Avolio ; a legend of the island of Cos With poems, lyrical, miscellaneous, and dramatic |
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| MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. |
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 | Avolio ; a legend of the island of Cos |  |
91
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
93
QUEEN GALENA;
OR, THE SULTANA BETRAYED.
Hold! let the heartless Perjurer go!
Speak not! strike not! he is my foe,—
From me, me only, comes the blow,—
I will repay him woe for woe;
Look in my eyes! my eyes are dry,
I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh,
But—will avenge me ere I die.
Speak not! strike not! he is my foe,—
From me, me only, comes the blow,—
I will repay him woe for woe;
Look in my eyes! my eyes are dry,
I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh,
But—will avenge me ere I die.
Think you that I shall basely rest,
And know the bosom mine hath pressed
Is couched upon a colder breast?
Think you that I shall yield the West,
The Orient soul my nature nurst,
Till the black seed of treachery burst,
And blossomed to this deed accurst?
And know the bosom mine hath pressed
Is couched upon a colder breast?
Think you that I shall yield the West,
The Orient soul my nature nurst,
Till the black seed of treachery burst,
And blossomed to this deed accurst?
My rival! O! her eyes are meek,
Her faltering presence wan and weak
As the faint flush that tints her cheek;
'Tis not on her that I would wreak
Her faltering presence wan and weak
As the faint flush that tints her cheek;
'Tis not on her that I would wreak
96
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. J. A. S., THE DISTINGUISHED PASTOR OF THE CHURCH OF ST. PETER, CHARLESTON, S. C.
As those who, sailing in a Tropic Sea,
Through golden calms borne on contentedly,
And yielded to a listless noonday sleep,
Are roused therefrom by thunder on the Deep,
And wake to sudden turmoil and the dread
Of lightning, which has struck a comrade dead,
(Their faithful Pilot laboring at the wheel,)
O! thus we slumbered, and thus burst the peal
Of death's artillery, and the bolt of woe
Which smote his noble Life, and laid it mute and low.
Through golden calms borne on contentedly,
And yielded to a listless noonday sleep,
Are roused therefrom by thunder on the Deep,
And wake to sudden turmoil and the dread
Of lightning, which has struck a comrade dead,
(Their faithful Pilot laboring at the wheel,)
O! thus we slumbered, and thus burst the peal
Of death's artillery, and the bolt of woe
Which smote his noble Life, and laid it mute and low.
Our souls were still—our lives, a summer sea—
When the great God, who worketh fearfully,
Around whose will the shroud of mystery 's thrown,
Whose paths are dim, whose footsteps are not known,
Wrapped in the awful cloud, and darkness came,
And on our shuddering hearts his judgment wrote in flame.
When the great God, who worketh fearfully,
Around whose will the shroud of mystery 's thrown,
Whose paths are dim, whose footsteps are not known,
97
And on our shuddering hearts his judgment wrote in flame.
But what, to our weak sight, is girt about
With mist of grief and chilling shades of doubt,
To him we mourn is very bright and clear,—
His is the joy, and OURS the blight and fear;
His the vast freedom, ours the prison wall;
His the white robe, and ours the bier and pall;
His the calm Height which overtops the spheres,
And ours the Depth of passionate despairs;
Then should we for ourselves and children keep
The bitter human tears 'tis vain for him to weep
With mist of grief and chilling shades of doubt,
To him we mourn is very bright and clear,—
His is the joy, and OURS the blight and fear;
His the vast freedom, ours the prison wall;
His the white robe, and ours the bier and pall;
His the calm Height which overtops the spheres,
And ours the Depth of passionate despairs;
Then should we for ourselves and children keep
The bitter human tears 'tis vain for him to weep
But tears must fall, and sorrowing words be spoken,
And stricken hearts lament, or else—be broken;
'Tis not 'mid bleeding love's late-severed ties,
We thrill to feel the healing Comfort rise,
And catch the inner hymns of Paradise,—
Gently, and as the morn from banks of gloom
Is slowly rounded upward into bloom,
That tender Angel steals upon our being,
And with it comes a harmony, agreeing
With the soft sunshine of its heavenly spell,
And startled Faith returns, and all is well.
And stricken hearts lament, or else—be broken;
'Tis not 'mid bleeding love's late-severed ties,
We thrill to feel the healing Comfort rise,
And catch the inner hymns of Paradise,—
Gently, and as the morn from banks of gloom
Is slowly rounded upward into bloom,
That tender Angel steals upon our being,
And with it comes a harmony, agreeing
With the soft sunshine of its heavenly spell,
And startled Faith returns, and all is well.
98
Then, from the cypress gloom, the darkening sod,
We lift our eyes to the pure light of God,
Where 'mid the shining ranks, absolved from sin,
A perfect spirit hath just entered in,
Felt the keen rapture of its last release,
Received the immortal Crown, and clasped the palm of Peace.
We lift our eyes to the pure light of God,
Where 'mid the shining ranks, absolved from sin,
A perfect spirit hath just entered in,
Felt the keen rapture of its last release,
Received the immortal Crown, and clasped the palm of Peace.
99
THE BATTLE IN THE DISTANCE.
Her dark eyes gleamed amid the gloom,
Slow gathering from the stormy main,
She stood as one who fronts her doom,
And tasks the mystic Fate in vain:
Sudden, a steed with drooping rein,
Burst from the desert's shadowy rim,
And flecked with many a crimson stain,
Paused by the portal, black and grim.
Slow gathering from the stormy main,
She stood as one who fronts her doom,
And tasks the mystic Fate in vain:
Sudden, a steed with drooping rein,
Burst from the desert's shadowy rim,
And flecked with many a crimson stain,
Paused by the portal, black and grim.
She knew the steed,—she marked the cloud
Which rolled across the distant fight,
And strove to pierce the awful shroud,—
But a strange mist o'erhung her sight,
The prospect swayed in doubtful light,
And, idly tottering to and fro,
She shivered 'neath the lurid might
Of prescient Thoughts foreboding woe.
Which rolled across the distant fight,
And strove to pierce the awful shroud,—
But a strange mist o'erhung her sight,
The prospect swayed in doubtful light,
And, idly tottering to and fro,
She shivered 'neath the lurid might
Of prescient Thoughts foreboding woe.
“O, Love! last eve, your head was laid
Close to this warm and tender breast,
And all the thrilling vows we made,
And all I knew, and all I guessed,
Of passion breathed, or unexprest,
Did point to bliss built up on bliss,
An Aidenne of voluptuous rest
New-opened by each burning kiss.
Close to this warm and tender breast,
And all the thrilling vows we made,
And all I knew, and all I guessed,
100
Did point to bliss built up on bliss,
An Aidenne of voluptuous rest
New-opened by each burning kiss.
“But Fate is stern, and men are base,
Wrong creepeth in the dark to smite,—
A caitiff who had seen my face
Once—on El Kalim's castled height,
Swore by the Houris' brows of light
To bear me through his Harem gate,
And yonder strives my Roland's right
With jealous fraud and desperate hate.”
Wrong creepeth in the dark to smite,—
A caitiff who had seen my face
Once—on El Kalim's castled height,
Swore by the Houris' brows of light
To bear me through his Harem gate,
And yonder strives my Roland's right
With jealous fraud and desperate hate.”
But see! the cloud rolls up apace!
But hark! the shouts grow wild and clear!
A sudden whirlwind! and the place
Of strife looms outward everywhere;—
And lo! his proud plume waved in air,
The victor Roland!—a dense throng
With glittering casque, and gleaming spear,
Shouting an ancient knightly song
But hark! the shouts grow wild and clear!
A sudden whirlwind! and the place
Of strife looms outward everywhere;—
And lo! his proud plume waved in air,
The victor Roland!—a dense throng
With glittering casque, and gleaming spear,
Shouting an ancient knightly song
Of triumph, close around their Lord,
And banners flaunt, and trumpets peal,
And thundering on the level sward
Rush the fierce chargers, clad in steel;
The solid feudal bastions reel,
The welkin thrills to brave alarms,
Tumultuous liegemens' fiery zeal,
With clang of hoofs, and clash of arms.
And banners flaunt, and trumpets peal,
And thundering on the level sward
Rush the fierce chargers, clad in steel;
101
The welkin thrills to brave alarms,
Tumultuous liegemens' fiery zeal,
With clang of hoofs, and clash of arms.
That night the bonfires hid the stars,
The mighty wassail bowl foamed high,
And to the deepest dungeon-bars,
Rang the uproarious revelry;
And knights did woo, and ladies sigh,
And minstrels sung, and jesters laughed,
And gayly sped from eye to eye,
Love winged his fairy-feathered shaft.
The mighty wassail bowl foamed high,
And to the deepest dungeon-bars,
Rang the uproarious revelry;
And knights did woo, and ladies sigh,
And minstrels sung, and jesters laughed,
And gayly sped from eye to eye,
Love winged his fairy-feathered shaft.
But in a cloister near the sea,
Shut from the jest, the dance, the tale,
While the low winds breathe mournfully,
And shadows throng, and billows wail,
Bowed by the altar, hushed and pale,
The Lord and Lady court the calm,
Till the last lingering echoes fail
Of solemn prayer and saintly psalm!
Shut from the jest, the dance, the tale,
While the low winds breathe mournfully,
And shadows throng, and billows wail,
Bowed by the altar, hushed and pale,
The Lord and Lady court the calm,
Till the last lingering echoes fail
Of solemn prayer and saintly psalm!
102
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
Oh! bitter is this final blow!
Yet shouldst thou strive to battle still,
To calm the heart, to nerve the will,
And overcome the woe;—
Yet shouldst thou strive to battle still,
To calm the heart, to nerve the will,
And overcome the woe;—
Although thou walk'st a desolate path,
Where all the blooms of life seem dead,
And fierce, and threatening overhead,
The thunder speaks in wrath;—
Where all the blooms of life seem dead,
And fierce, and threatening overhead,
The thunder speaks in wrath;—
Yet never, while the sovereign brain
Retains the rule by Nature given,
Should misery shake our trust in heaven,
Or Manhood crouch to Pain!
Retains the rule by Nature given,
Should misery shake our trust in heaven,
Or Manhood crouch to Pain!
Young art thou, and this stormy day,
So cold, so dim, so cheerless now,
May thrill thy brightening soul and brow
With sudden noontide ray;—
So cold, so dim, so cheerless now,
May thrill thy brightening soul and brow
With sudden noontide ray;—
103
Or else, ere Life shall sink to Night,
A golden sunset-calm may rise,
To flush thy spirit's peaceful skies
With blessed evening light.
A golden sunset-calm may rise,
To flush thy spirit's peaceful skies
With blessed evening light.
Whate'er betide, 'tis noblest, best,
Against all earthly ills to cope,
Keep to the last our heart and hope,
And leave with God the rest!
Against all earthly ills to cope,
Keep to the last our heart and hope,
And leave with God the rest!
105
LIFE'S UNDER-CURRENT.
Mankind esteemed him happy! filled with good
Of all things grateful unto youth's desire;
Alas! they neither saw, nor understood
His sorrow's secret fire.
Of all things grateful unto youth's desire;
Alas! they neither saw, nor understood
His sorrow's secret fire.
How could they dream that one whose genial face
Seemed the sure index of a soul at rest,
Watched in the darkening shadow of disgrace,
Fierce torture in his breast?
Seemed the sure index of a soul at rest,
Watched in the darkening shadow of disgrace,
Fierce torture in his breast?
How could they tell that one whose smiles would wake
To such quick radiance of responsive glee,
Unseen tormentors to a viewless stake
Had bound in agony?
To such quick radiance of responsive glee,
Unseen tormentors to a viewless stake
Had bound in agony?
O, shallow wisdom of this world, avaunt!
Thou seest the outward show, the whited tomb,
But there is that within would stir and daunt,
And shake thee as with doom!
Thou seest the outward show, the whited tomb,
But there is that within would stir and daunt,
And shake thee as with doom!
106
Mirth, silvery clear, from breaking hearts may rise,
Gay laughter quiver upon Misery's lips,
'Tis not the whimpering soul that shrinks and sighs,
That most has known eclipse;—
Gay laughter quiver upon Misery's lips,
'Tis not the whimpering soul that shrinks and sighs,
That most has known eclipse;—
For strong hearts, strong in joy, more strong in pain,
Dare to the last the banded hosts of Fate,
And covering o'er their death-wounds, on the plain,
Sink even in death elate.
Dare to the last the banded hosts of Fate,
And covering o'er their death-wounds, on the plain,
Sink even in death elate.
We cannot mould our lives, but can our wills
Gird with keen-steeled resolve to meet our foes,
And he who fights unyielding—he fulfils
A doom to which repose,
Gird with keen-steeled resolve to meet our foes,
And he who fights unyielding—he fulfils
A doom to which repose,
The sordid quiet of your sensual souls
Is mean and tame, as those low lands which lie
'Twixt mountain peaks that swell the thunder-rolls,
The battling eagle's cry.
Is mean and tame, as those low lands which lie
'Twixt mountain peaks that swell the thunder-rolls,
The battling eagle's cry.
109
SONG.
I.
Here, long ago,While the fair River in its spring-time flow,
Murmured with happy voice
“Rejoice! Rejoice!”
While youth's full pulses thrilled within our breasts,
Far from life's hopeless calms, or fierce unrests,
We told our love;
The April sunset heaven was bright above,
The earth below
Most beautiful—but this was long ago,
Long, very long ago.
II.
Here, once again,While the dark River like a soul in pain
Heaves, as it were from depths of human care,
A sigh of lorn despair;
Youth's glorious pulses stilled within our breasts,
The haunt of hopeless calms, or fierce unrests,
110
The angry winter's heaven is wild above,
The earth below
Drear as the hopes that withered long ago,
Long, very long ago.
115
PALINGENESIS.
I dreamed of late a mystic dream!
Methought that Death
Had struck my heart's warm pulses still,
And robbed my breath:
Methought that Death
Had struck my heart's warm pulses still,
And robbed my breath:
This feverish blood, and troubled soul
Were calm and cold;
That which had borne thought, passion, will,
Was—senseless mould;
Were calm and cold;
That which had borne thought, passion, will,
Was—senseless mould;
I saw the mourners round my bed—
I heard their wail;
I knew what heavy tear-storms drenched
My forehead pale:
I heard their wail;
I knew what heavy tear-storms drenched
My forehead pale:
Yet—I was dead, dead, dead, for aye!
My blood was ice,
And crumbled with my crumbling brain
Thought's last device.
My blood was ice,
And crumbled with my crumbling brain
Thought's last device.
122
LINES.
COMPOSED UPON A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN AUTUMN.
How grandly in the mild September rays
Rest the rich forests, and the cloudless sky!
Thou queenliest of the regal Autumn days,
Would that thy happy Hours might never fly!
Rest the rich forests, and the cloudless sky!
Thou queenliest of the regal Autumn days,
Would that thy happy Hours might never fly!
O! that the same calm glory in the air
Might bless forevermore our grateful sight!
O! that the Earth might ever seem as fair
And Nature wear for aye these robes of light!
Might bless forevermore our grateful sight!
O! that the Earth might ever seem as fair
And Nature wear for aye these robes of light!
In the still Present, musing, let me rest,
The Past be banished, and the Future veiled!
Dark fears! yield up your empire in my breast,
Fierce memories! leave my spirit unassailed:
The Past be banished, and the Future veiled!
Dark fears! yield up your empire in my breast,
Fierce memories! leave my spirit unassailed:
This genial morn I give to gentle thought,
Angels of peace and comfort hover nigh;
Sweet Hope, so long an alien, comes unsought,
And Joy resumes her sway, I know not why:
Angels of peace and comfort hover nigh;
Sweet Hope, so long an alien, comes unsought,
And Joy resumes her sway, I know not why:
123
Yet, Heaven! I thank thee for these healthful gleams
Of present bliss, though brief the rapture be;
They pierce the sullen darkness of my dreams,
They bring me near—oh! Father!—unto thee!
Of present bliss, though brief the rapture be;
They pierce the sullen darkness of my dreams,
They bring me near—oh! Father!—unto thee!
124
THE TEMPTER IN THE HOUSE.
The sky is dark with a cloudy pall,
And the earth is dim with rain,
And the ghastly pine trees toss and moan
By the side of the moaning main;
And around the eaves of the desolate Hall
The shrill March winds complain.
And the earth is dim with rain,
And the ghastly pine trees toss and moan
By the side of the moaning main;
And around the eaves of the desolate Hall
The shrill March winds complain.
But a darker pall has shrouded the light
Of the Household Hopes within,
For the troubled hearts that toss and moan
By the terrible verge of sin
Are sorely beset by the Tempter's might,
And the Devil is sure to win!
Of the Household Hopes within,
For the troubled hearts that toss and moan
By the terrible verge of sin
Are sorely beset by the Tempter's might,
And the Devil is sure to win!
125
THE UNPRISONED SPIRITS.
Our prison walls are wrecked and gray;
Cast not a glance behind us,
For forceful fraud has ceased to stay,
And tyrant chains to bind us;
Press onward where his herald-gleams
The Day-God sends in warning,
Shake off the Léthean dew of dreams,
And speed to hail the morning;
Dreary the night, and foul the wrong
That curbed our bold endeavor,
But though the despot held us long,
He could not hold forever.
Cast not a glance behind us,
For forceful fraud has ceased to stay,
And tyrant chains to bind us;
Press onward where his herald-gleams
The Day-God sends in warning,
Shake off the Léthean dew of dreams,
And speed to hail the morning;
Dreary the night, and foul the wrong
That curbed our bold endeavor,
But though the despot held us long,
He could not hold forever.
Brave hearts, and high in Hell's despite
Can ne'er make base surrender
Of THAT which clothes the will with might,
The Genius with its splendor;
The Gods of earth may tempt and blind
The souls that soar above them,
But worthier Fates will seek, and find,
And nobler Masters prove them;
So, when the Tempter's hour is passed,
His bonds are rent asunder,
His dungeon topples in the blast,
And falls before the thunder.
Can ne'er make base surrender
Of THAT which clothes the will with might,
The Genius with its splendor;
The Gods of earth may tempt and blind
The souls that soar above them,
But worthier Fates will seek, and find,
And nobler Masters prove them;
126
His bonds are rent asunder,
His dungeon topples in the blast,
And falls before the thunder.
Then rise the souls he could not tame
To write—in deeds—their story;
To pluck the laurel-wreath from Fame,
And scale the Mount of Glory;
Then, stronger for the deep disgust
Of brief revolt from Duty,
They fight the battle of the Just,
Led on by Truth and Beauty;
Upborne from sun-crowned height to height,
They chase the grand Ideal
Till conquering faith is merged in sight,
The Ideal in the Real!
To write—in deeds—their story;
To pluck the laurel-wreath from Fame,
And scale the Mount of Glory;
Then, stronger for the deep disgust
Of brief revolt from Duty,
They fight the battle of the Just,
Led on by Truth and Beauty;
Upborne from sun-crowned height to height,
They chase the grand Ideal
Till conquering faith is merged in sight,
The Ideal in the Real!
130
SUNSET AND MOONLIGHT.
Here, glancing from this breezy Height,
While the still Day goes slowly down,
And sombre Evening's shadows brown
Close o'er the purple-flushing light.
While the still Day goes slowly down,
And sombre Evening's shadows brown
Close o'er the purple-flushing light.
I mark the softer radiance rest
Of the calm moon, till now unseen,
Along the Ocean tides serene,
Scarce heaving toward the faded West;
Of the calm moon, till now unseen,
Along the Ocean tides serene,
Scarce heaving toward the faded West;
At first there dawns a ghostly ray,
Faint as a new-born infant's dreams,
But soon an ampler glory streams,
And trembling up the lustrous Bay,
Faint as a new-born infant's dreams,
But soon an ampler glory streams,
And trembling up the lustrous Bay,
Long level shafts of silvery glow
Lead upward to the quiet skies,
The radiant paths to Paradise
Revealed when all is dark below.
Lead upward to the quiet skies,
The radiant paths to Paradise
Revealed when all is dark below.
142
FLOWERS FROM A GRAVE.
These flowers are withered, Lady! like the hopesWe buried in the grave from which they sprung;
Yet are the tokens precious; they have voices,
And sad, sad memories of the broken Past;—
O! I could steep them in my bitter tears,
But that the channels of my grief are closed,
And dryer than their petals; those whose hearts
Have wept blood, seldom find their eyelids moist
With dew of milder sorrow;—from her grave
You plucked these blooms in the soft summer dawn;—
Her grave, whose mould lies heavier on our souls
Than e'er on her sweet body; God in Heaven
Reward you for the pure impulsive pity
To which I owe these treasures;—they are dear
To memory as to passion, and though dead,
Are greener than the sapless barren life
Of him who wears them, henceforth, next his heart!
143
BOUGHT AND SOLD.
I have no hope, and I will not cope
Base knave with you!—
A Nabob whose gold remains untold,
What may I do to vanquish you,
And to lift my Love
To a heart above
The bitter, the cruel, the dazzling spell
Which has snared her soul with the snare of Hell?
Base knave with you!—
A Nabob whose gold remains untold,
What may I do to vanquish you,
And to lift my Love
To a heart above
The bitter, the cruel, the dazzling spell
Which has snared her soul with the snare of Hell?
Win her, and wear!
Go to the shrine with a Satyr's leer,
To the holy altar of God
With the vilest thought that the prurient clod,
Miscalled your Heart, can engender;
O! guardian Angels, behold and weep!—
No more in your prayers befriend her,—
For lo! her purity seems to fall
Like a garment off by the chancel wall,
She is yours to keep
No more,—
For a woman, a woman, that's bought and sold
In a mart where the Devil pays down the gold,
Goes forth from the sacred door!
Go to the shrine with a Satyr's leer,
To the holy altar of God
With the vilest thought that the prurient clod,
Miscalled your Heart, can engender;
O! guardian Angels, behold and weep!—
No more in your prayers befriend her,—
For lo! her purity seems to fall
Like a garment off by the chancel wall,
She is yours to keep
No more,—
For a woman, a woman, that's bought and sold
In a mart where the Devil pays down the gold,
Goes forth from the sacred door!
144
PERFECT CALM.
Eternal Quiet were eternal sleep!
“O! we will make,” some fond Enthusiast cries,
“This present weary world a Paradise
O'er which all gentle Thoughts their watch shall keep;
A noiseless calm shall brood above its bowers,
And only Nature's sweet, and tender powers,
Hold genial converse in the charméd shade;”
“O! we will make,” some fond Enthusiast cries,
“This present weary world a Paradise
O'er which all gentle Thoughts their watch shall keep;
A noiseless calm shall brood above its bowers,
And only Nature's sweet, and tender powers,
Hold genial converse in the charméd shade;”
Through the new Eden's golden gates I look,
And lo! stretched listless by a murmuring brook,
Whose silvery lustre glimmers 'mid the glade,
I see the angel Tenant of the place,
Fast by the tree of Life, his placid face
Half hidden in his pinions' downy deep,
The Angel muses, or perchance—he prays!—
Not so, look closer,—he is sound asleep!
And lo! stretched listless by a murmuring brook,
Whose silvery lustre glimmers 'mid the glade,
I see the angel Tenant of the place,
Fast by the tree of Life, his placid face
Half hidden in his pinions' downy deep,
The Angel muses, or perchance—he prays!—
Not so, look closer,—he is sound asleep!
147
FRAGMENT OF AN ODE ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT STATESMAN.
Toll forth, O mournful bells, the solemn dirge;Speak out to the hushed heavens your lamentation,
A deep funereal music, surge on surge,
Timed to the sorrow of a stricken Nation;
For a grand Life hath set,
The last Star in a glorious sky gone down,
And sullen shades of lowering darkness frown,
Where constellated lights of genius met
On the proud summits of our old Renown!
150
JANUARY TO MAY.
I have naught to give thee, lady,—
Love nor gold;
This dull urn of burial-ashes,
This is all I hold.
Love nor gold;
This dull urn of burial-ashes,
This is all I hold.
Wouldst thou wed a soul in ruin,
Clasp a breast,
Where in depth of doubt and darkness
Bides a demon-guest?
Clasp a breast,
Where in depth of doubt and darkness
Bides a demon-guest?
Wouldst thou pour a fervid torrent,
Passion's flood,
On a wrecked and lonely nature,
Chilled in brain and blood?
Passion's flood,
On a wrecked and lonely nature,
Chilled in brain and blood?
O, forbear! thou wert not fated
Thus to yield;—
All thy warmth of love and beauty
Leaves me unannealed.
Thus to yield;—
All thy warmth of love and beauty
Leaves me unannealed.
151
Plant thy roses in the spring-mould,
Not the snow;
And thy precious heart-seeds scatter
Where the seeds may grow!
Not the snow;
And thy precious heart-seeds scatter
Where the seeds may grow!
152
A REMEMBRANCE.
Softly shone thy lustrous eyes
On that silent summer night,
Softly on my wakened heart,
Thrilling into love and light,
Though from the near mountain's height
The shadows wrapt us solemnly.
On that silent summer night,
Softly on my wakened heart,
Thrilling into love and light,
Though from the near mountain's height
The shadows wrapt us solemnly.
Faintly fell the tremulous tones
From thy sweet lips coyly won,—
Dropping with the liquid lull
Of low rivulets, by the sun
Courted from the woodlands dun,
Into pastures, glad and free.
From thy sweet lips coyly won,—
Dropping with the liquid lull
Of low rivulets, by the sun
Courted from the woodlands dun,
Into pastures, glad and free.
Through the mazes of deep speech
Wandered we, absorbed,—apart,—
On the mingled flood of thought
Drawing nigh each other's heart,—
Till we felt the pulses start
Of a mystic sympathy!
Wandered we, absorbed,—apart,—
On the mingled flood of thought
Drawing nigh each other's heart,—
Till we felt the pulses start
Of a mystic sympathy!
153
Ah! those brief, harmonious hours!
When their wingéd music fled,
Discord through all voices ran,
And the universe seemed dead,
Only,—moaning o'er its bed,
I heard the low pathetic sea.
When their wingéd music fled,
Discord through all voices ran,
And the universe seemed dead,
Only,—moaning o'er its bed,
I heard the low pathetic sea.
156
LUCETTE.
A snow-white brow, and tender eyes!
A lip of rich carnation!
A fairy's pace,
And form of grace,
With the still glory on her face
Of virgin meditation!
A lip of rich carnation!
A fairy's pace,
And form of grace,
With the still glory on her face
Of virgin meditation!
A snow-white mind! the tenderest heart
That e'er bore Heaven reflected!
A light, it seems,
Of sacred dreams
(O radiant tide!) about her streams,
The chrism of God's elected.
That e'er bore Heaven reflected!
A light, it seems,
Of sacred dreams
(O radiant tide!) about her streams,
The chrism of God's elected.
I greet her with a conscious thrill,
—A strange and deep confusion,—
As one who knows
His crimes must close
Hope's portal to the Thought which rose,
“Go! win her from seclusion!”
—A strange and deep confusion,—
As one who knows
His crimes must close
Hope's portal to the Thought which rose,
“Go! win her from seclusion!”
157
False am I, yet not false enough
To link my base condition
With her pure state,
Forestalling Fate,
Who lurks with latent Joy in wait
To crown her with fruition.
To link my base condition
With her pure state,
Forestalling Fate,
Who lurks with latent Joy in wait
To crown her with fruition.
158
THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL DEATH
A FRAGMENT.
They knew that she must leave them! day by day
Her spirit brightened through its veil of clay,
Till that seemed spirit also,—a fair Thing,
Poised for a moment on its luminous wing,
And soon,—oh! not to die,—but melt away
Into the perfect splendor:—
One calm morn,
—A July morn,—just as the sunshine kissed
From the dim summits of the broadening hills
The shadows of the twilight and the mist,
Amidst the faint-heard music of far rills,
With not a sight, nor tone, nor shade forlorn
In earth or heaven,—she rose from mystic dreams
To view once more the golden summer-gleams,
And say “farewell” to Nature;—
Nature smiled,
And with majestic pity drew around
The failing footsteps of her favorite child
Her richest spells of beauty;—not a sound
But came with mellowed murmur,—not an air
That touched her tranquil forehead, and dark hair,
But seemed a Seraph's whisper; the glad birds
Were full of carols, and the loving Sky
Bent, as it were, to clasp her; peaceful herds
Browsed on the distant slopes, and in the vale,
Still as a placid vision, the clear lake
Glassed the blue heaven's divine tranquillity.—
And every verdant shrub and blossoming brake
Glistened with dewy baptism.
[OMITTED]
There she lay
As in the first mild sleep of infancy,
Her face upturned towards the quiet sky,
O'er which a white cloud floated silently,
—Most like an angel;—as the cloud crept on,
It threw a shadow struggling with a gleam
Right on her eyelids; slowly they unclosed
From the deep rapture of some glorious dream,
And the large eyes, clear with immortal life,
Shone out upon her mother;—then she sighed
One transient human sigh,—and so—she died.
Her spirit brightened through its veil of clay,
Till that seemed spirit also,—a fair Thing,
Poised for a moment on its luminous wing,
And soon,—oh! not to die,—but melt away
Into the perfect splendor:—
One calm morn,
—A July morn,—just as the sunshine kissed
From the dim summits of the broadening hills
The shadows of the twilight and the mist,
Amidst the faint-heard music of far rills,
With not a sight, nor tone, nor shade forlorn
In earth or heaven,—she rose from mystic dreams
To view once more the golden summer-gleams,
And say “farewell” to Nature;—
Nature smiled,
And with majestic pity drew around
The failing footsteps of her favorite child
Her richest spells of beauty;—not a sound
But came with mellowed murmur,—not an air
159
But seemed a Seraph's whisper; the glad birds
Were full of carols, and the loving Sky
Bent, as it were, to clasp her; peaceful herds
Browsed on the distant slopes, and in the vale,
Still as a placid vision, the clear lake
Glassed the blue heaven's divine tranquillity.—
And every verdant shrub and blossoming brake
Glistened with dewy baptism.
[OMITTED]
There she lay
As in the first mild sleep of infancy,
Her face upturned towards the quiet sky,
O'er which a white cloud floated silently,
—Most like an angel;—as the cloud crept on,
It threw a shadow struggling with a gleam
Right on her eyelids; slowly they unclosed
From the deep rapture of some glorious dream,
And the large eyes, clear with immortal life,
Shone out upon her mother;—then she sighed
One transient human sigh,—and so—she died.
And years have passed!—spring blooms, and wintry showers,
And gorgeous splendors of Autumnal eves
By turn have glorified, and chilled the spot
Her mortal form hath hallowed;—but the years
Bring no reprieve to memory!—last thou not,
O stricken Mother! ever in thy mind
A vision of thy darling 'mid the leaves
Of the young spring-vines dying?—pale as then,
But oh! so beautiful, so beautiful,
That murmuring to thyself, thou sayst again,
—As in a trance,—“daughter! the angels wait
To bear thee up!”—
Alas! the Eden gate
Hath closed so long upon her, that oftimes
A stress of rayless misery weighs thee down;
Thou hear'st no hymn supernal,—but the chimes
Of funeral bells,—the everlasting crown
Pales by the spectral whiteness of her tomb!—
And gorgeous splendors of Autumnal eves
By turn have glorified, and chilled the spot
Her mortal form hath hallowed;—but the years
160
O stricken Mother! ever in thy mind
A vision of thy darling 'mid the leaves
Of the young spring-vines dying?—pale as then,
But oh! so beautiful, so beautiful,
That murmuring to thyself, thou sayst again,
—As in a trance,—“daughter! the angels wait
To bear thee up!”—
Alas! the Eden gate
Hath closed so long upon her, that oftimes
A stress of rayless misery weighs thee down;
Thou hear'st no hymn supernal,—but the chimes
Of funeral bells,—the everlasting crown
Pales by the spectral whiteness of her tomb!—
There shalt thou mourn through all the coming years,
And there, when Faith is darkened, drop thy tears,
God help thee lady! 'twas the bitterest blow!
Yet other hearts than thine were stricken low,
And other hopes eclipsed, when she departed;
Well, let us lean on Patience! we have done
With earthly gauds; the day is waxing late,
The sunset falls, the shadows are unfurled
About the Future, and I see thee stand,
O Mother! with thy loved one, hand in hand,
Beneath the palm-trees in the Better Land!
And there, when Faith is darkened, drop thy tears,
God help thee lady! 'twas the bitterest blow!
Yet other hearts than thine were stricken low,
And other hopes eclipsed, when she departed;
Well, let us lean on Patience! we have done
With earthly gauds; the day is waxing late,
The sunset falls, the shadows are unfurled
About the Future, and I see thee stand,
O Mother! with thy loved one, hand in hand,
Beneath the palm-trees in the Better Land!
174
THE PESTILENCE.
WRITTEN DURING THE PREVALENCE OF THE YELLOW FEVER IN CHARLESTON, S. C., IN THE SUMMER OF 1858.
How long, O Lord! shall Desolation holdStern empire over us, and wasteful Death
Darken the sunshine, and the life of hope?
Fierce Harvester! Oh! whither stretch the bounds
Of thy permitted vengeance? hast thou not
In thy cold granary heaped the human grain
Sheaf upon sheaf?—is not the harvest ended,
Or nigh its end?—most precious household bonds
Of wifehood, childhood, brotherhood, all ties
Which twine with tenderest thrill around our hearts,
—And parted leave them broken,—thy swift scythe
Hath severed; barren hast thou left the field
Thou found'st so rich in fruitage; spare the rest,
The few, sad, shivering stalks that droop i' th' wind
Mourning their prostrate brethren.
175
How fearful art thou when in cloud and fire,
Thou send'st thy pitiless messengers to smite
The dooméd nations! then this beautiful earth,
Changed to a pestilent charnel, opes her womb
Unutterably loathsome, where Decay
Sits mocking at our motley human pomps,
Our pride, and even the sacred passionate grief
Wherewith we mourn its victims;—hollow masks
Hiding a dark Reality, seem all
Man's shows, conventions, forms, howe'er august.
Death pricks them with his keen Ithurial lance,
And lo! from out of their gilded impotence crawls
“The Conqueror Worm!”
—Hard it is for Earth
Amidst these mortal vapors,—these foul damps
Corrupt, and earthy, to lift up her wings
Dank with sepulchral dew, and win the light
Which still shines calm above them; her fair face,
Furrowed with scathing tears, hath lost its clear
Angelic courage, and her faltering voice,—
Faint as the tremulous accents of fourscore,—
Can only whisper feebly, “Watch, and pray!”
176
RETROSPECTION AND ASPIRATION.
The fiery glow of sunset pales,
And soft adown the deepening vales
The tranquil shadows steal apace;
The winds repose, the waters keep
The stillness of unbroken sleep,
And all the unmeasured realm of space
Between us, and the stars that rise
To crown those rich imperial skies,
Majestic Silence holds in thrall:
Only—the quiet dews that fall
In stealthy dripping from the eaves,
Or some lone bird among the leaves,
Touched by a transient dream of flight,
Stir to the faintest thrill of sound,
The mystery of the Calm profound.
And soft adown the deepening vales
The tranquil shadows steal apace;
The winds repose, the waters keep
The stillness of unbroken sleep,
And all the unmeasured realm of space
Between us, and the stars that rise
To crown those rich imperial skies,
Majestic Silence holds in thrall:
Only—the quiet dews that fall
In stealthy dripping from the eaves,
Or some lone bird among the leaves,
Touched by a transient dream of flight,
Stir to the faintest thrill of sound,
The mystery of the Calm profound.
The peace of Heaven is in my heart!
And if that God would grant me grace,
I could lie down in this sweet place,
Breathe Nunc Dimittis!—and depart!
I stand forlorn, where last the light
Of her mild beauty blessed my sight;—
Oh! she, so generous in her trust,
So queenly in her maiden pride,—
(The pride of perfect womanhood
That crowneth with its regal sweetness
All meaner creatures' incompleteness,)
Was near to blend the brightening charm
Of her entrancing human eyes
With Nature's beauty, and make warm
With whisperings of a human love—
Born of all tender sympathies—
The else cold pulses of the air.
And if that God would grant me grace,
I could lie down in this sweet place,
Breathe Nunc Dimittis!—and depart!
177
Of her mild beauty blessed my sight;—
Oh! she, so generous in her trust,
So queenly in her maiden pride,—
(The pride of perfect womanhood
That crowneth with its regal sweetness
All meaner creatures' incompleteness,)
Was near to blend the brightening charm
Of her entrancing human eyes
With Nature's beauty, and make warm
With whisperings of a human love—
Born of all tender sympathies—
The else cold pulses of the air.
Soul! thou alone art altered here!
Around me sways the orange grove,
The self-same grove that heard our vows,
And waved its glad melodious boughs,
Setting to music all she said,
And showering on her gracious head
White flowers, as if to crown a bride:
Around me sways the orange grove,
The self-same grove that heard our vows,
And waved its glad melodious boughs,
Setting to music all she said,
And showering on her gracious head
White flowers, as if to crown a bride:
Just on an eve like this, she died—
So still and fair—I saw her die,
Bound by a spell of misery
Too bitter for the balm of sighs,—
That froze the tears within mine eyes,
The currents of my brain and blood;
The while, as statue-wan, I stood
As one who in the lonely trance
Of some unearthly dark Romance,
Hath heard a ghostly voice of doom
Wailing above an open tomb.
So still and fair—I saw her die,
Bound by a spell of misery
Too bitter for the balm of sighs,—
That froze the tears within mine eyes,
178
The while, as statue-wan, I stood
As one who in the lonely trance
Of some unearthly dark Romance,
Hath heard a ghostly voice of doom
Wailing above an open tomb.
Love! lift me to thy radiant clime,—
I sicken on the waste of Time,
And burn to breathe a subtler breath
Than that which haunts these realms of death;
For round about me float and stir
Foul vapors from the sepulchre,
Rising,—a monstrous gloom,—to blight
The glory of the inner sight—
Shrouding phantasmal shapes of ill,—
But thou, the same sweet Angel still,
Thou canst not leave me thus forlorn,
And exiled from the gates of Morn!
I sicken on the waste of Time,
And burn to breathe a subtler breath
Than that which haunts these realms of death;
For round about me float and stir
Foul vapors from the sepulchre,
Rising,—a monstrous gloom,—to blight
The glory of the inner sight—
Shrouding phantasmal shapes of ill,—
But thou, the same sweet Angel still,
Thou canst not leave me thus forlorn,
And exiled from the gates of Morn!
Within my soul a vision glows,
A vision of the peace to be,
The undivined serenity,
In whose clear depths the angels dwell:
Through many a fiery-circled Hell
Of self-inflicted woe and pain,
Through many lives—(for still I hold
That not in vain above us rolled,
The mighty Planets whirl in space,—
Each is the destined dwelling-place
Of souls, fresh-winged in every star,—)
We struggle toward the holy Height,
The consummation infinite,
Whereto the groaning Ages tend:
A vision of the peace to be,
The undivined serenity,
In whose clear depths the angels dwell:
Through many a fiery-circled Hell
Of self-inflicted woe and pain,
Through many lives—(for still I hold
179
The mighty Planets whirl in space,—
Each is the destined dwelling-place
Of souls, fresh-winged in every star,—)
We struggle toward the holy Height,
The consummation infinite,
Whereto the groaning Ages tend:
A prescient Voice foretells the End
O Voice that fallest faint and far,
Sound on through all our dreary night;
O Voice that fallest faint and far,
Sound on through all our dreary night;
“From height to height the soul aspires,
Reluming its mysterious fires
Through the vast worlds which gird the way
Up to the immemorial Day
Of primal Immortality!”
Reluming its mysterious fires
Through the vast worlds which gird the way
Up to the immemorial Day
Of primal Immortality!”
Ah! that I then may meet with thee
In that serene Eternity!
May feel that human love can shine
Unwavering 'midst the Love Divine,
May rise on Rapture's eagle wing,
And hear the spheral music ring,
And that great Song the Seraphs sing
Peal round the Godhead's Mystery,—
And mark, where grosser systems trace
Their orbits in the outcast space,
Earth with its transient agonies
Sink from the height of those calm skies
Down to a gulf so dim and low,
They flicker to a fire-fly glow,
Myths of a million years ago!
In that serene Eternity!
May feel that human love can shine
Unwavering 'midst the Love Divine,
May rise on Rapture's eagle wing,
And hear the spheral music ring,
And that great Song the Seraphs sing
Peal round the Godhead's Mystery,—
And mark, where grosser systems trace
180
Earth with its transient agonies
Sink from the height of those calm skies
Down to a gulf so dim and low,
They flicker to a fire-fly glow,
Myths of a million years ago!
183
[Vainly a hostile world may strive to tame]
Vainly a hostile world may strive to tameThe Poet's soul through Love, and Grief made strong;
Unfettered still, he soars to heights of Song,
Whence his clear genius sheds a starlike flame.
Deaf to the captious sneer, the ignorant blame,
He sings of heavenly Right, and mortal Wrong,
Of faith and sufferance, that by birth belong
To noble spirits,—and that final fame
Which crowns their shining brows with Amaranth bloom:
No shallow discontent, with fretful moan,
Mars his brave utterance,—no unmanly gloom
Shadows his heart wherein Hope reigns alone;
For rebel Doubts his nature hath no room,
Scorning to be thus basely overthrown!
184
[Moments there are when most familiar things]
Moments there are when most familiar thingsSeem strangers to us; when 'round heart and head
The mists of unreality are spread,
From which our keenest searching, baffled, brings
Unformed conceptions, vague imaginings,
Tinged with the doubtful hues of a half-truth;
Chiefly in age, or in our dreaming youth
This phase of contemplation sternly wrings
Our bosoms with the thought,—“the soul is blind!”
Unfathomed meanings, beauty most divine,
Lie round about us,—but we cannot see;
In sky and forest burns a spirit's sign
Unrecognized, and in the whispering wind
Breathes a low undertone of mystery!
| Avolio ; a legend of the island of Cos | |