Cornell University Library PR5115.023E3 The earliest verses of Vivus Oliver.Priv 3 1924 013 531 375 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013531375 EARLIEST VERSES VIVUS OLIVER, THE E'Arliest verses I ^ VIVUS OLIVER. PRIVATELY PRINTED. ■ 1867. LONDON SWIFT AND CO., REGENT PRESS, KJNG STREET, REGENT STREET, W. TO OLYMPIA, COUNTESS D'USEDOM, I DEDICATE THESE MY FIRST POEMS, WITH ALL THE HOMAGE AND ESTEEM A POET CAN FEEL. CONTENTS. PAGE Waiting i Autumn 4 Forgotten 9 Daily Bread 21 One-another 27 Mooning 29 A Roman Lady visiting the English Cemetery at Rome instead of the Carnival . . . 32 Away ! 37 Stanzas 4° Acrostic 4^ An Allegory 43 PROLOGUE. IN writing about poetry or the picturesque, poetry being the picturesque of the mind, it is an old and absolutely hackneyed re- flection to say " we are not living in a poetical age," this is as lamentable as true; however, I will not make morbid moanings o'er her mouldering spirit, moping along through the world as strange as a mole groping about in an underground railway. I will touch on the lighter, the common, the more everyday results. Here is the memory of every- thing that is grand and noble becoming cheap and b 2 XII PROLOGUE. nasty ; I can actually buy a carte-de-visite of the Emperor Maxmilian's coat and waistcoat, showing their bloodstains and perforations with becoming distinctness, for a shilling ; everything seems to me to get photographed, or weighed -out, and sold, and money made out of it. Love is lent at so much per cent, with reversion. Poetry is purchased by the pound : but we have a redeeming point here, since most of it contains so much " machinery " that it is often uncommonly heavy. Gratitude can hardly be got for love or money, and all the crude but generous verve of youth is either turned to un- meaning gall ; or ruse ; and the elan of everything unconventional brings down tjie whole accumulated petty thunder of the world. I find men of genius and eloquence, who should be independent and unfettered, with their whole careers and lives turning on the fluctuations in the digestion of a Premier, but Government itself will PROLOGUE. XIU soon be a Joint Stock Company with limited liability and a dividend on the poor rates, which instead of relieving the real silent outlying poor, will be entirely shared by a tidy, intelligent, meek, model mendicity. Then good-bye wooden walls of Old England ! for the Navy will never be seen, all engagements will take place at the bottom of the sea ; and military war will be an engineering process carried on in a railway, of which it seems to me there is such a quantity here in England that soon on Salisbury Plain itself there will not be room to swing a cat in, and the only secluded spots will be the tunnels ! London, Paris, and policemen will be everywhere from Islington to Italy — sunny Italy ! — now suppurated all over with semi-detached villas, and where, already, companies are formed to my knowledge respectively to make market gardens of the Campagna, and dry up the lake of Thrasimene. As for the "country" here in England, there, there is XIV PROLOGUE. such an awful aroma of stercoraceus refocillation, and chemical irrigation, that the poor hypochondriacal corn and grass hurry themselves into a precipitate state of maturity, only to be cut down and taken away out of the dreadful smell. Then where shall I turn .? Shall I go wearily back to the smoky city, and try and find a pair of eyes among the crowd that are not haggard, dim, and rolling about in a fevered unhap- piness ? And shall I not say that much of man and woman is like a tailor's or dressmaker's dummy, with hatred, jealousy, and cunning alone pure and genuine within ; while vanity sits in flaunting colours a-top, and, like the costermonger's mule, thrives the more the less it has to feed upon. But now look upon the generous and lovely angel of poetry, turning all things to beauty, floating in the sunbeams, whisper- ing in the woods, peeping through the hedgerows, smiling in the streamlets far away, — very, very far away now ! and I cry, call her back again, let her PROLOGUE. XV come into your hearts again, and make them joyful and tender ; shelter her, and crown her with your love — it is all she asks. I write but to ask for her : if my poor piping .on the open reed will only lead you to listen to others, I shall be happy indeed; and should you like these few of my first feeble efforts, I have many, many more songs waiting to come, and I will add my small voice again to the great chorus of human sounds that should make all that is dull, and dreary, grow quaint, and sweet, singing of eternal pleasure, robing Futurity like a bridegroom, and clothing Sorrow herself so that you would love her. WAITING. IHERE'S'the sunlight, and tlie shadows, and the changes of the day ; And my love, so -changed, -so true, so sad, as sad as it was gay. And my life, 'tis but the shadow of a time that's passed away. Oh ! to feel that thou couldst hear me !■ but one word of all my lay ! Can thy thought then find no echo of the thought that I would say ? Freighting echo with an answer, while- 1 wait so far away. B 2 WAITING. I am waiting, weary waiting, and the clouds wait in the sky. And the Sun comes down to kiss them into gold eternity ; I alone, am left, while each hour comes, and smiles and passes by. Tranquil 'tis to wait in Spring time, with the buds all waiting near ; To wait beneath the willows while the lily-cups appear ; But 'tis hard to wait in Winter, when all is dead, and drear. Still I'm waiting when the Spring comes, still I think it may bring thee ; It brings so many flowers, and it might bring one for me ; But the blooms are scented phantoms of a hopeless extasy ! WAITING. 3 For the Autumn dies a weeping, and the north wind comes to blow, And my hopes like the late leaflets, fall, and fade away and go. Then I look for thee in Heaven, and then slowly comes the snow. B 2 A VERY STILL AUTUMN MORNING. N an Autumn Sunday morning, Dreamy, silent, holy day. Aye, the golden leaves were falling. Dying one by one away. Such a silent Sunday morning I was walking on a heath. All its faded brackens bowing 'Neath the Autumn's filmy breath Folded clouds and pearly vapour Left dim vistas far in air. Seemed like curtains hung in heaven. Shrouding summer sinking there ! A VERY STILL AUTUMN MORNING. Copse to lowland spoke in whispers, All around was hushed and sombre, Whife the dainty-footed zephyrs Fainting passed away to slumber. Cottage smoke was idly curling, Stealing upward, loth to die, But it lost itself, and twirling. Curled, and melted into sky. All else, all else was drooping, falling, Dropping now to fade away ; Oh ! it was a thought appalling, Such a silent, sombre day ! In the vale strayed little children, — Little chicks in Sunday's best. Gravely were their councils holden. All their laughter seemed suppressed. A VERY STILL AUTUMN MORNING. In their hearts, without their knowing, Came, maybe, a tiny fear That all sunny games were going. With the waning of the year. Here the rose, where merry-hearted Lovers often came to woo. All the lovers are departed, And the blooms are going too. There the pine trees' towering branches Spread their mossy, mournful hue ; Zephyr passing whispered softly. And they waved a long adieu. When the dreary winter lowers Low its seamless veil, they reign, Monuments above the flowers, Until they will come again. A VERY STILL AUTUMN MORNING. Low the birds anon were chirping Their sweet, — their very ancient lay,- Stilly notes of soothing sadness, Dirges o'er the still decay. Flora's steps were seeking spring-time, Sunset glowed their golden prints ; While the scents go back to Heaven Petals mourn in Autumn tints. Ah ! Midsummer, lazy darling ! Basking in the mid-day glow ; Heard you not the north wind growling Through his leaden shrouds of snow .? All was drooping, all was falling. Fading, dropping to decay ; Oh ! it was a thought appalling. On that silent, sombre day. A VERY STILL AUTUMN MORNING. Still there is a sunny dreamland, Green and warm all winter through, Where at will it can be summer, Soft ivresse, and cloudless blue. Fleeting forms of fading beauty, While in autumn gold you pause ; Show us, too, unchanging duty. Lasting love, and Heaven's laws. In these there is a golden story, Only listen what they say ; Eternal, lovely, golden glory. No more partings ! no decay ! FORGOTTEN. ILL amid the summer weather, Close their shadows fell together, By the parting in the meadows. Where the grass grows longer, thicker. At the margin of the river, All his heart he said, and gave her ; Nothing hiding, nothing keeping : Soft she smiled, and nestled nearer, Till their warm breath mixed together. And their lips met ; closer, closer ! Chilling, burning, as they lingered, Passing thrills to one-another. c I O FORGOTTEN. Love's SO sweet, and they so often Met, and wooed along the pathway, That the very stream beside them Flowed in allegoric murmurs. Whisperings between the rushes, Low replies beneath the lilies. Glances soft along the shallows, Laughter light among the pebbles, — • AH forgotten ! All forgotten ! ! Gay with scented summer blossoms. Soon the shallows laughed, and scoffed at All the river's glossy ripples. But the pool, was deep as ever. Then the pedlars reached the village Rather further up the river. Jingled all their tempting trinkets, Amulets, and rings, and buckles. Shining gold, and quaint devices ; All the girls vied with each other. Who should be the most bedizened. Then her eye grew sharp and restless. FORGOTTEN. i i And her speech was hot and eager, And she said, " O ! buy me trinkets ! Make me gayer than the others. Till the toadies kneel and tell me I am brighter than the morning ! " Then he emptied pouch, and sachel, Purse and wallet, niche, and cellar, Gave her all the gold and silver. But it all was far too meagre To be gayer than the others ; So she pouted — cross and peevish ; At last he drew her softly to him, Moved his yearning arms around her. Slowly ; wakening chords of secrets, Daintily; pausingly, softly, Closed ! his fondling arms all round her : Placed her head upon his bosom. Let her hear his sick heart heaving. Pressed his lips upon her eyelids. Then he stooped and picked some flowers, Forget-me-nots, with balmy perfumes : Said, " With these among your tresses, c 2 1 2 FORGOTTEN. In my heart, and in my vision You are fairer far, and prouder Than all other in the village. See your trinkets are sweet scented — God made these, and I'll entwine them ; Look into the streamlet mirror, How much richer, gayer, brighter. Are the buds that blossom near it — You my brightest mirrored in it ! There we'll find soft murmurs, sweeter. Clearer, kinder, deeper, greater ' Than the noises of the village : Draughts of life so pure and luscious, We can drink, and taste for ever ! " But when rapid-veering swallows Fled to other lands for summer. She forgot the joy of loving, Plucked the roses on the bushes, Shied them all about the pathway, Laughed and scoffed and trampled on them ; Flitted back into the village, Gaily dancing, never glancing FORGOTTEN. 1 3 Back upon that lonely lover, Waiting still, O ! weary winter ! Waning heart, and weary winter ! All forgotten ! All forgotten ! ! Once, long after she had left him. Constant to the place still hallowed. Lone he came along the valley To look a latest look of longing. But the little stream was frozen ! — Dead and mute its merry murmurs, Cold and fixed its sparkling glances, Buried low the buoyant lilies ; Wan and withered weeping willows Hung but frozen tears to greet him ; Stiff and stark, the ice-bound rushes Could not move to whisper to him ; Frozen pooi and frozen shallow ; Froze his footprints on the pathway ! That old pathway in the meadows, Where the grass grew longer, thicker At the margin of the river — 14 FORGOTTEN. Frozen hope, and weary winter ! Withered heart, and weary winter ! All forgotten ! All forgotten ! ! Then, a little longer after, Far away beyond the ocean, In the country wide and marish, With the dismal swamps and marshes. Where the clouds are always brooding ; Lying heavy on the bosom Of the long, drear, stifled lowlands. Puffy saturated sedges. Where the wind Went slow and stealing,- For it held a horrid secret, — Held the tabid wraith miasma. Held the rabid, frenzied fever. Then the brooding clouds and marshes, And the lazy air and phantoms, And the gftod-fofr-nothing vapours. Whispered -very low together ; Spied him out, and slowly, slowly. Came at night, and breathed upon him. FORGOTTEN. 1 5 Rolled their rotten robes around him ; Low upon a couch untended, Left between the dead and living ! And forgotten ! All forgotten ! ! Then, a little longer after, Peeped from out the robe of winter, A tiny little fairy figure. First was very shy and tin^d, Stealing out a very little, " Tripping back again and hiding Underneath the robe of winter. Like a rabbit in a warren. Then she grew much bolder, brighter. But still coy, coquette, capricious Like a maiden, never knowing If she'll smile or frown upqn you. Then she found a jewelled sceptre, All she touched she turned to flowers, Unlocked all the frozen landscape, Lifted up the crazy wmter By his rotten garments, tossed him I 6 FORGOTTEN. High into the sunny ether, Then he fell in myriad flowers On the eager, merry meadows, Till they held their sides with laughter. Then, along the little valley. Soon the rushes were quite busy With their whispers of the summer ; Merry ripples in the streamlet. Cracked their jokes among the pebbles ; Glances soft upon the shallows Lured the languid, longing willows. Till they smiled amid their weeping, Bent them down to kiss the lilies. Where the grass grew longer, thicker, New forget-me-nots were coming. Sweet forget-me-nots with perfumes. Forget-me-nots, O ! sweet ye need be. All that's left for hearts all withered. All forgotten .! All forgotten ! ! One summer night, and not long after. Gliding through the moonlit valley, FORGOTTEN, 1 7 Came a lonely pallid woman, Wandered from the lighted city : Jewelled were her arms and fingers, Jewelled were her golden tresses. Jewelled too her trailing raiment. Silk and ermine, — gay devices ; Yet her eyes seemed very heavy. And her step was slow and thoughtful : " Weary," said she, " sick, and weary ! Weary of the weighty pleasures — And the clamour of the cities. Of the clumsy, quaint devices. And their empty, gilded greatness ; Of the gUb and greedy mouthings, And their mope-eyed, maudlin bathos ! All so old, and oft repeated, That the jingling monotony Makes me mad ! and all my feelings, All my higher inspirations. Turn their fineness into weapons. With their points all turning inward. And they wound me, tear me, gash me, D 1 8 FORGOTTEN. For I yearn for something dearer, Something kinder, sweeter, deeper. Like the Love that I've forgotten ; Something that will fill my heart up Fill it full to overflowing. I'm athirst, and parching, gasping, While my soul is full of nothing." Then along the lovely valley Peeped the moonlight from the cloudland, Streamed in silver rain upon it, And the dew rose up to meet it, Trailed its length along the meadows, Rose in wreaths, and filmy curtains Hung from all the silver willows ; Then the stream trilled out a measure. Sang a silver soothing singing. Bringing troops and troops of fairies ! Some slid up the glistening grasses. Some came down the streamlet sailing, Crowding on the lilies' large leaves. Laughing, racing with each other. With a feather for a mainsail. FORGOTTEN. And a flower for a rudder, Slyly spying out the others Making love among the rushes. Some joined hands and danced the ring-dance Round and round among the meadows, While the sprites sat in the lilies, Banged the stamens on the petals. Blinked their eyes to all the measures, Jewelled twinkles, silver glances, All was filmy, fun, and frolic. Mixed among the merry moonbeams. Music, mirth, and glee and glimmer ! Then at last the tears burst from her, Blessed tears that come to ease us — All the flood-gates of her anguish ! "Better," said she, "better!" sobbed she, " Than my jaded flaccid pleasures." Then the fairies all grew mournful, Whispered strangely all together, Turned towards her tender glances. Beckoned very gravely to her. Troops and bevies beckoned sadly ; D 2 19 20 FORGOTTEN. Took her to a tiny bower, Shewed her there a pale blue flower, Shewed her where they'd hid it, laid it When she threw it from her tyesses ; How they'd hid it, how they'd kept it- Till she, weeping stooped to kiss it. Then the, fairies' troops and bevies Put their little arms together ; All their might and main together. Strained and raised it, slowly, slowly. Gave it to her, saying, sadly, " Sow it in your widowed bosom — Weep upon it night and morning : Keep it, for he'll never fetch it. He is passed from earth, and hidden In the bosom of the moonbeam ! Say we kept it — hid it for you. Take it up to him in Heaven ! " All forgotten ! All forgotten ! ! DAILY BREAD. YE ! yes, and but^ to live and eat, Men will backslide, licj and cheat. Will stoop to kiss the foulest feet. Will make their shirts of a dead man's sheet. Slander the very dead ! Will leave their children, let them die. Will rob or crawl respectably. Pretend to worship, priestly lie, Forswear the very God on high. To gain but " daily bread !" What ! dead, unseen, despite " Poor Law ?" What ! stiff, and propped against the door ? 22 DAILY BREAD. With head her sleeping child hung o'er, The tear yet on its pinafore, — The last that mother shed ? Has fervid mauve, so sleek and shorn. Passed by and never heard her moan. For life's bare durance, food alone ? O ! food to give her little one, A mother's cry for bread ! Mute mines of misery lie untold. Of withered souls, whose sighs were gold ; Who sang of Love, and died of cold. With thoughts rich clothed ; their clothing told Sad tales, with scarce a thread. Whose inspirations brightest heat. And soaring dreams that sang so sweet. Like wounded birds, dropped at their feet, For fears of how to get to eat ! O squalid daily bread ! Still songs in proud and lovely strain. Ascend full oft from beds of pain ; DAILY BREAD. 23 Ha ! jokes ! how cracked against the grain ! When grief itself reels in the brain. Can mockery exceed ? A- painter, painting laughing stream, And merry hill, — a happy scene, Just risen, faint, from splendid dream Of dawn he loves, without a beam Of hope for daily bread ! A black pall shrouds the stream, the bark, And all the city, stiff, and stark. While sleeps the silence in the dark. Now ! start up in your bed, and hark ! Who comes with stealthy tread ! The phantom " Want," whose touch is blight. Stalks o'er seared streets into the night. And claps her wings in haggard fright. And shrieks, with all her hoarded might, A hungry cry for bread ! Dim on the river is a boat; It seems all night on fog to float. 24 DAILY BREAD. The man who guides it, ghostly scout, Doth keep a hungry hard look out, — He 's searching for the dead ! Then " Want " writes up — " Dead body found ;" All night for bread they're drowned and found ; With bread and Death his boat wings round ; His children yearn for corpses drowned ! They are their daily bread ! ! Beneath the gas lost women crowd, With reeking jokes, and laughter loud They leap, and dance upon the shroud That Death is spreading, still and proud, Beneath their loathsome bed. Aye ! drug the cup that else would craze ; The fulsome breath, the poisoned praise. The sickening kiss of him who pays ; Then Hell itself unfolds, and says, " Ye must ; Pm daily bread ! !" DAILY BREAD. 25 L'ENVOL Tremble ! ye who have ground for gold, The poor, the poets, young and old. Forced your sins through virtue's hold. Ye fools with narrow minds and cold, Ye' re ghosts beneath the night grown bold. Ye'U quake ! I say, with dread. When light dawns through your treacheries. When all the countless miseries, And all the crime and .children's cries. And all the blasted destinies Will turn on you theif haggard eyes. You, so soon to be dead ! The clouds will lower slowly down. The earth will rise and choke its own, E 26 DAILY BREAD. The sun for you will be a frown, Beyond your stifled dog-like groan, You'll see Him crowned, that noble One Who came His blood to shed. Then, ye who often threw the stone ; Ye ! who made your saintly groan ; But gave no drink to the little one ; — Who shrugged and passed the widow's moan ; Who smiled, and frowned, and were smiled upon. Where will ye hide your head ? M M ^M M ONE-ANOTHER. lO-NIGHT !— so hushed,— so still, So late ; that all do sleep In the great world, — lone, — and chill, A spell seems round my heart to grow. And something whispers, half heard, — low, Through silence, — holy, — deep ! Hush ! — somewhere in the night, A voice prays fervently ; Now from her soul all pure, and white, Far o'er the wide weird world do go, Earnest simple words ; and lo ! For me ! — for worthless me ! ! E 2 28 ONE ANOTHER. O ! I am not worthy, stay ! I, — that too wayward be, To care for myself to pray. But to the dust my head I'll bare, Kneeling ! for pardon enough to dare Venture a word for thee ! ! ■ ■ ■■ ■■ ■■ " I '.1.1....'.!' " ' t * ■■ ■■ ■■ ■■ " ' " MOONING. LL my length on a carpet of mosses I lie, While the hours bring me presents of dreams going by, And dainty-winged fancies now float through my brain. Some sighing, some singing, a midsummer train. The songs of the South on the southern winds come, ■ And they lure all my soul, till I, bask in the sun With podgy old citrons, where sweet orange bloom Weds Winter with Summer, to live in perfume, Where Time trips it light, and the year as it goes, Whispers Spring at departing, and leaves us a rose. 30 MOONING. Now a song, O ! so tender, is soothing my ear ; A nightingale ; something delicious to hear, Her plumes steer the arrows of love ; and somehow Make wings for my dreams, as they fly from my brow. Now the Fairy of Fancies, fine, filmy, and fleet. Comes tipping, and tapping her tiny white feet ; Now beetles' green backs for my thoughts make a car. And we harness a butterfly, traces, and bar. Then with gossamer reins, and a word in her ear, We take of the sunbeams the first that is near. Then chirp ! and away we go, high in the air, To the unreal, romantic, unpractical star. To the land o'er the world, that is phantom, and dim. All waving, and twirling, and flicker and swim — Where! No ! come back ! you must work, and potter, and scrape. And drive to the winds each beautiful shape ; You must stop up your thoughts with high-pressure pegs, MOONING. 31 To flatter the, goose that lays golden eggs ; Their yoke you must bear, and bend to the toil, Tho' you blacken your fingers, and make your brain boil ; For the world's on the strain, hearts are of wood. And dreams — not of money, are not of much good. Be gentle, sow kindness, and may be you'll reap. An economical funeral, to bury you cheap. For trade kills the air, making Spring stale and sultry ; And trade calls the angels themselves only "poultry!" A ROMAN LADY VISITING THE ENGLISH CEMETERY INSTEAD OF THE CARNIVAL. TO THE COUNTESS LOVATELLI. IS screaming " Folly " in the street, The Carnival ! it cries, And loud go up the merry shouts, And flout the very skies. Yet, silence sleeps in hallowed spots ; Her sleep is deep to-day ; Which something makes unwonted sweet, The murmur far away. VISIT TO THE ENGLISH CEMETERY. ;^;^ 'Tis morn ; and ladies' eyes half-oped, With smiles already fill ; But stars are fled, and rise with — " One !" Her eyes are brighter still ! For God had sent her down a thought, Like her, to bless the earth ; To give a sigh to strangers' tombs. While all were drunk with mirth. So rose that lady, stately fair. And donned a sable dress, And seemed : — the one who feels for all A sheltering tenderness. And then to see her glide along. Upon her sacred way, , So sad, so sweet, so still, so grand, In tranquil dignity. 34 VISIT TO THE ENGLISH CEMETERY. How kind to come here all alone ! How kind the gentle hand That rests upon a stranger's tomb ; The world's so poor and grand ! Those lone ones, whom no lips with love, Had kissed to soothe their doom. Who died in tears, and yearned about Old sunny spots at home. The wood where often when a child. One, used to play and hide : O ! the mounds they seemed to move, as if The very earth had sighed ! Some hoped to lie by village church, And hear the well-known brook ; It almost seemed 'twere sweet to die. To rest in such a nook. VISIT TO THE ENGLISH CEMETERY, ^^ And 'twas hard to die so far away, Nor see the fields again, Yet now at last is come to-day A friend to soothe the pain. They robbed the flowers off the graves. To deck the reckless cheer. But we've the flower of all the crowd, And Carnival is here. For daisies on the lowly mounds, Stood tiptoe, in the grass ; And every bud that could come out, Came out to see her pass ! Then there seemed voices whispering low, Why comes an angel here ? Perhaps to say a prayer, they said. Perhaps to shed a tear. F 2 36 VISIT TO THE ENGLISH CEMETERY. If 'tis to say a prayer, they said, The Lord will lend His ear. And when she paused, the voices too Seemed lowly praying near. And where her tear-drops fall, they said. Shall various flowers rise. And twine into a chain, to lead Her up to Paradise ! ! AWAY. YE ! wander till your hairs are grey, Forget, — in crowds of rnen ; Then come the faintest thought of home. And you're a child again. So great, so grand, and broad, the world, A gorgeous wilderness ; And what makes love for home so large ? Sometimes its littleness. Unless your home's a home like mine. Where all is dead that's dear ; And any spot, except my home, Is all the home I've here. 38 . AWAY. A freedom from the ties of love Is cursed liberty ! — And all, all through a whole life long, A long time to be free. One feels it more in sunny spots, When music sadly charms ; The soul that's longing so j:o love Seems stretching out its arms ! Then every sound the sweeter 'tis, But woo's a deeper woe ; Till all the earth seems beckoning, And there's nowhere to go. From home, — the pathos of its scenes Grows greater every day ; So don't be hard on him who parts. He'll feel it far away. AWAY. 39 And if in dreams, in lonely tracts, A mother takes, a part, 'Twill either Jill his soul with joy, Or break his very heart ! O Christmases, and birthdays too ; Ye're getting many now. And ne'er a kindly word has come. To cheer ye anyhow. No need go home to see dead walls. And graves where homes are laid. For grief and I will make us one A cold one in the shade. TAY, — pause, — and wait ; O ! clouds about the Sun. Hang round but do not gloom- O ! rest a moment yet ! Cease, and wait, and rest, O ! sobbing, mourning waves — Before ye wash our graves, — Yes ! wait a moment yet ! Melt, — yet rest and stay, O ! Sun, with sweet soft dreams ; The day so short it seems. Thou must not leave us yet ! ( 41 ) The clouds dusk one by one ; The golden Sun has gone ; The sobbing wave complains ; — But the moon of Love remains, There is a moment yet ! ACROSTIC. AN I forget those beams that rose All melted gold, in bygone skies, Tho' years have passed, the mem'ry glows Hourly sweeter, and never dies. Each change but changes gold to gems. Reflecting all ; an " after-glow," Involving time in diadems. New turned the more to grace thy brow, — E'en thus those eves are shining now ! AN ALLEGORY. ROSEBUD droop'd one sultry morn, And woo'd, forlorn, A Drop of dew. Behind the vail that Dawn smiles through. * He melting, threw His pearl upon her fainting lips. That drink new life each kiss she sips. Ah ! kissing ! — well, foV Drops of Dew 'T will never do ; By noon-day clear. The De-v^drop was, alas ; a tear ! 44 AN ALLEGORY. In zephyrs near, But hung around this bud, who^e spray With growing smiles outdid the day. The Dew made scents all through the night. With all his might, Among the trees. To bring next Dawn upon the breeze ; But then he sees, A Rose, full blown with petals new, Opening to e'Oery Drop of Dew. . Swift & Cq., Regent Press, King Street, Regent Street, W.