Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

'Twas near the close of the dying year,
And December's winds blew cold and drear,
Driving the snow and sharp blinding sleet
In gusty whirls through square and street,
Shrieking more wildly and fiercely still
In the dreary grave-yard that crowns the hill.

No mourners there to sorrow or pray,
But soon a traveller passed that way:
He paused and leant against the low stone wall,
While sighs breathed forth from the pine-trees tall
That darkly look down on the silent crowd
Of graves, all wrapped in a snowy shroud.

Solemn and weird was the spectral scene -
The tombstones white, with low mounds between,
The awful stillness, eerie and dread,
Brooding above that home of the dead,
While Christmas fires lit up each hearth
And shed their glow upon scenes o...

With buoyant heart he left his home for that bright wond'rous land
Where gold ore gleams in countless mines, and gold dust strews the sand;
And youth's dear ties were riven all, for as wild, as vain, a dream
As the meteor false that leads astray the traveller with its gleam.

Vainly his father frowned dissent, his mother, tearful, prayed,
Vainly his sisters, with fond words, his purpose would have stayed;
He heard them all with heedless ear, with dauntless heart and bold -
Whisp'ring to soothe each yearning fear "I go to win you gold."

Restless he paced the deck until he saw the sails unfurled
Of the ship which was to bear him to that new and distant world;
And when his comrades stood with him and watched the lessening land,
His clear laugh rose the loudest 'mid that gay go...

A glorious pageant filled the church of the proud old city of Rheims,
One such as poet artists choose to form their loftiest themes:
There France beheld her proudest sons grouped in a glittering ring,
To place the crown upon the brow of their now triumphant king.

The full, rich tones of music swelled out on the perfumed air,
And chosen warriors, gaily decked, emblazoned banners bear:
Jewels blazed forth, and silver bright shone armor, shield and lance,
Of princes, peers, and nobles proud, the chivalry of France.

The object of these honors high, on lowly bended knee,
Before the altar homage paid to the God of Victory;
Whilst Renaud Chartres prayed that Heaven might blessings shower down
On that young head on which he now was chosen to place a crown.

Fair was the ...

I.

Come tell me some olden story
    Of Knight or Paladin,
Whose sword on the field of glory
    Bright laurel wreaths did win:
Tell me of the heart of fire
    His courage rare did prove;
Speak on - oh! I will not tire -
    But never talk of love.


II.

Or, if thou wilt, I shall hearken
    Some magic legend rare -
How the Wizard's power did darken
    The sunny summer air:
Thou'lt tell of Banshee's midnight wail,
    Or corpse-light's ghastly gleam -
It matters not how wild the tale
    So love be not thy theme.


III.

Or, perhaps thou may'st have travelled
    On distant, foreign strand,
Strange secrets have unravelled
    In many a far-off land;
Describe each castle hoary,
    E...

Among the haughtiest of her sex, in noble, quiet pride,
Cornelia stood, with mien that seemed their folly vain to chide:
No jewels sparkled on her brow, so high, so purely fair,
No gems were mingled 'mid her waves of dark and glossy hair;
And yet was she, amidst them all, despite their dazzling mien,
A woman in her gentle grace - in majesty a queen.

While some now showed their flashing gems with vain, exulting air,
And others boasted of their toys, their trinkets rich and rare,
And challenged her to treasures bring that shone with equal light,
Proudly she glanced her dark eye o'er the store of jewels bright.
"Rich as these are," she answered then, "and dazzling as they shine,
They cannot for one hour compete in beauty rare with mine!

"You all seem doubtful, and a smil...

Another pang for Southern hearts,
    That of late so oft have bled,
Another name to add to the roll
    Of their mighty, patriot dead;
A vacant place 'mid that phalanx proud.
    Of which each glorious name
Is dear to a mighty nation's heart,
    And dear to undying fame.

The God-given gift of genius his,
    The patriot's holy fire,
For he we mourn was a worthy son
    Of a great and glorious sire:
Ah! whate'er the changes time may bring,
    Shall never pass away
From the people's mind, in North or South,
    The deathless name of Clay.

Yet an exile in a foreign land,
    His spirit passed from earth,
Far from the old dear scenes of home,
    The loved land of his birth, -
The land he had well and truly served,
    With ...

"The heart knoweth its own bitterness"


The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom,
As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb;
When the past has no spell, the future no ray,
To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away;
When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed,
Hath a gloom o'er her flowers - o'er her skies a dark shade,
And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away,
Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!

Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this,
A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?
When friendship seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame,
And love a still falser and emptier name;
When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain,
Each link interwoven with grief and with pain,
And each solace or joy that the spiri...

I.

Mine eye is weary of the plains
    Of verdure vast and wide
That stretch around me - lovely, calm,
    From morn till even-tide;
And I recall with aching heart
    My childhood's village home;
Its cottage roofs and garden plots,
    Its brooks of silver foam.


II.

True glowing verdure smiles around,
    And this rich virgin soil
Gives stores of wealth in quick return
    For hours of careless toil;
But oh! the reaper's joyous song
    Ne'er mounts to Heaven's dome,
For unknown is the mirth and joy
    Of the merry "Harvest Home."


III.

The solemn trackless woods are fair,
    And bright their summer dress;
But their still hush - their whisprings vague,
    My heart seem to oppress;
...

Yes, leave my side to flirt with Maude,
    To gaze into her eyes,
To whisper in her ear sweet words,
    And low impassioned sighs;
And though she give you glance for glance,
    And smile and scheme and plot,
You cannot raise a jealous thought,
    I know you love her not.

Now turn to laughing Lulu,
    That Witty, gay coquette,
With her teeth of shining pearl,
    Her eyes and hair of jet:
With a mirthful smile imprison
    Her hand within your own,
And softly press it - what care I?
    You love but me alone.

To Ida's chair you wander,
    You're bending o'er her now,
Until your own dark curls have brushed
    Against her queenly brow;
In vain she strives to bind you
    With fascinating spell;
For if sharply now I...

"Beloved! thou'rt gazing with thoughtful look
    On those flowers of brilliant hue,
Blushing in spring tide freshness and bloom,
    Glittering with diamond dew:
What dost thou read in each chalice fair,
    And what does each blossom say?
Do they not tell thee, my peerless one,
    Thou'rt lovelier far than they?"

"Not so - not so, but they whisper low
    That quickly will fade their bloom;
Soon will they withered lie on the sod,
    Ravished of all perfume;
They tell that youth and beauty below
    Are doomed, alas! to decay,
And I, like them, in life's flower and prime
    May pass from this earth away."

"Too sad thy thoughts! Look up at yon stars,
    That gleam in the sapphire skies;
Not clearer their radiance, best beloved,
 ...

The snow-flakes were softly falling
    Adown on the landscape white,
When the violet eyes of my first born
    Opened unto the light;
And I thought as I pressed him to me,
    With loving, rapturous thrill,
He was pure and fair as the snow-flakes
    That lay on the landscape still.

I smiled when they spoke of the weary
    Length of the winter's night,
Of the days so short and so dreary,
    Of the sun's cold cheerless light -
I listened, but in their murmurs
    Nor by word nor thought took part,
For the smiles of my gentle darling
    Brought light to my home and heart.

Oh! quickly the joyous springtime
    Came back to our ice-bound earth,
Filling meadows and woods with sunshine,
    And hearts with gladsome mirth,
But, ah!...

To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,
    You have wearily listened, I fear;
As yet not an answer you've given
    Save a shrug, or an ill-concealed sneer;
Pray, why, when I talk of my marriage,
    Do you watch me with sorrowing eye?
'Tis you, hapless bachelor, Charley,
    That are to be pitied - not I!

You mockingly ask me to tell you,
    Since to bondage I soon must be sold,
Have I wisely chosen my fetters,
    Which, at least, should be forged of pure gold.
Hem! the sole wealth my love possesses
    Are her tresses of bright golden hair,
Pearly teeth, lips of rosiest coral,
    Eyes I know not with what to compare.

Don't talk about all I surrender -
    My club, champagne dinners, cigars,
My hand at écarté, my harmless

Other harvests there are than those that lie
Glowing and ripe 'neath an autumn sky,
    Awaiting the sickle keen,
Harvests more precious than golden grain,
Waving o'er hillside, valley or plain,
    Than fruits 'mid their leafy screen.

Not alone for the preacher, man of God,
Do those harvests vast enrich the sod,
    For all may the sickle wield;
The first in proud ambition's race,
The last in talent, power or place,
    Will all find work in that field.

Man toiling, lab'ring with fevered strain,
High office or golden prize to gain,
    Rest both weary heart and head,
And think, when thou'lt shudder in death's cold clasp,
How earthly things will elude thy grasp,
    At that harvest work instead!

Lady, with queenly form and brow,

The world had chafed his spirit proud
    By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
    Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the water's foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.

Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart,
    Had toiled for many a day,
With body and spirit, and patient art,
    Like mists had melted away;
And o'er day-dreams vanished, o'er fond hopes flown,
He sat him down to mourn alone.

No, not alone, for soft fingers rest
    On his hot and aching brow,
Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed
    While a sweet voice whispers low:
"Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true,
And shall I not share thy sorrows too?"

Vain task to resist the loving gaze
    That so f...

The earth was flooded in the amber haze
That renders so lovely our autumn days,
The dying leaves softly fluttered down,
Bright crimson and orange and golden brown,
And the hush of autumn, solemn and still,
Brooded o'er valley, plain and hill.

Yet still from that scene with rare beauty rife
And the touching sweetness of fading life,
From glowing foliage and sun bright ray,
My gaze soon mournfully turned away
To rest, instead, on a new made grave,
Enshrouding a heart true, loyal and brave.

At rest for aye! Cold and pulseless now
That high throbbing breast and calm, earnest brow;
Laid down forever the quick, gifted pen
That toiled but for God and his fellow men;
Silent that voice, free from hatred or ruth,
Yet e'er boldly raised in the cause of t...

He stood on the wood-crowned summit
    Of our mountain's regal height,
And gazed on the scene before him,
    By October's golden light,
And his dark eyes, earnest, thoughtful,
    Lit up with a softer ray
As they dwelt on the scene of beauty
    That, outspread, before him lay.

Like a sea of liquid silver,
    St. Lawrence, 'neath the sun,
Reflected the forest foliage
    And the Indian wigwams dun,
Embracing the fairy islands
    That its swift tide loving laves,
Reposing in tranquil beauty
    Amid its sapphire waves.

To the eastward, frowning mountains
    Rose in solemn grandeur still,
The glittering sunlight glinting
    On steep and rugged hill;
Whilst in the far horizon,
    Past leafy dell and haunt,
Like a l...

How busily those little fingers soft
That within mine own are clasped so oft
Have been, throughout this bright summer day,
With pebbles and shells and leaves at play.
They have sought birds' nests, plucked many a flower,
Have decked with mosses the garden bower,
Built tiny boats, without helm to steer,
Yet floated them safe o'er the lakelet clear.

Ah! a time will come, and that ere long,
When those soft hands will grow firm and strong;
When they'll fling all boyish toys aside
In the dawning strength of manhood's pride;
Disdaining the prizes, the treasures gay,
That they seize with such eager haste to-day;
And parting with youth's joys, hopes and fears,
Seek to grasp the aims of manhood's years.

Be it, then, thy care, my gentle boy,
That new-bo...

In the hour of grief and sorrow,
    When my heart is full of care,
Seeking sadly hope to borrow
    From heaven's promises and prayer;
When around me roll the waters
    Of affliction's stormy sea,
Mary, gentle Queen of Mercy,
    In that hour, oh! pray for me!

When life's pulses high are bounding
    With the tide of earthly joy,
And when in mine ears are sounding
    Strains of mirth without alloy;
When the whirl of giddy pleasure
    Leaves no thought or feeling free,
And I slight my heavenly treasure,
    Watchful Mother, pray for me!

When the soft voice of Temptation
    Lures my listening soul to sin,
And, with baleful fascination,
    Strives my vain, weak heart to win;
With the combat faint and weary,
    If I call...