Poems

Front matter

.

BY

HARRIET AND ROSE ACTON.

The Two Flowers

.

They had known no other dwelling Half so sunny as their own, Ere the spring's glad voice was telling, They had blossomed there alone. Alone! alone! with nought to look Upon their kingdom free; And their graceful stems with triumph shook, As they sighed "How blest are we!"

One morn when leaf and flower Were beginning to unfold, And that sweet and tranquil bower Seemed bathed in rays of gold; A sound came stealing o'er them Of joyous voices there, And a party swept before them, Of lords and ladies fair. A moment! and the stately throng Have hied them far away, With laughter as they passed along, And tones and gestures gay. A moment! and the stern old trees Were lonely left again, To shake with anger in the breeze, That aught disturbs their reign. And the two fair flowers looked forth at last, In wonder and in dread; They had hid them 'till the throng had passed, In their thick and leafy bed.

But now they watch'd the gallant train, As it vanished from their sight, 'Till they longed to see it once again, In its glittering beauty bright. And they thought upon that band so gay, 'Till they loathed their silent dell: And they sigh'd to think that they must stay In the home once loved so well. The bright sun cast his rays of gold Upon that spot so fair, But the flowers looked on reserved and cold, And wept that they were there.

The evening dews were falling fast, And naught had reached their ear, When they heard a bugle's thrilling blast Proclaim the party near. On! on they came with horse and hound, And feathers waving high, And the greenwood rang to their footstep's sound As they swept the forest by. "Will they depart and leave us here?" And the flowers gaz'd forth with dread; For the stately throng was drawing near, But glanced not on their bed. With snowy plumes and jewels bright, And merry laugh and tone, They have vanished like a beam of light, And the flowers are left alone.

No! not alone a lady fair Has loitered in the dell, To gather blossoms for her hair, Of the graceful heather bell. And he who lingers by her side, To mark each smile and sigh, Will call that gentle lady bride, Ere the autumn passes by. They have culled the bells so fresh and sweet, When oh! long looked-for chance! The flowers so fair and blooming meet The lady's laughing glance. And she takes them from their home beneath The leaves and dew-drops bright, To lend their beauty to the wreath Which binds her hair that night. And the flowers! the flowers, oh! what said they, To leave their shady bower, And the quiet glen, to speed away To the halls of wealth and power? They shook their slender stems with glee, And they waved their heads with pride, When they thought that they should ever be By that lovely lady's side. And yet a sad and fond regret Came o'er them at the last, For the home they could not quite forget, And the bright and happy past.

ppoem| start=follow| For their joyous life so calm and free,

For the leaves they loved so well,

For the waving grass, and stately tree,

Which graced the sunny dell—

They have wished to change their tranquil lot:

They must bear it as they may;

They have looked their last on that sweet spot,

And the flowers are borne away.

{sm}<>PART THE SECOND.

A strain comes sweeping, soft and clear,

Of music's measure light,

And steals upon the startled ear

Of the still and peaceful night.

And the moonbeams, as they softly fall

The waving trees between

Look in upon a stately hall,

And a gay and festive scene.

The first and fairest of the land,

Are gathered smiling there,

But the brightest of the joyous band

Is that gentle lady fair:

With naught amidst her clust'ring curls,

Save the flowers in beauty rare.

Oh! lovelier far than gems or pearls,

Those blooming flowers were.

|end=follow

And well indeed might they be proud Of the part they bore that night, As they moved amidst the festal crowd, Upon that lady bright. As they grace the fair and polished brow Of the glittering revel's queen, They can have naught to sigh for now, Beyond that brilliant scene. And yet! they were not happy quite, A feeling new and strange Passed over them with a chilling blight: And again they wished for change. Again they wished to be away, Where they alone were fair; They had looked on flowers of hues more gay, Since they had entered there. And they thought that in their home serene None had seemed fair save them, And they were to that forest scene As a rare and foreign gem. But here swept by them every hour Strange flowers of beauty bright; They were more prized in their greenwood bower Than in those halls of light. 'Twas true that they were still most fair, They had not lost their bloom, But they drooped beneath the perfumed air Which filled that gorgeous room.

And they longed to feel the evening breeze Steal o'er them, and they sighed For their slighted home beneath the trees, In the stately forest wide. A still small voice first whispered then, That they had happier been In the leafy shades of the peaceful glen Than in that brilliant scene. And the flowers bent down their heads and wept, For their hearts were full of woe, When they thought how calmly they had slept The moon's pale light below.

Dark night is giving place to day, The morn begins to break, And the lovely lady hastes away Ere the sun's bright rays awake. But the flowers that late had graced her brow Are thrown neglected by; Their bloom is past, they are faded now, They are left alone to die. To die uncared for, far away From their own sweet forest glen, What visions of its life so gay, Came rushing o'er them then! "Oh would! oh would that we were there In our home of beauty bright, Near the leaves that watched us with such care, And sheltered us each night.

Where the tall trees shaded us all day, 'Till the sun's fierce heat was o'er, And we are dying far away; They will never see us more." The flower's words were choked with woe, For their hearts were breaking fast, And their tears in bitter sorrow flow, As they mourn their folly past. As they think that had they ever been Contented in their dell, They might have graced its tranquil scene, Where they were loved so well. "Oh! that we ne'er had from thee fled," In agony they sighed, And bowing down each drooping head, The blighted flowers died! >>H. A.

Peace

Planting the tree of Faith where had grown Fear— Bringing Hope's smile to check Affliction's tear— From that bright land whose skies are ever clear, Thence art thou. >>R. A.

The Farewell of the Unloved

I've prayed upon my knees, Mother, In sorrow night and day, That the coldness of thy heart, Mother, Might sometime pass away. I've prayed upon my knees, Mother, That I might come to be, As treasured and as dear, Mother, As my sister is to thee. But ah! 'twas all in vain, Mother, I strove thy will to do, I would I had been fair, Mother, That thou hadst loved me too. I've laid upon my bed, Mother, When others thought I slept; Through the long and weary night, Mother, My lonely watch I've kept. To hear thy well-known step, Mother. And see thee fondly press On my sister's sleeping brow, Mother. A kiss of tenderness. But ah! no kiss was mine, Mother, No blessing came to me, I've wept till daylight dawned, Mother, For I was nought to thee! Yet now so near my grave, Mother. One wish my heart doth fill, One pray'r upon my lip, Mother, Doth hang unuttered still.

Soon must I bend to death, Mother, Yet while I linger on, Let the sunshine of thy love, Mother, Be turned thy child upon. For I could not seek my grave, Mother, Without a parting word, To tell me ere we part, Mother, How thy slighted child has erred! Oh! is it that thine eyes, Mother, Are fondly bent on mine? Oh! is it that my hand, Mother, Is wildly clasped in thine? Oh! is it that thy voice, Mother, Falls kindly on mine ear? My heart will break with joy, Mother, Those cherished tones to hear! Oh! mourn not that I die, Mother, That heart would sink with care, If I should seek thy face, Mother, And find a shadow there. Thy treasured smiles of love, Mother, Around me now have played; I fain would pass away, Mother, Before those smiles can fade. My eye is growing dim, Mother, My heart is growing cold, My life is ebbing fast, Mother, My earthly days are told.

Thus! thus! to hold thy hand, Mother, Will still my latest pain— Smile on me ere I die, Mother, Oh! may we meet again! >>H. A.

The Sleeping Monitor

Slowly his footsteps stray By glade and hill, Where the young sleeper lay Slumbering still; Smiles on its eyelids rest, As if its guileless breast Gay visions fill.

Soft stole the stranger on, Downward he bent; Long that smooth brow upon Gazed he intent; "Oh! that such rest were mine! And to my sleep like thine Sweet dreams were sent."

Tears o'er his earnest gaze Silently start; Thoughts of forgotten days Steal round his heart; When with his day-dreams fair, Like the child sleeping there, Grief had no part.

All that the world calls great, His might be styled; Glory and high estate On him had smil'd;

Yet had he falsehood found, And for its sleep profound Envied that child.

Then came the yearning thought— Would it be vain, If he with fervour sought Sweet peace to gain? How should he welcome rest Back to his wearied breast Gladly again?

"Peace may once more be thine!" Hope whispered low; But in thy bosom's shrine Change must thou know. Some to thee false have seem'd, All hast thou worthless deem'd— Ah, 'tis not so!

"Scatter thou mercy's seed, Wipe tears away, Kind word and noble deed Sow while you may: Gladden the mourning one— Joy, for such mercies done, With thee shall stay."

"Sweet one! the stranger cried, "Sleep in thy dell; Peace doth thy slumbers guide As with a spell. Holy thoughts woke by thee, Never shall pass from me— God guard thee well!" >>H. A.

The Poor Man's Prayer

It is not these who kneel with faith, To crave the food they must obtain; It is not faith to pray, and know Each day must bring but joys again.

Go 'neath the poor man's cheerless roof, Where Care's gaunt form hath gone before; Where Want's chill breath is ever felt; Where Joy, if e'er it was, is o'er.

Look on young eyes which should be bright, On drooping forms which should be proud: On aged locks, by sorrow thinned, By all the heart's stern anguish bowed.

Oh! it is these who pray with faith, For means to keep from sin and shame; Who crave for what a thousand deem, In pride of wealth, an empty name!

And shall no kindly hand be stretched, In this, our land of boasted worth, To save, from ruin and disgrace, Our fellow-pilgrims upon earth?

Turn! oh, ye high ones! ye that share The "common lot" with each of those, Whose fate, so widely differing now, Will be as yours when life shall close.

Turn! and the pity here ye shew May win ye blessings, which shall cling Around your memory on that day, Far above every earthly thing.

Scorn not the poor! The heart you crush Can feel, as yours, a blighting word; And it may be, his prayer, before Your own, for pardon, shall be heard!

Oh! ye should glory that your gold Can lighten some lone hearts of pain; When many, that the world deems blest, Are yearning for such peace in vain.

Have pity, then! Be yours the hand To turn destruction from its prey. One mite from out your store can make How many tears to pass away.

Oh! answer ye the prayer that bursts In anguish from the stricken heart, And triumph that it is for man, To say to misery, "Depart!"

And in the poor man's prayer, for you A blessing shall ascend on high, To soothe your chequered path on earth, And win for you eternity. >>R. A.

A Farewell to the Old Year

Some light and unwrung hearts may know But joy while thou art here; And some may count the weary days By Sorrow's blighting tear.

Thou hast pass'd by to humble us By stern Affliction's hand— To render desolate a place In many a household band; Scattering misery around On some once smiling spot, While thou art linking friends, whose names Were once remember'd not.

Go! the New Year will read to us A yet unopened page; Perchance to sadden blooming youth— Perchance to lighten age. 'Tis meet that we should watch thee die With feelings kindly yet: We know not that a future hour We would not fain forget.

Ah, it is therefore we should mark With fear thy form depart: Time, in its changes, may but bring A changed and care-worn heart;

And, in remembrance of the smile, We should forget the tear: Nor turn with slighting from the past To greet the coming year. >>R. A.

The Song of the Waves

But oh! when our rage is past, We sorrow its work to see, We list to the dying blast, And glory at peace to be. Ha! ha! we glide to the bright earth's side, And we kiss each bank, in its velvet pride; And gay is our song, as we steal along— "Hail to the laughing waves!"

Coral, and weed, and shell, From their fathomless caves we tear, To bribe the land right well, The might of our wrath to bear. Ha! ha! they pine for the foaming brine, And they say to the sand—"We are none of thine;" And merry our song, as we sweep them along— "Hail to the sparkling waves!"

Dark as the raven's wing, Bright as the cloudless sky, Sorrow and joy we bring, As swift on our course we fly. Ha! ha! we delight in the moonlit night, To mirror the stars with their glances bright; And changeless our song, as we dance along— "Hail to the rippling waves."

Let the earth in its pride rejoice, And scoff at the ocean's bed; Yet ours is a mighty voice, That thrilleth each heart with dread. Ha! ha! we are free on the trackless sea; Merry, yet proud, our reign shall be; And still is our song, as we bound along, All hail to the mighty waves! >>H. A.

To the Evening Star

Eyes that oft have dwelt on mine, Star of Eve! behold thee shine: Oh! that each loved face could be Mirror'd in thine orb to me.

Paler grows each trembling ray; 'Neath the sun thy glories die, Fading, like my hopes, away, In yon blue and distant sky. Thoughts, that by thy welcome beam Seem recalled as in a dream; And the joys thou bring'st to me, Star of Eve! they die with thee. >>H. A.

The Lay of the Gipsy

No riches I boast, no comforts I own, Save those I procure by this strong arm alone. A tent for my home, and the ground for my bed, With the giant trees casting their shade o'er my head, And the summer breeze sighing me softly to sleep— Oh! monarchs might envy my slumbers so deep. I am free of the world! I can roam where I will— Over mountain and sea, over valley and hill. I enter unquestioned in palace and tower; To the flattered and high-born in beauty's bower, I am welcome; nay, more—I am needed to try My skill in foretelling her destiny; And she, to the world so disdainful and proud, With terror and dread to the gipsy has bowed. None dare to oppose me—the stoutest grows pale, And the bravest will shrink, as he lists to the tale— Of the curse I can breathe, of the power that I hold, Of the spells that I weave round the stately and bold; And I, the wild son of the mountain and moor, (Can shake by my presence the rich and the poor. Ye children of cities, your wealth I despise; And the titles and lands that so dearly ye prize. Give me the blue sky, and the rich-tinted trees, The soft summer air, and the fresh autumn breeze; Give me the bright picture of streamlet and fell, The calm silver lake, and the deep forest dell. Is there aught that can yield me, in castle or tower, The pleasure I find in my lone greenwood bower?

Where I bask in the sun's golden lustre all day, Or watch the pale moon as she glides on her way, With none to molest me, no law save my own. I am monarch and lord in the forest alone, And I would not exchange one old tree from my haunt For a score of those gems which so proudly ye vaunt; I covet them not—1 can look on as bright, When the dew-drops are tinting the flowers with light, Or the glow-worm is shining the fresh leaves between, When the sunset has passed o'er the wild woodland scene. Have ye aught to bestow, 'midst the riches ye own, Like the star-lighted roof of my free sylvan throne? Ye have not, ye have not; your treasures I spurn! From all that ye cherish so fondly I turn. Let me live, let me die, 'midst the scenes that I love— The bright earth beneath, and the blue sky above; The dance neath the moonlight, the feast in the dell, The joyous excitement by forest and fell; The right to pass onward, unquestioned and free, And the bold daring life of the Gipsy for me. >>H. A.

Summer's last Lay

Why know ye not yet, 'tis for you to be gay When the world's tempests rise, when its joys pass away! 'Tis for you, in your path through its deserts, to find Your clear stream within, in a right-thinking mind! List to her, there is delight in the smile So radiant now, so long yearned for erewhile! When the hand you have stretched has uplifted Despair, And o'er its dark mantle cast Hope's garment fair; There is joy in remembrance of Gratitude's tear, Of the sunlight you gave to the wilderness drear; Is't for you then to sorrow, when Peace doth but rest In slumber, awaiting the call to your breast? Oh! scorn ye its blessing? deride ye its might To give day to your souls when around ye is night? List to her!—Summer is passing away, To cast, o'er a far-distant realm, her bright sway. (Already the first trace of Autumn is seen; Ev'n now is his footstep more marked on the green.) Yet leaves she with sorrow; fain, fain would she mark The light she could kindle in each bosom dark; She gladly would yield ye her last parting sigh, Did ye watch her depart with Hope's glistening eye, And would ye do this? Though she passeth away In your Winter-chilled hearts, let the Summer's warmth stay;

Let it melt the iced current of sympathy there, And the sere things of Earth make ye look on as fair! Let it aid you, by binding to yours the cold heart, To make, by your sunshine, its dark clouds depart; Let it lead you, while basking in bliss of your own, To feel 'tis not bliss, if you hold it alone. Oh! thus 'tis to mark Summer pass with a smile; Tho' each season changed with regretting, erewhile; 'Tis thus to view calmly Time's step speed along, And listen in peace to bright Summer's last song; You have gathered her gifts, and have scattered again Where'er Summer's gifts have been yearned for in vain, And the blessing upon you is but that bright sun Which, like Summer-warmth, cheers him whose duty is done. >>R. A.

The Youth and the Withered Tree

But the joyous soul, the open heart, The thoughts with guile that had no part, Where were they now?

How changed that man so proudly cold, From the gallant youth of bearing bold In days of yore! Did ever pass that time long gone, When he looked the withered tree upon, His memory o'er?

Aye! and his brain with anguish burned, And from the busy world he turned In bitter scorn; When he would silently recall The heart so prompt to feel for all, He then had borne.

Years still rolled on, when one bright day, Ere Autumn hues had pass'd away For winter snow; When e'en the withered tree looked bright, Beneath the rich and streaming light Of the sunset's glow;

There stood beside its leafless bough An aged man, with furrowed brow And silv'ry hair.

Full many a year had o'er him pass'd, Full many a flower had bloomed since last He had been there.

With the bright and sunny smile of youth, With bounding step and heart of truth, He left it then: A feeble man, by sickness bowed, While whitened was the brow so proud, He came again.

And mournfully he looked around Upon the well-remembered ground Of bygone years; He had turned him from the world at last; He had mourned his pride and errors past, With bitter tears.

And now he came to look once more, Ere yet his stay on earth was o'er, Each spot upon; Where in his childhood he had played, Where in his joyous glee he strayed, In years long gone.

But dearer to his memory Was that old and leafless withered tree Than all beside;

For he thought upon the sunny time, When he in all his youth's fresh prime, Each change defied.

And his heart with yearning fondness turned To those years when falsehood he had spurned, With proud disdain; And he humbly knelt him down to pray That the peace he felt in childhood's day Might come again.

And granted was that chastened prayer, Breathed forth in deep repentance there, With bended knee; For gentle was his calm decay, And they laid him, when he pass'd away, 'Neath the Withered Tree. >>H. A.

The Power of doing Good

No! the kind word, the friendship true, That change doth never know; Though the cold breath of Poverty Upon a friend may blow.

The ready hand stretched forth to raise The crushed, yet erring one; The lips that dare to speak of wrong When worth lies trampled on; These, tho' but slight their pow'r appears, Peace to the soul may bring, And heal a wound when gold could give No balm to suffering.

And since such humble deeds may call A blessing on our path, Why seek we still where happiness Its dwelling never hath? Let us not reach the stately bough That waveth far on high, But stoop to pluck the velvet moss That at our feet doth lie. >>H. A.

To a Valued Preceptress

Loved sharer and soother of joys and of sorrows, In moments of gladness, in long hours of care, Afar from thee e'er may life's wild tempests darken, Thy sunshine ne'er fade to the gloom of despair: With the dreams of my childhood, a fervent prayer rises, That o'er Trouble's waters Joy's shore may be won; Together we have seen dark Night close around us, Together may watch it give place to our sun. >>R. A.

The Seasons

Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger fair? Tell me, ye birds of the balmy air! O mortal! this stranger is joyous Spring; Soon shall the earth with his footsteps ring.

Who cometh, who cometh, with laugh and song, Bearing rich fruits and bright flowers along? The rose and the lily are twined on her brow, Light is her step 'neath the dark forest bough; Swift at her presence the clouds pass away, Bright glows the earth 'neath the sun's golden ray: Soft sighs the breeze as she comes in her pride, And panting, the kine seek the cool river side. Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger bright? Answer me, stars of the peaceful night! O mortal! 'tis Summer, who casteth her spell Over forest and plain, over mountain and dell.

Who cometh, who cometh, with sober pace? Clusters of vine-leaves o'ershadow his face; Clasped in his hand are the thick sheaves of corn, And the hunter's wild notes on his footsteps are borne. Lo! as he cometh, the leaves fall and die, And a deep yellow tint hath spread over the sky: The poppies and corn-flow'rs wave high him to greet, And the rich purple grape lays its stores at his feet.

Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger gay? Speak, oh! ye birds, ere he vanish away! O mortal! 'tis Autumn, who blithely hath come To gladden the fields with his harvest home.

Who cometh, who cometh, in mantle grey, While the blossoms and leaves at his breath pass away? The holly is twined in his thin, whitened hair; E'en, as he passes, the forests are hare. Icicles hang from the garment he wears; Ivy is bound on the staff that he bears; Fast from his presence the startled birds fly, And the chilling wind sweeps through the dark cloudy sky. Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger dread? Say, oh! ye leaves from the forest trees shed! O mortal! 'tis Winter: we fly from his blast. Fare ye well, fare ye well! 'till his sojourn be past. >>H. A.

Tears of Bitterness

And calmly, as his life had passed, Passed forth his spirit bright; And the child awoke to rapture's day, And the man to sorrow's night.

Still seemed it as a dream, until The grass grew o'er the dead, And the flowers he had cherished Waved gently o'er his head;

For the father's heart still, still it clung To the grave of all his joy: The brilliant future of his hopes Lay with his fair-haired boy.

And he thought the tears which ever dewed That tomb of loveliness, Had, far beyond all other tears, Of a stern world's bitterness.

But years have passed; and, passing, can Bring balm to blighted hearts; And the parent's grief—like morning mists Before the sun—departs.

He has started from his woe to feel Again love's joys and fears, And paused upon his lonely path Through this dark vale of tears;

To circle, with his time-chilled hopes, Another spirit bright; To welcome to his darkened soul Once more a ray of light.

Aye, once again young footsteps ring In the deserted halls; And the shadow of a fair young form On each gloomy spot there falls.

More years have passed, and that laugh of mirth Hath changed in its glad tone; In childhood's hour we must seek to list To the careless laugh alone.

'Tis manhood: and that laugh but wakes In scorn of guiding age, Mocking the hand that pointeth out Fate's darkly-written page—

And then that parent stands bereft Of the heart's peace and pride; Made desolate on earth by one, Best loved of all beside!

Left to watch o'er the fallen shrine, By Guilt's red hand laid low, To pass alone again upon His weary way of woe.

To see the young heart turned to sin, The young brow seared by shame; To know that justice dares not breathe The so-long-honoured name:

Left to lay all of hope within A lone and guilt-made grave; Where e'en earth's blossoms droop, as o'er A felon form they wave.

It seemed as if he had but lived And loved to learn of woe; How wild the doom which man would call His happiness below!

How oft the frowns on fortune's brow May be its smiles—and care May make so dark the soul at last, That e'en past gloom seems fair!

And how there may be solace found For the 'reft heart's despair, When it but mourns one passed to bliss— One for this earth too fair.

How there may be sad tears for such, Which time's swift hand can dry; Unmingled with the bitter drops Of hopeless misery!

Tears which—the dark hour gone—will flow Like the untroubled stream, And gently cease, when that past grief Is as a sadd'ning dream. >>R. A.

The Child and the Sunbeam

Wilt thou not, ah, then, remain, Brightening my thoughts again? Much I love thy joyous ray Sunbeam, pass not yet away!

Gentle child! I'm call'd afar, Higher than the gleaming star, Distant realms to shine upon, Ere my daily task is done. O'er the mountain-tops I go, Sparkling on the crusted snow, And within the valley green Cheeringly my light is seen. The captive, in his prison cell, Loves to meet my glance full well; For my coming seems to bring Solace to his suffering. To the dying one I go, With my soft and sunny glow, And the bed of sickness light With my smile of summer bright: Peasant's cot and stately tower, Rushing stream and greenwood bower, All must greeted be by me Ere, fair child, I look on thee.

Joyous sunbeam! linger not; Haste thee to each distant spot.

Others pine thy light to see, Linger not, ah, then, with me; For my heart with grief would break, Should they sorrow for thy sake; And to-morrow thou wilt come Smiling on my cottage home. Dearly though I love thy ray, Gladsome sunbeam, pass away! >>H. A.

The Wandering Minstrel

As the soul-wearied pilgrim, Through a world of ceaseless care, Watches, at last, fate's low'ring clouds Sweep by, without despair— So is it with the stricken heart, Whose dreams of joy are o'er; Through its drear path of life, deceived By hope's mirage no more: So is it with the heart ye seek To gladden, as your own, The sickening, unpitied heart Of the Wand'ring Minstrel lone.

Would ye raise the fancied cup of bliss To the pale and trembling lip, And bid it dream it tastes the draught It, waking, could not sip? Would ye ask for tones of gladness, Whose echoes must be sighs? Would ye seek for sunny smiles of joy, In wan and care-dimmed eyes? Then ask not lays of pleasure Where their memory is gone; Ye can list no gayer measure From the Wand'ring Minstrel lone. >>R. A.