling in their matchless shade
The modest violets dainty hue, .And her hrow thats fairer than
The lilys carol of stainless white, Underneath the regal head
Crowrid by tresses, golden bright), I idly droptthe oars that plowd
The waters as we sailed along, And took her little hand in mine,
(Which staying there I deem not wrong), And low and soft as a lullaby,
A mother sings in accents mild, 1 breathed the secret of my heart
In .tones of tremulous passion wild.

104

SAILING OER COQDEDEN.

While holding that dear hand in mine,. I fancied twould not be amiss,
To steal from those red lips of hers, One sweet, intoxicating kiss;
And never till the sun of life, Its glorious beams of light have set,.
Will I forget my wild delight, When first, our souls in that kiss met_

FOREST HOME. Many changes, sad and happy,
Have marked the years gone by, Since within thy dells and dingles,
Underneath a sunny sky, My careless footsteps led me,
Into beauties strange and new. And a Mendship, strong and steadfast,
In my young neart sweetly grew. Turning now, this dreary evening
Seeks my thoughts, dear " Forest Home," With its shade of budding orange,
And its cloudless, star-lit dome. Once again I seem to wander
Down beside Fowl Rivers bank, With its wealth of Ti-Ti blossoms,
And its fringe of grasses rank. And I see again the lilies,
With their nodding, gold-filled urns, Trembling on the restless water,
As it swiftly whirls and turns; And the buttercups and daisies
Oh 1 were flowers eer so sweet, As those with cruel thoughtlessness,
We crushed beneath our feet ?

106

FOBE8T HOME.

Then I loiter in the shadow Of the fragrant, somber pines.
While through the rifted branches, The shifting moonlight shines,
And the " vesper star," reflected In a stilly pool shines bright,
While overhead the pale moon Unlocks the gates of light.

Then again within the piazza, Rife with subtle musk-rose sweet,
A band of merry children, We troop in with noisy feet.
Oft on memorys road I travel,
Pausing longest here to rest, In the shade of thy loved forest,
Where the past holds much thats best.

LINES
TO COL. JNO. G. JAMES, COLLEGE STATICS, TEXAS.
Bleak winters loom had made a shroud Of threads, by sad-voiced autumn spun,
To wrap the pale-faced summer in And a new year had just begun.
I counted friends by scores, and scores Who loved me well ah! they forgot
To spend kind wishes and sweet words On" one who knew a sadder lot!
i
But when the day was darkest, and My heart with grief was most oppressed,
A strangers pen kind wishes Pent, And blessings from the distant west.
Oh, could you know how sweetly fell, The seed you scattered without thought,
And how it blossomed, how it grew, And what a marvellous change was wrought
Within the garden of my heart, Where darkness reigned, where all was night,
You would not spare kind wishes, that Change sad hearts darkness into light.

CATCHING SUN-BEAMS. Catching sun-beams, are you, darling,
As you dance in happy glee, And grasp at the golden pillar
Ah, your laugh rings joyously. Catch thfm, can you ? No, my baby,
They are but the types of pleasure, Tempting with their golden beams,
Bringing heart-aches without measure. You will chase and tire of chasing,
Little one, ere you will know That its golden light but lures
To disappointment with its glow. Many off en have before you
Sought to catch tbe sun-beams gold, And have found with bitter weeping,
That in seeking, theyve grown old.

MABEL. Little Mabel was fair, little Mabel was sweet, And the angels who knelt at the great Masters
feet, Besought Him to let them wing their night down, To place on her pure brow an immortal crown. They came in the night, when all the world slept, And only the loving ones their vigils kept Around her white cot, and bore her away Into the realms of a bright, endless day. Fond hearts, ye that loved her, tho now ye are
sad. And freighted with sorrow, again yell be glad, For when to that beautiful world, "over there,1 Your spirits will go, little Mabel will hear Your foot-steps and meet you, and taking your
hand, Will welcome and guide you through Gods Holy
Land.

HANNAH. She loved him truly as a woman loves, With deep affection, steadfast, strong and true, And but to meekly sit and watch his face, As in some thoughtful mood he sat and dreamed Of worlds afar, was all the recompense For her sweet love she craved; and did he know Of all this rare, sweet incense offered at The shrine where he an idol sat? No, no, How should he, scholar, thoughtful, grave and
stern, So wrapt in ancient lore ? His mind was bent On other things, nor did he note the blush That came on her fair cheek, when ere he spoke, Nor hear the throb of pulsing heart, nor feel The tremulous current coursing through, her
veins; He did not know, so wrapt in cloak of thought, He let the tender blossom bud and bloom Unnouriahed. But at last there came a time When he must leave the dear old home, and all The kindly hearts that held him dear, and seek A wanner clime. When farewells had been said, And he was in the shad; road that led Down to the station, Hannah came and said: "Youll not forget us, John, but sometimes write

HANNAH.

Ill

A kindly word ? " And as her eyes brimmed oer With unshed tears, he saw how fair she was, And marveled at the fresh sweet face, for he, In all the years that she an orphan charge Had dwelt with them, had never thought of her As other than a sister. Now a thought, Both grave and tender, filled his empty heart As on her flower-like freshness long he gazed. And then he felt the sweet solicitude, And tender, thoughtful acts in years gone by, Born of a loving heart; twas then his soul Revealed its love. He drew her lips to his, And, kissing her, he made reply: " Forget, My meek-browed, patient little love ? Ah, no, And when the flush of health returns and I Come home again, my Hannah, may I claim You as my wife?" And trembling stood she
there With happy eyes cast down and whispered, "Yes."