PART I.

Thro’ scented meadows, where do graze

The meek-eyed kine on summer days,

At early morn swept Daisy Dare,—

Sparkling, graceful, passing fair.

Sparkling as the dew-drops gleaming

On her path, or sunlight streaming

Through her tresses — graceful, fair,

As naught on earth save Daisy Dare!

Wondrous tresses! sunshine fades

Mid floating curls and sumptuous braids,—

A crown of light that glorifies

White brow and deep impassioned eyes.

Full, perfect, tempting were her lips —

The bee or humming-bird that sips

From scarlet blossoms in the South

Beguiled might be by such a mouth.

Her path ran by a rushing stream

Which, like a crooked silver seam,

Bound that green meadow to a wood,

Where soon with Graham Lee she stood.

Softly through arching forest-trees

Came stealing up a fresh salt breeze;

One fair cheek kissing, till it burned

Like to the other Lee-ward turned.

“Daisy,” he said, “I sail to-day

For India, with Captain Gray;

Will you not be upon the strand

To say‘ farewell’ — to wave your hand?”

“Yes; I will go to see you sail:”

The tone was proud — her cheek turned pale;

“I've promised to be there and say

A parting word to Allen Gray.”

The strong man's cheek grew white as death

As thus, with short, unsteady breath,

He said: “When last I went to sea,

You waved, nay, kissed your hand to me.”

Her eyes flashed, smiling on him then —

Such eyes hold fiery, earnest men

In bondage, and to love beguile,

Whether they mock, or weep, or smile.

“Yes; I remember then to you

I kissed my hand; but here are two:

Can I not still kiss this one, pray,

To you, and this to Allen Gray?”

Her voice was deep, the words were light,

The hands upheld were small and white,—

Such hands as strong men love to grasp

And crush in an impassioned clasp.

“Oh, do not mock me, Daisy Dare,

With your small hands so soft and fair;

They may beguile both lovers — true;

You cannot give your heart to two.

“One or the other let it be;

If Allen Gray, you're lost to me:

If me, all hearts you must resign,—

All homage and all love save mine.

“My guiding star across the brine,

Has been the hope that called you mine;

I'd rather see that load-star set,

Than wed a fair, false, vain coquette.

“I'd rather trust, though seas divide,

Than linger doubting by your side:

Now speak, what turns your heart away;

The love of gold or Allen Gray?”

Up rose her spirit, quick and proud;

And, as through a translucent cloud

Pour crimson streams of torrid light,

The red blood dyed her forehead white.

“I have not broken faith or vow,”

She said; “but do release you now.

My heart cannot be bought or sold

By Allen Gray with love or gold.

“I trifled with him but to try

Your faith in me: I'd rather die

Than wed a man of jealous heart:

You cannot trust me, let us part.

“The jealous love you bring to me,

( As yonder green, impulsive sea

Unto the shore doth come and go,)

In passion tides would ebb and flow.

“And as that surf, in fitful swells,

Doth bring or bear away the shells

From yonder strand,— such passion, strife

Would fill, or desolate my life.

“Such earthly crown of love to wear,

The cross it brings I would not bear;

Here! see me cast the burden down:

Go!— for I yield you up the crown.”

The angry flush had faded now,

Leaving her bosom, cheek, and brow

Whiter than sea-foam‘ neath the moon;

Her low voice as sad wind-harp's tune.

She waved her hand and turned away:

He caught it, crying, “Daisy, stay!

Let not a flash of passion-pride

Two clinging hearts like ours divide.”

She stood before him haughty, cold:

“You taunted me with love of gold —

Who wealth and titles scorned — to be

The chosen bride of Graham Lee.”

“This choice, perhaps, you now regret,

And crave a titled suitor yet;

Hearts that are anchored side by side,

No surface-ripple can divide.”

His words were bitter in their turn,

And, like sharp acid on a burn,

They scorched her heart, and seared the spot

Where blossomed love's “forget-me-not.”

Oh, why are darts of anger hurled

From heart to heart throughout the world;

Fierce as the lightning — flashing far,

From cloud to cloud, its red-hot bar?

So quick, so sharp, too oft it cleaves

The sandal-chain of love, and leaves

But fragrant, broken, links at last

To bind us to a ruined past.

Too often fixing deeps of woe

Between us and the long ago;

Bridging a gulf toward mem'ries green,

With one regret — “it might have been.”

Oh, why, when life is in its June

Of fruity fragrance, perfect tune,

Does passion's stormy pride destroy

Youths’ heritage of love and joy?

One jealous breath will oft disclose

A canker in hope's perfect rose,

For the false fever heat of strife

To nurse, and nourish into life.

Oh, Daisy Dare! the sea is wide:

Dear is the lover by thy side:

The sea is treacherous, hungry, deep,

And millions o'er its treasures weep.

His heart relented — strong hearts do;

Yet more relenting, oft less true

Than those, unyielding, that defy

The deathless love of which they die.

“As forest saplings, by the sun

Together knit till two are one —

One trunk, one bark, one sap, one tree —

Our hearts have been, should ever be.

“Let sharp steel cleave that circling rind,

No art its severed strength could bind;

Should anger part thy love from mine,

Holds earth another heart for thine?”

Oh, stubborn pride! unyielding still;

Her heart is conquered; but her will

Defies its tender, pleading tone:

She left him — they were both alone.

When eve her golden goblet fills

Among the sunset's purple hills,

And overflows that sunset wine

In streams of glory on the brine,

Unto the shore a maiden came,

Who gazed where, down that track of flame

A steamer to the west did dip:

Her heart went outward with the ship.

She had not kept her tryst that day,

Nor waved her hand to Allen Gray:

Both little hands were still —‘ twas true

She could not “give her heart to two.”

She heard the parting signals sound,

And then the haughty pride that bound

Her woman's heart, which had defied

Her woman's love, grew faint and died.

She heard the steamship's iron bell;

Turned to the shore, but faltered, fell —

For ocean steamers do not wait

On love — her pride gave way too late.

“Too late!” she heard it rise and swell,

Tolled by the iron steamer's bell;

Told by the mocking voice of Fate,

Rung through her heart, “too late!” “too late!”

And now, when from that outward bound,

Defiant distance brought no sound,

She wandered hopeless to the strand,

And, hopeless, westward waved her hand.

The steamer's black smoke drifting far

Rose up and hid the evening star:

A bitter symbol of that strife

Between love's day-star and her life.

In the late gloaming's purple gloom

She wandered home; but half the bloom

Had faded from her cheek and lips:

Love's orient was in eclipse.

“The ship went down!” such message crossed

The lightning wire, and all were lost

Save Captain Gray, and two or three;

Among them was not Graham Lee.

From Daisy's hand the paper fell;

No cry she uttered, but a swell

Of anguish through her heart did sweep,

Bearing it downward to the deep.

As the green pallor of a storm

A summer landscape doth deform,

Making a livid shadow grow

Athwart the noon-day's ruddy glow,

Across the future once so fair,

So ripe with joy for Daisy Dare,

Fate's cruel sickle swept, and left

Life of its golden harvest reft.