Life Without and Life Within Part 40

Rising from my kind bed of thick-strewn leaves, A fragrance the astonished sense receives, Ambrosial, searching, yet retiring, mild: Of that soft scene the soul was it? or child?

'Twas the sweet bay I had unwitting spread, A pillow for my senseless, throbbing head, And which, like all the sweetest things, demands, To make it speak, the grasp of alien hands.

All that this scene did in that moment tell, I since have read, O wise, mild friend! in thee.

Pardon the rude grasp, its sincerity, And feel that I, at least, have known thee well.

Grudge not the green leaves ravished from thy stem, Their music, should I live, muse-like to tell; Thou wilt, in fresher green forgetting them, Send others to console me for farewell.

Thou wilt see why the dim word of regret Was made the one to rhyme with Margaret.

But to the Oriental parent tongue, Sunrise of Nature, does my chosen name, My name of Leila, as a spell, belong, Teaching the meaning of each temporal blame; I chose it by the sound, not knowing why; But since I know that Leila stands for night, I own that sable mantle of the sky, Through which pierce, gem-like, points of distant light; As sorrow truths, so night brings out her stars; O, add not, bard! that those stars shine too late!

While earth grows green amid the ocean jars, And trumpets yet shall wake the slain of her long century-wars.

LINES WRITTEN IN BOSTON ON A BEAUTIFUL AUTUMNAL DAY.

As late we lived upon the gentle stream, Nature refused us smiles and kindly airs; The sun but rarely deigned a pallid gleam; Then clouds came instantly, like glooms and tears, Upon the timid flickerings of our hope; The moon, amid the thick mists of the night, Had scarcely power her gentle eye to ope, And climb the heavenly steeps. A moment bright Shimmered the hectic leaves, then rudely torn By winds that sobbed to see the wreck they made, Upon the amber waves were thickly borne Adonis' gardens for the realms of shade, While thoughts of beauty past all wish for livelier life forbade.

So sped the many days of tranquil life, And on the stream, or by the mill's bright fire, The wailing winds had told of distant strife, Still bade us for the moment yield desire To think, to feel, the moment gave,--we needed not aspire!

Returning here, no harvest fields I see, Nor russet beauty of the thoughtful year.

Where is the honey of the city bee?

No leaves upon this muddy stream appear.

The housekeeper is getting in his coal, The lecturer his showiest thoughts is selling; I hear of Major Somebody, the Pole, And Mr. Lyell, how rocks grow, is telling; But not a breath of thoughtful poesy Does any social impulse bring to me; But many cares, sad thoughts of men unwise, Base yieldings, and unransomed destinies, Hopes uninstructed, and unhallowed ties.

Yet here the sun smiles sweet as heavenly love, Upon the eve of earthly severance; The youthfulest tender clouds float all above, And earth lies steeped in odors like a trance.

The moon looks down as though she ne'er could leave us, And these last trembling leaves sigh, "Must they too deceive us?"

Surely some life is living in this light, Truer than mine some soul received last night; I cannot freely greet this beauteous day, But does not _thy_ heart swell to hail the genial ray?

I would not nature these last loving words in vain should say.

TO E. C.

WITH HERBERT'S POEMS.

Dost thou remember that fair summer's day, As, sick and weary on my couch I lay, Thou broughtst this little book, and didst diffuse O'er my dark hour the light of Herbert's muse?

The "Elixir," and "True Hymn," were then thy choice, And the high strain gained sweetness from thy voice.

The book, before that day to me unknown, I took to heart at once, and made my own.

Three winters and three summers since have pa.s.sed, And bitter griefs the hearts of both have tried; Thy sympathy is lost to me at last; A dearer love has torn thee from my side; Scenes, friends, to me unknown, now claim thy care; No more thy joys or griefs I soothe or share; No more thy lovely form my eye shall bless; The gentle smile, the timid, mute caress, No more shall break the icy chains which may my heart oppress.

New duties claim us both; indulgent Heaven Ten years of mutual love to us had given; The plants from early youth together grew, Together all youth's sun and tempests knew.

At age mature arrived, thou, graceful vine!

Didst seek a sheltering tree round which to twine; While I, like northern fir, must be content To clasp the rock which gave my youth its scanty nourishment.

The world for which we sighed is with us now; No longer musing on the _why_ or _how_, _What_ really does exist we now must meet; Life's dusty highway is beneath our feet; Life's fainting pilgrims claim our ministry, And the whole scene speaks stern _reality_.

Say, in the tasks reality has brought, Keepst _thou_ the plan that pleased thy childish thought?

Does Herbert's "Hymn" in thy heart echo now?

Herbert's "Elixir" in thy bosom glow?

In Herbert's "Temper" dost thou strive to be?

Does Herbert's "Pearl" seem the true pearl to thee?

O, if 'tis so, I have not prayed in vain!-- My friend, my sister, we shall meet again.

I dare not say that _I_ am always true To the vocation which my young thought knew; But the Great Spirit blesses me, and still, Though clouds may darken o'er the heavenly will, Upon the hidden sun my thoughts can rest, And oft the rainbow glitters in the west.

This earth no more seems all the world to me; Before me shines a far eternity, Whose laws to me, when thought is calmly poised, Suffice, as they to angels have sufficed.

I know the thunder has not ceased to roll, Not all the iron yet has pierced my soul; I know no earthly honors wait for me, No earthly love my heart shall satisfy.

Tears, of these eyes still oft the guests must be, Long hours be borne, of chilling apathy; Still harder teachings come to make me wise, And life's best blood must seal the sacrifice.

But He who still seems nearer and more bright, Nor from my _seeking_ eye withholds his light, Will not forsake me, for his pledge is given; Virtue shall teach the soul its way to heaven.

O, pray for me, and I for thee will pray; And more than loving words we used to say Shall this avail. But little more we meet In life--ah, how the years begin to fleet!

Ask--pray that I may seek beauty and truth, In their high sphere we shall renew our youth.

On wings of _steadfast faith_ there mayst _thou_ soar, And _my_ soul fret at barriers no more!

MARGARET FULLER'S WORKS AND MEMOIRS.

WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, and kindred papers relating to the Sphere, Condition, and Duties of Woman. Edited by her brother, ARTHUR B.

FULLER, with an Introduction by HORACE GREELEY. In 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.

ART, LITERATURE, AND THE DRAMA. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.

LIFE WITHOUT AND LIFE WITHIN; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.

AT HOME AND ABROAD; or, Things and Thoughts in America and Europe. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50.

MEMOIRS OF MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. By RALPH WALDO EMERSON, WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING, and JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. With Portrait and Appendix. 2 vols.

16mo. $3.00. Cheap edition. Two vols. in one. $1.50.

MARGARET FULLER will be remembered as one of the "Great Conversers," the "Prophet of the Woman Movement" in this country, and her Memoirs will be read with delight as among the tenderest specimens of biographical writing in our language. She was never an extremist. She considered woman neither man's rival nor his foe, but his complement. As she herself said, she believed that the development of one could not be affected without that of the other. Her words, so n.o.ble in tone, so moderate in spirit, so eloquent in utterance, should not be forgotten by her sisters. Horace Greeley, in his introduction to her "Woman in the Nineteenth Century," says: "She was one of the earliest, as well as ablest, among American women to demand for her s.e.x equality before the law with her t.i.tular lord and master. Her writings on this subject have the force that springs from the ripening of profound reflection into a.s.sured conviction. It is due to her memory, as well as to the great and living cause of which she was so eminent and so fearless an advocate, that what she thought and said with regard to the position of her s.e.x and its limitations should be fully and fairly placed before the public." No woman who wishes to understand the full scope of what is called the woman's movement should fail to read these pages, and see in them how one woman proved her right to a position in literature hitherto occupied by men, by filling it n.o.bly.

The Story of this rich, sad, striving, unsatisfied life, with its depths of emotion and its surface sparkling and glowing, is told tenderly and reverently by her biographers. Their praise is eulogy, and their words often seem extravagant, but they knew her well, they spoke as they felt.

The character that could awaken such interest and love surely is a rare one.

==>The above are uniformly bound in cloth, and sold separately or in sets.

Sold everywhere. Mailed, post-paid, by the Publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.

_Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications._

Famous Women Series.