POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS.
13
We read of hope, we lead of fear,
See eyes that weep, though not a tear
Is coursing down the cheek,
Know well the sympathetic flow
Of feeling deep for others woe,
The lips may never speak.
See eyes that weep, though not a tear
Is coursing down the cheek,
Know well the sympathetic flow
Of feeling deep for others woe,
The lips may never speak.
We read ambitions fitful strife,
Its secret cares that waste the life,
Whatever be its aim,
Its disappointments stern and dread,
That bleach the hapless mortal's head
Who seeks for wealth or fame.
Its secret cares that waste the life,
Whatever be its aim,
Its disappointments stern and dread,
That bleach the hapless mortal's head
Who seeks for wealth or fame.
Deceit with all her coward train,
But proves her labor lost and vain,
She is no mistress there.
No art of her's can truly hide
The hateful glance of selfish pride,
Or scorns disdainful stare.
But proves her labor lost and vain,
She is no mistress there.
No art of her's can truly hide
The hateful glance of selfish pride,
Or scorns disdainful stare.
When fiery anger fills the breast,
A look betrays the fierce unrest
By which the soul is stirred,
More venom then those rays can dart
More fury kindle in the heart
Than any taunting word.
A look betrays the fierce unrest
By which the soul is stirred,
More venom then those rays can dart
More fury kindle in the heart
Than any taunting word.
We see the softened light, when love
The spirit's tenderness would prove,
By beauty's potent charm.
So mild, so gently then they beam,
'Tis strange such orbs can ever gleam
With aught that tells of harm.
The spirit's tenderness would prove,
By beauty's potent charm.
So mild, so gently then they beam,
'Tis strange such orbs can ever gleam
With aught that tells of harm.
Oh wondrous index, written page
Of all our thoughts from youth to age,
A gift divinely given
This world were happier far I ween,
Did we but see them as they're seen
By purer eyes in heaven.
Of all our thoughts from youth to age,
A gift divinely given
This world were happier far I ween,
Did we but see them as they're seen
By purer eyes in heaven.
A VISIT TO PLEASANT VALE.
The following very happy poetic description of what is known as "Pleasant Vale" extending from Zoar Bridge on the Housatonic to the location of the Dawson Woolen factory, will be familiar to those who were acquainted with the place some years ago. It marks the changes of time in that locality very feelingly:
And this is dear old Pleasant Vale,
Once so familiar to my sight,
Here is the fair extended view,
A youthful fancy's loved delight.
Once so familiar to my sight,
Here is the fair extended view,
A youthful fancy's loved delight.
Again I hear the river's song,
And mark its rapid ceaseless flow,
And watch it shimmer in the sun,
As in the days of long ago.
And mark its rapid ceaseless flow,
And watch it shimmer in the sun,
As in the days of long ago.
This is the path I used to tread
At early morn and close of day,
'Tis worn as smooth and winds about
The same inexplicable way.
At early morn and close of day,
'Tis worn as smooth and winds about
The same inexplicable way.
Here was the store where dainty sweets
Were placed in jars to tempt our gaze,
How covetous we soon become,
What spendthrifts too in childish ways.
Were placed in jars to tempt our gaze,
How covetous we soon become,
What spendthrifts too in childish ways.
This building has a brighter look,
And more of dainties in display,
But time has wrought its wonted change;
I pass without regret today.
And more of dainties in display,
But time has wrought its wonted change;
I pass without regret today.
My road is near the mountain's base,
Huge rocks o'erhead 'twould seem might fall,
While mosses grow on every ledge,
And wild flowers bloom about them all.
Huge rocks o'erhead 'twould seem might fall,
While mosses grow on every ledge,
And wild flowers bloom about them all.
The blacksmith shop was just beyond,
Where truant ones were sure to tire,
They loved to watch the smithy's work
And linger round his cheerful fire.
Where truant ones were sure to tire,
They loved to watch the smithy's work
And linger round his cheerful fire.
There's nothing now to mark the spot,
Except the weeds are ranker grown,
And bits of coal are mingled with
A shapeless mass of dirt and stone.
Except the weeds are ranker grown,
And bits of coal are mingled with
A shapeless mass of dirt and stone.
A little farther was a cot,
With roses clustering round the door,
The house is gone, its habitants
Are dwelling on the brighter shore.
With roses clustering round the door,
The house is gone, its habitants
Are dwelling on the brighter shore.
And now I roach the quaint old church,
A long and well remembered place,
Time was when mid its worshippers
I scarce beheld a stranger's face.
A long and well remembered place,
Time was when mid its worshippers
I scarce beheld a stranger's face.
Again I stand upon the step,
And look within the open door,
How quickly memory pictures there,
The listening throng that met of yore.
And look within the open door,
How quickly memory pictures there,
The listening throng that met of yore.
The quiet graveyard is close by,
Each stone bears some familiar name,
And here and there an epitaph,
The sleepers' virtues yet proclaim.
Each stone bears some familiar name,
And here and there an epitaph,
The sleepers' virtues yet proclaim.
In childhood oft I sought this ground,
To me 'twas neither sad or drear,
For cheerily the blackbirds sang.
In groves of pines then growing near.
To me 'twas neither sad or drear,
For cheerily the blackbirds sang.
In groves of pines then growing near.
And on the hillside just below,
We found fine ferns and berries sweet,
And made beneath the maple shade
A mimic house we thought complete.
We found fine ferns and berries sweet,
And made beneath the maple shade
A mimic house we thought complete.
The rude stone bridge still spans the stream,
Where youthful anglers tried their skill,
Till many torn and brimless hats
Were proof they'd labored with a will.
Where youthful anglers tried their skill,
Till many torn and brimless hats
Were proof they'd labored with a will.
Below the bridge a wealth of mint,
And rushes tall and thrifty grew.
We gathered these at morn and noon,
Now happly other children do.
And rushes tall and thrifty grew.
We gathered these at morn and noon,
Now happly other children do.
The school house is the very same,
That memory long has held so dear,
For happier hours I ne'er have known,
Than those that passed so quickly here.
That memory long has held so dear,
For happier hours I ne'er have known,
Than those that passed so quickly here.
Those youthful friends, where are they now?
I try to trace their worldly lot,
Though some have erred, and some are dead,
Among them all there's none forgot.
I try to trace their worldly lot,
Though some have erred, and some are dead,
Among them all there's none forgot.
The stern old scholar too who came,
And questioned us in ancient lore,
Has passed beyond our mortal ken,
And wiser is than e'er before.
And questioned us in ancient lore,
Has passed beyond our mortal ken,
And wiser is than e'er before.
He had his faults, we'll pass them by,
His virtues our remembrance claim,
And now that we are growing gray,
Will ever kindly speak his name.
His virtues our remembrance claim,
And now that we are growing gray,
Will ever kindly speak his name.
The factory's hum is heard no more,
For ruin there is all complete,
And nothing breaks the silence now
But babbling brooks, and songsters sweet.
For ruin there is all complete,
And nothing breaks the silence now
But babbling brooks, and songsters sweet.
But this is still dear Pleasant Vale,
(A homely spot to some it seems,)
But passing through it once again,
Recalls for me life's brightest dreams.
(A homely spot to some it seems,)
But passing through it once again,
Recalls for me life's brightest dreams.
