Eleanor C. (Eleanor Cecilia) Donnelly.

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IX.

'Tis hard, — and yet we know

We should not mourn
When children pure as snow,
(The loved of long ago).
Are to the churchyard slow

And sadly borne ;
(Life's fairest buds but blow

To deck the urn ;)



THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN. 157

And dying early thus,
They have been spared the bitter, biting sorrow
Which sad to-day, or sadder still to-morrow
Shall ever bring to us.
X.
Here in their slumber they

May rest as sweet
As when from eager play,
They, tired, turned away.

And at their mother's feet
Reposeful lay ;

With pretty shining hair
Thrown back to wave upon the fair young

shoulder.
And thought-touch 'd brow, which ne'er might
know the older

And deeper lines of care.
XI.
Peace to their rest beneath

The rustling trees !
As falls the leaf.
Or blossom from the wreath,



158 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN.

As sword flashed from its sheath,
The lot of these
Hath brilliant been, but brief;
And though we weep, —
Room, angels, room within yon happy Heaven,
And rare rejoicing that our God hath given
His little children sleep !



^^AS THE HEN GATHERETH HER
CHICKENt<r

N her wicker nest by the old barn-door,
The hen in the sunlight broods,
-i; Shielding a dozen chickens or more,
In fondest of mother-moods.

Some, in the amber fringe at her neck,
Some, in the down of her breast ;

While others under her pinions peck,
The warm plumes hiding the rest.

O lovely, fluffy, feather'd things !

Wee brown and golden birds !
As ye nestle under your mother's wings,

I think of the blessed words.

The words that came, like the wail of death.

From a Heart Divinely true :
" As the hen her chickens gathereth,

So had I gather d you^ —



160 "AS THE HEN GATHERETH HER CHICKENS."

But ye would not — / "... Master ! never again
Shall Thy Love lament its plea —

As the birds cling close to yon brooding hen,
So cling we close to Thee !




FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT.

MARVELOUS tree is the Sorrowful
Tree,

^p^. The growth of a bosk}' defile,
Away, far away, near the coast of Bombay,
On Goa's luxuriant isle.

Whilst the forest is bright with the sun's golden
light.
On its boughs not a blossom appears ;
But when day sinks to rest in the rose-tinted
west,
And the night-dews fall softly, like tears, —

Thro' the long night of gloom, in their tropical
bloom,

From the emerald branches outshine
Rich masses of flowers whose petals, in showers.

Fall ruddy and fragrant as wine.



162 FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT.

Behold ! at the dawn, ev'ry blossom is gone, —
No sunbeam those buds may illume ;

Yet, all the year througli, in the dusk and the
dew.
The SoiTOW^ful Tree is in bloom.

O comforting thought ! when the bosom is fraught

With some inexpressible woe,
When the sunlight is gone, and the night draweth
on,

And Hope hath no blossoms to show ;

Thro' the dew of our tears, like a vision, appears
The night-blooming tree of the East,

In the darkest of hours displaying its flowers,
A mourner arrayed for the feast.

Ah ! the breath of delight from those buds of the
night,

Shall Affliction's dark forest perfume ,*
And all the year round, by their radiance crown'd,

The tree of our sorrows shall bloom !



THE DEATH OF THE LILY.
I.

P|/HE lily died last night!

I heard a whisper tremble from the mere,
^;^ I marked the crescent of the rounding
year,
Pale from the mellow lustre of its light.
I saw the lily dead :
Her floating bier of reeds and woven grass ;
Her shroud a moonbeam, and her requiem Mass
The hollow music from the willows shed.

II.

While all the rushy things

That grow and green beside a summer mere.
Wailed thro' the glamour of the atmosphere
An anthem, as on airy cither-strings —
The lily slowly rocked
In the dim light upon the grassy pool.
Fragile and pure, funereal and cool.

Her waxen lids in deadly slumber lock'd.



164 THE DEATH OF THE LILY,

III.

Oh, grieving heart of mine !

(I said, with tears), Oh, friends that mourn

with me!
The legend of the soul's lost purity
Is written in the lily's swift decline.
Take ye the idle pen.
And let me weep until the purple dawn ;
A something pure from out my life has gone,
And it can never, never come again !



MORNING-GLORIES.

j^>.VER the trellis, up to the eaves,
Sffl The vine's strong tendrils creep :
W Out of the glistening, heart-shaped leaves
The morning-glories peep.

Tiny chalices, purple, pink,

And clear, translucent white,—
Into their depths the dewdrops sink,

Warm with the autumn light.

And round the vine, (with the fair sunshine
Aglow on its heart-shaped leaves),

Some tender dreams of the Heart Divine,
My reverent fancy weaves.

The purple chalices seem a type

Of the Sorrows of that Heart ;
The radiant pink of the blossoms ripe,

Of Its Glories seem a part.



166 MORNING-GLORIES.

And the silvery grail yon spray lifts up,

All stainless, seems to be
A type of the Eucharistic cup

And the Host's white purity I

O heart-shaped leaves! ye may decay,
Ye flovi^'rets, withered lie, —

But the Heart ye image lives for aye,
Its Glories never die I



A SUNSET SYMBOL.

EYOND you screen of spectral trees,
^^ The rosy Sunset Land arises;




'^^' Its opal gates swing in the breeze,
Its paths are rich with glad surprises.

The ruddy glow above the blue,

Is like a torch, rose -red and tender; —

Each crystal pane it sparkles through.

And fills my chamber with its splendor!

O Sunset Land, so close at hand.

Thine open portals twined with roses, —
The Sacred Heart's dominions grand,

In thee, I hail, as twilight closes !

What time, methinks, the Precious Blood
Dyes crimson all thine airy vapors,

Thy quiv'ring flames — a fiery flood —

Blaze forth, as from a thousand tapers.



168 A SUNSET SYMBOL.

And when thine inner cloudlets part,
I see within their glowing centre,

A thorn-encircled, cross-crown'd Heart,
Inviting all Its depths to enter !

Fling wide Thy gates, O Heart Divine,
So full of tenderness and pity !

Within this Sunset Land of Thine,
Reveal to me Thy Golden City !

Receive me to those depths so dear.

Ere Death's dim twilight round me closes,

There to repose, devoid of fear,

Love's victim, crowned with deathless roses I



THE NEW JERUSALEM.

W-.W-ISION of peace— Jerusalem !
iwin'i How gently to the heart's unrest,
<^^^' Those words, like angel-accents, seem
Thy glories to suggest !

A holy calm is on thy streets.

The river floweth noiselessly ;
And tranquil float through fair retreats

A gracious company.

For, tho' they sing and strike their lyres,

A hush is on each happy sense ;
The brightest flame of their desires

Burns quiet, if intense.

And all their song is full of peace,
And all their peace is full of God —

The soul's eternal sin-release,
A rapture deep and broad.



170 THE NEW JERUSALEM.

The wearing fret, the hurrying rush
Of earth, stir not that life of love,

For over all a sacred hush
Broods, like a nestling dove.

Nor doubt, nor fear, (nor shattered hopes.
That scourged the soul to Death's abyss,)

Are there ; they form but golden ropes
Whereby it mounts to bliss !

O peaceful Home ! how deep, how strong
Our yearning for thy niiinsions cool!

How long, my fevered heart, how long.
Must strife and discord rule ?

How long, ere sorrow, care and pain,
Jerusalem ! in thee shall cease ?

Hasten the coming of thy reign.
Vision of endless Peace I



i

m



ABANDONED.

Then His disciples leaving Him, all fled aimy.

(St, Mark, xiv, 50.)

^HY seamless robe is redder than tlie rose,
Thy beauteous Face is blaiich'd with
^] agony ;

The brutal soldiery around Thee close,

While, left and right, the poor disciples flee.

'Mid howling wolves (meek Lamb !) Thou stand'st
alone,

Thy bosom heaves ; Thy tears, unheed»ed, start ;
Tho' cruel hands assault Thee, hard as stone,

It is not they^ alas ! that wound Thy Heart !

The ring of coin still echoes in Thine ears,
(Whereby betrayed Thee the Iscariot,) —

And ontrag'd Love now shudders, as it hears
The cherished Simon's loud "I knov/ Him
not ! "



172 ABAKDONED.

Ingratitude hath dealt its deadliest blow ; —
O faithfid Heart I forsaken at the end,

Far better are the insults of a foe,

Than the false kisses of a treach'rous friend !

Lo ! to Thy feet we bring (with souls oppress'd).
Our wreck of broken joys, of hopes over-
thrown ;

The secret, silent anguish of a breast

Which claps its cross, abandon'd and alone.

When friends prove false, and loving hearts grow
cold,
O constant Friend ! true Love ! we turn to
Thee,
And to Thy dear, deserted Heart make bold
To breathe our plaint of lonely misery.

And oh ! the while we tenderly unite
Our tiny sorrows to Thy mighty woes, —

How sweet to find (tho' all earth's joys take
flight,)
In Thee, alone, firm peace and fix'd repose !



A PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER.

RUSTY shield prayed to the sun:
i\t " O Sun ! illuminate my face
^^ With the glad glory of thy rays,
That I may shine, resplendent one !
As once I shone in ancient days ! "

Replied the sun :
" First cleanse thyself from rust— and then
My Face in thee shall shine again ! "

A guilty soul prayed to its Lord :
" O Christ ! illuminate my face.

And let Thy lustrous flood of grace
Upon my darkened eyes be pour'd !

Their radiant vision once restored,
Thy glory shall the gloom displace ! "
Replied the Lord :

"First cleanse thyself from sin— and then

My Face in thee shall shine again ! "



THE BRIDGE OF LIFE.



;0N line of light across the sea,

That 'twixt the em'rald shadows lies,




Let down from rifts in cloud}^ skies.



Outstretching to the crystal rim,

Where meet and part the sails of snow,

It sparkles through the distance dim,
A pier where angels come and go.

Ah! thus, my soul, across Life's sea,
'Mid dark'ning shades of grief and care,

Outstretches to Eternity

The pure, resplendent Bridge of Prayer.

Time's airy ships advance, retreat —
This firm bridge leadeth to the skies —

For, following fast on angels' feet,
We pass from Prayer to Paradise !



THE WAY OF THE CROSS.

• OPENED the Blessed Book
In the hush of a sylvan spot,
- And I read : "Whoever followth Me,
In darkness walketh not.

Cried my soul : " When shadows flee,

Lover, more than friend!

In the glow of the light I will follow Thee,
Rejoicing to the end ! "

But a wind the woodland fann'd.
And the leaves of the forest shook,

Turning, as if with a viewless hand,
The leaves of that precious Book.

And lo ! on another page,

1 read again, with a sigh :

" If any man will come after Me,
Let him, himself, deny.



176 THE WAY OF THE CROSS.

" Let him, himself, deny '' — it said,
(And I trembled shudderingly) —

"And take up his cross " — it sternly read,
" And follow, follow Me ! "

O truth of truths ! On the moss,
I knelt in the greenwood lone,

And pondered the secret of the Cross,
In the living Word made known.

Who wills to walk in the light
That flows from a Source divine,

Lord ! in the path to Calv'ry's heiglit,
Must plant his steps in Thine!

For none that path can tread.

Can walk that royal road,
Save those that suffer, toil, and sweat,

And carry the cross of God !

The way is narrow and rough,
Sharp stones the footpath strew,

And after the bleeding, burden'd Christ,
The suffering Christians go.



THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 177

But a glow ;uk1 a glory bright

On those pilgrims ever beam ;
For the way of the Cross is the way of light,

Of light and love supreme !



THE APOSTLE WHO PROVED.
^^^BSENT when came the Risen Christ to

PI "'""'

4^^ The trembling Ten, Saint Thomas by

his doubt.
The Resurrection proved, and every fear
By his bold testimony, put to rout.

Absent, when Mary died, and was interr'd —
Beside her tomb, it was to Thomas given,

To view its lilied void. It was his word

That proved our Queen's Assumption into
heaven !




THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED.

Read by request belore the Convention in tlie Women's
Building of the Cotton States and International Exposition,
Atlanta, Georgia, November 26, 1895.

HEY tell in ancient mythologic story
Of young Eurydice, once beauteous bride
Of Orpheus, the prince of lyric glory,
(The bard by pagans to the gods allied) —

Fated Eurydice I from out the chaos

Of Grecian lore, we see her rise and flee

Across the meads, pursued by Aristaeus,
Inflamed with Bacchanalian revelry !

Lo I as with wind-blown robes, in flight she

passes —
(Hearing afar her spouse's silv'ry flute) —
A jeweled serpent darting from the grasses
Stings unto death lier slender, roseate foot !



THE DRAMA. SPIRITUALIZED. 179

And down she sinks into the gloomy region
Where Pluto holds his comt, and Proserpine

Ringed by the Harpies and the Fates, (foul
legion !)
Reigneth a queen, infernally divine !

What time Eurydicc in mortal sorrow

Doth languish in that place of torturing shame,

Her spouse — her Orpheus, the fatal morrow.
Comes seeking her within the realms of flame.

He sees the Parcse with wild eyes a-kindle,
He sees the serpent-crown'd Eumenides:

The first display the Distaff, Shears and Spindle,
The latter guard the Trident and the Keys.

Pressing his way to Pluto's throne of fire,

(Past the dog Cerberus and the streams that
burn),

The mighty minstrel strikes his golden lyre,
And singing, pleads for his lost bride's return.



180 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED.

O matchless music ! Pluto's heart dissolving,
Acknowledges the singer's magic sway ;

The wheel of Ixion is no more revolving —
The stone of Sisyphus is stilled to-day !

And wretched Tantalus, his thirst forgetting.
Listens entranced to that rare melody ;

The Furies hear, while tears their eyes are wetting:
" Oh, give me back my lost Eurydice ! "

" She shall be thine !" Pluto at last replieth ;

" Thy song hath conquered e'en our cruel spell.
Take her — but look not hack! The mortal dieth

Who turns one backward glance on us and
hell ! "

Oh, joy ! the lost one to her lover rushes !

They clasp — they weep — they sob aloud their
bliss !
Already doth the sun illume her blushes,

The winds of heav'n her shining tresses kiss !



THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 181

When "Hasten, love!" — her happy spouse ex-
claiming,

Turns with a backward glance to speed her
flight-
Alas ! alas ! the pit of Pluto flaming

Hath swallowed her forever from his sight !



My gentle friends, methinks you are well able

To solve this riddle of antiquity,
To read the moral of this Grecian fable

Of hapless, lovely, lost Euiydice.

Behold ! the drama in its chaste transcendence,

The glory of its pristine loveliness.
Pursued, in all its classical resplendence,

By lustful suitors to hell's dread abyss !

From out the green of treacherous morasses,
See, where the serpent of a Sensual art

Springs on the trembling Genius as she passes.
And wounds her to the death with poison'd
dart !



182 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED.

Alas ! she sinks, — down — down she sinks despair-
ing

Into the dark domain of sin and hell,
The stigma of the Damned forever sharing,

Eternal slave of Death's black citadel !

Corruption hath assailed her incorruption,
The Sensual her spirit hath defiled,

For Art lascivious hath wrought destruction
Upon the Drama's pure and lovely child.

Oh ! who shall free the captive from her fetters ?

Who lead her, radiant, from hell's gloomy
door ?
Who shall release her from that den of debtors,

And lift her to a higher life once more ?

When shall there come some selfless, brave re-
former

Far better, wiser than Apollo's son,
(Whose music dies in meanest, tuneless murmur

Before the measures of this mighty one I)



THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 183

To cleanse the age in its polluted fountains,
To tame the savage beasts of Passions wild,

Uproot Impurity's gigantic mountains,

And flood the stage with beauty undefiled ?

All this must be the work of some grand creature
In true, regen'rate Art's Millennium,

When Grace shall rule triumphant over Nature,
And heav'nly cohorts smite the demons dumb !

Arise, O Christian Orpheus ! bring hither
Thy golden lyre filled with heaven's song !

Make music with the viol and the zither
That shall beguile the cruel and the strong!

Sing, till the very courts of Satan tremble.
Till Fate and Fury, melting, yield to thee !

Cry where the princes of the Dead assemble :
" Oh, give us back our Drama's purity ! "

And when she comes, the Genius fair and gifted,
In all her blushing beauty's smiles and tears,

When to thy bosom she is, rapturous, lifted.
And borne aloft to higher, purer spheres—



184 THE DEAMA SPIRITUALIZED.

O Christian Orpheus ! look not back, Ipra^/ thee,
Let not thy glances seek a sensual past ;

No lure should tempt — no obstacle delay thee
From speeding to thine eyiie, free and fast !

Onward and upward ! Death and hell behind
thee
May clamor for their prey. Albeit baptized
With fire, thou shalt fear naught — no chain shall

bind thee,
No hounding demon ever track or find thee ; —
Heav'n's victor thou shalt be, since 'tis assigned
thee,
To hail the Drama pure and spiritualized !



SYMPATHY.

t GOLDEN oil upon Life's creaking wheels,
Bidding the noisy cycles soundless turn ;
__j^_^ Love's unguent on each smarting seam

and burn,
Blessing the wounds its gracious balsam heals;
A perfect strain of harmony which steals
Into the jarring discords of our earth,
'Till ev'ry soul its soothing sweetness feels.
And melancholy brightens into mirth.

Sans sympathy— a man can never prove
A true apostle of the One whose tread
Broke not the bruised reed, nor (in His love)
The smoking flax crush'd or extinguished.
He who would image Christ must ever be
Filled with a Christlike genial sympathy.



THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA,



" Those of the Acadiaus (or French Neutrals) who came to
Philadelphia were provided with quarters in a long range of
one-story wooden houses built on the north side of Pine street,
and extending from Fifth to Sixth street." — (Watson's Annals,
Vol. I.)



SIT alone at my window ;

The twilight lowers its veil,
#! And soft thro' the violet shadow,



The stars peep far and pale.



Just over the way, the houses
Melt from sight, like the snow,

And in their stead arises
A vision of long ago ;

A dream of the days departed,
When (near the pine trees' belt),

The simple-soul'd, meek -hearted
Acadian exiles dwelt.



THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 187

Dissolved are bricks and mortar —

The children of Grand-Pro
Fill all tliat ancient (quarter

With Inits, long past away !

The low huts of the brethren

Of sweet Evangeline,
Flow'r of the poor French Neutrals,

In meadows still and green !

Near by, the Quaker Almshouse
Stretched long and low and red,

Where Gabriel, the lost one,
Lay dying on his bed.

When thro' its doors, heart-broken,
His sweetheart passed one day,

Leaving her love-dream's golden rose
A heap of ashes gray.

Up yonder square, dear reader.

If wand'ring thoughtfully,
You'll find the little graveyard

Of Holy Trinity ;



188 THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA.

And there, amid their brethren,
'Tis said, they slumber sweet,*

Evangeline, the faithful,
With Gabriel at her feet.

The moss creeps o'er the marble.
The rank grass wilts or waves;

The wild birds come to warble
Where ivy clothes the graves ;

And o'er them floats the singing
Of the old German choir,

The church-bells' mellow ringing
From realms purer, higher.

The busy streets around them
Are full of change and stir;

No sound of strife can reach his life,
And all is peace for her !



* " In their uameless graves, the lovers are sleeping;
Under the humble vpalls of the little Catholic churchyard,
lu the heart of the city they lie."

— Longfellow's Evangeline.

There has been much contention as to the exact spot vyhere
the Acadians lie buried.



THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 189

The Past (outside my window)

The Present blurs and blots;
I see naught in the shadow

Of white Acadian cots,

Save two fair phantom models

Of pure devotedness —
Evangeline Bellefontaine

And Gabriel Lajeunesse!



\^mm^,i




ASCENSION DAY.

WEARY time was that, to mortals given,
When (all abyssed in misery profound),
Tln-oughout the vast bright courts of
beauteous heaven
No human soul was found.

No creature of our race in flesh or spirit

Abode within God's holy Paradise,
No child of earth w^as suffered to inherit

That kingdom of the skies.

Angels, archangels, thrones and dominations,
Powers and virtues, shining cherubim,

Glad principalities, in jubilation,

Made music with the glowing seraphim ;

But in that chorus of exultant sweetness,

While golden harp-strings with delight were
stirr'd.

The ear of God perceived an incompleteness, —
No human voice ivas heard !



ASCENSION DAY. 191

At last, there came a Day when all those mansions
Thrilled thro' their rapturous void of Self's
alloy,

The jasper walls upon their jewel'd stanchions
Trembled with strangest joy !

For from the outer space, there came a thunder
Of many voices chanting, as in choir,

A psalm so sweet, the angels gazed in wonder,
And hush'd was every lyre.

Wide on their hinges, rolled the pearly portals.
Forth swept the spirits by sweet urgence
driven,

Thrice welcome was that band of blessed mortals
Who came to share their heaven !

Foremost and fairest, shone their Captain glori-
ous,
The Risen Christ. He led that shining throng.
That white-robed throng, who bore tlieir palms
victorious
And sang their triumph-song !



192 ASCENSION DAY.

Out from the Limbo of the buried ages,

They came, those ransomed souls of long ago,

Prophets and patriarchs, saints, heroes, sages,
And virgins chaste as snow.

They came to claim their heritage supernal.

Purchased by Jesus' Blood * * * With rare
delight.

To see, where all was peerlessly eternal,

Their flesh uplifted to the Godhead's height !

" Roll back your gates ! " they sang : " the night
is over,
The long night of our waiting I (Cleansed from
sin,)

With Christ, our King of glory, man's best Lover,
We come to reign — oh ! let us enter in !

" Ye mighty doors give way, (as clouds auroral
Melt rosy-hued before the rising sun ! )

Hail ! Land of Rest! Welcome, celestial choral !
The goal of Paradise at last is won ! ''•>



TEE CHAMBER OF CHRIST.

I.

f=N the homes of the early Christians,
(Those shrines of peace and prayer,)
^L Of all the goodly chambers.

The one beyond compare,—
The fairest and the brightest,

Where Faith and Love held tryst,—
Was the tranqnil little chamber
They called the Room of Christ.

II.

For there, the brave believers.

Across the threshold pure,
Led in the weary wand'rers.

The sick, the sad, the poor;
And there, the homely banquet

For hungry ones was spread ;
And pilgrim limbs were rested

Upon the peaceful bed.



194 THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST.

III.

O Faith and Love I that worshipp'd

With fond adoring eyes,
Behind each veil of suff'ring,

Your Lord in lowly guise : —
'Twas Jesus whom ye welcomed,

And wooed to food and rest,
In ev'ry wand'ring pilgrim.

In ev'ry sorrowing guest !

IV.

And thus that hallowed chamber,

(To strangers sacrificed,)
Was known, throughout the mansion,

As the little Room of Christ ;
And who shall say what blessings

A bounteous heaven pour'd
Upon each happy household

That there received its Lord ?

V.

Dear Christians, gentle readers,
When ye your homes adr^rn.



THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST. 195

Do ye reserve a chamber

For pilgrim-guests forlorn ?
A spot where woes may slumber,

And withered hopes may bloom ? —
Ah ! then, within your households,

Christ hath His favorite Eoom !



^r>



SWEET PEACE.— A PICTURE.

T-PON the wall

The autumn light, like golden wine, is
pour'd ;

Upon the wall
There hangeth high a soldier's belt and sword.

Thro' lattice low,
The winds of Indian summer steal and melt ;

And to and fro,
They gently blow the soldier's sword and belt.

Oh, slumb'ring sword !
Swing lightly on the wall ; shine bright and blue !

Oh, idle sword !
There's no more bloody work for thee to do.

No more for thee,
Oh, belt content to dangle in the sun !

War, anarch3%
And girded strife for thee are surely done.



SWEET PEACE. — A PICTURE. lU?

F'oi- thee no more —
Ah ! best of all— no more, no more for thee,

Oh, soldier ! Sick of war.
Here rest, and take thy baby on thy knee !

Here calmly sit.
And watch the orchards ripen in the sun ;

Thy pipe is lit.
And gaily prate thy wife and little one.

Oh ! golden Peace I
Oh, happy calm, which follows after storm !

When clamors cease.
How sweet to rest in haven still and warm !


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