Flowers of Hope and Memory: A Collection of Poems:
Electronic Edition.
Jordan, Cornelia J. M. (Cornelia Jane Matthews), 1830-1898
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(title page) Flowers of Hope and Memory: A Collection of Poems,
(spine) Flowers of Hope and Memory.
Cornelia J. M. Jordan
330 p., [1] leaf of plates : port.
Richmond, Va.:
Published By A. Morris
1861
Call number 3142.2conf (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)
The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH
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Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998
Languages Used:
- English
LC Subject Headings:
- Southern States -- Poetry.
- American poetry -- 19th century.
- American poetry -- Southern States.
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Page half-titlepage
Page frontispiece
Page titlepage
FLOWERS
OF
HOPE AND MEMORY:
A
Collection of Poems,
BY
CORNELIA J. M. JORDAN.
RICHMOND, VA.:
PUBLISHED BY A. MORRIS.
1861.
Page verso
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861,
BY A. MORRIS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Virginia.
Page v
To
The Fireside and the Grave,
The Living and the Dead
of a
Broken Home-Circle,
This Volume is affectionately
and tearfully inscribed,
By
The Authoress.
Page vii
CONTENTS.
- Proem, xi
- The Bride of Heaven, 13
- The Prayer of Faith, 20
- Song of the Morning Sprite, 22
- Little Things, 25
- Thou art Gone to the Grave, 27
- The Mansion by the Sea, 29
- The Poor, 36
- Death of the Heart-flower, 38
- Eulalie, 42
- To Spring, 46
- A Dirge for Laura, 49
- The Flowers have Come, 51
- On the Death of Mrs. G. S. Meem, 53
- The Summer Rain, 57
- There's a Cloud on my Spirit, 59
- Musings at the Grave of a Young Sister, 62
- Invocation, 68
- To Little Emily, 71
- A Farewell to the Dying Year, 74
- To a Cross, 77
- The Maniac Girl,
79
Page viii - To a Miniature of the Dead, 82
- Harsh Words, 84
- A Memory, 86
- A Little Child's Prayer, 90
- "I Would not Live Always," 92
- To a Friend. (For a Bouquet, during Illness,) 94
- Shadows of Memory, 96
- What a Zephyr Told Me, 101
- Little Carlton--A Lament, 104
- The Nose Out of Joint, 106
- A Remembered Sermon, 109
- In Memoriam, 112
- A Mother's Prayer, 115
- To Sleep. (Written in Sickness.) 118
- Gone Hence, 120
- The Bride of Death, 122
- To a Dear Uncle, 124
- A Father's Lament, 127
- Night Watch with a Dead Infant, 132
- The Soldier's Dream, 136
- Children, 138
- Stanzas, 141
- Little Helen, 143
- The Confirmation, 147
- To a Sleeping Infant, 151
- On the Death of Mrs. Fannie S. Gibbons, 153
- Aspirations, 156
- L'Envoi, 158
- The Woods in Summer, 160
- To my Harp, 163
- The Christening, 165
- Give me thy Blessing, Father, dear, 167
Page ix - Guardian Spirits, 169
- Summer's Gone, 171
- To Her who Asked me for a Poem, 174
- My Little Flower, 176
- To the Wind, 178
- A Child's Morning Hymn, 180
- The Blind Girl with Flowers, 182
- "We had but One," 185
- Memory, 188
- To Baby Frank--Sleeping, 190
- Shall I be Forgotten Thus, 192
- Wake up, Little Darling, 195
- To an Angel Spirit, 197
- A Welcome, 201
- To a Young Sparrow, 203
- A Child's Evening Hymn, 207
- Musings in a Churchyard, 209
- To a Remembered Dream, 212
- The Stricken Heart's Lament, 214
- To a Withering Rose, 221
- A Morning at Cliff Cottage, 224
- Written for a Mother in her Son's Bible, 228
- Ah! I Felt I was Forgotten, 230
- A Little Hint to Little Beaux, 232
- To an Only Sister, 236
- Newsboy's Christmas Address, 239
- On Revisiting the Home of my Childhood, 241
- To Blanche, 248
- Stewart Holland, 250
- A Little Hint to Little Belles, 253
- A Sister's Farewell, 259
- Flowers from the Convent of Mt. de Sales, 262
Page x - My Little Star, 268
- Light in Darkness, 271
- To Isabel, 275
- My Mary, 277
- A Place at thy Feet, Oh! my Saviour, 281
- Old Winter has Come, 284
- Over! 286
- A Little Boy's Wish and Resolution, 288
- An Evening at Cliff Cottage, 291
- Not Again, 294
- A Sabbath in May, 295
- Little Rannie, 298
- Song, 301
- "Ashes of Roses," 302
- To One in Heaven, 305
- Imogen to Frederick, 308
- Where is Helen? 310
- My Little Namesake, 313
- The Fear of Blindness, 316
- A Daughter's Prayer, 320
- Thy Will be Done, 323
- A National Hymn for the New Year, 327
Page xi
PROEM.
WITH loving hands I humbly bring
My little wreath of flowers;
Some gathered from the haunts of men,
And some from wild wood bowers.
Some blossom'd in my life's glad Spring,
Others in later years,
And some were cull'd and woven in
The autumn time, of tears.
Some grew like sea-weeds, distant far,
By sounding Ocean caves,
And some (dearest of all are these),
Have blossom'd over graves.
Page xii
No rare exotics mingle here
Their rainbow hues combined,
But simple flowers alone look out
And ask your welcome kind.
Such as they are,--for you, my friends,
I've twined this wreath, to be
A votive offering at the shrine
Of Hope and Memory.
Page 13
FLOWERS OF HOPE AND MEMORY.
THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN.
SHE was arrayed as for a Bridal hour;
Round her fair forehead twined a matchless wreath
Of spotless Orange flowers, and her dark hair
Lay in rich, glossy folds, around a brow
Which wore the seal of youth and beauty too.
The smile of truth played on her coral lip,
And on her cheek the blush of innocence;
While faith and hope beamed from her dark-brown eyes.
In the gay world I had known Genevieve,
A being loved and lovely. Yet I marked
Page 14
That oft she seemed as some lone star, whose light
Waned in the skies, forsaken. Oftentimes
A spell of brooding sadness darkly stole
Over her gentle spirit, causing friends
To marvel that her heritage of wealth,
And Nature's bounteous dower of rarest gifts,
Did fail to bring her happiness complete.
And there was one within whose noble heart
Her image lay, e'en like a mirror bright,
Which did reflect all that in Earth or Heaven
To him seemed beautiful. Aye, and his love,
His first, fresh, early love was hers. Alas!
That we should ever waste the treasured wealth
Of deep and true affection, on a heart
Within whose depths there ne'er can throb one pulse
Of answering sympathy. She had long vowed
To let no human passion e'er find place
Within her maiden bosom, and the hour,
The solemn hour had come, when she should be
Declared the consecrated Bride of Heaven.
Lights shone resplendent through the vaulted dome
Of the old Convent Chapel; tapers bright
Page 15
Gleamed softly through the aisles, and, here and there,
Lit up with mellow ray, the quaint Chef-d'oeuvre
Of some old Master.
Eager crowds pressed in:
The young and old, the gay and sad of heart;
Mirth with her jests, and Sorrow with her tears;
Manhood and Beauty, Youth and Age were there.
And he was there, whose lofty brow was bent,
Whose heart was breaking at the sacrifice.
He saw the Orange wreath placed on her brow,
And in her hand, the mystic Crucifix,
While round her floated, gracefully, the veil.
Timidly, yet not with fear, she approached
The illumined altar, and the white-stoled Priest
Opened the Holy Book, and in loud voice
Asked the stern questions:
"Dost thou here renounce
The world, its pomps and vanities? Dost fling
Aside all ties of human love, and vow
To let no Earth-born passion e'er displace
The sacred love of Jesus? Wilt forsake
Page 16
All that the world holds dear, wealth, honors, friends,
To be henceforth the chosen bride of Christ?"
A breathless silence reigned. The blushing cheek
Of the young novice paled, and gushing tears
Moistened her eyelids. Did a thought of home,
Of father, mother, and the parted band
Of brothers, sisters dear, wake in her heart
The slumbering chord of holiest affections?
Ah! did she feel in that stern, trying hour,
How hard it is, to coldly cast aside
Those who have loved us most; to sever ties
By God and Nature hallowed and blest? Did
Her cradle hymn, fresh from a mother's lip,
Chime with the Anthem; or the Organ's tone,
Wake the sweet memory of voices loved
In early childhood? Ah, could we've withdrawn
The secret veil which guarded thus, the heart
Of that fair girl, we might have witnessed there
The bitter struggle which her spirit felt
At yielding thus, the cherished ties of life.
One bright hope had armed her for the conflict,
Page 17
And she must tear all others from her heart,
E'en though it break. One gush of weeping more,
And she could then speak with unfaltering voice
The expected vow.
Silence more silent grew,
Until the very air seemed hushed and still.
"Hearken," at length was said, in tones that drew
Their firmness from some superhuman source.
"Hearken, oh, Earth! and Heaven give listening ear
To this, my utterance. I do here renounce
Henceforth, forever, every mortal tie.
E'en from this hour, I take thee, Saviour mine,
To be my all in all. For love of Thee
I do renounce all other loves. Thy Cross
Shall be my talisman, and thy holy name
My chosen watchword. That the world may know
I am no longer of it, this black veil
Shall soon displace the snowy one I wear.
Beneath its folds my consecrated face
Will be securely guarded from the view
Of men; and, as a sacred sign, 'twill prove
Page 18
That I can ne'er admit another love,
Than that I bear to Jesus."
Hark, a sigh!
One deep-drawn sigh, and Rudolph looked his last
Upon his brave heart's idol. She withdrew
To veil her love-sealed features from man's gaze
Forever. * * * * * *
Quickly the scene was changed, and in her cell
Knelt Genevieve, a consecrated Nun,--
The sister Eulalie.
No rich brocade
Now waved its silken folds about her form;
No jewel sparkled from her close-veiled breast.
The coarse dark "habit" was her wedding dress,
A silver cross her bridal ornament.
Around her, freshly shorn from the young head,
Lay scattered strands of glossy, raven hair;
And at her feet the snowy, orange wreath,--
An emblem meet of virgin purity.
O'er her fair brow the sombre "black veil" hung,
Shading, e'en like a cloud, her youthful face;
And in low voice, she meekly counted o'er
Page 19
The mystic beads, raising, anon, her eyes
To that bright Heaven, for which she had resigned
All, all the treasured hopes of earth. She asked
That no regret might ever come to thwart
The solemn keeping of those holy vows,
Her lips had but just spoken. As the prayer
Died on her virgin tongue, the Convent bell
Called her to matins; and the saddened throng
Who came, as chosen witnesses, to see
Those solemn nuptial rites, heard the deep sound,
But as the death-knell of a cherished friend.
She only looked a hurried, last farewell,
And then withdrew, leaving a mournful spell
Of gloom upon us, as the massive door
Closed with an echo deep, upon those loved
Retiring footsteps we should hear no more.
A moment's pause, and clouds of incense rose,
Filling the air with fragrance. Voices sweet
Chimed with the Organ's peal, and loudly, all
Proclaimed our Genevieve the Bride of Heaven.
Page 20
THE PRAYER OF FAITH.
FATHER above!
Around whose throne the Cherubim are kneeling,
And Angels wait, their speechless praise revealing--
In whose pure presence veilèd Seraphs bend,
Awed by the light Thy dazzling glories lend,--
Hear, and remove
All blight of sin from out a heart defiled
By dross and stain of Earth--I am thy child.
Thou Light of Light!
Whose radiance fills the boundless sphere of Heaven,
Let one blest ray unto my soul be given,
And with its piercing radiance chase the gloom
Which hangs where Hope's fair blossoms fain would bloom.
Cheer me to-night!
Page 21
At Thy command sorrow and darkness flee!
Giver of Light, lift up my soul to thee.
Saviour divine!
On Calvary's mount Thy sacred heart was anguished,
Thy body bruised, pierced, torn and bleeding, languished;
For us Thy brow, pressed by its thorny crown,
Pale with its "solemn agony," bowed down--
Let Thy grace shine
In human hearts crushed now by mortal strife--
Send us Thy love to soothe, Giver of Life!
Spirit of Truth!
At thy behest the doubtful soul, and erring,
May lose its fears, Thy changeless law revering,
And resting all its wavering hopes on Thee,
Straight to the guidance of Thy wisdom flee--
Bless Thou my youth!
Ere the "long night" cometh, seal with Thy love,
This heart I offer thee, Father above!
Page 22
SONG OF THE MORNING SPRITE.
Lo! I come with a joyous step and free,
The sunlight my brow adorning;
Dewy gems I wear in my shining hair,
For I am the Sprite of Morning.
When I touch the Earth with my fairy wand,
Lo! midnight and darkness vanish,--
The bright stars grow pale and the sweet moonbeams fail,
As the Night's dull train I banish.
Hope, murmuring a while in soft pensive tones,
Her low sweet melodies humming,
Breaks out in wild song as I pass along,
And cheerily greets my coming.
Page 23
The flowers impatiently wait my smile,
As, down in their green beds hidden,
They long for the day, as a child at play,
Seeks a loving glance unbidden.
And I shake from their drowsy leaves dull sleep,
I give to their bowed stalks lightness;
I sprinkle the dew on their bosoms too,
For they love its shining brightness.
The birds are all glad when my step draws near,
As out, from their green boughs peeping,
Their warbles so clear, wake the zephyrs near,
On the breasts of the flowers sleeping.
Heaven's glowing light is the crown I wear,
No other my gay brow beareth;
Its jewel, a Star, is more radiant far,
Than gems the proud monarch weareth.
I laugh and I sport with all joyous things,
I brighten the path of sadness;
Page 24
I know I am wild, but I'm Nature's child,
And mine is a life of gladness.
Lo! I come with a joyous step and free,
The sunlight my brow adorning;
Dewy gems I wear in my shining hair,
For I am the Sprite of Morning.
Page 25
LITTLE THINGS.
LITTLE things--aye, little things,
Make up the sum of life,--
A word, a look, a single tone,
May lead to calm or strife.
A word may part the dearest friends--
One, little, unkind word,
Which in some light, unguarded hour,
The heart with anger stirred.
A look will sometimes send a pang
Of anguish to the heart;
A tone will often cause the tear
In Sorrow's eye to start.
One little act of kindness done--
One little soft word spoken,
Page 26
Hath power to wake a thrill of joy,
E'en in a heart that's broken.
Then let us watch these "little things,"
And so respect each other,
That not a word, or look, or tone,
May wound or vex a brother.
Page 27
THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE.
THOU art gone to the grave, its cold portals closed o'er thee,
While Hope's brilliant star o'er thy pathway did shine;
While Love's fairest flowers shed their fragrance around thee,
And Youth's brightest treasures, sweet sister, were thine.
Thou art gone to the grave, its dark gloom is upon thee,
And hushed is thy voice, full of kindness and love;
Yet still in my happiest dreams I behold thee,
All radiant with beauty and brightness above.
Page 28
Thou art gone to the grave, with no stain on thy spirit,
No shadow of sorrow or care on thy brow;
All sinless and pure, endless bliss to inherit,
In life's early morn thy dear form was laid low.
Thou art gone to the grave, yet ah, why should I mourn thee!
Sweet flower, cut down in thy freshness and bloom.
Perhaps hadst thou lingered, misfortune had claimed thee,
Or sorrow thrown o'er thee its withering gloom.
Thou art gone to the grave, and I would not recall thee,
For all that the world gives of rapture or joy;
Well I know that the kind arms of Jesus enfold thee,
And pleasures unceasing thy moments employ.
Page 29
THE MANSION BY THE SEA.
I KNOW a mansion, old and lone,
Near by a Sea-girt shore--
Its ivied towers are crumbling piles,
Its turrets grim and hoar,
And gaunt Decay in silence broods
Forever o'er its solitudes.
A lonely ruin, vast and grand,
Mould on the sculptured walls,
While moth and lizard trail and creep
Along the marbled halls.
There, when the Storm-king shows his face,
The Curlew finds a hiding-place.
No human forms are seen to glide
This dreary Mansion near,
Page 30
And through its aisles no voices ring
In music wild and clear.
But day and night the Ocean surge
There echoes low, its plaintive dirge.
Once, near the spot, at sunset hour,
An aged man I spied,
As, from the lonely, barren beach,
I watched the foaming tide.
His form was bent, and from his brow
The Sea-breeze lifted locks of snow.
Long hours I marked him, silent, gaze
Upon you crumbling pile,
And down his furrowed cheek there rolled,
A burning tear the while.
Ah! well I knew that Mansion dim
Waked mournful memories for him.
Perhaps 'twas here his boyhood passed;
Perhaps a mother dear
First watched his timid, infant steps
Page 31
And boyish beauty here.
Or, it may be, that here hath died
A gentle, loving, youthful Bride.
E'en as I mused, the Sun's last rays
Lit up that ruin old,
Till all its towers were bathed in light,
Its turrets crowned with gold.
And as the scene my thoughts beguiled,
The old man marked it too, and smiled.
Ere long his trembling steps approached,
And, standing by my side,
He gazed, in silent awe, upon
The darkly rolling tide.
And as a white Sail ploughed the main,
A tear-drop dimmed his eye again.
"They'll not come back to me, ah! no,"
He turned, at length, and said,
"I'll not regain my treasures till
The Sea gives up its Dead"
Page 32
And to the calm, blue smiling sky,
He, upward, raised his tearful eye.
My questioning thoughts a look betrayed,
And soon he thus began:
"Long, weary years have passed since there
I lived a happy man."
And pointing to the Mansion old,
A tale of sorrowing love he told.
"'Twas there I lived in calm content,
For Heaven had smiled on me,
And loving eyes, with mine, looked out
Upon the murmuring Sea.
But while I watched their tender light,
Death veiled them from my yearning sight.
"So perished from my side my wife,
In youthful beauty's bloom,
And soon a smiling babe was laid
Beside her in the tomb.
Yet though life's dearest joy was gone,
My stricken heart must still bear on.
Page 33
"I felt that nought could fill again
The void which Death had made,
Yet still around my lonely hearth,
Two laughing children played.
These claimed my every thought and care,
My noble son and daughter fair.
"They grew to bless my fondest wish,
And I, that they might be
Acquainted with my fatherland,
Sent both across the Sea.
And from this spot I watched the tide
Which bore my children from my side."
He paused. "Where are they now?" I asked.
His answer was a sigh;
And then he pointed to the Sea,
And upward to the sky.
"An Ocean grave," I, musing, said;
The old man bowed his hoary head.
The Sea-breeze sighed a requiem round
That dim old Mansion grey,
Page 34
As, o'er its towers and turrets now,
The twilight shadows lay.
And as I turned to leave the strand,
The stranger seized my proffered hand.
"They came not back, in vain I watched
Each coming sail in view;
The story of their fate, alas!
No mortal ever knew.
No wreck was found--a fearful gale
Was all that told the sorrowing tale.
"My homestead yonder now became
Intolerable to me,--
I could not bear a breeze or flower
That whispered of the Sea.
Its doors were closed, and I became
A wanderer in heart and name.
* * * * * *
"But God is good, I know; and Heaven
Not far away," he said.
Page 35
"I shall regain my treasures when
The Sea gives up its Dead."
And as I clasped his trembling hand,
Our tears fell mingling on the strand.
Long years have vanished since I heard
That old man's parting sigh;
Yet never, while my heart can feel
One sympathy, shall I
Forget the tale he told to me
Of that old Mansion by the Sea.
Page 36
THE POOR.
Have pity on them, for their days
Are cheerless, cold and drear;
And night, unwelcomed, comes to them
With many a grief-born tear.
The scanty meal, the slender fire,
Tired Nature's unattained desire:
Alas! we know not half the care,
The poor, the very poor must bear.
Speak kindly to them, do not chide,--
E'en though by sin and shame,
Their paths are darkened thus; yet oh!
In pity do not blame.
His searching eye, who may endure,
To whom the purest are not pure,--
Page 37
'Tis His alone to judge, not we,--
Poor heritors of misery.
Deal gently with them,--fearful Want
Hath filled their hearts with pain;
Perchance a word may wake the chords
Of slumbering joy again.
Oh, to their gall-cup add not more:
Be kind, be soothing to the poor;
For whatsoe'er their sins may be,
They still should claim our sympathy.
Give to them gladly, while thou hast,
In mercy don't delay;
When Fortune smiles, turn not thy face
From helpless Want away.
Thy prompt assistance yet may save
Some brother from a hungered's grave;
"Riches have wings;" ah! wisely said,--
You too may beg your "daily bread."
Page 38
DEATH OF THE HEART-FLOWER.*
* On the death of Laura, infant daughter of Dr. William S. Morriss, of Lynchburg.
'TWAS a cheerless night--the last of Winter;
O'er the quiet town darkness now rested
Like a gloomy pall. Not a sound was heard
Save when the restless winds swept howling by,
Eager for tempest. In her lonely room
An anxious mother watched her suffering child;
And oh, how fraught with earnest love, and pain,
And silent anguish was that mother's vigil.
Close in its little cradle lay her charge,--
A babe of three bright summers. On its check
Health glowed but yesterday, and feebly now
The crimson life-stream wanders through its veins.
Anxiously the skilled physicians watch, while
Gentle nurses wait around.
Page 39
Slumber seals
The sufferer's eye, and hope springs up afresh
That morn will bring a change. * * *
* * * * * Fiercely without
The moaning wind sighs a last farewell to
Winter. Through the distant sky, the threat'ning
Clouds roll on, and leave the pale, sweet moon
As clear, and calm, and bright, as if no hearts
Were breaking then beneath it.
Hark !
The old Church Clock strikes twelve. Winter has
gone;
And up from Nature's bosom springs the breath
Of coming violets. O'er the Earth
A quiet stillness reigns--afar is heard
The music flow of waters, but the winds
Are hushed to silence, and the folded buds,
And birds, and flowers, wake on the breast of Spring.
A feeble moan calls the young mother now
Close to the cradle. Earnestly she bends
To catch some symptom of returning health;
But oh! the wish is vain. That brightening eye
Page 40
Is but the spirit peering ere it takes
Its heavenward flight.
The feeble pulse grows faint
And fainter, and around her neck are twined
The little arms that oft, in happier hours
Have fondled her before. "Too much, too much!"
Breaks from her lips in low convulsive sobs,
While friends, physicians, nurses, patient wait
For Death to claim his own. Ah, how could she
Yield silently her treasure to his cold,
Freezing arms? The heart so worn with watching
And with hope deferred, is breaking now; and,
Struggling with despair, at length pours forth
Its tide of pent-up anguish in one wild,
Piteous wail.
"How can I give thee up,
Oh, child of many hopes and fondest love?
Father, remove this cup
And send some other test my strength to prove.
So lovely, gentle, mild,--
Laura, thy smiling beauty haunts me now,
Sinless and undefiled!
Page 41
Oh, must I see thy form in death laid low?
Thy voice,--its music tone,
Rings through my ear in merry accents wild;
How desolate and lone
Must be our hearth without thee, angel child?
Stay, stay thy blow, stern Death!--
One moment let me gaze in that dear eye,
And feel again the breath,
That fanned my throbbing breast in days gone by."
--Alas! too late.
No smile of love, no look
Of recognition met her gaze. Feebly
The little arms slacken their hold. A sigh,
A restless stir, and then a quivering
Of the stricken frame, and all is over.
Her heart-flower had perished with the morning dawn
Of Spring.
Page 42
EULALIE.
EULALIE, when first I saw thee,
Thy young heart was blithe and free,
And the charm of youthful beauty,
Threw its radiance over thee.
Thou wert in the Convent Garden;
I recall the moment well;
'Twas when o'er the fragrant blossoms,
Twilight's dewy shadows fell.
By thy side, were Nuns repeating
Vespers to the Virgin mild:
"Holy mother, guard, protect her,
Save from sin our Novice child."
And I gazed on thee and wondered
If thy heart knew nought of care,
And if blighted human passion
Left no farewell shadow there.
Page 43
Then I watched a bright smile playing
In thy beaming eye again,
And I felt that life had spared thee,
All its bitterness and pain.
Thou wert like a wild flower growing
On some lonely river's brink,--
Waiting only for the tempest
In its silent waves to sink.
Months rolled on, I learned to love thee,
With devoted, earnest love;
Thou wert all my dreams had pictured
Of the "pure in heart" above.
I have sat for hours and listened
To the music of thy voice;
And thy very name, thy footstep,
Made my youthful heart rejoice.
Oft I'd paint the distant future,--
Thou wert e'er its day-star bright;
And thy cherished form was near me,
In each holy dream at night.
Till at length life's early sorrow,
In my spirit's depth found place,
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When I saw the sombre "black veil"
Shade thy young and happy face.
And I heard thy own lips utter,
In their low, sweet music tone:
"Hearken, friends, henceforth I sever
Human ties for God alone."
Then they threw a black pall o'er thee:
"To the world thou'rt dead," they said;
And they clipped the raven tresses,
From thy meekly-bending head.
* * * * * *
Eulalie, we now are parted--
I am still thy faithful friend;
We are parted, yet affection
With my life alone can end.
I recall with fond emotion
Every stern and holy truth,
Which thy lips have ever taught me,
Gentle Guardian of my youth.
And I ponder oft the lessons
That I used to learn of thee;
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Whilst methinks I hear thee utter,
With a blessing, prayers for me.
But our lots are cast asunder,
And our paths are severed wide;
Thy duties shun the world's rough Sea,
Mine bear me with the tide.
Yet though perhaps on earth again
Thy face I ne'er may see,
My soul, through life, will fondly nurse
Thy memory, Eulalie.
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TO SPRING.
ONCE more we gladly greet thee, joyous Spring--
Clothed in thy dew-gemmed robe of rainbow dye;
The smiling Earth, the flowing streams, the flowers,
All welcome with delight thy genial sky.
And we, who've sighed for Summer sunshine long--
We too unite with bird, and brook, and bee,
To hail the music whispers of the winds--
Glad Nature's melodies that tell of thee.
Long have we shivered 'neath the Snow-king's breath,
And mourned the blight of dreary Winter's reign;
Now warmed to light by thy soft, winsome touch--
The violets leave their frozen beds again.
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And ice-bound rivulets flow, sparkling on
Through flowery meadows bathed in dewy light;
And birds are busy in the forest bowers--
Wooing lost mates to join their airy flight.
Already flies the summer Oriole near,
Seeking the sheltering bough, from which to swing
The oval nest, wherein, secure, her young
May bide all storm, hid 'neath her cosy wing.
And, here and there, in sunny places gleam
The sweet Forget-Me-Nots from mossy dells;
While golden Buttercups their welcomes breathe
By lifting to thy glance their dewy bells.
What glories waken as thy steps draw near,
What joy thou bearest on thy gladsome wing;
Hope blooms afresh, health follows in thy train--
A radiance lights thy shining pathway, Spring!
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Then once again we gladly greet thy smile,
Bathing in rosy light the dewy morn;
On human hearts by Sorrow's winter seared,
Thou shedd'st, of prayerful hope, a brightening dawn.
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A DIRGE FOR LAURA.
LAY her beneath the willow,
Let soft violets be her pillow;
Far, far from the Ocean billow
Let the young and lovely rest.
Cover her grave with flowers;
And in Summer's golden hours
Let the gentle evening showers
Fall above her silent breast.
Be not sad or broken-hearted,
That the loved one hath departed,
For no cloud of sin e'er darted
Thwart her life's unsullied sky.
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Therefore cease, fond mother, cease your weeping,
Her pure soul is in God's keeping;
And her little form is sleeping
In the still earth peacefully.
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THE FLOWERS HAVE COME.
THE flowers have come--from its mossy bed
The Violet lifts up its modest head;
The Daisy, too--poor shy little thing,
Has opened its bright eyes to welcome the Spring.
The flowers have come--for the soft perfume
Of the Wallflower sweet, and the Rose's bloom
Is borne on the wing of the mild South breeze,
As it lovingly plays through the leafy trees.
The flowers have come--near the garden walk
The proud Lily raises its queenly stalk;
The Buttercup opens its golden bell,
To take in the sunbeams it loves so well.
The flowers have come--see, the red Woodbine
Wreathes its verdant leaves with the Jessamine vine;
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The Humming-bird, lured by the sweet perfume,
Sips joy all day from its honeyed bloom.
The flowers have come--I have seen the Bee
Now kiss the bright clover that blooms in the lea,
Then buzzing away, like a heartless coquette,
Woo the very next innocent blossom he met.
The flowers have come--on the river's brink
The Daffodils cunningly nod and wink
To the ripples that sportively trifle all day,
With the blossoms that spring in their pebbly way.
The flowers have come--lo! the Crocus too,
With its leaves of purple, and white, and blue,
Looks up from its home with the Cowslip sweet,
The smile of its mother, the Spring, to greet.
The flowers have come--even now I feel
Their fragrant breath o'er my senses steal;
Lifting my heart, in its happiest hours,
To Him who has brightened life's path with flowers.
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LINES
ON THE DEATH OF MRS G. S. MEEM.
"Oh! for the world where thy home is now.
How may we love--but in doubt and fear,
How may we anchor our fond hearts here,
How should e'en joy, but a trembler be,
Beautiful dust, when we look on thee!"
HEMANS.
AH, brief indeed was life's fair dream,
Sweet Friend, to thee!
How "passing strange" and sad doth seem
Thy destiny.
Two fleeting months--and thou didst stand,
A timid Bride;
And he who claimed thy "heart and hand,"
Stood by thy side.
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With rapt'rous ear he heard thee breathe
Love's fervent vow,
And saw the Orange blossoms wreathe
Thy queenly brow.
What blissful joy then did light
His loving eye.
Ah! little thought he, one so bright
Could surely die.
Too true, alas! the grave's cold breath
Is on thee now;
No more the beauteous "bridal wreath"
Bedecks thy brow.
Fond hearts that loved thee, now are sad,
And sigh in vain;
For thy dear smile to cheer and glad
Their home again.
They who around thy couch of pain
Did watch and weep,
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Mourn now, that nought shall break again
Thy dreamless sleep.
She too, who soothed with gentle hand
Thy burning brow,
Sees now the fairest of her band
In death laid low.
Ah, little reck'st thou of the tears
Thus vainly shed;
For hushed are all thy trembling fears,
Thou sinless dead.
Blest, happy spirit--thou dost roam
In realms of light;
And to thy distant, radiant home,
Shall come no blight.
No withering flowers there shall bind
Thy gentle brow:
A fadeless wreath, by Angels twined,
Adorns thee now.
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The joys that crown that life above,