SCENE III--THE FORUM.

_A multitude has gathered. Appius is in the judgment seat, with Marcus Claudius stationed beside him. Many women are weeping and the men appear silent and angry. Appius is surrounded by a guard of lictors. Cornelia and Tiberius are seated on the left in a car drawn by slaves. Near the center are gathered Galba, Hortensius, Horatius, and Marius._

_Marius._ This vast suspense weighs on me heavily; I would not see that gentle maiden wronged For all my world possessions! E'en the gods Would shriek with horror if yon slave of Dis, Young Marcus Claudius, should seize on her. Why doth she not appear?

_Hort._ She and her father, Who hath returned, hot-foot, from camp to her, Tarry about the town, and every man They meet they do address with exhortations And prayers for justice and for witnesses, That this gross tale which men do know is false Shall be so proven. Yet all Rome is prone Beneath the foot of Appius and his nine Vile colleagues. Fear is most tyrannical, Justice is dying, Mercy now is dead.

_Marius._ Then God alone can help the wretched maid!

_Hor._ (_hotly_). Nay, shall she be defiled and made a slave? Not while my hands are free, my body quick With lifeblood, and my heart a man's. Why she Is pure and frail as is the mountain snow. Happy the man who stands her champion. Happy Icilius, our young tribune!

[_Enter Virginius in mean, plebeian garments and Virginia simply clothed in white, her dark hair loose. A murmur of sympathy and admiration greet their appearance, quickly suppressed. Enter from the other side Icilius, vainly struggling in the hands of armored soldiers. His hair is wild and greatly disheveled, his features white and drawn with agony._

_Icilius._ Virginia! Ah, my God! Virginia!

_Virginia._ My Love! My Love! My Love!

[_He stretches out his bound arms toward her, and in a moment with a cry she runs to him, regardless of the gazing world, and kneeling at his feet kisses with fervor the hands in bondage for her sake. Murmurs from the multitude._

_Appius_ (_rising to his feet, his face aflame_). Back, girl! Back from him! Lictor, part the twain!

[_Lictor unwillingly obeys, whereat Virginia rising slips away from him to her father's side. Virginius advances, with his hand uplifted, toward the judgment seat._

_Virginius._ Delay no longer in the trial of This matter. We demand in common justice A hearing, and at once, O, Appius!

_Galba_ (_aside to his friends_). Mark yonder man upon the judgment-seat. Methinks 'tis he who coveteth the virgin, And Marcus but his instrument. Ah, see! The Chief is moved to acquiesce. Methinks He fears this pleb as he once feared Sicinius.

_Appius_ (_haughtily_). And now begins the judgment. Silence, all! My client, Marcus Claudius, step forth.

[_The man obeys. Virginia, shuddering, looks only at her father._

_Appius._ Repeat thy statement, Claudius, we wait.

_Marc._ O, noble Chief, and all ye men of Rome, I but reiterate my words to-day Spoken in explanation of my course Of action yesternoon. A woman came Unto the house of Appius, one moon Ago, and came to perish on our hands. But ere she died she made a full confession Of having served in early years the wife Of this our citizen, Virginius, Who ignorantly hath been foully wronged, For whom we feel the deepest sympathy, And unto whom I now address myself.

[_Turns to Virginius._

O, good centurion, this maid is not Thy child in blood; but, as I said, was born Of a slave woman in my house. Thy babe Died on the moment of its birth. Thou wert Away in service. Dost thou not recall?

_Virginius_ (_in calm affirmative_). Yea, that I do recall. (_Aside._) Thou fiend of hell!

_Marc._ (_triumphantly_). Has he not said? This slave, who did confess To us the truth, declared that she had played The thief and crept most slyly to my house, Stolen the infant of my nurse and slipped Out, 'mid the night and gloom, which, friendly, hid Her dastard deed. Virginia is the babe, And, therefore, lawfully belongs to me.

_Icilius._ Ye gods!

_Multitude._ No proofs? No evidence?

_Marc._ (_proudly_). My word!

[_Much laughter and some hissing._

_Appius._ Silence! Virginius, speak, and be as brief As the occasion will allow. Proceed.

_Virginius._ Ye men of Rome! To you, and you alone, I speak in my defense, for lo! in you I see the qualities of common justice, Or faintest sense of mercy, which is rare-- And less, indeed, unto the point in hand. For all these forty years I've lived in Rome, A Roman 'mongst the Romans, brave amongst The brave, and serving, ere I came of age, My mother city. Have I shown myself In any manner base, corruptible, Or lying, either by my word or deed? Ye all are witnesses of me--each man Can see and know the truth as God can see. This is my babe, of me begotten, born Of her whom I so loved--her mother. Lo! The very luster of her ebon hair Bespeaks the woman who in honor bore Virginia. See! The tremble of her lip. I do not willingly display my flesh And blood to gaze of multitudes, but that My straits are desperate. Look upon her hand-- The long, brown fingers are a copy true Of these, though mine are knotted by the grip Of sword and the guiding of the plow. And now her eyes--Ah, no! I say too much. Ye gods of Heaven speak for me this day!

[_He bows his head upon Virginia's shoulder._

_Appius._ He faints with sudden revelation from The gods of what is manifestly true. Virginius, thou art deluded, or A man, of old, deceptive.

_Virginia._ 'Tis a lie! He is Virginius, no more, no less! And 'tis enough, as Rome can witness to. Thou art not worthy to crawl on the ground And kiss the hand which hath these many years Battled for Rome! Thou canst but harm our flesh. His name and mine are unstained as the flame On Vesta's altar.

[_Turns to where Icilius is struggling vainly in the hands of the guard._

Peace, Icilius! Of what avail is aught to such as these? Small hope is left--and yet, O, Appius, Wert thou not born of woman? For the one Who gave thee life, respect her sisters now. Let mercy dawn within thy hardened breast, Speak but one word--one word--and many lives Will leap and live again. Look down upon And honor this grey head, now bowed so low; The only stay and comfort in his age Wouldst tear from him? His years in solitude Will roll away, a never-ending tide. Ye Romans, look upon your citizens, Protect your women--lest indignant Jove Lightnings shall send upon you, or the shield Of Mars be taken from its sanctuary.

[_Icilius at this moment breaks from the grasp of the soldiers and leaps to Virginia's side. The girl lifts his bound hands and places them against her breast, raising her eyes to his._

Icilius! I heard a ringing laugh, And saw, as in a vision, a young child-- Our flesh and blood--our souls' inheritor. I saw adorning me, in the strange dream, A wedding garland fresh, not clanging chains. O, if to die within thine arms! But stay! My father--see the workings of his face! He suffers. Father, we shall meet again In the Elysian fields, when I am free!

_Appius._ Fools! Cease your maudlin tragedy! Disperse! Come forward, slave, the judgment hath been passed.

_Cor._ (_starting_). The judgment, and so soon!

_Tiberius_ (_leaping from the car_). It is not so! Virginia, stay awhile!

_Icilius_ (_aside_). Unbind my hands, Virginia!

_Virginia._ The knot is hard and I am dazed. I tremble. Love, wilt thou sacrifice thy life for me?

_Icilius._ Ah! some one loose me of these cursed bonds!

[_He is seized by the soldiers and again forced from the young girl's side. Cornelia steps from her car, and coming forward kneels at the feet of Appius._

_Cor._ Lord Appius, behold a broken heart, But one with gentle blood from noble veins Forever fed. Though proud, I kneel to thee. O, loose her bonds--restore her liberty-- And I my wealth, my house, and e'en my life Shall give to thee or this thy servant here. Deep down into the dust I do incline Myself, who am a lady of the best And noblest line in Rome. I offer thee My services, if thou wilt free the maid Who did befriend me in mine hour of need.

_Virginia._ Cornelia! To me! Nay, it shall not be! Thou friend of friends, such sacrifice is vain. One kiss alone I ask of thee--one kiss-- Then silence! See, Tiberius weeps for thee.

[_Tiberius springs with a cry into Cornelia's arms. The two draw off together. The four citizens come forward._

_Galba._ O, Appius, we offer thee our lives To do with as thou wilt--but loose the maid!

_Appius._Petitioners, ye gods, from every side? It shall not be, for she is Marcus' slave. The judgment has been passed, and I have spoken!

[_A murmuring._

Make way! The master comes to take his slave!

[_Confusion. Appius rises, his face ablaze with passion._

Make way, ye fools! I'll call my colleagues here With all their lictors. There will be bloodshed! Make way!

_Icilius._ Ah! but to have my hands about His throat, though for a moment, for a breath; Though for a heart-beat and, beyond me, Hell!

_Virginia_ (_in a voice of agony_). Father! My father!

_Virginius._ Quiet, little girl! O, Appius, the final shred of hope, The weakened flame, is gone--forever gone. Before we part, indeed, one moment grant To us aside, that I may speak with her.

_Appius._ Haste, then, old pleb! Nor tarry long for tears.

_Virginius._ Tears? What are they? My heart is dead and barren, My soul athirst for death. Tears mean no more To me than rain upon a broken stone.

[_He leads the girl aside. All watch in breathless silence._

_Virginia._ O, Heavenly Powers above, deliver me, By whirlwind or by sword, from this dread place! Father, farewell! [_Presses his hand to her lips._

_Virginius._ Ah! Touch it not!

[_Snatches a knife from a butcher._

Thus only can I make thee free, my daughter!

[_He plunges it into her bosom and she falls back into the arms of Icilius, who has freed himself and leaps to her side with a cry. Tumult and swaying of the crowd._

(_Brandishing knife._) With this blood, Appius! thy life and thee Devote I to perdition!

[_Makes his way with the knife through the multitude. Icilius lays her body down, murmuring,_ "Virginia, by thy blood shall Rome be free!" [_Exit._

[_Camilla kneels as though stunned beside the prostrate body._

_Tiberius._ Ah me! Ah me! Virginia!

[_Sinks beside her._

(_Curtain._)

_It rises again to show the collected army, with Virginius and Icilius at the head. Appius is about to leave the seat, his cloak around his head. Several lictors have fallen to the ground. Camilla still kneels beside the body, gazing vacantly before her. Virginia's dark hair falls like a shroud around her._

(_Curtain._)

POEMS

STEWARDSHIP.

What can I do for Thee, Almighty God, Whose breath can wake, whose voice can calm, the sea? Should I endeavor, with this striving brain, Which, in its striving, errs, and, erring, turns, And, fearful, flies from its appointed field-- With these weak hands, that blindly grope along The road of Truth to higher things, uplift Those fallen by the way, whom Thou didst name My brothers? I, to the sad, ancient world, Speak, in unfaltering accents, of my soul's Instinctive yearnings, loftiest ideals, And holiest hopes of the fair destiny Of all my fellow-souls, who tread the way? When One has left a message, sweet, divine, Eternal, for the fainting world to read, Should I arise and cry, an echo faint, Of His all-satisfying tones of Love, And lisp my dreams of Truth? I am afraid! Yet, trembling, still I dare not to be mute. Remembering His vast Love, I can not choose But humbly say the lessons I have learned. Teach me, O God, to feel Thy silences, And hear Thy voice aright, in wind and wave; Teach me the upward look of Faith and Hope, Which lifts, nor ever drags the spirit down; Teach me the tender touch and the warm smile Of a deep, all-embracing heart, whose light Is the sweet essence of true Charity!

THE SEA GULL.

Strong-winged soul of the lifting sea, Bird of the gale, Launch thyself from the crags, and fly Over the crested waves, nor sigh For the sheltered home, but gladly hail The sea and the open sky!

High, low, high, low, Over the foam, Gliding level with the mast, Darting close above the vast Roll of billows--then come home, And hide thee from the blast.

Once again, thy pinions free Spread to the speaking breeze! Forward, like a mermaid light, Onward, like to a soul as white As the curling foam of the singing seas, Nor shrink from the coming night.

Rolling fog and fading light, Spread and sail! Fold thy pinions, breast the deep, In the darkness, Spirit, sleep, Soul of the gale!

MT. VERNON.

Home of the Dead! One glance of lingering love We cast behind us, where our vessel's wake Winds, foaming, backward to Virginian hills. Home of the Dead! Retreating from thy shores We breathe a final sigh, a last farewell. The pillared mansion gleams amid the green, The sombre tomb, deserted, stands alone; While, over all, a thousand beacons burn. The West displays a canopy of sky, Woven by angels, flung across the hills, Where sleeps the silent dust of Washington.

Bleak is the wind that leaps like blade unsheathed From out the silver scabbard of the East! At hide and seek, among the ruffled waves, The eerie shadows play in elvish glee. A thief, Night steals the golden glories bright Of Day. But still a flush of silken rose Colors the West, stains the broad river's breast, And casts a garland 'cross the Eastern sky.

Behold, on either shore, reflected green, Dim in the dying lustre of the sun, While tips of rose, like diadems, adorn And wreathe the gracious brows of drowsy hills. Behold and marvel! See and comprehend! Amid this beauty lies the sacred dust Of one who was a hero and a man, While all the hills that sleep about his tomb Shine with the glory of God's holy light.

MY MOTHER.

Has she faded from my skies forevermore, Like a star that slides adown the arch of Night, Or the sunlight, swiftly paling on the shore Of my boundless sea of hopes, that glittered bright In the lustre of her smile? Is she gone forevermore? Or has she but departed for a while?

Shall I never feel her hand upon my brow? Shall I never meet her lips in kisses sweet? Or is it that I am denied her now, And some day shall hear the music of her feet, And, like Proserpine, will come, with the happy winds that blow, Leap the years, and find, in her, my final home?

THE CRADLE SONG.

Adown the vista of the years, I turn and look with silent soul, As though to catch a muted strain Of melody, that seems to roll In tender cadence to my ear. But, as I wait with eyes that long The singer to behold--it fades, And silence ends the Cradle Song.

But when the shadows of the years Have lengthened slowly to the West, And once again I lay me down To sleep, upon my mother's breast, Then well I know I ne'er again Shall cry to God, "How long? How long?" For, to my soul, her voice will sing A never-ending Cradle Song.

OUT OF THE DARK.

Out of the Dark that shrouded Thee, my Lord, Upon that day of Passion and of Pain, There rose a cry from Thee which rent the sky, Piercing the shadows of the noontide gloom In vibrant tones that rang with agony Supreme, and, with the strength of holy grief, Divine despair, rolled upward on the wings Of Mystery unto the eternal Throne-- "Eli! Eli! Lama Sabacthani!"

Out of the dark that lies about my soul, Upon this day of sorrow and of pain, I lift mine eyes and gaze with prayerful heart Upon the tortured image of my Lord, Then lo! the sombre shadows melt away, And round my spirit glows a wonderous light, By thine own Cross and Passion, blessed Lord, And by that mystic moment of despair, Thy world shall never know Thine awful Woe, Nor cry to God in agony supreme-- "Eli! Eli! Lama Sabacthani!"

NIOBE.

(Dedicated to the statue of Niobe, in the Uffizi Palace, Florence, Italy.)

Oh! form of perfect woe, in grief unending! Soul-anguish, mortal pangs, in marble moulded! Oh, sobs! by us unheard, that bosom rending! Oh, tender form! within those arms enfolded!

With heart undaunted, has the Mother striven Against Death's vengeance, e'en within its portal; And when her soul with horror most is riven, Woman, she dares to face the wrath immortal.

So, through the ages, see those forms united In an eternal clasp. Ah, woe transcendent! Upon that face, its beauty all unblighted, We read the Mother-love, supreme, resplendent!

TO THE GENIUS OF DEATH, BY CANOVA.

Genius of Death! Thou form as white and slim As moonbeams, falling through the awful dome Above thee when the deathlike night draws down; Speak, through those sweet, still lips, whose solemn curve Alone gives token of thine ancient, dread Supremacy! Say that thou art not Death, But holy Calm or silent hushed Repose. Still are thy stern lips dumb, no hopeful breath Exhaling! Then, from them, do I appeal To something more divine. O'er that calm brow And carven face, uplifted from the tomb In speechless faith, there shines a wondrous light That mocks the awful declaration there. Genius of Death thou canst not be, for lo! Thou art the Soul of Immortality!

TO THE WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE.

"Winged Victory?" Unworthy is that name, Thou marble miracle of endless Time! I see thee standing yonder in the light, Upon thy rude and lonely pedestal, A shape as strange as it is beautiful. To me, thou art a winged mystery, For where, in all the ages of the past, Years of the present, centuries to come, Can there be found creation like to thee, Conceived by God or Man? A miracle; Marble in motion--yet divinely still, As though it paused to hear its own low breath-- Yet breathes not; pacing on its lonely height-- Yet stirs not; heavenly wings outspread, with chaste Angelic curve--yet not in flight extended. Thou art not of the living nor the dead. Thy wings do breathe of immortality, Of Heavenly Presence, yet thy headless form, In all its marred and mutilated grace, Points to the clay. How can we solve thee, then? Enigma so profound was never known Among the many countless works of Man. Thou art incarnate Mystery itself, Brooding above the world; the Universe Lies in the shadow of thine outspread wings-- Thou silent Spirit of the Infinite!

BEATRICE TRIUMPHANT.

(To Beatrice Cenci, as she is depicted in Guido Reni's painting of St. Michael and the Dragon.)

Gold hair, blown back from radiant brow, Crowning, like light, a maiden, martyred head, Feet planted on the "Dragon," prone, And mighty wings in victory outspread. In thee what change, divinely wrought! What wondrous resurrection from the dead!

He lies, beneath thy righteous feet, Who, cruel craven, caused thee to be slain; He writhes who let thee agonize, A captive and in undeserved pain, And crawls, in sight of all the world, Forever rendered loathsome by that stain!

And thou, bright dream of brooding light, With woman's face and angel's stature, thou Exquisite seraph, fresh from God, Tell me, why wakes no awful vengeance now On thy grave lips? Oh! Woman, wronged, Unfold the mystery of that calm brow!

THE CALL OF THE IRISH SEA.

Gray Irish Sea, wild Irish Sea, That spreads so free, gray Irish Sea-- Your freedom mocks the shores you beat With the booming tread of your angry feet; The Celtic heart no longer sings To the rhythmic rush of Freedom's wings! Wild Irish Sea, gray Irish Sea, Chant Freedom's dirge, wild Irish Sea!

Gray Irish Sea, wild Irish Sea, You call to me, gray Irish Sea, I hear the harp-strings of the North, And stirring bagpipes thrilling forth; I dream the dreams of olden days, I hear bold Ossian chant his lays! Wild Irish Sea, gray Irish Sea, You call to me, wild Irish Sea!

THE LION OF LUCERNE.

Hid in a hushed retreat, a lovely dell, Where Mother Nature sings low lullabies, And weaves her silence like a sacred spell, Beneath the light of deep and tender skies, In his lone agony the Lion lies.

Colossal creature of a sculptor's brain, Are you the marble that you seem to be? Inanimate, untouched by mortal pain? Within that form, and yearning to be free, Your soul must wrestle with Death's mystery!

There is a height Self-sacrifice may climb, Nearer the throne of God than any star, A height above the wasting tide of Time, Beyond the din of Earth's discordant jar-- A height that untried souls scarce see afar.

On that great height the Lion of Lucerne, With face half-human, with majestic brow, Lies stretched. Oh, Love! that will forever burn On Pain's dread altar, you alone can know The glory and the recompense for Woe!

SONNET TO NIAGARA FALLS.

As on the brink of that which men call Death, Standing 'twixt Time and dread Eternity, We pause to gaze with fear-suspended breath On that abyss, whose depths we can not see, So now, I stand, above thy thundering fall, Thou Miracle, of marvels most supreme, Who summons all the world, with trumpet call, To adore the heavenly genius of thy stream! In 'wildering confusion, mad disdain Of earthly trammels, earthly tyrannies, Shrieking, like legions of damned souls in pain, Roaring rebellion 'neath the silent skies, Fearful as Death, still thou dost seem to cry, "I am the symbol of Eternity!"

THE LOST HEART.

(A Rondeau.)

Where is my heart? Ah! Love, I dare not say, I only know that it is hid away, Somehow,--somewhere,--and somewhat restless there. But safely hid away,--poor heart, somewhere.

I strive to call it back to me, but nay,-- That willful heart refuses to obey. And do you ask, thus, in your sad, sweet way-- You, Love, who know so well its secret lair, Where is my heart?

Alone, I wait and wonder, day by day, At the poor, pulsing heart, that went astray, Once, in the mazes of a woman's hair. Could it forsake a labyrinth so fair? No need for you to ask, for me to say-- Where is my heart?

IS HE NOT MINE?

Is he not, mine? Although he drift from me Into the Ocean of the Far Away, Across the tideless and the awful sea Of Time, while I alone must mutely stay Within the doorway of a darkened Day; Although he shake the dust from his light feet, Dust of my warm Heart's Garden, yet I hold, My Love forever, radiant, complete. He breathes upon me when spring buds unfold, He smiles upon me from the roses' gold; I hear him in the tender melody Of mating bird; his laugh rings, glad and free, In every breeze; like stars his dear eyes shine; His spirit is a presence, half-divine, Which clasps, enfolds my being like a sea! Is he not mine?

TWO GIFTS.

She laughingly gave me a rose, one day, And the thorns were sharp,--but the rose was red, And fragrant and warm from the sun's bright ray, So I clasped the rose, though my fingers bled,-- And it fluttered in petals away.

She mockingly offered her heart, one day, And I clasped what she gave, though my own heart bled, I gazed in her eyes, and her soft hair lay On my lips, and I laughed,--though the heart was dead, And crumbled to dust away!

THE MOONFLOWER.

Earth star of the evening, full moon of the twilight, Pale soul of the dusk, like a virgin in white, With slow graceful motion, so stealthy, so silent, She opens her heart to the kisses of night.

Chaste blossom, ah! thus, when my own Love approaches, And bends o'er my spirit with fervor divine, Thus would I lay bare, in unbounded devotion, A heart pure and tender and fragrant as thine!

THREE KISSES.

A rampant wind, on a golden day, Sported and played with a wild, wild rose, He woke her soul from its mute repose, He kissed the heart of the wild, wild rose, And, kissing,--kissed her leaves away,-- And now the wind goes sighing.

Love won me, on a golden day, He woke my soul, with a kiss sublime, And the whole world vanished, and Death and Time Seemed nought at the touch of that kiss sublime! Love, kissing,--kissed my heart away, And now Love goes rejoicing.

An Angel came, on pinions gray, In his cold, white arms he clasped my Love! Earth reeled, the sun went out above. Oh! God! I saw Death kiss my Love, And, kissing,--kiss his soul away-- And now my soul goes wailing!

A SONG OF THE WEST.

Into the glowing West! And lo! the vast and sunburnt plains unfold, An endless, rippling, tideless sea of gold, Our own dear Mother's breast; The gaunt, the silent earth, The bare, brown land without a single tree Or blossom as a home for bird or bee, It lies, endures the dearth, And smiles in spite of thirst And parched and craving lips. This is the best, The better land, my own, my noble West.

Into the West! Green, verdant with the strength of endless light, Immortal sunlight, radiant and bright! Where man may work, may rest: This is my paradise, A land of flowers and of singing seas, Of hoary mountain tops and giant trees, Beneath vast arching skies, Skies that are eloquent With sympathy and soft, and deep and true, Gray only when we weary of the blue, Cloudless and all content.

Into the West! That mother of great men who sing her praise, Who marvel o'er her miracles and ways, As free and unsuppressed As ocean's roll. Say, O, ye creatures of the further sea, What know ye of her grace and melody, The grandeur of her soul?

TO ESTHER.

As Night, before the dawn, In starry splendor, seems to brood Above the world, which waits the morn, Yet worships Night in melancholy mood, As Night, in whom a solemn passion lies, So brood and beam my Esther's midnight eyes.

As sunlight on a rose In flashing radiance seems to glow, Warming the tender heart within, To life and love; as early beams bestow Upon that rose a soul which can beguile A hundred hearts, so beams my Esther's smile.

As love-birds, in the Spring, Sing on the sylvan boughs at noon, And mating-calls in echoes ring, Or oft at night they whisper to the moon; As stream responds to stream with tender art, So, to mine own, replieth Esther's heart.

As sea to distant sea, In grand response to Passion's cry, Declares its own vast mystery, And answers wild entreaties with a sigh; As waves to waves melodiously roll, So sings to me forever--Esther's soul.

THE THRUSH.

It was the Thrush,--it was the joyous Thrush, Who, with his beauteous voice, the woods addressed! He sank from heavens unseen, and in the hush Of floating fragrance and soft-slumbering flowers, Dozing beneath the spell of sun-bright hours, His summer shower of song the glade's deep heart caressed.

Bright, speckle-breasted, angel-throated bird! He tilted on the hedge, and piped and wooed; Now here a note, now there, so low 'twas heard, Ofttimes, by one deep listening ear, one only, The ear of Silence; he, her minstrel lonely. Was it for her divine mute blessing that he sued?

How often I have watched him in the grass, Familiar, small, erect, and bravely dressed In spotted golden-brown; have seen him pass Alertly to and fro, all blithely springing, With elfin bounds; no longer wildly winging; Content with Mother Earth, as though he loved her breast.

Earth born, sky destined, living harp of song, Beloved Thrush, pour forth your notes divine! Whether to earth or heaven you most belong, What the vast purpose of your melody, Your mystic glory, your bright ecstasy, I know not,--only this, your soul is sweet to mine.

THE LIGHT OF THE STAR.

Dank were the grewsome alleys of the town, Dingy the houses of the dreary street; The very dogs reflected degradation, Gaunt, wolfish; while God's flowers of creation, Young children, lacking all that makes life sweet, Through the foul-smelling night ran up and down.

Under a dull street light I watched them play, Shrilling in high-pitched and unchildlike tones, Daring the perils of the tainted city. Then, in my heart, the horror and the pity For human kind that in such blackness groans Rose, and I could not drive the pall away.

Amid such concrete evils, inbred sin, I, groping, questioned, could Christ's kingdom come, By any means? How could he ever enter At wealthy portals strong, where self is center, Or at the darkened doors of spirits dumb, Dulled by the ancient slums' unceasing din?

But, glancing upward, in my deep distress-- Myself so small an atom of my race-- I saw, above the dreadful hovels shining, A single star. It seemed, my pain divining, To answer from illimitable space, And with its rays to sanctify and bless.

Witness it bore of Law by which worlds move, Light of the Soul, the Everlasting Mind, Which--in its compass Earth and Heaven holding-- Is ever like some shining scroll unfolding, And will unfold with Time, till all mankind Shall read Life's one solution, perfect Love.

THE MESSAGE OF THE PINES.

Tall Southern pines, with hearts of mystic throbbing, Stretch your restless, weary boughs across the sunset sky, Dark Southern pines, whose souls are ever sobbing, I would roam through these dim aisles and learn the music of your sigh. Hark! the wail of hearts that can not weep! Hush! the sigh of souls that long to sleep!

Tall Southern pines, I seek these silent places Only in my memory--a memory beside me moves. Dark Southern pines, I love your solemn spaces, And there in spirit walk, and with her spirit seek the quiet groves. Hark! the moan of human hearts that yearn! Hush! the plaint of dreams that would return!

Tall Southern pines, I wrong you in my sorrow. Harps divine, you chant a dream not passed, but yet to come! Our two souls shall walk together, on some perfect morrow, And through the years remain together, when your voices all are dumb. Hark! her spirit whispers in the grove! Hush! I feel the presence of my Love!

THE LOST SUNBEAM.

Through fairy green of willows old, Aslant the stately, virgin, cold Form of the sycamore, Where poplars laugh, where beeches pray, Where breezes sigh, where streamlets sing, And birds are ever caroling, One morn, I saw a sunbeam stray; This single, holy, radiant ray On the wide earth had lost its way, Escaped through Heaven's half-open door.

"Where will the sunbeam find its home?" I idly wondered. "Will it roam Until it makes its nest Perhaps in some dear baby's hair?" But no! a baby's tresses shine With their own radiance divine-- The sun of Heaven is always there. Or would it find a secret lair In flowery heart? Nay, in that rare, Deep cell, God's sun long found its rest.

So the lone sunbeam strays at will, And longs for Heaven and rest, until Into the silent grove, An old man, crippled by disease, Creeps down the path, with weary eyes. That are too worn to seek the skies, With palsied limbs and shaking knees, And fixed, dull stare, that only sees The stony ground. Oh! stately trees! Shade this drear form with arms of love!

As he pursues his lonely way Through the green wood, the shining ray Straightway appears to dart To that bent form, and seems to light A glory in the thin white hair; Then, restless still, it makes its lair In the sad eyes, so dim of sight, And, smiling through the sombre night, It deeper sinks, a radiance bright, And nestles in the old man's heart.

HERITAGE.

(To my Mother.)

Everything beautiful centered in you! All that is fair, in your spirit, my Sweet, From the depths of the sea to the height of the blue, Lies now at my feet.

They are gems, they are gems you have scattered so free, From your zenith of thought they have fallen like rain, From the height of your love they descended to me, In the midst of my pain!

Thoughts like the ocean and dreams like the morn, Pure and unsullied, most holy and true; Dear Love, in my being there shines a new dawn, Whose light is from you!

Transcriber's Notes:

Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.

End of Project Gutenberg's Virginia, A Tragedy, by Marion Forster Gilmore