Lost for a woman and other poems

LOST FOR A WOMAN
AND
OTHER POEMS,
JAMES E. WHAT.
" From too much hope of living, From hope and fear set free.
We thank with glad thanksgiving, Whatever gods there be:
That no life lives forever, That dead men rise up never. That even the wearisst river
Winds somewhere safe to sea." Sitainburne.
ATLANTA, CA.: JAS. P. HARRISON ICO., PRINTFRS,
1S8S.

DEDICATION,
To
MY BELOVED 1SCI.S,
MR. AUGUSTUS H. SCOXYERS,
THIS VOLlME IS INSCRIBED AS A SLIGHT BfT MOST SIXCERE TOKEX OF ORATITlDE AND ESTEEM.
J. E. \V.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1SSC. BY JAMES E. WRAY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

TO JAMES E. WRAY, OF GEORGIA.
What is the grand attraction now in view To lure you onward, pleasure, wealth or fame? A cultured mind? A proud, distinguished name, To be enrolled among the chosen few, Who carve their way, and hindrances subilue Which stand between them and their constant aim, And undismayed the royal road pursue? But is there not a more illustrious prize Than any gift that Pallas can impart, Above philosophy and classic art, A name a fame, an honor which implies A peaceful mind and purity of heart? Then be it jours to seek for and secure This prize which shall eternally endure.
P.M. Canada.

It Is with a certain sense of timidity and aversion, that the following unpremeditated effusions in Terse are given to the public. The Stagyrite says: n-af TO oivcu>{ epyof ayairou, bnt it was no ardent affection of this sort, I can truthfully say, that actuated this publication. Indeed, had the author de pended upon his muses merits, these poems would have long ago been consigned to their everlasting dread abode the waste-basket. Bat friends have fawned and fools have flat tered, until to-day I stand before the public, shrinking from the keen arrows of criticism which fly so unmercifully around me. And perchance the carious may inquire what my motives are for publication? To such I reply, simply to gratify the de sire of my friends, and also to obtain means which will enable me to pursue my classic studies at Emory College.
The principal poem in this collection (Lost for a Woman) is, I fear, very defective in that marked accuracy, and finished elegance, by which the works of one are manifest, who has passed his life in delightful seclusion, pursuing his favorite studies. But surely the poems of a boy, who has not yet reached his eighteenth birthday, will not be expected to rival the artful correctness of a Virgil, or the perfect expression of a Horace. " Lost for a Woman" is of the Byronic school, and I

VIII

PREFACE.

sadly fear it will be fiercely condemned for its impetuous libidinonsness, its lewd plot, its passionate hero, its licentious he-, roine, its terrible tragedy and its pitiful consequences. One of my learned friends, who read the poem at the time it was writ ten (last July), crowned me with the title of "An American Zola," "dealing frankly with vices in order to make them

ugly." My answer to this gentleman shall serve as an apology to the public: That I am not so am bilious of becoming a sensa lional writer, but rather, like Edmund Burke, I would bring before the publi*. a deep humanity, a dread of crime, a keen sensibility, a fine vivacity, and a sincerity of consciousness. Nevertheless, it would prove a Herculean task, to take any po

sition in regard to the utility of picturing the awful misery and

shame of sin, or endeavoring to supersede the depravity of fal len humanity, by portraying every pernicious fancy intimately

connected with it. As to the other poems, some of which are very irregular,
they were written at the age of ten, twelve, fifteen, and at later dates.
Toward these boyish rhymes I entreat the mercy of the pub lic, and ye who hold the mace of criticism over the children of

literature, I beg that you scan this volume with some little in dulgence, remembering that the transient fragrance and color

of the summer rose may innocently please fora moment even

the most careless eye.

JAMES EDDIE WRAY.

Midville, Ga., September 4, 1886.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH

CONTENTS.
POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.
Lost for a Woman............... .............. ............................. 7 A Lovers Wish........... .................................................. 37 One Nights Revelry....................................................... 33 The Sunny South.........................................-............... 41 To Marie........... ............................................................ 38 The Grave on the Hillside. ........................................... 89 Loves Dream................................................................ 43 To Ida.................. ........................................................ 44 The Morn you Quoted Moore to me..................... ......... 45 Serenade...........................................-................... ...... 47 Evening Reverie............................................................. 49 Let me Kissyoa Once and Die......................................... 50 Dreaming....................................................................... 52 To Ella in Elysium.............................. .......................... 54 Love.......-............. ...................................................... 58 InMemonam I............................................................. 57 InMemoriam n. ................... ................................... 59 Memories ................................................................. 61 Dream Song................... ................................................ 63 Ode on the Death of Paul Hayne....:. ............................. 64

Xn

CONTENTS.

To J.V.J........................ ................................ ............ 66
Desponding Life......... ........ ........................................... 67 To one in Heaven........................................................... 69 May.................................... ...... ............... ............ ..... 71 I Will Ever, Ever Love....... ....... ............. ................. 73 The Pine........................................................................ 75 Until Death........................ ........................................... 77 A Heart History...... ............... ..................................... 79 Lines Written in an Album........ ...... .................. ........... 81

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD.
The Fairy Queens Death................................................ 80 Georgia................................................ ..... ................. 87 Loves Song.............................. ................. . ................ 91 Do You Ever Think of Me............................................... 95 April.......................... ................................................... 97 A Dream..................................................................... .. 99 To Mrs. Mary E. Bryan...................................................10J Morning............ ............................................................ 36 For Love and Thee...... .......................................... ........103

LDST FOR A WOMAN.
R Tal. of Low ar(d Soroow.
PART FIRST.* I.
I sing of the South, the land of the pine, Where the mock-bird trills in the wild rose brake,
And the green moss clings to the gay woodbine, Where the lover dies for his loves sweet sake;
Where the golden summer forever smiles Oer the fairest fruits and brightest flowers,
And the soul is lured by the syrens wiles, Through the starry calm and the sun-lit hours;
Where the lily floats on the rippling stream, And the bee in the scented bloom reposes,
Where life is a sort of a fairy dream, Love a tale of passion wreathed in roses!

10

LOST FOR A WOMA.S!

II.
Tis moonlight oer Ogeechees tide, The night-bird warbles in the grove,
The waters with low murmurs glide, God makes such nights alone for love 1
How softly falls the quiet hour, As petals from the wind-waved flower, Or silver dew upon the grass, Along the shores of dark morass. Blest hour I more beloved than day, Softer the mock-birds roundelay. And neath the hawthorns leafy boughs, Fond lovers breathe their sweetest vows. 0 Love! this hour, resigned to thee, Is worth Fames immortality I Nature, arrayed in gorgeous hues, Tunes poets lyre invokes the muse, And stars look down \yiih dreamy eyes As Heaven with Earth in beauty vies!

III.
Tig not to gaze on the snowy flower That the fair Medora leaves her bower, And tis not to view the myrtles bloom,
Or the burning red, red rose of lust, The passion flower of sacred trust,

Lost Fob A WOMAN.

11

That the lady glides through the moonlight gloom. Unmindful of the beauteous clime, Regardless of the scene sublime, Medora walks with care and dread, She fears lest one may hear her tread ; Doubting and slow with pauses oft, With wary eyes and breathings soft, She quickly glides among the trees;
Reaching a glade, the pretty rover, Blushing with guilty joy, sees
Cecil Delaine, her poet lover.

IV.
Dost live a man with heart so cold, A poltroon, or a clansman bold, Or woman of the charming class, A haughty dame, or simple lass, Who neer have felt their spirits move, Beneath the wiles arid smiles of love ? If ye know not the lovers sin,
List not unto my minstrelsy, Twill prove to you a stupid din
Set to a tune of vanity; But ye with laughing eyes who smile,
(Well, smile, tis better than to sigh), I pray you listen yet awhile
Before you lay my ditty by.

12

tosT foR x WOMAN.

Sir Critic, is your pencil bright ? If not, then here, Ill lend you mine,
Style me a brainless, witling wight; Your judgment on my muse decline,
You know the saying of poor Carl, (And pretty true), "all curs will snarl!"

V.
The lady and her love have met, Under the cedars boughs of green,
Since Edens fall oh, never yet Was such a comely couple seen!
Cecil, a tall and handsome lad, His skin was fair, his curls were gold, A deep blue eye, dreamy and sad,.
Where blazed poesy as of old; And she, such beauty none before
May kneel to kiss her finger tips, Why, comrade, many a knight of yore
Had died to press them to his lips. Her eyes were violet depths of love,
Wilds where the soul oft lost its way; Her hair was like the day-gods ray That flashes from the skies above. Her form was like a work of art, Venus such grace could not impart, But why proceed ? this girl, so young,

LOST FOB A WOMAN.

13

Was fairer than all songs have sung. The lone night-bird pours forth her tones,
Upon the haunted graveyard hill, A tender strain, but still she owns
That Cecils words are sweeter still. The Northern child is cold of blood,
His love can neer be sung by lyre, Cecils was like a rushing flood,
Or JEtnas raging heart of fire. The luring moons seductive light
Fell oer a scene I dare not name, Conscience was drugged that summer night,
When passion passed the pales of shame! And modest flowers drop a tear While gazing on pure Virtues bier; The stars blush in the quiet skies, Oh, could we love and still be wise!

VI.
Ah! gentle maiden, blush no more, Poor swain, all love-lorn, cease your sighs, (Critic, no need to snap your eyes),
The lovers little tryst is oer. Oh, Burns, how truly thou hast said, "Our pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed."

14

LOST FOB A WOMAN.

Farewell is such a lonely word, But sweetest scenes are soonest past,
Een now the nightingales not heard, And lovers kisses cannot last.
The brightest spring must end in May, Death ever dims the laughing eye,
The fairest flowers bloom but a day, And now the lovers say "good-bye."
No more in Gods great world theyll meet, While breakers roar and surges beat, Till Gabriel proclaims the day The universe shall pass away!

VII.
Hist! to that growl, or angry howl, Like a wolf the forests among,
Or the weird hoot of a ghostly owl In a tall trees branches swung.
But hark! it echoes far around A deeper and more deadly sound, The fairies of the woods grow pale, And hastens home the nightingale. It is the lightnings lurid glare That hurtles thro the silent air; A storm is coming oer the sky, Fierce armed with Gods artillery.

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

.

15

VIII.
Cecil lies in his lonely bed, Dreaming of a brothers bride,
While Harold rests his lordly head Medoras guilty heart beside
Oh, wanton wife, what dreams are thine, Thy cheeks suffused in rosy flame,
Smiles wandering round thy lips divine, Bespeaking dire guilt and shame ?
And as the trusting husband lay, Awaiting storm and lightnings fray, He gazed upon his love his own
The yellow tangles of her hair, Like golden rays of sunset fair, Fell oer her bosoms drift of snow, And lovely mystery below, As in a faintly murmured tone, Something she breathes there lurked within, An awful crime of shame and sin, Telling of holy virtue flown! Mad Harold glared upon his wife One moment, springing from the bed, Clutching a dagger overhead "By God! Ill take her wicked life!" Medora woke at that wild cry To see the lightning flashing by,

16

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

The thunder crashes through the sky. But Jesus I God of Heaven!
What rage of Nature can compare With mans when driven to despair
A soul with anger riven ? When roses from some cave are brought, Thro snow-robed days and nights have wrought,
Their beauteous blossoms frail and rare, And thrust into the -wintry gale, All cold with breath of frost and hail,
Mark! how they freeze before its glare. An instant thus she lay, and then The syren was herself again.

IX.
"Oh, kill me not," she cried, and tossd Her trembling hands to Heaven, "lost. Yea, lost to all, not I to blame, Twas Cecil worked my woe, my shame;
He seized me in the lone pine wood" Craven woman of lying tongue,
Sharper than the lightnings dart Thy devilish evil falsehood stung
The husbands quivring, bleeding heart. Harold starting where he stood, Murder gleams brighter in his eye, That told of fair young Cecils doom,

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

17

0 flower nipped in early bloom, "Damned be his soul, then he shall die!" Anger indeed is fire from Hell,
And Jealousy its child accursd, Causing the damned assassin first, By which mankind all gory fell! And when its spasm sacks the brain And ravishes the struggling breast, The soul is powerless to restrain Its foul command, its dark behest!

X.
What sounds within Delaines old Hall ? A weapon clash, a heart-rung cry,
Outside the wind and wild rain fall, The lightnings flash thunders reply.
Again, again comes from within. A hellish thrilling brothers oath,
A falling lamp, a crash, a din, And bitter curses ring from both.
Then down upon the drama rushed The sable curtain dim with death,
The lights are out, the storm-roar hushed, We scarce can hear the dyings breath;
Crazed Harolds hand is stained with gore, And Cecils heart-blood wets the floor 1

18

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

Comrade, gaze through the gloom on him, How fast the star-bright eyes grow dim. Oh, Christ! it is an awful sight To view the immortal spirits flight This glorious mind wither away,
The soul from body sever; This life departing from the clay,
The breath leaving the breast forever! Ive seen the aged mother die, Even without one longing sigh; The blushing bride of loveliness, Bewailing her poor mates distress j The little babe in saintly trance, Immersed in Heavens radiance; The sinner wild with ghastly fear At fancied horrors which appear; But these are naught when murders cry Rises despairing to the sky!

XL
The storm had ceased, Save in the east. Where its muffled voice we hear, There far away The lightnings play, Like torches over a bier.

LOST FOB A WOMAN.

19

Again fair Lunas silvry gleam Lies on the rock, and hill, and stream, Although the scene on which her beam Falls seems desolate and drear. A man is rushing through the night, Past shadows dim and pale moonlight, Nemesis goads his wild career, Lashing his soul with hideous fear; His cries so wild that fill the air, Die way in darkness like despair, For on his brow the curse of Cain Burns worse than does the madmans chain.

PART SECOND.
I.
Aurora smiles; from out the southern sky The silver stars are fading one by one,
And thro the woods a breeze with gentle sigh Is heralding the coming of the sun.
The sapphire sky is flecked with pink and gold, And in the dewy stillness of the morn
The flowers slow their incense cups unfold, Wafting their fragrance to the rosy dawn.
The wild birds waken, and their joyous song Is sounded through the pine tree colonnade,

20

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

And with the sunlight far it floats along, Till music fills each bosky grove and glade.
Adown the sky the sunbeams whisper "peace," Glad Hope and Joy exult the hearts of men,
Bright Nature bids all strife and discord cease, And Passion sleeps as neer to wake again!

II.
Look far across the meadow lands, Crowning a tangled wooded slope,.
The morning sunlight streaming oer The wild rose and the heliotrope,
All gaily blooming round the door, The little country chapel stands; Though built by rude and artless hands,
It is a. holy place of prayer, And at the "common mercy seat" Both Dives and Lazarus doth meet
To bless to ask forgiveness there.

III.
Faintly sounds the morning hymn, As up thro the sombre isle,
And through the shadows wan and dim, With weary step, a sinner vile
Comes forward; oh! the haggard face, White as a corse dragged from the grave,

LOST FOB A WOMAN.

21

Wild eyes that burned with crimes disgrace, And bowing like the galley slave;
And yet the wondring priest could trace Culture, refinement, honor, truth, The courtly mein of titled youth ; But on that face, upon that brow, Naught but wild anguish rests there now. The priest on bended knee began:
"My son, why seekest thou this shrine For absolution gift divine ?" "Nay, Ill not call thee fool, good man, But that is not a gift of thine." The Jesuit turned his eyes to Heaven, Praying the soul might be forgiven. "Father, the frenzied fires of grief, Which burn so madly in my brain, Perchance confession bring relief, To tell my story, ease the pain ; The tale of sorrow shall be brief, Like blood-drops from a mangled vein, Each word from out my heart shall come, Then I will evermore be dumb, For every thought of life to me Is fraught with bitterest misery. Hast seen thou how young Cenci stood, Gory with her own fathers blood,

22

tost FOR A WOMAN.

Or pictures of some Cains remorse ? Could mine be painted, it is worse. I would hail madness as a friend, If madness bid my memries end; Yea, hopeless idiocy would be Gods choicest boon bestowed on me! Black hell damnation cannot show A deeper, a more fearful woe, Than this which burns within my breast, Aching in its desire for rest Woe that has turned my hair to snow Like raven plumes few hours ago.

IV.
"I was the oldest of the two, , A goodly stripling of a boy,
And I can say it was but few In sport or brawl that could subdue,
I was my fathers pride and joy. And Cecil father, bear with me,
My heart and brain with horror s riven, A little lower bend thy knee,
My crime can never be forgiven In this life or eternity!" The Jesuit made a holy sign, "The Virgins pity, son of mine."

tOST FOR A WOMAJJ.
"Fair Cecil, crowned with tress of gold, He was our sainted mothers pet,
More gentle you will neer behold, For lifes stern ways he was not met;
But rather given, that lovely child, To dream within some ladys bowers,
Or linger in the forest wild, Musing away the golden hours.
He loved the lonely fields and wood, And all of Nature streams that wind Among the hills, where blossoms twined
With pine boughs he would brood From morn until fair Hesper came, In tender sadness or wild flame,
Oer all the Beautiful and Good.
V.
"The sounds of wars red tumult rose, And parents list with bated breath,
Friends life-blood on the hillside flows, The brazen cannons lips belched death.
Our Spartan bands went to the fight And bravely met the men in blue.
Ah! twas a long, long ruthless night, But Southern hearts were leal and true!
My father fell while in the fray.

24

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

Oh, Friar, I was at his side, (Fighting the North dogs was my pride). My sire wrappd the immortal gray Around his noble breast and died, His soaring soul consigned to God, His body neath the rebel sod.

VI.
"And when the storms of war were oer And Janus closed his temple door, My mother faded like the gleams Of sunset from a crystal stream; Or like the lily of the vale When autumn winds begin to wail.

VII.
"Swiftly the moons have rolled away, Two, three since home I brought my. bride;
I loved her, Friar, as they say, Far more than all the world beside.
It was the love that God hath given, The love of which we dream in Heaven. I lived as under some strange spell,
Father, your days have passed alone, Pleading for sinners at the throne; You know not of the bliss I tell, But surely you have witnessed woe,

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

25

And seen loves earthly ties all riven, Souls crushed by treacherys foul blow,
Where naught save love had eer been given. Een mercy hath a hungry heart,
Prayers fall upon her ear in vain; Pity will neer withdraw his dart
And never heed the sufferers pain ! Loves blind unto an idols sin, Great God! it seems Hell bursted in Upon my Eden. I believe That cursed passion finds its way Mid wilds where fiends might fear to stray!

VIII.
"Father, do spirits of the dead From ghostly shadows eer return ?
Last night beside my forest bed This awful sight I did discern,
A silent room, a creeping shade, A murdered brother on the floor,
Cold fingers on my throat were laid, Two death-dimmed eyes, a scream, the gore, Oh, father, start not then twas oer.
I wildly cried unto my God, I called upon my mothers name,

26

tOST FOR A WOMAtf.

I fell upon the flowery sod, My brain and heart were all aflame!"
"Ave Maria," the Jesuit cried, "Oh, save him from the Stygian tide!"

"Medora, oh, my wanton bride, So evil and so passing fair,
Could lure men to her gilded side, And mesh them in her golden hair.
The siren of the Loreloy height, The Circe of the pouts tale,
Charmed but the souls of men to blight, To hear her victims dying wail!
Tis beauty makes the woman strong, A gleam from out her -tender eyes
Converts to good the vilest wrong, Makes holy truth a hoard of lies, And sacred Right for Loves smile dies.
We gaze upon a queenly form, And long to kiss the lips and die,
And pass to Heaven from strife and storm, Beneath the magic of her eye, Lethean dream, without a sigh.
Ah! there are some with scented breath, A nectar draught they bid man crave,

LOST FOB A WOMAN.

27

Luring with wily tread to death, And smiling smiles that make him rave, Unfits for life beyond the grave.
Yet there are others angels bright Who came from Aidenns realms to dwell
Mid fallen men, a radiant light, From out their sinless souls pure cell, They light the way to Heaven from Hell!
Beatrice, with her comely grace, Pilling with rapture Dantes heart,
Sweet Laura, of the lovely face, Led Petrarch to his Sapphic art, While Cleopatra rent Loves mart.
And even now Cleopatras tread Lifes highways, urging men to deeds
Of crime, and when the joy has fled, They scorn the subjects of their creeds, Broken by scandals breath like reeds.
Medora, like the poets verse, When on thy guilty, golden head,
I would call a bitter curse, Prayers pervade my soul instead.
Would to God I neer had seen thee And never given thee my heart,
For I love thee madly love thee Vile and sinful as thou art

28

I-OST FOR A WOMAN1 .

Father, she looked a queen that night, As she murmurd the marriage vow ;
The bridal veil and orange bright, Seemed soiled by her lily brow.
The flashing gems shone in her hair, And she was beauteous as a dream,
The rosy lips loves vows declare Oh, memory,, recall thy beam .

X.
"I heard her whispring in her sleep, I thought I heard her breathe my name;
Ah! then with loving joy I weep, Oer her who loves me aye the same.
I listened in the midnight gloom, O, God! I heard my ghastly doom; My brother had disgraced our name, My wife a prostitute of shame ! Demoniac mad ness burned my brain, My heart broke with despair and pain ; A thousand fiends invade my soul, My manhood lost its stern control. I would have slain my fair, false wife,
But by a cruel wicked lie, (Oh, Christ! my mortal agony,) She turned aside the savage knife,

LOST FOR A WOJtAX.

29

And weeping with a grief sublime, She swore that Cecil wrought the crime, And when I thought her innocent, My very soul with rage was rent!
XL
"Ah! need I prate in pauling strain My woe my loved lost, brother slain ? We met not on the tilting ground, Rushing with fired brain I found Him sleeping woke him for the fight,
Poor boy! fought bravely till he fell, Encompassd by the fiends of hell, There, in the darkness of the night, 1 stabbed him oer and oer again, Until he bled at every vein!
XII.
"Twas horror smote the servants ears And when with sad amaze and tears, With weepings wild and ghastly awe, And shrieking in their terror, saw The pale corpse lying in the place, Bloody and dead in all its grace Concealment was no more they spoke, And on my startled senses broke How she Medora lured the boy

HO

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

To passions secret sin and joy, And after all twas hers the guilt, His life-blood for a lie was spilt!

XIII.
"Oh,, father, I can say no more, My brain would burst! My tale is oer; I thank thee for the liberal tear, That fell in pity so sincere; And you have heard my story true,
How by my hand in grief and ire, Deceived, my brother did expire, Jesus will judge between us two; Weve both committed frightful crimes, Left to the scribe of other times. The heros harp the lovers lyre Dare not the theme of Sin awake, The notes would hush too soon expire, The trembling chords would harshly break, Nor hoary bard, nor minstrel gray, Shall our deeds on harp-strings raise, Song chants the fame of Glorys clay, What poet sounds a culprits praise?"
XIV.
By Ogeechees stream the women wail, And men of sterner nerve, their cheeks are pale;

LOST FOR A WOMAN.

31

Harold, the proud, the last of _ Delaines race, Reposing on his death-bed restless pillow,
And the vulture shrieking above his face, Which heaved and tossed with the heaving billow.
**********
They drew his body from the glistning tide, And bore it to the grave with pomp and pride, And laid him at his murderd brothers side. Happy escape! neer more to feel the force Of passion, shame, abhorrence andremorse; The assassins agony his miseries, The worm that never sleeps that never dies. Crazed Harold had been missed for many days, His friends and foes bad searched the forest ways, Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom proclaim, Whether he lived alone to hide his shame, Or in despair and grief he took his life, To the gay city gone his bride his wife, And Cecil buried on the windy hill, Delaines old hall was ghostly, dark and still. The hermit spiders thin gray veils, Along the lonely wall prevails; The owl hoots in the lonely tower, The bat flits thro the ladies bower; The servants fly the haunted Hall, No steed is grazing in the stall;

32

LOST FOB .V \VOMAS.

No dog howls at his Masters gate, Only a few short moons ago, Love reigned with mirth now all is woe,
Comrade, strange are the ways of Pate!
XV.
"Lost for a woman" young Cecil lies, With Harold beneath the stars pale light,
But, oh! could they see the laughter-lit eyes, And the gem covered bosom so bright, Of Medora who dances to-night!

0\E NIGHTS REVELRY.
Dedicated to her who best understands it. Nay, fairest, tempt me not I pray
To sip the rosy wine; One summer night I gaily drank
To beauty fair as thine. Her eyes were filld with laughing light,
Her whispers softand low, But ah! the spell engulfed my soul
In shades of deepest woe. "
Drunken with beautys thrilling charm, The music flowers rare,
I seized the cup and madly drank The wine that conquers care."
Then, lovely lady, urge me not, My youthful dreams are bright,
And if I drain that fiery bowl, Twill wreck my soul to-night.
She moved me with a sirens song, (You know that angels fell)
She lured me to the shores of sin, Immersed my soul in hell!
In Gods name, hurl the glass away, I cannot drink to thee,

34

OXK NIGHTS RKVKI.KY.

Or I would fall at Bacchus shrine In black eternity.

Ah, Circe, I have not the power To nobly turn away,
Or to your dangrous dulcet tones Declare a manly nay.
The purple grapes the Orient grows, Ambrosial draughts of joy,
One chalice of the ruby flame, Ill drain Im but a boy.

Yes, bring the golden goblet on, Ill not go far astray,
The sages tell that man is best,, Who had his youthful day.
Know ye my blood is on your head, Whatever comes of this,
If in that awful judgment day The goal of goals I miss!

To-night my lonely mother prays Jesus to bless her son,
That I escape temptations wiles And cross fates Rubicon.
My father sleeps within his grave,
And shudders, crazed with fear,

ONE NIGHTS REVELRY.
Lest I should fall from Honors height, Follow his wild career.
But ah! away such thoughts as these, Sweet lady, come with me,
Debauched with beauty, song and wine, Well join the revelry.
The silk-robed girls, the lace-robed fays, The sylph-like forms so fair,
Dance to the viols sob and cry, Gay laughter fills the air.
*******
Ah me! my midnights revels oer, I wander here alone,
In agony from my poor heart There bursts a bitter moan;
Enslaved again by cursed wine, And blaze of passions light,
Oh Christ, I had not broke my word For all this world to-night.

MORNING.
Aurora opes her sleepy eyes In the cold, gray eastern skies, With white hands she sweeps aside, Ermine curtains dim and wide. Aurora lieth still in bed, Fringed with purple, gold and red; Now she rises wan and chill, Smiling on the earth so still, Wrapping round her classic form Bright blue garments rich and warm, And her streaming golden hair, Zephyrs soft whirl everywhere. See, the sleeping world awakes, And each now his burden takes, Thus she crowns the hours with beauty Toil and gladness, love and duty.

A LOVERS WISH.
If Byrons love-tuned lyre were mine This night, this soft, sweet summer night,
Id sweep the quivring chords divine, And loves wild rapture would excite;
My song would be of passions pain, That Ida, my fair queen, should hear,
And troubadours of sunny Spain Would listen with a smile, a tear.
The meshes of sweet Idas hair, Have wove me : n their wavy tress,
That floats about her forehead fair, And lays upon it mild caress.
Her dreamy eyes, like pale moonshine, Have made sad havoc of my heart,
Her touch thrills me like ruby wine O, madly sweet is Capids dart.
But, ah! cold words can neer express Her queenly grace, her fairy wiles,
Her perfect Helen loveliness, Her blithesome laugh, her winsome smiles;
And so if Byrons lyre were mine This night, this soft, sweet summer night,
Id sweep the quivring chords divine, And loves wild rapture would excite.

TO MARIE.
And will you mourn when I am dead ? My darling, say that once again,
And then Ill die in love and peace, For theres naught in this world but pain.
After long years of sin and shame, After a life of bitter woe,
If death will calmly come to me, To the grave 111 gladly go.
And will you mourn when I am dead? My darling, say that once again,
And then Ill die in love and peace, For theres naught in this world but pain.

THE GRAVE ON THE HILL-SIDE.
Yonder is a sunny hill-side, Skirting the rivers winding flow,
Where the flowers lie in winter, Neath a canopy of snow;
Where the modest, starry daisies, Bloom in beauty in the spring,
And the zephyrs fan the songsters, While they sweetly coo and sing.
Yes, in winter when the pale sun Crowns the pine tree-covered hill,
Shadows darken on the hill-side, Ghostly, ominous and still;
And the crimson leaves like banners, Of a fairy army fled,
Fringd with white and golden glory, Wildly waver overhead.
There a shaft of pallid marble Bears its tall and ghastly dome,
Telling pilgrims on the hill-side Of an angel thats gone home.
And I loved her madly loved her, But the Father loved her, too,

40

THE CRAVE ON THE

So shes sleeping on the hill-side, Neath the sky so wonderous blue.

And Im weeping, oh, Im weeping, And my soul forever craves,
For the vision of my darling, Far beyond this realm of graves,
Oh, the mernry of that loved one, From my life will never part,
Ah ! that green grave on the hill-side, Dims the sunlight of my heart!

THE SUNNY SOtfTH.
Oh, come to the South, love 1 oh, come there with me, Tie the land of my sires that crowns the bright sea; Tia the clime of the rose and the lily so fair, (They were born but to blush and to sleep in thy hair) And the bloom-scented zephyrs have so soft a tone Oh, come to the South, love, Ill make thee my own I
The North has its ice-temples dazzling array, Its oceans are storm-tossed, its skies are all gray, Oer hills, thro* the valleys the storm king doth rove, And the lover neer knows of our warm Southern love; Oh, the dark, dreary moorlands are covered with snow, Then come to the South where the soft breezes blow.
The West has its verdure, its song and its wine, And the radiant rays of bright gold shine; The pale pearl gleams from the dark coral caves, And Hesper there sinks neath the calm ruby waves; But the sweet sunny South has its deep skies of blue, And the sunshine is golden your hairs brilliant hue.
The East has its wheat fields and rich yellow corn, .And its hillsides are bathed in the light of the morn,

42

TSE SONNY SOUTH.

Minerva and Mammon they stalk hand in hand, Though libertys blood has bedewed the white sand; Then come with me, darling, oh, say little mouth, To the land of my love, to my own darling South.

LOVES DREAM.
Beneath the soft, blue summer sky, Along the silvery tide of Wye, We sailed together love and I. The sweet birds sang, the day was fair, Behind us left we grief and care For Love and I, alone, were there! The golden hours now swiftly fly, Fair lilies on my bosom lie, A rose-hued future I descry.
*****
But oh, dear Love, I dream not now, The Summers fled, and where art thou ? Oh, surely thotf wilt keep thy vow. Ah! what to me is grief and pain, Lifes many ills and sorrows rain, If I could dream that dream again ? And now, beneath a Winter sky, Along the roaring, murky Wye, 1 sail alone with bitter cry.

TO IDA.
Off, Love, away, you cause me pain, Youve ever been my foe;
You bound me with a golden chain, And scourged me in my woe 1
Friendships a pure and holy word, And eer a blessing proves,
But neer again shall I be heard ^To sing and harp of loves!
Then, Love, away, you cause me pain, Youve ever been my foe;
Youve bound with a golden chain And scourged me in my woe!

THE MORN YOU QUOTED MOORE TO ME.
We met! twas when the blushing May Was lying in the arms of Spring,
Bright sunshine glorified the day, The zephyr flew on dewy wing;
But little recked I that the skies Were fair, or flowers strewed the lea,
I only saw your bright blue eyes, The morn you quoted Moore to me.
You spoke of " Lalla Rookh " and " Loves Of Angels," summers latest rose,
Twas like sweet melody of doves, In chestnut boughs at evenings close.
We drank to Erins glories past, You softly sang, " Come oer the Sea,"
Ah! sweet the spell love round us cast, The morn you quoted Moore to me.
Your flashing eyes met mine and burned The love impassioned Sappho wrote,
In ecstasy away I turned, As if to watch some cloud remote.
" The harp that once through Taras halls" Breathed soft along the lily lea,

46

THE MORN YOU QUOTED MOORE TO ME.

And rivaled een the mock-birds calls The morn you quoted Moore to me

Emanuels vales were weeping dew, As floating thro the sunny ways,
A nd soaring to the heavens blue, " The dear harp of my countrys" praise;
Sadly Ogeechee did bewail, No bright eyed poet-boy had she,
To sing her songs and harp her tale, The morn you quoted Moore to me.

Ah! love was sweet and youth was fair, And joy oer our lives did beam,
But music dies upon the air, The roses fade from "Loves young dream."
Still pass the sad years as of yore, On, on to dark eternity;
But Ill forget, ah ! never more, The morn you quoted Moore to me!
Wire Grass Lawn, Emanuel Co., Ga.

A SERENADE.
Oh! Muses, lend me Shelleys lute, Beneath my ladys bower to stray,
The amorous nightingales are mute, Amid the roses tangled spray;
The moonlight lieth over all, And sleeps upon my ladys hair,
Ill climb the ivy on the wall, Lend me the lute I hasten there.
Ill breathe a strain so sweet and low, The rapture of a minstrels art,
That shame will stain the songs which Sow, Out of the poets breaking heart.
Oh, say, is that my ladys face, Is that her graceful form in white,
Or is it but the flowers that grace The tender glory of the night ?
SONG.
In the night lonely My love reposes,
Fair as the flowers, Sweet as the roses;

48

A SERENADE.

Bonnie blue eyes, Peacefully rest,
Till the wind dies Out in the west.

Stars, shine thee brightly,

Through the night stilly,

Angels, guard holy,

Where sleeps my lily.

Sleep, bonnie eyes,

Curly head rest,

Till the moon fades

i;

Out of the west.

Emory College.

EVENING REVERIE.*
The golden sun from sapphire skies, Sinks in a ruby sea ;
I gaze upon the fairy vision, Like a scene of sweet elysium,
Or ray of poesy! The shadows of the western sky, Wrap all tbe earth in mystery!
I sit and watch the pale moon rise, A seraph-lamp of Paradise
In lonely reverie!
* The above poem excited the lyre of a Western bard to song. A rising poet of Kentucky thus sang of Mr. Wray:
0, youthful bard of Southlands clime, Who coins pure thoughts in prose and rhyme.
And weave them into songs; As sweet as wild birds cheerful lays, Thy songs, like theirs, are fraught with praise.
To thee alone belongs.
Like harps in tune through Taras halls. Swept soft along its jasper walls,
So beautiful and sweet; Jnst so thy charming verses ring. And every household welcoming
Thy name and fame doth greet.

LET ME KISS YOU ONCE AND DIE.
Let me kiss you once and die! The world is full of pain and woe, Sorrows tears forever flow,
Duty reigns above the sky, Let me kiss you once and die!

Enough to charm Admctus flocks, Inspired by woods, nnd rills, and rocks,
Bow down at Natures shrine, And offer up thyself to her. Dame Xatures fondest worshiper,
Thou noble bard divine!
On silken wings the Muses fly, And at thy bidding soar on high,
To realms of perfect bliss ; And there upon Parnassus height, Seraphs of song in praise unite,
And greet thee with a kiss.
Dear brother bard, I do revere Thy name and poems, pure, sincere,
I love thy perfect ways; May bards of spirit-land come down, Place on thy brow fames brightest crown,
And bless thee all thy daysl

A. W. H.

LET ME KISS YOU OXCE AND DIE.

51

Oh, darling, for a, kiss I sigh, Let me drain the draught of bliss, Let me steal a nectared kiss,
Drink loves rosy chalice dry,
Let me kiss you once and die!

Virtue is a dreary sigh, I am fainting in the strife, On the battle-ground of life,
Darling! darling ! hear my cry, Let me kiss you once and die!

DREAMING.
I sit alone in the twilight, I am dreaming, Marie, dear,
There are zephyrs murmring near me, But they seem thy voice I hear ;
And the waters wail so sadly, As along the beach they pass,
Mourning memries of the lovely, Lying in the soft sea-grass.
But theyve wrapped my lonely spirit, With a spell of such delight,
That Im dreaming I am with thee, Darling, in the June sunlight.
I can see the pale stars glimmer, Far, far out upon the sea,
Where the ships drift out so slowly, As you drifted far from me;
And the sad moon lies serenely, Cradled on the skys pure breast,
Where the stars blaze in their glory, Emblems of eternal rest;

bREAHXNG.

53

And the sad harp in my bosom, Soundeth forth a dying strain,
O, my darling, I am dreaming, That I were with you again.
Tybee Island.

TO ELLA IN ELYSIUM.
I dreamed of you last night, dear one, While love-stara glittered in the sky,
As I was dreaming all alone You came to cheer my misery.
The earth was filled with purple light, While Flora scattered odors sweet,
You came to me my souls delight, Although your shadow passed so fleet.
The flowers were sleeping bathed In dew, Bright moonbeams lay upon the sea,
The lone sky never seemed so blue, Nature was wrapped in mystery.
My soul leaped from its prison bars, The nightingale broke forth in song,
You came to me from Gods bright stars, Where ever harps an angel throng.
We went back to that sweet May-time, To the reign of love and roses,
When every hour seemed a rhyme, Which the zephyrs soft composes.

10 ELLA IS ELYSICM.

OO

We wandered mong the lilies fair, Neath rosy-tinted morning skies,
Ah! sweet, sush days in life are rare, For they are dropped from Paradise.

Oh, gaily bloomed the wild, green woods, Overhead the orange blossom,
Came smiling down in snowy floods, While I clasped thee to my bosom.

0 poet, tune your lyre and sing, Ah I bard, wail for the golden years,
0 bright-plumed songsters caroling, In laughing eyes bring saddest tears!

And, oh! sometimes, sweet angel blest, Visit again my sad repose,
And bear me from Elysiums rest, A healing balm for all my woes.
August, 1885.

LOVE1.
Some strike Apollo8 lyre to wake the songs Of bitter sorrow dirges of the dead, Chant strains of melancholy harmony, Gilded with scenes of years forever gone Into eternity the vast unknown, Or ghastly Agony the dreaded fiend, Stalking athwart the lonely mid-night gloom, With his damned sister, frenzied Misery, Glazing Joys eye,or paling Beautys cheeks; Aye, bards sublimely picture Horrors form, In cursed Gorgon funeral terrors clad; But oh ! I sing of sweet poetic Love, The tender tyrant of the human neart The gentle maiden of the laughing eye The careless Queen crowned with her locks of gold, Sweet, I am captive in thy realms of bliss, For thou hast bound me with thy rosy chains!

IN MEMORIAM.*
I.
Shes fled from this prison of sorrow and pain, She has gone from the places that knew her before,
Where the fetters of earth cannot bind her again, And the cry of affliction can reach her no more.
She is missed from the paths of charitys vale, Where the moans of the suffering die way on the air,
She is missed at the shrine of her loved husbands heart,
But most is she missed at Gods altar of prayer.
We mourn for our loved neath the moons silver sheen, I weep for my aunt at Auroras pale heath,
We wail for our dear as we gaze on the green, But our plaints cannot break the deep slumber of death.
-The above poem was written on the death of Mrs. A. H. Sconyera, of Midville, Ga. (an aunt of the poet), who departed this life February 6, 1S85.
4

58

IX MEMORIAL.

Though the spirit all chainless has soared to its rest, Through the fields of ether rejoicing doth roam,
To the realms of Elysium to the land of the blest, And the songs of the ransomed have welcomed it home!

IN MEMORIAM.*
II.
"Oh, Death !" cried God to his angel, "go And bring more flowers for this lonely room,
Away, away to the earth below, And gather the sweetest ones in bloom."
Then pluming his wings the angel swept In swiftest flight cross the hyacinth sky,
The lover folded his bride that slept In closer embrace as he hurried hy.
A bright rose opened its fairy cup, He bore it hence to the halls of death;
He gathered the lilies and daisies up, That shrank from him in their vernal sheath;
The cries of pain he softly hushed, As he wandered among the snowy bowers;
The zephyr mourned for the ones he crushed And the dewdrops wept for the ravished flowers.
And to the shrine of knowledge be came, Braving Minervas disdainful frown,
^Tenderly inscribed to the memory of one Mr. Lee, a fellow-student of the poet, at Emory College, who died in January, 1SS6.

60

IN MEMOEIAM.

And scorning friendship, the souror flame, He madly trampled ambition downj

" He had just begun his work," they say, " He labored thro sun and showers,"
But the dark night fell ere the bright noon-day Had dawned on his morns glad hours I

MEMORIES.
And the bright stars still are shining, Still the summer zephyrs blow,
But that darling voice is silent Which I heard so long ago. Hush ! sad memries murmur low, " So long ago."
And yet the old woods are lonely, Still the laughing waters play,
But the past with all its joy Has forever fled away. Hush! the mournful memries say, "Oh, fled away."
And still the melancholy sea Thunders there below the hill,
But the dear old happy faces, Which my childhood did fulfill, Lie yonder near the forest mill, Silent and still I
Hush I oh, memries, mournful memriea, Once I loved you all too

62

MEMORIES.

Now my soul is faint and weary, Childhood days a long farewell. Hush . the memries, sad and dreary, Mourn "Farewell, farewell!"

DREAM SONG.
Sitting alone in the gloaming, My darling, I dream of thee,
When I shall be sighing no longer When you shall be ever with me,
As I dream the moon shines bright and cold On the surging, restless sea.
As I dream of our sweet, fond planning, The voice of the cursed sea,
Sounds like a lovers broken vow, Or a dying minstrelsy,
And I wake to think that ycu are dead, And I wail in misery.

ODE ON THE DEATH OF PAUL HAYNB.
Rise--rise 1 ye bards--rise up ; Sigh not in sorrow !
Fill--fill the pledging cup, We shall die to-morrow.
Drink--here--at the shrouded door, Joy--we give out brother; Joy--that from this reeling shore The gods have called another. {R. B. Wilson.
I.
Life's golden sun has set, the day is done, The Southland mourns, a noble race is run, Why ?--he who Fame's proud temple-gates had won,
By death is stricken low 1 The mournful news is sped across the sea, Through Albion's vales and sun-bright Italy, E'en in the rosy realms of revelry,
Are wails of deepest woe.
The South was dreaming in the arms of night, The hill and lakeside bathed in pale moonlight,

ODE ON THE DEATH OF PACL HAYNE.

65

Farewell was breathed, the spirit took its flight,-- The poet passed away.
The skeptic sigheth, " whither will he roam, Over the mountain brow and ocean foam ?" The angels answer, "to his home--sweet home,
The blaze of heavenly day."

II.

It was not princely power he strove to win, It was not wealth his fancy reveled in, It was that love which makes all men akin,
To purpose truly great; The perfect sense of duty ever known, Gave his Apollo's lyre that lofty tone, It was that Christian feeling which alone
Gives " heart for any fate."

And he hath left a voice in verse and lay, A beacon light to those of after day, And oh ! he sought the Holy Grail for aye,
As mariner the shore. Xh, tearful Sorrow, dry thy weeping eyes, Oh, tender, saintly Pity, cease thy sighs, He tunes a golden lyre in Paradise,
At rest forevermore I

TO J. V. J,
In the midnight, oh, my darling, In your great despairing woe,
When the moon is setting sadly, And the stars are burning low j
When the winds are sobbing faintly, O'er the silv'ry summer sea,
In your sadness--in. your sorrow, Darling, never think of me.
But if mem'ry should enslave thee, Love, I pray thee ne'er repine,
Oh, remember, little darling, That you once were wholly mine.
I am weary of the battle, I can almost wish to die,
Life's lighted with gleams of sorrow, Death with blaze of misery.

DESPONDING LIFE.
"Forsan el haec olim meminissejuvabiL"--VIRGIL.*
Nature has wept this evening, her bright tears Still tremble on the pansy and the fern ;
The rose is fresher since its wind-swept fears, And e'en the passion-flowers brighter burn.
Harsh words have hurt my heart and made me grieve, The day has been so dark without the sun,
My task has proved too hard, yet I believe Some one has wept to-day as I have done.
Yes, some one's sobbed to-day, as I do now, Those sad, suffering sobs of tearless pain,
And felt the frenzied fever-heated brow That was not cooled by summer's soothing rain.
Others have prayed and wept disconsolate, And up to God they've sent a madden'd cry,
Shrieking the world was cruel--desolate, And staffs on which they lean'd all broken lie.
Some one has lost to-day a cherished prize, And known the anguish of a pinioned soul;
'''Perhaps it may give delight hereafter to have remembered these things.

68

DESPOXDIXG LIFE.

To-night he bears the grandest agonies-- The failure in life's race to win the goal.

Another, he has asked and been denied, In his despair he nursed a mighty pain--
Pang of a human wish ungratified, Oh ! now he feels his life's great work was vain.

Some one has greater things to bear and do, Have harder tasks than yours which he contends ;
Others are farther off from Christ than you, Know less of love and kindness--have no friends.

Oh! are ye tired to-night, too tired to speak As Hesper sinks in the evening's glow ? .
Dear hearts and souls that's grown so very weak, Ah 1 one day ye shall rest forevermore.
There is a draught in Lethe, suff'ring one, A "rock" to hide thee from the world's alarms,
A "refuge" e'er the "hue and cry" be done-- Remember thou the "Tender Shepherd's arms."

TO ONE IN HEAVEN.
Blue was the sky, the month was poet's May, The birds were singing sweetly over head,
The blushing roses nodded fresh and gay, And you were dead.
The morning sunlight gilded earth and skies, W ith pearly dew the fragrant flowers were wet,
But all was darkness to my weeping eyes, Life's sun had set.
I looked upon your face so strange and cold, I saw your white hands folded on your breast,
I kissed your lips as in the days of old, You were at rest.
I strove to wake you from that silent sleep, I called you sweetest names--my love--my own,
I wept in vain, your slumber was too deep, Your spirit flown.
Oh! but to call thee back once more, my love; We never know the treasures that we own
Until bereft, by angels passed above, We are alone.

70

TO ONE IN HEAVEN.

And now that I can kiss thy face no more, This life--this weary life I would resign--
Oh, gladly go with Death beyond our shore, For smile of thine.

MAY.
Now Nature pours her first and sweetest wine, And like some Naiad by the silv'ry streams,
Lies the enchanted May, wrapt in divine, Passionate dreams.
The lofty tree, the lowly flow'ring herb, The fairest rose of season and of clime,
All wear alike the robe of the superb Fairy spring-time.
Where April hid her blossoms 'neath the fern, Now festal May opes them fold after fold,
And in the pansies' hearts now faintly burn The fires of gold.
The moon above the purple wood appears Rising in her magnificentarray,
Keeping her vigil of tbe countless years, The poets say.
But while fair Flora gilds the bud and leaf, And mock-birds in their rosy bowers sing,
Great Time, all silent in his mighty sheaf, Binds up the spring!

72

MAY.

Oh 1 pond'rous sheaf, which never is unbound; Oh! Reaper, whom our souls beseech in vain;
Dear sun-lit days, which never more are found, Or loved again I

"BUT I WILL EVER, EVER LOVE."
The mocking bird may cease to sing, Among the pine boughs in the grove,
The flowers forget to bloom in spring, But I will ever, ever love!
The lyre may lose its sweetest strain, The pilgrim zephyrs cease to rove,
And laughter turn to wails of pain, But I will ever, ever love!
Passion may ravish virtue's charms And truth a cursed liar prove,
Helen abandon Paris' arms But I will ever, ever love!
The stars of heaven may burn no more, And angels quit their courts above,
The wintry sea may hush its roar, But I will ever, ever love!

THE PINE.
The elm, the oak, the cypress, each hath beauty, As they wave 'neath the soft blue summer sky ;
To love the pale olive is a duty, For it looked on the Savior's agony.
The cedar, poplar, fir and ash trees vie In lovliness. The hollow maple old,
The warlike beech, the sad myrrh's weary sigh, The trembling aspen is fair to behold;
And the laurel, the poet's crown of green, The lover's forlorn willow, tender scene,
Sweet also is the scented birch tree glade; But oh, I love the dark, passionate pine, For it has ever been my muse's shrine,
Oft have I tuned my harp beneath its shade!

UNTIL DEATH.
Darling, summer now is dying, Long its noon-tide glow has passed;
Soon that wraith--the solemn autumn, O'er the hills its shadows cast.
And the vernal leaves above us Will put on a sombre hue.
Brightest flowers blooming round us, Buried lie from our view.
Then remember what you promised, When the skies were bright above,
With flushed cheeks and blue eyes glowing, You returned my vows of love.
Oh, will love fade like tiie flowers? Will dark winter find you true ?
Love must live through death, my darling, Through the snow-drift and the dew.

78

UNTIL DEATH.

And when life grows sad and dreary, Burdened with the cross of care,
Love must live like blushing roses You twine in your golden hair.

A HEART HISTORY.
The day is wild with wind and rain, Prom mountain brows to ocean's shores,
The fierce storm wails a sad refrain, And through it all the great sea roars.
Sad is the day, but sadder still My broken heart lies in my breast,--
Poor passion is too dead to thrill, My weary soul yearns but for rest.
The day is dark with Nature's strife, Yea, strife without and strife within,
Its emblem burns in my young life, Brings back a day of cursed sin 1
A siren brought me to my grief, Mad Love has been my sin, for ah!
Love proved a meteor dread as brief, Ah! me, I thought it was a star.

80

A HEART HISTORY.

Mourn on, O stormy sky to day, Send forth your songs of saddest pain,
Dear hope and love are laid away, My life will ne'er be bright again.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.
If, sometimes in the years to come, You pass a dim unnoticed grave ;
Dear reader, pray that I'm at home, Where winter winds ne'er wildly rave.
That this poor heart which long hath felt The frenzy of love's glowing fire,
To Heaven's holy halls is delt, And there tunes a soft seraph's lyre!

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD.

THE FAIRY QUEER'S DEATH.*
Oh, God I if not to me belong, Immortal Cowper's Christian tone,
Nor Hemans' old melodious song, Ye! with a sense of Fashion's wrong, My boyish Muse lays her best gift before thy throne.
I.
"Pis the close of day, In the month of May, And the lonely woods are still; The sky is drest, In a purple vest, As the sun ginks 'neath the hill; The birds have hied to their nest in a throng, And naught is heard save the sorrowful song Of the whippoorwill as she floats along, Or the woodlark's distant trill.
*This poem, containing about twonty-five verses, was written when the poet was about twelve years of age; its moral was to show how much sin and shame lurked in the silly revelry--dancing. The remainder of the I'ocui way lost, we regret to say.

THE! FAIRY QUEEN'S
II.
In yon shady dell 'Neath that rugged fell, They have madly danced in glee; The fairy boast To the musical toast Of the night-bird in the tree. I have beat the timbrel and played the lute, Or list to the notes of the fairy flute, From bulrush made by an Oread cute, When the moonlight gilds the sea.

GEORGIA.
"Land oj fke South ! imperial lead r
1 love our sunny Georgian clime, With skies of deepest blue,
Where there is naught save summertime, And birds of ev'ry hue ;
Where Philomel forever sings Her songs so sweetly sad,
In every solitude there rings A strain to make thee glad.
I love thy quiet fields and woods, I love thy laughing streams;
O'er thy fair scenes my mem'ry broods, In childhood's brightest dreams.
I love thy noble history, I love thy mighty dead,
Oh, thy great sons of chivalry On freedom's altars bled!
And when far from Georgia's mountains, O'er the wide earth I roam,
I shall find no flashing fountains So bright as those at home.

88

GEORGIA.

'Neath Italy's sky of glory, And in some Grecian grove,
Or 'inid Egypt:s ruins so hoary, None vie with those I love!

Proudly our " Forest City " stands, Near Bonaventure's shade,
The queen of our imperial lands, Metropolis of trade!
And yonder is Augusta's mart, The storehouse of Ceres,
And here is Macon, Georgia's heart, On Ocmulgee's leas.

Atlanta is the seat of wealth, With richly paved streets;
Fair Toccoa is the home of health, And Athens science greets.
Oh, may our laurels ever spring. And stately cities rise,
And till old Time shall fold his wing Remain earth's paradise.

I praise grand Georgia in my rhyme, And all her many charms,
God bless our glory-crowned clime, Guarded hv valor's arms!

GEORGIA.

89

Oh, God! we thank thee for this home, These cities of the free,
Where pilgrims from afar may come To bask in liberty!

LOVE'S SONG *
Through the moonlit hours and all day long, My little love, you have heard my sons ; In winter dark you've list'd to my tune, And now in the rosy days of June, vEolian airs I harp for thee, My youthful Queen, sweet, careless Marie;-- I ring out a joyous Lydian strain, For I would not give thy bosom pain, With a sad lay's mournful melody, Like Anacreon, Love's symphony Alone, I softly chant, nevermore Will I wake Cadmus, hero of yore.
^Tho following criticism, " thin cfamiV anil .T*fA<-fv- rriticimn ('\ ws written by a very lcarnr<2 gentleman (!l when lliis poem although it had been pub lished before) made its appearance in the (lrrgia Collrgi- Juxrn'it lnf\ spring.--AUTHOR.
THE POET'? " LOVE'S SdXU."
"The youthful Queen, sweet, careless Marie," ouRht to be a very happy girl. There are young ladies in this and other lands silly enough to con sider a young man eligible who show? himself sober, honest and indus trious. Stuff and nonsense! What ilocs that amount to? What, in fart, are any sm-rifices romparmi with that awful si-lf-slaushtcr expressed in tlit- Km ml lines of our poet--
" Henceforth ernnd fainc shall forgotten In-, Life, lyro, soul, heart and love arc for thee." Talk about trii'inir up homo comforts, enduring hardships, and all that sort of thing for the sake of n girl. My young lady friends, that is noth ing. When you remember that there is a " grand old Hercules " to whom

LOVE S SONG.
Israfel's songs warbled in Heaven,
Are not purer than these tones riven
From my sighing, soothing lyre of loves,
With notes as soft as a gentle dove'a.
Once in the years forever gone by,
I sung of the wild red battle cry,
But lately my harp has changed its tone,
And now it can breathe of love alone. And oh, when my thrilling harp I seize,
In honor of grand old Hercules,
The bold high chords melt to softer themes,
a fellow might "do honor" with a " thrilling harp," or such "heroeaof old" as Messrs. "Eneas and Atreus so bold" whose praises his muse wight sound to bis own profit and the delight of his admiring friends; when you recollect that besides these there is still a host of pagans--gods and heroes--of whom one is in duty bound to think, sing and write; in deed, to spend a considerable part of one's life in so doing, when, with all these solemn and important duties staring him in the face, a fellow de liberately and heroically turns his back upon them and devotes his whole being to the express purpose of singing about Marie, you must admit that we here hare an example of devotiun to which the pages of history fur nish no parallel.
The smitten youth does mention a few attempts made by him to play some other things on his harp, but " no go;" as if bewitched, or like a hurdy gurdy fixed to make only one tune, it breathes no other strain than love and Marie.
" Nothing in earth or Heaven above Can move my lyre but the songs of love."
Poor lyre! Happy Marie! All so fortunate as to have been readers of the poem referred to must have been struck with the pathetic allusion to our poet's leave-taking of his venerable friend, Achilles. Could anything be more sublime than the noble line, " I say good-bye to Achilles, too?" Notice the emphasis ex pressed in the word " too."

LOVES SOS<i.

As sweet as thy own fair summer dreams. Henceforth grand fame shall forgotten be, Life, lyre, soul, heart and love are for tbee, So farewell to ye heroes of old, Eneas and Atreus bold; I say good-bye to Achilles too, And giauts who storm the ages through ; Nothing in earth or Heaven above Can move my lyre but the songs of love!

Another fine passage is the one referring to " Cadmus of yore.* It would appear that " once in the years gone by " he was in the habit of calling up the spirit of the old Phoenician without a moments notice, but since he has " tuned his lyre to love alone," he resolves to leave the
old gentleman to his slumbers, or as he tonchingly expresses it

" Nevermore Will I wake Cadmns, hero of yore."

One could hardly believe that a young man so tame to look at, and who,

at present, sings with "notes as soft as a gentle doves," formerly kept

his harp tuned exclusively " to the wild, red battle cry." But such is the

noteworthy fact. What a metamorphosis!

X. T. Z.

DO YOU EVER THINK OF ME ?
Do you ever think of me, dear, In your distant Southern home,
Par across the purple mountains, Far across the ocean's foam ?
In the land where blooms the flowers, Where all day the singing bee
Hums among the forest bowers, Do you ever think of me ?
When the bright sun reigns in glory Over that Hesperian lea,
Oh ! my darling, oh ! my darling, Do you ever think of me ?
When the new moon sheds its beauty, Painting land and gilding sea,
Remember, darling, 'tis your duty, Do you ever think of me ?
Do you ever think of me, love, In that fair Georgian clime,
Where the days seem naught but moments, And the hours rosy rhyme ?

96

DO YOU EVER THINK OF ME?

We are parted here forever, Oh ! my bonnie blue-eyed bride,
''I give rest unto the blessed," Years ago the Savior cried.

Do you ever think of me love, On fair Aiden's distant shore ?
I shall one day meet you there, love, Tho' I'll see you here no more.

APRIL.
Oh, laughing April, wake in rosy glee, Smile o'er the plains, and hills, and swelling floods, And in your blossomy dells and budding woods,
Call your bird-choir back o'er the Southern sea, From the spice islands to whose shades they flee. At dawn your skies are rose and tender gold, And soon the crimson gates of day unfold, To close in purple pomp when Hesper's hour Precedes the night, regnant in her star-dower;-- Her dews, and silences, and moon-beams bright,
So pass thy days, daughter of festal Spring,-- They drop like jewels from far Paradise, Golden with sunshine, cool with zephyr's sighs,
Fair promise, blue eyed April, dost thou bring.

A DREAM.
I dreamed that you were dead, love, In long white robes you lay,
Your heart was cold and still, love, Your spirit flown for aye.
I stood beside thy bier, love, From my eyes fell scalding tears,
For I'll never see thee more, love, Through the long, long, lonely years.
Ah ! to have died for thee, love, And gone to the ghastly grave,
Gladly would I have given, love, My poor life thine to save.
I wander to the church-yard, love, The little church-yard on the hill,
"Forgive, I've often grieved thy heart, Though 'twas not meant for ill."
You answer not my longing soul, You do not heed my bitter woe,
Tho' an angel in the heaven's cries "Thou wast forgiven long ago."

100

A DREAM.

So my broken heart must be patient, love, My love I lost long years ago,
Oh ! to be at home with you, love, At rest--at rest forevermore.

MARY E. BRYAN.
Muse of the South--your dearest pride, Whose name is breathed with loving boast
From the Potomac's waters wide To the Floridian coast--
Land of your birth, which orange flowers Crown with a bridal crest;
Yet where the Lone Star forest towers Your name is known and blest.
Yours is in truth a Southern star, Child of a tropic clime,
And yet your light radiates afar And broader grows with time.
Pale Sorrow's children through their bars Catch notes of your sweet lyre,
And lift their eyes to see the stars And draw to Beauty nigher.

FOR LOVE AND THEE!..
My life is for love and thee, darling-- My life is for love and thee;
With your peerless grace And your flower-like face, My life is for love and thee, darling !
Though,do you care for me, darling? Oh, do you care for ine ?
Your pride is so great That I fear for my fate, I fear you don't care for me, darling.
But my love and life are for thee, darling, My love and life are for thee.;
I'll adore thee till death Steals from me my breath; My life and my love are for thee, darling!