of blue Forget-Me-Nots—
Aha! he cried, my bright, my blue Forget-Me-Nots!
My flowers which I placed upon her breast,
And bid her wear till we should meet again,
My faithful one. The seeds matured on thy
Dear bosom, nourished by thine own mortality,
Pushed their way to the sunlight of earth, To
Cheer and to ’mind of faithful love,
Love which lasts even after the gates of
Death are passed. Then he wailed the whole
Day long: Come, O! come! Uranne, come!
Like my flowers, leave your bed, too dark too
Drear for thee. Uranne, come to me!
Or I will come to thee!
There they found him, there they laid him,
With his flowers and Uranne.
Magnolia
Magnolia! “Pale city of the dead,”
Adown thy gravelled walks I tread,
Thy marble pillars looming high,
Thy polished shafts around me lie.
With soft, mild rays, the winter sun
Thy tortuous pathways doth illume,
The weeping-willow droops its head,
To crown the “City of the Dead.”
On every side death’s tracks I see,
His footsteps grim encompass me,
The high-born here, the lowly there,
The proud man there, the humble here.
The rich has left his golden hoard,
No more he sits at festive board,
He could not bribe relentless death,
With all his garnered stores of wealth.
Here lies a maiden spotless fair,
Whose claim on life for many a year
Seemed sure. But the grim Reaper smiled,
And bending, claimed her for his child.
So lovingly they made her bed.
And tenderly these garlands spread,
Bright emblems of a stricken flower,
Now blooming in a sunnier bower.
And here an infant’s grave I see,
Ere sin could stain its purity,
It plumed its wings and upward soared,
To live forever with its God.
Though fair the earth, it would not stay,
Much fairer still the land away.
Restrain me not, for I would go
Where crystal fountains endless flow.
With slow, sad steps I press me on
To a majestic tower of stone,
That tells me they who sleep around
Had for their country’s weal laid down
Their lives. Ah! many a widowed heart
Hath bent and broke with sorrow’s dart,
For him who now beneath the sod,
Yielded his spirit to his God.
And many a youth with trappings gay,
’Mid martial music liveliest, lay,
No more in life returned to bless
Their loved ones with a fond caress,
But laid them down to their last sleep
In stranger land. Now angels keep
A loving vigil o’er each grave,
And bending branches o’er them wave.
City of Shadows! fondly keep
The loved who in thy bosom sleep,
Shielded from every earthly care,
They rest secure and free from fear.
Let grasses green and flow’rets bright,
Always illume thy paths with light,
Till from the heavens loud and clear,
Resounds the invitation dear,
“Come up and meet me in the air,
My people.”
To My Mother
I took up the burden of life anew
When she, the pure-hearted, died;
When the golden cord was rent in twain,
And she faded from my side.
When the eyes grew dim that were wont to glow
With the holy light of love,
And the spirit, freed from earthly care,
Sped to its rest above.
Oh, the dreary days! Oh, the weary nights!
Oh, the anguish, who can tell?
When the light of my life went swiftly out,
And the shadow athwart me fell.
For the wound was deep, and the woe was great,
And its poignancy will blight
All the onward course of my future years,
Till my faith be turned to sight.
I muse me now of the beautiful days,
The halcyon days of yore;
And wonder if e’er on life’s stormy sea
Such days I shall ever see more.
The sky is as blue-tinted now as then,
And the sunlight just as bright;
But they gladden me not as in other days
Ere she faded from my sight.
The clouds with their purple and amber hues—
Their gossamer robes of snow—
And the stars at the quiet twilight hour
In calm, clear beauty glow.
And music sweet as Aeolian harp
Is echoing far and wide—
But, sure, naught gladdens my heart as before
She faded away from my side.
O, Mother! in anguish I peer through the mists
Of a future, so dark without thee;
The desert of life hath truly been blessed
With an oasis sacred to thee.
And oft to this green spot of beauty I turn,
My shrine of affection, my pride;
For, surely, naught gladdens my heart as before
Thou fadedst away from my side.
Nestle-Down Cottage
As I sit by the ruddy oak fire,
And feel the grateful glow,
Come mem’ries sweet of a rustic cot,
That stood near the pebbly shore.
With its porch so bright and sunny,
Where the children loved to play,
With the sounding shells, from the sandy beach,
All through the summer’s day.
Where, where are the blessed little ones
Whose childish voices sweet,
Who made the sunny porch resound
With the patter of little feet?
One where the South Seas wildly break,
And dash on the gleaming sand,
Has made Him a home ’mid strangers,
Far, far from his native land.
Another, the sweetest and dearest,
Has long ’neath the daisies been laid,
O! dark as a pall was the hour
When they whispered my darling was dead.
The cottage still stands by the sea shore,
Our sunny, bright “Nestle-Down,”
But we ask so sadly where, O! where
Are the little children gone?
Mother’s Recall
Come back to me, O ye, my children:
Come back to the home as of yore;
As my longing eye peers through the vista of years,
Comes the heart-throbbing more and more.
I sit by the casement and listen
To the fall of the soft, sobbing rain,
E’en the winds gently sigh as if loth to reply—
In vain, fond mother, in vain.
Are ye gone for aye? Shall I no more hear
The ring and the din of glee?
Have my nestlings flown and left me alone?
Shall their faces, I no more see?
I sit, and I wait while the days go by,
And the months merge slow into years;
Till the twilight deep and the mystic sleep,
And the hopes give place to fears.
When the Christmas chimes with its holy rhymes
Ring out o’er the frosty plain,
Then I sit, and sigh for the “Sweet bye and bye”—
But the answer comes, “Mother in vain.”
Each one of us, children, have gone forth
To fight out life’s battles alone;
And the future must prove if your labor of
