Chapter II

"Dear Cousin Ida! on this day I crave thy special grace!"
The red tide surged in angry force; deep flushed the comely face.
"I may not wish you well," she said, "it cannot come to me
That aught could ever bridge the gulf 'twixt such as her--and thee."

Lord Edwin proffered no reply; she was his childhood's friend;
"Come Fido!" to his faithful hound, "our cheerful way we'll wend
Across the park, adown the mead, on to the river's side
Where, 'neath the jasmine's fragrant shade, the glad hours quickly
glide."

Oh! lightly o'er the heart of youth life's scathing breezes blow;
To vanish, as 'fore noonday sun, the first, soft flakes of snow;
And smiles the buoyant hope of youth as smiles the tranquil shore
When Ocean, having spent his wrath, retreats with sullen roar.

At early morn the nuptial peals rang forth full merrily;
Before the lark sang matin song the village stirred with glee;

The agèd church looked young again, in arch and pillar green,
As through the quaint, old diamond panes peeped in the rising sheen.

A joyous crowd hath filled the pews; along the sacred walls,
Even as a benediction, the orient glory falls;
The choir within the chancel sit, the organ swell expands,
The clergyman who baptized both will link the lovers' hands.

Why cometh not the maiden in her crown of orange flowers?
Why linger Earl and bridegroom gay amid their haughty towers?--
Bring hither cypress garnishing! nor bay nor orange bloom;
For music and for marriage-feast are silence and the tomb.

With song and voice of cheering the barque doth hoist her sails,
But who shall tell if into port she'll glide with favouring gales;
The golden chalice of the years with joy may overflow;
Drink whilst ye will the sweetened draught, the end ye may not know.

Upon his couch at morning tide the noble bridegroom lies;

Nor wedding peal will break his rest, nor dawn will ope his eyes;
The violets shall bloom and fade, the river sing its rhyme,
That ear attuned to echoes sweet, is closed to notes of time.

Still robed in richest evening dress, within her tiring-room
The Lady Ida sitteth, but her soul hath passed to doom;
One line to solve the mystery; one only line, which read:
"She wiled from me the living! she cannot part the dead!"

* * * * *

Oh! saddest note in saddening song!
The fair, unwedded bride
With reason fled, might oft be seen
Near by the river side.

Now plaiting wreaths of sweet, wild flowers
To rhythms light and gay;
Now listening for the manly step
She hailed in former day.

Till the Father, in His mercy,
Sent an angel from above
To tend her guileless spirit up
Into the haven of love.

Earl Crawfurd, crushed with shame and woe
Bent low his stately head;
And, ere the forest leaves were strewn,
He slumbered with his dead.

His mansion, with ancestral lands,
Rich farms and pastures fair;
A vast and goodly heritage,
Passed to a distant heir.

So now, in its kingly grandeur
Of terrace, arch and tower,
Stands Crawfurd Castle, mute and lone
As hermit in his bower.

SONGS OF SCOTIA.

THE SCOTCH GATHERING.

Hurrah for Scotland's ancient flag!
Now floating on the breeze;
Its every wave in vision paints
A clime beyond the seas.

And, as that music fills the air
Which breathes of mountain-steep,
Our spirits wander back again
To where our fathers sleep.

Again we hear the dashing foam
Which plunges down the dell;
Or ramble o'er the broomy knowes,
Or cull the sweet bluebell.

Or sit in restful gloaming-tide,
'Neath honeysuckle porch,
And watch the tewhits winging low
Beyond the old, grey church,

As balmy breath of briar and thyme
Comes wafted o'er the moor,
And sheds the gold, laburnum fringe
Upon its grassy floor.

Or linger by the martyrs' grave;
Or tread the hallowed sod
Where Hope and Valour stoutly fought
For country and for God.

The Cora Lynn yet sings the dirge
And deeds of Wallace wight;
Whilst Bannockburn still echoes forth
Who bravely died for right.

Oh! beauteous, tender mountain land!
Where'er thy children roam,
Along their lives the heartstrings thrill
To tune of "Home! sweet Home!"

Thy halls of learning grace the earth,
And dignify the name
Which side by side hath ever stood
With honor, truth and fame.

Thy sons, who now with strong, right arm
The stone and hammer wield,
Type well the sires who glory gained,
Or perished on the field.

Now, three cheers for our Highland Chief!
Three more for the Macneill![Note]
Three for all those who fondly prize
The land we love _sae weel_!

And three cheers for our noble Queen!
Who from the Bruce descends;
Whose life, attuned to sympathy,
A nation's love defends.

SKYE.

Hail to the clime of the mist and the mountain!
Of cataract foaming in boisterous glee;
Hail to Cuchullin! proud-peering through cloudland,
In red, rocky grandeur, from sea unto sea.
Fair isle of the patriot, the sage and the songster!
Thou shrine of the deeds of the noble and brave!
Who lived for their kinsmen, who died for their country;
Whose ashes repose in a far, foreign grave.

Of spirit undaunted, of intellect bright
As the glistening lakes in thy bosom which lie;
The archives of learning, the annals of might
Shall lustre for ever the heroes of Skye.[Note]
Injustice may scathe thee, deep gloom thee surround,
Thy night shall yet vanish, bright dawn to restore;
When peace and fair plenty once more shall abound,
From Macleod's sea-girt castle to Armadale's shore.

"BONNIE DUNDEE."

Whene'er I hear the well-kent tune
My heart gangs ower the sea
And communes with the loved o' yore
In the dear auld countrie.

Ance mair I run, wi' lichtsome step
And spirits fu' o' glee

Ane o' a joyous, childish group
To school, in fair Dundee.

Ah! many a year has come and gane
Yet, time's long bridge atween
I overstep, and live the past
As if it happed yestreen.

Though mony a hand is cauld in death,
And mony a grave grows green
O' those that made the Yule-tide bricht
And hanselled Hallowe'en.

But, sometimes from the music creeps
A sicht that blurs the sang;--
'Twould discord sweetest tones e'er sung,
And put the minstrel wrang.

It is the picture o' a hame
O' Scotland's peasantry;
In front stands Graeme of Claverhouse
The _braw_ Viscount Dundee.

The troopers rein their panting steeds
Their General's will to bide;
As, clinging to their mother's gown
The frightened bairnies hide.

I hear the haughty "Where is he?"
But--Oh, she answers well!
Her faithful heart love fortified,
"That same I will na tell."

Dark grew his scowl; as fierce wild beast
Defrauded of its prey,
With thirst of blood insatiate,
He gave his passions play.

"Then, woman, thou shalt surely die
Who darest me to my face!"
The husband heard these words of doom
And left his hiding place.

Alack, the courtly cavalier!
_The bonnie, braw_[Note] Dundee!
What odium of saintly blood
Must ever cling to thee.

He stood his human target up,
He gave the order "Fire!"
Yet, every gun was mute, for ance
His veterans braved his ire.

He raised aloft a coward hand
And shot his victim down;--
But lang in Scotia's heart will live
The memory o' John Brown.

The widowed knelt upon the sward,
Her apron she unbound;
And tenderly, her loved dead
In reddening shroud she wound;

"What think ye o' your husband now?"
The murderer demands
Of the humble woman, in her woe
Clasped firm by bairnies' hands.

She raised the head upon her lap,
She kissed the yet warm brow;
"_I aye thocht muckle o'm_," she said
"_But mair than ever now_."

Oh, woe for Scotland when her king
Stept 'twixt her and her God!
And baptized in her martyrs' gore
Each cave and moorland sod.

And woe to every servile hand
O' persecution's slaves!
Who load their weakling souls wi' guilt
At beck o' deeper knaves.

Beyond a' creeds and rites o' rule;
True faith shall never fail;
As lighthouse built on solid rock
'Twill weather every gale.

And though, unto the powers that be
A loyal lay she'll sing,
Auld Scotland's soul will bend to nane
Save Heaven's own glorious King.

THE HEATHERBELL.

Old England wreathes her gorgeous rose
With minstrelsy sublime;
The flower to Highland hearts most dear,
I fain would praise in rhyme.

It bloometh not in palace grounds,
But on the rough hillside;
It boasteth no patrician birth,
It is a people's pride.

Where streamlet leaves its rocky bed
To warble o'er the plain;
Where cataract leaps forth in foam,
On to the seething main.

Down-trampled on the serried field
Where love from love was riven;
Where patriot soul was offered up
As incense unto Heaven.

Where young hearts meet at eventide,
The old, old tale to tell;
In shady nooks, by purling brooks,
There blooms the sweet harebell.

Where cadence of the martyrs' hymn
Bright seraphim revoiced,
As e'en from moorland, fen and cave
Old Scotia's saints rejoiced.

Where ruin mocks those hoary towers
In which mailed knight held sway;

Beside the peaceful cottage door,
Type of this better day.

Bright silvery lochs! dark frowning crags!
Which Scotia's history tell;
Ye impress on my heart of hearts
The land I love so well.

And, through the golden glory-glist
O'er mount, and rock and fell,
There smileth up to Memory's eyes
The dear, Scotch Heatherbell.

BONNIER.

Oh! bonnie is the tender licht
Within the lovers' een;
But, bonnier a soul that's bricht,
A conscience ever clean.
And braw the form o' manly youth,
Wi' bearing firm and free;
Yet, grander far the lip o' truth,
And heart o' constancy.

Oh! radiant gleam the marble halls
And mausoleums o' pride;
But kindlier the love-licht falls
Around mine ain fireside.
And blithe the merry mavis' sang
Ower copse, an' clover lea;
Yet, cheerier tones I'll lilt ere lang,
Through a' eternity.

THE DOCTORS FEE.

It was a dazzling equipage
That drove up to the door;
It was a note with lordly crest
The liveried footman bore.
A note for Doctor Harrington
From Lady Cecil Grey;
It told of sickness at the Hall
And begged for no delay.

The young physician pondered
If luck his path had found;
Meanwhile the highly-mettled steeds
Impatient paw the ground.
"'Tis passing strange her ladyship
Though odd, should summon me;"--
High hung the omen of success,
Bright gleamed the golden fee.

Two miles along the country road,
Two miles of avenue
And, 'yond the lily-bordered lake,
Fair turrets rise to view.
Oh! common ills of base-born life
How could ye venture near?
Why should your breath, Oh foul disease!
Pollute such atmosphere?

Deep sadness broodeth o'er the Hall,
Scent-laden breezes sigh,
Though linnets pipe their tuneful song,
And cushat-doves reply.

The menials walk with noiseless tread
Across the French-tiled floor;
And, on its glittering hinges
Swings back the oaken door.

"Oh doctor!" quoth the Lady Grey
With outstretched jeweled hand,
"I am in depths of sore distress
But--you will understand.
It comforts me, that to my wish
The answer came so quick;
See!" and she drew the screen aside;--
"_My favorite cat is sick._"

Well was it that the patient lay
Within a darkened room;
The sunlight on the doctor's face
Had sunk in sudden gloom.
'Twas but a moment; skilled, acute
And witty too, withal,
With sober and respectful mien
He kept his thoughts in thrall.

What were those thoughts? upon that couch
By rarest art compiled,
Lay soulless brute, while o'er the wilds
Strayed many a starving child.
But wealth oft nurseth foibles
To fill its empty day;
And workers cater for its will
Who hope for handsome pay.

With solemn guise he lent his ear
For quite a lengthened space;

Then, with a grave obsequiousness,
He diagnosed the case.
"His stomach is, for sure, deranged;
No appetite hath he;
Yet time and care effect a change,
Wilt thou trust him with me?"

A maiden, on a cushion soft,
The precious tabby bore
To the escutcheoned carriage which
Soon halted as before.
And the doctor raised his patient
And stroked his shiny pate,
Then--in the pantry, 'neath a tub,
Consigned him to his fate.

Withhold thy censure! rude this course
Yet savoring keen insight;
Four days of prison treatment brought
Luxurious Tabby right.
Mote all the victims of excess
Be held in durance vile
A wholesome world would bloom apace,
And peace and plenty smile.

The proverb reads "'Tis an ill wind
That bloweth no one good"
And in the sequel of this tale
Be that fact understood.
For the fancies of a weakling
And over-pampered mind
Were ladders by which highest aim
Could fairer prospect find.

Back came dear Tabby to the Hall
With appetite restored;
Glad to devour the meanest crumb
He hitherto ignored,
To Lady Cecil's wonderment.
With generous courtesy
She poured from out her silken purse
The shining golden fee,

She placed it in the doctor's hand.
"Five hundred pounds a year
As my physician you may claim;"--
She praised him far and near.
He gained the best of patronage
Through all the country side;
He wooed a baron's daughter fair,
And won her for his bride.

No more chagrin, nor vexed delays;
No plodding up the hill;
Life's current flowed as peaceful stream
Which works the well-set mill.
The noble Countess and her cat
Have long since passed away;
But the witty doctor lives and thrives
In green old age this day.

THE VISION.

I dreamt that I culled the wild flowers on the moorland,
And roamed o'er the hills which my forefathers trod,
Ere their life-blood empurpled the fields of Hispania;
Ere their souls soared on high to the patriot's God.
I saw, to the call of the pibroch, advancing
O'er mountain, o'er river, o'er blossoming plain,
The strength of strong manhood, the youthful in daring;
The thousands who went, but who came not again.

The many moons passed as a breath, in bright dreamland,
I looked from lone valley to sea-beaten shore;
Two frigates,[Note] full-manned with a nation's defenders,
Britannia's proud ensign defiantly bore.
Then up from the shadows came voices long silenced;
"Oh Britain! thou boast of the free and the brave;
We fought, and we died for thy honor, thy freedom,
Thou yieldest our offspring no boon but the grave."

Dark visions rolled off with the mists of the morning;
High o'er the green larches white smoke-wreaths had curled;
And the tender sun beaming from out the clear ether,
Was the hopefuller sun of an opening world.
And over wide ocean a warbler came winging,
Who sang, as he dropped a heathbell by our door,
"The shadows are flitting, the day-dawn is breaking,
The long night of sorrow will darken no more."

LOCH KATRINE.

Loch Katrine's bonnie banks an' braes,
Though lang I've left them a', laddie,
'Thochts o' them, an' ither days
Maist break my heart in twa, laddie.
Fu' thretty years o' storm an' shine
Sin' first we crossed the ocean's brine,
Yet closely roond oor hearts entwine
The mem'ries o' lang syne, laddie.

Oh! mind ye o' the leafy bowers
Within the sylvan shade, laddie,
Where aft we pu'd the wild-wood flowers,
As warblers stirred the glade, laddie?
Wi' step sae buoyant, firm an' free
I hurried tae the trystin' tree;--
Sae sacred then tae Love an' thee;
To love, an' thee, an' me, laddie.

In school, at sport, in whirlin' dance,
Thy rival was nae seen, laddie,
Nae ither suitor won a glance
Frae me, the village queen, laddie.
Then ebon was my glossy hair,
Thy crown o' curls was gowden fair;
Now time--wha rich nor puir will spare--
Has bleached oor locks to sna, laddie.

Nae mair upon auld Scotia's shore
Wi' willing feet we'll stray, laddie,
Nor greet the freens we loved o' yore,
The yore sae far away, laddie.

Nae mair we'll see the sunbeams rest
Upon Ben Ledi's haughty crest,
As, reddening a' the distant west,
Sol sinks aneath the wave, laddie.

Nae mair we'll watch the rushin' tide
Sweep ower the yellow sands, laddie,
But far ayont the ither side
We'll clasp the lang missed hands, laddie.
Yes! far ayont the mist an' rain,
An' days of toil, an' nichts o' pain,
Wide scattered flocks will meet again
Nae mair to part for aye, laddie.

As frost dispels 'fore kindly thaw
When Spring's saft breezes blow, laddie,
So gently may we slip awa'
To joys nae mortals know, laddie.
For as the sun clears aff the dew,
Our withered lives will bloom anew,
When this fause world shall fade frae view
In fairer worlds abune, laddie.

CONTENT.

In splendour of an Eastern night,
Where Luna softly smiles,
I've sailed along the shimmering tide
Which laves the Classic Isles.
Or led the dance in courtly hall,
'Mid gayest of the throng;
Or listed to rare _artistes_ pour
Their witchery of song.
And 'yond the murky Tiber's wave
Have strolled 'neath Pincian shade;
As sunlight streamed o'er Saxon fair,
Or dark-eyed Roman maid.

In dreamland oft our Highland hills
Forth from the shadows spring,
All radiant in their purple bloom;
Meet haunts of forest king.
And up the green-arched avenue,
And o'er the daisied lawn
Troop faces bright, and hearts as light
As step of mountain fawn.
And artless voices drown in mirth
The sighing of the breeze;--
But memory opes, the vision fades;
Wail not _their_ fate; Oh Seas!

Though former scenes in Time's rough blast
Have drifted far away;
And halls wherein our fathers ruled
Lie mouldering in decay,
Though ne'er again, o'er heathery wild,
I'll see the storm-clouds fly;
Or watch the golden glory creep
O'er lake, and mount and sky.
Though never more, from castle tower
I'll scan the pebbly shore;
Or hark the lovèd brother's lays
Chime with the plashing oar.

Yet, where no floweret ever fades,
Nor weeping wakes the morn;
Where every heart, with sorrow fraught,
To joy shall be re-born.
Within the great orchestral band
Glad anthems we'll prolong;
Nor sickness shall discord our praise,
Nor death disturb our song.
Nor ocean wide shall e'er divide,
Nor years nor space will sever;
In realm of health's immortal bloom
We'll live in love for ever.

What though my hope-fraught argosy
Ne'er reached a halcyon strand;
Though winds and waves have rudely tossed;
I know the Pilot's hand

Will steer me safe 'yond shifting-sands,
Dense fogs and chilling rime,
To anchorage within that haven,
Beyond the ridge of time.
Where crowns of pearl, and harps of gold
In holy radiance beam;
Where halos from the great White Throne
Dispel earth's fitful dream.

MISCELLANEOUS.

COLUMBUS.

Down in the darkness till earth-crust doth part,
Is the gold of the unwrought mine;
Deep in recess of the lowliest heart
Rare diamonds of genius may shine.
And as from its earth-bed pure gold is revealed,
To work out the projects of man,
So promptings of genius, unraveled, unsealed,
Are but links in eternity's plan.

Onward, aye on o'er the fathomless brine,
From the far Castilian land;
'Neath an ardent sun, 'neath a pale moonshine,
With prow to the halcyon strand.
On from the jeers of a skeptical crowd
To the goal of his long life dream;
On, on from the taunts of the wisdom-proud
To the summit of vast brain scheme.

On with the aid of a womanly wit,
Which served the high-set purpose well;
For the squadron's glittering sails were lit
Through fair Hispania's Isabel.
Who had stooped her head, with its regal crown,
And soothed with pity's shapely hand,
As to grim Suspicion's withering frown
She raised the sceptre of the land.

Onward, aye on, though the night shadows lower,
Though star lamps burn low in the sky,
Onward through hurricane, cloud-rift and shower;
Still onward, whate'er may defy.
Calming, controlling a mutinous crew,
The victims of loneness and fear;
Deftly explaining phenomena new
With voicings of courage and cheer.

Shifting of compass, strange lights in the sky,
Strange birds on a wandering wing;
"On, Oh my comrades! the guerdon is nigh;
Fresh life to my pulses doth spring.
Trust me, my comrades! nor wild water-wraith,
Nor phantom his passage e'er bars
Whose rudder is set with a firm-bound faith
In that Power who created the stars."

On through the drift-weed; Lo! tranquil blue seas;
With breath of a balmier air;
On, hoisting their sails to the landward breeze,
On, ridding their spirits of care.
Light through the darkness! bright beacons ahead!
And the mariner's sails are furled,
For the errand of genius hath aptly sped,
On the rim of a great New World.

In raiment of splendor the ground he hath trod;
He looks from the sky to the main;
He planteth the Cross in the name of his God,
His standard in token of Spain.
And on through the cycles, in Temple of Fame,
Though nations and systems decay,

The laurels which lustre Columbus' proud name
In freshness shall blossom for aye.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

Time! Ocean of boundless unrest!
Upheaving with tumult of life;
While, as foam on the billowy crest,
Floats he who is first in the strife.
First in the van of courage and right,
Or foremost in daring to wrong;
Time bendeth low to the monarch of might,
Embalms him in story and song.

Yet lives there be which the giddy hours
Tinge lightly, as onward they wing;
Rough winds may scatter Hope's fairest flowers,
The dreamer awaketh to sing.
And sweet seraph tones, borne from on high,
Enliven the faltering strain;
Till a golden rift streaks the dark sky,
And sunlight illumines again.

Eternity! prospect sublime!
Blessed Faith holdeth forth unto view,
Where the fleeting illusions of time
Yield place to the lasting and true,
Where the song never dies in a wail,
Nor sun ever sinks into gloom;
Nor bright life in its splendor doth fail
'Fore darkness of death and the tomb.

When the glare and the glitter shall wane
In glow of the chrysolite sea,
For leal hearts that now struggle in vain
Shall the crown of the victor be.
And sorrow-dimmed lives shall relight
With warmth from an heavenly ray;
And flowerets nipped by an early blight
Shall re-bloom through an endless day.

THE TREE.

WRITTEN FOR ARBOR DAY.

Thou! noblest of all nature's growth!
Where'er thy foliage falls,
Thy beauty, wed to matchless worth
The willing heart enthralls.

Erst-while the Jewish exiles hung
Their harps thy boughs along
And poured their wearied spirits forth
In strains of plaintive song.

So yet, 'neath shimmer of thy leaves
Roll back the waves of time,
And exiled souls, in dreams return
To far, serener clime.

Before the German peasant's eyes
Thuringian forests bloom;
Whilst ilex of the sunny South
Lights up Italia's gloom.

The English hail their country's oak,
Through which great victories came;
Since naval power, in danger's hour
Sustained old England's fame.

The ebon cross of Erin's Isle
Bedecks her loyal daughters,
In every land, on every strand
Laved by the glittering waters.

Ah! sweetly 'mong the rowan-trees
Ayond the seething brine,
The Scotsman hears loved melodies,
From voices o' langsyne.

A landmark thou in vale of years!
White stone in history!
Loud publisher of private wrongs,
Or nation's victory.

'Neath agèd oak of Elderslie
Five centuries tell the tale
How, at the name of Scotland's Chief
Her enemies turned pale.

An English yew-tree speaks her fate
Who, by a despot's breath
In brilliant beauty graced a throne,
Then sank in shameful death.

Trees note the spot where Bonaparte
Surrendered at Sedan
Ambition's sceptre, framed of guilt
In blood of brother man.

Whilst ever, through the cycling years,
Judea's olive tree
Proclaims the sin-fought conflict gained
On dark Gethsemane.

By soul, that in the greening leaf,
The Great Designer sees,
Sweet whispers from the Living Life
Are heard among the trees.

And every changing summer hue
Which decks the forest band
Low bends in homage grateful hearts
To Him whose faultless hand

Doth sap the seed, and sun the stem,
And rear the structure high;
Till emerald censers incense waft
Through fair, cerulean sky.

Whose artist-touch illumes the doole
Of woodland's waning green,
With flashing streaks of red and gold,
Sunlit of glorious sheen.

So Faith may gaze, with restful eye,
Across this desert wold;
To find the darksome shades of earth
Relieved by Heaven's bright gold.

So Hope may realize that day,
Beside the crystal river,
Where, sheltered by the Tree of Life,
Pure joys flow on forever.

THE SHIPWRECK.

Thou! glorious, pure, unwavering Light!
Let not our light be vain!
Grant us to see, through densest night,
Earth's direst problems plain!

A ship held fast on a treacherous reef
Lies quivering to and fro;
The wild winds mocking man's relief;
Upheaving ocean's flow.

Bright crimson floods the burnished west,
Red glows the village spire;
And the darkening speck, on seething crest,
Low sinks in molten fire.

Ah me! amid the tangled heap
Cast forth ere morning chime,
The veteran in his unrocked sleep;
Fair youth, and manhood's prime.

What treasure lieth, tightly bound
Within that sodden vest?
Which rude sea-wave hath not unwound
From off the quiet breast.

"Is't gold or pearls? grim sailor, speak!
What doth that case conceal?"
But the tear adown the bronzèd cheek
All silently doth steal.

They pass it round with reverend grace;--
Only a picture fair;
A woman's, and a baby's face,
And two damp locks of hair.

'Neath peaceful shades they calmly sleep
Who fought the angry wave;
Nor maid, nor mother e'er shall weep
Beside her sailor's grave.

For the golden locks will dull to dark,
The brown will turn to grey;
But the brave who sailed in that gallant bark
Have bade "Farewell" for aye.

DE PROFUNDIS.

I looked abroad; gloom, only gloom;
Weird, solemn, chill and densely drear;
Black curtain over nature's bier;
Silence oppressive as of doom.

"Oh soul!" I said, "though morn be bright,
Though gorgeous vistas charm life's day,
Descends on every earth-trod way
Cold mortal chill, bereavement's night."

Once more I looked; transcendent shine!
The myriad gates of light unbarred;
The glowing heavens serenely starred;
Dull earth transformed to scene divine.

Then said I, "Soul! would the mercy beams
Shed ever such radiant light,
Had'st thou not known dark sorrow's night
Or groped within this world of dreams?"

THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.

NOVEMBER 15TH, 1891.

In her calm, tender, beauty arising
She smiled as she journeyed on high;
Till the shadows fled far o'er the pineland,
Till ocean smiled back to the sky.
And our souls, in those genial rays basking,
Which glorified river and shore,
Soared high from the loved of the life that is,
To the loved of the life evermore.

But lo! o'er the brightness, and beauty and grace
Creeps slowly a dismal, black screen;
Now veiled from our eyes is the centre of light,
Earth's shadows have fallen between.
A moment obscure, then a clear shining rim,
As gleam of the covenant bow;
The veil is withdrawn from fair Luna's bright face,
And the heavens are again in a glow.

Thus basketh the soul in that holier light
Which beameth from Centre Divine;
Thus veiled is the radiance uplifting the life
When we kneel at a worldly shrine.

Yet steadfast and clear is that earth-clouded Light
The penitent, looking on high,
Will view the dark curtain to density glide,
And mercy re-lighten the sky.

ERIN'S ADDRESS TO FREEDOM.

VS. LANDLORDISM.

Thou Freedom! which in years agone
Sat gloriously upon our hills;
Through all these verdant valleys shone,
And sang in all those mountain rills.

Oh Thou! for whom my children fought;
Their blood upon thine altar stands;
The sacrifice! was it for nought?
Is it for nought _these_ clasp their hands?

Their wills were iron--not their lungs;--
They shrank not from the fiercest fight;
Their deeds, more than ten thousand tongues,
Plead loudly for their offsprings' right.

Oh! what to us that golden age
When Athens reigned, or ancient Rome;
We need not grope through history's page
To greet the scourge we find at home.

My leal ones crave no wizard wand
With topaz gleams their path to pave;
But justice, freedom, fatherland,
A hopeful life, and peaceful grave.

Obedient ever to those laws
Which jar not with that Higher Will;
Thou! Leader in their righteous cause,
With beacon rays their spirits fill.

Thou mayst not see--for Falsehood veils,
And Truth retires when tyrants reign--
Those scenes 'fore which all nature pales,
Nor list the cry of hunger-pain.

Yet thee we hear in every breeze
That round the lonely hamlet raves;
Thy mountains echo to thy seas--
"Ye sons of freemen be not slaves."

Before Despair's dim, hollow eye,
Starvation's wan and wasted cheek,
Can soul of man stand idly by?
God of their fathers, aid the weak!

Through centuries of direst gloom
The Afric prayed thy dawn to see;
At length there tolled Oppression's doom
Out-rung with notes of jubilee.

Too long, in Sorrow's dusky shroud
Thy glorious mien is hid from view;
Now Courage wakes, and calls aloud,
Come forth! thou birthright of the true!

And Thou shalt come! for plaintive song
In minor tone, on bended knee,
Shall rise the power to conquer wrong;--
And Erin's Ireland shall be free.

THE GIFT.

A basket of beautiful roses!
Snowflakes in a setting of green;
Pure as the pearl that reposes
On breast of the daintiest queen.
Not one, but a wealth of sweet roses!
In vases, on table and chair,
Small hands, in haste have deposed them;--
Sweet incense in soft summer air.

* * * * *

Long faded, Oh friend! are the roses;
Long faded, and fallen away;
But the fragrance such bounty discloses
Doth perfume the wintriest day.
Fragrant as breath of thy roses
Thy life-deeds are wafted above;--
Short season of struggle and triumph!
Bright crown of ne'er withering love.

EVER FAITHFUL.

Since thy dear love my life hath blessed,
Since thy true heart is heart of mine,
Naught fearing, I shall bide the rest;
Though sunlight dim to taper-shine.

Though Time's impress hath marked thy brow,
And silver-streaked thy sunny hair;

As autumn winds, before the snow
Of winter, blight the foliage fair,

Yet shall I love thee till the beam
Of lingering soul-light homeward hies;
Then, where sweet zephyrs fan the stream,
Where day's bright glory never dies,

Sunned of those ever hallowing rays;
As endless cycles onward move,
With glad triumph we'll join to praise
The Centre of unfathomed love.

"ONLY OUR HIRED BOY."