Beauty here, with nature's nectar, fills her goblet to the brim,
Where the forest-wilds of Spotswood reach to the horizon's rim.

Every tree with song is vocal, every breeze with music swells,
Till it seems that life's lost anthem in this bit of Eden dwells.

Yonder, in the azure distance, loom the city's beetling towers,
Every height among them gilded with the sunset's golden dowers.

Till, in one red burst of splendor, iron days come trooping back
When, from Dalton to Savannah, blazed Tecumseh's fiery track."*

Spotswood Hall! Is this enchantment? Is it real or do I dream Of a yesterday long vanished, of an Old South's dead regime?

Here the jessamine's sweet odors, round the soaring archways throw Memories of the happy by-gones, whispers of the Long Ago.

Music from the spinet calling to a day whose sun is set
Bids the guests once more assemble for an old-time minuet.

Lo, by magic's spell awakened, from the portraits on the wall,
Step the belles and beaux of Dixie to the rhythm of the ball.

Beauty's rose of youth long withered, veteran knighthood's buried lance,

Quit the dust once more to mingle in the mazes of the dance.

Are these fairy forms all phantoms-figments of an idle brain?
If it be, let recollection stir the rose-jar leaves again.

But the real charms of Spotswood come not from the storied Past Over which the spell of memory by some wizard's wand is cast.

Not from magic's soft enchantment, not from nature's silken loom, Though life here, 'mid scenes Arcadian, wake an Eldorado's bloom; Not from yesterday's dead ashes, not from time's remorseless rust, Though it lift a Conquered Banner from its bivouac in the dust

But from love's idyllic Present, with ten thousand balms to bless, Come the living charms of Spotswood: heart's ease, home, and happiness.

*Gen. Wm. Tecumseh Sherman, the Federal commander who reduced Atlanta to ashes.

YOU AND I.

Few days, in afterthought, retain
Those quiet charms which long remain,
But never can my soul forget

The fragrant hour when first we met.
"Twas not beneath the lover's moon,

"Twas just at unromantic noon
And 'neath the tender April sun
Our shadows melted into one.
The birds interpreted our glee
In songs of sweetest minstrelsy;
The air, enriched with nature's bloom,
Pulsed by in waves of sweet perfume;
No shadow marred the peaceful sky
'Twas fate; we knew it-you and I.

The flush was on your rosy cheek.

I tried, but oh, I could not speak-
And yet, those soft bewitching eyes

That charmed me with love's sweet surprise,
Still move me at this later day

In written words at least to say:

Though other eyes mine own have met
Their spell lies on my spirit yet.

In dreams I wander back again

Among the scenes which charmed us then
And this regret I must avow:

That we are not among them now;

Too swiftly passed the moments by,

For we were happy-you and I.

But why go back to moments fled

When true hearts now for weal are wed?

Oh, may it ever be through life

Our very dreams devoid of strife,

Our days, in one commingled stream,

Flow on forever like a dream

No sorrow small enough to hide;

No bliss too simple to divide;

No secret from ourselves apart;

Each templed in the other's heart!
So when the cypress shades appear
And death amid their gloom, draws near
Our souls entwined may still defy
His strength to part us-you and I.

MOTHER.

Sweetest of all the gems of song
That minstrel-memory sings,
One liquid anthem loud and long
Through life's cathedral rings.

In notes of mother-pearl it slips,
Through God's own gates above,
To wed itself with mother-lips
And sing of mother-love.

Fairest of all the fairy dreams
That slumber's wand awakes
One vision, lit with orient beams,
The crown of empire takes.

It comes, love-tipped and sunny-edged,
From childhood's morning bowers,
Where radiant hope's bright wings were fledged
Among life's rainbow flowers.

It spreads again the waxen braid

Of moonbeams o'er the trees

And paints, in slumber's robe arrayed,
Hands clasped at sainted knees.

Till "now I lay me down to sleep"
Breaks forth in accents there
And childhood's altar-offerings leap
To heaven's home of prayer.

Nor do I kneel alone in prayer
At childhood's vesper shrine
Beside me there, a sister fair
Mingles her curls with mine.

Then, care-deserted, faith-enrapt,
Young drowsy eye-lids close
And weary limbs by love enlapped,
Drift dreamward to repose.

And, O, those beaming orbs of light,
With anxious love unslaked,

That sentineled the sleepless night
And watched me till I waked!

But now another aching brow
Its life-long vigil keeps,
For I am calmly waiting now
While tired mother sleeps.

What silken sunbeams soft and bright
Would o'er life's pathway pour
Could we but catch the lashen light
That lit the Long Ago.

What beulah-balm of healing bliss
Would to this heart belong,
Once more to feel her good-night kiss
And hear her good-night song.

Not all the brood that midnight brings
Can startling fancies stir-
Welcome the raven's darkest wings
That waft me back to her!

Where, vying with her birth-land views,
Framed in her native hills,

Her smile will sweeten all the dews
That deathless dawn distils.

Then in love's after-time to be

Set free from earth's alarms
"Twill heaven be, enough for me-
Locked in her angel-arms.

WOMAN.

Empress of creation, Woman! Unto thee my harp is strung
Lay thy tender lips upon it, else in vain this song is sung;
Woman must interpret woman, for this truth the poet knows:
He who gives the rose his pencil needs to dip it in the rose.

How shall I begin to praise thee? Teach my silent muse to sing,
For thy virtues disconcert me, like the riches of the spring,
Who can mirror back thy beauty? Let him catch the morning's ray
And, across the snowy canvas, limn the glory of the day.

Back into the grim old garden, ere the cares of earth began
And the lower creatures mated, mocked the loneliness of man,
Lo, the mystic light of heaven wraps the sleeper in its gleam
And the world's imperial woman wakes, the blossom of a dream.

What if for the fruit of wisdom she incurred so great a cost
That a race of mortals fallen, owes to her an Eden lost,
'Twas a curse with mercy mingled that at length supremely blest
She might sing a world's Messiah into slumber on her breast.

Unto man in every sorrow she has been a solace sweet
Lighting up the soul within him, piloting his weary feet,
Sharing all his heavy burdens, partner in his lightest care
Lifting him aloft to heaven on the pinions of her prayer.

Woman, to thy tender keeping God hath given this command: Rear the childhood of the nation, nurse the young hope of the land, Teach the principles of virtue, lift the manly brow of youth, Till it scorns each baser triumph for the laurels of the truth.

Never leave thy little kingdom; never sacrifice its crown
Though your realm be but a cottage, keep it ever, 'tis thine own.
Let no trespasser invade it; from its door let hate be hurled,
For the teachings of the fireside rule the forums of the world.

'Tis thy mission to be gentle, meek in spirit, undefiled,
For the nation's growth is rooted in the nurture of the child.
Fountain-spring of all our greatness-back of yonder beetling dome-
Lies America's true secret, in her poet's "Home, Sweet Home."

She who rocks a nation's cradles, with a mother's holy hand,
Writes its statutes, rears its armies, peals its thunders of command
She who whispers "now I lay me," to the childhood at her knee,
Reigns the Queen of the Republic, guards the Court of Liberty.

LOVE'S TWO OCEANS.

There's an ocean of love in your heart, sweetheart,
Over which the light foam curls;

There are jewels down there, for some prince to wear,
But in vain have I dived for its pearls.

What a spell of enchantment around my soul
The charm of that ocean has cast!

What a heaven hides, in its home-coming tides,
For the one who will win you at last!

There's an ocean of love in my heart, sweetheart,
Over which the wild winds moan;

There are gems unseen, for my faerie queen,
In that ocean of love all her own.