"Open, oh Heaven! we bear her, This gentle maiden mild, Earth's griefs we gladly spare her, From earthly joys we tear her, Still undefiled; And to thine arms we bear her, Thine own, thy child.

"Open, oh Heaven! no morrow Will see this joy o'ercast, No pain, no tears, no sorrow, Her gentle heart will borrow; Sad life is past; Shielded and safe from sorrow, At home at last."

But the vision faded and all was still, On the purple valley and distant hill.

No sound was there save the wailing breeze, The rain, and the rustling cypress trees.

VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE

What is it you ask me, darling?

All my stories, child, you know; I have no strange dreams to tell you, Pictures I have none to show.

Tell you glorious scenes of travel?

Nay, my child, that cannot be, I have seen no foreign countries, Marvels none on land or sea.

Yet strange sights in truth I witness, And I gaze until I tire, Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire.

There, last night, I saw a cavern, Black as pitch; within it lay Coiled in many folds a dragon, Glaring as if turned at bay.

And a knight in dismal armour On a winged eagle came, To do battle with this dragon; And his crest was all of flame.

As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, By a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round.

That was gone, and lo! before me, A cathedral vast and grim; I could almost hear the organ Peal alone the arches dim.

As I watched the wreathed pillars, Groves of stately palms arose, And a group of swarthy Indians Stealing on some sleeping foes.

Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, Dashed and sparkled; and beside Lay a broken marble monster, Mouth and eyes were staring wide.

Then I saw a maiden wreathing Starry flowers in garlands sweet; Did she see the fiery serpent That was wrapped about her feet?

That fell crashing all and vanished; And I saw two armies close-- I could almost hear the clarions, And the shouting of the foes.

They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild, Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child.

And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears, And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years.

Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay, Till the shade had gathered round me-- And the fire had died away.

VERSE: THE SETTLERS

Two stranger youths in the Far West, Beneath the ancient forest trees, Pausing, amid their toil to rest, Spake of their home beyond the seas; Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, Of the hearts they loved so well.

In their chilly northern country.

"Would," they cried, "some voice could tell Where they are, our own beloved ones!"

They looked up to the evening sky Half hidden by the giant branches, But heard no angel-voice reply.

All silent was the quiet evening; Silent were the ancient trees; They only heard the murmuring song Of the summer breeze, That gently played among The acacia trees.

And did no warning spirit answer, Amid the silence all around; "Before the lowly village altar She thou lovest may be found, Thou, who trustest still so blindly, Know she stands a smiling bride!

Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly To the stranger at her side.

Yes, this day thou art forgotten, Forgotten, too, thy last farewell, All the vows that she has spoken, And thy heart has kept so well.

Dream no more of a starry future, In thy home beyond the seas!"

But he only heard the gentle sigh Of the summer breeze, So softly pa.s.sing by The acacia trees.

And vainly, too, the other, looking Smiling up through hopeful tears, Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, She I love these many years?"

He heard no echo calling faintly: "Lo, she lieth cold and pale, And her smile so calm and saintly Heeds not grieving sob or wail-- Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, Pure as she is, and as white, Or the solemn chanting voices, Or the taper's ghastly light."

But silent still was the ancient forest, Silent were the gloomy trees, He only heard the wailing sound Of the summer breeze, That sadly played around The acacia trees

VERSE: HUSH

"I can scarcely hear," she murmured, "For my heart beats loud and fast, But surely, in the far, far distance, I can hear a sound at last."

"It is only the reapers singing, As they carry home their sheaves, And the evening breeze has risen, And rustles the dying leaves."

"Listen! there are voices talking."

Calmly still she strove to speak, Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, And the red flushed in her cheek.

"It is only the children playing Below, now their work is done, And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled By the rays of the setting sun."

Fainter grew her voice, and weaker As with anxious eyes she cried, "Down the avenue of chestnuts, I can hear a horseman ride."

"It was only the deer that were feeding In a herd on the clover gra.s.s, They were startled, and fled to the thicket, As they saw the reapers pa.s.s."

Now the night arose in silence, Birds lay in their leafy nest, And the deer couched in the forest, And the children were at rest: There was only a sound of weeping From watchers around a bed, But Rest to the weary spirit, Peace to the quiet Dead!

VERSE: HOURS

When the bright stars came out last night, And the dew lay on the flowers, I had a vision of delight-- A dream of by-gone hours.

Those hours that came and fled so fast, Of pleasure or of pain, As phantoms rose from out the past Before my eyes again.

With beating heart did I behold A train of joyous hours, Lit with the radiant light of old, And, smiling, crowned with flowers.

And some were hours of childish sorrow, A mimicry of pain, That through their tears looked for a morrow They knew must smile again.

Those hours of hope that longed for life, And wished their part begun, And ere the summons to the strife, Dreamed that the field was won.

I knew the echo of their voice, The starry crowns they wore; The vision made my soul rejoice With the old thrill of yore.