Alexandria gazette. [volume] (Alexandria, D.C.) 1834-1974, 1878-07-13
The Land of Delights.

+ From the New York Journal of Comme!cs
The sweet singer who won her first crown IN
the columns of this paper, but whose name ID
now known wherever the English language ID
spoken sends us another gem from her eastern
bome In q note which accompanies the poem
she writes: "You remember well tina! the real
Arcadia (whose name has become symool 81
visionary happiness) was pastoral country
presided over by Pan to whom the Er treo was
sacred. The other illusions, trust, have fnei-
proper signih csnce.
II think ws have sll lived long enough to
learn that the further We journey, the more %
childhood and youth take on the colors OF en-
chantment, and prove to have been, though We
knew it not, our first and last Arcadia"
ARCADIA. ..
We heard it first on an April morn,
If rung by fairies cannot tell,
But earth was smiling O. or flowers new born,
And birds, homo coming to wood and dell,
With jubilant music saluted the dawn,
When far in the distance We heard ssweet bell
a fute like echo q dulcet strain
That pierced our hearts with tender pain
The bell call of Arcadia.
Where can we ind it2 we asked the vile
Who musing sat in the willow shade
Answer vague to our question made:
''Nor east or west that fair land lies
A seal of magic Is on it laid;
But love and longing the spell unbind,
And he who follows at last may find
The hidden land. Arcadia.
Down evergreen mountains in sparkling sheen
A hundred rivulets seek the sea,
Flocks, snow white, feed in the pastures gIean,
And under the boughs of the dark fir tree
To shepherd minstrels of Joyous mien
The wood god Pan pipes cheerily.
Always summer days blithe and long,
Always melody, bloom and song
In the fair land Of Arcadia"
We could not linger. With hearts ,ha! teat
Wild with longing and fond desire.
We followed the call of the bell so sweet
"Soon," we said, will that yivan lyle
With wtching welcome our senses greet.
Ere sunset brightens yon purple spiro
We shall rest among roses our weary feet.
Was it fanoy7 The dear home violeIs' eyes
Seemed brimming with tears OF sad surprlsei
But away, to rare Arcsdisl
Many mornings ruddy tide
Flooded the midnights desolate baT,
Many sunset spleDdor died
Yet hope rekindled the evening star;
And still O YER desert or moun1ai a si1e
We heard the silvery chime afar.
Calling "aither, o pilgrlm feet,
Here your rest shall be full and swie,
In green groves OF ArcRdls.'
At times the kiss of sudden breez,
With tropic odois our pulses stirred,
Breath of scarlet pomegranate trees
And lotus blossoms. WesurelY heard
The low, soft rhythm of summer sess,
The brooding note of the Halcyon bird.
Onward We pressed 80 near, at last,
Ono moro bier shadow OF woodland past,
And then-our blest Arcadia
But after the woodland the black ravino.
and further along, lone mountain eighl;
There, as we csmbered with saddened mler,
In the fading Autumn's sunset light
For the leaves were ruaset that once we're
green
Pilgrims numberless met our sight.
Snow white locks on the evening wind,
And mourntully, steadfastly looking behind,
They sighed Farewell, Arcadla!'
We too looked back, and wonderful light
Lsy on the landscape our feet had passed
Clearer than morning and softer than night,
Oer all the road was the glamour cast,
And there, revealed to our yesrning eight,
The beautiful valley lay ~ last
Far back where the April Violets grew,
There smiled amid crystals OF desthless teF,
Our frat and last Arcsdial
FRANCES L. MACE.