 | Stories that might be true |  |
“Aimer, c'est le Ciel; Aimer un peu moins
imparfaitement, c'est un avant-gôut du Ciel.”
F. A. GONTHIER.
37
THE MOWER-MAIDEN.
“Good morning, Bessie! What! astir so early with the day!
Love hath not made thee, best of girls, an idler on thy way;
Well! mow this meadow in three days, and then I may not chuse
My only son to such a girl still longer to refuse.”
Love hath not made thee, best of girls, an idler on thy way;
Well! mow this meadow in three days, and then I may not chuse
My only son to such a girl still longer to refuse.”
So spoke the wealthy Farmer, as he went his morning round,
With busy, self-important mien; Ah, Bessie! at the sound
How throbs that loving heart of thine! new life, new strength it sends
Through all her limbs—beneath her scythe the waving meadow bends.
With busy, self-important mien; Ah, Bessie! at the sound
How throbs that loving heart of thine! new life, new strength it sends
Through all her limbs—beneath her scythe the waving meadow bends.
The mid-day glows, the Mowers now with heat and toil opprest,
Have sought with thirsty lip the well, the cooling shade for rest;
And from the sultry fields awhile, all save the bees are gone,
Yet Bessie rests not, but with them in rivalry works on.
Have sought with thirsty lip the well, the cooling shade for rest;
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Yet Bessie rests not, but with them in rivalry works on.
The vesper bells have chimed, and fast shuts in the evening gray,
“Now, well enough,” the neighbours cry, “good Bessie, for to-day.”
The mowers leave the fields, the herds draw home at set of sun,
But Bessie whets her scythe and works as if she'd just begun.
“Now, well enough,” the neighbours cry, “good Bessie, for to-day.”
The mowers leave the fields, the herds draw home at set of sun,
But Bessie whets her scythe and works as if she'd just begun.
The dew shines soft on earth, in Heaven the moon with many a star,
The hay smells fresh, the nightingale trills loudly from afar,
Yet Bessie feels no wish to pause a listening ear to lend,
She only hears with steady stroke the rustling scythe descend.
The hay smells fresh, the nightingale trills loudly from afar,
Yet Bessie feels no wish to pause a listening ear to lend,
She only hears with steady stroke the rustling scythe descend.
And so from eve till morn, from morn till eve, as at the first
She feeds on love, on happy hope she quenches still her thirst,
The third time rises up the sun, and now are Bessie's hands
At rest, as weeping joyful tears upon the field she stands.
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The third time rises up the sun, and now are Bessie's hands
At rest, as weeping joyful tears upon the field she stands.
“Good morning, Bessie! what see I! oh, active, stirring girl!
And is the meadow really mown? that shall be cared for well;
But for my son—in earnest thou didst never take my jest?
Ah! fond and simple then it seems must be the loving breast!”
And is the meadow really mown? that shall be cared for well;
But for my son—in earnest thou didst never take my jest?
Ah! fond and simple then it seems must be the loving breast!”
He speaks and goes upon his way, but Bessie has grown pale,
A deathly chill has struck her heart, her knees beneath her fail;
Her senses swim, her speech is gone, her consciousness gives way,
And there poor Bessie has sunk down upon her new-mown hay;
A deathly chill has struck her heart, her knees beneath her fail;
Her senses swim, her speech is gone, her consciousness gives way,
And there poor Bessie has sunk down upon her new-mown hay;
And so through stunned and silent years beside the bee that yields
For her its honey, Bessie still lives on amid the fields,
A life that is not Life—Oh, make, and make it quickly there
A grave for her, the Mower-Maid, among the meadows fair.
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A life that is not Life—Oh, make, and make it quickly there
A grave for her, the Mower-Maid, among the meadows fair.
41
THE SINGER.
Before the loud acclaim that rose
To greet her as she came,
She bent with lowly grace that seemed
Such tribute to disclaim;
With arms meek-folded on her breast
And drooping head, she stood;
Then raised a glance that seemed to plead
For youth and womanhood;
A soft, beseeching smile, a look,
As if all silently
The kindness to her heart she took,
And put the homage by.
To greet her as she came,
She bent with lowly grace that seemed
Such tribute to disclaim;
With arms meek-folded on her breast
And drooping head, she stood;
Then raised a glance that seemed to plead
For youth and womanhood;
A soft, beseeching smile, a look,
As if all silently
The kindness to her heart she took,
And put the homage by.
She stood dejected then, methought,
A Captive, though a Queen,
Before the throng—when sudden passed
A change across her mien;
Unto her full, dilating eye,
Unto her slender hand,
There came a light of sovereignty,
A gesture of command:
And to her lip, an eager flow
Of song, that seemed to bear
Her soul away on rushing wings
Unto its native air;
Her eye was fixed, her cheek flushed bright
With power; she seemed to call
On spirits duteous to her voice
At every rise and fall;
There was no triumph on her brow,
No tumult in her breast,
Her soaring soul had won its home
And smiled there as at rest;
She felt no more those countless eyes
Upon her; she had gained
A region where they troubled not,
The joy she had attained;
Now, now, she spoke her native speech,
An utterance fraught with spells,
The echoes of the heart to reach
Within their slumber-cells:
And many a quick unbidden sigh,
And starting tear, revealed
How surely at her touch the springs
Of feeling were unsealed;
The Present seemed unto the Past
For one sweet moment bound,
With all its broken ties made fast,
And all its lost ones found;
They who were always loved, seemed now
Yet more than ever dear;
Yet closer to the heart they came,
That always were so near:
And trembling back unto the lips
As if they ne'er had changed,
Old names returned that had been thence
Long severed, long estranged;
For in the strain, like those that fall
On wanderers as they roam,
The exiled spirit found once more
Its country and its home!
A Captive, though a Queen,
Before the throng—when sudden passed
A change across her mien;
Unto her full, dilating eye,
Unto her slender hand,
There came a light of sovereignty,
A gesture of command:
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Of song, that seemed to bear
Her soul away on rushing wings
Unto its native air;
Her eye was fixed, her cheek flushed bright
With power; she seemed to call
On spirits duteous to her voice
At every rise and fall;
There was no triumph on her brow,
No tumult in her breast,
Her soaring soul had won its home
And smiled there as at rest;
She felt no more those countless eyes
Upon her; she had gained
A region where they troubled not,
The joy she had attained;
Now, now, she spoke her native speech,
An utterance fraught with spells,
The echoes of the heart to reach
Within their slumber-cells:
And many a quick unbidden sigh,
And starting tear, revealed
How surely at her touch the springs
Of feeling were unsealed;
The Present seemed unto the Past
For one sweet moment bound,
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And all its lost ones found;
They who were always loved, seemed now
Yet more than ever dear;
Yet closer to the heart they came,
That always were so near:
And trembling back unto the lips
As if they ne'er had changed,
Old names returned that had been thence
Long severed, long estranged;
For in the strain, like those that fall
On wanderers as they roam,
The exiled spirit found once more
Its country and its home!
She ceased, yet on her parted lips
A happy smile abode,
As if the sweetness of her song
Yet lingered whence it flowed;
But for a while—her bosom heaved,
She was the same no more,
The light and spirit fled; she stood
As she had stood before;
Unheard, unheeded to her ear
The shouts of rapture came,
A voice had once more power to thrill,
That only spoke her name;
Unseen, unheeded, at her feet
Fell many a bright bouquet,
A single flower, in silence given,
Was once more sweet than they;
For link by link, her own wild strain
Had drawn her spirit back,
By windings of a silver chain
Upon a long-lost track.
And with her song her heart returned,
To days for ever gone,
Ere Woman's gift of Fame was her's
The Many for the One!
A happy smile abode,
As if the sweetness of her song
Yet lingered whence it flowed;
But for a while—her bosom heaved,
She was the same no more,
The light and spirit fled; she stood
As she had stood before;
Unheard, unheeded to her ear
The shouts of rapture came,
A voice had once more power to thrill,
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Unseen, unheeded, at her feet
Fell many a bright bouquet,
A single flower, in silence given,
Was once more sweet than they;
For link by link, her own wild strain
Had drawn her spirit back,
By windings of a silver chain
Upon a long-lost track.
And with her song her heart returned,
To days for ever gone,
Ere Woman's gift of Fame was her's
The Many for the One!
E'en thus, Oh Earth! before thee still
Thy Poet-Singers stand,
And bear the soul upon their songs
Unto its native land;
And even thus, with loud acclaim
The praise of skill, of art,
Is dealt to those who only speak
The language of the heart!
While they who love and listen best
Can little guess or know,
The wounds that from the Singer's breast
Have let such sweetness flow;
They guess not whence it gushing, starts
The clear and piercing tone
That wins its way to other hearts,
Through anguish of its own!
They know not Mastery must spring
From conflict and from strife;
These are not only Songs they sing,
They are the Singer's Life!
Thy Poet-Singers stand,
And bear the soul upon their songs
Unto its native land;
And even thus, with loud acclaim
The praise of skill, of art,
Is dealt to those who only speak
The language of the heart!
While they who love and listen best
Can little guess or know,
The wounds that from the Singer's breast
Have let such sweetness flow;
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The clear and piercing tone
That wins its way to other hearts,
Through anguish of its own!
They know not Mastery must spring
From conflict and from strife;
These are not only Songs they sing,
They are the Singer's Life!
46
THE SUMMER SNOW.
“As the blossoms fell off, pale and discoloured, early
in May, the leaves spoke thus; ‘These weak and useless
flowers are scarcely born ere they wither, while our firmer
growth, but all the more broad, and green, and shining,
outlasts the heat of summer, and at length after long
months of well-deserving, spent in rearing and sheltering
earth's finest fruits, we go to rest, decked with honorable
colours of renown, under the cannon-thunder of the
storm;’ But the fallen blossoms answered ‘We sink to
death willingly, for we have already borne our fruit.’
“Quiet and little noticed among our daily paths and
dwellings (too soon passing away!) noble benefactors,
without name on earth or record in its history! unknown
mothers! ye share not in the glitter of renown, ye pass
beneath no arch of triumph; but be not therefore discouraged;
ye are the blossoms!”
Jean Paul Richter.
“As the blossoms fell off, pale and discoloured, early in May, the leaves spoke thus; ‘These weak and useless flowers are scarcely born ere they wither, while our firmer growth, but all the more broad, and green, and shining, outlasts the heat of summer, and at length after long months of well-deserving, spent in rearing and sheltering earth's finest fruits, we go to rest, decked with honorable colours of renown, under the cannon-thunder of the storm;’ But the fallen blossoms answered ‘We sink to death willingly, for we have already borne our fruit.’
“Quiet and little noticed among our daily paths and dwellings (too soon passing away!) noble benefactors, without name on earth or record in its history! unknown mothers! ye share not in the glitter of renown, ye pass beneath no arch of triumph; but be not therefore discouraged; ye are the blossoms!”
Jean Paul Richter.
Once in a garden fair,
Huddling close their heads together,
Flowers were heard to whisper there,
“Oh! the changeful April weather!
Far hence we saw them fly
Sullen frost and angry blast;
Not a cloud is on the sky,
Yet the snow is falling fast!
Soft falls the summer snow,
On the springing grass drops light,
Not like that which long ago,
Fell so deadly cold and white;
This wears the Rose's flush,
Faint, ere bloom hath quite foregone her,
Soft as maiden's timid blush
With the looks she loves upon her.”
Huddling close their heads together,
Flowers were heard to whisper there,
“Oh! the changeful April weather!
Far hence we saw them fly
Sullen frost and angry blast;
Not a cloud is on the sky,
Yet the snow is falling fast!
Soft falls the summer snow,
On the springing grass drops light,
Not like that which long ago,
Fell so deadly cold and white;
This wears the Rose's flush,
Faint, ere bloom hath quite foregone her,
Soft as maiden's timid blush
With the looks she loves upon her.”
Then all the leaves o'er head
Shook and stirred in merry scorn,
Light winds laughing through them, shed
Thickest shower that fell that morn;
“Fast falling, one by one
Well ye name them, summer snow,
Blossoms giving not the sun
Time to kiss them ere they go!
All in such haste to die,
Fading, fleeting, one by one,
That the West Wind in his sigh
Scarcely mourns that they are gone;
While we, each changeful hour,
All the firmer, broader grow;
Waving light through sun and shower
Through the summer's fervid glow,
Round the fruit we cluster kind
Fed with honey-dropping dew,
Shielding safe from storm and wind,
But letting every sunbeam through,
Till warm it blushes bright,
And beneath our veiling shade
Peeps all rosy forth to sight,
Then, and not till then, we fade!
Spells solemn, soft, and strange,
Steal upon us, and we show
In a rich and wondrous change
Brightest when about to go;
'Till Autumn as he flies
O'er us shakes his torch of fire,
Quick we flash in gorgeous dyes,
Kindling on our funeral pyre;
Then sings the wailing wind
Dirges o'er us, as we lie
Wept upon by droppings kind
From a sad and constant sky.”
Shook and stirred in merry scorn,
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Thickest shower that fell that morn;
“Fast falling, one by one
Well ye name them, summer snow,
Blossoms giving not the sun
Time to kiss them ere they go!
All in such haste to die,
Fading, fleeting, one by one,
That the West Wind in his sigh
Scarcely mourns that they are gone;
While we, each changeful hour,
All the firmer, broader grow;
Waving light through sun and shower
Through the summer's fervid glow,
Round the fruit we cluster kind
Fed with honey-dropping dew,
Shielding safe from storm and wind,
But letting every sunbeam through,
Till warm it blushes bright,
And beneath our veiling shade
Peeps all rosy forth to sight,
Then, and not till then, we fade!
Spells solemn, soft, and strange,
Steal upon us, and we show
In a rich and wondrous change
Brightest when about to go;
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O'er us shakes his torch of fire,
Quick we flash in gorgeous dyes,
Kindling on our funeral pyre;
Then sings the wailing wind
Dirges o'er us, as we lie
Wept upon by droppings kind
From a sad and constant sky.”
Then said those buds “We die
Not like you in splendour shrined,
Yet we perish willingly,
We have left our Fruit behind.”
Word spake they never more;
Gentle souls! e'en thus, methought,
Ye depart, but not before
All your quiet task is wrought;
Little missed or mourned below,
Slender record would ye find,
All your sweetness with you go,
But for Fruit ye leave behind!
Not like you in splendour shrined,
Yet we perish willingly,
We have left our Fruit behind.”
Word spake they never more;
Gentle souls! e'en thus, methought,
Ye depart, but not before
All your quiet task is wrought;
Little missed or mourned below,
Slender record would ye find,
All your sweetness with you go,
But for Fruit ye leave behind!
49
THE SLEEPING GIRL.
I came to waken thee, but Sleep
Hath breathed about thee such a calm,—
Hath wrapt thee up in spells so deep
And soft, I dare not break the charm;
Hath breathed about thee such a calm,—
Hath wrapt thee up in spells so deep
And soft, I dare not break the charm;
Thy breathings do not stir the folds
That lie unmoved around thee; Rest
Hath rocked thee gently,—now she holds
Thy spirit lulled upon her breast;
That lie unmoved around thee; Rest
Hath rocked thee gently,—now she holds
Thy spirit lulled upon her breast;
An imaged Stillness, by Repose
Fast locked in an enduring clasp:
A marble Silence, with the rose
Just dropping from her languid grasp:
Fast locked in an enduring clasp:
A marble Silence, with the rose
Just dropping from her languid grasp:
Yet never o'er the sculptured lid
Did such a blissful slumber creep;
Its shade hath ne'er such sweetness hid—
The statue smiles not in its sleep!
Did such a blissful slumber creep;
Its shade hath ne'er such sweetness hid—
The statue smiles not in its sleep!
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And dost Thou smile? I know not! Night
To one serene, abiding grace,
Hath wrought the quick and changeful light
That flitted o'er thy waking face:
To one serene, abiding grace,
Hath wrought the quick and changeful light
That flitted o'er thy waking face:
It is not smiling, it is Peace—
All lovely things are thine at will;
Thy soul hath won a sweet release
From Earth, yet kept its gladness still!
All lovely things are thine at will;
Thy soul hath won a sweet release
From Earth, yet kept its gladness still!
For Sleep, a partial nurse, though kind
To all her children, yet hath prest
Some to her heart more close—we find
She ever loves the youngest best;
To all her children, yet hath prest
Some to her heart more close—we find
She ever loves the youngest best;
Because they vex her not with aches
And fever-pangs to hush to rest;
They need no soothing! She but takes
Them in her arms, and they are blest!
And fever-pangs to hush to rest;
They need no soothing! She but takes
Them in her arms, and they are blest!
The double portion there is given;
She binds two worlds within her chain;
And now by golden light of Heaven
Thou livest o'er the day again:
She binds two worlds within her chain;
And now by golden light of Heaven
Thou livest o'er the day again:
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My touch must bid those bright links start
And fly asunder; yet for thee
I may not mourn—not far apart
Thy Dream and thy Reality!
And fly asunder; yet for thee
I may not mourn—not far apart
Thy Dream and thy Reality!
Soon shall I watch within thine eyes
The sweet light startle into morn,
And see upon thy cheek arise
The flushing of a rosy dawn:
The sweet light startle into morn,
And see upon thy cheek arise
The flushing of a rosy dawn:
The sunshine vainly round thee streams,
And I must rouse thee with a kiss:—
Oh! may Life never break thy dreams
With harsher summoning than this!
And I must rouse thee with a kiss:—
Oh! may Life never break thy dreams
With harsher summoning than this!
57
TO E. M. ON HER BIRTHDAY.
The thoughts, the names, that to the heart lie nearest,
Dwell ever there, and find no voice in song;
It broods above the wealth it holds the dearest
In joy, whose fulness words could only wrong.
Dwell ever there, and find no voice in song;
It broods above the wealth it holds the dearest
In joy, whose fulness words could only wrong.
Yet its deep blessings, fervent and unspoken,
Are not enough to consecrate the day
That gave Thee unto me! Some gentle token
Must mark it ere it pass upon its way;
Are not enough to consecrate the day
That gave Thee unto me! Some gentle token
Must mark it ere it pass upon its way;
And be a Sign, whereon thine eye may linger
In after days, and find it pointing yet
Upon Life's dial, with a silent finger
To memories too tender for regret!
In after days, and find it pointing yet
Upon Life's dial, with a silent finger
To memories too tender for regret!
For there, as Thought its backward course retraces,
The shadow, more than ten degrees removed,
Falls now on sunny, now on shady places,
Yet meets no hour when Thou wert not beloved!
The shadow, more than ten degrees removed,
Falls now on sunny, now on shady places,
Yet meets no hour when Thou wert not beloved!
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We will not chide with Time, dear friend, nor waken
A sigh for hopes that with him harshly fared;
All, all the years upon their wings have taken,
But dearer, sweeter, makes what they have spared:
A sigh for hopes that with him harshly fared;
All, all the years upon their wings have taken,
But dearer, sweeter, makes what they have spared:
Unto the chain that long hath firmly bound us,
They add some link yet brighter than the last;
They leave us ever richer than they found us,
To reckon o'er the treasure of the Past!
They add some link yet brighter than the last;
They leave us ever richer than they found us,
To reckon o'er the treasure of the Past!
June 23, 1849.
59
CROSSING THE FERRY.
I crossed this Ferry once before,
Still shines the castle as of yore
In evening light; as then I hear
The water rushing o'er the weir:
Still shines the castle as of yore
In evening light; as then I hear
The water rushing o'er the weir:
But not within this boat, as then,
Two dear companions cross again,—
A Friend, a Father—one in truth;
The other rich in hope and youth.
Two dear companions cross again,—
A Friend, a Father—one in truth;
The other rich in hope and youth.
One wrought on earth in quiet, he
Departed also silently;
The other foremost rushed, to fall
In storm and struggle first of all.
Departed also silently;
The other foremost rushed, to fall
In storm and struggle first of all.
Thus when my musing fancy strays
To thoughts of earlier, happier days,
Must I the dear companions miss
That Death has snatched away from this!
To thoughts of earlier, happier days,
Must I the dear companions miss
That Death has snatched away from this!
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Yet, what so close binds friend to friend
As soul with kindred soul to blend?
Those hours that fled like spirits past
Still link me unto spirits fast!
As soul with kindred soul to blend?
Those hours that fled like spirits past
Still link me unto spirits fast!
Then take, oh! boatman, take the fee
That threefold now I tell to thee
With willing hand—for Spirits twain
Have cross'd the stream with me again!
That threefold now I tell to thee
With willing hand—for Spirits twain
Have cross'd the stream with me again!
61
THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT.
Is Heaven a long way off, Mother,
I watch through all the day,
To see my Father coming back
And meet him on the way.
I watch through all the day,
To see my Father coming back
And meet him on the way.
And when the night comes on, I stand
Where once I used to wait,
To see him coming from the fields
And meet him at the gate;
Where once I used to wait,
To see him coming from the fields
And meet him at the gate;
Then I used to put my hand in his,
And cared not more to play;
But I never meet him coming now,
However long I stay.
And cared not more to play;
But I never meet him coming now,
However long I stay.
And you tell me he's in Heaven, and far
Far happier than we;
And loves us still the same—but how
Dear Mother, can that be?
Far happier than we;
And loves us still the same—but how
Dear Mother, can that be?
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For he never left us for a day
To market or to fair,
But the best of all that Father saw,
He brought for us to share.
To market or to fair,
But the best of all that Father saw,
He brought for us to share.
He cared for nothing then but us—
I have heard Father say,
That coming back made worth his while
Sometimes to go away;
I have heard Father say,
That coming back made worth his while
Sometimes to go away;
He used to say he liked our house
Far better than the Hall;
He would not change it for the best,
The grandest place of all:
Far better than the Hall;
He would not change it for the best,
The grandest place of all:
And if where he is now, Mother,
All is so good and fair,
He would have come back long ago,
To take us with him there.
All is so good and fair,
He would have come back long ago,
To take us with him there.
He never would be missed from Heaven:
I have heard Father say
How many angels God has there,
To praise Him night and day;
I have heard Father say
How many angels God has there,
To praise Him night and day;
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He never would be missed in Heaven,
From all that blessed throng;
And we—oh! we have missed him here,
So sadly and so long!
From all that blessed throng;
And we—oh! we have missed him here,
So sadly and so long!
But if he came to fetch us, then
I would hold his hand so fast,
I would not let it go again
Till all the way was past;
I would hold his hand so fast,
I would not let it go again
Till all the way was past;
He'd tell me all that he has seen,
But I would never say,
How dull and lonely we have been,
Since he went far away.
But I would never say,
How dull and lonely we have been,
Since he went far away.
When you raised me to the bed, Mother,
And I kissed him on the cheek,
His cheek was pale and very cold,
And his voice was low and weak.
And I kissed him on the cheek,
His cheek was pale and very cold,
And his voice was low and weak.
And yet I can remember well
Each word that he spoke then,
For he said I must be a dear, good girl,
And we should meet again!
Each word that he spoke then,
For he said I must be a dear, good girl,
And we should meet again!
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And oh! but I have tried since then
To be good through all the day;
I have done whatever you bid me, Mother,
Yet Father stays away!
To be good through all the day;
I have done whatever you bid me, Mother,
Yet Father stays away!
Is it because God loves him so?—
I know that in his love
He takes the good away from earth,
To live with him above!
I know that in his love
He takes the good away from earth,
To live with him above!
Oh! that God had not loved him so!
For then he might have staid,
And kissed me as he used at nights,
When by his knee I played;
For then he might have staid,
And kissed me as he used at nights,
When by his knee I played;
Oh! that he had not been so good,
So patient, or so kind!
Oh! had but we been more like him,
And not been left behind!
So patient, or so kind!
Oh! had but we been more like him,
And not been left behind!
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TIME.
“Oh! voi che avete gl' intelletti sani
Mirate la dottrina che s'asconde
Sotto il velame dei versi strani.”
Mirate la dottrina che s'asconde
Sotto il velame dei versi strani.”
A sea-like river rolled along a plain
On deep still current, that unto the eye
Seemed half to sleep, yet ever silently
Bore onwards to a tideless, shoreless main,
With flow that rested not; dark branches flung
Their solemn shadows o'er that stream, and hung
Crowning its banks with stillness, for the time
Was Summer in its full and leafy prime,
Yet Summer in its silence, not its joy:
The storm's wild armaments across the sky
Had swept, and still clung darkly, threat'ningly
Round the dim, eastern mountains, whence of old
That river flowed; each high rock-girdled hold
Gave back low thunders, and a vaporous shroud
Enwreathed their purple summits in its fold:
There had been war in Heaven! the crash sublime
Of elemental natures, from whose strife,
Kindred and yet conflicting, leaps to life,
The fiery dweller in the darken'd cloud;
There had been fightings upon Earth! afar
Arose, where now the tide of battle spent
More slowly ebbed, confused, the noise of war;
A clang, a shriek, that mingled with the cry
Of Captains in their shouting; agony
And exultation, hoarsely, sternly blent.
On deep still current, that unto the eye
Seemed half to sleep, yet ever silently
Bore onwards to a tideless, shoreless main,
With flow that rested not; dark branches flung
Their solemn shadows o'er that stream, and hung
Crowning its banks with stillness, for the time
Was Summer in its full and leafy prime,
Yet Summer in its silence, not its joy:
The storm's wild armaments across the sky
Had swept, and still clung darkly, threat'ningly
Round the dim, eastern mountains, whence of old
That river flowed; each high rock-girdled hold
Gave back low thunders, and a vaporous shroud
Enwreathed their purple summits in its fold:
There had been war in Heaven! the crash sublime
Of elemental natures, from whose strife,
Kindred and yet conflicting, leaps to life,
66
There had been fightings upon Earth! afar
Arose, where now the tide of battle spent
More slowly ebbed, confused, the noise of war;
A clang, a shriek, that mingled with the cry
Of Captains in their shouting; agony
And exultation, hoarsely, sternly blent.
Then saw I One, an armèd man, that stood
Alone by that swift stream, and wearily
Unclasped his helm and gazed upon the flood,
And smote his hands together with a cry;
Then mark'd I on his corslet stains of blood
That welled from some deep wound; in agony
He shook and trembled through his mail, while slow
With difficult breath he murmured “where be they?
The medicínal herbs that ever grow
By these dark waters? Lo! from Rise of Day
On the red plain, the battle-plain of life,
A fervent-hearted Champion; for the right
My arm hath striven—Yea! within the fight
It hath been mine to triumph! Yet I bleed”—
And from his cheek and brow I saw the light
Of kindling exultation fade and die,
Like the cold sudden gleams that o'er the sky
Of winter flicker, and his lip grew pale
Ere yet the proud word passed. “My hurts are deep,
The iron is within my soul, the dart
Hath cloven with its poison through my mail;
How may I reach the Sunset isles that lie
Far Westward, where the murmurs of the Sea
Rise ever gently, and the gale's low sigh
Bears, on the whisper of tranquillity,
Health for the wounded, for the weary, rest?”
And that dark river through its waves did seem
To send one answer, “trust thyself to me,
I bear thee thither, swiftly, silently:”
And he looked wearily unto the sky,
Yet seemed to read no certain meaning there;
Then with raised hands, and lips that moved in prayer,
He flung himself all arm'd upon the stream:
And that dark flood rolled onwards, and its wave,
Its swift and hurrying wave methought was dyed
With crimson, as its broad unslumbering tide
Swept all its tributary wealth adown
To its far bourne, while ever soft and low
Those waters chode and murmured in their flow;
As, like fond lips that in their ministering
Fasten on some deep wound, they drew the sting
Of the fierce arrow from that warrior's side,
And with cold, kindly touch that dull'd the pain
It might not heal, they laved his stricken breast,
While, floating round him with a chiming strain,
A measured chant, a nurse's lullaby
That soothes, with wordless song a child to rest,
They bore him onwards swiftly, tenderly;
Till ere upon the wave the evening sky
Gleamed red, or ere he marked the solemn glow
Of Sunset rest upon the isles that lie
Far West, or heard the Main's unchanging flow
Break on the stillness of the twilight hour,
I saw the strong man in the might, the power
Of strength renewed, arise, and once again
With calm and steadfast bearing seek the plain
A fervent Champion.
Alone by that swift stream, and wearily
Unclasped his helm and gazed upon the flood,
And smote his hands together with a cry;
Then mark'd I on his corslet stains of blood
That welled from some deep wound; in agony
He shook and trembled through his mail, while slow
With difficult breath he murmured “where be they?
The medicínal herbs that ever grow
By these dark waters? Lo! from Rise of Day
On the red plain, the battle-plain of life,
A fervent-hearted Champion; for the right
My arm hath striven—Yea! within the fight
It hath been mine to triumph! Yet I bleed”—
And from his cheek and brow I saw the light
Of kindling exultation fade and die,
Like the cold sudden gleams that o'er the sky
Of winter flicker, and his lip grew pale
67
The iron is within my soul, the dart
Hath cloven with its poison through my mail;
How may I reach the Sunset isles that lie
Far Westward, where the murmurs of the Sea
Rise ever gently, and the gale's low sigh
Bears, on the whisper of tranquillity,
Health for the wounded, for the weary, rest?”
And that dark river through its waves did seem
To send one answer, “trust thyself to me,
I bear thee thither, swiftly, silently:”
And he looked wearily unto the sky,
Yet seemed to read no certain meaning there;
Then with raised hands, and lips that moved in prayer,
He flung himself all arm'd upon the stream:
And that dark flood rolled onwards, and its wave,
Its swift and hurrying wave methought was dyed
With crimson, as its broad unslumbering tide
Swept all its tributary wealth adown
To its far bourne, while ever soft and low
Those waters chode and murmured in their flow;
As, like fond lips that in their ministering
Fasten on some deep wound, they drew the sting
Of the fierce arrow from that warrior's side,
68
It might not heal, they laved his stricken breast,
While, floating round him with a chiming strain,
A measured chant, a nurse's lullaby
That soothes, with wordless song a child to rest,
They bore him onwards swiftly, tenderly;
Till ere upon the wave the evening sky
Gleamed red, or ere he marked the solemn glow
Of Sunset rest upon the isles that lie
Far West, or heard the Main's unchanging flow
Break on the stillness of the twilight hour,
I saw the strong man in the might, the power
Of strength renewed, arise, and once again
With calm and steadfast bearing seek the plain
A fervent Champion.
69
THE CARRIER PIGEON.
Speed, speed upon thy way!
I send thee on a gentle errand,—fly
And work my bidding ere the parting ray
Fades from the western sky:
I send thee on a gentle errand,—fly
And work my bidding ere the parting ray
Fades from the western sky:
The summer woods are dark,
And murmur lovingly, yet pause not thou
That bearest tokens onwards to thine ark
More sure than leaf or bough!
And murmur lovingly, yet pause not thou
That bearest tokens onwards to thine ark
More sure than leaf or bough!
In sunshine bathe thy breast;
Stay not within the swift and glancing rill
To dip thy wing—for thee a sweeter rest
Is waiting, onwards still!
Stay not within the swift and glancing rill
To dip thy wing—for thee a sweeter rest
Is waiting, onwards still!
Forth from the casement, there
She leans to gaze upon the sky, and now
The evening light lies golden on her hair,
Lies warm on cheek and brow;
She leans to gaze upon the sky, and now
The evening light lies golden on her hair,
Lies warm on cheek and brow;
70
She looks unto the West;
It is for thee she watches—thou wilt be
Soon by her hand, her gentle hand caresst,
How softly, tenderly!
It is for thee she watches—thou wilt be
Soon by her hand, her gentle hand caresst,
How softly, tenderly!
Yet first beneath thy wing
It trembles, while she seeks my letter; well
She knows, ere yet her light touch frees the string,
All that it hath to tell.
It trembles, while she seeks my letter; well
She knows, ere yet her light touch frees the string,
All that it hath to tell.
And yet the heart would hear
The words it loves the best repeated; fain
To set them to its music soft, nor fear
To weary of the strain;
The words it loves the best repeated; fain
To set them to its music soft, nor fear
To weary of the strain;
Like Childhood's ear that drinks
Some oft-told story, some remembered rhyme,
It knows each word before it comes, yet thinks
Them sweeter every time;
Some oft-told story, some remembered rhyme,
It knows each word before it comes, yet thinks
Them sweeter every time;
It welcomes them before
They cross the threshold, as, with greeting soft,
One flies to meet a foot-fall at the door,
That cannot come too oft!
They cross the threshold, as, with greeting soft,
One flies to meet a foot-fall at the door,
That cannot come too oft!
71
Ah! would that to her heart
She chanced but once to press the folded line,
Then all the warmth to sudden life would start,
I breathed on it from mine!
She chanced but once to press the folded line,
Then all the warmth to sudden life would start,
I breathed on it from mine!
The love, the tenderness,
That found in words no kindred language, there
Would seek a fond Interpreter to guess
All they may ne'er declare!
That found in words no kindred language, there
Would seek a fond Interpreter to guess
All they may ne'er declare!
I do but stay thy flight,
Speed on thy way! the summer heavens are wide,
Yet through their broad and untracked fields of light
Thou wilt not need a guide;
Speed on thy way! the summer heavens are wide,
Yet through their broad and untracked fields of light
Thou wilt not need a guide;
My thoughts before thee fly,
Thou needest but to follow where they lead;
They have one way—Ah! would that with thee, I
Might also follow—speed!
Thou needest but to follow where they lead;
They have one way—Ah! would that with thee, I
Might also follow—speed!
72
THE RAILWAY STATION.
Not well nor wisely some have said “among us
Once moved a spirit fair, that now hath fled,”
And deemed, that at the hurrying sounds which throng us,
Its shining wings for sudden flight were spread;
Once moved a spirit fair, that now hath fled,”
And deemed, that at the hurrying sounds which throng us,
Its shining wings for sudden flight were spread;
Not all the turmoil of the Age of Iron
Can scare that Spirit hence; like some sweet bird
That loud harsh voices in its cage environ,
It sings above them all, and will be heard!
Can scare that Spirit hence; like some sweet bird
That loud harsh voices in its cage environ,
It sings above them all, and will be heard!
Not for the noise of axes or of hammers,
Will that sweet bird forsake her chosen nest;
Her warblings pierce through all those deafening clamours
But surer to their echoes in the breast.
Will that sweet bird forsake her chosen nest;
Her warblings pierce through all those deafening clamours
But surer to their echoes in the breast.
And not the Past alone, with all its guerdon
Of twilight sounds and shadows, bids them rise;
But soft, above the noontide heat and burden
Of the stern present, float those melodies;
Of twilight sounds and shadows, bids them rise;
But soft, above the noontide heat and burden
Of the stern present, float those melodies;
73
For not with Baron bold, with Minstrel tender,
Not with the ringing sound of shield and lance,
Not with the Field of Gold in all its splendour,
Died out the generous flame of old Romance:
Not with the ringing sound of shield and lance,
Not with the Field of Gold in all its splendour,
Died out the generous flame of old Romance:
Still, on a nobler strife than tilt or tourney,
Rides forth the errant-Knight, with brow elate;
Still patient pilgrims take, in hope, their journey;
Still meek and cloistered spirits stand and wait:
Rides forth the errant-Knight, with brow elate;
Still patient pilgrims take, in hope, their journey;
Still meek and cloistered spirits stand and wait:
Still hath the living, moving, world around us,
Its legends, fair with honour, bright with truth;
Still, as in tales that in our childhood bound us,
Love holds the fond traditions of its youth!
Its legends, fair with honour, bright with truth;
Still, as in tales that in our childhood bound us,
Love holds the fond traditions of its youth!
We need not linger o'er the fading traces
Of lost Divinities; or seek to hold
Their serious converse 'mid Earth's green, waste places,
Or by her lonely fountains, as of old:
Of lost Divinities; or seek to hold
Their serious converse 'mid Earth's green, waste places,
Or by her lonely fountains, as of old:
For, far remote from Nature's fair creations,
Within the busy mart, the crowded street,
With sudden, sweet, unlooked-for revelations
Of a bright Presence we may chance to meet;
Within the busy mart, the crowded street,
With sudden, sweet, unlooked-for revelations
Of a bright Presence we may chance to meet;
74
E'en now, beside a restless tide's commotion,
I stand and hear, in broken music swell,
Above the ebb and flow of Life's great ocean,
An under-song of greeting and farewell.
I stand and hear, in broken music swell,
Above the ebb and flow of Life's great ocean,
An under-song of greeting and farewell.
For here are Meetings: moments that inherit
The hopes and wishes, that through months and years
Have held such anxious converse with the spirit,
That now its joy can only speak in tears;
The hopes and wishes, that through months and years
Have held such anxious converse with the spirit,
That now its joy can only speak in tears;
And here are Partings: hands that soon must sever,
Yet clasp the firmer; heart, that unto heart,
Was ne'er so closely bound before, nor ever
So near the other as when now they part;
Yet clasp the firmer; heart, that unto heart,
Was ne'er so closely bound before, nor ever
So near the other as when now they part;
And here Time holds his steady pace unbroken,
For all that crowds within his narrow scope;
For all the language, uttered and unspoken,
That will return when Memory comforts Hope!
For all that crowds within his narrow scope;
For all the language, uttered and unspoken,
That will return when Memory comforts Hope!
One short and hurried moment, and for ever
Flies, like a dream, its sweetness and its pain;
And, for the hearts that love, the hands that sever,
Who knows what meetings are in store again?
Flies, like a dream, its sweetness and its pain;
And, for the hearts that love, the hands that sever,
Who knows what meetings are in store again?
75
They who are left, unto their homes returning,
With musing step, trace o'er each by-gone scene;
And they upon their journey—doth no yearning,
No backward glance, revert to what hath been?
With musing step, trace o'er each by-gone scene;
And they upon their journey—doth no yearning,
No backward glance, revert to what hath been?
Yes! for awhile, perchance, a tear-drop starting,
Dims the bright scenes that greet the eye and mind;
But here—as ever in Life's cup of Parting—
Theirs is the bitterness who stay behind!
Dims the bright scenes that greet the eye and mind;
But here—as ever in Life's cup of Parting—
Theirs is the bitterness who stay behind!
So in Life's sternest, last Farewell, may waken
A yearning thought, a backward glance be thrown
By them who leave: but oh! how blest the Taken—
To those who stay behind when they are gone!
A yearning thought, a backward glance be thrown
By them who leave: but oh! how blest the Taken—
To those who stay behind when they are gone!
76
A SONG OF ABSENCE.
Einsam? Einsam? nein, das bin ich nicht!
Lonely? nay! I am not lonely!
When the Friends that once were nearest,
Distant now, but still the dearest
Greet me from afar!
When the Friends that once were nearest,
Distant now, but still the dearest
Greet me from afar!
Joyful? Nay! I am not joyful!
Witness many a secret yearning,
Wistful, tearful, still returning
Where my treasures are!
Witness many a secret yearning,
Wistful, tearful, still returning
Where my treasures are!
Mournful? Nay! I am not mournful!
When I feel that Memory holds me
To my dear ones, and enfolds me
As Love did of yore!
When I feel that Memory holds me
To my dear ones, and enfolds me
As Love did of yore!
Hopeful? Yes! My heart is hopeful!
When the thought once more to meet them—
Yet again, my loved ones! greet them—
Thrills it to its core!
When the thought once more to meet them—
Yet again, my loved ones! greet them—
Thrills it to its core!
77
LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT.
“I am not prone to weeping,
as our sex Commonly are—
—But I have that grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.”
Shakespeare.
as our sex Commonly are—
—But I have that grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.”
Shakespeare.
[PART I.]
Come to me, little Sister, thine arms around me twine,
And press upon my fever'd cheek that smooth bright cheek of thine;
And fold my burning hands in thine that are so cool and soft,
And kiss me, little sister, kiss me tenderly and oft:
And press upon my fever'd cheek that smooth bright cheek of thine;
And fold my burning hands in thine that are so cool and soft,
And kiss me, little sister, kiss me tenderly and oft:
Thy kisses are so close and kind, they seem to dull the pain
They know not of—upon my heart they fall like summer rain;
They fall where all is parched and dry—oh! soft and kind are they,
But they cannot draw the arrow forth, or charm its hurt away!
They know not of—upon my heart they fall like summer rain;
They fall where all is parched and dry—oh! soft and kind are they,
But they cannot draw the arrow forth, or charm its hurt away!
78
I watched thee in thy sleep last night, when thou didst rise and say,
“What of the Revel, Sister? did ye dance until the day?”
And clasped thine arms about my neck half consciously, and then,
E'en with the smile upon thy face, sank back in sleep again;
“What of the Revel, Sister? did ye dance until the day?”
And clasped thine arms about my neck half consciously, and then,
E'en with the smile upon thy face, sank back in sleep again;
And stirred no more till thou didst wake all rosy with the morn;
The Morn! I watched it slowly glide and glimmer into dawn,
With set and sleepless eyes; yet, oh! more happy not to know
The sharp return to sense of ill—the wakening to woe!
The Morn! I watched it slowly glide and glimmer into dawn,
With set and sleepless eyes; yet, oh! more happy not to know
The sharp return to sense of ill—the wakening to woe!
The day is past, I know not how, and it is night again;
I did not think to speak, nor cast the shadow of my pain
On that young heart of thine, but love for me hath made it wise,
And there is soothing in thy voice, and comfort in thine eyes;
I did not think to speak, nor cast the shadow of my pain
On that young heart of thine, but love for me hath made it wise,
And there is soothing in thy voice, and comfort in thine eyes;
79
And the darkness and the silence for my spirit are too strong;
My heart, it is a Fear to me, a place where spectres throng,
And whisper it—and doleful things have made their dwelling there,
I dare not sit alone with them, to commune with Despair;
My heart, it is a Fear to me, a place where spectres throng,
And whisper it—and doleful things have made their dwelling there,
I dare not sit alone with them, to commune with Despair;
And yet it is a little while, a little while—a day,
Since it fluttered light within my breast, and trifles made it gay.
I see the mirror where I stood last night, and lingered there,
Well pleased to hear thee jest and say, I never looked so fair;
Since it fluttered light within my breast, and trifles made it gay.
I see the mirror where I stood last night, and lingered there,
Well pleased to hear thee jest and say, I never looked so fair;
Oh! what a world of hopes and fears lay hid beneath the smile,
I heard thee with and spoke not—thought was all so sweet the while:
There is no vanity in Love,—yet fain it would be fair,
It would be all things for the loved, and I knew He would be there!
I heard thee with and spoke not—thought was all so sweet the while:
There is no vanity in Love,—yet fain it would be fair,
It would be all things for the loved, and I knew He would be there!
80
He had been absent, silent long, and absence is unkind,
And on the mist that silence draws about the heart and mind
Cold shadows flit, and formless doubts loom dim, but these I knew
Would scatter at his greeting smile, as when the sun breaks through;
And on the mist that silence draws about the heart and mind
Cold shadows flit, and formless doubts loom dim, but these I knew
Would scatter at his greeting smile, as when the sun breaks through;
Thou know'st that picture in the Hall, the lady like a Bride,
So bright and queenly, with her lip of sweetness and of pride;
There is a legend writ beneath—a bleeding heart in twain,—
Yet on her brow a look that tells the story far more plain,
So bright and queenly, with her lip of sweetness and of pride;
There is a legend writ beneath—a bleeding heart in twain,—
Yet on her brow a look that tells the story far more plain,
Of how, within these halls she trod a measure out, nor stayed
For deathful tidings crowding fast, of love and trust betrayed,
And friends betraying,—still she moved with steady step and eye,
And chid the music for its pause “sound, like my heart, sound high.”
For deathful tidings crowding fast, of love and trust betrayed,
And friends betraying,—still she moved with steady step and eye,
And chid the music for its pause “sound, like my heart, sound high.”
81
She was a Daughter of our House, her eyes were on my soul
Last night, they followed me, their light was as a fiery scroll,
I read in them “Dance! dance thy youth, thy bloom, thy life away,
Thou never canst be happy more, it is well thou shouldst be gay.”
Last night, they followed me, their light was as a fiery scroll,
I read in them “Dance! dance thy youth, thy bloom, thy life away,
Thou never canst be happy more, it is well thou shouldst be gay.”
Dance, till the flowers fall from thy brow and wither on thy breast;
“Dance, wherefore shouldst Thou stay or pause, that never more mayst rest?
Our lot is one.—Dance on, dance on, thou dost but end the show
And close the measure that I trod two hundred years ago.”
“Dance, wherefore shouldst Thou stay or pause, that never more mayst rest?
Our lot is one.—Dance on, dance on, thou dost but end the show
And close the measure that I trod two hundred years ago.”
Not so; she died,—her spirit passed in that proud smile, and I—
Oh! Sister, there is that in me that cannot rest or die;
The grave is full of quietness—forgetfulness is deep,
And Death is far away from me, as far away as Sleep!
Oh! Sister, there is that in me that cannot rest or die;
The grave is full of quietness—forgetfulness is deep,
And Death is far away from me, as far away as Sleep!
82
I must move on, as then I moved, when on my ear fell words
Light spoken by a stranger tongue, yet were they very swords;
I turned and saw him in the throng, and One was by his side,
(It needed not those words to tell) his fair affianced Bride.
Light spoken by a stranger tongue, yet were they very swords;
I turned and saw him in the throng, and One was by his side,
(It needed not those words to tell) his fair affianced Bride.
Yet I danced on as if I trod on air, my cheek was bright,
And ready smiles came to my lip, and fancies gay and light;
Oh! Pride has martyrdoms whereon no pitying eye looks down,
The thorn without the fadeless Rose, the cross without the Crown!
And ready smiles came to my lip, and fancies gay and light;
Oh! Pride has martyrdoms whereon no pitying eye looks down,
The thorn without the fadeless Rose, the cross without the Crown!
We met; her eyes were raised to mine, I heard her whisper then
“Who is that lovely lady?” what answer came again
I know not: she is young like Thee, and innocent and gay,—
Yet I am young; at least it seems I was so yesterday:
“Who is that lovely lady?” what answer came again
I know not: she is young like Thee, and innocent and gay,—
Yet I am young; at least it seems I was so yesterday:
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And I am fair; at least I am the same; there is no trace
Of change in aught that once he thought so lovely in my face;
There is no change in aught within that made me dear before;
The same? Yes! I am still the same, and therefore prized no more.
Of change in aught that once he thought so lovely in my face;
There is no change in aught within that made me dear before;
The same? Yes! I am still the same, and therefore prized no more.
Yet I was prized; I was beloved; I was not all deceived,
And something was in very deed of all that I believed;
There was exchange that hath gone on since times that were of old,
When the trader gives his glittering beads for the simple Indian's gold!
And something was in very deed of all that I believed;
There was exchange that hath gone on since times that were of old,
When the trader gives his glittering beads for the simple Indian's gold!
And mine was given; it comes not back; though trampled in the dust,
It bears the image on it stamped in days of hope and trust;
The fond, false faith so quickly learnt, the heart unlearneth slow,—
For the soul hath loved Idols, and after them will go,
It bears the image on it stamped in days of hope and trust;
The fond, false faith so quickly learnt, the heart unlearneth slow,—
For the soul hath loved Idols, and after them will go,
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Yea! though they turn to its decay! through all the shower of pain
That falls like fire upon my heart, I seem to hear again
Words whispered softly,—only words,—vain echoes from a day,
That never can return again, yet will not pass away.
That falls like fire upon my heart, I seem to hear again
Words whispered softly,—only words,—vain echoes from a day,
That never can return again, yet will not pass away.
All things have end, the night wore on, I wished not for its close
Oh! for the wretched there is nought so dreadful as repose;
The dull slow torture of the mind, the fever-pangs that fill
The heavy blank that is not rest: I would be dancing still!
Oh! for the wretched there is nought so dreadful as repose;
The dull slow torture of the mind, the fever-pangs that fill
The heavy blank that is not rest: I would be dancing still!
I was like some poor houseless One, that through a splendid town
With sad and undelighted eye still wanders up and down,
With listless step that nothing seeks, nor cares where it may roam,
Yet must move ever on, because he knows he has no Home!
With sad and undelighted eye still wanders up and down,
With listless step that nothing seeks, nor cares where it may roam,
Yet must move ever on, because he knows he has no Home!
85
There was a crowd about the door; I saw a child that took
His mother by the gown, a child with wan and wasted look:
“That is an angel, (low he spoke) you may know her by her hair,
Ask her when she goes back to Heaven to take us with her there.”
His mother by the gown, a child with wan and wasted look:
“That is an angel, (low he spoke) you may know her by her hair,
Ask her when she goes back to Heaven to take us with her there.”
The mother shook her head, and smiled a care-worn smile, and then
Looked from me to her sickly child, and back to me again,
With eyes that wandered from my face to scan my robe's rich fold,
And rested longest on the furs that wrapt me from the cold,
Looked from me to her sickly child, and back to me again,
With eyes that wandered from my face to scan my robe's rich fold,
And rested longest on the furs that wrapt me from the cold,
With wistful gaze that measured then by silken robe and gem
How far was I from want and woe, from all that weighed on them:
Poor Child! Poor Mother! then I thought, if envy be your sin,
Soon would your spirits be assoiled, could ye but look within!
How far was I from want and woe, from all that weighed on them:
Poor Child! Poor Mother! then I thought, if envy be your sin,
Soon would your spirits be assoiled, could ye but look within!
86
II. PART II.
“Only the firmest and most constant hearts
God sets to act the stoutest, hardest parts.”
Old Play.
God sets to act the stoutest, hardest parts.”
Old Play.
Softly she turned to her sister fair,
Fondly she kissed her on brow and cheek,
Silent, as on her spirit there
Struggled a thought that she could not speak;
Only she looked on a Rose, and said
“Soon was the flower of its bloom bereft,
Yet cast it not, fading, away for dead,
Still in its leaves may be sweetness left!”
Fondly she kissed her on brow and cheek,
Silent, as on her spirit there
Struggled a thought that she could not speak;
Only she looked on a Rose, and said
“Soon was the flower of its bloom bereft,
Yet cast it not, fading, away for dead,
Still in its leaves may be sweetness left!”
Softly she spake with herself alone,
“Courage, my heart, and fail not yet,
Strive! for not yet is the Day thine own,
Thou hast forgiven, thou must forget!
Ere thou hadst found thee a star to guide,
Dark were the seas that were thine to cross,
Strongly against thee set in the tide:
Now thou art safe, yet hast suffered loss!
“Courage, my heart, and fail not yet,
Strive! for not yet is the Day thine own,
Thou hast forgiven, thou must forget!
Ere thou hadst found thee a star to guide,
Dark were the seas that were thine to cross,
Strongly against thee set in the tide:
Now thou art safe, yet hast suffered loss!
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“Sore hath the battle against thee gone,
Keen were the arrows within thee set
Ere thou hadst girded thine armour on,
And oft will the archers vex thee yet;
Ere thou hadst found thee a shelter, stern
Gathered the storm o'er thy pathway; long
After the rain will the clouds return,
And thou must onwards, so yet be strong.”
Keen were the arrows within thee set
Ere thou hadst girded thine armour on,
And oft will the archers vex thee yet;
Ere thou hadst found thee a shelter, stern
Gathered the storm o'er thy pathway; long
After the rain will the clouds return,
And thou must onwards, so yet be strong.”
Softly she prayed with herself alone,
“Father! forgive me, that with my lot
Wrestling in darkness, I strove with Thee,
Blindly and vainly, and knew it not!
Yet have my words against Thee been strong;
Now will I humble my soul to dust,
Lord! unto Thee have I done this wrong,
Not that I grieved o'er a broken trust—
“Father! forgive me, that with my lot
Wrestling in darkness, I strove with Thee,
Blindly and vainly, and knew it not!
Yet have my words against Thee been strong;
Now will I humble my soul to dust,
Lord! unto Thee have I done this wrong,
Not that I grieved o'er a broken trust—
“Had I not grieved, I had never loved;
(Sore may we weep and yet not repine)
But that I looked upon woe unmoved,
Saying ‘there never was grief like mine:’
But that I turned with a mind estranged
From all that thou gavest me yet to hold,
When once I had seen it grow dim and changed,
The Love that I stored in my heart for gold:
(Sore may we weep and yet not repine)
But that I looked upon woe unmoved,
Saying ‘there never was grief like mine:’
But that I turned with a mind estranged
From all that thou gavest me yet to hold,
When once I had seen it grow dim and changed,
The Love that I stored in my heart for gold:
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“Yet Thou wilt pardon; with Thee above
Still is there mercy, that fails below;
Thou that didst give to the heart its Love,
Thou that dost send to the heart its Woe,
Knowest alone what it hath to bear,
Wilful and weak,—and Thou waitest long
Till it return from its wild despair,
And Thou art patient, for Thou art strong.”
Still is there mercy, that fails below;
Thou that didst give to the heart its Love,
Thou that dost send to the heart its Woe,
Knowest alone what it hath to bear,
Wilful and weak,—and Thou waitest long
Till it return from its wild despair,
And Thou art patient, for Thou art strong.”
Not like the Dweller that day and night
Wounding himself among tombs, made moan
Over the grave of a lost delight,
Yet had her spirit a chamber lone;
Where, like the Ruler of old, that kept
Till he might reach it, a steadfast mien,
Oft she withdrew for a while, and wept;
Leaving it still with a brow serene.
Wounding himself among tombs, made moan
Over the grave of a lost delight,
Yet had her spirit a chamber lone;
Where, like the Ruler of old, that kept
Till he might reach it, a steadfast mien,
Oft she withdrew for a while, and wept;
Leaving it still with a brow serene.
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A SONG OF REST.
“Acquaint now thyself with God, and be at Peace.
Job xxii. 21.
A solemn World—no cloud is on the sky,
Intense and blue, unstirred by any breath,
Heaven seems to stoop and listen silently
To hold a voiceless communing with Death:
This is the place where God hath given Sleep
To his Beloved Ones; long grasses wave
Above them, and through branches woven deep
A quiet sunbeam glides across the grave;
Here it is good for Thee awhile to be
Oh, restless heart! where nothing stirs or moves,
Where nothing is disquieted like Thee,
Where nothing sorrows and where nothing loves;
Here it is good for Thee to be, though now
Where all is peace, Thou come but as a Guest,
Soon Thou wilt be a Dweller! Wait and Thou
Shalt also rest!
Intense and blue, unstirred by any breath,
Heaven seems to stoop and listen silently
To hold a voiceless communing with Death:
This is the place where God hath given Sleep
To his Beloved Ones; long grasses wave
Above them, and through branches woven deep
A quiet sunbeam glides across the grave;
Here it is good for Thee awhile to be
Oh, restless heart! where nothing stirs or moves,
Where nothing is disquieted like Thee,
Where nothing sorrows and where nothing loves;
Here it is good for Thee to be, though now
Where all is peace, Thou come but as a Guest,
Soon Thou wilt be a Dweller! Wait and Thou
Shalt also rest!
Here God hath given his Beloved Sleep;
It is dark night within, and all the bed
Is folded smooth by Him that made it; deep,
And curtained close about the feet and head;
There is no rise or falling of the breast,
The Earth lies light upon them, and the sod
Heaves not; the heart for evermore hath rest
When once its beatings have been stilled by God;
For they that talked with it have taken flight,
There are no busy voices underground,
When Thought and Memory have said “good night”
And passed, in fear to break a sleep so sound;
Yet they whom slumber wraps so sweetly now,
Were wont erewhile a troubled watch to keep,
And slept perchance for sadness; Wait and Thou
Shalt also Sleep!
90
Is folded smooth by Him that made it; deep,
And curtained close about the feet and head;
There is no rise or falling of the breast,
The Earth lies light upon them, and the sod
Heaves not; the heart for evermore hath rest
When once its beatings have been stilled by God;
For they that talked with it have taken flight,
There are no busy voices underground,
When Thought and Memory have said “good night”
And passed, in fear to break a sleep so sound;
Yet they whom slumber wraps so sweetly now,
Were wont erewhile a troubled watch to keep,
And slept perchance for sadness; Wait and Thou
Shalt also Sleep!
And here the sleep that God hath given is sweet;
So sweet, that they are covetous of rest
That slumber here, and when the parted meet
They speak not, even they that loved the best;
For they have rest from all, and Love had grown
Too dear for quietness, so now they sleep
Until the hour when God shall give His Own
Beloved Ones a rest more full and deep;
While from the ground a voice unto me cries
“Here God hath given sleep;” an answer clear
Falls from the solemn, bright, attesting skies,
“He giveth Rest and Love together Here;”
Sleep is not Rest—Yet softly on it now
The shadow of a Rest beyond it lies,
And lengthens ever; Wait, my Soul, and Thou
Shalt also rise!
So sweet, that they are covetous of rest
That slumber here, and when the parted meet
They speak not, even they that loved the best;
For they have rest from all, and Love had grown
Too dear for quietness, so now they sleep
Until the hour when God shall give His Own
Beloved Ones a rest more full and deep;
While from the ground a voice unto me cries
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Falls from the solemn, bright, attesting skies,
“He giveth Rest and Love together Here;”
Sleep is not Rest—Yet softly on it now
The shadow of a Rest beyond it lies,
And lengthens ever; Wait, my Soul, and Thou
Shalt also rise!
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THE ILLUMINATED CITY.
SUGGESTED BY A NIGHT PICTURE OF VENICE.
Like some proud Sea-Bird, cast
In sleep on Ocean's breast;
The City sinks at last
In calm, majestic rest.
In sleep on Ocean's breast;
The City sinks at last
In calm, majestic rest.
Her temples and her towers,
In floating splendour show,
Like wave-spread water-flowers,
Deep rooted far below;
In floating splendour show,
Like wave-spread water-flowers,
Deep rooted far below;
And broad and fair the while
She sleeps, a softer Day
Streams round her with the smile
That glorifies decay,
She sleeps, a softer Day
Streams round her with the smile
That glorifies decay,
And falls in veils of light
About her, as she seems
To lie in slumbers bright,
And broken by sweet dreams.
About her, as she seems
To lie in slumbers bright,
And broken by sweet dreams.
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For now with sudden flash,
Swift meteors start to life;
And mingling with the dash
Of waves in softest strife,
Swift meteors start to life;
And mingling with the dash
Of waves in softest strife,
A quick and hurrying sound
Floats down the watery street,
The Ghittern's chords rebound—
The dancers' flying feet—
Floats down the watery street,
The Ghittern's chords rebound—
The dancers' flying feet—
A broad and crimson stain
Lies on the waters, flung
Through many a gleaming pane,
With gorgeous draperies hung;
Lies on the waters, flung
Through many a gleaming pane,
With gorgeous draperies hung;
And o'er the level tide,
Like flick'ring Marsh-lights now
The dark Gondolas glide,
Bright lamps at every prow;
Like flick'ring Marsh-lights now
The dark Gondolas glide,
Bright lamps at every prow;
Each temple wears a crown,
A glittering crest of fire,
As if the stars came down
To rest on dome and spire:
A glittering crest of fire,
As if the stars came down
To rest on dome and spire:
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Once more the City seems
Adorned to wed the Deep,
Queen of a World of Dreams
The radiant Bride of Sleep!
Adorned to wed the Deep,
Queen of a World of Dreams
The radiant Bride of Sleep!
And like a quiet eye
That keeps a watch of love,
The Moon looks silently
Upon her from above;
That keeps a watch of love,
The Moon looks silently
Upon her from above;
With lights beneath that rise,
And glitter and expire,
Unmingling—through the skies
She bears her vestal fire.
And glitter and expire,
Unmingling—through the skies
She bears her vestal fire.
No part hast Thou among
The festal glare of mirth,
Thou Watcher that so long
Hast kept the track of Earth!
The festal glare of mirth,
Thou Watcher that so long
Hast kept the track of Earth!
Since first its shadow swept
Betwixt thee and thy sun,
Thy smile the trace hath kept
Of what it looks upon;
Betwixt thee and thy sun,
Thy smile the trace hath kept
Of what it looks upon;
95
Of tears that fell of yore,
That fall beneath thy ray,
Till One for evermore,
Shall wipe them all away;
That fall beneath thy ray,
Till One for evermore,
Shall wipe them all away;
Of Cares that will not sleep;
Of pangs that will not cease
Until a spell more deep,
Shall soothe them all to peace.
Of pangs that will not cease
Until a spell more deep,
Shall soothe them all to peace.
Thy Lamp that on the waves
Sheds now so soft a ray,
Lights mourners to the graves
Of joys long past away;
Sheds now so soft a ray,
Lights mourners to the graves
Of joys long past away;
To Vigils of regret,
No eye but thine may see;
To sterner Vigils yet,
When Conscience wakes with Thee!
No eye but thine may see;
To sterner Vigils yet,
When Conscience wakes with Thee!
So, on the lights that rise,
Upon the lights that die,
Thou gazest from the skies
With sad, unchanging eye:
Upon the lights that die,
Thou gazest from the skies
With sad, unchanging eye:
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Thy equal splendours fall
Upon Earth's troubled breast,
As fain to fling o'er all
The mantle of Heaven's rest.
Upon Earth's troubled breast,
As fain to fling o'er all
The mantle of Heaven's rest.
Thus Spirits blest, set free
From all our fevered lot,
May follow it like Thee,
May watch, yet mingle not!
From all our fevered lot,
May follow it like Thee,
May watch, yet mingle not!
May shed upon our way,
Through all the clouds between,
A soft and guiding ray
From Angel-eyes unseen;
Through all the clouds between,
A soft and guiding ray
From Angel-eyes unseen;
May look upon our Earth,
As Thou dost watch above,
Look on our sadness, on our mirth,
In Pity and in Love!
As Thou dost watch above,
Look on our sadness, on our mirth,
In Pity and in Love!
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THE PARTING.
Fling open your lattices, Maidens! a throng
Is passing your windows with shouting and song;
The Youth from his Home is departing, and they
His comrades are bidding him speed on his way.
Is passing your windows with shouting and song;
The Youth from his Home is departing, and they
His comrades are bidding him speed on his way.
Hark! loudly they cheer him, and fling in the air
Their caps bound with ribbons and garlanded fair;
Yet he wears no garland, nor joins in the song,
But walks silent and pale in the midst of the throng.
Their caps bound with ribbons and garlanded fair;
Yet he wears no garland, nor joins in the song,
But walks silent and pale in the midst of the throng.
They clink the full brimmers, the wine mantles high;
“Drink freely, drink deeply, dear Brother” they cry;
“With the cup drained at parting will that pass away
Which has fevered my bosom for many a day!”
“Drink freely, drink deeply, dear Brother” they cry;
“With the cup drained at parting will that pass away
Which has fevered my bosom for many a day!”
Now before the last house in the street stops the train,
And a Maiden peeps timidly forth at the pane,
And fast fall her tears, but she hides them there,
Behind wreaths of the woodbine and roses fair.
And a Maiden peeps timidly forth at the pane,
And fast fall her tears, but she hides them there,
Behind wreaths of the woodbine and roses fair.
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And before the last house, ere they pass by the place,
The Youth lifts his eyes for a moment's space,
But he casts them down with a look of pain,
Nor raises his glance from the earth again;
The Youth lifts his eyes for a moment's space,
But he casts them down with a look of pain,
Nor raises his glance from the earth again;
“And hast Thou no flowers for thy garland yet found?
When so many, dear Brother, above and around,
Are blushing and beck'ning;—Ha! Maiden, let fall
Some flowers for his chaplet, Thou fairest of all!”
When so many, dear Brother, above and around,
Are blushing and beck'ning;—Ha! Maiden, let fall
Some flowers for his chaplet, Thou fairest of all!”
“What have I with a garland, dear Brothers, to do?
That have no kind Maiden to love me, like you;
In the heat of the Sun would its leaves decay,
The wind as it passed would blow them away.”
That have no kind Maiden to love me, like you;
In the heat of the Sun would its leaves decay,
The wind as it passed would blow them away.”
And further, and further with shouting and song,
They pass, and the Maiden looks after them long;
“Alas! He is going, the youth that I
Have loved so long and so silently;”
They pass, and the Maiden looks after them long;
“Alas! He is going, the youth that I
Have loved so long and so silently;”
“And here I must stay with this love of mine,
Where wreaths of the woodbine and roses twine,
But He, unto whom I'd have given each one,
And oh, how willingly! He is gone!”
Where wreaths of the woodbine and roses twine,
But He, unto whom I'd have given each one,
And oh, how willingly! He is gone!”
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AUTUMN FLOWERS.
The Seasons alter, hoary-headed frosts
Fall on the fresh lap of the crimson Rose. [OMITTED]
Not yet on Summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling Winter.
Shakespeare.
Fall on the fresh lap of the crimson Rose. [OMITTED]
Not yet on Summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling Winter.
Shakespeare.
Ye are the Sun's last favours, gorgeous flowers!
How, like a Kingly spirit in decline
He scatters gifts around him royally,
And stretches forth the hand to make a Sign
Of Blessing, summoning up his fainting powers;
Ye stand like joyous Revellers, flushed with wine,
Prest by the swift feet of the glowing hours
From the Year's heaped up Vintage, full and free,
Bright with all hues of crowning luxury.
How, like a Kingly spirit in decline
He scatters gifts around him royally,
And stretches forth the hand to make a Sign
Of Blessing, summoning up his fainting powers;
Ye stand like joyous Revellers, flushed with wine,
Prest by the swift feet of the glowing hours
From the Year's heaped up Vintage, full and free,
Bright with all hues of crowning luxury.
The Rose died long ago; her parting sigh
Was sweetness, as her living breath had been;
And as she passed, up-rising, silently
They hasted after her that was their Queen,
A Virgin train to bear her company;
But some had gone before; the Violets muffled
Their fainting heads among the grass, and sped
Unmourned, save by the West Wind's sigh that ruffled
Through all their leaves, in search of fragrance fled;
And from the field and wild-wood, with the Spring
Fair flowrets faded, one by one, serene
Their meek eyes closing, in their perishing,
Like gentle Lives that leave around their place
The quiet sadness of a vanished grace,
To mark the spot where loveliness hath been;
E'en so they passed, until the fragrant Queen
That rears her sceptre 'mid the Meadows, saw
She had no Vassals left to wield it o'er,
And paled her foamy wreaths, drooping for evermore.
Was sweetness, as her living breath had been;
And as she passed, up-rising, silently
They hasted after her that was their Queen,
A Virgin train to bear her company;
But some had gone before; the Violets muffled
Their fainting heads among the grass, and sped
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Through all their leaves, in search of fragrance fled;
And from the field and wild-wood, with the Spring
Fair flowrets faded, one by one, serene
Their meek eyes closing, in their perishing,
Like gentle Lives that leave around their place
The quiet sadness of a vanished grace,
To mark the spot where loveliness hath been;
E'en so they passed, until the fragrant Queen
That rears her sceptre 'mid the Meadows, saw
She had no Vassals left to wield it o'er,
And paled her foamy wreaths, drooping for evermore.
Ye have not mourned your Sisters, gorgeous flowers!
No part have ye in tears—that ne'er were prest
To aching hearts, for linking some bright hour's
Fled sweetness with your own, unto the breast;
Ye are but prized for beauties seen and known,
And ne'er were treasured in your fading, kept
A record of lost Love—when hope hath grown
As sere as your dead leaflets, oft o'erwept
By dews that freshen not—for in your dyes
There lives no language that to Memory's call
May breathe an answer, and your starry eyes
Shine on, but speak not,—Ye are silent all,
When meaner flowers have told us histories;
Broad Dahlias, Fuchsias with your pendent bells,
Ye may have store of tender chronicles
And olden, sweet traditions linked with you,
In those far distant regions, where with dew
And sunlight of an equal summer nurst,
Ye took such sudden splendour at the first;
But unto us your looks and names are strange:
And so the Lover passes you—the Child
Seeks not to twine you in his garland wild,
Because ye are not ours! Ye do not lie
Familiar in our pathways silently,
To breathe where we have suffered, toiled, and striven,
Hints of the long-lost home, the promised Heaven!
Unloved, unsung, ye bloom and so depart,
Fair to the eye, not dear unto the heart!
No part have ye in tears—that ne'er were prest
To aching hearts, for linking some bright hour's
Fled sweetness with your own, unto the breast;
Ye are but prized for beauties seen and known,
And ne'er were treasured in your fading, kept
A record of lost Love—when hope hath grown
As sere as your dead leaflets, oft o'erwept
By dews that freshen not—for in your dyes
There lives no language that to Memory's call
May breathe an answer, and your starry eyes
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When meaner flowers have told us histories;
Broad Dahlias, Fuchsias with your pendent bells,
Ye may have store of tender chronicles
And olden, sweet traditions linked with you,
In those far distant regions, where with dew
And sunlight of an equal summer nurst,
Ye took such sudden splendour at the first;
But unto us your looks and names are strange:
And so the Lover passes you—the Child
Seeks not to twine you in his garland wild,
Because ye are not ours! Ye do not lie
Familiar in our pathways silently,
To breathe where we have suffered, toiled, and striven,
Hints of the long-lost home, the promised Heaven!
Unloved, unsung, ye bloom and so depart,
Fair to the eye, not dear unto the heart!
Yet are ye welcome, gorgeous flowers! too much
We shed o'er all the spirit's colourings,
And with our inner Being blend the things
That have deep morals of their own—a touch
Of fire hath passed upon you, and your dyes
Are those that gild the waning woods, and tell
In the red flashing of Autumnal skies,
Of Change that glorifies;—ye grace Farewell
Until it seems a solemn festival
At Parting, as ye follow, closing up
With tributary wealth the Year's bright spoil
And crown Earth's revel, as ye wreathe the cup,
Filled high and flowing o'er with wine and oil!
We shed o'er all the spirit's colourings,
And with our inner Being blend the things
That have deep morals of their own—a touch
Of fire hath passed upon you, and your dyes
Are those that gild the waning woods, and tell
In the red flashing of Autumnal skies,
105
Until it seems a solemn festival
At Parting, as ye follow, closing up
With tributary wealth the Year's bright spoil
And crown Earth's revel, as ye wreathe the cup,
Filled high and flowing o'er with wine and oil!
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THE GOSSAMER.
We walked within the fields, and fastFlew by, light spun by Fairies' hand,
A shining thread that as we past
Between us linked a fragile band;
I took it for a Sign! in scorn
Love holds not such slight omens, they
Are like its own fond hopings, born
Of vapour, breathed by air away!
107
THE BRIDE'S WREATH.
PRESENTED BY A CHILD.
To bind the rich twine of thy waving hair
Innocence brings thee a chaplet fair,
Where the leaf of the myrtle darkly glows
Through buds of the white and the crimson rose;
Take the bright garland, young Bride! from me,
Thus Love should be crowned by Purity!
Innocence brings thee a chaplet fair,
Where the leaf of the myrtle darkly glows
Through buds of the white and the crimson rose;
Take the bright garland, young Bride! from me,
Thus Love should be crowned by Purity!
With Summer the bud of the Rose will fall,
But the leaf of the Myrtle is green through all;
We liken thee, Rose! to Life's changeful show,
To its joys that come light, and light depart;
Sweet Myrtle! we liken thy steadfast glow
To the Love of the faithful, unchanging heart!
But the leaf of the Myrtle is green through all;
We liken thee, Rose! to Life's changeful show,
To its joys that come light, and light depart;
Sweet Myrtle! we liken thy steadfast glow
To the Love of the faithful, unchanging heart!
108
THE EMIGRANT'S DAUGHTER.
[PART I.]
We were but children when our parents came
From England o'er the broad Atlantic's foam,
And unto us all countries were the same,
And where they smiled upon us, there was home!
From England o'er the broad Atlantic's foam,
And unto us all countries were the same,
And where they smiled upon us, there was home!
The World was unto us a play-ground wide,
Where fresh and sparkling lay the morning dew;
T'were sweet to range among its paths untried,
When they that loved us wandered with us too;
Where fresh and sparkling lay the morning dew;
T'were sweet to range among its paths untried,
When they that loved us wandered with us too;
All there was new, and beautiful, and strange,—
We thought; and lightly on our feelings lay
The grief of parting, or the sense of change,
From scenes where we had sojourn'd but a day.
We thought; and lightly on our feelings lay
The grief of parting, or the sense of change,
From scenes where we had sojourn'd but a day.
But she, our elder sister, keenly felt
Things that our childish spirits bore unmoved;
And mourned the Home where she had longer dwelt,
The friends that she had longer, dearer loved:
Things that our childish spirits bore unmoved;
And mourned the Home where she had longer dwelt,
The friends that she had longer, dearer loved:
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And like the plant of which old legends tell,
Around the mother-soil she called her own
The fibres of her heart had twined so well,
They might not quit their hold without a groan.
Around the mother-soil she called her own
The fibres of her heart had twined so well,
They might not quit their hold without a groan.
Yet what she suffer'd then she strove to hide;
And when we left our home, she did not speak,
But turn'd so pale, it seem'd the Rose that died
Knew it would bloom no more upon her cheek:
And when we left our home, she did not speak,
But turn'd so pale, it seem'd the Rose that died
Knew it would bloom no more upon her cheek:
And on the scenes that we must leave behind
She turn'd the fix'd and earnest gaze, that fain
Would grave for ever on the heart and mind
All that may never meet the eyes again.
She turn'd the fix'd and earnest gaze, that fain
Would grave for ever on the heart and mind
All that may never meet the eyes again.
Our parents sobb'd aloud: their hearts were stirr'd
As fast around us flock'd a well-known band,
To give the parting wish, the parting word,
To take the last kind pressure of the hand;
As fast around us flock'd a well-known band,
To give the parting wish, the parting word,
To take the last kind pressure of the hand;
Old friends, old neighbours! in that hour we found
Those we had loved but little, with the rest
Gain a strange value,—ever linked and bound
Unto the heart with all it loved the best!
Those we had loved but little, with the rest
Gain a strange value,—ever linked and bound
Unto the heart with all it loved the best!
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Each shade of doubt and coldness, that perchance
Had gather'd mid our Being's daily strife,
Fell from the soul for ever with the glance
That looked Farewell, and knew it was for Life!
Had gather'd mid our Being's daily strife,
Fell from the soul for ever with the glance
That looked Farewell, and knew it was for Life!
Our sister's young companions round her came;
She spoke not, wept not, till a sudden cry
Burst from her lips that vainly strove to frame
Their trembling utt'rance to the word “Good bye!”
She spoke not, wept not, till a sudden cry
Burst from her lips that vainly strove to frame
Their trembling utt'rance to the word “Good bye!”
Her thoughts had wandered, but the trance of pain,
It seemed the anguish of that moment broke;
And to their kisses and their tears, again
Her soul, with all its tenderness, awoke:
It seemed the anguish of that moment broke;
And to their kisses and their tears, again
Her soul, with all its tenderness, awoke:
Her spirit in that pang had overpast
The bitterness of Death—it found relief;
And all the look that on her Friends she cast,
Was love, deep love, that left no place for grief;
The bitterness of Death—it found relief;
And all the look that on her Friends she cast,
Was love, deep love, that left no place for grief;
She turned unto them—in her smile serene,
The shadow of the Past reflected lay:
“Oh! sometimes think how happy we have been;
Forget me not, dear Friends, when far away!“
The shadow of the Past reflected lay:
“Oh! sometimes think how happy we have been;
Forget me not, dear Friends, when far away!“
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“Farewell, dear Ellen! we shall meet again,
And love you in a happier world than this!”—
She prest them to her heart, and raising then
Her eyes to Heaven, made softly answer “Yes!”
And love you in a happier world than this!”—
She prest them to her heart, and raising then
Her eyes to Heaven, made softly answer “Yes!”
PART II.
Through the dark shadows from the pine-boughs cast,
Rich flitting sun-gleams streaked the forest road,
As in a summer's golden eve, at last,
Our way-worn steps drew near our new abode;
Rich flitting sun-gleams streaked the forest road,
As in a summer's golden eve, at last,
Our way-worn steps drew near our new abode;
We saw before us a Savannah lie;
A calm lake glittered near, with trees girt round,
That stood like giants of a world gone by;
With smooth, unruffled depths of verdure crowned.
A calm lake glittered near, with trees girt round,
That stood like giants of a world gone by;
With smooth, unruffled depths of verdure crowned.
A silent picture, framed and set, it seemed,
Within the mighty woods, that folding, swept
In slumbrous masses round,—as they had dreamed
A vision of deep Quiet while they slept!
Within the mighty woods, that folding, swept
In slumbrous masses round,—as they had dreamed
A vision of deep Quiet while they slept!
Young wearied birds were we that longed to fold
Our light elastic wings, and sink to rest;
As we had done in times that were of old,
Within the shelter of the household nest:
Our light elastic wings, and sink to rest;
As we had done in times that were of old,
Within the shelter of the household nest:
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And there it lay! dropt on us from the skies,
We thought, and like a happy island cast
Within that forest-sea: in glad surprise
We clapped our hands, and shouted, “Home at last!”
We thought, and like a happy island cast
Within that forest-sea: in glad surprise
We clapped our hands, and shouted, “Home at last!”
“Home?”—To our mother's quivering lip the word
Arose half consciously, as if her heart
Gave back the echo of the sounds she heard,
But in their gladness bore not any part:
Arose half consciously, as if her heart
Gave back the echo of the sounds she heard,
But in their gladness bore not any part:
She gazed around with looks that vainly sought
Some likeness with the scenes they loved the best;
And she too seemed, but with a sadder thought,
To long to fold her wings and be at rest!
Some likeness with the scenes they loved the best;
And she too seemed, but with a sadder thought,
To long to fold her wings and be at rest!
A Stranger, in a land where all was strange,
She felt: our father's cheerful eyes were wet,
As then he whispered, “Wait till once the change
Is past, and Home it will be to us yet!”
She felt: our father's cheerful eyes were wet,
As then he whispered, “Wait till once the change
Is past, and Home it will be to us yet!”
And so it was: a cold and sadd'ning smile
The fairest scenes will wear, and all looks lone,
Until the busy mind hath wrought awhile,
And peopled them with Beings of its own;
The fairest scenes will wear, and all looks lone,
Until the busy mind hath wrought awhile,
And peopled them with Beings of its own;
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At first the very stillness of the place
Weighed on our spirits; yet as days passed o'er,
We saw at last the old, the real face,
Of Home look on us fairer than before.
Weighed on our spirits; yet as days passed o'er,
We saw at last the old, the real face,
Of Home look on us fairer than before.
Not that the living wall that fenced us round
Was charmed to shut out Care: the world was new
That lay without us; new, we quickly found,
The inner, anxious world of trouble too!
Was charmed to shut out Care: the world was new
That lay without us; new, we quickly found,
The inner, anxious world of trouble too!
And yet a spell to soften and to soothe,
Wrought surely there with silent unseen power;
The love that makes life's roughest places smooth,—
The light that gilds its darkest, dreariest hour—
Wrought surely there with silent unseen power;
The love that makes life's roughest places smooth,—
The light that gilds its darkest, dreariest hour—
For Love was in our dwelling when of yore,
All other joys were there; yet oh! its light,
So pure, so stedfast, had not burned before
As now it did, when nothing else was bright.
All other joys were there; yet oh! its light,
So pure, so stedfast, had not burned before
As now it did, when nothing else was bright.
The chain that bound our kindred hearts was drawn
Around them with a firmer, closer hold:
We knew the links that had the trial borne,
And stood the test, could only be of gold!
Around them with a firmer, closer hold:
We knew the links that had the trial borne,
And stood the test, could only be of gold!
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Nay, then we knew it not; we only felt,
And did not reason, or take heed for aught;
As in the sunshine of the heart we dwelt,
Like the Field-Lilies,—far too blest for thought!
And did not reason, or take heed for aught;
As in the sunshine of the heart we dwelt,
Like the Field-Lilies,—far too blest for thought!
PART III.
Each dawn awoke to toil; yet, ere it past,
Would bring a strength to wrestle with the day,
And hold, in cheerful faith, its Angel fast,
To bid him bless us ere he winged his way.
Would bring a strength to wrestle with the day,
And hold, in cheerful faith, its Angel fast,
To bid him bless us ere he winged his way.
All wrought together on the onward track,
And yet perchance the saddest spirit there,
The heart that turned with fondest lingering back,
Was first to cheat all others of their care;
And yet perchance the saddest spirit there,
The heart that turned with fondest lingering back,
Was first to cheat all others of their care;
And she, our sister, that in earlier days
Had leant on others; now, with gentle fold,
Like the wild plants among our woodland ways,
Would cling and twine as then, and yet uphold!
Had leant on others; now, with gentle fold,
Like the wild plants among our woodland ways,
Would cling and twine as then, and yet uphold!
Her step, her hand, brought comfort, yet became
So still and quiet, that we only guessed
Sometimes that Ellen went, and Ellen came,
Because around us all was peace and rest;
So still and quiet, that we only guessed
Sometimes that Ellen went, and Ellen came,
Because around us all was peace and rest;
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Her smile was ever on us; but the bright
Swift sunny sparkle from her glance had flown;
Or softened, till it seemed its gentle light
Beamed for us now in tenderness alone:
Swift sunny sparkle from her glance had flown;
Or softened, till it seemed its gentle light
Beamed for us now in tenderness alone:
Her words and tones were cheerful, as of yore;
Yet was she changed at heart; and many a thing
That would have grieved or gladdened her before,
Seemed neither joy nor sadness now to bring.
Yet was she changed at heart; and many a thing
That would have grieved or gladdened her before,
Seemed neither joy nor sadness now to bring.
She was not changed to us! and then it lay
Beyond the compass of our childish powers
To see that something from her life away
Had passed, and now she only lived in ours!
Beyond the compass of our childish powers
To see that something from her life away
Had passed, and now she only lived in ours!
But even then had one among us found
A secret by the others all unguessed;
And unto me, perchance, through love that bound
And folded all my heart within her breast;
A secret by the others all unguessed;
And unto me, perchance, through love that bound
And folded all my heart within her breast;
Or that, perchance, it soothed her to express
Her thoughts to one so guileless and unproved;
There might be comfort in the tenderness
That did not understand, and only loved!
Her thoughts to one so guileless and unproved;
There might be comfort in the tenderness
That did not understand, and only loved!
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But oft to me her gentle spirit broke
The bands of silence that had round it grown,
And she would bear me with her as she spoke
Unto the world wherein she walked alone.
The bands of silence that had round it grown,
And she would bear me with her as she spoke
Unto the world wherein she walked alone.
I was the youngest.—When unto the woods
We went at eve, beneath our sister's care,
To play, and wake their lonely solitudes
With echoes wilder than the wildest there;
We went at eve, beneath our sister's care,
To play, and wake their lonely solitudes
With echoes wilder than the wildest there;
And while the rest ran eager all about,
To search for wild wood-strawberries, or twine
With many a joyous call and merry shout,
Bright trailing garlands of the Indian vine;
To search for wild wood-strawberries, or twine
With many a joyous call and merry shout,
Bright trailing garlands of the Indian vine;
While, fast and free, they rambled far and wide,
Upon a fallen trunk, with moss o'ergrown,
I used to sit for hours by Ellen's side,
Or on her knee, contented and alone;
Upon a fallen trunk, with moss o'ergrown,
I used to sit for hours by Ellen's side,
Or on her knee, contented and alone;
Or on the lake, with golden lilies bright,
We loved sometimes to steer our little boat
Right in among their broad green leaves, and light
Rock there with them upon the wave afloat;
We loved sometimes to steer our little boat
Right in among their broad green leaves, and light
Rock there with them upon the wave afloat;
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And while the sunlight from the glowing west
Streamed on the lake, and touched each solemn tree
With light so calm, it seemed a World of Rest,
Wherein no beings lived and moved but we;
Streamed on the lake, and touched each solemn tree
With light so calm, it seemed a World of Rest,
Wherein no beings lived and moved but we;
Then I would hold her by the hand, and say,
“No fairy stories, sister, now; but tell
To me of those that live so far away,
Where once we lived, and whom you love so well.”
“No fairy stories, sister, now; but tell
To me of those that live so far away,
Where once we lived, and whom you love so well.”
And she would kiss me then, and softly smile,
As to her lips familiar names, and dear,
Rose like remembered music; she the while
As pleased to tell as I could be to hear.
As to her lips familiar names, and dear,
Rose like remembered music; she the while
As pleased to tell as I could be to hear.
Yet once she seemed to linger, as her tale
Recalled a name I oft had heard of yore;
And her voice faltered,—then her cheek grew pale,
And her lip quivered, and she spoke no more;
Recalled a name I oft had heard of yore;
And her voice faltered,—then her cheek grew pale,
And her lip quivered, and she spoke no more;
But as I looked up sudden in her face,
I felt upon my own a warm tear fall;
And saw, that to some distant time and place
Her thoughts had borne her, far from me—from all:
I felt upon my own a warm tear fall;
And saw, that to some distant time and place
Her thoughts had borne her, far from me—from all:
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And I was troubled through my childish heart;
And said, “Oh, sister! You that love them so,
Do you not love us too? You would not part
With us for them, and back to England go!”
And said, “Oh, sister! You that love them so,
Do you not love us too? You would not part
With us for them, and back to England go!”
She answered slow (as still upon the track
Of thought she mused), and kissed away my tear,
“Why should I wish, my darling, to go back,
When those I love the best are with me here?
Of thought she mused), and kissed away my tear,
“Why should I wish, my darling, to go back,
When those I love the best are with me here?
“And yet not all,” she added, in a tone
So low, I made no answer. I could see,
Child as I was, she thought herself alone,
And spoke unto her heart, and not to me!
So low, I made no answer. I could see,
Child as I was, she thought herself alone,
And spoke unto her heart, and not to me!
PART IV.
So time wore on and with us all went well,
And oft our father looked around, and smiled
To see how things were changed, well pleased to tell
Of future conquests from the Forest-wild.
And oft our father looked around, and smiled
To see how things were changed, well pleased to tell
Of future conquests from the Forest-wild.
Once to our mother, as they watched the gold
Of the rich virgin-harvest waving fair,
“This country would be better than the old,”
He said, “were Ellen's smile what it was there.”
Of the rich virgin-harvest waving fair,
“This country would be better than the old,”
He said, “were Ellen's smile what it was there.”
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And she awhile was silent, yet at length,
As with a hasty effort, answered then,
“It is the changeful autumn tries her strength,
She will be well when spring comes back again.”
As with a hasty effort, answered then,
“It is the changeful autumn tries her strength,
She will be well when spring comes back again.”
“It is the fading, changing leaves that make
The air so heavy in their lingering fall.”
Oh! would, I thought, some sudden wind would shake
Them down at once, if this indeed were all!
The air so heavy in their lingering fall.”
Oh! would, I thought, some sudden wind would shake
Them down at once, if this indeed were all!
For not the leaves that made a path of gold
For all our forest walks, upon the bough
Hung loosened from the yellow stalk with hold
More slight, than unto life seemed Ellen's now:
For all our forest walks, upon the bough
Hung loosened from the yellow stalk with hold
More slight, than unto life seemed Ellen's now:
And all her fading cheek was flushed with light
Most like the changing Maple's crimsoned hue,
And now her soft eye glittered large and bright,
And clear as if her very soul looked through,
Most like the changing Maple's crimsoned hue,
And now her soft eye glittered large and bright,
And clear as if her very soul looked through,
To send from thence a message, overfraught
With all that such fond farewell looks express
Of Love, that knowing that its time is short,
Would crowd therein a life of tenderness!
With all that such fond farewell looks express
Of Love, that knowing that its time is short,
Would crowd therein a life of tenderness!
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I saw her change, and yet the thought to part
With one so dear upon me never fell,
I stored in childlike faith within my heart
The words “When Spring comes back she will be well.”
With one so dear upon me never fell,
I stored in childlike faith within my heart
The words “When Spring comes back she will be well.”
It was the Indian summer then, whose smile
Steals on the earth, a gentle after-thought,
As if the Spirit of Decay awhile
Would brood above the splendours it has wrought:
Steals on the earth, a gentle after-thought,
As if the Spirit of Decay awhile
Would brood above the splendours it has wrought:
We walked at eve; the air was soft as spring
And all the woods around transfigured lay
In light and glory, as some angel's wing
Had touched them, passing swift upon his way;
And all the woods around transfigured lay
In light and glory, as some angel's wing
Had touched them, passing swift upon his way;
And Ellen said, as on her cheek the air
Blew mild, “This is the Spring's own sweetness;” then
I answered, “Oh, dear sister, would it were!
For when Spring comes you will be well again.”
Blew mild, “This is the Spring's own sweetness;” then
I answered, “Oh, dear sister, would it were!
For when Spring comes you will be well again.”
She looked at me awhile, then answered slow
“When Spring comes back, my dearest, who can tell
How it may be? but this indeed we know,
That all is as God wills, and that is well.”
“When Spring comes back, my dearest, who can tell
How it may be? but this indeed we know,
That all is as God wills, and that is well.”
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I fixed my eyes upon her silently,
And then a flash of light upon me broke,
And Death was in my soul; a sudden sea
Of bitterness o'erswept it, as she spoke,
And then a flash of light upon me broke,
And Death was in my soul; a sudden sea
Of bitterness o'erswept it, as she spoke,
And strove to comfort me, for well she knew
My grief was great; and in the unshed tears
Of that one moment, Love and Anguish threw
Upon my heart the weight of many years;
My grief was great; and in the unshed tears
Of that one moment, Love and Anguish threw
Upon my heart the weight of many years;
And, like a mist upon my spirit, then
A heavy sense of cold and darkness fell;
I heard her whisper, “We shall meet again,
When none are parted, none are loved too well.”
A heavy sense of cold and darkness fell;
I heard her whisper, “We shall meet again,
When none are parted, none are loved too well.”
As if I feared to lose her then, I clung
More closely to her side, and all the way
Upon my lips I framed one word that hung
Unspoken, with my soul upon it, “Stay.”
More closely to her side, and all the way
Upon my lips I framed one word that hung
Unspoken, with my soul upon it, “Stay.”
So we walked on in silence, till we came
Unto our home, that never slept more fair
In evening light: “Yes! it will look the same,”
I thought, “when Ellen is no longer there;”
Unto our home, that never slept more fair
In evening light: “Yes! it will look the same,”
I thought, “when Ellen is no longer there;”
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And as we reached the house I grew more sad,
As then the sound of laughter on us fell;
And as we entered, every face was glad,
As with some secret that they might not tell
As then the sound of laughter on us fell;
And as we entered, every face was glad,
As with some secret that they might not tell
Except in smiles. “You have been long away,”
Our mother said: “A stranger has been here,
With news from home.” A sudden voice said, “Nay,
No stranger! Call him by some name more dear!”
Our mother said: “A stranger has been here,
With news from home.” A sudden voice said, “Nay,
No stranger! Call him by some name more dear!”
And there among us, hid from view before,
A Youth sprung forth, whose kindling brow and cheek
Were flushed and radiant with a greeting, more
Than look, or smile, or word, could ever speak:
A Youth sprung forth, whose kindling brow and cheek
Were flushed and radiant with a greeting, more
Than look, or smile, or word, could ever speak:
But Ellen dared not trust her joy; o'erwrought,
Bewildered, half-believing, she did seem
Like one who wakens to a blissful thought,
So sweet, that even then he fears to dream.
Bewildered, half-believing, she did seem
Like one who wakens to a blissful thought,
So sweet, that even then he fears to dream.
Our father spoke: “Come, Ellen, here is one
Who seeks a home, and needs a welcome kind,
Because he found his own, when we were gone,
So strange and dull, he could not stay behind.”
Who seeks a home, and needs a welcome kind,
Because he found his own, when we were gone,
So strange and dull, he could not stay behind.”
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The gentle light came back to Ellen's eyes,
And to her cheek. “And is it even thus?”
She said; “and have you left all other ties—
And have you, William, given up all for us?”
And to her cheek. “And is it even thus?”
She said; “and have you left all other ties—
And have you, William, given up all for us?”
And he made answer softly, “Yes, for you!”
And whispered, as he held her by the hand,
Some words whose sound it seemed to me I knew,
But could not then their import understand,
And whispered, as he held her by the hand,
Some words whose sound it seemed to me I knew,
But could not then their import understand,
Of One in hopes a goodly gem to find,
That cast all else away for that alone;
Nor e'er would turn a lingering look behind,
If he might call that priceless Pearl his own!
That cast all else away for that alone;
Nor e'er would turn a lingering look behind,
If he might call that priceless Pearl his own!
And Ellen spoke not for a while; then flung
Her arms about our mother's neck, and fast
Her sweet tears fell, as fondly there she clung,
And sobbed, “O mother, this is Home at last!”
Her arms about our mother's neck, and fast
Her sweet tears fell, as fondly there she clung,
And sobbed, “O mother, this is Home at last!”
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HOPE AND MEMORY.
Two spirit-voices sighed upon the air,
“Oh, love us! part us never! we are fair
Only together! fondly would we fling
Our clasping arms about thee still, and cling
Like gentle parasites, that round thy lot
Entwine their mingling blooms—then part us not!
“Oh, love us! part us never! we are fair
Only together! fondly would we fling
Our clasping arms about thee still, and cling
Like gentle parasites, that round thy lot
Entwine their mingling blooms—then part us not!
“For we are patient slaves, twin-born, our fate
Is still upon thy steps to watch and wait,
And o'er thy path to hover! drear would be
Its course, but for the chequered tracery
Our light wings weave, as o'er thy changeful way
With shade and sunshine tremulous they play;
Is still upon thy steps to watch and wait,
And o'er thy path to hover! drear would be
Its course, but for the chequered tracery
Our light wings weave, as o'er thy changeful way
With shade and sunshine tremulous they play;
“One flits before, yet turning to thee oft
With gay and beck'ning gesture, whispers soft
Of many a goodly, many a glorious thing
She sees far onwards. One, slow-following,
With sad and patient smile, unto her breast
Gathers the flowers thy hasty foot hath prest,
With gay and beck'ning gesture, whispers soft
Of many a goodly, many a glorious thing
She sees far onwards. One, slow-following,
With sad and patient smile, unto her breast
Gathers the flowers thy hasty foot hath prest,
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“And warms them there, until each flower receives
A soul, a spirit through its withered leaves
To breathe undyingly around thy heart
A silent fragrance—scattered far apart
Its treasures lie, until the loved, the fair,
The lost, are bound in one pale garland there!
A soul, a spirit through its withered leaves
To breathe undyingly around thy heart
A silent fragrance—scattered far apart
Its treasures lie, until the loved, the fair,
The lost, are bound in one pale garland there!
“We are thy guides; companions through the day,
By night though sleep forsake thee we will stay;
Thou shalt not miss her with her dreams, for we
Will sit and tell thee many a history,
And sing thee songs of soothing:” then alone,
Arose, methought, the voice of sadder tone.
By night though sleep forsake thee we will stay;
Thou shalt not miss her with her dreams, for we
Will sit and tell thee many a history,
And sing thee songs of soothing:” then alone,
Arose, methought, the voice of sadder tone.
“Oh, love us! love my sister best! her strain
Was caught from Heaven, and bears her there again;
Her lot, her place, are with the blessed! still
Their angel-harpings on her accents thrill;
Still towards their source her visions mount and yearn;
I am of dust and unto it return!
Was caught from Heaven, and bears her there again;
Her lot, her place, are with the blessed! still
Their angel-harpings on her accents thrill;
Still towards their source her visions mount and yearn;
I am of dust and unto it return!
“My eyes are fixed upon the ground, they cling
With timid trust to each familiar thing;
My voice is but an Echo, lingering on
Round some old temple, whence the Gods are gone;
Thou wilt not therefore scorn me? listen! She,
The bird of Heaven hath borrowed notes from me!”
With timid trust to each familiar thing;
My voice is but an Echo, lingering on
Round some old temple, whence the Gods are gone;
126
The bird of Heaven hath borrowed notes from me!”
Then warbled that clear voice, “an endless sigh
My sister's song would be, but ere it die
I blend my utt'rance with the closing strain,
And whisper ‘all that has been comes again;’
I commune with her till her voice, her tone,
With all their sweetness, pass unto my own;”
My sister's song would be, but ere it die
I blend my utt'rance with the closing strain,
And whisper ‘all that has been comes again;’
I commune with her till her voice, her tone,
With all their sweetness, pass unto my own;”
“She gazes on me till her features take
A smile of life and promise for my sake,
And soft and gleaming o'er my pictures, lies,
Caught from the tearful shining of her eyes
A rainbow-glory; we would mingle ever
Within its light—Oh, love us! part us never!”
A smile of life and promise for my sake,
And soft and gleaming o'er my pictures, lies,
Caught from the tearful shining of her eyes
A rainbow-glory; we would mingle ever
Within its light—Oh, love us! part us never!”
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LOVE IN DEATH.
[_]
[In the year 1821, a woman perished in a snow-storm while passing over the Green Mountains in Vermont; she had an infant with her, who was found alive and well in the morning, carefully wrapt in the mother's clothing.]
An affecting incident which might serve as a companion to this story, was noticed in a Donegal paper of the Winter of 1847–48. “A little girl of eleven years of age and her brother, about two years younger, were overtaken by a snow storm when crossing the Pettigo Mountains, towards the evening; they were found the next morning lying close together, both dead, the little boy with his sister's shawl round his neck, and her flannel petticoat wrapped about his feet, she having possibly sacrificed her own life in a vain attempt to sustain that of her brother.”
On the death-darkened air,
Through the wild storm, amid the drifting snows,
A voice of murmured soothing blent with prayer,
Solemn in trustful tenderness, arose.
A mother's spirit in its parting clung
Unto her child—a mother's soul was stirred
Through all its depths—a mother's fondness hung,
And trembled on each faint and faltering word
Of blessing and farewell; and, as the bird
Plucks the soft plumage from its downy breast
To shield its young, and cowers with quivering wing
More closely o'er them, to her side she prest
Her babe, and strove, with warmth and sheltering
To frame within her clasping arms a nest:
‘Sleep! oh, my baby, sleep! the night draws on.
Sleep once again upon thy poor mother's breast;
Ere yet the morning dawns I shall be gone,
And thou no more will know such place of rest;
Colder and yet more cold,
Dark with the storm the wild winds round us sweep,
Yet still above thy slumber, as of old,
Thy mother watches. Sleep, thou dear one, sleep!
Closer and closer still
Nestle unto me, darling, safe from harm;
Cold, cold, is all without, and deathly chill,
Only the heart—thy mother's heart—is warm.
Through the wild storm, amid the drifting snows,
A voice of murmured soothing blent with prayer,
Solemn in trustful tenderness, arose.
A mother's spirit in its parting clung
Unto her child—a mother's soul was stirred
Through all its depths—a mother's fondness hung,
And trembled on each faint and faltering word
Of blessing and farewell; and, as the bird
Plucks the soft plumage from its downy breast
To shield its young, and cowers with quivering wing
More closely o'er them, to her side she prest
Her babe, and strove, with warmth and sheltering
To frame within her clasping arms a nest:
‘Sleep! oh, my baby, sleep! the night draws on.
128
Ere yet the morning dawns I shall be gone,
And thou no more will know such place of rest;
Colder and yet more cold,
Dark with the storm the wild winds round us sweep,
Yet still above thy slumber, as of old,
Thy mother watches. Sleep, thou dear one, sleep!
Closer and closer still
Nestle unto me, darling, safe from harm;
Cold, cold, is all without, and deathly chill,
Only the heart—thy mother's heart—is warm.
‘Yet there it will be cold,—
Yes, even there, my child! and, oh, how soon.
The snow drifts thickly round us—fold by fold
Around the sinking form, the weary feet
That may no longer bear us o'er the wild,
Silent and swift, a wreathèd winding-sheet
Is closely drawn: but not for thee, my child!
No, not for thee! my parting soul hath striven
With Him, the merciful—unto this hour,
Unto its love, its anguish, hath been given
A spirit of prevailing and of power;—
And I have borne it from thee! To his breast
Death folds me close as I fold thee to mine;
Cold kisses are upon my cheek—to rest,
To sleep they woo me, soft and deep as thine:
A heavy mist steals on—I feel my breath,
Drawn slowly from me; yet my love shall keep
Its watch above thee still, and thou shalt sleep,
Sleep safely, sweetly, in the arms of Death,
And wake to Life once more! Kind eyes shall weep,
And kindly hearts be troubled, when they see
The sweet unconscious smiling of thy face;
For thou wilt smile, and bear no thought of me.
Too young art thou for Grief,
Too young for Love, my child, for Memory!
Yet not less fond the last, the lingering kiss,
Yet not less fervent from the heart the prayer;
Because I know thou wilt, darling, miss
Thy mother in her fondness, in her care!
Yes, even there, my child! and, oh, how soon.
The snow drifts thickly round us—fold by fold
Around the sinking form, the weary feet
That may no longer bear us o'er the wild,
Silent and swift, a wreathèd winding-sheet
Is closely drawn: but not for thee, my child!
No, not for thee! my parting soul hath striven
With Him, the merciful—unto this hour,
Unto its love, its anguish, hath been given
A spirit of prevailing and of power;—
It is related of the Great Baber that when upon a certain time, Humaioon, his eldest son, fell dangerously ill, and all hope of his recovery was given up, it was remarked to him by one of his sages, that in such a case the Almighty had sometimes deigned to receive a man's most valuable possession as a ransom for the life of his friend. Baber thereupon exclaimed that next to the life of Humaioon, his own life was what he most valued, and that he would devote it as a sacrifice for his son. His counsellors entreated him to revoke the vow, and give the great diamond obtained at Agra, reported to be the most valuable in the world, but he persisted in declaring no jewel to be so dear as Life, and, walking three times round the body of the dying Prince, a ceremony solemnly observed in sacrifices and heave-offerings, retired, and prayed earnestly to God, and after some time was heard to say “I have borne it away, I have borne it away.” The Moslem Historians affirm that Humaioon immediately began to recover, and Baber proportionably to decline. Caldecott's Life of Baber.
Death folds me close as I fold thee to mine;
129
To sleep they woo me, soft and deep as thine:
A heavy mist steals on—I feel my breath,
Drawn slowly from me; yet my love shall keep
Its watch above thee still, and thou shalt sleep,
Sleep safely, sweetly, in the arms of Death,
And wake to Life once more! Kind eyes shall weep,
And kindly hearts be troubled, when they see
The sweet unconscious smiling of thy face;
For thou wilt smile, and bear no thought of me.
Too young art thou for Grief,
Too young for Love, my child, for Memory!
Yet not less fond the last, the lingering kiss,
Yet not less fervent from the heart the prayer;
Because I know thou wilt, darling, miss
Thy mother in her fondness, in her care!
‘But he will think of me—
Thy Father. Thou wilt grow up by his side,
And ever bring the thought of her that died
Lonely, but loving, blessing him and thee.
The flower—the flower may fall
When it hath shielded in its folded breast
The bud of promise, loveliest,
Most dear of all.
And he will not be lone
In sorrow or in joy. Thy voice shall fill
The silence of his soul with many a tone
That once was mine, and whisper to him still
Of things long past, and I shall look at him
Through thy sweet eyes—young, loving eyes, that shine
In light and tenderness when these are dim,
Shall answer his with smiles that once were mine.
Sleep, dearest! in the night
Of death thy mother's arms around thee twine
More closely, that her spirit in its flight,
May send a message of its love on thine.
Thy Father. Thou wilt grow up by his side,
And ever bring the thought of her that died
Lonely, but loving, blessing him and thee.
The flower—the flower may fall
When it hath shielded in its folded breast
The bud of promise, loveliest,
Most dear of all.
And he will not be lone
130
The silence of his soul with many a tone
That once was mine, and whisper to him still
Of things long past, and I shall look at him
Through thy sweet eyes—young, loving eyes, that shine
In light and tenderness when these are dim,
Shall answer his with smiles that once were mine.
Sleep, dearest! in the night
Of death thy mother's arms around thee twine
More closely, that her spirit in its flight,
May send a message of its love on thine.
‘The snows will melt away,
And green leaves rustle light o'er hill and plain;
Through the sweet scent of hidden waters stirred,
And the clear shining after summer rain,
The blade will spring; then on strong wing the bird
Will rise to the blue heaven, ascending slow;
The fisher will go forth upon the lake,
The hunter to the forest with his bow;
But far beyond the flight
Of Indian arrow, far beyond the ken
Of mountain eagle in his soaring might,
I shall have passed, returning not again:
These ancient Hills shall wake
Like giants from their slumber at the breath
Of Spring, and from their lofty summits shake
The icy chains of stillness and of death;
But not till they shall hear
A sound, and move in trembling from their place,
Not till the mountains and the rocks in fear
Shall flee, and leave where they have been no trace,
May I arise. O Saviour! earth and Heaven
Shall pass, but Thou endurest. Unto Thee
I yield my spirit; Father, bless Thou me!
Bless with Thy love the child that Thou hast given!’
And green leaves rustle light o'er hill and plain;
Through the sweet scent of hidden waters stirred,
And the clear shining after summer rain,
The blade will spring; then on strong wing the bird
Will rise to the blue heaven, ascending slow;
The fisher will go forth upon the lake,
The hunter to the forest with his bow;
But far beyond the flight
Of Indian arrow, far beyond the ken
Of mountain eagle in his soaring might,
I shall have passed, returning not again:
These ancient Hills shall wake
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Of Spring, and from their lofty summits shake
The icy chains of stillness and of death;
But not till they shall hear
A sound, and move in trembling from their place,
Not till the mountains and the rocks in fear
Shall flee, and leave where they have been no trace,
May I arise. O Saviour! earth and Heaven
Shall pass, but Thou endurest. Unto Thee
I yield my spirit; Father, bless Thou me!
Bless with Thy love the child that Thou hast given!’
And in that prayer her fervent spirit passed.
The deep night fell, the keen and hurrying blast
Sang her wild dirge; the straining clasp grew cold,
Yet pressed the little one with rigid hold
Still to her heart; when morning came the child
Woke peaceful in its Mother's arms and smiled.
The deep night fell, the keen and hurrying blast
Sang her wild dirge; the straining clasp grew cold,
Yet pressed the little one with rigid hold
Still to her heart; when morning came the child
Woke peaceful in its Mother's arms and smiled.
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SONG.
A soul was in each hour, that sped
So swiftly past, with Thee;
They stay not with their kindred fled,
But come again to me;
As if a sweet amends to pay
They come my heart to cheer,
When Thou art gone, because their stay
Was short when Thou wert near!
So swiftly past, with Thee;
They stay not with their kindred fled,
But come again to me;
As if a sweet amends to pay
They come my heart to cheer,
When Thou art gone, because their stay
Was short when Thou wert near!
A soul was in each flower that then
We gathered; still they blow,
And o'er me, ere I sleep, again
In sweetness come and go;
I see them not, but near me set
Their odours round me weave
A chain of happy dreams, where yet
I walk with Thee at Eve!
We gathered; still they blow,
And o'er me, ere I sleep, again
In sweetness come and go;
I see them not, but near me set
Their odours round me weave
A chain of happy dreams, where yet
I walk with Thee at Eve!
Our thoughts were like the bees, dear Friend,
That through the summer hours
Upon a widening circuit wend,
Yet never leave the flowers;
No marvel they should come again
With sweetness in their track,
To show where they were straying then
And bring the honey back!
That through the summer hours
Upon a widening circuit wend,
Yet never leave the flowers;
No marvel they should come again
With sweetness in their track,
To show where they were straying then
And bring the honey back!
133
THE LAMENT OF THE ROSE.
[_]
Founded upon a Fable of Herder's, in which the Rose is represented as complaining that, while all flowers around her alike fade and wither, she alone has been selected by mankind as the type of fragility and evanescence.
“All flowers around me fade! I see them die!
They wither from the earth, and leave no trace
To breathe the sweetness of a day gone by,
Or tell of vanished loveliness and grace!
They wither from the earth, and leave no trace
To breathe the sweetness of a day gone by,
Or tell of vanished loveliness and grace!
“This grass was thick with Vi'lets; at my feet
They sighed, with Spring, their gentle souls away:
The wind that wandered from the West was sweet,
But the bright Summer came, and where were they?
They sighed, with Spring, their gentle souls away:
The wind that wandered from the West was sweet,
But the bright Summer came, and where were they?
“Upon this mossy bank a sudden shower
Falls—with the breeze; the fragile Cystus flings
Her snows, the glory of a Summer hour
Shook down, and numbered with forgotten things.
Falls—with the breeze; the fragile Cystus flings
Her snows, the glory of a Summer hour
Shook down, and numbered with forgotten things.
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“Not she alone; the Sunflower, that above
Hath constant fixed her broad and lidless eye,
Hangs all her golden head, smit through with love,
With love that may not hope, and can but die!
Hath constant fixed her broad and lidless eye,
Hangs all her golden head, smit through with love,
With love that may not hope, and can but die!
“But e'en the Valley-Lily, from the sun
Enshrouded in her cool, dark, glossy leaf,
Hath withered there in silence, like a nun
That folds her veil above some hidden grief.
Enshrouded in her cool, dark, glossy leaf,
Hath withered there in silence, like a nun
That folds her veil above some hidden grief.
“Mourn not, sweet children! even I, your Queen,
Hath felt a thrill, the presage of decay,
Steal through my leaves—the Being, that hath been
A dream of blessedness, must pass away!
Hath felt a thrill, the presage of decay,
Steal through my leaves—the Being, that hath been
A dream of blessedness, must pass away!
“We have one Destiny, one Lord, the Sun;
We feel our souls drawn from us thro' the kiss
That woke us first from nothing: one by one
We offer up our lives, a death of bliss.
We feel our souls drawn from us thro' the kiss
That woke us first from nothing: one by one
We offer up our lives, a death of bliss.
“But ye, unthinking race, for whom I strove
All beauty, sweetness, into one to blend,
To shed around your path the light of love;
How have ye dealt with her that was your friend?
All beauty, sweetness, into one to blend,
To shed around your path the light of love;
How have ye dealt with her that was your friend?
141
“Ye look upon me—little doth avail
The hue that trembling to my heart-leaf glows;
With me ye number all things fleet and frail;
Ye say ‘the vanishing, the fading Rose!’
The hue that trembling to my heart-leaf glows;
With me ye number all things fleet and frail;
Ye say ‘the vanishing, the fading Rose!’
“And yet my brief, my transitory stay
Was long enough to bless you with its breath;
Yours was the gentle glory of my day,
My after-sweetness lingering in death.”
Was long enough to bless you with its breath;
Yours was the gentle glory of my day,
My after-sweetness lingering in death.”
A maiden, passing, hearkened to the Flower;
She wore the summer rose, but in her eyes
Abode the light of many a thoughtful hour,—
The dewy light of tender memories.
She wore the summer rose, but in her eyes
Abode the light of many a thoughtful hour,—
The dewy light of tender memories.
“Chide not, sweet Rose,” she said, “all flow'rets die;
The dews weep o'er them, but we make no moan;
They have fulfilled their gentle destiny,—
Lived out their happy life, and they are gone.
The dews weep o'er them, but we make no moan;
They have fulfilled their gentle destiny,—
Lived out their happy life, and they are gone.
“But thou, their Queen, we mourn thy fleeting stay;
In that we treasure thee thy peers above;
The fairest, dearest, would we keep alwày,
And wish thy Beauty changeless as our Love!
In that we treasure thee thy peers above;
The fairest, dearest, would we keep alwày,
And wish thy Beauty changeless as our Love!
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“Yet more! we link, we cherish with thy smile
The thought of vanished loveliness and grace,
That blest us with their sweetness for a while,
Then pass'd away from earth and left no trace;
The thought of vanished loveliness and grace,
That blest us with their sweetness for a while,
Then pass'd away from earth and left no trace;
“Sweet flower! we see the Rose of Life decay,
The leaves of Youth, of Hope, of Gladness close,
And fall like thine to earth. Yes! then we say—
‘Alas! the fair, the quickly-fading Rose!’”
The leaves of Youth, of Hope, of Gladness close,
And fall like thine to earth. Yes! then we say—
‘Alas! the fair, the quickly-fading Rose!’”
143
LORD RONALD.
I. [PART I.]
Now must you think of me as One
That in a castle hall,
While ruddy glows the blazing hearth
In spite of curfew-call,
And the broad fire-light flickers free
Upon the shield-hung wall,
Sits harping there, to steel-clad knights
And ladies fair and gay;
While further back stand yeomen tall
And old retainers, gray,
With grave and listening faces, all
Intent upon his lay;
For of the noble Ronald
I sing, and now my rhyme
Tells of far other days than these,
And of the olden time.
The good old time, the brave old time
Men call it, but I ween
That better times than these of ours
Or braver, have not been;
With stainless souls among us yet
That wear the Ermine's white,
Where strength and gentleness are met
As once in faithful Knight
With many a heart that yet can feel
As Ronald's did, the Love
That sets the loved one's wish and weal
Its proper joy above;
Yet needs the human mind to look
Unto a Golden Age,
And further back in Life's great Book
Will ever turn the page,
In haste to breathe a fresher air,
An atmosphere serene,
Remembering only present care,
Forgetting what hath been,
Forgetting all its childish tears
And all its after sighs,
How swift across the gulf of years
The time-worn spirit flies!
So fondly to the World's first Youth
As to those earlier days,
For tales of lealty and truth
It turns with love and praise.
That in a castle hall,
While ruddy glows the blazing hearth
In spite of curfew-call,
And the broad fire-light flickers free
Upon the shield-hung wall,
Sits harping there, to steel-clad knights
And ladies fair and gay;
While further back stand yeomen tall
And old retainers, gray,
With grave and listening faces, all
Intent upon his lay;
For of the noble Ronald
I sing, and now my rhyme
Tells of far other days than these,
And of the olden time.
The good old time, the brave old time
Men call it, but I ween
That better times than these of ours
Or braver, have not been;
With stainless souls among us yet
That wear the Ermine's white,
144
As once in faithful Knight
With many a heart that yet can feel
As Ronald's did, the Love
That sets the loved one's wish and weal
Its proper joy above;
Yet needs the human mind to look
Unto a Golden Age,
And further back in Life's great Book
Will ever turn the page,
In haste to breathe a fresher air,
An atmosphere serene,
Remembering only present care,
Forgetting what hath been,
Forgetting all its childish tears
And all its after sighs,
How swift across the gulf of years
The time-worn spirit flies!
So fondly to the World's first Youth
As to those earlier days,
For tales of lealty and truth
It turns with love and praise.
“Fair fall Lord Ronald”
The warder sung out loud,
As Ronald passed beneath the gate
Upon his charger proud;
And greeting him upon his way,
Let him ride north or south,
“Fair fall Lord Ronald”
Was heard from every mouth;
Old men that dozed before the fire
Came hobbling to the door,
And women held their children higher
To have one look the more,
And the stout smith left the blazing brand
And flung his hammer down,
As Ronald of the Open Hand
Rode slowly up the town.
“Fair fall the noble Ronald,”
Let him ride east or west,
How fast unto his slightest beck
The thronging vassals prest;
Some for Lord Ronald's gifts the while
Were fain to be his thrall,
And some that thought Lord Ronald's smile
Was a better gift than all;
But were it for his noble heart,
Or were it for his purse,
There was none e'er followed Ronald
That ever was the worse;
And still the more he flung away,
The more was his to fling;
Above his fields a summer's day
The bird might tire its wing;
There was no Lord in all the land
So great or rich as he,
Still may the free and open hand
Be filled as full and free!
Some said it was the widow's prayer
That followed him with peace,
And the blessing of the fatherless
That wrought him such increase;
For Ronald's hand so strong in fight
(And this was in the time—
The wild old time when might made right)
Was never stained with crime;
And men around were wont to say,
When friends were cold and slow,
That better worth than such as they
Were Ronald as a foe;
He had but one word for his foes,
“Strike not the fallen, spare;”
But one word for his friends at close
Of fight, and that was “share.”
“But what hast thou, Lord Ronald?”
They spake to him one day,
“What hast thou kept unto thyself,
That thou givest all away?”
The warder sung out loud,
As Ronald passed beneath the gate
Upon his charger proud;
145
Let him ride north or south,
“Fair fall Lord Ronald”
Was heard from every mouth;
Old men that dozed before the fire
Came hobbling to the door,
And women held their children higher
To have one look the more,
And the stout smith left the blazing brand
And flung his hammer down,
As Ronald of the Open Hand
Rode slowly up the town.
“Fair fall the noble Ronald,”
Let him ride east or west,
How fast unto his slightest beck
The thronging vassals prest;
Some for Lord Ronald's gifts the while
Were fain to be his thrall,
And some that thought Lord Ronald's smile
Was a better gift than all;
But were it for his noble heart,
Or were it for his purse,
There was none e'er followed Ronald
That ever was the worse;
And still the more he flung away,
The more was his to fling;
146
The bird might tire its wing;
There was no Lord in all the land
So great or rich as he,
Still may the free and open hand
Be filled as full and free!
Some said it was the widow's prayer
That followed him with peace,
And the blessing of the fatherless
That wrought him such increase;
For Ronald's hand so strong in fight
(And this was in the time—
The wild old time when might made right)
Was never stained with crime;
And men around were wont to say,
When friends were cold and slow,
That better worth than such as they
Were Ronald as a foe;
He had but one word for his foes,
“Strike not the fallen, spare;”
But one word for his friends at close
Of fight, and that was “share.”
“But what hast thou, Lord Ronald?”
They spake to him one day,
“What hast thou kept unto thyself,
That thou givest all away?”
147
Then he made answer with a smile
And with a merry jest,
“Nay! ill it were I should outshare
Myself, among the rest;
Free hand can still hold close enough
The thing it prizes best.”
But what doth Ronald prize the best?
He gave his golden chain
For a minstrel's crying “Largesse,”
And singing of a strain;
He gave his cloak, with miniver
Set round with many a fold
Unto a beggar by the way,
To keep him from the cold;
To friend or follower he gave
His gallant red roan steed,
His true and tried Toledo blade
That hath served him well at need;
His merlin with the silver bells
That took the boldest flight,
And the good shirt of Milan steel
That saved him once in fight;
And none dared look on aught of his
And call it brave or fine,
For the next word that Ronald spoke
Was ever “it is thine;”
What was it then Lord Ronald prized
So far above the rest,
That still unto himself he kept
The thing he loved the best?
And with a merry jest,
“Nay! ill it were I should outshare
Myself, among the rest;
Free hand can still hold close enough
The thing it prizes best.”
But what doth Ronald prize the best?
He gave his golden chain
For a minstrel's crying “Largesse,”
And singing of a strain;
He gave his cloak, with miniver
Set round with many a fold
Unto a beggar by the way,
To keep him from the cold;
To friend or follower he gave
His gallant red roan steed,
His true and tried Toledo blade
That hath served him well at need;
His merlin with the silver bells
That took the boldest flight,
And the good shirt of Milan steel
That saved him once in fight;
And none dared look on aught of his
And call it brave or fine,
For the next word that Ronald spoke
Was ever “it is thine;”
148
So far above the rest,
That still unto himself he kept
The thing he loved the best?
II. PART II.
An ancient woman sat alone
At nightfall, with her look
Fixed on the fire, as if she read
Its embers like a book;
Her hands were folded on her knee,
Long had they ceased to twine
The filmy flax-threads from the reel
With finger sure and fine;
Her face was set; an ice-bound lake
Wears not a stiller look,
Unstirred by current from beneath,
By passing breeze unshook,
So passionless, it seemed a mould
By Death already cast,
When sudden over it a gleam
Of wintry sunshine past,
And o'er her faded features spread
A flush of joy and pride,
To hear Lord Ronald's stately tread
And see him at her side.
“Welcome unto these failing eyes!
Thy first looks were on me—
Thy nurse, that stilled thy infant cries,
And soothed thee on my knee.
And may mine, Lord Ronald, ere I die,
Be turned the last on thee:
Then she arose and kissed his hand,
And laid it reverently
Upon her heart, “what seeks my son
At such an hour with me?”
At nightfall, with her look
Fixed on the fire, as if she read
Its embers like a book;
Her hands were folded on her knee,
Long had they ceased to twine
The filmy flax-threads from the reel
With finger sure and fine;
Her face was set; an ice-bound lake
Wears not a stiller look,
Unstirred by current from beneath,
By passing breeze unshook,
So passionless, it seemed a mould
By Death already cast,
When sudden over it a gleam
Of wintry sunshine past,
And o'er her faded features spread
A flush of joy and pride,
149
And see him at her side.
“Welcome unto these failing eyes!
Thy first looks were on me—
Thy nurse, that stilled thy infant cries,
And soothed thee on my knee.
And may mine, Lord Ronald, ere I die,
Be turned the last on thee:
Then she arose and kissed his hand,
And laid it reverently
Upon her heart, “what seeks my son
At such an hour with me?”
Then Ronald leant his thoughtful brow
Upon his hand; his eyes
Were fixed on hers; “I know that thou
Art true, and count thee wise;
Yet hold not with the churls” he said
And smiled, “that thou hast riven
From spirits of the air or deep
The hidden things of Heaven;
And yet I seek thee, for I deem
Thou hast a surer key
Of things on earth, that are or seem
To pierce the mystery.”
She smiled, but sadly; “true, my son,
No wizard page I turn,
But one whose deep and hidden lore
Is full as hard to learn;
They that with spirits in their hour
Have striven, still with pain
Have paid for mastery and power,
With loss for every gain;
Even so, my son, a heavy weird
Lies on them, that through strife,
And weariness, and loss, have wrung
The secret out of Life!”
Upon his hand; his eyes
Were fixed on hers; “I know that thou
Art true, and count thee wise;
Yet hold not with the churls” he said
And smiled, “that thou hast riven
From spirits of the air or deep
The hidden things of Heaven;
And yet I seek thee, for I deem
Thou hast a surer key
Of things on earth, that are or seem
To pierce the mystery.”
She smiled, but sadly; “true, my son,
150
But one whose deep and hidden lore
Is full as hard to learn;
They that with spirits in their hour
Have striven, still with pain
Have paid for mastery and power,
With loss for every gain;
Even so, my son, a heavy weird
Lies on them, that through strife,
And weariness, and loss, have wrung
The secret out of Life!”
Lord Ronald mused again, then spoke,
“Thou knowest me, the rest
Deem still, that with all else I share
The heart within my breast;
Because I was not born to look
On woe or weal unmoved,
And many are there I have served—
Yet two that I have loved,
Henry and Sybil; nay, perchance
They also have not guessed
That they alone of all the world
Are folded in my breast,
And also deem of me as one
Who loveth none the best;
For all too seldom doth the heart
Win back its measure just,
Too seldom wins the perfect love,
The free and perfect trust;
All is not as it used to be
With Sybil; she doth fold
Her thoughts from me; I read them not,
But feel that still untold
Hath something come between us two,
That never was of old;
I ever thought she loved me well;
Nay! she doth love me! still
The heart can love but to its power,
And not unto its will;
Its wealth is not for prizing set,
Its gifts must still be free,
Well saith the Maker,
“Never, yet,
Bent Love to Mastery.”
Mother! my speech is but my thought,
And both are rude and plain,
I cannot sing to ladies' eyes
In Minnesinger's strain;
But this I know, it is not Love
That strives not to its best,
All other earthly aims above
To make the loved one blest.
Ye need but give a beggar gold
If ye would see him gay,
Or give a child its toy to hold,
Ye cannot miss the way;
But with the heart 'tis not like these,
And ye must let it chuse,
(If ye would give it joy or ease)
To have or to refuse;
What skills it all that mine could give
For Sybil, when, perchance,
More power to gladden her's may live
Within a stranger's glance!”
“Thou knowest me, the rest
Deem still, that with all else I share
The heart within my breast;
Because I was not born to look
On woe or weal unmoved,
And many are there I have served—
Yet two that I have loved,
Henry and Sybil; nay, perchance
They also have not guessed
That they alone of all the world
Are folded in my breast,
151
Who loveth none the best;
For all too seldom doth the heart
Win back its measure just,
Too seldom wins the perfect love,
The free and perfect trust;
All is not as it used to be
With Sybil; she doth fold
Her thoughts from me; I read them not,
But feel that still untold
Hath something come between us two,
That never was of old;
I ever thought she loved me well;
Nay! she doth love me! still
The heart can love but to its power,
And not unto its will;
Its wealth is not for prizing set,
Its gifts must still be free,
Well saith the Maker,
“Never, yet,
Bent Love to Mastery.”
Mother! my speech is but my thought,
And both are rude and plain,
I cannot sing to ladies' eyes
In Minnesinger's strain;
But this I know, it is not Love
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All other earthly aims above
To make the loved one blest.
Ye need but give a beggar gold
If ye would see him gay,
Or give a child its toy to hold,
Ye cannot miss the way;
But with the heart 'tis not like these,
And ye must let it chuse,
(If ye would give it joy or ease)
To have or to refuse;
What skills it all that mine could give
For Sybil, when, perchance,
More power to gladden her's may live
Within a stranger's glance!”
He fixed upon that aged face
A troubled eye, that sought
E'en while it dreaded, there to trace
The answer to his thought;
Her pale lips trembled; to herself
She muttered low and weak,
“Nay! never yet hath Truth wrought ill,
Though it were hard to speak,”
Then spreading forth her withered hands,
She spake full solemnly,
“It has been thine through life, my son,
To draw Love after thee!
May the best blessing thou hast won,
And may the truest prayer
That ever rose for thee to Heaven,
And met together there,
Be with thee now, and come betwixt
Thy spirit and Despair.”
Then with a feeble step and slow
She rose, and in his ear,
She whispered for a moment low,
Though none were by to hear;
Lord Ronald covered up his face;
He spoke no word, I trow,
But one that from his heaving breast
Burst “Thou, and even Thou.”
And when he raised his brow a mark
That was not there before
Was set, and something from his look
Was gone, that came no more;
And at his heart there was a thought
That left it not; I wis;
“Would it had been an enemy,
Whose hand had wrought me this!”
A troubled eye, that sought
E'en while it dreaded, there to trace
The answer to his thought;
Her pale lips trembled; to herself
She muttered low and weak,
“Nay! never yet hath Truth wrought ill,
Though it were hard to speak,”
Then spreading forth her withered hands,
She spake full solemnly,
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To draw Love after thee!
May the best blessing thou hast won,
And may the truest prayer
That ever rose for thee to Heaven,
And met together there,
Be with thee now, and come betwixt
Thy spirit and Despair.”
Then with a feeble step and slow
She rose, and in his ear,
She whispered for a moment low,
Though none were by to hear;
Lord Ronald covered up his face;
He spoke no word, I trow,
But one that from his heaving breast
Burst “Thou, and even Thou.”
And when he raised his brow a mark
That was not there before
Was set, and something from his look
Was gone, that came no more;
And at his heart there was a thought
That left it not; I wis;
“Would it had been an enemy,
Whose hand had wrought me this!”
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III. PART III.
Within the tangled wood-walks deep,The flowers are drenched with dew
So thick, and overweighed with sleep
So heavily, that few
As slowly, gorgeously the sun
Breaks through a golden mist,
Have held as yet their drooping heads
Up to him to be kissed;
Oh! sweet the breath of summer morn,
Let it meet us where it will,
Sweet as the silence of a Thought
That words may never fill,
The freshness of its unworn smile
So joyous, yet so still!
Lord Ronald from his castle wall
Gazed down the grassy steep,
And saw beneath him smooth and wide
The level Champaign sweep;
On the broad river here and there
Flung like a silver snake,
On many a farm and homestead fair
He marked the sunrise break;
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To tell them o'er, yet sighed,
As if some thought awoke within
That was not kin to pride:
And, pausing suddenly, he called
To one that passed below,
“Ha Brother! thou art early forth
With dawn, to track the roe!
Come up, for I would speak with thee;
Trust me, thou shalt not rue,
Though I should keep thee till the sun
Drinks from the grass the dew.”
Then lightly Henry climbed the steep,
And answered gay and free,
“Fair brother, little worth were I
To grudge an hour to thee,
From the best quarry that e'er yet
Spread out a lure for me.”
“Brother,” said Ronald, as he looked
On Henry's beaming brow,
“Stand here with me awhile, and gaze
Where I am gazing now;
All, all is thine by lea and wold,
All is thine own, for me
(So aid me Heaven) from Paynim hold
The blessed shrine to free
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A vow upon me lies;”
For Henry broke upon his speech
With passion and surprise,
“Let them go to the Holy Wars,
The hard of heart, that leave
No soul of all that call them Lord,
That after them will grieve;
The fierce of hand, for whose red sins
Stern penance may retrieve;
But far be such a thought from thee,
Whom all men love and bless,
Foul wrong it were that thou shouldst go
And leave them fatherless,
That wait and follow on thy hand
For succour and redress.”
“Brother, I treasure up thy love,
Although thy words are lost;
Bethink thee, well my soul ere this
Hath reckoned up the cost;
Still have I striven for right, yet now
The times are wild and rude—
Hard for a man at every hour
To do the thing he would;
Hard, hard, to keep the spirit pure,
The hand unstained with blood!
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(As Holy Gospels tell)
Heaven's boon and mercy more than they
Of whom all men speak well;
For there are thoughts that in the heart
Awake as if from sleep,
Unknown to any but the Eye
That looks upon that Deep.
Enough—rule thou for me, and be
Still to the vassals kind,
That they may never bring their Lord
Too sadly unto mind;
And let the ancient feuds die out;
Trust me, enough of strife,
Enough, without our own unrest
Is laid upon our Life;
Keep up the House's ancient name
And live in bounty free,
Keep all, dear brother, till I come
And ask it back of thee!”
But quick spoke Henry, “Gladly now
I share in what is thine,
But little joy if thou wert gone
To have it all for mine;
I love not gifts so well, for them
The Giver to resign!
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That ever wert so kind,
That thou canst turn from all things loved,
And shake them from thy mind,
As lightly as the thistle's down
Is lifted by the wind;
If all the old love waxes cold
For brother or for thrall,
Yet is there one that used of old
To be more dear than all.
And Sybil—doubtest thou my love
For Sybil? since the hour
When the good knight, her father, fell,
And from the leagured tower
I bore her in these arms through flame
And sword, from foeman's power,
Safe have I shielded her from harm
And nursed her as a flower,
But not to wander far away
And leave her at the last,
Had I not known her horoscope
'Mid happier stars was cast;
Soon in its brighter lines will merge
All traces of the past!
I think she loves thee well, and thou—
Nay! strive not yet to keep
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Like Murder, e'en in Sleep.
Thyself must woo and win—for me
I cannot aid, though fain,”
He said and smiled, “on maiden's heart
Small hold hath Suzerain!”
But Henry's dark eye flashed; he stood
Uncertain; seldom given
To mortal heart to hear the gates
Roll back that bar its Heaven,
And still it pauses o'er their sound
As doubtful of its bliss;
At length he bent his knee to ground
His brother's hand to kiss,
“For much my soul to thine was bound
But ne'er for aught like this!”
IV. PART IV.
Ring softly out, sweet chapel bells,
Upon the summer air,
Ring softly, for the bridal dawn
O'er Heaven is breaking fair,
The bride is blushing like a rose
And the wedding guests are there;
And in Lord Ronald's castle
Is feasting high and free,
Thrice welcome all that will to share
Its cheer and revelry:
“There is no hand like Ronald's,”
So sang the minstrels all,
“There is no eye like Ronald's
To light up bower or hall;
There is no smile like Ronald's
Though now it is not gay,
The sunshine will be off our souls
When once it is away;
Strike high the merry harps; let none
Undrained the wine-cup leave;
Speed, Ronald, speed! when Thou art gone
Is time enough to grieve!”
Upon the summer air,
Ring softly, for the bridal dawn
O'er Heaven is breaking fair,
The bride is blushing like a rose
And the wedding guests are there;
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Is feasting high and free,
Thrice welcome all that will to share
Its cheer and revelry:
“There is no hand like Ronald's,”
So sang the minstrels all,
“There is no eye like Ronald's
To light up bower or hall;
There is no smile like Ronald's
Though now it is not gay,
The sunshine will be off our souls
When once it is away;
Strike high the merry harps; let none
Undrained the wine-cup leave;
Speed, Ronald, speed! when Thou art gone
Is time enough to grieve!”
“There is no smile like Ronald's,”
The truest, tenderest heart
That keenest feels the wound, can still
The best abide the smart;
There is no smile like Ronald's,
Although his lip be wan,—
Slow spake the Priest, “Who giveth now
This woman to this man?”
“I,” said Lord Ronald, in his own
Her lily hand he took
But let it fall again, it seemed
As then his spirit shook
'Twixt life and death, so wild his eye,
So ashen grew his look;
“Look to the noble Ronald,
He falls;” but swift and fain
The quick blood mustered to his cheek,
“'Twas but a sudden pain”
He said, and slowly raised his hand
To take the Bride's again;
But in the set, stern tones, that none
May hear and disallow,
Broke Henry in “Forbear, let all
Withdraw—sweet bride and thou—
This is no place for thee! look well
Unto her;” with a sign
He bade them hence; “Now, Brother, none
Betwixt my soul and thine
Shall come but God! the dead beneath,
The holy Heavens above,
These will not come to trouble truth
Or stand between our Love;
Take back thy fatal gift! for me
All joy in it is lost;
The price of blood is on it, now
That I have learnt its cost!
I would not seek to build my bower
With wrecks of ocean wave,
Or wear upon my breast the flower
That grew upon a grave;
Take back thy fatal gift; for me
More cold than spectre-kiss
Would ever come the thought of thee
Betwixt me and my bliss;
Would, brother, that thy soul had dealt
More true with mine in this!
I never sought for Sybil's love,
My own was still unspoken,
It asked not, gave not, ever sign
In word, or outward token,
Until thou saidest “She is thine.”
Then all at once the strife
Was over, and at last it breathed
The happy breath of life;
My heart was fond and credulous,
Thy light words made it err,
Fool, fool, to deem that any thus
Unmoved, could part with her!
Still “Ronald of the open hand”
Thy vassals cry with pride,
Let them not say, “He gave away
All, even to his Bride.”
Let me go to the wars, if thus
I may my spirit shrive
Of having pained the noblest heart,
The truest one alive!”
The truest, tenderest heart
That keenest feels the wound, can still
The best abide the smart;
There is no smile like Ronald's,
Although his lip be wan,—
Slow spake the Priest, “Who giveth now
This woman to this man?”
“I,” said Lord Ronald, in his own
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But let it fall again, it seemed
As then his spirit shook
'Twixt life and death, so wild his eye,
So ashen grew his look;
“Look to the noble Ronald,
He falls;” but swift and fain
The quick blood mustered to his cheek,
“'Twas but a sudden pain”
He said, and slowly raised his hand
To take the Bride's again;
But in the set, stern tones, that none
May hear and disallow,
Broke Henry in “Forbear, let all
Withdraw—sweet bride and thou—
This is no place for thee! look well
Unto her;” with a sign
He bade them hence; “Now, Brother, none
Betwixt my soul and thine
Shall come but God! the dead beneath,
The holy Heavens above,
These will not come to trouble truth
Or stand between our Love;
Take back thy fatal gift! for me
All joy in it is lost;
The price of blood is on it, now
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I would not seek to build my bower
With wrecks of ocean wave,
Or wear upon my breast the flower
That grew upon a grave;
Take back thy fatal gift; for me
More cold than spectre-kiss
Would ever come the thought of thee
Betwixt me and my bliss;
Would, brother, that thy soul had dealt
More true with mine in this!
I never sought for Sybil's love,
My own was still unspoken,
It asked not, gave not, ever sign
In word, or outward token,
Until thou saidest “She is thine.”
Then all at once the strife
Was over, and at last it breathed
The happy breath of life;
My heart was fond and credulous,
Thy light words made it err,
Fool, fool, to deem that any thus
Unmoved, could part with her!
Still “Ronald of the open hand”
Thy vassals cry with pride,
Let them not say, “He gave away
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Let me go to the wars, if thus
I may my spirit shrive
Of having pained the noblest heart,
The truest one alive!”
Then Ronald strained him to his breast,
And from his clear blue eye
There looked a light that told of rest
That comes through mastery;
And on his lip there was a smile,
And in his voice a tone
That was not joy, yet something more
Than it hath ever known;
“Grieve not for me, dear brother, would
That now my lip could drain
For ever from thy earthly cup
The lingering taste of pain;
Yet weak is mortal power to bless,
Though strong is human love;
The gifts that have no bitterness
Are only from above!
Grieve not for hurt of mine; I find
Thy brother-heart was true,
The poison now is drawn, the wound
Will not bleed forth anew;
Two are there I have loved on earth,
They love me, they are blest;
Still, still unto myself I keep
The thing I prize the best!”
And from his clear blue eye
There looked a light that told of rest
That comes through mastery;
And on his lip there was a smile,
And in his voice a tone
That was not joy, yet something more
Than it hath ever known;
“Grieve not for me, dear brother, would
That now my lip could drain
For ever from thy earthly cup
The lingering taste of pain;
Yet weak is mortal power to bless,
Though strong is human love;
The gifts that have no bitterness
Are only from above!
Grieve not for hurt of mine; I find
Thy brother-heart was true,
The poison now is drawn, the wound
Will not bleed forth anew;
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They love me, they are blest;
Still, still unto myself I keep
The thing I prize the best!”
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THE LITTLE SISTER.
I. [PART I.]Summer.
My sister raised me to the bed, my mother solemnly
Rested her hand upon my head, in silence, I could see
Her eyes were raised to Heaven; at last she spoke, but not to me,
“Poor child! thy Father yet will find a blessing left for thee:”
Then turning unto Amy said, “to Thee, though yet so young,
I leave a legacy of Love,” the words upon her tongue
Failed, yet a look told all the rest, and Amy wept, and clung
About her neck, and kissed her then so fondly and so fast,
I only heard a murmured sound of blessing to the last,
And she was gone; yet surely then her spirit as it past
Breathed all its love on Amy's soul, and lives in it again,
For she has been the mother to me I lost, yet lost not then!
Rested her hand upon my head, in silence, I could see
Her eyes were raised to Heaven; at last she spoke, but not to me,
“Poor child! thy Father yet will find a blessing left for thee:”
Then turning unto Amy said, “to Thee, though yet so young,
I leave a legacy of Love,” the words upon her tongue
Failed, yet a look told all the rest, and Amy wept, and clung
About her neck, and kissed her then so fondly and so fast,
I only heard a murmured sound of blessing to the last,
And she was gone; yet surely then her spirit as it past
Breathed all its love on Amy's soul, and lives in it again,
For she has been the mother to me I lost, yet lost not then!
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And every one is kind to me, but sometimes they forget
Because I have been ill so long, but Amy never yet
Forgot me, and I often think that seeing her so kind
Makes all the others kinder still, and keeps it in their mind,
And oft she jests with me, and says, that still as we begun,
Five years before me, all through life she will smoothe the path we run;
She thinks of me, let her ever be so busy or so gay,
And happy she must be that has so much to give away;
It seems as if her joyous heart took in a double share
Of all the gladness of the world, the more to have to spare;
And every one is wanting her, that is their joy and pride,
But still she says her happiest days are those that side by side
We spend together; far beneath the Castle where we dwell
Sinks deep, and low, and sudden down, a rocky, woody dell;
It seems as if, by chasm rift, the Earth had flung in there,
In haste to fill the yawning gap, all goodly things and rare,
For I never saw a place so wild, so lonely, or so fair,
I never heard the sweet birds sing so loud as they do there,
Calling each other, morn and eve, across the narrow glen,
As if they sung “joy,” only “joy” a hundred times again,
And all except their song is hushed; the wind that hath its will
O'er all without, can never find its way within the Ghyll,
And only rocks the tall tree tops while all beneath is still;
And there at evening lingeringly, the golden sunbeams stray
All up and down the grassy slopes, and seem to lose their way
Among the trees, till every bole is touched with ruddy light,
And all the pebbles in the brook are flashing wet and bright;
The brook that through the sultry day, with waters clear and brown,
From rocky shelving ledge to ledge, still slips and gurgles down,
And chafes and murmurs round about broad burdock leaves outspread,
And great stones slippery with moss that choke its shingly bed,
Till every here and there awhile for quietness makes stay
In dark, deep hollows of a hand that holds it on its way,
Where all things that are glossy-smooth and moist, and green and cool,
Drip from the overhanging rock and cluster round the pool,
And forth from ev'ry crevice and cleft peep lovely plants and rare,
As if they were some costly theft half thrust for hiding there,
That Earth would keep unto herself because they are so fair,
For never, save in such fairy-nooks they flourish anywhere!
Because I have been ill so long, but Amy never yet
Forgot me, and I often think that seeing her so kind
Makes all the others kinder still, and keeps it in their mind,
And oft she jests with me, and says, that still as we begun,
Five years before me, all through life she will smoothe the path we run;
She thinks of me, let her ever be so busy or so gay,
And happy she must be that has so much to give away;
It seems as if her joyous heart took in a double share
Of all the gladness of the world, the more to have to spare;
And every one is wanting her, that is their joy and pride,
But still she says her happiest days are those that side by side
We spend together; far beneath the Castle where we dwell
Sinks deep, and low, and sudden down, a rocky, woody dell;
It seems as if, by chasm rift, the Earth had flung in there,
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For I never saw a place so wild, so lonely, or so fair,
I never heard the sweet birds sing so loud as they do there,
Calling each other, morn and eve, across the narrow glen,
As if they sung “joy,” only “joy” a hundred times again,
And all except their song is hushed; the wind that hath its will
O'er all without, can never find its way within the Ghyll,
And only rocks the tall tree tops while all beneath is still;
And there at evening lingeringly, the golden sunbeams stray
All up and down the grassy slopes, and seem to lose their way
Among the trees, till every bole is touched with ruddy light,
And all the pebbles in the brook are flashing wet and bright;
The brook that through the sultry day, with waters clear and brown,
From rocky shelving ledge to ledge, still slips and gurgles down,
168
And great stones slippery with moss that choke its shingly bed,
Till every here and there awhile for quietness makes stay
In dark, deep hollows of a hand that holds it on its way,
Where all things that are glossy-smooth and moist, and green and cool,
Drip from the overhanging rock and cluster round the pool,
And forth from ev'ry crevice and cleft peep lovely plants and rare,
As if they were some costly theft half thrust for hiding there,
That Earth would keep unto herself because they are so fair,
For never, save in such fairy-nooks they flourish anywhere!
Not far from this a ferny bank uprises in the dell,
With thick dry heath o'ergrown, and moss that seems to heave and swell
Unto the touch, and fox-gloves wave o'er all with crimson bell:
Here Amy has me brought, and here through half the summer day
We sit and talk, or oftener dream the quiet hours away;
And, lying in the shadow, mark the dark leaves glistening bright
Shoot up and flash in elfin spears and javelins of light,
Or listen to the wordless song, the story without end,
That summer woods through all their leaves, and falling waters, send;
Till sometimes Amy will arise and up and down the brook,
Flit light from stone to stone, and peer within each leafy nook,
Or diving 'mid the boughs, awhile I see her not, but hear
Her singing loud behind their screen to show me she is near.
One day we marked some flowers that grew so high upon the rock,
“They feel themselves so safe” I said, “they look as if to mock
And shake their little heads at us”—“but I will tame their pride
And take them in their very nest;” then Amy laughing, cried,
And up the rock with light sure step she sprung, and ever higher
Kept clambering up the slippery stair, and held by bush and brier,
Until at last the summit gained, she clapped her hands, and flung
The flowers down to me, and stamped her little foot, and sung
Till all the woody vale awoke its echoes to prolong
The song that floated o'er its depths, the sweet and self-same song,
“Joy, only joy,” that all the birds had sung in it so long,—
And singing all the way she came, once more she neared the ground,
But now with slower step, and ere she took her last light bound,
To stay herself a moment's space, she clasped a birchen tree
That grew upon the rock, and waved her other hand to me;
When she stopped singing all at once, and o'er her face a look
Passed, as if then some sudden blame unto her heart she took,
And when she reached me where I sat, she spoke not for awhile,
But turned her head, and when again she raised her eyes, the smile
Was only on her lip; I saw that all its glee was gone,
And when at last she spoke 'twas not of what she thought upon;
With thick dry heath o'ergrown, and moss that seems to heave and swell
Unto the touch, and fox-gloves wave o'er all with crimson bell:
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We sit and talk, or oftener dream the quiet hours away;
And, lying in the shadow, mark the dark leaves glistening bright
Shoot up and flash in elfin spears and javelins of light,
Or listen to the wordless song, the story without end,
That summer woods through all their leaves, and falling waters, send;
Till sometimes Amy will arise and up and down the brook,
Flit light from stone to stone, and peer within each leafy nook,
Or diving 'mid the boughs, awhile I see her not, but hear
Her singing loud behind their screen to show me she is near.
One day we marked some flowers that grew so high upon the rock,
“They feel themselves so safe” I said, “they look as if to mock
And shake their little heads at us”—“but I will tame their pride
And take them in their very nest;” then Amy laughing, cried,
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Kept clambering up the slippery stair, and held by bush and brier,
Until at last the summit gained, she clapped her hands, and flung
The flowers down to me, and stamped her little foot, and sung
Till all the woody vale awoke its echoes to prolong
The song that floated o'er its depths, the sweet and self-same song,
“Joy, only joy,” that all the birds had sung in it so long,—
And singing all the way she came, once more she neared the ground,
But now with slower step, and ere she took her last light bound,
To stay herself a moment's space, she clasped a birchen tree
That grew upon the rock, and waved her other hand to me;
When she stopped singing all at once, and o'er her face a look
Passed, as if then some sudden blame unto her heart she took,
And when she reached me where I sat, she spoke not for awhile,
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Was only on her lip; I saw that all its glee was gone,
And when at last she spoke 'twas not of what she thought upon;
And I made answer lightly too, but silent and untold
Was something drawn between us then that loosens not its hold,
And oft I think within myself, sweet sister, could you see
This heart of mine that loves you so, you would never grieve for me!
Was something drawn between us then that loosens not its hold,
And oft I think within myself, sweet sister, could you see
This heart of mine that loves you so, you would never grieve for me!
II. PART II. Winter.
When Amy was a child, our old, fond nurse, would say that she
Was the fairest flower of the flock, best apple on the tree;
And still as she grew up, at home we knew that she was fair,
But seldom thought of it because we saw her always there;
So, when we came to Town, almost it took us by surprise
To learn how beautiful she was through other people's eyes,
For all eyes turned to follow Her that still so little guessed
The secret, that she oft has turned, unconscious, with the rest
To see what beauteous form drew near; for many, bright and gay
Are there, yet none like Amy (so at least I hear them say)
That move with such an untrained grace, and bear upon their looks
The freshness of the breezes light, and sunny, singing brooks,
As if the wild, free, harmless things by stream and wood and hill,
That had her to themselves so long, played light about her still;
It is, they say, as when you meet in crowded thorough-fare,
Some sight or scent that o'er you brings a breath of country air,
With the hay-fields and the corn-fields, and the sweetness only there.
I watch her from my window now, I look down through the park
To see her come in from her ride before the day grows dark,
And she looks up to meet my eye and waves her hand to me,
As when upon the slippery rock, she held the birchen tree,
And springs to earth as light and free, as if her footstep fell
Still on the soft, dry, springing moss and purple heather-bell!
Was the fairest flower of the flock, best apple on the tree;
And still as she grew up, at home we knew that she was fair,
But seldom thought of it because we saw her always there;
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To learn how beautiful she was through other people's eyes,
For all eyes turned to follow Her that still so little guessed
The secret, that she oft has turned, unconscious, with the rest
To see what beauteous form drew near; for many, bright and gay
Are there, yet none like Amy (so at least I hear them say)
That move with such an untrained grace, and bear upon their looks
The freshness of the breezes light, and sunny, singing brooks,
As if the wild, free, harmless things by stream and wood and hill,
That had her to themselves so long, played light about her still;
It is, they say, as when you meet in crowded thorough-fare,
Some sight or scent that o'er you brings a breath of country air,
With the hay-fields and the corn-fields, and the sweetness only there.
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To see her come in from her ride before the day grows dark,
And she looks up to meet my eye and waves her hand to me,
As when upon the slippery rock, she held the birchen tree,
And springs to earth as light and free, as if her footstep fell
Still on the soft, dry, springing moss and purple heather-bell!
We spend no days together now because our present lives
Are threads too far apart to meet, though Amy ever strives
To knit them close where'er she may, and ever seeks to twine
And weave with mine, as it runs on, a bright and silver line;
At night I hear a quick, light step, and sudden in the room,
A flutter 'mid its quietness, a shining on its gloom,
She comes, all rustling silken-soft, all floating warm and bright,
And glimmers through the dusk in robes of gossamer and light,
Like a swan that spreads its white, full plumes upon the breast of night;
She comes to ask me for her flowers, for none will Amy wear
Unless I bind them on her breast, or twine them in her hair,
And she says that nothing would go well, or please her at the ball
Without she has a kiss from me the last, last thing of all;
And still when she comes back again, while all is fresh and new
Upon her mind, like fairy tales it is (but these are true)
To hear of all that she has seen,—the wondrous things and fair,
Until it sometimes seems to me that I myself was there,
But still she ends “Thou little one, I leave thee, yet I find
Not one among them all I love like Her I leave behind!
Are threads too far apart to meet, though Amy ever strives
To knit them close where'er she may, and ever seeks to twine
And weave with mine, as it runs on, a bright and silver line;
At night I hear a quick, light step, and sudden in the room,
A flutter 'mid its quietness, a shining on its gloom,
She comes, all rustling silken-soft, all floating warm and bright,
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Like a swan that spreads its white, full plumes upon the breast of night;
She comes to ask me for her flowers, for none will Amy wear
Unless I bind them on her breast, or twine them in her hair,
And she says that nothing would go well, or please her at the ball
Without she has a kiss from me the last, last thing of all;
And still when she comes back again, while all is fresh and new
Upon her mind, like fairy tales it is (but these are true)
To hear of all that she has seen,—the wondrous things and fair,
Until it sometimes seems to me that I myself was there,
But still she ends “Thou little one, I leave thee, yet I find
Not one among them all I love like Her I leave behind!
“Not One I love so well as thee;” but this was at the first,
And then a change came over her, it seemed as if she nursed
Some hidden thought; as folded close within the rose's breast,
The sweetest, reddest leaf lies curled, and only to be guessed
By the fragrance and the trembling light it sheds through all the rest;
And kinder She could never grow, yet softer now I deemed,
And graver, tenderer, her smile; yet strange to me it seemed
That gayer, brighter still she found each brilliant scene, and well
She loved to go, yet nothing now was ever left to tell:
Upon a low seat by the fire she sat one night, and leant
Her cheek upon her hand, and while her drooping head she bent
To me, the warm light streamed around, and seemed her brow to bless
With a sunny Glory, and a crown of glowing loveliness,
More bright than were the scarlet flowers that I was wreathing then
About her hair, as light I laughed and said “no more again
Will I take, Amy, all this pains to make thee gay and fair,
That never bringest me a word of all that passes there
To pay me for my lovely flowers; make much of these and prize
This wreath, because it is the last:” but then from Amy's eyes
Her soul looked forth,—“Yes Annie! yet, perchance, some future day
Thou wilt twine me yet another one, more sweet though not so gay,”
And kissed me then because I wept, and whispered in my ear
“Well will He love my darling, else he had never been so dear!”
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Some hidden thought; as folded close within the rose's breast,
The sweetest, reddest leaf lies curled, and only to be guessed
By the fragrance and the trembling light it sheds through all the rest;
And kinder She could never grow, yet softer now I deemed,
And graver, tenderer, her smile; yet strange to me it seemed
That gayer, brighter still she found each brilliant scene, and well
She loved to go, yet nothing now was ever left to tell:
Upon a low seat by the fire she sat one night, and leant
Her cheek upon her hand, and while her drooping head she bent
To me, the warm light streamed around, and seemed her brow to bless
With a sunny Glory, and a crown of glowing loveliness,
More bright than were the scarlet flowers that I was wreathing then
About her hair, as light I laughed and said “no more again
176
That never bringest me a word of all that passes there
To pay me for my lovely flowers; make much of these and prize
This wreath, because it is the last:” but then from Amy's eyes
Her soul looked forth,—“Yes Annie! yet, perchance, some future day
Thou wilt twine me yet another one, more sweet though not so gay,”
And kissed me then because I wept, and whispered in my ear
“Well will He love my darling, else he had never been so dear!”
I wept; but not as Amy thought, in fear to lose her love,
For I know that in the heart as in the blessed Home above,
There is ever room that grows no less however many share,
There is room enough and Love enough for all the angels there!
I wept, but 'twas for joy, to think that now her heart would find
A heart to answer her's again, and pay her back in kind
For all the love that met me new with every dawning day,
For all she gave, and gave, untired; for all I could not pay,—
More blest to give than to receive, yet both are surely blest,—
Long, long may Amy joy in both, to prove which is the best!
For I know that in the heart as in the blessed Home above,
There is ever room that grows no less however many share,
There is room enough and Love enough for all the angels there!
I wept, but 'twas for joy, to think that now her heart would find
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For all the love that met me new with every dawning day,
For all she gave, and gave, untired; for all I could not pay,—
More blest to give than to receive, yet both are surely blest,—
Long, long may Amy joy in both, to prove which is the best!
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