Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood

Let the gay and the idle go forth where they will,
In search of soft Pleasure, that siren of ill;
Let them seek her in Fashion's illumined saloon,
Where Melody mocks at the heart out of tune;
Where the laugh gushes light from the lips of the maiden,
While her spirit, perchance, is with sorrow o'erladen;
And where, mid the garlands Joy only should braid,
Is Slander, the snake, by its rattle betray'd.
Ah! no! let the idle for happiness roam,
For me—I but ask to be “happy at home!”

At home! oh how thrillingly sweet is that word!
And by it what visions of beauty are stirr'd!
I ask not that Luxury curtain my room
With damask from India's exquisite loom;
The sunlight of heaven is precious to me,
And muslin will veil it if blazing too free;
The elegant trifles of Fashion and Wealth
I need not—I ask but for comfort and health!

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With these and my dear ones—I care not to roam,
For, oh! I am happy, most “happy at home!”

One bright little room where the children may play,
Unfearful of spoiling the costly array;
Where he, too—our dearest of all on the earth—
May find the sweet welcome he loves at his hearth;
The fire blazing warmly—the sofa drawn nigh;
And the star-lamp alight on the table close by;
A few sunny pictures in simple frames shrined,
A few precious volumes—the wealth of the mind;
And here and there treasured some rare gem of art,
To kindle the fancy or soften the heart;
Thus richly surrounded, why, why should I roam?
Oh! am I not happy—most “happy at home?”

The little ones, weary of books and of play,
Nestle down on our bosoms—our Ellen and May!
And softly the simple, affectionate prayer
Ascends in the gladness of innocence there;
And now ere they leave us, sweet kisses and light
They lavish, repeating their merry “Good-night!”
While I with my needle, my book, or my pen,
Or in converse with him, am contented again,
And cry—“Can I ever be tempted to roam,
While blessings like these make me happy at home?”

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II. WHY DON'T HE COME?

All the girls in the village save me have gone forth
To meet the brave soldiers return'd from the North;
They have donn'd the best kirtle and braided their hair,
And gayly their voices ring back on the air;
But I am too happy to care for my dress,
Or to bind with bright ribands the wild-waving tress,
For the fairest, and bravest, and best of the band
Will claim, ere the morrow, this heart and this hand.
Hush! hark! far away! 'tis the bugle and drum!
Now louder and nearer—oh! why don't he come?

I cannot go forth with the others to claim
His smile—his caresses—I cannot for shame!
For my love is too holy, my joy is too high
To bear the light gaze of each villager's eye;
He would think I had changed, I should shrink from his touch,
I should hate them to see that I love him so much.
But here! oh! how fondly I'll welcome him home!
He knows I am waiting him—why don't he come?

Perhaps cousin Mabel has seen him ere this,—
She would not be bashful at claiming a kiss;
How exulting she look'd as she join'd the gay girls,
With those red berries wreathing her shadowy curls!
It is true all the lads say her smile is divine,
But I don't think her eyes are so pretty as mine;—

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So black and so bold! and they dazzle one so!
My Willie loves blue eyes and light hair, I know;
He will not forget his own Ellen at home,
For Mabel or any one—when will he come?

I'm weary of waiting: how strangely unkind
To linger so from me,—I've made up my mind
I won't kiss him now, when he does—ah! behold!
Who hastes o'er the common with bearing so bold?
He waves his plumed cap! It is he! it is he!
Bless his heart—how he flies now he's caught sight of me!
Ah! Mabel may listen the bugle and drum,
And bewitch the whole regiment—Willie has come!

III. TO A DEAR LITTLE TRUANT.

When are you coming? the flowers have come!
Bees in the balmy air happily hum;
Tenderly, timidly, down in the dell,
Sighs the sweet violet—droops the harebell;
Soft on the wavy grass glistens the dew;
Spring keeps her promises; why do not you?

Up in the air, love, the clouds are at play;
You are more graceful and lovely than they!
Birds in the woods carol all the day long,
When are you coming to join in the song?

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Fairer than flowers, and purer than dew!
Other sweet things are here; why are not you?

When are you coming? we've welcomed the rose!
Every light zephyr, as gayly it goes,
Whispers of other flowers met on its way;
Why has it nothing of you, love, to say?
Why does it tell us of music and dew?
Rose of the South! we are waiting for you!

Do, darling, come to us—mid the dark trees,
“Like a lute” murmurs the musical breeze;
Sometimes the brook, as it trips by the flowers,
Hushes its warble to listen for yours!
Pure as the violet, lovely and true!
Spring should have waited till she could bring you!

IV. I LOOKED NOT—I SIGHED NOT.

I look'd not—I sigh'd not—I dared not betray
The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way,
For I knew that each sign of the sorrow I felt
Her soul to fresh pity and passion would melt;
And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes,
As I parted from all that in being I prize.

I pined but one moment that form to enfold,
Yet the hand that touch'd hers like the marble was cold.

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I heard her voice falter a timid farewell,
Nor trembled, though soft on my spirit it fell;
And she knew not, she dream'd not the anguish of soul
Which only my pity for her could control.

It is over,—the loveliest dream of delight
That ever illumined a wanderer's night!
Yet one gleam of comfort will brighten my way,
Though mournful and desolate ever I stray;
It is this, that to her—to my idol, I spared
The pang, that her love could have soften'd and shared!

V. THEY NEVER CAN KNOW THAT HEART.

Oh! they never can know that heart of thine,
Who dare accuse thee of flirtation!
They might as well say that the stars, which shine
In the light of their joy o'er creation,
Are flirting with every wild wave in which lies
One beam of the glory that kindles the skies.

Smile on, then, undimm'd in your beauty and grace!
Too well e'er to doubt, love, we know you;—
And shed, from your heaven, the light of your face,
Where the waves chase each other below you;
For none can e'er deem it your shame or your sin,
That each wave holds your star-image smiling within.

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VI. CALL ME PET NAMES, DEAREST.

Call me pet names, dearest! Call me a bird,
That flies to thy breast at one cherishing word,
That folds its wild wings there, ne'er dreaming of flight,
That tenderly sings there in loving delight!
Oh! my sad heart keeps pining for one fond word,—
Call me pet names, dearest! Call me thy bird!

Call me sweet names, darling! Call me a flower,
That lives in the light of thy smile each hour,
That droops when its heaven—thy heart—grows cold,
That shrinks from the wicked, the false and bold,
That blooms for thee only, through sunlight and shower;
Call me pet names, darling! Call me thy flower!

Call me fond names, dearest! Call me a star,
Whose smile's beaming welcome thou feel'st from afar,
Whose light is the clearest, the truest to thee,
When the “night-time of sorrow” steals over life's sea;
Oh! trust thy rich bark where its warm rays are;
Call me pet names, darling! Call me thy star!

Call me dear names, darling! Call me thine own!
Speak to me always in Love's low tone!
Let not thy look nor thy voice grow cold:
Let my fond worship thy being enfold;
Love me for ever, and love me alone!
Call me pet names, darling! Call me thine own!

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VII. COME TO ME, ANSWER.

Come to me, answer, wherever thou art,
Life of my being, light of my heart!
Follow the music that floats from afar,
Silvery soft as the chime of a star.
Fondly it flows from my spirit to thine,
Led by a magic, unerring, divine,
Winding to thee like a leaf-hidden rill,—
Follow and find me! I wait for thee still!

Let not the melody, dainty and sweet,
Waste its wild pleading, and die at thy feet!
It has found thee—to its destiny true;—
Follow, oh! follow the musical clue!
Trust! it shall lead thee to something afar,
Lovely and pure as the light of a star.
Come to me—answer, wherever thou art,
Life of my being, and hope of my heart!

Let not a doubt o'er thy pathway arise,
Chilling thy spirit and blinding thine eyes;
Trust! 'tis thy destiny, sacred and sweet,
Lures thee to follow her musical feet.
List to no other lay—look to no light—
Here is a beacon will burn for thy flight.
Follow, and find me, wherever thou art,
Follow the tune to its home in my heart!

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VIII. LADY JANE.

Oh! saw ye e'er creature so queenly, so fine,
As this dainty, aerial darling of mine?
With a toss of her mane, that is glossy as jet,
With a dance and a prance and a frolic curvet,
She is off! She is stepping superbly away!
Her dark, speaking eye full of pride and of play.
Oh! she spurns the dull earth with a graceful disdain,
My fearless, my peerless, my loved Lady Jane!

Her silken ears lifted when danger is nigh,
How kindles the night in her resolute eye!
Now stately she paces, as if to the sound
Of a proud, martial melody playing around,
Now pauses at once, mid a light caracole,
To turn her mild glance on me beaming with soul:
Now fleet as a fairy, she speeds o'er the plain,
My darling, my treasure, my own Lady Jane!

Give her rein! let her go! Like a shaft from the bow,
Like a bird on the wing, she is speeding, I trow—
Light of heart, lithe of limb, with a spirit all fire,
Yet sway'd and subdued by my idlest desire—
Though daring, yet docile, and sportive but true,
Her nature's the noblest that ever I knew.
How she flings back her head, in her dainty disdain!
My beauty! my graceful, my gay Lady Jane!

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IX. ELLEN ARDELLE.

There were music and mirth in the lighted saloon;
The measure was merry,—our hearts were in tune,—
While hand link'd with hand in the graceful quadrille,
Bright joy crown'd the dance, like the sun on the rill,
And beam'd in the dark eyes of many a belle;
But the star of the ball-room was Ellen Ardelle!

She tripp'd with the grace of a wild forest fawn,
Her locks wore the soft amber glow of the dawn,
Her cheek, the rich flush of a sunset in May,
And pure, like the starlight, her eyes' azure ray:
Light, light as a feather her fairy foot fell:
Oh vision of loveliness! Ellen Ardelle!

There are hundreds as brilliant, as graceful and fair;
But who, with so touching, so winning an air?
When softly she raises those eyes of deep blue,
What soul can resist them?—I cannot,—can you?
Ah! light heart! beware the bewildering spell
That lurks 'neath the lashes of Ellen Ardelle!

No jewel she needs, her young beauty to light;
Her glance would out-glow it, if ever so bright.
Her blush is all feeling,—her smile is all love;
She is tender and faithful, and pure as the dove;
But timid and wild, like a mountain gazelle,—
What fond hand shall tame her, young Ellen Ardelle?

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X. AZURE-EYED ELOISE.

“Azure-eyed Eloise! beauty is thine,
Passion kneels to thee, and calls thee divine;
Minstrels awaken the lute with thy name;
Poets have gladden'd the world with thy fame;
Painters, half holy, thy loved image keep;
Beautiful Eloise! why do you weep?”
Still bows the lady her light tresses low—
Fast the warm tears from her veiléd eyes flow.

“Sunny-hair'd Eloise! wealth is thine own;
Rich is thy silken robe—bright is thy zone;
Proudly the jewel illumines thy way;
Clear rubies rival thy ruddy lip's play;
Diamonds like stardrops thy silken braids deck;
Pearls waste their snow on thy lovelier neck;
Luxury softens thy pillow for sleep;
Angels watch over it; why do you weep?”
Bows the fair lady her light tresses low—
Faster the tears from her veiléd eyes flow.

“Gifted and worshipp'd one, genius and grace
Play in each motion, and beam in thy face:
When from thy rosy lip rises the song,
Hearts that adore thee the echo prolong;

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Ne'er in the festival shone an eye brighter,
Ne'er in the mazy dance fell a foot lighter.
One only spirit thou'st fail'd to bring down:
Exquisite Eloise! why do you frown?”
Swift o'er her forehead a dark shadow stole,
Sent from the tempest of pride in her soul.

“Touch'd by thy sweetness, in love with thy grace,
Charm'd by the magic of mind in thy face,
Bewitch'd by thy beauty, e'en his haughty strength,
The strength of the stoic, is conquer'd at length:
Lo! at thy feet—see him kneeling the while—
Eloise, Eloise! why do you smile?”
The hand was withdrawn from her happy blue eyes,
She gazed on her lover with laughing surprise;
While the dimple and blush, stealing soft to her cheek,
Told the tale that her tongue was too timid to speak.

XI. LULU.

There's many a maiden more brilliant, by far,
With the step of a fawn, and the glance of a star:
But heart there was never more tender and true,
Than beats in the bosom of darling Lulu!

Her eyes are too modest to dazzle; but, oh!
They win you to love her, if you will or no!

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And when they glance up, with their shy, startled look,
Her soul trembles in them, like light in a brook.
There are bright eyes by thousands, black, hazel, and blue;
But whose are so loving as those of Lulu!

And waves of soft hair, that a poet would vow
Was moonlight on marble, droop over her brow.
The rose rarely blooms through that light, silken maze,
But when it does play there, how softly it plays!
Oh! there's many a maiden more brilliant, 'tis true,
But none so enchanting as little Lulu!

She flits, like a fairy, about me all day,
Now nestling beside me, now up and away!
She singeth unbidden, with warble as wild
As the lay of the meadow-lark, innocent child!
She's playful and tender, and trusting and true,
She's sweet as a lily, my dainty Lulu!

She whispers sweet fancies, now mournful, now bright,
Then deepen her glances with love and delight;
And the slow, timid smile, that dawns in her face,
Seems fill'd with her spirit's ineffable grace.
Oh! the world cannot offer a treasure so true
As the childlike devotion of happy Lulu!

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XII. CARRY CARLISLE.

The rose—bring the rose breathing sweet through the dew;
The shell—bring the shell, with its soft, carmine hue;
Bring the blush from the cloud beneath morn's beaming eye:
I will show you a blossom of lovelier dye;
It is Love's dearest flower, and it blooms to beguile,
It was born on the bright cheek of Carry Carlisle!

Let Love tune the lute to a light, dainty lay,
Or soft o'er the air-harp the southern wind play;
Let the mountain-rill's low, mellow ripple be heard,
Or the faint-warbled trill of the far forest bird;
To music more graceful I listen the while,
'Tis the soul-thrilling laugh of sweet Carry Carlisle!

Bring the rarest and purest of gems from the mine,
In the depth of whose heart plays a lightning divine;
Bring the soft ray that beams through the blue mist of morn,
Bring the star-illumed wave ere its glory is gone;
I will show you a purer and lovelier smile,
Beneath the dark lashes of Carry Carlisle!

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XIII. “BOIS TON SANG, BEAUMANOIR!”

Fierce raged the combat—the foeman press'd nigh,
When from young Beaumanoir rose the wild cry,
Beaumanoir, mid them all, bravest and first,
“Give me to drink, for I perish of thirst!”
Hark! at his side, in the deep tones of ire,
“Bois ton SANG, Beaumanoir!” shouted his sire.

Deep had it pierced him, the foeman's swift sword;
Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word!
Back to the battle, with forehead all flush'd,
Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rush'd!
Scorn in his dark eyes—his spirit on fire—
Deeds were his answer that day to his sire!

Still where triumphant the young hero came,
Glory's bright garland encircled his name;
But in her bower, to beauty a slave,
Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave,
While on his shield that no shame had defaced,
“Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!” proudly she traced!

The incident is related in Froissart's Chronicles.

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XIV. COME HITHER, YOU WILD LITTLE WILL-O'-THE-WISP.

Come hither, you wild little will-o'-the-wisp!
With your mischievous smile and your musical lisp;
With your little head toss'd, like a proud fairy queen,
My playful, my pretty, my petted Florine.

Did you beg of a shell, love, the blush on your face?
Did you ask a gazelle, love, to teach you its grace?
Did you coax, from the clouds, of a sunset serene,
The gold of your ringlets, bewitching Florine?

Did you learn of a lute, or a bird, or a rill.
The ravishing tones that with melody thrill?
Ah! your little light heart wonders what I can mean,
For you know not the charm of your beauty, Florine!

XV. HER HANDS CLASPED IN ANGUISH—HER BLACK EYES BENT LOW.

Her hands clasp'd in anguish—her black eyes bent low,
With motionless grace, as if sculptured in stone,
Half veil'd by her dark hair's magnificent flow,
Sweet Fazry is standing—a captive—alone!

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“Kara Aly!”—the statue awakes to that name,
As the marble grew warm 'neath the love-spell of old!
Lo! her pale cheek is kindling with beautiful shame,
And her eye is on fire with emotion untold!

“Frail flower of Kazan! you were nursed from your birth
Amid luxuries rarest and richest of earth;—
Why left you that home, with the fierce mountain-chief?”
“I loved him!” she murmur'd, in passionate grief.

“So young and so lovely, a cavern your home!
Ne'er languish'd that spirit for freedom to roam?
Rude dwelling for creature so fragile and fair!”
“Ah, no!” she replied, “Kara Aly was there!”

XVI. HE DID NOT SAY HE LOVED ME.

He did not say he loved me; yet, oh! he used to bring,
To deck my braided tresses, the fairest flowers of spring!
He did not say he loved me; but in his earnest eyes
I thought I saw the secret a thousand times arise.

He did not say he loved me; he did not breathe a vow;
I needed no confession—I read it on his brow.
I met it in his glances; I heard it in his tone;
I ask'd not if he loved me; I felt he was mine own!

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He did not say he loved me; yet, oh! he used to sing
Such songs as thrill the spirit, while feeling tunes the string.
But false his dark eye's smiling, and false my dream as brief;
Alas! for man's beguiling! for woman's fond belief!

He did not say he loved me;—why did he ever bring,
To braid amid my tresses the token-flowers of spring?
Why did he look so fondly? why did he speak so low?
Oh! if he did not love me, he should have told me so!

XVII. GAY GIRLS ARE WREATHING.

Gay girls are wreathing flowers in their hair;
Fond lips are breathing the wish—the prayer.

Lonely, the laughter, the revel, I shun;
One stealeth after—how welcome that one!

Far away gleaming, the dancers flit by;
Here sit we dreaming—Memory and I.

Fair beads of amber she counteth the while,
In the still chamber, with sigh and smile;

And, as she telleth her rosary o'er,
Wild my heart dwelleth on hours of yore.

Some wingéd treasure, that flew from my arms,
Some perish'd pleasure, each bead embalms.

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All hopes I cherish'd there find a tomb,
One by one perish'd in glory and bloom.

Sound harp and viol! speed the bright hours!
Life's sunny dial they count by flowers.

They—the light-hearted!—ah! dearer to me
Dreams of the parted than all their wild glee.

Still, the past haunts me! Mid all Hope can say,
Memory chants me a lovelier lay.

XVIII. I CANNOT FORGET HIM.

I cannot forget him! I've lock'd up my soul;
But not till his image deep, deep in it stole.

I cannot forget him! The Future can cast
No flower before me so sweet as the Past.

I turn to my books; but his voice, rich and rare,
Is blent with the genius that speaks to me there.

I tune my wild lyre; but I think of the praise,
Too precious, too dear, which he lent to my lays.

I cannot forget him! I try to be gay,
To quell the wild sorrow that rises alway;

But wilder and darker it swells, as I try;
If Heaven could forget him, so never can I!

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I cannot forget him! I loved him too well!
His smile was endearment, his whisper a spell.

I fly from his presence; alas! it is vain;
I see him—I hear him—he's with me again!

He haunts me for ever; I worship him yet;
Oh! idle endeavour! I cannot forget!

XIX. LET HIM GO.

Let him go! If a smile could Love's sever'd chain rivet—
If a sigh could recall him—I'd die ere I'd give it.

Let him go! He shall learn how a woman's deep pride,
Once roused, can o'ermaster all passions beside.

While I girlishly trusted each vow that he said,
A word could have won me, a look could have led.

For pliant and light, as a flower to the air,
Is woman's fond spirit to kindness and care.

But now—not a tear, not a shade shall discover
One trace of my grief to my false-hearted lover.

And now—the proud star, that beams purest on high,
Shall stoop at his bidding as easy as I.

Let him go! If a smile could Love's sever'd chain rivet—
If a sigh could recall him—I'd die ere I'd give it.

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XX. FOR THEE, LOVE, FOR THEE.

As the bud lingers and looks for the spring,
For her light fingers to open its wing;

Folding up proudly its fresh dew and bloom,
Wistfully hoarding its holy perfume:

All unelated by sunbeam or bee—
So my heart waited, looking for thee.

As the waves darkle till dawning of day,
Then with its sparkle go dancing away—

Silent in sorrow, or reckless in glee,
So my wild spirit watched, darling! for thee.

As the bird hushes its love-heaving breast
Till summer blushes about its warm nest—

Dreaming and sleeping 'neath winter's control,
Timidly keeping its song in its soul—

So have I kept, dear, my heart-music free,
So love has slept, dear, waiting for thee.

As the bark breathlessly floats for the gale
That shall give life to its languishing sail,

So my heart panted thy bark, love, to be—
So it lay idle, asking for thee.

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As the star listens for night stealing up,
Ere the fire glistens within its gold cup,

Hiding till then in the air's azure sea,
So my heart listen'd for thee, love—thee!

XXI. I LOVED AN IDEAL.

I loved an ideal—I sought it in thee;
I found it unreal as stars in the sea.

And shall I, disdaining an instinct divine—
By falsehood profaning that pure hope of mine—

Shall I stoop from my vision so lofty, so true—
From the light all Elysian that round me it threw?

Oh! guilt unforgiven, if false I could be
To myself and to Heaven, while constant to thee.

Ah no! though all lonely on earth be my lot,
I'll brave it, if only that trust fail me not—

The trust that, in keeping all pure from control
The love that lies sleeping and dreams in my soul,

It may wake in some better and holier sphere,
Unbound by the fetter Fate hung on it here.

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XXII. BRAID NOT THE JEWEL.

Braid not the jewel, love, in thy hair!
For such adornment thou art too fair.

Suits not the diamond tresses so light,
Floating like golden mist, changefully bright.

Weave its wild lustre through the dark braids,
Whose raven cluster Helen's eye shades.

There will its splendour fittingly play;
Thou art too tender for such array.

Take this white rose, love, stainless as thou,
Let it repose, over thy brow.

And as its fragrance softly steals by,
Sweet as thy balmy breath, pure as thy sigh,

Think of the lover, in whose fond sight
No gem of Ophir could lend thee light!

XXIII. GO! LET ME PRAY.

Go! let me pray, pray to forget thee!
Wo worth the day, dear one, I met thee!
Ever till then, careless and free, love,
Never again, thus shall I be, love.

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Calm in my soul, love had been dreaming,
Veil'd visions stole, light round him gleaming;
One smile alone o'er his rest glancing,
One only tone, low and entrancing.

Soft, through that sleep, thine the voice breaking,
Long shall I weep, weep his awaking,
Weep for the day when first I met thee,
Then let me pray, pray to forget thee!

XXIV. HITHER—COME HITHER

Hither! come hither! come to the hills;
Trip through the woodlands, rest by the rills!
Little ones! hasten, with laughter and song;
Come with your tiny feet glancing along!

Breezes are blowing, chill is the dew,
Yet are we glowing only for you;
Softly we cluster, sadly we sigh,
Waiting the lustre of some loving eye.

Trace by the perfume that floats on the gale,
Where we are hiding down in the vale;
Hiding from all the world, drinking the dew,
Hushing our timid hearts, waiting for you!

Playing “bo-peep,” with the breeze and beam,
Bending to see ourselves glass'd in the stream.

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Little ones! hasten, with laughter and song;
Come with your merry feet dancing along!
Come to us, sing to us! chill is the weather,
Let us die on your hearts, braided together!

XXV. COME WITH THAT TRUE HEART.

Come with that true heart, all petty doubts scorning;
Come with that smile, which is day to my night;
Come with those blushes, that mock a May morning,
Dear truant tell-tales of love and delight.

Come with that step, like a flower-sylph's in fleetness;
Come with those tresses that gleam as they flow;
Come with that lute-tone's ineffable sweetness;
Breathe on my bosom its melody low.

Gem of a life that is joyless without thee!
Rose in Hope's wilderness! bird of Love's bower!
Balm, light, and melody floating about thee,—
Which art thou, darling—bird, jewel, or flower?

XXVI. NAY, COME NOT TO ME.

Nay, come not to me, if you sigh for the splendour
That 'neath the lash lightens, in Beauty's blue eye:
I have naught but affection true, timid, and tender;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—fly.

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Ah! seek not my side, if the grace of a ringlet,
That goldenly floats, too beguiling can be;
A love such as yours is, can ne'er want a winglet—
Go wave it o'er others, but come not to me.

Oh! come not to me, if you watch the glow stealing
O'er Beauty, like roselight of morning on snow:
No bloom warms my cheek, save the wild rose of Feeling;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—go!

XXVII. RARE BIRD OF THE WEST.

Rare bird of the West! where the pride of the prairie
Can boast of no blossom to rival your blush,
Oh, fold for one moment your wing wild and airy,
And, while I sing to you, your sweet warble hush.

Fair bird of the West! where the sky bent above you,
So fondly it lent half its light to your eye,
Where the wild flower you tripp'd over look'd up to love you,
And the happy wave paused o'er your picture to sigh.

You dream'd not, while sporting in freedom and pleasure,
Of cages and nets that would fetter your wing;
But oh! let me warn you—too rare is the treasure—
The fowler, the hunter have both heard you sing.

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They are up, on the track—oh! be prudent and wary—
They have nets, they have cages of iron and gold;
Look well to your pinion, sweet bird of the prairie,
And shame, with that blue eye, the false and the bold.

There is one who would cherish, and love the least ringlet
That floats o'er your young cheek, or kisses your neck,
Who would guard every wave of your exquisite winglet,
And toil for earth's treasures your beauty to deck:

But he has no claim to your lightest smile, Mary,
He can but sing truly, though may be too bold;
“Look well to your pinion, wild bird of the prairie!
Beware of their cages of iron and gold.”

XXVIII. OH NO, NEVER DEEM HER LESS WORTHY OF LOVE.

Oh, no! never deem her less worthy of love,
That once she has trusted, and trusted in vain;
Could you turn from the timid and innocent dove,
If it flew to your breast from a savage's chain?

She too is a dove, in her guileless affection,
A child in confiding and worshipping truth;
Half broken in heart, she has flown for protection
To you,—will you chill the sweet promise of youth?

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To a being so fragile, affection is life;
A rose-bud, unbless'd by a smile from above,
When with bloom and with fragrance its bosom is rife—
A bee without sweets—she must perish or love.

You have heard of those magical circles of flowers,
Which in places laid waste by the lightning are found;
Where they say that the fairies have charm'd the night hours,
With their luminous footsteps enriching the ground.

Believe me, the passion she cherish'd of yore,
That brought, like the storm-flash, at once on its wing
Destruction and splendour, like that hurried o'er,
And left in its track but the wild fairy-ring,—

All rife with fair blossoms of fancy and feeling,
And hope, that spring forth from the desolate gloom,
And whose breath in rich incense is softly up-stealing,
To brighten your pathway with beauty and bloom!

XXIX. SEMPRE LO STESSO.

“Sempre lo stesso!”—the pure stream of feeling
May show on its surface all shadows that pass,
The light summer cloud, through the azure air stealing,
The wild flower that bends like a belle to her glass.

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“Sempre lo stesso!”—the wave may give back, love,
The bird's sunny pinion, that gleams and is gone;
The stars' silver glory, the breeze in its track, love,
The faint smile of twilight, the gray mist of morn!

“Sempre lo stesso!”—the cloud and the rose, love,
The skies' changing beauty, the wing's glowing tint,
Break not for a moment the stream's pure repose, love,
They touch but the surface, and leave not a print.

“Sempre lo stesso!”—deep, deep in its bosom,
Where the world's fleeting pageants ne'er ruffle the tide,
It hoards, like a miser, its own gem and blossom,
And sings to itself all the love it would hide.

XXX. OH! TELL ME AT ONCE THAT YOU LOVE ME NO MORE.

Oh, tell me at once that you love me no more!
Oh, say you are weary, and hope will be o'er!
But let me not fruitlessly waste my soul's life,
Between doubt and despair, in this passionate strife!

It is time, heaven knows, that I turn from my dream;
'Tis folly, 'tis madness, though sweet it may seem;
And if once from your lips your estrangement I know,
I've a pride still at heart, that would rise at the blow.

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By all the true tenderness lavish'd too long
On your bosom, oh! soul of my thought and my song;
By all the wild worship I've pour'd at your feet,
Oh! soothe me no more with this fatal deceit.

I seek not your pity; 'twill deepen the grief
That can find but in love all it asks of relief;
But tell me at once that I trusted in vain,
And ne'er be those dear eyes bent on me again.

You cannot give back the pure bloom of my soul,
The freshness, the light that my wild passion stole;
You cannot restore me the innocent truth
That once was the glory and pride of my youth.

They are gone, and for ever, the joy and the bloom;
They are fled like the wither'd flower's blush and perfume;
If your love has gone with them, oh! listen my prayer—
Let me rest, though it be in the calm of despair!

XXXI. 'TIS GONE, ALL GONE.

'Tis gone, all gone, the charm, the dream, the glory;
Passion has dimm'd the light in Love's pure eyes;
Thus was it ever, in all olden story—
Warm'd by the flame, the rose too early dies.

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I read it in thy tone so light, so alter'd;
I see it in thy look, so soon grown cold:
Oh! hadst thou heard the prayer I wildly falter'd,
Love yet a while his angel-wings might fold.

Could we have kept unstain'd those glorious pinions,
Like the pure bird of Paradise, whose flight
Is ever near the sad earth's dark dominions,
But stoops not, lest he soil his plumes of light;

Could we have kept undimm'd their primal glory,
Nor lured to earth the beauteous bird of heaven;
Ours had been then a proud and peerless story,
And love so pure had surely been forgiven.

XXXII. SINCE THOU ART LOST TO ME ON EARTH.

Since thou art lost to me on earth for ever;
Since never more my lips may breathe thy name;
Since 'tis thy will that I not even endeavour
To learn where beats and burns that heart of flame;

Ah! but one boon be mine—the first, the latest,
That my shy heart could ever ask of thee—
From the sad solitude in which thou waitest,
Strike thy wild lyre once more, for me—for me.

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By the pure fervour of the faith I gave thee;
By the wreck'd hopes that nothing can restore;
By the lost heart that would have died to save thee—
Speak to my soul from thine once more—once more.

Once more!—one fond, low murmur ere I die, love!
Ere the frail form beloved by thee is dust:
The world will hear and praise the strain; but I, love,
Only to my heart will it whisper, “Trust!”

XXXIII. HE BADE ME BE HAPPY.

He bade me “Be happy,” he whisper'd “Forget me;”
He vow'd my affection was cherish'd in vain.
“Be happy!” “Forget me!” I would, if he'd let me—
Why will he keep coming to say so again?

He came—it was not the first time, by a dozen—
To take, as he said, “an eternal adieu;”
He went, and, for comfort, I turn'd to—my cousin,
When back stalk'd the torment his vows to renew.

“You must love me no longer!” he said but this morning.
“I love you no longer!” I meekly replied.
“Is this my reward?” he cried; “falsehood and scorning
From her who was ever my idol, my pride!”

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He bade me “Be happy,” he murmur'd “Forget me!—
Go into the gayest society, Jane!”
And I would obey him, right well, if he'd let me;
But, the moment I do, he comes loving again!

XXXIV. THIS MORN, WHEN AURORA ABOVE THE LAKE BENT.

This morn, when Aurora above the lake bent, love,
To tie up the braids of her pale, golden hair,
While the gleam of each tress to its small ripples lent, love,
Look'd just like a star broke and fallen in there;

Away from their banquet the fairies I frighten'd,
For I shook from a wet spray a shower-bath of dew,
And their luminous winglets all quiver'd and lighten'd
Like fire-flies around me, as swiftly they flew.

Their cut-diamond dinner-set with them departed;
But one painted vase, full of lilies, was left,—
Their stateliest treasure—forgot when they started—
I clasp'd it and ran—oh! forgive me the theft!

And take it, dear maiden,—and while you are stealing
The sigh that my fairy bouquet breathes for you,
Remember the flowers of Fancy and Feeling
We've twined in bright hours too fleet and too few!

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XXXV. I KNOW IT—I FEEL IT—HE LOVES ME AT LAST!

I know it—I feel it—he loves me at last!
The heart-hidden anguish for ever is past!
Love brightens his dark eye, and softens his tone;
He loves me—he loves me—his soul is mine own!

Come care and misfortune—the cloud and the storm—
I've a light in this heart all existence to warm;
No grief can oppress me, no shadow o'ercast,
In that blessed conviction,—he loves me at last!

XXXVI. HE MAY GO—IF HE CAN.

Let me see him once more for a moment or two,
Let him tell me himself of his purpose, dear, do;
Let him gaze in these eyes while he lays out his plan
To escape me, and then he may go—if he can!

Let me see him once more, let me give him one smile,
Let me breathe but one word of endearment the while;
I ask but that moment—my life on the man!
Does he think to forget me? He may—if he can!

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XXXVII. OH! FRAGILE AND FAIR.

Oh! fragile and fair as the delicate chalices
Wrought with so rare and so subtle a skill;
Bright relics, that tell of the pomp of those palaces,
Venice, the sea-goddess, glories in still:

Whose exquisite texture, transparent and tender,
A pure blush alone from the ruby wine takes;
Yet ah! if some false hand, profaning its splendour,
Dares but to taint it with poison,—it breaks!

So when Love pour'd through thy pure heart his lightning,
On thy pale cheek the soft rose-hues awoke;
So when wild Passion, that timid heart frightening,
Poison'd the treasure—it trembled and broke!

XXXVIII. A MAY-DAY SONG.

Yes! thou shalt wear the wreath we are merrily braiding,
Of buds and blooms, the beautiful roses of Spring;
Amid the hair thy forehead of snow o'ershading,
'Twill mock the blush that steals to thy cheek as we sing.

For thee we twine; for who could so gracefully wear it
As she, whose heart is lovely and pure as the rose?
The wreath is thine, and the happiness, each of us share it,
For thou art so meek no envy can mar thy repose.

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XXXIX. YOU LOVE ME NO LONGER.

You love me no longer! The heart that once listen'd
In passionate joy to each murmur of mine;
The eyes, the dark eyes, that once tenderly glisten'd,
With hope so enraptured and love so divine,

Are turn'd to another: why dared I believe them?—
Ah, false as the siren that sings in the sea,
Those spells of enchantment!—tho' lightly you weave them,
Though sport to you, darling,—were ruin to me!

XL. YOU TELL ME I'M A ROVER.

You tell me I'm a rover, Fanny sweet;
You who chain me, still a lover, at your feet.
Heaven knows I would forget you, if I could;
If—you witch!—you'd only let me, and you should.

But your image dances still before my face,
And I watch, against my will, its wavy grace;
If I turn to see another, then it tries,
With its little hands, to cover both my eyes.

Then how can I forget thee, Fanny, say?
When you will not even let me look away!
If another's voice would chide my dream divine,
Low, pleading, sweet, beside me falters thine!

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Then how, suppose I wanted, could I fly,
With my heart and ear enchanted by your sigh?
Ah! my soul would break the fetter even here,
If you would try to let her, Fanny, dear.

XLI. TWILIGHT HOURS.

Maiden Twilight, lovely and still,
Hushes the billow, and lulls the air;
Over the water we glide at will,
Joyous beings, without a care!

Only the musical plash of the oar,
Timed to the beat of our choral tune;—
Either side is the blooming shore,
On the air is the balm of June.

Slowly now—in the light of eyes,
Pure and soft as this hour of hours;
Slowly now—to the tones that rise
Low and sweet as the sigh of flowers!

Loveliest Twilight, gentle and still,
Hushes the billow, and lulls the breeze;
Over the water we glide at will;
Never were hours so dear as these!

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XLII. AH! DO NOT LET US WORSE THAN WASTE.

Ah! do not let us worse than waste
In idle dalliance hours so dear;
At best the light-wing'd moments haste
Too quickly by with hope and fear.

Be ours to wreathe, as swift in flight
They pass, these children of the sun—
With Fancy's flowers, each wing of light,
And gems from Reason's casket won.

The passion-flower has no perfume,
No soul to linger, when it dies;
For lighter hearts such buds may bloom,
But oh! be ours more proudly wise!

Thy mind, so rich in classic lore,
Thy heart from worldly taint so free;
Ah! let me not the hours deplore
Which might be all embalm'd by thee!

XLIII. LET YOUR SUMMER FRIENDS GO BY.

Let your summer friends go by
With the summer weather;
Hearts there are that will not fly,
Though the storm should gather.

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Summer love to fortune clings,
From the wreck it saileth,
Like the bee, that spreads its wings
When the honey faileth.

Rich the soil where weeds appear;
Let their false bloom perish;
Flowers there are, more rare and dear,
That you still may cherish.

Flowers of feeling, pure and warm,
Hearts that cannot wither,
These for thee shall bide the storm
As the sunny weather.

XLIV. YOUNG BEAUTY SAILED A SUMMER SEA.

Young Beauty sail'd a summer sea
Within a buoyant bark reclining;
Its prow was painted daintilie,
With gems and roses rarely shining:

And light and gay the maiden smiled,
The while she wove a garland glowing:
And at the helm a laughing child—
'Twas Pleasure—watch'd the waters flowing.

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She steer'd the boat by blooming isles,
Where languid gales breathed softly o'er it,
And in the bay, with treacherous smiles,
Mid poison-flowers she strove to moor it:

But Beauty's cheek grew sad and pale;
And Beauty's heart was tired of leisure;
She whisper'd Love to “set the sail,”
And Passion took the helm from Pleasure.

Then dash'd around that graceful prow
The rising waves, in pride and power;
And Beauty bent her glorious brow,
While tears fell on each fading flower.

Sublimely wild and grand, above
Her fragile bark, the storm-cloud lighten'd,
With such a vivid flame, that Love
Let go the sail, ashamed and frighten'd!

The maiden rose, and by her side
A radiant angel stood serenely;
“Take thou the helm!” she proudly cried,
And paced the deck erect and queenly.

Then changed to gold those clouds so wild;
A beauteous rainbow bloom'd in heaven;
And Love, the fond, impetuous child,
Smiled through his tears—his fault forgiven!

399

XLV. I LAUNCHED A BARK.

I launch'd a bark on Fate's deep tide,
A frail and fluttering toy,
But freighted with a thousand dreams
Of beauty and of joy.

Ah me! it found no friend in them—
The wave, the sky, the gale—
Though Love enraptured took the helm,
And Hope unfurl'd the sail.

And you who should its pilot be,
To whom in fear it flies,
Forsake it on a treacherous sea,
To seek a prouder prize.

Alas for Love! bewilder'd child
He weeps the helm beside;
And Hope has furl'd her fairy sail,
Nor longer tempts the tide.

Despair and Pride in silence fling
Its rich freight to the wave,
And now an aimless wreck it floats,
That none would stoop to save.

400

XLVI. HAD I ESSAYED, WITH WANTON ART.

Had I essay'd, with wanton art,
To lure you and ensnare your heart,
Your falsehood would but justice be,
That now is treacherous wrong to me;

But well you know I shrank, in fear,
From tones that grew too deeply dear,
And trembled with prophetic dread
When Passion warm'd the words you said.

And you recall my shame and awe
When first your burning dream I saw,
And how I turn'd, nor dared to brook
The soul of fire that lit your look;

And how I struggled, day by day,
With love that won too wild a sway;
And how, at last, before his shrine
My very soul I dared resign.

And you betray me! You, for whom
I braved that saddest, darkest doom!
Oh, God! take hence thy child, nor spare!
Thy wrath, not his, my heart may bear!

401

XLVII. THOUGH FRIENDS HAD WARNED THEE.

Though friends had warn'd me all the while,
And blamed my willing blindness,
I did not once mistrust your smile,
Or doubt your tones of kindness.

I sought you not—you came to me
With words of friendly greeting:
Alas! how different now I see
That ill-starr'd moment's meeting.

When others lightly named your name,
My cordial praise I yielded;
While you would wound with wo and shame
The soul you should have shielded.

Was it so blest—my life's estate—
That you with envy view'd me?
Ah, false one! could you dream my fate,
You had not thus pursued me.

Perhaps when those who loved me once,
Beguiled by you, have left me,
You'll grieve for all the hopes of which
Your whisper'd words bereft me.

You'll think, perhaps, the laugh you raised
Was hardly worth the anguish

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With which it caused a deep, true heart,
In silent pride to languish.

You'll think, perchance, the idle jest—
The joy—will scarce reward you
For all the blame another's breast
Must now, in scorn, accord you.

Yet go! 'tis but a darker cloud
O'er one fore-doom'd to sadness;
I would not change my grief so proud
For all your guilty gladness.

XLVIII. I WANDERED IN THE WOODLAND.

I wander'd in the woodland;
My heart beat cold and slow,
And not a tear of sorrow,
To ease its weight, would flow.

But soft a brook sang by me,
“Ah! give thy grief to me,
And I will bear it lightly,
Far, far away from thee!”

So sweet that lulling murmur,
Its music thrill'd my heart,
And, o'er the glad wave weeping,
I felt my grief depart.

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I wander'd in the woodland,
My heart beat light and gay;
For, wheresoe'er I wander'd,
I heard the brooklet's lay.

XLIX. PERHAPS YOU THINK IT RIGHT AND JUST.

Perhaps you think it right and just,
Since you are bound by nearer ties,
To greet me with that careless tone,
With those serene and silent eyes.

So let it be! I only know,
If I were in your place to-night.
I would not grieve your spirit so,
For all God's worlds of life and light.

I could not turn, as you have done,
From every memory of the past;
I could not fling from soul and brow
The shade that feeling should have cast.

Oh! think how it must deepen all
The pangs of wild remorse and pride,
To feel that you can coldly see
The grief I vainly strive to hide.

404

The happy star, who fills her urn
With glory from the god of day,
Can never miss the smile he lends
The wild flower withering fast away.

The fair, fond girl, who at your side,
Within your soul's dear light doth live,
Could hardly have the heart to chide
The ray that Friendship well might give.

But if you deem it right and just,
Bless'd as you are in your glad lot,
To greet me with that heartless tone,
So let it be! I blame you not.

L. OUR LOVE WAS LIKE THE LIGHT PERFUME.

Our love was like the light perfume
That floats around a flower,
Or like the rainbow's passing bloom,
Half sunshine and half shower.

A smile, a blush, a tear, a tone
Of welcome, soft and true,
Were all I dared to wish from one
So zephyr-like as you!

405

I should as soon have ask'd a fay
Or flower my lot to share,
Or coax'd yon rosy cloud to stay,
And leave for me the air.

I knew, even while I wildly dream'd,
'Twas but a dream of light;
And as for you—you always seem'd
“On tiptoe for a flight.”

I never thought you made of earth,
As other maidens are;
I always said you had your birth
In some unsullied star.

Then part we now, while yet the bloom
Is fresh on Love's light wings;
While yet his flower its soft perfume
Around each footstep flings;

While yet the blush on that pure cheek
Is unprofaned by shame,
Ere waking Passion dares to speak
A word your soul might blame.

Fly back, young angel, to your star;
But send me down a sigh,
Sometimes when, in your silver car,
You float through heaven. Good bye!

406

LI. YOU BID ME GIVE BACK SCORN FOR SCORN.

You bid me give back scorn for scorn,
Re-plume my spirit's wounded wing,
That now I idly fold forlorn,
And loftier soar and proudlier sing.

You never loved; you never staked,
On one mad chance, your soul, your all,
And from that dream of passion waked
To weep your wild hope's helpless fall.

God knows it was not he I loved,—
False, weak, and light as now he seems;
It was but Fancy shrined in him,
The “idol of my early dreams.”

But not the less I lavish'd all
The bloom of feeling on his breast,
That bloom which tears can ne'er recall,
That frail, sweet bloom, the false one's jest.

And not the less, alone and lost,
Of all Life's bright romance bereft,
I weep, that on so low a shrine,
Faith, Hope and Joy, and Love were left.

407

LII. DOST DEEM MY LOVE SO LIGHT A BOON.

Dost deem my love so light a boon,
That thou mayst throw it idly by,
As winds may waft a flower at noon,
And leave it low at night to die?

By all my spirit's pain and strife,
By all the hopes that now reward thee,
Thy proudest boast in after life
Shall be that I—that I adored thee!

Not mine the brow to droop in grief,
Not mine the soul to pine alone;
The pang, though passionate, is brief—
The doubt is o'er—the dream has flown.

The love of one so light of heart
Were scarcely worth one fond regret;
All is not lost, although we part;
The pearl in Life's cup sparkles yet.

Some chords there are of Love's sweet lyre,
Thy false hand knew not how to play:
Some gleams remain of Feeling's fire—
Thou couldst not all my heart betray.

I'll win a name from wayward Fame,
That thou shalt hear with fond regret;

408

The heart thy falsehood left to shame,
Shall find some glorious solace yet!

Yes, by this moment's pain and strife,
By all the vows I have restored thee,
Thy dearest boast, in after life,
Shall be that I—that I adored thee!

LIII. GO, THEN, FOR EVER.

Go, then, for ever! since your heart
Can stoop to one so light, so vain,
Though Hope must perish if we part,
With calm resolve I break the chain.

Go, then, for ever; at the shrine
Of Beauty bend that noble brow,
Pour forth the love I deem'd divine,
And more than waste wild Passion's vow.

Yes, yes! her eyes are stars of night;
Her cheek, a rose in dainty bloom;
Her radiant smile, the morning's light;
Her sigh, the violet's soft perfume.

Go, then, for ever; leave the soul
From which your lightest look or tone—
As zephyr o'er the air-harp stole—
Could wake a music all your own.

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Leave, leave me with my breaking heart;
If Grief would let me, I could smile,
To see an idle toy of art
So grand a soul as yours beguile.

But when, through Beauty's veil of light,
You seek in vain for Feeling's fire,
Remember one whose day is night,
Who breaks for you her heart and lyre!

LIV. SHOULD ALL WHO THRONG.

Should all who throng, with gift and song,
And for my favour bend the knee,
Forsake the shrine they deem divine,
I would not stoop my soul to thee.

The lips, that breathe the burning vow,
By falsehood base unstain'd must be;
The heart, to which mine own shall bow,
Must worship Honour more than me.

The monarch of a world wert thou,
And I a slave on bended knee,
Though tyrant chains my form might bow,
My soul should never stoop to thee.

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Until its hour shall come, my heart
I will possess, serene and free;
Though snared to ruin by thine art,
'Twould sooner break than bend to thee.

LV. AND GAYER FRIENDS SURROUND THEE NOW.

And gayer friends surround thee now,
And lighter hearts are thine;
Thou dost not need, beloved and blest,
So sad a boon as mine.

But in my sorrowing soul for thee
Love's balmy flower I'll hide,
And feeling's tears shall keep it fresh,
Whatever fate betide.

Then, when misfortune's winter comes.
And frailer love takes wing,
All pure and bright, with hope's own light,
Affection's rose I'll bring;

And thou shalt bless the simple flower
That keeps its virgin bloom
To charm thy soul, in sorrow's hour,
With beauty and perfume.

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LVI. I KNOW THAT RESTLESS HEART OF THINE.

I know that restless heart of thine:
Even now it flutters to be free,
To rove where fairer flowers twine
The rosy wreath of love for thee.

No longer I the wings restrain
Whose lightest wave my heart could thrill;
But, tangled by a golden chain,
Thy sordid spirit lingers still.

Away! I will not bind thee thus!
My burning soul was naught to thee;
Its rapturous dreams, its truth, its trust,
All wasted—all! Away! thou'rt free.

LVII. I ASK NO MORE.

I ask no more, pursue thy way,
By love and joy surrounded;
I would not have one feeling stray
That duty's law has bounded.

It shall be joy enough for me,
Howe'er my fate may alter,
To know that honour goes with thee;
That thy soul cannot falter.

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Pursue thy way. Be calm and strong,
No glorious aim foregoing;
Nor ever bend thou right to wrong,
With sophist triumph glowing.

I only ask, amid the cares
And clouds that round me darken,
To memory's murmur of thy love
My happy heart may hearken.

I only ask—if thy strength fail
On Life's tumultuous river—
That thoughts of me may then prevail,
And prompt to proud endeavour.

And oh! believe—whatever Fate,
Or dark or bright, pursue thee,
One loyal heart will nightly send
Its silent blessing to thee.

LVIII. THE DEEPEST WRONG THAT THOU COULDST DO.

The deepest wrong that thou couldst do
Is thus to doubt my love for thee;
For, questioning that, thou question'st too
My truth, my pride, my purity.

413

'Twere worse than falsehood thus to meet
Thy least caress, thy lightest smile,
Nor feel my heart exulting beat
With sweet, impassion'd joy the while.

The deepest wrong that thou couldst do
Is thus to doubt my faith profess'd;
How should I, love, be less than true
When thou art noblest, bravest, best?

LIX. THEY TELL ME I WAS FALSE TO THEE.

They tell me I was false to thee,
But they are false who say it;
The vow I made was pure and free,
And time shall ne'er betray it.

I laid my heart on virtue's shrine,
I loved truth, honour, kindness;
I love them still, I thought them thine,
Too soon I wept my blindness.

'Tis thou wert false to them and me:
My worship still I cherish;
My love, still true, has turn'd from thee,
To find them or to perish.

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LX. I TURNED FROM THE MONITOR.

I turn'd from the monitor, smiled at the warning
That whisper'd of doubt, of desertion to me;
I heard of thy falsehood; the dark rumour scorning,
I gave up the soul of my soul unto thee.

Too wildly I worshipp'd thy mind-illumed beauty;
Too fondly I cherish'd my dream of thy truth;
Forgetting, in thee, both my pride and my duty,
I made thee the god of my passionate youth.

And dearly and deeply I rue that devotion;
Thou hast broken the heart that beat only for thee;
Not even thy voice can now wake an emotion;
I am calm as thyself while I bid thee “Be free!”

LXI. TO-NIGHT I'LL WEAR AROUND MY HAIR

“To-night I'll wear around my hair,
This string of fragrant beads,” I said;
I loved to breathe the enchanted air,
That o'er thy gift, in perfume, play'd.

The only amulet were they
I cared to keep, all ill to charm:
Within that magic round could stray
One only wrong, one only harm.

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One only wo, they could not ward,
One only wrong, they could not right;
It was—thy falsehood, my adored!
And that, ah, Heaven! I learn'd to-night.

I tore them madly from my hair;
I flung the faithless token by;
Yet still its fragrance fills the air,
And still I breathe its perfumed sigh.

And thus I flung from off my soul
Those vows too sweet, those chains too dear;
And thus their memory backward stole,
To bind my heart and charm mine ear.

LXII. I SAID, THOUGH ALL THE WORLD BESIDE.

I said, Though all the world beside
Should fail me, he is true;
And Fate that only hope denied,
And thou hast left me too!

I said, If ever beat on earth
A heart where honour shone—
The home of high and generous worth—
That true heart is thine own.

416

When wildest was my soul's despair,
When deepest was my need
Of tenderness, and truth, and care,
Beneath me broke the reed.

A darker wrong than others could
Thy falsehood wrought to me;
All faith, all hope in human good,
My idol, fled with thee.

LXIII. YES, IN MY SOUL, WITH FOLDED WING.

Yes, in my soul, with folded wing,
A pure and happy hope is sleeping,
While Love low lullabies doth sing,
His vigil o'er it keeping.

A hope divinely beautiful,
With wings in rosy splendour gleaming;
It dreams of heaven—it dreams of thee—
It smiles in that sweet dreaming.

I dare not name its name to thee,
No, not in softest, faintest sigh;
For oh! if once betray'd by me,
'Twould wake and weep and fly!

417

No earthly care or grief shall wave
Its cold and blighting pinions o'er it;
For Love shall guard my spirit hope,
Till heaven dawn before it.

Then let it sleep; profane it not—
That slumber, soft and light and holy—
The dearest joy, the fairest thought,
That lights my lot so lowly.

Ah! let it sleep, with folded wings,
Till when the angel Death shall free it,
At heaven's own glorious gate it sings;
Then shall thy spirit see it!

LXIV. I MOURNED THAT TIME TOO SWIFTLY SPED.

I mourn'd that Time too swiftly sped,
I wept that Youth was flying;
“I'll put your life-clock back,” he said,
“So hush your sad heart's sighing!”

He brought me flowers, to soothe my gloom,
And stay Time's tell-tale finger;
For, tangled in their wreathing bloom,
The life-clock's hand may linger.

418

And while I turn the treasures o'er,
And breathe the balm they give me,
I dream I am a child once more,
With naught to harm or grieve me.

And answering flowers within my soul,
The fresh, wild flowers of feeling,
Wind with them round my life-clock's hand,
And stay its onward stealing.

Then, if they fade—(ah! will they fade?)
Their fragrance still may linger,
And hallowing Time's sad evening shade
Embalm his tell-tale finger!

LXV. THEY COME, THE LIGHT, THE WORLDLY COME.

They come, the light, the worldly come,
With looks and words untrue;
But unto them my soul is dumb—
Mon ami! où es tu?

My lips, with false and careless smile,
Must coldly speak of you,
But wildly sighs my soul the while,
Mon ami! où es tu!

419

Where'er I rove, in hall or grove,
Thy absence still I rue;
Ah! what is life without thy love?
Mon ami! où es tu?

LXVI. SHE SAYS HER HEART IS IN HER KISS.

She says her heart is in her kiss;
She says she loves me dearly;
Why meet I not her tenderness
As fondly, as sincerely?

Ah! once I trusted all I met,
With warm and artless truth;
And once my words were from my soul,
But that was in my youth.

And trust betray'd, and vows forgot,
And wrong return'd for kindness,
Have chill'd my heart, and changed my lot,
And cured my blissful blindness.

No longer tender, guileless, meek,
Confiding as the dove,
Too oft I think before I speak,
And doubt before I love.

420

LXVII. IT IS THIS RESTLESS HEART WITHIN.

... Act, in the living Present—
Heart within, and God o'erhead.—
Longfellow.

It is this restless heart within,
It is yon smiling heaven o'erhead,
That will not let the Present win
The wingéd thoughts that far have fled.

I try to hush the wistful heart,
I try to calm the beggar mind;
I try to act my present part,
With wishes chain'd and will confined.

I try to fold the fluttering wings
Of Aspiration close and still;
To meet whate'er the moment brings,
And each ignoble care fulfil.

But ah! repress it as you may,
Its pleading hush, its grieving chide,
Fetter it in its cage of clay,
And from its eyes its heaven-home hide,—

The rebel soul will beat the bars
With burning wing and passionate song,
And pour, to the benignant stars,
The earnest story of its wrong.

421

LXVIII. SHE COMES, IN LIGHT AERIAL GRACE.

She comes! in light, aerial grace,
O'er memory's glass the vision flies;
Her girlish form, her glowing face,
Her soft, black hair, her beaming eyes.

I think of all her generous love;
Her trustful heart, so pure and meek;
Her tears—an April shower,—that strove
With sunshine on her changing cheek.

She knows no worldly guile or art,
But Love and Joy have made her fair;
And so I keep her in my heart,
And bless her in my silent prayer.

LXIX. “I KNEW HER IN HER HAPPY YOUTH.”

You knew me in my “happy youth,”
Ere care had clouded heart and brow?
Yet even then before me lower'd
The fate that chills my spirit now.

I shrank apart, nor join'd the play
Where others met in careless glee;
I was too earnest for the gay—
Too timid for the wild and free.

422

Yet in my soul a spring of love,
Of trusting and impassion'd truth,
That ask'd but Love's divining-rod,
Was wasted in my silent youth.

You knew me in my “happy youth?”
Ah! none could know me then or now;
I dared not—dare not tell the dreams,
That sent their fire to eye and brow.

I know there are, in this rude world,
Who share those dreams of pure delight;
But fate has parted, from my path,
The few who'd read my heart aright.

Perhaps in climes of blissful truth,
Where Joy will dry Love's last fond tear,
My soul will live the “happy youth”
That wayward fate denied me here.

LXX. SPEAK, SPEAK TO ME, DARLING.

“Speak, speak to me, darling!
Hide thy sweet blush in my breast;
Breathe but one dear little murmur;
Thine eyes shall tell me the rest.

“Say only thou wilt be mine, love;
Whisper me one little ‘Yes!’

423

Ah! thou art silent,—thy soul, love,
Feels not my pleading caress!”

Low as the sigh of a flower,
Heard in the stillness of night,
Came the fond tones of the maiden,
Trembling with fear and delight,—

“Ask not the word from my lips, love;
Need'st thou so idle a sign?
Dost thou not hear my heart answer,
Thus beating softly on thine?”

LXXI. WOULD I WERE ONLY A SPIRIT OF SONG!

Oh! would I were only a spirit of song!
I'd float for ever around, above you:
If I were a spirit, it wouldn't be wrong,
It couldn't be wrong, to love you!

I'd hide in the light of a moonbeam bright,
I'd sing Love's lullaby softly o'er you,
I'd bring rare visions of pure delight
From the land of dreams before you.

Oh! if I were only a spirit of song,
I'd float for ever around, above you,
For a musical spirit could never do wrong,
And it wouldn't be wrong to love you!

424

LXXII. IF I WERE A BIRD THAT SINGS.

If I were a bird that sings,
In the joy of a spirit free;
If wishes were only wings,
How soon I would be with thee!

As the lark soars at sunrise alone,
While the air with his rapture rings,
Thy smile I would meet, mine own,
If wishes were only wings!

'Tis only when sorrow like this
A shade o'er my spirit flings,
'Tis only when thee I miss,
That I wish my wishes were wings.

LXXIII. WHEN FORTUNE SMILED.

When fortune smiled above thy way,
When grace and beauty crown'd thee,
A thousand friends more light and gay,
Like bees have humm'd around thee.

Ah! dearer now since Care and Time
Have dimm'd thy early splendour,
I wreathe, around thy wreck sublime,
Love's garland pure and tender.

425

LXXIV. THE ARAB AND HIS STEED.

The Frank offer'd gold for the steed—
The gallant, the graceful, the gay—
And deep was that dark Arab's need;
But he turn'd in proud silence away.

Then came, from the tyrant Pasha,
The mandate he dare not deny,—
“Be the horse which the noble Frank saw
Given up, or its master shall die!”

With one kiss and one fond gaze, he turn'd
To his treasure—his only—his own!
And his free heart indignantly burn'd,
While fearfully falter'd his tone:—

“My life they may take, but not thee,—
My noble, my faithful, my brave!
Thou hast been a true friend to the free,
Thou shalt never be slave of a slave!”

He rose in disdainful despair;
His haughty smile lighten'd and fled;
A pistol-flash gleam'd on the air,
And the fleet Arab courser fell dead!

Suggested by an incident related in “The Crescent and the Cross.”

426

LXXV. I KNOW A STAR.

I know a star, whose light illumes
The wildest gloom with warmth and glory;
I know a rose, whose blush outblooms
The loveliest lip in olden story—

I know a lute, whose warble low
Might lure an angel down to listen;
I know a pearl, whose tender glow
Is dearer than all gems that glisten.

And who this treasure rich and rare,
Whose witchery every moment varies?
The smile, the lip, the voice, the tear,
The star, rose, lute, and pearl are Mary's.

LXXVI. MY HEART IS LIKE THE OCEAN SHELL.

My heart is like the ocean shell—
Though from the home it loves exiled,
Still echoes through its winding cell
The wave's sad music, soft and wild.

Ah! thus thy voice, too dear to me,
Will still keep sweetly murmuring low;
Still haunt the heart that beats for thee,
And bless me whereso'er I go.

427

LXXVII. THE GODS ONE DAY SENT REASON OUT.

The gods one day sent Reason out
To look for Love, their truant-boy;
They bade her seek him all about,
And lure him home with tempting toy.

She found him in a rosebud rock'd,
She begg'd him to be back in season;
But still the boy the maiden mock'd,
For Love will never list to Reason.

The goddess held a jewel up,
With heaven's own glory flashing through it;
“Nay! see my Rose's blushing cup!”
Said Love, “Your gem is nothing to it!”

“For shame! false boy! must force be tried?
Is't thus you waste this precious season?”
“Take care! know ye this bow?” he cried;
Ah! Love too oft has conquer'd Reason!

“I see your aim! your rhetoric speeds
On proud Olympus ill without me;
But happy Love no Reason needs;
Begone! and when they ask about me,

“Just tell them, in my Rose's heart
I've found so dear, so pure a treasure,

428

I grudge them not Minerva's art,
Or laughing Hebe's cup of pleasure.”

The maid had not a word to say;
She knew the rogue was talking treason;
But back to Ida bent her way;
For Love can better plead than Reason.

LXXVIII. THE FAIRY IN THE SHELL.

Listen what the fairy sings,
The lost fairy in the shell;
Clear and sweet, her warble rings,
If you listen right and well!

“Lady, in the coral hall
Of my ocean home afar,
Where the waters softly fall,
Where the gold-fish seems a star,—

“While the sea-sylphs rock'd their child,
Listen, lady, what befell;
Came the waves with cadence wild,
Whispering round my winding shell.

“Wondrous sweet the tunes they play'd,
Well I learn'd each soft refrain,
Mingling in a music-braid,
Half of joy and half of pain.

429

“Now, from that dear home exiled,
It is life and light to me,
Still to sing the music wild,
Born of ocean's grief and glee.

“Lady, when in cradle light,
You, a dreaming baby lay,
Angels floated through the night,
With your smile of love to play.

“Hymns of heaven they warbled low;
Lady, now, when grief is wild,
Sing, to soothe your woman-wo,
All they taught the cradled child.”

LXXIX. GOOD-BYE, SWEET DREAM.

Good-bye, good-bye, sweet dream!
Fly back—fly back to heaven!
Ere daylight's daring beam
The veil of night has riven.

For none save thou and I
Must know what joy doth beam
My precious pillow nigh;—
Good-bye, good-bye, sweet dream!

430

LXXX. ALL JOY, ALL HOPE, GO WITH YOU.

All joy, all hope, go with you, sweet,
And though too soon we part,
Be summer round your airy feet,
And summer in your heart.

The dimple dancing on your cheek,
Your dark, deep, Spanish eyes,
Still win, to warm their loveliness,
Stray sunbeams from the skies.

And flowers of thought and fancy, dear,
And founts of feeling true,
But make the glory of the year
A sister unto you.

LXXXI. SHE IS FLITTING LIKE A FAIRY.

She is flitting like a fairy
Through the mazes of the dance,—
Like a fairy, wild and airy,
And I cannot win her glance.

She has braided many a jewel
In those waves of auburn hair,
O fickle, false, and cruel,
Dost thou see my deep despair!

431

She has lost the rose I gave her,
In her virgin zone to rest;
And a ruby's light doth waver
On the snow-swell of her breast.

Ah! the gem is wealth's proud token,
And its glare has won her eye;
While the love the rose has spoken
She has cast unheeded by.

LXXXII. THE BIRD WHOSE SONG IMPASSIONED.

The bird, whose song impassion'd
The soul of music wildly sighs,
Wears not a wing that's fashion'd
In Beauty's radiant dyes.

The flowers of fragrance lavish,
Like Love from out a guileless heart,
No glorious hues to ravish
The common eye impart.

The lips like rubies glowing
Too often curl with scorn and pride;
The smile most brightly showing
A careless heart may hide.

432

But cheeks we prize most dearly,
And eyes most sure the soul to win,
Though Beauty light them rarely,
Are kindled from within.

LXXXIII. THE FETTER 'NEATH THE FLOWERS.

Cupid flung his garland gayly
O'er a maid in seeming play;
Sage Experience whisper'd daily,
“Break the chain, while yet you may.”

“Why?” she cried; “'tis but a toy,
Form'd of many a fragrant flower;
Let me still its bloom enjoy,—
I can break it any hour.”

Long she sported freely, lightly,
With her soft and glowing chain;—
“Nay! it clasps my heart so tightly,
I must break the toy in twain.”

Vain resolve! the tie that bound her
Harden'd 'neath her struggling will;
Fast its blossoms fell around her,
But the fetter linger'd still.

433

LXXXIV. FOR THEE I BRAID AND BIND MY HAIR.

For thee I braid and bind my hair
With fragrant flowers—for only thee;
Thy sweet approval all my care,—
Thy love, the world to me!

For thee I fold my russet gown
With simple grace—for thee, for thee!
No other eyes in all the town
Shall look with love on me.

For thee my lightsome lute I tune,
For thee,—it else were mute—for thee!
The blossom to the bee, in June,
Is less than thou to me.

LXXXV. SPEAK NO MORE.

Speak no more; I dare not hear thee;
Every word and tone divine
All too fatally endear thee
To this daring soul of mine.

Smile no more; I must not see thee;
Every smile's a golden net:
Heart entangled, what can free thee?
What can soothe thy wild regret?

434

Speak again! smile on for ever!
Let me in that music live;
Let me, in that light, endeavour
To forget the grief they give.

Thrill my soul with voice and look, love,
Like the harp-tone in the air;
Like the starlight in the brook, love,
They will still live treasured there.

LXXXVI. WOULD YOU WOO A LADY FAIR.

Would you woo a lady fair,
Woo her like the knights of old;
Love was then an ardent prayer,
Now 'tis but a question bold.

Then the boy on battle-field
Won his spurs and wore a name
Ere his lady grace would yield,
Ere her smile he dared to claim.

Not till glory crown'd his brow,
Not till Fame before him went,
Came he, with impassion'd vow,
With his knee to Beauty bent.

435

Those chivalric days are o'er,
Yet there's still a glorious field;
Lovers, to the list once more!
Here are arms you yet may wield.

Fancy's fiery coursers reign,
Trappings gay and golden bit,
Wheel them to the charge amain,
Couch the glittering lance of wit.

Hope, the herald, cries, “Good speed!”
Love's light pennon floats on high,
Beauty's smile your dearest meed;
Sound the trump! to combat fly!

LXXXVII. A COLD CALM STAR.

A cold, calm star look'd out of heaven,
And smiled upon a tranquil lake,
Where, pure as angel's dream at even,
A Lily lay but half awake.

The flower felt that fatal smile
And lowlier bow'd her conscious head;
“Why does he gaze on me the while?”
The light-deluded Lily said.

436

Poor dreaming flower!—too soon beguiled,
She cast nor thought nor look elsewhere;
Else she had known the star but smiled
To see himself reflected there.

LXXXVIII. AH CHILDHOOD, SUNNY CHILDHOOD.

Ah, childhood! sunny childhood!
How beautiful thou art,
With the smile upon thy face
Of the morning in thy heart!

She came,—our little maiden,
In her beauty half divine,
With a purple cluster laden,
From the richly burden'd vine.

Not hers the flush of frolic,
In the wild Bacchante's face,
She seem'd a wood-nymph glowing
With a glad yet timid grace.

Some stray enchanted sunbeam
Had hidden in her hair,
And, playing mid its silken maze,
Had lost its bright way there.

437

Some floating cloud had taught her
To move so soft and light;
Some blooming flower-sylph brought her
That blush, so purely bright.

And when, his light lute tuning,
Low sang the woodland fay,
She play'd the sly eavesdropper there,
And stole the notes away.

A simple child of Nature,
With not a thought disguised—
The mother's grace and beauty seem'd
In her idealized.

LXXXIX. I HAVE SOMETHING SWEET TO TELL YOU.

I have something sweet to tell you,
But the secret you must keep;
And remember, if it isn't right,
I'm “talking in my sleep.”

For I know I am but dreaming,
When I think your love is mine;
And I know they are but seeming,
All the hopes that round me shine.

438

So remember, when I tell you
What I cannot longer keep,
We are none of us responsible
For what we say in sleep.

My pretty secret's coming!
O, listen with your heart;
And you shall hear it humming,
So close 'twill make you start.

O, shut your eyes so earnest,
Or mine will wildly weep;
I love you! I adore you! but—
“I'm talking in my sleep!”

XC. “INTERRUPT” ME, LITTLE DARLING.

“Interrupt” me, little darling!
Ask the river freely flowing,
If the sunbeam or the zephyr
Interrupts it in its going.

Like the light upon the ripple,
Like the south wind on the sea,
That bears the balm of flowers
On its wings, art thou to me.

439

Ask the lute, that dreams of music,
If the tune disturbs its strings,
While it gives that dream imprison'd,
Only freedom and glad wings.

“Interrupt” me, little fairy!
Ask the cloud that lures your eye,
If the morn's illumining beauty
Interrupts its floating by.

Like the rose Aurora gives it,
When it wanders by her bower,
Like all of light and love art thou
To me, my fairy flower.

XCI. A DAINTY LYRE WAS LENT TO JOY.

A dainty lyre was lent to Joy,
A simple, frail, but treasured toy;—
And gayly sweet its tones were heard,
As warble of a wandering bird.

A blooming boy from distant clime
Came by and caught its silvery chime;
He coax'd from Joy his fragile lyre,
And swept the strings with hand of fire.

440

Ah! wo the day, that reckless child
Awoke the chords with will so wild!
One pleading, passionate strain he play'd,
And broke the lyre that heaven had made!

Ah! wo the day, that stranger sprite
Attuned to grief the plaything light,
And strain'd its chords with childish art!—
The boy was Love—the lyre a heart!

XCII. ON MISSION PURE, FROM REALMS DIVINE.

On mission pure, from realms divine,
Young Love was sent to Virtue's shrine,
But, wild and gay, he stopp'd to play
With sportive Beauty by the way.

She led him through her balmy bowers;
She chain'd him with a wreath of flowers;
She charm'd him with her magic smile,
And softly murmur'd, “Rest awhile!”

Alas! his sight is blinded quite
By Beauty's dazzling glance of light;
And while the wily siren sings,
The boy forgets his angel-wings.

441

Yet still he sometimes leaves his play,
And asks to Virtue's shrine the way;
But Beauty weaves anew her chain,
And Virtue looks for Love in vain.

XCIII. GIVE ME BACK MY CHILDHOOD'S TRUTH.

Give me back my childhood's truth,
Give me back my guileless youth;
Pleasure, glory, fortune, fame,—
These I will not stoop to claim:
Take them! all of Beauty's power,
All the triumph of this hour,
Is not worth one blush you stole—
Give me back my bloom of soul!

Take the cup and take the gem;
What have I to do with them?
Loose the garland from my hair;
Thou shouldst wind the night-shade there:
Thou, who wreath'st, with flattering art,
Poison flowers to bind my heart,
Give me back the rose you stole!
Give me back my bloom of soul!

442

XCIV. THE WILD WOOD-ROSE.

The wild wood-rose was blushing
Beside our sunny way;
The mountain rill was gushing
In light, melodious play;
When last thy vows I listen'd,
When last thy kiss I met,
And thou thy dark eyes glisten'd
With fondness and regret.

The wild wood-rose, o'ershaded
By clouds, has lost its bloom;
And Love's soft flower has faded
'Neath falsehood, grief, and gloom.
The waves, in winter failing,
No more to music part,
And I but weep, bewailing
The winter of the heart.

The wild wood-rose, resuming
Its bloom and beauty gay,
The fitful gale perfuming,
Again shall grace the way;
Again the mountain river
Its melody shall pour;
But thou returnest never!
And Love will bloom no more!

443

XCV. KEEP, KEEP THE MAIDEN'S DOWRY.

Keep, keep the maiden's dowry,
And give me but my bride;
Not for her wealth I woo her,
Not for her station's pride;
She is a treasure in herself,
Worth all the world beside.

Is not her mind a palace,
Wherein are riches rare,
Bright thoughts that flash like jewels,
And golden fancies fair,
And glowing dreams of joy and hope,
That make sweet pictures there?

Keep, keep my lady's dowry,
Her hand, her heart I claim;
That little hand is more to me
Than power, rank, or fame;
That heart's pure love is wealth, my lord,
No more your coffers name.

No statue in your proud saloon
Can match her form of grace,
No gem that lights your casket
The radiance of her face.

444

In giving her, you give me all
I covet in earth's space.

Oh! make her mine, your idol child!
To be my prize and pride,
My star in every festival,
My trust should wo betide,
My bower's loveliest blossom,
Mine own, my worshipp'd bride.

XCVI. DOUBTFUL VOWS.

“By the starlight of thine eye,
By thy soft cheek's changing dye,
By the dimple dancing out,
Peeping, playing round about,
Mid the roses—like a sprite
In a garden of delight—”

“Vow not thou by radiant eyes,
Lo! in tears their glory dies;
Nor by youth's enchanting flower,
Roses die when summer's o'er;
Nor by dimples that must hide
Soon as Sorrow comes to chide.”

“By the graceful waving braid,
Half in light and half in shade,

445

Glittering gold or glossy brown,
From thy forehead floating down;
By the neck it makes more white
With its kisses soft and light—”

“Vow not thou by gleams of gold
Braided in a tress's fold;
Time will chase the light away,
Time will change the gold to gray;
Vow not thou by tints of snow,
Age will dim their virgin glow.

“Vow by something holier far
Than the charms of girlhood are;
Else, when rose and ray are fled,
And the ringlet's gloss is dead,—
Lost the dimple—dim the hue
Thy light vows will alter too.”

“By the soul that fills thy face
With its own immortal grace,
Tuning glance, and step, and tone
Into music all its own,
Hallowing all thy grief and glee—
By thy soul, I love but thee!”

446

XCVII. A PILGRIM HERE, WITH WAITING HEART.

A pilgrim here, with waiting heart,
I've pass'd by many a blooming shrine,
And some were wrought with rarest art,
And some were touch'd by light divine.
Why won they not the gift—the prayer?
My soul would fain have worshipp'd there:
But something whisper'd still, “Beware!”
Not these are thine,
That dream resign!
Nor thus profane the appointed hour
When blooms for thee thy promised flower.

And calmly then I went my way;
Too sacred glow'd the fire I nursed,
To blend with any but the ray,
The one dear ray, the last, the first,
The only one, reserved to share
My path below—its joy, its care—
And that sweet life in Aiden, where
Each radiant dream,
That lends its gleam,
A glimpse of heaven our earth to give,
Will take its own bright shape—and live.

447

Speak, lady, did I wait in vain—
In vain reserve the sacred fire?
Must Love, beneath thy far disdain,
Make of this heart his funeral pyre?
A soft light dawns upon my way,
A flower unfolds, my steps to stay,
I hear a heavenly harp-string play!—
My soul and lute,
Till now so mute,
In one wild thrill, respond to thine!
Bid me not, sweet, “that dream resign!”

XCVIII. THEY BID ME SHUN YOUR BLUSH.

They bid me shun your blush and smile;
They bid me doubt your dazzling eyes;
They tell me, love, of many a wile
You weave, your victims to surprise:
Ah! weave them still! If false they be,
'Tis sweet to be deceived by thee!

While thus, in music, light, and bloom,
With thee they fly—these fairy hours;
While thus we breathe the blest perfume
Of thy sweet soul—oh, flower of flowers!
If death be in the blossom's sigh,
'Twere joy of such “a Rose to die!”

448

XCIX. IF O'ER YOUR CHEEK THE BLUSH THAT PLAYS.

If o'er your cheek the blush that plays,
When he who loves you dares to praise,
Be sent by waken'd Feeling there,
Nor bloom to win the worldling's gaze,
Oh! deign my simple gift to take,
And braid it in your lustrous hair;
For mine, dear Grace, for Love's sweet sake,
Beside the blush, the rose-bud wear.

If, in your voice, the cadence low
That, soft replying, falters so,
Be taught by Truth and Love to thrill,
If from your heart its accents flow,
Then deign my token-flower to take,
And wear it with a gracious will;
Oh, flower of flowers! for Love's sweet sake,
Be tender and be truthful still.

But if the tone, the blush, be part
Of changeful woman's wily art,—
If that soft smile, so fond yet shy,
Speak not the language of the heart,—

449

If that dark lash droop not to hide
The tell-tale Love within thine eye,
Then give to air the blossom's pride,
As I the hope thou doom'st to die!

C. A CARELESS RILL WAS DREAMING.

A careless rill was dreaming
One fragrant summer night;
It dream'd a star lay gleaming
With heavenly looks of light,
Soft cradled on its own pure breast,
That rose and fell, and rock'd to rest,
With lulling wave, its radiant guest,
In silent beauty beaming;

And like a lute's low sighing,
The rill sang to the star,
“Why camest thou, fondly flying,
From those blue hills afar?
All calm and cold without thy ray,
I slept the long dark night away—
Ah, child of heaven! for ever stay.”
No sweet voice rose replying.

450

“Oh, glorious truant, listen!
Wilt fold thy shining wings,
That softly glance and glisten
The while the wavelet sings?
Wilt dwell with me? I'll give thee flowers,—
Our way shall be through balmy bowers,
And song and dance shall charm the hours:—
My star-love, dost thou listen?

“No gorgeous garden-blossom,
In regal grace and bloom,
May pour upon my bosom
Its exquisite perfume;
But I may wreathe, with wild flowers rare,
That softly breathe, thy golden hair,—
The violet's tear shall tremble there,
A fair though fragile blossom.”

Alas! when morning slowly
Stole o'er the distant hill,
From that sweet dream, so holy,
It woke—the sorrowing rill!
No “child of heaven” lay smiling there,—
'Twas but a vision bright and rare,
That bless'd, as pass'd the star in air,
The rivulet lone and lowly.

451

CI. LOW, MY LUTE—BREATHE LOW.

Low, my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!—
While his watch her lover keeps,
Soft and dewy slumber steeps
Golden tress and fringéd lid
With the blue heaven 'neath it hid—
Eulalie!—
Low, my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!

Let thy music, light and low,
Through her pure dream come and go.
Lute of Love! with silver flow,
All my passion, all my wo,
Speak for me!
Ask her in her balmy rest
Whom her holy heart loves best!
Ask her if she thinks of me!—
Eulalie!
Low, my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!—
Slumber while thy lover keeps
Fondest watch and ward for thee,
Eulalie!

452

CII. EULALIE.

Is your soul at home to-day, Eulalie!
And if it be,
May mine come in and stay, Eulalie?
Or has yours gone out to play, Eulalie!
And if it be,
Will it be long away, Eulalie?

I know it is the wilfulest of things, Eulalie!
But if it be
Too gay to shut an hour its frolic wings, Eulalie,
When it alights, so tenderly it sings, Eulalie,
That as for me,
More joy than some that longer stay it brings, Eulalie!

And I would not have it fetter'd for the world, Eulalie!
For if it be—
Ah! that lip, with laughing scorn I see it curl'd, Eulalie!
Its wings would lose their light if they were furl'd, Eulalie!
Then not for me,
No fetter be on them, for all the world, Eulalie!

If my soul, on calling, “not at home,” is told, Eulalie,
I would make free
To wait till yours came back, tired and cold, Eulalie!

453

And then it will be glad its wings to fold, Eulalie,
And I should see
How long I might the glorious truant hold, Eulalie!

They say that more domestic and more tame, Eulalie,
It ought to be!
But if heaven gave it wings, were you to blame, Eulalie?
Ah, no! to tie a Peri were a shame, Eulalie!
And they might see
It always carried joy where'er it came, Eulalie!

CIII. BENEATH ITALIA'S LAUGHING SKIES.

Beneath Italia's laughing skies,
When joy the summer hour beguiled;
I found one day a lovely prize,
A blossom bright and wild.
Ah! Mina Dolce, Cara Mina, graceful Rose of Italie!
Dost thou bloom there in thy beauty still, and is thy bloom for me?

I raised its tender cheek to mine,
I woke it from its pure repose:
I kiss'd away its dew divine,
Its tears! my radiant Rose!
Ah! Mina Dolce, Cara Mina, blushing flower of Italie!
Art thou smiling in thy bower still, and is thy smile for me?

454

I've gazed since then on loftier flowers,
In scenes more richly, grandly wild;
Ne'er found I bloom in Northern bowers
To match Italia's child.
Ah! Mina Dolce, Cara Mina, virgin Rose of Italy!
May I wear thee on my heart, and wilt thou give thy tears to me?

CIV. YOUR HEART IS A MUSIC-BOX, DEAREST!

Your heart is a music-box, dearest!
With exquisite tunes at command,
Of melody sweetest and clearest,
If tried by a delicate hand;
But its workmanship, love, is so fine,
At a single rude touch it would break;
Then, oh! be the magic key mine,
Its fairy-like whispers to wake!
And there's one little tune it can play,
That I fancy all others above—
You learn'd it of Cupid one day—
It begins with and ends with “I love!” “I love!”
My heart echoes to it “I love!”

455

CV. IN CALM DISDAIN I REND THE CHAIN.

In calm disdain I rend the chain
Whose golden links were smiles from thee;
For, flung o'er all, too frail the thrall,
Though bright it be,
To fetter me.

Oh! every hour some fairy flower
Of thy sweet fancy blushed and smiled,
When by thy side my heart relied,
By thee beguiled
To joy too wild.

But not alone for me they shone,
Those blossoms bright in tone and look;
Each flippant fool, in thy sweet school,
A lesson took
From Love's light book.

Then in disdain I rend the chain,
Whose golden links were smiles from thee,
For, flung o'er all, too frail the thrall,
Though bright it be,
To fetter me!

456

CVI. AH! WOMAN STILL.

Ah! woman still
Must veil the shrine,
Where feeling feeds the fire divine,
Nor sing at will,
Untaught by art,
The music prison'd in her heart!

Still gay the note,
And light the lay,
The woodbird warbles on the spray,
Afar to float;
But homeward flown,
Within his nest, how changed the tone!

Oh! none can know,
Who have not heard
The music-soul that thrills the bird,
The carol low
As coo of dove
He warbles to his woodland-love!

The world would say
'Twas vain and wild,

457

The impassion'd lay of Nature's child;
And Feeling so
Should veil the shrine
Where softly glow her fires divine!

A reply to one who said, “Write from your heart.’

CVII. SHE LOVES HIM YET.

She loves him yet!
I know by the blush that rises
Beneath the curls
That shadow her soul-lit cheek;
She loves him yet!
Through all Love's sweet disguises
In timid girls,
A blush will be sure to speak.

But deeper signs
Than the radiant blush of beauty,
The maiden finds,
Whenever his name is heard;—
Her young heart thrills,
Forgetting herself—her duty—
Her dark eye fills,
And her pulse with hope is stirr'd.

458

She loves him yet!
The flower the false one gave her,
When last he came,
Is still with her wild tears wet.
She'll ne'er forget,
Howe'er his faith may waver,
Through grief and shame,
Believe it—she loves him yet!

His favourite songs
She will sing—she heeds no other;
With all her wrongs
Her life on his love is set.
Oh! doubt no more!
She never can wed another:
Till life be o'er,
She loves—she will love him yet!

CVIII. TO THE SNOW-WREATH WHITE.

To the snow-wreath white
Came a sunbeam bright,
With golden wings, and smile of light,
And it softly sings,—“Oh, pure and fair!
Thou art dearer than all in earth or air!”

459

And the snow-wreath heard
Each low, sweet word,
Till its still, light heart was wildly stirr'd;
And it sigh'd, “Depart! oh, angel fair:
Too fragile I thy love to share!”

But the bright ray came,
With its soul of flame,
Till the snow-wreath blush'd for love and shame,
And with rose-hues flush'd, to beauty brief,
It died, in its delicate grace, of grief!

For it wept away
Its life for the ray
That stole from heaven, and dared not stay;
And now forgiven, and robed in light,
It weds the ray in the rainbow bright!

CIX. LEONOR.

Leonor loved a noble youth,
But light was Leonor's maiden truth;
She left her love for wealth forsooth:
Faithless Leonor!

Now she paces a palace-hall;
Lords and ladies await her call,—
Wearily Leonor turns from all:
Haughty Leonor!

460

Leonor lies on a couch of down;
The jewel-light of a ducal crown
Gleams through her tresses of sunlit brown:
Beautiful Leonor!

Leonor's robe is a tissue of gold,
Flashing with splendour in every fold;
Bracelets of gems on her arms are roll'd:
Radiant Leonor!

Diamonds sparkle in Leonor's zone,
With a star-like glory in every stone;
But the heart they smile over is cold and lone:
Joyless Leonor!

To be free once more she would give them all,—
The crown, the couch, and the sculptured hall,
And the robe with its rich and shining fall:
Poor, poor Leonor!

Like a captive bird, through her cage's bar
Of gold, she looks on her home afar,
And it woos her there like a holy star:
Vainly, Leonor!

Leonor's lip has lost its bloom,
Her proud blue eyes are dark with gloom;
She will sleep in peace in her early tomb:
Lonely Leonor!

461

CX. YES, LOWER TO THE LEVEL.

Yes, “lower to the level”
Of those who laud thee now!
Go, join the joyous revel,
And pledge the heartless vow!
Go, dim the soul-born beauty
That lights that lofty brow!
Fill, fill the bowl! let burning wine
Drown, in thy soul, Love's dream divine!

Yet when the laugh is lightest,
When wildest goes the jest,
When gleams the goblet brightest,
And proudest heaves thy breast.
And thou art madly pledging
Each gay and jovial guest,—
A ghost shall glide amid the flowers—
The shade of Love's departed hours!

And thou shalt shrink in sadness
From all the splendour there,
And curse the revel's gladness,
And hate the banquet's glare;
And pine, mid Passion's madness,
For true Love's purer air,

462

And feel thou'dst give their wildest glee
For one unsullied sigh from me!

Yet deem not this my prayer, love,
Ah! no, if I could keep
Thy alter'd heart from care, love,
And charm its griefs to sleep,
Mine only should despair, love,
I—I alone would weep!
I—I alone would mourn the flowers
That fade in Love's deserted bowers!

CXI. I GRIEVE TO LET YOU GO, LULI.

I grieve to let you go, Luli,
I grieve to let you go;
For I shall miss your merry tones—
Your laugh so light and low—
So light and low, Luli!
Your laugh so light and low.

And I shall miss your smile, Luli!
That dimples as it goes,
Like a zephyr, with a sunlit wing,
At play around a rose—
Around a rose, Luli!
At play around a rose.

463

And the heart heaven in your eyes, Luli!
And the golden cloud of curls;
And the graceful, winsome, cherub mouth,
Whose poorest words were pearls—
Whose poorest words were pearls, Luli!
Whose poorest words were pearls!

And the fairy, frolic step, Luli,
That seem'd to wake the flowers;
And more than all, the soul of song
That charm'd the changing hours—
The changing hours, Luli!
That charm'd the changing hours!

I will not let you go, Luli!
So fold the wings you hide;
And you shall be my fairy-queen,
And I'll ask naught beside—
Ask naught beside, Luli!
And I'll ask naught beside.

And why, if we must part, Luli!
Why let me love you so?
Nay, waste no more your sweet farewells,
I cannot let you go—
Not let you go, Luli!
I cannot let you go!

464

CXII. I KNOW A NOBLE HEART THAT BEATS.

I know a noble heart that beats
For one it loves how wildly well!
I only know for whom it beats;
But I must never tell—
Never tell!
Hush! hark! how Echo soft repeats,—
Ah! never tell!

I know a voice that falters low,
Whene'er one little name 'twould say;
Full well that little name I know,
But that I'll ne'er betray—
Ne'er betray!
Hush! hark! how Echo murmurs low,—
Ah! ne'er betray!

I know a smile that beaming flies
From soul to lip, with rapturous glow,
And I can guess who bids it rise;
But none—but none shall know—
None shall know!
Hush! hark! how Echo faintly sighs—
But none shall know!

465

CXIII. THE HAND THAT SWEPT THE SOUNDING LYRE.

The hand that swept the sounding lyre
With more than mortal skill,
The lightning eye, the heart of fire,
The fervent lip are still!
No more, in rapture or in wo,
With melody to thrill,
Ah! nevermore!

Oh! bring the flowers he cherish'd so,
With eager childlike care;
For o'er his grave they'll love to grow,
And sigh their sorrow there:
Ah me! no more their balmy glow
May soothe his heart's despair,
No! nevermore!

But angel hands shall bring him balm
For every grief he knew,
And Heaven's soft harps his soul shall calm
With music sweet and true,
And teach to him the holy charm
Of Israfel anew,
For evermore!

466

Love's silver lyre he play'd so well
Lies shatter'd on his tomb;
But still in air its music-spell
Floats on through light and gloom,
And in the hearts where soft they fell,
His words of beauty bloom
For evermore!

University of Virginia Library

SONGS.

I. “HAPPY AT HOME.”