 | Poems |  |
IN A SCHOOL-ROOM.
Twenty school-girls—there they sit;
Just a score of real romances,
To be lived, but never writ;
What they'll be—to think of it
Brings into one's head strange fancies.
Just a score of real romances,
To be lived, but never writ;
What they'll be—to think of it
Brings into one's head strange fancies.
Staring, little, blue-eyed Jane,
In whose eyes such baby wonder
And awe of my presence, reign,
Pure, sweet great-eyes, for you, fain,
Time's dark curtain, I'd peep under.
In whose eyes such baby wonder
And awe of my presence, reign,
Pure, sweet great-eyes, for you, fain,
Time's dark curtain, I'd peep under.
472
Tender God—did I not know
All thou willest here, a blessing,
For this infant, while below,
Days, how shadeless, fate should show;
But joy, for her, I'd be guessing.
All thou willest here, a blessing,
For this infant, while below,
Days, how shadeless, fate should show;
But joy, for her, I'd be guessing.
Those scarce-five-years'-old eyes, pure
As forget-me-nots born newly,
To them, fancy would assure
All they now show, should endure;
For her, O may hope guess truly!
As forget-me-nots born newly,
To them, fancy would assure
All they now show, should endure;
For her, O may hope guess truly!
Black-eyed Mary, quite fifteen,
Too old to be looking at me
Straight—ah, sweet, your peep I've seen!—
Though, to keep quite cold I mean,
How you warm my old blood—drat me!
Too old to be looking at me
Straight—ah, sweet, your peep I've seen!—
Though, to keep quite cold I mean,
How you warm my old blood—drat me!
I am old,—but, dark eyes, one
With a heart unworn and youthful,
Will, mark me! ere many a sun
Pass, into those eyes call fun,
And love too, if dreams be truthful.
With a heart unworn and youthful,
Will, mark me! ere many a sun
Pass, into those eyes call fun,
And love too, if dreams be truthful.
Love, I dare say, even, sweet,
Ere this, wicked boy, has muttered
Tales to you, in church and street,
And, when home you've gone to meet
Cousins, perhaps, your heart has fluttered.
Ere this, wicked boy, has muttered
Tales to you, in church and street,
And, when home you've gone to meet
Cousins, perhaps, your heart has fluttered.
Love, still since young Adam shook
Eve's first pulses, plaguing dearly
Girls, I'd see, if now I took
One peep into fate's closed book,
Him your friend, the dearest, nearly;
Eve's first pulses, plaguing dearly
Girls, I'd see, if now I took
One peep into fate's closed book,
Him your friend, the dearest, nearly;
Nearly, for sweet, could I make
All your life's years as I'd will them,
Love itself you should forsake,
If need were, for guide to take
Goodness, with God's peace to fill them.
All your life's years as I'd will them,
Love itself you should forsake,
If need were, for guide to take
Goodness, with God's peace to fill them.
473
Laura, Florence, Prudence, May,
Kate, the sauciest of any,
Dreaming Alice, gipsy gay
Juliet, for you all I pray
Sighs be few and laughs be many.
Kate, the sauciest of any,
Dreaming Alice, gipsy gay
Juliet, for you all I pray
Sighs be few and laughs be many.
Cloudless child-days—girlhood bright—
Womanhood, pure, glad and tender,
Blest with what makes sorrows light,
Every dearest sound and sight
That fond homes, real heavens, may render.
Womanhood, pure, glad and tender,
Blest with what makes sorrows light,
Every dearest sound and sight
That fond homes, real heavens, may render.
O great God, who will'st what time,
To their life-years shall be bearing,
Let not sin their pure hearts lime
In hell's toils—or guilt or crime
Ever their white souls be snaring.
To their life-years shall be bearing,
Let not sin their pure hearts lime
In hell's toils—or guilt or crime
Ever their white souls be snaring.
Never shame or shadow cross
Your dear thresholds! husbands ever
Still be lovers, whom perforce
Your dear love so holds that, loss
Of their love, you need fear never.
Your dear thresholds! husbands ever
Still be lovers, whom perforce
Your dear love so holds that, loss
Of their love, you need fear never.
Children bless you—babies rare,
Raptures in your bosoms lying,
Boys and girls, a blessed care
For your tending, for whom ne'er
May you have a cause for sighing!
Raptures in your bosoms lying,
Boys and girls, a blessed care
For your tending, for whom ne'er
May you have a cause for sighing!
And your griefs, for life must bring
Its dark hours of pain and sorrow,
May they not too sorely wring
Your dear hearts, that, suffering,
Still, from God, His strength may borrow.
Its dark hours of pain and sorrow,
May they not too sorely wring
Your dear hearts, that, suffering,
Still, from God, His strength may borrow.
May He guide and bless you still!
Tears, even like the dews of Hermon,
Your lives but with richness fill!
Bless me! how, against my will,
I've been thinking quite a sermon!
Tears, even like the dews of Hermon,
Your lives but with richness fill!
Bless me! how, against my will,
I've been thinking quite a sermon!
| Poems | |