Chapter 1

Produced by Sergio Cangiano, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

LAYS FROM THE WEST

BY

"STELLA"--M.A. NICHOLL

Then the spirit reached her fingers, Taper things of rosy snow, Took my songs, and as she took them, "Tiny germs," she whispered "go! Root among the coming hours, Seeds are ye of many flowers, Which from out the winds will grow!"

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Dedicated

WITH MUCH GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION

TO

_MRS. T. SPOTISWOOD ASH,_

THE MANOR HOUSE,

BELLAGHY, IRELAND.

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IN THE NORTHWEST.

"I'll not forget Old Ireland, were it fifty times as fair."

In myriads o'er the prairie Bright flowers bloom strangely fair, There's beauty in the clear blue sky, There's sweetness in the air; And loveliness, with lavish hand, Decks dell and dingle gay; Yet still I love my native land-- The Green Isle, far away.

The poplar quivers in the breeze, And by the blue lake's side. The regal iris, tall and fair, Blooms in her native pride; But I dream of the broad beeches' shade In glens beside Lough Neagh And my longing thoughts go back to thee, O, Green Isle, far away!

Strange birds, in painted plumage gay, In hundreds haunt the grove; O'er marsh and moor, the loon and heron, The coot and plover rove; But I miss the lark's glad matin song, And the thrush and blackbird's lay, The summer songsters, sweet and wild, In the Green Isle, far away. Along the blue horizon line The "bluffs" rise 'gainst the sky, But in dreams I see Old Erin's coast-- Her mountains wild and high Slieve Gallon, with his hoary head Gold-crowned at close of day, When sunset lights the grand old hills In the Green Isle, far away.

There's beauty in the woodland wilds With their varied foliage fair, But, cowering from the light of day, The grim wolf shelters there. Ah! dear old woods, where I have roamed At eve of summer day, No hidden dangers haunt your glades, In the Green Isle, far away.

The clear Assiniboine winds free Through many a fertile vale; The antlered deer and graceful hind Bound o'er the wooded dale; But I miss the quiet rural scenes-- The farm-house, thatched and grey, That memory fondly pictures now Of the Green Isle, far away.

The Sabbath morn its holy calm Breathes o'er the prairie lands, And the answering heart hears Nature's psalm And the wild woods clap their hands. But I long to hear the church bell's sound Tell to these wilds that day, When thousands meet to praise and pray In the Green Isle far away.

Here life lays hold of brighter things For the fair years to be, But the deathless Past and all her dreams, Old land, belong to thee! The buried love, the buried hope Of youth's glad summer day, That blend with unforgotten scenes Of the Green Isle, far away.

And while we love this pleasant land And own it good and fair, Our hearts' first love goes backward And fondly lingers there-- Back to the dear home country, Then forward to that day When all shall meet together, From the Green Isle pass'd away.

SONG.

"In the gloaming Oh, my darling."

Oh! green-bosomed Isle, as the summer day's gloaming, Lies dreamy and dun on the prairie's wild breast There my worn, wayward heart o'er the wild waves is roaming Far, far to the scenes that are dearest and best.

As by bluff and by woodland, by swamp and by meadow, The gloom gathers round in its dim, mystic pall, Then my fancies come forth, spirit-children of shadow, Slow gliding from haunts where the lone night-birds call.

When the wind, ardent lover, in songful caressing, Speaks low to the grasses that bend to his breath, And the dew woos the rose with the balm of its blessing And steals it with love from the shadow of death.

Then I seek the wild glen, when the new moon is beaming All weirdly and wan, through a cloud's fleecy haze, 'Till I stand, young and free, in the land of my dreaming, Clasping hands with the phantoms of happier days.

And then, oh! mavourneen, in grey distance flying The present, the real, grows dimmer, and dies, See but the moonbeams, but hear the winds sighing, And bask, fancy bound, in the light of your eyes.

My own! though the years in the gloom of their sadness Stand, frowning, 'tween me and the light of my star, And memory can feel the wild might of loves madness, Or scoff as rude Time its first sweetness would mar.

Again, by the banks where Moyola is flowing We stray as the moonbeams smile sweet through the dell

Unheeded the moments, unmarked in their going, Nor dreamed we of woe in the sound of "farewell."

Is it lost--all the light of the fair morning vision? Is spirit to spirit unanswering, cold? No, it never shall die, while in memory's Elysian It lingers in beauty and brightness untold.

Love is love, and though Fate blasts our hope vines may sever From the stay which their tendrils in fondness entwine Yet the past of our joy we must cherish forever And spirit meet spirit at memory's shrine.

A MEMORY.

"Indulgent Memory wakes, and, lo! they live!" --RODGERS

Deathless, while the years are flying, And all lesser hopes are dying. To my widowed heart near lying By a life-time's love embalmed, Is a memory, dear and tender, And in dreams its bygone splendour Sweetest, holiest, balm can render To my grief, by Time uncalmed.

In life's morning, young and early Glistening fair through dew-drops pearly, Burst a bud that promised fairly Through the length of future days. Ah! it charmed my passion'd dreaming, Bathed in beauty's brightness, beaming Fadeless still, and deathless seeming In fond Hope's delusive haze.

And, as when in wild December, June's calm twilights we remember, So this dream in shadowy splendour

Ever haunts my lonely way; And I see in fond delusion, Glowing as in light Elysian, The entrancing, old-time vision Doom'd so early to decay.

Days when Hope, how false! still flaunted Through my dreamings, love enchanted, Framed by busy Fancy, haunted By glad visions of delight,-- Morns of light, and sunsets golden, Dreams of legends, grand and olden, Hopes for future years, withholden From our youthful, yearning sight.

Past and gone! Ah! vain my sighing,-- Hope's dead leaves are round me lying, But their fragrances, undying, Like a hallowed incense rise; And I feel, with joy unspoken, That the spirit love unbroken Leaves this Memory for a token Of its truth, that never dies.

In that land whose beauty vernal Through tried ages blooms eternal Thou, in bliss undreamed, supernal Baskest in the glory-light Where celestial joys inspire All heaven's vast, unnumbered choir With sweet songs that never tire, Through the fadeless summer bright.

Here, how sad this dreary roaming, Through the shadows of earth's gloaming, Waiting for the longed-for coming Of the lingering Morning Star; But swift time is onward fleeting-- Backward is the past retreating, Nearer, nearer draws our meeting In the future, dim and far.

AFTER LIFE'S FEVER.

_Obiit, June, 1882_.

--"And then, a flood of light, a seraph's hymn, And God's own smile, forever, and forever."

Oh! pale, calm face; eyes by the Death-kiss sealed, Cold hands, upon the silent bosom folden; Oh! soul, set free--of all sin's sickness healed, Basking in light, from mortal eyes withholden, _In cœlo quies_.

Still heart, that ached and throbb'd with human passion, Locks, white with snow of many a winter past, Tired body, weary after earth's poor fashion, Sleep calmly till the waking trumpet blast-- _In cœlo quies_.

All over now--the heart-ache and the burning Of thoughts, so trammelled by this "mortal coil;" The soul has cast behind its moans and yearning, The hands are resting from the long life's toil,-- _In cœlo quies_.

I, mournful gazer, watching by the portal Whence thou, from death to life, hast entered in, Would fain catch one stray gleam of light immortal, To tell me, ever drowning earth's wild din, _In cœlo quies_.

I might not hear the angel welcome ringing, Nor see the pearly portals open wide, Wherein the ransomed band, the new song singing, In white robes wander by life's river side, _In cœlo quies_.

"_In cœlo quies_," while the storms are beating Along earth's desert moorlands, wild and wide; While skies shall lower, and angry waves are meeting Thy bark is moored--thou art beyond the tide, _In cœlo quies_.

"_In cœlo quies_"--Rest, pure, deep, eternal, Peace, in a perfect, blissful, endless calm; Charmed by the beatific joys supernal, Lull'd by the melody of seraph's psalm, _In cœlo quies_.

Here, we but dream it all--the rest--the glory, Here we but yearn for it in sob and pain; Till knees wax weary and till locks grow hoary, Still "westward journeying," at length to gain, _In cœlo quies_.

But _thou_ mayest sleep; thy toilsome warfare ended, The long, rough life-path has been nobly trod, And with our lost ones, thou sweet songs hast blended, To hail them found, beside the throne of God? _In cœlo quies_.

LIGHT AT EVENTIDE.

Round us in the stillness spreading, Comes the night. Mortal ears can't hear the treading Of her footsteps, soft and light.

Dusky veil that shades the valleys, Bringing rest; Shadowy glooms in greenwood alleys. Twilight dreamings, sweet and blest.

All the day-time cares are ended, And instead, Now by unseen bands attended, Far, in fancy, we are led.

Misty forms of mystic seeming Hover near; Memory's myriad tapers gleaming Light old scenes and make them clear--

Morn's vain hopes, and noon's stern sorrows, Tears and cares; Days of toiling, and to-morrow's Bringing less of wheat than tares.

And the chequered, varied pages Of life's book Seem a sea whose calms and rages Now the tired heart cannot brook.

Evening calm! ah, best and purest Time of peace; Soothing balm, when hope is surest, To bid all vain doubting cease.

Pointing on, when near the pleasant, Rest awaits; When we leave this weary present And have gained the pearly gates.

And as evening shadows, creeping, Gather round Dim eyes, worn so weak with weeping, Learn to smile as peace is found.

In the hope so full of cheering And delight-- Home, sweet home! our rest we're nearing! Evening time shall bring us light.

Light of heaven! Earth's gloom adorning With thy smile, Earnest of the eternal morning After this brief "little while."

CHRISTMAS EVE.

Ruddy bright the dying embers In the glooming, glow and burn, Scenes of olden-time Decembers, Ashes now in Times' great urn, That the heart so well remembers At this haunted hour reborn:-- All the fairy scenes Elysian Born again in recollection, Seen with mirror-like reflection, Throng upon the wondering vision. Once again I hear the river In the darkness rush and roar, See the pine-boughs wave and quiver, Hear the oak trees, blasted, hoar, Muttering, as their gaunt arms shiver, "Come again, oh! days of yore!" Come, oh times of hope and longing, When the beauteous, pure ideal, Seemed tangible and real-- "Love the light of Truth's belonging."

And the woodland walks, enchanted, By the moonlight's mystic sheen, Seen as near as when Hope flaunted In the distance, dimly seen, That the witched hour seems haunted By the joys that once have been. Dear old days! they seem returning. Though their radiance long has vanished, Though their rays stern fate has banished, Fancy still can see them burning.

See their magic, nameless graces, Through the shadows flit and gleam, See again beloved faces Shine around as in a dream, And the well-remembered places Of the bygone, nearer seem, Till all present melancholy, Fades away, and sweet and tender, Visions of life's spring-time splendour, Gleam among the bay and holly.

Hark! the Christmas bells are ringing From the grey church-steeple near, And the choir are sweetly singing, "Nowel! Hail Messiah here! Nowel! for He cometh, bringing Unto all mankind good cheer." Through the night the music stealing Bringeth soothing sweet and pleasant, Sheds a peace upon the present, Future days in light revealing.

AT ANCHOR.

"Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever" HEBREWS xiii. 8.

In life's young morning blue-eyed promise smiled O'er a fair future of enchanting grace, And sweet toned love the golden hours beguiled, And Fortune's radiant smile illumed the place.

But change, dread vulture, swooped upon her prey. And seized my treasures as Time's car sped on, Then traitor love took wings, and fled away. And long ere noon I wept a setting sun.

Then Phoenix-like, beside the smoldering pile, Kind friendship rose with open, outstretched hands, But, ere I grasped them, death with icy smile Had rudely snapp'd in twain the three-fold bands.

E'en while I mourned, I heard a thrilling voice That said in stirring accents, "Up! arise! Work, that in harvest time thou mayest rejoice!" And Fame stood pointing to the brightening skies.

Then dreams, false phantoms, filled the gloaming air And lured me, spell-bound, by a labyrinth maze, But morning beams awakened new despair-- The meteor glories passed in mist and haze.

Through shady groves I strayed, and on before Walked high-browed Knowledge, calm-eyed and severe Unwearied still, I trod his footprints o'er, But fainting fell, the longed-for prize anear.

Hard-smitten then, I wept; all woe-all gloom! The heart-void still unfilled, ached keen and sore, When through the inky darkness shot a gleam Of new-born glory, unrevealed before.

Dear Lord! How frail these bauble-toys of Time When Thy "forever" dawns upon the heart; Thy perfect fullness, Saviour, how divine, E'en while we taste its blessedness in part! Still yesterday, to-day, while ages roll In grand, eternal vastness, still the same, Oh! potent Healer! every whit made whole, I sing glad Hallelujah to Thy name!

THE OLD TRYSTING PLACE.

"Die erste Liebe ist die beste."

Through the green boughs the golden sunshine falling Glints on the glades and lonely woodland bowers; Bird answers bird, through the wide woodlands calling, In the deep hush of the calm summer hours.

The limpid river winding through the meadows, Laughing and sparkling in the sunny noon, Takes peaceful tones here, 'neath the beeches' shadows, And sings sweet idylls in low, fitful tune.

Songs of the olden days, of hopes and pleasures, Songs of the love of youth's glad morning times, That sigh around our path like dream-world treasures, Soothing as music of the vesper chimes.

The rustic bridge, the leaves' soft shadows playing Down in the water-depths, and from away 'Mong the blue hills, come mingled echoes straying, The pleasant sounds that fill the summer day.

Aburnum's gold, and quivering beech-leaves blending, Sway, dancing in the breezes, to and fro; Wild hyacinths, their blue heads lowly bending, Listen the secrets of the winds to know.

Oh! quaint old trysting-place! oh! lights and shadows, And sounds that haunt the dreams of Life's glad May! Dreams withered like the May-flowers in the meadows Or roses of the Junes long passed away.

Here, oft in dreams, I see my own true maiden, The pure flower-face, the rippling golden hair; Ah! many years have roll'd past, sorrow-laden, Since blue-eyed Edmee waited for me there!

Ah! murmuring brook, with waving willow fringes, Ah! woodland picture, all your charmed glow Is touched and changed by Truth's own sober tinges, Tints that youth's eager eyes see not, nor know.

Fraught with these gleams of old-time faith and feeling, Fraught with the memory of "what might have been," A still, small voice says all is God's wise dealing, Behind the clouds is brightness yet unseen.

Young love and hope in all their matchless glory, Smile on our morning-time, then fade away; Teaching unwilling hearts the sad, true story, No lasting joy is here, all knows decay.

"Die erste Liebe ist die beste," leaving A holy radiance round the scenes we knew; A potent power to point lone spirits, grieving, To deathless Love whose charms are ever new.

It ever shows, "in part," in sweet tuition, What we shall know when we have gained the light, When all our highest hopes fade in fruition, Where the Eternal Summer beameth bright.

THY WORD IS A LIGHT UNTO MY FEET.

Oh! Light of Lights! dark, dark is earth's long way, Cloud upon cloud looms o'er the path I stray; Far-off and dim the heavenly Land appears, Through the thick mist of weak distrust--and fears. Helpless, I seek Thy Word, and hear Thy voice, That bids me always in the Lord rejoice; Pointing from doubts within, and this world's wile To peace and victory, in "a little while."

Oh! Saviour, Friend, how dark is life's rough path. What gloom and sorrow haunts this Vale of Death; Subtle the way, beset with many a snare And hidden evils lurking everywhere. But in this Light that shows my love, I see, This path Thou'st trod, and borne these griefs, for me, "Fear not!" I hear in tones of tenderest love "'Tis in thy weakness that my strength I prove."

The world's temptations rage on life's wild sea, Drifting the fragile bark I steer to Thee, But safe I pass the rocks and angry waves, Helped by Thy mighty arm that shields and saves. And still above the wind's and water's roar A calm voice hails me from the distant shore, "Cast all your care undoubtingly on Me, Fully and freely, for I care for thee."

When twilight shades fall round me, dim and grey, All those I love the most are far away, I look to Thee, and dry my willful tears-- With love like Thine, I dread no lonely years. If 'tis Thy will, let bitter partings come, Sweet shall the meetings be in yonder Home; While here I have Thy love that cannot die, And could I feel alone when Thou art nigh?

Weary with waiting for Thy promised rest, Dismayed with doubts, with sinfulness distressed; "Oh! let Thy kingdom come!" I pray "that I May join the glad new song they sing on high;" Then thy sweet words bring patience, "I prepare For thee an heavenly mansion, bright and fair, That where I am Thou mayest with Me abide, And taste full joy for ever by My side."

I bless thee, Saviour, for this word of life, This light to guide me safe through every strife, This lantern o'er my pathway shining clear To show the dangers, and the Helper near. I love to see it beaming, day by day, Thine own bright smile, that lights the darksome way; "Led by Thy counsel," oh! what joy to be "Received in glory," Lord, at last by Thee.

MEMORIES.

"In der Weit, weit, Aus der Einsamkeit, Wollen sie Dich locken."--FAUST.

When the glad, bright days of our youth's fresh prime, Shall have pass'd, as a dream that at morning dies; When the long blank stretch of the coming time Like a desolate desert before us lies, Dreary and cheerless, 'neath sunless skies.

When young, sweet love, with her luring smile, The mystic charm-light of halcyon hours, Shall no more with her witch'ry our souls beguile, As the leaves grow seer on Life's fading bowers, And the blushes are pale on its withering flowers.

When the strains we loved in the days of yore No more with their sweetness our heart's-chords thrill, When Hope's roseate meteors glow no more, Like the summer sunrise o'er vale and hill, That our dreamings with radiance were wont to fill.

When these are gone, shall the lone heart know No solace the solitude's gloom to cheer? Shall no stray beams lighten the spirit's woe As it moans "alone!" e'en when crowds are near? Must _all_ be lost that was once so dear?

Ah, no! Though Time is a thief, I ween, Stealing youth's best wealth as the swift years go, Still the memories of pleasures which once have been-- The dreams of the beautiful "Long ago," Are our own to keep, and shall aye be so!

"THE KING IS DEAD."

Hush! There's a solemn pause, And looks of fear! You ask--Whence comes the cause? Grim Death is here!

Oh! well thou answerest, well-- 'Tis fairly said; Our hearts thrill to the knell, "The King is dead!"

Dead! And the bell swings, swings On in its deep, sad tone; We own the King of Kings Is King alone!

We crown our Kings, we place Bay leaves on victors' brow, But all our mortal race Can boast is _now._

The body lay in state, All fair to mortal eye; The soul's eternal fate-- Oh! Death, thy mystery!

TO "X. Y. Z.," On receiving a paper from him.

"Old places have a charm for me The new can ne'er attain; Old faces--how I long to see Their kindly looks again!"--Anon.

"X. Y. Z.," your paper was A welcome thing, indeed, to me; It brought the memories of old days, Like fragrance wafted o'er the sea.

It spake about familiar nooks, The dear old paths I know so well; I almost thought I heard the brooks, Or roamed again my favourite dell.

The happy hours, the rustic glades, The gloaming time, the twilight stroll, Ah, me! these April evening shades With old-time dreams can haunt one's soul.

The heart feels young again and free, And no such word is known as care; Sweet rays of light that used to be Seem hovering in the twilight air!

The hedges and the fields of green, The lanes, the flowers, the wild bird's trill, The trees, seen down the water's sheen. The cattle lowing o'er the hill!

Your well-drawn school-life picture, too, My school-time morn recalls again; 'Tis like an old tune, sweet and true, That mingles pleasing notes with pain.

The fields, the schools, the village way, The quaint, old-fashioned, country rhyme, All come, like mystic glows that stray Across the yellowing fields of Time.

The English lanes have lovely flowers, And moss, and ferns, and birds that sing, But Erin--green Erin--still is ours. And to her name our fond hearts cling.

Each land we visit claims some grace-- Some special charm it calls its own; Yet patriot souls must love the place Which childhood's happy memories crown.

LOVE.

When first from Eden's blissful bowers, Man roamed o'er earth in exile driven, Kind Heaven, to cheer his lonely hours, A source of joy to him hath given.

'Tis Love, that lights our darkest days, 'Tis Love, that cheers our keenest woe, 'Tis Love, whose soul inspiring rays, Gilds all our lives with heaven-lent glow.

Ambition leads us for a while To follow many a meteor light-- Whose flickering beams our souls beguile, And lure us on to hopeless night.

And Fame may sound her clarion voice-- Wealth bring his hoards from every clime, But Age shall come, and earth's frail joys Must own the sway of sovereign Time.

But Love, as flying years go past, Shall glow with holier, tenderer beam, And shine, our guiding star at last Till our dull hearts shall catch a gleam.