There is but one to whom my hopes are clinging

As clings the bee unto the morning flower,
There is but one to whom my thoughts are winging 
Their dove-like passage through each silent hour: 
One who has made my heart her summer bower. 5
Feeling and passion there forever bloom
For her, who, by her love's mysterious power,
Dispels the languor of my spirit's gloom,
And lifts my dead heart up, like Lazarus from the tomb.




Maiden! from whose large, intellectual eyes,


My soul first drank love's immortality,

Plume my weak spirit for its chosen skies,

'T would falter in its mission without thee.

Conduct its flight; and if its musings be

Oft'ner of earth than heaven, bear awhile


With what is native to mortality:

It dare not err exulting in thy smile:

Look on it with thine eyes, and keep it free from guile.




The bark leaps love-fraught from the land; the sea

Lies calm before us. Many an isle is there,


Clad with soft verdure; many a stately tree

Uplifts its leafy branches through the air;

The amorous current bathes the islets fair,

As we skip, youth-like, o'er the limpid waves;

White cloudlets speck the golden atmosphere,


Through which the passionate sun looks down, and graves

His image on the pearls that boil from the deep caves,

And bathe the vessel's prow. Isle after isle

Is passed, as we glide tortuously through

The opening vistas, that uprise and smile


Upon us from the ever-changing view.

Here nature, lavish of her wealth, did strew

Her flocks of panting islets on the breast

Of the admiring River, where they grew,

Like shapes of Beauty, formed to give a zest


To the charmed mind, like waking Visions of the Blest.




The silver-sinewed arms of the proud Lake,

Love-wild, embrace each islet tenderly,

The zephyrs kiss the flowers when they wake

At morn, flushed with a rare simplicity;


See how they bloom around yon birchen tree,

And smile along the bank, by the sandy shore,

In lovely groups--a fair community!

The embossed rocks glitter like golden ore,

And here, the o'erarching trees form a fantastic bower.




Red walls of granite rise on either hand,

Rugged and smooth; a proud young eagle soars

Above the stately evergreens, that stand

Like watchful sentinels on these God-built towers;

And near yon beds of many-colored flowers


Browse two majestic deer, and at their side

A spotted fawn all innocently cowers;

In the rank brushwood it attempts to hide,

While the strong-antlered stag steps forth with lordly stride,




And slakes his thirst, undaunted, at the stream.


Isles of o'erwhelming beauty! surely here

The wild enthusiast might live, and dream

His life away.  No Nymphic trains appear,

To charm the pale Ideal Worshipper

Of Beauty; nor Nereids from the deeps below;


Nor hideous Gnomes, to fill the breast with fear;

But crystal streams through endless landscapes flow,

And o'er the clustering Isles the softest breezes blow.




Here the Spirit of Beauty keepeth

Jubilee for evermore;


Here the Voice of Gladness leapeth,

Echoing from shore to shore.

O'er the hidden watery valley,

O'er each buried wood and glade,

Dances our delighted galley,


Through the sunlight and the shade--

Dances o'er the granite cells,

Where the Soul of Beauty dwells:


Here the flowers are ever springing,

While the summer breezes blow;


Here the hours are ever clinging,

Loitering before they go;

Playing round each beauteous islet,

Loath to leave the sunny shore,

Where, upon her couch of violet,


Beauty sits for evermore--

Sits and smiles by day and night,

Hand in hand with pure Delight.


Here the Spirit of Beauty dwelleth

In each palpitating tree,


In each amber wave that welleth

From its home, beneath the sea;

In the moss upon the granite,

In each calm, secluded bay,

With the zephyr trains that fan it


With their sweet breaths all the day--

On the waters, on the shore,

Beauty dwelleth evermore!




Yes, here the Genius of Beauty truly dwells.

I worship Truth and Beauty in my soul.


The pure and prismatic globule that upwells

From the blue deep; the psalmy waves that roll

Before the hurricane; the outspread scroll

Of heaven, with its written tomes of stars;

The dew-drop on the leaf: These I extol,


And all alike--each one a Spirit-Mars,

Guarding my Victor-Soul above Earth's prison bars.




There was a stately Maiden once, who made
These Isles her home.  Oft has her lightsome skiff
Toyed with the waters; and the velvet glade, 105
The shadowy woodland, and the granite cliff,
Joyed at her footsteps. Here the Brigand Chief,
Her father, lived, an outlaw.  Her soul's pride
Was ministering to his wants.  In brief,
The wildest midnight she would cross the tide, 110
Full of a daughter's love, to hasten to his side.



Queen of the Isles! she well deserved the name:
In look, in action, in repose a Queen!
Some Poet-Muse may yet hand down to fame
Her woman's courage, and her classic mien; 115
Some Painter's skill immortalize the scene,
And blend with it that Maiden's history;
Some Sculptor's hand from the rough marble glean
An eloquent Thought, whose truthfulness shall be
The expounder of her worth and moral dignity. 120



On, through the lovely Archipelago,
Glides the swift bark.  Soft summer matins ring
From every isle.  The wind fowl come and go,
Regardless of our presence.  On the wing,
And perched upon the boughs, the gay birds sing 125
Their loves: This is their summer paradise;
From morn till night their joyous caroling
Delights the ear, and through the lucent skies
Ascends the choral hymn in softest symphonies.



The Spring is gone--light, genial-hearted Spring! 130
Whose breath gives odor to the violet,
Crimsons the wild rose, tints the blackbird's wing,
Unfolds the buttercup.  Spring that has set
To music the laughter of the rivulet,
Sent warm pulsations through the hearts of hills, 135
Reclothed the forests, made the valleys wet
With pearly dew, and waked the grave old mills
From their calm sleep, by the loud rippling of the rills.



Long years ago the early Voyageurs
Gladdened these wilds with some romantic air; 140
The moonlight, dancing on their dripping oars,
Showed the slow batteaux passing by with care,
Impelled by rustic crews, as debonnair
As ever struck pale Sorrow dumb with Song:
Many a dropping spirit longed to share 145
Their pleasant melodies, that swept among
The echo-haunted woods, in accents clear and strong.



See, we have left the Islands far behind,
And pass into a calm, pellucid Lake.
Merrily dance the billows! for the wind 150
Rises all fresh and healthful in our wake,
Up start large flocks of waterfowl, that shake
The spray from their glossed plumage, as they fly
To seek the shelter of some island brake;
Now like dark clouds they seem against the sky, 155
So vast the numbers are that pass us swiftly by.




Merrily dance the billows! Cheerily leaps

Our fearless bark!--it loves to skim the sea,

The River and the Lake, when o'er them sweeps

The swift unwearied billow fearlessly.


Stretches its spotless sail!--it tightens--see!

How the wind curves the waters all around,

Ploughing into their bosoms fitfully.

Hark to the tempest's dismal shriek! its bound,

Like to an earthquake, makes the river's depths resound. 165



Through the dense air the terror-stricken clouds

Fly, tortured by the pursuing hurricane.

Fast bound the milky billows--the white shrouds

That wind around the mariner on the main.

Nay, shrink not, dark-eyed one! they weave no chain


For us--we're free! Ha! ha! our gallant bark

Spurns the white wave with eloquent disdain;

She laughs to scorn the waters wild and dark,

She revels in the Storm, the Tempest loves to mark.



Hoarsely reverberates the thunder loud 175

Through the charged air. The fiery lightnings leap

Forth, from their mystic dwelling in the cloud;

Electric shafts through all the heavens sweep,

And penetrate the surface of the deep,

Like flaming arrows from the bow of wrath,


Shot down some dark and cloud-pavilioned steep;

Each red-hot bolt the fearful power hath

To scatter blight and death along its burning path.




A wild joy fills my overburdened brain.
My ears drink from each thunder peal. 185
I glory in the lightings and the rain.
There is no joy like this!  With thee to feel
And share each impulse, makes my spirit kneel.
Sing to me, love! my heart is painted with bliss!
Thy voice alone can quicken and unseal 190
The inner depths of feeling.  Grant me this:
Flood me with Song, and loose the founts of Happiness.



Oh! mighty, Oh! mysterious One!

Thou willest, and the lightnings fly,

Flame-winged and silent, through the sky,


Outglowing the exultant sun.


Along the hills reverberates

The eloquent, sonorous bass,

Shaking the earth from place to place,

Then heavenward to Thy temple gates,



Where every whisper, every tone

Of music, from the earth, rolls in,

Whether from putrid lips of sin,

Or girdled by a prayerful zone.


Thy Voice is in the thunder cloud,


The Presence in the lightning's fire--

Breathings of an Almighty Ire,

That wraps the heavens in a shroud


Of blinding light, before whose heat

The granite mountains melt away,


The finite Man falls down to pray

For mercy at his Maker's feet.


How Vast art Thou! how minute he!--

A human tissue which a breath

Can hurl from quickest life to death--


An atom to Immensity.


Oh! wondrous Power! Oh! strength Divine!

Oh! weak and insignific Man!--

Weak here, but in the After-plan

Not less eterne than Thee and Thine!




Mysterious power of Song! the lips of Love

Make mellower music than a thousand strings

Of harps. 'Mine eyes my grosser thoughts remove,

But thy sweet voice doth give my spirit wings,

As up the air melodious whisperings,


Ethereal harmonies, divinely low,

Float, like the echoes which the morning flings

From the pleased valleys--hymns that upward flow,

Warming the purple hills with praises as they go.



Hast thou not heard upon a summer's eve 230

The musical pulsations of the air?

The voices of the mountain pines, that weave

Their low complainings with the atmosphere?

Thus, throughout Nature, floating everywhere,

Eternal symphonies, low, rich and deep,


Pass from her Poet-lips. Her children hear

And treasure up these lyrics, as they sweep

With Zephyrus through the air, or visit them in sleep.



First, the sweet Idyls from the shepherd vales,

Where Peace and rural Happiness abide;


Bird-hymns and wild rejoicings in the dales,

Where the swart Peasant cheers his rustic Bride;

Anthems from solitary plains that glide

To where the death-dirge wails along the sea;

Low chantings from the stars, and far and wide


The Minstrel Breezes, meeting playfully,

Rehearse their wanderings in Canzonet and Glee:




While the deep forest rolls its Psalmody
Of Voices from its music-haunted aisles;
And the strong Choruses leap joyfully 250
From hill to hill, or where the sunlight smiles
Upon the mountain summits, tinging miles
Of clouded crag and heaven-tinted air;
Last, the winged Tempest, from the long defiles
Emerging, like a Lyric God, to share 255
The genial Feast of Sounds that roused him from his lair.



The Spirits of the Storm are all abroad;
Of various natures, good and bad, are they;
Like mortal dwellers on this mundane clod,
Some evil natures, others good, obey. 260
As through the air they cleave their weird way,
Their separate passions show: Some smite the trees,
The innocent flowers, or the granite gray,
Or in huge heaps uproll the shouting seas;
While others weep, as now, wrecked Nature's obsequies. 265



In the far distance rolls the Thunder-Car,
Faintly the echo of its wheels is heard;
No more is felt the elemental jar;
The Curtains of the Storm are gently stirred,
And pushed aside; and slowly, at the Word 270
Of Him who placed it first within the cloud,
A gorgeous rainbow rises. The dark bird
Of night is on the wing; it cries aloud;
And the white sea gull floats where erst the thunder ploughed.



The storm is lulled; the heaving waves subside; 275

The lightning's flash grows fainter; and the eye

Can just perceive the silver girdle tied

About the groups of pleasant Isles that lie

Before us. Down the hurrying stream we fly,

Like a white dove unto its nest. The eve


Has closed around us, and the brightening sky 

Yearns for the coming stars.  Nobly we leave

The Lake, and glide through scenes that Fairy hands might weave.


Pale Hesper smiles upon us through the gloom,

An unassuming Pioneer of Night,


Like a chrysalis that has burst its tomb,

And spread its gleaming pinions to the light.

Soft moon-beams fall like love-looks on the sight,

And earth and sky seem blending into one,

Even as our hearts' deep virtues, love, unite,


Like meeting pilgrims at the set of sun

Grasping each other's hands, their joyous labors done.



Mild Evening, like a pensive Vestal Nun,

  Sits veiled, lamenting for the truant Hours;

  The Day has sprung to heaven to seek the Sun,


  And left her weeping on her couch of flowers;

  Heaven's Angels, bearing moonlight to the bowers

  Where True Love dwells, and Virtue sits enthroned,

  In golden urns collect the pearly showers,

  Singing sweet idyls, low and silver-toned,


Till the enameled tears some cherub brow have zoned.




God of the early Morning light!

Whose Hand the Gates of Dawn unbars;

God of the Evening and the Night!

Who guides the chariots of the stars:


We thank Thee for the air we breathe,

The waves that roll, the winds that rise,

For all Thy wondrous works beneath,

For all the glories of the skies.


We bless Thee for the soothing Calm


That broods below the Evening's wings,

We bless Thee for the Spirit-balm

The gentle-footed Twilight brings.

Promptings of Hope, and Joy, and Love,

Exalt our minds and set them free,


And Prayer-wreaths white as Aaron's Dove

Ascend like incense up to Thee.


Gently the shades of Night come down,

Glooming the Evening's silver gray,

Pale Twilight puts aside he crown,


And follows the dim Ghost of Day.

So at the threshold of life's close,

We tread the verge of heaven's goal,

Peace, like a spirit, brings repose

To the calm Twilight of the Soul.




There is no Twilight in yon queenly Moon.
At least the philosophic vision ne'er,
At midnight's solemn, thought-inducing noon,
Could trace the existence of an atmosphere.
No twilight and no Song!  No blue sky, clear 330
As Woman's purest and most crystal thought
Rising to heaven on the wings of prayer!
No mountain echoes, like wild music, caught
From Nature's hallowed lips, to waiting Genii taught.



Its valleys know not either day or night; 335

Like mountain shadows darkening the plain

They slumber on, unconscious of the light

That falls on earth, like sun-thoughts on the brain.

And yet we feel her presence, as the main

Thrills to the diapason of the storm;


When the waves spring to their feet and join the strain,

These mighty wrestlers a strong chorus form,

And sing her praise, in tones deep, passionate and warm.



Yon rock, that felt the lightning's burning kiss,

Has melted at the fervor of its breath,


As it leaped, glowing, from the deep abyss,

On wings of fire, to the distant heath,

Shaking the firm foundations underneath.

Yon shattered trunks that strew the watery way,

Yon floating beds of flowers, where many a wreath

 Was woven by the storm, have felt the play
Of the hot lightning's wings, whose touch is swift decay.



And now 'tis Night. A myriad stars have come

To cheer the earth, and sentinel the skies.

The full-orbed moon irradiates the gloom,


And fills the air with light. Each Islet lies

Immersed in shadow, soft as thy dark eyes;

Swift through the sinuous path our vessel glides,

Now hidden by the massive promontories,

Anon the bubbling silver from its sides

Spurning, like a wild bird, whose home is on the tides.



Here Nature holds her Carnival of Isles.
Steeped in warm sunlight all the merry day,
Each nodding tree and floating greenwood smiles,
And moss-crowned monsters move in grim array; 365
All night the Fisher spears his finny prey;
The piney flambeaux reddening the deep,
Past the dim shores, or up some mimic bay:
Like grotesque banditti they boldly sweep
Upon the startled prey, and stab them while they sleep.   370



Many a tale of legendary lore
Is told of these romantic Isles. The feet
Of the Red Man have pressed each wave-zoned shore,
And many an eye of beauty oft did greet
The painted warriors and their birchen fleet, 375
As they returned with trophies of the slain.
That race has passed away; their fair retreat
In its primeval loneness smiles again,
Save where some vessel snaps the isle-enwoven chain:



Save where the echo of the huntsman's gun   380
Startles the wild duck from some shallow nook,
Or the swift hounds' deep baying, as they run,
Rouses the lounging student from his book;
Or where, assembled by some sedgy brook;
A pic-nic party, resting in the shade, 385
Spring pleasedly to their feet, to catch a look
At the strong steamer, through the watery glade
Ploughing, like a huge serpent from its ambuscade.



We have well-nigh outstripped the nimble breeze;

The silken sail incurves the pliant mast;                


As flies the comet through the infinities,

So speeds our darling shallop, lightning-fast.

The merry Isles have floated idly past;

And suddenly the waters boil and leap,

On either side the foamy spray is cast,    

Hoarse Genii through the shouting Rapid sweep,
And pilot us unharmed adown the hissing steep.



The startled GALOPS shout as we draw nigh,

The SAULT, delighted, hails our reckless bark,

The graceful CEDARS murmur joyously


The vexed CASCADES threaten our little ark,

That sweeps, love-freighted, to its distant mark.

Again the troubled deep heaps surge on surge,

And howling billows sweep the waters dark,

Stunning the ear with their stentorian dirge,

That loudens as they strike the rocks' resisting verge.



And we have passed the terrible LACHINE,

Have felt a fearless tremor thrill the soul,

As the huge waves upreared their crests of green,

Holding our feathery bark in their control,


As a strong eagle holds an oriole.

The brain grows dizzy with the whirl and hiss

Of the fast-crowding billows, as they roll,

Like struggling Demons, to the vexed abyss,

Lashing the tortured crags with wild, demoniac bliss. 415



MONT ROYALE rises proudly on the view,

A Royal Mount, indeed, with verdure crowned,

Bedecked with regal dwellings, not a few,

Which here and there adorn the mighty mound.

ST. HELEN'S next, a fair, enchanted ground,


A stately Isle in glowing foliage dressed,

Laved by the dark St. Lawrence all around,

Giving a grace to its enamored breast,

As pleasing to the eye as Hochelaga's crest.



I've stood upon yon Mountain when the sun 425
Entered his cloud-built palace in the west,
Like a proud, Royal Nimrod, who had won
His home, and doffed his richest-broidered vest.
Beneath me, the vast city lay at rest;
Its great heart throbbing gently, like the close 430
Of Day. A prayer lay folded in my breast,
And from my lips in silence it uprose,
For heaven's blessing on that city's calm repose.



For there dwelt one, who, in my Boyhood's days,
I loved with a deep passion. Many years 435
Have sung around me the wild paraphrase
Of life since then; and I've shed bitter tears,
And smiled heart-smiles; known many hopes and fears;
But my Boy-love has stood the test of time,
And ripened like her beauty. The fool leers 440
At Love's sun mellowing fair Childhood's clime,
Love, beauteous to the Child, to Man becomes sublime.



There was a joyousness within her eyes,
Like the sun's light illumining the blue
Of heaven, making earth a paradise. 445
Gladness, like a celestial spirit passing through
The gates of morn, rose white-winged on the view,
Whene'er you looked upon her lovely face.
Love sat upon her lips, and love's sweet dew
Fell from them, leaving there a sunny trace, 450
As 'f touched by angel's wings they caught angelic grace.



I could have mellowed in her light of Love,
And breathed my soul out on her lips of Song!

Afar off have I worshipped her, and strove

With my pure passion day by day. How long  455

Will my lone spirit wander through the throng

Of human hearts until it lives in Chine?

Know, Maiden, that my love is deep and strong

As yonder Rapid, and as serpentine,

Rock after rock it strikes, seeking a joy divine.




The balmy summer days are here,

The Robin warbleth in the tree,

But Summer, Spring, nor song-birds bring

One note of love from thee.


The roses will put forth their buds,


Green leaves adorn each ardent tree,

But in my heart will never start

One rose-but hope for thee.


The sun leans down to kiss the flowers,

To flush the blossoms of the tree,


But to my love no carrier-dove

Brings warmth and light from thee.


The happy woodlands throb with song,

Music is breathed from tree to tree;

With Winter's fleece these songs will cease,


But not my love for thee.




The dancing current, like a happy child,

Mellifluously laughs, as down the stream

We glide, past many a cot and rural wild,

Like visions mellowed by the moonlight's beam.


We cannot stay for these; a loftier theme

Awaits us. See! our shallop seems to feel

The joyous impulse of our waking dream,

And parts the waters with its anxious keel,

Exulting in the joys that through our bosoms steal. 485



Yet there are graceful landscapes thickly strewn
Along these banks, to muse on and admire;
Here stands a maiden cottage all alone,
There the low church extends its gleaming spire.­-
Scenes, where Arcadian dreamers might retire, 490
And live in pastoral meditation, free
From every low, inordinate desire.
Yon group of dwellings--what felicity
Speaks from their eloquent repose! where even he



Of lonely Vaucluse might have sighed, and ne'er 495
Been tempted by fair Psyche's winning smile
From his pure love's Penelope. And here,
VARENNES, like a fair Eden purged from guile,
Sits smiling on the night; yon aged pile
With its bright spires reposing on its breast. 500
Like a huge cloud that had come down to rest,
Looms far against the sky, and on its sombre crest



Shineth the Pilgrim's Cross, that long hath cheered
The weary wanderer from distant lands, 505
Who, as his stately pinnace onward steered,
Bless'd his Faith's symbol with uplifted hands.
Swift through the RICHELIEU! Past the white sands
That spangle fair BATISCAN'S pleasant shore
We glide, where fairy dwellings dot the strands; 510
 How gracefully yon aged elms brood o'er
The shrubbery that yearneth for their mystic lore,



When the winds commune with the tell-tale limbs,

And many-voicéd leaves. That is ST. PIERRE,

Where the tall poplars--which the night bedims,   

Lift their sharp outlines through the solemn air.
Past these white cottages to L'AVENIR,
Another site of beauty. Lovelier yet
THE PLATEAU, slumbering in the foliage there;
And gay CAP SAINTE, like a Wild Love, beset   520
With wooers, bringing gems to deck her coronet.



The Whippoorwill, among the slumberous trees,

Flingeth her solitary triple cry

Upon the busy lips of every breeze,

That wafts it in wild echoes up the sky,


And through the answering woods, incessantly.

Surely some pale Ophelia's spirit wails

In this remorseless bird's impassioned sigh,

That like a lost soul haunts the lonely dales!

Maiden, sing me one of thy pleasing madrigals. 530



Ere the dawn, one morning early,

Jeannie tripped the meadows o'er,

Passsing by the fields of barley,

By the cottage at the shore:

"There his faith was pledged and broken,


'Neath yon tree beside the Mill!"

From the tree, when she had spoken,

Came a dismal "Whip-poor-will!"

"Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!"

From the tree beside the Mill


Piped the doleful Whippoorwill.


"Truly," Jeannie said, "poor Willie?"

He was false to heaven and me;

He was false, and I was silly,

Yet the bird sings heartlessly.


Nevermore we'll sit at gloaming,

'Neath yon tree beside the Mill!"

Willie's heart has gone-a-roaming!"

Quoth the harsh bird--"Whip-poor-whill!"

"Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!"


From the tree beside the Mill

Piped the doleful Whippoorwill.


Jeannie's heart was all compassion,

Jeannie's lips a pardon sighed;

"Absent loves are all the fashion!"


"Whip-poor-will!" the rude bird cried.

From the pasture tripped the Maiden,

With her foamy milking pail,

Every roaming breeze was laden

With the strange bird's heartless wail:


"Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!"

In the tree beside the Mill

Piped the doleful Whippoorwill.


From the cottage by the river

Truant Willie, blushing, came,


Jeannie's heart would still misgive her,

Though he softly spake her name:

"Ever since that evening, Jeannie,

That we parted at the Mill,

All the night long, bright or rainy,


Shrieked that noisy Whip-poor-will!"

"Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!"

From the tree beside the Mill

Piped the saucy Whippoorwill.


On the Maiden's lips paused Willie,


Jeannie never asked the cause

But all patience, like a silly

Little Maiden as she was,

Held her mouth up like a flower,

That her bee might sip his fill,


While the bird, with startling power,

Shrieked his wildest Whip-poor-will!"

"Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!"

Nevermore beside the Mill

Piped that noisy Whippoorwill.




Th'inconstant moon has passed behind a cloud.

CAPE DIAMOND shows its sombre-colored bust,

As if the mournful Night had thrown a shroud

Over this pillar to a hero's dust.

Well may she weep; hers is no trivial trust;


  His cenotaph may crumble on the plain,

  Here stands a pile that dares the rebel's lust

  For spoliation: one that will remain­

A granite seal--brave Wolfe! set upon Victory's Fane.



 QUEBEC! how regally it crowns the height, 595

Like a tanned giant on a solid throne!

Unmindful of the sanguinary fight,

The roar of cannon mingling with the moan

Of mutilated soldiers years agone,

That gave the place a glory and a name


Among the nations. France was heard to groan;

England rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim­

A brave young chief had fall'n to vindicate her fame.



WOLFE and MONTCALM! two nobler names ne'er graced

The page of history, or the hostile plain;


No braver souls the storm of battle faced,

Regardless of the danger or the pain.

They pass'd unto their rest without a stain

Upon their nature or their generous hearts.

One graceful column to the noble twain

Speaks of a nation's gratitude, and starts
The tear that Valor claims, and Feeling's self imparts.



Far up the Golden Ladder of the Mom

Had climbed the sun, upon the Autumn day

That led me to these battlements. The corn


Upon the distant fields was ripe. Away

To the far left the swelling highlands lay;

The quiet cove, the river, bright and still;

The gallant ships that made the harbor gay;

And, like a Thought swayed by a potent Will, 620
POINT LEVI, seated at the foot of the Old Hill:



 What were the Gardens and the Terraces,

  The stately dwellings, and the monuments

  Upreared to human fame, compared to these?

  Those ancient hills stood proudly ere the tents 


Of the first Voyageurs--swart visitants

From the fair, sunny Loire--were pitched upon

Wild Stadacona's* height. The armaments

Whose mighty thunder clove the solid stone,

Defaced yon granite cape, that answered groan for groan.




* Stadacona--the original name for Quebec.




Down the rough slope Montmorenci's torrent pours,

We cannot view it by this feeble ray,

But, hark! its thunders leap along the shores,

Thrilling the cliffs that guard the beauteous bay;

And now the moon shines on our downward way,


Showing fair Orleans' enchanting Isle,

Its fields of grain, and meadows sweet with hay;

Along the fertile shores fresh landscapes smile,

Cheering the watchful eye for many a pleasant mile.



It seems like passing by some Fairy-realm.


The cottages are whiter than the snow.

Joy at the prow, and true love at the helm,

Both heaven and earth smile on us as we go.

Surely they never feel the breath of woe,
 The dwellers on this Isle. Spire after spire   645
Points to the heav'n whose presence seems to glow
Within their happy bosoms who aspire

To naught beyond their hearths, their own dear house-hold fire.




Peace to their cheerful homes! where bless'd Content

Reigns paramount throughout the circling year.


  A courteous, gentle race, as ever blent

  Religion with Simplicity. The cheer

  That greets the stranger who may wander here

  Glows with the zeal of hospitality.

  Peace to their quiet homes! where blanching fear


Ne'er enters, nursed by jealous rivalry.

From the world's bitter strife the Habitant is free.



The billowy River rolls its proudest wave,

The zephyrs have fled, dancing, o'er the hills,

And the winds tread the waters, wildly-grave,


Like the Storm-Harpists gliding down the rills

Of their own native mountains, 'gainst their wills.

Brighter the moon above us; brighter all

The patient stars, whose pensive beauty thrills

Our yearning souls, like distant tones that fall

On waiting ears hearkening for an Angel's call.



Brighter the night, and whiter every cot

And glancing spire that silvers in the moon;

Intensely glows each little garden plot;

The sparkling villages at random strewn

Along the brooding shore, where Bacchus,* boon
Companion of the merry crowd, once held
His regal court: his prudent subjects soon
 Stripped off his purple vestments, and rebelled,
And wisely still disown the Monarch they expelled. 675




* The Island of Orleans--once called the "Isle of Bacchus" from the abundance of its grapes, which have now entirely disappeared.




Now swiftly down towards the salt-breathed sea

The cool wind wafts us, and we bid farewell

To the lone Isle that slumbers on our lee;

Farewell, perchance, forever. Who can tell?

Years hence, in separate lands, our thoughts may dwell,


But for a little moment, on this night,

And Memory may wake within her cell,

And lead us here by this same starry light,

Our long-divided souls, embracing, reunite.




Part! the word must not be spoken!                    


Part! our hearts must ne'er be broken!

Rivers meet and mix forever,

Why are we, love, doomed to sever?

Oh! the cruel, cruel anguish!

How the senses droop and languish!   


For the fiat may be spoken,

And our hearts may both be broken! 



Comes the Night, the Evening greeting,

Ever thus behold them meeting;

But for us--what hope before us?


Not a star is shining o'er us;

But the heav'n of love is clouded,

Wildly, darkly, blackly shrouded,

For an iron tongue hath spoken,

And our hope in hope is broken!



In my brain a fire is burning,

Backward to my heart returning,

And my nerves, that drooped to sadness,

Are re-strung to desp'rate madness!

Leap, ye burning thoughts that rend me,


Let not Pity's voice befriend me!

Curs'd the lips that lie hath spoken!

For our hearts shall not be broken!




CAPE TORMENTS lifts itself above the hills

That gird it round about, like sentinels


Guarding some great king's palace, whose grandeur fills

Their hearts with pride and love. Up the steep dells

Crawl the night-vapors, dimming the gray swells

Of mount and hill that in the distance rise,

Cloud-like and faint. Ev'n on those uplands dwells

The faithful Habitant; and when he dies,
His children, jealous of the ancient family ties,



Keep the old Homestead sacred. What a night!

It must have borrowed somewhat of the day,

In honor of thine eyes, love. The warm light 


That bathes yon church and village, is as gay

And cheering as if the first golden ray

Of morning's sun had pierced it with its beams.

Some Recluse, yonder, keeps his holiday

In that obscure ravine. Peace to his dreams!

Uncursed with lust of gold, or wild, unholy schemes.



Still loftily looms the Cape! Still proudly soar
The vassal Hills--innumerable--vast!
And majesty and beauty evermore
Surfeit the sense with a divine repast. 730
Another group of dwellings--'t is the last;
Another spire flashing above the trees
That screen the little church. Our slender mast
Leans to the gale, and while the glorious breeze
Quickens our speed, look round, for there are charms to please 735



On either hand. A dream it well might be:

Hills rising here, and mountains looming there;

Islands reposing on a moonlit sea

With which the winds are toying; everywhere

The shores are bold, precipitous and fair.


GROSSE ISLE sits dreamily-languid; all around,

Its subject-islands slumber. In the air

The clouds have melted into light. No sound

Stirs the sweet calm, save where the jovial billows bound.




Press on, courageous bark!--the wind is fair, 745

As it should ever be when Love sets sail

Beneath such skies as these, whose glowing air

Quickens our souls, as odors scent the gale.

Soon will the stars be dim, the Moon grow pale,

As with Orion down the dreamy west


She wanders, like a Beauty, proud and frail,

To where her lonely couch waits to be press'd,

A fearful secret in her warm, voluptuous breast .




This Isle* might guard the entrance to a sphere

Of heavenly tranquillity! The mind


Puts off its weight of cares, for Beauty here

Sits like a wondrous deity enshrined

Among the hills. Oh, God! but Thou art kind!

ST. PAUL'S delightful BAY, fit mirror for

The stars, glows like a vision which the wind

Wafts by some Angel standing on the shore,
As bless'd as if he trod heaven's star-enameled floor.

*Isle Aux Coudres--Filbert Island.





The distant knolls are soft as midnight clouds

Filled with bright memories of departed day.

Like purple glories rolling up the woods, 


This rugged wilderness which we survey

Extends in wild, magnificent array,

To regions rarely trod by mortal feet.

Ev'n here, love, though we would, we cannot stay;

We cannot loiter near this calm retreat;

The Morn approaches, and his fiery steeds are fleet.



These two majestic hills* kneel down to kiss

The village at their feet; the cottages,

Pearl-like and glowing, speak of human bliss,

With a low, eloquent tongue. Fit symbols, these,


Of a diviner life--of perfect Ease

Allied to bless'd Repose.  The church spire looks

Like a sweet promise smiling through the trees;

While far beyond this loveliest of nooks,

The finely-rounded swells dream of the babbling brooks. 780

* At Little St. Paul's Bay--one of the most delightful pictures on the route.





EBOULEMENTS~ sleeps serenely in the arms

Of the Maternal hill, upon whose breast

It lies, like a sweet, infant soul, whose charms

Fill some fond mother's bosom with that rest

Caused by the presence of a heavenly guest.


How coyly--close--it nestles! how retired,

Half conscious of its charms, and half oppress'd,

As with a blushing sense of being admired;

As modest as a gem, with gem-like beauty fired.

~ A most delightful little village of this name, looking like a vision of Romance or Fairy-tale.





The stream reflects these cottages, like swans 790

Reposing on its surface, or faint dreams

But half remembered when the morning dawns,

And tremulous sleep wakes with the day's first beams.

Past the monotonous "CAPES."* The moonlight gleams

Full on the mossy slopes and banks that lie


Along the silent shores, as well beseems

So fair a region. Why, love, dost thou sigh?

But wherefore ask, loved one? My own heart tells me why:

* Les Caps.





Our spirits are as one. The morning, love,

Will part us. We have lived an age to-night. 


Love is immortal. Hope is from above.

Sit nearer to me, for thine eyes are bright

With tears. There is a fairer land in sight.

Our love is sphered with truth. Eternity

Will crown that love, if we but love aright;  

If Love be Truth, indeed. Soft-eyed one! we
Must seek beyond the veil what here can never be!



Welcome the granite sternness of MALBAIE!t

The last dim light of the declining moon

Falls dimly on its rugged banks. The day


Will shortly waken from its dreamy swoon;

His chariot long hath swept the sullen noon

Of midnight; and beneath our feet, the sun

Rolls, flaming, towards the East. His fierce breath soon

Along the undulating hills will run,

Rousing the piney vales and forests, one by one.

tMurray Bay.





And Darkness, like a Fate, comes stealing down

In her black mantle, step by step, until

The trembling stars have dwindled down to one

Pale, solitary watcher. Lone and chill


Falls its meek glance on river, wood and hill.

See, you can even mark its heart-beats, love!

Each mortal has his mission to fulfil,

Each planet is accountable to Jove,

Both do His high behests, His sovereign Will approve.





I knew a man whose prayerful soul was set

To a devotional music, like a psalm

Fresh from a Master-Artist's brain; and yet,

There came a time when his mind's starriest calm

Was quenched in Unbelief. Once, like a palm


He flourished, till deep thinking brought a doubt

Of a Hereafter, and the Great I AM!

Like a new light, Faith slowly came, and out

Of his dark world he strode, believing and devout.



So rolls the bright Dawn up the Orient, 835

Out of the pitchy hour that precedes

The flush of Day. Darkness was surely sent

To make the Light more blessed. The heart bleeds

That has been sown with Error--lo! the seeds

Have brought forth Truth. So Good from Evil springs


And all is mystery. Our noblest deeds

May bring us bitter fruits. Frail man who clings

To Life, is perfected when Death reveals all things.



The Morning Star has gone back into heaven,

The Sun's light-footed Herald, the gray Dawn

Is passing upwards, and the dusk is riven
By a warm tinge, like to a purple lawn,
O'er which a misty saffron veil is drawn.
But warmer is the rose-tint spreading now
Along the dim horizon, erst so wan,  850
Like Health returning to the pallid brow
And cheek of some young sufferer, with a welcome glow.



In the East the blooming Angel,

Morning, hov'reth, like a gorgeous rose,

Waking many a fair Evangel 


From her heavenly repose.

From her brow a radiant glory

Falls, like fire from above,

Telling the impassioned story

Of God's everlasting love. 


Love's Angels ever walk their starry round,

And each new Morn beholds Love newly crowned.


Love, that at the primal waking

Of the Dawn in Eden's bowers,

Wandered through the Garden, slaking


His warm thirst from Eden's flowers;

And the same sweet Eden-nectar

Flows wherever Love is found,

Even when the midnight's spectre

Treads upon earth's hallowed ground. 


Love's Angels ever walk their starry round,

And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

Blessed light of early Morning!

At whose dawn the stars retire,

With thy warmth our souls adorning, 


Fill us with love's ardent fire­

With the love that comes from heaven,

With the hope that soars on high,

That our faults may all be shriven,

As thy splendors fill the sky.


Love's Angels ever walk their starry round,

And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.


Calmly is the River glowing,

Like a burnished, crystal sea,

Like pure thoughts forever flowing                   


Heavenward eternally.

Slowly up the distant mountains

Rolls the changing purple screen,

While the swift rills, from their fountains

Leaping, clothe their sides with green. 


Love's Angels ever walk their starry round,

And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.

O'er the earth Love's blooming Angels

Loiter, hand in hand with Morn,

 Fair-browed, golden-crowned Evangels,              


Twin companions, heaven-born.

Life, and Light, and Joy attending,

Hymns and prayers salute their ears,

Earth's sweet hallelujahs blending

With the anthems of the spheres.         


Love's Angels ever walk their starry round,

And with each Morning Love is newly crowned.




Like maid-wife waiting for her wedded lord,

The morn waits for the sun with a flushed cheek.

I hear the songs of birds; the breeze has stirred


Their dwellings, as it rustled from the peak

Of yonder mountain with a playful shriek.

Now my fair shallop, leap! the blessed Day

Opens its crystal gates, and up the meek

And wan-faced sky the sun's darts cleave their way,

As our bark cleaves the black and frowning SAGUENAY.



Mysterious Source of Light, triumphant Sun!

A Royal Witness hast thou been to me

Of th' existence of the Eternal One!

But e'en thy light compared with Deity,


Is as a dew-drop to the boundless sea.

What Angel-plaudits from surrounding spheres

Must have been echoed through infinity,

When first above thy myriads of compeers

Thou rod'st, exulting o'er the starry charioteers. 920



Couldst thou reveal the secret of thy birth,

The pain and travail of thy Parent, Night,

The worlds would glow with wonder, as the earth

Glows with the fervor of thy glorious light.

Roll on in all thy mystery and might!


For thou art worthy of the Hand Divine

That waved thee into being, in the sight

Of His archangels, and the heavenly line

Of saints, who, wondering, praised the Omnipotent Design.



In golden volumes rolls the blessed light    930
Along the sterile mountains. Pile on Pile
The granite masses rise to left and right:
Bald, stately bluffs that never wear a smile;
Where vegetation fails to reconcile
The parched shrubbery and stunted trees  935
 To the stern mercies of the flinty soil.
And we must pass a thousand bluffs like these,
Within whose breasts are locked a myriad mysteries.



Here is a barren crag, at whose brown feet
Patiently sits the church and gleams the spire. 940
Commerce has found this a deserved retreat;
Here groan the mills, and there, the household fire
Sends up its smoke above the struggling briar
And dwarfish evergreens that grow between
The stubborn rocks--that grow but to expire. 945
Not here the thrifty farmer's face serene--
The lumberer alone lends life to the grim scene.



No further evidence of life, save where

The young whales bask their broad backs in the sun,

Or the gay grampus, sportive as a hare,


Leaps and rejoices, playfully as one

In youth who sees some holiday begun.

Perhaps a crowded steamer, passing by,

Lights up the scene a moment. Trebly dun

The shades of sullen loneliness that lie

On rugged L'Anse l'eau when no living thing is nigh.



Over the darkening waters! on through scenes

Whose unimaginable wildness fills

The mind with joy insatiate, and weans

The soul from earth, to Him whose Presence thrills


All Beauty as all Truth. These iron Hills!

In what profusion did He pile them here,

Thick as the flowers that blossom where the rills

Chant to the primal woods. Year after year

In solitude eternal, rapt in contemplation drear, 965



Dreaming of the old years before they rose

Triumphant from the deep, whose waters roll'd

Above their solemn and unknown repose;

Dreaming of that bright morning, when, of old,

Beyond the Red Man's memory, they told


The Secrets of the Ages to the sun,

That smiled upon them from his throne of gold;

Dreaming of the bright stars and loving moon,

That first shone on them from the Night's impressive noon:



Dreaming of the long ages that have passed   


Since then, and with them that diminished race

Whose birchen fleets these inky waters glassed,

As they swept o'er them with the wind's swift pace.
Of their wild legends scarce remains a trace;
Thou holds't the myriad secrets in thy brain, 980
Oh! stately bluffs! As well seek to efface
The light of the bless'd stars, as to obtain
From thy sealed, granite lips, tradition or refrain!



But they are there, though man may never know
Their number or their beauty. Pass the eye 985
Along the ever-looming scene, where'er we go,
Through these long corridors of rock and sky­
What startling barriers, rising sullenly
From the dark deeps, like giants, seem to place
An adamantine gateway, close and high, 990
To bar our progress; meet them face to face,
The magic doors fly open, and the rocks recede apace.



Hills piled on rugged hills! But see, how drear,
And with what startling solitariness,
The TETE DE BOULE looms yonder! Cold and clear 905
In isolated grandeur, the huge mass,
Like the stern Magi of this granite pass,
He stands amid-stream, thoughtfully apart
From his far-off companions. Once, alas!
 I knew a stately soul, with lone, sad heart, 1000
And thus to me he sung--that mountain's counterpart:



I've supped with depression and feasted with sorrow,
The hot tears of anguish have withered my heart;
And now, death might strike down my last hope to-morrow,
Not one tear is left me to deaden his dart. 1005

From youth up to manhood a scourge was upon me,

Few roses of pleasure have bloomed in life's crown;
No rainbow of promise wherein I might sun me,
The grasp of a fate is still bearing me down.


And thus like a tree in the lone desert--blasted,

Dry, leafless and withered--dead, sapless and bare,
I long for love's sweet dews, once mine, now untasted,
And stand like a wretch stricken dumb with despair!



Not often these imperishable hills

Are startled by the cheering Voice of Song.

Swift flies our fleet bark onward, ev'n as rills

Leap, crystal-footed, like starbeams, along

Steep mountain sides, that, resolute and strong,

Heed not their graceful steps. There is no sign

Of human habitation seen among


These heaven-reaching bluffs; no beach supine,

Or banks inviting, where the weary might recline.




One solitary sea gull hovering,

Like an adventurous spirit, o'er the deep,

And he, too, glides as silent on the wing


As a child's thoughts of heaven. Parched and steep,

The red-browed mountains slumber, like the sleep

Of a drugged giant--dreamless, deep and wild.

A few dwarfed pines and impish cedars creep

Along the embrowned summits, half-beguiled 

By the warm sunbeams, where no foliage ever smiled.



But as our restless shallop from her prow

Scatters the liquid pearls in her mad haste,

These naked boulders lag behind, and now

The smiling hills with verdant life are graced.


Like a lone star twinkling above the waste

Of ocean, when the youthful mariner sees

That the portentous storm has safely pass'd,

Is yonder distant dwelling, where the breeze

Frills the calm bay, and flirts with the coquetting trees: 1040



Slumbering at the base of two high rocks,
It looks like Patience at the feet of Death.
Or, fancy it some grave magician's box,
Which, opened, wafts a pestilential breath
Along the mountains, an invisible wreath 1045
Of subtlest essence, permeating through
Their granite pores, sapping all life beneath,
And robbing their bald summits of the blue
And rich aerial tints, where the tall cedars grew.



A green delightful valley, sweetly smiles 1050
Close to those rocks, as if an Angel-path
Led to the shore from the remotest hills,
That lave their heads in an ambrosial bath
Of vapors and warm sunlight, such as hath
Been carried down from heaven in the urns 1055
Of ministering spirits. Free from scathe
Is this sweet vale, where some fair sprite sojourns,
In smiling contrast to the blasted mountain ferns.



Here, the dark pines clothe the steep mountain-side,

There, heavy beetling cliffs, rugged and bald,                         

Lift their gray heads above the sunny tide--
Like the stern phantom of some Prophet-Scald
Of the old time, by magic wiles enthralled:
Full of his Scandinavian fire, and yet
Spell-bound and silent, like a ghost appalled. 1065
A river, winding, like a rivulet,
Through the thick woods and reverential hills, has set



Its seal of freshness on the changeful wild.

A stately ship lies anchored in the bay;

Like an Oasis to the Desert-child,


It speaks of Life. No rocks can bar the way

Where Love and Hope lend wings to human clay:

The granite knots roll from us, like a cloud

Of vapor up the sunny-minded Day,

When Morn looks down from heaven: They have bowed

Their stubborn heads, and parted, like a daunted crowd



Of evil spirits who have seen the sun.

These hills lie mingled in a soft embrace,

As if they felt the joy that makes us one

When human hearts unite, and face to face


Love looks on Love, discovering that trace

Of Eden that yet lingers in the heart:

Are they the offspring, love, of some old race

Of mountains, that no Geologic art

Can trace--no whisper of their deep old loves impart?




Oh! give me the love of your woman's heart,

And the light of your cheerful eye!

And the earth will change

From a phantom strange

To a heaven with stars and sky;


And the Sun of Hope

Up the gleaming cope,

Like the Genius of Love, will roll,

And dark Night no more

Will obscure the shore


Where beckons Love's mystic Soul!


For your love is as deep as the comet's sweep,

When it reels from its astral lair,

And your looks as bright

As the lustrous light


The sun shakes from his golden hair.

As pure as the hue

Of the summer blue,

That is warmed by the sunset's glow,

Are the thoughts that rise


In your cheerful eyes

To banish the Demon, Woe.


I'd pillow my head on your snowy breast,

And my heart, like a cymbal fine,

Would throb with a tone


That were Music's own,

When it wakened a chord of thine:

Then the Sun of Hope

Up Life's gleaming cope,

The true Genius of Love would roll,


And dark Night no more

Would obscure the shore

Where beckons Love's mystic Soul.




Nature has here put on her royalest dress,

And CAPE ETERNITY looms grandly up,                   


Like a God reigning in the Wilderness

Holding communion with the distant cope,

Interpreting the stars' dreams, as they ope

Their silver gates, where stand his regal kin.

Oh! for some special gift! to give full scope           


To earth some portion of the fire that burns within.




A deep and overpowering solitude

Reigns undisturbed along the varied scene.

A wilderness of Beauty, stern and rude,


In undulating swells of wavy green;

Soft, airy slopes, bold, massive and serene;

Rich in wild beauty and sublimity,

From the far summits in their piney sheen,

Down to the shadows thrown by rock and tree


Along the dark, deep wave, that slumbers placidly.




He, love, who flushed the daisy built the world.
All things come perfect from His Master-hand.
The stars, His Thoughts, through wide creation whirled,
Down to the minutest monad of sand 1140
Upon the shore, in equal glory stand
Before His sight. But Man, and man alone,
He holds supremest of the works He planned:
And yet, how like Earth's faintest monotone,
Compared to Heaven's choir, he seems, when thrown 1145



In puny contrast to a work like this.
Slope after slope, wave after wave of light
And graceful foliage, which the sun's warm kiss
Thrills, from the centre to the farthest height.

The mind soars God-ward with a keen delight,


And proudly beats the undisciplined heart,

Rendering homage to the Infinite,

As from the Cape's embrace the wild shapes start,

Filling the soul with dreams that nevermore depart.



A playful waterfall comes dashing down, 1155

As silvery as the laughter of a child

Dancing upon the greensward, and the sun

Scatters his golden arrows through the wild,

Cleaving the molten-silver stream that smiled

So lovingly upon his earliest beams .


So unsuspecting Innocence, beguiled

By Pleasures, soft as sunlight upon streams,

Flies the swift darts that pierce the enamel of its dreams.




Is there a soul so dead to nature's charms,

That thrills not here in this divine retreat?   


Love lures me evermore to Woman's arms,

But here I kneel at Nature's hallowed feet!

Love fills my being with a calm, replete,

But regal Nature sets my spirit free

With grateful praises to God's Mercy seat.   

Yet nature binds me closer, love, to thee:
Ev'n as this dreamy Bay,* in sweet felicity

* Trinity Bay--after passing Cape Eternity.





Woos both the sun's light, and the cool shade

Of the umbrageous woods to its embrace.

What deep imaginings of Peace pervade


Its heavenly repose, as Nature's face

Peers down, in mild, unutterable grace,

Like a calm Student seeking Pearls of Thought

In some fair Beauty's mind, where he can trace

Through her warm slumber, how her soul is fraught


With pure deep Love, by heavenly inspiration taught.




Strong, eager thoughts come crowding to my eyes,
Earnest and swift, like Romans in the race,
As in stern grandeur, looming up the skies,
This Monarch of the Bluffs,* with kingly grace, 1185
Stands firmly fixed in his eternal place,

Like the great Samson of the Saguenay,

The stately parent of the giant race

Of mountains, scattered--thick as ocean spray

Sown by the tempest--up this granite-guarded way.

* Trinity Rock --a stupendous mass of granite.





My lips are mute. I cannot speak the thought
That, like a bubble on the placid sea,
Bursts ere it tells the tale with which 't is fraught.
Another comes, and so, eternally,
They rise in hope, to wander spirit-free 1195

About the earth. 'T were best they should not break

The Silence, which itself is ecstacy

And Godlike Eloquence, or my frail voice shake

A single echo, the expressive Calm to break.



Like tears of Gladness o'er a giant's face,


The streams leap perpendicularly down

The polished sides of the steep precipice,

That glooms the waters with its sullen frown,

Until they seem as massive as the brown,

Bold, naked rock, that rears its swarthy crest,


Its anatomic form, and triple crown

Of granite, far above the earth's unrest,

Claiming a lofty seat, like Truth made manifest.




Let us return, love,* for the goal is won.

Here, by this Rock, 't is doomed that we must part,


And part forever; for the glorious Sun

Of Love, that quickeneth my earnest heart,

Shines not for thee, alone. The Dream of Art

That calms the happy Student's sweet repose,

Is like our Dream of Love--the first swift dart

Shot by young Phoebus from his chamber, goes
Like lightning through his vision's blooming heart of rose.

* Back to Trinity Rock.





Already thou art gone, with one last look

Of love from those exalted eyes of thine,

That cheered me as we read from nature's book


Together, and partook of the divine

Ambrosial draught of love's celestial wine.

Another earnest being at my side!­

Not her whose Girlhood's dreamy love was mine;

Not her whose heart Affliction's fire has tried;


Not her of the Artistic soul, and stately pride,




Who shook my being as the autumn winds

Shake down the timid leaves. Loved-one! I hear

The voice within syllabl'ing words that bind

Our souls, and blend them for a nobler sphere


Of usefulness and action--year by year

Ascending in the scale of being, far

Above the trifling mind's obscure career,

And mounting to Perfection, like a star

For whose triumphant flight heaven's crystalline gates unbar. 1235



My love is strong as yon enduring Rock!

Deep as the thoughtful waters at its feet!­-

Oh! could my willing voice find words t' unlock

Its depths, and free the sleeping echoes, fleet

As the swift-footed chamois, they would greet


The far-surrounding hills with such a tale

Of passion as had never left its seat

Within the heart of man. The bounding gale,

And the low-whispering breeze, should chant it to the vale.



And the dread Silence, seated on the brow 1245

Of the exalted Bluff, would start, and find

An hundred tongues to utter vow for vow;

Startling the bro wsing elk and slumbering hind,

In the resounding woods. Like Truth enshrined

Within the well, so in my steadfast soul


Love waited for thee, as the patient mind

Waits for the coming thought that will extol

Some lofty purpose struggling skyward to its goal.




All, all is thine, love, now: Each thought and hope

In the long future must be shared with thee.


Lean on my bosom; let my strong heart ope

Its founts of love, that the wild ecstacy

That quickens every pulse, and makes me free

As a God's wishes, may serenely move

Thy inmost being with the mystery

Of the new life that has just dawned, and prove
How unutterably deep and strong is Human Love.