* * * * *

There was a cry of terror in the hall
Of Peru’s monarch, and a startling call;
But no reply—­Iola sure was gone;
Yet none knew why or whither she had flown. 
Her Inca-father put his crown aside,
And filled the temple with loud prayer—­a tide
Of lamentation rolled along the fair
And blooming realm; heaven wore a dim despair. 
She ne’er was found; but how or when she died
None knew; by her own hand; or if she cried,
Vainly, in wild beasts’ clutch;—­but ne’er before
Din wail so wild resound along the shore
Of fair Peru; her father lived not long,
After this chord was snapped in his life’s song.

THE HOLY LADY.

Oh, Heaven hath given to earth some souls,
    Of rarest loveliness,
Whose being’s constant current rolls,
    The wretched still to bless.

Well wishing Heaven hath given to earth,
    Some hearts of purest fire,
To renovate our sinful birth,
    And raise our low desire.

The Holy Lady did not go
    Afar, by sea or land,
But ministered to sighing wo,
    And suffering near at hand.

’Twas sweet to see the Lady fair,
    Each blessed sabbath morn,
Wear such a sweetly solemn air,
    Of bright devotion, born.

’Twas sweet to see her bow at eve,
    On lowly bended knee,
To pray, and sadly, sweetly grieve,
    For man’s perversity.

But sure were we that city fine,
    Wherein this Lady dwelt,
Was bettered by a power divine,
    And heavenly prompting felt.

When she was old, her heart not cold,
    A youthful beauty lay,
A light most wondrous to behold! 
    Upon her tresses gray.

The charm of goodness does not fade,
    Like natural beauty’s flower,
But blooms in glory undecayed,
    And death-defying power.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

The darkness falls on wood and field,
    On lofty peak, on silent sea,
The infant Moon and Planets yield
    A faint and feeble brilliancy.

Cans’t thou behold the look and shape
    Of mount and main, of wold and wood? 
The morrow’s sun, o’er sea and cape,
    Will show them out, both plain and good.

Time darkens all to mortal eyes
    Save what faint reason’s stars illume: 
But when Eternity shall rise,
    All shall their shapes and hues assume.

YEMEN.

My soul has been wandering in Yemen,
  The land of the aloe and myrrh;
Where the breezes that blow from the ocean,
  Brought feelings of heaven to her.

In the joy-giving vallies of Yemen,
  On its mountains that blush with their bloom;
My soul has been wandering but lately,
  To hide from the weight of her gloom.