N, To The Ripen'D Gatherings Of The Grape, And Thorn-Clad Chestnut, All Was Sweet To Her. She Loved To Plant The Seed And Watch The Germ, And Nurse The Tender Leaflet Like A Babe, And Lead The Tendril Right. To Her They Seem'D Like Living Friends. She Sedulously Mark'D Their Health And Order, And Was Skill'D To Prune The Too Luxuriant Spray, Or Gadding Vine. She Taught The Blushing Strawberry Where To Run, And Stoop'D To Kiss The Timid Violet, Blossoming In The Shade, And Sometimes Dream'D The Lily Of The Lakelet, Calmly Throned On Its Broad Leaf, Like Moses In His Ark, Spake Words To Her. And So, As Years Fled By, Young Fancy, Train'D By Nature, Turn'D To God. Her Clear, Teutonic Mind, Took Hold On Truth And Found In Every Season, Change Of Joy. --Yet Her Prime Pleasure Seem'D At Wintry Eve Tho' Storms Might Fall, When From Its Branching Arms The Antique Candelabra Shed Fair Light On Polished Wainscot And Rich Curtains Dropp'D Close O'Er The Casements, She Might Draw Her Seat Near To Her Aged Friend And Take Her Hand And Frame Her Voice To Join Some Tuneful Song, Treasuring Whate'Er Of Wise Remark Distill'D From Those Loved Lips. Then, As Her Mentor Spoke Of God'S Great Goodness In This Mortal Life, Teaching Us Both By Sorrow And By Joy, And How We Ought To Yield It Back With Trust And Not With Dread, Whenever He Should Call, Having Such Precious Promises, Through Christ Of Gain Unspeakable, Beyond The Grave, The Listening Pupil Felt Her Heart Expand With Reverent Love. Friendship, 'Tween Youth And Age Is Gain To Both,--Nor Least To That Which Finds The Germs Of Knowledge And Experience Drop And Twine Themselves Around The Unfrosted Locks, A Fadeless Coronet. In This Sweet Home The Lengthen'D Day Seem'D Short For Their Delights, And Wintry Evening Brief. The Historic Page Made Vocal, Brought Large Wealth To Memory. The Lore Of Distant Climes, That Rose And Fell Ere Our New World, Like Lazarus Came Forth, The Napkin Round Her Forehead, And Sate Down Beside Her Startled Sisters. Last Of All, The Large Time-Honor'D Bible Loos'D Its Clasps And Shed Its Manna On Their Waiting Souls; Then Rose The Sacred Hymn In Blended Tones, By Bertha'S Parlor-Organ Made Intense In Melody Of Praise, And Fervent Prayer Set Its Pure Crown Upon The Parted Day, And Kiss'D The Angel, Sleep. Yet Ere They Rose From Bended Knee, There Was A Lingering Pause, A Silent Orison For One Whose Name But Seldom Pass'D Their Lips, Though In Their Hearts His Image With Its Faults And Sorrows Dwelt, Invoking Pity Of A Pardoning God. --Thus Fled The Years Away, The Cultured Glebe Stirr'D By The Vernal Plough-Share, Yielding Charms To Summer, Pouring Wealth O'Er Autumn'S Breast, Pausing From Weary Toil, When Winter Comes, Bringing Its Sabbath, As The Man Of Eld With Snow Upon His Temples, Peaceful Sits In His Arm-Chair, To Ruminate And Rest. * * * * * Once, At That Season When The Ices Shrink Befere The Vernal Equinox, At Morn There Was No Movement In The Lady'S Room, Who Prized The Early Hours Like Molten Gold, And Ever Rose Before The Kingly Sun. --On The White Pillow Still Reposed Her Head, Her Cheek Upon Her Hand. She Had Retired In Health, Affection'S Words, And Trustful Prayers Hallowing Her Lips. Now, On Her Brow There Seem'D Unwonted Smoothness, And The Smile Was There Set As A Seal, With Which The Call She Heard, "_Come! Sister-Spirit!_" She Had Gain'D The Wish Oft Utter'D To Her God, To Pass Away Without The Sickness And Enfeebled Powers That Tax The Heart Of Love. Death That Unbars Unto The Ready Soul The Gate Of Heaven, Claiming No Pang Or Groan From Failing Flesh, Doth Angel-Service. But Alas! The Shock, The Chill, The Change, The Anguish, Where She Dwelt, And Must Return No More. As One Amaz'D The Stricken Daughter Held Her Breath For Awe, God Seem'D So Near. Methought She Saw The Hand That Smote Her. Half Herself Was Reft Away, Body And Soul. Yet No Repining Word Announc'D Her Agony. The Tolling Bell To Hill And Valley, Told With Solemn Tongue That Death Had Been Among Them, And At Door And Window Listening, Aged Crone And Child Counted Its Strokes, A Stroke For Every Year, And Predicated Thence, As Best They Might, Whom They Had Lost. Neighbor Of Neighbor Ask'D, Till The Sad Tidings Were Possess'D By All. --A Village Funeral Is A Thing That Warns All From Their Homes. In The Throng'D City'S Bound, Hearses Unnoticed Pass, And None Inquire Who Goeth To His Grave. But Rural Life Keepeth Afresh The Rills Of Sympathy. True Sorrow Was There At These Obsequies, For All The Poor Were Mourners. There The Old Came In The Garments She Had Given, Bow'D Down With Their Own Sense Of Loss. O'Er Furrow'D Cheeks In Care-Worn Channels Stole The Trickling Tear. The Young Were Weepers, For Their Memories Stored Many A Gentle Word, And Precept Kind, Like Jewels Dropp'D Behind Her. Mothers Rais'D Their Little Ones Above The Coffin'S Side To Look Upon Her Face. Lingering They Gazed Deeming The Lovely Lady Sweetly Slept Among The Flowers That On Her Pillow Lay. * * * * * He's But A Tyro In The School Of Grief Who Hath Not From The Victor-Tomb Return'D Unto His Rifled Home. The Utter Weight Of Whelming Desolation Doth Not Fall Till The Last Rites Are Paid. The Cares Of Love Having No Longer Scope, Withdraw Their Shield, And Even The Seat Whereon The Lost One Sate, The Pen He Held, The Cup From Which He Drank, Launch Their Keen Darts Against The Festering Soul. --The Lonely Daughter, Never Since Her Birth Divided From The Mother, Having Known No Separate Pleasure, Or Secreted Thought, With Deep Humility Resumed Her Course Of Daily Duty And Philanthropy, Not Murmuring, But Remembering His Great Love Who Lent So Long That Blessing Beyond Price, And From Her Broken Censer Offering Still Incense Of Praise. She Deem'D It Fearful Loss To Lose A Sorrow, Be Chastis'D In Vain, Not Yield Our Joys, But Have Them Rent Away, And Make This Life A Battle-Field With God. The Sombre Shadow Brooding O'Er Their Home Was Felt By All. The Heart Of Leonore Dwindled And Shrank Beneath It. Vigor Fled, The Untastcd Meal, And Couch Bedew'D With Tears Gave The Solution To Her Wasted Flesh, And Drooping Eye-Lids. Folded In Her Arms, Bertha With Tender Accents Said, "My Child, We Please Not Her Who To The Angels Went, By Hopeless Grief. Doubt Not Her Watchful Eye Regards Us, Though Unseen. How Oft She Taught To Make God'S Will Our Own. You, Who Were Glad To Do Her Bidding Then, Distress Her Not By Disobedience Now. Waste Not The Health In Reckless Martyrdom, Which Heaven Hath Link'D With Many Duties, And With Hope To Dwell If Faithful Found, With Her Who Went Before And Beckoning Waits Us." From Dull Trance Of Grief By Kind Reproof Awakened, Leonore Strove To Redeem Her Scholarship From Blame And Be A Comforter, As Best She Might To Her Remaining Patroness. * * * * * Within The Limits Of A Neighboring Town, A Wretch Fell By The Wayside, Struck By Sudden Death That Vice Propels. A Man Of God, Who Sought Like His Blest Master Every Form Of Woe Found Him, And To A Shelter And A Couch Convey'D. Then Bending Down, With Earnest Words For Time Grew Short, He Urg'D Him To Repent. "Say, Lord Have Mercy On My Soul. Look Up Unto The Lamb Of God, For He Can Save Even To The Uttermost." Slight Heed Obtain'D This Adjuration, Wild The Glazing Eye Fix'D On The Wall,--And Ever And Anon The Stiffening Fingers Clutch'D At Things Unseen, While From Those Spent Lungs Came A Shuddering Sound, "_That's He! That's He! The Old Man! His Grey Hairs Dabbled With Blood!_" Then In A Loud, Long Cry, Wrung Out By Torturing Pain, "I Struck The Blow! I Tell Ye That I Struck The Blow, And Scaped. Conrad Who Bore The Doom Is Innocent, Save Fellowship With Guilt." And So He Fled; The Voice Of Prayer Around Him, But The Soul Beyond Its Reach. The Kneeling Pastor Rose Sadly, As When The Shepherd Fails To Snatch A Wanderer From The Lion. But The Truth Couch'D In That Dismal Cry Of Parting Life He Treasured Up, And Bore To Those Who Held Power To Investigate And To Reprieve; And Authorized By Them With Gladness Sought The Gloomy Prison. Conrad There He Found In Sullen Syncope Of Sickening Thought, And Cautiously In Measured Terms Disclosed His Liberation. Wondering Doubt Look'D Forth From Eyes That Opening Wide And Wider Still Strain'D From Their Sockets. Yet The Hand He Took That Led Him From The Cell, And Onward Moved Like Peter Following His Angel Guide Deeming He Saw A Vision. As The Bolts Drew Gratingly To Let Them Pass, He Seem'D To Gather Consciousness, And Restless Grew With An Unspoken Fear, Lest At The Last Some Sterner Turnkey, Or Gruff Sentinel Might Bar Their Egress. When Behind Them Closed. The Utmost Barrier, And The Sweet, Fresh Air So Long Witheld, Fill'D His Collapsing Lungs, He Shouted Rapturously, "_Am I Alive?_ Or Have I Burst The Gates Of Death, And Found A Second Eden?" The Unwonted Sound Of His Own Voice, Freed From The Drear Constraint Of Prison Durance, Swell'D His Thrilling Frame With Strong And Joyous Impulse, For 'Tis Said Long Stifled Utterance Is Torturing Pain To Organs Train'D To Speech. With One High Leap Like An Enfranchis'D Steed He Seem'D To Throw His Spirit-Chain Behind Him. Then He Took The Pastor'S Offer'D Arm, Who Led The Way To His Own House, And Bade Him Bathe And Change His Prison Garments, And Repose That Night Under His Roof. With Thoughtful Care He Spoke To His Own Household, Kindly To Receive The Erring One,--"For We Are Sinners All, And Not Upon Our Merits May Depend But On Abounding Grace." So When The Hour Of Cheerful Supper Summon'D To The Board, He Came Among Them As A Comely Guest, Refresh'D And Welcome. Pleasant Converse Cheer'D The Hospitable Meal, And Then Withdrawn Into The Quiet Study 'Mid The Books, That Saintly Good Man With The Hoary Hair Silvering His Temples Like A Graceful Crown, Strove By Wise Counsel To Encourage Him For Life'S Important Duties, But He Deem'D A Ban Was On Him, And A Mark Which All Would Scan Who Met Him. "He Whose Lot Hath Been With Fiends In Pandemonium, Must Expect Hate And Contempt From Men." "Not So, My Son! Wipe Off The Past, As A Forgotten Thing, Propitiate Virtue, By Forsaking Vice. The Good Will Aid You, And A Brighter Day Doubtless Awaits You. Be Not Too Much Moved By Man'S Applause Or Blame, But Ever Look Unto A Higher Judge." Then There Arose A Voice Of Supplication, So Intense To The Great Pardoner, That He Would Send His Spirit Down To Change And Purify The Erring Heart, That Those Persuasive Tones, So Humble, Yet So Strangely Eloquent Breathed O'Er The Unhappy One Like Soothing Spell Of Magic Influence, And He Slept That Night With Peace And Hope, Long Exiled From His Couch. * * * * * A Summer Drive To One Sequestered Long, Hath Charms Untold. The Common Face Of Earth, The Waving Grass, The Rustle Of The Leaves, Kiss'D By The Zephyr, Or By Winged Bird Disparted, As It Finds Its Chirping Nest, The Murmur Of The Brooks, The Low Of Herds, The Ever-Changing Landscape, Rock And Stream, And Azure Concave Fleck'D With Silver Clouds Awaken Rapturous Joy. This Conrad Felt, While Pleasure Every Kindling Feature Touch'D, And Every Accent Tuned. But When They Saw The Fair Ancestral Roof Through Trees Afar, Strong Agony Convuls'D Him, And He Cried, "_Not There! Not There!_ First Take Me To _Her_ Grave!" And So To That Secluded Spot They Turn'D, Where Rest The Silent Dead. On The Green Mound, His Mother'S Bed, With Sobs And Groans He Fell, And In His Paroxysm Of Grief Would Fain Have Torn The Turf-Bound Earth Away, To Reach The Mouldering Coffin. Then, A Flood Of Tears, Heaven'S Blessed Gift Burst Forth, "Oh Weep, My Son! These Gushing Tears Shall Help To Wash Away Remorseful Pangs, And Lurking Seeds Of Sin. Here, In This Sacred Tomb, Bury The Past, And Strong In Heavenly Trust, Resolve To Rise To A New Life." Still Kneeling On The Sod With Hands And Eyes Uprais'D, He Said, "_I Will! So Help Me God!_" The Tear Was On His Cheek Undry'D, When To The Home Of Peace They Came. There Bertha Greeted Them With Outstretch'D Hands And Beaming Brow, While The Good Pastor Said, "Thy Son Was Dead, But Is Alive Again." A Sweet Voice Answer'D, "Lost He Was, And Found! Oh, Welcome Home." She Would Have Folded Him In Her Embrace. But At Her Feet He Fell, Clasping Her Knees, And Bowing Down His Head, Till She Assured Him That A Mother'S Love Was In Her Heart. "And There Is Joy In Heaven Because Of Him, This Day," The Good Man Said. --His Tones Were Tremulous, As Up He Rose, "Ah, My Veil'D Angel! Now I See Thy Face, And Hear Thy Voice." * * * * * What Were The Glowing Thoughts Of The Meek Shepherd, As Alone He Took His Homeward Way? The Joy Of Others Flow'D O'Er His Glad Spirit Like A Refluent Tide Whose Sands Were Gold. Had He Not Chosen Well His Source Of Happiness? There Are, Who Mix Pride And Ambition With Their Services Before The Altar. Did The Tinkling Bells Upon The Garments Of The Jewish Priest Draw Down His Thoughts From God? The Mitred Brow, Doth It Stoop Low Enough To Find The Souls That Struggle In The Pits Of Sin, And Die? Methinks Ambitious Honors Might Disturb The Man Whose Banner Is The Cross Of Christ, And Earth'S High Places Shut Him Out Of Heaven. --Yet This Serene Disciple, So Content To Do His Master'S Will, In Humblest Works Of Charity, Had He Not Chosen Well His Happiness? The Hero Hears The Trump Of Victor-Fame, And His High Pulses Leap, But Laurels Dipp'D In Blood Shall Vex His Soul When The Death-Ague Comes. More Blest Is He Who Bearing On His Brow The Anointing Oil Keeps In His Heart The Humility And Zeal That Sanctify His Vows. So, Full Of Joy That Fears No Frost Of Earth, Because Its Root Is By The River Of Eternal Life, The White-Hair'D Pastor Took His Homeward Way. * * * * * New Life Upon The Farm. A Master'S Eye And Step Are There. Forest, And Cultured Field, And Garden Feel His Influence. Forth At Morn He Goes Amid The Laboring Hinds Who Bathe Their Scythe In Fragrant Dew, Mid All Their Toils Teaching Or Learning, With Such Cheerful Port As Won Their Hearts. Even Animals Partook His Kind Regard. The Horse, With Arching Neck, And Ear Erect, Replied As Best He Might To His Caressing Tones. The Patient Ox, With Branching Horns, And The Full-Udder'D Cow Grew Sleek And Flourish'D And In Happiest Guise Reveal'D His Regency. The Noble Dog, O'Erflowing With Intelligence And Zeal, Follow'D Him As A Friend; Even The Poor Cat Oft Scorn'D And Distanc'D, Till Her Fawning Love Turns Into Abjectness, Crept To His Knee Without Reproof, And Thro' Her Half-Shut Eyes Regarding Him, Ere Into Sleep She Sank With Song Monotonous, Express'D Her Joy. --He Loved To Hear The Clarion Of The Cock, And See Him In His Gallantry Protect The Brooding Mothers,--Of Their Infant Charge So Fond And Proud. The Generous Care Bestow'D For Weal And Comfort Of These Servitors And Their Mute Dialect Of Gratitude Pleas'D And Refresh'D Him, While Those Blessed Toils That Quicken Earth'S Fertility Bestowed The Boon Of Healthful Vigor. Bertha Found The Burden Of Her Cares Securely Laid On His Young Arm, And Gratefully Beheld Each Day A Portion Of Allotted Time Spent In The Library, With Earnest Care, Seeking The Knowledge That In Youth He Scorn'D. --Amid Their Rural Neighborhood Were Some Who Frankly Took Him By The Hand, As One, Worthy To Rise, And Others Who Preferr'D To Cherish Evil Memories, Or Indulge Dark Auguries. But On His Course He Held Unmov'D By Either, For To Her He Seem'D Intent And Emulous Alone To Please A Higher Judge. When Leaning On His Arm She Sought The House Of God, Her Tranquil Brow Seem'D In Its Time-Tried Beauty To Express The _Nunc Dimittis_. Prisons Are Not Oft Converting Places. Vicious Habits Shorn Of Their Top Branches, Strike A Rankling Root Darkly Beneath, While Hatred Of Mankind And Of The Justice That Decreed Such Doom Bar Out The Love Divine. Yet Bertha Felt God'S Spirit Was Not Limited, And Might Pluck Brands From Out The Burning, And In Faith Believ'D The Son Of Many Prayers Had Found Remission Of His God. His Life She Scann'D, Of Honest, Cheerful Industry, Combined With Intellectual Progress, And Perceived How His Religious Worship Humbly Wore The Signet "_I Have Sinn'D;_" While Toward Men His Speech Was Cautious, Far Beyond His Years, As One By Stern Experience School'D To Know The Human Heart'S Deceptions. Yet At Home And In That Fellowship With Nature'S Works Which Agriculture Gives, His Soul Threw Off Its Fetters And Grew Strong. Once As They Walk'D Within A Favorite Grove, Consulting Where The Woodman'S Ax, Or Pruning-Knife Had Best Exert Their Wholesome Ministry, He Led To A Fair Resting-Place, A Turf-Bound Seat, Beneath A Spreading Walnut, Carpeted With Depth Of Fragrant Leaves, While A Slight Brook Half-Hidden, Half Revealed, With Minstrel Touch, Soften'D The Spirit. There, In Tones Subdued By Strong Emotion, He Disclosed His Love For Leonore. "Oh Conrad! She Is Pure And Peaceful As The Lily Bud That Sleeps On The Heaven-Mirror'D Lake." "I Know It Well, Nor Would I Wake A Ripple Or A Breath To Mar Its Purity." "Yet Wait, My Son!" "_Wait? Mother, Wait! It Is Not In Man'S Heart To Love, And Wait?_" "But Make Your Prayer To God. Lay Your Petition At His Feet, And See What Is His Will." "Before That God I Swear To Be Her True Protector And Best Friend Till Death Remove Me Hence, If She Confide At Fitting Time, That Holy Trust To Me. Oh Angel Mother! Sanction Me To Search If In Her Heart There Be One Answering Chord To My Great Love. So May We Lead Below That Blended Life Which With A Firmer Step And Holier Joy Tends Upward Toward A Realm Of Perfect Bliss." Thus Authorized, He Made Her Mind'S Improvement His Delight, And Found Community In Knowledge Was A Spell To Draw Young Hearts Together. O'Er The Lore And Language Of Her Native Land They Hung Gleaning Its Riches With A Tireless Hand, Deep And Enamour'D Students. When She Sang Or Play'D, He Join'D Her With His Silvery Flute, Making The Thrill Of Music More Intense Through The Heart'S Harmony. Amid The Flowers He Met Her, And Her Garden'S Pleasant Toil Shared With A Master'S Hand, For Well He Knew The Nature And The Welfare Of The Plants That Most She Prized. They Loved The Umbrageous Trees, And In Their Strong, Columnar Trunks Beheld The Almighty Architect, And For His Sake Paid Them Respect. At The Soft Twilight Hour, He Sate Beside Her Silently, And Watch'D The Pensive Lustre Of Her Lifted Eye, Intent To Welcome The First Star That Hung Its Holy Cresset Forth. Unconsciously Her Moods Of Lonely Musing Stole Away, And His Endear'D Society Became Part Of Her Being. In Her Soul Was Nought Of Vanity, Or Coquetry To Bar That Heaven-Imparted Sentiment Which Makes All Hope, All Thought, All Self, Subordinate Unto Another'S Weal, While Life Shall Last. * * * * * One Morn, The Orphan Sought The Private Ear Of Her Kind Benefactress. In Low Tones With The Sweet Modesty Of Innocence, She Told That Conrad Offered Her His Heart, And In The Tender Confidence Of Trust Entreated Counsel From Her Changeless Friend. "Can You O'Erlook The Past, My Leonore?" "Our God Forgives The Penitent. And We So Prone To Error, Cannot We Forgive? The Change In Conrad, Months And Years Have Made More Evident. Might I But Sooth Away The Memory Of His Woes, And Aid His Feet More Steadfastly To Tread In Virtue'S Path, And Make Him Happier On His Way To Heaven, My Life And Love I'D Gladly Consecrate." * * * * * Wrapp'D In Her Arms The Foster-Mother Gave A Tearful Blessing, While On Bended Knee Together They Implored The Approving Smile Of Him, Who Gives Ability To Make And Keep The Covenant Of Unending Love. A Rural Bridal, Cupid'S Ancient Themes Though More Than Twice-Told, Seem Not Wearisome Or Obsolete. The Many Tomes They Prompt, Though Quaint Or Prolix, Still A Place Maintain In Library Or Boudoir, And Seduce The School-Girl From Her Sleep, And Lessons Too. But I No Tint Of Romance Have To Throw On This Plain Tale, Or O'Er The Youthful Pair Who Gladly Took The Irrevocable Vow. * * * * * Their Deep And Thoughtful Happiness Required No Herald Pomp. Buds Of The Snowy Rose, On Brow And Bosom, Were The Only Gems Of The Young Fair-Hair'D Bride, Whose Ringlets Fell Down To Her Shoulders:--Nature'S Simple Veil Of Wondrous Grace. A Few True Hearted Friends Witness'D The Marriage-Rite, With Cheering Smiles And Fervent Blessings. And The Coming Years With All Their Tests Of Sunshine Or Of Shade, Belied No Nuptial Promise, Striving Each With Ardent Emulation To Surpass Its Predecessor In The Heavenward Path Of Duty And Improvement. Bertha'S Prayers Were Ever Round Them As A Thread Of Gold Wove Daily In The Warp And Woof Of Life. In Their Felicity She Found Her Own Reduplicated. In Good Deeds To All Who Sought Her Aid, Or Felt The Sting Of Woe, With Unimpaired Benevolence She Wrought, And Tireless Sympathy. Ordain'D She Seem'D To Show The Beauty Of The Life That Hath God For Its End. Clearer Its Brightness Gleam'D As Nearer To Its Heavenly Goal It Drew. The Smile Staid With Her Till She Went Above, Death Harm'D It Not. Her Passport To That Clime Where Love Begun On Earth, Doth End In Joy, Forevermore.