Indian Legends and Other Poems Part 4

"A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM."

Through the half-curtained window stole An Autumn sunset's glow, As languid on my couch I lay With pulses weak and low.

And then methought a presence stood, With shining feet and fair, Amid the waves of golden light That rippled through the air,

And laid upon my heaving breast, With earnest glance and true, A babe, whose fair and gentle brow No shade of sorrow knew.

A solemn joy was in my heart,-- Immortal life was given To Earth, upon her battle-field To discipline for Heaven.

Soft music thrilled the quiet room,-- An unseen host were nigh, Who left the infant pilgrim at The threshold of our sky.

A new, strange love woke in my heart, Defying all control, As on the soft air rose and fell That birth-hymn for a soul!

And now again the Autumn skies, As on that evening, shine, When, from a trance of agony, I woke to joy divine.

That boundless love is in my heart, That birth-hymn on the air; I clasp in mine, with grateful faith, A tiny hand in prayer.

And bless the G.o.d who guides my way, That, mid this world so wide, I day by day am walking with An angel by my side.

THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD.

Diodorus has recorded an impressive Egyptian ceremonial, the judgment of the dead by the living. When the corpse, duly embalmed, had been placed by the margin of the Acherusian Lake, and before consigning it to the bark that was to bear it across the waters to its final resting-place, it was permitted to the appointed judges to hear all accusations against the past life of the deceased, and if proved, to deprive the corpse of the rites of sepulture. From this singular law not even kings were exempt.

With sable plume and nodding crest, They bore him to his dreamless rest, A cold and abject thing; Before the whisper of whose name Strong hearts had quailed in fear and shame, While nations knelt to fling The victor's laurel at his feet; Now gorgeous pall and winding-sheet, Were all that royalty could bring To mark the despot and the king: In solemn state they swept the glowing strand, To meet the conclave of the judgment band.

And soon, with bright, exultant eye, Where fierce revenge flashed wild and high, Accusers gathered fast; From prison-keep and living grave Came forth the mutilated slave, With faltering step aghast; And sightless men with silver hair, The record of their dungeon air, Who for long years had sought to die, And wrestled with their agony Till thought grew wild and intellect grew dim, The clanking fetters' mark on every limb.

With pallid cheek and eager prayer And maniac laugh of dark despair The widowed mother stood; And, with white lips, an orphan throng Rehea.r.s.ed a fearful tale of wrong And misery and blood.

And strong in virtue others came, Unnumbered victims to proclaim Of vengeance, perfidy, and dread, Who slumbered with the silent dead.

The world might start, the sable plumes might wave, But for that haughty king there was no grave.

O! ye who press life's crowded mart, With hurrying step and bounding heart, A solemn lesson glean; Beware, lest, when ye cross that stream Whose breaking surges farthest gleam, No mortal eye hath seen, Discordant voices wake the sh.o.r.e The struggling spirit would explore, And to the trembling soul deny Its latest resting-place on high; Our acts are Judges, that must meet us there With seraph smiles of light, or fiendish glare.

THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT.

The ancient Highlanders believed the spirits of their departed friends continually present, and that their imagined appearances and voices communicated warnings of approaching death.

Oh! set the bridal feast aside, And bear the harp away; The coronach must sound instead, From solemn kirk-yard gray.

I heard last eve, at set of sun, The death-bell on the gale.

It was no earthly melody:-- The eglantine grew pale;

And leaf and blossom seemed to thrill With an unuttered prayer, As, fraught with desolateness wild, The strange notes stirred the air.

And on the rugged mountain height, Where snow and sunbeam meet, That never yet in storm or shine Was trod by human feet,

A weird and spectral presence came Between me and the light; The waving of a shadowy hand That faded into night.

I felt it was the first who left Our little household band,-- The child, with waving locks of gold, Now in the silent land.

And when the mist at morn arose From Katrine's silvery wave, A form of aspect ominous, With pensive look and grave,

Moved from the waters towards the glen Where stands the holly-tree; 'T was the brother who is sleeping low Beneath the stormy sea.

And while to-night the curfew bell Rang out with solemn chime, As soundeth o'er the buried year, The organ peal of time,

And, near the fragrant jessamine, I mused in garden glade, A phantom form appeared to me Beneath the hawthorn shade.

The dews had wept their silent tears, The moon was up on high, And every star was sphered with calm, Like an archangel's eye;

And melancholy music swept With cadence low and sweet, Such as ascends when spirit-wings Around a death-bed meet.

O was it not a mother's heart That gave that warning sign; The loving heart that used to thrill To every grief of mine?

I oft have deemed, in sunny hours, When life with love was fraught, The nearness of the dead to us A fantasy of thought.

But, standing on the barrier I used to view with pain, I feel the chains of severed love Are linking close again.

Another hand must smooth and bless My father's silver hair; Another voice must read to him At morn and evening prayer.

The flowers that I have trained will bloom, But at another's side; And he I love will seek perchance, A gentler, fairer bride.

And soon another shade will haunt The echo and the gloom, With pining heart of restless love, And omens of the tomb.

Then set the festal board aside, And bear the harp away; The coronach must sound instead From solemn kirk-yard gray.

TO MY SISTER.

ON HER BIRTHDAY.

'T is said that each succeeding year Another circlet weaves Within each living, waving tree; Yet not in buds or leaves,-- But far within the silent core, The tiny shuttles ply, At Nature's ever-working loom, Unseen by human eye.

And thus, within my "heart of hearts,"

Doth this returning day, Another golden zone complete, Another circle lay; And when unto the shadowy past In retrospect I flee, I numerate the fleeting years By deepening love for thee.