Forest leaves and Three: or, Genevra's tower

Front matter

Shelf-XS- ' i.M7^

Brooks gurgle -through their mosses, falling o'er Low mimic ledges. Page 45.

AND i^ars f^ulett gonng

Contents

PASE

Proem I. 1

Proem II 3

I

A Poet's daughter rare and bright. All dreams of beauty, joy, and light

Were to her life a heritage.

She needed not the learned page

To show that an all-wondrous Power

Moves veiled in nature. The high dower

To feel, to know, to love, to own

His presence, bow beneath his throne,

Was hers ere childhood sought to frame

In word the mystery of his name.

A poet's daughter, — yet her sire

She had not known, — his ringing lyre

Was dropped to earth, the chords all broken,

His life-dream new, his best unspoken.

With pale hand o'er her infant head

The bright uplifted face he read,

And with slow smile and reverent eyes

He vowed her to the sovereignties

Of all pure thoughts that seal and bless

From need of humbler happiness.

Then dreamily his memory far

Wandered, where bright with morning star

And all the heavens' shining crown.

Grand snow-white mountain peaks look down

In depths of a clear beauteous lake, —

As God's white majesty doth make

A stainless soul his mirror. Low,

And faintly murmuring as the flow

Of a spent fountain, " for my sake,"

He said, " call her Genevra. Child,

My daughter, bright one, undefiled,

Thou bearest in thy new life the same Heaven-kindled and undying* flame That rayed my altar. It may be Words yet shall show splendor I only see."

Claude calmly slept, — but earth no more Knew his awakening. Morning bore Her light to a hushed room, where lay A statue form of noblest — clay. Lingering there, a youthful wife Refused to weep, — was there not life In the still grandeur of that brow, And soul in the mute eloquence That dreamed like joy of saintly vow On lips of untold beauty ? Whence Should come intrusive tears to shade The haloed vision which death made All sacred now, and yet to be A starry calm of memory.

II

The Poet's widowed bride had wealth, Friends of high station, beauty, health. And all that schools and culture give Of treasures that youth's hours outlive. Not hers alone the subtle grace Of polished manner, and the race Of deft white fingers o'er the keys ; But, thoughtfully as one who sees

More than the surfaces of things,

Of customs, characters, and brings

The tests of reason to decide

Questions of passion and of pride,

She took her chosen noiseless way.

The whispered words half-heard that day

When her pale poet closed his eyes

Were cherished as the changeless ties

Where'er that spirit life might soar

To raise her own to it once more.

The mother left no menial hand

To wield a mother's sacred wand.

No menial's sullen frown to blight

The soft eyes' kindling, questioning light,

No harsh voice answering to the cry

Of the young lips that should not sigh ;

But, turning from the flattering throng

That craved her rich voice in the song,

She breathed her infant's lullaby.

Full was the guerdon to her breast

Of all a mother's heart knows best

As, with a beauty half divine,

The radiant child, so pure, so fine.

Burst forth as from a chrysalis

Winged with young raptures, formed for bliss.

Not slow love's watchful care to mark

The changing eye, now bright, now dark.

Nerves quivering with the living thought.

FOREST LEAVES. IT

The breathless hush with feeling fraught,

The languid calm of frame o'erwrought.

Time, passing with its changes, soon

Mother and teacher merged in one,

Wisely, considerately kind.

Often as came the summer boon

Of flowers, and bird-song, and low wind

Among the grasses, they would go.

Teacher and pupil, where none know

The weary steps of fashion's feet ;

And by old forests as they list

Or lone lake's mountain mirror sweet,

With nature's self they held true tryst,

Tar from the mockery and mist

That hide her charm we fain would greet.

Faint bloom stole through young Psyche's cheek.

The thrilling nerves no more were weak ;

The father's wasting fire gave way

To soothing gladness calm as day.

Then brightly for Genevra came School-days at last ; for, too, her name Must stand on the proud record, where Smile learning's stately temples. " Fair And silverly " on her must fall The halo of diploma, — all That fills and brightens the one day Which opens far life's prosperous way, — Therefore the school-days came at last.

With them was opened too the vast

Wide world of books Genevra knew

But by a rich and chosen few

Conned pleasantly in music rare

Of her true teacher's voice, with care

Selecting and rejecting, so

That purest gems, — diamonds that glow

With all-unshadowed light must be

The earliest setting she can see

In memory's chain placed fittingly.